NationStates Jolt Archive

The town of Ulanger is a grey thing splattered in the brown, muddy upchuck of chaotic market trading on an unpractised scale. Its people wore the skins of hardy mountain folk and, much as the residents of near by Vargery jostled about their streets in hides tanned on the windswept plains beneath those mountains. Those mountains were visible from both settlements, and it was doubtful if any of the residents in either place had ever lost sight of the distant hills, nomads though they used to be. The highlands just went on and on, and so did the flats at their feet.

Ulanger and Vargery were typical of a new trend in these lands, a trend against the nomad tradition that long took these people back and forth across the plains, up and down through the distant highlands. They were not the absolute.

A cry rang out in the hills. Kiba Morgan was damning the runes, the signs, and the spirits. They’d lost his acclaim since the lower clans had defied him and begun to settle without warning from any of the bones or entrails that he’d examined, no matter how many people he’d cut open. Many elders huddled near by wore faces of extreme worry, perhaps more extreme than that which Morgan more vocally expressed. It was probably because the Kiba was disposed to ignore the old wisdom that his subjects had begun to abandon the traditional way. Still, the last to suggest such within earshot of even a loyal Under Kiba had since donated his thighbone and lungs to a reading on the weather.

“To horse!” The young champion, unifier of the clans, bellowed his order five or six times, loosing skyward several rounds from his plundered M16A1 rifle and making certain that he was obeyed. Through the late morning his word spread across the restored Lordosh clan and on to its subsidiary families, and thousands of warriors mounted their best stout ponies and lifted up their weaponry. Countless representatives of the underclasses loaded-up less fine beasts, from mules to oxen, yaks to camels with bullets, grenades, herbs and other medicines, food, water, tools, and more, though they themselves had to walk far behind the mounted warriors.

Morgan’s intense irritation dragged the whole assembly headlong into the communities below, fixated upon the obliteration of their wicked defiance and of their tiny lives cooped-up inside stone houses and walls. The rage, speed, and incredible but characteristic force of the hordes mobilised was sufficient to make good the realisation of that obsession as the Kiba’s men ripped though the settlements of the foothills. A widely spread and pioneering if disunited population of six hundred thousand was decimated hour on hour until nothing remained of it and the hordes took to plunder.

A young boy arrived that evening at Ulanger as would his sister hours later at Vargery, conveying to the lowlanders the weight of the Shifting Empire’s assault in the foothills. Towns like these were quick to understand and to set about implementing the defences they always expected to require. Their own shares of past plunders supplemented by the goods of (black) market trade included machineguns, rifles, mortars, rocket propelled grenades, and mines as well as the blades and bows they had not yet lost the ability to fashion. Still in living remembrance of their roots, the settled peoples of the plains were hardly less able warriors than were the clansmen still raging from the saddle.

(OOC: I previously controlled The Glakatahn, a nation of a few hundred million, but for one reason or another made relatively few posts with it. It seemed a fairly interesting idea, for a while, –a nomadic warrior culture of cannibalistic, horse-riding, plundering, fanatical atheists (by some judgements) in the modern world- but I never quite made full use of its potential, and feel it better to settle down to develop things. Now, as you see, some of the Glakatahn are starting to settle, and this will probably be about the conflict involved with the threat posed to a way of life unchanged for centuries, and the building of a republic. Lavrageria will probably remain a small nation of a few million people, but I don’t intend to keep hold of the Shifting Empire, so it’ll either die of inactivity or end up with someone who may get involved with this, if anyone cares to! Oh, and I don’t know where Lavrageria is, exactly. The Glakatahn got all over the world, selling their services as warriors/pirates/slave-labour et cetera (depending on class), I assume I’ll figure it out, eventually.)

There may have been more than a hundred thousand generational warriors aligned against the cities, not to mention thousands more auxiliary fighters, slaves, and mercenaries. The attack had been at its most furious extent for three and a half hours, but Ulanger and Vargery persisted in their refusal to lay down arms as demanded by the Kiba. To do so would traditionally have assured their safety, but there had spread through both towns a curious certainty that today was different, and that the choice was not between resistance and none resistance but resistance and death. They were quite right, as Morgan had slain all that stayed in the foothills, resistance or no.

Curiously enough, elders and warriors within the besieged towns felt vindicated in this assumption by the lack of bombardment to which they had been subjected. That was to say, they had suffered no serious artillery or mortar assault before the horsemen and infantry attempted to penetrate their perimeter. This meant one of several things. The clansmen might have been stupid, or poor tacticians. This was not the case, they had slain hundreds of thousands and not once been checked in battle and many of the defenders had ridden and fought as one of them. Perhaps the capability did not exist? No, again, it was known fact that the Lordosh had mortars if nothing else. Perhaps the enemy did not respect the defenders and assumed they could win without preparation or plan? Again, they were not so stupid, and everyone knew it. So they were either requiring of quick victory and had not time to lay a barrage, or else they were simply too incensed to wait for its completion. Given that the battle had raged on for hours, and that the enemy persisted despite the defenders showing no sign of collapse, it followed that rage rather than tactical need for quick victory was the motivating factor in the assault.

