The Lieutenant shook her head, bringing her eyes up to meet the man's, "It's clear Major." she answered, her hands folded behind her back and her spine held straight. The theory was simple enough. With luck and hope it would stay that way when the plan became reality.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:27, Fri 27 Aug 2010.

"No questions, Major." stated the Primus company's Captain.

Maradus nodded gravely. "Then deploy your units. And may the Pancreator guide your path to victory."

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play.php?a=28766

The Brother Battle Captain and his lieutenants each saluted the Major with fists to chests and bowed heads. The Major returned their salute with serious formality. Master Claudius offered a grave nod.

The assembled officers turned and dispersed from the War Room, heading briskly out of the rectory and emerging from the cathedral back to the outer grounds. Their pace quickened as they marched toward the gathered Brother Battle platoons of the Primus company, whose troops stood stoic and ready out on the north expanse of the grounds.

Men looked up from their activities as the officers strode past, watching with silent admiration and envy as their Brothers proceeded to form up for deployment.

Lieutenant Eduardo de Aragon found her Manifest Light platoon waiting at attention, her sergeant standing at the ready before them, prepared to follow her lead.

The Primus' lieutenants fanned out and joined their platoons, directing their troops sharply into tight phalanx formation. Tersely shouted commands echoed distantly across the grounds. The Brothers snapped erect, swiveled on their heels to face the Captain, and stamped their feet in unison signaling their readiness.

The Captain drew his sword and raised it high. "Kotei lo ra'ciin!" he shouted to the assembled company in ancient De Moleyan.

"Kotei lo ra'ciin!" answered the Brothers in unison. Our lives for glory.

The Captain turned about-face and pointed his sword ahead. "Exorior!" he ordered sharply.

The unit began marching forward behind the Captain at his command, moving as a single, synchronized body. At their flanks, troops of the Telum company and others raised their swords in silent salute to those departing on the mission. Able and wounded alike watched in solemn regard as their Brothers marched steadily out of the cathedral grounds, into the fading red light cast on their armored backs by the setting sun.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:49, Sun 12 Sept 2010.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play.php?a=28768

The hour passed quietly as the strike unit marched steadily out of the city, becoming smaller and smaller in the distance until their faint metallic speck finally disappeared into the northern mountains. The sun sank lower beneath the horizon, its dim red glow gradually receding until the last remaining traces of daylight faded completely from the world. Night fell darkly on the cathedral grounds, no glow from the new moon to light the blackness beyond their lanterns. The sky's only illumination was the gently shining glint of the stars.

The evening was peaceful for those out on watch. The warm yellow glow shining through from the cathedral's tall windows cast bright arched patches upon the shadowed grounds. The faint muffled chorus of a nighttime choir eased the tedium of soldiers standing guard in the cold night. Brothers returning from rest came to relieve comrades from their posts, exchanging friendly words as they changed shifts.

Around the perimeter, wounded troops received care from the few medics and theurgists, while earnest companions lent aid where they could. Members of support crews volunteered to share others' workloads. Able men assisted with setting up batteries. Here and there, an Engineer instructed a few troopers in reassembling mounted weapons or repairing damaged machinery. People helped each other. All shared the burden of their tasks together. There was a oneness among the varied ranks and units that transcended military occupations and divisions. Here, in their brotherhood, was the Pancreator's grace revealed. Here, in their camaraderie and friendship, was the spirit of the Holy Flame.

Nearby, Oblate Randwulfe noticed one of the medics tending a victim of severe gouge-wounds, who was struggling uncontrollably, making it difficult for the medic to treat his injuries. He recognized the wounded trooper - Brother Jarel, an Apprentice in his platoon. Jarel was twisting and groaning, shouting at the medic repeatedly. He appeared to be alarmed by the physick's disquieting appearance; the man was a cyborg with a long, clawed tentacle replacing his left arm and cybernetic optics dominating the upper half of his face. Jarel, in his delirium, had apparently mistaken the medic for a Symbiot, and was frantically resisting his attempts to stabilize him.

"Heh, boy's sure puttin' up a fuss, ain't he." muttered one of the nearby auxiliary troops to his mates, several of whom were recovering from injuries.

"Can't say as I blame him." replied another. "That medic gives me the creeps."

"Tell me about it." chimed in a third. "With that slithery tentacle of his..."

"And those eyes!" added yet another, mimicking the bulky cyber-optics with his hands around his eyes like binoculars. "That chrome-head ain't human."

