NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: Essentially, I'm having a civil war. I've already contacted some people to help on different sides, but if you want to join, just say so and I'll consider it. I don't want a huge amount of people in my nation.]

“Here you are sir, today’s economy reports.” Major Albert Dowling handed an envelope to the Emperor. As his orderly, he often did more for the Emperor than the emperor himself did.

“Thank you Major” Emperor Ferdinand Joseph ripped open the envelope. Upon seeing the contents, his rage let loose.

“God damnit Major! The economy is down again!” He shouted.

“Yes…it’s been on a steady decline for two straight weeks.” Dowling replied.

“I already know that, damnit!” The Emperor of Inkana started pacing up and down his quarters.

“Maybe that decision to begin importing our precious minerals was a bad idea.” Major Dowling was a competent man; he would shine bright if he were not in the service of his majesty.

“No, that can’t be it. It’s the fault of the other nations of the world, they’re the ones bringing the prices so high, and Inkana can’t compete in the world economy in these conditions!” Many considered the Emperor to be an egomaniac; Dowling had known that from the start of his service to him.

“Well what do you plan to do, sir? Dowling already knew what his majesty’s answer would be, but he asked anyway.

“I’ll leave it be, it’ll get better soon.” The emperor mumbled.
“You’re probably right sir” Dowling said.

“Of course I’m right, I’m always right.” The Emperor’s ego got the best of him.

“Yes sir.” Dowling said, “It’s getting late, don’t you think you should go to bed?”

“Fabulous suggestion, Major Dowling, Good night.” With that, the Emperor put on his nightclothes, and lay in his bed.

“Good night sire, see you in the morning.” Dowling did the same.


It was close to midnight in Trieste. A black Manassas Sedan pulled up to a bunker on the outskirts of the James Edward Browing Stewart Military Academy. Out stepped James Stewart himself. He stepped into a dimly lit room, using a butane lighter, he found the light switch; as soon as he turned them on he was shocked to see three other men standing there. One of them stepped into the light.

“Hello Jeb.” Jeb was James’ nickname, short for J.E.B, his initials.

“Thomas, is that you?” Jeb was surprised to see his old comrade, now Defense Minister, in this room.

“Indeed it is.” Thomas Jackson said. Another man stepped into the light, one R.E. Lee, another Comrade; only this one had turned to Minister of External Affairs.

“Jeb, we called you here to discuss an important matter regarding Inkana.” Robert said.

“Who’s the other guy?” Jeb said, pointing to the other figure, masked in the darkness.
Thomas Jackson turned around. “Jeb, you remember Jebidiah Early right?”

“Jebidiah! How could I forget General Early?” He stuck his arm out.

“How are ya Jeb?” General Early said, taking Jeb’s hand.

“I’m getting old, but other than that, I’m fine” Jeb’s burly moustache moved when he smiled like that, his kids often teased him about it.
Thomas Jackson was not a man for small talk.

“Jeb, we called you here for a very important reason.” His eyes seemed to stare into Jeb’s very soul.

“And what reason would that be, Minister Jackson?” Jeb got a kick out of calling the former General ‘Minister’.

“Our “Beloved Emperor” is ruining the country, the economy is down, and prices are up everywhere, the country’s in a mess.” His eyes didn’t rest.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Jeb was confused, did Thomas mean that-- R.E.Lee cut his thought off.

“We want you to head the military forces.” He said

“Robert, I’m General-in-Chief of the Inkanan armed forces, I already head the military Forces.” Jeb was even more confused then before.

“Not the Imperial armed forces, the Armed Forces of the Confederate States of Inkana.” Robert set a certain tone when saying the name. Before Jeb could answer, Jebidiah Early spoke up.

“Jeb, for the good of the country, we need to fight the Emperor. He’s gone insane.” All three Men started at Jeb.

“Revolt against the Royal family? You’re mad!” Jeb was unsure if that was the right response.

“Jeb, we’ve already been assured that the southern 14 Provinces will go with us, if you join the cause, then a further 6 western ones will too!” Thomas Jackson said.

“I’m still not sure guys, what has James said about all this?” Jeb was talking about James L. Street, Inkanan Prime Minster.

“James can no longer be trusted, he has grown corrupt since leaving us and the army, he is a Royalist, along with my own son.” Robert said.

“Fitzgibbon has grown apart from you? That is truly sad Robert” Jeb said.

“Yes, but we must concentrate on the issue at hand.” Robert was never one for small talk either.
Jeb took a deep breath.

“Okay gentlemen, if it’s for the good of the country, where’s my officer’s saber?” Jeb cracked another of his famous grins.

Alexander Dmitriev sat on the front terrace of the small restaurant in Trieste, watching the various passerby through his dark sunglasses. It was an unusually warm day, even for this time of year in Inkana when the heat often became sweltering. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead and rolled down to the tip of his nose, before leaving its perch and falling to the concrete below, where it instantly vaporized.

Alexander grabbed hold of the cool glass in front of him and raised it to his lips, and allowed the refreshing liquid to soothe his parched throat. He set the glass down, and checked his watch. He unfolded the newspaper that sat in front of him, and opened it to the latest economic news. It was a grim sight. As he scanned the articles and stock quotes a man sat down across from him. Alexander did not look up, but addressed the man as he continued reading.

“Have you seen this today? The market’s in shambles. Good thing I sold.”

“Quite.”

The second man signaled the waitress, and ordered a glass of bourbon. He reached into his pocket and removed a cigarette, which he placed between his lips and lit with an aging lighter. Alex folded the paper and set it down in front of him.

“It doesn’t look good, Nick. I think the whole system might be getting ready to go down the drain. Our boys in the higher echelon are saying the Emperor’s losing his mind. You’ve read the reports.”

The waitress brought the second man his drink, and he thanked her.

“Bourbon? With this weather?”

“If I had a choice, I’d live on bourbon rather than water.”

“Hm. Suit yourself.”

“There are rumblings of dicscontent among the officer corps.”

“I am aware.”

“I suppose you would be. Being station chief has it’s benefits.”

“It does, but then again, so does anonymity.”

The second man drained his glass, and set it down, before leaning in close across the table.

“Listen Alex, the GIIS boys in Generia City are just as jumpy about this as you are. That’s why they sent me out here to talk to you. They’re keeping their station chiefs awfully close these days, and they want as firm a hand in this as they can.”

“And?”

“Look, I only know what they tell me, but from what I gather, they think this country might be splitting apart. Inkana is an important part of the Imperial circle, and a collapse of stability could send a lot of shit flying against that fan. You don’t want that, I don’t want that, GIIS doesn’t want that. You’re job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. I don’t know how you’re to go about doing that, since I don’t run this station, but you’re a resourceful son of a bitch, and I expect you to use what you have. The old men back in Generia City are damn well expecting it.”

The second man locked eyes with Alex, a serious expression written across his face.

“Goodbye Alex. I’ll be in touch.”

“Goodbye Nikolas.”

As the man stood and departed into the crowd, Alexander sat back and considered what had just passed. He stretched and sighed. At the age of thirty-six, already his face seemed weathered and tainted with age, remnants of years of service with GIIS. He had been station chief in Inkana for only two years, and had taken the job as what he thought would be a good break from the lifetime spent spying for the Empire. Now it seemed he had been mistaken. Things had seemed to heat up almost as soon as he got there, and he began to fear that with this rise in internal tension, the walls of the rapidly heating pot may be too high for him to climb over to escape the boiling water.

He drained what was left of his glass before standing, and, leaving a few Inkanan notes on the table, departed.

Prime Minster James L. Street was in his office. He had a dark complexion; he had a snowy white beard with a few streaks of black from his younger years. Hanging off his ears were a pair of bifocals, he was reading the latest news reports about unrest in the south.

“It’s that damn Jeb Stewart and his pals, I just know it. It has to be.” He mumbled to himself. Suddenly, Fitzgibbon Lee, Robert Lee’s son, came in through the door.

“Prime Minister James sir, this message just came from his Majesty, The Emperor.” He said, handing James a piece of paper.

“Hmmm…. He wants us to send a division down to Morrison, just to keep order down there, and by jingo we’ll do it!” James had trouble talking from the excitement.

“Send the 3rd Mountaineers, up from north Inkana, that’ll teach those Rebs not to mess with his majesty.” Fitz Lee said.

“Good idea.” James said, and then looked back at his newspaper, then back up at Fitz.

“What are you still doing here boy! Get that division down there!” He shouted.

“Yes sir!” Fitz did an about face and marched out of the door.

“Good kid, but he needs orders to function right.” James said to himself.

After about half an hour of looking at the paper some more, James got up and started pacing, as he always did when thinking.
How do I outsmart the very men who I was commanded by? No, I mustn’t think that, after all, I’m Prime Minister and Jeb is just a lowly general. I’m better than he is. He sat back down; his little chat with himself was reassuring.
After all, I have the entire army on my side. With that, he smirked and got back to work.

“Congratulations General, thanks to you, we have about a third of the army on our side.” Thomas Jackson said.

“Thank you Tom, now we have at least something to hit the Emperor’s legions with.” Jeb Stewart said with a chuckle.

“Yes we do, and we have superior leadership to boot, why, You Robert and I were all in the graduating top 5 in our respective years, Robert here finished top of his class.” Thomas said, while Robert chuckle behind him while reading a map. Jeb knew of Robert’s glorious record.

“Very true, but we need to get the navy on our side if we intend to win in the coming war.” Jeb looked worried on that aspect. Robert stood and faced the General-in-chief of Confederate Forces.

“I’ll attempt to persuade Admiral Buchanan to join our side, but the Navy is really a Royalist stronghold, all we might get are a few light fleets, maybe some carriers if we’re lucky.” He looked back at the map.
“Luckily, Generia and the Boreman Empire are close, they’ll surly help us out in the conflict.” He said.

“Of course” General Jackson said, looking out the window into Morrison, the soon to be Confederate Capital.

“Gentlemen, we face many hardships ahead, may god have mercy and assure us the worthiness of our cause.”

*Tag*

<OOC: I'd like to be in, if possible. My nations would probably be on the rebel side, but I could be on either.>

OOC: Sorry, but I'd much rather perfer more expirenced nations with a past history with Inkana to join, sorry.

-bump-

Gruko looked over the international news on his laptop. Nothing much of interest at first, but then he noticed Inkana was relocating troops to better fight rebel forces.
"Eh, guys, civil war in Inkana is starting to heat up!"
His commander and cousin, Kark, looked over his shoulder at the article. "Doesn't seem like much yet. Does it say anything about the rebel leaders?"
"Contemplation, conspiracy theories, nothing we can really rely on. I say we sit back a moment before we start selling services."
"Yeah, we'd probably be called back soon anyway, the way Nellisland is up to its neck in Soviet agressors."
The men in the room began chuckling, and Gruko bookmarked the article.

(This has been an overindulgent tag, with potential for participation.)

Bump.

TO: The Goverment of The Island of Rose
FROM: R.E. Lee

As your intellegence forces surely know by now, there is unrest in Inkana. My cohorts and I have started a movement to overthrow the insane Emperor, who we know you have a dislike for, and replace him with a Democracy. Our cause is worthy, but it is hard to achieve. Therefore, I have decided to ask for your nation's help. In return for said assistance, the New Confederate States of Inkana will allow you one Air and Land base, a consulate, and one seat for the Liberal Imperialist Party in our Congress, however, the Congressman cannot vote, and his name must be Stinky McJones. Is this acceptable? We dearly hope that The Island of Rose decides to help our cause.

To: R.E. Lee
From: Admiral Wilhem von Sturben, Imperial Chancellor of Defense

Very well. We agree to these terms. Now as you know we have two shuttle
fighters stationed on the Island of Rose Station. Of course this means that we
can probably use them to destroy any Royalist satellite giving you the chance
to take them down easier. We can also deploy a small squad of Rosktai for
use against the Royalists. And finally, we can provide you with arms, armor,
anything you need. What do you think? Or do you have any ideas?
Admiral Wilhem von Sturben
Imperial Chancellor of Defense

To: Admiral Wilhem von Sturben, Imperial Chancellor of Defense
From: R.E. Lee, Acting Leader of the Confederate States of Inkana

We would like it if you could hold back the space action until further notice, and yes, a squadron of Rosktai would be very good. We would much like it if you could secretly ship in stores of Guns and ammunition. Thank you.

ooc: Inkana, can I have some involvement? It dosn't really matter how limited it is.

President Mike Sarzo was poring over the latest news snapshot he received from Intelligence Chief Jamie Stone.

"Let's see, Kathy and Commodore Wilson are in Credonia for OMP talks, there's unrest in Talzeckia. Great, more trouble from those bastards. Civil war in Inkana."

Sarzo stopped short. He picked up the interoffice phone and called Stone.

"Jamie Stone."

"Hey Jame, this is Mike."

"What's going on?"

"You tell me. What's with the Inkana situation?"

"There's a faction there that want to throw out Emperor Ferdinand Joseph and install a democracy. Normally, we'd endorse anyone's efforts at democracy, but we have strong relations with the present government of Inkana."

"I know," Sarzo said. "This doesn't make things easy, does it?"

"That's why they're paying you the big bucks."

Sarzo snorted. He just vetoed three straight bills from Parliament that would have raised his salary by 50 percent. Despite the fact the move angered his allies there, he was wary of the Presidency becoming the elitist title that he abhorred. He was adamant that his salary remain at $100,000 and Parliament didn't have enough votes to override his veto. Nevertheless, he chuckled slightly.

"I don't know about all that. But we're going to have to say something with regard to this Inkana situation. We just can't sit on the sidelines and do nothing. What do you suggest?"

"We have a friendly relationship with the government there. I say we support Ferdinand Joseph."

"But Parliament's going to get on me to support R.E. Lee."

"Wait a minute, Mike. They're in the Woodstock Pact."

"You're right. Thanks to the Civil War clause, we need to call a referendum of the Woodstock Pact. I'll do that right now.

"Thanks Jamie."

Sarzo hung up the phone and walked over to his desktop computer. His mind swirled a mile a minute as he began to type the referendum question to send to the other Woodstock Pact countries.

OOC:May I join? It will be nothing more than the Heart of Armaggeddon(SKA:Red Tide Mafia) selling weapons.

ooc: Inkana, can I have some involvement? It dosn't really matter how limited it is.
What side would you like to support?

A river Gunboat, INI Armstrong streamed up the Paulsen River in Southern Inkana. It was a modified Hastings Class Strike Vessel. It boasted twin 5 Inch guns in a revolving turret, a turret with 8 inches of titanium steel alloy. The turret was its strong point, the rest of the ship had from 4-6 inches of Armour.
The ship was commanded by Lieutenant George Cameron, her mission was to deter the southern provinces from causing trouble for the royal family. As he streamed up the river in his craft he began to think.
Why the hell am I here? There’s no way those damn rebels would dare take up arms against the crown. It’s ludicrous. We might as well be guarding a cricket from escaping a steel box. Lt. Cameron’s thoughts were soon interrupted by a noise; a noise that sounded just like Thunder. He looked ahead of his ship, up the river. About half a mile up there was another Gunboat, only this one flying a flag different than the one his own vessel carried, the vessel flew a red and yellow flag, the flag of the Republicans.

“What the hell is going on?!” The Lieutenant shouted to his intelligence officer.

“Rebel ship sir!” He shouted back.

“Dash! Why aren’t our guns firing back? Hit the damn thing!” He shouted, while running to the gun stations.

“We’re on it sir!” Replied Otis Mancini, a Gunner’s Mate.
Now the Imperial guns belched death at their Republican counterpart. The noise was deafening. White hot metal splinters showered the deck of the Armstrong after one near hit smashed into a rock on the shallow part of the river. Inside of the ship it sounded as if they were steaming through a hailstorm. The Republicans aim got better after that.

“We’ve been it!” Somebody screamed.
“Shit! Good thing that was an HE round, but the Rebs might have some Armor-piercers in there.” Lt. Cameron shouted.

“Should we pull back sir?”

“No, not yet at least, take evasive action. Don’t let the damned Rebs hit us again.” George Cameron was not one to back down.

The battle continued, the Royalists scored a few hits against the Republican Gunboat, but on the turret, only the heaviest guns could crack open the shell of that part of the ship. The Republicans were much luckier, as Lt. Cameron predicted, they did have a small store of Armor-Piercing Rounds, which they promptly used to obliterate the stern of INI Armstrong. Soon, a white flag hung where the Imperial flag of Inkana once was. A republican boarding party boarded the ship, taking it and it’s crew prisoner. As Lt. George Cameron was forced out of his ship and into the Republican one, he muttered something under his breath.

“What was that, Lieutenant?” The Republican Skipper asked.

“I said that you Rebs will never make it two months against the Emperor.” He snarled.
All the Republican crew laughed at that.

“Mister, we got ol’ Jeb Stewart on our side, I believe you are mistaken.” The skipper replied. Before George Cameron could reply, he was hustled into the ship that had defeated his own.

Rebel Gunboat Captures Imperial Navy Ship! South Takes up Arms against the Emperor!

This is what newspapers throughout Northern Inkana screamed. In Trieste, James L. Street was reading one of them.

“Damn it! Damn that Jeb Stewart!” He cried, throwing the paper to his desk. He began to pace.
We’re at war with each other now, Inkanan versus Inkanan. He thought. Now I must focus on the task at hand. He took out a map of Inkana, and drew a divider between the Royalist and Republican Provinces. Intel says that they have men here, here, here and here. He thought, while placing little Republican Flags on the map. We have men here, here, here, and here. If we can hold here, we have enough time to—
“Bah!” He screamed as he tossed the map over and onto the ground.

“I’m not a General anymore, I’m a politician.” He looked depressed as he sat back down in his chair.

“Everything will change, no matter who wins this….”

Josiah Humphreys was looking at the latest naval review. The ISN was undergoing a reorganisation programme to satisfy demands from Senior Vice President for External Affairs Mark Lorber's office to move toward the "leaner and meaner" ideal he had in mind.

"Damn Lorb and 'leaner and meaner,'" Humphreys muttered under his breath. "That's not how you become a major naval power in this world." Regardless, he set to work at the task, no matter how unpopular it was. The computer screen blinked at him as the numbers for the naval reorganisation mocked his desires to build the best fleet money could by.

The transmitter next to his desk spat out the usual reports that were standard issue weather turbulence or ships beckoning each other with their customary hails. Humphreys got bored and stood up, ready to go for a smoke break when he heard a bulletin that stopped him in his tracks.

"Gunboat battle on the Paulsen River. Rebel gunboat captures INI Armstrong."

"What," Humphries asked no one in particular. He saved the reorganisation document and opened up a web browser. The news was just getting to the Associated Sarzonian Press and there were only a few short paragraphs. Humphreys picked up the phone and called the Defence Department. John Newman, the Vice President for Defence and the former Navy Chief, answered the phone.

"Newman."

"John, did you hear?"

"Yeah. I was going to call you. Looks like we've got a problem on our hands."

"And Kathy's not here. Shit!"

"Guess it's up to you then. Call the President and ask him what to do."

[OOC: I'll finish this later. Right now, I've got to go.]

Well. I was going to donate special forces to Inkana but since Sarzonia was so nice as to remind Inkana that heavy Rosian involvement would cause war between Sarzonia and me, they decided that they limit my involvement! How nice of him! The bastard... yes you heard me! You bastard! La la la la la la la la! Okay I'm done being immature so I better just post hm?

This is the scene. Inkanan space... not airspace, space. The mission? To knock out any useful Inkanan satellite. For now Rosian involvement would be limited but when the time comes more would happen. For now they might've as well done the biggest impact they can.

The two improved shuttle fighters started to arrive at their target. They were painted black of course and were given RAM. This would make their RADAR and LIDAR signature so small it would look like a stray rock in space. Then again a stray rock can't really fire missiles so it would be quite obvious when the damn things start to crash. They were also armed with the large laser guided missiles, three on each side. And a nice gatling gun that was armed with armor penetrating 15mm bullet. Hm, interesting indeed.

There were two pilots involved in the operation. The first pilot was Lt. Hal Vestian. 27 years old, he was picked from the Rosian Navy because he was an experienced pilot and wasn't afraid to crash his plane for victory. Aka he was nuts. "Ah there we are Jack. We finally get to test these babies. What do you think?"

Then there was the second pilot. His name was Jack Helligan. He was 24 and was picked from the Rosian Air Defense Corp due to his high scores in the training program. He was nuts too, then again so were the rest of the Rosian Space Defense Corp. "Eh. We get to see if this is actually useful, ah here they come now!"

Arriving from the nearby Mediterranean Station, the two fighter pilots started targetting the satellites with their missiles. As soon as they were all targetted they were immediately released, of course this would result in an explosion, but explosions are fun! Plus they bring in lots of cash at the box office. They then started to strafe the satellites with their gatling guns, downing every satellite they had to down. It was over in a few minutes.

Hal scoffed. "Well, that was exciting."

Jack chuckled. "Hey, we got to blow stuff up. Now the Med. Station is lonely, let's return to base before it's attacked or something." And so they flew away! Woosh! Whee! Ni! Umm... chici chici boom boom.

MEANWHILE IN THE WATERS OF SOUTH INKANA
(Cue dramatic soap opera organ thing)

Two fleets were arriving in South Inkanan waters. One was the 11th Rosian Fleet led by Admiral Nikolas Cage (yes a movie star's now an Admiral apprently) and the 40th Rosian Fleet led by Admiral George Clooney (yes his movie career hit a slump too). The 11th Fleet would patrol Inkanan trade routes, and the 40th Rosian Fleet would be docked at New Cumberland, the biggest port in Southern Inkana! W00t!

Admiral George Clooney called out to Republic forces. "This is Admiral George Clooney requesting to dock at New Cumberland. We're here to secure naval superiority down here."

And whatnot. Short? Yes. But I'm not gonna type anymore for you, you damn bastards.

This is New Cumberland Coastal Patrol, You have permission to dock. Over.

Two Sailboats armed with .50 Caliber Machine guns and with 2 inches of Kevlar armouring(Yes, that's right. The Republican navy sucks) slowly sailed out of New Cumberland Harbor to escort the Rosian Fleet. As they got to the fleet one of the sailors muttered something to his Comrade

"Pa?"

"Yes son?"

"I thought you said our ships were state of the art war machines."

"Yeah...about that son, we really needed the money, and I needed you to get into the Navy."

"Oh."

Anyhoo, the ships were brought into port. Up in space, two identified shuttle fighters had destroyed Royalist satellites. This did not go well back in Trieste.

"General Stardust, sir!

"Yes?"

"We've lost contact with SRs 1, 2, 5, and 6."

"Damn."

That's all I feel like writing right now. I'm hungry.

Bump.

Well. I was going to donate special forces to Inkana but since Sarzonia was so nice as to remind Inkana that heavy Rosian involvement would cause war between Sarzonia and me, they decided that they limit my involvement! How nice of him! The bastard... yes you heard me! You bastard! La la la la la la la la! Okay I'm done being immature so I better just post hm?
[OOC & FOR THE PURPOSES OF RP ONLY: you could bring in special forces with the understanding that any operative(s) of such an organisation not an official, and more importantly serving member of the Rosian armed forces, that they are acting as quasi-mercenaries unlikely to gain any (noticeable) external support from your nation. The SAS used to perform that function (Oman, etc.) as did the Americans in South and Central America and France in their former colonies. I'd ask both Inkana and Sarzonia for their ok first, though.]

[OOC & FOR THE PURPOSES OF RP ONLY: you could bring in special forces with the understanding that any operative(s) of such an organisation not an official, and more importantly serving member of the Rosian armed forces, that they are acting as quasi-mercenaries unlikely to gain any (noticeable) external support from your nation. The SAS used to perform that function (Oman, etc.) as did the Americans in South and Central America and France in their former colonies. I'd ask both Inkana and Sarzonia for their ok first, though.]
OOC: Heh, that's pretty funny, because Rose and I were just planning to do exactly that.

Bump

Bump

What side would you like to support?

ooc: The republican side. Monarchy is teh sux0rs.

ooc: The republican side. Monarchy is teh sux0rs.
Hmmm....Right now the republican side has 2 supporters, the royalist side 1. I'll think about it.

Humphries picked up the phone tentatively as the numbers on his computer screen stared him down. The 45 seconds he waited on hold seemed to take forever. He was going to have to be responsible for allocating naval resources to a war that seemed to come out of nowhere and the Navy was about to enter a period of "right sizing," as the wonks in Parliament put it.

"Sarzo."

"Mr. President, this is Josiah Humphries."

"What can I do for you?"

"You've heard about the Inkana situation, sir?"

Humphreys waited through the exhale on the other end of the phone and then Sarzo spoke again. "Yes. It seems we're in a bit of a bind over there."

"What do you think we should do, sir?"

"Parliament's never going to approve our getting too heavily involved in another country's civil war, particularly when we have no particular quarrel against either side. Having said that, we as a country should be doing all we can to encourage democracy, but not at the expense of an ally.

"I'll ask Parliament. I'll call you back."

The two men hung up the phone and Humphries turned to his computer screen. Looks like 'leaner and meaner' will have to wait. Meanwhile, Sarzo sped off to Parliament and walked into the chambre spotting a joint session already in session. He listened to find out what the agenda was and realised it was the Inkana situation.

Sarzo sat back in a secluded chair to listen in on the debate, realising how close Parliament was to casting a vote. The debate ranged from full-scale support of the Republican government to passing an embargo against all trade to Inkana, but ultimately, by a total of three votes, Parliament approved a measure authorising the President "to extend whatever means of support are necessary to ensure the protection of Sarzonian interests as they relate to Inkana."

Sarzo read the measure carefully. Nothing explicit was granted regarding the use of military force, but the support clause was written so broadly that it gave him plenty of latitude to use whatever means were at his disposal. Including the military. Sarzo signed the measure and strode up to the podium.

"My fellow Sarzonians," he began. "Today, we are prepared to offer support to the legitimate government of Inkana in their struggles against the current insurrection. We do not undertake this mission lightly. We intend to prosecute any extension of support involving our sons and daughters with the utmost care and concern. But we must also not stand idly by while a friend needs us."

After Sarzo left Parliament, he called Humphreys back.

"Send the Seventh Fleet to Inkanan waters and have Commodore Moraine prepare to use whatever means are necessary. I'll call Ferdinand Joseph and let him know we're on our way."

"Understood, Mr. President."

Humphreys sent the transmission to Commodore Moraine and the Seventh Fleet prepared to leave port and sail toward Inkana. Meanwhile, Sarzo picked up the Bat Phone and -- nothing. He tried the standard phone, even though he knew it was not a secure channel. Still nothing. Finally, he tried his cell phone. Nothing.

"What's going on over there," Sarzo asked."

OOC: To be continued, of course... I had another post that was wiped out. This isn't as good. Sorry.

Hmmm....Right now the republican side has 2 supporters, the royalist side 1. I'll think about it.

ooc: That's OK, if a space opens up let me know.

Bump, post later.

"Sire! Sarzonia has joined on our side!" Major Albert Dowling raced into Emperor Ferdinand Josef's Chambers.

"They did!" The Emperor said, racing from his desk chair. "Do you know what this means? One of the World's leading powers has joined on our side!"

"Yes, Your Excellency I know." Dowling replied.

"Why, with this, victory is only a short step away! We have them now, Major!" Exhuberant, Ferdinand Josef started walking around at a fast pace.

"That may be sir, but the rebels have driven all of our forces stationed there when war began. They are a force to be reckoned with." Replied Dowling, trying to follow the Emperor.

"Rubbish!" He cried. "When the Sarzonians arrive, all is lost for Lee and his buddies."

"If you say so sire..."

"Major Dowling, get me President Mike Sarzo."

Major Dowling handed the Empperor the reciever to his personal hotline to Sarzonia.

"Hello, Mr. President..."

Eastern Inkana-Ragmen Front

A bullet whipped past the ear of Private George McDonald. He immediately hit the ground, advancing at a slow crawling pace. He was in the 90th Rifles, fighting the Republican forces in the Ragmen Mountains, in eastern Inkana, as soon as war started, the Republicans under Jebidiah Early had invaded this region, a plan he hatched to let eh Royalist citizens in the North know that they were not fighting a mere rebellion. His unit had been shipped from Fort Ferdinand. When he first arrived, his spirits were high. He was in the 90th Rifles, one of the best-trained units in the Regular Army; He felt that he and his comrades would defeat the Republicans in a matter of days.

Here he was now, two months after he arrived, advancing not five miles from where he started. The front was in Utter stalemate. General Early had masterminded one of the best defenses in History. His lines had three main parts, each with about a brigade’s worth of men. When one part was attacked, the other swooped over, outflanking the attackers. To add to that, his men had build an intricate series of trenches, pillboxes, bunkers, and artillery pits. On top of all of this, the Republicans were excellent shots. All this equals an extremely slow advance.

“Those sons of bitches, we’ll never get through!” Private McDonald yelled, as he shot his rifle at the Rebel trenches.

“You got that right, George.” Answered his best buddy, Erwin “Mighty Mouse” Flaherty.

“And General Franks’ only strategy is frontal attack.”

“We’ll probably be 20 miles away from where we started in four years at the rate we’re going.” George replied, throwing a fragmentation grenade.

A roar in the distance signaled the arrival of the air force. Fast flying jets screamed over the rebel lines as AAA fire rattled against their hulls. Large explosions rocked the earth.
Hate to be on the receiving end of Hell. George thought. Napalm burned whatever vegetation was left on the field.
“
Let’s go!” Screamed Mighty Mouse.

Their squad raced out from their cover, shooting anything that moves. When they reached the lines, they used their bayonets to take out any Republican soldiers. They took the firing pit; they hoped their comrades would take the others.

bump

Bump

"Sir, Mr. Darren from External Security is here. He says it's urgent."

Not for the first- or last- time, the Warlord bitterly regretted the existence of Rule #34, but he gritted his teeth and signaled for the man to be admitted. Shaking his head, the Warlord cleared the various displays on which he'd been plotting possible ship and troop movements and sat heavily.

The door slid open, and a very average-looking man in a conservative blue suit walked briskly into the room. "Sir, the situation in Inkana is rapidly getting out of control."

The Warlord closed his eyes for a moment and muttered, "What did I do to deserve this? Desecrate a shrine?"

"What was that, sir?"

"Never mind, Darren. What do the extra-special analysts say?"

Darren consulted his hand-held. "Sarzonia has just declared support for the current regime. This may result in some minor morale lifting among the royalists, but the current military status should temper the effect."

"Do we care who wins?"

"Well, sir, Inkana is a member of the UWP, so we could be seen to favor the current government ..."

The Warlord cut the man off with a snarl. "I do not give a shrill soprano hoot in Hell what others might or might not think! Do we care who wins?" Standing quickly, he thumped his left hand on the desk in time with his questions. "Does ES think that these rebels might win? What would be the result if they did? Is Sarzonia sending troops to assist the Royalists? Would that change the military equation?"

Darren stammered, "We ... we don't know, sir."

"Then get out of here and don't come back until you do- which had better be soon. I want a full set of analyses on both sides of this issue on my desk by 0630 tomorrow."

"Yes,sir." Darren got gingerly to his feet and scurried out of the room. As the door closed behind him, the Warlord sat back down and considered the problem carefully for several minutes.

At last he said to himself, "That King-Emperor of theirs stripped his gears some time ago, and the Inkanans have been letting him get crazier and crazier. That makes this THEIR problem. We'll stay carefully neutral and make friends with whomever wins. The Dominion is NOT getting involved in this mess if I have anything to say about it."

Brigadier General Wes Pinckney grimaced as he got the call from Army Chief Antonius Santius. He was being given command of the Sarzonian army forces that were about to be sent over to Inkana along with the Seventh Fleet and Commodore Travis Moraine.

The Ninth and Tenth Divisions of the First Incorporated Army would be there along with the Third Mechanised Division. Each Major General in command of these three divisions were going through their respective checklists to determine their group's readiness for deployment.

"I guess we'll find out about our boys in live combat," Pinckney said. He wanted to have a larger force sent over to Inkana, but Santius was adamant that the force be limited to the roughly 75,000 troops that were on their way. A fleet of several Normandy-class transports joined in along with other amphibious landing ships to land the troops, while the aging but still effective fleet replenishers purchased from the Royal Shipyards of Isselmere-Nieland were joining the posse.

Pinckney opened his communications device and set it to the secure channel "Pinckney to Commodore Moraine."

"Moraine here on secure channel. Go ahead General."

"I just received the report on our readiness. Our boys are good, but they've never been tested in live combat."

"Guess it's time to change all that," Moraine said.

"Understood. What do you know about the Republicans?"

Seems to me that they're run by a guy named R.E. Lee and from the sounds of it, they're running from a city named Morrison. We're going to have to blockade the southern coast of Inkana to prevent the rebels from getting supplies. Once we have a blockade set up, we're going to have to launch radar suppression weapons and send in our aircraft for sorties against their coastal and anti-air defences.

"Roger that," Pinckney said. "Once we've been able to secure the beach head enough, we'll land. We've got a full mechanised division along with two divisions of troops. We should be good to go."

"What about special forces?"

"What do you have?"

"We're waiting on 20 Insurgent-class submarines to rendevous with us before we make the final approach to southern Inkana. Once we get them, we can use them to insert about 200 special ops forces to knock out their power transformers and communications lines. We can also use them to attack supply convoys and cripple the Republicans that way."

"Good idea Moraine," Pinckney said, ignoring the fact that an officer who was technically his inferior essentially gave him the battle plan he was to use. He wasn't the kind of general to stand on ceremony, however. If the idea worked, he'd use it no matter if it came from the lowest ranking private in Sarzonia's army. "Have we heard from the Royalists?"

"Negative," Moraine said. "Though I heard it through the grapevine that they're thrilled we're along for the ride."

"They must think of us as a superpower or something."

Moraine laughed. "I don't think I'd call us a superpower by any stretch," he said. "But at least we're sure that we have their support."

*******************

Sarzo finally gave up and hung up the phone, but before he could open up a new screen on his computer, the Bat Phone rang.

"Sarzo." When Emperor Ferdinand Joseph was on the other end of the line, Sarzo breathed a sigh of relief.

"Greetings, Emperor. I've got the Seventh Fleet and the Ninth and Tenth Divisions, along with the Third Mechanised Division of the First Incorporated Army on their way to you. Once we get there, get in contact with Commodore Travis Moraine and Brigadier General Wesley Pinckney. They will be the commanding officers of the Sarzonian Armed Forces stationed there when they arrive."

Sarzo waited for the Emperor's response.

"Fantastic!" Shouted the Emperor."We'll whip those rebels now! They'll be hell to pay for treason against the Empire! Thank you for your assistance, Mr. President." With that, the Emperor set the phone down on the reciever.

*************
R.E. Lee sat in his office in Morrison, doing paperwork. A young man sporting a bristly red beard and Lt. General Stars came into the room.

"Mr. President, you wanted to see me?" He had a deep, commanding voice.
The President looked up from his desk.

"Ah, General Alexander. Glad you could come here." He said.

"It's a pleasure to be in the presence of such a ledgend." The young general Replied.

"Yes, yes, now let's get down to business. Intelligence reports that Sarzonia is preparing troops for an attack on us. This is in no way a good thing."

"Yes, I have heard that rumour also."

"I have asked you here to ask you something of great Importance. New Cumberland is the most likely place where the Sarzonian Fleet will attack."

"Where do I come in?" Gen. Alexander replied.

"As general of Artillery in the Army of the Republic, you performed absolute miracles on the Ragmen Front. As of today, we have killed a total of.." He took out a sheet of paper. "...23,254 Royalists, with only 9,390 of our own men killed. Most of this is due to you and your Artillerymen. Only you can command the sucessful defense of New Cumberland, and our cause."

"I would be honored, Your Excellency."

"Very good, I'm assigning you the V Corps attachment of 7th Army, you will have under your command, 3 Infantry Divisions, two Artillery divisions and one Armoured division. Admiral Hotchkiss will allow you the use of 12 Squadrons of his planes, be careful, that's most of our air cover down there."

"I will do the Republic a Grand gesture. New Cumberland will not fall!" The General shouted.

"It'd better not! Now get going, General! No time to waste!"

Emperor Antonius sat at the large mahogany desk in the spacious study branching off of his personal chamber in the Imperial palace. Fighting valiantly against the weariness that was slowly but surely overcoming him, he set his head in his hands and, removing his spectacles, rubbed his tired eyes. He looked back at the various briefings and other documents scattered across his desk, and noticed that the harder he tried to focus on the text, the more the words ran together. Leaning back in the stiff leather chair, he stretched and yawned just as a knock came at the door.

"Come in.”

Though his reply betrayed his weariness, his voice still maintained a thunderous air. The door opened, and a gentleman who appeared to be in his late fifties entered the room. This man appeared to be even more sleep deprived than the Emperor, and in his ensuing bow, he nearly toppled over, having trouble maintaining his balance.

“Hello Mr. Cac.”

“Your grace.”

“You look exhausted. Please, come have a seat.”

“Thank you sire.”

Jonathan Cac was the longtime director of GIIS, the Generian Imperial Intelligence Service, the so dubbed ‘King of Spooks.’ He had been going nearly without sleep for the past four days, and now his jowls seemed to hang even lower than usual, complimenting the large black circles under his eyes. He gratefully took a seat in front of the Emperor, and produced a set of documents, which he placed on the desk in front of him.

“Here it is.”

The air of formality deteriorated quickly, for each man had known the other for nearly thirty years, and having been through enough together, they had adopted a policy of simply paying lip service to certain titles and traditions.

Now Antonius’s features sank further as he saw the new briefing to add to the pile. Though he already knew the answer, he decided to inquire into the nature of the briefing.

“What’s this one about?”

“It’s the amalgamation of the intel data you requested. From Inkana.”

Antonius rubbed his eyes again. The situation there had been eating away at the back of his mind for the past few days, and for the time being he had put it on the back burner until GIIS could put together a summary of the situation up to this point in order to allow him a better opportunity to put the dozens of smaller situational reports in context.

Antonius reached for the briefing and scanned the first page. As his eyes moved over a bit detailing the Sarzonian declarations and current status of involvement, his brow furrowed.

“What interest does Sarzo have in Inkana? Especially with the Emperor.”

“Sarzonia claims ties with the current administration, I assume through the Woodstock pact and other less public agreements.”

“Hell. Those rebels are going to have a hell of a time. Still, our relations with the Sarzonian government aren’t exactly warm either, are they.”

“We maintain a policy of public neutrality with regard to Sarzonia, sire, though their interests are often found to be in conflict with Imperial doctrine and foreign policies.”

“Yes, very true. What about their armed forces?”

“The Sarzonian navy is a capital institution, and universally respected for discipline, equipment, and general prowess. However, it seems that with their massive diversion of defense funding to the naval authorities, their army is left at a horrible disadvantage. The Sarzonian army is also nearly one-hundred percent untested in a combat situation.”

“Yes, yes, so I’ve read.”

Antonius yawned once more, and set the report down.

“Well, John, I’m not going to do any more beating around the bush. I’ve been following this particular situation for weeks through the reports you have so courteously provided me with, and I must say, the best interests of the Empire lie in the direction of the republican secessionist forces.”

“GIIS has drawn a similar conclusion, ironic as it may be. I’m not sure if we’ve ever supported a representative movement.”

“There’s a first time for everything, John. However, I don’t want direct involvement yet. I want to analyze the fallout that may occur from a possible war with Sarzonia. So John, I’m giving you the Black Guard in addition to all the money and guns you need to make sure the Republican forces hold out against possible invasion. You’ve got free reign, John. This war is officially yours now.”

Jonathan Cac leaned back and breathed deeply, closing his eyes and massaging the lids. He spoke after a lengthy pause.

“Antonius, sometimes I wonder if we’re getting too old for this.”

Antonius allowed a chuckle to escape.

“Too old for what? Engineering the global situation? Securing our dominance in world affairs? This is nothing! We might as well already be retired with these jobs!”

Under the soft glow of the desk lamp in the comfortable study deep within the Imperial palace, the two men laughed quietly. Standing, Jonathan Cac bowed slightly at the waist.

“Then in that case, your wish is my command.”

He turned and exited the study. Antonius stood soon afterwards, and stretched once more before turning off the lamp and heading off to bed.

Do the Bump-de-Bump.

Alexander Dmitriev scanned the headlines of the newspaper he had just purchased from a street stand. He folded it and placed it under his arm before proceeding towards the public phone booth down the street. He stepped inside, and the phone began to ring. He picked up the receiver and a voice came over the other line.

“Deus ex machina, eh Alex? You’ve got the Black Guard.”

The line clicked, and Alex hung up. He stepped out into the street and disappeared.

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

In the Channel, the steel leviathans were beginning to stir in the gathering dusk. The Imperial fleets had been put on alert to a possible invasion of Inkana, but the admirals had been given little other information with regard to who and why. They had been ordered to prevent any and all foreign vessels not of Inkanan, Borman, Wirrawayan, Parthian, and Doomingslandian origin from entering the straights, utilizing lethal force if necessary.

