Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 22nd, Gregorian Calendar
Mr. Stalin leaned in over the holotank, watching the small GMT chronograph in the center. When it rolled over to 13:00:00 he spoke.
"Start the clock."
Screens all over the tac-con center responded; A small digital chronometer appeared in the lower left corner displaying +00:00:00. As everyone watched, breathlessly, the counter rolled over to +00:00:01. Operation Ragnar had officially begun.
Mr. Stalin straightened up, and clasped his hands behind his back, "Issue the 'go' order. All cells are to begin final preparations, and make their move on the hour."
He turned to the technician nearest him, "Contact Retribution. Order a final pre-fire check on all tubes, and have Mr. Utah personally oversee one final readiness drill."
Mr. Stalin inhaled slowly, and allowed himself a rare shadow of a smile. He muttered to himself, in a tone so low that not even the men and women at the console beside him could discern.
"Judgement day."
"They say that, in time, all things burn. But we both know that's not, strictly speaking, true."
Fyrenn's eyes snapped open as the familiar voice wound its way into his ears. He staggered to his feet, squinting groggily at the pale white form.
"What are you doing here?"
Celestia smiled slightly, "Making absolutely sure you understand."
The Alicorn gestured with a hoof as she spoke.
Fyrenn walked up to stand beside her. The Equine was poised at the edge of a large cliff, looking out upon the familiar sight of Canterlot. The vista was marred, however. Fyrenn blinked several times to make sure his vision was clear, before inhaling sharply.
Where once snowcapped mountains, rolling green hills, babbling brooks, and rustling trees had ruled, only bleached sandstone and sun-scorched granite remained.
In every direction, as far as the eye could see, Equestria was a barren, hot, lifeless wasteland.
Fyrenn shook himself, before turning to direct a questioning stare at the Alicorn.
"What is going on here?"
She grinned. The gesture was highly uncharacteristic. Unlike Celestia's usual genuine, warm, inviting smile, the expression was almost predatory. Something Fyrenn had never seen on a Pony muzzle before.
The Alicorn stomped one hoof, and the world abruptly reshaped itself. The sun snuffed out, the sky filled with ominous clouds, and the temperature dropped like a stone. Ice and snow replaced sand and rock, and within an instant Equestria was naught but a single, continuous, infinite glacier.
Celestia spoke, her tone coy. Almost playful.
"We both know that, in time, entropy has its way with even the fires of suns and gods. Darkness takes all."
Fyrenn glared, tensing and allowing a soft growl to escape his throat.
"Who *are* you? I've just about had it with seeing you in my sleeping hours, and---"
GMT: 13:23:12
PDT: 06:23:12
Ragnar: +00:23:12
Fyrenn awoke with a sharp jolt, as the aircraft dropped below supersonic speeds. The maneuver was accompanied by a sharp, short vibration as the airframe adjusted to the sudden change in aerodynamics.
At first, he was disoriented. He maintained a tense, combat-ready position as he forced his eyes to focus on the cabin.
" 'Mornin. Welcome to the wonderful world of Canada. We're landing in two minutes."
Fyrenn relaxed, as his gaze fixed on Carradan. The Pegasus was curled up in the front row of seats, stuffing his face with the lion's share of the aircraft's onboard meal supplies.
The red Gryphon yawned, and stretched, banishing the images of his somnolence to the back of his mind. There would be time enough for considering them later.
"If you take all of the instant coffee, I will drink your blood to get my morning's refreshment instead."
Skye came walking up the aisle, giggling as she intervened.
"Relax. I made you the biggest cup they had before he got to the rest."
Fyrenn took the steaming mug from its place suspended in her magic field. He smiled gratefully, and took a large sip of the scalding hot liquid, speaking only after he had savored the taste for a long moment.
"It's nice to know *some* of my family care."
The Unicorn snorted, "You kidding? I know what you're like early in the morning, and this has nothing to do with altruism.
This is about self preservation."
From his place across the aisle, Kephic responded with a yawn, forcing out the words as he stretched.
"Well if you can't be loved, at least it's nice to be feared."
As he took another long sip from the mug, Fyrenn grunted. He could feel the aircraft descending rapidly under power, and he twisted one ear to listen to the cabin crew, while rotating his head to bring the nearest window into view.
As the plane dipped into a low-hanging layer of rain clouds, the pilot tapped her microphone and spoke with a military controller.
"Vancouver defense control, this is Javelin Tango Seven Victor Two Three Three, requesting priority military clearance, and vectors to the initial at Jericho Beach air station."
