Situation Foxtrot (SAO/Foxhole) [COMPLETE]

Feeling a hand shake your foot, you cracked an eye open. Loup was sitting on the foot of your bunk, smiling tiredly at you. "Up and at 'em, Melanie," she said, smiling faintly.

"What's on fire?" you replied, rolling out of bed to slide your boots on. Moving over to the coffee table, you sighed happily at the fresh pot and the plentiful collection of actual foods. Grabbing a bowl of farina and dumping in some brown sugar and milk, you added a packet of dried cranberries to it before grabbing a tin of herring in mustard and some toast.

"Believe it or not, nothing you need to worry about is on fire," Loup said, laughing. "The 115e's getting their asses kicked around by that ghost formation of Motor Rifles, but the 62e's willing to ride to the rescue if things haven't stabilized in a few hours. The 15e's currently rearming- SPGs are done, rockets aren't- and Cauthon's pushing into the Crossing. 163e's mostly psych casualties, though: I think they might have a battalion of effectives left? That's a 'you' question."

"Tepes still not recovered yet?"

"Yeah he's still MIA."

"Anything else?"

"Cauthon would like some support, pretty please, his terminal logistics have fucked the donkey and there's not enough fuel for his mechanized formations."

You goggled at Loup. "Did he not set up a central fueling depot or something?"

"Oh no, that's not the problem," Loup said, laughing. "I actually got his field logistics officer online, and it turns out those clowns don't actually have a fuel element organic to their mechanized formations!"

"They didn't have organic reserve fuel. On mechanized formations. What the fuck Cauthon?!"

"Listen, they thought-" Loup said, stopping to wheeze a little, "-that since their regiments are only like- twenty vics? Thirty?- that they could just scavenge fuel out of wrecks and throw jerry cans in resup trucks."

"Those fucking idiots!" you laughed. "The 62e has what, twelve dedicated tanker trucks?"

"Fourteen, and the 64e regiment has sixteen."

Context time: a jerry can held a hundred "liters" of fuel, and you could reliably carry one full along with a rifle and two clips of ammo. Most vics held a hundred and fifty liters of fuel to three hundred liters. The issue was, fuel economy was dynamically calculated, and while you could road march across a hex on one tank, combat- with its frequent gearshifts, nonoptimal speed/gear ratio driving, and long idle periods- would drink fuel like nothing else. The Folkvangr regiments were used to it, because we trained our asses off and shared data between the 64e and everyone else. Cauthon, though, and his dedicated armor allergy? Hah!

"So they're fucked for a bit," you joked.

"Yeah. Whereas we're just generally fucked, but Cauthon is asking for a miracle, pretty please with sugar on top."

"Well, shit," you muttered. "We are not in a good place to support that right now."

"Well, eat your breakfast and see if you think of something. I'll get Asuna online, she should be coming up soon," Loup said, "and then you'll have backup here to do something stupid."

"Love you too, Loup," you grumbled into your cereal, carefully not watching her flush as she went to get your friend.

It was a few minutes later that you were putting your fish toast together that Asuna showed up, wincing at the state of your breakfast. "Melanie," she said, sighing. "What's up?"

"Can you run the brigade headquarters for me today?" you asked, pouring her a cup of coffee before topping your own mug up. "I need to go do a miracle in person for Cauthon."

"Fuel fuckups?"

"Fuel fuckups."

"Oh good, that's not just us then," Asuna grumbled. "We nearly ran out of gas at the refueling park five times last night because our fuel train was having issues. Nothing's broke yet, but it's getting annoyingly dicey."

"We should be running a fuel overage, though, without the 64e here drinking it all?"

"Half our tanker trucks are sitting in Cauthon's yard though, and we don't have enough drivers willing to go pull them down right now."

"Ah," you muttered. "That'd do it."

"Yeah, Theresa's been having a rough go of it," Loup muttered. "If this wasn't the last throw of the dice, we're gonna need a lot more senior officers."

