NationStates Jolt Archive

[Marsa Bruth, The Second Empire of the Golden Throne]
The gurgling noise of diesel engines pierced the morning skies as the I Panzerkorp readied itself in its daily ritual. It had been custom ever since the forging of the disputed territory, who's borders were shared with Guffingford, Zarbia and the Empire of the Golden Throne, to startle those defenders on the other side, so adept at their new found independence in the face of animosity between the larger continental players. However, now it seemed as if they were rarely bothered by the daily nuisance caused by the I Panzerkorp. When the Golden Empire first began its belligerent actions along the border, centered around the logistical city of Marsa Bruth, the barbarians on the other side had flashed their gigantic searchlights in the face of the Empire's soldiers. Now they simply ignored something they took as a mere procedure.

It might not have been obvious to them, for in fact Emperor Jonach I had gone to meet great ends in order to conceal his deployments to the border for quite some time. The noise of that morning was not just the engines of the I Panzerkorp, although that would have been enough in any case, instead, the I Panzerkorp, II Panzerkorp and III Panzerkorp had been pushed up against the border, preparing for their inevitable invasion of the disputed territories, now unfaithfully claimed by a mix of tribal and urban Polynesians - Polynesians who were in due time for some Aryan taming. However, the three Panzerkorps were not the gist of the newly arrayed invasion force, and were supplemented by a single Panzergrenadierkorp, the II, amounting to one hundred thousand mechanized infantry. Behind them were arrayed the 1st through 10th independent MRLS brigades, as well as the I Artilleriekorp. It amounted to quite a force, powerful in its own respect, and although many would have thought it as overkill the Emperor thought different.

The political situation which would shape the war to come in the disputed area was tangled, and at best hard to understand. Yet, it would become an important factor in the regional history to come, and would perhaps prove to be a central factor - although for the latter to come true, only time could tell. The area had never been annexed by an imperial nation before, which was strange concedering the fact that most nations which directly touched it were amongst the most imperial in the area. Instead, it was occupied by its own kind, a Polynesian race, far different from that of the Golden Empire which had taken a much more European aspect. Although the 'civilized Golden Empire' considered the disputed territory rather barbaric it wasn't much more than one would find in the depths of uncolonized Africa. There were some major urban centers, however, the majority of the area was sporadically entrenched with tribal holdings, resembling modern Mongolia. In other words, it was ripe for the taking.

Nonetheless, imperialism had subsided during the last centuries, and it would be rather tasteless of an empire to again squabble for territory. Therefore, Jonach I opted against an outright offensive, although he did continue his preperations for his ground deployments, as well as aerial deployments. The reason to go to war would have to be much more intricate to be the least. In other words, it would have to be believable, and it would have to be a true reason for war.

For just that reason Jonach hired a team of men from the borderlands to go into the 'blight' and devise some kind of hoaxed raid on troop deployments along the border. Consequently, in a fairly rude and rudimentary attack, the Golden Empire would be forced into a defensive war, and her invasion of the disputed areas, or the 'blight' as most of the Empire called it, would be 'justified'. It was the most classic of all hoaxes, however, technically, no nation would dare cross the path of the Golden Empire for such a weak justification, especially when they would have no evidence to even suggest the opposite.

The morning seemed like the best time to do it, at least to the Emperor, although it didn't seem the same way for those participating in the attack. Of course, it would drop some elements in suprise, as operations in pure daylight rarely went unseen. However, the Emperor had no reason to allow the team to commit themselves to a raid and come out alive - the general superiority of Imperial troops had to be seen at all times.

The skies flashed once, as the whistle of a small mortar split the air and landed harmlessly five hundred meters in front of Imperial lines. As a single civilian truck appeared to the forefront of their lines, one of the soldiers screamed,"Movement to the front!"

The truck swerved unveiling a light 7.62mm machine gun attached to the roof of the cabin, much like that used in Somalia. It began to rip the area near Imperial lines, however, a single soldier armed with a heavier 12.7mm machine gun redirected his fire towards the truck, tearing it apart within seconds. The two men serving with the top gun on the truck doubled over as they were punctured by quick moving flechette rounds sputtering out from the Macabee machine guns. The diesel engine of the truck smoked while the truck swerved again, driver evidently killed by the crossfire, and then it burst into flames. Cheers erupted from the Imperial lines as the men claimed their first kill, however, a second mortar soon put an end to that. A 30mm cluster munitions round dispersed itself over the heads of the men, showering the lines below with shrapnel and severly hot pieces of metal.

Captain Johans Bruch frowned. The first mortar wasn't conventional of use by those who defended the Blight, however, the second mortar was. Indeed, in times of high friction across the frontier the I Panzerkorp had been subjected to mortar and artillery bombardments consisted of cluster munitions - they seemed to be a favorite of the local population. The first mortar continued to puzzle him, until the frontier fell silent once again. He looked up and nodded, much to himself. Times were strange, indeed.

[Marsa Bruth Luftwaffe Basis 1A]
The subterranean base was bustling with activity as flight crews hustled to their respective aircraft. The Lu-05 Schlachten Air Superiority Fighters and their lesser strike fighter counterparts, the Lu-12 Canaries, were already lined up in neat rows, ready to taxi and take off. Maintenance crews committed themselves to last minute check ups, and some pilots took the time to look over the different parts of the plane themselves. Red strobe lights flashed in the dark hangars and pathways which marked the subterranean Luftwaffe Basis 1A, propelling the different personnel even more.

Within ten minutes all the pilots were fully ready. They had been briefed the night before, however, none of them would expect such a cacophony for such a high priority, and stealth oriented, mission. Intelligence had trickeled down that the front with the disputed territory had erupted once again, although that was usual. This time, though, Luftwaffe Basis 1A, and her three squadrons of Lu-05 and her two squadrons of Lu-12s were ordered to react, with a vengeance. Taxying down the runways the engines on the seperate aircraft began to whine harmonically, while the titanium reinforced doors leading to the exit into the sky slowly opened. Ten by ten the total of sixty aircraft left the base, leaving nothing, except loved ones, behind.

They didn't take the time to circle around the base waiting for the rest of the flight. Instead they all hit low, contrary to usual aerial tactics employed by the same crews. The Lu-05s were armed with ten MTAAM-3 Predator MADAAMs, perhaps the most effective and most advanced air to air missile in the known world, and the Canaries were given their share of two MTAAM-3s each and eight MLAM-2 air to surface missiles. With such a heavy load out the aircraft cruised at around nine hundred knots, keeping low the entire way.

The actual trip didn't take long and once they had reached a position relatively twenty kilometers from the borderlines the Canaries opened up with their MLAM-2s. Electronically unshackeling them from their wings the total of one hundred and ninety-two MLAM-2s free fell for about ten feet before their rocket boosters pushed them along at Mach 2.1, fires from the turbines in the rear spilling into the morning atmosphere. The entire flight banked and soon turned around completely, heading back home, considering their ten minute strike a success. To their rear the horizon became engulfed in bulbs of red and orange flashes.

[Borderlands, I Panzergrenadierkorp]
General der Panzertruppen Albert von Liebnitz took a look at the map arrayed on the wooden table in front of him. He took no notice to the pits of fire enshrouding the area directly to the front, studiously keeping his eyes on the topographic outline of the part of the Blight which he had to break through. It wouldn't be too difficult. You could hardly call the nomadic herdsmen, armed with rifles, proffessional soldiers, however, he was ordered to do it with the least casualties as possible, which did call for a host of tactics. Beside him the commander of the 1st Panzergrenadier Divisionen, Generalleutnant Gunter von Schorner, spoke,"I can begin now if you want." He took a pointer from the table and continued,"If we break through here with an mechanized fist of infantry fighting vehicles we should be able to open a gap wide enough so that we can roll up the entire defensive echelon of the Blight's defenses. Meaning, by tomorrow fifty thousand of those barbarians will either be dead or in our hands, and the disputed area will be as good as ours."

von Liebnitz nodded and turned to the general, "Very well. Go do your bidding."

von Schorner nodded and then went back to his command post, taking the radio after several salutes, and ordering what was to become the spark for war between the Golden Empire and the Blight. The days of the Blight being an independent area were numbered.

The skyline erupted in a baptism of fire as the 1st Artillerie Divisionen, posted to give artillery support for the breakthrough, began to pound the areas of advance. The thousand gun bombardment startled even the Macabee soldiers as the rolling fire ripped through the enemy's lines, visibly sending bodies into the air. Flashes of muzzle fire eclipsed the light of the growing sun as the artillery continued to unleash their own type of hell - worthy of that distinguishment. And then, within two minutes, it was over as fast as it had come.

Whistles broke the ear piercing silence which followed the end of the artillery bombardment and the first SOV-06s began to move towards the front, their anti-personnel 10mm machine gun poised, as well as their 15mm depleted uranium machine gun. There were at least two hundred of the infantry fighting vehicles, carrying a respective one thousand six hundred men inside their bowls. Moving fast they broke through the frontier, receiving no response. Perhaps this war would go faster than most though - although even that seemed impossible given that the Golden Empire didn't expect the Blight to hold for even two days.

__________________________________

[Reference Threads:
Latest Map of the Region (http://img213.echo.cx/img213/5705/map7ty.jpg)
Guffingford's RolePlay Idea (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=415941)

Notes:
Perhaps the most important of all facts is that this is my introductory role play into being a major force during the regional war being planned. It's to give the entire region, and myself, a scapegoat for starting a shooting war. I don't think we have sides made up, or anything of the like, but I'm still going ahead and beginning my introduction - I might not have time to do it later.

As for my continous remarks on "aryanism" my country is Imperial, it is white, but I, under no circumstances, support rampant rascism, and my country reflects that. I thought this should be an important disclaimer, because I'm sure a host of nations would take it incorrectly.

Morgenhof, a small town in the middle of the Guffingfordian wineland, Frystaat Oos Seeland

After all these months... Nothing has happened. Not a single gush of wind in international politics. Leaning on his arms while drinking a glass of beer now and then, while gazing upon the vinyards at the foot of the hill. On top of the hill a large 17th century fortification once stood, but now only ruins remind the local workers and tourists of the days of turmoil back then. Sighed, took another sip and leaned back. Lorgan Vimes was tired of the days of piracy, reckless buccaneering, murder. He couldn't believe he was still at sea a few days ago, but when he returned to St. Jacob's he knew that was the last time he'd enter a harbour to unload his cargo - loot collection more like it. The bags of spice, the coffers with jewelry and gold robbed from Theohuanacu. Ah, the days of miracle and fortune. Shame they're dead, but not forgotten. At least, I will never forget them. Days pass without a sign of change. Still Lorgan Vimes is sitting on his porch, looking at the vinyards, the ruines and the workers. When suddenly a most urgent and shocking news message came on the radio.

"...Citizens of the Allied States of Guffingford today the Second Empire of The Macabees has pushed an assault into the disputed areas to the north of our nation. A number of Hooglanders and Neulanders who own farms there near the city of Cloucterbury have not been attacked yet, and the government advises all citizens of native and freestate origin not to travel to the disputed territories. These grounds are now declared a forbidden zone for all non-military citizens..."

The minute Lorgan stopped listening he telephone rang - only one person in the world could that be. Maynard Blouff, commander of the southern fleets. The fool! Does he honestly think that I will put my life at risk again? Especially when my identity and name (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=8718154&postcount=3) have been revealed by this... We can only guess where he sent his letter to. I will be brief, the answer is no. Lorgan picked up the phone and indeed, it was Blouff.

"Lorgan, have you heard? There's an amazing oppertunity for us! We cannot let this pass. I have ordered my men to be watchful, we cannot have the legitimate navy on our asses heh heh" I tried to be firm, but the sea and loot lull me to a decision I do not want to make.
"Well... eh... Sorry Mayard bu..."
"Don't be so foolish! Your ships are ready, docked in St. Jacob's. I'm in the Cracky Floorboard, see you there!" Why am I such a weak jellyfish? I want to be strong with words, not with swords and guns. I left for the Cracky Floorboard, to listen to what Blouff has to say. After Ynsson gave Blouff the 'okay' to let him start missions on his own in the interest of safeguarding Guffingford Blouff kind of snapped. He bought lots of modern naval vessels from Holy Panooly, used decomissioned Aasimars he rebuild according to the latest technological standards and he possesses a navy of threehundred ships scattered around the Imperial Armies archipelago.

This was going to be far bigger than everybody was thinking. A quick war, annexation, more wealth... Where were we with our brains back then?

Grapthoria is officially declaring nuetrality in this conflict. We will be watching intently and may eventually lend supplies or financial aid to the anti-Macabees nations.

It was far off, in the distant places that Jenrak, home of Chemical weaponry, watched intently and carefully on the movements of the world, the shattered confines of many countries, as they were no longer an entity in itself, and no longer such in existence. For many years had they looked carefully past the horizon, their eyes gleaming the portent of survelliance, seeping their motives across the Golden Seas.

The recent movement now, co-ordinated by the Macabees caused a certain chasm in the public's opinion, and Arborgard, aboard his throne of blood, his lethal chair of power, observed as many messengers ran upon the many thousand steps of his castle, bringing him the much curious information, mostly of the international incidents within the world. Watching carefully, he observed many things from his great tower of Zarazego, his eyes keen and penetrating, his mind thick with thought, his hands dripping anticipation, as he glared closely and wondered abroad.

The storm no doubt rumbled, an omen that something great would suffice, and something with many paid lives would be soon underway. His thoughts were occupied. Of all his generals, the most trusted one would be sent in case of this war; his dear friend, the calculating mechanical Red Patriarch, the devious Nahk Territurari. Ashili was straight from her marriage before, and her thoughts were occupied; Saerus was in the wracking of the Zoogiedom Civil War, and he couldn't ask a friend to see so much war once again so soon. Only Nahk could command his legions, the shadowy guild of his spies unnaturally powerful.

