NationStates Jolt Archive

War is never ending, only man is finite.

Two weeks after the shooting.

Jack sat in the moth eaten chair, a glass of whisky in his hand, he sighed.
Two weeks since we started and progress is good…The city of Gresley is nearly ours… and all but the northern factories.
He looked up at the heavy pine table before him; a couple of other figures, half cast in shadow were talking.
‘If we attacked up front we’d be done for, that is why we should attack with the tunnellers. We do that, confuse the hell out of them then hit them in the front and bam!’
The figure slammed his fist down on the table, a couple of shot glasses jumped and clattered onto their sides.
The other figure drew on his cigar, the end glowed red, before a haze of smoke filled the immediate air around it.
‘What are we up against?’ He finally said, drumming his black fingers on the table.
‘Scouts say there’s around a hundred Sturm officers, and eighty or so Soldiers.’ Bill pushed the report across to the shadowed figure, another puff of smoke drifted lazily across the room.
‘This also shows around a hundred soldiers in reserve not to far away.’ He muttered quietly.
‘We have a nice distraction at a fuel dump for them, they will learn what “hell fire” truly means.’ Another figure emerged from the shadows, a cross hung on his chest and his white hair flew in all directions.
‘Ah, Father Hackett, good to see you.’ Jack sat up and placed the tumbler on the table. ‘Care for a drink?’
‘Umm… No.’ Hackett replied rather uncertainly.
‘Fair enough, more for me.’ Jack grinned as he poured himself another glass.
‘So, we will be attacking this fuel dump and rail bridge at five thirty, we hope to hit the war department train as it crosses the bridge, when you hear the alarms go up, those guys and some of the people at the Industrial complex will run off to investigate and sweep the area of the explosion, and which point you guys make a move, me and the “Guards of Heaven” will fall back to a church and sing sweetly.’ Hackett chuckled.
Jack smiled “Guards of Heaven” were the choir members of the old Trinity Church Choir, like many they were mere people eeking out a simple life. That was until the Sturm accused him of being a dissenter, and burned his church down.
Since then he and his choir had turned rebels, and had been striking “righteous fury” at all loyal to the King since.
‘Well, the plans are set… see you in about…’ Bill checked his watch ‘Five hours.’

0530 hours, Olton Suburb, Gresley, Southern Midlonia

The train thundered along the rails, Geoff Harrington sat in the front gun truck, he yawned and rubbed his eyes, he hated cold mornings, especially on oil runs such as these.
He shivered and looked ahead, the Olton Bridge stood. Covered in mist Geoff’s view was obscured, he could only see a few yards ahead of him.
The debris loomed in the distance, the track had been torn up and cars and household waste strewn in the way.
Geoff yelled a warning and the train’s breaks screamed in anguished protest, but it was too late. With a sickening squeal of protest the train left the rails and fell the thirty feet into the icy cold water.
‘Well done boys, well done.’ Hackett nodded, his breath condensing in the air. He was wearing the same attire as last night, but his golden cross was now hidden under his clothes.
‘We should get moving before…’
The train exploded, sending a jet of water high into the air and knocking the “Guards of Heaven off of their feet.
‘Argh, Bloody hell, let’s get out of here, bloody quickly!’ one of his boys cursed.
‘Aye, best we do, and fast.’ Hackett stood up and dusted himself down, apparently unharmed. ‘C’mon!’
The twelve people disappeared into the mist of the early morning, and alarm went up somewhere in the city, and soon several Grunwald Trucks (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/grenwichtruck1.png) arrived, the soldiers thundered out and fanned out around the bridge.
‘Sabotage.’ An officer whispered as he surveyed the bridge.
‘State the obvious don’t you?’ another motioned at the pile of debris still on the track.
‘Mmm.’ He turned and surveyed the area.
‘Fan out and search all the houses, find the perpetrators…’
‘And when we find them sah?’
‘Kill them.’
‘Aye, sir’
With a clatter of their boots the soldiers fanned out into groups of five, and split off down the two streets, and the railway track near to the bridge.

