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An Unwinnable War

Episode 1 - A World of Bloody Evolution? SURE!

March 1, 1977

2 years after the Vietnam War

"Our peoples... are united in this determination, to take all necessary measures in support of freedom and in defense of peace... in Remnant."

- President James Earl Carter, publicly authorizing the intervention of the American Army into Remnant, 1978.

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"I think that the day I was sent to, uh, the 86th, was it? Yeah, the day I was sent there was when I had the weirdest things hit me like a brick. I was just called from Army Reserve for an emergency mobilization order over back in Vermont. Get this; we were the only unit that wasn't the Z-Team of the U.S. Military. And by Z-Team, we really mean 'we're okay but the Chiefs of Staff hate us' kind of Z-Team. We're the dollar store B-Team. We weren't even supposed to do anything, just sit around, train in tanks for a bit, and maybe shoot at something. Well, I was assigned to one of the newer M48s. M48A5. The one with the one-oh-five."

"But when we were called alongside the... crap, was the 172nd called alongside us? Shit, I can't recall. But yeah, we were called in alongside another Armor Regiment. We were stationed near St. Johnsbury's, for a training exercise. I was just finishing my commander certification when we were called in. At first, it was something about Johnsbury's Mayor requesting the National Guard due to unrest, but as I was preparing to move out it changed to panicked screamin' and asking where the hell the 86th was. Same with the 172nd. We organized a response force as fast as possible, tossing our M48s into a fire we didn't know what to expect from."

"And I never knew that after Johnsbury, I'd be dragged into esoteric nonsense, especially after I ordered a charge into the forest with only like seven other tanks to support my assault and the people beyond that boundary. Then, well, as we all know it, next - the Unwinnable War. Named for just being two years shy of our humiliation back in Saigon. Yeah, the rest of the 86th weren't great with morale. Or with naming. And unfortunately, it stuck, so in '78, even the papers called it an 'Unwinnable War' much to my hate."

"And it was honestly an ironic name if you ask us after our deployment."

Jay Ruben - Forward Operating Base 'F-N' - March 1, 1977 - 5:30 AM

Ruben could only sit and drink out of his canteen as the rest of his team were finishing up the touches of the FOB. The base was established near St. Johnsbury, some local town up here in Vermont. And while he voted for a more formal name, the rest of his group went for the simple name. The name that would just hammer in the sheer competency of his unit. They picked an eloquent, simple, and verbose name for the forward operating base that would strike fear into the hearts of the enemy, and inspire courage, duty, and honor within his unit.

Wait, no, they just called it 'Fort Night' and called it a day. Jay was the only one within the ENTIRE garrison of Fort Night to protest the name because of how dull it was, but then everyone else pointed out that this was a Fort. Constructed at Night. Dealing with poor visibility left them no choice but to call the place Fort Night in protest. And Jay, unfortunately, couldn't send his friends slash squadmates to Leavenworth for naming a FOB 'Fort Night'. He was going to kill them for that, but at least, he'd probably do it someday and not right now.

"If you construct another FOB and call it 'Fort Night 2' I am going to rip your tongue off."

"Look, Jay, we constructed it in the middle of the night. What else were we going to call it? Fort Day?"

"I hope you die on impact the next time I ram a tank into a tree, Devin."

And Devin laughed his threat off as he went back to delivering supplies. Jay, however, wasn't entirely serious with his threats either. He's gone with worse jokes, either them being, to quote himself directly; 'I will shit yourself' or some form of 'Don't let me get killed by a mortar, or I will shove you in a TV Dinner.' with a few snickers from the rest of his group. He's been in the 86th for only half a year, but he calls his presence with the FOB an 'unprivilege', and his presence was dragging down the FOB with him. To be entirely fair to Jay, his group also had the same thoughts, but like him, they didn't really care that much - aside from swearing and threatening to shit each other.

To be precise, his group was a tank platoon from the 1st Battalion, 172nd Armored, 86th Armored Brigade. The rest of the FOB also came from 1st Bn 172nd Armored, totalling to forty-two personnel. Ten to maintain the tanks and equipment, and thirty-two to operate the tanks. Their HQ Company was off north, to someplace unknown. The rest of the 86th were scattered across Vermont.

As Jay continued to drink out of his canteen, his peaceful thoughts that came after threatening to castrate Devin's mouth were interrupted when he saw smoke belching out of a trench line within FOB Fort Night. And it made him dent his canteen out of sheer anger at the incompetence of his people. How the hell...

"Oh my god..." Jay was about to scream at the sight before him after he finished threatening to rip Devin's tongue out for creating Fort Night.

"What the hell happened to the goddamn Patton?!" Jay made his palm meet his face as he saw an M48 Patton stuck on a trench dug in the FOB, wedged between it and with members of the garrison attempting to lift it up collectively to no avail. Two people were on the front and rear of the vehicle. And about zero of them managed to unwedge the goddamn tank.

"Sir! Sergeant Taylor tried to move over the trenches, but they were too wide, so he got wedged in between!"

"You actual oxygen-wasting, cock-sucking, maggot-eating, dumb grinning idiots! How in the hell do you manage to force a Patton into a FUCKING defensive trenches?! This isn't Khe Sanh!" That was what he wanted to scream towards the guys lifting a Patton. But, rather than acting more like a drill sergeant, Jay instead opted to act disappointed, but not surprised. His assignment may have been only six months old, but those months taught him more than enough about his slice of life within the 86th Armored Brigade. And - to summarize it, everything within this damn slice of the Brigade made him mad.

"How. Just how. How did you wedge a tank into a goddamn trench line?" Jay made disappointment spread across his face and was clearly unamused by this. "I've expected you guys to screw up, but you could've done it some way else aside from wedging a Patton into a trench. We're the 86th Armored, not some pansy A-Team division."

"Blame Taylor." One of the soldiers in the unit, with the nickname of 'Toast' responded. And as for Jay, his response was to groan in agony. Jay didn't really have the time for any of this blame-game nonsense. The Buck stops here, and it'll stop here ASAP.

"You - all of you - are going to Leavenworth. And I will absolutely guarantee that." Jay said in response to the soldier who blamed Taylor, then the rest of the unit. "If I don't see the tank out of the trench line by 0600 I will tear into your skulls."

And with a barely-disguised disgust for the rest of FOB Fort Night, not because they were unskilled, but because they were... hard to deal with. Jay left in a sour mood. If anything, this reinforced his philosophy of never letting rookies near the Pattons. Ever. Again. He was going to have to talk with the CO of the 50th Armored if they were letting recently-promoted sergeants use the M48.

"Goddamnit..." Jay sat back down on his chair.

"How utterly crap is this brigade?!" Jay was on the verge of throwing his chair at someone. He was just utterly infuriated when they did things like this. 'But Jay! The Patton's broken down!' GOOD THEN! THIS ENTIRE ARMORED BRIGADE WAS FULL OF UNGRATEFUL IDIOTS WHO ONLY SOUGHT TO CLAIM WHAT WAS 'THEIRS' AND BREAK EVERYTHING-

Part of Jay stopped when he realized that he was rambling on and on again. He pinched his nose, sighed, and stopped. He was getting too old. Even if he was relatively young for a Lieutenant, he was already starting to gray on the inside. He was... just not equipped to deal with stupidity on this level. The Brigade was stupid. At least, the members of the unit in FOB Fort Night as some dickweeds put it. He just wanted a break from the mess that these numbnuts put him through.

And, unfortunately for Jay, that break never came.

Jay Ruben - Forward Operating Base 'F-N' Tank Range - March 1, 1977 - 5:58 AM

"Gunner ready, sabot indexed!" His gunner shouted through the radio as Jay sat in the commander's cupola, keeping guard with the machine gun. Jay responded as well.

"Fire, fire AP!" He ordered, covering his ears as the gunner's accuracy skills tore another hole through a Soviet training tank dummy. He wasn't present to go to 'Nam, so he didn't get any idea on what tank they used.

"On the way!" His gunner shouted, firing the tank gun.

"Reload!" Jay ordered, kicking the loader slightly as he got to work reloading the gun as fast as possible.

This exercise was to prove themselves tank-worthy and not obscenely incompetent pieces of garbage. And needless to say, Jay thought it was pretty much succeeding. At the very least, when FOB Fort Night wasn't absolutely shitting on itself with constant - say - helicopter accidents, tank-in-ditch moments, and tonedeaf grunts blasting Billy Don't Be A Hero through their radios. He liked the song and thought it was pretty cool to play it. But, he didn't like it being played in important sessions. So it kind of irritated him to hear that song being blasted.

"Up!" He liked the sound of that though. That made his day. And the other part of this exercise that made his day was eliminating the last training dummy before he got his certification of being a competent tank commander.

"Gunner, AP, tank!" He ordered his gunner as the tank turret moved to see if the gun could keep stable while driving. "Drive around it!" He ordered, trying out the most risky move he's ever seen out of tank crews.

"Target identified!" His gunner repeated, and Jay grinned. He was about to get his showtime, baby. And he's gonna get it NOW!

"FIRE!" He ordered as the final Soviet tank dummy was destroyed. Miraculously, the shot didn't miss at all. Though the M48 itself was rolling around in the dirt and the deep, it still hit it.

"On the way!" His gunner shouted, cackling madly as the AP shot penetrated the dummy and wrecked it. Score one for the United States Army.

And in celebration, Jay celebrated the only way he could - by partying inside the tank.

"HELL YEAH! I'M A NEW COMMANDER! I'M A NEW COMMANDER!"

The rest of the tank cheered as he waved and flailed his arms in the air out of the cupola. "YAHOO!" He shouted.

And the shouting continued for about a few minutes and then ended when Jay decided to get out of the tank and earn some rest after shooting target dummies with the 105mm gun. "Fuck yeah! You finally got Commander certification!" Sergeant Taylor, the massive screwup greeted him. He actually looked sincerely happy for Jay, which was surprising.

And in response...

...Jay fist-bumped Taylor. "Hell yeah!" He shouted, screaming in the air. He took a moment to catch his breath and let a sigh out. "Whew. Now I need to take a nap." Jay said, before turning to look at Taylor with a semi-sincere smile. Half of it was a glare.

"By the way, Sergeant Taylor Joseph..." He turned towards him.

"Uhh... yes, El-Tee?"

"I will drop a Daisy Cutter on you the next time you park a tank inside the trenches." He said, smirking. Later he walked toward one of the chairs located in the FOB to relax and shoot the shit. Well, not by chatting the time away, unfortunately. He was going to shoot the shit by watching the sun.

At least, he would've sat down and shot the shit if not for one of his soldiers running up to him. Literally running up to him, nearly tripping and all that. He would've groaned, but this guy clearly had something for him, so better to not shoot the messenger. It's better to just shoot the guy who asked the messenger in the first place.

"JAY!" The man shouted, his nametag identifying him as Corporal Lars 'Toast' Alexanders. Better known as 'Toast' for complaining when he got a sunburn. "IMPORTANT MESSAGE! I'VE GOT A RADIO MESSAGE!"

"God," Jay groaned. "What is it?" He asked, more or less irritated. The chilly Vermont cold was bothering him, so Corporal Toast barging in to give him a message ruffled his feathers the wrong way. But, again, don't shoot the messenger. "Who sent it?" He asked, as Corporal Toast finally caught his breath and looked Jay in the eye.

"Priority order from the Mayor of St. Johnsbury! Come hear for yourself!"

Jay followed Toast to his little radio corner. Passing by all the tanks in the FOB, he noticed that most of them were in poor condition. Not poor enough to destroy them, but poor enough that he noticed rust. If he had the time, he'd be mad. Too bad he doesn't.

He arrived at the communications sector of the base. Immediately after entering the radio tent he noticed that - to put it bluntly - the place was an unlivable mess. Radios and wires were sprawled among tables, and off to the left there was a pinboard with lots of connecting wires and pins. Looking at it now, Jay was sure that Toast had never been outside his rat cave.

After all, that's why he complained about sunburn.

His fatass could only live inside a dark and damp building.

Almost like a rat.

He approached the radio and began speaking into it. "This is Corporal Lars Alexanders, I've got my CO on the line." He spoke into the radio, before stepping aside and handing it to Jay. He yanked it from his hands and pressed it against his mouth and ears.

"What the hell is it?" Jay asked. He had his nap time ruined just by the people calling him at the worst time possible.

He was surprised when the line was silent for a moment. Did Toast just bring him here as a prank...?

Jay scrapped that thought as breathing came back on the radio, before someone came on the line and spoke.

"You're the only available National Guard unit for miles, right?" The mayor's voice spoke from the radio, confused. Based on his tone, Jay could tell that he was one of the small-town administrators. Barely relevant on the political scale.

Smiling, he nodded and replied to his question. "Yes indeed," Jay said, with a bit of pride in his tone. They were also the only competent ones out there, just outpaced by some of the regular army. Hell, by this time we were dead last in NATO tank competitions. The 1970s was an absolute slump, and interacting with other units shows. "What do you need the 86th Armored for?"

"We've got a situation here..." He replied, his tone shifting to a slightly more panicked one. Jay raised his eyebrows in a little bit of confusion. The hell could be happening in St. Johnsbury's? Some kind of wacky situation?

Then why the hell would they need the National Guard here? Wouldn't calling them in be the Governor's job?

Though he sighed and just replied.

"What kind of situation, Mayor?" Jay asked, glancing back to find that Toast was busy arranging his wires. Rolling his eyes at the rat man's actions, he turned back to the radio to await a response.

"We've got reports of unrest and the citizens are asking for Army presence to keep 'em safe," He said. In the background, Jay could hear murmuring. Nothing too serious hopefully. "They have guns, but they're not sure if that can quell the fear they're feeling. We've got noises coming from the forests, people going missing, and attacks on cars. Hell, some of them have been returning looking like scrap metal. It's gone outta control, so we're gonna need a National Guard unit here to keep the peace. And you're the closest ones we got." The Mayor spoke. As far as Jay could tell, there wasn't any other intent in his statements. Still, shouldn't the Governor be mobilizing the guard?

Ah, screw it.

Not that he wished that'd happen anyway, he was too inexperienced as a tank commander to be facing an army of rocket launchers.

He sighed and nodded. Alright. "...We'll be there in a bit, Mayor. I'll mobilize the unit ASAP. 86th Armored, out."

"And make it quick! Everyone's starting to huddle around the Town Hall, and I want answers. Out." He said before the radio line went dead.

Jay put the radio down and glanced at Corporal Toast. He made a gesture to get Toast to come closer, and when he did he glanced outside of his rat corner. "Grab the rest of the FOB. We're mobilizing. I know, impossible." He spoke to Toast. "Don't worry, even I don't have the highest hopes. Still, let's not fail them."

Toast nodded. "Aye-aye, Jay." And proceeded outside. Hopefully to get the rest of the men mobilized and ready to get in their tanks. Jay, meanwhile, examined the pinboard in Toast's rat corner. The number of pins and wires connecting each other amused him. Some of it was really funny. Like White Castle being connected to a newspaper article about discrimination in the South.

What instantly caught his attention, however, was a drawing of a castle-like structure on the pinboard that wasn't connected to anything. When he took a look at it, Jay saw it as evocative of those old castles he's seen in medieval history. Under it was a paper pinned to the sketch.

And on it were these written words;

"Beacon Academy?"

Jay snickered. Who names their academy after a flashlight? Okay, okay, he was joking on that part. But still, that school design and that name evocated themes of idealism. He remembered a comment made by Toast once, about how most schools are named something unique or idealistic, but then the Brits - being the posh aristocrats they were - just named their schools stuff like 'Ox-Ford' and call it a day.

He didn't mean to disrespect the schools, but goddamn did that feel funny to think about.

'My design philosophy will evocate ideas of intelligence, elegance, and meaningful statements!'

Then...

'oxford. That's it.'

As he was musing, Corporal Toast came back to him and called for his attention.

"Sir, the rest of the men are ready. They're assembled at the courtyard." He spoke, saluting Jay.

After finishing his musing, he decided to not press onto the drawing. Might just be one of those things that you do while shooting the shit and taking care of radios. Those things are annoying, unfortunately, but he knew that to be the case with every piece of equipment.

No time to press onto it.

"Righto." He commented as Toast led the way to a podium hastily constructed on FOB Fort Night.

When he got there, well, the rest of the FOB garrison was at the briefing alright, but many were just... poor at gun safety. Most didn't hold their submachine guns properly, unfortunately. He was about to yell about gun safety but realized they were just the Z-Team, and he could go hard on them in combat, but not in the middle of the homeland. Well, that and these were mostly tank crewmen.

Christ alive, it was a bad time to have enlisted in the National Guard.

"Attention!" He shouted, and the soldiers finally put themselves to attention, with their stock touching the ground.

"Right. I don't know how much you are all combat ready-" He stressed, scanning the entire audience. "-but we've got an assignment here."

Jay coughed into the microphone, only to be surprised as reverberating feedback greeted him. A part of him was embarrassed. Though it wasn't like the other tank crewmen would notice. "This will be our first time out of the FOB. I'm surprised myself, but we better take it smoothly." He continued, with nobody bothering to interrupt him. Surprising. "Right. The town of St. Johnsbury's, located half a mile close to here, has requested the 86th Armored's presence. Apparently, things have started going to hell. People are disappearing, cars are getting torn to pieces, and noises are coming from the forest. They're requesting we restore law and order." He spoke, glancing at the tanks.

How the hell were a bunch of M48A5 Pattons supposed to enforce martial law without proper infantry support?

Jay hoped to God that there would be infantry reinforcements coming from other states. Or hell, just Military Police.

Though then again, every unit was committed to REFORGER.

"Now..." He began, coughing, looking over the FOB. All tanks were ready, and set to go. "I'd normally refer this to the guys up top, but we're a FOB in the middle of... well, nowhere, so we might as well take this job just to get out of... Forward Operations Base Fort-Night." He stretched the statement as he turned to glare at the rest of the guys in the FOB. "But, we might as well just go. So, take your Pattons, take your tanks, and let's get moving." He finished, and the FOB dispersed to get their tanks up and running.

Glancing behind him, Jay thought about the speech. 'God. That was so lame.' He commented, shaking his head. 'I'm never doing that again. I shouldn't be in command of this base.'

Stepping down from the podium, Jay turned to Corporal Toast to tell him one last thing before he went back to his Patton. "Get Johnsbury's radio frequency and tell all the guys to switch to it. We'll need updates from the town itself."

"Roger that." Toast said as he dispersed to go ask the Mayor if he could get onto a radio channel with the rest of the Nat-Guard's armored brigade.

But until then, he just had to get back to the tank and go start it up.

As he approached the tank he used to train, three other people came across him. His gunner, his loader, and his driver.

"I assume you're gonna drag us to Johnsbury's, yes?" His loader asked, stepping up for the group.

"Yeah." He stated, not even bothering with sugarcoats.

"Goddamnit."

And that was the start of it, before eight tanks from the FOB departed, leaving a skeleton crew of ten maintenance men to keep watch over the rest of the FOB. Jay was a little furious that only ten men running the skeleton crew but sighed. The tank maintenance men couldn't be brought, but at the same time... the fact they only had either submachine guns or pistols was a pain in the ass.

Hopefully, they'd be good enough to protect the base.

Though Jay couldn't resist feeling sorry for them having stupid hats.

Jay Ruben - Road to Johnsbury - March 1, 1977 - 6:20 AM

"March!"

And that was the signal for the M48 Pattons to begin moving. Jay was itching to shoot something, and now that they actually have deployment orders, they finally had something to shoot at that wasn't Soviet Tank Dummies or concrete that the guys in the FOB piled up to shoot.

"Eerrrrgh, El-Tee, do I have to be awake throughout the whole trip?" The Loader complained. Jay sighed, he wished he'd give his loader time to take a nap, but they were being deployed to a town in the middle of basically nowhere, New England, so they might as well have drank all the coffee beforehand.

"Loader, you really should've brought either Coffee or Ice Cream."

"Screw you too, El-Tee."

"You're welcome."

The M48 Pattons continued their course as the tanks of the other crewmen began to voice their opinions. Jay resigned himself to his fate as everyone suddenly became the largest source of radio traffic. But they were NatGuard, so to Jay, they really didn't have much to do and were fully justified in complaining over the radio. That's what Army life is. Especially in the Z-Team.

"Pardon my French," One of the Crewmen opened up on the radio, to the response of one of the local Frenchies in the Garrison.

"Donc quoi?" The aforementioned Frenchie spoke over the radio.

"But pour quoi sur la terre verte de dieu are we doing in some little town?" He spoke in an exaggerated Quebecois accent but raised one point.

"I dunno, Commies?"

"What, are we gonna get Charlie on US soil?" One of the crewmen said before the entire radio network broke out into laughter.

"I dunno man, they'd probably not make it five miles before they're instantly evaporated by a Phantom."

"Or a Huey."

"Maybe even a Zippo."

"Oh man, definitely a Zippo."

The conversation went on as people began to theorize and joke about how Charlie-wannabes could get zipped by the American military, and its equipment. Popular consensus leaned towards the Zippo as it actually had a decent job and range, which was perfect for clearing out any potential holdouts in the middle of St. Johnsbury.

"86th-" The Mayor of Johnsbury's voice blared out of the radio before the rest of the guys stopped laughing and paid attention.

"Come in, over." Jay spoke into the radio, but no response yet.

"Johns-" The radio was cut off by static and more static as the Mayor's voice began to drown out.

"St. Johnsbury, come in."

"creatures-"

"ST. JOHNSBURY, COME IN!"

"-attacked-" Was one of the only other words that broke through the static barrier.

"FUCK'S SAKE!"

Jay was about to smack the radio when he finally felt the static clearing to an acceptable level.

"St. Johnsbury, SITREP. Over." Jay spoke.

"86th, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GUYS?!" The Mayor finally spoke. Gunshots were heard in the radio background.

"What the hell is going on over there?"

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! DAMN-THINGS HAVE STARTED SIEGING THE TOWN! THEY'VE OVERWHELMED THE COPS AND I THINK THEY'RE APPROACHING THE TOWN HALL! OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHI-" The radio cut into static for a moment before gunfire echoed through the radio.

The radio stopped as Jay tried to process what he was hearing. Abominations? Okay, this was NOT in his paygrade.

He would've shrugged it off if it was just a wannabe communist insurgency propping up in the United States. But to hear the words 'things' and 'sieging' turned off a part of Jay's brain. He stared at the horizon in shock for a minute before coming back to his senses and asking the Mayor another question.

"St. Johnsbury, come in! What's the status of your defenses?!" Jay asked, and his response was more pistol fire and shotgun fire.

"Shit, shit! We're not looking great here! Just get here as fast as you can! Ou-" Were the last words from the radio before the transmission died. Probably the Radio got fried, shot, or short-circuited.

"Alright, you heard the Mayor guys. Kick it up!" Was Jay's final words to the rest of the tanks before they sped as fast as possible. While they had a maximum speed of thirty miles, it was still better than nothing. But Jay just wished it was 50 miles and not 30.

Then maybe he'd have killed things faster.

Jay Ruben - St. Johnsbury - March 1, 1977 - 6:39 AM

As the tanks approached the "Welcome to St. Johnsbury" sign, they began to notice that things were not looking good at all. Even if most of them were tucked inside the tank, they could definitely note that things were not good. How? Their commanders commented on it. And none of the comments were positive or assuring. At all.

"What the hell..."

"You seein' this?"

"How in-"

"Holy... who the hell turned this town into Huế City?!"

These statements were confirming it for Jay. Something happened here that was just simply beyond their pay grade. For one, a Town doesn't come out looking like it came out of the Tet Offensive and certainly doesn't give one the creeps when they go inside the place.

The M48 Pattons cautiously advanced, with many tanks sweeping their muzzles around the broken town. Some windows broke, some walls were smashed in, and some barrels got dented. But the town... it gave some people an idea of what fighting in Tet was like. Jay's M48 Patton kept a forward-facing gun as it continued to approach the further-destroyed town.

"Hey..." Jay's gunner opened up before Jay asked what was going on.

"What is it?"

"I think I saw something move." He said before turning the gun turret towards a building corner where Jay definitely saw something move. Jay's eyes squinted, but he swore he just saw what looked to be a tail.

"Keep the formation. Keep advancing." Jay repeated, and relayed it to the rest of the Pattons, with the responses being some form of affirmative. They were better off in a single-file line than splitting up.

And the Patton's gun swung right in the direction where the movement went as if the tank and its crew were expecting to see something jump at them and shoot them. The tank steadily kept advancing as the tank behind it also leaned its gun right, preparing to support Jay's tank or fire off a shot in case Jay's tank would get shot as well.

"I swear to Christ-" Jay's gunner began, before getting jumped.

And the thing that jumped it was a Black Wolf. With white bones and red eyes scattered throughout it. It looked like it came out of a twisted version of fairytale stories Jay read about once. It leaped onto the tank and tried to claw the tank out. It let out a roar as it began trying to tear the tank apart, to little effect as its armor effectively stopped the claws from doing anything major to the tank.

In a panic, Jay's gunner fired the M48 Patton's gun. The fear in his eyes was obvious if anyone looked at him as he hurriedly pulled the trigger, with a 105mm AP shell directly smashing into the Wolf's body. The Wolf didn't take it well as the shell detonated after it penetrated its bone. That shot flung it backward, with it hitting a wall and breaking on impact. The poor bastard didn't last long, with a 90-mil hitting it and the wall essentially splattering it.

"LOAD!' Jay hurriedly shouted as a second Wolf sprinted towards the tank. It was about to leap when the second tank just behind Jay's tank took the shoot, hitting it and causing it to smash through a building and die on impact. The rest of the Pattons went into a combat stance as they just barely heard monstrous roars through the cannon shots and the tank engines.

"GUN READY!" Jay's loader shouted as a third Wolf was blown up directly by a shell impact. If Jay didn't know better, he'd have told it to rest in piss. He joined in the fighting by opening fire on another Wolf with the HMG of the Patton. The .50 Cals caused it to stumble around and parts of its bones broke, before a another 105mm shell hit it and caused it to die in an AP-assisted splatter into the wall.

The tank platoon was in an attempted Ambush, it was official. However, much to Jay's surprise, these damn animals couldn't scratch the Patton's armor. These Little Red Riding Hood-looking wolves didn't match up to a Patton's 90-mil. And that made Jay grin. Dumb animals.

"MOVE!" Jay shouted, as the tank line began to advance in a 'walking fire' tactic where they would attempt to drive while firing. The stability was absolute crap but the M48 tanks did get a lot of good hits on the Wolves, though some mostly due to the wolves directly leaping onto the gun just as it prepared to fire. "Loader, keep those shells comin'! I feel like the Lumberjack now!" Jay shouted, and on the radio, the rest of the tank platoon was going ham on these creatures.

"Look at 'em run!" One of the Patton commanders, now calling himself Red Tank Cannon, shouted. "They can't handle the American spirit! Hell yeah!"

"Some of 'em got away." One noted.

"Ah, screw 'em. They can cry all they want."

The Platoon cheered on as everyone's Pattons wrecked the wolves. If Jay were to count how many wolves the platoon absolutely decimated, he'd have rounded it up to 12. Twelve of these wolves found themselves ceasing to exist the tank platoon continued to advance throughout the town. But, somewhere, in the middle of the fighting, they forgot that it really did remind them of Huế.

The Pattons continued to advance towards the Town Hall, on the way encountering dead bodies, wrecked cars, and the mangled remains of the town's population. Their fighting spirit moderated as some Commanders were unfortunate enough to see outside. They were mangled to hell and back. The roads were almost painted red, and that's not to speak of how many Commanders lost their lunch seeing the innards just... well...

"Holy..."

"Those goddamn ANIMALS did this?!"

"What. The. Hell."

The Patton commanders stopped their cheering as they approached the Town Hall. What they saw was a blood-stained, wrecked, and practically crumbling building as the bodies of police officers, civilians, and practically most of the town's inhabitants piled up on the front door of the Town Hall. And much to the horror of Jay, the Town Hall's door was open.

"Oh crap. Shit. shit, shiiit..." Jay spoke, as he grabbed the radio and began to give orders to the rest of the platoon. "Tanks 5 to 8, stay near the Town Hall. Call for Reinforcements, ask for the 172nd." As he ordered, those tanks broke off and started to approach the Town Hall. While doing so, Jay noticed that some of the wolves broke off and fled into the forests. His eyes squinted as they just abruptly vanished into the bushes and the trees in the nearby forest. He had to do something about it.

He spoke, then added. "Tanks 2, 3, and 4, stay with me." While Jay wished that they came with callsigns during this operation, the massacre of wolves and the resulting occupation of the Town Hall distracted him from assigning callsigns.

"2,3,4. We're going to pursue those goddamn wolves."

"...Sir, we have no infantry support. And who knows what we'll be facing over there?" One of the Commanders on the other tanks spoke up.

"I know that. We'll be prodding them." He spoke, much to the groaning of the other commanders.

"Sir. Are you insane?"

"Well, would you rather they come back with other reinforcements? That is if Animals can even call reinforcements." Jay offered.

"While you do make a good point-" He was cut off by a loud roar coming from the forest.

"...On second thought, I think it's best that we kill some of them so they don't come back in bigger numbers." The second commander conceded, and Jay smiled.

"Right. Go forward. Onwards, the thirteen-stripe flag." Jay shouted, as the other 3 tanks followed him to the forest. The tanks smashed into trees, and broke many of them. Nothing happened at first, but as they pressed and advanced, Jay found the forest changing in color, even if just slightly, to a more brighter tone.

And when they came out of the forest, they were on a forested region that was warmer and just brighter than Vermont. Jay could tell that because he now had an urge to wear thinner clothing. Damn the Army.

Moving on, the Pattons scanned the area for the sources of the roar that got them into this forest in the first place. But nope, they didn't find the source for that.

Instead, Jay, and his gunner saw something that caught their eyes. Something incredibly peculiar.

An industrial-looking camp structure.

And it was under attack by more of those wolves. Their shapes were definitely visible to Jay.

Rubbing his eyes, he thought that maybe it'd go away. But when it didn't... Jay only had one thing to say as he felt his eye twitching.

"What."

It was Tank 4 who broke the silence, and gave the statement that was on the minds of everyone else.

"Uh, I agree."

Their day just really wanted to fuck them over, didn't it?

Damnit, God.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 2 - The Day we've waited for

March 1, 1977

2 Years after the Vietnam War

"You remember those Grimm that were giving us problems? Back at that SDC Camp? Yeah, thanks to them, I thought I was a goner. Until those guys arrived. The ones with those Pattons. They're the reason I've got an Army job. And they're the reason the SDC's monopoly crumbled. I'd give them all the thanks in the world for 'em, but they were just doing their job."

- Anatoly 'Sunrise' Azur, Ex-SDC Worker (Now employed in the United States Army Civilian Indigenous Defense Groups)

Memoirs of 1st. Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Hell, I didn't expect my tank assault to go somewhere brighter. When we charged through the forest, we weren't expecting to go anywhere with our incredibly poorly-planned assault. But hell, we came across the first SDC Camp we'd have to liberate. Either from Grimm or the assholes running 'em. That got us nowhere diplomatically, though. But fuck the SDC. Corpos ruin everything they touch. But hey, at least we got our first volunteers in assisting reconstruction. The ones we got back from the camp were great at construction."

"The Faunus though? Ahh... I've seen far worse. Over here at FOB Fort-Night, we were too utterly idiotic to care about race. When the 172nd came in, they were too intrigued to be racist and were pretty welcoming as far as I could tell. And since most of our reinforcements were Northern, I'm pretty sure we didn't see as many N-Words being tossed around, at least initially. But the issue of racism and the rights issue became irrelevant, at least for Faunus, when our Prez good ol' Jimmy Carter instituted the 'Faunus Civil Rights Act' back in '78 when our involvement turned public."

"Though I'll never forget the reactions of fucking Brezhnev and most of the War-Pact when Jimmy unveiled our involvement. They lambasted us for imperialism, but, imagine my surprise when fucking Vietnam and Yugoslavia came to our defense. At least, Yugoslavia defended us in the UN. Vietnam just said that while imperialists, the US at least tried their best to liberate the working class. Condemning the SDC, liberating workers, and whatnot. In return, Carter re-instated relations with 'Nam and got the KPNLF to co-operate with the NVA, and surprisingly enough got the Vietnamese government to ease up on civil and political rights."

"Though Carter's decision regarding 'Nam... Well, it did piss off a lot of people. I can personally state that. But, hell, I don't know how Carter did it, but it only took several years to ease up the animosity between us and 'Nam. Even in the Diaspora. I suppose we stole the Vytal Treaty's effects and applied it to the US and 'Nam. To eternal peace, Carter says."

"Though, on the topic of Remnant... I'm starting to wish that Menagerie didn't have to meet Earth in the worst way possible."

Jay Ruben - SDC Mining Camp - March 1, 1977 (Earth Years) - 7:24 AM (Earth Time)

"Shit, I guess we're gonna have to go there?" The Commander of Tank 3 asked. "We might as well. Get answers as to who the hell is attacking us, and where 'here' is. I dunno about you, but Vermont's cold. This feels like it's the most milquetoast temperature." Jay added and got an affirmative from Tank 3. "Right. Gotcha. Alright boys, let's go rescue some bitches." Tank 3 lurched forward, and with it, the other tanks followed as well.

"Fuck, man. I didn't think that I'd be involved in... you know," Tank 4's commander opened up.

"With all due respect, what's your name?" Jay asked, concern in his voice.

"It's... It's Carl Kenny, sir." Kenny, Tank 4's commander, opened up.

"Kenny. I ain't gonna let you die in here. We came here on my orders, but it's my decision to give my own life up, and if push comes to shove, I'll fucking do it." Jay spoke. He wasn't aware if it actually had any effect on Kenny. He just sounded like he gave a vague promise, but hey, at least he tried.

"El-Tee..."

"Look, Kenny. If one of us has to stay behind, I'll take up that job. Got it? If you have anyone to blame, it's me. Now, let's get a move on."

"Gee, thanks El-Tee," Kenny responded, sarcasm peering into his voice. But he did believe El-Tee's words, so he had some consolation in that the El-Tee would actually do it.

At least, hopefully.

"By the way, El-Tee. I'm going to have your fucking balls for this if we actually make it out with you."

"Sure. But I might just kill myself to ensure you never get that victory."

"Fuck you too, El-Tee."

"You're welcome, Kenny."

"Thanks."

The conversation was cut short as the M48 Pattons continued their stalwart advance. At least, without firing first. The Pattons didn't get a clear shot of the enemy, so they instead had to resort to advancing slowly and slowly as the shape of the industrial-looking facility came closer and closer. Jay wished that he didn't have to get involved in this, but apparently, Vermont hated him.

"Hey, check that out. That's a snowflake on the flag."

Jay turned his head somewhere and came across a snowflake on a white background. He stared at it with childlike awe. At least, he'd have called it an actual snowflake and not a snowflake in spirit. But alas, it had jagged edges everywhere like it was going to kill someone. "Hey, check that out. That snowflake looks like it's got edges everywhere. Though I'm reminded of something from... fuckin' I dunno, Japan?"

"With respect, El-Tee, you're confusing that for a shuriken. Although I also wonder... Would you be willing to stick it in you for-"

"Okaaaaaay, Kenny, we get it. You're a Confirmed Bachelor. Now let's get back to the op."

"Got it, El-Tee."

"Go find some young guy fresh outta college if you're into that."

"Technically, El-Tee, aren't you still of college age?"

"Choke on a pretzel and fucking die, Kenny."

"You got it."

The tanks' commanders were all equally anxious. While they were able to face off against the Wolves easily, that was in a tank. Now imagine if environmental circumstances forced Jay or Kenny to stay behind in this hellhole. Now that's food for their thoughts. They weren't exactly keen on being trapped with wolves clawing at the tank every once in a while, and they'd like to keep it that way.

Jay didn't say it nor look like it, but on the inside, he felt like he was about to approach his last day of life. But... trying to humor the platoon in the middle of combat, especially since the Wolves couldn't scratch off the Armor even if they tried to, was a decision he wished he'd have made a long time ago. Especially just to make the worst statements ever.

"I'mma go get 'em wolves!" Tank 3's commander abruptly spoke, as if he was trying to pitch the suggestion to the rest of the squadron. He decided to humor him.

"Did you bring an auxiliary double barrel?" Jay snorted as he said this.

"Look, these damn Little Red Ridin' Hood-looking Wolves are just as fragile as those damn Gators!"

"You're from the Deep South, Tank 3?"

"Yeeeeper! Raised in a Northern school though, but the accent's still here!" He cheerily admitted.

"Right then, name, Tank 3?"

"Just call me Cleetus. It's not the greatest name but it could be worse!"

"Right, right. So..."

"We're here to get my fucking Epinephrine back!" Cleetus shouted, telling the M48 Patton to get a move on.

"Wait, is that what we're here for?" Kenny interrupted, confused but snorting, clearly in on the joke. Looks like Kenny has a worse sense of humor than Jay.

"Sorry, I lied to ya. We're here to get my Morphine back from those bitch animals." It was the rest of the platoon's turn to devolve into derange laughter as Cletus got the squadron to laugh at the worst joke possible. However, he could excuse them due to the problem known as 'anxiety' and 'fear of getting stranded in the middle of nowhere'.

"Hey, Cletus, you ever married your cousin twice-removed?"

"Ohoho, you want me to do the FDR?"

Jay immediately stopped. He admired FDR, and yes, he did know that he married a distant relative. Distant enough for their kids to turn out fine. But still, that made Jay stop for a bit during the banter.

"Alright, Cletus. Let's go get your Morphine back."

"If it means I get to stop wearing those stupid berets when we get back to base, then hell yes!" Cletus all but shouted as the M48 Patton platoon came close to the entrance of the area.

"Wolf down by the gate," Cletus reported. Jay only gave out one additional response.

"Fire."

The Wolf's bones shattered on impact and detonated as an HE shell from a 90mm gun hit it.

"Hit."

"Reload."

Cletus' tank began reloading as Kenny's tank shot at another Wolf trying to leap at the tanks.

"Hit." Kenny reported.

"Yeah, yeah, reload."

It was at this moment that they were close enough to notice the signs on the entrance that would've warded off any sane person. Or, at the least, smart people. Not the 86th. But, still, they tried as best as possible to read the signs. "Hey, Cletus, Ken, take a look at this," Jay spoke, pointing towards the large sign on the metal... gates, he thought.

"Property of the... Schnee Dust Corporation? Trespassers will be detained." Ken chuckled as he looked at the rest of the SDC camp. "Well, I don't think that you've had a great time enforcing that second part."

"A Dust corporation? Hey, Jay! Are you still open to a Squid company? I'll call it the Sneeze Squid Corporation!" Cletus shouted, before turning his machine gun to gun down another Wolf that tried to flank the tank. Fucking idiots.

"I'm open to the suggestion, yes, but not right now," Jay said. "Tear down that wall. We're going to see if anyone's still alive. If they ain't..." Jay strayed off as he looked at the rest of the burning industrial camp-thingy that he just stumbled upon.

"Well, we'll salvage what we can, kill some Wolves, and get the fuck out," Ken added.

"Right, right. Anyway..." Jay inhaled. He had to do this. One more push. Just one more push, then search-and-rescue assuming there's civilization here and then get back home. After all, these Wolves came outta here, so they're gonna go back over there, to home.

"Mister Ruben..." Cletus ominously stated before Jay told his driver to ready the gears.

"Tear down this gate!" He ordered, his voice booming into the radio as it turned into tin-can-level static.

And with a resounding crash and the introduction of the M48 Patton into Remnant, the camp's gates were broken down. The United States had officially made its first move into Remnant, and it was to assault an already-sieged SDC camp. Something which, if Jay remembered, was going to absolutely bite him in the ass diplomatically. But still, this was the baby step of the US into Remnant's political affairs.

Remnant wasn't ready for what was to come, unfortunately. While the world would have had a better chance with a competent team coming from another world...

...Someone was unfortunate enough to give them the third-rate Z-Team of the United States National Guard to Remnant instead of more deserving units like the 101st or the Green Berets. And so, instead of cold calculation, Earth bumped into Remnant because of the sheer idiocy of the 86th.

And somewhere, Ozpin abruptly chuckled, startling some of the people he interviewed.

He'd never explain, even if bribed to.

Anatoly Azur - SDC Mining Camp - April 2, 877 (Remnant Years) - 8:24 (Remnant Time)

"Keep firing! Don't let those Grimm bastards in!" A SDC Guard shouted as Anatoly opened fire on a Beowolf attempting to claw through the barricade that his fellow co-workers set up. The Grimm tried to stick its hands into the broken windows of the formerly-glass door before it was chased off by automatic gunfire from an Atlesian rifle that Anatoly took from a dead body.

"Damn rats!" Anatoly shouted, continuing to fire outside of the window as another Beowolf tried to tear down the barricade. A firing line of SDC workers and guards ensured that no one Beowolf would break into the facility. Not one step in.

"Damnit." Anatoly swore, looking at his rifle as it jammed at the worst time. The dust casing failed to eject properly, and the round was stuck in there. Left without a weapon until he could scavenge another one from a fallen guard, many of which were outside the Manager's building - the only safe zone in this attack - and thus were just practically impossible to get.

With no other gun to turn to, Anatoly discarded his rifle and ran back to where all the injured were settled. In the lounge of the manager's building. It was where the SDC and Faunus workers huddled around after the initial Grimm attack.

The sight that greeted him was one he kept passing by, but still couldn't afford to look at.

SDC Guards. Faunus workers. SDC Logistics staff. Atlesian Army liaisons. All of them were in the lounge, and were often some form of injured, gravely wounded, or in some cases, dead. He couldn't be bothered to deal with this right now. He was no medic, but looking at this sight made him squirm inside. He wasn't entirely fearful of blood, having bled a lot while being injured in work.

However, the sight of people spilling their guts out and medical garbage blending in with crimson pools of blood did not comfort him at all. He wished he couldn't think of such negative thoughts, but hell, the Manager was the source of all this negativity in the first place.

Damn Schnee HRs.

Quite a few of the Guards and the Logistic Staff weren't as assholish as the Manager. And Anatoly was thankful for that. He'd bought an SDC Guard cigarettes once, and he was repaid with a pocket knife for self-defense. Just in case. He thanked the guard for that.

But alas, he would've repaid him as well if not for the current situation, looking over the injured in the middle of a lounge while gunfire echoed throughout the managerial building. The brave workers and guards were putting aside animosity and prejudice, even for just a little bit.

Though it doesn't prevent mortality rates.

"How's he looking?" SDC Medic 'Eisenhauer' looked over a Faunus worker who was currently on a stretcher with tourniquets wrapped around his arms and legs. The bleeding stopped, but...

"He's lost a lot of blood. And we haven't patched up the wounds on his legs, we had to resort to tourniqueting his wounds. If they snap, he's going to keep bleeding. But keep them on..." Eisenhauer looked at the medic beside him with the nametag of 'Blanc' with the most horrified expression that Anatoly - Sunrise - had ever seen.

"Blanc. The flesh is going to die!" Eisenhauer all but yelled, with Blanc scowling in anger, and then shaking her head.

"Eisenhauer. The other solution is that he bleeds to death." She noted, and Eisenhauer returned the favor by frowning heavily.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit! There has to be another way!" Eisenhauer all but begged as he rummaged through the remaining medical supplies he had. The worst part about having no aura means that you had to rely on messier ways of healing someone.

Like wrapping their arms in tourniquets. And watching as the arm is necrotized.

Anatoly cringed. Not a good way to go. Losing your hand because it had no blood pumped to it? Yeah... It's a miracle he managed to stay in one piece during the sprinting to the manager's building. He'd normally have been torn to shreds. And he meant 'normally' because he saw 4 co-workers get snatched and absolutely murdered.

Now Anatoly thanked the stars that he didn't have to deal with this.

"Eisenhauer! We have no blood bags! All we have is morphine and epinephrine. And I don't think we're here to overdose and kill our patient!"

"Goddamnit, Blanc! I'm trying to save lives! That's why I signed up for the SDC Medical department!"

"I know that! But we have to let people die if we can't help it. Fuck..."

"Goddamnit! Everyone's dying around us!" Eisenhauer shouted, and Anatoly took the moment to actually scan the Lounge for truth to Medical Officer Eisenhauer's statements.

Let's see...

A dying SDC Faunus Worker bleeding his guts out being tended to by two other SDC Medics?

Okay, that was scarily accurate. He winced. He really didn't want to take a look at that anymore.

An SDC Guard being marked as dead?

Wincing again, he noticed that the Guard had no gun. He cursed. He felt sorry for the guy, but goddamnit, he could've died with his gun in hand.

That'd save him the troubles of risking his life to the Grimm.

And the last one to confirm his statements...

A corpse he couldn't identify being covered in flies and maggots after being dead for hours at this point?

Fuck. Everyone was dying around them.

Shit, shit, and shit.

He tried to calm himself down by huddling into a corner and sitting down, clutching his head. He once heard a song, a song about how things'll be alright in the long run.

It'll be alright in the long run!

He repeated the song as the gunfire became louder. The good news was that it didn't come closer, which meant the barricade was still safe. The bad news was that the firing line was dealing with more Grimm. He could tell that thanks to how many guns started firing en masse.

He was wishing he brought earplugs a long time ago.

As the gunfire came out louder, an elevator door opened right next to the lounge. Everyone knew that sound. The sound that Guards dreaded. The sound that made Faunus immediately flee. The sound that that made everyone else groan in sheer anger.

The goddamn elevator doors opened, revealing the SDC Site Manager. The asshole who got us attacked by the Goddamn Grimm in the first place.

Anatoly instantly sprinted towards the Manager as he walked out of the elevator. His immediate action after grabbing that damn bastard? Repeatedly punch him in the face.

"YOU UTTER FUCKING BASTARD! WHERE'S THE GODDAMN EVAC YOU PROMISED US?!" Anatoly shouted, his fist slamming into the Manager's face. Nobody tried to stop him. Those that would have were all dead, and the rest were just angry. Really angry. The Manager promised that he'd try to get them out as fast as possible. He was known to be very untrustworthy, but they did let him go back up to see what he would do. Now, leaving him to call for evacuation would be far less aggravating...

...If he didn't promise the evacuation two hours ago and only came back now. The rat bastard was painting a target on his own head, and the people - Faunus and Human alike - were ready to throw everything at said target. Anatoly tightened his grip on his collar as he lifted the rat up and punched him several times in the face more. He was no rat faunus, but he was just as scummy as a real rat. Anatoly could confess that with regards to this SDC manager.

His poor practices were what got them here in the first place! Not even the Guards nor the Logi staff were capable of the stupidity of the manager's level. That motherfucker somehow managed to drive a wedge so large it produced enough negativity for a coincidentally walking-by horde of Grimm to gun straight for the SDC Camp. Anatoly had no respect for the Manager, and neither did everyone around the lounge.

"WHERE. IS. THE. EVAC?!" Anatoly all but screamed as he finished his punching spree with a large right hook directly into the Manager's eye.

"They..."

"THEY WHAT?!"

"The..."

"THEY. WHAT."

"They... said.."

"ANSWER ME ALREADY!"

"Said... five hours..."

"Wh-WHAT?!" Anatoly screamed as he punched him once again. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN FIVE HOURS?! ANSWER ME, YOU RETARDED SHITWAD!"

"...Bullheads... lack... fuel..."

"...YOU GOTTA BE SHITTING ME!"

"No... I do not..."

Anatoly dropped the Manager as the rest of the Lounge sat there knowing that they'd be dead before any reinforcements arrived. Though he had the drawing suspicion that the Manager was trying to bullshit his way out, the rest were still in shock. Five Hours. Just so they could get rescued. Five hours of what? Being swarmed by Grimm? Yeah, no thanks.

"...We're going to die, aren't we?" Eisenhauer opened up, pointing to himself and then moving his finger around the lounge. "That's it. They're leaving us for dead. They gave us an impossible time. We're all going to die." He spoke, before he backed up against a wall, slumped, and fell. He was in the fetal position as he began to despair. Everyone in the lounge cringed, but agreed. They were as good as dead in the eyes of the SDC. Fuck.

"Everyone stay calm, stay calm!"

"CALM?! CALM?! HOW THE SHIT CAN WE STAY CALM - DAMN NEGATIVITY - AFTER WE JUST RECEIVED NEWS OF US BEING LEFT FOR FUCKING DEAD BY THE COMPANY! GODDAMNIT!"

Nobody responded to the outburst, and instead sat there thinking. Everyone in the lounge realized it. They were all dead. No more.

They would've embraced it. After all, they weren't going to be rescued, so why not give a final Fuck You to the Schnees who put them in here? It might make their time worth it.

"Well, we might as well-"

He was interrupted by a loud explosion coming from outside the building. And another. And a third one. It ended with a fourth, only to repeat again as the explosions came closer.

"...Hey, uh, are there any SDC turrets outside?" One of the SDC workers guarding the door barricade asked.

"Nnnnoooo, they all got destroyed. Why?" An SDC guard responded, clearly just as confused.

"Because I'm hearing a lot of explosions and Grimm dying." The worker took a peek over the barricade just to see a Beowolf get hit by an explosion and slammed into a wall nearby.

"Think it might be evac?"

"Hooray! We're saved! Thank the Gods!"

