Texas

  His eyes opened and he immediately shot up from a position lying on his back. Air rushed into his lungs. Perelli quickly comprehended his surroundings. He was on a stretcher, his helmet and portions of his armor were removed. A bright blue morning sky shined above him. To his right, smoke billowed into the sky. The Nyx Dynamics comms center burned brightly, the entire building engulfed in flames. Second order explosions went off inside as industrial flammables cooked off. The necro-logic pillar burned with it.

  Despite the horrifying attempted invasion of his mind he felt... good. In fact, he felt amazing. Like a cut in his brain matter had been cured. He even appreciated the bright sunlight that forced him to squint.

  He heard voices to his left. The Striker-Commander and Commander Waller were conferring.

  "That ambush wasn't organic. It wasn't even hasty. They were expecting us. Someone told them we were coming." He heard Federov say.

  Waller responded with grave concern, "That's a very short list of people that knew we were coming here."

  "Very."

  Perelli shifted his attention when someone came running over.

  "Holy shit, you're awake!" An incredulous R3C Kurt Schaft slid to a stop next to him.

  Perelli got up under his own power.

  "Woah, take it slow boss. You sure you're ok?" Kurt said with concern. His broken ballistic mask hung at his side.

  "I feel great, Kurt." Perelli told him, taking in an appreciative breath. He pointed at the mask. "You're the one that needs to learn how to duck."

  Kurt frowned, unsure how to feel about an officer using his first name.

  "How long was I out?"

  "A couple hours. Long enough, we were gonna have them medivac you with the civilians. Until, uh, that started glowing." Kurt pointed to Perelli's blessed punch dagger. The short blade glowed with unnatural light along its edge. The cross on the flat of the blade glowed with white light.

  Perelli asked, "Where's Chief Weber?"

  "He's running the element. Since you were, you know, indisposed."

  Perelli looked around to see the Texans were still present. Medical helicopters from the nearest city were landing in an open field and taking on casualties. Both the liberated prisoners and many wounded militiamen.

  The awoken Rifle walked over to where he saw Colonel Poole conferring with his own soldiers. They were sharing their own wild versions of events, recounting their experiences during the battle.

  "Excuse me, Colonel?"

  The horse soldier turned around. "Can I help you Ensign?"

  "I never got to thank for saving my life in that trench."

  Realization dawned on the Colonel. "Oh, you look different without your helmets on. I was beginning ta wonder if youse boys were robots after that fight. I ain't never seen anyone fight like that."

  "Unfortunately, we are very human." He referenced the Vanguard casualties.

  He held out his HR-15. "I want you to have this. As my thanks."

  The militiamen accepted the rifle gingerly, a stunned look on his face. "I'm... honored, Ensign...?"

  "Michael Perelli." he then gestured to the rifle, ".30-06. Two hundred grain count is best. But whatever you get off the shelf will still work. The optic has its own HUD. Just look into it and it'll pop up with an instruction manual."

  "I-I don't know what to say." Poole said, still processing being handed a very rare gun that had never made its way out of Vanguard.

  "Nothing. It's a token of my appreciation for you and your militia. Without you this would operation have gone sideways."

  After a firm handshake, they parted ways. Poole showed off the new gun to the men and women of his outfit.

  Perelli found his way over to Federov and the other officers.

  Weber raised his eyebrows. "What the hell happened, sir? I mean, good to see you walking, but what the hell was that? I thought I lost another officer. Again."

  "It's complicated. I need to talk to the Striker-Commander." he nodded towards Federov, who gave him his attention.

  "You're not going to believe me sir. But my mind just got invaded by an extraterrestrial abomination and I fought it off with my memories and imagination and an angel-she gave me a sword. But it was the Black Sun itself. It tried to possess me because the demon that nearly ripped my soul out of my body in Los Angeles damaged it and left me vulnerable. It said it controls and makes the vampires. It's done this before to other worlds. It mentioned something about destroying beings more powerful than angels and demons, which might mean its something separate. I know it sounds like I'm going insane-"

  Federov stopped him by holding up the palm of his hand. "Over one-hundred years ago I bled out on the deck of a battleship while it sank to the bottom of the Tsushima Strait in an era where internet was the wildly impossible dream of a madman, and was resurrected to fight vampires in a time where man has walked on the Moon. I'm not stupid. When a soldier with a specific history nearly drops dead with no warning and can't be awoken despite having no serious injuries right at the exact moment that we activate a pillar of gore and psychological horror, then proceeds to wake up with a glowing knife and tell me he saw something important... I will certainly believe him. Come, get in the command LAV, let's debrief."

