Allanea
23-04-2004, 16:19
IC: The Yurkan airforce finally arrives above the city, sending a final signal to the troops hiding on the outskirts, "Gassing in place, please keep gas masks on..."
The troops still in the city and listening to the radio retreat away from open flames or cover their heads with their hands. Less than a minute later the bombing starts and the cyanide gas quickly spreads, igniting with any existing fires and exploding, or killing anyone exposed within minutes. The only thing any of them are able to notice(Untill they're rolled over puking), is a slight almond smell among some of the troops. With enough gas to spare they move on ahead as quicky away as possible towards the Yallak troops.
In Angband
Kazansky leaps out of his chair. “Pavel, please confirm. The Yurkan slaving scum just used chemical weapons?”
The old man on the screen stutters nervously for a second, “Yes, Mr. President, however…”
Kazansky pales with anger.
“What ‘however’, Pavel? Are you trying to give me another one of your stupid excuses for acting like cowards and not nuking the slavering, gun-grabbing murderers to glass like we already did last time and like they surely deserve?”
Pavel pauses, grasping for his paper. “No, Mr. President,” he replies, “actually I had a better idea. Remember those “humanitarian aid packages” that Sammane sent us? Well, they included some VX warheads, of a kind that kills on skin contact. So their gas mask will be useless…”
“But our protective suits won’t.” – Kazansky concludes, while a semblance of a smile begins to appear on his young, geekish face.
“Absolutely true, Mr. President.” – replies Pavel.
“Consider this confirmed. Hit their positions out-fo-town with Iskander cruise missiles carrying this gas. As soon as the gas takes effect, hit them with the infantry. What are the losses from that gas attack of theirs, by the way?”
“Not many. About fifty men lost. Most had their suits put on the right way.”
Kazansky looks up, and a faint shadow of a smile appears on his tired face. Then it disappears, leaving Pavel guessing on whether it was real or not. “What of the civilians, Pavel?”
“Not good, Mr. President.”, replies the Secretary. “The estimates run at fifteen thousand people dead at this point. We suspect, however, that by the time we’re done sorting this out it will rise to about twenty five to thirty five thousand.”
“I see.” – says Kazansky grimly. “Now as to those Felinians, I understand we had troops about to move through this area, am I correct?”
“Indeed, Mr. President. Three hundred seventy thousand light infantry, leeched off the Prophet front and scheduled for Axackal.”
Kazansky pauses, thinking of the hundreds of thousands of soldiers moving to the front, on APC hulls, in trucks, on trains, on beat-up village roads and superhighways. Where would they go on the next turn? Life or death?
And then he though of Allanea, the Free Republic he has made and built from a small third-world country struggling for independence to a world superpower that obliterated the Yurkan slaver-nation once – and could do it again, if needed.
He thought of the children that Yurka just murdered – and of the thousands they murdered before. He though of the horror the rule of Feline’s government was bringing to it’s citizens – and of the worse horror they wanted to bring to Allanea – and to spread further until it poisoned the whole world. And so he knew what he had to do – and he was going to do it. Regardless of the cost. He was going to stop those bastards.
“Tell those three hundred seventy thousand to hit the Feline forces from the rear as soon as the gas takes effect. They should involve the locals and Boy Scouts, too, but only after the gas attack is over.”
“Yes, Mr. President, “says Pavel. “Anything else?”
“Yes, Pavel. Remember that Yurkan guy who authorized the drop?”
“Yes, we got his name from Intelligence. I want his head. On a plate.”
[END OF TRANSMISSION)
The troops still in the city and listening to the radio retreat away from open flames or cover their heads with their hands. Less than a minute later the bombing starts and the cyanide gas quickly spreads, igniting with any existing fires and exploding, or killing anyone exposed within minutes. The only thing any of them are able to notice(Untill they're rolled over puking), is a slight almond smell among some of the troops. With enough gas to spare they move on ahead as quicky away as possible towards the Yallak troops.
In Angband
Kazansky leaps out of his chair. “Pavel, please confirm. The Yurkan slaving scum just used chemical weapons?”
The old man on the screen stutters nervously for a second, “Yes, Mr. President, however…”
Kazansky pales with anger.
“What ‘however’, Pavel? Are you trying to give me another one of your stupid excuses for acting like cowards and not nuking the slavering, gun-grabbing murderers to glass like we already did last time and like they surely deserve?”
Pavel pauses, grasping for his paper. “No, Mr. President,” he replies, “actually I had a better idea. Remember those “humanitarian aid packages” that Sammane sent us? Well, they included some VX warheads, of a kind that kills on skin contact. So their gas mask will be useless…”
“But our protective suits won’t.” – Kazansky concludes, while a semblance of a smile begins to appear on his young, geekish face.
“Absolutely true, Mr. President.” – replies Pavel.
“Consider this confirmed. Hit their positions out-fo-town with Iskander cruise missiles carrying this gas. As soon as the gas takes effect, hit them with the infantry. What are the losses from that gas attack of theirs, by the way?”
“Not many. About fifty men lost. Most had their suits put on the right way.”
Kazansky looks up, and a faint shadow of a smile appears on his tired face. Then it disappears, leaving Pavel guessing on whether it was real or not. “What of the civilians, Pavel?”
“Not good, Mr. President.”, replies the Secretary. “The estimates run at fifteen thousand people dead at this point. We suspect, however, that by the time we’re done sorting this out it will rise to about twenty five to thirty five thousand.”
“I see.” – says Kazansky grimly. “Now as to those Felinians, I understand we had troops about to move through this area, am I correct?”
“Indeed, Mr. President. Three hundred seventy thousand light infantry, leeched off the Prophet front and scheduled for Axackal.”
Kazansky pauses, thinking of the hundreds of thousands of soldiers moving to the front, on APC hulls, in trucks, on trains, on beat-up village roads and superhighways. Where would they go on the next turn? Life or death?
And then he though of Allanea, the Free Republic he has made and built from a small third-world country struggling for independence to a world superpower that obliterated the Yurkan slaver-nation once – and could do it again, if needed.
He thought of the children that Yurka just murdered – and of the thousands they murdered before. He though of the horror the rule of Feline’s government was bringing to it’s citizens – and of the worse horror they wanted to bring to Allanea – and to spread further until it poisoned the whole world. And so he knew what he had to do – and he was going to do it. Regardless of the cost. He was going to stop those bastards.
“Tell those three hundred seventy thousand to hit the Feline forces from the rear as soon as the gas takes effect. They should involve the locals and Boy Scouts, too, but only after the gas attack is over.”
“Yes, Mr. President, “says Pavel. “Anything else?”
“Yes, Pavel. Remember that Yurkan guy who authorized the drop?”
“Yes, we got his name from Intelligence. I want his head. On a plate.”
[END OF TRANSMISSION)