The lounge cheered as some peeked to see the Grimm dying, with some getting slammed into a wall, some perishing in explosions, and others just being gunned down by an unseen assailant.

"They're dying! They're dying! We're going to be safe!"

As they cheered on, some people asked who it was that was killing the Grimm. Either they could be their savior or their worst nightmare ever. They could not tell. They just knew that the Grimm were dying, and explosions were loud.

"Think it could be the White Fang?"

"Maybe. Or it could be an SDC cleanup squad."

"Knowing Jacques, I wouldn't be surprised." Anatoly deadpanned, watching the Grimm dissipate into thin air.

It was at this moment that Anatoly realized that he heard mechanical noises outside of the manager's building. He immediately rushed towards the barricades and tore down a few parts of it to get a glimpse at their mysterious rescuer. He feared that they would be SDC or the White Fang. The Atlesian Army at least was genuine in their efforts to rescue people. The SDC was... dubious at best, and the White Fang had a kill-on-sight order for a few of Anatoly's friends.

As he continued to peek at the people who might have come to either kill or save them, a green stick poked itself out behind a wall corner...

...And it lurched forward to reveal a vehicle that looked like it came straight out of the scrapped R&D projects of the Atlesian Armed Forces. Only that it was painted olive green. An odd color.

He would have chalked it up as an old Atlas project stolen if it weren't for the fact that the words 'USA' were painted on it with green. Stars and what was presumably a serial number followed the letters 'USA'.

Looking for something to get its attention, Anatoly spotted a megaphone that had been abandoned. If he remembered correctly, someone used it to gather the people into the building. He was great at his job. But he stood too close to the door and got dragged to be eaten, leaving behind his megaphone in the process.

And he ought to use it.

Taking it from the ground, he leaped out of the barricaded entrances - windows and doors - and turned on the megaphone to get the attention of the vehicle.

"HEY! OVER HERE! SURVIVORS!"

The vehicle's turret turned to face Anatoly. Its cannon was visible. And it was only then he noticed it had a machine gun mounted on top of its turret. His eyes widened as he was prepared to take the bullet.

However, rather than that, the top opened and out came a humanoid- no, just human - figure in a green uniform wearing a helmet. He looked just as surprised as Anatoly.

Although it seemed that Anatoly had taken the lead in the 'be surprised' competition.

"Hello there! We're from the United States Army, 86th Armored Brigade!" He yelled, putting his hands near his mouth imitating a megaphone.

"My name is Jay Ruben! We can get you out of here!" He said, as other vehicles approached behind Ruben's tank.

Anatoly had never been more thankful for the military in his life up until now. He might just owe them something.

In retrospect - looking at it years later - he made the right choice taking up a job for their CIDG program.

He was respected, and that was all he needed.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 3 - The Day we open up the door...

March 1, 1977

2 Years after the Vietnam War

"Why is it easier to kill Grimm than it is to kill Charlie? You just don't have to lead them as much."

- 86th Armored Brigade Sergeant Taylor 'Tails' Jonas, 1977.

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Well, that evacuation... genuinely could have gone better. It was... less than optimal at best. Let me tell you this. We were trying to transport camp survivors, which all rounded up to... in total, sixty-seven people. Without mechanized. At all. The 1/101st Cav wasn't here yet, and so, we had to rescue them by... letting them huddle around the Patton's rear and sides. We had a mixed contingent of people who were armed and people who weren't armed on our tanks. Though, per tank, we could only arm eight civilians. Out of the Sixty-Seven, 24 people were unarmed civilians. And there were four of us armed with Grease Guns and Smith and Wessons. Yeah, we weren't a walking armory, but we tried."

"However, even if we armed them with weapons that were at best utterly disappointing, they were damn good with those weapons. I think this one worker... Anatoly? - He called himself Sunrise I think- Managed to gank one of the Beowolves with a single shot to the head from a Model 10 revolver. Oh, the Grimm? Yeah, I didn't talk about them or think about them too much because I was... mentally busy, and a little bit anxious. Sorry, it was hard for me to consider the implications of Remnant's introduction to aliens,- also known as us - Because the only thing on my mind was either 'get the hell out of here' or 'get payback for the Johnsbury Massacre'. Hell, I made sure to donate my life savings to the construction of the Johnsbury Memorial after the war."

"The Broken Moon? Funny you mention that. I never noticed that because I fought during the daytime. The Grimm attacked that SDC mine in the day, yes. So all I got was the regular daylight hours of Remnant. When we returned after evacuating the people and hastily forming what'd be later Sid-Gee - or CIDG if you're more formal - we noticed it was nighttime. Now, I got told off for swearing a lot. And after we returned home, I got yelled at for... well, yelling all the curses on the planet. But, when we encountered that moon? Yeah... I'm pretty sure that everyone in my unit let their tongue slip. Truly was a moment of... well, I have no real words for it. Just know that everyone had some degree of 'oh christ', 'oh shit', 'FUCK', and more."

"When we got back to Vermont, we had established the first foundations for Sid-Gee when we had these SDC people practice on the range to de-stress as part of our first steps towards recovering after... well, our disastrous mission. It could have been far worse, but still... It was already disastrous enough as-is. We only had one casualty, but according to the recovered SDC Workers, he didn't deserve to be counted among them."

"But, hey, you learn and you let live. And to think that my first mission in Remnant would lead to the circumstances we are in now... Well, I guess, without me, Major General Pine of Military Assistance Command-Remnant wouldn't exist. I dunno if that'd've been good or bad."

Jay Ruben - SDC Mining Camp - March 1, 1977 (Earth Years) - 7:46 AM (Earth Time)

"All aboard!" He shouted with his hands wrapping around his lips as he attempted to imitate a megaphone. They had just established first contact with civilians. They would have stayed put and sent someone to get reinforcements back from Vermont, but considering the circumstances, they had no time to alert the 1/101st Cavalry. To no end, this annoyed Jay. They really could've used M113s bailing them the hell out of there.

"Get on! We're no transport unit, but we're all you got!" He shouted, climbing out of the hatch as the other 3 tanks came in to back him up. With them forming a spearhead formation guarding the lead tank. There were no more of these Wolves in sight, but they would come later, so Jay had to get them on the tanks as fast as possible.

"Who the hell are you guys?" One of the people inside the building stepped out from its barricaded entrances to ask them that question.

"United States Army. 86th Armored Brigade. We're here to get you guys out."

"...How did you find us?" What Jay presumed to be a soldier stepped out. "We didn't send out any communications-"

"...Except for the manager..." His companion stated.

"-and we didn't expect them to arrive so soon, but..."

The two people who dared step outside to meet Jay looked at each other with a debating look in their eyes. They were considering it, Jay could tell. He had to answer this fast before more of those Wolves show up. He had to be blunt about it, too.

"Look, rest assured, not even I know what the hell's going on here," Jay said, stepping off the tank and walking to the both of them, who turned to stare at Jay. "As far as I can tell, you guys are... truth be told, stuck out in nowhere." Jay turned to look at the thick forests surrounding the SDC Campsite. The two people nodded in agreement. "I know a base nearby. It's where we came from..." He stared at the people behind the barricades of the building.

"Please do." The Medical-looking officer all but begged. "We have wounded and dying inside. We can't just leave them to die," He pointed towards the Manager's building. "Are any of you equipped to transport patients?" He asked in desperation.

Jay's heart imploded into six different pieces.

They had to transport patients.

On a tank.

Why couldn't they have brought an APC with them? Jay regretted his life. He was going to try transporting the patients, sure, but strapping them to the rear of an M48 Patton or stuffing them inside the tank itself?

Yeah, no. Jay had no other ideas. Sighing, he turned to the Medical officer and nodded. "We can try, sir. Just be sure to tend to them. We have medical supplies back at base." He broke the news much to the Medical man's surprise and joy. The man beside him could only look with a smile that told him 'we're finally free from this hell, give me a minute to sleep'.

"Well, I introduced myself earlier. Jay Ruben, if mister Medical Officer didn't catch that," He added, extending his hand to the Medical Officer, who reciprocated it with a handshake.

"Steele Eisenhauer. Medical Officer of the Schnee Dust Corporation." He introduced himself. Jay noted that he sounded exactly like ol' Ike from the 50s-60s. It was eerie, but he didn't think of it too much. At least not at the moment, for he was too busy introducing himself to new people.

"Anatoly Azur, Worker of the SDC." The other one introduced himself, extending his arm for a handshake. Jay reciprocated it, something which Anatoly appreciated due to being one of the few times where a human would be less painful to deal with.

"Great, an Ivan," Jay muttered underneath this breath. Anatoly's hearing picked that up, and that drove him to ask.

"What, you calling me a slur?"

"No, no," Jay interrupted. "It's just a way I refer to..."

Russians was left unspoken. So, instead, he had to substitute it for something else.

"...Some people who share names with you." He spoke, trying to deflect the accusation. Jay wasn't exactly the best, but he tried to treat everyone equally, regardless of race. For his part, Anatoly dropped it, if anything just so he could inquire about it later. He wanted to know who the hell 'Ivan' meant.

"Now, Eisenhauer," Jay turned his head to Eisenhauer and pointed his finger at the manager's building, before thrusting it forward. "Get the wounded outta there. I'll see what I and the boys can prepare on our M48 Pattons." He spoke, before rummaging through his pockets and pulling out a revolver.

He turned it around and held it by the barrel, with the grip facing Anatoly.

"Take it. You're gonna need something to defend yourself with. I'll be fine alone on the tank." Jay blurted out, ignoring Anatoly's confusion at calling the vehicles that saved their lives a simple name like a 'tank'. It was taken by Azur, who immediately had no idea how to load the revolver. Jay went and pressed the cylinder release for Anatoly, who went to inspect the bullets loaded inside.

Jay pulled out up to 48 bullets from his webbing and handed them to Anatoly. "I won't be using my revolver, so take all the ammo you can get." He presented, and Anatoly took all the ammo, pocketing it while keeping his current revolver at the ready.

"I won't have to worry about the bullets exploding due to sabotage, yes?" Anatoly turned to face Jay. He shook his head. "I don't carry explosives with me, sir. You'll have to ask special operations for that." He deadpanned, and Anatoly nodded.

"I see."

The silence around them lasted for a total of 2.3 seconds before Eisenhauer bolted to the building to retrieve the wounded stuck in there. While Eisenhauer was busy getting Medical Officer Blanc to assist in the evacuation of the wounded, Anatoly looked at Jay.

"Just get your buddies here," Jay said, turning to the tank behind him. "We'll keep them safe. I promise you. If anything happens, you can always blame me. Until then, let's keep going." Jay turned back and climbed onto the tank turret before sliding down the hatch and retaking his place as a commander in the vehicle.

Anatoly bolted back into the building as well as Eisenhauer, mostly just to convince the guys that rescue had come for them. Not White Fang, nor the SDC, nor the Atlesian Armed Forces, but another faction entirely. It didn't take them much convincing, but some people did groan about the possibility of them being killed anyway. While Anatoly would normally have a rebuke ready, they were still right to worry. They'd probably be killed in the worst-case scenario.

Though, years later, he noted that would have been a foolish scenario.

After all, Remnant wouldn't have been saved without them working together, in the words of one Major-General Pine.

Jay Ruben - SDC Mining Camp - March 1, 1977 (Earth Years) - 7:56 AM (Earth Time)

As the setup for evacuation was finished, Jay couldn't help but notice that among the people evacuating, a lot of them had animal features. Be it cat ears, monkey tails, or the stripes of a tiger. Except on skin and not uniform. Though it went unspoken as they had bigger problems to deal with, he was going to say that it was damn cool. Guess his stupid dream as a kid of becoming a Tiger wouldn't be too far off over here. The concept would've been enjoyable, yes, but maybe he could discuss it another time with himself.

Maybe he could ask if they were real when they got back to base. He needed some time off from the stress. Everything about this was slowly killing him. Rescuing survivors, killing Alien Wolves that could tear a man in half, entering a town that looked like a massacre out of the Tet Offensive? Yeah, Jay was practically stomach-sick sometimes for good reason. But not today. His anxiety suppressed his nausea as he was directing the logistics of the evacuation, ammunition and personnel included.

It wasn't exactly the most fun job he's had, but goddamn, he could finally yell and not get slapped with an NJP for that. Then again, the only time he got an NJP was due to being drunk as hell.

"Alright, that's the last gun we have! We will not be issuing any more guns or ammunition! Make sure you guys brought all of the ammo boxes inside the building!" Jay shouted into the Megaphone he borrowed from Anatoly as he was directing them towards strapping ammunition onto Tank 3, and some were rearming themselves with ammunition and grenades.

"We've finished tying up the wounded!" One of the people on his tank shouted, having finished strapping the stretchers containing the wounded to the tank. Excellent, that was one issue dealt with.

"Righto! Let's hurry up with loading the ammo and let's get the hell out of here." Jay replied, going back into the hatch as he proceeded to avoid overseeing evacuation efforts unless his effort was needed. And right now, they were doing well enough. The people with animal parts caught his attention, though. They looked awesome, but they were visually weird. But in the end, compared to some of the sights that Jay's seen, the people with animal parts are more awesome than the goddamn Wolves.

Stopping to think about them, the Wolves were another element of 'What the Hell' added on top of the shit sandwich that was the Johnsbury massacre. They looked like animals from back home, yes, but the thing about them is that they were black and white with the fury of evil in their red eyes. They were alien to Jay. Charlie almost seemed relatable, and if compared to these Wolves, Charlie was practically a saint. These creatures... A part of Jay suspected these were part of the everyday lives of everyone preparing to evacuate via tanks.

He shuddered thinking about that. These damn Wolves being a part of his everyday life would have already caused problems he DID NOT want to deal with. Stress and Anxiety were already enough to keep him pacified, thank you enough, but adding literal alien demon wolves would just instantly cause him to drop dead there and there without an explanation or care in the world.

And he'd rather not die of a heart attack of stress, thank you very much.

But hey, he didn't have to worry about that anymore. Now he just has to worry about evacuees.

And transporting boxes of ammunition. Speaking of...

"Ammo boxes secured and safe!" He heard from outside. In response, he popped his head out, megaphone in hand, and smiled. "Great, now let's get the hell out of here. Those of you who can, get on the tanks. If you can't, just stick close to the tanks. We'll be trying to match infantry speed." He spoke. And on cue, people were scrambling for a place on the tank. Some to stop walking, some to protect the cargo, and some just to get the feeling of riding a tank.

"By the way, do any of you have ear protection?" Jay asked, without the Megaphone on. He was asking everyone else.

"...Yes?" Someone responded, pulling out two pairs of earplugs and putting them on his animal and human parts. "Why do you ask?" That same person, a man in a tattered worker uniform, raised his voice.

"This vehicle's going to blow your ears off! I advise you guys to scrounge earplugs where you can, and cover your ears if you can't!" Jay finished, letting the panic set in as he went down back into the hatch and grabbed a box of earplugs. He wasn't sure who put it there, but the fact that it was even there in the first place is a telltale sign of them being prepared.

He tossed it up outside of the tank and watched the evacuees do their work as they got enough earplugs to cover either their regular ears or their extra ears. Jay didn't judge. After all, he'd rather not get their new friends' ears blown off immediately after they started the process of evacuation.

After he saw that most of them had earplugs inside, he grabbed the megaphone and shouted to the people he was evacuating. "Alright, we're moving now! There's no turning back!"

He took a minute to breathe as the evacuees scrambled to climb on top of the tanks. Some even sat on the turret. Acting as extra firepower, Jay noted. He'd have to thank them for being willing to step onto the Pattons when they got to base.

"All aboard!" Jay shouted, as the last of the evacuees either got onto a Patton or a supply crate. Shouting into the megaphone one last time, he directed his statement toward the ones in the group who were given weapons by the crew.

"Don't forget that you have spare ammunition and reload as I taught you! Alright, let's go!"

The Pattons lurched forward as they turned back to where they came from, with people on top of them to evacuate out of there. The 86th Armored couldn't wait for any reinforcements, so they had to turn towards evac'ing the rest out of there even if it meant that they'd have to deal with another load of paperwork on the side. After all, Jay was... known to be universally immature and gung-ho.

And that attitude had saved the lives of this SDC Camp, as he would find out in his later years.

He still thought that the evacuation was a shitshow, though.

jay Ruben - Outskirts of SDC Mining Camp - March 1, 1977 (Earth Years) - 8:16 AM (Earth Time)

As Jay predicted, the evacuation itself was a shitshow. He just wished that he'd have reinforced that train of thought when they were escorting the people back to Vermont.

But he didn't account for birds. Not at all. And he didn't account for them dive-bombing his tanks. The people he was evacuating all started to open fire on the big bird trying to dive and swoop away the people in his crew. And as he was covering his head and ducking down in the Commander's hatch, one just so happened to swoop low enough for the Patton gun to hit it.

"FIRE!" Jay shouted as he saw it rapidly approaching the cannon. While it wasn't close enough to cause major damage, the tank still recoiled and Jay watched as the Bird exploded and died there and there. Its body was turning into dust. Jay really wished that he was joking, but hey, if a Bird has a giant hole in its chest turning into dust, he won't argue about it.

The good news was that the Wolves seemed to not attack them anymore. The bad news, however, was that these hateful goddamn birds took their place and dive-bombed the evacuees. The Birds only got one evacuee, but apparently they didn't bother to shoot at the Bird carrying him. Jay bet two cents that the guy was universally hated by the evacuees.

But for the rest? The evacuees were not so lenient on letting the birds get to 'em.

Rather, they were ultra-violent about it. In a good way, thankfully.

"NEVERMORES! DON'T LET THEM GET TOO CLOSE!" He heard as one of the evacuees somehow managed to boost his voice loud enough for the people in the tank to hear instead of the gunfire and cannon shots. "IS THAT WHAT THEY'RE CALLED?!" The loader shouted as his ears kept ringing and ringing from the cannon shots.

"I GUESS SO! TAKE DOWN THEM NEVERMORES!" Jay yelled into the radio as the crew went to work. Jay himself was laying down anti-air fire as his machine gun turned upwards to spray at one of the Nevermores trying to make another pass against his evacuees. The other guns that the Evacuees used were also damn effective, as the Nevermore's bone fragments kept getting chipped away from the amount of fire passed to it.

One Nevermore attempted to swoop the Evacuees from behind, but it was taken down by a tank from behind. Though it didn't use the cannons, rather, an evacuee on it. And that managed to get Ken's attention.

"WAS THAT A ROCKET LAUNCHER?!" Kenny asked, swiveling his machine gun to aim above the RPG-toting evacuee to open fire on another heavily-damaged Nevermore.

"OKAY, WHO THE HELL IS SUPPLYING THESE GUYS?! THE NVA?!" Jay asked as another Nevermore bit the dust due to an RPG-related shot. They didn't stop coming, hell, he wasn't sure if they even had the concept of stopping. But he did know that he just had to keep pushing forward.

"KEEP PUSHING! WE'VE GOT TO GET TO BASE!" Jay shouted, ordering his Gunner to train his sights on a Nevermore that was flying dangerously close to Cletus' tank.

"TARGET SIGHTED!" His Gunner shouted, and Jay immediately shouted out to him.

"FIRE!"

The cannon shot took down the winged beast as Jay's loader immediately loaded in another shell, culminating in the relieving chant of "Gun Ready!" from the loader and another cannon shot towards another one. The winged beasts didn't seem to match up towards the fighting prowess of an M48 Patton. Jay silently thanked the eponymous General in spirit as the tanks acted as guardian angels against the winged demons.

Though Jay wished he had an actual F-4 Phantom guarding them. Then it'd be a real Guardian Angel.

"I sure could go for an Arc Light right now!" Jay shouted, returning fire on a Nevermore who thought it would be cheeky to attempt slicing off the gun turret.

"Arc Light's a B-52 bombing run, dimwit! What we COULD USE is a goddamn Sabre right now!" His loader commented, before quickly switching tone to "Gun Ready!"

As the fighting continued, less and less Nevermore appeared, finally stopping their swooping attempts. Their dive-bombing had lessened as the winged fuckers started to scatter away from the tanks to fly off somewhere else. Most got picked off by machine gun fire, or rocket launcher fire, while some had just died of their wounds.

"Hey, those birds are running!"

"Can you fly, you suckers?! Can you fly?!" Cletus shouted as he popped out of the tank hatch to actually pull out a double barrel shotgun and begin firing at the air.

"Where the hell did you get that?" One of the evacuees on Cletus' tank asked as the man reloaded it and put it back inside the tank before responding.

"I ALWAYS KEEP AN AUXILIARY DOUBLE-BARREL! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW WHEN 'EM GATORS GET TO YA!" Cletus shouted as he abruptly dropped down and closed the hatch.

The evacuee who asked the question was left dumbfounded at the bluntness of his statement. That, and his loudness. While he didn't get ear damage from the fighting, he did feel his ears slightly vibrate and leak wax thanks to all the heat.

As for the Faunus...

"GODDAMNIT! THE RINGING! AAAAAARGH-" A Bat faunus accompanying them shouted as he covered his ears and curled into a fetal position with the vehicle's turret against his back.

Yeah, not everyone gets protected by earplugs. Score one for 90-mil explosives.

Still, Jay thought to be relieved by the lack of presence of the goddamn Wolves or those Nevermore that had his tank crew so worried about.

Until Jay noticed that the trees in front of them were falling akin to a domino. He ordered the tanks to stop as the bushes in front rustled and broke. Expecting something, Jay began reloading the machine gun.

A Wolf popped out of the bushes, puzzling Jay. How could a fucking Wolf-

It was then swatted away by two- no, three big beasts. And these guys looked more like gorillas. On steroids. Really aggressive ones.

"BERINGEL!" The same loud-voice guy shouted over the radio as Jay quickly kicked his loader.

"LOAD CANISTER SHOT!"

"LOADING!"

The Loader let the HE shell he had loaded fall off and began to handle a Canister shot, before long he slammed the shell into the gun and closed the barrel. With a smirk on his face indicating excitement, as he had never been able to kill a giant Gorilla with a canister shell before, spoke into the radio with absolute glee and delight.

"GUN'S READY!"

And before long, the Gunner heard Jay's orders blast through, clear as day. The result?

"FIRE!"

And a canister shot rang out through the pathway, the pellets dispersing as they opened up on the... Beringels.

To say that the evacuees finally got a taste of the US military's firepower was an understatement.

Then again, they witnessed the Nevermore ambush being held off by these... tanks, as they were later called.

There was a reason that the first CIDG units were attached to the 86th ABDE, after all.

Bitches love tanks.

Anatoly Azur - Outskirts of SDC Mining Camp - April 2, 877 AGW (Remnant Years) - 9:16 AD (Remnant Time)

"BERINGEL!" Someone shouted as the vehicles transporting them stopped at the first sight of one. Panicking, Azur grabbed the revolver he was chosen and began to load all the bullets he could into it. He flicked the cylinder back into place as one of the vehicles immediately opened fire on the first Beringel ready to charge. The Grimm beast looked dazed as it was pelted with bullets.

Azur, in a fit of panic, climbed down and began to sit in the bushes firing at the Beringels with a revolver. It didn't look like it was doing much, but hey, it was better than nothing.

People began following Azur and disembarking from their evac vehicles, to assist in the opening fire against the Beringel menace. The man with the Rocket Launcher disembarked first, as another one with a machine gun joined in, and one with a sword-shotgun combo joined in. He didn't look like a Huntsman, but he probably had the weapon of one.

As more armed evacuees descended from the vehicles, they joined in on targeting the Beringels who were just blocking their way of getting out alive.

The man with a rocket launcher fired first, with one of the the three Beringels stumbling back on impact as the machine gunner supported him by going prone and suppressing the beast with machine gun fire.

Azur's revolver was but among the many weapons that the evacuees used to join in the fight against the Beringels, and he was happy with that.

Besides, the cannons were doing much of the work anyway.

The vehicles stopped their straight-line formation and began approaching the sides as if to join in fighting the Beringels.

Beringels weren't particularly known for responding to rapid fire, so they were quickly suppressed.

At least, two were suppressed.

One lucky Beringel decided to wade through all the gunfire and attempt to cave in the vehicles that were protecting them. The lead one backed up as it raised its gun against the charging beast.

And with a resounding boom and a cannon shot, the Beringel's head exploded, leaving its body to stumble and tumble, before falling dead flat.

The rest of the Beringels were quickly finished off by a combination of rocket launcher shots and cannon gunfire. The beasts who attempted to block the evacuation were finished off, leaving bodies turning into dust.

Azur smiled. He finally got a chance to prove that he wasn't just a 'stupid human worker' among the poor Faunus sent to work to die in the camps.

And as he went back onto the vehicles alongside the rest, they all had a collective thought.

"Maybe this'll be better than the SDC."

Some doubted it, but some clung onto it as hope for a better life away from the Schnee's horrible PR and business practices. The vehicles finally started their approach into the thick forests the Beringels came from, the beasts having been vanquished long before.

And as a blinding sunlight slowly enveloped the tanks, Azur closed his eyes to ensure he didn't get blinded.

And when he opened them again, the tanks were on a colder, less bright forest. It was foggy too, reminded Azur too much of Atlas.

But the vehicles charged on. Eventually, they stopped in a town that Azur presumed to be one of theirs.

It was ravaged, and looked like Grimm had torn through it. That - and the hostility of the vehicles towards the Grimm - indicated that they had also been involved in the attack on the SDC Mines.

As Azur finally passed by the 'Welcome to Johnsbury' sign, he closed his eyes.

It was alright, in the long run.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 4 - Born in Remnant!

March 14 - March 18, 1977

2 Years after the Vietnam War

"I ain't no Mistrali, but life sure does feel like tentacle hentai."

- Unknown U.S. Army CIDG Volunteer, 1978

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"When we finally got the civilians back, we were introduced to their world through questions and answers as soon as we docked the tank. We had medics tending to their wounded. I think that one Medic, uh, Eisenhauer, cried his eyes out of joy when they finally got the wounded treated. And just barely averting necrosis. The rest of the guys were being given C-Rations, water, and cigs to take their minds off the fact that their shitshow of an evacuation narrowly avoided turning into a massacre. When the shock wore off, we were pretty amazed at the new arrivals."

"The Faunus took our curiosity and amazement as a shock. Let it be known that the 86th Armored Reconnaissance Brigade - at least, it was called that after Johnsbury - did not have anyone who wasn't amazed and curious at the Faunus' parts. We all asked questions about how it felt to be half-tiger, half-human, hell, we even asked the Bat Faunus if he could locate his food when it was dark. They took our questions pretty well for most of it and were just surprised to feel welcomed to an alien world. Because yeah, nobody's exactly from Johnsbury. I'm from Missouri, just like Truman."

"When the 1/101st Infantry arrived to Johnsbury just thirteen days after the first contact incident, we were told that this incident got sent back to the guys up top, POTUS included, and that they were sending forces to scout out and establish a perimeter on what we'd now come to know as Remnant. Of course, the guy in charge of the first iteration of MAC-NE - or Military Assistance Command New England -, Colonel de Zwart, decided to punish us for our recklessness by sending us and re-flagging the 86th Armored Brigade as an armored recon brigade. Yeah. M48 Pattons doing recon. I dreaded the results."

"Our first MAC-NE foray into Remnant was comprised of the following units: 86th Armored, now designated as Recon because 'fuck you', 3rd Brigade, 42nd Infantry Division, the 612th Engineer Battalion, the 43rd Military Police Brigade, alongside the 1/101st Inf—mind, detached from 26th Infantry, and, our first Remnant info specialists, CIDG. Those CIDG guys were the ones who guided us to the location that would become our FOB. But, looking back, CIDG didn't expect our location to be jumped. God, the 1/101st infantry were so mad."

"I also got chewed out for my immaturity. Honestly, looking back at it, I probably deserved it. But, as much as I swear, I do have valid reasons. Even if they're flimsy."

"Also, to anyone who reads this: Whiskey Foxtrot."

Jay Ruben - St. Johnsbury/FOB 'Fort Noon' - March 14, 1977 - 11:23 AM

"Fire!" Sergeant Taylor shouted to the ad-hoc auxiliary units in the shooting range as the evacuees from the Schnee Corporation, guard, logistics, and dust miner alike, all took their time to qualify on the shooting range. The 86th, not knowing what to do with the evacuees, decided to 'conscript' them into the brigade, and some were more than welcome to assist as thanks for getting out alive.

The SDC workers were training with rifles, pistols, and shotguns such as the M16, the Model 10, and the Ithaca 37 that were obtained from storage as the 86th tried to cram up to 12 weeks of training into 13 days, with each day being a routine of marching, PT, shooting range, then resting. Repeat that for thirteen days and you have what the SDC workers dealt with.

The range was a cacophony of gunfire as the evacuees proved their worth on the range. And when the shooting ceased, Jay took one good look at the results by examining them with binoculars.

"Not bad! If you keep doing this, you'll be National Guard material." Jay spoke as the SDC workers all smiled at being praised. The Faunus workers hadn't heard a human genuinely compliment them in a way that wasn't thinly-veiled racism or paternalism, and that alone was enough to give them some resolve.

"Yes, sir!" One of the SDC Workers responded before reloading their weapons.

Jay smiled. These men had a lot to learn, and he hoped that their ad-hoc unit, a literal tank brigade, was knowledgeable enough to give them a decent lesson on how to shoot and defend themselves.

"Man, to think that we'd be bringing animal people back home..." Corporal Lars - also known as Toast - spoke as he appeared beside Lt. Jay, a small smile on his face. "I mean, you think MLK'd be smiling at his dream?" He looked to Jay, and in response to the question, Jay nodded. "With all due respect, Toast, I think that MLK would be calling us the hallmarks of progress."

"Although, seriously, why the hell are these guys picked on, like, back there?" Jay winced as he remembered the stories of discrimination and segregation that they experienced. They reminded him too much of Jim Crow. Way too much. "You think Strom Thurmond would've approved?" Lars asked. Jay, in his eternal wisdom, responded with a forlorn sigh. "Way too much. If information about these guys gets out of Vermont, we're fucked."

Turning to his back, he spotted another group of SDC workers training with Cletus. He made for a decent DI. With him using his exaggerated Southern stereotypes to make the recruits irritated enough at him to throw away all distaste for each other's race, it made for very tasteless food for thought when people asked how the hell Cletus' PT recruits lost all enmity towards each other.

"I could run to New York, like this!" Cletus opened, carrying a magazine-less M16A1 as he marched the SDC recruits across the empty space of Johnsbury that was FOB Fort Noon.

Yeah, Johnsbury had a thousand survivors. All of whom practically didn't resist when the 86th told them that they'd be turning the town into one big FOB. Jesus Christ, we're taking advantage of a traumatized town just to turn it into a FOB. I know that we do have a bit of a reputation for being baby-killers out in the jungles, but... Man.

Jay slowly let himself down and sat on the grass. "The town of Johnsbury, Vermont. Home to seven thousand people. Now... well, take a gander." He all but groaned in frustration. Well, it's too late now. Still, the survivors have tried to cope and return to a normal life. I haven't spoken to any civvie, but I did see them. I've never seen such a dead expression in their eyes before.

He sighed. Since when did we take advantage of towns... He stopped himself there. No need to be a myopic asswipe stuck mumbling about the mistakes in Vietnam. The deeds were done, and we pulled out just four years ago. Johnsbury was militarized, but with reinforcements approaching, they didn't have much to worry about anymore. At least, until the fact that Johnsbury would be forced to cover up its attack until Carter could come up with an excuse.

"I could run to New York, like this!" The SDC workers parroted, not entirely knowing that they were singing. Cletus did inform them that they were going to sing songs that wouldn't be understood just for training. But hey, Jay once listened to Surfin' Bird, which means that he was experienced.

"And when I get to New York, they're gonna say;" Cletus shouted.

"And when I get to New York, they're gonna say;" The workers followed suit, still carrying the M16A1s.

"How'd you get to New York in just one day?" Cletus sang, continuing to march the SDC workers as they repeated his statements. To them, the Cadences were pretty alien. And so was PT, funny enough. He was going to ask why, but he was busy preparing himself for the paperwork that came with being a lieutenant by preparing emergency coffee rations. They don't even taste that great...

As entertaining as PT was, Jay did have a tight ship to run, so he got up from where he sat on the grass and turned to Lars. "Hey, To-Nah, Lars, you think you can watch over the SDC over at the range while I'm away? I've got to go wait for reinforcements" Lars took a minute to contemplate, then nodded in approval. "Alright. Take care, man." He gave a wave as Jay walked away.

"You too, bud." He replied, before continuing away from the firing range. Jay's first instinct after getting up was to walk around the FOB, which was still built inside the ruined city of Johnsbury. The blood dried up and was permanently engraved into the roads of Johnsbury, as a reminder of what dragged them to that peculiar place.

To his left, he saw the tanks being worked on by maintenance crews, with some cleaning out the tank gun, some cleaning the commander's machine gun, and some checking the engine of the Patton for damage to repair. To his right, he saw soldiers lounging about next to a tent, with the radio blaring music, and the soldiers drinking out of their canteens and eating C-Rations at a repurposed dinner table.

The anomalous area around Johnsbury was measured as a 10-mile exclusion radius that included Johnsbury. Testing with Pattons and routine walks indicated that the forests near Johnsbury were the areas where objects from Earth were transported into 'Remnant' as they called their home. The only reason they had these measurements was due to the rest of the FOB's crew taking their time to conduct genuine scientific experiments.

Another fun thing to note was that the airspace of the forests was also anomalous, as someone threw a rock and it went from Earth to Remnant. Jay had written that bit of information down since it was useful if they were ever going to get any reinforcements.

At least, to the best of their ability. Jay knew that if he wanted actual results, he'd have to go find the CIA to go do the measurement work.

But, for what it was worth, it was perfect.

Though, Jay wondered how FOB Fort Night 2 was doing considering that it was left with a skeleton crew of about ten people to keep it running. Well, I mean, hey. Those guys can handle most things we've given them. At least, that was what he hoped. He desperately wished that his hopes were not an 'in paper only' thing.

Jay took a minute to walk around the road to Johnsbury and the welcome sign before noting a noise in the distance that didn't sound like bushes moving nor wolves growling, but more like a rapid chopping sound in the air. Knowing what was to expect of him, he pulled out a smoke grenade. Two days ago, he was informed that reinforcements would arrive and that they would need to be guided by purple smoke.

Well, Jay did have purple smoke, and he pulled the pin, releasing the lever, before gently placing it in the ground and stomping it into the ground so that it wouldn't move as it billowed out smoke to alert the helicopters that they were to land there. The chopping sands grew louder as Jay covered the top of his eyes with his hand, shielding his eyes from brightness as he turned to stare at the sun.

At that point, several Hueys pulled near the smoke signal and began to descend. The sight that greeted Jay was the image of Hueys loaded with soldiers that began touching down and rapidly descending, with the passengers of the Hueys immediately hopping as soon as it was safe, and them scrambling to get their rifles and bearings, scrambling like flies in the process.

And among them all, one of them stood out the most.

The guy had a Hot Weather Cap and wore aviator shades, with a black scrim scarf wrapping around his neck. The face that was underneath that hat and sunglasses was that of a middle-aged man who really could not give any further shits. The insignia on his uniform indicated that he was a Colonel. And the radio mentioned that there would be a high-ranking officer joining the reinforcement of the units. Shiiiiiiii-

Jay already felt like he was going to be shat upon for his behavior. And he hoped for that, considering that - looking back on it - he acted like a reckless immature ass. The Colonel's left tag identified him as "J. B. de Zwart" and the tag on his right identified him as 'US Army' which led Jay to sigh in defeat. Yep. This is where he gets yelled at for being an absolute ass.

Approaching the officer, Jay gave him a salute. Colonel de Zwart did not respond verbally first and instead responded by squinting his eyes and examining Jay.

"First Lieutenant Jay Ruben?" He asked, crossing his arms. Jay could feel his disappointment through the stare of his aviators. However, he swallowed his breath and complied.

"That same First Lieutenant, sir." Jay responded, keeping the salute. Zwart's response was to shake his head and sigh but didn't put up an angry or disappointed expression.

"Right, right. Lieutenant Jay Ruben, could you please tell us where this 'inter-locational anomaly' is?" Zwart's voice was icy, but not venomous. Jay was pretty sure that Zwart just didn't want to get bullshitted. Jay nodded and turned around to face the anomalous forest of Johnsbury.

"Follow me, sir." Jay said, walking towards a forest with Colonel Zwart and two other soldiers behind them. While walking, Colonel Zwart looked at the surroundings and immediately commented.

"Lieutenant. Did you perform unauthorized recruitment of civilian forces into the military?" He spoke, eying the SDC workers in PT while walking to follow Jay.

Jay reluctantly responded. "Yes, sir," Jay grit his teeth as Zwart's reaction was to frown slightly. "We brought them back during an evacuation and had no time to relay it to other Guard Units in the area, leaving just my platoon to take care of them, and we lacked manpower." He explained, with all honesty. "I won't sugarcoat it. We had no time to inform anyone else nor did we have the routes to communicate. We had made a decision not to leave them. I am aware of the consequences, but I didn't feel like risking civilian lives. Especially not two years after Saigon."

Zwart nodded without changing his stony expression. Ruben was being honest. And, while it was not known to Jay, Zwart preferred Ruben's honesty over other commissioned officers coming up with excuses to cover up their own recklessness by pinning it on the unit. Zwart pressed on with more questions as he walked with Ruben towards the forest.

"You are aware that your actions were rash and unauthorized, and thus liable to punishment. Is that correct?" Zwart asked.

"Yes. I'm going to be real, I was acting purely on anger after I had just fought off animals with a tank," He commented. "I was acting based on retaliatory attacks due to the circumstances we found ourselves in."

"And you felt that it was appropriate to use your tank platoon to stage an offensive in alien territory, potentially held by other sovereign nations?"

"We were pursuing our alien attackers, and were supposed to finish them off."

"And that lead you to initiate an unauthorized evacuation of an alien structure that housed human-like beings?"

"As I said, sir. We were not willing to risk civilian lives being abandoned by wildlife. I am aware that it was not cleared up top, and these people are my responsibility. If you want to do something with them, I'll be the first one to step up."

Zwart nodded, clearly impressed by Jay's honesty. The man was thankful to have someone be honest about their mistakes, unlike some people who complained. Heavily.

"And what about the alien attackers themselves?"

"They were black, alien, bony creatures that had red eyes and looked like enlarged versions of wolves. They attacked Johnsbury just thirteen days ago, and killed a thousand people."

"The coverup is going to be a mess."

"That's not all, sir," Zwart's eyes widened. There were more? was on Zwart's mind. "When we were evacuating back from the anomalous area's pocket space, we had come across creatures that at least had the base form of birds-of-prey and a giant gorilla. Both were taken down by tank fire, however it is uncertain whether or not infantry weapons, MANPADS or not, will be useful enough."

"I see." Zwart responded.

Zwart didn't ask any more questions towards Jay as they continued to walk towards the location of the anomalous area.

"Here we are." Jay stated, crossing his arms.

Zwart removed his sunglasses and squinted. "I assume the anomaly is further inwards, yes?"

"It'd seem so."

"Right, right. Let's go see if it's active. You two," He motioned towards the two soldiers who followed him. "Step inside, and come back out." He spoke. The two soldiers nodded, and marched towards the forest, only to disappear as soon as they passed by a few trees.

Zwart rubbed his eyes as he wanted to make sure he didn't forget something.

Jay didn't. He already knew that visually, it'd be as if he walked past a tree and was never seen again. However, he knew better. The two soldiers went to Remnant.

A few minutes later, the two soldiers returned, with expressions of surprise on their face.

"Hey, I brought a rock back. It don't feel weird, so I dun' think it's that threatening." One of the soldiers said, holding up a rock and moving it around.

Zwart nodded. "Alright, that's enough. You two, dismissed." He motioned for the two soldiers to leave, and put his sunglasses back on. The two soldiers left and proceeded to talk about the rock they recovered as if it was truly alien.

Looking towards Jay, who noticed immediately, Zwart broke the news. "President Carter's contemplated organizing an expeditionary force into the pocket anomaly. Calls it Military Assistance Command New England. It'll be sent into there under the guise of a military exercise within the mainland U.S."

"And... well, what about that proposal?" Jay asked.

"The plans were approved, but would only be put in practice if it could be determined the anomaly was real." After finishing that, Zwart sighed.

"Let me guess..."

"Yes, with this, it's effectively real." Zwart crossed his arms, and his expression turned into that of irritation. "The paperwork..." He groaned.

"...But, uh. Sir. How the hell do we cover up a large military movement and the massacre of Johnsbury?" Jay asked, scratching the top of his helmet.

"...I don't know. But I'll just pray to God that the people are too busy to care."

"With all due respect, sir, they are."

"I know."

The Colonel groaned on while Jay stifled a laugh. Damn paperwork was already killing the Army, but this was just going to make it worse.

Zwart looked at Jay, and let out a grunt. "Oi. Don't think you're out of this yet."

"Huh?"

"I was arranged as the commander of a hypothetical MAC until the organization expands. And don't expect yourself to be out of trouble yet." Zwart told Jay. "You are more honest and straightforward compared to other Lieutenants I have worked with in the past, and thus, you have earned my respect. However," He pointed two of his fingers up. "We still have two more things to deal with."

"...Go on, sir." Jay nodded.

"For one, your immaturity on the field." Zwart let one of his fingers go down. "I've received corroborating reports that you repeatedly swore during operations. I can chalk it up to stress and I forgive you for that, HOWEVER, that still does not mean you're completely off the hook."

Without anything to say as he expected to get chewed out anyway, Jay nodded and let Colonel Zwart finish.

"Your swearing needs to be toned down. I'm going to say this first and I'll do it bluntly. With that big mouth of yours, you might just get us killed. Loose lips sink ships, Lieutenant. I can forgive you for swearing so much, but, please, act like you belong in the army." Zwart emphasized 'act like you belong in the army' to make sure that Jay had it to his head.

"Got it, sir."

"Now, onto the other issue in the room." Zwart brought up one more finger. "Your recklessness." He let that finger go down, and continued the ass-chewing of Jay in more polite terms seeing as the Colonel legitimately saw Jay as a better Lt. than the rest of the National Guard.

"Your discipline is well otherwise. I can give you that. However, there is the issue with you most of the time is that you're just too reckless."

"Hmm?" Jay perked up, hearing a comment about his - accurate - diagnosis for recklessness.

"You rely on the tactic of charging with tanks too much," He spoke, and motioned towards the forest. "And from what I've seen, you went to chase the creatures into the forest just to get back at them." He deadpanned. "While I get that you had no way to receive orders, and you had no infantry support, you still went in and risked your lives. You keep this up, and that glory-hounding combined and lack of foresight will kill you." He hissed the last part out.

Jay nodded. He needed to work that out. But, at the same time, he felt an obligation to try and at least help. Still, at least the Colonel was being absolutely honest.

"I'll try, but don't expect complete elimination of recklessness."

"Oh, no, I expect that. I just want you to know that you can charge in with support, and not just by yourself."

"Right. Thanks, sir."

"No problem."

Though, for Zwart, the problem that did manifest itself was being in command of MAC-NE.

But, hey, in the long run, it worked out.

...In years.

Jay Ruben - St. Johnsbury/ FOB 'Fort Noon' - March 18, 1977 - 1:30 AM

Several days passed since the Colonel broke the news of Carter's proposal. And come a day later, and there's Executive Order 11977, which established MAC-NE publicly as the first step to the reformation of Army command under Military Assistance Commands per region within the United States. Of course, to Jay, this was all bullshit. This was just an excuse for Carter to re-assign several military units as expeditionary forces to Vermont. MAC-NE was given a blank check on how to handle things, which meant it had effective free reign unless someone blew a whistle.

In the following four days when the orders came in rapidly, the newly founded Military Assistance Command - New England found itself reinforced by several units that came in.

3rd Brigade, 42nd Infantry Division.

43rd Military Police.

612th Engineer Battalion.

Some units from 26th, primarily helicopters.

And us, the 86th Armored Brigade.

We got settled in and gathered the units around. Speaking of the units, the 1/101st Infantry was detached from the 26th ID and handed to the 86th Armored Brigade. In a round-about formation, the 1/101st Infantry (Mechanized) would be detached and assigned to the 86th during wartime. And considering the United States is technically in a state of war, it left no wonder why the 86th had a unit attached to them.

The SDC Workers that accompanied the unit were also incorporated into the units, as the 1st Civilian Indigenous Defense Group Rangers, or 1st CIDG Rangers. They weren't exactly special forces, but they were our guides to Remnant, and their special abilities made the Faunus valuable assets to recruit, which led to Colonel Zwart giving them the task of leading the way towards suitable locations for the 612th to build a FOB on.

And on a particularly cold morning, Jay was awoken to a gathering at Fort Noon that was mandatory to attend for a select group of people.

He'd have told the guys gathering it to fuck off if it wasn't for the fact that it was about their orders to finally go into Remnant. And so, in a blind panic, Jay managed to get himself ready alongside the rest of his unit, crew included, and gathered at the center of FOB Fort Noon, where a podium with a microphone stood on top of a platform elevating the speaker higher than the unit.

And that speaker was Colonel Zwart. Flanked by the same two guys from yesterday, he walked up to the podium and turned on the microphone, coughing into it to confirm its use before speaking.

"I'll keep this short. You all have been summoned as part of MAC-NE for an 'exercise'. However, we all know that is false." Zwart stated, eying most of the confused National Guard soldiers. "No, rather, we have been summoned today as part of the first reconnaissance group with the objective of scouting out a potential FOB location... in a pocket dimensional area." He smiled as he spoke, and then let the Guardsmen gathering below speak.

"Sweet, do I get to kill something?"

"Can I finally get laid?"

"Do we have to keep wearing these chickenshit fatigues?"

"Is this for real?"

Colonel Zwart coughed into the microphone, interrupting the rest. "Now, I assure you, despite all the questions you have, this operation is a real operation. We have discovered an unsurveyed location within United States soil, and we are to search, build, and hold our presence within the area. The operation begins today."

The following units will go in as the first recon team;" Zwart began to list off, looking at the Guardsmen gathered below him.

"The 1/101st Infantry, Mechanized of the 26th Infantry Division, just arrived yesterday." Okay, they were to be attached to the 86th Brigade as part of a round-about formation, so he expected that.

"The 126th and the 326th Aviation Battalions of the 26th Infantry Division. Also just arrived yesterday." Sweet, helicopter support. They desperately needed that. They really needed it. And considering that the airspace is affected, they wouldn't need to transport the helicopters by truck, and just had them fly over. It was convenient.

"The 612th Engineer Battalion." Okay, the FOB guys. Brilliant. They just had to tell them what to build after getting a location.

"The 169th Military Police Company from the 43rd MP." Those guys were to guard the troops and make sure nothing stupid among them happens, right? Well, they were a strange addition, but are welcome nonetheless.

"The 1/101st Armored Cavalry, nominally attached to the 42nd Infantry Division, currently operating independently. Reassigned as a Pathfinder Unit." Hang on a minute. Weren't the 1/101st Cav made up of APCs and Jeeps?! There was NO WAY they were going to secure an LZ silently at all! What the hell was Command thinking?! How the hell could Command give the job of pathfinding and securing LZs to a unit comprised of loud vehicles?

"And the unit to lead then is the 86th Armored Brigade. Or, I should say, the 86th Armored Recon Brigade." He stretched out.

Oh. That was why Command would do that.

Punishment.

They were punishing the more unreliable units by giving them shit jobs.

And since I was the first one to charge head-on into Remnant, they decided to make my units the Recon men purely as a punishment for being so reckless. Which means we have to charge in and explore first.

Fuck.

"You all have five hours to prepare your equipment if any of you are from these units." After stating that, Zwart turned away, his back facing the Guardsmen.

"Dismissed."

And after Zwart leaved, Jay saw the gathered guardsmen devolve into questions. Except, however, the ones from the 86th Brigade. They already knew. But they groaned upon finding out they were supposed to be recon, AKA the guys who go in head-first.

But what did this mean for Jay?

A boatload of problems related to M48 Pattons, that's what.

"Aaaaaarghhhhh..." He groaned.

Well, at least he had five hours.

Better be prepared.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 5 - Operation New Dawn

March 18, 1977

8 hours after MAC-NE Establishment

"Whiskey Foxtrot don't grill, man. They just get grilled. Why, go ask the F-4 Phantoms about Foxtrot. They said that Foxtrot makes some good cookin'."

- Corporal David Armstrong, U.S. Army, 1977

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Okay, so, spoiler alert, but we weren't able to actually transport tanks in synch with the rest of MAC-NE. Yeah, as much as we'd have loved to tag along with the 126th and 326th, their airborne units just couldn't carry a fucking Patton and we had to wait until we had a FOB to stock. So we waited over there in Vermont. That's why I don't have much to talk about regarding March 18. For us in the 86th it was agonizingly boring. We were supposed to go recon, but SOMEBODY in MAC-NE screwed up and got us locked in a bureaucratic and equipment quagmire that left us behind to prepare for when we actually got to move. However, in hindsight, I think we got off relatively lucky."

