Das Kapital Region
Presidential Palace
October 8th,1927
In the crowded room of military advisors and political leaders, President Rachlet Partenbré loomed over the updated strategic map with a face filled with venomous chagrin. The current situation was terrible. The Carriebeanian Government’s areas of control were divided into three main areas, the small section still held by the capital, steadily shrinking with discouraging losses of men and machinery.
Another round of heavy shelling swayed more lights up ahead, turning the party’s attention momentarily to the bombardment which shook the underground complex.
The other two pockets of government control were split from one another, with one being under the command of Chief of Staff 1st Class Elijah Vickers Sylvester and the other being headed by Chief of Staff 1st Class Edward Phelps. Sylvester was initially a Calvary officer during the 1870 war, loosing eyesight due to bucking off a horse into a sharp pile of rocks covered in manure. Given the unceremonious circumstances as to why he had lost his eye, the eye patched man would spin tales of being shot in battle. Phelps was a different creature, often timid and indecisive with his actions, being brought up as a rifle signaler which grew to tensun commander and eventually his current post.
“So… It appears our forces are encircled into three main parts. This is excellent. I Propose we prepare for a breakout operation titled Prince First. If we are able to combine all surviving forces, we’ve have a strength equal to 120,000 soldiers, 40,000 cavalry and over 300 guns. We can use this force to march on the capital to relive it and the surrounding areas, then fortify the capital until our Nihonian allies arrive!”
“President. If I may speak freely, this plan is terrible. It sounds alright on paper, but we have not 120,000 soldiers, or the forty thousand cavalry you speak of. We’d be lucky to scrounge up a third of the cannons you request. Many of the men and cavalry are still hungry and low on ammunition to fight with, despite the enforcement of cannibalism, rationing and conservation of ammunition. You’d have better luck with a pitchfork rather than with a rifle. At least you could fetch the pitchfork after use! I propose a different plan, surrender. The enemy promises to be lenient with their punishments and will probably assist us in rebuilding. Fighting will only bring more bloodshed and lead to more unnecessary deaths.”
President Rachlet Partenbré snapped with that statement. His face rapidly turned red before beginning to rave and rant, all directed towards his generals.
“Surrender? You men are true cowards! I brought forward this meeting in order to fully prepare for a response to changes on the battlefield, and you have proposed nothing short of treason. You’re opinions are noted, as you may speak your mind, but I must disagree with your conclusions. Even a third of the guns you say are still 100 cannons. Enough firepower to blast through the enemy lines to enable armed civilians to rush forwards and assault in hand to hand combat while the actual troops march on them! I know the capital is still under siege, but I have faith in a last hour bastion of hope! Allow me to educate you in the affairs of Carriebeanian Politics, in 1856, when Pope Talos’s armies marched on the capital, there was a divine intervention by the gods to show that they were on our side! They left heavy rains which flooded the fields and swept away the enemy armies! We can do that again if it just rains hard enough! The enemy will be stopped in the mud and we can charge out on horseback!”
“Sir, that was a chance of weather and there is little likelihood that it will rain that hard again, especially considering how dry it had been beforehand. You’re counting on your last trump card being mother nature?! You wish for the weather to change in order for us to assault the enemy and somehow win, despite low supplies and ammunition for such a fool’s errand?!”
“Mother Nature is the queen of the battlefield, we must rely on her for guidance in these dark times. I want this offensive launched immediately. Dismissed.”
Das Kapital Region
Front Lines
Carriebeanian Capital Defense Force President of the Lords Charles Xavier Young’s hand loomed ominously over the bottle of rum on a beer keg within a dug trench before his hand was slapped viciously by his aide.
“No more alcohol Young! It’s bad enough you’ve been drinking throughout this battle, now you want even more?! Little reason why we’re loosing if you’re this damned thirsty for some booze..”
“You, but… fine… Now how far are we up shit’s creek, and where’s the goddamned paddle?”
“Sir, we’re currently holding the regions of Das Kapital and Emperor’s Road within the capital itself. We’ve lost communications with our outside holdings and cannot make contact with them. Many of our carrier Pidgeon’s are being blown to smithereens along with much of our defenses.”
