25th July 1981
High above the Eastern Equatoria, better known as British India, a wing of five small aircraft was heading southeast, under the cover of falling darkness. They were some strange aircraft indeed; they lacked any proper wings, and their pitch-black hulls bore no markings. A short stream of varied-frequency, highly encrypted data, sent by the Delhi Air Defense hit the lead aircraft and the aircraft answered with a modulated laser beam, in a similarly brief fashion. Their presence was known to the British Royal Air Force, but that knowledge was restricted to only those who absolutely needed to know. Hence, the aircrafts were flying high and fast, avoiding high-definition, short-range radars whenever possible. Their advanced stealth capabilities ensured that to other forms of detection, including British long-range radars and satellites, they were like ghosts.
Still, they lacked the speed of space planes. It's already been several hours since they've left their highly secret base on the outskirts of Thebes. However, they seemed to share a similar, if much smaller, VTOL transport craft configuration. A heavily armed transport craft. With a surprisingly spacious troop compartment, despite all the weapons and armor, like a bumblebee which is far too heavy to fly on its minuscule wings and yet it does.
Each craft was carrying two squads, eight troopers each, clad in tar-black suits of light carapace armor and armed with weapons of the likes not yet seen in the Egyptian force.
"After a consideration," said an emotionless female voice, addressing a trooper who was sitting right opposite to her. "If you're still dissatisfied with the standard-issue underwear I could borrow you that one-piece I procured."
"It's not of... immediate importance now," answered the other female, as dead-serious as the first, and almost identical in every other detail, only lacking her sargeant insignia.
"However," continued the sargeant, "Measurements are required first to ascertain if it would fit."
"Measurements? This is not necessary since we all... match..." The female trooper stopped to speak as she noticed all the remaining fourteen pairs of disturbingly glowing red eyes looking at her. Red eyes and doll-like, perfect faces with black lips and half-length black hair.
"Is that a joke sargeant," inquired the trooper, slightly furrowing her brow. A few half-smiles appeared here and there, just as artificial-looking as trooper's expression.
"Impossible. We are incapable of sense of humour."
Normally, Egyptian clones had an aura of fatalism, certain zombie-likeness about them. These units were different. While they were almost as machine-like as JENs, if not as physically imposing, they were indulging in varied, uncomfortably human-like activity. Some were reading books. Some seemed to be daydreaming. A couple of them were playing chess. Paradoxically, it made the whole situation look deeply disturbing with the illusion of near-humanity with only tiny details missing. Like proper facial expressions. Body language. And the fact how doll-like they looked, despite being almost fully organic. This was yet another illusion, though. While not as overtly and obviously augmented as the French or Japanese cybertroopers, the RUNE project was a departure from the pure flesh none the less. And despite classical (if albino) and perfect Egyptian faces of the clones, it was creeping humans out more than any other clone project to date. Those few humans that knew about it, at least.
"Crossing over the shoreline of Jaipur Bay," came a voice from the cockpit. The pilot was also a RUNE, not a human like it was normally the case with all kinds of military specialists. "Dropping to minimum altitude."
Few more hours passed, as the aircraft were travelling slower, a mere ten metres above the Indian Ocean, heading straight south-east. Their target was becoming clear now, the Newland, a huge Japanese island sitting at the opposite side of the Southern Hemisphere than the cradle of their civilization. A island dominated by the metropolis of Nagasaki and so far untouched by the war, which was happening thousands of miles away. The closest possible danger was the string of British undersea cities, occupying the Great Indian Rift, however they still were pretty far away and no obvious British military activity seemed to be happening there since the start of the war.
Despite this calmness, a wing of mere five aircraft was extremely vulnerable, should it be spotted. Even if the huge Japanese strategic radar station situated on an island north of Nagasaki, the last known such station after the Miyoshi one was destroyed a month ago, used to monitor a vast swathe of the Indian and Icy Oceans, was no threat to stealth planes, however the Japanese weren't known for leaving their borders unguarded.
"Approaching point Blue. Seven hundred kilometres to the target. Switching to silent running mode."
The airplanes cut their jet engines, but against all logic, they didn't fall into the sea. Even after lowering their speed to a mere hundred kilometres per hour, they kept perfect formation just a few metres above the sea level.