"You see, the first units to go were the Pathfinder unit, a role which was assigned to CAVALRY. Let me give you some context if you're a non-military man reading an old ass' memoirs. A Pathfinder unit is comprised of the guys who are trained to be silent, sneaky, and clever. They open up the LZs for Hueys and shit, alongside C-130 drops. Normally this role would be given to well, I dunno, MAC-V SOG? But here... the task of silently obtaining an LZ was given to... an APC with a mounted machine gun, accompanied by jeeps and other machine gun-happy vehicles. You see what I mean?"

"Not only that, but the 126th 'n 326th, the guys with the only helicopters in the unit for a bit... Let me say something, they had the capability of carrying up to two brigades. How many did MAC-NE give to both battalions? Three brigades. They told them to carry three brigades and sent them over to Remnant without, you know, dumping some cargo or lightening the load to ensure that things wouldn't be painful. But that was just the start of the fuckups. I heard the real shit began when they were sent towards the outskirts of Vale through the forest, while searching for a potential FOB location."

"The 1/101st got bogged down while moving through woodland. Here's a fun fact. The vehicles of the 1/101st Cav only moved 1/3rd they had on roads. That's agonizingly slow. Then they had their first encounter with... Whiskey Foxtrot. If any of you are named Belladonna, I'm sorry, but this is where our first opinions of 'em were shaped. Our views on the Faunus themselves were shaped by the tenacity of our first CIDG unit. However, Whiskey Foxtrot... Not so endearing."

"Oh, and the heli-bat had shit hit the fan due to their overcarrying. When they were up in Remnant airspace, they... well, let me just say there's a good reason we don't trust Hueys. I'd go more about what the hell happened, but I feel as if you'd have to ask the guys who were actually there. I've gotten my info from two sources, respectively from the the -26ths and the 1/101st Cav; Mathias Zener, a poor lad who was a door gunner for a Slick, and Jean Clarent, an M2 gunner on an ACAV. They're my primary sources of info, but I'm pretty sure they didn't write about it."

"Either way, yeah, initial MAC-NE entries were fucked. And that led to us taking our first strike..."

Jean Clarent - Valean Outskirts - March 18, 1977 (Earth Years) - 9:30 AM (Earth Time)

"Hey, Clarent! You got any kills?" One of the ACAV gunners in Clarent's APC asked. Clarent, in response, sighed. "James, we're reserve." Clarent turned to face the manchild with an M60 ready to shoot and kill. "We haven't been able to kill anything yet. And no, I don't go hunting." He turned back to the front, leaning with his arm over the railing of the M2 Browning's circular shield.

"Well, sucks to suck." He told back to Clarent, causing him to immediately groan in sheer irritation, but he couldn't bring himself to yell at James. Even if he was a manchild, he was still part of the 1/101st. That didn't mean that he wasn't going to criticize him.

"James. We are in the deep neck of the woods. Down in Montana, except if Montana was brighter and weirder forests." He commented, eyes squinting as he pulled up the top cover of the M2 Browning, before putting it down.

"Hey, look. Alien leaves. Think I'll get a disease if I eat these?" The other ACAV gunner, John Peter, commented as Clarent shifted his body to take a look at his other gunner holding a pile of regular leaves.

"Peter, I'm pretty sure that these are just regular trees. None of 'em have AKs." Clarent deadpanned, leaning his head over to look at the man.

"I know, but who's not to say some bastard left a Punji here?" Peter asked, shrugging. Clarent sighed. Peter was an idiot, but he was a lovable one. He didn't swing that way, but he enjoyed his companionship.

"True, true." Clarent said, before going back to actually sweeping the area with the machine gun. The forest that his unit, the 1/101st Cavalry, were pathfinding through, was incredibly spaced. There was a wide enough area that the M113 ACAV was hilariously fitting in the forest. After driving from Vermont to wherever this place is, Clarent had just fallen asleep for a bit before waking up to a forest. He woke up before James asked him about kills, and he wished that he was asleep.

"Hey, you ever wonder why we're here?"

"No, James. Why do you ask?" Clarent moved his helmet downwards to cover his eyes as he went to nap on the machine gun turret.

"I mean, like, why are we over here, fighting an inter-anomalous war?"

"James. Several THOUSAND people in Johnsbury were killed. Don't forget that CIDG nearly got... well, got got." Peter answered, tone telling that he was bewildered.

"...Shit, I was going to ask about the political motivations, but god..."

"Yeah. It's some shit. These Wolf-looking things, 'Grimm' the CIDG call 'em - tore them to shreds and didn't even stop to eat or anything like that. No, they were just torn."

"How many casualties in total?"

"Initial casualties... five-six thousand-ish."

"And post-battle?"

"Nine guys died of wounds while being treated."

"...I'm not even going to ask at that point."

The conversation died down as Peter and James went back to manning their M60 Machine Guns. To Clarent, this sound was pleasuring. He had finally gotten the peace and quiet he asked for as soon as he got out of Vermont. The APCs and Jeep convoy continued their set course as they were sent to secure a landing zone for the 126th Aviation Battalion.

The 126th were over somewhere flying above, waiting for the LZ to be secured. For Clarent, the objective was a simple hold-and-secure. For CIDG, however...

"Hey, look! I know this forest!" One of the CIDG Crewmen assigned to the M113 APCs asked. "This place is northwest of Beacon!" He shouted. Clarent's immediate response was to move his helmet up and open up the headset on his T56 helmet. "Wait, what?" He asked, genuinely surprised. "I mean, I expected this from CIDG." He thought. "But still..."

"Yep! I've been to this place for an SDC trip once. There's a shitload of sap on them here trees like the Forever Fall forest, though." The CIDG Crewman pointed out, with Clarent looking at the trees in simple amazement. There were sap, like, maple sap, inside the trees? That was... awesome. He guessed. The forests of Vermont weren't as cold as this forest. "So this is-"

A loud machine gun crackle interrupted his statements as James opened fire with his M60 machine gun against a target that Clarent couldn't see. Swiveling the machine gun towards James' location - the right M60 gun - James was shooting at the trees, with sap spilling onto the APCs, as James recoiled and closed his eyes as he kept pressing the trigger, opening fire onto the trees.

"JESUS CHRIST, JAMES!" Peter shouted, turning to face him as sap spilled on him too.

"Romeo 1-1, what the hell?!" One of the APCs asked as the convoy stopped to a halt when James stopped to stop shooting. "What the-"

"Sorry, I was wantin' to see if the Sap was a thing, hehe..." James awkwardly laughed as he scratched the back of his helmet.

Clarent sighed in anger, letting go of the grips from the M2 Machine gun, leaning over the turret shield staring at James with the worst glare possible, with his mouth twisting into a snarl.

"THAT DUMB MOTHERFU-"

It took Clarent all of his energy to not end with screaming profanities at James, so instead he resorted to his other method. "What the hell, James?! You could've gotten us all killed, you dumb idiot!"

"I just wanted to see the sap!"

"WE COULD'VE DONE THAT AFTER WE STOPPED!" Clarent fired back, nearly getting up from the machine gun turret, proceeding to have an arguement over James' actions. A lot of the convoy and CIDG popped up to put their two cents into the argument as well.

"Romeo 1-1, you just fired without permission!"

"What the hell, James?"

"The Grimm could have heard us!"

"Ah goddamnit!"

The 1/101st had officially bogged down due to an unpermitted machine gun fire incident, and it was still ongoing as James, Peter, and Clarent argued over James' stupidity. "You shot up a tree. With an M60." Peter helpfully pointed out, and Clarent crossed his arms as he cursed under his breath repeatedly. Hell, Clarent might have asked God for forgiveness for James' manchildishness.

"I-I..."

Whatever James had to say died down as he was heckled over and over again by the rest of the convoy. They knew he was a trigger-happy manchild, but his actions pissed off nearly everyone in the convoy, as if that wasn't obvious enough. From the dim but still smart Peter, to - how he was described as - the angry jackass Clarent. His achievements boiled down to that.

However, as the convoy ground to a halt dealing with the childish issues of several soldiers, no doubt due to their lack of proper discipline and training, they failed to notice that indeed something heard them.

Or, in the case of the White Fang, someone. The Americans weren't aware of it yet, but a welcoming party - technically a scout party - had heard them.

And the forest would seem like it was about to swallow the American convoy and leave it gone, never to be seen again.

Keywords it would seem like.

Violetta Auburn - Valean Outskirts - April 19, 877 AGW (Remnant Years) - 10:35 AD (Remnant Time)

In the outskirts of Vale, a White Fang Patrol had been scouting the area for any potential threats to the nearby compound. After the Vale Sect had been given orders by Adam himself to establish more rural outposts, they had seized a nearby abandoned logging facility and converted it to a base. This patrol was just one of the patrols sent out by the compound commander to search for Huntsmen and Huntresses.

While walking through the woods and chit-chatting, the White Fang patrol slowly heard a rumbling noise in the background that only grew louder and louder as they continued moving. The White Fang patrol would not have bothered with it, fearing that it was Grimm. However, that train of through was dispelled as a loud bout of gunfire echoed through the woods, stopping later.

Auburn looked at the other WF Warriors with her in the patrol, and met with them in the eyes. They had the same widened expression as her, and that just sunk in the current situation to them.

"...Should we?" One of them, clutching an automatic rifle, asked.

"Let's go check it out," Auburn stated, not surprised when her fellow WF Warriors stared at her with wide eyes. "We might be able to find something new there." She said, before the rest of her 12-man patrol sighed.

"Alright. Let's try to keep a safe distance from whatever caused those noises, please." A Warrior with a machine gun stressed. He would rather not be cut down by a Grimm that spotted him.

And Auburn perfectly understood that. However, they just couldn't stop and not go after the noises. And so, with the rest of the unit, she walked towards the site of the noises.

Her rifle swept the rest of the forest as they slowly approached the last known location of the noises. The rest of her team were just inches away from opening fire at the slightest of things that looked like it would ambush the patrol and tear them a new ass. The location of their new outpost meant that practically anything was just inches away from tearing the rest of the team a new one.

For one, it was located in the middle of the forest, which meant a lack of contact but also a good place to store weapons and ammunition. This gave the Fang new opportunities on locations to keep their stockpiled supplies in case there'd be a Second Faunus Revolution. On the other end however, its isolation and, well, cut-off-ness from the rest of the world that nobody would pay a second of attention to the White Fang going missing out in the middle of fuckall.

"Fuck man, this place gives me the creeps already." The team's Autorifleman said, with his finger on the trigger ready to pull and kill everything if given the chance. The A-MAG, or the Atlesian Machine Gun, Model 1, the weapon in use, was strong enough to shred most standard Grimm. However, when facing up against bigger enemies it might have been better. Its rate of fire was fast compared to the Mistrali Type 20 MPK, which was perfect for infantry suppression.

Not against getting scared shitless by the forest. That was another ordeal entirely.

In comparison, the rest of the WF Warrior patrol had Atlesian AKR-62 rifles. Old ballistic weapons that got phased out when Atlas started to use lighter Dust-based weapons. The Atlas 6.5x39mm caseless, in comparison to the AKR-62's 7.62x51mm cased, was like comparing a horsefly to a Beowulf.

And yet, Auburn could not have felt more helpless despite having a strong weapon by her side.

"Keep quiet," A Rabbit Faunus Warrior told him. "We don't want to alert the Grimm." The Autorifleman's immediate response was to nod and continue along, still nervously shuffling around the area with his machine gun in hand.

"What if; hear me out, what if it's not Grimm, and it's just Huntsmen?" The team's Radioman asked, trying to calm the rest of the team down as to not spike the negativity.

"That's worse, jackass. We'll get shot to death rather than torn apart." The Medic asked, turning to face the radioman with a glare to rival Adam's. "And Huntsmen have Aura and training. Most of us don't have both. Sure, we have Aura, but how's that going to be any help when there's several of them?" She continued, before the radioman looked at her as if she had just eviscerated his family.

"I was just trying to calm the rest of you down, jeez." He said, raising his right hand to his head as if to block an insult. "Okay, okay, I get it. We're at the risk of dying here. Still, can't you all just calm down?"

"...Fine." The Medic gave up, before continuing to step as the team neared the site of the gunfire.

"Eyes up, dead ahead. I spot something." The Scout, clutching a shotgun, spoke as he pulled out his binoculars to spot for the rest of the team.

"What do you see?" The Radioman asked, putting one hand above his eyebrows to squint his eyes and take a good look at what was seen.

"A bunch of APCs. They're painted green. Clever." He commented as he adjusted the zoom of the binoculars to get a better sight at the APCs. He let out a small gasp as he took a closer look at them. His hands shook and he nearly dropped the binocs. The Medic ran over and shook him to snap him to attention. With him rapidly shaking his head as he regained his senses, the Medic spoke up.

"What is it?" She shook the Scout out.

"Humans." He responded, before giving the Medic the binoculars. They were humans indeed, and they didn't look like Huntsmen either.

"They look like Atlesians." The Medic uttered, before the Scout corrected her. "Uh, no. Atlas doesn't have any deployments in Vale. And they don't wear green either." He inserted a dust shell into his shotgun as he spoke this. "And they look isolated enough." He finished, racking the pump on the shotgun.

"...Should we?" The Radioman objected. "They didn't fire on us first..."

"Look." The Medic cut him off, and stared at him dead in the eyes. "If Humans are here, that typically means they're out to search and destroy any White Fang assets. Including us." She made a motion of slitting her throat.

"Still, are we sure want to kill them? What if they're not here for that?"

"Only one way to find out. Follow Comrade Adam's words." The Medic pulled back the charging handle on her rifle.

"Auburn, what do you say?" The Radioman faced his head towards Auburn.

"I-I..."

"They're out to kill us, Auburn." The Medic added, angering the Radioman. "We have to kill them before they kill us."

"Uh..."

"Come on, they're not actively trying to find us!"

"And then what? We let them kill the rest of our Brothers?"

"They won't know if we don't shoot them first, you fucking idiot!"

"They'll find out sooner or later!"

As the two argued, with one coming from a moderate side, and the other a more radical one, Auburn sighed as the migraine from the two arguing was about to set in. She internally groaned, but, decisions had to be made.

Loading a tracer magazine onto her AKR-62, she racked the charging handle and let a bullet go into the barrel, ready to fire. She moved forward to a treeline with the halted convoy visible from about 100-90 meters away. Leaning to the right side and aiming through the iron sights of the gun, she adjusted the sights as the two stopped arguing and the Radioman looked at her with wide eyes, while the Medic smirked and readied her AKR-62.

"For Adam." Auburn stated, pressing the trigger.

Her last thoughts later were that she regretted causing all hell to break loose.

Mathias Zener - Vale Outskirts Airspace - March 18, 1977 (Earth Years) - 9:34 AM (Earth Time)

Adjusting the belt on the M60 never felt better in his life. To Zener, it was like finally getting to stab someone he really hated. Not that he had any say on that, he just wanted to make sure the guy would never bother him again. Sure, the methods were extreme, but where was the fun in simply telling them to go away? That was incredibly boring.

Not as boring as listening to the comms on the radio, though. Out of all the four helicopters in the 126th ID's expedition to Remnant, Zener got the most boring one yet. So boring they had to resort to listening to random shit on the radio.

"Romeo 1-1, tell your M60 gunner to control his shots next time." The radio in the hands of the 'Radioguy' crackled as Zener and the rest of the heli listened to the radio communications coming from the APCs down below. Zener smirked as he heard what was going on down there. "Think they're having fun over there?" Zener asked his passengers. Radioguy, the bastard with a Prick - an AN/PRC-77 - nodded his head.

"I think the convoy's having a hard time."

"Well, Captain Obvious... wait, is that actually your real name?" Zener asked as he turned his head and saw 'V. Obvious' as his nametag.

"Yeah, parents were dicks for my first 3 years. But they got better." Obvious said, looking down at his uniform. "Since I was named this, I played the role." He clarified, "Also, I'm a Private, thank you very much." He smiled as he adjusted the chin strap on his helmet.

"Well, okay then, Private Obvious." Zener turned back to the direction his M60 gun was facing. Looking down on the forest below, Zener smiled as he imagined himself a bird, flying above the clouds. Free.

"Hey, Zener, you think we're gonna shoot people?" Another US soldier asked, putting his hand on his helmet to protect it from being blown away by the wind. Those often happened.

"Definitely no women and children, that's for sure." Zener responded, before adding to it. "And no Buffalo too." He added, pulling back on the charging handle on the M60 as the soldier nodded in approval. That's great. He wasn't going to Fort Leavenworth for war crimes any time soon. Hooray.

"You think we'll face Nevermore?!" One of the CIDG men being transported asks. "I'm pretty sure that there'd be a shitload of Nevermores around this area!" He desperately clung to the seatbars as the Helicopter turned.

"I'm pretty sure we won't be facing them today." Zener added, eyes turning towards the Cow Faunus who asked that question. "Does your Scroll have any detection against Grimm or something?" He asked. Zener was always a big fan of science fiction. Even if he knew zilch how anything worked, he was still fascinated by the unknown technologies that could have proceeded to show itself to the world.

And the Scroll? Well, when Zener got to try it out, he was amazed with its functionality. It had this weird function called bluetooth, and relied upon radio signals - or something like that - to make communications between people without having to complain about range. Of course, when he got to borrow it, it had low signal. But it did have some games, which Zener was completely blown away by.

There was one game, Candy Crush, that amazed Zener as he played it. Matching three or more patterns to win a game? This was a revolutionary form of entertainment. It was significantly more time-sinking than simply fiddling around with a gun. Hell, if the US got to replicating these 'Scrolls' then infantry combat would be revolutionized. Morale-boosters, practical information centers in your pocket, and troop-to-troop communication?

It's a wonder this thing was issued to civilians in the first place!

Also, while he snooped around, he found the guy's, uh, 'homework' folder. Now, Zener wondered why it was labelled that. And when he got to open it, well...

Let Zener say that the troops instantly had their morale improved and were ready to go by the time Colonel Zwart called for the rest of the 126th ID for their expedition into Remnant.

"Well, no! We just have an emergency alert system that warns us, but doesn't detect!" The CIDG trooper responded back, with Zener nodding as he took that in.

"I see."

And with that, the Helicopter continued cruising above the Valean forests. Out of its jury-rigged speakers, the helicopter began playing Somebody to Love as the US troops within went about with their business. One US soldier was eating gum as he stared out into the beautiful Valean forests. While another loaded his M16A1 and checking the chamber. Evidently, he was satisfied as he let the charging handle go.

Zener put his helicopter crew helmet's visor down as other soldiers began loading their rifles. Looking back on it, Zener was just lucky that his helicopter wasn't as overloaded as the other helicopters of the 126th. The rest of the guys, however, had their helicopters fill up with soldiers to the point where he saw them lagging behind the helicopter he was on.

Not that he blamed them. They were tasked with transporting three brigades over the span of a week when they could only hold two at maximum. The carrying capacity for the aviation brigades was stretching thin as-is.

It's a wonder they didn't crash yet.

"Hey, Radio guy," Zener turned around and tapped the shoulder of the guy with the radios. "Contact the convoy, see how things are doing down there. Hopefully they've stopped yelling at each other."

He nodded. "Righto." And turned the Prick - the radio - on. After a few bits of static, the radio crackled to life. And the Radio guy went to work in asking immediate question. "Romeo Convoy, status check, how's things down there?" Zener waited as the rest of the troops all stared at the radio. The line was dead for a few seconds, before a voice came through it that alerted him to their status.

"Romeo 1-2 here, just waiting for Romeo 1-1 to move. They're still busy arguing."

"Arguing over what, Romeo 1-2?" Radioguy asked, putting the telephone close to his ears as he tried to make out the noises while the helicopter blades whirred around them. Hell, the only reason he - and Zener - heard those guys was because they were close to either Radioguy or Zener.

"Romeo 1-1's right M60 gunner fired on trees. He's getting his ass chewed."

"Sounds like y'all aren't having the best of days." Radioguy surmised, facial expression equally bemused and amused. Romeo 1-2 audibly laughed out loud as Radioguy's expression remained stalwart.

"Yeah, I guess you could say tha-"

Romeo 1-2 interrupted himself as Radioguy stared at the telephone in his hands.

"Something going on there?"

"You hear that?" Romeo 1-2 asked.

"No, we're in Helis. Why do you ask?"

"I'm certain I hear-" The line on the other end was interrupted as Radioguy heard gunshots through the radio, and Romeo 1-2 came back. "AMBUSH! CONTACT LEFT! OPEN FIRE!" Romeo 1-2's radioline was then filled with machine gun fire as the convoy began opening fire. Zener's radio crackled to life as he switched to communicating with the pilot.

"What the hell's going on down there?!" The pilot asked, swerving the Helicopter right as he was trying to get to the convoy.

"Convoy's been ambushed! Get us there now!" Zener pulled back the charging handle on his M60 machine gun as the helicopter fleet of the 126th turned directions and went to support the convoy.

"Romeo 1-2, pop flares! We can't get your location!" Radioguy shouted into the telephone line as the helicopter fleet's passengers began to load their weapons in support of the convoy. Almost immediately after giving the order, a red flare shot out into the sky and illuminated the convoy's position. The pilot then talked into Zener's communications.

"Two other Helis'll take the left field, we'll take the right!"

And with Zener looking through the right-direction machine gun, another helicopter joined as the two others broke off to support the rest. Now, if Zener remembered, they had no proper gunships, and at best had Huey-Ds loaded with passengers who had rifles, machine guns, and every other gun under the sun. And with the Huey-D he was on? Last he checked, it held a lot of side-hanging passengers. All of them eager to fire.

"I want suppressing fire on the forests! Shoot at anything that isn't the convoy, hell, just keep shooting at the trees!" The left-direction machine gunner shouted as he and the soldiers hanging from his side began aiming at the forest and opening fire. The sound of 7.62 and 5.56 firing downwards to the forest filled the helicopter as Zener himself and the soldiers down at his side began throwing everything at the forest. He even saw a few Hand Grenades being tossed into the forest.

"Grenades?! ARE YOU GUYS INSANE?!" Zener asked as the machine gun's recoil impacted his shoulder. He was firing in bursts as to not destroy the barrel. "GET SOME! GET SOME! GET SOME!" He shouted, with each shout being long enough for the machine gun to fire in bursts. "DON'T THROW HAND GRENADES OUT OF THE HELI, YOU IDIOTS!" Zener's natural response was that of reason. Hopefully.

But some people didn't see reason as they tossed frag grenade after frag grenade out of the helicopter that was circling around the forest that wasn't the convoy. And it was being pelted with everything under the sun.

"KEEP FIRING! I DON'T WANNA SEE ANY ONE OF YOU CEASE FIRE UNTIL THE CONVOY SAYS SO!" Left-direction machine gunner's voice overpowered the sounds of the main rotor. Trees were being riddled with holes from what he saw, hell, some even fell down to the ground. The area was slowly being flattened by the 126th ID.

Of course, as the ambush did not last long as the first thing Zener heard was something alike; "Cease fire! The shots've stopped!" Through the radio of Private Obvious. Or, Radioguy. He did as told and ceased fire, as did the rest of the machine gunners on the other helicopters and the other side of his helicopter. The first thing he did after that was trying to hail the other helicopter.

"Echo 2-2, see anything down there?" He asked, waiting for a response. The wait needn't to last long however as Echo 2-2 responded.

"Na-da, Echo 2-1. I think we've just flattened the fucking ground."

"That's a relief." Zener got off communications and turned to look at Private Obvious, the poor RTO. Still facing right as he hang by Zener's side.

"Tell them we're going to land. You guys need to check out what shot at Romeo convoy."

Obvious nodded, bringing the telephone line to his ears and mouth. "This is Echo 2-1 hailing Romeo Convoy. We're about to land and investigate the site of the ambush. Over."

Zener didn't hear the response from Obvious this time, but it was a clear nod. "Roger."

The helicopter lowered down as it approached an area with enough flat ground close to the convoy. The landing was rocky, as evident when the Huey shaked when it touched the ground. But that didn't stop the infantry. Private Obvious disembarked first, followed by the rest of the guys from the right, and then followed again by the guys in the center.

This landing was disastrous.

And Zener was going to need a drink.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 6 - The Days After

March 18-20, 1977

5 minutes after Romeo Convoy Ambush

"The United States Armed Forces have been known for their effective and brutal psychological warfare methods against the White Fang during the onset of the Unwinnable War. The infamous 'Ghost Tape No. 10' is an example of the tools used in terror operations against the White Fang during the initial onset of war by MAC-NE LRRP, alongside liberal American and CIDG use of Punji Traps when working with Valean authorities."

- A History on American Remnant's Unwinnable War, page 62.

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Romeo Convoy was ambushed. And the ambush was suppressed by MG fire and Helicopter 'gunship' support, that's for sure. I spoke to Clarent when I got to meet him back in '81, and he told me this story about how he discovered the WF grunts who opened fire on his APC were torn to shreds by the machine gun and rifle from the Slicks. When I managed to contact Zener in '82, he told me about Operation Wandering Soul II. But I wasn't able to get a lot, however, he did tell me that he helped transport a crate of speakers to LRRP units operating near the WF base."

"And that lead me to contact someone who was in the LRRP unit. Lieutenant Scott Miller, British-American. Our Lt. here was the leader of the original team that destroyed the White Fang outpost alongside CIDG. The guy was helpful, hell, he even wrote his memoirs alongside mine. Though he doesn't write it like it's a third-person novel, why, he wrote it as a first-person thing. Point is, that Lieutenant Miller was the guy who made a name for MAC-NE within Remnant. We took that outpost "

"Miller was also the guy who recruited the youngest American General in history. Pine. His story was from simple farmhand to LRRP informant, to trainee in the LRRP, then Drill Instructor... His story was adapted into a movie back in '84, and I'm quite unsurprised that people were questioning the fact that the brightest of minds of MAC-NE, with people such as Colonel Zwart, General Rogers, and Ozpin with his gang, were willing to allow a child to become an officer. Though he was officially enlisted under the Valean Flag, and thus was part of the Valeans up until '79."

"As for me? On 18 I was still stuck in Vermont, and by 20 I had arrived in Remnant. But the issue was that I had nothing to do in Remnant, so I didn't even contemplate writing anything down. The most exciting thing that happened over in Remnant was that Miller put the lessons from Vietnam to good use in screwing over those Whiskey Foxtrot. If I somehow write anything down, credit goes to Miller for being able to do something exciting. I just sat there and did nothing."

"Although I do remember the moment when we went public with our findings, FN Herstal tried to sue Atlas for their AKR design. It looked like a FAL, except it was colored in white, had a different stock, and was more in use with terrorists rather than the free world."

Jean Clarent - Valean Outskirts - March 18, 1977 (Earth Years) - 9:41 AM (Earth Time)

Having disembarked from an APC, Clarent went around searching and/or sweeping the area for bodies alongside CIDG troopers. While walking around the woodlands of Vale, Clarent saw a soldier trip on some branches, another one slam head-first into a tree, and someone else almost fucking up and nearly dropping a live grenade without the pin. Thank God the guy caught it, or else the grenade would be the death of the rest of the squadron.

"Private, put the pin back in, for the love of God." Clarent heard the unit's Sergeant say, and a beleaguered yet relieved sigh was his response. "Yeah, Sarge." Clarent's immediate reaction was to continue and move on searching. While he was doing so, the CIDG soldiers accompanying him were having a conversation that was pretty relevant regarding this.

"You think Hunters attacked us?" One of the CIDG men he got to know as Melor spoke up. Melor, while walking with an M16, was conversing with another soldier in the unit by the name of Tamerlane, who was crouching while inspecting bullet casings presumably left behind by their attackers.

"I'd know if they were Hunters, Melor. They'd be using more exotic weapons," Tamerlane held up a casing that was pretty large compared to 5.56. "This is not exotic. It's an Atlas cartridge." He brought it up. "AKR-62 Cartridge. 7.62. Enough to pierce through an unprotected person's chest and leave them gravely wounded at best." He pocketed the cartridge. "Hunters would use more extreme cartridges. Ala 12.7."

It was at this time that Clarent spoke up. "I'm sorry, but you guys never explained Hunters to me. I've heard of them from the rest of CIDG, but... well, I don't know much about them. Or much about Remnant." Clarent shrugged as the two looked at each other with understanding looks and then stared back at Clarent. Awaiting their responses, he didn't change his expression as he honestly just awaited the most bizarre things.

"Okay, so, Hunters - or specifically, Huntsmen and Huntresses - are the defenders of humanity from the Creatures of Grimm, the darkness choking Remnant," Melor explained, with Clarent raising his eyebrows in confusion. "Are they under a self-defense force, or...?" Clarent asked, with Tamerlane shaking his head.

"What do you mean no?"

"Hunters are technically independent contractors working for either a living or the thrill. They answer to almost no government and are trained in autonomous academies that answer only to the council of the Kingdoms."

"Hang on, Kingdoms?"

"Indeed. Wait, are you implying the United States is not a kingdom?" Tamerlane asked in genuine confusion. "No, we're a Republic. Root words Res Publica, which means Public Affair. We're a democracy where the people vote in a President as a figurehead with some authority to make decisions, with Congress and the Senate being the ones to put them in place."

"That sounds more like the Kingdoms." Wait a minute. What? "What do you mean?" Clarent looked at Tamerlane. "The Kingdoms used to have powerful figures in the form of the Kings and Queens, but soon the whole royalty thing was abolished and the position of Monarch has been closed off ever since." Okay, now this threw Clarent off. A Kingdom... that's not a Kingdom? That sounded more like a Republic.

"Do these Kingdoms have a senate?" Clarent asked, "Or Congress?"

"They do have in the form of the Councils. The Council is the ruling body of the Kingdoms. They're the ones who pass most of the laws and most of the actions. They're typically elected every four years."

"Okay, those sound more like republics to me," Clarent added. "When we finish talking about the Hunters, I'll lend you a textbook on our home's political systems I think I stored one back in the APC. I'll say this, though; Beware of Communism."

"...I'll be sure to note that," Tamerlane nodded. "Anyway, the Hunters train in autonomous academies that have their own set guidelines. They're still subject to the law but at times the autonomy makes the rules subjective to implementation."

"And somehow that doesn't cause a load of problems for Remnant?"

"Ah, no. We have a perfectly good reason. Remember the Grimm I mentioned when talking about the Hunters?"

"Yeah, what about 'em?"

"They're attracted to negative emotions."

"...What? They hunt based on emotions? Souls?"

"In a sense, yes. I've heard a theory somewhere that goes like this; The soul is capable of producing emotions, which are released into the world. The only people who can sense it? The Grimm. They are driven to things like terror, fear, anger, spite, hate, greed, discrimination, despair, and in any sense any just... emotions that's gonna get us killed. And so the Grimm sense these emotions and try to overrun Humanity."

"Uh-huh... so what you're telling me is that we now have souls?" Clarent shouldered the M16 in his hands. "Man, my Priest is gonna be so pissed." He smirked. He couldn't wait to tell people about this when this war was over.

"Yeah. As a result, generally, people are encouraged to be positive. I'd go into more detail but that's for another time. And then comes the most valuable parts of the soul; Aura and Semblances. Both of which are powerful weapons used by Hunters alongside their regular weapons."

The interest in Clarent began to show itself as he heard those words. He didn't know much about this world, but describing Aura and Semblances as powerful weapons? That was interesting. "Aura? Semblances? Okay, you might want to explain those to me. I'm genuinely interested now." He continued walking as the team began to speak while searching for bodies and casings, maybe even bloodstains.

"Gladly. Aura is an extension of the soul that manifests itself around the body of an individual who has had it unlocked. Aura is generally locked beforehand, but some compare it to a religious ceremony. It allows its users to survive multiple hits without the body itself being injured. The soul acts as a shield, and then there comes Semblances; the sword of the soul. Semblances are powerful tools in the hands of Hunters or just People with Aura. They're... to be blunt, bullshit. I once met a guy who could connect to technology and control it. A gal I met once had the power to make liquid infinite from one source at a time, and I remember that my ex-employers had glyph magic that let them walk on air. I hate life already."

"Uhhh..." Clarent was now in for a wild one. The soul acts as a shield, protecting the body from grievous harm? And literal superpowers that trumped anything on earth? Had this been an invasion, Clarent would be terrified. But since the Hunters were basically the only thing standing between his home and the demons. If anything, he's now scared of both. "Uh... alright?" Clarent shook.

"I don't have my Aura unlocked, unfortunately. I decided against it when signing up for SDC." He sheepishly said. "That leaves me on the same standing as you."

"...That's a relief, but still, to think that I could get caved in by some dude with literal superpowers? I think this world would be great as a comic setting."

"I'd take offense to that, but you come from a... rather peaceful in comparison world, I assume?" Tamerlane asked, and Clarent groaned. "Boy oh boy, you have a lot to learn." He added. Some venom in his tone as he remembered the shit he felt back in Chicago.

"But anyway, back to Hunters," Tamerlane amended. "They're trained by the academies to fight and destroy the Grimm, and this whole process takes four years, usually starting at age 17."

"Hang on, wouldn't you guys have an Army to fill in the gaps the Hunters don't fit in?" Clarent was now intrigued. "The ground, armored, mechanized, and air compartments of the United States Army exists and we don't rely purely on superpowered freelancers for a reason, y'know."

"Ah, funny that..."

"The hell? Do you guys not have an army or something?"

"Yes. We don't. Our Army was disbanded after the Great War as part of the Vytal Treaty."

"Who the FUCK has an actual army, then?"

"Atlas."

"...And how many Kingdoms are in Remnant?" Clarent's fists clenched. Nobody had to be this dumb enough to not build not even a Paramilitary! Did nobody here have the concept of State Security?

"Four. Ever since the Vytal Treaty, Atlas has been given the task of maintaining an army to protect Remnant."

"W-Why?"

"Because the Vytal Treaty's first clause was that the armies of the other kingdom would be disbanded, and in its place, the Mantlean - now Atlesian - military is to safeguard and protect humanity. Because they took upon the task of defense, they built an army. The only official army on Remnant."

"Not even Paramilitaries?" Clarent asked, gesturing at them. "I mean, you guys exist. You're technically a paramilitary under Colonel Zwart's command."

"True, but still, Atlas has the only army on Remnant. And with good reason. They're technologically superior in the military and scientific fields compared to the rest of Remnant."

"How technologically superior are we speaking?"

"I think they have air battleships wherever they go. Usually accompanied by big guns."

"Okay, I think I found the most impractical air force, then." Clarent snorted. "Air Battleships, really?"

"Yep. I used to see them as the strongest things in the air, but considering that you 'Americans' exist, I think Atlas is going to have competition. Hell, I used to work for them, and they treated me like shit. So, go America."

"Hehe, go America indeed."

The team moved on without major problems following them for now. Tamerlane and Clarent had just finished their conversation, but the Americans had learned a lot about the Kingdoms. The CIDG troopers however had yet to learn about the rest of America, but considering that their soldiers treated Faunus more like an amazing thing and not abominations was a treat.

Maybe the rest of the soldiers from the United States would follow suit.

"Hey, look. Blood." Melor spoke up, rubbing two of his fingers as the red liquid stained his thumbs and index finger. "Fresh, too. Directions lead over there," Melor pointed towards a tree to the right. "Let's go see where it leads us." Clarent followed Melor as he walked over all the leaves falling and the tree roots that filled the woodlands. M16 pointed upwards held up by one hand and the other hand empty, Clarent watched as Tamerlane held an M1911 pistol out, with a flashlight on the other hand.

"Blood trail's still leading here. Seems fresher." Melor crouched, putting his M16 down and inspecting the trail.

"How do you tell if blood is fresh just based on their color, man?" Clarent questioned. Usually, not many people would notice that, but Melor?

"Used to hunt animals, 'til I worked with the SDC. Worst mistake of my life." Melor responded, standing up and continuing to follow the trail of blood.

"Gotcha."

And with that Clarent noticed the blood trail getting larger. As if it spilled more. Wouldn't it have started spilling less...?

"We're close, man." Clarent motioned his hand toward a tree where the blood trail lead and curved around. "Let's go check it. We'll meet up with the rest of the Cav when we get there." Clarent put his rifle handguard in his other hand and began walking towards to the tree. Melor and Tamerlane followed him, sweeping the area to make sure nothing jumped Clarent.

When Clarent turned a left around the curve that led the blood trail to the tree, he swept his gun downwards to the source and finally found it.

A Young man no older than twenty-two, cradling a white-and-gray battle rifle that looked like a FAL. Bleeding from his stomach, and face concealed by a mask. What alerted Clarent to his role was the large, sleek radio-like pack on his back. He took one look at Clarent, and his eyes widened in horror as he tried to bring the rifle to bear against Clarent.

His response was to grab the thing by the handguard and rip it out of his hands. He was weakened by the bleeding, and thus really couldn't risk it. Plus, the guy cradled the thing before attempting to fire at Clarent. Shorter weapons existed for a reason, jackass.

"WE GOT A LIVE ONE!" Clarent shouted, holding the FAL.

Tamerlane and Melor sprinted, taking a moment to look at Clarent and then back to the man holed up in the trees.

Their eyes squinted and were replaced with anger.

"White Fang." Tamerlane spat with disgust, pointing his pistol at the now-cowering 'White Fang' soldier. Melor grabbed him by the collar and lifted him, the man cowering as the significantly stronger Faunus rifleman lifted him over.

"B-brothers, why..." The man spat out.

"Fuck you." Melor punched him in the face, and that instantly caused him to fall into unconsciousness. Or at the least, came out of it gravely injured. Melor put the man down, next to the tree, all while Clarent grasped the FAL in his hands.

"So... who are these guys?" Clarent asked.

"People who give us a very bad reputation." Melor crouched down to check on him. "Get a Medic. We have a Prisoner. He'll survive for long, even if untreated. Only makes the following conversation so much better."

As Clarent nodded and went to get a medic to tend to the guy Melor and Tamerlane had just captured, he had a major question nagging in the back of his mind that just wouldn't stop appearing.

"What kind of hell did we step into?"

Superpowers, Half-Animal People, Viet Cong but dressed in all white, and Shadow Demons attracted to Negativity who want to kill everything?

"Oh help me lord, for I do not know what I am doing." He muttered while walking to get a medic.

Neither of the next two days would be painful for him, though, as he got the opportunity to rest at a place the Convoy relaxed at.

Rather, someone else would have to suffer the painful days.

And all at the hands of LRRP.

Two Days Later

Scott Miller - Valean Northwestern Forests - March 20, 1977 (Earth Time) - 1:20 AM (Earth Time)

I'm going to note this down before I continue, but I actually don't remember much from the operation against the White Fang. But, in this memoir, here's what I do remember.

I distinctly remember hunting for the base which the prisoner - part of the White Fang, a supremacist terrorist organization - gave up knowledge of. Problem was, that we couldn't hunt during the day or get exposed. So we had to hunt for it at night. With CIDG helping us, since they had natural night vision and thus could spot things leading us towards the base.

To this day, I still think about my and my team's first reaction to the Broken Moon when someone pointed it out. We didn't notice it at all, and just assumed we had a regular moon. Too bad, though, because here it was broken. One of my teammates pointed it out and we all gawked at it. My team was comprised of three blokes from LRRP, one CIDG spotter, and our Ohioan Engie.

There was Eddie, the bloke with one of them L1A1 copies. The CIDG gal with us identified it as an 'AKR' rifle. He was our team's Marksman. There was Daniel, the arse with an M60. He was our Machine Gunner. The last bloke was Spencer. Canadian-American with the MM1. He was our Grenadier. These blokes were the members of my team and were my only companions before Remnant.

After Remnant, though, we had two new additions to our squad - at the time, at least.

The CIDG gal's name was Hopea Aelia. She was an Owl Faunus. She was our team's spotter and was given binoculars. I still kept in contact with her long after the war ended. She's the best spotter we had. Her gun was an M16.

And the Ohio guy's name was Alexander Miller. He was an Ohioan. Enough said. He was our Engineer, and his squad helped us set the traps that we'd planned to catch these White Fang fuckers in. He was left with us to dig up trenches, but he's a nice guy. Last I checked, he had a Model 97. Probably from his home.

And on 3-20, it was two days since Romeo Convoy got ambushed, and the 425th LRRP was called in to assist the war effort. I was briefed in a rush and had more questions than answers to those questions. One of those was the moon.

There we were, over in the bushes near the White Fang FOB. Waiting for a response to what we did earlier. Yesterday, when the FOB - dubiously called one - was visited by high-altitude bombing from the 26th ID. In the form of leaflets hastily printed warning them that they would either have to surrender to authorities or face combat. I looked at one of the leaflets myself. It was good as a leaflet, but it was heavily rushed.

And we were tasked with making sure they got the message. And if they didn't, then that was where the Ohioans came in. They lent us a Combat Engineer unit, which helped build a shitload of Punji Traps just outside of their bases. Some were ditch-activated, and some were tripwire-activated. However, what the kicker was was the fact that they somehow managed to do it without causing a load of ruckus. The Ohio boys had something with them, and I wasn't sure what it was.

But, at the end of it, there was us. I was overlooking the camp with a Starlight night-vis scope. Made sure that the WF who went to rest for the day were able to get the damn message. Eddie was with me, looking through another Starlight as he kept his bloody 'AKR' close. And Spencer was just itching to fire. The rest of the blokes were huddled around a dark camp, with only flashlights illuminating them.

"What do you think happened to the moon?" Alexander asked, munching a sandwich that he made before coming with the rest of the squad. "I mean, just look at it. We didn't send no B-52s after it." He spoke.

"Think it was Aliens?" Daniel shrugged, examining a paper drawing of the complex handed to him. I could tell what they were doing because I either asked them or saw them myself before I went sightseeing with the Starlight.

"God?" Alexander added. Daniel was silent for a bit, but he didn't need to fear, for his worrisome question was answered by Hopea.

If I may, I'd like to say that Hopea was one of the finest women I had seen. Curves enough to make someone jealous. Assets worthy of notice, and on top of that, a cheery smile coupled with hard-working muscles due to working in SDC fine labor.

My first thoughts on her? Well, they were about her capabilities as a woman. In hindsight, I was an arse who was balls-deep into the traditional gender roles. But, this mission with Hopea was about to disprove it. Hell, I was even willing to protest with her for Women's Rights. Remnant opened up my eyes to a lot of things.

Still, some of my first thoughts on her were also along the lines of "Damn, she's got it going on." Though I kept that to myself.

"Let me tell you a story." Her soothing voice silenced the rest of the squad. There was a reason I got married to her years later, after all.

"Once upon a time, there was a sun, alone, all up in the sky," She added, with me finally taking notice of her after. "The sun bathed one corner of Remnant in light, but there was no moon, leaving the rest of the world in darkness. When the humans got fed up with the dark, they begged the sun to go faster, with the hope that they would be bathed in endless light. At first, the sun was successful. But as time wore on and on, eventually, fatigue caught up with the sun,"

The blokes over back there were listening to her story. At the time, we didn't know if that solved or didn't solve the moon question. But we did get information from it. And some of it was of necessary use.

"When the Sun broke down, it detonated, taking away light from the Humans." She continued. I heard Daniel gasp, but I'm not certain if Alexander reacted. I did turn around to see, but I didn't catch anything. I stared back at Hopea, who was still telling the story to the other guys.

"When the Humans lost their light, they created a new sun and filled it with greater light. And thus, the original Sun, mourning its loss and replacement, mourned and mooned for years, until we called it the Moon. While the new sun had taken its place, the moon sat, all alone, and with enough light to brighten the night, but not enough to make it day." She finished, smiling as the team stared at her - me included - with wide eyes.

"Is that true, ma'am?"

"Oh, no, of course not! But, it's just one of many theories about the moon. The thing's been broken for years now."

"Uh-huh. I see." Daniel nodded, with Alexander finally finishing his sandwich.

"I'd tell more, but my shift's starting." Hopea stated, with me immediately being surprised and angry at myself. "Oh damn, how did I forget that we had shifts? I'll just call her." I thought to myself, coming out of cover and walking to Hopea.

"Yeah, forgot to mention that. Shift's starting, let's go." I motioned my thumb to the position where Eddie continued watching through a Starlight, but Spencer changed shifts with Hopea.

"See you guys!" Hopea waved as she walked with me back to the observation position. After Spencer exchanged shifts with Hopea, I crouched down and began seeing yet again through the Starlight.

"Are you sure that we'll have to resort to Plan B if this fails?" I asked, putting my eyes away from the Starlight and to face Hopea. She nodded and grimaced. "It's necessary. We can't expose ourselves. I'd love to introduce you people to Remnant, after all, it proves we're not alone. But you're an invading Army, and we're technically committing treason..."

I felt my face tighten in forlorn anger, in a sense. It's like I'm angry, but I'm sad that I know that I can't do anything about it. "No need to worry, I get what you mean. Still, just still, maybe in a better world..."

"Yeah, just maybe."

Plan B was particularly cruel. Even by MAC-NE standards. It involved sowing negativity through the usage of punji sticks to eliminate the outer patrols, and killing everyone inside. Since Aura was turned off most of the time, especially in a night patrol, WF troops would either land into a ditch or a Punji Trap and then leaving the poor fucker in there to bleed was meant to sow terror, since the Grimm were attracted to negative emotions.

The worst part of Plan B was how eagerly the rest of the guys agreed to it. The fact that the guys were willing to literally engage in shit like this... Well, then again, Hopea suggested that part of the plan. I have to thank her for being cruel enough.

I thought that Plan B was very cruel. Plan A was to bombard them with Leaflets encouraging their surrender 'to the proper authorities' and lay down their arms while doing so. And while staring down at the base, my hopes for Plan A being the only plan in use slowly died off as I saw several White Fang terrorists finally looking at the leaflets, presumably in confusion... then laughing.

I cursed my luck.

"Fuck, they're not taking it seriously."

"Goddamnit." Eddie cursed, with him putting away his Starlight and grabbing the rifle in his hand. I, for my part, was still holding the Starlight. At least, until I saw them tearing the leaflets and putting them to the ground. My eye twitched. They weren't willing to do this peacefully? Not even a surrender? Well, now I knew that they deserved everything that came to them.

Call it spite, but still.

"These people give us Faunus a fucking horrible name," Hopea muttered, venom in her voice as she checked the chamber of her M16. "I'd be more than happy to see them gone. One way or another." She racked the charging handle, letting a bullet enter the chamber of the gun. "I fucking hate racists."

"Are these guys actually that racist?" I asked, still curious about the whole thing.

"No. Some join to fight for rights, some joined because relatives bought into the cause, and some joined to be junkies. But, they will and have already given us bad names. Faunus, a word synonymous with Terrorists within Atlas."

"I... I see."

"Lieutenant." Hopea turned to me.

"Initiate Plan B." She stated determination in her eyes. I nodded. Well, there was no fucking way of going back. Better to go in balls-deep. After all, might as well eliminate a threat before it becomes a problem.

"I'll get the uniform. No turning back now." I said, getting up, leaving my Starlight, and walking towards the storage crate nearby where we put the uniform for Plan B just in case.

Well, that and a ton of C4. But that was for another operation entirely.

Still, I felt like this plan did not have a chance to work. However, looking back at it, I was way too stupid.

The White Fang is that incompetent.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 7 - Night Raid

March 20, 1977

10 Minutes after Plan B was chosen

"Damn the White Fang, those holier-than-thou fuckers!"

- Beacon CIDG Paramilitaryman's helmet, 1977.

Foreword from (ex-)Lt. Miller;

"I'm terrible at recounting things, even with my grasp of the English language. Sorry if you're expecting something else. I'm just really bad at writing. Now, I was told to write this just to give a foreword if people were expecting a truly complex beginning. But, to summarize, our mission started off simple: Drive off the White Fang. Now, you know that simply giving leaflets advising them to turn in lest being annihilated utterly failed. So, instead, we turned towards the logical choice - that being to kill the White Fang slowly but painfully."

"I didn't actually participate in... well, the construction of punji traps to get those Whiskey Foxtrot patrols immobilized. I did see the results, though. Not pretty, but hey. I was just tasked with shooting anyone who came to rescue the guys trapped in a ditch. And leave them to bleed. Not helping them would be the fact that the Ohio guy dug the ditches deep. And loaded them with Punjis. Ow. And since they were effectively trapped there, they'd be continuously in despair, leaving them to spread negativity. It was cruel, but God it was funny. I'll say that."

"Though, we got Zener's 26th ID to jury-rig some speakers, fly 'em in to deliver to us, and let us play Ghost Tape No. 10 at their sorry asses. I think he was onboard the heli that flew in the speakers. Zener was talented at fixing and rigging microphones and audio devices together. Honestly, I'm just genuinely surprised that he chose to be a door gunner - or annoyed that he got voluntold to be a door gunner."

"But I think the worst or best part - depending on your view - was that this essentially gave our existence away to the WF's Vale Branch. Not to the public itself, but to the Vale Cell. They thought we were mercenaries. Mercs. For crying out loud! Hell, the only reason they knew about us was the aftermath of the operation. That Blake Girl who became one of the best recon spotters in all of MAC-NE? Yeah, she was with the White Fang at this time. And she had been sent to find the outpost after it suddenly died after reporting Grimm. Ha!"

"This whole operation started before she defected and went to school, so killing a future student might have annoyed the Lieutenant Colonel. The bloke with the hot coffee mug. I still can't believe that ex-terrorists go to school, though."

