NationStates Jolt Archive

Today, in a momentous decision, the nation's Parliament passed legislation giving District XV, the so-called 'Frontier District', as it was the farthest district away from the heart of Soviet Bloc, semi-autonomy. The decision was expected to survive an overview by Premier Boris Chlevenkov.

District XV, known as the East Kazakhstan district, was acquired from ARSB's ally and neighbor to the north, Communist Rule many years ago. Due to its position as the farthest district away from the 'original' ARSB, it is by the far the hardest to keep supplied, especially considering the fact that a vast range of mountainous terrain lies between it and the so-called 'Caspian Sea Pass', a relatively thin tract of land in between the Caspian Sea and the USSCR which connects the 'original' ARSB to Kazakhstan.

The legislation allows the area, now designated as East Kazakhstan to effectively govern itself as ARSB police and soldiers provide security and protection. In the piece of legislation, the Parliament gave East Kazakhstan the powers to begin trade with other nations, divide into its own seperate legislative districts, establish its own legislature, establish its own constitution, and set up rights for its own people. East Kazakhstan only has to adhere to the following 'rules': It cannot raise a military force except in self defense from an invading enemy; It must maintain trade with the ARSB; And it cannot secede unless the Parliament agrees to it.

If these three rules or a series of more minor ones (concerning transportation, ARSB citizenship, etc.) are ever broken, their state of 'Semi-Autonomy' will be revoked and they will be forcefully entered back into a 'district' state.

For all practical purposes, East Kazakhstan is still ARSB territory but it has the right to govern itself as it sees fit, ignoring many ARSB legislation and supreme court rulings. Several small revolts and demonstrations in the district capital of East Kazakhstan led to the decision (it had been under consideration since it was received from the USSCR). One demonstration turned violent, killing fourteen demonstrators and two police officers along with one ARSB paratrooper. Lawmakers denied that they had listened to the demands of regional terrorists in passing the law.

Immediately after news of the passed legislation reached East Kazakhstan, cheers erupted through out the few cities and anywhere that had a radio or a TV.

It is rumored that District XIV may soon follow (Western half of Kazakhstan) as only the second district or tract of land in ARSB history ever granted semi-autonomy.

Within days of the passing of this legislation, minor demonstrations broke out across District XIV, demanding they be given semi-autonomy along with District XV. District XIV, 'West Kazakhstan', also nicknamed the 'Gateway to the East', has long wanted semi-autonomy, even more so than the more distant District XV.

The ARSB Parliament is expected to seriously consider the proposition to provide 'West Kazakhstan' with self-autonomy under the conditions it does not unite with East Kazakhstan. It also cannot break any of the rules that were given to East Kazakhstan.

So far, East Kazakhstan has gone on without little trouble. Local and regional schools (not located in larger cities) have begun teaching traditional teachings. Municipal schools and colleges have maintained their ARSB-standard education system.

ARSB soldiers and police have assisted East Kazakhstan in setting up a rudimentary defense force, composed of the East Kazakhstani Municipal Guard, small units of police and militiamen assigned to units based in cities. Their structure is basic and composed of light equipment, mainly assault rifles. Only smaller cities have been issued anti-tank weapons or mortar. Some small cities were also given groups of infantry vehicles.

The Rebellion Begins...


Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
1345 Local Time
=============================

Junior Sergeant Evgeniy Stavorsky glances nervously around him, at the bearded faces that stared back. He nudged his squadmate who walked just along side him. Sergeant Boris Rutiveskiy glanced over, "What is it Evgene?"

Stavorsky gulped and proceeded to nearly whisper into Boris' ear, "Why the fuck are they staring at us?"

Rutiveskiy lightly shrugged, "I dunno, they like our uniforms? Our shiny weapons?" Evgeniy grinned slightly for Boris had always been very calm and collected, usually not worrying about any situation, but that hadn't affected his ability to pay attention to his surroundings and know what was coming. Evgeniy sighed with relief, if hell was to break loose he was with the perfect man for the job. He let his aging RSR-39 assault rifle drop to his side, suspended by its sling, he raised up his right hand to shield his eyes from the sun, as his eyes adjusted he spotted the small 'bunker' facility jutting out into the street. Rows of razor wire, barricades, sand-bags, and mobile concrete barriers surrounded it for it was a checkpoint for the ARSB District Guard's 44th Mechanized Infantry Battalion, an element of the DG's 4th Infantry Division. He grinned as he spotted the company's joker, Specialist Yuriy Underov flashing a bottle of Stolychana at the two men returning from a foot patrol into the Aq-duvar district of Aqtobe.

Evgeniy glanced over to Boris, "Looks like Yuriy's got something planned..."

Boris smirked, "Yes, yes, we're having a party tonight, a few local women are supposed to join us..." He glanced to Evgeniy and gave him a wink.

Evgeniy nodded as he glanced at a passing middle-age man who appeared to ignore the two men, "How many bottles of the stu..." He was cut off by the report of an assault rifle, just yards behind him. He could hear the thuds of the bullets impacting something, as he turned around he could feel the searing heat. His ears heard the hits before his brain registered their impact against his back and lower back. He spun to the ground, shaking violently as his spinal cord was severed. His eyes followed Boris who flung to the ground and grabbed Evgeniy by his boots, dragging him into the doorway of an apartment. Evgeniy then lapsed out of consciousness as Boris pulled Evgeniy to the relative safety inside the abandoned building.

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Underov had been waiting for this night, it had been awhile since he'd partied, a while since he's tasted that strong Stolychana. He missed it. As he waved the bottle at the two approaching soldiers, he felt something in his abdomen... Something wasn't right. He let the bottle drop as he noticed the gunman behind the two ARSB district guard soldiers spin around, producing an AKS-74U from underneath his heavy jacket. He yelled, but it was drowned out by the chatter from the weapon and Evgeniy's scream. Underov ducked down as a handful of rounds slammed into the sandbag barrier seperating him from the gunman. As he crouched against the barrier he yelled into the building it was built onto, "GUNMEN!" He could hear the whistling of rounds riding just inches above his kevlar helmet... His heart rate increased as adrenalin entered his system by the mililitres. He poked his head over the barrier to meet the barrel of a man's AKM. He gulped and dropped his RSR-39, raising his two hands. He slowly rose along with the weapon's barrel. Just then he could hear the shatter of glass and a whooshing noise... His heart stopped for he thought he'd been shot, but not yet. He spun around instinctively and watched as the building erupted into flames... Two of his comrades, lieutenant Andrei Stanislav and sergeant Ivan Kevanovich ran out from the open door, completely aflame. His body shivered as he watched the one trip over a box of ammunition and try to pull himself up a sandbag barrier. A single three-round burst caused the man to jerk then crumple to his side, the overwhelming stench of burning human flesh now in the air. The second man ran into the street before entangling himself in razor wire.

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Boris sat against the wall, his RSR-39 pressed against his shoulder and aimed at the wall... He had Evgeniy lying next to him. Boris glanced over at the unconscious Evgeniy, "Hold in there... We'll get out of he..." He stopped as the screaming began, then a few assorted gunshots. Boris slowly rose to his feet and slunk to the door, a wound in his side producing blood by the cup. He made sure no one was in the immediate area before he glanced out the window and watching as four soldiers were led to the back of the checkpoint's URAL truck. Two men were carrying their PKT stationary machine guns and their GVG-40 grenade launcher, throwing them in the back of a civilian UAZ. A dozen bullets ricocheted off the side of the building near the window, ending his look into the street. He quickly ran back to Evgeniy and crouched next to him. He rested his RSR-39 on his lap and picked up the soldier's shoulder bag, pulling out his first aid kit. He grabbed his own cantene and twisted off the cap pouring water into a wad of gauze, he then scraped out his wound as his face grimaced. After cleaning it sufficiently he placed some clean gauze over it and covered in six large skin-colored patches.

He looked at Evgeniy who was paralyzed from the waist down and suffering from seven different wounds in his back and abdomen. His only chance for survival was to be airlifted out of here and command had told him that helicopter evacs weren't possible for another four to five blocks, nearly a mile away. He pulled out his RSP-45 service pistol and chambered a round, "Evgeniy, forgive me..." He placed the pistol against the soldier's temple and fired a solitary shot. Evgeniy's body jerked as it fell to the side, his life draining from the wound to his brain and head.

Boris couldn't take it any more, he quickly moved to the next room over before squatting in the corner, he pulled out his radio and lifted to his mouth, "Aqtobe Command, Aqtobe Command. This is Sergeant Boris Rutiveskiy with Bravo Company, 44th Mechanized Infantry at Checkpoint Aq-Duvomo. Requesting Assistance."

"This is Aqtobe command, we hear gunfire, what's the situation?"

"Checkpoint Aq-Duvomo has been overrun, I repeat, Checkpoint Aq-Duvomo has been overrun. At least one soldier dead. Requesting assistance."

"Assistance denied. That is a hot zone, police will be averted to deal with the situation."

"Dammit! We need a gunship! Air cavalry!"

"Processing. Accepted. We have a single HVC-03G Gunship, formerly on patrol in the steppes will be averted to your current position..."

"Thank God..." He clicked off the radio and pushed himself up, propelling himself to the rear of the building. He gently opened the door and glanced down the alleyway behind he building... 'All clear', he thought. He pushed himself off the small stoop and crept down the alley, stopping every time he heard a gunshot or any other noise for the matter.

As what sounded like two people talking began to grow louder, Boris glanced around, spotting a suitable hiding place, behind a dumpster. As he squatted down, he could hear the noise of someone's boot crunching down ontop a piece of garbage. As the voices grew nearer, Rutiveskiy could now pick up the conversation, something about taking prisoners. Then they talked about the checkpoint take-over, killing the twenty-three soldiers stationed there. And soon enough, the conversation came to who started it, some Markus person opening fire on two ARSB district guard soldiers, killing one of them, the other still roaming free and that's who they were looking for. The voices grew louder and louder until each crunch of their boots nearly broke the soldier's eardrums, each step seemed to only get louder and louder and louder until he almost grimaced each time at the crunch. Then he saw it, the first man's boot... A work boot of considerable quality. Some wool trousers were shoved into it. Boris glanced up and spotted the tan leather sack that hung to the man's side and the distinctive barrel of an AKM protruding. He could also see that the man was carrying an AKM in his outstretched arms. He wore a simple bombardier-style hat and a heavy coat. The second man was wearing tennis shoes, fading jeans, and was sporting a synthetic stock AK-74 with a flash suppressor, a Kobra red dot sight adorned its upper receiver. He wore a fading tan jacket with a baseball cap. As the two men passed, continuing their conversation, Boris removed his RSP-45 from its holster... The thing was fairly silent for a .45 calibre pistol, especially considering this was in an alleyway with plenty of obstructions to block the sound. He took aim on the second man and pushed the safety off. He slowly pulled the trigger until he could feel the tension building, then he snapped it back and let the recoil fling it forward. The round hit the man between his shoulder blades, causing him to fling forward ontop of the first man, dragging him down to the ground. Boris dropped the pistol and pulled out his combat knife, leaping from his position onto the first man. He wrapped his left arm around his throat and flopped himself onto the cement, face up. He brought the knife to his throat and shoved it in, tearing it to the side, tearing through the major blood vessels, his air tube, and his thyroid gland. He rolled to the side so he was lying on the man and pushed himself up, wiping the blade on the man's jacket. He grabbed each of the men's AKs and threw them in the dumpster. He grabbed his own RSR-39 and RSP-45 before continuing down the alleyway.

The distinctive rumble of an MT-14 Riot Control Vehicle's diesel engine piqued his attention. He stuck his head around the corner and spotted two of the vehicles along with an M-12 FAV, two UAZs, three police squad cars and a police van. Four policemen in full riot control gear and with PP-19 Bizon submachine guns against their shoulders crossed into view... He yelled at them as he rose his hands into the air, they turned, each one taking aim.

"I am Sergeant Boris Rutiveskiy! From 44th Mechanized Infantry Battalion, 4th Infantry Division, XIV District Guard!" He pulled off his helmet. One of the police yelled back and then motioned with his hand to approach, Boris complied and slowly approached. The police pointed to the former checkpoint, now a bustling police command center surrounded by vehicles. Boris gave them a curt nod and jogged over to the center... As he meandered through the maze of vehicles and obstructions, he came face to face with a man wearing a solid black uniform, encrusted with gold ornaments and red ribbons...

The man threw his head back, "You with the military?!"

Boris stopped, "Heh, yeah. Sergeant Boris Rutievskiy." He stopped for a second and surveyed the situation, "It sure looks like you got a rebellion on your hands..."

The man scoffed, "Rebellion?! Have you ever seen a rebellion?! This is no rebellion, just a minor public disturbance..."

The conversation was immediately interrupted by a thunderous roar, Boris turned to glance as a UAZ flipped on its side, engulfed in flames. Gunfire erupted as the police returned fire with opposing gunmen scurrying about, one could even be seen with a rocket propelled grenade across his shoulders. Radio reports could be heard blasting across the street of an ARSB HVC-03G gunship being shot down over the heart of Aqtobe, its crew being savagely killed by gunmen. For now, the helo sat in the street, men looting her of rockets, weapons, machine guns, and even seats.

Boris returned his glance to the police lieutenant who just stood there, staring at the UAZ as it went up in flames, his ears probably registering what was happening elsewhere, "You do now..."

