NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: For the OOC/sign-up thread, see here: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=552027

Don't jump in unless Drepner gives you permission (ie, see the sign-up thread!). Gracias.


IC:

Far from the warm waters of the Pacific, where the Amazonian home islands lay in a triangle of protection and perfection, the medium-sized nation of Drepner lay amidst the sprawling continental lands of the Northern Hemisphere. The nation was unspectacular - it had less people in its entire country than were in the Dominion military with a gross domestic product a fraction of the education budget of the sprawling waters and lands of Amazonia proper. But it did attract Dominion "peacekeepers" however - the draw of money. Cash. Supporting the Imperial Council of Amazonia with a "foreign contracting service" of the "overseers" of Drepner, the Grestonian government.

The relationship between Greston and Amazonia in Drepner were somewhat lasseiz-faire. Technically the Grestonians were the governmental leaders of Drepner, utilizing the nation somewhat as a protectorate of sorts. The overseers lacked the total resources to control Drepner, however - which is where the Amazonians came in. Flush with resources with very little to do - the Dominion populace was generally held in check through educational measures, eugenics, developmental psychological techniques, and other advances in medicine and science that helped to shape a population generally supportive of a somewhat corrupt regime - the Amazonians had more than enough in the military forces and the policing forces - more often known as the "Wardens," somewhat of a military police that acted as the general peacekeepers of Amazonia - to ship some overseas to police and control Drepner.

The initial instructions had been fairly simple. Greston needed peacekeepers to maintain order, and Amazonia had won a contract. Terms had been simple - keep the peace, and don't overdo it. Simple - yet flexible! And that was what the Dominion loved. Soon an assault battlegroup had been dispatched overseas - a "policing force" to keep the peace both on land and in the water - containing more than enough forces to maintain order just the way the Dominion did it.

If that involved tanks and anti-vehicle rockets, than so be it.

* * * * *

"So what the hell is this again?"

Shock Trooper Markus Vinyard didn't want to be on this mission. Like much of the elite soldiers of the Dominion ground forces, he regarded the Wardens with some disdain. They were police forces, after all - not the well-trained, groomed soldiers, even the basic grunts. Sure, they could use APCs and HMGs. But what use were those without the training?

"Suppressing a known cell. Civilian in nature. Suburbs. In-and-out, by the book." Vinyard didn't want to be commanding this mission - he wanted to be with his unit. But nope, Drepner command had decided he had good qualifications to lead a bunch of glorified cops.

Vinyard did admit that whoever had designed the uniforms for the Wardens had done a fairly good job. They were modeled after the full-body suits of the Shock Troopers, except missing the brick-red-emblazoned body streaks of the grey-camoflauge uniform of the Shock Troopers. Warden uniforms were also slightly smaller with a little less armor, and were black rather than the shades-of-grey camo patterns that adorned the Shock outfits.

"Sounds good enough." They weren't the brightest socially, these Wardens. They had all the tactical knowledge overall of the soldiers, except designed more for infiltration and urban suppression rather than battlefield combat.

"Damn right it is. Just do your job."

Vinyard surveyed the weapon loadouts of the Wardens. Several with XM8 carbines - older weapons the police preferred for some reason. One or two SCAR-H older rifles. Some of the newer Amazonian equipment scattered around, including the AWL-6 assault rifle. Vinyard himself carried a full arsenal - an AWH-8 heavy assault rifle in his arms, twin APH-12 pistols on his belt with eight grenades - both frag and flashbang - accompanying ammo, grappling hooks, weapon attachments, and various equipment. Shock Troopers were designed for any situation - except ones where the Imperial Commandos did better. They were true infiltration.

"A'ight, everybody out. We're here."

The call from the Cougar APC commander - the lead APC in a column of three, along with a Rhino Assault Tank for potential backup against the "cell" - reminded everyone that they were at their target. Vinyard waved his index finger in the air, calling the Wardens out. Already, the two other Shock Troopers, commanding separate squads, had gotten their wardens out, the Cougards manuevering about while the Rhino simply trained its main 125mm smoothbore gun.

The building before them was a standard "four-house" apartment flat, meant to accomodate up to four families usually. This one, according to command, had a terror cell that had critically wounded a Warden in urban areas the previous week.

"Move out," Vinyard instructed. As the leader of Squad 1, he had overall command of the mission. One of the Cougars had already sneaked around, while the tank simply made no intent of making itself hidden. Some from nearby houses in the suburb were coming out to investigate.

"They do anything tricky, use your trigger finger for something other than picking your nose," Vinyard barked.

The Wardens were responding with effortless precision - despite Vinyard's mind on them, they were more than a police force - they were equivalent to a lot of nations' military elite. Four had approached the door, two others training battlefield snipers at two windows. Some civilians had started to walk over, puzzling looks on their faces.

"Deal with them," Vinyard instructed. Two Wardens moved off from the main group of eighteen, carbines levelled. That sent a message.

"Take the door, 2 team."

Second squad sent a Warden forward, who proceeded to bash down the door with one well-placed kick. All too easy. A flashbang grenade went inside instantly, the soldiers turning away as the concussion flared within.

"2 and 3, inside. 1, provide cover outside."

Vinyard motioned with his finger to two spots - his squad dividing into two groups of three and taking the outside of the building without problem. The two squads went in, three soldiers each dividing to a family quarters.

"Execute operations," Vinyard said over a battlefield communications device. Hi-tech had its advantages when dealing with "terrorists."

A number of confused sounds came from within, followed by a number of deep throaty male voices - the Wardens losing their tempers.

"Sir, we just have a bunch of families in here. Orders?"

Stupid fools. This is why police couldn't do these things. "Continue operations. Suspected insurgents are to be extinguished."

Acknowledgements around, "extinguishing" began. So what that they were families with school-aged kids and trying to make a living? They likely were making bombs in the basement or attic.

Right in step, a window splattered with blood as triple-round bursts of gunfire splattered out from the building.

"They're retreating back into cover, commander. Potential traps."

"Let the Rhino handle it. Evac."

The two squads departed the building as the APCs emerged out from behind roads, essentially making sure no one was getting out without being spotted. The few onlookers started to yell, asking frantic questions. Time to eliminate them, too.

"Last thing we need is distractions. Kill the interlopers."

One of the APCs turned its .50 cal MG towards the three onlookers, rippling out a wave of bullet fire. Two seconds left, the onlookers were transformed into the remnants of a meat-slushie cuisinart concoction. The Rhino, meanwhile, levelled its 125mm main cannon, taking aim at the building. It was quick - a blast of fire, the roar of the weapon, and suddenly a giant crater in the concrete, brick, and steel building was collapsing. It was a great hit, to the tank's credit. Two had made it out alive - a middle-aged woman and a pre-teen girl - but the "alive" part didn't last for long. Quick flashes by the lead Cougar's .50 cal ripped apart any hope at life, leaving a stream of blood from the two corpses mixing with that from the three ripped-apart onlookers. What was done was done.

"Command," Vinyard radioed back in to his operators, "affirmative kill on the cell."

"Good work, Shock Trooper."

The Rhino began moving off, crushing a new sedan under its treads as it rolled away. The Wardens and Shock Troopers quickly borded the APCs, the three vehicles rolling away. An AH-8 Shrike gunship beat overhead, confirming the kill from the air as well as ensuring that no other insurgents decided to sneak up...at least, not without meeting a Firebore AGM from the attack copter's rack of missiles. Efficient and effective - that had been the operation. Just another day.

Now naturally, the Grestonians had a reason for all of this. At least, on some level they did. There were cells of insurgents in many places, fighting for independence. In many cases, they were able to claim the membership of average civilians. The problem was, the Wardens just weren't the best at intelligence gathering, so they often missed the real threat and simply increased emnity between themselves and the subject populace. This, in turn, increased membership in the insurgent cells, which was exactly the opposite of what the "overseers" wanted. The wanton brutality of the Shocktroopers and Wardens was counterproductive, at best. It also made them extremely easy targets.

As Vinyard and the Wardens walked away from the killing field, they were unaware that many of them had rapidly shortening lifespans.

"Got one of the bastards in my sights, Cap'n," came a squak from one of the hidden insurgents, sights trained right on an unsuspecting warden's head. They had been anticipating this raid. The least the rebels could do was avenge the innocents' deaths.

"Good. Put 'em out," came the response of Captain Hans Talyc, a captain in the Unified Drepnarian Liberation Army, or UDLA.

The corporal nodded silently, and quietly gave the order to the men with him: one had an RPG, three had captured XM8's, all had grenades, and one had, for some unknown reason, an FN FAL assault rifle. All were using attachable grenade launchers.

"Five, four, three, two..."

A hail of gunfire and grenade blasts caught the Wardens unawares. The UDLA soldiers broke cover at this point, finishing off any of the glorified police officers they could find. The gunship was clipped by an explosion, and one of the APC's was obliterated by a lone anti-tank gun that UDLA personnel had labored for hours to bring to spot for the ambush. Corporal Jozef Descaross ordered his men to a pile of rubble, while the man on the RPG reloaded, and the men on the AT gun struggled to reload the old artillary piece. Jozef really hoped they had a way to haul the thing away before reinforcements arrived. They didn't have more than a dozen of those, and they were vitally important, even if they were weapons that were circa 1936.

They paused. Another APC ate AT gunfire. and the gunship recieved another explosive present a la RPG. The Wardens that hadn't escaped yet were rounded up and executed in a manner just as brutal as that which they innocent civilians had been.

Captain Talyc and Corporal Descaross met up with the 28-strong platoon, and noted sadly that 3 men that had left on the mission would not be returning. All the same, the captain noted, it was a victory.

Score one for the good guys. Talyc thought somewhat grimly.

President Govenor was the easiest job that someone could take inside a Grestonian held colony. The only tasks were to fill out papers, veto or approve bills, make decisions on issues and on very rare occasions they would have to go to another nation and represent the colony and Greston.

The Drepnerian President Govenor was a 46 year old man with graying hair and a gray, rough face. Some joked around and said he had a heart of coal, which, in some cases was almost true. It was very hard to make him show any emotions, in fact some people that had known him all his life said he never did show emotions. Emotions other than hatred that is. Hatred showed greatly on him. He didn't care if anyone died, if they all died. He was still alive.

His name was Jerick Vanstor. He had served in the Grestonian Military for over ten years and had fought in great conflicts like the Shalrirorchia War and the Nazist war that had scarred Greston.

He was a native Grestonian unlike most President Govenors. His work was becoming easier and easier. Finally President John Batther had made a good idea and hired the Amazonians over the rest. They would take on a mission and complete in half the time it took to explain it. Less laws needed to be passed because people were so afraid of what would happen if they did break a law that they didn't want any more laws that they might accidently break. Less issues would be brought up because the Wardens were so well trained that they didn't let anything happen that would make there need to be an issue.

With all of these tasks that the President Govenor would normally need to do being fulfilled by the Wardens it only leaft representing Drepner and that never happened at all.

So Jerik didn't need to do his job. He just got paid. But that day was different. It was the first time an issue that the Wardens hadn't solved occured and Jerik thought that it must be a sign of the apocalypse.

His aid informed him of the issue of Jerik was so stunned as to what had happened that he didn't believe it to be true and to prove her wrong he said he would go over there himself and prove it.

A few guards threw a kevlar vest and a black helmet that curved at the top into point on him. Then he got his black business jacket, a long black jacket like reporters wear, on and got into a LA 2045 APC along with six Grestonian Drepnerian Guard Soldiers (GDGS). Three other LA 2045 APCs came along, each carrying seven GDGS's.

Jerik later learned his GDGS's names. The commander was named Wince Gorgis and the rest were other unimportant soldiers that Jerik only learned the name of one, William Lerrer. Each had a newly made AK-104, with a sharpened bayonet, twin Colt Pistols, 12 flash bang and frag grenades, and batons to beat any roudy people with. Wince Gorgis also had and MG34 with him. It was old but could tear someone to shreds. William Lerrer had an SVT-40 along with him too.

The driver was a chattery person and kept on calling back to talk to them. It annoyed Jerik alot. It wasn't until a few gun shots went off, the driver was quiet, and that the APC tipped a little and chrashed into a mound of rubble that Jerik officially found out that what his aid had said was true.

His vision blurred and when it started to come back he saw the six GDGS's of his jumping out the back, guns raised. He could hear gun fire. Slower gun fire and quick screaching shots which he guessed Wince was firing.

He looked over the tip of the wall of the APC and saw that the men from the other APCs were jumping out and its crew was counterattacking. The heavy weaponry on the APCs fired like crazy at the enemy terrorist factions.

An AT started firing and then an APC next to his lit up in flames and took three lives with it. He knew that if he stayed in that APC he would be waiting for his death so he jumped out into a rolling position. Then he did an army crawl and picked up an SVT-40 from another dead body. As he tugged at the gun he heard the AT fire again and unsurprisingly to him when he turned around the APC he was just in had blown up.

He got the gun and jumped up into a standing position and fired at the nearest terrorist. It clipped him in the leg and then Jerik fired three more times at him. He went back down to the ground and used the dead body as coverage. The deathly corpse stench was coming up yet so he could use until then or else he would be blinded by vomit.

He fired at every terrorist he saw and the last APC helped as well. Jerik scanned the feild. He spotted Wince with three other men behind a destroyed APC firing his MG34. He scanned it again and he saw William beating a terrorists head in with the butt of his gun.

Will finished destroyed any remnant of flesh on the man's face and then ran towards the destroyed building. He used up six grenades on throwing them at a heap of ruble where most of the opposing gun fire came from.

Wince and Jerik provided covering fire for William as he charged the debris heap. William stabbed and slashed his bayonet everywhere and then loaded out a clip upon another terrorist.

Wince's MG34 tore through the terrorists and made many of them into human swiss cheese. Food for the birds.

Captain Talyc's band of freedom fighters had escaped the fight with 5 dead or missing. At least 12 more of them were injured in some way. He panted as the band of fighters stopped in an allyway, far from the scene of carnage.
The foreigners are gonna have one hell of a time explaining all of that, he thought. He turned around and took a brief head count.

He was fairly sure General von Waldstein wouldn't be terribly happy. Five men and an AT gun. Those were pretty bad losses for a skirmish that hadn't lasted an hour. But it was a propaganda victory; people could know, from the presence of UDLA casualties that they would be protected by the UDLA.