“Shit… Goddam, I knew it was bad, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. The Carriebeanian Air Force is dying bravely.” Young would chuckle at the notion of the now nonexistent Carriebeanian Air Force being complemented of carrier pigeons, if they hadn’t been shot out of the sky by hungry peasants or former slaves.
“How goes operation we’re loosing the war?” He would peer out using a telescope established at one of the observation notes. Unknown to him, an enemy sniper would hold his breath at the sight of a slight glint in his eyes, squeezing the trigger while breathing out, the bullet would soon leave the barrel and slam into the head of the commanding officer, killing Young instantly as he dropped to the floor hunched over from the telescope. The Carriebeanian Army within the sector of the front’s morale sunk lower and lower with the bloody loss of their commander, and in other parts of the front line, military results we’re being brutal.
The Eighteenth Infantry Tensun Commander Tarks Godfield’s unit was blown to smithereens while hiding among several dilapidated factories, while the Sixth Carriebeanian Radical Disun Commander Billards Montgomery Sheridan had his head cut off by a friendly whiff of grapeshot after rushing back to carriebeanian lines which comprised of a battery of napoleon cannons. The Carriebeanian Army units were loosing their commanders at an immense rate, with 678 commanders of units ranging from 100 strong to 20,000 strong being killed.
The average frontline soldier also suffered grievously, with enemy command of the air blasting debris and shrapnel towards carriebeanian soldiers, mortally wounding and killing hundreds instantly or within minutes. Those caught in the sights of enemy flamethrower units often spent their last fleeting moments screaming like banshees while set ablaze akin to a booze soaked cloth to a flame. Those screams had an unsettling effect on morale, with even the most battle hardened carriebeanian soldiers vomiting after smelling burnt flesh and their twitching comrades corpses on the floors.
The Overall design of the Capital City proved to be a great help to the Carriebeanian Defenses, with a mismatched maze of hobbled brick and granite structures dotting the roads, sometimes with shacks placed out front of several shops in a confusing blend. There were rotting wooden structures impossibly supporting heavy granite buildings for construction, with dainty wooden beams snappily connecting various structures akin to a new year’s dragon.
The shrapnel utilized by destroying buildings brought solace to the artillery crews, with more ammunition to spray down narrow alleyways at friend or foe that approached them. The number of corpses within the streets would make an ordinary man vomit at the seams, though Manticorian and Carriebeanian soldiers still would shoot the corpses a stern look before going back to the bloody business of killing each other for war.
There were small victories, such as when a Manticorian armored tank pushed through a failing Carriebeanian Structure, a collection of explosives and lit gunpowder stored above the building went off on top of the enemy vehicle turning it into a smoldering wreck that the enemy was forced to push out of the way in order to keep up their advance.
Carriebeanian carbine, machine gun and rifle fire kept up a somewhat inaccurate hail of ammunition onto the enemy, downing several while loosing hundreds to the score of enemy artillery and close fire weapons utilized. If a Carriebeanian man was able to secure Manticorian firepower, he would be invincible if he was going up against his allies, and about even footed when attacking their contemporary opponents which wielded the same guns.
The geography of the city was being utilized to the advantage of the defenders, with kill zones being set up with a weakened force luring the enemy into the zone before superior artillery at point blank range shot holes into enemy armor that was lured or sprayed hundreds of metal balls as canister shot sang out, mixed with the cries of the wounded and howls of the soon to be dead.
Still Carriebean was suffering losses it would be unable to replace, in comparison to their enemies, which received units fresh from their homeland, marching mostly just pestered by poorly organized guerrilla activities which served as a nuisance to shoo away, akin to a fly, rather than an actual threat to draw away men and materials from their final push on the capital.
While Carriebeanian forces were still violently fighting for every last inch, the impressed military units of slaves Carriebeanian casualties continued to climb and climb throughout the battle. Carriebeanian attempts to retaliate by killing Manticorian commanders resulted in disappointing results. Many Carriebeanian surviving field guns were completely coated in a new paint of blood, ranging from old brown blood to the newest bright cherry red in the case of recently deceased batteries.
