Chapter 1: Gathering Storm

The year is 1935. The zenith of the Second Europan War has begun, with the Federation to the West launching a massive invasion, Operation Northern Cross, against it's enemy, the East Europan Imperial Alliance, better known as the Empire, to the East. Both sides commit their entire forces to the next few months, knowing that the one who comes out on top here will win the war.

 Morale among the Federation is high, Northern Cross has been a resounding success as the Federation rolled over hundreds of miles of Imperial territory in days. Just two months into the campaign, the Ranger Corps and main army Vanguard have reached Einhemt, a small village just outside the Siegval Line. Their target? The Imperial capital, Schwartzgrad. Situated just 200 miles south of the capital, a breakthrough on the Siegval Line would no doubt secure a Federation victory.

 The Imperial defenders have not given up hope that the Federation offensive will overstretch itself and be crushed by reinforcements from the capital.

Meanwhile, at Earnsley naval base in the Federation. A young, dark blue haired woman sits at a desk in a dimly lit room of a ship with an imposing looking telegram machine resting atop a light wooded table, she sighs, fumbling her hairpin engraved with the markings of her people, the traditional Darcsen tribe. She'd already received countless insults and threats due to her heritage, but she was used to it by now. Everything from being called filth to dark-hair, it was just a regular occurrence for Darcsen.

She sat and juggled a small pen in her hands, bored utterly senseless when the telegram machine begun blaring away with a message. Being chief Communications Officer, it was her job to translate the message. She got to work, not even waiting for the automated typewriter to finish noisily copying the reference down for her. Once it had finished creating an enormous racket, she pulled the sheet of paper out from the top of the typewriter and placed it underneath her translation paper, with the left edge sticking out so she could reference the code.

 The message didn't take long to decode. The contents, however, made the woman question if she had translated it correctly.

"ATTN: Northern Cross is to be abandoned following losses after breaking Siegval Line. Operation Cygnus is now the war plan for the Federation."

She translated the message again, and got the same. A third time yielded no difference in message. The woman was confused, it was almost a clairvoyant statement considering the Federation hadn't broken through the Siegval Line, but really, she didn't care much about affairs, she just wanted her coffee. She took her reference sheet and translation paper and stood up from her seat, swinging the heavy metal door wide open to find the Captain sitting at his chair on the bridge as per usual. He never seemed to move from that spot except to use the bathroom and to sleep. With a mug of tea in his hand, he called the woman over as she stepped through the door.

"Louffe, based on what you're holding, I take it we have mail." He said, smirking across his white beard and taking the papers from Louffe.
"Yes, Captain." She responded, giving the typical naval salute.

The Captain took a gander at the translated message and he too, had to take a second look to make sure he was reading it correctly. After finishing his examination of the translated message, he handed the small paper back to Louffe, taking the original telegram message and placing it carefully into a sealed metal container beneath his long grey desk.

As he did so, two people walked into the room. One, a man with short brown hair, and the other, a woman with a light pinkish hair tone, both decked in full naval attire, much like Louffe. The first, the man, walked over slowly to the Captain, carrying another mug of tea in his hand and placing it on the Captain's desk, the woman merely begun to walk to her station on the bridge when she was interrupted by the Captain speaking to them both as she carefully placed two mugs of coffee on the small table just next to the desk.

"Ah. Brian, Marie. We've been ordered to sortie in an hour. Brian, you'll find the navigation documents under file 7. Please make sure to follow the instructions on the front of the document. And Marie, keep the radios off until further notice." The Captain requested as the two got to their newly assigned jobs.

For Marie, it was as simple as flicking the master radio switch off. Brian begun to unlock the navigator's safe and pulled out a hefty looking document filled with maps and charts emblazoned with a large 7. He noticed the instructions, they demanded that the route only be pencilled in as it is followed. Brian didn't quite understand, but that was a simple enough request to comply with.

 For now, both Louffe and Marie, as well as the Captain, sat down with their drinks. The aroma of coffee made Louffe happier than a pig in mud, she'd waited all morning for her coffee and it was like an addict finally getting their fix. While Edinburghers were known more for their excessive tea drinking, both she and Marie were from foreign Federation nations, only here because of their common alliance against the Empire. Besides, Louffe liked going against the grain. With the buzz of caffeine tingling in her skull, Louffe's mood changed from a weary downer to her more usual dry and sarcastic self. She really wasn't a morning person. Yawning in front of Marie, her wide maw pulled open by the animalistic need to consume air, Louffe drank her coffee with only the most basic of decorum. Marie, on the other hand, sipped her coffee slowly, with a sense of grace.

With the route pencilled in to its early stages, the Centurion was ready to set off from it's station. The Captain prepared to assess the ship's combat readiness as the two women continued to sip their coffee, flicking through paperwork on the mission, the mass of files was overwhelming, everything from the crew, to the ship's parameters, and the mission itself.

