For King And Country [WWIV Invasion] [France] [Western Coast]

0545
03MAY2419
Bay of Biscay, Approach French Coast
1st Forlorn 'The Brave' Division

Grimed faced and determined where the brave few who volunteered to be the first wave. The simple fact was a beach head assault was one of the few ways to secure a foothold within the Shadowfall controlled territory, the coastline had long been secured via the sea. But now they where faced with the daunting prospect of liberating France, which would require a brave section of soldiers willing to brave the brunt of firepower by Shadowfall. Thus in the days prior volunteers where found, the bravest and arguably suicidal patriotic. For this was the Forlorn Hope Corps was the home to the highest number of royal shock troopers of Vastime, ready to assault the enemy to secure a foothold for reinforcements.

But we will not be focusing on the multiple ships about to land on the shore, instead we will take a look at the individual soldiers who resided within the amphibious assault ships. Their faces hidden behind the helmets meant to protect them and give them a HUD, but some helmets where removed having perhaps their final smoke. It was a breech of regulations, but in this moment, with these men heading to almost certain death- non would stop them. Among them was a man thin, lithe man. Heterochromatic eyes seemed to peer at the disciplined body of men, their hands gripping tight their weapons as they sea rocked them back and forth. The sound of enemy fire could be heard outside, shells narrowly missing their vessels or redirected via abilities. But the man among them known as Atlas D'al Decter would summon his cold voice, but within it was a level of respect; a true respect for each and one of these men who would lay the path for the rest of the army.

"Every man who survives today is guaranteed a promotion, some a commission. If you volunteered for glory, for rank, or for country matters not right now gentlemen. You country has asked who will be so brave as to take the first plunge into our enemy ranks, throwing life and limb at them so that we may secure a foothold- a future- for our army. Know that, know that it has been an honor to serve alongside of you all."

There was a truth to his words, as a silence fell over the ship. The sound of war outside of them growing all to silent before a cheer began to work over the men, like a wildfire spreading. "To General Decter, the only officer git willing to die with his men!" The roar seemed to be small, before it was picked up by the men hoisting their rifles up, the land approaching them with lethal intent. But the cries of the men seemed to be a flurry of things, Decter allowing a thin smile to come onto his lips. Eyes burning with a fury as he raised his saber upwards.


His seemed to ignite the remaining flames within the men, the bloodlust spilling into raw intent as they seemed to stomp fired up. Young men, old men, all ready to storm the beaches and spill the blood of their enemies, to prove they lived within the finest nation and military to grace earth. General Decter would spread turn his back to them as he waited for the doors to open.

"Visit upon them the fury of Vastime, the fury which they have so wanton craved. You will widow their wives, orphan their children as they have done us! We are the fury of the storm!"

There seemed to be some type of warcry which erupted from the men, carrying momentum and weight as the heavy metal doors dropped. Hellfire and bullets seemed to strike around them as shields erupted around the men, Decter stepping forward flaming saber in hand as he began to charge up the sandy shores. The storming had begun, and they where descending upon the coastline with a fury unseen on earth before.

The world exploded into a fury of death and red mist.

Atlas and his valiant vanguard seemed to arrive upon a beach head that was intent upon mowing down as many soldiers as possible, in the distance where fortified positions haphazardly made by shadowfall. It was nothing like it should be for someone who expected an invasion, but this method of organized combat was something that they failed in. But it was the area of expertise that Vastime had so throughly spent cultivating for years, now showcased as they met the assault with gusto.

It was almost on que that three men seemed to slam their heels into the sand, causing an explosion of earth to arise hardening quickly. These random earth works would scatter themselves across the beach as countless earth manipulators performed this making makeshift covers. As energy explosions rocked off the walls it would shatter some, turning Vastimian men to gore'd messes. However most seemed to hold as bullets where returned both ways, the screams of dying men soon began to fill the beaches.

Within moments, the beach was becoming drenched red with blood. And the assault had only just begun.

But if this seemed to stop the suicidal charge, it did not show. For as the earthern works where enacted, Atlas would begin to get off his knee looking around. The men where still in good form, and they had only suffered a small number of wounded and dead. Good. He'd take a hard breath, steadying himself as he knew they would need to take out some of the bunkered positions if they intended to be further. He'd motion to one of the men next to him in cover, grabbing him as he began to shout at him.

