NationStates Jolt Archive

The time had finally come, it had been over seven years since the revolution that had decided Kriegorgrad was to become a communist state and much tension had been growing between the nations of Hogsweat and Kriegorgrad, both similar in values and both autocracies but as like two magnets when pushed together, they come apart, that is certainly what the diplomacy between Hogsweat had been like for the last few years, coming apart at the seams and like a spring stretched too far, it would all spring back in a great clatter sooner or later.

In this case, the clatter will be sooner rather than later.

Comrade Rykov hugged his MKII Sten (http://www.britisharmedforces.org/blirreg/ns/nat_sterling_.htm) close to his chest but he still felt queasy inside the FV432 (http://www.britisharmedforces.org/blirreg/ns/nat_armytoday_.htm), the machine rocked and jolted as it ran over the uneven countryside of the quarantined zone, due to complications, Hogsweat had a large chunk of land on Kriegos soil and due to the people of Kriegorgrad having to stay free from all foreign influences, for threat of the Kriegos people learning of a better life outside of what they thought was a paradise, the propaganda could convince the people that their poor lifestyle was superior to that of the unknown foreigners far away in their distant lands, but propaganda would have a hard time covering up the words of a foreigner in Kriegorgrad, thus, all the land near the Hogsweatian military outpost was quarantined for fear of the Hogsweatian soldiers telling them that life was better in Hogsweat.

And that is why Rykov was crammed into the armoured personnel carrier with eight others, two comrades were wielding Bren (http://www.britisharmedforces.org/blirreg/ns/nat_rifles_.htm) guns, three other comrades were kitted out with MKII Sten guns while the final three were devoted to keeping the squad’s Vickers (http://www.firstworldwar.com/atoz/mgun_vickers.htm) guns going, one man, the gunner, had it sprawled across his lap, another man had the ammo boxes on strapped to his slightly tattered BDU; similar to that of the British soldiers of World War Two, his job was to keep the ammo running smoothly into the feed block, the third man had ammo attached to his uniform as well, his job was to keep the ammo supplied to the second man, Rykov’s squad didn’t get a scoped Enfield (http://www.britisharmedforces.org/blirreg/ns/nat_rifles_.htm) sniper rifle, apparently because “sniper rifles were for cowards” despite half the army being equipped with them.

Rykov had no clue as to why this was happening, he simply knew that Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov wanted it to happen; therefore, it must be a just and good cause because Nikolai supported it, to think anything else would be outright heresy, Rykov was loyal to the party and above all, the Nikolai but even a devoted soldier such as Rykov couldn’t help but feel nervous, he was worried he would never see his darling Dunya again and little Ivan, at some times, Rykov thought he could remember a time when things were better than they were now, there won’t so many wars and while the country was oppressed, people were relatively free…but Rykov knew those thoughts must be false because Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov said so, those thoughts were heresy and within moments, the process of doublethink had wiped the unorthodox thoughts from his head.

Over 5,000 of the FV432 APC’s were being mobilised along with 3,000 Centurion (http://www.lancers.org.au/museum/centurion.htm) battle tanks, refitted to accept 120mm rounds, this was to be the final decisive strike against the Hogsweatian fascists, who, thanks to Nikolai’s excellent knowledge and his generous nature with knowledge, were found ate to capture Kriegos children and torture them before putting them in a pot to eat. When faced with such a foe, Rykov could not help but feel rage and anger towards the evil men of Hogsweat.

Finally, it started, the crackle over the vehicle’s radio, the words were loud and clear despite the heavy feedback, the monotone male voice barked in an authoritative tone the words:

”Action in 5…4…3…2…1…PILE OUT!”

Rykov looked in wide-eyed fear as the steel door slapped down into the mud, the worn-out grill being trodden as boots rushed over into the muddy hell that was the 500 yard gap between the 40,000 Kriegos conscripts and the Hogsweatian fortifications, the zone Rykov was looking into from the FV432 was known to commanders simply as:

The Kill Zone.

Rykov felt a righteous rage build up in him, he had the audacity to cower in the FV while his comrades had rushed out to fight the fascist foe, Rykov picked himself up and charged out into the dark grey sky as the Centurions opened fire, in the shellshock that followed the volley, Rykov was thinking of only one thing.

His family, he wouldn’t allow the cruel Hogsweatians to take little Ivan to be consumed by the cannibalistic savages, nor would he allow them to fulfil their animal pleasures with his beloved Dunya, he would charge out and fight for his family because if he did this, Nikolai would see his family safe, Nikolai always did, in as far back as Rykov could remember, Nikolai had never done any wrong.

Stepanov squinted into the distance. He had assumed that the dust kicked up had been the Kriegos on manouvres - he smiled as he thought of the boys in Artillery targeting them just for fun. It had never occured to him that they may be doing something, until the great roar that smashed the skies into so many decibels. He had been trained to deal with this situation in a calm way but it was extremely hard when he was under fire from an unknown amount of tanks, from unknown angles. They had caught him with his pants down. He swore that it would not happen again. Meanwhile, alarm bells where rushing in the bunker as the soldiers inside took cover. Some rushed outside to the Milan post to bring the heavy anti-tank launchers inside. While his crew took up positions on the twenty-five millimetre gun and the fifty calibre he picked up the radio to HQ and dialed the number.

"Bunker sixtytwoB reporting enemy fire from unknown angles... shell power estimate one hundred twenty millimetre, 135 millimetre, 155 millimetre. Most likely 1two0millimetre. No infantry yet - "

A scream from the gun and the rattle of the autocannon signalled that enemy infantry where, in actuality, attacking.

"Sir, enemy infantry. estimate a battalion on our position." the gunner reported.

Stepanov added "Enemy infantry are assaulted. Estimating a battalion on our position. Need assistance." The gunshots from the bunker rang out further as the other bunker next to them, sixtytwo C, and sixtytwo A began to open fire. The redoubt's AT guns and the Artillery Bunker's also began to attack, their cannons roaring with anger at the assault that had been made.

The crackled answer came back at Stepanov. "Roger that Sergeant, hold your position. The whole line is being attacked. be patient."
Stepanov put the phone back on the hook, grabbed his rifle and helmet and ran into the pillbox room.