Surrender meant rape, torture, and death. Escape from the tens of thousands of mounted warriors, across plains, was impossible. One could not negotiate with an enemy practising war from mad rage and hate, so the fight went on... and the Lordosh suffered horrific casualties as they dashed by the hundred against machinegun nests at Ulanger and mortar pits at Vargery. Clearly, Morgan hadn’t so much read Sun Tzu as spat him out, and perhaps he would pay.

But he was hitting hard, and his forces were concentrated against an enemy that could not move an inch and was as such unable to dictate the pace of battle.

The defenders sent children and old women to shriek and screech into what battered old radio sets they had acquired. If nobody would help the townsfolk, they stood a less than equal chance of being torn apart and tortured to death by the thousand... and the Glakatah hordes would be again united and unleashed upon the unready world.

((I think just a bump rather than another instalment on relatively few views))

The two Buechorian soldiers casually manuevered their vehicle along a narrow mud road. The wheels drove in and out of hundreds of ruts shaped differently of those made by tires.

"Jürgen, why the hell did you think this was a shortcut? And look at the gas!" Willi, the soldier sitting in the passenger seat angrily pointed at the gas guage which was almost on empty.

"Don't worry Willi... We'll uh... We'll be fine. Here, turn on the radio, maybe we can get something." Jürgen nodded towards the numerous dials on the dashboard. Willi twisted the knobs, but the tiny speaker produced no sound. Suddenly, a loud scream filled the Munga. Both soldiers jumped from fright and they almost drove into a nearby pit.

"What the hell was that!?" asked Willi to Jürgen who was just as uninformed. "I dunno, but look at that!" he replied. Jürgen urged towards smoke in the distance.

"I thinkwe have just enough gas to get there. Maybe it's a settlement." Jürgen nodded and started the vehicle towards what they thought would be slavation...

Within moments of the Buechorians clasping eyes on burning Ulanger there rang-out the ping of a 7.62mm pistol round striking some none-critical part of their vehicle before skipping off into the air. It was followed by several further shots fired from the ancient Nagant revolvers and Broomhandle Mauser automatics wielded by a quartet of Glakatahn horsemen who seemed to have ridden up from the mud. These warriors were of a party that’d attempted to flank the defenders in the town only to be beaten-off by machinegun fire.

The riders were clad in skins and furs and carried by ponies that looked like barrels with little legs, steady but hardly race-horse fast. The jeep could surely out-run them, but in the meantime small arms fire was coming ever closer to finding its mark.

At first the townsfolk did not noticed the newcomers, and continued in their work of firing on fresh waves of attackers, drawing water against the fires they’d created, and repeating general cries of distress into the radios that may not even have been working. Soon enough, though, lookouts on the southwestern barricades would spy the chase, and anyone chosen as enemy by the nomadic clans would probably receive covering fire from the settled peoples should they make for the town.

Willi and Jürgen were recoiled into their seats with fear as the clang of bullets hit the Munga. "Why in God's name are half-naked men riding horses shooting at us with revolvers!?" Willi barked as Jürgen attempt to speed up.

"I don't know, and what's worse is we're out of gas..." Jürgen yelled back as the jeep wheezed from lack of fuel. To both soldiers horror, a bullet finally smashed through the window and finding it's target, tore into Jürgen's arm. Jürgen slumped over the dashboard causing the now horribly malformed vehicle into nearby ditch. Willi struggled to open the door but it was jammed shut by a rock outside. Clutching Jürgen, he shattered the remaining window with the butt of his G36 Assault rifle and crawled through, his comrade in tow.

"Join the Kriegarmee they said," Willi told himself in a mocking tone. "Fun! Excitement! Adventure... My ass." He loaded the rifle and took careful aim.
"Hold still dammit..." he rhetorically requested the riders as he let out bursts of gunfire at the legs and bodies of both the ponies and the horseman...

Letting out warcries all too familiar over these lands, the four Glakatahn didn't much slow in celebration of bringing down their target, but fanned out as they approached the stricken vehicle. One man dismounted and snatched from his steed a bolt-action rifle, with the intention being for the three riders to disperse around their victims, giving rapid fire from a distance... they did not expect to hit anything, but to draw the victims into rising up to fire back, at which point the now prone rifleman was supposed to pick them off.

Sadly for the warriors, they were still not well used to weapons that had both rapid fire and long-range accuracy, expecting perhaps one or the other alone. They kept back, circling wide, but were greatly put-off by Willi's defence of his, uh, ditch.

Just as they were trying to reconcile their situation with a new plan of attack, the whistle of incoming mortar fire interrupted proceedings. It actually landed closer to Willi and Jurgen than to the horsemen, but this was owing to the age of the weapon and the inexperience of the artillerymen, and the Glakatahn warriors took the hint as a second round exploded between two of them.

They gave a few bitter parting shots towards the jeep and a futile couple towards the town hundreds of metres away, and began to ride off, though in obviously less haste than they had attacked.