"Soul-dead, more like." added one of the others, wrapped in gauze and bandages, who received nods of agreement from his companions. "How 'bout you, Devan?" he called to one of the other troops, who was sitting silently nearby, cleaning out a rifle. "What do you make of that cyber-creep?"

Devan did not respond, continuing to clean his firearm.

"Yo, Dev'!" the other soldier called again. "Whaddaya think of that freak, Darian, eh? Is he Avestite-bait or what?"

Again, Devan gave no reply.

"Dev...?" the other persisted.

Another moment passed in silence.

"He fixed you up, didn't he?" replied Devan finally, not bothering to look at the other man as he cleaned his weapon.

The other's expression fell suddenly, and he looked back in Darian's direction with a twinge of guilt in his eyes. After a quiet moment, he let out a resigned sigh and nodded. "Yeah..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:06, Sun 12 Sept 2010.

He understood the men's concerns and fears. His own theological knowledge said that this medic should indeed be Soul-Dead. A pathetic and tragic creature who had debased his flesh and smothered his Inner Flame with steel and technology.

Still, he was apparently a swift and accomplished physician. Certain tolerances could be observed on the front. He moved to the cyborg attending Apprentice Jarel and knelt beside him, trying to meet the gaze of the injured Brother.

"Apprentice Jarel, don't fight this ... man ... He's tending to your wounds. You have nothing to fear, you're surrounded by your own men. He's a medic of some apparent skill so let him work or you'll be no good to the order or the Pan Creator if you're not on the frontline with us."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:43, Wed 16 Apr 2008.

Ivan struggled with the resisting soldier.  Even injured and near death, most of the men here were more than a match for the slight-of-frame medic in physical terms.  And of course, his 'training' didn't cover this particular aspect of treatment.  It was hardly the first time he had gotten this reaction, of course.  Largely useless instructions from his think machine scrolled by in his mind.


CORRECTION:
Injection point: x=+.31 y=-.17 z=+3.14
Suggest that patient remain still.
CORRECTION:
Injection point: x=+1.62 y=+4.73 z=+.27
Suggest that patient remain still.
CORRECTION:
Injection point: x=-5.01 y=-2.91 z=-3.91
Suggest that patient remain still.


Darian largely ignored the messages as he aimed his needle for the indicated spot.  "As your physcian...I must recommend...keeping still." he said through grunts.

When Oblate Randwulfe approached, one of Ivan's eyes spiraled to a new focus on the Brother Battle soldier.  "The patient is non-cooperative." he stated unnecessarily, and turned his attention back to Jarel.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:45, Wed 16 Apr 2008.

Jarel continued to struggle, twisting and gasping for breath. "G-g...get it off me! No! Nooo!"

"Put yourself in his position Physik, he's been fighting Symbiots, he's injured and someone who's almost more metal than man is tending to him. Deal with his wounds, I'll calm him...."

He fixed Jarel's gaze as best he could and clasped one of his hands in his;

"Apprentice Jarel, you know me; Oblate Randwulfe. Pray with me, Brother. You're in safe hands here, I'd not let harm come to you. Watch me and remember your teachings..."

If snapping Jarel into a more Brotherly mindset didn't work then sheer physical power would have to suffice; but best to try and calm the soul first to allow the medic time to tend the flesh.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:47, Sun 20 Apr 2008.

Jarel's senses seemed to clear slightly as the Oblate held his hand and spoke to him. "R-...Randwulfe?..." His breathing slowed a little as he cast his gaze about him. "I..."

For the first time, it seemed, he realized his situation as he looked down on his mauled body - and the medic tending his wounds. He winced in both pain and understanding, and his panic gradually gave way to weary sobriety. "Forgive me, Brother... Mine eyes didst not see aright..."

The correction message stopped scrolling by Ivan's vision, and he was able to make the necessary injection.  In moments Jarel's wounds were tended.  "With rest your wounds should heal within weeks.  Avoid heavy exertion, and notify a medic if you feel your health declining." he advised mechanically.

Private Darian then turned to Randwulfe.  "I thank you for your assistance, Oblate." he said, with less emotion than one might expect.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:00, Tue 22 Apr 2008.

"Yes Jarel, it is I. Hold still, let the medic work on you."

He watched the medic working and felt distinctly uneasy around the cyborg. Such a creature he wasn't used to.

Checking the insignia the medic wore, Randwulfe nodded;

"Thank you for tending to a Brother's wounds, Private."
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:20, Tue 22 Apr 2008.