It didn't take long before the Division eighteen kilometres behind the line was moving into position. The tank's and motorised infantry streamed ahead to the west as the infantry moved to the east.

After the initial assault, the defenders realised that they were under attack and began to regroup. Fire was co-ordinated from bunker to bunker to redoubt, as the Artillery Guns and the AT guns from the bunker complex turned systematically against the Kriegos tanks. The twenty-five millimetre and fifty calibre machine guns, plus some sporadic rifle fire was laid down heavily on the advancing Kriegos soldiers. Both elements, anti tank and anti infantry, worked in co-operation via constant radio contact to methodically target the nearest targets and destroy them, shifting their fire forth to back.

Aircraft from "Resistance Forever" and "Retaliation Now" Squadrons where in the air, the fully armed twenty four Rafales splitting into flights of two and coming down on the Kriegos tanks with laser guided bombs, surface to air missiles, and 30millimetre cannon.

However, the surprise attack that had caught the Hogsweatian Defense Lines off guard had claimed eight bunkers, and some sixty two lives already. The Hogsweatians where now fully knowledgable of the current battlefield, constant information being relayed from GPS satellites that where monitoring the warzone, each bunker had one GPS relayer. information, fire paths, location of the enemy where all shared from bunker to bunker.

Rykov saw his comrades fall all around him, exploding in puffs of crimson while screams filled the air, chaos reigned, the darkest animal instincts of man had triumphed once again as men and women clashed on the battle field despite fighting for the same ideals. Rykov sent himself flying into a foxhole, two other comrades already occupying it, before curling into a foetal ball as another volley of tank blasts echoed throughout the muddy field, Rykov unfurled when his hearing came back and peaked over the ridge of his foxhole to have the mud around him shredded by 50 cal fire, great plumes of soil went up into the air while Rykov threw himself back into the muddy pit, he saw comrade Dervan stand up and shoulder his Sten, he let off about two bursts before catching a round to the face, he collapsed backwards into the foxhole, his once handsome face now a mangled ruin of blood and bone as brown mud began to mix the red.

Rykov screamed at the man opposite him in the foxhole, the mangled corpse was nearly too much and Rykov seriously considered getting up and leaving the refuge of the dirty foxhole, he was too transfixed on his mutilated comrade to even notice he was being shaken by Comrade Lurpak.

”Comrade! Comrade, snap out of it, think of glorious Nikolai and what we are fighting for, think of the glorious ideals we stand for! Dervan came into this willingly, yes, he was conscripted, we all were but we were only conscripted because we didn’t realise we wanted to fight for Nikolai!”

Despite all the explosions, the screams, the mangled body opposite him, Rykov still had the ability to use doublethink as he tricked himself into believing he wanted to fight despite being conscripted but thanks to doublethink, he didn’t get out of the hole to flee and he didn’t get shot in the back because of it, his mind was back on his family but even that broke away as he dreams of being congratulated by Nikolai himself swam into his head.

”Of course Comrade Lurpak, I shall remember that!”

”Yes, comrade! That is the spirit!”

And, despite all odds, despite Dervan being shot in the head moments earlier, Comrade Lurpak stood up and shouldered his sten gun just as a Centurion battle tank rumbled past, churning up mud as it made a desperate dash for the Hogsweatian fortifications.

Its gambit failed, a Milan rocket found it’s mark right between the turret and the hull, the hull rocked as the turret flew clean off in a shower of broken steel and flame, an explosion erupted from the gaping hole the turret once covered, flames licked around the tank as the crewmen screwed in agony as they were roasted alive. Rykov’s heart stopped, he waited a second before it started beating again as the turret came crashing down.

”Are you okay, comrade?” Lurpak asked.

Rykov was glad to have Lurpak in his squad, he was a good man who had an aura of confidence, and he had kept Rykov from dying once already, Rykov couldn’t help but feel warmth towards the man, then it happened, the fire began to lap at the turret and the flames found an ammo reserve, an explosion ensued and Lurpak was pitched backwards, a large piece of steel embedded in his rib cage, crimson began to leak into the foxhole as it formed rivers to the ocean of blood formed by Dervan’s life fluids.

Rykov was alone, screams of anguish echoed throughout the battlefield while gunfire chattered, the hiss of missiles fought with cannon blasts for the airwaves that provided their hideous shriek and momentous booms. Rykov thought back to his family, to Dunya, to Ivan and the simple but pleasant life that had been taken from him when he was conscripted.

No, he wasn’t conscripted, he volunteered.

Doublethink triumphed again.

In no time the Armour Brigade had moved into position behind the lines and with the promised assistance of two wings of Rafale's , the three hundred eighty tanks, eighty eight trucks, two hundred APC's, and hundred and fourteen mobile anti air artillery, with some 1120 infantry riding alongside them , they pushed over the hills on the west and around the Kriegos forces - with the intent of flanking them the Armour Brigade moved swiftly on the side of the Kriegos, the tanks leading the way as the APC's and trucks fired at stragglign infantry as they came down the back of the Kriegos assault. The Merkava's fired their cannons on the move, the three hundred and eighty tanks catching the Kriegos by surprise.

Hogsweatian "Pin and Counterattack Maneouvre" (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v224/HogsweatNS/TACTICA.png)

The aircraft continued their rain of death over the unfortunate conscripts. Pilot Adrik Vasilev would later comment on the massacre's that the Rafale's commited against the distraught and helpless Kriegos in his memos;
[i]We came down on them like angels. We could choose who died and who lived. It was strange. We had ultimate power. There was no need for radio discretion, although we still went strictly by protocol and applied to it. The Kiegos where so ill equipped they had no real technology that could counter our air to ground strikes. We smashed them. We tore them apart piece by piece, with our cannon and our laser guided bombs and our missiles. When they invaded we knew that our homeland had been violated and that we would resist fiercly. We did not expect the Kriegos to come so badly equipped, however.