Stepping up from his desk for the first time in what seemed like hours, the Captain pressed the large red button on the intercomm on his desk and spoke into the small black microphone.

"Attention all crew, this is Captain Roland Morgen. All crew are to report to top deck for combat readiness assessment. Repeat all crew, report top deck for combat readiness assessment."

The announcement received mixed reception. Some crew were throwing their hats into the air in anticipation of joining the fight, but the sense of anxiousness of being thrust into the meat grinder Northern Cross had become was palpable in the air. The crew lined up on the deck, some 600 people in all of various shapes and statures, ethnicity and backgrounds, the sea of blue on the deck was as vast and solid as the water underneath the ship. Walking up and down the lines of sailors the Captain assessed his crew on basically every regard he could think of.

He found no flaw with his crew, walking slowly back to the Centurion's tall superstructure smiling and opening its doors, Marie, Brian and Louffe in tow. As they walked up the several flights of stairs to reach the bridge, the atmosphere was oppressive. Marie and Louffe simply shared looks as friends, while Brian had no idea where he was sending the crew. It wasn't a good arrangement, the trust between the upper crew was there, but the faith in the mission itself was lacking.

 As the four wandered back into the spacious bridge, Morgen sat down at his desk as always, Louffe returned to her post, and Marie once again returned into the makeshift kitchen outside the back of the room to make another mug of coffee, at Louffe's request, of course.

 Brian walked up to the Captain's desk and pressed his hand onto the intercomm to the engine room, telling the engine room to fire up the massive ragnite boilers. The rumble of the preheaters was immense, shaking the entire ship as ragnite energy swirled through them. They likened the pulse of the engines to the beat of the Centurion's steel heart. As the pressure in the heaters built, the crew prepared to activate the main reactor, itself emblazoned with the letters "A2." Flipping the lever on the engine panel, the main reactor roared into action with the brilliant blue glow of ragnite. The reactor's glow quickly enveloped the entire room as a faint whimpering could be heard from the reactor's core.

"...Why... Why Papa... Why did you do this to me?" the voice eeked out, unheard by any of the crew, absorbed by the large metal door of the reactor.

Shortly after the main reactor had been activated, the Centurion's radiator panels above the radar mast ignited with a crackle of blue energy, the radar itself lifting itself from it's dish and beginning to spin as its duties begun. The enormous flywheels at the front of the ship begun to churn through the water, feeding the four equally gigantic props at the ship's aft end, the cruising belts intended for land travel slicing through the water below like knives through butter, as the Centurion begun to cut through the water at a leisurely pace, reaching the channel of the naval base in just a few minutes of travel before turning itself to the North and beginning it's long journey into the unknown.

Meanwhile, in Einhemt, the Ranger Corps had been deployed following the "liberation" of the village from Imperial forces. While the civilians in the town had stopped openly resisting Federation occupation two days ago, a huge amount of anxiety amongst them still remained. For some, the dehumanising nature of being occupied was worse than the fighting that preceded it.

Tomorrow, Squads E and F would stage a mock battle in the town. While it was stated that the purpose of the battle was to keep the Squads sharp in anticipation of the major operation at Siegval coming up, it was more about showing the locals the military might of the Federation should they try to resist again.

Claude Wallace, Commander of Squad E, retreated to his tent for the night, hoping to get a good night's sleep for the day ahead. He closed the zipper on the front of the tent and lay calmly in the blue makeshift tent bedding. It wasn't as comfortable as a real bed, but it was better than nothing. As he fell into a sleep, his night was interrupted by a heavy feeling on his chest and body. He turned several times in his sleep to try and get comfortable again, to no avail. The heavy feeling would not leave.

 Then, he opened his eyes, finally sick of the obnoxious weight on his body. He rose to find Vancey, Squad E's drunk, laying on top of him wearing nothing but her underwear. It was clear she was absolutely hammered drunk. She slurred out some words as Claude moved, her hands all over his chest.

"Mmf, Rahz, yuhr ahbs ahr ghreat... Hic... So... Shecksy... Hic."

"Umm... Vancey..." Claude responded, not really sure what was going on.

"Yehs Rahz? Hic. Shure, we chan get married... Hic... Have a family together... Hic..." She slurred back, clearly so drunk that she'd confused the quiet and reserved Claude for the boisterous Raz.

"Vancey... I'm Claude... Can you please get off me?"

"Clahude? Whosh thaaat? Yuhr Rahz... Hic."

Claude wondered whether this was a good or bad result, as if Vancey somehow got her hands on Raz, who knows how long he'd be able to say no before they got more than a little intimate. Realising Vancey would only react to something sudden, Claude reached over to his small bedside table for his metal water flask and checked it's contents. Ice cold. Perfect, all the while Vancey was running her hands up and down Claude's chest, slurring all sorts of nonsense about how much she likes him and how muscular and alpha he is, unlike the "loser" who runs the Squad. Claude merely took it as her being drunk off her head and unclipped the top of the water bottle, saying one last thing.