"Antigravitic drive output stable. Switch completed."
Now they were almost invisible. Even a stealth aircraft produces a radar image of a small bird and can be spotted since birds do not travel with speeds into hundred of knots. However, it was not the case here. The long winter night protected them from prying eyes, and even their heat emissions were negligible, as the cell-powered antigravitic drive was much more efficient than a jet or a combustion engine.
Inside one of the guard bunkers, surrounding the Nagasaki radar, three Japanese conscripts, with shaved heads and wearing white arctic fatigues, were playing cards. The comfortable warmth of air conditioning and green haze of perimeter defense displays created an ambience of tranquility, for which the soldiers had another name: boredom. The electronic clock was showing 5:36 AM.
"This is pointless," suddenly said the oldest of them, a slightly obese man in his early 30s.
"What? You wanna fold, Keito?" asked the second soldier, tall, broad-shouldered and with a demeanor of someone less than sharp.
"I hope he does Jungo!" half-smiled the smallest of them, with a rat-like face. "I have d*cks for cards."
"No, I mean, our situation. If the Egyptians attack with their pods, what could we do? Shoot them with our triple A's?"
"You idiot," said the small man, his smile instantly gone. "Do you want to be shot for cowardice?"
"I'm not a coward, Kim! I'm just saying we're exposed here and with just a battalion to defend this station. The Izumi Clan surely could equip us better. I guess they're too cheap for that. Not even Nagasaki has proper defences, no modern weapons just conscripts like us. I have a family there."
"Who can judge what the Clan people think?" said Jungo in a philosophical tone. "They're building ships and planes for nation's defence, it must be more important."
"Yeah," added Kim. "You do smell like coward, Keito. The Brits are unlikely to move anytime soon after that thrashing we gave their fleet in May. And if they dare, we're going to beat them again. The Egyptians? Izumis said they won't risk an attack on our island since it's too far from their bases. If they do? We might be just ordinary men, but their clones are stupid, we have the wits and human ingenuity on our side. And don't say crap about the lack of modern weapons, there is a whole brigade of Land Warriors stationed in the city, and a platoon here. On top of that, we have the Izumi Clan Warriors who are one of the best in Japan."
"Those guys creep me out, they don't talk, they preach."
"As they should creep out a coward like you."
"Stop calling me a coward! I will die for my land and family if need be. It's just, hell, Kyoto, Nagoya, Edo... all had far better defences, and what?"
"Don't say you believe these rumors," said Jungo in a concilatory tone. "It can't be that the Egyptians took all these cities. Maybe a couple of them, at most, but our forces will reclaim them, just like they reclaimed Umi Hiroshima."
"No need to panic, Keito," said Kim with a sardonic smile. "In all likeness, we won't be attacked at all. And if we do, we will..." He never finished the sentence, as the perimeter monitors suddenly turned red and a klaxon started to wail.
"Crap!" shouted Keito, before rushing to the comm console. "This is Lieutnant Kimura, guards, report!" All he could hear was heavy static, though. The cameras were showing only white noise. "What the... Jungo, take a look outside!"
"I guess it cannot be helped," murmured the large man, grabbing his rifle and dropping his NV goggles over his eyes. His fatal mistake was not to glance through the visor out onto the winding staircase, that linked the bunker with the surface exit into a trench, before opening the door. There was a thumping sound and some extremely brutal force threw his body backwards, blood and flesh fragments spewing from three gaping holes in his torso before he landed on the card table, breaking it with his weight. Whatever hit him, found little resistance in his body or kevlar armor and impacted onto the back wall, showering the room with grains of crushed concrete. Before the two remaining soldiers had a chance to ponder on this, though, a superconductive grenade landed in the middle of their little fortress, its loops breaking and discharging superenergetic arcs of electricity, instantly frying men and machines alike to blackened, smoking husks.
The guards stationed in the SE corner of the facility had the best chance to defend themselves, as they were in the middle of nightly exercises, which meant their AA emplacements were at almost full readiness, even though the first and only warning they got was a barrage of blinding-white EMP detonations that lit up the black sky over the whole compound. Nobody could tell what the black planes were or where they came from, but their intentions were obviously hostile, as a brief barrage of cluster munitions followed the EMPs. The Japanese opened up with remaining autocannons, sending long streams of tracer projectiles into the night, a last-ditch effort for sure, but it was the mainstay of what the under-defended facility had.