Meanwhile, aboard the supercarrier GIS Vladimir Kreschnev, the rotors of jet black GH-2 helicopters whirred wildly in the wind. From the belly of the vessel, nearly 300 black clad, armored, Imperial soldiers rose to the surface. They seemed to move under cover of permanent shadow, which dripped from their very pores. It was as if they sweat blood and breathed death, faces rough, scarred, grimacing. Black eyes met black teeth met jagged jaw. Their faces soon disappeared as they pulled on black balaclavas and strapped on their helmets, complete with Generian-made situational awareness systems.

The armored tyrants boarded the GH-2s, and were off towards the distant, darkening shore of southern Inkana, and the great revolution that was brewing.

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

The enormous superfreighters were unmarked save for the Hamptonshirian flags that flew from their masts. There were roughly a half dozen of the ships, moving in convoy to Georgetown. Under silent watch of nearby Imperial task forces and the protection of false colors, the Imperial vessels prepared to deliver the secret cargo of weapons, ammunition, and other equipment with which to wage war.

In the skies, dozens of Imperial C-130 cargo aircraft made way to airfields in Montgomery, Morrison, and New Cumberland, also bearing weapons and supplies.

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

Official Imperial Communique

To: R.E. Lee
From: Jonathan Cac

Emperor Antonius I of Generia has just authorized me to issue the support of the entirety of the Empire’s clandestine services in aid of the Republican rebellion. As we speak, weapons and ammunition are en route to the port of Georgetown in the form of six freighters flying Hamptonshirian colors. Several C-130 aircraft are also prepared to land in the other three major cities of the Confederate States of Inkana, bearing similar cargo.
In addition, we have dispatched elements of the Imperial Black Guard to your coasts to aid you in the event of a possible invasion from external powers. We pray that you accept this gesture of good will, that it may begin to formulate a strong relationship between the Empire and the Republican faction for the duration of this war until a Republican victory over the Royalist forces.

Jonathan Cac,
Generian Imperial Intelligence Service

In response to the pleas of the Inkanan government, His Isselmerian and Nielander Majesty's Government has hereby authorised sending the 4th and 13th Mechanised Infantry Divisions along with the Rapid Reaction Force [four fleets] and their Marine contingents. The government has decided that we must act promptly to defend the interests of an allied nation threatened by secessionists and possible external elements.

Order 2005/013214A

[Signatures]
Henry V (H.M. the King)
Thomas Blakeney (Prime Minister)

---

From their dreary, fog-drowned harbour in Dreurdach, Anguist, the four fleets of the Rapid Reaction Force steamed forth. Headed by a host of corvettes scouting ahead and sounding for lurking submarines, one might have mistaken the force as a figment of some deluded Admiralty official's imagination. Eventually, however, the tall masts and the broad beams of the battleships came visible through the mist. Wave-piercing bows turned the seas, mighty ploughs tilling the harvest of many years of peace, and decades of practising for war. Along the railing, Marines set up machine gun posts while others conducted small arms training. Sailors took a short respite from polishing before running through a fresh set of drills: damage control, weapons drills, countering boarding parties. All the experience of the RINN and her Sarzonian allies would be put to the test once more. Admiral Sir Graeme Docherty knew he would have to do even better than his predecessors or the families of the marines and sailors would never forgive him.

Official Imperial Communique

To: R.E. Lee
From: Jonathan Cac

Emperor Antonius I of Generia has just authorized me to issue the support of the entirety of the Empire’s clandestine services in aid of the Republican rebellion. As we speak, weapons and ammunition are en route to the port of Georgetown in the form of six freighters flying Hamptonshirian colors. Several C-130 aircraft are also prepared to land in the other three major cities of the Confederate States of Inkana, bearing similar cargo.
In addition, we have dispatched elements of the Imperial Black Guard to your coasts to aid you in the event of a possible invasion from external powers. We pray that you accept this gesture of good will, that it may begin to formulate a strong relationship between the Empire and the Republican faction for the duration of this war until a Republican victory over the Royalist forces.

Jonathan Cac,
Generian Imperial Intelligence Service

To: Jonathan Cac
From: R.E. Lee, President of the CSI

It is with Great honor that I open up my Nation to the forces and ordinace of The Bold Imperium of the Generian Empire. You see, at the moment, we are in a prediciment. There are rumours of Woodstock Pact military involvment in our conflict, espically from the nations of Sarzonia and Isselmere-Nieland; and most every nation on earth fears the might of their navies. The First wave of Black Guardsman may land at New Cumberland, I trust we have sent you the map of the defenses so that you may pass through. Once there, General Edward Porter Alexander will brief you on the mission of the force there. My aides have already told me about the Black Guard, they are a formidible force. I pray to god they kill every one of the Forginers that try to set foot on Inkanan Soil.

R.E.Lee,
President of the Confederate States of Inkana

Doom Citadel, Doomingsland

The Emperor sat at his massive oak desk, looking over intell reports. Things were getting worse with each passing minute as the slave rebellion continued. He'd had several restless nights as he talked strategy with his commanders, and to further complicate things, a nation had actualy tried to supply the rebels with weapons. Well, the air defense grid proved its worth on that one, yet there were even more complications. Another nation was sending an invasion force! Of course, this was only more cannon fodder for his coastal defense batteries, but it was still alot to take in. Then came the call that the Roman Republic had attempted to launch a nuclear strike! (and obviously failed). He then had to order the extermination of that country with nuclear weapons, as well.

He was TIRED.

And of course, someone then had to knock at the door...

"What the fuck is it!!?!?!" yelled Emperor Helldawg V at the unseen annoyance.

The door creaked open, and out stepped one of his aids.

"Um, m'lord, there is a situation in Inkana...." muttered the aid, looking down at his feet.

"Arggghhhh. Send some Legionaries. I don't care. Help our interests. Now let me take a damned nap...." he muttered, passing out on his desk.

"Errr, yes.. my lord..." replied the aid, bowing hiss head and stepping out the door.

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

Expeditionary Group St. Peter, Sea of Generia

Admiral Decius was in his quarters when the call came. He was to set a course for the allied nation of Inkana to support a rebellion. Naturaly, he'd immediatly ordered a battalion of Doom Legion Hunter-Killers to be sent ahead, and naturaly they'd left within an hour of his giving the order. Things were going rather smoothly on his end....

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

Outside of Inkana Airspace

The commander of the one hundred Legionaries was a full fledged Colonel by the name of Julius. He traced his lineage to the Julii family of Ancient Rome, but, naturaly, no one gave a rat's ass, even though that would make him a decendant of Julius Caesar. Anyhow, Colonel Julius sat in the back of the lead MV-68 Banshee VTOL transport as it shot through the night skies towards Inkana. He and his squad were catching a last bit of sleep before they entered Inkanan airspace. Luckily, the transport possesed an active stealth system, so they hopefully wouldn't have to worry about being intercepted. There were nine transports in the group, all with rockets and missiles hanging under their wings incase the LZ turned out to be a hot one. That was unlikely, but it was better to be safe then sorry.

"Sir, we're nearing Inkanan airspace." crackled the robotic-sounding voice of one of his men through his helmet.

Julius groaned and stretched a bit. "Alright, wake the others." he muttered. The men were equiped with VEPR S3 LSS combat systems, making them look especialy cool and futuristic. They had on a helmet with a visor that fully encompassed their faces, light armor, and had woodland MARPAT fatigues under the armored vests. Most were armed with M28 rifles, although a few carried M30 Squad Automatic Weapons and at least two of them had a sniper rifle. They also were supplied with Predator SRAW ATGMs, which could probably take out any armor thrown at them. But, they were mostly equiped for mobility.

The black GH-2s flew in low over the suburbs of New Cumberland, standing out just barely as silhouettes against a black, overcast sky. Most of the birds touched down in fields and open areas outside of the city, though some landed directly in the streets to unload their cargos.

Major Ilyich Kazovic jumped out of the open door of the GH-2, his heavy boots sinking into the thick mud and damp grass of the field where the bird had touched down. He trained his GIR-37C as he scanned the area, illuminated by nightvision systems built into his helmet. Crouching, he advanced, the rest of the men from the chopper following him as the bird lifted up into the sky once again, to return to the carrier for refueling and to collect a second wave of Black Guardsmen.

The teams moved quickly to their assigned positions, some remaining in the suburbs and countryside, some passing through the lines of defences and progressing all the way into the downtown areas. Major Kazakovic led his team to the predetermined rendez-vous location where he was slated to meet General Edward Porter.

The Black Guard had come to Inkana.

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

The C-130s moved in also under cover of the night, touching down at commercial and military airfields where they had arranged to deposit their cargo to awaiting CSI military elements.

Meanwhile, the six superfreighters under false colors sailed into the Georgestown harbor, and made preparation to dock, whereupon the Imperial soldiers aboard would begin unloading the heavy equipment that was hidden in the bellies of the vessels. Everything from GIR-37 and M-27 assault rifles to RM-30 Emperor MBTs to F-78 ‘Sokol’ advanced fighters would be given to the rebel campaign to ensure victory.

General Alexander's HQ - New Cumberland

The General woke with the sun. Aways at roughly 5 A.M. he rose, put his boots and slouch hat on, and walked to the General Staff building. This morning was no different. As he stepped into the Red Brick building, formerly a 2-story Victorian house, he was suprised to see a man clad in a futuristic battle suit. Taken back, then remembering the message General Stewart had sent him, he walked towards the man.

"Ah, Major Kazakovic, I presume? Welcome to New Cumberland, I hope you find your stay enjoyable." He said, jesturing towards the defensive lines his men held.

Major Kazakovic raised his hand to his helmet in a starch salute.

"Colonel Georg Norik aboard the GIS Emperor Antonius asks me to relay word that the arms shipments have arrived, and that a second unit of the Black Guard is en route to compliment defenses here and in the other cities. I suggest you move quickly in getting that equipment into position to repel an assault, especially the RM-30s."

"At ease soldier" The General said. Then after taking in what the man had said, he spoke.

"Hmmm...seems like the boys in GIIS know more about our enemies' movements than we do. Very well." He walked over to a communications officer.

"Make sure that all the Generian equipment is in place, ready the men, I have a hunch that the invasion will begin within the next Two days, clear?"

"Yes sir!" The Corporal shouted.

"Now, Major Kazakovic, how do you think your men would be best used?"

"Sir, my men are prepared to undertake any mission you find suitable for them. They are trained and experienced in all manner of special operations, and will fight and die for you without hesitation. From past experience, I can suggest that my men be used to make movement for the enemy as painful as possible after they land. I have teams in and outside of the city, prepared to establish chokepoints and lay minefields on your order. If you wish, we will fight beside your men in the trenches as well."

"Well major, I'm giving you free reign on the matter. The Sarzonians are going to land men, I have no doubt about that; but I want you and your men to make advancing and attacking as painful as you possibly can. Let's throw this invasion back so we can get back to whipping the Royalists. Do what you must." With that, the General saluted the Generian, and went back to the maps arrayed on a large table.

Captain Willian Reach sat on top of his tank, a T-82 Timberwolf. His unit had been stationed in the small town of Hazzard since the war started, He itched for action, as did most of the men in the 3rd Panzerarmee. Suddenly, the tank's radioman shouted something.

"What'd you say, Tom?"

"We just got orders from Colonel Waters to move out! We're headin' to New Cumberland!"

"Whooee!" Will cried, as he leaped into the tank. "What are we waiting for? Let's move!"

"Yes sir!"

All across the steppe, the roar of engines was heard as Tanks started up. The unit was equipped with about 2/3s T-44 Ulhan MBT, which boasted a menacing 125mm Gun, The rest were either T-30 Jaeger Light tanks, or T-82s, which boasted a deadly secret weapon. The Army numberd 250 Tanks in all, and about 100 Support vehicles.

They formed collumns, advancing at a fair pace. With luck they would be in New Cumberland in about Two days.

"Entering Inkanan airspace." crackled the voice of the aircraft's pilot over the intercom. The squadron shot into southern territory, where they would attempt to link up with Generian forces already on the ground.

"ETA?" replied one of the men.

"About fifteen minutes."

"Roger."

Julius stood in the back of the transport, gripping the siderails for support.

"Brothers, I believe you've been properly briefed on the situation, correct? he said calmly. The men nodded their heads. "Good. Alright, our LZ will take us near a Black Gaurd position, so try not to shoot any friendlies." he said, with a slight tone of humor. Of course, the others took it totaly seriously and didn't even smile... "We aren't sure when our first engagement will occur, but we will recieve further instructions on the ground. Understood?

"Sir, yes sir! they shouted in unison.

"Approaching LZ, looks quiet."

"Alright, men, get ready to pile out. Stay frosty."

As he said that, the rear ramp door began to creak open, and a 12.7mm gattling gun was lowered from the cieling. The gunner in the compartment imediatly manned it, making use of an IR scope mounted to it. The compartment was filled with wind as the transport tracked the terrain, eventauly arriving at the designated LZ. The transports touched down without much incedent, and the Legionaries swarmed out.

Lieutenant Laszlo Sobv watched the scene through the scope of his GIR-37 from the cover of a small rural house a few hundred meters away. He spoke and his voice was carried over the radio within his helmet to another team waiting close to where the legionairres had disembarked.

"Allied forces are on the ground. Establish contact."

Sobv watched as a group of five men appeared from a patch of tall grass directly in front of the Doomingsland soldiers. He watched as his men shouldered their weapons in a gesture of peaceful intent, and heard a rough greeting carried over the wind to where he silently observed. His radio crackled to life again.

"Contact established with friendly forces."

Admiral Docherty paced the bridge of the HINMS Woodstock, a large Treaty-class battleship, ignoring the steady murmur of junior officers going about their watch. Electronics babbled in the background to their operators as the interminable process of revealing, interrogating, and identifying droned ever onward. The crew was kept busy either on their usual drudgery of cleaning, fixing, and filling. The Marines were joyfully firing at whitecaps and scampering around the spare deck space on the warships. They even managed to practise their boarding and repelling drills.

Such a long way to go...

Coproral Micheal Koryphios led his squad of Republican Marines to the coordinates His superior, Captain Sellers, had given them. Upon spotting the Generian and Doomingsland troops with his I-17 Night Optics, he worked his way around to their rear.

"Hello there." He said. "Although you probably already knew we were here, my squad and I have been sent to escort the Doomingsland superior officer to General Alexander's Headquarters, there he'll show you what to do."

After eyeing the foreigner's battle suits, he continued.

"Crazy looking combat outfits you fellas got there. How's it like to fight in it? I myself just recently got this uniform, I was fighting in the same ditry rags since the beginning of the war."

OOC: Summary?

Sarzonia and Isselmere-Nieland are on the Royalist side, GE, TIoR(unofficially) and Doomingland are on the Republican Side.

Summary:
Inkana's emperor's insanity has driven Inkana into semi-depression. Leading politicians and Military leaders plotted a Coup, they got most of southern Inkana to sway to their side. Soon Civil War erupted, the Royalist Army made a drive for the Rebel Capital, Morrison, but were stopped by 7th Army. The Army of the Republic led by Jebediah Early invaded Eastern Inkana, and that was soon halted. Now Sarzonia and Isselmere are Threatening the south coast, so defenses are being put up with the help of Generian and Doom soldiers.

Map:
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v218/Inkana/Inkana_map2.jpg

(OOC: Could I provide the Republicans with weapons and vehicles?)
Knock yourself out.

EDIT: Well, This might upset things with Sarzonia, and I need him for this RP. Hold on for a bit, I'll think this over.

(OOC: Inkana, I want to bomb all the major cities of the north in one fell swoop... when can I do that?)

New Rule for this RP, fellas.

NO OMFG UBER SpACE WEAPONS

This includes Space launched Nukes, missiles, Turgsen Rods, etc.

I know, I just don't want Sarzonian rods of doom crashing down on Morrison.

...Encrypting...
...2VX Encryption complete...

Official Imperial Communique:

To: The Republicans
From: Chancellor Licinius

We shall send as much aid as needed. Give us the information.

End Transmission

...Encrypting...
...2VX Encryption complete...

Official Imperial Communique:

To: The Republicans
From: Chancellor Licinius

We shall send as much aid as needed. Give us the information.

End Transmission

To: Chancellor Licinius
From: Thomas Jackson, minister of External Affairs, CSI

Thank you. We require food, uniforms, and ammunition for our men. If you could get these things it would be greatly apperiated. Thank you.

EDIT: Well, This might upset things with Sarzonia, and I need him for this RP. Hold on for a bit, I'll think this over.OOC: It WOULD upset things with me. If Roach-Busters gets involved, I'll pull out of the RP.

Hmm...In that case, R-B, sorry.

Julius and his entourage approached the group of Generians, clenching their fists on their chests in salute. They chatted a bit before the Inkanan marines came for them. As the Inkanan spoke, Julius stepped forth,

"I am this unit's commanding officer." he said through the voice transceiver on his helmet (which made him sound robotic), motioning for the unit to form up. "Yes, these suits are nothing new to the military, but after going through training without it, I can tell you first hand: this system renders the user God on the battlefield. I was able to literaly pick up an oponent, and shove him through a brick wall. You'll see what I mean when we get down to buisiness."a

"Wow, that's amazing." Corporal Reach said. After we whip the Royalists, I hope ol' Robbie Lee in the Presidential Palace gets us some of those suits." Getting back to business.."Very well, follow me, General Alexander is expecting you."

(OOC: Disregard my above posts then, Inkana.)
Sorry, R-B, but Sarzonia has a big part in this RP. Sorry.

"Wow, that's amazing." Corporal Reach said. After we whip the Royalists, I hope ol' Robbie Lee in the Presidential Palace gets us some of those suits." Getting back to business.."Very well, follow me, General Alexander is expecting you."
"I'm sure the Emperor would have no problem in selling a few to equip your most deserving men." replied the major in a neutral tone as he followed the corporal.

"I ceartainly hope so." The Corporal said. After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at General Alexander's HQ.

"General Alexander sir, these are Doom Legionaries." With that he returned to his squad for patrol duty. The General stood up.

"Well, well, well. Doom Soldiers, you boys have struck fear into many a infantryman. I hope you do the same here. Any questions?"

OOC:That's Legionaries, not soldiers.

IC:

"General, we are fully prepared to dispatch units to Northern Territory to conduct raids and ambushes." replied Julius in a neutral tone.

OOC: Whoops, fixed.

"Colonel...er..I never got your name...You do not want to be fighting in the Northern Provinces. It has turned into Stalemate up there. Here in New Cumberland, we're awaiting the certain Sarzonian invasion, your services, along with the Generian Black Guardsmen, will prove more useful to the war then they ever could fighting under Early or McLaws. How many men has Doomingsland sent to aid us?"

"That's colonel Julius, sir." he said, slightly annoyed. "Very well, if you wish us to kill Sarzonians, it shall be done. There are about a hundred of us. It should be enough to hold off most of what those commies can throw at us." he said, smirking slightly.

"Superb, Colonel Julius, I appoligize for not learning your name beforehand. You have free reign on your men and their operations, do what you wish; just make sure the Sarzonians pay for siding with the Emperor."

"They will most assuredly, general." he replied with a wry smile.

The General returned the smile.

"Dismissed Colonel." He said, walking into another Room.

Julius saluted and turned, heading out the door back towards his men. They would be spending the next few days coordinating with the Generians on the defense. In the mean time, the Marine Expeditionary Force was less than a week away. If the Sarzonians wanted to have a chance at a quick end to the war, they'd need to do so quickly...

Somewhere above the Ragmen Mountains-

Eagle 2, this is Condor 1, you better wrap up you run, radar shows a bandit coming hard south.

Copy that Condor 1, finishing up now, give me 30 seconds.

Eagle 2, I don't think we have 30 secon--

Condor 1! Damn it! Condor 2, do you read me?

Silence

Condor 2, do you read me?!

The radio crackled som, no response.

Captain Roger Briggs was flying one of the Generian-sent F-78 Sokols, modified for Reconissance. Now he was all alone, he went out on a recon run, in what he was told to be a calm area, now his two escorts were gone and he was Alone. All alone.

"Shit, this isn't good." He murmered to himself, while banking hard left.

This bus handles like a dream. He thought. Now, to find the bastards who shot down my cover.

He glanced down on his radar screen, four blips appeared.

My, oh, my, those Royalists do not like people spying on them.

His Radar lock alert went off. A missile was locked onto him. He begain a dive, followed by a quick bank to the left, then he climbed, then dived again. He realeased chaft and Flares, that did the trick. His alarm shut off.

Now he turned to face his attackers. His radar still showed 4 persuers, but from different directions this time. He locked his radar onto one of them, a F-92 Lightning Hound, and Fired. The IM-117 streaked towards his opponent, he also twisted and turned and realeased flares, but to no avail. A huge fireball lit up the dawn sky.

"Yee haw!" He yelled. "Take that your royalist scum!"

He turned again, this time the aircraft was much too close for a missile.

Time for some old-fashioned dogfighting. He thought.

The Royalist cannon lit up first, Captain Briggs heard the Rat-tat-tat against his plane's armour, but nothing more.

Doom and Soviet Bloc know how to build planes.

Now he dove, chasing the Royalist plane, his superior engines did that like a snap, the 30mm cannon did the rest.

That's two.

He dove down to abtou 18,000 feet. The two other fighters awaited him. Before they had a chance to take evasive action, he used his dual locking system and fired two IM-90 Heat-Seeking Missiles. The two pilots had no chance.

The dogfight had left his aircraft with barely enough feul to make it back to the provisional base in the wrecked town of St.Adam's.

"Chalk four kills for me, Tom" He said to his mechanic. Everyone within earshot cheered.

Bump

Bump

OOC: Summary? Like who is who and where. What's going on and such.

OOC: Summary? Like who is who and where. What's going on and such.
Emperor Ferdinand Josef is the Inkanan Emperor, James L. Street is his Prime Minister, R.E. Lee is the Republican President, with Thomas Jackson as his Prime Minister. The Royalist Commander-in-chief is Fitz Lee, R.E. Lee's son, Republican Generals are Cream of the crop, their General-in-Chief is James Edward Browning Stewart, or Jeb Stewart, Republican Generals include Jebediah Early, Louis McLaws, and Edward Porter Alexander.

In the Beginning, the Royalists invaded Rebublican land, but were stalled outside Morrison. Early's Army of the Republic then invaded Eastern Inkana, being stalled in the Ragmen Mountains.

Now that foerign intervention has come, the Republicans and their Allies, Generic Empire and Doomingsland, are preparing for a possible invasion of Southern Inkana by Isselmere and Sarzonia.

Good?

ooc: What is the monarchical naval presense (including Sarzonia and Isslemere) like?

ooc: What is the monarchical naval presense (including Sarzonia and Isslemere) like?
OOC: The Royalists have about 80% of the Inkanan Navy, which is roughly 1200 ships, Isslemere is sending about 1,000 and Sarzonia is sending a bunch, not sure exactly how many.

bump

[OOC: It's going to be my Seventh Fleet, which is going to be augmented by armed amphibious assault ships and other combat-specific vessels. Roughly on the order of 150-200 surface combatants.]

[OOC: It's going to be my Seventh Fleet, which is going to be augmented by armed amphibious assault ships and other combat-specific vessels. Roughly on the order of 150-200 surface combatants.]
Okay thanks.

OOC: The Royalists have about 80% of the Inkanan Navy, which is roughly 1200 ships, Isslemere is sending about 1,000 and Sarzonia is sending a bunch, not sure exactly how many.
1,657 ships:
138 Forthar-class SSN
58 Port-class SSGN
64 Haenulf-class SSK
8 Peel-class CVBN
12 Hornby-class CVLN
12 Rapier-class CVQ
8 Treaty-class BBGN
20 Coronation-class BBGN
8 Castle-class CAGN
40 Duchy-class CAG
60 Morrigan-class CGN
240 Wallace-class DDG
302 Bullfinch-class FFH
130 River-class K
56 Crocodile-class LCS
8 Lord-class LHD
22 Ungforth-class LPD
34 Valley-class LSD
4 Admiral-class AGFN
26 Siren-class AGI
14 Sea Lion-class LCC
90 Freki-class PG
90 Geri-class PG
24 Lem-class AFS
8 Hobbes-class AH
16 Gabin-class AKR
86 Smith-class AOE
34 Marsden-class AP
45 Aylesburgh-class AS

Needless to say, this little adventure is impoverishing me even before any shots are fired and I realise there's no way in hell these ships can stay indefinitely on station. That and that the sea volume they are taking up is enormous.

To: Chancellor Licinius
From: Thomas Jackson, minister of External Affairs, CSI

Thank you. We require food, uniforms, and ammunition for our men. If you could get these things it would be greatly apperiated. Thank you.
...Encrypting...
...2VX Encryption complete...
Official Imperial Communique:

To: Thomas Jackson
From: Chancellor Licinius

If we can have a port to land we can bring in soldiers, as well as laborers, food, ammunition, and uniforms. Our first shipment will brign uniforms, amunition, food, and weapons for 5,000 soldiers. Along with 500 well equipped Dinosaurs (Borman elite soldiers).

End Transmission

...Encrypting...
...2VX Encryption complete...
Official Imperial Communique:

To: Thomas Jackson
From: Chancellor Licinius

If we can have a port to land we can bring in soldiers, as well as laborers, food, ammunition, and uniforms. Our first shipment will brign uniforms, amunition, food, and weapons for 5,000 soldiers. Along with 500 well equipped Dinosaurs (Borman elite soldiers).

End Transmission
To: Chancellor Licinius
From: Thomas Jackson, Minister of External Affairs, CSI

You may land everything at New Madrid, on the east coast. Thank you very much for you hospitality, we owe a great debt to Borman Empire, and all of our allies assisting us in this war. Without them, we might as well have been defeated on the first day of war.

Official Imperial Statement

The Imperial Government has decided to pursue a policy of strict neutrality in this conflict. In order to preserve this stance, we are hereby closing the Generian-Inkanan channel to all military vessels belonging to the nations of Isselmere and Sarzonia. We hope that these terms will be accepted in the interest of preserving our neutrality, though if they are violated, it shall be considered an act of war, and the offending vessel(s) shall be destroyed.

To: Chancellor Licinius
From: Thomas Jackson, Minister of External Affairs, CSI

You may land everything at New Madrid, on the east coast. Thank you very much for you hospitality, we owe a great debt to Borman Empire, and all of our allies assisting us in this war. Without them, we might as well have been defeated on the first day of war.

In port Lucien a great convoy of ships was assembled. Multiple transport ships were there as well, loading a small amount of soldiers, many laborers, and some supplies. The majority of the supplies being sent were packed upon several ships that would not go down without a fight.

It had taken a short while and now the loading was done and the convoy set out. They would hug the coast of New Buchiana and then the coast of Generic Empire. Then they would cross the water and have reached Inkana.

Bump.

Bump...We're ready, Mike; no hurry, just informing you that we're all ready.

OOC: I'll be making my initial drive on the island to the east of Southern Inkana, so long as that isn't part of the channel Generic Empire declared "neutral".

IC:
Vice Admiral Docherty sent the following encrypted message to the Royalist government:

Heard message from Generic Empire re:Channel. Suggest UKIN Rapid Reaction Force becomes part of Inkanan Fleet for time being. Inkanan flags are at the ready.

VAdm Docherty
GOC RRF (UKIN)

((OOC: The map of the continent including Inkana and the Channel is in my signature for reference as to what I'm referring to.))

((OOC: The map of the continent including Inkana and the Channel is in my signature for reference as to what I'm referring to.))
OOC: Thanks! :)

Bump

City of Georgestown, South Inkana

The marine expeditionary force had finally arrived and began to unload, starting with the force's armor (including 150 MBTs). Infantry marched down the gangplanks of the ships, their bags and rifles slung over their shoulders. The men were fully rested and prepared to kick some commie ass.

The first thing the men did was establish an effective air defense perimeter. This was made up of the new M-171 mobile anti-aircraft platforms and infantry armed with stinger missiles. In addition to that, several SA-12 batteries were unloaded, and the fleet's air defense systems covered practically the entire city.

After that, the men began to entrench and set up defensive positions...

OOC: Strong language warning.

Moraine looked at the satellite imagery from New Cumberland as Pinckney walked into the situation room aboard the flagship. He shook his head and yelled.

"Unbefuckinglieveable. Look at this!"

Pinckney raised his eyebrow. It wasn't like Moraine to be this angry, he heard. Crews aboard the ISS Endymion loved him from his days as their first officer all the way through his various commands. He'd only gotten that angry once before and that was when someone tried to kill civilians in an unprovoked attack without his authorisation.

"What's wrong, Commodore?"

"They're amassing forces at New Cumberland. Looks like they breached our intel somehow."

"How on Earth? We sent secure transmissions, encoded everything."

"There's a fucking traitor in our midst."

"Wait a minute, Commodore. You could be overreacting here. Think about it. R.E. Lee and his henchmen are Inkanan. That means they're definitely not stupid. And they've got Generians supporting then so you know they've probably prepared for an attack at New Cumberland knowing that we would be aware of its weaknesses.

"We're just going to have to be extra deceptive when we plan our attack," Pinckney continued. "To use an old baseball term, we gotta hit 'em where they ain't."

Moraine looked up at Pinckney as if he were from another planet. When Pinckney saw the look on Moraine's face, he clarified.

"That means we have to find the holes in their defences and hit them there. They've been amassing most of their forces in the southern flank of New Cumberland, so we've got to hit them at their northern flank. We've got the Insurgent-class subs so we can use those to send special ops to disable some of their shore batteries."

"Wait, can't we use some of those shore batteries if we can capture them and they're still live? Turn them on the enemy?"

"That's also a good idea," Pinckney said. If we can capture their batteries and use them on Republican forces and their allies, that might also give us an advantage in terms of element of surprise. We could then use that to land troops."

"What about the Normandy-class transports?"

"We can use them, but remember we can only land 600 troops at a time with those bad boys. Besides that, we'll have to use that mortar and that big gun to soften those positions if and when the men get detected."

"If they're detected, we're up shit's creek without a paddle."

"On this front," Pinckney said. We could also talk to the Royalists about landing in their territory and beginning a push down to Morrison from there. If we can capture their capital, we can defeat the rebel movement."

"What about using Godrods or SLBMs?"

"We just got word from the Royalist command forces. They don't want Morrison destroyed, just captured."

Moraine sighed. "So they want us to risk the lives of hundreds of thousands of OUR fucking troops so they can keep their precious city alive?"

"Look, if the Royalists win the war but Morrison's destroyed, they're going to have to rebuild the damn city. And that's probably going to come out of your paycheck Admiral Sherman." Pinckney seethed the last two words of that sentence with a subtle reference to General Sherman and his infamous march on Atlanta.

"If they say so," Moraine grumbled. "Let's get this show on the road. "Let's get that Connie in position to fire its big 22s on pre-selected targets and see if we can use some of our McDonoughs to take out possible submerged threats."

"Understood, sir."

Moments later, six Insurgent-class special operations mini submarines snaked through the water toward the shoreline gaps in the anti-ship batteries, while the Normandy-class transports inched closer, lying in wait for the special operations forces and their attempt to disable or capture the shore batteries pointing at the Sarzonian fleet.

[OOC: I can RP the attempted attack on the batteries if you want or you can decide whether that attack succeeds or fails or something we can talk about over AIM.]

Inkanan Coast

The Legionaries had, by now, already picked out the best ambush points for when the Sarzonians came ashore. One of the teams had actualy set up a spot near an anti-ship battery in case the Sarzonians tried to send special forces to dissable it. Each team consisted of just eight men, making for roughly twelve teams total. They all had light arms and anti-tank weapons, so they'd be good to go for when the war really got started.

OOC:We can RP a little skirmish between my team and some of your SFs when you try and hit the batteries, I guess.

Admiral Sir Graeme Docherty looked at the digital map in the command centre of the Admiral Thornton. Sarzonia was aiming to assault the southern shores of Inkana. As the Sarzonians must have discovered from satellite intelligence, the Republicans had established a strong counter force to any invasion attempt. "What do you suggest, Captain Featherstonehaugh?" he asked his flag captain.

"Why don't we try to assault the east coast?" the man calmly replied.

"Isn't that where most of the fighting's been?"

"We'll hit them in that pocket midway between New Cumberland and Morrison. The Army will drive straight through," Lieutenant General Sir Tobias Michaelson answered.

"And the Marines are ready, Admiral," RINM Major General Finley growled expectantly.

"Good, then east it will be. Inform the Sarzonians. We'll land some of our SOE operatives in that small bay to the east of New Cumberland, see if they can cause some trouble for the Rebels."

With that the senior officers broke away to their staffs for additional planning. Undersea, a Squid drone relayed the message to the Haenulf-class submarines as the Crocodile-class LCS boats refueled before their rapid dash inland.

OOC: Mike, get on AIM, please.

OOC: After Doom and Sarzonia have their little SF skirmish, I'll post.

...Encrypting...
...2VX Encryption complete...
Un-official Imperial Communique:

To: New Madrid ports
From: Borman Admiral Peter Zersky

Permission to land ships and unload supplies.

End Transmission

...Encrypting...
...2VX Encryption complete...
Un-official Imperial Communique:

To: New Madrid ports
From: Borman Admiral Peter Zersky

Permission to land ships and unload supplies.

End Transmission

To: Borman Admiral Peter Zersky
From: New Madrid Port

Permission Granted, land at Y Warf. An armed escort will greet you.

Bump

Bump for Mike ;)

Bravo Battery, Inakan Coast

Lt. Caius leaned back in his carefully concealed foxhole within the woods near the battery and sharpened his Gladius. It was his turn to not be on shift, for once, and he decided he'd prepare even more. The other seven men were doing a variety of things. The other man in his foxhole was staring down the red dot sights of an M30 Squad Automatic Weapon on a bipod, looking right at the artillery battery fourty or fifty meters in front of him. There was another man set up in the tree just above his head, looking down over the cliff towards the water. Caius had his suppresed M28 SOPMOD rifle leaning against the wall of the foxhole, sitting just next to him, keeping it close. Little did he know he would be needing it very soon.

As Caius ran the wetstone along the edge of his blade, his comrade tapped him on the shoulder.

"Your watch, sir." muttered the man. Caius stood, sheathing his blade, and picking up his futuristic-looking rifle, slinging it over his shoulder.

"You are relived, corporal." he replied neutraly.

"I stand relieved." muttered the twenty-two year old corporal, plopping down where Caius had been sitting while his superior went behind the machinegun.

Off the coast of Southeastern Inkana, the UKIN Rapid Reaction Force stood ready. Out to sea, Rook and Tern drones sped towards the shore at low altitude to perform tactical reconnaissance of the intended beachheads as Merlin transport helicopters spooled up on the decks of the amphibious assault ships along with their Apache attack helicopter escorts. Within the bowels of those vessels, landing craft began exiting the docks laden with Marines and vehicles. It would be a long jaunt to the shore but the creeping barrage on the shore front by naval gunfire would provide them cover. Behind their bulwark of escorts, the mighty guns of the Treaty- and Coronation-class battleships readied to fire their massive shells. On the carriers, Swordfish strike aircraft prepared to strike inland against strategic targets: POL sites, power stations, communications, bridges, and main transshipment points. Sea Spectre FA.2 and Sea Fury FA.1 aircraft would hit tactical targets near the beaches (shore batteries, troop concentrations, and the like). Sea Wraith ADS.2 aircraft would suppress enemy air defences. Sea Spectre FA.1s would escort them all and provide air cover over the fleet. The time for battle had begun.

[OOC: I ran this post by Doomingsland for accuracy. I've made minor changes to the original content per his explanations.]

"Commodore."

"Yes, ensign?"

"We're receiving word that the Isselmerians are preparing to launch an attack on the east coast of Inkana."

"Understood." Moraine stood up with a steely look of determination hardening his features. "General quarters. Notify all units to communicate solely through maximum encryption channels."

"Aye, sir." The bridge of Moraine's flagship was soon bathed in a red light that would have disoriented any civilian, but Moraine's crew was used to it. Enough drills with Moraine at the conn would get anyone used to the general quarters lighting. The time for waiting out the enemy had passed. It was time to swing into action.

Meanwhile, the six men who made up Alpha Team stood grimly in their positions aboard the ISS Incendiant, a Insurgent-class submarine designed for special operations assaults, as it inched toward the dropoff point. Their task was to capture the battery and prepare to use it to fire on enemy targets, and they ran their assignments through their heads.

"Remember, quiet is of the essence," Lieutenant George Thompson reminded them. "And for God's sakes, make sure you cover your asses anywhere you go. It's not going to be a fucking cakewalk."

"Right-o," Staff Sergeant Dave Holloway replied in that smart alecky manner that usually got him in trouble and kept him from Officer Candidate School more than once. With time so short, all Thompson could do was fix a quick glare on Holloway.

"I'll have your ass when you get back Holloway, don't fucking forget it. Now move!"

Alpha Team quickly filed toward the hatches of the Incendiant to launch their way toward their staging points.

************ THIRTY MINUTES LATER *******************

The march toward the gun battery was not like anything they'd drilled for. Taking great care to keep their detection equipment from giving their positions away, the men had to rely on intuition and their God-given senses to detect their enemies, but they could find nothing in the slow going before they reached the battery.

Finally, Corporal Ben Rossen, who was manning the forward watch stage-whispered, "there she is!"

Holloway took a quick peek at the enormous battery. They didn't see even the slightest bit of resistance on their way. The Republicans must not have seen the assault coming. As a sense of foreboding came over him, Holloway shook his head. "This was too easy, he muttered to himself.

Before he knew it, he realised he spoke too soon. A gunshot rang out in the distance from a location that Rossen quickly realised he couldn't make out. What he could ascertain was a shot that whizzed just centimetres from his ear.

"Shit! We've got company," Rossen shouted.

"Fuck!"

"Draw your weapons! Fire!" One by one, Alpha Team drew their weapons, dodging and weaving the sudden onslaught of Doomingslandian forces as best they could while firing their guns equipped with silencers. As effective as those weapons were when no one was around and they could simply subdue a potential threat, when they had to deal with close-quarters combat, the bulk added by the sound suppressors made the gun too unwieldy. Still, Rossen fired a burst into the tree and saw something drop before one of the Doomingslandians drew a small sword and sliced his head from his neck.

The fight continued to rage with the Sarzonians fighting as fiercely as they could be expected to given the surprise they faced. However, Holloway knew they couldn't be expected to hold out much longer and he was in the middle of a fierce battle so he couldn't retreat.

"Sergeant Taylor, get your ass outta here. Get to the Incendiant."

"But."

"No buts. That's an order. Go!"

Sergeant Geoff Taylor knew he had to get out of there as one of the enemy forces started approaching menacingly. He also spotted and shot at what looked like it could be another one hiding in a tree so he found an alley and slipped away as Holloway and two other corporals were facing down the stench of death. With four able-bodied and one wounded Doomingslandian enemy beginning to surround them, one corporal completely disarmed and unable to get to a weapon and the other corporal too wounded to draw his weapon, Holloway dropped his and raised his arms, saying two words he swore he'd never repeat.

"We surrender," he croaked weakly. Suddenly, Thompson chewing his ass out looked very attractive to him. It was certainly more appealing than the fate that was awaiting him now.

Lieutenant David Pollock looked at the row of camouflaged faces as they readied to embark on the Salamander assault boats aboard their Crocodile-class mother ships. Like the rest of his men, he was laden with explosives, a box of ammunition, a brace of grenades, a Colt 0.45 ACP sidearm with five magazines, several knives, two light anti-tank rockets, and a fourth of a more substantial anti-tank missile system. And similar to three-fourths of his men, he sported an L17 assault rifle -- the others carried L19 GPMGs.

"So, lads, we're here to cause shit and general mayhem upon these rebels. According to intelligence," a brief snicker arose from the men, and himself, "the Generians have declared themselves neutral in this war, but have shut off the Western Channel. We can, therefore, expect not only a host of rebels -- who've given the government forces a solid drubbing by the by -- but probably some professional troops, possibly Legionaries." The faces of his men became sterner, crueler. "As you're well aware, avoid general battle, destroy as much of the enemies' war fighting capacity as you can, and kill some of their higher ups if you get the opportunity." The men straightened at the unspoken call to attention. "You know your specific targets. Hit them, retreat back to the boats if you must, stay to provide close reconnaissance if you can. Carry on, men."

Aboard the rest of the Crocodiles and the Haenulf-class submarines, very much the same drill was being carried out as the SOE operatives readied to wreak havoc in Inkana.

Caius took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his blade. The severed head of Rossen sat at his feet, an expression of defiance still evident. If only they had more like this one... he thought as he eyed the two captured Sarzonians with disdain. He picked up Rossen's severed head, looking it in the eye, then tossing it away. He made a motion of his hands, and two Legionnaries moved towards the prisoners.

The last thing the two Sarzonians saw was a foot coming down on their face.

