NationStates Jolt Archive

LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FROM MILITARY FORCE
The people of Haven should be at liberty to trade freely with who they please, not forced into mercantilism from the guns of NATO warships. In their colonies across Haven, the New Alliance Treaty Organisation has butchered native populations numbering in the millions. From their many naval and air bases they sponsor, fund, and train pirates and terrorists in all the oceans of Haven, except our own and those under our umbrella of liberty. Their diabolical plans have continued unexposed for years. But there is one family that stands in the way of total NATO hegemony over the Havenic people: this family is the family of nations, our Commonwealth and Empire, and its brothers and sisters who stand resolute in the face of NATO aggression. We will show NATO our strength of arms and our iron will in our campaign of liberation for the Havenic people. - Questarian propaganda leaflet

North Questers,
Northern Command Headquarters,
Officers Mess
12th July, 1951

The stink of cigar smoke clogged the air. Eighties party music blasted around the room as officers, male and female, some even from the Navy and some of them pilots drank and danced. Tomorrow, they all knew they’d be embarking on the highway to hell, so to speak – the massive land invasion of Allanean soil. It was the beginning of the end, and they all knew it. There was no chance of victory, and if there was, none of them would be alive at the end. Their fates, as commanding officers, were sealed. They drank away their last hours as free men and women, not bound by war or imprisonment or death.

Lieutenant General Peter Carter lit up another cigar, leaning back on the comfortable sofa and sighing, puffing out the smoke from the Doomani cigar and pouring out another whiskey. Said sofa had been 'bought' from a hardware store and brought over via Chinook for this last night. Bureaucracy at its best, Carter thought. His eyes scanned the large room, disco lights strobing from right to left, and Carter guessed there may have been a couple dozen senior officers partying like there was no tommorow. There wasn't, he supposed. Carter, like most educated men, didn't agree with the government, nor did many of his friends and colleagues in the intelligentsia. But Questers, despite its excessive individual and economic liberties, was essentially a military dictatorship, led by the King, the Prime Minister, and a few staunch head officers and a mass of loyal troops. Him and his friends knew if they spoke out against the war, they could easily be replaced by eager officers loyal to the Empire. Just thinking about it, Carter snorted. Loyal indeed. Since when was not supporting the most devastating and pointless war in your countries history disloyal? There was a certain Goering quote that Carter had lingering in his mind.

"Hey there." Carter had failed to notice the woman who had just sat down opposite him on an armchair that had been flown in with the sofa. So much for observation skills. "Oh, hi. Didn't notice you there."

"I don't think the Allaneans will say the same thing tommorow."

"Hah, quite."

"Anyway, you're Carter, right?"

"Uh huh. Lieutenant General Peter Carter." he was going to shake her hand but decided it wasn't exactly a formal meeting anyway.

"I was just ordered up here not so long ago. I was told I'll be operating on your right flank, so I thought it'd be a good idea for us to get acquainted."

"Makes sense. Whats your unit?" Carter said, enjoying his cigar.

"38th Special Brigade." she said, rather quietly. Carter was quite aghast, but didn't show it. A special brigade, on his flank? Shit. He knew her uniform was different somehow. The Special Units were well known for their ferociousness in battle. Any stupid and irrational moves could compromise his formations. That and he'd been told that Special Unit General Staff were prone to reporting their standard Army peers for cowardice. It was generally a stain on combat performance, or so he'd been told.

"Well, uh. Welcome to Allanea, I suppose."

"Some welcome party you guys have!"

He shrugged. “I’m leaving soon anyway. I’d rather not have a banging headache when going to war.”

Before allowing a response, Carter paused. “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting, anyway?”

“Fumiko Shimohara. Brigadier General.”

“Well then, Brigadier General, good to meet you. I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose.”

North Questers,
438th Air Regiment Aerodrome
13th July, 1951

The early morning sun rose as it did every day, casting light across the barren terrain around the air regiments airbase. This sun was special, though. It was rising on the dawn of the Armed Struggle for Greater Havenic Liberation, or so it had been named. The pilots of the regiment stood silently facing the sun as it rose while various girls from local farms began performing traditional rituals of the Army Air Service, handing out ceremonial cups of tea and attaching ceremonial belts to the airmen, which was supposed to bring them good luck in their armed struggle. Their commander had already briefed them on the tough times ahead and their duty was clear. The opening stages of the battle would see Questarian airpower become absolutely critical, and attaining strategic air superiority was the primary concern of the Army Air Service. Their aircraft, parked neatly on the tarmac, having been cleaned and decorated with the most traditional and holy of symbols, would not be the first opening strike, however. If you want to clean your garden of wasps, the best way is to set alight the nest. This is precisely what would happen.

At precisely six thirty six AM on the 13th of July, 1951 Questarian Calendar, the Government of Questers gave notices to foreign diplomats that a state of war now existed between Questers and any NATO nations and their Gholgoth allies. Moments later, the governments of various Commonwealth states issued their own edicts in support of the Imperium. Precisely fifteen seconds after the Questarian declaration was made, the world erupted into fire.

The first flames were on the border of Allanea. Over twenty thousand truck/ramp launched ICCMs were massed in range of all Allanean airfields and sixteen bomber squadrons with similar weapons were on the tarmac ready to take off. The firing sequence was staggered and simultaneous; within an hour, all the missiles would have been discharged, but at different altitudes. Some flew low over the Allanean countryside and some flew high amongst the clouds, coming straight down on their target. Amongst them were various ‘dud’ missiles packed with chaff and ECM systems to distract counter missiles. Their targets were airbases and airbases alone spread throughout Allanean territory neighbouring Questers. One in every ten of the missiles was an ECM dud and one in every ten was packed with bomblets and mines that would linger hundreds of anti personnel mines across airfields to slow down repairing. The rest were simply high explosives, seeking to destroy ammunition dumps, crater the tarmac, hit planes about to take off, and strike takeoff facilities. In general, they were designed to cause destruction on a scale that would allow the Questarians to take and hold the initiative in the air and start pounding Allanean forces on the ground. After the initial attack, bomber squadrons launching ICCMs from behind the border would continue to hit Allanean airfields throughout the rest of the day, irrelevant of the success of the opening attack.

Apart from that, cruise missiles were also heavily employed in logistical strikes across Allanea. Key rail lines and highways were identified and attacked, without care for the civilian loss of what was now considered a ‘decadent’ nation. To strike major highways, concentrated ICCM strikes at every mile for considerable distances with large numbers of anti personnel mines and cratering bomblets were used to ensure that roads would not be able to be efficiently used by the Allanean Army to bring up further reservists or supplies or reinforcements to the front line. Railway lines and railway stations, both civilian and military, suffered from similar attacks from both bombers and land based missiles. The bombers, of course, wouldn’t cross into Allanean territory, no, nothing so dangerous. They just simply acted as another way of getting more missiles into the sky, firing from well behind the border. Directly after the initial bombardment, at 8 o clock in the morning, more missiles were brought up and after satellites identified the twenty largest supply and fuel depots within 300km of the frontline, they too were engaged with 4000 truck/ramp based ICCMs and further bomber strikes throughout the day continued to hit all levels of supply depots throughout Allanea, but mostly through the frontline. All in all, throughout the day, around 40,000 ICCMs would be fired at Allanea. Later on, when air superiority was guaranteed, more tactical bombing raids would take over from mass missile attacks, but for now this would have to suffice. To neutralise ground crew and to cause mass damage over the airfield in terms of ‘soft’ materiel and personnel, many missiles designed to strike airfields and supply dumps were given fairly large FAE warheads. These were launched in isolated waves so as not to disturb the other missiles. The missiles were launched over The Prophet and The Atheist Reality and the border itself to hit Allanea.

But air superiority isn’t just guaranteed by hitting airbases. Right before the war, the First Air Fleet under the renowned Air Marshall Saburo Sakai, had been formed from all the fighter units in North Questers. It totaled at least twelve thousand air superiority aircraft with double that number in reserve behind the lines that could be brought up to fill gaps quickly. Doubtless the Scandavians would respond in kind to the missile attack, so many airbases were well defended with anti missile systems and well protected hangars, though casualties were expected. Moments after the first wave of missiles were launched, the pilots of the 438th, with hundreds of their comrades, were ordered into the air.

The A7 Reppu was the main service plane of the IQAAS, though when the next batch of Candrian FA15s began to arrive, they'd start to be used. However, the indigenous plane would have to do Flight Officer Dempsey supposed, as he pulled back the throttle and lifted his plane in the air. Radio chatter quickly halted as a prayer and then the national anthem played. As the planes moved to the Allanean border over the scenic background Dempsey gasped. The amount of men and tanks moving up towards the front was incredible. A line stretching to the horizon and beyond of Questarian forces marching to war. A cold fear hit his heart. This was certainly no drill.

North Questers,
312th Mechanised Rifle Division HQ
13th July, 1951
0632 Hours

"Is this fucking war going to start or not?" Carter asked nobody in particular as he lit up a cigarette in his command halftrack. The 312th Mechanised was one of the frontline units that would smash into the Allanean lines. Right now his columns and squadrons of trucks, tanks, and APCs were lying dormant, but ready to go at any minute. The troops were worked up. This was it. The waiting for the last few minutes of silence were the longest, they always said. It was true. Carter's three divisions were part of the spearhead into the Allanean lines. All mechanised, they would accompany the massive armoured strike into Allanean soil. Carter was beginning to wonder if it ever would kick off when there was a shout from below his halftrack. "Sir, sir!"

"What is it soldier?" he replied.

"Message from HQ." he said, panting. Obviously the runner had been told to get here quick. Carter knew it. This was it. Just as he opened the message the roar of jet engines overhead signalled the beginning. The message was short and clear: begin combat operations. This was it. He took a deep breath and took up a link to all the radios in his vehicles.

"This is Lt.General Carter. Combat operations begin as of now. Good luck and God speed."

The whole line and formation had the order: advance. The first advance consisted of nine mechanised divisions mixed with nine armoured divisions. Behind that, large formatiosn of infantry and armour were ready to exploit the breakthrough. In three long lines of mixed mechanised and armour the Questarian Army advanced on the Midlonian and Allanean defences. Air support too was on the way, with large waves of CAS aircraft and Doomani produced HELOs raining fire on the opening line of defence.

As soon as shots were fired from Questers, the Third Fleet shored up its formation over the Ardan force in Northern Allanea. Still considerably out of gun range from the corridor, the fleets formed up in a defensive front between the Pax host and the Allanean border.

Frigates swept to the front and the Destroyers and SD's arrayed themselves in front-facing offset diamond formations behind them. The Weathertop was nestled away towards the rear of the formation, near the flank on the northeast side of the line. The Westernesse promptly disgorged a fighter compliment of six squadrons, but no obvious moves were made towards the border.

Three Florentines presided over the fleets from above and behind, their antennas flickering blue and red, blaring notification tones to the ships all around them. The fighters climb high into the atmosphere and take static* postitions overtop the fleet while Ragnar and Valkyrie class gunships eventually start to join them.

***
Back in Arda, the Third Kinetic Detachment had just loosed its opening volley and was preparing another. The Fourth Fleet would leave shortly, and final loading preparations were underway for the Pax Eastern deployment. The ongoing strikes in Ceylon would be but a prelude (and distraction for) the upcoming landings at various points in Haven.

In Daturias, an anxious throng gathered outside of the Serechav, clogging one of the city's main overland thoroughfares. It was expected the Angsiyan would speak soon, and he was never one to disappoint.

*OOC: Grav drives allow my fightercraft to linger unmoving in the air for short periods of time. It allows me to set up formations and makes traffic around the fleets a little less hectic (and fuel demanding), but it's vulnerable to quick attacks and the ships basically have to accelerate and "take off" again from midair, which poses its own unique set of problems.

The initial missile attacks were noted to stealth observation sats in geostationary orbit, the information tight-beamed down to relay dishes on the surface, and from there fed to the Joint Strategic Command. When the data reached the JSC it was fed through fiber-optic wire and down several stories into what was known as "The Pit." The Pit was a massive auditorium-style room that had hundreds of personal terminals where Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, and Sailors toiled away processing the specialty-specific data that was fed to them. When the data was properly processed, it was sent to the part of The Pit called the Stage, where several low-order supercomputers collated the data and displayed it on the holographic map of Haven where the appropriate symbols popped up with pertinent status data.

While the initial missile bombardment had been expected, the land attack had not. None of the Imperial planners had expected the Questarians to be so obliging as to actually strike the first blow on the land front with its largely conscript army, even be it so monstrously huge. Which explained why the Officer of the Watch (a Colonel in the Imperial Army) stared at the holomap flabbergasted. After clearing his head he punched a few commands to activate the standard orders that were to go out in any scenario; divisions tapped to reinforce Allanea were given movement orders, Combat Air Patrols were stepped up to squadron level with regular rotations so something from every base was always in the, and fleets grouped into task forces and moved from their moorings so as to avoid attacks in harbor. A second set of commands sent a query about what to do in retaliation. The Answer came down swiftly; hit every airfield, air defense site, laager, depot, known or suspected command post, or anything at all that could hinder the advance with kinetics.

The Kinetic Strike Satellites (KSS-2 and KSS-3 series) were the IAF's ace in the hole. Where enemies sought to defend their valuable assets against bomber and tactical fighter sorties with masses of SAMs, the Imperium responded by pound those sites with thousands of kinetic rods dropped from space. The KSS-2 series satellites carried "strategic" kinetics, deemed such because their massive size and weight at impact velocity resulted in enough energy being released to completely wipe out several city blocks. The KSS-3, by contrast, carried a relatively small and low energy rod that was meant to devastate point targets rather than large swathes of land or massive targets. Each KSS-2 was accompanied by three KSS-3 satellites in what was known as a constellation, which was further broken down into galaxies of twelve constellations. Further, each real galaxy was accompanied by two dummy galaxies that acted as decoys so as to make targeting by ASAT weapons a chancier proposition. A simple command, relayed by orbital comms sats, set up the attack sequence so that a galaxy came into attack range of Haven once every hour and launched a massed attack against whatever assets needed to be hit.

The Date of Execution

I WANDERED lonely as a cow
That grazes softly on vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

~Midlonian Poem

Midlonian “Helios theatre” - Air defence sectors.

Midlonia was a nation of practical engineering, it invented various devices that allowed entire things to be constructed or repaired in short periods of time, an anti-runway attack against both Allanean, Midlonian and various allied airfields had been expected, which had meant that the special runway-repair machinery had been dashed in within the last few months, not quite enough to go around, but enough to have made a significant difference. Same with the Anti-Personel mines, it helped slow up any such ability to repair a runway quickly.

That was until the eccentric Dr. Arkwright had been given permission to design, test and build a series of unusual devices specifically for this war which might never have come. It was one of these such devices that went to work now, lurching from it’s heavily protected bunker the machine was quite large, around 20 feet wide, it carried a large bucket at the front and a giant roller at the back. Ontop was the bubbling vat of Asphalt and a pile of rocks and dirt.

Carefully lowing it’s front bucket down to the runway the vehicle set to work, it was slowly sweeping it’s way along the runway, taking with it the anti-personel devices, behind it, it squirted new tarmac and asphalt down onto the runway, flooding the gaps made by the anti-runway devices, it was forced to stop to allow the dirt and rocks to be used to start filling the hole in, before pouring asphalt onto it. The giant roller behind it levelled the asphalt to the same level as the rest of the runway.

It wasn’t a perfect system, but it was saving lives and the most vital thing of all.

Time.

Precious time.

Strategic Rail Authority

The same was happening with the rail-network, it was mostly built for heavy freight-work [and at that, was designed mostly by Midlonians] So repairing the track wasn’t a problem, they simply threw down the specialist “Temporary” track that more often than not became permanent, it meant that the trains had to travel slightly slower.

But it was better than them not travelling at all.


Tartarus Line

“Take cover! Find a fox hole! Find a bunker! Find a fucking rock if you hav-” The sentence was finished as the rocket slammed into the ground and threw the officer like a rag doll. The 3rd Expeditionary Army [Laputian] was currently running around like ants in the face of the onslaught, screaming overhead were the Dove fighters and Hortley Strikers, more were arriving but only in dribs and drabs due to runways being steadily, but slowly, put back online within only minutes of the initial bombardment.

Eventually the bombardment stopped. Which could only mean one thing…

Whistles began going off up and down the Tartarus line, bagpipes began to wail into life and officers began to scream orders again, mixed with the screams of the dying, the wounded…

“Make ready the guns!”
“Mediiiiiiic, My leg, ah jesus tha bastard’s got mah leg!”
“Get your anti-personnel weapons ready!”
“Stretcher bearers! Get up here now!”
“Get your Anti-tank weapons ready!”

Over a tannoy system that, somehow, remained untouched from the bombardment crackled a harsh voice of Lieutenant General Douglas.

“Ye boys anne stupid, so I’ll be blunt. There’s a shit loa’ Armour and Infantry coming fer us. All I can say is good luck, and keep fighting, even if ye die I want ye to keep fighting.”

The men and women of the Kilted 3rd Expeditionary Army [Laputian] made themselves ready. Guns were wheeled out of dirt bunkers ready, rocket-artillery systems set up and programmed to fire on pre-determined routes they expected the Questarians to use so they could be fired at the push of a button.

As the Questarian aircraft hit the rear of the Allanean lines, a vast loss of life was inflicted by them. Upwards of 15,000 soldiers and approximately 4,000 civilians have been killed. Throughout the Serendis Perimeter, dark plumes of smoke rose as Questarian missiles impacted fuel dumps, ammunition dumps, and military vehicles. It was a happy thing that most of the supplies were already in place, and that Allanean citizens rarely used railroads – or much, much many more civilians would be dead.

Indeed, the Allaneans had their own ways to deal with the Questarian onslaught.

After all, they had installed several thousand AA installations across a 300-kilometer front for a reason. Now, that reason would be revealed.

The sky darkened with detonation smoke from hundreds of thousands of flak cannon shells of various calibers. Around the ammo dumps – happily, the Allanean military practiced a decentralized ammo dump system – MTHEL lasers came to life. Chemtrails from guided AA missiles followed Questarian aircraft on their way in and on their way out. And, once their motion was spotted, several hundred F/A-84 'Shadow' stealth ASF’s took off, fighting to intercept the bombers with theater-range air-to-air missiles.

In orbit, and in various locations throughout the country, chemical-laser installations and ABM rocket installations came to life, firing their payloads at the incoming swarms of Questarian ACCMs. Some would be vaporized, others disabled by EMP, and yet others would impact, turning airfields into wreckage.

In the meanwhile, the Questarian invaders would not find the first ten kilometers of Allanea at all pleasant. It was mined, and mined heavily – with over five hundred anti-personnel and fifty anti-tank mines per square kilometer. As the Questarians entered Allanea, they would be greeted by these landmines – and by the explosions of large, 150-ton explosive charges planted under the highways at the very border. The war has begun for real.

First Line of Allanean Defenses

Here, too, the Questarian attack has done serious damage – much more serious, in fact, that at the back of the front. Even though the Allanean lines have been well-fortified and equipped with a variety of both visual and IR decoys (militaryspeak for cardboard tanks and burning canisters of il) – the Doomani-made helicopters have done their work. Along the front line of defense, approximately five thousand people have been killed, and four times that were wounded.

Even despite that, this line was not defenseless against attacks from the air. Flak cannon and heavy machineguns, shoulder-launched missiles and even .308 rifles came to life, tossing insane amounts of lead at the enemy helicopters.

Everywhere, the usual chaos of war set off. Lieutenants were barking into their radios, calling for reinforcements. Back behind the line, troops began to make their way towards the front line, rapidly reinforcing the losses.

But the real power of the Allaneans did not come from the front line.

Allanean ATGM position

“Troops! We have incoming Questarian traitors on all fronts! The Sovereign League’s ideals have been betrayed! Man the launchers! Ready at my command!”

The officer stood, raising a hand. All troops eyes followed it.

“At my command… towards the incoming enemy armor… fire!”

The hand fell, and, from the ten entrenched position, ten long, long string of brilliant fire began to unravel, nine targeting the Questarian tanks, one, carrying an FAE – armed missile, targeted the infantry.

The scene repeated itself everywhere upon the border. There have been approximately 7,000 Tagus ATGM launchers hidden in various positions, some slightly behind the Allanean line, others far back as reinforcements. Right now, only about a third of that number were in range to fire upon the incoming tanks.

Even further back were the Munich ATGM vehicles that had longer range – and so, almost all of them could be brought to bear on the Questarian enemy from the 11-kilometer mark – and the Questarian enemy was coming closer and closer.

Allaneans! Freemen! Countrymen!

This is president Friedrich Goldwasser speaking. Only minutes ago our fair motherland was attacked by the foul Questarians. These people have committed the crime which we had long suspected they would soon commit – they have betrayed the Sovereign League. They have decided to side with Doomingsland – and against NATO, with Doomingsland – and against Allanea, with Doomingsland – and against freedom itself. Freemen, soldiers, countrymen, have no doubt in your mind. The enemy which is coming to invade our motherland is nothing but another ally of the foul Doomani octopus, a perverted monster of international proportions…

Artillery position, 25 kilometers from the border

The President’s speech blared out from all microphones as the troops worked in a frenzy, ripping the protective tarpaulins of the twenty batteries that were in the area.

The reason for such a large artillery deployment was simple – there was also a Jeanne D’Arc cannon standing in the middle of the clearing – a 1000mm-caliber, experimental self-propelled monster that seemed to come straight out of a mind of a mad scientist – which, in fact, it did.

Inscribed on the barrel of the monster was the slogan DEATH TO THE THEOCRAT. And standing on the glacis plate of the titan was Marshal Mohammad Al-Khattab.

“Troops! I have bad news! The airfields behind us have just been hit by a Questarian attack! This means our air support will be heavily reduced in power! This means everything depends on you! On Her Majesty’s valiant field artillery!”

There was silence.

“The good news, boys, is that the Questarians are moving in in force – and this means we’re getting’ us lots – and I mean lots – of dirty, racist redcoats to torch! Do you want to torch yourself some redcoats, boys?”

“Yes, sir!”

“To your cannon! Ready to shoot and kill!”

The Jeanne D’Arc cannon fired first, delivering an insanely oversized shell that opened up over the Questarian lines, showering some random armored column with several tons of semi-guided anti-armor subminitions.

“Fire, battery!”

The fire of the batteries was echoed by batteries all across the line. Even 20 kilometers back from the front, the Allanean cannon were able to deliver shells both into the incoming ranks of Questarian lines and into the rear. Right now, however, they did not interest themselves in the rear. Rather, they fired all they had into the three lines of Questarian armor. Concentrated as it was across only 300 kilometers of front, it would be especially open to anti-armor submunitions. With almost 20,000 cannon – and 3,000 TR29 tanks that could pretend to be SP cannon in a pinch - the result would be most awesome.