Jarel nodded with weary gratitude in response to Darian's instructions, and said no more.

"Darian," came a voice behind the medic. It was one of the privates in his platoon - one of only two besides himself that hadn't suffered any injuries. "Serg' is callin' us to meet." He jerked his head in one direction and hurried off with several other troops.

Darian nodded formally to Randwulfe, then turned and headed off in the indicated direction.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:59, Thu 24 Apr 2008.

At the Tectum company's command post, the active members of Darian's platoon assembled before their sergeant - all eleven of them. The rest of the platoon's survivors were crippled or incapacitated, and had been relieved from duty to be tended in the cathedral's infirmary. Besides the sergeant and himself, Darian counted two able men and eight wounded - each of them having been tended by him personally. The men stood at attention, some with bandages wrapped around their arms and torsos, others with less obvious injuries. Ash-smeared faces and dirty uniforms were their common features.

Nearby, the other two Tectum platoons could be seen reporting to their own sergeants with similarly reduced numbers. Darian estimated the entire Tectum company to be fewer than fifty active men combined now. Ahead, the Ferrum company's platoons were also seen assembling - and they looked not much larger than a hundred themselves. It was rare that the full extent of a regiment's casualties were brought so sharply into focus. Of all the companies in the second battalion, only the Sententia had avoided suffering such grievous losses - and even they hadn't remained completely unscathed from what Darian had observed.

"At ease, men." said the Brother Battle sergeant finally. The troops slumped visibly, several still exhausted from the earlier battle.

"As you are all aware, the Tectum has taken serious losses today. As such, our platoons lack the necessary resources to continue operating independently."

Some of the men cursed under their breath. They knew what was coming.

"Effective immediately, the Tectum's platoons will be merging with those of the Ferrum company. Our platoon will be supplementing the Ferrum's third. You will report to Sergeant Erendos first, and myself second. I expect each of you to show him the same respect you have given me."

The sergeant let out a silent breath, his chest and shoulders sinking. His face revealed more than his tone. Slowly his gaze panned over the faces of his men, meeting each of their eyes from one to the next. His eyes met Darian's last. Then he nodded very slightly to all of them. "Dismissed."

The men muttered amongst one another as they departed to report to their new sergeant. An unfamiliar superior in an unfamiliar platoon.

"Whole goddamned company absorbed..." mumbled one to his mates.

"So much for the Tectum..." answered another.

Their voices trailed off.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:53, Sun 28 Dec 2008.

Though his emotions were as unreadable as ever, Darian did not share his platoon-mates' disappointment.  Transfer to another company meant improved chances of getting to the front.  And that meant better chances for collecting samples.

He altered a few small files in his think machine which reminded him of who he reported to, and other such military details that tended just to distract him from his work.

He followed the others out after they were dismissed, already forming plans for future experiements.

"One moment, Private." said the sergeant as Darian turned to leave.

The sergeant produced an envelope from his robes and handed it to him. Upon opening it, Darian found a formal Certificate of Promotion written to his name.

"In recognition of loyal service and commendable performance of duties, you are hereby being promoted to Private First Class. You can purchase your stripe at any time from the quartermaster."

The certificate cited Darian's new rank and benefits, and was authorized by the Captain's signature.

"As PFC, you will be issued medical instruments and supplies beyond your previous quota. You are now salaried at Level Two and are assigned personal quarters. Congratulations, Private."

It would be the last staffing command the sergeant would issue under his previous supervisory capacity.

A tiny hint of a smile appeared at the edges of Darian's lips.  A subtle display of emotion by most standards, but far more than he usually exhibited.  "Thank you, Sergeant.  I shall do my best to live up to your expectations."  His tone was formal, but sincere.

New instruments?! the medic thought to himself with excitement. Personal quarters?!  The situation is certainly improving!  He quickly fed this information into his think machine, and set it to determining the optimal suite of supplies and equipment.  Former experiment plans were updated to include additional equipment, and more importantly the privacy of his own quarters.

The hint of a smile became even less subtle as the projects advised by his think machine rolled across his vision.  "It has been a pleasure and an honor working with you, Sergeant," he added, realizing belatedly he should not show too much eagerness at a moment when the rest of the company was so unhappy.  He forced his expression back to a completely neutral one (an unobservant viewer could easily have missed the change), saluted, and waited to be dismissed.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:33, Wed 30 Apr 2008.

The sergeant returned Darian's salute, holding the gesture for a quiet moment. Then he released it and nodded silently.