"If this isn't the last throw of the dice, we'll fix it," you promised. "Right. Asuna, can you send a battalion up to the 108th Naval Infantry so they've got some support? I'll have the radio desk let them know they've got the big guns covering them. While you do that, I'll get a kampfgruppe together. Once they blow Fort India, I'm going in."

"Got it."

///

Putting together a kampfgruppe was tricky. Your first job was seeing what you had to work with. Short version? Not much. Roughly a third of the 163e was MIA/KIA, another third was on the edge of desertion, and the last third was having serious morale problems because they'd lost all their heavy kit.

While you could bear those guys over with sheer force of personality, you'd rather not for now. Instead, you found what was looking like the beginnings of an armor park, with about two dozen troopers scattered about it with piles of B-mats and workshop tools.

"Gentlemen?" you asked, walking up. "What's all this?"

One of the mechanics looked at you, and grunted. "Oi! Starshyi leitenant, officer for ya!"

One of the other mechanics, just as grease-stained as the rest, came up to you before gulping. "General!"

"At ease," you said reflexively. "So, what's with the armor? I believe you've all been relieved to rear duties."

"It is, ah, as the last standing officer of the 64e, my firm belief that we maintain a second-line presence here, ma'am, for the purposes of minimizing material losses."

Amazing. What a perfectly palatable pile of pure bullshit. You might have even bought it too, if the Senior Lieutenant in front of you hadn't been shaking in his boots.

"While understandable, Senior Lieutenant… Shevchenko?" you said, a hint of a question on his name, "I already have orders cut for the purposes of the armor assets here. You may leave the hex if you want-"

As the senior lieutenant opened his mouth to object, you grinned. "-or I can cut you new orders to stay here and help."

Shevchenko stopped, blinked, and nodded. "New orders please."

"I'm building a kampfgruppe to breach the Abandoned Ward. What vehicles can you have ready in four hours?"

"One Lordscar, three Noble Widows, two Outlaws, six O'Brien v.101s, and a captured Ares."

You blinked. "We actually captured an Ares?"

"Crew bailed out for some reason, yeah."

"Great. Get everything ready to roll, and we'll see how much of the Abandoned Ward we can plow through."

"Aye, General!"

Great, you had an armor element. Now you needed a dash of artillery. That, in turn, meant finding a motorcycle and sputtinger over to the 15e's section of base. Sure enough, they had exactly what you were looking for: spare hands, and a troop of mortar carriers to be hijacked. A few words with Klasse, and you had a self-propelled mortar troop since there was a mortar bomb shortage. Fortunately, you could always bum the bombs off of Cauthon, especially if your backline units scrounged him up spare full fuel units.

With armor, artillery, and infantry found; you now needed supplies. For that you went to the 101e Sustainment, who were more than happy to lend you a logistics company of fifty trucks, two cranes, and two CVs. Going back to the 163e and winnowing through the scratch battalion finished out the four hours you gave the 64e's last troopers, and then it was time to go.

///

Riding in the cupola of the Ares, you staunched a chuckle as your shoulders flexed the new boiler suit you'd picked up for the op. Tanker kit was fairly specialized, and you'd never worn the heavy gear before with the integrated gas mask, goggles, and radio headset. Even more interesting, A Caovish Reminder remained in sword form, now just switched to a backstrap mounting while your Cascadier was in a shoulder holster opposite of your gas mask filter unit.

Ducking back down into the entirely too cramped turret of the Ares, you moved until you found the piece of shit Collie radio that only had eight pre-set channels and the most brain-damaged dials possible, clicking it over to a channel you'd been very careful to pre-set.

"This is General Orr to Colonel Manifold of the 108th," you said, yelling over the sound of the tank's engine as you worked your way back up into the clear air of the hatch. "Come in, Colonel Manifold."

"This is Manifold to Orr. What's up?"

"I'm leading a mixed-vehicle kampfgruppe into your operational zone. Don't start shooting at us, please."

