19736/The March of Doom

The March of Doom
Date of Scene:	06 January 2025
Location:	Symkarian Border Village
Synopsis:	Latverian war machines march on a Symkaran village a little over two kilometers away from the border shared by Latveria and Symkaria. Devastation is wrought, but the village may be damaged, but it can be rebuilt. The loss of civilian life is minimal due to the intervention of some of Earth's greatest heroes and Cliff Steele.
Cast of Characters:	Victor Von Doom, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Cliff Steele, Richard Stadler
Tinyplot:	Border War

---

Victor Von Doom has posed:
In recent days the border shared by the countries of Symkaria and Latveria have become a hotbed of provocation and violence.

Symkaria asserts that Latveria's aggressive actions come on the tail of a perceived State-sponsored assassination attempt of Latveria's benevolent monarch, Doctor Doom. An attempt that Symkaria has insisted was not authorized by itself, but may have been a provocative action performed by Latveria itself using infiltrators inserted into the Symkarian side of the border or that it was performed by rogue elements within the military structure of Symkaria itself.

Meanwhile Doctor Doom - which is Latveria - has asserted that to imagine Latveria staged an assassination attempt on its own leader is foolish theater at worst or 'a country operated by imbeciles inserted into their positions of leadership by their western handlers'. Latveria has insisted that there was no foolish game afoot and that Symkaria made an attempt to disrupt the regional status quo through their treacherous attempt to leverage a killing blow to their neighbor's political and military hierarchy in one decisive blow.

Regardless of the facts of the brewing war's instigation, the fact is that now that war has come to the lands of Symkaria. What began as a series of cross-border exchanges, with Latveria decimating much of the Symkarian border defenses and hard emplacements has progressed into an insertion of Latveria assets into the Symkarian side of the border. Latveria has asserted that its forays over the shared border is simply to ensure that the strategic and tactical assets that their longtime rival has arrayed across the border are dismantled, through force if necessary, to ensure a lasting and stable peace going forward. Symkaria has asserted that the forces of Doctor Doom have brought vestiges of that fighting to some of the border villages, with the conflict spreading across the outskirts of some of those civilian inhabited places; though they do acknowledge that thus far the Latverian aggression has not worked its way into the villages themselves.

This of course has brought out the likes of the military of Symkaria, but also those who would stand as its allies and even those who might be seen as little more than warzone tourists. It's in one such village that some heroes, friends or allies, or simply mercenaries find themselves just shy of two and a half kilometers from the Draken River where the shared border between two countries can be found. The village is rustic to say the least, but quaint. To the north of the village some forces Symkaria have began to muster, preparing their own attempt at an incursion across the Latveria side of the river and border.

Shortly before nightfall and to the north a long series of explosions can be heard over the course of an hour. Eventually these sounds precipitated the Symkarian forces withdrawing. To the west and east of the village, but through it was well. Which is when those observing the village and the unfolding conflict find themselves trapped between it. With the allied withdrawal underway in their attempt to retreat southward, the Latverian contingent continues its march south. Into the village streets they march in the form of men; but they stand head and shoulders above the common man, feature extensive armor plating, and a cannon for a left arm. They march in eerie silence from the north, blasting at those retreating to the south. The village itself soon becomes a conflict area as stray blasts smite northern facing walls, sending civilians screaming and attempting to escape alongside their soldiering countrymen.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Symkaria is supposedly a heavily militarized state despite what is said officially that all of the country's income comes from mercenary services. Given it's small size, limited population, and supposed mediocre economy, it purportedly has an extremely advanced military base given it's neighbors. Of course, it's one thing for one of the small Eastern European bloc states..

And another thing entirely for Latveria.

So as border skirmishes escalate, STRIKE (The EUropean 'branch' of SHIELD) had been keeping eyes hovering over everything out fo a sense of paranoia. The least they needed now was a full on war in the midst of Europe spreading with Galactus coming.

So when it turns into a cross-border assault, any general assets are dropped into the area. Officially to 'observe' and gather intelligence.. On the other hand, sympathies are probably unofficially in line with Symkaria and there's some leeway if said deployed agents are engaged or threatened to 'engage as necessary to protect the circumstances'.

So as part of the scattered team that had deployed, Natasha would speak as they would go to drop. "Radio silence. Presumes no matter the encryption level all broadcasts will be listened in on. Operate in paranoid state. Presume all electronics are trackable and can be disabled at leisure by the oncoming force. Be wary if threatened. We don't know the makeup of the assault force. If you see higher level Doombots do /not/ engage them."

Sam Wilson has posed:
Falcon, standing at the edge of the village, watches the Latverian soldiers advance. Their silent march contrasts sharply with the chaos they leave in their wake. Civilians flee, their cries mixing with the sounds of cannon fire and crumbling stone. He adjusts his goggles, scanning the scene for options.

The Symkarian forces are in retreat, but some soldiers linger, trying to organize a defense. Falcon steps forward, activating Redwing with a subtle hand gesture. The drone hums to life, darting ahead to scout the incoming troops.

Sam knows this isn't a fight they can win head-on. The Latverian machines are built for destruction, and the Symkarian forces are outmatched. He opens his comms, addressing any allies in the area.

