Romandeos
13-02-2008, 06:32
OOC:
If you are not Romandeos, Wagdog, or Tanara, please do not post in here without first seeking an invite. Please refrain from tagging. That's why we have the subscription function.
IC:
It Begins…
Romandeos had gained the island of Guyana (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=470464) from the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg a little more than three years ago now, but, until the present date, they had let the locals live in relative isolation, fighting among themselves as they had done for more than a hundred long years. This had been allowed to happen due to instability in Romandeos, with plague having recently swept the land, and a nuclear-tipped missile annihilating a city. Now, that had changed, and the Empress had ordered an expedition organized to suppress the island immediately, to stop the constant fighting and destruction, and enforce basic Imperial law in the country. They were especially to stop the recruitment of child soldiers, which was a horrible practice, and was conducted by all factions in Guyana.
******************************
Guyana – a fetid, sweltering jungle Hell surrounded on all sides by ocean, and thank God in His Heaven for that small mercy.
~ Excerpt from a Central Directorate of Intelligence assessment
******************************
In the Skies above Southern Guyana – 700 Hours Zulu Time
Major-General Aida Meekins, commander of the 16th Airborne Division, grinned as a kid likely barely old enough to drink wearing a lieutenant’s bars made the thumbs up sign. As her own hand rose up to match the gesture she could not shake that one line from the files intelligence analysts had spent three years compiling about Guyana. As the C-130 carried her and her command staff through the inky black night sky, she noted mixed expressions in the faces of her officers. Some were smiling, excited, a few looked serene, lost in some intense thought pattern she could not fathom, and others appeared ready to shit their pants if she said “Boo!”.
“What are you so scared about?” she wondered angrily. “All you have to do is follow my instructions. I’m the one who catches Hell if this goes southwards.”
Her logical side kicked in then, and she cast those thoughts aside. They had as much right here to be frightened as she did. For her part, Meekins was apprehensive, and not without logical reason. Her division was being dropped in to hostile territory, well ahead of forces landing on the beaches soon. The 16th Airborne was to land some miles inland and seize a large allegedly unoccupied airfield west of Port Boukhari and then hold out until relieved.
Meekins was troubled by the fact that there was only sufficient aerial transport on hand to lift two battalions from the 16th Division’s 633rd Brigade on Day One. The remains would lift in on Day Two, the third battalion and most of the 633rd’s heavy support forces. Then, her additional two combat units, the 634th and 635th Brigades, would be brought in aboard heavy transport planes to the captured airfield every day thereafter, until the 16th Division had been fully amassed there.
Meekins had expressed concern about this at the last planning meeting before deployment had begun to a surprisingly sympathetic Theatre Command. She was told High Command had decided to avoid using too many aerial transports so early on. They wanted to wait, to learn more about this enemy before directly committing too many combat assets, thinking it would be wasteful to do otherwise.
Looking around the insides of the plane, Meekins snorted as she saw the foreign reporters her command had been saddled with. Now that was a waste of resources, making troopers keep an eye on foreign embedded reporters. She had complained about that, too, but there had been no appeal. She was stuck with them. The only good thing about this was that the higher-ups let her decide where in the 16th Airborne they would go. She had considered at least a few places where they would not be able to cause trouble, but in the end decided it likely would be best if she kept them at her own divisional headquarters. Damn reporters, had to go and give her troopers one more thing to worry on.
Meekins shook her head in exasperation, and then noticed the yellow ready light blinking in the front of the compartment. She surged to her feet and moved forward, determined to lead her troopers from the front. She would be the first on the ground in this combat drop, like she had always been in training. Behind her, she saw her chief of staff, a colonel who had just joined the Airborne tugging nervously at his harness.
“Good!” She thumped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Remember, yell ‘Geronimo’ when it’s time for you to drop out!” Then the door opened, the light flashed green, and Meekins leapt out from the big C-130. She felt the static line yank taut…
******************************
Battle Group Garrison, off the southern Guyana Coast – 700 Hours Zulu Time
It had appeared in the early morning, drifting in through the mist, scaring fishermen white in the process as it floated silently, menacingly close to the shore, turrets swiveling, rifled heavy guns pointing up at the hostile landscape. A few people on the beach who were not leaving in a panic watched, as the ships closed in on the island coastline and took position in silence, the only noise being the occasional faint sound from the decks.