If war broke out, great bullets flying like flies, and planes were as birds, with great tansk and infantry like ants, then it would be apparent that Jenrak would have to side with the Empire of Guffingford, only to maintain some measure of peace. Things now did not seem as great as they once were, it was thought. Still, even as he stood upon the top parts of his tower, the wind screaming violently in his ears, stood beside him his general Serrin. She wondered many things similiar to him, and it was obvious that her thoughts were occupied as his as well; if this movement comes to full circle, what would happen to their army? What would become of the Overlords that called themselves the descendants of the Great Living Empire? Those questions burned strongly within both their hearts.

Even with all that transpired, Arborgard told his love Serrin, as she stood there, to do what is needed to be done to finish. "Get ready the forces. War is coming, and our blood will be spilled upon foreign soil."

"Who will lead the charge?" Serrin asked quietly, almost like a whisper in the dark, a whine of fear and concern from a wolf following a storm.

"Nahk will. He has no fear." Arborgard concluded.

The SS Mary III slid through the waters, along with three other vessels. Arrayed in a convoy, they were sailing into what some called the worst waters in the world. Long the domain of pirates, the fair weather was a lie. To the crew of this vessel, a Class 5 would be safer than this region. But when corporations wanted to get money, they got it. And even if that meant loading up freighters with hidden Defensive SAM launchers and mercenaries, then so be it.

Captain Rob Jungewald looked over the convoy from the bridge. He was chewing gum as usual: The first treatment of cancer had been enough to get him to quit the tobacco, but again he wondered how long he'd last at this job anyway. The crew of the ships were small, corporations having switched over to near-unmanned freighters for cost reasons. Usually the formations weren't so tight, and apparently the reason for it was that it would allow maximum defense in the event of an ASM attack. Not a pleasant thought at all.

Jungewald looked down at the deck, at the mercenaries lounging. They didn't have to worry much. At first he decried them for being too lazy, but once he saw how fast they could get loaded up, he shut his mouth. Most of them were wearing their vests, unbuttoned and unzipped, with SMGs and sidearms in their belts. In arms lockers there were assault rifles, shotguns, even grenades and a few RPGs. It was like some sick modern version of the Carribbean.

The radio he kept on for others, but now he was starting to listen. He'd sworn he'd heard the words Macabees, Guffingord, and war all in the same sentence.

Yeah, the shit had just hit the fan.

"TURN THE CONVOY AROUND!"

It was a miracle, he thought as he shouted orders, that the convoy had made it this far in without being decimated. He checked the map. He was deep in Guffingordian national waters. Even if the GPS was being jammed by one military or another, there was no way he was in anywhere good. He only hoped he'd get enough time to turn and head north before the flying lead came to him.

"Alright... just sign right here."

A lizardman in a deliveryman's uniform handed the dirty looking blightlander an LCD clipboard.

The blightlander grabbed the stylus in his dirt caked hands and squinting, signed his name on the clipboard with a big messy X.

"Enjoy your weapons sir". The lizardman growled the aforementioned like he was talking to a heroin addicted leper that was into corprophilia.

The rebel handed back the stylus and tablet to the lizardman then nodded vehmently.

"Thank you, I will."

The deliveryman got back onto the gigantic G80 he arrived on. When the huge plane was already in the air, he washed his hands thoroughly.

"Disgusting little redneck...." he said to himself.

~*~*~*~*~

At a crude yet heavily fortified bunker somewhere in the middle of the woods:

The same blightlander that had accepted the order rushed into the bunker as fast as his legs could carry him. He ran through dozens of maze like corridors before he got to a crudely built imitation of a corporate boardroom.

"BROTHERS, SISTERS, THANK THE GODS! THE WEAPONS HAVE ARRIVED!"

The commanding council members looked at each other in surprise and began to whisper among themselves. The man sitting at the head of the crudely carved meeting table, a wrinkled, wiry looking being that looked more like a piece of dried fruit than a human, raised his hand to silence everyone.

"What kind of weapons, what did they deliever?"

"Thousands of guns, millions of rounds of ammunition, tanks, APCs, IFVs, motorbikes, buggies, everything... everything.... We have enough to resist... thank the Gods."

"Yes" said the wrinkled man, nodding his approval, "yes, thank the Gods, and make sure everyone is armed... Tommorow, we begin resistance."

[1st Panzergrenadier Divisionen, Borderlands]
The group of mechanized vehicles continued their rampage deeper and deeper into territory which was once though occupied by heavily armed guerilla forces numbering in the dozens of thousands. The commander's vehicle to K Company was especially happy about the evident ease they were having in breaking an opening into the rear of the front line personnel of the natives of the Blight, and so Hauptmann Karl Shriezberg unrolled a map of the sector he was to occupy and hold for the armored infiltration to follow the breakthrough my the 1st Panzergrenadier Division. About two kilometers east of his position he could see a forest inscribed in the topographic map, and a hill, numbered 217 to his north, which was the sector he was to take. According to command the hill was to prove crucial in the positioning of an MRLS brigade in order to soften up the resistance in other sectors. Shriezberg turned to Leutnant Derik Grasein and smiled, saying, "Looks like this is just going to be a simple walk through the park."

He didn't have time to correct what he said. A single rocket propelled grenade struck in the side armor of the SOV-06, rocking it up and down. The Hauptmann looked down to see the tip of the grenade penetrating through the MEXAS of the vehicle. It exploded harmlessly, dispersed by the MEXAS, but it tore off the tracks to the IFV, stalling it some three hundred meters from the hill it was supposed to be on. The Hauptmann smiled again,"I guess I was wrong."

He didn't waste a second more. Hoisting the communications atenna of the command vehicle he painted himself as an important target to enemy gunners, but they would be swept aside by the vehicles he would call in. He gave a quick hand signal to the leutnant beside him and the other man grabbed a seperate radio. Screaming in order to be heard over the whiz of rockets and machine gun fire the younger officer began to call in artillery strikes, "Alpha Tango zero-nine-eight. We need some suppressive fire on Hill 217."

The SOV-06 shuddered as from afar the 2nd Independent MRLS brigade began to open fire. Although the size of the Macabee MRLS was small in terms of range, it made up in its velocity, and general versatility, and the lack of cost in production. Indeed, it resembled more of a panzerwerfer of the Third Reich than a modern Multiple Rocket Launch System. The twelve rocket system flared with fire as 150mm rockets left their clips, moving quickly through the atmosphere. They hit their climax and began to drop down, hitting their maximum kinetic energy. Hill 217 was engulfed in a murderous fire as the rockets saturated the slopes of the small position. However violent it could be considered, it did successfully quiet down the defenders who had been able to ambush the overly arrogant Macabee mechanization.

All the while Hauptmann Shriezberg yelled through his intercomm,"Company K, get a move on! Take that hill!"

The company of infantry fighting vehicles stopped about ten meters from the hill, their rear ramps slamming against the grassy plains. About a hundred and twenty infantry, armed with the infamous Hali-21 assault rifle, poured out, kevlar vests tightly woven against their skin. Keeping low they moved behind the protection of the again rolling SOV-06, making sure they stayed alive. Sporadic gunfire erupted once again from the hills however the machine gunners on the IFVs were able to supress the fire once again. Moving up the slope proved easier than moving towards it, however ironic that sounded. Those defenders who survived and failed to surrender were crushed by the heavy tracks of the vehicles, or killed by the Macabee mechanized infantry. Within five minutes the hill had fallen, and the company spread out to defend the all important hill - if it was really that important, and the barbarians managed to stop the Golden Empire's offensive for even a minute, the hill would be the center of a ferocious counter attack.

However, as events elsewhere unfolded, it did not seem that the defenders would be able to grind the Macabee offensive down. Indeed, they were being crushed, their weapons unable to pierce the modernized Macabee mechanization. The first twenty minutes of heavy fighting had already seen the 1st Panzergrenadier Division tear open a huge gap within the borderland's defenses, which would ultimately allow the Golden Empire's armor to infiltrate through the rear and mop up the rest of their forces, consequently allowing them to move towards the crucial urban centers. Once the latter were captured the disputed territory would be as good as their own.

Nonetheless, the defenders continued resisting, even as their comrades fell dead to the floor unable to withstand either the conventional flechette rounds, or the more powerful depleted uranium rounds. Furthermore, as the entire Panzergrenadier division moved into the fight they couldn't handle the increased number of vehicles which had grown to about five hundred infantry fighting vehicles - it had become a revolving armored battle. The only problem was, the Blight's armor hadn't shown up.

[H-hour + 30 Minutes, The Border Clashes]
The sole division of armor the defenders had, given to them by old Soviet arms suppliers who had wanted to stop the capitalist expansion of the Golden Empire during the epic Cold War, had already moved into position for their expected counter attack. However, they had to give up precious time due to uncertanties within the high command of the division. It wasn't wise to throw away two hundred tanks, even if inferior to the enemy's, in a battle they weren't even sure they could win. Wouldn't it be much more sane to disperse the armor into pockets to claim as many lives as possible? Evidently, not to the the higher authority.

The T-72 was a superb piece of armor, however, it was limited by its inability to depress the main gun by less that -5 degrees, and more over using the mast antenna rendered the command vehicle immobile, unlike the SOV-06s or the Panzerkampfwaggen XI. More importantly, the general combat charactiristics just could not go up against the more modern, more advance, Macabee mechanization.

Nonetheless, within thirty minutes of the opening of the war the division set off, charging west towards the position of the Macabee 1st Panzergrenadier Divisionen. Since the start of the conflict the Macabee position had fanned out to gain a slight bridgehead into the area, probably to allow the rest of their armor to roll right in and into the rear of the defensive formations. The high command was about to let that happen - and the armor provided everything they had to push the Macabee offensive back. Consequently, the two hundred T-72s present had found their day of glory. The strategy designed lay in a two prong approach to hit the 'neck' of the Macabee offensive, however, the designers of the plan hadn't taken into consideration sheer numbers and the technology in use.

The offensive started with a blunder. Some tanks hit head on and were targetted with the 15mm machine guns on the SOV-06s. The depleted uranium shells torn right through the fairly light armor on the T-72s, hitting the round storage compartments which internally blew the T-72s, sending them sky high. Immediately, the two pincers were compromised allowing the Macabee artillery and rocket launchers to pulverize them with superior suppressant fire. The ground was enshrouded by almost constant fires and a hazle of smoke.

Nonetheless, the T-72s also claimed lives, able to get off few rounds with their 105mm guns, who were neither accurate, nor fast. A SOV-06 went up in flames, taking the crew with it, and another one went too. It was become violent and fast. However, for all the IFVs the T-72s were able to knock out it did not equate the amount of damage done on the division of armor - it had simply been decimated. Within twenty minutes it was forced to pull back, with less than thirty of the original two hundred T-72s. The Golden Empire faced less than twenty SOV-06 dead, although that also meant around one hundred and sixty infantry since those men inside the bowels of the IFVs had also been brewed alive by the explosions.

However, the gap wished for by the Macabee High Command had been ripped apart, and it was time to finish the Blight off...

[OOC: The OOC Thread is here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=416001).]

"Let them advance some more. Then we hit them head on."

The wrinkly man had just spread a map out onto the table, Macabean troop movements had been marked out in red. The Macabeans were nearing the first series of landmine belts, where thousands anti-vehicle and anti-personnel mines, as well huge racks of metalstorm tubes lay. Upon being slowed by the landmine belts, the Blightlanders could move to the flank or rear of the Macabean forces and attack from there.

However, thought the wrinkly old man, some light harassment was needed to thin out and weaken the Macabean line first.

Small teams of men in pickup trucks and motorbikes would fire old style American and Soviet ATGMs at the Macabean forces, and then run, to force the Macabeans to spread out and hunt them. When the Macabeans pursued, they would be lured into roadside bombs and cheap anti-vehicle mines, after a while, the Macabeans would have create special detachments in order to hunt out these raiders, thus thinning out their lines.

"What the fuck is that?"

The whisper was harsh under his breath, but in the silence, the other members of the team could hear him. The mercenaries had been in-country for awhile now, doing the dirty behind the lines work that the Macabees didn't want to risk troops for. Soaking up men from various nations under the promise of high pay and excellent equipment, various corporations fielded thousands of mercenaries like these.

The thing that mercenary was examining was what looked like something out of a bad science fiction movie. First the hundreds of heavy cargo aircraft and ships cycling in, now this. He made sure the 'record' function on the Thermoptic spotting scope was on, and continued to track the equipment and vehicles.

"You got an ID on that?"

"Looks like MP rifles at least, if the gun catalogs don't lie. And fucking reptiles too. That's wonderful."

The spotter plugged a cord into his scope and unfolded a short antenna. Soon images of the equipment were transmitted to Macabee high command. The blightlanders likely didn't have the ELINT to pick up the message as it was relayed to a small UAV several dozen miles away, and then to Macabee lines, but regardless, their job was done for now. Slowly, they made their way down the deep green of the rainslicked hills, using foliage for cover.

--

Jaco 'Bushman' Van Kielser looked down the road through the scope on his rifle. A gray overcast sky hung over the forested ridge, making the river look as dull and dark as the barrel of his gun. The ridge bordered a meandering paved road, pocked and worn, but it would be one that was getting busy. A Micro-UAV image transmitted earlier told of nasty things: heavy supply trucks, tanks, and a variety of other weapons that would now be moving to the front. And now he could hear them. The supply trucks could be seen, but the forms up front were different. And something he really didn't like to see after his time in the 'Kov.

"AFVs up front. Miniguns or something. I want you to hit it first Mick."