Suddenly, human shapes started to drop from the aircrafts, paying no heed to the fifteen metres that separated them from the ground or the speed of their transports which guaranteed messy death upon impacting with the snowed concrete. The defenders diverted some of their firepower to those new enemies, but even more surprisingly, the airborne troops responded from mid-air with accurate fire of their small arms. Even more unfairly, these small arms were punching right through armored shields of Japanese autocannons. Obviously no-one of these conscripts heard of the new Egyptian railguns or grav-chutes that were able to change a suicidal jump into a fully controlled descent. When the invaders' boots impacted upon the ground, mere seconds later, the defending platoon was reduced to a dozen or so men hiding in trenches and bunkers. A short and brutal fight followed. Before the main defending force fully mobilized, the invaders were boarding their plane again. A nearby military garrison was notified, but the first streaks of drop-pods crossing the skies indicated that the relief force would soon have much more pressing matters on their hands than helping the besieged radar station.
No existing airplane could reasonably land on the top of 20-story radar building, all the wires and low-hanging, rotating dish too much of a hazard even for VTOL's and helicopters. Yet a pair of antigravitic Egyptian Black Talons was already sitting on that roof, their occupants dispersing and starting to plant first demolition charges. The leading RUNE moved to the edge of the roof, overseeing the damage being done all across the sprawling compound.
"Omega and Zeta Teams reporting. The SE strongpoint cleared. One dead, three wounded."
"Omega and Zeta, move to our position. Kappa and Lambda, make a faux attack at the object-1 main entrance. Epsilon, attack the power station. Fi, ambush any reinforcements rushing there from the barracks area."
"Lieutnant," said another RUNE, approaching the commander. "Enemy Land Warriors spotted on the bottom floors. Attack pattern?"
"Alpha, Beta, Gamma, advance toward the underground command and control, do not lose time fighting aboveground. We need to destroy the Land Warriors before they realize our main attack comes from above. Omega and Zeta will follow us and set boobytraps in our wake that should take care of most of the stragglers."
"What about Delta."
"Rapel down to floor 7, Eastern Wall, sleeping quarters. Do not kill everyone, allow them to call for help. Ambush the reinforcements coming up the straircase 3."
"Affirmative."
The eight RUNEs of Delta Team jumped off the edge of the roof, their grav-chutes breaking their fall at the height of the seventh floor. The windows were protected by metal shutters. They wasted no time for planting explosives, one of the clones simply shot out the bolts with her rail pistol, while another one grabbed the metal cover and pried it open by sheer force, her augmented muscles briefly doubling in volume from the sheer strain. Frag grenades were thrown and the rooms quickly became awash with blood and the screams of mutilated personnel, mostly civilian. Another window was shot out to provide a side point of entry for the squad. As predicted, the soldiers rushing up the staircase were simply too slow and ran into an ambush. They wore suits of modern carapace armor, covered with ablative layers to dissipate laser beams, but against crossfire of RUNEs personal railguns they were as effective as thick paper. The Japanese officer ordered a retreat before the losses mounted too high, leaving a staircase covered with corpses, severed limbs and a few wounded, whose screams were only drowned with detonations of missiles, fired by the Japanese to dislodge the clones. Those however have already retreated as well. Their mission was already a success. The enemy force had been further splintered.
The furious cacophony of miniguns and grenade blasts stopped. The Japanese commander knew what that meant - the Land Warriors forming the last line of defence were defeated. All that remained was the nervous centre of the facility, the war room. Which was soon to become a war room in more meaning than one.
"Was the Nagasaki Command notified?" he asked a young female NCO.
"Yes Sir! We were finally able to punch through jamming with a modulated laser beam, and..."
"We will be avenged then. Soldiers of the Empire! Command your souls to Haruhi. This is our last stand. Kill as many as you can! We will show those murderous Egyptian bastards how a true Japanese dies!"
Most of his "soldiers", despite wearing uniforms were hardly worthy of that name. Arrayed behind tables and machinery, pointing their guns at the only door to the war room, they were mostly female comm technicians, aided by few Airforce officers, Ground Forces conscripts and Land Warriors who were able to retreat here before the door had to be shut.