==========================================================

OOC- This is the first to a massive story of rebellion in West Kazakhstan, possibly leading to the dissension of East Kazakhstan, maybe even leading to the unification of Kazakhstan. It may even result in secession of Kazakhstan to become a seperate nation. Another possible outcome: the break-up of the ARSB. Possible revolution, who knows?

Since we're sort of allies, may I join in somehow?

Yeah, sure, you might as well. But no actual interdiction of Buechorian forces yet (unless they're on the rebellion's side, which I doubt).

Btw, this is my newly created puppet. I'm not sure on what it's purpose is or why I have it, but, who knows, eh?

OOC: Interesting, could I join somehow? This is the first wellwritten RP I have seen in days and I'd like to participate in it.

OOC- Yeah, you might as well... I don't know who you'd RP as though, since the plausability of having foreign forces involved at this point is zero since we wouldn't let the seriousness of the situation out. You can always RP with the rebellion, as a police figure or force, ARSB soldiers, or regular civilians fighting against the rebellion. Or we can work something else out.

The Rebellion Spreads...





Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0115 Local Time; Day 2 Of the Insurgency
==============================

The single crack of a sniper rifle discharging could be faintly heard across the nearly abandoned city of Aqtobe. To most, it was a faint reminder of what was happening in this city. But to one single soldier, that crack was equivalent to thunder... A crack of thunder with the ability to kill. Private Yuriy Kuzterov became the seventh ARSB District Guard soldier to fall to enemy sniper fire.

---------

Sergeant Serj Tamerov slightly winced at the faint gunshot, so far, for every shot he's heard a soldier has fallen and this time was no different as he heard the confirmation through his helmet-mounted radio. Serj glanced over to his accomplice, Junior Sergeant Ruslan Untavensky, "When the fuck are we gonna get out of this shit-hole?"

Ruslan, without facing Serj, answered with a shrug, "I have no idea..." He then made a quarter turn to his left to face Tamerov, "I think we should just bomb this third-world city anyways. Why do we even bother?"

Serj shook his head, a sigh emitted from his mouth, "I don't know, I just wish this thing would end." He glanced off to his far left to watch what he believed to be an HVC-03 gunship/transport move in low over the city, seemingly inches above the buildings. "What the hell? Are they finally bringing in active duty soldiers? Or what?"

Ruslan glanced over and caught sight of the helo, "I don't know, maybe. I had heard rumors that they might either bring in regulars or special forces."

The other soldier nodded in agreement before he turned to face back down the street, only lit by street lights that emitted orange glows. He could hear the faint bellowing of an incoming helicopter, its repetitive thumping reverberating down the wide streets. He glanced around, not being able to see where the helo was and soon enough it become apparant that the helicopter was nearby and moving towards or alongside them. Serj could feel the knot form in his stomach as he watched dust raise into the air down the street, the product of rotor wash. Suddenly, a sharp noise erupted from down the street and a blinding flash ensued, Serj stepped back as his eyes absorbed the pure white light, his vision eventually faded to a faint shimmering pool, he could see nothing. Ruslan fell backwards from the blast of light, he lied on the ground awaiting his fate, unable to get up from the shock. As Serj stood there, his eyes closed and his arm across his face, he could hear the clicking of boots across pavement,even over the high-pitched whine of the helicopter's rotors. As he rose his RSR-39, he felt an arm smash across his chest as his weapon was swiped from his hands, before he knew it, he was lying on his chest with his arms tied behind his back. Ruslan had been tackled and cuffed as well. Serj grunted as he was lifted into the air and thrown against the wall, his helmet slamming against the brick wall. "Who the hell?!" were the only words he could muster before he could feel the clothed arm of someone press up against his Adam's apple and voice box.

A burly voice, seemingly muffled erupted nearby, "What the fuck are you doing?! Those are our own damn soldiers!" Serj's face turned towards the noise as he tried to focus his eyes. The only way he could see was through peripheral vision and the only thing he saw was the grille-guard of his UAZ, parked on the side of the street. He was suddenly pulled away from the wall as two sets of arms held him in place while another untied his arms but held them back... As his eyes returned to normal he could see but one thing, something that resembled an alien. It wore heavy body armor, had an assault rifle slung across its chest and wore a helmet with a red visor mounted on it. A breathing apparatus was resting on its shoulder with a tube leading to something on its back... He blinked and let his eyes focus, the first thing he saw was the Siberian tiger surrounded by a black and gold ring with silver writing inside it, he blinked again and stared up at the grizzled face of an OMONIA Black Beret captain. His voice box still couldn't function right so he kind of grunted at the captain, giving him a nod, his eyes bouncing about trying to locate his partner. He spotted him standing there, flanked by four Black Berets, all of them with their PP-80 silenced sub machine guns against their shoulders and keeping an eye out...

The captain returned the nod before speaking, "I'm Captain Alexei Markov, commanding officer of the 15th Special Forces Regiment, 1st Special Forces group..."

Serj nodded as he cleared his throat, his voice raspy from the abuse on his voice box, "Yes, I know who you are... What's going on?"

Markov took a deep breath before he slung his RSR-51 assault rifle, "We're here to end this rebellion before it goes district-wide... The government doesn't want to use full force yet because so far, no one knows about this except the people in this city, the military, and the government. There is no local media and district media hasn't received word of whats going on yet. We've got to end this before anyone can make a big deal of it, if we end it soon we can put it off as a riot that killed a few soldiers and not a rebellion that tears the city apart, killing and wounding hundreds of civilians and soldiers alike... You get what I'm saying?"

Serj nodded, giving a harsh glance at the Black Beret that he recognized as the one that held him against the wall. The Black Beret sneered at Serj, giving a slight hiss as he did so. Serj growled before grabbing his RSR-39 from the hands of the other Black Beret to his left.

The captain smirked, "Well, I believe we're done here... You two have fun guarding your road..." Markov flashed a wave to Ruslan before heading down the road and hopping into their UAZ... The other six Black Berets followed, climbing in. Serj passively stood by until they drove off, "What the fuck is with those guys?!"

Leaning against the street light, Ruslan replied, "I don't know, but they make me sick.. You think they actually thought we were rebels or did they just do that for the hell of it?"

Serj shook his head, "I don't know, it could be either or both... I hope they get what they deserve..."

-----------------------
Twenty minutes later...


The captain's voice erupted over the continuous gunfire now enveloping the city, "TUROMEV! KERENSKY! MOVE UP!" Markov pushed himself up and over the rear end of the car, firing off a few successive bursts from his PP-80. He ducked the instant after he finished, seeing the muzzle flashes about one hundred yards down the road. He waved his hand over to the other side of the street where a car was rammed up against a brick building, "MOVE DAMMIT!" The two men, in full OMONIA gear, quickly shot up, bursting at full speed for the other side of the road. A mounted machine gun opened up and fired a wall of supersonic lead at the running men. Kerensky's body, while in mid-leap, was hit by about a dozen shells, sending his body spinning in the air before landing, face up, next to a street light. He clasped at his neck as blood bubbled from his mouth. His head turned to face the squatting Turomev and he mouthed the words "Help me" before his head jerked and fell back onto the pavement, his PP-80 lying to his side...

The captain shouted "Fuck!" to himself in his mind, this is the second man they've lost tonight. The first was killed when a grenade exploded in mid air about six feet away from his face, filling him with shrapnel and also wounding Komrosky, another Black Beret. Markov quickly put the thought out of his mind as he popped up again and unloaded his entire 60 round magazine, smirking as he saw at least three rebels crumple to the ground, one firing wildly as he died. Turomev opened fire as well, wiping out the machine gun nest across the street. Alexei Markov quickly loaded a 40mm airburst grenade into his underbarrel launcher. He brought the launcher to bear on the rebel position across the street before firing the grenade which soared through the air, detonating above the position and showering the area with a sonic blast, intensive heat, and shrapnel... Immediately after both Turomev and Markov filled the area with their 6.8mm shells. Markov dropped down and relaoded his spent magazine, pulling the charging handle back and loading a round into the chamber... He waited... And waited... No return fire. He switched on his radio headset, "Turomev, how's it looking up there?"

The returned reply was short, "Clear." Markov nodded to himself, "You certain?" The radio cackled a bit before responding, "Da." Markov nodded to himself again, a habit of his. He slowly rose and surveyed the scene, rebel bodies littered the street ahead. Sandbags were lying everywhere along with two burning vehicles, including their UAZ. A destroyed barricade stood sentinel over a dozen bodies, it's mounted machine gun's muzzle pointed skyward... The distant thumping of a light helicopter could now be heard...

Turomev stood up from his position and glanced over to Markov, "More special forces coming in?"

Markov stood there, puzzled, his computer said no ARSB helos were airborne and no special forces were called for or arriving...Turomev waved at Markov, "Hey!" Markov, at this point, knew something was wrong... He looked to Turomev with a look of dread. Turomev stood there, wondering what the hell was going on as the rotor thumping became more prominent. By now it was apparant it was no heavy helicopter, but rather a light nimble one, more like what you'd find a civilian flying. Markov's chest rose and fell with each rotor beat before Turomev yelled, "What's the matter?!"

Markov screamed back, "ENEMY HELICOPTER!" Turomev cocked his head to the side, his eye brows arching before a series of 57mm rockets tore into Markov and the car he was behind. A mounted cannon ripped apart the remains... Turomev's jaw dropped, his face dumbly turned towards the civilian-model helicopter, it had two rocket pods mounted on its landing gear, two machine guns out each door, and a 20mm cannon mounted under its belly. He quickly dropped behind the junked car he was behind as the cannon ripped into the car, tearing apart its trunk and passenger compartment... Turomev got up and ran, figuring he'd rather have a chance at surviving than getting killed by rockets while sitting behind a car... He leapt into an alley-way just as the 20mm opened up again, splintering the bricks and stone that the building was made of. He ran down the alley until he came to an empty street and ran across to another perpendicular alley-way. He stopped behind a pile of garbage and caught his breath before continuing on down the alley way. He stopped at the edge and listened, he could hear nothing, he slowly revealed his head to get a glimpse down the road. Nothing. He then proceeded out onto the street. Aware of the sniper problem, he used everything as cover. But, in this case, cover didn't help him any. The report of a Dragunov 7.62x54 sniper rifle ended his world quite quickly. The bullet entered his chest near his left arm, the bullet splintering and half of the bullet tearing out his heart's left atrium. He stumbled back to his right and tripped over the curb. He rolled over and tried to pull himself to safety. A second shot hit his back, just under his right shoulder, puncturing his lung and creating an exit wound the size of an orange. He was dead now, his right lung deflated, his heart torn apart, and his left lung full of blood.


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"Sergeant! We're completely surrounded! Those police units have pulled back and rebels have filled that vacuum!" yelled Sergeant Andrei Retevieskivich at Senior Sergeant Xavier Darovich as gunfire erupted all around them. Pinging erupted as rounds danced across the roof and rear compartment of an abandoned MT-14, its engine compartment ripped open by an RPG. A thumping erupted as a mortar was fired from farther away, the round landing a good two hundred feet short of its intended target.

"Fuck!" yelled Darovich as he fired off rounds from his RSR-51 assault rifle, "Call Markov, tell him we need him back here!" He popped off a few more rounds as a rebel ran across the street, one round slamming into the man's hips, practically tearing off his left hip and leaving him struggling on the pavement.

Retevieskivich struggled with his radio, punching in commands, "Shit, sir! Markov ain't replying!" Darovich muttered to himself as he opened fire on more targets of oppurtunity, popping off selective shots towards enemies he could barely see for it was, after all, only about two o'clock in the morning. A mortar shell exploded behind him as he continued firing, only pausing as dust and fragments landed around him, as he was loading another magazine he glanced at his arm, noticing a large, dark smear... 'Fuck', he said to himself as he searched himself for the wound that created the patch of blood... He couldn't find it and couldn't feel anything so he put it out of his mind and opened fire on a target, this time to his left. He watched as the rebel shook violently before falling to his knees and tipping to the side. As he was firing on the second rebel, he yelled, "Andrei! Call district command and tell them to get police back out here! We need them!" He fired off another dozen shots before yelling again, "Andrei!" There was no reply, he glanced over to where Andrei had been minutes ago but saw nothing except debris and the shattered remains of what he had been using as cover... His heart stopped and he glanced at his arm and the streak of blood... "No, dammit, no!" He screamed at the rebel, jumping up and charging the man, who was only armed with an AKM and a single magazine of 30 rounds... The rebel, stood there like a deer caught in the headlights of semi, receiving the dozens of rounds of 7.62x51mm pumped into his body courtesy of Xander's RSR-51. The rebel weakly screamed before succumbing to the effects of death, falling to the side and jerking violently as his body ran out of blood and his brain began creating convulsions. However, during the charge, Darovich had received a few wounds of his own, two gunshot wounds to his abdomen, courtesy of a rebel down the street... Before he knew it, two more shots knocked him down onto his back and he lied there, thoughts racing through his mind, was he going to die here? His world went black...


--------


Sergeant Alexei Kumotov, the other member of the squad, had been holding his own on the other side of their 'triangle'. He was oblivious to all that had happend to Darovich and Retevieskivich. As he fired off rounds at an invisible enemy, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch Darovich fall backwards, his arms flailing. Andrei was no where to be seen. Alexei quickly yelled into his radio for police support. Soon enough and three police UAZs and a district guard MT-14 pulled up, releasing two dozen infantry and police to assist in the defense. Four medical personnel and six or so infantry ran to Darovich's position, dragging him onto a stretcher and bringing him to the rear end of a UAZ.