The roughly 23 men made their way back to their homebase, in, cliche enough, an old warehouse. From there, they would disperse, and Talyc and Descaross would report back to the leadership counsel.

Hans and Jozef made their way through the streets of Stredenburg, Drepner's traditional capital, though it was not the colonial captial. In the light of the street lamps, the differences between the two rebel fighters were more obvious, at least physically.

Jozef was young, probably around 19, but was someone who could clearly be called on to fight extra hard against the oppressors; he had lost too many family and friends to them to let them stay unharassed. He worked at a factory during the day, and shot godless foreigners by night. His street smarts, physical strength, and dogged determination had allowed him to gain a relatively high rank within the UDLA for one so young. He was well-defined, and had all the normal traits of a working-class man. In addition, he had brown eyes that showed a man as old as war and tragedy itself, he had short brown hair, and stood at 5'10" and 180 lbs. He was handy with most longarms.

Hans couldn't have been more different. He had lost many close friends and family to the enemy, it was true. But that was not why he fought. He had lost them because he fought. He was in this, though, because of his patriotism and strong nationalist spirit. He was working-class as well, but years of work had made him even stronger, but less obviously so, than his young companion. He was 56, completely grey; hair, beard, everything. Even his eyes were cold and grey. He had many scars on his face, arms, all over, as much because of combat as because of work. He could, unlike Jozef, remember when Drepner had been independent. He had served in the Volkswehr, the old Drepnarian army, and had opposed the Grestonian invasion. And the fact that he had failed made him extremely hostile towards the occupiers. His rank came from years of experience, tactical intelligence, a healthy understanding of psychology, and a lot of common sense and pragmatism.

They ambled along into the meeting house, constructed entirely of brick, and poorly lit on the outside. Many of the higher-ups were already waiting. The General was waiting, anxious for the report. Both knew how he would react to the outcome of the ambush, and it pained them. This was not because he would shout, yell, and cuss at them. No, it would be because they would feel like they had let the man down, this old soldier who had served in the same day and age as Talyc, day and night for his country, and sacrificing any chance he had had of having a normal life, in the name of his homeland.

General Franz von Waldstein was the undisputed leader of the UDLA. It was thanks to his leadership that they had made it this far. The 54 year old veteran was charismatic, capable of making his men want to do their best, tactically and strategically intelligent and experienced, knew a thing or two about diplomacy, propaganda, and psychology. He too, was completely grey, had a beard, and had light blue eyes. He had been a high officer in the Volkswehr, and had known the old Drepnarian king, King Walter IV. He did not have the heavy-built stature that the corporal and captain did; he was small and wiry, and one got the impression of someone with a serious Napoleon complex.

OOC: Want more...? Well you'll have to wait 'till tommarrow!!!!!! Mwahahahaha!!!!!

OOC: Note, the biological techniques I refer to later in the post all use real-world technology. It can be done, and while it sounds scientific, it just takes a distorted mind to put it to work...like the Amazonian government.


IC:

Tyrone Bryant looked the part of a football player. Standing 6'8" - tall for most countries, but only several inches above the 6'3" average for the eugenics-happy Dominion - Bryant's dark skin shone hot in the Drepnerian sun. The country was significantly colder than the Amazonian home islands in the heart of the South Pacific, and Bryant, descended of African heritage, preferred the hot climate. Muscles bulked out of his arms, core, and legs, and the man seemed to have eyes that missed nothing. The man would have looked like he belonged in a professional football jersey of the Amazonian Footall League.

The issue, however, was thus: Bryant, at 45, was not a member of the AFL. He was, however, a former Sovereign Guardsman and a member of the Dominion military - at the rank of General for a fairly young age in the military for such honors. Bryant was smart, strategically sound, and tough. He had been given the unglorious job of regulating Drepner, however - a job he particularly didn't like. Bryant would rather have been in a "hot zone" fighting - not in a control zone working, above all, for another government. After all, the Dominion was technically a tool in Drepner, albeit a tool with a lot of independence.

The latest reports from the suburban regions of Drepner had Bryant particularly hot-headed this afternoon. He didn't like people dying under his command, particularly Shock Troopers. He had gotten the report from the Grestonians who had mopped up the situation, but this was why he was pissed. The Wardens were tough soldiers, no doubt, and elite warriors - they could take on the best and win, virtually unstoppable killing machines at times. But they were volunteers. The highest of the military, however, was much more.

Polymerase chain reactions ensured that Shock Troopers, Commandos, Elite Troopers, and Sovereign Guardsmen were all predestined from the prenatal stages. PCR in vitro eliminated the most undesirable genes for disorders and potential damaging syndromes. From there, the fetuses - grown outside the maternal womb - were enriched with nutrient-rich blood as they developed. After artificial birth, the designated fetuses were psychologically "manipulated"...sent through series of tests, expiraments, and designed simulations to make them inherently avoid certain stimuli and cherish others. It was this way that the Dominion found that they could create the top-tier soldiers and commanders they wanted...if albeit for a high cost. But the military's mantra was quality over quantity, anyway, so it worked in the end.

Extensive training from childhood to early adulthood bred the futrue Elites, Shock Troopers, Commandos, and Sovereign Guardsmen to their maximum potential. They knew, nor cared not, for parentage or basic emotions. They were killing machines, brilliant strategic minds, and tough motherfuckers. That was where the common military and the Wardens - despite both being at high levels (the Wardens, especially, were good) were not to the caliber of the best of the best.

This was what frustrated Bryant. His own kin killed - that made no sense. Something compounded it, and he was determined to find out what. The simplest solution? Keep the public in the dark and force a budding rebellion to rear its head...where it could be crushed with overwhelming force. That was a simple, easy, and cost-efficient solution in the terms of lives of important members. There would always be volunteers...but there would never be enough bred soldiers.

Bryant had asked for more Elites to do his toughest jobs, but Wardens were sent instead. He was okay with Wardens, normal volunteer forces and standard conscripts...but it wasn't the same. He couldn't project the neccessary firepower, and the government was hesitated to commit resources. At least give him the Elite Wardens...those in the breeding program designated for Warden status who served essentially as the police's elite ops. They were just as good as the Shock Troopers, except they played the game a little differently. But nope, Bryant was stuck mostly with the stock model.

It was time to stop playing nice with the locals, then.

* * * * *

OOC: For reference, Drepner, could we get a few city names? Need to know where I can hit places. Or, even better, a map, if you have the time. Don't kill yourself over a map, though.


IC:

The colonial capital of Drepner was a fairly vibrant place. For a small country, the city was prospering...exactly what the Amazonian occupying forces didn't like particularly much. Perhaps Greston had control, but Amazonia had authority...and it was the job of authority to enforce its own power.

It started up with a column of Scorpian main battle tanks - the primary armored fighters of war of the Dominion - rolling up to the entrances of the city. The populace had been allowed fairly free reign to this point, but that was about to change. Main roads led in and out from the colonial capital, and it was time to ensure that undesirables wouldn't get in or out. The Scorpians loaded up around each road leading in and out - there were bunches of them, but there were also bunches of tanks. The colonial capital was a main center of activity...the traditional capital, a bit more of a seedy place, would be conquered with force later. Maybe brutally devestated, if Bryant was in the mood.

The Scorpians spread themselves out, accompanied by Rhino assault tanks, Cougar APCs and Lynx IFVs across the roads entering and exiting the cities. Helicopters began showing up - Shrike gunships and Sparrowhawk utility and transport helos patrolling the city. Curfew was set at 8PM - out later and one could expect to be shot on sight now by the increased patrols of Wardens, moving about the city in packs of eight in their lifeless black full-body suits. They were barely human in their uniforms, their skin invisable beneath dark armor and sinister helmets, equipped with high-powered guns and an array of grenades.

The roads entering and exiting the city were also announced to be under control, as well. Any trucks larger than a pickup wre required under new martial law to have their occupants reveal their cargo at checkpoints - staffed by Wardens giving plenty of room in the event of potential suicide bombers. Any vehicle of the given size attempting to break the checkpoints could expect to get identified and subsequently blown off the face of the earth by a patrolling military vehicle or air asset - whether a helo or an attack jet.

E-4 Owl AWACS craft, escorted by Flare interceptors, were now getting 24-hour patrols, as well, to regulate airspace. Martial law was coming down on the colonial capital...and for the traditional capital, the fight to put that city under would come soon, as well. It was time in the Dominion occupation force to begin suppression and oppression. Violators would be met with extreme prejudice.

OOC: For city names, here's a few; Vienna (as in the one in Austria), Budapest (as in the one in Hungary), Stredenburg (roughly where the RL Slovenian, Croatian, and Hungarian borders meet (made-up city, and traditional capital of Drepner), Zagreb (Croatia), Staggen (made-up, where the Danube intersects with the Croat-Hungarian border). I'll work on a map.
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The younger General Jorge Svenson sat next to von Waldstein. He was not as experienced, but was more skilled in diplomacy and negotiating than Franz was. Or, more accurately, he was more precise with language and more persuasive in the diplomatic way. When someone threatened von Waldstein or the lives of his men, he became extremely rude, harsh, and, in short, a right asshole.

Svenson was taller, leaner built, and kept his composure better than Franz. He had short blond hair, blue eyes, stood 6'1'', and weighed 176 pounds. He was energetic, and nursed a grudge against the occupying forces: they had been responsible for derailing his education, and, in effect, his life. He was fortunate that few, if any at all, of his family or friends outside of the UDLA had been harmed.

Six captains sat around the table as well; captain was the second highest rank within the UDLA, and the UDLA only had eight total. The fact that only six, plus himself, were present, disturbed Talyc.

As he sat, he turned to the closest: his name was Steven Brandenburger; a 26 year old German, who was already famous for his efforts for being a constant frustration to the Wardens, as they had tried at least 12 times to capture or kill him, and, obviously, they had failed spectacularly each time.

"What happened to Adam?" Talyc asked Brandenburger, inquiring about the one missing captain.

"He was captured four days ago. Shot, we believe."

"Oh." Talyc felt the blow that was already numbed; Adam Forcyzk was just another in a long list of friends in the cause who had paid the ultimate price. He could list them for hours, if he really wanted to. "So we've only got seven, then?"

"Nope. General von Waldstein already chose someone to replace him."

"That fast?"

"Lots of 'em have been distinguishing themselves. You're little buddy over there is about to get a big promotion."

"Holy shit," Talyc swore in surprise. Descaross a Captain? The boy would probably be in over his head.

"I could name lots worse people, before you get too surprised. He's a bright kid."

"You're not much older than him. Don't call him a kid."

"I've seen more in a month than he has his whole life."

"You don't know that."

"Ok, a year of my life compared to four of his.
Hans paused at that, and thought. Steven had a point there. Jozef was still wet behind the ears, something that Steven couldn't be accused of.

They looked at the other Captains as the Generals called a start to the meeting. Talyc had taken his usual spot at General von Waldstein's right hand; they were war buddies, and von Waldstein trusted Hans Talyc more than anyone else. Next to Talyc sat Brandenburger. To Steven's right sat his close friend, Marcellus Greyson, the unofficial Captain of Artillary. Then there was Wilhelm Steyer, a veteran of 12 years in the movement. Next to him sat Nicolaus Rakozy, the king of persuasion. To Rakozy's right was Marcos Venitalli, the famed anarchist and duke of discord. Finally, to Venitalli's right and Svenson's left (and, by extension, to the left of an empty seat), sat Gregory Donesse, a skilled diplomat and PR go-to-guy.

After hearing Jozef Descaross' report on the ambush, and the announcement of Descaross' promotion (he sat in the empty seat, to the left of Svenson), they got on with other orders of business: recruitment, supply procurement, plans for future raids, etc. However, the most important was saved for last: a new weapon being developed by Greyson. All eyes were on him as he set up a diagram with some pictures of secret tests. He cleared his throat.

"You're gonna like this," he started with a cocky grin on his face.

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Captain Marcellus Greyson was extremely pleased with himself. It was so simple. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?

The UDLA captain had every reason to be pleased; he had come up with an ingeneous weapon, and all they need to correctly deploy it was the fact that hazardous chemical dumpsters were everywhere in the cities.

As a result of failed chemical expirements under Grestonian rule, there was crap-loads of hazardous waste. And dumpsters.

The dumpster bomb was a brutal and inventive weapon; one simply put a bit of C4 explosive and a detonator, rigged correctly, into one of such dumpsters, and strategically placed it near an area of high enforcer activity. And none of this looked suspicious, because of the ease of procurement of uniforms of the waste disposal service, and the dumpsters were not terribly different from regular garbage ones. A sticker, which could be relatively easily removed, was all that denoted chemical waste dumpsters from plain old dumpsters. Then you just made sure the area was relatively clear of civilians (not hard, seeing as one could see the streets clear whenever a military patrol came along) and when a pack of the Wardens and/ior other security officers came by, boom. And the best part was that due to the hazardous waste contained therein, any of the baddies who didn't die a horrible painful death right off the bat could expect some nasty injuries, a shortened lifespan, a more drawn-out and equally horrible and painful death, or any combination of the above.

The gunships patroling many of the cities night and day were really not much of a menace except in the relatively open suburbs; the narrow streets, allys, and dens, provided more than adequete cover, both visual and practical, against most heavy weaponry. After all, (OOC: I'm going on an assumption here) it wasn't like the security forces could just demolish half the city looking for rebels. The Grestonians need something to rule over, after all. This meant there were increasing numbers of encounters between insurgents and security forces, where the few limits placed on the troops hamstrung their ability to pursue the rebels after the fights.

Greyson and a handful of his men were waiting from a few blocks away watching a military patrol pass extremely close to a bomb they had planted an hour ago. Greyson's men were well known amongst the UDLA ranks as experts with heavy firepower; Greyson was a foreigner, and had served as a gunnery officer in his original home country's army. When he had come to Drepner, he had essentially adopted the place as his home. As such, he wanted independence for it as badly as anyone else. The upshot of all of this is that Marcellus had offered his services to the UDLA, and had risen to the rank of Captain, the second-highest rank within the rebel organization. He had then, in turn, imparted his skills and experiences on the men put under his command.

His heart was racing as he saw the second APC of the five vehicle convoy pass the bomb. The others were already around the corner, shielded from the blast, and they were all ready to flee the scene. He rounded the corner and gave the thumbs-up. OOC: I'll let you guys decide what your losses are from this attack.