He'd lost only one man dead and two wounded. Not bad for an ambush that had decimated a unit of the enemy's best soldiers in under five minutes.

For now, he and his men could relax. Their duty was done.

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

Command Bunker, Georgestown, Southern Inkana

Holloway awoke to the stench of burnt flesh. He was in a small room, bound to a cold metal chair. He struggled to find out where he was, and then his vision became clearer. There was a metal table in the middle of the room. It had on it a blow-torch, several quite nasty-looking knives and saws, and a few electric drills. As he continued to scan the room, he noticed there was something hanging from the cieling with smoke coming out of it off to his left. It was the wounded corporal from before. His hands were bound above his head, and he stood in what looked like a basin of water. A small generator with two electrified pads were a dead giveaway as to this man's torment. He looked over next to him, and on what appeared to be a Medeivel-style rack was chained the other man, moaning in pain. He'd been stretched out so that all of the joints in his body popped out. They both had burn marks and bruises all over their bodies. Both men had been tortured for several hours before Holloway came to.

Suddenly, a rusty steel door swung open, and a Doomingslandian soldier stepped through with a broad grin on his face. He wore MARPAT camo fatigues with the unmistakable insignia of the Doom Legion (a cross coming out of the top of a golden skull with two spears crossed behind it), had shiny black boots, and was clean shaven except for the crewcut he had on his head. An M1911A1 hung from his belt. There was blood on the muzzle.

"Welcome, welcome. My name is Captain Julianus Marcius. Who might you be?" he said in a most welcoming tone, that made him sound sadistic amongst the smell of fryed, rotting flesh.

As he was talking, two VEPR-clad Marines stepped through the threshhold, taking away the (somewhat alive) body of the electrified corporal. He would have one more duty to perform before he was granted the mercy of dying.

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

Southern Inkanan Coast

The corporal had been brought by truck over to the beach and tossed in a motor boat. In the boat was a spare gas tank and a large cardboard box. The two men that had brought him there instructed him to deliver the package to his admiral before heading back to the truck and speeding off. There was a horrible stench coming from the box, but he decided to get the hell away before they changed their minds.

OOC:Just so you know, the corporal probably won't live another hour, just long enough to get back to the fleet.

Arriving in the twilight, the UKIN SOE forces hid their transport, separated into their four man teams of leader, grenadier, medic, and machine-gunner, and dispersed into the approaching night. Their modified VEPR armour and heavy bergens loaded with all the necessary material for modern war encumbered the men, but they were well accustomed to carrying as much if not more on training missions. Their weapons were at the ready, their eyes, aided by night vision goggles, scanned the environs for any movement. They moved cautiously, quietly, but fluidly in the dark towards their targets and the enemy.

New Cumebrland, Soutehern Inkana

It was still dark outside. The sun hadn't risen yet. General Alexander rose from sleep. He slipped on his boots and slouch hat, and stepped outside. This was a routine he'd carried on since he frist graduated from the Military Academy and started commanding troops. As he made his way to his HQ, he heard a particular sound. The sound of Gunfire.

"Ah, It begins." He said to himself."And for many a poor sarzonian bastard, it ends."

The Headquarters he stepped into was much busier than normal. Radio controllers relayed messages from units to their commanders. Sarzonians had landed near Bravo Battery. Doomingland soldiers had pushed them back.

"Colonel Featherson, bring the 1st Morrison Howitzers, 32nd Montomery Field Gun battery, and the 12th Montgomery up near Bravo battery. I have a feeling it's going ot get pretty hot up there."

"Yes, Sir!" The colonel relplied.

"Okay People, Listen up!" The General shouted. "Okay, the Sarzonians have probed our lines Near Bravo Battery, if it hadn't been for the valiant defense by Doomingsland soldiers, we'd be out a 20 Inch gun now. We can't let that happen. I want a full regiment of Marines, 650 men, to head up there and defend it for now. We have men digging lines as we speak. After that's complete, I want a report, got it?"

Nobody Complained.

New Madrid, Eastern Inkana

The Sleepy portside town of New Madrid was suddenly awoken by the sound of Gunfire. UKIN forces had landed secretly in the night. Republican Marines had greeted them after a few of their own had been shot to death. IMST-Mk. 7 Rifles blasted death into the air.

"Sir! It seems like they're everywhere!" A Corporal shouted.

"Don't I know it, god damnit!" The captain replied. "We've already lost 22. We're marines. damnit, we don't lose that many!"

"They're good sir, I'll give them that."

"Shut the hell up Thompson! And look alive, we've got company to our right!"

Corp. Thompson aimed his rifle and unloaded on the Isselmerian.

The Firefight continued, more Marines were poured into the fray. Soon about 250 of them were fighting a handful of well-trained UKIN men. They would probably win through sheer force of numbers, but it was unsure when.

Back in New Madrid, the commanding officer in charge of the city's defense was shoutign orders.

"Bring more men and artillery up!" "Dig Defensive lines!" Bring armour up!" He shouted.

The War had finally been brought south.

Lt Pollock had called in several teams after his was bounced by a group of Republican soldiers. Every time the Republicans came forward, the teams would disengage in a hail of gunfire and grenades. The other teams, contacted via secure personal radios would then form ambushes cutting further into the Republicans as they wilfully advanced, smelling blood. But the battles were taking their toll. Though only a tenth of the 120 teams released were involved in these running skirmishes, a quarter of those troops were casualties. One team had been destroyed utterly. He lost one trooper from his own team, and he and his sergeant had been wounded and were trying to escape back to their emergency rendezvous.

“Nearly out of ammo, sir,” Sergeant Perkins muttered. The other teams were doing little better. “What say we lay a little surprise for these bastards? A few charges and an ambush.”

“Sounds like a decent plan there, Perkins,” Pollock replied. “You and Jeffries set them up; I’ll cover you with the MG.”

----

Some distance away, Sergeant Unger saw Trooper Mills fall to a burst of gunfire. “What the fuck was Mills doing?” Unger growled rhetorically. Bullets from the Republican Marines were tearing through the night sky, constraining their movement. “Leary,” he called to the medic. “You see that important-looking little shit [i.e. an officer] again, blow his fucking brains out, right?” Unger himself put in a fresh 40mm grenade into the launcher, targeting whence he’d assumed the shots that killed Mills came. Loosing it off, the sergeant grumbled, “I hope the other teams are having better luck.”

----

As more and more teams learned of the battle waged near New Madrid, they swung into the fray to cut into supply lines and reinforcements. Some were even swinging around to attack targets from the western side of the city. They blew up roads and bridges and set up ambushes with claymore mines and explosives. Receiving new directives from their Sea Lion-class command ships, they were to bloody the enemy’s nose -- and more, if possible -- before retreating. They would avoid, where possible, further large-scale firefights but would strike and fade, using the enemy’s aggression against him.

And it was not all doom and gloom on the UKIN side. Two of the four fleets had separated from the Rapid Reaction Force and were steaming into the bay. Strike packages were coming. But would they be too late?

"Damn it to hell and gone, Corporal!" Captain Kimball shouted. "These navy-boys fight like demons."

"They do indeed, sir." Corporal Thompson replied. "We need to concentrate our efforts against these bastards if we want to win, we've been fighting apart so far."

"Thanks for informing me, General." The Captain snorted. "But you do have a point, Let me send a radio message to HQ." He got ahold of a radio.

"Colonel Martin? Sir, we need some organization here. Get the units together, we could push back the invaders that way, maybe some Timber Wolfs would help too. Thank you sir"

"Okay Thompson, we got about 10 tanks coming our way, the new Timber Wolf models, Brass also says that we'll be getting soem real organization here soon."

"Excellent, sir"

As the beaucratic wheels of the military turned, the Marines tried their best to fight back. Some units started spectre tactic, something like the boom and zoom tactics the Soviets Used back in 1941-1945, while others somply charged ahead, hoping to overwhelm the enemy, most of the time they were mistaken. So far, the fight had taken the lives of 60 Marines, but now the units started fighting together. Fire and Meneuver tactics could take place, and the casulties diminished.

As the units joined, T-78 Timber Wolf rumbled towards the fighting. Twin Weiss 1300 Horsepower engines pulled the 10 ton behemouth into position, then on command they fired.

10 90mm cannons belched thousands upon thousands of white-hot canister shot. Thousands upon Thousands of tiny ball bearings, much like the ones used in Claymore mines. The Timber Wolf had beendeveloped in secret by Mercenaries hired by Jeb Stewart himself. Instad of solid shells, it fired canister shots.

OOC: Muhahahaha..haha....ha...

As the enemy began to concentrate, the SBS troops pulled back. Three more complete teams were lost and further casualties were inflicted. The Republicans struck harder, but more and more often they were striking nothing. A few troopers, too wounded to continue on, stayed behind manning concealed anti-tank positions equipped with Icarus missiles. Many died without accomplishing their final aims, but some succeeded sowing further dismay into the Republican forces.

Pollock and Perkins were among the dead, but many more had escaped and soon the fighter bombers would be overhead.

----

Off the eastern coast of southern Inkana, two fleets of Rook and Tern drones soared over the beaches, a third of the latter bearing repeaters to amplify their radar signature to convince enemy radars to announce themselves to the oncoming air defence suppression aircraft. Another third of the Terns were equipped with Pigeon anti-radar missiles, which they released upon crossing the coastline to perform independent attacks. Coronation and Treaty-class battleships readied to rain down ERGMs upon enemy positions as the strike packages forced their way inland.

As the darkness cleared over New Cumberland, the Black Guardsmen rose like ghosts from the grave. The Generians were silent as they strapped on their armor and checked their weapons one final time. The time for waiting was fast drawing to a close, and the time for battle had come near.

Major Kazakovic quietly walked to the top of a small crest that overlooked the harbor and the shadowy figures of the Sarzonian vessels. Communications reported that Doom legionairres had already seen action against Sarzonian special forces attempting to seize a gun battery. He envied them, and he knew the rest of the Black Guardsmen longed for fresh blood as he did. Soon though, the larger battle would break right over their heads, and they would be plunged into that glorious tide that every Imperial warrior lusts for.

"Captain."

"What is it Thompson?"

"Since casualties have killed all your commanders, you are now the superior officer on the beach."

"Your point?"

"The Isselmerians have dispersed, but they've taken 3 of our tanks with them."

"Very well. Mop up remainding resistance."

"Yes Sir."

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

Even as Corporal Thompson relayed orders, UKIN UAVs soared overhead, setting Radar monitors on fire. All coastal towns in the Confederate States had been given a good deal of SAM sites, and now their Operators faced a crucial decision: Switch on their Radar and give the position away, or leave it off and let the UAVs probe them. Some did one, others did another.

Also up above New Madrid, F-78 Sokols and F-92 Lightning Hounds flew CAP, looking for their prey. Now that the fighting on the beaches was finished, defense of the Air was most vital. The United Kingdom of Isselmere-Nieland has a glorious reputation of Naval Air Warfare.

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

Back on the beaches, the UKIN forces were being swept aside. Fresh infantrymen, marines, Artillery and tanks were being brought up. If the Isselmere-Nielandian navy wanted a fight, it would damn well get one.

OOC Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=408914)

The 1st and 2nd Rapid Reaction Fleets began their assault with a massed barrage of long-range Hurricane surface-to-surface missiles from the surface warships and the Port-class submarines, and a mixture of extended range guided munitions (ERGM), armour piercing shells, and high capacity shells from the main guns of the battleships. The Hurricanes struck out at coastal batteries and other high priority entrenched targets deep inland. Tomahawk land attack missiles would strike against airfields, POL sites, and other light targets. The ERGM, loaded with submunitions, were fired at SAM sites, artillery batteries, and troop concentrations relayed by the UAVs. The AP shells added their weight against the coastal batteries while the HC shells struck against armour concentrations uncovered by the drones. Further batches of Tern UAVs from the Rapier-class carriers armed with Brimstone anti-tank missiles and Kite air-to-air missiles roamed the shores for targets. Meanwhile Heimdall AEW aircraft provided detailed radar images to the Sea Spectre fighters and fighter-bombers coming in from the Peel-class carriers, followed by Swordfish strike aircraft and the Sea Furies from the amphibious assault ships and the Hornby-class light carriers. The Sea Spectres would use their Goshawk long-range air-to-air missiles and the datafeed from the Heimdall AEW aircraft as well as the enemy aircraft's own radar transmissions to down the enemy at a fair distance. Lanneret theatre air defence missiles would strike at enemy AWACS aircraft and allow the Sea Spectres to close in with Kestrel BVRAAM and Kite dogfight missiles, to which the Sea Furies would add their own. Sea Wraith air defence suppression aircraft would blanket the enemy radars with jamming while lashing out at active enemy radar sites with ALARM and Pigeon anti-radar missiles.

At sea, the Royal Marines were starting to depart the amphibious assault ships by boat and helicopter, with attack helicopters escorting them in along with Sea Fury FA.1 V/STOL aircraft. If the Republicans wanted a war, they would receive a solid drubbing.

Out of airbases in Generia was launched a large fleet of aircraft. It consisted of 100 F78 Demon air superiority fighters, 150 F/A91C Savage multirole fighters, and fifty B9D Romulus bombers (a slightly modified version of the Layarteb bult B9 Spinx). These aircraft were laden with a variety of weapons, the F/A91s equiped for air-to-ground missions, the B9s for anti-ship, and the F78s for air superiority. The F/A91s were equiped with fuel air explosives, anti-tank missiles, and cluster munitions, while the B9s were each equiped with four of the new AGM-240 Trireme anti-ship missiles. The aircraft had three AWACS craft controlling them. It would be their job to cause as much harm to the Isselemeren fleet and army as possible.

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Somewhere outside Georgestown

A lone MV68 Banshee VTOL transport streaked across the sky with something hanging from underneath. As it neared a clearing in the woods, it dropped altitude and came to a stop. It dropped off the piece of equipment, and four men fast-roped out of the back of the aircraft. The men, upon hitting the ground, quickly unfastened the cables from the weapon and checked the systems. They had just deployed an M-172 Battlefield Air Defense System (BADS). This was just one of sixty such guns within the air defense network being established within the 3rd Marine Division's area of responsability.

The guns were remotely operated, and designed to be activated by AWACS or similar aircaft once enemy aircaft strayed within their field of fire. The guns were set up in triangle formations, each gun no more than five kilometers from the next. They streteched out along the coastal area around Georgestown, than inland, forming a complete circle.

The men that had activated them had also taken care to carfeully conceal them, throwing camo netting over the batteries. Since most were located in the surrounding forest area, they'd be difficult to see visualy, and impossible to detect further out, as they were shut off, emmiting no radar or IR signature. That, of course, would change when they came online.

[OOC: Will respond IC here as soon as I am able, which might be a while, but in the meantime, Doomingsland please check out the OOC thread. Thanks.]

The 3rd and 4th Rapid Reaction Fleets performed their assault using similar tactics to those used by the 1st and 2nd Rapid Reaction Fleets. Drones were sent in to scout out the invasion beaches over a broad front, taking out enemy vehicles and air defences when found and identifying enemy concentrations and sites of high signals activities. Long range naval artillery bombardment against those concentrations, coastal artillery, POL sites, bridges, power stations, and communications centres would follow, closely accompanied by air strikes directed by airborne early warning aircraft. Escorting fighters using secure datalinks and passive detection of enemy radars would use their long range missiles to cut swathes through enemy fighter concentrations as Lanneret theatre air-defence missiles lashed out at enemy AWACS planes, recognisable through their strong radar signals, while air defence suppression and strike aircraft would swarm the sky with Flamingo drones and Pigeon ARMs, the former drawing fire by mimicking the characteristics of the strike packages as the latter sped towards the shore from long range awaiting the activation of enemy air defences before plunging towards their prey, similar to the ALARM missiles used at shorter ranges. Large Ptarmigan ARM laden with submunitions would take out any radar sites that announced themselves afterward. Once the radar signals from the shore grew too strong, the Sea Vampire ADS.1 and Sea Wraith EW.1 aircraft activated their Finch jamming pods to either deceive or swamp enemy radars with the electronic equivalent of white noise.

Drones would return to the shores with Pigeon ARM and Robin SDB (2 each per Tern) and Hellfire missiles (2 per Rook) to attack enemy radar sites and bunkers (the Terns) and enemy vehicles (the Rooks) as well as provide battlefield reconnaissance for the incoming Marines in their LCACs, LCMs, and Otter amphibious landing vehicles. Freki and Geri patrol boats would escort the landing craft onto the beaches.

8 Peel-class Strike Packages consisting of the following:
Strike Group A
4 Sea Spectre FA.1 and 4 Sea Spectre FA.2 each with 5 Goshawk long-range air-to-air missiles (LRAAM), 4 Kestrel beyond visual range air-to-air missiles (BVRAAM), 6 Kite infra-red dogfight missiles (SRAAM), 4 Kite active-passive radar SRAAM

4 Sea Vampire ADS.1 each with 2 Flamingo autonomous decoys, 2 Kestrel BVRAAM, 4 Kite IR SRAAM, 4 ALARM, 2 Pigeon anti-radar missiles (ARM), 4 Ptarmigan ARM (large, high speed 160 km range missiles), Finch jamming pod

2 Sea Wraith EW.1 each with 3 Flamingo decoys, 2 Kestrel BVRAAM, 4 Kite IR SRAAM, 4 ALARM, 2 Pigeon ARM, 2 Ptarmigan ARM, 2 Finch jamming pods

12 Swordfish S.1 each with 3 Flamingo decoys, 2 Kestrel BVRAAM, 4 Kite IR SRAAM, 4 ALARM, 4 JSOW, 2 Ptarmigan ARM

Strike Group B & C
4 Sea Spectre FA.1 and 4 Sea Spectre FA.2 (as above)

12 Sea Spectre FA.2 each with 2 Flamingo decoys, 4 Kestrel BVRAAM, 6 Kite IR SRAAM, 12 Brimstone anti-tank guided missiles, 2 JSOW, Pigeon ARM

4 Sea Vampire ADS.1 (as above)

2 Sea Wraith EW.1 (as above)

Over each carrier, 12 Sea Spectre FA.1 aircraft are performing CAP with Heimdall AEW.1 aircraft, with another 12 ready for quick launches

12 Hornby-class carrier strike packages, each consisting of:
8 Sea Fury FA.1 configured for ground attack with 2 Flamingo decoys, 2 Kestrel BVRAAM, 2 Kite IR SRAAM, 6 Maverick ASM, 4 Pigeon ARM, 6 Robin small diameter bombs

10 Sea Fury FA.1 configured for fighter escort with 2 Flamingo decoys, 6 Kestrel BVRAAM, 6 Kite IR SRAAM, 4 Kite RF SRAAM (4 covering the strike package, 4 performing CAP, 2 ready for launch to support CAP)

8 Lord-class LHD packages, each consisting of:
9 Sea Fury FA.1 configured for ground attack with 2 Flamingo decoys, 2 Kestrel BVRAAM, 2 Kite IR SRAAM, 6 Brimstone ATGM, 4 Pigeon ARM, 6 Robin small diameter bombs

8 Treaty-class BBGN flights, each consisting of:
4 Sea Fury FA.1 configured for fighter escort with 2 Flamingo decoys, 6 Kestrel BVRAAM, 6 Kite IR SRAAM, 4 Kite RF SRAAM (flying from the Lord-class LHD)

OOC: Updated and bump

Southern Inakan Airspace

"This is SkyEye Six, we are detecting a heavy enemy air presense in the target area. All ground attack aircraft are now ordered to turn for home. All others are cleared to engage, over."

With that order, the F/A91s broke off, streaking back towards Generia. The B9Ds prepared to release their massive payload.

From 1,500 miles away, the fifty B9 bombers opened their bomb bay doors and dropped off all four of their AGM-240 Trireme anti-ship missiles. The missiles began their subsonic cruise stage, flying low, hugging the ground and skimming the sea. Their active stealth systems (wave cancelation) would hopefully prevent detection until it was too late. Once they were fourty miles to target, they accelerated to mach 2.5, skimming the sea, and going into a terminal pop-up maneuver, bringing their 1200kg explosive warheads down on the decks of the ships. The primary targets were battleships and carriers.

Meanwhile, once the F78s got within 210 miles of the enemy aircraft, they released their payload of seventeen AIM-154 AXRAAM missiles, then turned for home, letting the AWACS birds guide the missiles. The missiles would accelerate to mach four, and once within ten miles of the enemy aircraft, unfold their folding winglets, using them in conjunction with 3D thrust vectoring to maneuver. This made for a very difficult to evade missile.

Southern Inakan Airspace

"This is SkyEye Six, we are detecting a heavy enemy air presense in the target area. All ground attack aircraft are now ordered to turn for home. All others are cleared to engage, over."

With that order, the F/A91s broke off, streaking back towards Generia. The B9Ds prepared to release their massive payload.

From 1,500 miles away, the fifty B9 bombers opened their bomb bay doors and dropped off all four of their AGM-240 Trireme anti-ship missiles. The missiles began their subsonic cruise stage, flying low, hugging the ground and skimming the sea. Their active stealth systems (wave cancelation) would hopefully prevent detection until it was too late. Once they were fourty miles to target, they accelerated to mach 2.5, skimming the sea, and going into a terminal pop-up maneuver, bringing their 1200kg explosive warheads down on the decks of the ships. The primary targets were battleships and carriers.

Meanwhile, once the F78s got within 210 miles of the enemy aircraft, they released their payload of seventeen AIM-154 AXRAAM missiles, then turned for home, letting the AWACS birds guide the missiles. The missiles would accelerate to mach four, and once within ten miles of the enemy aircraft, unfold their folding winglets, using them in conjunction with 3D thrust vectoring to maneuver. This made for a very difficult to evade missile.
"Raven Six, Owl One-One," the radar operator on one of the Heimdall AEW.1 aircraft noted, "picking up strong signals on bearing [x], possible hostile AWACS, request terminal, repeat, request terminal." Vice Admiral Docherty aboard the Woodstock recognised the call and ordered the fleet to activate all counter air measures and to launch a few very long range Lanneret missiles at the threatening AWACS aircraft (4 each detected). With information fed through datalinks, the missiles -- based on the GWS.58 Hurricane hypersonic cruise missile -- would guide towards the enemy at very high speed using the target's own radar before preceding towards its target for a kinetic kill.

Docherty nodded to the signals officer, who understood at once. "Owl One-One, Raven Six, Valkyrie." It was a silly codeword, he admitted, but it was one all the pilots would remember. Suddenly, radar scopes burst with a new host of lights as Flamingo deception decoys were released and as the Sea Wraith and Sea Vampire aircraft activated their Finch jamming pods. Dropping now to attack altitude, they began to eat up much of their fuel reserves even when the throttles were cut back slightly. Their conformal fuel tanks would still give them some combat time over target, but not nearly as much as they'd initially thought.

"Incoming missiles, evade, evade!" came a yell over the radio from one of the AWACS operators.

One thing the Isselmerens had failed to realise when they decided to use a hypersonic missile as a long range weapon was the fact that maneuverability was nearly impossible at those speeds. As the missiles got within sixty miles, the AWACS birds quickly went into a nose dive, causing the fast yet unmaneuverable missiles to overshoot them completely.

In the meantime, the crew aboard the AWACS used the powerfull radar to burn through the decoys and jamming. In addition to this, the missiles used their own LIDAR and LADAR systems to locate the correct targets.

OOC:You didn't respond to the ASMs.

"Incoming missiles, evade, evade!" came a yell over the radio from one of the AWACS operators.

One thing the Isselmerens had failed to realise when they decided to use a hypersonic missile as a long range weapon was the fact that maneuverability was nearly impossible at those speeds. As the missiles got within sixty miles, the AWACS birds quickly went into a nose dive, causing the fast yet unmaneuverable missiles to overshoot them completely.

In the meantime, the crew aboard the AWACS used the powerfull radar to burn through the decoys and jamming. In addition to this, the missiles used their own LIDAR and LADAR systems to locate the correct targets.

OOC:You didn't respond to the ASMs.
OOC: I typed a big ass thing that the forums decided to wipe. Owing to the weight of air defence mechanisms available to me, and the integrated nature of my air defence, only four struck, one obliging a large carrier to retreat (their decks are made to withstand a 508mm AP shell), another crippled a light carrier, and fragments of one hit a destroyer. A battleship was struck to little damage. Further Lanneret missiles were fired at your AWACS: the Lannerets are a three-stage missile (like the Hurricane) with a high supersonic terminal dart modelled on the Erne SAM with similar high manoeuvrability (TVN and PIF-PAF active manoeuvring). This time I fired 16 per AWACS, non-ballistic (unlike first time; I accept those missed). My EW aircraft are attempting deception jamming using the frequencies used by your AWACS aircraft, I'm using my Flamingo decoys and drones to intercept your missiles by committing suicide as well as more short-range air-to-air missiles using datalinks from my AEW aircraft and between themselves: assuming the AXRAAM are about the size of Phoenix missiles, that should be possible but very difficult. I propose high losses (173 aircraft). I apologise for seeming irritable -- bloody forums.

OOC: Don't worry about it, it happens to all of us (I typed up a huge post for that particular attack and Jolt ate it).

However, I'm kind of confused as to how only 73 aircraft were lost to 1,700 missiles, I understand the jamming would probably save a good portion of your airforce, but the sheer numbers of missiles would probably do some serious damage.

In the meantime, just assume my AWACS birds got blown away (but probably after my missiles hit).

OOC: Don't worry about it, it happens to all of us (I typed up a huge post for that particular attack and Jolt ate it).

However, I'm kind of confused as to how only 73 aircraft were lost to 1,700 missiles, I understand the jamming would probably save a good portion of your airforce, but the sheer numbers of missiles would probably do some serious damage.

In the meantime, just assume my AWACS birds got blown away (but probably after my missiles hit).
OOC: Sorry, misprint on my end. 173 aircraft (ca. 1 downed:10 missiles)

OOC:OK, sounds about right. OK, so basicly you killed my three AWACS and everyone else went home. That pretty much sums it up.

The 1st and 2nd Rapid Reaction Fleets began their assault with a massed barrage of long-range Hurricane surface-to-surface missiles from the surface warships and the Port-class submarines, and a mixture of extended range guided munitions (ERGM), armour piercing shells, and high capacity shells from the main guns of the battleships. The Hurricanes struck out at coastal batteries and other high priority entrenched targets deep inland. Tomahawk land attack missiles would strike against airfields, POL sites, and other light targets. The ERGM, loaded with submunitions, were fired at SAM sites, artillery batteries, and troop concentrations relayed by the UAVs. The AP shells added their weight against the coastal batteries while the HC shells struck against armour concentrations uncovered by the drones. Further batches of Tern UAVs from the Rapier-class carriers armed with Brimstone anti-tank missiles and Kite air-to-air missiles roamed the shores for targets. Meanwhile Heimdall AEW aircraft provided detailed radar images to the Sea Spectre fighters and fighter-bombers coming in from the Peel-class carriers, followed by Swordfish strike aircraft and the Sea Furies from the amphibious assault ships and the Hornby-class light carriers. The Sea Spectres would use their Goshawk long-range air-to-air missiles and the datafeed from the Heimdall AEW aircraft as well as the enemy aircraft's own radar transmissions to down the enemy at a fair distance. Lanneret theatre air defence missiles would strike at enemy AWACS aircraft and allow the Sea Spectres to close in with Kestrel BVRAAM and Kite dogfight missiles, to which the Sea Furies would add their own. Sea Wraith air defence suppression aircraft would blanket the enemy radars with jamming while lashing out at active enemy radar sites with ALARM and Pigeon anti-radar missiles.

At sea, the Royal Marines were starting to depart the amphibious assault ships by boat and helicopter, with attack helicopters escorting them in along with Sea Fury FA.1 V/STOL aircraft. If the Republicans wanted a war, they would receive a solid drubbing.
OOC: Sorry for the absence

IC:

The Republicans on the beaches were recieving something just short of Hell. The UKIN Fleet bombarded the shoreline defenses with everything they had. Naval Guns, Surface-to-Surface missiles, strike aircraft, they all had their go at the Republicans. The Sour-Sweet smell of Death covered the once pristine beaches of Smith Bay.

On the recieving end of all this punishment was X Corps of the 2nd Army, and roughly a division of Marines. In the days before the bombardment, they had worked as hard as they possible could to build Bunkers, Foxholes, anything that could protect them in a bombardment. SAM sites were brought forward, but could not do much against anti-radar missiles.

As the Isselmereian marines started forward in their boats, Shore batteries opened up. From massive 18 Inch guns, to small 6 Inchers, they all tried their best to destroy as many of the godforsaken Foreigners before they got ashore. Although there were many hits, a good deal of the assualt boats got ashore. Republican defenders opened up on them.

The Transport Helicopters had worse luck. Many of the Marines carried ISAAM-7s, Inkanan Standard Anti-Aircraft Missiles(Think Stingers) A few did get through though, and they had an easier time securing positions then the Sea-Bound Marines did. Taken totally by spurise, many defensive positions were lost to the Marines.

OOC: Land Losses:
1,765 Killed
8,349 Wounded
46 Missing
15 out of the 25 Six Inch guns put out of action
3 of the 6 18 Inch Guns put out of action

IC:

In the air, F-78 Sokols and F-92 Lightning Hounds did their best to repel the Attacking aircraft. The Sokols fared much better than F-92s, They were able to fire their missiles at longer ranges than many aircraft could, and they carried 17 missiles to boot. The Lightning Hound Pilots, veterans from the war up north, were used to Dogfighting, and the INAF ate them alive.

The Remaining SAM sites also had their go at the INAF aircraft. Most wre mobile sites, so could be moved around at will, and they did fair damage of their own, but took heavy losses in turn.

OOC: Air Losses
16 SAM sites
76 F-92 Lighting Hounds
11 F-78 Sokols

Sorry for the crappy post, I just can't think straight today.

(Apologies for the delay. I'll try to come up with a post either later tonight or tomorrow. Things have been piling up.)

(OOC: No Problem, take your time)

The RINN concentrated the fire from the 560mm guns on the Treaty-class battleships on the remaining 18" guns while the Coronation-class battleships provided heavy shore bombardment against reinforcements coming to the beach and points of resistance. Castle-class heavy cruisers added their own fire-power to the mix, using their eight-inch guns to pummel the remaining six-inch guns at a distance. Freki and Geri class patrol boats scoured the shoreline at high speed, providing direct fire support as well as short range air defence over the beachhead.

The Marines had taken heavy casualties in their assault, but took immediately to the job at hand. Their landing vehicles disgorged their sections who forged forward into shell holes provided by the RINN naval bombardment, pepper-potting forward towards the Republican positions under the creeping barrage provided by the battleships and guided missile cruisers. Machine gun nests, bunkers, and anti-tank positions, were assaulted with anti-tank rockets and missiles, trenches and dugouts were bombarded with hand-thrown and grenade launcher-fired grenades, mortar bombs, and the occasional light rocket before being stormed and cleared.

The airborne assault had been particularly hard hit, but the troops swiftly consolidated and advanced to their objectives to await reinforcements from the shore. Kodiak tanks recently equipped with active counter-projectile defences against ATGMs and RPGs advanced inland into lagers. Knowing that the Inkanans had been provided with Sarzonian Rhino MBTs before the war, the Marines decided to let the attack helicopters scout ahead to disable enemy armour formations and to give grid references for the battleships to act on, raining their heavy high capacity shells onto tanks as well as artillery positions. Puffin radar helicopter drones flew overhead providing makeshift counter-battery radar for Marine self-propelled artillery to deliver salvoes before swiftly scooting to safer firing positions.

Helicopters and fighters were rapidly refueled, as were the drones. Tern DA.1s were sent inland to assault enemy airfields with Robin small diameter bombs to penetrate hardened aircraft shelters and standard 500-lb. bombs to destroy ammunition and POL dumps as well as aircraft still in the open. The remaining transport helicopters picked up Army reinforcements from the personnel transports and ferried them to safe landing zones, to be transported to the front lines by wheeled Vixen infantry section vehicles and Otter landing vehicles. Those two vehicle types provided the occasional direct fire support, particularly those Vixens equipped with 105mm guns. Mortar-equipped Vixens gave indirect fire support as well, dropping mortar bombs into enemy trenches and foxholes, as well as other points of resistance.

Siren-class electronic warfare cutters broadcasted jamming signals across the known Inkanan wavelengths, covering the front, preventing the frontline units from contacting their higher ups for further reinforcements, or even their batteries. INA and RINM forces, connected via encrypted radios and secure datalinks, called in close air support and artillery support from self-propelled guns, rocket launchers (MRLS), and ships, as well as calling for further reinforcements.

It was a continuous assault of fire, movement, and consolidation, progressively enlarging the bridgehead and countering opportunities for counter-attack. The Isselmere-Nielanders only hoped they could keep up the pressure.

OOC:
Losses thus far:
21 LCAC
31 LCM
78 Sea Fury FA.1
63 Sea Spectre FA.1
67 Sea Spectre FA.2
31 Sea Vampire ADS.1
13 Sea Wraith EW.1
23 Swordfish S.1
6 AH-64D Apache Longbow
31 Merlin HC.1
42 L12LV Otter AAVT
5 L12CP Otter AAVT-TCP
8 L12AR Otter AAVT-ARV
87 Naval crew dead, 131 wounded
2,151 Marines dead, 1,203 wounded
113 SBS Commando dead

Updated with losses

The boat made its slow progress toward the fleet as the Incendiant had already returned to the fleet with its mission a total failure. Returning with a box he dared not open, Corporal Thomas Carpenter slumped into the boat. With his hands shaking, he opened the communications device and set it to the secure transmission.

“Carpenter to fleet,” he croaked weakly.

“GPS is offline,” came the naval lieutenant’s reply from the Castle-class vessel Alert. “What’s your 20?”

“Point eight nautical miles south of your position,” Carpenter wheezed. “You’re the closest ship.”

“Acknowledged.” The communications ended as Carpenter’s motorboat neared the Alert.

“Medical team to Deck 14 immediately,” Ensign Karol Novadya yelled into the intercom as he struggled to bring the broken corporal aboard the ship with the box. A security team came along with the chief medical officer, who was wearing a lab coat over his lieutenant commander’s naval uniform.

“Scan that box yet?”

“Affirmative. Nothing explosive in there.”

“Let’s have a look,” Doctor David Pulaski said. He opened the box and gasped.

“Oh my God.” He tapped the communications panel. “Sickbay to bridge.”

“Captain Hamm here.”

“Sir,” Pulaski said, trying hard to suppress the urge to vomit. “We have… the remains… of Alpha Team. In a cardboard box.”

Captain Brandi Hamm immediately turned to her comm officer. “Contact Commodore Moraine. He needs to know about this.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I’m going down there. Commander Charlton, you have the bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” Jake Charlton said as he watched Hamm walk briskly off the bridge. When she saw the contents of the box, she closed her eyes and steadied herself against the wall as she felt faint from the stench of death that emanated from the box.

“Close that damn box,” Hamm snapped.

“Yes, sir.” With the box closed, the odor was not as strong as it had been, but Hamm slumped to the floor, from a combination of her queasiness from the sight and smell and her despair over the failure of Alpha Team.

“Commodore Moraine here,” her communications device beeped. It was the secure channel, but Hamm didn’t care. She turned on the video display and reopened the box, turning her head away from the sight. Moraine didn’t reply for a long time, and the only sound that came from his end of the line was a deep breath.

“What about Carpenter?”

“He’s dead Brandi,” Pulaski interjected. Both Hamm and Moraine exchanged somber looks. Moraine then looked back and saw Thompson.

“Any word on what happened to Holloway?”

“Unknown, sir. Those weren’t his remains?”

“The Alert’s sickbay is going to try to identify the remains of who the Doomingslandians sent back. They’ll let us know as soon as they know anything. I think we’re going to end up listing him as missing.” Moraine gave Thompson a look, realising how much Thompson and Holloway were at odds, but also knowing that a missing Holloway meant Alpha Team’s mission was a total failure.

In spite of the contentious relationship with Holloway, Thompson closed his eyes. He’d even forgive Holloway of his snide comment before Alpha Team’s ill-fated mission began just to see him alive one more time.

********************************************

“We’re going to do what?”

“We’re going to split off from the rest of the fleet and launch an attack on Georgestown,” Captain Johan Taylor replied. “We just received the orders from General Pinckney and Commodore Moraine.”

“We’re going right in the teeth of the Republican defences,” Commander Norm Spence replied. Fresh off a promotion from the rank of lieutenant commander and serving as first officer aboard the ISS Publius, Spence was getting used to the idea of being the contrarian instead of the commander of the old Bolash-class SSK Liestes. “That’s a suicide mission if I ever heard one.”

“Right now, the UK is doing the heavy lifting and we just received our orders. I think Pinckney figured we’ll have the element of surprise in our favour if we attack there.”

“It’s definitely a surprise, to us,” Spence said. “Believe me, Commander, if it works, you’ll get your chance to tell them all about it. But right now, we have our orders.”

Begrudingly, Spence nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“I’ll lead the team. You stay behind and command the ship.”

“Sir, you’re the task force commander. You can’t leave the ship. I won’t allow it.”

Raising his eyebrow, Taylor looked at his new first officer, but he realised he was right about that.

“Colonel Quinn, you lead the mission,” Taylor said.

“Aye, sir,” Colonel Mike Quinn replied. “All right team, let’s get the show on the road!”

The 10 Normandy-class troop transports began their journey toward the shores of Georgestown under escort as the 20 inch guns of the Publius readied to level whatever came their way. One squadron of SZ-1 ‘Vulture’ strike planes and one squadron of SZ-2 ‘Albatross’ air superiority fighters took off, with the Vultures setting off to target and destroy AA batteries and detection equipment. Six thousand troops grabbed their equipment and started screwing their courage to the sticking point as the first major Sarzonian amphibious landing was about to begin.

Looking out of the window of a ten story apartment, Lt. Col. Cassius Servius eyed the approaching Sarzonian fleet with glee. He'd made sure to have all of his anti-aircraft RADARs shut off to avoid detection, and his men hidden within the buildings. MBTs and IFVs had been carefully concealed by literaly driving them through the walls of buildings. To the Sarzonians, it would look relatively lightly defended. However, that was about to change.

"Corporal, have the batteries light up." he said with a smirk as Sarzonian aircraft penetrated the airspace of the city. The corporal saluted, returning the smirk.

A few minutes later, all seventy concealed, roof-mounted M171 BADSs had been remotely activated, and immediatly began tracking the penetrating Sarzonian fighters with their radar, LIDAR, LADAR, and IR systems. Within a few seconds of their activation, there was a deafening roar as the 30mm gattling guns opened fire on the air targets, followed by a large amount of whiiiiiish sounds as MIM-125 Pilum surface-to-air missiles were launched off of the M171s, accelerating to mach 2.3 and maneuvering around with their 3D thrust vectoring, guiding themselves to the target via information provided by the launch platform.

However, the Sarzonians had an even more serious problem. The launchers were mounted on the roofs of civilian buildings...

Meanwhile, the troop transports remained seemingly unchallenged. Well, until they hit the beaches, at least. As soon as the Sarzonian infantry began to unload from their Normandy-class troop transports, they came under an almost insane amount of fire, eminating from the hotels that lined the beaches. There was roughly a platoon to every building, allowing for a ton of fire in the form of Javelin and Predator ATGMs. With each individual squad having two Predator launchers and each platoon having a Javelin launcher, MBTs and IFVs wouldn't stand a chance. As that was happening, other members of the units, men equiped with M28 6.5mm ARs, and M30 6.5mm SAWs, took carefull aim at the disembarking troops. The riflemen also had the option of taking out hostile soldiers hiding in shell craters with their 20mm airbursting grenades from their underbarrel launcher. 7.62mm machineguns layed down a heavy blanket of fire on larger groups of infantry. The sound was defeaning, yet pleasing to the ears of the Doomingslanders, who relished the wounderful sound produced by the combination of 6.5mm and 7.62mm weapons and screaming, dying men, and the smell of chordite and burnt human flesh.

Company mortar sections also joined in the fun, opening up with 60mm, 81mm, and even 120mm mortars. The beach wasn't so pristine five minutes into the battle. However, the Sarzonians faced the same delema as they did with the anti-aircraft guns: the men defending the beaches were positioned in civilian buildings. Within the basements of the structures sat terrified Inkanan civilians who had been told that the Sarzonians would rape the women, enslave the children, and slaughter the men. So, they were being quite cooperative in unknowingly acting as human shields for the defense of the city.

General Lew Nys’ky sat back in his chair and put his feet up on the mahogany desk. A fat cigar hung from the man’s thick lips, the tip slowly burning away. The sweet smoke drifted out of the man’s nostrils and the corners of his mouth, falling to encircle his jowls, and rising to wreath his forehead and thick mane of grey hair. A green army cap sat lopsided on his rather large head, complementing his simple green and black fatigues.

Suddenly, the intercom on his desk buzzed, and a soft feminine voice came over the line. His secretary, Sofie.

