O Beautiful, For Heroes Proved, In Liberating Strife.

by **Feline Coasts** » Thu Apr 27, 2023 1:59 pm

There weren't many captains who were crazy and/or stupid enough to brave the cold waters of the northern shores of America all by their lonesome, especially in a time of war. But war was just about the greatest blessing any raider worth his salt could ask for. And here he was, Captain "Crusty" Svensgaard, commanding his swift Cruiser that he named the "Wind's Prize" alongside four gunboats in tow, all commanded by his most trusted (if not most experienced) marine raiders, each leading at least a dozen fresh-blooded men who were eager for plunder. This cold water expedition had just come out of a cove in Newfoundland for fresh supplies (and bodies), taking great care to not entice any of the foreign navies invading the shores of the strange rogue state that ruled New England with an iron fist. This rogue state of course, this "Incelastan" was going to have the privilege of hosting Captain Svensgaard's crew. With the armed forces of all sides stretched so wide and thin, creating brand new hellscapes in their dreadful wake, it was either now or never to recover some valuable spoils of war, before all New England became one big fireball.

Approx. 70 Kilometers off the coast of Bath, Maine. In the bridge of the Wind's Prize:

First Mate Morgan Paval was relaying all the recent intel he could gather to Captain Svensgaard, both of them pouring over maps of the New England region. "The coasts along New York and all south along towards Rhode Island and Martha's Vineyard are aflame. Joseon and her allies are pouring men and weapons down there as if the end times were tomorrow. Seems like they're choosing to make that front open in order to spread Incelastan thin. And speaking of, the generals in this country seem more trigger happy than a drunken cartelsman in barbados. News abound that their men are shooting folk left and right in old Boston. Not too certain about this, but there's also rumors about them having to put down rebellions in Vermont. Their navy is screwed something fierce, but I wouldn't be surprised if these eastern coasts had some manned defenses. Considering the fighting down south though, there can be room for us to take prizes here, if we can be quick enough..."

The captain was chewing on his unlit pipe as Paval ranted on. The eastern coast was not that well defended, so the goal was to make landfall, kill, loot and leave before those paranoiacs could be able to mobilize. If the crew did well and have the incels a black eye, the foreign navies might just look past this little incident. At least, that's what Captain Svensgaard was betting on. If he returned back to the Coasts rich, the Congress would look kindly on his semi-approved raid and he might even apply to get a seat at the Congress, which meant more fame and money making his way toward him. If he failed, then the Congress and Captains would have plausible deniability; he'd likely die here in these waters or be hunted by his fellow captains and sold off as a bounty to get the foreign powers well and away from the Feline Coasts. It wasn't an unusual circumstance, but he was already treading on thin ice with a raid this daring.

Captain Svensgaard pointed at a particular point on the map as if he already had the target in mind from the time First Mate Morgan began speaking. "Salem."

Morgan raised his eyes slowly towards the captain. "Salem? That close to Boston?"

"And it's likely the place where they could least expect a hit-and-run. From satellite images there's also a local powerplant too, just within spitting distance of the local docks. We go in the dead of night, fire on that plant, make landfall and set the boys loose while the folk there are still confused."

First Mate Morgan nods grimly. "I'll tell the helmsman to plot course. Our transponder has been off ever since we passed Halifax, so hopefully within the next few hours, we can be in and out within the day. We plot a course back north after we're done?"

"Yes, and I want no more than three, maybe four hours on-shore, even if all goes well. The boys raid the warehouses and businesses, take fresh bodies if able, and we make waves. I want all gun crews on standby in case hostiles show up. We pound the town with our guns one more time as we make our getaway."

Best of a plan as any. First Mate Morgan barked orders while Captain Svensgaard chewed on his pipe and kept staring at the maps and sea charts. Took damned long to sail this far north. Took damned long to make a plan that probably wouldn't get them all killed by a bunch of psychotic soldier boys. But Svensgaard didn't decide to take the life of raiding just so he could take easy, boring targets. This was pure excitement. And that's what Svensgaard and his crew lived for.

The Wind's Prize made for a rendezvous around 30 or so kilometers east off the town of Gloucester. From there, with right timing, it would be a straight shot to Salem...

by **Sombreland** » Thu Apr 27, 2023 3:18 pm

RSNS Crocodile, The Royal Sombreland Expeditionary Force: Outer Oceans

“On your feet, you Wencho!”

Kial Gove opened his eyes to another gray steel day.. Tooth same words, the same tone, and the same voice that had torn his dreams apart ever since the embarkation.

“Roll out of that rack, grass-eater. On deck! The day's too far gone for cow faced apes to waste my time! Get your butt to the head!”

A hand reached between the bunk bars and shook him. He sat up too fast, and the lng, queasy gut tightening roll that had tormented his sleep all night hit him, and he banned into the framework of his bankmate’s rack, just above.

He swung his legs out, and, just in his sleeveless shirt and shorts, dropped to the deck, glaring after the Corporal, Olfor, who they all called “Cut Nose” for his scar. The Corporal weaved through a maze of yawning men, hairy knees, bony elbows, without rank in their undress yet all making way for Corporal Cut Nose like he was an icebreaker.

Gove shuffled with other men to the head. He was angry at his inability to respond to Cut-Nose. Wencho indeed. Grass-eater indeed. The implications that he was a Wenchuanese lover had begun the moment Gove had not responded fast enough to the squad talking dirt on the Wenchuanese refugee population had stuck, and might never leave him. Grass-eater? Implied that because he came from a family that had mostly done reserve and support service, that he was not a real Marine. If he was ever slow, if he ever made a mistake, his being a Wencho or a grass-eater was the reason the Corporal would sneer at him or yell at him.

However, the morning went on, and gradually his mood shied into resignation as the shipboard routine began, the normal day for the men of his battalion. The ship’s laundry was behind, and his uniform felt itchy. After finishing in the head, he joined the line of hungry, morning tired men, all of them cursing the wait, and held his tray for surly Navy cooks to dish out what was left after the sailors had eaten. Gove held a cup of tepid coffee, holding it carefully so that the ship rolling wouldn’t spill it, mushy cracked wheat and overcooked scrambled eggs with sausage bits, and wolfed it down before stumbling and handing the empty tray and dishes to another contemptuous cook.

Back in the compartment, there was first inspection, roll call, and duty roster. As usual, the first duty was weapon maintenance. The Marines cleaned their wea[ons every day at sea. The Platoon Sergeant, who they all called “Uncle” was really like an uncle, full of wisdom. He had a reason for everything. He had told them that cleaning the weapons every day kept salt air out of the rifles, automatic machine guns, and other arms. But most importantly, it was a sacred duty. They would remove the previous coat of preservative and then lay on a new coat of glistening yellow oil with clean swabs and rags. There should be a soft gleam within and without. Gove could imagine men who had done this before him.

Then Uncle would have the Platoon on deck with the rest of their company for exercise, weapons drill, and prayers. The men, disarmed, would sit, cross legged, on the deck, hands lifted up as their elbows rested on knees, and declare their dedication to the Princess-Regent, and would be guided in private prayer to their caste, their ancestors, and finally would condlue with a recitation of the Oath of Peace.

Gove had talked to his squad mates about something that worried him. He had wondered if any of them had ever killed anyone before. Though Gove had been a Royal Sombreland Marine for a year, he had never shot at anyone in anger, even. They had discussed it; it would not be easy to follow the Oath of Peace in action. Old Cut Nose had, though, and Uncle had. Gove would have to follow one man he trusted, and one man he hated, when battle came upon them.

by **Legatia** » Thu Apr 27, 2023 8:53 pm

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 16 Division Infantry
26 Regimental Combat Team Mechanized (26 RGMI RCT), 11 Battalion Mechanized Infantry
2 Squad, 1 Platoon, A Company
-
Yonkers, New York, NYC - 0630H EST

The battle for Yonkers was not going to be easy, they knew this from the get-go. The forces they were fighting were some of what was left of the elite of the ILA, fighting defensively in favorable urban terrain. However, Meridon and her allies held one thing that would be decisive in this battle, and both sides knew it.

Until then, the 26th Regimental Combat Team and the rest of 16 Division Infantry took their approach deliberately, and applied their force liberally. The aim was to minimize friendly casualties, which meant they would operate likely to the detriment of those civilian few that remained. IFVs and APCs remained behind infantry teams who cleared out the anti-armor teams blocks ahead, while their mortars at company and battalion levels- 60 and 81mm, respectively- would be called by forward observers and squad systems operators, flying quad drones overhead to spot these teams from afar.

LCpl Smith and his fireteam were in the thick of it. Their Lieutenant had just taken out, they didn't know yet if he was dead, but replacing his youthful voice on the radio was that gruffness belonging to 1Sgt Rowley.

"Contacts in the second story attic!" White cried out to him, a finger extended to a house which held within it a machine gun emplacement, hosing down and pinning an adjacent squad.

"Get some fire on it! Grenade in the window, Lowe- fix them!"

"Aye, on it!" Lowe steadied his LSW in a cradle brace as he began to fill the windowframe with 5.56 rounds in steady two-second bursts. White, standing where Lowe was kneeling, took a few seconds to steady the window in the red dot sight of his underbarrel grenade launcher before putting a 40mm HEDP grenade on the wooden frame of the door. It exploded, shattering what was left of the window into bits and showering the street with fragmentation. Moving fluidly as he was drilled, White used his right hand to pop the barrel to the side, insert a second round, used the right to slap the barrel into place, and leveled the rifle again. He squeezed the trigger, and this time the round sailed into the building, detonating and showering whatever unlucky souls were in there with fragmentation.

"Good hit, suppress 'em and keep moving!" Squad Leader Sergeant Bowles shouted from across the street, as LSWs covered infantry bounding up close enough to the building to fill it with hand grenades. The house went quiet soon after.

The fireteam knelt, catching their breath as others ran forward to move the line forwards. Behind them, the rumble of an Amvee (their name for the infantry fighting vehicles) taking up position next to the fragged house signified the front lines were moving fast. The Marines here were outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded.

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Air Forces, Air Division Oak Hand
Tactical Fighter Wing 36 [TFW 36], 8 Tactical Fighter Squadron [8 TFS] "Edgerunners"
Fourship F6M2 C Wasp flight, callsign "Trevor 1"
-
Yonkers, New York, NYC- 0831H

Elements of 13 Tactical Fighter Wing were north conducting the air war in support of the movement in Yonkers. When the battle began, their work would be cut out for them.

Artillery elements had supposedly been well-hidden until this battle, raining fire down into the town as one of the ILA's few vectors of tactical fire support. That was about to change.

Orbiting at an altitude that gave them impunity from handheld MANPADs operated the bulk of Meridonian combat air power, including the Wasps of 8 TFS. Loaded heavily with rockets and cluster munitions, theirs was perhaps the most exciting job of the next few hours. Meridonian artillery had been given strict instructions to avoid counter-battery fire and instead focus their own shells on preplanned routes where ILA troops were expected to fall back through. Once infantry forces had pushed to a new position, artillery would roll ahead of them, softening the forces for the infantry to push behind and mop up. Rinse, wash, repeat. This was nowhere near systematic, however, with care taken to avoid firing in sectors that would have significant civilian collateral damage- though of course, any strike conducted of this manner would have plenty of it. For this reason, Meridonian batteries were much slower firing than their ILA counterparts.

The real reason, however, was to give the ILA the false impression that they would be immune from accurate counterbattery fire by howitzers. The counter-battery fire would instead come from Trevor 3. Each aircraft, a fuel tank, targeting pod, and 3 air to air missiles besides, carried eight cluster bombs and a quartet of ACORS dumbfire rocket pods- 76 of them in total. Drone footage from the infantry and from Air Forces Q5M drones circling overhead, correlated with radio intercepts from circling E6M3 Backwave electronics warfare aircraft, would allow them to locate and pin the ILA artillery batteries for complete destruction.

Flowing in from their initial point, 300 knots at 30,000 feet was Trevor 1-1 and his wingman, 1-2. With a salute to the left, 1-3 and 1-4 broke off and returned to the initial point to hold for their own strikes. Another hand gesture put 1-2 to trail the lead. Through his headset he communicated with a FAC/A operating through a drone who had already acquired the target.

"Contact the six-lane road running north to south to the west of an ovular lake?"
"Contact;" Trevor 1-1 replied.
"Contact the blown out warehouse, east side of the road, about mid-way up that lake."
"Contact."
"Gun flashes in the treeline five hundred feet northeast of that warehouse, howitzers in the open. Call tally."
"Tally-ho, guns in the open."
"Type two, bomb on target, two shooter- attack heading three three zero, egress southeast. Call in with heading."
"Trevor One flight in three-three-oh."
"Trevor One, cleared hot."

"Alright, wingie, let's earn our paychecks." Trevor 1-1's pilot inverted his aircraft and pulled, placing it into a fourty-degree dive towards the target. His HUD gave a pipper indication of the cluster bomb's calculated drop point- X marks the spot.

Their altitude dissipated rapidly as they lost thousands of feet every second. Every thousand feet put them into range of MANPADs. They both preemptively hit their countermeasures switches, flares popping from beside their tails seconds before the bombs would drop.

Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen-

The satisfying pair of clunks and the decrease in quantity numbers in 1-1's HUD indicated two well-placed cluster bombs had departed from his aircraft. Just for good measure, he flicked his weapons toggle switch, selected rockets, and released a salvo of about twenty-two 70mm high explosive rockets into the battery's position. Immediately after this he pulled and banked hard, the aircraft's wings flexing, condensation forming about the span as it banked. Afterburners flared as countermeasures popped behind him and he banked and climbed away from the threat area.

As he passed back up through sixteen thousand, he cued his targeting pod to look at the damage caused. His cluster bombs had just hit the ground, blanketing the target area in grey smoke he wouldn't be sticking around too long to double check. His wingman followed suit in the attack merely ten seconds after, attacking the closer section of howitzers, though not engaging with rockets as his section lead had as he climbed and roared away from the howitzers before they could enter range of the MANPADs.

Across known artillery battery sites around Yonkers, eight other Wasps conducted mirror attacks, saturating ILA artillery batteries with cluster bombs, gunfire, and rocketfire to put them out of commission. Elsewhere, and particularly further south, worked squadrons of Wasp and Lynx jets raking through the town of Yonkers methodically for any heat signature large enough to warrant an attack. Longbill air-to-ground missiles could be seen for a split second by surrounding Marines before they punched through fighting vehicles of all shapes and sizes. Concentrated defenses were struck just as easily with 500lb guided bombs. Buildings that were fortified were struck with impunity, buildings that were abandoned were regularly struck, staging areas and ammo depots were located and disassembled.

Adder helicopters circled from a distance, careful to remain outside of MANPAD range as best as they could, but pot-shots were inevitable. Not a single fighter jet had been engaged successfully, but two helicopters had been taken out so far- one was able to make it back to New York, the other, gone. 20mm cannon fire sailed over miles to pepper known concentrations, and AGMs were launched where they had the opportunity to do so. The enemy may be attempting to fight a war of attrition in Yonkers, but Meridonian air power was here to make sure they hardly got the rest needed to coordinate such a defense.

Meridon Defense Forces
Regiment Marines Commando- 2 Marine Amphibious Regiment
17 Commando Task Unit (17 CTU), 17 Battalion Marine Commando
-
Barrington- 0631H EST

"Letty, they're armed!"

"Weapons free!"

From hedgerows and behind picket fences, advancing ILA militia troops were engaged with automatic machine guns and semiautomatic rifle fire before they could ever know where the Marines were. It seemed they'd circumvented their plans for repelling an amphibious assault and unexpectedly left them a golden ticket to winning this early. Contact to their north was light, which confirmed this hypothesis- they were concentrated south.

The commander on the ground- once again, Colonel Courtemanche, took rapid advantage of this circumstance. Once his tiltrotors returned twenty minutes hence, instead of disembarking them to concentrate on their position, they went north, blocking the roads leading into Providence on the eastern side of the Providence River from Riverside to Seekonk. Once offloaded, they oriented to repel the enemy from both directions, while the three companies still in Barrington reoriented on the inlet of the cove to their northeast. Bridges on the eastern side of the adjacent peninsula, where a concentration of ILA militiamen were known to be, were hit with rapid strikes from orbiting naval aircraft, preventing them from circumnavigating around where Courtemanche's marines were holding.

While the air presence here was nowhere near as strong as it was in New York, the absence of MANPADs allowed the Marine helicopters to wreak even more havoc. As ILA troops pulled up stops to attempt to fall back to the city, they were set upon by strafing helicopters with gun, rocket and missile. Lynxes from the JCTG and frigates operating at the mouth of the bay provided additional fire support, engaging down roads the militiamen were anticipated to fall back alongside. Howitzers and coastal defense equipment would be evaporated by guided bomb units from Lynx fighters, who then swapped to armed and armored vehicles.

If this worked, they might cut the battle extremely early, and avoid the horrors of urban warfare they were expecting ahead.

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 9 Division Armored
10 Regimental Combat Team Armored (10 RA RCT), 20 Battalion Mechanized Engineers
-
White Plains, New York, NYC- 0831H EST

The roar of the Conqueror tanks finally rolled back to a dull whine as the armored division made its way into White Plains, pushing through the town and immediately taking up positions from I-684 thence west to Tarrytown, overlooking Nyack. They were anchored from Westchester Airport, utilizing the Kensico Resevoir to limit their exposed frontage, and from their angled southwest to terminate near Tarrytown and the Cumo Bridge, across which the adjacent ILA 1st Infantry Division were currently being engaged by a pair of Joseon's infantry divisions from the northwest and south. Engaging them was not their objective- blunting the expected armor counterattack from the north was. However, as MGen Petrios emerged from his AMMV armored command vehicle, peering out towards the Hudson from a rooftop, and seeing the fighting going on over in that direction, an idea hatched in his head.

"Get me Colonel Lawford;" he ordered to a radioman in the vehicle, who soon after handed him a phone.

"This is Cooktop. Go, sir." Colonel Lawford, the regimental commander of 20 RCT, responded to his superior over net. 10 RCT was the easternmost formation of 9 DA's line.

"I want you to rig the close end of the Cuomo bridge with detonation charges. Leaves those fuckers in Nyack one less out. Artillery will have the rest of the span pre-targeted if they decide to use it."

"We'll get it done, sir."

As the thousands of other men in 10 Regimental Combat Team established fighting positions along the approaches into White Plains, a platoon of engineers from 20 Battalion Mechanized Engineers- who had traveled with the main front of the formation- approached the descending end of the Cumo Bridge on foot, their vehicles parked behind them. Quietly and quickly, detonation charges were placed strategically over both spans of the bridges, four support columns in all. High explosives designed to crater the close end of the bridge and render entry from that bridge- the only way into Tarrytown across the Hudson- a dead end. The next closest bridge was dozens of miles north, closer to West Point. Should they choose to cross it, they would then have nowhere to go- while their forces were exposed on the bridge.

It was a textbook hammer-and-anvil maneuver. Until the First was forced to cross, 9 Division Armored sat, placing their tanks in the best locations possible- though the woods and relatively flat terrains limited their sightlines, the employment of hills, houses, and inclines wherever possible to present as little as possible of their silhouettes to approaching forces. The Conqueror's designs allowed the tanks to be in a turret-down position, exposing only a targeting periscope to sight the enemy. Overhead, recon drones from the company to the divisional levels covered the approaches from the air. And further north, another force operated.

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 9 Division Armored
60 Regiment Aviation, 29 Squadron Aviation Reconnaissance
Single-ship H66M Krait, callsign "Honeybee 2-3"
-
Upstate New York near Katonah, New York, NYC- 0851H

Operating low and fast in an arc over the Hudson valley was a set of eight H66M Krait reconnaissance helicopters. Named for the snake, their crews more affectionately called them "Mustangs"- these helicopters were the fastest and most maneuverable out of the Army's inventory of helicopters. Designed with reduced RCS in mind, it carried a limited armament- two LCAM missiles in an aerodynamic/radar-reducing box, and two boxes of two pylon-attached ATADS. Both were capable of engaging air and land targets, though the latter was optimized for planes and the former for tanks. Inboard of the LCAM boxes were small fuel pods.

Tanks were exactly what they were out on the lookout for. These helicopters were from 9 Division Armored's aviation regiment. Their attack helicopters normally would be following right behind them, allowing them to operate in hunter-killer teams with the Krait's superior ground search abilities and the Adder's superior firepower. However, their helicopters were not in country yet, and the recon helicopters were all that were in place of 9 DA's aviation capacity beyond a small group of utility helicopters that were slated for utility runs and CASEVACs. Their striking power would come from the flights that were warmed on the tarmacs on New York and the flight decks of Marin Bay and Baymark, who now sat south of Long Island. Once they launched from these positions, it would take less than fifteen minutes for aircraft to launch and get in range for strikes on targets.

Honeybee 2-3 was one of these Kraits peering out over the valley landscape. The electro-optical turret on their roof swiveled to gaze out, the radar trying to make sense of a tank between the ground clutter and doing little to that avail. The copilot switched it off.

"We've been panning this area for half an hour. The drones are saying there's no major movement. Ho-hold on, I've got something." The copilot slewed his targeting system as he picked up one of the hunter groups, a set of 3 Abrams tanks, travelling down the road. There was a second, just under a mile behind it, of two and an infantry fighting vehicle. "I've got two groups of three, moving south down 684."

"ROE says to limit engagements unless we can get away with them. We'd be using pretty much everything but two of the ATADS if we shot now."

"Yes, but their combat aviation is said to be nonexistant. I don't think we'll get much better of a chance than this."

The pilot paused.

"..Clear of any other of his friends?"

"Roger that."

"Kill 'em."

The rear group of three would be engaged first, with a single missile allocated per target. The laser-guided munitions aboard the Krait would only flash on to the targets at the final second, offering them little time to react- if their vehicles were equipped with laser warning systems. The ATADs, with their three smaller warheads, were sent towards the two IFVs, a single LCAM was allocated towards the lead Abrams. The remainder of the LCAMs were rippled off in a salvo to engage the lead group of three Abrams, shot so as to impact within seconds of each other. Well out of range of the convoy's counterfire, they would hit the treetops as soon as the missiles hit and scurry away, only to find another target to track and report.