((Sorry, wanted to follow up on that a bit, but I've been distracted and have to dash. The battle rages on at the far side of the town, and at the second settlement a few miles away.))

((No problem at all. I was hoping for something exciting!))

Willi looked up from the dirt and inspected his body. No missing limps, no missing teeth, eyes... Everything in working order. Then he remembered Jürgen.

"Jürgen..?" he said with the sound of fearin his voice. He reared his head to see the remains of a once more.. alive.. Jürgen. Willi promptly ejected the contents off his stomach, never having seen such gore. Seeing that most of the attackers were gone, he quietly stood up and walked over the Jürgen's remains, pulling the tatatered shard of metal that had once been a dog tag out of the mud. It read simply:

Reinhardt, Jürgen
11928-12289

The rest had been destroyed. Willi angrily clutched the tag in a clenched fist, then released it. He had mor important things to do than mourn over the loss of a dead friend. He crawled back into the jeep and pulled out a small medical pack along with some ammunition, then he dashed off towards the settlements. SOmewhere near them the mortar had been launched, and it saved HIS life.. Maybe he could pay them back.

When Willi arrived at the outskirts of Ulanger, he was greeted by yet more unusual sights. The town was of low-rise configuration, built only over the last couple of years but almost exclusively by the power of men's bare hands. Its buildings were of wood, rock, mud, turf, and sometimes poor quality brickwork turned-out by inexperienced workers slaving over ovens possibly less advanced than those which built the Great Wall of China. Tents and yurts were scattered about, some shot to pieces and others wrecked by fire and still giving smoke. Most of the streets were muddy quagmires though a few enjoyed wooden walkways and just the most important were lain with rubble acting as cobblestones.

The whole scene was framed by a wall of similar quality, Brick in some parts, most of its extent was of ruble, scrap metal, boulders and so forth, kept in place by a series of massive wooden staves driven into the earth. It wouldn't have long kept-out a Roman battering-ram or catapult, let alone warded-off modern armour or artillery, but it did make assault hard for horsemen trying to avoid sniper and machinegun fire from its top and mortar shells from within.

A gate of primarily wooden construction was swung open, catching the uneaven ground and jerking violently several times before revealing a pair of leather-faced, barrel-chested little men with bolt-action rifles tucked to their shoulders and trained nervously on the stranger. A third face, that of a much older man, peered around the gate and gestured for Willi to come in, and it appeared that the old man thought he'd best be quick about it.

"Welcome to Ulanger, I am Kochan, you are car man?" He said, nodding towards the distant reck of the Buechorian jeep. That was something else of note at the town. Several horses and other beasts of burden could be seen about, most wandering loose, perhaps because their stables were destroyed, but no powered vehicles were evident. Some settlers did have a few vehicle parts, found or scavenged, but they ended up dumped, part of a wall, or taken apart for curiosity. Car men were, well, the sort of people most settled ex-Glakatahn aspired to be. Developed-world citizens with a car as well as a horse, and a television in their tent, shack, or other dwelling as well as a clockwork radio.

Willi nodded and introduced himself.

"Hello, yes, I am the car man. My name is Willi... Willi Strausser." He looked around at the run down village and gave an uneasy smile.

"Thank you for allowing me in. It's uh... Lovely." Willi slinged the G-36 over his shoulder and nodded yet again. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

As the gate was closed behind Willi, the old man gave him a smile and the two younger riflemen appeared to relax a little. The Buechorian was jostled by a young brother and sister rushing by with a bucket of water carried between them. They were off to fight a fire started, bizarrely enough, by flaming arrows shot into the town by attacking Glakatahn riders, and would be back shortly, as the town had not yet running water and relied on wells.

"Come, come." Said Kochan, waving as he turned to walk along a shaky plank over an open sewer and into the settlement's frantic interior. Both riflemen looked curiously at for a time at Willi, his attire, and his rifle, before one struck the other on the arm, insisting that he would go with the guest and the old man, and that the struck man should get back to guarding the gate.

Kochan was talking again.

"You are enemy of the riding clans? They won't let us be... since we stopped following the Kiba. We only want to settle down... so we can have things. Cars and planes will take us further, but we can't bring them with us on our horses if we keep riding like them." He gestured out to the northeast where sounds of battle could still be heard.

Normally, an outsider would have been drawing a good deal more interest than was the case today. Willi had hardly been noticed as people raced to put-out fires across town, or to call for reinforcements to move from one part of the wall to another as the horsemen shifted their attack, looking for a weak point.

"We need help, yes." Said Kochan. "Morgan's warriors will kill us all, even old men like me and little children like these." He went on, touching the head of one of the bucket-carriers as they hurried by a second time. "We hoped maybe you heard our radios and were part of an army come to stop the horde?"

((A bump while I'm here.))

((Whoa! What a timely response. I'd like to apologize: I've been busy lately, and been palying a lot of Evil Genius.))

Willi sighed and and lightly place his right hand on Kochan's shoulder.
"I'll be blunt: I uh... Don't have an army with me. Plus, to make matters worse, the only radio that could communicate with my commanders was in that truck."