The infantry and police didn't stay long as they quickly pulled out along with Sergeant Alexei Kumotov, abandoning the area they had just defended with their lives...


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The next time Darovich would wake up, he'd be within the city's hospital, under control by the District Guard and with gunfire erupting all around and in a continuous stream. At this point, the entire city was engulfed in war...

OOC: I could do the police forces, though it would be helpful if you'd TG me some info on their size and armament.

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0200 Local Time
=============================

The sustained rumbling of a car mechanism resonated through the avenues of downtown Aqtobe, as forest green UAZ dashed over wide boulevards of the Kalmar port area. Sergeant Sergei Krikalev of the Policio-SpetsNaz, manning the PK 7.62mm machine gun mounted on a pivot on top of the vehicle, trained his deadly weapon in predictable fashion to the left and right, his eyes scanning particulary the doorposts and windowframes of the road adjoining houses. Reaching a giant oval square, the UAZ thrusted to the centre, where a body dangled underneath the central flagpost. Sergei jumped off and swung the RSR-51 on his back. The man's body was horribly mutilated, his organs teared out, his skin partly ripped off and his kneecaps visibly struck with multiple bullets. Small shreds of his clothing, black, adorned with gold ornaments all over them, still draped over his shoulders. A bloodstained RSP-45 still swayed from his right hand, which was clamped together into a fist. At his feet, the debris of charred woodblocks and garbage still littered the piazza.

"They knew this was the policeman on the beat, didn't they?"

Sergei asked, cutting the tight cord around the man's neck. The man tumbled down on the square's white pebbles with a muffled thump.

"Those savages lynched him while he was wearing his uniform, so I'm not sure,"

Yuri Gromov, fellow ex-SpetsNaz soldier replied, hauling an RPG-7V and a simple AKM on his back.

"Poor bastard, he had no decent opportunity to defend himself, I don't see any other bodies,"

"They would take those with them, of course,"

"Yeah, you're right,"

"We've seen it now, let's g..."

A bullet, full metal jacket, 7.62mmx39mm and with a special core, penetrated Yuri's abdomen, slashing through his stomach, followed by a second bullet, a 5.54mm, ripping through his scull. He collapsed immediately, a mix of expressions displayed on his face, from stunned to shocked, as he slumped on the street. Sergei slung the RSR-51 from his back, got to his knees, shouldered the rifle, flipped the safety off and aimed at the alley from where he heard the shots. He pulled the trigger, feeling the rifle kick back and a few empty, copper cases were ejected onto the ground, while nine 7.62x51mm rounds whizzed through the night sky. He heard a female voice scream in pain and anger. Not sure what to expect next, Sergei darted across the empty voids of the plaza for the safety of a nearby doorpost, opposite the dark alley. A 6.8mm submachine gun round impacted behind his shoulderblades and he desperately tried to gulp for air, when a second round struck him hit him in the back of his head, splattering grey brain tissue all over his worn-out brown trenchcoat....

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0340 Local Time
=============================

Jonas Leopold peered around the corner of the large brick building. His AKS-74U was shaking; Jonas was new to the Buechorian special forces, and this was his first time in action.

"They... They could be anywhere." he told himself as he scanned the deserted building. Suddenly, the crack of a rifle fille dht eair and charred bits of brick and mortar flew into Jonas' face. Quickly, he fell to the ground and ducked away from the corner.

The rumbling of a vehicle apporached Jonas. He swiveled around to see it was a Buechorian DKW Munga, the standard light vehicle of the Wermacht. Sighing with relief he slowly lumbered towards the monsterous vehicle.

"Hallo Jonas! Looks like you're a bit shaken." commented the driver, a Corporal from the patch on his arm.

"How'd you guess..." he retorted as he crawled into the back. The gunner saw a rebel run through some rubble and released several rounds from the PKM mounted on the vehicle. Stumbling from a shot in the leg the rebel limped to another nearby building before the gunner could finish him off.

The Munga drove through a street filled with craters from hand grenades and small arms fire. A rebel popped out from a corner and an RPG-7 launched from his shoulder, but missed the Munga by several meters. Ten more rebels burst from windows, doorways and alleys and opened fire on the frantic Buehcorian special forces team...

OOC: I've talked with ARSB, and this is supposed to be a tiny squad of special forces guys from Buechoria who came to help.

Aqtobe, District XIV(West Kazakhstan)
0630 Local Time, Day Two of the Insurgency
==========================

The sun was just rising here, its golden and orange rays peeking over the distant hills and mountains, penetrating the dense coniferous forests at their peaks. As the sunshine splayed across the city, the carnage was evident as the burning hulks of civilian cars and military vehicles alike littered the streets. Bodies of rebels were heaped in piles and spread across the pavement, pools of crimson blood arrayed from them like sick art. The charred remains of an HVC-03 transport helicopter was resting in the Tumqvarna plaza, its pilots and crew chief's bodies lying in the grass nearby. The rebel's lone helicopter sat in the street in one of the neighborhoods after colliding with a fifteen story building, sheering out the 14th floor and landing in the street with a ball of fire that blew the first story out of the building across the street, collapsing it.

Unfortunately ARSB media outlets had discovered the insurgency faster than the government would have liked to hope. The headline, "District XIV Erupts Into Rebellion, Hundreds Perish", created panic through-out the civilian population especially when they read that their own police were almost powerless and their District Guard were getting their asses kicked in this urban style of combat. Pictures aired on television showed the carnage first hand, displaying the mutilated bodies of rebels and soldiers alike along with the destroyed city blocks and the massive destruction. Live video toured the expansive refugee camps that sat miles from the city as citizens described their plight and only wished for their homes back.

But what the government didn't know was that Aqtobe would soon be the rock thrown into the water, creating a ripple effect that enveloped the entire pond...


-------------------


Colonel Hektor Felenterov sat at his desk in the former bank, glancing at a known casualty report, "Felix, this is bullshit... They say two hundred district guardsmen are dead? And another one hundred are missing? How is that even possible, its the second day of this thing?"

The captain standing nearby, admiring a piece of art hung on the wall turned to face the colonel, "I don't know sir. Frankly, I believe them. Those rebels are taking one helluva toll on us and we weren't and aren't prepared to defend ourselves effectively. They know our weaknesses and they're using them to their advantage."

Felenterov scoffed, "And what weaknesses do we have?! Most of our soldiers are ex-active duty and have served overseas. We are definately not lacking in the experience department."

Felix sighed, "That's where you're wrong, sir. They have experience but not the right kind. This is urban warfare against their own people. I highly doubt any of those guys fought in an urban environment unless they were with special forces in Romakia." Felix watched as the colonel sighed and got up from his position, walking out the door into the former bank's lobby. Felix followed, "Sir, you shouldn't probably go near the window..."

The colonel stopped and turned around, giving Felix the middle finger... "When is Brigadier General Udo Urantovienskiya and Marshal Ivan Stalinskiy supposed to arrive?" He slowly approached the window, placing his arms behind his back as he surveyed the soldiers milling around outside.

Felix glanced at his watch, "Five minutes, sir. I think they said they're arriving aboard a converted SIV-11." The colonel nodded before he stepped back a step and glanced out the window again, spotting a small convoy of SIV-11s and SIV-21s approach from the east.

"And here they are..." spoke Hektor. He straightened up as he watched the two senior officers lumber out of the SIV-11s dressed in standard combat gear for any soldier. They were escorted by two dozen district guardsmen to create the illusion of a disembarking squad to assist in security. Felix stood back a ways and straightened up as the two men and two guards entered the building. Hektor spoke first, "Welcome sirs to Aqtobe Municipal Command."

The two generals each nodded as they surveyed the area, one of them pulling off his BDU jacket and handing it to one of the enlisteds that had followed. Marshal Stalinskiy approached the colonel and offered his hand, the colonel obliged and gave it a firm shake, "Comrade Colonel Felenterov. I understand you need assistance from the regular army?"

The colonel nodded as he replied, "Yes, yes... Our district guardsmen are swamped with the task right now. There's too much ground to cover and defend with the little resources we have. Their experience, although plenty, isn't worth much in this style of combat and their equipment is out-dated, showing its weakness to the assorted rebel weaponry..."

Marshal Stalinskiy nodded, "We'll have to see about it. How many regular forces would you need?"

Felenterov shrugged, "At least a battalion's worth. Maybe more. We especially need mechanized and special forces. Policio-SpetsNaz are good but we don't have many in this entire district. I think this entire district has less than what you'd find in a single moderately sized city in the mainland. And this is larger than most of those districts combined." Felenterov heard a commotion outside and glanced slightly over to watch soldiers point and raise their assault rifles. He cocked an eyebrow before the soldiers opened fire wildly towards the west. "Shit!" He shouted as he grabbed the two senior officers and pushed them towards his office. Felix stood still watching as two of the soldiers fell back as their chests were split open. He drew his pistol as he moved towards the window, glancing out. What he saw suprised him and disturbed him to the core. Rumbling over the razor wire and other emplacements, was an SIV-11, battered and bruised with an RPG wound and numerous areas where bullets had hit. A dead man lay on top of the SIV-11, hanging slightly down the side until they ran over a series of sandbags, causing the man to slide down the side and slump into a heap atop a nest of razor wire. Another man popped up, manning the PK machine gun and opening fire on the ARSB district guardsmen and police. Felix watched as the SIV-11 rolled over a district guardsman as it turned to face the building they were in... The window shattered as the machine gun's rounds slammed into it, a mist of glass hitting Felix as he dropped to the floor. He covered his head with his arms as he heard the rumbling of the SIV-11's diesel engine grow closer. He prayed to himself until he heard the front end of the SIV-11 hit the exterior of the building, a wall of brick. He turned his head upwards and saw the front left corner of the vehicle poking through the window. He could hear no gunfire or movement. He breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed himself off of the floor, brushing chunks of glass and brick off of him.

"Fuck, that was close..." He said to himself, audibly, but didn't know or care if anyone was listening. He rested his hand on his hip and stared at the vehicle, shaking his head... He laughed to himself as he watched some district guardsmen circle the vehicle... Then his world disappeared in a blinding flash of twisted metal and light, an event that would shock every ARSB citizen and official.

The SIV-11 detonated with eleven tons of assorted explosives and fuel in its rear, armored compartment. The blast leveled at least six buildings, killing four hundred district guardsmen and police and even a few civlians. Four major officers, two of them part of the ARSB Army, were killed along with another sixty two officers. Forty one vehicles were destroyed in the blast.


--------------------------


The media reports on the civil unrest occuring in Aqtobe would ultimately also assist in what many believed to be the end of the Soviet Bloc presence in West Kazakhstan. The city of Atryau, on the Caspian Sea, has experienced slight unrest including the murder of police and local district guard members. The city of Aqmola experienced a car bombing of an ARSB governmental building killing four civilians and an ARSB aide. Another bombing in Tselinograd killed four Policio-SpetsNaz as the vehicle they were in was hit with an RPG and the soldiers were shot as they exited the vehicle. Tragedy struck in Qaraghandy as the family of a district guardsman was savagely murdered, their bodies draped across a street light in the suburbs and their vehicles lit afire in the street.

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0715 Local Time
=============================

Jonas peeked out the window of the battered vehicle, and heard three bullets whiz past his face. Max Schwab was shooting the mounted PKM furiously, but it was in vain. While reloading, a bullet flew through his neck. Chocking on his own blood and lack of air, he crumpled over the gun grasping his bloody face.

The arrogant driver was slumped over the dashboard, bullet holes through his chest. Jonas stared in fear at the other two men shooting out of the windows. One of the men clutched his stomach as a knive slashed into his body. Screaming, the beserk rebel ran to the other soldier and stabbed him as well before he coudl get off a shot.

Jonas was bawling in the corner with horror, afraid for his life. "I'm only fucking 18!!" he yelled as the Munga flipped over from an RPG blast and burst into flames. Jonas had several bruises and a piece of shrapnel in his leg. Struggling to get out, he crawled through the gunport which was now on the side. Limping, he ran into an alleyway undetected, as the rebels let out cheers while they mutilated the dead and dying Buechorian special forces.
Jonas heard the soldier who was stabbed once scream in agony as the mob beat him to death with rubble and glass shards...

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0900 Local Time
=============================

The small convoy, consisting out of three MT-14 riot control vehicles, their PK 7.62mm machine guns pointing skyward, five UAZs and two SIV-11s, was ablaze, the yellow and red flames licking their metal frames. The smell of burned flesh and plastic was penetrating, the black smoke sucked the oxygen out of his lungs and thundering of the inferno filled his ears.

For Junior Sergeant Boris Kvizda this horrible scene, displayed between gigiantic concrete flats at the outskirts of town, was his first encounter with death itself. Gulping for air he ran back to Policio-SpetzNaz UAZ, a shabby grey urban combat camouflage scheme smeared over it. Near the doorpost Lieutenant Sergey Yermolenko enjoyed the thick smoulder of nicotine egressing from his cigarette.

"What do ya got?"

He asked Boris.

Boris screwed his pen closed, took a small notebook from the pocket of his forest green uniform and read out loud:

"Thirty-nine bodies, all State Police, except for those two rebels,"

He pointed at two lifeless bodies strechted out near a crossing.

