The Christmas Battle of Rajah-4

25 DEC
OPERATION ANTHILL
BEGIN TRANSMISSION:
G-7: Gyro 5, can you hear me? I repeat, am I transmitting?
G-5: I hear you, old boy.
G-7: Just received the signal. We are a go.
G-6: Copy.
G-4: Copy.
G-3: Copy.
B-1: Copy. Signal located. I'll swing by and get our man on the ground. Sir, are you certain this thing isn't going to just blow me out of the sky?
C-1: No idea, lad. Never seen one before. He says its stable. Guess we'll find out...wait...receiving word from the Shipyard. Two dozen A.E. Eagles just exited the Fold and are on there way. B-1, you have him?
B-1: I do indeed sir. He's heating it up now. Not sure about this one sir.
C-1: Just get him over the target zone, lad.
B-1: Will do sir.
G-3: Sir, we have them. They are entering the atmosphere. Orders?
C-1: Cube-formation ambush, offset as necessary. Keep them occupied till Singh can fire that damned thing.
G-3: Right, sir.
G-7: Target acquired. Jesus! It just came right apart! My God!
G-5: Good shot, Randy. That'll give them something to thing about. Climbing altitude. Going to draw em' back up.
G-4: I'm on you. Looks like its working. Engaging target. That's a miss.
B-1: This is Singh. I know you want to give your new plasma cannons a try, but you only have a few shots, and you've seen how many drill tanks are down there. Conserve your shots, gentlemen. We don't want to win the battle just to lose the Empire.
G-4: Copy sir.
G-7: Copy.
G-3: Copy...wait. They are coming back. Looks like they are heading your way, Singh.
B-1: Just keep them off of us for another minute. We are almost there.
G-4: Taking fire! Taking...
G-7: Dammit! Ralph, kill that bastard.
G-3: Gladly, sir. Target destroyed. Sorry, Singh, had to be done.
B-1: Understood. Approaching target now. Time to scatter, boys. I am not entirely sure what this is going to do. If it works as intended, I'll see you on the ground. Powering Plasmanaught Torpedo. Firing in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Fire!
G-2: Good God!
G-3: Jesus Chri...
G-7: I've never seen...
B-1: There's your entrance, boys. Now go show those Mole Men what's for! ZULU!"
G-2: ZULU!
G-7: ZULU!
G-3: My God, there has to be a thousand of them...
G-7: Prescott! That bastard! He must have been planning this for years...
C-1: FIRE! ALL FIRE! ALL FIRE!
B-1: Do not hit the pyramid. I repeat, do not hit the pyramid! Where is he...there! Open the hatch, I'll take the balloon down.
G-3: Careful Singh. Looks like they aren't using spears anymore.
G-7: How the devil did he get one of their tanks?
B-1: I have no idea, but I am honestly not surprised. Drake never ceases to amaze. Keep it up, boys. I'll signal the Gurkhas to be ready on the ground. Looks a few of them are starting to drill upward.
C-1: Copy, Singh. You've done a helluva thing today. A helluva thing. You'll get Knighted for this.
B-1: I don't want to be Knighted, Admiral. I just want a world where... Nevermind. Just keep hammering those Drilltank columns. I'll see you topside. ZULU!
G-2: Drawing fire away from him. Taking hits but still flying.
G-3: I've got you. You owe me a pint.
G-2: Right.
Singh: This is Singh. I'm here. We are proceeding to the Hughes estate to complete the primary mission. We'll be right back, chaps. Put the kettle on for us.
Drake: How do you...This is Drake. I'll get right to it. I've heard nothing from the Americans for the last several minutes. Seems the Enigma boys got it right this time. The Mole Men are using American Aether rifles, AR-4s it looks like, and dressed in black unitards with blackened faces. American troops are directing their movements. You lads are some fine soldiers, but if any of you kill the King before I do, I'll personally skin you like a lemur. Is that understood.
G-3: Understood sir.
G-7: Wait, he doesn't hold any rank...
C-1: Did you all copy that?
All: Copy.
C-1: Go on then, Drake. We'll mop up here. Tell Singh that torpedo...
Singh: I'll never make another one, Admiral. Singh and Drake out.