The Kraits would employ similar ambush tactics to these groups, but wouldn't be able to offer the overwhelming coordinated firepower that was planned to eviscerate them. The ILA's plan of dispersion temporarily blunted and delayed the launch of Meridonian jet fighters to ravage them- a prudent move. But this piecemeal arrival had its own drawbacks to deal with, too- they would find a rude awakening when their lead elements made contact with 9 Division Armored in White Plains, of whose presence the Incelastani armored formations moving south were yet unaware of.

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Navy, 31 Surface Action Group [31 SAG]
2 Naval Helicopter Group [2 NAVHELGRU], 53 Naval Antisubmarine Helicopter Squadron [53 NAHS]
Single-ship H50M5 Seahawk, callsign "Stoic 1"
-
Off the coast of Bath, Maine- 2021H EST

With the JCTG taking position south of Long Island to better support pushes from New York to Providence, 31 Surface Action Group's major combatants had spread out over the rest of the New England coastline to provide coverage. They were supplemented by a singular rotational S2M Herald AEWC flight, and had maritime surveillance patrols from their helicopters assisted by patrol aircraft launching from airbases leased in Canada.

The Wind's Prize had been detected, identified, and classified over 48 hours ago. Commodore Lewis had considered authorizing a VBSS operation on the vessel, or simply engaging it with antiship missiles, or requesting a strike flight from the JCTG to swing north and obliterate it. She had, tenatively, decided against it, and instead contented herself with keeping a close eye on the vessel and its trailers.

Still, the Meridonians had little interest in toying with them. There were no five-hundred feet flybys, instead the ship was carefully watched. On occasion, the crew might spot in the distance the shape of a Helena or Otapara-class destroyer shadowing it from miles away, but never making radio contact. The SAG had already established 'yellow' and 'red' lines for the vessel- the first to make radio contact and warning, the second would be to sink it. A four-ship flight was kept ready on Marin Bay to sortie on short notice to do just that. Much more work than some thought it was worth- but the Meridonians didn't know that this vessel didn't have backers. It knew from its registration it was a pirate vessel, and were it in Meridonian waters it would have been thousands of feet beneath the waves by now. Here in wild country, however, caution was key.

Much more constant than the appearance of a Meridonian warship on the horizon was the occasionally close flights of destroyer-launched helicopters. Its radar would occasionally ping the vessel, and it would sometimes close to a distance that would allow visual identification. Remaining just beyond the effective range of deck guns, crew-served weaponry and potential point defense systems, its presence was a floating eyeball in the sky, constantly watching the vessel.

As it closed to the New England coastline to hold position, however, the helicopter flights stopped. In the distance now instead, just at the limit of where visual sightlines allowed, sat a Meridonian destroyer of the Otapara class. It would remain there, watchful of the pirates- but it did not hail, and it did not shoot- nor would it approach any further. It was only close enough for its onboard sensors and cameras to get a good look at it, and that was it.

by **Sombreland** » Fri Apr 28, 2023 1:09 pm

Royal Sombreland, Royal Sombreland Expeditionary Force, Open Ocean

Vice-Admiral Althus Dargon, Royal Sombreland Navy, leaned back in his leather chair and took off his reading glasses. He rubbed his hand slowly over his eyes, then smoothed back graying hair. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bridge window. It looked sagging, with an almost startled worry, the face of an aging banker…and he was immediately shocked.

He sat up instantly, throwing back his shoulders, enraged at himself. What was he mooning about? He was in command; he had commanded such an expedition before, he had been recommended by the Grand Admiral himself, the Minister of Death had been pleased to receive the recommendation. He must uphold the hopes and expeditions, the men looked to him as their prime example. Behind him stood ten generations of warriors who had taken to the seas on behalf of the Kingdom. Every man: pilot, ship crew, Marine, looked to him for leadership. Even the senior officers did.

Yet, after 23 years, a man grew tired at times. A man had a heart, hadn’t he? Joking apart…hadn’t he? He had had to fight complacency, laziness, enemies…a man could be forgiven for getting tired sometimes.

He got up from his chair and left his quarters, moving along a companionway and acknowledging the salutes of officers he ran into, heading up to the tower and to the observation deck. One of his staff, the intelligence officer, the handsome, suave Count Byren, was there with sunglasses on, a set of observation glasses up, when he arrived, and snapped, “Admiral on deck,” as he spun to salute.

“Good morning, sir,” said the Flag Captain, Captain Gohan. Gohan was a bull-dog of a man. Heavy shoulders, heavy head, but narrow hips and waist. Gohan liked to smoke a pipe, and at times did so on the observation deck. The faintly rank smell rose around the man, but Gohan had removed it from his mouth..

“Ah, Gohan. Good morning! What have you been up to?” Dargon asked him.

“Administrative matters, sir.”

“We need a training schedule. I realize we left in great haste, and much has had to be done, but we need to make sure of readiness. I want signal drills, combat drills, communication drills and general quarters drills.” said Dargon. “Mister Byren?”

“Admiral?”

“How soon until Farifey catches up with us?” he asked. Farifey was the frigate that had gone over the shoal; it had lagged aft of the Expedition.

“According to her last position report, late tonight, sir.” replied the young Intelligence Officer smoothly.

“He has a new command,” said Admiral Dargon. He forced his natural sympathy down. Cursed with it all his life. Deep down, secretly, he had a hatred for himself about his sentimentality and gentle spirit that seemed to naturally occur to him. He had the spirit of his mother in him, somehow. His throat choked up when he saw weakness in others. The young commander’s nervousness, which had been confessed to him, privately, had made him want to actually embrace the man and whisper kindnesses to him. After 23 years. He kept his face a mask, kept his mouth a thin, hard line, his eyes distant. “Nevertheless: he must do his very best to catch up. Make a note of who his Number Two is, Lieutenant, and I want the profile on my desk. If he does not catch up by late afternoon instead…”

“Admiral, the training you want to cover will cut into maintenance time. It is our sacred duty to make sure that the ships are in good working order, a sacred trust…”

“I am aware. More than any of you, for it ultimately rests with me,” said Dargon. Normal maintenance must go on. We must not find that support of a landing operation fails because of failing pumps or power plants, obviously. Where training exercises would interfere with vital maintenance, vital maintenance must take priority. However, gentlemen,” he waited until all the officers and chiefs on the observation deck were listening, “When battle comes upon us, we will have to make hard choices.”

He nodded, received their salutes as he departed, and went on to the Command and Information Center of the Royal Sombreland. Etiquette was different; people were not to move from their stations, and the Captain of the Ship, Owal, or whoever was Officer of the Day was to be the only one to stand and greet him. Other men remained at their stations. This area was made up of multi-function consoles capable of displaying functions such as sensor references, electronic chart display and information systems as well as their designated purpose; should a console be damaged, a neighboring console could access the previous console’s functions and perform them to a limited degree until a new console could be fitted. Replacement consoles were stored on-board, up to ten of them, and could be installed on hardpoints where former consoles stood or in new hardpoint positions. He had a recurring nightmare, sent by hostile night spirits, spirits of the sea that mocked proud Man for daring to be away from his element, in the wild space where wild spirits that took no man into consideration. As his ancestors had done, he went out in defiance, to challenge them in the name of Sombreland. The nightmare came for him, with flames from electrical fires, smoke taking breath away, men fumbling for breathing masks, all sight hazy and shadowy, stumbling, screaming, dying, as they fought desperately to keep stations and receive information. Glimpses and brief snatches of hearing reports of missiles and torpedoes streaming in…

Another very important part of the command was the Flight Operations Command. Commander Sarzen, the Flight Operations Commander, stood there talking with Prince Jusus, the Royal Marine Division commander. For flight deck tracking and operations, the Royal Sombreland had two large tables mounted to hardpoints like consoles. Labeled the STDS, or Smart Table Display Systems, STDS' are similar multi-function display units that are used to track aircraft on the flight deck; they displayed a model of the ship, aircraft positions with their information, and track what equipment and supplies are on deck - they could be interfaced with using both controls and the screen (the entire surface was touch enabled). A second table was used for physical pieces that represent the same information; physical representations are used in case of digital failures, although the table could be used for other purposes and the digital aspects as the other table.

His Aide-de-Camp caught up with him and offered to take him to one of the plotting tables. Lieutenant Agonau looked tired; he had been on night watch. Admiral Dargon remarked, “You look tired, my dear boy. You must get more rest.”

“Yes, sir,” said Agonau. “We have been working on the general operational orders for landing, and I have the chart planning here. Of course, we have not yet been advised by our allies where precisely we would be landing, so…”

“I am aware of the constraints you have been working under, Lieutenant,” said Dargon. He regarded the young man as almost like a son. Five children, all daughters. He shook off his tendency towards melancholy. “What is this dotted line?”

Agonau peered down, and Dargon felt a wave of affection.The young man did not answer off the top of his head, he examined things and thought first where time permitted.

“That is the separation between Red and Blue beaches, sir.” said Agonau.

“Why is it there?” asked Dargon.

“When the first and second waves go in, the boats will tend to bunch up. This keeps them separated so they hit their assigned points together.”

“I’m aware,” said Dargon. “What I mean is: why is it here?”

“Yes sir: there is a straight line of bearing on the point of land we were using as a reference. We could use, in such an eventuality, a radar beacon, but the boat and LCAC radar are bit unreliable as they could be. This way the coxswains can steer by it without getting mixed up.”

“‘And why are we attacking at dawn?” asked Dargon.

“It is the standard time, sir, and there are inevitable, unexpected delays that lead to it actually being a morning attack,” said Agonau.

“Precisely,” said Dargon, folding his arms and staring at the chart. “What about attacking earlier?”

“I was talking with Prince Jusus, and he said that if there was a dug-in defending force, and they knew we were coming in, the enemy might be ready. He observed that the reason for striking at dawn is to make it more difficult for the enemy to aim, and they are less alert. And organizing the force is more difficult in the pitch dark.” Agonau said.

“Where are the air and fleet attack support elements?” asked Dargon.

“We will work on that next, sir.” replied Agonau.

“Very good,” said Dargon. “Very good.”

He knew, secretly, that he was a weak man. A fraud. The blood of his warrior ancestors did not run in him. He could only do clever tricks, using technical skills and the abilities of others. He was sentimental, moody, and he even got sea-sick on the first days of a deployment and could barely eat. He had, for some strange reason, people who placed confidence in him. No one seemed to know, and to his dismay, success in Gyzantia had resulted in great admiral, and promotion. Even though it had been the result of a series of happy coincidences. And here, as well, he was not suited; he lacked faith in the guiding harmony. He dared never confess it though, or his family would be dishonoured. He was a fraud.

With a few good officers, though, like Agonau, the good of Sombreland could be carried out. He would do his duty.

by **Incelastan** » Sat Apr 29, 2023 8:12 am

Yonkers, New York

There was a lot of fighting especially in Getty Square, the civic business hub of Yonkers, particularly given what a prize piece of real estate it was that the Marine garrison was loathe to give up, and more to the point, General Lanier was loathe to relinquish. The new district commissioner, a local named Oscar Pierson, was based out of that downtown area that was now highly contested, and he was naturally anxious to avoid capture by the enemy. He was a collaborator, after all, and he had been quick to benefit from the new regime's peculiar policies and laws. He had also been quick to loot the local treasury, of course. There was really no one willing to stop him. General Lanier didn't care what the district commissioner did as long as he took the administrative burdens off himself and let him focus on the war, preparations, drilling, etc.

While this wasn't as easy of a gig as it usually was for an occupying power, due to sourness and bitterness among the female half of the population at their sudden oppression by the new regime, there was still plenty of action of that sort. People were always going to be people, ideology aside. It had been one of the easiest occupation duties enjoyed by the Incel Liberation Forces, but not anymore. They were being pounded from air and ground alike, by bombs, shells, rockets, grenades, sniper fire, and machine gun fire. They gave back as good as they got for now, but they didn't have the advantage of the same kind of forward observation, by drone no less! That put Lanier's Marines at a particular disadvantage, of course. They couldn't see that far ahead by comparison or have as good of range.

Slowly, desperately, yet fiercely resisting it at every turn, Lanier and his Marines were pushed back from Getty Square, the heart of the city. They fought this expulsion tooth and nail, but they didn't have the numbers or gear or technology as advanced, and they were engulfed by their more numerous and more heavily armed foe. They were forced to form a new perimeter, just outside of Getty Square for now. Lanier aptly named this the Trump Line, after a certain former President, his own favorite. It was still an odd choice, given that the Presidency was a defunct institution and office from the now defunct Government of the United States. Pierson, of course, desperately tried to get out of there in time, but was caught by civilians, many of them women, but plenty of men, too. They weren't stupid enough to lynch him in front of the liberating forces, as they saw them. They just put him in jail to await his rather bleak future. He wasn't too lightly handled, though. A bunch of former cops resumed their duties with little fanfare, and City Hall was quickly filled by an interim administration composed of an acting mayor and council handpicked on the spot. These civilians did their best to stay out of the way of the Meridonian troops, though.

They didn't control most of the city, though. Lanier did, and without a puppet commissioner to rely upon, he was forced to find more collaborators to help him keep their neighbors in line. He wasn't going to waste men and munitions on population control or whatever. He was much more focused on trying to keep from being expelled from the city altogether. He wanted to contain the enemy forces, but it was exceedingly tough, the more he got hammered both by air and by ground. He had been pretty badly mauled, despite the heavy use of MANPADs, as the enemy air forces seemed to fly a bit higher and out of range. It was a nasty business indeed. He lost about ten percent casualties already, not an insignificant butcher's bill, both killed, wounded, and in some rare, but steadily increasing numbers...captured. Where trapped, in spite of stern orders to the contrary, pockets of Lanier's First Marine Division gave up...surrendered to the foe. It was unthinkable just a week ago, but here it was.

Lanier, for his part, began enforcing tougher discipline to crack down on any cases of defeatism or low morale. Deserters were shot, no questions or excuses allowed. Court-martials were very short. Irregulars or civilians who in any way assisted the enemy or harassed his men were shot without even the pretense of trials. Between such reprisals and the reprisals for said reprisals, of course, things quickly got out of hand in some quarters. As if that wasn't bad enough, at every point of retreat or withdrawal, the enemy continued to harass them by air and artillery bombardment. They fought hard in the growing piles of rubble, too, as buildings were demolished by the variety of bombing and shelling. Fires burned everywhere, smoke filled the air, and slowly, painfully, Lanier pulled back, twice in fact. He formed a new line that he called the Bannon Line. It extended all along the areas lost to the foe, attempting to hold ground while shelling the foe and harassing him with small raids....and trying to ambush him, mow him down with machine gun fire, hurl grenades at him, and snipe at him in any case.

For the civilians in Getty Square, though, the "enemy" was anything but...they were liberators, and they were welcomed as such. They didn't seek to get in their way, though they probably did by accident at times, but they went out of their way to greet these troops as heroes. After all, this wasn't Incelastan...this was Yonkers, New York. Lanier and his men were the invaders, the occupiers, not the Meridonians, even if the former had not that long ago been fellow Americans. America, what an abstract, intangible concept, yet it had been real for most of their lives, and they only now grasped what they had lost. Oh, for those days when they had the luxury to be silly, stupid, frivolous, and naïve. They would never be that way again. Certainly not that shallow...but that improvement of character had a hefty price tag indeed.

Lanier waited in Hudson and Ludlow Park...in Van Cortlandt Crest and Riverdale. He lay in wait and did his level best to fight back against the Meridonians while holding the Bannon Line. He had been forced to pull back twice now....and he would do his best not to have to do so again. Even so, he fought a losing battle...and he knew it. The war was lost...deep down, in his very bones, Lanier knew this fact, but he was resolved to take as many of the foe with him as he could. He wouldn't give up without a fight. He would give the enemy only a Pyrrhic victory if it was up to him.

Providence, Rhode Island

Stout was in deep shit and he knew it now. The district commissioner had fled, coward that he was, some local bigwig who hadn't wanted to lose everything when the new regime took command. The Directorate hadn't trusted him, nor had King Ray, but he had dutifully carried out all of their whims and directives, even to the point of mowing down civilian demonstrators in the infamous "Providence Massacre" that was fresh on many minds. Only a fraction of the population had participated in that business and they were the most hard-core and loyal troops in the city, about two hundred SSP troops mostly. They weren't Stout's problem, not as long as they stayed out of his way. The trouble was that the civilians began rioting and striking as soon as they realized that invaders were nearby and that the head man was gone. The SSP didn't have enough men to contain them this time...and so they wanted Stout to send some Militia to help them out. Were they insane? He didn't have enough Militia to fight the Commonwealth and Meridonian soldiers attacking his garrison as it was. He certainly didn't have live ammo to waste on committing atrocities. He wasn't a policeman. He was a soldier. Some Militia had assisted the SSP in the past, sure, but that was before they were invaded. Before Stout took command, at any rate. Stout had bigger fish to fry. He certainly wasn't going to order them to shoot their grannies and uncles and whatever when they had foreign troops shooting at them.

Stout attempted to pull back to a defensive line, one that he named the Roger Williams Line, appealing to local sentiment. That the real Roger Williams would have been horrified at the Directorate and its policies would have been something best not mentioned at this time. Stout didn't care. He was a soldier nowadays, not a mortician as he used to be. He still worked with death, he thought morbidly. Gone were the days when he embalmed people's fathers, mothers, spouses, etc. and prepared them for their wakes and memorial services in his funeral home. Gone were the days when he contacted priests, parsons, chaplains, rabbis, etc. for funeral services. Gone were the days of deciding between open and closed caskets, arranging cremations, helping clients select urns for ashes, and choosing floral arrangements. That was once thought a grim, unpleasant duty, but a labor of love nonetheless, and one that paid the bills.

Now Stout ordered bodies shoved into body bags even as he commanded men to hold positions where they would be shot, bombed, shelled, mowed down. He ignored what happened among the civilians behind him. He focused on the war in front of him, fighting desperate delaying actions that led him to withdraw first from South Elmwood, then the Reservoir, and then Silver Lake, to a new defensive line concentrating in Hartford, Olney, West End and Elmwood. He called this the Brand New Line, mostly due to the rush and his present lack of imagination. He ignored the riots in Washington Park and Mount Hope, of course. The ones directly in his rear were tougher to ignore, but he did his best. SSP atrocities only inflamed the population further, but Stout refused to help either side. The city was rudderless, but he refused to take command of it. It wasn't any of his business. He was a soldier committed to defending his home, not worrying about the politics. He had signed up to defend his hometown, at least as he saw it. He saw war coming and wanted to defend against things like brutalizing, raping, plundering foreign troops who might harm his neighbors. He was stern and strict, only because he was the commander of the bulwark, the only defense against foreign troops who might harm the people. He wasn't about to abuse the civilian populace himself.

Even so...he knew that the cause was ultimately lost. He just wanted to try to protect the people as well as he could. That was his job. Nothing else. If anyone directed him to do anything else, well, to be perfectly frank, they could go to Hell. Stout was struggling to keep his outmanned, outgunned, outmaneuvered, continually battered and hassled Militia together as it was. He already lost about six hundred troops or so to death, injury, desertions (despite frequent executions of deserters), and worse...surrenders. He had about thirty-four hundred troops now, fighting desperately to hang onto their new perimeter eve now. It was a battle of life and death, and he was dogged in his determination not to quit just yet. So, even as the city descended into chaos around and behind Stout, he stayed out of that mess and refused to play cop. As far as he was concerned, that was the job of police and only a fool would purge law enforcement. If they returned to their jobs tomorrow, he wouldn't mind at all. It would be less of a worry for him and his. He was there to fight foreign military forces....nothing else.

"Keep firing those guns, using LAWs, rifle grenades, RPGs, mortars, MANPADs, whatever we have left, boys....keep sniping...don't you dare give up the fight! If you do, I'll kill you myself!" Stout continued to try to push back the foe.

Perhaps it was his Masonic roots, but he was very community-oriented, and that was why he had volunteered. He hadn't been to lodge lately, as the Freemasons were banned these days, along with many other such organizations of civil society. Even so, he firmly refused to follow orders that he considered immoral and he personally stopped any Militia from being bullied into partaking in atrocities. He also particularly still helped brother Masons whenever they needed it, whenever they showed him the proper signs. He had been named after Hiram Abiff, after all.

Nyack-White Plains, New York

The defense of Nyack had gotten pretty hairy for the defenders of Nyack, who found the coalition forces to be more trouble than they could handle that handle that easily. The residents of Nyack had a bad habit of passing information to the enemy, too, which didn't help matters, to put it politely. Hatch ordered any spies shot, of course, but that only motivated their friends and family to want to avenge them. He tightened curfew on women in the new female hostels, of course, but that didn't stop plenty of guards, at least the less zealous ones. There were plenty of troops who were in the Army who were either just old Regulars or National Guard or Reserve troops and didn't necessarily share all aspects of the hardcore Incel/Masculist philosophy that taught men to keep women at arm's length and not be so easily manipulated. Bribes were bound to be offered and accepted, particularly when it was easier said than done. Sure, plenty of zealots were likely to take the offers and then renege, which was the usual attitude of the militant incel types, but not every man was made of sterner stuff like that.

Bit by bit, particularly as Commonwealth troops began entering the fray and were obviously more local than his own, Hatch had to worry about not only being overpowered and overwhelmed, but also dealing with growing numbers of eager civilians who saw "deliverance" at hand. Sure, the numbers of incidents with Commonwealth soldiers from the 4th and 5th Divisions were limited, but they were inevitable, even as Wayne prepared to move east to cover Joseon's right flank. He did his best to batter and maul them as they moved past him, but he had his hands full with so many thousands of coalition troops hammering him constantly both in the air and on the ground. Their armor, artillery, bombs, and missiles were no joke, after all. Nyack was but a village, after all, and there weren't that many places to hide, duck, and cover to ambush and snipe at the foe. The detonations of the bridges were reported to him, too, much to his considerable anxiety, exacerbating what was obviously an ulcer. Orders and reassurances from Generals Van Cleef and Wiest were only so good, especially as Wiest proved to have plenty of troubles of his own.