"I'm sorry for this, Vancey."

"Sawhree for what?"

Claude hurled ice cold water into his "assailant's" face, it seemed to not do anything for a few seconds before Vancey came sort of to her senses. She was still in a stupor, but at the very least she could see she was not, indeed, on top of Raz as she thought. She looked down, then looked at Claude, then back down, then to herself, then back at Claude. Then she realised her state of mostly undress and panicked.

"What the? You're not Raz! Damn... Have I been feeling you up this entire time?"

"Umm... Yes... Vancey." Claude replied in a manner that tried to indicate Claude wasn't entirely angry with her, just confused.

"Awh, shucks. Here I thought I got some alone time with mister dreamy again... Sigh."

"Umm... Does Raz know about this?"

"Who knows? Besides, do you think he'd mind? Waking up with a cutie like me on top of him?"

"Uhh... Vancey... That's... More than a little illegal."

"So what? A girl can dream..."

Vancey's disappointment was almost material, Claude could tell she was legitimately upset at the revelation. She got up off the top of Claude, still somewhat tipsy while sliding her uniform back on. In a fashion typical of Vancey, she put it on inside out. Claude didn't really care, as he just wanted her out of his tent at this point. He offered to escort her back to the women's dorm tent, but she merely pouted as she wandered in the direction of the tent as Claude flopped back onto his back and tried to get some sleep. He wondered how long she had been there. He drifted back into a snooze quite quickly as his body was just so exhausted from all the work.

 The morning sun rose over the camp with the yelling of the base commander for everyone to get up and report to the makeshift breakfast bar for their breakfast. Claude simply sighed as he slid himself out of his bed, still tired from the commotion last night. Getting himself dressed was difficult with how sluggish his body felt. He just wanted to get some more sleep, but he figured he'd be fine once he was awake and alert. Stepping out of his tent, he took a short walk up the main section of the camp, soldiers, tanks and parts lining the admittedly crude road to the breakfast tent. Claude could feel his stomach growing as the smell of freshly cooked food hit his nose.

 When he got there, he noticed the Commander of Squad F, Minerva Victor, sitting sternly with her breakfast and juice. She merely shrugged at him and tilted her square glasses up above her red eyes and into her equally red hair.

"You're late, Claude. How can you be expected to command with such tardiness?" She condescendingly threw out a verbal attack at Claude. His defense came from the other side of the table, where Raz and the blonde haired Riley Miller were sitting.

"Sheesh, Claude! What a bitch... Must be that time of the month. Really though, what is it with the women in the army these days? You've got her, miss mega bitch herself, Riley, who can't build anything that doesn't explode, the squad drunk who wakes up on top of you with her hands around your chest and has the nerve to call you a womaniser, and the girl who goes around "cursing" everyone! Although, Claude... Did you see those navy birds at the camp about a week ago? Woohoo...! What a vi-"

Raz's comments about the various women on the camp were cut short by a stern, well placed backhand from Riley, Raz falling to the floor.

"Have some tact! And what do you mean, everything I build explodes?!" Riley responded, delivering a targeted kick to Raz's manhood for his transgressions.

"Ow...! That hurt...! Claude, man down over here...! Little help...?"

Minerva simply shrugged her shoulders. She couldn't believe the cacophony of idiocy she was witnessing from her "rivals," getting up from her seat at the breakfast bar, washing and returning her plate and cup to the staff and thanking them for the food.

She took the same route Claude had previously taken to return to her tent, looking to revise her plans for the mock battle in a few hours one last time. As she wandered, she took a look up to the sky and saw naught but blue sky and white fluffy clouds. It seemed the good weather would hold, so her plans didn't need an enormous change.

 Unzipping the front of her tent and stepping inside, she sat down at a small pop up table and unfurled a curled piece of paper with a map of Einhemt on it. She'd rather meticulously planned her actions in the mock battle. She was sure that her plan was perfect, and in the back of her mind she knew Claude would just improvise. She arrogantly curled the paper back up and placed it back where she pulled it from, the small knapsack she kept on her belt. Then, she leaned over her perfectly made bed to grab her service rifle. Because of Squad F's recent performance, they'd recently been given a new set of service rifles, the freshly minted Lenfield M6. This would be the first time anyone had used an M6, so this was as much a test for the rifle as it was for the troops.

 Minerva smirked, smiling at the rigid construction of the rifle, pulling the bolt back to hear a satisfying clunking of the breach. She wanted to give it a test fire, but wasting ammunition was out of the question, so for now she simply flung it over her shoulder with the strap and took one final check of her tent, everything was spotless, just how she liked it.

Stepping back out of her tent, rifle and plans in hand, she sallied to the meeting point. Her Squad knew the time and place, and Minerva trusted them enough to not be late. As such, she hadn't called for them. She arrived at the eastern side of the camp in front of the commander's blackboard to be pleasantly unsurprised that her Squad had arrived, all accounted for. One brief equipment check later, and they were ready to go.