A monstrous BANG resonated through the air, and the four men took off through the back allys, staying hidden, and they made it back to their homebase without incident. From there, they dispersed. Mission accomplished.

Captian Ferrer Vericlus sat inside his LA 2045 APC that had just been deployed to start patrolling the streets. The UDLA had stuck too many times in too many places and the Wardens numbers were wearing thin. Ferrer's APC was the newest model of the type that had been made in monthes and he was very proud that he had been asigned to it. He was also greatful that his was ordered with six other great soldiers and men.

Gregory Bachus was a 26 year old boy who had been born in Drepner. The only reason he favored the Grestonian rule was because without it he wouldn't have a job and his education would have failed. In his hairless hands held a cold AK-47. The cold Drepnerian sun affected him the most. He was sent over to the Greston homeland for a month and he missed the pleasent Mediterranican Climate.

Sitting next to him was a complete stranger by the name of Steven Walker, a purebred Grestonian. He couldn't care that Greston had a colony and that he was selected to control it, all he cared was that he was getting paid. He was good friends with the man walking by the slow moving vehicles side, Jerry Criser.

Jerry Criser wasn't as young as the strangers inside, in fact he was the oldest of all eight of the men. He was 51 and had the combined knowledge of all those years packed with learning and expierience. He may have been the oldest but he wasn't the wisest. He was almost the opposite. He brightened the squads up with his full hearted humor. He didn't hate the Drepnerians in anyway in fact he liked them a bit. The only thing he disliked about the nation was the annoying persistant revolutionary group. The UDLA he had learned it was called but he couldn't care to remember.

Jerry kept walking foward and wasn't more than two steps away from the wheels of the great, black vehicle. He let his AK-47 hang from its sling on his shoulders as he relaxed. He started to hum tunes to himself and eventually he found himself whistling classical compositions. He controlled himself before he started to do his odd twisint and turning and wretched sight that he considered dancing.

For some reason something in the air tugged at him to look to his left. So he turned his head and to his left farther down the road a group of UDLA Troops ran away from the road. They looked like school boys who just pulled a prank and walked away giggling trying hard to not show that they did it when it was obvious. Jerry knew they did something and he tensed. In an instant his gun was up and raised and the retreating group. He fired two rounds knwoing it was useless. He stopped walking and told the driver to stop too. The driver stopped the APC and three GDGS's jumped out, Steven Walker, Samson Veriez, and Ryan Kerile. They were walking slowly with their guns aimed at the direction that Jerry shot at. Samson and Steven took cover behind an out of place dumpster and they continued aiming at the end of the road. Captian Ferrer Vericlus jumped off the APC and stood in the middle of the road signalling his men on where to go. He had Jerry go to his left, next to a shop and had Gregory stationed behind the APC. The last soldier, Pales Taros, stay inside the dumpster where he could pass out supplies when needed if the UDLA Troops ambushed. Everything was quiet and the men were still.

Steven started to pull back at his trigger aiming at where the UDLA Troops turned. Almost in an effort to flush them out he fired once. The gun made two sounds of gunfire when he fired only once. The bullet clipped the side of the building and Steven flew back along with limbs of Samson's. Ferrer then noticed that it wasn't just a default in the gun but the dumpster had blown to peices. Samson had no chance left being that there was nothing left of him but severed body parts and a pool of blood.

Steven's face was almost completely torn off and blood spewed out of it and onto his uniform. He screamed out in pain and agony but he could only hear that. Usually when someone went down there was the noises of hustling around to aid him and the screams and shouts and cursing of the Captian now pissed that one of him men might die. He heard nothing. The only thing he did start to hear was more moaning and crying. Steven looked around, with his poor excuse of an eye, and saw that the right side of the APC was charred and destroyed and that it was laying on its left side. He could hear no signs of life from inside it so one was down.

Ryan and Gregory weren't in sight so he assumed they were consumed by the fire and epidemic of death. That leaft only him, Captian, and Jerry. Steven couldn't see behind him so he guessed that the groaning came from Ferrer, Jerry was too far off to have been affected.

Steven attempted to stand and once on his feet he looked down to see that the front of his uniform was a charred ravaged fabric stained with blood and juice from various organs and guts once belonging to Samson. He started to fall so he looked down and noticed that he wasn't standing on his feet by he was standing on his foot and leaning on his nub. His left foot was torn off and blood was streaming out of it leaving a pool or dark redness below him. He tried to walk and found he was able to until he fell face first. And there in front of him was dieing body of Captian Ferrer Vericlus. He must of lost his hearing because he could see Jerry croutching above Captian Ferrer screaming and cursing while attending to him. That and all he could hear besides slight moaning was a load beeping, like when a TV was on input.

After that Steven could remember nothing, just darkness and then nothing ever happened again.

That was what lit the match. Jerik was angered at the recent uprise in anarchists. His men and the Wardens did the best possible, everything they did perfectly and as far as he knew they didn't abuse their power. But the Drepnerians did. They abused their freedoms and attacked the Grestonian Troops and that morning seven died in an ambush/ bomb. That was what crossed the line. Hew as okay with them revolting because he knew he could just have the Wardens kill them on the battlefeild. But this changed everything and he went mad. That was when he wrote out the announcment.

To Any and All Warden Soldiers From Amazonia In Drepner

Recently the Drepnerians have abused their freedoms. They have taken for granted freedom and have attacked our forces three times in the last two days. To show these scums what we truely can do any and all boundries are closed. You may do what you must to capture and punish these criminal terrorists. You can bomb them, you can assassinate them. You can do anything as long as Drepner is still a nation and cities aren't destroyed. Buildings can be destroyed and houses can be taken down but nothing more.

Jerik put his foot down. Soon the rebellion would be quelled and the Drepnerians would be grateful for their freedoms.

To Any and All Warden Soldiers From Amazonia In Drepner


Recently the Drepnerians have abused their freedoms. They have taken for granted freedom and have attacked our forces three times in the last two days. To show these scums what we truely can do any and all boundries are closed. You may do what you must to capture and punish these criminal terrorists. You can bomb them, you can assassinate them. You can do anything as long as Drepner is still a nation and cities aren't destroyed. Buildings can be destroyed and houses can be taken down but nothing more.

Wilhelm Steyer and Captain Descaross were reading the note, snorting at the message they had intercepted.

"No, wait, listen to this 'They have taken for granted freedom.' This guy Jerk, or Jerik, or whatever is a hoot." Steyer paused for a moment, snorting and giggling. "What freedoms? Freedom to have death squads roam the city doing whatever the fuck they please?" He was serious now. "I think we should leave the son-of-a-bitch a nice note telling him exactly what he can do with his orders. Whadda ya say?"

"All for it. I say we give him a nice bomb threat, too," Descaross agreed gleefully. He had a long running hatred of the occupiers: three of his best friends, his mother, his father, and younger brother had all been killed by Wardens. "I'll get some paper." He ran off to retrieve it, then realized they should probably type it to avoid the handwriting being traced.

They quickly wrote a note, then, with no return address, mailed it to the governor's palace. It didn't contain anything dangerous, so it would'nt trigger any bomb alarms. It read:

[QUOTE]
Dear Self-Rightous Son-of-a-Bitch aka the Governor,

Go fuck yourself. (They nodded in approval. It was a good intro.)
These are some of the biggest jokes for orders we've ever seen. And you wonder why everyone fucking hates you. We hereby demand that you do the following:
1) Order all Amazonian troops to leave and never return.
2) Order all Grestonian forces and officials to leave and never return.
3) Give a public apology.
4) Kiss my ass.
5) Hug a dumpster for me. (In the wake of a series of Greyson's dumpster bomb attacks, the meaning of this was extremely obvious.)

Should you refuse to comply with any of this, you will recieve a nice ticking present courtesy of the UDLA. Capeche?

With love and care,

Happy Tosee Yougo
and Pissed Off

They snickered at their handiwork, then, after printing, they deleted the file, which was on a public library computer (or what passed for a public library) wiped the letter and envelope of fingerprints, and failed to put a return address on the envelope. They cut out and pasted the letters for the address. Was a lot of the content immature? Yes. Was it completely called for? Also yes.

OOC: I'm not writing anymore tonight. G'night everyone!

The message sent to him by the UDLA triggered what would be something that the UDLA would regret for the rest of their lives.

Jerik stood on a tarmac in front of 20 B2 Bomber Planes. Each had its maximumm wieght of explosives in it and the pilots were ready to do something they serverely wanted to do. All Grestonians, Grestonian Soldiers, and Wardens had been ordered to evacuate Stredenburg. Stredenburg was where he guessed the most of the Drepnerian Rebels would be.

Jerik had ordered the men there and invited a few Wardens to come too but they hadn't arrived yet. The pilots were there to bomb Struddenburg and leave the city in ruins. Jerik still hadn't notified President John Batther about the ongoing incidents so John was ignorant to it and couldn't stop it.

Jerik walked off the tarmac and wiped his hand of it. Dust scattered off of his gloves and then he made the orders. One word told them to start. one word would kill thousands.

"Go."

And they went. They flew off the tarmac and amazing speeds. Where the planes were just in rest was a rough outline of it in smoke. The pilots relayed messages to each other as they took the quick route to the massive city. The group dispersed and each singal plane flew above important areas of the city. Places suspected to be staging points a a revolution like Ex-Government Buildings, abandoned apartments and warehouses, and homes where Wardens had stuck were covered first. The planes just circled around their areas, their ominous payloads ready to fall. The city was practically in chaos. They thought that because they Grestonians and Wardens weren't in sight that they had won and that they were once again sovereign. They streamed out onto the streets with flags and weapons and they cheered and screamed but they fell silent as they witnessed the planes course above their city.

At that instant they firgured out two things. One being that they hadn't won and two that they were all going to die. That was when they paniced. Almost the same time as they went crazy the payloads were let loose and they plummeted down upon the city.

OOC: Naturally, damage is your call, Drepner; 'tis your city, after all.

IC:

The update came in via comms with the Grestonian command systems. A flight of F/A-19C naval Ghost attack fighters broke off from their flight patrol. They had come from the 5th "safe zone" established on the coast by the Dominion military - five zones of protection more heavily guarded than any other space, so much that it was hard for even allies to break into the beachheads. Prefab air strips quickly allowed for military air traffic to run for the Amazonians, and now fortified "fort-strips" of land were the norm amongst the five safe zones.

The six Ghosts in the flight - comprising Epsilon Flight - quickly were directed off the patrol course by a flying Owl AWACS. The target was a bit bizarre, though - to directly strike the capital city with weapons en masse, utilizing extreme prejudice. That was easy to do - the Ghosts were loaded with a "balanced payload" of AAMs and AGMs to strike both aerial assets and ground targets, along with each holding an ECM jamming pod to avert missile targeting and tracking radar, if the rebels had somehow managed to get hold of powerful equipment.

Each Ghost was fast and stealthy - though stealth was being directly ignored in this case for defense and offense. Internal weapons bays were normally utilized for carrying weaponry, but this time each attack fighter instead was dedicated to the outbound missile racks with several long-range AAMs inside each internal bay, rather than a full payload inside. More missiles could be carried if the outside racks were used - and this time, they were.

The flight accelerated to 90% throttle, engines burning blue with afterburner thrust propelling each fighter over Mach 2.1. Epsilons 1-4 targeted interior areas - 1 and 2 targeting the inner city and larger complexes and buildings, 3 picking out power transformers and hubs, and 4 locking on to major warehouses. Epsilon 5, meanwhile, picked out the suburbs - a terror attack designed to kill in large numbers - while 6 homed in on the highway system leading into the city. The interstate was expansive, but no match for a fuel-air explosive missile, more commonly called the "vacuum missile."

Thermobaric warheads were both instruments of vast destruction and elements of terror. Utilizing no oxidizer with its explosive core - fuel-air weapons instead oxidized their explosions through natural atmospheric oxygen - the warheads would not only unleash destruction in tons of TNT but would also create a powerful shockwave and create a vacuum with the use of all natural oxygen in the local proximity to fuel the explosive power of the weapon. In short, thermobaric weapons were quite powerful, the best conventional armaments in any arsenal with the most potential for the near-future. This added to the fact that thermobaric warheads, due to the created vacuum, massive drop in pressure created and shockwave fired by the explosion, created an eerily similar mushroom cloud to nuclear weapons.

Each F/A-19C - loaded out with seven AGMs and six AAMs on this mission - had plenty of ammunition to accomplish the mission and render large swaths of land and urbanized city as dead zones. So were the creations of humanity.

Target locks screamed as picks were achieved on HUDs across the flight. With the flick of a switch, Epsilon lead began the assault from the Dominion side.

"Epsilon One, Fox 3."

An AGM-45 thermobaric missile dropped from a wing rack beside an AAM-9 extended-range anti-air contact missile, the AGM activating its initial boost and streaking off towards a ten-story building downtown. The AGM had a maximum speed of over Mach 5, but it wouldn't reach its max velocity in a short range like this - it would get close to Mach 4 before it exploded ten meters above the ground to wreak havoc with its thermobaric payload, assuming that the enemy didn't have high-powered SAMs that would be able to ignore the reflective coating of the missile to prevent target locks and still make a successful hit. Possible. Likely? No. If the AGM hit, though...and the puppies had a .92 efficiency rating, with a 5.2m typical margin of error...there would be a lot of dead and destroyed things.

"Epsilon Two, Fox 3."

"Epsilon Four, Fox 3."

From across the flight, AGM-45s struck off with trails of smoke, zipping towards their respective assigned targets to cause the most destruction, fear, and terror possible. The Grestonian bombers were already making runs, but the Dominion preferred massive strikes with speed and agility here - less chance of damages in what should be an easy run.


* * * * *


Zagreb was having another sort of subjugation occurring in and around the city closer to the coast. It was the experimental group of what would be a long-term Dominion plan, assuming success...which computer models had predicted at a .96 confidence interval, or in layman's terms, a 96% confidence level for success at any given simulation of the move. It was safe and fairly easy to execute...and it utilized plenty of firepower, which was good.