Mohammad grinned momentarily at the enormous four-barreled Krigud self-propelled artillery cannon. It was those cannon that comprised the bulk of Allanea’s artillery on this front – and now, the government’s investment in the Kriegzimmer corporation would begin to pay off. Within the one minute that Mohammad was grinning at the cannon, it fired six shells, all loaded with anti-armor submunitions. Mohammad knew that, at the very same moment, approximately 80,000 such shells were being fired by the KriGud cannon alone – pelting everything that was speeding through the narrow patch of Allanean-Questarian border with anti-armor munitions, about ten of them per shell.


They did not even need to pause to await a reload – every Allanean battery was near a well-concealed supply of ammunition kept in a small underground dug-out.

But Mohammad could not remain there, staring at the cannon firing. As the commander of all artillery units on this front, he had things to do. One of these ‘things’ was to scream into his communicator unit:

“Demanding Sky Rain on enemy cloudmakers, repeat, Sky Rain!”

The Allanean military did not have many god rod satellites over Haven, but it did have about 20 of it’s entire capacity. Under Al-Khattab’s request, they fired their full armament – 280 god rods – at the positions of enemy ICCM launch batteries.

“Where is the air support? Where’s the goram penguins? Where are the fucking penguins?”

“Ess-tee-eff-you. We have trouble on the airfields here, we can’t get them all in the air yet. The Questarians fucked us good and proper on this one.”

’Freemen, Allaneans, Countrymen, what we witness today may appear as a battle for Allanea’s existence. This, I assure you, is fucking bullshit. Allanea’s existence is not at stake. What is in fact happening – what you will witness today on your computer and television screens – are the last hours of the Questarian Commonwealth, it’s last, disgusting death throes.’

On the airfields

Indeed, the airfields were the place where the Questarians did the most damage. A fifth of the SU-25AL’s in the area were damaged, and most of the other ones could not take off yet, due to horrible damage to the runways. What the Allaneans could cobble together was far less impressive then they’d hoped.

KDE is up and runnning…

The ‘Flying Tux’ SU-25ALs began to take off – about 500 of them, a mere fifth of what the Allaneans had hoped to throw at the Questarians on the first hour of fighting. Low near the ground, about 600 helicopters – again, a fraction of what was expected – showered the Questarian tanks and IFV with ATGMs. But the Flying Tuxes had a different mission.

The black-painted ground-support aircraft flew high, to an altitude of about 6 furlongs. From there, the aircraft used their targeting computers to drop a total 5,000 tons of AP cluster bombs on the advancing Questarians. They would be accompanied – and aided –by 15 Ank’riat strategic bombers that the Allaneans scrambled in the panic of the attack, escorted by some ad-hoc fighter group at their highest altitudes, CIWS systems ready. These hit the Questarian front line with 3,000 more tons of cluster bombs.

But even this would be far from enough.

Which was approximately what Marshal Sirus ‘Virus’ Graham told Marshal Al-Khattab.

Actually, what he said was.

“Shit! Fuck, Mohammad, I can’t help you much, get help elsewhere. Like, fire up your big boys or something!”

Mohammad Al-Khattab’s location

“Oh, fuck you, too, I have no ‘big boys’ to call on.’ – spat Al-Khattab as he turned off the communicator. And then it hit him.

Seconds later, he was already talking via radio broadcast with his MLRS launch teams.

“Guys! Is it a cold morning?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“And you know what that means?”

“No, Sir!”

“It means God wants you to burn more Questarians! Ready on your launchers! FRY THEM UP!”

And so the MRLS launchers began to fire. Their first salvoes would carry fuel-air explosives. The logic Al-Khattab used was simple:

“If one MRLS launcher, using FAE rockets, can create a circle of fire three klicks in radius, a thousand of them can envelop the entire Questarian lines in horrible, burning fire from the sky. And the fact they’re advancing through what was once a nature preserve means there’s lots of wood to burn, too.”

Of course, it remained to be seen how the Questarians react to the Allanean minefields, hedgehogs, anti-tank emplacements and the anti-tank ditch that protected the Allanean line - but



OOC:

So, eh, OOC summary of what I’ve thrown at you:


600 air superiority fighters
2,100 Tagus ATGM launchers (a tenth of those are firing FAE munitions).
2,000 Munich ATGMs vehicles
280 god rods aimed at ICCM launch batteries.
8,000 tons of anti-personnel cluster bombs.

Also there’s a variety of landmines, anti-tank hedgehogs, and various craps strewn in the ten-klick strip of land between the border and the Allanean lines, and then there is an AT ditch, and then 100 meters of land, and then the Allanean lines. That’s been detailed in Midlonia’s deployment thread.

But here’s the the SERIOUS, big one:

Approximately 120,000 cannon shells within the first two minutes of fire, carrying lots and lots and lots of anti-armor submunitions. These, of course, will affect all vehicles, not just armor, and will be targeting all vehicles. Added to this are about 40,000 MRLS rockets carrying FAE.

[sorry I coudlnt continue this. it will be added to tomorow.]

North Questers
13th July, 1951

The Scandavian kinetic response was expected, and the Questarians knew there was very little they could do about it. Nevertheless, Strategic Aerospace Command was determined to put a dent in the Scandavian capability to launch Kinetic strikes. As soon as the first strike hit home, twelve flights of Praetonian built Sabre SSTO bombers designed for striking satellite assets rose into the air and headed for their limits. They couldn't pass into the atmosphere but their ASAT weapons certainly could. The pilots felt the pressure of the G Forces as they speedily advanced into range of the next Scandavian satellites. The first had already gotten away with it, but the next strike wouldn't be so lucky. From their modified bombbays, each began to launch the ASOO-1M anti satellite weapons. The massive payload of the spaceplane allowed it to carry many of these missiles, which each weighed slightly under three tons. Each spaceplane carried 60 of such missiles which where targeted at the next satellite galaxy, which was just moving into range of Haven. They would then land, refuel, and be sent into the sky again to deal with another set of galaxies, though it was cycling; there where eight such sapceplane formations scattered throughout Haven. They would almost constantly be in the air. SAC had always kept tabs on Scandavian satellites and though they couldn't find out where all of them where, they knew there were at least fourty that could move over Haven. In total, 2,160 of the ASAT weapons were launched against the satellites before the spaceplanes headed for home, saddened that they couldn't intercept the first attack.

And of course, there was kinetic retaliation. It was true: Questarian military satellites were underpar and outnumbered compared to their Scandavian equivalents, but they would have to do. Each group of satellites was a 'squadron' and each squadron contained 10 combat satellites. Having already being moved over Haven in anticipation, there were currently 120 satellites waiting to hit their targets. Their kinetic strikes didn't have the flexibility of the Scandavian, and only used one type of rod which each satellite carried eighty of. However, nothing could be wasted, and their targets where of clear importance: the two gigantic Scandavian aerospace airfields on the border of Allanea. Thirty of the satellites were already preprogrammed to strike these targets, and so they did; fifteen to an airfield. The result would be less spectacular than the Scandavian attack, but nevertheless neccessary, and now it was a question of what to do with the rest, which was simple. Another thirty of the satellites where dedicated to striking any logistics 100km either side of the border of Allanea to Scandavia, to slow down the advance of reinforcements, and another 30 satellites were given their striking orders on the least hit airfields in Allanea. The rest opened fire on rear line Army units in Allanea, irregardless of nationality: any formation of troops larger than a division was hit by at least five rods.

North Questers,
312th Mechanised Rifle Division HQ
13th July, 1951
0800 Hours

"Fuck off!" Carter yelled again to noone in particular as an explosion rocked nearby. Of course, there was noone to yell to: his command staff where dead. His troops were still advancing but Carter was lying face down in a ditch, his burnt out halftrack lying on its side over the ditch. Rockets flew overhead, setting alight entire paths of advancing infantry. It was hell on Earth out here, and Carter was still trying to dial Command Headquarters. "Fucking pick up you piece of shit" He screamed down the microphone.

"Woah there General, no need to be so angsty" Came back the reply from Field Marshall Blucher. He was the one that had put Carter's division on the frontline, and Carter figured it was for that time he tried it on with Blucher's daughter.

"We're getting fucking cut down out here. Where is that god damn air support?"

"Don't worry, don't worry." Blucher said back calmly. "Its coming."

"It better fucking do!" Carter yelled down the line. "My god damn command crew is slaughtered and my divisions spread out across this fucking deathtrap. They've got so much fucking artillery!"

"Don't worry Carter, help is on the way. Just consider yourself lucky I didn't put you in a footslogger division."

Blucher hung up and Carter cursed (again). He sat back in the ditch, relatively safe, and watched the infantry advance. They were being torn apart. Blood poured over the fields. This was ridiculous... where was the air suppo-

D3A Suisei's are very loud. Especially when there are several thousand of them. Especially when there are several thousand of them unleashing all sorts of munitions over the enemy lines; bunker buster bombs, freefall bombs, rockets, but most of all, napalm was used freely against anything open. From teh first wave, hundreds of napalm rockets and bombs were delivered over enemy positions. Pilots that were shot down directed their aircraft down over enemy hardened positions before bailing out. One such pilot was Captain Kazuo Tanimizu.

His D3A was painted in the black and red livery of the 667th Army Air Regiment. His squadron was tasked with destruction of heavy artillery, namely the gigantic Midlonian guns further back now that airspace was basically clear for the D3s to fly in. However, they had noticed larger Allanean 'Krigud' artillery pieces way closer to the line, and had permission to engage. The squadron consisted of 24 aircraft in six Wings of four. They were set up to attack large artillery, and as such in each Wing there was an aircraft with eight 600kg sp-21 napalm bombs, one with a 5000lb bunker buster, and two with 12 600kg LGBs. They began to attack the Allanean artillery, using the bunker busters on the giant guns themselves and the FAE bombs on the crew nearby. The LGBs were too dispersed over the weapons themselves. Captain Kazuo Tanimizu had brought his plane over, dropping a series of bombs over the artillery position, when he realised he'd been hit - a true testament to the strength of the D3, a 20mm gun had ripped through his wing and he was still flying. Not for long, though, as his plane began to lurch into a sickening dive. He was the last plane in teh raid to deliver munitions and the others were turning for home. He signalled them the typical signal (Good Luck and God Save the King) and they replied in fashion as he directed his plane somewhere in the direction of an ammunition dump and bailed out, parachuting over the recently hit Allanean artillery position.

Carter watched the fireworks light up. Sweet vengeance he thought to himself, but he realised the attack was still continuing despite horrific casualties. This was murder. It was just wrong. Ahead of him, whole fields of destroyed tanks and wounded and killed men lay between his ditch and the murderous fire of the Midlonian/Allanean line. They were only a few kilometres away. He'd penetrated pretty far, he had to hand it to himself, and most of the carnage had happened behind him. Although the Questarian mobile artillery, batteries upon batteries of 155mm artillery was raining hell on the enemy lines as well as massive air bombardments, directly targeting the Allanea artillery, especially the MLRS. However, behind Carter was a field of fire. Casualties must have been tremendous.

"Does anyone read me? Anybody?" the voice came over the radio. Carter recognised it but couldn't put his finger on it.

"312th Mechanised Division HQ, reads you over." Carter replied.

"Brigadier General Shimohara, 38th Special Brigade. We've penetrated into their line. We need reinforcements badly otherwise they're going to push us back, over."

Carter sighed. He knew that women was going to be nothing but trouble. And to think he could have spent the rest of that battle in this nice little ditch...

"312th will see what it can do Brigadier General. Over and out." Carter hung up. He then set an area-wide frequency to all units still alive.

"This is General Carter, does anybody read me?"

Carter's response was reasonable: It seemed out of his opening force of 60,000 men, around 10,000 were still alive. This number was later said to be high. Carter picked up his rifle, steadied his helmet, and ran as fast as he could towards his nearest meeting point, a group of soldiers pinned down behind a ruined tank.

Aboard the USS Violent, naval base in the Southern mouth of the Allanean Canal
0815 Hours

“Sir, we are needed now!”

“What happened?”

“Questarian sattelites are relocating to fire, we must begin a response, now, before it is too late!”

Even as the crew began inputting attack coordinates, Captain Moorignton knew that a lot of god rods would still strike their targets. He knew that it would be futile to try to save everybody – and indeed, his computer was already receiving reports of support units in the rear being hit, of airfields damaged, of ammo dumps on fire – but he could save some.

From the Allanean fleet, 120 HIBOLAAS Praetorian IV missiles were launched, targetting the enemy sattelites. A similar salvo was fired from the Strategic Forts. The hope was to kill them before they could expend their entire ammunition capacity. 2 rocket was fired per every enemy sattelites.
Immediately – just as the first god rods were fired – approximately 150 ground-based anti-sattelite lasers began to target the Questarian sattelites. They did not have the energy to fry a sattelite outright. They were designed to blind sensors, however, and destroy communications.

In the meanwhile, as the godrods descended towards their target, ABM lasers in the area – about 50 of them – and THAAD rockets responded. Computer guidance brought them out towards their targets before the human operators couild even understand what was up, and at least some god rods would be destroyed in mid-flight or diverted by the explosions.

Still, between that and the Questarian bombings, the casualties would be heavy.

The Jeanne D'Arc cannon would be completely destroyed, as well as the artillery complements parked next to them. 1,500 artillery cannon, and about a quarter of the MRLS capacity was destroyed utterly. Still, this would come at a price.

Air-support aircraft, like the ones used by the Questarians, are extremely vulnerable to the more manoeverable – and stealthy – air superiority fighters. And so, the ASF “Shadows” engaged their enemy once more. The stealth aircraft attacked their enemy from beyond the horizon, using over 2,400 intermediate-range anti-aircraft missiles. Gven the stealth features of the Skyan aircraft, it was in doubt whether the Questarian pilots would even know what hit them. And then there were the air defense systems on the ground – that spit flak shells by the thousand at the enemy. Considering that every Allanean IFV's main turret could target aircraft, and that there were 100,000 dedidcated AA missile batteries in-theater, the Questarian pilots were in a LOT of trouble

And, of course, there would be a powerful – and, as it often happens with Allanea, unexpected response.

The artillery fired again. Now, as they were less of them, and the crews were becoming disoriented by the shelling and bombing, the bombardment would be significantly less powerful. Only 5,000 of the cannon were able to immediately fire. Stil, within the two minutes of bombardment, 45,000 rounds were fired on the surviving Questarians. Then, the surviving CAS aircraft and helicopters added proverbial fuel to the not-so-proverbial fire, dropping approximately 15,000 tons of cheap, simple, concrete-hulled high-explosive bombs on the location of what was estimated to be less then 10,000 soldiers.

And then, the unexpected came.

From the very mouth of the Canal, ten Allanean arsenal ships emptied their missile tubes completely. They had fired Rufous anti-ship missiles, with their guidance system and warheads reprogrammed for ground targets. The immense amount of missiles – 5,000 in number – was targeted at Questarian AA installations and ammunition depots behind the front. Additionally, 30 god-rod sattelites fired their entire capacity – 14 'rods' each – against airbases around Northern Questers. Of course, this meant that Allanea would only have 58 sattelites left, but who counted?

Brigadier-General Mathew Wesley-Finch, personal number MW677443, 15 minutes after the conclusion of the bombing raids above

“Division! Ready!” – Brigadier-General Matthew Wesley-Finch stood in front of a small group of men. He held a small microphone, through which his voice was reproduced directly into the helmets of those members of the 205th Douglas Haig Memorial Infantry that still remained alive – about 9,000 of it’s original 10,000-man combat complement. He wore no powered armor himself – which was why he needed his mike.

He knew what the first bombardment meant, and he knew that, with the second bombardment and CAS having dropped so many bombs on the Questarian forces yet again. He knew that the Questarians' first line of offense has become weakened, and would be even more so after this second strike.

His time had come. This was why he wore the black-and-silver parade dress and not the powered armor. He looked at the black flag of his division waving overhead from one of the machinegun position. Stitched on it in gold was a portrait of the man after whom the Division was named. It is time, Patron.

“Freemen! I will not mince words. The men that we just saw being crushed were not the entire Questarian army – rather, only a vanguard of it. Still, we must finish them off. After me! For freedom, for our Queen, for Allanea!”

And so, the sturmbattalione of the 205th Douglas Haig division began to move forward, supported by its array of light tanks, and armored vehicles. Overhead, helicopters and CAS craft strafed the enemy with 20mm autocannon. To the Brigade-General’s right, the 330th Senator Aiyana Ticean, and to his left, the 88th King Leonidas’ Own Riflemen and 12th Robert Anson Heinlein divisions, too, lent their storm battalions to the mini-counteroffensive.

“Forward!” - shouted the Brigadier-General, pointing his chainsword at the Questarian lines. “Let this day be a glorious day for our Liberty!”

Special Artillery positions 0810

The heavy chains smashed and clattered as the lift whined into life.

Four crewmen stood either side of the massive shell. The Devil’s cry cannons were gigantic mobile super-artillery that required an hour or more to pack up the cannon and it’s “Entourage” of anti-air units and defence units. So far the Super-Artillery positions had barely suffered a scratch bar a stray shell hitting a platoon of infantrymen and nearly wiping them out.

Now it was time for a proper Midlonian response.

This was unusual due to the method used, the order had been given that the all guns across the Midlonian section of the line was to stop firing and reload, ready to fire at 0817, it would take around seven minutes for the Devil’s Cry cannons to load up ready.

Special Artillery Brigadier Alfred Witsathe sighed as he scribbled some notes in his diary, he felt a little silly, a man keeping a diary, but at least he’d have something for somebody to remember him by, and who knows. He might get it published post-war to make money about being in charge of four Devil’s Cry Units.

There was a knock on his door, a dull metallic clanging.

“Yes?” he sighed as he put his pen down and looked over to the closed door, which opened revealing a younger artilleryman.

“Sah, it’s almost time.”

“Right, I see.” Witsathe got up and placed his peaked cap on his head and pulled his trench coat on, it was open, allowing it to flap in the sight breeze. Staring up at the grey monstrosity he smiled as a green light flashed three times, it signalled “Ready to fire”

Bakelite phones sat on a table, three in all began to ring.

“All guns reporting ready Sah.” said the artilleryman as he lifted the phones of their hooks and placed the receivers on the table.

Witsathe turned to look at the front-line some miles away, the echoing claps and bangs along the front subsided, leaving just the Questarian and Allanean guns clapping away. It was time. He raised his arm above his head. There was absolute silence for a few seconds.

“Fire!” he screamed as he dropped his arm.

The distinctive “Kra-coom” of the Devil’s Cry’s split the air, followed by the screaming of the shells as they soared away.

As the distinctive scream came over the front-lines, the mauled guns all responded at once, sending rockets, shells, and mortars at the Questarians.

Helios rear

“Isn’t it odd that they’ve not been hitting us as hard as the Allanean parts of the line?” Commented one of the Lieutenant General’s Staff Officers.

“The Allaneans built there’s differently to ours, Napalm is useless and they cannot bring enough bunker-busters against us to make a major difference, basically they’ll probably crack afore us, at which point we’d have to withdraw due to an untenable position. That and they know tha Allaneans would keep coming until dead, as opposed to us who would withdraw.” replied the Lieutenant General.
“Ah, ah see noo.”

“Thought ya would.” he muttered as he took a sip from his mug of Tea.

Helios line

“Take it ya bastards! Take it take it take it!” Screamed the soldier as his machine-gun chattered again, the mud-roof had been reinforced with some trees thrown hastily on top. Up and down the line there was the flashes of muzzles and the smoke-trails of rockets soaring out, all to the background of smouldering positions and burning grass.

On a bakelite phone near to the Machine-gunner another soldier was hastily calling in some artillery closer to their positions. There was no longer enough for a truly effective creeping barrage, so instead a localized one was called for, starting only 200 yards from the Helios Line it was to creep to the 1 Kilometre mark at a period of 100 yards between bombardments. It was to relieve pressure slightly before the next expected Questarian attack.

It was at that moment the request was denied. “Wha ya mean ye canne fucking support us? They’re nearly ontop of us ya bastard!”

“Stand by for Special Artillery support, followed by simultaneous barrage.”
“Oh shit…” he muttered before punching another number.

“Hit tha fucking deck all of yous, there’s gunna be a simultaneous barrage wi Devil’s Cry shells!”

All of a sudden the line on the Midlonian side fell silent, the small arms and rockets, the mortars and grenades….

Leaving the Questarians puzzled, but then advancing rapidly, thinking victory was nearing, that they had broken Midlonian resolve…

It was then that the screaming began.

Devil’s Cry shells are very large and painted blue when the regular “explosive” kind, they have a special shaping near the tip which allows air to whistle or “scream” through them, it causes minor drag but performs the necessary psychological effect of a terrifying screaming sound that has been known to demoralize some armed-forces elements previously.

There is also the option of Red and Yellow shells which are tactical nuclear and chemical weapons delivery specifically.

This first salvo was just conventional explosives for the sheer purpose of attempting to demoralize the Questarian advance, followed by the simultaneous salvo that consisted of anti-tank rockets, machine guns, mortars, grenade launchers and the artillery pieces still left from the Midlonians.

Air-craft, now in greater number from the R.A.F screamed in over the lines, ditching dumb-bombs, air to air and anti-tank missiles, even resulting to strafing with 20mm cannon.

However at least two and a half regiments of the Midlonian Expeditionary Force had been killed, their bunkers and foxholes were decently covered, but not brilliant.

Equipment estimates were running at hundreds of pieces of light artillery, howitzers, Self-propelled guns and tanks had been knocked out, and at least four Midlonian airfields out of 12 were still trying to be put back into commission, with smaller dirt airfields now popping up with the patented “Ready-2-build” flat pack fortifications and hangars, they were for the VTOL-aircraft that the Midlonians tended to favour, it allowed more, smaller airfields to be formed allowing a spreading of the precious assets.

The sudden massive burn from the Questarian satellites was detected and, after the new trajectory was plotted, all interceptor batteries on the mainland and outlying islands were activated. Unfortunately only the Dublin batteries had the range to launch against the satellites and even then the time from warning to the satellites launching was exceedingly small. The batteries went to fast engage mode the moment they received data from the massive phased array radars that watched the orbitals.

[i]Shoot. Shoot. Look.

Shoot. Shoot. Look.

On and on it went, but in the end ten of the Questarian satellites gunning for the Aerospace Bases managed to get their full payloads off before they were destroyed. As with the Auroran attack, bomber operations were temporarily halted while repairs could take place (although this was less critical because no bomber sorties had been planned to take place until two weeks into the war) and operations for the heavier transports were also halted (which was somewhat more critical given that a lot of the Imperial Army divisions slated to move into Allanea were being flown in.)