"Javelin Tango Seven, please provide authentication codes for entry into controlled airspace."
Fyrenn noted the tell-tale sound of cracking plastic, as the pilot and co-pilot both removed orange hard-shelled containers from chains around their necks, broke open the casing, and removed the thin wafers inside.
The Co-pilot provided his code first.
"First alphanumeric string reads; Alpha one three three juliet two charlie nine five nine five."
The Pilot followed suit.
"Second string reads; Uniform two seven victor nine five golf echo echo."
After a pause, the response came back, just loud enough over the headset for Fyrenn to pick up.
"Authentication has been validated Javelin Tango Seven. Snap to heading one nine three and descend through flight level one hundred before approaching runway twenty one left. Be advised; Escort craft are inbound. Squawk two nine five nine one for Jericho Beach Tower."
Carradan snorted, and rolled his eyes, "What the heck does all that mumbo jumbo mean anyways?"
Fyrenn chuckled, "It's pilot-speak. In short, it means that we're cleared to land in-spite of the security measures, but they're still going to point very big guns at us the whole way down."
Sky winced reflexively, "So if they didn't have the right security clearance?"
Fyrenn shook his head slowly, "They had to use a dual-authentication access code to verify our intentions. It is easier to fire some weapons of mass destruction than to get clearance to pass through a total travel blackout like we just did. The ADIZ is very thin here, and the ground based guns alone could pick off a gnat at ten miles, to say nothing of the patrol fighters. If you blow it delivering a security code at this level, you have less than five seconds to make it right. Or you're ashes."
Varan prevented the grim line of conversation from devolving any further by loudly slamming down a large crate into the aisle.
Kephic popped the magnetic seals, and withdrew a foreleg gauntlet, "Time to get all dressed up for the party."
Fyrenn grinned.
"I love the smell of new kit in the morning."
GMT: 13:24:18
PDT: 06:24:18
Ragnar: +00:24:18
Mr. Utah finished cinching down his chest-plate as he stepped over the knee-knocker, and onto the Retribution's bridge.
Though he did not often don combat protection gear, he drilled with field hardware more than nearly any other member of the cabinet on average. The dull beige nanoceramics he had selected were generally categorized as light armor, usually most suitable for ship crews and battlefield commanders than frontline soldiers.
Unlike the protective gear every other member of the crew wore, Mr. Utah's shoulder plates lacked a military rank emblem. Instead, the curved guard pieces bore the HLF emblem of an upraised red fist, but ringed in a golden cord to signify senior leadership.
Mr. Utah stretched. The bridge was one of only a few compartments on the entire boat that didn't feel as cramped as the rest of the corridors and quarters.
At the front, the helmsman sat in a sunken pit-shaped depression. Above his bevy of consoles, mounted to adjustable arms, was a wide short holoscreen. To its left, and right were thinner, but far taller screens. Together, the three surfaces formed the illusion of a forward swept window.
In the center of the space, a round pedestal, ringed with a railing, offered the captain a place to stand. Directly fore of this protrusion, a holotank was set into the floor.
The railing of the captain's dais was ringed with touchscreens, with the main fore screen functioning as a periscope viewport. Two joystick-like objects on either side of the panel afforded control of the periscope sensors, and of the holotank.
The remainder of the bridge consisted largely of wall-mounted stations for Fire Control, Navigation, LADAR, SONAR, Electronic Warfare, and Communications.
The Captain turned, and gestured to Mr. Utah, "Drill complete. All crew and systems check out. Standing by for your order."
Mr. Utah nodded, and stepped up onto the dais beside the commanding officer, "I've just spoken with Mr. Stalin personally.
Everything is proceeding on-plan."
The Captain nodded, and gestured to the mission clock, which was projected onto a lone screen suspended on an arm above the helm.
"Then we're going live on schedule."
GMT: 13:25:54
PDT: 06:25:54
Ragnar: +00:25:54
Neyla followed the jet black shape as it swooped down out of the cloud bank. Behind the Javelin, two Scythes followed in close formation, weapons doubtless at the ready.
Tirinel raised an eyebrow, as the Javelin swung low towards the runway, "Did they tell you why they were willing to make a security exception for this craft?"
The Gryphoness shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes fixated on the aircraft as it flared, and touched down smoothly. The Scythes remained close behind for a moment, before accelerating up and away with a deafening roar.
