NationStates Jolt Archive

Vladimir Mechislav (literal: "sword of glory")-- the true sovereign of our country-- the godrotting fools in the Council were wrong to reject the potential of our military forces to march on and rule above all. Their forces are weak, their minds are dull, their time has come. Glory to the Fatherland. "Within three months we'll be at the gates of Valkonezh, marching an invincible force. We will know no threat, no resistance."

Two hundred thousand men, the thirteenth and fourteenth mechanized divisions of the fascists, poured into the first of the fortifications athwart the capital, the ten mile line of democratic forces guarding the very city itself. This particular location was heavily fortified with dominating stationary 14" batteries and dangerously narrow at it's mouth it appeared that the fascists were at a suicidal disadvantage. There was scant room to maneuver, and the batteries could hold the attackers easily at range as they moves forth. But the cannons were set firm in their beds and could not move, and corrupt administration had allowed the cannons to languish. Thus the token shell of the artillery batteries passed harmlessly beyond the flanks of the advancing force. Even worse-- marines in cutters passing the lake west of Valkonezh stormed ashore and captured some of them (taken easily and without loss)-- using the particularly huge artillery pieces as extremely effective tank destroyers. The marines spiked the flank of the defenses, and a few stayed to occupy the batteries. The defenders- knowing themselves to be helpless, had fled in absolute cowardice. The rest went on to gun down the escaping forces-- leaving them no opportunity to fight again and subduing the fortifications. Later an armor group was sent against the victorious forces but the entire group was annihilated due to the fact that the line was also a dangerously narrow path to the other side, the captured guns proved instrumental in their defense.

"Like potting sitting ducks," the general said disgustedly.

"Yes," Vladimir said. "Their losses are slight and ours negligible." They were inside a command APC-- a mile aft of the path-blazing forces right outside the capital city. In front of them was the main body of the forces laying siege and to the east behind them was the rear guard composed mainly of armored cavalry and artillery. "We'll transfer our headquarters to the capital city, after that we can make a legitimate claim to the international community that the Schism is finally over."

OOC:
Continuation of the Great Schism after a hiatus.

The fascists had failed in acquiring the only nuclear weapon in the country, instead they lay siege to the capital city-- undaunted and unfazed by the democratic forces. Carlos, I need to talk to you on IRC.

Wind biting his face, Lieutenant General Crotton waved a last salute to the land he loved - the flag waving in the early morning breeze as the carrier plane took off. His rifle laying on his knees Crotton watched as the airbase below got smaller and smaller, plane after plane taking off with the black UDAF stamp on it's side. Moving an entire division by air was risky, costly, and logistically terrible; but they needed speed for OPERATION: BLOWBACK and they needed alot of it. The armour had already been loaded onto the planes and had taken off several hours ago at an airbase to the east of the country. The flight would not take too long, as in fact haven was rather close to Zvarinograd. In fact, the armour should have already arrived..

[##-VALKONEZH, ZVARINOGRAD-##]
The huge plane convoy was nearing Zvarinograd. Beige planes, hundreds of them, tanks inside being hastily serviced by their crew. The planes began the silent descent to landing at Valkonezh airport to drop off the four hundred odd armoured vehicles that made up the armoured element of the 3rd Mountain Division.

Dropships began carrying Danaan marines from the ships above to the ground below. They were setting up camp a few miles to the North of the fascist lines, out of easy range but within a days march. They wanted to set up a camp that would hold here to await the reinforcements from the sea, which included most of the Danaan armor and heavy artillery deployed.

Meanwhile, the Space Fleet launced bombers with fighter escorts, heading on bombing runs of the fascist fortifications around the capital.

Meanwhile, the fleet was arriving some great distance from the capital. The amphibious ships were unloading their tanks, armored vehicles, and troops along the shore.

The thunder of the bombers tearing through the fortifications was heard from inside Vladimir's command APC. The artillery pieces inside them were already moved out, thankfully enough, and halftracks spilled AA fire upward like a thousand geysers. Although there were a few unlucky enough to stay in the fortifications, they will be remembered as heros, anyway. "All north-- take two armor divisions and one mechanized division and go north to flank the communists as well as the Danaans from the southeast and cut them while they're still organizing, rest of our forces including the auxillary will make a break for it to the capital city. They most likely have artillery but if we make it quick they won't be able to use and/or deploy it, run them through and take no prisoners. We must crush the democratic forces at all costs."