None of the sats attacking the road and maglev links into Allanea were touched, which naturally resulted in their destruction. No civilians were killed in the attacks for the simple reason that the JSC had naturally assumed that those assets would be attacked and had everything going west of the city of Dublin (the Duchy's transport hub) shut down. It wouldn't be much of a hindrance to the IA divisions, given the off-road capabilities, but it would slow them down some and would be cause for quite a bit of annoyance.

***

The second pass, given the large number of missiles slung at it, was unavoidably destroyed. The JSC determined that it was necessary to deal with the ASAT-capable interceptors. Intelligence appreciations were brought out to see which Questarian Army squadrons were ASAT-capable and which were in bases in interception range of future passes. When that information was acquired the appropriate targeting data was fed to the sats of the third galaxy and the new targets given absolute priority over everything else. The target data was very, very narrow; target runways only and put one rod every thirty meters in every runways that could handle the ASAT-capable interceptors. Nothing would stop the Questarian Army from moving interceptors to bomber or transport runways, but if they did that then it meant they would be above ground and could be suitably dealt with.

North Questers,
312th Mechanised Rifle "Division" HQ
13th July, 1951
1500 Hours

After being pushed from the Helios Line by overwhelming force, the remnants of whatever attacking group that had made up the first probing wave had made a tactical withdrawal to the best defended position they could find in the plains of death, the 'meat grinder.' Of the six armoured divisions and nine mechanised divisions that had probed the attack, just under two hundred men were alive. Perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was coincidence, but the only two units relatively intact where the 38th Special Brigade and the remnants of 1st Battalion, 312th Mechanised. Carter cocked his rifle and looked around at the sorry men of his new headquarters. Their uniforms, pressed dark green were stained with the blood of their comrades and the mud of Hell on Earth. Each man gripped his rifle with, surprisingly, a lack of terror and fear. They all thought, even Carter, that they would and could die any minute. They had seen their friends cough their last breaths of life out in front of them, seen their torsos ripped apart by machine gun fire, or their bodies crumple as bullets ripped through their legs. Each man knew that out there, their holy God had put their names on a bullet or five hundred, and soon they would be seeing him. Each man intended to send at least one Allanean to a bloody grave before he fell.

Behind Carter, there was nothing for fourty kilometres. Two kilometres ahead of him, lay the Allanean and Midlonian lines, and the two lines had been blazing artillery away at each other for hours. They had watched their air support drop out the sky hours earlier, but airstrikes and aircraft were a consistent feature in the skies above the battle ground. The area where they had taken up their defence was a series of craters and destroyed tanks and halftracks, blasted by artillery. A primitive network of trenches spread from craters and destroyed tanks marked the troops "defensive locations", their heaviest weapons being small numbers of light machine guns mounted on bipods. Each man was armed with small amounts of ammunition for their 8mm battle rifles and a couple of grenades they might have managed to loot, and their 11” combat bayonets.

“Well Lieutenant General.” He heard a female voice and turned around to see the commander of the 38th Special Brigade, Brigadier General Fumiko Shimohara. He had been fighting alongside her unit for the past twelve hours. Now it was the end.

“General Shimohara?”

“Our forward recon squad has seen the Allanean counteroffensive. Something like half a brigades worth.”

“As opposed to our?” Carter asked. It didn’t really bother him how many there were; either way, they only had one choice. He was just interested. Call it natural curiousity.

“Two hundred and ten.”


“Well then, gather the men, I want to do a speech before we do this.” Carter said. Shimohara nodded and a minute later the small trench network was ready to go over the top to face the Allaneans.

“Men of the 38th and 312th; this is your General speaking.” Carter began. Given the small network of trenches and his location in the centre, they could all hear him fairly well. “This is all that is left of the first wave of attack. Let no other man on this earth claim bravery or courage equal to what you have shown yourselves, what you have shown me, what you have shown this nation and what you have shown your God this past day and night. Our generals may have abandoned us, but remember that every man, woman and child of Questers and of the free world has prayed for you. They believe in you, and the cause you fight for. Your heroism will not go unrecognised. If you perish now, on these fields, were so many have met their fate, then you know that in a hundred years people will still talk of your bravery. They will still look back and think of the bravery that you fought with. Some will look back and say with pride in their hearts that my grandfather, my granduncle, fought in the war. The sacrifice that has been made on these fields will never be forgotten.”

“I have spoken to the Prime Minister himself. He has given me his personal word that each man on this hour will be awarded, some posthumously, the Iron Cross for Outstanding Courage. Remember that when you fight, you fight for freedom, for liberty, for God, and for our King and our Empire. But you also fight for your families and the other families of Questers, the women and the children that cannot defend themselves. Each one of you is the custodian of our constitution that assures us the unalienable rights handed down to us by our God. Each one of you is the barrier between the Allanean barbarian and the people of Questers he stands to rape and murder. We fight this war, not just for the things that we hold dear to ourselves, but for peace. We fight so that our children do not have to face the call to arms to defeat what our great Nation and its Allies have assembled to defeat.”

“If you die today, there is nothing else I can say to console you except that you have done your duty, all that has been asked of you and more. I’ll see you all on the other side. Captain Farthing, raise the colours. Division, fix bayonets.”

Brigadier General Shurohasa quietly gave the order “Brigade, fix bayonets”, and the remaining members of her brigade did so alongside the 312th. The clack of bayonets along the lines met with the raising of the colours, and the Allaneans advancing would see a pair of flags, one Questarian Army and one of them the Questarian flag itself, raise from the trench ahead. A pair of trumpet calls followed them up, and Carter paused before giving the order.

“Division Advance! God Save the King!” he shouted, and a moment later, the Questarian troops uprooted themselves from their trenches and, with fixed bayonets, charged the Allaneans.

On the line

The Allaneans expected to have almost no work to do – they outnumbered the enemy six to one, they carried superior small arms and wore powered armor that, while light, provided almost complete protection from bayonets, no matter how long. However, the heavy ammunition of the Questarian battle rifles would easily pierce Kriegzimmer armor at the range of engagement. Still – and despite that – they fought.

Very soon, it stopped being a battle and became a hellish close-quarters fight, with chainswords and officers’ sabers, bayonets and carbines, grenades and flamers alike flying like the instruments of a deranged orchestra, producing the music of death – the staccato of gunfire, the fortissimo of explosions, the tenors and sopranos of the voices of the wounded and dying.

General Matthew Wesley-Finch was injured twice, his head bandaged and his left hand bleeding. Still, he led his men forward. He did not flinch from the gruesome scenes before him, even though he had had to do some truly horrible things that day – like split a man in two with his chainsword, separating his head, neck, shoulder and arm clear off everything else in a single mighty blow. He pushed on, though he saw his own comrades fall to the ground and die before his very eyes.

And yet the General was no barbarian. He knew that sometimes – even in war – carnage is avoidable, and when it is avoidable, it is best to have it avoided. He saw that there were fewer and fewer Questarians left, and so shouted – the request magnified manifold by his microphone.

“Questarians! You have fought nobly and valiantly. But there is no dishonor in surrender when the enemy outnumbers you so heavily. I ask you to surrender. I swear to you on my honor as an officer of Her Majesty the Queen, you will be treated honorably and justly. Merely raise your hands and you will be given food, shelter and medical care! I promise…” – another Questarian appeared from shelter and attacked the General. There was a short struggle, and then Matthew Wesley-Finch resumed his speech. “I promise you! You will be treated fairly!”

North Questers
318th Mechanised "Division" "HQ"
14th July

Carter noticed that his numbers where thinning. Hearing the call for surrender from the Allanean general and noticing his position was almost surrounded and enveloped, the Lieutenant General did the right thing. With nearly twenty men left, he brought down the colours of the flags and wrapped them in a grenade . Ducking for cover with his men engaged in bloody combat around them Carter slipped the flags wrapped around the grenade underneath a dead body and pulled the pins. A moment later the colours of the division ceased to exist and the troops raised their hands in surrender.

North Questers
Forward Command HQ
1st Bombardment Army
14th July

General Maltby read over the fax that came through. "All units ready for firing."

At great cost, the strobing unit had done its job: every Allanean unit that had fired onto them had revealed its position to the counterbattery RADARs of the Questarian guns. Yes, losses had been taken, Maltby reflected, in all services. But there was still a great amount of manpower, materiel, and guns to be used. And they would. The three bombardment armies made up thousands upon thousands of heavy artillery pieces, mostly 150 and 180mm but with some larger. Each group even had twenty massive twenty inch railway cannons and thousands of long range rocket artillery.

The clock ticked four pm and Maltby wondered whether he'd be doing this for the rest of his life.

"Open fire then." He returned the message.

Across the line, over fifty thousand guns, some just wheeled into position, and twenty thousand mobile rocket artillery began their furious bombardment on anything up to fourty kilometres between the Allanean lines.

Beneath the vicious bombardment that would deposit just under ten million tons of ordnance onto the Allaneans, the infantry began to advance. At least eight hundred thousand men with spatterings of tanks and other heavy combat vehicles began to move underneath the bombardment while the heavy artillery kept the Allaneans down.

This was starting to look like the first world war.

Behind the Lines

The attacks on the Questarian AA emplacements were met with a multitude of responses. Firstly and foremostly, ground defence emplacements coupled with large landbased RADARs picked up the approaching missiles and engaged them, alongside AAA emplacements and large jamming batteries. The attack however meant that perhaps 10% of the Questarian surface to air were knocked out by the attack. However, from the strategic reserve, more AA was pulled up the front line in the form of mobile anti air squadrons, and in general more reserves were being pulled up; twice the number that had just been sent against the Allanean defensive line were given their marching orders and were already moving into position to back up the next wave if need be.

In the Air

After the original attack, air operations ceased for some hours before they resumed. They resumed, however, in a totally different matter. Large amounts of EW aircraft; six hundred of the Juumanistran Fu-114 Vista COBIWCA electronic warfare aircraft, to be precise, which would use their gigantic radar capabilities to block out any RADAR locks that the Allaneans could get by sheer force. Alongside them, gigantic numbers of bombers, 440 J10Ms each carrying 50 AGR16A/AG16As launched their missiles against the Allanean anti air that had been marked by the CAS aircraft. At 13,000 metres, escorted by just over two thousand air superiority aircraft, the air armada floated with its ecellent EW protection, let loose its missiels on the Allanean SAM sites, and headed for home.

[OOC: Sorry about this post sucking.]

Allanean Permanent Strategic Fort, 1,000 kilometers north of the front


“Explain to me, what went on?”

“Their artillery is targeting everything within forty miles of our front line. We have lost 20,000 troops so far, estimated. More importantly, we lost over three thousand Samson tanks and over five thousand Oriontus cannon system which is what they are concentrating on. Our SEPS defenses and fortifications are holding up, but with this amount of munitions, we fear that there will be worse losses soon. We also have a large amount of wounded, Sir.”

“How are our KriGud gun batteries doing in this mess?” – asked Kazansky – “They’re out of the range of the Questarians’ target zone altogether, right?”

“By a wide margin. Our stuff operates at an average range of 100 kilometers from the border, and SCRAMjets can enable us to reach fifty klicks into Questarian territory should we need to.”

“I see. I also understand that our naval assets in the Canal remain unused, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent. Now, give me the statistical data about the aerial attacks…”

Allanean SAM site, somewhere behind the border

“Incoming! To your shelters, men!”

The men scrambled away from the Praetorian II truck as three Questarian missiles streaked in towards it. Behind them, there was the roar of burning rocket fuel as the vehicle simply ceased to exist.

Throughout the Allanean lines, the carnage scenes repeated themselves as the enemy missiles came in. But the Allanean SAM sites were too many. All over the line, thousands – literally – Praetorian II launchers were opening fire. Even after hundreds of launchers were destroyed there were still three of them per every enemy aircraft.

In the Canal, multiple air defense vessels opened fire, targeting the aircraft as they fled with longer-range naval-based SAMs as well, taking the Allanean line under it’s protective umbrella. Indeed, this would actually strengthen Allanean air defenses over the border overall.

Back in the Strategic Fort

“Give me the Organ.”

Visualize a giant device, a deranged mix between an organ, a synthesizer, and a military broadcasting system. Visualize it linked to thousands of unit commands, naval crews, and so forth. And now, envision a pair of hands on the keys – a pianist’s hands, with long, slender, beautiful fingers, moving gracefully as they play the first musical phrases in a complex masterwork – and as they do, the phrases are translated as codewords and transmitted all over the front.

He passes his hands over the keys for the first time – and from the damaged lines of Samson tanks thirty kilometers away from the front, to the nearly-pristine lines of Krigud multi-barrel howitzers a hundred kilometers deep, fire erupts. Within the first ten minutes of fire, the Allanean artillery cuts loose with 1,200,000 shells – slightly over one shell per Questarian soldier coming over the border.

He plays several low bass notes – and, from the Allanean canal, cruisers and battleships begin to fire, raining shells from 5 to 29 inches in caliber down on the enemy. From the airfields behind the front, SU-25AL “Flying Tuxes” begin to take off. In the last two days of fighting, the Allaneans have worked to restore at least some of the airfields into working condition – and now, it pays off. 1,000 fixed-wing aircraft and 2,000 attack helicopters are now in the air, and a rain of death comes down on the Questarian troops.

Suddenly, 14,000 tons of thermite submunitions, delivered by battleship shell and aircraft bomb, make what was once the Serendis Nature Preserve into a very close rendition of catholic Hell, as everything near the Questarian troops begins to heat up, the temperatures beginning to reach a horrible one thousand degrees Celsius.

Whoever survives this can, of course, attack the Allanean line. The divisions at the front are weakened, of course, but they are entrenched, and they do have a lot of firepower – and the divisions holding the lines directly behind them can, and will give support. Everything within ten kilometers of the front line would be exposed to a hail of ATGMs not just from the first line, but the ones behind it, and to fire from the surviving 120mm mortars and MRLS systems. If they came close enough, they would even have the pleasure of being shot by the best marksmen in Haven.

And Kazansky still played.

00:00, July 14th/15th

The first attack came at midnight.

They were not many, but they were the best for this mission.

100 SUDI spaceplanes, modified for bomb bays, flew over the border to the Questarian capital. At the speeds they were at, it would be pointless for the captain to press a drop button. The bomb bays were activated by automatic programming, and seven hundred tons of LEOS (Low Earth Orbit To Surface) bombs were dropped on what survived of the Questarian anti-air defense systems.

This was followed by a second attack, an hour later. This was carried out by cruise missiles fired by ships in their shipyards in the South of the Allanean Canal, by Arsenal ships and and the defense facilities there, lobbed by their thousand – 56,000, to be precise. Again, Questarian RADAR facilities and air defenses were the target. Allanea’s last “God Rod” satellites fired, too, targeting major air defense nodes and RADARs centers around London. Finally, the close-air-support craft flew again, acting as missile buses, lobbing 5,000 HARM rockets at targets beyond the border.[/b]
After that, the Allanean ships began to move South towards the Strob.

And then, yet another hour later, another attack came.

From the North came three Air Armadas of Lu-12 Tactical Strike Craft, flying high to avoid AA. With their partial stealth features, chaff, and the damage already done to Questarian AA by bombardments, it would be hoped that most of them would reach their target safe. Going with them to the target were also 15 S-1000 bombers, and 2,500 of the famous Silver Skyian “Shadow” stealth air superiority fighters. What the Sariel was to the strategic bomber, the “Shadow” was to ASFs – stealth rivaled only by the Shukusei, and skilled Allanean pilots unrivaled. For this mission, they carried their maximum payloads of 12 tons of weapons each, and only 2 tons were air-to-air missiles.

But it would be the S-1000’s that literally dropped the first bomb.

The bomb was a giant Skyian GBU-001 SuperNova ( http://z9.invisionfree.com/SilverSkyNationalArm/index.php?showtopic=19), and it targeted the location of some subway exit on the outskirts of London. Written on the bombs massive body were the words “FOR NAJASTER”, and it was immediately followed up by 40 tons of simple 1000-pound concrete-hulled bombs, bearing the markings For our queen!, For the White Scarf!, For Alice!, For Baby Jesus!, and so forth. For these, naturally, no target could be chosen.

Everywhere, it was the same. Dozens of tons of bombs were dropped on the sleeping city -15 BLU-001 penetrators targeting subway exits, and the LU-12 Tactical Strike Aircraft engaging the AA installations in and around London with 3,000 tons of guided munitions. Obviously, the AA gunners had to deal with that if they wanted to live – and would be slightly distracted from dealing from the stealthy “Shadows”, whom they likely could not hit anyway.

In the safety of their cockpits, the “Shadow” pilots began to spam the most densely-populated areas of London with bomb – 20,000 tons of ZMI I-5 bombs, Allanean 500-pound incendiaries, simple, concrete-hulled HE bombs and tiny 4-pound incendiary sticks.

6 AM, July 15th

Across Allanea, on dozens of radios and webradios, a song began to play. The Department for Explanation decide that on that day, it would be better to replace its’ syndicated wartime newscast by a single – and yet slightly modified – song.

Rise up, oh Freedom’s country,
Rise up, prepare to fight
With fascist horde uncounted,
With forces of the night!

And another wave of attack came. Over the land came 3,000 LU-45 Hawk ASF’s, 5,000 LU-12’s, and 1,000 ‘Shadows’. Between them, they carried 28,000 tons of bombs. They left Allanea half-an-hour ago, and passed over the Questarian capital at Mach 2, their targeting systems programmed to automatically drop the bombs at a certain point.

Even as the song played, thousands of cluster bombs, incendiaries, and concrete-piercing bombs rained on the fair city of London, even as rescue crews struggled, no doubt, to rescue survivors of the previous bombing.

Again and again bomb pilons opened, and inscribed bombs fell down towards suburbs, commercial districts, government offices, factories. And it seemed the very stabilizers of the bombs were singing as they fell towards the enemy.

Let your noble loathing
From every heart o’er,
Fight on! This a sacred war,
This is a People’s War!

Simultaneously with that, another group of aircraft was attacking. It was a formation of 1,250 GLI-76 Falcon VTOL’s, arriving from the sea. They came in an arch movement from the canal, where they had bided their time on aircraft carriers – the good ships Lily Evans, Fursuiter, Endless Mayhem, Carnage, Minarchst, Consumerist, Gene Roddenberry, George Lucas, Gary Gygax, Age of Aquarius were sending their message to the Questarian port facilities in the form of 12,500 tons of gliding incendiary and anti-ship bombs, weighting from 1000 pounds to 5 tons that targeted the ships in port and the facilities on the shore.

And still the anger of Allanea was not exhausted.

Over the sea, moving low to avoid RADAR, came 3,000 Boy Scout Corps prop aircraft. They started on their journey over three hours ago, and they were now here – 450 kilometers away from the Questarian shore. It was here that they would launch their attack – 3,000 “Starblast” guided missiles weight about two tons each.

And so, 1,000 of the missiles were targeted at various ships in the London Harbor, and 2000, armed with FAE warheads, at various targets throughout the city itself. Specifically, 200 were targetted at the Royal Palace, and the rest at various factories and high-density neighborhoods.

Also across the sea came a small group of 210 A-10 aircraft. They unleashed their cargo of gliding guided bombs and HARM munitions at Questarian AA units from a range of only 30 kilometers, and then strafed them c with their famous cannon.

The bombing was over. 51,000 bombs were dropped on the city of London.


Now it was truly over.

Speech of Fieldmarshal Kazansky, later in the day

Let me restate what President Goldwasser had said, what Congress said, what the People of Allanea said: We will never surrender. We have the guns, we have the men, we have money – and we have the willpower to see it through to total and absolute victory.

Let me quote Churchill – we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills;. But let me alter the quote a bit.

We will fight them on Ceylon’s beaches, we will fight in Questaria’s airfields,, and we will fight them in the streets of London. We will kill their soldiers, shoot down their planes, sink their ships.

And now, for some actual details:

London has been hit by vast amounts of bombs today, and we expect massive Questarian casualties from the attack. The Five Kingdoms offensive on Ceylon, the Midlonian offensive in Okielahoma, the Allanean offensive in Azaha, and the defenses of Kahanistan and Cravan continue as scheduled.

As of now I am pleased to repeat to you the President’s request to hire five thousand bulldozers to augment the Allanean forces in Haven, as well as excavators, to enable the army to quickly and rationally dig mass-graves for the Questarians. I would like to ask volunteers to begin reporting with their equipment at recruitment stations throughout Northern Haven.

That is all.

May God bless Allanea.

Questers,
London
00:00, July 14th/15th

London is an ancient city. It is in fact, one of the oldest in Haven, and it is also one of the largest. Densely packed terraced houses stretch for miles and miles out from the central business district which curves round the wharf and the dockyards, right up to the Imperial Palace which looks over the city on its perch on the cliffside around London. At night the city is usually a sight to behold, lit up like a bulb, and millions of tourists each year visit the Old City for its ancient buildings. Tonight there would be a different sight to behold.

Quite simply, the Questarian air defence was thick. Bristling with SAMs and anti air radars, any attack on the area would be suicide. The gigantic bombers were picked up easily by the long range landbased radars and as usual, as they crossed the border, an intercept charter was pathed. Aircraft from the east and the south took off from their airbases, determined to stop the Allaneans from wreaking havoc on their city. Several thousand IQAAS fighters were in the air over London before the Allaneans could drop their payload, furiously trying to halt the carpet bombing of London. It was, for the first raid at least, too late. The bombs were dropped and the GBU-001 SuperNova glided slowly down to impact point.

Where it exploded.

The result was tremendous. The impact zone was ripped apart, instantly killing a quarter of a million unarmed civilians. For miles out of the zone houses were aflame and the roar of fire and explosions drowned out the sirens of the emergency services. The rest of the bombs impacted to earth, despite the best duties of the air defence cruisers and fighter wings that sacrificed their lives in defence of the people of London gave their lives in vain as the first shock attack on the city took the defences by surprise.

Questers,
London
02:00, July 14th/15th

Bill Sanders was your ordinary fireman. He was however, doing an extraordinary job as him and his comrades struggled to extinguish the flames of St.James Children's Hospital and Orphanage. The building had completely collapsed and volunteers and proffesionals alike struggled to dig out survivors, mostly children and the charity workers at the Hospital. It wasn't the heat that was making Sanders cry while he worked; it was the pile of dead children a few yards away who had been dragged from under the building. The intense heat from the aflame buildings all down the street, including Queen Victoria II Hospital. The destruction was terrible.

From behind him, Sanders heard a voice, an uncommon one, of an educated man. He supposed it was an officer and was shocked when he turned around to see the King, Alexander II, himself.

"You there!"

"Y-Y-Your Majesty!" Sanders quickly moved to attention.

"Enough of that. What can I do to help the effort here?"

