Mawerisian Crisis [Closed]

[Iander]

Fuchsschanze

Empress Selena II was walking around the maproom, worried, nervously, scared. With her were Generalmajor Scheel and General von Klinkerhoffen, Selena's closest advisors and friends within the Generalstab. They had just recieved news that the Mawerburgers were revolting. She covered her face with a hand as she shook her head. "How could this happen? Do they not like us?" she asked to no one in particular. "Have I not been a just leader to them?". Scheel looked up from the dossier on PAM. "I think I know the problem.." he said and handed the papers to von Klinkerhoffen.

"We sent a Vindicator to eliminate this Z-figure, and lastest gossip on the street is that we shot his son." he said and stood up. "I don't know if this is true at all, but that may be the cause." he stated.

"I've heard the same rumor" von Klinkerhoffen said. "Hmm.. If this is true, Z must be infuriated. Perhaps it simply is for the best that we kill him and his followers in bright daylight to show the PAM'ers that recistance is futile. It is our land, afterall, the Mawerisian government surrendered it to us as they withdrew." he finished.

"Hmm.. Perhaps.. Perhaps you are right. Scheel, what's our manpower in Mawerburg?" she asked and planted her hands solidly on the big table in front of her.

"Well, if I recall correctly, we have three Grenadierdivisionen making up Wachtkorps Mawerburg, so that's roughly 30.000. Then there's Hær Panzerregiment Mawerburg, that's another 3.000. Hmm... And then there's.." he said and walked over to the thick door, pushing it with the heel of his jackboot so that it closed. "There's also the Panzer Sturmmörser Kompanien.."

Von Klinkerhoffen scratched his chin. "Is it wise to bring these into action now? Surely we should keep them secret for a little longer?"

"No," Selena said. "I agree with Markus. Klinkerhoffen, reply on the Tagmatine telegram. It is time that the world sees the finest of Ianderian engineering..."

Panzer Sturmmörser Kompanie 1000, outskirts of Mawerburg East End

Sturmleutnant Erwin von Reich of PzStuMrKp 1000 was briefing his crew on the present situation. The young 1st Lieutenant of the Hær, only 20 years old, led a Zug of four of the brand new Sturmlöwe assault guns. All tankers in the Panzer Sturmmörser Kompanien were young, as Ianderian doctrine called for young assault gun troopers to ensure aggresive combat. He jumped onto the hull of the tank and lifted himself on top of the superstructure. As he stood up, his fellow 19 tankers looked at him.

"Soldaten! The PAM has launched a massive riot in this hellhole of a town!" he said and looked down at the crews. "It's up to us to end the party." he said and put a clenched fist in the air. "We are soldiers of the Hær! We are the mightiest soldiers of the finest army ever gathered under a single flag! Our tanks will cut through their lines like a hot knife through butter!" he yelled and shook his fist. "We will obliterate them! We will bomb them back into the fucking Stone Age!" he shouted, and the soldiers responded: "Ja!", finishing it off by adding Nazi Salutes, chanting "Sieg Heil".

The crews soon mounted their Sturmlöwen and advanced further into the East End. Erwin's StuG was the first in the line of four. In total, three companies of these, each with four platoons of four, had been deployed to Mawerisme. Of these, PzStuMrKp 1000 was the only unit to be deployed to Mawerburg, although these 16 would be more than sufficient to wreck the city in a matter of days. The 48 assault guns made up the 2. Hær Panzer Sturmmörser Regiment Mephisto. As the only unit outfitted with the brand new Sturmhaubitzen, this was also a test unit to see how well they fared in battle.

After driving a 5 miles, they reached the frontline. "Achtung Männer! We are not cowards like the Mawerisians, using dishonorable gangster tactics. They have nothing to hurt us with, so shoot and scoot will not be neccesary. Pick your target, and blow it skyhigh!" In each corner of the the city, Sturmlöwen were preparing to strike, although so far, they'd only been called in to fight in the East End. All four Sturmlöwen were now lining up in the four main streets of the East End.

"Sperr, I want you to hit the very center of that crowd" von Reich told his gunner. Looking through the cupola-hatch on top of his tank, he had great visibility towards the crowd a hundred meters in front of him. Only 10 meters in front of the tank was a platoon of Grenadiers from the 301. Division. Neither they nor any of the PAM'ers had ever soon one of the beasts in front of them. They had been kept secret so far, so secret only the crews and the very inner-circle of Empress Selena II knew of their excistance.

Shortly after, Sperr pressed the trigger, and the outrageous roar of the 380mm was a grim foreshadowing of the destruction the rocket would cause only one and a half hundred meters away...

[Iander]

To: The Greater Holy Empire of Tagmatium
CC: The Goramite
From: The Royal Empire of Iander.
Regarding: Peace Talks - Part II

The Royal Empire of Iander cannot leave Mawerisme at this point. It has no government, nor a strong army to protect it from backwater nations like Goram assaulting it. Through our Anschluss, we have welcomed our eastern brothers weakened by a corrupt government into Iander. But we do not wish for war with the Goramite if we can avoid it. It pains us to see Goramite missiles striking our defenceless population daily, and only a very few hours ago, Goramite aircraft attacked a heavily populated residential area in Mawerburg.

If it makes peace possible, we will leave Mawerisme, withdrawing the borders to their pre-1945 location, when the corrupt government of Mawerisme stole a hundred kilometers from us, backed by the US and British armies. Our only three requirements for peace are these:
1) The Goramite must stop their needless bombing of our civilian populace,
2) The Goramite Navy must turn around immediately and
3) The borders are withdrawn to the pre-1945 setup.

Refering to the two Tagmatine drougnoi, we are pleased to see your wish to the defend the otherwise defenceless citizens. These shall be deployed to Mawerburg immediately, as a deterrent to further Goramite aggresion.

[Goram]

A pair of Paratroopers, a combat pair from a platoon fully entrenched in battle, went running back the way he'd come not an hour before. The two troopers had been dispatched back to the Colonel, to inform him of the situation. The majority of the Battalion was yet to reach the "front", it was still at least two miles from the main force of PAM and armed civilians. Thus far the Battalion had run into very few Ianderians, little more than a couple of cut off squads. These had been mopped up by screening platoons with few casualties.

It really was a miracle the runners from the advanced guard platoon found the column in the city. The streets were full of civilians, men and women, who were armed with anything they could get their hands on. When they finally did run into one of the screening platoons, provided by the 2nd Company, they were directed to the HQ detachment; where the Colonel could be found. Here, they briefed him him on the situation at hand.

Thus far, they told him, the crowd had pushed the Ianderian infantry back due to their sheer numbers. The platoon, along with numerous PAM irregulars were dug into a reasonably fortified position on the east side of the Marketplatz, a mile and a half away. The platoon was in heavy contact with elements of the 301. Grenadier Division, who had taken up residence on the West side of the Marketplatz. Heavy fire was being exchanged between them, and the Grenadiers seemed to be making pushes to clear the square, but thus far they were being repulsed. They also reported that the Platoon was taking casualties, it would need reinforcements to contain the 301st. Lastly, they informed the Colonel that they'd seen at least one assault gun before being dispatched. It was like no weapon they'd ever seen, estimating the gun to be at least 400mm. When it fired, into a crowd of civilians, it had obliterated virtually everything. PAM troops on the far right side line, closest to the blast, had lain down their arms and attempted a surrender, only to be cut down by a machine gun on the opposite side of the square.

The Colonel pursed his lips. He knew tanks were going to be vulnerable in the city, especially one with such a big gun. He knew it couldn't be fast, or be well protected. That gun had to weigh a ton. If the tanks could be lured into the streets then they could be engaged at close range with the limited numbers of AT4s that the battalion carried.

Premierløjtnant Karl Voss, OC of 2nd Platoon. Advanced Guard, 561st Parachute Battalion

Voss squinted down the magnifying sights of his rifle. Truth be told, he didn't really need them. None of the platoon were aiming their shots carefully; rather they were simply returning fire in the direction from which it came. However, their fire was positively sniper like compared to the PAM irregulars on their right flank. They were blasting away, fully automatic, in the hopes of killing Ianderians. They blasted away entire magazines without so much as a by your leave. Voss' troops, on the other hand, fired semi-automatic rounds, except for those carrying M249s. With four to a section, the M249 provided a cyclic rate of fire that the rifles couldn't hope to match. Those men who carried the gun, designated support gunners, fired off bursts anywhere between two and ten rounds. These gunners were critical to Voss' firepower, his fireteams would be at a loss without them.

"Panzer contact!"

Someone shouted over the radio. Indeed, the at least a vehicle was now rolling into the Marketplatz, with a light screen of infantry in front of it. Voss watched as the tank rolled forwards and jerked to a halt.

"Down!"

Voss screamed over the radio. Seconds later, the tank opened fire. The huge mortar like weapon which the vehicle had, instead of a conventional gun, lobbed a round towards a massed crowd of riotous civilians on the right flank. They'd just entered the square and had been rather taken a back by the ferocity of the fighting. Those with guns had joined in the firefight, those without had stayed out of harms way. No longer. The 380mm projectile landed directly in front of the crowd and literally obliterated the front section of it. The blast levelled a building, showering the civilians, PAM and Para's in secondary projectiles.

"2nd Platoon!"

Voss ordered over the radio

"Use the AT4s. Engage that fucking armour."

Each fireteam was equipped with a single AT4, loaded with HEAT rounds, enabling them to tackle armoured threats. The hollow charge warhead, when it detonated, would be able to penetrate 420mm of steel with relative ease. The round wouldn't make a massive hole in the vehicle itself. Rather, it would leave a relatively small hole in the machine, compared to other weapons. However, it's killing power would come from the almighty pressure wave that would be generated as the jet penetrated the vehicle. Everything and everyone inside the target would be utterly pulverised. It was not uncommon for even the locked turret hatches to be blown open by the pressure of the penetrating hit. Over the hundred and fifty yards range, the Paratroopers could quite clearly see the vehicle, with it's massive turret. It seemed to lack any sort of reactive armour, making it vulnerable to the kind of shaped charge they were about to be attacked with. Clearly, the Ianderians didn't expect a credible resistance.

Barely 45 seconds after firing its first shot, the Assault gun was engaged by no less than four of the 84mm warheads. Voss waited with baited breath to see if the rounds penetrated the seemingly lightly armoured assault gun. He hoped that the AT4s were sufficient to the job, if they weren't even a blind man couldn't miss the flash that the firing rockets made. If they failed to destroy the tank, Voss would be forced to to withdraw his men in order to try to draw the tank into the streets, where they could be hit from above and behind, before the huge weapon was reloaded and turned on them.

[Iander]

Von Reich watched in horror through his cupola as no less than four rockets were launched at his Sturmlöwe. Though none of them were particularly well aimed, they were all on target. The first two his the superstructure's front armor, whose 320mm RHA only barely withstood the rockets because of its 45° sloping. The third shot hit the mantlet and bounced clean off, not even exploding on impact, and the final fourth rocket simple strafed the beast's sideskirts. But these were all enough to frighten von Reich. "Scheisse!" he excalimed as he covered his face in terror. Looking back up, he yelled out his follow up command. "Schumacher, get us out of here!" he ordered as the tank came to life, moving backwards. Erwin looked back in the cupola, trying to find the best point to fall back to. "Schumacher, get us to the end of the platz and stop the Löwe between the buildings there. I don't want any exposed sidearmor!" he said, to which the driver Matthias Schumacher responded "Jawohl!".

