NationStates Jolt Archive

August 1st 2005

The news came swiftly from the pits, as it always does in these hard times, the radio and television tell us nothing of the world, spewing propaganda all through the day. It’s said that the underground has their own set of radios, but I doubt anyone save those of extreme importance within the resistance know the frequencies, if they exist at all. Either way all that is of little importance now, for history will not remember how the news was transmitted, rather what that news was.

I have never kept a journal in my life of thirty nine winters, so I believe a preface of some sort should be noted should these papers fall into the hands of some unborn patriot of years not yet passed. For one hundred fifty nine years, four months, and twenty two days my country men have been oppressed and squandered on actions both military and industrial in lands I can not begin to comprehend. We were a proud people, or so the tales go, but our passed armies could not resist the might of rampaging empire led by shadowy figures. Our lands fell and we were crushed, and remained crushed for the better part of two centuries as the world blissfully went about, relishing their precious sovereignty.

There have been rebellions and uprisings in the past, however, all were crushed and genocide soon followed. Three of my grandparents were killed when I was still suckling at the cribs edge, alleged sympathizers. However, starting four years ago troops were slowly removed from their garrisons, relocated to god knows where, for we were kept in the dark. Our people have known nothing of the outside world, a blackout of sorts to prevent ideas of revolution. However, it would seem that the soldiers destinations would not remain simply in gods records, through means once again unknown news of the outside world was brought in.

Our oppressors had gone to war, why I do not know, but they now face foes attacking from all directions and backwater colonies that have lain subservient for hundreds of years rank low on their list of priorities. I thought we as a people were doing nothing to capitalize on this until just hours ago.

Multiple bombs exploded within the province capital Westfold, blowing out dozens of government buildings and killing hundreds amongst The Watch, soldiers responsible for keeping us “in line”. That is all I know at the moment, but all our people can feel the coming storm and a single word sits on the tips of our collective tongues, rebellion.

Alexander Pollis

OOC: Although it seems this leaves no room for involvement, feel free to post your reactions. Most will work their way into the journal. I will also try to make the reactions of the government and rebels obvious based on the entry, but that will not always be possible. So I leave a bit of creative room up to you. However, the end of this RP is already determined, they are going to win their freedom, however, it will be a bumpy ride, made worse or smoother based on your actions.

[OOC: Tag: This looks awesome. Welcome to the game]

Evo had been watching the international news. As advisor to the King it was his responsibility to inform the King of all possible developments.

This story appeared to be interesting. For the first time in recent history, news out of a nation that had been silent for so long. Of course, being at war helped, but this was something internal.

It was very interesting indeed.

New Argus had once expaned it's borders quite rapidly and had assimalted (read: oppressed) the populations there. With explosions occuring in the New Argun Capital, it seemed that freedom had an oppertunity here.

Perhaps it was time to perform an airdrop. Just something humanitarian like.

August 2nd 2005

There is no turning back, of that I am now sure. Perhaps the bombings would have been forgiven with war on the backs of our oppressors… it has come to my attention that I have yet to actually name those terrible abominations of men who rule over us, and I must claim cultural folly, for they are never named in common conversation. If this is to remain accurate, however, their terrible names must be uttered, The Grey Guard Empire, more commonly known as the guard or grey guard. However, with a little luck their names will be forgotten, at least in this land.

Following the bombings thousands of The Watch were mobilized in the central square, a powerful symbol of their might, which in the past has stopped many a rebellion before they even truly started. This was not the case yesterday. Somehow members of the resistance must have penetrated the underground security systems and made it into the sewers and ducts below the square, planting thousands of pounds of explosives.

Only moments after the last of the Watch came to attention a lone figure appeared on the roof of the grand chapel, waving a massive crimson standard, the flag of out forefathers. He was of course immediately fired upon, and whether he survived remains a mystery due to the chaos that followed. Once the first shots rang out, the ground beneath the square blew out, engulfing thousands in terrible flames.

I know little of the events that followed as the runner left before anything else happened, but he said great pillars of smoke could be seen rising from all over the city as he entered the hills to the south and thousands of gunships permeated the air like gnats on a hot summer day. The war will be long.

I for one am not sure whether I shall take up arms. I have never been within a hundred yards of a rifle, much less fired one, and have a stiff knee, broken ten years ago. Perhaps I shall remain at home and tend to my family as we wait out this storm.

Alexander Pollis

OOC: Sorry for not making it clear before. My nation doesn't really have a name yet, New Argus is what they shall adopt upon freedom. Also there is no real way for your news to make it into the journal as I dont think you have announced it. However to make air drops you can expect minor coastal defenses and patrols and minor fighter resistance. Most of the airforce and navy of The Guard has been relocated. Most... Be careful though, they are a true military power.

[ooc:] Hope this post is ok, you can always ignore it if not. My involvement is still unofficial because there is really no government to sanction overseas intervention, and the SpecOps work on their own anyway...

[ic:]

~ The Empire of the Grey Guard. Night.

Red Wolf ducks below some fragments of wreckage as a bomb hits very close by, too much so for comfort. His uniform clinging to his body with sweat, he turns his head unnoticeably towards his companion.

"Remind me why we're in this shithole again."

Shrike sighs inaudibly and brushes back a shock of her reddish hair. "We're here to help the people of this place get the hell out before the nation's blown to bits, or their insane government decides to go massacre them again."

"Damn. Seems kind of unbelieveable that we actually made it in."

"Your call on that," Shrike says, dodging into an unlit alcove from which a shrill scream and thud swiftly erupts. Shrike reappears. "The Kestrel is, after all, one of the most advanced stealth fighters in the world."