"We've got civilians still in the crossfire," he says into his comm to the others present on the SHIELD line. "Latverian troops are pushing hard. If we don't move fast, this place is going to be a graveyard. I'll send you airborne pics from Redwing."

He launches into the air, wings spread wide, weaving between buildings to get a better view. Below, a young boy stumbles, his path blocked by debris. Sam dives, scooping him up and setting him down safely behind cover.

"Stay low," he tells the boy before taking off again.

Redwing's feed confirms what he suspected: the Latverians are methodical, targeting anything resembling resistance. He relays their position to the STRIKE agents, so that they can keep an eye on them.

"This isn't just about the border," he mutters, watching the precision of the attack. "Doom's making a statement."

As the village descends further into chaos, Falcon pushes forward. His focus is clear: protect the innocent, stall the invaders, and buy enough time for anyone still in the village to escape. And then he drops into radio silence on Natasha's order.

Cliff Steele has posed:
Meanwhile, outside the small town of Cloverton, NJ, a fight is brewing over brunch in Doom Manor. Jane's blown into town and cross words are being dished along with the hashbrowns.

Inevitably, things escalate. One of the verbal combatants, the rampaging rustbucket Cliff Steele, retorts:

"You know, Jane, sometimes you can be a real--"

But the insult never lands as one of Jane's other 64 personalities--the 80s-obsessed ADD teleporter Flit--decides to take matters into her own hands.

And so, in the blink of an eye, the Robotman appears in a lightly-forested patch near the river's edge. Flit, alongside him, quips:

"You want to fight, big guy? Great, here you go. See you after breakfast, jerkoff."

With a middle finger, Cliff is left to his devices here on Doomsday.

"Uhh... Where in the fuck am I?"

He stares dumbly at the toy soldiers a'marching, head cocked in confusion.

"Who are these assholes? Why does this place look like it lives inside a cuckoo clock?"

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Oh boy, that's close by.

Cliff dashes from the treeline, booking it for the cover provided by the village, a shambling burnt-orange antique robot frankenstein dressed for a Dead Kennedys show, not a land war in Europe. As he double-times it towards town, the tin man wonders if he should've paid closer attention to the news.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Richard had... contacts. A number of them. SHIELD consultancy was one thing, but a large portion of his previous job was political. Making the right connection with allies was important, and, to be honest, lucrative when it came to needing the resources. It hadn't taken much to connect to a Polish officer he met at a conference in '14. Who put him in touch with a Symkarian bureaucrat at a disease research institue, who arranged the right visa for 'disaster response' roughly a week ago. Certainly, STRIKE would have been a quicker in, but there was something about being a little more deniable.

He still... was working on his understanding on /why/ he went through the effort. School teachers generally didn't go for this sort of... tourism (aside from that one professor from Marshall College in the 30s), and this was uncomfortably close to simply being a mercenary chasing an adrenaline high. It wasn't a question that was new, or one that he had a strong answer for, or one that was going to get answered right now.

Certainly not right now, in the third story of a bakery, in an apartment that had been abandoned a few hours ago, looking at a collection of six Symarian special infantry that he had begged through translation apps and a shared knowledge of German from one of the officers. They spoke English. Enough of it, at least, for his purpose here. They were equipped as best they could, and perhaps a bit mystified why they were following a man in OD green BDUs and rather expensive kit; but they were in a prime position, and they had the proper tools needed to deal with the threat. For the moment.

Stadler clicked on the handset after Sam spoke. "Get who you can out over here. We're looking at robotic forces, at the moment, so a rout or going for the morale isn't going to work. Which means our best option short of attrition is go for their 3CI and start fucking with their tactical elasticity." He nots, looking through the tablet at the pictures coming into the system itself.

"Good... all right. Close to what I expected. Going to be the rats in this situation, but what else is new?"

He muttered, before slowly moving to the window. Patrol down stairs, maybe looking for entry. Luckily the ground floor wasn't the only way in or out.

"All right. recoillesses's up."

Three soldiers nodded, moving to the windows themselves. Already open, not sticking the tips of the Gustav's through the windows. They knew what they were doing, and Rick was pleseantly suprised to be dealing with Gustav's instead of the RPGs he was expect. Swedish originals, but you couldn't have everything.

"Blastback clear." He said. "Remember, anything with an antenna." Rick said, peering through the window. Hand up, a few more moments.

"Go!"

The three recoilless rounds went off as one, the blastback thundering in the small room, dust picked up from surfaces as the rounds slammed into the Doombot's below. It wasn't meant to go after their assault units, but command and control nodes, and they were /not/ staying for anything more then a cursory BDA. "Second position." Rick noted, and they were grabbing and moving. Quickly. Staying in one place would mean /very/ bad things.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Assets overhead inevitably draw the attention of some of the Latverian forces. Their cannon arms release shrill whines each time that they spat balls of death in energy form. Even the Redwing, small and agile as it may be, takes incoming fire at times. Anything that takes to the sky is open to engagement as far as the Latverian machines seem to be concerned. Yet when the Falcon scoops up the small boy to aid him to safety, the perceptive may note that the Latverian warbots seem to shift their engagement to other targets. Yet when the Falcon again takes to the air without the young boy in his arms, the incoming fire on the winged hero resumes.