A sudden explosion rocked the room, blowing the heavy metal door out of its hinges, maiming and deafening many defenders, covering the room with stinging smoke. A brief period of silence, then grenades and missiles followed, then bursts of railgun fire, making a mockery of the impromptu barricades. Still, the staff responded with exceptional bravery, firing blindly with a few rifles and handguns. It of course meant they exposed their positions to the infrared-sensitive eyes of the clones. Swift retribution followed, then finally the commander seen his enemies, lithe shapes in black armor, bursting into the room.
He ignored the pain in his shrapnel-ridden leg and quickly limped around a bank of smoking servers to attack from the side. He spotted a pair of... he wasn't sure if they were humans or clones, they were female but definitely smaller and better armored than all-too-familiar JENs. He didn't care. He blasted the closer one with his laspistol, the enemy trooper taking multiple hits and stumbling backwards, she was obviously damaged, out of combat for a while but not quite dead yet. The other one he couldn't shoot, the laspistol already overheated, so he attempted an overhead slash with his katana, the sharp Samurai blade coming straight at her masked face.
The clone's reactions, however, were superhuman. She simply grabbed the blade with her armored glove and turned her wrist, the sharp but fragile sword breaking in half. Her other hand shoot forward, bludgeoning commander's chest with a butt of her rail pistol. The force of impact broke his ribs and sent him crashing into a computer console. The RUNE followed with a stomping kick that crushed officer's underbelly before he had a chance to react.
Fighting with excruciating pain and encroaching darkness, he grabbed his last resort weapon, a gun he almost never used. The ancestry of that 0.5 cal autopistol could be proudly traced back to the late 1700s, it first belonged to one of commander's ancestors, a tanker, who, for his exceptional performance in the brief Japano-Russian war was raised to the lower echelons of the Izumi clan, where the family remained ever since.
The commander raised the relic weapon and, screaming in defiance, blasted away into the chest of that ultra-modern Egyptian mockery of a human being. The carapace armor, of course, deflected the bullets with ease, but a human would still be stunned by sheer kinetic force of the attack. The clone didn't seem to mind. Her layers of dense muscle cushioned the blow, and there was no respite for the Japanese commander. The age of pistols and tanks, like the age of bows, was already a thing of the past. Another stomp broke commander's weapon arm, blood spraying and bone piercing the skin. The old soldier slumped onto the floor.
Through the corner of his eye, he noticed the battle was over, nobody was fighting back anymore. The Egyptian invaders were quickly and precisely finishing off the wounded. The young, talented NCO who managed to send warning to Nagasaki Command, was crawling through the rubble, tears of pain and despair rolling down her cheeks, her short uniform skirt hiked, her both legs a bloody mess. One of the black armored figures approached, grabbed girl's hair and pulled her up, before inserting a combat knife into the nape of her neck, severing her spine. A quick, clean, cold kill.
"You... won't even waste ammo... on us... you bastards..." managed the commander, before his own nemesis delivered the final kick that broke his face and skull.
Mere twenty-five minutes after the assault started, the Nagasaki Radar Station was only a pile of rubble. Most of the clones have already boarded their Black Talons. Only a handful of them still remained, including the leader, observing streaks of drop-pods on the southern sky.
"Humans being a mere support for clones," said one of the troopers. "I don't think it ever happened before, Bunnyhops."
Addressing a commanding officer by an informal name was a thing downright outrageous in any army. But the clone leader didn't seem to mind. After all, they were all the same.
"They will disrupt local defences, cut transport lines and generate general chaos. Then they will die."
The others nodded slightly.
"There is not enough of them. It is a suicide mission."
"It seems that the humans are able to sacrifice themselves for the unity of the planet like we do. Soon, there will be our turn. Are all the dead and equipment gathered?"
"Affirmative. The witnesses were eliminated as well."
"Board the plane."
The clones nodded again. There was no need to say anything more. They knew everything that they needed.
As the sun slowly rose from its slumber, the Armageddon Rain continued to fall. Over the smoldering ruins of the radar station, the sound of the morning breeze was the only thing that broke silence.