After Action Report, Gyropilot Commander Admiral Listern:
The gyropilots under my command, the Garudas, performed excellently, executing a very difficult three dimensional "cube" ambush on the American pilots with amazing results, in no small part to our new PMR (Plasma Machine Rifle) weapon system, which the boys have dubbed "Singhers". The weapons are accurate and devastating to enemy ships, causing carnage that words simply fail to convey. A post-action survey showed almost no wreckage at all even made it to the ground.

Upon routing their pilots, Singh fired his Plasmanaught Torpedo. Scientifically, I can tell you it dematerialized nearly a mile of solid bedrock before puncturing the cavern where our enemy was staging its invasion force. The Drilltanks turned out to be combustion engine modified East Orion Trading Company mining equipment. There is no way that the Mole Men could have possibly gotten what turned out to be two armored division's worth of them on their own. I am confident an Imperial Audit will show that they've been filtering them to the Mole Men for many, many years. Fortunately for us, we hit them as they were loading their munitions, and their armor was no match at all for the Singhers.

According to Drake's deposition, he was able to convince Bradshaw that he could uniquely aid in planning the invasion after he was "recruited" at their embassy one night after a drunken game of darts. He was able to suggest a timetable, stating Christmas as the best time to strike, which Bradshaw and Prescott agreed to. Drake confirmed Prescott's involvement after a personal meeting, stating that he had to do "some very disturbing things" to one Cordelia Longfellow to gain his trust, and that he owed it to her to extract her from her predicament. This, he did in not some sort of symbolic way, but in a very personal one. I feel it best to let the man's words speak for themselves.

Excerpt: Oliver V. Drake: Deposition, File #00246-1

"...Once I was "in", it was easy to feed them the information I wanted. Prescott, the prick, just loved the idea of a true Brit betraying the Empire. He'd sat beside me after long weeks of me sitting in the Wellington Hotel, the closest hotel to the new embassy, drinking contraband bourbon before he struck up a conversation. All I had to do was tell him what I really thought about the Empire. He invited me to a dinner party where I recounted no small number of my tales. Of course, he knew what I was saying about the Mole Men was accurate. It was then he gave me the contact information for General Bradshaw. Upon meeting the man, I took him on a hunt where he bagged an arachnirilla and a bristleboar. Soon, he was asking to join him at the embassy bar for REAL whiskey. I still have two crates, and if you think of confiscating it I will join the rebels next time.

A month later, he, I, and Bradshaw concocted the invasion. I told them to stir up trouble in the mines, which, being winter, meant frozen ground and very, very pissed off miners would meet them; and to kidnap his new Ambassador to muddle everything up. I suggested this since I knew Prescott had a fondness for tormenting the Hughes family due to their daughter's unique bloodline. There was nothing he enjoyed more than hurting royalty. The honeypot was set.

Bradshaw, for his part, was a bit more keen of a military mind and decided at the last minute to oversee the armor instead of go to a Christmas party. Once I parted ways with Singh, I made my way to a Velocycle and quickly linked up with Bradshaw, riding with him down to the staging cavern.

It was upon arriving in the chamber that I realized my ride had lasted a bit longer than intended. He still had his hands on the wheel when I fired a single round through the side of his head. I regret that. He was man proud of his country and a good hunter. He deserved a stand up fight, but that just wasn't in the cards. His Mole Man gunner opened the hatch and popped his head to see what was happening, and I snapped his neck with my bare hands.