The evacuation of Stredenburg had actually freed up the troops necessary to carry out such a plan. While one regiment had initially been committed, the evac of the capital had cleared up two more regiments to allow for a full three regiments to commit to the experiment. Combined with an armored battalion scrounged up from safe zone forces just arrived via two LHDs from the incursion fleet - the twin ships Subjugator and Suppression - there was more than enough to go around to completely dominate Zagreb.

The forces had been moved for some time, but airlifting had helped somewhat as well via Mule heavy-lift choppers. By now, they had taken up positions and started the dig-in process - encircling the city in no time. It didn't take long - fast vehicles and infantry carriers moved around first to take positions as slower tanks, artillery, and AA platforms moved about to assume tactical points of fit. In particular, the highway system was barred off with vehicles and hastily-assembled blockades that would be expanded on later. Not as if they would be really needed - if a speeding vehicle was oncoming, it would be blown to shreds by a hail of 30mm depleted uranium slugs.

With encirclement finished roughly after 8 hours since the arrival at dawn to Zagreb, three Camel turboprop tactical transports made their way over Zagreb. Rather than the brute-force tactics used by the Grestonians, the Dominion believed strongly in psychology's effects. Rather than level a city with overwhelming firepower during an occupation - alright for an invasion, perhaps, but occupations were different - tactics to wear down the wills and minds, to break those mental defenses and drive into the heads of citizens and insurgents alike - that was what killed insurgencies. When all suffered not from a frontal force highly visible but one that kept its distance and watched, as if viewers at a zoo - that broke down those walls of defiance. That was what could kill, what could dictate, what could control.

And so it was. Zagreb was completely evacuated of all military and Warden presence, those forces previously committed to policing the city now committed to the blockade of Zagreb. No passage into the city was left without coverage; every means of entrance - from ground transit to somehow burrowing to air entrance - were all going to be monitored and intercepted. To reinforce the point, the three Camels making the pass over the city - ECM jammers from two accompanying Flare interceptors flying escort warding off SAM attacks - began dropping packets of leaflets in the hundreds, in the thousands - the trees used for them sacrificed for a worthy cause.

The packets read as such:


To the esteemed peaceful citizens of Drepner:

Amazonia hears of your plight, and rather than kill and kill mindlessly with senseless violence, we believe strongly in the path of freedom hand-in-hand with the role of stability and social harmony. It is with regret that we fight an insurgency of Drepnerians blind to their own countrymen, innocents stuck between two warring factions in a rebellion destined to fail against overwhelming technology and firepower. But so it is - the enemies of peace and tranquility must never be allowed to fester and infect the minds and hearts of goodness.

With this, it is with a heavy heart that the Dominion must declare all paths in and out of the city of Zagreb closed to all Drepner traffic - land or air. With the blind rebels now hiding in your midst, mocking your rights as citizens, we must now root them out in a systematic campaign of liberation of your inherent rights to protection and safety. Resistance to this measure, deemed necessary for the common good, is not recommended - violators of the law will not be considered for any action other than immediate termination by the peacekeeping forces now in place around Zagreb. Second chances will not be given - immediate deadly force will be employed.
We hope the insurgents of Drepner will come to their senses and see how the liberation efforts of the negatively-labelled "occupation" will not only benefit Drepner in the short-term but bring advancement, profit, and benefit to the future generations of Drepner. As for now, routine drops of food, industrial goods and consumer goods will routinely be made in the downtown squares to continue to support the populace of Zagreb. It is with the people's safety that such protective measures must be made.


While some citizens always were able to read between the lines of the Dominion's suggested message of "give up or we'll blow the snot out of Zagreb in the most creative way possible," the average citizen of any nation was more than willing to see blame were it was pointed; they were always willing to be labeled the victim in a case, as the Dominion did here. According to these messages, the citizens were the victims; the Dominion and Grestonians the crusading avengers coming to save Drepner from its own darkest kernels of evil. Wrongdoers were clearly pointed out, and a solution even made.

What wasn't stated was clear. When "eliminated" was stated, Amazonia's policy here was simple. Kill anything that attempted to run the blockade, which was perfectly suited far enough out of the bustle of the city that clear lanes of fire and sight were achieved. If surrender was attempted by rebels in a sneak move of intelligence gathering or otherwise, they would be processed...a move that they would wish had resulted instead in death. Processing camps back in Amazonia proper, halfway around the world, were not pretty, used for prisoners, the mentally insane, war criminals, and felons. Slave labor, mass killings, and the like were all the norm...and they were coming to Drepner soon. Concentration camps to exponential powers; processing units could break the strongest souls.

With that, the Camels broke off, and a new sun rose on Zagreb...the city was up to the citizens. They could stay within it and the suburbs, do as they wished entirely. That was their prerogative...but there was no escape from the confines of the city, no way out. Any that tried would not find safe passage, but liberty from the confines of earthly life as they ascended to the afterlife after meeting a hail of death by bullet or shell.


* * * * *


The countryside, however, was to undergo a different transformation. B-6 Golden Eagle supersonic bombers were the instrument of choice here...yet, bombs were not the weapon of choice here. As twenty-four B-6s took off from the safe zones headed inland, the war of terror was about to begin on the insurgency.

Each Golden Eagle was loaded with 60 110-gallon container bombs - each designed to hold a liquid, gel, or other substance designed to be dropped and deployed. Most commonly, these were used to deliver chemical weapons, as they would here...but unlike most times, the selected target in this sortie was not humans, armor, or anything sentient. Much less anything in the biological kingdom Animalia, in fact.

Rather, the target here was the countryside. Each 110-gallon bomb contained not fuel-mix gels, Vx, or smallpox loads - rather, each contained a mixed, indiscriminate herbicide. Combined, the entire flight of two full bomber squadrons - escorted each by two interceptors - had 158,400 gallons of herbicide on just the first run to deposit on the countryside. The selected poison was designed as an annual killer - it would neutralize vegetation fast and indiscriminately (killing every bit of plant matter contacted), but would not have the long-term effects of some herbicides, allowing for new growth the following season. It was a weapon that would give several months of fear and clear fighting for the battlefield weapons of the Dominion that were excellent in open terrain with clear views. This spared using fuel-gel mixes - the successors to napalm - to clear vegetation. Common chemicals were much easier and cheaper to obtain.

The plan was to fly continuous sorties as fast as the bombers could drop, fly back, reload, and fly to new areas, continuously expanding outward in a fan movement. A buffer zone was given to the lightly-vegetated areas around each Safe Zone or designated Grestonian protection area...though everything else would be hit. Fuel-gel mixes would be used directly around the cities for terror-implementation, but this was far faster and more effective for the rural countryside...along with giving a nice jolt to any hicks living out in the brush. Gas always had a nice effect on childbirth, with loads of defects. It wouldn't kill anyone...unless they got caught in the epicenter of dispersal. It would, however, create sicknesses and potential long-term health hazards not to be forgotten soon.

Kill the civilian will, kill the insurgency.

Once reaching the zones of initial attack - starting with ten kilometers out from each Safe Zone on the coast - the B-6s each took a separate vector, dropping bombs at spaced intervals to allow winds to disperse the gas amongst vegetation and plant life. Each container bomb was designed to split and disperse the heated-liquid herbicide in a gas form eighty meters above the ground, where winds would carry the gas good distances and allow it to spread the plant poisons around to everything touched. If "planticide" was a word, this was it.

With a total of 1,440 bombs in the entire flight, it took the B-6s over three hours to accomplish the drop of all 158,400 gallons of herbicide in the fan expansion pattern desired - but it would act soon. Within a week, vegetation would be dead or dying all across the countryside in the affected areas, which was everywhere that was hit...a large swath of countryside. This was only drop one, after all...

OOC: Sorry, I meant to respond to the firebombing of Stredenburg, but my connection died. Here's my response.

Luckily for the UDLA's continued functioning, the senior leadership wasn't that stupid.

Wilhelm had been disciplined for the reckless action that had them all hiding in cellar bunkers they had created years back. No one had ever seen Franz von Waldstein go ballistic until today, and now that they had, all who had seen didn't want to see it again. Terrifying didn't begin to describe it.

But, because of Wilhelm's actions, they were, in fact, in bunkers, and, because most of them had sensible heads on their shoulders, they were not in any of the more obvious places, i.e. old government buildings, any of their homes, etc.

All the same, this was pretty damn bad; thousands of innocent people would be killed, probably a good number of their brothers in arms, and the UDLA would probably be blamed for it. Not exactly what they wanted to be remembered for.

Jorge Svenson took a quick headcount; no less than 60 people were in the tunnel that connected the bunker to the sewers that ran under the city. All of the movement's senior leadership was present, except for Brandenburger and Greyson, who were off with a few men making life difficult for the bombers. He turned to Vanitelli, and told him to make sure they weren't leaving anyone behind. Marcos Vanitelli was a famed anarchist, and he and his like-minded men were well known for annoying the Wardens by making them call out the riot police at inopportune times. They were also good enough at acting crazy that the police didn't really consider them major threats, just annoyances. Not worth the ammo, they thought. Except for the fact that a few of the more notable police station arsons had been carried out by the Society for a Free Drepner, as the anarchist subgroup was known. Vanitelli nodded, and, taking eight men with him, went back to ensure that no one was following who shouldn't be, and no one was behind who shouldn't be.

******

"How you guy's doin'?" inquired the voice of Marcellus Greyson, UDLA captain and unofficial "Pain in the Ass #1."

"Just freakin' peachy!" yelled Kline Tyro, one of the UDLA subgroup also known as the Demolition Derby, as he fired off a Stinger surface-to-air missile at an approaching bomber.

In all fairness, the pilot never saw it coming. Tyro and his spotter watched as the bomber was struck by the missile head on. The plane was enveloped in a fiery blast, and parts of the doomed craft tumbled to the ground.

No time to rest on their laurels, the two insurgents began moving to another rooftop. Or, they would have, if it hadn’t been for the fact that they were hit by the same type of Napalm bomb that was being used to blanket the whole city. Tyro felt the flame slowly burning his flesh to a crisp, and he knew he wouldn’t survive. So, even as he felt his life force leaving him, he swallowed and braced against the intense pain, and fired off a last rocket, not bothering to aim. Had he not lost consciousness at this point, he would have been happy to know that another bomber had just had its side taken off by the blast. However, he did lose consciousness, and he never knew a thing again.

******

That’s not to say that the bombers weren’t having great success; the old city of Stredenburg was up in flames. But a lot of the bombers were also kissing rockets and, strangely enough, flak. A few of them were even unlucky enough to fly into smokescreens and to crash into buildings.

At the end of the day, the Demolition Derby had lost a lot of men. 37 out of the 94 who had rushed to defend the city lost their lives. However, they had at the very least succeeded in maintaining an irritating anti-aircraft fire for most of the bombing campaign. The bad guys certainly noticed, at least, that they were getting shot at.

Marcellus addressed his men. He looked out at them, and saw the horrifying injuries many had endured; some had nasty burns on their hands, legs, feet, arms, faces, etc. Many had lost their clothes. A few had had limbs amputated. But from what he could tell, they were ready for more, and the enemy was, at least, probably extremely annoyed with them.

“Well men. I think you can see what the cowardly bastards did to Stredenburg—our home. I for one won’t tolerate this from those dipshits. They’ve got a whole lot more of what we gave ‘em today comin’ to them. Sooner or later, probably sooner, they’re going to start wondering whether or not this is all worth it; if it’s worth it to continually take losses like this. They may have even forced us out of here for a while – though I will be sad to leave this place – it will only be for a while, to where we can do even more damage to the bastards. You all fought magnificently today, and I salute you; I’m lucky to fight with good men and women like you. Let’s get down and meet up with everyone else.”

And with that, they too, fled to the sewers via manholes and bunkers and tunnels. The network of tunnels, bunkers, and sewer bases had been prepared in the event of just such a bombing. Rather unsanitary, yes. Better than certain death though? Definitely.

The Wardens were sadly mistaken if they thought the UDLA was the only resistance movement. The UDLA's main base was in Stredenburg, and had a lot of strength in Vienna. Zagreb fell under another insurgent group's sway, and they were more subtle. They distributed pamphlets, occasionally bombed occupation forces, persuaded people to make small changes in their daily lives that would, in turn, make the occupiers' more difficult.

Now that the "liberation" of Zagreb was underway, they knew what needed to be done. Attacking the enemy point blank wouldn't work now: there weren't any real ways of approaching the blockade zone. They did, however, have one thing on their side that the UDLA didn't.

The Croat-Drepnarian Independence Movement, or CDIM, worked a lot harder to build ties to average joes throughout the city. Therefore, hiding would be quite easy; with a lack of properly distributed residency documents, census documents that weren't out of date, or other documents of the sort, it would be quite easy for insurgents to hide amongst their friends and be passed off as family members.

All the while, they conveniently left piles of pamphlets on street corners, free to picked up by anyone who passed, that told the true story of what the Amazonian soldiers were doing, just in case anyone didn't get it. It was presented in a different way, however, and was more likely to direct blame onto the occupiers; this was easy enough, as just about everything was blamed on them: "Where'd the cat go?" "The Wardens probably took him." "Who spread this shit on the street?" "Wardens on patrol." "Why is it raining?" "Wardens said so."

Hiding amongst the Croat-Drepnarian locals was OK for natives of the region. The problem facing Daniel Hochner was that he wasn't a native of the region. He was from the Austrian part of the country, meaning he didn't necessarily look like the locals, didn't know Croatian, didn't know the streets as well as most other members of the CDIM, and so he would look awfully suspicious to the search and destroy patrols. This wouldn't be a problem if he didn't have any other reason to fear the troops. Except he was a member of the CDIM.

It was anyone's guess why Zagreb had been targeted second; of all Drepnarian cities, its resistance movement was probably the least violent. They opted to undermine Grestonian rule by gaining support of the populace, be it through vigilantism and keeping the streets clear of crime, cleaning up parks, putting on shows, etc. They probably were responsible for 2 or fewer attacks against Wardens per month. They encouraged peaceful protests, and the worst most of them were guilty of was mocking a Warden to his face.

Daniel was looking for a place to hide from the sweeping patrols searching for insurgents. He looked frantically up and down the street. He knew he didn't have more than 10 minutes. A Zagreb resident approached him, looking concerned.