"A what?!"

"Combined arms battalion," you corrected, rolling your eyes. "I'm currently riding in a captured Ares, don't shoot it please."

"Wait you captured one of those things? How?!"

"Apply spicy air to goblin until cooked to perfection, Colonel," you snapped a little. "I think I see your trucks now."

Passing through the 108th, you frowned behind the safety of your mask. These people were tired, and more importantly as you noticed tin cans piled by campfires, they weren't being taken care of at all. There were a decent number of tier 1 bunkers being used for cover, but even with your binos you couldn't see a bunker base or outpost anywhere near where they seemed to have stopped.

Switching your radio to channel 4 (logistics) you called up your support company. "Captain Schoors, General Orr calling. Can you detach a build team to give these poor fucks a bunker base?"

"How bad is it, ma'am?"

"If these boys don't get a hot meal, I don't like their odds of surviving a bombardment," you replied seriously. "I think we can spot them the CV time."

"Aye, then. I'll send Y'solth to get it done. We'll radio back when we're done."

"Thanks, Schoors. Orr out."

With that, you kept on rolling. Checking the belt in your pintle-mounted 12.7, you snorted as the trucks started shaking out into a skirmish line, with armored cars interspersed.

"Alright people, you know the drill. Stay mounted and stay in skirmish formation, and dismount once we're in the city," you said, grinning. "Call out for a gun on target, and we'll smoke it. Now, steady as she goes: advance!"

Moving into the city, you glared at everything. Occasionally, spurts of rifle fire would come from down the line, but nothing wanted to fire on your tank- and for good reason! Covered in machine guns like it was, any infantry that tried would quickly die.

"Central group!" a call came in quickly. "Request for fire on the safehouse! They've got snipers!"

Ducking down into your seat and swinging the hatch to open-protected, you started scanning vision blocks. Once you had the safehouse sighted, you smirked and switched your headset to internal comms. "Gunner, twenty degrees starboard. Target, safe house. Fire until destroyed."

"Da, Kapitan! Firing!"

With a thunderous boom, the right-side gun went off like the fist of a vengeful god. Bodies went everywhere as the overpressure battered at the safe house, and various small-arms started pinging off the hull. Below you, a pair of loaders frantically hauled the next shell out of the storage rack, passing it into the turret and then up into the gun. They were halfway through before the next round flew, rocking the tank and trying to slam your head into the vision ring.

"зарядіть рушницю, виродки! Move! Move! Go!"

The right gun was reloaded, and firing, sending the tank flying about. The minute he could, the gunner was hosing the building with coaxial guns, trying to buy time for the loaders. With a slamming clunk, the left gun came up then- and another shell flew out, slamming into the safe house.

"All units, requesting fires on the safe house!" you snapped into the radio. "We've got them on the ropes-"

Then the tank rocked again- but not from the guns. "Banes!" you snapped. "Gunner, reverse!"

Time to take a risk. Swinging your hatch to full open, you saw the smoke trail to the hide in a blown-out building the Collies were using. That damn launcher was nearly reloaded too! Hauling your machine gun around, it was the work of seconds to get a rough bead, spraying the hide down. Bricks and wood turned into flying debris as you hosed it down, turning the clever goblins into blood splatters.

One target down- but more and more were popping up, Ignifists and Banes and Venoms all in hand. Fine! "Get some!" you roared, letting loose more chattering bursts of fire as the tank below you fired again and again.

"Kapitan," the gunner called out. "Safe house destroyed!"

"Good work!" you called out, clearing a jam with a smack and two pulls of the charging handle. "Infantry, tanks, time to secure the plaza!"

As the plaza started filling up with Warden blues, your driver naturally parked the tank right in line with the road up to the bridge across the river. Trucks full of supplies worked their way through your lines, bringing around fuel cans and shells for everyone, even if the numbers were limited.

"Come in, unknown Wardens!" a call yelled hitting your radio across all the bands. "Who's there?!"

