The Black Reich
18-05-2007, 11:03
OOC:
This will be a major civil war within my nation - the Black Reich - I am currently producing a factbook for my nation, however, having to make factbooks for what is essentially five different nation states under the auspice of one major rule (ala Ancient Greece with Athens and Sparta and whatnot) it is taking some time.
Nevertheless, expressions of interest to join can be found here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=12663569#post12663569)...
PROLOGUE:
Every story has a beginning, not all however, have an end
It was a harsh day, the sun scoured the scene that stretched before it, its uncaring gaze neither yielding nor assisting any unfortunate soul who dared to enter its domain. Apart from the blistering blackened sand that stretched for as far as the eye could see, there was a small crater, inside it sat a fantastic tangle of metal and the occasional piece of flexiglass that had yet to be sand-blasted. An ancient trail of wreckage gouged out by the object long since buried by the sands of time.
Inside this wreck, one of the few large enough to actually survive the heavy sand-blaster effects of the wastes, could still be seen the vestiges of the owners who had never returned home. The objects name… the land crawler Arbalest, could be found on a few spots where corrosion, and therefore damage, had not been able to reach. A design old even in its time, Arbalest was a Tricormoran class Sand Crawler, one of the first of its kind, from the time of the Old Empire. It’s starboard artillery cannons still visibly poked from what had been opened blast hatches, except they now aimed towards the sky, as if they were guarding the long dead colossus as they did during ‘the last battle’, the dying legacy of the Old Empire.
The last battle, and all the time before it, was the time of the ‘Old Empire’, an institute of legend, the Old Empire was said to encompass the entire planet, and had been the predominant superpower for centuries. However, despite its success, it had its enemies, enemies that grew and became powerful in their own right, and as such it was eventually destroyed in a desperate bid to save itself.
The bitter irony of the Old Empires efforts to save itself had not escaped the memory of history. It had been the weapons of the Old Empire’s arsenal that had eventually been its own destruction. Many simply could not comprehend the stories about whole valleys as far as the eye could see awash with chemicals, the stories passed down by generations about the nuclear-induced hellfires that had scoured the land so deep that not even the bedrock was safe; the stories of the decimation of the empires people from the massive radioactive fallout and the subsequent civil war after a final act of spite by the enemies of the Old Empire. Many, even to this day, believed the stories to be exaggerations at least, and fabulous hoaxes at most…
But then, few ever came to see the wastelands with their own eyes, and those that did never spoke of going there… they had there reasons to be there, none of which were accepted within the lands of The Black Reich.
…
"The one constant about humanity is that it never is"
Running, breath and heartbeat pounding in my head, look down the sight, take a sight picture, three rounds and target is down, Incoming! Hit the dirt! Too slow… god it hurts…
The sounds of death and destruction filled Huang Yang’s ears as he and his comrades continued the fight.
…
Screaming from one of the Reichan observers as he fell clutching at a stomach that was visible to the world.
…
A fellow Carosonian lobbing a bundle grenade into the treads of a Naradian tank, promptly disabling the beast, only to be cut down moments later by vengeful Naradian shock troops.
…
A Reichan designed armoured car, it’s 2cm autocannon roaring in defiance, meeting a similar fate as the tank as Naradin state soldiers threw a satchel charge against the turret ring.
…
Then the ominous sound of heavy artillery firing in the distance filled the air…
It was amazing to think that so much carnage was being wrought upon the Carosonian 2nd Paratroop division. It was also amazing to think that it looked as though they just might be doing exactly what was needed… they were acting the perfect diversion…
The first artillery shells roared in with a sound similar to that of a powerful freight train, it was to be the last sound Huang Yang ever heard as the first shell landed squarely on top of his prone figure…
ELSEWHERE… THE SAME TIME
Above the Carosonian port city of Port Astonia, Karl Banner and six wingmates tore across the sky in their Black Talon fighters towards the embattled 2nd Paratroop division. Having been dropped in behind the advancing Naradian forces, the Carosonian 2nd were putting up one hell of a fight, and had been doing so for some time.