Red Wolf scampers along the ruined wall to join her, his foot crushing the ribcage of a dead soldier. "Well, yeah, I know that. But the fact that they've got literally nothing guarding their own airspace means that most of their stuff is somewhere else in the country -- waiting for us."

"Not necessarily." Shrike rolls her eyes. "In the flyover we saw some pretty big explosions, and Dorakov reported swarms of gunships. This is just the biggest firefight with air support in history, practically."

"So once we find these oppressed people... how are we going to help them out of the country?"

"Don't ask," Shrike says. "Alma was the one with the plans, not me. Damned if I know if the Czardaian Government has anything to say about it."

"I'd ask her if there weren't all this fucking interference," Red Wolf curses, spitting on the ground as he searches for Watch members out of the corner of his eye.

But Shrike has spotted something. Flicking her low-light thermal goggles to the highest setting, she points into the darkness.

Red Wolf follows her gaze, and gasps. Red figures, outlined in yellow and orange, stand out sharply against the blues and purples of the surrounding landscape. He spots less clearly outlined, but still unfamiliar shapes of weapons, and whispers somewhat ungrammatically, "Them."

Nodding at Shrike, he takes up a position under a protective wall of rubble and begins loading his custom-made snubnose, while she picks up her RPG and fires it. The sudden "whoosh" makes the Watch members look up abruptly and cock their weapons. The subsequent explosion sets the house afire with a great rending crash.

"Fuck, that messed up my thermal imag— WATCH OUT!" Shrike yells as two Watch members who survived the blast come running through the wreckage, their guns blazing. Red Wolf instantly sprays the nearer one with dozens of 7.62mm rounds, the swift barrage ripping holes in his battle armor and spattering blood across the ground. Amazingly, the man survives, turning his weapon on Red Wolf, who scampers aside and fires off another burst, watching the man fall with a faint sense of satisfaction.

Shrike meanwhile busies herself with the second, aiming for his gun, which explodes after taking only a few of the caseless rounds. The man instead draws a sidearm, drawing back the trigger an instant before Shrike can pull out her own. He fires, the bullet hitting Shrike's own advanced armor and sending a crack running up and down her shoulder. Instead of the sidearm, Shrike throws a frag grenade, ripping apart the other man's armor and mortally injuring him, ripping a hole in his chest large enough to fit one's fist into.

But the noise has alerted more of the Watch, and Shrike and Red Wolf take cover swiftly, retreating into protective barricades as three squads of troops flood into the middle of the street while searchlights flash, barely missing the pair's hiding place.

"This is bad. This is really bad." Shrike repeats as she watches the scene below their improvised cover, which could fall apart any minute now...

"Watch your back!" a voice yells from somewhere near them, and Shrike grabs both of her heavy weapons and blasts down the Watchman behind her while Red Wolf's eyes search for the caller. A man is watching them from the top of a stairwell. Red Wolf looks at him in disbelief as Shrike finishes relieving the heavy infantryman of his valuables and weapons.

"Who are you?"

"More to the point, who are you?" asks the man, who is dressed in informal clothes and is carrying what looks like an old assault rifle, à la AK-101.

"2nd Lieutenant, 14th Special Operative Division, Czardaian Military," Red Wolf answers unthinkingly. "You're part of the underground, aren't you."

It is a flat statement, not a question, and the man accepts it unquestioningly.

"Come on down here. Are you the only one they sent?"

"Yes. Aren't the Watch the only ones They employ to keep you people in line after all?" Red Wolf's eyes twinkle, and he motions to Shrike. "Come on, we're going in."

***

Captain Alma Finlay looks at the array of equipment her dropships have brought in.

She makes a mental note to thank whatever gods there were that the powerful radar jamming equipment of the Kestrels had remained working throughout the paradrop, with only a few enemy fighters requiring immediate destruction upon their noticing of the armada. Then she turns her attention to more pressing matters.

Fully one quarter of the 14th has been brought in under her personal command, over 250 of the finest warriors in the Czardaian Army, and among the greatest in the world, along with a Mechanised Platoon and the usual shebang of air support: AAA guns, the obligatory Kestrels, plus the dropships themselves and their AGM/AAM and bomb compliment. Well and good.

Now to go about finding the rebellion.

Finlay climbs into her IFV and says to her companion, 1st Lt. Dorakov, "Get Enigma to pick up all the squad co-ords and ask them if they've found anything. We're ready to roll."

"Roger that."

The formation of ten MBTs, a few dozen light tanks and IFVs, and the towed guns begins to descend northwards into the city, under cover of night.

Alma Finlay smiles. "I love the smell of rebellion in the morning." ~

The Kingdom Of Fourhearts
Diplomatic Decree

The Kingdom of Fourhearts notes with regret the current situation in your nation. War is never a pleasent experiance and we would like the oppertunity to bring about peace more quickly.

We would like to mediate talks between your nation and the freedom fighters as well as the nation you are currently at war with.

We would also like to conduct humanitarian missions to provide releif for the civilians affected by this war.

Regards
King Drake

-Secret Communication to the Freedom Fighters of the Oppressed Empire-

From the Amazonian Dominion-

Your struggle against your oppressive government does not fall on closed ears. While normally we are not supportive of rebellions, your situation against the Grey Guard seems to put you in requiring help. While we in the Dominion do not wish to send entire armies to escalate the conflict into full-blown war (unless that is how it turns), we would be willing to provide special forces commandos and advanced recon forces to assist.

-End Communication-

August 3rd 2005

I must apologize, for it would seem that I have been rude in our… interactions up to this point. Ha, here I am writing to some future reader when I this is liable to be burned as I am thrown into the crematory with a bullet in my brain… Well I hope God can help me through this one. Either way, I have yet to introduce myself, my name is Alexander Pollis. My friends call me Alex and my coworkers Mr. Pollis. Choose either, as I doubt it will ever make a difference to me.