"This is General Orr of the Folkvangr," you replied, glaring across the square at the Niskas blundering into your lines. "Who the hell are you?"

"Colonel Tyfidditch, 221st Grenadiers! We'll hold the back, if you want to assault now!"

Goddamn rabbits. Still, the supply trucks were clearing out, so it was probably time to get moving. "Alright everyone," you said on the tac-net. "Assault column time. Armored cars in the front, tanks in the back. They haven't blown the bridge, so we're gonna hit 'em like a ton of bricks."

As the assault column formed up, you breathed deeply. Do or die time. "All elements: Advance!"



The O'Briens in the front of the column gassed it, and everyone else was right behind them. The minute your tank, first in the line, hit the bridge, a smattering of 150 shells started flying at you, but the barrage was too broken up. This was practically a love tap- and more importantly, you didn't have vics in the back for covering fire. As 12.7s and 20s opened up on your ACs in the front, they couldn't pour the damage in fast enough. Behind you, 40s opened up engaging machine gun nests, and you didn't care. It was time to punch through, damn it!

The armored cars were dying, but you didn't care, the Ares plowing through them like they weren't even there as you started slapping enemy infantry nests with your cupola gun. Banes weren't dealing damage fast enough, as your tank started riding down the curve towards the town hall, and Ignifists needed the operators to stand up so you could gun them down. A quartet of gas grenades tried to aim for the crew, but you laughed maniacally behind your gas mask: you had filters for days.

"Safe house spotted!" you roared, slewing your gun again. "Level it!"

The sound of guns was the main reply, until your gunner coughed. "Ma'am! We're out!"

"Then park us to the side and I'll signal resupply!" you called back, before putting actions to words. Soon enough, shell after shell thunked into your tank, and a crackle came through the comms.

"Platoon 28 to General! We're at the Cathedral!"

"Secure the perimeter!" you snapped back, glaring. "Someone get me a gun!"

Moving fast, the trucker doing your resupply tossed you his Fiddler, with two mags tied into the strap. Wrapping it around your torso, you shot him a thumbs-up. "Let's go people, we've got a cathedral to take!"

By the time you trundled down the street to the actual building- shooting at least a few platoons of Colonials along the way- the inside was covered with gunfire, as well as your Commandos squating in a fifty-cal nest down by the way.

"Orr, dismounting!" you snapped, before bailing out of the tank and getting the Fiddler set up. Slap the gun from safe to live, jam the sticks in your suspenders, and you're good to go. It was a short run to the Commandos, then, and Kirito was looking at you like you were bugfuck nuts. Maybe you were.

"Status report?"

"Place is a fucking deathtrap. The troops inside are a bodyguard platoon in flak armor, so grenades don't work. They don't have anyone in the gantries, and I'm not putting artillery fire into it. I don't know if the GM console is an immortal object, and I don't want to find out the hard way."

What you wouldn't give for a team of Kazoo's finest right about now. "Any ideas?"

"Chemical warfare teams, except we don't have any."

"Maa, we can fake it," one of Kirito's troops- a garrish redhead, with a fishscale mon on his headband under a helmet said. "I've got the Osprey already, someone start passing me Green Ashes.

"We'd still have to storm," Kirito growled, "and the nearest respawn point is four klicks to the rear."

"Sometimes life is shit like that," you replied, grinning morbidly under your mask. "Besides, once we tap the town hall, they should start clearing out."

"Still a big ask," Kirito grunted as a pair of Dunnes rolled up. Oh, right, you had bodyguards. Bodyguards in Warden Knight armor… that could eat anything short of 12.7mm and laugh it off…

"How many were in there again?" you asked.

"Twenty-ish," the red-headed grenadier snorted. "Standard Colonial platoon," he said, affixing a Green Ash to his Osprey. Carefully bracing it on the ground and checking the wind, it was a second later he pulled the trigger and sent the chemical bomb high into the air. "Never fire these things from the shoulder or they'll beat you to shit," he admitted with a smirk, the shot lofting clean through an upstairs window and sending the characteristic verdant fog out.