Communists. These communists are evil personified. Completely barbaric. They have no attributes to recommend them, he thought. None. Except their propensity to kill, and this they can do with incredible brutality albeit lacking of any form of refinement. At least, they will be the medium for which we will acquire victory, total victory. Vladimir took his binoculars to look at the soldiers leaving north by northwest to flank the arrivals. Each was a burly hard-faced six-footer in his early twenties. Each had his head shaven, and the same rippling steel of knotted muscles under their fine and impeccable uniforms. They were educated, and drilled, countless of times before they came to this point. They are, by all means, not the slightest hint of weak. They can match physiques with the heathens. They will come back victorious. He and the general--with the rest of the forces within the main body of the fascist forces and all the soldiers who were fit moved on. No amount of distemper nor ill polar wind could decimate their ranks now. Victory is close, too close.

Crotton squinted through his macro field binoculars. His command unit lay on top of the Conning Tower for the airfield they had taken. He surveyed, possibly twenty, maybe twentyfive kilometres out from where the conning tower was lay the fascist forces that came from teh horizon like a rising sun and smashing into Valkonezh. Crotton gritted his teeth and folded his hand into a fist angrily as he saw the fascists bombarding Valkonezh and the innocents inside; and knew that he could do nothing to stop it, having no artillery to retaliate. He had to strike, and fast. Maybe any democratic forces in the area would help him.
Crotton had organised most of his armoured forces behind the hangars and behind snow barriers to help keep out of sight - but he knew behind hill 203 he had a reserve of a regiment of light tanks and a light armoured regiment of ifv's filled with soldiers.

"You, comrade. Get me a radio link to Major Straschman. and sharpish."

Several minutes later, the light tanks rumbled out followed by the IFVs, in a line. The white camouflaged vehicles were fairly well disguised by the slapstick white paint and light brown and grey strips splashed against their hull. They were replaaced by the same number of their own from the main airfield defense lines.

The two regiments, the 44th and the 45th moved to the far west at high speeds, ignoring the bumpy ground to make best haste to the fascist army. In a big curving loop they cut across Valkonezh.

While the tanks moved into position, with a wave of a hand Crotton ordered up his only two Heavy Armoured Regiments onto the front of the airfield, where groups of soldiers were dug in with machine guns and rifles facing the fascist army, or where it would come from.

Valkonezh International

"West by northwest, 175 degrees from terminal, 30 degrees, fire an artillery barrage on the airfield now." Check. Most of the Hogsweatian positions facing southeast are off from the focal point of the fascist attack-- slightly north from where the Hogsweatians had faced. The general was wise to send the counterattack north by northwest, rather than head-on towards the airfield. The two armor divisions' organic artillery rained like hailstones of lead amongst the cold polar wind, and as a minute passes into the barrage, the tanks and mechanized infantry of the fascists stormed down on the airfield on the east flank of the Hogsweatian fortifications. The camouflaged IFVs came as a surprise, however, it's value as a threat was reduced by the fact that artillery preparation had taken out their support-- vulnerable to the mixed force the fascists sent. Then, above all else, the severe disadvantage of the airport being a wide and open ground with little to no cover became apparent-- the Hogsweatians could not hide their tanks from the tank destroyers of the fascists. Mortar teams from the mechanized infantry began to methodically shell the hangars and fortifications, routing them out into the open where they are easily engaged. --the airport is a lost cause for the communists, but as the fascists drove on to the hill behind it, they were halted by a superior position and had to fall back. Hill 203 was an extremely defensible position for the Hogsweatians-- the fascists were now the ones in the open, while the communists held on firmly. In the end, the fascists' counterattack fell back, but not after destroying the vital structures and strips needed for the Hogsweatians to land more forces into the vicinity by air transport. It was not over, however. A call from the temporary headquarters on the east line commanded the attention of the fascist forces to fortify the location, and synchronize artillery fire on the Danaans the moment they start using their heavy artillery.

There is still a long day ahead of the fascists, a long day indeed.

Valkonezh, Parliament Building

The death of democracy.