I work in a greenhouse manufacturing plant, perched high above the pits. It is hard work but I am blessed to be lucky enough to avoid the grueling pit work. Well, it seems you may not even know what the Pits are… if that is true my friend you live in a blessed time. The pits are great gashes within the earth that fester and boil over with pollution. They are a hideous amalgamation of mines, factories, and despair. They are also, as far as I can tell the home of the underground and I suspect the birthplace of the rebellion.

I have two sons and a daughter, but I never see them. They have been displaced to schools, doomed to a fate of patriotic brainwashing, but such is the fate of many these days. I pray for their unknown faces every night, perhaps they are fighting out in the streets Westfold, rifles in hand. Or maybe in the surrounding hills and the hundreds of towns that dot them. The rebellion is spreading like a glorious tide, however the fight is far from won. I have heard rumors that thousands of Watch are being recalled from far off places and even some dispatched from the Grey Guard homeland, thousands of miles away. It would seem they wish to crush this uprising swiftly, however we have a week before they will arrive in force, or so I am told.

However, the strangest thing happened today. I was on my way to the plant, ready to build more greenhouses when a shabbily dressed man came bursting from a side ally and was promptly shot, he had been chased by numerous guard. They immediately raised their rifles and slew a woman who seemed to give them “the wrong look.” I have seen this many times before, and quickly hurried on. However, this is not what interested me.

Later in the day I saw that same man piled on top of a twenty foot pile of corpses, doused in flames and lit up. He seemed to burst as the fired ripped through his already porous torso. A great fluttering of ash and small leaflets emerged from his remains and drifted in the winds. By chance one bit fell at my feet, I quickly bent down and pocketed the document. Perhaps there is a bit of rebellion in me, perhaps. I have attached it below.

---------------------------------------------------------
GREAT FUTURE MEMBERS OF THE ARGUS AEGIS

The time has come for you to cast off the great shackles of your oppression. The Aegis, our ancient fighting force has been reborn and already we are laying waist to the hideous guard in the city of Westfall. Rebellion has come and they shall finally fall from their despicable thrones. For years we have stood in fear of an immense foe, and it was a rightful fear, the Grey Empire is massive and cruel, but it is consumed in outside war. They CAN NOT spare resources to counter us, we will win this war, we will win our freedom. In addition we do not stand alone! Already armed forces from the nation of Czardes are slaying the foul vermin guard, and aid has been pledged from Amazonian Beasts!

FREEDOM
----------------------------------------------------------

While I know not of Czardes or Amazonian beasts I must be grateful for their aid, as I am sure it has been accepted and they will soon be stuck in with the rebellion, fighting alley to alley. I have not yet resolved to join the rebellion, I have a decent life, and will not be so careless to throw it away, not yet. Call me a coward, but these are frightening times.

As I returned to my home I heard odd news as well. I overheard a few members of the watch talking of some nation offering to broker peace. I doubt the Grey Guard will accept peace with us, and I know the rebellion will not stop until all of the Grey are cast out from this land. I suspect diplomatic resolution was denied.

These last words are written to the backdrop of slow rumbles crawling over the horizon. I do not think peace in this humble city will last the night.

Alexander Pollis

~ Westfall, Empire of the Grey Guard. Morning.

Lance Corporal Jim "Master" Shadowe creeps along the rooftop, assault rifle in hand, followed by half a dozen SpecOps.

"We've been relegated to this building," Shadowe indicates the one across the alley from their current position.

"It's a tough situation," a SpecOp insists, glancing down. "There must be twenty of the fuckers down there, or more."

"Meh," Shadowe responds aimlessly. "Spend some more time in the 14th. These are generous odds. We've been outnumbered three hundred to one and made it out before. Hand me that RPG."

The private does so unquestioningly.

"Thanks." With a whoosh the two rocket-propelled grenades, one normal and one frag, hit the group of Watchmen below with a blast.

Roaring, a trio of SpecOps swings down towards street level on belt-attached grappling hooks, snubnoses blazing, as Shadowe descends silently to street level through the burned-out house, followed by the rest of the SpecOps. The three remaining privates begin blasting with flamethrowers from the windows as Shadowe emerges on an upper floor, manning a machine gun at the window.

As the trio lands in the street, bullets and flames from the remaining guards engulf one, the other two jumping back-to-back and retaliating even as more Watch come running around a corner, their assault rifles in the air. Shadowe rotates the machinegun and peppers them with rounds traveling so fast they pass through two or three of the troops before lodging themselves.

A command resounds in an unfamiliar language and the Watch take up firing positions at Shadowe, who ducks as armor-piercing rounds cut holes in the walls, sending stones plunging down upon the battle below. The five remaining SpecOps meanwhile are acquitting themselves bravely, forming a pentagon against the troops surrounding them. Shadowe picks up his radio.

"Juliet One reporting."

"Juliet One, this is Alpha One. Alma Finlay."

"Captain?"

"The very same. How are you getting on?"

"Bad, our squad's down to six."

"We'll be in the city outskirts in minutes, but there are gunships in the way... That's why we brought all that AAA and the Kestrels. Our fighters are making mincemeat of them."

"Good. We'll hold out. Where's Shrike?"

"She and Red Wolf are co-ordinating motions with the resistance. We're gaining, it seems. Although not by much."

Shadowe leaps aside as he hears a telltale explosion and curses under his breath. Mortars.

