Creative Chaos
Alby47
Foster
Atrocious
Hos
Sol Grim
Damycles
Auz
The ride up the old, ill-maintained forest paths of the mountainous hillside was not an easy one, either for the ZRF scout group on their all-terrain jeep (an old Dolsilvec-era donation from back when Zanovia was a Dominion world) or the massive scielto configured into a tank-like walker form. The path winded over gnarled roots and steeping ground, huge portions gouged from dense roots down to thickly packed soil by stray artillery from ZRF and Civil Security alike. Sometimes, they'd need to drive over a massive overturned tree looking as if it was stuck in the throes of agony, body half mulched by some unseen gunfire, all the while twin-rotor-wing VTOL's flew overhead trailed by zig-zagging biomissiles.
On a huge hilly region overlooking the Rhodes Valley they had been steadily advancing higher and higher, nearer to the central line of the enormous natural structure. The higher they climbed, the more they could see past the thick cover of trees. Flashes of light soaring skywards; tracers, shells, missiles and the aircraft that whizzed in their wake, occasionally sparking from a glancing hit or a direct strike, sending out sparks and energy-shield flashes when not bursting into flame for a comet-like descent. The opposing hillside, far on the other side of the valley, flashed with bolts of pink and red whether into the valley or between its shrouded depths. It was no less of a battlefield and based on the sound of sonorous explosions echoing out, shaking the trees of their particular mountain-hill, it was no less of a dangerous position.
"You - mercenaries? Money of scielto and human-settlers not that good nowadays huh?"
The voice was a gargly froth, coming from the mouth of a tarrhaidim trooper as their jeep managed to find space to jostle up by the walking tank. There were roughly six inside - one mountaing a twin-barreled electro-spine machinegun, the others behind its windows that had recently rolled down. Four of them were tarrhaidim, irregular in their bolted-on armor and ballistic padded fatigues, faces covered in strange veiny patterns fluctuating colours and textures as they mimicked whatever vegetation they could see. The one on the gunner spot was a human as was its driver.
Both wore similar armor minus the body-bolting, their faces concealed by darker gas-mask like helmets, their lightly red tinted eyes glaring full throttle ahead... or at their allies. Older edition Intransigence tech, likely from its early days when modified mining and biohazard protection equipment had seen a military makeover.
"Seen many of you, mostly with security-scums. Maybe League bigshot, think this is easy place to rack up our heads and fatten their coffers. You can tell; good tech, good training, but no real hate in heart or lust for the fight. Like their leaders; business-person."
The jeep rumbled on a little further as the roads widened somewhat as did the intermittent flashes against the cloudy sky. Light was beginning to peer through the once grey clouds as if gouged by the anti-air lasers and ether-mortars that had been blasting away non-stop. The trail was no longer ridden with gaping holes or blasted trees; it appeared moderately maintained.
"Not complaint - observation," The tarrhaidim trooper continued. The driver and shotgun-seat passenger were pointing to a few large pushes as they moved the vehicle over, attempting to park it somewhere they could conceal it. "Just curiosity. Maybe we get a few volunteer battalions - Conglomerate, Intransigence - but they do not often last."
As they exited the vehicle, pulling various brushes and vegetation over it, the squad of six looked over to the huge tank and its deadly cargo, spreading out as they motioned not to the trail but the sloping ground it ascended past. There were footsteps notable on the ground but there was no real concern; these were their own and it appeared this was not a small scouting group but a part of something bigger.
The ZRF troopers didn't know that, but these were no mercenaries they were escorting to a rallying point. It was a miracle they had even been able to be assembled on such short notice. The Envenomed were a secretive group, one that chose its own with utmost precision, yet assembling them all in one place was not an easy task, especially one with as many League covert fleets and heavy duty air surveillance as Zanovia.
The mere insistence on using its native name instead of the scielto Artelesia was not just the Intransigence's form of respect to those struggling against colonial rule but also a reminder of their intent. One that was being expressed in a group of six now instructed to dismount and follow.
If there was one thing no doubt on everyone's mind as they advanced on foot, it was how secretive this was. The Envenomed were proffessional, cryptic, their leaders offering the bare minimum. The nature of the work was deeply unpleasant and perhaps it was a mercy its operatives were spared some of the details. Yet this had been even less than that. There had been barely any time to meet-up and get to know their fellow team members before they had been collected from neighboring systems, no real mission information beyond "our contacts will handle that, just follow the locals", and the most of a tidbit they could get was "meet the informant at the rendez-vous location then advance."
At least they'd provided the particular coms-code - something to send out once they were close enough to wherever the informant was hiding. Whoever it was, they had all the information they needed for the mission.
At least it appeared they would have some firepower backing them up. Locals, training and discipline to be determined, and the staging area at least appeared... quiet, about as quiet as it could be with the distant howls of void-artillery and deathly judgement of bolt-tracers ever flashing in the background. The view of the valley as almost hypnotizing as a creeping carpet of small incendiary infernos, flaming dead armor, and the insect-small shapes of large ground vehicles dragging themselves across the distant hell-torn earth.
Up here in the wilderness, the dense foliage tightened and darkened, opposing the scouring hunger of the afternoon sun and almost trying to veil the sight of carnage below. The path squished somewhat under their steps, the soil moist thankfully not with innards and vitals-spray - just good old moisture. The trees here were gnarled and occasioanlly arrogant enough to send their roots across the road, yet it was an otherwise dull hike. At least, until the blocky shape of corrugated metal housing and blocky, tarnished construction greets their sigh through the treeline.
The locals stopped, the lead human raising his fist and crouching as he falls in behind one of the trees. The rest spread out, prone against the roots, scanning the small settlement. A village of some sort, abandoned with the onset of violence in the region. Footsteps are present on its muddy streets but every windows is closed as is every door visible.
"Your contact, he is here. Handler, black ops, turncoat..." The tarrhaidim mused. "You... have some kind of call-sign for him? We had a team was with him... but were told to stay quiet, do not want anyone listening in. We are mere rebels; not fancy off-world mercenaries, so our coms less concealed. We are at fringe of CivSec control... so I am told."
The buildings here look dated, poorly maintained, weathered, but the squad can see along the ridged scrap-metal there's also signs of reinforced tarrhaidim biosynthetic materials. Probably a reinforcement before the conflict reached this part of the country-sector; faint bullet markings can be made out along a few of the structures, deep grooves in the soil likely from heavy boots. There's footsteps but it appears that they all lead to various structures, maybe whoever inside is merely waiting for the coms signal.
"We stay on over-watch. Curious as to what such fancy mercs do... but, would rather not be vanished the next day for being such an inconveience." The tarrhaidim joked, a few chuckles exchanged among the squad... until one of them suddenly snapped their rifle off to the right, following something as his long-barreled weapon shakes a little. He adjusted the scope, his tarrhaidim ocular-clusters notably shifting beneath the fabric covering most of his features.
"Something spooked; probably local vermin. Profile low, shaking leaves. Not our concern. Comrades, you go on ahead, we watch for any unwelcome visitors." The tarrhaidim kept his eyes peeled as the rest sweep around. This close to enemy lines, nobody wants to accidentally even hint at their own presence in the region.
