Allanea
24-03-2005, 20:51
Prophetian Border, 5:00 AM
It was silent. Nothing yet broke the innocence of the day, and even the birds have not started singing yet. And nobody knew, yet, that ten miles inside the border, in Allanea, an act of war was prepared. In a ten-man tent in the woods, amongst open tactical computers and maps stood two men, one with a Brigadier-General’s ranks, the other merely a lieutenant. The lieutenant was speaking.
General Humphrey! You know, of course, that your unit is normally performing patrol duties along those duties – at least until we get Congressional budget for a full-scale Border Patrol, which we probably never won’t. But right now, there’s a different mission for you. Here. This is is a letter straight from the President. You might have not heard of it, but Congress declared war on The Prophet yesterday evening.
Brigadier-General Robert K. Humphrey blinked as he looked at the paper.
Look, I know that the ten million people who left Prophet never disavowed their ownership of land there… but dammit, it was way long ago!
The Lieutenant smiled grimly.
Indeed. The more reason, General, to finally do what has to be done. We were too weak to do this earlier. Now, we finally can do it. And we will. And now, General, I would like to hear a response to the Commander-in-Chief’s question – how will you deal with the logistics problem?
There was silence. Somewhere, very, very far away, a bird has sung – the first bird of that fateful day. The general smiled contemptously at the young messenger. Suddenly, the plan of this unexpected campaign unfurled itself in his mind in a quarter of a second. Indeed, he thought, little would be needed for victory.
There will be no logistics. We will live off the country.
He walked out of the tent, leaving the Lieutenant slack-jawed at the comment. The young man was too shocked to even recognise the quote.
An hour later
The troops of the Frederick Bastiat Cavalry brigade rushed for their vehicles, the crewed and single-rider Traveler-class ATV’s bursting from their places like thundrebolts. The riders wore no heavy armor, as such would interfere with the operation of their fast, nimble craft. Waving their new FAL rifles and sabres, the cavalry unit began breaking up into small detachments, fanning out to penetrate the border in groups of five to ten.
The sun has already risen, and the young rays of the day glinted off the bayonets of the huge battle rifles and the sabres of the cavalry men, and the roar of their engines mixed with the sound of singing birds. A new day was coming.
It was silent. Nothing yet broke the innocence of the day, and even the birds have not started singing yet. And nobody knew, yet, that ten miles inside the border, in Allanea, an act of war was prepared. In a ten-man tent in the woods, amongst open tactical computers and maps stood two men, one with a Brigadier-General’s ranks, the other merely a lieutenant. The lieutenant was speaking.
General Humphrey! You know, of course, that your unit is normally performing patrol duties along those duties – at least until we get Congressional budget for a full-scale Border Patrol, which we probably never won’t. But right now, there’s a different mission for you. Here. This is is a letter straight from the President. You might have not heard of it, but Congress declared war on The Prophet yesterday evening.
Brigadier-General Robert K. Humphrey blinked as he looked at the paper.
Look, I know that the ten million people who left Prophet never disavowed their ownership of land there… but dammit, it was way long ago!
The Lieutenant smiled grimly.
Indeed. The more reason, General, to finally do what has to be done. We were too weak to do this earlier. Now, we finally can do it. And we will. And now, General, I would like to hear a response to the Commander-in-Chief’s question – how will you deal with the logistics problem?
There was silence. Somewhere, very, very far away, a bird has sung – the first bird of that fateful day. The general smiled contemptously at the young messenger. Suddenly, the plan of this unexpected campaign unfurled itself in his mind in a quarter of a second. Indeed, he thought, little would be needed for victory.
There will be no logistics. We will live off the country.
He walked out of the tent, leaving the Lieutenant slack-jawed at the comment. The young man was too shocked to even recognise the quote.
An hour later
The troops of the Frederick Bastiat Cavalry brigade rushed for their vehicles, the crewed and single-rider Traveler-class ATV’s bursting from their places like thundrebolts. The riders wore no heavy armor, as such would interfere with the operation of their fast, nimble craft. Waving their new FAL rifles and sabres, the cavalry unit began breaking up into small detachments, fanning out to penetrate the border in groups of five to ten.
The sun has already risen, and the young rays of the day glinted off the bayonets of the huge battle rifles and the sabres of the cavalry men, and the roar of their engines mixed with the sound of singing birds. A new day was coming.