Thanks to the excellent hull provided by VMG AG, the Sturmlöwe achieved an impressive 30 km/h whilst backing away. Overall, the Sturmlöwe was an ingenius design, and doubled in the roles of heavy artillery and heavy assault gun. With it's thick armor, huge cannon and 2425hp engine, the tanks were state of the art armoured vehicles. Doubling with experienced and well-trained crews, these Sturmlöwe assault guns made for frighteneing opponents.

Once the Sturmlöwe had fallen back to the position ordered by von Reich, the gun had been loaded again. Although it would usually require the crew to operate the crane which could be done from the inside, albeit less effectively, a shell had already been put in the loading tray. "Feuer Frei!" Ervin said as the gunner took aim, and a few seconds later, yet another 380mm shell was sent towards the crowd. At the same time, a Dinoleofelis tank from Panzerregiment Mawerburg arrived at the scene of action, followed by another four shortly after. Rumor had it that Mawerisian army troops were in the East End, and all available troops were redirected there to take care of them.

All over Mawerburg, fighting was getting fierced, and the rest of PzStuMrKp 1000 was sent into action in other parts of Mawerburg. Panzerregiment Mawerburg was tasked with keeping the expensive Sturmlöwe assault guns alive at any cost, which spread the Regiment's tanks thin. However, 2. Hær Panzerdivision was on it's way, only 10 miles out of Mawerburg's East End, the 20.000 strong division would see to it that he Mawerisian army-in-hiding was destroyed once and for all.

[Tagmatium]

The latest transmission from the Royal Empire was on Kontarian’s computer screen, which had been turned around slightly so that Megas Logothetes Traskalissaeos could also view it. Kontarian sat back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest, his expression unreadable. Traskalissaeos sat opposite him and his expression was definitely readable. It was one of trepidation. The Megas Logothetes for War could guess why that was – the only reason he was maintaining an expression of calm was because he did not like the other man and wouldn’t give him any feeling of comfort from knowing that someone else was thinking the same as him.

“The Logothesion for Foreign Affairs has told me that no word has been received from the United Kingdom on our last transmission.”

The offers to mediate between either the Goramites or the Ianderians were falling on deaf ears, it seemed. Neither side truly seemed to want to give an inch, even if it meant that the people of Mawerisme were being punished for the intractability of both of those governments. The Greater Holy Empire didn’t truly care for the fate of the people of Mawerisme, but nor did it the Imperial Government think that the Ianderians, their allies, were going about this annexation in the correct manner. They had done it in a slapdash fashion and seemed to invite both an insurgency and foreign intervention with their heavy-handedness.

However, for the moment, Kontarian was enjoying watching Traskalissaeos squirm. It seemed to be the only thing that was going well, before the inevitable shit storm happened. He looked over at the other Megas Logothetes, who began to literally squirm under his gaze.

“The Goramites have a fleet steaming towards our allies, might I remind you, Megas Logothetes,” the man said. He fidgeted again and then moved forwards in his chair, placing his hands on Kontarian’s desk. “I know that the Holy Emperor is away from the Greater Holy Empire at the moment, but it strikes me that it becomes increasingly necessary for us to move more forces to counter this threat to our allies.”

That particular comment deserved more silence. It struck Kontarian that he was being needlessly cruel because he disliked the Megas Logothetes for League and Alliance Affairs and that he was being more than a little childish. He breathed in and sighed to himself.

“As it is, the Goramites seem to have a clear aim in mind. And I shouldn’t have to remind you that have an enemy that has sworn to destroy our very civilisation?” Kontarian spread his hands in a placating gesture, whilst allowing the statement to sink into Traskalissaeos’ mind.

The very thought was blasphemy, of the highest order. Was not the Greater Holy Empire God’s chosen nation on earth? Was it not ruled by God’s Vice-Gerent, the Holy Emperor?

Kontarian continued. “As it is, I will not be able to justify sending any more than I have sent to Iander. And these forces are there to prevent deaths to Ianderian civilians, not help them in their adventures which have turned sour. Their demands of returning to the 1945 borders… I don’t think either us or the Goramites have anything to do with the two nations that apparently stole territory from them whilst supporting Mawerisme. I’ve not even heard of them.”

“I see, Megas Logothetes, and I understand what you are saying. As yet, the Ianderians have not been attacked on their home territory, strictly speaking,” Traskalissaeos said. “And the League will only intervene in the event of a defensive war, not an offensive war gone sour.”

The Megas Logothetes for War nodded. “And they want the Droungoi to deploy to” – Kontarian checked the name of the place – “Mawerburg in order to defend ‘otherwise defenceless citizens’. It is fairly transparent and I do not believe that this would do anything other than endanger the lives of our soldiers.”

Traskalissaeos, however, heard the unspoken ‘but’ at the end of the sentence. He raised an eyebrow at the other minister, who sighed and shifted his arms.

“But their deployment there will undoubtedly protect civilians, whether Ianderian settlers or locals. I will make it clear to both the Ianderians and our soldiers that they are not there to fight that damn war, nor will they take orders from these barbaroi. And it must be made clear to the Goramites what an attack on a Tagmatine soldier will mean.”

---

To: the Royal Empire of Iander
From: the Greater Holy Empire of Tagmatium
Re: Deployment of Tagmatine forces

Honoured allies,

The Imperial Government has grave concerns about the location that you have suggested as to the deployment of our forces that are being despatched to your nation. Whilst the ability of our forces is without doubt, they are not frontline units, and should not be treated as such. They are, of course, also outside of your nation’s command structure. They will not take orders from your forces, but will treat them as suggestions that are to be taken under advisement. If they think that these suggestions are not sound, then they will act upon their own initiative. However, they will need access to your nation’s command and control channels, especially if there are to be no accidents concerning your air assets. Thusly, they will need to be constantly updated over identifier – friend or foe (IFF) codes or settings to make sure that only enemy units and missiles are targeted.

The Greater Holy Empire is sceptical over the deployment of our units to Mawerburg, especially since they were offered to protect Iander proper, although we do not doubt that the Royal Empire might see that Mawerisme is now a part of your nation after this “anchluss”. The Imperial Government is also becoming increasingly aware that its attempts to convene ceasefire talks between yourselves and the United Kingdom seems to be obstructed by an unwillingness to offer up any form of compromise over this issue – which is something that can be laid at the door of both sides.

[Goram]

OOC: Iander, do you use German time for your nation?

25th Marines staging ground, 10 miles outside of Porthampton. 0100 Local (0100 GMT, 0200 Mawerisme)

Major General Hal Rosano stood in front of a group of officers. They numbered five Brigadier Generals and various officers. The Brigadier Generals commanded the Divisions five combat teams, whilst the officers present were of the Division HQ units. The Officers stood around a large table, on which an M2 generated map of Mawerisme was draped.

"Ladies, gents. The Cabinet has issued orders to me and Major General Radakovich, over with the 4th Armoured. We will be moving onto the ships and joining our aquatic friends off Mawerisme. This looks like the real deal, but no invasion orders have been issued; we're simply bumping into high gear and moving to forward deployment zones.

I am issuing the warning order for the entire Division. We will be moving in 48. Maps of your AOs in Mawerisme will be issued to you and your Battalion commanders in the next 12. Brief your people, there will be no fuck ups on this one. Dismiss."

The plan, if it actually happened, was reasonably simple. The 25th Marines would be the tip of the spear, supported by elements of the 4th Armoured Marine Division. The main target was the port city of Esbjerg. The city contained a large port and an international airport, both suitable for supporting the invasion of Mawerisme. The Marines would have to secure the city as quickly as possible. Whilst taking a city of 71,000 was a daunting task, it was hoped that PAM elements in the city would rise up to throw out the Ianderians in the city. Hopes of this had been raised as rumours of a battle in Mawerburg had begun to trickle in. Once Esbjerg was secured, hopefully by D+36 hours, Army support would come flooding into Mawerburg. Even as the 25th's Warning Order's were given, the entirety of XXX Corps was being prepared to move to its staging areas. Consisting of five divisions, XXX Corps would be gradually moved into the area. It would likely take a month for their full strength into Mawerisme, however at least two mechanised infantry combat teams, along with a tank battalion, could be in country hours after the city was taken.

Premierløjtnant Voss, Mawerburg East End.

The Premierløjtnant cursed inwardly. All four rockets had stuck the assault gun, but none had managed to penetrate the armour. He could at least console himself with the knowledge that the attack had probably scared the living hell out of the crew, not to mention the amount of spalling that had probably been blasted into the cabin. Still, the massive gun could now be sited on them, living the platoon in the proverbial shit.

"Panzer Contact! Dinoleofelis, 11 o'clock!"

The Dinoleofelis, better known as the Panthera Leo, was a step up from the assault gun which had just killed at least 50 with a single shot. The newcomer was a fully fledged main battle tank. The beast was equipped with a huge main gun and composite armour that the platoons AT4s couldn't possibly hope to even dent. A hit from the 84mm rockets probably wouldn't even spill the driver's coffee.

"All callsigns, this is Voss"

The Premierløjtnant began

"Fall back into the streets. Lure that bastard in. By squads, starting with four. Covering fire!"

On the command, the Sergeant in command fourth squad called out

"Bounding!"

On the platoon's radio network. As he did so, the rest of his comrades flipped their weapons onto their fully automatic settings and began blasting bursts of 5.56 at the Grenadiers on the other side of the Platz. To their left and right, PAM soldiers were flooding back into the East End in full retreat. This place was lost, but if the Ianderians moved their armour into the narrow confines of the East End's streets, then it would become a killing ground; home to the 301. Grenadiers and any vehicle that came with them.

As the fourth squad retreated, the assault gun fired on the crowd again. By now, it had begun to flee down streets however the 380mm dust bin of a projectile sought them out. From the shattered lobby, which had once been home to a branch of Mawerisme's National Bank, Voss watched as the projectile arced through the air and exploded in the heart of the crowd. The explosion was a sight of pure horror, as dozens of people simply ceased to be. There would be nothing left of the bodies when it came to the process of identifying them.

By this point, the Platoon had mostly melted away into the city. Only the command squad and first squad remained in the remains of the bank.

"HQ Bounding!"

Voss called out. With that, he emerged from behind cover. He gave the Grendiers a quick burst of fire, before shuffling a few steps backwards and firing again. Around him is command team executed a similar move. The man next to him, Feldwebel Niklaus Tolkien, was hit and went down as he tried to retreat. The Platoon had suffered greatly, 16 of their number had been killed and virtually everyone was wounded in some shape or form.

As the platoon retreated, the squads split up to take defensive positions in the buildings and rubble on the narrow roads behind the east side of the Marketplatz. Joined by PAM irregulars, armed with anything from K98k rifles to RPGs, they formed a semi-credible defence. They waited in ambush positions, hoping that the Ianderians would commit their armour to flushing them out. This was not good tank country, especially for the MBT with it's long gun and wide hull. The Grendiers would likely have to clear them and they would be made to pay in blood for every room.

To: Empress Selena II
CC: The Holy Empire of Tagmatium
RE: Withdraw.

We cannot and do not accept these terms. Iander must respect the wishes of the Mawerisian people. Rumours of a battle between the Public Army of Mawerisme and Ianderian forces have been circulating for the past few hours. Intelligence confirms that the east end of the city is on fire. If nothing else, this proves that the Mawerisians do not want Ianderian forces in their country. Iander must withdraw in the face of this pressure, or face an escalation of military action against their forces in Mawerisme.