"Most of them were burned alive, trapped in their vehicles, with nowhere to go and rebel gunfire enveloping all over the streets. All vehicles are marked with traces of RPGs and Molotovs. Nothing special,"

"Goddammit, and the State Police is already decimated by that last night's bombing...."

OOC: Sorry, but I'm forced to finish this later, no time right now.

OOC- Well, sorry for the delay in a reply post but recently I've had little or no time to devote to NS. I intend to keep posting in this thread as much as possible and never really intended it to see more than one post a day, so bear with me. This also serves as... A bump.

Aqtobe, District XIV
-------------------



The ARSB government had grown impatient with the local police during the entire Kazakhstan ordeal, finally breaking down and deploying some five thousand ARSB Army regulars from the 157th Brigade (of the 15th Infantry Division) to the troubled Kazakh city of Aqtobe. The force, one of the first infantry divisions equipped with the new VEPR S2 system, had been arriving in droves over the last two months, preparing for an assault on the city, which had seen turmoil left and right. Unfortunately, for some time, the police and reserves had done no actual offensives, just patrolling known safe areas, which allowed the insurgents to build up in strength, numbers, and equipment. The 157th would hopefully change that.


It was during the pre-dawn hours that the bombardment had begun. Police, Reserve, and Policio-Spetsnaz units had been warned beforehand via radio transmission to move out of certain areas destined for strikes from aircraft and missiles alike. A dozen ML-56 MLRS systems had been deployed with the 33rd ID, and were set up outside city limits, nestled in the wooded hills. The order had been given and no one hesitated, the twelve vehicles unloaded two volleys each, puncturing the crisp, violet air with dozens of white streaks. Minutes later and Aqtobe shook with the thunderous roar of over two hundred explosions occuring nearly simultaneously. The city would glow bright white for mere seconds before turning yellow, orange, and then a pale red, clouds of thickening smoke blocking out the moon and stars and reflecting the orange glow of a city on fire. Next came the airborne strikes. There were hardly any civilians left, well, at least in troublesome areas, they had long ran and established camps on the steppes, so the pilots weren't too worried of any collateral damage. There were a total of twelve F/A-91As involved, each one was equipped with the same load-out: 4x 250lb laser guided munition, 2x 500lb laser guided munitions, and one 1000lb 'dumb' bomb (being used to clear up the Air Force's inventory of such weapons). Two F/A-91As were equipped with rockets and other ground attack missiles and were only to be used if any of the other aircraft came under fire from insurgent forces.

The twelve F/A-91As would move in two at a time, each on different sides of the city, engaging targets. The first F/A-91A dropped both of its 500lb bombs on an abandoned school where intelligence had shown the insurgency had been meeting, the last confirmed report being of two days ago. The rest of its munitions were dispensed over a run-down neighborhood, gutting out apartment buildings long abandoned. The second destroyed two police stations, a former Reserve armory, and a fire station, believed to be a munitions depot.

The other aircraft would soon move in, preparing to completely annihalate an entire third of the city, flattening it and killing anyone in it, regardless of their allegiance.

-------------------


Senior Sergeant Viktor Vladislav glanced up into the night sky as a roar passed over head, his ARSB DefenseNet Uplink revealed to him that it was an F/A-91A piloted by Major Sergey Restikov. He let out a sigh, 'They have all the fun...' he muttered to himself. He returned his glance to the thirty-some men assembled before him. "Alright... Division HQ wants us to move in along here..." He was glancing at a small screen that he held in his hand, he traced a route with a small stylus pen. "And take this neighborhood." He circled an area with the stylus then double tapped the area, marking it as a navigational waypoint. "Any questions?"

A green flash appeared on his visor as a soldier raised his hand, his name flashed in the upper corner: Corporal Yuri Greghori. "Yes, Yuri?"

"What's the estimated troop strength in the area? I mean, I'm not scared or anything, I'm just wondering how many rounds I'll have to bring along..." He grinned and tapped the receiver of his RSS-40 Tactical Sniper Rifle. The muted black matte of his visor didn't reveal the grin, however.

Viktor chuckled, "Figured so..." He quickly typed in a request to the brigade's headquarters unit. A reply came back. "HQ says there's anywhere between 40 and 100 in this area, they tend to move alot so they may very well be in the next neighborhood. Any other questions?" He glanced around, no one acknowledged, "Alright. The brigade has lent us two of the new MMPWVs. One has the mini-turret on it, the other has twin .50 cals and our only battery renewal station. We keep that thing safe and we won't have to worry about losing our batteries... Got it?"

He heard them all audibly acknowledge... "Good." He turned to face the so-far silent second lieutenant, standing off to the side... "Anything you wish to add, sir?" The lieutenant simply shook his head. Viktor smirked within the protective confines of his visor and helmet, the lieutenant probably recently graduated from officer school. So far, he hadn't heard a single word from him all day except, 'They're your's, sergeant.' "Well, platoon, shall we move out?"

Each soldier let out an aggressive confirmation. Viktor couldn't help but to grin, "Now that's what I like to hear... Let's move!" He watched as the soldiers quickly scrambled to the two waiting MMPWVs. Only ten priveleged soldiers would get to ride in or on the MMPWVs. The rest would have to walk, although they weren't worried, these insurgents had little more than AKs and their 7.62x39mm rounds couldn't penetrate any of the VEPR S2 armor except the visor, arms, and exposed parts of the legs, pretty good protection for the regular grunt.

Three tactical snipers (besides Yuri, who would be the designated marksmen aboard the second MMPWV), had filtered into the neighborhood during the opening barrages, waiting for targets to reveal themselves... Not visually but by their body heat. All three had seen there were at least two dozen insurgents holed up in the houses and structures in and around the neighborhood. They had watched carefully, waiting for them to reveal themselves. As the audible noise of the approaching MMPWVs became gradually louder, Sergeant Andrei Tuperonsk, watched through his thermal imaging system as an insurgent made his way towards a shattered window. His enhanced vision system spotted the gleam of orange off an eyeball and Andrei quickly acted, firing his 7.62x51mm round and sending it crashing through the man's temple. He watched the body through his thermal imaging system as it writhed and fell backwards. Millimetric radar revealed his weapon to be an RPG-7V. He sent a silent (to him; it would be amplified in the cochlea of anyone wearing the VEPR S2 system) warning of the presence of anti-tank weapons. He received a confirmation from SSgt. Viktor Vladislav who audibly warned his men.

As they approached the edge of the neighborhood, a crack erupted from a nearby building, the 7.62x54R shell whipping past a private's helmet and slamming into an adobe wall behind him. The crack was answered with another crack, this one accurate, tearing the insurgent sniper's face off as well as the butt-stock of his Dragunov Tigr sniper rifle. Immediately afterward, insurgents opened up from windows and doors with AKs, SKSs, and the occasional stolen RSR-39 (which used AK ammunition; used by reserves and police agencies). ARSB snipers responded with deadly fire, finishing off a good portion of the enemy before the platoon had time to react.

The soldier-operated mini-turret, housing a single 12.7mm machine gun, aboard the MMPWV opened up, blasting a doorway and mutilating an insurgent reloading his AKM. The turret swung to the side and up, firing on a four story apartment complex, plastering an entire floor with fire. Corporal Yuri Greghori opened fire with his RSS-40, firing at an insurgent armed with an AK with a POSP scope, the round penetrating the POSP scope and shattering, covering the insurgent's face with molten lead and metal fragments from his own scope. A large part of the round penetrated the area in between his eyes, tearing out the right eye.

The bulk of the soldiers on foot took cover behind walls, destroyed vehicles, rubble, anything available. RSR-51s could be seen poking over the edges and opening fire, methodically mowing down insurgents as they appeared.

As planned beforehand, the forty or so soldiers broke into four squads. Two would swing around the edges while the other two would push towards the opposite corner. As they moved on their way, the gunfire began dwindling, little by little until only the occasional crack would be heard. As the neighborhood became secured and the sky became a dull orange with light filtering into the streets, the soldiers began to realize the sheer amount of insurgents they had defeated. Scattered through yards, across the streets, dangling out of windows, and lying across porches, were the bodies of eighty-two insurgents. Another twelve were found wounded. A single ARSB soldier suffered a wound after a bullet slashed through his left arm near his wrist.


---------

Elsewhere through-out the demolished city, ST-21 tanks had rolled into the industrial section, flattening entire warehouses with rocket and main gun fire. Mechanized infantry groups had secured a number of factories, chemical plants, and warehouses. Two ARSB soldiers died in that offensive, one being shot to death at close range with a PK machine gun, the other dying when the MMPWV he was riding in was destroyed when a rocket propelled grenade slammed into his door.


The rest of the brigade had surrounded the city capturing all routes in and out of the city. Roads had been walled off with SV-90s, SIV-21s, and ST-21s along with hundreds of garrison soldiers. The only way you could get out of the city now was through the air or underground. Two ARSB soldiers had died due to sniper fire during this operation.


So far, all that remained was the unruly, and nearly destroyed heart of the city, downtown Aqtobe... Whose time would soon come.


The conflict in West Kazakhstan was far from over...

Soviet Bloc National News
-------------------------


Last night, a mere twenty-four hours after a brigade from the 15th Infantry Division stormed and occupied a vast portion of this city, insurgents launched an unprecedented counter-attack which included chemical weapons, leading many to believe that the insurgent numbers in this volatile region are much higher than previously believed.

Military reports state that the 'counter-attack' began last night with an organized assault on one of the 157th ID's armor battalions. The insurgents caught the soldiers on surprise and were able to successfully hijack two ST-21 tanks. The first tank attempted to escape but was remotely shut down and the occupant killed as he attempted to flee. The second tank's operator attempted to turn the vehicle around but instead rammed it into another ST-21, wedging the two together. The tank was then remotely shut down but the insurgent detonated an unknown amount of explosives strapped to his body, ripping apart the driving compartment of the tank and wounding a nearby soldier. An estimated fifty-six insurgents were killed during the attack leading to the deaths of three ARSB soldiers, two being ST-21 tank crewmen.

The attack continued later in the night with seemingly planned attacks across Aqtobe. A particularly bloody battle in the neighborhood of Atriyau led to the deaths of some 400 insurgents and an estimated 87 civilians including fourteen children. Four ARSB soldiers were wounded in Atriyau. As helicopters were called in to support the battalion stationed in Atriyau, insurgents fired rocket propelled grenades and SA-7 anti-aircraft missiles at the passing aircraft. One SAH-24 sustained moderate damage after an SA-7 detonated close by. Two ARSB air cavalry soldiers aboard an HCV-03 transport helicopter were wounded when the aircraft attempted to evade an SA-7. One suffered a broken arm, while the other suffered broken ribs.

Four ARSB infantrymen were killed when a vehicle attempted to leave the city and was stopped at a checkpoint. Inside the vehicle was a family of seven. As two soldiers told the driver, a male, that they had to turn back, an argument broke out. The two soldiers called for back-up and a dozen more arrived from the nearby SIV-21s. The man was then ordered to step out of the vehicle, as he did so he pulled up a CBV-890 shotgun with a sawed-off barrel. He fired once into the first soldier chest, knocking him over. The rest of the soldiers opened fire, tearing him apart. A second man, estimated to be a teenager, screamed something before it was believed he detonated two hundred pounds of explosives hidden underneath the vehicle. Two soldiers were killed instantly, another died later from head injuries suffered in the incident.

Another seventy insurgents were killed across Aqtobe as ambushes occured all through the morning and early morning hours, killing one ARSB soldier and wounding three others. One attack, involving several dozen insurgents claimed the life of an ARSB soldier during an attack on the Buntari neighborhood that involved chemical weapons. Mortar tubes were used in the assault and it is believed numerous rounds filled with Sarin, Tear gas, and mustard gas were used. Military officials were unsure of where they could get a hold of Sarin or mustard gas. Tear gas was readily available at police stations through-out the city.


The local attacks have shocked some, yet angered most, leading to intensive airstrikes over the last two hours. Aerial drones sent in to cover the aftermath found numerous dead bodies littered in the street and little to no sign of any rebel activity. Light artillery also assisted in the strike, leveling blocks of commercial buildings believed to be used as barracks and sleeping areas for insurgents in the Atriyau area.


Intelligence officials are now speculating whether a foreign entity is involved in the attacks due to the level of organization used in recent attacks. OMON Intelligence Agency vehicles and special forces have been deployed to monitor radio transmissions in and out of the city and local electrical and telecommunications companies are being asked to completely shut down all power and telecommunications to the city (they were shut down beforehand but it was believed some phone lines were missed during the initial shutdown as well as some underground power lines). OMON officials had said that foreign interference was a possibility, but they believe the amount of organization used is a sign that their true leadership is elsewhere in West Kazakhstan, or in Kazakhstan as a whole.




In related news, fights broke out between citizens of the Kazakh city Tselinograd and Policio-SpetsNaz units deployed to the city resulting in the deaths of fourteen civilians. A bombing later in the day leveled a Policio-Spetsnaz police station killing four civilian aids and wounding three policemen. Limited attacks in the city earlier in the week prompted ARSB officials to deploy several hundred Army personnel to the region over the last few days, prompting us to believe an assault on that city could be less than a week away.