“Sir, there’s a General Vaclar Ilsynij here to see you.”

“Send him in. I’m expecting him.”

General Nys’ky depressed the button and clamped his teeth back down around the cigar. His door opened, and a man stepped in. He was an odd looking figure, to put it lightly. Tall and deathly thin, his jet black uniform hung loosely over him. His skin was pale as the Holy Ghost, and in the hollows of his sunken cheeks and deep, dark eyes sat stagnant wells of shadow. A patch on the right arm of his uniform displayed a red emblem, the mark of the Imperial Black Guard. General Vaclar Ilsynij was the commander of this unit.

“Have a seat, Vaclar.”

The man silently nodded and approached the desk. Nys’ky stood and the two exchanged handshakes.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice. I know you’ve got plenty of pre-occupations these days.”

The man’s expression remained still and blank as he replied.

“Not at all, General.”

His voice was smooth and refined, though there was some strange, elusive quality about it that had always unnerved General Nys’ky, a man who was not, needless to say, often unnerved.

“Let’s get right to it. I’ve been reading your division’s reports, and from what I’m seeing, it looks like we’re right on target with the Operation. Still, I’m wondering if what we’re doing over there is enough.”

“How so?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got utmost confidence in our Black Guard. It’s the Republicans I’m worried about. There just aren’t enough of ‘em. Even with the support of the Doom legionnaires and your boys, the coalition troops could conceivably overrun the front lines. Plus, they’re concentrated in one area, New Cumberland, and that leaves the rest of they’re forces spread thin throughout the rest of the nation. What if Sarz decided to shift they’re attack westward? The rebels would have to deal with one Hell of a pincer, assuming they lasted long enough for the enemy to hit them with it. Plainly speaking, Vaclar, I’m thinking about escalating this whole thing.”

“War, sir?”

“Bingo. Sarz’s troops are green, never seen full on field combat. Word is their spec ops ran at the first sight of Helldawg’s troopers down in NC. We put an army on the ground, and we can send the Sarzonians and the Isselmerians packin’, and still have time to bump off that crazy Emperor they got in power over there.”

“Then?”

“Well, here’s the play. Before we try anything like that, I want to make ‘em bleed a little. Since you’re the resident expert on that kind of stuff, I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you carte blanche. Everything you need to go in there and kick some ass before we bring out the real big guns and send those motherfuckers back into the sea. You get your boys over the channel, and let ‘em loose on the bad guys, and I’ll be one Hell of a happy man.”

“Of course, sir.”

A flicker of a sardonic grin ghosted General Ilsynij’s mouth.

“Alright, get on it. We’re not killin’ time here.”

Ilsynij stood, turned, and walked out of the room.

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

The channel had become a veritable beehive after the outbreak of the war. Fleet activity had been stepped up tenfold, monitoring the situation over the waters, and preparing in case an unfriendly power decided to violate Imperial neutrality by entering the waterway. On the surface, it would have seemed as if that was all the admirals and the politicians were taking care of, ensuring the protection of the channel and the maintenance of strict neutrality, but in actuality things were far different. The Empire for the past two weeks had been preparing for war.

In Port Belgrade, and dozens of other Imperial Port Cities, transport vessels sat prepped and ready to take on troops to ferry overseas to the conflict zone. General Lew Nys’ky, head of the Imperial military high command, and one Emperor Antonius’s right hand men, had already mobilized the Imperial 30th army, and it was only a matter of time before more Imperial soldiers were ordered into combat.

Still, at the moment, this remained a silent war. The New Cumberland operations, establishing positions to trap and halt the enemy advance, had been merely the opening dance in a larger covert war. The landings of Sarzonian troops had marked the beginning of part two.

The objective in any secret war was to create as much of a Hell for the enemy soldier while still preserving plausible deniability and faux neutrality. It was this particular area where the Imperial Black Guard excelled. As the first of the Sarzonian landing craft hit the beaches at New Cumberland and came under fire, literally hundreds of unmarked GH-20 heavy transport helicopters were lifting off from bases on Krakosnyov, and the flight decks of Imperial aircraft carriers and warships.

As night drew on, the choppers made their landings at scheduled destinations in Georgestown, Montgomery, Morristown, and other smaller, more isolated villages and townships. Under cover of the pre-dawn darkness, the Black Guard went to work. If the Sarzonians were going to launch an attack anywhere, they would not be given an easy fight.

In addition to aiding in fortifying the towns and cities, and bolstering local garrisons, the Black Guard began the preliminary stages of the recruitment of a civilian militia and native guerilla warfare element. In time, these citizen soldiers would prove important to the propaganda war against the coalition enemies.

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

Major Kazakovic peered through a pair of binoculars from his perch atop an apartment building on the southern edges of New Cumberland. Heavy grey and black smoke hung in the air all around, and thick black pillars sailed skyward from the burning craters and hulks of broken defenses below. The thunder of the guns had not lessened, and was in fact as heavy as ever, complemented by the endless dull yellow flashes from far away offshore vessels, the silhouettes barely visible through the haze.

He lowered the binoculars, and turned to the officer standing beside him.

“Are my men ready?”

“Yes, sir. All elements are in place. Doom legionnaires report landings by Sarzonian troops along the southern beaches.”

He raised the binoculars once more, and looked back out to the hidden fleet.”

He muttered under his breath:

“We’ve got to take out those fucking guns.”

Lowering the binoculars once more, he spoke to the second officer.

“Can you get your men out there?”

“Out where, sir?”

“The ships. Out to those Sarzonian battleships.”

“It’s possible sir, though they’re guns would rip us to shreds before we got within a quarter mile.”

“Tonight. When it’s dark. Do you have rafts?”

“Plenty, and I presume the Inkanans have spares.”

“Good. Then you know what to do. There’s semtex all over the place. Get your men some, and get out there. If we’re lucky, the bastards will be too busy trying to shoot at us back here in the city. You can handle that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Tonight then. Twenty-three-hundred.”

As he finished his sentence, the roar of a jet engine split the air. A Sarzonian aircraft rocketed overhead, throwing both men to their feet, hands over their heads.

“We’d better get back inside, sir.”

“Good plan.”

The two rushed back towards the door that led off of the roof.

[OOC: Generic Empire, my forces are operating to the east of New Cumberland, one in the small bay to the east, another in the bay south of the mountains on the eastern coast, near New Madrid. Would you want to switch your attack to one of those positions? If so, post on the OOC thread or alter your post above, and I'll post my IC response here. Sorry for the confusion.]

bump for the hell of it

((OOC: Oh yeah, I have to post in this thread, don't I. I'll do that tomorrow, er, technically later today I guess.))

One last bump

OOC:Wow, forgot about this...

Still waiting for Sarz to post.

I think the thread is effectively moribund. Wow, I've killed another one.

Guys, I'm so sorry! But I'm back now, and I'm here to kill foreigners.

Some Bunker Outside of UKIN Artillery Range

"Bloody Hell." General Winston Potter started out into the darkness. In the distance he could hear Artillery fire and the Rat-tat-tat of Machine guns. Incomming fire, of course.

"What was that sir?" His Adjustant, Major Henry Oliver, had been with General Potter for nearly six years.

"Bloody hell, Major. I thought we were ready for this attack. I was horribly wrong. If we lose New Madrid...." He Shook his head. "That won't be very good for our Careers, now, will it?"

"It's not your fault sir. If the war department had given you enough aircraft and tanks...."

"Oh, Rubbish. We had enough of it, it just that the United Kingdom knew what they were doing. Unlike the greens we had here." A grimace went across Potter's Face. "We can't win, Henry."

The Shores of New Madrid

Major Richard Kimball Dashed across open grass and leaped into a shell hole. He get a hand on his hip and pulled out a Mk. V Gernade, and lobbed it towards Isselmere-Nielandian positions. He then ducked as Shrapnel hissed overhead.

"Join the marines they say! See the world!" He shouted over the explosions and gunfire. "The World my ass! So far all I've seen are Shell holes, trenches, and my own men's backs as they ran away from these Royal bastards."

A chuckle rose from the men of his Regiment nearest him. They all knew that he had joined in the advance backwards ever since the UKIN Landed men on the beach. They had pushed back I Corps, 3rd Army about a mile a day since.

"Not anymore, damnit." Kimball muttered to himself. General Potter had ordered a counter-attack. Fresh troops from the North had been moved in at night, in a last attempt to throw the Invaders back into the sea.

Two days ago, a mighty artillery bombardment announced the beginning of the counter offensive. Shortly after that, Ulhans, Cruassiers, and Dragoons of the 4th Armoured Armada attacked the lines. What air power was left provided support. The entire Right flank of the Republican line was moving forward towards the sea, hopefully, killing UKIN Men while they were at it.

"This better work, damnit, or we're as good as dead." With that, Major Kimball jumped up, and started moving forward again.

Bump

Yo.

I'll try to post soon, probably by tomorrow.

Same here... I had a post largely written out until I found out that GE did not change his attack to be against my fleets as I originally thought. I've got some other loose ends to tie up with my post so it will be a whopper.

((OOC: Yeah, sorry about that Sarz. I never really figured out who was where, and didn't post the attack. I guess I'll get back to figuring out what's going on, and then I'll blow your ships to Hell.))

OOC: Apologies for the delay. I'm trying to come up with a proper RP-angle for this thread. I have one, now I just have to write it. I'll try to do so by this weekend, hopefully reviving interest back in this topic.

The Inkanan counterattack initially caught LGen Michaelson and MGen Finley off guard.

“We’d been pushing these bastards back for days, now they come at us with a heavy artillery barrage and an armoured assault?” Michaelson bellowed.

“What about our counter-battery fire and close air support?” Finley enquired.

Brigadier General Redburgh, commander of the INA’s 16th Field Artillery Brigade, was the first to respond. “Both rocket artillery and our tube artillery tried to saturate their firing positions with submunitions, but with the loss of so many drones and the need to counter the Republican air support meant our counter-battery fire hasn’t been as effective as it could have been.”

The commander of the RINM air wing, Colonel Pendleton, answered next. “As General Redburgh noted, both we and the Navy have been pre-occupied with gaining air superiority. The drones have had some measure of success against the armoured assault, blunting it, along with my attack helicopters, but it’s becoming a battle of attrition.”

“And since we haven’t yet been able to get any of the Army vehicles on terra firma, we’re soon to be right fucked,” Michaelson finished.

“Quite, sir,” Finley added. “The Marine tanks have been held in reserve with the exception of a few point battles, but with the inevitable maintenance issues and supply problems...”

“And the Swordfish interdiction missions?” Michaelson asked Captain Embry, the officer commanding the naval air wing. “Haven’t they been able to do anything to the enemy’s logistics? Command functions? Anything at all?”

“Sir, my pilots have been doing all that they can,” Embry growled. “They’ve been striking POL and ammunition dumps, supply depots, everything possible. The Sea Spectres have been performing close air support missions when not on barrier or combat air patrols. Along with the Marines, the air wing has been doing what it can.”

“My apologies, Captain,” Michaelson muttered, glaring at the digital map before him. “I hadn’t meant to denigrate you or your pilots’ efforts.” He paused briefly and looked at Admiral Docherty, who had been strangely quiet throughout the entire meeting.

“Admiral, what are you thinking?” the general asked.

“I’m moving one of the surface battle groups off of New Madrid, along with a carrier group for air cover,” Docherty stated. “We’ll bombard that city into submission.”

“But what can be done about the land campaign?” Michaelson shouted.

“We’ll have to beach the vehicle transports and use the pontoon bridges strapped to the LSD hulls. I’ll be pilloried for it, and it’s uncertain whether it will be entirely effective, but we must try something.”

[OOC: Just for information's sake, I used "Doomies" as a quick and under duress nickname for Doomingsland's forces. No disrespect is intended OOCly. ICly, it's a quick reference for each one to understand who they're talking about when they're in a life-or-death mode.]

“We’re under fire!”

“Get down!”

“Shit! I’ve been hit!”

The landing near New Cumberland was going worse than expected for the Incorporated Sarzonian Army. No matter how many drills they had with intense fire at amphibious landing sites, it didn’t prepare them for when the real bullets were flying and people were facing down the prospect that they wouldn’t be able to get a foothold on territory. Some of the better-trained soldiers got down quickly and drew their M-16s as fast as they could and returned fire, but other, greener troops never got the chance. Eventually, the casualty figure would reach 347 out of 6,000. One hundred sixty two of those either died on the spot or would flatline by the end of the week.

Meanwhile, dozens of anti-radar missiles designed to hover until they picked up an active signal and then zoom in for the kill started belching out of the escort ships and would strike as soon as the active signal picked them up. Aircraft crews began flying evasive patterns in an effort to support the landing by firing upon the emerging Doomingslandian forces but one by one, aircraft continued to get shot down. When the remaining half of the squadron would limp back to the Publius, they would find that one third of the jets that took off from her decks would never make it back and her pilots would become among the first of her honoured dead. The jets that didn’t get shot down would suffer damage, with only two of them being salvageable enough to jury rig repairs and get them back into the sky. One plane would need major repairs but could be brought into service within a few months. The other plane was an Operational Loss.

Aboard the Publius Spence was watching events unfold nervously. Finally, he had an idea that was a radical departure from anything in the Woodstock Convention.

“Captain,” Spence said to the commanding officer of the Publius, and the task force itself, “we’re under heavy fire from the shoreline,” our aircraft sorties aren’t providing effective cover. We’re going to have to do something drastic.”

“What’s that Norm?”

“We’re going to have to use our Normandy ships to attack the shore and fire on the Doomies.”

“No. They’re too close to civilians. I remind you that Inkana is one of our allies. If the Royalists win this blasted war, we’re going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when we start wiping out civvies. It’s a violation of the Woodstock Convention.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Spence snapped. “We’re in a life-or-death situation here with our troops. You mean to tell me that Inkana’s civvies and the Woodstock Convention are more important to you than our own troops? I must remind you that Doomingsland is not a signatory nation to the old Geneva Convention, which the Woodstock Convention is based on. By the terms of that old document, it doesn’t apply when your enemy doesn’t abide by it. Doomingsland doesn’t. Now it’s time for them to pay the price.

“If this mission fails, Captain, it will be your head Command goes after.”

“All right, fine. Get the guns and the mortars ready and fire on my command.”

The gunnery officer looked up with a raised eyebrow. He then shook his head slightly and set to work. Seconds later, in halting tones, he said, “targets acquired sir.”

“Fire!”

The ships from the fleet began firing, from the 11 inch shells of the Normandy-class heavy attack ships to their 250 mm mortars to the 20 inch guns on the Publius. The ultimate price had yet to be paid, and no one knew the full extent of the damage they would do to Inkanans and to themselves, but they had a mission to complete and time was of the essence.



Reporter Craig Taylor’s career has taken him to many places over the years he’s been a camerman and journalist. The one place he’d never been in all the times he’s covered wars, even the two front wars against now-defunct nations Cam III and CorpSac, was at the front lines of a ground war. He’s gotten a bird’s eye view of the sailors and the officers who made up the accomplished Sarzonian navy and saw the reverence of the men when word came back of Admiral Marcus Patinkin’s exploits negotiating a peace accord that ended the war against CorpSac.

With his camera rolling, he slowed his motorboat until it reached beachfall. Taking a suit of kevlar body armour and helmet, Taylor ducked into a small tree and set up his camera to begin rolling.

“Hi, we’re live from the beach front at New Cumberland. This is Craig Taylor for SNN News. Sarzonian warships are bombing the beachline and it looks like some civilian targets are getting hammered by heavy fire from the ISS Publius.” Taylor began panning the scene and saw something out of the corner of his eye. He jumped for a moment then whatever it was disappeared.

Must be some wildlife, he thought. He resumed panning. “Troops from the Incorporated Sarzonian Army are attempting an amphibious landing operation and—.” Taylor never got to finish the next sentence as he was suddenly aware of being grabbed by two very strong humans and having his mouth covered. He was also aware of two more of them grabbing his camera. Their helmets alone were enough to cause nightmares in even the most grizzled battlefront reporter.

Taylor didn’t take long to realize that he was captured by the Doomies.


“Name?”

“Holloway. David Andrew.”

“Rank?”

“Staff Sergeant, Incorporated Sarzonian Army.”

“Serial number?”

“ZA5A00371.”

“What were your leaders planning to do with that shore battery?”

Bandaged heavily and blindfolded, Holloway gritted his teeth. One thing the Sarzonians were careful about training their troops to do was not to reveal anything more to the enemy than basic identifying information. Special forces were supposed to take a cyanide pill if they were caught, but the “Doomies,” as the Sarzonian forces referred to their new enemies, were expecting that tactic and removed the pill from Holloway’s back pockets as if someone told them exactly where it was. For all Holloway knew, someone may well have.

OOC:Post coming tommorow. Nice post, Sarz!

OOC: Thanks Doom. As long as I made everyone wait, I wanted it to be a classic.

Interrogation Room One, Command Bunker, Georgestown

Captain Marcius wasn't very happy when Holloway neglected to respond.

"Alright then. Have it your way." he said, motioning for the gaurds to come forward.

They picked him up out of the chair and hooked his tied hands to the cieling above a tub of water. A large electric battery with two conducting pads wired to it was wheeled over.

"Alright, Sergeant, one more chance. What was your mission?"

Holloway remained silent.

"Very well. Fry 'em."

Marcius took a step back and let his torturers do their work. One of the men picked up the two pads and rubbed them together, producing a large amount of sparks. He chuckled quietly before touching Holloway with them.

"GRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Marcius cackled with glee at this infliction of pain on the poor man.

"Take his blindfold off, let him see those who torment him so." he said with a smirk. The man who had electricuted him tore off the blindfold.

"So, ready to talk yet, my friend?" said Marcius, getting close to Holloway's face. Holloway spat in his eye. "So very rude. You may continue, corporal."

Once again, he took a step back, letting the torturer do his job. For the next ten minutes, Holloway was electricuted repeatedly, but refused to utter a single word other than "justice shall find you one day, asshole."

"Well, our friend is proving quite resiliant. OK, new plan." he said, walking over to the table of torture instruments. Selecting a spiked whip, he walked up behind Holloway, who still lie hanging above the tub by his hands.

"Sure you don't wanna talk? OK." he said in a pleasent tone, not even giving Holloway a chance to respond.

He drew his arm back, bringing it forward quickly, cracking the whip on Holloways back. Holloway let loose an inhumane scream. He was given nineteen more lashes before the skin on his back looked as if it could be peeled off with ease.

"Ready to talk now?" asked Marcius in a somewhat weary tone. No response, just a groan. "Too bad..."

Marcius dropped the whip and put on a pair of black work gloves. Grabbing a loosely hanging flap of skin, he tore downward, emmiting yet another inhumane scream from Holloway. Slowly but surely, he tore the skin downward, peeling it off of his back, leaving bare red flesh beneath it. He would've gone further and possibly started taking chunks of that out, but he still needed for Holloway to talk.

"Alright, Sergeant, you've served your country quite well. Just tell us what we wish to know and I'll put you out of your misery right now."

Holloway raised his head, trying to look back. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Finally, he managed two weak words,

"Kill....me...."

Marcius was, of course, delighted at this. He was breaking.

"Not yet, my friend. Not yet. Cut 'em down, time for something funner." he said with a cruel smile.

A gaurd drew a knife and cut down Holloway, who immediatly went limp and fell in the already blood-red water. He let out a horrifying scream as the water made contact with his skinned back. Two guards picked him up by the arms and dragged him out, tossing him on his back onto the concrete floor. This also made for another yell of pain.

Another gaurd entered the room carrying wooden stocks, but with only two holes. It had carrying handles to make for easier transportation. His ankles were locked in them, and two gaurds lifted them up. By now Marcius had arrived with a new instrument of torture: a blow torch.

A look a sheer terror came across Holloway's face. He knew what was coming and braced himself.

"Lemme guess, you don't want to talk?" asked Marcius. Holloway managed a weak mocking laugh. Big mistake.

"I was originaly only going to beat the soles of your feet. Too late for that." he said, igniting the blow torch.

He laughed maniacly as the flames made contact with the soles of his feet, causing the shin to bubble and sizzle, making for another inhuman scream. The smell of burned human flesh began to spread through the room as his feet were superheated, literaly melting the flesh off of the bone. Slowly, he moved it closer, slowly burning a hole through his feet.

Once his feet were throuroughly cooked and charred, he cut off power to the flame.

Marcius sighed and looked at his victim whimsicly.

"Ready to talk?"

A look of defiance came across the face of Holloway. He coughed up blood, and managed to talk.

"NEVER!!!"

Marcius was not ammused.

"So be it. I'll be back soon." replied Marcius in a stern tone, turning and walking out the door. He walked into the next room, where several TVs had been set up. A colonel had been monitering the interrogation.

Marcius was the first to speak.

"This one is far more resiliant that the others, sir."

"I can see that." replied the colonel without even looking up from the screen.

"Captain, I've sent for Inquisitor Gaius. He'll take it from here."

Marcius cringed at the mentioning of that name.

"Very well, sir. Although I doubt even he could get anything out of Holloway."

"As do I, Captain. As do I."

OOC:Whew, that took awhile to type. Part two of the interrogation shall come after I respond to Sarz's attacks and do the thing with the reporter.

OOC: Dear god...I was actually gagging when he started pulling off the skin. You would make a good Gestapo man, Doom. My post should be coming by tomorrow.

The television showed the flashes of golden fire from the Publius and the other ships in the Sarzonian task force. Frank Grendell turned on the tele to find out when the opening match in the World Cup finals would start for the Sarzonian national team and he saw the images. For some reason, the view of the 20 inch guns of the Publius spitting their flame and brimstone at the Doomies fascinated Grendell.

"Hey, I'm watchin' the tele," Grendell said as one of his friends rang his mobile.

"Turn on Channel 14. Just do it." Grendell paused for a second after he followed his friend's instruction. That second seemed to last an eternity as Grendell's eyes widened and his mouth opened wider than it ever did at a keg stand.

"Oh my fucking God, is our government nuts?"

Channel 14 was showing different images: These images were coming from a Praetonian-provided feed and they showed mothers sobbing as they desperately tried to dig their children out from the rubble of a boarding school that had just sent its elementary school children to bed. Now the surviving children were watching their friends, their classmates, and their relatives with open wounds and looks of a searing pain that was both physical and psychological.

Grendell was getting angrier and angrier the more he saw these images. They were the images the Sarzonian media were not showing. He had no way of knowing that the media couldn't get those images because they'd have to land the media vehicles and set up the cameras in such a way as to minimize the potential damage that could come from either a stray attack or a planned assault. He just knew that his country was firing on civilians. Worse, he knew that the civilians they were firing on were heretofore allies of Sarzonia.

********************************************************

Six hours later

Grendell was skipping his history class. Even though it was his major and it was a study session for a major exam, he had no intention of going. He felt what he was doing now was far more important than some history exam. He grabbed his megaphone and steadied his sign next to him as the bus drove the three hour trek to Woodstock. His face painted a picture of steely determination punctuated by eyes blazing with anger.

As the bus pulled into the location and the students got out, they were joined by students and others from various places throughout the country. Grendell raised the megaphone to his lips.

"Our government is killing innocent women and children," Grendell shouted into the mike. "And fighting a war it has no business being in!"

"Impeach Sarzo," another voice yelled. "He's the reason we're in this war!"

"Send the troops home," still another voice shouted. Within a matter of minutes, the protestors began chants and marched from the water fountain just on the outside of Embassy Cove to a spot as close to the Gray House as they could manage. Sarzo wasn't in the country, but if he could watch SNN from Timiocato, he'd see the vitriol that was spewing forth.

However, Senior Vice President for External Affairs Mark Lorber, serving as acting President with both Sarzo and Senior Vice President for Internal Affairs Nicole Lewis in Pacitalia, did see it.

Dear God, he thought. What the Hell do I do now? He picked up the phone in his office and called Sarzo's mobile phone while the searing serenade of protestors invaded the once complete silence outside his office. While he waited for Sarzo's answer, he slowly sank his forehead into the palm of his right hand as it sat upright, balanced by the arm sitting on the surface of the table. He closed his eyes as his head met his hand. The mobile phone trembled slightly in his left as his pulse quickened as the phone continued to ring.

The moment the decks of the Normadies were iluminated by the mortar fire, the same thought came across the mind of every single Doomingsland Marine on the battlefield: Oh shit.

As the huge 250mm mortars steaked down from the sky, they impacted several structures that housed Marines. There wasn't much left. Massive chunks of concrete and brick were shot hundreds of feet into the air in violent and brilliant explosions. There was now a huge hole for the Sarzonians to roll right through.

However, the battle was far from lost on the part of the Marines.

Sitting in a foxhole was a forward observer, Lieutenant Marcus Cassius. This was his first combat operation, but he was far from skiddish. After all, he'd been training since boyhood. Using the laser range finder on his M28 rifle, he was able to determine the exact coordinates of the enemy ships.

"Bravo battery, this is Charlie Three-Two, fire mission, over." he shouted over the explosions into the radio.

"Roger, Charlie, go ahead." came the response.

He hit a key on his wrist pad, transmitting the data to the howitzers.

"Transmitting coordinates. Enemy in the open. Quick fuse."

Out of sheer curiosity, he popped his head up. He was startled to see two Sarzonian soldiers, their eyes hidden by night vision goggles and their rifles trained on a nearby machinegun position, less than ten feet away.

Thinking quickly, he sholdered his M28. He quickly brought the red dot reticle over the head of one of them, and squeazed off a round.

DUFDUFDUF

Three rounds immediatly spat out, taking the man's head clean off his shoulders, his helmet falling free and rolling around on the beach in a mess of brains and blood. His comrade had seen the muzzle flash, and aimed his rifle towards Marcus. Marcus responded by lighting him up on full auto. The man collapsed in a heap of blood and intestines as his gut was torn open by several 6.5mm rounds. Marcus grinned at his successful kills, and decided he would keep tally.

"Shot, over." came a voice from the radio, causing Marcus to turn his head. "Splash, over."

Five seconds to impact.

He could hear the rocket-assisted, GPS-guided shells screaming overhead, and watched as they flew down to earth, impacting the deck of one of the ships in a brilliant explosions.

”Fire for effect. Out.” he said over the radio.

He continued to watch as seventy-five M-2001 Crusader 155mm howitzers pounded the enemy ships in a constant barrage of GPS-guided munitions. And a brilliant display it was.

OOC:Reporter thing and that other battle me and Sarz are planning shall come tommorow. Hell, I'll probably throw in some more torturing.

Major Albert Duxhaven scowled at the tactical map before him. India Company of the 4th RINM Regiment held the reverse slope of a small escarpment, raining down death and destruction against the attacking Republican forces with mortar shells and grenades from their underslung 40mm launchers as well as those tossed by hand. Riflemen picked off NCOs and officers using the 3.5-power scopes on their assault rifles while anti-tank gunners armed with Emu missiles prepared for another armoured probe.

“We’re fucked if we stay here,” he whispered to the DCO, Captain Paul Dewar. And Cruxhaven was right. Their own armoured vehicles, Otter amphibious tractors driven inland ever since their invasion of southern Inkana, were now all out of commission from tank and artillery fire, aerial attack, and mechanical faults owing to logistical problems. At least we’d managed to remove the air-to-air missiles, he thought, which had provided the remaining 93 of his starting 167 men with the means of countering some of the Republicans close air support [CAS]. “We’re nearly out of ammunition and the helos can’t get close while these bastards keep trying to hug us.”

The Republicans had learned from the early days of the Isselmere-Nielander invasion. The Inkanans now closed with their opponents as much as possible to deny the invaders air and artillery support. Without many tanks or other armoured vehicles, the Isselmere-Nielander Army and Marines were being edged back. Fuel, spare parts, and ordnance was becoming a serious issue for the Marines’ Sea Fury fighter-bombers and their attack helicopters in any case.

“We must hold here, sir,” Dewar finally replied. “You heard Crossley,” the captain added, pointing to the signalman busily cleaning his rifle. “The admiral said we can expect some assistance soon.”

The two men stopped upon hearing an ominous rumbling behind their position. Rushing to their separate observation posts they readied themselves for another tank attack.

“One-niner to niner-fife-bravo, incoming rear,” he ordered to one of his anti-tank teams using his personal role radio [PRR]. The sound of caterpillar treads breaking through the underbrush and the noise of the engines filled him with adrenaline, but he forced himself to be calm. Tempted though he was to remind the team not to fire without identifying the vehicle, he relied on their professionalism.

And then he heard the odd chirp.

“Niner-fife-bravo to niner-one,” a bemused voice muttered. “They’re ours.”

----

Aboard the fleet group flagship, Admiral Docherty scanned another nonsensical message from the Admiralty.

To: Admiral Commanding RRF
From: HINM Admiralty

Desist from Bombardment of New Madrid. Situation in Sarzonia tense from like action by ISN. Present home situation poor. Desist repeat desist. Continue naval fire support with all ships.

MoS-Navy Gerald Soames

Rear Admiral Martin Carruthers aboard the Oldenbruck leading the Eighth Surface Battle Group had already wired Docherty that targets had been assigned and that the guns were ready.

“Tell Carruthers to commence long range bombardment.”

OOC:Now on to the reporter...

IC:

After having grabbing Tailor and his camera gear, one of the Marines threw him to the ground and fastened his hands behind his back. The men had been waiting for the oppurtunity to "experiment" with a Sarzonian prisoner.

"'ey boss! This dude's got 'imself a camera!" said one of the men in Latin to his Sergeant through the voice transmitter system on his helmet. It made him sound almost robotic.

"Oh?" replied the sergeant, suddenly stepping out of a nearby bush. "He's a fuckin' reporter!" he cried.

"And your point?" replied one of the bolder men, kicking Tailor in the ribs for laughs, causing him to groan.

"My point is we can use 'em, dumbass." replied the sergeant in a sarcastic tone.

"What the hell? You said we can punish our prisoners!" yelled one of the other men.

"I never agreed to anything." protested the segeant.

"Yeah, we wuz gunna crucifah his ass, wasn't we?" chimed in one of the gramatically challenged Marines.

"I thought we were gonna hang 'em!" yelled a different man.

"What the hell you talkin' 'bout? We were gonna rip his guts out and strangle him with his small intestine."

"No no no, you're all wrong! We were gonna burn him at the stake."

"Aw, c'mon, corporal, as if we haven't seen that a zillion times! Let's skin 'em alive and hang 'em from the trees!" said another one in a sadistic tone.

"Actualy, that idea intrigues me." said the sergeant, rejoining the conversation.

Of course, while the men had been bickering amongst themselves, an MP had pulled up in a HMMWV and taken the prisoner away, back to HQ, for interrogation. When the men turned to find to find their captive missing, the sergeant sighed.

"OK, remember. We never caught a reporter."

"Agreed." replied the men in unison.

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

Legionary Headquarters, Town of Waterston,

Colonel Julius had been hard at work ordering ambushes and repositioning the men under his command, who were spread out throughout the Georgestown area. His heaquarters was set up in the Town Hall. The Mayor had gladly allowed them access in order to save his town from the Sarzonian barbarians.

Julius had, of course, taken the Mayor's office for himself, sitting around inside with his radio on. The basement of the building had a fallout shelter, and contained all of the valuable equipment, such as satelite uplinks and computers and the like. The building had been heavily fortified and the streets had been undermined with explosives. Out of sheer boredom, -there was a lull in the fighting- Julius got off of his ass and headed up to the roof.

What he found surprised him.

Looking out of his binoculars, he spotted Sarzonian infantry and armor converging on the town.

Oh shit...

"SERGEANT! We have incoming!" he yelled at his aid, who immediatly bolted down the stairs to warn the men.

The men immediately sprang into action, manning machinegun positions and placing mines in the entrances.

Battle was coming, and for the ten-man garrison of the town, defeat was almost certain. Of course, that didn't mean they would allow the Sarzonians to walk away with their pride intact...

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

Georgestown

Upon seeing a parachute fall near his position, Corporal Horatius Crassus bolted out of the small shop he had taken up position in into a nearby alleyway. A fence was in his way, but was easily overcome with brute force. Bracing himself, he charged at it, knocking it over with ease. He then exited the alleyway to find the man whom he hunted.
Charging out the other side, he saw a man- a Sarzonian- in a green flight suit struggle to untangle himself from his parachute. Crassus, not waiting for help, immediatly charged at the man, smashing him over the head with his rifle butt. He then got out a pair of zipcuffs and bound the pilot's hands behind his back.

Nearby Inkanan civilians had seen the scene, and came out of their buildings in curiosity.

"He's a Sarzonian!" yelled Crassus to the crowd in broken English. That set the crowd off right away.

Having already heard of Sarzonian attacks on civilians, they immediatly went into an uproar, and began to cry out for blood. Crassus hastily shouted out some directions to the men, who broke down two light posts and dragged them over to him. Another came out with a blow torch and handed it to Crassus. He welded the two posts together, making a cross out of them, and ordered the men to drag it over to a nearby pile of ruble where it could be supported. He then motioned for them to tie the pilot to the cross.

Finally, he saw that he’d done all he could, and told them to raise the cross.

He’d accomplished his first combat crucifixion of a war criminal. And a member of the press was there to record the entire thing.

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“Good evening, and welcome to GINN. Civil war in Inkana raged with added violence today as coalition forces began a bombing campaign of large coastal civilian centers in and around the southern Inkanan City of Georgestown. This campaign, which can only be described as interventionalist political cleansing by Sarzonian and Isselmerian authorities, has already cost more than 40,000 civilians their lives, and countless more their loved ones and livelihoods.”

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“The most recent of these atrocities includes a planned aerial attack on a boarding school and the public, televised crucifixion of a captured Inkanan pilot. Despite these ever increasing reports of atrocities against the citizens of the longtime Imperial ally, the Imperial Government remains quiet on the matter, continuing the policy of neutrality through the closure of the Inkanan Channel. In an unrelated report…”

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

Imperial Warroom, Bunker 14, The White Citadel

Emperor Antonius took a seat at the far end of the long conference table in the large, brightly lit room, a long unlit cigar clenched gently between his teeth. The walls of the room were covered in large maps and even larger monitor screens carrying up to the minute satellite feeds, news broadcasts, and multimedia intelligence reports from GIIS stations throughout southern Inkana. Antonius struck a long wooden match and touched it to the end of his cigar. He looked around the table, making eye contact with each of the dozen men seated in the room.

“Let’s have it, then. Lew, you first.”

Seated to the right of Antonius was General Lew Ny’sky, the recently appointed commander in chief of the Imperial Army and head military advisor to the Emperor and his council. He shoved a dying cigarette into an ashtray in front of him, and shuffled through some papers.

“Your grace, from all the reports we’re getting from our units on the ground, and our friends over at GIIS-”

The General offered a nod to a man seated at the far end of the table.

“-we can determine that the state of in country ground operations is very much in the favor of the Inkanan rebels. Since the start of the rebellion some weeks ago, they have managed, without foreign aid, to halt the advance of the Emperor’s troops on the border, as well as establish a very effective defensive perimeter in and around the key port city of New Cumberland. The Isselmere-Nielander invasion also appears to be crumbling. Coupled with stagnating home situations, to be discussed later, and a lack of effective air, armor, and artillery support, the Isselmerian forces have been consistently edged back by the rebels, who, I am pleased to report, have successfully learned to counter Isselmerian support superiority.

Coupled with the monetary aid and supplies we have funneled to them, and the recent heroic efforts of the Doom special forces in countering Sarzonian operations outside the city of New Cumberland, we can safely assume that the morale and the fighting capability of the Inkanan southern army remains intact if not improved. However, the size of the fighting force is still small, and there are far too few soldiers to manage both a successful invasion of the north, as you all are aware a major goal of the rebel campaign, and a strong defense of the southern ports. Recently, the Sarzonians have shifted their fleets to Georgestown, and commenced bombardment of the garrisoned city which has luckily for us caused a great deal of civilian casualties and property damage, leaving a nice little story for the international media to pick up on. However, from a strictly military standpoint, our situation at the moment is strong.”

Antonius nodded as he exhaled a ring of smoke.

“Fine. I want to hear about the political fallout of their bombardment campaigns in civilian sectors. Mr. Kriekev.”

Pavel Kriekev was a small man who filled the official role of official foreign affairs advisor to the Emperor and his cabinet, and the less public one of minister of information, essentially a state sponsored propagandist. He was a soft spoken man with wild eyes and thick rimmed glasses.

“Your grace, as the General mentioned the political situation in the coalition nations is rapidly degenerating. No doubt you have learned already of the antiwar demonstrations in Woodstock following the recent publicized collateral damage in Georgestown. You understand that these nations are not as our own. The populace has little taste for war, and would rather her soldiers grow fat in barracks and her tanks sit in garages collecting dust than stampede over their enemies. Moreover, the nation’s democratic government prevents Sarzo from following policies in the best interest of the state, and forces him to adhere to pacifism when it arises in force. Therefore, it is my opinion that the Sarzonian government will not long be able to keep up their involvement in the war if the situation continues to decline, as I believe it will.

There is also the matter of the media. Sarzonian networks have not managed to put their reporters on the ground in the real hotzones of the war, for fear of casualties from stray shells and bombs. Understandable to the stations, but not to many of the ill-informed who now demonstrate outside of Sarzo’s grey house. The fact that other networks from different nations are showing the more gruesome footage, especially that depicting collateral damage, is causing the Sarzonians to lose faith in their own networks, labeling them propaganda stations for Sarzo’s war. Because they do not trust their native networks, they are turning to international media stations for what they consider the ‘real’ story.

As you know, GINN is broadcast around the world, and in most nations is available through cable and satellite networks. GINN also maintains a live 24/7 web broadcast for those who cannot access it any other way. GINN, as you know, is a very…patriotic station. They generally depict things the way your grace and this council would have them depicted. The recent atrocities in Georgestown have proved immensely lucky for us. Via our own reporters in the field, and the associated press, we have managed to obtain the footage that the Sarzonian networks cannot, and have begun full coverage of the coalitions ‘dirty campaign.’ Not only does this sway the opinion of the Generians against the coalition, but it also reached the eyes and ears of the international community, and hopefully, the Sarzonians, who in their distrust of their media, will turn to ours, pushing their opinion of Sarzo and his Inkanan intervention further and further from his.”

Antonius was visibly intrigued. General Nri’ev began to speak again.

“If I may, sir. There lies our opportunity. Imperial special forces in the Inkanan theater have been playing largely a support role, assisting in fortification, defense, and training. I believe that it may be time to escalate the bleeding campaign and launch a strategy to drive the coalition forces from Inkanan shores. I do not think full on combat operations against coalition forces will be necessary at the moment, but I do believe that if we deployed elements of the Imperial 32nd army to serve as peacekeepers in the region, we would be able to establish not only a military foothold in country, but also take the moral high ground early on.

With the deployment of the force, we would be able to provide secure GINN media coverage depicting humanitarian and civilian protection operations, while turning the light away from any combat or special operations. The coalition invasion is ready to break. Their great strength lies in their coastal naval assets, and knowing the reputation the Generian army holds, I believe that this insertion of a large combat force could drive the will of the coalition soldiers and their commanders over the edge. The channel is already clear, and we have forces mobilized that could be deploying over there in four days.”

Antonius gazed thoughtfully straight ahead, the cigar smoke curling over his head, obscuring his eyes.

“I trust your opinion, General, and likewise yours Mr. Kriekev. I doubt that this will provoke outright war with the coalition so long as the mission maintains humanitarian guise, though the psychological effect of 100,000 bloodthirsty Imperial soldiers sitting across the river from the coalition troops makes for an opportunity too good to pass up. You have my consent. General, I am placing you in direct charge of the operation. Do not make me regret this.”

“Of course, your grace. As always we will prevail.”

“Very well. I have matters to attend to elsewhere. You are dismissed.”

Antonius stood up, and calmly walked out of the room. The others did likewise.

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

GINN Special Report

“Breaking News regarding an Imperial decision on the developing Inkanan situation. Following the reports and footage of Sarzonian atrocities in Inkana, the Imperial government has decided to take a more direct path of involvement in the bloody civil war. Lord Varus Tiberius Alexei, Emperor Antonius’s nephew and official spokesman for the Imperial government declared earlier today that the Imperial government will be deploying elements of the 32nd Imperial army, previously mobilized at the outbreak of the war, to Inkana to deal with a growing humanitarian crisis. Lord Varus stated that the soldiers will serve to protect and evacuate civilians in the warzones to designated refugee camps in the north of the nation, in addition to providing food and medical aid. Varus made no reference to any possible combat operations against the coalition forces, though he alluded to a possible escalation should Sarzonian crimes against humanity continue.”

Samuel George Forrest. He was a charismatic man, battle in his blood. He was well-liked by his men, even though he had strict disiplinary rules, such as fining his Tank Crewmen if their uniforms got dirty. He was also temperate, loud, and sometimes forceful. But most importantly of all, he was the commander of VI Corps, the unit launching a vicious counterattack versus the Iselmer-Nielandian landing forces. His drive was relentless. Using tactics tracing all the way back to the time of Rommel, de Gaulle, and Patton, his forces had victory in their sights.