The Carriebeanian ammunition for the colt revolving carbines was reaching such a dangerous low that the intensified firepower now slackened to a slow draw of the occasional shot. Carriebeanian infantrymen found themselves swapping out their defenders of the country for any option of surviving weapons, from captured enemy rifles, donated Nihonese bolt actions to one shot pistols, modified old canes to fire pump action bullets and even guns that shot out a sword or rocks on the ground as a shotgun in lieu of actual ammunition.
On the Front Line
Daar’s Sweets
Flanks General 3rd Class Barry Thurmond gripped his colt pistol tightly in one hand while peeking over some debris of crushed glass and twisted wooden beams from the enemy’s aireal bombardment. His eyes first scanned the skies before nodding his head to several armed old ladies next to him. Thurmond had once commanded a proud force of over five thousand strong in the area… what happened?
It seemed there was just a few bloody flashes of light and the smell of burning flesh practically jumping carriebeanian forces down to meet enemy machine guns which fed on their bodies. The stumbling retreat up the street a block cost over sixty percent of his already malnourished and starving starting force, horrible statistics to the pencil pushing individual, gut wrenching losses for a carriebeanian military leader. Many of the soldiers were not younger than 70, and so the years of poor diet and hip problems impeded their withdrawal which had cost them their lives.
Taking a sip of water, Thurmond set the tin down while rummaging through a large cheesecloth sack for more ammunition, finding enough ammunition to reload the colt revolving carbine he cradled like one would a newborn baby. The other Carriebeanian soldiers were stuck with an amalgamation of various firearms, with some carrying antiquated flint locks, muzzle loaders and bolt action rifles donated by the Nihon which still found a way to the now shrinking frontline.
He could thank the ingenious designs of his allies for such efforts, although the ammunition problem was even worse thanks to supply lines to the front ranging from shoddy at best to nonexistent at worst, forcing the men to scavenge the surrounding area and loot what supplies they could from dead soldiers or allied units within the frontline.
The unprofessionalism of such activities lead to bloody friendly fire incidents with dozens dead in the smallest statistic. Many of them had sparse communication and orders from the capital, with many units simply forming up to fight for their homes and church with little else tying them to a greater national identity. The enemy was able to exploit this with offers of fair treatment and even food for such allowances as surrenders.
Thurmond then turned to an updated map of the battle, with a small piece of paper denoting recent changes to the battlefield.
The Grande Opera House Bathrooms have fallen to the enemy! Optimistically looking forward to fighting tooth and nail for the actor’s dressing rooms! Should that fall, recommended course of action to charge the frontlines in an attempt to seize the auditorium with all remaining forces until annihilation or to surrender within the VIP offices.
Billard’s Hotel and Saloon’s First and Second Floors seized by the enemy’s movements! Currently holding off any attempt at taking the stairways and is preparing to dig in for the Lobby area. Rumored collection of wine and grenades within the cellar, preparing for strike team to get us some drinks and explosives. Enough Ammunition for two days sustained fighting, enough water for seven hours sustained fighting, will begin to bottle urine for consumption to increase morale.
The Montcalm Railway Station is being overrun by massed enemy armor, with little in the way of response by Carriebeanian artillery batteries owing to poor positioning. Suicidal squadrons currently charging on both horseback and with grenades to eliminate enemy armored assaults. Results are expected to be very high casualties with an undetermined outcome for the enemy tanks. Captured enemy vehicles and loaned Nihonian military craft have been ordered to withdraw.
“What should we do?” A thin voice called from the back of the sweet room, with makeshift cots for the dying soldiers being salvaged amongst the floor, though the wounded warriors would sleep on the tile or wood for a few hours until going back out to fight. It would be hard losing allies and comrades in the siege, but small chocolate substitutions were enough to prevent a major mutiny from the soldiers.
“We’re losing three buildings and our own forces are overstretched and suffering from heavy losses thanks to enemy flamethrowers and dive bombers. I have no official command for many frontline units and have steadfastly refused barking commands from mad junior officers jumpy at the lack of a military hierarchy."
“I’m sure the great general will think of something.” A familiar voice chimed in the back optimistically.
“Julius. Front and Center.”