Regrettably, Hatch came to the conclusion that Nyack wasn't defensible at all, but he was now encircled by the foe. He began desperately trying to break out, pushing back toward Orangetown proper and Clarkstown instead for better defenses. Hatch was determined to break out of Nyack toward these new defensive positions, seeking to have a stronger perimeter. He figured to break out and seize Orangetown and Clarkstown instead of worrying about this hamlet that had proven much harder to defend, especially with the locals against him. Bigger towns might make for better odds, he thought. More places to hide in larger communities, if nothing else. He ordered the 3rd Brigade to cover and divert for the rest of them to attempt the breakout themselves, a punishment for having the worst record of accepting bribes, after all. Even so, 3rd Brigade did its job with the usual gallows humor and surprisingly good spirits, perhaps because so many of them had recently been laid. Yeah, thought Hatch with grim irritation, that would explain it, but at least their morale was better and they fought as well as they could to cover the retreat of the remainder of the division. He tried not to think too much of the nine hundred men killed, wounded, captured or MIA in the brief, but bloody Battle of Nyack.

As for Wiest, well, he indeed had bigger fish to fry. On paper, the hunter group concept killed....and in practice, it did, too, but in multiple ways, not all of them good. Sure, it seemed to reduce his exposure to enemy air attacks, but he found communications and co-ordination a lot tougher with ever widening gaps between his vaunted "wolf packs" of M1-Abrams tanks. Far too many of his units were chewed up and easily cut off from the larger formation, making them high-risk candidates for encirclement and annihilation. On the plus side, it made a tougher target for enemy armor and artillery to attack, of course. That proved useful as it became clear that the enemy tanks were given to especially long-range guns mounted on them. Their armor was more than a little intimidating, but he did his best to try to work around that fact and approach them when possible from the sides. They should be more vulnerable there, right? Wiest certainly would give it the old college try. It didn't change the fact that he was literally outgunned and he knew it, tactics besides notwithstanding.

"God damn them, why must they have so much better tanks than us?" Wiest cursed aloud, something that would have earned him a sharp scolding as a boy back in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, in the Amish Country there.

Well, he wasn't being scolded or switched right now, but he damn sure felt as if the Meridonians especially were taking him and his armored division to the woodshed. Logistically, he was in real trouble and he was realistic enough to accept that fact. He just had to fight hard for what he believed and hope for good luck. He didn't dare to pray. God and he hadn't been on speaking terms since he didn't return from Rumspringa as a lad. Well, I chose my life and I stand by it, come Hell or high water. I'm a soldier and I will die fighting if necessary. I didn't get this far by quitting. This is real war and I've seen it before. I'm no coward and I won't start to be one now.

by **Legatia** » Sat Apr 29, 2023 6:11 pm

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 16 Division Infantry
26 Regimental Combat Team Mechanized (26 RGMI RCT), 11 Battalion Mechanized Infantry
2 Squad, 1 Platoon, A Company
-
Yonkers, New York, NYC - 0751H EST

Progress was slow and steady. With the city out of limits to low-flying aviation such as helicopters, with the extreme prevalence of MANPADs, the bulk of the air-to-ground work had to be done by aircraft. They, however, had little problem doing it. Untouchable by shoulder-mounted weaponry, utilizing highly precise missiles, bombs and rockets so as to avoid civilian casualties as much as possible, what remained of the ILA's armor, vehicles, and static positions were harassed relentlessly. The helicopters struck where they could, but played a conservative game.

This was likely the strongest resistance that Meridon would face, at least in the opening phase of the campaign. But the soldiers of 16 Division Infantry fought hard. Galvanized by the cheers of those they had came to wrest the chains off from, they did their best to keep them inside houses and behind the front line. This was a combat operation, not their parade through Paris. Some wondered if they would have such fanfare in Boston. But for now, their mind was on the fight.

With the enemy's specialist teams being kept at the forefront and infantry picking them off, it would soon whittle down to an infantryman's game. Not wanting to let their enemy rest, the Meridonian squads and platoons moved consistently and rapidly. While they wanted these men to surrender, to admit their game was up, the 'Paperboys' did not fly here. Those Wasps today were armed with lethal messages to a vaunted regime.

And so, the Army fought.

-
The mechanical whine of a personnel carrier rumbled past 2 Squad as they advanced alongside it into a small strip of grass known as Grant Park. Already it was being used as a consolidation and casualty collection point. Meridonian casualties, while nowhere near the level they were inflicting, were rising. Men were carried behind them, in stretchers, fireman carries, and over shoulders to where they would be cared for, and if needed, shipped back south. A few blocks south in a track field was a medevac landing site, where Air Force helicopters from Rescue Wing 136 were shuttling them back to hospitals in New York, both military and civilian. There was no tally, as of yet, but the rumor mill said it was in the hundreds.

Lance Corporal Smith paused as they saw a figure he was familiar with. The youthful face of his commanding officer, Lieutenant Davids. Twenty one years old, four years his junior. An Academy graduate, destined for a career in service. Now he was still, caked in blood leaking from his right armpit.

"..Is he...?"

"Dead." One of the men carrying him shook his head. Gone. It had only been hours earlier that he had been briefing them, the members of 1 Platoon getting a laugh out of his jitters. He had been promoted only two months before deploying. He had a girlfriend back home, and he had plans of proposing to her when he came back 'as a war hero'.

Coming back as a body wasn't in his calculus.

Smith and his 3 men stood to the side as he was carried, and let their rifles fall into their left hands. Their right, slowly, raised in salute, as he was laid on the ground and taken by another pair of soldiers, who stripped him of his plate carrier and his helmet.

His face disappeared behind the black zippered bag.

Meridon Defense Forces
Regiment Marines Commando- 2 Marine Amphibious Regiment
17 Commando Task Unit (17 CTU), 17 Battalion Marine Commando
-
Seekonk, Providence, RI- 0901H EST

The marines had made excellent time to Seekonk, covering the 5 miles on foot in just under two hours. The Marine forces had been split into two forces, both of about three companies- two and one from either Commando Task Unit, respectively. The first group to land in Barrington was 2 rifle companies from 17, and one from 2- the second, occupying the highway stretch from I-195 in Seekonk to the Providence River, was the opposite- two companies from 20, and the third and final from 20.

Courtemanche, leading the first group to land, had finished combat operations with the scattered and disorganized militiamen south of Barrington before moving north to regroup with the forces in Seekonk. His initial indication that the majority of their forces would be in the areas to their south had proven incorrect, but this simply meant the original operational plan would have to be followed. The Marines here did not have the facilities nor the capacity to rapidly offload ground vehicles- they worked best as light infantry, anyways. Much of the combat prowess of their vehicles would be negated in urban terrain, regardless.

The two Commando Task Units linked hands in a commercial complex along the highway southeast of East Providence. Contact here was lighter than was expected.. good tidings. They had the lighter end of the job, seeing as they had less ground to cover, their advances limited to the eastern side of the Providence River. Their bojectives were Darlington and Pawtucket, dense suburban areas, to serve as the northeastern anchor once Providence was taken.

Much of the fighting, as expected, was in greater Providence itself, off on the west bank. The Marines, reforming as two battalions of infantry, would press on.

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 9 Division Armored
10 Regimental Combat Team Armored (10 RA RCT), 4 Battalion Armored
-
White Plains, New York, NYC- 0935H EST

"Contact, MBT, in the open!"
"Gunner, SABOT, tank! One-one-five, twelve thousand!"
"Identified!"
The Conqueror's autoloader shuddered as a 120mm APFSDS shell was driven forward into the breech. The gun status panel flashed green.
"Up!"
"On the way!"

The tank, dozens of tons of armor and steel, shuddered as the round was launched from the barrel towards its target, a steel dart angling for the side of a turning Abrams tank. These tanks were fairly modern- not as new as the Conquerors, who had barely left the factory as initial production variants, but enough so to put up a decent fight. The SABOT shell penetrated a track, sending it off and sending the tank into an uncontrolled turn in which it stopped at a perfect side-on angle.

"Tracked him! Gunner, SABOT, tank, same-same!"
"Identified!"
"Up!"
"Fire!"
"On the way!"

Another blast, a puff of smoke, and the same steel dart punched through the side of the Abrams, showering the crew within with molten-hot shards of steel as smoke spewed from the hatches of the vehicle. The ammunition hadn't been hit, but the crew had certainly been engaged.

"Repeat!"
"Up!"
"On the way!"

A third round penetrated the ammunition bustle at the rear on the cooperative target. The Abram's in-built blowout panels might save the crew, but the tank itself erupted in a plume of fire as its ammunition stores were set alight. As hatches popped open, the RCWS station housing a 50 caliber machine gun engaged, peppering the emerging crew to put them out of their misery.

"One kill. Good work." The gunner uncapped a sharpie from his rigging and added a second "T" mark to the breech of the cannon. Two kills today, both main battle tanks.

While the ILA's tactic of pushing their units in small groups staved off the coordinated air attack that was tying up a non-insignificant amount of Meridonian air power, throwing them piecemeal , however, led them into a line of dug-in Meridonian tanks, superior in number, position, technology and intelligence. Not a single fighting vehicle on the Meridonian side had been damaged beyond glancing hits as coordinated fires not only from the tanks but from anti-tank teams mounted on buildings and mortar teams dispersed in the suburbs of White Plains took their toll on the piecemeal forces too.

Many of the Meridonian tankers were complaining, especially those junior among them, having expected a full-force armored counterattack and all of the excitement that had came with it. This sort of combat was only marginally more difficult than gunnery tables for qualification back home, the addition of a responsive target and the reduction of sightlines being the only complicating factor. Their lines were untouched, and for now they held.

by **Sombreland** » Sun Apr 30, 2023 12:20 am

The Gray Palace, Galador, Sombreland

It was a warm afternoon, but the shadows of the Palace rested on the terrace that was along the western wall of the palace. The terrace was a cool, calm place, paved with flagstones of red green slightly rough stones, and with flower pots and tree groves planted here and there to slow winds and provide pleasant scents and more shade. On the outer edge of the terrace were bushes of arbor vitae planted in a row. Benches of green smooth stone lay along the wall of the terrace, and they had embroidered cushions on them.

There, the Princess-Regent, Alavaine, sat at ease with some of her ladies, eating cream wafers and a blueberry tart served by a pretty young lady of her court in dishes of pale gold for her morning meal. Her raven hair was gathered in deep folds upon her head and made fast by great silver pins, their heads set with diamonds so that they twinkled in the midnight of her hair like stars. Her gown was made of red sllk, with a knotted cord-work of black silk embroidery everywhere fixed with moonstones. The Princess-Regent was beautifully womanly, and graceful as an antelope. Daintily she ate the tart and wafers, sipping from a cup of amber, artificially carved, white wine kept cool in the great wine cellar below the Palace; and the Lady-Countess Carnelian, sitting at her feet, played on a seven-stringed lute, singing very sweetly this song:

No time hath she to sport and play:
A charmed web she weaves alway.
A curse is on her, if she stay
Her weaving, either night or day,
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be;
Therefore she weaveth steadily,
Therefore no other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.
Over the water, running near,
The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
Before her hangs a mirror clear,
Reflecting tower'd Camelot.
And as the mazy web she whirls,
She sees the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

“No more,” said the Princess-Regent, fondly to the Lady-Countess Carnelian; “Your voice is cracked this afternoon. I have much on my mind as well, of the Royal Expeditionary Force sent out recently, and of the evil whisperings of the Thonists, the endless delays of the refugee matters, and the troubles of our other crises. I had hoped music would take my mind off it…”

“Excuse me, Your Majestic Highness…a gentleman is approaching.” this was said by her young Captain of the Guard, a handsome officer of the First Cavalry Guards, who looked at the Princess-Regent as though under a spell.”

The Princess-Regent, Alavaine, replied, “It is the Minister of the Left, Prince Shaladew Kadav, who is also the Minister of Death. Let us hope he brings us good tidings.”

The Prince, Shaladew Kadav, came along sniffing at a rose that had been plucked from the garden, and he smiled upon the Princess-Regent and her ladies. “Majestic Highness,” he said. “Ladies.”

“Ah, Prince, shall you have some wine, or some wafers?” offered the Princess-Regent, Alavaine.

“I will gladly do so. I have recently come from a briefing, Majestic Highness, in which I was told that the Royal Sombreland Expeditionary Force has arrived near the waters of the lands of Incelstan.” He took a cup of wine and drank from it.

“There have been no mishaps? No losses?” asked the Princess-Regent, Alavaine, anxiously.

“There have not been, Majestic Highness. Apparently a frigate lagged behind due to coming up on a shoal..I believe. Perhaps it was struck by fish? I do not know.”

“How strange,” wondered the Princess-Regent, Alavaine. “I wonder where, exactly, they are now…”

Prince Shaladew Kadav produced a folded map, which he spread before the Princess-Regent, who leaned to look at it.

The Royal Sombreland Expeditionary Force, 500 NM off Long Island

There was a sound of wind, of moving air, the screaming of engines, the noise of the great metal flock ready to rise from flight decks throughout the fleet. Already, there were helicopters buzzing over the naval task force like giant bumblebees. From the bridge of the Royal Sombreland, helicopters were beginning their flight checks. The roar of their engines made Lieutenant Agonau, who was heading into the bridge, want to cover his ears. Several of the nearby aircraft had engaged transmissions, and their blades began to whip around, slowly at first, then faster until they looked like blurry disks. The smells of exhaust, kerosene and hot metal mingled with the wind that blew around the decks of the flagship-carrier.

Vice-Admiral Dargon did not seem to notice. Below him, around him, something massive was taking form. Leaning over the coaming, he swept his gaze along the coaming along the length of his flagship.

Men ran in the light of the morning among vibrating fuselages. Flight deck [personnel in comm helmets and colored vests bent to check chocks and unplug starter cables. Armourers rolled bomb dollies toward four streamlined attack helico[ters that were now adding their scream the the symphonic din that pounded along the deck, spilling out over the sea.

Dragon raised his glasses, and so did Agonau. Ahead of them, beyond four thousand yards of rushing sea, was the same frenzy of activity. The amphibious ships’ decks were busy with sailors. The gray specks in the farther distance were their escorts, lean and low, protecting the heart of the formation, flinging out moving nets of steel and data, radar waves and sonar over three thousand square miles of the sea.

by **The Great state of Joseon** » Sun Apr 30, 2023 1:17 am

North America
Yonkers

As feared, Joseon's troops faced strong resistance from the ILA. After quite a number of UGCVs were destroyed by anti-tank fire, Jeong Hae-rim, the commander of the Joseon’s military at the scene, decided without hesitation to change his tactics. She hated the Incelastan's discrimination against women and therefore wanted to put all her forces in at once and wipe them out at once, but she put up with it for fear of damage to friendly troops.

Instead, she introduced ILA to other toys. Sparrowhawk-100 drones were given to her troops to use in these situations.

Joseon soldiers slowed their advance and launched Sparrowhawk-100 drones. Drones flew between buildings looking for enemies, and as soon as they saw enemy snipers or anti-tank gunners, they rushed and turned enemies into pieces of meat.

Joseon's soldiers poured out most of their drone stocks to completely wipe out hidden enemies and capture the Yonkers. The drones can be re-supplied. But soldiers' lives cannot be refilled.

While drones were bothering the enemies, the Joseon army, with IFVs and unmanned ground combat vehicles, began to advance again. Rkpz 301 Hammerhead UGCVs spared no expense with expensive anti-tank missiles to remove one enemy sniper.

In the sky, the Joseon military changed its tactics. One AH-1Z helicopter was shot by enemy MANPADS and crashed. The helicopter crashed into the sea, and a naval ship was called to pick up the scene, but both pilots were confirmed dead.

And then the fighter jets came forward as solvers. 12 F-35B fighter jets dropped GBU-39 SDBs from high altitudes outside the MANPADS range. The GBU-39 SDB is a small precision-guided glide bomb. The explosive power of the bomb is small, but it is easy to destroy armoured vehicles.

GBU-39 SDBs were dropped at enemy vehicles hiding in every corner of the city. To neutralize the enemy's smoke bombs, F-35B fighters also used infrared equipment such as FLIR to locate their enemies.

Also, Joseon's artillery decided to respond directly to the enemy's artillery. There was still one battalion of K9 Self Propelled Howitzer left in New York, and they used the TPQ-74K Cheon-Gyong II Weapon Location Radar to locate the ILA's artillery.

The K9 Self-Propelled Howitzer began to send 155mm shells toward the ILA Artillery when K9s were ready. Several TOT shots followed, and the K9 Self Propelled Howitzer moved right after the shooting was over to prevent the enemy's counterattack, as per the textbook.

North America
White Plains

Captain Kim Han-min fired a 120mm main gun in the direction of the enemy tank when the engine of the friendly tank right next to it was shot by the enemy.

The concept of the enemy's hunter group was not a complete failure. Joseon military had to locate the enemy only with the equipment in the tank until the A13 Vanguard aircraft, which would support our troops, was in the air, and it was not easy to locate the enemies scattered here and there. The guns of Joseon's M35A2 Cataphract tanks had a long range and the K2 tanks had a very good frontal defense, but they were not perfect to defend against incoming enemies from the side.

So far, 3 M35A2 Cataphract tanks have been shot, damaged, or destroyed, and 5 K2 tanks have been lost. The tanks' APS was enough to stop the enemy's anti-tank weapons, but it didn't stop the M1 Abrams tanks' APFSDS.

Kim Han-min had no choice but to admit that the M1 Abrams tanks were excellent tanks. Anyway, within a distance of 3.5 kilometers, the tanks were deadly.

To prevent further damage, M35A2 Cataphract tanks desperately prevented enemy tanks from entering within a distance of 3.5 kilometers. K2 tanks turned their highly defensive front armour in the direction of the enemy and then attacked the enemy.

Again, it was the air force that came out as a troubleshooter. The remaining 20 F/A-38A fighters, except for the four that returned due to the depletion of their arms, dropped GBU-39 SDB bombs on all the enemies found. F/A-38A fighter jets bombarded the coordinates called by the A13 Vanguard aircraft.

Air Supremacy was an irreplaceable advantage. The enemy seemed to have no way to counter the F/A-38A fighters attacking from outside the MANPADS range.

North America
The skies over New York

"Sir, the enemies are moving out of Nyack. Most enemy vehicles are heading towards Orangetown and Clarkstown."

The radar controller reported to Sung Hanseok the location of the enemies indicated by the FMG 110 X band radar. Sung Hanseok was now commanding combat on the aircraft, and Adrian Quaritch delegated him control of air assets.

General Sung Hanseok

"Report the status of our aircraft currently on standby. Now."

"24 B-90A Condor bombers are fully armed and on standby at LaGuardia Airport." The radar controller reported to Sung Hanseok.

General Sung Hanseok

"Immediately take off the bombers. The enemy must be prevented from escaping. And tell the artillery where the enemy is and let them fire."

North America
Nyack

24 B-90A Condor bombers took off, each carrying 192 GBU-39 SDB bombs. The bombers flew toward the enemy's coordinates that the A13 Vanguard aircraft informed in real-time. Bombers dropped GBU-39 bombs at a high altitude that ILA's MANPADS could not climb. Each bomber dropped all 192 bombs, and a total of 4,608 bombs fell on the heads of ILA troops.

The role of bombers in modern warfare was largely replaced by multi-role fighters, and they were gradually pushed out. Nevertheless, there are clear roles and advantages that only bombers have.

Meanwhile, the 53rd Artillery Division, which was waiting behind the 3rd and 19th Infantry divisions, had all but one battalion in Manhattan ready to fire on Nyack. They opened fire on the coordinates sent by the A13 Vanguard aircraft. K9 Self-Propelled Howitzer and Cheon-Mu MLRS fired 155mm shells and 239mm rockets. Numerous shells and rockets covered the sky, and they poured into ILA forces trying to escape Nyack.

They were literally 'steel rain'.

At the same time, the 19th Infantry divisions quickly launched their maneuvers in the direction of Orangetown and Clarkstown, using APCs and armored trucks. They will block the retreat and wipe out the remaining ILA troops.

North America
Providence

After landing at Martha's Vineyard, Joseon's marines quickly disarmed the surrendered ILA forces and began fortifying the entire island. Marines quickly occupied Martha's Vineyard Airport on IFVs and informed the command.

The fleet responded quickly. Destroyers and frigates deployed air defense umbrellas throughout the island and radar scanned the entire coast and nearby waters. This was to prevent enemy infiltration.

Meanwhile, cruisers began shelling to support marines struggling to secure I-95 and US-1. Two Gibeolpo Class Cruisers fired 155 mm shells at ILA Militia's forces in Providence. The enemy's coordinates were provided by Marines. They carried out the battle while receiving CASs from AH-1Z helicopters despite the deaths and injuries.

by **Unoccupied New York** » Mon May 01, 2023 6:54 am

Providence, Rhode Island

Gutierrez found the latest developments very encouraging, to put it mildly, even as his troops entered the Silver Lake sector of Providence, Rhode Island, and now pushed into the Hartford sector. With the Militia evacuating, there was a noticeable lack of any kind of civilian resistance in the occupied/liberated areas as discovered by Gutierrez and his troops. The enemy had been clobbered from air and ground alike, and even had to abandon his plans to defend his coastal defenses. The Commonwealth couldn't take any credit for the aerial bombardment, but the artillery and mechanized infantry were very busy indeed, hammering Stout's forces now that they were present and whole. Oh, yeah, they took a decent number of casualties, especially not being as experienced or trained as the Meridonian or Joseonite forces, but they reckoned that they gave better than they got. Gutierrez saw plenty of evidence that the Militia was in a bind, unable to hold onto all of the territory that it had been tasked to defend. That would certainly explain his retreat from multiple neighborhoods at once.

Markowitz's plan had been extremely daring, risky, and even controversial, but the gamble had paid off so far. Gutierrez and his division were able to really pound the foe with their howitzers and mortars, their forward observers now moving into action to improve the accuracy of their barrage. The Commonwealth troops and their morale had taken a beating in being pushed out of most of New York, but now they paid that back in spades. Now they were the stronger, superior forces and the enemy increasingly seemed to be on the ropes, withdrawing at every turn to avoid being outflanked and encircled. Gutierrez deliberately kept up that worry, that fear, kept it upfront and center in the enemy's mind to the best of his ability. The willingness of the local population to accept the invasion without trying to sabotage or resist it in any meaningful way reinforced the reports and rumors that suggested that the Masculist regime had alienated many ordinary citizens. If so, its days were truly numbered.