The Black Widow is prepared to drop into the engagement alongside her team and the pilot can be heard shouting, "We're taking fire and it's close!" It's a clear warning that egress must be swift or else disaster may strike for all aboard the craft.

The recoilless rifles prove themselves to have at least 66.666666% (repeating, of course) effectiveness in their initial engagement. Two of the three warbots that are struck maintain their form, but are launch from their feet by the impact and ensuing explosion. One lands heavily where the village's main street opens onto the countryside on the village's perimter. Another is struck and sent toppling through the wall of one of the village's buildings near the perimeter; a residential home by the looks of it. The third target struck has its right arm sheared off and promptly turns its focus toward the origin of the attack, beginning to spit rapid beams of energy at the apparent source.

While many Symkarians are in open retreat, there are those who are rallied. They take up positions in and around the village, returning fire to the best of their ability though their success rate isn't approaching that of Stadler and his small team of guerillas. When they engage, it often seems to do little more than draw the bot's attention to them. Moments later their cover is obliterated by incoming fire that necessitates their displacement. For many Symkarian teams operating in the open it becomes a persistent game of hit-and-retreat, alone run.

Despite the destruction of two of Latveria's 'aggressive defenders', they continue to mouth southward. More and more come into sight along the terrain, marching toward and around the village when a mechanical chant begins to slowly spread among them.

DOOM.

DOOM.

DOOM.

Their synthetic voices proclaim with cold resolve as they continue their southward march with left arm cannons blatting and their mechanical footfalls stomping the earth in unison, despite the fact that each unit seems to be operating on an individual basis, rather than through any truly cohesive organization.

Sam Wilson has posed:
Falcon banks hard to the right as a blast from the Doom Bots scorches the air where he hovered moments before. The rhythmic chant of "DOOM" from the warbots below continues to resonate across the battlefield, cold and unrelenting. His gaze hardens as he processes what he saw earlier - no fire when he carried the boy. A sliver of humanity, or at least intentionality, in Doom's machinations.

Dipping low to avoid another shot, Sam uses the momentum to rise into a sharp climb, spinning to evade a series of blasts trailing him. Switching his comms to an open frequency, he addresses Doom directly, his voice calm but cutting through the chaos.

"Doctor Doom, this is Sam Wilson, the Falcon. I know you can hear me. I've seen your machines hold fire when innocent lives are at risk. That tells me you've got some control over this situation. So use it. Stop this."

Sam twists midair, narrowly dodging another volley. The shockwaves from the blasts rattle his wings, but he steadies, folding them briefly to accelerate downward. His voice remains steady despite the intensity of the fire directed at him.

"These people didn't ask for war. They didn't choose to be caught in the crossfire of whatever message you're trying to send. You're better than this, aren't you? A man who claims to rule with wisdom and power shouldn't need to terrorize civilians to make his point."

He pivots sharply, Redwing feeding him critical updates on the incoming fire. A well-timed roll carries him out of the path of another cannon shot as it demolishes a section of wall below.

"Your warbots may chant your name, but real power is shown through mercy. Step back now before this becomes something no one can undo. You can end this here, Doom. You've made your point. The world is watching."

Sam cuts his altitude, using the village rooftops as cover. He doesn't stop moving, his wings shifting with precision as he avoids each shot. Redwing flits nearby, scanning the battlefield as Sam braces himself, ready for whatever comes next.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
It's time to go on down and not take the craft with them. By the exchanged fire going along the Symkarians are making a show out of a iwthdraw, and now it's probably every inhabitant of the small border village with a gun peppering the attackers with fire to little avail. Natasha goes to expect that it will be a massacre. Technically that's not her issue. She's just here as an observer. But..

But, they've come under fire, and SYmkaria, while not an official member of NATO, has a good working relationship wtih SHIELD and offers pecialists at discounted rates.

Plus, Falcon is an Avenger, and has just come under fire, which in turn requires her to back up her teammate. This has turned under Sam's official 'leadership' now to an operation of the team and whatever assets they have available, as Natasha will note it in the log and debriefing if and when she gets to file a report (if she survives that long).

She goes to leap out of the dropship, not bothering to deploy a chute. A chute just means a deathtrap for ground fire. She doesn't have the glider system that Sam has built in.. But she'll improvise on the landing. She goes to take her hand up to he rcommbadge and goes to snap it off, expecting to be tracked by it..

And she goes to angle herself towards a gropu of trees that ahd been mostly crushed over by earlier border skirmishing. She goes to hit the tops of the ones still standing, which slows her fall.. A nd she braces, ricocheting down the branches until she hits the burnt, smoggy, snow covered ground.

Richard Stadler has posed:
     Stadler's small band is already outside the room when the energy bolt slam into the windows... for the most part. Part of this leading from the front nonsense was being the first in and last out, and it meant he was in the room to see a family's hard earned life chewed to pieces, a chip of stone spinning uncomfortably fast and lodging into the helmet he was wearing.

That was the exchange. A family home and three recoilless rounds for what looked to be two down and one damaged Doombot. Hardly a fair exchange, but very little in war offered that.