  New York City

  Lieutenant Camila looked out over the crowd gathered on the main floor of the U.N General Assembly Building in New York. Today, the building was particularly crowded. Not only were there the delegates and interpreters representing every nation but also a significant contingent of the media. Photographers and journalists choked the alcoves and side passageways.

  This was the first time the Terra Vanguard would be going before the General Assembly. Representatives had addressed individuals and engaged with committees before, but most of the Vanguard's diplomacy had been handled on a case by case basis. Now, the Leader-Commander himself would address the world in his first truly public appearance.

  It had taken a lot of maneuvering to get here. Having the backing of two permanent members of the Security Council certainly helped. Though, that had taken its own concessions and more than a little dogmatic convincing. The U.S Congress still hated the Vanguard after using a nuclear laser on the sea monster, apparently called a Vorrkoth by the vampires, but President Constantine thankfully found agitating his political opponents amusing. As such, they had secured his backing. The Russians were a more complicated matter. Given the geopolitical climate, the Vanguard did not wish to seek close relations. But they were given everything they could have wanted from Moscow after liberating Kotlin. The Vanguard had been quick to make demands to at least arrest the rate of killing that was going on in the various inter-human wars being conducted by that power. That left things a little cold between the two powers.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  But none of the shaky clout the Vanguard had garnered would matter after today. Once Tambor made his speech, there would be outrage. As reports from various nations flooded in about what the Vanguard was doing, they would only intensify into a wildfire. The Chinese delegation was going to be particularly mad when most of the CCP inner circle was killed.

  It was all for the greater good. The result of the 3-phase operation, not expected to take more than 24 hours, would hopefully vindicate every action the Vanguard had taken. The lack of vampiric influence after today would provide a sudden clarity to decision makers, without the parasitic hellspawn influencing them. An exacting and extensive effort had gone into preventing collateral damage during the operation.

  Camila did not take the seeming simplicity of their mission for granted. All 100,000 moving parts in this operation had to perform flawlessly and in fluid concert. A single wrong move in this entire global offensive would have immediate and irreparable consequences.

  She glanced up at her commander. Axton Tambor stood a head taller than her. She was not a tactical advisor. But as his closest confident, he always listened to her. Despite that, it took some effort to pry his attention away from a datapad where he was reading the latest field report from L.A.

  "Ah, sorry. Reading Wagner's assessment. I had hoped this was a momentary distraction. The guerilla action in Los Angeles is not tapering off." Tambor referenced the report, analytically absorbing every detail. He grimaced.

  Tambor had grown much better in his diplomatic skills recently. While the rest of Vanguard had been operating with growing confidence in the open, he had gone underground. Instead of dealing with politicians; shaking hands, kissing ass, compromising (which he hated more than anything), he went lower. He went to the enablers of the kings. Generals, admirals, ministers, department heads. Even undersecretaries.

  He did not challenge their loyalty nor did he ask them to. He simply asked them one question: Do you love your country?

  For many it was a highly suspicious question. What did the Vanguard have to gain? His answer was 'nothing'. The Terra Vanguard had no territorial, ideological or material goals. There was only the mission: To save humanity. Once his sincerity had been established, many cooperated willingly. They worked in the shadows of their nations to head off vampiric influence, which had grown like a mold in almost every institution. Tambor was ecstatic when the list of named individuals that had been dug up as active vampiric operatives was nearly identical to the list provided by Vespera.

  Now it was time to take action.

  Camila reported to him with a code phrase, "We are in the eye. Hurricane wall fast approaching. Bird is in the nest."

  It meant Whirwind had been successful and the additional data needed to hunt down Persephone had been acquired. Now he could make his speech. Though, it was more like a formal notification of an eviction.

  "Full send." he muttered to himself, steeling his resolve. He still did not like being in his dress uniform and surrounded by beauracrats.

  Los Angeles

  The rain poured down hard over a city in turmoil. Only in the wake of disaster did it find a moment of peace. Amelie Wagner stood in one such moment.

  The Museum of Art had become a blackened husk after the latest attack against the military forces in the city. A Foxhound lie on its side, one winglet jutting up towards the sky like a rigor mortus afflicted hand from a corpse. Its hull was burnt and blackened.

  Five crew had died after the aircraft came under intense ground fire from guided missiles. The aircraft was flying low, on patrol, when it was engaged in a surprise attack. The ensuing crash saw the craft careen into the museum where a further 12 bystanders were killed. To make matters worse, the Americans handled the situation poorly. Coinciding with the attack, the National Guards communication network was compromised. A false report called out several figures in armor opening fire on civilians inside the building. Vanguard personnel responding to the shootdown and the Nat Guard MPs arrived on the scene at the same time. The MPs, unfamiliar with the appearance of the Vanguard, opened fire. A gun battle ensured between two forces that were supposed to be on the same side.