A 51mm round detonates somewhere behind him, causing the floor to disintegrate in a fireball. Shadowe gets the mortar crew in his sights and fires repeatedly, the rounds striking against the heavy gun. While he misses the crew, he hits the mortar itself, which blows up nicely.

"Good... oh dear God."

More mortars are being dragged in. What kind of a bad joke is this? He quickly seizes a pile of rubble and arranges it at the machinegun like a human, then quietly slips down what is left of the staircase an instant before a trio of mortar rounds hits the machine gun, blowing it up utterly. Shadowe descends to ground level and passes along through blasted houses until he reaches the end of the block. The mortar crews are roughly somewhere around here. Throwing down his pack, he takes out one of his canisters of C4, setting the timer to thirty seconds and then pushing open a window, hurling it into the middle of the street directly in front of the mortars. The massive explosion temporarily blinds the troops battling his Special Operatives, giving Shadowe the time to rocket out of a second window with flamethrower and snubnose in hand, catching the mortar crews unawares. The spectacle of the strange man clad in black armor, simply burning his way through the chest of a troop while .22 rounds clatter off his body, proves to be a bit much for the mortar crews, and they either flee or die praying as flames engulf all four crews.

By now the smoke and dust from the explosion has cleared, and Shadowe quickly drops in a round and fires the mortar, a 51mm round hitting a group of Watchmen. A voice buzzes in Shadowe's helmet meanwhile.

"Master, this is Shrike, we're right behind you!"

"Watch my back," Shadowe says without turning around. "Where's Alma?" he adds as Red Wolf appears beside him to man another mortar.

"Somewhere..." Red Wolf says, distracted, as a threatening shadow appears and Red Wolf tilts the mortar upwards, the round hitting the gunship and causing a massive explosion over the city. "Probably close."

The five SpecOps remaining in Shadowe's squad are fighting their way towards the mortars, having sustained only a few injuries due to their protection and superb marksmanship in urban combat. A young Private First Class from Shrike's squad named Parrot chuckles wryly as he watches the enemy soldiers caught between the two forces of SpecOps, and chucks a frag grenade.

"Well, that's over with," Shadowe says, reloading his snubnose as the five Privates appear. "We got a medic?"

Spc. Watson appears with his first-aid kit. "I'll take care of this baby," he says, kneeling over an injured Special Operative and applying a swab of something as she winces, while constant rumbling pervades the noises of battle from somewhere ahead of him.

Parrot smiles. "Not too bad. We lost one, but we've at least got a bit of time to regroup and prepare for........" His voice trails off and his face turns ashen. "Oh, shit."

Shadowe follows his gaze. Shit, indeed.

"A tank," Shadowe says in wonder. "A fucking tank."

Not fifty metres ahead of them is an eighty-ton behemoth, the rumbling growing still louder as its treads crush the dead bodies of dozens of Watchmen. Shrike is the first to react.

"Outta the way, YESTERDAY!"

The SpecOp reflexes, acutely trained, react instantly and over a dozen men and women, grabbing assorted equipment as they go, leap out of the way and roll through the dust into a protective basement just as a 140mm shell hits where they were standing a minute ago, leaving a massive crater.

"We lost that girl," Watson says in a hushed tone. "And my kit. That equipment is irreplaceable!"

"Oh, shut up," Red Wolf says, as his RPG sends a round into one of the side guns. The tank shrugs it off, continuing to roll forward as its huge main gun rotates ponderously, propelling another massive shell into the building above them, which shudders and collapses behind them. One of the secondary machine guns begins to blaze, sending rounds clattering into debris.

"We are fucking dead," Parrot has gone hysterical and begins to repeat these words over and over again, shaking and rocking back and forth.

"Anyone got a mortar?"

"I do," a Sergeant exclaims in triumph, then looking awkwardly at the broken-off propulsion system. "Well, sort of," he adds.

"ATGMs? This is our last chance."

The main gun declines, firing a 140mm shell literally inches over the heads of the Special Operatives, who move swiftly out of the way, looking back at the crater behind them, the ground shaking with falling debris.

Shrike wordlessly hands over her Aquila and Red Wolf fires it emotionlessly, watching as the missile hits the top of the turret and the tank goes up in flames. The Special Operatives feel a well-deserved sense of pride at this success, a sense that disappears instantly when they see the line of tanks behind it.

"Okay, Parrot," Red Wolf glances at the young soldier. "Now we are officially fucking dead."

The rumbling grows louder and louder, and then the lead tank simply explodes.

Across the radios someone says, "Or not."

Shadowe twists his head around. Coming from the other direction is an Emperor Mk. III Heavy Battle Tank, 155mm ETC and all. And above it, a pair of massive dropships restocked with complements of ATA and ATG missiles and bombs.

An AGM roars down from the sky at Mach 3 to hit between two more tanks, sending up a plume of flames as the Czardaians begin to cheer, the Emperor Mk. III and nine smaller, but still powerful Mk. IIs moving in behind it. Then their cheering, nearly drowned out by the incessant rumbling and the screaming of missiles, begins to triple in volume. The common people now know their liberators. The Watch and their tanks and gunships are beginning to fall back, and as hundreds of air-to-air missiles streak from the dropships towards the next group of gunships swarming over the city while stealth Kestrel fighters strike from above, then disappear again, the Czardaians know that even if they are ridiculously outnumbered, they can still make a difference.

Sic semper tyrannis.

The Horde of Doom needed to test new weapons, and had already found the perfect way to do it. The countries name mattered not, only that life was there. It was a small colony, one noone would miss...even the empire itself. 3 Fable class Submersible Amphibious assault ships were near the shores of the small colony. With far supierior stealth technology they closed in on the shore...waiting for their moment to strike.