However, without aerial support, they were about to be a lot fewer in numbers than expected.
The Black Talon fighter was one of the most common designs in the Carosonian arsenal, a modification of the Black Claw fighters of the Reichan Air Arm, itself a modification of the Curtiss Hawk 75, these babies were currently loaded out with six small napalm bombs each, more than enough to toast anyone who seemed a little nasty towards the Carosonian ‘jumpers.
Screaming in over the battle scene he couldn’t help but whistle in surprise, explosions dotted the landscape, and the wreckage of a number of armoured vehicles threw greasy black pillars of smoke into the air. Needless to say, despite all this, it was nothing compared to the phenomenal battle that was occurring just twenty-two kilometers away at the front lines. There, it was a life or death struggle, combined Reichan and Caronosian forces against the less capable, but phenomenal in numbers Naradin State Army. The whole situation was going FUBAR very quickly, and if the paratroops couldn’t fend off the Naradin mechanized corps that was trying to dislodge them from their position overlooking what once was the Oderin Highway; then the Naradin forces would be able to resupply much easier… and potentially win this battle after all.
In the distance Karl noticed an artillery firing base. One of a number, however, this once seemed different – the guns weren’t facing towards the front lines…
“Carosonian 2nd, this is Bombard One on station and requesting coordinates for your barbeque over”
Karl’s voice was met with the sound of a somewhat agitated officer of the Paratroops yelling “ABOUT BLOODY TIME! WE HAVE ENEMY ARTILLERY NAILING US FROM SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTH! LOCATE AND ROAST THE BASTARDS!”
Acknowledging the order, Karl and his wingmen dived down towards the deck and sped towards the ‘shifty’ artillery camp… a few moments later, and the sky above the camp was filled with tracers, but the damage was already on its way as a number of napalm canisters coated the area in a sea of fire.
…
And to think… this war had only just begun…
…
"Even the smallest things can make a big difference"
AN EXCERPT FROM A MEDICAL DOCUMENTARY WITHIN THE REICHAN MEDICAL INSTITUTE
Just what is RDHV?
RDHV is the acronym used by scientists when talking about Rapid Divergence Hemoglobin Virus, the Rapid Divergence Hemoglobin Virus is generally accepted as being an ‘advanced stage’ form of the well known virus HIV AIDS – however, unlike its AIDS counterpart, RDH Virus is seemingly capable of being transmitted in a way similar to that of the common cold, and whilst not being anywhere near as virulent, the very fact that this virus can transmit in a fashion like this has left scientists baffled for many years.
One thing that scientists are certain about, however, is that this virus, if left untreated, is extremely deadly. Unless the patient is administered with either RDHV Antigens, or has their entire blood supply replaced, then the patients body systems will rapidly fail to function as the virus actively destroys both red and white blood cells, essentially suffocating the victims internal organs. Needless to say, death is variable in time, between 30 minutes and 6 hours, depending on which organs fail to function first, and can, in some cases, be extremely painful. Organ failure, however, does not occur instantly on transmission of the RDH Virus, and it can be months, sometimes even years or decades, before the virus instigates its aggressive tendencies. What triggers the aggressive viral behavior is unknown at this time, however scientists currently believe it may be a mixture of hormonal balances and chemical reactions within the bloodstream itself.
There is a cure for this virus, and it is perhaps one of the miracles of life that it is a cure that can be administered at any time, and providing that organ failure has not occurred, will bring a victim back to full health very soon after administration.
This cure is the blood of a select group of people who have been called ‘Messiahs’ for their life-giving qualities. The blood of a messiah is inherently resistant, and in some cases, openly aggressive against RDH Virus, and can either subdue the virus in lesser messiahs, or in the case of great messiahs, actually destroy the virus, regenerate lost cells, and neutralize the virulent properties of the agent.