High above the Eastern Equatoria, better known as British India, a wing of five small aircraft was heading southeast, under the cover of falling darkness. They were some strange aircraft indeed; they lacked any proper wings, and their pitch-black hulls bore no markings. A short stream of varied-frequency, highly encrypted data, sent by the Delhi Air Defense hit the lead aircraft and the aircraft answered with a modulated laser beam, in a similarly brief fashion. Their presence was known to the British Royal Air Force, but that knowledge was restricted to only those who absolutely needed to know. Hence, the aircrafts were flying high and fast, avoiding high-definition, short-range radars whenever possible. Their advanced stealth capabilities ensured that to other forms of detection, including British long-range radars and satellites, they were like ghosts.
Still, they lacked the speed of space planes. It's already been several hours since they've left their highly secret base on the outskirts of Thebes. However, they seemed to share a similar, if much smaller, VTOL transport craft configuration. A heavily armed transport craft. With a surprisingly spacious troop compartment, despite all the weapons and armor, like a bumblebee which is far too heavy to fly on its minuscule wings and yet it does.
Each craft was carrying two squads, eight troopers each, clad in tar-black suits of light carapace armor and armed with weapons of the likes not yet seen in the Egyptian force.
"After a consideration," said an emotionless female voice, addressing a trooper who was sitting right opposite to her. "If you're still dissatisfied with the standard-issue underwear I could borrow you that one-piece I procured."
"It's not of... immediate importance now," answered the other female, as dead-serious as the first, and almost identical in every other detail, only lacking her sargeant insignia.
"However," continued the sargeant, "Measurements are required first to ascertain if it would fit."
"Measurements? This is not necessary since we all... match..." The female trooper stopped to speak as she noticed all the remaining fourteen pairs of disturbingly glowing red eyes looking at her. Red eyes and doll-like, perfect faces with black lips and half-length black hair.
"Is that a joke sargeant," inquired the trooper, slightly furrowing her brow. A few half-smiles appeared here and there, just as artificial-looking as trooper's expression.
"Impossible. We are incapable of sense of humour."
Normally, Egyptian clones had an aura of fatalism, certain zombie-likeness about them. These units were different. While they were almost as machine-like as JENs, if not as physically imposing, they were indulging in varied, uncomfortably human-like activity. Some were reading books. Some seemed to be daydreaming. A couple of them were playing chess. Paradoxically, it made the whole situation look deeply disturbing with the illusion of near-humanity with only tiny details missing. Like proper facial expressions. Body language. And the fact how doll-like they looked, despite being almost fully organic. This was yet another illusion, though. While not as overtly and obviously augmented as the French or Japanese cybertroopers, the RUNE project was a departure from the pure flesh none the less. And despite classical (if albino) and perfect Egyptian faces of the clones, it was creeping humans out more than any other clone project to date. Those few humans that knew about it, at least.
"Crossing over the shoreline of Jaipur Bay," came a voice from the cockpit. The pilot was also a RUNE, not a human like it was normally the case with all kinds of military specialists. "Dropping to minimum altitude."
Few more hours passed, as the aircraft were travelling slower, a mere ten metres above the Indian Ocean, heading straight south-east. Their target was becoming clear now, the Newland, a huge Japanese island sitting at the opposite side of the Southern Hemisphere than the cradle of their civilization. A island dominated by the metropolis of Nagasaki and so far untouched by the war, which was happening thousands of miles away. The closest possible danger was the string of British undersea cities, occupying the Great Indian Rift, however they still were pretty far away and no obvious British military activity seemed to be happening there since the start of the war.
Despite this calmness, a wing of mere five aircraft was extremely vulnerable, should it be spotted. Even if the huge Japanese strategic radar station situated on an island north of Nagasaki, the last known such station after the Miyoshi one was destroyed a month ago, used to monitor a vast swathe of the Indian and Icy Oceans, was no threat to stealth planes, however the Japanese weren't known for leaving their borders unguarded.
"Approaching point Blue. Seven hundred kilometres to the target. Switching to silent running mode."
The airplanes cut their jet engines, but against all logic, they didn't fall into the sea. Even after lowering their speed to a mere hundred kilometres per hour, they kept perfect formation just a few metres above the sea level.