Senior Sergeant Sergei Vladikov slung his assault rifle over his shoulder as he brought up his right arm and flipped up a rubberized plastic lid, revealing a flexible display screen with a keypad. He hit a small red rectangular button and a small fan came to life in his helmet, defogging his visor. He snapped the lid shut and pulled a small slide at the base of his helmet, increasing circulation. He grunted and glanced around at the run-down buildings, crumpled into the streets... Snapped light poles, bricks, and charred sheet metal from cars lined the streets. He glanced down to his combat boots as they uttered a crunching noise, from stepping over shattered glass. Immediately afterward he became aware of the distinct silence immediately afterward, as if the once bustling, once busy city was on pause. A gray haze hung in the air and no sunlight penetrated the smoke and dense cloud cover. Portions of the black overcast were a pale orange, reflecting the glow of the thousands of fires below.


He turned his head to glance at the dozen men arrayed behind him (another two dozen were on nearby streets), all were walking, assault rifles hung to the sides or slung over their shoulders. Only one of the men, Sergeant Andrei Yukonivic met his gaze and gave a slight nod. Vladikov motioned for him to move up. Andrei jogged forward before coming to a casual stride alongside the Senior Sergeant. "These patrols are bullshit."

"I know... Useless, I don't understand why the hell they don't just destroy the entire place. Like anybody would miss this little shit-hole in the middle of this damned place." He snorted, rolling his eyes at Andrei.

Andrei chuckled, "I suppose the big L-T has told you what's been happening outside of town?"

Sergei cocked his head as he gave a questioning glance towards the sergeant. "No... I haven't. What's going down?"

"One of the guys from B Company told me this morning that Andeviy told them that they're pulling us out..." He stopped for a moment to let the words sink in... "To help another division out in the foothills." He lifted his RSR and pointed off to the northwest, "Somewhere out there." He dropped the rifle and lifted up his visor, "Command's been quiet lately, other guys in the battalion say that this entire country is erupting into rebellion. Seventeen men died yesterday out in those hills. An armored company hit a series of land mines, thought to be left over from the first war so they hadn't thought anything of it and were repairing their vehicles when rebels poured in. They were overwhelmed."

"Fuck..." Sergei muttered to himself, although it was audible enough for Andrei to hear. "This is just getting better and better ain't it?"

"Heh... Sure seems like it..." He glanced around as they passed a completely demolished block of buildings, just piles of rubble of varying shades of gray. Andrei shook his head as he surveyed the sight, "Damn, what a shit-hole. Those air force guys, you have to admit, are pretty..." He was cut off by the cracks of a nearby machine gun, his body jerked to face Sergei and his jaw dropped, "Fuck..." He looked down to see his armor splattered with charred and pitted marks, blood pouring out of a hole in his upper right chest. He crumpled to the street, his helmet falling back onto the pavement. The rest of the squad scattered at the sound of gunfire.

Sergei rolled up agaisnt a large concrete slab, flattening himself against it... "MEDIC!" All hell broke loose, PK machine gun fire opened up all around them, from the windows, rooftoops, and alleys. A round ricocheted off the slab behind him and he took aim and fired at a rebel in a window across the street, flinging him back into the room from which he emerged, blood gushing from wounds in his chest. He opened fire on an insurgent as he ran across the street, an RPG-7V across his shoulders, he shuddered and fell, the weapon flying from his hand. "MEDIC!" he yelled once more. Junior Sergeant Viktor Cecogo emerged from behind a burned out car and came scrambling towards Sergei, firing at a machine gunner down the street. He hit the pavement as soon as burst slammed into the building to his right. "Viktor! GET HIM!" He motioned his head towards the street where Andrei lie, his outstretched arm and open hand urging the medic to assist him.

Viktor turned and looked and saw the man, mouthing something to him. A spatter of machine gun fire hit the pavement around him and he jerked, his arms closing around him... He surveyed the situation, "He's hit in the chest and legs!" Viktor quickly cycled through views on his visor, showing the medical records and current situation on Andrei... "Fuck, he's going into shock." He turned to face Sergei, who had just finished unloading a burst at a machine gun position. "You sure about this?"

"Dammit, yes! Get him!" He grimaced as another patter of rounds hit the otherside of the slab. He clicked on his comm. unit: "Roos, Ivan, Servikov, and Yuriy. Cover fire, now! Northwest!" A handful of afirmative replies came and friendly fire became fierce. He turned his gaze to Viktor, "Get him!"

Viktor nervously nodded, closed his eyes and prayed. He got to his knees and set his boots up against a piece of concrete as a starting platform. He slung his rifle and pulled out a case containing his medical equipment. He took a deep breath and transferred all of his strengh to his legs as Andrei, in the street, was still calling for him, albeit silently. He took off, straight into the street in a crouching run. He dropped to his knee-pads and skidded next to Andrei, ducking as gunfire flew over his head. He grabbed him by his load bearing system, he pulled himself up and pulled Andrei to the other side of the street, through an open doorway into a former grocery store...

"Come on Andrei... Speak." He said as he pulled out his case, popping the lid and removing a syringe with a painkilling formula, he grabbed Andrei's arm and snapped off the upper arm armor, he brought the syringe up to his mouth and bit onto the plastic protective sheath around the needle, pulling it loose. He took the syringe and jabbed it into the appropriate blood vessel, injecting its contents into the man's blood stream.

Andrei muttered something and closed his eyes, feeling the searing pain fall away. Viktor tossed the empty needle aside and pulled out a wet cloth coated in a cleaning solution, he ripped open Andrei's uniform after pulling up his armor and quickly cleaned the chest wound. He pulled out a tube and squeezed its contents into the wound, he rubbed it deep into the wound and pulled out a large bandage placing it above the cleaned and filled in wound. He moved to the leg now, locating it and cleaning before filling it in and covering it up.

"Good as new, eh, Sergeant?" He asked, not expecting a reply. Andrei grunted and Viktor was mildly surprised. He shoved his arms underneath Andrei's and pulled him into a corner, away from the window and propped him up. "You'll be alright here..." Viktor shoved the case back into his rear quick-pack and brought up his RSR-39S assault rifle, sneaking up to the shop window, he peeked the gun over and through its vision system, spotted an insurgent in a third floor window with an RPK light machine gun, firing at Sergei's position. He lined up the crosshairs and opened fire, watching the man tumble from the window to the sidewalk below.


----

SSgt. Vladikov was still sitting against his concrete slab, as he periodically opened fire at the seemingly never-ending flood of insurgents. His radio came to life as command spoke to him, "3rd Platoon, A Company. Fire coming from your sector. Status, over?"

Vladikov held down his communications button and gave a reply, "This is Third Platoon, heavy fire. Ambush. Sector 18-Golf. Copy?" He waited for a reply... And waited... He tried it again, "This is Third Platoon. We are under heavy fire. Its an ambush. Sector 18-Golf!" No reply came. "Fucking hell." He clicked on his local communications system, "Any body got communication with command going?"

The replies were a resounding 'No'. Not a single person could get command's signal. Vladikov stuck his RSR-51S over the slab and opened fire on a still hidden machine gun post, hoping to keep the insurgents subdued a little longer. "Someone get those damned machine guns!" The fire stopped for a few seconds and Vladikov intently listened. A distant rumbling was heard, it came closer and close.

Private Yuriy Rupenko yelled, "Friendly armor support!" and furiously pointed to the south. Vladikov raised his assault rifle to get a magnified view. From the haze came the silhouette of an SIV-21 tracked infantry fighting vehicle. He sighed in relief. Immediately, he heard the vehicle's 30mm main gun open fire with a resounding roar in the tight quarters, ripping apart the car that Yuriy and two other members of the platoon had been hiding behind. Vladikov yelled furiously into his mic, "CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! THOSE ARE FRIENDLIES!" No reply. He glanced at his visor and it didn't register that the vehicle wasn't marked on the DefenseNet.

"FUCK! ENEMY VEHICLE! IVAN! KILL IT!" He screamed over the roar as its cannon swung to fire at two soldiers hidden in a doorway. Corporal Ivan Strenikov heard the call and pulled his ATM-7B launcher from his pack, he brought it on his shoulders, the barrel automatically acquiring its target... He armed it and squeezed the handle, the recoil impacting his shoulder as the anti-tank munition flew towards the SIV-21, impacting it right below where the turret joints the main body of the tank. The turret curled backwards, its gun now pointing into the sky. The driver's hatch flew off, along with it the burning body of an insurgent. The hatch on the top of the turret swung open and two men piled out, both being shot as they emerged.

Sergei turned back towards the machine gun positions as Viktor ran across the street to survey the damage done to the squad so far. Viktor came across the radio, "Yuriy and Evgeniy are dead. Alexei is as good as dead." Although the men were dead or were dying, Viktor tried his best, injecting Alexei with painkillers and attempting to fix his mortal wounds. He died within two minutes.




The fight had just begun for the men in Third Platoon, A Company. What they didn't know was that the rest of the division had moved out of Aqtobe, leaving only the four hundred and eighty men of 1st Battalion (of which 3rd Pltn. A Co. was a part) to watch the city until the 31st Infantry Division would arrive the next day. Unfortunately, the 31st Infantry Division had been stalled en route due to troubles. Only 5th Battalion, 31st Inf. Div. would arrive the next day while the rest of the units would arrive two days later. The 15th Inf. Div. (formerly in Aqtobe) was moving to combat insurgents in the surrounding hills and valleys.

Across Kazakhstan, the rebellion fever was growing... Spreading into a wildfire of epic proportions that couldn't be extinguished easily or quickly. Over 80% of the country had confirmed rebel activity and the number was growing by the hour.

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0900 Local Time
=============================

The faint shrieking of turbojets, far beyond the horizon, filled the skies. Small black dots, forming the contours of an armada in the hazed overcast, slowly broke loose of their formations and dashed through the packed clouds. The fleet of aircraft, some monstrous cargo aircraft designed for intercontinental deployment, other agile fighters to escort those wandering giants, penetrated a thick layer of smoke shrouding the lavish lands of Kazakhstan. Plane by plane, they started to plummet down onto a small airstrip, situated between the brown steep hills that so specifically marked this landscape. The airstrip, flagged as a small airfield for the logistical support of Soviet Bloc deployments in the area of Aqtobe, was now temporarily leased by another foreign power which had decided commit the 1st Brigade of the 5th Mountain division to aid in efficiently eradicating the growing insurgency, which plagued Kazakhstan so furiously in these dark hours.

The men of 5th Mountain were all battlehardened veterans, all having participated in at least one combat operation, such as the "Italia Campaign" in Soldato Italiano, the miserably failed Operations "Ghost Endurance" and "Ghost Sword" in Gabon or Operation "Clawed Fury" in their homeland, which had been dubbed "Flawed Fury" by involved personnel, refering to the complete disaster it had proved to be. Therefore, they were a true intermediate stage for the climb to the cream of the Army, Delta Force, which usually drew its personnel from this pool of ambitious regulars.

The first modified C-380 Heavy Airlifter positioned itself to a halt on the designated rampspace, her engines still howling, the ramp being lowered. While it flumped onto the ground, a platoon of soldiers, dressed in complete battle gear, hurtled over the tarmac, securing the perimeter. They were quickly followed by another platoon, and another one, and so, and so forth, until a complete reinforced batallion had emerged from the deep cargo bays of the giant C-380. Five more aircraft followed, hauling preposterous amounts of equipment and supplies. However, it was expected to become a longterm deployment, so a flying bridge between the homeland and Kazakhstan would be established for the duration of the conflict and fly in tons and tons of ammunitition, food, water, clothing and medical supplies every single day.

In the evening, the first patrol set out on foot, though they first hitchhiked on a couple of MH-28 helicopters for a 30 mile ride to the outskirts of Aqtobe. Clad in their battle armour, the troops had a clear technological advantage over the insurgents, which wielded outdated and inferior weaponry. However, the terrain favoured the rebels, as the patrols had little to no knowledge of the enviroment and the city itself. Through the grainy nightvision view of their visors, the grunts had to rely on accurate GPS maps displayed on their visors and the precatiousness that had been rammed down their throats since the day they had joined the ranks of 5th Mountain Division, (selfproclaimed) masters of Urban Warfare.

"Now its time for some real combat testing... Whaddya think of sending a team of Black Berets to Kazakhstan?" grinned Major General Ruslan Schlevenken. He coughed lightly as he picked up a status report, "They're all ready and worn into their suits... I think this is one helluva prime time to test it..."

His counterpart, General Dmitri Lukin nodded ever so lightly, "I think so too... But they're up against insurgents who are using hunting rifles and Kalashnikovs handed down through the generations... They're merely boys with as much combat experience as a newborn."

"I know that. Its testing none-the-less..." he glanced at a status report of the situation in Kazakhstan. [i]"Wait! I've got it... Al-Sabir."

This piqued the General's attention, "What?! We can't do anything to them!"

Ruslan shook his head furiously, "No, no no... No, what we can do... They have the S2, right?" Dmitri nodded. "Good, we can test the new VEPR on them. No combat but play with them a bit. See what they think or say..."

The general eyed his subordinate, "You sure it'd work?"

"Positive," was Ruslan's only response.


Dmitri sighed, "Fine. If anything goes wrong, its your fault..."


-----------------------------------------------
Aqtobe, Kazakhstan
0345 Local Time



Captain Viktor Ventsky closed his eyes, his head leaning back against the netting seperating him from the cold aluminum and steel hull. A voice, almost mechanical in nature eminated from the intercomm, "Approaching Target. Prepare to Drop." Viktor glanced to the eight men along with him, he was talking to them through his direct neural interface. 'You heard him. Get your chutes ready.'

