NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is closed to all nations who are not in the Haven region. Basically, I’m annexing the empty F2 spot northwest of me. Dalnijrus is RPing as Greater Huron, the fictional state occupying the area. EDIT: Due to unusual measures being taken in my region, this roleplay has been retconned. It will continue to be written as the participants are bored, but will have no impact on any IC history.

IC:

/chdir_v2455.exe
v2455.exe loading...
v2455.exe initialized
/run_v2455.exe/program_DDR
v2455.exe/program_DDR loading...
v2455.exe/program_DRR initialized
/run_v2455.exe/program_DDR/virus_005
v2455.exe/program_DDR/virus_005 loading...
v2455.exe/program_DDR/virus_005 initialized
/start_v2455.exe/program_DDR/virus_005
v2455.exe/program_DDR/virus_005_running
attack commenced

* * * * * * *

The night shift was a long one, always. The only sound to break the perpetual, pensive hush of the heavily defended border between the Neo-Fascist Conglomerate of Kargucagstan to the east and the Democratic Republic of Greater Huron to the west was the constant whirring of the massive radomes on the roofs of the anti-aircraft defenses. The odd light would shine on one side of the trenches for a few moments, perhaps attracting the attention of a tired sniper, but darkness would return to the pitted landscape in short order. Few battles had actually been fought between the neighboring nations, mostly because the Conglomerate, despite significantly outnumbering the moderately small Greater Huron, feared repercussions from the other nations in the region. With the signing of the Allied Union of North-Eastern Havenic Nations, a treaty that noticeably failed to include the Democratic Republic, Kargucagstan no longer had any inhibitions.

As peace talks were commencing in the Alacean city of Covren, men and materials were being hastily readied by the beleaguered DRGH, which was all too aware of the new situation. Images taken by the few remaining satellites in their possession showed moderate military buildup on the Kargucagstani side. War loomed on the horizon, but nobody knew just how close it really was. Some time before, on an especially chilly autumn night, special operations troops had infiltrated the minefields and barbed wire from the fascist side to splice thin fiber optic cabling into the defense systems of the Hurons, spooling the lines back across the wasteland and into the bare deciduous forest. For days the line has sat idle, constantly risking discovery by the vigilant Democratic Republic, but tonight it was finally put to use. A virus, designed by the finest malevolent minds at the Kargucagstani Department of Information, Software division, was slipped along the line and into the air defenses of the Hurons. As the virus leaked into their systems, the speed of the hard drives connected to the air defenses fluctuated slightly, just enough to alert any technical support personnel had they not been distracted.

Not meant to crash the system, as that would alert the soldiers to a potential problem, the digital infection sat quietly in the background, content to alter only one function of the AA system. By manipulating the software so that the screens showed a blank radar screen, a gap a dozen miles wide was opened, a fact that did not escape the fascists. In the dark of the moonless, cloudy night a hundred air transports lifted off of airfields in western Kargucagstan. In their spacious holds were paratroopers and their equipment, minds roiling with thoughts of death and fear, war and conquest, the beginning and the end of time. Behind the transports rose a cloud of Doomani-built helos, carrying with them yet more soldiers. The battle for Greater Huron has begun, and history will never be the same again.

Huronese-Kargucagstani border
Section III.D
2350 hours


Standing in a sentry tower on the DMZ was one of the dullest positions one could have in the Huronese military. It was especially lonely considering just how vast the distance seemed between one sentry team and the next at night, even with the floodlights. Yet Sps. Kronos Kanakaredes felt far more separated from the world, clinging to his rifle, for his companion simply didn"t speak. Apparently, he was dead-set on cruising through his assignment with no troubles at all. What a slob, Kronos had often thought moodily, but it was really, if he wasn't going to bullshit himself about it, because he wanted that carefree attitude too—being in the military, especially on the border, gave his jitters even more aggravation. In all honesty, he hadn't wanted to be a soldier, but when the conscription officer came to your door, you generally didn't argue with him.
+++Kronos was just about to break down and ask to smoke with his companion, for lack of anything else to do, when he stopped with his mouth half-open. He shut it with a click a moment later. His partner stiffened, jumping off the railing to land on the platform, and rushed over to where Kronos stood, facing the Kargucagstani side of the border. A low, reverberating noise from overhead and a little ways to the east could be heard dimly, but with growing intensity. Different vibrations in the air could be vaguely distinguished from the distant crowd, and this was what worried both soldiers the most. Certainly no commercial aircraft flew in groups.