"Antigravitic drive output stable. Switch completed."
Now they were almost invisible. Even a stealth aircraft produces a radar image of a small bird and can be spotted since birds do not travel with speeds into hundred of knots. However, it was not the case here. The long winter night protected them from prying eyes, and even their heat emissions were negligible, as the cell-powered antigravitic drive was much more efficient than a jet or a combustion engine.
Inside one of the guard bunkers, surrounding the Nagasaki radar, three Japanese conscripts, with shaved heads and wearing white arctic fatigues, were playing cards. The comfortable warmth of air conditioning and green haze of perimeter defense displays created an ambience of tranquility, for which the soldiers had another name: boredom. The electronic clock was showing 5:36 AM.
"This is pointless," suddenly said the oldest of them, a slightly obese man in his early 30s.
"What? You wanna fold, Keito?" asked the second soldier, tall, broad-shouldered and with a demeanor of someone less than sharp.
"I hope he does Jungo!" half-smiled the smallest of them, with a rat-like face. "I have d*cks for cards."
"No, I mean, our situation. If the Egyptians attack with their pods, what could we do? Shoot them with our triple A's?"
"You idiot," said the small man, his smile instantly gone. "Do you want to be shot for cowardice?"
"I'm not a coward, Kim! I'm just saying we're exposed here and with just a battalion to defend this station. The Izumi Clan surely could equip us better. I guess they're too cheap for that. Not even Nagasaki has proper defences, no modern weapons just conscripts like us. I have a family there."
"Who can judge what the Clan people think?" said Jungo in a philosophical tone. "They're building ships and planes for nation's defence, it must be more important."
"Yeah," added Kim. "You do smell like coward, Keito. The Brits are unlikely to move anytime soon after that thrashing we gave their fleet in May. And if they dare, we're going to beat them again. The Egyptians? Izumis said they won't risk an attack on our island since it's too far from their bases. If they do? We might be just ordinary men, but their clones are stupid, we have the wits and human ingenuity on our side. And don't say crap about the lack of modern weapons, there is a whole brigade of Land Warriors stationed in the city, and a platoon here. On top of that, we have the Izumi Clan Warriors who are one of the best in Japan."
"Those guys creep me out, they don't talk, they preach."
"As they should creep out a coward like you."
"Stop calling me a coward! I will die for my land and family if need be. It's just, hell, Kyoto, Nagoya, Edo... all had far better defences, and what?"
"Don't say you believe these rumors," said Jungo in a concilatory tone. "It can't be that the Egyptians took all these cities. Maybe a couple of them, at most, but our forces will reclaim them, just like they reclaimed Umi Hiroshima."
"No need to panic, Keito," said Kim with a sardonic smile. "In all likeness, we won't be attacked at all. And if we do, we will..." He never finished the sentence, as the perimeter monitors suddenly turned red and a klaxon started to wail.
"Crap!" shouted Keito, before rushing to the comm console. "This is Lieutnant Kimura, guards, report!" All he could hear was heavy static, though. The cameras were showing only white noise. "What the... Jungo, take a look outside!"
"I guess it cannot be helped," murmured the large man, grabbing his rifle and dropping his NV goggles over his eyes. His fatal mistake was not to glance through the visor out onto the winding staircase, that linked the bunker with the surface exit into a trench, before opening the door. There was a thumping sound and some extremely brutal force threw his body backwards, blood and flesh fragments spewing from three gaping holes in his torso before he landed on the card table, breaking it with his weight. Whatever hit him, found little resistance in his body or kevlar armor and impacted onto the back wall, showering the room with grains of crushed concrete. Before the two remaining soldiers had a chance to ponder on this, though, a superconductive grenade landed in the middle of their little fortress, its loops breaking and discharging superenergetic arcs of electricity, instantly frying men and machines alike to blackened, smoking husks.
The guards stationed in the SE corner of the facility had the best chance to defend themselves, as they were in the middle of nightly exercises, which meant their AA emplacements were at almost full readiness, even though the first and only warning they got was a barrage of blinding-white EMP detonations that lit up the black sky over the whole compound. Nobody could tell what the black planes were or where they came from, but their intentions were obviously hostile, as a brief barrage of cluster munitions followed the EMPs. The Japanese opened up with remaining autocannons, sending long streams of tracer projectiles into the night, a last-ditch effort for sure, but it was the mainstay of what the under-defended facility had.