Romandeos had arrived.
Battle Group Garrison, commanded by Admiral Rafael Garrison, was a potent force, with heavy guns and combat aircraft aplenty, to say nothing of the Naval Infantry units packed in aboard the three troop transport ships.
From aboard his flagship, the Victory-class carrier HRMS King Tobias, Admiral Garrison looked on and coordinated the operation. Imperial Navy fighters patrolled the sky, as men loaded into amphibious tractors from aboard one of his three Marquess-class LHCN ships in preparation for the landing. A second Marquess-class, escorted by a few warships went its own way, heading east to a second landing zone.
“It seems all is going well, Sir.” The carrier’s captain, Captain Nathaniel Shylton watched interestedly through binoculars.
“It does indeed.” That was Rear-Admiral Joanna Holt, CO of Task Force 3, the naval unit holding most of BG Garrison’s vessels.
“So far, anyway,” answered Garrison. “Let’s just hope that keeps up.”
Everybody on the bridge nodded at that, and returned to watching the landing, as marines loaded in to the landing craft, two whole battalions in the first wave.
******************************
15th Navy Infantry Brigade, On the Beach – 700 Hours Zulu Time
“Get off the tractors! Get off the tractors and on the beach! Move it!”
Colonel Nelson Valcourt shouted commands to his Navy Infantry while jogging along the hot beach sands, his command staff close in tow relaying his orders and trying to keep the Brigade Commander’s person from harm. His marines moved up the shore, spreading and looking around the beach as they advanced. So far, they were unopposed, but Romandeos had not grown so old by have stupid soldiers, and the advance was swift but cautious, and kept as highly organized as the officers and NCOs could manage.
Moving up and ducking down behind a boulder, Valcourt could only hope that everything in the landing operations went this well.
If you are not Romandeos, Wagdog, or Tanara, please do not post in here without first seeking an invite. Please refrain from tagging. That's why we have the subscription function.
IC:
It Begins…
Romandeos had gained the island of Guyana (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=470464) from the Grand Duchy of Van Luxemburg a little more than three years ago now, but, until the present date, they had let the locals live in relative isolation, fighting among themselves as they had done for more than a hundred long years. This had been allowed to happen due to instability in Romandeos, with plague having recently swept the land, and a nuclear-tipped missile annihilating a city. Now, that had changed, and the Empress had ordered an expedition organized to suppress the island immediately, to stop the constant fighting and destruction, and enforce basic Imperial law in the country. They were especially to stop the recruitment of child soldiers, which was a horrible practice, and was conducted by all factions in Guyana.
******************************
Guyana – a fetid, sweltering jungle Hell surrounded on all sides by ocean, and thank God in His Heaven for that small mercy.
~ Excerpt from a Central Directorate of Intelligence assessment
******************************
In the Skies above Southern Guyana – 700 Hours Zulu Time
Major-General Aida Meekins, commander of the 16th Airborne Division, grinned as a kid likely barely old enough to drink wearing a lieutenant’s bars made the thumbs up sign. As her own hand rose up to match the gesture she could not shake that one line from the files intelligence analysts had spent three years compiling about Guyana. As the C-130 carried her and her command staff through the inky black night sky, she noted mixed expressions in the faces of her officers. Some were smiling, excited, a few looked serene, lost in some intense thought pattern she could not fathom, and others appeared ready to shit their pants if she said “Boo!”.
“What are you so scared about?” she wondered angrily. “All you have to do is follow my instructions. I’m the one who catches Hell if this goes southwards.”
Her logical side kicked in then, and she cast those thoughts aside. They had as much right here to be frightened as she did. For her part, Meekins was apprehensive, and not without logical reason. Her division was being dropped in to hostile territory, well ahead of forces landing on the beaches soon. The 16th Airborne was to land some miles inland and seize a large allegedly unoccupied airfield west of Port Boukhari and then hold out until relieved.