"Aww hell man. Van Kielsen, you keep my fat ass covered."

"Quit fucking around. Wait for the mines."

The squad leader slowly armed the detonator in his left hand as his assault rifle rested in his right. Along the roadside, in the bushes, were several dozen WASP-III AT mines. They would go for the AFVs first, which was good. But it'd leave less for the vehicles. Ah well. That's why God created the machinegun.

The column was headed and tailed by an AFV. An understandable decision, but an unfortunate one. Though the toughest vehicles in the convoy, they would also become roadblocks once the mercs got through with them.

The mines armed, the squadleader hit the 'ENGAGE' button, and soon the forward mines had locked onto the lead vehicle. A series of pops were heard as the mines shot up their SFPs. Soon they targeted and leapt back down to earth-or rather, the tops of the AFVs. The rear vehicle took all of its mines within a short radius, and exploded in a crackling fireball of cooking ammunition. The lead one, however, was only immobile. Swinging its multibarrelled cannon around, it began raking the areas where the mines had fired from with ammunition. Thank god it hadn't found them yet, and thank God again for the Thermat laced Orc Battledress and the cream. Another perk of working as a merc in a rich nation.

"Shitshitshit, go Mick go!"

He slapped the man on the shoulder as he went from prone to his knees and fired an ATGM into the vehicle. Again it was damaged, but the massive gun was still operable. As he went to the ground and tried to reload, he came down without his upper torso. Van Kielsen wished he could just sink into the ground as he tried to become as flat as possible. Most of his squad disappeared in a hail of gore and gunfire, until another teams ATGMs silenced the vehicles.

"Brownbag two? BROWNBAG TWO? JESUS CHRIST!"

The radio of the wounded squad leader cackled. Van Kielsen doubted he would be able to respond through the massive chest trauma. Van Kielsen tuned in on his own headset as he readied his rifle.

"Brownbag Six, this is bushman. Everyone's ground beef except for me and... Gobelsen."

"Well we've got 'em licked now. Go in there and kick some ass with Three."

An anti-material rifle barked in the distance, and simeltaneously an engine block was turned to shreds. The convoy was stuck now, and blightlanders were disgorging, armed with modern battle rifles. Van Kielsen looked back towards the LMG bearing Gobelsen and then at the corpses of his comrades. The air smelled like flame, smoke, gore and shit. Shit. Some of the corpses had relieved themselves without a brain to control the bowels. His adrenaline pounded, and sweat poured down his face. His eyes filled with hate, he remembered the cry his unit had adopted in Africa.

"BULALA!"

Someone heard it, and soon all the veterans were bringing up the battle cry. Even soldiers who had never heard it were now shouting it as they stormed the convoy. Van Kielsen put his rifle to his shoulder and popped off several rounds. The blended metal ammunition had gruesome stopping power. The infantry were soon dispersed of by the mercenaries, and the drivers tried to surrender, but were beaten and killed. Van Kielsen kicked the leg out of a blubbering man and cut his throat with a long combat knife.

Not one blightlander left the convoy alive. The mercenaries were quickly gone, the destruction their calling card.

Officialy, the UCSNE did not endorse conflicts its corporate citizens took part in, but once the Guffingordians came in against the freighters and IDed the mercenaries, the UCSNE would be forced to move in.

Captain Guillermo Torres Esparra sat in the CIC of his baby he’d affectionately dubbed the HNS Eloisa after his first wife. It had been more than a decade since her death because of cancer, she was actually the reason Guillermo held his current job. After her death Guillermo had retired from the Havenite Navy and went into the private life but he couldn’t stay away from sea for long so he joined the ranks of what people called the “Havenite Privateering Marine”. The program was started nearly sixty years before to curb the rapidly increasing number of Havenite becoming pirates, especially ex-naval retirees. People who had the pirateering streak running in them could apply to the program and a board of naval officers and government officials would review the case and if they thought the person deserved it he or she would be granted a letter of Marquis. Basically it meant they had the permission of the Havenite government to go out and terrorize the high seas with some rules of course. Full quarter was to be given and certain nations were on an off-limits list among other rules but other than the short list of rules they had to abide by they were free to hunt. In return they had to give a part of their loot to Haven and when Haven was in trouble they could be called upon to defend the state. The government also made off by selling off old surplus ships and weaponry that would have been destined for the scrap yards to them.

Needless to say in a place like the Imperial Armies Archipelago the program was a hit especially among ex-naval officers who had the money to outfit ships. So when Guillermo started getting “land” sick joining up became a very promising idea. After pulling some strings and calling up old navy buddies he got his letter of Marquis from the local Naval Board and he got a good discount on an old Caledonia class destroyer. He had a bit more trouble getting a crew together, being extremely picky about who he let join up but in the end he had a crew, almost all of whom were also ex-navy men and women. That was ten years ago, now he was in command of his own little “fleet” of four Caledonia destroyers, half a dozen mixed patrol crafting some dating as far back as the 60’s, two modified merchant vessels from various nation and an ugly boxy car carrier. It was one of the bigger “fleets” in the area pieced together carefully over the years. This little fleet now sat in a small port in the disputed territory north of The Macabees and Zarbia, the Blightlands. He was there with the permission of the local tribal leader and in return he helped the local tribe keep its neighbors, “happy”. He could have used on of the more modern and efficient ports of the Empire as he was allowed to with his letter but being up here meant less red tape and more freedom.

Guillermo sat there chewing on the end of a long, thick cigar he’d bought off some locals. It was horrible tobacco but he only had a limited amount of the good stuff, fine Zarbian tobacco and he was saving it for another occasion. He never really lighted it, just slowly chewed away at it rolling it around in his mouth before spitting some out. Out the window he could see his crew crawling up and down Eloisa loading her up and cleaning her up for their upcoming trip. They were all professionals and he knew it, till he was rudely reminded that not all of them were professionals. He could see Tomas leaning over the railing hiding behind the ASROC launcher, no doubt feeding the local fish his lunch. He had no idea why he’d let Tomas join, his sisters first son he was useless, not good at anything except his drawings. The ship was still docked and he was already getting sick, he would make a great artist, a wonderful painter but he wasn’t cut out for sea. One of these days Guillermo kept reminding himself, one of these days Tomas would be sent home but it wouldn’t be today.

The images of his crew working below weren’t the only things coming threw the thick, dirty windows of the CIC. Even through the thick windows and steel walls thunder could be heard to the south, a constant rolling thunder that got louder by the hour, except it wasn’t really thunder. Years of service had trained his ears and even more years of this business has further honed them and they knew what that sound truly was. It had started this morning, a massive barrage of noise that suddenly stopped as soon as it started before picking up again much quieter. Ominously it slowly picked up, a rising crescendo before shooting up again all of a sudden. No, it was definitely not a thunderstorm as many were saying, no thunderstorm acted like that, those were the sounds of war and by the way they moved the war was coming closer. Any doubts they had were swept aside when a massive number of military grade aircraft began flying overhead in formation coming from over the sea and heading south to the big urban centers and the fighting.

It was perfect timing and all the more reason to start their trip soon. Getting up he nodded to one of his officers who radioed the Bridge and told the XO to conn the ship and take them out to sea. Thousands of tons of steel lurched forward into the untainted natural blue waters around the tiny coastal town. If the place would have been in Haven it would have been covered with resorts and hotels within months, luckily it wasn’t and its pristine beaches remained a beautiful site. Stepping outside Guillermo waved to the men who would stay behind this time as the fleet made their way north heading away from one war and right into another.

At a Blightlander Command Post:

"We lost radio contact with one of our convoys sir." A young technician looked up from his radio to his commander.

"Can't be Macabean paratroopers, no planes have been spotted so far." The commander was a rumpled, middle aged man in camo BDUs. The commander thought for a while, then gave his orders.

"Must be Macabean Special Forces then. Put patrols on heightened alert and get word to the civilians and the militias to look out for any suspicious individuals. Also, attach a few scouts to every convoy, just to look ahead and make sure the path is safe."

"Yes sir."

The radio operator sent the order out over a heavily encrypted channel. The encrypted channel was made possible thanks to Pwnage electronics.

The commander pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it, inhaling the sweet, expensive Xenizen tobacco within. There weren't that many mercenaries anyway, they would only be able to intercept a small number of supplies.

Meanwhile... the first Pwnage vehicles would be getting to the front just about... now.

~*~*~*~*~

It wasn't much. True enough, the squat, heavily armored TD-100 assault gun wasn't much to look at, nor was it the best piece of hardware that the Blightlanders could currently field.

But the TD-100 was covered in a heat masking woodland camo tarp and a few branches. At a distance, it would be nearly impossible to detect, especially because its small shillouette and radar countermeasures made it difficult to detect on radar. Meanwhile, close by, were units of infantry, either prone on foot, or mounted in covered VBLs. They each had an assortment of weapons with them. The Blightlander forces were about a kilometer away from Macabean lines... They were within firing range.

A sniper in a camo suit found the a soldier with his head out of a foxhole and pulled the trigger.

Meanwhile, infantry mortars started to pound the foxholes, just as a hail of ATGMs were launched at the IFVs. Then, the T-100 assault gun fired its 120mm rail assissted ETC gun at an IFV and then drove forward, firing its main gun and its 18mm machinegun into Macabean lines. The infantry and VBLs rushed foward as well, firing.

The assumption by Blightlander command had been a bad one on their part. Over 10,000 mercenaries were operating in the Blightland Theatre under Macabean command. After the unusualy high casualty raid against one of the first MP supply convoys, they recieved messages from their employers to begin new interdiction missions.

And these were not average mercenaries. Operating under conditions that would make Executive Outcomes feel like they were too restricted, the mercenary corps actually recieved arms at a discount in exchange for live fire testing. An extensive network of intelligence had also been built up around the various UCSNE vessels that traveled in the region.

One of the said vessels was the SS Seasprite, a fishing trawler vessel with a host of advanced ELINT systems. The vessel also housed extremely powerful computational systems, carbon based monsters that had been buzzsawing through codes in the Blightlands since the Macabeans had leased the vessels. Operating in the disputed territory waters and seemingly unarmed, the vessel could intercept communications in addition to being used as a router for important information.

The radio message was not intercepted, but the content of the message was sent in a databurst back to the Seasprite where, about 15 minutes later, it was decoded. But it could not transmit directly. The communication had to be routed to a mercenary airfield in the Macabees, and then to one of the various manpack UAVs in the Blightlands, where it was dispersed in an encrypted message to the mercenaries. Not efficient in the short term, but information was power after all.

The aircraft had no callsigns.

They had no markings.

And they had no pilots.

Sitting in Macabea were squadron upon squadron of various unmanned aicraft, some as large as their manned counterparts. They had been shipped in on special order as part of the 'fluid contract' with the Macabean government. Soldiers watched as the last squadron flew in, the forms of Q/F-26 Saker UCAVs with forward swept wings and sleek forms giving them a shape like their namesake. They had flown across Macabea with their Pallas Athena v3.5 systems running, a stealth suite combining the famous Athena system with an upgraded version of Russian plasma stealth running under the skin. Despite the MP technology, the Blightlanders possessed no technology capable of detecting the stealthy aircraft from hundreds, even thousands of miles away.

Escalation was the name of the game. And like Russian roulette, sooner or later it was going to blow up in someone's face.

Just a few more hours. Esparra couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He’d been in the business if you could call it that for ten years but never had he gone up against a target like the one he was aiming for. He’d taken chances before, gambled but compared to this target it was small time and it was getting to him. What if…No. He put his head down and his hand up to his forehead before reaching back and putting his fingers through his hair. He’d heard stories of people pulling things like this and he believed he could do it. How couldn’t they? Almost everyone had combat experience, they had the advantage of surprise, and they were all professionals, all except Rinjo and his men. Blightlanders, barbarians, allies? Esparra didn’t have enough men to pull off the operation on his own so it had been necessary to hire some help and that help came in the form of some Blightlander mercs. That was the only real wild card, how would they hold up? Sadly things depended on them to a large extent as they would be providing a lot of the ground pounding force much to the chagrin of Colonel Manola who would be commanding that part of the operation. Added to that they were now armed with modern Havenite arms. While Havenite privateers weren’t allowed modern ships, missiles or other heavy weaponry they were allowed modern small arms and the day before Rinjo had demanded his men be outfitted with them. He didn’t want to give them to the Blightlanders but he couldn’t tell Rinjo no because he was a barbarian and wasn’t trusted, he needed Rinjo plus it made sense logically. If they were better armed they would perform better, wouldn’t they? That’s what Esparra told himself afterwards as he kept his temper down watching the massive grin form on Rinjo’s face.

Soon, soon enough they would turn back around south. In just a few hours they would be hitting their target and unless something went horribly wrong a lot of people would be getting a rude wake up call. The plan was to come in from the north, the total opposite direction of the Imperial Armies Archipelago and the pirates based there so hopefully the garrison in place wouldn’t realize what was happening till they were on top of them. In order for that to work it had to be a surprise so the fleet was following radio silence now and was avoiding major shipping lanes. They were picking up radio broadcasts and transmissions from the south. Confused and contradicting reports but they all pointed to the same thing, that thunderstorm was man made and it wasn’t just a border skirmish from the looks of it. They’d made it out in time, hopefully the men they left behind would be able to hold the fort till things blew over.


