Lorneau, Mu

Baker had seen worse airbases, but this one wasn't exactly going to win any awards. The buildings looked like they'd been thrown together, and the aircraft shelters seemed to be held together with wire and hope.

The airbase was a mess of mismatched structures, like they'd been built by different people at different times. There were old-fashioned biplane fighters parked on the apron, their canvas wings looking fragile and outdated. A few battered trucks and motorcycles were scattered around, but it was clear the Muans were struggling to keep their gear in working order. The whole place was covered in a patchwork of netting and branches, like they'd tried to blend it into the surrounding trees.

A handful of sandbagged emplacements dotted the perimeter, with what looked like old Maxim guns poking out. Baker's eyes narrowed – those things were ancient. The whole place felt like it was held together with twine and prayers, like the Muans were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Honestly, it was a miracle that the Gra Valkans hadn’t bombed this place yet. Maybe they were too busy pounding the Muan cities to bother with a backwater airbase like this one. Or maybe they just hadn't found it yet, hidden away as it was in the trees.

Nakamoto pointed to the group of Muans waiting by the gate. "Looks like our hosts are ready for us." They were a rough-looking bunch, dressed in a mix of modern American gear – Baker spotted a few sets of advanced body armor, some M4s, and what looked like a pair of night vision goggles on one guy's helmet – and Muan uniforms. Some of the less fortunate ones had to stick with bolt-action rifles and the toys they’d produced themselves.

Baker eyed them for a second. No obvious signs of trouble, but you never know. "Alright, let's get this over with," he said, opening his door.

The lead Muan truck stopped at the gate, and their driver followed suit. Baker hopped out, stretching his legs and taking a look around.

Baker got out of the Humvee and looked around. Nakamoto nodded towards the gate. "Our hosts are waiting."

Baker and Nakamoto walked over to the gate, where a young Muan officer was waiting. He saluted. "Captain Baker, Ah’m assumin’? Ah'm Lieutenant Vex. Ah'll tak' ye tae Commander Joral fer debriefin’. Colonel Brayton’s already there.”

Baker returned the salute. "Lieutenant. What's the plan for our convoy?"

Vex nodded. "We've got a team ready tae gie's a hand wi' unloadin' the supplies, sir. They'll get stuck intae it right away."

What the hell was he saying? A team ready to give a hand with unloading the supplies? Well, alright then. Baker nodded, and turned to Nakamoto. "Make sure to prioritize the medical supplies and ammo, yeah?"

Nakamoto acknowledged, "I'll go make sure everything gets unloaded smoothly. You go meet with Joral, Captain."

With that, he headed back towards the convoy. The man coordinated with the Muan personnel, directing the convoy's vehicles into empty garages set aside just for them. While they worked in the background, Baker noticed Vex staring at the ACVs like they’d just landed from Mars – or whatever other planet floated around in Elysia’s solar system.

"What's a' these, then?" he asked, his eyes bugging out.

“ACVs,” Baker said, walking alongside him. “Armored transports, just better, and probably able to take out a Wilder head-on, though I definitely wouldn’t recommend it.”

Vex paused, eyes catching something else. Oh, this was gonna be good. "An'... yer tanks, ye say?"

Baker nodded. "Yeah, they're... well, we call 'em Bookers, but yeah, they're basically tanks. I mean, they're armored, they've got a big gun... but don't tell the armor guys I said that. They get all bent out of shape when you call 'em tanks."

"Why, they're... um, fair wee beasties, aren't they? An' they look sae... angular. Ah mean, they're no' as big 'n' sturdy as yon Valkie Wilders. Are they really effective against thae monsters?"

The guy’s accent started to make a bit more sense to Baker. Fair wee beasties? Yeah, that was something he definitely understood. “Hey now, size ain’t everything. Y’know, motion in the ocean?”

"Och, ah see what ye're gettin' at, Captain! Ye're sayin' they may no' be as big, but they've got it where it counts, right? Like a wee dram o' whisky - it may no' be much tae look at, but it'll put hair on yer chest! But, ah'm no' sure ah want tae be relyin' on just a wee bit o' firepower against those Valkie Wilders. They're bonnie beasts, but they're beasts nonetheless!"

“Oh, no,” Baker corrected. “These things really do pack a punch. I mean, yeah, they’re quick, but they hit harder than Wilders, that’s for sure.”