Soldiers Patrol the Hillside on the 39th Parallel Defense Line (http://www.royal-navy.mod.uk/rn/data/gallery/full/989831555f.jpg)
Merkava's En Route to the 39th Parallel Defense Line (http://arisgawa.hp.infoseek.co.jp/labo/merkava.gif)
More soldiers on patrol (http://www.tridentmilitary.com/New-Photos7/1-64%20Soldiers.jpg)
More Merkava's advance (http://news.bbc.co.uk/olmedia/1615000/images/_1618162_tank-ap-150.jpg)
Soldiers in defensive positions (http://www.cedarland.org/t82.jpg)
APC's advance into the Kriegos lines (http://www.israeli-weapons.com/weapons/vehicles/armored_personnel_carriers/m-113/zeldas0.jpg)

Rykov peaked over the edge of the foxhole before being greeted, once again, but the chatter of machine gun fire, great plumes of mud were kicked into the air and Rykov went sprawling backwards – into the corpses, he landed between them, first Dervan’s corpse slumped down further into the mud and then Lurpak collapsed onto him, his open ribcage spilling life fluids onto him along with his heart and other vital organs tumbled onto the screaming Rykov, the poor soldier scrambled to the other side of the foxhole, his uniform was covered in a foul mix of mud and blood. Rykov’s heart thundered in his chest, the vital organ seemed to want to break through of its cage of bone before fleeing the battlefield; sadly Rykov didn’t have the same option.

Suddenly, a faint roar began to fade in, in the distance, ethereal thunder boomed and screams wafted across the battlefield, the bloodied Rykov put his head over the hole – no machine gun fire this time – and his jaw dropped as he saw the column of Merkavas advancing through the flank of the Kriegos lines, the distant blast quickly became a very close and very real noise, the shellshock began to settle in and Rykov put hands to ears under his rimmed helmet, the cheap fabrics of his uniform still found the time to itch despite being covered in mud and the crimson fluid, Rykov was about to think of his family but the train of thought disappeared as a Merkava tank tread churned up the mud directly next to the foxhole.

Rykov didn’t breathe; he could see just enough to notice tanks cannon swivel and loose a shell, the end of the barrel erupted in flames as shell shock set in, the ringing in his ears brought a sense of helplessness. Rykov could do absolutely nothing against the tank…but he had a vague feeling, that, seeing as Rykov knew Kriegorgrad had the best military in the world, they should have some anti tank weaponry, because Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov said they had an amazing army and, because Nikolai said so, they did but still, it was odd that the most advanced army in the world was being beaten back by inferior numbers.

It must be a mistake.

Doublethink eliminated the heretical thought and Rykov never knew it existed.

Rykov felt fear build up inside him, he was scared that the fascists would clamber out of that tank, capture him and take him back to their evil homeland, filled with dark foundries and forges where people were oppressed with an evil tyrant as a leader. Above all though, Rykov feared being taken away from his homeland, unable to defend his family and his glorious leader, Nikolai Fedorenkov.

Rykov then heard another distant rumble, for a while, Rykov cowered in the bloody hole, for he thought the rumble was that of more Merkavas, thankfully, he was disillusioned of this as the Merkava standing sentry over the foxhole exploded in a brilliant display of blackened steel and bright flames, Rykov heard a loudspeaker ring out.

”All Kriegos soldiers, retreat to the Centurions, immediately!”

Rykov visibly sagged, those was perhaps the most draining moments of his life, both emotionally and physically but at least it was over, wave 2 was here to relieve the beleaguered men of the first as the cannons of the Centurions fired again, a lethal volley grinding into the exposed flank of the Hogsweatian tanks which quickly began to return fire, both sides exchanged cannon fire but in the end, the superior numbers, if not superior quality, of the second wave began to tell.

Rykov looked up and noticed a blackened Hogsweatian crewmen sprawled out in the mud near him, he could see his teeth and saw they weren’t jagged and pointy, nor were they covered in grime, nor were they covered in the blood of children and for a moment, Rykov was completely dumbfounded, something was seriously wrong, Nikolai Fedorenkov himself had said that the Hogsweatians had jagged, yellowed teeth stained with the blood of children but it was not so, perhaps this Hogsweatian had his teeth claimed by the flames – or perhaps Nikolai Fedorenkov had done the unthinkable: lied.

No, that couldn’t be true, Nikolai said it, therefore it must be true, when Rykov blinked, he opened his eyes to see yellowed teeth and bloodied lips.

Doublethink.

Radio chatter filled the communications as the first, then second, then third Merkava's exploded, sending shrapnel and metal flying. As the swift moving convoy came to a halt, the training and level headedness of the Hogsweatian Army kicked in and the Convoy moved around the three wrecks, as the Merkava's turrets turned. Radio communications where constant, and the tanks worked together; two tanks would partner, pick a target, both fire, then move to the next when the first was destroyed. Simultaneous fire was the thought for the day. The infantry in the APC's kept moving; although the support companies in the Trucks moved too they fired Mistrals and 20mm anti material guns on the move. The whole convoy was still on the go, travelling in a retreat curve back to their own lines.

Meanwhile, the Artillery Brigade assigned to the Corps had set up position behind the Armoured Brigade, and at the same moment opened fire at the still Centurions. 420 155m Guns and 130 MRLS opened fire at the same time, in a barrage against the Kriegos tank lines. Meanwhile, the 100 AVRE vehicles of the Artillery Brigade powered forward on the Western Flank of the Armoured Brigade, moving seemingly away from the Kriegos tanks.

However, on the Eastern Flank the Infantry Brigade and Battle Brigade where in position and they moved towards the battle. They linked up with the AVRE's, 3km from the retreating Merkava's and halted. In total, 375 tanks and 50 AVRE's from the Infantry and Battle Brigades where massed on the side of the Merkava's. They could see the Centurions via their GPS but did nothing except stay still. The infantry and APC's from the Infantry/Battle Brigades retreated to the bunker line.

The Merkava's had taken hits in their manevoure, leaving about 26 tanks dead in the mud. As they had completed their turn, the APC's and Trucks turned away and took their infantry to the trench line; The Merkava's wheeled round to face the Centurions, both sides still shooting. The Merkava's went straight at the Centurion's lines, startling the Kriegos tanks. While the Merkava's attacked the 375/50 armoured units on the Kriegos flanks moved straight for the side of the Centurion's, as they came in range firing their guns.