Fascist stormtroopers break down door by door, window by window, cutting a bloody swath into the heart of the city. They began enslaving the masses and putting them into trucks-- back to camp. Then, it was before them, before Vladimir Mechislav; At long last the government of the country stood before them, and nothing could stop him now. Tanks, IFVs, APCs swarmed the streets surrounding the government block, mowing down officials and the councilors-- until there was one. Lev Aleksandrov was escorted outside the building. The devil incarnate and his personal guard was waiting outside with a Mi-24 helicopter beside them. Vlad walked ahead and touched Lev's cheek, kissed him, then spat on him. "How dare you," muttered Lev, in Russian. Vlad slapped him with his pistol's grip, blood splattered across the face of a fascist soldier. "How dare YOU, impudent talk never saved a villain. You are long gone, you disgrace this country, your decisions are those of a raving fool who desperately wants to feel important. You killed my wife in the first insurrection, and now I will kill you, painfully, slowly." Vlad spent one good hour, beating him into submission, cutting off his fingers, tearing his eyes out, and finally gestured the soldiers around him to blindfold and bind the prisoner in rope, then set him against the wall. "Think of the pain as the realization that you are still alive, I'm doing you a favor for that." The soldiers assemble into a reverse wedge, cornering all escape. "Go to hell, Lev. Fire."

The wall was peppered with gunfire-- and the last leader of the free democratic people was killed, brutally. Vlad walked ahead beside the bloody corpse and shot it, repeatedly, with his pistol until his magazine was empty.

An explosion shook the tower, chunks of concrete flying off from mortar explosions and light support weapons. Crotton ran down the curling stairs of the tower, ducking as a 25mm cannon ripped a chain of bulletholes into the side of the tower in a canon of tiny explosions. As Crotton reached the bottom he ducked down on the side of the tower were a light anti tank gun was firing consistently at the fascist attackers. Peering through his binoculars, his rifle still strapped to his back Crotton grinned as a fascist tank destroyer set aflame, a bright lance of light hitting the tank directly next to it immediately after, the armoured vehicle suffering the same fate as it's comrade. Slowly but surely the facists began to retreat, their armour and infantry pouring backwards as both sides exchanged fire between tanks and soldiers. Machine guns from emplacements along the airfield opened up suddenly, strobing yellow lines strafing and raking across the retreating fascist soldiers. As the last fascist tank set aflame from a direct hit to the turret, and it was clear the enemy were retreating, many many soldiers stood up and cheered, tank commanders jumping out of their tanks.

"Comrades!" General Crotton shouted, pointing eastwards. The worn faces and helmets of the Mountain Division turned, and with horror saw against the backdrop of a setting Zvarinogradii sun, the city of Valkonezh; and vast flames rising from it. Looking in helplessness as they knew what was to happen, Crotton grabbed the wide freq radio from his pack, and in full view of the whole of the assembled 3rd mountain division, flicked a switch and ordered down the microphone.

"All units, Hogsweatian, Zvarinogradii, Danaan, whomever you are, we must attack! our time is now! Rally around the flag of the free world! The fascists are setting about in the capital, looting, burning, killing innocents! We must NOT let free Zvarinograd fall! To whoever is listening, in one fall sweep we will smash into Valkonezh and wrest it from fascist control! To any Zvarinogradii dissidents, Communists, Democrats, your time is now. You must rise with us, the forces of liberty and freedom to smash this fascist menace and remove it once and for all from this beautiful country!
With combined steel and fire we will drive the fascist scum into the cold oceans of Russia!
Onward to victory! onward to victory Free Fighting Zvarinogradii's!"

With approval Crotton's troops roared and set about gathering ammunition and whatever they may need, hopping on board tanks trucks and IFVs.

Western Valkonezh

Endgame

Androme Zvarinsky, son of Alexey Zvarinsky, sole survivor of the royal family; stood there rallying the remainder of the democratic forces nearby the city, including the green Iuthians. The sun had begun to dip below the mountains, but the city was still bathed in gold and white. The democratic forces who dug in the western half of the city began to create strongpoints, used by General Zbukov in Stalingrad. They used the lessons of the past to deal with the present, exploiting the fact that the fascists overstretched themselves-- leaving many flanks to attack. The sewage tunnels and subway networks of the city began to hold skirmishers and snipers, taking up positions deep behind enemy lines and stealing the already diminishing supplies of the fascists. Androme taught the Iuthians, through actions, words, and casualties how to fight; and it all became very clear and instinctive to them how wars are fought. Into the cold night, the fighting drove on, lighting the darkness with streaking lines--rockets and missiles. Gunfire. Explosions.