The nine responses all came within a heartbeat as he watched them unstrap themselves from their jump seats and raise up, grabbing ahold of stabilizing bars above their heads. They checked their parachutes and rigging gear, they were good to go. Viktor did the same before he watched the loadmaster, a technical sergeant, move to the rear of the lumbering C-214. He flipped a hydrualic control valve and the rear ramp lowered itself until it was level with the floor on the interior.

Before the soldiers were to jump, a series of cargo pallets were going first, dropped to resupply a few forces too far from any supply depot. Viktor watched as the three large pallets slid out before disappearing into the dark, cloudy night sky. The loadmaster gave Viktor the thumbs up and yelled above the howling wind and turbo-prop revolutions, "Alright, you're up, ya know the drill... Good luck!"

Viktor began to speak but caught himself, he was about to talk through his DNI, "Yeah, thanks..." Ventsky had long been a man of few words, however he was an efficient leader and an even better special forces operative who had served valiantly in the armed forces for nearly seventeen years, ever since his seventeenth birthday.

The launch orders were silent, conducted within the confines of each soldier's mind. They slowly assembled near the ramp and Sergeant Igor Gerventsky silently agreed to go first. He watched the map through his DNI. The target approached... Approached... There... He launched himself into the cold air, followed by his eight team mates. A second after the last man lept out the pilot intercommed the rear, informing them that they were to jump. However, they had already done so and now they were spiraling towards the ground from a hight of nearly six miles. The VEPR base platform protected them from the harsh climate of such a height. The nine men continued their descent until reaching their low-altitude opening point. Instantly, their chutes flew open, erupting outwards, and they gently descended the next few thousand feet to the ground.

Upon landing the team quickly bunched up their parachutes and hid them, placing a GPS beacon for an infantry unit to pick up in the morning.

The team left the area, discussing the plans for the day through their direct neural interfaces. They were roughly a mile from the city and in a good, hard run with the assistance of the muscle acceleration system they could be there in two or three minutes. However, they didn't want to waste their battery supply so the walk was a leisurely one until they arrived at the city's outskirts.

Now they were tense, yet at ease, their VEPR NGCS suits would show them an enemy miles away. Every ARSB unit (and Al-Sabir unit) was in full view to them yet they were invisible to both friend and foe (they manually shut their's down except to necessary commands and personnel).


The team sleuthed through the outskirts of the city before finally entering the downtown portion. Now they were in enemy territory and thermal readings were off the charts. This was their safe-haven and soon the Black Berets were going to turn that safe place into a burning hell-hole... With nine men. Team leader Captain Ventsky quickly low-ran over to a bombed out building and flattened himself against the wall. He stared straight forward while he readed his RSR-39SF which was equipped with a silencer. He grabbed the LED flashlight on his chest (which had an imbedded camera) and snaked it through to the other side. The coast was clear, he silently called for two of his team mates to move in. Two sergeants answered the call and moved in, Viktor followed behind while the rest came in last. They moved up a stairwell with silence only matched by the vacuum of space. As they came near the entrance to the second floor the Black Berets picked up six thermal entities on the other side of the wall. Viktor sent a mental message to the two in lead and gave them permission to kill.

The first soldier, a man by the name of Ivan, snaked around the corner, his eyes staring down and sizing up his enemy who had no idea of his presence. His hand glided to his left shoulder as he gripped the 8 inch steel/tungsten blade and slipped it from the sheath. He came up behind the two men who were staring down the hall and enjoying a nice conversation, their two assault rifles hung limply to their sides. Ivan outstretched his arms and leapt into action, his left arm wrapped around the first man's neck and tightened down while the knife in his right hand ripped apart his throat, he pushed the man aside and kicked out his right leg, knocking the support out from underneath the second man. Ivan twirled around and planted the knife in the second man's chest before he even hit the ground. He didn't utter a scream as he stared at the VEPR-clad Ivan, a figure barely recognizable as a human, its black and uncaring face with its 'visor eyes' peering into the depths of his soul. He died not knowing whether a demon had just extinguished his life or whether it was actually human.

The second man leapt into the room with the other four, all of them lounging and listening to a radio. Half of them were smoking as their unloaded kalashnikov assault rifles rested on their laps. They didn't even have time to look up and notice the black figure in the doorway. Each one received a 7.62x39mm round into their chests. Each one died, their rifles on their laps, two with their cigarettes in their fingers, and the radio still on.

After the targets were deemed neutralized the team left the building and immediately made way for the next target. Two blocks away was the nearest thermal target, dozens of them crowded in a squat building of maybe four stories and made of solid concrete. The nine man team halted a block away and took cover behind piles of concrete rubble, their assault rifles primed for combat. Viktor scanned the building with thermal as well as enhanced vision, zooming in on the windows and terraces. He watched the 'stealthy' guards, hidden underneath gray blankets to prevent aircraft from spotting them. He reached around to his back and pulled out his laser designator. He activated the unit and deployed its tri-pod. He glanced around, attempting to find the perfect position. He set it up on a near horizontal piece of concrete. He switched his mind view to see where the laser, normally invisible to the eye, was. He adjusted the unit until the laser shone brightly on the building's southern flank. He quickly called in for an air strike from orbiting F/A-91As who answered the call...

The twin aircraft came in from the south, preparing for their strike. As they neared the target each one dropped a 500 pound Direct Strike Weapon, a laser guided munition. Viktor watched the high-lighted and circled bombs fall, their guidance directing them towards the building. Then he felt the shockwave as the two weapons hit, leveling the building in a single blow. He motioned for Evgeniy, the squad's sniper, to eliminate the survivors. He complied with deadly accuracy, wiping the only three survivors from existance.

Viktor then thermal scanned the entire area, picking out six more buildings with inhabitants. He quickly cycled through his mental images and assigned each a GPS waypoint to direct bombs for later. Using the DefenseNet he accessed street maps of Aqtobe and located underground subway stations and underground car garages and labeled each with a GPS waypoint for bombing later.


Now the team was surrounded in silence, "Who's up for the fun part?" Viktor grinned. Every hand shot up... Viktor continued, "Alright, let's go... Everyone's got them on their ALM?" This time he received the answers via DNI. He gave an approving nod before motioning for them to follow him. They winded through the destroyed streets, covered in rubble and car frames. It wasn't too long before they were in Aqtobe Square, the central plaza of Aqtobe. It was once a buzzing market and social exchange area but now relegated to rubble, dead bodies, and garbage. The Black Berets agreed to have a little fun around here and 'play with the toy cars' as their leader, Viktor, suggested. Viktor himself waltzed up to a burnt out UAZ 350 car. He slung his assault rifle and locked into place before reaching down with his gloved hands and gripping the car. He lifted it's side effortlessly up and tumbled it over, repeating this as he went. This was no lightweight car but a heavy steel behemoth made dozens of years ago. The rest of the team cheered him on as he rolled it clear across the plaza. Two members of the team, one being Ivan, gripped a nearby Trabant car, each gripping one end. They carried it over to a street and threw it into the air, landing on its side and rolling, crushing the roof. One of the men was leaping clear over mounds of rubble and over lines of cars. Another was tearing up the remnants of a market cart, he flung its carcass, single-handedly, across the plaza and into a street.

The Black Berets hadn't been able to enjoy the full capabilities of their VEPR NGCS systems quite yet as they had been strictly watched all through testing. Now they were making up for it, although it wouldn't be too much longer and they'd have to halt the fun and games to get ready for 'testing' against their own troops as well as Al-Sabir's...



------------------



Local Area Communique- Forwarded to Commander, 5th Mountain Division
From Local Operational Command- Aqtobe [LOC-A] (15th Infantry Division; 31st Infantry Division)

Contents-

Elements of 15th Infantry Division are currently trapped inside Aqtobe. Due to the mishaps of the 31st Infantry Division, no assets are in the region to secure them aside from one of the Division's battalions which is securing the northern half of the city. Approximately 43 soldiers have been surrounded by insurgents in the southern half of Aqtobe, about 12 blocks from downtown and Aqtobe Plaza. We ask if you will be able to secure the soldiers and escort them to Staging Point Golf on the outskirts of Aqtobe. Use reference point GP39 for their approximate location. The reference point will be forwarded to your soldiers' VEPR S2 system visors.

We are also providing you with a direct link into the ARSB DefenseNet, primarily the Aqtobe Local Area Network. That will provide you access to aircraft in the vicinity along with the 31st Infantry Division, which will [hopefully] arrive later today. Also included are artillery and rocket elements.

We await your response.


Local Operational Command- Aqtobe (LOC-A)
Major General Evgeniy Reptikov, Commanding Officer LOC-A



-End Communique-




OOC- I'll be updating this as much as I can, Al Sabir so don't be surprised if it sits dormant for a few days...

Encrypted Local Area Communiqué

To: [LOC-A] (15th Infantry Division; 31st Infantry Division)
From: KAZCOM (5th Mountain Division; 42nd Marine Regiment)

Acknowledged. Two companies and aerial support elements will be dispatched to southern Aqtobe in three hours.

God Speed,

Major General Christopher Ibrahim
Commanding Officer KAZCOM

End Encrypted Local Area Communiqué

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakstan)
0100 Local Time
=============================

"Why always me?"

Private Brendan Fahad mused, while another jolt of pain struck his leg, the result of a 7.62x39mm round planted in his thighbone. He cycled through the medical records displayed on his visor and once more concluded that he was seriously wounded. The bone itself had been broken on impact and the bullet had whirled itself deep into his flesh. His squadmates had barely been able to stabilize him from shock and to drag him over to an empty roof overlooking Aqtobe Plazza, where he awaited evacuation.

"I dunno, but I guess that is your second serious injury while in service, but of course I'm only counting the ones inflicted by enemy forces."

Private Jabar MacDillen stated, silently chuckling as he smiled at the young soldier. Fahad was known as an extraordinary clumsy soldier. He had accidently shot himself once, was cut down by sniper fire in a live ammunition exercise at a MOUT facility two years ago and had smacked down on a pinetree while roping down from a helicopter during pathfinder class. However, this had just toughened him both mentally and physically and he had received a unit commendation and the Valour Medal while serving with the 5th in Operation Clawed Fury.

A helicopter soaring over their heads disturbed their thoughts and brought them back to the present. Their commander, Sergeant Ian Fraser interrogated the IFF transponder with a communications appliance embedded in his battle gear and concluded it was a small MH-22C, rigged for medical evacuation. He silently let out a sigh of relief and prepared to get up when a burst of machine gun fire whizzed overhead. He peeked over the edge and detected an insurgent through his heatvision on a small balcony, aiming his AKM at the helo, prone on his belly. Ian lined up the crosshairs of his RSR-51XA on the man's cap and killed him with a single round. Now hell broke loose.

A frag grenade was suddenly lobbed over their heads and it exploded before Ian had the chance to kick it back. He felt the heat soar through his body armour and he was thrown on his knees by its power. A shell fragment splintered his visor, rendering its extensive applications useless. Another one pierced the armour near the right knee-pad and flung right into his shin. Ian let out a squawk and fell down. Jabar sprinted towards his NCO and grabbed him by his webbing belt, lugging him into cover.

Meanwhile, the airman on the helo had trained his minigun over the streets, mowing down every thermal signature he saw through his goggles. The helicopter made another pass over the roof and plumped down, its loadmaster and two medics sprinting towards the remnants of the fireteam. They tugged them into the cabin one by one and when the last medic set foot on the landing gear and flumped inside, the helo lifted off and hovered through a sporadic hail of gunfire to a field hospital.

OOC: The RP part is just to illustrate what kind of an attrition war is fought there, no relevance to the posted communiqué. That will follow later on.

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakstan)
0600 Local Time
==============================

The elongated stream of LAVs, troop carriers and cargo haulers stretched out as far as the eye could see, raising a thick trail of dust along the dirtbeaten road. The colonne carried the main elements of the 42nd Marine Regiment, freshly arrived from their home base at the Red Sea just a mere six hours ago and already deployed to the outskirts of Aqtobe to reinforce the components of the 5th Mountain Division. Their losses had been atrocious and especially the cases of crippling injuries were rising rapidly, often witholding three to four people from participating in direct combat. Therefore, the 5,000 Marines from the 42nd had been mobilized and were to move in as soon as possible.

"Sure a is beautiful sight, huh?"

First Sergeant Ivan Clarke, Bravo Company, 1st Batallion, said, observing the line of troops pouring into the city from a distant, terraced housetop and with mixed feelings. He had a personal vendetta with those macho Marines and their crazy Latin mottoes, but he felt relieved when the message came his unit would be rotated out and they would return to a safer compound. He was growing tired of the continous bombardment of his current shelter by a pair of howling rebel 81mm mortars, which they had been unable to locate and destroy.

"True, Sarge."

PFC Andy Pasha answered, greeting the approaching Marines by toting his RSR-51XA high into the air.

"Those arrogant looks on their faces, those will soon vanish and broken once they've spent a few days in this hellhole."

Ivan firmly observed, a joyless smile appearing on his face. He then turned around and took the ladder down the roof to the cramped little alley down below.

***

"Sniper on the roof!"