At midnight, 12 SFDS's landed on the beaches, revealing 4 Gorilla AIFV's and about 32 men covered in Legion suites. By far they seemed to be superior to anything the colony had in it's defence. They packed their gear into the Gorilla's and drove into the deepest area of woodland they could find.

(For full specs and proof I could do this, click here. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=385183&page=1&pp=15)

August 5th 2005

I write this journal entry in the bombed out shell of an old barn, fire still licking at the house only one hundred yards away. Before yesterday I believed war was something one could avoid, whether through clever words and a level head or quick feet and willingness to run. I was wrong, war swells up a great smoldering tide of blood, death, and fire and obliterates the earth from horizon to horizon. Death falls from the sky as horrid evil men stalk with great machines of eternal destruction. Mortality and the human spirit are hard pressed to live the next dawn.

Perhaps I am doomed to become one of these horrid men, destined to stalk the earth doling death as I stride. However musings of the future are not my interest at the moment, I must relate the events of the past days, if only in the hopes of extracting them from my mind.

After the conclusion of my last entry I did my best to sleep as the rumblings grew louder and passing of tanks, helicopters, and jets grew more frequent. I did not sleep that night.

About an hour before dawn my neighbor from across the hall burst into my room, a rickety assault rifle in hand. He looked about nervously and approached the window gazing out at the streets below. I immediately arose alarmed, what if the Watch arrived, would I be labeled a traitor?

After a few moments he looked to me and thrust a small pistol into my hand, “You are going to need this, brother.” Brother, it’s a term I have never heard, perhaps another relic dredged from our lost history.

Our the window the city was glowing, not with the bright glory of dawn but the fires of hell. The outskirts were in flames cast a pallid light across the city. Great streaks of rockets arched across the smoky air crashing back to earth moments later, great fireballs left in their death place. I could make out the small shapes of gunships flying only meters above roofs, spewing machinegun fire. War was here, and it would take no prisoners.

After a minute of utter horror that seemed to extend into infinite I noticed a small band of figures emerging from the tenement across the way, amongst them were two large metallic tubes. Suddenly the entire building shook as a gunship passed above us, then with the great roaring of an eternal dragon it opened fire on the men. I swear amongst the flying plaster I could see limbs flayed to nothingness. From the great cloud a single rocket emerged, slamming into the front of he gunship. The thing seemed to teeter for a moment, as if unsure of its own demise then plummet to earth below, its tail section tearing out the floors above mine.

My neighbor murmured, “We have to get out of here.” And we did. I raced through the flickering halls that seemed to grow dimmer with each distant rumble, although they were not so distant now. I emerged into the street only to see a massive black object quickly approaching a building about a block down. The black spot plunged through the roof and only a moment later a great white flash enveloped the structure as it turned to nothingness.

Soon black rain, massive droplets thousands of pounds of concocted death, began to fall like a mid-summer storm. People cried out covered in burns, blood breaking through flesh too damaged to contain it. Soon the very air was palatable, it tasted of inevitability. I have never been so sure of my own death. My neighbor explained the watch was pulling out the city, it would be a massive tactical mistake to remain in a place where enemies were emerging from every hole. They would form a base on the outskirts and slowly push through in an ordered manner.

I never stopped to question how he knew all this, and it only occurs to me now that he was probably a member of resistance. I will never know for sure though, at about three in the afternoon he was hit by a flying bit of brick which tore through his neck. He handed me the rifle and hold me to move north. It was only in that moment that I truly realized the extent of my surroundings. The city of my life was burning to the ground and the sun would shine no rays on its death, obscured by the inky clouds. It was something my grandfather called nocturn… funny what you remember of your earliest years when you stand on the brink of oblivion.

So I pushed north, north through the valley of death. Soon the bloodied sun set and it was once again night. As the moon rose and the hours waned the bombing slowed, perhaps they were ready to retake the wrecked shadow of my home. Indeed it seemed they were, by one in the morning people passing my resting place claimed tanks and the Watch were headed this way.

I didn’t care, I was dead as far as I cared, my mind shattered. In that twisting night I was assailed with images of things I don’t think I will ever comprehend or fully recall. As the sun began to rise, or at least its tiny rays were visible through the black air I set out again.

It was in those early tired hours that I met the Aegis. Men in clothes of cloth and faces of steel moved south towards the Watch. Each had a crimson emblem on a part of their body. For a moment I thought I had encountered wisps of our past, ghosts of the last true war, until one approached me and sized me up.

“Head north son, find a camp and arm yourself, we are winning our freedom.”

After that brief sentence he turned his steady gaze south and continued to walk. He is surely dead now, face with the overwhelming might of The Watch.

Shattered city turned to shattered outskirt as I left my twisted life behind. Rather than continue to one of these camps I approached a farm and found a safe place to hide. That brings me here.

That brings me here…

Alexander Pollis

OOC:Those are some great post Czardes! I really enjoy reading them. I know it may be a bit odd RP'ing this way, but it gives everyone more freedom and makes life a tad easier for as I get started. Doom I have no problems wit you showing up, but be aware The Grey Guard is the equivalent of a 2003 nation, however, most of their force is located elsewhere. But, do whatever you want, as long as it is within reason, and understand the rebellion will win in the end. Also the rebels have purchased some chemical weapons, which they are liable to use on Watch soldiers. It lowers their body temperature to kill them and is in aerosol form. So feel free to run into a few groups of "chilly" Watch.

The Hope
Airship Transport
Kingdom of Fourhearts

The Hope was part of Fourheart's White Fleet. It's purpose was humanitarian. It's cargo, food and medical kits.

The Kingdom had attempted to mediate between The Grey Empire and the other factions, but the Grey Empire had refused.