"Are you with the CDIM?" she asked. The problem was, she said this in Croatian, so Daniel, who spoke nothing other than German, so he understood absolutely none of what the woman had said. All he knew was that she had concern written all over her rather pretty face. She obviously understood his blank, confused look, because she repeated, this time in a rather heavily accented High German, "Are you one of the Watch?" 'The Watch' was another name for the CDIM, referring to the unofficial job they often served in policing the streets and meteing out justice(generally not to harsh, unless it was a particularly heinous crime) to criminals.

Understanding this time, Daniel nodded. "Yes, I'm a watchman," he replied easily in his native tongue.

"Do you need a place to hide.?"

He nodded again, relief flooding through him.

"Come with me."

"Thank you very much ma'am."

"It's not a problem. You and your organization do so much for us." This was a case in point of the type of support the CDIM enjoyed. She led him to a slightly run-down apartment, about 3 blocks away, took him inside, and told him to sit down.

"Look like you belong here. They won't be as suspicious if you act like you belong. Even if you aren't from around here." So she had picked up on that. Daniel sighed with relief, and tried to relax. He started making conversation with his hostess, who, he thought, was rather attractive.

"Not much in here, is there?" he commented on the sparse furnishings.

"Don't spend much time here. I entertain myself how I can. Not much money, either."

"Oh. Thank you again for helping me."

"I know you'd do the same for me or anyone else here if any of us needed help." She smiled warmly, and Daniel shivered slightly with, even in his rather precarious situation, happiness and comfort.

"Do you think they'll even stop by?" they both knew who "they" was.

"They might, if they feel like it. The problem is that the searches are random."

"What's our story if they do stop by?"

"I thought you had made one up."

"I thought you had."

"Umm...no." She started trying to think of something when Daniel interrupted her.

"I had thought of one...but you probably wouldn't like it."

"What?"

"That I'm your..." the words died in his throat, as he realized she would probably go along with it anyway, but he couldn't bring himself to say "boyfriend" or "husband." He recovered marvelously though. "...old friend from years ago, and that I was visiting when the blockade closed, so I'm staying with you. The only major problem with that is that if they decide to keep watch then..."

She finished the sentence for him. "Then you actually do have to stay here until they lift the surveillance."

"I couldn't inflict that on you. I'll think of something else. Unless you have."

"Nope. I can deal. As long as you pull your own weight if that does come up."

"Sounds good. I hope it doesn't come to that." They sat and waited.

Outside, in Zagreb, life went on as normal. Other than the conspicuous absence of regular patrols, replaced only with the "liberation" patrols, not much was different than it had been for the last 17 years of Grestonian occupation. CDIM officers, apart from periodically hiding from the roving soldiers, carried on with normal activities, deterring crime, cleaning up, and being good citizens of their communities.

OOC: Long one with abit of a shift half-way through. I've took a few liberties, but hopefully there shouldn't be any problems.

In-Country Near the Boarder:
Trooper Connery knelt in the tree line and rested his rifle on his knee, peering into the darkness, he made sure one last time that the clearing in front of him was clear. Satisfied, he gestured to Corporal Taylor who was knelt about 10 metres behind him, who then started to approach carefully picking his way through the undergrowth.

“We good?” asked Taylor, kneeing down beside him.
“Looks like it,” replied Connery shouldering his rifle and checking his watch, “I’m going to go for it.”
“Got the strobe?” asked Taylor, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah... You just make sure the mule train is ready to go,” smirked Connery before crouch running out into the clearing.

Taylor let out a hiss of a laugh and turned and moved deeper into the shadowed wood. It must have been about fifty meters before he was challenged by low voice. He whispered the password and was waved into the harbour area.

“Everyone ready?” he asked when he approached the sentry, “We’re moving up.”
“Yeah Corp,” nodded the Sentry, Trooper Fett, “They’ve been getting twitchy.”

The mule train occupying the harbour area was made up of a number of the more fit resistance fighters in the area who were loaded down with various empty hiking rucksacks, as Corporal Taylor looked over them he noticed that they were indeed starting to get agitated. “Lads,” he hissed, “We’re moving forward, make sure you don’t leave anything and check the safeties on your weapons.”

Trooper Connery lay in the long grass at the centre of the clearing, looking up at the night sky. He loved moments like this, the cold air clearing his thoughts and the darkness concealing him, it felt... almost cosy... The silence was broken when the drone of a multiple engine aircraft came into earshot, quietly, whispering at first and then booming as it passed extremely low overhead. Connery switched on the strobe and waited for the loadmaster’s reply... which was quick in coming, as multiple parachutes bloomed in the air, drifting peacefully to the ground.

He was on them as soon as they landed, removing the parachutes and dragging them off to the trench dug just inside of the tree line. While he was doing this the mule train exploded into the clearing unpacking the weapons and other assorted supplies from the crates and dumping them into their rucksacks. The crates were then too dragged into the trench with primed phosphorus grenades following them in.

“Right, lets didi” called Taylor heading back for the tree line, “Back to the FRV, Move! Move!” The men took off into the woods, hoping to outrun any patrols that had spotted the commotion from afar.

Trooper Connery was the last to leave the clearing, sweeping the area with his rifle as he disappeared into the darkness of the woods again.

The engines groaned as the pilot throated back, pulling the aircraft’s nose back and starting to climb again. The co-pilot started to read back a set of numbers and the pilot made constant course corrections as they pulled up seamlessly under Wintrees Airways Four-Three-Four. The pilot, dressed in his civilian flight gear, smiled and gave his co-pilot a slap on the back. They had perfectly transitioned from below the radar flying into the civilian air corridor, with less than a minute on anyone’s scopes.
“You know, this kicks the hell out of flying ass and trash missions, god bless military intelligence!” laughed the Pilot, as he switched his radio to a secure channel, “Mountain Air Two-Two, clearing red team airspace in One-Zero mikes, eggs are in the basket and we’re coming home. Two-Two out.”
Wintrees is here, and they’re packing.
-=-=-=--=--=-==-=-=-=-=-=-

Military Intelligence External Building, Hampcourt –
It was dark in Agent Dickerson’s dinghy office; the windows had they’re blinds closed and the only source of light was a small desk lamp. Dickerson pulled his tie open and took another gulp of luke-warm coffee, he shifted a pile of papers into a desk drawer and slammed it shut, sighing. It was 0300hrs and he had been sat at his desk for the last 3 hours, banished from the operations room after his pacing had started to irritate the staff.

He was just starting to doze off when the phone rang, “Dickerson,” he croaked as he snatched the receiver to his ear.

“Ops Room, Operation Tiger has been flagged complete.”

“Thank you, I’ll be down right away,” he replied, replacing the receiver and heading to the door.

The Operations room was quiet, the skeleton night shift were monitoring various operations that were flagged up on a map board mounted on the wall. Operation Tiger had been marked complete as Dickerson entered and he paced over to the duty desk.

“Morning sir,” chirped Lieutenant Riley, the duty desk officer, “Mountain Air Two-Two cleared red team airspace half an hour ago sir, no reported contact.”

“What about our phoenix team?” asked Dickerson, grabbing the mission folder from the desk and checking through the radio logs.

“Nothing from our dead drop yet, but we’ve not had anything appear on the emergency channels either,” replied Riley, “Should I attempt to contact them?”

“No, No...” said Dickerson looking up, “There might be a reason, forward this to D Ops and tell him I’m coming to see him.”

“Sir.”

Dickerson refused the offer of a coffee as he swept into the Director of Operations office, D Ops as he was known stood up to welcome him, beaming a cheeky smile.

“Still here?” he smiled, “How are you Bill?”

“Good sir, thank you for asking,” replied Dickerson, “I’ve got the report from Op Tiger, you said you wanted to be briefed as soon as possible.”

“Ah yes,” D Ops motioned at the chair, “Sit, now Tiger... That’s our gun running effort in Southern Europe, yes?”

“In a way yes sir, a part of Op Long Meadow, we’re helping to supply a small resistance force in the south of the country,” replied Dickerson sitting down and setting the folder on the desk.

“Yes, indeed... I’ve been getting pressure from the Director to increase our operations there, what’s our current strength and involvement there?” D Ops famously didn’t read reports; if he did he very rarely showed it.

“Erm,” Dickerson tapped his fingers on the chair arm as he mulled it over in his head, “We’ve got a 8-man Special Forces patrol on the ground with the Cell we’re supporting. They’re fairly well equipped and our men are training the partisans... around 60 men... in house-to-house fighting. The current plan is to force a confrontation in one of the border villages and we’ve been dropping ATGMs and MANPADs in support of this.”

“To what end?”

“Well the hope is that we’d put some fire into the resistance movement in the country, our analysis suggests that the place is a tinderbox right now and a high profile bloodying of the occupying military... no matter what friendly losses turn out to be, could spark a much larger uprising in the country.”

“What’s the current assessment? This all sounds pretty farfetched to me.”
“Captain Wright, the mission commander, is worried that 60 men might not hold out long enough for news to spread throughout the country. It’s a valid concern since he’s reporting a Brigade sized force near one of the candidate villages. He wants to double the size of the Cell and he’s requesting artillery support.”

“Well that’s out of the question, we can’t have this turning into a national level conflict,” scoffed D Ops, he rubbed his chin and took a few seconds to think it over, “have you looked into dropping some 105mm in?”

“Light Guns? We brought it up, but Wright doesn’t think that he can effectively deploy them. He’s right of course; his force needs to be concentrated in the village... mortars are the most likely, 81mm probably as it’s man-packable.”

“Good Good,” D Ops checked his watch and noted the time, “we’re going to have to wrap this up, I need to get home some this morning,” he smirked, “what’s your opinion on all of this Bill?”

“Captain Wright is a good man,” replied Dickerson, picked up the file as he stood, “ I trust his evaluation of the situation and he’s happy to go ahead if we commit to an increase in cell size. He’ll be ready to go two weeks after the green light. I’d like to draw up some plans to increase our Operations in country if this goes well, it’ll be madness to not exploit this.”

“Yes, Yes... Very well, Green light it is, action it and then go home and get some sleep,” D Ops reached for his coat, “See you tomorrow Bill.”

“Sir,” nodded Dickerson as he too headed for the door and hopefully a bed.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Somewhere in-country

“Good shot,” shouted Captain Wright, pulling the binoculars away from his eyes, “Come two clicks left and try again.”

The shooter, who was no older than twenty grabbed hold of his combo-tool and readjusted the sights before taking another shot at the target. Wright noted how well the partisans were coming along from the unorganised ramble he was first presented with; they were now proficient in shooting, small unit tactics and he had had his own men impart everything they knew about fighting in built up areas.

His Sergeant Major was stood at the other side of the clearing they were using as a makeshift range; he was teaching basic rifle drills to a few new arrivals that’d been headhunted from the surrounding area. Behind him a partisan milled around with a MANPAD on his back, just in case they got jumped by a helicopter. Luckily they hadn’t been discovered yet, but Wright was adamant that they didn’t get caught with his pants down. He had even gone as far as sending out patrols, in part to improve the partisan’s personal skills and drills, but also to provide some much needed security for the encampment.

They’d been set up on the boarder for two weeks now, and it had been surprisingly quiet apart from the odd close brush with a roaming enemy patrol. They didn’t tend to push to deep into the woods however and the mountains provided some good hiding places for when they did.

Last night he had taken a small patrol, mostly his Special Forces operators on a CTR on one of the villages in his TAOR. He started to formulate a plan this morning to take the village. The wooded area to the south literally ran up to the back of the houses, producing a perfect approach into the village for his partisans. Once they were in, they would be little the forces in the town could do about them taking over and fortifying it, not that the previous occupants would expect them coming anyway. After that, he’d need to fill the southern approach with HE and Demolition cord. A road ran east to west through the centre of the village and to the North a river blocked off any meaningful approaches, with the exception of a small footbridge, but he’ll blow that. Then it was just a matter of digging in and making sure that east and west approaches were covered.
-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

MIE Building, Hampcourt –

“Stredenburg” muttered Agent Carlson, he was the bookish, analyst type of Agent that seemed to always be sectioned off into these Operations. “They’ve bombed Stredenburg, flattened it to the ground by all accounts.”

Dickerson braced up in his desk chair, it was daylight now and a fresh shirt and a clean shave made all the difference to his demeanour. “So there is an organised resistance movement in the cities. A well funded one by all accounts... How could we miss this?” he grimaced.

“We knew of the UDLA prior to this of course,” stated Carlson, “But we could never have guessed that they were so organised... any actions we always assumed were from independent cells.”

“Ahh ‘assume’, the calling card of the cut-back,” snarled Dickerson, “So because of crap intelligence we’ve thrown our lot in with a bunch of prissy little goat herders in the mountains while there’s a war playing out in the towns!”

“I think your being needlessly negative,” said D Ops as he strode into the small office, he was holding an intelligence report, “In fact, we’ve got a golden opportunity.”

“Sir!” called Dickerson standing up from his chair.

“Sit, Sit,” replied D Ops, pulling up a 3rd chair and collapsing into it, “We’ll support UDLA actions with our strike force in the mountains, instead of some symbolic village however, we’ll strike at a strategic target... an airbase.”

“Sir... we haven’t got the resources...” grumbled Carlson, before being cut off by D Ops.

“To take an airbase, no of course not, fortifying a nearby village and start chucking missiles up at anything that flies over it however...”

“Sir?” quizzed Dickerson and Carlson at the same time.

“Look, bombing a city the size of Stredenburg, it’s a massive undertaking. They’d be flying bomber sorties out of every major airbase in the region. Now, I’ve been looking through some of our GEOINT from the region, there’s an airbase within about 3 days march next to a small village.”

“Yes, Yes... I like it.” Smiled Dickerson, “We should be able to engage targets coming off the runways, and run’n’guns on the perimeter. We’ll have to pull out before they re-task assets to us though.”

“Yes, but I’m sure your Captain Wright can handle it. Action it, support the UDLA, give me something to take the select committee,” said D Ops standing up and heading for the door.

Of course, General Von Waldstein wasn't ignorant to the fact that there were, in fact, people arriving in Drepner. He also was quite aware that, for the first time in 17 years, foreigners were arriving to help the Drepnarians. So, naturally, he sent his most trusted captain to negotiate with them.

Captain Hans Talyc found himself trudging through the scraggy, rocky, landscape, towards the friendly soldiers. At least, they didn't look like the security forces. And he had seen someone who had looked like a Warden fall to a hail of gunfire from the soldiers. So they were friendly.