Lance Corporal Drake Curtiss yelped, leaping behind an charred car frame on a sidewalk near Aqtobe square. His platoonmates answered his call and ducked behind obstacles, trying to establish a clear shot. Drake, sticking his rifle over the car top, peaked through his telescopic sight and quickly zeroed his crosshairs on a stocky rebel, clad in a parka, pivoting his sniper rifle over the street below. Drake pulled the trigger and felt the recoil being reduced by a padding system on his battle armor, though it still kicked back fiercely as a lone 7.62mm bullet round was spit out. Going in through the silver scope, it tore the rebel's left eye apart, splattering grey brain matter all over him.

"Got him!"

Drake ecstatically yelped, lurching into a nearby alley. Behind him, his seven fellow Marines sneaked over the sidewalks, carefully watching overhead window frames and ground-level doorways. A threaded Iron Cheetah, thundering over the plazza, provided heavy fire cover, its 120mm cannon screeching while it rotated a complete 360 degrees. Death could come from every corner, every backyard and every roof here, as the company was deep into rebel territory.

Drake now slowly scrambled over heaps of rubble, the sky being completely darkened by an airborne blanket of fumes and vapour. He now completely relied on the millimetric wave radar, heatvision and nightvision embedded in his suit. Left of him, a rebel group of fifteen men had come for the sound of rumbling tanks as bloodhounds for fresh meat. Drake noticed them in time and saw them sprint past him at just 30 feet. He armed his 40mm grenade launcher and trained it towards them, pulling the trigger. A HE round was ejected and lurched over their heads. A cloud of schrapnel was catapulted into all directions when the round collapsed with a faint thump, ripping through their flesh. Drake sprayed the bloody remains with a salvo of .221 Fireball rounds to make sure no one had survived. Taking a quick sip from one of his canteens, he pressed a few buttons on the keypad near his left wrist, projecting a street grid on his visor, as well as a small red mark 4 blocks south, reference point GP 39.

"All right, boys, we're nearly there. Establish a firebase. Then, we're taking a five minute break. Drink some water, gobble down a small snack, reload and take a piss because you won't be able for a long time."

Captain O'Reilly said, his face dotted with small droplets of sweat. He leaned against a brick wall, whiping a tissue over his face. His soldiers spred out, taking defensive positions and lay prone while wolfing down some consumables. They would be in the real heat of battle really soon.

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0600 Local Time
==============================

At the same moment that Alpha Company was about to relieve Soviet Bloc forces trapped in downtown Aqtobe, two MH-28G light attack helicopters skirted over the house tops, just a mile north. Eight men, clothed in a dark grey armour scheme, a heavy helmet and a one-piece visor completely covering their contours, were crammed inside the two passenger compartments. The two helos zigzagged in flight, skimming over satellite antennas, while an observer in the co-pilot seat searched for an open spot and found one in a small neighbourhood piazza. The helicopters circled down in a descending spiral path while a lone MH-22D gunship hovered overhead, its dual 30mm chain guns pivoting over the LZ.

Staff Sergeant Steve McMillan notified his men to get ready over their direct neural interfaces and as soon as the first MH-28G touched the ground four men sprinted out for cover in an alley. Followed by the other fire team, the eight Grey Berets proceeded through the city, passing the many obstacles littering the sidewalks with cat-like agility. Suddenly, on an overhead roof, a rebel squad popped up. Consisting of a sniper, an automatic rifleman, a rifleman equipped with an RPG and some young gun dragging along extra ammo, these teams had inflicted serious losses on the Marines for the past couple of days. Usually the automatic rifleman and the sniper kept the infantry on a distance while the rocker soldier finished off the armoured vehicles, terribly vulnerable without proper infantry support. For now, the roles were switched. Steve lurched behind a heap of rubble and struck two insurgents with a headshot. The other two ran off, but Army Specialist Rudolph Garcia leapt up the ten-foot wall, grabbing hold off a loose brick and propelling himself on the terrace. He rolled over on his belly and quickly established his crosshairs. He saw the two speeding off, jumping from roof to roof, projected as flashy orange images on his visor. Rudolph pulled the trigger twice and hit both at one hundred yards with neck shot.

"Got ‘em.”

His voice echoed through the neural interfaces in the minds of his teammates while he landed on cobblestones. They dashed further through the darkness, detecting another enemy sniper team by their thermal emissions on the first floor of a apartment block, one half flattened, the other half arising highly above the other buildings in the area. The squad silently slipped over the street, entering the building unnoticed. Steve cocked his fearsome eight-inch blade, while he sneaked down the central hall up a few stairs before a guard situated on the gallery saw him. The man went pale but regained his confidence and shouldered his rifle at the demon just 10 feet away. He blinked and Steve was gone, but when he spun around he peered straight in the flashy visor goggles. Steve slammed the blade in his stomach and then beheaded him with a single swing. Steve motioned Corporal Tony Carlucci to move in.

Tony holstered his Webley .45 ACP revolver and flipped his own knife from a sheath on his shoulder. He carefully ascended the stairs, his back rubbing the wall. He prowled towards the room containing the rebel fire team and he stuck a small fibre optic camera underneath the doorpost. Through the grainy black-and-white view he observed the team in silence. They were all with their backs towards him, ski masks over their heads, clothed in grey parkas. He nodded towards Steve, who took a flash bang and a fragmentation grenade from his webbing. Tony raised three fingers in the air, then two, then one and then just a fist. Steve battered down the lock with a kick and lobbed the two grenades inside.

“Fire in the hole.”

He yelled over the interface. A deafening blast and a short flash followed, as well as a subdued explosion from the frag grenade. Tony and Steve stormed inside, knifing the wounded survivors to death.

The squad regrouped outside on the piazza.

"You guys saw how I shot those bastards on the roof?"

Rudolph silently inquired over the direct neural interface. His face gleamed, but that wasn't visible under his visor, now flashing red.

"Yeah, the feed was transferred to us. Nice shot."

The answer came from Private Tommie Onassis, preferring normal speech, using the local area network, over the neural interface. He still regarded it as creepy and the whole silence didn't suit him.

"All right, enough chatter, ladies. We're moving on."

The words from Steve reverberated in their minds and within a heartbeat they were on the next corner, having passed Aqtobe piazza. Steve was already edging through the street, randomly assigning GPS waypoints to "infected" buildings.

Suddenly, a bullet impacted just right of him. On reflex Steve warned his squad over the interface and dove for cover behind a wrecked truck. He pulled his gun camera from its holster and attached it to the lug of his RSR-51XA. He stuck it over the truck's hood and lined up the crosshairs, splintering windows out of their frames with selective bursts. He gestured Tom to deploy his M249. After the firebase was established, suppressive fire covered both Rudolph and Steve as they hurtled from doorpost to doorpost. On the move, Steve splattered blood and gore over a rusty fence, as he gunned down a man toting an AK, who had suddenly appeared from a side alley. Rudolph tossed a pair of frags through a suspicious window frame, over 30 yards away, and after two penetrating cracks, the gunfire had been silenced.

Steve ordered two men to assess the kills they had made and contacted the Forward Operating Base at the outskirts of town for aerial evacuation. Their batteries started to run out of power.

Encrypted Local Area Communiqué

To: [LOC-A] (15th Infantry Division; 31st Infantry Division)
From: KAZCOM (5th Mountain Division; 42nd Marine Regiment)

I’d like to propose some drastic measures to solve the situation we’re currently dealing with. Rebel forces currently swarming the area have proven tough opponents and their courage is near suicidal. However, we have a plan on the shelves, which could effectively deal with resistance by intimidating this fierce enemy. The plan would be to obliterate the centre of the city by using a single MOAB. Both civilians and rebel forces will be contacted an hour prior to drop to show what could be done to the entire city if the rebellion doesn’t recognize the authority of the premier, Viktor Dohkturov and surrenders it arms to Soviet Bloc forces in the region.

Awaiting Reply,

Major General Christopher Ibrahim
Commanding Officer KAZCOM

Aqtobe, District XIV
0600 Local Time
-----------

The sun had risen a little over an hour ago and the city resembled a city of gold, the golden rays of the morning sunshine, however, were hiding the harsh truth of horrible rebellion, of pure destruction. The beauty, each and every morning at this time, would last a little more than an hour and a half before the gray, grime, and smoke was visible again.

Senior Sergeant Sergei Vladikov laid in the street, face down, victim to a charging rebel suicide bomber, detonating his shrapnel-filled explosive vest after he had been shot a dozen times. However, Sergei was not dead and had been communicating with his team mates via the throat communications system and the cochlear vibration hearing system. No one, outside of himself, could hear him talk or listen. He could see anything, the explosion and the ensuing shrapnel blast had taken out his visor and he received a good chunk of shrapnel in his face, cutting off his vision. His visor was destroyed albeit a corner of it but audible signals intermittenly interrupted his voice sessions with a tone warning him of rapid blood loss and that he should seek a medic. He had repeatedly cursed at the computer. He couldn't feel pain as the S2 filled him up with morphine and other painkilling drugs to the point he actually enjoyed lying, completely oblivious to the fact we was lying in a puddle of his own blood. His nerves were deadened and he couldn't feel the warm liquid soaking into his entire uniform. The S2's blood clotting agent injection system had injected all of its blood clotting agents into his blood stream but the damage was far too much with dozens of lacerations and tears in his skin. One of his legs was broken, one eye was gone, the other was caked in blood with a portion of his visor lodged in his nose and obstructing his vision, if he were even able to open his eyes, and both of his arms were shattered, one of them non-existant past the elbow. His chest and stomach were filled with enough metal to make an oven and he had a nice sized hole in lower right abdomen. He wouldn't live much longer the S2 was injecting him with drugs and chemicals to extend his life and was engaged in a fairly active chat with the rest of his team, urging them not to come for him as he was lying open in the street, bait to lure his soldiers into the open.

Junior Sergeant Viktor Cecogo, the last surviving medic of the platoon, sat in the nearby store with his collection of dead bodies. Ten bodies were lying on the floor in the store, including Sergeant Andrei Yukonivic, who had died from injuries inflicted during the first few minutes of combat nearly a week ago (all had died within the last two days so no significant decomposition had occured. The medic, had long moved past the stage of tired and weak, he was now in the realm of near-death. He had been handing out food from the store for the past week to keep the forces on their toes and until recently, the store had been a resting point where two soldiers each day could sleep in six hour shifts. But, that had stopped more than a day ago after a team of insurgents broke through the barricaded rear door and opened up on the two sleeping soldiers, killing both. The medic deployed a grenade, wiping out the four insurgents and half of the food stock. To him, it seem as though the platoon was on its last leg, a broken leg at that and any minute it could tumble to the ground.

Gunfire was near continuous here for the last twelve hours, wiping out a large portion of the surviving platoon. There were just far too many insurgents for the soldiers to deal with. In fact, there were so many that the soldiers had long ran out of ammunition and had begun using AK-74s, AKMs, PKs, and other rifles the insurgents carried but that ammunition was limited due to the fact that most insurgents only carried a single magazine of ammunition.

So far, the platoon now numbered a dozen, reduced from its previous numbers of nearly 40.



============================

"Dammit, no!" choked SSgt. Vladikov into his throat-piece. He took a spit out a wad of coagulated blood before continuing, "I'm still the senior non-comm around here whether or not I'm about to die. You will stay in your positions and you will hold them... Do you understand me?" he said forcefully, a far different voice than his early calm, subdued voice brought on by the intense amount of drugs running through his system.

Junior Sergeant Andreyivich gritted his teeth, "Dammit sir..." He grew into a rage, "Can you not see that there is no hope left?! We're stranded and obviously no ones coming for us! We are outgunned, outnumbered, and stuck basically in the middle of the street and I was hoping someone like you could read that fucking data and realize that we have no choice but to surrender!" He winced as a 7.62x39mm round erupted past the window he was hiding in.

Vladikov, although he was dying and had enough drugs and painkillers in him to treat a dozen patients, still had reason left in him, a testament to his own will power and strength to go on, he wouldn't be easy to be put down, "What do you think will happen when you surrender? You know what will happen? You will get killed. You will die. The reason I'm telling this to you is for your own God damn good. Do you not fucking understand? Look at me! I'm lying in the middle of this God forsaken street, I can't open my eyes and my fucking helmet is telling me I'm dying..." He had to stop... He spat out another glob of blood before continuing in a raspy, subdued voice, "I'm not afraid of death any more." There was a long silence, even the gunfire had halted. "And I'm trying to save you from it...

Andreyivich dropped his head and shook it, bringing it back up and glancing to a few men situated around him, "Why the fuck am I listening to this old fool. The drugs have gotten to his head." He surveyed their faces, every one of the exhibiting weariness and a sense of worry. Andreyivich grunted, "Can't you see?! Any of you?!" He shook his head and threw the AKM he had stolen across the room, "My God... He's gone crazy and you're going to listen to him!?" There was no reply... "Fuckin' dumbshits... He stood up and glanced around, heading across the room that was formerly a restuarant. He swiped the white tablecloth from a table and pulled off his helmet, letting it drop to the floor. He headed towards the door.

Private First Class Mikhail Demerov shot up, slamming his hand against Andreyivich's chest, pushing him back. He drew his RSP-45 pistol and brought it up, "Dammit, Yuriy... Vladikov is right. You or I or any of us surrender and we are dead... All we have to do is wait for them to rescue us!" He glared at Andreyivich who just started to laugh...