After taking a breath, Willi continued. "However, I found this place becuase of your.. Wonderful radio operators. Possibly I could use one?" He stepped out of the way as more children dashed by. "Before I go asking things of you," he said with a grin and he took one of the two buckets a little boy was carrying. "Perhaps I could assist you in putting out the fires."

Rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, Willi took the bucket and without getting a response from the man, ran for the blaze. He took the water and heaved it onto the flames, then scooped up some muddy water from a ditch and continuted the process...

((No problem. It’s just that I’m not so busy :) ))

Kochan, his posture sunken since hearing that there was no army, cocked his head as the foreigner turned to fight a near by fire. He soon hissed at the young rifleman who took a hint and scrambled to help, pulling a sheet from in front of an adjoining house and using it to beat the flames.

This earned the man a bit of a thrashing as an old lady emerged with a brush that she generally used to beat dirt from sheets such as the one he’d snatched. The slightly twisted humour apparent in the situation was that the house that they were trying to save was actually belonged to the old woman’s son.

With that blaze defeated, although new towers of smoke grew up all around Ulanger, Kochan introduced the Buechorian to Madam Yuzi, explaining that she had been suggested by her son, a great warrior, to staff a radio while he went off to fight on the barricades. There was a radio inside the sheet-draped annex in which she lived.

From the distance, a grave rumbling could just be heard over the bustle of the suffering town. No one at Ulanger knew it just yet, but the walls at Vargery, the next town, had just been breached by more than a few pounds of assorted explosives.

Such developments as a major social upheval on LRR's topographically flat and tank-accessable western border do not go unnoticed. Already, units are siphoned from winter excersizes and begin massing on the border. While distinctly European-influenced aircraft range overhead, and ground vehicles are (with the exception of the T-72 series) all 'adaptations' of the SEP, Centuaro, and XA-180 series, many of the troops themselves, in addition to their Israeli ATGMs, carry Ak-47s and wear distinctly soviet uniforms.

So far, the force assembled for a possible 'excursion' into Lavrageria consists of 8 Motor-Rifle Divisions (five left in current positions), two Tank-assault divisions (two more left in current positions), and numerous squadrons of FRA. 4 fighters, Jaguar II fighter-bombers, and Mi-8 support helicopters.

But first things first. The leader of the democratic movement had to be contacted.

OCC: Where could I find them? Also, is this NS populations or Modern World populations?

((I don't think a giant army is approporiate for this RP....))

Ok.

*Puts wall of T-72s back into bag*

I was directed here by Lavrageria, who thought I would be on the eastern border, and might take a keen interest in intervening here. And since LRR's no good at small-unit tactics, the traditional armored assault force is seen as appropriate to protect LRR interests there.

OHH! OHH! Then wait! Come back!

I hate me...

Yeah...change those T-SEPs to more MT-LB-like things...with echos of the T-SEP, of course, in composite construction and hybrid drives system.

If there's one thing I've never mastered, its special forces tactics. LRR military doctrine has been, for defense:

Flood them with whatever you've got (generally Spike-series ATGMs or the long-range guided MRL rocket TM-13) until all their tanks are dead, or, for offense:

Blow them apart.

Willi smiled at Madam Yuzi and introduced hismelf. he requested if he may use the radio, and walked inside the hut. The radio was old and clunkly by the looks of it, but Willi could operate it - He used to be part of a radio club at his school when he was younger. Willi pulled a tiny three-legged stool behind him and sat himself upon it, right in front of the radio.

"Okay, okay.. Power is on... Looks pretty good. Here we go." Willi spoke to himself as he reached for one of the numerous knobs and to his shock, it fell out of the radio. "What the..." he said as he took out his army knife and used to the screwdriver head on one end to unbolt a side of the radio. Willi then removed his tiny Mag-lite and flashed it inside the radio. Roaches.

"Nibbling on the wires, eh?" He then proceeded topick the gigantic piece of metal up and shake the scurrying bugs out, along with some pieces of equipment neccesary for the radio to work.

Setting the radio on the table again, Willi placed himself on the stool and started removing and rearranging parts. As he was putting the last few wires in place, a rumble shook Willi ever so lsightly. Shrugging, he want back to the ancient machine...

((Sorry that I didn't make things more clear sooner, but, well, they weren't clear! It appears that Lavrageria may now be taking part in A Modern World, which has already accounted for large parts of land (mainly in Asia and North America) with RP nations using realistic populations. It is now likely that Lavrageria will exist in place of Belarus, while LRR is already established in Russia.
So far as I'm concerned, outside nations may still get involved here, so long as it doesn't have to mess up anything from the rest of A Modern World sphere, and I don't see why it should. They'll have to respect that Lavrageria, and presumably LRR, and anyone else from a Modern World will use realistic populations by choice. Lavrageria currently contains an unknown number of people between six and twelve million. Of course no census has been conducted as the population has been nomadic until this point.

Erm, right, I should bring this OOC post to a close. A summary then!