  Wagner sent up a silent prayer, thankful that that clash had only produced wounded and no more fatalities. But she was deeply concerned. This was a bad sign. A very bad sign. This was asymmetric warfare on a higher level. She recalled her studies of past battles. This one reminded her of a Blackhawk crash in Mogadishu. The coordinator of these attacks was brilliant. They were not stupid. They made sure to draw the civilian populace into the attack. And when civilians were inevitably killed, agitators would crow about it from the roof tops, blaming the Vanguard and the US military. They called for withdrawal.

  So far they were getting what they wanted. The 4th Armored of the Vanguard and the U.S 1st Marine Expeditionary Unit had fully withdrawn. Several military Police battalions of the California National Guard and roughly half of Whitakers 1st Airborne were all that remained.

  This was a kind of warfare that nobody was prepared for. The Americans were vulnerable. The MPs drove humvees and patrolled in light kit. They were ill-equipped for the sheer intensity of warfare being wrought by the unknown enemy.

  Then there was the Terra Vanguard, unable to solve any problem without bringing the biggest of guns to bear. She had warned about these shows of force. It didn't matter if they were being shot at. Airstrikes and artillery fire in a major city was bad optics no matter what. Commander Whitaker thought he was sly, ordering the low-pass shows of force that the shattered Foxhound had been flying. He thought he was dealing with brigands and dregs, remnants of the traitor legion. But they were not. They were dealing with a professional and disciplined guerilla force.

  That was what scared Amelie. This was the kind of warfare that she feared the vampires would learn. It was the Achilles Heel of every conventional force throughout history. From the Levant, to Afghanistan, Vietnam, China and a hundred other examples, it never ended well.

  She made sure to note this in her report to the Leader-Commander. She technically was supposed to go through ISR and the scary Frenchwoman that headed it. But this was too important. She sent it straight to Tambor with a priority header. The Vanguard needed to delay its impending global strike. If the vampires were adapting, then it could likely end in abject failure.

  New York City

  Tambor did not approach the stand with diplomatic grace and soft tones. He moved with purpose. When he stood before the assembly, he simply adjusted his cap, stood ramrod straight and spoke clearly and plainly into the mic. A thousand cameras slewed onto him.

  "Delegates of the world. Leaders. Soldiers. Citizens.

  I come before you today not to ask for permission.

  I come to make clear an operation that is already in motion.

  Humanity is at war. Not with itself, like the traitorous amongst us, some in this very room, would have you believe. But an insidious enemy: the vampires, their various clans and cults, and I believe it is no longer taboo to mention, an extraterrestrial threat from beyond our solar system.

  They have hidden among us. Sat in our parliaments. Whispered in our corporations. Pulled the strings of kings and presidents alike.

  They have fed on your children while wearing your flags. They have sabotaged your industries while pretending to be your patriots. They have murdered your futures while speaking words of peace. They prey upon their own sanity.

  For too long, they used your disbelief as their shield. You were taught that monsters were a fiction. That evil had no form. That only the failures of men explained the turmoil of our current world.

  That was a lie. A carefully crafted, ruthless, and deliberate lie.

  The Terra Vanguard was created not to seize power, nor to impose any new order. We were forged for one purpose: the survival of humanity. Nothing more.

  And so today, I am informing you - not requesting, not pleading - that we are taking action.

  This is not a negotiation.

  As I speak, our forces are executing a global offensive. Precision strikes. Surgical raids. Coordinated liberation of governments, militaries, and institutions corrupted beyond repair.

  In 24 hours, the parasites within your power structures will be no more.

  Some of you will call us criminals. Tyrants. Assassins.

  So be it. History may hate us, but for many in my ranks, that won't be anything new.

  But when the blood-drinkers are gone, when your minds are once again your own, when the wars they started and benefitted from grind to a halt, you will understand why we acted.

  We do not ask for your blessing.

  We do not require your cooperation.

  But know this:

  We fight for every soul who still calls themselves human.

  We fight so that your grandchildren can grow up in a world not poisoned by things that see them only as cattle.

  We fight because it is right.

  The Terra Vanguard exists to save humanity — and in saving it, to make sure you never need us again.

  Today is not a day of speeches. It is a day of reckoning."

  Tambor made sure the core of message was abundantly clear.

  "This is a formal notice of military action.

  May God help those who stand against us.

  May God forgive those who stood idle for so long."

  Tambor stepped back from the podium. He did not wait for a reaction. He does not seek it. He simply turned and walked off the stage, leaving the world to catch up to his decision.

  Before his staff even exited, there were gasps of concern, but there were no jeers or outbursts. Just the sound of diplomats very quickly picking up their phones and making frantic calls to their capitols. Even the crows of the news media stood in quiet shock.