Greater Byzanthia wrote:The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile wrote:Christian Wachter's fake smile dissipated as the soldier insisted he ride with him in the jeep. He was getting fed up with this guy, but it appeared that he wasn't about to give up. "Give him what he wants," Christian thought. "Very well sir, if you insist." He began walking towards the jeep; maybe he could pick up a few extra notes from this guy. The spy climbed in and slammed the jeep's door, waiting for the driver to start the vehicle and begin winding through Tunis' many streets before resuming conversation. "I've noticed that there is an extremely large military presence here," he began. This guy hadn't seen past the facade yet, so Christian assumed he wouldn't put up to much resistance here.
"Unfortunately, yes. GB has experienced multiple terrorist attacks in the last couple of months. There is much speculation about the future of the nation, and rumors say that our own Prime Minister isn't confident about the rebuilding efforts. Any nation could easily swipe in and take us over without anyone knowing." He then raised his voice, loudly stating that the "entire military presence in Africa is a facade to cover up the weakness of the nation". Realizing that he just shouted out classified information, he abruptly stopped talking, and refused to talk for the rest of the drive.
Christian straightened as his driver began spilling out sensitive information, ingraining the words in his head. When the Capilean pressed for further info, the soldier refused to talk. Giving up, Wachter endured the rest of the ride in silence and thanked the man when the jeep pulled up at the Byzanthian customs office. Hopping out, Christian walked into the building and quickly ducked into the restroom, locking himself in one of the stalls and beginning to write down what he had heard today on an electronic tablet...
"They will be like pigs to the slaughter!" cried Colonel Lennard Ferber, looking up at his commander, Lieutenant General Walther Nemetz. The general couldn't help but smile; for this he would win his final promotion, at least for the time being, to Field Marshal. That he was sure of. "Excellent. Are the Karifis ready?" The Colonel nodded excitedly. "Yes, herr General, they have 65,000 men along the border. Granted, the quality of their soldiers and equipment is dubious, but they are experts in fighting in the Libyan deserts whilst their opponents are used to Alpine warfare. Most of our reports also indicate that they outnumber the Byzanthian garrison." Walther nodded, scanning the many maps laid before him; the first indicated Karifi positions along the border, while the second showed
Heeresgruppe Phalanx; Army Group Phalanx included 500,000 men and over 3,000 armored vehicles, made up of 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Expeditionary Korps and 1st-4th Afrika Korps.
This monstrous force of seasoned veterans, the vast majority of whom had fought in grueling campaigns in the sprawling deserts of North Africa, had forced the State of Suez, the independent but feeble country controlling Egypt, to allow them military access. Afterwards they had buried themselves not far off from the Byzanthian border, enforcing complete radio silence and taking countless other measures to ensure that the enemy had no knowledge on
Phalanx. When the time was right, Byzanthia would be caught between a hammer and an anvil...
Captain Rashaad Aboulker of the Karifi Defense Forces scanned the Libyan desert with his binoculars, seeing that the few border checkpoints were all but deserted. Suddenly his nicked, outdated radio buzzed to life. Rashaad's hand darted down and he held the radio close to his face. A low voice chirped through the static; "Operation:
Dune is ago, I repeat, Operation:
Dune is ago." Jamming the device back into his belt, the Captain grabbed his rusty flare gun and held it high, wincing as a bright red rocket shot out of the gun and streaked through the midnight sky. Aboulker glanced to his left and right, seeing similar red flares spaced out all across the desert. Suddenly, as if all at once, rapid Arabic began drifting up from all over the Karifi line, and hundreds of dual headlights split the darkness.
Rashaad dashed towards the beaten up jeep that was his transport, climbing in and waiting for three more Karifi soldiers to do the same before starting up the old thing- it took three tries- and beginning a speed run towards the enemy. Screeching in the Arab language pierced the night's peaceful silence, as the Muslim soldiers cursed their Western enemies and prayed for their own safety. The jeep rumbled through dune after dune, throwing up showers of sand, until they came upon a Byzanthian security checkpoint. Two soldier emerged, hands on their hip-holstered pistols. Instantly three AK-47's roared to life, riddling the two sentries with bullets. The Captain watched with grim satisfaction as they collapsed, shocked expressions plastered over their faces.
All along the Libyan border 65,000 raging Karifistanis attacked, slaughtering the small Byzanthian garrisons and racing towards Ghat and Acacus, their first major objectives.