Scott Miller - Northwestern Valean Forests - March 20, 1977 (Earth Years) - 1:31 AM (Earth Time)

After I ran back to get the storage crate, I dragged it all the way to the campsite where the team was waiting. Hopea had informed the rest of the team that we had chosen Plan B since most of the leaflets did not work. With it, I unveiled a uniform that fit her. And I grabbed a C4 charge as we were planning to blow up the White Fang. I handed C4 charges to each and every member of the LRRP patrol. We all had the bombs set to a timer approximately set to three minutes at the very least. And we were all ready to use them.

After we prepared for Plan B, I decided to do the briefing. It went something along like the following; "Alright, first, we eliminate the outer White Fang patrols either by simply shooting them or by simply letting them fall into punjis," That was the basic constituent, the part one, if you may. "Then we enter from within and contact the 26th to get them to blast the Ghost Tape. Once that's completed, we plant the charges and watch the fireworks. And then, we leave them to the Grimm." And that was the second part. Psychological Warfare. Though we didn't have enough time to make it complicated.

We had flown in a jury-rigged speaker made to be as distorted and spooky as possible to play Ghost Tape 10. How the helicopter was silent enough to deliver that? I have no idea. But, as soon as we got the speakers set up and in a man-portable state too. We just had to set it to really loud, let it play the noises, and watch as they panic when we get to work smearing their shit in blood.

Now, it was here where Alexander brought up a question. "How do we know the Grimm are going to arrive here anyway?" He asked. I was pretty sure he was just as uncertain of the plan as everyone else. But, thankfully, Hopea had an answer to that. Rather conveniently, too.

"Grimm are attracted to Negativity. And this forest is often full of them. The only reason we didn't encounter them for the past two days is that they were attacking the mining camp we worked at." And there, Alexander nodded. "The same one we rescued y'all from, right?" He asked, with Hopea nodding in response.

"The Grimm usually attack often once a month, but that one was way too big. And it was all thanks to that new manager. Honestly? To see him getting snatched by a Nevermore was funny." She smirked, but her face straightened when they went back to discussing the plan. "The point is, the more negativity we can ramp up, the Grimm get attracted. And with their supplies detonated... Well, what's there left?" She smiled.

"You've got a point there," Alexander added. "Alright. I'm in. Let's do this."

And it was there where the team split up. "Okay, here's how we do this. We split up into two man teams, and we each take out the patrols. Then, once we're done, two of the teams can sneak in and kill those inside the compound. Make sure to splatter everything with blood too. And draw some ominous messages." My plan was pretty simple. And the last part was more just me trying to take advantage of the local wildlife.

"Eddie, you're with me." I got Eddie and placed him into my team, while I looked at Hopea and Alexander. "Hopea. Alexander. You guys stay together." I looked towards Spencer and Daniel. "Daniel. Spencer. Both of you lads stay with each other. Oh, and by the way, leave the grenade launcher and machine gun. You have HDMs for a reason." I stressed the last part. The pistols issued to our team had integral suppressors. To demonstrate that to the team, I grabbed an HDM and loaded it.

"Use these. They'll dampen the noise so that we can do our job easier." I noted. While we would normally have other US-issue pistols, the fact that logistics HAD to give us HDMs showed that we were basically out of luck. To think that our pistols would only be .22 LR.

"Do we really have to use .22?" Eddie complained, taking his HDM out of the holster and inspecting the magazine. I couldn't blame him. We really were just out of luck.

"Yes, Ed." I sighed. I couldn't bring myself to yell at him, so I just calmly told him 'yep' and left it at that. "But at the very least we have suppressed weapons." I conceded. Ed reluctantly nodded. With that, the rest of the team had agreed on it. Even if some grumbled about the .22 LR pistols. Though, Hopea looked the most skeptical. And at the time, she had a valid argument.

"Why are we using .22 LR against them? They surely have Aura. Yes, we'll be taking them by surprise, but still, how will this penetrate aura?" At the time, I didn't know the effect that native American ammunition had on Remnant Aura, which effectively meant that I was very cautious about alerting them at the time. Though I knew that Aura was turned off most of the time, I wasn't aware of how our bullets effectively ignored them.

My response to Hopea's Question?

"We'll have to take them down when their Aura is out," I pulled back the slide on the HDM.

After that, the team actually began to split up. Eddie followed close behind me as I tried my best to sneak through the woods with a silenced pistol and a rifle that was unsilenced. Eddie, meanwhile, was trying his best to not end up shooting me in the back of the head with the HDM. I stopped for a moment and turned towards Eddie.

The reason why? I had just spotted two of the White Fang fuckers, one of whom was nearing a punji hole.

"Don't." I motioned for him to stop.

He nodded and instead took out his AKR to observe carefully, with me watching from the sidelines as the poor, daft, and idiotic fucker walked into the oldest trick in Vietnam.

"Wait for it... Wait for it..." I mumbled. The guy was foolish enough to let his guard down as Eddie lined up for a shot on his partner in case he fell. And to be fair so did I. Just with a suppressed pistol-

One of the men fell into a punji hole, and on reflex, I fired the HDM at the other person's head, instantly killing him with a quick headshot. And after that? Well, I rushed towards the punji hole to see who was in it. Eddie didn't get a chance to fire, so he was a little irked. But nonetheless, we were still going to check on the hole.

And what do you know? One White Fang bastard stuck in a punji trap, with all of his arms and legs skewered by at least one spike. I can't go into details as I'd rather not remember, but, as far as I can tell, he could NOT walk at all.

Perfectly fine to leave him there then. At least, not without depriving him of something to fight with. With a swoop, I ducked down and grabbed his AKR. And, well, thanks to being immobilized in the punji hole, he practically had no way of resisting. The look in his eyes of sheer terror as he realized what was happening made me shiver.

Sure, I could make a case of how I was doing my job and how they were irredeemable supremacists, but still. There was a reason I resorted to simple "plant-explosives-and-run" plans after this operation. Just so I didn't have to see shit like this again.

I grabbed the magazine of the AKR and tossed it to Eddie, then pulling the charging handle and getting the unspent cartridge out. At the time, I wanted to examine the bullet later to see if it actually was like an L1A1 and Eddie wasn't lying. Though, when I did get to testing it, the following happened; When fired out of an L1A1 - of Earth - the weapon fired smoothly. So, that proved that it was like an L1A1.

"Leave him." I told Eddie. "Let's just go."

Eddie could only nod as he walked into the White Fang base with me. I gave the hole where the man impaled himself one more look before I turned my head around and continued my straightforward path towards the White Fang camp's insides. I wondered why we dropped the leaflets during night time, looking back at it. When I did ask about it, most people shrugged and said that it was the first option that wasn't launching an assault which could have gone bad.

After all, just ask the United States Army for the Battle of Ia Drang, really.

"Bloody ignorant fucks..." Were all I mumbled to myself before I continued on my way to the base. What else was I supposed to say? That they were competent? Give me a fucking break here.

Still, undeterred, and with no way of stopping when it was getting started - okay that sounded weird in hindsight - I just kept my pathways unchanged. And with Eddie behind me, we had approached a door where the White Fang kept their officers. At the time, I didn't know that, but hey, I was just really lucky.

Backing up to the walls near the doorway, I held my HDM up with one hand while moving the other to the doorknob.

I gently open the door.

Greeting me was a White Fang officer looking over some documents with three other buddies. This felt more like one of those stealth games you'd play on your scroll rather than an actual stealth operation. And I say this in hindsight.

And as that door finally opened and the bastards bothered to turn their heads to the sound of them getting in, two shots - suppressed, mind you - rang out and the officer and one of his bodyguards went down with a single shot. There were the two remaining in the room, and I didn't have time to actually align my aim to their head unlike with the first two so...

A gunshot to the stomach had got one of the guys, with him slumping to the floor. As for the other guys, I expended all of my shots at him. The previous guy had a single gunshot wound to the stomach. The one I expended all of my last ones on? Chest area. I'm no autopsy guy, but I'm fairly certain that a collapsed lung and a shot to the heart is enough to get 'em.

While I was reloading my gun, Eddie followed from the door, AKR trained. He aimed at the guy with at least a single bullet in his stomach. He was still breathing, and that was a problem for Eddie.

Eddie raised his AKR to fire, but I had to lower the barrel myself by pushing it down. Turning to him, I shook my head, and then turned back to the crippled man.

I shot him square in the chest, and put in another bullet for good measure.

And he stopped breathing.

"I'd have let you kill 'em, Ed. But, suppressed weapons are needed..." I lamented, with Eddie looking solemn and biting his lip, but agreeing. "Alright, but let me get a kill." He said, putting his rifle on his shoulder and taking out the HDM pistol.

"When I joined LRRP, I didn't expect to fight animal terrorists..." Eddie groaned, pulling the slide on his pistol. "But, hey, anything goes." He conceded.

I went over to the papers he and his buddies were looking at before I shot them dead.

I didn't have time to review the papers, so I just grabbed them and stuffed them into my LCE after I rolled them onto a round roll, almost akin to a burrito.

"Found some papers. Might be important." I noted, before I finished cleaning up the table and everything in the office. "Find anything, Ed?" I asked, turning my head behind. Eddie was busy scouring through papers as well.

"Looked through some of the papers left 'ere." Eddie turned around, holding a pair of important-looking documents and a map. "These detail troop movements, probably outdated, and current safehouses in use by the White Fang." He walked over to my table and set them down, then began pointing at the parts of the documents.

"There's a White Fang base here," he pointed north to a circle with an X crossed over it, "A supply base over here," pointing south, he circled a location with the words "Arms Depot" on it. "And there's a vehicle outpost located... right here." He moved his pointing finger to a marked X over down southwest. He then rolled up the map and looked at me.

"Get this back to Command?"

"Get this back to Command." I nodded.

Eddie stuffed the maps inside his LCE and we set on getting to their supplies. That is, if we found them, of course. The map we found only detailed the other outposts, not exactly the rest of the base itself. That matter was something else entirely apparently, as some of these dickwads didn't have map on their bodies.

At least, that was what I thought back then, because it turns out the bastards did have a map. But at the time, I was hurrying up to do a boom-boom.

After we got out of the office, we tried our best not to get spotted. Because as it turns out, these bastards still have night vision. I don't approve of animal jokes, but really? Did they have to send the Dog faunus out to patrol the areas?

We tried our best to avoid having to kill him. Unfortunately, he had gotten far too close to actually finding us. So, my defense?

Eddie put a bullet in his brain. And since there was barely anyone patrolling the insides of the base - poor idiots - Eddie had just effectively screwed over the entire security apparatus of the inside of the base.

I only knew this in hindsight though, because I made a big deal to him about hiding the bodies.

"Ed! Hide the fucking body!" I yelled, dragging the body off.

"Fine." Ed grumbled, before he grabbed the other arm of the guy.

We placed the body next to some bushes, hoping that nobody would find the guy.

I mean, yes, nobody did. But I didn't think about that, so I was just internally fearing for my life and I was just afraid that, well, this operation would be fucked.

Look, I have confidence issues, okay?

I just had fears that this mission was going to end in a total clusterfuck. I heard stories of MAC-V SOG operations going wrong because Charlie spotted them and destroyed their helicopter upon landing.

I was not going to have that.

But regardless, other than that the walk through the base - without a map, mind you - was mostly quiet after that. I can't exactly remember most of the details off the top of my head, so I'll skip straight to the point.

We finally arrived at the armory where the guns were all stored at. Getting in there? Painfully easy, as it turns out. White Fang members and trying to secure their supplies is an incompatible mix. As demonstrated by further operations by MAC-NE after this. Though, I'm pretty sure that just the Vale Branch were the ones who were actually incompetent.

Regardless, when we arrived there, I opened the door and walked slowly with my pistol in hand. And when I had opened the door there was nobdy in there. Not even some guard who tried to prevent people from taking the guns and leaving.

Then, when we opened up the crates, I honestly found myself surprised at what we found. At the time, I didn't know this, but most of the weapons here were of Remnant, which meant they behaved differently compared to your normal 5.56 rifle.

The first crate I opened contained MC8s. Machine Carbine, Model 8. Atlesian Police standard-issue. It had a magazine integrated into its grip. Most of the MC8s I saw there had 20-round magazines, but there were 40-round models.

I had taken one and inspected it.

"Check this out, Ed." I spoke, holding one up to him. "Think they're better than the M10s?" I spoke out. Ed had taken one of the MC8s and was already inspecting it. He decided to keep it alongside the HDM. I did, too.

"I'm keepin' it. It looks like a valuable gun." Ed said, and I agreed. The rest of the weapons, though? Well... Again, at the time, I didn't know what these were. I'm just listing these off from what I remember.

The second and third crates we had opened had AKR rifles. Ed would have gotten magazines from them, but that would've been too time consuming, so we just let them be.

The fourth crates opened contained AP-1s. Atlesian Pistol, Model 1. They looked like an M1911, but far weirder. Of course, seeing as I could carry an HDM and an M16 around, I grabbed an AP-1 as well.

The following was what I once told myself: "These are some weird 1911s." when I stuffed two on my uniform through my pockets. They barely fit, of course, but they still held on.

The fifth crate held some AA-12 shotguns. At the time, I didn't have an interest in the shotguns. But when we got AA-12s in other operations? The LRRP really liked them. At least, the other LRRP teams. I was just too ignorant at the time.

I proceeded to put an explosive charge on the crates. I already got an MC8 and two AP-1s, but I didn't have the space for any other guns, and thus I decided to do my job and put explosives there. I stashed it in the AKR crate, and I prepared the C4. I had put it on a five-minute timer. It was a rather crude one, that just had a detonator rigged to a timer that automatically pressed the detonator after a timer.

Fun fact; Ed had the same improv'd timer on the C4 he was using. And he placed it on the AA-12 crate, and set the timer to five minutes. Just like my C4.

"Charges planted." I spoke, and Eddie's response was a resounding "Affirmative." and that was it, we had finally planted our C4 charges onto the crates.

"Right, now that we're done with that, let's get to the RV."

"Alright then, just be sure not to fight the White Fang on the way." Eddie responded, grabbing his AKR.

"Oi. Don't jinx us, we're going to die if you compromise us like that."

"Right, right. Sorry about that." He shrugged, with my eyes squinting as I looked at him with the expression comparable to the words 'Don't fuck this up'.

"Let's go, then, Ed." I finished.

Eddie nodded. "Got it."

The RV was our original encampment, only with us done with our objective, we had the time to double time it through our original way, trying to avoid the White Fang while we were going back to the RV.

Now, at the time I had double-timed it because I feared that there were more White Fang in the base. But as I said quite earlier, the White Fang's internal base security was terrible, with most of their patrols focused on the outside perimeter of the base.

And on the note of the outer perimeter, when I had double-timed it back, I stopped to check on the guy who had been left inside the punji pit, still bleeding out and just barely clinging onto his life. I assume that he had spent all his aura trying to keep himself alive, regardless of if he actually had aura or not.

Regardless, I just went on with my day after that.

My mission there was over, with me just scurrying like a rat back to the RV.

When we went back there, we just had one objective.

Wait for the rest.

Hopefully, they'd be done and dusted with their job by then.

Again, hopefully. Otherwise, I was fucked five ways to Sunday.

Grayson Wells - Northwestern Valean Forests - April 21, 877 AGW (Remnant Years) - 2:55 AM (Remnant Time)

Grayson was hurt.

That was an understatement.

Seeing as he had several spikes immobilize him by impaling him through his arm, legs, and feet? Yeah, it was an understatement. He looked one more time around him. Turning his head upwards to see if the Human who put him in this position was still there.

Grayson heard the footsteps and stopped, using all of his strength left in him to look at the bastard who put him here.

The green uniform did nothing to stop the night vision in his eyes - nor the hate he had for that ratfucker. The look in his eyes as he inspected Grayson writhing in pain was that of morbid interest. And that only furthered Grayson's hate even more. He wanted to get up, he wanted to scream, he wanted to shout at the man looking at his pain.

His efforts only seemed to be in vain, though. As he only gave out a whimper that had a vaguely angry tone in it.

"F-f-fucking- mother-fuc-"

Grayson's words died in his mouth as he found himself unable to speak at all.

The human, bold as ever, dropped to his level to look at him and only then was Grayson able to take a good look at him.

The words 'U.S. Army' greeted him, and his shock only increased.

A-Army? What the fuck? Was this an Atlesian operation?

The questions were left unanswered as the human got up to leave, and dashed away. Leaving Grayson all alone, and without any support. He was still impaled, and alas, he could not break free as he would only cut himself and bleed while doing so. And defeated, Grayson could only watch and vainly try to pull his hand free.

"Maybe..." He said to himself, before trying to lift his arm out of the spike pit. At first, he didn't feel anything even with his Aura protecting him. However, as he lifted it up more and more, the pain started to sting him.

He screamed as his right arm started to bleed yet again, only this time with Aura vainly trying to stop the pain within it. He was only halfway through but he bled like a champagne room, with red spewing everywhere even as he tried to press on and lift his arm off the spikes.

When he finally did lift it up, he repeated the same thing with his other arm, only using his other arm instead. He did it faster, but the holes in his arms still bled.

He had no way of fixing that, unfortunately. His Aura was just on its last legs and he was trying to get out of the spike pit. He used both of his arms to lift his left leg out of the spike pit.

He succeeded. and finally got it out, even as it bled.

He tried it on the other leg.

However, as he did so, the Spike refused to give up, and he leaned his leg a little too backward.

As he kept trying to lift it, it leaned backward, backward, and backward...

And then it widened the hole in his leg by tearing through it.

He screamed, and let go of his leg as pain stabbed through him.

And unfortunately, his screams timed with an event too unfortunate for anyone's sake.

An explosion rang through the base as he let go of his leg, with the orange glow illuminating his situation as he turned his head to face the flames.

His eyes widened in terror as he realized what was happening, even as the orange glow permeated through the base.

"HEY! OVER HERE!" Grayson tried to shout, as he heard the sounds of other White Fang members getting up and ready.

But his efforts were for naught, as he heard a growl and a snarl from his spike pit. And only turning his head sideways did he realize he was facing a leaping Beowolf attracted to his screams of agony.

Alas, he never felt the claws, as blood loss got to him combined with shock, as a Beowolf face to face leapt onto his pit.

The rest of his buddies, however, were not so fortunate.

And Lady Liberty smiled as her children's machinations wrought havoc on the White Fang.

Sic semper tyrannis.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 8 - FOB 'Fort Night 2'

March 22, 1977

Two days after White Fang Forest base elimination

"Where in the world is the M60 Patton?"

- Motto of the 86th Armored Recon Brigade before December 1977

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Yeah, so, as it turns out - the White Fang were fucked. Heavily. Spec Ops took out their supplies and managed to cripple their base of operations in the Valean Forests. When CIDG came out to survey the Spec Ops' work, they were impressed. The fact that we were willing to go to any length to basically screw these assholes over, even if it meant manipulating the wildlife... I'm pretty sure we gave them nightmares."

"We went to the nightmare-filled forests of Vale, and I'm pretty sure the IQ of the 86th Armored Recon dropped by sixty percent. I thought that I'd never have to reach that threshold, but knowing the 86th - nothing is impossible for them. This has put upon me the question; 'Have you ever really sat down and thought about the potential for great evil that resides in every sentient being that is only separated by whim or choice?'"

"Yeah, me neither. Turns out that our group is just absolutely idiotic. In other, more important news, by this time, the National Guard sent more reinforcements our way. Engineer Brigades just arrived on March 21, and they got sent before us tank boys to repair the FOB. Or, the shell of it anyway. We recovered several firearms that most of our CIDG boys were already familiar with, though. Then we had to train some recruits. It was short but sweet. Our job after that? Conduct recon operations. Our attached units? Well, the 1/101st Field Artillery, 1/101st Armored Cav, and 1/101st Infantry. Because apparently there was an order given to the '1/101st' that got sent to ALL the 1/101sts. So we were stuck with them."

"So there we were, in Vale. A convoy of jeeps, APCs, and tanks escorting howitzers and gun batteries accompanied by infantry units riding on top of the tanks and APCs. Yeah. The 86th's first recon operation was fucked in terms of logistics. But hey, we had a job. Establish contact with any settlements within this shitty corner of Northwestern Vale. As it turns out, trying to negotiate while an M48 Patton aimed its guns at a village was a bad idea. Who knew?"

"But hey. At least I don't have to deal with my M16 performing like absolute ass. The grunts on the other hand? Yeah, I felt sorry for those poor grunts who rode with us."

"They got hit the most when those White Fang fucks tried to launch an attack on a village to get a second FOB."

Jay Ruben - Forward Operating Base 'Fort Night 2' - March 22, 1977 (Earth Years) - 7:32 AM (Earth Time)

"Goddamn fuckwits," Jay heard Colonel de Zwart sigh as he took a look at the decimated encampment that the White Fang had set up. "Did they really think they could take on LRRP and win?" He chuckled. "Ah, poor bastards. They never knew what hit them." He finished, before lighting up a cigarette and taking a smoke. Jay was there, standing by the Colonel as CIDG units prepared themselves for additional briefing now that they had the capability of providing much more intelligence for them. Well, at least, as far as they could disclose. Other units handled, well, other tasks. But Jay...

"Lieutenant, why don't you go greet the new CIDG units?" He motioned to the back, still smoking. "It'll pay off for them to know how our weapons systems work. Especially the tanks." He finished. Jay's response was to groan. Albeit, he wasn't exactly mad. It was much more fun than maintenance, but it still sucked. Either way, he only had one option to respond with.

"Alright. I'll go get the rest of the crew." He sighed. Doing this was a pain in the ass.

Through the base, he walked amongst the rest of the guys who were also managing things. He saw the 26th ID's helicopters land a crate from the Engineering unit, then turned his head to see some Engineers from the Ohio units digging up trenches, and when he turned behind him he saw an M113 get a machine gun mounted to it.

Needless to say, the base was thriving with life. It wasn't particularly sane life, seeing as the 86th was comprised of - at best - children with experience in "fuckshit" or otherwise. But, hey, you take what you can get. As he says.

And well, he took what he could get when he found the crew of his tank. Sitting atop the M48 Patton, reading magazines and trying to shove things into the M48's gun barrel. Well, it was his time to shine, so he cleared his throat - which got the attention of his crew - and spoke.

"Hi there," Jay said. "Now you're all wondering why we're here. Right?" He finished. The crew nodded. "Let me guess, the locals gotta be briefed on how a tank works?" The Loader opened up. "I think they already know how it fights, El-Tee."

Jay wagged his finger. "They know how it fights. But they don't know how it works." He finished. The crew groaned. "Come on, El-Tee. Do we really have to?" The Gunner complained.

"Yep."

The crew sighed. They were finished. All of them were. Jay knew it. They didn't have to do the elaborate setups, just demonstrate the tank. Unfortunately...

He just wanted to do it anyway.

Jay Ruben - Forward Operating Base 'Fort Night 2' - March 22, 1977 (Earth Years) 8:54 AM (Earth Time)

"Well, what do you think?" Jay asked the loader, looking at the masterpiece in front of him.

"Sir. Do we really have to make targets out of the scrap?" He asked, taking off his sunglasses as he looked at what they put all their time and effort into. To the loader, it was a horrible abomination of scrap, discarded ammo casings, and a shitton of leaves. The fact that there was a broken speaker on top of it didn't help at all.

"Well, you got any other ideas?" Jay asked, smiling. "If you got any, send them my way." He finished. The Loader sighed and just looked at him in disgust. "I hate you, El-Tee."

"Opinion noted and preserved." Jay chuckled. The loader responded in kind. "Right, I'll be sure to frame it a second time."

"Maybe."

And as Jay waited for the CIDG trainees to arrive to the scene after being processed through the Army's ad-hoc recruitment center called the 'Shitcan' because of how cramped it was. Of course, he wasn't going to complain. The CIDG trainees had much, much more training to work on due to how hellish this world was.

When Jay heard tales of the world they found themselves intervening in... Well, he was shocked. This couldn't be that hellish, right? Oh how wrong this poor New Englander was. The fact that most of the CIDG workers had shot something once, twice, or multiple times...

"Think they'll be able to adapt to whatever we scrounge from our storage?" The Gunner asked, M3 Grease Gun in hand. "I mean, we have this shit-" He raised his M3. "-And somehow that's enough to defeat whatever beasts they are?"

"Ah-ah, Gunner. We defeated them with tanks. Not submachine guns. We'll have to see that for next time." Jay corrected. The Gunner looked at him with a dirty glare. "Fuck you, El-Tee."

"Fuck you too, man." Jay responded. The rest of the crew just sat on the M48 Patton thereafter, awaiting their CIDG transfers. To Jay, this could have been his life for the rest of his days in the National Guard. Sadly, however, he just couldn't stay out of trouble. Even in the Guard. But aside from that, if he actually were to look at the source of this trouble... He's pretty fucking shocked about it all. And that's not to say the CDC, FBI, or CIA wouldn't be amazed. Hell, get the DHS too. They'll be shitting themselves.

This world was mostly uninhabited, filled to the brim with literal - and this is putting it lightly - hellbeasts. He wasn't sure how M16 fire would deal with them, but it did die to 90mm cannon fire. And hell, he thought that would be the end of it. But then came the stranger part. This place apparently had a KKK-esque terror organization. Well, ironically, it started off as a Civil Rights group, but then turned into the KKK. If Johnson were here, he'd be having a field day calling every side out.

Unfortunately, Johnson's dead.

Such is life.

"Here come the CIDG transferees," The Driver groaned, pointing towards a truck that had the CIDG marking flash on it. "Get the bastards over here." He finished, before opening the driver's hatch and entering from there.

"Well, I'll stay here. You guys go on in." Jay responded, jumping off. "I'll be handling the instructions here and there. You better keep your Radios on or I'll have your ass ten ways to sunday." Jay concluded.

"Roger."

And after that, Jay turned to face the music.

Walking over to an ammo crate as the trainees fell into line row by row, Jay eyed the new recruits. Most of them were 'Faunus' - a weird Animal-Human hybrid - and only their trainers were human. The trainees themselves were pretty hesitant, but they fell in line with us because... well, we had guns and tanks. These were factory workers, pen-pushers, and security guards. Sure, factory workers with RPGs, pen-pushers with pistols, and guards with submachine guns. But still. Though we have to train them with regular American weapons too.

That being said, Jay did hear the Quartermaster found something during the raid on the area that used to be a White Fang training camp - which was now America's training ground. They did mention that they'll be digging through them to find out how they worked. In the meantime, though...

"Ten-hut!" Jay shouted, getting them to salute. They all faced towards him and saluted at the same time. Though many did it quite sloppily. That wasn't his problem. This place didn't actually have a unified military nor any offensive militia organizations, much to his ire. Every American would have the right to well-regulated militias and such. But... he sighed. Vale was just different.

He let those thoughts go as he addressed the trainees.

"As you all know, you all have volunteered for armor and weapons systems training," Jay continued, lifting his finger up as he got their attention by walking back and forth with his finger still pointing at the air. "I'll have to address this first - we have no available tanks for the CIDG as of now. However, to demonstrate our armor capabilities, we will be using my tank for training." He continued. "Any questions?" He added. One hand was raised. Right in front of him, too.

He took one look at the arm and lasered down to the person who raised their hand and asked them a question. "Yes?" He asked as he took a closer look at the person. Turns out, that the person with their hands up was a she.

And she was a bird faunus, apparently.

He only told himself that that because she had feathers sticking out. Couldn't tell which bird.

"With all due respect..." She stopped as she had no way of addressing me by rank. He sighed. The consequences of not having an actual military to train. Jay had to step in and tell her.

"It's Lieutenant." He said, helping her. "You are to address me as Lieutenant for the time being. Not sir." He sighed. Normally they wouldn't have Ell-Tees doing training, but this was special circumstance as he was part of the only armored unit that got sent to Remnant. So here was Jay, busy helping a new recruit address him. A woman, too. Back home this would be scandalous, but he could give less than two shits.

At least he scored consistently on accuracy tests.

"Lieutenant... what's a tank?" He didn't facepalm at that! Surprisingly, he had a plan and a whole-ass explanation for that. And he prepared it by walking up to the tank and smacking its barrel. He hurt his hand but it was far, far more mild than the time he tried to beat his own hand with a lead pipe. So, he continued on.

"This, my friends, is a tank," He explained. "Specifically, an M48 Patton, named for a figure from my corner of the space-time pool." He then climbed on top of the tank and crouched with my legs spread next to the machine gun on the mount. "This is the machine gun on it." He introduced Ma Deuce to them. "12.7x99mm machine gun, Browning M2. Or, in layman's terms, M2 Browning .50 Cal." He spoke.

Their faces were amazed to say the least. He went on with his explanation. "This vehicle is designed in mind with spearheading offensives in mind," He added, before taking a cigarette and smoking it. "Equipped with a 90mm cannon, the M48 Patton is just one of the tanks in service with the American military. Intended for use in wars," He mentioned, before their eyes turned wide. "Wars against other humans, mind you." He threw the cigarette and stood up, before disembarking the turret and sitting on the armor skirts.

"Y-you... you fight other humans...?" One of the CIDG trainees - a pig faunus - asked. Jay nodded his head casually. It was a matter of fact, unfortunately. The United States had fought many wars against humans. And it was only two years since our last one. Well, technically seven years. Jay had been eleven when the United States began pulling troops out.

"Yes." He responded, shrugging. "It's life over back on my side," Jay continued to sit on the armor. "We fight, we kill, and we don't have much to deal about in terms of your... 'Grimm' problem." He finished.

"No Grimm?"

"You couldn't tell when we brought you over to Johnsbury?" He asked, mouth twisting into a sarcastic smirk.

"I... I thought that was a secure base. Nothing more." He added. Suddenly his eyes started to widen in more fear. "Have you... killed anybody?" He asked.

Jay sighed. It was another one of these. "No," he added, shrugging. "We're the National Guard, actually. Not the Army." He was confused, so Jay added more. "National Guard is the country's reserve and militia force," he pointed towards the other soldiers attending to the camp. "We're basically the fall-back guys."

"Why have technology like this, then?" Another CIDG trainee asked. "Atlas doesn't give any militia this kind of technology, no, they hoard it for their army." They added. "If you're the fall-back guys, then where is the Regular Army?" Another one asked. The question was repeated.

He answered as simply as he possibly could. "The regular military's deployed elsewhere, they've got their own problems..." He paused, then sighed. "Like a Cold War warm enough to boil an egg."

"Cold War?"

Jay sighed and immediately waved the man off. "It's a complex mess Jay don't care about, just know that we've got enemies to the east. Human ones." He watched everyone's eyes widen. He didn't make any snarky remarks after that. Those were reserved for the idiots in 'Military Intelligence' considering the lack of their IQ. "It's not racial, more ideological." Jay admitted. He grasped the reason for discrimination but found it largely annoying compared to the Segregation of South Carolina. If anything, that told Jay that some people were dumber than rocks.

"What do you mean by that?"

"It means that I can kill someone from the East because they believe in a dictatorship, not because they look like a Zebra." Jay noted, watching them cringe. It didn't amuse me this time. Guess these people really do live in such a hell world where Commie lives are as equally viable as human ones.

When the cringing finished, Jay went back to briefing.

"Right, on a lighter note-" He opened the hatch of a nearby M48 Patton that was issued for training. "This is your training tank," he then pointed to a steel wreck comprised of remnants of the warehouse scrapped up by the National Guard Engineer units. "And that is your training target. The objective is simple." He grabbed a stick off the ground and waved it around the obstacles on the training course set up by the Engineers.

"Drive the tank around without hitting anything," He then changed to point at the target from earlier. "Then move on to shooting at targets as part of tests. We're sending in a group of armored instructors to facilitate your proper training. Got it?"

It took them a bit to swallow that, but when they managed to get their asses in gear, they responded. "Yes, Lieutenant!" Seemed to me like they were briefed on how to address me. Normally this would require an actual training environment with Drill Sergeants, Captains, and whatnot. But with the Rest of the Army cut off from our little project, we were left with scraps and whatever improvisation the Ohio Engineers could come out.

Knowing these Ohioans, they'd probably come up with a really hot heater. Jay heard that in December, Ohio gets cold as balls. Guess that means when winter hits, they'll be immediately turning the antifreeze into a permanent anti-cold coat of liquid. Sort of like Oil on water.

"Paging 1st Troop of the 82nd Armored Brigade." The PA the Engineers hastily set up blared. "Once again, paging the 1st Troop of the 86th Armored Reconnaissance Brigade. Your presence is needed on base camp." It finished. Leaving an irritated Jay. His vacation - well, 'vacation' - plan was ruined. He approached his tank - not the one the CIDG trainees were waiting around in - to call up the crew.

"Well, I'm off. They're paging us." Jay addressed, sighing. "Be on your best behavior when meeting the Colonel, alright? We don't want the Colonel's men to be all over our asses if an ammo dump catches fire because you smoked while briefing."

The Loader, Gunner, and Driver sighed. Only the loader responded. "Yes, El-Tee."

"Righto," Jay turned around. "Don't be too tired on the Colonel. He probably hasn't slept in weeks after we first dropped here." He finished, before leaving the area and gunning straight for the Command Tent. The moment he and his crew stepped into the tent, he was faced with a presumably sleep-deprived Colonel de Zwart, with his hands sighing as he passed his eyes over paperwork. When he noticed Jay, he slowly put the paper down and heaved a huge sigh.

"Alright, welcome." Colonel de Zwart announced, standing up to grab a pointing stick. "I've already briefed soldiers who were bone-headed enough to come back drunk. Please don't tell me you're on anything, Lieutenant. Your men, too." He deadpanned, before sighing as Jay shook his head and showed his hands, alongside his men. They didn't have anything alcoholic.

"No sir, haven't drank since high school. And even then, it was barely anything strong." Jay said.

"Good, good," Colonel de Zwart then moved the stick to a map on a board. "This is a map of the local area that we managed to obtain from the Camp when SF detonated it." He moved to a settlement that was marked by a red circle. "Command wants us to establish contact with settlements in the area, so far, we've been bogged down by maintenance efforts," He put his head down and shook his head, returning to a less-tired face.

"But today is the day we're finally able to mobilize forces to go to the village," He commented. "You, 1st troop, are to rendezvous with 1/101st at this point, here," He pointed towards a crater that was marked with 'Point Zulu'. "And you are to advance eastward," He moved the stick to the village. "And establish contact with the local settlements. If possible, negotiate a treaty with the local government allowing MACNE military presence in the area."

He took a moment to assess possible threats when he pointed his stick towards arrows all labeled Grimm/White Fang Attack Area. "We're expecting either the Grimm or White Fang to assault the area either before or after you arrive at the village, based on movement patterns recorded by CIDG for the Grimm and recovered documents from the White Fang base. Your orders then are to, quote, 'Hold Alamo' until we can get air cavalry up and running."

He faced the men and put the stick down. "Any questions?" He asked.

"Uh, sir," The Gunner spoke up. "When does the operation begin?" He questioned. The response was swift. "Approximately 3 hours from now. We've already paged the 1/101st to head to Point Zulu."

"How the hell are the 1/101st supposed to get to point Zulu?" The loader asked. "We've sent copies of the map to the 1/101st. Expect them to be ready in a bit."

"Hey, uh, Colonel," Jay spoke up. "Unrelated to the topic at hand, but how the hell did the Ohio Engineer Corps build an FOB so quickly? I expected them to take a month, but they did it in a shorter time than that." Jay had to admit. Ohio's ingenuity impressed him at times. In fact, he might have to dedicate a tribute to Ohio someday if he got out of this war.

Maybe some art?

Pizza?

Soda?

No idea how he should give tribute to the Ohio National Guard Engineer corps.

"We have multiple Engineer teams on standby as part of MACNE's, err, 'exercise' mandate." The Colonel noted. "They've been reassigned to help us build the FOB as fast as possible. In fact, we're expecting reinforcements in the form of a Medevac Unit and some Air National Guard units." He said. "That being said, your only air support - for now - is Hueys. We're working to get some grenade launchers for them and Gunship conversions. But nothing too special, just machine guns for now."

"Alright." Jay noted. The Colonel once again expected questions, but nothing came up. So he nodded. "Good. Dismissed."

The team went out just as the other guys from 1st Troop filed in for their briefing. Jay briefly passed one by and asked him a question.

"Hey, uh, you're from 1st Troop, 86th Armored Recon, right?" Jay asked. The men who weren't a part of his crew turned to him and nodded.

"Well, we just finished briefing. We'll be waiting for you guys in the tanks." Jay noted. "Operation begins in three hours sharp, so be ready." He added, with the men nodding before heading to the command tent.

The crew had climbed into the tank, and waited for the rest of the guys to come out.

By the time they had come out, the loader had already fallen asleep and nearly hit his head after being startled by the friendly tank engines.

Such was life in the 86th Armored's 1st Troop.

Jay Ruben - Point Zulu - March 22, 1977 (Earth Years) 12:32 PM (Earth Time)

"This where the 1/101st is supposed to meet us, right?" The loader peeked out of the turret, machine gun ready. "I ain't seen 'em at all, sir." He added, just a bit pissed off. To be fair, Jay had the same thoughts. He was a little more than miffed at the 1/101st ditching them like that. But hey, it probably took them a long time to get there.

They're probably getting here. Give it a minute." Jay noted, poking out of the Commander's hatch. The Pathfinders had already arrived after the briefing. Turns out, they were split off from the mechanized infantry section of an Armored Platoon. And the Mortar Squad also arrived. Now they just needed the Mobile HQ and the 1/101st.

Several minutes of waiting later, and the sound of engine rumbling that belonged to an M113 manifested itself just nearby. 1st Troop had waited for them already, so when they got the chance, they'd ask what the hell took them so long. The engine sound came closer and closer, getting just as louder. Jay thought that the 1/101st would be mechanized infantry, and sure, they were. But he still had to ask.

What was taking them so long?

Engine problems?

The answer showed itself, though. In the form of M113s finally appearing from the trees. But what Jay didn't expect was that the APCs were followed by... trucks. The APCs themselves also had infantry riding on top of them. Sorta in the "tank desant" style, but with a tin box. He knew to expect reinforcements, but not a lot of them! And the trucks, too...

"Are those howitzers?!" The loader asked, taking a moment to stop and rub his eyes. His voice was loud enough to be noticed amongst the sound of engines though, as he got a response. "YEP! THESE ARE HOWITZERS ALRIGHT!"

"Command briefed us on just expecting mechanized infantry. Who the hell are you guys?" Jay's driver popped up to ask a question. Jay had the same thoughts.

Where the hell did they include 'howitzers' in Mechanized Troops?

"2nd Lieutenant Chavez, 1/101st Field Artillery. 2nd Section." One of the soldiers spoke up.

"Field Artillery? The hell are you guys doing out here?" Jay asked. His response came in the form of one of the soldiers riding on the M113s. "Apparently all of us 1/101sts got orders to join you guys!"

"Wait, there were multiple 1/101sts?" Jay continued.

"Yeah!" The same soldier finished, lighting up a cigarette. "There's the 1/101st Armored Cavalry, 1/101st Field Artillery and 1/101st Infantry!"

"How the hell did you guys get the same order?"

"Turns out some asshole paged for the 1/101st to assemble in the Courtyard," He threw the cigarette down in irritation. "They didn't get the memo that there were more than one 1/101sts out there!" He yelled. "So now here we are, heading to Point Zulu in a fucking cramped convoy carrying gun batteries to some village because overkill."

The silence that permeated after that statement was powerful enough to turn a cigarette being thrown into a loud noise. Still, Jay knew that they had to keep moving, even if there was this inconvenience that more or less pissed off nearly every 1/101st.

"So... do we keep moving?" Jay paged in.

"Suppose so." The rifleman responded, before banging on the hatch of the M113.

"Hey driver, we've found our guys! Let's keep moving!"

The APC engines started back up, telling Jay that it was time to go.

The tank engines of 1st Troop joined them, as did the truck and jeep engines of what Jay presumed to be 1/101st Field Artillery.

Go time.

"Advance!" Jay shouted.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 9 - Dig Trenches

March 22, 1977

Two days after White Fang Forest base elimination

"Where in the world is the M60 Patton?"

- Motto of the 86th Armored Recon Brigade before December 1977

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Uh, yeah, we were supposed to gather at a village to commit to reconnaissance. Turns out the White Fang - or, as we call them, Whiskey Foxtrot - were planning to sack the village to use it as a training camp. The village was called Mayflower, part of the, uh, northern Vale forests. We, err, came into contact with the villagers before the White Fang did. Our objective was pretty much to dig in and establish contact with the natives, though, uh, we didn't exactly alert them to our presence. We just marched in like it was a Vietnamese village out in fucknowhere, and surprised everyone. To say we gave people a heart attack is an understatement ."

"The entrenching came pretty much after we arrived into the village, the Mechanized proceeded to get out and start digging in trenches in order to ensure our safety while we negotiated a deal with the local villagers to use the base as an occupation zone slash forward operating base in exchange for protection from the Grimm and the White Fang. They were initially concerned that we'd be basically turning the area into a glorified, quote, 'Atlesian air base'. They were right, to an extent."

"The Armored Cavalry basically served as the rear guard. We were tasked with ensuring the Grimm didn't break positions or attack anything too important. Of course, with problems comes reassignments. So we enjoyed that moment of guarding the rear for a short amount of time rather than sleeping it out. Makes me wish I was asleep my entire National Guard trip, but sadly that's not going to happen. Rather, I've got to deal with a sack of shit instead of relaxing while guarding the rear. Makes me sympathize with Generals de Zwart and Westmoreland."

"The mechanized infantry dug in to guard the front. And the Pathfinders - I didn't mention them earlier because they were with us while we waited for the 1/101st - stuck to the east, helping paint maps. It was a thankless job, but we managed to get our thanks when we returned home about two years or so later. Give or take. Carter's popularity skyrocketed after the end of the war, even if the operation was still... compromised. I can't really say much about it in this section, just wait until, like, a few more sections or so."

"The M48 Patton gave them a good jumpscare, seeing as they've never met a good MBT before. Funny how I used to think these weren't going to scare the locals. Oh, going into Remnant further proved me wrong about that."

"Also, thank Christ we didn't hand this operation to the United Nations when they got mad. Who knows what the occupation would look like under them? Maybe hopeless."

Jay Ruben - Away from Point Zulu - March 22, 1977 (Earth Years) - 1:06 PM (Earth Time)

"This is Second Lieutenant Ruben, Armored Cavalry. All... forces, sound off." Ruben opened up on the radio as he scanned the area holding a radio in his hand. The M113s behind him with infantry mounting on them gave him a sense of relief as he knew that they were kept safe by the presence of mechanized cavalry. That being said, his towing of the LEAD howitzer - the M114 - was incredibly annoying as he watched the crew hitch a ride on the tank. They would rather do anything rather than walk, Jay noted. Incredibly annoying, but what could he do about it?

"1st Lt. Chavez, Artillery Section here." The lead of the 1/101st artillery responded. "Currently hitching a ride on the lead main battle tank." He snickered, and so did the rest of the unit. In total, the unit had the following for its exploration composition into the village that we have no idea about:

One Armored Cavalry platoon, split up into four M48A5 Pattons with twelve crewmen, alongside a Mortar Carrier with five people in it. Led by a Second Lieutenant of the First Platoon, A Troop, and that was Ruben.

One Pathfinder Unit made up of at least four M113s, eighteen men were the dedicated team. The whole thing was led by a 2nd Lt. They were split off from the Armored Cavalry and given three APCs from the other unit reassigned as "Pathfinders", and made up the reconnaissance forces. Despite being an M113 squadron.

One Mechanized Infantry unit, made up of at least four M113s, eight crewmen, and four ten-man rifle squads. All of them with M16s, but had at least a single M60 and an M203 for each squadron. They were led by a Second Lieutenant.

One Howitzer Section and Firing Battery HQ, with one M114 Howitzer, 155mm. A 5-ton truck to transport the ammunition, and M16s for the enlisted artillerymen to defend a position. Led by a 1st Lt.

And to wrap it up - One Mobile Headquarters. The thing is an M113 with two officers inside of it. They were in charge of the guys who were in charge of Mechanized Infantry. They were quiet though, so Jay had to assume they were just waiting for the mission to begin.

The unit was basically a reconnaissance group that was put together in order to establish contact with the natives. And there they were chugging along to god knows where. At least Ruben was able to get responses out of them.

"2nd Lt. Dan, Pathfinders. I got you." The leader of the Pathfinder unit responded, with the team hitching a ride on top of the lead M113 of their Pathfinder unit. The other M113s were basically empty and served as extra machine gun support. When in doubt, just toss in more M113s to spice up the fighting. Makes the smell of sulfur and .50 Caliber clunking satisfying.

"2nd Lt. Owens, Mechanized Infantry. We hear you, Armored Cav." The presence of the Mechanized Cavalry spelled death for basically anyone involved on the opposite end of things. The mechanized infantry lead was able to snag an M113 with an ACAV configuration. That's right, we've gone back to M113 ACAVs. Clarent's unit had several when they initially entered Vale. Looks like Owens managed to snag one for himself. Lucky bastard.

"That's all of us sounding off, right?" One of the soldiers asked on the radio. "There ain't nothing to ambush us unlike earlier." Which caused all of us to basically sigh in frustration. But then again, that kid was pretty much right to an extent. We were just cautious.

"No, nothing guaranteed to jump at us. That's for sure." Clarent responded. "There isn't enough tree movement or rustling woods to put me on alert. And I'm not hearing a whistle unlike when the Viet Cong used to ambush us. So score one for the army." He noted, resting on his M2HB machine gun. Ruben wished he could do that too, but alas he had a job to do. And it involved trying to wrangle the utter idiocy that is this entire armored platoon. It's the 1970s, goddamnit. Why can't tanks or people be smart and not hand him a platter of bullshit?

"Tell me over and over and over again, my friend," Someone on the radio sang as the Guardsmen rolled along. "How you don't believe - we're on the Eve of Destruction?" Someone sang back. The mood gave a smile on Ruben's face as the M48 Patton crew started singing even as their ears were being blown apart by the engine noise.

"Think of all the hate, there is in Red China-" Jay added, spreading his arms in a wing-like position as if he was saying yipee. "Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama," Chavez interjected, the convoy descending into singing as the convoy continued along the dirt road. The tune of Eve of Destruction dominated the radiowaves of the convoy as these young men sang about a war that ended before they could legally join the armed forces.

"Ah, you may leave here for four days in space," Clarent opened up with his soft voice, "But when you return, it's the same old place," He continues, only for another private to continue the singing. "The poundin' of the drums, the pride and disgrace," The song goes on, bringing a tinge of sadness as Jay frowns at the song. He knows what this meant, given that he's had to be part of it when he was still a kid.

"You can bury your dead, but don't leave a trace," Jay winced as he spoke that. As a kid he once had to attend a funeral for his best friend's older brother, who died in the Vietnam War just before the US had completely evacuated. While it was just a song, and he was singing it out of enjoyment, he still felt himself wince as those words were spoken. It seemed that the rest of the men didn't know he was wincing, which is maybe a good thing. But as far as Jay can tell, they're all untrained and desperate for something to have fun with.

"Hate your next door neighbor but don't forget to say grace," The song continued while the convoy kept rolling along and along. Jay presumed HQ was not amused by the whole thing, but hey, that's the price you pay for being a commanding officer of what's basically an ad-hoc force only held together by metaphorical strings and duct-tape. The song was hummed by the rest of the soldiers of the convoy as they approached the ending of the song. The song was about to end, and thus was the adventures of the sing-song battalion.

"And you tell me," Jay spoke, with the rest of the units following suit and singing. The coldness of the current weather helped the atmosphere of the singing. "Over and over and over and over again, my friend," The Mechanized Infantry followed, soldiers riding on the wave of singing. Though then again, this was just another coping mechanism for the fact that they won't be back home for now anytime soon. After all, the US was here on a Revenge mission. Their current objectives, as per Colonel Zwart, were to commit reconnaissance and eliminate what attacked Johnsbury.

"You don't believe we're on the eve of destruction," An unknown voice interjected, much to the surprise of the convoy. The only vehicle that wasn't speaking was-!

Another voice interjected, this time much older and deeper. " No no, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction." The song ended there, but not the confusion. Everyone stared at the Mobile HQ APC with a surprised expression, Jay included. The radio remained silent for several minutes before the voice continued in a sheepish tone. "Heha... sorry for not being there for a while, guys." The deeper of the voices opened up. "Right, need I introduce ourselves, Guardsmen?"

"What, are you the Mobile HQ right over there?" Chavez asked over the radio. An 'ahm' meant that it was indeed a yes. "Yeah, pleased to meet you." He responded, before the Mobile HQ's hatch popped up, revealing a young, fresh-faced Guardsman... with the tabs of a First Lieutenant. "First Lieutenant Wallace. Mobile HQ." He greeted, the deep New England accent reverberating through the radio. "Sorry for not introducing myself, I was busy making sure our systems didn't detonate on themselves." He noted, turning to face frontwards of the M113.

"Good to see you, Mobile HQ."

"Right then, so I presume that we're near the village right?" Jay asked, smiling as he nodded. "Yeah. Give or take a few hundred feet and we're almost there. Just continue hurrying up there, hopefully, we won't run into anything special." Wallace noted, before slinking back down. "I'll be commanding the Mechanized now, so excuse my absence. Have a great day, all of you." He went radio silent after that, with the Mobile HQ doing its job.