Valkonezh International, East Line

Vladimir had to pull back to the camp for his own fear of safety, and began to order the fascists to march north to Hill 203. With the sea east of them, the Danaans north of them, the Menelmacari and Necrontyr to the south-- they had to fight through the communists-- the only way out of the trap. Suddenly the airport was flooded by fascist forces, moving not one step back, betting it all in one shot. Vladimir himself, in his command APC, led the assault on the tower-- accompanied by a few of the elite among the fascists. There were running footsteps in the hangars. The men in the tower looked over to the window and saw a company of elite troops in square formation around one man-- Vladimir Mechislav. Before they could shoot, however, gas filled the room and gunfire lit up. One Hogsweatian soldier fell from the window and down in front of Vlad. The fascist leader arrogantly spat and stepped on the exposed skull of the now deceased communist soldier, Vlad was trying to get General Crotton's attention in doing this; "Come down you bloody communist pig of a general! Or is the poor general so used to fighting wars on his desk with pen and paper?" He laughed, trying to make himself heard, but his laughter was abruptly stopped by an explosion in the tower. The communists had fought back the earlier assault and Vlad took cover behind his APC.

"What's the matter-- fascist dog? Are you so used to fighting on your desk with pen and paper?"

"Quiet, you!" Vladimir was enraged. He had a limitless ego, one that didn't want to allow itself to be deflated by anyone he considered to be pathetic. So instead of just shelling the tower and killing General Crotton inside, he signalled to his men to mortar the tower with smoke grenades to stop the communists from firing through the windows as he and his troops ran towards the tower. Communists soldiers were waiting at the entrance, on either side of the door against the wall. They were so determined to gun down anyone who tried to run past that they didn't notice the warmed and primed grenades flying in and exploding in their faces. As the fascists walked inside, they saw the room caked with blood and entrails, they also suddenly saw an ambush from behind the stairs and a firefight began. A few of the fascists were taken by suprise and killed, while the others pin down the communists. Vladimir took this opportunity to run up the stairs in blind rage, trying to find that communist general who mocked him. He could not feel the closeness of the passageway nor smell the scent of smoke and high explosive grenades as he furiously and noisily marched up the stairs. Finally, he reached Crotton's room, and kicked the door down. "You are a very pitiful man. You are weak, and pathetic. You hide behind a false sense of nationalism and backwards belief, communist pig." Vladimir roared with maniacal laughter, took his sabre and lunged at the communist. The general managed to dodge the assault and take his own sword out. The fascist was fighting with finesse, and a mocking smile. He was trying to demoralize Crotton into making a mistake, a fatal one. The communist was using his larger build and stronger muscles to his advantage, forcing his sword forward as they parried. At that note, Crotton lunged forward after a parry, but Vlad sidestepped and smashed his boot into his face. The fascist carved VM on the face of the fallen communist, threw away both swords and spat on him, but Crotton used the time Vlad spent gloating over his fall to kick Vlad down. The fascist knocked his head hard on the floor, causing some head trauma. Crotton stumbled up and tried to look for something to hit Vlad with. Vlad recovered quickly, shrugged his hand and a pistol slid down to his palm. "Fair fights were never my forte, communist pig." Crotton took the Dorsal Hogsweat flagpole as Vlad trained the gun onto the communist-- his aim is off due to the earlier head trauma. Crotton slams the flagpole's sharp end into the Vlad's neck as he lets out a shot, hitting Crotton's shoulder. The flag stood upright, baring to the world the colors of Dorsal Hogsweat.

"Neither is mine, fascist dog." Arterial blood spray spewed on Crotton as he held his shoulder in pain. Vlad is dead, and Crotton spat on him, for once someone else did.

Valkonezh, Main Streets

Androme began sending communiques to the Danaans and the forces fighting for the democrats-- the 'democrats' are now under new leadership, the royal family, House Zvarinsky. Communists should now be considered as a real threat because the fascists have overstretched themselves, spent their supplies and are quickly collapsing; And after the fascists are defeated they are in a good position to attack the capital city and win. He asked the Danaans to attack Hill 203 from the rear while the militia fight the fascists' rear guard. The plan was to take down both communists and fascists in a pincer move thus finally ending the Schism. The fascists will easily be defeated from being in open ground, while the communists will have been worn down by the fascist attack. While Hill 203 is defensible coming from the airport-- but the Danaans will have a key, even position as the communists from being in the rear. The militia will ensure that none of them escape the hill and provide fire support.

The attack on Valkonezh had left many of the Iuthian Peacekeepers stationed there dead or wounded, their bodies slowly becoming buried under the snow which constantly fell on the cold hearted nation. The brutal strike at Zvarinograd's heartland had left much of Iuthia's efforts to retain peace in the Democratic controled regions in tatters, as news got around that the Capitol had fallen people paniced in the other cities, some even taking their anger out on the few Iuthian soldiers who had thus far been doing their best to get the hearts and minds of the people. On the whole it was getting closer and closer to chaos, the Iuthians on the verge of pulling out now the Democrats had seemingly been defeated.