An elderly looking man wielding a cane and a dropping thick white beard hobbled out from a wheelchair, often used to swindle good Samaritans into desperately needed prostitution, drinking and gambling money. His morals may be a poor mishmash, but his optimism was almost infectious to the ranks. He kept promising there being drinking water, despite it running out two weeks ago. When a small pound of freshwater was discovered in the ruins of an elderly school, Julius would exclaim that it was god’s work. The Irony that one of the most immoral men was a devout (if opportunistic) Christian at the same time was not lost on Thurmond as he looked Julius in the eye.
“Sir!”
“Julis Rommel, I would like your advice-“
“My advice? What fucking mother did you slap for this series of unfortunate events to occur? The sky fall?! I shall be your royal appointment and grand viser, your highness.” He mocked, half bowing in jest.
“Your advice…” Thurmond continued without so much as a second glance up from his papers “on matters regarding the recent military news which has befallen Carriebean.”
“This news?” Rommel looked confused before peering over several papers on the commander’s desk before smirking with an enlightened look “Ah… this news.. really got yourself up shit creek without a paddle here Thury.. I cannot imagine how you fucked this up, but… you did! Imma give you a trophy just for that.”
“I’ve been patient with your, sense of humor. But this time I must be more strict. You are to be appointed Protector of the Church by ordinance of the Council of Vendee. See to your assignment.”
With a stiff salute, Julius yanked on his own rifle and utilized it as a crutch while walking to his new post, muttering under his breath “Damn Vagabond’s loosing the war.”
The sharp crack of a carbine soon brought Julius to the floor, as he was attempting to reorient himself to the muzzle of a double barrled shotgun aimed between his eyes. There was a click as both hammers were primed for firing, causing Julius to flinch and squint before being fearful for his life. He was almost on the verge of tears before a calm voice said.
“That’s Enough Lanc.”
Soon the shotgun got out of his vison as he was then helped up to his feet, being thrown a few personal items before a stern look from the commander tossed him out of the tent.
Montcalm Railway Station
Tank Captain Beth Hood fit the ninety millimeter shell into the breech of the De bange 90mm Cannon which was hastily slapped together for a makeshift armored coffin. The four men behind her rowed back and forth to give power for such a poorly sealed fighting vehicle. It had been eleven hours since last orders from headquarters and ten hours since her last meal. Hood’s stomach would have been an alarming problem, if there was not a war raging around her. The former sower turned soldier depressed the barrel of the cannon a few degrees as the machine clambered to a halt.
“Take Aim!”
She then rotated the gun as far as she could towards an enemy armored car, it speeding through with machine guns lighting up akin to fireflies in the wooded night sky on a plantation. She held her breath, mind racing with various ideas as she collected herself and gave the order to the gun crew.
“Fire!”
The shell screamed down towards the armored car, flying further and further until…
BANG
A massive cloud of debris flew into the air, obscuring the sight for a moment before the shadow of the enemy’s vehicle was enough for a mild swear.
“Oh Right Piss as rain and crackers, load another shell and reverse!”
With the enemy vehicle attempting to close the distance, she needed to reverse the makeshift vehicle as fast as the hand cranks could, first inching the tank back, then footing the tank back little by little as she stumbled with another round. The projectile met the floor a few times, echoing off the hollow walls before slamming into the breech. With a split second on the sight, she gave the order.
“Fire!”
This time, Carriebeanian artillery flew true, slamming into the engine of the armored car, exploding it with shrapnel and shell fragments everywhere.
“Good Work, Withdraw immediately towards headquarters for a refit!”
“Refit?-Commander, We are in good enough of shape to fight more.”
“But, you see, we’ve only got five shells left. We started out with forty. We’ll need more ammunition and a fresh crew if we’d want to fight.”
“Yes M’am. Turn the tank about 180 degrees!”
With an awkward salute of their superior officer, the armored behemoth slowly got underway in reverse before coming sharply to a stop. The tank then moved forwards left in a wide circle to completely turn around, with her colt carbines blasting away from slits mounted along her walls as a partial infantry fighting vehicle. Soon the rotation was completed as the armored tank began to withdraw back to the reserve lines, indicated with the quiet sound of less gunshots and distant explosions.