Suddenly, human shapes started to drop from the aircrafts, paying no heed to the fifteen metres that separated them from the ground or the speed of their transports which guaranteed messy death upon impacting with the snowed concrete. The defenders diverted some of their firepower to those new enemies, but even more surprisingly, the airborne troops responded from mid-air with accurate fire of their small arms. Even more unfairly, these small arms were punching right through armored shields of Japanese autocannons. Obviously no-one of these conscripts heard of the new Egyptian railguns or grav-chutes that were able to change a suicidal jump into a fully controlled descent. When the invaders' boots impacted upon the ground, mere seconds later, the defending platoon was reduced to a dozen or so men hiding in trenches and bunkers. A short and brutal fight followed. Before the main defending force fully mobilized, the invaders were boarding their plane again. A nearby military garrison was notified, but the first streaks of drop-pods crossing the skies indicated that the relief force would soon have much more pressing matters on their hands than helping the besieged radar station.
No existing airplane could reasonably land on the top of 20-story radar building, all the wires and low-hanging, rotating dish too much of a hazard even for VTOL's and helicopters. Yet a pair of antigravitic Egyptian Black Talons was already sitting on that roof, their occupants dispersing and starting to plant first demolition charges. The leading RUNE moved to the edge of the roof, overseeing the damage being done all across the sprawling compound.
"Omega and Zeta Teams reporting. The SE strongpoint cleared. One dead, three wounded."
"Omega and Zeta, move to our position. Kappa and Lambda, make a faux attack at the object-1 main entrance. Epsilon, attack the power station. Fi, ambush any reinforcements rushing there from the barracks area."
"Lieutnant," said another RUNE, approaching the commander. "Enemy Land Warriors spotted on the bottom floors. Attack pattern?"
"Alpha, Beta, Gamma, advance toward the underground command and control, do not lose time fighting aboveground. We need to destroy the Land Warriors before they realize our main attack comes from above. Omega and Zeta will follow us and set boobytraps in our wake that should take care of most of the stragglers."
"What about Delta."
"Rapel down to floor 7, Eastern Wall, sleeping quarters. Do not kill everyone, allow them to call for help. Ambush the reinforcements coming up the straircase 3."
"Affirmative."
The eight RUNEs of Delta Team jumped off the edge of the roof, their grav-chutes breaking their fall at the height of the seventh floor. The windows were protected by metal shutters. They wasted no time for planting explosives, one of the clones simply shot out the bolts with her rail pistol, while another one grabbed the metal cover and pried it open by sheer force, her augmented muscles briefly doubling in volume from the sheer strain. Frag grenades were thrown and the rooms quickly became awash with blood and the screams of mutilated personnel, mostly civilian. Another window was shot out to provide a side point of entry for the squad. As predicted, the soldiers rushing up the staircase were simply too slow and ran into an ambush. They wore suits of modern carapace armor, covered with ablative layers to dissipate laser beams, but against crossfire of RUNEs personal railguns they were as effective as thick paper. The Japanese officer ordered a retreat before the losses mounted too high, leaving a staircase covered with corpses, severed limbs and a few wounded, whose screams were only drowned with detonations of missiles, fired by the Japanese to dislodge the clones. Those however have already retreated as well. Their mission was already a success. The enemy force had been further splintered.
The furious cacophony of miniguns and grenade blasts stopped. The Japanese commander knew what that meant - the Land Warriors forming the last line of defence were defeated. All that remained was the nervous centre of the facility, the war room. Which was soon to become a war room in more meaning than one.
"Was the Nagasaki Command notified?" he asked a young female NCO.
"Yes Sir! We were finally able to punch through jamming with a modulated laser beam, and..."
"We will be avenged then. Soldiers of the Empire! Command your souls to Haruhi. This is our last stand. Kill as many as you can! We will show those murderous Egyptian bastards how a true Japanese dies!"
Most of his "soldiers", despite wearing uniforms were hardly worthy of that name. Arrayed behind tables and machinery, pointing their guns at the only door to the war room, they were mostly female comm technicians, aided by few Airforce officers, Ground Forces conscripts and Land Warriors who were able to retreat here before the door had to be shut.