"No. They didn't even tell me who we were meeting. Much less why. Just that they were cleared at the highest level, and we were to take them directly to Lantry. They are apparently carrying information too sensitive to be transmitted, even encrypted."
Tirinel grunted, "That does not bode well."
Neyla watched as a quartet of fire suppression trucks peeled out from the taxiways, and took up formation around the Javelin, spraying hundreds of gallons of water at the plane's dimly glowing skin to cool it sufficiently for ground crews to safely approach.
"No. It does not."
As the plane finally reached its turnoff, the fire trucks broke formation, replaced by a pair of escort humvees with flashing orange MP emergency lights, and roof mounted railguns.
The Javelin decelerated as it approached the unloading zone. A large series of protrusions irised open at the rear of the engines, and a steam-like mixture of spent coolant gushed forth.
Finally, the escort vehicles pulled away, and a pair of maintenance trucks accompanied by a special heat-resistant covered airstair, accelerated towards the aircraft.
A loud warning buzzer sounded as the jet came to a complete stop, and the airstair moved in to mount flush to the hatch. When the connection was finally confirmed, the warning bell ceased, and the engines began to spool down.
As the noise level dropped from 'utterly deafening' to 'manageable roar,' the hatch popped open.
The first figure to emerge was the co-pilot. He bounded down the stairs and jogged off towards the head of the maintenance crew to co-ordinate the Javelin's refueling and cooldown cycle.
The next figure, however, left Neyla slightly shocked. The familiar black and white speckled form of Kephic squeezed through the exit aperture, and loped down to the tarmac in two great bounds.
Before the Gryphoness could quite process what was happening, she found herself pushed backwards several feet by the impact of Skye, as she rocketed off the boarding ramp, and into the biggest embrace a little Pony could muster.
"Neyla! It's good to see you again!"
Neyla smiled, and returned the gesture, wrapping both wings around the spirited Unicorn.
"Skye! They didn't tell me who was coming, and---"
Varan interrupted with a small, but affectionate brotherly hug of his own. Normally the golden Gryphon was not given over to emotional displays, but when dealing with those he considered family, a more overt sign of affection was not out of the question.
Before Neyla could gather her wits, she found herself face to face with Kephic, who was grinning like an idiot as he delivered his salutation.
"What is it the Humans say? Long time no see."
Neyla offered him a short, warm hug as well, waving to Carradan as he passed, smirking.
The Pegasus winked as he moved into her peripheral vision, putting on his best infomercial salesman voice.
"But wait! There's more."
The Gryphoness followed Stan's eyes apprehensively as she extricated herself from Kephic. As she took a tentative step towards the bottom of the airstair, a final passenger forced his way out of the cramped exit, and sidled down the ramp.
Neyla's heart skipped a beat. The familiar crimson-on-burgundy swoops of the feathers and fur were absolutely unmistakably Fyrenn's.
For a moment, he seemed completely pre-occupied with avoiding the still-steaming skin of the aircraft, and the backwash of the engine's billowing coolant clouds.
As he passed beyond the safe-line in the pavement, however, his eyes rose.
There was a long moment of relative calm. Fyrenn seemed absolutely frozen as he stared at Neyla, and she likewise seemed unable to completely process the sudden reunion.
The rest of the group tensed, staring as if expecting a hand grenade to go off. Carradan shuffled quietly to the side, placing Kephic and Varan between himself and the other Gryphons.
Tirinel, for his part, merely seemed confused.
Fyrenn was first to break the stalemate. Given the gamut of roiling emotions he was doing his best to suppress, he decided to be as reserved as possible. In spite of his attempts, however, his ears flattened slightly, and the muscles around his wings tensed noticeably.
His tone remained even enough that none of the other Gryphons could detect hints of emotions, but Skye winced as her more acute Equine ears detected a tell-tale nervous waver in the sub-sonic range.
"Well this is an unexpected turn..."
Neyla snorted and glared. Her tone remained even as well, but she allowed an audible measure of her frustration to creep into her words.
"That's one way of putting it."
Tirinel cocked his head several degrees and rumbled deep in his chest, "Have I missed something?"
Without taking her eyes off Fyrenn, Neyla practically spat a response over her shoulder.
"No. Nothing at all. I believe we were just leaving."
As the Gryphoness stretched out her wings, and launched herself abruptly into the air, Carradan whistled.
While Kephic busied himself placing Skye on his back, and Tirinel introduced himself quietly to Varan, Stan loped over to Fyrenn.