Darian returned the nod, then headed off to find his new personal quarters.
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:12, Thu 01 May 2008.

Music: http://www.onmvoice.com/play.php?a=28769

The evening drew on peacefully as the night watch conducted their routines, the bell-tower tolling with each passing hour. Patrols marched quietly by on their rounds while lookouts scanned the darkness from their parapets and sentries stood silent guard at their posts. Here and there a few technical crews worked on repairing artillery as gunners made idle chat amongst one another. All the while, the muted reverberation of organs and the faint resonant tenors and baritones of the Brother Battle's choir emanated from within the cathedral, comforting those out on duty.

Inside the cathedral, the wounded were tended in the infirmary while those off duty took their rest in the barracks. Some of the auxiliary troops played cards, others passed time telling jokes and reminiscing about life back home.

Out on the grounds, Randwulfe watched as the patrols came and went, marching by with steady regularity. No incidents were reported. All was well.

Nearby, Apprentice Theodore was conversing with one of the Manifest Light's Eskatonic theurgists, talking of the similarities and differences between their two sects' theologies. Some of the other Brothers in Randwulfe's platoon gossiped amongst themselves to relieve the tedium.

"Heard thou," said one Oblate to another, "Master Panard of Byzantium Secundus didst save the Temple of Vladimir on Tarsus from disbandment. The Archbishop hath finally retracted all charges of heresy levied 'gainst them."

"In truth," replied the other with surprise, "Panard is a worthy successor. A mere four years as Master, and already such progress. It doth speak most well of him."

"Aye." agreed the first. "Wouldst that he hath such success in the petition to lift the Decree of Exclusion from the Order, that the temple might recruit once again on Byzantium as in centuries past."

"Indeed." replied the other with a lamenting sigh.

Elsewhere, some of the gunners and artillery men spoke of more pressing matters.

"The entire company, absorbed?"

"Aye, the Tectum is no more. Didst thou not see their remnants assembled hours past? Three platoons, and yet numbering scarcely one between them."

"And what of the Ferrum? Didst they lose so many as well?"

"Fewer, but many, aye. A third of their number dead or wounded."

"'Tis a heavy blow. Wouldst that our Brothers out yonder fair better..."

"Needs must we pray that they do, Brother."

They each turned their gaze east toward the Istal mountains, which they could scarcely see in the pitch-black night.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:10, Sun 12 Sept 2010.

Spending a little time listening to the men around him and the reassuring choral voices from inside, Randwulfe understood their fears but didn't understand much of the politics the Church was involved with; a simple soul, he didn't yet have the experience of such matters to make decisions or even opinions.

Approaching Apprentice Theodore, he waited for a lull in the conversation to interject;

"Apprentice Theodore, the day finds you well I see? An interesting and enlightening conversation you are engaged in it would seem?"

He smiled politely to the Eskatonic; curious sect as they may have been, Randwulfe was certainly curious as to their more learned viewpoints on such matters as the Symbiots and on Theurgy.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:45, Fri 09 May 2008.

Theodore turned to Randwulfe with a slightly sheepish smile.

"Uh, yes, Brother..." he admitted with a faint blush, lowering his eyes in an attempt to conceal his apparent fascination with the Eskatonic Order's philosophies. He cleared his throat a little with obvious embarrassment.

"That is, uh... The Eskaton is a most, um..."

A beat.

"A most...curious faith, in truth."

He raised his eyes and smiled nervously to his superior and friend.

The Eskatonic theurgist merely smiled knowingly.

Meanwhile, inside the cathedral's war room, Master Claudius consulted with his majors and intelligence officers as they analyzed the enemy's movements on the holo-grid.

"What is the enemy's present position?" Claudius inquired as he studied the grid with a pensive frown.

"Coming up on display now, General." replied one of the officers as a nearby Engineer entered data into the holo-grid's console.

On the grid, a large red dot was blinking at the north end of a trajectory-line tracking up the east side of a long canyon running north-and-south along the east coast. With a few punched in entries from the console operator, the dot shifted several inches north on the grid, with a flashing trajectory-segment trailing behind it to mark its progression from its previous position.

"They are proceeding north on the coast as we anticipated." observed Major Maradus.

Claudius' expression remained cast in a dour, contemplative frown, his brow creased tight and eyes narrowed in introspection. "How long before they reach the ravine?" he asked without taking his eyes off the grid.

The console operator punched in some quick commands and relayed the results to the officer standing over him.