For Powell, much of the same situation encountered him and his division as they pushed deeper into Providence, rushing toward the battered enemy lines in West End, after capturing the Reservoir neighborhood once it was evacuated. They didn't waste time worrying about the civic situation on the ground, any more than Gutierrez did. That could and would be resolved once the Militia was crushed. For now, the civilians needed to stay out of the way and let the Commonwealth forces do their job. If, as seemed quite probable these days, the people's sympathies were with the coalition instead of their own government, they could help best by relaying information, which some of them did, and otherwise keeping their heads down. The riots could only help in areas still under nominal Directorate control. They would only hamper the Commonwealth expeditionary force, just like the Meridonians and Joseonites.

For now, Powell relentlessly slammed the defenders with his own artillery and rushed into any gaps to expand the bulges in the enemy lines. Anything that could weaken and demoralize the foe was best from their perspective. Powell, like Gutierrez, hated having to destroy often landmark buildings in an old and venerable city like Providence, which dated back early in the colonial past, once a refuge of religious freedom founded by the prominent dissident Roger Williams after he fled Massachusetts Bay Colony. Even so, he had a job to do. His job was to help win the war, to help topple Masculist rule at every turn, whatever the cost. Davis and his goons had to be removed from power and New England given a fresh start, a clean slate after the regime change. Like Gutierrez, Powell made excellent use of forward observers by now to improve the accuracy of his munitions, thus maximizing his odds of wreaking havoc on the foe. His troops acted more professionally than ever, ruthlessly exploiting every opening under his capable command.

With the 6th and 7th Infantry Divisions of the Commonwealth Army now in the fray, Davis and Company had Governor Watson's and indeed New York's answer to their vicious invasion and brutal occupation of the Empire State at last. Men and women from places, many of them still occupied by the ILA, such as Rochester, Utica, Syracuse, and Rome now exacted their retribution upon their former fellow Americans for the cruel aggression and atrocities inflicted by the latter upon the former. They weren't properly there for vengeance, of course, but there was a certain grim satisfaction in returning the humiliation caused by the ILA in their past retreat from the mainland.

Nyack

Changes in the situation on the ground naturally required changes in tactics and strategy. Generals Wayne and Fisher, both well aware of the neat box in which the coalition forces had now placed their ILA adversaries, moved as relentlessly as possible to cover the northwestern end of town, cutting off that option for any kind of withdrawal or retreat. This option allowed them to still shield the coalition from any armored assault by Wiest, even as they shut the door on any kind of breakout by the ILA from their trap. They continually used their M198 howitzers and PGMM mortars to hurl fire and death at the enemy as they tried to evacuate Nyack, even as their IFVs and APCs poured into any gaps in the enemy lines. Their troops would fan out of the vehicles while said vehicles provided fire support for them on each enemy position. The foe was not going to go away from a single thrust, but every last push added pressure against them, making it tougher to resist the coalition assault.

If the enemy thought to escape the steel jaws of the coalition trap, the Commonwealth forces were determined to help their comrades close the trap tighter. This was their country, damn it, their state and they wanted it back. Wayne would hit the enemy' from one end, Fisher from the other, even as their coalition partners delivered death from both above and on the ground. Their forward observers noted the degree of dissatisfaction among the civilians in Nyack with their occupiers, of course, but most of all the most precise locations for targets so as not to hit too many civilian or soft targets. Even so, whenever it was necessary to destroy a location to flush out ILA soldiers, so be it. They wouldn't hesitate to act.

As Fisher observed to his XO, Colonel Miriam Goldberg, "We can't let them rest or recover, mentally or physically. We have to make them collapse from nervous exhaustion as well as injury and death. Don't ever let them escape or breathe. Suffocate them. Break them at last."

by **Incelastan** » Mon May 01, 2023 9:25 am

Providence, Rhode Island

Colonel Hiram Stout practically ripped the SSP commandant's head off this time when asked again for aid. He, Stout, was trying to defend the state capital (well, technically not anymore, as states no longer existed) of Rhode Island, Providence by name, his own hometown, from foreign invaders and he would not sacrifice that for any other goal! He wasn't fighting for Masculism, as the SSP seemed to assume. He was fighting for hearth and home, for kith and kin, for Rhode Island, damn it! He was hard pressed to hang onto what territory he still had, let alone sparing any kind of arms or manpower for more pointless mayhem and mass murder of civilians. Stout used a logistical argument, of course, but deep down, the atrocities made him sick to his stomach. Despite being underground about nowadays, Stout was a Freemason and Unitarian Universalist and held deep personal convictions about at least some moral values, civic virtues, patriotism, and sacred duties to his community. He had to defend the people from foreign armies that might engage in rape and plunder, maybe even wholesale slaughter themselves.

"By God, sir, I have a war to fight! You fight your battles. Let me fight mine! If you don't shut up about wanting more men and materiel, by Heaven, I swear that I'll shoot you myself! Leave. Me. Alone!" Stout shouted, even as he signed off on the latest orders to pull back even further.

Stout had no choice and he knew it. The territory that he controlled was shrinking, but even so, it had proven so far too large for his decimated Militia to keep it. He was forced now to evacuate, between the various coalition forces attacking him, retreating from Hartford in a delaying action back to Olneyville, from West End and Elmwood in a similar type of fighting retreat back to Federal Hill, and from Washington Park to Lower South Providence. Washington Park was just too exposed and at risk of being cut off by now. He had been hit pretty badly by enemy infantry and artillery, even worse by enemy airpower, and worse still, he had fewer and fewer MANPADs, anti-tank rockets, fewer howitzers and mortars, and precious few vehicles of any kind or fuel for them. He was stuck increasingly with half-trained light infantry, with which he had tried more than once to engage in sponge tactics and asymmetrical warfare, and whom mostly had their military baptism by fire in this very battle.

He just hoped that his force wouldn't disintegrate completely as he retreated yet again with his demoralized troops. He had lost another twelve hundred troops or so, between killed, captured, wounded, or MIA. He was at just above half of his previous strength, roughly twenty-two hundred men. Almost fifty percent casualties were pretty steep and he knew it. At this rate, he would soon not have any forces at all to command if things persisted as they were. He had lost not only manpower, but also critical gear, fuel and other supplies in some places. Worst of all, morale dipped even further. This was a vicious cycle and right now, Stout and his Militia were truly circling the drain.

After all, they were rapidly running out of neighborhoods. And the new Jacques De Molay Line (how did no one in the regime pick that one up?) wasn't looking too strong at all....

Nyack

"Good heavens, we're truly surrounded! What is happening to our breakout....where the devil is Wiest? We are being hammered here, everywhere, at every turn, in every possible place! I'm trying to break out of here with my division intact and I'm not getting any help at all, in the air or on the ground! I have to escape this goddamned trap here!" Hatch ranted as he prepared to inspect the forward positions of the bulk of the 1st Infantry Division.

"Everything is looking pretty damn ugly, that's for sure. 3rd Brigade is not diverting the foe enough, though they are getting mauled badly, too. I dare say that it's just that the enemy has so many more troops than we. They can attack us on multiple fronts without compromising any of their forces too much. Without Wiest, sir, we don't have nearly the maneuverability or power to truly dislodge them. Our only hope is to break out and evacuate to better ground, but, of course, they're determined to cut us off, or so it seems. It's a damn pickle, no doubt of that," the XO, Brigadier General William Edwards answered in his pronounced Boston Brahmin accent, very upper crust diction given the rather primitive conditions in which they found themselves.

"And their air attacks are really cutting us to pieces in many places here! We've lost about three thousand troops so far in killed, wounded, captured, or missing! We're down to nine thousand men or so now. Their numbers are growing, while ours are shrinking, and not a hint of Wiest's movements now. I don't think that he's coming. At least not in time and not intact. I fear that he has had some misfortune. Wiest ain't the sort to let a man down. He's been in war, just like me. He knows what it means to count on your comrades. He doesn't shirk. If he's delayed, it's not by choice. Which is really bad news for us, because it means that someone is actively stalling him or worse!" Hatch spat out some tobacco, a habit that he picked up years ago to help him quit smoking, but just as addictive.

Edwards always cringed at that, but didn't dare vocalize that part, as it would only betray his own effete origins as a member of the Boston elite. There were even rumors that he was descended from the famous Puritan minister and firebrand preacher Jonathan Edwards, and thus also related to Aaron Burr, the Vice President who famously shot and killed Alexander Hamilton in the infamous duel in 1804. He didn't bother to check himself, not being pious or anything or having much interest in clergy. Too him, they were all talk, all windbags, nothing more, the ultimate example of people who conned others for a living. All that he knew was that they were in a losing fight and it was more apparent by the hour to everyone. Morale was in free fall, but all that he and the others in the chain of command could do was enforce discipline and punish defeatism.

Open defeatism. They could only punish what was spoken, defeatist comments and such. Any concealed views of that nature were beyond their control. In any case, they had a job to do and their work cut out for them.

"Alright, peel off the 2nd Brigade and try for a breakout toward West Nyack instead. We'll see what they do about that! Don't stop the other attempts. Just be prepared to exploit wherever the opening happens. We have to try in multiple places until we find a weakness in their trap. We have dimmer prospects by the hour, but we also have nothing to lose by trying our luck! To do nothing is to passively accept the slow, gruesome death of this division, which will only help the enemy! Keep those MANPADs, snipers, ambushes, and vehicles active...and find enemy uniforms...put them on some of our troops...see if we can mix in among them and create confusion in their ranks. I want about a hundred men giving that a try, because frankly, we have nothing to lose, just as I said. We have to keep trying, after all," Hatch insisted upon some subterfuge now.

He just hoped that it would work long enough to buy him some time for either relief by Wiest or a breakout...or both.

White Plains, New York

Major Joseph Tallarico was one of the top tank battalion commanders and armored officers in general and he was truly worried as well as angry. Not at Wiest, his own commander, who had only been trying to improve their odds of survival from air and ground threats. No, he was angry at the enemy who had chewed up this wonderful armored division of his just when they seemed to make real progress. He was angry at Davis for starting this insane war, for that matter, when he invaded New York. Most of all, he was angry at himself for trusting Davis and his propaganda about this whole business. It was all going to Hell in the proverbial handbasket. Every time his tanks started to make some progress, enemy aircraft, armor, and artillery slammed into him from all directions, mashing up his battalion.

By all accounts, the foe was too clever by half and far too much of them were entrenched or had far better range for their tanks. If this was a tank battle, like at Kursk, he feared that he was in the same bad position as the Germans. The other guy was stronger, just like the Red Army. Tallarico had read his history well enough, after all, watched documentaries, too, and knew that his own family fled Italy when they ran afoul of Mussolini's Salo Republic, the final form of the fascist regime in that country. He had a bad feeling that the Masculist cause was every bit as doomed as the Axis Powers.

In any case, he was now well aware that his own battalion was too far ahead of the others and seemed to be engulfed by the enemy. He didn't know if that was true of the others, though it seemed possible, a drawback of the "hunter pack" strategy employed by General Wiest. It wasn't all Wiest's fault, mind you, as he was trying to make it easier for the foe to miss them. Even so, situations like this were the trade-off for that better defense against enemy artillery and air attacks. It was likely that more than a few such battalions were cut off from their comrades and no longer able to co-ordinate as an effective, unified fighting force. If something drastic wasn't done soon, the 1st Armored Division could soon be out destroyed piecemeal, which would be a tragedy indeed for their country and cause.

As for Tallarico, he mustered his strength to make one last attempt to break out of his trap and try to connect to another battalion, to form the basis of some kind of rump unit that could limp out of this battle intact. That was perhaps all that could be salvaged, given how badly this battle in which they were outgunned, outnumbered, and outflanked at every turn. He had to wonder what General Wiest thought now, unaware that Wiest had in fact been killed in action when an enemy armor piercing shell destroyed his command vehicle instead. The new acting divisional commander, Brigadier General Kenneth Harrison, was desperately doing his best as it was to pull back as much of his division as he could from what he now realized was a trap. It simply took him longer than expected to communicate over such a wide area and ensure compliance with his orders from all subordinates and staff. That was the risk with Wiest's strategy and now the disadvantages were clear.

Could Harrison indeed pull his irons out of the fire in time? It wasn't looking too good for him yet. It certainly wasn't for Tallarico, for that matter. For a former college quarterback, this made him really wish that he was back on the gridiron. At least there, one defeat wasn't the end of the road. Here, it could very well doom the whole army in the long run.

Yonkers, New York

Lanier sweated profusely and cursed his bad luck as he received the latest reports of enemy ordnance, from both air and ground based bombardment, absolutely devastating his division of brave and fierce Marines. Even worse, the locals seemed eager to help them and sabotage the ILA at every last opportunity. His forces were in a really nasty hot mess now. They were frequently suppressed by enemy fire, forced to pull back when possible to better positions from which to ambush and snipe at their foe, even as more of the city was reduced to rubble. That only further angered the locals, who in some cases took the chance to knife or shoot or hurl Molotov cocktails at the Marines. It was clear that they saw the coalition forces as liberators, whether they were or weren't so in fact. Odd, that they didn't blame the coalition commanders for destroying so much of their fair city, but that only proved Lanier's self-taught maxim right: when in favor, one can do no wrong....when out of favor, one can do no right.

For now, though, the best option was to withdraw and recover, so as not to lose the rest of his division due to the enemy's superior firepower. He needed to find better positions from which to assail the attackers, so that was that. He ordered a withdrawal now to the "Little Italy" community as well as key sectors in northern Yonkers, leaving the southwestern part to the coalition troops to occupy and defend. The Marines beat a fighting retreat, too, much as their comrades elsewhere did, killing as many of the enemy as possible, given everything, but the disturbing casualty reports told the grim truth. Lanier had lost a full third of his remaining troops now, really depleting his strength when he needed it most. He was at under seven thousand men and that was a very bad situation indeed.

"Well, boys, I think that we're absolutely, unequivocally fucked. But that's between you and me. We're going to try to fight our way out of this mess. We have no choice....the only thing is...I fear that they're going to follow us, especially with their armor and aircraft. Sooner or later, if we're not careful, and even if we are, for that matter, we might run out of places to run and hide. Then we'll be really screwed. Well, boys, you have your orders. Let's pull up and get to better positions from which to strike our enemies. I'm not giving up without a damn fight, damn it!" Lanier cussed, hiding his worry behind a stream of profanity now.

His new XO (his old one had just been wounded and evacuated) looked even more worried than Lanier. Well, thought Lanier, why not? Colonel Jerome Archer had just barely gotten out of the hospital himself after wounds received in Rochester....and that was a successful campaign. This....this was far more worrisome by far.

by **The Great state of Joseon** » Wed May 03, 2023 7:18 am

North America
White Plains

Captain Kim Han-min pulled the trigger toward the nearest enemy tank. The M35A2 Cataphract tanks were using long-range main guns to keep enemy tanks away from their allies. The enemy tanks, which broke through the fire of the M35A2 tanks and approached a close range of our troops, were dealt with by the K2 tanks.

The enemy was actually threatening the friendly's right flank. Joseon's tanks were checking the location of the enemies sent by the A13 Vanguard aircraft in real-time, and it was confirmed that the enemy tanks were approaching the right flank.

Once again, the fighter jets came forward, as tanks alone were unable to deal with all the enemies. 24 Air Force F-35A fighters took off from LaGuardia Airport and rushed over to White Plains. Fighters also loaded weapons into external armament hardpoints, as they no longer had to fear enemy high-altitude air defenses. Fighters flew away with bombs hanging from their wings as if a grocery shopper had a load of food.

Fighters dropped Mk.84 JDAM precision-guided bombs from heights beyond MANPADS' reach. One bomb was assigned to each enemy vehicle, and a total of 96 bombs were dropped.

North America
Nyack

The F-15E fighter is probably one of the deadliest weapons ever made by the United States. Arms payloads comparable to B-29 bombers, strong air-to-air combat capabilities compared to any 4.5th generation fighter, and various electronic equipment support the performance of the F-15E.

The F-15K, an improved version of the F-15E, inherited all the advantages of the F-15E. F-15 fighters have never been shot down in air combat, but F-15s have shot down 144 enemy fighters.

Now the F-15 fighters have been given a new mission and set out for Nyack. A total of 24 fighter jets took off, each carrying 10 Mk.82 JDAM precision-guided bombs, and they flew over Nyack.

At the same time, the A13 Vanguard aircraft, which is monitoring the entire battlefield in real-time, captured the enemy's movement to West Nyack. Wherever ILA troops went, they couldn't avoid the eyes of the A13 aircraft. Information about the ILA's movements was immediately delivered to the F-15K fighters, and now the pilots have clear targets.

The low altitude was still a danger zone. F-15K fighter jets dropped bombs at high altitudes because low-altitude flights were dangerous when enemy MANPADS forces were not completely removed. A total of 240 bombs fell on the heads of the enemies. It was less impressive than the bombers' attack a little while ago, but this time each bomb was more powerful than before. The Mk.82 JDAM bombs were much larger than the SDB bombs and carried many explosives.

North America
Yonkers

Joseon's troops did not stop attacking using drones. Now instead of dangerously entering the streets, soldiers started sending drones first to attack the ILA troops there. The Sparrowhawk-100 drones hovered in the streets and immediately attacked the enemy when they saw an enemy.

Also at the head of the unit were unmanned ground combat vehicles. Not a few UGCVs were destroyed by enemy fire, but UGCVs can be rebuilt in the factory. It's no match for the lives of soldiers.

Jeong Hae-rim urged her troops not to take risks. Instead, she actively used drones to attack enemies while reducing casualties. When drones were first introduced to her unit, she treated them literally like toys.

But she didn't know the toys would be so useful. Now the drones were weapons on the front lines. And drones were protecting her soldiers' precious lives.

Even at that moment, drones were buzzing and flying between buildings looking for enemies. The sound of a drone's propeller may be the sound of a strong helper to someone, but it may be the sound of death to someone.

North America
Providence

There were few Joseon's troops attacking Providence. There were not many Joseon's Marines compared to the enemy, and the CAS of the helicopters was also limited due to the enemy MANPADS. Now Providence was a region where Joseon did not prevail.

To solve this problem, General Adrian Quaritch made a decision. He decided to use the ship-launched cruise missiles that he saved for later. fleet's ships will also allocate some of the deck guns' ammunition inventory for the Marines. There were many ships with 155mm deck guns in the fleet, and they were able to support the firepower the Marines desperately needed.

4 cruisers and 8 destroyers from Joseon sent 52 supersonic cruise missiles at Providence's enemies. The sight of missiles soaring in the VLS impressed the crew. The missiles roared toward the enemy and would rain death.

At the same time, cruisers and destroyers fired 155 mm deck guns and 127 mm deck guns at Providence's enemies. The coordinates of the targets were transmitted at the risk of their lives by Marines on the battlefield. The crew of the ships pulled the trigger without a break to save time.

Time was life. And friendly troop's life are more precious than anything else in this war.

The Great Kingdom of Joseon
Seoul

Minister of Defense and military commanders were holding an emergency meeting to analyze the situation on the battlefield and establish countermeasures. The field commanders who had to command the troops on the scene were not present at the meeting, but important high-level commanders were nonetheless present.

Minister of Defense Lee Hyeyul

"As far as I know, the enemy's air force is now wiped out, and MANPADS is the only air defense network. Is that right?"

General Song Yeonju

"Yes, that's right. The enemy's only air defense weapon is MANPADS. There is no air defense weapon in the enemy that can handle medium-range or higher."

Minister of Defense Lee Hyeyul

"Then, isn't there no reason for us to maintain the air force on the battlefield only with stealth fighters?" Electronic Warfare Aircraft have nothing to do on the battlefield right now."

General Jang Minseok

"That's right. In fact, stealth fighters on the scene are operating with external armament on board. This is because there is no reason to maintain stealth function and conduct military operations. So we need more non-stealth aircraft like the F-15 and the F-16s. F-15s and F-16s can carry more weapons than stealth fighters. They are the most desperate assets for our military at the moment, and they are also the most useful assets."

Minister of Defense Lee Hyeyul

"Okay, We'll send additional air force, but We'll send only 4.5 generation fighters. More aviation weapons may also be needed in the future. We need to send transport planes regularly to carry more ammunition, such as missiles and bombs."

by **Legatia** » Wed May 03, 2023 9:29 am

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 16 Division Infantry
26 Regimental Combat Team Mechanized (26 RGMI RCT)
-
Yonkers, New York, NYC - 1130H EST

In Yonkers, the fight continued as always, moving into the late morning and towards the afternoon itself. With attrition favoring Coalition forces in Yonkers, and casualty care capacity in Yonkers being superior to that of the continually-harassed ILA, this was likely to remain unchanged, but tolls were steadily climbing. The current casualty count reported to OC-CTFOH at the Midtown was 340 casualties, including a loss of seven armored vehicles and a helicopter.

26 Regimental Combat Team continued to push into northern Yonkers steadily. Increasingly as they pushed past already rolled-over enemy positions, armored vehicles had to push cars and wrecked AFVs out of the way of the streets where they had been destroyed. The Marines here were not encircled like they were by Joseon in Nyack, but the pressure was no less.

Civilians were beginning to join the battle, which, ironically, slowed the advance of Coalition forces down. Although air cover was striking with relatively low concern for civilian structures where the enemy stood, Meridonian troops were under orders to avoid damaging civilian property wherever it was possible. Having to spend efforts to cordon them off gave the ILA a finger's width of breathing room. But it wouldn't likely be enough to save the battle.

Air cover had begun to reduce, however, from this sector, as targets that were justifiable to be struck by laser-guided bombs and other high-yield ordnance were reduced. They would be supplemented by helicopters who operated with increasing impunity from MANPADs teams- the Meridonian infantry had found a pretty easy way to take them down. They would need to be in the open with good sightlines to be effective- which is where drones could spot them and battalion-level Precision Engagement teams, dispersed in recently captured high-rises, would maneuver, spot, and engage them from distances. Where this wasn't possible, mortars sufficed at either killing them or keeping their launchers where they couldn't target the Adders hovering over the New Jersey side of the Hudson, who began to play a more active role in engaging the town. Whatever remained of the ILA's arsenal that was gasoline-driven was struck by rocket, missile, and cannonfire as a priority, followed by infantry concentrations and built-up structures. The much more proactive presence of these air support platforms would throw the see-saw even more disjointedly- in the Coalition's favor.

Meridon Defense Forces
Regiment Marines Commando- 2 Marine Amphibious Regiment
17 Commando Task Unit (17 CTU), 17 Battalion Marine Commando
-
Rumford, Providence, RI- 1036H EST

As the Marines pushed further into densely populated Providence, resistance expectantly increased. By now they were operating as a combined force two battalions strong- though they lacked vehicular support, they had air cover being flown from the fleet and their own amphibious assault ships.