It was then that Singh's infernal torpedo hit. Let me tell you, if I didn't drill, and keep drilling, it would have ended me right then and there. Man was never meant to utilize such destructive power. It didn't explode, it...unmade things. Shattered them to dust ribbons and darkness. When it was done, the once dark and shimmering kingdom of the Mole Men was now exposed to the Rajan sky. Might have been worse if Anderson "Iron Trousers" Eilers, the Ace American gyropilot was there, but from what I understand the gyroboys cooked him early, and proceeded in their mission of sending the savages back to their tunnels and leaving the tanks as easy targets. I've never seen anything like it. Piles of twisted, evaporating metal and bodies everywhere!

I decided the very last place I wanted to be was in one of those drilltanks, so I popped the hatch and stood atop it, waving my hat in the air. The...rocket-blimp, I suppose? not sure exactly what you call the bomber, that carried the torpedo issued Singh forth on yet a smaller, rapidly deflating balloonachute. I drew my pistol and made my way to him, guiding him back to the drilltank. It was our original intention to arrive at the party with Cordelia in tow and Logus, the King of the Mole Men, dead. However, Singh's weapon and the gyroboys did such awful damage that we had no choice but to eliminate Prescott and acquire Miss Hughes first.

I tilted the tank upward along the rock wall, and used the American sonagraph to find my way. Now that this is confidential, I will admit that I intended to breach the surface in the garden and not the dining room, but it all worked out in the end. Singh got his man, his woman, and his vengeance; and the crown was rid of a most vile traitor. I'd also like to go on record and state that it was Prescott that stabbed Mr Hughes. His daughter was safely with us and his unfortunate widow elsewhere.

Thankfully, Sgt Sanjay Patel of the Gurkha regimen was able to escort Lillian to safety and coordinate with the undercover "help" to slaughter the Mole Men who escaped our raid and made it to the surface. (Admiral's Note: Sgt Patel is of the 1st Gurkha Regiment, Royal Guard, and was imbedded in the Hughes household to protect Clara, one of the 500 "Homo Britannicus" seeds, the purpose of which is highly classified.)

From there, we dived back in, escaping the increasingly violent combat between the drilltanks and the gyroboys on the surface only to dive headlong back into the smoldering remnants of the destroyed columns underground. I dove, and dove, and dove; using instinct more than the sonograph. Finally, I turned it upward, hard, the Soma ore chittering on the transparent shield before me. When I breached the top of the pyramid, the drilltank came down with a crashing crunch. Below me, I could see them. Logus held her by the chain around her neck. I knew what she had to have went through. The chieftans, the warlords. Clara loaded the round into my rifle, the last of the great Elephant guns, and handed it to me. I locked the breach closed, and shouldered it, seeing him in my front sight. I took a breath, let it out, and let go of the rage and hate and lust. Let go of the hope of ever going back to my own time, of seeing my wife ever again. I let it all go, and I pulled the trigger. The round hit him in the center of his chest, but his arm and head and guts came off. A red mist hung where his torso was, and the bodiless legs fell to the ground. I couldn't hear it over the sounds of battle, but Cordelia's mouth hung open in a silent scream.

Wayland pitched the tank forward, and we half drove, half slid down to her level. I leaned over, and scooped her up into my waiting arms. Singh drove us back to the surface, and we got the word. The Americans and the Mole Men were routed. The battle was over, and we'd won. Singh and I cheered, slapping each other on the back. It was when I looked back to see those two frightened, abused girls that I realized just how much this victory had cost."

I've put in for posthumous medals for my men that I lost, as well as the Imperial Cross for both Sir Wayland Singh and Sir Oliver Drake. I also recommend the Enigma Star for Drake for his excellent fieldwork, without which this operation would have been dreadfully more deadly for our soldiers and our subjects. I've also put in for a Samaritan's Cross for Miss's Clara Hughes and Cordelia Longfellow. At their request I've not included all of their actions in this report, but suffice to say that they have sacrificed just as much as any pilot, but have been denied the sweet requiem of death.

-Admiral Arthur Windsor Listern II, Royal Naval Command, Rajah Quadrant