And so, here they are. Doing a service to humanity despite it all. If the Grey Empire tried to stop them, they face fire from the sky and the Grey Empire certainly didn't want to risk expanding the war.

At least, that's what the crew hoped.

The pilot yelled back to the Cheif, "Allright Boss! We're over the city now!"

The Cargo Bay doors opened and night poured into the cargo bay. Crewman began pushing crates of relief packages into the night sky.

OOC:Those are some great post Czardes! I really enjoy reading them. I know it may be a bit odd RP'ing this way, but it gives everyone more freedom and makes life a tad easier for as I get started. Doom I have no problems wit you showing up, but be aware The Grey Guard is the equivalent of a 2003 nation, however, most of their force is located elsewhere. But, do whatever you want, as long as it is within reason, and understand the rebellion will win in the end. Also the rebels have purchased some chemical weapons, which they are liable to use on Watch soldiers. It lowers their body temperature to kill them and is in aerosol form. So feel free to run into a few groups of "chilly" Watch.
[ooc:] Thanks, I enjoy writing story-based RPs rather than dealing with all the statwanking most other IIers engage in regularly.

[ic:]

~ Outskirts of the city. 5 August, about midnight.

The Czardaian Special Operatives have regrouped in a mobile command post here, where a solid line of heavy battle tanks blocks the Watch advance into the city. The carpet-bombing has continued all night, and even the Kestrels are virtually powerless to stop the huge bombers and helicopters from dropping their payloads, with fully half their number depleted by sheer numbers, only six remaining.

During the previous day, when the bombings had grown more and more numerous, Alma Finlay had called for further air support from Czardas itself. That same air support is now nearing, scores of Blue Jays and Peregrines armed to the figurative teeth with deadly ordnance, along with a further trio of dropships bearing provisions, supplies, and more heavy weapons.

"It can't arrive soon enough for me," 1st Lt. Dorakov complains on hearing of their progress.

Enigma, on the other end of the line, sighs audibly. She is so named because nobody knows her real name, age, or even appearance, clad as she is in a completely silver uniform and mask, over which she is now wearing a long hooded black cloak from which small snatches of silver still exude from the facehole.

"I've been in contact with the flight leaders," she says. "They spotted what looked like amphibious assault ships landing off the coast with radar groundsweeps... They're heading here at 2 mach, they ought to arrive in less than half an hour."

"Well, good for them," Dorakov says impatiently. "Do you know how urgent the situation here is getting?"

"Because I'm obviously not in the same boat as you and yours?" Enigma laughs lightly, a glow of green visible for a moment from her optical equipment.

Another line is opened to Dorakov almost instantly. "El-tee, this is Weasel...Orange Squadron is picking up massive troop reinforcements along the lines besieging us. I mean massive."

"How massive?"

"Like, tens of thousands massive."

"Great." Dorakov closes the line and turns back to Enigma's image on the viewscreen. "Do you know how we can get in contact with the resistance?"

"Apparently there's a movement called... Aegis... you know, like the electronics system?"

"Yeah, what about them?"

"They're mobilising to liberate the city now from camps along the north. I'll have the aerial squadrons try to locate these camps and we can co-ordinate a joint movement to hit the city from both sides at once."

"That seems reasonable..."

"Exactly. And Shrike should be making contact with the underground movement in the Pits."

"Where the hell is Shrike anyway?"

"Alma knows that," Enigma shrugs. "Red Wolf probably does too, they operate together. And Tom Irian."

"Right."

***

The air wing is approaching the south of the city now, jets slicing the night sky with protesting screams as the Interceptors arm their air-to-air missiles.

Airman First Class Tim Jones, aka Blue Wren One, is just one fighter pilot out of two hundred and eighty-eight in the wing. As the aircraft wings left, he glances at his co-pilot and says offhandedly, "Sam, you owe me a beer for this."

Sam, a philosophical fellow, muses, "Is it just me or do fighter pilots always say that kind of thing before they go into battle?"

Blue Wren One's active radar begins to beep red. A lock. Toggling through the FCS to the active array, he sees a pair of AMRAAMs streaking towards him.

"Dive!" Blue Wren One calls as he releases the flare under one of his wings, flaps opening and closing as the plane turns sideways and descends, righting itself as Sam quickly selects the fighter's four medium-range missiles and locks them onto a pair of jets engaging them.

Blue Wren One quickly hits the fire button, sending the four missiles streaking off into the sky, and is rewarded by a pair of explosions where the jets once were.

He hears his Captain calling for a situation assessment and responds, "There appear to be air-superiority birds guarding the buffs."

"No biggie," the Captain responds testily. "Let's go duck hunting."

The squadrons of Blue Jays and Peregrines form up again, the strike fighters and interceptors striking back with a full rain of AMRAAMs while twenty-four of the Peregrines, led by Blue Eagle Four, increase altitude and release their long-range missiles towards the bombers below.

Blue Wren One veers in closer and while Tim opens up on the fighters streaking towards him with 25mm fire and short-ranged missiles, watching them explode, Sam performs a radar groundsweep and quickly taps his pilot on the shoulder.

"What is it?" Tim growls.

Sam answers, "At the moment, we're directly over a massing force of Watch."

Tim looks at the groundscan. "Holy shit." Then he smiles. "Bombs away!"

Twenty-four black projectiles drop from the internal weapons bays of the Blue Jay Strike Fighter, GPS guided napalm bombs, and quickly pick up speed as they drop the 30,000 feet onto the troops below. Tim watches the explosions with a satisfied eye.

"We hit 'em well," he says grinning, high-fiving Sam.

At that moment he notices the fighter jet that has just entered visual range...