‘Quick, into the church!’ Hackett whispered and pointed to the Gothic looking building
The twelve figures ran into the building, when they had all dashed inside Hackett pulled the great bar across, sealing them in, and the soldiers out.
‘You did good work for God today my boys, very good work.’ Hackett managed between gasps. ‘Let’s hope that all goes well for our friends.’ He turned and looked at the stain glass window, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head in prayer.

Industrial Complex, Olton suburb, Gresley, Southern Midlonia

The Alarm wailed and echoed around the complex, some crows scattered into the air at the sudden disturbance.
The sound of boots on gravel shook the earth as the soldier mounted their trucks and sped off to the bridge a few hundred yards away.

Grabbing his Lasrifle Sturm Officer Robert Grice shivered.
Bloody weather.

Robert walked around the slowly decaying facility, he mused to himself as he wandered.
First and last Industrial complex in the city, and luck me is here defending it, against hordes of evil wrong do-errs who defy the King, and in turn defy God…
He chuckled, it echoed around the partially empty, wrecked buildings around him.
Ah… what wonderful bullshit our officers tell us in our briefs… first chance I get I think I’ll try to link up with th--
His thoughts were interrupted when his eye caught something. He bent down and looked at the small mound of earth that was growing and trembling.
He frowned and peered at it, he got closer and closer to it.
Curiosity killed the cat.
The drill bit screamed out of the ground and hit Robert in the face, it ground into his skull sending matter and skull everywhere, before his corpse was thrown clear, hitting a large metal canister used for sulphur storage with a dull clang.
The tunneller (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/miner.png) roared out of the ground and came to an uncertain rest, the door clicked and groaned open, some steam venting out of the door.
Several people clambered out of the machine and immediately set up a small perimeter.
A few more of these odd machines breeched the soil and similar numbers dove out.
Total surprise.
‘Move, quickly, and quietly.’ A man whispered, raking his lasrifle in search of targets.
One of the occupants of the tunnelling machines carried a pistol and several leather bags, she crept with the leader towards, what appeared to be a set of office buildings, the single guard at the door not noticing the shadowed figures between them.
They stopped at a window and the woman removed a small glass cutter, she ground a hole in the large pane of glass and threw one of the bags in, she repeated this process several times, before her and the band of merry rebels ran.

The explosion a few moments later rippled through the ground floor of the building, it toppled with a massive crash and groan the building slammed hard into the other, sending it toppling too.
Eighty soldiers and around forty sturm officers lay buried under the rubble.

The sixty or so remaining officers bolted for the collapsed buildings, leaving their barriers unguarded, they rushed to help their friends who still cried out from somewhere under the rubble.


The haughty growl of a large diesel engine shattered the semi-silence that had befallen the complex after the explosion.
With a whinge and a cry a dull, loud thud repetitively reverberated through the complex.
‘What the hell?’ a Sturm officer imitated a Meer cat as he looked for the sound
‘The gate! They’re trying to break through the gate!’
The remaining officers scrambled towards the heavy metal gate that was slowly bulging from an unknown force.

It took just half an hour for the whole complex to fall.
When the gate broke down and the crane thundered through with a human wave behind it.
It was at that point that the outnumbered Sturm officers realised that they were under attack on both sides, they were also outgunned. The wrecking crane that had been used became an even handier tool; it crushed the bodies of several of the remaining Sturm officers.
Those that were left fought to the death.