Rick could hear Sam's plea for Doom to stop this over the net. He didn't say anything, just grimaced. A man like Doom would either see himself win or his retreat as a magnanimous gesture; leaving him a proper exit strategy was good politics. It just felt wrong; it always felt wrong, that force used like this could get anything close to what he wanted, and not a swift punishment of the loss of his army and humiliation. Whatever saved lives was the key, of course. Didn't mean it had to feel good.

They rushed, running as fast as battle rattle and hallways would allow, up a stairwell in an adjoining building to the roof behind them. "Reload!" He gave the order, moving to the lip of the building and thumping down on his belly, the Mark 17 rifle perched and aimed down. The element of surprise was gone, so they needed to make a bit more use of their arsenal. "Three round burst, those bots on the sides there. Mission kills are sensors and optics; go with black tip." He noted.

Rifles appeared next to him on the roof, as the recoillesses were loaded back up. Here, he had an advantage. Someone had started up production of DUDS again; it wasn't a surprise, it was welcome, and it was /exceedingly/ expensive to procure without the right contacts. But it meant that the dark green clip that was loaded in Rick's rifle was using depleted uranium, and that meant they'd get penetration. It wasn't a SLAP round in a Ma Deuce, but it was mobile. It had worked on the Badoon, at least.

Rick didn't like thinking about how that had ended.

"Up!" Came the word, echoed three times, from the recoilless gunners. Aimed and sighted in a few seconds, before Rick gave the signal. "Go!" And again, the rounds came down, toward the rear of the formation in the street, as battle rifles barked out 7.62 NATO toward the others. Headshots wouldn't kill them, but they would hopefully blind.

The gun fire worked to at least be an answer to the chanting, the name of the invader, yelled out electronically as if the wind itself was carrying it. Rick spared a glance to the terrain north of them, seeing the advance. Couldn't think about that. Just the target in front of you.

<<Romanova, on your way in, any arty set up by the locals?>>

Cliff Steele has posed:
As Cliff clambers into the warzone atop the collapsed ruin of a centuries-old stone hut, the war chant begins.

DOOM.

And, for a second there, the tin tourist is rightly confused, pointing a finger at his chest in a gesture of, 'who, me?'.

"Damn, maybe we're bigger in Europe," he thinks hopefully.

But then there's the blaster fire, the wool-bedecked, fur-capped commandos, the imposing sight of Mt. Wundagore in the distance... he suddenly snaps in recognition.

"Ohhhhh, yeah. Well, shit on a stick."

A patrol approaches, attracted to the anomaly in their midst. Cliff raises a fist in salute, chanting:

"Doom! Doom! Yeeeaaahhh, Doom!"

"Uh, no dice, huh?"

Blaster fire erupts in retort, pinging off the robotman's near-invulernable frame as he slides down the makeshift hill in a cloud of cobblestone dust.

"Okay, fuckers. You asked for it."

The Doombots glance between themselves before cautiously approaching.

Suddenly, a 70s Skoda, that czech compact classic, launches like a rocket from Cliff's position directly into their midst, sending the lot sprawling from the makeshift artillerist's barrage. Of course, unknown to our self-satisfied Robotman, reinforcements are inevitably closing quickly...

Victor Von Doom has posed:
There's no way of knowing whether the Falcon's desperate gambit across open channels truly had an effect or not. What can be taken as a fact is that the Latverian robots seem to cease their advances down the village streets. While some halt to the north of the village, others begin to pour around it to the east and west. Their inexorable march flows around the village as though it were a boulder in a stream. While they may now seek to surround the village, their effort to aggressively march into it seem to have faltered. There's no telling whether the Falcon's effort bore fruit or not, but it certainly seems as though it could have.

The Black Widow crashes through the treetops in her descent and a rapid descent it is. When she lands on the snowy ground below, it seems to draw the attention of one of the assaulting Latverian warbots. It does not speak, but it does march toward her with his left arm raised and extended. It's clear that the mechanical creation intends to fire on the move, as it does not halt in its advance. A few dozen meters away and it begins to fire. The left arm shifts and begins to track, attempting to stay on target of the Black Widow as it fires one blast and then another and another with its heavy footfalls crunching through at least two different storm's snowfall.

The latest salvo from Stadler's Six has less favorable results, but still effective to some more limited degree. Now firing toward the outskirts of the village and the warbots that begin to march around the outer limits of the border town, their lines of sight are less favorable than when the enemy combatants were beginning to march into the streets of the village itself.

Meanwhile the Doom Patrol's - legal shenanigans pending in Latverian court, no doubt - very own Robotman is swiftly gaining a new following. As his salvo is unleashed on a pair of Latverian Green painted robots, this only seems to draw yet more attention to himself. Three more break away from their inexorable march to begin firing upon the Robotman's position. Tree trunks are obliterated from the incoming fire, sending them tumbling like matchsticks as the Doom-chanting warbots begin to march across the snowy terrain toward their latest target on the outskirts of the village. Their fire is unrelented and their will to eradicate the aggressor - if one could call Cliff Steele such a thing - is apparent as they seem quite set on hemming him into position through sheer volume of fire, while the warbots begin to fan out in a bit to overwhelm him with assaults to his front, but also flanks.