Here in Rumford, immediately south of their objective areas of Darlington and Attleboro further northeast- the first stop on the road to Boston, the buildup was primarily suburban, with an interspersing of warehouses and industrial complexes. With the majority of the fight being conducted by Commonwealth and Korean forces in western Providence, the Marines' advance would be steady, and increasingly fast.

The Marines had taken extremely light combat casualties so far. The overwhelming quality mismatch in training and equipment between Meridonian regulars and ILA infantrymen was already apparent, but none more so than in Providence. Perhaps assisted by the fact that theirs was not the bulk of the fighting, however, their movement was the most significant- gaining a foothold on which another unit could begin punching forward.

Through the rest of the afternoon, Marines advanced with increasing tempo as was their style of fighting- hard and fast. They pushed north from Rumford into the southern outskirts of Darlington, where their final positions lay.

Above them, however, another force moved into motion.

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 2 Division Airmobile
22 Regimental Combat Team Airmobile (22 RAM RCT), 23 Battalion Airmobile Infantry
-
6,00ft over Fisher's Island, New York, NYC- 1100H EST

Overhead the idyllic scenes of Fisher's Island flew a cloud of green, black and brown helicopters passing over the FARP established by Korean troops. These were a veritable legion of H50M3 Hawk helicopters from 5 Regiment Aviation, escorted by Adder helicopters and supplemented by H66M3 Cataphract helicopters carrying even more troops and supplies. Exercise or not, this was the largest deployment of Meridonian assault aviation in its history at one time- a legion of just shy of a hundred helicopters carrying two battalions of airmobile infantry from 22 Regimental Combat Team. The pilots would be getting their workout today- this was the first of three flights. This would also be the first trial of directional infrared countermeasures systems on a combat aircraft- given they were engaged at all by MANPADs. The Cataphract helicopters were interspersed for this reason, to provide all-around protection from incoming missiles, with the Adders and a flight of four Wasp escort aircraft poking out around and ahead of the formation to make sure nothing else popped up.

From within the bays of the helicopters sat the soldiers of 22 RCT, and to say they were in high spirits was an understatement. Each one of them had seen Apocalypse Now before, and each remembered fondly Lieutenant Colonel Kilgore's daring helicopter raid- a scene that they were getting a chance to live out in real time.

It would be easier to count the helicopters that were not playing Ride of the Valkyries. In one such helicopter, men re-enacted. Tapping their magazines against their helmets, and then, removing them and sitting on them.

"How come you guys sit on your helmets?"

"So we don't get our balls blown off!"

Without resistance, these aircrafts flew along the coastline and then hooked north to overfly where the two Commandos units were currently conducting their operation, Operating at significant altitude, however, they did not engage- their helicopters might pass some intelligence their way, but little time was spent overhead, for their objectives were further north, in Mansfield and Plainville, merely ten miles from the outskirts of Boston itself.

Adders and combat aviation that had been assisting the Marine's advance diverted north at last to spring the surprise- no preparatory strikes had been done in this area, if there were even forces in it to begin with. Fifteen minutes before their arrival time, the Adders here would take their toll on whatever sat at the two cloverleaf intersections- the easternmost south of Mansfield, the westernmost north of Plainville- and anything between and around them. Surrounding these two intersections were large commercial centers including department stores, casinos, restaurants and office buildings that would provide for an ideal defensive staging ground. The sole complication was landing sites. If permissive by enemy forces, the helicopters would take turns fastroping onto the flat buildings in both compounds. If not, there were two nearby sites for deployment- The Mansfield Clover had a municipal airport down the highway, just about two and a half miles from the objective area as the crow flew. Plainville had a large clearing in the form of a sports club area almost immediately northeast of the target area, and a horse racing track by a casino directly on the objective area. Both would be used if the alternative option was necessary.

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 9 Division Armored
10 Regimental Combat Team Armored (10 RA RCT), 4 Battalion Armored
-
White Plains, New York, NYC- 1042H EST

9 Division Armored had been having a field day. The "White Plains Turkey Shoot" had claimed not a single tank of the Meridonian armor, though Joseon's forces were having a much harder time with their own losses despite superior equipment to even the Meridonian forces. They were indeed impressed with the cannon-work of their Korean allies, but the strategy of the Meridonian armor did not permit them to leave their position. Their flanks were covered by dug-in fire, and their approaches by aircraft and pre-targeted artillery (and very soon by landmines).

While the Meridonian tanks did not maneuever or attempt to envelop the ILA armor, knowing they were operating in small formations could lead to cut-offs and thence to losses, their air assets had no such qualms. By this time, the reserved combat power dedicated for a massive strike on the armored counter-offensive had been re-equipped for a more constant flow of anti-armor action. They had taken off and made the five minute journey to altitude and White Plains to take station, and from there- utilizing their own sensors and those of overhead drones to locate, isolate, and destroy armor. It wasn't the devastating first strike the Meridonians had expected, but the carnage would be delivered.

From 30,000 feet, a steady rain of munitions began to fall on the 1st Armored Division. Laser-guided and GPS-guided, bombs from the 250lb ARDB glide bomb to the GUB-24 2,000lb bomb dropped on formations of ILA tanks with devastating efficiency. Guided rockets, Longbill missiles, cluster munitions, even a small spattering of dumb bombs were unleashed wherever they could be found- up close or at range, in the open or in defilade, repairing a dented track or maneuvering to engage friendly forces.

These air assets, operating rotationally instead of in a massed strike, would have little to no downtime in between strikes. There would be no escape from the birds of prey that circled the First like vultures, bringing death and destruction onto them with impunity.

by **Sombreland** » Thu May 04, 2023 8:00 am

Royal Sombreland Expeditionary Force, 500 NM off Long Island

The fleet had begun to move, slowly, while keeping their formation. In the outer circle, the frigates lay, their antennas and dishes vigilant, and with sonar buoys bobbing along to detect any submarine presence. Helicopters hovered, with some of them, attached to anti-submarine warfare designated frigates, dipping occasionally to sweep the area for the presence of submarines.

Most of the men in the briefing room were naval officers. There were divisions among them; some were from the Admiral’s staff, some from the Flight Operations Commander, Sarzen’s staff, some were there either as captains of vessels or representing them. There were also Royal Marine officers there, including members of Prince Jusus’ staff. The young aide-de-camp, Agonau, was leaning his head a bit, exhausted from having been working on helping plan the landings. Captain of the Fleet Gohan elbowed him gently.

“Uh..” muttered Lieutenant Agonau, blinking and clearing his throat.

“Your reward shall be beauty sleep, Lieutenant,” said Gohan with a faint chuckle.

“Attention on deck!”

Men rose to their feet as Vice-Admiral Dargon walked in, speaking pleasantly with Prince Jusus, the Royal Marine commander. Both men carried an air as though they were pleasantly surprised to find all the men there waiting for them, and Dargon said, “Ah, gentlemen! Please be seated! Well, I have been in conversation with Grand Admiral Teroth, and he has told me that there was no reply to the Minister of Death regarding a letter sent to him offering peace.” He looked around at everyone solemnly. “We may consider that peace efforts have been rejected. The regime we are opposing has seized power through a coup d’etat, is regicidal, and has taken terrorist actions against our ally, the nation of Meridon. Therefore, as of now, we are at war with Incelstan. For the sake of cooperation with our allies, we shall from this time forth refer to them as the Masculist Regime. Count Byren, if you would be so kind…”

“Yes, Admiral,” said the handsome naval intelligence officer. “Gentlemen, we have been requested to attack and capture the city of Newburyport Massachusetts. This area of New England has a lot of rocky shores and marshy areas, but there are beaches near Newburyport, and so we will be landing on Plum Island initially, which has a good beach and open country, with elements of the Royal Marine Landing Regiment. Now, as to enemy dispositions, there is virtually no information. The Royal Marines must not be completely blind, however. While we are preparing to move in, aerial patrols over the area will be conducted, but we must do t his with caution. We have been informed that the enemy are well equipped with MANPADS, so we will be careful not to fly too low. Commander Sarzan?”

Commander Sarzan, the Flight Operations Commander, stood and said, Thank you, my dear Count.” The Flight Operations Commander had a curiously stiff face, not because he was terribly arrogant but because of reconstructive surgery after a crash. “We are lacking, unfortunately, reliable intelligence about the area around Newburyport and leading up to Beverly, so my boys will have to rectify that. We’ll be sending out a flight of Bartgeier fighters, my best recon boys, accompanied by one suited up for Electronic Warfare so that we can cloak the approach somewhat. We hear,” he glanced at Byren, “That there are no enemy flights worth the name, but my Aunt Amaria and the baker know all about rumours.” There was some chuckling from among the officers. “The flight will focus on Newburyport but also will bring back photographs of anything within 100 miles of it that jumps out.”

Prince Jusus spoke. “If they are ready for this, then they may very well have lots of stuff concealed. You must have your boys understand that, lacking information from our allies, we are entirely reliant upon them.”

Captain Gohan, the Captain of the Fleet, rose and took Sarzan’s place. “Admiral, Your Serene Highness, this is potentially a very dangerous operation. Even with Masculist forces not being entirely unified, a small number of determined, cohesive forces with MANPADS, autocannon, RPGs are capable of having a bad effect upon forces attempting to land, halting transport, resupply and establishing forward areas. Even if Commander Sarzan’s recon yields us up good results, we will send in scout helicopters followed by a recon in force. This recon in force will be carrying a company of the Marine Reconnaissance Regiment. Fire support elements for this recon in force will be provided by four Anakonda attack helicopters. Though the enemy may wield elements dangerous for them to face, they are formidable machines which will, under the guidance of harmony, prevail. If they are not drawing fire, then landings will proceed. Of course, it is recommended that this be followed swift behind by the first battalion of the Landing Regiment with the rest of the Reconnaissance Regiment, in order to maintain the element of surprise. Naval fire support for these elements will be provided by the Brobdinag and the Farifey. The rest of the division will be moved up onto Plum Island as the first units move forward.

“This area,” he showed the map, “Is a wildlife refuge, and while i t does not h ave an extensive beach, it has a low shoreline with few rocks and marshes. It is an alternate landing zone that can be used if the enemy try to pinch off our landing force. The plan is to be ready to land the second battalion of the Landing Regiment there, and to swiftly move in artillery and armour support for them.”

As the officers talked, Vice-Admiral Dargon found himself lost in thought for a moment. He knew all the details of the plan, so none of it was news to him. What troubled him was what little he knew of the region. He knew it was well inhabited, and by civilized people, albeit of a strange civilization. Since they did not have a precise idea of what locations would need to be struck at, there would be destruction, inevitably, to civilian structures…and civilian lives. He had seen carnage, seen streams of ordinary people forced to flee their homes, abandon their own dead. Mountains of rubble, fire and smoke, ashes of lives destroyed. Ordinary, humble life, fragile before life and circumstance already, brought to ruin by men like him. What he wanted to avoid. What the Princess-Regent wanted to avoid. What was in the Oath of Peace to avoid. And so he said a quiet prayer, to his ancestors and to the spirits of the sea and air that guided his ships though they worked on engine power, that the Masculists would not resist the landings, and that there should be no shedding of blood.

Duty, however, came before everything. He cursed this weakness in him, that saw, too often, things from different sides, could see even into a bitter enemy’s heart, and could be forced to hold back weeping for people he did not even know, from an alien land. He had to stifle this weakness, even now in his position. Yet no one seemed to know that he was no true man of his caste. Duty held him where he was.

He opened his eyes ,took a deep breath, and listened as the briefing went on. The briefing came to an end and the officers clearly felt justified, clearly felt that duty lay before them, that the Courtly Caste had done their utmost to seek peace, and had been rebuffed. Their consciences were clear. They would be tested by contact with the enemy, and the land that lay before them…

A shockingly young seeming flight made up of pilots who seemed to Dargon to be mere boys were to undertake the recon flight. He praised Sarzan, told him he wanted to speak to the flight afterwards himself, and felt a pang, for Sarzan clearly drew himself up proudly, delighted that the Admiral took such an interest, not realizing what a womanist fool his Admiral secretly was. If only he could be like Prince Jusus: strong, trusting in his duty, fearless and detached.Prince Jusus was like a hunter with hunting dogs when it came to his men and the enemy, and where they hunted. If only he could be like that; accepting the game and fitting each feeling into a neat box. But he had to pretend; it would do those under his command no good to see his inner turmoil.

Later, he stood on the bridge’s operations deck, and watched as the recon flight took off. Moving over the rolling gray-green waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Three Bartgeier C multi-role fighters and one with an electronic warfare suite. They flew high above the waters, and went shooting towards the coast of Massachusetts. The flight leader avoided moving towards the actual coastline, however, until they reached Connecticut. Then they wheeled inland, flying over the cultivated, urbanized country very high, until they circled over the countryside.

Lieutenant Dalio de Krath was the flight leader. He had flown in the Gyzantian Civil War, and though there had been tense moments during a near confrontation with Anagonia naval air units, had never seen a shot fired in anger. He had flown missions along the Sombreland border with Dainam as well.

Any mission could see action, of one kind or another. He was proud, however, of who he was and of what he was. A Navy pilot in Sombreland had a very challenging, demanding job, requiring the best from his caste, requiring skills that should give him the glory of men who had, in the old days, led boarding parties, or stormed nests of pirates. Many hours, many months of training just to qualify, more followed to perfect. The younger officers under his little command looked to him to lead them. The Expeditionary Force was depending on him.

The risky part, Lieutenant de Krath knew, was moving along the area between Newburyport and Beverly. Here, they had to fly lower. The Electronic Warfare plane, using radar and communications jamming, should buy them time, making their passing confusing to any enemies. It was also supposed to detect any ground to air threats, enabling them to take necessary actions in the event of such detection.

There were things being looked for. Movements of convoys of vehicles. Forward areas with defences mounted. Signals indicating the presence of radar. Shore batteries. Airfields with military aircraft. Staging areas for military units. Communications were to be monitored by the EW fighter with them. All while staying alert for the enemy.

“This is Flight Leader One,” he said crisply. “Follow on my position in spread formation. I’m going in.” He descended and began to fly over the countryside. Although they were flying at cruising speed in order to enable good photograph captures, it seemed to him that the rather flat ground beneath them, of coastal towns and small cities, fields, woods, farmland and shores, rushed beneath them…

by **Incelastan** » Thu May 04, 2023 8:26 am

Providence, Rhode Island

Colonel Hiram Stout now had enough stress to cause a thousand ulcers. He had previously attempted to stay out of the politics of the city itself, but there was no avoiding it as he was driven deeper into the heart of the city and confronted with the real presence of the riots and demonstrators. To say nothing of the SSP, who were desperately committed to the worst sort of atrocities in order to try to keep order. Nor had their new leader, the old one having been killed by a Molotov cocktail, had learned the lesson from what happened to his predecessor. He continued to use tear gas, to use live rounds to the point that they were fast running out, and to complain to Stout about his refusal to participate.

Stout had seen enough. He ordered four hundred Militia into the action, but not to support the SSP. The Militia began, per his instructions, to fire into the SSP in order to "protect civilian lives from wholesale slaughter." That was a decision much closer to his sentiments nowadays, not to mention his own ethics and principles, no matter how weakly he had followed them in the past. The Militia might be no match for the invaders, but they were more than enough to make the SSP retreat to the safety of their headquarters, even as the citizens cheered their Militia for once. Stout had chosen a side in the urban conflict between the rioters and the regime's goons...and it wasn't the latter. They had indeed defended the people, which was their mandate, just not from the outsiders. The problem was that diverting so many troops and so much ammo into this bit of civil disturbance only weakened his position regarding the coalition forces. He could fight one or the other, the coalition or the SSP, but not both.

That was just as well, Stout thought, realizing that the game was very much up. He couldn't keep things up anymore, especially once the enemy hit him with cruise missiles on top of everything. That and the diversion were the last straws. He carefully transmitted an open, unencrypted message to the coalition commander.

To: the CO of the Coalition Force
From: Colonel Hiram Stout, CO of 8th Militia Brigade
Re: Surrender

Given the impossible position in which I find my troops and my city, provided that you can assure me that there will be no atrocities sanctioned by your command against the ordinary civilians or soldiers themselves, I wish to surrender both my garrison of just over two thousand Militia and the City of Providence, Rhode Island to your forces posthaste. Please reply with appropriate speed, so as to cease hostilities as soon as possible. Please note that there are roughly two hundred SSP troops in the city and that my men have assaulted them to prevent them from doing further harm to the civilian populace. If you, after our surrender, wish to have complete command of the city, they remain your only obstacle to that purpose at this juncture.

Sincerely,
Col. Hiram A. Stout, CO, 8th Militia Brigade

As a further message to expedite the process, Stout retreated yet again and disengaged with the enemy as much as possible, so as to create the opportunity to cease fire sooner rather than later. He pulled all of his forces to Downtown and focused his efforts on hammering the SSP to browbeat them into submission. The citizens added their own fire to the situation, whittling the SSP down with their relentless assaults. All that was left of the regime's loyalists was this cornered force of jackbooted thugs who now faced the full wrath and vengeance of soldier and civilian alike.

Nyack, New York

The situation for the 1st Infantry wasn't much better than that of the Militia, though they still had more and better troops than the latter. Hatch was well aware that he faced increasing encirclement by the foe, and that every single attempt to break out toward Orangetown and Clarkstown so far had been in vain. He pulled back every last soldier available to him, even from the 3rd Brigade that was hitherto in relative disfavor, but had redeemed itself by good, hard battle against the enemy, and redirected them all to the maximum effort in that sector, abandoning all other positions toward that desperate push. It was sure to be noticed and risked much in terms of letting them draw closer to his rear, but that was the price of the superseding objective. It was an all-out thrust in the direction of those towns, a fighting retreat with only limited cover to the rear in the form of fire directed at those approaching it, even as most ordnance was used to try to brush those blocking his path aside. All else had to be sacrificed to that mission, that operation, that maneuver aimed at escape. That was what mattered now, and only that, in Hatch's book. He had to find a way out of the trap first, so he could then weigh his options and find the best way to still prosecute this war from his own position of relative weakness while still delivering the bloodiest nose to the enemy.

What remained of the artillery thundered as it exposed itself to enemy air and counter-battery fire in order to try to create breaches in the trap that would allow the 1st Infantry to slip past them. What remained of the MANPADs now attempted, most ineffectually in most cases it could be surmised given the enemy's altitude, to bring down as many aircraft. Hatch tried to steel his nerves with some hard cider in his secret flask as he committed himself totally to this last, desperate gambit, but he did not relent. He was all in now, whatever the consequences. It was the only hand left that he could still play in this game.

White Plains, New York

Between Joseon's air and armored assault upon them, the battery of fire that they endured from Meridon's entrenched tanks, and those forces of the Commonwealth, mainly anti-tank units, who hadn't pulled away to harass Hatch in Nyack, Harrison knew that he couldn't catch a break. He ordered a general withdrawal on every means of communications that he could encrypt or even couldn't, desperate to get his men and tanks out of this clusterfuck. Some tank drivers could respond and began seeking to pull back as much as they could in compliance, but too many others were already trapped and began to surrender out of sheer desperation to avoid a futile death in a lost cause. They had no wish to die in a doomed last-ditch stand or whatever that would achieve nothing. Probably a good half of these most miserable cases gave up the fight, waving white flags and otherwise signaling to the foe that they wish to quit the fight.

All that could begin the attempt to retreat in obedience were the other half and they had only much success as the power and force of enemy munitions permitted them. By now, only about three thousand troops could even make that final effort to escape the adversary and they were in miserable shape, with so few tanks still operational between them. If they managed to get away, they would have to limp further north...if the foe even allowed that much. It was a paltry remnant, but then Wiest's gamble had seriously backfired on him. There was no doubt of that. That was the trouble with rolling the dice. Sometimes, you didn't land sixes. Sometimes, the gamble failed. Sometimes, your luck ran out.

Yonkers, New York

Desperation seemed to be the watchword of the day for all of the ILA presently engaged in combat with the coalition forces. It certainly fit the situation for Brigadier General Sidney Lanier and his 1st Marine Division, badly understrength, outflanked, outmaneuvered, outgunned, outnumbered, and worse. Not only did he have to fight Meridonian and Joseonite troops, but he now also dealt with angry civilians who took every opportunity to impede him, harass him, and worst of all, feed crucial intel to the enemy. They were clearly eager to see the back of his forces, which was no shock, given how brutal the ILA had thus far been in their occupation of their fair city. Lanier pulled every trick up his sleeve, from sponge tactics and sniping to scorched earth in places where it might slow down the foe, but this last only inflamed the civilians and caused them to actively assist the enemy at every opportunity. He was sure by now that every movement of his was now surveyed and observed, so much so that he just had to say, "Screw it, we'll move even under their eyes and see what they do to stop us. Evacuate the city. Evacuate the city now. We'll try to retreat, recover, and regroup. This is a fighting retreat and must be in the best of order. Keep up covering fire for your comrades and try to salvage as much of this division as we can. We're trying to save the 1st Marine Division now. The city is secondary. We must live to fight another day, at a moment of our choosing."

After all, what good was Yonkers with the prospect of taking the Big Apple no longer on the table? It was supposed to be a staging point for an assault upon New York City itself. Now that would never be. The viability of the 1st Marine Division, the only force of Marines still available to the Masculist camp, mattered for more than some seaport in mainland New York State. Lanier was usually a cold, analytical sort of man, so this kind of decision was a return to his usual reserve, calm, composure, and resilience. He had fought off his panic and desperation and now thought clearer than ever. He knew exactly what he had to do....he just had to hope that the enemy was foolish enough to cooperate.

Masculinium (formerly Boston),
Capital of Incelastan

Colonel Oscar Hernandez sweated profusely as he considered his likely fate if La Rousse carried the implied threat from their last conference. The man had him closely watched and every single comment or gesture seemed calculated to unnerve him. With that in mind, a desperate Hernandez sent off a quick message to the coalition handlers, as encrypted as possible, hoping that he could do one last bit of good before his imminent execution.

Urgent. I am now very close to being caught and arrested in the next few days, if not hours. Owens is not, repeated, not heading to Vermont after all. He is keeping complete radio silence, which is very telling, but I do not know where he is in fact headed. Just obviously not Vermont. Also, New Hampshire is about to completely bolt from the Incelastan union, full secession. Militia forces there have either been neutralized, converted, or disbanded. Dominoes are falling. Simple Simon says, don't be sad for me. I made my bed of nails and I'm now having to lie in it.