Yet it hadn't been achieved.

The UKIN landing forces had superior weapons, ships, and aircraft. Only about one third of his force was equipped with the latest generation weapons supplied from the Imperial Powers, nor were his tanks the new Mark V Cougar, which had been shown to knock out most all other tanks with impunity. Armed with these new goodies, Forrest thought, and he could have beaten the stubborn Isselmerians back into the sea.

"The time has come, General Harrision, that we begin stage Two of the attack." Forrest was looking at a large map on his headqurters map.

"What would that be, Lance Marshall Forrest, sir" His staff general, Edmond Harrision, replied.

"Feint attack to the center of the enemy's line, main thrust to the left flank, hopefully enveloping a large pocket. This of course, will be under cover fire of artillery, missiles, and Ground Attack aircraft. I want those Navy-boys pinned down! They've cost too many of our boy's lives already!"

"I'll draft orders up immediatly, sir. But do you think we have nearly enough armour for a significant breakthough?"

"We just got a shipment of some of those fancy Doomingsland tanks, along with a large amount of some of the old Super-Ulhans, Jeagers, and Hussar Infantry Tanks. That should hold the line."

"Yes sir, with our boy's training, battle expirence and morale, we'll drive those King-Lovin' Marines back into the sea!"

"Hell yes! Now get those orders drafted, you iron-footed son of a bitch!"

Forrest was also an avid curser.

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

Somewhere near Tribrok, Western Inkana

It was Late Spring. The few colours that Western Inkana had to offer were returning from the wintery abyss. Animals came out of their annual hibernation to feed. Tanks, Trucks, and Half-tracks all rumbled across the desolate landscape, casting large shadows in the early morning light.

Unlike the almost complete infantry wars being fought farther west, in the Mountains near Roanoake and the river valleys outside Morrision, The Army of the Western Desert was completely mechanized. Troops did not pass out of exhaustion after a day of marching, and did not rely on artillery for close support. Industry was finally catching up with the war.

Riding at the front of a vehicle collum inside a command tank was one Field Marshall Enrich Lommer. Born in Trieste, he had taught at the James Ewell Browning Stuart Military Academy until R.E.Lee had contacted him into joining the Confederate Cause. Like many other Republican Generals, Forrest, Goddard, and a host of others, he was an armour specialist. This was his Campaign.

What remained of the Grand Imperial Confederacy of Inkana, and it's allies had almost completely cut off shipments from Confederate ports. Lommer's offensive was going to change all that. He was going to reach Trieste and end this bloody struggle once and for all.

St. Jerome's Pass, Kissering Mountains, Western Inkana

A Royalist collumn of T-44 Mk II tanks crawled through St.Jerome's pass in the Kissering Mountains. Foot soldiers tried as they could to keep up with it. Suddenly, the lead tank exploded and was set on fire. The Ammunition cooked off before the crew could get out. Soon, chaos erupted among the pass as tank after tank, vehicle after vehicle, and line after line of Royalist forces were destroyed.

A-64 Condor V/STOL aircraft raced down from the heavens, releasing Napalm, Cluster bombs, Shark Air-to-Surface Missiles, and 250-lb. 'dumb-bombs.' Soon the advancing Royalist collumn had become nothing but charred tanks, corpses, and smoking craters.

This scene was typical of the Desert War being fought in Western Inkana. Field Marshall Enrich Lommer had driven his forces an astounding 180km since the beginning of his invasion of Royalist soil. In the first day alone, the "Desert Viper", as his opponents and men alike were now calling him, he drove 40km. His success was most attributed to his completely mechanized Army of the Western Desert. The Mark V Cougar, latest tank in the Inkanan arsenal, was vastly superior to the best in the Royalist armories, the T-44 MkII. It boasted a 135mm ETC cannon, one of the deadliest in the world.

The air was compltely controlled by the Republican Luftwaffe. Most of the Royalist Air Force was tied up in the Ragmen Mountains, battling the Luftwaffe north of Morrision, or sinking Confederate Submersibles in the Generic-Inkana channel.

Enrich Lommer was a man to be reckoned with. Shrewed, he had a brilliant mind for battle. He was about Five foot Seven inches tall, with grey eyes that pierced your very soul. He could also be a loving, humorous man.

When his Campaign was going well, that is.

And going well it was. His principal opponent in the Western Desert was Grenadier General Richard Ivanhoe VII. Ivanhoe was an aristocratic general, the only reason he had any job in the military at all was because of his family name. The Ivanhoe name dates all the way back to when the Inkanan Sub-Continent was first settled. He had his men build the 75km long, unimaginatly named "Ivanhoe Line".

Lommer had pierced the Ivanhoe Line and pocketed 45,000 Royalists in his first day. His tanks were now in position to advance on Ft. Johnson, the North's largest Military Fortress.
---------------------------------------------

Near New Madrid, Operation Just Vengence II

Assault Leader Edward Tilton was proud to be a soldier in the FreineitBewachen, or FB. He was a member of the Liberty Party's personal Army. And as a PanzerGrenadier of the 1st FB Panzer division, he got to be in the thick of battle.

Lance Marshall Forrest's bold Operation Just Vengence II had started just two days ago, at approximatly 5:18 A.M. Grenadier General Goddard's 5th Panzer Korps lanuched a feint attack at the enemy's center under heavy Artillery Bombardment. His force was merely the anvil, forrest's was the Hammer. Letting Goddard draw troops away from the left Flank, Forrest attacked the weakened left at 4 AM the next morning. A massive Artillery, Missile, and Air Bombardment started the offense, both to saturate the enemy forces and to keep the enemy navy from providing support that had been the only thing hampering the Confederate Counterattack. Forrest's Panzers raced across the fields, forests, and farms near New Madrid. Rarely stopping, rarely letting the pressure off of the Enemy.

1st FB Panzer's job was to keep Forrest's Left flank defended against any attacks that might try to break into the rear and cause widespread havoc. Assault Leader Tilton's regiment's job was to take out threats to the Panzers, be it artillery, or Anti-Tank weapons. The Panzers did the hard job, and the Grenadiers protected the Panzers.

He was crouched near a creek in a small wooded area when he spotted an enemy Forward patrol. Using hand signals, he aleted the other members of his company. Crouching down, they moved from tree to tree in the foggy, wet forest. Finally, when they were withing 30-40 yards from the patrol, he gave the signal, a cross against the throat. Suddenly, the eerie dawn silence was interrupted by the sounds of gunfire, from both the Inkanan's StG 105 Assault Rifles and MG-305 Light machine guns, and the Enemy's return fire. The Patrol put up an extremely brave fight, but their efforts were futile. These were battle-hardened FB men, veterans of either the Ragmen or Morrision Fronts. They also had suprise and firepower gunning for them.

"Take their Weapons, and whatever food they have on them, and get moving. The panzers have probably passed us already and they need us to kill more of these bastards!" Tilton shouted.

The men did as they were told, taking rations, gernades, and even the occasional rifle. You never could have too much firepower, not in this war.

"Damn sons of bitches," newly appointed Deputy Senior Vice President for External Affairs Grant Haffner muttered as he looked out the window at the protests. He began pacing his office and stopped in front of the window and watched the protests. So far, they were peaceful, but loud. He wondered what Woodstock Mayor Chip Moose had in mind for crowd control, hoping that Woodstock's finest would be able to keep things from getting too violent.

He noticed a group of police clad in riot gear with five APCs converted to fire water cannons for crowd dispersal watching impassively as the crowd continued to chant their protests of the war that they thought should never have happened.

"Mr. President, what are you doing getting Sarzonia in this war?" Grendell shouted in his megaphone.

"Impeach the President!" others in the crowd continued to chant.

"Explain the atrocities," still others shouted. "What are we doing?" The chants got increasingly forceful as the police looked on. All of a sudden, a bottle flew through the air, exploding against a riot shield with a brief explosion.

Molotov cocktail, the police officer, Lieutenant Lance Alders scowled. Alders drew his M-16 rifle, which had been armed with rubber bullets to prevent them from being used for lethal force. He wanted to be ready for his boss, Lieutenant Adam Clemens, to give an order. Any order.

The homemade explosive device seemed to embolden the protestors, and two more arched toward the riot police and exploded there.

Dammit, I'm not waiting, Alders thought. With a brief pause to calibrate the sight mechanism, he pulled the trigger. His decision set off a chain reaction of similiarly armed police firing their rubber bullets at the protestors. Two of the APCs armed with water cannons fired into the crowd to break up the protest, while other police fired tear gas.

This is Cal Wolfe live from Woodstock. Sixty people were arrested and six wounded as protestors battled riot police in the biggest antiwar protest in Sarzonia's history. Administration officials were unavailable for comment. We'll have more on this developing story.With frustration mounting by the moment, Sarzo lifted the remote control at his room in the Prime Ministerial residence in Timiocato, Pacitalia, where he, Senior Vice President for Internal Affairs Nicole Lewis, and former Sarzonian Admiral Marcus Patinkin were awaiting the Capostication.

"I'm going to have a hell of a job of explaining this when I get back," Sarzo grumbled. He flopped back on the bed next to First Partner Jay Tyler and turned his head to his left to gaze into Tyler's eyes. Tyler looked and saw Sarzo's eyes return his glance with a dim sadness.

War is hell.

The Royal Marines and Isselmere-Nieland Army were initially surprised by the assault on their right flank, particularly as it was closest to the sea. The land forces conducted a fighting withdrawal, losing some units but drawing the Republicans further inward. The centre was being threatened, but it was also becoming a salient, for the line did not so much break as bend. And the Republicans moving along the UKIN right flank were in for a dreadful surprise.

Those forces along the shoreline were struck hard by naval drones and naval fighters attacking with cluster bombs, fuel air explosives, and stand-off submunition dispensers disgorging anti-tank and anti-personnel submunitions. Castle-class heavy cruisers bombarded the closer enemy units with high explosive shells and those more distant with extended range guided munitions. The escort carriers, safe under the protective cover granted by the fleet carrier, released their Sea Furies for ground attack missions. Naval strike aircraft continued to hit enemy POL and ammunition depots reconnoitred by the drones.

When the Lieutenant General felt that the Inkanans had pushed deeply enough, the UKIN combined assault began in earnest. Heavy counter-battery fire from tube and rocket artillery as well as battleship naval gunfire support rained down upon the Republican artillery positions and massed armour. The Surface Battle Group off New Madrid showered the military, air, and naval bases as well as communications, industries, and POL facilities with shells.

The UKIN-DF might have been tired, but they weren't about to succumb to a pack of rebels.

There was only one word that could explain how just about every Confederate serviceman, from Buck Private to Lance Marshall Forrest, felt about the new Isselmere attack: Fuck.

"Fuck the Navy, Fuck the Air Force, and most of all Fuck the Isselmere Marines!!!" Forrest was in a dreadful mood. The new counterattack had stopped him cold. Not much from the ground, but the menace of the Royal Navy of Isselmere was turning would should have been a fairly easy attack into hell.

"General Harrision, get you ass over here."

"Yes, Marshall?"

"What do you suppose we do about this awful prediciment?"

"Well, I suppose we could continue the advance, the navy wouldn't want to blast they're own boys to hell and gone, now would they?"

"What else?"

"We could also sit still, get bombarded, but not allow the Marines to get any farther, which will bloster public opinion at home that they can't get anywhere here."

"Hmmm...Let's keep up the pressure. But also, get the rivers flowing into Smith Bay Mined, and then let them float in. It won't do much damage, but it will scare the Navy, hopefully. And ask the Brass for more god-forsaken jets! We can't operate without that air cover."

"At once, Mein Lance Marshall."

As the Inkanans on the UKIN-DF's right flank began to waver under naval and field artillery, the UKIN tanks and attack helicopters broke upon the rebels. The creeping barrage maintained the pressure on the Republicans but allowed the tanks and their supporting mechanised infantry to bite into enemy positions, leaving points of resistance to be pounded into the ground or starved out by dismounted heavy infantry, anti-tank missile batteries and field artillery, much as Auchinleck and Montgomery had done at El Alamein. Attack helicopters and drones swarmed on attempts by the Republicans to counterattack. The difference between the UKIN's assault and that of Montgomery's was the fluidity with which the UKIN-DF's attacks progressed.

Where the Inkanans looked to be gaining the upper edge, the UKIN would pull back, giving the Inkanans the chance to surge forth into pockets where anti-tank missile positions and pre-ranged artillery killing fields were established.

Tern attack drones were meanwhile sent against enemy airfields laden with Durandal runway piercing bombs. The toll against these attacking waves were quite high over such important targets, but the loss in drones was worth any possible disruption in the Republican air campaign.

[OOC: I'll try to post some losses soon and sorry for not having done so.]

Five hundred metres outside Waterston

Lieutenant Charles Townes surveyed his kevlar-clad troops as they found some cover following a harrowing landing. The damage to the Normandy class ships looked bad from his angle. Fortunately, the ships were built to withstand tremendous punishment, so the damage looked worse than it was. The ships would need to undergo repairs, but weren't an operational loss. However, he would have no way of knowing that. Besides, his task was to get his men organised.

"Red Wolf to Black Sheep," he said into his secure communications device.

"Black Sheep here. What've you got Red Wolf," Quinn replied.

"We're about 500 metres outside some podunk town. I'm about to see what we've got so we can go and battle those Doomies."

"Red Wolf, that isn't just a podunk town. Intel reports suggest that's the Doomies' hive. Better bring your beekeeping gear."

"Thanks for the warning Black Sheep."

"Remember what happened to Alpha Team. Be prepared for anything. Those Doomies fight fierce."

"Roger that."

"Ten four."

Quinn put down his device and looked at his GPS display on his portable computer. He searched for signs of activity that would suggest the Doomies were nearby. He scanned it carefully.

"Black Sheep to Shep One," Quinn said into his communications device after checking to make sure it was secured.

"Shep here."

"Got those UAVs ready?"

"Ten four."

"Let's get a look."

Three Unmanned Aerial Vehicles small enough to fit into a typical college student's backpack deployed with the intentions of scanning Waterston to find the location of the Doomies' headquarters. They also went to observe enemy movements so Quinn could transmit that information to Townes. Quinn scanned the information as the small vehicles began their trek toward Waterston. They were small to allow them to escape radar detection, though they couldn't maneuver all that well in the event they were spotted.

Quinn looked at the information that was coming from the aerial view provided by the UAVs and spotted a building which looked like a possible candidate for the Doomies' headquarters. He transmitted that to Townes and waited. He later saw a shadowy figure emerge from the building for a split second, then rewound the tape until he spotted markings that seemed to match the description of Doominglandian forces.

"Looks like we've got a lock on 'em," Quinn said quietly. "Townsie, come in."

"Go ahead Black Sheep."

"That old church at 1820 Bonham Avenue, that's the Doomies' hive. Split your company up into platoons and surround the building. Use the 96th Platoon to launch the initial attack and launch a secondary attack with the 94th. Keep the 95th in reserve and get those rocket launchers ready to ransack the place."

"Aye, sir."

Quinn crouched down, suppressing the urge to bite his soiled fingernails.

***********************************

"Incoming fire!"

"Launch decoys!"

"Too late!"

The explosion rocked the Valcour Island, a Normandy-class combat tranport and the ship shook from the impact.

"Fire control teams on deck immediately!"

"Return fire!"

"We lost the targeting software. We'll be shooting blind!"

"Shit! Then aim and shoot manually!"

"Aye, sir."

The Valcour Island fired its 11 inch gun and its large mortar toward the location where it'd been hit, while engineers made jury rigged repairs to the navigation software that also went out thanks to the impact.

"Sickbay to bridge, it's a madhouse down here!"

"What've you got sawbones?"

"At least 20 crew dead, 65 wounded. No telling how many are going to die."

Captain Henry Mordecai sighed. This was the part of his job he hated, but he knew what duty compelled him to do. With one quarter of his crew killed or injured, he would have to either sacrifice his ship to put as much of a hurt on the Doomies as possible or he'd have to pull it out of the way so repair crews could get a better chance to work.

"Helm, bring her about, take her out of enemy range. Best possible speed."

"Aye, sir."

With fire still smouldering on her deck, the Valcour Island turned and limped out of harm's way while the other ships in the fleet continued their bombardment.

Legionary HQ, Waterston

Before each battle, the commander was always expected to give a rousing speech. Julius wasn't much of a speaker, but he could at least give his men a boost in morale (as if that would have made a difference in the fighting capabilities of the near-emotionless Legionaries). He had come down from his office into the main hall of the Town Hall, and stood on a desk. His men assembled around him, their cold eyes staring back at him through armored gas masks.

"Brothers," he began in a solemn tone, "As you have no doubt heard, the infidel Sarzonian army marches upon Waterston. We are vastly outnumbered, and they have the advantage in armor, but do not dispair: for every infidel slain in this place, fifty of them dispair in their homeland." he said, pausing and looking around at his men,

They are weakminded cowards, these Sarzonians. All that said, everyone of you is better than twenty of them!" he yelled, drawing his blade and holding it high. "If they expect to defeat us easily, they shall be most disapointed. We shall not fight like men, but like lions! GOD WILLS IT!!!" he yelled in a fervor of religious extremeism and nationalism.

"GOD WILLS IT!!!" they shouted in unison, rallying around colonel Julius.

"Man your positions. Kill the heretics!" he yelled to his men as they scurried about the hall, rushing to man their positions.

Julius headed off his own seperate way, taking his two best men with him. They scaled a maintenence ladder to the roof and set up observation equipment. He picked up a pair of binoculars and stared through them. Just down the street the Sarzonians were surrounding a church.

Those vile heathens intend to destroy God's house... he thought to himself.

"Sergeant, Sarzonian forces are surrounding the church. he said to a man behind him, not even bothering to turn. "Show them the meaning of the wrath of God," he said with a cruel smirk.

The sergeant returned the smirk and began to enter something into his wrist keypad.

All of the streets in Waterston had been rigged to blow beforehand by the Legionaries, and, if they wished, only certain sections could be detonated at a time. The sergeant had selected the section of street directly around the church, and the buildings directly next to it.

"And God said, let there be light..." muttered the sergeant before engaging the detonator...

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Georgestown Beach

Lt. Cassius stared through a pair of binoculars at the exploding Sarzonian ship as it futily attempted to return fire. Since its fireing computers had been knocked out, the Sarzonians would have literaly no way of finding where the ordanance was coming from. Well, that is, unless the counterbattery radar on the other ships was still operational.

Upon seeing the Valcour Island rout, Cassius made some adjustments.

"End fire mission." he shouted over the radio. "New mission, coordinates transmitting. Enemy in the open, quick fuse." he said into the radio after sending the coordinates of a different ship. "Shoot and scoot."

He acknowledged that they had gotten lucky in knocking out the fireing computers the last volley, and so he didn't want to risk this battery. Rather than staying in one place, the howitzers would fire off three rounds and drive down to a different fireing location, thus preventing effective counter-battery fire.

"Shot, over." came the response from the other side. "Splash, over." Five seconds to impact.

Again came the all-to-farmiliar sound that resembled water boiling on a tea kettle that preceded the big boom of the shells blowing something up. Then came the big boom.

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Command Bunker, Georgestown

The reporter had been led from the HMMWV and escorted into the safety of the command bunker as the ground was shaken by shell impacts. He was blindfolded, and had no idea what was going on, but recognized the smell of burnt human flesh. There were men around him chattering away in Latin. Suddenly, he was made to sit down, and the blindfold was torn off.

He was at a clean oak desk, and across him sat a man in black ceremonial-looking body armor, smoking a cigar, and staring at him emotionlessly. This was Grand Imperator Maximus, son of the Emperor. On the wall was drapped a Doomingslandian flag, the golden skull looking as if it were staring at Tailor. On the desk was a sheathed gladius, a plumed helm, and a lamp, which caused his armor to gleam, showing just how perfectly polished it was. He had cruel looking brown eyes and a shaved head, just as a Legionary should. Of course, he was the Lord of the Legions, so he wasn't actualy required to look that way. He was of a heavy-set build, and stood at at least 6"9.

Finally, he took the cigar from his mouth, and smiled.

"Well, a live Sarzonian." he chuckled, apparently not even speaking to Tailor. "It is said you are the ones commiting the war crimes, my friend." he said in accented English, flipping on a television that was directly behind Tailor.

He motioned for his captive to turn around and watch. It was GINN with English subtitles, showing footage of the damage caused by the ISN's bombardment of Georgestown. The screen then went blank and Maximus grabbed Tailor's shoulder, spinning him around.

"I think you are probably the only Sarzonian to survive our captivity for this long without retribution for that," he said with a grim expression. "I would probably kill you myself where it not for your usefull status."

Tailor now looked a bit confused.

"We are not the barbarians your government paints us to be, Mr. Tailor. We do not kill civilians for sheer enjoyment."

That was a lie, of course.

"Come, I have a job for you." he said, standing and strolling out the door. A Marine grabbed Tailor by the arm and led him out of Maximus' office. They strolled down the long concrete corridor for a bit before arriving at their destination. A steel door blocked their path, and a Marine standing gaurd threw it open for his Lord.

This room, of course, was the torture chamber in which Holloway was being interrogated. Holloway was bound to a metal chair, left alone by his guards while Master Inquisitor Gaius made his way to the bunker.

"I'll leave you two alone for now..." muttered Maximus, slamming the steel door shut on the two Sarzonians.

OOC:Sarz, I wanna get to the terrorist thing in my next post, mind giving me some info on the stuff I need to know?

OOC: Yeah, I'll do that later on tonight.

Just remember not to post actual impacts of weapons on ships. I accepted the attack on the Valcour Island to keep the story flowing.

OOC: Yeah, I'll do that later on tonight.

Just remember not to post actual impacts of weapons on ships. I accepted the attack on the Valcour Island to keep the story flowing.
OOC:Well, technically, there'd be no way to keep the shell from hitting you other than moving out of the way. Countermeasures wouldn't work due to the fact the shell recieves targetting data from a satelite rather than relying on internal systems or a laser designater. In other words, the only way to jam one of these shells would be to either shoot the GPS sat out of the sky, or use a GPS jammer (which would jam your GPS as well)

But I'll not post impacts from now on.

Smith Bay-2:27 A.M

Smith Bay was unusually calm on this night. The Glass-Smoothe waters were black and deep, they seemed to go down for miles. The silhouettes of the large UKIN Fleet were black shapes cast upon the horizion.

The night seemed as normal as any others since the arrival of the UKIN Fleet, but looks can sometimes be deciving. Deep beneath the waves crept a pair of expiremental XU-78 Midget subs. Carrying a two man crew and two Torpedos, the XU-78 could reach a top submerged speed of 12 knots.

Commanding XU-78A and the mission was Captain Theadore Lewis. He had 6 years in the silent service, he was a top-notch man.

As the ships got closer to their target, the Isselmere Fleet, Theadore spotted a Sub Captain's dream target: What seemed to be a Cruiser in supply from a large tanker. Since the Two Subs cruised very close to eachother, the Skipper of the XU-78B was able to see the hand-signals that Captain Lewis gave him. XU-78A was going to torpedo the Tanker, while XU-78B went for the Cruiser's Rudder.

After what seemed like hours, but was, in reality only several minutes, the two subs were in position. They fired at will.

Minister of External Affairs Winston Ribbentov was extremely nervous. The meeting he was about to have could make or break the Confederate War Effort.

Generic Empire had given aid to the CSI before anyone did. Without Generic "Advisors", Tanks, Plans, and material, the rebellion would have been dead in the water in the first month. Generic-Supplied F-94s had contested the skies with the numerically-superior Royalist Air Force. Generic-supplied tanks had been pivitol in turning back the initial Royalist advances. And Generian Black Guard men had blostered the defenses of many coast cities.

But it was not enough. President R.E. Lee himself had ordered Minister Ribbentov to Generia City and into talks with Emperor Antonius I about a possible Generic Full entry into the escalading War.

Field Marshall Enrich Lommer, The Desert Viper, was in, so it seemed, a position to win the war. But if Isselmere didn't release some pressure, he would not have enough troops to rampage around Royalist Territory. The Generic Armed forces were needed to provide this.

"Mr. Ribbentov." A Secretary said, in broken English.

"Ja?" He replied, then realizing his mistake, went into English.
"Yes?"

"The Emperor will see you now." The Secretary replied.

"Danke" The Minister got out of his seat and walked into a large room.....

OOC: It kind of avoids all the countermeasures I have in place against such activities, such as Eel rockets, continual anti-submarine helicopter sweeps with dipping sonar, and Cuttlefish drones. Also it presumes most of my fleet would be close to the shore rather than about 100 km away, especially capital ships, and that those ships that would be closer would be at anchor rather than moving. I might be dim, but not that dim.
"Everyone has the jitters, seeing objects swimming about at night, and hearing movements on ships' bottoms. It must stop!" - Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham, Commander in Chief of Britain's Mediterranean Fleet, on Italian Frogmen.

About your countermeasures: I'm 13, to tell you the truth, I have no freaking idea what Eel Rockets or Cuttlefish drones are.

About the distance thing: That's the nice thing about bays, and if your ferrying troops and providing support, they would be fairly close.

Contrary to his usual procedure, Emperor Antonius had decided ti recieve the Inkanan emissary in his private study as opposed to the larger Imperial throne room or viewing chamber. The Emperor was seated in one of the many comfortable stuffed armchairs scattered about the room as the emissary was ushered in. He was pouring over one of the hundreds of sets of documents that were piled on the low table in front of him. He stood as the emissary entered, and offered a slight bow at the waist. He spoke in refined English with a Generian accent.

"Mr. Ribbentov, come in. I apologize for the mess. I couldn't spare the time to set up a proper reception on such short notice, but still, make yourself comfortable."

The Emperor returned to his seat.

"Now, what matters can we discuss here today?"

"It is of no problem, Emperor Antonius, my office back in Morrision is almost exactly the same." Ribbentov struggled to remember not to laspe into the German that he was so used to.

"I have been sent by President Lee, an old aquantience of yours I am told, to, how do you say? Hash out, an alliance between The Generic Empire and the Confederate Republic of Inkana." Ribbentov waited for the reply.

"Everyone has the jitters, seeing objects swimming about at night, and hearing movements on ships' bottoms. It must stop!" - Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham, Commander in Chief of Britain's Mediterranean Fleet, on Italian Frogmen.

About your countermeasures: I'm 13, to tell you the truth, I have no freaking idea what Eel Rockets or Cuttlefish drones are.

About the distance thing: That's the nice thing about bays, and if your ferrying troops and providing support, they would be fairly close.
OOC: My apologies, I was out of place and ought to have explained about both, and not have been so brusque. I will amend my post above.

Eel rockets are an UKIN product similar to Russian anti-submarine rockets that are used against underwater demolitions teams (UDTs) as well. If your units are detected, the rockets would be fired to engage your UDTs with depth bomb warheads. A Cuttlefish drone is another UKIN product that is similar to 12.75" torpedos except without the warhead and with more space for electronics as well as batteries for its motor. They would circle about the fleet.

As for ferrying troops inland would be by helicopter or by landing craft rather than by large vessel, as the larger ships would be stationed close to the main groups. Most amphibious operations these days are "over-the-horizon" ventures. However, with regard to the bay and the distance in this instance, I made a glaring mistake there. Still, it is ill-advised to post an attack as a fait accompli, especially as the bay in question is much larger than San Carlos Bay in the Falklands War (1982?), which saw a number of British ships sunk, or the Dardanelles (First World War), and Cunningham's comments about Italian frogmen prior to their attack on British shipping in Alexandria must be seen in light of the fact that those ships were at anchor rather than moving. Carriers flying fixed-wing aircraft must move else they would be unable to conduct flight operations. Also, capital ships and auxiliaries tend to be quite well protected by escorts, so your units would be moving through several circles of ships before you would be able to reach the higher priority targets.

If you wish to rewrite your attack on my ships, might I suggest slow-moving, bottom-crawling midget submarines firing lightweight torpedoes, which would not only do damage (and at a distance, as well) but which would also be more believable in the circumstances.

Emperor Antonius tossed the file folder onto the table and placed a cigar in his mouth. He struck a match on the couch, raised it to the tip, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, that drifted to the ceiling.

"So it's President Lee now. He's moving up in the world."

Antonius took another puff on the cigar. He remained silent for a few moments, chewing on what he had just been told.

"Mr. Ribbentov, you know that the Empire has been kind to you since the beginning of the rebellion, and there is no question about who I want to see come out of this the victor, but you also know that direct Generian involvement would mean war with the UKIN coalition and Sarzonia."

OOC: My apologies, I was out of place and ought to have explained about both, and not have been so brusque. I will amend my post above.

Eel rockets are an UKIN product similar to Russian anti-submarine rockets that are used against underwater demolitions teams (UDTs) as well. If your units are detected, the rockets would be fired to engage your UDTs with depth bomb warheads. A Cuttlefish drone is another UKIN product that is similar to 12.75" torpedos except without the warhead and with more space for electronics as well as batteries for its motor. They would circle about the fleet.

As for ferrying troops inland would be by helicopter or by landing craft rather than by large vessel, as the larger ships would be stationed close to the main groups. Most amphibious operations these days are "over-the-horizon" ventures. However, with regard to the bay and the distance in this instance, I made a glaring mistake there. Still, it is ill-advised to post an attack as a fait accompli, especially as the bay in question is much larger than San Carlos Bay in the Falklands War (1982?), which saw a number of British ships sunk, or the Dardanelles (First World War), and Cunningham's comments about Italian frogmen prior to their attack on British shipping in Alexandria must be seen in light of the fact that those ships were at anchor rather than moving. Carriers flying fixed-wing aircraft must move else they would be unable to conduct flight operations. Also, capital ships and auxiliaries tend to be quite well protected by escorts, so your units would be moving through several circles of ships before you would be able to reach the higher priority targets.

If you wish to rewrite your attack on my ships, might I suggest slow-moving, bottom-crawling midget submarines firing lightweight torpedoes, which would not only do damage (and at a distance, as well) but which would also be more believable in the circumstances.

Nah, just scratch it. My post is rubbish. Sometimes I wish NS used mainly WW2 Tech.....

Emperor Antonius tossed the file folder onto the table and placed a cigar in his mouth. He struck a match on the couch, raised it to the tip, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, that drifted to the ceiling.

"So it's President Lee now. He's moving up in the world."

Antonius took another puff on the cigar. He remained silent for a few moments, chewing on what he had just been told.

"Mr. Ribbentov, you know that the Empire has been kind to you since the beginning of the rebellion, and there is no question about who I want to see come out of this the victor, but you also know that direct Generian involvement would mean war with the UKIN coalition and Sarzonia."
Ribbentov Scoffs at the Emperor's comment.

"Yes, Sarzonia and his mighty allies." He laughed again. "Let's take a look at recent events in Inkana: Sarzonia is being slaughtered by Doomingland soldiers and their general populace is against the war. Isselmere has been contained to a beachhead around New Madrid. These are top-quality soldiers, and they haven't been contained by Doom Special Forces, no, they've been held by the Regular Inkanan Army, along with a few FreineitBewachen and Marine Units. In the North against the Royalists, we have A man that has been nicknamed The Desert Viper routing unit after unit of Large, well-trained Inkanan Soldiers. Now tell me, Emperor Antonius, does that sound like an Alliance that could possibly defeat us?"

Nah, just scratch it. My post is rubbish. Sometimes I wish NS used mainly WW2 Tech.....
There are people who do use mostly WW2 tech, but I certainly would advise you to reconsider entirely scrapping the attack. After all, the Japanese tried something similar against the Americans at Pearl Harbor, the Italians used what were essentially torpedoes with men on them. Just think what a single two-to-four man sub firing a pair of torpedoes, each with about 100 lbs. of torpex or whatever in their warheads, striking a replenishment vessel in the midst of resupplying say a heavy cruiser. Big bang, lots of deaths... Just RP it up to the point of firing the torps and let me take it from there (the sub gets away).

There are people who do use mostly WW2 tech, but I certainly would advise you to reconsider entirely scrapping the attack. After all, the Japanese tried something similar against the Americans at Pearl Harbor, the Italians used what were essentially torpedoes with men on them. Just think what a single two-to-four man sub firing a pair of torpedoes, each with about 100 lbs. of torpex or whatever in their warheads, striking a replenishment vessel in the midst of resupplying say a heavy cruiser. Big bang, lots of deaths... Just RP it up to the point of firing the torps and let me take it from there (the sub gets away).
Okay, I'll see what I can do.

Okay, that's fixed.

Antonius chuckled slightly as he removed the cigar from his mouth.

"You are right there, and I must commend you for your successes against both enemies. I must say that I am not entirely against your proposition. You have no doubt heard about the recent deployment of the 32nd army to the Inkanan coast. They are set to land any day now, which should strike at least a psychological blow to your enemies. The thought of provoking Generia into all out war must weigh at least somewhat on their psyches. Quite frankly, I want to kill the coalition's soldiers and sailors as much as you do, and I am very close to authorizing Imperial involvement, but let our intentions sink in first. Perhaps they will withdraw on their own. If not, then in a week they will be dealing with something more."

Ribbentov's eyebrows moved upwards.

"Emperor Antonius, I have the utmost respect for you and your nation, but quite frankly, you are ignorant to Sarzo's character. That man was born to fight. It's in his blood. He will not back down from this endevor, unless his young soldiers flow back in a torrent of blood. As much as the 32nd army is appreciated, I seriously doubt that it will have much effect on that man. I pray you, please, enter the war. Lommer is within victory's sight, but cannot renew his offensive until the Isselmere and Sarzonian problems are eliminated."

Antonius took another long drag on his cigar, brooding.

"I know full well the nature of the man, though I also believe prudence is not to be dismissed so quickly. I want to have my forces in place before war breaks out. Even you must agree that this would be the favorable position from which to make our moves. Give me four days, and then we shall see where we stand."

Taking the hint, Ribbentov made one last remark.

"Alright then, Emperor Antonius. I see your mind is made up. I will leave your nation at dawn. Good Day, your majesty. I will see you again in half a week's time."

Minister Ribbentov bowed once more, then made his way out the door.

Western Inkana

Guy Luke checked the action on his rifle again and quickly turned his attention back to the countryside before him. The hasty line of foxholes that he and the rest of the company had dug had now become a network of shallow trenches with a few stretches of barbed wire here and there. He was well inside Northern Inkana and unfortunately this meant he was at the front line in this rapidly developing war. His home, indeed his family, were to the southheast and already in Confederate occupied land. At the thought his fist clenched and his heartbeat picked up. 'Damn the Rebels' he thought to himself, not for the first time. Who'd have thought they'd streak though the Deserts and pop out to strike directly for Ft. Johnson? He was supposed to be fighting deep in Republican territory or along the Regmen Mountains and the war would be a far-off dream to his wife and children safe inside beloved Shayshire. As things had turned out, this war was no dream to his family. Indeed, it had already swept them up and left them in enemy hands. And he, Guy Luke, was here 'safe' inside Ft. Johnson. The irony of that almost made him smile grimly. Almost.

He heard the deep rumble of approaching armor then. Emerging from the trees below and coming up the gently sloping grassy plain toward their defensive position the armored beasts were surrounded by men in brown-grey. Confederates. The panzers came to a stop while armored personnel carriers following behind them began to disgorge more infantry, just out of rifle range.

Artillery began to fall among the Royalist positions The cries of wounded men began to fill the air. Guy pressed his body to the ground and clung to the earth. He was terrified. The bombardment continued for what seemed like hours, but was in reality no more than five or ten minutes.

'Here they come!' an officer shouted. Guy risked a look over the mound in front of his foxhole and saw a wave of Brown-clad soldiers approaching in loose order, leaning into the slope with rifles drawn and ready. A few of his countrymen began to fire at extreme range. A few Rebels fell, but not many.

The Confederate panzers sitting further down slope began to lob explosive rounds into the Royalist positions. Guy was beginning to take aim at a young Rebel with blonde whiskers when the roar of something overhead caught his attention. A jet was coming in low and fast, heading directly for the Royalist line. A few soldiers fired their rifles at the approaching plane but none seemed to hit. The plane's cannons began hammering with a sharp tat-tat-tat. Guy could see the muzzle flashes from the rapid-firing cannons as the plane streaked overhead. Shells kicked up dirt in two straight lines not further than ten meters from Guy's foxhole. Men fell clutching at massive wounds - some screaming, others beyond such effort.

When he finally risked looking over the edge of his foxhole again the Republican infantry were no more than 50 meters from the Royalist line. They were advancing in staggered order, some men spraying bullets from their assault rifles and SMG's, while others crawled on their bellies up the slope. Guy and his countrymen began firing. A staggered, half-shocked, volley of rifle fire that seemed to have little effect on the advancing Republicans. Still, guy kept firing for all he was worth as the Republicans gradually grew closer. There were a few machinegun positions to Guy's left and right and they were stitching bullets back and forth among the Republicnas, working paths of death through them. However, shells from the Confederate panzers still sitting below soon quieted the machinegunners.

When explosions began sending geysers of dirt and gore among the advancing Republican infantry the Royalist defenders put up a ragged cheer. Evidently someone had gotten some artillery to help defend this low ridge and the artillery men weren't afraid to risk hitting their own positions. The shells were impacting no more than 20 meters in front of the Royalist line. The Republican advance was beginning to stall and the Republican fire was becoming more persistent and effective as the Republicnas began to hesitate. Guy was beginning to think they would hold this ridge, would stop the Republicans right here.

Then a cry began to ring out.

"The Rebels are behind us!" men were shouting. "Panzers broke through to the south, we're overrun!". The fire began to slacken off again as the Royalist defenders now began to hesitate. Now came the sound of small arms fire, disturbingly coming from the east! The Royalist defenders began to look to their officers but the officers themselves seemed lost.

"The Republicans are to our east and south, we're surrounded!" someone shouted. With the Republicans still slowly approaching up the slope and the sounds of battle picking up to the east the Royalist line began to waver. Men began to slip away to the perceived safety of the north. Some men left, but most stayed. Guy felt a certain pride at that, and turned his attention back to killing Republicans. He fired his rifle until he ran out of ammunition. For a few minutes he took pot shots with his pistol until the man to his left was shot dead. Guy took what ammunition the dead man had left and reloaded his rifle. Screams and intense gunfire broke out to the north. Guy saw men in grey-brown among the shallow trenches in that direction, he saw Royalist defenders begin to throw up their arms in surrender. The Republicans killed some, but took most prisoner.

Now was the time for Guy to make a choice. Stay here and fight to the death, or try to flee to the north? He was reloading his rifle again and contemplating his decision when a Republican soldier made up his mind for him by driving his bayonet into Guy's left shoulder. Pain flared white hot and ragged. His vision went white, and then faded to black as his awareness fled.

He awoke two hours later in a field hospital. The doctors and nurses spoke Italian, a bloody bandage was wrapped around his mangled shoulder. He began to worry about his arm. The pain was dulled behind a mask of something..., and in his state the fate of the Monarchy and his family seemed like a far away concern.

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

Roger Blaire knew hunger, had known it for several weeks now. His uniform, once clean and crisp and proud, was now little more than dirt-smeared rags. His shoes had gone into the pot a couple of days back before the surrender and the only thing he'd found to replace them was two worn strips of canvas wrapped loosely around his feet. He'd lost his helmet a week ago. His rifle, worn as it was, had been taken from him. His division, his company, and his squad had ceased to exist as formalized, coherent, units at least eight days ago, or was it nine? Most of all he was tired.

Tired of fighting, tired of Rebels, tired of retreats, tired of everything. Tired of living? Maybe.

The Republicans didn't seem tired. The guards who watched over him and the thousands of other Royalist soldiers in this temporary POW camp somewhere south of Tribrok strutted about like gods looking down on mere mortals. They knew victory, and they were drunk on its sweet wine. Barking laughter, they would sometimes mock their pathetic prisoners. Roger hated them with every fiber of his being but resistance now could only mean death. He knew utter hopelessness.

He'd grown a scraggly beard, he had lice, and his arms and legs seemed to have shrunken into mere twigs. All of his fellow prisoners were likewise haggard looking. Except for a few of the officers who seemed to have magically maintained their weight, vigor, and well-polished uniforms. How they did so was an incomprehensible enigma to Roger. Those same officers had formed work squads to clean the camp, dig new slit trenches and bury old ones, serve food, etc. A twelve hour day of digging trenches and piling dirt on human waste was almost as bad as combat had been. Almost.

Work behind him and precious sleep ahead, Roger ate the gruel that an Italian-speaking cook had slopped into his tin. It tasted vile. What was in it only the bad tempered Republican cooks knew.

But he ate it and didn't complain. He hadn't eaten this good in over a week.

Outside of the temporary barbwire fence Republican soldiers manned sandbag machinegun nests, the ominous looking MG-05's pointing into the camp in case anyone was foolish enough to try to escape. A couple of men had tried and failed, bullets tearing them to shreds before they could clear the open ground around the camp. The Republicans had randomly hung ten men for each of those who tried to escape. There hadn't been any more escape attempts since then.