The Pegasus whistled, and knit his brow as he spoke in a low tone.
"And you were just warning *me* about toxic situations with the ladies? Physician heal thyself."
Fyrenn glowered, and snapped his beak harshly.
"Enough! The last thing I need is your smarmy commentary to complete my day. I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm carrying information that could spell the end of the status quo as we know it, and now I have to deal with.... *Her!* If you so much as---"
Carradan raised one hoof defensively, wincing and cowering behind the limb, as if it would deflect the Gryphon's sudden outburst.
"Ok ok! Geez! I was just trying to lighten the mood..."
As the Pegasus trotted off, spreading his wings in preparation for joining Kephic in the air, he snorted, and cast his own glare back at Fyrenn.
"You *really* need a love life."
Fyrenn hissed, and lunged forward several meters, prompting Carradan to yelp, and flap his wings furiously to escape.
As the rest of the group made its way aloft, Tirinel moved to stand beside the red Gryphon, tilting his head to glance down at him with one gargantuan eye.
"You and Neyla have... History?"
Fyrenn sighed, hooding his eyes, flattening his ears, and lowering his head in frustration.
"Oh, You have *no* idea..."
GMT: 13:45:00
PDT: 06:45:00
Ragnar: +00:45:00
Sub-basement level 12 of the Earthgov Vancouver complex was mostly given over to storage spaces. Giant five hundred square foot elevators ran from the surface loading bays, down directly into the earth-quake proof vaults.
Container SVDC-51975 had arrived from the port, and immediately been offloaded onto one of the elevators. Despite the container's nondescript markings, empty manifest, and unusual size, it had not even been inspected before being ferried down into the concrete bowels of the building.
Its diplomatic status, denoted by the orange stripes on the doors and sides, was word of law in the most literal sense possible.
For several hours, SVDC-51975 had lain completely unattended, with only a dozen other generic storage units for company within the lightless, nearly-airless storage space.
As the clock rolled over to 06:45:00 am PDT, however, a small blue light began to blink on and off in quick succession.
At 06:45:05 am, the vault filled with the hiss and clank of a magnetic seal disengaging.
For a moment, stillness once again descended on the room.
Had any guards been posted to the space, however, at 06:45:10 am, they would have watched in dumbstruck horror, as a metallic hand firmly gripped the crate's door and pushed it steadily open. From the inside.
GMT: 13:56:12
PDT: 06:56:12
Ragnar: +00:56:12
General Lantry steepled his fingers, and leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he retained absolute silence, pressing his digits to his lips in thought.
He inhaled slowly, and leaned forward. The tension in the room was nearly unbearable.
Fyrenn, Kephic, and Skye had just finished recounting their tale. The three together with Varan, Neyla, Carradan, General Lantry, and several other JRSF commanders of various species, were gathered around a huge granite conference table.
The Vancouver facility was filled with rooms that did not yet have much cause to be used, and Lantry had immediately commandeered one upon their arrival. Grasping the importance of the situation swiftly, the General had actually excused himself directly from a series of high level talks in order to hear what the group had to say.
Lantry pointed one finger sternly at Fyrenn.
"I want you to repeat for me, word for word, what this 'Inside Joke' told you she found. In her exact terms."
Fyrenn nodded curtly, "She said, and quote, 'The HLF is planning to unleash an attack so devastating, that HLF and Changeling forces on both Earth, and Equestria, are being ordered to take shelter as if from an immense landquake. They call the plan 'Ragnar,' and they mean to destroy every high level Human and Equine leader within a span of minutes.' "
Lantry sat for several more moments in absolute silence, before slamming his fist unexpectedly into the table. He grit his teeth, and murmured.
"What the hell are they playing at..."
Kephic raised a claw, "General; With respect? It doesn't matter what they are 'playing at.' "
Varan nodded, chiming in before Lantry could object.
"I concur. We know the attack will be great in scale. We can reasonably assume that both of the Ruling Alicorns will be targeted, as well as your governing Council."
Fyrenn added his assent swiftly.
"Right. The only option we have, for the good of Celestia, Luna, the Council, and anyone else who might end up as collateral damage, is to evacuate them. Now."
Tirinel rumbled deep in his chest, "Aye. Scatter them to the four winds, and let none but their closest protectors know where they are bound."
Skye grinned, "The attack won't come if they can't knock down all the dominoes at once."