"Our briefing is as follows," He notes, "Establish contact with the village, then dig in. The organization is as follows;" He continues, shuffling papers from the cartographers. "86th Armored, tell your mortar carrier to break off and stay with the Pathfinder units," Which caused Ruben to nod. "First Platoon, Mechanized, hang by the Northeast. I'll see if I can get the Pathfinders to hang with y'all," He continued the sound of chewing on gum reverberating through the radio. "Second and Third Platoon, hang by the Northwest. I've got Artillery covering that area, so if anything comes to attack you're good." Wallace notes. "We'll be hanging back to direct the operations from the village proper. Mobile HQ, out."

"Alright, you heard the man," Ruben spoke into the radio. "Mortar Squad, stick with the Pathfinders and Dan. You'll be needing to provide artillery support for the Northeast units." As he said that, the M113 Mortar began to turn and stick with the Pathfinder unit. "Got it, El-Tee. We'll be hanging with the Pathfinders. Mortar Squadron out." The mortar carrier opened up and then stayed silent for the rest of the operation.

"Alright, how many feet until we get there again?" Jay heard someone ask. 'About give or take three hundred or so?" He responded. "I'm not too good in the topic of distance... or anything else related to maths, really. I just leave it to the Artillerymen to do the complicated homework. Corrections and such." He sighed, taking a moment to vent. "Hopefully we'll get Computers before the decade ends. I'm tired of our artillerymen having a pain in the ass trying to elevate everything." Jay comments. Much to his amazement, Chavez responded with an "amen". And so did the Mortar Squadron.

"Right. Hey, convoy, could you give me a status on ammunition?" Ruben noted. "This isn't standard procedure, but still... might want to check if you guys have sufficient ammunition to make it through the night. If you need, we might be able to get the 26th Infantry. Mobile HQ, can you call them?" He briefly sidetracked his reasoning to ask MHQ. "Yeah, we've got 'em on standby," MHQ noted. "Right, back to checking our mags." Ruben noted. If they were going to dig in, they better have enough ammunition to make it out of the night.

"First Platoon of Mechanized here, we've got everything in order!" An answer came to the radio after two minutes or so of silence. Jay expected a lot more, but surprisingly it took everyone a while. In the meantime, he descended and slinked back into the tank to tell the Gunner to count how many shells they currently have on standby. He entered back up to communicate clearly with the rest of the troops.

He was greeted with responses from the Second and Third Platoons of the Mechanized Infantry. "Second and Third Platoon of Mechanized here, we've got... uhh... thousands of rounds with us. Give or take we've got enough for both platoons."

"Artillery Battery reports at least a few crates of shells, via 5-ton truck. Don't think we'll have an ammo problem unless we get Ia Drang'd."

"Mortar Squadron reports at least eighty-or-so rounds. Let's rain hell upon 'em, boys."

"Uhh... Pathfinders report everything in order! Magazines are all checked and we've got safety off but no ammo in the chamber."

"Mobile HQ reports radio functional. If you can count batteries as Ammo."

"Armored Cavalry, what about you?"

"Hold on," Jay spoke into the radio, and slinked back down. "How many shells did you find?" He asked his Loader, who responded by turning his head to face Jay. "About 60 rounds, sir." He responded. "Multiply that by three to account for the whole platoon," Jay noted. "We'll make sure that we're not going to run out of ammunition in the middle of a firefight."

"Yes sir."

Jay popped back up from the Patton to inform the rest. "We've got about... uhhh..." He slinked back down to see that his Loader wrote '180' with a marker, then rose back up. "We've got about 180 shells in our total platoon. Not counting machine gun rounds..." He bit back the urge to say 'the M219 wouldn't care' because that fucker would jam every time it was used. "Regardless, I think we've got it set up."

"Copy that. Armored Cavalry, you got any other notes?" Mobile HQ opened up, expecting something else. Though Jay didn't have much to say, so by this time he just decided to answer with a flat no.

"No, nada. We're all set up."

"Then we've got not much to think about now."

The radio went silent after that as they pulled into the village, the sign reading 'Mayflower'. The cheery design on the sign made the soldiers feel like it was a kitschy little corner of the world. As soon as the M48 Pattons stepped into the village, the Mechanized Infantry came to a halt, and the soldiers on the M113 rapidly descended to secure the area. The Pathfinders continued past the Pattons stopped at the entrance. Jay watched as Mobile HQ came to a halt next to the sign, and First Lieutenant Wallace stepped out with a backpack radio.

"First Platoon, I recommend guarding the Northeast section. Second and Third Platoon, I recommend you spread out to the Northwest. If any of you have Entrenching tools, I recommend digging a trench and setting up defensive positions." Wallace spoke into the radio, turning to watch the guys spread out. "Pathfinders, could I ask you to accompany First Platoon to the Northeast?"

"Can do," The Pathfinder leader replied from the radio. "Give us a few minutes. We'll be setting up."

"Artillery Section, are you capable of positioning to aim at the Northwest? We're expecting an enemy attacks from the North."

"I am, First Lieutenant. On our way to get over there."

Jay took the opportunity to break off the Mortar Squadron. "Mortar Squadron, could you link up with the Northeast defense sector?" He asked, hoping to bolster the defense sector of the Northeast from either Grimm or the local terrorists. He was briefed on them after all, and he wasn't happy to know that he'd been fighting people akin to the Nation of Islam for God's sake. As if coming from the aftermath of the Civil Rights Movement was bad enough.

"Yes sir. Though we might not be as effective at fire support as a howitzer. Nevertheless, we'll go if needed, sir."

"Good. I was thinking that we might not be able to give our Pathfinders support." And that was a bad thing. A really, really bad thing.

"No need to, sir."

Jay nodded.

"Armored Cavalry, can you stay where you are right now as a rear guard? We don't have enough forces to split between a front and rear guard. So we're counting on you all to keep our rear safe." Wallace's voice appeared back on the radio,

"Uhh... this is Armored Cavalry. We'll be able to, yes. Though I don't see it as a recommended course of action," Jay scratched his helmet, a little confused on what to see after that. "But we'll try. Just don't expect us to do a swell job at it." He decided that he was sadly going to be honest here, even if everyone else had garbage morale and were trying to ensure that they had something to be positive about. A great sigh escaped Wallace's mouth.

"Alright, Armored Cav. Just call us if you need reinforcements."

"Likewise. We'll be on guard if any of the Platoons need tank support. Out."

"Alright. We'll ensure that we won't need to. Out."

The suddenness of the movements caused the lights to turn on in the village, and that was Jay's time to shine as a supreme negotiator. Well, at least in theory.

He turned down to his crew. "I'll be speaking to the locals. Give me a minute." He got back up and grabbed onto the tank hatch, and hopped off of the tank, boots landing on the dry dirt below him. He turned his direction towards the confused people in the village. Who all panicked realizing what they were in the middle of. Though Jay, for his best efforts, tried to wave at people. He took off his helmet and carried it with one arm

"Hello!" Jay greeted, waving with one hand and carrying his helmet on the other arm. The fearful expression of the locals from the village told him a lot though, and his expression stopped smiling for a moment as people stared at the tanks in the gate. And the Mobile HQ. And the soldiers digging trenches on their soil. And everything else that was going on this village.

Jay sighed and took a deep breath as he approached what looked like to be the Mayor of the village, based on his attire befitting of an old-timey mayor. Suit and tiny bowler hat and all. Looked like a funny guy. Makes him wish he watched those old films as a kid again. But now as a tank crewman... he has to speak to one. Christ alive. Hopefully he won't walk out with an aneurysm.

"What is the meaning of this?!" He asked, pointing at the Mechanized Infantry digging trenches to his behind. "What the hell is this?!-" He starts looking at the Pathfinder team setting up their defensive positions. "Who the hell are you?!" He looked at Jay. Jay could hear the murmurs of everyone else from the village, and it didn't surprise him to hear a few negative comments.

"Atlas? What the hell are they doing here? They aren't allowed to be on Valean soil!"

"Who the hell allowed these assholes to march unimpeded?!"

"Go home, Atlas!"

"I don't think they're Atlas, kid... Might be Valean..."

"Motherfuckers, soon they're going to replace this entire village with an airfield..."

Jay sighed and shook his head, speaking up.

"Good morning, villagers... I assume you're not exactly too keen on our presence, are you?" He sarcastically quipped. Jay didn't need this, but dealing with locals was going to be a pain in the ass anyways. The villager group in question was a mix of Human with some Faunus in-between. Overall a rather equal village on the surface. How equal it was had yet to be determined, but hopefully it was not like the whole 'Separate but Equal' propaganda the assholes in the South espoused.

"That is an understatement, Atlesian." The mayor responded with venom in his voice.

"Now ain't that unkind?" Jay's expression turned into a sort of 'ironic sadness' as he stared down at the mayor before his expression reverted to typical army man. "Listen here, we're not here to harm y'all, we're just here on a mission." He tried to offer to them, but they instead snarled back at him. Not that Jay could blame them. They were probably unaware of the fact that they were marked for death by the White Fang. "We're here to-"

"What kind of mission? To exterminate Grimm?" The mayor interrupted, staring back at Jay. When that question came up, Jay nodded, though found it rude that this asshole casually interrupted him like that.

"Yes, actually." He noted. "There's been an increase of Grimm activity in this area, and we're looking to protect unconnected settlements from attacks."

"So you can get an airfield?"

"Maybe?" Jay shrugged. "But there's also another problem-" Jay tried to say, only to get silenced as the Mayor put his hand first.

"If it's just about the Grimm, we can handle it by ourselves," He puffed his cigar. "We don't need you folk-" He poked Jay in an attempt to point at him. "To occupy and destroy our sacred village."

"Fuck off Atlas!" One villager shouted at Jay. He rolled his eyes at that. He wasn't fucking Atlesian, for God's sake. But he guessed that some people couldn't understand that.

"Fuck off, Atlas!" The villagers repeated, yelling at the soldiers currently digging trenches and parking their APCs. Several soldiers heard their chanting and were about to break from digging trenches to challenge them, but Jay shook his head.

I'll deal with this. His body language stated, and the soldiers went back to digging, with him stuck doing the thankless job of talking to the locals. To the credit of the other soldiers though, they didn't give a shit. Sadly, that left Jay alone to deal with the villagers.

God he wished Mobile HQ would come out already.

"Look, this area isn't safe. There's been a spike of Grimm-" He tried to speak, only for the villagers to repeat their chanting and the Mayor to attempt silencing him with a stare.

"Like I said, we can handle it. No need for you Atlesians with your fancy-pancy army to ruin our beloved Mayflower. We're all good by ourselves-"

"Would it kill you to be informed that there's been a massive uptick in Grimm reporting and sightings?" Jay noted, interrupting the Mayor with an annoyed expression. "Oh, and I guess it'd be not so kind to inform you that the White Fang has been sighted in this area too?"

"...Wait, what?!" The mayor responded. Jay nodded to confirm his words.

"There's no way the White Fang would be here! This place is too disconnected to be a valid target, what the fuck?!"

"You're lying, damn Atlesians!"

"Are you sure he's lying?"

"Of course! He's just trying to get us to accept the soldiers in our village!"

Jay felt irritated and wanted to crush something under his boot, but he steadied himself and put the helmet back on to use the radio. "Mobile HQ, requesting 1st Lt. Wallace's presence." He said, turning back to face the sign where the Mobile HQ and M48 Patton tanks parked.

"What for, Armored Cavalry?"

"Get the maps that we stole from the nearby White Fang."

"Got it. I'll be there in a minute."

"Thanks, Wallace." He turned to face the villagers. "I hate to break it to you, but the White Fang's had their eyes set on you for a while, buddy." He sardonically noted, smirking as their expressions turned from arrogance to terror. All because of a single overqualified Tank Commander. "Let me put it this way before you say anything," He stated, wagging his finger to stop the Mayor.

"They've had their sights on you as a military target, to be kept as a supply post between the Northern White Fang cells," He outlined, pointing one finger up. "They have outlined plans to... let's see..." Jay combed through his mental notes. "Oh, right. Demolish the area and turn it into a glorified attack outpost..." He flipped through some more mental notes. "Aaaaand not to mention dealing 'harshly' with the inhabitants of this village," He stopped for a moment to rub one in. "I wonder what they meant by that?" He asked, dishonestly.

He was interrupted when he got tapped on the shoulder and turned to see Lieutenant Wallace hand him the White Fang documents retrieved from the destroyed White Fang camp. The documents were basically the maps outlining the Village and memos on what to do with it. It was stamped with the White Fang symbol of a cat-esque creature with three slash marks on it.

"Thank you, Wallace." Jay told him, Wallace could only bow and nod.

"Anytime." He said, before heading back.

Jay turned around and brought the documents in front of him, and pointed to a circle with writing under it reading 'Mayflower - Capture'. With arrows pointing into the circle too.

"This was a White Fang document we seized while operating in the area," He stated. "And here's the memos," He brought a second set of documents, containing orders on what to do with the Villagers. They stared at the memos in complete shock and horror, and Jay was about to list them all.

"Rule of Engagement," He emphasized. "Villagers expendable. Deal with Harshly." He directly quoted from the memo. "Area Status;" He continued, taking a deep breath as he continued to break it down to the Villagers. "Demolish and Replace with Liberation Camp." The words listed out. The villagers' eyes widened as they realized what was in them if they continued to antagonize the only armed presence willing to present this to them.

"A-Alright," The mayor replied, some arrogance remaining in his defeated voice. "But why show us this? You could be patrolling and eliminating them! Right now, in fact! Why bother speak with our wee little village?"

"Because we need an insight into the world and an access point."

"...Access point?"

"Basically," Jay shrugged. "We need your permission to move troops and supplies using Mayflower as a forward settlement to ensure control over the area."

"But... that places us under occupation! Who's going to protect the village?!"

"We are going to station a garrison division and supply training of local village militia," He read out the deal proposal terms, "Our organization will ensure a military protection guarantee is issued to the village of..." He stopped for a minute to remember the name. "Mayflower." He finished. "The terms of what we propose are as follows;" He stopped, and breathed in.

"The Village of Mayflower is recognized as an autonomous communal entity within the unorganized territories of the Kingdom of Vale, and our government acknowledges its basic interests, such as the integrity and security of their village. As such, in desiring to cooperate with the village to ensure its sovereignty, we have outlined the following articles of the treaty." He was mostly repeating what the Colonel drafted for him before they went out to meet at Point Zulu. He was appointed by the Colonel to negotiate the deal, after all. Though the name of the village was left blank so he filled in and the only reason he knew of Vale was because of the CIDG paramilitants who helped with the drafting.

"Article I of the Treaty of Mayflower ensures that its right to undertake the defense of its territorial sovereignty is safeguarded by our organization, without a requested tax or tribute for our continued presence. As such, we declare that our armed forces will serve as a complementary guard force alongside the Mayflower militia. It accordingly declares prohibited any activity likely to promote, directly or indirectly, either union with any other State or partition of the Village." He stated, before moving on to the second article.

"Article II of the Treaty of Mayflower ensures that our organization understands the importance of the independence, territorial integrity and security of Mayflower and guarantees it. Thus, we shall ensure that it prohibits actions likely to promote, directly or indirectly, union with any other State or a partition of the Village. Likewise, our organization will prohibit any activity that is directly or indirectly promoting violations of its territorial and political sovereignty."

"Article III requests that the Village of Mayflower likewise recognize our organization's territorial claims and prohibit interference or actions directly or indirectly harming our organization's operational capability. As such, it is the responsibility of the Mayflower mayor to ensure that the citizens do not interfere in the tactical or strategic capabilities of our organization."

"Article IV posits that in case of a breach of the treaty, our organization will seek a compromise solution and consult in order to amend the treaty or find a way to continue the observance of those provisions. In so far as common or concerted action may not prove possible, each of the two signatory organizations reserves the right to take action with the sole aim of re-establishing the status quo antebellum created by the present Treaty."

"Article V posits that the present Treaty shall enter into force on the date of agreement. The original texts of the present Treaty shall be deposited at the Mayor's Governmental Capital. This is the final provision of the treaty."

Jay finished listing off the terms of the treaty from his memory alone. It was painful having to comb through it and replace the blanks that Colonel de Zwart left in order to adapt to the village name in case it came up. But it paid off, as it looked like the Mayor was getting ready to sell his soul in order to ensure that he doesn't get wiped out by either Grimm or the White Fang.

"Do you accept the treaty terms and wish to sign a provisional document?" Jay asked, staring dead-center at the mayor. He was hoping that he'd accede and get on with this shit already. He wanted to go back to the tank and sleep.

"I-I... yes. We shall sign it at the Village Hall..." He noted, shuffling sheepishly as he realized that Jay wasn't fucking around. When you have the barrel of guns aiming down at you, you can't really squeeze a room for counterarguments there.

"In that case, we shall sign it. And thus, ensure that our forces are able to properly use the treaty terms."

The Mayor frantically nodded, with the villagers dispersing to give way to him as he moved. Jay followed him, turning his head once to stare back at them before continuing to the Village Hall.

"B-by the way..." The mayor turned his head to Jay. "I... never got your organization's name. Just 'our organization'... do you have a name?"

Jay, in response rubbed his chin. He was amused at the question, given that he omitted the U.S. Army's name on purpose in order to ensure a more quiet name, thus enabling it to stick out in a sea of rumors. Now, he specifically wouldn't have said this normally, but due to the area of treaty being so small and insignificant, he could afford a minor leak.

"MACNE. Call us MACNE."

"I see... Welcome to Mayflower, MACNE."

The Mayor opened the door to the Village Hall, allowing Jay to step in and watch the modest decor inside of the area. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh air before sitting down on one of the tables, and imploring the Mayor to sit on the other. As he took his chair and sat down to face him, Jay rubbed his hands together and looked at him.

"Now, where were we on the documentary signing?"

It paid off to read Treaty copies in the School Library as a child, after all.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 10 - Paint It Black

March 22, 1977

Two days after White Fang Forest base elimination

"It's, uh, an acquired taste."

- Anon. U.S. Army soldier, 1978

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Uh, yeah, we were supposed to gather at a village to commit to reconnaissance. Turns out the White Fang - or, as we call them, Whiskey Foxtrot - were planning to sack the village to use it as a training camp. The village was called Mayflower, part of the, uh, northern Vale forests. We, err, came into contact with the villagers before the White Fang did. And, um, they did  not want us. We were, uh, bombarded by small-arms fire for quite some time. I think, uh, we were pinned by RPGs and human waves too."

"The Artillery Battery was a vital part of this operation! They were at VERY close range though. We had to move them to a bumpy hill with an open sky to shoot at them from a short arc. For those who could recall the specific details of the movement of the artillery, it was chaos. The logical conclusion of getting us to move to defend would be a catastrophe, but it ended differently! It still ended in a catastrophe, but not for us! That's a plus, considering the complete idiocy of the 86th. The infantry also played a major role, but, err... they were basically under siege 90% of the time."

"The Armored Cavalry performed a major role. They had machine guns that put down major resistance for us. That being said, RPG fire as mentioned earlier forced us, poor tank crewmen, to dig in. Hell, I even had to do some fighting myself. They didn't have squad tactics nor any plan to grind us down though, which meant that we were able to put enough rounds into them to disable their assault. On the flip side, the Mechanized Infantry took the brunt and was fighting a mini-Ia Drang. We didn't even have helicopters. You can tell how that went just by the fact I'm still alive."

"Tank shells were able to punch through what seemed to be dense forests ripe with cover, and the artillery bombarded the area with enough high-explosives to flatten the area. The regular infantry was able to pull their weight as well. As it turns out, much 5.56 can indeed ruin the environment. And I don't just mean lead poisoning. Then again, the M2HBs that the 1/101st Infantry brought were decisive in determining who won versus who didn't. And they weren't even fortified! They were literally out in the open, prepared to die. But they still survived. Call it magic, but I call it bullshit."

"My M219 broke in the middle of fighting, so I had to fight from the top with an M16. Somehow one of the Mechanized had one to hand me because my M3 broke. I had to get the M219 repaired back at the base. It cost me a lot, to be perfectly honest. That being said, the fighting was worth it."

"Also, Artillery's good with the Killer Juniors. Surprisingly, they were able to find an open field and used it to clear holes in enemy forests rather than, y'know, causing trouble for us."

Jay Ruben - Mayflower Village - March 22, 1977 (Earth Years) - 1:06 PM (Earth Time)

"That's it! Back it up, back it up!" Jay shouted as the tank attempted to go backward to cement its place in the center. "You're doing good!" Jay moved his hands rapidly as the tank tried to fit into its exact spot. To be exact, right in the middle of a large tree that had its place in the center of the village. When the tank finally made it to the spot he needed it, he gave the thumbs-up. "Alright! That's it! You've got her!"

Popping out of the hatch was the Loader, who looked like he banged his head several times. He turned to Ruben and spoke. "El-Tee, how in the hell am I supposed to keep myself sane in these trying times?" He asked, almost slumping over the hatch. "I swear I've banged my head on the Patton more times than I need to," He muttered. "And these villagers man..."

"Hey," Jay tried to give him a break. "They're not bothering us anymore! Especially after I attempted to copy the Cypriot-Greek-Turkish treaty of guarantee for our agreement. Eugh, that reminds me, any updates on the whole Cyprus thing? I remember hearing about it either two or three years ago." Jay mentioned, climbing onto the tank. The Loader shook his head as soon as Jay got on the turret.

"Nah. Haven't heard squat since then. One of the more famous tourist spots in Cyprus became abandoned though. So there's that," The Loader took his helmet off. "And among other news, midterms are approaching. We're going to need a hell of lot more votes if we're going to maintain this... err, occupation?" He asked, uncertain. "I'm not so sure if it's an occupation or just a recon operation. Sure ain't a 'Nam, but we're living under the shadow of it."

"You kidding?" The Gunner popped out of the turret and immediately took his helmet off. "Carter's sent us literally after Vietnam. If I ain't getting paid, I ain't fighting for Carter's war," He gritted out. "I mean come on! I almost got my throat ripped out by a fucking wolf! How the hell am I supposed to continue fighting if that's only compensated by a dollar and ninety-nine cents?!"

"You tell me," Jay muttered, taking his helmet off as well. "I'm more concerned about the hostile fire pay. You see this shit?" He glanced at the villagers who only glared at American soldiers. "How the hell am I going to tolerate that if my hostile fire pay is only, what, sixty-five dollars at most? Pfft," He snorted. "I'd rather get paid seventy just to not deal with this shit. At least I get compensated for being in a foreign country though."

"You guys signed up for the paychecks?" The Loader blurted out. Jay tried his best not to chuckle as he snapped his head to look at the Loader. The Gunner meanwhile could not stop himself from bellowing out. He held his stomach with his left hand and lightly smacked the turret with his right as he continued laughing. I guess the poor Loader signed up for something else.

"What the hell did you sign up for?"

"Dad. Part of a family tradition where we'd go to the army wherever our President commands," He said. "Looking at this I'd say I got luckier than my dad. Just barely though."

"What, your dad fight with his rifle in the jungles of Vietnam?" The Gunner asked.

The Loader shook his head and replied. "Nah. He got assigned to the 9th Infantry. Speedy Express. Nearly got cut down by a VC anti-air gun while he was evacuating."

"Jesus. Did he make it out whole?" Jay asked. The Loader nodded, which brought both him and the Gunner a little relief.

"Yea. Eventually, he got re-assigned to the ground forces though. Stayed in sentry duty until he got rotated out." The Loader noted, putting his helmet back on his head. He glanced back at the villagers in the village. Or, really, the new FOB we're working off. When Jay glanced at them, he saw a trench in the ground that was incredibly narrow. Yet it fit a squad. All in one trench awaiting the White Fang.

Jay moved his glance and saw the Mortar Carrier accompanied by the howitzers. 105mms, they were. They were mostly loaded with high-explosive rounds. There wasn't a need for fragmentation rounds when we were going to flatten the area around anyway. So why bother putting money into shrapnel projectiles when we could simply flatten them with the shockwave alone?

The 'Pathfinders' meanwhile made their way to guard the southeastern flank. Accompanying them was a unit of the Mechanized Infantry, comprised of their APC plus crew and a rifle squad. Meanwhile, two units of the Mechanized Infantry dug in and entrenched themselves to the northwest. With APCs having a ditch to fire machine guns from and the rifle squads getting a small squad-fitting trench to keep them in. And to the southwest, the artillery batteries - Mortar Carriers and Howitzers alike - were positioning themselves to provide artillery support.

And that just left the 86th Armored Recon Brigade in the center. Alongside the command APC, there was to be Jay's tank unit. To be precise, they would provide a bulwark against enemy forces. Jay had no idea what the commanding officer of the operation was thinking. Tanks don't make for good defense platforms, but maybe with the right cover, it's viable.

Now there was Jay's problem.

He had no 'right cover'.

The other tanks at least had the buildings of the village to cover them over in the Northwest, potentially taking RPG fire away from the tanks themselves. But Jay's tank? Hilariously, it was located in the dead center of the village. Just bait for RPG fire.

But if all went well, then Jay would have no need to be anywhere else but the center. Though given what he was supposed to expect, eh...

Jay knocked on the turret of the tank. "Back to work."

Upon hearing that, the Loader sighed. "Alright, El-Tee." He crouched back down and sat back down. The Gunner meanwhile nodded and sat back down. When those two closed their hatches, Jay opened the commander's hatch and slid inside. Sighing as he looked at the tank, he was glad that the M48 managed to iron out some of the more problematic features on the older models.

Jay was sure for certain that the Patton could survive several more RPG rounds into it now that it was improved.

Though he grimaced at his chances of survival. He at least hoped that the team would wake him up before the rest of the shooting started. Closing the hatch, he banged on the turret interior. "Everyone sounds off. I don't want all of you dropping dead in the middle of the tank."

"Yo. Here," The Loader commented. "Still alive and trying to survive. Loaded a round by the way."

"Reporting," The Gunner replied. Sighing on the radio as he said so. "Trying to make sure our sights aren't screwed up. Which, for the record, I will say is a harder task than originally so."

"Still on the wheel by the way," The Driver noted. "If I drop dead on the wheel, I blame it on the morphine I took."

"That's all sounded off?" Jay asked.

"Yea." The Loader commented. Everyone else grunted in affirmation.

"Right," Jay noted. "I'm going to take a nap. We've got two hours until active combat anyway."

"You sure, El-Tee?" The Loader commented. "I swear to God if you're not awake by the time we get into combat..."

"It'll be only two hours," Jay replied, positioning his head on the turret. "Driver. Turn the engine off. I'm going to take a nap."

"So will I, El-Tee," The Driver commented. "Just gotta stick through with this and I'll be able to get that paycheck finally I wanted. Though..." He sighed as he spoke into the radio, a clear sign that he would rather be anywhere else than Vermont. "Hopefully McDonald's doesn't notice I've gone out for several months. Sure I work there part-time, but still."

"Ha, you kids and your part-time jobs," The Loader commented in response. "My dad would've rather had me go through officer school because we got rich after he invested in some stocks following 'Nam. Too bad I picked the Guard first and foremost," he chuckled at that. "On one hand I'm not digging trenches so that's a waste of potential physical exercise. On the other hand, I love tanks."

"You make a compelling argument for going with the 86th Armored," Jay said. "I just got my transfer papers after three years of serving in some infantry unit. But honestly working for the 86th is the greatest thing I've done. Though the machine gun is..." Jay stopped to breathe and smack the M219 machine gun on the turret. "It sucks!" He shouted.

The laughs of the crew reverberated through the tank. "Oh hell!" The Loader commented as he bellowed out. "The M219's about as reliable as my girlfriend. Not that I have one of course," he commented. "If I did I'd probably be trying to find one that's rich as balls so I can brag about being able to marry into oil barons."

"Go find a Rockefeller," The Gunner commented, snickering. "They'll be very happy to accommodate you. Honest!" He chuckled as he said that. The Driver let out a little giggle while the Loader stayed silent.

At least before he broke said silence.

"Oh if only... I need me a Rockefeller girlfriend."

"Really now?" Jay asked.

"Yes. I am for real." The Loader answered. To Jay's surprise. He burst out in laughter and slapped his knee in response. The rest of the crew could only chuckle. The Loader had some aspirations.

"You'll get a rich nobility girlfriend. Someday." The Driver said, snorting a little. To be perfectly honest it was understandable that he'd snort, but who knows?

"Yeah, and you'll get loadsa kids!" The Gunner added. "Jesus H. Christ, I didn't know that Vermonters were this desperate for money."

"Right," Jay interjected while yawning, interrupting the discussion. Leaning to the right on the turret internals, he closed his eyes. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up in two hours."

"Goodnight." The Loader replied.

The tank engine turned off as the crew prepared for a two-hour nap. The stress of being in a tank would hopefully go away if they got some nap time. As he was falling asleep, Jay thought about his job. As a twenty-three-year-old Second Lieutenant, he found it pretty liberating to be finally part of combat. Yet at the same time, the uncertainty of his survival chances scared him.

The rest of the unit dozed off almost peacefully, but Jay? He lasted thirty minutes more. The rest of the crew were tired, but Jay's mind forced him awake. He was thinking. How he was going to deal with his life after serving in Carter's little expedition. Hell. He was certain that he was going to be in some deep shit. He knew that when the CIA visited on March 16, they warned almost everyone in his FOB to stay silent. And when MACNE fully consolidated itself on March 17 or 18, the CIA requested that gag orders were to be distributed to all forces.

But he wasn't sure if he was going to stay silent. With the abominable wolves that counted as wildlife, the anomalous people that... just frankly were the oddest part to him, and then came the realization that this was a whole new world entirely. It just didn't sit right with him entirely. He couldn't fathom the existence of the creatures of darkness called the Grimm. They seemed to be made of pure darkness, and this was reflected even back on earth when the one-oh-five shells slammed into it like it was wet paper.

Yet, for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread and panic. Perhaps it was just combat stress getting to him, maybe it could be a side effect of inhaling the Grimm dust...

Eh, he didn't bother thinking about it. All he could think of was dozing off for an hour and a half.

Hopefully when he woke up something didn't happen.

Right?

Jay Ruben - Away from Point Zulu - March 22, 1977 (Earth Years) - 4:14 PM (Earth Time)

Jay woke up slowly, blinking his eyes as he rubbed his helmet with his right hand. Looking around the tank, he banged the internals of the turret. 'Did I take a long nap or something? Why the hell do I feel so tired...' He thought. Immediately, on the radio came the sound of the rest of the crew. All of them sounded very groggy. In fact, Jay was fairly certain he heard the Gunner mumble as he woke up.

"God... we all up?" Jay asked. He glanced down at the Gunner, who turned his head back to face him. Giving him a thumbs up, the Gunner turned back to using the sights.

"Yea! Though I'd like to admit that I never mentally got up until you freakin' banged on the turret," the Loader replied. "You think I can make a load of money off banging my head onto a turret? Y'know, for like, a comedy show?"

"I don't see why not," Jay murmured. "It's not like it was going to be really harmful." At that moment, Jay was feeling restless. Wanting to know what the hell the rest of the unit was up to, he glanced at the hatch on top of him. The uniform - OG-507 - was notorious for retaining heat extremely well. Which worked in colder environments like Vermont, however much to his chagrin, it also retained heat in a tank that felt sweaty to be in. Taking off his helmet and placing it on his lap, Jay let the hot air worsen the humidity of his sweaty hair.

Immediately he opened the hatch and put his helmet back on. Grasping the hatch's handles, he pushed it upwards, a clang sounding as it opened. For a second, he slinked back down into the tank to look at his crewmates. "Hey, Gunner, Loader. I'm going to be seeing if anyone's alive over there. Watch the tank for me, kay?"

He immediately pulled himself out of the tank after, throwing himself down. Turning a sharp left, he saw that one of the APCs had been parked right next to a trench. And on it, the machine gunner sat lazily, practically sleeping on the turret. Below him, the trench led to an open ramp from the M113.

Smirking in mild amusement, Jay walked towards the APC. Ostensibly to alleviate boredom, but really he wanted to see how people were doing. It felt more like exploring a town while everyone was sleeping - which, to be fair, they were - like stories from old books. As soon as he appeared next to the APC, he noticed that it wasn't a normal M113. Rather, the small turrets off to the sides with M60s told him that this was an M113 ACAV.

First, he climbed on the M113 and tapped on the turret. The gunner jolted awake and shook, turning to face Jay. Initially he wheezed and panicked, but calmed down once he realized that it was a friendly. The tank helmet and 'U.S. Army' on Jay's uniform told the ACAV gunner that. Looking at the M2 gunner's name, he saw 'J. Clarent' on it. And his rank was inferior to Jay's.

"What brings you here?" Clarent opened, glancing off to the two ACAV turrets next to him. "Gunners are all asleep. They've apparently decided that leavin' me alone is fine. So why're you here?" He looked back at Jay. Jay shrugged, an expression of mild confusion on his face. Clarent's tired and sunken eyes gave Jay the impression that he really didn't want to be here, and that was fine for him.

"Nothing. Just wanted to check on other troops," He said, looking at the trench. It was half-full, with five men inside the trenches. Jay couldn't tell if they were awake or not, so he just chose to let them be. Looking at the open ramp, he guessed where the other five went. Turning back to Clarent, he pointed his thumb at the trench. "Suppose half the guys decided to sleep in the tinbox?"

"Oh yeah," He replied, placing his arms on the M2HB to face Jay. "They've decided to wait out."

"Cool," Jay replied, looking down at the ground. "So, you hear anything on the radio?"

"Oh come on," Clarent scoffed. He pointed at the trench. "There's one guy in the trenches with a radio. Lucky bastard's managed to kill boredom by playing tunes to pass the time. And as far as I'm concerned it's working. Even if, well," He squinted off to the sides and rolled. "Half of the trench's asleep for one reason or another."

"Mhm," Jay replied. "So why're you... well, hostile about him? I mean, you don't exactly sound happy. Yet he's killed boredom, so why're you mad?"

"Ah. That's because he keeps playing friggin' disco!" He replied, raising his arms in frustration. "Not to mention the heat too! He's been playing Disco Inferno for the past two hours now! Unfortunate coincidence he says, bullshit I say!"

"Hmph. Guess disco ain't your style then?"

"Oh, I mean, it's okay," he stretched the word out, sounding mildly confused as he said so. "But goddamn don't be playing it for hours on end! That stuff's driving me insane. If I hear the radio talk one more time about burning... I'm going to throw a brick at that accursed radio, damn our boredom killing."

Clarent took a moment to breathe and readjust himself. He took his goggles off and placed them atop his helmet, the Mitchell cover having been graffitied with 'First Lyndon, Now Carter' and 'Welcome to Vermont, the Pay's Good' on the helmet. Jay didn't write anything on his helmet, even if he was issued a marker to write tactical plans and memos. He had it in his pocket as he spoke, yet never bothered to use it.

Glancing down at his pocket, he thought about it.

'Hmm, should I...? I mean... not like I can get yelled at...' Jay thought, grabbing the marker from his pocket. Clarent raised an eyebrow as Jay took off his helmet and uncovered the marker.

"You sure you gonna do that?" Clarent asked. "I mean, I got away with it. But I'm of a lower rank than you, First Lieutenant," he noted. "You sure Colo-Or, sorry, General Blake de Zwart's going to accept that from an officer?" He asked, crossing his arms. "I won't blame you if you decide to write anything on the helmet. Just be warned that you might get a chewing out from our local commanding officer. Again, one certain de Zwart."

Jay nodded. The cold air of the Vale village clashed with his sweaty head, so he longed for the helmet back. That being said, he wanted to put something down.

"Do what you want then," Clarent said. "Just don't be surprised if General de Zwart yells at you or something," He said. "By the way, I never caught your name. I'm Jean Clarent, 1/101st. You?"

Jay looked at him and answered. "Jay Ruben. 86th Armored Brigade. Commander of A Troop, and the leader of thirty-two crewmen and ten maintenance men. Right now it's only twelve, the rest are still being processed."

"Got it. Never thought I'd be interacting with the leader of the operation, but here I am," Clarent mumbled. "By the way. Is First Lieutenant Wallace detached from your unit? Because I remember that your tanks have a dedicated command APC. Wonder where that is?"

"Yeah. de Zwart detached him from the 86th for this operation and gave him command apparently. Didn't know about it until we talked about it. Hell, I didn't even know who Wallace was, or that we even had a command APC. But after this op, he's going to be integrated. I think he's getting a promotion to Lieutenant proper. Not sure though."

"Right, right," Clarent glanced over. "So what now?" He asked hands back on the machine gun turret. As he said that, Jay had finished writing on his helmet, and inspected it. The phrases 'I'm Still in Vermont Mom', 'Hit In Case WW3 Breaks Out', and 'Thirty-Two Crew, Ten Wrenches' were written on his helmet. Satisfied, Jay smiled as he wiped his helmet and put it on his lap. And to answer Clarent's question, he turned to look at him and shrugged.

"Well, I guess we just await... dunno, the days to pass by?"

"...Uh, okay. Oh! By the way, did Lieutenant Wallace give you any update on reinforcements?"

"Ah, no reinforcements I believe? They said that we're not to expect helicopters or any reinforcements until at least a week later. We're on our own. At least for today."

"Bugger."

"I know, Clarent, I know."

Jay and Clarent ceased their conversation after that and just stared off into the distance, quickly glancing at each other before glancing back in the distance. Sunset had arrived, and with it, accompanying darkness. While the two were chittering and chattering, the sun had quickly gone down, leaving a darkening environment that gave Jay a pause.

Putting his goggles on and putting the marker back in his pocket, he crossed his legs and stared off.

Yet, a dreadful feeling found itself growing in Jay.

And it was getting harder to dislodge.

He glanced at the soldiers in the trench they had dug before turning back to the darkening forest.

'Wait, were those...'

He squinted, leaning forward of the APC. Clarent glanced, bemused at Jay.

"You alright?"

"I think I see something in the distance," Jay said, pointing his finger off in the distance. "You see that?" He said. Clarent, for his confusion, followed where Jay was pointing and squinted. At first, he would've thought that Jay genuinely had something going on. Yet, when he squinted, Clarent could make it out faintly. A vague shape in the distance and what appeared to be white specks in his vision.

Jay put his helmet on and prepared his Grease Gun. While Clarent pulled the charging handle back on the M2HB, still squinting.

"You don't think those are?-" Clarent asked, before a tracer flew over his head, causing both him and Jay to duck. As soon as three more tracers flew over his head, Clarent returned fire with the machine gun while Jay dove down into the ground. The sound of a blown whistle and flares launched to illuminate the forest made Jay get back up.

He took his helmet off, wincing as the machine gun fire rang in his ears. That being said, he could hear Clarent's yelling.

"IT'S THE GODDAMN WHITE FANG!" Clarent shouted, machine gun opening up in bursts as tracers flew over his head. He turned his head to Jay and screamed as tracers lit up the sunset sky. "Go! Get back to your tank! Alert the rest!"

Jay nodded and quickly ran back, putting his helmet back on and dashing away just as the riflemen in the trenches returned fire. As he ran back and witnessed the village's lights turning back on, he glanced back and saw tracers light up the darkening sky. Green from the White Fang clashed with Red from the National Guard as both sides exchanged fire.

Seeing his tank, Jay climbed up and slinked inside the hatch, shaken and twitching as he took a minute to wheeze in and out. His gunner looked back at him and the loader glanced to the right.

"You alright?" The Loader asked, looking at Jay. Jay, for his part, snapped his head to him and closed the hatch. He would have said something when the radio came on.

"All forces, this Papa Bear," Lieutenant Wallace's voice came on. The Papa Bear callsign was to be used, but the convoy chose to refer to their roles when trucking. Came to an agreement that the Mayflower Occupation Force would use its formal callsigns when they were in combat. Jay didn't think he'd have to use them, yet here he was. "Mayflower is under attack! I repeat Mayflower is under attack! We're reporting shots from the North and East. All available forces, respond. Over."

"This is Alpha 1-1," Jay replied. He was part of the Alpha Team, which comprised of the four tanks in the operation. The fact that tanks were chosen for exploration at all was an oddity, but perhaps it could come in handy. His tank was Alpha 1, and he was the Squad leader, thus defaulting it to Alpha 1-1. "We're up and available," Jay said, glancing at his crew. "Shots have been first reported from the East. Can you call up Zulu Team, over?"

"Copy that Alpha Team," Lieutenant Wallace responded. "Alpha 1-1. Can you support Echo Team? Zulu Team has requested armor presence if you're going to have them back up Echo."

"Wilco, Papa Bear, I was going to request permission to support Echo," Jay replied. "Tell Zulu Team we're on our way. We'll link up to repel enemy forces in the forest."

"Copy that Alpha 1-1. Do what you can. Out."

As the radio chatter ended, Jay looked at the driver and shouted over the radio. "Driver! Get us east! We've got to reinforce Echo's APC!" He shouted, pulling the charging handle on the M219 machine gun. The machine gun rattled and Jay looked at it alarmed. He had heard of the poor reputation the M219 machine gun had gotten among his fellow tank crewmen. In particular, Corporal Toast once complained that it had poor maintenance and was hard to keep running. Internally, he hoped to God that the machine gun wouldn't screw up.

Looking back at him, the driver nodded.

"Copy that, sir! Driving!"

The tank shifted to the left and advanced forward. Presumably, heading east. Jay peered through the sights on the machine gun, observing as tracers lit up the sky and it was a gun battle between entrenched soldiers and a large White Fang assault. Taking his eyes off the machine gun, he looked at his gunner and gave him an order.

"Gunner. HE. Personnel. Bearing... 45," Jay ordered. "Anti-Personnel HE, by the way."

"HE indexed!"

"Fire, fire!"

"Shot out!" The Gunner shouted, firing an HE shell out of the 105mm tank gun. "Impact!"

Jay looked through the sights to see an HE shell go off in the distance. He was unable to tell how much White Fang that shell would have killed. "Unable to confirm how many killed," He commented. "Load another HE shell. Save this one for when we're next to Echo Team. Copy that?"

"Got it, boss," The Loader noted. "Loading HE."

"Copy that." The Gunner replied.

The tank came to a halt near the M113 APC and the trench to its right, the defenders valiantly firing off round after round as if it was a trench defense. The M113's machine gun fired off rapidly as it tried to hold its position. The moment the tank stood side by side with it, a wave of relief washed over the entrenched soldiers and the gunners of the M113.

On the M113, the front gunner and right gunner returned shots against the White Fang as the hail of bullets didn't seem to stop. In the dark, lit up by flares, they could only see a moderate distance. Enough to get a bead on where the tracers came from, yet not enough for them to get a bead on their enemies. Turning its turret, the Patton aimed at the tracers' direction.

"Gunner! HE! Personnel! Bearing 30!" Jay shouted as the tank gun aimed up to compensate for distance, almost akin to an ersatz artillery battery.

"Target acquired!"

"Fire!"

The tank gun rang out a shot, with the resulting explosion being bright enough to momentarily reveal the White Fang. At that moment, Jay used the machine gun to open up on the White Fang. But when the light had gone out, he frowned in irritation. He switched the frequency to the occupation force's and spoke as he opened fire on the tracers, trying to get the White Fang vainly in the darkness.

"Foxtrot, do you copy?"

"Foxtrot 1-1 reports presence, send, over," The voice of Lieutenant Chavez came onto the radio. "What do you need?"

"Foxtrot 1-1, requesting illumination rounds. Bearing 30 Northeast. Send, over." Jay said, firing the machine gun as he spoke onto the radio. The noise of the machine gun was muffled by the helmet he used, with its weight, density, and communication equipment rendering it all but impossible to hear and perceive things besides the radio.

It was why he needed to remove his helmet whenever he spoke.

"Foxtrot 1-1 copies," Chavez replied. "How many rounds? Over."

"Two rounds."

"Sending, over."

"Alpha 1-1 copies. Thanks for the help, over."

"No problem. Impact in thirty seconds. Out."

Jay nodded and switched to the crew frequency, looking down at his gunner as he blindly fired out of the machine gun. "Gunner! Co-ax!"

"Got it!" He shouted as the coaxial machine gun on the turret started firing. The turret swept the dark, relying on blind tracer fire to keep track of targets. Jay internally wished that there'd be light as soon as possible, but he bit his lip upon realizing that it'd be a few more seconds before the light came on. But regardless, he prayed to God that the machine gun on his tank wouldn't fail.

Yet, while firing, he could hear something faint on the radio. Jay turned his head to the left, even though he was inside the turret. Switching to the occupation force's overall network, he wanted to know why that was so.

To his surprise, it was a song. Drowned out by the gunfire sure, yet it was hearable still. He increased the volume on his radio, trying to get a bead on it. To his frustration, the gunfire grew louder, almost hammering at his ears. Yet, he wanted to know what damn song was playing on the radio.

When he finally adjusted the volume to the maximum, he could finally hear it!

It was-

Wait!

"Is that fucking Disco Inferno?!" Jay asked on the radio. Given that Clarent - the APC gunner of Echo 1 - complained about one soldier playing Disco, he immediately knew it came from Echo. To his annoyance, he heard a chuckle in the middle of gunfire and the song.

"Burn, baby burn!"

"Disco Inferno!"

"Burn, baby burn! Burn that mother down!"

"Yep, it is!" An unfamiliar voice interjected. "Armed Forces Network finally fuckin' repaid me for lending me my goddamn records!" They said, even as the sound of gunfire overpowered both their voice and the music for a moment.

"Goddamnit!" Jay shouted, a slight frown forming on his face. Yet, he also found it... actually amusing. To think that they weren't fighting to the tune of Volunteers, or Fortunate Son like expected... It brought a slight smile to his face.

In between the machine gun fire, Jay's thoughts ran astray as he brought himself to laugh at the situation.

'They could've played ANYTHING ELSE, like...'

'Volunteers, for the irony of being voluntold into Carter's war.'

'Or Fortunate Son, because I sure as hell wasn't able to avoid this stupid deployment.' He thought, his slight smile turning into a grimace for a second. Yet it reverted as his thoughts ran rampant.

'But no! We're fighting to the tune of Disco!' Jay chuckled, as the illumination shells finally gave the unit the visibility they needed. He didn't stop laughing, even as he was able to spot the White Fang visibly now. He watched as one White Fang fighter helplessly stared at the sky before Jay put a bullet through his head. Through the sights, he could see it exploding.

Blood should not have that much pressure.

'Fuckin' Disco Inferno too!' He thought, even as he switched targets and gunned down another fighter, this time attempting to set up a machine gun. They dropped like a sack of potatoes. 'I'd be laughing more if we had napalm, but by Jove,' He thought, paying more attention to his thoughts as he kept shooting at the White Fang. 'Burn that mother down!'

He cackled as he let the machine gun go wild on White Fang fighters without a second thought.

"We've got a bloodthirsty knight I see," The voice of Lt. Dan commented, a slight chuckle on it. The mere thought of that snapped Jay back to reality as he slowed down his laughter and kept shooting, yet didn't bother cackling. When Jay glanced inside the turret, the Loader gave him the stink-eye immediately when they made contact. An expression that could only translate to 'what the fuck'. "This is Lieutenant Dan. Zulu 1-1, for you."

"Good to see you, Zulu 1-1," Jay commented. "Are you able to provide covering fire for Echo Team?"

"Can do, Alpha 1-1," He replied. "Want us to position our APCs near some trees? Cover and Concealment can overlap depending on the caliber you're facing, after all."

"Just do what you can, Zulu 1-1."

"Copy. Oh, wait! Alpha 1-1, do you need us to send out the pathfinders? If you can distract them by putting enough firepower on them, they can get close enough to engage the White Fang at range."

"Do it!" Jay responded.

"Zulu copies. Give us a minute, over."

"Copy that Zulu. Do it as fast as you can. Please. Out."

As their lines of communication changed, Jay switched to Alpha Team's radio frequency. The one that connected all four tanks together. Grimacing, he wasn't expecting the best news, yet a part of him also told himself to expect bad news.

"This is Alpha 1-1, Alpha Team, how are we doing?"

"This is Alpha 2-1," The second tank - Tank 2- responded, the voice of its commander sounding exhausted. "We're currently at a standstill. No advances yet, just tracer exchanged... Died down right now, but it'll flare up in a minute."

"Alpha 3-1 reporting from the Northwest," The third tank responded, its commander wheezing. "We've encountered anti-tank munitions and forces equipped with det-packs."

"Say that again?" Alpha 2-1 responded, the voice concealing fear beneath a confused voice. "Anti-tank munitions?"

"Alpha 4-1 here, can confirm Alpha 3-1's statement," Another voice interjected, this time belonging to the fourth tank. "Be advised. Enemy forces have started deploying... bomb trucks. I can't find another way to call 'em, but they've got bombs strapped to vehicles. Beware of those."

"Goddamnit," Jay grit. "Copy that. Alpha Team, be advised that you can contact Foxtrot Team. My advice is to request illumination shots, then hit 'em with high-explosive. Once you've done the same, tell us when you're finished. We'll need Foxtrot as well."

"Alpha 2-1 copies."

"Alpha 3-1 copies."

"Alpha 4-1, wilco."

"Godspeed, all of you. Alpha 1-1 out." Jay closed communication lines and switched the frequency to the overall occupation force's frequency. He put his hands on his cheeks and dragged them down a bit as he sighed.

"All forces be advised. Forces to the Northwest report vehicle-borne bombs and anti-tank munitions in use by White Fang."

"Godfucking damnit!" Lieutenant Dan yelled. "Pathfinders, get there ASAP!"