That was not all. Adrik Vasilev's squadron had been in the air, and where moving with speed towards the battle. Adrik gritted his teeth, and smiled as he came in range. His Rafale, with the others, drooped to a fourty five degree angle and soared straight down on the Kriegos, cannon, guided bombs, and missile firing.

Envelop Flank (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v224/HogsweatNS/TACTICB.png)

Rykov was in mid-run the bombs dropped, directly on top of the vulnerable Centurions, ammo link lit up and exploded, many a tank became a charred, burnt out hull, a few seconds later and the thunder started, the 135mm ETC guns of the seemingly retreating Hogsweatian Merkavas tore through the Centurion’s armour, the high caliber ensured there were no “half-dead” crewmen, when the tanks got hit, they went up in smoke and flame, the infantry of the first and second wave had set up small pockets of resistance, men running from hole to hole, trying to throw grenades at the superior tanks, half the time they were ripped apart by machinegun fire before they even got to the next hole.

Rykov heard a blast and then saw black as all sound disappeared from the world and he felt like he was falling for eternity…

Rykov slowly awoke to the chatter of gunfire, the chink-chink of ammo being fed into a Vickers gun and the screams of men, he opened his eyes to a see a figure stooped over him.

”Comrade! You took a nasty blast there, Nikolai knows how it happened but you survived a fascist tank shell landing next to you! Anyway, I’m Comrade Winston, what is your name Comrade?”

Rykov was a bit stunned, he had no idea what happened but he survived a tank blast? Rykov quickly got to his feet and felt around his person for the MKII Sten gun.

“Oh of course, sorry Cormade!” Winston said heartily before producing the Sten, a bit mud covered but still operational from the looks of it.

”Thanks Comrade, what is the situation?”

”Well, a lot of resistance has been met, the advance has lost its momentum so we are pinned down, we are waiting for the third wave, apparently they are bringing artillery to destroy the fascist scum, also, we should get some equipment to swat down those tiresome gnats in the air soon enough!”

For a while, Rykov squatted in the foxhole with the Vickers gun barking at everything that came within its arc of fire, occasionally loosing a fruitless burst from his Sten at a tank, watching his fellow soldiers running from hole to hole only to get punched down by a high caliber round, then a faint noise began to enter from the distance, the nondescript noise began to change into the distinct roar of a jet engine, Rykov instinctively rolled up into a ball but got a weak punch from Winston.

”Comrade! You fool, you have no need to fear those planes!”

”Why not Comrade, won’t they rain death as they have done throughout the battle?”

”The fascist planes might do – but not ours, ours will rain but only on the devils cowering in the bunkers and within their fancy tanks!”

Rykov looked up to see a squadron of MIG-21’s (http://mm.iit.uni-miskolc.hu/Data/Winx/gallery/mig-21.gif) swoop overhead, the jet engines whining as the aircraft protested about the speeds it was being push to, the MIGs, modified to take 9M133 Kornet anti tank missiles, the jets returned and unleashed their savage payload upon the unfortunate Merkavas below, resulting explosions lit the underbellies of the victorious but low flying MIGs.

Just as the tanks were recovering, the artillery started, in the distance, great guns boomed, a whistle followed, which was the precursor for a great fountain of mud flying in the air accompanied by shrapnel and flame, the grand explosion was quickly mirrored by another explosion…then another, however, not all the explosions found their mark however, Rykov saw a foxhole, similar to the one in which he was squatted, complete with Vickers and squad firing away, have a stray shell land in it. A great plume of mud went up and the squad was gone, simply gone.

Rykov shouldered his Sten and opened fire on a nearby Merkava, a Bren gun followed suit and the heavy gun chugged away at the embodiment of cold death, Rykov kept firing even when the Merkava’s turret began to swivel to face the unfortunate Proletarian soldiers, Rkyov’s heart stopped, he didn’t breathe, he could almost hear the shell being loaded into the Merkava, the dull clank as they closed the firing chamber…

Rykov was sent sprawling into bottom of the foxhole; he clambered back up when the shellshock wore off, to see a smouldering wreck of a Merkava, the turret had collapsed inwards, the cannon barrel was forced upwards in a twisted mass of steel, Rykov thought about proffering up thanks to the unseen gunner far away in the hills.

Rykov thought against it.

Instead he thanked Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov, for it must’ve been his divine hand that saw Rykov safe.

It was almost sloppy of the Hogsweatians to leave their anti-air artillery behind - the mistake was corrected and sufficient anti air support moved behind the assault in the form of the Machbets, their 30mm cannon and stinger missile launchers scanning the sky for more threats. The Merkava attack was closing in on the Kriegos, machine guns rattling and cannons bursting against the respective targets.

The artillery rained down on the tanks - destroying a few, but the artillery mass was rather innacurate and the Merkava's pushed on. By this time the infantry where in position and ready in the defense line.

The planes where in the air - they did not expect that the Kriegos would use artillery or airplanes. They had underestimated the enemy. That would be another mistake that would have be to corrected. Retaliation Now Squadron zoomed over the battlefield, escorted by Resistance Forever squadron. They came over the artillery positions, broadcast to them by the GPS, and began the odd exercise. Resistance Forever dropped their extra fuel tanks over the artillery positions.. then Retaliation Now dropped their payloads of Napalm Bombs after the Fuel Tanks had hit the ground.. Both squadrons launched a few missiles and then sped back to base.

Comrade Gunner Engineer Orwell slapped another shell into the breach before putting hands to ears, the position on the hill was excellent and commanded a view of the whole battlefield, Orwell looked up to see some rather shiny planes – too shiny – swoop overhead, those planes were definitely not Kriegos, Kriegorgrad didn’t have the pointless tradition of making equipment gleam the gleam that the bourgeoisie loved so, Kriegos equipment was meant to stay clean but it didn’t need that horrific shine one found in corporate, fascist armies such as Hogsweat’s.

Then the whistling came, first off, Orwell thought nothing of it, until he craned his neck up to see black dots in the sky that rapidly grew in size as they neared the ground then, at about 50 yards, they opened up, sprayed half of the artillery group with a brown liquid, for a second Orwell didn’t understand what was going on, then his face lost all colour and he screamed.