There was a moment's silence, after which Lantry stood, and straightened his uniform jacket, "I agree as well. I'll take steps to prepare the VIPs for evacuation. I want everyone in this room to break up into fire-teams and prepare to act as escort. No one else is to know your purpose, and you are not to speak of this to another living soul until the all-clear is sounded."
GMT: 13:57:50
EST: 10:57:50
Ragnar: +00:57:50
Hutch jolted in his seat as the lights blinked out. The sound of the building's electrical grids discharging was the only noise left to fill the eerie calm, punctuated by the morning rays of the Equestrian sun peeking through the Barrier, and into the window.
The General paused, glancing up at the ceiling tensely, before rising and heading towards the office door.
As Hutch reached the portal, and stepped through to behold the confused faces of Fort Hamilton's remaining skeleton staff, the lights began to flicker back on, accompanied by the thrum of the emergency generator.
Hutch stood stock still for a moment, then pointed up at the ceiling, glaring at the nearest technician.
"Find out what that was. Now."
As the man stood, Hutch placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"And... Put the building on status yellow. Tactical ready positions. I don't much like this."
GMT: 13:59:03
PDT: 06:59:03
Ragnar: +00:59:03
Fyrenn glanced up at the glass and steel swoop of the roof appreciatively. The chamber was not entirely unlike the one he had stood in years before, when Earthgov's Northamerizone facility was housed in Harrisburg Pennsylvania.
As the group, headed by Lantry, moved towards the center of the room, he fixed his gaze on Celestia.
The Solar Monarch was standing in the center of the chamber, having clearly just begun some sort of prepared address.
A low murmur rippled through the assembled Counselors as the Alicorn's words trailed off. The elected Speaker rose from his position behind a central podium, glaring, and spoke with a harsh clip.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Lantry held up both hands for silence, "Your Highness... Councilors... We have just received highly credible intelligence that suggests your lives are in imminent danger, and the security of the city has been compromised."
A series of gasps, grunts, and sharp inhalations circled the room.
The General stepped up to stand beside Celestia, "The JRSF has assembled a series of fire-teams, and preparations are underway to evacuate you all to undisclosed safe-houses. I need you to leave your seats in an orderly fashion and establish two lines by the door."
Tirinel nodded, and projected his words with a cavernous and reverberating tone, "Fire team leaders will meet each pair of you at the exit, and escort you out of the city according to their own sealed orders. Please begin immediately."
After a mercifully brief pause, there was a universal rustling of clothing, seat fabric, and low murmurs, as the Council began to act on the ominous instructions.
Celestia stepped down from the podium, and made her way over to the remainder of the group. She fixed Fyrenn with a questioning stare.
"What is happening here Fyrenn?"
The red Gryphon sighed, "I wish we were reuniting under better circumstances. We don't have time to go into details now, but we've discovered a plot to assassinate you, your sister, and every member of the Earthgov ruling council."
Kephic raised a claw before the Alicorn could speak, "We've already spoken with your sister. She has been forewarned to the best of our knowledge and abilities."
Varan nodded, adding his thoughts swiftly.
"Right now, the most important priority is that we get you out of the city as quickly and quietly as possible. Every second you are here you endanger yourself, and the lives of everyone in Vancouver."
Lantry stepped up behind the Alicorn, and spoke to the group at large, gesturing expansively, "I want you six, and myself, to comprise Her Majesty's escort team."
Fyrenn and Neyla both moved to raise their claws in protest, but Lantry cut them off with a glare.
"I know I can't really force you to work together but please, for the love of Patton, shove whatever childish and moronic problems you're having way down to the toes of your back paws. You're the best soldiers we have, and the crux of this thing will probably fall to you in the clutch. Act like it. For my sanity's sake."
Before anyone else could speak, there was a chilling rumble. The ground shook, the supports for the ceiling groaned, and a series of sharp, short, explosions rocked the morning air.
Fyrenn tensed, partially spreading both wings reflexively, "That can't possibly be good."
GMT: 14:00:02
PDT: 07:00:02
Ragnar: +01:00:02
Mr. Utah nodded once as the hour rolled over.
The Retribution's captain turned to face the fore of the bridge, crossing both hands behind his back.
"Engine room, disengage heat-sinks and dampers. EM restrictions lifted; Drop silent running. Helm, bring us around thirty degrees to port and get us out from under our friend. Ahead two thirds and rise to surface combat depth."
The helmsman nodded, and began to violently twist the controls at his station, "Three-zero degrees port, ahead two thirds flank, plot for launch depth after clearing the cargo ship, aye."