"Echo Team copies," The voice of Echo Team's commander noted. "Pulling back APC. Think you can cover us, Alpha 1-1?"

"Copy. Be advised that our side armor's not the best, so we're only going to angle slightly to the right, out."

"We get that. Echo Team out."

He looked back at his unit and switched to the radio frequency for the tank crew. Again, due to the deafening status of Jay's - and the crew's - helmets, they need a separate radio frequency to talk inside the tank.

"Goddamn rocket launchers," The Loader commented. "How the hell did the White Fang get their hands on those? Thought they were a simple insurgency?"

"They're like the goddamn Viet Cong, that's how," The Gunner interjected. "Probably receive backing from at least one of the powers! I swear, we'll be dealing with this world's Reds soon enough."

"Is it too soon to say that I want out of this mission?" The Driver asked, inflection extremely negative as he let out a sigh immediately. "Carter, I swear, my life's in your hands. I'll strangle you from the grave if I don't get out of here."

"Are you gonna vote Republican too?"

"Sure as hell," The Driver chuckled at that. "If it means Carter pays after I'm gone, sure."

Jay could only sigh as the machine gun fire continued. "Driver. Angle to the right. We need to use the tank to cover Echo Team's APC. Block the APC's body and leave only the machine gun turret exposed."

"Roger that, sir," He commented. "By the way. Is Echo still playing Disco Inferno?"

"Burn, baby burn!" The switching of radio frequencies for a second answered that question, as shouts from the rifle infantry and gunfire clashed with the radio, playing Disco Inferno.

"Still is." Jay noted.

"Copy."

As the tank inched right to protect Echo Team's APC, the turret and machine gun turned left. The illumination rounds were halfway from falling on the ground.

"Alpha 2-1 here. Foxtrot's all yours, Alpha 1-1. Over."

"Thanks. By the way, did you add anything special to Foxtrot?"

"Oh, requested the Killer Junior. When you get 'em, ask for a KJ. They'll get it, okay?"

"Roger that. Will do, Alpha 2-1. Out." Jay nodded, looking through the sights of the machine guns. Irritated, he noticed that the illumination shells were going to hit the ground in some time.

"Foxtrot, do you receive, over?"

"Foxtrot 1-1 copies, send. Over."

Jay sighed, and glanced back at his loader, who nodded. "Foxtrot 1-1. Requesting illumination shells from all Foxtrot batteries. Two shells each, over."

"Foxtrot 1-1 copies. Illumination rounds loaded."

"By the way," Jay opened up, peeking through the sights. Alarmingly, he noticed the White Fang fighters standing up, running, then diving to the ground before returning fire. It seemed like they were poised to do a mass charge, given that flares were almost out. Gritting, he ordered a KJ as suggested. "I'd like to request an order for a KJ. Bearing 30 Northeast. White Fang have started to levy en masse and are opening up for a charge," He sighed for a second and squeezed his face, before continuing. "I don't know what the hell a KJ is, but do your magic. Anything to keep those damn assholes away."

"Copy that. Foxtrot 1-1 reporting all batteries ready to fire KJ. How many salvos, over?"

"I, uh," Jay stammered. "Dunno, two?"

"Copy. Foxtrot 1-1 receives the message. Out."

Jay sighed, closing his eyes and massaging his head. He was feeling a headache come, and it was just because of poor sleep combined with combat in the middle of the night. Yet, he still had the machine gun to put them down. Round after round, 7.62x51mm came soaring at White Fang forces. Though with the illumination rounds falling to the ground, he started losing vision.

"Shit!" The Gunner shouted, with Jay looking down to see him panicking. "Co-ax's jammed! Co-ax is combat ineffective, I repeat, machine gun is combat ineffective! We cannot provide fire support with our machine guns!"

"Goddamnit-" Jay was about to mutter before the machine gun on his cupola jammed. Wide-eyed, Jay stared at the machine gun in rage. He let go and smacked it, hoping to get something out of it. To his surprise, hot brass spilled into his hand, and he recoiled, sending it flying inside the turret. "Machine gun's jammed here too!"

"Oh, for crying out loud!"

Jay returned to seeing through the sights of the machine gun, even if it was practically useless. When he peered outside, he was shocked to see that the illumination had all but dropped to the ground, reverting the view of the unit back to square one. Frustrated, he switched frequencies. "Echo Team! Expect a levy en masse! Our flares're out, and they're posing for a charge!"

"Roger that! The infantry team just sent out a team to retrieve a machine gun from a truck located in the village, they'll be back soon! Until then, we hold, Alpha!"

"Wilco! Hey, actually-" Jay interjected, pushing the hatch open to button up. "Can one of you pass me your rifle?! Our machine guns are broken, and I don't think a submachine gun is going to be of any use!" He yelled before he took his helmet off and turned right to face Echo Team as the tracer back-and-forth died down, mostly for a second. Immediately, an infantryman from Echo's Mechanized Infantry tossed an M16A1 his way. Jay caught it mid-air, pulling the charging handle to check if it was loaded.

There was a bullet in the chamber.

Nodding, Jay gave him a thumbs-up. Yet, the man didn't finish apparently, because he climbed onto the tank. "Hey!" He said, procuring five M16 magazines from his inventory. "Take these! You'll need 'em to pick off the bastards!" He shouted, before jumping off the turret and diving back into the trenches.

Jay nodded and placed them in his pockets before putting his helmet back on. He had no LCE, so the best he could do was in his pockets. Hopefully, he would get an LCE or bandoleer later on.

He took aim, expecting the tracer exchange to restart. As expected, the exchange continued, as a tracer whizzed over his head. He ducked and popped back up, aiming at the White Fang forces, even if he could barely see. Just take aim at the tracer sources and open fire. It was that simple.

He fired off a shot, then another, and then another. The semi-automatic shots taken would have been more of a reward than a detriment in this case. He sighed in and let out a breath each time the trigger was pulled. Hopefully, he had done something right with this.

In a flash, however, the sky lit up a second time as the illumination rounds lit up the sky, showering the field with brightness. And in this brightness, Jay bore witness to his worst fears.

In the distance, the White Fang forces launched a last-ditch mass charge against the forces of MACNE. Switching from semi-auto to full-auto, Jay opened fire against their forces. The first one he aimed at, he immediately held the trigger, refusing to do it in controlled bursts. They tripped and slammed into the ground backward as their chest was pelted with bullets.

The second time he took aim, Jay fired off in a controlled burst this time. They directly hit the target's leg, and caused them to trip and stumble into the ground, before bashing their head into a nearby tree.

And the third time-

Jay panicked and ducked down. To his horror, he saw a missile streak in the sky, having missed its intended target - presumably the tank turret. He slammed the hatch down, holding his M16. "DRIVER! THEY'VE STARTED USING ANTI-TANK MISSILES! REVERSE, REVERSE!" He barked, panicking. He could feel himself sweating again, yet this time in a cold one.

"SHI- REVERSE, REVERSE, REVERSE!" The Driver shouted, Jay jerking as the tank drove backward. When Jay looked through the sites again, he panicked as he saw a White Fang team handling an anti-tank missile system. He was going to bark something, but it was too late, as the team fired the anti-tank missile. And this time, Jay saw it streaking directly toward the tank.

"INCOMI-"

The shout Jay prepared died inside his throat as the turret shook under the direct impact of an anti-tank missile, recoiling Jay, and causing his head to slam on the tank turret. His head ringing, Jay massaged his head as much as he could, digging his fingernails into his skin slightly. He blew his mouth and rocked his head back and forth as the ringing continued.

Almost immediately though, another anti-tank missile hit the tank as the hull shook, causing Jay to slam his head on the turret again.

"Goddamnit!" Jay shouted, shaking his head rapidly to get himself awake. But the ringing wouldn't go away, no matter how much he wanted it to. He snapped to his loader, and-

His eyes widened and he stared at horror as the loader was slumped, and blood dripped from his face.

"Loader's down! I repeat! Loader's down!"

His gunner snapped back and stared up at the loader. "Fuck!" He turned around, and as did the turret. "OH SHI- COMMANDER! LOOK!"

"What?!" Jay shouted, looking through the sight of his machine gun. When his eye pressed against the telescopic sight of the cupola, he dropped his jaw in horror as the sky lit up to reveal three 'hippie vans' with what looked to be barrels strapped to them. All of them were charging forward alongside the White Fang mass levy, firing at the defense line.

'Bomb Trucks!'

Jay barked out a command almost immediately. "Take out those bombs! Now!"

"Aye-aye, sir!" The turret moved, aiming at one of the bomb trucks. "Firing HE!"

The shell almost immediately impacted one of the bomb trucks, and instantly destroyed it, with the wreck detonating and taking several fighters near it.

"Loader's still out! We're sitting ducks! Get us the hell outta here!" Jay shouted. To his surprise, the Driver was awake. Immediately he tried to drive away, only for Jay's eyes to widen as they didn't move anywhere.

"What the hell?!" Jay shouted, getting up and popping the hatch open. He immediately lifted himself up further to take a look at the tank. But he could barely something that told him all he needed to know about their current condition.

While he could only see a small part of it, the telltale sign of a broken track had shown itself. He grimaced and went back in the tank to alert his squad and retrieve the M16 inside.

"Track's out!"

"What?!" His driver yelled.

"Track's fuckin' out!" Jay shouted, hands on his rifle as he went back up. "I'm going to fend 'em off!" He pushed himself up, M16 in hands and ready to fire. When he took aim, his eyes widened as he saw that the mass charge of White Fang were close enough to the trench lines, exchanging fire with the entrenched soldiers. He was lucky he didn't get as soon as he popped up out of the trenches.

He was about to aim but ducked down after an anti-tank missile nearly struck him directly in the head him again.

"Shit! Shit!" The bursts of rifle fire coming from Jay weren't hitting anything as far as he could see. Even if they launched a mass charge, it seemed that somehow - this time - Jay couldn't take even one of them down.

The rifle clicked dry, and in frustration, Jay tossed the magazine away, grabbing a new magazine from his pocket, then reloading it. He didn't bother to aim this time, only firing blindly while cooped up in the cupola.

They better-

His rifle shattered as a bullet pierced its receiver, ceasing Jay's fire. He ducked down and looked at the rifle, and where it was hit. "Goddamnit!" He shouted, tossing it out of the tank, then grabbing the hatch and slamming it shut. He quickly snapped to the machine gun sight, and to his horror saw two of the bomb trucks getting very close to the tanks.

"Bomb truck! Brace for impact!" He warned.

'Please, God, anything... get us outta here!'

He anxiously watched as a bomb truck inched closer toward the tank, the face of the driver - radicalized and feral - visible through his machine gun sight. A part of him wanted to duck and brace for impact. Yet, another part wanted to keep his eye on his potential killer one last time.

Sighing, he just hoped-

To his surprise, the bomb truck immediately exploded, with the second one having its driver shot and driving erratically before detonating. When Jay adjusted his machine gun sights to the right to face Echo, he was surprised to see that Echo had indeed managed to get an M2HB machine gun and a tripod to support it. Alarmingly though, it had no cover, boldly standing in the face of tracer fire that nearly took out the machine gunners.

As the illumination shells were about to burn out, the sky lit up again, brightening once again as new illumination shells glowed in the sky, basking the forest in holy light of the United States Army.

"Echo Team here! We've got our machine gun! Sit tight, we'll put 'em down!"

Then when he turned the sights to the left, he saw the mass charge being peltered as explosions burst in the middle of the air, blowing them back. This continued, with another explosion salvo detonating mid-air.

And then finally, a third salvo of airburst explosions stopped the mass charge in its track.

"Foxtrot Team here, KJs have been served! I repeat, KJs have been served! Don't forget to leave a tip, out!"

Irritatingly though, there were fighters who were able to get up, and some who dove to avoid the explosions' worst effects. He grit, switching radio frequencies in order to-

A mass of green sprung up from the grass of the forest, revealing themselves to be other National Guard infantry forces, coming out of the woodworks to ambush the rest. If Jay remembered correctly, they must have come from Zulu Team!

Zulu Team's infantry had managed to flank the Fang and avoided the artillery barrage that stopped the White Fang charge, and were picking off the stragglers, which included regular infantry, the anti-tank teams, and some riflemen with detonation packs on them. Through the sight, Jay saw they barked orders at the survivors, presumably ordering them to surrender. While most of them surrendered after the strike, some raised their weapons in a vain effort to retaliate against the American troops.

They were put down like the mad dogs they were, with the Pathfinders immediately shooting them dead.

"Zulu Team, reporting in. Pathfinders have managed to flank them. Though, Alpha, you forgot to tell us you'd invited other people into the fun. Out."

Jay leaned back and sighed in relief, refusing to believe what just happened. Through... perhaps divine intervention, or just... plain luck, they had managed to hold out. And from what Jay could remember, the White Fang force seemed to be in the extreme hundreds.

"Alpha 1-1, Alpha Team... we all right?" Jay asked, shaken by the fighting. Despite what it felt like, the battle had only lasted... two hours. His watch told him that as the clock ticked Six P.M.

"Alpha 2-1 reporting! White Fang's been squashed, we've made it!"

"Bravo Team here. Line held, we have successfully held the Alamo. I repeat, we have successfully held the Alamo."

"Charlie... God, I can't believe it... but we made it!"

The soldiers on the radio broke out into cheering. Jay glanced at his Gunner, and the Gunner responded by making eye contact with him, a smug shit-eating grin attached to his face. In response, Jay couldn't help but smile back.

Despite all odds, under-training, and the team being put in roles they were not used to, they had... made it! Everything seemed to be against them. With their low competence, troop morale, and troop discipline being sub-par... one would expect that they wouldn't make it out alive.

Yet...

Jay made it!

He glanced back at his loader, who...

Woke up!

The Loader grabbed his head, the bleeding having since stopped. He shook himself awake, and stared at Jay. His smile told the Loader all that he needed to know, and as such, the Loader shook his head.

"Is... is it over, boss?" He asked, breathing in relief.

"Yep! We've beaten back the foul curses that have afflicted our unit!"

"Hah..." He sighed, smiling and shaking his head. "It's over."

Jay couldn't help but feel the same thing, as he turned out the hatch, popping his head out to inspect the aftermath. What greeted him was the smell of lead, death, and blood. Yet... even with all that, he couldn't help but smile at the plain fact that they survived. Even with smoke billowing and the fire from high-explosive raging, he... just felt alive.

He took his helmet off, and was greeted...

By fucking disco!

"Burn that mother down!"

"Burn, baby burn! Disco Inferno!"

"Burn, baby burn!"

He laughed, even as Echo's radio continued to blare disco. Specifically, a song about burning. And, looking at the forest in front of him, boy did it burn.

He took the marker from his pocket. It had survived the battle, just like Jay. And, well, he wanted to commemorate this. He wanted to give a name to his unit, Alpha. To finally distinguish them. After all, the 1st Armored Cavalry earned their name of Old Ironsides, and the 101st Airborne earned Screaming Eagles.

Surveying the land, he saw, well, a lot of burning. The artillery, high-explosive, and bomb trucks had effectively cleansed the land in holy flame. As he turned his helmet over, he was trying to think of a name related to that. The 101st earned their nickname from the Battle of the Bulge. So, Jay was thinking, this unit of the 86th... they'd earn their name from this battle.

Yet, he didn't have any idea what to name it.

Latin came in handy.

"Let's see... Cleansing flame... Flame, flame, flame..." He mumbled, thinking about the name while looking at the forest tainted by combat. 'Wait,' Jay thought. 'Aha!' He thought, writing the first thing that came to his mind. The cleansing flame that had wiped the White Fang clean, to the theme of Disco Inferno. To hold the line and bringing holy light to cleanse the fighters who dared cross paths with the 86th and 1/101sts...

With hurried pace, he finished writing the name on the helmet. With one last stroke, he finalized it, as the name of his unit. It was to symbolize fire, and how it cleansed the White Fang's charging lines.

It was a glorious name.

He turned his helmet around, staring at the name he chose to give his squad.

They'd be proud of it.

"Ignis," he said, smirking at the thought of such a name. "Fire."

He put his helmet back on, ending the tune of Disco Inferno to his ears.

With a name like Ignis, Jay felt a lot more confident. Even with all the foul things Lady Luck could do, he was glad that he at least survived her wrath.

Though sighing, he wondered if she'd retaliate by sending a blood curse after him.

It wouldn't be out of character for her, after all.

But maybe, time will tell.

Just give it a while.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 11 - President Carter

March 24, 1977

Two days after the Battle of Mayflower

"Now, tell me, folks, how has the Unwinnable War in Remnant helped Carter win a second term?"

- American AP United States History Teacher, 1989, twelve years after the Unwinnable War.

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Ah, President Carter? The guy who's brought the foul curse of reinforcements upon Remnant? The man who almost got us pulled out of Remnant in the midterms? The lad who whipped his general staff into action in Remnant? And the President who utterly destroyed Reagan in the 1980 elections? Of course, I'm gonna like 'im! Oh don't get me wrong, he managed to bungle later deployments and almost got our ass kicked, but I gotta hand it to him. He saved Remnant, after all! And while I may not be a Democrat or Republican, I'd still cast my vote for Carter if he ever appeared! Now, this one was a little odd. Carter himself released his memoirs about the Unwinnable War after the '80 elections, so I'm cross-referencing his."

"Yeah, now, during the first contact between us and Remnant, it took a while for the news to get back to him without being leaked. For some reason, the survivors of the New England town that got wrecked refused to go to the press. Took us a while, but we managed to contact the President. I believe one of the Guardsmen who was in our tank unit mentioned being connected to a Congressman staffer from Alaska. And that guy managed to contact the President at a government meeting and give him the news, then Carter handed that down to the CIA, then the CDC, and then the FBI. So, uh, that connection is what got us here in the first place. Now, at first, he only sent a few forces, but as the Unwinnable War raged on, well, eh, he decided to send more troops to Remnant. And then the Midterms happened."

"Now, here's the funny thing. The President had to keep this entire military deployment a secret, all while his country was burning. You see, at this time, he federalized the National Guard in the middle of the worst economic crises of its time. New York City, for example, was going bankrupt under Nelson Rockefeller's policies. And Carter only made it worse. And, uh, Cleveland in Ohio? Carter caused the total collapse of the city's healthcare, as he pulled out a majority of the hospital workers. Turns out the majority of our Ohio ARNG medical personnel were, uh, from Cleveland's hospitals. Who would've known?"

"But the thing is, Carter didn't have an easy time. Immediately after he sent troops under MACNE to Remnant, all hell broke loose in the government. The Chiefs of Staff hounded him because he just up and federalized extremely important National Guard units without alerting them. He had to call an emergency meeting in the Pentagon with anyone who had at least three or more stars on their shoulderboards. He formed a secret hoo-hah cabal with generals, CDC Higher-Ups, the goddamn CIA, the FBI, and some old wizard. He'll become relevant later."

"When I did read about that, I was genuinely sorry for the man. He was forced to juggle the influence of the CIA, FBI, and the Army. Only the CDC stood by him loyally without trying to influence him. Remember Grimm Dust? Yeah. Turns out that it's a genuine infection, hence the CDC dropping all agendas and standing by Carter in Remnant. I have to thank those guys. Especially CDC Director. He managed to eradicate Grimm Dust immediately after Carter gave him the green light in Remnant."

"Yet, I'd be hard-pressed if I were to say that Carter didn't do the heavy lifting. The man was surrounded. The Marine Commandant was nagging him, every officer with stars on their shoulderboard was pissed at him, and the CIA's the CIA. And he still made it out alive and with a second term. So if you're reading this, make sure to thank Carter and the FOIA for most of the stuff when you read about the Unwinnable War."

James Earl Carter, 39th POTUS - The Pentagon, Potomac River, Virginia - March 24, 1977 (Earth Years) - 11:30 PM (Earth Time)

The atmosphere of the NMCC turned deathly cold for Carter as two more people who had been invited to the Pentagon arrived. The two commanders of the US Army Pacific—specifically the Commander of the Eighth Army and the Commander of I Corps—marched into the NMCC and took their seats. The feeling within the Pentagon "War Room" turned from ice cold to below freezing point as John W. Vessey, Jr., 8th Army, took his seat. As did his partner, John H. Cushman, I Corps. The moment they sat down in the War Room and finally adjusted to their seats and looked at Carter, a shiver shot up his spine, cold sweat breaking through his pores as the smoke-filled War Room's atmosphere dimmed.

Goddamn lighting problems!

Adjusting his collar, Carter tried to avert the glares that the rest of the generals were giving him. The National Military Command Center were officers throughout the United States Military who were called in by Carter to conduct a proper briefing. They all had questions. Very... concerned questions. As soon as Vessey and Cushman sat down, an awkward and dead silence permeated the environment of the NMCC. The dim lighting and the stares of the men in the War Room made him tense up, as though he had nearly stepped into a landmine with wolves staring down at him. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on his fingers, biting his lower lip.

The generals all looked at each other, then back at Jimmy Carter. The generals all looked just about ready to burst out, with their facial expressions petrifying Carter. Cushman was grimacing. Vessey was raising his eyebrows in mild irritation. Everyone else ran the gamut from mildly amused to confused to just straight-up malicious, staring down Carter with glares that could kill a Black Bear. Goddamnit. Goddamnit. Goddamnit! Carter didn't need to deal with this. Please, God, just... Get that damn MACNE General here already-

Eventually, someone broke the silence and coughed. "Gentlemen-" Vice-President Walter F. Mondale opened up awkwardly, coughing as the stares of the generals turned to face him. Goddamn him. He was taking the heat for Carter. Carter let out a pained sigh and prayed internally as Mondale dared to speak to the irritated generals first and foremost. He had to face the guns. He had to. "I presume you have all been, uh, concerned about military movements organized by... the, er, National Guard-" He gave an awkward and stilted smile before being interrupted by a loud 'thud' on the table, coming from one of the seats across, with its podium labeled 'FORSCOM'. In response to this, Carter himself shrank in embarrassment as his top generals glared at him with daggers, not fazed by Mondale.

"Pray tell, Mister President sir," the United States FORSCOM Commander Frederick J. Kroesen Jr. opened up, voice bitter and icy as he raised his eyebrows against the President and Vice-President. "Why the hell did 1/4th of the National Guard get mobilized... into Vermont of all places?" He placed the palm of his hand on his face, shaking it as he let out a pained sigh. "Mister President, sir, what the hell are you up to-" He squinted his eyes at Carter, with the rest of the Army brass following suit, laying onto Carter and Mondale. "I mean, come on! You're sending our men to the middle of nowhere for some sort of exercise we didn't get briefed about! You tell me what the hell's going on Carter! Do it now!"

Carter breathed deep in and out. Mondale, for his part, could only shift awkwardly in his seat with his hands clasped together, the glares of the generals pacifying anything he could say. He desperately looked at Mondale for any salvation from his current situation, but all he got was pained eyes and a near-tearful shake of his head. Eyes widening and heart racing, he had to quickly say something. As his vocal cords fired to generate a response to the criticisms of his generals, he could feel everyone but Mondale squinting at him, even as his mouth turned to speak.

Damnit.

"Readiness exercises within the State of Vermont," Carter gave the excuse, much to the bemusement of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—all of whom stared at Carter in a confused expression that blended bafflement with a twinge of anger—while Carter continued. "As part of my initiative to form the, er, Military Regional Commands, I federalized the National Guard and sent them to Vermont as part of a readiness exercise." He gave the excuse. Much to his misfortune, not everyone was confused. There were one or two generals who nodded, but then immediately turned back to their peers, who shook their heads, and instead looked back at Carter.

"And you did this without informing us, sir?" The Chief of Staff of the Army Bernard W. Rogers gritted out as he stared down at Jimmy Carter's terrified, meek eyes, frustration deep in his voice as he took off his glasses and raised his voice at the terrified President. He wasn't qualified to deal with generals. He wasn't, goddamnit. He wasn't. "With all due respect, Carter, you just federalized about a fraction of the Guard without informing us! Jesus Christ," He shook his head, placing the glasses back on. "At least tell us where you're sending my men, damnit."

Carter gulped as the Director of the Army National Guard, Charles A. Ott, glared at Carter. "Mister President," He opened up, his voice one of confusion. "What's the deal about an exercise in Vermont, anyway? And I heard something about a new General in the National Guard," He muttered, looking down at the papers. "If I'm not wrong, the military is supposed to be mothballed because of... Your foreign policy, just after we were pullin' out of 'Nam," He raised his hands as he made his point, constantly clenching his fists while speaking. "So what gives?"

"I, uh," Carter spoke up just as the words died in his mouth, a grimaced expression imprinted on his face as the stare of Charles Ott burned into him. What could he do about this? He wasn't ready to give up his expedition into Remnant! "I federalized them for a sudden exercise after being advised by, uh, my National Security Advisor to deal with terrorism-" Carter's words once again died in his mouth as Ott chose instead to squint, de facto interrupting Carter. The air felt heavier, and Carter could audibly feel the pressure put on him.

He didn't consult the National Security Advisor. Hell, the only person he consulted was the person who gave the intel in the first place, and that damn Regular Army General! For now it was just the two, then the Secretary of Defense.

Unfortunately, SecDef wasn't here. Much to the sheer annoyance and embarrassment of Carter, who could only relapse into his seat as the generals intensified their staring competition against the civilian staff from the White House.

Someone, please break-

"Carter, sir," Secretary of State Cyrus Vance opened up angrily, diffusing the tension between the generals, Mondale, and Carter, as all eyes were on Vance, who was relatively close to the President compared to the General staff inside the Pentagon. They trusted him on some level more than the damn President. He just knew it. "Why didn't I receive any information about this? Are we going to war? What the hell are you doing without me?!" He asked, slamming his hand on the table. "I go out there and see all the evils of the world caused by war! Vietnam! Cambodia! So what in the hell are you doing, Carter?!"

"I...I-" Carter stammered, gulping and moving his head down as he tried to speak.

To his terror, it was his National Security Advisor who covered him. Despite Carter throwing him under the bus, the NS Advisor instead tapped on their desk and looked at the generals, who switched their eyes from Vance and Carter to the National Security Advisor instead. Carter could feel his face growing colder as he stared at his National Security Advisor in horror.

"I believe it may be taking a stance on that damn Weather Underground," National Security Advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski opened up, giving a dental click as he looked back at the staff in the War Room, with Vance biting his lip in fury as Zbigniew continued speaking. Carter could see Vance's infuriation with Zbigniew's statements just through his eyebrows, which furrowed to such an extent that they showed wrinkles. "We're talking Soviet infiltration here, people! There's a very real possibility that the Soviet Union is funding domestic terrorism operations within our territory. We need to ready our forces, any time, anywhere."

"I don't see how mobilizing the National Guard to Vermont is helpful, though?" Sergeant Major of the Army William G. Bainbridge interjected, raising an eyebrow at Zbigniew's suggestion. "Vermont isn't a bed of terrorist activity. In fact," He pointed at the Puerto Rico area on the United States map. "I'd be more confident to say that Puerto Rico's the bigger hotbed of unrest, given everything that's going on there. If we were hypothetically speaking of a military deployment to contain terrorism—a bogus proposal, of course—we would be deploying in Puerto Rico-"

"Well potato potato," Zbigniew shrugged, expression painted with raised eyebrows and raised shoulders, Zbigniew shrugged. "Point is. We should be ensuring that the military is ready to stand by and restore law and order to areas at any time, anywhere. Criminals and Radicals have already gone too far in destabilizing the very future of our nation."

"There you go again," Cyrus Vance grunted in extreme irritation, his eyes boring deep into Zbigniew as the rest of the generals noticed a shift in the atmosphere as a result of the Secretary of State's sudden hostility against Zbig. Carter would have spoken up, but whatever thoughts he had died in his head as Vance continued. "Richard Nixon said the same thing, and look where our nation's at," He said. "I've got reports of students being beaten up, harassed by the FBI, and remember Kent State?" He venomously said, piercing eyes turning against Zbigniew, much to the chagrin of the General Staff, who could only groan at the civilian staff arguing.

Kent State was something of a black mark among the United States military. A relic of the Vietnam War and Nixon's attempted efforts to stop it. Carter thought. That doesn't erase his legacy as a crook, but the fact remains that he was in the same situation as Nixon. He was stuck in a hellish situation with no way out. Carter took a moment to breathe and scan the area. Unfortunately for him, the Secretary of Defense had been... delayed, much to his irritation. Squinting as the generals, Cyrus, and Zbigniew were arguing back and forth, he turned to Mondale.

"What do we tell 'em?" He asked, twiddling his thumbs with pained eyes on his face as Mondale looked at him uncomfortably. He could only depend on his Vice-President for support. SecDef was taking long, and so was General de Zwart. Damnit, damnit, damnit. They had to get here. And fast! "There must be some kinda way outta here..." He helplessly said, with the only response earned being Mondale shaking his head in sympathy and patting Jimmy Carter's shoulder. His pained expression made him look like he was barely holding it in.

"Just pray to God that Harold gets here as fast as possible," Mondale said, closing his eyes and giving Carter a half-hearted smile to reassure him as Mondale looked back at the arguing Pentagon War Room. Zbigniew and Cyrus were still engaged in vitriolic yet formal back-and-forths about the deployment of the National Guard in the State of Vermont. Jimmy couldn't even pay attention to the argument anymore. It turned into a rhetorical blunder battle. "Christ. Just pray."

Jimmy sighed, turning back to face the generals and White House staff in the middle of their argument. Hopefully, General de Zwart would arrive here immediately.

If he didn't...

May God have mercy on his soul.

A cough from a man with a TRADOC nameplate shut both Zbigniew and Vance up, with the both of them ceasing their bickering to look at the man from TRADOC who called for their attention.

At least Carter had some salvation.

He re-adjusted his seat, clasping his fingers together in a questioning pose as he looked at President Carter. "What exactly are we doing with the Military Regional Commands, Mister President, sir?" TRADOC Commander William E. DePuy asked, lurching forward as if to get his point to Carter, who ceased retreating further into his seat, instead opting to confront the General. DePuy pointed at a notepad on his desk, and then back to Carter. "How is this going to benefit our training and military organization, if at all?" He asked.

"Right," He muttered, sighing and turning his head to look at the generals in the eye. "Our objective with the military regional commands is to provide a unified theatre command structure if the Pentagon is cut off from communicating with the remnants of the United States Armed Forces. The goal is to ensure that our forces can still rally around someone on a regional and theatrical level even if they lose communication with the main command."

"So, basically," DePuy muttered, whispering voices joining him in discussion over the training program of the MRCs. Words like "regionality," "operational terrain," "pan-state military development," and "theatre command" were thrown about by the generals as theoretical statements. Possible amendments to the MRC program. Things that Carter could co-opt when... bluntly put, filibustering his generals with buzzwords. "You plan to shift the National Guard to operate on a region-exclusive basis? Rather than having them serve on a state, they're anchored to their region?"

"Yes, basically," He muttered, a deep breath escaping from his lungs as DePuy leaned back into his seat, the other generals in the War Room soon talking with each other first and foremost as a result. "MACNE is a Pilot Program, uh, signed under an Executive Order temporarily federalizing National Guard assets across the United States to send them to New England-" He was interrupted by the Chief of the National Guard Bureau, La Vern E. Weber, who coughed into his hands.

"I'm not so sure an ambitious military reform such as this could get past Congress," He shook his head in disappointed resignation, a sigh, dental click, and shaking of his head signifying his 'faith' in Carter's ability to reform the military command. "But, if you can get this past Congress, then I'll be buying you a beer, Mister President." He responded, re-adjusting his glasses.

Carter nodded, though unsure if he wanted to continue the MRC program. After all, the Military Regional Commands plan... That was drafted with General de Zwart in a smoke-filled backroom. Something to camouflage the deployment of National Guard forces in the State of Vermont. Sure, it was an effective smokescreen for whatever he had planned, but he had doubts. What was the limit of the smokescreen? How long could it go before some lucky whistleblower uncovers Carter's plan? And hell, how long 'til the generals just lose faith in him?

It wasn't a sincere program. Hell. It didn't even cross his mind until General de Zwart suggested it as a smokescreen.

But hell. Might as well push this kayfabe even further, Carter thought. Gotta keep the generals sated with smokescreens before we fill 'em with the, uh, real meat. The red meat complemented the red herring that was the MRC program fluffery. Hopefully, it'd all-

"I will be, uh, completely honest," Master Chief Petty Officer of the Coast Guard Philip F. Smith spoke up, eyebrows widened and expression just... utterly confused. Carter hadn't seen a man be so confused ever since he pledged to cease segregationism after winning Georgia. "I have no clue why I was summoned here. I see that whatever's going on here is a, uh, Army affair. You sure the Coast Guard's gotta be involved?"

"At the very least, I know that this affair involves the Air Force-" Chief of Staff of the Air Force David C. Jones interjected, only to get interrupted as another member of the Air Force spoke up and drowned whatever he was going to say.

"Yeah, sure, if you stretch the Air Force's command to include the Weekend Warriors-" Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force Thomas N. Barnes spoke up, interrupting David C. Jones. Barnes stood up and tapped on the table. "Mister President, I'm not sure it's wise to involve the Weekend Warriors-"

"The hell is the Navy doing here then?" Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy Robert Walker spoke up, frowning in irritation. "We ain't involved with Army or Flyboy affairs."

"...Damnit, Carter," Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps Henry H. Black commented, shaking his head and slamming his fist on the table. "I've heard the goddamn bureaucrats say the Marine Corps isn't cut out for this shit! I say HELL NO! If you want men for your Emm-Arr-See fuckery, then send in the fuckin' Marines, damnit! MARINES!"

The rest of the generals, meanwhile, shut their tongues and stayed silent as the other generals raised their voices toward Carter. The Commanders of the First, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Armies, for example, all stood silent as the other general staff tore both each other and the White House staff. Cushman, meanwhile, spoke up amid the chaos that was the War Room, contributing to the list of those who stared down President Carter.

The Commanders of III Corps, V Corps, VII Corps, IX Corps, and XVIII Corps all took down their notes, confused by the circumstances around them but still wanting to understand the exact reason for their argument. They all glanced at each others' notes, hushed whispers contributing to the chaos around the War Room as they exchanged notes, Carter diverting his eyes away from them to focus on something else.

The Geographic Army Commanders of US Forces Pacific, US Forces Japan, US Forces Caribbean, and US Forces Southern Europe all took turns looking at each other, similar to the Corps commanders. However this time, rather than passing papers down, they seemed to be conversing with each other about their notes. Unfortunately with the audible chaos going on, Carter couldn't pay attention to what exactly they said.

The Joint Command Commanders, meanwhile, all kept an unspoken glare focused on President Carter and Mondale. Among the mass of peaked caps and dress uniforms, the JC Commanders seemed to just stick out to Carter, but he couldn't figure out why. However, that might have been because rather than talking to each other in debate within the smoke-filled War Room, they merely chose to focus on Carter instead.

President Carter stood up, straightening his tie as he leaned forward, hands and arms pressing on the desk in front of him. "Gentlemen," he opened up, looking back at his advisors. "It's time I-"

"Mister President, sir," A voice rang out through the War Room's smoke-filled bickering that cut through it all as if it were a heated knife. The voice of someone who needed to be here as soon as possible. Someone who could get their job done by giving a full briefing of Remnant to the generals and requesting their silence in support of the United States MAC-NE. "Harold Brown, reporting for duty."

"Well look who arrived at the pig pen," Another voice cut through the smoke-filled room, Carter's eyes widening in surprise as the voice stepped into the War Room, overshadowing both the White House and the generals. "General Blake de Zwart, reporting for briefing, sir," He gave a sloppily-executed salute to Carter before lazily putting his hand down, and taking his seat at the War Room round table. In contrast, Harold Brown walked over to the White House staff and sat down in an empty seat right next to Carter.

He set a briefcase down and opened it up, taking out a folder labeled 'AFTER ACTION REPORT - VERMONT.' "Gentlemen," He said. "I would like to present the after-action report of our exercises in Vermont."

"Read it." US European Command Commander Alexander Haig responded.

Coughing, Harold Brown opened up the folder and took a look at its contents, sighing as he prepared mentally for the barrage of questions that would eventually come his way. They wouldn't believe him. He knew it. "Gentlemen," He said, his voice barely audible over the hushed whispers rising in the cramped War Room. "The content I am about to reveal to you may just be the most damning and the most baffling information to come out of this," He said, glancing nervously at General de Zwart. "General. You explain to the rest of the staff."

Nodding, Blake procured a folder of his own, labeled 'COMBAT OPERATIONS REPORTS - VERMONT.' "I regret to inform you all," General de Zwart started, voice cutting through the clamor of confusion, with the other generals exchanging exasperated glances and frantic whispering. The anxiety within each general was heavy, just enough pressure to be compared with an anvil. "While the papers may say Vermont," He said, raising his voice as he took off his sunglasses—why he wore them inside anyway was a mystery—and handed over a report to one of the US Forces Pacific Commanders. "We weren't in Vermont at all."

"The hell?!" George Brown, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, erupted in confusion, voice barely audible over the intensified whispering of the generals in the War Room. "Where the fuck were you mobilizing anyway, then?!" He demanded, words reinforced as his hand slammed against his desk. Pandemonium ensued as the other generals exchanged incredulous stares and heated arguments of their own, the disorientating cacophony of voices irritating Carter. "Don't tell me you've sent our men to Vermont for no reason!"

Harold Brown passed the report to a General, urgency evident in his expression and speech as he urged the receiver to open it as soon as he could. The receiver, VII Corps Commander David E. Ott, opened it. Widening his eyes at whatever was on the report, David Ott passed it to the person on his left, who was IX Corps Commander John R. Guthrie. When Guthrie read the report, his eyes widened as he shuffled through the papers. He immediately then passed it on to someone else, the wide-eyed surprise replicated with each general who received Brown's report.

The room was in total chaos as the reports were passed down from one man to the other, the frenzied rustling of papers mingling with hushed whispers, each man's eyes widening as they skimmed through the reports. Exasperated statements in regards to "otherworldly forests" and "domestic terrorism" floated through the room alongside the rustling, many in the staff involuntarily twitching their eyes as the hushed whispers seemed to intensify. Whatever order was once in the War Room had all but collapsed as the emotions reached a fever pitch.

"Chairman George Brown," Walter Mondale opened up, his meek voice just barely cutting through the chaotic staccato of the War Room. "The United States Army National Guard has been involved in military operations within the area of Vermont, yes," He conceded, with the Chairman raising eyebrows at that statement. "However," He continued, his tone grave as he shook his head. "I would like to bring to your attention which area of Vermont our military forces have been deployed in."

"Vice-President Mondale, could you at least... Care to elaborate on that?" George Brown demanded, frustration in the lining of his vocal cords as he struggled to make sense of the chaos in the room, the generals not bothering to give anything about the report that wasn't confusing.

"Chairman George Brown," Jimmy Carter interjected, his words nearly drowning in the escalating tumult. "Would you like me to truncate the report for you?"

"No," Brown looked at Carter, the report of Brown arriving on his desk. "I'll take a look at it."

As he opened the folder, he was surprised to be greeted with an attached photo. Specifically, of U.S. National Guard armored and mechanized assets in a defense line, with the written caption of 'DEFENSE OF MAYFLOWER.'

He turned a page.

NATIONAL GUARD BUREAU

MILITARY ASSISTANCE COMMAND NEW ENGLAND

UNITED STATES ARMY NATIONAL GUARD

F.O.B. 'FORT NIGHT II', VERMONT, UNITED STATES.

MEMORANDUM FOR: PRESIDENT JAMES E. CARTER & VICE-PRESIDENT WALTER F. MONDALE, WASHINGTON D.C.

FROM: & NAT. GUARD GEN. BLAKE DE ZWART, ST. JOHNSBURY'S, V.T. &  SEC. OF DEFENSE HAROLD BROWN, WASHINGTON D.C.

OPERATION: NEW DAWN

DATE: 18 MARCH 1977 TO 22 MARCH 1977

LOCATION: REMNANT [SEE: Remnant Memorandum, Page 2]

SUBJECT: EXPLORATION AND ACTION AGAINST ENEMY FORCES

In compliance with the requests of President James E. Carter and General Blake de Zwart [SEE: Memorandum Number 1, Headquarters MAC-NE, dated 18 March 1977] the following report of exploration missions and combat operations from 18 March 1977 through 22 March 1977, is hereby submitted in this:

A. Units. 86th Armored Brigade, 1/172nd Armor, 2/172nd Armor, 1/101st Infantry, 1/101st Infantry (Mech.), 1/101st Field Artillery

B. Strength. [SEE: Memorandum on Active Recon Teams]

C. Battles & Patrols [SEE: Narrative, Appendix No. 1]

D. Commanding Officers in Important Engagements.

- General J.B. De Zwart.

E. Casualties in Action [SEE: Appendix No. 2]

F. Present Members who have distinguished themselves in action. [SEE: Appendix No. 3]

H. Photographs and Reports [SEE: Appendix No. 4]

J.B. de Zwart, General, National Guard Bureau

Incls: 4.

- Appendix 1 [Narrative]

- Appendix 2 [ Casualties  in Action]

- Appendix 3 [Enlisted Men]

- Appendix 4 [Unit Journals]

APPENDIX 1.

NARRATIVE

[...]

Gordon Brown narrowed his eyes as he scanned through the document, specifically Appendix 1, the Narrative of the Battle. What was in it astonished him. Tales about an attempted ambush of a mechanized infantry convoy by local insurgents during a routine patrol. A special operations team destroying a... insurgent camp through supposed 'infiltration.' An armored unit, a mechanized infantry unit, and two other units that were assigned because of officer incompetence all defended a small village from an attack by disorganized terrorists.

The paper put careful care into emphasizing the incompetence and lack of proper strategy behind these insurgents, almost as though they were driven without any real strategy and instead focused on the strategy of rushing toward their enemies in a frenzy. He furrowed his brows in absolute confusion, blinking several times. Where did this happen and how the hell did this happen? There wasn't supposed to be anything in the State of Vermont. Hell, that state was declared safe. So why in the hell...

Brown flipped through to Appendix 4.

"MACNE CIDG training for a mission...?" He asked, looking at a picture that seemed to depict... human-like figures. With American troops. National Guard troops. Learning how to use M16s.

When he squinted further, he noticed what appeared to be animalistic features on many of the human-like figures. One even bore a tail and several others bore animal ears. Whatever he wanted to say in response died in his throat as he slightly stammered, confusion overwhelming the poor Chief of the JCS. He put down the report, confused by the implications, only to see a smirking General Blake clapping and smiling back at him.

"Bravo, bravo. You echoed my first expressions when I found out about Remnant, Brown," He muttered, shaking his head and letting a half-assed chuckle out. "Welcome to MACNE," General Blake de Zwart interjected, looking at Brown in the eyes despite his sunglasses obscuring whatever could be seen. "We weren't exactly... in Vermont, so to say. Rather, we had... discovered something unusual. I'll cut to the chase," Blake de Zwart said. "Secretary of Defense? You have the rest of the notes."

Coughing, the Secretary of Defense took more notes from his briefcase, straightening himself as he prepared to recite it.

"At approximately 5:45 AM in Vermont, elements of the 86th Armored Regiment were requested by the Governor of the town of St. Johnsbury after a report of repeated waves of violent attacks and property damage in the town. Responding, the 86th Armored Regiment was ordered to restore law and order in the town and to stand guard against all potential threats," Harold Brown muttered, with George Brown noticing a little uncertainty in his voice as he recited the documents, but still pushed on. "At approximately 6:50 AM, the 86th Armored reported engaging with what was described as 'monstrous wildlife' that took on the forms of huge, black wolves," Harold Brown squinted his eyes. "In a journal entry written by one Lars Alexanders used as reference material, the unit had been, quote, 'fighting fucking demons.'"

He continued, pushing forward into other reports and revealing more and more details. About how MAC-NE was established in the two-week interim by Executive Order in complete secret, hidden from the Pentagon. Much to the infuriation of many high-ranking officers, especially those currently meeting with Carter, as some of them had no idea why he pulled their National Guard troops into New England, and merely requested a meeting with him to find out the problem. Many of the Officers in the War Room glared at Carter with a collective, focused, piercing stare that could destroy concrete.

US Army Europe's Commander, George S. Blanchard, stared down Carter. It was his units that got pulled.

FORSCOM's Commander, Frederick J. Kroesen Jr., also stared down Carter. The expression said it all. Pulling out approximately 1/4ths of the National Guard divisions without briefing him first on Remnant? He wanted to punch Carter.

And Zbigniew looked furious, giving Carter an extreme death glare that would have the capability of frying a tank. Awesome. Carter had almost the entire War Room staring down at him. Though, oddly enough, Vance looked deep in thought, almost as if he was pondering something else. At the very least, Carter hoped, he was thinking of something other than staring him down.

Oh, and Carter forgot to account for the shitshow this will cause to the civilian economy. Great.

Carter rubbed his forehead once more as Harold Brown continued, the generals still staring him down for his fuckup. Brown went into detail about the first ambush on a mechanized unit, the first special forces operation conducted on an enemy base, and the Defense of Mayflower and how it was only because Army Command wrongly assigned units to the 86th that they were able to keep on holding the small village. He concluded his report by speaking of the White Fang and trying his best to hold off questions about the White Fang itself, only focusing on the US' discovery of Remnant. For now, at least.

"And why the hell were we not briefed on this?!" George Brown shouted, knuckles whitening as he clenched his fist in anger. He could feel the veins in his eyes nearly bulging in infuriated rage, the President responding with a steadfast and unmoving expression. Carter needed to answer the question, and he had to do so without bowing down to his generals. "This is a massive threat to our national security-"

"-Not to mention the potential panic this could cause if this was leaked!" Zbigniew shouted, raising his voice as he turned to look at Jimmy Carter. Matter of fact, despite Zbigniew's unhesitant desire to squash Communism, if it ever arrived in the United States, the moment he heard Harold Brown's report, he knew that it had to be serious. "President Carter, sir- This is a matter of national security! It is the greatest matter of national security! Please-"

"...What is the status of the energy sector of Remnant?" Cyrus Vance asked reluctantly, the voice in him shaken as the words left his mouth. Surprised, Carter looked at Zbigniew one more time, before looking at Vance.

"Uh," Carter said, glancing back and forth between him, General Blake, Walter Mondale, and Harold Brown, raising an eyebrow as he got nothing back from them. When he turned back to Vance, he answered once more. "As far as we can tell? We're not so sure."

"...Are there any local governments?"

"Yeppers," General Blake interjected. "Approximately four local kingdoms, equivalent to superpowers all in all."

Vance sighed and breathed heavily. "Do they have oil?"

"Uhhh... Not that we know of? But they might?"

Vance's eyes darted back to President Carter, pinching his nose as he did so. "Mister President, sir... If there's a way to compensate for whatever the hell Nixon's done, I suggest now would be the time."

"Vance, the hell are you talking-" Zbigniew started before Vance interrupted him.

"If this... 'Remnant' has untapped energy reserves that are only blocked by either this... 'White Fang' or the local wildlife, then I suggest we aim to capture those as soon as possible. To start, uh, operations that'll help us offset the current energy crisis and malaise-"

"With all due respect, Vance," Zbigniew huffed out, pointing a finger at Vance, jabbing it in the air back and forth as he and Vance locked eyes, fury in Zbigniew's eyes and irritation in Vance's. "This is also an urgent matter of national security! You can't just send in the military to capture some oil fields-"

"I looked at the briefing once more," Charles A. Ott interjected, closing the folder and setting it on the table, lurching forward. "I've seen the reports that detailed the effectiveness of CIDG troops. Natural night-vision. Superb reflexes that can sense dangers. Not to mention the animalistic abilities they get..." His pudgy face shifted into one of surprise and amazement. "It would pay to continue combat operations in Remnant."

"Surprise surprise," Frederick J. Kroesen Jr. grumbled out, a small frown on his face as he continued speaking. "Our army's shit. And, as much as I hate to say it..." He noted, looking at Charles Ott. Both of them knew that the U.S. Military, as it stood, was in a total shitshow of its former self. They needed to fix it, and fast. Sure, the Military Regional Commands were a step in reform. But that was all theatrics. He wanted to see how Carter's little would evaluate the military. And, perhaps, Remnant would be the key. "It would indeed pay to continue combat operations in Remnant, as our military forces are currently inefficient, especially against low-intensity conflicts. We could use Remnant as a learning springboard-"

"Let us not forget that we can aim for a trade deal that will ensure an offset of the energy crisis-" Vance spoke up in the middle of Kroesen's speech, only to get interrupted himself.

"Send in the Marines too, damnit!" Louis H. Wilson, Commandant of the Marine Corps, shouted.

"Wilson, I'll see to it, but for now we need just the National Guard-"

"Goddamnit!"

"I hate to say it, Wilson, but he's right," David C. Jones, Chief of Staff of the Air Force responded. "It's a National Guard operation. But," He thought. "I suppose should this escalate, it would pay to have the Marines there already," He smirked, realizing he had something else to say. "Oh, on that note. Mister President. You have the full backing of the United States Air Force in the event of war escalation."

"The hell am I doing here then?" Admiral Owen W. Siler, Commandant of the Coast Guard, asked.

"Ditto. The hell can I do?" Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral James Lemuel Holloway III, spoke.