But the loss of Blue Wren One is a small one as more and more Strike Fighters begin giving the Watch below a taste of their own medicine. Fuel-air bombs, cluster bombs, unguided rockets, napalm bombs, white phosphorus and more rain down on the thousands of troops and tanks below.

Wing Leader Blue Robin, a fighter pilot infamous for his wit, skill, and open homosexuality, is smiling in approval for a different reason. The protective cloud of fighters around the bombers has been broken. He noses his Peregrine in and fires off his remaining missiles at the slow-moving bombers. All around him, other fighters are doing the same. Bomber after bomber explodes in a brilliant shower of fireworks, others plunging down upon the city. Even as Czardaian planes streak towards the ground, more of them are beginning to succeed against the bombers. Finally the remaining heavy planes begin to fly off in concession of defeat, still tailed by a few LRAAMs. The dogfight has been surprisingly long -- the sun is creeping over the horizon now -- as approximately two hundred and ten remaining Czardaian planes descend, searching for a viable airfield.

A pair of fighters returns from a reconnaissance mission as the wing begins to circle, reporting back to Blue Robin. "Blue Swallow Seven here. We've found a place that seems unproblematic."

"Good, what is it?"

"Open meadow outside a farm, co-ordinates XXX.XX.XXXX, do you copy?"

"I copy. Air wing, set co-ordinates XXX.XX.XXXX and prepare for a landing."

"Yes, sir," the pilots respond as one, the fighter wing flying in and beginning to land on the grass, one by one.

Within an hour a little over two hundred planes have landed in the meadow, the pilots and aircrew climbing out and chatting amiably with the logistical crews of the dropships, who have already been informed and who have dragged their equipment -- airplane fuel, missiles, cannon shells and such -- into a nearby barn, where they passed the time waiting for the planes to finish landing chatting with an aging freedom fighter about Czardas: they speak of its freedom, graded one of the most liberal nations in the world, a true democracy; they tell tales of the Czardaian conflict against the oppressive Warmaster Empire, or Kregaia, and the wanton total destruction of whole cities by those bloodthirsty men; they also tell what they know about the battle in the city below, and the Czardaian plans to link up with the Aegis and attack the city from both sides.

When all the planes have refueled and restocked, some of the pilots remain behind to use the huge empty barn as a temporary airbase, while a squadron of fighters heads for the Aegis camps to inform the resistance members of their presence.

Blue Robin is the first to arrive, and he lands vertically in the centre of the camp, stepping out clad in a blue and silver uniform with the words "Czardaian National Airforce -- Wing Commander" emblazoned on his shoulder.

"Greetings, friends," he says. "We're at your service."

***

As the Czardaian fighters engage their enemies in the air, Alma Finlay is distracted by an urgent call.

"This is line four, reporting a breakthrough!"

"What kind of breakthrough?"

"The Watch have broken through!"

Finlay sighs. "How?"

"I don't really know ma'am... They blew up our aitch-bee-tee and half the block along it, then just moved in and flooded the city."

"Damn. We'd better move our armored forces in then."

"Right. On a happier note, those dropships have sent us a dozen more tanks."

"Oh, good."

Finlay stares at one of the screens, and then smiles. Although she is not a particularly sadistic- or evil-looking young woman -- standing 5'11" with waistlength black hair, high cheekbones, and cool green eyes -- the smile is one of the most chilling things anyone will ever see.

She glances at another viewscreen; the Watch forces massing along the south have been severely depleted, but even so they outnumber the Czardaians a hundred to one. No matter. Once the Watch reach the centre of the city... aye, sweet revenge would be granted the oppressed.

Then the allied forces could move in and drive the Guard out of Argus forever. As time and again has come to tyrants, their arrogance being their downfall.

The area was highly strange. The soldiers encountered men found frozen, burning cities, and death everywhere. It was like home in a sense, chaos and death running rampant. The men had set up a small camp far from civilization. Invisable from the sky, they planned on scouting out the area.

But what were they doing here?
Put simply, war was the best laboratory on Earth.

10 men had already crept into ruined cities, watching the empire's soldiers fight. Their technology was semi-new, but not as nice as thiers. Still, they had experiance with their weapons, the Hordians did not. So far no engagements, but the men were getting restless. So, an infantry attack was planned.

After hours of making it out of the heavy woods, rebels were finally encountered. The 10 crouched low, their Legion suits keeping them quiet. They laid down on the ground, hiding behind logs. After several minutes, they lifted their guns up, using their camera guns to aim. After each picking targets, they opened fire,semi-auto, on the small group. The bullets ripped their their soft bodies. It was supposed to be a simple shoot and run...but Hordians were natural anarchists.

Most felt the fight was too easy, and threw down their guns. After tossing several tear gas gernades they picked off their bayonets, and ran into the group. All had served in the civil war, and some had wasted in prison, and were quite ready for close combat. Their helmets allowed them to see in the dark, and they planned to make short work of them.

Excited as they were now, they turned on the speaker mode of their microphones and began screaming at their foes(or their dead bodies) in their native language.

One particullary agressive soldier began to scream at the top of his lungs.
"Starter slite fiolett, slite fiolett!
Starter slite fiolett for meg nå!
All Deres sanity og vidd, de vil all forsvinner
Jeg lover!
Det er akkurat en materie av tid!"

As they gathered their guns and ran back, they sang the song the entire way.

OOC: Agree with you on stat-wars...too boring that way. Storyline is much more fun than posting "I have 23.9 battleships each carrying 654 missiles and 23 guns!!"
Oh, and New A, I'm assuming you have coastlines and shore defense...if not, I'll edit.