The Captain glanced up at the ceiling as he thumbed the inter-ship comm control, "All hands to action stations. Combat condition red."
An insistent alarm klaxon began to ring out through every bulkhead, and the room's lighting dropped to a dull shade of ochre.
"Torpedo room, ready on tubes one and two. Fire control, spin up missiles one through forty. Release first-stage hatch locks and free the targeting systems to begin selecting impact zones."
The Fire Control officer leaned back in his seat and repeated the orders as he worked, "Torpedo room acknowledges. Missiles one thru forty are hot-loaded and first-stage lift-locks are released. Sir; Please insert your command key and turn it on my count."
The Captain nodded, and withdrew a small data chip from a chain around his neck. He placed the object into a slot on his forward console, under Mr. Utah's watchful eye.
"Sir? We're ready."
Mr. Utah nodded curtly, "I authorize the strike at time zero seven hundred. Code: Jackson Seven Six A-T One A Two."
The Fire control officer inhaled sharply, "In three, two, one. Fire control released."
The captain turned his key simultaneously, and there was a resounding clunk, as the safety interlocks on the boat's weapons came free.
8703 North Drayton Street suddenly erupted into a flurry of activity.
Several neighbors stopped to watch, bound by curiosity, as uniformed men rushed from the house, and surrounded the enormous shipping container in the drive.
Several of the men began to unlock the crate, while five broke away and began walking towards the onlookers.
One of the neighbors, who had lived directly across the street for almost a decade, raised his hand in greeting, "Hey! Sorry, we're just curios to see---"
His sentence ended abruptly as the armored men raised their assault rifles.
Before the small gaggle of civilian men and women had time to even process the deadly turn events had taken, the sound of automatic RAC fire shattered the morning suburban calm. Twelve dead bodies dropped to the street simultaneously in an expanding pool of blood.
No sooner had the corpses fallen, than there was a resounding CLANG, as the sides of the container fell away to reveal the enormous device within.
One of the armored men broke from the group, and scrambled up towards a control seat, mounted on a movable arm and nested amongst a series of consoles.
He raised his fist with a grin and shouted, "HUMANUS PRO VITA!"
The Armored men below ripped off their Niose Security shoulder guards to reveal red HLF mission patches. As one, they returned the call, "TO VICTORY FOR HUMANITY!"
The technician gestured down to one of his comrades, who held a datapad in both hands.
"Start the generator."
The man obliged by tapping two keys, and deep within the machine formerly contained by the crate, a fusion powered engine roared to life.
The operator thumbed two joysticks expertly. His control seat pivoted up and out, as the machine simultaneously deployed a series of footpads, and locked its wheels.
"Deployment complete! Activating Warheads!"
The entire rear half of the vehicle split open to reveal an immense quad of octagonal prisms. The end of each object bristled with dozens of gleaming missile tips. Each firing tube was mounted on a gimbal, all of which were in turn mounted on a central movable arm.
The technician began tapping away at his consoles, "Send me the target packets."
The man on the ground with the DaTab nodded, "Transmitting."
The technician grinned, and flicked up the hat switch on his joystick.
"Chew on this Celesthulu."
GMT: 14:00:03
PDT: 07:00:03
Ragnar: +01:00:03
The surface of Vancouver's harbor was an uncharacteristically smooth, glasslike surface, as the gray morning dawned.
The city's security lockdown meant that nothing besides the Blue Ridge's SWCC boats were allowed to so much as move.
Suddenly, the mirroresque surface was disturbed by an uncanny ripple.
The boiling bulge expanded, slowly revealing a dark black swooping metallic shape. A conning tower finally emerged, dark obsidian against the steel sky. On the right side, a blood-red human fist.
As the Retribution charged forward into the center of the harbor, a series of interlocking square hatches behind the conning tower began to fly open, one by one.
Inside each was a quad of glittering warheads.
The Helmsman glanced back over his shoulder, "We're in position!"
The Fire control officer tapped several keys on his screen, "Firing solution locked! Ready!"
The Captain raised his fist in salute, and practically shouted to the fire control officer.
"Loose tubes one through forty! Fire all torpedos!"
Mr. Utah smiled, as the tell-tale 'kawoosh' of missiles being unleashed reverberated throughout the ship over. And over. And over.
"Captain! I'm getting a reading I can't properly source..."
Sorven pushed her cap back, and took her feet off the console. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she darted across the Blue Ridge CIC to join the captain in looking over the LADAR operator's shoulder.