Minutes later, a Hamptonian journalist would take a famous photograph; the photograph of the King of Questers, Emperor of the Questarian Commonwealth, one of the most powerful men in the world, dragging a dead orphan from the ruins of the hospital, flames licking around him, a tear dripping down his cheek for the destruction wreaked on his fair country.

Questers,
901st Fighter Wing
02:45, July 14th/15th

Vectored up from their airbases on the coast, the Mi-302 Fireflies of the 901st Fighter Wing dropped down, wind soaring around them, ontop of the Allanean boy scout aircraft. The vastly faster and more manvourable tactical fighters did not even need to use missiles to tear apart the Allanean prop planes. Their brothers in the 902 and 903rd too dived down onto the Allaneans, ninety aircraft in total, firing guns (and occasionally missiles), vengeance in their minds.

However, the air defences west of the city were still active. Downing as many missiles as possible, they did their best before the cruise missiles hit the city, causing more death and destruction.

Defence Volunteers clearing out subway stations on Paladin Street looked up to cries of "Holy shit!" from their work as they saw a single missile, tracer rounds tearing past it until the end, tear into the Imperial Palace, a mighty explosion ripping through the palace. The three Royal Princesses that had refused the pleas of their servants to leave for the protected bunkers were vapourised as the missile broke through the window of the sitting room and exploded inside the seven hundred year old building.

Despite the half a million dead in one night, despite the thousands of homes ruined, despite the lack of power and water to the city, despite the destruction of all hospitals in the city, the citizenry were inspired to defend what was theirs. The Questarian Tiger had been wounded, and it had watched on and shed a tear when it had watched its young brutally slaughtered by the Allanean weasel. The city of London, in one day, had been handed a terrific blow. But its people, in the spirit of resistance, continued daily life. There was now no doubt in their minds they would never submit, that defeat was unthinkable. A single message was delivered.

To Kazansky, Warlord of Allanea
From the City of London

Do your worst. We will never surrender.

The Allanean escort fighters fought valiantly to defend the bombers. They outnumbered the IQNAAS fighters by a larger margin, were more manoeverable and more stealthy.

And surely the preparation strikes on the air defenses would do a number on them and limit their ability to kill Allaneans, too. Countermeasures and close-in aircraft defenses shot down enemy missiles, and SEPS protected the Allaneans from proximity-triggered munitions. Neverheless, several hundred aircraft of various types were lost by the main attack wing. The most painful was the loss of 650 “Shadow” craft, and 200 of the Lu-12 Strike aircraft.

The Boy Scout Corps, too, lost an additional 300 aircraft. Today, the shore defense pilots, at least, could be proud –each of them shot down at least 3 Allaneans.

The Allaneans, of course, began immediately preparing for what the would do next, and the navy would continue it’s motions.

But the next attack on Questarian military might and dignity was not by bomb or by shell. It was by Allanean internet users.

++Some time later++

About five minutes after the Hamptonian photograph of King Alexander became public, a man named Bob Joyous, living in a trailer park in the Orange Republic got a bright idea. He was as moderator on an Internet gaming forum and had just deleted a member’s account. And he needed a way to cap it off.

He downloaded the image from the internet, fired up GIMP, and, a few minutes later, an image of a crying Alexander II, holding a dead child, appeared on his forum. The caption that Joyous added read simply simply: OWNED.

By the end of the day, editing pictures of the King of Questers became an Internet meme. One picture, posted on an Allanean right-wing forum, said: CRY MOAR, NOOB. In another the king was CHARGING HIS LAZ0R. On yet another one he had the head of Raptor Jesus and was saying MMM, TASTY ORPHANZ.

Central Questers
339th Strategic Regiment Aerodrome
15th July

The J10M sat on its wheels on the length of the tarmac, slowly accelerating as the blistering afternoon sun bounced its rays off the nose of the aircraft and the green paint of the Army Air Service. Behind it, two dozen sister aircraft of the same Regiment followed slowly, ready to take off one after each other, the darkness of the underground exit from the aerodrome's armoured bunker-hangars behind them. Fresh in their minds were the images of the press, the phonecalls from home, the worrying uncertainty that their missing family may well be dead. If Allanea's attacks were meant to at all demoralise Questarian troops, they had done the opposite.

They had spurred on an entire nation to fight.

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are

Slowly, the beast began to move, ground crew well clear. They had just spent some hours loading on payload to the bombers and were glad it was finally over. Not many of them had family in London, but the events of the previous night had struck deep into the nation's very fibre. Body counts were now rising into the million figure. It would simply not be allowed to stand. Each aircraft was loaded with eight twenty ton EQ.2 earth quake missiles. Strategic Command knew that Allanea had bunkers in every street, that their houses were spread out. That is what the EQ.2 was for; a gigantic, twenty ton earthquake missile. It flied level for the course of the flight, then turns its nose over and goes into a deep vertical dive, similar to the bomb. Burying itself 150 feet into the Earth's crust, the earthquake bomb would shatter any underground bunkers the Allaneans may be hiding in, as well as the added effect of obliterating everyone above ground.

Come on baby... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby take my hand... Don't fear the Reaper
We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby I'm your man...

From all aerodromes across the country, thousand and thousands of engines lifted up their gigantic J10M Candrian designed strategic bombers. Ten Air Regiments of the Third (Strategic) Air Flotilla were in the air by mid afternoon of the 15th july, and accompanied by similar numbers of Juumanistran designed E3M electronic warfare aircraft. Given their escort by local fighter bases as they travelled from the lengths of the country, it didn't take long for the massive group of bombers to reach the border, where they began to unload their payloads. The missiles dropped from their bomb-bays and after a moments silence their engines ignited into flame, tearing through the skies at supersonic speeds to reach the Allanean Port-Allanea. As they arrived over the city, they began to spread out before rolling over and diving vertically down. Each missile could totally eradicate a square mile, bomb shelters or no bomb shelters.

There were forty thousand missiles.

Valentine is done
Here but now they're gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity...
Romeo and Juliet

This was not all. Earlier, despite the losses of spaceplanes over Azaha, the spaceplane pilots of the 309th Orbital Group had taken to the skies (well, atmosphere). They knew the dangers, the risks, but they also knew duty and discipline: what had to be done had to be done. Three hundred spaceplanes, soaring over Allanea at 60,000 feet began to drop their payload. Twelve twenty-ton weapons, working on the same principle as the Massive Ordnance Air Blast bomb, sat nestled snugly in the bomb bays of the Sabre SSTOs as they glided over Port-Allanea. 3,600 of these weapons were delivered over the Port Allanea in the space of several minutes. This was not all, either.

40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and
Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine
happiness
Another 40,000 coming everyday...We can be like
they are

Deeming it neccessary to damage and keep supressed the Allanean air defence network, Strategic Command freed up two thousand G4M7 bombers, usually used for naval patrols, and by late morning on the 15th had them armed and fueled, testament to the hard working ground crews who took no breaks, knowing that only several hours before Allanean bombardments had killed hundreds of thousands of innocent Londoners. Over four thousand long range AGR-99A ARM missiles were launched at SAM sites in Allanea from these bombers, which did not need to even approach the border to fire. This, too, was not the full extent of the Questarian retaliatory attack.

Come on baby... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby take my hand... Don't fear the Reaper
We'll be able to fly... Don't fear the Reaper
Baby I'm your man...

Another four thousand ICCMs were prepped from trucks brought in from the south via railway and and, limited though nevertheless useful air transport. These missiles were aimed at, again, known SAM locations (which was many, given the Allaneans liberal revealing of their SAM locations) in Allanea with the intent to knock out as many as possible.

Love of two is one
Here but now they're gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear we couldn't go on
The door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared
Saying don't be afraid

From their positions in the Haleigh Sea, upon hearing the news, Questarian ballistic submarines had exchanged their nuclear weapons for conventional ones at Milton naval base. Twenty four submarines unleashed 576, a comparatively tiny number, of ICCMs on Port-Allanea. From Milton itself, 44 J10Ms took off, travelling west, then south, and launched 880 of the EQ.2 missiles that had been launched earlier from their counterparts in the motherland. Every spare asset that could be mobilised to retaliate was doing so. A ridiculous amount of ordnance by any measure, specially targeted and designed to be launched at the urban sprawl of Allanean cities and the sort of weapons that practically made bunkers and underground bomb shelters obsolete, had been launched against Port-Allanea. It was said the city had been bombed three times in its history. Time would tell the result of the Questarian attack.

Come on baby... And we had no fear
And we ran to him... Then we started to fly
We looked backward and said goodbye
We had become like they are
We had taken his hand
We had become like they are

Come on baby...don't fear the reaper

I'm not telling you
Army Command
15th July

"Well Field Marshall?" The Prime Minister, on entering the Army Command Room, had already waited five minutes and was getting impatient.

"The system is under extreme pressure right now. We didn't expect this much data to be transferred... right now we're recovering from a major overload." Field Marshall Graner tried to explain to the irate politician.

"Are you trying to tell me you don't know whats happening?"

"Not exactly sir. For certain we know that we have had to pull sixty divisions from the attack because of lack of supply lines. We're considering withdrawing some of our artillery because of the supply attacks. The kinetic strikes in general have stunted further reinforcement growth along these lines."

Graner highlighted the track lines on the computer. No new information was being refreshed because of the system overloads but he could still show the Prime Minister the gist of what was happening.

"By far the most damaging is the loss of eighteen divisions from the strikes themselves. We've had to pull them back for regrouping. The enemy attacks ahve disorganised us and throw off our offensive - especially in the air - for now."

The Prime Minister didn't look too happy. "So what you're actually telling me is that we've made no progress whatsoever?"

"Not exactly. We will have to see how this battle goes before making a conclusion."

North Questers
40km from the Frontline
15th July

It was silent as the grave. A few crickets chirped and birds flew but otherwise there was nothing disturbing General Nahano in his tent. A moment later, there was a scratching, screeching sound, which shortly cut out, and gentle, flowing classical music began to play. The gramophone was well over ninety years old. Nahano realised it was going to outlive him. It was going to outlive many of the men on the frontline, too. For it was not so quiet forty kilometres out where Allanean artillery was decimating the Questarian advance. It was pointless. Nahano had asked, multiple times, for the order to withdraw. It did not come. Meanwhile, casualties were mounting into the thousands. It was a disgrace and it would not stand.

Flipping the locks open on the ornate carved wooden box, Nahano slowly lifted it open to be greeted by his regimental pistol. Given to him personally by King Richard V upon his commision to General, Nahano often wondered how much painstaking effort had gone into carving out the box and the beautifully decorated insides. It was a beautiful gun; not a scratch or a mite of rust. A cache of cartridges and a single magazine lay in the box, and with care, Nahano withdrew the pistol and loaded a single cartridge into the magazine. With a click he slotted it into the pistol and cocked it. Slowly slipping the cold hard metal into his mouth, he considered biting down on the barrel like he'd heard. He decided against it, because with any luck the gun would still be in perfect condition afterwards.

The startled guards two dozen yards away almost jumped in the air when they heard the sound of a .45 ACP Colt M1911 clearing its barrel.

North Questers
The Frontline
15th July

The artillery began to shift targets over towards the Allaneans, but already some barrels were being withdrawn from fire, their insides twisted and warped from sustained fire and the bad quality of the rocket shells and the high barrel pressure. The stages of the assault slowly began to break, and eventually full retreat set in, with the Questarians retreating under the cover of their own artillery, leaving some 200,000 dead behind on the field.

The ARM missiles would do very limited damage. Allaneans used decoy RADAR systems liberally – having learned that technique from the Kahanistani – and they also universally deployed MTHEL, which cut down on the damage from ICCM missiles. Still, over 3,000 SAM sites were disabled by the bombardment.

The MOAB bombs struck the capital. They started monstrous fires, and the Jay August Urban Hunting Preserve began to burn, it’s fires visible for miles and miles. In the Eastern part of the city, multiple factories burned as well, their acrid smoke blotting out the morning sun. In the local munitions factory, a series of explosions had killed 13,000 people all at once – the majority of the morning shift. Elsewhere, an oil refinery burned. At sea, harbor facilities has been damaged, killing over 7,000 dock workers.

More horribly, the MOABs have impacted the Triple Hotels on the shore. The employees and guests had little time of warning, and where still there, in their rooms and gambling desks, as the giant hotel towers were first punched by what looked – and functioned – like giant mallets for outer space. And then, they burned. Over 210,000 of the people who were in the hotels were killed immediately. 40,000 more died within the day, as burn wards all over the city were completely overwhelmed.

The giant Questarian rockets were actually less effective then what the Questarians expected. It took them quite a long time to get to their target – and this gave the Allanean government the time to do a few interesting things. Across the Western part of Allanea, Nautilus launchers came alive, shooting down enemy missiles. Flak and AA installations added their bit to the work – but still, about 30,000 missiles survived to reach the capital. Still, Earthquake bombs are not magic. They’re just oversized bunker busters after all, and as such they would only cause limited casualties. Throughout the city, about 70,000 people were killed by the Questarian bombs.

* * *

And the Organ of War played again. Again, thousands of craft flew over the border. They had the same composition – in fact, these were the same aircraft – that the Questarians have seen before, in the attacks on London. Of course, there would be now a thousand aircraft less – but everything else would be in it’s place, even the naval-based aircraft would repeat their attack. But this time, the attack was augmented by about 350 “Archimedes Lever” cargo aircraft.

Of those, 250 would be carrying bombs – increasing the combined payload of the Allanean armada by an atrocious 62,500 tons of munitions.

But this time, the capital would not be targeted. In fact, the targets that would be affected would be much nearer. The Allanean aircraft were spread out, targeting different targets according to their speed, so that the fastest aircraft would hit those targets furthest from the border at the same time with the slowest aircraft attacking aircraft nearest to it.

The “Shadow” air superiority aircraft provided cover from Questarian air force fighters. For this mission, they carried their maximum payloads of 12 tons of weapons each, and only 2 tons were air-to-air missiles.

Orbital bombers and S-1000 bombers performed the first blow, dropping out 1200 tons of orbit-to-ground munitions, 600 laser-corrected high-explosive bombs, and 15 GBU-001 supernova – all targeting airfields just North of London.

Simultaneously with that, thousands of Lu-12 Tactical Strike Craft, LU-45 Hawk ASF’, and their Shukusei equivalent – began to drop bombs, spamming every airfield that was between 200km away from the Allanean lines and up until London itself. From the sea, waves of Falcon fighter bombers struck again, targeting airfields in that very same “200 kilometers away and up until London” range. They dropped thousands of Il-05 cluster munitions on the various airfields, stressing anti-runway and incendiary bomblets. In total, every airfield in the area was targeted with, on average, one thousand tons of various bombs and rockets.

The 200-kilometer strip of land near the very border itself was targeted for a completely different attack.

There, cargo aircraft went, releasing their payload first, targeting military supply bases and airfields within 200 kilometers of the border. The derangedly immense tonnage was divided simply: 30,000 tons were a mix of high-explosive, anti-runway, and incendiary munitions, targeting the Questarian airfields in the 200-kilometer stripe of land. Everything else – 32,500 tons of thermite submunitions – would pelt the Questarian infantry positions. Only 100 aircraft did not drop bombs. They proceeded to a distance of exactly 200 kilometers from the border, there to drop paratroopers – 20,000 troops in heavy Minuteman IV powered armor – the famous Powered Armor Divisions.

Minutes later, these troops would spread out in small groups, using the heavier armament their suits allowed them to carry to wreak all sorts of havoc in the Questarian lines. They attacked parked tanks and tank transpportrs, ammunition stockpiles and encampments, only to disappear again and strike elsewhere. The (fairly limited) active camouflage of their suits allowed such action, and they used any advantage they could find. Sometimes, a suited trooper would fire a burst of 20mm ammunition at a Questarian army supply truck on the road, causing the road to be blocked by burning wreckage, and then disappear. At other times, they would appear from hiding on the outskirts, ripping a Questarian guard apart with their ‘arms’, and disappear again. They were trained in this sort of ‘offensive guerilla warfare’, and they were relentless, brave, and merciless.

And then the final stage of attack came: 2,700 prop aircraft, augmented by 300 A-10 Thunderbolts, coming at the Questarian lines, targeting the Questarian artillery and tanks with ATGM fire. No exposed vehicle, no self-propelled cannon or tank was safe.

And the Organ of War was still playing.

At the Allanean Line

The Questarians were retreating, but for the Allaneans, it was not sufficient. Again, the Allanean close-air support tore at the retreating Questarians, again, the Serendis Nature Preserve shook with explosions as the thermite fires enveloped the retreating Questarian lines – fifteen thousand more tons of thermite were deposed on the Questarian lines as they fled.

But that was not the main attack.

Behind the main Allanean line, the engines of 2,500 Samson tanks and 25 immense ZMI Imperator SHBT’s started. They would be reinforced by only about 10,000 Nakil tanks as they began to move, but that would come later, as the Nakils followed behind the heavier tanks.

What would happen first would be far more awesome.

First, the SHBT’s, each escorted by around a hundred heavy tanks in a rhomboid formation, tore out through the Allanean line and started towards the Questarians, with the hellish rain of Allanean artillery shells providing as covering fire. Within the fifteen minutes it would take the SHBT’s to reach the Questarian border, the Allanean cannon would fire 250,000 shells – slightly over 15 shells each, a small number for Allanean cannon – targeting Questarian artillery at an insane ratio of over twenty shells per enemy cannon targeted.

And the tanks charged in. Standard heavy battle tanks skirmished in front, 200mm ‘SHBT-hunters’ fought on the flanks of the rhomboids, and in the rear, flamer tanks guarded the monster SHBT’s from attacks by Questarian infantry. The sponsoon and main armament of the SHBT’s fired ceaselessly, targeting Questarian armor with deadly 220mm and 24-inch shells, while inside them, the crew laughed madly at the sound of enemy tank shells beating pointlessly against the superheavy armor.

In the meanwhile, formations of Nakil 1A2’s advanced behind SHBT’s, lighting the Questarians up with interlocking fields of fire from their deadly 20mm autocannons, mowing them down with machineguns, decimating them by the dozen with canister munitions.

Behind the tank lines, the infantry advanced, their SOV-06 vehicles spitting death, 15mm gatling guns firing ceaselessly, firing slits spitting death at passing Questarians, fast attack vehicle and army jeeps tearing holes in the retreating formations.

Everywhere, immense loudspeakers attached to Allanean vehicles repeated the same message over and over again:

VALIANT QUESTARIAN SOLDIERS! YOU FOUGHT BRAVELY, BUT NOW IT IS POINTLESS TO SACRIFICE YOUR LIFE IN VAIN. SURRENDER NOW, AND YOU WILL BE TREATED FAIRLY AND PERHAPS GAIN OPPORTUNITY TO SERVE YOUR MOTHERLAND AGAIN WHEN THE WAR IS OVER

[OOC: I will post losses on the airfields when we establish exactly how many of your aircraft actually get their munitions off.]

North Questers
~
15th July

The Allaneans had vastly underestimated two things. One, the fighting spirit if the IQAAS. Two, the Questarian air defence network.

By the time the Allanean air assault had advanced over the border, it had already been picked up by long range RADAR and interceptor squadrons had been vectored in to engage. For each cargo plane, as soon as it crossed over the Allanean SAM umbrella, was met by a pair of Mi-46/C interceptors circling low and using their great speed and climbing rates to pounce on the cargo planes from below, each firing off six air to air missiles [which really means 12 missiles per cargo plane] against the cargo planes before accelerating to their top speed and heading for home. When the escorts managed to detect the fighters, it would be too late. The interceptor's climbing rate and speed meant they weren't built for dogfights, but could still outspeed the AAMs and escort planes if they chose to give chase. After this strike they would meet with tankers slightly east of London and fly down to central airfields rather than land on possibly cratered runways.

To deal with their escorts, the Questarian 342nd Fighter Wing took to the skies with glee, their comrades launching and being vectored in around them by desperate, but proffessional and disciplined air control teams. They had one message as they took off from Command: "Enemy ASF, bomb loads suspected heavy, easy pickings, Tally Ho and God Save the King."

The air controllers were the unseen heroes of these air battles: with great skill, determination, and an iron will to never allow a single Allanean plane over London again, they vectored in and gave new courses to squadrons launching all over the North to where they were needed most. In this case, the Allanean FA/84s, loaded down with bombs and lacking manevourability, range, and their stealth advantage negated by heavy RADAR and their pylon payload, were outnumbered three to one by the Questarian fighter pilots.

If the Allaneans wanted to go over the seas to attack the land, they had to get past the entirely intact shore defence network. With the lack of any sort of SEAD against the shore, mobile and stationary SAM batteries supported by local and theatre RADARs could target the incoming Allanean aircraft freely and local air defence fighters which, had previously caused heavy losses on the prop planes. Even so, if these weren't prop planes, the Mi-302 Fireflies still had several strong advantages: firstly, they were fighting on home ground, which meant they didn't have to fly with fuel tanks for extra range if they wanted manevourability. Secondly, they had airborne radar aircraft and all types of ground radars that could feed them information, since all Questarian fighters were network-capable. Thirdly, they weren't weighed down air to ground munitions and carried an air to air only payload. Fourthly, there was no way in hell these pilots were going to let the Allaneans through. While there were more Allaneans in the air, the IQAAS aircraft held off their strike and observed the Allaneans for a while, letting them be bombarded by surface to air missiles in three waves of four missiles per aircraft, just before the Questarian fighters dropped down onto the Allaneans.

AWACs coverage in the sky was constant; large radar birds that weren't even based in the north stayed over the combat zones and the rear line zones for hours. Their powerful, long range beams, picked up the Allanean Lu-12/45's before they even crossed over the border, their fat wing pylon payloads dropping their stealth capacities severalfold. It also made them ridiculously easy targets for the Questarian Mi-302s that were now hurtling towards them. Again, the Questarian pilots had several advantages over their enemy: Firstly, different squadrons were coming from different directions. Either way if the Allaneans tried to pull of and evade they would be meeting another wave of fighters from the other side. Secondly, the Allanean planes were loaded down to the max with air to ground munitions, drastically dropping their manevourability, stealth, and ability to fight back, whereas the Questarians had entirely air-to-air munitions. Thirdly, their stealth was by and large negated by the vast amount of radar power ditected at them from the Questarian support aircraft. Fourthly, the Questarians had EW and ELINT support already in the air, thanks to Juumanistran crews onloan and Questarian aircraft themselves, which would be doing their best to deprive the Allaneans of any electronic advantage they had. Fourthly, it meant that the Allanean aircraft would be attacked as they tried to get to their objective. Fifth, the Allaneans were outnumbered five to one by the Questarian Mi-302s.

[Are those Archimedes the same ones attacking the 200km frontline? If so, ignore this part.

