Peabody, Massachusetts
Prince Jusus, the Royal Marine Division commander, was informed that his Royal Marine Reconnaissance Regiment had reached a place with the uncouth name of Peabody. Beyond this, the roads led to Boston, the capital of Masculism.
Intelligence had filtered down from the Fleet. Aerial recon, electronic warfare and the analysis among Count Byren’s staff on the Royal Sombreland told a dreadful tale: intoxicated with the ideals of Masculism were Youth Brigades, barely more than boys, who loved Masculism so much that they yearned to die for it. These boys, armed mostly with small arms and a few heavy weapons and gun trucks, would sell their lives dearly to protect the last elements of the Incel movement in what was left of New England. Every small city, town, village and house leading up to Boston might have these Youth Brigade boys lurking in them.
Intelligence also said that Masculist commander after commander was surrendering, and that the movement was falling apart. However, no similar word had come about the Youth Brigades. Therefore, it was proposed that the Royal Marine Division might very well have to fight through to Boston.
The Royal Marine Reconnaissance Regiment was the main unit advancing on Peabody. Second Lieutenant Borsovor wiped his nose and ordered his driver forward. This young officer was of the upper leadership of the Military Caste, born to lead. Not just in his education but in his pedigree. For the upper leadership of the Military Caste were devoted to serve the laws and customs of their people. He had to make clear decisions even though the situation seemed most uncertain.
The view through the commander’s optics allowed him little meaningful orientation. There were glimpses of road, fields and little else. It was difficult to judge the exact location of the vehicle. His radio headset buzzed, and he heard the voice of his Company Commander, Polko. Polko always had a pleasant voice, and he had the habit of smoking nice cigarillos. Polko wanted him to dismount most of his platoon, advancing his Royal Marines towards the town and scout out the nearby fields and buildings. He commanded four vehicles, and that meant that he had about 35 men. He said into his handset: “Platoon infantry: we are ordered to dismount and advance reconnaissance patrol into the city head.” Such orders were given across the single battalion regiment so that most of the Royal Marine were advancing on foot, spread out and using their vehicles as cover and providing fire support if need be.
He reluctantly popped out of his vehicle’s commander’s hatch and peered ahead with his field glasses. Ahead, he could see a very flat city ahead of him, with the outskirts occupied by farmland. He leaned down back into the vehicle. His sergeant, whom the men called Uncle, repeated his order, and the men bundled out and moved low to either side of the road and used tall grass, small buildings, trees to cover their approach to the city. Grumbling Dingo AFVs moved slowly to match the walking pace behind them.
Private Gove lowered himself, feeling almost like the ape Cut-Nose accused him of being, hunched over, moving through some tall grass towards the outskirts of the city, holding his rifle, minding his position. Cut-Nose walked nearby, now and then cursing and chiding the men of the squad. It was strange to think that this was land none of his ancestors had ever been to, where none of the spirits of the land knew him. So foreign it might as well have been the moon. In the Gyzantian Civil War, the Princess-Regent herself had come, spoken with a lizard creature who was the President of Anagonia and made friends with a blue haired robot. She would know what to do. He had to pretend that she was there, watching with benevolent eyes…