"Keep pumping bombs," you said, looking over your unit. "Someone call for a Malone, too; we need to get them out of the windows.

Moments later, a stolen Colonial motorcycle roared up, before the church tried to shoot it and the grenadier popped another shot into an occupied window. In moments, the crew off it were in a building, cramming down a Ratcatcher and getting ready to use it.

"I really don't like this plan," Kirito muttered.

"Sucks to suck," you grinned. "Smoke the doors on my mark. Three, two, one. Mark!"

As smoke grenades went out, your guards checked their affixed bayonets and went for the door. You were right behind them, pouring through the fatal funnel in thundering Storm Rifle fire as you started playing your Fiddler at anything that looked vaguely threatening. This might have included more shadows moving oddly that Colonials, but you definitely put a few down with splays of fire. With your first mag running dry, you clacked in another as the fighting moved deeper into the building.

Fighting through the tabernacle and a chapel, you moved into the body of the building propper. Aside from a few idiots trying to hide in the nave, the Colonials were dropping like flies as the Bookers thundered and your Fiddler spat. With the reek of gunsmoke and molding hay of the phosgene, the cathedral was at peace.

"Orr's guards, cover the main entrance," Kirito snapped, pointing at the choir section in the rear of the nave and center of the hall. "Commandos, cover our exit. Klein, Dynamo, get up in the balconies. Sacchi, Minato, up in the domes. I want eyes on everything that's coming, dangit!"

You just checked your radio. "All elements, this is Orr. I've taken the Cathedral, requesting infantry support."

The poor radio nearly exploded from how much chatter was going through it.

"Clear comms, clear comms!" you snapped. "Kampfgruppe Orr, unless you have a pressing and immediate reason, I want the entire fucking battle group on the cathedral, ASAP. Cauthon's troops, you know the drill: get the bridges blocked up, and mark salvage for recovery teams. If your recovery teams are running late, mine will pick up the slack. Questions?"

"Orr what in tarnation are you doing in Abandoned Ward, you're a general officer!" Cauthon yelled. "Get back to headquarters!"

"Negative, Cauthon," you replied simply. "I am currently boots on the objective, and my remaining combat forces are rallying. This is my last shot."

"Damnit-! 219th, you're nearly into Abandoned Ward, pour on the gas and shells! 155th, cancel targeting on the enemy batteries, they're clearing out anyway, focus the Town Hall. 221st, I want every unit recovering and covering the engineering detachments-" Cauthon was ranting, but you stopped as one of the side doors bust open. A hoard of greenskins were running in, and the radio was forgotten as your submachine gun came up.

The Fiddler was a light little gun, basically an MP-9, and it was accurate as hell and lighter than a feather in your hands. That didn't change the fact you only had so many bullets, and the greenskins were coming through faster and faster. Your bodyguards were out of position, turning and running and shooting as they tried to intersperse their bodies between you and the enemy bullets.

As a rifle round creased your ribs, though, that hope died fast. With an empty gun and no time to reload, there was only one option left as the Fiddler fell from your hands. Fortunately, A Caovish Reminder was right there as a sabre on your back, and drawing it was easy enough- and then the melee was joined.

The first Colonial to charge at you was fresh-faced, brown hair glistening under his bucket helmet as he lunged at you. It didn't matter, as you beat right with your sword to bring his bayonet out of line, before lunging in. The virtual neck didn't offer any real resistance as you near-beheaded him, before covering your side from another opportunistic poke. That one was blond, before he was dead from a quick stutter-thrust into his ribcage. The masses were getting closer, though, until a series of rat-tat-tat gunshots came out from your bodyguards. One of them was very confident with his aim it seemed!