Disputed Territory

The Thunder kept coming closer and getting louder, sometimes spiking to a new high and sometimes dipping to a new low but it was always there. Sometimes it was so loud she wondered if they could here it out at sea wherever they were. Lynn was one of the fifteen men and women who had to stay behind and hold the “Fort”. A mansion among the poor houses around the area it was set alone near the coast just outside of town. It was more of a compound, a small town were the member of the “fleet” lived when they weren’t out at sea. Holding down the place was an easy assignment that got tossed around, it was basically a blow off job, nothing ever happened, not usually. Today the “garrison” had received a visitor, an envoy from the local tribal leader that let them use his port. He was demanding that the fleet come back and protect him and his tribe against the Macabean invasion that he was sure would reach this far. He said it was their duty, their part of the agreement to protect him and when Lynn flatly told him no he had stormed out of the compound telling them they’d regret it. Lynn had stood there and laughed in his face angering him even more. She couldn’t help it, it was a hilarious sight watching him strut out of the place. That was that morning and still nothing had arrised from the incident, not that they expected anything of the sort. Every so often he threw his tantrums, why should this time be any different? It was time to grab something to eat anyway and Lynn wanted to get first dibs before everyone else cleaned things up.

"They won't protect us..."

The wrinkly man, walking away from the fort, began to swear profusely in his native language.

He sat down upon a large rock and began to think hard about his options.

The currently, the Macabean fleet and army could move with impunity in the Blightlands, even with Pwnage technology A pparently, they had forgetten to order radar and electronic warfare equipment.

Damn. Technological illiteracy sucked.

But there had to be options...

Someone could help them... The same people that sold them their weapons.

The tribal leader pulled out his cellphone. The channel had some sort of near ridiculous encryption, the Macabeans better not decode this one....

~*~*~*~*~*~

The phone call was routed from IA to a transmitter/reencoder in Earth RB, in Pwnage Somalia, then to another reencoder somewhere on an unmarked submarine in a distant ocean somewhere, then finally, to a decrepit phone booth somewhere in Pwnage Hong Kong.

A Pwnage government employee picked up the ringing phone and listened to what the Wrinkly Man had to say.

~*~*~*~*~*~
The Great Leader looked at the report on his computer screen.

"They want me to help them?"

"Apparently so" said a nearby Intelligence Commissar.

"Ok, so what now then? Do I help them?"

A Military Commissar shook his head.

"No, not now. However, we can assist the Blightlanders with electronic warfare capabilities."

"Good idea. How do you propose to implement this?"

"We go to Guffingford, hire a few cheap boats loaded with radio and electronic equipment and then begin intercepting Macabean communications signals, maybe get a few high powered radar arrays on the ground as well."

"Good idea."

~*~*~~*~*
At some odd port in Guffingford:

"Lorgan Vimes... I presume."

The trenchcoated agent slammed a briefcase full of gem quality diamonds on the table between them.

"Who I am and where I come from does not concern you. What does however, is that I wish to... rent a few of your ships and crew."

[The Borderland Battles; Anti-Partisan Warfare]
Private First Class Erich Tanner sat looking through the sight slot of his machinegun in the SOV-06 Infantry Fighting Vehicle he was posted with. His face was covered with a stinky sweat, product of the heat conditions inside the vehicle barely alleviated by the air conditioning. He picked up the radio next to him and blarred,"Damn, why the hell aren't we moving? This is stupid, keeping us in defensive positions until the armor breaks through. We can do it ourselves!"

He got back a distorted voice from the commander,"Tanner, stop bitching, and keep a look - movement to the front!"

Tanner dropped the radio which hit the side of the vehicle with a thud and hung there from its black cord, and he took a look through the array of LCD screens which gave him a three hundred and sixty degree view of the battlefield. A small host of trucks, similar to that found when they first barged through the border, moved through the heavily wooded areas to their forefront. He smiled and took the lever of the machine gun, designed as in the old German combat tanks, and then he opened fire through the woods. His bullets didn't do much damage but the top gun, the 15mm heavy machine gun firing depleted uranium shells, tore the trees in half, and the trucks didn't survive much. The only thing the trucks could do was send a couple of anti-tank guided missiles and either overshoot it, or undershoot it.

The Pfc took the radio again and whispered,"Goddamn partisan raids. I wonder how much longer its going to take before command tells us to go on hunting missions."

The commander responded,"We aren't. We're going to let them come to us."

[Sometime later...]
The ground shuddered as the dirt poured in a fountain shape through the sky, covering the lowly SOV-06 sitting in a defensive position, entrenched behind a pile of packed dirt. Something out there was shelling their position, and it wasn't anything from the Blight. An hour before information from the UCNE mercenaries hired to take care of the supply lines had warned the Macabee intelligence of the new weapons funneling in from third parties. It wasn't surprising when ELINT was informed that the supplier was none other than MassPwnage, who the Empire had already faced in Melgaria. So, it was decided, the Empire would have another field day with Pwnage equipment in the Blight - how quaint.

Fragments of the shell tore at the MEXAS armor of the SOV-06 but the vehicle survived the shell largely unscathed. It wasn't because they were lucky either. Learning from past experiences an entrenched vehicle was almost impossible to kill with one shot from an artillery gun, especially when said artillery gun was firing blindly without foward spotters - their RADAR would be rendered useless by the large amounts of stealth features which made the SOV-06 infamous. Perhaps the SOV-06 would be knocked out in a second hit, unfortunately for the TD-100 there would be no second attempt.

From a foxhold beside the SOV-06 an Ebro anti-tank missile streaked out, fire blazing behind it, heading straight for the large assault vehicle. The Ebro was fast, and with the woods it would be almost impossible to shoot down, even by close-in weapons, as it darted back and forth, keeping at a rate of somewhere near seven hundred knots. Its warhead would be able to pierce anything on the battlefield, over fifteen thousand millimeters of armor. The Ebro was a state-of-the-art fire-and-forget anti-tank missile, much more advance than the Milan or the Javaline. With its depleted uranium attachment penetrator which would hit the enemy vehicle first, providing the rest of the Ebro with an ample penetration to destroy it, it was almost unstoppable when it came to wood or urban warfare - on a mass battlefield of tanks it could prove different, but not under the present circumstances.

While the Ebro made its mark in the history of this war small arms fire erupted from both sides. A sniper claimed one of the privates of the squad, forcing the man to crumple over in his small foxhole, dead. However, a Macabee marksmen found the perpetrator and put a 7.62mm penetration round smack dab in his forehead. ATGMs came in form, the 10mm machine gun at the top of each SOV-06 acting as a phalanx type close-in weapon, homed in by Second Generation Gaussian LIDAR transmitters and receivers. Regardles of the effort put up some of the IFVs went up in flames as the ATGMs found their mark - other ATGMs, hitting at different angles, bounced harmlessly off the strong armor of the IFVs.

In response the entire Macabee defensive line opened up with their own, more advanced, Ebro anti-tank missile launchers, pelting the incoming BVLs with quick witted Ebros. The skies were glowing red as more and more vehicles from both sides were knocked out. Nonetheless, the Macabee infantry and vehicles were able to put a much more accurate and a much stronger suppresive fire on the counter-attacking forces of the barbarians.

Saint Jacob's - Docks

Lorgan ordered another gin-tonic when he looked at the suitcase filled with diamonds. Blood diamonds from either Theohuanacu or Holy Panooly, dug up by slaves who work in the mines almost 16 hours a day. Lorgan did not care, but he wasn't in the mood either to send his best men with a complete stranger. He nodded to Blouff, who immediately knew what to do.
"Well Mr Stranger, I am willing to accept your most generous offer. I will fill you in on all the particulars, and what you need to know, excuse me." Lorgan and Maynard left the man on the terrace, while they went inside. Out of sight, where the man couldn't hear them a discussion about this strange deal began. Both were extremely paranoid about government agents, so they resided in a Faraday's Cage to prevent them from being tracked by microphones and such.
"Goddamnit Blouff! Who the hell is he? He ain't Panoolian, he isn't from Theohuanacu..." Blouff inhaled deeply, drank some of his beer and kept on thinking.
"Well..." he said, "...I don't know about him. How much ships can he get for those diamonds."
"I ain't an expert Maynard, but they seem pure. But yeah, he seems like a scoundrel to me." Lorgan looked up at the ceiling hasn't had a decent paint job in at least ten years, yellow of all the cigarette smoke.
"I don't trust this person. Cancel the deal Lorgan, God knows what he has in mind."
“Well okay…” Lorgan wasn’t happy with this, a suitcase full of diamonds is a VERY good tool to tempt him into things he regrets afterwards. Not this time.
"However Blouff... Can't we just take his suitcase and dump his body somewhere near Saint Denis? We own that place, nobody is gonna look for him there?"
"Are you crazy!" Blouff jumped up and began cursing and yelling at his friend. "Idiot! That's the last thing we should do! Who knows what kind of person he is! We go out now and tell him the deal is history. No contract is signed, so nothing is official!
A few minutes later Lorgan told the man kindly to take his offer with him, and that he should check in Holy Panooly, asking around about Blair Munroe or Gerard Fishkill – men with an outstanding reputation in piracy and smuggling. While having Blouff breathing down in his neck, overlooking everything is going as he said it. The two left, Blouff went aboard his flagship and Lorgan back to his house, finding relief in a glass of beer. But, both minds were occupied with the situation developing above Guffingford. This was no coincidence: a man comes to buy ships and crew while a war breaks out. Macabees invaded the disputed territories, New Empire aids him. This was happening in the backyard of Guffingford, so the military presence in the north was enforced with twenty tank battalions and several major artillery divisions backed by a well-sized airforce and naval presence in the Guffingfordian national waters.

On a daily basis ships from New Empire came and went from and to The Macabees to aid him in his war efforts to finally annex the large areas of the northern disputed territories. Guffingford itself wasn’t too worried about those happenings; they have no strategic value or any minerals the Allied States don’t have. In an effort to let the situation cool down a bit. Well, only on the northern front. Guffingford was preparing itself to take the Kuyper Islands, a few hundred miles south of Stevid. The seafaring British nation cannot appreciate that sure enough, but that’s none of Guffingford’s business.

Official Secure Communiqué to The Macabees & allies

“We cherish no illusions about your plans on your invasion of the northern area’s so we would like to propose a deal: a non-aggression pact between Guffingford, New Empire and The Macabees and Guffingford will, in return, make no claims to the disputed territories you are adding to your domain. We hope you listen to reason, and we will do likewise with you. You will hear from us again in the near future. We are well aware the future actions of Guffingford might endanger the relations between said nation(s) and Stevid and quite possibly The Merchant Guilds, but that's a small price to pay.

- Corpse Diplomatiqué, Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

ooc: Mac, the TD-100 has a tank gun, not an artillery gun. It's basically firing in a flat trajectory, guided by its LIDAR at the SV-06s.

"FALL BACK!" shouted the commander across the radio lines.

The Blightlanders began to do just that, pulling back into the woods after unleashing one more volley of ATGMs. Enemy ATGMs exploded all around, destroying trees and killing some men and vehicles. Not that many though. The miniature Shortstop systems on the VBLs stopped many missiles, as did the trees.

The ATGMs flew up into the air, then came down rapidly on top of the IFVs, stabbing into them with their lethally sharp osmium KE penetrators before exploding.

Meanwhile, the Ebro missile had hit the TD-100. It didn't do much of course. A spike of ASLERA-III reactive armor had shot out from the tank, knocking the penetrator and missile off course and keeping the damage of the explosion to a minimum.

The TD-100 fired one last shell into the Macabean lines before pulling back as well.

~*~*~*~*~
"Damage report sir?"

The Blightlander commander was pleased with himself. His forces had accquited themselves well.

"21 footsoldiers, 6 VBLs and 4 motorbikes."

It wasn't bad at all... The Macabeans had probably lost more IFVs and men than they did. Tommorow... another attack would come, much bigger in scale.

Response from UCSNE government:

The government of the UCSNE does not maintain any military forces in the Disputed Territories or the Macabees. All products and forces there are operating as part of a contract between NEArmscor Private Security Division and the Macabean government. All shipping is commercial. Any cessation of operations by these groups would need to be negotiated through contract.

-Ministry of Foreign Affairs

EDIT: More coming. Just wanted to get that down.

[Mary III, Disputed Territories Waters]

The captain of the vessel looked over the night. He was almost out of the area, soon he should be able to move into safer waters. But that time would not come. Suddenly alarms sounded, lights flashed and the jury rigged radar of the vessel detected incoming ASMs, obviously nothing too expensive since these were cargo ships.

He didn't even have to do anything, the automatic defense system had been engaged earlier, and Pepperbox DSAM launchers were rippling off RIM-122 Artemis II missiles. The weapons howled into the air, intercepting several missiles, points of light intersecting in blossoms of fuel and warhead.

But it would not be enough. The first ASM hit hit the lead vessel and hit near the crew compartment, effectively killing the entire crew of the vessel.

The mercenaries, who at this point with their military knowledge determined they were, in the words of one 'pretty much fucked', were making their way to the life rafts and urging the crews of the vessels on.

The missiles continued to come in, dealing blow after blow to the vessels about 40 crew members were now making their way to shore in the dark of the night via motorized life raft, their GPS transponders blipping away and sending emergency beacons to everyone in the area. But it was hopeless, really. No rescue crews with two brain cells to rub together would go here, and likely they'd just be homed in by one nation or another for ransom money.

But the captain, surprisingly was alive, though he had a feeling he was better off dead as the fires of sinking ships illuminated the night.

Whoever shot at them was probably going to be in the Disputed territories in some form or another. Joyous.

Field Marshal Jose Mario Moreto sat quietly in the comfortable leather seat. He was in the office of El Presidente, Antonio Cortázar, leader of Zarbia and head of the military junta. Moreto looked around the room; the whole five-man junta was gathered here to discuss what Cortázar thought was an important plan of action.

"My friends, don't you see? Now is the perfect time to strike! The Macabees are busy with their useless strikes against the pathetic barbarians of the north. Two years ago I promised you victory and glory, now I am giving you a chance to seize them!"