It was a great fortune then, that Androme Zvarinsky the son of Alexey Zvarinsky and sole survivor of the Zvarinogradi royal family had survived the attack and successfully rallied the remaining Zvarinograd and Iuthian soldiers, now fortifying their position after having bravely fought for their very lives. The losses had been great for both of them but not all had been lost.

Now in the freezing western outskirts of the city, the the Zvarinogradi leader was making the best of his situation... his forces severely deminished and their moral tested to the limits. Fortunately it seemed as though the Facists had overstretched themselves in the push for the capitol, their supply line stretched and poorly guarded it was ripe for hit and run attacks, making use of the forces now smaller more mobile state.

The remaining Iuthian Peacekeepers were now much more capable then they had once been, surviving the assault had made men (or women in some cases) of the lot of them, their training did them some good, but they were more like light infantry trained for policing then anything else... Zvarinsky had done his best to get those who weren't quite there up to speed and his charismatic leadership and patience had paid off, making reasonable soldiers out of some of them, though they weren't frontline material.

There was the odd Iuthian Blackviper remaining in the city too, though their Iuthian Hippogrith Transport had long ago been shot down by Facist forces, resulting the in the death of the majority of the assault team, the rest were conducting their own guerrilla tactics against the Facist forces... their training in anti-terror tactics ironically gave them enough insight to conduct their own operations, though being less then a dozen in number they weren't able to provide any real opposition.

Further away, out of all the chaos of the fight for Valkonezh, the Iuthian Carrier CVN Ripper's Pride was conducting minor operations in order to help the Western Democrat held cities in their protection during the remainer of the conflict... they made a point of staying west of Zvarinograd to provide a point for their men to fall back on and resupply from, already additional supplies were arriving for the Iuthians and at home additional forces were being prepared for additional support... though they were several weeks away from providing instant reinforcement.

The show must go on and it was turning out to be quite a show.

*Before reading, I suggest clicking here: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8941447&postcount=7 to find out exactly what the Warspite is doing here.*

H.M.S. Warspite, Northern Patrol Path 4.