For the same reasons noted above, the Allaneans lost all forms of surprise or stealth they had with this attack. Behind the line SAMs and mobile air defence began to let off large swathes of surface to air missiles towards the Allanean planes, at least three per bomber, as well as interceptors being scrambled and interceptors already on patrol repeating their normal pattern of intercept attacks.

North Questers
Frontline
558th Independent Brigade
15th July

"Fucking Allaneans! Fucking Allaneans! Fucking Allaneans!"'

The turret on the LT Mk.51 AA vehicle swirled hard to the left, its quad autocannons blazing and sending long strobes of tracer fire towards the Allanean prop aircraft. Besides this particular tank as it sat on the back of a hill keep the Allanean plane off the anti tank squadron like moths off a lightbulb, sat Major Beckett's command platoon. From his position atop the small hillock, still magically untouched by artillery, Beckett could see the whole attack begin to retreat under the Allanean advance. Flat on his belly with the grass and the churned mud below him, he watched as the Allanean advance began to force back the Questarian troops.

"Sir, its General Ernest for you."

The aide passed Beckett the field line back to command HQ and the colonel was met with the sharp voice of General Ernest.

"Colonel, I'll be blunt, we're withdrawing. Delay the enemy as long as you can, God Save the King."

Beckett's small defensive positions, manned by independent brigades which littered across the rear area of the frontline, were occupied for delaying the Allaneans while rear groups could regroup. Now they would be put into use. The small hillocks were garrisoned by two thousand men each, with sandbag and trench emplacements for autocannons, heavy machine guns, mortars, and anti tank missiles. The whole hillocks were covered with slit trenches and anti tank emplacements, with small numbers of hastily laid mines and barbed wire rolls. With their sight of fire over the Allanean advance and the effective use of hedgehogs and firebases, the Allaneans would have to deal with such delaying positions suhc as the 512th Independent Brigade before they pursued the retreating Questarians.

Good morning, Allanea!

This is Liberty-City speaking. Our Questarian offensive continues, despite heavy losses to air complements. In full, three thousand air superiority aircraft and their pilots, as well as eighty cargo aircraft have been lost. Furthermore, the valiant fighters of the Boy Scout Corps have lost approximately five hundred aircraft to fire from the ground. We would like to thank Allanean Arms for mounting anti-missile defenses and SEPS equipment on all our aircraft, or losses would likely be much greater. Without the support of the private sector, victory in this conflict would have likely been impossible.

Boy Scout Sergeant Frederick Kaczinsky, after igniting multiple enemy vehicles with missile and autocannon fire, has been hit by flak fire from the ground. Rather then eject, Kaczinsky had decided to launch his aircraft at the enemy flak vehicle, becoming a living anti-armor projectile. He is awarded the Liberty Star, Third Class.

Lieutenant Simon Donaldson is the first soldier to be awarded a golden Tank Killer badge, having exterminated three Questarian tanks, four infantry fighting vehicles, five supply trucks and three unidentified vehicles. We congratulate the 1st Ayn Rand Armroed division from having such soldiers in their ranks.

As of now, our troops are 980 kilometers away from London…

980 kilometers away from London, aboard IFV A-455

The infantry vehicle stopped, it’s turret spinning slowly, scanning the horizon. Right ahead of them were the encampments of yet another Questarian unit.

“Brigadier-General!” – barked out one of the soldiers of the Douglas Haig Brigade. Matthew Wesley-Finch shrugged. “Deal with it the usual way.”

Another vehicle parked nearby. It had a large trailer hitched to it. It was from this vehicle that a large rocket was launched. It carried no weapons on it, but behind it was unwrapped a giant hose, loaded with explosives, dragging along on the ground.

“Boom.” – grinned the Brigade General as he saw this rocket, and it’s companion weapons, launched from other vehicles, tear dozens of holes through the enemy minefields.

“Sturmbatallione! For the Queen, for our freedom, advance!” – the Storm Battalion of the Douglas Haig Division went into the multiple breaches. Before them went the mighty Samson tanks and a battalion of Nakils.

Finch grinned as he saw more and more explosions burst over the battlefield. He knew that most of those were caused by his own artillery – Allanean cannon were now pulling forward, beginning to support him with heavy cannon fire against the Questarians.

The SHBT’s, too, did their work. The enemy ATGM’s could not seriously harm their thick hulls, anti-tank mines burst harmlessly under their massive armored bellies as they cleared paths into enemy positions. From their VLS cells, dozens of missiles burst, spamming enemy quarters with fuel-air explosives that enveloped hundreds of square meters in roaring sheets of flame. Sponsoon-mounted 200mm cannon and 140mm autocannon in auxiliary turrets sought out Questarian vehicles, while autocannon mounts cleared out infantry with a rain of fragmentation munitions.

Low-flying helicopters and CAS aircraft, too, did their work to clean the minefields and assault enemy positions with fuel-air explosives – five hundred tons for every one of the Questarian brigade position. Into every breach, every chink, every hole in Questarian positions, , Allanean soldiers pushed with combined arms strikes.

Perhaps a good set of permanent positions could have held up the Allaneans – something like the Kahanistani or Doomani armored bunker lines, or even simple quality earthen fortifications. The Questarian defenses, however, were hastily thrown up, and the Allaneans were able to encircle them and attack from multiple directions, in a complex combined arms strike, using well-equipped, well-trained troops, rather then human waves – though the superior numbers would surely help, too.

Now, the closed-combat capabilities of the Allanean troops played their role. Their IFV’s gave them fire support with a devastating hail of gattling gun and missile fire, their tanks – of all size categories, from light to superheavy – crashed through enemy positions both through superior firepower and simply by sheer armored punch. But it was the infantry that did the main work.

Their light armor suits enabled them best for fighting at close range. It was in the assaulting of fortified positions that the equipment of Allanean troops showed it’s best sides – heavy ‘potato masher’ grenades that shook the enemy bunkers with immense explosive payloads, autoshotguns that cleared the Questarians out with a hail of explosive shells and buckshot, giant trench knives and chainswords for close combat, rifles loaded with quality hollow-point rounds, and, of course, flamers.

Marskman Guy Montag was first into the 558th Brigade lines, carrying an AVA Blasa ( http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12786027&postcount=53) flamer. Enhanced for the moment by synthethic testosterone, he felt nothing but sadistical pleasure as he swept the flame coming out of the barrel of his weapon through a Questarian defensive line only twenty meters ahead. He laughed as he saw several burning figures appear in front of him. He had, apparently, hit at least some people.

“Mwahahah! Burn! Burn them all!” – he fired twice more, and a machinegunner up front ceased. He was way too busy rolling on the ground in pain, flailing his arms and trying to shake off the fire. Then it reached the ammunition belts, and very soon the man calmed down forever.

Senior Marksman Mtaranxeqvejli waved his hand once, launching his AG-6 thermite grenade into some Questarian vehicle. It missed the hatch by a few centimeters, bounced on the roof and set off, a brilliant white flame on top of the vehicle. Seconds later, it would begin to burn through the roof.

“Forward, Freemen!” – Sergeant Niniel Althanas shouted to Mtaranxeqvejli’s left. “Forward! London is just 980 klicks away!”

* * *

In the meanwhile, encoded, tightbeam messages were sent to the Midlonian, Five Kingdoms, and Scandavian commands, as well as for other allied troops.

“We await your support.”

Midlonian sector, July 14th/15th

“And still we remain the least Mauled. God knows why…” muttered the Laputian as he put his bowl-helmet back on and held out his mess-tin, which clanked and sloshed as the rations were dumped into it.
“Yeergh.”

“They anne interested in fighting us ‘ere. We threw ‘em back but now,” an explosion clapped from somewhere in the near-distance, causing the cauldron-carrying soldier to look lazily over in the same direction. “They’re blowing up the Allaneans because it’s them they’re after, nae us.”

“Huh, bloody Questarians. Ah came fer a war.” muttered the soldier as he stuck his spoon into the beef and potato stew and took a mouthful.

“Ye wanne be sayin’ tha if we were getting that much shit.” The cauldron-carrier muttered as he walked away.

“Company stand ready!” Came a shout.

“Ah, bloody ‘ell, wha noo?” grumbled the soldier as he stuffed some of the food into his mouth.

“Company will prepare to mount up and advance!”

The murmuring began at this point as men began to hear the unfamiliar gunning of tank engines and trucks rolling up, battlewagons and APC’s all inching back to the front to allow men and women to board ready.

Midlonians boarded the vehicles still stuffing themselves with food as they did so.

--------

Special Artillery Brigades

“Rounds complete!”

“Firing complete!”

“Cease Loading!”

The Midlonian artillery fell silent as buckets of water were thrown onto the barrels of the guns and battery-powered trucks whipped back and forth from the Ammo dump to the gun positions, bouncing almost comically and dangerously along the small tracks thrown down only a few days earlier.

Men, now down to their helmets and shorts were piling shells and reloading rocket-batteries in the eerie silence that was soon broken by the crack and boom of the Questarian hell being unleashed on the Allaneans.

Standing and lighting a cigarette Brigadier Witsathe looked up at early-morning glow and sighed.

He had a feeling it was going to be a very long war, and a very long day.

“Sir?” muttered the artilleryman who had been answering the phones for the gunners to change their positions as the night had progressed. “Get some sle-” it was at that point the Artilleryman simply collapsed on the ground and snored. Witsathe just chuckled as he sucked greedily on his cigarette.

“Sir, we have orders to pack up and begin to advance into Questers.” another artilleryman spoke quietly.

Withsathe frowned, and sighed. “Put him in the command-vehicle, my bunk, let the drivers get some sleep before we move out.”

“Sir.”

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

Orders had also slipped out after a request of re-enforcements were called for by the Midlonians in order to carry out the necessary, the Midlonian Advance was to be fairly relaxed and limited until the Medium Cavalry Units began to arrive in the next few days. Since the start of the war, replacements were deemed “Inevitable” for the Allanean-front after the severity of the Questarian Attack. So as the Midlonians began to advance, in the air and the sea were additional units of the Medium Cavalry Units were on their way.

The Midlonian Medium Cavalry Units were “Lighter” units, they were designed for lightning advances and severe attacks. They were equipped with the Crusader Mark 7 Tanks, rapid units with 105mm ETC guns.

Advance Units of the 12th, 22nd and 34th Med Cav. Would be arriving by the end of the 15th. By the 17th larger, and heavier elements of those units would arrive and be rapidly heading to the frontlines.

This was the beauty of the Med Cav Units, they could be air-lifted in fairly quickly.

Keeping them well supplied however, was another matter.

Alexander Kazansky appears on the screen, sitting behind a giant and supposedly impressive desk, with an Allanean flag and a portrait of the Queen of Allanea behind him, wearing his parade dress uniform. The only thing disrupting the pristine official athmosphere of the scene is a half-finished bottle of vodka on the desk, and an empty shot glass. "Greetings, your Highness. Greetings, your Majesty," he offers, indicating the Ardan and Menelmacari sovereigns in turn. Kazansky looks at the camera with reddened, sad eyes. He takes off his glasses and clears them nervously. "How can I help?"

Sirithil is in her office, standing before her holoprojector; clearly separate in it are displayed both the Angsiyan of the Five Kingdoms, on the right, and Kazansky, on the left, allowing her to speak with both at once. The projector is large enough to show images of scores of people at once, but for now, two will suffice. And the kicker: Míriel is with Siri. She looks quite angry, and Míriel visibly upset. The Elentári, like the Angsiyan, is clad in a blazing crimson, though this is robes in her usual style; Míriel is largely in black.

On the Ardan screen, the viewer cannot tell immediately whether the Angsiyan Konrad Althalon is seated or not, as he is only visible from the chest up. No adornments are visible behind him, and he seems to be alone, but the angle is tight. His expression is decidedly unpleasant, and its latent fury matches the belligerent red tone of his uniform. He squints disapprovingly at Kazansky's partially emptied libations, but eases his expression once the Allanean speaks. "Hello, Alexander," shoots back Althalon, not bothering to dignify the Allanean with the application of his title.

"Yes," Sirithil says tersely, likewise not bothering with a more formal greeting. "Yes, you can help us. You can explain what in Eru's name you think you're doing in Haven." Althalon's shoulders shift, and although they can't be seen it is apparent he's crossing his arms, his chin bowing slightly in a nod of acknowledgemnt to Sirithil's question when she asks it.

Kazansky shrugs. "Bear with me as I get the map. In general, I am conducting a combined arms counter-invasion of Azaha and Questers, with the aid of all kinds of weaponry." The Elven Queen and the Angsiyan exchange a glance. "I am withdrawing all of Her Majesty's Military from Kahanistan after Al-Ghazi there decided to MOAB his own population and my men with it." A short pause. "There is also limited naval warfare in the Strobovian straights." - he gulps down a glass of vodka with lightning speed. "Would you wish to be brought up to date on the details?"

"That's not what we're talking about Alex, and you know it," retorts Althalon instantly.

"All kinds of weaponry indeed," Sirithil cuts in with a devastating glare Kazansky. If looks could kill, Kazansky would be ash wafting on the breeze, even through the holo.
"And what did I spend all that time in Allanea for?" interjects Míriel. "So you could go right back to murdering and slaughtering as you did before? And now you're doing it in my name! What is wrong with you?!" It is likely that even in Míriel's time in Allanea, nobody has ever seen her this angry or upset.

The Angsiyan pushes his brows together, gesturing for Míriel to sheathe her fury for a moment. "I couldn't care less about the Strobovia Strait at present; if it were in fact a concern of Arda's, you'd have heard more from us on the issue, and the Third would likely be far closer to it at present. My immediate concern, in point of fact, is the Allanean attacks on the Questarian civilian population. The war is less than a week old and the Allaneans have already managed to make a spectacle of themselves. Arda wants to project the impression that we're here to help the region; to enable stability in a world of chaos. This image is not generally acheived when our allies do things like drop the ebola virus on tactically bankrupt targets."

Kazansky retreats into his chair as if under a rain of blows. He gulps for air, as if being strangled. With shaking hands, he begins to refill his glass. "Wait. Wait a minute. I... wait..."

Míriel looks like she wants to speak up again, but Sirithil gives her a calming gesture for now. "Menelmacar expended considerable political capital in Allanea in an attempt to help you rehabilitate your society, nation, and reputation. You have gone to considerable ends since to destroy all that we worked for, and murdered millions in the course of a mere three days."

Althalon raises a quieting hand. "I believe he has something he would like to say, Elentári." His eyes swivel back to Kazansky's telescreen. "Well? Out with it."

Kazansky looks up at Sirithil, pleading. "So this is about London, Azaha-City, and Kriegos?"

"Yes, it is," retorts the Elentari flatly.

"Your Majesty, what would be the Menelmacari response be, should, say, Allanea use biological weapons against one of your allies' civilian population? If I am not mistaken, that the response would be to rapidly retaliate with overwhelming firepower, obliterating the Allanean populace?"

"Hell no," Sirithil replies shortly.

Kazansky raises his eyebrows. "And you do not even view such a thing as reasonable as far as WMD use goes? Mutually assured destruction and all?"

"We would annihilate the command structure that authorized such an attack, and inevitably there will be collateral damage in such an operation. But it was not the people's choice."

"In essense, the logic of the Commander-in-Chief's authorizing me to strike against Questarian targets with biological weapons was to retaliate against the attacks on Carpanthian civilians, which utilized a variety of chemical and biological weapons. Our counterstrike involved missile attacks against the forward line of the Kriegorgradi invasion of Kahanistan, and against the Kriegorgradi capital. The hope was to break the morale of the Kriegos, and to destroy their political structure early in the war. It failed, and no other bioweapons strikes were authorized by us." The Angsiyan and Sirithil exchange another glance, and allow a wordless moment to pass before Kazansky continues. "Our navy had stood down from Delta Zeta Four alert after these launches. Had this worked, you would be now commending me for winning the war for NATO and saving millions of civilian and military casualties from murder and genocide. It failed. It was faulty strategy. It was not however the kind of meaningless violence which Allanea used to be known for. Wait. I need another drink."

Sirithil blinks suddenly. "Delta Zeta Four?" She recognizes the name of Sharan's province-planet. "Explain this designation."

"You would think me mad. In essense, at one point, Allanea's military seriously trained for war with the Eternal Empire. Do not laugh, please. Ever since, we have codes for various kinds of readiness based on key holdings of the Empire. Delta Zeta Four is the second-highest authorization code, allowing for use of weapons of mass destruction on civilian targets."

"Moot point," cuts in Althalon tiredly, irritated at the track along which the conversation had progressed. "Mutually Assured Destruction as a strategic concept died when missile shields became commonplace. It is not an excuse for going straight to the civilians at the immediate outbreak of what otherwise appears to be a conventional war. In a conflict such as this the value of propaganda and public opinion is as important as the value of armies and cities. Attacks such as those you've launched will only strengthen the Commonwealth's resolve against us." He throws up his hands in exasperation. "If we push over the corridor and into Questers proper, we will be occupying these people. Do you really want this shit on our plate? It will not break their morale. If they've managed to follow their governments so blindly up until now, a biological capmaign can only have the opposite of its intended response. They've already marched to war against all odds, what makes you think they will be so easily broken? Almost as an afterthought he adds, "Also, why was I not consulted? I have three god damned hundred thousand soldiers on the ground in Allanea, subject to reprisal. What made you think we'd be okay with this?"

"You are now talking about London, I think. We had a point with London. We believed - wrongly - that bombings would cause civilians to be evacuated to the South. This would disrupt the local logistics, and likely tempt the Juumanistrans to invade. This has failed, as well."

"You massacred half a million people and left seven million homeless to disrupt logistics?" the Elentári balks.

"It would disrupt Questers entire had it worked. It didn't. As such, as you may have noticed, I have ordered - immediately after the failure of London raids - the diversion of all air units from raid duty. The things for which you rightfully deride me have already ceased. I merely offer one thing in my defense now... that none of this was done for the sake of carnage for carnage's sake. Just... no. Now... damn, the bottle's empty.""

"What I noticed - and have confirmed with your explanations - is a demonstrable pattern of attempting to reach objectives by bombing civilian populations instead of the targets that would let you achieve those objectives," quips Sirithil. "A very... Allanean pattern, that."

Kazansky's eyes flicker to Sirithil's screen. "I feel there is nothing I can say at this juncture that'll make any of you believe otherwise. I would not wish to insult your Highness, or her Majesty the Queen, with further attempts to defend myself from these charges."

Althalon slams both hands on his desk and flies violently to his feet. "Mend your words lest they mar your fortunes!" he thunders through the screen. "You're patently missing the point here, Alexander Kazansky, and it's getting tiring. I do not care in the slightest about the strategic reasons for doing what you did. None of your reasons can diffuse the crushing, indefensible truth of the fact that these things were done, their reasons nonwhistanding." His eyes flash. "Terrorizing the populace as you have is a tactic of the Black Enemy, and it is to this reminder of his nature that Arda must strenuously object. Unless you want the Commonwealth's citizenry arrayed against you until time's end, then I would suggest ceasing such tactics. More importantly, it is the condition by which Arda will continue to aid you."

"Your honor, I repeat again. I have already ordered a diversion of all forces from this... activity. Over 24 hours ago.'

The Angsiyan rubs his temples. "I do not care what you've done with these forces after the fact, Alexander. I care that it happened in the first place."

"You said I must cease this, and I answer it has already been ceased." Kazansky nods now at the Menelmacari. "Please have mercy on me. I see now that whatever I say, it will offend you only further. Just tell me what must be done further."

"It better be over with," Althalon growls. "You're on thin ice, and I shall be under it when it breaks." Kazansky looks to Althalon, and his eyes glare with pure, unadulterated anger. It seems now that he is struggling to contain himself. It lasts a few seconds, and then Kazansky recovers.

Sirithil looks at Alex levelly. "It is my view that Allanea has demonstrated it can no longer be trusted with the offensive components of this war. Assuming of course it is amenable to the Angsiyan, I would propose that offensive operations in the Allanea-Questers theater fall entirely under the purview of the Ardan Pax forces, and that the Allanean military limit itself to defensive and support operations only."

"Well, obviously we can't prevent Allanea from defending itself, and we understand that we don't have access to the military hardware on the ground in Haven that could service Allanea's defense," elaborates Althalon. "To this end it is understood that she may engage on offensives on a strategic level, be it to cripple various threats, be they ICBM, ICKM or otherwise." He holds up a finger. "However we believe we have now reached the point where an Allanean occupation of even the slightest bit of Commonwealth soil will pose massive problems for us. I have no desire at present to fight alongside Allanean soldiers in any country other than Allanea. The choice is yours--either the full withdrawl of Ardan forces in Northern Allanea, or complete jurisdiction over any overland offensive campaigns in the south."

"And of course, 'strategic offenses' does not include anything even resembling a civilian target. Should such a strike be necessary," Sirithil adds, "It should be up to the Ardans to decide whether to proceed."

"Your Majesty, let me first of all specify that under no condition shall any Allanean soldier engage in any kind of long-term 'occupation' of Questarian soil. I believe such a thing is completely deranged and impossible, and will not advise anybody to proceed on it. Furthermore, I propose the following solution to my... friends in the Five Kingdoms."

"The term of the occupation is irrelevant," retorts the Ardan. "Soldiers will have to lay boots on Questers at some point, and it is to this certainty I am speaking."

"Your Honor, Allanean soldiers are currently invading Questers. These are the soldiers that will carry the banner of our victory to London. However, once peace is signed, I refuse to lend another Allanean soldier to the cause of occupying the nation. I am ready to consult with you on any move we will take in the future, or even require your approval for it. However, Allanean soldiers are doing the bulk of the fighting in Questers. They will continue to do this, and will do so until Her Majesty's banner will wave from the Royal Palace in London. It is our nation that the Questarians have attacked. It is only fitting that we will finish the war."

Sirithil frowns. "Last I heard, there isn't a royal palace in London," she deapans. "What with you having bombed it." Míriel frowns more at this.

Althalon appears unimpressed. "My concerns are mainly political in nature, Alexander. The military situation is of course of massive consequence, but we're more confident of our military successes than our political successes so far. This isn't about winning the war, Alexander, this is about winning the peace."

"However, and I say this again. I am willing to listen to your instructions as to how I should fight the war," insists Kazansky. "I must, however, insist that it is within my prerogative to fight it."

"Our instructions as to how you shall fight the war is, 'not in Questers,'" answers Sirithil bluntly.

"Then alongside Ardans we will not fight - as we do not fight alongside them now, as none of them dared to show their face on the frontline yet, Althalon!" - Kazansky glares.

Althalon gives Kazansky a flat look. "I wonder why." He leans back in his seat, amused at last. He even chuckles a little. "The war is less than a week old, Alex. You really think we'd force our hand so soon if we didn't have to? You give me far too little credit."