"έπακρος!"


---


"Attention, attention on the network, attack, attack, attack!"
+++In some corner of Lochagos Themistokles Koutsis of the 3ʹ Lokhos, 4ʹ Tagma, of the 70ʹ Diairesi (Tank), as his blood pressure skyrocketed and muscle memory took over his lower brain functions and another corner listened to the tinny voice over the radio informing him of the tactical equation, he was vaguely aware that this was not, perhaps, one of the best ways to wake up. With his uniform shirt half-on, he bounded out of the barracks with his company of men. While it was sometimes good to provide a good, calm example, Koutsis didn't particularly care for that at the moment. Others might, if they had a chance to see the enemy coming before he was at their throats, but Dimosthentium did not have that option. He found his XO, Ypolokhagos Dimitris Giannakakis, and waved him over to the command C24 track. The platoon leaders, seeing the two officers together, rushed to meet them.
+++They looked scared, Koutsis thought. Even usually merry and good-natured "Kyrie Gianna" looked jittery. Hell, he probably did too, thought Koutsis. Well, hell, it was time to be certain now.
+++"All right. Near as our boys in the screwtops have it, the mavroi are making a plumb line in from the border. We aren't sure if they're going to para-drop outside and make their way in with armored support, or if they plan to just jump right into the Square, so what Infantry is going to do is hole up in here and fight them as they come. What we're going to do is secure the Louloudia Heights and await further orders as the situation develops." He rolled out a contour map on the APC's loading ramp, and pointed to a wooded area east-south-east of Dimosthentium. He marked an X on the map, some little way left of the center of the hill, with his greasestick. "I want 4ʹ Platoon here. I want you to be prepared for the order to move, but keep watch until then. I don't expect any attack to come from this side"—it was nearly right up against the city—"but be prepared for it, in any case." He marked a second X on the map, farther to the right and more north, and indicated 3ʹ Platoon's leader, giving him much the same speech. Then, he marked another X on the map. "I and 1ʹ Platoon will be here." Another X was put on the map, close by. "2ʹ Platoon is to be positioned here. When we move, 4ʹ and 3ʹ Platoons, you will take up the right and left flanks and form echelons and guard our flanks. As you know, we are the lead unit, so don't worry about meshing with the other tanks. 2ʹ and 1ʹ Platoons will take the lead and form into a unified wedge, 2ʹ on the right and 1ʹ on the left. I want the Mech Platoon to follow behind and take on the mavroi infantry." The platoon leaders nodded; there were no questions. They had drilled this scenario many times before, and every platoon, every company, every battalion, would be functioning in their pre-planned roles with smooth efficiency. "Good. Dismissed, gentlemen."
+++The meeting broke up, and the platoon leaders went to their units to pass on the orders and get their tracks warm. Koutsis jogged down the motor pool's lot, dodging soldiers as they scrambled to their own tanks, and swung up onto the 44 tank. His crew were already situated in their stations, and the tank was hot and ready to go. They seemed just as tense as the platoon leaders, he thought, but they were more restrained about showing it. They were, after all, the company commander's crew, and needed to perform every other duty alloted to them with precision. It simply didn't work to have a slipshod crew on the lead track—that was also true in the Infantry, in the Navy, and elsewhere. Koutsis had a momentary pang of empathy for them; he was not often there to remove some of their tension with the normal group dynamic, because of his duties, but such was the way things went, and no one had complained yet.
+++Koutsis gave the order to move, and the column began rolling out of the depot. He waited until he saw the last track of his platoon fall in to march, and buttoned up. The company was weaving through the city streets as fast as they dared go. Thankfully, there were few civilians left, and no cars, which made things quite a bit easier on maneuvering.