”RUN!”

But alas, it was too late, the bombs plummeted and over half of the artillery regiment was engulfed in licking flames, men screamed as the fires held the crewmen in it’s deadly embrace, men stopped screaming when the fires reached the ammo dumps, great explosions rocked the hillside and only half of the equipment could be saved from the cruel strike. After a minute of frantic work, the guns were back up, a 100 yards down from where their compatriots had been slain, and they were opening fire on the bunkers…155mm and 125mm cannons pounding at tanks…however, the 155mm guns’ main targets were the bunkers and redoubts…the final push was coming soon.

-----

Rykov peaked over the edge of the foxhole toward the flaming hill, god knows why it was on fire but seconds later, a grand series of explosions caused the field to shudder as over 3 tonnes of ammunition was immolated. Rykov was beginning to panic but all was not lost…he heard the thunder in the distance…he spied a great number of Centurions and FV432s in the distance and Comrade Winston was already dishing out orders to move up when the armour caught up…

** Tag **

Tendrils of smoke leaked out of the military base, hinting at movement. Hazy yellow lights illuminated the grounds, setting an eerie backdrop for what was to become a large event. Very large indeed.

Kyar Miiska sat in his large leather chair, his mouth wrapped around a large cigar. A thick, rich aroma wafted gently throughout the room. A large man flew through the door, panting. "Sir, it seems we have been called to arms..."

Miiska pushed up his glasses slightly, his tan skin wrinkling on his forehead. "Hm... Very well... Call together an initiative of means... We need to set up a general plan of attack..."

Kyar looked back down at his paper, and paid no heed to the soldier's salute. 'This should be very interesting... Very interesting indeed.'

Freeport Military District

All across the Freeport Military District, power armor troops assembled into their units and began boarding Maurader Mk.II dropships as Trotsky Aerospace Fighter Drones and Type 22 "Twin-Tail" gunships patrolled the skies, awaiting their embarkation orders.

Socialist Union tanks began loading into top-mounted droppods on top of the Maurader Mk.II dropships, marking that war was imminent between the NHSR and Kriegorgrad, whom refused a serious effort by the USR to end the war between Kriegorgrad and Hogsweat.

Operation Aurora Australis was hours from occurring.

Operation AA numbers [As of February 01, 2005]:

Nine power armor divisions.
Six armor divisions
600 Maurader Mk.II dropships
200 Type 22 "Twin-Tail" Gunships
500 Trotsky Fighter Drones

OOC: They're nowhere, this thread and it's outcome are ignored.

OOC: Ilek Vaad, I'd like positions on where your fleet actually are? would you mind marking it on on MS Paint or something? Now, where were we.

IC: The Merkava's where clearly outnumbered, and as the momentum fell the order to retreat was given. The some remaining five hundred Merkava's and Fourty two Sho'ts retreated to a wedge formation and drove backwards, firing their weapons accurately and deadly. The formation was mediocre at best but it gave a fearful impression. Sometimes a tank or two slipped out of position because of the many foxholes but the tanks had the impression the infantry would not pursue them and instead wait for the Sattelite-spotted reinforcements. FN-FALS and FN-Minimi's where positioned on the trenches, waiting silently for the impending attack.

1 Kilometre Behind the Lines, Artillery Position 62B
Gunner Sergeant Tekelodeh peeked through his binoculars. He could spot the retreating tanks and the infantry fiddling with their weapons in the trenches. The brown mud had taken over the battlefield, whether turfed up from craters or dug from foxholes. He lowered them as the rumbling of a truck came behind him. Surely enough the truck had arrived, and he swivelled round and instinctively saluted. The driver hopped out, his red-star emblazoned helmet bouncing as he made the foot jump.

"Comrade, I have ammunition here for you."

"We already have alot of ammunition. We are pounding the Kriegos scum into retreat." Tekelodeh announced. "Their artillery was ripped apart by our boys in the sky."

"Very well comrade, but I have different ammunition." The Driver passed him a notice, reading;
BY ORDER OF HIKOM, UWAHSDE
You are to use all available resources, whether they be conventional, nuclear, chemical, or biological, to stop the Kriegos advance.

The gunner nodded. "Very well comrade, I will take your shells. Unload 'em." The driver turned back and the co driver helped him unload the shells. The gunner turned around again and shouted;

"'alright men, now's our time. Get on your gasmasks and load your shells. Fire on my order at my co-ordinate."

Resistance Now squadron was on another run, their last as the inefficient Rafale'. Soon they would be replaced with the homegrown WeK-32 Interceptor (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=394643). They came straight over the enemy infantry concentration, dropped, and strafed them endlessely, belts of cannon ammo falling from the sky. Pulling up again, they switched to bombs and speared away, the artillery unit in mind.

[I was thinking at this point we could have an air duel with a stuck rafale and a Mig 21. Your troops could see the rafale fall from a "lucky hit" and that would be a boost to morale.. god knows, you need it;)]

The troops, getting word from their mouthpieces, fumbled for their gasmasks and attached them loosely. This however, was just a drill, but only they would know it.

Thud. Screeeeecch... The first shell fell. Thud, screeeeecch... the second.. One after another, moving along on the infantry, the anthrax shells falling from the sky and smacking into the ground, tails in the air, like a crashed plane shot down by anti air fire. However, as the concussion activated the shell, they released a deadly gas...

Itching gas.

It was just a scare. However, the Kriegos would not realise it until later, that in fact the deadly anthrax was just in fact a homegrown itching gas, the sort used by children to irritate their friends. The world would wait. Anthrax, anthrax, anthrax...

Rykov bellowed a warning but it was too late – the shell buried itself in the mud, right next to the foxhole and to everyone’s surprise, a white powder exploded into the air, at first Rykov thought flour but his propaganda addled brain searched for a more reasonable solution, then, from the endless archives of stored propaganda, the word rushed to mind: Anthrax Rykov immediately panicked as the white dust settled on Rykov, who dare not breathe for fear of inhaling the deadly weapon of biological origins but alas, it was too late, he had already sucked in more than a few of the deadly spores and he felt fear grip him in its cold vice, he tried to struggle and overcome it but in the end, human instinct overtook propaganda instilled courage and Rykov curled up into a ball, his comrades looking puzzled as Rykov cowered.

