ITT:WE ARE THE JOINT AMERICAN-AZTEC FORCES VS THE ARGENTINE-NAZI HORDE

This is the Central and South American Theatre of World War X.

Here is the intel and signup sheet.

Get ready ladies and gents, we're off to war.

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A throbbing fills the air above the dense jungle as helicopter-aircraft hybrids dart through the air, their jet efflux almost scorching the treetops. Some are bulkier than others, their bellies seemingly distended in proportion to the rest of the fuselage. Inside these aircraft, soldiers of varying ages and descriptions check their weapons and equipment one last time. Some chat to each other nervously, trying to take their minds off the coming firefights. On one of them, music blares above the rotor noise, being transmitted in the background of the radio channels to pass the time.

Smaller, more maneuverable aircraft flit alongside, their chin turrets and other bizarre looking weaponry roving and looking for targets. A pilot of one of these vehicles, his helmet identifying himself as Thunderchief transmits on the radio.

"Firebird One, asking for sit-rep."

-countless luminous eyes watch this aerial procession from the jungle below, their owners unnoticed by the aircraft above as a result of their shockingly-low body temperature and their comouflaged fatigues. They appear to be men of Argentinian extraction, but their features are oddly rigid and reflect the red light of the planes' exhaust, almost as if their skin was some form of plastic. They do not blink as they continue to watch the allied planes, then one reaches up and presses a laminated hand to his throat before speaking in a dry, metallic whisper-

Comandante Prospero, las fuerzas americanas ha comenzado a moverse. Sus aviones han cruzado la frontera en Sector-Cinco-Alfa; ¿cuáles son sus órdenes?

-elsewhere, a man dressed entirely in white smiles behind thick spectacles as he observes the speaker's view on a bank of monitors-

Hold fire, for the moment. Wait until they are far too invested to retreat, then blow them from the sky.

-Hidden by the thick cover of the jungle's foliage, a man looks through the scope of his sniper rifle at the aircraft overhead.-

-A pack of warriors crouches in the undergrowth. They carry shields adorned with feathers and clubs edged with volcanic glass. They wear jaguar skins. They pass under a patch of shade, and they emerge as the prowling forms of the ferocious jungle cats themselves, and stalk through the rainforest silently-

-Elsewhere, Itzacoyotl, the High Priest of Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec war god, stands atop a stepped stone pyramid. Other priest, wearing ceremonil garb, gather around a young man wearing a crown of hummingbird feathers on his head. There is a smell of jungle flowers and incense. A rhythmic, steady drumbeat picks up, echoing around. A stern-looking man in black uniform watches the ceremony. He bears a red armband with a much-hated insignia upon it. The Nazi officer's face is touched by a slight smile as the ceremony reaches it's climax. Itzacoyotl takes a torch from a fellow priest and touches it to the pyre which the young crowned man stands upon. The flames take immediately on the dry wood. The young man does not falter until the flames reach him. He screams. He instantly erupts into flame, transfixed and paralysed as the flames devour him. Finally, the screaming stops. The flames subside. A man far larger than the dead one strides out. He wears armour heavily adorned with feathers and semi-precious stones. A snake, it's scales shiny and blue-green, is draped over his shoulders. He glows brightly, so brightly that the priests immediately close their eyes and they can see an iridescent silhouette imprinted on their vision. He speaks in a deep, commanding voice-

????: Who performs a blood sacrifice to summon Huitzilopochtli?

Itzacoyotl: It is I, your new High Priest, Itzacoyotl. Foreigners have invaded your lands since you were last summoned, Huitzilopochtli. They have outlawed the practice of your faith and replaced you and the others with their own gods.

Huitzilopochtli: They dare to invade the land of a war god!? Have they no sanity?

Itzacoyotl: They employed foul foreign magics, Lord Hummingbird: iron rods that spit death and other mockeries of warfare.

Huitzilopochtli: Tell me where these cowards reside, and I will show them what it means to defy Huitzilopochtli!

