New Empire
26-01-2005, 21:59
[This is part of Euroslavia's RP, The Scramble for Africa.]
New Empire had been under new management for a few years, and it seemed their thirst for power had not quite been quenched. The Drake family intended on having its political borders stretch as far as the contacts that helped bring it into power. They had already annexed a section of landmass that was now dubbed New Pandrea, but they weren't yet finished.
Africa was a continent untouched. Intelligence and scouting reports said that their civilizations were on the levels of the Muslim empires in many areas, but the Islamics had left in many areas after a series of bloody wars.
Their target zone was dubbed 'Drakesland', and it extended a fairly sizeable expanse of land. The primary target was said by myth and scouting to be rich in gold and other minerals (South Africa, Lesotho, Swaziland), while the secondary area (Botswana, Namibia) would bring diamond reserves, assuming they could make it past the primary sectors. The third region was said to be rich as well, but inhabited by a rich city state.
Four Assault Fleets along with the 6th and 7th Armies had been rallied for this campaign. The area the 11th Fleet sat near now was dubbed the 'Cape of Good Hope', a thoughtful gesture by some politico.
The first landings were via helicopter. What they saw surprised them. As the choppers and tiltrotors raced towards the coast, two and three story stone buildings reached up for them, and the towers of what could only be mosques.
Muhammad heard the noise from a long way away. He had been waiting for the fishing boats to come in, to see his father. He was still itching for his manhood ceremony, then he could go out and fish with his father and the other seamen. But the thought didn't cross his mind. It was the noise. Like the flapping of a birds wings, a bit faster, but not the drone of the insects. There must have been a massive flock, he thought. But such things did not happen often. And then the sunlight glinted in the distance, off of something made perhaps of metal. Arrows? No. Arrows did not make such a noise.
The enhanced sensors on the transport tiltrotors were in zoom mode, with a warrant officer peering through at the mass of people. The city must be in the thousands. The copilot had been expecting primitive huts, but not buildings like these.
Muhammad gaped as the first... thing roared over. It was like a bird, but clearly not. It flew much to fast, and it was just plain massive. Inside he thought he saw the face of some strange looking, strangely dressed man. The people around him began dropping and praying as more of them flew, off towards the countryside. Muhammad raced to the nearest cart. He must see what, or who these things were.
The farmer had been cultivating grapes, but now he lay in morning prayer. He too heard the sound, and ran back to his home to withdraw a gun. It was nothing more than a musket, but it could fell the great animals of the plains. He wondered what was going on. The sound was loud, but there was no rumble as he had felt when the soldiers marched or the animals ran. Peculiar. Then dust kicked up in the distance, not fire, but by some colossal wind. They were not anything of this earth, the thought, but they were warriors. Their steeds were colossal flying things, and they wore armor painted in intricate designs, making them hard to pick out. And in their hand they held some kind of weapon, some of them clearly guns from the long barrels, but looking nothing like the weapon the farmer clutched in work worn hands now. He thought of what to do, and began gathering dry wood, any kind of fuel that he could spare, and lit it ablaze. Surely others would come to investigate. He called out to his boy to go to the village square and alert the rest of the populace. Soon many others gathered to his farm, looking at the approaching soldiers. They decided to hide, scrambling for cover in a land they knew well. As soon as the soldiers came close, they would fire.
"Eyes up. There's a farm a klick or so away. On your guard."
"'Curion, loosen up. Bassids probably don't have guns. Look at this place. Can't be more than fucken-"
A farmer's gun jolted backward with a cacophany as the musket released its payload. The innacurate weapon did not hit the neck as he planned, but the farmer grinned when the weapon slammed into some part of his leg.
"SON-OF-A-BITCH!"
The ball had not quite penentrated the armor, but the force at which it struck created massive bleeding and internal injuries in the calf. He rolled himself over, and raised his M32 rifle. The bullpup weapon spat a triplet of 6.5mm rounds, so quickly the recoil wasn't kicking in that much until the 3rd round was already out the barrel.