”Comrade, what is wrong?” one of them asked.

Rykov unfurled from his ball and looked up with tearful eyes.

”Comrades, we have not been struck down by a bullet, nor a blade, nor any other honourable weapon, we Comrades, have been struck down by anthrax!”

The rest of the soldiers felt a wash of panic flow over them but thankfully, their indoctrinated bravery held firm.

”Well Comrade, if we have been infected with this “Anthrax”, we mustn’t have long to live, therefore, I propose we make a grand push and slay as many of the Hogsweatian dogs before our sickness strikes us down!”

Rykov stood up, ashamed of his fear before saying.

”Yes, you are right Comrades, I do not know what came over me…it’s just the thought of…I am sorry Comrades.” He cast an ashamed look about the group who looked back sympathetically.

”Fear not Comrade, we all have our weak times, now comrades! Forward! Forward for victory and forward for the motherland!”

With that, the squad surged over the top of the hole, lugging their Vickers between two people, the squad sprinted across the kill zone, slowly but surely, other squads picked themselves up out of the mud and began to charge with Rykov’s squad, after long, the rather large remnants of the first and second wave were charging across the muddy, soaked landscape.

Then, as if sent by Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov himself, in the distance, a swarm of FV432 APC’s began to trickle over the horizon…eventually forming a massive tide of armour…Rykov felt courage and hope build up inside him as the squad charged to their death or glory…

OOC: The first two parts of this are posts from the OHS board.

IC:

Hallad was prepared to send "peacekeepers" to the Hogsweatian outpost to ensure stability in the area. The Worker's State weas all but a hairs length from becoming totally committed to fighting Kriegorgrad. 1,500 men from the 1st Republican Guard division was told to assemble at the Al-Harad Naval Base. With 6,000 logistical reserves, they would sail for the Hogsweatian land.

The escorting fleet itself was small. Five Deliverance class transport craft, a single Insurgent Battlecruiser, two Beta class SSNs, and a Gepard class frigate. This was simply to get the men there. The Insurgent would remain in Hogsweat with the Deliverance transports. The two Betas would stalk Hogsweat waters incase any Kriegos ships decieded to make a foolish move.

The fleet would take off in three days, as soon as the men assembled.

* * *

The soldiers were now mobilized. They boarded thier ships, and the fleet slowly creeped out of the port. The voyage to Karnobayl would take 28 hours, Just over a day.

One of the Betas stayed four nautical miles ahead of the fleet, scouting the area and relaying information to the Insurgent. The massive Insurgent was the clear flagship of the group. Although, this was hardly a battle fleet.

* * *

The Deliverance transports pulled up just outside of a reletively small town. They went right up to the beach, all five of them. It was a glorious sight, the huge vessels pulling up to shore. The rest of the fleet could be seen in the distance, the Insurgent could be made out a mile away, if not more.

The hull doors on the transport craft opened. Men immediatly began to march out. Tanks and trucks followed the procession of men, each with a large standard. On each standard was the Halladi flag and the divisional flag. The exedus took two and a half hours, and men began setting up a command centre on the beach and the town.

* * *

A regiment of MiG-28 Flounders, seventy-two planes, were being tranported in 30 An-225 Cossacks. They were taking off from a military base outside of Erse. It would take two trips to get them all there, each trip taking about five hours.

The order rang out throughout the trenches, echoing from Major-General Toshe Saiyan's megaphone.

"All Soldiers, fix bayonets and prepare to repel enemy assault."

In one great movement, like on automated machine, the riflemen fixed the bayonets to their FN FALs in perfect drill timing. The gleaming blades of the rifles would soon become dirty in the midst of battle.

"All Soldiers, fix Sporks and prepare to engage"

The soldiers fixed the 4" spork to their sidearm, the USP Tactical, as a mini bayonet. It was no joke - the spork was immensly sharp and could draw blood if neccessary.

As the Kriegos conscripts advanced, the Merkava's of the Division plus two hundred reserve T72's cut straight through after the infantry, cutting them off from the armour support. The last deadly duel was in place - armour versus armour, infantry versus infantry. Bravo and Charlie divisions where also moving up behind Alpha Division - since the beginning of the battle Alpha Division had being doing all the fighting - but now if it turned bad Bravo and Charlie would be on standby to assist.

General Saiyan, 52nd Army Corp peered through his field binoculars. He watched the Kriegos forces advance steadily into the battlefield.
"Determined, aren't they?" His staff nodded. "Well, we'll show 'em steel. Lay down Machine gun fire across.. these paths. Tell the men to prepare themselves for combat."

Seconds later the machine guns cut up a cross pass zig zag through the charging Kriegos forces while the Merkava's and their anti-air friends lined up to engage.

Rykov’s legs began to tire but the battle rage allowed him to ignore it, the rage and hatred against such a despicable foe, against the evil Hogsweatian dogs, Rykov noticed that a large amount of the third wave, in fact nearly all of the third wave were equipped with Enfield’s, bayonets under slung, it certainly looked more potent than the stens with crudely attached bayonets, Rykov yelled over to a soldier running parallel to him.

”Comrade, why the Enfield?”

”Why not Comrade? High Command told us that stens were for cowards!”

Something in Rykov’s mind clicked, or, it would’ve done if the fusillade of machinegun fire didn’t smash into the charging lines of infantry, it was truly a horrific sight, hundreds of men were being butchered as the high calibre rounds cracked open rib cages, tore off head, severed limbs and generally left men screaming in pools of blood and mud, despite all the death and horror, Rykov pushed on confidently, the party instilled courage kicked in and he felt his limbs gather an unnatural strength.

Must be only fifty yards now!

Rykov was renewed with – what must’ve been – Nikolai given vigour and zeal, he allowed his eyes to flick upwards to the trenches from their watch of his mud-covered boots. Rykov glanced at the constantly bobbing sten gun with its attached bayonet, it certainly looked peculiar – but easy to handle, one voice bade him to rip apart the Hogsweatian hounds while a lesser, quieter voice told him to leave the kill zone, to go and find his family but the first voice had years of propaganda and Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov’s word on its side whereas the second had nothing but the few remnants of humanity in Rykov on its side.