-The snake opens it's mouth and speaks in a strange, sybillant voice-

????:Eassy there big guy. Ya might want to find out what's going on. For example, who's that guy? He's not a priest.

-The snake nods towards the Nazi-

Itzacoyotl: Xiuhcoatl, he is an ally who wishes to rid us of the people who took our lands from us.

Xiuhcoatl: Fine. What'd'ya need from us?

Itzacoyotl: This temple is something of a forward base. Until we can get a firm idea where the enemies are, it's defence is the most important thing going on at the moment.

Huitzilopochtli: Do not presume you can order us around, priest. But we will protect this temple.

edited 1st Sep '10 3:52:00 PM by MadeOfAxes

-the Argentenian soldiers turn to watch the panthers in perfect synchrony, filling the air with a loud "clack" as they blink once; their eyes shift from blue to green. One of the warriors steps towards the large felines and gives a salute, his gait and movements simultaneously stiff and oddly fluid; when he opens his mouth, his jaw remains slack and unmoving as a tinny and amiable voice projects from within-

Saludos, guerreros del espejo del obsidiano. This is Comandante Prospero Augustine; may I speak with your commander? We have strategy to discuss.

-The man moves silently through the jungle's canopy, headed for the strange soldiers.-

-The sole black panther in the group shifts into the form of the unit's commander in a single, fluid, hard-to-describe-effectively motion-

Panther: What is you want to discuss? We're on patrol at the moment.

-The pilot known as Thunderchief nods as a report comes in over the radio-

Gotcha, this is Firebird One preparing the LZ. Come on, let's do this!

-The fighters accelerate and drop small lozenge shaped capsules into the tangled rainforest... which erupts into a massive fireball as the incredibly potent incendiary contained within the containers work their magic. Soon the fire disperses.-

Get in there, go, go!

-The larger craft slow down and land in the clearing, wallowing as their controls become slightly less responsive. The music stops and the aircraft disgorge their soldiers, gatling weapons of an unknown type covering them as they go. The fighters circle overhead like birds of prey, watchful for enemy flyers-

Hmmm...

-In his tree, the man watches the aircraft and the fire's progress.-

-Ever so slowly, the transport aircraft go into a hover, lingering slightly longer to ensure nothing befalls the troops at the last possible moment. Soon they begin to turn away, though the fighters remain-

-back at his command center, Prospero Augustine scowls at the budding inferno presently displayed on his bank of monitors. The white-clad Argentinian leans forward, his skin reflecting the light from the screens and his every motion accompanied by the whirr of servomotors, as he begins to type commands into a typewriter wired into the monitor bank. He drags the microphone he was speaking into a moment ago forward-

Nevermind now, commander, the point I was about to make is presently moot. All soldiers of the Technological Ascendancy Battalion, ¡vamonos!

-the soldiers, who have not shied away from the flames and whose clothing does not burn, advance towards the Allied tropoers, swinging their arms up as they move. Their fingers blend together with a wet squelching noise, rapidly transforming into the barrels of antipersonnel guns, and their arms begin to spit wads of flesh resembling bullet-casings as they light up the night sky-

edited 1st Sep '10 3:05:21 PM by SullenFrog

-A few men are cut down while the rest dive into the underbrush-

What the hell's going on down there?!

-The last few transports stop mid-flight, their guns flaring to life as they begin providing fire support to their comrades on the ground.-

Engage!