"I... I suppose you can serve as advisors when it comes to dealing with naval threats? Cross-referenced material suggests that there may be hostile wildlife in the oceans of Remnant too-"

Both of them nodded, at least reluctantly. Better to be a part of this op as an advisor than to know what was going on and be uninvolved. Owen spoke first. "Consider it done, then. You have my backing."

"Mine too." George Sammet Jr., Army Development and Research Command Commander, interjected after being mostly silent toward Carter.

After Sammet's endorsement, the General Staff in the War Room stood silent, awaiting any responses as though they were witnessing the flash of an atom bomb. Confused generals looked at one another, waiting for the recipients to say something. But it seemed that would not be the case, as time stood still in the War Room, officers' mouths shut as the President squinted.

However, in a minute, that accursed silence was broken. The commander of US Army Pacific, Major General Thomas U. Greer, swept his head around the war room, before tapping on the table, all eyes locking onto him. When everyone turned observant eyes to Greer, he spoke up with a question. "All in favor of supporting President Carter's exploration mission into Remnant, say Aye."

For a second, there seemed to be hesitation. The staff officers didn't seem to be ready yet. Perhaps Carter could-

To Carter's surprise, a hand was raised.

"Aye." From Chief of Naval Operations.

Another hand was raised.

"Aye." From the U.S. Readiness Command Commander.

A third hand was raised. Slowly.

"Aye." From the Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force.

Then a fourth hand was raised, very rapidly.

"Aye." From the Commandant of the Marine Corps.

The rest of the General staff folded to Carter as it seemed that more and more people would accede to Carter, offering to back him. Though Carter noted, he supposed that he would have to deal with them jockeying for his approval, increasing their influence. While the Air Force and Navy were not a problem—for now at least—the real potential pains in the ass were with the Marines and Army, and especially wringing their units from the National Guard.

Louis Wilson was a hardass for small, expeditionary units. Though the Marines couldn't be deployed right now, Carter knew that he would be a hardass for getting the Marines deployed in. Semper fi, after all. And the rest of the Army brass just wanted to see the Army getting an overhaul. Equipment replacement, training changes, regional command adaptability... All of these were things that the Army generals craved.

And Remnant was a great opportunity for that.

But, for now, Carter mused, he just had to focus on them acceding to his authority. He nodded in satisfaction as the officers all unanimously voted 'Aye' in favor of Carter.

The other White House staff, meanwhile, acceded to him too. Quietly, at least. Vance was more enthused about potential trade deals that could help offset the worst of the malaise, Zbigniew just wanted to quell this threat to national security, Harold Brown just wanted to finish up his job, and Mondale was just happy that they could finally get something done productively.

But for now, it was time to get to work.

He first looked at Zbigniew, before taking a paper and pen and writing down the first draft for a document mandating the creation of an officer body to advise and command military forces in Remnant.

Executive Order 15111, as it would be called. The establishment of a military body within Military Regional Commands that would act as a 'Mini-Pentagon' for each MRC.

Soon enough, he also thought of drafting one for establishing a separate civilian body to deal with the civvie paperwork.

That, and working with generals to ensure that MAC-NE wouldn't become a failure like MAC-V.

While writing the first thing for his executive order, he glanced at the National Security Advisor, twiddling his thumbs as he awaited directions. It was time to act. "Zbig," Carter ordered. "Draft an op-plan for containing the White Fang. Do it with Harold, too."

"Consider it done, Sir."

He did the same for Vance, glancing back to him. "Vance, draft a potential first-contact plan with other natives. We had an ad hoc peace treaty signed, and I want you to draft another one with proper amendments."

"On it, Mister President."

"Kroesen, I want you to draft a memorandum on the mobilization of National Guard units into Vermont. Coat it in fluffy language. Call it an exercise."

"Roger that, sir."

He finished writing down the Executive Order, and looked back up to the rest of the staff, a smirk on his face. It was time to act. A time to show the American people that the Democratic Party would not give up. He flipped the pen and swept it around the room, pointing it at the rest of the generals, then clicked it back. "The rest of you? Consider yourselves a part of... this operation. Beginning tomorrow, your authorities will be folded into Military Assistance Command New England, under the pretense of an MRC program dry run. In essence," Carter said. "You will act as the general staff of this operation for its entire duration. We'll fill the other MRCs with other officers in your stead. Got it?"

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff nodded. "We do, sir."

"Good. Let's get this job done."

As the Generals began nodding at Carter's words and prepared to do more work, he thought back to the MRC plans. When this sweeping change would be put in place, he'd work on legitimizing the other MRC plans.

He also thought about the optics. This plan meant that a lot of National Guard would have to be moved into New England and out of their area. This was an operational necessity, he could not deny that. But in this current era of economic malaise...

Carter snapped out of it. He had to commit to the intervention in Remnant now. The risk of letting this whole new world slip by him was too big. He could worry about the economic shitshow later. Fucking later.

For now?

"Let's get to work."

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 12 - Vignettes

March 27, 1977

Four days after the Battle of Mayflower

"Why has our hazard pay been increased for our transfer to Vermont? The hell's going on there?"

- Anecdotal quote from the 107th Armored Cavalry Regiment, 1977.

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"See, the problem that lay within President Carter's war program is that sometimes it has very unintended effects. So, during the Unwinnable War, he mobilized the Ohio National Guard to go to Vermont, and among those is the 112th Medical Brigade of the Ohio Army National Guard. Okay, that sounds fine, right? See... the problem is that these National Guard personnel were, uh, part-timers in the NG and had full jobs at the Cleveland Clinic and Cleveland Metropolitan Hospital. Now, I have to ask —what happens when you mix MACNE deployments into this situation? If you guessed 'decline of Cleveland's healthcare,' then you'd be right!"

"And sure, while the CDC and its ilk were part of the, uh, Military Regional Command of MACNE, unlike the FBI or CIA, they weren't really given unlimited resources to deal with their specialties on Remnant. At least not initially—which would be a problem, but relatively tolerable if you had patience—but our issue is that... Well, for our first few months in Remnant, our objectives were revenge missions. Kill Grimm, establish FOB, then move on. Problem. It later turned out that the Grimm remains —y'know, the disintegrating stuff—turned out to be kind of contagious. And by contagious, we meant that we lost 2 Guardsmen to it. Died with symptoms similar to rabies. That rabies."

"And the White Fang, uh... Remember our ambush and how we wiped out both an attacking force and a FOB in retaliation for them spitting on us? Well, turns out that they were kind of unhappy with us. Very unhappy. So unhappy that they managed to disable an M113 and kidnap the 17-year-old machine gunner from it, to execute him to make a point. Though you probably know what happened to them in the long run, for us on the ground it was, well, harrowing. Though they did leave a bunch of clues like a poorly-executed easter egg hunt, so we sent the 107th ACR after them. Hence why they got the nickname of Overkill for a while."

"But, uh, yeah. That's the end of this chapter's memoirs. I remember them primarily clear as day. If you want more, I recommend you peruse some Vietnam War historians. There's one I know who's done a great book on how we went from losing in Vietnam to winning in Remnant in just four years. The tidbit that mentioned the 107th and the number fuckups of the 1-101sts was great. The book's called 'Victorious in Defeat - The United States Army from 1973 to 1979' and it's on in Barnes & Noble for 21 bucks. Go get it when you can."

"I hope you can enjoy the next page about my memoirs."

Jan Kaczynski - Cleveland, Ohio, United States of America - March 27, 1977 (Earth Years) - 10:02 AM (Earth Time)

A step up to the Cleveland Clinic should not have been this hard. And likewise, this goddamn weather shouldn't have been this hard. But Jan just guessed that Cleveland had everything going up against him. First with unbearable weather then next with a broken engine, forcing him to walk three goddamn blocks just to get to the Cleveland Clinic. Remind him why the hell he was in a place like this again.

A sigh escaped him as he shook his head and continued to march towards the Cleveland Clinic. But his eyes shifted as he noticed there was a lack of ambulances around the area.

Did today just become an uneventful day for most of them? Bah, it didn't matter. He just needed to get this simple blood test done as soon as possible, then he'd go back to editing for his newspaper. He had concepts of a plan for its stories and headlines, of course. Not an actual paper.

Yet.

He pushed the door open and was immediately greeted by a large queue of other people just like him. Men, women, children... All of them were just at this long waiting line. Waiting for something, he supposed. Which was strange. Normally these hospitals, cost be damned, would have a rather short waiting list. So what was up here?

A grumble in his stomach told him there was more at work here. Something strange. But he shook his head. Come on, his gut was the same instinct that got him into an awkward moment of fucking a College classmate just 20 minutes before class. So, there was no reason for him to trust his gut here.

Walking up to the front desk after the last person in queue—a woman looking to be in her mid-40s—left the front desk to go into the waiting benches. There were at least 23 people there. Huh. An oddity, but something he could just shrug off. He then marched forward after the woman left the queue, looking at the desk attendant in the hotel.

She looked... very tired today. Sagging eyebags and almost bloodshot eyes told him a story that he wanted to know. No black eyes. No bruises. Nothing there. It was just... all tiredness. What the hell was going on with her? He raised his eyebrows as he put his hands on the desk, beginning to speak about why he was here in the first place. "Hi," He opened up, silently wishing she could get better. It seemed like hell out here. "I'd like to request an ENT specialist," He said. He'd been having an annoying buildup of earwax. So hopefully an ENT should fix that. "Is there an opportune time?"

Rather than an immediate response, she sighed and shook her head, eyebags and bloodshot eyes still telling me a story worth a thousand words—just in the form of a facial expression. If she was photographed like this, it would be worth so much money. Something in his mind told him it would strike a nerve with medical personnel trying their best. "We're sorry sir," She said as she sighed deeply. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, we cannot guarantee an appointment with an ENT specialist," Well shit. "But you can sit in the waiting room. We are working to solve this issue as rapidly as we can."

Well, alright. He was confused about exactly what they meant by unforeseen circumstances... But given that she had bloodshot eyes and sagging eye bags. Well, after all, a picture tells a thousand words. So Jan just nodded, lifted his arms off the desk, and smiled. "Thank you," He said, but before preparing to leave, he kept looking at the attendant. "I hope you get a great rest, by the way."

She chuckled and shook her head. "That's the nicest goddamn thing that I've heard from someone who hasn't had to sacrifice their sleep today," She said, laughing. "I'll call you when there's an available ENT specialist. For now, just sit tight and keep waiting."

"Alright," Jan nodded. "Thanks for informing me. Hope it all gets better for y'all in Cleveland Clinic."

The attendant laughed once again. "Nicest goddamn thing I've heard in a while." She said before she turned back to the paperwork she was attending to before Jan walked over. Turning around, meanwhile, Jan walked over to the waiting area and scanned the area for a seat. Unoccupied and hopefully, uh, not filled with sharp shit or extremely dirty things.

Listen. He can tolerate a small amount of dirt, but extremely dirty things make him recoil in disgust. And that wasn't even mentioning his fear of sharp objects. Something about them combined with sitting down just made him shake, shiver, and cringe violently at the thought. Maybe he got killed by that method in a past life? Could be, couldn't be. Either way, that was irrelevant for now.

He celebrated to himself as he found a seat and immediately walked over to it, starting to sit on it and exhale a deep breath. Though he wondered if there was anything to do here at all. Bingo? Probably not an option. Any puzzle game? Christ, he didn't bring any with him. Read a novel? Well, shit, he chuckled to himself. He didn't bring anything.

Of course, that was because he never expected Cleveland Clinic to have such a long line today. So...

He looked at the person to his right—a woman cradling her baby, who was crying. The kid looked healthy, so he assumed that she was there for herself. Just had to bring the kid along because... Well, neglecting a baby is terrible to do. His mind still shuddered when he heard the myth of a shitty mom who left her kid alone with only food and diapers. He prayed to God that was false.

Otherwise, he'd be dead of heartbreak.

"Hey, uh," He opened up a conversation as the baby began to slumber rather peacefully. The woman, confused, looked up at Jan. "Any reason why the Clinic's taking so long to, uh, get our appointments?" He asked, curious. The rest of the people around him soon began to look at each other. Almost as if they were asking the same question. Well, he mused. Guess that he wasn't in this boat alone. That was spectacular to know in the long run, at least.

Made him feel less isolated.

"Truth be told," She said. "I think I know the reason why," She sighed heavily. "My ex-husband works at this hospital. On great terms with him for the record," She opened up, and Jan couldn't see her hiding anything, so she was truthful. Hopefully. "However, yesterday he gave me a call. Said that he was getting Federalized." Wait, that opened up a question in Jan's head.

"Federalized?"

"Oh yeah," She sighed, as another person joined the waiting queue at the front of the hospital. "He's also part-time National Guard."

"Weekend warrior? Part-time Doc?"

"Yeah," She glanced off to the side. "Said that he was being transferred to somewhere in Vermont."

"...You think the rest of the doctors were probably working in the Nat-Gee?" Jan asked eyes widened incredulously as he put his fist under his chin, still confused. How the hell did almost the entirety of Cleveland Clinic's staff find themselves mobilized by the National Guard?

"I wouldn't doubt it," She sighed as another wave of people coming in were put into the waiting queue. "The tee-vee probably has something about the federalization of my ex. You wanna go see if we can ask for it to be turned on?" She asked, turning to Jan.

"Oh yeah, sure," Jan nodded and stood up, walking over to the right to greet the desk attendant. As soon as he walked over, she looked at him, tiredly. Almost as if expecting to ask him about doctors. No. Nothing like that. "Hey, miss- Can you turn on the corner-mounted TV?" He asked. "Put on the news, please."

"...Sure," She said after a beat, blinking and all. She soon procured a remote. A luxury in Carter's America. Then, the television came on. "TV's on now."

"Thank you," Jan said, making his way back to the waiting queue. As soon as he sat down, he found himself staring at the television as the news came on. It was CBS. Huh, the headline this time was talking about...

His eyes blinked as he read that right.

"Following President Carter's new executive order, Executive Order 11977," The newscaster opened up. "One of the engineer battalions from the Ohio Army National Guard has been mobilized following a general alert that went off at March 15," He continued. "Reports state that they have been, and I quote, 'speeding through the interstate' to get to their assigned position as fast as possible. Complaints were raised about their reported recklessness, but how this develops remains to be seen as-"

"Hey, my ex's deployed in that battalion." The woman from earlier said, still cradling her baby.

"-The National Guard prepares for reforms under President Carter's direction. There have been, however, pushback efforts from the Republican Party to his military reforms. Senator Strom Thurmond has-"

Huh, Jan thought as the newscaster... Cronklite, he remembered his name was... He was off rambling about politics and military things. Now, he was supposed to be a newspaper editor- at least in theory, but he was new to this whole politics thing.

But perhaps, he thought.

We were in interesting times.

Peter Joseph - Forward Operating Base 'Fort Night 2, Vermont, United States of America - March 27, 1977 (Earth Years) - 5:07 PM (Earth Time)

"Yo Joseph," Muttered one of Joseph's squadmates as he looked over at the setting sun. "How's the weather there?" Joseph winced in frustration. Here comes another round of jokes about his height and his job as the M113 machine gunner again. Being in the 1/137th Armor made him want to gouge his eyes out. He lurched to the left, right hand on the machine gun, and gave the middle finger with his left hand.

"If I hear another goddamn weather comment I'll have your balls hanged with a coat hanger," He growled, brows furrowing in anger. God. Was it so hard to have a simple squad that wasn't made up of shit-eating morons? He peeled back and continued his duty as the machine gunner, grasping the M2 handles. "Want me to punt you over a mile?"

"If it helps, I'll suck your dick for five dollars."

"Fuck off, Payne."

A chuckle from Payne, the squadmate, was enough to make Joseph roll his eyes and pout. Why the hell was this idiot his friend again? Come on. They spent a good portion of their lives as friends. And just like always, he was idiotic and had the reading comprehension of a walnut.

But enough about that.

"In lighter news," Joseph said as he continued manning the machine gun, but head leaning to the left to talk with Payne. "You heard about the 1/101st?"

"The Cavs?"

"Yeah. Those 1/101sts."

"What 'bout them?"

"Well," He sighed. "They've come back to Fort Night II with tales about how they saw the most action out of all of us over here in MAC-NE. Seeing action in Vermont, of all places to see action in."

"Well," Payne said as he laid his rifle next to some crates. "I wanna know now. What the hell were they talking about? Like, did they fuck a buncha people or-"

"Why does it always have to be about sex?"

"...Sorry."

"Right. So, the Cavs... Well, uh, apparently they had to dig a defense line against what they've described as just... a sort of mini-Ia Drang? Yeah, that Ia Drang." Joseph couldn't believe it himself, at first. Hell, it didn't feel like LZ X-Ray. But when he saw the anti-tank munition marks on the M48 Patton that the 86th Armored brought in, he knew they weren't bullshitting him. "They managed to do better than even they expected when all hell broke loose."

"Shit," Payne muttered, eyes widening in awe and his jaw slacking off and drooping. "How many are the tactical kill count on their defense?" Joseph doubted the numbers at first, but after managing to snag a conversation with a Pathfinder who managed to get there firsthand... Well, he didn't doubt them any more. Though Payne was probably going to be baffled.

"Well," Joseph shrugged. "Body count, apparently uninflated, tells me that they managed to get five hundred. None of them civilians- Hell, the civs stayed behind and were hiding in their homes the whole time. Attackers came in charging like wild, mad men with steroids in their goddamn veins. No thoughts in their head, from what I was told. I think one of the gunners- Some guy whose name started with an R- Spoke about how they came in charging like suicidal madmen."

"Yeesh. And they seriously expected to win against..." Payne stopped. "Wait. Joseph, what other units were in that area during their combat?" He asked. That caused Joseph to stop for a second and recall. What units were present during that battle?

"If my memory serves me correctly once again," Joseph noted as he stopped what he was thinking for a second. "I think it was the 1st Battallion of 172nd Armor, second platoon. Accompanying them were, uh, 1/101st Mech, 1/101st Field Artillery, and, uh, 1/101st Infantry."

"Wait, 1/101st field artillery? The towed guns?"

"Apparently. Why?"

"How the hell did they transfer those over there? I mean- you didn't mention helicopters and such. But, still... How the hell did the 1/101st Field Artillery tag along with the other 1/101sts for this little battle?"

"They, ah, apparently had vehicles to transfer them over."

"And they managed to catch up to the tanks and APCs?"

"Apparently."

"Why in God's name would you want to combine the 1/101st Field Artillery with the 86th and the 1/101st? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?"

"Someone from brass forget to specify which 1/101st, apparently."

"Oh," Payne sighed. "It's over, isn't it?"

"It's always been over, Payne."

"Right," He nodded, before turning back to Joseph. "Shit, that reminds me- Who were these attackers again? Were they like..."

"Well," Joseph chuckled. "I mean, we're not actually in Vermont. So..."

"Yeah. That rules out any crazy kooks. So, who the hell was it then?"

"One of the locals talked with, uh, the R-name guy," Joseph said, mind in overclocking mode as he worked to remember the name of the tank crewman with that name. "Said that they apparently were called the White Fang. Some terrorist organization that, uh, hated humans."

"Jeez."

"Yeah. For the record, we were supposed to be deployed into Vermont, at least officially. But, uh," He glanced around the landscape, hands still on the machine gun as he looked over at the forests. "This ain't Vermont."

"Right. So who are these White Fang exactly?"

"Well. You're familiar with the CIDG section of our forces, right?"

"Oh yeah. The ones with the, uh... Bunny ears 'n all? Fox ears 'n shit? That one?" He asked, getting a nod from Joseph in response. "I'm still weirded out by them, for the record. I mean- It still baffles me on how they get to maintain their lives with all the extra shit. Can you imagine if I had extra ears as a regular dude?" A scoff and a chuckle escaped Payne. "Dude. I'd be going insane."

"Well, they just live with it, I suppose," He shrugged. "Much better at, uh, adapting to the times than Mint." At that point, Payne just chuckled. Oh, Mint. Our squad's greatest idiot, but might as well be our top guy in being a yearning moron.

"That's just true," Payne nodded. "Mint'd immediately start to jerk off."

"Never say that again."

"Right, sorry..."

"Anyway. Fang're basically those people, except that due to mistreatment by humans... They've been pushed over the edge and are now mad. Like, really mad. Mad enough to open fire on us first simply just for being human."

"Oh."

"Yeah. We took a guy prisoner after a failed ambush, and we interrogated him- Asked him about his allegiance and what he does and all. All we got in response is that he hates us because we're human and thinks that we're the oppressors."

"Well," Payne noted. "Could be worse."

"Could be." Joseph conceded.

At that moment, Joseph's head snapped to the left to see Mint frantically running to the position of both him and Payne. He looked to be wheezing, with his eyes in full panic mode, widened and bloodshot. His face seemed to be full of sweat which beaded down. And his clothes were splotches with water, LCE and all seemingly soaked. "The hell happened to you?" Joseph said as he let his hands go off the machine gun to meet Mint.

"Private Anderson-" He wheezed out, eyes still bloodshot and his breathing panicked, sweat running down his beads while he clutched his knees. "He's- Oh God," He wheezed out one more time, before seemingly regaining his breath and staring back up at the both of them. "Private Anderson's been hospitalized. Something's gotten to him, and we're afraid that it might be killing him."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" Payne asked, looking at Mint. "And the hell is with your wet gear? You know the Quartermaster's gonna yell at us for that, right?"

"Guys! Just listen to me for once!" He wheezed out, Joseph glancing at Payne and almost chewing him out for this one when another soldier ran to their position, presumably following Mint. He was equipped with his assault rifle, and looked to be just as panicked as Mint. "Mint! Get back in! You've gotta see this!" He announced, before looking to the other soldiers. "Anyone of you capable of holding someone down?!"

"I am," Joseph flatly replied. "What do you need me for?" He almost seemed to jump for joy just at that moment. Confused, I got off the machine gun of the APC and hop off, only for the soldier to immediately turn around and start running, rifle in hand. "The hell?" Joseph replied, only for Mint to look to his left and grimace. Then he turned his head right to face both Joseph and Payne.

"You two. I need you to follow me into the medical tent. Right now," He growled out. "We need your help in securing Private Anderson."

"Uh... What's actually going on, Mint? You mentioned that Anderson-"

"Anderson's been hospitalized. He's been reacting violently to attempts at conversation, and when we went to check up on him just an hour ago he suddenly collapsed on the ground and started writhing," He rapidly explained, before breathing in and continuing on where he left off, still clutching his knees. "We believe that he may have something with him. I need the both of you to go help restrain him until we can find something to restrain him with."

"Chrst alive," Payne muttered. "Alright. I'll go with."

"Same here." Joseph responded.

Mint nodded frantically, then rushed to the right, trying to get to the tent where the rest of the guys had apparently kept Private Anderson. Which was incredibly baffling. What the hell did he even have that caused him to do that? Joseph's mind was wracked with questions as he and Payne made their way to the tent kind of slowly, still suspicious about what was going on.

The moment they approached the tent however, their tunes soon changed. Very rapidly, actually.

"Hold him down! Hold him down!"

"Goddamnit, I'm trying-! Shit! Someone get his right hand! It's almost got Carl's pocket-"

"Hold on! Help's on the way! You, Peter! Call the General over now!"

"I've got his leg zipped up! Get the rest of him!"

The sounds of chaos and metal thrashing alongside loud growling and violent screaming made Joseph recoil before his legs kicked into overdrive mode and he immediately rushed into the hospital tent. Only to be greeted with Private Anderson, some guy from another unit if he remembered correctly - an acquaintance of Payne - thrashing violently as eight national guardsmen seemed to hold him down, his limbs flailing vainly as he kicked and screamed.

Wasting no time, Joseph rushed in and immediately sought to restrain Anderson on a limb where he was the most mobile- His left hand. He immediately ran around the other guardsmen and immediately grabbed the left hand, stopping it from thrashing and doing anything. The moment Payne burst through the door, Joseph immediately looked at him.

"Hold down his foot!"

It seemed like Payne wanted to react, but one look at the situation made him realize that he was dealing with something out of his paycheck. So immediately, he began holding down both of Anderson's feet.

"Keep them held down!" He said as he looked at Anderson, who seemingly just kept thrashing around and around. But what got Joseph's attention wasn't him thrashing in spite of being held down by ten people.

No, rather, it was his aversion to light when the other Guardsmen seemed to shine their flashlights on him-

"Someone get a doctor ASAP!" One of the guardsmen shouted. "I don't think I can handle this!"

Christ.

This was going to be an interesting deployment.

Bruno Mauve - Camp Vengeance, Vale - April 17, 80 AGW (Remnant Years) - 5:07 PD (Remnant Time)

"What do you mean the supply base got annihilated?"

"Yeah, says here plain and clean on the record- The supply base was annihilated by a Grimm attack. Apparently someone couldn't control their emotions and managed to unleash Grimm on a supposedly defensible base. "

Bruno simply stared back at his compatriot in confusion, bafflement even. "And what about the attack force on Mayflower? Surely, they could've been more successful at dealing with these humans due to numbers... Right?" He tried to sound positive, but his compatriot simply shook his head and put his hand on his face in embarrassment.

He was supposed to be the leader of the smaller sub-cell around this area while Commander Taurus was busy conducting deals with... Somebody. He didn't know who. But here he was, having been told that the White Fang just lost a supply base containing weapons that could have been used in retribution attacks. And they lost it. If Taurus didn't want Mauve's head before, he will now.

"Unfortunately, unless you count total annihilation as a victory... Then I'm afraid they lost." His compatriot, or co-commander, replied. Frustration rang through Mauve's head as he nearly tore his hair off from the exhausting task of dealing with White Fang stupidity.

"Okay. Fine. We lost our attack squad and a supply base. Jeez," Mauve sighed as he pushed his chair back and stood up, clenching his fists and furrowing his brows. "First things first, let's get started. Who the hell are we dealing with, and how the hell did they manage to do two of those things at once? The Atlesian Army, cowards the lot of them are, simply weren't able to do this shit. So who the hell are we dealing with?"

"Men in green apparently," His co-commander muttered as he put photos down on the table, before Mauve simply sat down and began to parse through them. "These photos were taken by a partisan squad. They're not very Atlesian. Or up to date," He motioned to a bunch of soldiers in a photo. All of them seemed to have steel helmets and lacked body armor. Rather than any composite armor or any kinetic dust-certified vests, they just went to war with this... "They look outdated to me."

"Well no shit," Mauve muttered as he continued to look at them. "They look like they're using the AKR-62 rifles. The hell's up with that? Hell- I think their caliber's even lighter than AKR-62. The fuck?"

"So far, all we've gathered is that they are... Fuck me, they're outdated, but they've managed to outsmart us more than Atlas. And to think that they're still using tanks, too."

"Makes you wonder what other things they could have up their sleeve, huh?" Mauve asked. "Well. Any strategy on dealing them as of now?"

"Nothing concrete. Just continuing our operations as they seem to continue," His co-commander muttered. "As if that'll get us anywhere to solving our problems with these assholes."

"I mean, hey," Mauve continued. "You and I, we've got stuff to do. I'll get you some chocolate chocolate chip when we're free, alright?"

"I'll take up on that offer sometime-"

The door to the command center of Camp Vengeance, however, suddenly burst open as the two finished off their conversation. Mauve's head immediately turned to the back in confusion, trying to see who or what was responsible. His answer came back to him in the form of two White Fang fighters dragging something into the command center. Puzzled, Mauve looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"What's this?" Mauve asked. He didn't give them permission to enter his command center at all! So what the hell were they-

"We managed to capture a human after his vehicle was knocked out by one of our anti-Grimm missiles," One of the soldiers responded. It was only then and after Mauve looked at the thing being dragged did he realize that it was a man in green. Shit. They actually managed to get something out of it. "Looks to be fresh."

"Well I'll be," Mauve said as he smiled while looking at the two soldiers. He's always wanted to make a point to humans. And to make a name for himself, well, he'd have to execute one of them. It was time to earn his keep. "Alright. Drag him out to the chamber and get whatever information you can out of him. I want anything that he can spill out- Doesn't matter if you have to break some bones or not," He said as he spat on the human. Presumably unconscious, given that his eyes were closed but his chest seemed to be inhaling and exhaling. "Humans don't feel empathy."

A nod escaped the two soldiers. "Will do, sir." One of them replied, as they continued to drag the soldier. Mauve stepped to the right to allow them to get to the chamber to get information out of him. But his co-commander seemed hesitant. "You sure we want them to paint a target on our backs?"

"I mean. They're humans. They cower the moment we manage to show our superiority over them," He scoffed. "If you say otherwise, you are naive to the cause."

A sigh escaped his co-commander, and a shake of the head was all he received.

"Alright then."

Hail Adam.

Author's Notes:

Rushed. Vignettes. Actively growing more sleepy as I type this so just have fun and have a great day readers. I hope you all enjoy some outside perspectives. Even if the last one and the middle one are kind of short and rushed.

See you all later. Have a great day.

Discord server invite: 4m8QfQUE4n

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 13 – Working Man

April 18, 1977

Three weeks after the Battle of Mayflower

Two days before Operation Arrow

"Well, they call me the workin' man. I guess that's what I am."

- Rush, “Working Man”

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"Well, uh, this is awkward. So, remember when I spoke about the 107th ACR moving in? Yeah, the reason they were called “Overkill” was because of the, uh, disporportionate firepower that they rained upon the White Fang in response to the fact that they were a bunch of ad-hoc troops that were sent in first! "

"They were sent in alongside a team of CDC researchers, and uh, spooks. Army CID and Company. The unit, at the time called the 1/107th Cavalry, was basically comprised of whatever ass-screwed units were nearby. Among them were 1st Squadron, HHT, A Troop, L Troop, N Troop, and HOW Battery. They were troops that were nearby Youngstown, who were, uh, reassigned to Vermont to MACNE. Military Airlift Command, at the time, was genuinely confused at the reason for this request. Carter’s nice, but he didn’t think this one through. Didn’t have political consequences yet though, so."

"The thing with those reinforcements, though, is that they arrived in a staggered schedule. HHT came first, then A Troop. L Troop arrived somewhere in the interim, then the CDC and Company spooks arrived. Gave L Troop a good spook, when they saw the black helicopters pulling up. Stereotypical, if you asked me. But at least the CDC guys were nice about the whole thing. Company just stood as plainclothes security. L Troop could tell they were Company, because for the one Company suit following the CDC contingent, there were at least six guys in blank Olive Greens with rifles following them. After them? Army CID, N Troop, and HOW Battery came afterward."

"What’s especially fun about this, however, is that I was able to get the memoirs of one of the soldiers who was part of the initial deployment to Vermont, and then Operation Arrow itself. One Sergeant Elias Walker. He’s stated that he didn’t expect to see anybody from Company. But he also noted that his reaction to the faunus was more muted than expected. That was probably because he cared more for the missing civvies, according to him. He flipped his shit when he found out about the Johnsbury’s Graves. But, uh, that’s another topic. That one was an unfortunate necessity brought out by the Unwinnable War."

"Have fun, uh, and remember- Remember the Unwinnable War."

Elias Walker – St. Johnsbury, Vermont, United States of America – April 18, 1977 (Earth Years) - 11:45 PM (Earth Time)

The tank stopped at the entrance to St. Johnsbury as Elias stared out of the gunner’s periscope. He expected the town to have civilian presence, with people walking down the streets and living their daily life. That was the impression that he got when he boarded the plane and arrived after the mobilization order.

So Elias’ visible surprise etched on his face—a slacked jaw, blinking eyes, and eyebrows of concerned—were to be expected when he saw a military checkpoint manned by soldiers of the Vermont National Guard, with nary a civilian in sight. Instead, there laid manned machine guns strewn everywhere, barbed wire and sandbags fortifying the grass around the road, and a sort of raised dirt mounts in the background.

He was snapped out of his questioning mind by the Vermontian National Guardsman inspecting the tank, leaning down and squinting as he tried to get a good look at the tank. Immediately, after he seemingly completed his task, he gave a thumbs-up to the checkpoint.

And immediately, the order came.

“Driver, move us into the church,” The commander for the tank—Lieutenant Ben Kerry, also known as Juliet 1-1—spoke up. “That’s our designated RV point.”

“Right,” the driver—Corporal Alvin Payne, also known as Juliet 1-3—responded. “Anything else before I start the engines?”

“Oh, uh,” Kerry responded. “We’ve got some guests also coming to join us into Vermont alongside the reinforcements we’re expecting, ‘pparently. So we’ve just gotta sit tight, join up with HHT 1/107th and A Troop 1/107th, and sit tight ‘til we receive further orders to go in.”

“Mhm, got it. Movin’ now.” Payne commented as the engine of the M60 Patton began to purr, the tank lurching forward as the checkpoint barrier lifted, leaving Sergeant Elias alone with his thoughts.

He continued peering out of the gunsight, continuing to be slack-jawed at the lack of civilian presence. Where were the civilians? Wasn’t this town just bustling with people the last time he’s heard of it?

He heard himself audibly gasp, however, as he saw someone with animal ears pass by his gunsight, followed by other soldiers from the Vermont National Guard. He leaned forward, eyes still on the scope.

“This can’t be real… There’s no fucking way…” Elias muttered as he rubbed his eyes, the tank continuing to move as the driver tried to drive to church. He stopped rubbing his eyes and peered into the gunsight once again.

Only to be shocked when he saw someone with what seemed to be rabbit ears. “Ehhh…?” Elias audibly asked, before another noise from Kerry interrupted him.

“Uh, guys,” Kerry spoke out, poking his head down from where it would usually be. “You seein’ what I’m seein’ right?” He asked.

“Hm?” Payne muttered, only to lose his chance at speech when Elias responded first.

“No, El-tee,” Elias muttered, disbelief apparent in his voice. “I’ve seen what you’ve seen, too.”

“Gotta be some sort of effect of fuel fumes, right?”

“El-tee, I’d know if it were fuel fumes. No, this’s real. Real-fuckin’-deal, apparently.”

“Goddamnit. Wasn’t mentioned in the briefing at all!” Kerry muttered, before sighing and shaking his head, muttering under his breath. “Fuck, let’s just solve this question when we’re off this damn tank and waiting for the rest of the 1/107th. Keep driving, Payne.”

“On it, boss,” Payne responded as the tank continued trying to find its way to the church area, with Elias instead focusing his eyes elsewhere, trying to scratch the mystery of the civilian population. He peered back into the gunsight, only to find himself yelping when he stumbled across what seemed to be a former storefront.

Now? It seemed to be empty. Glass shattered, not even repaired. In front of it stood two soldiers on standby, machine guns located nearby as they relaxed.

Haunting.

The tank came to a stop soon near the church, at which point Kerry spoke up oncemore. “Alright, this is it,” Kerry spoke up. “Crew, I think it’s time we disembark. Get some rest.”

“Can I take a piss, El-Tee?” The loader of the tank—Corporal James Scott—spoke up, as he prepared to open the hatch.

“Go ahead, Corporal. We’ve all probably gotta go take a piss anyway.”

Nodding, Scott then opened the hatch on top of him—joined by Kerry doing the same, with the two of them exiting the tank. Elias followed suit as he climbed out of the tank via the turret hatch, taking a deep breath when he felt the air hit his face.

The tank had been humid and cramped. It was miserable. Now, that was over though. So he could now relax. But that didn’t exactly diminish his questions about the fate of this area, with him looking around to try seeing any civilians—but there was no luck.

Annoyed, he took off his helmet—which was deafening, barring communications—and set it on the turret, as he then got off the turret and onto the ground, landing with an ‘oomph’ coming out of his mouth.

He then unwrapped the gloves around his hands and put them into his pocket on the left as he scanned the area.

“Well, I guess I’ve got nothing to do until the rest of the unit and those ‘guests’ arrive,” Elias muttered. “Might as well give myself something to do while waiting for the rest.” Were the last things he said before approaching the burnt-out and wrecked ex-storefront.

The two soldiers had stood behind a sandbag barricade, with their machine guns just off to the side. They both were relaxing by leaning onto the wall, which caused them to raise their eyebrows as I walked over. “Good morning, gentlemen.” Elias spoke up first.

“You from the new 1/107th that’s been mobilized into this hole?” One of the soldiers asked as he looked at Elias.

Elias gave a smile back and slightly nodded. “Yes I am. L Troop, 3/107th.”

“Well good. Because the rest of your unit that’s arrived is spread out throughout town, so try to make yourself comfortable before anything happens.” The other one replied, as he continued reading his magazine—Playboy, which was hardly surprising for troops around here. “A Troop and HHT have already settled in.”

“Oh yeah, saw their vehicles just parked nearby.”

“Yeah, they ain’t mobilizing yet, but guaranteed that they’re basically just waiting around for something to happen.”

“Yea, yea. I get you,” Elias said, before he looked around. His eyes continued to squint as what he saw turned out to be… pretty jarring. He saw what appeared to be someone in a uniform of a sort with a tail- And it just moved. He blinked, trying to see if it was real.

But it moved again, and it continued moving. Swaying as the tailed man in uniform was talking to another soldier. To his right was another person in uniform, this time with cat ears and a tail. That were moving, as if they were a part of their body.

He looked back to the two soldiers, mind still confused. Those weren’t human, were they?

His mind raced back. The lack of civilians and this seemed to be suspicious. Something had happened here, and it was pretty casual enough for the other soldiers here. But he never received anything like this on the briefing!

“Hey, uh, I got a question-”

“Is it about the guys with animal parts talking to one of the other Army guardsmen to the right?” The soldier on the right responded, his mind still focused on his playboy. “You’re not the first one. We get that a lot.”

“Right, but-”

“It’s all natural, buddy,” The soldier said as he stood up, putting his playboy magazine away. “See the guy with the tiger tail?” He asked as he pointed at the soldier to the left, to which Elias nodded.

“Yes. I-”

“Guy used to be a hunter from the forest that we’re a part of. Gave up his hunting life to work in mining, only to regret it the moment he got shitty work conditions and bone-breaking work,” He started, his tone almost flat and deadpan as he relayed this information which caused Elias to look at him and blink twice. “He was recruited to MACNE after he was rescued, though. Nice guy, just don’t piss him off by asking about his ears.”

“Well, I, uh…”

“They never told you about the portal to the other world located around the forest, did they?” One of the soldiers leaning against the wall—this time, the soldier from the left side—spoke up and sighed. “Of course they never do. Had one of your task force’s commanders from HHT freak out in front of me because of that.”

“Wait- what? Did I hear that right? ‘Portal to another world’?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“Yes I do, and unfortunately I’ve long since grappled this realization in the weeks I’ve been here,” He said. “I’ve had the same despair as you for a tad bit, but, uh, it wears off.”

Elias stared, confused as he tried to process what the soldier just said. But just as he was about to respond, one of the soldiers whistled, which caused Elias to turn around to see what it was about, only to recoil in shock when he saw the reason.

It was a woman, with scale-like patches on her skin, colored greenish. On her was the flat greens of OG-107, with the name and branch being absent to bring a more generalized uniform. Slung on her shoulder was an M16A1 rifle.

“Yo! Jonny! James!” The woman spoke up. “How’s sittin’ and lounging on patrol?”

Elias couldn’t believe it just seeing her in uniform, not even counting the scales. But when she spoke up, the thing that caught his attention the most were her teeth. They were sharp. Carnivorous.

Not human.

“Oh, the rest of the 107th’s arriving, and we’ve got a new guy who’s not really familiar.”

“Another one, Jonny?”

The soldier with the playboy magazine sighed and nodded his head. “Yeah, Turq. James was just talking to the new guy about being accustomed to it all.”

“Oh man,” The girl, now named as Turq in Elias’ mind, responded. “Yeah. New guy, I’ve got a question. You ain’t ever seen a woman like me in your entire life, no?”

“No, I have not-” Christ. Elias felt an odd sensation being around her. He got this strange vibe from her. He hadn’t seen a woman just as proactive and bombastic like her since the counterculture movement. Same movement his dad used to be present. Woodstock. Gave him the same vibes. “-seen anyone like you at all. Not in a long time, goodness no.”

He felt awkward phrasing it like that, but he really was trying to phrase it pretty nicely.

“Well, new guy- Lemme just put it plain and simple here,” She began to say. “Just follow me. I’ll show you to my corner in camp, just to help you adjust to the new circumstances.”

“I’d personally recommend it, it’s some great learning experience,” The other soldier—the one without a playboy, with his name being James—interjected. “I’d go, but I’m currently sitting here waiting until the rest of the reinforcements arrive.”

Elias pondered about it for a minute. His interest was piqued, to be blunt. Talks of another world, just connected to this area in Vermont? Men—and women too, it seemed—with no reason to be tolerated or even be near the National Guard now lounging around?

It all sounded interesting. But none of them still dislodged the main reason why he’d wanted to talk to the two, after seeing the men-animal hybrids.

Where were all the civilians?

He clicked his tongue as he put his hand on his chin, mind processing his options as they were. It would be a good learning opportunity if he were to go with her. It would also give him an answer to the question of why she was even here, it seemed….

And it would be a perfect time for him to grow, well, out of his shell, he supposed. Such a time had been long coming, after being stuck in Juliet 1 had limited his options of conversation beyond Kerry, Payne, and Scott.

He looked at the woman and gave it a minute, taking in her expression to determine his thoughts.

She gave him a reaction best described as almost teasing. Like she was just going to play around with him. A sincere, bright small grin came from her that showed her sharp teeth. Her eyes were closed as she gave that smile, and her arms were crossed over each other.

It seemed that she wasn’t exactly joking.

Well, Elias thought. Better time to use for this as a learning opportunity. He then nodded.

“Sure. I’ve got time to kill anyway.”

Jonny and James then gave Elias short waves. “Good luck,” They said, as they returned back to their wall, while Elias had begun walking down with the woman, and now he had the perfect opportunity to see what he was dealing with.

Turning his head to the side, he was immediately greeted with the height. She was almost towering over Elias, with his estimates placing her at 6’1.

Jesus, she was gigantic. He didn’t notice this earlier because he was focused on his own thoughts. Christ.

She bore a patch to the left that intrigued him as to what the hell was going on here. On it was a circle icon, with a bunch of stars arranged in sixes filling the thing. Over it was a curved arch, with the words “Military Asst. Command – New England” on top, and on the bottom were the words “United States Army National Guard”.

He had heard of MACNE, yes. He’d always paid attention to the news for a while now since Carter’s EO. He’d also heard whispers of units mobilizing for their annual readiness training into this part of Vermont, but didn’t pay much mind to it.

Now, Elias thought, I regret not paying attention until it was too late.

“What’cha lookin’ at, find something to water your eyes with?” The… humanlike woman had opened up. Turq, Elias remembered her name was. “Didn’t know you were that kind of freak, new guy. Other guys before you just crumpled like paper.”

Elias resisted the urge to snort, instead settling to mildly bite his lip. “I’d like you to know that I’m not that kind of person.”

“Uh-huh,” Turq chuckled, a sort of playful expression on her face. “I’m just surprised that you didn’t immediately descend into folded tinfoil. I give the other soldiers some light eggin’ and they oh-so-instantly become whimpering messes.”

“Put it this way,” Elias responded. “I’m just interested in who you are… and how you were…”

“Given a new job at Mack-Knee,” She said, her accent vaguely reminding Elias of someone from the south. “Am I not wrong?”

“Yes,” Elias nodded, his expression shifting back into a sort of calmness. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“So I’ve heard that your army doesn’t allow women into combat roles in your military, yes?”

“Well, yes,” Elias muttered. “Something about the task being only for men, and women are too weak to perform adequately in combat…”

“I get that a lot. No matter the rank or physique, they always say that a ‘lady like you’ shouldn’t be in the frontlines because it’s too hostile for your ‘fragile’ selves,” Turq responded. “But trust me when I say that the other women currently with me at Mack-Knee are proof that’s bullshit.”

“I see,” Elias responded quietly, giving a short nod. “That… also brings me to another question, actually.”

“Oh, this about my species status?”

“Mhm. I know that you have a lot of humanlike features—sapience, locomotion, the like, you can walk and talk like one of us—but, uh… Your scales and teeth aren’t exactly human human, are they?”

“No, they’re really not,” Turq chuckled. “I’m a faunus. Plain and simple. Crocodile faunus.”

“...And I am assuming that faunus is a term for a human with animalesque features-”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that in front of the other faunus men, pfft,” Turq muttered. “Personally, I see it really as the in-between. And on that? You’re… well, you make a good point,” Turq said, before stopping.

Elias stopped as well, leaning against a stop sign for some comfort as he raised an eyebrow to listen to Turq’s statements.

“The thing with the Faunus is that they share a lot of humanlike features, but where I come from…”

Elias sighed. He was still trying to come to terms with the whole… another dimension. Universe. Something. Elias’ mind still couldn’t wrap around it. It just felt incredibly odd. But he listened.

“Faunus get a lot of flack from humanity for being attributed to many things. For example,” She began, pointing her finger up. “Black cat faunuses became associated with bad luck, more often than not kicked off many places for that. Crocodile faunuses like me became known for ‘death-rolling’ human kids in low-income neighborhoods, ‘specially because a serial killer that was caught a while ago turned out to be a croc faunus.”

He took it all in. So it really did seem like the supposed new world that she came from had some problems that just seemed to keep repeating. No matter what.

A sigh escaped Elias.

Same ol’, same ol’.

“But, of course, I don’t really care emotionally-” She responded. “I just thnk that it’s pretty assholish, if you know what I mean.”

“As are many people in America too,” Elias responded, a shrug escaping him as he stopped leaning. “Whereas you guys get discriminated for having features of animals and thus being associated to them—kinda stupid, in my opinion—we have something that’s…” Elias sighed. “Arguably stupider.”

“Oh?”

“Have you ever wanted to be judged by the color of your skin, and that also affecting your character?”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Elias muttered. “Dad being pals with hippie kids does that to your knowledge of how this stuff works,” He chuckled. “I’ve heard stories of men being passed over for a promotion because they weren’t ‘fit’ for the promotion, character-wise apparently.”

“Sounds like Valean flattery to me,” Turq snorted. “At least, the flattering kind of discrimination.”

“Tell me about it,” Elias muttered. Being a part-time cashier before the federalization called kind of sheltered him from the stories that he’d get. But his dad would always tell him stories. ‘Twas always systemic, or something along the lines.

Being fresh out of high school and being a cashier for four years while doing part-time Nat-Gee training as a Sergeant does that to one’s knowledge, though. So he just left that to the experts.

“Surprisingly enough, you’re taking this in relative stride for someone recently transferred,” Turq responded. “Only ones that’ve had your… almost casual reaction to this were the men who fought with us CIDG sweeping operations.”

Sweeping operations, eh? Looks like whatever MACNE was dealing with turned out to be more than exercises. “I’ll cut to the chase;” Elias said, causing Turq to audibly respond with an interested ‘Hm?’ “I’ve put more focus onto the civilians that are supposed to be here. But, uh…” He stopped, looking around him.

Turq followed suit, looking around the area that she stood on and staring back. “They’re not here.” He glumly replied, clicking his tongue and sighing. “Towns and cities like this’re normally vibrant with life and traffic, even if there’s national guard exercises. Seen it happen elsewhere when I worked with NG. But here…”

“You want the answer?” Turq spoke up, interrupting Elias. Except her look this time didn’t have that playful, jokey aura it had. Rather, it just felt very glum and unhappy. Elias couldn’t find the proper words for it, but she looked like she wasn’t going to like her next words.

He contemplated simply telling her no for her own sake, but that would probably mean that she bottles it up. And it’d be a waste for him to idly wonder about the civilians only to reject someone’s answer to their fates.

So with a slow nod, he affirmed his intentions. “Yes, yes I do,” Elias said. “I want to know where’s all the people.”

A sigh escaped Turq as she pointed at a vague direction behind her. “You seen the mound of dirt somewhere in this town when you approached it?”

“Oh yeah?” Elias answered. What did that have to do with…

His eyes widened as he came to the realization, but he kept his mouth shut as he simply stared at Turq, horrified. His eyes blinked.

Once.

They blinked.

Twice.

And they then blinked for the last time.

Thrice.

“That’s where the inhabitants of the town who were here before me and MACNE reside now,” Turq said. “MACNE was established in the aftermath of a massacre. 86^th Armored in the National Guard arrived too late to stop a massacre of thousands in this town alone.”

Elias’ mouth fell silent, as he looked around. It seemed to ring true. There was nothing but the presence of these ‘faunus’ people and the presence of other national guardsmen. He couldn’t bear to stomach the thought.

Thousands of people used to live in this town. Most of them killed.

But by what?

“What got them, if you don’t mind me asking?” Elias said.

“Grimm,” Elias was about to express confusion, but chalked it up to the fact that this area was connected to another world it seemed. So he simply let Turq take a breather as she continued. “The Grimm massacred the inhabitants who were in town at the time. Nobody survived, unfortunately.”

“Tch…” Elias clicked his tongue. Madness. “Then what happened to those who were away?”

“That’s the thing,” Turq sighed. “MACNE doesn’t want anybody to know what happened to their relatives here. So they cordoned off the area, ordered a total comms blackout, and set up troop checkpoints. Nobody gets into Johnsbury’s, because it’s an ‘exercise area’ so whoever’s going here is turned away. And alongside that, uh, nobody goes out of Johnsbury’s when you get here.”

“...Wait.” Elias muttered. “You’re telling me…”

“Yeah. Permanent deployment to MACNE,” Turq sighed. “But you did receive your notice, right?”