As Commodore Dougal McMahan jogged to the bridge, long legs eating the steel-corridored distance, the lights dimmed to red, and the tannoy crackled.
"This is the Captain, the fascist vessels have launched. Prepare for incoming, battery crews prepare to fire.”
McMahan swore colourfully, and sped up, reaching the bridge with a last spurt, the heavy blast doors sealing shut as he slid into his command chair, placed slightly above and to the side of the Captain's.
“Situation in full Craig?"
"You've got as much info as I do sir, looks like as soon as we were in range for missiles they launched. No challenge, no demands." came Mawson's reply.
McMahan pulled his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Well, RoE has your ass covered with the Admiralty. Blow 'em out of the water."
He sighed.
"I really bloody didn't want this. Assholes."
A faint tone indicated the Zvarinogradii missiles had entered the point defence engagement range, the tone increasing in volume as the missiles headed towards the optimal engagement zone, the Warspite's subsentient A.I murmuring distances as they shrank.
The tone reached it's loudest, and then a sound like rain on a tin roof began, the point defence raildrivers spitting their 3mm rounds at healthy fractions of .c upward, guided by the A.I.'s unhuman aim.
The soft "brdhdhdhdh" of the point defence continued, total silence reigning on the bridge, till the A.I.'s calm, neuter voice announced all incoming munitions had been destroyed.
McMahan blew out a breath. The Zvarinogradii missiles had been hideously outmatched by the sheer weight of point defence the squadron had to throw, not least with the dedicated Myth Class Missile Cruisers along for the ride, but still, you could never be complacent in warfare.
Captain Mawson tapped his fingers together, not looking at McMahan. This battle wasn't about strategy, it was about firepower. No need for the Commodore to do more than look stoic.
"Alright, Standard fire pattern people, nothing fancy."
Mawson leant back and watched his people go to work. Within moments the Warspite rocked and rolled as the thundering crash of "A" turret firing penetrated even the thickly armoured bridge, followed swiftly by "B" turret, then "C", then "A" again.
The huge guns' rounds scorched from their barrels, trails of fire following the rocket assisted, car-sized shells as they licked across the sky, following the satellite-relayed coordinates of the stealthy, nearly invisible drones hovering a few feet above the waves watching the fascist flotilla.
At the moment only the three battleships were firing, the rest of the squadron holding off, then, as the rate of fire from the big ships slackened off, the smaller ship of the line classes began to pump rounds out, the Victory Class Battlecruisers and Warrior Heavy Cruisers flinging shells towards the enemy, the Myths lighting the area with the flare of heavy anti-ship missiles blasting from their cell-packed decks.
The escorting destroyers and frigates had clustered around the Vespasian, the carrier's strike craft still shelterd within it's protective honey combing, even as it's Mako fighters clawed skyward, heading out toward where the Zvarinogradii ships, now identified as Tekhomir Class Heavy Cruisers had launched their own few aircraft.
Whilst the fighters duelled each other into irrelevance, the ships continued exchanging
fire, the Zvarinogradii concentrating fire on the lighter Britmattian vessels as best they were able with their limited fire control, sensibly realising their 8" main armament was no match for the ships of the line's armour.
Shells boomed, point defence clusters burped bursts of fire as captains pumped their remaining missiles out as the two groups of ships closed inward, the heavier vessels of the Britmattians beginning to make their weight of fire felt.
The fascist cruiser Reich und Volk was the first to shatter, a heavy SRM from H.M.S Athena, perhaps being guided by it's namesake, scorching down a smokestack, the detonation ripping the cruiser in half, sending her to the bottom almost immediately.
Z.V.N .Arbeit Macht Frei was next to strike her colours, a 20" shell from the Warspite removing most of her superstructure, and her command crew.
The traffic wasn't all one-way however, the continual pounding from the fascist enough to get through the cloud of point defence munitions above the independent squadron, and a rain of 8" shells slammed into the Kingdom escorts and the Vespasian. The carrier was big enough for the shells to be able to do only minor damage, still killing a dozen crew and crippling half a dozen launch bays, but the damage to the frigate H.M.S Owl was far more serious, punching holes throughout her, shattering her weapon systems and breaching her reactor.
In his first decision of the battle, McMahan ordered her abandoned, and as her Captain presented her folded Raven Ensign to McMahan on the Warspite, His Majesty's Frigate Owl slid beneath the dark waves of the north Atlantic, taking with her thirty eight of her crew.
With the loss of the Owl, the fascists took heart, almost within visual range, which would vastly decrease the advantage the Kingdom's better optics gave their vessels.
However, they'd still failed to do more than chip the paint on the big ships, and H.M.S Optio took revenge, destroying the last turret on Z.V.N Nuremburg.
The battle was distant inside the Warspite's bridge, as Mawson recieved the Nuremburg's radioed surrender, the crashing of the guns a distant thunder, the murmuring of reports and movement of targets disrupted by the buzzing of the satphone built into McMahan's chair.
"Hrm, that'll be the Admiralty."
Mawson looked at the red phone.
"Suddenly I'm glad I'm the Captain and not the Commodore."
McMahan flicked him a sickly grin and picked it up, ignoring the blinking report that Z.V.N Iron Cross had had an abrupt rush of brains to the head and had broken off, making with all speed back to Zvarinograd.
"McMahan."
"Ah, Commodore. Andrew here, calling to give you some instructions about this small shooting war you seem to have ambled into." came the mild voice of the Chief of Staff.
"Yes your Grace sir."
"Firstly, your streaming reports are clear enough, you'll not being getting any trouble from on high unless you screw up spectacularly. Secondly, you're to continue on to the main Zvarinogradii ports and prevent their utilisation by fascist forces till they can be liberated. You're free to sink any fascist shipping you like, but do try and cripple rather than sink, the Zvar might want their navy back after the war."
"Yes your Grace." McMahan tugged at his collar, noting with one eye that Z.V.N Fuhrer had just been bracketed by H.M.S Wraith and was now so much tinfoil.
"Other than that Commodore, you're theatre Commander, and we'll be linking you with free Zvarinogradii forces as soon as possible, in addition to trying to get hold of the Iuthians to see if you can be of any assistance to them."
"Very good sir."
"I'll leave you to your battle then Commodore. Good luck."
"Thank you your Grace sir."
The phone clicked off to the accompaniment of a massive explosion. The Warspite's massive bulk barely moved, but the bright flare of the explosion blinded the guncameras for a few moments.
"What the hell was that?" came Mawson's worried sounding question.
A leading seaman stabbed at his console, biting his lip, eyes closing in grief.
"Mag hit on the Rapier sir. She's gone sir, she’s all gone, there's nothing left."
McMahan clenched his fists, swearing softly, while Mawson spat orders.
"Red pills. Now. No more screwing around."
The bridge went silent, looking to McMahan, who shuddered, then nodded.
"Fire one salvo of Red from "A"."
"Yessir." The crewman turned to his console and stabbed at it, transmitting the code for Red Pills release.
As the order bounced round the fleet, the fire of the Britmattian ships ebbed away to nothing more than the continual background drone of the point defence.
"Turret A, firing...now."
The usual thunderous bellow of the guns sounded, without the bright rocket exhausts, too dangerous to use with these rounds.
Seconds pass. One, two, the moments seeming to be leaden as the shells travel.
Then...
An eye-searing flash lit the horizon.
Silence for an other never-ending moment, broken by...
"Direct hit on Z.V.N Carlos Quil'Raya sir."
More endless seconds before the radios crackle, with fascist captains asking for terms as they raced to avoid that single bright flash of doom.
McMahan closed his eyes as the surrenders came, murmuring ever so softly under his breath.
"War is cruelty. There's no use trying to reform it, the crueler it is, the sooner it will be over*."