Concord, New Hampshire

The crowds gathered in Concord cheered as the flag of Incelastan was unceremoniously removed from the pole and stomped upon, even set ablaze. Then the flag of New Hampshire, the Granite State, was hoisted once more above City Hall, the Governor's Mansion, the Capitol, etc. The district commissioner was now in jail, having been caught before he could flee by the very Militia that he had trusted to uphold his rule. The provisional government began its first cabinet session, too, with the new interim Governor considering his first order of business a formal ordinance of secession to be read aloud to the public over all media. There was no question what was afoot, at least partially due to the liberated camp inmates, many of whom had then liberated more of their like. New Hampshire was at last living up to its state motto, now that it was a Free State again.

Live Free or Die.

The Massachusetts Coast

Colonel Ira Devlin had just barely reviewed the latest reports from the coastal batteries regarding their placements and was now perusing the updates from the coastal bunkers about their strength when an aide, Captain David Montgomery, rushed in breathlessly, obviously quite panicked. He had cause to be, thanks to the jamming of communications and radar by the Sombreland fleet.

"We're jammed, sir. Someone is using EW against us. Clearly, they're up to something. Might be the Meridonian or Joseonite navies, of course. Don't know who else it could be, though our last intel suggested that they were all further south," Montgomery informed his commander, even as he tried not to think about his attraction to the man.

It wasn't easy being gay in the ILA these days, not by a long shot. But it was also tough to ignore, especially given Devlin's handsome Irish looks and devilish dark humor, especially compared to other such senior officers, many of them quite charmless and humorless, or at least it appeared to Montgomery. It just had to be repressed. Homosexuality was very much disapproved in Incelastan. One was supposed to focus on women, on how to control and dominate them, how to persecute them, not on how to date another guy. It didn't fit the macho philosophy of the regime. Montgomery was desperately unhappy these days as a result. He had supported the movement initially because they had a common enemy, the Chads who had persecuted him for so long. He hadn't signed up for any of this madness, though. It defeated his whole point, all of this homophobia.

by **Anagonia** » Fri May 05, 2023 7:55 pm

Naval Battle Fleet Forest Holloway
Commodore Finlay Green; Naval Battle Fleet CO
May 5th, 107 AUR - 2151 Hours Anagonian Standard Time
85 Nautical Miles off the Coast of New York, Old United States

The Anagonian Battle Fleet had spent weeks traversing the global oceans to reach this point. Their orders had been explicit in conducting their affairs in as normal a procedure as possible while utilizing both allied and Anagonian international ports for resupply. It had become something of a good-will mission for Commodore Green, who while unused to being a bastion of Anagonian diplomacy, conducted himself nonetheless with tact and professionalism as his fleet made port-of-call to various allied powers across the great Earth. Their last port of call had been some allied bases in Europe that had been previously utilized for a peacekeeping operation a year prior, whose owners retained the goodwill and good diplomatic connections with the Confederate States to permit such visits. With fresh stocks and supplies, the fleet made quick work hopping the Atlantic to reach the Northeast Coast of the Old United States and set up positions during the start of the night as they maintained their presence in International Waters. Another order, directly from President Canisilus, was not to enter any territorial waters for any reason.

The fleet was led by one of the Confederate Navy's newest and shining examples of carrier technology; the CSS Forest Holloway, designation CVE-719, named after the 7th President of the Confederate States and a famous revolutionary Admiral under Colonel Tiberius Samsus before and after he helped the Colonel's war effort during Anagonia's Unification Wars. The Forest Holloway-class Fleet Escort Carrier was intended as a slimmed down variant of the Boxer-class Light Carrier with three more additional slots for aircraft than the Boxer-class, more advanced technology and storage space than its predecessor, and more durability and speed. The CSS Forest Holloway sailed in the center of the Battle Fleet alongside her cousin-ship and the ship class she was designed after, the Boxer-class Light Carrer CSS William Youngston - a carrier also named after a Confederate States President, President William Youngston, who was the 4th President of the Confederate States and the 5th Vice-President following his original term. Together alone the two light carriers - one intended for fleet escort duties and another intended as a primary light carrier - presented a severe threat to any small national force.

Sailing ahead of the two carriers in a protective fashion was the Lexington-class Battleship Carrier, the CSS Neptune. The Battleship Carriers of the Confederate States Navy, often termed as Battlecarriers, was a design intended to replace traditional helicopter carrier roles for the Confederate States Marine Corps. However over the years the Navy has had a love-hate relationship with carriers and, as a consequence, slowed down retirement of older designs while maintaining production of newer ones - such as the Battle Carriers. As a result, the Confederate States Navy ended up with five remaining Wasp-class Amphibious Assault Ships and fourteen Lexington-class Battleship Carriers. Unless a Battleship Carrier headed its own fleet, it typically acted in a supportive carrier role in other fleet formations and doubled as the fleets battleship escort.

Two Edmond Goff-class Guided Missile Destroyers made up the defense for the fleets formation on both its port and starboard - the CSS Joseph Dwayne Mooney and the CSS Josh Sanford. The Edmond Goff-class had been intended as a direct replacement for the Confederate Navy's aged and old Arleigh Burke-class Destroyers. It was a successful design, completing its intended goal of thirty produced ships within the span of a little over four decades with only three decommissions to its class since that time. It provided excellent anti-missile and anti-air protection, as well as extensive ASW capabilities for the fleets protection.

Three Andrew Shane-class Guided Missile Frigates were stationed in a reverse triangle around the carriers and within the protection of the two DDG's on either side of the fleet formation. The CSS Corporal James Neiper, CSS Ordnance Sergeant Henry Miller, CSS Lieutenant Master Keziah Donnell assisted the fleet by acting as the second layer of defense for the primary carriers of the fleet and as the primary defense for the battleship escort. The Andrew Shane-class had been designed by the Confederate Navy to replace its aging fleet of Oliver Hazard Perry-class of Frigates. It successfully completed this objective over the span of a little over two decades with twenty-six ships produced out of one decommissioning, and the all of the Oliver Hazard Perry-classes in the fleet being either sold or scrapped. It was an excellent jack-of-all-trades frigate with adequate ASW protection, Anti-Air and Anti-Missile Capabilities, and very respectable ship-to-ship defense and offensive weaponry.

Five Spartan-class Coastal Patrol Gunboats completed the surface compliment of the fleet; CSS Priestess, CSS Prophet, CSS Astrologer, CSS Immortal, CSS Silence. This uniquely designed Corvette-class of ship was intended primarily to assist with anti-piracy activities along Anagonias coast, however due to its recent extensive class upgrades with hull design, weaponry, and electronics, the Spartan-class could respectively be tasked as a Fleet Escort Corvette to assist in smaller functioning roles for the fleet - such as anti-piracy response and emergency SOS assistance. The Confederate Navy had sixty of the vessels in its arsenal and all were in rotating operation, with a primary two dozen or so tasked to fleets such as the five attached to the Battle Fleet. The class had adequate defensive and offensive missile weaponry, adequate anti-ship and anti-air defenses, but had little ASW capabilities. They were positioned on the outskirts of the fleets formation with two on either side, within the primary destroyer protection sphere, and one fore of the battleship escort.

The Naval Battle Fleet had in its compliment two Thursday-class Nuclear Attack Submarines to provide fleet support, protection, and advanced notice of anti-submarine activities. The CSS Saturn's Bounty and the CSS Odin's Glare provided the fleet with a capable subsurface combatant. The Thursday-class had been designed to replaced an older model of purchased submarines from back during the era of the United Republic and the Confederate Navy successfully constructed nineteen submarines of the class with no decommissioned ships. The Thursday-class came in three block-versions, each with their own variant of stealth, intelligence, and hunter-killer roles. Both submarines in the fleet were of the Block II Thor's Hammer variants which included upgraded electronics, upgraded weapon stowage, and more emphasis on its hunter-killer capabilities. The Thursday-class was comparable to both an Yasen-class and Seawolf-class Nuclear Attack Submarine, while being modeled in construction after an Akula-class Nuclear Attack Submarine, and coming traditionally outfitted for both SSN and SSG roles with its compliment of torpedoes and Harpoon missiles.

Finalizing the fleets compliment were three auxiliary ships; a Hospital Ship, a Destroyer-tender which also acted as a Submarine-tender, and a Amphibious Transport Dock-class ship which stores units to help distribute humanitarian aid for such missions or private military ground assets for strike operations. All three ships were kept well within the protective bubble of the warships and surrounded the carriers in formation.

The night was sharp with little moonlight save for the running lights of the ships surrounding them. Commodore Green had ordered them to be lit due to their "international" presence in these waters, with little intention to get involved militarily other than to provide logistical support. This meant that their hospital ship and fleet tender would double as support vessels if required. Additionally, the carrier decks of both Light Carriers and the Battleship Carrier would be freed up to provide logistical support and aide for allied air units such as refueling and rearming operations. A little announcement was prepared by the Commodore, with little fanfare other than notification of their arrival, with attached publicized coordinates for both civilian assets looking for aide and allied units seeking support.

TO: ICON Allied Units; Civilian Units impacted by the conflict
FROM: Commodore Finlay Green, Commanding Officer of Confederate Navy Battle Fleet Forest Holloway
SUBJECT: Arrival and Announcement of Open Logistical Aid; Civilian Aide

Attention to all allied and civilian units,

I have attached in this public communique the location of my fleet. All civilian assets seeking emergency medical support or attention, asylum, refugee status or support are openly welcome to come in an orderly fashion for support. Attached in this message shall be the appropriate protocol and which channel to use to first announce your intention, identify your location, and await escort for support. To all ICON allied units, your military naval protocols will already be matched to ours and your air units are welcomed to utilize our carrier decks (both helicopter and jet aircraft) for refuel and rearming. Additionally we have some minimal naval fleet support available but will admittedly be stingy with our fuel reserves.

We are maintaining a presence at this location off the shore of the old New England States, just eighty-five nautical miles south of New York State and Long Island. We can and will move closer pending successful operations of allied forces to maintain and secure territory, up to the recognize boundary line for international waters.

Thank you,
Commodore Finlay Green
CO of Naval Battle Fleet Forest Holloway

ORBAT at Location
Naval Battle Fleet Forest Holloway
Commanding Officer: Commodore Finlay Green
Executive Officer: Commander Millie Saunders

by **Legatia** » Sat May 06, 2023 12:31 pm

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 9 Division Armored
10 Regimental Combat Team Armored (10 RA RCT), 4 Battalion Armored
-
White Plains, New York, NYC- 1159H EST

"Line cease fire. Enemy contacts outside of targeted killzone. All callsigns make your CCE reports up to Sahara Sunray Minor."

By far the most successful action of the day, the 9th Armored had depleted about half of their ammunition in what was now even more officially being called the "White Plains Gunnery Table." MGen Petrios seemed exasperated at the ease at which the tank forces were dispatched, perhaps almost in disbelief that not a single casualty report had reached his command post.

He had considered pursuing them, but decided against it. His orders were only as a blocking force- and while the disjointed method of advance adopted by ILA armor had failed spectacularly against the dug-in Meridonian tanks; it would be excellent in the defense. Terrain north of White Plains favored small unit action, and the high-tempo air operations would soon need to be wound down if they were to warrant continued operations in the follow-on days.

What was left of the Meridonian Air Forces released their weapons on whatever they found, including disabled but non-destroyed vehicles, before returning to LaGuardia and Teterboro airports for much-needed rest- they had certainly earned their paychecks today. Everyone had.

Spirits were extremely high in 9 DA. Across the line, hatches popped open as civilians, hearing the fire stopped, curiously looked out to the forces stationed among them. From one tank, a gunner began to sing.

"Come ye, sand, snow or hail,
Or come sun warm and bright;
The day-y hot as hell, may be,
Or frigid cold the night."

The crew next to him joined in;

"Our faces may be caked with grease,
but steel, we, now and yore."

Up and down the line, the men picked up their familiar chorus, sung to them from their first week in Armored School in the vast scrubland of Alexandria Territory. Every man in the line added his voice to the chorus, as if yelling it triumphantly at the enemy.

"We're off to Hell, and back once more!
'Cause we're the Army Armored Corps!"

Meridon Defense Forces
Meridonian Army, 16 Division Infantry
26 Regimental Combat Team Mechanized (26 RGMI RCT)
-
Yonkers, New York, NYC - 1223H EST

While the Regimental Combat Teams of 16 DI would on a perfect day prefer the surrender or destruction of the Marines in Yonkers, they were not in a position to envelop them despite numeric superiority. Urban terrain limited their maneuverability, and they wouldn't be able to prevent their withdrawal. However, their exit into more open terrain, bereft of the vehicles they had when they arrived, meant that the Meridonians, mostly retaining theirs, would deny them the ability to fully detach from the fight.

Armored vehicles streamed forward from the outskirts of Yonkers, with weapons systems engaging retreating infantry formations with impunity. Without static defensive positions established to engage them from, Adders worked with even more impunity over the formations of Marine infantry, denying them the respite they so much desired. Rocket and cannonfire strafed formations, missiles destroyed what vehicles were left. Even jet fighters from above entered into the cacophonous fray, vultures descending on carrion, gunfire raking clusters of infantry while what remained of their ordnance slammed nonstop into formations. Free from any semblance of a 'restrictive' ruleset for engagement the aircraft above were able to apply their full combat potential towards the destruction of the enemy. Without air cover or air defense, in the open and out of options, the reaper's scythe would swing to swell the admittedly well-organized clusters of infantry attempting a retreat.

If the din of warfare had been loud in the concrete echochamber of Yonkers, it resounded in the hills and fields surrounding it. Bombs and rockets impacted in multiples preceded and succeeded by ravenous gunfire from air and land. Shells and bullets from the 5.56 rifles of infantrymen, 7.62 and 12.7 of coaxial machine guns, 20mm of aircraft chaingun and gatling cannons, 30mm of infantry fighting vehicles and even 40mm grenades from launchers streamed forward like a monsoon of fire. The rain of Hell descended upon the remnants of the ILA's most elite fighting force as the Meridonian infantry hounded their enemy all the way out of Yonkers with a wholly unexpected tenacity. Major General Sylvester Purdue, 16 Division Infantry's commanding officer, stood dumfounded as he watched a wall of smoke begin to envelop the northern outskirts of Yonkers. Tracer fire zipped from this enveloping, inky mass, as the orchestral chorus of Meridonian weapons systems seemed to fade into one intense and unrelenting barrage.

A Major, staff aide to MGen Purdue, noticed the seasoned field veteran and hobbyist bodybuilder, a man who was historic for his English 'stiff upper lip' shed a tear as he witnessed the carnage before him unfolding. He didn't know if it was in awe of the macabre beauty of this display, or in the horror of the realities of modern warfare. He didn't dare ask.

Meridon Defense Forces
Regiment Marines Commando- 2 Marine Amphibious Regiment
17 Commando Task Unit (17 CTU), 17 Battalion Marine Commando
-
Darlington, Providence, RI- 1152H EST

"ALCON, ALCON, this is Ruckman Sunray."

Colonel Charles Courtmanche stood behind a platoon of Marines with rifles trained at an advancing company-sized formation of militiamen, disarmed, with hands raised and a few white flags (likely pairs of underwear or tee-shirts) waving.

"ILA military formations have issued a general surrender. Take all encountered forces into custody and bring them to the collection points. ACE reports up within the next three. Continue on mission. Out."

The Marines had heard the rumors of the ILA militiamen turning on the SSP's wholesale slaughter and responded far more amicably than they had been inclined to. Providence was by far an easy victory, far easier than expected, but the Marines took what they could. Since the two battalions of Marines were no longer occupying the beach or port areas, the captured on the eastern side of Providence river would need to be airlifted out- a task that would be accomplished by helicopters both from Kennedy and from the amphibious ready groups.

There was a visible relaxation in the posture of the Marines, a far cry from the intense urban warfare a few days past. Some formations did not engage the enemy at all. A few barely heard distant gunshots. Overhead their formation, a pair of Lynx pilots ripped over Providence at 500 feet, wings tucked back and in full afterburner, another show-off by Navy pilots.

By 1300, Marines had taken positions in north Darlington and Attleboro, settling into defensive positions overlooking the highway approaches. It was quiet as could be. Positions were taken primarily in open industrial areas, with one such group setting up in a complex overhead a mattress store. A pair of forward-thinking Marines used ropes and manpower to haul brand-new sofa cushions up to the roof, from which they were spared the tar roof of the building. Tarps were cast and machine gun emplacements were set in these positions. Other groups coordinated the delivery of their task unit's vehicles- AMMV and HMMAVs- which would be airlifted into place over the remainder of the day, alongside the other heavy equipment belonging to the Commando Task Units. Others still coordinated the airlift of prisoners out from Darlington, those who were not captured on the west bank. The remainder took their positions and respite, halting after a day's good work.

Back at sea, the carrier-based aviation supporting the landing recovered aboard Baymark, readying itself for another pair of sorties relatively soon. Sombreland would be making landing shortly, and the jets of 5 Carrier Air Group would be on station for support.

Meridon Defense Forces
Joint Special Forces Group, Combat Special Applications Group Epsilon(CSAG-Ε)
-
Boston, New England- 0119H, following day

The Combat Special Applications Group, known as CSAG, was not a unit that was discussed publicly. As the only Defense Forces special missions unit that drew its members from all three branches of the Defense Forces and existed only within the 'need to know' circles of Meridonian Special Forces. When their operations saw media exposure, normally, they would be attributed to 8 Commando, the most popular Tier 1 special operations unit that belonged to the Army. CSAG and its subsequent formations were made up of almost entirely senior enlistedmen, the juniormost in their ranks being Sergeant. This was true with Group Epsilon, CSAG's premier unit for covert actions. Epsilon had deployed a nine-man unit to conduct the operation, and they had made entry into Boston the night prior to the beginning of offensive operations posing as nondescript citizens, with long-sleeve shirts and khaki pants disguising pistols, PDWs and carbines. They had booked rooms at seedy, dilapidated hotels overnight, and remained in the rooms by day. When night fell, they left at different times in separate vehicles, and drove them until they arrived at pre-designated spots surrounding a singular point deep within Boston. Only one car, a beat-up rental van, approached close enough to the house. A pair of keys were produced, inserted into the doorway, and three operators made their way through the house.

In thirteen seconds, their target was located, grabbed by the shoulders and rudely shaken awake. Colonel Hernandez, having outlived his usefulness, had his time up. NIGHTROSE had determined that there wouldn't be much his men could do for Hernandez and knew the house was being watched by SSP operatives, which meant now was the time to get him out. He had already been given instructions to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. It was time to see if he had followed these.

"Colonel Hernandez, MDF. Don't say a fucking word. Get your clothes on and get any valuables you need in the next ninety seconds and follow the lead man outside." There was no way of telling whether the man who spoke to him was a leader or an operative, even with a plate carrier now exposed on his chest. All of their faces were hidden behind masks.

In roughly two minutes, the cover they would need to extract him would coincidentally begin.

-
Overhead at 30,000 feet- 0021H

The Paperboys, having made their prior runs in the evening hours of the day, had delivered a message to the citizens of Boston. Thousands of pamphlets would be distributed by air, reading all of the same messages.

Citizens of Boston!
Your liberation is at hand as free men and women. The Coalition sits on the outskirts of Boston and has sent the forces of the Masculist regime retreating in New York and New England.
Cast aside your chains and reject your oppressors. Claim your birthright of freedom once more and end the nightmare laid upon your people!

Anyone in the territories still occupied by the Regime with critical thinking skills would be able to put two and two together. The Paperboy runs were always followed by the same thing.

The fighters now overhead were carrying ordnance far heavier than paper.

Composed of a squadron's strength of Wasp carrier-based fighters, guided bombs began to fall on priority targets, identified by recon overflights, human intelligence, and satellite imagery as targets worthy of being struck. Vehicle and ammunition depots, radar sites, including Boston's sole long-range radar station, known military headquarters buildings, vehicle yards, static fighting positions (especially MANPADs sites), and other priority targets were hit with GPS-guided weaponry, glide bombs, and a small portion of air to ground missiles. Though it wouldn't likely be identifiable in the moment, a small section of the city was given impunity from these attacks- the one containing Hernandez, the operators rescuing him, and their escape path to a nondescript field outside of Boston where the rescue aircraft would be awaiting.

Flying at night and at altitude, most of the pilots didn't even cue their targeting pods on targets- their bombs had already had their destinations uploaded before they had even strapped into their aircraft. Pressing the payload release button when the weapons computer told them to, they would in the span of fifteen minutes release their weaponry and fly away.

by **Polish Prussian Commonwealth** » Sat May 06, 2023 10:28 pm

Ujazdow Castle - Kingdom of Blauveldt, Commonwealth of the Sister-Realms

Foreign Minister Bronislaw Switlecki stood expectantly, almost eagerly, as he watched the others open up the comminques, steadily gauging their reactions. War Minister Andre Kuczera's eyes bulged as he read the communique, while Krazus, King of Blauveldt and Ryszana, merely cringed. General Falkenhyen gave a curt, ironic smile to Field Marshal Kowalcyzk, while, at his side, General Lillian Macduff traced her finger-tips over the Braille version of the letter, before setting it down with a sigh.

Stanislawa Świebodzice-Ryszana, speaker of the Sejm, remained impassive.

A long, awkward silence prevailed, before MinDef. Andre finally dared to pipe up -
"What the hell is an Incelastan? Just- What- How- Why-"

"Excellent questions, stripling." Switlecki sneered. "You see -"

"Cut the sarcasm, Minister Switlecki." Lillian's voice rang out, clear and cold. "His disbelief is warranted. Your Majesty, and Your Grace, what are your thoughts?"

Krazus blinked a few times, as if awaking from a long sleep. "Ah, right. Yes." he muttered. "This comes from Meridon, yes? One of our allies."

"By writ and treaty, your Majesty - not by blood or the shared struggle." Stanislawa noted.

"How else are alliances to begin, except by treaties?" Switlecki shot back. "Your Grace, did you not first marry the Margrave Berengar thanks to a treaty? Is that not what our Commonwealth was founded upon?"

"First came the struggle, Switlecki. I had known the good Margrave for a long time before that. Regardless, I shall take the point."