On other side of the Canal

Ten soldiers stood before the church, the voices of heaven sang in the crisp air.
An officer moved forward and rapped on the door.
The singing abruptly stopped, and a few moments later the sound of a heavy bolt rattled from within.
‘May I help you?’ an elderly priest enquired.
‘Midlonian Imperial Army, we’re looking for Insurgents, and I wond--.’
The officer was cut short as one of his aides whispered in his ear.
‘Shit! Oh, err sorry Father.’
‘No worries my child.’
‘Umm, good day father.’
‘Good Day’ the priest closed the heavy door, the bolt slamming into place.
The Soldiers ran from the church, there was a shrill whistle blasting from where they had disembarked. Four short blasts, then a pause, then another four, followed by yet another four after a pause.


Section 6.2: Whistle codes.
Upon the blasting of four whistles, then a pause, followed by another four. Should this pattern be repeated, fall back to your starting position.

The men scrambled their way back towards the continuous whistle blasts, their boots thundered along the paved streets.
When they arrived the officer looked pale.
‘The city has fallen, unless we get the hell out of here we’re toast, we need to fall back towards the hills.’
He turned and blew his whistle again twice.
The men began to embark their trucks and, after a few minutes of waiting for the furthest out teams, the mortars began to fall.
Three teams of rebel mortars had set up on the canal back opposite, the plunk followed by the scream thundered through the air.
An empty truck exploded and turned over due to being hit by several mortars, eventually the commander gave up waiting and ordered the trucks to flee, they sped from the city kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.
Cheering victoriously, the rebels, now numbering around two million had taken the southern city of Gresley in just two weeks of sheer hard fighting, around 12,000 loyal soldiers lay dead, with a further 100 having fled in terror of the seemingly unlimited rebels.
With the rebellion firmly in control of the city, the MIA was sent reeling back, brigades were being called up and rapidly flung into the area by rail, and many proposed falling back all the way to the river to the north of the country.
Cooler minds would prevail, and a new “perimeter” as it was deemed, would be set up approximately twenty miles from the city.

Harlington village, South-Western Midlonia, Three months later.
The Oliver Mark II tank (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/olivermk2urban.png) Growled, its treads compacting the grass beneath it.
Tank Commander Daniel Hardwick popped the hatch of his turret and peered out.
Raising his binoculars to his face he scanned the countryside around him.
Nothing, once again

Daniel had been wondering why the hell they had not retaken the City, after all, they did have the two-oh-ninth [209th], and Forty-seventh [47th] Armoured regiments, the nineteenth [19th] Royal Ordinance regiment, and a vast majority of the Second [2nd] Infantry brigade (elements of the 72nd was held up at the Junction at Point Eglise).
So why are we not charging back in? He mused as he scanned again.
The Sturm command, in their wonderful arrogance, had claimed that they could subdue the peasants…

So around 13,000 officers had charged back in, in an attempt at recapturing the city, they were supported by armoured enforcement units, numbering around 500.
Around 2,000 had come back, the rest were either dead, routed, or had joined the cause.
The radio crackled inside his tank, Daniel dropped back inside to answer it.
‘Echo-nine, please respond… Echo-nine, plea…’
‘Echo-nine, responding.’ Daniel replied curtly as he clicked a button near to his seat.
‘Ah, Echo-nine, please proceed to 287, 389 for debrief and report on what you’ve seen’
‘Roger’ Daniel sighed, putting the receiver down with a clack.
‘Well lads, you heard him, back to Fox-leg.’
‘Sah.’ The tank-driver nodded and the engine gunned back into life.

Five minutes later the tank was back in the make-shift camp, well “Make-shift” in Midlonian terms would mean “Semi-permanent” in others, the concrete walls had been airlifted in via helicopter, and various other “flat pack” structures had also been dragged in via rail, “Fox-leg” was about as make-shift as a Midlonian temporary base would get, sporting a full field hospital, operating theatre, two mess halls and several, remarkably comfortable barracks, Fox-leg was a true “home away from home”.
A tall, thin, bandy-legged man, with a crooked nose greeted them; every third or fourth word was interrupted by a “phunt” sound from his nose.
‘Well, er, lad phunt what did you phunt spot?’
‘Bugger all.’
‘Well, don’t phunt worry lad, they’ll be coming phunt soon, want some tea? I’ll add a phunt shot of Brandy to it.’ He grinned toothily.
‘Tea would be lovely sah, it’s getting bloody boring out their, they don’t seem to be doing anything.’ He clambered from the turret and wandered towards the barrack building. He lay down on his bunk and sighed. He closed his eyes and dozed. When he awoke the scene was entirely different.