* William Tecumseh Sherman

Port Agniiaskaya (Divine City—dedicated to the Virgin Mary)

The pride, the crowning glory of the archipelago—the air force. So much was and is poured into the air force-- technology, training, numbers, funding; far more than the other two branches of the military that it borders on fanaticism (and probably is, at times). Although fascists grounded most of the democrats’ aircraft in haste so that no one could use them, they’d managed to capture the only democratic carrier in the docks unscathed. As the earlier battle demonstrated, the naval prowess of the fascists had much left to be desired. The democratic administration and the administration before it had put stock into superiority in aircraft. The fascists knew that, of course, but they wouldn’t be able to take full advantage of it. They were lacking the skill to pilot their newfound air force effectively, which was just as critical to the strategy the supercarriers were built for; the best tools would not serve a green pilot. That concept was painfully demonstrated time and time again in history. However, they were desperate for time and for survival so they put half-trained conscripts instead. They renamed the supercarrier the Graf Zeppelin III, she was utterly huge and carried so many aircraft that it was freaking ridiculous—it had more aircraft than the fascists had pilots. The retreating ships from the earlier engagement were given another chance to serve as escorts for the carrier; it was either that or the entire crew along with the captain would be purged. The order was given to scramble all aircraft and engage the incoming Britmattians—the black clouds of impending doom flew once more above the icy archipelago, under the fascists’ emblems.

Squadron Abakum

“ZVN airforce to incoming Britmattian naval forces, stand down or prepare to be bombed to the stone age.” It was obvious that he always wanted to say that, though he didn’t deserve it. He came from lowly, half-wit, foot soldier to squadron leader just because he had basic knowledge of flying an aircraft. However, that might not be so much of an empty threat. A healthy distance far from the flanks and behind of squadron Abakum was at least half of the Graf’s total capacity of aircraft, with the majority of them holding anti-shipping missile loadouts. A few of the aircraft had stolen tactical nuclear warheads, they wanted to avenge the ZVN Carlos Quil'Raya so they’d at least die gracefully knowing that the Iraqstani recognize them as honorable fighters.

Southeast line- Airfield

It was holding the democratic forces at bay.

The gigantic ground assault gun that the fascists rolled out as a ‘miracle’ weapon to save themselves and the war—the Malakym—held the democratic frontlines back, way back. It threw shells the size of most main battle tanks, and shell casings that would shake the ground momentarily as they impacted the ground. The sheer amount of high explosive within the shells created an ‘earthquake’ effect, breaking any attempt at a direct assault--literally. The exact number of it’s calibre is unknown, some speculate that it was forty-thousand millimeters, in any case it was giving screw-all to any armor that any armored vehicle might have had and infantry unlucky enough to be in the blast. The Malakym was a huge target for bomb raids, but then the fascists grounded the archipelago’s airforce--making that a moot point. Androme sent a communiqué to the Britmattians, they’re the only ones who will be able to bomb it. He also took note that the carrier the fascists held must not be sunk—she was stolen from the democratic forces.

-- on the command deck of The Malakym

Field Marshall Tret'iak Naburkov was having fun commanding the gigantic assault gun, saying “Dang! I’m huge!” and “Fee. Fie. Foe. Fum. I smell the blood of an Iuthian man!” among other things. The other personnel found his enthusiasm a bit unnerving; they thought he was compensating for something he didn’t have. However, the odd stares and looks were swatted away by orders to shut up and shoot. He knew that the whole gun was ridiculous, but at least it was working, he chuckled in pride and glee as the democrat’s latest attempt was completely torn in two by a blast to the centre and beaten back. As long as the fascists have The Malakym, they will probably survive to see the communists die and even less so-- to win the war.