Sleep, in the open surrounded by hundreds of other prisoners, was fitful and frequently interrupted by the voices of shouting Republicans or the sharp barking of canines. When he awoke he felt more tired than ever, but the officer who told him to pick up his shovel and get to work didn't seem to care. Another day in captivity, the future uncertain. Hope seemed a thing of the past. Roger found himself wishing the war would end so he could go home. To his surprise, he couldn't make himself care which side won.

[OOC: Inkana, I'll try to get something posted re:your well-written attack sometime soon. Regrettably RL BS has become unusually plentiful of late.]

[OOC: Inkana, I'll try to get something posted re:your well-written attack sometime soon. Regrettably RL BS has become unusually plentiful of late.]
No problem, I had some serious things come up as of late, but now that school is winding down, I have lots more time. Real life comes first.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v218/Inkana/Inkana_map3.jpg

Current situation map.

0MFG!11 ST4R W4RZZZZ!!11111oneoneone!!111

0MFG!11 ST4R W4RZZZZ!!11111oneoneone!!111
OOC: Huh, wha...? What is this "star wars" of which you speak? Kidding.

OOC: Inkana is listening to "The Imperial March" :D

Bump

Post, God Damn it!

“Holy Mother of God!”

“Back up everyone! Back up!”

Explosions began ripping through the streets as the Sarzonian army began to approach the church.

“Shit! Where’s the fucking detection equipment?”

“You’d think those Goddamn UAVs would pick this shit up.”

“They’re not designed with explosion detection technology, you know.”

“All right, enough of this,” Quinn bellowed. “Listen to yourselves talk! This is no way to run an army.”

Before the master sergeants could respond to Quinn, he put his hand up.

“The Doomies are the fiercest bunch we’ve fought against, but this is no time to start turning our tails between our legs and running. We’ve got captured men held by these assholes and who knows what they’re doing to them right now?” Quinn punctuated his last sentence with a fiery glare at the fearsome soldiers. He knew their fear; he had to make them more fearful of failing their country than they would be of the Doomies.

“You’re not going to let the Navy kick your ass again, are you?”

Quinn knew his bold challenge was a last-ditch effort to get his men to move. Reluctantly, they took to their guns and prepared their kevlar armour. Like it or not, they were going to have to fight. Quinn punched in an order on his command BlackBerry and the infantry fighting vehicles and Zephyrs started rolling into position.

“Target acquired, sir.”

“Let’s blow this place to Hell,” Quinn said, hoping the irony of saying that about a place of religious worship was lost on these desperate, panicky men. Soon, the men’s thoughts were overshadowed by the explosions from the guns of the Sarzonian armoured vehicles as they fired toward targets.

“We’ve got more Doomies 35 degrees northeast!”

“Jackpot,” Quinn yelled. “Go get ‘em men!”

The platoon of troops set off on their Doomie hunting expedition, rifles and other weapons drawn. One of the Zephyrs was loaded with a fuel air explosive that was intended to strike fear as much as it was to cause damage to the Doomies.

“Sir, there they are!”

“Fire!”

The Sarzonians opened fire, but found their accuracy was not where it was in some of the better armies they’d seen. Still, they managed to score a couple of direct hits and the kevlar-armoured soldiers began swinging their M-16s when they got close enough. Corporal Dave Christensen noticed a rifle that was in the hands of a fallen Doomie and picked it up. He fired his own rifle until he got under cover, cradling his find like a new toy under a Christmas tree.

Sergeant Bernice Dickerson did the same after she sneaked up and saw three of those rifles. She grabbed them, pulled out a knife and slowly backed up until she reached a Sarzonian armoured personnel carrier. Dickerson’s and Christensen’s findings would be taken back to the temporary headquarters kilometres away from Waterston.


“Mr. President!”

“What is it?”

“Anti-war protests are continuing to rage.”

Sarzo looked out, watching the growing throngs with a lump in his throat. To say the army wasn’t doing well was an understatement. Frankly, it was an embarrassment. The Navy was doing the best it could, but Sarzo began to see that his country’s concentration on building up its naval forces to a figure of 5,000 ships, including non-combatants, at the expense of the other branches of the military was an error in doctrine.

However, Sarzo had more pressing matters to deal with. The Republicans were getting the upper hand over the Isselmerian-Nielander army while Sarzonia’s army was being given a rude awakening by Doomingsland’s forces. Generic Empire was also lurking in the background and Sarzo knew it.

He knew what he had to do to preserve the tattered war effort. He called in the Defence Department in an emergency meeting.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the gravity of this situation,” Sarzo said. “Here’s what we’re going to have to do: Declare war on the Republican forces and send in the First Army now that they’re stuck doing cleanup in Upper Xen. Send the fleets that mobilised against Hiroshiko and Communist Xen into Inkana and tighten the blockade on those Republicans. Then go in for the kill.”

“Mr. President, we’re already deep in a quagmire and sending more troops isn’t going to appreciably help,” Newman said.

“On the contrary, John. One of the big mistakes in Vietnam was not committing fully to a war over there.”

“You’re mistaken, Mike,” Air Force Chief Bill Lighton said. “The United States lost the war because they were getting killed in the propaganda department. The U.S. wasn’t even trying to match propaganda statements and was losing the battle for the people’s hearts and minds, not to mention the battles against the insurgency. We’re going to have to convince the people that it’s in their best interests to support the Imperial government. Once support for the Republicans starts to erode, we’ve got them.”

“That’s way too optimistic,” Lorber said. “They’ve got a lot of resolve built up over there. It’s going to take years for us to even make a dent in the propaganda wars. We’re already squarely behind the eight ball there.”

“Mike, I just talked to Josh and Karen,” Lewis said. “We don’t have the votes in Parliament to declare war. The majority in both houses is against further involvement.”

Sarzo sighed. How the hell was he going to win the hearts and minds of the Inkanan people when he was fighting that losing battle with his own countrymen?

“What about sending reinforcements? We’re getting close to our budget limits for this war.”

“Parliament won’t approve anything more than another $100 billion for fighting the war. That will only last us,” Lewis said. “Another six weeks,” both Lewis and Sarzo said in unison.

Sarzo closed his eyes. The situation was grim, indeed. They had nine weeks left to fight and they couldn’t really send too much more in the way of troops. The godrod satellites already got a workout in a declared war and the Navy was going to have to demobilise after blockades.

What do I do when people look to me for the answers and I don’t have any, Sarzo asked himself as he slowly brought the plams of his hands over his face.

Waterston, Inkana

"FUCK! Incoming!" yelled one of the Legionaries before the skin from his bones was literaly ripped off from the fuel air explosion.

The men began to sporatically return fire, going from window to window in an effort to give the Sarzonians a major headache. Virtualy all of the men manning positions outside of town hall were annihilated within the first five minutes of battle, simply by the sheer number of Sarzonians.

Of course, the Sarzonians recieved a further blow to morale.

*insert music from Gladiator*

Sitting behind a knocked over tree, Sergeant Kaeso Spurius tightly pressed his hands over the massive wound he had recieved to the stomach. It was all going blurry, yet seemed to be getting brighter. Then he saw it. The thing promised to all loyal Doomingslanders when they died: the Gates of Heaven. A whimsical smile came across his lips as he drew nearer and nearer. Of course, he wasn't actualy moving. All pain had faded, now, and he approached St. Peter himself, who, in gleaming white robes and a great white beard, welcomed the soldier with open arms. Then, a voice, roughly three feet in front of him, yelled out to him in English,

"HANDS ON YOUR HEAD, MOTHER FUCKER!!!"

This warrented a chuckle from Kaeso, who, with the assistance of the physical attribute enhancement system on his VEPR suit, lifted his right hand, and pulled his helmet off. He coughed up blood, yet his vision continued.

"I said HANDS UP!"

Suddenly, as if coming from the trance, Kaeso looked up at the Sarzonian, no older than twenty. A mere child in his eyes. Finally, Kaeso breathed his last words...

"Ducle et docorum...est pro patria mori..."

It is a sweet and seemly thing to die for ones' country.


Those words were also the last the Sarzonian and anyone within ten square feet of Kaeso would hear, as well. Kaeso returned to his trance as his kevlar vest, laced with SEMTEX, began to buz very loudly. The last the anyone saw was a great ball of flame coming straight at them...

Of course, this same event occured rampantly throughout the area. Not a single Doomingslander alowed himself to fall into enemy hands.

It didn't really take the Sarzonians long to surround the Town Hall, but they surely payed dearly for it. Of course, the Sarzonians, who seemed not quite apt in urban warfare, didn't quite have the nessessary heavy armor required for such tasks.

The Doomingslanders got to play with the underbarell 20mm grenade launchers on their M28s, which came equiped with HEAT grenades.

Colonel Julius decided to have a little fun before his time came and walked over to the window of the Mayor's office. The window had been totaly shot out, and the room was on fire. No matter; his thermal signature was now nearly impossible to read thanks to it. He wouldn't stay long however. He shouldered his weapon, resting it against his cheek, and propped it up on the splintered desk, upon which lie broken photographs of family members.

The Legionaries, being devout Catholics, had evacuated the civilians beforehand out of genuine concern for their lives. They didn't want civies getting in their crossfire.

Julius stared through the 4x red dot sight, and selected the grenade launching mode. He had a five round magazine containing HEAT charges ready to go. He didn't have to wait long; the all too farmiliar silluette of a Sarzonian IFV (they are trained to recognize over one hundred different armored vehicles) appeared around the street corner.

He decided to take it out with a bit of finesse.

First, he brough the reticle directly over the drivers hatch, one of the weakest spots of any armored vehicle.

Plink

THYOOOF

The poor unfortunate driver died the most feared death of any tanker: getting hit with a HEAT round. What basicly happened was a superheated jet stream melted the hatch's armor, encasing the poor man in molten steel.

Now that the vehicle had stopped, he adjusted his aim a bit, targetting the roof of the turret.

Plink-Plink-Plink

THYOOOOOOFF

The rounds, being fired so rapidly, seemed to create one long sound when they detonated. That was one IFV down, a zillion more to go.

Of course, every man was equiped the same way, and could easily have been doing the same thing...

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

40 kilometers out of Townshend, Bausch, Sarzonia

Pulling into the parking lot of a seemingly abandoned warehouse, John Magnus, a first generation Doomingslandian immigrant stepped out of a large rented truck. He had on a long black trench coat and sunglasses. Perfect for concealement. He looked around, scanning his environment. Not even moving his head, he sensed the presence of men in the window directly above his head.

Two sentries. My, my, Chris, getting lazy on the security are we? he thought to himself with a smile. He opened the door, and immediately had a gun pressed to the side of his head.

John spoke first.

”Gee, Clem, I figured you woulda stopped me a bit further out,” he said jokingly.

”Oh, Johnny, thought you was someone else,” responded the man in a gruff tone.

”I brought you guys some nice shit out in the truck. Go unload ‘er,” he said, tossing Clem Roberts, a member of the Restore Sarzonia Task Force, the keys to the rental.

”Sure thing, Johnny. Chris is in the next room.”

“K.”

Now where did I put my fucking notebook, Taylor thought as the Doomies slammed him to the ground. He looked and found his notebook, but also found, surprisingly intact considering the rough treatment he received, was his camera. He thought it was strange that the enemy would treat his camera as carefully as they did, but he didn’t have any way of realising the enemy’s motives.

He walked aimlessly until he felt something hit his shin and heard a muffled groan. He looked down and saw Holloway doubled over in newfound pain and gagged.

“Dear God! What happened?”

“Those… Doomies tortured me,” Holloway said slowly, drawing his breath slowly as if he were trying to summon enough strength to speak. “They wanted battle plans.”

“But they didn’t get them, did they:?”

Holloway stared out at the wall. “No,” he said, his voice faintly above a whisper, but loud enough for Taylor to hear. “They kept at it until they realised I wasn’t going to give them what they wanted.”

“And what were you doing here.”

“Special operations mission. Capture a battery and use it on the Republican forces.”

“And you failed?”

Holloway closed his eyes and nodded his head. On an impulse, Taylor panned his camera all over Holloway’s body, showing off the effects of the torture the Doomies put him under. When SNN got this footage and it began to show on Sarzonian television, the anti-war chorus was about to get even louder.


“In a surprise move today, Parliament approved an increase in spending for the Inkanan war, authorising a package of $500 billion dollars. The money is expected to allow the current Sarzonian forces to remain in Inkana for another six months.

“Turning to the stock market, the dedication ceremony for the new Stock Exchange Building in Portland…”

The assembled group at the local junior college didn’t care a whit about the new Stock Exchange. They were incensed that a Parliament that was on the verge of denying funding to the war effort, a move that would have forced Sarzonia to pull out of the war in a matter of weeks, was about to give more money to the war effort. On a large, 60 inch plasma television set wheeled outside the student union, a broadcast of the news led a crowd of 600 students into chants of protest and one element that hadn’t come before: President Mike Sarzo was being burned in effigy while riot police looked on.

“The hell,” former Army Chief Hal Luxton said as he came back from a trip to the grocery store and turned on the news. Reports of the army taking losses at the Battle of Waterston flashed on the screen and he saw his replacement, former Sanctaphrax General Antonius Santius field questions about the army’s performace.

“They got the poor guy on the hot seat,” Luxton said as Santius was getting grilled repeatedly by the press corps.

“Glad I’m not still working there.”


“Sir, someone’s here to see you.”

“Send him in,” Bonham said.

Magnus walked into the room with a slow, measured gait, looking for all the world like someone who was scanning the room.

“Chris, good to see you,” Magnus said. “I have a special present for you.”

“Hello John. “Glad to see you could join the party. He shook Magnus’s hand.

Davey’s late from that press briefing, he thought as he looked at the picture of his little brother in his little league uniform that adorned his desk. That little brother, David Bonham, was the recently-elected Governor of Bausch, the state that at one time tried to secede from Sarzonia before a protracted civil war. Bonham was the first governor to stay at the new Governor’s Mansion in the rebuilt Townshend after it had been destroyed by a nuclear attack and the state government had to invoke its emergency reconstituting process.

Little shit must be getting lost in that damn house, Chris thought to himself as his glance shifted from the photo to the telephone to Magnus.

Before he could listen to Magnus’s reply, Roberts walked in with part of the delivery.

OOC:Post coming as soon as I'm not dead (football tryouts tend to do that).

OOC: I'll try to post my reply to Inkana's attack sometime soon; I'm a bit snowed under at the moment.

Command Bunker, Georgestown

Staring through a one way mirror, Maximus couldn't help but chuckle at the feebleness of this so-called "veteran" combat reporter. He'd expected the man to be sickened of course, but actualy seeing it was really something for him. Inquisitor Gaius had spent the previous hour working his craft on Holloway, but to no avail. Maximus was getting quite impatient with this man.

"It appears the reporter is doing exactly what you wanted, my leige," came the voice of Gaius as he stepped from a shadowy corner.

He had on a hooded black robe that he'd pulled down low, concealing his grotesque face. He'd been mutilated in a training accident as a young boy. After being made fun of repeatedly, beaten up and whatnot, he'd turned into somewhat of a sadist. A creative one, at that.

Maximus didn't even turn his head to the man who had failed him.

"Indeed, Inquisitor," he replied in a neutral tone, watching the two men on the other side of the mirror intently.

He wasn't really interested in what they were doing, however. He was bust devising a horrible new method of execution for Holloway...

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

RSTF Headquarters, Sarzonia

The sound of heavy footsteps came from behind, and caused the men to turn. Six more men entered carrying large crates, some more heavy than others. The men groaned as the plopped them on the ground in front of Chris. John produced a crowbar, and jammed it under the lid of one of the lighter crates. Snapping off the cover in a quick motion, he produced a sleek, modern-looking bullpup rifle, and handed it to Chris.

"This is the M27A1 Modular Assault Weapon System," he said proudly, seeing the amazed gazes of the other terrorists, "It fires your 5.56mm round, uses a thirty-round M-16 mag, and is constructed of lightweight polymers..."

Chris would have immediatly noted the sheer lightness of the weapon. Perfect for concealment.

"It comes in several varients. The one you have there, Chris, is the personal defense weapon. Note how the barrel barely extends beyond the trigger gaurd. There's more parts in the other crates, so you can convert it to a marksman varient, a regular rifle varient, and a squad automatic varient."

John smiled as Chris stared down the illuminated red dot sight, lining up a dart-ridden portrain of Mike Sarzo in his sights.

"But wait! There's more!" proclaimed Magnus, trying to sound like one of those cheezy television advertisements.

Stepping over to yet another crate and tearing the lid off, he motioned for the men to gather round.

Inside the crate was a number of nice little toys: IR/nightvision goggles, helmets with attached LCD screens, small enough to fold over one's eye, sleek black kevlar body armor, and various other electronic devices.

Picking up a helmet and what looked like a small camera, John quickly clipped the camera onto one of the rifles and switched on the helmet moniter. He could now aim the rifle using an attached gun camera. Mounted to the kevlar vests were tiny computer chips and GPS recievers, all of which transmitted data to the helmet moniter. Finally, the helmets had a small mic system attached to allow for communication.

Doomingsland Imperial Intellegence had just equiped a small group of rebels better than a member of the Sarzonian military...

Anyone who knew Peter Finch knew there was something different about him the last few weeks. A man who normally was eager to get out of bed and was enthusiastic about reporting to work as a senior manager at the Implementation Department at the Portland Iron Works was becoming more and more irritable as the weeks wore on. Every night the news from Inkana highlighted what he thought was the government's hypocrisy. A government that opposed killing civilians was now killing civilians in a country that was a Sarzonian ally.

"Sons of bitches," he muttered as the doors opened on the Portland Metro. He passed the Iron Works stop where he normally got out to begin his day, but this time, it wasn't because he was engrossed in a book or in the daily paper. This time, he had a faraway look on his face, but it wasn't from lack of sleep. On the contrary, he got a full eight hours last night.

"Fennerby Aeroport, doors on the right," came over the intercom. All at once, Finch, carrying a suitcase he said was for a "business trip," got up and took his suitcase with him. He walked up the escalator to the airport terminal and got on the plane after passing through security.

"Have a nice trip Mr. Finch," the flight attendant said in a breezy tone that Finch didn't even notice. He had a purpose on his mind.

Eight hours later, the flight landed at the destination and he got out. He looked around and found a familiar face.

"Petey, good to see you man," George Wescott, an engineer with the Portland Iron Works said. He extended his left hand to Finch.

Looking at the left hand, Finch smiled slightly.

"Good, you're with me on this."

"You know it. Got the number?"

"Yeah."

Finch called for a cab and it drove him to the transport helicopter. Within a matter of minutes after the helicopter landed, he saw a hooded figure.

"Got the info?"

"Yeah." He pulled out a file folder with information about several ship classes.

"This should help you improve your navy," Finch said. "Maybe you'll be able to teach my government a lesson."

The figure smiled as he read the contents of the folder.

"Indeed, Mr. Finch. You have more than lived up to your end of the bargain," came he hoarse sounding voice of Grand Inquisitor Servius Cassius.

He was indeed pleased with himself for accomplishing this particular goal of his. He had orcestrated the defection of multiple Portland Iron Works engineers. Not only that, but they'd managed to smuggle ship designs out of the country with them.

There's democracy for ya.

"Rest assured, your reward is far greater than you can imagine, my friend. You and your friends shall all have your own estates complete with hundreds of servants. The state shall also reward you with the sum of five billion dollars. That should be a good start," said Servius, his thin lips smiling wryly from behind his black hood.

"You may seek further employment with Doomingsland Imperial Shipyards should you wish to further...educate your government. You would most likely be given a high ranking position within that corporation."

They were roughly twelve miles outside of Doom City, and so a thick smog hung above in the skies. The surrounding area was all desert and sharply contradicted the city itself, which bore a strong resemblance to Ancient Rome.

"My sources within the corporation tell me preparations are already in place to begin construction on the vessels. I congradulate you and your friends once more, Mr. Finch. Now I must depart. Good day."

And that was that. The mysterious inquisitor turned his back, his black cape fluttering in the air, and strolled up the boarding ramp of an awaiting VTOL aircraft, with two Inquisitional Gaurdsmen standing alert on either side, clad in black armor. They too turn to follow the man they were sworn to protect. The hydrolics of the ramp whirred to life, and it slowly lifted upwards. The engines roared to life, and almost immediatly it picked up off of the ground and shot into the air.

Another man, a member of Imperial Intellegence, arrived to show the men to their new homes, massive, green estates out in the middle of the desert.

occ: I am intrested in joining.

Finch and Wescott looked at each other.

Bingo.

Finch had been stuck in middle management for a while, though with the company's rapid expansion he moved quickly up the ranks of the Portland Iron Works. However, a salary that was equivalent to a six figure salary in 2005's United States of America wasn't enough for Finch, and it seemed like the company had already expanded as much as it could.

For Wescott, however, the problems were more acute. He was a promising engineer; in fact, one of the most promising the Portland Iron Works hired in the past few years. He earned the respect of young and old alike and he showed a special talent for conceiving Trimaran hulled warships, but the ISN preferred its escorts to be monohulls. The biggest problem for Wescott was that he was in the same position for six years now, albeit with a good salary.

All that changed. Finch and Wescott were being showed to their new homes and they were both impressed by the spacious luxury they found. Finch looked around with his eyes opened wide and saw the layout of his mansion.

"Connie's gonna love this," Finch said, looking around at the splendor.

"Becky will have a field day," Wescott said.

The next thing that came to their minds was how to get their respective families out of Portland. Luckily, the flight from Fennerby Airport still took them close enough to Doomingsland that they could take a flight into Doomingsland without having to leave from Sarzonia.

That was going to be a detail for another day. Right now, Finch and Wescott were trying to imagine life a few rungs higher on the totem pole at Doomingsland Imperial Shipyards.

Talk about career advancement.

RATED R FOR EXCESIVE VIOLENCE AND GORE

Command Bunker, Georgestown

Maximus had finally done it. He'd come up with a most entertaining torture for poor Holloway. He turned away from the one way mirror and strolled out into the hall. Twenty minutes later, three men, clad in black armor, their faces hidden behind armored gaskmasks, entered the interrogation room.

One of them tossed Taylor asside like a ragdoll while the other two siezed Holloway by what was left of his arms. Screaming loudly and shrilly, he was dragged over to what appeared to be a slanted table, the top being shinny and black, resembling the top of a modern stove somewhat. His wrists and ankles were secured with steel shackles that were attached to the table.

"FILM!" grunted the man that had thrown Taylor to him, shoving his camera in his hands.

Another table was wheeled in, and on it were various knives, four tanks of pirhanas, a bucket that had a top on it. There seemed to be airholes poked in the top. There was also several wooden boards, a hammer, a bucket of nails, and a spoon.

Holloway immediatly knew this would be quite a twisted method of torture, yet did as his captor commanded to avoid meeting a similar fate.

One of the assigned torturers took a fistfull of nails, the hammer and three wooden boards and walked over to Holloway. Siezing him by an ear, he pounded a nail through it, attaching it to one of the boards. He did the same with the other ear and his tounge.

The other two walked over, and each grabbed a board. They all began to gently tug...

Slowly, they could feel the skin begin to rip as Holloway screamed in agony. Slowly....slowly...slowly they tore his ears and tounge off, Holloway screaming the entire time. When they had completed their work, the floor had been drenched in blood. To prevent him from bleeding out, they quickly cauterized the wounds with a blow torch...

They hadn't even gotten started, however. The man who had the hammer picked it up once more, and this time began to smash Holloway's teeth.

Now, it may not sound painful, but have you ever gotten a tooth drilled without an anestetic? Yeah, it REALLY hurts.

When his mouth had been throughly crushed, he decided to finish up on his jaw section. Grabbing both his upper and lower jaw, the man slowly tore them apart. Very slowly, so that the pain would last...

He could feel the bone begin to crunch, and tore some more....

CRAAACK

He had shut his eyes for that part, and looked down to find that he now held Holloway's lower jaw in his hand. It was no longer attached.

Holloway, meanwhile, was using up strength just trying to scream. The men enjoyed listening to this chorus of pain, and decided to give him an adrenal injection to keep him awake.

The one that had so horribly mutilated his face stepped away and made room for the other two.

Tight cords were wound around his wrists and ankles, cutting off circulation.

They began to attach what appeared to be boxes of some sort to Holloway's hands and feet. They were clear, so he could see what was happening. The tanks of pihranas were brought over, and emptied into the box. It didn't take long for the fanged fish to begin chomping away right in front of Holloway. He was being forced to watch himself be eaten alive.

After about ten minutes, his hands and feet were bare to the bone. He hadn't bled to death thanks to the thinking ahead of his torturers, who had cut off the circulation to the areas.

OOC:I was gonna do some more horrible tortures, but I don't wanna get the mods on my ass...

IC:

Finally, the time had come to put Holloway out of his misery. The bucket, the one with the air holes, was clamped down over his stomach, and the lid slid off from underneath. The things within the bucket made themselves known: hundreds of red ants.

They began to slowly chew through Holloway's stomach...

OOC:Sarz, you can post him saying any last words or something, now.

Five Miles from the ISF Alert, a Castle-class Heavy Cruiser

As the small Zodiac rocked back and forth against the black ocean waves, Marcus Junius Meridius was preparing to dive. He was a member of an order known as the Knights of St. Michael (KOSM), an order of warrior monks. He had a simple mission: sabotage the Alert's nuclear reactor to cause the Sarzonian people to lose confidence in nuclear power. If he wasn't mistaken, his government seemed to be waging a systematic psy-war campaign on the Sarzonian populace...

As he rolled off of the boat into the water, he activated his underwater nightvision system, allowing for him to sneak up on the vessel undetected. He dove down about ten feet and swam towards the ship. Twenty minutes later, he surfaced, drawing his gas-powered grappling gun.

He squeezed off a round, jolting back in the water slightly as the gun recoiled in his hand. The grappling hook pinged against the metal railing at the top. He'd successfully hit. He hooked the rope to his belt, and thumbed a switch. He was jerked upwards as the roped began to elevate. Before the minute was up, he had landed on deck behind some crates. He quickly shed his wetsuit, revealing his sleek VEPR Sneaking Suit. He had on black combat boots, a light armored utility vest, a balaclava-style mask, and three-lensed EEV goggles, which would allow him to hack computers, access important data quickly, and see in a number of different modes. Underneath the suit was the Physical Attribute Acceleration System, which, by using electro-muscular fibers, made him roughly four times stronger than he already was.

This was controlled via a direct neural interface, as were his EEVs. Finally, his most important system, his optical camo, was over all of his clothing. By using cameras and various fibers, the system was able to render him transparent to the naked eye. This especialy came in handy in dark environments such as this.

His long knife and pistol would stay holstered unless he needed them, which was quite unlikely. He was to avoid confrontations in this particular operation.

Activating his camo, he quietly slinked into an open doorway, passing a night watchman. His destination was deck sixteen, reactor room. He was currently two decks above. He quickly arrived at one of the many lader/stairwells that lead up and down, and slid down, hitting the ground with a clank. No one heard, thankfully.

He scanned the immediate area.

All asleep... he thought to himself. Unlikely as it was, and he knew that, it gave him assurance.

He slid down yet another ladder, and found himself on deck sixteen. He had come at just the right time. The Naval Infantry weren't around, and that gave him ample time. Quietly and alertly moving down the hallway, he came to a wooden door marked 'Chief Engineer's Office'.

He, being a 21st Century Uber-Spy, and all, was at least able to read English, and saw this as an oppurtunity he couldn't pass up. He switched his EEVs to Infared vision, allowing for him to register heat signatures...

No one on the otherside. He was good to go. He tried the door. Locked. Easy enough to get by. He withdrew his lock pick kit and inserted the pick. After fumbling the tumblers for about ten seconds, he heard a satisfying 'click', and proceeded in.

The room was unlit, and he didn't want to look suspicious, so he switched over to nightvision. Through the erie green glow of his goggles, he could see the tiny office was adorned in a Spartan fashion: few decorations, one photo on the cluttered desk. There was also a laptop. Those were always nice sources of intel. He almost instinctively flipped up the LCD moniter and switched it on. Hearing it pur to life, he reached into one of his many water-proof kevlar cargo pockets and revealed what appeared to be a flash drive.

The computer had booted up in under five seconds, and immediatly asked for a password. No problem. He plugged the drive into a USB port, and immediatly the message changed to 'Welcome, Lieutenant Commander Harlan Bentley.' He had gotten into windows successfully, and went into 'My Computer.' Going into the flash drive, he ran 'Intel.exe', and immediatly began to copy all of the contents of the computer down onto the drive.

All was going well.

Then he heard footsteps. A key was inserted into the lock and quickly turned. Thinking quickly, Marcus hid next to the door, his optical camo still running at 100%. The door swung open, and a tired looking figure fumbled through the dark, looking for the light switch. Finding it, he switched it on to see a transparent humanoid shape in front of him.

Before he could yell for help, Marcus took his right hand, and in a lightning fast move, hit Lt. Commander Harlan Bently in the face, sending him flying back a few feet into the door. He was out cold.

Marcus sighed and dragged the lifeless body into the room, shutting the door behind him. The computer beeped, signaling that the file transfer was complete. He pulled the flash drive from the USB port, sticking it in a water-proof pouch, and hastily shut the computer off.

He stepped away from the desk, and headed out into the hallway. A heavy steel door marked 'Reactor Room' was just down the hall. He quickly got over there, and found that the door required a retinal scanned to open. He knew just where to find the guy to operate it.

Backtracking to the Chief Engineer's Office, he picked the Lt. Commander up off the floor and slung his unconcious body over his shoulder, dropping it down in front of the reactor room door. He took out a syringe and jammed it into Bently's neck. Instantly stirring to life, his face was shoved into the retinal scanner. Taken by surprise, he didn't think to shut his eyes, and the door swung open.

Marcus once again knocked out the Lt. Commander by putting him in a sleeper hold, and dragged him into the reactor room. It wasn't a large room, quite small, actualy, with an armored column and a door in the exact center. A computer console was also present. Marcus casualy strolled over to the console, inserted yet another drive into the USB port, and sat for about two minutes. Finally, the door to the reactor itself swung open, and he rushed in. His suit wouldn't protect him from the radiation long, so he'd have to work quickly.

He took out a few bricks of SEMTEX and placed them in various key parts. There was one more loose end to tie up. He took Lt. Commander Bently's lifeless body, and tossed it into the reactor camber, shutting the door behind him.

It was time to go, now.

He dashed out into the hallway, and quickly found a small window. It would have to do. He squeezed through and fell head first into the water. He took out a small plastic packet, and thumbed a switch. It broke open and quickly inflated into a raft. He hastily attached a small electric motor and headed as fast as he could away from the explosion...

Five minutes later, after a simultanious meltdown, the explosives in the reactor chamber detonated...

OOC: Had I but known that my shipyards would produce two sacrificial lambs from the same class...

Smith Bay, Southern Inkana - 2.29 local

Standard Royal Isselmere-Nieland Navy practice condemned performing replenishment operations in confined bodies of water, but in the absence of Inkanan air attacks and naval strength, the fleet commander, Vice Admiral Hugh Parkinson, decided continued naval gunfire support was worth the risk.

Lolling about in the calm waters of Smith Bay, the Royal Isselmere-Nieland Fleet Auxiliary (RINFA) Smith-class replenishment vessel Lewis had been suffering problems with its port side anti-submarine rocket launchers. Maintenance crews had been working on them for a few hours, but whenever a repair had been made, another issue came up. "Bloody gremlins," muttered Chief Artificer Greene, feeling the urge to use naval repair tool Mk.1 -- his steel-toed boot -- on the launch mechanism swell.

Theirs and general maintenance procedures, as well as the process of replenishing the Castle-class cruiser Earlsport along the Lewis's starboard side, made sonar operations difficult. Still, neither the captain of the Earlsport nor that of the Lewis were greatly concerned. The bay was crawling with Cuttlefish submersible reconnaissance drones as well as frigates and destroyers and their anti-submarine helicopters. Both ships were also far enough from the shore to make underwater demolitions teams think again. Neither captain had counted on the presence of two miniature submarines, however.

The Castle-class heavy cruiser Earlsport with its advanced sonar was the first to pick up the noise from the torpedoes. Unfortunately, by then it was much too late. Without any defences on the port quarter, the Lewis could do nothing but take what fate had given. The first torpedo struck amidships, having failed to duck under the hull but managing to crack it like an eggshell none the less. Into the first gaping hole poured tonnes of water. The second torpedo, however, did cut under the keel, its explosion creating a massive bubble that broke the Lewis's back.

The second explosion may have saved the Earlsport from being hit twice, but once was enough. The first torpedo from the XU-78B detonated immediately underneath the fantail, destroying an Azipod and one of the steering mechanisms for the port side waterjet, causing the heavy cruiser to career into the burning wreckage of the Lewis. Secondary explosions from within the Lewis further engulfed the port side of the Earlsport. Though motes within the missile magazines immediately flooded the tubes upon registering the massive temperature rise, the incredible heat touched off more than a few munitions. In the end, half of the Earlsport was ablaze. On the other half, men and women prepared to abandon ship while they could.

Complete casualty listings to come

5,000 feet over Southern Inkana

"We have entered our final decent and will be touching down in Maximus AFB momentarily," came a calm voice from over the C17's intercom as it jolted up and down.

The caused the aircraft's cargo, the pilots of Mobius Squadron, to stir awake. The men had tried to grab some shut-eye on the flight over from Generia, but the prospect of impending battle proved to mind-consuming to grant them much rest. The men were dressed in camo fatigues, their personal gear being used as pillows against the hard steel floor of the transport. There were little or no creature comforts on the aircraft, so the men were mostly bored, although one or two may have thought to bring a book or a laptop.

The Squadron's leader, Colonel Marius Gneaus Cornelius, callsign 'Mobius One', had been awake on the flight down. He'd been resting against the cold wall of the cargo bay, his arms crossed to keep warm, but had failed to doze off. Not that he cared, anyway. He was Doomingsland's top fighter ace, with over three hundred consecutive airiel kills under his belt, making for a shit load of tiny flags representing the various air forces of different nations decorating his aircraft.

His current fighter was the F-78C King Demon, one of the world's single most advanced aircraft. He, along with his squadron of sixteen men and eight aircraft, had been deployed to Inkana in order to snatch air superiority from the Sarzonian Airforce. Marius had never known much of the Sarzonian airforce other than it made most of its own aircraft. He was unsure of its pilots' mettle and skill, so for him, this would be a most interesting war.

He fully doubted he'd lost anyone on this op, but one could never be sure. His co-pilot, Major Sirus Aurelius, callsign 'Gunslinger', was sound asleep next to him. The two were like brothers, they frequently went over one another's respective households for barbeque, they'd made sure to put their children in the same school, and their wives always seemed to be chitchatting about whatever it is women talk about. As a result, they functioned perfectly as a team in the sky.

His wingman, Lieutenant Colonel Brutus Cassius, callsign 'Rapier', was also a good friend of his. They'd served together in the airforce for many many years, and had gone to war together on roughly six occasions. Brutus was also a high scoring ace, yet for some reason, the High Command had yet to see fit that he should command a squadron.

Suddenly, the plane jerked up, and the unmistakable sound of air against the aircraft's air brakes. They had landed. Five minutes later, the hydrolics of the ramp door sounded, and it began to drop. The sixteen pilots marched down in a particularly rag-tag fashion, the bright sun causing them to shield their eyes. In front of them stood a big burly man in camo fatigues, a general's star adorning his collar.

"Welcome to Maximus Air Force Base, gentlemen. This truck will take you to your quarters, first briefing is at 0800 sharp. I expect to see you all there."

Just as quickly as he'd arrived, he got into a nearby vehicle and sped off. Marius motioned for his men to pile into a truck that had been parked on the runway. The briefing was in an hour, so they wouldn't have long to settle in.

OOC: Legionaire, did Inkana say you could get into the RP? It's pretty well closed.

OOC:Yeah, and I'd love to know how your planes managed to get through hundreds of miles of SAMs and AAA to do a flyover of my air base (which is also bristling with SAMs and AAA) without so much as a scratch (note, unidentified aircraft that fly through areas under my control tend to crash and burn after being pelted with missiles and shells)

OOC:Unless Inkana invited you, I'm just gonna ignore that last part.

IC:

Maximus AFB, Southern Inkana

The men had quickly gotten settled in, showered, shaved, did whatever it was they needed to do, and got their asses down to the briefing room, which was just down the hall from their barracks. Like the majority of Doomingslandian bases, Maximus AFB was designed to be well-concealed. Well, parts of it, at least. The runway and control tower were the only painfully obvious structures located within the base perimeter. The hangers, ammo dumps, living quarters, et cetera, were built right into the surrounding hills and reinforced by concrete. It was a fairly permenant set-up that had taken only about a week for a brigade of combat engineers to built.

The briefing room seemed quite well constructed, with cushioned chairs neatly arranged in rows in front of a projector screen, a podium bearing the squadron's logo slightly elevated towards the front of the room, a projector on a movable platform at the back. Just like every other Imperial briefing room. Once the men had gotten seated in the quite spacious room (most of the men leaned back in their chairs and put their feet up), the base commander walked in from a side door, clipboard in hand. The pilots instantly snapped to attention, and he waved them down.

"Alright, time for introductions. My name is Brigadier General Antoninius. Remember that name, cuz' I'll kick your ass if I'm talkin' to you and you can't remember," he said with a wry smile. The men returned it. They liked him already. "As you know, the Imperial Military, namely the Doom Legion and Marines, have been operating in Confederacy for quite some time now. And I must say, we are really handing Sarz his ass."

The generated a storm of quiet chuckles from the darkened seats.

"Unfortunately, up until now, our boys have been getting very little air support. You've been ordered here to change that."

The projector screen clicked on, displaying a map of the region. Georgestown had a red circle around it.

"Your first assignment is to gaurd the airspace in and around Georgestown. Sarz has some carriers up 'round there, so expect some resistance. Colonel Cornelius will take over from here," he motioned towards the colonel, who sat lazily in the front row. He quickly got up and headed up to the podium.

"Thank you, sir. Alright, kids, standard CAP op. We fly around the city for a bit and wait for the bad guys to come at us. They probably won't be able to see us at first, so expect a good amount of CAS birds for our picking. They'll have escorts, probably, but that's to be expected."

He spoke in a buisiness-like manner, a lit cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

"Remember, this is a free fire zone, we go weapons free as soon as we cross that red line. Any questions?" he finished, scanning the room. No raised hands. "Good. We go up in an hour, I expect to see you all there. Good hunting."

OOC: Legionaire, please don't post here again, and delete the post with the airplanes just magically going though Doom's defenses, thanks.

“Aaaaah,” Holloway screamed, struggling to find words in the middle of his intense agony. By now, he was thinking of only one thing. He was going to die. And, he was going to die for his country a forgotten man.

“If I’m going to die, I’ll at least die for freedom. More than I can say for you fucking assholes.”

Those would be his last words as the pain finally became too great for him to overcome.


Moraine was getting sleepy. He’d been pulling long hours coordinating events at Cumberland and waiting for reports from the Georgestown front and his lack of sleep was starting to get to him.

“Commander, you have the bridge.”

“Aye, sir.” Moraine walked slowly to his quarters and slumped against the wall. He slowly began to remove his jacket, eyeing the bed that almost beckoned him with an invitation to the exhausted Commodore. Before he could walk to his private bathroom and brush his teeth, the intercom beeped.

“Goddamnit!” Moraine slowly walked toward the communications device on his desk. “Can’t a man get a fucking night’s sleep around here?” He tapped the button.

“Moraine here.”

“Sir, we just received a report from the Georgestown squadron. The Alert just… exploded, sir.”

Moraine’s expression turned from one of anger and frustration about being interrupted to one of horror. An explosion of a nuclear powered heavy cruiser was definitely cause for losing sleep. He quickly grabbed his uniform jacket and ran to the bridge, barely remembering to close the door to his cabin.

“Situation,” Moraine said as he briskly walked to the command chair.

“The Alert just exploded, sir. We’re trying to find their logs to determine the cause, but we don’t know if we can locate it.”

“Any survivors?”

“Hard to determine, sir.”

“Understood.” Moraine sat down in the command chair and slumped back in thought. It was obvious that the Georgestown squadron was going to have too much to handle, but Pinckney was insisting on attacking Cumberland. Technically, he was outranked by Pinckney, but he had one thing in his favour: Sarzonian culture gave the Navy command over an equivalently ranked Army official. Trouble was, Pinckney was a Brigadier General. In the Sarzonian Army, that was what a Rear Admiral would be in the Sarzonian Navy. However, he knew Navy Command would have his back. However, that was a battle to fight another day. More pressing matters were ahead of him.

“Get an investigation team to the Alert’s last known position. Let’s see if we can piece together what happened.”