Meekins was troubled by the fact that there was only sufficient aerial transport on hand to lift two battalions from the 16th Division’s 633rd Brigade on Day One. The remains would lift in on Day Two, the third battalion and most of the 633rd’s heavy support forces. Then, her additional two combat units, the 634th and 635th Brigades, would be brought in aboard heavy transport planes to the captured airfield every day thereafter, until the 16th Division had been fully amassed there.
Meekins had expressed concern about this at the last planning meeting before deployment had begun to a surprisingly sympathetic Theatre Command. She was told High Command had decided to avoid using too many aerial transports so early on. They wanted to wait, to learn more about this enemy before directly committing too many combat assets, thinking it would be wasteful to do otherwise.
Looking around the insides of the plane, Meekins snorted as she saw the foreign reporters her command had been saddled with. Now that was a waste of resources, making troopers keep an eye on foreign embedded reporters. She had complained about that, too, but there had been no appeal. She was stuck with them. The only good thing about this was that the higher-ups let her decide where in the 16th Airborne they would go. She had considered at least a few places where they would not be able to cause trouble, but in the end decided it likely would be best if she kept them at her own divisional headquarters. Damn reporters, had to go and give her troopers one more thing to worry on.
Meekins shook her head in exasperation, and then noticed the yellow ready light blinking in the front of the compartment. She surged to her feet and moved forward, determined to lead her troopers from the front. She would be the first on the ground in this combat drop, like she had always been in training. Behind her, she saw her chief of staff, a colonel who had just joined the Airborne tugging nervously at his harness.
“Good!” She thumped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Remember, yell ‘Geronimo’ when it’s time for you to drop out!” Then the door opened, the light flashed green, and Meekins leapt out from the big C-130. She felt the static line yank taut…
******************************
Battle Group Garrison, off the southern Guyana Coast – 700 Hours Zulu Time
It had appeared in the early morning, drifting in through the mist, scaring fishermen white in the process as it floated silently, menacingly close to the shore, turrets swiveling, rifled heavy guns pointing up at the hostile landscape. A few people on the beach who were not leaving in a panic watched, as the ships closed in on the island coastline and took position in silence, the only noise being the occasional faint sound from the decks.
Romandeos had arrived.
Battle Group Garrison, commanded by Admiral Rafael Garrison, was a potent force, with heavy guns and combat aircraft aplenty, to say nothing of the Naval Infantry units packed in aboard the three troop transport ships.
From aboard his flagship, the Victory-class carrier HRMS King Tobias, Admiral Garrison looked on and coordinated the operation. Imperial Navy fighters patrolled the sky, as men loaded into amphibious tractors from aboard one of his three Marquess-class LHCN ships in preparation for the landing. A second Marquess-class, escorted by a few warships went its own way, heading east to a second landing zone.
“It seems all is going well, Sir.” The carrier’s captain, Captain Nathaniel Shylton watched interestedly through binoculars.
“It does indeed.” That was Rear-Admiral Joanna Holt, CO of Task Force 3, the naval unit holding most of BG Garrison’s vessels.
“So far, anyway,” answered Garrison. “Let’s just hope that keeps up.”
Everybody on the bridge nodded at that, and returned to watching the landing, as marines loaded in to the landing craft, two whole battalions in the first wave.
******************************
15th Navy Infantry Brigade, On the Beach – 700 Hours Zulu Time
“Get off the tractors! Get off the tractors and on the beach! Move it!”
Colonel Nelson Valcourt shouted commands to his Navy Infantry while jogging along the hot beach sands, his command staff close in tow relaying his orders and trying to keep the Brigade Commander’s person from harm. His marines moved up the shore, spreading and looking around the beach as they advanced. So far, they were unopposed, but Romandeos had not grown so old by have stupid soldiers, and the advance was swift but cautious, and kept as highly organized as the officers and NCOs could manage.
Moving up and ducking down behind a boulder, Valcourt could only hope that everything in the landing operations went this well.