-The fighters peel away and begin to come around to make a pass at the Argentine cyborgs-

-The man sights along his rifle, though the distance is considerable, he prepares to take the shot anyway. He takes a deep breath and fires, aiming at a cyborg's head.-

-the cyborg in question lurches forward as the sniper's round hits it in the back of the head. There is a sickening crack as the rear half of the man's skull caves in under the impact, revealing sparking wires, blood, blue coolant, and grey-matter mixed with processors. The soldier does not fall, however, but remains upright as a high-pitched whine escapes from somewhere in his midsection; his eyes dim, and he hangs there in a truly eiree, motionless in the process of falling over-

-the other Argentine cyborgs continue to advance and fire, even as more than a dozen of them are reduced to blood and smoking parts by the fighters' fire. Towards the rear of the group, three cyborgs drop to their hands and knees and bend their heads down as their spinal columns slide forward through a lid at the base of their necks. It becomes clear that their vertebrae now function as flak cannons, and these three open fire on the Allied jets-

-Taking damage, the remaining transport aircraft are forced to pull back-

"Ah, looks like - ah - there's a few Norse sites down there."

Those crazy fools...

-The fighters are mostly nimble enough to avoid the gunfire, and return fire with their chin turrets, one particularly brave one firing a single missile. If you could look into the lens, you would see something ethereal moving around inside the warhead-

"Spirit missile away!"

-Having missed the repulsive sight, the man continues taking cyborgs out one at a time.-

Panther: You are strange people. Very strange. I will have back-up sent to you, but our usefulness has ended.

-The Jaguar warriors, outclassed by the Allied aerial firepower, slip into the jungle silently-

-A group of warriors clad in eagle-feathers streak across the sky, supported through unknown means. Underneath their feathered cloaks they wear heavy-duty armour. They swoop down on one of the transports like lightning, obsidian blades of impossible sharpness slicing into the steel plating of the aircraft and tearing their way inside-

-One of the transports spirals into the jungle below, unable to keep aloft with one engine destroyed. The others are severely damaged-

"Mayday, mayday, mayda-"

"Nightshades?!"

Hold it together!

-Two of the fighters break off the attack on the cyborgs and go to assist the other craft-

Goodnight.

-See that the panther-men have retreated, and that he can do nothing against the eagle-men without hitting the aircraft, the man retreats as silently as he came, going through the canopy to maintain an eye on the aerial battle.-

-the three AA-cyborgs continue to pelt the remaining transports with flak fire; all but ten of the remaining soldiers continue to pour anti-personnel rounds into the forest as the final set drop into a loping run, their hands shifting from guns to foot-long blades with a sickening squelch-

-Prospero Augustine observes these events from over steepled fingers, smiling at the carnage-

Truly magnificent, my warriors. You are the pinnacle of modern warfare, my Technological Ascendancy Battalion—show these Freemason fools that we have no need of magic or theurgy to crush them into dust!

-The Eagle Warriors waste no time in carving their way inside the transport-

{In the name of Huitzilopochtli, Tezcatlipoca and Tlaloc! Charge!}

-The first man they come across is quickly introduced to the business end of a bladed war-club. There is a crack, and the man falls to the floor, bleeding profusely from a gaping head-wound. The Eagle Warriors spread out, charging the soldiers inside and trusting in their armour and gods to protect them-

-the MCC Vulture glides above the South-American jungle. Sergeant Andrew Sparks sits at a desk, shuffling folders. He picks up a microphone and speaks into it in a clear American accent-

How is the offensive going? Do I need to drop off any supplies at your location?

-The Eagle Warriors are embroiled in a fight with the soldiers aboard the transport-

-A messenger hurries up the steps of the temple to meet with Itzacoyotl-

Messenger: Sir! The forest has been set ablaze by the Americans!

-Itzacoyotl does not waste time talking to the messenger. Instead, he grabs his sceptre and dashes down the steps of the pyramid, towards the forest-

-One of the pilots gets on the radio before he's knocked out-

"They're boarding! Destro-"

-Understanding perfectly what he means, one of the fighters fires a single missile at the pilotless transport, while the few soldiers remaining alive hop out of the vehicle into the treetops-

-Just before the cyborgs can get any further a snarl punctuates a burst of fire from one of the aircraft; they begin "walking" the bullets toward the cyborgs, firing missiles at the AA cyborgs whenever possible. The soldiers fight on bravely-