Moreto could not believe that it was two years ago when the general had swept away the former corrupt regime and seized power. It felt like it was only yesterday. He could remember vividly when he led the charge to capture the presidential estate, they had taken the building within half an hour. Cortázar promised a change, and he had certainly delivered.

Zarbia had changed radically from a Socialist police state to a military run dictatorship. The citizens of Zarbia more or less had the freedom to do what they like, but dissidents and anti-government feelings were not tolerated by the administration. The weak and under-equipped military had been completely refashioned and built up to be a force to be reckoned with. The people received massive benefits such as healthcare and education programs, and Zarbia had one of the highest literacy rates in the entire region.

"Mr. President, for a strike like this our ground forces could be ready in...two weeks. Give us that that time and we will be fully able to destroy our enemies,” stated Moreto.

"Our air force is prepared for such an attack," said General Fernando Rivas, "All we need is a time and place."

Cortázar nodded and looked at the map of the Imperial Armies Archipelago on his wall. His eyes wandered over it for a few seconds before he turned his attention back to the men in his office.

"In two weeks our armies will cross the Macabee border and conquer everything in their paths. Sidi Rezegh will be renamed La Gloria, a tribute to the glory our soldiers will grab hold of. The Macabee panhandle will be ours, and Zarbians will finally see what the sea faring life is like." declared Cortázar.

The four junta members stood up and saluted before each shaking their leader's hand. Before they left, the president stopped them and gave a sly smile.

"As pathetic as this latest Macabee incursion is, it would be a mistake to stand by and watch," he turned to his Field Marshal. "Mr. Moreto, if you will, try to contact our friends in the GNZ. Perhaps we can persuade them to make this little operation that much more agonizing for the Macabees. Promise them some money and weapons, that will make them more eager to comply."

Moreto nodded and returned the smile. The GNZ, or Guardia Nacional de Zarbia, was one of many paramilitary groups that operated in various regions of the country. Not officially part of the military, their guerilla services could be easily won over with a good-sized bounty.

As grand and glorious as President Cortázar put it, there was no way to get past the truth, that war was no fairytale...

[The Borderland Clashes]
The barbarians were pushed back and retreating, leaving a string of dead behind. Regardless of their victory the men did not rest. As the vehicles of the enemy began to retrace their steps back to their starting lines three more Ebro anti-tank fire-and-forget missiles zig-zagged through the air, skimming around trees and other obstacles, moving towards the retreating TD-100 which had managed to kill two men with another round. That assault gun was getting away alive, even if the Macabee soldiers had to chase after it. The Ebro had a good three kilometer range, which meant the TD-100 would have a long way home if it planned to survive - and with three incoming Ebros that chance had slimmed.

The Macabee soldiers weren't ready to let any of the other ones go either. From hill 217 the battlefield was commanded by the Golden Empire; they could see everything for kilometers and kilometers around. Consequently, they decided that the best course of action was to rain down death upon the heathens of the Blight. Two full MRLS brigades, a complete two hundred multiple rocket launcher vehicles, opened fire. The ground before them became drenched in a dark grey smoke, slowly enveloping each vehicle. Fire spat from the clips as each rocket left a second after the other. Within twelve to fourteen seconds a total of two thousand four hundred rockets had left their 'holsters' and arched up and then down, saturating the retreating barbarians with deadly anti-armor and cluster munitions. The skies echoed with the screams of the dead, and with the cacophony of explosions made by the 150mm rockets.

However, hell hadn't ended yet. An entire artillery division, composed of a thousand self-propelled 155mm guns, resembling the French Cesars, shuddered as their rounds left the muzzles, spreading a lick of fire throughout the dark skies, lighting it up even better than the sun. The battlefield thundered and it thundered twice as the thousand shells struck barbarian positions throughout the front. For ten minutes straight the artillery pushed hell upon the retreating, and static, barbarian defenses, making sure nothing living was left alive. The ten minutes meant that over twenty thousand shells would mark the once rolling green landscape of the area, and once forests would remain potholes in a war churned Earth.

Then, ten minutes later, the bombardment ended as suddenly as it began. On hill 217 Hauptmann Shriezberg radioed in the command post for the casualty count. The gargled reply stated,"We suffered about five SOV-06s knocked out, some heavily shaken but nonetheless repairable within a few hours. Total infantry casualties come to nine dead. The barbarians couldn't get much on us, we responded too fast, and too powerful for them to lay any fire on us. At least anything that was effective."

With that the battlefield lay silent, even if for a couple of seconds.

The sounds of hundreds of diesel engines filled the new serenity, which was left by the ending of the pre-emptive bombardment. The entire 1st Panzer Divisionen, the spearhead of the powerful I Panzerkorp, had decided to strike on the retreating barbarians. The idea was simple. They would smash the retreating forces of the defenders, crushing their assault guns and the like, and then curl to the south, sorrounding the entire defensive front south of the current Macabee breakthrough. With the south fully destroyed then the northern defensive positions would have to be evacuated, or else they would suffer the same fate.

There was no elusion that the enemy now had more modern tanks, and thusly, along with the five hundred BredtSvert tanks, there were a hundred of the newer Munich anti-tank vehicles, each armed with twelve missiles four times as potent, fast, and versatile as the Ebro anti-tank missile.

So, when the entire division had deployed in order to make use of the breakthrough by the 1st Panzergrenadier Divisionen, the Munich anti-tank vehicles let out a torrent of one thousand two hundred Munich anti-tank missiles, guided through RADAR and the more powerful 2nd generation LIDAR, currently only employed by the Macabee army. With that, the missiles zig-zagged through the air, finding their mark, either soft skinned or hard skinned it matter not. The only thing that would matter was the torrent of destruction the missiles would cause.

With the secondary bombardment finished the five hundred BredtSvert made their dash through the defensive line of SOV-06s and into the retreating forces of the barbarians, by now crushed by the Munichs and by the artillery. It would be a field day.

The Republic of Free Scotsmen is officially declaring nuetrality in this conflict. We will be watching intently and may eventually lend supplies or financial aid to the Macabees.

The Blight

Tito Granada crept through the long grass, his brown eyes scanning his surroundings warily and a submachine gun in his hands. A thin blue bandana was wrapped around his head and three grenades strapped to his belt. He turned around and motioned for the men following him to stay where they were. Tito brushed vegetation away from his face and stopped. In the clearing ahead of him he could hear talking. He dropped to his belly and crawled to the edge of the long grass. He peered past a long stalk of green and saw soldiers milling about. He smiled to himself, it appeared that they had stumbled upon a Macabee outpost.

As a general in the GNZ, Granada had been ordered to lead a group of soldiers to cause havoc on Macabee troops. They were deep inside the Blightlands now, the three hundred man group had been traveling since sunset the previous day. It was now far into the afternoon and hot as hell. As Tito looked past the Macabeans he could see tents and tables set up around the area. From the troops and tents Tito guessed that there were no more than one hundred men in total at this camp, the real number was most likely closer to around sixty. Satisfied, the guerrilla commander turned and headed back to where his soldiers were waiting. Reaching them, he signalled his three highest ranking officers over and squatted in front of them.

"Listen up, boys. We have a small enemy encampment, personnel numbering from sixty to one hundred. Any plans?"

Alvaro Gaudi, his second in command, piped up. "I think a simple encirclement will do the trick. We could break up into four groups, one from each direction. First we give them a bombardment of molotovs, that should piss them off and kill a few of them. Then we rush in and finish them off."

"Good," replied Tito, "We'll wait until dark to start so we have a few hours to completely plan this. Let's stay back until it's time."

The guerrillas moved back and got to work...

OOC: Mac, next time you post can you mention that it has gotten dark so I can begin my attack? Thanks.

Getting To Ready To Mobilize:

Daducheng, Port District:

"GET READY!"

The huge flotilla of TT-110 transport ships pulled their anchors up their capstans and began to sail for the Blightlands, guarded by a full 6 Ubercarrier groups. They would land in the Blightlands and drive the Macabeans out. Then... they would betray the Blightlanders and take the Blightlands by force. Besides, MassPwnage needed its own territory in the region, this was a perfect opportunity to gain some.

The flotilla sailed out to sea, conquest lay at hand.

~*~*~*~*

From 30 G80s off the Eastern Coast of the Blightlands :

"SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE! WE GOT A JUMP TO MAKE!"

Pwnage paratroopers, armed to the teeth, began to jump from the huge, gleaming G80s cruising at low subsonic speeds 20,000 ft. above the Earth.

They began plunging, followed by M194A Motorbikes, VBLs and LAV-B2s (Upgraded Stryker style vehicles). As they fell, they opened their parachutes out one by one. They landed in the Blightlands, fairly scattered, and began to take into account their surroundings.

Their commander, Gen. Thomas Guang, addressed them over a low powered radio frequency.

"Alrighty boys and girls (ooc: I'm a gender inclusive hippie), you have a mission, to find and dispose of any Macabean troops behind their lines!"

The paratroopers checked their equipment, then began to move out.

To support our allies the Macabees, and to promote the belief of Aryanisim, we will be willing to mobilize the following troops:

80,000 Waffen S.S. Ground troops.

1st through 13th Panzer Divisions

1st through 80th Luftwaffe Air Divisions

If they so wish it, that is.

The “Fleet” started breaking up going into what was basically the terminal phase of the operation. The converted merchants and the car carrier moved ahead falling into the shipping lanes and acting like the other civilian merchant ships around them. They were going to dock in the main port up ahead as long as thins went well. Eloísa and the other warships continued their way south avoiding the shipping lanes and the heavy traffic they carried. They were now just one hundred miles north of their destination, Retreat Island. Now everything was locked down, a single mistake could alert the local garrison and ruin the raid. Everything had to go right at this point. Just another few miles and as long as the Risbanians didn’t notice anything wrong the raid would start. Just as soon as the merchants had docked, the ball was in Risban’s court for the moment.

The “Fort”, Northern Blight

“Yo Lynn Check this shit out” A short, stocky man pointed out over the wall to the road below. A crowd of men, many of them armed had gathered outside. Not even a dozen altogether but it definitely wasn’t an amiable group. They were yelling over in their pimative barbaric tongue demanding that the fleet return and follow the agreement they had had. Iván, the man who had called Lynn over promptly answered them with a single finger before yelling back in mocking tones acting a if he was speaking their language. That succeeded in getting them even more worked up.
“Better watch out, they might come up here and get you.” James, an average size man, sat leaning up against the stairs wagging his finger at Iván, mocking him in return this time succeeding in getting a short laugh out of him.
“Good for nothing bastards, I’m gonna come down there and get you.”
“Now, I wouldn’t exactly say good for nothing, remember that girl last week? What was her name?”Turning Lynn joined the conversation shaking her head, “Hey James, you wonder why you have to come all the way up here for something like that, were the puta’s back in Haven to expensive for you?”Before he could respond a rock came sailing over the parapet and smacked him on the side of his face its jagged edge cutting a deep canyon over his ear. James crumpled to the ground with a concussion and a thick line of blood forming down his face to his neck and on to the ground. Iván hadn’t seen the rock and suddenly became deadly serious. His R-32 shot to his shoulder and he snapped off two quick bursts before even stopping to think. The first burst sent three 6.5x50mm HyVeloc BMBP rounds square into the chest of one of the men the blended metal points tearing his chest cavity to shit killing him immediatly. The second burs caught another man in his arm and shoulder turning him into a bloody mess. The group was to shocked to fire back instead standing there and watching the first man writh on the ground. For a full three seconds no one said a word but the sudden silence was shattered once again when the wounded man started screaming. Iván threw his rifle back up on his shoulder to fire again when Lynn tackled him. “YOU FUCKING IDIOT! IT WAS A ROCK!” Next to them James was slowly stirring from his deep sleep and was moaning. Iván looked over at him and realized he just made a very bad mistake. The Blightlanders half ran half walked away dragging their wounded and dead comrades away. The wounded man screamed like an animal the whole time from the shear pain of being dragged. Running up from the compound the rest of the Privateers started asking what was going on, they had heard the shots and had run as fast as they could. All the time Iván sat there looking at James wondering what had he done.

Over the next few days nearly everyone was on the perimeter expecting the Blighters to come back and exact revenge on the Privateers inside. And over those few days nothing happened. People started calming down, maybe the Blighters wouldn’t do anything. On the third day when the watch was finally being set back down to normal levels a long held burst of automatic fire sprayed across the parapet slamming into the thick concrete walls and sending paint and rocks flying everywhere. The man who did the firing got away scotch free before anyone could react. Then again things became silent. The only noise was the sounds of the truly killer thunderstorms raging to the south wafting their way up over the walls and into the compound. For the next six hours the thunderstorms were all that disturbed the countryside. Then movement could be seen, dozens of Blighters were forming up just over a miles away on all three sides of the compound blocking them off to everything but the sea. After that things started in earnest. Kneeling on one knee a Havenite stood deathly still in one of the two corner towers, a long Mechem RT-33 rifle on his shoulder as if it were just another limb off of his body. He just kneeled there not showing any signs of life gazing through the scope out to the Blighters. Then his whole body shook and the rifle shot backwards impacting deep into his shoulders. CRACK! The crack of the rifle filled the tiny space of the tower attacking the ears of the men inside. A wide grin formed across his face the first proof to the fact that he was alive and he turned to the right to the other two men in the tower, “Got the fucker”. Another shot rang out from the other tower. The two snipers worked away almost as if competing with each other firing again and again. Then a different crack rang out, heavier, deeper. The heavy anti-tank round crossed the miles difference and dug itself deep into the towers facade, almost breaking through to the softer inside. Something was wrong, that definitely wasn’t a standard Blighter weapon, were the hell did they get something like that? They apparently had a lot of them and another shot rang out then another and another. The two snipers started working double time trying to hunt down the massive anti-tank rifles. Then one of the rounds impacted the tower right below the loophole sending concrete into the face of the sniper and blinding him turning his face into a bloody mess of what it used to be. He jumped up grabbing his face and screaming, exposing himself fully in front of the window. Another shot rang out catching him in his throat and splattering the whole backside of the tower with his blood. The other men jumped on the radio and began screaming into it, “Man down man down” The reply came quickly cutting through the dozen other conversations occurring over the same channel, ”What’s his status?” “He’s dead, its Gabe.” When that sunk it everyone stopped talking, it took a full ten seconds for the man on the other side to reply, “Ok, carry on were not done yet.”