Vex raised an eyebrow. Still suspicious, but Baker couldn’t blame him. "Fair do's, Captain! Ah'll take yer word fer it. If ye say they can take doon a Wilder, ah'll no' argue. Ah've seen some strange things in ma time, but a wee tank takin' doon a beastie like that? That's a sight ah'd like tae see! Ah hope ye're right, fer our sake."

Baker checked his watch. “Yeah, maybe you’ll like what we’ve got coming in next.”

Vex looked around. It didn't take long for confusion to return to his face. "What's a' that racket?" he asked.

Baker knew the sound - from dozens of rides and a few real memorable instances of CAS. "That would be our helicopters, plus an Osprey."

Vex stared into the distance, finally pinning the direction of the noise. "Helicopters?" His eyes widened.

"Yeah. Instead of a propeller out on front, it's got a propeller on top. I guess?" Baker scratched his head. "You're probably better off asking an engineer about the differences."

Vex stared back at him with a look he had come to enjoy - the same one he encountered when the various people in Philades and even Mirishient caught sight of a fancy American toy: shock and awe.

Admittedly, Baker couldn't tell him one bit about the mechanical differences between a helicopter and plane, other than that the former was referred to as 'rotary-wing', but he did know one thing a guy like Vex would certainly understand. "What I can tell you, though, is that these babies are tank-killers. Our Bookers can easily match the Valkies on the ground, but the Vipers? Valkies won't even be able to touch them."

"Ah'm no' sure ah believe ye, Captain. Ye're tellin' me these Vipers can take doon a Valkie's armor wi' ease? That's a mighty big claim.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Baker shrugged. Looked like the guy needed to see it to believe it. “Eh, if you’re lucky maybe the Commander will let you come along for a joyride.”

Vex snorted. "Ah'd like tae see that, Captain."

Baker smiled. "Well, let's go find out what the Commander has in mind."

Baker followed Vex to the Commander's office. Vex knocked on the door, and a voice from inside called out, "Enter!"

Vex opened the door and gestured for Baker to enter. "Aft ye, Captain."

Baker walked in, and Vex followed close behind. Commander Joral looked up from his desk, his expression serious. "Ah, thank you Lieutenant. If you’d give us the room, please?”

Well, there went the poor guy’s chances of asking for a joyride. Vex saluted then exited the room.

“Now, you must be Captain Baker. Welcome to Lorneau. I am Commander Joral.”

Baker nodded, taking in the commander's worn expression. “Commander.” He glanced at Colonel Brayton, who had arrived a little bit ahead of them. “Sir.”

Joral waved a hand at the chair across from his desk. “Do sit, Captain. We've a bit of a situation on our hands.”

Baker sat, looking around the cramped office. Maps and papers covered every inch of wall space, and a large wooden board in the corner had a hand-drawn diagram of the Malmund Mountains, highlighting the Gra Valkan forces' controlled territory. The situation looked dire.

“So, what's the story, Commander?” Baker asked, turning back to Joral.

Joral leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “The Gra Valkas Empire is making a frightful nuisance of themselves, Captain. They've assembled an armored brigade, approximately 150 tanks, including 36 Wilders, and are attempting to break through our lines at the Malmund Mountains chokepoint.”

He gestured to the map on the wall, pointing to the 12th Infantry Regiment's position. “Lorneau's our last stronghold before the mountains, and we're stretched thin. If we lose this, they'll have a clear run at the rest of Mu.”

“And the front lines?” Brayton asked.

Joral's expression turned grim. “We're a bit thin on the ground, Colonel. The 12th Infantry Regiment is holding the chokepoint, but we've had to resort to hit squads and guerrilla tactics in the mountains to slow the Gra Valkans down. Our artillery support is limited, and we're struggling to keep up with their pace.”

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Brayton’s. “We can't keep this up for much longer, Captain. Intel suggests the GVE will bring in air support soon and have already started bombarding Kilsing with artillery. Between their armor, artillery, and air support, I don’t imagine Kilsing holding for longer than a couple days.”

"Well, as it happens, I may have just the thing - or two."

Joral's eyebrows shot up. "Really, Colonel? Do tell."

Brayton leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Yeah. We've got an infantry company, a ACV platoon, and a platoon of M10 Bookers. Throw in a mortar section and our air support, and we've got ourselves a party."

"I say, Colonel, I'm not entirely au fait with some of those terms," Joral admitted, looking a bit sheepish.