Wind whipped past the sides of the KR-332 transport as it hove in on its target. Inside it’s belly sat one platoon and a command squad, sixty-four men in total, garbed in dark uniforms and covered in equipment and weapons. These were to be the opening wave of the Conglomerate strike force, the Kargucagstani Airborne. Prayers and deep breathing reverberated softly through the echoing interior of the skeletal airframe. Near the front of the airplane hunkered an average-looking man, about 19 or 20, named Jaketh Schin. He had just joined up with the paratroopers last year, when there was little more than the usual threats directed towards Greater Huron. Despite having an all-volunteer army, none of the rank-and-file really expected war so soon. Hell, Jaketh reflected, he would not have joined if he had known that this would happen.

A electrical buzzing, indistinct and fuzzy broke out. Heads turned to look at the speaker on the wall as they realized it was making the noise. “We are have crossed the border.” That was it. No detail of their destination, nothing, not even what border. Perhaps they just assumed everyone knew they were invading the West, chuckled Jaketh blackly. The XO who had been sitting towards the tail unbuckled himself and stood, bracing himself against a metal bar to keep from swaying in the turbulence.

“Listen up,” he commanded. “I am going to tell you our mission goal. As most of you guessed, our mission is to liberate the people of the ‘Democratic Republic’ of Greater Huron. They have suffered under a repressive, racist regime for too long, and the Kyrios has seen fit to extend mercy to them. As part of that effort, we are going to take a preemptive strike to preclude any chance of their corrupt government hitting us first. All of you in this plane right now will be part of the opening wave. Our goal is to take the capital. Each of those airplanes you saw taking off with us, they have your heavy support.” A particularly rough patch of air dropped the plane several feet and nearly knocked the officer down. Recovering, he went on. “Tanks, AA, SAMs, they have it all. Once we hit the ground our first task is to recover this equipment. We will be assisted by the other elements of 5th Division and our own 7th. The rest of the 7th and parts of several other regiments are flying in on helos, but they peeled back to come in at treetop level, so don’t expect support from them for at least the first half hour.” More crackling came over the comm.

“Interceptors have been spotted by radar, but our escorts have broken off to take care of them. Nonetheless, expect the SAMs to start hitting, ladies and gentlemen.” Jaketh laughed. A woman had not served in the armed forces, or for that matter any role outside the family for the last hundred years. The XO grimaced and spoke briefly to the lieutenant, who also grimaced. Again the pilot’s voice spoke. “We are nearing the drop site. Please prepare to jump.” A yellow light began to strobe on the ceiling as the cargo ramp descended. Shouting over the din of the rushing air the XO finished his briefing.

“Line up, line up! Remember your training! This is a HALO jump! High Altitude Low Opening! That means no pansy safety line to save your sorry hides if you should fail to pull your own cord! We’re at twenty-six thousand feet, do not open until you hit the deck, boys! See you on the ground!” With that he got to the end of the ramp and waited for the troops to fall out. Standing in line with the others Jaketh could just see out the door. The lights of the Huron capital shone unabated. Suddenly the yellow strobe changed to green and the soldiers began to jump. Nervously fingering his carbine, Jaketh marched ahead.

Some nameless soldier preparing to jump suddenly halted. The men behind him tried to push him, but he turned around and yelled, "SAM!" The world collapsed around Jaketh in a spray of sparks and shrapnel. It seemed like someone had bashed him with a mallet. The two guys a the front of line were thrown sideways out back, one smashing into the tail as it spun wildly. The transport was spinning, and things were going to hell. Slammed into the same pole the XO had leaned on, Jaketh saw stars and heard something crack. Grasping desperately at the metal seats or the fabric covers or anything, really, he fought to hang on as the big 332 rolled and started to break apart. “GO!,” roared the soldier next to him. Jaketh had no idea who it was, but he did not have much time to reflect on that because the trooper literally punched him in the face. Through a miracle or two he managed not to hit the tail as the floor slid past him and shot him into space. A gaping hole in the side of the plane belched smoke, smoke that curled in a lazy pattern up to the heavens. Other flaming wrecks were dropping from the clouds, flares lighting the night like angels and revealing the scattered and disorganized freefalls of the men they were carrying.