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
And as soon as she lands, Natasha has to go to a quick combat roll to get out of the way, and moves to say calmly, "You are threatening SHIELD Agents and Avengers personnel and have opened fire on them without provocation." Okay in total -theoretical- world without provocation, but Natasha has to sell it to her political bosses in a way that they can sign off to their bosses with something semi coherent and legitimate. It is called the effort of covering thine ass.

"Until you cease, your forces are to be considered hostile." This is all being logged so she has it down! Not thta anyone will really care. But regulations are regulations and it makes Deputy Director Hill less prone to have an aneurism. Natasha goes to dive along to the side as the Servobot opens fire. Thankfully, it's weaponry seems to be conventional in nature.

That takes it down from 'stagger Superman' to just 'horrifyingly dangeruos and prone to cut her in two' as bullets blast past her. A couple hit her jumpsuit, with a lining underneath of ceramic plating and kevlar, and ricochet off. It still hurts, and that's two broken ribs that she'll ignore for now.

She goes to then pick up her weapons and open fire on the robot. Quick pistol shots go to plink off the Servobot's optics and face wtihout penetration. Another series of shots then go to bounce off the heavy gun blasting at her. But her maneuvers keep the robot from bringing the full firepower of the heavy assault rifle on her which is what her immediate goal is.

Sam Wilson has posed:
Falcon scans the battlefield from above, taking in the shifting positions of the Doombots. Their halt in the village and redirection around its edges confirms his suspicions, his broadcast may have bought the villagers some time. But the Doombots advancing to the east pose an immediate threat to any chance of evacuation.

"Alright, time to even the odds," Falcon mutters, banking hard to the right and locking onto the eastern flank of advancing warbots.

"Redwing, mark the densest group for me," he commands. The drone zips ahead, scanning the formation. A small cluster of five Doombots marching in tight formation lights up on his HUD.

Falcon adjusts his altitude, descending rapidly. His wings spread wide for stability as he primes his onboard missile system. "Let's do this."

Diving low over the eastern flank, Sam fires a pair of micro-missiles from his wing-mounted launchers. The projectiles streak through the air, exploding in quick succession among the warbots. Two are engulfed in flames, their mechanical bodies shuddering under the force of the blast. The shockwave sends another staggering sideways, but it quickly stabilizes, pivoting its cannon arm to track Falcon.

"Not done yet!" Sam pulls into a steep climb to avoid return fire, then twists midair to sweep back around. With his machine pistols drawn, he unloads a hail of precision shots, aiming for the exposed joints of another bot. Sparks fly as the concentrated fire disables its left arm, leaving it lurching awkwardly toward its comrades.

The remaining Doombots retaliate, unleashing a barrage of energy blasts. Falcon rolls and loops through the air, using his speed and agility to stay ahead of their tracking systems.

"Come on, keep your eyes on me," he mutters, drawing their fire further away from the village.

Falcon's evasive maneuvers keep him just ahead of the Doombots' tracking systems as their cannon fire scorches the air around him. But the intensity of their barrage increases, and even his agility has limits.

As he banks left to line up another missile strike, a sudden blast catches him mid-turn. The energy bolt clips his right wing, sending a surge of heat and force through the Vibranium structure. The impact throws him off balance, and Sam spirals downward, struggling to regain control.

"Dammit!" he shouts, gritting his teeth against the jarring pain radiating through his shoulder from the force of the hit.

Smoke trails from the damaged wing as he barely manages to stabilize his descent, angling himself toward a cluster of trees at the edge of the battlefield. His landing is rough: he crashes through the upper branches, the impact jarring and unrelenting as he tumbles to the snowy ground below.

For a moment, he lies still, catching his breath as the cold snow seeps through his uniform. Redwing flits down, scanning him and sending diagnostic data to his HUD. His right wing is functional but weakened, and a sharp ache in his side suggests a bruised rib, maybe worse.

Richard Stadler has posed:
     The attack was less effective for a good reason. The streets seemed to be clearing out, the doom bots ceasing aside for the few smoldering wrecks. Reaching fire out furthur seemed to be doing something, but it was rapidly becoming suboptimal. "Cease fire!" He yelled, the fire petering off, as the troops looked at him quizzically as he pulled out the tablet again. "Goddamn it." He said, stabbing the screen with clumsy fingers, scrolling through the Symkarian table of organization. No. No, that was still Cold bloc. 152s, No, wait, that- no, that one was overrun three days ago. But- Okay. Okay. Hand digging into a hip pocket, before looking up to one of the people staring at him. "Oh-" He noted, before unslinging his pack, reaching in, and pulling out a device. "Strap this- just replace the sight on that G3. Designate the ones advancing on the west, in the rear." He said, the small Sat phone fished out from the pocked, antenna flipped up, the down button stabbed with gloved fingers until he found the right contact. "Just- give me-"

An fullisade of energy bolts whipped over head, but they were still avoiding the villiage. Firing from it might break it, but they were still on a rooftop, with good sight lines. "Dimetry! Guten tag!" He said. Contact that got him into this business. He didn't speak English, and Rick didn't speak Symkarian, but they /did/ both speak German. A rapid conversation ensued, working over the words. Yes, 13th Seperate Artillery. Yes, now. Yes, on the phone. Did they even have a radio telephone operator- Oh. Great. That person didn't speak any language Rick knew. He looked up, and pointed to one of the men carrying the Gustav. "You! Translate!" He said, tossing him the phone.