The screen displayed a bevy of numerics and graphs that made no sense to Sorven, all the while emitting an annoying two-tone that seemed to be increasing in frequency gradually.
At last, the Captain understood. He stiffened, and gripped the console so fiercely, his knuckles turned white.
"SOUND GENERAL QUARTERS! BRACE FOR IMPACT! HELM, BRING US TO FLANK SPEED AND TAKE EVASIVE---"
And suddenly, Sorven's world erupted into shattered glass, smoke, light, and sound.
"Grimorum one, Grimorum two; I am tracking two sensor anomalies closing at your eleven high."
The Pilot of the Scythe juked his stick left, rolling the high performance aircraft to try and get a visual confirmation of what his LADAR was telling him.
"Roger Grimorum two, I'm seeing the same reading but I can't confi--"
The transmission cut to static nearly as swiftly as it had begun. The Pilot of Grimorum Two barely had time to scream out a request for assistance into his headset, and observe the fireball his wingman had abruptly become, before the same fate befell him.
As the screams of the pilot's panicked last moment died out into radio snow, a pair of dark gray YF-23 aircraft screamed between the two fireballs. Their tails stamped with a red upraised fist.
An encrypted transmission passed between the two craft, as the pilots began to retarget their remaining missiles onto the unsuspecting security VTOLs below.
"Ghost one, target down. Proceeding to mop-up."
"Ghost two, target down. Alpha Mike Foxtrot."
To the HLF invasion force, Vancouver was a stationary, completely undefended target.
The JRSF's first indication of contact came as the captain of the Blue Ridge realized that the carrier was being targeted by incoming torpedoes and missiles. By the time the man had discovered the truth, however, it was too late.
A dozen warheads streaked down from their low apex, and impacted directly onto the upper deck. Aircraft, fuel lines, and warhead trucks produced secondary detonations that left the entire usable takeoff and landing portions of the deck scarred and blown to pieces.
Gaping, smoking, flaming holes opened onto the hangar deck below, leaving the ship's delicate innards completely exposed.
Simultaneously, the Retribution's two torpedoes slammed into the ship just below the water garage. The resulting detonation incapacitated the facility, and propelled several pieces of large shrapnel all the way through the hull, and out the other side.
Alarms began to sound, and waterproof bulkheads dropped in over twenty sections to try and stem the inward gush of seawater.
Several of Retribution's missiles continued to arc up into the sky, apexing nearly half a mile above the city. The dozen warheads found their way swiftly towards the main Airport, Maglev Terminals, and shipping piers
The city's automated aerial defense turrets responded. The sleek gray angular railgun nests burst forth from concealed hatches under highway overpasses, on top of buildings, and in the sides of government or military structures.
The sky above Vancouver suddenly lit up with millions of rounds of tracer fire, accentuated by dozens of missile trails.
But the defensive measures were severely outmatched.
The turrets had been designed to stop incoming large railgun rounds, and warheads from external sources. The HLF's attack ordinance was being fired from within a mile of the turrets' zone of influence, and each warhead was splitting into dozens of smaller, but lethal packages at their apex.
Even the sophisticated Earthgov military AI could not keep pace.
Retribution turned, and deployed its two railguns to fire on the Blue Ridge. As the submarine cut a sliding turn across the harbor, it launched a second barrage of missiles, which was joined almost instantly by a massive wave of warheads from the mobile launcher to the north-east.
Within the span of thirty seconds, and thanks in part to the two YF-23s that had snuck in underneath the city's LADAR, every single flying Earthgov defense object, whether Plane, drone, or VTOL, was a smoking wreck plummeting from the sky.
Within another ten seconds, volley upon volley of warheads had impacted every conceivable travel terminal in the city.
Hundreds died as the roof of Pacific Central Station exploded inwards in a shower of glass and steel and fiery sparks.
Aircraft nestled into their hangars at the civilian air terminal, The Water Harbor airfield, and Jericho Beach alike, detonated into sequential pyres, taking anyone who was within a hundred yards with them.
A few missiles specifically made it their mission to plow directly into the runways, and the tarmacs, eliminating every conventional space in the city that a fixed-wing aircraft could use for arrival or departure.
One warhead even redirected to impact a large tanker near the mouth of the harbor, resulting in an immense fuel detonation that cast all the vessels, friendly, enemy, and neutral, in a blood red light for several seconds.
VTOLs scrambled from their pads, but the second and third volleys from the mobile launcher cut them down before they could even crest the rooftops of the surrounding structures.