Thump! Whooosh! Boom! The first mortar exploded fifty meters short scattering its hot deadly fragments across the soft sand. The second one split that distance in half then the third went long. The range found the Blighters started pounding the southern wall. The four men stationed on that wall ran desperately trying to get off the wall and under some cover as they realized what was coming their way. The fourth mortar broke open into life just three meters from the wall and two above it, right next to the second man. It cut him to shred tearing his limbs apart and chewing through his Kevlar vest like it was paper. The others freaked, only one of them was a marine the rest were sailors. This wasn’t the kind of shit they had to do, they hadn’t signed up for this. One jumped off the wall to safety breaking his ankle when he landed. A fifth mortar clapped overhead catching the first man as he was sprinting down the steps stitching his legs and lower back. He fell head over heels down the steps rolling to the bottom. The man behind him picked him up and started dragging him away not caring about how comfortable he was. Behind them they heard the screams of their comrade as he tried to crawl away from the danger zone. After a few more explosions he shut up.

“This Second lieutenant Lynn Bruno zero-five-six-two-eight of the Havenite Pirateering marine. We are under heavy assault by BlightersI repeat we are under heavy assault, we are about to be overrun we need assistance. O My GOD they just took out the west tower., it just exploded, my god we had three men in there. This is the Havenite Pirateering Marine we need help cooridinates three-seven-two-four West eight-nine-three-one-eight North………” Lynn desperately screamed into the radio sending the word across all channels. The battle was just six minutes old, it would be over before the clock ticked the hour.


Back in Haven word of what had happened was all over the news. It hadn’t come fast enough to make the papers but all that meant was that the nations writers would have an extra night to fill the front page with pictures and flat out lies depicting what had happened. The real truth wouldn’t come out for another few weeks but by then it didn’t matter, a picture had already been painted in every Havenites mind, and all that mattered was that fifteen Havenites had been brutally “murdered” by the brutal ‘barbarians” to the north while defending their honor and a piece of land “Legally” leased to the Republic. The change was radical, the day before people were calling on the government to recommend in the strongest way possible that The Macabees end their unmitigated and unprovoked invasion but today people were demonstrating in front of the senate demanding that Haven join their neighbors to the north in the right full quest to rid Imperial Armies of one of its last bastions of uncivilized barbaric life.

Imperial Palace, Risban City--The Office of the Emperor
"Bloody hell," muttered Emperor Scorpius after he finished reading the report of the conflict taking place in the Imperial Armies region. Normally, the Grand Imperium of Risban would not care too much about the conflict. They would attempt taking an economic advantage over the conflict.
However, there was an unexpected factor in play: Retreat Island. The island had been given to Risban from the Macabees in exchange from some other land. It was home to nearly a million Risban Imperial Citizens, and right next to the growing conflict.

"Perkins," said Emperor Scorpius, turning to his Minister of Foreign Affairs. "Issue a declaration of neutrality... Pull an Ireland stunt."
"Alright," said Alexander Perkins. "Which side?"
"The Empire of the Golden Throne. They are, after all, the reason we are in that region," answered Scorpius.
"And how much funding?" inquired Lord William Plutus, Minister of Finance, with a frown. "Please not a lot..."
"No funding. Just be ready to jump in if it looks like those against the Macabees are going to lose," said the Emperor. "Keep up trade with both sides. Let's try make a profit here! Oh... But, just in case, have Admiral Tarda move over some of the other fleets..."


Official Declaration of Neutrality

The Grand Imperium of Risban has decided to remain neutral in this conflict. We do, however, have interests in the area that we would prefer remain unharmed.
The terms and conditions of this neutrality are as follows:


Any military vessel that comes within ten nautical miles of Retreat Island without clearance will be captured and held in port for a period of five days. After five days, the ship will be let go.
Risbanian merchant vessels are to not be harmed. If your nation does not wish for merchant vessels to continue trade with your nation, we will stop.
Should these terms be broken, the Grand Risban Imperium will most likely ally with those against the nation that violated these terms.


Crews of captured ships will be allowed limited access to the port that they are held in while their ship remains docked.

Due to this conflict, our naval presence around the island will be on hightened alert and we will search vessels at random.
Also, we will be selling more oil, medical supplies, food, and arms to the nations in the region. We will keep trade open with all who are interested in buying our supplies.

We hope the nations involved reach a peaceful solution.

~Alexander Perkins~
-Imperial High Minister of Foreign Affairs-




Decessio Insula [Retreat Island]
Retreat Island...
Home to approximately 950,000 citizens of the Grand Imperium of Risban. Purchased from The Macabees in exchange for some other territories. The Risbanian center of trade in the Imperial Armies Region.
Shortly after the territory had been given to Risban it had been settled, two ports and a colonial capital being created. It soon became the center for all of Risban's business and trade with all nations in the Imperial Armies Region. There was a small force present to serve merely as protection.

As the problems across the water began to escalate, the people of Retreat Island did not fret. After all, who would have any reason to attack the Grand Imperium of Risban? The Imperium had gone to war once and only once outside of its own region, and that was for terrorist attacks. Risban had remained neutral in most conflicts since that conflict with the nation of Muru, focusing more on business than anything else.
Thus, even with the growing conflict, they were wrapped in a false sense of security.



Captain Severus Septimius, commander of the Decessio Insula garrison and head of security on the island, sat in the Georgetown Port security center. The port was the largest on the island, and where most of the trade came in. Thus, it held the most banks, corporation branches, and manors on the island.
"Sir, we have a merchant fleet from Safehaven approaching," said a lieutenant, looking up from a screen. "Shall we run a check on them?"
Captain Septimius yawned, shaking his head. "Nah. Give 'em clearance. They're probably just coming in for their monthly offerings. We'll let ScorpCorp security handle anything small that might come up."
"Aye, sir," responded the lieutenant, turning his attention to other work.




OOC: Sorry for the crappy post. I don't have too much time tonight.
Forces on the island (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=8785356#post8785356)

To support our allies the Macabees, we will be willing to mobilize the following troops:

20,000 Royal Marines
5,000 Highland Infantry

At the fort:

The Blightlanders had the Havenites pinned down. That was a good thing. Besides, they had the video feed that the Havenites fired first...

Meanwhile, a huge T-125U mortar tank approached the battered fort from a distance. Traveling nearly silently over the forest soil, it got into a decent firing position.

The first 250kg mortar shell hit the fort, penetrating clean through the roof before exploding.

A standard T-125 tank nearby then fired its huge 135mm rail-assissted ETC gun multiple times, sending bunker killer rounds through the wall, right towards the foundation of the mansion.

Then, Blightlander infantry rushed towards the fort, firing 40mm fragmentation grenades and 8x60mm blended metal battle rifle ammo at any of the remaining defenders.

Georgetown Port, Retreat Island

Just outside of the harbor the ships met up with the small Risbanian tugboats that would be their guide on the last leg of their voyage ironically safely guiding the privateers in and giving the privateers the chance to attack them. It took a good fifteen minutes to get into the harbor and dock after spending a while jostling for a spot among the dozens of other ships docking on Retreat Island. The tugboats were captained well and were very professional it would be a shame to see them killed. In the hold and behind the heavy steel doors leading to the deck dozens of men lay in wait. The tension could be felt rising every step closer they got to docking. They looked like something out of a movie, clad in a deep black combat suit. Most of them had their visors down hiding their faces behind an electronic façade. Their chests stuck out with the extra armor added to protect the vital parts of the body, most were equipped with A R-32 assault rifle, though some had different gear strapped on. The Blighter mercs under Rinjo had smeared a symbol on their helmets to differentiate themselves from the Havenites. Above the hold on the deck of the first ship Manolo grabbed a radio just a few minutes before they docked. Picking it up he radioed Esparra, “Treme, Treme we wanted to know when you gonna to load up.” With that message he sealed the fate of the mission, it would go off.

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

“…oing to load up.” Hearing that Esparra got up from his perch and paced the bridge. Turning he nodded to his XO, “Fire em up.” The XO turned and started barking orders to other officers and soon Eloísa became a storm of activity. The forward VLS tubes opened up slowly revealing that they indeed held a cargo, a deadly one at that. Esparra had been surprised when he found out that the navy sold Tomahawk missiles to its privateers. The missile was out-dated and obsolete by Imperial Armies standards and as far as Esparra new out of production. Apparently there was a fairly big production line outside of San Méndez that shot them out for use by the Privateers and for export overseas. Modern production methods and the mass production of weapons had driven the price down to around 600-700 thousand dollars but that was still a lot of money to blow on one shot so Esparra stayed away from using them. Only twice before had he used them and one was in a fight against another heavily armed Guffinfordii pirate. He was going to make an exception today, not only would he be using them he’d be using fourteen of them. One by one they shot off slowly lifting out of their shells and shooting into the horizon. The Tomahawks broke apart into their individual flight paths heading towards their targets. It would only take a few minutes for them to cross the less than thirty miles distance to the island. Ten of them were TLAM-D missiles targeting the islands airfields. They were each to fly over and disgorge a ton of bomblets and mines over the airfields to shut them down and stop any Risbanians from using them. The other four were TASM’s. The TASMs were targeted on the small but threatening Risbanian fleet based to defend the island.

Out from the smoke clouds left behind by the missiles came the ships that launched them. The ships lurched forward, pushing themselves to the limit as they started making thirty-five knots towards Retreat Island. The hulls could be heard creaking and straining against the pressure. It was a race against time to get to Georgetown, one that they didn’t truly expect to win. It would take around forty minutes for them to make port, a lot more time than it would take for Risbanian ships already in port. That didn’t matter much though, the destroyers could provide all the support that was needed from were they were. Their guns, though small in caliber and number, could make up for that range. The half dozen smaller fast attack craft broke from the destroyers and formed a semi-circle a few miles to the front.

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

They were finally docked, tied up to Georgetown Port. To his right Manolo could see the car carrier already beginning to unload. Here they come. The port officials and workers who’s job it was to greet and unload incoming ships were moving up to do just that. Overhead one of the massive cranes that serviced ships was swinging over to help unload what it thought was goods brought over to be sold or shipped else were in the Risbanian nation. Manolo and four other men made their way off the ship and down to were the Risbanian port officials waited, it was time to greet the locals. “Hello, welcome to Georgetown port, I’m going to need to see your manifest first off, what exactly are you guys holding?” Manolo grasped the mans hand tightly. “Yes, one second I’ll get that for you, not much really, got some appliances, you know, household stuff.” As he finished talked the head of the Risbanian that was the farthest back snapped backwards. The back of his head shot outwards turning the space it once held into a bright red fog that quickly dissipated. The sound of the rounds striking the concrete behind him and then the body falling naturally caused the others to turn around and see what was causing the noise behind them. With barely a sound the men’s clothes started twitching and they to fell to the ground. Manolo held on to the man’s hand as he went down, three splotches of expanding red staining the back of his suit. “Alrite, lets go boys.” He turned half way and gave a curt nod to the ship he’d just come from before continuing at a speedy walk pulling out his silenced side arm he’d half expected he’d need to use on the man. Manolo led the four straight to were he new the offices for the port facility was. Behind him other groups of men, these men with weapons out and in combat gear, began fanning out heading to their targets. The process was repeated from the other “merchant” vessel and the car carrier were the vast majority of men were coming out of. From the car carrier came what were basically technicals, modified trucks and SUV’s, they had an assortment of weaponry but the important thing was the fact that they provided the privateers with the ability to move throughout the city fast and hit their targets before a warning got out. There were three hundred and fifty men, two hundred Havenites and one hundred-fifty Blighters. The distrust between Havenite and blighter was very real and because of that it was the Havenites that were assigned the more important targets, the most immediate being the port security center. The port itself had to be secured so teams of three to five men sometimes bigger were sent to the port offices and buildings, twenty Blighters total were assigned the task. The security center itself was the destination of thirty Havenites in full combat gear, led by Manolo and his five. Another eighty Havenites and twenty Blighters went out to secure the naval facility in Georgetown. Three groups of twelve Blighters were sent to take out the main police stations in Georgetown while a fifteen man team of Havenites struck the police headquarters. The rest of the Blighters were sent out on odd jobs hitting smaller police or government stations or securing other ships docked in the area. A small group of Havenites were sent to take out communications with the outside world heading to the telephone exchange then the satellite uplink facility. While they did that groups of Havenites moved quickly through the streets heading purposely towards major Financial institutions, banks, jewelry stores, government buildings were money was stored, any place that held a good amount of money was on the target list. It would take a few hours to fully clean out the city of all the money and other valuable objects it didn’t need but by the time they realized what was happening it was hoped they wouldn’t be able to respond. Then a massive explosion shook the ground a fireball leapt into the air, the Tomahawks were right on time.