The number of people within the world with this phenomenal ability to withstand the virus is extremely low, and when found, these people are often unfortunately sent to ‘blood farms’ where, hooked to machines and kept in a comatose state, they are continually siphoned of their blood to provide the cure nessecary for millions of people to survive against the virus. Whilst their situation is seen by some as despicable, it is accepted as a necessary evil by most.
...
"It may be true that one man may not be able to change history, but I'll give it a damn good shot anyway"
“You’d think that with everything that has happened to humanity, we’d learn how NOT to fight one another…” the man paused to kick a chunk of masonry for a while before beginning his speech again, “the conflicts before this one to gain our independence, the financial crisis, and then the virus of ’32 – we have all the reason in the world to want to help one another, and yet, here we are, at it again.”
The traveler became silent as he pushed his motorcycle along the streets of the abandoned city he’d driven to. Ahead of him, in what had once been the bustling economic heartland of this metropolis, he could see the huge, dilapidated skyscrapers that seemed to leer at him as he walked amongst their midsts. The huge holes in the skyline, and the long, uniform lines of rubble signifying places where one or more of these gargantuan monsters had finally succumbed to the strains of time and had fallen to their final resting places amongst their brethren.
The wanderers companion looked at him with a gaze that was a mixture of acknowledgement of speech and also a gaze of utter incomprehension before his mind became focused on scratching his ears.
The man stopped to pick up his companion, the Beagle he called “Brick”, and continued to walk on, “of course, none of this matters to you does it Brick? Far as you’re concerned, as long as you have some food in that gut of yours the world’s problems are solved” Brick tried his best to wriggle from the hold as the wanderer put him in his saddle bag on his motorbike and prepared to drive into town.
“Look I know you don’t like the bag, but if you don’t go there you’ll fall off the back like you did last time remember?” The wanderer looked back out towards the city, already he could hear the sounds of gunfire, and the drone of aircraft
“Welcome home Nathan, it’s good to have you back” he murmured as he kicked over the motorbike’s engine and roared down the street…
This will be a major civil war within my nation - the Black Reich - I am currently producing a factbook for my nation, however, having to make factbooks for what is essentially five different nation states under the auspice of one major rule (ala Ancient Greece with Athens and Sparta and whatnot) it is taking some time.
Nevertheless, expressions of interest to join can be found here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=12663569#post12663569)...
PROLOGUE:
Every story has a beginning, not all however, have an end
It was a harsh day, the sun scoured the scene that stretched before it, its uncaring gaze neither yielding nor assisting any unfortunate soul who dared to enter its domain. Apart from the blistering blackened sand that stretched for as far as the eye could see, there was a small crater, inside it sat a fantastic tangle of metal and the occasional piece of flexiglass that had yet to be sand-blasted. An ancient trail of wreckage gouged out by the object long since buried by the sands of time.
Inside this wreck, one of the few large enough to actually survive the heavy sand-blaster effects of the wastes, could still be seen the vestiges of the owners who had never returned home. The objects name… the land crawler Arbalest, could be found on a few spots where corrosion, and therefore damage, had not been able to reach. A design old even in its time, Arbalest was a Tricormoran class Sand Crawler, one of the first of its kind, from the time of the Old Empire. It’s starboard artillery cannons still visibly poked from what had been opened blast hatches, except they now aimed towards the sky, as if they were guarding the long dead colossus as they did during ‘the last battle’, the dying legacy of the Old Empire.
The last battle, and all the time before it, was the time of the ‘Old Empire’, an institute of legend, the Old Empire was said to encompass the entire planet, and had been the predominant superpower for centuries. However, despite its success, it had its enemies, enemies that grew and became powerful in their own right, and as such it was eventually destroyed in a desperate bid to save itself.