"A treaty -" Krazus noted. "Is still our word. The bond may not be as strong as that of blood, but neither should we be so quick to dismiss it. Especially if they desire our aid against so vile a nation..."

"I hope you do not ask me to throw an armored division over there, your Majesty." Kowalczyk grunted. "There are affairs closer to home that we may need to attend to."

"Of course not." Krazus shook his head, with a rueful smile. "Uncle Kowal, do you think I would forget the lessons you taught me so easily?"

Kowalczyk gave a short bark of laughter, which quickly peeled off into coughing. "Very well! Very well, your Majesty. I shall discuss the matter with Lillian and return with further options later."

"I can imagine what they might be." Krazus leaned back, and fished his pipe out of his pocket. "Light infantry, I assume?"

"Correct. SOF, the Guards Ulans, logistical support...I spoke with my Meridian colleagues on the phone before coming here, and I'll speak with them again once this is over. But those are simply generalities - We shall speak more about the specifics at a later time."

"Their main issue-" Falkheyn chimed in, "Is maintaining operational tempo. They cannot let up, even for a moment - else REDFOR may regroup, rearm, reorient itself - and then it will turn into a slog. The Federal Republic desires a quick victory - or, well, quick as possible, considering the sheer size of the theatre - for both practical and humanitarian reasons. That is where they desire our assitance." He paused to catch his breath, then continued on. "It should bear noting that...erm, Incelastan, seems to have a large, but qualitatively inferior army. You all know the sort - ideologically motivated youth brigades, loose bands of militia, questionably competent regular units, so on and so forth. That the Meridians are making short work of them on the conventional battlefield is not suprising. That said - Lillian, Kowalcyzk? I believe you know more about the mettle of the units we will likely send."

"That is correct." Lillian replied, after muttering an oath under her breath. "The Guards Ulans are untested. Yes, they have been involved in a few minor actions, and they have participated in a few major exercises - but no major, large-scale deployments of the entire brigade. Certainly not any on the scale we've seen so far. This is not entirely their fault - our country is tank country, as all know. We emphasize Mechanized Infantry and Armor the most. But still..."

"If I may be so blunt, General, get to the point." Krazus leaned in. "Will they perform?"

Lillian paused, glanced at Kowalczyk, and then nodded firmly. "Most likely. But expect growth pains. This will not be as easy for us as the Meriondialan Expedition."

"I never expected it to be, General." Krazus nodded, then sat up a little, pushing his chair back. "Alright. We'll reconvene tonight. I expect finalized options by then. Anything else?"

A few shakes of the head.

"Good."

The loud screech of chairs sounded through the conference-hall, as each man and woman stood and left. Switlecki was the last to leave - and as the doors shut behind him, a sickly, expectant grin grew across his pale face as he hurried to his office.

by **Polish Prussian Commonwealth** » Sun May 07, 2023 8:44 pm

Guards Ulans, Company A - Martha's Vineyard - Several Days Later
Pułkownik Jan Zarzycki slumped down into an empty seat and rubbed his eyes.

It had been a hellish flight over, over twenty hours via a Blauveldter-Ryszanan transport. Even that, however, would only be sufficient to deliver the first of many groups - the Guard Ulans were a light-infantry regimental combat group, over 4,000 strong if one counted maintenance and support personnel, with a large rotary-wing aircraft complement -- all of which was still slowly being flown over via Meridian airlifters. It would take another half of a day to even begin operations - for now, he had to content himself with establishing liasions, brushing up on the specifics of the situation, and, if all else failed, 'inspecting' the unloading of the equipment of his regiment's equipment, done by troops that had been trained to do their jobs well without supervision. He knew some generalities - specifically, that the Meriondialans wanted him conducting operations as soon as possible in the area of...Providence, Rhode Island. Something about a surrendering garrison - one that had turned on the pro-government radicals, for whatever reason that might be.

But that was a day or two away. For now, he had work to do, or pretend to do - and so he stood up again, stretching one sore leg and then the other, before limping over to the window. Beyond lay line after line of transport jets, disgorging men and material, and above all the all-important helicopters - largely medium-weight utility, though here and there he spied an attack helicopter, still not yet armed.

Soon he would put them to good use.

by **Sombreland** » Sun May 07, 2023 10:13 pm

Royal Sombreland Expeditionary Force, Coast of Massachusetts

Vice-Admiral Althus Dargon sat and listened as Lieutenant Count Byren gave the intelligence report.

Seven Youth Brigades (that is, seven brigade strength units), roughly 21,000 youth soldiers total, plus 3,000 SSP (security police), 500 ILA coastal defense artillery troops, and 6,000 Militia troops. Overall 30,500 troops under Major General Sylvester Romano, a graduate of VMI (Virginia Military Institute) who was a colonel in the United States Artillery when the USA collapsed. The coastal artillery troops are by far the most dangerous. Also some 600 Coast Guard aboard traditional cutter ships, commanded by Captain Ephraim Pechenko. Coast Guard loyalty to the regime is dubious at best. The radar station under Colonel Ira Devlin is manned by 89 non-combatant troops as well. This intelligence was also shared with allies at high command levels in the operational theatre.

“The difficulty,” continued Count Byren, “Is that the precise locations have yet to be pinned down. The only certain location is the radar station.”

When Captain Gohan rose to begin explaining the operations of the fleet, there were many thoughtful expressions on the faces of the men listening. Vice-Admiral Dargon was thinking of his conversation with Grand Admiral Teroth before his departure. Avoid unnecessary destruction to civilian property…

Between the planners on the Admiral’s staff and on Prince Jusus’ staff, they had mapped out a plan for the landing. He could see it all in his mind. The first waves moving ashore the ships continuing out to sea in a long loop[, readying the reserve boats.and then, they would come back. They would follow different courses to avoid shore artillery and defenses. The second drop hitting the water twenty minutes after the first. Ten boats, eight more AAVs. The third and fourth waves moving in with s supplies, armour, artillery, heavier communications gear. They had to calculate how many tons of water, fuel, food, ammunition, batteries. All the minds working together…hopefully…on the simple on the surface problem that hid the complexity of carrying out the task of getting the Royal Marines ashore…

Plum Island, Newburyport, Massachusetts

After the gear check and map familiarization that had occupied the Royal Marines for three hours, Kial Gove lay half asleep[, sprawled on a nest of life preservers in a small compartment just forward of the helicopter deck.

He was vaguely aware of two of the NCOs talking, gesturing at the gear that had been gathered and stacked. Uncle ordered his squad to muster and head to get their slipper-slopper. No horsing around; no wasting time. As Gove headed towards the mess hall, Cut-Nose said,

“Going to get something to eat?”

“Yes, Corporal.”

“You surprise me. Would have thought you’d be puking, Wencho.”

This time, the food was hot, pleasant. The eggs somehow fluffier, the coffee fresher. “They don’t wanna feel guilty about our spirits haunting them, do we all die…” muttered one of the Royal Marines. Another hushed him, saying it was bad luck.

Helmet tipped over his eyes, blanket roll and pack strapped to back, rifle in his hand, ammunition in his pouches. On the move at last. Gove tucked his chin strap tight one last time, and shuffled forward with the rest of them in red light, bent like old men, weapons dangling. The black mouth o f the hatch was filled with wind and the scream of turbines, and then with leaping men. Uncle shouting, “Remember watch the blades! Tail rotors on the left!”

They staggered onto a spray wet flight deck, caught the sting of salt water on their faces. Sound struck them like a punch, rotor waves pulsing around them, the stumbling lines shuddering. The dance of the flight crew in bright jackets holding electric lights guiding everything. Gove found himself climbing into the yawning mouth of a big reptile.The ship seemed to roll backwards from the window. There was a curtain of darkness, then a gray glimer of pre dawn as the horizon ame up. The big double rotor helicopter steadied, ceased climbing and tilted forward. The engines droned deafeningly. The light brightened, showing impressions of Uncle’s calm face, Cut-Nose’s scowling face, a scared Marine with mouth open, another with closed eys, another staring out the window.

The helicopter formed formation with others rising off the decks of the carrier and the amphibious ships. Above and beyond the front of the lead helicopter was an Anakonda gunships, with its minguns, cannons and rocket pods. Four escort Anakondas in total hovered forward to escort the Royal Marine Reconnaissance Regiment’s First Company into action to hit the upper area of the beach. They progressed rapidly over the sea and towards a flat area of softly sloping dunes that led up to a low ridge and a lighthouse. The electronic warfare plane did swift lazy loops around them, doing its best to interfere with radar detection and communications.

Towards the aft of the Recon Company, alarms were sounding, as the four LCACs, boats and AAVs were being descended into the water, ready to carry the first wave of the Royal Marine Landing Regiment ashore.

And so it begins…” murmured Vice-Admiral Dargon.

“Good luck to you,” said Prince Jusus, who was in battle dress now, offering him a friendly salute. “Thank you for all that you have done so far.

“You are most welcome,” agreed Vice-Admiral Dargon. “And good luck to you, my dear Prince.”

Good luck to you all, Dragon thought, a hollow feeling in his stomach as he watched the Royal Marine commander descending the companionway.

by **Anagonia** » Mon May 08, 2023 2:05 am

Naval Battle Fleet Forest Holloway
Commodore Finlay Green; Naval Battle Fleet CO
May 8th, 107 AUR - 0435 Hours Anagonian Standard Time
85 Nautical Miles off the Coast of New York, Old United States

The CSS Forest Holloway and her fleet had maintained a rotation at their original location of arrival. The fleet would sail southwestward and conduct a turn to port to head back towards the coast of New England. There it would skirt the international waters boundary with old, recognized boundaries with the United States. It would keep around 10 to 15 nautical miles away from this maritime boundary, then proceed northeastward until turning again to end up back at 85 nautical miles from the maritime boundary. Each time the fleet would skirt close, they would come across fleets of civilian yacts, boats, and refugee ships that included - believe it or not - small tug boats. Commodore Green would order the fleet to slow to a few knots and conduct humanitarian operations, providing the citizens of the old US their most needed supplies and requirements before sending them off - if they were capable of moving off.

Most were.

The old American people were a hardy folk, much like the Anagonian. They were independent, reliable, straight-forward, and quite honest when seeking assistance. They asked for only which they needed - insofar as the civilians he'd seen so far - and if they needed medical attention they would often remain with their loved ones. Several communities dotted the New England coast, the coast of the old Northeast States of the United States, and there were located most of those who needed assistance. Some of those civilians coming up for help represented a community or two that desperately needed help. The Commodore was slowly compiling a list of these towns, cities, and villages so he could accurately prepare a humanitarian operation in the future. In the meantime, the New Englanders seemed content at approach the fleet for the supplies.

The Anagonian fleet was, overall, left relatively unmolested in the fact of the ongoing and brutal war near Boston, New York, and other major city centers. The amount of refugees they had taken in was surprisingly small. The amount of asylum seekers was almost nil to nonexistent, though there had been at least eight so far who had done so. Eight souls out of the thousands helped so far who had nothing left. It was a hopeful sign. It meant there was still much to have and hold onto in the old United States. He hoped these numbers remained consistent.

"Commodore, report from Naval Command," chimed an Ensign from behind Finlay.

The Commodore turned from his position along the railing outside the bridge-house of the Fleet Escort Carrier. There was operations being conducted on deck, namely the rotation of the two E-2D Advanced Hawkeyes to provide support of ICON allied assets in the region. The Commodore had also observed the flight crew launch compliments of the twin-seater EA-18G Growler - of which the carrier had four - in rotations to provide passive EW support to both allied and fleet assets. In compliance with the Meridian Military requests, Commodore Green had also ordered a rotation of single-seat F/A18E Super Hornets - of which the carrier had four - all equipped with aerial refueling pods to support ICON allied air assets in need of refueling. The remainder of the strike aircraft on board (eight F-35 Lightning II's and eight F-21B Drekafighters) were kept in storage below decks unless otherwise needed for the rare patrol.

Taking the report from the Ensign, the Commodore thanked him before returning to leaning on the railing. He read the paper, attached to a notebook that was kept as a communications log for the bridge, as the Ensign dutifully took position behind and to the right of the Commodore to allow his commanding office time to finish his duties. Finlay observed the writing a second time, before giving a slow nod. He handed the communication logbook back to the Ensign.

"Thank you, Ensign Porriage, that'll be all," the Commodore said giving a glance and nod. The Ensign saluted and quickly went back to work playing Yeoman for the day. The Commodore resumed his observations of the deck.

There had been a report from Naval Command. ICON was deliberating a joint military statement. If agreed, the situation might go hot. The Commodore thought on the consequences of this. He had a compliment of Marines - several compliments considering the 400 Marines on the Battlecarrier and the compliment of Marines on the LPD awaiting Humanitarian operations. Whatever they could do had to be light and the Commodore had to decide just how involved he'd be - if at all. He had made some promises to some communities along the coast. He had to decide if those promises superceded providing support or if he could find a way to dual-purpose his operations.

"Damn wars," muttered the Commodore.

A gentle breeze blew past the bridge and over the deck. It was a heavy one, but the skies were clear in these morning hours affording the crews a beautiful view of the heavens and its stars. Lights from the bridge and other sources kept the deck illuminated. Finlay watched as a EA18G Growler took off from the catapult. The breeze smelled of gentle spring. He could faintly make out the scent of wildflowers over the heavy scent of the oceans salty mist. He was an older man, with many years under his belt, and a native Anagonian. His darker complexion and naturally raven-black hair afforded him some luxury in the summer months. His hair was neatly cut, though, and while it still had some darkness to it there was clear evidence of an infecting gray throughout. He heaved a sigh, raising from the rail and turning towards the entrance to the bridge.

"Time for coffee," he spoke aloud, though to no one in particular.

by **The Great state of Joseon** » Mon May 08, 2023 6:11 am

White Plains

The battle is over. Captain Kim Han-min was relieved that he survived. His tank, his crew, and he was safe. He was just grateful for this.

"Report the damage." The division commander's cold voice rang out through the radio.

"One M35A2 tank was lost and two M35A2 tanks were damaged. One can return to the base on its own, but one is damaged in the caterpillar. In addition, a total of two K2 tanks were lost and three were damaged, but damaged tanks can return on their own. There are five dead and 25 wounded." It was the voice of the headquarters company commander.

"Three tanks lost, five damaged. Got it. Transfer the dead and wounded immediately to the hospital ship." The division commander spoke briefly and terminated the communication.

"Thank you for your hard work. Captain." Sergeant Park Sung-ho, a tank pilot, told Kim Han-min. Kim Han-min answered, pulling out a water bottle.

"Good work everyone. Let's be grateful just for surviving today's battle. The enemy was powerful, but we won nonetheless."

Yonkers

Things were moving fast in Yonkers. The A13 Vanguard aircraft, floating thousands of feet in the air, has reported that the enemy's Marine Division is preparing to withdraw, and Colonel Jeong Hae-rim threw a winning move.

Colonel Jeong Hae-rim

""All troops, attack the retreating enemies. Don't attack passively only with drones, but actively charge so that your enemies don't get out of Yonkers."

At her command, unmanned ground combat vehicles took the lead at the front of the line and bombarded the retreating ILA forces with 50 mm shells and anti-tank missiles. The infantry followed in the footsteps of the UGCVs with IFVs, supporting firepower and launching attacks on the remaining enemy forces.

Colonel Jeong Hae-rim was very proud that she had the opportunity to eradicate the terrible discrimination against women. At the same time, she had to think coolly, and try not to attack civilians. Many civilians still appeared to remain in the operational area. She has Prohibited soldiers from firing on civilians, but there will surely be civilians who are sacrificed by fire from both sides.

Jeong Hae-rim reported to General Adrian Quaritch that civilian damage was feared within Yonkers. She didn't want Yonkers to be the second Chechen, and now she doesn't want Yonkers to be the second Aleppo.

Providence

When General Adrian Quaritch heard of the surrender of the ILA militia in Providence, he immediately ordered the Marines and the fleet. LHD ships sent helicopters in the air, and Marines in Providence moved to disarm ILA militia members.

Adrian Quaritch sent a telegram to the Commonwealth of New York asking for the prison building in the New York Metropolitan area to be used as a temporary prisoner of war camp.

To. Commonwealth of New York Military Command
From. General Adrian Quaritch, The Commander of Joseon Military

We got the surrender of the enemy troops at Providence.

Currently, we need facilities to accommodate prisoners, and the only suitable facilities are the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Manhattan. We will provide security forces to guard the building and we will also pay for the meals to be provided to the prisoners.

We look forward to your positive response.

Nyack

The situation in Nyack, to be honest, was not good. Despite the fierce bombardment of bombers and fighter jets, many ILA troops remained. They're still resisting. Lee Myung-deok, the field commander of the Joseon military, despised Incelastan but was forced to admire the combat power of the ILA forces. They were quite strong enemies.

Not a single F-15K fighter jet was shot down because it was flying at a high altitude and was equipped with sufficient missile jamming equipment. But the ground was different. Trucks diligently carried the wounded and the dead back, and the hospital ships waiting on Manhattan's waters were becoming more and more full. The damage to Joseon’s soldiers was increasing.

As the damage to Joseon's troops continued to accumulate, Lee Myung-deok contacted the 53rd Artillery Division and asked for another artillery attack. Then dozens of K9 self-propelled howitzers and MLRSs waiting for 40 kilometers behind the battlefield fired once again at ILA troops.

Infantry and armor are important to the army, but artillery was the core and most important part of the Joseon army. Joseon valued artillery for hundreds of years, and it was actually able to get help from artillery in various wars. It seemed no different in this war.

While artillery fire continued, the tank battalion slowly began to approach the ILA unit, escorted by infantry and APCs. The tanks activated the active defense system to prepare for the enemy's anti-tank attack, and the infantry prepared to find and remove the enemy's anti-tank weapons soldiers.

New York
Lower Bay

Orders have finally been given to the EA-18G squadron, which was constantly waiting on the carrier. As soon as the order was given, the pilots boarded their aircraft as if they were waiting, and the carrier's catapults launched EA-18G Electronic Warfare Aircraft into the sky.

The EA-18G squadron of four aircraft headed over Boston. To avoid enemy MANPADS firing, the aircraft flew at a high altitude and were backed by four F-35C fighters to prepare for emergencies.

Ironically, all of these aircraft were made in the United States. Of course, for Americans groaning under Incelastan's oppression, aircraft are a blessing and liberator, but for Incelastan, they will be nothing short of a demon.

The EA-18G aircraft activated ELINT equipment and other electronic signal collection devices upon arrival at the target point. The purpose of these devices is to snatch all of Incelastan's radio signals from the sky and collect them.

The aircraft hovered over the sky and collect signals like a hungry person would eating food.

by **Incelastan** » Tue May 09, 2023 7:15 am

Providence, Rhode Island

Colonel Stout turned in his sidearm along with his ceremonial sword, at least for now, though he naturally hoped to get the latter back at least, "Take good care of it, please. That one is a family heirloom. My ancestors carried it since we took it off a Confederate major at Shiloh back in 1862. I never thought that it would be our turn to surrender someday. No Stout has ever had to surrender before. Had a near miss in 1942, though. Almost got caught in Bataan, but he got wounded and evacuated early on instead."

The rest of his men quickly followed their colonel's example, sad though it was to see him break his long family tradition. If their proud colonel could surrender, so could they. It was necessary, after all, and at least the city was in good hands. Better hands than the damn SSP for sure. They just had to wait to be transferred to a POW camp, of course. Only could hope for decent accommodations. Speaking of Bataan, Stout recalled stories of his grandfather's about later meeting the survivors of the infamous Death March. It was a wonder that there were any survivors at all. One could only hope that Joseon and the other coalition forces didn't have that in mind for him and his Militia, mostly just young men defending their hometown regardless of ideology. All that they could right now was just wait, of course. What else was there?

White Plains, New York

Two and a half brigades. Two fucking brigades' worth of tanks and men made it back in some order from the Battle of White Plains, the worst defeat suffered by the ILA yet and the largest tank battle ever on American soil. That was funny, of course, because all of the other tank battles had been in this war, too, and they had all resulted in ILA victories. General Harrison knew what to do, though. Attach his forces to Second Armored Division and serve as their reserve force for now. That would give his shattered armored formation a chance to recover at least a little. He would be allowed to retain command of the reserve, he knew. He had at least salvaged something from the fatal blunder of General Wiest of splitting up his division into small groups like that. It had been a gamble, which was bold, and there were reasons for it, but like most gambles, it had severely backfired. That was the trouble with leadership, with command. One had to take risks, and risks came with the real danger of blowback. When that happened, the man in charge had to take the fall for it. That was the honorable thing to do. Wiest got out of that by being KIA, of course, so the short straw passed to Harrison instead.

In any case, he now had vital intel as to the mettle of the coalition forces. They were nothing to dismiss or trifle with, he knew that much. He could relay that much to his new boss when he arrived. For now, they had to evacuate before the enemy decided to pursue them after all. They were in pretty rough shape by now and would be even worse off in that scenario. Harrison wasn't sure if they would survive intact as a unit.

As for the ones caught behind, they overwhelmingly surrendered rather than fight to the death. The war was lost now. That much was evident, going up against these foes. There was no point in dying for a doomed cause, was there? Incelastan had been a dream that had been a nightmare for others, and now everyone had to wake up from it. They would never see the likes of it again. Masculism would be consigned to history's ash heap like Fascism and National Socialism, never to return. Maybe that was for the best. Davis had taken things too far, anyway. He pushed his luck once too many. For the coalition's new POWs from the ILA in White Plains, the future really was what Shakespeare said of death, but could apply to wartime captivity...the undiscovered country.

Nyack, New York

The news from White Plains was the last straw, of course. Hatch knew that there would be no relief, no armored support, and now the enemy artillery really hounded him, just as much as the air forces did. He had tried repeatedly to fight his way out of this trap, and all to no avail. He had two choices left. He could fight to the death, a whole division going down in flames, along with a city. That would be what Davis wanted him to do, of course. That likely would be what Davis himself did, out of spite. Hatch wasn't Davis, though. Davis was a court-martialed felon who had been convicted of rape and sent to Fort Leavenworth and dishonorably discharged from the Army. Hatch was a professional soldier, an Army careerist, a regular. He was violent when necessary, but not blindly and maliciously so. He did his duty, that was all.

And his duty lay elsewhere. Hatch ordered his comm man to put a dispatch to the forces of Joseon and New York.