"Send a radio message to the ships we need a naval barrage—"

Atlas would barely finish his sentence, the man he was holding head would suddenly jerk back. His eyes would roll into the back of his head as a bullet ripped through his forehead, spraying gore and blood on the sandy beach and onto Atlas's own face. His body would go limp in his arms the radio falling onto the sand, Atlas would barely have time to scream an order to his men as he threw the body down.

"Down!"

The order seemed to be loud enough as all the men in his contigent hit the floor, a spray of energy and bullets ripping apart what little cover they had. Their bodies where pressed so closely to the sand, they where almost one with it.

This was bad. If they didn't make some type of offensive push they'd but cut down on the beach. Thus, it would stand to reason Atlas D'al Decter decided if you wanted anything done right- you do it yourself. Gritting his teeth he would begin to crawl low, his forehead dragging against sand as he seemed to slip under the fire. He'd tilt his bloodied face up for a moment to see a launcher, a bunker buster, laying in the arms of a dead soldier who was brave enough to try to take them out. It seemed Decter would be the one to do so.

He'd crawl for a little time, the sound of gunfire and burning energy an all too familar sound. As he neared the launcher he began to see bullets pelting near him, causing a grimance to come on his face. He'd steel himself as he began to summon his own energy reserves, letting out a yell as he began to project his energy creating a literal barrier of energy in front of him. His 'Stonewall' ability, useful for situations like this.

However it would not hold for long. The general would get to a knee as he picked the launcher up, doing all he needed to in order to prep the round. His time was wearing thing as he felt the barrier giving way, yet was able to lift the launcher to his shoulders. The force of the backblast blowing the sand behind him, sending a rocket heading straight at the fortified position. As it struck the bunker blowing it and the inhabitants to smithereens there was a small lull in the chaos.

But that was all Vastime needed.

With renewed vigor a shout would erupt as Atlas let a smirk come onto his face dropping the launcher. Now they could advance forward, and begin to take out the other bunkers. However, just as he began to get up and move he'd notice a soldier holding their wrist rather what was left of it. It would be at the time he'd approach quickly enough, since the soldiers seemed to begin to push unto the breach he might as well save this poor saps life. But once he knelt next to him, removing a syringe he intended to stab into the wound he felt.. uneasy.

He barely had time to react.

Looking upwards he'd see massive energy ball beginning to gather, no doubt some type of blast intending to decimate the forces now pouring onto the line. Such a blast would be able to kill countless soldiers, but more importantly, completely destroy this first wave of the forlorn hope setting them back to sqaure one. This could not be allowed. Atlas had already steel'd his resolve as he stood barking orders to the men to keep fighting.

"Do not give an inch, not a single damn inch!"

As Atlas yelled he began to channel his inner energy, beginning to gather a large amount into his left arm. A swirling crimson energy would begin to gather as limb and bone reinforced it's self, through sheer will and energy he was condensing his Stonewall ability, and his pride of Vastime into a powerful barrier. But as his heterochromatic eyes seemed to look at the falling blast, he would bite down hard lifting his arm upward as a shield appeared above them. The clashing of the shield and the energy seemed to create energy sparks, striking the ground violently as the shield was slowly pushed down. In fact it was pushed all the way to where Atlas was now kneeling with his free hand now holding his arm in an attempt to hold back the blast.

It was in that moment a brillant flash engulfed the battlefield, Atlas shield and the blast giving way to each other. To the surprise of all, the soldiers where unscatched as the engaged in close combat with shadow fall operatives. But as the dying of the light happened, they would see the cost of the effect.

Atlas D'al Decter was laying on his back, his body burned and scarred. One of his eyes closed as a steady trickle of blood seemed to go down his cheek. His uniform in tatters, but the most gruesome and shocking development was the lack of his left arm. The entirety of his arm below his bicep was gone, turned into a bloody gore. Surely, any normal man would be dead or at least unable to move.

But to the surprise of all, after only a moment or two, The Grand General would rise slowly. His body moving sluggishly as his head turned to see his sword attempting to reach for it with his ruin'd arm stopping only briefly to look at it. Before grabbing it with his free good arm. Callous fingers gripping the blade as he slowly got to his feet, his body bleeding a steady stream of blood. His eyes seemed to close as fire erupted where his arm was ruin'd only the faintest look of discomfort on his face, as the wound was burned closed. Now, with that attended to the general would open his eyes and start to march unto the breach sword in hand.

"We shall hold."

Yes. Yes they would.