The bitter irony of the Old Empires efforts to save itself had not escaped the memory of history. It had been the weapons of the Old Empire’s arsenal that had eventually been its own destruction. Many simply could not comprehend the stories about whole valleys as far as the eye could see awash with chemicals, the stories passed down by generations about the nuclear-induced hellfires that had scoured the land so deep that not even the bedrock was safe; the stories of the decimation of the empires people from the massive radioactive fallout and the subsequent civil war after a final act of spite by the enemies of the Old Empire. Many, even to this day, believed the stories to be exaggerations at least, and fabulous hoaxes at most…
But then, few ever came to see the wastelands with their own eyes, and those that did never spoke of going there… they had there reasons to be there, none of which were accepted within the lands of The Black Reich.
…
"The one constant about humanity is that it never is"
Running, breath and heartbeat pounding in my head, look down the sight, take a sight picture, three rounds and target is down, Incoming! Hit the dirt! Too slow… god it hurts…
The sounds of death and destruction filled Huang Yang’s ears as he and his comrades continued the fight.
…
Screaming from one of the Reichan observers as he fell clutching at a stomach that was visible to the world.
…
A fellow Carosonian lobbing a bundle grenade into the treads of a Naradian tank, promptly disabling the beast, only to be cut down moments later by vengeful Naradian shock troops.
…
A Reichan designed armoured car, it’s 2cm autocannon roaring in defiance, meeting a similar fate as the tank as Naradin state soldiers threw a satchel charge against the turret ring.
…
Then the ominous sound of heavy artillery firing in the distance filled the air…
It was amazing to think that so much carnage was being wrought upon the Carosonian 2nd Paratroop division. It was also amazing to think that it looked as though they just might be doing exactly what was needed… they were acting the perfect diversion…
The first artillery shells roared in with a sound similar to that of a powerful freight train, it was to be the last sound Huang Yang ever heard as the first shell landed squarely on top of his prone figure…
ELSEWHERE… THE SAME TIME
Above the Carosonian port city of Port Astonia, Karl Banner and six wingmates tore across the sky in their Black Talon fighters towards the embattled 2nd Paratroop division. Having been dropped in behind the advancing Naradian forces, the Carosonian 2nd were putting up one hell of a fight, and had been doing so for some time.
However, without aerial support, they were about to be a lot fewer in numbers than expected.
The Black Talon fighter was one of the most common designs in the Carosonian arsenal, a modification of the Black Claw fighters of the Reichan Air Arm, itself a modification of the Curtiss Hawk 75, these babies were currently loaded out with six small napalm bombs each, more than enough to toast anyone who seemed a little nasty towards the Carosonian ‘jumpers.
Screaming in over the battle scene he couldn’t help but whistle in surprise, explosions dotted the landscape, and the wreckage of a number of armoured vehicles threw greasy black pillars of smoke into the air. Needless to say, despite all this, it was nothing compared to the phenomenal battle that was occurring just twenty-two kilometers away at the front lines. There, it was a life or death struggle, combined Reichan and Caronosian forces against the less capable, but phenomenal in numbers Naradin State Army. The whole situation was going FUBAR very quickly, and if the paratroops couldn’t fend off the Naradin mechanized corps that was trying to dislodge them from their position overlooking what once was the Oderin Highway; then the Naradin forces would be able to resupply much easier… and potentially win this battle after all.
In the distance Karl noticed an artillery firing base. One of a number, however, this once seemed different – the guns weren’t facing towards the front lines…
“Carosonian 2nd, this is Bombard One on station and requesting coordinates for your barbeque over”
Karl’s voice was met with the sound of a somewhat agitated officer of the Paratroops yelling “ABOUT BLOODY TIME! WE HAVE ENEMY ARTILLERY NAILING US FROM SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTH! LOCATE AND ROAST THE BASTARDS!”
Acknowledging the order, Karl and his wingmen dived down towards the deck and sped towards the ‘shifty’ artillery camp… a few moments later, and the sky above the camp was filled with tracers, but the damage was already on its way as a number of napalm canisters coated the area in a sea of fire.