The Allanean's tone grows in agitation. "You have parked your troops in the rear of mine, hiding behind the backs of Allanean troops, hoping for your shot at some vain glory or political benefit when the Questarians bleed to death on our bayonets. Now, when they are in rout, you demand that I withdraw my Sword from battle.

"Please. You've been fighting for three days, so stop pretending it's been some fantastic imposition. You're talking to the man who overthrew Morgoth. Warfare is not alien to me by any means."

"You order me to cease strategic air raids when I have already done so, and to refuse to fight against those who wish to kill my people and subject them to slavery and extermination? If you wish to withdraw your support, you are free to do so."

"I did not suggest you not fight them, Alex. Put down that vodka and pay attention to what I'm saying, or better yet, come back and watch this again when you're sober." Althalon scowls.

"Your majesty, there are no Questarians on my side of the border. There is twenty kilometers of Questarian land between the closest Questarian soldier and the border, and they are in retreat."

"Fine. I'll activate the Pax and we'll keep it that way."

Sirithil nods, seemingly satisfied with this. "Just don't cross that border, Alex, and we won't have any problems."

Althalon locks his hands together loosely and sets his chin on his knuckles. "If you don't plan on occupying Questers, this shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

Kazansky sighs. "I see I have not made myself clear. I have listened to your concerns about attacks on civilian targets. I guarantee you, on my word as a Freeman, that there will not be any more of these. If this does not satisfy you, and you insist on this "solution" of yours without any kind of compromise, than you shall have to remain unsatisfied, Queen of Menelmacar, Angsyian, or whoever."

Sirithil glances at Althalon. "I think he's going to make it a problem."

Althalon doesn't answer the Elentári, busy growling at the Allanean. "This is a compromise, Alexander Kazansky."

Míriel looks at him, almost pleadingly. "Why can't you listen? Just once? Please, just do what they're asking... I've had enough of this!"

Easing up, Althalon leans back in his seat a bit. "Nonetheless, I feel this situation warrants more dialogue, preferably with a sober Allanean official. I don't need an answer right now, but we will have to clarify the situation further over the next few days, as the Pax gets ready to move."

Kazansky looks at Miriel. "Can I not persuade anybody here that I am not drunk or crazy?"

Althalon exhales sharply and stirs, but says nothing. His eyes drop to his desk and his shoulder moves subtly on the screen as he writes something down. Sirithil sighs. She looks off to one side as if studying something; it can't be seen from Alex's or Althalon's end, but she's looking over a map of the theater, up to the second, thanks to Elenpalantír data. She draws in a breath and speaks.

"Perhaps we can arrange an offensive by which Allaneans can provide air support and perhaps aid in assaults within a certain range of the border. They'd have to stay a certain distance away from civilian settlements, though, and would not be permitted to hold territory once taken, that is up to the Ardans. Is this amenable to you, Althalon?"

Kazansky raises his hand. "Here's my suggestion. It is very simple, and I think will be amenable to you all. Will you hear me out?"

Althalon nods to Sirithil simply, but turns to Kazansky's screen a moment later. "By all means."

"I assume the Five Kingdoms have an analytical staff capable of at least rapid reaction. As such, this will be very simple."

The Angsiyan narrows his eyes. "Go on."

"All Allanean operations in the Haven theater will be subject to approval by Five Kingdoms and Menelmacari authorities on the appropriate levels, as well as all operating procedures for Army Group Serendis and Army Group Azaha. In essence, we will ask you for permission before we do anything."

Althalon nods approvingly, but is clearly expecting more. Sirithil folds her arms across her chest, listening. Her reaction is similar. "Anything offensive, yes," reminds Althalon. "Allanea may conduct her defense as she sees fit. We'll try to keep clear."

"In fact, if you may, I will explain to you what my plan is. In essence, there is nothing much between Allanea and London except some farmland and a lot of forestry-based industries. This allows us pretty much a free hand in he use of heavy equipment until we reach the industrialized areas about a hundred kilometers from London."

Althalon rasises a quieting hand. "The specifics of your strategy can be discussesd at length with my military advisors at any time you wish. This conversation is meant to deal solely with the pertinent political issues as they pertain to your attacks so far. It is on primarliy political grounds that I cannot be seen administering territory alongside the Allaneans. I understand withdrawing your armies to your borders now would cause a tactical collapse, so I can't insist that it be done now, but I can insist that Allanea be barred from occupying or administering Questarian land."

"This is quite well. President Goldwasser is firmly opposed to us 'occupying' or 'administering' anything with Questarians in it," offers Kazansky confidently.

"If you need to assault ground positions close to the border to ensure your own national stability, so be it," the Angsiyan continues. But we don't want the Allaneans grabbing massive bits of Questarian land, and we definately don't want them to be maneuvered to within, oh..." he pauses. "Let's say 100 kilometers of major civilian centers."

Sirithil purses her lips, and ponders the offered terms. She nods a little at this, and glances to Míriel, who nods as well. "I suppose that will do for now," the Elentári responded, "But I would like to be kept up to date as the Angsiyan will be. And for the record, these guidelines apply to Azaha and other Commonwealth nations at that."

"Well," Althalon starts in a conciliatory tone, "we can't really get to Azaha and the rest of the Commonwealth right away anyway, so I'm a little less interested in those territories than I am in Questers proper."

"Again I say this," Alexander replies. "We will leave Questers on the day the war is over, which I expect it will be by the end of this month. We have no interest in Questarian land, and we advise that people generally abstain from doing so. Questarians are a proud people, and every farmer in Questers sleeps with a rifle under his pillow. An occupying force will whip them up into a frenzy of guerilla warfare that would make any occupier bleed himself to death. I am uninterested in such... adventures."

Althalon pushes his eyebrows together. He speaks quickly, suddenly concerned that Kazansky may be missing the more immediate stipulations of his position. "I hope you do realize that I don't want you administering Questarian soil during wartime either."

"We will see." - says Kazansky. "I hope that by the time London is within 100 kilometers of our lines, you will change your mind. By that time I hope you will see we are as capable of honorable and restrained warfare as you are."

Althalon is clearly struggling to contain himeslf. "I believe you have already destroyed the possibility of that realization, Alexander."

"I believe we have reached some points of understanding. In Allanea we say: 'One sheep, then another, you screw the entire herd.' Let us screw our cows in order of their arrival. I will consult your commanders regarding what to do *tomorrow*. Then, on the day after. And so forth."

The Ardan soveriegn balks at Kazansky's choice of words, and is clealy stricken mute for a moment. "Yes.. of course," he answers under knotted brows. "I'll be anxious to hear from you."

Sirithil frowns, never pleased with Kazansky's almost wilful unprofessionalism. Not that the drinking had helped, either. "Indeed. As will I."

"Very well. I apologize for causing you this much concern, your Majesty." - Alex now glances at Miriel directly. - "Thank you for your attention for our affairs here in barbaric Haven."

Míriel, in a flash of anger at what she thinks is sarcasm, abruptly closes the transmission; the conversation over, Sirithil makes no move to stop her.

Somewhere In Allanea
~1500km From Front
July 16th


There eight army groups had been under way for the better part of the day, stopping only for a short nap every few hours. Most of the men in the army groups would get rest, but not those who crewed the MLRS batteries of the Imperial army groups would receive no such respite. After all, they were the reason for the stop. Rather, their mission was the reason for the stop. Even if the Imperial Army was late getting to the front, they'd make sure the front knew of their approaching presence.

"Right," began General of the Army O'Connel, "We know the Questarians are in full retreat. However, our recon sats tell us they're leaving brigade-size trip wires for the Allaneans to run over. While I'm sure they could deal with them, and the JSC agrees with me on that point, our lords and masters wish to remind the Allaneans this isn't solely their fight. So, our missile artillery will begin an hour long bombardment of the trip wire positions and clear the way for the Allaneans to fall on the retreating formations from behind. I'm thinking clearing out the center positions would be best, since that will make sure there is no possibility of the Allaneans having their divisions split up and trapped against the terrain."

"That sounds like a good plan, Sir, but what about air support? The Questarians might decide bombing us would be a good idea," commented a Lieutenant General, in this instance a commander of a heavy armour corp form Haleigha.

"Aerospace Marshall McLeod has assured me that we'll have coverage from AWACS and FB-101s out of Dublin. If the Questarians get frisky, we'll have plenty of warning and they'll pay for their temerity. Also, I want to keep corp and army level anti-air batteries up with skeleton crews and division level batteries on stand-by just in case the 101s aren't enough," ordered O'Connel.

Muttered instances of "Yes, sir," were his answer. Even the generals hadn't slept much. They had been planning for this and making sure everything was ready. The conference with O'Connel was the final pre-show rehearsal, not even strictly necessary. However, the professional in all the general officers demanded it be held so that every was on the same page, that there would be no confusion.

Once other minor details had been taken care of the generals logged off and began issuing orders to the units under their command. There would be no rush, not when the soldiers were tired. The mixture of harried soldiers and tiredness often led to fatal accidents and none of the general officers were prepared to report casualties before contact was made with the enemy. Beyond that consideration, there was simply no point. The Questarians would, more than likely, not be able to send strike aircraft to deal with the MLRS batteries when the Allaneans were a much more immediate worry.

O'Connel had been napping for 30 minutes when a voice clearing woke him. He opened his eyes and found a field officer nervously standing in the view screen of his command track's computer. Upon inspection of the officer's uniform O'Connel found the man to be a Captain, which more than likely meant a company commander.

"Captain, what may I do for you?" O'Connel asked kindly.

"Sir, I apologize for waking you, but I was wondering if you'd like to do the honors?" The field officer asked in return.

It took the General's sleep-addled mind a minute to think of what the Captain could possibly be talking about, but when he finally did come up with the answer he looked at the Captain as if he'd grown a second head, "Captain, this is irregular. I hope I needn't remind you about the importance of the chain of command and the fact that you're skipping a great deal of very important links in that chain to comm me. Further, you're holding up an important operation with this... request."

The Captain had the grace to look abashed, but quickly pressed on, "Yes, sir, I do understand. However, it was strong suggested to me by my division commander."

"I see," O'Connel said at length." What your unit?"

"Bravo Battery, 604th Fires Regiment, 331st Armoured, sir!" The captain snapped out automatically. The pride in his voice was conveyed quite strongly and with good reason given that the 331st was quite possibly the most storied division in the entire Imperial Army.

"Yes, that would explain a lot. Very well, pass me your command screen," ordered the General of the Army.

The Captain nodded, looked down briefly into what was obviously his field computer, punched a few virtual keys on the computer's screen, and looked back up. "Should come up in a few moments. Coordinates are already imputed, you just need to hit the fire button."

"Thanks, Captain," was O'Connel's short answer.

"Kill 'em all, sir!" The Captain signed off with the 331st's greet and a sharp salute.

"Semper Invictus, Captain!" O'Connel returned the courtesy with the Imperial Army's motto.

True to the Captain's word, the screen came up almost immediately after and O'Connel carefully pushed the fire button. Each MLRS launcher had space for four SGM-323 hypersonic strike missiles or fourteen SUR-320 RABS/GERABS artillery rockets. For the bombardment of the tripwire positions the SGM was the only artillery with the range necessary. The Little Dagger, as it was known, was more of a true missile than an artillery rocket, but Imperial Army designers had found it to be perfect for what they wanted. The missile's sustainer was a scramjet, so it was necessary to fit a rocket to accelerate the missile to supersonic speeds, but once it got their the kerosene/boron/fluorine gel slurry fuel quickly brought the missile to its top speed of Mach 7.8. The warhead was a simple osmium-cobalt rod that hit with the yield equivalent of about a hundred pounds of HE. That wasn't a lot, but considering there were over 5,000 MLRS in the army and the hour-long bombardment would feature six separate salvos, the damage would add up.

I'm not telling you
Army Command
15th July

Assembled in the Army Command Centre were four senior officers. Firstly, Field Marshall Graner, the Army CIC. He didn’t have much control over what was to come though; the Prime Minister had personally stepped in and agreed that the ideas of three more junior officers, who’d formed a plan named Operation: Rudel. The operation was named in honour of the German Stuka Ace Hans-Ulrich Rudel. Naturally, his chosen profession was more than related to the nature of the operation.

The operation planned for three things: firstly, the seizure of airspace sufficient for the strategic objectives to be fulfilled. Secondly, the eradication of Allanean ground fighting capability, and thirdly, the destruction of Allanean airfields. Number two would begin immediately, whereas one and three would be gradually conducted. As the operation kicked off, the senior officers awaited eagerly with tea mugs the result of their planning.

North Questers
Frontline
697th Fighter Squadron
15th July

The 697th was operating in a different manner than usual. They were also escorting something; for each finger four formation there was a high flying RADAR drone and another low flying stealthy UAV, plus an intermediate ELINT/EW/AWACs drone to lend support to the fighters. The operation was simple: as they glided at 10,000 metres, as soon as the high flying drone was lit up, the low flying one would discharge its payload of SEAD missiles to deal with the SAM RADAR that had just lit its friend up. The AWACs drone and the other planes provided the second part of the mission: keep the skies free of Allanean aircraft. This too was a simple task, because if any airborne SAMs targeted the fighters, they’d be hit back by the drones. Yes, this mission would at first be costly, and everyone knew it; but it would pay dividends, because either the Allaneans would waste their SAM capability and allow the Questarians to bring forth their fantastically large strategic reserve of aircraft, effectively handing over control of the skies, or they could keep quiet about the hammer that was about to smack a nail in the kneecap of the Allanean advance.

There were currently two hundred such squadrons operating on routine missions over Allanea, circulating between tankers and airfields at least eight hundred kilometres behind the lines. Operating a feathered air defence network, the Questarians had those previously mentioned airfields covered by fighters and interceptors from airfields even further back in the country. At any one time it could be counted on that there would be a squadron in the air for every ten kilometres of the front line. Any Allanean SAM operators that were stupid and or brave enough to light up their RADARs and knock on the door of Operation Rudel would be met with a rather rude rottweiler who’s owner wasn’t too happy to be woken up at four in the morning. That wasn’t the best of it, either. The entire frontline was covered in a comprehensive air bracket, courtesy of high flying AWACs – or AIRDAR as the Questarians liked to call it – flying some hundred kilometres behind the lines, scanning over the whole of the frontline and the Allanean airfields behind it for five hundred kilometres, their Juumanistran crews reporting, though electronically, with glee, into the interlinked RADAR network if an Allanean plane was detected, and the all too happy air coordinators would do their part by vectoring in the appropriate fighters who were either waiting on the tarmac or circling someplace behind the frontline to deal with newly arisen targets if reinforcements were necessary or a gap was left behind. Network-centric warfare at its best.

It was tiring work for everyone involved, but there was no lack of motivation. In the mess halls of the airfields, the air coordination bunkers, in the control rooms of the UAVs and even printed on photograph in the cockpits of aircraft, were the photographs of London, of the Azahan capital, of the children and pensioners infected with Ebola in Kriegorgrad.

If the Allanean intent was to hurt morale, they had done the exact opposite. There was now not a single man on the front lines that doubted the word that Allaneans were rats.

Rats that needed exterminating.

North Questers
Frontline
414th Strategic Strike Regiment
15th July

‘Left a bit... Left a bit... steady...’ The bombardier whispered as he began correcting the aim on the giant MI-495 aircraft.

‘Open the doors.’ He said again.

‘As soon as we've got our speed.’ The pilot replied, looking out of his window to see his wingmates flying at 16,000 metres, supported by ELINT aircraft and escort fighters.

‘Okay, go left. Go left. Left a bit.’

‘More?’

‘A bit more... quick, go left... to 344...’ The bombardier whispered, sighting up the advancing Allanean forces.

‘Come on... steady... go left a bit... opening doors.’ the bombardier said again, heart beating faster. ‘Cmon... steady... gonna get them!’ The bombardier said as the IR targeting reticule began to flash.

‘Alright I’ve, I’ve got the target!’ He said quickly and elatedly, the pilot grinning back.

‘Ah, beautiful! Speed up a bit or?’ He asked back. The pilot wanted it to be a perfect run.

‘Now!’ The bombardier shouted.

‘Fuckin’ beautiful!’

‘Bomb’s away! Gone, they’re away!’ The bombardier pulled back hard on the joysticks with glee, hearing the mechanics of the four gigantic bomb bays open and the bombs fall out, whistling as they left, right down onto a concentration of Allanean tanks. Each bomber was loaded down with four hundred 500 kilogram cluster bombs.

‘Fuckin beautiful! Jesus Christ you wanna see all those fuckers! The fuckin bombs are beautiful!’

The pilot reported back to his bombardier. ‘Jesus… the whole sky is covered with fuckin’ bombs!’ the bombardier called out.

‘I know, I know.’ The pilot said.

176 of the Mi-495s, from four different regiments, began to unload their payloads across the thickest concentration of Allanean armour and mechanized infantry. From the bomb bays rapidly emptying, just under 70,000 AG/CM-42 cluster munitions spilling out from the air and descending at speed before exploding above the Allanean advance. Each munition, weighing at 500kg, held 250 anti-armour bomblets. The aim of the game was literally to saturate the advancing Allanean lines with explosives. Unlike their Allanean counterparts, the escorts (backed by large scale AWACs and ELINT missions) were optimised to fly air superiority, and as such would be more than competent foes for any fighters the Allaneans could scramble for an attack placed directly after their miserable failure in the air. Over a hundred kilometres of Allanean line was covered in anti armour munitions.

This wasn’t even the beginning of Operation Rudel.

As said Mi-495s began to take the 2,000 kilometre trip back to their airbases, their comrades, perfectly timed, had just arrived in-theatre with their freshly tanked up escorts. They had said that man made fire by rubbing two sticks together. There were a lot more than two sticks in the bomb bays of 352 MI-495 heavy bombers, license produced versions of the Candrian B22, and classified as the MI-495M in the Navy.. Following the same path as the others, and flying high enough and covered by the same ELINT and EW aircraft with their SEAD comrades operating down below, the bombers were effectively safe from surface to air fire. Not that they were going to stick around for long; each aircraft carried, in its bomb bay, precisely 120 1,000kg napalm cluster munitions. In the fourth bomb bay of the gigantic bomber lay 40 1000kg white phosphorous cluster munitions. Spreading over the same 100km area that the anti armour cluster bombs had just ravaged, the bombs would be sure to create a firestorm that any rat- er, Allaneans, would be hard pressed to survive in, even with their battle armour. 14,000 tons of white phosphorous and 42,000 tons of napalm do not make for a nice exercise in not having your skin burned off the bone.

There were many airbases, hidden or not, bunkered or not, that housed the MI-495Ms, and through strong use of tankers and strategic planning, they were able to bring to bear another strike of the same magnitude onto the Allanean lines. Just as the advancing troops thought they were clear, another 42,000 tons of napalm, 14,000 tons of WP, and 70,000 tons of anti-armour cluster munitions rained hell upon them a full forty minutes later. This was not the full fury of the Army Air Service. This was mere revenge, pocket change in the inventory of the IQAAS. It wasn’t even particularly calculated; a brutal bombardment that sent one, unwritten, but surely realised message to the Allaneans: We know you love big explosions. Shall we put more on show for you?

There was not a tear of remorse in the eyes of the pilots of these bombers: they knew what the Allaneans were willing to do to their families, their loved ones. If there was one thing the Questarian held above his King and his Country, it was his family. Of course the law allowed for a vast degree of individualism in Questers, but it did not exist. Questers was, for the most part, a collective society. Perhaps the Allanean individualism had allowed their people to earn four times that of the average Questarian, to drive fancy cars, to own houses larger than many Questarians would ever see in their lifetime. The bomber pilots sitting in their cockpits watching the flames ignite knew this. They knew they fought an enemy several times richer than them, who did not have to worry about such petty things as the MOT, or that there wasn’t enough money to repair the fence, or that you had to buy the wife a better present this time but the wage cuts were hitting your wallet hard. The war was not universally supported; not everyone saw the point in a war with Gholgoth and there certainly were people who knew they could exploit the ration situation and make some quick cash. But now the Allaneans were at their doorstep, with, as far as the average Questarian knew, the intent to rape their women, impale their childen and pillage their homes. They would fight to the last drop of blood for every inch in Questers; not for any ideological or religious reason, but because they were damn scared of what the Allaneans would do when they got to their homes.

Well behind the lines, hanging with the AWACS, groups of EW aircraft where put to task, their mission being either specially to gather SIGINT on the Allanean military or to simply fuck with communications. Two hundred drones, launchable from fields that farmers gladly let the military use (in return for some milspec weaponry to defend his house with), had the mission of directly attacking Allanean communications by joint-brute forcing them with their brute, yet unsophisticated electronics, while four dozen airborne electronic warfare aircraft began the mission of both gathering SIGINT and directly attacking the Allaneans.

It was just one of the many measures that Air Command had in stock to stem the Allanean tide.

Even on the tactical level, the Allaneans would pay for their incompetence in the air. Ready to take off from their airbases, Questarian aircraft began combat sorties immediately as the Allanean losses were reported and the skies were clear. Some airfields across the frontline were lost, but rear-area airstrips accounted for these. Most aircraft had already been lifted off as the retreat began as it became clear the frontline hastily constructed airbases would fall prey to Allanean long range artillery. From the troops hard pressed at the front, air support would be long awaited but welcome. As they took cover in their slit trenches and hid behind heavy machine guns, the troops on the ground initiating the delaying action watched as the telltale scream of D3A Suiseis dared them to look upwards. The flight of Suisei’s, these particular planes belonging to 399th Air Regiment, curved their way through the clear skies, shrugging off light anti air and dodging missiles.

North Questers
Frontline
339th Air Regiment
15th July

‘You see that fucker down there?’

‘Yup. Big fat bastard. <Imperator> , isn’t it?’

‘Uh huh.’ The pilot responded his wingmates query as he watched the infrared image from his FLIR pod give him a decent view of the ground below him.

‘Okay, let’s light that cocksucker up.’

If anyone on the ground was watching, they would observe a slight blur in the air, and if you were close enough, maybe you’d hear the whistle the sound made as the air curved around the bomb, guided by infrared imaging and a series of laser targeting devices as it fell on the advancing SHBT. A moment later, a click inaudible to even the pilots of the plane signalled the release of a pair of SP-21 thermobaric loaded weapons, dousing the surroundings of the superheavy tank in roaring flame. This was the standard pattern wherever there were Allanean superheavy tanks; a pair of Suisei’s knocking at the roof of the vehicle with two 500 kilogram laser/IR guided gravity bombs before showering the target zone with fuel air explosives.

North Questers
Frontline
Questarian Sixth Rifle Division
15th July

The Questarian Sixth Army that had been left behind in the delaying action while the rest of the troops withdrew and regrouped. The Field Army that had once consisted of forty divisions was now badly mauled, but still fighting. The best thing was that, along the hastily constructed defensive line, NATO aligned forces had made no attempt to disrupt the supply lines, and ammunition was still coming in while rear echelon units reorganised and prepared for a counterattack where they could be certain the trails in the sky where from their own planes, and their own planes only.