“Oh, of what?”

“Doubled pay, in preparation for ‘Exercise New Dawn’,” She put her fingers in air quotes when she said that. “They’re buying off your silence.”

Elias simply looked down at himself, before sighing. “Well, we’re all in the suck together, aren’t we?”

“Oh, I volunteered for the job. It’s a hell of a lot messier than my old one, but the camaraderie’s better and the pay’s better. Even if I do still feel the same old racism and discrimination you’d tend to expect from the SDC,” SDC, huh. Elias made a note to check that name out sometime soon. Presumably something in the other world. “Anyway, we’ve had this conversation for a bit long now. Let’s go to the CIDG camp.”

“I do have to ask, what’s Sid-Gee?” Elias asked as the two began walking once more over to what looked like to be the faunus camp. “Is that a nickname, an acronym, or…?”

“Civil Indigenous Defense Groups,” Turq responded. “American volunteer units made up of desperate Remnantites like me and my former ‘coworkers’ looking for a job after four of your tanks rescued us.”

“Who were those tanks from?”

“86^th Armored Recon. Also known as ‘Ignis’ because one of their tank commanders thought that fire was an awesome motif,” Turq chuckled. “Personally? I think that it is fire. Just… in a different manner of speaking.”

“I don’t quite follow?”

“A Valean slang term, you’d know how to pick it up when we’re back in Remnant connecting to the CCT-net.”

Elias simply looked at her confused, but simply gave a weak nod as they turned another right, and Elias soon saw the CIDG camp in St. Johnsbury’s.

It used to be a bunch of train tracks, but as it stands it has been turned into a camp. At the very ‘centre’ of the camp was a campfire of a sort, with boxes strewn around presumably to sit on. A nearby train carriage that was abandoned was converted into the armory, based on the white painted letters that said ‘Armory.’

“Welcome to CIDG camp,” Turq said as she glanced at Elias, who seemed to be interested in how this whole camp seemed to work just like this. “Or, well, the Faunus section of CIDG camp. The Human section of CIDG camp’s yet to be established, so they’re sitting with the rest of MACNE.”

...Interesting choice for that, he mused. Terrible, but interesting.

Elias nodded in response shortly after. “Huh. So this is what you call home,” He said, before turning to Turq. “I’m gonna be honest, I never expected a place like this to be home for you, ‘specially after what you’ve described back home.”

“Eh, it’s a hell of a lot more serviceable. If isolated because it’s on lockdown by MACNE and nobody’s allowed in or out that isn’t military or government,” Turq solemnly noted. “Very sad? Yes. Necessary to prevent the spread of panic, which attracts Grimm? Also yes.”

“Huh. They’re attracted to the spread of panic…?”

“Well. Negative emotions in general. ‘Tis why we got double pay,” She said. “Anyway. Welcome to home-on-the-rails. It’s pretty serviceable. Though I do get the occasional racial slur from the humans. Both Remnantite and American,” She said.

“Damn. My apologies.”

“Don’t feel sorry.”

Elias then awkwardly moved his face away, while Turq walked over to her camp. “Yo. Red. Cyan.” She spoke up, with Elias’ eyebrows raising as he looked back up. Were these people really named like that?

“Turquoise!” One of them shouted, with Elias not able to discern the name from a glance. They seemed to be a female, with a pair of cat ears on them. Colored red. “What seems to bring you here?”

“Well, we’ve got new reinforcements coming in from the rest of this country, Red,” She said, now addressing the catwoman… with red ears. It was almost comical. “Meet Elias.”

“Sergeant Elias Walker. L Troop, Task Force 1/107th, Armored Cavalry. Ohio Army National Guard.” He introduced himself, extending his hand toward the now-named Red. Who took his hand, and gave it a firm shake.

“Sergeant, huh?” She asked, a smirk on her face. “Atlas’ boys back at it again?”

“I’m afraid I have no context,” Elias snorted. “Just a man from Ohio.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” The other person, with him now acknowledging their name as Cyan due to their color, responded. When he looked at Cyan, Cyan appeared to be a man in his 20s, with a relatively… skeletal tone. He blinked. Someone was that thin? Christ. “I’m Cyan. Local Ram faunus, as seen by the horns.”

Oh. He never even noticed the horns at all. Elias just nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Private Red,” Red continued. “MACNE CIDG Rangers. Part of their newer local recruitment efforts. Special forces, they call me and my other ex-coworkers and employers,” She said. “Kind of like the Specialists, but with more training.”

“We’re not Specialist-level yet,” Cyan said. “We’re probably better equipped for dealing with the White Fang than Grimm. I mean,” He said. “You know our arms’re like, 5.56, right?”

“Right, right,” Red said. ‘And that guy is Specialist Cyan. Same unit.”

“Huh, wait. You mentioned your ex-employers?” Elias raised an eyebrow. “What’s the context for that?”

“We worked in this shithole company called the Schnee Dust Company. Camp I worked at was a hellhole where the boss was an ass and both guards and workers got shit pay, shit bedding, and shit food. That also came with just being ‘round humans, who even at their most ‘polite’ still keep up the shit we dealt with,” Red chuckled. “But after our camp got attacked by the Grimm, we were forced to stick with each the same people we just complained ‘bout. Held out for a while. Thought help wasn’t coming…”

“That was until we saw your tanks break through the gates and enter the SDC compound, giving us safe passage outta that place,” Cyan continued. “Tore through the Grimm like a hot knife through butter for the most part. Had a hiccup with the Nevermores though. Good news on that however is that one of the people with us—I forgot who, specifically—brought along a rocket launcher. Was apparently a gift from their Huntsman relative.”

...Some things just needed to be processed in his head. But perhaps it was better to sit back and let them continue. Not everything needed a reaction within this context.

“Then we got here, and then we got settled on a temporary refugee camp,” He sighed, looking at the area around him. “I spoke to a soldier from the tank unit who saved me before our basic training under them. Asked where all the other humans were, and why it was just this bunch of soldiers ‘n old tanks.”

“Was it there that you learned they all got massacred?”

“Yes, yes it was. But frankly? I was just glad that we made it out alive,” He said. “Then we sat here. ‘Til the soldiers decided it was a good idea to give us… a rather reduced form of training, just enough to get familiarized with our new environment, enough to kill time, and enough to get us combat-ready,” Cyan continued. “Then the commander of MACNE, this… James Blake de Zwart, realizes that there’s potential to be found in us.”

“Recruiting local forces as guides, I see,” Well, Elias had heard of MACNE beforehand as did anyone in the National Guard paying attention. He just didn’t know that its commander was recruiting otherworldly locals. “Paid off, I assume.”

“Well, not to the fullest extent yet but yes indeed,” Cyan said. “We at SDC, especially the guards, gave MACNE all the knowledge they needed to know about Grimm… Well, as far as we could say from our perspective anyway,” He chuckled. “In response, we’ve got MACNE’s training. Though our regimen is… special, because of our differing circumstances. We’re both training on the battlefield and on basecamp. They give us six months till we’re fully combat ready, ‘s far as I know.”

“But, well, what are we to tell you all of this and let you assess this entirely based on words?” Red said. “Acta non verba.”

Ah. They were still waiting for a proper combat evaluation, rather than just relying solely on the words on the papers.

“I presume that you’re going to be working with our unit in 1/107th, then?” Elias asked, crossing his arms. Cyan, Red, and Turq nodded.

“Yeah. We’re currently getting ready to prepare for our first proper combat operation. Scheduled to take place in, uh, give or take two days?”

“Well, in any case,” Elias smiled. “Welcome to the Army. Or, well, the Army National Guard,” He smiled, causing all three to give him smiles back. “Hope you’re gonna enjoy your stay.”

“Oh, no worries. It is pretty nice here.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The trio’s well-deserved chuckle and rest were interrupted however as the sound of chopping helicopter blades filled the air, with everyone in the camp seemingly turning their head to see where it came from, Elias included.

Could it have been N. Troop, Elias wondered. He simply looked back at the sky, eyes squinted as he covered the top of his head to shield it from the sun. However, the answer to Elias’ question came very soon, when two unmarked green helicopters flew into his field of vision. Paint entirely flat and not noteworthy, but with no markings on them.

They circled around the camp before then beginning to slow down approximately at the center of it, slowly touching down, stabilizing as they did so. The sound of the helicopter engines drowned out everything else, so Elias couldn’t hear what anybody had to say about the whole thing.

But the doors opened, with the tinted windows having previously prevented vision into who was inside.

The men who stepped out of the first helicopter to land were a surprising bunch to Elias. One man in a suit had stepped out, followed by men in hazardous material suits in a dark flat green color, but on it were white letters that scared the shit out of him.

“CENTER FOR DISEASE CONTROL”

“CDC”

The hell was the CDC doing here?

The second helicopter to land had dropped off what appeared to be soldiers, in M1 helmets and flat greens combined with LCEs, bearing what appeared to be shortened AR-15 type rifles. Only they didn’t have unit markings, and no patches either. Names were also gone. Only the “U.S. ARMY” part on the right remained.

These weren’t proper US Army, Elias thought to himself as the CDC men and the man in the suit joined up with the little green men.

And they began to approach the four of them, the man in the suit’s vision blocked out by the sunglasses on his face, which obscured his expression above the mouth.

The helicopters then flew away as the man in the suit and his CDC buddies stopped near the four of them, then pointed at Turq.

“Are you Staff Sergeant Turquoise of the CIDG Rangers?” He asked, the soldiers and the CDC men stopping just behind him. Elias didn’t know what to feel other than confusion. And it seemed the soldiers of the CIDG seemed to agree too.

“Yes, yes. That would be me.” She responded, trying to sound not too confused. Yet it slipped through her voice anyway.

“I’ve got orders from President Carter himself to have you and your CIDG Ranger comrades escort Captain Cipher to the briefing area,” The man in the suit then pointed at the polite green men who seemed to be standing on guard, their rifles pointed downwards as if they were all collectively drones. “See to it that it is done as soon as possible.”

Oh. Langley’s men were here. Curses.

“Uh… Roger that,” Turquoise nodded, and the man in the suit nodded, turning back to the CDC men before moving to the left, away from everybody else, leaving only the polite green men behind. “Right. Which one of you is Cap’n Cipher? Your uniforms make it hard.”

A black man with square-framed glasses spoke up, raising his hand. “That would be me, Ma’am.”

“Right,” Turquoise nodded, then looked at Elias. “You sure these’re any of the units you’re part of?”

“No,” Elias muttered. “Likely from somewhere high-up in the government. Just playing-pretend to be US Nat Gee,” He anxiously looked at Captain Cipher, who continued staring at them. “Let’s uhh… Just get this going.”

“Alright then. Captain Cipher, if you will,” Turquoise spoke up. “Please follow me to the briefing area-”

“Actually, bring that guardsman with you,” Cipher spoke up. “I think he’ll be better off getting ready first.”

Elias’ eyes widened. Him? Going first? But his unit wasn’t even fully here yet! “Uh… Are you certain-”

“I am.” Cipher responded coldly, eyes squinting. “I know your unit is not ready yet. But it helps if you were to go in first and be ready, Sergeant,” He said. “At least you’ll get acquainted with these three fellows here.”

“B-but… Sir…” He weakly responded, only for Turquoise to look at him uncomfortably, before gesturing her head at the still-squinting Captain Cipher. Almost as if telling him that he might as well accept it for now, just to save him some headaches.

He looked to the other CIDG Rangers, but their responses told him the same thing. Sometimes, you just have to accept that there’s a gun to your head.

He tried to gather the strength to protest. But he was mentally exhausted, so he just swallowed his spit and gave a weak nod.

“A-alright then,” He said. Well, he had hoped that this ‘Captain’ would be right. “Uh, lead the way.”

Cipher gave a smile as he turned to the direction Turquoise was facing, the latter already moving along with her comrades from CIDG. He followed suit, with his polite green men—and Elias, too—following behind.

“I’ve never gotten a proper in-field briefing of CIDG Rangers,” Cipher opened up, causing Turquoise to look back at him. “Ma’am, if you can, would you mind telling us about this place and your unit?”

“Oh, well, uh, certainly,” She coughed, taking in a deep breath. “Alright, so it started…”

Elias’ ears tuned out Turquoise’s words, however, as he continued walking with them. His mind was still plagued with so many things. The death of the civilians. The fact that this was his first encounter with people from another world. The fact that there were monsters lurking beyond the forests of Vermont.

So many more just got to his head. And yet he couldn’t find the emotions to convey proper horror to it, he mused. He just wanted to move along with it as soon as possible. He sighed. Perhaps it wasn’t just that he was used to it. It’s that he was too focused on getting the ‘boring’ waiting out of his steam, which left him with no energy for the proper reaction that one should have.

Horror.

But perhaps being on the field in this ‘other world’ could change it…

Hm. Perhaps Remnant may offer him some answers.

And a time to rest, so that he could properly find the words to convey his horror. For now, he just felt very flat and casual reacting to all of this.

Hm. Much to think about, he guessed.

Can’s been kicked down the road for another time. For better or for worse.

Chapter Text

An Unwinnable War

Episode 14 – Arrow

April 20, 1977

Three weeks after the Battle of Mayflower

Beginning of Operation Arrow

"Hey, big brother! You better get in touch with the people, big brother!

Better keep them on your side, big brother! And keep them satisfied!"

- Rare Earth, “Hey Big Brother”

Memoirs of 1st Lt. Jay 'Raptor' Ruben;

"The start of Operation Arrow was a complete shitshow, for the record. There weren’t any pathfinders for obvious reasons. So LRRP and CIDG were sent in first. They had scouted out the place, and they found that it was apparently the main headquarters of the Whiskey Foxtrot force that was sent to attack us. Or so we thought at the time. Turns out it was a small force of the Vale cell of the White Fang that led the attack in hindsight, but we didn’t know that at the time. What we did find however, was a prison camp. A horrorshow more like, but still a prison camp. And we thought that was their headquarters. Score one for military intelligence.”

“So the 1/107th Armored Cavalry launched an assault. The assault was conducted with the aid of some polite people from Langley—thank the Mondale-Church Act for allowing me to discuss this—the Civil Indigenous Defense Groups, and us. Well, the 86th Armored. Not my platoon. But it counts for our unit memorabilia. So, we counted it. Why the hell not, after all? Anyway, when the force—known as the Frontline Action Response Team. Gleam the fucking acronym—assaulted the compound (the White Fang scouts didn’t know what American vehicles sounded like at the time), they recovered some important documents. Sure, most of them were sent to the polite people for discussion with General de Zwart, but they were still analyzed immediately after. Thank Vale for speaking fucking English.”

"And when we recovered the documents, it turned out that the kid that was captured was tortured. Yeah. He was about to be executed too, but the execution was delayed because of the orders just flat-out not coming into their mail—all thanks to that one LRRP guy Miller and his CIDG team, by the way. They were the ones who managed to piece together the pieces left behind by the White Fang. Let it be known that in the aftermath of the Unwinnable War, many and I mean many Faunus insurgents—all of them not White Fang—came out and spoke about how WF were just… sloppy. Incredibly sloppy. Only reason they were ever a major threat is because they had a lot of resources backing them for whatever reason."

"But, uh, yeah. The rest of the operation conducted that day after the destruction of the prison camp—sweeping for White Fang—was done primarily by 1/107th. Their memoir’s on another book, ‘The Eight-Hundred Heroes – The Story of TF 1/107th in Remnant’, on Barnes and Noble. In the interim between the arrival of the 1/107th and my last memoir page though, uh, things changed. And I mean a lot. We were on the process of getting info from Mayflower to establish contact with the wider villages, and we also made Fort Night II bigger than expected. Very fun stuff."

“Oh, also. We didn’t know it yet, but future Colonel Ozpin’s main scout was there at the time. That set us on the path to meet, funnily enough.”

Elias Walker – St. Johnsbury, Vermont, United States of America Kingdom of Vale, Remnant – April 20, 1977 (Earth Years) – 6:45 AM (Earth Time)

“What’s the holdup for that goddamn signal already?” Walker’s voice cut through the radio as he stared down through the gunner’s periscope, chewing gum in his mouth as he looked through dense, red forests. Forever Fall, the CIDG called it. Apparently, it was supposed to be some sort of… Equivalent to maple tree forests you’d find in Canada.

Which was frankly strange to him. Canada was up north to grow that. But Vale seemed more… temperate.

Oh well.

“Juliet 1-1 here,” The commander’s cool voice spoke up. “Juliet 1-2’s pissing on my leg like an ant over the signal. Any suggestions?”

“Oh fuck you, El-tee.”

“Hey, just sayin’. You should be more thankful we didn’t get ganked by an anti-tank round on the way here.”

“Or get mauled by one of those Bravo-Whiskeys,” Juliet 1-3 interjected into the conversation. “They can tear through jeeps, so goes the rumors.”

“Rumors are rumors, Corporal,” Walker sighed as he swallowed the chewing gum. “I wouldn’t trust the rumor industry to give us assessments of our materiel capabilities against the Grimm.”

“Right, but you do know that their dissolving dust does actually pose a health risk, Sarge?”

Shit. Walker pinched his own nose and drew a long sigh.

Yes. It turned out that Grimm dust, when dissolving, actually posed a legitimate health risk. The reason the CDC was called in the first place! They were there to assess its effects, symptoms, and health risks on American troops.

Diagnosis? Inhaling it guaranteed that you were going to get symptoms similar to rabies. Increased aggression. Hypersensitivity to light. Aquaphobia.

Whatever it did, it fucked with the nervous systems first. Christ.

“Yes, I do,” He sighed. “That why we have to wear these stiff masks, though? It just feels like MACNE’s really throwin’ me a football directly to the eye here.”

“Trust in the masks, man- They’re the only thing we got that is actually rated to protect against Grimm dust.”

“Oh, yeah. Somehow the Gas mask with the worst filters known to man can actually, one-hundred-percent, stave off Grimm gunk that gives one not-rabies. But the moment it’s exposed to fuckin’ CS, the filters suddenly shit the bed in under five minutes?!”

“Yeah, but the fact that they work is what’s most important to me- Hell, it’s what’s most important to all of us stuck in this goddamn country,” Juliet 1-1’s voice picked up, resulting in an irritated stare at Walker. “I sure as hell didn’t ask to be on their pissant country. Nobody did. Just shut up and do your job. At the very least they’ve bought off our silence. I can only hope it goes to my goddamn family instead of Rockefeller’s pockets.”

Silence reigned throughout the tank as Walker withdrew from the conversation in response. Disappointed, long sighs were all that could be extracted from him. Juliet 1-1 followed suit, simply giving him a scoff and not commenting on that further.

Let bygones be bygones seemed to be the underlying agreement here. It was a perfectly tolerable agreement on Walker’s end, at the very least.

But damn him if he didn’t wish for something exciting to happen already.

“So-called Frontline Action Response Team, what a goddamn joke,” Walker clicked his tongue. “When’re we gettin’ to the frontlines already? I’m tired of waiting.”

“Want justice for the kid?”

“Well, duh! The kid’s as young as seventeen, and yet he’s been taken by those thugs?! Hell no I’m not letting that slide, goddamnit.” Walker’s teeth grit as he continued to look through the gunner sight. “Who knows what they could be doing to him in there? They could be torturin’ him, feeding him all kinds of shit-”

“Juliet 1-2…”

“Or- Or, or they could be making him watch torture videos- You’ve seen what CIDG showed us! They might be-”

“Juliet 1-2-”

“What if he’s already dead, and all we’re doing is mopping up Whiskey Foxtrot’s mess? What if when we get-”

“Juliet 1-2!” Juliet 1-1’s voice cut off Walker as he stopped at the command of his superior officer. “I get where you’re coming from, but- Christ,” He drew a long, annoyed sigh. “Can you please calm the hell down?”

Walker sighed, and closed his eyes. “Sorry, sorry- It’s just-”

“I understand, Juliet 1-2. But please keep yourself controlled,” Juliet 1-1’s voice was annoyed. But it was understandably annoyed, at the very least. “Besides, we’re ‘bout to begin now.”

“Hm? You sure ‘bout that-”

The sound of the engine revving snapped Walker’s attention away from whatever he was about to say next. Walker was thrown off, surprised. Christ! Did they really have to do that?!

“It’s go time,” Juliet 1-1 spoke as Walker quickly shoved another piece of chewing gum into his mouth. “Traverse forward!”

The tank lurched forward as Walker quickly put his eyes back into the gunner periscope, watching as the M60 Patton quickly moved forward and began to crush trees under its weight.

“Gunner, HEAT!”

“HEAT!” Walker shouted, turning to Juliet 1-4, then back to the periscope.

“Up!” Juliet 1-4 responded as the tank advanced.

“Alright, we’re beginning our assault on the camp,” Right. This was the camp where they were holding the prison. CIDG and LRRP intercepted whatever messengers they sent out so as far as the U.S. was concerned, they’re blind. “We’ll go in first- APCs’ll follow us, and the infantry’ll disembark the moment we’re a hundred meters close.”

They were to assault the camp from the south. While the 86th—specifically the 2/172nd—tied up any potential reinforcements from the north side of the camp to split the forces in two. The, er, ‘little green men’ were following behind them in green helicopters. What they were doing, he had no idea.

As he peered through the gunner periscope, the trees gave way to a visible gathering where he could now clearly see the camp.

It was a ramshackle camp from the looks of it. It was a bunch of tents arranged in what seemed to be role-based positions, guarded with barbed wire, sandbags, and improvised watchtowers. At the very center of the camp, however, was a relatively large, graying, semi-abandoned building.

With the SDC logo on it. This was clearly a failed expansion of theirs that was occupied by the White Fang. What-

Immediately, he watched as several explosions rocked the camp. It was staggered. First explosions were small, likely from mortar-caliber guns. When he saw faint movement from 400 meters away, it was followed up by big explosions. This time, from M109 self-propelled guns.

“That’s the sound of the guns! Thank you, How battery and mortar carriers!” Juliet 1-1 began as the tank continued traversing. “Hey, Juliet 1-2! Stick your head out of the tank! We’re being flanked by the APCs!”

Confused, Walker turned out of the hatch and stuck his head out.

And shockingly, the TC was right. Flanking them were M113 APCs, hastily reconverted to ACAV-like conversions as was done in Vietnam, with the backside having two M60 machine guns bolted to the side, while the main gunner in his shield stood with a .50 Caliber.

He took off his helmet to hold it in his hands, and his ears were treated to the sound of tank and APC engines as they churned their way toward the camp, which seemed to be greeted with gunfire as the 86th got to the north first. Distant explosions from artillery and gunfire from the 86th meshed well with the 107th’s assault forces.

It was almost pleasing, in a way.

But then Walker’s ears were immediately met with music. Confused, he looked to the left, where the source of the music was coming from-

“Is that…? No fucking way-!” Walker shouted, face amazed as he saw what could only be described as both the stupidest but most hilarious move he’d seen in a while.

Part of the assault force was a single, small, and rapidly bumping M151, with two men in the front seat, driver and passenger. But that wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered, as part of the Frontline Action Response Team, was the loud speaker system strapped to its back, bolted down and covered by a canvas as if it was being held by a tent.

But that didn’t stop it from blasting music-!

“Is that Highway Star?!” He shouted amidst the mechanical noises, his words fading like sweat in a river, as the music kept blasting its lyrics.

“Ooh, it’s a killing machine!” The speaker blasted. “It’s got everything! Like a driving power, big fat tires and everything!”

“I love it! And I need it! I bleed it! Yeah, it’s a wild hurricane! Alright, hold on tight!” It continued, as Walker continued to stare slackjawed from atop the tank.

“I’m a highway star!”

Grinning the stupidest one could, Walker waved to the dinkly jeep as it kept swerving to avoid Forever Falls trees while amazingly catching up with the assault force.

His eyes then expanded like saucers as the passenger saw, and waved back!

They exchanged thumbs-ups, and Walker turned back forward with the stupidest grin on his face.

He quickly put his helmet back on, and bolted himself back into the tank, locked down.

“Two-hundred meters to the target! Sight targets!”

Moving the turret, Walker’s sights landed on a vehicle being moved out, seemingly to reinforce the engagement with the 86th Armored up north. It looked to be a tin can, like a knockoff M113, complete with a machine gun atop of it. Juliet 1-1 caught wind of it at the same time that Walker did. “Gunner, HEAT, PC!”

“Identified!” Walker’s response came through the radio.

“Fire, fire HEAT!”

“On the way!”

At his command, the tank cannon roared as the sound of a 105mm gun ripped through the air. It streaked through the air, a red tracer beam heading directly to the tin-can.

In just a split-second, it impacted the tin can. And in the last quarter of that second, the tin-can exploded out from the inside as the shell hit it. The vehicle was immediately destroyed. And the men around it were hit by shrapnel, dying as they were hit by high-velocity shrapnel.

“Index HEAT!”

The loader quickly loaded another HEAT shell into the gun, while Walker switched to the machine gun, eyes focused as he watched the explosion of the tank seemingly not kill three of the White Fang members close to it.

“The hell…” He muttered absentmindedly as the machine gun quickly opened up on the three men, the turret moving in a sweeping motion with him readjusting as the tank moved. Quickly, the survivors were machine gunned.

He sighed, and cringed. Their bodies quickly flopped to the ground.

He had never killed anybody before. But here he was. Killing people in another world. The only recompense for his conscience was that they were dickheads. Ethnosupremacists, as General de Zwart called them.

Some disagreed and called them speciesist.

It didn’t matter to the men pulling the trigger, however.

Walker included.

He wasn’t going to get used to this-

“One hundred meters! Infantry’s disembarking! Artillery’s stopped firing! Cover their asses, Walker!”

Walker nodded, as he turned the turret. Immediately, he was greeted with another one of those tin cans moving in an attempt to suppress the infantry disembarking.

“Gunner, HEAT, PC!” Juliet 1-1 screamed. “Fire, fire HEAT!”

And in a second, the gun fired again.

James Drew – St. Johnsbury, Vermont, United States of America Kingdom of Vale, Remnant – April 20, 1977 (Earth Years) – 7:19 AM (Earth Time)

“APC!” Drew panickedly shouted as he disembarked to the left of his APC. When the White Fang APC moved its turret, Drew screamed-

The tin can quickly exploded, and he looked back to see how.

The smoking gun barrel of the tank, and the fact that his ears began ringing—thank god for earplugs!—answered his inquiry.

And so Private James Drew’s squad quickly disembarked from their APCs in orderly fashion, without being cut down by machine gun fire. Miraculous.

And to think that he signed up for the OHNG at the ripe age of seventeen just two months ago. His birthday had been a day before. And he thought it’d be a good weekend getaway, something that would just be sleeping and snoozing.

Now, here he was. Nearly cut down by an APC.

“Eyes open!” His squad leader cut through the sound of mechanical noises as the tank moved to crush the sandbags that led into the camp. “Follow the tank!”

Hurriedly carrying his M16A1, Drew nodded and followed behind the sergeant.

The sound of gunfire littered the camp as they hopped over the ruined sandbags, the APC and tank trailing behind them as they caught up with the 86th, who were still tying up forces to the north.

“Enemy! Front!”

“Engaging!”

Drew opened fire with his assault rifle at some White Fang members who had run out of cover. The rat-at-at and crack noises from his M16 rifle were soon drowned out by the joining of his squadmates, who all began to open fire at the White Fang.

They were running out of the building, presumably having guarded it previously.

However, they were in directly in the line of fire as they rushed out.

Six men were cut down as they ran out of cover. And another ten more were cut down as they popped out of cover. These men weren’t prepared for an assault on their home so quickly.

Not that it mattered. This was enough of a clusterfuck of an assault already. What without Highway Star blasting in the background, just somehow louder than the mechanical noises and gunfire.

The White Fang forces that Drew had fired upon soon returned fire this time from cover. He dove into the ground, letting an ‘oof’ out as he impacted into the dirt.

The M113 began to move in front of the squad, giving them a chance to be shielded from the rifle fire. Drew’s squad immediately coalesced to press their backs against the side of the M113 that protected them.

The machine gun at the top began to open up on White Fang positions in intermittent, rapid bursts of machine gun fire.

As soon as he found himself pressed against the back of the APC, he peeked his head around to monitor the White Fang position.

“Shit! Sarge! They’re bringing a weapon emplacement-”

“On it, Private!” His squad leader responded as he leaned to the side, peeking from the front of the APC, and opened fire. “I’ve got one of the two holding it!”

Drew peeked and steadied his rifle. He breathed in, and let loose a burst of rifle fire. The second person carrying the heavy weapon—seemingly a recoilless rifle—died almost instantly. He retreated back before the retaliatory gunfire hit him.

“Sarge! They’re dug in!” One of the soldiers shouted as the gunfire kept hitting the APC’s other side. It was a miracle they didn’t have AP ammunition! “We’ve gotta flush them out-!”

By some miracle, a bullet had managed to pierce through the side. It grazed the arm of the soldier shouting that. “Fuck!”

“I got it!” Drew’s squad leader shouted. “Masks on!”

Oh, shit! Drew quickly threw his rifle and helmet down as he crouched down to open the gas mask pouch strapped to his leg. Panickedly, he strapped it to his face as bullets began to fly once more and the White Fang kept up the fire while the single machine gunner—there were not designated ACAV gunners yet—kept them safe.

He quickly strapped the mask, model M17, on his face and tested it by breathing in hurriedly. When he knew his gas mask worked, he grabbed his helmet and rifle, putting the former back on quickly.

Rifle in one hand, he unhooked an M7A2 gas grenade from his ALICE webbing, and pulled the pin back with his thumb, shaking it off after an initial pull. Pushing the lever, Drew threw it from behind the APC at the entrenched White Fang forces.

Following suit were the rest of his squadmates, with eight hands, counting his squad leader, tossing gas grenades atop the APC together with him.

Breathing in from his gas mask, Drew clutched the handguard of his rifle, and closed his eyes. The gunfire, this time, came to a lull.

From the White Fang, that was. The machine gun of the APC still roared.

And Drew joined in. Quickly turning around to look at the White Fang position with his rifle, he took aim at the White Fang positions.

The gas had begun to seep in, blanketing the White Fang position in a thick, white toxic smoke. He didn’t see any movement from it. So he continued to monitor it, watching-

Immediately, he saw two White Fang insurgents moving out of the cloud of gas.

A burst from his rifle put the first one down, while the machine gun of the APC took the second one down.

“Advance! The gas’s taking effect!” His squad leader ordered, as Drew broke cover from the side of the APC to go over to some boxes.

When he slammed his back to the boxes, he peeked out and saw more White Fang insurgents exiting the fog. They were quickly put down.

Drew broke cover from the boxes as well and sprinted over to the White Fang position, leaping over barricades and sandbags, landing with a huff as he found himself in the middle of a gas cloud. He took a heavy breath as he moved his hands to use his rifle stock instead.

His eyes caught a White Fang insurgent crawling away, apparently crippled by the gas. He had bat features, as far as he could tell. Why he chose to fight with that-

Didn’t matter!

Drew ran up to him and bashed the man’s legs in with the rifle stock, a heavy thwack resulting in a scream coming from the man as he tried to move away- It was followed up by another stock bash, this time to the chest.

Following suit were the rest of his squad, who also waded into the gas. Gunshots from American rifles were all that he could hear as a result. They were shooting the gassed.

In fairness, he was told that some of them could survive normally fatal hits because of… Something. He forgot what it was, though.

So pulling the trigger two times was expected.

He looked over the man he had crippled. He didn’t dare move. But from what he saw, the man was breathing.

He winced. Did the-

When the man tried to reach out for a fallen rifle nearby however, he took no chances. A swift bang, and the man became nothing more than a footnote in history.

The gas cloud began to lightly dissipate, and what was once a somewhat entrenched White Fang position became littered with bodies that had been gassed and shot.

But his eyes quickly locked onto the entrance, as footsteps began to rush out of it.

Rifle aimed, Drew opened fire as he saw two figures coming down the entrance.

And in an instant, two bodies flopped forwards, dead from gunshot wounds. He looked back to his sergeant.

“Sarge! They’re coming from the compound!” Drew shouted, unhooking another M7A2 gas grenade. “I think that’s where they’re keeping the kid-!”

“Shit, alright! Prepare for close quarters combat!” Shouted the sergeant as he motioned for the squad to move into the building. “Move, move, move!” The order came quickly despite being muffled by the gas mask.

Following suit, Drew climbed up the first flight of stairs. His squadmates all pressed themselves against the wall, gun trained on the stairs above them, in front of them, and bizarrely below them.

Pressed near the doorframe, the sergeant unholstered a revolver that he brought with him. Drew leaned from his side of the wall to watch what the sergeant was doing.

Rifle on his free hand, Drew watched as the sergeant shot at something, presumably a door lock. But that seemed to not really open it. The hell was sarge gonna do about-

The door was kicked open in a strong kick by the sergeant-

And immediately after that, he was greeted by bullets coming from the inside. Gunfire from automatic rifles that seemed to somehow barely miss the legs of the sergeant.

Amazing.

The room, from what he saw, had four rooms with doors that could be best described as prison cell doors, at least on the side that he was seeing. From where he was, he counted four. Considering the width of the building, it was likely that there were more on the other wall. At least, that one he hoped.

He hoped he wasn’t wrong on that.

“I need three volunteers and three gas grenades!” The sergeant shouted, looking back. “Privates Edward- Jones- Baxter- Move forward!”

“Oh, this is going to suck!” One of the three soldiers shouted as they moved close to the sergeant, just barely behind the doorway currently suppressed by fire.

“When they cease fire, I need you three to all throw gas in there!” The sergeant ordered. “Then move in! We’ll clear out the floors one by one!”

“Fucking hell- Alright!”

The soldiers all unhooked gas grenades from their ALICE while Drew moved in forward to occupy the slot they took.

The motions of the three Guardsmen pulling the pins on their grenades and launching them in the room should not have come as a surprise to him. And yet, the force that they were thrown had taken him by surprise.

Guess that’s what comes with the OHNG.

The sound of the gas being released into the room had been the first step, and the second came in the form of the sound of choking White Fang insurgents. “Move in!” The shout of the sergeant followed suit, and the three volunteers began to move in.

The sound of American gunfire and a lack of muffled death rattling told him enough of the story. Though there were other coughs joining in, too.

Probably other prisoners, judging by the fact that this was a prison compound. They had to have prisoners.

At least, presuming LRRP’s intel wasn’t shit.

“First floor’s being cleared! Move up!”

Drew followed suit, gas mask still on his face and rifle on his hands as they cleared the upper stairway, M16 gunfire continuing on the lower floor.

Drew soon found himself huddled against the second floor’s walls, just near the doorway as a part of the six soldiers, out of the original nine-man contingent.

“Specialist Enfield, Private Shirley, Private First Class Michael. Move up.”

Their boots made their way up the stairs as Drew moved to take one of their initial spots. The same routine from the last floor was given here. Sarge shoots the lock, and it fails to do shit. He kicks the door down. Barely dodge White Fang gunfire—okay, once was a miracle. But twice was a pattern; Unhook gas grenades, pull the safety pin, press on the safety lever.

Throw into the floor, wait for the gunfire to stop and the choking to begin. Then move in and kill them.

Three of them were subtracted, and the Sergeant looked at him and the last person. A Private whose last name was Lance, or something.

Seriously, who names a kid that?

“Private Drew, Private Lance- last floor, move up!”

Right. This was the last floor out of the three floors of this accursed compound. Christ. He kept moving as the sound of gunfire and non-White Fang choking continued in the background. The three of them moved up, bodies pressed and rifles trained in all directions.

Even here, the 507s were fucking warm.

He hated these things.

When they reached the doorway, the sergeant pulled out his revolver. He was prepared to shoot the door this time-

“Sarge, no!” Drew’s eyes widened as he rushed over and pushed the sergeant’s arm down. Thankfully, the revolver didn’t discharge. He looked at the sergeant, then back to the lock. “Look.”

His hands were pointed towards a door knob. Not a flimsy, shitty lock this time. His sergeant cursed and holstered his revolver, looking back to Drew instead. Thankfully, Drew had switched the way he held this rifle, positioning the stock to the doorknob this time.

“Bash it open?”

“Bash it open.”

“Heave, ho!” Drew shouted as he raised his rifle stock and slammed it against the door lock, positioning his body in such a way that his center of mass would stick to the wall while only his arms and rifle would be near the door when the bullets started flying.

The sound of metal and wood breaking on impact greeted him- And so did the sound of gunfire. It looks like the White Fang here were prepared, as with the second floor. He just barely got a peek inside the room as he dodged the gunfire.

Unlike the previous rooms, this one had a circular table at the very center, flanked by four prison cells on each side. That confirmed his hypothesis for the previous ones. Though this one was different. Obviously it had the circular table, but there was something else. A two-door doorway, presumably leading up, since where he was sitting from was the only way down.

That was likely for aerial transport. Helicopters, maybe.

But that was irrelevant as bullets kept flying!

“Gas, gas, gas!” Drew shouted as he put his rifle down to unhook his second gas grenade, pull the safety pin back, and throw it into the room. Following suit were his sergeant, and Private Lance.

“I am not fucking doing this even if more hazard pay was introduced.” Drew muttered to himself.

“Ugh. Tell me about it.” Lance’s muffled response came through the mask. They both glanced at each other as the gunfire from the White Fang continued this time. They likely were trying to prevent them from getting at something. And neither of them couldn’t shoot blindly or risk shooting the hostage.

“So, got any beer?”

“Well, the jackasses in the MUTT with a speaker—” The sound of gunfire and Highway Star continuing to blast in the distance, collaborating with the sound of tank guns likely from the 86th and the 107th that roared in conjunction with other sounds of gunfire-

And suddenly the sound of helicopters.

Right. Some guests were following them.

“—had all of the beer stashed in their fucking fuel containers. I’d love to take a swig, but the MUTT with them is currently swerving, and likely to overturn and crash into the pile of shit that is the ground here on Remnant.”

“Damn, so we’re shit out of luck when it comes to beer?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” He’d have to settle for morphine at this rate. Fuckin’ A. “Well, I suggest we sit this one out.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” His sergeant shouted, as the sound of White Fang gunfire continued to roar from the room. “We-”

Drew peeked into the room, and he immediately shook his head. “No, sarge. I think we actually can sit this one out.”

“What if they’re going to execute the kid-”

“We don’t even know what floor he was on. As far as we know, he could’ve been on first or second.”

“But-”

“And besides, it’s better to be rewarded for patience,” He muttered. “Present company’s arriving to assist, for the record.”

“Present… company? What?” His sergeant weakly asked. And all that Drew could do was look at him with sad eyes, and shake his head in sympathy.

He peeked again, and his eyes locked onto the doorway that he saw earlier. Concurrently, the sound of helicopter rotors grew closer and closer.

And then they were directly on top.

Drew sighed.

Guess those stories from a decade ago that he heard when he was seven were about to become true. Fuckin’ Langley.

The doorway was breached almost immediately, and coming into the gas-filled room were ten men from Virginia, draped in plain green U.S. Army uniforms, donning flak vests and M25 gas masks. Seven of the men were armed with carbines, while two were armed with Model 77 shotguns and the last one a regular M16.

He watched and peeked from a corner as they immediately started firing. But instead of silencing death rattles, loud screaming greeted him instead as he looked at the polite green men.

“Detain them!” A muffled voice came from the gas-mask donning polite green people, who swapped their weapons out for what seemed to be zip-ties.

Drew looked back to the three men with him, a smug expression concealed by the gas mask. “See? I told you we’d have to wait,” He chuckled. “Follow me.”

He slung his rifle and raised his hand as he entered the gassed room, the sound of coughing from the very center of the room catching a quick glance at his eye.

Ah, it was the kid. Glad to see he was still kicking.

“Friendlies,” Drew said as he kept his hand raised while the polite people turned their guns on him for a brief moment. They were lowered the second he saw they saw the uniforms. Behind him, the two others followed suit with weapons drawn and hands raised as well. “We’re all friends here, no?”

“In a sense,” The apparent team leader, a black man, responded. He turned to the rest of his team and waved his arm around. “Sweep the room. I want anything important to be taken with us,” He glanced at some squirming people. White Fang prisoners. Looks like the polite people invited people over tea. “And bring the guests back to the heli, will ya?”

“I presume that leaves our local gunner under our jurisdiction, no?”

“Yea,” The man continued. “Cut ‘im loose.”

The man was cut loose, and he flopped down to the floor coughing and hacking. “F-fachk you!” He shouted. “W-wh-y couldn’t y-you have done that fahcking-” He wheezed. “Sooner!”

“Relax, it’s just CS,” Drew replied, as he took the man by the hand. “And besides, look at present company. Don’t want to dick around with those,” He pointed his head at the men of Langley, as he then hoisted the man up. “Right, off we go. You up for a beer?”

“I’m s-seventeen, j-jackass…”

“Well so am I, and I don’t give a fuck,” He sighed. “Let’s get outta here.”

Drew then marched back the way he came, carrying the man he rescued down. His continued nagging, thankfully, intensified as he left the room. The gas in the stairways was very minimal. The gas outside was likely to have died down, and same with the gas in the lower floors. Yet, when he continued down, his eyes widened as he saw interesting things.

When they reached the second floor, Drew watched the three soldiers escort several captured personnel, hacking and coughing away. Specifically, eleven. Three of them bore the White Fang uniform and the rest did not. It seems like Company missed a few. That was alright.

It was almost the same story when they reached the first floor. Same coughing and hacking, but different prisoner count. There were only nine people this time. Only one of them wore the White Fang uniform.

And as Drew stepped outside, he was greeted to a sight to behold. Baking underneath the suns of Remnant, stood by his squad’s original APC. And to its right, three White Fang vehicles—one armored car, two armored personnel carriers; one previously taken out by the M60—burning in the open daylight.

To its left, an M48 Patton from the 86th had somehow managed to destabilize and flatten a tent by tipping over a few crates. Accompanying it were other squads from the 107th, sweeping the area. And by that, Drew meant opening fuel containers that were, unsurprisingly, not loaded with fuel. Instead they were loaded with beer.

And all the meanwhile, Highway Star continued to play in the background.

He opened up one of his breastpockets as the kid he came to rescue scurried away, now breathing normal air. A pack of cigarettes, fresh and clean, was procured and he took one out. Out of the other breastpocket came his lighter, which he flicked open.

It was time for a calm day.

“Oh shit! That’s about to blow!”

The sound of an explosion, somewhere in the background, elicited a sigh out of Drew, as he lit his cigarette and closed his lighter.

“This job fucking sucks.”

“Cipher” – St. Johnsbury, Vermont, United States of America Kingdom of Vale, Remnant – April 20, 1977 (Earth Years) – 7:42 AM (Earth Time)

“This job rules.”

The words were taken out of his mouth with a chuckle as he looked over the papers that team X-Ray managed to recover, legs walking over to the helicopter. “Score one for LRRP, score minus two for Whiskey Foxtrot.”

Whiskey Foxtrot. That was their name for the White Fang. At least, for the Grunts it was. Cipher scoffed. Company referred to them by a simple codename. Bulls. They were angry and chasing the color red in company’s memos, of course corroborated on the field. Orders, currently, were to collect at least more than one White Fang prisoner to take them back home.

Now, the 1/101sts were able to deliver them some.

But the Company was a hungry beast.

“No movin’! I’ll shoot your goddamn knees off if any of you so much as move!”

The sound of his fellow agents, now unmasked at the top of what used to be a ‘Bullhead’ pad, whatever that was, was like music to his ears as they ferried off the White Fang prisoners to the helicopter. While ten of them initially left, six of them were to stay with MACNE for security sweeps. Company speak.

He was among the lucky four who would go back home. Lucky him.

“What’s that on ya? Playboy Remnant edition?” The sound of a non-agent snapped him out of his musing. The bad thing about the Company being forced to work within MACNE limits when in Remnant was that despite the helicopters themselves being plain and unmarked at Company’s request, the pilots were not. They couldn’t be.

So they were stuck with those pooled from MACNE. A poor choice.

Drunks, fools, and nincompoops were the most polite ways to speak of MACNE personnel.

Especially the pilots.

“None of your business,” He icily responded. “Start up the helicopter. We’ll be taking the prisoners back home.”

“You got it, boss.” He lazily responded with a sloppy salute.

He pored over the documents once more. It was an internal message, written informally. Befitting of an organization like the Viet Cong. Scrappy, piece of shit gooks hiding in tunnels were his predecessors’ main problems. Scrappy, piece of shit animals hiding in the forests were now his.

It spoke of transfers of equipment. Outdated equipment, apparently. In what world were anti-tank missiles, armored personnel carriers, and assault rifles considered outdated? But it did speak of something else instead. It also spoke of ‘upcoming new equipment’, presumably looted, judging by the nature of these animals.

All of this equipment transfers were directed to a camp listed on here. Camp Predator. CP. He highlighted the first letters with his pen, and took note. They were gonna have to look for CP soon, he mused. Another future assault on his list was exciting. But something else alarmed him. When he read over the source of the equipment that was transferred, his eyes looked over something that he highlighted.

Queen. It mentioned that ‘Queen’ was able to secure these weapons from arms dealers. Who was ‘Queen’ in this case? Codename? Actual name? And it talked about arms dealers, too. But what he heard was that most people didn’t stockpile arms. So what…?

That was a new priority for CIA SAD on Remnant. Find ‘Queen’ and terminate. Their work with the White Fang means that they cannot even be converted. They must be terminated. He continued scrolling through the papers. They mentioned the inventory of the equipment being transferred. That was a lot of missiles.

Then came something about their Dust supply, and the name Torchwick. That was going into the list of capture and terminate, too. Following that was an entire page dedicated to… Someone’s ex-girlfriend. Huh. You learn something new everyday.

When he flipped to the last page, it was mostly blank. This took him by surprise.

Except there was one sentence that he took a closer look at. “Oh shit…”

‘Record the execution of the captured human APC gunner to tell Vale that their attempts at aping Atlas will not dent the freedom for all Faunus.’

Christ. They were going to record his execution. And then likely broadcast it.

Well, he mused. Good that the 107th rescued him. Even if he wasn’t one of theirs. He threw the documents into the helicopter as he pulled out his scroll and extended it. Thank God for Remnant’s technology. Or the Brother Gods, in their case.

There was only one true God in America. However, he didn’t like them to hear that. The tension of that was going to make his head explode.

He tapped at the Sign app, and smirked. End-to-end encryption, huh? Remnant’s technology had some notes that DARPA would love to crib. And thank God for MACNE generously donating some scrolls for CIA SAD, apparently ‘factory reset’ at the behest of CIDG and General de Zwart.

Whatever that meant.

The ‘group chat’ popped up when he tapped on it, greeted by the name ‘Tom Lehrer Fan Club’, chosen with a snicker a day ago. Its logo was a frame of an image joke in Remnant, featuring two Faunus looking over a Scroll while one looked ‘educated’. The actual moving image had the left one teach the right one how to use a scroll.

Chosen, of course, to represent CIA SAD speaking with CIDG personnel. They were literally recreating that ‘gif’, as the younger CIDG members commented.

He still didn’t know why it was called a gif. Moving image was more formal.

Cipher quickly tapped a few messages into the scroll with one hand. Slowly. Letter by letter. He wasn’t used to the brisk pace that the CIDG Rangers were typing. Christ, typing like this was a typewriter made his fingers hurt.

He needed to subscribe to their typing classes, huh.

‘Documents found. Prisoners taken. We will return to base. Inform General de Zwart on Strife. Out.’

Hopefully, de Zwart would be informed very well over on Strife. Sure, it was less encrypted than Sign and more oriented for casual use. But it was easier to set up than Sign. And lacked the same range limit that radio had.

And for General de Zwart, that was all he needed.

Cipher hoped that Strife would be issued on a command level for the rest of MACNE. Goodness believes he wouldn’t trust the grunts with access to a combined MACNE server, however.

He compressed his scroll and unbuttoned his breastpocket to take out a Cuban cigar. Well worth its price. He cut the front open as he lit it to take a smoke. Words could not describe his relief when he felt the taste of tobacco.

It was good to be the CIA Man.

“Kaw! Kaw!”

The sound of a bird caught him off-guard, and he looked around. When he turned to his left, he found a bird. Just casually sitting there. On the roof. Staring at him.

Huh. He didn’t hear it.

“Well, little birdie,” He chuckled. “You’ve just witnessed a CIA Man’s work. I’ll have ya know that your free food-” It was a crow. Bastards were not picky eaters. “-Were transferring heavy equipment around. Ain’t that nice to hear?”

He exhaled cigar smoke and chuckled. “Not like you can understand me anyways,” He muttered. “I’ll take my leave now. Farewell-”

A step was all that he took before, suddenly, he was ripped away from solid ground and found himself slipping from reality, unbound by solid ground, floating through time and space-

And slamming his helmet back onto the pad, closing his eyes and letting out a brief shout of pain.

“Yeowch!”

He pushed his head up, breathing heavily. What the hell had caused that?! He looked to his left. Nothing but the bird, which seemed to just stare at him blankly. He looked to his right. Nothing but empty air and smoke plumes from burning White Fang vehicles destroyed by MACNE. He looked forward. And-

“...Huh,” He mused, eyebrows raising as his fellow SAD agents began to laugh from the nearby helicopter, their initial panic fading away.

“Since when was there a banana peel there?”