1100, Ocean, 9th Dominion Task Force

IC: The carrier groups were already closing into range to begin launchign preliminary air strikes against strategic guard targets. AWACS craft patrolled the skies, airborne radar systems covering the fast advance of the battlefleet that had left the Dominion days ago, en route to another war, wars that seemed all so frequent now. The Rebellions had seemed like a good cause here...even though similar rebellion could potentially topple the autocratic Dominion regime that tirelessly drove on the Amazonian battle machine into more fearsome endeavors.
Aboard the dreadnought IDW Judicator, acting flagship of the armada that chugged onwards too the torn land, Sky Captain Soontir Fel, leader of the air attackers that lay abaord the carriers of the flotilla, was briefing his air captains of each individual carriers on the preliminary and secondary targets to hit with the first round of attacking waves. With no knowledge of the Amazonian support of the resistance, the Imperial positions would be hit with surprise, caught unaware as the first ASMs and SSMs slammed into defensive and logistics positions. The city of Westfall, where reported actions of intensity were heating up between resistance and supporting factions and Imperial groups, would be the secondary target after re-fueling and re-armament, interceptors in to take out air while strategic and dive bombers hit the cities, coordinated with missile attacks from attack craft.

Fel stepped in front of the main briefing board, a constantly-updating map of surrounding and targeting locations with electronic indicators to map out a real-time situation.

"Right, gentlemen, the situation is fairly simple. Outer defenses on the shore is our first and primary target. SAM batteries, flak cannons, and shore artillery MUST be hit in order to clear paths for our later air strikes inward and to clear paths for the LSTs and LSIs to unload. We'll start with the first wave of high-ranging precision bombers to try and hit the defensive sites, escorted by interceptor groups. Attack fighters will hit the SAM and AAA with radar missiles and Hawkeye ASMs. We'll combine that with hits by SSMs from the fleet, and, if we get in range, cannon fire to soften 'em up. Once defenses are clear, we'll begin moving in the assault ships and move the aircraft in for phase II. Am I clear so far?"

Nodding heads met Fel's query for clarification. Taking that as an "affirmative", Fel took a deep breath again and continued on to the next step in the operation.

"Phase II will actually begin at the same time as Phase I. I know that sounds stupid, but bear with me. The second attack wave will leave at the same time as the first attack wave from carrier group B. They'll be composed of strike fighters and interceptors only-no precision bombers, we don't want to risk to much on a large advance, we only want capable craft. Their job is to assist the resistance that is supposedly engaging the Imperial ground forces. We'll send in the strike craft, armed with ASMs and light cluster munitions, to hit armor positions." He pointed to the updating electronic map- "Here's the latest feed from our high-altitude recon craft. The Imperials are making inroads back into the city, but as you can see-" he zoomed in on the city "-they're playing mostly by the book. We can exploit that with our aircraft. We won't use gas bombs, but we are going to load up with basic incendiaries to give any infantry lines they have a nasty surprise. Any air resistance will be met by the interceptors. Any questions, now?"

Only one hand raised, and the question came forth.

"Right, could we have a visual feed on the shore defenses?"
"Certainly," said Fel, zooming in, "Here's the most heavily contested area. Basic defenses, as you can tell...static SAM boxes, AAA mobile batteries and radars, and artillery bunkers to try and hit landings or naval attacks. Nothing our air power shouldn't be able to quickly care for. And if that is all, gentlemen, I propose we get finished and back to our stations."

Fel walked off from the map. It was in God's hands now.

-1145, Carrier Group A, IDW Leviathan-

Capt. Nathan Forge, commander of Bravo Squadron, flying one of the gleaming S-92 Defender strike fighters, slipped his air helmet over his head in the cockpit of the fighter. Racked under his wings and on side hardpoints were held Hawkeye ASMs and various cluster munitions, two 35mm cannons mounted in the nosecone of the broad, 59ft long fighter. The longest of the small planes, the Defender's large engines activated behind Forge's bubble cockpit, the jumper system awaiting his craft.

"Ready to kick some shit?" he called back to his weapons officer, Lt. Brad Hopkins.
"Hell yeah!" Hopkins called back, "gonna beat the Imperialists back down from whatever fucking hole they came from!"

Hopkins chuckled, then hit the button to close the cockpit, the synthetic shell closing and latching down on metal hooks, air-sealing the two men inside as Forge slowly taxied the fighter towards the jumper.

"Bravo 1 to Leviathan command, preparing for take-off."
"Hold, Bravo 1, Group B is still prepping."
"Copy, command."

-1145, Carrier Group B, IDW Tyrannus-

Rhysati Ynr sat in the mesh-web of her interceptor seat, breathing out hard. It was bad enough being the only female squad leader in the entire fleet, better yet that her squadron would lead entire group B into the target city airspace to commence first strikes. Her I-81 Retribution is where Rhysati could take her only real satisfaction during the campaigns, where she could let out her emotions into fight. Her best friends where her airborne radar and the SkyScream AAMs affixed to the wing racks of the sleak and fast interceptor. But it was time to hit the skies again, time to attack.
She closed the cockpit, hitting the activation sequence on the VTOL engines to start them up while contacting her squad.

"Alpha Lead...Alpha squad ready to go?"
"Roger, Lead, this is 2...all guys good."
"Alright..."

Ynr cut contact with the squad, patching in to command now.

"Alpha Lead, Group B command, ready to launch."
"Cleared for departure, Alpha, give 'em hell."
"Roger."

The VTOL jets now ready to go, Rhysati hit full thrusters on the engines, always surprised by the jolt of the liftoff. The interceptor rocketed into the sky, the VTOL jets cutting off and the main thrusters kicking in as Ynr and her squad got into the air, the rest of group B following behind.