It was like thunder, really. Manmade thunder, General Edmunds thought as he casually took a stroll down the front trench line, rifle shots whizzing overhead. Command had certainly chosen the right man for the job, as Edmunds was a soldier’s General, not some poncy little faggot who sat behind the lines, as his Aide had once overheard a praising Lieutenant remark. Vastly outnumbered, the Questarians were not giving up without a fight. This field certainly would be stained red, Edmunds thought. Though perhaps it may be a murky brown he thought again, observing the thickness of the mud in the small but neatly arranged trench network. Another explosion nearby did nothing but force Edmunds to readjust his helmet. Edmunds had been a POW in Doomingsland, and if he wasn’t scared of those pederastic bible thumping Doomani interrogators, he damn well wasn’t scared of some longnosed shitfucks, By Jove!

‘Sir! General Edmunds Sir!’ An overly enthusiastic NCO gave him a sharp salute as Edmunds arrived at his destination.

‘Good morning son.’ Edmunds saluted back, and the young corporal seemed proud that he had been saluted by Edmunds himself, commander of the famed Sixth Rifle Division.

Edmunds walked into the command station, where his brigadiers and colonels were assembled, looking worryingly out from the makeshift earthen bunker.

‘What’s going on?’ Edmunds demanded to know, startling some of the seniors as they jumped up to stand to attention. One of the few that didn’t was Brigadier Hastings, who still stood at his posts, glaring out into the battle through mudstained binoculars.

‘What’s up chief?’ Hastings asked without turning away. He was one of the very few men in the Division, hell, in the entire Army, that dared to call Edmunds anything but by his rank. Hastings had served alongside the General in Doomingsland, the blistering desert sun, fighting hard battles, only to watch their band of brothers whittled away day by day by a deadly combination of the terrain, the animal kingdom, and of course their not so friendly hosts.

‘Marshall Ambrose told me his boys would be putting on a show for us.’ Edmunds said, moving up to the view slit in the bunker, a junior Captain moving aside for him.

‘Maybe.’ Hastings said. ‘There’s been aircraft flying over all since early afternoon. They haven’t done such a bad jo’ Hastings cut himself off. ‘Holy Shit! Can you hear that?’

The bunker went as quiet as such a place did in wartime, and the drone of gigantic jet engines could be heard many kilometres in the sky. Yes, it was overshadowed by the screams of fighting, the explosions and the myriad of other audial distractions that war brought. But they could definitely be heard. Edmunds rushed outside the bunker, and he could himself barely see them. But there they were. He gasped and marveled at the same time.

Four-ninety-fives. Hundreds of them. Wistfully soaring through the sky like dinosaurs once had, Edmunds thought. Hell naw. He dismissed the idea. Dinosaurs did not carry the same ordnance as one of these big birds as the Army was so fond of calling them. This time, you could see the bombs. From the smaller CAS aircraft you couldn’t; there weren’t enough of them and they were too fast. Dropping dozens of bombs, these larger bombers exposed their payloads momentarily as they dropped to the floor. Had Edmunds kept his eye on the planes, he would have watched them turn as tight as they possibly could before accelerating, but he didn’t, as he was more interested in what they had dropped. And rightfully so.

In front of his eyes, the whole battlefield set itself alight. A mix of dark and bright flames, dancing yellow and blazing orange mixed with fiery red and a shade of gray that was actually, for once, not dull, tore across the battlefield. Entire lines; entire blocks of napalm and white phosphorous cutting a swath across the battlefield, ignorant of their targets. ‘My God.’ Edmunds whispered. His frown turned to a grin as he realised just what had happened. ‘Jesus Christ the flyboys just gave the Zogs a toasting!’ He shouted, letting the troops around him hear it. They were too busy watching the explosions themselves to care. ‘If only we’d had this firepower in Doomingsland…’ he muttered, as he watched explosions line the horizon from right to left; there wasn’t anything in sight ahead of him, to his left, or to his right that he could see that wasn’t ablaze.

Edmunds looked up to the sky, looking for bombers he could mouth a silent word of thanks to.

Instead he saw a Scandavian rocket.

North Questers
Rear Area HQ
Questarian First Army Headquarters
15th July

General McCarthy cursed as he looked over the reports. ‘So… we don’t have any word form the Sixth?’

‘Who knows.’ His aide, a one Lieutenant-General Barton shrugged. ‘It seems that the Sixth has been destroyed. We can’t see fuck all from all the fires down there the flyboys started. That and the Scandavian bombardment – we’re presuming it was the Scandavians, as it fits with our intel, anyway, they wiped the slate clean.’

‘Damn it all to hell.’ McCarthy said. What he didn’t know; or any of the Questarian commanders, was that the Sixth wasn’t just ready to fall back. One last push would probably wipe out the division. While Operation Rudel had come too late to save the Sixth Rifle Division, they had brought vital time for McCarthy to get his tanks into a counter-attackable position.

‘And our fuel lines?’

‘Well.’ Barton said, with a pause. ‘The fuel depots round this part were hit fairly hard. We lost a major one with those kay-ee strikes. In fact I think its still burning now. Anyway, our local dumps are fine. All our tanks are fueled up and ready to go, which is the good news. The bad news is that our fuelers aren’t. No more refills.’ Barton shook his head. ‘Thank fucking God they didn’t hit the aviation fuel stocks.’

‘S’not my concern.’ Mccarthy said. ‘Can we get those tanks and infantry rumbling? Like, now?’

‘Can do boss.’ Barton nodded.

Forty kilometres back from the line, the tanks began to rumble into position, headlights illuminating the highway as evening turned to midnight. Moving down the FG-3 highway with motorized infantry on their tails, four armoured divisions and four motorized divisions with attached mobile AT and SPGs began to form up and move to reinforce what was left of the Sixth, and exploit the giant pounding that the Air Service had just delivered.

Army Group Serendis Command,
15th of July

“Bear with me here.” - Marshal Rokossosvky nodded sternly as he inspected the map of Northern Questers on the computer screen above him - “Gentlemen, in the past few hours, we have been subject to multiple air attacks on this front. However, due to the fact we actually have more AA vehicles then they have aircraft, that our interceptors outnumber their close-air support craft... well, they're not doing as well as they would want to.”

The other members of the Command peered at the screen. There, in a depiction of the struggle that was going on over the Questarian skies. There, red dots circled, each standing for a Questarian aircraft or UAV formation. They were chased about by immense amounts of blue dots - heavily armed“Shadow” interceptors, lighter, more agile “Hawks”, and so forth.

Moreover, the umbrella provided by the Allanean “Praetorian” SAMs and the air defense ships slowly creeping South in the Havenic sea continued to spam up the sky with thousands – nay, dozens of thousands of anti-air missiles. From the ground, Allanean IFV's and tanks – even the Nakils were equipped with flak cannon – threw immense amounts of flak into the sky. Most interestingly, of these thousands of missiles, 2,000 were directed against the Mi-495 aircraft as they approached the allanean lines.

“This doesn't look too good, Sir.”

“Indeed it does not.”

Now the ground burned in Questers itself. Within minutes of the beginning of the onslaught, ten thousand Allanean troops would die. The protection of their powered armor and vehicles would mean their casualties would be less then Questarian casualties in a comparable attack would be – and still they were massive. Three thousand Nakil 1A2 tanks were destroyed by the bombings, mostly by the anti-armor bomblets. In the rear, airifields were disabled by enemy fire, runways torn apart, hangars collapsing under the rain of enemy bombs, aircraft burning on the runways.

On the Army Group Command's KDE-operated screens, this looked like dozens of blue dots flickering, some dying out forever, only a blank terrain notation where just a second ago was an army unit.

“I dislike the prospect of this. And what is this thing, right over here?”

A dangerous cluster of red dots flickered at a place only 60 kilometers away from the border. “Deal with this. Now.”

Near the Allanean border

The Allanean artillery has not sat quietly during the offensive. They moved on, until they arrived at approximately where the Allanean front line was in the first stage of the fighting. Now, they could fire at targets as deep as 90 kilometers inside Questers. And that meant that the tanks specified for Operation Rudel would be up for some serious trouble.

The targets were concentrated along central highways – which made them even easier targets for the Allanean artillery and the remains of Allanean MRLS. They used their ammunition more sparingly now – only ten shells were fired by each cannon in the bombardment – but that still meant over 150,000 shells within one single minute.

And yet, there was more. While the Allanean airfields were again damaged by the fighting, the Allanean close-air support aircraft and strategic bombers were still able to deliver something. It was not much, admittedly – only twelve thousand tons of anti-tank submunitions. But, spread out over such a small area, their target zones would surely overlap.

Army Group Serendis Command

The Marshal smiled sadly to himself as he saw the blue dots – each an aircraft formation – fly over the Allanean lines, approach the concentration of enemy tanks and then return. On his screen, the FireTux graphic appeared, depicting a cuddly penguin holding a giant firearm and the words “BORN TO FRAG.”

Payloads delivered.

Охуеть, бля. - said the Marshal in his native tongue. He still could not get used to the sheer mind-blowing awesomeness of modern, open-source monolithic-kernel targeting and coordination software. Not only did it allow him see the Allanean Air Force kill Questarians in real-time, but it prevented his staff from playing Dawn of War on Army computers.

Of course, it could not prevent them from reading really awful Dreadfire/Aragog yaoi on their computers, and doing various ungentlemanly things while doing so, but then, no software system was perfect, was it?

The Marshal poured himself a hundred-gram vodka glass and waited with his feet on his table as he watched the strange backwards and forwards motion of the aide on the other side on the room. What exactly the aide was doing, Rokossovsky could only guess – and he really didn't want to. The badly image of Damien Dreadfire as Aragog hugged him with all eight of his hairy spider limbs and licked his face with it's malformed spidermouth was hint enough.

This was yet another one of the aspects of Allanean life that the Marshal still found it hard to get used to. He waited for a few minutes, until the aide was done with his activity – after all, this was the man's lunch break, and if he wanted to dedicate that to yaoi, that was his right – he addressed him.

“Mike?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“I want you to brief me on the situation with our inserted paratroopers.”

“Well, Sir, they are doing quite well, as far as I have heard. They've divided into small teams, and are now operating in the Questarian rear. Very soon they will begin the key stage of their operations...”

He had no way of knowing that the key stage of operations that he was referring to had already started taking place. All over the place in the Questarian rear, Allanean troops caused havoc. Armed with 35mm anti-material rifles, the heavy powered armor suits could target everything up to an including IFV's. Those armed with lighter weapons ambushed supply trucks, cut communications cables, and even ambushed Questarian troops when they could, only to again disappear into the trees.

At the front, aboard the USS Culdalot

The giant tank crawled forwards, unstoppable, cleansing all in its path, destroying Questarian trench lines by it's sheer weight. Into the breach followed Allaneans, killing all who opposed them by bayonet, rifle and sword. Everywhere were the screams of dying Questarians, the sound of explosions as they shook the ground all across the battlefront.

“Colonel, incoming aircraft! I think they are going to hit us!”

From the Allanean supertank, several long threads of smoke began to extend, aiming at Questarian bombers as they dove towards their targets. Not only did the SHBT fight protect itself, it extended a SAM umbrella over the troops around it. In other areas of the front the Allanean tankers did the same.

But still, some of the bombs were dropped. But of course, even had they all been launched successfully, 500 kilogram free-fall bombs in such small amounts are nothing but food for the tank's CIWS. The Allaneans laughed maniacally as the laser-guided munitions were torn apart by CIWS cannon.

Still, some FAE rounds did get through, hitting next to the giant tanks. This had absolutely no effect on the Imperators, designed to survive everything up to a five-kiloton nuclear explosion a klick away. The Allanean tankers just laughed as they pushed on, crushing the remains of the Questarian division headquarters under their treads.

Behind them, on the Allanean lines, four more divisions, and 17,500 more Nakils were thrown into battle. Somewhere, the Allanean naval craft still moving to the South began to turn East. But far more importantly, the entire of the Allanean lines moved in multiple formations, the southernmost being at the front, the northernmost being 30 kilometers behind them. Above them flew air support helicopters and the famous Allanean prop planes, carrying about 80,000 ATGMs between them, flying low to avoid RADAR and slow to defeat interceptors.

Within ten minutes, these ATGMs would begin impact among the Questarian tanks.

The first Allanean tanks s would begin to hit the enemy only an hour later. The first lines, again, would consist of SHBT's and heavy battle tanks that would begin to attack the enemy over the horizon at 30 kilometers away – with cannon and SHBT-launched light cruise missiles. Then, it would be followed by Nakils, light tanks and IFV's that would first hit the foe with ATGMs, then move in to AP round range. And there were a lot of those coming – the Allaneans outnumbered the Questarians, and were advancing on them inland.

As they met the enemy line, the right and left flank began to advance around the concentration of enemy forces. The Questarians would rapidly find themselves encircled...

Behind the lines, Prison Building 045-X

“Fools!” - Folsom barked at the long row of convicted pedophiles, murderers, rapists and software pirates in front of him - “You have disgraced yourself! You found yourself unworthy of the title of Freemen! You should rot in prison! But today I give you an option!”

There was silence. Many already understood. The prison population of many countries has a strange tendency towards nationalism, and when a great reward is also offered...

“You can be freed! All of you can be freed! All you must do is earn that freedom! All of you who would fight on the Questarian lines will be freed! All your rights will be reinstated, and you will become – again – Freemen in Allanea! All you need to do is come with me! To the field!”

In this prison, he only recruited 2,000 men out of a 25,000 prison population. Elsewhere, other people had better success. By the end of the day, 37,600 men were 'recruited from prisons across Haven Allanea, and rapid-transit trains were already steaming towards the Front.

Near the Scandavian Border

In the meanwhile, the Questarian POWs were being offloaded from trains in an area near the Allanean-Scandavian border. They were greeted by a man in parade dress uniform, wearing a Colonel's stripes. Behind him stood twenty machinegunners.

“Greetings. I am Colonel Thomas Morrison, Special Operations Command. The special operation I am currently in charge of is the arranging the conditions of your... internment. As you see behind me...”

Behind the General, there were multiple triple-wide trailer homes arranged in neat rows. Around the camp, there was a simple barbed wire fence.

“As you see, you are going to be held in rather simple conditions – around ten people to every one of these homes, and there's a thousand of them in here. Starting from tomorrow, however, we will begin giving electricity and running water to all of these. There will also be ten satellite phones installed here tomorrow evening, so you can call you families if you can somehow patch in an international call.”

“Now, what will be happening here is as follows: You will study. For six hours a day, you will study the history of the United States of Allanea, it's culture, and it's laws. This will be done in a biased fashion, of course – everybody is biased – but starting from next week you will have access to a basic library to fact-check all we say. Anybody who finds a factual error in a lecture will be rewarded by six hours off study.”

“You will also exercise – in a fashion comparable to the Questarian army. This is because after the war, you will be released so you can return to your motherland, you will be able to serve Questers again, honorably as Questarian soldiers would. Your PT will be organized by officers chosen from among yourself, so it fits the Questarian program.”

“You will be well-cared for, well fed, and respected during your stay here. We believe that this war is a sad mistake and would like it to end soon. And while we are willing to do whatever it takes to win, we would prefer if after this war, there would be no lasting enmity between our nations. All we would like is that you learn something about the nation you are fighting while you are here.”

“Obviously, I really don't recommend trying to escape. Everybody within a thousand miles has a rifle and is not likely to help you. Any questions?”

Lieutenant Arkhan Cevik peered about the mess hall, looking for his customary lunch companions. A moment's scrutiny leads his gaze to their table, and he begins the careful trek to them a moment later. The room is filled with the excited mirth of soldiers who have at last received their marching orders: and what a long time in coming that had been. The men had grown restless during their lengthy stay in Allanea, and many were still irritated about the Gholgoth debacle.

Jostling his way through the crowd, Cevik eventually makes his way to his customary table and finds himself a seat. "Bleda, Broucek..." Cevik nods to two of his closer companions. "What's up, fellas?"

Sergeant Broucek waves a hand dismissively and grunts around a mouthful of meat. "Mrrh." He seems preoccupied with something else. Cevik follows his gaze but can't figure out what's got his attention.

"Hey Arkhan. I almost didn't believe we were actually moving out until they whipped out the good grub on us."

Cevik laughs. "Tell me about it. I swear, it seems like every other month I think the ball's finally gonna get rolling. Who knew the Commonwealth would actually move when they said they would?"

"Yeah. But I guess it's for the best. The more time we have to set things up back home, the better." He takes a big bite out of his potato. "After all..." he swallows. "Moooore reserves!" Cevik and Bleda share a laugh and the Lieutenant elbows Broucek playfully, but Broucek is again more or less unresponsive, and answers with another grunt.

Cevik knots his brows and hikes a thumb towards Corporal Broucek. "Whats the deal with him?"

Bleda shrugs and continues devouring his beef. "Who knows. He was fine a minute ago."

"Well Brou, what's the deal?" Another grunt. Bleda and Cevik share a shrug and move on.

"So what's the deal down there, Sergeant? How are our chances?"

Cevik cocks his head and takes a sip of his drink. "You guys haven't been briefed yet?"

"Nah, not until tonight. I was kinda hoping to get the scoop from some or other officer." He winks. "You know, maybe go in with a little bit of a head start?"

"Well, it looks like the Commonwealth is reeling, but I suspect they have yet to deploy the 'big guns,' such as it were. The Allaneans seem to be charging headlong into prepared defenses, a tactic which, I admit, I'm surprised worked at all. High Command regards Allanea's overtures as clumsy and predictable. We suspect the Commonwealth is leading them into some manner of nasty trap."

Bleda cocks a brow. "We going to let them walk into it or what?"

"I don't know," answers Cevik. "I'm not sure what we can do about it at this point. There's been frighteningly little tactical coordination between the Scandavians, Allaneans and us. We sorta know what the Midlonians are cooking, but we know a lot more about their naval plans than we do about what their generals are planning on doing." He pauses and takes another bite. "Odd, considering we haven't met with any of their naval officials, to my knowledge."

Broucek tugs on Cevik's jacket excitedly, suddenly a flurry of activity. "Check it out guys!" he chatters, gesturing off to his left. "Look, look!"

Cevik and Bleda exchange a curious glance and follow Broucek's wild gesturing. "What are we looking for exactly?" asks Bleda. They don't see anything out of the ordinary--just various officers eating lunch. "I don't see anything."

"Sssshhh! She's about to do it! She's really gonna do it!"

Bleda and Cevik finally notice Colonel Roark, who was currently in the process of peeling a banana. "Watchwatchwatchwatch!" exclaims Broucek excitedly. Cevik and Bleda laugh and roll their eyes, but don't look away.

***

"So what's the good word?"

Roark takes a bite out of her banana. "Transports are being boarded as we speak. I don't know where the Allaneans want us, but I'm guessing it's a moot point since the front line has moved on into Commonwealth territory. They've been checking in with us periodically, and rumor has it the Angsiyan and Lady Sirithil gave Kazansky an earful for their chemical strikes, which has forced at least some degree of strategic cohesion."

Majoir Hilderic nods. "That's probably a good thing. God knows we're going to be in the middle of a massive shitstorm down there. Still, I'm disappointed that no moves have been made to establish a joint strategic command. If the Commonwealth is smart, they'll figure this out. Either we're all just kinda doing our own thing, or the Haven folks are deliberately keeping us out of the loop."

"Right," cuts in the Colonel, taking another bite. She chews for a moment before continuing. "Either way it's bound to make our job here that much harder. I really get the feeling we're not wanted here." She shrugs. "Still, better here than Gholgoth."

Hilderic shrugs. "Well, yeah. Eru knows I've got my problems with them, but the Gholgothans strike me as being an order of magnitude superior to the Allaneans in the conduct of warfare. I'd rather not fight on Gholgothan soil, but something about the Allaneans makes me uneasy..."

***

Even as elements of the Pax 2nd Army enjoyed their lunches, the move over Allanea had begun. A portion of the force would remain in the north as a reserve, but about ten divisions would be moving south under escort from Petrik's Third Fleet. The 2nd Army would operate under the command of Battle Marshal Runo Beck, a prominent member of Dunland's House Talicid. Renowned for their vile tempers, the Talicids had been producing quality generals for Arda dating back to before Althalon's rebellion. The enemy, if they had familiarized themselves with the Talicid's military history, could expect condensed but brutal offensives, usually carried out on a narrow front. A master of Armored warfare, Beck was confident but not overconfident. He knew the Ardans possessed a technological supremacy in the Questarian theatre, but he also knew they were moving with a relatively smaller force, and that lost materiél would be harder for them to replace, especially within enemy territory.

A few weeks before, Beck had successfully appealed to the Angsiyan for a provision of Guardis divisions to oversee and administer conquered Questarian territory. Between shifting troops to northern Questers and brining the 7th Army to Ceylon, Beck knew that Arda's transport capacity would be taxed to the brink by insisting on the presence of five Guardis divisions, but it was a risk he was willing to take. A few Guardis units had been called up while a deployment to Gholgoth was still a possibility, and this fact helped the Battle Marshal make his case. Not only would the Guardis aid in occupation, they could conceivably defend a forward base in Questers and allow the Ardan commanders to move their strategic reserve farther south. Time would tell if this opening gambit would prove profitable, and Beck had few doubts about his success.

The time had come. The Angsiyan's first offensive was about to begin. Beck and the rest of his 2nd Army knew that the eyes of Arda were upon them, one and all. Success or death were the only possible outcomes.

North Questers
1st Bombardment Army HQ
16th July

"So they've broken through?"

"Apparently so." General Harper leafed nervously through the small situation report. The most disturbing part, of course, was the amount of artillery that had been taken out of action not by enemy fire, but by their own shells. Already the figures were beginning to worry Harper. There were no clear numbers; it was clear that some crews had purposely destroyed their guns to desert, but these numbers were significantly lower than real losses due to do the quality of the guns. Harper grumbled and bit his lip.

"This is quite unacceptable." The General muttered again. "Thirty five percent out of action already?"

His aide, Major Collingwood nodded. "It could branch into forty percent or so. These are average figures you know. Segregating the better quality guns was probably a good idea. A large percentage of our A Class Divisions have only lost perhaps twenty percent of their guns to quality control issues." Collingwood tried to point out the good news. General Harper, like most Questarians prefer to take the bad news and turn it into good news. Unfortunately this was an issue that was really out of his control.

"So this is the guns, right?"

Collingwood shook his head. "Nope. Its the shells too."

"What the fuck?" Harper exclaimed. "You mean that Army HQ is sending our best artillery divisions shells with the quality of a cheap Kure whore?" Well, there are some expensive Kure whores, too. the General thought. "Does Graner even fucking understand how god damn vital artillery is?"