Propaganda won. Rykov kept charging but his comrades were dying in a crescendo of bloodshed, men fell here and there, screaming, some yelling out prayers to Nikolai, begging for some miracle – or an act of mercy – but nonetheless Rykov kept running.

I’m nearly there! Only ten yards!

By now, the bodies of Rykov’s comrades littered the battlefield, the dark brown of mud was struggling to hold its colour against the onslaught of crimson, in certain spots, the brown was already giving way, allowing a sick fusion of blood and mud, as if mirroring the highs and lows of human emotion, the red being reminiscent of passion, toil and accomplishment while the mud showing the past mistakes of capitalism and the evils brought with it.

Five yards.

Rykov landed in the concrete trench with a thud, swept his left and right with his enraged eyes, he spied Hogsweatians with shouldered rifles, calm Slavic faces were a far cry from what he had been told of Hogsweatians, Rykov was told that they were horrific, hunched creatures with yellowed teeth, black eyes and grey skin, not the normal features of the men just down the trench, for a moment, Rykov thought he saw Kriegos soldiers manning the trench but he quickly realised that was madness, not to mention heresy, to call his fellow men similar to that of the Hogsweatian barbarians, for a moment, the Hogsweatians’ features drifted between that of slavs and that of the propaganda instilled images.

Propaganda won.

Rykov shouldered his sten, lined up his shots and let loose, the weapon bucked and protested as the full auto abused the cheap weapon, blood oozed from the Hogsweatians’ wounds as Rykov’s weapon clacked empty. Rykov felt fear well up within him as he saw a survivor whom he’d missed swivel and take aim with his rifle, Rykov felt time slow down, his heart hammered inside his chest like a ticking bomb that would explode when the rifle round entered his rib cage and pierced the fragile heart inside its cage of bone.

Rykov saw the muzzle flash and heard the snap of gunfire as Comrade Winston carry the man to the ground, he’d just leapt from the top of the trench and bore down on the man, the Hogsweatian fired his weapon once before it was tossed away in the blurring melee that followed, Rykov couldn’t keep up with the hand to hand battle but at the end of it, he saw Winston hauling himself off the corpse who’s neck had been ripped open with Winston’s combat knife.

”Come Comrade! We have much to do…we must cleanse these trenches of the Hogsweatian filth! We will drive these DOGS off of our land!”

By now, more Kriegos conscripts were leaping into the trench until a large gathering of men was in the trench. Rykov slapped a new clip into his sten and then, by some unspoken order, the conscripts formed two huge groups and stormed down opposite directions of the trench…

"Comrades! The Enemy are upon us! Regroup, regroup!"

As the Kriegos jumped into the trenches, the conscripts swarming the concrete dugouts and ditches the Hogsweatians abandoned their machine gun positions and immediately began to fallback to the central redoubt. Every so often in hot spots of the trenches where combat was fierce, soldiers had overturned boxes, set up machine guns and other various weapons in a blockade and established checkpoints. Around a squad held each checkpoint, while the main groups retreated back to the central redoubt and the firing bunker to establish proper defenses.

The floors of the main bunkers where stained with crimson red, the dark blood staining the concrete of the defense lines, managing to seep into every corner as medics worked frantically to save the lives of soldier’s mortally wounded. Machine guns and rifles chattered, the screams of battle echoing throughout the trenches as men shouted orders, battle cries, or death woes.

Rykov felt nothing but bloodlust and hate boil up inside him, the raw loathing brought on by the Hogsweatian soldiers and what the evil dogs fought for, he was part of the one of the squads working its way inwards, towards the main redoubt where the Hogsweatian hounds seemed to be retreating to, Rykov felt no remorse as he charged down the trench, squashed in between the shoulders of two of his comrades, the front row of the horde, packed in like sardines between the confines of the trench, bellowing as they fired off weapons of all sorts, sten guns, pistols, Enfield rifles and even brens were fired, although without the slightest hint of accuracy as the swarm charged towards one of the final Hogsweatian barricades separating the vengeful conscripts from the Hogsweatian commanders no-doubt cowering in the main redoubt.

Rykov felt the hard impacts of his boots slapping the concrete, sending jolts up his leg as comrades to his left and right fell down, jets of blood spraying in their wake which were quelled as a fresh row trampled over, the zeal of the conscripts could be felt from a mile away and then it happened, that moment when the waves hit the jagged rocks of a cliff, the men poured over the barricades, many falling prey to slanted bayonets and point blank gunfire that threw shadows across the maddened features of the Kriegos soldiers but soon, the weight of numbers began to tell and one by one, a Hogsweatian trooper fell here and there, arms often flailing before disappearing beneath a sea of stabbing bayonets.

After about half a minute of intense fighting, the barricade was Kriegos…however, unlike the rest of his comrades, who raced ahead to finish the fight, Rykov waited until the horde has stomped on ahead until he squatted down over the bayonet stabbed corpse of a Hogsweatian soldier, a small piece of beautiful colour among the blood, khaki and grey of the trench, in the soldier’s hand was clasped a photo, overtaken by intense curiosity, Rykov pried open the still warm fingers and looked at the blood spattered photo.

In it, was pictured a smiling man, his arm around his wife and two children, a boy and a girl, in front of a picturesque cottage, the smiling man in the photo was a far cry from the man lain on the ground before Rykov, who’s face was a mask of pain, coated in a thin layer of his own blood, Rykov was entranced by the photo, all of it, the cottage defied what Rykov had been told of Hogsweatian homes, the children were not misshapen little imps like the party told him, the women did not have talons for nails, then it hit him.

The party was a lie. It always was a lie.

But if the party was and always has been a lie…Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov is a liar.

It defied everything he had ever been told, it defied his beliefs but it was there, clear as day and the scary thing was, doublethink didn’t quash it, don’t think it didn’t try, it did, Rykov felt the process working in his head but in the face of such an obvious and stark truth, even doublethink faltered.