We have only one requirement for peace. Ianderian troops must withdraw from both Jurguren and Mawerisme, restoring the boarders to their September 15th 2011 positions. We feel we must warn the Holy Empire, with all respect and reverence towards them, that whilst we have no quarell with the Holy Empire; steps will be taken to ensure the safety of our in theatre assets should it be proven, beyond reasonable doubt, that Tagmatine forces have engaged them.

[Tagmatium]

“So I was chatting to him at the bar, but I didn’t know how pissed he was.”

The rest of the flight crew had heard this particular story a half-dozen or so times over the last month, but Lokhagos (Squadron Leader) Niketas Hyrtakenos seemed to love telling it. The other three people in the cockpit were concentrating on the instruments in front of them, rather than listening to it again. “I think it’s because he was leaning against the bar. Suddenly, the drunk fucker turned and puked on the floor of the bar.”

He laughed at the conclusion of his own story, unaware that no one else was joined in. The officer’s face quickly became serious, however, and returned to the business of flying one of the massive Oyranokrator aircraft. “How far are we out, navigator?”

“Roughly three hours’ flight-time, Lokhagos,” replied the navigator, not looking up from her console. She was the newest member of the squadron, recently transferred in to serve in one of the Holy Imperial Air Force’s prestigious super-heavy transport squadrons. Hyrtakenos thought that she was withdrawn, rarely getting involved with the rest of the air crew’s banter or jokes. In reality, this was probably unfair – it was always difficult for new arrivals to get integrated with a tightly-knit group that was already long established.

“Good,” said the Lokhagos, nodding to himself. “I just hope the bloody Ianderians have sorted out an airport for us to land at when we get there. The last thing I want to do is have this thing circling whilst they get their thumbs out of their arses.”

So far, most of the Tagmatine forces personnel involved with this mission didn’t have a good opinion of the Ianderians. The situation struck them as a bit ridiculous – the Royal Empire had invaded some seemingly-backward countries, then their attempts to annex them had ground to a halt in the face of opposition. In reality, this was probably unfair. The Greater Holy Empire itself had annexed some territories half a decade ago and there was still intermittent fighting taking place between Tagmatine forces and locals resistant to the presence of forces from the Greater Holy Empire. The justification for the annexation of these lands was similar to that of Iander, that they had been previously part of Tagmatium and that reunification was in everyone’s interests. It differed slightly, however – unlike Mawerisme and Jurguren, there hadn’t been over sixty years of independence, but over five hundred.

“They are definitely expecting us, right?” asked the first officer, Oyranomolaghos Venantios, an edge of worry in his voice. “I mean, they know we’re coming?”

“Of course, Vena,” the Lokhagos said, using the first officer’s nickname. “Tagmatika’s been talking of getting involved with these barbaroi for a while now. They need us to hold their hands whilst they sort out their shit in their own back garden.” Hyrtakenos grinned as he finished the sentence.

“That’s not exactly true, Lokhagos,” said the navigator. “The Numeroi units are being deployed here so that Ianderian civilians are being protected from air-strikes from the Goramites. Nothing really to do with helping the Ianderians take over Mawerisme. Or reuniting, or whatever it is that they claim they’re doing.”

It was the longest thing the navigator had said in Hyrtakenos’ presence, and it annoyed him that it was in contrary to what he had said. He glared at her and a look of worry passed over her face before she looked back down at the console in front of her. The Lokhagos nodded to himself. The cockpit was silent for a few minutes after the navigator had spoken.

---

Like many soldiers, many of the Numeroi aboard the super-heavy transport had taken the opportunity to sleep. Sgouros was no exception. Some sort of in-flight film or any other distraction would have been nice as well, she thought. However, it didn’t seem like the designers had had anything like that in mind when they’d built the Oyranokrators. It made long-haul flights in them incredibly dull. Every hour or so, the Droungarios had stretched her legs, walking down the aircraft and making sure that the rest of her soldiers were doing the same. At least it gave her something to do. Most of them looked happy enough, even though there was some general puzzlement over exactly what they were supposed to be doing in the Royal Empire, since they were only supposed to be engaging targets that looked like they were about to hit civilian targets. One of her Kentarhkes had said such operational parameters would probably sour attitudes between them and the Ianderian soldiers, since they were explicitly ordered to not shoot down missiles that were hitting the soldiers of the Royal Empire.

“We’re here to do what the high-ups tell us to do,” she had said to him.

The Kentarkhes had pulled a sour face. “Well, it’ll be us trying to explain to the barbaroi why we sat back and watched a cruise missile blow their mates to chunks.”

Food for thought, definitely. The situation was a bit… messy, since there was also the Public Army of Mawerisme (PAM) involved, a third party that the Imperial Government was currently not recognising. It would have significantly easier if there was just the Goramite forces involved, but current intelligence reports – at least those she was receiving, as a relatively low-ranked officer – still stated that they hadn’t landed in Mawerisme. Sgouros doubted that the Mawerisian forces would be decent enough to recognise that the Tagmatine forces weren’t in their country to attack them. As it was, she’d asked her own superiors what to do if the PAM started to attack the forces under her control. So far, they’d not actually got back to Sgouros.

Which was in some ways typical, really. Sometimes the Greater Holy Empire had the nasty habit of not addressing a problem until undeniably faced with it. And, in this case, the Droungarios suspected that it might cost some of the soldiers under her command their lives. Another issue was that the Ianderians themselves might not be too happy when she had to tell them that they had no authority over her. The Droungarios’ superiors had made it clear that the Imperial Government had made the Ianderians aware of it, but that was all well and good. It was another thing to be faced with some arsey barbaros officer demanding that her units did something that the barbaros wanted.

She sighed to herself and stretched out her legs in her seat. At least the seats themselves had decent enough legroom, although Sgouros wasn’t much above average height. The Droungarios ran a hand through her short hair, cut to the same regulation cut as every other Tagmatine soldier, regardless of gender. Tradition dictated that men were usually bearded, but it depended on personal taste or unit.

“A bit of a fuck-up in the making,” she muttered to herself.

“Yeah, probably,” said her operations officer, sitting next to her. Sgouros had assumed that he was asleep, as he’d been sitting with his eyes closed. “It’d have been nice if they’d seen fit to give us a battalion of skoutatoi as well, but I think the Imperial Government were worried about that looking to aggressive towards the Goramites.”

Sgouros sighed again. “Makes me feel that we’re being left somewhat unprotected, though, especially if the local resistance or whatever the fuck they think they are try anything.”

The operations officer shrugged. “We’ll have to rely on our allies and try to keep ourselves out of harm’s way. We can scoot off as fast as we can if the fighting gets too near.”

“Doesn’t seem like an ideal situation, though.”

---

To: the United Kingdom of Goram
From: the Greater Holy Empire of Tagmatium
Re: “Withdrawal”

Honoured sirs,

The Imperial Government accepts your warning that any attack on Goramite forces will be retaliated against; the Imperial Government must also respond with a similar warning – any attacks on Tagmatine forces will also be responded to in kind. Our forces are to be deployed within Ianderian territory to prevent any attacks by Goramite air or naval forces against the civilians of the Royal Empire, not to prop up their attempts at “anschluss” of the territories of Mawerisme and Jurguren. Whether the Royal Empire considers that these territories are part of its own nation, rightly or wrongly. The Greater Holy Empire, however, is duty-bound to make sure that Goramite attacks do not endanger the lives of Ianderian civilians or progress into the pre-15th September 2011 borders of the Royal Empire.

As both the Royal Empire and the Greater Holy Empire are members of the League of Imperial Nations, Tagmatium is not bound to support Iander in an aggressive war, even if that aggressive war means that the Ianderians are driven from the territories or areas that they have aimed to annex. However, if this then becomes a defensive war, with sustained attacks against the Royal Empire within their own territory – whether air-, sea- or ground-based – then the Greater Holy Empire will respond to make sure that our ally can resist and repulse these assaults. By whatever means the Imperial Government, the Tagmatine High Command and the League of Imperial Nations deem necessary to make sure that these attacks halt. The Imperial Government and people of the Greater Holy Empire do not want war with the United Kingdom, but are prepared to do so if Goram is taking its self-righteous defence of the people of Mawerisme and Jurguren to the people of the Royal Empire.

Which in itself begins to beg the question – just why is the United Kingdom getting involved? Can other nations across the world expect Goramite interference in their actions? Or is this attempt at policing the world merely a cynical stab at creating two nations beholden to Goram, so that they can be exploited because of their gratitude?

[Goram]

To: The Holy Empire
From: The United Kingdom of Goram
Re: “Withdrawal”

We respect your right to self defence. Current Rules of Engagement dictate that Goramite forces are not to engage Tagmatine elements unless fired upon by said elements. Any Tagmatine forces must be positively ID'd as such before any engagement is authorised by the ROE. At this time, no strikes are planned against targets on Ianderian soil, military or otherwise. Strikes are limited to Ianderian military targets in Mawerisme. Therefore, we do not anticipate engagements between forces of the Holy Empire and those of the United Kingdom.

In answer your question of out motivation, it is simple. Iander has used a minor incident (the boarder skirmish of September 15th 2011), to justify an aggressive move against their neighbours. Given that the Mawerisian armed forces did not fire a shot in defence of their boarders, it seems clear that the Mawerisians were not mobilised and therefore no threat to Iander. We feel that their Anschluss of Mawerisme was a move motivated purely by the desire to acquire more territory, with nothing to do with national security interests.Blatant aggression against a sovereign nation cannot be allowed to stand, when the recipient of such aggression has none nothing to warrant it.

We will defend those who cannot defend themselves, as far as our economic and military powers allows us to do so.

[Iander]

Fuchsschanze

Selena, von Klinkerhoffen and Scheel still sat in the maproom. It was around 2 in the night in Iander, but whilst most members of the Generalstab had gone to sleep, the three had stayed awake.

"Are you sure it's wise to send Das Reich into Mawerburg?" asked a concerned Markus Scheel, refering to the division under his command, 2. Hær Panzerdivision.

"It is the best equipped and most experienced division in the entirety of the Hær. Why not use the power when it's a available to us?" Selena replied and sat down on the antique mahogany table.

"Yes, but given their equipment, the Löwen are going to vulnerable in the city - any loony with any sort of armor piercing weaponry in any of the houses and the Löwe is past!" he said, using the soldiers' nickname for the Dinoleofelis.

"I don't think Panzerregiment Mawerburg has lost any yet," von Klinkerhoffen interrupted as he arose from his armchair. "It'll all work out rather well, I'm certain. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I can hear a bed screaming my name." he finished and nodded at Selena first, then Scheel. Both returning his nod, Selena looked over at Scheel.

"He's right, it's getting quite late.. Where's von Klonk?" she asked as she stood back up and walked towards an old oak-dresser.

"He's caught up in Mawerburg. Last I heard, he was running around with a Stahlhelm on his head and a bag of grenades strapped to his backpack." Markus said and chuckled as Selena opened the dresser and found a bottle of Vodka. "Typical von Klonk. He rarely sees the frontlines, but when he does, it's always an explosive affair." Markus said and took the glass of the liquor handed to him by Selena.

"To Iander" Markus said.

"To a good night's sleep" Selena responded and chuckled as she downed the drink. "Ugh, that'll help me sleep. I just hope I can find my way to my quaters now!" she said and laughed.