Exhausting their entire supply of warheads inside of a minute, both Retribution and the Mobile launcher finally spent the rest of their munitions targeting the defense railguns, support struts for the main road overpasses, and sections of the main maglev lines.
As smoke poured from the Blue Ridge, the Port, The Air Terminals, and hundreds of other structures in the city, an air-raid siren finally began to sound, punctuated by the screech of the twin YF-23's as they circled around to begin firing on ground positions.
For Vancouver, Ragnar dawned with the sun, just as the myth of old predicted.
In smoke, and blood, and fire.
GMT: 14:00:04
PDT: 07:00:04
Ragnar: +01:00:04
The peace of the San Francisco morning evaporated like dew in a cacophony of falling bricks and shattering mortar.
At first, onlookers through a strut from a robotic crane had accidentally taken out part of a wall in the construction site. But observant passers-by swiftly realized that the distinctive cylindrical shape was far more in the vein of war machine, than lifting equipment.
Delivered to the HLF by one of Earthgov's infiltrated contractors, the L-RAC mobile artillery had been stripped of all security measures that would have normally prevented it from firing without proper authorization.
At the behest of the two cackling men inside, who had approached the site unchallenged in their construction vests, the main turret swung outwards. The metal cylinder collapsed one of the four brick walls that had concealed the vehicle, ever since Mr. Utah had arranged for it to be shipped there under the guise of construction equipment.
Onlookers stood in stiff horror, unable to muster even the will to scream, as the immense weapon spoke.
The cacophonous roar of the discharge shattered windows throughout the bay area. Car alarms and home security systems went wild. Anyone within two hundred yards collapsed to the street screaming, ears bleeding as the delicate inner mechanisms ruptured violently from the pressure wave.
A stream of rounds flew from the twin muzzles of the artillery piece, shaking the ground as if the San Andreas fault had awoken on the wrong side of the bed. Each round had been carefully pre-aimed to fall on a transit installation, military structure, guard post, or warehouse.
The initial round of targets had been carefully planned and re-planned for nearly a year.
Before the residents of San Francisco quite knew what had happened, over eighty percent of the military personnel in a fifty mile radius were dead, or dying, and their equipment lay in smoldering ruins.
Inside the L-RAC, the gunner chuckled, and pulled back from his scope.
"Hey... You know they didn't specifically say what to hit with the second volley..."
The Pilot grinned like a fox, and pointed towards an icon on the holomap, "I have a target in mind. Assuming you don't mind killing a whole bunch of sun worshipping freaks."
As the turret swung around, and the computer began to re-calculate firing arcs, the gunner whistled, "Yeah. That'll leave a mark no one will forget."
GMT: 14:00:05
EST: 10:00:05
Ragnar: +01:00:05
Hutch drummed his fingers on the center console incessantly, a none-too-subtle sign of his nervous impatience.
At last, one of the technicians raised her head from the cluster of monitors, "Sir? I think you should take a look at this."
The General darted around the side of the console, to behold a screen full of gibberish.
"What exactly am I looking at?"
The technician shrugged, "Gibberish, sir. The whole battle net just went down. For us anyways. I can't even access the base AI."
Hutch's brow furrowed, "Chuck's down?"
The woman nodded, "Down, and out."
The General loosened the strap on his side-arm.
"Alright. That's it. I'm declaring a hostile situation, and---"
His sentence was truncated by a low rumble, followed swiftly by a series of alarms. As Hutch tensed, and prepared to fire off his next round of orders, however, an insidious tell-tale hiss filled the air.
The General exhaled sharply, and clutched the collar of his jacket to his nose.
"Gas. Fantastic. Could it possibly get any worse?"
"Oh absolutely General."
Hutch whirled to bring the source of the voice into view. What he saw didn't initially register with his brain, reducing his response to a confused glare.
The owner of the voice grinned, "I do so love a good surprise party. Today? I'm throwing one for your funeral. Humanus Pro Vita."
Hutch felt the blood in his veins chill as he realized the implications of the words, combined with the speaker himself.
He moved one hand towards his pistol. It was the last move he made before his body abruptly accelerated backwards, propelled by a green scaly blur, and punched a ragged hole in the reinforced steel wall.
As Klarien stepped towards the prone form, admiring his handiwork, he chuckled deep in his chest. Wisps of noxious puce colored smoke spilled over his teeth as he shook with mirth.
"Surprise."