Basically, what is happening is that a vast nomadic warrior culture off LRR's western border is in turmoil. Several towns have been established by people wanting to join the C21st, but countless thousands of others remain in the saddle and their leader, the Kiba, is determined to prevent the foundation of a republic which he sees as a threat to his power, the unity of the clans, and his way of life. Of course he's doing it by force and with little understanding of the modern world. Meanwhile, the settled people really don't yet have a modern society and don't even understand a lot of the concepts probably taken for granted by other states. Thus far they've just about managed to build a few basic fixed dwellings, name their settlements, and stay alive. They've not got so far as finding out about democracy; they don't even know how to generate power except by a few portable generators stolen, bought, traded for, or plundered during their warrior past.))

Several divisions formerly part of the mass on the border break off and head back to their original positions, probably for fear of an attack by Bonstockian forces through the soft Central Asian countries, and others due to logistical concerns. After all, LRR already was in a war.

But the invasion force is still large and powerful, and its commanders know that.

Hopefully, LRR 'fluid logistics' doctrines would hold out on such an operation. After all, the LRRA doesn't have a giant horde of trucks for nothing.

At midnight, with a full moon, the lead tank commanders get the radio message that they had been waiting for.

"Attention all units, proceed to designated objectives."

Essentially: attack.

As snowflakes fall, PT-91Bs advance across the flat landscape along a traditional LRRA wide front. Lead tanks have mine rollers, and APCs, modeled after the MT-LB but much closer to the SEP in terms of technology, and significantly up-armored, follow close behind, bearing ATGMs and infantry squads. IFVs based on the BMP are also present, but they are visibly larger and better-armed than regular BMP-1s and -2s. They are deployed at about one per four APCs.

And behind all that come the trucks, most of which have not crossed the border, owing to the casual pace of this first advance.

Infantry squads ride on the tops of their vehicles, not expecting much resistance, and tank commanders sit on the turrets. The sight of tanks coming over the hill probably frightens the inhabitants of the border area, but they carefully avoid staked-out property and occasionally toss out extra coats.

I bring you BUMP :fluffle:


By the way, this is Buechoria.

eh...bump

Radio traffic from the town of Vargery began suddenly and extensively to decline following the explosion that let-in several hundred Glakatahn warriors. All across the vast flatlands, disparate bands of riders continued to cut-down minor settlements in their infancy, and some settlers took-up their belongings again and retreated into extensive marshes.

Ulanger showed signs of hope for the breakaways as defenders continued to repulse nomadic attacks, and several times sallied forth from their walls in hopes of driving off the attack for good. But more clansmen always arrived to force them back into the town and renew the assault.

Into the dark, freezing early hours of the following morning the LRR advance encounters nothing but a few timid animals and one nomadic cattle farmer, risen from his tent by the unfamiliar sight of massed armour. With a battered and ancient musket slung over his shoulder, and having no particular claim on the land beneath his feet, he doesn’t choose to offer the first resistance.

In fact, the forces moving from Russia will encounter little more than these things until they reach north/south or similar Lavragerian stretches of rivers like the Sozh to the south, Daugava to the north, or Dnepr in between. Here they will find only the oldest or flimsiest of bridges, each likely watched over by near-by Glakatahn clansmen, who would ordinarily expect a toll (and not a fixed one) for passage. Quite what they’ll make of the LRR advance is hard to imagine.

Near one of the rivers, the Dnepr, sites, perhaps marked on LRR maps as Drsha and Mogilev or some derivative there of, here respectively call themselves Vargery and Ulanger, and by the time that the soldiers reached the river in question, smoke and sounds of battle would be evident. From Ulanger/Mogilev radio appeals continued to ring out from the defenders, while at Vargery/Drsha the deathcount was rising by hundreds, with warriors and civilians alike fighting hand to hand in the dirty streets as clansmen poured through the broken defences.

(And if anybody cares for a reasonably clear and basic map, they could do worse than to regard this: http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/commonwealth/byelorussia_pol91.jpg )

Out of the fog, the very lead PT-91B approaches a bridge, its commander sitting on the turret.

The columns see the flashes of battle at their objectives, and the LRRA's expert engineer and support detachments get to work constructing bridges across the river.

Perhaps half an hour after the first LRR forces began to arrive at the rivers facing them, the first firearm reports not to be faded by distance began to ring out. From soft cover in wooded lands and other outcroppings of plant life on the west banks, small numbers of Glakatahn warriors delivered what at first were warning shots, mainly originating from bolt action rifles as most of the best available armaments were directed against the Lavragerian settlements.

Not every part of every river was currently under close watch, as the battles drew no small part of tribal warrior strength, and just east of Vargery/Drsha, across an east/west stretch of the Dnepr, there sat a Glakatahn encampment of thousands. Not all clanspeople were warriors, and while those that were fought with skill and ferocity learned over a lifetime, others were but nomadic farmers and artisans. (Just trying to give people a better view of where people are laid out, and of the fighting skill of what may be seen as rather backwards people)

(OOC: I realise the possible improbability of Buechorian troops being lost so deep inside Lavrageria, almost on the LRR border, but I suppose we could assume that the land also known as Belarus has traditionally been seen as not exactly claimed, and as a good, open space to engage in military exercises, provided one is sure the Glakatahn clans are currently far away. Perhaps the Buechorians were training in central or western parts when those two guys got lost.)