He had gone into a crowded, army barrack building, now there were only three beds filled, he clambered out and looked outside, the base was practically deserted, a skeleton guard was all that were left.

Odd, where the heck is everybody…
‘Lads?’
‘Mmh?’
‘Everyone’s gone.’
‘Mhmmhm.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘Mmmh.’
‘Sod it.’
Daniel wandered outside, the base was pretty much abandoned, he wandered over to the mess hall and got a cup of tea, and a round of toast, then went towards one of the gate guards, who promptly saluted him as he approached.
‘Morning sah.’ The guard said, in a clear, well educated voice. ‘The Commander decided you’d done enough with all the recon yesterday, but we’ve got reports of major rebel move- incoming! the scream of a shell thundered through the air, it’s wail was horrific as it soared over the base and exploded somewhere in the village. The two figures near the gate stood upright, after they had both instinctively crouched.
‘Well, I think that answers the rest of my sentence…” the guard grinned toothily at Daniel.
‘Shit, so the rebels are here? Attacking? Now?’
‘It’d seem like that, yes.’ The guard nodded.

Daniel shook his head, with the large concrete gates shut, there was no way him and his tank crew were getting out.

Communications hut, Cap Fox-leg

‘What do you mean “There are no more re-inforcements?”’ The operator shouted at the blue screen in front of him.
‘As in “There are no more bloody re-inforcements we can send to you, due to the bloody civil revolts we have here, in each and every bloody city! It seems the Revolt has turned full scale rebellion!’ the smart looking officer snapped back.
‘Then it’s quite simple, the south is lost!’
‘At this rate the country is lost, we’re asking all available units to fall back to the rivers, we’re destroying the bridges, we have the king being moved to Pakington now.’
‘Christ sake, ok, I’ll try to get what I can the hell out of here, but it’s a good 50 miles drive to the river.’
‘Just get it done!’ The comms unit died, the operator looked forlorn.
‘All units fall back! I repeat! All units fall back! We need to get the hell out of here!’

Half an hour later, with no reply, the comms operator was white faced, he clicked on the holomap of all friendly units…
There weren’t any.
Then the screams opened up again.
And Fox-leg ceased to exist.

Walking, blood-soaked around the ruins, there were but three figures left.
The hulk loomed out of the smoking mist, (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/gresleyMBT.png) The remaining figures knew what to do, they lifted their arms as best as they could in the form of surrender.
‘Jesus Christ, survivors?’ the muffled sound came from a shadow on top of the hulk. ‘Medic! We got survivors! ’
Daniel blinked, and then passed out.