A sudden explosion rocked the room, blowing the heavy metal door out of its hinges, maiming and deafening many defenders, covering the room with stinging smoke. A brief period of silence, then grenades and missiles followed, then bursts of railgun fire, making a mockery of the impromptu barricades. Still, the staff responded with exceptional bravery, firing blindly with a few rifles and handguns. It of course meant they exposed their positions to the infrared-sensitive eyes of the clones. Swift retribution followed, then finally the commander seen his enemies, lithe shapes in black armor, bursting into the room.
He ignored the pain in his shrapnel-ridden leg and quickly limped around a bank of smoking servers to attack from the side. He spotted a pair of... he wasn't sure if they were humans or clones, they were female but definitely smaller and better armored than all-too-familiar JENs. He didn't care. He blasted the closer one with his laspistol, the enemy trooper taking multiple hits and stumbling backwards, she was obviously damaged, out of combat for a while but not quite dead yet. The other one he couldn't shoot, the laspistol already overheated, so he attempted an overhead slash with his katana, the sharp Samurai blade coming straight at her masked face.
The clone's reactions, however, were superhuman. She simply grabbed the blade with her armored glove and turned her wrist, the sharp but fragile sword breaking in half. Her other hand shoot forward, bludgeoning commander's chest with a butt of her rail pistol. The force of impact broke his ribs and sent him crashing into a computer console. The RUNE followed with a stomping kick that crushed officer's underbelly before he had a chance to react.
Fighting with excruciating pain and encroaching darkness, he grabbed his last resort weapon, a gun he almost never used. The ancestry of that 0.5 cal autopistol could be proudly traced back to the late 1700s, it first belonged to one of commander's ancestors, a tanker, who, for his exceptional performance in the brief Japano-Russian war was raised to the lower echelons of the Izumi clan, where the family remained ever since.
The commander raised the relic weapon and, screaming in defiance, blasted away into the chest of that ultra-modern Egyptian mockery of a human being. The carapace armor, of course, deflected the bullets with ease, but a human would still be stunned by sheer kinetic force of the attack. The clone didn't seem to mind. Her layers of dense muscle cushioned the blow, and there was no respite for the Japanese commander. The age of pistols and tanks, like the age of bows, was already a thing of the past. Another stomp broke commander's weapon arm, blood spraying and bone piercing the skin. The old soldier slumped onto the floor.
Through the corner of his eye, he noticed the battle was over, nobody was fighting back anymore. The Egyptian invaders were quickly and precisely finishing off the wounded. The young, talented NCO who managed to send warning to Nagasaki Command, was crawling through the rubble, tears of pain and despair rolling down her cheeks, her short uniform skirt hiked, her both legs a bloody mess. One of the black armored figures approached, grabbed girl's hair and pulled her up, before inserting a combat knife into the nape of her neck, severing her spine. A quick, clean, cold kill.
"You... won't even waste ammo... on us... you bastards..." managed the commander, before his own nemesis delivered the final kick that broke his face and skull.
Mere twenty-five minutes after the assault started, the Nagasaki Radar Station was only a pile of rubble. Most of the clones have already boarded their Black Talons. Only a handful of them still remained, including the leader, observing streaks of drop-pods on the southern sky.
"Humans being a mere support for clones," said one of the troopers. "I don't think it ever happened before, Bunnyhops."
Addressing a commanding officer by an informal name was a thing downright outrageous in any army. But the clone leader didn't seem to mind. After all, they were all the same.
"They will disrupt local defences, cut transport lines and generate general chaos. Then they will die."
The others nodded slightly.
"There is not enough of them. It is a suicide mission."
"It seems that the humans are able to sacrifice themselves for the unity of the planet like we do. Soon, there will be our turn. Are all the dead and equipment gathered?"
"Affirmative. The witnesses were eliminated as well."
"Board the plane."
The clones nodded again. There was no need to say anything more. They knew everything that they needed.
As the sun slowly rose from its slumber, the Armageddon Rain continued to fall. Over the smoldering ruins of the radar station, the sound of the morning breeze was the only thing that broke silence.
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