The farmer's war cry ended with the good condition of his throat. His upper chest and neck were ripped to tatters by the blended metal rounds. He never saw it coming.
The sound was strange, but the rest knew it was a weapon, and this was war. The muskets sounded off, mostly causing injury. The results for the natives were more serious in nature. They only needed to reload every 40 rounds with a basic rifle, and the machineguns and grenades wreaked havoc. Soon they were marching into the village center, to be met with more fire. The enemy began using muskets to disable the New Empire soldiers, followed by an easy bow or crossbow, sometimes even spear or sword to the exposed vitals. The casualties began to trickle in as the UCSNE troops steadily engaged and overcame the enemy.
The city-state's troops were rallied, and marched against the New Empire forces. Not having horses (A luxury only a few rich northern empires enjoyed), it took time for them to arrive. But they did have pack animals, and they did have artillery. The knowledge of gunpowder from some long gone arab trader was a shock, the artillery was a frustration. The guns boomed out against the UCSNE troops, but were met seemingly as if out of nowhere. At night, all that could be seen was a streak of light high above, and then a tremendous explosion and roar. It was like they called down upon whatever gods, Islamic or Animist, to fight their battles. They would have even somewhat understood the missiles if they were moving slower as gunpowder weapons of some kind, but alas they were traveling at supersonic speeds. The artillery gave no warning at all, except when the airburst munitions crackled and then detonated a split second later.
By a week the coast of what was to become the Cape Town area was deserted, the traders retreating for the most part to former enemies, the bushmen. Casualties were twice as many expected on the UCSNE side.
But among the prisoners by choice were a few old men. Old men who could speak some dialect of arabic. And under the battle and chaos, a significant kind of progress was beginning.
The same incidents occured near the territory dubbed 'Kalahiri' (Namibia) and the only real port city there (Walvis Bay), and near the city dubbed 'Virconium' (Durban) and a city area between them. The UCSNE was beginning its fight, but doubtless they were not the only ones holding intrest in the area.
New Empire had been under new management for a few years, and it seemed their thirst for power had not quite been quenched. The Drake family intended on having its political borders stretch as far as the contacts that helped bring it into power. They had already annexed a section of landmass that was now dubbed New Pandrea, but they weren't yet finished.
Africa was a continent untouched. Intelligence and scouting reports said that their civilizations were on the levels of the Muslim empires in many areas, but the Islamics had left in many areas after a series of bloody wars.
Their target zone was dubbed 'Drakesland', and it extended a fairly sizeable expanse of land. The primary target was said by myth and scouting to be rich in gold and other minerals (South Africa, Lesotho, Swaziland), while the secondary area (Botswana, Namibia) would bring diamond reserves, assuming they could make it past the primary sectors. The third region was said to be rich as well, but inhabited by a rich city state.
Four Assault Fleets along with the 6th and 7th Armies had been rallied for this campaign. The area the 11th Fleet sat near now was dubbed the 'Cape of Good Hope', a thoughtful gesture by some politico.
The first landings were via helicopter. What they saw surprised them. As the choppers and tiltrotors raced towards the coast, two and three story stone buildings reached up for them, and the towers of what could only be mosques.
Muhammad heard the noise from a long way away. He had been waiting for the fishing boats to come in, to see his father. He was still itching for his manhood ceremony, then he could go out and fish with his father and the other seamen. But the thought didn't cross his mind. It was the noise. Like the flapping of a birds wings, a bit faster, but not the drone of the insects. There must have been a massive flock, he thought. But such things did not happen often. And then the sunlight glinted in the distance, off of something made perhaps of metal. Arrows? No. Arrows did not make such a noise.
The enhanced sensors on the transport tiltrotors were in zoom mode, with a warrant officer peering through at the mass of people. The city must be in the thousands. The copilot had been expecting primitive huts, but not buildings like these.