Snapping back to attention, Jaketh looked down at the ground. No lights were directly below him, leading him to believe he must have overshot the target. He also realized that he was far too low. Jaketh checked his altimeter and swore. 5,000 feet, it read. He had lost nearly 20,000 feet during that fall. He didn’t even know if the chute still worked or if it had been torn. Guess I have nothing better to do, he thought, tugging on his rip cord. The shock of opening at such an odd angle instantly knocked him unconscious.

http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y273/blast_archives/19112007192221.jpg

0018 hours
East Side
Dimosthentium


"Φτου να πάρει ο διάολος!" yelled someone, just before their voice was drowned out in an enormous explosion. One of the troop transports of the mavroi had been hit in its belly, and crashed into a market square where an anti-air vehicle had been set up, engulfing the square and its former inhabitants in burning fuel and spraying chunks of shrapnel everywhere. A few slivers even stuck into walls, like hideous modern art sculptures, while stray body parts, some burning and some not, lay around the whole scene. A man screamed above the flames for help, but no one could come across the barrier of flame that had trapped him. It was possible he burned to death, but he might also have bled to death; his entire lower half was ripped off and dripping in shreds upon a nearby threshold.
+++"Pick it up!" Ephedros Ypodekaneas Nikolaos Galrilis heard his squad commander, Ephedros Dekaneas Constantino Sarandopoulas, urge, waving the barrel of his rifle in the vague direction of a reported landing of mavroi paratroopers. The winding, narrow streets of Dimosthentium were proving very advantageous for the defenders, who also did not intend to let the Kargucagstani get too comfortable where they landed, haranguing them with sniper and mortar fire whenever they had the opportunity. The troops, having been stationed in the city for some time at only peacetime readiness, had learned the city's many switchbacks, U-turns, alleyways and rather asinine intersections, and were using these relatively hidden pathways to ambush groups of paratroopers that observers in the upper rooms of buildings were spotting. "Keep it moving, boys!" Nikolaos tripped as he ran through a pile of rubble, and nearly stumbled over a piece of a nearby building that had become impaled by the carbonized remains of a transport. He put out his hands in front of him and tried to turn the fall into a roll, but he recoiled in terror and revulsion when he found himself staring into the decapitated head of a Kargucagstani soldier.
+++His helmet lay some feet to the side, and was dented so that there was a hole in the Kevlar. A large hole had been made in his skull, which red liquid still flowed from. It was not flowing; his heart was long dead. It was gravity, acting on the wrong angle that the head was cocked at. His left eye was swollen and red, and the other was a yellow, star-shaped hole. His ragged throat was slick and red, and his jaw lay there, disconnected from his skull.
+++The squad grenadier was the last to come by; his name was Joseph Mikales. He saw Nikolaos staring at the dead head, and put a hand on his shoulder. "He is dead, Galrilis. It is all right."
+++The man was laying partially in the shade of the rubble, with his legs bent under him at wrong angles. His left eye was swollen and red, and the other was a star-shaped hole. The hole seemed to be getting bigger. The man's throat was slick with blood, and exposed his spine. His jaw was disconnected from his skull and lay on the throat.
+++"He is dead, Galrilis."
+++The man was not muscular. His physique was fit, but was not typical of strength. His face was worn and lined with laugh lines and early marks of heavy work. He was perhaps a farmer, who had been persuaded to join the Kargucagstani military for his leader. The government had promised him secure pay, skills to advance him in his career, and a guarantee of job security. His left eye was swollen and red, and was beginning to close, and the other was a star-shaped hole. His helmet lay to one side, dented and punctured. His throat was ripped at the base, where it had detached from his shoulder, and was slick with blood. His spine could be seen through the wound.
+++"What the fuck are you still staring for, Galrilis? Move on, there is nothing to see here."
+++His left eye was red and swollen, now nearly closed, and his right was a star-shaped hole. The dead man would have returned to his farm after his tour of duty, to the wife that the ring on his hand told him was there. Perhaps the dead man also had children. They would never see him now, and would wonder what they might have done to deserve such a fate.
+++"Nikolaos, he was a fucking invader. He was here to kill you and me and everything you loved. Your family, your fucking girl, everything. Do you want him back so he can kill you, instead?"
+++The dead man's head was cocked at a wrong angle, which caused the remaining blood in his head to ooze out of the hole in his skull. His legs were bent under him strangely, and he lay in the partial shade of the rubble. His helmet lay some distance away.
+++"Do you want to die here, Nikolaos? Let it go. We will talk later."
+++The dead man's left eye was red and swollen shut, and his other was a star-shaped hole.