Enemy infantry, armored. I count... company strength, west from grid square... Kilo Mike, 5630 4044. About 200 meters. Excaliber-" He said, quickly adjusting at the confused look. "Laser Guided munitions. Designating now. Fire ranging!"

The entire conversation had taken a few minutes. Annoyingly so. But after a hesitation, a few moments, there was a thunderclap of something far in the south. And then a whistling sound as three rounds fell in a tight grouping toward the Doombots advancing in the west.

"Good range! Fire for effect!"

Cliff Steele has posed:
It's like a hallway on the Death Star out here on the Symkarian frontier as blaster fire thickly carpets the air between Cliff and the doomsmen, annihilating the ill-fated hut into a cloud of debris.

Unprepared for the overwhelming response--and unsuited for soldiery, at best--Cliff freezes as the world explodes around him.

He looks down, expecting to have been blown to bits once again... but is right as rain, save the smoldering tatters of his outfit.

"My favorite fucking jacket! Arrrrggghhhh!"

Heedless of danger, our Cliffasaurus charges the nearest. His fist explodes through the bot's perpetual scowl, driven elbow deep into its positronic brain, but--unfortunately--the body still remains quite attached, hanging limply from the piston-powered forearm of the robotman.

As Cliff tries to shake free, his flanking foes resume their assault, forcing him to use their rapidly-deteriorating companion as impromptu cover.

"Sorry I dropped the syrup, Jane! Goddamn it, this isn't funny anymore!"

PEW. PEW. PEW.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
The Latverian side of the conflict isn't without its losses. In fact as the village's defenders, whether official or otherwise, continue to put up their resistance the number of Latverian units seems to gradually diminish. There are plenty more where they came from but there is at least a discernable difference in the amount of incoming fire directed at the village, its defenders, and the structures of it. It's not beyond the realm of imagining that the Falcon's own efforts at appealing to their adversary's ego had additionally reaped the benefit of the warbot's actively avoiding firing into a civilized area that doesn't hold immediate dangers for their own operation.

Now it's the sky that many of the units begin to target. The presence of the Falcon soaring over the broad range of the battlefield seems to distract more than a few units below into raising their arms and increasing the amount of energy blasts being sent into the sky over Symkaria in a bid to knock the Falcon out of the sky. The Falcon may be brought low and into a rough landing, but he's alive, though a quick assessment finds him on the outskirts of the battlefield and well beyond the village's outer limit with one badly damaged survivor from his micro-missile attack. The damage caused to it has left it functional, but with some maneuvering difficulty as it continues to walk on a mechanical leg with its right foot crumpled from Sam's attack and much of its armor plating compromised. "Doom," it announces in a distorted and trembling mechanical voice, as though its damage goes to systems well beneath its surface.

DOOM.

DOOM.

DOOM.

The irregular chanting continues from one unit to the next, seemingly carried across one to another and then another. The efforts of the defenders thus far have at least stalled the advance well enough that those civilians taken by surprise and in the engagement area are beginning to filter south, deeper into Symkaran territory. While many pack themselves into motor vehicles, others take to bicycles and even a couple witnessed on horseback making their escape to the south and southeast. Those without some mode of transportation take to hustling south, out of the village in a desperate effort to place distance between themselves and the zone of conflict. Again it seems that the Falcon's efforts toward reasoning may have paid dividends, as the warbots seem to cease their effort to surround the village and a southerly corridor left open for the retreat of civilians - and in fact some uniform-stripped Symkaran military deserters.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
Those fleeing to the south on foot, cycle, and horseback shrink down at the whistling sound passing overhead. Though they quickly continue their escape when the sound doesn't lead to something exploding near themselves. To the west of the village the sudden barrage of munitions begins to change the landscape into something truly hellish. Snow and soil is churned or launched into the air with each explosive impact and concussive wave that follows it. The effect is devastating among the attackers as many units are decommissioned permanently and their effort to move around the western flank is summarily ended. It isn't their resolve that breaks but their ability to truly create any sort of western front along the village's outskirts. All told only a handful of the Latverian robots remain after the barrage concludes and those to the north do not seem to budge in their steps. They do not reinforce and they do not attempt to shift their position to the west to take up the failed mission of their mechanical counterparts.

Meanwhile the Robotman is elbow-deep in another robot, with a pair of robots firing at the Robotman and his robot-shield. Their care for their fallen comrade is nonexistent however and they fire one explosive salvo after another at Cliff, shredding and further decimating their Latverian counterpart as it is wielding on Steele's deeply penetrating piston-powered arm. "doom," the contraption being utilized as this season's latest wrist-based fashion accessory proclaims in a weak, faltering voice as though its power reserves were running low and instead of fighting, it has instead chosen to use that valuable energy to make one final proclamation of its intent - or loyalty.