He waved a flag of truce towards the approaching squad, calling out in German "Come, speak with me, my friends. Come help our people gain their freedom!" He repeated this in heavily accented Croatian, functional Hungarian, and rather broken English. He figured he'd get through to one of them.

As he met up with the other leader of the party (OOC: it's Captain Wright, OK?) And they began their negotiations. (OOC: Let's RP the negotiations, shall we, WinTrees?)

ooc- could someone summarize all this for me in a paragraph or 2? I'm involved (check ooc thread.)

ooc- could someone summarize all this for me in a paragraph or 2? I'm involved (check ooc thread.)

OOC: See ooc thread for response.

This particular day was a sharp awakening for Captain Richard Wright. The country briefing he had received only briefly mentioned a resistance movement called the UDLA, not paying it much heed; it was relegated to the bottom of his notes and forgot about.

The days prior had been now wasted in his opinion, attempting to scrape together a force from a bunch of farmers. Maybe the UDLA would prove to be a much more effective means for striking against the occupiers, he put that out of his mind however as he had a job to do today.

The message that started it all took a while to decode; it was much longer than usual. As such Wright was finishing his breakfast when his signaller turned up with the ‘morning prayers’ as they had become known as.

After reading through the briefing update he pulled out the map from his jacket pocket and started to survey the area around the airbase they kept referring to.

“No use,” he groaned after a while to Corporal Foreman, the signaller, “We’ll going to have to take a closer look. Find the Sergeant-Major and have him put together a patrol... Sergeant Dobbs and Overton need to be in it.”

“Yes sir,” replied Foreman, nabbing a gulp of tea before darting off to find the Sergeant-Major.

A few hours later the patrol, with Captain Wright, headed off into the mountains, the good Captain convinced that he knew a shortcut. The going was fairly good as it turned out, and they were very much on the edge of civilisation as night began to fall.

Sergeant Dobbs found a perfect harbour area in a tree line overlooking one of the main roads and they bedded down for the night as well as running an OP to monitor the military traffic on the road. Business as usual, they went into their routine and Wright sulked off to get his head down.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Sir... Sir...” whisper Sergeant Dobbs, shaking Wright’s shoulder and undoing his sleeping bag at the same time, “We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?” croaked Wright, groping around the sodden earth for his rifle, “Well man?”

“There’s a patrol, a few men, they were dropped off on the main road and made a be-line straight for the tree line. They’ve set up about 60 metres away.”

“Shit,” whispered Wright, “Get everyone up, quietly...”

The next 4 hours of darkness was utter agony, the patrol was shoulder to shoulder shivering and trying not to make a noise, even as little as a snapping twig could give them away. It took that long for Captain Wright to come to the decision that they would have to take them, before dawn.

He pushed out two of the partisans with Sergeant Dobbs on the left flank in case they tried to make a run for it. He then led the rest of his men closer, he was lucky in the fact that the sentry seemed to be busy trying to keep warm.

After a fury of hand signals he shouldered his rifle and took aim at one of the sleeping soldiers. As per the plan, Sergeant Overton pulled his knife from his webbing belt and started to stalk towards the Sentry.

SNAP

The Sergeant had snapped a twig, the sentry spun around Wright aloud himself a second to mutter “Fecking Overton,” before shifting his aim and blasting two rounds into the sentries chest. No silencer... forgot to bring it.

The rest of the ambushee’s struggled as they tried to get free of their bags, each were given a couple of rounds to keep them in the bags... permanently. The partisans were whooping at their first blood and had already started to rush over to the camp to start looting. It was over in less then 5 seconds.

Wright gave a stern look to Overton then headed over himself, putting an extra round in each bag as he went. He stopped suddenly, 2 bags were empty... not just one.

“We’ve got a runner,” yelled Wright, crouching and spinning around, scanning the tree line, “How the Christ could he get away?” he mumbled.

His radio chirped, “He’s heading to the road, we couldn’t get the shoot, pursuing,” breathed a Sergeant Dobbs. Captain Wright acknowledged and took off towards the road.

Dobbs leaped over a small boulder and took aim at the fleeing solider and put him down with what felt like half a magazine before dropping to the ground himself. He had spied something walking up from the road, waving a flag.

“Crap, Crap,” he shouted, “Say down, there’s a sodding civilian down there.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Captain Wright arrived just as Dobbs had decided it was probably best to slot the silly civilian just in case, flag or not.

“Hold your fire Sergeant!” yelled Wright before calling out in perfect German, “Stay where you are, who are you?”

Miroxian Air Forces flew over Drepner. Drepner had always been an ally, even as a Grestonian colony, so when they heard about an independence movement, troops jumped into action, and quickly. The jets were over the Drepner countryside, the one which the Amazonians wished to gas. He saw the Amazonians carrying barrels of gas. One plane landed nearby: it was a shuttlecraft, a ship that carries a segment of Miroxian freedom fighters.

After landing, the troops marched swiftly over the open country. General Toby Jones lead the troops as they got down. They were spotted and when they had eye contact, they stopped, dropped, and shot! The couldn't see a thing, but they felt gasoline spill all over some of them. Toby retreated back to the ship and left.

It was an order to leave by Major Brigader Karl Uns. He said, "Go Toby! You are still a young warrior, if I die, I know I've served Miroxia!" So all was in order.

In another part of Drepner, in a small village, more planes settled and helped the locals, but they were aware of any upcoming Grestonian troops, so every 500 feet around the city was guarded by 10 tough guys and 4 weak guys to make the tough guys look tougher!

Meanwhile, at the Gasoline Massacre, it was mass confusion, and some didn't know if they were alive or not...

(ooc- if anything is out of order, let me know! :))

OOC: Miroxia, um, you've got my type of gas wrong. I'm not dropping gas in the form of gasoline, but rather, herbicide (plant-killer) in a gaseous form in dispersal pods. Technically, I'm not doing any damage to actual human interests - just raping nature.

Of course, I'll have fun with your planes trying to make their way through Drepner airspace, what with my bomber-gas runs being escorted by interceptors and all. Of course I'm going to shoot :D


IC:

Night was passing on the second day of the coordinated chemical attacks on the natural forests and vegetated areas of Drepner - an arc slowly spreading out from the coastal Safe Zones like an environmental cancer draining the color and vivacity from the former virgin soil. In a mere eight runs of chemical attack, over 1,240,000 gallons of indiscriminate herbicides meant to purge all flora had been dumped in the arc surrounding the Safe Zones, extending out by now for a forty-five-mile extending arc from the Safe Zone perimeters to the farthest-gassed areas. Around the safe zones themselves - they hadn't been gassed, due to potential wind shifts blowing gas back towards the Dominion establishments - fuel-gel compounds had been dumped en masse by fighter aircraft on surrounding vegetation.

The five Safe Zones themselves were in a rather small point of land - on the extended strip of land [forming the Northwestern-most corner of coastal Croatia bordering Slovenia's southern coast] jutting out into the ocean for roughly thirty-five miles. Thirty miles of such land had been used, each Zone a two-mile radius semi-circle of land, each spaced two miles apart. The final five miles had been bombed with incendiary weapons so thoroughly - if there had been anything there, it would have been a surprise and a foregone conclusion - that the vegetation there, unlike that being so thoroughly gassed with temporary annual chemicals - wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. The coastal strip of the Safe Zones behind the gassed forests and plains (behind an area that was rapidly expanding - estimation models were putting the final job done of gassing all of rural and countryside Drepner and purging it of vegetation within a month; three weeks of flights could be increased or numbers bolstered) was a hellish wasteland of blackened soot and thoroughly-neutralized plains of Satan. The Safe Zones themselves had been left somewhat vegetated; large trees had been knocked down - the open terrain facing each Safe Zone, however, meant that the Amazonians had nothing to fear from attackers attempting to invade the Dominion-hewn territory - two miles of clear and open wastes that could be thoroughly saturated with rocket, machine gun, and shell fire at any given time. A system of bunkers, fencing, mines, and obstructions had gone up around the perimeter of each Safe Zone - nothing was getting through unless the Dominion said so.

The naval perimeter facing the coast was even more guarded. Studying foreign militaries had paid off well - defense was now a strong point. Besides the blockading fleet surrounding the Safe Zones - not really a blockade, more of a staging point (a naval blockade was instrumented via 24-hour-running AWACS and satellite; any craft entering or leaving Drepner not identified under command logs was targeted by naval systems and immediately thrown several SSMs at. If that failed, cruise missiles followed, along with the scrambling of attack fighters to intercept and destroy with ASMs). The fleet was defensive stage one; even more carried out from there. It all began with the intelligence and vision - satellite coverage and 24-hour AWACS watch provided real-time data and streaming pictures and radar to any point in the fleet or on the ground in command.

From there, air support could be scrambled quickly and efficiently, either from the prefab air strips in the Safe Zones or from the supercarriers in the waters, defended by a full Armada's worth of combat ships and supplied by an Invasion Fleet's worth of support ships, logistics vessels, and assault craft. Weapons across the fleet were powerful; thermobaric cloud SAMs and high-velocity explosive contact SAMs; anti-combat ship SSMs capable of entering high Mach; large gun batteries (though not the obscene shell weapons of the overused international dreadnoughts); and a full complement of undersea support in the form of Hunter-Killer submarines. Each supercarrier, besides being armed themselves with powerful weaponry, carried a full two wings-worth of aircraft total divided between interceptors, fighters, assault jets, AWACS, anti-shipping jets, and helos. The LHDs of the fleet added VSTOL attack jets and more helos for a well-rounded naval aircraft complement.

The coast provided the rest of the equipment. Stationary SSM prefab launchers had been established along the coastline of each Safe Zone, along with stationary SAM launchers in pits with ammunition and machine guns. Reinforced positions had been dug in surrounding both the coasts and the land borders facing outwards towards Drepner burnt countryside - the coastal-facing ones, however, were meant to repel possible naval incursion. Besides the SSM and SAM batteries, artillery that had come in with the reinforcement fleet now patrolled each Zone's coasts - both rocket and shell artillery. Mobile SAMs and a system of trenches laced through the sands of the beaches and inner Safe Zones for the two-mile radius of each of the five semi-circles in the twenty-mile strip of coast. Erected reinforced metal "bunkers" dotted the small trench defense system similar to Hitler's Atlantic Wall on a small scale, with some larger metal buildings constructed by engineer battalions serving as command and control centers.

To put it bluntly, the Safe Zones were made as the staging grounds of the Dominion incursion and as places of defense - and they filled both roles admirably.

Another gas bomb run would deploy in an hour in the dead of night, the heart of darkness to continue to spread the scourge that was poisoning nature's age-old gift to Drepner. But man was not nature's friend, but its long-time enemy...and the odds were with humanity's destructive power.


* * * * *


It came abruptly. All across the cities of Drepner (except the blockaded Zagreb, naturally), the patrols, the forces, the occupation troops left quickly. They simply packed up and began making beelines back towards the Safe Zones. The evac of the cities by military personnel and the Warden forces couldn't have maxed out and more than three hours in any given city as forces made quick work to pull out. All lines of direction were set - either towards the coastal Safe Zones, or towards Zagreb and the safety of the blockade.

With the terror campaign running to purge the environment, soon the cities would be the only places left to live in. And the Dominion wanted to make sure that the people of Drepner could enter their cities without issue or problem...without confrontation. And there they could stay, peacefully, as the long-term plans of subjugation and pacification of the Amazonians would come into effect. The Grestonians would have their peace and their country of people, a country whose natural beauty would return within the end of a year. And with it would come stability and tranquility - the perfect balance of peace and control.

And it was starting now, with the forces on the move back towards the coast. The convoys were heavily guarded with so much military presence in each one, linking up as they went in a swarm. There were no stragglers, no lagging units, no separation - they were one unit. One form streaming back towards the coast - regrouping, maybe. Strategizing, yes.



* * * * *


Amazingly radar had been too focused on the pullout to immediately catch the Miroxian planes entering Drepner airspace, but it had quickly become their problem. The Miroxians had proceeded to stumble right into one of the bomber forces - bombers themselves equipped with a defensive AIM-113 AAM launcher to ward off fighters, while their interceptor escorts were more than capable of fighting. Each F-13C Flare interceptor was in "active" mode, meaning that stealth was being disregarded in favor of projectable force and defensibility. As such, each Flare was screaming off ECM jammers to ward off attacks against the bombers - and the Miroxians had stumbled right into the trap, with the presence of the flight easily seen! A stroke of luck!

One quarter of the guarding interceptor force of this flight - there were two flights, this one had been stumbled into - banked off, totalling six fighters. It wasn't much in numbers, but each was capable of vaporizing numerous hostile targets - and the Miroxian jets would prove much the same here. The interceptors here - designated Nu flight - immediately engaged with AAMs.

"Nu 1, Fox 2."

An infrared-guided AIM-102 AAM zipped off of a wingtip rack from the lead Flare, the F-13C banking towards another target immediately - this was too easy.

"Nu 3, Fox 2."

"Nu 4, Fox 1."

"Nu 6, Fox 3."

"Nu 2, Fox 1."

AAMs screamed off of the jets from wing rails and underbelly compartments as the interceptors dove into the carnage, targeting any and all of the Miroxian-identified planes as they continued their push into Drepner territory.

The best yet was to come - even better! The planes then began to deposit soldiers as the B-6 bombers began simultaneously depositing gaseous herbicides - the troops wouldn't be killed, but would get pretty damn sick from it in a little time. That is, if the fighters hadn't also noticed them. The Flares were more made to deal with air threats in the configuration, but four out of the twenty-four escorts had been outfitted primarily with ground-attack to fight potential AA. This was just too good to pass up - but the anti-SAM missiles would be kept. The basic AGMs, however, had their purpose now.

"Nu 21, Shotgun."

An AGM-51 laser-guided missile streaked off of an underbelly rail, blasting towards the ground and the rapidly-deploying Miroxian troops. The other three ground-equipped Flares fell in, a dozen missiles picking targets and zipping off at velocities quickly exceeding Mach 2 with such short range. This was going to be fun.

ooc- 0.O ps: i don't feel like much roleplaying because your posts are so..long...i used to short posts :P so you can kill my troops (without it being goddmodding

Captain Talyc was relieved. That particularly stupid trooper had almost shot him, and that would be no way to start a working alliance, would it be?