To: The Commander of the Coalition Forces
From: Major General Urias Hatch, CO of the 1st Infantry Division, Nyack, New York
Re: Surrender of the 1st Infantry, Nyack

Sir,

I have been reliably informed that my armored relief has been denied by the arms of your coalition. I have attempted multiple times to break out. This has been denied to me as well. I am trapped and we both know this. The choices are death or dishonor. If it were just me, I would choose death. I am, however, responsible for the lives of my officers and men. I have a duty to surrender them and so I hereby propose to do just that. This is likely to get me branded a traitor back in Boston, but I don't care. I'm too much an old-guard Army Regular officer to care much about ideology or dogma. At least with the Commonwealth side of your coalition, I would be surrendering to former fellow countrymen of mine. That is good enough for me.

Sincerely,
Major General Urias Hatch,
Commanding Officer, 1st Infantry Division

There it was. He had done it. May history forgive me, he thought, but he wasn't sure for what exact offense.

Yonkers, New York

Lanier cursed his bad luck as the Joseonite forces choose not to let him escape so easily. He redoubled his efforts, but he also ordered the maximum amount of coverage for his evacuation. He wasn't about to just give up that easily. He was trying to get out of Dodge as fast as possible. He had ultimately decided to attempt go up the Hudson toward a more defensible position by boat. He just had to get a decent core of his division onto said boats intact. They were Marines, after all, so it made sense. He had the not insignificant problem of having to keep the rest of the division intact while evacuating the city. He focused his remaining artillery, mortars, and MANPADs toward defending the rest of the infantry until they could get safely onto the boats that he had opted to commandeer at this juncture. He had to preserve his unit without being forced to surrender, after all. He didn't want to suffer the fate of the forces on Long Island, after all. He was keen on emerging from this war with a better reputation than that....well, for one of the increasingly obvious losing side.

"God damn it, we have to get out of here in one piece!" Lanier cursed again.

Masculinium (formerly Boston),
Capital of Incelastan

"He escaped? He fucking defected! That traitor! God damn him! That motherfucking traitor! If I ever find that snake Hernandez, I will wait for him in the tall grass! This is your fault, Darien! You told me that you had him trapped and could grab him at any time! I should shoot you myself! God, what else is new? Am I surrounded only by incompetents, fools, and traitors?" Davis screamed at La Rousse.

The news that Hernandez was gone was just the tip of the bad news iceberg for Davis, of course. Providence had fallen. Nyack had been captured, along with Martha's Vineyard. Vermont and New Hampshire were in open rebellion and Davis didn't have the surplus troops to crush them. The enemy was on his very doorstep and Davis knew it. He could feel it, could feel all of his utopia, his Incelastan slipping away from him. He read the news of the surrender of Nyack and the disastrous defeat at White Plains, not to mention the evacuation of Yonkers and nearly keeled over with a stroke. Was there any good news?

"It gets worse, of course. General Owens is....marching here, by all accounts, has disarmed and disbanded our forces in western Massachusetts, including the Youth Brigades there...half of the total fourteen brigades, as you recall. He's...pulling a Sulla, sir. He has already announced that he is planning to 'take command of Boston, the historic capital of Massachusetts, and dissolve the artificial and mismanaged state known as Incelastan.' He is fighting for 'the independence of Massachusetts' instead. Clearly, he means to create a military dictatorship of some kind that would focus on ruling and keeping Massachusetts. Normalizing it somewhat, too. Returning it to the status quo ante. This is...treason, sir, and so is this," La Rousse told him, pulling a pistol on his boss and opening fire at point-blank range.

Davis's veins nearly popped out of his head and neck as he flashed red and started to charge at his assailant and betrayer. Instead, he toppled as he felt the force of the round entering his chest. He still struggled to his feet, but La Rousse had gone too far to stop now. He fired again, right in front of the rest of the Directorate. Then he fired a third time before turning his gun on Feathers, Larsen, and Stern. There was an obvious question here. What would they do now?

The king was dead. Long live the king.

"Well, I guess that you're the boss now...sir. Are we going to fill any of the empty portfolios?" Feathers asked him directly now, feeling very worried about his own neck now that his nation was in revolt, a revolt spreading to the rest of Maine. The infection, the cancer of dissent, had metastasized.

"No, let the underlings handle that now. What we have to plan for now is our escape. Davis was only going to speed up our demise enough to make escape impossible. We need golden parachutes. Incelastan is doomed now. The war is lost. We all know that by now. We have to plan our exile....a comfortable exile with which we can still operate as a rival shadow government, if you will. Deny whatever puppet regime that they have in mind full legitimacy. No, on second thought. Fill the posts. We can take two more Directors with us to make our government-in-exile look better and more effective than otherwise. Propaganda matters, my friend. Maybe we can direct terrorist cells from exile. Ideally, that would work to destabilize their puppet states, of course. But never surrender and never die. Don't let them capture us and use us to uphold their warped and twisted values," the new Chairman, La Rousse, declared to the crew.

"Works for me. I certainly love a good propaganda war. Less risk of death. As long as we can stay rich and free, I'm all in," Stern chuckled.

"Count me in, too. I have a decent stash in the Caymans. The Caribbean sounds nice and warm by now. My last laugh, I dare say, at the expense of our enemies," Larsen concurred as they concluded the meeting and the cleanup of the crime scene began.

It would never be prosecuted, after all. Not with the new Chairman of the Director the culprit.

Newburyport, Massachusetts

The sudden, unexpected arrival of this significant enemy force landing at the coast naturally resulted in considerable panic. Captain Theodore Callas saw it happening, but quickly whipped into action. He began ordered the withdrawal of any troops caught in the open to more defensible positions from which they could pound the foe. Then, of course, he ordered any available anti-aircraft guns and MANPADs to engage the enemy attack helicopters that had been spotted emerging that morning.

Callas was a Regular Army officer by training, after all. He wasn't one of Davis's bootlickers. The grandson of Greek immigrants, he had started out as an enlisted man before being put in OCS (Officers' Candidates School) and risen high enough by now to have two bars on his uniform. He wasn't one to give up defending his own shores without a fight. He would do his level best to protect his country from invasion. He was a true Artillery officer, just like Romano, who by now would have to be aware of what was afoot. Kyrie eleison, he muttered, hoping that he wasn't overheard, but not caring too much right then. Many of the troops secretly or not so secretly held onto their old religious beliefs, despite official pretense. Lord have mercy, he repeated in English now, translating it automatically from the Greek. The State could think what it wanted. It was going down in flames. The Greek Orthodox Church had existed long before Incelastan and would continue well after that fact. That was very telling, wasn't it?

"Don't let them get past the beaches, by God! They have to be pinned down! This is your country, boys! Guard it with your lives!" Callas roared at his troops, "Knock 'em out of the sky!"

Callas didn't give a crap about ideology. He was defending Massachusetts, damn it. That was all. He didn't trust these foreigners not to duplicate and emulate the atrocities committed by the ILA in Boston, Provincetown, and Hyannisport. Or fucking Leominster, for that matter. He had a job to do, a sacred duty, and he would do it, by God!

ILS Pegasus,
12 Nautical Miles off New Jersey

Lieutenant Commander Desmond "Skip" Flanagan, the captain of the Pegasus, listened to his dive officer's last update before issuing the next instructions.

"Take us to periscope depth, Mr. Ruiz. Mr. Baker, flood tubes one and two with hot, live fish. We're about to sink a luxury liner off the Jersey Shore. That will teach those ignorant preppies to scorn us. Don't have any mercy, folks. These are the elite of the old regime, the old order, if you will. They're the ones who made our lives miserable for much of it growing up. These are the fat-cats. There are no innocents aboard, not even the lickspittle staff who curtsy at every turn to their mighty overlords, the robber barons, the captains of industry. Let's give 'em hell!" Flanagan barked at his XO to carry out his orders.

"Aye, going to periscope depth, Captain," the dive officer, Lieutenant Pablo "Diablo" Ruiz replied proudly.

"You heard the man. Flood the damn tubes! Get those torpedoes in place! Let's sink this puppy as soon as we have a solution!" Lieutenant Rudolph Baker sharply commanded his own subordinates, passing the skipper's orders down the chain of command.

The passengers and crew of the ocean liner Semiramis had no idea that they were about to die in the warming waters off the Jersey Shore, within easy sight of the coast. They were in for a very rude awakening that morning indeed. One from which many of them would never return alive. The decision to target such obviously civilian shipping was controversial, of course, but to Flanagan, it was clear. It was this elite that had his own life hell at times, for much of his life, in fact. They were the folks who downsized his father's textile mill years back. They were the folks who kept pushing rental prices upward. They were the folks who profited off alimony, custody, and child support cases such as what happened to his brother. Seamus Flanagan had foolishly married a mainline Protestant type who was liberal enough that divorce was always an option for her. When she cashed in those chips, she really cashed in, too, causing such misery to his brother that he rushed the deputies one day and died in a classic "suicide by cop" scenario. Flanagan didn't know that detail or loophole was enough to keep Seamus out of Hell, but it didn't matter. His divorce and ex-wife had already put him through Hell enough in his life.

Flanagan had sworn revenge, and now he was about to take it. Those damn lawyers, judges, and other such pricks were about to pay for screwing over good, hard-working, law-abiding, taxpaying, honest, God-fearing men like his brother. He was privately still Catholic and he hoped that God would forgive him, but he would rather burn in Hell than let them get away with murder. An eye for an eye, he thought, invoking the Old Testament. Surely, a just and righteous God would understand that. At least he hadn't attacked a city with truly innocent civilians living there. Despite his misgivings about the regime and its assault upon organized religion, Flanagan shared its disgust with feminism and the divorce industry. At least that had been destroyed in Incelastan, though he feared with defeat that it would return.

Well, I'm not going down without a fight, you know. Not this sailor.

"Captain, sir, we have a solution!" Baker now informed his skipper, adding the bearings.

"Alright, then. Let's go...fire torpedoes!" Flanagan directed his XO, who passed on those orders as well.

Not long afterward, of course, those hot fish began swimming toward their target, the Semiramis. Flanagan personally watched with satisfaction as the ship exploded, its hull breached, and hundreds of panicky civilians scrambling to somehow survive the attack.

"They never knew what hit 'em, and nor will the next assholes! Bravo, boys! Let's take this down below! Mr. Ruiz, take us to 100 meters," Flanagan added, "Mr. Baker, you have the conn. I'm going to the head."

Yeah, he always had a steel bladder and he had been more than willing to hold it in until the deed was done. Now he was relieved in more than one sense of the word.

by **Europe a Nation** » Tue May 09, 2023 8:01 am

Lunden, Eulabia

Prime Minister Mekhar Asul Karlsson leaned back in his chair, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Klara, I've been reviewing the plans for our expeditionary task force to Meridon, and I think it's the perfect opportunity to test our newest sub-launched hypersonic cruise missile prototype. What do you think?"

Defence Secretary Klara Savinkova hesitated, her voice firm but measured. "Prime Minister, I understand the potential benefits of testing the missile, but we must also consider the risks involved. It's an anti-ship missile, and due to the lack of suitable naval targets, we'd be forced to test it on ground targets. There are significant chances of failure and collateral damage."

Mekhar waved a hand dismissively, his ruthlessness shining through. "We must seize this opportunity, Klara. The future of MK Industries and our national defence capabilities depend on it."

Klara nodded, her concern for the people evident. "I agree, sir, that this test could be beneficial, but we must be cautious. The potential for collateral damage is too great if we test the missile at its maximum range."

Mekhar's voice took on a determined tone. "I understand your concerns, Klara, but we must push forward. The success of this missile could solidify our position as a regional leader in defence technology. We can't let this chance slip away."

Klara took a deep breath, the weight of the decision apparent. "Very well, Prime Minister. I will prepare the necessary arrangements for the test. However, I must insist that we limit the missile's range and take every possible precaution to minimise the risks."

Mekhar nodded, satisfied with her measured agreement. "Of course, Klara. We will do everything in our power to ensure the safety of those on the ground. Now, let's make history.”

Charlestown Military Base, Eulabia

As the sun rose above the EAN military base, a mix of anticipation and concern filled the air. Large transport planes were lined up on the tarmac, their cargo bays loaded with equipment and personnel, all prepared to airlift the Expeditionary Task Force. Soldiers, their expressions a blend of resolve and uncertainty, boarded the planes, each one aware that their mission had both potential risks and benefits.

At the same time, a discreet submarine embarked on its journey, slipping beneath the waves and setting course for the designated area. The sub's crew, experienced yet cautious, recognised the complexities of their mission. They knew they carried a highly advanced hypersonic cruise missile prototype, and that the potential for failure and collateral damage was not insignificant.

The air force and the submarine crew shared a purpose: to carry out the government's orders and conduct the test that could influence the EAN's future military capabilities. As the planes took to the sky and the submarine disappeared beneath the ocean's surface, Eulabia watched with interest, pondering the implications of the EAN's actions. With Mekhar Asul Karlsson's unwavering ambition guiding the mission, the outcome for ICON and the potential consequences for the region remained to be seen.

ORBAT

X - Expeditionary Task force - 1981 per.
- II - Strategic Fires Battalion
- II - Military Intelligence Battalion
- II - Security Battalion
- II - Support Battalion

2x II - Separate Logistics Battalion

1x SAN.1039R2 "Ravana"
- 2x Hypersonic Cruise Missile MK-867FL "Killjoy"
- 40x Subsonic Cruise Missile MK-67 "Tomcat"

by **Unoccupied New York** » Tue May 09, 2023 10:44 am

Secretary of Defense's Office,
Manhattan, New York

Secretary of Defense Arnold Van Nuys had the approval from Governor Watson, of course, within relatively short time, and then he informed Admiral Kirkwood to that effect. It would be done. The Mayor might not be thrilled too much, but he could deal with it. National defense and security trumped normal domestic considerations. This was a war, after all, and they were hip deep in it. In short order, Kirkwood fired off her reply to Quaritch.

To: General Adrian Quaritch, The Commander of Joseon Military
From: Vice-Admiral Elaine M. Kirkwood, Chief of Staff of the Commonwealth Armed Forces

First of all, congratulations to all coalition forces for this victory that has liberated an entire city from cruel oppression and tyranny by the fascist patriarchy and rogue state of Incelastan. This is an extraordinary, and due to its success, Brigadier General Irving Markowitz has been formally promoted to Major General, granting him the first new two-star Army rank since the war began. This request is rather essential and necessary to our mutual defense and has been given highest priority. Your co-operation in terms of additional security and meal compensation is much appreciated as well. Obviously, it is granted, per direct instructions from Governor Michelle Watson and Secretary of Defense Arnold Van Nuys. The secure, but livable conditions of the prisoners are absolutely vital in terms of discouraging further resistance to our coalition forces and subverting enemy propaganda, as well as being basic human decency and common sense.

Mazel tov,
Vice-Admiral Elaine M. Kirkwood, Chief of Staff of the Commonwealth Armed Forces

The Governor's Office,
Manhattan, New York

"Did you read this letter from New Jersey Governor Jarvis McCormick? He's formally complaining that the war between us and Incelastan has caused the sinking of an ocean liner known as the Semiramis off the Jersey Shore. Do you know what this means, aside from some ruffled feathers in Trenton that we can actually smooth over and maybe even turn to our advantage diplomatically? It means that we have located the ILS Pegasus? Let me handle Governor McCormick. The man was an irascible, ulcerated prick before he even had stomach troubles. I can deal with him. I want you to contact the coalition command and inform them that we have received this report of a sinking of an ocean liner that is virtually certain to pinpoint the location of the Pegasus. That is vital intelligence, after all," Governor Watson told Secretary Van Nuys after her first "Irish" coffee for the day.

Well, yeah, she was at war. She had earned it. Watson had never counted on being a wartime leader, not yet at any rate. The stress was getting to her and she was more than ready to hang up her hat once the war was done and her term of office, of course. There was no danger of wartime "Caesar syndrome" with Watson, not on your life. She didn't have that kind of ego or narcissism to overcome her fatigue and high stress, in any case.

To: Coalition Forces High Command
From: Secretary of Defense Arnold Van Nuys, Commonwealth of New York
Encryption: Highest
Re: Lone ILN Submarine ILS Pegasus

I have received information and intelligence to the effect that the last remaining hunter-killer attack submarine, the ILS Pegasus, last reported to be under command of Lieutenant Commander Desmond "Skip" Flanagan, has sunk the ocean liner Semiramis off the Jersey Shore just this morning. This would indicate that we have an approximate radius within which to search and destroy said submarine. Obviously, this is highly useful tactical intelligence for our navies and most urgent, given his apparent willingness to deliberately cause collateral damage. We do not have a full psychological profile of Commander Flanagan, but we do know that he took his brother's apparent suicide after a messy divorce case very badly and this could well affect his judgment. The sooner he and his crew and sub are popped, the better, I think that you would agree. The source of the report of this attack was the Honorable Jarvis D. McCormick, Governor of Jersey, who wrote to complain to Governor Watson about the incident in question in his capacity as head of a neutral state. Perhaps this will shake him out of his neutrality, in any case.

Sincerely,
Arnold Van Nuys,
Secretary of Defense, The Commonwealth of New York

Providence, Rhode Island

"Okay, it seems that we've all got sectors to patrol and occupy in the city, but we all still have to work together as a team and to work with any municipal government that might emerge. This is post-war reconstruction, guys. This city's war is over, even if the rest of Incelastan still has a fight left in it. Judging by the morale and attitude here, though, the regime's running out of steam. They have lost hearts and minds, at least down this way," General Gutierrez remarked to General Powell as the two men briefly enjoyed a supper and watched the POWs being marched toward their next stop.

"I hope that they have enough sense to separate the SSP from the Militia. Those guys are trouble," Powell observed over a fairly decent ad hoc brunch of canned ham and eggs.

"Any details as to what kind of civilian administration is being created yet? Or are they waiting for the coalition to do that for them?" Gutierrez wondered aloud.

"Well, there's this Transitional Committee. Do you wish to contact them yet?" Powell answered him.

"Let's talk to the other guys first," Gutierrez responded.

"Fair enough," Powell agreed just then.

To: Coalition Partners
From: Commonwealth Commanders
Re: Occupational Authority and Civil Administration

Given that we are now jointly responsible for the occupation of the city of Providence, Rhode Island, and will soon, presumably, be in charge of the rest of the state, we wish to exchange notes and ideas on the best plan for co-operation on the aforementioned occupation and administration of the city and state. While sectors are likely to be necessary, an overall command of the occupation forces should be clearly established and terms for collaboration with any civil administration or government that might emerge be considered. We wish to hear your opinions and evaluation of the situation.

Sincerely,
Generals Gutierrez and Powell

Nyack, New York

The news that the enemy wanted to surrender in Nyack was truly a surprise for Generals Wayne and Fisher. Sure, they were in an impossible situation, the ILA, that was, but the actual clarity of mind that it would take to realize this without ego getting in the way....that was unexpected. Then again, the ILA had withdrawn from White Plains and Yonkers, and had already surrendered on Long Island, Martha's Vineyard, and Providence, Rhode Island. In any case, they could take pride in their role, supporting the Joseonites in closing the trap around the engulfed enemy. They were also pleased to be greeted by locals as heroes and liberators, just as the Joseonites were. Then again, this was their home state. It mattered that the Commonwealth forces had returned to their own soil and helped to dislodge the enemy occupiers of the Empire State. It was going to be interesting to see what followed, both in the city itself and in terms of the next phase of fighting. Would they still get along and co-operate as a coalition?

They were about to find out. At least the civil government side was easier, as a new, interim mayor and council took office and prepared to begin clean-up and renovation of the town. No more "district commissioner" nonsense, as the Incelastan flag was lowered and the Commonwealth flag raised again above City Hall. Commonwealth law would now replace Incelastan law once again. The curfew was immediately lifted and the women were released from their bizarre form of house arrest in the female hostels. It was a helluva mess, but at least it would be the job of the civilians to clean it up...mostly.

by **Sombreland** » Tue May 09, 2023 2:18 pm

Plum Island Beach, Newburyport, Massachusetts

For the first time in 20 years, A Royal Sombreland Expeditionary Force found itself under attack by hostile forces outside of its sphere of influence. The Anakonda crews found that alarms were going off, warning of ground to air missile attacks on them as they moved towards their landing zones. In moments, the air around the Rexon force was alive with flares, auto cannon rounds blazing, helicopters attempting evasive action. One of the Anakondas, badly damaged, was issuing mayday calls as it took the brunt of the attack and began going down in a whirl of smoke. The other three lay down a blaze of suppressive fire and flares as the Recon force was ordered to retreat. The enemy were clearly going to bitterly oppose landing.

When he received report of the repulse, Vice-Admiral Dargon cursed his adherence to the Oath of Peace for the ftprist time. He now gave orders to Commsnder Sarazan to strike at the radar position.

Four Bartgdiers, outfitted with Brimstone Missiles, were to move rapidly towards the position of the enemy radar position and launch eight Brimstones at it to destroy the enemy’s radar capacity entirely. The pilots took off from the carrier,
In a great screaming of engines and huge gusts of wind. Rocketing out over the sea, rapidly, stalking high like falcons, they moved up beyond range of any MANPADs and began to angle of the land towards the position of the rear installation, where, ideally, they would blow it to pieces along with men assigned to the base.

Meanwhile the first wave of the Royal Marine Landing Regiment was launched. This consisted of the Fitprst Battalion of AAV landing vehicles, armoured and stuffed with Royal Marines, creating waves and bumping the men inside like bath toys. They would be advised as to enemy movements to some extent by radar sweeps of the fleet. There was a great tension. Each vehicle, each crew, each set of passengers knew that they were targets as the bobbed and pushed towards the surf.

“Admiral,” said Prince Jusus’ aide, “The Prince begs you to lay down fire to protect the advance.”

This was a moment of truth for Dargon. It was evident that the enemy lay before them. That the enemy was determined to repel them. That the enemy had refused peace. That to the best of his conscience, he had followed the Oath of Peace.

“Yes,” he said, as though it were a matter of course and not something that wrenched at his heart. “Ships may target possible defensive positions”

With that, ship missile and gun batteries began to unleash on the shore. They were not aiming at particular targets, but using designations that focused on where MANPADs had been launched from and areas where shore batteries might be concealed. Four rounds of independent fire would take place before the first AAVs hit the beach…

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