Pakington, North Western Midlonia
Aslmadeus Sturm thundered into the room, tables and maps seemed to lie everywhere and there were various middle-aged men running around in an almost flustered panic.
‘ Who the bloody hell is in charge here?’ Aslmadeus’ voice thundered, and the panic seemed to stop.
‘I am’ one of the fatter, purple-faced, grey haired gentlemen stood.
‘Good, give me a report.’
‘Most of the second Division has been destroyed, we’re pulling back what’s left now, I have all bridges over the river Orme blown, except one, in Mickelover, that’ll be used for whatever comes from further south, I just got off from them about half an hour ago, they reported they’d be pulling back.’ He reeled off the facts matter-of-factly.
‘So you’re saying, we have next to nothing to stop them?’ Aslmadeus shot back, horrified.
‘Not with the sixth army in Neo Tyr, and your bloody men joining their side, no.’ he shot back again.
Aslmadeus growled. ‘The men sworn to me, are loyal, believe me.’
‘And how many of those do you have? I’ll need a lot to plug the gaps.’ The general sneered.
‘Twelve thousand’
‘Peanuts, estimates are they’re in their millions, and they have tanks, artillery, everything ’
‘And what of our air force?’
‘We don’t have one, budget cuts grounded all that was left! We’re fighting damn blind! We have no recon capabilities!’ he spat, before grabbing a cup of tea roughly and slurping loudly, he then mopped his mouth.
‘To be honest with you Aslmadeus, we’re fucked, all we can do is delay, it’d be better if we surrendered.’ He whispered quietly, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
‘We’ll corrode the bloody river before that happens!’ Aslmadeus spat.
‘I have those barrels ready, should we need them, I’ll poison the river and blow the bridge, they won’t be able to get across, believe me.’
‘Good, then make sure that if they come, blow that bridge and dump the barrels, then flee back to Pakington proper, and hold out there, Klatch should save us eventually.’
‘They’re more likely to support the stronger man, and right now it’s them.’ The general mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, and then went back to pouring over a map.

Gresley, Southern Midlonia
‘Things are most certainly successful, we have riots everywhere, and men taking up arms, and with the new Friction powered rifle (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/FPRmk1.png), we’ll be able to give them the weapons we need!’ Bill sounded gleeful.
Jack nodded, the new Friction pulse rifle was an ingenious idea, a pulse or beam of energy, that could kill a man, all by clicking a switch twice to power it, then squeeze he trigger.
‘Mmm, I need to sleep, we shall discuss more in the morning.’ Jack sighed, and got out of his chair, and headed towards his room, a young man stopped him.
‘Sir, I need you to sign these, reports sir, to say you’ve seen them.’
Jack simply muttered something inaudible, then clicked a pen and scribbled his signature several times.

A couple of hours later, Jack was snoozing happily, but this was not to last.
A figure crept into his room, the blade glinted in the moonlight, the glint was raised, and lowered with force into the sleeping mass, he didn’t make a sound, but he died.
Grinning in the moonlight, Thaddeus grinned, one of the men he blamed for his father’s death was now dead, and he was now in charge according to the new “Will and testament” of Jack Fisher, leader of the Midlonian Republic.
He slipped out of the room, and back into his own, he slept peacefully, for the first time in several months.