So now he was sitting at this table with Captain Wright, who, fortunately, spoke German fluently. No problems there, then.

"So you all are from...?" Hans had begun, still confused as to where these men had come from. He paused, waiting to respond. (OOC: do you mind if I just have Capt. Wright answer, seeing as that's a "no shit?" question?)

"From WinTrees. Across the border," Wright replied.

"Oh. That clarifies things a lot. What exactly are you doing out here? We just got the shit bombed out of our capital. We need more help there than anything. And what's up with the farmers?" Talyc straightened himself, and continued. "But that's neither here nor there. General von Waldstein and General Svenson of the United Drepnarian Liberation Army sent me to hammer out an alliance between our forces. God knows we could use the help. There aren't more than 9,000 of us total in the UDLA, and we've been at the very least seriously irritating and slightly scaring, if not terrifying and frustrating, the occupiers. But even then, our hopes of success are low if we continue acting alone. Some of our sister organizations in the other cities have been carrying on similar strikes and such, but no communications can make it through to them. Therefore, we cannot coordinate with them." He took a deep breath. He probably shouldn't be planning attacks with them yet until Franz got to talk with their higher-ups, but he was flying here. He hadn't really felt as if he had had the initiative for more than 17 years. "We believe our first course of action should be to liberate Zagreb and make contact with the CDIM. Then we should turn our attention to Budapest and Vienna (OOC: I'm going on the assumption they are in a similar condition to what Zagreb is in right now.)" He knew there were a lot of things they would have to overcome, but they had to start somewhere.

There was a glimmer of hope for Drepner, for the first time since the occupation began.

Captain Wright grinned, “Liberate? Sounds like my kind of plan. We need to speak to your superiors first though, what I can promise you now however are guns, bombs and missiles. I need to report into my superiors as well...” he thought to himself for a second, “I need an overview of your organisation and the current situation in country for my bosses then we can start planning to supply you with hardware. We need targets, ORBATs likely enemy MSRs, anything you can think of so we can star planning strikes.”

Sergeant Dobbs had shouldered his rifle at this point and moved up to the Captain’s side, “Dobbs,” called the Captain, “Give him the SATphone.”

“Sir,” replied Dobbs, chucking the spare SATphone to Talyc, “Its got a full battery.”

“9,000,” stated Wright, “Regardless of what information you bring back to us, we’ll have hardware over the border in a week’s time to outfit probably about half that number. Wintrees is very interested in your country seeing independence again Captain, we’ll do our best to support you. Give us the week then return here with enough transport to start ferrying some of these weapons to where it’s needed... that’s up to you for now. Good Luck.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

5,500 x 7.62 Rifle, Various.
750 x 9mm Pistol, Various.
160 x 7.62 GPMG
460 x ATGW
500 x MANPAD
500 x LAW
6 x 12.7mm HMG
120 x 7.62 Long Range Rifles
70 x 61mm Mortar
24 x 81mm Mortar


“Came through half an hour ago sir,” smiled Agent Carlson as he slapped the communiqué on Dickerson’s desk, “Wright’s found them would a doubt sir, it’s a shopping list for light infantry tank hunting brigade from what I can make out.”

“God bless the UDLA,” gloated Dickerson, “Copied to D Ops?”

“He’s on his way down,” replied Carlson, “We’ve got a INT cell going through the requirements, we’ll have to open up land routes over the border though to shift this equipment though. We’re going to need to absorb some departments to start planning operations, can I get moving on that now?”

“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem,” replied Dickerson, “Contact JHQs dirty tricks branch and start talking with General... Richards...,” he paused checking his notes, “about... increasing our patrols in the country. We’ll going to have to start providing a bunch of advisors. Talk to our own executive action group about getting some of our guys on the ground as well. Get me a callsheet with all the players on and start making phone calls... I want something for when D Ops gets here.”

“Right ok!”

Talyc was back in Stredenburg discussing matters with General von Waldstein and General Svenson. He had just informed them of the meeting with the force from Wintrees, and was about to have a shock delivered to him.
"The enemy has withdrawn from all of our cities, with the exception of a maintained blockade around Zagreb, and the continued direct occupation of an area along the coast. They've also been destroying the countryside."

"So...we're not getting bombed anymore?"

"Not as far as we can tell. Rakozy is trying to gather more information to see if this is a temporary maneuver, a permanent redistribution, or something else. We should take the opportunity to rebuild" Svenson replied.

"More importantly, Vienna, Budapest, and other major cities are no longer cut off from us," added von Waldstein.

Talyc had noticed that Captain Rakozy was conspicuously absent. Even Greyson and Brandenburger, the two who most often missed meetings because they were out in the field, were present. Steyer was present, looking shamefaced, as he had, he felt, directly caused the bombing of Stredenburg that had claimed over 80,000 lives, or 1/5 of the city's population. Vanitelli was present, looking a bit annoyed that he couldn't keep burning the Warden's property. Captain Donesse was present, back from negotiating with foreign powers. He'd obviously had success on some level. Descaross was taking notes, trying to learn what to do better.

"Greyson!" Franz called out.

"Sir?"

"Munitions and supply report, please."

The quartermaster looked a little worried.

"Well...the city's got enough food to last eight months. If rationed tightly."

"How about our weaponry and ammunition?"

"We're up to our ears in ammo, and firearms. Not nearly enough in the way of artillery, though."

"Explain."

"We've got 5,600 FAL assault rifles, a shitload of ammo for 'em, 400 SA-18's, 40 Crotales missile launchers with 800 missiles, 38 out-of-date AT guns with about 470 shells, 100 X8 carbines, 300 K98 rifles, and, again, a lot of ammo for em, 8 Patriot Missile launchers with 100 missiles, 258 52mm mortars with 1,680 shells, and various other odds and ends." The quartermaster paused for a minute. "Oh, and eleven badly serviced, aging T-34/85 tanks, with around 400 rounds for their main guns, plus ample ammo for the .50 cals they have," he added in amusement.

Brandenburger was confused, and said as such.

"Where the bugger did we get freakin' tanks?" he asked in amazement.

"They turned up in a garage in Budapest somewhere. Owner said they were left in the street back in '56 or something."

"Oh."

The meeting continued on, highlighting various administrative things, but most importantly informing Talyc as to what had become of Rakozy; he was running a spy ring from an office in Stredenburg, that had infiltrated the retreating security forces.

Other than that, nothing of note really happened, other than that von Waldstein would go to meet with the leader of the whole Wintreeic force, and that Talyc and Brandenburger would go with him, and Greyson would use what was available to fortify Stredenburg discreetly (OOC: Therefore, Greston and AB, you guys do not see it, unless that would be gming if you couldn't.) while everyone else would start chipping in to the rebuilding of Stredenburg.

If the enemy is willing to give you a respite, you might as well use it, Franz von Waldstein thought.

OOC: Go ahead and fortify. That's good for both of us.

IC:

As another gassing run went off into the sky - another two dozen bombers and four dozen fighter escorts loaded up with anti-AA weaponry, ARMs, AGMs, and AAMs - the first vestiges of the retreating force began to reach the Purged Zones ringing each Safe Zone. Each part of Drepner was now being referred to as a "Zone" - the Safe Zones being areas of Grestonian or Amazonian control (and firmly so); Urban Zones being cities or suburban areas; Purged Zones being burned-out areas; Target-1 Areas being already-gassed rural areas, while Target-2 Areas were rural locations yet to be hit with gas weaponry. As each successive gas run left the Safe Zones to drop new payloads (being supplied everyday by long-distance cargo air runs and sea convoys), the expansion of the Target-1 Areas grew slower and slower. It was only natural, as increasing the size of each arc meant now covering a larger area of breadth to increase a similar size of depth.

If things got too slow - or if things suddenly changed (unthinkable, at the time), the Dominion had a plan to seed clouds with the herbicides and then seed with hundreds of thousands of silver-iodate pellets to create massive herbicide-induced rainfall, which would cover large areas. The only problem would be such rain falling onto Safe Zones, which were intentionally left with vegetation...and such reasons why this was a backup plan to the current slow-progressing and more thorough system. What worked worked, and what was going on now was working quite well. Already, the rim of the Target-1 Area outside the Purged Zones bordering each Safe Zones were beginning to show effects of plant death - trees losing their natural growth and color being the most clear sign. With a few more days, they would be nothing but grey husks of towering flora giants, with no more leaves or flowers or fruits or even animals to dot the frail woods. There would be no hiding spots to run to for rebels in the countryside - merely open swaths of easy sight and clear and present danger.

A full regiment of the entire retreating force had been re-routed to Zagreb and was just reaching the Zagreb blockade. Zagreb's outskirts and bordering areas were Purged Zones - they had been burned out with the blockade forming up by medium attack jets and incendiary dumps - and the desertification effects were quite clear through the burn-out of all vegetation. It could kill the Drepner economy, sure, but at the price of safety? No cost was too great for the Grestonian overlords. They could re-invigorate the economy as one of manufacturing and service - screw agriculture. Even deserts had resources (and it wasn't as if the herbicidal effect would last for enternity, either - plants would be back the next year, and the animal life that was extinguished this year could always be re-populated).

AWACS patrols continued to give clear, real-time signatures of anything on radar across all of Drepner. The craft stayed extraordinarily high, and loaded with flare and chaff countermeasures, there was virtually nothing short of a full aerial attack that was going to get the Eyes in the Sky. Even if such an assault with aircraft could be mounted, it was doubtful they would get all the AWACS craft - Dominion fighters could be scrambled too quickly and they could blsat at over Mach 2 to quickly get to any location. By cycling around the E-8 AWACS craft, there was always fresh crews ready to go. Satellites in orbit - and there were tons of Amazonian satellites in orbit - consistently gave real-time images to command. Strategy was proceeding along nicely.

And now with the forces re-consolidating and converging, real strategy could be launched - and the country taken back mile by mile, meter by meter if need be. It could be done.

It came to Jerik in a dream. Why not? It would be a good idea. So he ordered his troops and they carried it out.

KNOCK KNOCK

Captain Andrew Kelyeki and Corporal Elias Alschwangen stood in front of a door in Stredenburg. It was one of a very small number of houses that hadn't been completely destroyed. No movement or sounds had been heard coming from Stredenburg since the massive bombings. They hadn't hit the entire city so they knew it wasn't a complete victory, they hadn't killed everyone but an estimated of 75,000 to 90,000 had died. Something was fishy, not everything was in place. Nothing, not even people popping up out of the rubble. So Jerik ordered to send 3,000 GDGS's and 20 PT-1 Tanks just shipped over to go through out the city in a brute force style and kill anyone suspected to being in the UDLA or other various Independance Groups.

The mission was also like a new census. How ever many people they found would be the set population of the city. Their orders were also to kill anyone who decided to ignore them. It turned them into a suspect and a possible member of the UDLA.

So back to the begining, Captain Andrew Kelyeki and Corporal Elias Alschwangen knocked on a door in Stredenburg. No one answered. The three GDGS's behind them tensed, ready to aim at the door for when Corporal Elias Alschwangen kicked down the door.

They got into their positions and Corporal Elias slung his AK-104 on his back. The three GDGS's and Captain Andrew Kelyeki aimed their guns at the door ready to fire if any aggressive movement was shown by anyone inside. No one was inside as far as they could see but there were still the back rooms and even behind the door or hiding places.

Just to be safe they signalled over a PT-1 or FlameBlazer as some called it. The tank responded quickly and in seconds the tank was in front of the house. The tank didn't turn its head to have its Smoothbore facing the house but instead one of the Ronson Flamethrowers were poked into the door. The flamethrower was halfway through the doorway and then they let out a giant burst. The entire inside was engulfed by the enormous flames. Disgusting black smoke seeped out of cracks in the walls and roof. It was what marked that they got something.

Throughout the day they infiltrated, time after time, each house. They only got to ten complexes but in those areas they did find the remains of the three planes that got shot down. The UDLA troops had a horrible shot. Three out of twenty wasn't that great.

OOC: Hey, AB and Greston, do you mind if I do a little bit of some of your men's dialogue? Nothing major, just having them ask some of those "No shit?" questions. Is that alright? I'll continue on the assumption that it is, but if it isn't, I'll yank the post.

IC:

There was a knock at the door, and Thomas Carnegie rolled his eyes. It wasn't like the revisiting Security forces in Stredenburg hadn't come by here some six times. You'd think he'd be taken off the "suspicious" list. He answered the door.

The sight of a platoon of GDGS's standing right on his doorstep greeted him.

"Can I help you?" the rather annoyed man asked their leader.

"Name please."

Carnegie rolled his eyes. "Thomas Michael Carnegie."

The GDGS captain looked like he was reading off a list of questions to ask suspects. "Age?

"23."

"Any dependants?"

"What?"

"Anyone living under this roof who is dependent on your income to survive, yourself included? Or any other family?"

"...Isn't that personal information?"

"This is for the record, alright?"

Thomas restrained a groan. So you can tax the shit out of me, right? he thought. However, he only said "Does my girlfriend count?"

"...Umm..."

"Does my dog count?"

"No."

Thomas decided to crack a joke. "Rats. I thought he was tax-deductable."

OOC: At this point, the conversation could leave the "OBVIOUS QUESTION/ANSWER" phase, so I'll let you respond for the rest.

After the somewhat frightening, somewhat exciting event of burning the inside of a house Captain Andrew Kelyeki was getting slightly bored. this one man, be it that he was annoyed as well, was very annoying.

"Your life is also tax deductable. So shut the hell up and answer my fucking questions."

Captain Leon Meier was also on the medium sized, excessively armed, group. He just finished off a house that he wasn't supposed to do for another ten minutes so he came over to Captain Andrew Kelyeki's group.

Tagging along with Captain Leon Meier was Corporal Swen Müller, Corporal Leinler Horváth, Corporal Robert Balogh, and Corporal Boris Otober. They each had the standard armamants, each was trained just as well as the next, excluding the Captain who was trained more and harder.

Andrew kept thowing questions at the man, some vague and others quite personal.

"Sir what is your social security number?" this was the most personal.

"Do you own or sell any weapons?"

"How many rooms are there in your home?"

OOC: Just answer each of them. The answers will come in in between questions even though I asked them all in one post.

Thomas paused for a moment at the first question. He was sorely tempted to say "damned if I know," but he figured that if that didn't get him killed, it would probably at the very least get him a sharp smack upside the head.