The Black Widow's adversary continues to march on her, but her swift movements seem to work well against it in close quarters. Its optics damaged by her gunfire only serves to aid in her effort to avoid its incoming fire, even if a pair of rounds graze precariously close. It attempts to close the distance between itself and the Black Widow however. It's clear that the thing adjusts its tactics given the damage caused to it. An engagement at range does not favor the Latverian warbot with its vital systems compromised and now it seeks to engage in close quarters with Natasha where it can utilize brute force, mechanical strength, and its virtually unyielding armored surface to crush the Avenger as its voice seems to shift from the chant of DOOM to something altogether surprising, "You have inserted yourself into this conflict as your western powers are so apt to do. The repercussions of your hubris are your own and the responsibility of Latveria is to defend itself against an aggressive neighbor. Including those that would foolishly assert themselves into such a conflict". The robot speaks in English with a decidedly Latverian accent. A voice that doesn't at all reflect the more mechanical nature of its parroting of the DOOM chant shared by its cohorts only moments ago. Despite this civil conversation the bot continues to plod toward the Black Widow as it seeks to engage her in close quarters battle.

Sam Wilson has posed:
Sam pushes himself up from the snow, clutching his side as he takes in his surroundings. The battlefield roars in the distance, but here on the outskirts, it's quieter, save for the crunching sound of metal against frost. He turns his gaze toward the damaged Doombot limping in his direction, its mechanical voice grinding out a distorted "DOOM."

"Yeah, I got it," Sam mutters under his breath, rolling his shoulder to test its mobility. His wings spark faintly, damaged but still operational. He checks his pistols, then focuses on the bot. Its right foot is crumpled, and its armor plating is shredded, exposing vulnerable components beneath.

Falcon steps forward cautiously, his pistols raised. "You're not looking too good there, buddy," he says aloud, more to himself than to the machine. "But I've still got enough fight left to finish this."

The bot pauses for a moment, its sensors flickering as it processes his voice. It raises its left arm cannon slowly, the movement jerky and labored. Falcon doesn't wait for it to fire. He dashes to the side, firing a controlled burst of rounds into the exposed joints of its damaged leg. Sparks fly, and the bot staggers, unable to keep its balance.

Before it can recover, Falcon launches himself into the air with a burst from his thrusters, despite the strain on his injured wing. He arcs over the bot and fires another volley at its power core. The shots land true, and the bot shudders violently before collapsing to the ground, its distorted voice cutting off mid-"DOOM."

Sam lands a few feet away, panting as he surveys the wreckage. He taps his comms. <<Falcon here. One more Doombot down on the outskirts. Wing's damaged, but I'm still in the fight. What's the status on the village?>>

Natasha Romanoff has posed:
Well, the robots are at least not attacking the civilians, and trying to lessen damage towards residential areas of the small village. That's a small improvement. And the Doombots are probably following the rules of war more in a technical way than the villages are. Not that any sort of war has been declared, mind. But the remaining villagers will be performing acts of terror against whatever of the robots are in the area, and the robots in turn will probably end up leveling the village rather than deal with the partisans in it and everyone within. But that's for the small patch of ground later on.

The Black Widow of course cannot keep track of these things at the moment, even as she ducks back, "You opened fire on an uninvolved craft flying by to observe events and have maintained an aggressive posture despite identifications being given." She would counter over. "United Nations and the Security Council mandate allowances for actions of self defense in undeclared combat zones. There has been no formal declaration of war noted between Symkaria and Latveria and no violation was made of Latverian territory or airspace."

SHe says this while evading shots more and diving to the side, keeping up the fire exchange going on, giving more bullets, firing them over at the rifle itself coming out of the Doombot. "There has been no formal annexation of this territory nor restrictions upon entry stated by the Symkarian government, ergo an overflight is completely legitimate given observed treaties. As such, SHIELD personnel are allowed to engage in reasonable self defense when situations warrant it. Presuming that there is a change in international stipulations involving the region.. Then they will be reacted to as is appropriate given diplomatic circumstances."

Then she goes to throw a Widow's Bite over into the machine, hopefully hitting it mid-exchange monologue. If the thing was going to argue like it was a Soviet ambassador to the United Nations, she would give it as much credence as one.

Cliff Steele has posed:
Cliff's chunky jewelry falls to pieces, leaving him completely naked to enemy fire--and otherwise, as only a tasteful denim loincloth remains.

However, it finally occurs to our Doomer-in-residence that, in actual fact, the blasts may knock him around a bit but can't seem to penetrate his iron hide.

"Huh," he states simply, blinking slowly as a blue laser-light show ricochets from him in every direction.

"Guess your pop guns aren't too much worse than a .50 cal, huh?"

A gleeful glimmer appears in the robotman's red rings of doom as he watches his opponents unload uselessly upon him.

DOOM.

DOOM.

DOOM.

"You said it, pal."

Cliffy's feeling cocky now as he struts forward to rip the coppery guts from one opponent, whipping them with enough force that the doomsman is launched into an aerial spin, from soldier to sling in seconds as he takes flight towards his remaining squadmate.

And so, sans playmates, the Cliffasaurus marches on, cutting a direct path towards the botty battalion massing to the northeast.

"It's a choice," he figures, still not quite able to keep score amidst the mayhem but figuring that's where the major action is happening.

"Here comes the Doom, motherfuckers!"

Richard Stadler has posed:
     That... well.