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

Haven
“…ing. Now I have presented you with the facts, everything I know about this situation you know. To put it as plainly and simply as possible fifteen, count them fifteen Havenites, all with families, all with dreams and hopes and all of them citizens of Haven. People who share our very blood. Many of these people have spent their lives fighting for Haven be it the Marines or the Navy and now both proud branches of our military have been forced to add new stars to their lists in the Collegium. Havenites die violent deaths everyday around the world, that is something we have to accept but what we don’t and won’t accept is when Havenite are brutally slaughtered defending their own homes! Now it is up to you to vote, depending on what you agree on today is the lives of thousands of more Havenites but more importantly Havens honor and the honor of those who died such as Lynn Bruno. I trust everyone will vote the way they believe right whether it be my way or not.”

Stepping down after finishing addressing the Senate for the past fifteen minutes senator Kanas headed back to his seat. Behind him and the podium he had just been standing at was a massive screen that had projected on it the faces of those who were killed in the blight. It then flickered to their families, their homes, birthday parties, celebrations, friends adding a human aspect to the names that dozens of politicians read off again and again to the cameras then finally the scene that was left over after the Blighters had their way. The devastation, fires raged unchecked sending up thick dark plumes of dirty black smoke. Bodies could clearly be seen among the wreckage, be they Havenite or blighter couldn’t be told but they were bodies. Whether they liked it or not, not many politicians could vote against the measure that was coming up and hope to keep their careers. The same pictures and more were being replayed again and again over every news channel, that was when they weren’t interviewing some “expert” or family member. If it wasn’t for the media grabbing a hold of this no one would have even noticed but it was one of those events that for some odd reason beat out the others and hit the front page. With all that information pounding into their minds the average man on the street was furious, no, no politician would stand much chance trying to explain to the voters why they voted against punishing the Blighters so when the proceedings began the outcome was written in stone before Kanas even spoke all he did was polish it off. Aye. Aye. Aye. Aye. The vote continued down the rows and up the aisles. "Senator Juanita Cres representing the people of Cologne and the surrounding area." "Aye." Senator Barry… Down and up the Ayes rang out till a single nay was heard. He was asked again to make sure and again the man clearly voiced out nay. Kanas smiled silently shaking his head, the man was such a good prospect, and it was only his first term, guess he wouldn’t be going out for a second anytime soon. Kanas was a war hawk, one of those me who had never seen battle but longed for it thinking it a glorious event. He jumped at the opportunity for war and easy conquest when he saw it, to him it was the ultimate way to show Havenite power. He got his way, in a short time the bill was passed and signed into law. It was an ultimatum for the Blighters and all supporters of them. It usually wasn’t really needed, Haven was an imperialist nation among imperialists, Haven had to be in a region like Imperial Armies. Because of that a vote from the Senate wasn’t needed to start a military campaign, not even a Presidential order. It was common for mere governors of far off provinces and colonies to start their own wars on their own initiative. But major wars, wars that included the Havenite home guard needed explicit permission from the government, it was an age old rule to keep the peace in Imperial Armies but that rule was now gone with the signing of the new bill into law.

Kanas, being the one to propose the new bill was the one to go out and pronounce it to the world. Stepping out of the massive Senate building and behind a podium he looked out into the sea of people. Not even the oldest, longest surviving Havenite could remember the day the Havenite home Guard had been mobilized for possible war in Imperial Armies. Their were times when alerts went out but no one could remember the day when the last inter Imperial Armies war had ended and because of that the day was a special occasion. Thousands gathered to here what would be said, some anxious, some angry or excited but all curious to hear.

Stepping up to the mike Kanas began, “Just a few minutes ago the final tally was counted up, five hundred and eighty-three for three against with fourteen absent. Bill 84B3K has been passed and is now law!” With that a wave of cheering broke out from among most of the people below, not just the usual party supporters and members. “In accordance to this new law an ultimatum will given to the Blighter government some of the finer points including 1. The Blight will issue a full apology to the victims and their families and to Haven itself. It will also apologize to the people of Haven and Imperial Armies for a failure to govern and live at the standards expected of modern nations 2. The Blight will take and accept full responsibility for what occurred including admitting to a lack of control over their own people. As such an admittance of their government as being a failure and failing to have the ability to fulfill any governments number one responsibility, doing what’s best for its people. 3. Because of the above clauses government is to dissolve itself and resign. A new government that has the ability to fulfill its responsibilities and control its people is to be put into place by popular vote to be overseen and conducted by Havenite observers assuring the safe and smooth conduct of the elections. 4. Because of he failure of the current government to control its people it has turned the Blight into a danger zone putting all residents of Imperial Armies, as such a military presence is to be kept in the Blight by the Havenite military, specifically the Northern Command Zone. 6. To make sure the military doesn’t have any problems and because the probability that the Blight military was corrupted by the old government the Blight military will have to disband to be replaced by a new force trained and armed by the Havenite garrison. 7.Reperations are to be paid to each family member of those killed in a sum to be determined by the Senate after further hearings. 8.All those involved either directly or indirectly, to be determined by Haven, in the slaughter of Privateers is to be extradited to Safehaven2 to be tried by a military court under full Havenite military law. To make sure all those involved are punished a Havenite task force comprising members from three different law enforcement organizations.”

The list went on but the most important ones had already been mentioned so Kanas stopped there. Moving on he wrapped up his speech before stepping down. Mobilization orders were already going out to elements of the Northern Command Zone and the Southern Fleets, only the most optimistic person truly believed the Blight would accept those terms. From the Northern Command Zone two divisions would be sent through The Macabees to help in their invasion and subjuction of the Blight once permission was granted. To the south the fleets organized in preparation to hit another target that suddenly found itself on the list because of the actions of the Blight, Haven didn’t want a Blight of its own next to it. The war, just a few days old, was spreading like a virus reaching out and pulling everyone in.

IC:

In the dimly lit Central Intelligence Room of the Knights Templar, female knights sat in rows of stations, metal visors covering their eyes, their fingers hitting buttons, which weren’t visible to anyone but them. The great flickering screens projected onto the walls showed maps of the Empire and accompanying territorial waters, others showed the conflict zones of the Empire, one the largest was a map of the World which was awash with red nations, whom were considered enemies of the Empire. Green dots indicated lines of fighting… one area above all currently had a large amount of green dots, the Imperial Armies Archipelago, the location of the first Province of the Empire, Terrania. South of Terrania lay a series of islands, the screens marked them with a flashing White colour indicating they were earmarked for inclusion into the Imperial Guilder Empire. A counter also was flashing beside them; it had gone down to 5 minutes…

The Imperial Guilder Empire was taking this chance while the other powers were ready to tear each others throats out to take neutral parts of the Archipelago in order so they could better control the goings on in it. This was again as per the general orders of the Genesis Doctrine for the Imperial Guilder Empire's Foreign Policy.

A man stood on a metal gantry overlooking the scene, occasionally armed troops in the black uniform and insignia passed him on their routine patrols of the Templar’s Fortress Monastery of Lucaeda, located several miles east of Vas Urbs and the centre of the Empire. A quite beautiful, blonde lady slowly walked up to him dressed in luxurious expensive robes and followed by several similarly dressed ladies even if those ladies were obviously slaves.

The man turned around with some surprise and saluted the woman in the roman style, saying:

For the Emperor!

He waited and then continued when the woman only smiled knowingly.

To what do I owe this honour, Princess Cleopatra?

The woman continued to smile and spoke quietly but power edged her voice.

How goes Operation Celtia, Cicero?

The man looked surprised but was evidently trying not to show it, he responded

Fine, my Lady about four minutes to go before the first troops land to claim the islands for the Empire.

She smiled again, giving that predatorial smile the Guilders were so famous for.

I think I shall stay then and see how it goes then? Can you arrange for something comfortable so I can watch this unfold.

She said in a pleasant tone of voice.

Yes, my lady.

Said Cicero, who proceeded to then busying himself to make the Emperor’s only daughter feel comfortable in the dread headquarters of the Templar, who were responsible for bring so much terror to the World.

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

A few minutes later, huge metallic craft rose up from the sea, huge black transports opened their doors and troops streamed out onto the islands… they would be part of the Imperial Guilder Empire…

The troops who were going assure were only small in number... a few hundred per island, but they were expeced the Civilian contracters to arrive within 24 to begin construction of Fortifications by which the Imperial Guilder Empire could control the straits between itself and the mainland.

The Garibaldi Line would be born this day.

OOC: For map references, look at the islands under me between me Guff's two other nations thats what this refers to.

ooc: warning, graphic violence ahead.

The "dead" being displayed so prominently through every form of media the Havenites could muster up, were for the most part, still alive. Shaken up and tired, but still alive. Not for long, of course, but they would remain alive, because they had to be tortured, and torture was fun, very fun.

~*~*~*~*~

The Blightlanders finished restraining the remaining Privateers. Plastic tie always had its utilities. One them would become the victim of the ancient and noble art of neo-Polynesian Cannibalism. Well as soon as the Blighlanders could set up their videocameras of course; records for posterity were a necessity.

One of the more tender looking female privateers (ooc: not Lynn), was carried off tied to a long wooden pole, by two beefy looking, barechested Blightlanders. The pole was suspended around 10 feet off the ground between large forks between the trunk and the large branches of trees and secured tightly.

When the privateer was properly secured, a huge, naked man, covered in tattoos and wearing an intricately carved ritual mask on his face walked up to the head of a small crowd of Blightlanders that were congregating near the trees. In the big man's hands was a long pole with a wickedly curved metal blade on the end. The big man planted the the butt end of the pole in the Earth and screamed at the top of his lungs like a rabid animal. The crowd screamed back with an equal fervor. Meanwhile, assisstants began building fires beneath the privateer, while throwing a herb and seasoning infusion over her skin that would both taste good and keep her awake through the torture; the infusion was loaded with stimulants.

The big man screamed rabidly again before spinning around rapidly and bringing the huge bladed pole overhead in a huge and dramatic semi-circular arc.

The metal hook made a very small cut, but deep on the privateer's abdomen. Suspended upside down, the privateeer's innards were pressing on the cut, slowly widening it, just as the fire was getting larger and larger. When the cut got wide enough, the Privateer's stomach, large and small intestines fell into the fire below, tainting the air with the smell of burning flesh and human waste. The big man stuck his curved blade into the fire and heated it to red hot. He went back into the Privateer's now empty abdominal cavity and cauterized shut both the Privateer's esophageal and anal openings, being careful to avoid touching her liver or her aorta, for fear of killing her prematurely.

The big man screamed once more and slammed the pole into the ground.
Then a group of beautiful young maidens began throwing fragrant woods onto the fire.

Through all this, the Privateer remained alive, until she suffocated to death after 3 hours of being hot smoked. Through all this, the cameras were rolling, and the footage was being distributed to the press in Safehaven2. More would come later.

Retreat Island- Georgetown Police Station

High Magistrate Brutus Lycus, commander of the police forces on the Island of Retreat, sat in his office, going over several new laws recently issued by the Imperial Parliament. He was disgusted to learn that they were slowly opening more civil rights to the people. Magistrate Lycus believed that the Grand Imperium needed to maintain a strong grip on its vast amount of citizens to ensure order. It was a pity, really.
As he read the report, there was a yell. Did someone yell duck?
"What the bloody hell is going on out there?" frowned Magistrate Lycus as he departed his office. At that moment, explosions rocked the city. "Damn!" The High Magistrate ducked under a desk, pulling out his Desert Eagle at the same time and removing the safety. "Someone tell me what is going on," he barked.
""Sir! The island is under attack! Reports of forces approaching the station," responded a lieutenant, holding a Type 80 machine pistol. "What do we do!?"
The Magistrate gulped. He didn't know. "Get me Severus Septimius. Now!"


Georgetown Airbase

Tom Biggins, an airfield mechanic, grumbled as he slid out from underneath one of the EuroFighter Typhoons, currently inside the garage. He looked up at the face of Annie Jaesir, the old secretary. "What now? Toilet broke again?"
"No," said Jaesir, rolling her eyes. "Marcus said that they team is going to be out a bit longer with the IDFs."
Tom threw a wrench over his shoulder, grumbling. "Damn it. They're wasting time joy riding. Do they honestly think that war south of the island is gonna make its way over here?....... Well?... Ann...?" Tom frowned. Annie was not responding. She was looking outside with wide eyes. The mechanic turned around to see what she was looking at and yelped. "Frack!"
Ten missiles rained down upon the airfield, destroying all of the vehicles save for the four Ching-Kuo Indigenous Defence Fighters currently out screwing around. Eight pilots, two secretaries, eleven security cards, a janitor, Annie Jaesir, and Tom Biggins all died.

Jason Pollux, a janitor currently working on the airfield, crawled out from where he had ducked down in the basement. He looked around, clutching the colt python pistol that he usually kept in his pocket. His partner, Frank, had apparently died.
Pollux ran to where the telephone was, but it had been blown up. Trembling, the janitor made his way back to the basement to look for the old radio that the airfield had.


Georgetown Port- ScorpCorp Admin Building, Imperial Armies Branch
"Frack!"
ScorpSec, the security forces of the Scorpius Corporation, all pulled back into their administration building, holding their assortment of weapons as apparently hostile forces attacked the island. They turned on the alarms and enacted the security codes, steel doors and bars coming up around the windows and entrances.
"What going on!?" Keith O'Brien walked down from his office suite to the main lobby, seeing eighteen ScorpSec offices, two police officers, one High Guard, and four marines standing there, setting up blockades. "What happened? A rebellion?"
"No, sir," responded a ScorpSec officer. "The... the ships... They weren't holding tradeable items."
"My God... Who would dare attack Risban?" O'Brien slumped back against the wall in disbelief.
"Havenite pirates," the Imperial High Guard said, approaching him."I need to use your cellphone. I need to contact Captain Septimius immediately."
Keith nodded slowly, handing the mobile phone over to the High Guard.