Alva
Flanks General 1st Class Wilhelmina Lorraine fit the cigarette snugly in her mouth before striking a match and shakily bringing it up to the tobacco laden product, producing a bright glow on one end before she stomped on the match to snuff it out.
Inhaling deeply, she would then yank the cigarette out of her mouth to blow a cloud of smoke in the air of the decrepit looking building. The rotting structure had taken a direct hit early in the battle owing to Carriebeanian boobytraps of children in the street. It wasn’t her proudest moment in sending children off to be traps, but it allowed a brief strategic advantage in the confusion to actually repel the enemy from taking the headquarters.
The success would be short lived, with large enemy assaults slowly whittling away at the Carriebeanian reserves to plug the gaps in various points in the line throughout the city. Her total force numbered at most 29,000 soldiers, 4,000 dragoons as a calvary/messaging unit, at most thirty field guns sprinkled about haphazardly. The Carriebeanian Forces still controlled the main arsenal building, though they had lost the telegraph station, the main marketplace which dominated the center and were still bitterly fighting for every shelf in the library. Lorraine herself was forced to withdraw with her personal bodyguard eleven times as the Carriebeanian area controlled by Carriebean shrank smaller and smaller. The Carriebeanian forces still subsisted on the few locals in the area that had “donated themselves willingly”
“I understand the library is still the scene of bloody carnage?”
“Yes M’am. The Fifty Seventh Tensun has just been relived by the Ninth Tensun.”
“57th, how many men are left?”
“9.”
Lorraine dropped another cigarette down her throat and choked briefly before repeating the number.
“9?! That unit has a thousand men in it! You don’t mean…”
A grimace soon crossed the military aide’s face before a sunken look appeared on Lorraine’s.
“I have just sent 991 men to their graves. If I am to survive this battle, I want to be held accountable for my actions.”
“M’am, this war is one of attrition that we will not be able to win. These losses are simply unsustainable in the long run. We will be able to give the enemy a nasty paper cut and be able to pour lemon juice on it as the best scenario for what we have left, but it will be at the cost of being ripped to shreds, with each and every cell being annihilated in the corpse known as Carriebean.”
Lorraine refused to look at the aide, staring down at her map of the limited space the city controlled before stating.
“War is hell. I guess we shall fight on. Double servings of shit for the men tonight, we launch a shattered crystal at night.”
“M’am! I must object to this waste of lives! It will accomplish nothing! I implore you to surrender!”
“Surrender? That is not a word I know. My horse!”
After several exhaustive hours which had worn down Carriebeanian Forces for the worse, the fighting died down, with only the faint screams of Carriebeanian wounded being heard as Carriebeanian military police fired bullets into their brains for deserting their posts. With rings around her eyes, Lorraine turned to her second in command.
“Charge! Long Live Carriebean! Death to Hoosier! May our deaths be sweet!”
The words echoed off of every man’s ear as the force charged forwards, down some alleyways, narrow corridors, the parts of decrepit and shelled out buildings and some rotting farms. Carriebeanian waves broke on the shores of Hoosier machine gun, artillery, rifle and submachine ammunition being hurtled at them, with hundred being mowed down, and yet they still came. Carriebeanian carbines and Nihonese rifles boomed with a mostly inaccurate return fire while cutlasses and samurai swords glistened forwards.
The closest a force got was a small force that had been cut off and encircled in the confusion, being able to assist eighty besieged carriebeanian citizens who fled to the rear for shit cakes still baking from the running cooks. Lorraine herself was in the midst of the battle, cutting down a Hoosier infantryman with a slash of her sword while running the blade through another enemy. She soon collapsed off of her horse as it was shot out from under her.
“Damn! Any of you want to see how a Carriebeanian General meets her end? Come and get me you sons of bitches!”
She pulled out her revolver and shot a shoulder of an enemy soldier, shuddering the man on the ground before a riddle of bullets impacted her. Dropping to the ground with blood pouring out of her mouth, she simply stood in disbelief before dying. The Carriebeanian offensive had predictably failed.
The Carriebeanian casualties were in the thousands with this one assault, with an unknown number of enemy dead. Alva had fallen to the enemy, with the Carriebeanian tricolor being snapped off the government building and replaced with a Hoosier banner flapping proudly in the wind.