Colonel Rhodri ap Gwydion frowned at the communication. "Well...looks like we're changing targets. Get the men ready to attack Hill 203."

Major Joseph Dorris saluted. "Yes, sir." He moved quickly out of the colonels makeshift tent, swiftly arranging to have the orders carried from man to man, not risking the radio waves.

After some time, the Danaan Marines had formed up into position, several thousand prepared to move against the hill. Before the troops began moving up on foot, the Danaans set up their artillery and opened fire upon the communist position from long range. The Marines lay tense behind the guns, waiting for just the right moment.

Meanwhile, the Danaan Space Fleet launched all bombers and fighters towards the now fascist carrier, hoping to destroy her while all her fighters were deployed against the Brittmanians.

Meanwhile, the Danaan naval fleet was beginning a full scale amphibious landing operation. Thousands upon thousands of men along with many tanks, armored vehicles, and heavy guns were taken to the shore by amphibious landing craft while the combat ships remained behind to block interference and the fighters from the carrier patrolled the sky.

Bridge of H.M.S Warspite.

"Oh bloody hell." came McMahan's disgusted reply to a R.S.O's frantic report on the Danaan launch.
"Shouldn't those bastards be covering their own assault anyway?" was Mawson's only reply, concentrating mostly as he was on the Warspite as the squadron moved onward towards the approaching Fascist battlegroup.
"Buggered if I know Craig. All I know is they're probably going to sink that bloody carrier after the Zvar have asked us nicely not to."
McMahan ground his teeth irritably. It was times like these he wished he smoked. He thought for a few moments, then pointed at the coms officer.
"Get me a general broadcast frequency, one the Danaans are monitoring."
The young woman jumped to obey, and within moments McMahan was transmitting.
"This is Commodore Dougal McMahan of the Royal Navy to the Danaan aircraft approaching the Z.V.N Levkii, please stand down. The Zvarinogradii democratic forces have asked us to deal with it, and more specifically, not to destroy the vessel. I'm relaying you the relevant transmission from Androme now."
McMahan nodded, and the com-tech tapped at her console, the Free Zvar transmission playing.
"That's all. McMahan out."
McMahan dropped out of the formal stance he'd adopted while broadcasting, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Now let's go to work. Androme has asked us to disable some sort of tank destroyer at these co-ordinates in Valkonezh, so give Captain Lilean my compliments and inform her she's to launch her Dragonflys to deal with it."
McMahan wandered forward, pointing a long, tapered finger at the holotank which was being fed data from the radar and the ever-ready cam-drones.
"The incoming fascist strike craft are also the Vespasian's responsibility, I want them dealt with fairly swiftly, so as soon as the Makos are ready to go again, I want them up and intercepting."
He paused, thinking to himself.
"No, that's it. Everything else can wait till we're in contact with the fascist ships again."

H.M.S Vespasian.

Imperator Class Carriers are arguably the strangest looking carriers in service with a wet navy on Ns. They're huge, weighing in at just under 250,000 tonnes, and shaped like an enormous tadpole. Well, the Royal Navy thinks "tadpole" at least. Angstians had been known to make different comparisons.
But the odd shape does serve a purpose. Because the Royal Navy's combat aircraft are all VTOL types, a conventional, flatdecked carrier is pointless.
So, the vast globe-shaped frontage of the Imperators is honeycombed with dozens of blank, aircraft sized hatches, within which the Mako fighters and Dragonfly strike craft can wait.
Right now of course, the hatches were yawning open and the Vespasian was disgorging it's contents, the fighters swarming out like wasps from a hive, the Dragonflys scorching up and away on their own task.
The overall image was of horribly rapid, buzzing black death.
The Makos formed up, the wicked looking little fighters all spikes and fins, and the WingLeader de-polarized the synth-glass of his gel-filled cockpit, and flicked his index and middle finger forward, pointing at where the Albatross AEWAC aircraft said the Zvar aircraft were.
"Thundercats are GO!"
Afterburners lit with blue flame and the sixty-odd Makos scorched forward.


http://photobucket.com/albums/v643/Yamatto/Kingdom%20Stuff/?action=view&current=mako.jpg
http://photobucket.com/albums/v643/Yamatto/Kingdom%20Stuff/?action=view&current=Dragonfly.jpg