As rifle reports ring out, the engineers quickly deploy their IFVs across the river. They lay down automatic fire as they construct pontoon bridges.

Soon, PT-91Bs are crossing the Dnepr river in droves, followed by IFVs and APCs, with BWP-1MPs scouting ahead. Before too long, lead elements reach the first encampments of the Glakatahn warriors. The MBTs, flanked by their infantry support, move to bypass them and join the major battle as quickly as possible. Overhead, CAS jets circle the steppelands, looking for targets but unable to find anything. Bombing the encampments would, without a doubt, cause major civilian and noncombatant casualties, and the major battles are far too tangled to affect with airpower.

A handfull of RPG-7s meet leading LRR AVs along with sniper fire and the odd machinegun burst, but with no real preparation for defence the widely dispersed Glakatahn warriors to the east were soon breaking for their horses and scattering further.

Perhaps it was a token of Kiba Morgan's failing support after initiating such a wide-reaching, brutal, and poorly-planned campaign that few if any of the warriors first encountered tried to return to the sieges to warn their comrades of the approaching forces. Most had enough to do simply in out-running a mechanised advance, and fled in any direction they could.

Perhaps a mile and a half from each of the near-by cities there lay encampments in which battle-weary warriors rested on a rotation, tended by various underclasses and slaves. Tents and other pre-fabricated structures were scattered over fairly wide areas, hundreds of warriors amongst hundreds of what were effectively their support crews, scores of ponies and other beasts of burden grazed about and dozens of stoves and open fires prepared meals. Stacked about were boxes of weapons and munitions, arranged with little care for security or fear of attack- the settlers were clearly on the defensive, and the hordes assumed that to be the whole of the situation.

The scramble that ensued when forward elements of the LRR force fell upon the warcamps around the besiged towns was weighted by fatigue, surprise, wounds, and over-full bellies amongst those who'd returned to stuff themselves and rest before returning to fight again. The Glakatahn were formidable when ahorse, in their rythm, and on the offensive, and really never thought about joining battle on anybody else's terms.

In the cities, the battles drowned-out new sounds associated with the armoured advance, and the attackers failed to realise that their rear was threatened.

The LRRA lead armored vehicles, well protected from RPGs, shrug off the rockets as the infantry, safe and buttoned up inside APCs, follow close behind. The LRRA local commanders are pleased with the ease of the advance, and are also pleased with the fact that neither side was taking many casualties. The tanks and APCs do not really bother to fire at the retreating horsemen as they gallop away.

Instead, they start to catch up with the rear of the Glakatahn forces inside the towns.

((Sorry that I've not been around for a couple of days. Let's see, where are we up to? Hm.))

Needless to say, the Glakatahn attackers were horribly surprised by the assault, and most broke from the battle, probably carrying the intention of coming back to fight on their day.
Several hundred remained, mostly inside Vargery (Drsha), where house to house fighting was still raging in between roaring fires and falling masonry. Hardly anybody in the streets, from either side, realised what was happening outside the town. Inside the shattered walls of the town, fighting continues to be bitter and bloody. Perhaps several hundred Glakatahn warriors remain inside the city, armed with pistols, bladed weapons, old bolt-action rifles that lend themselves to sniping in the narrow streets (many not designed to accommodate any vehicles, let alone tanks), grenades and some machineguns and light rockets and mortars. The defenders fight back with everything from construction tools to ancient muskets and rocks to bows usually reserved for sports and hunting though out of more military use for barely a generation.

At Ulanger (Mogilev), defenders took heart as they realised that the forces, apparently arriving from Russia, were firing on the Glakatahn warriors, and began again to rally against their attackers, driving them off the walls and back against the LRR armour. Here and there isolated Glakatahn were captured by the defenders, and frequently they were torn apart by fighters and civilians alike as more shots were fired in celebration to the sky rather than in defence of the town. There were no authorities directing the chaos, as settlers having gone no further than to cast off old clan warlords had not yet selected new figureheads or leaders. Some at Ulanger took to stealing horses from the collapsing enemy and headed towards Vargery with what firearms could be carried. Others seemed to rush the LRR troops, a few throwing hugs and kisses with liberty while most tried to climb aboard vehicles and implored the soldiers to come with them this way and that to where they said more Glakatahn could be found.

Pleased at their reception, the LRRA armored units at Ulanger take to mopping up the remaining Glakatahn warriors. With unquestionable superiority in weapons, they try to use their position to get the remaining warriors to surrender rather than fight to what can only be death. The LRR troops, trained to fight against hordes of enemy tanks and high technology, are surprised to take in warriors armed with only revolvers and swords. Before long, surplus BMP-1s are being brought into Ulanger, along with training crews. Even the old BMP-1 could probably give the towns the ability to defeat the Glakatahn warriors.