"We still need to respond to the communiques we've recieved" Markus said as he handed the glass to Selena.

"It's way too late for me to do that.." Selena said and put the bottle back into the dresser. "Why don't you get your adjudant to write it? What is it again? Von Reiter?"

"Von Ritterhof?" Scheel said surprised.

"Yeah, that's him. Didn't he write the communique to those jokers last year? The guys who threatened with a fleet?" Selena said and felt the alcohol work it's way into her head.

"That was a rather rude one, wasn't it?" Scheel said, recalling the commuinque von Ritterhof had written Ainin.

"Well, who cares. Neither of us want to do it, and if he's anything like you told me, he's still wide awake" Selena said and left the maproom. "Get him to write it, Kaiserbefehl!" she said and laughed at herself.

Scheel sighed. "I'm not taking the blame if Simon makes a cockup" Scheel thought as he walked towards the officer's wing, seperate from the Generalstab's wing. And as Selena had said, Leutnant Simon von Ritterhof sat at one of the mess hall's tables with his laptop.
"Simon." Scheel said. Surprised, Simon looked over his shoulder, stood up whilst turning and lifted his righthand to a salute. But before he had a chance to reply, the Generalmajor interrupted him. "She's gone to sleep" he said and handed Simon his PDA. "Use this to reply to the Tagmatine and the Goramite. Read through their communiques first, then reply. And please, please, try to be polite" Markus said and nodded at the young Lieutenant as he turned on the spot and left.

---

To: The Despicable Goramite
CC: The Greater Holy Empire of Tagmatium
From: The Royal Empire of Iander
Regarding: Peace, and why you should leave us at it.

The Ianderian and Mawerisian people have coexcisted in peace for as long as anyone can remember. The Volksianderische population in Western Mawerisme by far exceeds the number of corrupt Mawerisians. These have welcomed their brothers from the West with open arms, and when the corrupt Mawerisian government ceased to excist, the government of Iander decided it would be better to annex all of Mawerisme, to protect it from backwater nations like you attacking them. The only thing compromise we can agree to, should you truly wish for peace, is that which we put usselves; have the borders set to their pre-1945 setup.

We do not wish for war, we don't want to fight anyone. But if you force us to, we shall bomb your pityful navy into bits launch an armada the like of which has never been seen unto you. But we would hate to see that happen. Therefore, the wisest move on your behalf is simply to give up your crusade against our completely legal annexation of neighbouring territories.

---

To: The Greater Holy Empire of Tagmatium
From: The Royal Empire of Iander
Regarding: Deploying AA

Dear Friends,

Scepticality will not be neccesary. Mawerburg is by far the best place for your brave soldiers to be deployed. It is a peaceful and very beautiful city at this time of year, and a prime target for Goramite aircraft strikes to disrupt our logistics and the like. We understand that these men are not frontline troops, but should the Goramite decide to try their luck and invade any Ianderian territory, there will be plenty of time to relocate the troops.

[Goram]

UKG Indomitable, holding position 450 miles off the coast of Mawerisme. 1100 Local time.

Admiral Jennifer Hightower sat on the bridge, in the Indomitable's captain's chair. A woman of 57, she'd spent 35 in the Navy. Joining after graduating University at age 22, she'd stormed through basic and flight training with flying colours. Her first post was to a frontline unit in 1977, flying Phantoms of the deck of the UKG Ark Royal. Eventually, her fighter pilot's shelf life expired and rather than leave the Navy, she applied for ship command training. Graduating with the rank of Lieutenant Commander, her first command was a Scimitar Class Patrol Vessel. Slowly but surely, she climbed the rank ladder and was noticed by the Admiralty and Cabinet. Now she commands the pride of the Royal Navy and is popularly touted as one of Goram's best.

The Admiral looked troubled. The Senior Communications Officer had just handed her a copy of a message, sent from the Admiralty. It seemed that the Ianderians had issued a threat towards the fleet. Still, there really was very little to be worried about. The fleet's defences were, to say the least, formidable.

The fun would begin for the Ianderians as soon as they crossed the 400 mile threshold. From this point on, they would be tracked by both air and surface based radar. On the long run into the fleet they would have to endure multiple layers of defence, including: the fully armed fighters of the permanent Combat Air Patrol, which flew 24/7, along with anything the three carriers scrambled, long range Surface to air and surface to surface missiles, short range SAMs, and radar controlled gunfire from both the heavy main guns and dozens of Close In Weapon Systems (CIWS) which were capable of blowing incoming projectiles out of the sky with bewildering precision. In short if the Ianderian came on the surface, in the air or even under the surface, they would be met by a storm of defensive fire.

The Admiral had been given express permission by the Cabinet to reply to the Ianderian message. She'd been told to keep it short, but not particularly sweet. The Senior Communications Officer wasted no time in getting the message off.

"We are waiting."

261st Parachute Battalion, 8 hours previously

The 261st were beginning their localised counter offensive against the 301. Grenadiers and their armoured friends. The Battalion, which had now split down into individual companies, was beginning to push through the East End. As the Companies moved up their individual routes of attack, PAM troops and armed civilians rallied to them. The main objective of the counter attack was to push the Ianderians back beyond the Marketplatz and then, to force the Ianderians out of the East End. They hoped that the attrition of city fighting would make the Ianderian position untenable in the rest of the city.

Slowly but surely, the Companies were pushing up the war torn streets making full use of the buildings and rubble in order to conceal their movements. Thus far, they'd precious little Ianderian resistance, but that was bound to change. The companies had dispatched individual fireteams along with PAM irregulars, in order to set up ambushes for Ianderian armour. Using IEDs, mines, home made weapons and mass rocket fire from very close range, the narrow streets would become a butchers yard for vehicles and infantry that moved into them. The Mawerisian hoped that shock and casualties would cause the Ianderians to panic and retreat, opening the door for the strength of the Battalion to strike a hammer blow against the disorganised foe.

[Goram]

Cabinet Rooms below Goram City. 1230 Local time

Behind the solid steel doors of the Cabinet rooms a meeting was taking place, discussing and operation that had the potential to deal a crippling blow to the Ianderians. If the operation was successful, it seemed possible that the war could be ended with a single sortie.

On the massive bank of screens, located at one end of the room, were a series of still pictures of known personnel involved in Ianderian high command. Those present included Generalmajor Scheel, General von Klinkerhoffen, Selena II, Empress of Iander, and several other high ranking officers. Whilst the inner workings of Ianderian military command was relatively unknown, the players weren't. Pre-war intelligence, along with information gathered from Selena's own aircraft had suggested that those who the Joint Chiefs were looking at were important to Ianderian military policy. Since before the war had started, they had been earmarked as targets. However, their whereabouts had been unknown, until now.

Rumours from the PAM had filtered down, suggesting that the Ianderians had some sort of command bunker within Mawerisme. For months, even before hostilities broke out satellites had scoured Mawerisme, trying to find such a structure. It'd taken them months, but something fitting the description of a command complex had been located. More over, the last message from the Ianderians had been traced. It was sent from a device who's location matched the GPS coordinates of the images the satellites captured.

Norbrook Garrison

The city of Norbrook was home to over a million residents, with more than two million more in the surrounding area. It ranked fourth in terms of population of all Goram's cities. It was known for it's industrial history and for the distinctive accents of it's people. What it was not known for, was the Norbrook Garrison, home of the Third Battalion of the UKGSF.

The Third Battalion were the UKGSF's reconnaissance experts, arguably more valuable than any of the other battalions. Currently, three patrols were stowing their kit and bumping into high gear. The Ianderian high command had been found but given the highly delicate situation, the target had to be 100% confirmed before any bombs were dropped on it. In order to get eyes on target, 12 troopers would drop into the area and set up a half dozen covert observation posts around the target area. Once the target was identified, it would be called in and the Navy would blow it to kingdom come. Once the strike took place, the troopers would assess it's effectiveness and if any of the high value targets attempted escape, the Operators would be in position to take them out.

Concrete apron, outside the barracks, sat a C-400 transport. A licence built copy of the Atlas A400, the Air Force operated the C-400 as a tactical transport. Among the RAF's C-400 units was the 601 Squadron, a unit of hand-picked aircrew who carried out the operations that others couldn't. The Squadron operated a specialist version of the C-400, which differed somewhat from the original. The C-400SO, as it was known, had a decidedly lower cargo capacity. Making up for this deficiency, was the C-400SO's low observability features. The entire airframe was coated in special radar absorbing paint. The aircraft was also kitted out with advanced avionics in order to jam and defeat enemy radar. Tonight the C-400 would penetrate Ianderian air cover and carry 12 Special Forces personnel to their drop zones. Here they would make a HALO jump, landing on precise GPS coordinates where their observation posts could be set up. From here their mission would be carried out.

The troopers who were going in were all highly trained specialists. It cost Goram roughly a million Sterlings to put each Third Battalion trooper through the training programs required. They'd all been to the Army's Airborne school and the Navy's dive school, allowing them to use any insertion method needed to get the job done. Usually, they operated in six man patrols, but not today. Volunteers had been asked to come forward from those soldiers who had attended sniper school. Virtually every designated marksman in the Battalion had put his or her name forward. As it was, the top dozen shots were hand picked. They'd be dropping into enemy territory in pairs, one spotter and one shooter. The high powered optics of the spotters scope and those mounted on the rifle itself would allow the teams to put eyes on target, along with neutralising targets should it be necessary that they do so. Stealth was mission critical, therefore the troopers had taken a number of precautions. Caps had been put on the lenses of their optics to reduce glare, the rifles had been spray painted with woodland camouflage patterns and would be ordained with camouflage netting once on the ground. After landing, they would bury their parachutes and jump gear before donning Ghillie suits and copious amounts of cam cream.

[Iander]

Mawerburg

Slowly but steadily, the masses of revolters alongside 261. Faldskærms Battalion were pushing back the men of 301. Grenadier. Although the Grenadiers were better armed in terms of support weaponry and with more modern weaponry, the sheer size of the horde opposing them along with the elite parachutists of 261. had forced the rather green Grenadiers to the very outskirts of Mawerburg. But following the Ianderian battleplan, this had to end. Now. Dinoleofelis tanks of 2. Hær Panzerdivision were closing in. Perhaps the most notorious of all Ianderian units, and for good reasons too. The men of Das Reich were the best soldiers available to the Ianderian army, and their equipment the finest available to combat troops within the Hær. The men were indistinguishable from the others, except for their cuff links with 'Das Reich' written onto them. The tanks wore the divisional symbol, the Wolfsangel on the right side of the upper hull in a pitch black colour.

The assault guns of Panzer Sturmmörser Kompanie 1000 were being pushed back as well, but the crowd made sure to keep a distance, fearing they might provoke it into shooting otherwise. Slowly driving backwards, von Reich was relieved to see members of his division arrive in the rear of his cupola. "Stop the tank!" he ordered, and Schumacher slammed the brakes immediately. "Sperr, create the Löwen some space to work!" von Reich said and gestured towards the crowd. Sperr understood his hint and took another shot at the crowd, obliterating the first few lines and showering the rest in fragments and debris. Immediately after, Dinoleofelis tanks joined in, firing the high-explosive SprGr 11 shells from their 140mm KwK 11 cannons.