Georgetown Harbor- Lesath Fleet
The LHD Wasp Class Amphibious Assault Ship, RIS Lesath.
"What are those Havenite ships doing?" asked Admiral Lucian Lesath, frowning as he set down his binoculars. "Has Commander Septimius given us any information on them?"
"I don't think we need information," said Captain Josephus Gadbois, pointing at the recent turn of events. Alarms went off as radar showed TASMs fast approaching. "Defensive manuevers! Move! Move! Move!"
Admiral Lesath started parking orders, but realised that it was useless. They wouldn't get away in time. Over an open channel to all thirty-three vessels in the fleet. "Brace for impact!"
A Type 82 Destroyer was the first to be hit, twenty-three sailors dying and multiple fires breaking out. It was salvagable.
Next was one of the Castle Patrol Vessels. It was hit in the hull.
"Abandon ship!" A captain cried miserably as his patrol vessel lost a large part of its crew and began to sink. He knew he would be demoted. An Imperial Ship had not been abandoned since World War II.
Sailors dove off of the patrol vessel, swimming away as it exploded, the captain choosing to sink with the ship.

"DAMN IT!" Admiral Lesath was quite angry once the explosions shot. He lost God knows how many sailors and one ship, and several others had been hit. "All forces prepare to engage in combat. Red alert. Someone telegram Imperial Palace!"

Already the ships began the counterattack. The Roisin Patrol Vessels had their Oto Melara 76 mm's already armed and ready to open fire as soon as they were in range.
Recently, the Fearless Class Assault Ships had been armed with twenty BrahMos cruise missiles. Admiral Lesath gave the order for five of them to be shot. One of the assault ships fired the missiles, each one after the other, right into the heart of the approaching fleet.
"That'll show 'em," smirked Admiral Lesath as he watched the missiles fly. They were the first supersonic cruise missiles ever used by the Grand Imperium of Risban. Thus, naturally, the entire event was being caught on tape, despite the current attack.


Decessio Insula Zorag Company Branch
The Zorag Company Security Forces retreated as soon as the attack began, barricading themselves in their Imperial Armies Regional Headquarters. The captain of the guards, a man named Jonas, immediately headed to a telephone, calling a certain office in Imperial Palace.
"My lord, pirates are attacking the island," he said. They are from Safehaven2. It took security by complete surprise."
"Excellent," a cold voice chuckled on the other side. "Septimius and Lesath won't know what to do."
"Do you want us to retreat from the island, Lord Zorag?"
There was a slight laugh. "How amusing! Risbanian forces may have to retreat from the capital of Retreat Island... Haha... No, Jonas. Remain there. If the pirates come in, surrender."
"Yes, sir," said Jonas, hanging up the phone.


Georgetown Security Center
Telephones and alarms were going crazy as guards and aids rushed around, Severus Septimius barking orders. As soon as they received word of what was going on, the other small villages on the island were put on full alert, their defensive troops arming themselves.
Georgetown had 700 marines and 325 infantry based on land, with an armory. Septimius made sure they were getting to work post haste.
"Sir, we have calls from Keith O'Brien and Magistrate Lycus," announced an aid, running to Severus. "Port security has been wiped out. A group of armed men have barricaded themselves and some merchants in the ScorpCorp building. Lycus is saying that the police station is falling under attack as well. Admiral Lesath just phoned in. They were attacked by an enemy fleet and have lost a ship, several others taking damage. They are engaging the enemy right now."
"Send a call to Imperial Palace," ordered the commander. "Inform them that Decessio Insula is under attack."


The Streets of Retreat Island

Ten Centurion Tanks, commanded by a group of marines, rolled down the street, followed by fifteen M1 Abrams and four Conqueror Heavy Tanks, all manned by marines. Fifty infantry followed, the first to respond to the attack. They approached the harbor, seeing the pirates begin to loot the shops. The tanks spread out, forming a line cross several city blocks while police and troops set up barricades.
"Aim! ... Fire!"
That was the order. The tanks opened a round of fire on a group of pirates raiding the financial district.
"Fire at will!"
That was the second order once the colonel in charge realized that these were heavily-trained pirates.

Twenty-six police cars, four Rooikat tanks, seven Howitzer Paladins, and one Scorpion Light Tank approached the police station to aid in defending it. Inside the station, police moved desks and cabinets to block the entrances, placing sharpshooters at the windows.



Risban City- Imperial Palace

"Emperor Scorpius, we have a situation..."


((Must be off!))

Fifteen miles off of Retreat Island

“Contact, contact, I’m definitely getting something heading our way from Retreat, shit their coming in fast.” The man was glued to his screen now watching the every move of the incoming contacts. He was to busy watching his screen to notice the look on his commanders face. Up front the fast attack boats were the first to deal with them. They had barely a minute to maneuver before the missiles were on them hunting them down. The boats were quick and agile so when the first three missiles screeched in they crashed into the sea sending up fountains of water. The middle boat, targeted by the fourth missile, went into a radical turn almost going ninety degrees. The boat almost tipped over so they cut back speed and tried to turn back but in doing so they exposed their broad side to the missile and giving it an easy target. The missile going faster than sound sliced through the thin nonexistent armor on the bottom of the boat, its kinetic energy alone tearing a gaping hole big enough to sink the boat. Then, milliseconds later, the warhead detonated in the center of the boat snapping it in half than into two dozen more pieces and sending them flying twenty feet high. When what remained of the boat landed it landed upside down, the force smashing it like a pop can against the waves and sealing the fate of the crew within.

The fifth missile sailed on past the attack boats and on to the destroyers behind them. There was so little time to react, such a small distance and such fast missiles, seconds. A single SAM left a destroyer in the hope that it would take out the missile before it impacted. It lifted off and rose up before diving down again and heading straight for the incoming target. The missile jinked left then right but the SAM stayed true and when it was ten feet from the missile it detonated, or at least it should have. The distance was so short it hadn’t had time to arm itself and so it splashed harmlessly into the water the missile continuing on behind it. It pointed itself right at the center of one of the destroyers aiming to do the same to it as what happened to the fast attack boat. Then just before it hit a thin stream of bullets blocked its path, destroying the missile. The missiles momentum was to great and the distance to short so dozens of pieces of shrapnel peppered the destroyer clearing the decks of life and knocking out an ASROC turret.

The response was almost immediate. The Risbanians couldn’t be aloud to get any more salvos like that off, they could destroy the whole fleet and so they had to be destroyed first. The destroyers let off twelve more TASMs were shot off quickly. It was going to cut into the profits of the mission but there wouldn’t be any profits if the ships were sunk. After the missiles were off the destroyers began banging away with their forward 155mm turrets. Each destroyer had two 155mm guns mounted up front and those guns had the power to send a shell fifteen miles. Everything was focused on the Risbanian ships, they had to be sunk before they sunk them. To make sure they weren’t surprised again the defenses were thrown up, radars began scanning the sky for anything that wasn’t friendly while the SAM mounts began swiveling to meet any new threats.

Georgetown Port- ScorpCorp Admin Building, Imperial Armies Branch

The building locked up like a fortress, steel covered up any entrances, and exits. Their object was locked inside with no way out. The group split into three groups, ten men, five and five. The first group set up outside the front door while the second came up around back, the third picked a window on the side to breach. Running up to the door a man crouched down on the hard concrete floor and placed a large charge up against the cold steel door. He ran down and dived behind a car before hitting the detonater turning the door into a twisted hulk of steel. The shaped charge punched through the door sending all of its force into the lobby beyond and leaving behind it a good sized hole. A fusillade of rifle grenades flowed through the hole exploding across the lobby. Mostly thermobraic rounds a few were flechette’s, exploding in the air and spreading hundreds of small but deadly flechettes in every direction. The men began stirring, slowly moving forward towards the breach, the first man diving through spraying the room with full automatic fire as he went. The same thing was happening at the back and the side.

Georgetown Security Center

Thirty-five men had found their way to the Security Center and all thirty-five men were now arrayed outside of it. The Center was the head that led Georgetown and without it Georgetown would fall. Unlike at the ScorpCorp building there didn’t seem to be any major security system in place other than the men in uniform but they would pose problem enough. One of the SUV’s that had come off of the car carrier rode up, its roof revealing a twin .50 caliber mount. The mount started chattering, shooting up the building and any Risbanians it could see exposed. It shot in windows and shot up doors hoping to sow confusion and death inside while around it Privateers began firing grenades inside. Small groups began charging up trying to get in through windows and doors that had been shot open.

Decessio Insula Zorag Company Branch

Things went down much easier here. When ten men burst inside they found no resistance waiting for them. The uniformed security guards were tied up and thrown in a corner while everyone else was locked into a room. Two men burst into the main office looking for the man in charge. ”Sir, you are now under arrest, we will need you to direct us to your vault and your computers, please don’t fuck with us.” He just had to add in the last part as he sat their toting his R-32 lazily in the crook of his arm while his companion pointed his straight at the Risbanians face.

Georgetown Police Station

Things weren’t going well. The assault on the police station had turned into an all out gun battle between the Privateers and sharpshooters manning the windows. Already two men were down, shot dead by the police sharpshooters. The return fire, while not always as accurate, was just as deadly. Grenades and bullets flooded into the open windows hunting the sharpshooters that stopped the Privateers from taking the building. Twin RPG’s slammed into the door blowing it open while a third and fourth hit the wall and went through a window trying to silence the opposition.


Streets

Rinjo was leading his group down into the financial district after having secured the harbor area. Just as they popped the corner the street exploded killing three of his men. Bullets began stitching the sidewalks and storefronts reaching gout for him. Up the street the source of the explosion blocked the view, a massive tank sat at the intersection. Risbanian infantry and another tank could be seen moving up behind the first tank all the while keeping up a heavy fire down the street. Rinjo and two of his remaining men were stuck behind a car in the middle of the road, just ten feet and another car away lay the dead body of the man who was supposed to be the squads anti-tank man. The two men behind him jumped up real quick and began firing flechette grenades from their R-32’s down at the Risbanian infantry crawling forward. The grenades burst in the air above the Risbanians and showered them with hundreds of flechettes. While they kept on firing Rinjo sprinted the ten feet before diving behind the car. The firing behind him slowed down then stopped completely, both of his men were dead. Rinjo rifled through the dead mans stuff picking up what he needed he rested the barrel on the car ignoring the frightened Risbanian civilians inside and fired an ATGM down at the Risbanian tank before running to the corner and safety. Heading down that road he made it to the next street down only to realize that the Risbanians were advancing that way to. He ran into one of the stores and radioed in what was going on. Units that were in the financial district began pulling back and preparing to meet the Risbanians in an organized fashion. Up from the harbor more men started joining them now that the harbor was secure.


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

Tarabulus, Northern Haven

Tarabulus fell under the Northern Command Zone, the Home Guard. The Home Guard was supposed to be the best of the best, the most elite regular army formation in the Havenite army. But a rot was setting in and the Guard was imploding on itself eating away slowly over the years. Years before the Guard had been the best, It had been an elite formation, back then only a select few were assigned to the Guard but that had changed. Havens rich and upper class used the Guard as a place to send their sons and daughters, they didn’t want to see family in a regular unit mixed in with the dregs of Haven. Because of Havenite culture joining the army was seen as something that was extremely honorable and respectable so many upper class families started sending their kids and filling the ranks of the Guard with them. The Guard then became more of a ceremonial unit, unofficially banned from going off to war by politicians who didn’t wish to see their children hurt the Guard was a green unit. It had not seen combat in close to eighty years and even then it was only small isolated units of the Guard that went off. Not seeing combat didn’t necessarily make a unit bad or poor quality but added to that was poor discipline and that did. People just didn’t show up for training or exercises, drinking, parting long vacations, that was the norm. Why should they show up, it wasn’t like anyone would “tell” on them, at least no one that hoped to keep their jobs long and advance in the ranks. It might as well have been a militia though the men who made up the Guard were good at showing off their uniforms.

It was from this broken remnant of a once proud elite that two divisions were drawn to be sent to the Blight. The 12th and the 2nd geared up from around Tarabulus and began boarding trains. Nearly fifty thousand men including support troops and all it was a large deployment, one that would take nearly two weeks. Fifty thousand men and thousands of pieces of equipment slowly made their way through Northern Haven then through The Macabees on their way north. Overhead dozens of aircraft passed them by deploying themselves to airfields in Northern Macabees spending the two weeks preparing their new homes for the job that would come ahead. It was time for the Guard to once again see combat.

Riconiaa will remain nuetral in this confilct for now. We would like to lend assistance to anti-Macabees nations but Riconiaan inteligence is not sure what we are getting ourselves into.

OOC: Nobody noticed, so I shall continue.

IC:

The sun was high in the sky over Eremous Island one of the islands just outside Imperial Guild Territorial waters that had been taken over in what had been called Operation Celtia, a text book invasion of an undefended obstacle.

On the edges of the thick jungle soldiers lay about sunning themselves... whilst some female soldiers were taking the opportunity whilst no Religious Observance Officers were around to do a bit of skinny dipping, which was punished with 20 lashes normally...

The male and even some female Legionnaires and Officers didn't appear to mind this at all. They sat there staring and relaxing lazily...

They doubted orders would turn up for a few hours yet... the mass bureaucratic machine of the Crucible was terrible for forgetting what is was doing whilst some new crisis occured...

Coming from other parts of the smallish island, they could hear heavy construction equipment being hauled ashore probably by sweating slaves under the whips and torments of their Overseers, usually ex-slaves themselves. The soldiers knew all to well that this little paradise would be turned into a death trap for any whom dared to land on it with hostile intent, it was beautiful but deadly...

This was just one island out a half dozen, which had been landed on in order to create the first part of the Garibaldi Line, which would once completed be able to control the seabourne traffic through one of the major channels of Archipeligo.