“Aye, sir.” Moraine knew one unpleasant duty lay ahead. He had to get ready to tell the families of hundreds of sailors and officers that their loved ones perished. Moraine sighed heavily as the combination of exhaustion and grief began to take their toll.


“Casualty report,” Quinn asked when the battle at Waterstown finally ended.

“We lost 18 men and women. Twenty six are wounded. Out of three platoons. Not to mention we lost 40 percent of our armoured combat vehicles.”

“Shit,” Quinn snapped. “Gather the rest of our men. We’re going to have to plan our next move.”

“Sir, we just got ravaged by a much smaller Doomie force. What the hell are you planning,” Major Kevin Branson asked Quinn. “We’re sending our men and women to the slaughterhouse.”

“That’s why we’ve got to plan this out so we don’t have the same slaughter happen next time,” Quinn said. “We’re here and the Royalists are counting on us to,”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about the Royalists,” Branson said. “We’ve got problems here and back home. We can’t afford to send our men and women to die for some fucking civil war.”

“Major, we’ve got a fucking job to do in case you’ve forgotten that,” Quinn said, sending a piercing glare into Branson. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Quinn pulled out a digital display of the map from Waterston to Georgestown.

“First thing we’re going to do is we’re going to take King George Highway north. Then right here,” he said, pointing at the street sign depiction, “we’re going to take West Lake Rd. southward. That’ll bring us right behind Georgestown. Then, we get aerial cover, launch an artillery attack, and we charge in.”

“Are you sure about this Colonel?”

“Brannie, yes. We’re going to have to show the world the ISA isn’t a collection of misfits and amateurs.”

“But we are, sir.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that Major,” Quinn said. “We’re going to get some rest, then we’ll get moving at 0300 hours. Make sure all the company commanders know the plan. I want all men and women present and accounted for at 0245 hours. Let’s move!”

“Aye, sir,” Branson said with a tinge of doubt still hanging over his voice like a cheap suit.

“Sir, we’re getting word that Quinn and company are planning to attack Georgestown from the ground,” Spence said.

“What are you suggesting Norm?”

“We need to launch a support strike on Doomie positions,” Spence said. “We’ve got to make sure we can support that ground attack.”

“We only have two squadrons left of aircraft after that last debacle,” Taylor said. “If we launch all of them, we’ll be defenseless.”

“Those men have got to have ground cover. Hopefully, Moraine and company are on their way.”

“They’re still at New Cumberland,” Taylor said. All of a sudden, the intercom beeped.

“Quinn to Captain Taylor.”

“Go ahead Mike.”

“Johan, we’re going to need aerial cover. I’m going to attack Georgestown, early morning, roughly 0430 hours.”

“Mike, we’ve got two squadrons of aircraft and that’s it. If we lose them all, we’re fucked.”

“If we don’t have air cover, we’re fucked,” Quinn said. “Somebody call Pinckney and tell him we need the fleet over here. Fuck Cumberland.”

Taylor sighed. “Understood, Colonel.” He turned the intercom off.

“Should I break the bad news to Pinckney or do you want the honours?”

“You’re the captain,” Spence joked.

“You’re the XO. I order you to do it,” Taylor said half jokingly.
“Understood,” Spence said. He walked over to the communications display and began punching in the codes for maximum encryption. He then picked up the device.

“Commander Spence to Brigadier General Pinckney.”

“This is Pinckney on secure channels.”

“Sir, we’re going to need the fleet to move to Georgestown.”

“Out of the question,” Pinckney bellowed. “We’ve got to establish a foothold here in Cumberland and pinch the rebs by cutting the nation into thirds.”

“Sir, if we don’t complete this objective, Cumberland won’t matter.”

“You heard the order,” Pinckney said as Moraine walked in.

“General, I’m going to order the fleet to sail for Georgestown. We’ve got to secure that first before we worry about any other parts of southern Inkana.”

“Commodore, I give the orders around here,” Pinckney said.

“With all due respect Wes,” Moraine said sharply. “The Navy put me in charge of this operation.”

“I outrank you Commodore. You follow my orders.”

“We’re going to Georgestown,” Moraine said. “You don’t command the Navy, Wes.”

“I’ll get your bony ass court martialed,” Pinckney said.

“Your lard ass is going right there with me,” Moraine said.

The two men glared at each other and Moraine punched the button for the intercom.

“Notify the fleet. We’ve got a change of plans. Set a course for Georgestown. Full ahead.”

“Aye, sir.”

“You’ll fucking pay for that Moraine.”

“I’ll take my chances Pinckney.”

The war within the war was only just beginning…

Waterston Town Hall

Colonel Julius and his last four men had been pushed to the roof of the town hall. It was decided that their final stand would have to be made there. As rounds impacted the concrete walling around the men, they prepared to face their imenant destruction. They, of course, would die to the last man, and take as many Sarzonians with them as possible. A sandbag wall had been piled up roughly ten feet in front of the door that led down into the structure, and two of the four men were stationed right there. One was armed with an M31A1 Auto-shotgun while the other had an M30A1 Squad Automatic Weapon. They'd be able to hold the door for quite some time.

Colonel Julius and another man were stationed further behind, ready to open up as soon as those first two had been killed. Julius decided to shout some last minute words of inspiration into his men,

"So, my brothers, it has come down to this. We have been pushed back up to this place by an army of the Devil himself, and what have we to show for it?" he demanded, "Quite a bit! We've killed far more of them then they have of us! Friends, let us continue this habit of ours and make our last stand a tribute to Doomingslandian honor!" he yelled to his men.

They wouldn't let him down.

They men could here footsteps and voices coming from the stair well. They'd positioned a Wasp anti-personel mine at the base of the stairwell and set it on proximity. It used a close range motion sensor to set it off, so there would be no trip wire to fool...

BLAAHHCYOOOOF

"There goes the neighborhood," muttered the soldier on the SAW.

The screams of the shredded men came as music to their ears. Whoever had tripped that mine had just been cut to pieces by a few hundred high velocity flechettes. The sound of footsteps became more rapid now...

Suddenly, the silhoette of a Sarzonian infantryman lept from the stairwell. The two men on the sandbags immediatly opened up, chopping him completely in half and blowing off a section of his torso, making a nice bloody mess on the hard pebbled surface in front of them. Five more men came swarming out, and the two men let loose on full auto, letting out a few shouts of "GOD WILLS IT!!!"

The Sarzonians were being torn to pieces at this stage. It was difficult to tell how many had been killed. Suddenly, from over a falling, mutilated body flew a single grenade.

Julius could do nothing but watch as his two front line men were blown ten feet into the air, their bodies crumpling like ragdolls, and land several feet in front of their positions.

"Alright, Quintus, I say we make this engagement a bit more 'up-close-and-personal' than these weaklings like," whispered Julius to his companion. Both men drew their blades and put their backs to a low wall, as to allow for their enemies to run past.

It would take a few minutes for the ill-diciplined Sarzonians to reach them, as they were attempting to save several horribly wounded men that had been shredded by buckshot.

Finally, the sound of footsteps began to draw near. Julius and Quintus had set themselves up on opposite sides of a pathway that led towards the edge of the roof. In order to kill as many as possible, they would try to trap a few here. Julius craddled his blade closely as a polished boot slowly impacted the surface just three feet away from him. He stared at Quintus, who's nearly sadistic expression was concealed behind an armored gas mask. Thet allowed for roughly five more Sarzonians to pass before attacking...

"GOD WILLS IT!!!" they shouted in unison as they sprung forth from their hiding places into the surprised Sarzonian patrol.

Julius jammed his blade into the gut of one of the horrified men and ripped it out, twisting it as he did so, then kicking the man back a bit and knocking him over, writhing in pain. Quintus had decapitated one of his opponents, but quickly took a round to the face and went down. Enraged by this display of cowardice on the part of his enemy, Julius punched another in the face, sending him sprawling back, knocking him off of the roof. Julius turned to find himself cornered.

"AAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!"

He charged for one last time, slicing open the belly of a foe and reaching into his exposed gut, tearing out his intestines. He suddenly was jerked back by his right shoulder and felt a hot sensation. Ignoring that, he blocked a blow by a Sarzonian that had attempted the land his rifle but squarley in Julius' face, then stuck his blade right between the man's eyes. The expression of shock and surprise remained on the man's face even as the blade was pulled out, cleaving his skull in half, spilling blood and grey matter everywhere. Julius slashed at another oponent who hadn't noticed his comrade go down, catching him right in the throat, spraying a torrent of blood onto his brethren. Julius lept back a bit, finding himself on top of an air conditioning unit, elevated above roughly twenty Sarzonians.

Well, that was a mistake, he thought to himself as he was blinded by the sheer amount of muzzle flashes generated from their M16s. He fell to his knees and coughed up blood. Roughly thirty rounds were now lodged in his chest. He nearly dropped his blade, but held firm. He could barely lift it. A Sarzonian in a lieutenant's uniform now stood above him, a 9mm pistol trained on Julius' head.

He wouldn't be taken out execution style...

In using up his last ounce of energy, he lifed his blade and lunged at the soldier, not feeling the three extra rounds slam into his throat. The last thing he saw was the confused expresion on his enemy, perhaps perplexed as to how a gladius ended up lodged in his chest...

Maximus AFB

Colonel Cornelius and Major Aurelius stepped out of the topless HMMWV out onto the black pavement of the runway.

"Here's my baby," said Aurelius with a grin as he strode over to the aircraft, an F78C King Demon.

It was quite large for a fighter, the engines alone looking as if they were the length of a bus. Well, they'd need to be that big to be able to put out the amount of thrust they gave off. The two men chatted as they scaled the movable metal ladders and plopped down in the cockpit. Their crewchief tossed them their helmets and saluted as the aircraft prepared to taxi.

"Another day on the job, eh Sirus?" yelled Marius over the sound of the now activated engine as the aircraft began to taxi.

"Sure as hell looks that way, Colonel," replied the man in a pleasent tone.

"Mobius One, you are cleared for takeoff. Good hunting," came a feminine voice from over the radio.

"Roger, that control." replied Marius as he thumbed the throttle, slowly pushing it forward.

The men were pushed up against their seats as the fighter streaked forward across the runway and into the sky. He was closely followed by the other seven aircraft of his squadron, and they assumed standard formation.

"Mobius Squadron, this is SkyEye One, I'll be commanding this mission," came a new voice from over the radio. This would be their AWACS guy. "Set your course to vector 210 and head towards your patrol sector. The Sarzonians are sending reinforcements."

"Roger that, SkyEye One, changing vector."

They'd make Georgestown in roughly thirty minutes, cruising at roughly mach 3.2.

Official List of Total Isselmere-Nielander Naval/Marine Vehicle Losses
Ships
Castle-class CAGN - 1
Seal LCAC - 21
Crab LCM - 31
Salamander RHIB - 19
Smith-class AOE - 1
Aircraft
Sea Fury FA.1 - 97
Sea Spectre FA.1 - 96
Sea Spectre FA.2 - 102
Sea Vampire ADS.1 - 43
Sea Wraith FE.1 - 21
Swordfish S.1 - 35
AH-64D Apache Longbow - 31
Merlin HC.1 - 44
Land/Amphibious Vehicles
L12LV Otter EFV - 57
L12CP Otter TCP - 12
L12AR Otter ARV - 9
L16PC Vixen ISV - 32
L16AD Vixen ADV - 3
L16AM Bison Ambulance - 5
L16AR Bison ARV - 7
L16AT Vixen ATMV - 4
L16CE Vixen CEV - 6
L16CP Vixen TCP - 9
L16CR Fox CRV - 11
L16CV Vixen CCV - 5
L16DC Vixen TDC - 3
L16DF Wolf DFV - 9
L16FO Vixen FOV - 7
L16GP Bison GPAV - 14
L16MC Vixen SPM - 8
L21 Kodiak MBT - 23
L21C Kodiak MBT-C - 5
L21E Elephant AEVT - 3
L21R Auroch ARVT - 4
L25 Boar 155mm self-propelled howitzer - 7
Field Artillery Ammunition Support Vehicle - 5
Personnel
Naval/Marine - 6,929 dead, 8,102 wounded, 47 missing
Army - 5,143 dead, 12,758 wounded, 98 missing

As the fleet steamed into position outside Georgestown, Pinkney sat at the communications station.

“I’ll get that prick Moraine and that little snot Quinn,” Pinckney mumbled as he sat at the station. He had every intention of relieving both Quinn and Moraine from their duties and running the show himself.

“This is Brigadier General Wesley Pinckney, authorisation code Alpha two two one tango.”

“You’re clear. This is Vice President John Newman.”

“John, have you been keeping up on all the logs?”

“I just got the latest report from the Georgestown front.”

“Mr. Vice President,” Pinckney said. “I need to ask you a little favour. We have two major cases of insubordination.”

“I’m listening,” Newman said, though he was fairly certain he knew what was coming.

“Commodore Moraine blatantly disobeyed my orders to remain at Cumberland to reinforce the Georgestown objective and Colonel Quinn has been ignoring my every order in the field.”

Unbeknownst to Pinckney, Newman rolled his eyes. He stood up and went to his desk and pulled out an order of battle and thumbed through it.

“You there,” Pinckney asked.

Finally, Newman found the information he wanted.

“General, according to the order, Commodore Moraine has the authority to alter the objective should he believe a change is necessary. As for Colonel Quinn, he was directly responsible for the Georgestown front until you showed up and tried to tell him how to do his job.”

Pinckney began to pace the room, trying desperately to control his rage.

“With all due respect sir,” Pinckney snapped, “now that the objective has moved to Georgestown, I should be in charge of it.”

“I never said you weren’t in charge Wes,” Newman said. “I gave you the parameters of your authority in this objective. You were ordered to work with Commodore Moraine, not order him around. As for Quinn, you can relieve him of duty if you so choose.”

“Very well,” Pinckney said. He sighed, realising he wasn’t going to get the total victory he wanted. But he at least was able to get something.

Aboard the ISS Publius

“All right men, you have your orders,” Taylor said. “Alpha Squadron and Beta Squadron are to launch a sortie and provide cover for the troops hitting Georgestown. Once we get the planes coming from Cumberland, they’re going to launch sorties from the west of Georgestown. Got that?”

“Yes, sir!”

All of a sudden, the intercom came in.

“Bridge to Captain Taylor.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’re picking up a squadrons of Doomie fighters approaching Georgestown. We’ve got to get the ‘Albatross’ fighters up there.”

“Understood.” Taylor went to the intership communications panel near the flight deck.

“Taylor to Commodore Moraine. Did you copy?”

“Acknowledged. We’ll take care of those bastards.”

“Good. Taylor out.”

“Let’s go get ‘em!”

The men and women started scrambling to the SZ-1 ‘Vulture’ strike fighters, which were going to provide the ground cover for the army’s attack on Georgestown, while two squadrons of SZ-2 ‘Albatross’ air superiority fighters were taking off from the flagship to intercept the Doomingslandian air force squadron.

The aerial game would soon be afoot.


“No more nukes! No more nukes!”

The sound began as a small din that was about the same as an annoying fly buzzing around the air for Rear Admiral Barbara Tucker as she stepped off the elevator at the headquarters of the Portland Iron Works. However, the noise gradually increased in volume and ferocity. While in the building itself, it never reached a loud enough volume to be more than a significant irritant, the numbers assembled outside the building were tough to ignore.

“What the fuck is going on,” a clerk asked, forgetting for a moment that Tucker frowned on profanity in the office. However, Tucker walked from her desk to the window about six feet from the clerk.

Signs and chants along with the noise that Tucker knew was throbbing like her biggest headache were much more of a concern for the leader of the most powerful company in Sarzonia, if not all of Atlantian Oceania than a curse word.

“I’d like to know the same thing myself,” Tucker said, looking at the clerk with a twinge of sadness mixed with no small measure of anger. Though the anger wasn’t directed at the clerk who might have been sent to have his mouth washed out with soap. It was directed at the protestors.

“Barbie, I just got a note from the protestors,” Deputy Managing Director and former Navy Commodore Jamie Wilson said. “They want us to do away with nuclear propulsion in our ships.”

“What?”

“They want us to do away with nuclear weapons and engines. They’re saying the explosion of the Alert…”

Tucker cut Wilson off.

“The Alert wasn’t even one of our designs! It was a RSIN-built ship!”

“I don’t think that matters, Barbie.”

Tucker knew he was right. She looked out again with a mix of forlorn frustration that she hoped would be drowned out in a mixture of a different kind after she left the office.

Damn I hope the bar stays open tonight.

OOC:Pic of the F-78C King Demon

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v383/Doomingsland/F-49A1.jpg

IC:

The Skies Above Georgestown

Colonel Cornelius stared out of his nightvision goggles at the brilliant display thousands of feet below him. Great fires illuminated the city of Georgestown, and smoke made monitoring the movement of ground troops nigh impossible. That is, unless you wanted to fly 200 feet off of the ground, and even then it was very dark and difficult to fly. Not something Marius wanted his men doing. Of course, he had to remind himself that the men he'd picked to serve in his squadron were certainly crazy enough to do just that, should he require. Thankfully, this was a mission of air superiority. The Marines could cover their own asses for all he cared.

The radar on his aircraft had been switched off to prevent the enemy from homing in on his emmisions. He was virtualy invisible against the night sky, hidden behind a blanket of active radar wave cancellation and optical camoflage. Amidst the dim glow of his cockpit LCD moniters and his helmet mounted HUD, his radio pinged.

"SkyEye here," came the all too farmiliar voice of their AWACS controller, "Multiple bandits approaching at high speed at vector 261, two-zero miles. Make appears to be Sierra-Zulu-Two." said the man in an as-a-matter-of-factly manner. "Hold on, I'm getting something else, stand by."

A pause.

"I'm reading a squadron of Sierra-Zulu-One's shooting off of one of their carriers. Mobius Squadron, you are cleared to engage bandits at vector 261. Weapons free, repeat weapons free. Good hunting." came the commanding voice from five hundred miles away.

Marius was delighted at this turn of events. Now his men would get some decent training in with dogfighting. He hadn't had one of those in quite some time. Although most pilots will tell you getting into a 'furball' as they're called by the men is not something you want, Marius was sick of picking off other pilots from two hundred miles away. This would be good fun, indeed.

"Roger, SkyEye. Mobius One, engaging." he replied over the radio without much emotion, signaling for his men to sound off.

"Mobius Two, engaging."

"Mobius Three, engaging..."

And it went on like that until it finally got to "Mobius Eight, engaging."

The squadron split up into two wings of four aircraft each, each wing assuming the standard "finger four" configuration you usualy see aircraft heading to battle in.

"Engage master arm." Marius commanded the rest of his squadron. Switches were turned on the aircrafts' dashboards, and they each selected their AIM-156 HAMRAAM medium range missiles.

"Stand by to release." came the voice of SkyEye over the radio. "Release."

"Mobius One fox one, fox one, four slammers away!" yelled Marius over the radio at the same time as his comrades as they thumbed the releases on their joysticks.

They all watched as their missile streaked forward, a brilliant flame followed by a white trail of smoke behind them, illuminating the night sky around them. The missiles would head to roughly mach five and slam into the enemy formations, guided by the powerfull radar of the AWACS.

Instructed by their AWACS, the aircraft quickly shot to an altitude of 14,000 feet, a bit above their prey, and they switched to their IR guided Sidewinder II AAMs. Mobius One threw the throttle forward, causing himself to be pushed back against his SB-ASEV-41A ejection seat as the aircraft reached a speed of mach two.

He and his squadron were now supercruising, breaking the sound barrier without afterburners. This really helped when dealing with IR tracking.

"Approaching waypoint Sierra!" yelled Marius' copilot over the sound of the engine.

"Roger," he acknowledged.

"Waypoint Sierra reached."

Marius edged the joystick forward slightly, pointing the nose of the aircraft downwards towards the enemy squadron.

"Mobius One, fox two, fox two, two away." said Marius over the radio along with the others as they thumbed the release for their Sidewinders and switched their radar on.

The IR guided missiles required no radar, and would find hostile targets themselves. Several fireballs errupted in front of him and he quickly threw his joystick forward, making him go nosedown. The heat from the explosion distorted his view as he passed under the ball of flame at high speed. He looked down to see a parachute decending towards the city below along with a broken, charred aircraft.

That's a kill.

"Good kill, Mobius One," congradulated SkyEye.

Looking at his radar screen, he pulled back on the throttle and joystick alike, slowing him down and pulling the aircraft up. He turned around and rolled right, putting him right behind an enemy fighter. A green box surrounded the aircraft, and began to blink. Upon turning red, his targetting computer began to beep rapidly.

Shoot...Shoot... commanded the aircraft's computer.

"Fox two, fox two."

Two more sidewinders dropped out of the aircrafts weapons bay and streaked towards the target. He watched, almost in a trance like state, as the enemy aircraft pulled up, released flares, hit the afterburner, but to no avail. Both missiles exploded upon touching the bandit's engines, completely obliterating the enemy aircraft's tail section and illuminating the air around it. He heard a frantic voice yell something in English to the effect of "SHIT!!!", and saw the cockpit canopy slide off and an ejection seat shoot off into the air.

"That's two kills, Mobius One." complimented his co-pilot.

Glancing at his radar screen once more, he saw that there were just two enemy aircraft left. Banking to the right and kicking on his after burner brought him within three hundred meters of his opponent. To close for missiles. He thumbed a switch, changing the reticle on his HUD. His 30mm electro-thermal automatic cannon was now active.

He quickly adjusted his aircraft's placement, putting the pipper right on the enemy aircraft's nose.

"Cya in hell, mutha' fucka'," he muttered as he squeazed the trigger, causing the aircraft to shudder from the recoil.

He watched, almost in a dreamlike sequence, as five tracer rounds neatly impacted the cockpit of the enemy aircraft and exploded, ripping it to pieces and causing it to burst into flame and plummet towards the already embroiled Earth below.

"That's all of 'em! Nice work!" yelled one of the men over the radio.

"Wait, there's a squadron of ground pounders in bound still." corrected another.

"Mop 'em up, boys. I'm buying the drinks." said Mobius One with a grin on his face. His men had done him proud this day.


Of course, shooting off to the side of the squadron was Lieutenant 1st Class Caius Servius, the squadron's local wiseguy.

"Watch this, guys!" he yelled over the radio.

"Mobius Five, what the fuck are you doing!" yelled Marius to his crazed friend.

"Psy-war, sir," he replied casualy, diving to roughly 150 feet above the water, heading straight for the ISS Publius.

The sky around him was now alight as CIWS systems attempted to get a bead, narowly missing his aircraft a few times. He lined himself right up with the bridge of the ship, and, upon seeing the terrified looks on the faces of the command crew, stuck up his middle finger and smiled right back. He jerked the aircraft up, turning it around, and kicked on the afterburners, melting the glass shielding the bridge officers, but not seriously hurting any of them. The worst injury was a guy who shit his pants.

He casually thumbed his automatic countermeasure suite, which discarded chaff, flare, and electro-pods as he headed back towards the squadron, chuckling to himself as cannon round exploded around his aircraft, doing nothing.

Lord Varus was Antonius’s nephew, and these days it seemed he was more in charge of the business of running the Empire than the emperor was. With Antonius’s alcoholism becoming more and more apparent, delegation of authority was increasingly common, and Varus was often the prime choice for decision delegations, being the Emperor’s most trusted confidant. However, never before had something as serious as the decision he had just been asked to make come across his desk.

Over the past decade, the Empire had evolved a policy of fighting wars by proxy and clandestine means, forming the Imperial special services into outfits worthy of the Cold War giants. Rarely had Generia been forced to use her mighty armies in external affairs, with GIIS and the Black Guard taking care of situations abroad before they exploded into crises for Generia. However, the war in Inkana had taken a very different, and frankly disturbing turn. The Imperial Black Guard had proven effective only to a degree, and the results Generia wanted in the end had not come. Direct Imperial involvement, once considered an unnecessary measure, was now becoming a possibility to be considered heavily.

Antonius had promised the Inkanans a reply in four days. It had been two weeks, and no decision had been made on the matter. Varus knew the Empire could not hold off on it for much longer, and it was now in his hands to decide if the Imperial peacekeepers, in reality a dormant strike force, would be activated with a declaration of war.

Varus knew it had to be done. Somehow, in the back of his mind he had seen this coming from the beginning. The war was raging over the channel, and if the Empire intended to preserve her interests, blood would have to be shed for the cause. Without giving it a second thought, Varus dipped his aging pen in the inkwell in front of him, and signed the thick black line at the bottom of the intimidating though brief official document, authorizing an Imperial declaration of war on the royalist Inkanan government.

-----------

Official Imperial Statement-

After careful consideration of the standing situation in the nation of Inkana, regarding the civil war that is ravaging the land, and the plight of the rebellious republican forces of the south under the guided leadership of R.E. Lee, the Imperial Generian government has decided that it would be immoral and against the best interests of Generia to remain uninvolved. Therefore, as directed by the Emperor Antonius, magnificent and enlightened among men, and authorized in his stead by the Lord Varus Tiberius Alexei, proxy and loyal servant to his majesty, the Empire of Generia hereby declares that a state of war shall exist between the reigning royal government of Inkana and the Generic Empire.

The Empire hereby authorizes the mobilization and deployment of the 14th through 22nd Imperial battle fleets to Inkanan territorial waters, and has shifted the duties of the Imperial expeditionary force currently serving in southern Inkana from peacekeeping to active combat against the royalist forces. In addition, the Empire authorizes the mobilization and deployment of additional elements of the Imperial 7th Army, and the 9th Imperial air force to Inkana for the purpose of commencing military operations against royalist forces in the north.

The Empire shall reiterate that as of this moment, unless this declaration is followed by a similar one on their part, the Empire is not in a state of war with the nations of Sarzonia and/or Isselmere, who have become engaged in combat operations against forces of the Empire of Doomingsland, and the Republican rebels of southern Inkana, however, should, as previously mentioned, this declaration be reciprocated by one of similar nature on the part of these nations, the Empire shall brook no aggression in dealing with the military and civilian personnel of these nations within the boundaries of the combat theater.

The Empire is certain victory shall be swift, and the forces of mighty Generia and noble Republican Inkana shall prevail.

Lord Varus Tiberius Alexei,
Advisor and Loyal Servant to His Majestic Grace, Emperor Antonius I

Deep underground in Steel-reinforced bunkers, the Confederate War Machine was at work. Troop movements, command decisions, everything down to the amount of fresh socks Panzergruppe 'G' needed was dictated within the Subterranean Bowls of Morrision.

General-in-Chief James Edward Browning Stewart had his offices here. His was by far the biggest and best of the Offices, but this was saying very little. It was a 30x30 Concrete box, basically, with an Oak desk, swivel chair, a few pictures of days long past. Simple things, really just disctractions when there was a lull in the work, which there rarely was.

General Stewart was right in the middle of Drafting up Orders for a newly created Panzer Division when an orderly stepped in.

"General" The man, a Captain, said while saluting.

"At Ease, Captain, what is it?" The busy General said.

"This just came in for you, straight from the President himself." The Captain dropped the message on General Stewart's desk, Saluted, and jounced out the door.

The President, eh? Let's see what he has to say this time. The General thought.

As soon as he read the contents, he gasped. Immediatly he dropped the paper and grabbed a telephone.

"Hello, Herr General, Jackson here." The voice at the end of the phone said.

"Linebacker."Stewart only said that one word, and then hung up.

-

Linebacker was the codeword for the mobilization for Operation: District; the Final offensive. It was schduled to start Three weeks after a Generian Declaration of War. Three Army Groups would take part in District, A, B, and C. Leading Army Group A's 450,000 men was Field Marshall Erich Lommer, The Desert Viper, Army Group B was commanded by the Newly Promoted Field Marshall Whilhelm Hoth, commander of 300,000 men. And Army Group C and it's 250,000 men would be commanded by the Long-Time commander in the Ragmen Mountains, Field Marshall Lieber von Wher. The objectives were to take the key towns of Roanoake, and Vaultron, surround and destroy several large Royalist armies, and finally take Trieste and the Emperor, finishing the war.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v218/Inkana/OperationDistrict.png

"Bloody hell!"

"Did you see that Captain?"

"We've got glass problems on the bridge!"

That's not the only problems we've got, Taylor thought. The aerial squadrons launched from the Publius were getting smashed by a single Doomie squadron.

Aboard one of the SZ-1 'Vulture' strike fighters, First Lieutenant Larry Huckabee acquired a F-78C on his missile targeter.

"Fry motherfuckers," he shouted as he pushed the fire button. Only trouble was, the missile wasn't nearly as maneuverable as the fighter jet was and it fell into the ocean harmlessly as the King Demon easily evaded it.

"What the fuck," Huckabee yelled. No plane was supposed to be able to evade a missile lock that easily, he thought. Unfortunately for Huckabee, he wouldn't get a chance to think any more about the subject as the King Demon got a lock on him.

Pilot after pilot ejected into the seas as Doomie fighters evaded repeated targeting attempts with AA missiles and flew circles around Sarzonian aircraft that were rarely made to look this bad.

"So much for air superiority," Lieutenant Commander Pamela Fischer muttered under her breath on the bridge. The SZ-2 'Albatross' fighters, some of the more maneuverable in the world, were beginning to look like the Sopworth Camel.

Second Lieutenant Lance Childers barely managed to launch enough chaff to avert a missile strike from a King Demon himself and looked in sheer amazement at the speed and maneuverability of the enemy fighters. He realised the missiles weren't going to do the job, so out of desperation, he grabbed the control for the 24 mm gun.

"Bet you can't outrun this you demonic pieces of shit," he said as frustration mixed with anger to give his voice a particularly surly tone. He pulled the trigger to send a spread of machine guns at the enemy fighters in the near vicinity.

"Tiger Three to Den Mother," Childers said in his radio.

"This is Den Mother. Go ahead Tiger Three," Fischer said in the intercom aboard the Publius.

"Tell our boys to stop firing those AA missiles. These Doomies are too maneuverable for them," Childers said.

"Then what do you suggest Tiger Three? Pop guns?"

"No, but you're close Den Mother. Autocannons. That's the only way we'll be able to get a kill on those bastards."

"Acknowledged. Captain?" She looked at Taylor.

"Make it so," he said, his expression sullen. "I just received word that Tiger One was shot down by one of our own missiles. We're getting kills all right. But we're getting kills from friendly fire."

"Sir, the Ackersley is reporting several of our pilots are in the sea near its position. They're sending out rescue boats."

"Acknowledged." Thank God for small favours, Taylor thought. If there was one thing the Sarzonians still had, it was naval superiority. And it was going to be time to bring that to bear now that Moraine brought the rest of the fleet to Georgestown.

Aboard the ISS Valiant

"Targets acquired, sir," Lieutenant Kim Fletcher said as Moraine walked over to the tactical display.

"The Nicksia is the only ship we have with enough range to get them from out here[/i], Fletcher said.

"And we can't risk the Publius," Moraine said out loud. "Acknowledged. Notify the Nicksia we're going to need her guns. We're going to have to fire into Doomie positions in Georgestown."

"Understood," Fletcher stammered. Just what we need, more fuel for those fucking hippies, she thought.

Somewhere in Doomingsland

"Hey Peter, get a look at this."

"I see, I see." The coverage of the anti-nuclear protests hit the state-run television network in Doomingsland and Finch got a look at the protestors chanting their anti-nuclear slogans. Finch inched forward in his chair until he heard the reporter say it was the Alert.

"Holy shit, that's not even one of our ships. Peter?"

Finch was laughing hard. The idiot protestors didn't even realise the Alert wasn't a PIW-built ship.

Barbie's got to be shitting herself, Finch thought.

Memorandum from the Royal Shipyards Central Office

To: John Malveny, Products Management Division
From: Neville Colwan, Director-General
Subject: Castle-class

Dear John,

Owing to the recent loss of two Castle-class nuclear-powered heavy cruisers, the Defence Procurement Agency and the Parliamentary Foreign Armed Sales Commission is reviewing the possibility of forcing us to cancel the design of the vessel, particularly in light of the ease by which the nuclear reactor was induced into destructive criticality. Until you are able to assure both the DPA and the PFASC that the self-defence and internal security arrangements on that class are more than adequate, the design -- either in its gas turbine or nuclear-powered versions -- shall not be offered by us.

I'm very sorry, John, and I hope you will be able to make the appropriate assurances.

Sincerely,

Neville Colwan
Director-General

---

GRIMSBY DOWNS, Anguist - As of today, John Malveny has resigned from the Royal Shipyards, citing loss of confidence. Stock in the RSIN has plunged after word of the catastrophic destruction of the ISS Alert.

Vice Admiral Hugh Parkinson, erstwhile admiral of the Third Rapid Reaction Fleet, will be facing a court-martial upon his return to the UKIN for the loss of the RINFA Lewis and the HINMS Earlsport.

In Southern Inkana, the situation could best be termed disastrous, particularly now that the Generic Empire has mobilised much stronger forces than those Sarzonia and the UKIN-DF currently have in place.

This has been Sarah Plehvin for INBC 1 News.

Command Bunker, Georgestown

The bunker shook from far away explosions, dust and plaster falling harmlessly to the floor. The men were hardened from years of warfare and thought nothing of it. This was nothing compared to being out in the open and being shelled. Maximus casualy walked down the corridor, running his blade along the fortified concrete wall. He had, by now, donned his battle armor. He was fully intending to go up top and personally lead the men as he had always done. But first, he had to make sure he had an enemy to fight.

The doors to the command room were thrown open to him by two bowing Marines and he entered. The lights were off, but the room was well-lit from all of the computer moniters. At the center of the room was a holographic model of Georgestown with all of the unit positions. It was constantly be updated, weather it be by recon patrols calling in the positions of Sarzonian forces, or units being wiped off the map from artillery strikes.

The man in charge at the moment, General Quintus Decius, was an old friend of Maximus and a fine tactician.

"Quintus." said Maximus simply, causing his comrade to turn.

"Ah, Maximus. So good of you to join us," replied the man, welcoming his friend.

"Summary?"

"Of course, my lord. The Sarzonians continue to bombard us from their ships like cowards, as expected. The airforce has won a great victory, however. Three infidel squadrons were banished to the ground," he added with a wry smile, "To the loss of not one of our aircraft."

"I expected as much. Alright, have the men stay within their shelters and have those two companies," he pointed to the holographic map with his gladius, "pull back from their positions and form up. Destroy their beachhead with fire from the heavens."

Maximus smiled cruely as he spoke those last words.

"Consider it done, my leige. Must you depart us now?"

"No, I'll refrain from stepping onto the field until I'm certain all is in position."

"Very well, my lord."

Maximus quickly found a seat and reclined as a radioman called in for the single largest fire mission of that night.

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

Bravo Battery, Twenty Miles from the Beach

As tracers lit up the night sky and machineguns chattered away in a great chorus of death, Lieutenant Antio, commander of the battery, recieved the orders he'd been waiting for that entire day. They read simply:

On my signal unleash hell,

-Quintus

He'd been briefed about this and knew what do do. He'd had his battery of four HIMMARS MLRS systems adjust fire onto the beach and load up with beehive and cluster munitions. The Sarzonians on the ships would get to watch the fireworks from safety. The ones on the beach, on the other hand, would have a front row seat to the deadliest display they'd ever dreamt of.

Antio's makeshift command post was a nearby shop that had been bombed by the Sarzonians. He'd had some men clear away some of the rubble, and he was able to get into the basement. There he set up the equipment nessessary for the commander of an MLRS battery to operate.

He certainly didn't want to be above ground in a tent when his rockets started lighting up. Although it was the enemy who was to recieve the brunt of the punishment, anyone outside of the vehicles nearby would get cooked.

"Corporal, transmit the following orders to the battery: execute order sixty-six on my signal," bellowed the lieutenant.

"Aye!"

The corporal did as he was told, and so began the waiting game.

That game didn't last long. Five minutes later, the signal came. The radio set pinged three times.

"Corporal, tell the men to commence fire."

Suddenly, the whole basement shook, and the air above was filled with smoke, and a sharp swish sound filled the ears of the men as the wheeled MLRS system opened fire on the beach. If one were to look at the brilliant display from a distance, it may bring a reminder of a WWII newreal showing Soviet Katyusha batteries laying waste to some far away Nazi position. It would take less than a minute for the rockets to reach their targets. Once they did, the Sarzonians would find themselves in a world of hurt, with beehive rounds bursting in mid flight, showering exposed infantrymen with thousands of high velocity flechettes, and hundreds of tiny bomblets raining from the sky.

The bombardment itself was specialy designed, with the impacting rounds starting at the very edge of the water and slowly moving up the beach, crescendoeing at the leveled hotel line. If Maximus was correct, the poorly trained Sarzonians would break and run into the city, right into his trap...

In order to prevent the Sarzonians from giving decent counterbattery fire, the launchers would leave their positions after expending twelve missiles and move to a different location, hopefully throwing off the enemy's counterbattery radar. In addition to this, the twenty batteries that were taking place in the bombardment were scattered throughout the city almost at random.

Main bridge, ISS Valiant

"All three squadrons?"

"Aye, commodore. All three squadrons have been shot down."

"Shit. Fuck." Moraine slumped down in the command chair and put his head in his hands.

"How many Doomie planes were there, Commander?"

"One squadron. They didn't lose any of their aircraft to our attacks," Fischer said, doing her best to sound professional in spite of the shock and awe the enemy aircraft brought about in her.

"What the fuck? What are they Tie fighters?"

"Negative, sir, but their avionics are vastly superior to anything we've got."

Moraine sighed heavily. He looked at Fischer with a look that screamed what the hell do we do. Fischer looked back with a twinge of desperation.

"Fighter saturation," an ensign from the communications station at the bridge aft said. Both Fischer and Moraine looked back at the squeaky-voiced ensign, who at 17 was just barely out of the academy and only got in because he graduated from high school three years early.

"If we send more squadrons of fighters, they won't be able to account for all of them," he said. "We'll have to get some of them through."

"Too risky, ensign," Fischer said. "If we lose all our fighters, we're up shit's creek."

"We already are, Pam," Moraine said. "Have the Swiftsures prepare to launch two squadrons each. We'll launch four squadrons of fighters and hope Isselmere can launch a few squadrons of her own. Between us, we should be able to beat their aircraft by sheer numbers.

"But Commodore, you saw what happened with our missile strikes!"

"I'm aware of that Pam," Moraine reminded her. "We're going to have to figure something out. Ram 'em or something."

"Any bright ideas ensign," Fischer asked the teenager. "Missiles are useless against those pieces of science fiction shit."

"Guns," he said. "That's our best chance to get kills."

Fischer looked at Moraine skeptically, but Moraine nodded his head quickly.

"Give the order, Commander," Moraine said. "If you can get 'em in your line of sight for an easy kill with a missile, go ahead, but tell 'em to get their hands on the gun triggers.

"But sir!"

"We don't have a lot of time, Commander. You heard the order."

"Aye, sir," Fischer grumbled. She gave the orders to Major Clyde Menifee, in command of the squadrons taking off from the decks of the three aircraft carriers. Even though some of the pilots felt for sure they were throttling their way to their deaths, they decided it was worth it if they could get some Doomie kills.

********************************************************

"Fuck!"

Pinckney yelled as the first beehive round attacks began to explode around him.

"We're under attack!"

Quinn looked up in the sky from a shielded position, searching the horizon in vain for Sarzonian aircraft to provide the aerial cover the army was looking desperately for.

C'mon, where the fuck is that aerial cover? Just metres away from Quinn's position, a beehive round exploded and sent bomblets into a APC, setting the vehicle on fire.

"Everybody out!" Quinn yelled into his communications device, not caring if it was detected by Doomies. Unfortunately for Quinn, he didn't hear another sound from his device, but heard a loud BLAM as the APC exploded.

"All right, everyone, into the city," Quinn said. "Take as much cover as you can and get everyone set to concentrate fire in the direction of the initial attacks. I want GPS locators to get an idea of where their hornet's nest is."

"No," Pinckney shouted. "Belay that order. Colonel, you're going to take your men and take them outside of Georgestown. Hit the city from the north. Brannie, you're going to take your troops directly into the city."

"General, with all due respect," Quinn said. "That's going to dilute our strength and we'll be too weak separately against that onslaught with our army separated."

"We're being forced into the city," Pinckney said. "Otherwise, we're all going to die here. If we're going to die, we're going to take as many of those bastards as we can with us. That's an order Quinn." The colonel bit his lip, feeling the jaws of the trap tightening around his forces.

"Aye, sir," he said with gritted teeth. Half trying to convince himself, he turned and bellowed to the men and women, "you heard him. Move it!"

The army forces began to advance as quickly and as orderly as they could given their poor training. Meanwhile, Quinn took his army as stealthily as he could to a position surrounding the city, while Pinckley beat a hasty retreat with his troops. With as much doubt as Quinn, if not more, Branson led the way to what everyone in the army was certain would be their own demise, if not their own defeat.