Generally, fighting was getting desperate for the Mawerburgers. In the north, 211. Grenadier were standing their ground, holding the town hall and the all-important trade district. In the center of Mawerburg, 212. alongside Panzer Sturmmörser Kompanie 1002 were pushing the revolters back into the older parts of western Mawerburg. The whole city was a mess of fire and screams, and now, 2. Hær Panzer was coming to clean it all up.

---

Mid Mawerburg, National Library of Mawerisme
Resting with his back to a bookcase, Oberstleutnant von Klonk was trying to catch some sleep. The large end-1800s brick building was very quiet, apart from the occasional burst from a machine gun or a moan from the wounded. In middle Mawerburg, fighting was slowly grinding to a halt now that it was nearing night time and more men ran south, towards the East End. Lying on a pile of books next to him was his G12k assault rifle, and on the other side a slim briefcase containing maps over Mawerburg and a set of battleplans for Fall Winterritter, or Operation Winter Knight, detailing the Ianderian order of battle for the defence of a theoretical Goramite attack. He'd come to Mawerburg to hand these to the Tagmatine brigade commander as a token of trust from Ianderian High Command. But he had been caught up in the fighting, and the airport specified for use by the Tagmatine was the very frontline up north at the moment, where 211. were putting up defences to keep away the Mawerburgers.

"Herr Oberstleutnant, a Schützenpanzer is waiting outside" a Grenadier said as he approached von Klonk.

"About time" the colonel responded and arose, dusting off his shoulders. Fighting in an urban enviroment meant messy uniforms, and a dirty wool uniform meant a bad first-hand impression. Or at least, so said the handbook handed out in the Junkerschulen. He walked outside to see a Schutzenpanzer IV 'Lemmini' bearing the insignia of 301. Grenadier Division.

"Why are you not with your unit?" von Klonk asked the unbuttoned commander.

"Fighting in a city in a tank that isn't heavily armored is suicide, Herr Oberst. Divisional Command called us back." he responded and gestured towards the rear of the tank. "Hop on in".

---

Northern Mawerburg
Viktor Rheinberg and his squad were stationed at the first floor of the large marble town hall facing west. The squad were all still in Juggernaught gear and carried their Microguns. The PAMers had abandoned the idea of taking the town hall completely because of the rain of bullets they were met with whenever they tried to attack. The squad consisted of five Vindicators, all elite soldiers and executioners. Many civilians had been shot for activity involving the PAM, even without evidence, by the Vindicators. The shots were never heard, and the bodies never found. All of these men were cold blooded murderers, with licenses to kill handed out by the Kriegsministerium.

---

Fuchsschanze, Generalstab Wing
Generalmajor Kurzenschmirtz was sitting in the Generalstab's mess hall alone. Using a laptop he had taken from the Map Room, he was writing a communique to the Goramite. He had dubbed it Protokol 314, to make it seem like any other order given to the units at the frontline, and given it top encryption, so that only the very laptop he was using and the Goramite could view it. What he was doing was an act of treason, and he knew it. But many members of the Generalstab had lost their trust in the Empress and wished for peace with the Goramite so that they could overthrow the mad Empress and take control of the vast territories of Iander.

Code: Select all

Protokol: 314
Verschlüsselung: Maximum

This is a safe line.
Who I am is not important.
At least, not yet.
You may refer to me as K.
I am in the innercircle of the Empress, and I'm writing to you representing the Ianderian Recistance.
We seek peacefull co-excistance with you, and to overthrow the Empress mad with power.
I wish to meet one of you, any of you, in person, so that we may discuss further.
You may respond to me using this codename of Protokol 314.
I am putting myself at a great risk writing to you, I hope you understand.

K.

---

Fuchsschanze
Under the cover of night, a light gray staff car pulled up to the main entrance of the Kaiserbunker. General von Klinkerhoffen walked towards the car and entered. He knew he was extremely important to the war-effort as a member of the team planning the defences, but he felt the need to travel to Mawerburg and oversee the defence - afterall, Wachtkorps Mawerburg had been put under his specific command. As he entered the car, he imagined how infuriated Selena would be when she found out that one of her closest advicers had left her.

[Goram]

OOC: Timeskipping forward a bit, to line up the times on all events in this post. Hope that's ok with everyone?

IC:

UKG Indomitable, 1230 local time (1130 Goram time)

Admiral Hightower stormed onto her bridge, glaring at anyone brave enough to look her in the eyes.

"56 minutes. I was asleep for 56 minutes. This had best be fucking good people."

The Senior Signals Officer, a 28 year old Commander, walked across the deck and handed a single sheet of paper to the Admiral. Despite her sleep deprived state, Hightower cracked a smile and turned to face her Bridge crew.

"Our friends down at the Admiralty have wired us fresh orders. As it turns out, Satellite and human assets confirm the battle going on in Mawerisme. The Mawerisians are up against armour and we've got clearance to sort it out. Pass word to air control, four Hawks to be launched as soon as is possible, carrying the maximum ordinance load possible. Copy orders to the rest of the Indefatigable and Endurance, four aircraft from each ship."

The Hawk was a sophisticated, ultra modern, Unmanned Aerial Vehicle. These UAVs, designed in the late 00's, incorporated low observability features, a modest pay load and a jet engine which facilitated flight a relatively high speed. Each aircraft was capable of flying for 14 hours, even when carrying a full compliment of weapons. The internal weapons bay was designed to hold air to surface weapons only. Today, they would contain anti-tank missiles exclusively.

The weapon of choice, when it came to destroying armour from the air, was the AGM-02 Buster. Introduced in 1984, the Buster was designed solely to kill main battle tanks from a stand off range. However, since it's inception the missile had been continuously upgraded to maintain it's lethality against a host of other targets as well. Retaining it's tank killing power the Buster, now in it's R model, was perfectly capable of levelling buildings and performing small miracles against infantry targets. The weapon could be laser guided or it could utilize millimetric wave radar and INS autopilot in order to track onto it's target with starling accuracy.

With an hour, the first Hawks would arrive over Mawerburg to rain their missiles down on any Ianderian target that showed itself, from roughly five miles away. The Admiralty had declared the city a free fire zone, any Ianderian elements had been deemed fair game.

C-400SO, on the tarmac, at the same time

"Norbrook tower, this is Wolf 17. Requesting clearance to depart, runway 25."

"Copy, cleared to depart runway 25. Godspeed Wolf 17."

The veteran pilot of the C-400SO closed his eyes behind the blacked out visor of his helmet. Mentally, he said a quick prayer. This could well be a suicide mission, but that's what that 601 squadron was recruited to do. All aircrew were volunteers, the best transport pilots in the Air Force. The pilot took his right hand placed it onto the four throttles which protruded from the centre console. Gently, he eased the throttles open and the four Europrop TP400-D6 engines roared into life. The gigantic aircraft slowly began to roll forward, gaining speed as it did so. Roughly half way down the runway, the C-400 lifted off the ground and soared into the midday sky. The sun was already getting somewhat low in the sky and by the time the aircraft reached Mawerisme, the sun would be long set.

Kaptajn Frode Steffeson

The Kaptajn, rifle in hand, cautiously leant around the corner of a shattered building. He didn't like what he saw.

The battle had been raging for almost 12 hours now and the Mawerisians had managed to push their Ianderian foes virtually to the edge of Mawerburg. The PAM and 261st had managed to push the 301. Grenadiers virtually out of the city, whilst inflicting heavy losses on the green troops. Now, the 261st found itself in the Western suburbs of the city, fighting in a battle in modern day suburbia. Most of the civilian population had long since fled or joined the fighting, but a twisted proof of their existence remained. Civilian cars burned and houses were now riddled with bullet holes. Kitchen tables, once stained with sauces, were now being stained with the blood of wounded men. The bodies of the dead and wounded on both sides lay in plain view, many of them lying where they had fallen.

Steffeson headed the third company of the 261st. They'd been fighting all night and were wearied by the continuous struggle, but the job was not yet done. The Company was now tasked with clearing this neighbourhood, supported by numerous irregulars who had been folded into the Battalion. As the night had gone on, the PAM had become increasingly well armed. Most of them now totted an assault rifle of some description, mostly Ianderian G12s. Some of them even carried light machine guns of various models. At current, Steffeson's position was quiet, though he could hear sporadic firefights breaking out all around.

The Kaptajn, happy that all was clear, ducked out into the street with his weapon raised. Behind him followed a 12 man squad, with each man scanning windows and other possible firing points. On the other side of the street, a group of PAM soldiers did the same. As they moved slowly down the street, the Kaptajn was handed a radio hand set by one of the men behind, who told him that Battalion command had urgent news.

"Concrete Actual, this is Alpha. Hostile elements are cutting a salient into your right flank. PAM and other irregular assets are in disarray. Recommend you fall back or dig in. You may become encircled. How copy?

"Solid copy Alpha. Concrete will withdraw if possi-contact, contact! 12'oclock!"

The Kaptajn was cut of as a Ianderian troops appeared at the end of the street. The 20 odd Mawerisians gave fire as Ianderian infantry began to engage them. The infantry was quickly followed by armour. The vehicle wasn't quite a tank, more of an armoured personnel carrier with a big gun, but it was certainly more than the PAM and paratroopers could handle in a straight up firefight. Alarmingly the vehicle was painted in regular Ianderian patterns but it bore the distinctive markings of the "Das Reich" Division. As more Ianderians began to appear, it was apparent that they were outnumbered and outgunned.

"Concrete Actual in heavy contact. Elements of Das Reich encountered. Falling back if possible, out".

Dropping the handset, the Kaptajn shouldered his rifle and began putting rounds down range, towards the Ianderians. Already the company network was awash with patrols reporting contact with Ianderian armour. There was no choice left, but to retreat. Steffeson triggered his own radio,

"All Concrete callsigns, this is Concrete actual. Fall back, I say again, fall back."

25th Marines, embarking at Porthampton Naval Base

Major General Rosano hopped out of the Viper in which he rode. He stood on the docks and breathed the sea air. As a boy, growing up in Porthampton, he'd often come down to the Naval Base and stood on a bluff which overlooked the docks. He watched the mighty ships come and go, wondering if he might one day find himself as the Captain of a carrier or better yet; a battleship. However, when he came of age he didn't join the Navy rather, he enlisted in the Marines. Instead of the captain of a ship, he commanded a Marine Division. A Division which he now watched embark onto four Ocean Class Assault Carriers, along with the smaller Boxer Class Littoral/Assault Ships. The process would not take much longer, the vast majority of the men and equipment had already boarded.

The Marines were not going at it alone. The Army's XXX Corps were also in a similar process, several divisions were being transported along side the 25th Marines. These Army units, however, had to make do with leased civilian shipping. Several dozen liners and cargo vessels had been acquired over the previous weeks. These vessels would depart from points all over Goram and meet at the pre-determined rally point, well off the coast.

Obviously, it was expected that the Ianderian navy might try to impede their progress. The invasion fleet would be protected by a huge fleet of warships, namely the vessels of Carrier Strike Group five and seven. Their efforts would be aided by the fleet which already sat off the coast of Mawerisme, as these ships were already in position to intercept any Ianderian efforts to attack the Invasion force.

GCHQ

The message from an apparent, high ranking, defector within the Ianderian command had stirred up quite a commotion within the Goramite intelligence community. As far as everyone was concerned, it was simply too good to be true. Common sense screamed at the analysts, urging them to ignore the message. However, there was nothing to suggest that the Ianderian was attempting to mislead them. Despite this, there were going to be complications; the defector was inside Selena's bunker. Not only was this structure virtually impregnable to a special forces "snatch" operation, it was hours away from being blown to kingdom come by the Navy.