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, Rykov was truly free, he was free to think what he wanted, and to think, his salvation had come from one of the bloodiest battles Kriegorgrad had ever taken part in, Rykov looked down at the corpse, gone were the yellowed teeth, evil eyes and grey skin, before him, was a man not unlike himself, Rykov felt the freedom of thought wash through him like a warmth when one sat by a roaring fire.

Rykov heard a mighty crash and his head swivelled to take in the expanse of the trench, his eyes traced the bloody path the horde of Kriegos infantry had taken - there must’ve been at least ten Kriegos corpses to every Hogsweatian – until his eyes came across it, a Centurion battle tank was rammed between Kriegos horde and the final barricade, for a second, it took Rykov’s ears a few seconds to adjust but he heard it, a authoritative voice rang out through the trenches:

”The war is over, a ceasefire has been negotiated, all Kriegos forces return at once to base camp, just outside the quarantined zone, carry your wounded, that is all.”

The voice stopped and a cheap, tinny victory music washed over the confused and shocked conscripts, it took some of them minutes to come down from the battle rage and many were stunned beyond belief but it came as no surprise to Rykov, one would expect the party to do something like this should he have the cranial capacity to do so, Rykov cast a look to the downcast sky and saw the clouds part, as if the mist that had fogged his mind for so long was finally lifted. Rykov finally saw clearly.

Hours later, back at the camp, early evening had settled in and the group sat atop crudely cut logs around a crackling fire, an image repeated many times over the makeshift camp, faces sullen were exaggerated by the dark shadows, brought on by the reddish light that accompanied the flames, wood burnt and crackled as the squad sat in complete silence, they were confused and shocked.”How could Nikolai have been wrong about this?” was the unspoken question, finally, Nikolai broke the uneasy silence.

”Comrades…”

All the heads perked up, Winston’s included.

“…I have some startling news, I found a photograph on a Hogsweatian soldier, it was clasped in his hand and on it…well…you’d best see for yourselves.”

Rykov passed the photo to Winston who passed it on to the soldier sat next to him, soon enough the photo had taken a full circle and came back to Rykov, startled gasps and panicked glances were thrown about whenever the photo was seen by its holder.

”See Comrades.”

”But it must be propaganda, it must be fraudulent!” a soldier asked.

”Does one clasp to a piece of cheap propaganda when one is about to die?”

A silence followed before Winston shattered it like a sledgehammer through cheap factory glass.

”Remember, we aren’t talking about a good honest man of Kriegorgrad, we are talking about an evil dog of Hogsweat!”

”Are we? Does an “evil dog” hold his children and wife with a warm smile, does an “evil dog” try and hold onto his family with his last dying breath? No Comrades…I’m afraid this goes much deeper than that. I must tell you the truth about the party, our beloved Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov is nothing more than a lia –“

Nikolai stopped mid-sentence as dark red began to run down the front of his fatigues, another three gunshots followed, the man wielding the luger stood in a dark brown trench coat, his face that of stone crafted into contempt, another two gunshots and Rykov tumbled forward, still gasping for breath, the man in the trench coat stepped over the log and placed a heavy boot on Rykov’s back before taking aim with his luger and blowing the back of Rykov’s head out, a red river trailing away from his half empty skull, brain matter accompanied bone down the macabre passage to the ocean.

Winston had his sten gun aimed the murderer.

”What in Nikolai’s name did you just do! TRAITOR!”

The man in the trench coat calmly lowered his luger and proffered a look of patience towards Winston.

”When a man of COMSEC murders, he does not become a traitor, for when a ma of COMSEC murders, he murders a traitor. Yes Comrade, that is true, Rykov here was not only a traitor but he plotted to bring down Nikolai himself by helping the Ilek Vaadians.”

For a while, the entire squad previous confusion was given new vitality and a dumbstruck silence followed.

”But we were fighting Hogsweatians Comrade of COMSEC.”

”No Comrade, we were not fighting the Hogsweatians, we were fighting the Ilek Vaadians, they were the real soldiers, we were always fighting the Ilek Vaadians, it’s just that the deceiving cowards of Ilek Vaad in fact tricked us into thinking that this was a Hogsweatian defence line, in fact, days before our glorious strike came, the Ilek Vaadians pushed the Hogsweatians out of the trench and took it for their own. Comrade Leader Nikolai Fedorenkov knew this and immediately sought to aid our Hogsweatian allies but unfortunately, due to the aforementioned deception of the Vaadians, the strike force believed they were fighting Hogsweatians, it was Rykov who helped perpetuate this lie!”

In any other nation, the blatant lie would’ve been laughed or scoffed at. Not so in Kriegorgrad, the soldiers around the fire simply made noises of acknowledgment and went back to looking deeply into the crackling flames, Winston, however, being the loyal party member, craned his neck and spat on the corpse of his battlefield friend before adding “scum” with a venomous tone.
Within minutes, after the corpse had been dragged away by other men in trench coats, the entire squad had forgotten the COMSEC member’s explanation, all they remembered was that they fought Ilek Vaadians and that that was the only thing that mattered. It is strange, some would say horrific, that one’s memory could be changed and distorted to suit the party’s tastes after one well told lie.

It didn’t matter to the party though, all that mattered was that the public was poised to hate Ilek Vaad, thanks to clever media setup that the party ran, there were a few rules to it and among those, a particular emphasis placed on one, the rule is: adaptability. A simply word but it meant a lot, no publications would need to be changed, because in all of them, the enemy was only referred to “as the enemy” and despite pictures being plentiful, they were useless when it came to identification, they were doctored to be evil shattered husks of human beings that resembled no race in particular, therefore, the party could claim the beasts were whoever the party wanted them to be.

The party controlled the everything, the people controlled nothing, Nikolai controlled the party, Nikolai would never make the wrong choice, nor would he make the people unhappy, nor would he burden them with such thoughts as “individuality” or “identity,” he was even kind enough to take the weight of free thought off of their shoulders.

Everyone was happy. Communism worked. Wasn’t that all that mattered?

*claps furiously* exelent work! One of the best RP's ive read!

Woo! Thanks man.

OOC: I sent you a telegram Einhauser, thanks for reading and welcome to Nation States.

OOC: don't poke the rottweiler.