Rick honestly wasn't expecting that to work. Things that he fought seemed to eat 155 millimeter and ask for second. An energy shield, perhaps, or vibranium shells that would cause shell fragments to ping uselessly aganist them. It figured one of these days reality would have to set in that infantry marching across open ground in the precense of an observer with a radio were going to get /handled/.

There was no time to appreciate it, thought. Artillery stopped after a few shells, as his translator let him know the battery was relocating. Of course it was; Doom was a megalomaniacal tinpot, but he wasn't stupid. Counterbattery fire could be heading in in seconds.

But was it? Why was Doom standing off with his forces to the north? What about to the east? Could it be that that the talk and discussion of optics and treaties was bearing fruit? Or that he was looking at the butchers bill in scrap and finding it was rapidly climbing higher than he'd like? Or was he planning something Rick couldn't see?

The latter concerned Rick. Scared him, just a bit. And he knew if he dwelled on it, it would eat him into indecision. They had to use what they had in terms of intelligence, and simply that was it.

"Pick it up. We're moving to point..." Rick took a moment. "Juliet." He said, and the small team moved. It would give them a good look over the battlefield to the east, while keeping them in range of a Northern assault when it happened. If it happened.

Rick reached for his radio handset as they took down stairs, opened a door, looked, and then crossed the road. THe dangerous part of the operation, between a few smoking cars and bots, some dead men in Symkarian uniforms. <<They're moving around it. West's forces got hit with arty; battery's relocating and it's the only one I've got in clear communication. Relocating to an OP covering the East. Forces to the North are... standing there. I don't know if he's holding them in reserve or as a statement, but I'm not going to give him the kick there to start reconsidering that. Can you get me a UAV flyby to the east?"

Victor Von Doom has posed:
The sound of rolling thunder that is the artillery barrage fades away into the distance after a few moments and now the chant of DOOM has once again fallen silent. Now the assault force of Latverian war machines seem to have drifted back into silence. To the north they stand at the ready, but unengaged. To the west lie nothing but a crater marked expanse with the pulverized scrap remnants of Latverian machinery. To the east their southerly advance seems to have faltered at best and at worst been recalled. The units on the eastern side of the village begin to withdraw to the north once more to merge once again with the main force to the north.

The damaged unit that seeks to engage with the downed Falcon doesn't quite know who it's dealing with or seem to be prepared for the tactics employed against it. It fires a blast that causes the immediate area to reek of burnt ozone, but it impacts the ground where the Falcon had stood but a moment ago. The sudden zig that turns to a zag and then into a thrust-assisted leap over the bot causes it to attempt to track its target and perform a lumbering turn to bring its cannon behind itself, but Sam's evasive efforts prove themselves to work well against the damaged Latverian machine. It fires a blast as it turns, but it never even comes close to Falcon as it fires well before the barrel is even in the vicinity of the Avenger. Gunfire shreds the damaged unit's core and a small detonation is even to send Falcon flying back from the sheer force of the explosion. The destroyed unit topples to the snow-covered ground with its armor sundered and its robotic torso bloated and peeled outward in places, no doubt a result of the internal explosion of its miniaturized power core detonating.

Stadler's Six begin to displace following the devastating barrage that, by his expert perception on the subject, was a considerably heavier salvo than he had called in. It seems that in the case of Latverian aggression, Symkaria trends toward the philosophical predisposition of erasing grid squares and altering natural topography. Despite the awe that such devastation can inspire, it's also a wonder that there weren't any errant shells that fell within the village's western edge.

Victor Von Doom has posed:
The Latverian machines are gradually dismantled by the efforts of their robotic cousin in the form of Robotman. Their incoming fire is essentially shrugged off and that leaves the Doom Patrol's member capable of rending his opponents to pieces with relatively little worry. The chants have ceased however, yet they do not show fear or any desire to retreat from an opponent they seem incapable of bringing significant harm to. One of them even attempts to close with their adversary and beat the Robotman into submission with its heavy cannon built into its left arm, but even that seems to fail in its bid to batter Cliff.

The Widow's Bite doesn't seem to fully incapacitate the attacking war machine. It doesn't simply falter and fall to its face, but it does seem to seize up against the electical gadgets attack. The left arm ceases moving and its armored feet seem to become rooted to the ground, as though stuck or magnetized to it. The torso shifts and it's right arm extends, attempting to snatch at Natasha in a bid to bring her kicking and screaming into the crush of its mechanical hand.

"You may have won this battle, Agent Romanoff, but this does not decide this war. DOOM shall permit you this field, but you and your compatriots will not be found on every battlefield," it seems to threaten or perhaps promise. The abrupt way that it ceases speaking and goes still surely can't be a good sign.

Across the battlefield those units that have been brought low, whether destroyed or rendered inoperable begin to smoke. That's never a good sign! A few precious moments later and they begin to explode, rendering them little more than shattered husks.

The surviving units begin to withdraw. Some of which do so under fire and returning fire, rendering their own and each other's covering fire in their northern advance - for Doom does not retreat, but simply advances in a new direction.

Today is won for the Symkarians and their allies, but as Doom has promised there will surely be more battles along the shared border between two European countries. Some big, some small. Some won, some lost. Where will it end?