Code: Select all

Protokol: 314.

You will be extracted from a discrete location on the Mawerisian coastline. Location to follow. You have a very small window to make it to the rendezvous point.

Northern Mawerburg

In a building, across the street from Mawerburg's town hall, sat a Goramite Special Forces Captain. Recouping from the failed power plant mission, the team had found themselves caught up in the Battle of Mawerburg. They'd fought pretty much all night and had been involved several unsuccessful assaults against the town hall. The surrounding area was wide open, offering little cover to an assaulting force and though the PAM had a small number of mortars in the area, they had been unable to flush the Ianderians out. The problem was mainly down to several men in ridiculously heavy armour, armed with what appeared to be miniguns. The Captain had put a burst of rifle fire into one himself during the last assault, simply to see the juggernaut of a soldier stagger slightly and then continue firing. Nothing seemed to slow these guys down, so the Captain figured that something a little extra was needed.

With a map splayed out on the table in front of him and a small radio set next to it, the Captain began to put his plan into action.

"Baseplate, Baseplate, this is Checkmate. Over"

"Roger Checkmate, this is Baseplate. Go ahead. Over."

"Checkmate requesting priority one ordinance, Danger Close. Authorisation code: Papa Uniform One Four Niner Two One Three Bravo. Location to follow, over."

"Copy, Checkmate. Authorisation codes confirmed."

Roughly ten minutes later, a klaxon sounded aboard the UKG Goram City. The ship, as with all ships of her class, contained a pair of Vertical Launch Systems with gave her 122 shots when the systems were fully loaded. For this tasking, she'd need just the one. Targeting information from Checkmate had been converted into GPS coordinates and programmed into the Hatchet cruise missile which currently resided in Cell One.

When the missile was fired, the Cell door swung open. Half a second later, the launch boosters kicked in. The jet of flame impacted against the bottom of the cell and was redirected through a vent which emerged next to the open door, in what was known as a hot launch. For any onlookers, it seemed that the missile emerged from a wall of orange flame before the solid fuel engine ignited and the missile's wings deployed.

"Checkmate, Checkmate this is Baseplate. Ordinance away. Splash in 23 minutes."

[Tagmatium]

The first few of the massive transports had landed at the airfield set aside for them and were finished unloading. One was already taxiing along the runway, getting in position so that it could take off and clear more space for those coming in behind it. The units that had unloaded were forming up in a field near the runway, with the command staff of the 1094th Numeroi Anit-Aircraft Drungos looking on. Their sister formation, the 1111th Numeroi Anit-Aircraft Drungos, would be arriving within the next few hours, the pace of the Tagmatines was frenetic. The anti-aircraft weaponry themselves consisted of a battery of three anti-air missile launchers, tied to a radar vehicle, which made up the base unit. Each battery consisted three of these units, and there were three batteries to each hemikometon, or battalion. Two hemikometones made each kometon, of which there were three to each drungos.

The kometones of each drungoi would be spread out across Mawerburg, with the 1094th covering the areas nearer the north of the city. Each kometon did have its own kentarkhon, or company, sized security detachment, but nonetheless there was a feeling of unease amongst the higher-ups of the Tagmatine units. The recce units, from the first of the transports to land, had reported sounds of gunfire and explosions across Mawerburg. Palls of smoke could be seen from the airport. There was a distinct feeling amongst the Tagmatine forces, the idea that the Ianderians hadn’t told them, their ally willingly giving a helping hand, the whole truth in the matter of the conflict.

Those of the command staff of the 1094th stood in a cluster near the drungos’ command vehicles. A map had been spread on the bonnet of one of them, which depicted Mawerburg and had been “borrowed” from a tourist information stand from the airport itself. Hastily scribbled lines demarcated suspected frontlines and concentrations of the rebelling locals and positions of Ianderian ground forces. The fact that it was so crude annoyed and worried Drungarios Sgouros in equal measure. Just north of the airport itself was one of the front lines itself.

“It looks like we might even have trouble getting out of the airport itself,” said the droungos’ operations officer, a grim expression on his face. “We might even have to use the security kentarkhones as an ersatz-hemikemeton and stage a break-out, unless the Ianderians can properly secure the surrounding area.” He pointed at the map and gestured to the areas north of the airport.

“We’ll have to use at least one of them as a recce unit to make sure that our sites aren’t compromised,” replied the Drungarios. She paused as she drew a packet of cigarettes from her webbing, retrieved a smoke and lit it. Holding her breath for a moment as she pondered the situation, she exhaled and replaced the packet within a pouch. “Basically, this is top-notch horseshit. These barbaroi idiots shouldn’t have got us to deploy where they wanted us. High Command should have just told them to go shaft themselves and we should have deployed ourselves along the Ianderian border.”

The other senior officers crowded around the map nodded glumly.

“The 1111th may have to be diverted to another airfield, if it looks like the Ianderians can’t hold the line here,” Sgouros continued, punctuating her sentence with by gesturing with her lit cigarette. “Having them land here as the line falls apart would be madness.”

An officer from the drungos headquarters security unit walked over to the command officers and gave a half-bow, the Tagmatine equivalent of a salute.

“Droungarios, my kentarkhon has been dismounted from the Oyranokrator and is ready to move out.”

“Good job, kentarkhes,” said Sgouros, after returning the half-bow. “I need you to wait until our Ianderian escort arrives.” She looked down at her watch. “From the looks of it, they’re running a bit late. I’d imagine it’s because they’ve been caught up in the fighting somewhere. Remain on standby for the moment.”

The security officer nodded and scuttled back off to where his infantry was waiting nearby, having dismounted from their own aircraft as quickly as they could. Sgouros gave an uneasy glance to the north, where the nearest frontline was. How could it turn on the Ianderians so quickly? By their own communications to the Greater Holy Empire, the Royal Empire was merely crushing a small uprising. But from the evidence that was being presented to the Tagmatine forces on the ground, it looks like this minor uprising was in danger of pushing the Ianderians completely out of Mawerburg, the capital of their captured territory. And that was without the large naval force of the United Kingdom of Goram that was steaming its way towards Mawerisme lending its full force.

She drew on her cigarette, but noticed that it had burnt down to the butt whilst she was thinking over the issues that confronted her first overseas deployment. The droungarios dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground it beneath her boot heel.

---

The seemingly-worsening situation in the Royal Empire’s conquered lands hadn’t escaped the notice of those within the Imperial Government who had an eye on the situation, either. Because of that, Kontarian again found himself looking at Megas Logothetes Traskalissaeos across the large desk in the part of the Imperial Palace Complex that had been set aside for the Logothesion for War. It wasn’t where the entirety of the Logothesion was based, but merely one of the offices of the Megas Logothetes for War. The location meant that it was convenient for any meetings of the Imperial Cabinet, the Holy Emperor’s advisory body.

“I have been in contact with the High Command, who have been in turn in contact with the commanding officer of our air defence assets in Iander.” Traskalissaeos seemed to cringe at the words of Kontarian, who was sitting with both of his arms crossed on the desk. His voice was without much inflection. “It seems that the Ianderians are having difficulty controlling their conquests, and could well be in a position to lose Mawerburg.”

“The capital of the country that they’ve declared in anschluss with their nation,” said the Megas Logothetes for League and Alliance Affairs. “That certainly… reduces the legitimacy of their claims to be in control of Mawerisme.”

“Exactly,” Kontarian sighed. He sat back in his chair for a moment, looking at the ceiling above Traskalissaeos’ head, pursing his lips. Then, he pressed a button on his desk. A voice replied from a speaker, and the Megas Logothetes requested that tea was brought in for himself and Traskalissaeos. Kontarian then sat forward again. The door to the office was opened by a flunkey, how brought in a tray and placed it between both ministers, serving Kontarian first, as this office was part of his Logothesion. She then bowed, before leaving the room.

“The feeling that the Ianderians haven’t been entirely truthful with us grows stronger. By all accounts, the airport that they directed our air defence units to was on the edge of their frontline.” Kontarian continued in a mild manner, but Traskalissaeos could see for the first time that the Megas Logothetes for War was angry. “My suspicion that the Ianderians are attempting to use them to trigger a greater involvement on the part of Tagmatium is becoming stronger. This level of duplicity is something that we cannot tolerate.”

“Megas Logothetes, are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting,” asked Traskalissaeos, aghast.

“No, I’m not. I will not even recommend anything of the sort. Yet. However,” he continued, “it remains to put is between a rock and a hard place. I would not necessarily trust the Ianderians to come to the aid of our forces if the worst does happen. Which, in turn, means that I may have to suggest that larger forces are involved, if only maintain a line of retreat that I seriously doubt that the Ianderians would be capable of holding open if the Goramite forces push it.”

[Goram]

Wolf 17, 65 minutes to drop point

As the skies grew rapidly darker, the C-400SO made it's final turn onto the 65 minute run into the target area. The turning point was only minutes away from the Mawerisian Coast line, and thus far the low observable features seemed to be working. The intelligence guys and mission control back at Norbrook AFB, were monitoring images from the M2 network and thus far they saw nothing from the Ianderian Air Force. Equally, the crew of Wolf 17 had received zero warning from on board warning systems which would set off an alarm in the cockpit if they were locked up by a hostile radar.

In the back of the aircraft, sat the twelve Third Battalion snipers. Aside from the obvious kit the snipers carried, such as their rifles and spotting equipment, the Operators also carried their regular gear. Each trooper carried an M4 carbine, outfitted with after market stocks, grips, scopes and laser pointers, along with a handgun. Most carried their standard issue M1911, but several chose to privately purchase their sidearms. The use of such weapons was rare in the Goramite military, but the use of common weapons that couldn't be traced from one nation to another often helped the UKGSF remain unidentified. On top of their weapons, each trooper carried upwards of 150 pounds of gear. The kit they'd be jumping with included body armour outfitted with a single kelvar plate, specially designed night vision devices, two parachutes, enough ammunition to fight a small army and a ghille suit.

The troopers sat in pairs, shooter and spotter. Together they went through their pre-mission rituals. Some shot the shit about their significant other or simply someone they'd hooked up with in the weeks or days previously. Others went through meticulous preparation, checking and re-checking their gear in order to ensure 110% combat effectiveness. More than one pair, however, simply slept. All this stopped, however, when the Crew Chief informed the troopers that they were now 50 minutes from the drop zone. Now all conversation stopped, as helmets were donned and oxygen masks strapped on. Pre-breathing was important to an op like this, as the rapid decent of the HALO jump could lead to decompression sickness if the nitrogen wasn't flushed out of the blood stream prior to the jump.

Flight deck, UKG Indomitable

"Shotgun" Rebuck and "Blackjack" Tracy, alighted onto the deck, in order to fly what would be their twenty second sortie of the war. Most of these trips had been patrols over the fleet and once or twice a sweeping move into Mawerisian air space, on the hunt for Ianderian aircraft. Thus far, nothing had been seen aside from the odd SAM site. Since the first night of the aerial campaign, very little had happened. No one had reported an air to air contact and Ianderian air defence had been unusually quiet. Today, however, things would change.