Andreyivich couldn't help but to laugh... That's what happens during six days of pure hell and combat stuck in some Kazakhstanian city. He dropped his head and shook it before glancing back to Demerov. He charged forward, slamming the private against the wall. Andreyivich brought his arm to the soldier's throat and pushed him against the wall, "Rescue us?! RESCUE US?!" He turned his head to the rest of the soldiers in the room, "This here private thinks we're gonna get rescued? Huh, who thinks we're gonna get rescued? Who?" He waited for an answer but no one made a noise, Andreyivich scowled and turned back to Demerov, "I don't know if you haven't noticed, but we've been stuck in this same street for the past six days!"

The private gripped Andreyivich's arms, attempting to push them away but Andreyivich was overpowering him. He hadn't dropped the pistol, however, it was still firmly clamped in his right hand. Andreyivich continued on, bringing his face closer to the struggling private's face, "And you expect me to sit here and fight?!" He pointed his left hand towards the door, "Now I'm going to go out there, wave this white flag and surrender... And I will live and I will piss on every one of your bodies..." He turned his head to face the rest of them, "You hear me?! Every damn one of your bodies..." He stepped away from the private, growling at him. The private doubled over, his face bright red as he violently coughed, heaving up and down. Andreyivich kicked the soldier in the abdomen, knocking him over.

He turned towards the door and made a brisk walk towards it. Just as he neared the open doorway a lone shot echoed through the room. Behind him, a private, watching the entire episode unfold, had stood up, an insurgent M-91/30 raised to his shoulder, loaded a round and fired. He fired the round to hit the shoulder and it did, hitting his left shoulder at the edge of the armor. The area was now a bloody torn mess, the 'white flag' had dropped to the ground and Andreyivich's left arm hung limp.

Andreyivich turned around, his right arm gripping the doorway and assisting the turn. He faced the private, the M-91/30 still against his shoulder and now aimed for his face... "Why you little asshole..." He fumbled for his RSP-45, finally locating it with his right hand. He gripped the handle and slipped it from its holster but before he could get it ready a second shot slammed into his right upper chest... He fumbled back from the dark confines of the building to the bright, open sunlight. He glanced to the white table cloth on the ground and then he glanced to his left as he stumbled into the street. A machine gun opened fire and tore at him, his body twisting before it collapsed to the ground, another half dozen rounds impacting the corpse as it rolled over.

The private, a man by the name of Evgeniy Tishnikov, stood in awe at what he had just done... He let the muzzle of the World War II-era rifle drop, he slowly glanced at his comrades, who were all too tired to do anything and had sat idly by during the entire thing. He blinked and returned to looking at the corpse lying in the street, he shuddered before he slung the rifle. He kneeled next to the private first class, who still lay on the ground, "You alright?"

Private First Class Mikhail Demerov nodded quietly, his one arm still rubbing his neck. He mouthed a few words but stopped after realizing that Tishnikov was no longer paying attention but instead glancing out into the street at the man he had shot. "Shit!" Tishnikov exclaimed, "Vladikov!" He stood up and glanced out the window, he spotted the motionless Vladikov. He attempted to hail him over the radio, "Sergeant Vladikov! Sergei! Sergei?" He gulped, "Sergei, please answer, you can't do this to us now... Sergei?!" There was no reply. He slammed his back against the wall... "God damn Andreyivich... "

Across the street, the rest of the remaining platoon was firing like crazy, opening fire on roof tops, at windows, and at doorways. Anything that moved, was off-color, or made any sort of noise was soon to be a victim to their Cold War-era insurgent weapons. The ranking soldier left in the entire platoon was across the street, Sergeant Niyazi Türkelli, a Turkish man and a very lethal soldier. Across the street there were two sergeants (one sergeant, one junior sergeant), three privates first class, and two privates. On Tishnikov and Demerov's side there were one PFC and three privates, all too exhausted to continue the fight. Demerov started muttering a few words before he realized he could speak again, he righted himself and stood up, breathing heavily. He looked out the window and across the street as soldiers hung out windows, firing our doors, and ultimately just ripping apart everything.
-----------------

Sergeant Niyazi Türkelli had watched the entire thing unfold, ultimately climaxing with the death of Andreyivich. He turned towards a PFC, one of his trusted 'side kicks', "What the fuck happened over there? My radio isn't working." He glanced at the now visible Demerov and then to Andreyivich's corpse. The private called Demerov, easily recognizable due to his rail thin appearance. A reply came and the private voiced it to Türkelli.
"Uhh... He says that Junior Sergeant Andreyivich attempted to surrender to the enemy." The private glanced to Niyazi, shrugging...
The sergeant looked at the private and emitted a sense of disbelief, "What?! They executed a man for attempting to surrender?"
"Not entirely true, sir, apparantly he was going to help the enemy and Andreyivich had apparantly attempted to kill private Demerov."
The sergeant shook his head, "Whatever..." He turned to face a soldier huddled in the corner with a radio, "You get headquarters yet?!"
The prviate shook his head, "No sir... Just cackling and static. Nothing more, silent radio waves out there."
"Fuck... What is going on in this damn city?! Those rebels got radio jamming equipment? GPS jammers? What? They steal one of our electronic warfare aircraft? How the hell does this happen. Our radio's work like shit, GPS won't even work." spoke Niyazi, his head shaking as he glanced across the room to the four soldiers continuously opening fire out the windows, attempting to subdue or kill as many insurgents as possible.
Just then, two pops erupted behind them. Niyazi spun around, his AKM prepared to fire. "Alexei, follow me." he motioned for the private to follow. He slowly made his way into a back stock room of this former grocery store. A large metal door was barricaded with crates and other items. A single window was present but it was only about six inches by six inches and made of plexiglass. He had covered it up with a metal table. He pointed at Alexei and then pointed at a wall, informing him to post there and prepare to fire. Niyazi slid the metal table away from the small window and maneuvered himself to look outside. He saw a shattered window and dead rebels lying in the street, their Kalashnikovs lying on the ground. "What the hell?!" He quickly checked his visor, no friendlies present.
Private Alexei, from the across the room, whispered, "What is it?!" Niyazi waved his hand at him to make him shut up. As Niyazi assessed the situation, he moved slightly and glanced down the street, spotting dozens of soldiers. Niyazi quickly backed away from the window and furiously waved Alexei over. Alexei complied and glanced out the window and observed the soldiers, one glaring directly at him. He froze in place, muttering, "Shit..." As soon as the soldier glanced away, Alexei jerked his head from view, sliding the metal table back over the plexiglass window.
Alexei glanced at Niyazi, "Are those our's?!" These two men had never before in their lives seen a VEPR NGCS. Niyazi just shook his head, breathing heavily, wondering who they were and where they were from. A helicopter flew overheard, spouting gunfire towards rebel positions. [Those forces mentionared are the Al-Sabir company moving in to relieve ARSB forces, not the Al-Sabir special forces]
Niyazi brought up his right arm and tapped a few keys on the command board, "If they're friendly or our soldiers, they'll pick up my distress signal." He tapped the appropriate command and now on everyone's visors it showed their approximate distance and location in comparison to 'Distress Signal- Immediate Assistance- 01'. Now they would wait.


===================================================================

Encrypted Local Area Communiqué

To: KAZCOM (5th Mountain Division; 42nd Marine Regiment)
From: [LOC-A] (15th Infantry Division; 31st Infantry Division)


After conferring with subordinate officers, I have decided to allow you to drop the MOAB, our air strikes earlier in the campaign failed to achieve similar results, however, the damage caused was not quite as severe as what a single MOAB could do. Also, the damage was widespread, mainly taking out single buildings across the city. Otherwise, the center of the city is a major rebel staging point and it is believed the rebels are using the sewer system as well subterranean railways and highways to launch their attacks. Luckily, these systems are centralized in the center of the city. I advise that immediately after dropping the MOAB a series of bunkerbusters be deployed to collapse the central sewer system which would hinder the progress and force them to move above ground in order to move from city section to city section.
Along with this communiqué we will send data about the city's transportation and utility services and it will show all locations of subway systems, underground causeways and walkways, and the sewer system central hub. Also, we have lost contact with our soldiers in the city. No natural source of disruption has been found yet and it is believed to be artificial, leading us to believe that the insurgents may have captured some District Guard radio jamming equipment, possibly located in the Aqtobe Armory (which should've been cleared out at the beginning of the rebellion). Our electronic warfare specialists can not determine the location of the equipment. The jamming system is most likely being operated by District Guardsmen sympathetic to the rebellion forces as the equipment is too advanced to be used without specialized training. Soviet Bloc aerial assets are prepared to assist in any operation.

Unfortunately, the 31st Infantry Division has been stalled again, this time by explosives deployed about twelve miles from Aqtobe. Three vehicles were destroyed and the entire convoy was halted in order to combat rebel forces in the area, who also attacked the rear elements of the convoy. The 31st Infantry Division is being re-routed to combat forces around Aqtobe in order to secure the area for operations, leaving your forces along with A Company, 1st Battalion of the 15th Infantry Division to secure and hold Aqtobe. Prospects look grim and we may eventually pull out of Kazakhstan all together, the public dissent and death toll are just too much.


Awaiting Reply,

Major General Evgeniy Reptikov, Commanding Officer LOC-A

OOC : can i send a division to help the government?

OOC- Hogsweat, go right ahead. You have two choices: 1. Cooperative roleplay (where you RP in conjunction with me and Al-Sabir) or 2. Free-for-all Kill Fest where you will be allowed free reign over an area and you can do whatever the hell you please (well, some minor cooperation will occur, possible air support, etc.). Or you can state what you want... Or... Whatever.

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0605 Local Time
==============================

Captain O'Reilly grunted with satisfaction, as the signal flashed across his visor. They had found the loose platoon and he quickly transferred a communique over his direct neural interface to the rest of his company. He detached the shield from his load bearing system and set it up, supporting it with a metal pole. He ducked behind it and logged in the ARSB DefenseNet, his fingers flying over the key board, quickly wiring a positive response to the communications gear of the Soviet Bloc platoon. He ordered two privates to cover him while he swung his shield on his back and sprinted for the grocery store.

FOB #93, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0605 Local Time
==============================

The tiny Atlas MC-286A leapt over the tarmac up in the air, retracting its landing gear. In the cockpit, Captain John Harrison lingered his view over the collection of displays, to complete his check with satisfactionary nod. He stabilized the aircraft and jinked it in the direction of Aqtobe. His copilot, a inexperienced Lieutenant, going by the name of Sonnie Angelo, flipped a few switches and said:

"Hot, damn, we're going to drop a fuckin' MOAB. Exciting, don't you think, Sir?"

John gave him a look, a mixed anxious and angered expression lining his face.

"This ain't no friggin' game, kid. Innocent people will die out there."

Sonnie kept silent after that, his ears glowing red with shame. He began peering out of the cockpit's panorama windows.

"Ah, our buddies, Sir"

He said, pointing at a small formation of aircraft, about a 1,000 feet below, rapidly climbing up to them.

"That would be Colonel Jamie Curtis, wing king of the 22nd, and his felllow bombers."

John observed, clicking a few keys on compact keyboard near his knees to open a frequency.

"This is Orange One to Viper Six, over."

"Roger, Orange One, we're complete, let's roll."

"Negative, Viper Six, we've got a few friendlies on the ground. Cruise a few tracks around the target until we've got a positive response on evac."

"Roger, out."

The six MB-52K Megafortress Heavy Bombers banked into formation with the lone transport aircraft and engaged in an endless oval path around Aqtobe."

OOC; All right, I'm off for a few (3) days, so don't move on to far without me, will ya?

OOC: i'll co-operate with you and Al Sabir. Has the battle begun?

Aqtobe, District XIV (West Kazakhstan)
0605 Local Time
==============================

Captain O'Reilly propelled himself through the doorpost, crawling over to Sergeant Türkelli. He shook his head a few time, when Niyazi overcame his stun, to indicate that he should shut up. Andrew clicked his visor off and said:

"Good Morning, Sergeant. I'm Captain Andrew O'Reilly, Al-Sabirian Marine Corps. We're here to get you the hell out of this town, because our Air Force is about to pound this friggin' hell hole further into the ground. They're gonna fry those assholes good.

Anyways, we borrowed a pair of Iron Cheetah Main Battle Tanks from the recon platoon and we've rigged the troop compartment for medical evac; there is room for four of your wounded. The rest has to got to walk along with us. Now move it, Sergeant!"

Outside, rigorous gunfire enveloped through the streets and the Marines got caught in a continious hail of gunfire, but an overhead helo blasted their lines away with its collection of underwing rocket pods.

Drake saw the Soviet Bloc soldier down on the road, its previously intimidating VEPR S2 combat suit shredded to pieces and dipped in pool of blood. He cringed as he made a run for this brother in arms, as he saw the chest go up and down while he breathed shallowly. Drake didn't get that far. A bullet ricochetted off his armour and he plunged down, but showered a nearby alley in the process with hollow-point rounds, splattering blood all over the place. He continued and dragged the soldier, a Senior Sergeant as his was informed over the BattleNet, to a nearby Iron Cheetah. The medic let down the back ramp and they lifted him onto the brancard, but as soon as the medic had run a short diagnose, he shook his head, taking a camouflage-patterned blanket and draping it over his head. Drake trembled with disbelief, but turned around and re-entered the ongoing battle with fresh bloodlust.

Overhead, the formation of aircraft was refueled by a box-winged Ranger tanker and re-engaged in another orbiting track.