In Vargery, the other half of the LRRA assault goes about similarly to Ulanger. But the more compact nature of the town causes the APCs and tanks to halt on the outskirts while the infantry goes in, armed with AKMs and RPG-7s, as well as some light mortars. The troops are very careful, and advance slowly to make contact with the town's defenders.

Of course, the LRRA's mission, first and foremost, is to prevent abuses of human rights. Ideally, the entire nation can become a democracy, or at least a clean autocracy, and no longer bother the LRR government.

Bloody as it was for a few short hours the street fighting at the second besieged town faded surprisingly quickly. The tiger-like Glakatahn warriors were surely man for man the equal of their new LRR opponents, but much as tigers they proved, for all their skill and ferocity, to be better hunters than fighters. With momentum and control of the situation no longer theirs, the few hundred isolated fighters realised that their edge was gone. Without it they would rather not risk life and limb in a balanced and pointless battle of attrition. The Glakatahn usually lived, and fought, with an unwritten code of honour. It was quite possible to surrender with dignity when a brave or cunning plan unravelled, and many did begin to give themselves up. A few were too afraid of being beaten to death by locals and instead fought on until death came in isolation, or they tried to escape. Others presumably close to Morgan –whose whereabouts had not been confirmed- or his family kept his rage alive for so long as humanly possible, but the fight was clearly over from the moment it even began to turn.

In the days following the eastern collapse of the Glakatahn hordes (though thousands of nomads remained at horse across the land’s more than two hundred thousand square kilometres and relatively minor skirmishes were fought around other settlements) the Lavragerians began to look forward. Various former clan elders from across the land approached LRR authorities to ask their support for local or national leadership bids. Sometimes they would try to curry favour with offers of bribes taken as plunder in the past or taxed (extorted) from settled populations. Starting in Ulanger and Vargery, though, was a different movement. Locals, generally fascinated by the foreigners and their alien technologies and ideas, wouldn’t give troops a moment’s peace for so long as they remained, asking constantly to hear about such an invention or to have such a concept explained. Everything from, “how does a plane work?” to, “what is a pension?” would ring in the ears of those unfortunate enough to have survived the Glakatahn snipers and machinegunners. Eventually what emerged was a rather ramshackle collection of individuals calling itself a committee and trying to lodge a request for LRR financial aid to support the foundation of a republic through organising a popular election between the ill-defined borders of what the people called Lavrageria...

Quickly, along with the BMP-1s, LRR governmental advisers are spirited to Ulanger aboard Mi-2MV helicopters, flying over the large flocks of trucks, escorted by armored vehicles, aircraft, and attack helicopters, headed for the town. The helicopter hovers over what is deemed a sturdy rooftop, and the advisers, most veterans of the military and therefore used to jumping out of helicopters, fall the foot or so to the rooftop. They are then brought, in a pair of UAZ jeeps, to the council.

The LRRA troops generally answer the questions of the locals in detail, hoping to enlighten them to the 'miracle of socialist democracy.'

Outside the town, engineers start to construct an airstrip out of a patch of road, long enough for STOL An-70s to land on.

In Vargery, the LRRA infantrymen continue to clear the town. Surrendering warriors are brought out of the town and into the plains, where they can be more easily watched and supplied by the armored vehicles, which helicopters constantly make runs to supply.

At Ulanger, the committee greeted LRR diplomats with a barrage of smiles and a large flag-strewn tent erected because it was at this time easier to build and justify a large tent than a large conference hall.

“Greetings, friends! I am Varachenko, Kiba of the Liivar clan, these are my comrades Kosoe, Lukanovo, Boshkov, Kayfun, well, there are lots of clans, lots of Kibas, lots of us, we all are happy for your help.”

Varachenko was a terribly worn looking man, his age difficult to guess, but he was noticeably different in his features when compared to Kochan or most of the warriors and civilians outside. Less Mongol in his physical appearance, his dress was not radically different to that of the men around him. Furs and leather aplenty, he wore a rather fetching hat that looked as if it may have been stolen from Arafat’s head after his arrival in Paris. He had a slight grey beard, and a couple of the men he’d hurriedly introduced wore extremely long moustaches, usually black, though most Lavragerians and Glakatahn encountered thus far could not grow facial hair. In the settlements, the various races that made up the clans and their former subject peoples and slaves were slowly beginning to blur as a first generation of mixed children grew-up out of the saddle.

Finally offered tiny stools at low table and offered wines and goats cheese amongst other things, the Russians ((I’m not sure what else to call them, if not Lunatic Retard Robots! I am assuming that they’re not actually robots)) were told of the committee’s wish to create a republic with an effective central government. It wasn’t absolutely clear right away, but one may sense that these men had ambitions on being that central government.

A strange condition arisen from the near total collapse of Glakatahn power and the widely perceived fact of Russian salvation being central was the uncharacteristic under-confidence of Lavragerian society. A sort of inferiority complex had arisen from the need to be rescued by the nation's big neighbour, and without figureheads the Lavragerians almost seemed to hold their breath at any potential decision to see if Moscow ( ? ) was to interject before they made a decision.