Jaketh woke up in a tree, his face scratched and bloody from twigs. November had stripped the leaves from the branches, leaving him brutally exposed, and he was all too aware that those sounds nearby were not firecrackers. Taking a moment to feel his extremities for broken bones, he started to wonder where exactly he was. I’m in a tree, tangled in my chute, in the middle of nowhere with no way to know where my unit is or if anyone is still alive, he mumbled under his breathe. Reaching for his combat knife, Jeketh realized he had lost his main rucksack, which must have been ripped from his legs when he left the plane.

Jaketh hit the ground with a hard thump, the frayed lines of his chute fluttering where he cut them. Pain shot up his left leg, and he remembered hearing a sickening sound when the 332 was hit. Carefully feeling down his leg he realized that his knee was dislocated. Looking around, he found a stick to place in his mouth. Biting down as hard as he could, Jaketh smashed his knee into place with the butt of his carbine. A scream tore from his throat, muffled by the wood and the trees around him. The stick snapped, jagged shards of oak sliding into his gums. Panting from the effort, Jaketh slid his back down the trunk and lay on the ground, listening for any sounds of movement he may have attracted. A further inventory of his supplies managed to produce his medical kit, including a few precious syringes of morphine.

The icy relief flooded through his veins like a refreshing glass of mountain water, allowing him to stand and assess his position. Off in the distance was the glow of battle, tracers just visible against the overcast sky. The orders from his XO had been to take the city, but more detailed instructions were supposed to come from his sergeant, who was no doubt already fighting or dead in a flaming wreck somewhere. Testing his left leg gingerly, he shrugged and trudged off in the direction of Dimosthentium.

* * * * *

Although largely outnumbered and in a state of disarray, the Kargucagstani airborne had managed to secure a small stretch of road in the eastern suburbs of Dimosthentium, although chance had a lot to do with it as a large portion of the troops had landed in the area. A handsome blue middle-class home with flowers and a swing set in the front yard was chosen as the temporary HQ of the forces in the area. Only two streets over a major battle was raging, Conglomerate forces attempting to retrieve an APC from a pallet that had crashed through the roof of a local school. Huron forces were keeping them well pinned down, and the Kargucagstanis were becoming frustrated.

“I want two squads to flank the formations here, here and here,” Colonel Micha Xu boomed, gesturing towards points on a paper map hastily tacked to a wall in what was probably the dinning room. The grunt standing by the bay window overlooking the backyard shifted out of the way of the colonel, shoving a potted daisy off the sill where it broke on the ground. “Can someone get me an ETA on reinforcements?” Major Rathen Carr consulted with one of his captains.

“A squadron of Bellicus were set to arrive roughly ten minutes after we secured an LZ, which was supposed to take only twenty minutes. The street outside will need to be cleared of debris to get all four helicopters down.” Rubbing his chin, Xu waved his underlings off to prepare the landing zone. The big Doomani choppers could really help the efforts of the embattled men in the suburbs, but they were so large that they would have to land single-file.

“Davidson,” he barked to another colonel in the room, “get some men to secure the street down to the intersection here,” stabbing the map a few blocks from his current position. “I want soldiers in every building between this HQ and the street lights. It’s your job to keep those Bellicus shell hole-free while they’re sitting on the ground. Dismissed.”