…
And to think… this war had only just begun…
…
"Even the smallest things can make a big difference"
AN EXCERPT FROM A MEDICAL DOCUMENTARY WITHIN THE REICHAN MEDICAL INSTITUTE
Just what is RDHV?
RDHV is the acronym used by scientists when talking about Rapid Divergence Hemoglobin Virus, the Rapid Divergence Hemoglobin Virus is generally accepted as being an ‘advanced stage’ form of the well known virus HIV AIDS – however, unlike its AIDS counterpart, RDH Virus is seemingly capable of being transmitted in a way similar to that of the common cold, and whilst not being anywhere near as virulent, the very fact that this virus can transmit in a fashion like this has left scientists baffled for many years.
One thing that scientists are certain about, however, is that this virus, if left untreated, is extremely deadly. Unless the patient is administered with either RDHV Antigens, or has their entire blood supply replaced, then the patients body systems will rapidly fail to function as the virus actively destroys both red and white blood cells, essentially suffocating the victims internal organs. Needless to say, death is variable in time, between 30 minutes and 6 hours, depending on which organs fail to function first, and can, in some cases, be extremely painful. Organ failure, however, does not occur instantly on transmission of the RDH Virus, and it can be months, sometimes even years or decades, before the virus instigates its aggressive tendencies. What triggers the aggressive viral behavior is unknown at this time, however scientists currently believe it may be a mixture of hormonal balances and chemical reactions within the bloodstream itself.
There is a cure for this virus, and it is perhaps one of the miracles of life that it is a cure that can be administered at any time, and providing that organ failure has not occurred, will bring a victim back to full health very soon after administration.
This cure is the blood of a select group of people who have been called ‘Messiahs’ for their life-giving qualities. The blood of a messiah is inherently resistant, and in some cases, openly aggressive against RDH Virus, and can either subdue the virus in lesser messiahs, or in the case of great messiahs, actually destroy the virus, regenerate lost cells, and neutralize the virulent properties of the agent.
The number of people within the world with this phenomenal ability to withstand the virus is extremely low, and when found, these people are often unfortunately sent to ‘blood farms’ where, hooked to machines and kept in a comatose state, they are continually siphoned of their blood to provide the cure nessecary for millions of people to survive against the virus. Whilst their situation is seen by some as despicable, it is accepted as a necessary evil by most.
...
"It may be true that one man may not be able to change history, but I'll give it a damn good shot anyway"
“You’d think that with everything that has happened to humanity, we’d learn how NOT to fight one another…” the man paused to kick a chunk of masonry for a while before beginning his speech again, “the conflicts before this one to gain our independence, the financial crisis, and then the virus of ’32 – we have all the reason in the world to want to help one another, and yet, here we are, at it again.”
The traveler became silent as he pushed his motorcycle along the streets of the abandoned city he’d driven to. Ahead of him, in what had once been the bustling economic heartland of this metropolis, he could see the huge, dilapidated skyscrapers that seemed to leer at him as he walked amongst their midsts. The huge holes in the skyline, and the long, uniform lines of rubble signifying places where one or more of these gargantuan monsters had finally succumbed to the strains of time and had fallen to their final resting places amongst their brethren.
The wanderers companion looked at him with a gaze that was a mixture of acknowledgement of speech and also a gaze of utter incomprehension before his mind became focused on scratching his ears.
The man stopped to pick up his companion, the Beagle he called “Brick”, and continued to walk on, “of course, none of this matters to you does it Brick? Far as you’re concerned, as long as you have some food in that gut of yours the world’s problems are solved” Brick tried his best to wriggle from the hold as the wanderer put him in his saddle bag on his motorbike and prepared to drive into town.
“Look I know you don’t like the bag, but if you don’t go there you’ll fall off the back like you did last time remember?” The wanderer looked back out towards the city, already he could hear the sounds of gunfire, and the drone of aircraft
“Welcome home Nathan, it’s good to have you back” he murmured as he kicked over the motorbike’s engine and roared down the street…