Today Rebuck, Tracy and the rest of CFS-11 would be flying fighter escort for 24 aircraft who's sole job was to sink the Ianderian fleet at anchor in Rive Panzerschiffhagen. If the Ianderians wouldn't come out, the Royal Navy would simply have to go to them. The strike would comprise of 50 aircraft, 24 on escort duty, four to neutralise air defences, 20 aircraft carrying a mix of bombs and anti-shipping missiles and two carrying electronic pods, designed to jam Ianderian radar coverage. The main target was the KMS Eisen, an Ianderian carrier which was confirmed to be in Rive by satellite intelligence. Other targets included various destroyers scattered around the port. If all targets were destroyed, the area would become a free fire zone. Pilots were authorised to expend their ordinance against any military targets in the area.

[Gibet]

Manufactorium, Iander

The massive capital city of this long-time ally of the Imperial Federation seemed like a masterpiece to the man sitting in the passenger area of the small, black jet that shot through the sky high above. The aircraft bore the markings of the Imperial Federation of Gibet, which had been recently reorganized following a very influential person's return to power. As a result, he had deemed it important to show our allies that the Federation had not slipped into disarray or collapsed internally, but that they were still strong and that they would not forget the promises they made.

The rebellion in Mawerisia had been the trigger for the events that had unfolded since then; the fact that Goram was involved hadn't surprised the Imperial government. In fact, they had anticipated it, and had planned accordingly. That was the reason for this man's visit to the very doorstep of one of the Federation's most beloved allies.

The jet began it's descension towards the airfield, as the pilot's voice crackled through the radio-waves.

"This is K-12, clearance code Delta-Foxtrot-Seven-Nine-Four-Zulu. Confirm, over." The code he used was one of very few authorized for use by Imperial diplomatic personell. This one in particular was authorized soley for use by a member of the Emperor's personal staff.

[Goram]

Joint Chiefs meeting, Goram City

An officer, wearing the insignia and uniform of a Commander in the Royal Navy, stood at the head of a room which contained a number of exceptionally important people. The Prime Minister was there, as was the King, along with the heads of the military branches. The room they sat in was part of a massive complex 60 feet below the streets of Goram City. A network of subterranean tunnels, armoured with six inches of reinforced steel plate and completely sealed against CBNR attack, the complex was the nerve centre of Goram's command and control network. Numerous checkpoints, involving finger printing, voice recognition and retinal scans, guarded the entrances. The guard's themselves wore black uniforms trimmed with black equipment, not the standard camouflages worn by the regular military. The guards were hand picked from the branches of the armed services, each one had undergone a thorough background check and an extensive interview. No one, without prior clearance, could get into the complex.

The Commander was giving a situation report to the Joint Chiefs, in regards to the ongoing war in Iander. Public opinion of the war was still high, Navy strikes had been achieving good effect on targets. Civilians were not being killed by Goramite action, at least not reportedly, and no Goramite personnel had been killed as yet. Still, the good news couldn't last. Once the Ianderian got his act together and began putting up a credible defence, public opinion would likely fall somewhat. The Ianderian had to be crushed, and quickly. Ongoing operations against enemy C3 or the threat of invasion might do the job, but things had taken a turn for the worse.

"Latest images from the satellite, Lima-Victor four twenty six, shows that we have a new player in the game"

The Commander said. Most RN Commanders were not privy to such information, but this one was far more affiliated with the Royal Intelligence Department, rather than the Navy.

"An aircraft was spotted going into Manufactorium. The aircraft bore the markings of the Imperial Federation of Gibet. We don't know why they are re-entering the game, but we do know that they are long term allies with the Ianderian. RID expects a military intervention, far more extensive than that of the Tagmatine. We must be ready to support friendly elements in country against an Gibetian assault."

The King lowered his head and rubbed his brow

"Why is this never simple"

He muttered to himself

"We need to know what the Gibetian is planning, before he takes us by surprise. Get it done, Gentlemen."

TO: The Imperial Federation
FROM: UK of Goram
RE: Intervention.
Encryption: Open

We must warn you that the United Kingdom is currently in a state of war with the Ianderian Empire. 
We do not wish hostilities, but will defend ourselves and the people of Mawerisme if threatened.

Pennington AFB

The whine of 4 CFM International F-108-CF-201 turbofan engines reverberated around the airbase as a mighty aircraft lumbered into the sky. Painted a dull grey, the aircraft could have been mistaken for a civilian airliner. The aircraft was in fact based off an airliner, the Boeing 367 which would eventually become the legendary 707. Known as the RC-135W Rivet Joint, this was a unique aircraft. It was, essentially, a flying antenna; carrying a myriad of sensors designed to monitor the electromagnetic spectrum. The Rivet Joint was the Air Force's airborne SIGNIT platform, Its sensor suite allowed the mission crew to detect, identify and geolocate signals and then transmit them back to Air Force intelligence and the RID for dissemination.

Today the RC-135, of 167 Squadron, was tasked with monitoring the airwaves for transmissions originating from the Imperial Federation of Gibet and the Ianderian Empire. If anything was transmitted, the Rivet Joint would pick it up. Not only was the RC-135 airborne, a significant proportion of the RID's SIGINT and ELINT capability were being directed to scanning for transmissions as well. If the nations, now being considered hostile, made an attempt to communicate through anything that gave off a signal, the United Kingdom would know about it.

[Iander]

On the outskirts of the East End, Mawerburg

"It's funny, though, isn't it?" Eismann said and shrugged. "The way I see it, thanks to the pure awesomeness of this tank, we'll live forever in the shape of history books and poorly made documentaries - well, obviously not us, Günther" he continued and gestured towards the gunner, Bär. "But you, Michael, children will be forced to read about you for generations!" he finished. "You think too much, that's the problem with you Phillip" Bär said and shook his head. Sturmleutnant Wulff just sat silently, looking at the smoking collums erupting from the East End. "No, seriously, think about it, there'll be documentaries on TV about the exploits of Michael Wulff, the hero of the battle of Krigston!" Eismann said and made a sweeping motion with his left hand. "Except they'll be done so poorly we'll probably be shown fighting Abrams tanks or something!" he finished. Bär just shook his head again.

Eismann, Bär and Wulff was the infamous crew that led Dinoleofelis '212' of the 2. Hær Panzer into battle. During the invasion of Juguren, the crew racked up an impessive kill tally. 48 kills, half of which were 60's and 70's Soviet tanks and an unfortunate destoyer that couldn't leave the harbor in time, making them the highest scoring, non-Second World War-tank aces in Ianderian history. Around their necks hung Knight's Crosses, the greatest military award available for a non-General Staff-soldier. During the Jugurian campaign, nine Knight's Crosses were given away, of which two were post-homous. Overall, it was a well-respected award, and one that required respect. Indeed, Selena II personally attended all the awardings of the Knight's Cross, as it had been a tradition in Iander since it's introduction in 1886.

"Achtung, our forwards elements are coming into view!" Wulff finally said as he spotted Panzergrenadiers further down the road. "Contact, PAM infantry!" he said and looked at the poorly organized mob running towards the Panzergrenadiers a few hundred meters from them through his optics. "Günter, ready up the MG, Phillip get us closer!" he said and checked their flanks. "What, you want to hit them with your sword?" Eismann joked and sped up the tank. "Real funny wise guy, watch the road will you?" Bär said and grabbed the controls for the MG 12 mounted on top of the tank. "Let's kick some ass" Wulff said.

Mawerisian International Airport, Northern Mawerburg

"Keep them out, keep them out!" yelled Feldwebel Schroiff as more PAM fighters came into view. From the roof of the airport's main entrance facing west, his platoon had a great overview of the airport. Currently, they were part of a three-company battleforce, a so called Kampfgruppe, fighting to keep the airport safe until reinforcements could arrive. Normally, his platoon would be led into battle by Leutnant Schwarz, but he had been shot three times in his legs and were in no condition to fight, let alone command a platoon. Under normal circumstances, Hauptfeldwebel Viermann would take command of the platoon at this point, but he had an unfortunate run-in with an angry Mawerburger, and a burnt pile of mince meat wasn't very suited to lead a platoon either. Therefore, the young Feldwebel had taken over, continuing the defence.

"Søren, get over here!" Schroiff called out, to which a machinegunner replied "Jawohl!". Overall, the defences were holding, though it had costed the Grenadiers around a platoon's worth in casualties, half of which were dead.

Inside the airport, however, one of the terminals was still full of tourits. Though many had chosen to steer clear of Mawerisme thanks to her new leaders, some had decided to visit the world famous beer-city Mawerburg. The tourists were all being watched over by two squads of Grenadiers, 16 men in total, walking on elevated catwalks. Apart from the occasional sound of an explosion in the distance, the soldiers were the only real proof that war was going on outside. Walking amongst the grounded tourits were unarmed logistical- and reconnaisance troops, handing out food and drinks, "borrowed" from convenience stores within the airport.

Then a pair of new soldies came walking, wearing Red Cross-armbands. Unbeknownst to everyone else, these troops were neither Hær nor Armé regulars, but rather Vindicators agents on a mission. "Attention!" one of them called out, spreading his arms. "Everyone, line up at zheese tables, we must check your passports!" he said, slightly accented and pointed towards two desks behind him, belonging to two airline companies. The people complied, figuring it'd be better to follow orders than be shot. Two more agents arrived shortly thereafter, taking another two desks into use for "Passport-control".

Their mission came straight from the Kriegsministerium, and was as cruel as it was simple; take a Goramite prisoner.

---

Meanwhile, the Schützenpanzer carrying Oberstleutnant von Klonk arrived at the airport's more peaceful eastern site. "We're almost there" the driver said over the armored car's comms system. "Excellent" von Klonk muttered and rubbed his eyes. And indeed, after a few security checks, they were let through to the giant Tagmatine aircraft that had landed there earlier. Exiting from the back of the armored car, he walked up to the people he presumed to be the leading the AA-brigade.

"I hope the flight wasn't too bad?" he said as he came closer, saluting them in the universally acknowledged way of a straightened hand next to his head, rather than the Nazi-salute that was otherwise custom within the Hær. "I am Oberstleutnant von Klonk, I bring you a copy of Unternehmen Winterriter, our battleplans, as a token of good will" he said and offered the briefcase.

[Goram]

Wolf 17, two minutes to drop point

The interior of the aircraft was filled by an eerie red light. The pre-jump prep, which had been going on barely an hour before, was a thing of the past now. All twelve troopers, standing in two columns of six, were ready to go. With a one minute forty five seconds to go, the Crew Chief pressed a button located on a recessed panel inside the aircraft. The rear ramp of the C-400SO slid down, almost silently. A rush of ice cold air filled the aircraft and more than one of the UKGSF troopers involuntarily shivered. At an altitude of almost 40,000 feet, this was to be expected. Still, the thermal clothing the troopers wore ought to ward off the cold on the way down and once they were on the ground, in the middle of the Mawerisian winter.

A minute and forty five seconds later, the red light snapped off and a green one replaced it. Without so much as a second thought, the special forces troopers shuffled towards the ramp and threw themselves into the cold sky. At 40,000 feet the sky was clear blue but as they fell, the weather deteriorated. Grey clouds loomed up and the troopers quickly entered them. They fell for roughly six minutes, travelling at over 120 miles per hour. At the altitude they had jumped at, they were kept alive by their oxygen equipment and thermal clothing. At a pre-programmed altitude of 5,000 feet, their parachutes snapped open. The jerk of a parachute opening at 120 miles per hour was not inconsiderable, but the UKGSF personnel were used to it as each one had made dozens of such jumps in training. With the help of what could have been mistaken for a civilian satnav attached to the right forearm, each soldier flew him or herself onto the precise location that the planners of the operation had specified.