Collingwood shook his head again and shrugged. "Apparently the logistical effo-"

"Oh fuck that shit." Harper swore while getting off his chair. "Come on. We're going to go give Logistics Command a little lecture." He slipped on his officers cap and pulled on his general's greatcoat, emblazoned with all forms of Army insignia, and beckoned Collingwood to follow. The General, however, didn't get out of his door before it was swung open by an eager communications runner who by any standards was almost a little too enthusiastic as he almost knocked the General over.

"Sir, priority message from Army Command." the runner (actually, he used a motorbike) handed Harper the ordersheet with some very precise orders listed out.

"Get these sent off to the neccessary section commands. Now." Harper ordered. "We'll finish this little logistical error off later."

Within two minutes, the Allanean artillery fire was being responded to. Questarians specialised in their counterbattery fire, and it would soon show. Although the artillery had been withdrawn behind the lines, and the damaged guns totally removed from combat, prepared counterbattery positions 40 klicks behind the border sitting on low hillocks were receiving data by the time the first Allanean shells had impacted on their targets. It only took a moment to adjust the rocket artillery to return fire; receiving data from all kinds of counterbattery radar, not least their own and those in the air. The mobile rocket launchers currently sitting on Hill 189 were clamped firmly on the rear of the hillock, ready to move as soon as they'd fired their salvos.

Eighty rockets streamed into the sky, one after another, thick white smoke ejecting itself from the rear of the launchers signalling the propulsion of the specially designed counterbattery rockets. These rockets would shoot up over the designated targets acquired by surveillance and target acquisition methods and devices. Behind the lines, the counterbattery mobile rockets began to pour fire over the Allanean artillery. Almost four thousand rockets were directed over the Allanean gun artillery. It was a given that the stationary artillery would not be able to escape in time, and that it had moved out of its original positions left it somewhat vulnerable. Each rocket exploded in the air above the stationary artillery, showering it with explosive bomblets, some fragmentation, some normal HE. Either way they were designed to direct sheer explosive power over the Allanean artillery without being vulnerable to heavy use of THELS.

The Allanean MRLS was dealt with slightly differently. UAVs over the combat zone, which had also helped considerably in the counterbattery fire, reported the movement of the Allanean mobile rocket systems, whether it was forwards, backwards, left, or right. Then the Questarian counterbattery units, working in pairs, directed their firepower to the movements of the Allaneans. One unit would put the same firepower used against the static artillery on the position the MRLS fired from, and another would launch their weapons in the direction they were moving, if at all, to catch them before they escaped, the rockets able to spread their HE and fragmentation bomblets over a wide area to soak the Allanean artillery in counterbattery fire and force them to withdraw or be destroyed.

North Questers
Frontline
697th Fighter Squadron
16th July

"Um, are they missiles?"

Moments later the air-dar contact replied, rather than individually answering a query, to the whole air group he was attached to, considering he'd just been buzzed with a multitude of almost exactly the same questions. There was, after all, an exceptionally large number of SAMs.

"Airdar Sixteen One wide freck, large numbers of enemy missiles inbound. We're doing our best to jam but prepare for evasive action anyway."

Captain Raymonds watched his radar screen as the gigantic number of incoming missiles began to thin significantly, jammers from drones and airdar dropping them from the sky like pheasants in the shooting season. He flicked on his own ECM, preparing to use the powerful ECM pods in conjunction with his rear and nose radars to brute force the Allanean missiles into dropping out the sky. It was largely successful, he thought to himself. The small red dots began to flicker and dissapear en masse, a testament to the power of large groups of radars capable of frying missiles with ease.

Still, some lucky missiles were still hurtling towards Raymond's aircraft, the Mi-302C Firefly, the Questarian premier indigenous fighter, a whole league ahead of the previous 'Reppu'. Pulling back the throttle with his wingman below him, the three-dimensional thrust vectoring engines of the Firefly afforded incredibly maneuvrability. From the small camera screen showing the rear of the aircraft, Raymonds was able to cast a momentary glance to see four missiles shoot past his tail, another two in hot pursuit. He pushed his aircraft up again so it was almost vertical, lurching as he did so. He'd never quite gotten over being able to do this, though this time he didn't observe the two missiles shoot past his fuselage and then drop out of the sky, courtesty of coming too close to the two electronic countermeasure pods mounted on the fuselage.

It wasn't that this sort of scene was anything special either. The crack pilots of the IQAAS simply weren't worried by large amounts of surface to air missiles, as they had trained extensively in being able to outmaneuvre them and in any case they had vast ECM support and the very nature of the Allanean air defence doctrine gave them ample warning of incoming targets.

“Warning HEADSTART-ONE , eight bogeys inbound, feeding you the vector, over.”

Raymonds looked down at the radar screen and sure enough, the AWACs had detected eight incoming Allanean planes. Raymonds looked down and could see his two friendly Mi-302s who had just received the same information. Behind and below him Raymonds knew his wingmate was following him in the same pattern as the other comrades in the 697th.

“Warning HEADSTART-ONE , enemy is closing the range, distance approximately 150 klicks. Advise engagement, repeat, advise engagement, over.”

“HEADSTART-ONE copies that Airdar Six Sixty, preparing to engage, over.”

The two Mi-302s, stabilised from the evasive maneuvres they’d just conducted, kicked their engines into a climb and rapidly began to accelerate. At eighteen thousand metres the four aircraft detached seven BVRAAMs which would raise their own altitude to just under thirty thousand metres before activating their own radars when they cruised over the Allanean fighters. Luckily, despite the fact the FA/84 was a stealth aircraft, the number of airdar and radar drones in the sky on the Questarian side of things at least meant that there was enough radar power to simply burn through and catch the supposedly stealthy Shadows at appreciable ranges. Sure, they were hard to detect with our radars, Raymonds thought, but nothing escapes the super-powerful airborne RADAR of an E10F. Not to mention four of them plus a squadron of drones which had illuminated every Allanean aircraft in a 300 klick radius.

Combined with the small guidance system (which communicated with the AWACs three hundred klicks behind the lines) on the rear end of the BVATAMA-450 (nicknamed the Bavatma) which was the standard Questarian air to air missile, the tactical stealth advantage of the Allanean fighters was essentially neutered. At the distance launched, the motors on the Questarian air to air missiles were essentially burnt out, and although the Allanean pilots could see the missiles on their radars, they could not see the telltail trails in the sky as the Bavatma’s rolled over, activated their radars, and surged down towards the enemy planes. Each Mi-302 had launched six BVATAMA-450s and swung around, heading for home at mach 2.7, knowing that in four minutes their gap in the line would filled by fresh fighters.

It was the rule, rather than the exception, that the Questarians could see the Allaneans well before either side was in engagement range, which gave the Questarians a significant advantage in that they could easily launch missiles and turn to run for home.

South Allanea
1st Unmanned Hunter Seeker Company
15:00 17th July

The 1st Unmanned Hunter Seeker Company was a group of UCAVs specially designed to fly high in sky, well above fighter interception range, to find AWACs. The process was simple; 60 UCAVs, on for every five kilometres of the line, flying at 29,000 metres and armed with eight beyond visual range missiles. When they’d fired all their missiles they would simply retreat to re-arm and go up in the sky to find and prey on more AWACs.

North Questers
81st Air Regiment
15:00, 16th July

It is impossible to conceal the movements of nearly 18,000 tanks. As they formed up and began to move out, a plan had already been formulated to deal with such large formations when – not if – they appeared. The B22 had entered Questarian service and the Questarians had made four versions of it; the J10M, the naval patrol bomber, the Mi-405M, the multirole bomber, the Mi-405G, the missile carrier, and the Mi-405AGS, the air ground support version. So far they had only made use the 405M, and the 405AGS crews were sitting on the tarmac wondering when they’d have their part to play. Now was the time; the airmen had been waiting for their chance to prove themselves, and now it had come.

There where twenty squadrons of Mi-405AGS in two underground airbases sitting four hundred kilometres south of London, and it would take them some hours to get there, even with the early warning that the Allaneans were forming up their nakils. So an initial solution was brought up. The D3A Suisei wasn’t the right plane for the job; the Candrian produced FA16s, designated the Mi-88G in Questarian service, were ready to do their part of combat, having originally been held back in the air reserve. Quickly and effectively, enough D3s were withdrawn from their frontline positions, and while this was happening the intact rail systems for this area began to shift the necessary payloads up to the airfields. The underground bunkers for aviation fuel and munitions that NATO probably didn’t even know about were linked, in some cases, by an underground network to some of the larger airfields. Within four hours, 20 squadrons, 480 in total, of the Mi-88Gs were fueled and ready to go. Each was loaded out with twelve CAMU-90 canisters, each containing 6 CAMU-90B which in turn had 4 AG/CM-90, an explosively formed projectile capable of knocking out a tank. Furthermore each aircraft was fitted with ten 125kg bombs equipped with the Combined Automated Guidance System, the Questarian version of JDAM. In total there were 4,400 125kg bombs and 5,280 CAMU-90s, which meant for 126,720 explosively formed projectiles; just over 7 per Allanean tank, enough munitions to destroy every single Allanean Nakil in the group of 17,500. From thirty kilometres away, the first Mi-88G launched its attack.

Flight Lieutenant Andrew Harris moved slightly out of the finger four formation. His family; his young wife and his two little boys, he had been told, had been killed in London. Their house, demolished, even the faithful dog had not left the family when the rescue workers found them crushed under their own roof. Now he was going to get sweet vengeance. What the fuck had Alice ever done to you you fucking rats? He said aloud to himself as he slowly positioned his aircraft at the right angle.

“BUGSPRAY-ONE, preparing to launch munitions, over.” Harris muttered bitterly into the radio. He pressed down hard on the ‘release’ buttons for the submunitions and watched his payload release itself towards the Allaneans he could not yet see. The twelve CAMU-90s canisters began to drop one by one out of the aircraft in a straight formation before drifting. At some point they themselves would release their own sub canisters which would then release their munitions, raining death on the gigantic Allanean armour formation. The planes would have to get a little closer to use their bombs, but they were well out of anti air flak range anyway and, as always, were escorted by large numbers of EW aircraft and drones.

“BUGSPRAY-ONE to formation, weapons free, waste the fuckers, over.”

He was met with a cheery chorus of roger that and copy that and affirmatives, and it did not take long for the rest of BUGSPRAY squadron to release their munitions, and then the rest of them… normally Harris would at least be saddened by such a huge waste of life, but not today. Not ever again, against Allaneans at least. Sighting up a formation of tanks, he didn’t need to do much work to release the ten bombs as they were guided down to earth by satellites.

North Questers
781st Rifle Division
00:25, 17th July

Now the counterattack would begin. Since the withdrawals on the night of the 15th, and the bringing up of reinforcements which, thanks to the efforts of the Air Service, had gone unharrassed. The large number of 2nd echelon reserves, whos commanders with their boots safely planted on the ground had doubts about the Air Service's ability to prevent the enemy from acting out an AirLand Battle style attack, had moved up and were now ready to begin the counterattack, the land component of Operation Rudel named Case Green.

Over half a million troops who previously had been waiting behind the lines had moved upThe artillery bombardment, of what guns could still be assembled, began at precisely 00:25. Thunderous explosions rocked the hills around North Questers, the blasts of the artillery and their recoiling barrels thumping steel on steel resounding throughout the land. The hills were alive, but not with the sound of music.

Fire missions mostly came from 20cm artillery, which was built to a higher quality, though there were also swathes of surviving 15cm batteries. The flame from the muzzle of the barrels illuminated the evening sky, sending bright strobes of light towards the Allanean lines, though this was no longer an uncommon sight. The main advancing Allanean spearhead was showered with ten second long bombardments the whole night, with over fifty thousand shells landing in ten second periods every minute. Supply helicopters and lines struggled to hold the bombardment for more than four hours and afterwards it was slowed down to every other minute, the guns constantly changing their aim to accommodate the movement of the Allaneans.

The large arrays of counterbattery fire began to pin down the Allanean artillery themselves; any Allanean counterbattery fire that began was met with immediate responses in the usual manner, with UCAV formations dropping JSOW style munitions on their targets.

The main purpose of the counterattack was to halt and delay the Allanean forces further, forcing them to move up more units and allowing the Questarians to use their air advantage to bleed the Allaneans. The wide front assault by 500,000 men, in coordination with large scale air offensives, would hopefully throw off the Allaneans from further advances and force them to bring up new troops.

[OOC: Gotta dash, can't get the paras in now. Will do it asap james as im off to kuching in the morning and gotta sleep early]

North Questers
210th Naval Bomb Group
11:00 17th July

The briefing was simple. Annihalate the Allanean fleet sitting off the coast of North Questers. It wouldn't be too hard either, considering they had just launched thousands on thousands of their SAMs at the land aircraft. 88 G4Ms and 22 J10Ms from the island airbases in central Questers took off hours before and were approaching their targets. Highlighted by Airdar, they had full view over the Allanean fleet. The J10Ms held the majority of the standoff weapons here, though the older G4Ms still carried appreciable payloads. At 800km they didn't need to get anywhere near the Allanean fleet to launch 1,354 standoff missiles, guided to their target by inertial guidance, active radar, GPS, and Airdar birds, and each capable of sinking a cruiser and several would topple a battleship.

The brunt of the attack came from the navy itself, however.

Six hundred submarines in the Strait surfaced simultaenously, plus a thousand decoys that would simulate the same noise. It didn't matter, however; as at between 300 and 500 kilometres from the Allanean fleet they were out of harms way. Staged during twelve minutes, 14,400 missiles were streaming towards the Allanean fleet, each capable of their air launched equivalent. Angrily cutting a swath through the air, the datalink linking each missile to its Airdar hub which would guide it towards their targets, upon which they would switch to active RADAR and finally IR/LIDAR for their final distance to target.

The home fleet's 8th Squadron, led by the aircraft carrier Sharan Tauraórë had moved out of port and was ready to engage the Allaneans with their missiles guided the same way the submarines an hour early had been. The primary strike force was the 90 County class cruisers assembled in 8th Squadron, which would deliver the final strike on the Allanean fleet, clearing out their offensive VLS at 900 klicks, directing 8,100 SS-X-38 missiles towards the Allanean fleet. A fan of large missiles, these were largely capable of their airborne equivalent that was launched earlier.

At the Front

And the sky lit up red.

The Questarian aircraft were met by the fire of Allanean AA – guided missiles, MANPADs, gatling guns and the dual 20mm cannon that every Nakil tank carried. Division-level MTHEL fired up, destroying gliding munitions as they came in – and so did the long range anti-missile equipment aboard the Samson tanks. But a lot of the munitions remained, going on to destroy dozens – and then hundreds – and then thousands of Nakils.

Within minutes, the entire front became hell on earth as Questarians pushed back hard against the Allaneans. Everywhere, the ground was covered in the bodies of dead Questarians and Allaneans, burning Nakil tanks, burning agricultural crops. In the rear, some 2,000 cannon were destroyed. On the front, 6,000 tanks were completely or partially destroyed. 17,000 combat troops were dead, and an equivalent amount of support troops – truck drivers, engineers, nurses – would be dead on Questarian soil on and behind the lines.

But the Allaneans continued the struggle.

The front line conflated, the troops at it’s back arriving at the front to replace casualties, IFV’s and tanks being dug in and unleashing a veritable rain of fire - 15mm gatlings mounted on the IFV’s, 125mm canister rounds, and .308 hollow points from the famous Allanean rifles.

Now the Allanean soldiers began to show their real worth. They lay down on the ground, allowing the optical camouflage features of their Samson suits to break down and conceal their body signatures, and opened fire – with quick, measured single shots and double-taps. Already at the very edge of the horizon line, Allanean snipers began to pick off individual soldiers with their immense heavy rifles – but it was at 800 meters that the designated marksmen began to become a serious threat. At five hundred meters, practically every Allanean infantryman could at least take shot with a reasonable chance of success.

“Hold them, boys!” – Colonel Wesley-Forge dashed back and forth through the lines of the Douglas Haig division. Most of the men of the division were already dead, having born the brunt of several days of brutal fighting. Still they were the tip of the spear, and behind them were reinforcements from other divisions. They knew that Penal Battalions, reinforcements from the Boy Scouts, Marines, and Mechanized Infantry were being readied behind them. They barely even needed encouragement as they fired round after round after round into the advancing Questarians.

The round shook as the Allanean artillery refocused its fire from the enemy cannon on the incoming Questarians. By this time, the supply trucks have reached the advancing artillery, enabling them to again increase their rate of fire. While it was now reduced in effectiveness, the Allaneans still possessed over 12,000 cannon in their arsenal, and were moving units from West of the channel to replace losses. In the meanwhile, even 12,000 cannon would make a huge difference as they simply spammed the enemy with 90,000 rounds per minute. This could not go on for long, of course – but they could keep it up for five minutes, and that would be enough.

As the shells dove down at the Questarian soldiers, they opened up, raining down thousands and thousands of thermite submuntions.

In the sky, strategic bombers, CAS aircraft, prop aircraft, helicopters, fighter-bombers flew under the protection of “Shadow” fighters. The Allanean ASF aircraft targeted Questarian fighters with a hail of long-range A2A missiles. The other aircraft delivered their load twenty kilometers before reaching the Questarian line. It consisted on 28,000 tons of gliding cluster bombs, each carrying dozens, perhaps hundreds, of thermite submunitions.

Accompanying the Allanean aircraft were also 100 “Archimedes’ Lever” cargo aircraft. They were loaded to the brim with the same gliding cluster munitions and escorted by a special detachment of fighter aircraft. Exactly 20 kilometers before they reached the front, they opened their bellies – modified specifically for ‘bomb-bay’ style doors – and unleashed hell.

The Allaneans were generous – they sent out one hundred kilograms of thermite per Questarian infantry man, not counting artillery shells, bullets and tank cannon.

And now the master stroke would come. Fired from the PSFs in the far North were 150 Khan missiles. But they did not target ships, shipyards, or anything even vaguely naval. Instead they were targeting major ammunition supply depots between London and the Allanean army.

Aboard the USS [i]Ferocious[/i

“Sir, the Questarians attacked us.”

“I noticed that. You know, the explosions, one of the arsenal ships going off like a motherfucking Independence Day nuclear fireworks display, all that stuff. What other ships have we lost?” – the Admiral twirled his moustache pensively.

“Almost everything. We had to turn the Buffaloes back. There's nothing to escort them anymore.”

"Damnation! What the hell is this?"

“We only have five carriers left- and two cruisers. Unescorted."

“Ow. Ow. Ow. I think we need to consult the Fieldmarshal.”

And so an encrypted link was opened.

“Your Highness, we are being attacked by enemy forces. It is a fleet almost double the size of ours… but they have only one carrier.”

A pause.

“Yes, I understand. I will focuse all firepower on the carrier. I estimate this to be the IQN Sharan Tauraóre… Yes, Fieldmarshal, I understand. With fire, Sir. Will be done. Sir.”

It took several minutes of frenzied communication to the PSF’s in the North to prepare the attack, and forty-five more minutes to organize it.

From the carriers of the fleet, 625 Falcon aircraft rose, spreading in a neat semicircle. They carried an anti-shipping missile each, designed to attack ships from several hundred kilometers away, outside the range of most air defenses.

Their attacks would be precision-timed with those of the arsenal ships of the fleet. It was so done that just as the Shockhammer II missiles would begin to impact the Sharan, the arsenal ships’ ordnance would reach its targets – the Mogami AA vessels. 4,800 missiles were fired in that fashion.

But there was a reason for official cooperation with the PSF’s. From the shore defenses on the southern end of the Canal, 5,000 more Shockhammer missiles were launched. It was clear to all that the Questarian fleet had to be stopped at all costs, if Northern Haven were to remain free.

Out of those missiles, 4,300 targeted the Mogamis, the rest was aimed at the Sharan.

And finally, the Permanent Strategic Forts up North fired their weapon payloads, too – 100 of the famous Khan missiles, aimed at the carrier.

On the Admiral’s computer screen, a simple dialog box appeared.

ORDNANCE EXPENSE DISTRIBUTION

Mogami Craft: 9,000 missiles [100 missiles per craft]
Carrier: 2,325 Shockhammer missiles, 100 Khans.

The logic was clear: if the Mogamis needed to defend themselves from incoming missiles, they would have problems defending the carrier. And (working on the hopeful estimated of 99% interception), there was even a minimal chance that some Mogami craft would be hit.

At least, this was what the Admiral prayed for.

Kazansky-Island, Greater Prussian Bay

Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky, Fieldmarshal of the Republic, Count of Centreville, former President of Allanea, Sword of the Queen, was tired. He had just returned from Kahanistan, where he had personally killed over sixty members of the local high command. Now he needed a rest – but certain things had to be dealt with first.

He relaxed in his giant, leather-bound chair and reached for the keyboard. He began writing a message to the Questarian High Command. It was a simple one at that:

As you probably know, we have in our lines the bodies of over 100,000 Questarian soldiers. As we are not able to bury them properly, we are ready to repatriate the bodies, or to create honorable brotherly graves for them in Allanean territory. Please respond as to your preferable choice.

After he hit ‘send’, he relaxed completely, his hands on the chair’s armrests. He spoke.

“Computer, open directory ‘root’. Open subdirectory ‘Speeches’. Open file ‘lastspeech’.”

The computer’s voice control program complied. In the meanwhile, Kazansky’s fingers on the armrest moved to a small knob on the armrest.

There was a satisfying click as the volume knob hit its maximum setting. The loudspeakers embedded in the chair’s back – approximately behind Kazansky’s ears – flicked alive first, and then those hidden in the room’s walls. Suddenly the entire building came alive with sound, so loud it seemed to vibrate in the boy’s very body.

If anyone deserves just, fair, enlightened and most importantly, self rule, it is you. That reasoning is not why I wish to leave. I have never liked power.

Kazansky didn’t listen to the words. He didn’t need to. He knew the speech by heart. All that mattered now was the Voice, beaming at him at an impossible decibel level.

This is the reason I am not a prefect of state in Menelmacar. This is the reason my long ago military career never reached past the rank equivalent to major.

The entire island appeared to ‘sing’ – Kazansky rigged every corner of his estate with sound. Above, scared, shell-shocked gulls flittered in horror, their cries inaudibule. There was only the Voice, carrying above silent birds and an inaudible sea.

“You do not need a monarch. And you do not need a presidency with the powers you have given it. You pride yourselves on your individuality, a sacred gift each of you have, wondrous beyond anything I or any other leader could ever hope to give or create.

Somewhere far away nations clashed in war, people fought, died, and suffered. But none of that mattered on the island. There was nothing. There was only the Voice.

Thank you, and may the Valar watch over Allanea.