It was only a second of reprieve, but it was a much-needed one that let you do the world's most awkward in-line draw and get your Cascadier out. Of course the time that took pulled in another goblin, this one screaming in with an overhead lunge that was patently stupid as you parried it to your left and into a pew. With the gun stuck, you could engage him almost at your leisure, with a decapitating backhand. The one behind him was shocked, mouth opening before you filled it with lead as your Cascadier came up and sounded.

"Orr!" someone yelled, but you were a bit busy at the moment as the entering platoon's officer dueled you, spatha to sabre. You couldn't parry the bronze-faced man's short hacks and vicious slashes, but you could block them and try to shoot him. Of course, he could do the same with his revolver, and more than a few times your guns were locked at barrelpoint just like your swords.

Temper fraying, you lunged in to a waiting parry by the Colonial officer, but the parry was wide enough for you to get your shoulder into him, bowling the man over. Spraying fire down on him, only a few of the bullets caught with one flinging fragments of his mask about. Gun clicking open, you just dropped it as the Colonial kipped up and ripped the mask off.

"The General was right about you," he hissed, blood flowing freely. "You'll kill us all if you have the chance."

"I'm going home today," you replied, sword level and sharp. "Stand in my way, and it'll be over your corpse."

That earned a laugh. "You think there's anything left for you, Desperado?"

"More than there is here."

At that, he tried to slash at you, but an upwards cut into downward throat chop ended his life and the conversation equally well.

"Orr!"

"What?!" you snapped, slamming Reminder down into a corpse so you had both hands free to reload.

"Hooker's calling, and wants to know if the position is secure! His dev team is ready to roll from the north end of the Crossing, and then it's all up to them!"

Oh. Good. Until then, though, you had just a few things to do.

///
MAPS




///

Status:

Kampfgruppe Orr: Good Supply, Good Morale, Good Cohesion: Freshly developed, the Kampfgruppe Orr has deployed into Abandoned Ward, and has been taking acceptable casualties. Lack of nearby respawn point concerns and shortages of 75mm and 94.5mm ammo aside, they are in excellent overall fighting condition.

- A Coy, 2/163: Excellent Supply, Good Morale, Excellent Cohesion: Dedicated to holding the southwest causeway, the A Coy 2/163 are well positioned to withstand incidental artillery- althouth that's not much concern, as the nearest enemy are otherwise engaged.
- B Coy, 2/163: Good Supply, Good Morale, Good Cohesion: Currently tasked to beating out Colonial platoons dug into the urban sprawl north of the Town Hall, and succeeding with the usual costs of urban combat in mind. Liberal use of 12.7mm munitions from tripod weapons protects the majority of them however.
- C Coy, 2/163: Good Supply, Excellent Morale, Good Cohesion: Currently pushing through the urban sprawl north of the Cathedral, performing sweep-and-clear against Colonial platoons infiltrating towards the Cathedral. A large number seem to be focused intently on protecting it.
- Zhenya Coy, 3/64: Fair Supply, Good Morale, Fair Cohesion: Currently down most of their armored cars due to being used as ablative metal to force the bridge, the remaining members of Zhenya Company are fortifying and protecting the bridgehead.
- Anna Coy, 1/64: Good Supply, Excellent Morale, Excellent Cohesion: Despite being understrength in numbers, the presence of a Lordscar and an Ares grants them a heavy degree of firepower above expectations. While their heaviest vics are shy on ammo, though, the rest of the formation is more than ready to rain hell.
- 6 Bat, 2/15: Fair Supply, Excellent Morale, Excellent Cohesion: Currently serving as on-call fire support for the infantry in removing garrison houses, however the unit is starting to have some issues with shell supply.

///

VOTES

There's some time before Hooker arrives. What to do?
[] Search for the Developer Console. You want to minimize the time you're dealing with Hooker for this.
[] Fortify the Area. There's Colonial supplies around here, and you're really not in the mood to get surprised again.
[] Rally your Troops. It'll be damn hard for the Colonials to deal with you if they need to crawl through a company of motorized infantry with grudges.
[] Talk to Kirito. He seems agitated, and you're getting a bad feeling about that.