"Estimated to arrive within twenty minutes, sir." reported the officer.

"And the strike unit?" asked Claudius.

The officer conferred once more with the operator and then nodded. "Ten minutes from the interception point."

"The unit will be in position for attack before the enemy reaches the delta." said Maradus with distinct satisfaction in his voice.

Claudius remained silent for a drawn moment. He scratched his chin methodically as he studied the grid through his slitted gaze.

"Captain Ludovicus," he said at last, turning finally from the grid to address the Eskatonic intelligence officer, who had been standing quietly by as the others discussed their thoughts, "what are your observations?"

Master Claudius had his own intelligence officers in the Brother Battle, and they were most capable. But as a general, Claudius never settled for capable. He wanted the best. And there were no better authorities on Symbiot methods and tactics than the renowned hero and savant theurgist, Captain Ludovicus Juandaastas of the Manifest Light's elite intelligence division. And that was why Claudius had requested the Manifest Light to station him here, at the Darmak Cathedral, to lead intelligence operations and provide consultation on strategic offensives. His insights were often more reliable than those of his best Brother Battle tacticians, and he had come to trust his input implicitly over the past few months of his assignment at the cathedral.

From where he stood Ludovicus too observed the grid. When asked his opinion he turned to Master Claudius and answered, "The Pancreator's Light seems to have blinded the enemy, General, and we know how bright that Light is... But perhaps I am too cynical...? That is, all of this seems too convenient. I know Darmak's men are quite good, but that the enemy has A. not yet noticed their detection, and/or B. proceeded precisely along the route predicted, is somewhat unsettling. Of course, it is indeed entirely possible that they are unaware that we are aware of them, but some part of me is concerned. I wonder if it might not be possible that while our attention is focused upon them, the enemy is moving on us elsewhere. OR that our strike force are themselves marching into a trap?"

Bowing his head slightly, he went on, "It may well be entirely unnecessary, but it seems to me that we ought to be prepared for all options to the best of our capacity, no? I suggest readying a reserve unit to support the strike force, should they need it."

"But, of course, I do not voice anything that anyone present has not already considered, and I am sure that the Pancreator will see us through whatever is to come."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:18, Wed 14 May 2008.

Claudius took a moment to consider Ludovicus' words, scratching his chin slightly as he turned to ponder the holo-grid once more.

"Your suspicions accent my own, Captain." he said with a grim edge to his voice. "Indeed, it does seem too...convenient..."

"Perhaps in their haste, our enemies have failed to detect our hidden scouts?" offered Major Maradus. "Their cavalry has not paused to search their surroundings since they began their push for the coast."

"Yes," replied Claudius pensively, "that is just what disturbs me."

Across from the others, Major Terias evaluated the grid's trajectory-lines closely. After a moment of consideration he remarked, "Their topmost priority, it would seem, is speed. The success of their attack depends on their passing through the ravine before they can be intercepted - and on reaching the starport before the northern perimeter can reposition defenses."

"Even so," said Claudius, crossing his arms behind his back as he surveyed the grid, "once detected, the prospects for such a maneuver's success are unlikely. Our forces are in a far better position to reach the ravine before theirs, even with their faster speed. It is a risky gamble they are taking."

"Evidently they have underestimated our speed of recovery from their last attack." ventured Maradus. "To commence an assault on the starport mere hours after striking the cathedral suggests the first attack was meant to weaken our forces - impairing our ability to respond to their main thrust. They likely didn't expect us to dare an intercept with such little forewarning and so few forces to spare."

"That may be," granted Claudius, "but since we have, and they have continued their course despite our actions, there are only two possibilities. Either they are unaware of our movements, or they are prepared for them. And Symbiots are not easily caught unaware."

Claudius' gaze bore through the holo-grid intensely, as if scouring the display for answers. Meanwhile both majors considered the general's words quietly. Their concern, though unspoken, grew steadily more apparent.

After a moment of contemplation, Maradus responded, "If there is a trap waiting for them, what could it be? Our forces still control the regions between Darmak and Sylan."

"The ravine itself, perhaps?" suggested Terias. "The Symbiots are well-known for using terrain to their advantage, especially at night."

"But that would require their already occupying the ravine prior to this maneuver." countered Maradus. "And our reconnaissance teams have confirmed that is not the case. Even if they have laid some sort of hidden traps, would not the Manifest Light's scryers and theurgists detect them in advance, along with any lurking Symbiots?"

Each of them turned their eyes to Ludovicus expectantly.