Muhammad gaped as the first... thing roared over. It was like a bird, but clearly not. It flew much to fast, and it was just plain massive. Inside he thought he saw the face of some strange looking, strangely dressed man. The people around him began dropping and praying as more of them flew, off towards the countryside. Muhammad raced to the nearest cart. He must see what, or who these things were.
The farmer had been cultivating grapes, but now he lay in morning prayer. He too heard the sound, and ran back to his home to withdraw a gun. It was nothing more than a musket, but it could fell the great animals of the plains. He wondered what was going on. The sound was loud, but there was no rumble as he had felt when the soldiers marched or the animals ran. Peculiar. Then dust kicked up in the distance, not fire, but by some colossal wind. They were not anything of this earth, the thought, but they were warriors. Their steeds were colossal flying things, and they wore armor painted in intricate designs, making them hard to pick out. And in their hand they held some kind of weapon, some of them clearly guns from the long barrels, but looking nothing like the weapon the farmer clutched in work worn hands now. He thought of what to do, and began gathering dry wood, any kind of fuel that he could spare, and lit it ablaze. Surely others would come to investigate. He called out to his boy to go to the village square and alert the rest of the populace. Soon many others gathered to his farm, looking at the approaching soldiers. They decided to hide, scrambling for cover in a land they knew well. As soon as the soldiers came close, they would fire.
"Eyes up. There's a farm a klick or so away. On your guard."
"'Curion, loosen up. Bassids probably don't have guns. Look at this place. Can't be more than fucken-"
A farmer's gun jolted backward with a cacophany as the musket released its payload. The innacurate weapon did not hit the neck as he planned, but the farmer grinned when the weapon slammed into some part of his leg.
"SON-OF-A-BITCH!"
The ball had not quite penentrated the armor, but the force at which it struck created massive bleeding and internal injuries in the calf. He rolled himself over, and raised his M32 rifle. The bullpup weapon spat a triplet of 6.5mm rounds, so quickly the recoil wasn't kicking in that much until the 3rd round was already out the barrel.
The farmer's war cry ended with the good condition of his throat. His upper chest and neck were ripped to tatters by the blended metal rounds. He never saw it coming.
The sound was strange, but the rest knew it was a weapon, and this was war. The muskets sounded off, mostly causing injury. The results for the natives were more serious in nature. They only needed to reload every 40 rounds with a basic rifle, and the machineguns and grenades wreaked havoc. Soon they were marching into the village center, to be met with more fire. The enemy began using muskets to disable the New Empire soldiers, followed by an easy bow or crossbow, sometimes even spear or sword to the exposed vitals. The casualties began to trickle in as the UCSNE troops steadily engaged and overcame the enemy.
The city-state's troops were rallied, and marched against the New Empire forces. Not having horses (A luxury only a few rich northern empires enjoyed), it took time for them to arrive. But they did have pack animals, and they did have artillery. The knowledge of gunpowder from some long gone arab trader was a shock, the artillery was a frustration. The guns boomed out against the UCSNE troops, but were met seemingly as if out of nowhere. At night, all that could be seen was a streak of light high above, and then a tremendous explosion and roar. It was like they called down upon whatever gods, Islamic or Animist, to fight their battles. They would have even somewhat understood the missiles if they were moving slower as gunpowder weapons of some kind, but alas they were traveling at supersonic speeds. The artillery gave no warning at all, except when the airburst munitions crackled and then detonated a split second later.
By a week the coast of what was to become the Cape Town area was deserted, the traders retreating for the most part to former enemies, the bushmen. Casualties were twice as many expected on the UCSNE side.
But among the prisoners by choice were a few old men. Old men who could speak some dialect of arabic. And under the battle and chaos, a significant kind of progress was beginning.
The same incidents occured near the territory dubbed 'Kalahiri' (Namibia) and the only real port city there (Walvis Bay), and near the city dubbed 'Virconium' (Durban) and a city area between them. The UCSNE was beginning its fight, but doubtless they were not the only ones holding intrest in the area.