There is simply nothing to do.

 No single mortal agency can do anything more to stem this tide than is being done, and save from adding the weight of his upper-arm lasers to the point-defence storm 'Masque can do nothing but hug his foxhole and do his best to protect the wounded mercenary protected under his armoured frame, one small part of his mind following the gleaming LED's of the automedic as it makes up its tiny electronic mind on whether the big humanoid will live or die.

 "Hold positions!" he calls out firmly, stemming any possible inclinations that might be cropping up to rush to the aid of the fallen and falling civilians - not for lack of empathy, but in simple acknowledgement of the futility of even trying.

 All that can be done now, is to wait - and shoot.

A full ten minutes pass before the next volley is launched. Robertson reports it in over the radio again, and a few moments later they land.

Again, 25% of them are destroyed in the hurricane winds surrounding the town, and this time Calliandra has no effect on the missiles, all she can do is blast a couple on their way down. Van's missile pods seem to be much more efficient the second time around, and another half of the missiles are destroyed before meeting the covering fire from the platoons. The Demon Horde has begun firing several grenades into the air above them as the missiles come close.

The Salvation Militia holds position and fires at them as they fall, destroying some. Another two soldiers are vaporized when they land.

More civilians are killed, they are now in a mad dash for the church, running for their lives.

Fourth platoon is getting better at blasting down the missiles coming at them. However if these missiles keep up for long, ammunition becomes a problem. The APC only has so many missiles, the demons only have so many grenades...

Payl's condition is stable, but his body is destroyed, and he wont survive out here for long. He remains curled into a fetal position at Silvermasque's leg.

 The ten minutes are enough time for 'Masque to make a few rapid decisions, one eye on the slowly declining life-signs monitor on clamped to the back of Payl's neck, the other on the rather more internal 'threat display' coming in clearly from Calliandra's superior sensors.

 "Only shoot when you are having target boys and girls, they are going to be running out of missiles soon enough!" he advises with rather more confidence than he feels, desperately thankful that the Coalition doesn't seem to have thought of the simple mortar tubes that would slaughter his pitiful force by wholesale lots for a fraction of the price and at no hope of interception.

 Then it's just a matter of plotting the fastest way to evacuate the wounded between barrages, and that of course makes fortunate use of the communication trenches and dugouts that link the bunkers. "Milita report casualties to your commander, Fourth Platoon report casualties to me and in next lull we'll detach close-combat specialists to move them back to medical care!"

Cannon Fodder waits, silently. Watching for missiles to shoot down tho it seems obvious the only possible outcome of this strategy is for all of them to die. The Coalition would not be the dominant military force in the area unless they brought enough missiles to do any job they were assigned multiplie times, this would continue until they were all dead or until the missile launchers of the Coalition where delt with.

Fourth Platoon can only listen to the explosions to guess where they are landing. With the smoke and dust, and without special optics, one cannot see their own hand in front of their face, or even open their eyes.

The Coalition seem to regulate to sending another volley every 10 minutes, with no sign of them letting up. The sun is beginning to set, and the missiles continue. Ammunition is beginning to become a concern.

 It's at times like this that the wisdom of additional bunkers, extra trenches - every additional hole in the dirt comes to the fore. The more you dig, the less you bleed.

 Triggering his direct comlink to the squad, the signal running through the underground cables that were lain at the same time as the trenches were dug and so happily safe from interception, 'Masque gives swift orders... "Bunker commanders, I am releasing two men in each eight-man squad to resupply ammunition and evacuate wounded. One minute after next missile-fall, pull back along main communication trenches and keep heads down. As soon as you are resupplied, reduce counter-fire by stages to simulate shortage, let's see if we can sucker them into giving us some targets. Confirm please."

 As he says this he's already stooping to neatly draw the wounded mercenary beneath him into the protective embrace of his lower arms, ready to make the dash for the nearest group of corpsmen when the time comes.

The strong winds, a result of strong magic do not scare Na-Wa. It is the rain of missiles he can do nothing to stop is what scares him, with that Na-Wa begins to franticly dig into the ground, making his hiding hole deeper.

Feral sits, still a bit restless, but watching the screens for missiles, firing at any that get near the APC if Andy doesn't get them.

The next volley comes in ten minutes, and then the squads dash with the wounded, each with their own way of seeing through the smoke and dust, with optics, or magic. Unfortunately there is no medical facility, so the wounded with serious damage are just teleported back to Tolkeen, and the others are to be attended do by Pluto's medics.

After resupplying from the basement, the squads can return to the lines... just in time for the next volley.