Command Bunker, Georgestown

Maximus watched with a smile on his face as the rockets began to impact the beach, ripping whole platoons to pieces in a matter of seconds. Within a few more minutes, he saw the majority of the Sarzonian army fall back into Georgestown. His plan had worked, for the most part.

"Order the batteries to adjust fire on those northward bound units. Push them back to the gap. Hell, wipe them out, for all I care." said Maximus in a somewhat neutral tone.

"Very well, my lord." responded a radioman, who quickly began to trasmit the coordinates to the MLRS tubes, finishing off with the words 'fire for effect'.

Since Quinn's force was mostly mechanized, he'd be recieving several ATACMS missiles. Watching the monitor patiently, Maximus saw the missiles as they split apart in mid-air, showering the enemy's armor column with guided anti-armor submunitions. These tiny HEAT bomblets would home in on the infrared signature of the enemy armor, falling right on their thin roof armor.

"Well, that takes care of that," said Maximus with a chuckle as he stood from his seat, "OK, I'm heading out. Quintus, I'm leaving the rest of the battle to you. I'll command from the front."

"Strength and honor, Maximus," responded Quintus, pounding his right fist on his armored chest. Maximus responded in kind.

Heading back to his quarters, Maximus grabbed his customized M-28A1 off of the wall and took down his helmet, slapping it on and folding down the tiny LCD screen over his left eye.

Stepping out of his room, he found the hallway lined with men clad in black body armor, their tinted plexiglass visors concealing their faces. A golden skull decorated the very center of their helmets, showing their importance. These were his Equites Singulares, his knights. These were his personal bodyguards. This elite unit was made up of both Doomingslandian Legionaries, and Generian Praetorians (he WAS half-Generian, after all).

"Lord Maximus, we are at your command," boomed one of the men through his voice transiever.

"I'd certainly hope so, Gaius. Now, before we head off into the inferno, I feel I must say something that I feel to be important," he said with a wry smile, "All good things in moderation, brothers; why waste ammunition when you can simply split a man's skull with one's blade?" the men burst into laughter at that as they locked and loaded their weapons, "Strength and Honor!"

Strength and Honor!" they responded in unison.

Maximus ran past the men down the hallway, and they immediatly followed him out the door, heading towards the sounds of battle...

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

Skies near Georgestown

Mobius Squadron, upon annihilating the three Sarzonian squadrons, head headed home at neck-break speed to refuel and rearm, and quickly got back in the air. The Sarzonian fighters were airborne and over the city before they'd even arrived.

"SkyEye here, multiple bandits at vector 010, thirty miles. Mobius Squadron, you are cleared to engage." came the farmiliar voice of their AWACS controller over the air waves.

The men all selected their medium range HAMRAAM missiles, not wanting to get into a furball with four full enemy squadrons. The men of Mobius Squadron had decided to play dirty, this time around, putting their active countermeasure suits on full. They'd be almost completely invisible to the enemy's radar. In order to prevent suspicion, they utilized that same system to project radar 'shadows' roughly ten miles in front of them. This would hopefully cofuse the enemy into wasting their missiles on something that wasn't there.

"Approaching waypoint foxtrot, prepare to release."

Marius brought his thumb over the button marked 'Launch' on his joystick without looking down, only staring intently through his IR scanner at the fireballs of the enemy missiles as they burst ten miles in front of him. This caused him to chuckle.

"Waypoint foxtroy reached, shoot! Shoot!"

Pressing down the switch, his eleven under-wing and fuselage hardpoints emptied themselves, completely covering the area around the aircraft in smoke. He watched with glee as eleven of his missiles streaked out towards the enemy at mach five, already begining to adjust course to other aircraft. The flames from their solid fuel rocket engines lit up the skies around them.

He could hear the frantic cries of the enemy pilots as they attempted to evade the great cloud of death, but found the missiles to be more maneuverable than the aircraft they piloted.

Marius eased the throttle forward, pressing him and his WSO back against their seats. Upon reaching the proper range to launch his sidewinders, he was pretty surprised to find that there were still enemy aircraft in the sky. Of course, the flaming wreckage of the majority of the four enemy squadrons illuminating the ground below them. The sun was now begining to come up.

Bringing his crosshairs over another hapless victim, the farmiliar green box began to once more blink red, causing the cockpit to let out a long beep. Shoot, shoot, commanded his targetting computer. Who was he to argue?

He thumbed the launch button, opening the weapons bay, dropping an AAM out, which then engaged its rocket engine and shot towards the enemy fighter. The world seemed to go into slow motion as the missile drew closer...closer...closer to the enemy fighter, until finally...

BLAM

"Good kill, Mobius One!" commended one of his fellow pilots.

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

Near Georgestown Beach

Charlie Company, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marines had pulled back from its entrenchments along the beach as the artillery began to fall down on Pickney's army, forcing them into they city. The whole area around them hand been nearly leveled, making it look as if it were a desert. By now the sun had come up, and a thin fog hovered about the city.

As ordered, the attack would soon commence.

Sergeant Lucius Galerius and his unit had been assigned to protect a GINN reporter, who now sat in an M-35A1 Testudo fighting vehicle. The force had been assembled in a neat line for the impending charge to close the gap. Lucius took a last drag of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, turning and walking up the ramp of the IFV. The faces of his men were concealed behind their tinted plexiglass visors, and they all turned to him as he entered. He took the seat nearest to the door and yelled for the driver to shut the thing up. The hydrolics hummed, and the ramp door swung upward, locking them in. They could hear men climbing onto the roof of the vehicle via infantry rails and taking a seat. They wanted to put every possible man they could on this assault.

Amidst the dim red light that illumitated the troop compartment, Galerius slapped on his helmet. He was welcomed by the usual scene of his HUD activating, displaying his ammo count, showing a red illuminated crosshair at exactly where he had his rifle aimed, tactical data, a GPS map. Plenty of information. The visor, although tinted, gave him a perfectly clear view of the outside world. It looked as if all of this data simply floated in mid-air.

He tensely gripped his rifle and looked to his men. They sat in silence, the Generian carefully filming these hardened warriors with his camera.

"Alright men, this operation has been designated 'Righteous Plague.'" came his harsh voice through his helmet, "Now, I'm not exactly sure as to why the hell they called it that, but that doesn't matter. We've been assigned to shut the gap on the infidels. Upon arriving, we'll disembark and attempt to overrun their rear column forces. We'll be getting supporting fire from the IFVs and machinegunners, so we'll be well covered. I expect you all to perform flawlessly. After all, look at what we did to them in Waterston." he said, grinning behind his visor. This caused a soft chuckle amongst his men. "Strength and Honor."

"Strength and Honor."

The engine of the vehicle revved up, and it lurched forward, quickly picking up speed. An LCD monitor over the sealed ramp door showed their position on a GPS map in relation to the drop-off point, and it began to count down using Roman numerals.

XXX

Galerius pulled the bolt back on his rifle, observing the chamber, then let it slide forward.

XX

The vehicle hit a bumb, causing the Generian to drop his camera. One of the men picked it up, and shoved it in his lap, telling him to be more carefull.

X

The men prepared to disembark, holding their breath...

V

Galius stood from his seat, and the door dropped. And all hell broke loose.

The air was choked in a deafening roar as the 75mm ETMAS guns of the vehicles lit up the Sarzonian rear guard units, showering the infantry with beehive rounds, and chattering away with their 25mm DREAD guns. Galerius, not even looking to see where his men were, bolted around, taking cover near a half-destroyed wall. The Doomingslanders had the high ground. The Sarzonians had done quite a nice job of destroying the hotel line; they'd turned it into a giant crater. He layed to suppresive fire on a squad of Sarzonians, watching as several buckled and fell before his hail of 6.5mm rounds, and was nearly deafened as a crew served M-250 7.8mm MG opened up directly next to him.

As he'd been laying down cover, the machinegun crew had set up. He looked to the other side of the crater to see a mirror image: Alpha Company was doing the came thing. The Sarzonians were being flanked from two sides.

"FIX BAYONETS!" yelled Galerius to his other men, who immediatly complied, drawing their twelve-inch Long Knives and affixing them to their rifles.

Standing up from his cover, Galerius emptied the rest of his magazine on a pair of enemy soldiers, catching one in the face the other in the chest, spraying blood and grey matter all over the ruins of the hotel. He charged down the hill amidst the death and destruction, rounds bursting over his head and exploding nearby, sending torrents of sand and debris high into the air. An enemy machinegun team was nearby setting up in a makeshift foxhole. Not bothering to think, he dove into the foxhole, catching the two men completely by surprise, and plunged his bayonet into the throat of the man closest to him. The other struggled to raise his rifle, and by the time he'd managed to aim it, Galerius had torn the bayonet out of his victim's jugular and nailed the second man in the chest, ripping it out with a twist. The serated teeth of the blade, acting almost as extra knives, took a big chunk of the man's heart right out. Tossing his rifle to a nearby friendly soldier, he pulled the bolt back on the machinegun, hosing down a nearby enemy squad that hadn't noticed him.

He and his men had managed to push their way to the rear of the column, and had the enemy on the run....

How Few Remain is a good book... you guys should all pick it up

OOC: Please keep all OOC comments out of this thread if you're not involved with this RP. This includes tags.

Feel free to use the forum tools to subscribe to this thread if you want to read it.

OOC:Sarz, get on AIM. Issel, me and Sarz's little air battles are all preplanned.

The Isselmere-Nielander Army, having been defeated roundly by the Inkanan Republican Army, has been forced to withdraw from the battlefield.

This marks the -- (wracks his memory) -- fourth major defeat of the UKIN-DF.

OOC: Sorry to hear about your withdrawl, Isselmere. I hope to have more contact with you.

"Our top story today, the Royal Isselmerian-Nielander Army has announced plans to withdraw from the combat theatre in southern Inkana."

With a heavy sigh that mixed equal parts frustration, sadness and anger, Sarzo switched off the television. That was all he needed. The Sarzonian army was getting pummelled again and again by the Doomies, the Air Force was getting slammed, and anti-war protests continued to increase in frequency and rancor.

"This is a full blown crisis," Vice President for Defence John Newman said.

"I realise that you twit," Sarzo snapped, fixing a scowl on Newman, who glared back.

"Mike, don't yell at me. I'm doing the best I can given the circumstances. Some of which you thrust on me."

Sarzo's face turned another shade darker before he finally decided that casting the blame on his Vice President for Defence was not a wise choice. One of Sarzonia's closest allies, and one that saved Sarzonia's bacon countless times in the past, was cutting its losses. Frankly, Sarzo couldn't blame him.

"Hank, what the hell do I do now," Sarzo said, half wishing Henry V, the King of Isselmere-Nieland and a trusted friend of Sarzonia, could answer, even if it was just to lend a supportive ear. He knew what Newman was going to ask. He was going to ask if Sarzo had an exit strategy to keep from spilling Sarzonian blood. He was going to ask what effect the disasterous showing by the Army was going to have on the country as a whole and the military in particular. The one question he didn't dare ask was what effect it would have on Sarzo himself.

That was Tyler's job. And whether it was youthful indiscretion or the rare position of being the closest person to Sarzo, the First Partner didn't disappoint.

"Mike, what's going to happen?"

"What do you mean? When we pull out?"

"No. I'm not talking about what's going on in the headlines. I'm talking about what's going on in here," he said, gently pressing the right index finger to Sarzo's heart. "What are you thinking?"

Sarzo hated that question. His parents asked him that when he was growing up and he always hated it. Letting someone in was the last thing he wanted to do, but it was his partner, the one man who knew him better than anyone else, who was asking to be let inside.

"Jay, I don't know," Sarzo said haltingly. He looked at Tyler and saw the look in Tyler's eyes that told him his young partner wasn't buying it. "I stopped asking for the approval ratings two months after hostilities began. I'm sure if there were an election tomorrow, I'd have to start packing my bags and watch someone else occupy this desk."

Tyler looked and saw the man who ably and wisely led his country from the very beginning stages through times when the country was at death's door from overwhelming odds. But he didn't see the confident leader who had gained a world of love, admiration, and begrudging respect. He saw a man whose confidence was shattered the same way armour piercing rounds crashed into APCs and IFVs on the battlefield.

I've got a lot of work to do.

***************************************************************

"Countermeasures! Where's the fucking countermeasures!"

Quinn shouted over the din of the one-sided battle as the Doomies were raining death and destruction upon the armoured units Quinn was commanding.

"Launch the Goddamn countermeasures!"

"What good will that do," First Lieutenant Bryce Seo said despairingly.

"Prolong the inevitable, that's what," Specialist George Tull said.

"Follow your fucking orders! Now," Captain Cal Hoffman shouted.

Finally, the soldiers complied, giving some of the armoured vehicles just enough of a break to find cover. Quinn ducked under an overhang that the Navy's bombardment had shelled almost completely out of existence.

"Can we get a lock on those artillery units," Quinn asked.

"Yeah, but it's no use. We're getting pounded like I've never seen before."

"Are you trying to destroy their artillery units? All we need are some mission kills," Quinn said. "All we need is one of those artillery units to be a mission kill and have their troops not set a grenade to blow the whole thing to bits." Quinn looked at the unbelieving Second Lieutenant Katy Spellman.

"How the hell are we going to be able to get any kills on those beasts when we're getting our asses kicked?"

"By firing your fucking weapon, Lieutenant, that's how," Quinn said firmly. "Now where's the fucking Sabot rounds when you need 'em? And Lord I'd give my right nut for a KE missile on one of those Doomie units."

***************************************************************

"Full evasive! Pattern Omega!"

"Roger that!"

"Shit! I've got bandits at five o'clock!"

"Pattern Delta!"

"Launch flares!"

Bobbing and weaving the way a desperate prize fighter would whilst on the ropes facing a flurry of punches, the squadron of SZ-1 'Vulture' strike fighters pushed their aircraft to their upper limits of endurance in a mad push to provide some air cover for the beleaguered army.

"Any visuals?"

"Negative. I don't see those Doomies anyw-- wait a minute! Nest of bandits at 260 degrees!"

"I see 'em!"

The squadron saw a small group of Doomie fighters on the ground getting an ammunition loadout whilst others were getting refueled.

"There's our best chance at getting those sick fucks!"

"Roger that. Fuck! We've been spotted! They're starting to take off!"

"Get those autocannons primed and ready."

"Locked and loaded!"

"Fire!"

The Vulture fighters opened up their arsenals at the fighters as they began to taxy down the runway and take off.

"I've got bandits that are on approach. Looks like a landing vector."

"Get those bastards too!"

"Aye!"

As beleaguered as the Sarzonian fighter squadrons were getting shot to pieces by the single Doomie squadron, getting a chance to get some kills against Doomie aircraft, even in as underhanded a fashion as getting credit for a kill of a stillborn infant, felt damn good.

Bump.

In the crisp blue of the northern Inkanan sky, a squad of GIF-1s roared over the crest of a mountain, the valley opening up below them, the towers of the city of Roanoke rising up below. Static crackled over the radio waves with mingled comments from the pilots as their nimble aircraft raced towards the royalist held stronghold soon to fall victim to the Inkanan republican army. The Imperial air corps was there to lend them a hand.

Coming in high, the jets turned to angle themselves towards the city. A cascade of guided bombs were freed from bays and hardpoints on the wings, and the craft pulled up and soared back into the blue, as more squadrons followed. Fuel air explosions lit up the skyline as buildings were struck and crumbled under force of heavy ordinance.

Farther north, the scene was similar as Imperial heavy bombers moved over Trieste, the capital of the royalist forces, unleashing heavy payloads in preparation for an eventual ground assault. Attacks like these had been going on nearly nonstop for the past four days since the start of the official Imperial campaign in Inkana. Personally directed by General Nikit Vrantasha, the Imperial High Commander second in rank only to General Nys’ky, the head of the Imperial military council, it was clear that the campaign was a high priority back home with the Imperial government.

Under cover of the air war, the Imperia navy moved towards the coastline southwest of Trieste, just north of the Zerbian border, where Imperial armored and mobile rifle divisions would be deployed. Imperial air cavalry was scheduled to begin preliminary operations on the outskirts of Trieste in a few days, and they would need heavy support backing them up. With the withdrawal of the Isselmere-Nieland coalition, every Generian television set had turned to this new section of the conflict. The endgame was beginning in earnest, and it would not be long before the Sarzonians too were forced into a withdrawal. That day would be a great one for the Empire, but for the time being, business was at hand.

OOC:Post coming soon.

Parliament Hall, Woodstock

Roger Clement (Liberal Imperialist-Endymion) was known throughout the House of Delegates for being largely a nationalist sod, but in spite of his sometimes out there political opinions, some of which brought him at odds with the leadership of the small, but influential political party he was a member of, he was well-liked among his colleagues in the House.

Like other members of Parliament, he was growing increasingly frustrated with Sarzonia's lack of success in an Inkana Campaign that was looking more and more like Vietnam, Afghanistan, or Iraq by the minute. Anti-war protests, Sarzonian troops being slaughtered like lambs, and a formal state of war between the Imperial Inkanan forces and a country Sarzonia had been spoiling to fight for years, Generic Empire, all ate away at Clement as he heard his colleagues continue to push for a withdrawal from Inkana.

Finally, he snapped. He'd had enough of the talk of limited conflict.

"Limited war never got us anywhere," Clement said as he addressed the floor during debate on yet another funding measure that would provide $250 billion for the war effort. "We have not been prosecuting this war correctly," he said. "What we need to do is send the Second and Third Armies into Inkana. Send the First and Second Fleets and let's get that Doomie infestation out of there for good."

"Are you suggesting we declare war," House Speaker Josh Williams asked, incredulous."

"Yes. On Confederate Inkana. On Doomingsland. On Generic Empire. On the whole lot of them. We need to send our best equipment, the Hoplite IIs, our best men, the Asgardian fighters, everything we've got."

"Have you been asleep during these briefings," Connie Jacobi (LI-Somerset), the unofficial party leader asked. "We've been getting killed out there. We're in this war for what? To support Imperial Inkana? Over a democracy? What's the point? The war's already lost Roger."

"It's not about Inkana anymore!" Clement banged his right fist forcefully on the lectern, letting the sound reverbrate throughout the chambre. "Dammit, look who the rebels are aligning themselves with! Doomingsland! Generic Empire! We've got to stay the course in Inkana to prevent them from taking any more territory!"

"All right Roger," Williams said weakly. "What do you propose?"

"Mr. Chairman, I propose an increase to $1 trillion of funding, the activation and deployment of the Second and Third Incorporated Armies, and the mobilisation of the First and Second Fleets to steam for Inkana. Put Fleet Admiral Steve Marcus in charge of the operation, he'll set those prats to rights."

"I second," an exasperated Jacobi said, in what she would tell her colleagues later was an attempt to save face for her party and for Clement."

"It's been moved and seconded. Is there a motion to end debate?"

"I so move," Clement said.

"Second," a delegate said.

The debate would continue for another eight hours, until the vote finally came at 2:15 a.m. to provide $500 billion in funding, send the Third Incorporated Army and the Second and Third Fleets under Admiral Brynne Napier, who agreed to come out of retirement to head the fleet. The troops, however, would be commanded by Pinckney upon their arrival. In addition, a force of 2,500 Hoplite II main battle tanks would make way in the transport ships that joined the Third Fleet.

--------------------------------------------------------
Situation Room, Gray House
Woodstock

"Mr. President, it's quite clear that we're going to have to develop some sort of exit strategy from Inkana," Vice President for Business and Commerce Janis Hedge said. "The war effort is not doing well."

"Out of the question," Newman said. "We can still win this war if we play our cards right."

"We haven't been playing our cards right," Vice President for Education Betty Langway said. "That's the whole point of this war. Our regulars are getting hammered out there like punching bags. Our armies are horrifically inexperienced and it's showing."

"Now what about the Air Force? I thought they were a lot better than that," Hedge said.

Newman sighed. Lighton wasn't in the situation room because branch chiefs weren't cabinet level, but Lighton wouldn't have taken kindly to the insult to his unit.

"Our Air Force is skilled, our pilots are some of the best in the business," Newman said. "The problem is, so are theirs. And their technology vastly outstrips our own."

"Guys, this war isn't about who has the better toys or who has the larger penis," Lewis, recently elevated to Lieutenant President, said. "The problem is that we're fighting a war we're ill-equipped to fight. Get us a battle on the high seas and we'll prove our worth."

"The problem is, they know our strength is our naval forces," Bunhall said. "We have some of the best ships in the world, some of the best sailors in the world, and some of the best commanders in the world. There aren't many countries that could stand toe to toe with us, and most of the ones that can are our allies. It's not smart to try to run into the teeth of someone's strongest points."

"Which we're doing right now," Vice President for Budget and Finance Carol Weinberg countered.

"How else are we going to fight the Doomies," Newman said, exasperated. "They won't come fight us in naval combat."

Sarzo shook his head as his BlackBerry beeped.

"Parliament did what?!"

The assorted Cabinet members all stopped and stared at Sarzo.

"Parliament just approved a new budget for the war effort. Five hundred billion dollars. The Third Incorporated Army and the Second and Third Fleets are heading over to Inkana, along with our new Hoplite IIs. Looks like the war's going to last a little bit longer.

"However, we're going to have to be realistic about this. Parliament can't continue to throw money at this quagmire whilst we wipe out our regulars. We're going to have to start thinking about reforms. I need ideas and I need them on my desk by the end of the week." He stood up, then said, "dismissed."

The Cabinet members abruptly stood up and filed out, except for Newman, who cornered Sarzo as he was headed for his office.

"Mike, don't tell me you're going to ask for a pullout."

"John, this is your last chance. If we don't get something accomplished with the Third Army, we are going to have to pull out of Inkana. We've got to start developing a more pragmatic approach here. This isn't working. We're going to have to tear down our armies and start over. We're going to have to ratchet up our technology to match the Doomies. And for God's sake, we've got to start developing a plan or else all of us will be out on the street looking for jobs."

Sarzo fixed a glance that was mostly despairing, but Newman saw a small glint of determination in the President's eyes. That glint would have to be enough to give him hope that the Sarzonians could ride out the storm without their close allies in Isselmere-Nieland.

[OOC: My apologies for leaving the RP, especially so abruptly. It was great fun, but I hadn't enough time to RP well or properly. Best wishes.]

In the eerie Dawn light, odd sounds were being heard heard. All across the front the rumble of tracks, the hum of engines, and in the distance, the roars of exploding bombs, rockets, missiles and artillery shells.

Overhead, J-78 Fighters, J/A-36 Condor Attack Aircraft, and B-18 Osprey Bombers cruised to their respective targets. A total of 2,450 Aircraft were being used in this operation, along with an untold number of Generian Planes.

This was the start of Operation: District. The titanic offensive aimed at ending the Inkanan Civil War Once and for all.

----------------------
Assault Group Leader Edward Tilton calmly walked up to a Royalist Guard, near a Sentry Post on a key bridge over the River Felger.

In Perfect North Inkanan German, he told the senior officer there, a Captain, that the enemy was close behind, and he needed to get his convoy of three trucks over the river before the bridge was blown. After several tense minutes, the guard agreed, and AGL Tilton's ruse had worked.

And so the Convoy rumbled across the bridge, Once the first two were on the other side, the third truck stopped in the middle, as if it were broken down. This was to stall for time, until elements of the 7th Panzer Armee could reach the bridge.

Then all hell broke loose, out from each truck came a platoon of elite Himmelburg Commandos. Using their Stg 105 Assault Rifles, side arms, and the other light weapons they had at their disposal, the Commandos killed the Bridge guards, but the Panzer Armee was still not there.

It Turns out that one of the guards had radioed his men's precarious situation to High Command, and a few platoons of Infantry were sent in. When they arrived, a fierce battle ensued, and hand-to-hand combat was erupting.

In one fight, a Himmelburg Commando was shot in the shoulder, a mortal wound, yet still had enough strength to rip the pistol from his attacker's hand, and beat him to death with it's handle. The brave commando died shortly after this event.

The fighting raged on for a good fifteen minutes, when finally, the Panzer Grenadiers arrived in their Sand and Spinach uniforms, and killed the rest of the Royalist Infantry. The Bridge was finally taken, at the cost of 80% of the Commandos.

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

Colonel-General Samuel Forrest was a happy man. He had just come back from his sucessful holding action at New Madrid, and was ordered to the 5th Panzer Armee, Field Marshal Hoth's favourite unit. He was now in the Turret of a Cougar, leading his unit from the front and destroying Royalist Tanks like they were paper in the process.

In the Past Five Hours he had ripped through the enemy's line, but had just come across it's mobile armour reserve. He had stopped for the moment to confer with his officers.

“Well, Gentlemen. We seem to have been held up by this, uh…” The General flipped through his files, “General Lee’s Armour. I want the 9th Panzer to use an Envelopment movement to get rid of them.”

General Dominaco Messe, Commander of the 9th Panzer, spoke first.

“General, how do you want us to carry this out?”

“That’s why you’re the divisional commander, Messe, do it yourself.” After a Pause, Forrest spoke again. “Gentlemen, the action has picked up here again, and I have to rejoin the battle, Messe, I want that division dead by dusk, or so help you god!”

“Yes, sir!” Messe Yelled.

And so Messe did dispose of the 3rd Royalist Armoured Division, much sooner than dusk to boot. In his attack, a Regiment on the left flank pinned the enemy unit to it’s front while another regiment in echelon covered the right. Regiments formed as wedges pushed through the opening, then thrusted left to capture the enemy command post, and the division.

[OOC: Sorry for the delay and the crap post, but I wanted to get this up to continue this RP.]

The din of battle was loud enough at times to warrant someone uttering the ages-old expression, “I can’t hear myself think with all this racket.” That was all well and good for civilian reporters and non-combat personnel who were along to tend to the growing piles of wounded and the priests who came to administer last rites to a steady stream of dying men and women.

However, that expression when uttered by a brigadier general in the Incorporated Sarzonian Army during live combat against a vastly better-trained and better-equipped army was a warning sign. Pinckney sometimes acted as though he didn’t think his actions through and the consequences were exploding around him and his soldiers.

Pinckney began to come to the grim realisation that it was going to take a miracle to allow his men to merely escape, let alone turn the tables of the massacre to a dramatic Sarzonian victory. He frantically listened to the radio reports of the “suits” in Woodstock and five star types in Saugerties, hoping for one ray of hope to allow his battered men to continue their now hopeless struggle. He needed something to inspire his men. Finally, he heard the report that Parliament authorised $500 billion in new spending on the war effort and the Third Army was on its way. He also found out that Admiral Brynne Napier was coming out of retirement to command the naval fleet.

“That’s what we need,” he said excitedly. “More reinforcements ought to do the trick against these Doomie bastards.”

Buoyed by the new expenditures, Pinckney also drew upon the one branch of the military he reviled: The Navy. With Sarzonia’s adoption of American naval tradition, he read about an incident between Commodore Edward Preble when he commanded USS Constitution and he came upon an unidentified warship. The strange vessel identified itself as the HMS Donegal and claimed it was an 80 gun ship of the line and it ordered Preble to humble himself by sending a boat. Preble identified his ship correctly, but refused to send a boat over. He actually ordered his men to prepare to fire on the ship thinking it was a much larger ship of the line when he’d only had a 44 gun frigate. Finally, the ship identified its true identity: HMS Maidstone, a 32 gun frigate.

“We’re going to go right down their throats,” Pinckney bellowed. “Take us directly into Georgestown. Full on assault.”

“Sir, you can’t be serious,” Quinn said into his communications device. “We can’t provide you the armoured support you need for a full on frontal attack. We’re going to have to regroup until we can get some air cover and get naval gunfire.”

“Quinnie, people thought Preble was nuts when he was going to fight the Donegal,” Pinckney said. “Maybe we need to be a little nuts to pull this shit off. You heard the order men. Let’s move!”

Quinn drew in his breath slowly and deliberately, exhaling with a small whoosh. We’ve been making nothing but mistakes, he thought sullenly. Now we’re about to make one more.

“Get into firing position,” Quinn said reluctantly. “If we’re going to attack them full on, we’re going to have to give our best effort at artillery support if we’re going to even have a 10 percent chance of winning.”

“Colonel, has Pinckney lost his mind,” Major Andrea Tomkins asked as she grimly looked at her company of Z-32 main battle tanks under the cover of some old buildings and some rocks.

“I don’t know Major,” Quinn replied. “I just don’t know anymore.”

Georgestown Beach

The battle raged on, mortar rounds impacting left and right, shrapnel whistling through the air. Galerius felt right at home amidst the carnage. He was undaunted to see a young Sarzonian soldier ripped in half by his hail of machinegun fire. The captured 7.62mm M-240G machinegun shuddered as he peppered away at the Sarzonians as they fled towards the city.

"We got the sum'bitches on the run! Kill 'em all!" he yelled to his comrades as they took up position next to him, taking carefull aim at the fleeing enemies.

The adrenaline was like a drug; killing was addictive. He loved to watch scores of men take several rounds to the back and plummet to the ground before his unholy rage. He counted about thirty or so kills before the last Sarzonian disappeared behind cover.

This particular incedent would go down in history as one of the biggest modern massacres in a combat situation: a sizable force being flanked from both sides by an equal force, routed, then butchered as they tried to flee.

The chaos of the battle engulfed the entire beach as rockets streaked low to the ground, slamming into the rear of enemy armored units as they tried to flee, occasionaly connecting with a magazine and sending the turret hurdling through the sky in a brilliant display of flame and death.

The Imperial troops moved up, taking up positions along the edge of the crater. There they began to dig in. The Sarzonians would no doubt attempt a counter-attack. No man's land was easy to notice: the area between the crater and the nearest line of buildings was nearly three hundred yards. In this cratered, charred moonscape that was once littered with buildings dying men cried for their mothers, the wounded screamed in agony for someone to come for them, wrecked armored vehicles burned slowly, encompassing the sky in a thick smoke.

These were the men who had recieved dishonorable wounds in their backs during the retreat. To the Doomingslanders, death was a merciful punishment for these cowards.

Galerius had his squad regroup and take a breather, for they would soon attempt to infiltrate enemy lines in an attempt to break up their defenses from the inside.

The men camped around a wrecked Z-32 main battle tank, Galerius leaning against the charred hull. Some men sat on their helmets, others took a knee. Thankfully, his squad hadn't taken any casualties.

"Alright, that was a good start." he said with a casual grin, "But we're schedualed to move out in five. We're going in teams of two: search and destroy."

The men all grinned at the prospect of being on their own, allowed to kill whereever and whatever they pleased.

"Manius?"

"Yessir," replied the marine corporal, standing up straight, his hardened face concealed behind his visor,

"You're with me. The rest of you, pair off."

As he said this, a small procession of beaten looking men passed them. They wore Sarzonian uniforms and insignias; their hands were high above their heads.

The prisoners were all being grouped together in an area near the center of the crater. An Imperial lieutenant motioned for a few enlisted men to come and whispered something to them. Then, adressing the prisoners in heavily accented English, he said in a solemn tone,

"We're getting you men something to drink. After that, you will return to your lines."

OOC:I'll get in the thing with the air battle later, I don't really feel like typing anymore, now.

OOC:Finally got around to doing the air battle.

IC:

Mobius One looked on in horror as his comrades were ripped apart by Sarzonian cannon fire on their takeoff approach.

"WHO THE FUCK LET THEM THROUGH?!" he yelled frantically over the radio.

Heads would roll for this, but not until the last bandit had been splashed.

Not yet quite on his final approach, the Colonel had roughly twenty minutes of fuel left along with a decent supply of short and medium range missiles. As he saw the all-too farmliar shape of an SZ-1 streak by the runway, checking out his kill, his blood boiled with hatred.

The poor bastards hadn't been able to eject in time. Their deaths were probably quick and painless, yet that didn't help much. He would mourn later. Now was the time for vengeance.

Switching on his powerfull radar, he immediatly tagged the two bandits in front of him for destruction.

"FOX TWO, FOX TWO, TWO AWAY!" he yelled as the bomb bay, for just a split second, sprung open, and released two medium range AIM-156 missiles, shutting less than a second after releasing the two missiles.

Their solid fuel rocket engines ignited, and Colonel Marius watched with some degree of satisfaction as the missiles, white smoke trails giving away their positions to him, streaked towards their intended targets. Too caught up on their success, the Sarzonian pilots barely had time to react. Two large fireballs could be seen as the aircraft were blown apart, their charred bodies crumbling to the ground in a massive heap of heated scrap metal.

These would be only the first of many kills, but most of the rest would be made by ground personel. And it was here that the Sarzonians would witness the true power that was the Imperial air defenses.

As the air raid siren droned on, blue tracer rounds illumated the early morning sky, the tiny thermobaric 30mm shells bursting in disproportionaly large fireballs. The advanced ground tracking systems would rely on a number of factors for calculating their lead on the enemy aircraft, ranging from radar, infared, LIDAR, and the Sarzonians' own radar.

Within five minutes, the sky was ablaze with thousands of small explosions of the anti-aircraft shells, larger explosions from surface-to-air missiles.

This throroughly whetted Marius' appetite for reveange. For now. He was now dangerously low on fuel. With the skies pretty much clear of enemy aircraft, he went in on his final landing approach. This particular sortie had been quite successfull for him, recieving seven confirmed kills total, his squadron recieving nearly fifty.

The same couldn't be said of the Incorporated Sarzonian Airforce, who had but two kills total under their belt, and the pilots who had made those kills were now either dead or prisoners of war.

Camp Pendleton, 20 kilometres outside Waterston
Private Jared L. Clark, 42nd Infantry Battalion, writing a letter to his parents.

24 August, 2005

Lisa and David Clark
23 Brighton Road
Tacoma, Truxtun, SXI 248

Dear Mom and Dad,

I hope you guys are doing well and everything’s fine at home. How is Katie handling secondary school? Did Cody pass his A levels?

I’m not going to lie to you and say things are going well here. They’re not. The reports you’re getting on the news don’t even tell half the story. It’s real hard to walk around camp and not get discouraged. My buddy Phil from northern Bausch got killed by shrapnel fire the other day in the Doomies attack at Waterston. If Pinckney hadn’t gotten set to rights by the suits in Saugerties, we all would have died there.

As it is, I’m not even sure if you’ll get this letter while I’m still alive. The way things are going, I doubt it. We got a little bit of hope when Ryno shot down one of those uber Doomie fighters but we hear he was taken prisoner. I don’t know what happened to Taylor, who apparently got the other kill on the Doomie fighter. There’s a chance he might have been taken prisoner, but he could have died for all we know. With Pinckney around, no one tells us a fucking thing. I hate that asshole. I thought our Air Force was supposed to be a lot better than this. Guess they pay those Doomies too.

Rations have been reduced to two thirds of a pound of meat and they’ve even started giving us hard tack. We’ve just run out of processed canned vegetables, not that anyone from my platoon was big on vegetables, but we’re starting to run out of energy. We’ve been going on about four hours of sleep a night because of constant watches, but it seems pretty hopeless. Those damn Doomie cowards won’t dare challenge the Navy because it’s too good. God I wish I’d been taken by the Navy.

I wish Quinn were commanding us here. The only shit I’ve gotten as far as what the hell we’re supposed to be doing here I’ve gotten from him. I’d feel a whole lot better about this war if he were running it. He really seems like he knows what the fuck he’s doing unlike that dipshit Pinckney.

I’d better get going. Mail call’s in five minutes. That’s my bright spot of the week. Maybe I’ll get a birthday card from Cindy. God I miss her so much.

Love,

Jared

RSTF Headquarters
Forty kilometres outside Townshend, Bausch

"Very nice," Chris Bonham said approvingly as he looked at the weapon. "Perfect for our next mission."

"And what would that be," Magnus asked with an air of curiosity.

"The Woodstock Press Club is holding a big shindig for Outstanding News Media in two weeks. Gray House Press Secretary Lloyd Chaney is supposed to be speaking there. We can strike a big ass blow against Sarzo and his bunch if we go in and blow the place up."

"I don't think blowing up the building is the best course of action, Chris," Magnus said. "You guys can go in and show them your marksmanship is well above that bunch of jokers you call the Incorporated Sarzonian Army. Not to mention the toys you have are so much better," he added, patting the weapon like a favourite pet.

"They've got the Second Elite Guard watchin' the place. Blowing her up is a lot better than dealing with those assholes."

"I've seen the Elite Guard," Magnus said. "They're good. They're only elite compared to the rest of your army. If they were Imperial Regulars, they'd be average at best. Comparing them with Marines or Legionaries would be like comparing the killing power of a plastic cup with that of a sniper rifle. If we use our two weeks wisely, you'll be able to accomplish your mission better than they will theirs. Remember, you don't have to destroy the body as long as you destroy the spirit."

Bonham thought carefully about Magnus's suggestion. Blowing up the building would probably get even the hippies in Woodstock to start whining and crying like wussy little children, but killing a few reporters and the Press Secretary would announce to the world that the Restore Sarzonia Task Force wasn't killed in the Second Civil War.

"You're right Magnus," he said. "New plan, we take some of these weapons and we infiltrate it here," he said, pointing to a computer display of the immediate area surrounding the Walter Cronkite Building that was to host the event. "They usually make sweeps of the building and we usually have a five minute window where no one is guarding the place. I'll have a scout team give a signal when the coast is clear enough for us to move."

Bonham looked at Magnus for his reaction and wondered if his new plan would pass muster.

Colonel Welsely Turner peered through the thermal imaging periscope of his Panzer V Ausf C Cougar Command Tank. A Republican T-44 Ulhan immediately came into the veteran Panzer Commander’s view.

“Ulhan, Bearing Three-oh-Eight. AP!” He shouted to his gunner, Sergeant Michael Lincoln. Upon hearing the orders, the tank’s ammunition loader slammed a Armor Piercing Sabot round into the breach of the 135mm ETC gun; Lincoln sighted it in. All this action happened within the space of seconds.

“Ready!” Lincoln shouted to Turner.

“Fire!” The commander answered.

Lincoln fired the cannon, fire belched from the muzzle as a thin sabot whistled through the air at nearly five times the speed of sound. With nanoseconds the round had pierced the thick amour of the Republican tank and was wreaking havoc inside, killing the crew and eventually setting off ammunition that blew the T-44s turret clear off the main body of the tank, engulfing the machine in flames that would burn for hours.

While this was all happening, Colonel Turner had already found another target, another Ulhan MBT, and obliterated it too. The pitch black night was illuminated by the burning hunks of metal that were once the kings of the battlefield, the usual silence of the Inkanan plains was interrupted by cannon blasts and ammunition cooking off.

And the battle was completely unintentional.

Colonel Turner happened to be the commander of the 6th Cavalry Regiment, a Reconnaissance unit that centered on the fast and durable Panzer III Jaeger Light tank, backed up by a squadron of Panzer V Cougars. On a Nighttime Recon run, the unit had literally driven on top of the bunkers and positions of the 6th Guard Division, an elite Imperial Division.

The Ensuing carnage was an all too common occurrence in Operation District. The 7th Cavalry suffered the loss of 45 Jaegers and One Cougar, while the 6th Guard lost 87 T-44s and roughly 2,000 infantrymen. Both sides were forced to withdraw. The Guard Division had lost too many men and machines, while the 7th Cavalry was almost completely wiped out. Only about 12 Jaegers and 8 Cougars survived.

As it turns out, Col. Turner and his men had stumbled not just into an elite division of the Imperial Army, but the nucleus of a planned Republican counterattack. Upon reading Col. Turner’s report, Field Marshal Lommer jumped out of his seat and immediately drafted orders to attack that position and “Defeat the Counterattack at all Hazzard”. He also promoted Colonel Turner to Lance General.*

Note: Lance General is Inkana’s equivalent to Brigadier General, I realized that my old Rank system was too standard to suit my wacky needs, hence Lance General.

http://www.blogscanada.ca/egroup/content/binary/C2Leopard.jpg
Cougar in Action

Colonel General Samuel Forrest peered north through his brass rimmed binoculars. He was at the very edge of a cliff overlooking a river valley, and a battle. A wry grin was etched across his face as he watched his Panzer outflank the Imperial Forces of His Majesty, Emperor Ferdinand Josef.

This happy moment for the general was abruptly interrupted as an artillery shell landed not 50 yards below the commander of the 5th Panzer Armee. Dirt, rock, and most likely shrapnel blew all around the general and his chiefs of staff.

“What the Fuck!” Yelled the General. “General Bradley!”

The General assigned to Air Support for 5th Panzer Armee quickly rushed to Forrest’s side.

“What is it, sir?” He asked.

“It’s a sad day in hell when the commanding officer of the best unit in Army Group B is almost taken out by artillery. I want some fucking bombs peppering that blasted gun emplacement in less than five minutes! You got that, General?” Forrest shouted.

“Yes, Sir!” Bradley shouted as he raced for his command radio.

Bradley did better than Forrest had expected. In roughly two minutes there were Condor strike fighters dropping bombs, napalm and spraying rockets and missiles in the vicinity of where the shot came from.

“God Bless the Luftwaffe.” Forrest murmured.

Two hours later, Forrest’s panzers had pocketed the army he had been watching before.

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