Somewhere out on the plains there were individuals feeling the stirring of something akin to leadership qualities within them, but in the big long now a shrinking sense of impotence prevailed. If nothing else it lead to an increase in crime as once brave and hardy warrior nomads felt unfamiliar fear and others lashed out from insecurity.

The government advisers, led by a Mongol from Siberia, get right to work with the local governing council, describing to them the ideas that a 'proper democracy' is founded on.

All the while, surplus LRR BMD-1s, Il-18s, An-26s, and a wide variety of old LRRA equipment is sent to the towns, in order for them to organize their own military units.

(Hope that you don’t mind if I skip ahead a bit... I’ll probably start new threads, soon, now that we’ve established an LRR hand in the stabilisation. I’m just figuring out which problems to focus on :) )

Months had passed since the LRR intervention saved Ulanger and Vargery, and since then the combined population of the cities had risen to over two and a half million as Glakatahn from across the land settled down. Other smaller towns had begun to take root, and it was estimated that settled Lavragerians finally outnumbered the nation’s nomadic population. In the central and western extent of Lavrageria, urban militia groups had been prosecuting a low-level conflict with many of the more determinedly traditional horsemen, resulting in several deaths each passing week, but these lands remained generally far removed from the rest of the world and probably unreported.
The committee established in the eastern cities declared that there was to be a general election and a great number of parties and individuals were to contest it.

Ulanger
As yet the city had changed relatively little except that its low-rise sprawl had fallen through the old walls and into the surrounding plains. Polling stations had been set-up around the place, and the large tent that entertained the committee was to be the centre of the counting.

“Get back, old man! The vote is in session!” A burley man of warrior lineage barred entrance to a poling station as an old man of a traditional underclass attempted to lodge his vote. He protested that he knew as much, and that it was precisely why he was here, where upon the warrior struck him across the face with the back of a closed fist. Sprawling on the unpaved street, Kochan protested again.

Unlike some others, he never realised that he might have gone to a different poling station and left his mark there. His slightly senile cousin was in quite a state because she didn’t manage to make it to one of the stations on the far side of town, because there were just so many to get through.

By the end of the day, the votes, over four million of them in Ulanger alone, were being counted by... well, lots of people, actually.

“Does it count if it’s written on somebody’s disembodied scalp?”
“Oh, I’ve counted four on animal parts and one on a hip bone, so I think it’s okay.”

LRR observers are often surprised at the ballot material used by the citizens of Lavrageria, and often armed LRRA motor-rifle troops and the more loyal Lavragerians are forced to step in when scuffles occur.

But overall, things are better than expected. Hopefully, within a short amount of time more Lavrageria would be run by a democratically elected governing body.

And if things get out of hand, there's always the Western Defense District close by to sort things out.

Larionko Aidarov proclaimed victor in national election! Declares self Premier of the Republic of Lavrageria; creates Ivan Gukov Prime Minister!

The first ever national elections in Lavrageria had been paid little attention by the outside world. This was perhaps so for a number of reasons, not least the nation’s global obscurity as a landlocked backwater. Its largest neighbour, LRR, had been the only nation to show any interest, and what little security existed was largely thanks to their efforts, but, it was supposed, they had more pressing concerns far to the east. The authoritarian Estenlands to the south may simply have had no interest in the plebiscite process to begin with.

This had well suited Aidarov, as he’d come to power in just about the most poorly organised ballot in human history. Hundreds of people had voted more than once- not always for the same candidate. Others simply hadn’t understood, while still more were denied the vote, often by arrogant members of traditionally higher castes. Most people had been inclined to vote for the candidate residing closest to them, or the closest one with inherited power or battle-won reputation, as they were ignorant of the other options. Corruption was certainly rife, but it was difficult to prove amongst the chaos. It wasn’t clear to most exactly what they were voting for, but the Committee had none the less declared that the name with the most votes attached was Aidarov’s, and that he was indeed fit to become Lavrageria Retpvblika’s first Premier.

Unfortunately, the Premiership is yet an ill defined authority, and with many posts in government yet to be filled and many Lavragerians in danger of suffering electoral fatigue ( ‘didn’t we just do this?’ ), Aidarov has taken matters into his own hands.

Citing the above conditions and stressing the need for stability, he coined the phrase, “victory is nothing without progress” playing on traditional Glakatahn warrior sayings in regard to the ultimate importance of victory over all. Premier Aidarov created Gukov Prime Minister, giving him a broad mandate for progress and stability.

Gukov has already begun to organise public works in the cities and fledgling townships, hire tax collectors, and has named Kastus Vorobei as his Defence Minister. Vorobei in turn has begun to organise the land’s militias and to approach former members of the warrior class with contracts for professional military enlistment, and has said that he intends to put before the Premier a conscription bill.

(I have shifted the chain of events over to the other forum, as that seems to be where most MWers are likely to be: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=377624
From now on the Republic will begin its attempt to fit into the wider world... well, sort of ;) )