Somewhere in Southern Midlonia
Daniel slipped slowly into consciousness, a nurse was busying herself with a monitor by his bed, he glanced around the place around him, a proper, permanent hospital, full of wounded men, and women. Some seemed to be in great pain, and moaned continuously, others sat calmly, quietly.
Daniel opened his mouth to speak, the words came out painfully.
‘Where am I?’
The nurse was startled and spun around, her frizzy red hair bouncing.
‘Oh goodness, you’re awake!’ she exclaimed, looking shocked.
‘How long have I been out?’
‘Oh, about a month, you collapsed just after we found you and your comrades.’ She smiled weakly.
‘Comrades? My Tank Crew you mean?’
‘Yes, they were pretty badly beaten up too, be they’re in more comfortable accommodation now.’
‘Where the heck am I?’
‘Hospital number 23, area 22, North western section, Midlonian People’s army 12 sector.’
‘You’re communists?’ Daniel suddenly felt afraid, his eyes widened and he looked around the room rapidly, he noticed some posters with “Fight hard against the Imperialists!” and such slogans adorned the walls.
‘Well, more socialist, really.’ She mused slightly to herself.
Daniel glanced at the window behind him, the large bulk on an airship rumbled past; he glanced down and saw column after column of men, in roughly hewn, plain brown uniforms marched past, a rifle hitched on each and every back.
The square bulk of tanks then followed.
‘A parade?’
‘No. Marshalling, they’re marshalling to take the bridge to the north, another wave, they’re being issued with masks and full body suits to take the river, the Royalists poured some sort of corrosive acid into the river, just as the first wave arrived.’ She glanced at some of the spluttering figures in other cribs, Daniel could now see their faces were disfigured and covered in welts.
‘Bastards…’ she muttered.
‘He’d never order that kind of thing on his own people.’ Daniel sounded faint, and distanced.
‘You lived in an army base all your life, you don’t know what he’d do.’
‘I…’ Daniel was interrupted by a pair of double doors bursting open and a trolley rushing in.
On it was a brown cloaked man, his face was covered in a mask, the pipe just below his mask (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/nukesoldier.jpg) was cut ever so slightly, his body was twitching.
‘Jesus Christ what happened?’ The nurse had dashed over to check on the patient.
‘We were near the gas zone, when a sniper clipped her pipe, they’ve been doing that for some time instead of just shooting us, effects our morale or some such shit.’ One of the, similarly clothed, soldiers replied.
‘She?!?’ Daniel exclaimed.
The people congregated around the trolley ignored him.
‘Get the mask off, and put 10cc’s of Morphine into her, stop her twitching for god’s sake!’
One of the soldiers stepped forward and removed the clunky mask. The woman’s features were already becoming disfigured, and the welts had appeared all over her face.
‘Jesus H. Christ.’ One of the soldiers stepped back in disgust.
The nurse tried to work, but the body still twitched.
She grabbed the needle and stabbed it into the neck of the woman, then the twitching subsided.
‘Get her to the Chemical extraction theatre, one floor up, and get her there damn quickly, she’s near critical.’
‘Yes miss.’
The soldiers pushed the trolley back out through the doors, Daniel looked flabbergast.
‘Women?’
‘Chivalry is dead.’ The Nurse merely replied, then began to walk off.
‘Wait! What is your name?’
‘Miria, Miria Lockheed.’ She replied, then she was gone.


Bridge #1 Middle Midlonia
‘Move it! Grab that Bridg-’ the bullet hit the man in the eye piece and he fell, lifeless.
The machine gun nests roared away at the wave of men charging it, like lambs to the slaughter, they fell. A Tank roared around the corner and fired at one of the pillboxes which exploded in a rapid display of colour and sound.
A rocket streaked across the sky and slammed into the tank, which exploded itself.
A dull drone filled the sky and a Suppressor airship (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/suppressor.png) gently rumbled over the tops of the buildings, one of the bombs fell and exploded harmlessly in the river, sending a jet of water into the air. A second bomb fell and caused the pillbox to disappear, replacing it with a cloud of thick, acrid smoke.
With a mighty cheer, the soldiers stormed the bridge, the other half of the town fell soon after.


One week later

A tear ran down Aslmadeus’ cheek, he walked slowly into the room, with an air of grace, he looked at the man who had destroyed his country, his way of life, everything.

Thaddeus stared at the man as he entered, then he smiled.
‘Ah, the man who killed ruled the land, nice to meet you.’
‘Whom am I addressing?’ Aslmadeus inquired.
‘First Lord Protector of Midlonia, Thaddeus Freeman.’
‘Quite a grand title for one so young.’
‘I could have you shot for that, but I won’t, I have a better fate for you in years to come. But first! Business…’
He clicked his finger, Bill Trinder brought a single slip of paper over and laid it down on the desk.
‘Sign that, then you shall pass into my custody.’
Aslmadeus read the paper, then signed it, he lowered his head, a defeated man.
‘Have a couple of our civil protection officers escort this man to one of our camps, make sure it’s comfortable.

Four months, that’s how long it took to defeat this country, from a greater numbered foe, I shall not let this happen again…
‘Bill, can you be the new economics minister?’
‘Yes, Thaddeus.’
‘I believe we need a larger armed forces, to combat foes externally and internally, what do you think?’

And so started the first rule of the Midlonian Republic. But what of the King?
We know not of his fate.