He contented himself with giving the man a look that basically said "I'd-Kick-Your-Ass-If-I-Knew-I-Could-Get-Away-With-It" and answered. "5489291." (OOC: Yes, that is an arbitrary number, as I have no idea what scheme is used to assign social security numbers)

At the second question, he paused. "Do knives count? Like, a bucknife? How about a sword that's a family heirloom?" he asked. "If those count...three. If they don't...none."

At the third question, Thomas raised an eyebrow. Why the bugger do they need to know that? he thought. "Counting closets, and treating the kitchen/dining room all as one room...seven, I think." He started counting them off to himself. "...Two bedrooms...pantry, dining room/kitchen, bathroom, linen closet, living room. Yup, seven in the apartment. They're all kind of small, though."

He paused nervously for a moment. "If you don't mind me asking, is there a particular reason you need to know all this...?"

"Mhm. Well sir the reason I am doing all of this is to see if any of you assholes have any ties to the UDLA. First off may I come in?"

It was really more of an order than a request. His men stiffened and tightened their grips on theirs guns and Captain Leon Meier even whipped out a Glock 17. it that wasn't intimidating enough nothing could be.

"Mhm. Well sir the reason I am doing all of this is to see if any of you assholes have any ties to the UDLA. First off may I come in?"

It was really more of an order than a request. His men stiffened and tightened their grips on theirs guns and Captain Leon Meier even whipped out a Glock 17. it that wasn't intimidating enough nothing could be.

He was sorely tempted to say "Oh yeah, only five rooms in his house, he must be a terrorist," as a joke to point out how dumb some of the questions were, but he had a feeling none of these mens' first languages was civility, so he didn't say it.

Thomas tried to act as if it had been a perfectly normal, civil request, despite knowing otherwise. They really should try subtlety sometime. he thought.

"Come right in. May I get you drinks or anything? I'm afraid all I really have is rather crappy tap water and orange juice. Anyone?" He paused for a moment, then called into the house. "Becky! We've got guests for a few minutes." He turned back to the soldiers. "Just a heads up, my girlfriend is staying with me, 'cause her house got burned down during the bombing. Any objections? Do you want her to step out?"

Andrew looked at the rest of his group. They told him what they thought by the look on their faces.

"That is fine as long as she isn't marked on any watch list."

Leon almost forgot. He holstered his pistola nd tapped Andrew on his shoulder.

"Hey man, shouldn't we run that number through the 'mind'?"

The mind was a small tap board, calculator looking, peice of technology. It had all of the citizens social security numbers on board and had a small description on it. The description really was just a picture of the face and a note saying either "Suspected Terrorist" or "Law Abiding Citizen". The Mind wasn't smart enough to know if results were wrong and someone labelled as Law Abiding Citizen was really a Suspected Terrorist, it jus knew from reports wired into it.

"Ah your right Captain. Thanks."

Andrew passed the number through the system. He hesitated. He looked from the screen to the person then to the screen again. He put his right hand to his hip then tapped it twice.

Leon and his men had their guns drawn aimed at the man in seconds. Corporal Alschwangen whipped out his baton and started beating the man behind his knees so he would fall to the floor. Captain Andrew Kelyeki had his gun trained upon the mans head. Corporal Alschwangen was holding the man in a kneeling position by his neck, applying a little amount of pressure so it would hurt.

Captian Andrew Kelyeki's gun was painted a bright red, it signified that he was part of the new patrol force and that that gun was used only to kill Suspected Terrorists.

Andrew wore a dark black pair of leather gloves which blended in with his all black uniform. He pulled back the trigger slowly so as to kill the man two ways, in suspense of his death and the inevitable death his. Despite pulling back so slowly once it was pulled back all the way he fired and the bullet enter the mans head at point blank.

"Becky ma'am! Come into this room now. Oh and what is your social security number!?"

Steven Brandenburger lived for this stuff. He didn't like the Grestonians at all. It wasn't that they were necessarily bad people. It was just that Steven felt that Drepnarians should rule Drepner, not foreigners. This semi-xenophobic outlook meant that Steven had opposed the occupation for as long as he had been old enough to. He had been frustrating the occupiers for years, and they had made multiple attempts to bag him. He screwed up their efforts each time, though.

Now here he was, sitting in a bush watching a group of security men interrogate a hapless Drepnarian. It bored him really. Any second now, and they would go violent. The soldiers followed the same pattern with depressing regularity.

He watched angrily through the window as one soldier prepared to execute the poor boy. Like hell you are. you thought angrily. He took the shot, and saw the soldier go down. It was too late for the boy though. Just another one. Figures. They kill all the ones they shouldn't be worried about.

He ran around the front, wondering what the heck he was supposed to do now. He supposed he'd better help anyone else inside. He jumped in, and let the whole clip on the FAL go, at the very least wounding most of the platoon. It bought him enough time to change the clip, grab the other hapless Drepnarian, who screamed at the sight of her dead boyfriend, and run out the door, scolding her "Shut up! You trying to get yourself killed too?" he ran around a back ally, unscrewed a manhole, and, making sure no one was following him, jumped down after lowering the girl down.

I'm pretty damn lucky I'm not dead too. he thought grimly, thinking of the poor dead young man. Shame.

Steven Brandenburger lived for this stuff. He didn't like the Grestonians at all. It wasn't that they were necessarily bad people. It was just that Steven felt that Drepnarians should rule Drepner, not foreigners. This semi-xenophobic outlook meant that Steven had opposed the occupation for as long as he had been old enough to. He had been frustrating the occupiers for years, and they had made multiple attempts to bag him. He screwed up their efforts each time, though.

Now here he was, sitting in a bush watching a group of security men interrogate a hapless Drepnarian. It bored him really. Any second now, and they would go violent. The soldiers followed the same pattern with depressing regularity.

He watched angrily as one soldier prepared to execute the poor boy. Time to let them know they haven't won yet. he thought wearily. He shouldered the FAL assault rifle, aimed briefly at the would-be executioner's head, and swore as trigger-pull screwed up his shot. He caught the soldier in the shoulder instead. Shit, I gotta work on that. he thought, annoyed.

Realizing his cover was blown, he opened fire on the whole platoon, rightously pissed off. Three other UDLA insurgents joined him in making the platoon dive for cover. He couldn't tell if he had killed anyone, though none of the bad guys had stuck around in the open. He ran up and pulled the hapless Drepnarian, who had, until recently, been awaiting execution.

"You're coming with us, bub." He grunted as they both hit the floor. "Anyone in there?"

"Get Becky out!" Thomas shouted.

"Shut up! We just stopped them from killing you. You don't want them to find you again and finish the job, do you? Quietly." Steven knew the drill of keeping a surprised rescuee from getting himself killed.

Steven left two of the other insurgents guarding Thomas, and hopped into the apartment, and found Thomas' girlfriend.

"What's going on?" she asked, up until Steven tackled her as gunfire pulverized a window.

"Stay down!" he said somewhat redundantly. Rebecca kept quiet. When a man jumps in with a gun and saves you, you really can't say anything in response. Steven began returning fire, until the 20-round clip was exhausted. "Crap," he said simply as he changed the clip on the FAL. He managed to get them both out the nearly pulverized doorway, and into cover. Then the small band of insurgents escaped with their new friends.

OOC: I have some problems with that. I have tanks stationed out side going thoughout the city, about 3,000 other men on that one block and 10 in that one doorway along. How in the great hell could your three guys get iside? Please change that as needed. Such as RPing my guys firing upon you. Perhaps even yank that post or change so it is after the fact of the man's death.

OOC: I have some problems with that. I have tanks stationed out side going thoughout the city, about 3,000 other men on that one block and 10 in that one doorway along. How in the great hell could your three guys get iside? Please change that as needed. Such as RPing my guys firing upon you. Perhaps even yank that post or change so it is after the fact of the man's death.

I've edited the post, and addressed how he got back into the city on the OOC thread.

Also, my bad. I was under the impression the man was killed on the doorstep, so would still be visible from the outside. Misunderstanding there.

I've edited the post, and addressed how he got back into the city on the OOC thread.

Also, my bad. I was under the impression the man was killed on the doorstep, so would still be visible from the outside. Misunderstanding there.

OOC: Still how did he get in? once again read the OOC thread. I will let this one slide because it is an okay turn to the story but not again. Okay?

IC:

Capain Andrew Kelyeki waited patiently for the girl to come in. It took her hours is seemed to Andrew, Leon was planning on slapping the women and cursing her for taking so long when she came in but he couldn't do that and Andrew couldn't interrorgate her for while waiting a man with a FAL Rifle jumped in though the window and emptied a clip out on the group. As soon as he did that he grabbed the women and jumped back out the window. The men were in confusion. With the man's mindless firing of bullets randomly he only clipped the men, the rest hitting the wall or the floor. The only person injured more than a little cut on the leg or arm or sides was Corporal Leinler Horváth. He took a bullet to his left ear.

It was nothing more than torn up hamburger meat after that but he still wasn't effected enough to stop himself from running outside and attempting to slam the man. The nearest PT-1 went into action but by accident burned Corporal Leinler Horváth into a pile of dust and carnage.

The gassing campaign was finally showing its fruits after wave after wave continued to gas further and further points of the country. Command estimated that bomber runs had hit approximately 2/5ths - or 40% - of Drepner so far with herbicidal killing gas, with roughly 23% starting to show signs or in finished product of complete floral death. Not bad for the campaign so far, but 60% more would be needed to achieve total extinguishing of country vegetation - and so, root out any elements trying to hide in the wilderness. The desertification of Drepner was on.

That was a major sticking point for the Amazonians. Dominion homeland in the South Pacific was a collection of five islands (OOC: Australia, Tasmania, New Zealand, New Guinea) - one the size of a small continent, but the other three technically not all that large. The main island itself had a wide variety of environments, but was primarily dominated by the Central Desert that sprawled across its Western face. So much intensive training for the military and the Wardens was conducted in the desert that it was hard to argue another military for the title of best operations in the open desert. The Dominion military was king at it; easily able to pick out anything amidst sand and open ground.

Wilderness, however, was not a forte. Despite the three minor islands all having a good deal of forest and jungle, the only jungle that the Amazonians were particularly good at was the urban jungle. Natural vegetation in massive numbers generally reguired the Dominion to burn it down, gas it, or simply level it with a massive amount of weaponry to root out enemies in the shrubs. That was the entire meaning of the current campaign - to bring the insurgency back to the level that the Dominion wanted to play at...either in the desert or in the cities. Both were great proving grounds.

And the Dominion had just the tools to execute with. Besides having an outstanding line of supply, what with the Safe Zones just begging for someone to get ripped apart with their numerous defenses, the Dominion also maintained the fast infantry and armor that could reach destinations quickly and without incident. In a relatively small nation like Drepner, mobility was barely going to be an issue once desertification was complete. The Dominion would no doubt have the advantage with centralized command linked via satellite and AWACS in real time.

As the Grestonians pushed ever onwards in their campaigns to root out elements in the other cities, however, the Dominion was very content in what had been accomplished so far. Greston was a smaller nation and had a different look on strategy - with a massive population and relatively small military (in comparison with some of the massive amounts of numbers fielded by like-sized nations), the Dominion had become used to dealing in long amounts of time in accomplishing goals. The best way to subdue independent thoughts was to provide the liberties and freedoms so desired - but not at the cost of stability, of course.

That was the logic behind the Zagreb experiment which was hoped to be pushed to other cities. While the Grestonians hunted down insurgents, the Amazonians let them continue to push their information down ever-tiring civilian ears, all the while letting the inhabitants of Zagreb go about their normal business in a clean, green, and open society within the confines of the city-proper-ringing blockade. Not even a single shot had been fired, and while the Dominion stayed at constant alert, nothing warrenting bombing the city or sending in SpecOps for operations had even been launched yet.

This was psychological warfare at its finest. While the Dominion physically was doing nothing particularly oppressive besides cutting out Zagreb from the outside and creating a desert in the countryside - some could debate the merits of either, truthfully - psychologically they were dividing and creating apprehension. Levelling anxiety and tension was something the Dominion could definately do with an intimidating military that featured quality over quantity; one that was hard to beat when it could dictate terms as was being attempted as the blockade progressed. Soon the countryside would be the turf of the Amazonians, not of the rebels.

This war wasn't being carried to the civilians, wasn't showing them how evil or oppressive the occupiers could be outwards - no, it was showing them brute force in the form of psychological terror. What was the blockade? Would Zagreb suffer the fate of the capital? Would bioweapons or nukes be dropped on the city at any time? What was going on outside of the city that the Dominion seemed so keen on preventing civilians from leaving and seeing? That was apprehension; that was anxiety; that was fear.

Without fear, a war was not a war, but merely a police action. This was war - this was fear.

This was a different assignment for Erich Halder. The colonel in the army of the Fascist Republic was used to fighting the insurgents, not helping them. Counter-insurgency was what Fanboyist soldiers were trained for, not rebellion.

Yet, here he was, leading a unit of men to the border between Drepner and a neighboring country, leading the batallion of men sent by the FRF to help the insurgency in Drepner. Unfortunately, getting into the country was going to be...interesting, to say the least.

He desperately wished General Grimmeberger would just declare war on Greston. Something nice and straight foward. Then they wouldn't have to sneak around, and the lack of cover to hide in wouldn't be nearly as much of a problem.

Instead, he had to lead the 400 men across the border in the mountains of the Austrian region of the country. Passing through the Alps was a bitch, and the men were armed with not terribly great weaponry. Their country was just getting over a three year expirament in democracy that had ended when the current dictator had taken power in an attempt to institute policies that would repair the wrecked economy. So far, it had worked. But the benefits had not reached the army, which had suffered severe funding cuts during the Federal Republic.

They had Gehwer 3's, accompanying grenade launchers and bayonets, decent body armour and helmets, a handful of Stinger missile systems (shoulder launched), and plenty of ammo. They were all on foot, living off canned rations and whatever they could forage in the mountains. Which, unfortunately, wasn't much because of Amazonia's thouroughness.

They had to travel under cover of night, and hide during the day, in the rocks and outcroppings. They had probably been spotted, but had evidently been dismissed as nothing more than wandering sheperds or such, because nothing had come after them yet. Yet.

harmless bump.