The missiles continue well into the night. Black Andy has nearly used up all of the missiles of the APC, and Cannon Fodder has used almost all of the missiles in his shoulder-mounted battle station.

 Deeper... that's the only real answer to this sort of pounding, dig deeper. Through the volleys, storm after storm of missiles heading in 'Masque moves from bunker to bunker, making a point of keeping peoples heads the hell down and ensuring that the injured are pulled back where possible, and in the process doing what he can to keep up spirits.

 Through the data-link he keeps a rough running total of the incoming fire, and at a minimum of a thousand credits per mini-missile does his best with the hunkered-down soldiery by keeping a running book going of just how much the Coalition seems to think every one of them is worth. Black humour, but the only kind you can share in a foxhole under fire.

The missiles continue until the sun rise the next morning. Explosions every ten minutes for the duration of the night kept most awake, and many killed. Robertson and the radar tower stopped reporting in around 0300 hours. The missiles finally stop around 0730 hours, Major Karno orders everyone to stay put for the next twenty minutes to ensure the barrage is over.

At 0737 hours Calliandra from HQ platoon calls in over the radio "large aircraft is coming in from the east, 37 miles away, traveling at mach 1 at 40 000 feet"

Both the APC and Cannon Fodder are out of missiles, long before the sun rises. But Fodders' radio picked up the incoming craft at the same time that Callie reported it in.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:56, Mon 03 Mar 2008.

"Reading Confirmed, do you want me to fly up in an effort to meet it?"

 Through the night, 'Masque has made an effort to stand people down where possible, resupply where he can - he's had as little sleep as anyone, shared the risks (insofarasmuch as two tonnes of armoured 'borg can 'share' any risk with men in light infantry armour) that the bombardment represents as he's moved from foxhole to foxhole, rebuilding scratch squads and trying to evacuate the wounded whenever the chance arises.

 Then of course, it stops - and that's the cue to start to worrying about what else the Bad Guys might be up to... "Nyet Fodder, not unless mages are being able to make you invisible to radar before you go up. You are tough, da but also very big target, besides, air defence is Van's job!"

Fourth platoon are down two men, Gregorious is dead, and Payl is back in Tolkeen receiving emergency attention. The aircraft comes into sight from teh East, slowing down as it approaches the town. Calliandra can be seen above the town as well, but she is not heading for the craft.

Kutula reports in that his forces are down by eight, and they are ready for anything.

Nilus pulls out an expensive pair of binoculars and tries to get a closer look of the aircraft.

"What is that.... are they going to bomb us...?"

"They wouldn't have gone through all this trouble just to nuke us Nilus. This is likely going to shoot more missiles or unload a bunch of troops on us."

Lotus looks up at Cannon Fodder to see if he is paying attention to her and the others, then she speaks quietly. "Whatever they have in mind I bet 1 000 credits Cannon Fodder will be dead in the next six minutes."

The entire aircraft comes to a sudden halt, and the field dents the hull in several feet. The craft then begins to free fall.

"BIG JET FALL BIG JET FALL!" Feral yells excitedly, "Bad guys get out brother, Feral kill?"

"I'll take that bet."

Lotus glares up at Fodder "Fine with me, but I am taking my money off your corpse."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:07, Thu 13 Mar 2008.

"Why don't we just stay in here and shoot them with lasers and such until such a time it is absolutely necessary to exit the vehicle. Let the militia and townsfolk die first. It is there town after all." Doc looks at his brothers confused expression and smiles. "No Feral we will not jump in right away but when we do we will go together as one. It has been too long brother. We will give them quite a show.

Ferals confuses fades to happiness, or at least as happy as a creature with his features can look, "Brother smart, good plan. Feral shoot laser like game. Bad guys get here. We kill then."

Andy grinned at the brothers. He'd been manning the rest of the weaponry during the missile barrage. After it had ended, he'd snoozed for a bit in the gunnery chair, tipping his hat over his eyes and catching up on the sleep.

Digging himself out of a trench, Dimitri surveys the devastation after the bombardment of the last few hours surprised at the lack of casualties and also at the amount of damage delivered to the buildings around them all. Random carpet bombing didn't seem to be as lethal to the personnel as it was to the environment. Of course, obliterating all the cover would make it much easier to mop up the defenders and if they eliminated every last building it wouldn't really be a town anymore and count as a win for the CS...

Then again, he imagined they were really only here to inflict casualties upon the Coalition and slow them down. If anyone thought they were capable of stopping the CS outright from taking this location they were delusional. Adjusting the Katana at his hip, it seemed the real combat was rapidly approaching.