"Right, sorry." Brayton scratched his chin. "Okay, so the Bookers? They're our armor. But better. They can dance with Hounds and Wilders, no problem. And the ACVs are like... well, they're armored transports that can punch above their weight class."

Joral nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. "And what about your air support, Colonel?"

"That's where it gets fun," Brayton grinned. "We've got Venoms for transport, an Osprey that's basically if a plane and a helicopter had a baby, and Vipers – attack helicopters. Now those, those are the real tank killers – quite literally designed to kill tanks, specifically. And any other armored vehicles, or people, though it’d be a bit messy. Your Gra Valkan friends won't know what hit 'em."

Joral leaned in, his voice ironically a little less grim despite the grisly details. "That's all very impressive, Colonel. But how do you suggest we deploy all this?"

The Colonel stood up, walking over to the map on the wall. "Well, that's the beauty of it. We're not here to take over. We're here to back you up. We’ll be focusing on providing support – air, armor, transport – where needed. We've got the fancy toys. You’ve got the men and know the lay of the land. Put 'em together, and we can make life real interesting for the Gra Valkans."

He pointed to various spots on the map as he spoke. "We can use the infantry to shore up your positions or work with your mountain teams. The ACVs can run rapid response or recon. And the Bookers and Vipers? We’ll be able to completely wipe out their armor, no problem.”

Joral joined him at the map, his eyes scanning the terrain. "This could just work, Colonel. Our communication systems are a bit... antiquated, shall we say."

"Yeah, figured as much," Brayton nodded. "Don't sweat it. We brought some extra radios and comm gear. We'll get your guys set up, make sure we're all reading from the same sheet music."

The commander's face broke into a tired smile. "Well, Colonel, this is the first bit of cheering news I've had in weeks, I must say." He paused, his expression serious again, but with hope laced under it. "Now, about your supply needs..."

Brayton opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp knock at the door cut him off.

"Enter," Joral called out.

A young Muan officer burst in, out of breath and wide-eyed. "Sir, urgent word from the front, sir!"

Joral was on his feet in an instant. "Out with it, man. What's the situation?"

The officer swallowed hard. "Sir, the 12th's in a spot of bother. Gra Valkans've broken through their left flank, sir. They're askin' for backup, pronto, or they'll be forced to withdraw, sir."

Brayton looked at Joral, whose face had gone ash-gray.

The commander turned to Baker, his voice tight. "Colonel, I say, can you possibly-"

"Say no more," Brayton cut in. He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, we can send out the Bookers and Vipers soon after; that’ll be our fastest solution – and I say ‘fastest’ lightly.”

Joral's eyes widened. "That could work, by Jove. How soon can they be ready?"

The Colonel grimaced. "That's the catch. The Vipers just touched down not long ago. They need to refuel and run post-flight checks. Can't rush that unless we want 'em falling out of the sky."

"And the Bookers?"

"They're closer to ready, but we still need to top off their tanks and run a quick maintenance check. Don't want 'em breaking down halfway to the front."

Joral's face fell. "How long, Colonel? Time is of the essence."

Baker wasn’t really privy to the logistics side of things from their Air Combat Element, but he could guess at a few things. Their Vipers would be touching down shortly. They'd need refueling, but this backwater airbase didn't exactly have jet fuel on tap. The crews and aviation technicians were already in the midst of assembling what they’d brought with them, but it’d still take time. And diagnostics? In this place? Forget about it. The Bookers were a different story. They could be ready to roll in about an hour, tops. Just needed to top off the tanks, run a quick systems check. But the Vipers... hell, setting up shop here was like trying to run an F1 pit crew in the middle of a corn field. Four hours minimum, and that was if the maintenance boys pulled off a minor miracle. More likely five or six, and that was being optimistic.

Brayton confirmed Baker’s thoughts. "An hour for the Bookers, maybe four for the Vipers. Six tops."

The young officer shifted nervously. "Sir, time's runnin' out for the 12th, sir. They need support ASAP, or they'll be overrun, sir."

Brayton nodded grimly. "I know, kid. But we gotta play the hand we're dealt." He turned back to Joral. "Look, we can get the Bookers moving first. They can at least slow down the Gra Valkans until the Vipers are ready to join the party."

Joral nodded, relief and worry warring on his face. "It'll have to do, I suppose. I just hope your Bookers are as good as you say they are, Colonel."

"Trust me," Brayton said, already heading for the door. "They're better."