The forest was under what could only be described as a blizzard. The January snow fell fast and hard, hardly ideal jumping conditions but the UKGSF couldn't wait. The jump had to happen now and, on the plus side, the snow made them almost invisible to anyone without thermal imaging. Using their GPS devices, the sniper pairs landed within 100 feet of their optimum locations. Burying their chutes was easy, the snow was soft and deep. Whilst the parachutes would be found quickly in the spring or summer, melting snow would not be a problem in the depths of winter. The troopers clad in white as they were, armed with sniper rifles and thermal imaging equipment, dug themselves in for the long haul. The temperature was significantly below zero centigrade, this was not going to be a pleasant operation for the UKGSF.

---

Northern Mawerburg

Checkmate, the Special Forces Captain embedded in Mawerburg, poked his head out over the window sill again. The Town Hall was eerily quiet with only sporadic gunfire, both incoming and outgoing, emanating from it. It was almost as if the area was holding it's breath in anticipation of an incoming cruise missile which would strike the town hall with something akin to the fury of God almighty himself. The Captain's radio buzzed

Checkmate, Checkmate, this is baseplate. Splash in 30 seconds.

"Ordinance in 30 seconds!"

He called out to the rest of his team. Though Baseplate would keep him informed of the incoming missile, from his point he tracked the time on his wrist watch.

Splash 20

Came the call on the radio

Splash in 10

Splash in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...Mark.

From the beginning of the count down, the Goramite troopers took cover. This promised to be quite the explosion. The missile lived up to all expectations, the blast was deafening, but it was infinitely worse for those on its receiving end. The Captain, seconds after the missile's impact, popped his head up again. The Town Hall looked a little worse for wear. Much of the building had been levelled by the explosion and most of what hadn't was now on fire. The Captain was sure that if the heavily armoured Ianderian behemoths [OOC: The Vindicators] were still in residence, then they must have been killed along with everyone else in the building.

---

Operations room, UKG Indomitable

A Technical Officer sat in front of a series of computer monitors, which displayed the same TV feed in various different views which included infra-red and regular colour. The feeds came from a Strike Hawk unmanned aerial vehicle, one of four in orbit above the East End of Mawerburg. The Ianderians were pushing into the city with armour and the PAM had nothing with which to fight them. In order to change this, the Navy had whistled up enough Hawks to cover the entire city district with at least one aircraft.

Thus far, the RN UAVs had not engaged, but that was about to change. The Technical Officer had found his first catch of the night, in a Ianderian MBT in the East End. Such was the quality of the camera systems aboard the craft, the "pilot" could make out every detail of the tank if he zoomed in far enough. For example, he could easily see the muzzle flash of a machine gun. He could even see the identification number on the hull, "212" it read. The officer marvelled at the technological genius of the Hawk for a moment, it really was the height of UAV development with it's low observability and jet engine. Still, he couldn't linger for long there was work to be done.

The Officer's finger twitched on the joystick's trigger. He'd fired thousands of rounds on the ranges and simulators but never in combat before. Using the keyboard in front of him, he commanded the aircraft's laser designator to lock onto the largest heat source in the immediate area. The heat being generated by the tank's engine did not make this difficult and the laser pointer, built into the nose of the aircraft, swung around and locked onto the tank. The on-board computer systems would make sure the laser stayed locked on until the controller gave it orders to break off. From this point all the pilot needed to do was authorise weapons release and squeeze the trigger; this he did quickly.

At an altitude of roughly one mile up, the Hawk's weapons bay opened and a singular AGM-02 Buster missile fell out. Seconds later, the solid fuel motor kicked in. The missile, tipped with a 20 pound HEAT warhead, was a purpose built tank killer. Whilst it had proved effective against structures, it was primarily designed to knock out tanks. This was a role it had been performing effectively since the late 1980s and it was expected to perform well against the Dinoleofelis. The missile flew precisely along the laser's beam and in a matter of seconds it would strike whatever the laser was targeting.

---

Mawerisian International Airport, Northern Mawerburg

Sophie Melville was panicking. Barely six months ago, she'd been happily working as a clerk in the Goramite embassy to Mawerisme. Now, she was on the run for her life. She'd spent months hiding in the house of a Mawerisian couple she had befriended, but when Goram declared war by pasting Ianders southern coast with cruise missiles, she had decided that it was no longer safe for her here. She had to get out of the country and she had to do it now.

She'd made contact with the PAM who supplied her with fake papers, claiming that she was a Mawerisian citizen. According to her new passport, she had bee born and raised in Mawerburg. This was distinctly plausible, having worked in the country for several years she was fluent in the local language and had even picked up the regional accent and dialects. Most of the details on the papers had been kept the same as her original documents, with only the important details changed as not to make it too hard for her to memorise in the few hours she had to do so.

This had all seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now she was stuck in the main terminal with armed Ianderians and the PAM knocking on the goddamn door. The situation was made worse, as two soldiers now demanded to see everyone's passport for some unknown reason. In order not to arouse suspicion, she complied. She was terrified of being found out, or worse accused of espionage. If that were the case, she would surely be summarily executed or at the very least held hostage indefinitely. If the rumours about the "Vindicators" or whatever they were called were true, she didn't know which was worse.

She reached the front of the queue and handed her fake passport over, praying to God that the PAM had done a good job.

[Iander]

Fuchsschanze, Mawerisme

Outside the main bunker entrance stood General Kurzenschmirtz, pulsing on a cigarette as he tried to calm himself. In a briefcase he carried a laptop, a loptop with which he had commited high-treason, high-treason punishable by death. Just who and what was going to pick him up, he didn't know. All he knew was that no one, whatsoever could find his laptop.

"Do you mind if I join, Herr General?" asked a Grenadier. He was tall and muscular, built like a brick-wall and carried a G12s assault rifle. "No-no, not at all!" the General said as he recovered from the surprise, afterwhich he offered the soldier a light.

"Thank you, this damned snow is freezing my rear off" the soldier said, shaking his head. "Why is Herr General not asleep?" he asked as he blew away smoke.

"Insomnia, I fear" Kurzenschmirtz andswered. The Grenadier nodded and answered:

"Herr General, you can rest asured that the men of the Kaisergarde would rather die than see a single hair on your head bruised" the soldier asured him as he threw the butt of the cigarette on the ground. "Thank you for the light, Herr General. Heil die Kaiserinn" he said as he crushed the butt beneath the sole of his Jackboot. The soldier saluted Kurzenschmirtz and returned to his post. Kurzenschmirtz let out a sigh of relief as he threw away the butt of his cigarette, walking back into the bunker.

---

Northern Mawerburg, Mawerisme

An eriee silence covered the area around the town hall as the Vindicators observed every approach. But it only lasted a short time.

"GET OUT, SCHNELL!" the squad leader ordered as the sound of the cruise-missile neared. Despite being on the first floor, Victor Rheinberg preferred jumping than being thrown out of the building. Abandoning his microgun, the heavily-armored man jumped out of the building, landing flat on his back as the missile struck, pushing him, his squad and debris in all directions. After the first few seconds of shell shock, he used his tounge to check his teeth - a quick indicator whether his face had been hit or not. Satisfied that it wasn't, he exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, expecting a sudden death at any moment.

---

Mawerisian International Airport, Northern Mawerburg

Wilhelm Börg, a career-soldier within the Vindicators inspected the passport handed to him by a very eager, yet at the same time nervous, woman. It seemed fine, although a few stamps seemed very clumsily placed. But that didn't matter much to him, what mattered was that she seemed so eager. "If you can please follow my colleague Götz here, that would be good" he said as he pointed towards a man sitting next to him. Götz arose and grabbed the woman by the arm, leading her into the backroom of a convenience store. It was a small room, barely big enough to feature a table and three chairs. Yet it did, and she was now placed on one of the chairs. As Götz went to guard the door, two other vindicators looked at her passport.

"So, from the top, who are you, miss Melvilliea?" one asked, obviously troubled pronouncing the surname.

---

East End, Mawerburg, Mawerisme

A quick beeping was the only warning the crew of '212' were given as a missile was launched from the tank's onboard trophy system. A loud, loud explosion above them confirmed that it was working as intended. "The hell was that?" Bär asked to no one in particular and shook his head. "I reckon it was Pope Gregory IX, actually, though it may just've been our trophy system going off" Eismann said and sniggered. "I swear, once we get outside again, I'll strangle you and throw you into the sea!" Bär said and clenched his fist. "Quiet you two, we're engaging their infantry now. Bär, priority on heavy weapons, Eismann, keep us moving at all times, I don't want us to present them a target. All hatches locked, we don't know what they might throw at us - you know the drill!" Wulff barked.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the East End, Marcus Regius, heir to the duchy of Rive and 12th in line to the throne of Iander, was being dragged from his webbing by a behemothically-sized Mawerisian. The Mawerisian paratrooper had taken the young man prisoner after knocking him face first into the floor. Hesitating a bit, the giant figured that even someone as filthy as a soldier of the Hær deserved to be treated fairly. Therefore, he had brought him back to HQ, where the young man had been handed over to the MPs of the 561st. He had no identification on his person whatsoever, and so the MPs decided to tie him to a chair and put him under guard of two soldiers, neither of which felt any real hate nor love for the Ianderians, to ensure he was neither beaten up nor freed.

---

OOC: Gibet, are you still in this?

[Goram]

Fuchsschanze, Mawerisme

Through the tinted green of his night vision scope, a Special Forces sniper watched two men sharing a few words and a smoke. One of them wore the insignia of a General, whilst the other looked to be little more than a guard. The sniper keyed his radio -

"Foxhound four one to all Foxhound callsigns."

he whispered,

"Tally one high priority target. Confirm visual"

Over the next few seconds, confirmation floated over the net from three of the other five sniper pairs in the area. One high priority target in the area was all that troopers needed to call down the strike package on what was thought to be the nerve centre of Ianderian operations in Mawerisme. Within minutes, the coded transmission had been sent back to the Indomitable.

---

UKG Indomitable,
Roughly an hour later.

Four Super Ospreys sat on the deck of the Indomitable, wings unfolded and engines warming up. These four fighters constituted the strike package that could end the war before it escalated any further. Three of them were armed with two JDAM equipped Mark 57 bombs, two short range missiles and auxiliary fuel tanks. The Mark 57, a variant of the venerable Mark 50 series, was a 2,000 pound freefall "dumb" bomb designed specifically for cracking open bunkers. Ordinarily, these weapons would be released from a shallow dive at al altitude of roughly 4,000 feet, relying on the skill of the pilot to ensure a hit. With the JDAM kits attached, however, it was an entirely different story. The weapons were now "smart"; guided by GPS they could go though the bunker's front door if the pilot wanted them to. What's more, light flak would be of no concern as the bombs could be released from almost 15 miles away.

The fourth aircraft was their ace in the hole. This machine carried no bombs, indeed the only weapons it carried were a single AIM-11X and the internal 25mm cannon that was standard on Super Ospreys. In place of ordinance the machine carried a complex series of electronic warfare pods aimed at jamming Ianderian surface and airborne radar. This aircraft would be vital as the Super Osprey did not possess low observable characteristics and would appear on enemy screens as soon as they passed into range.

Before long, the four aircraft were airborne and streaking towards the Mawerisian coast at wave top level.

---

Northern Mawerburg

"Baseplate, Baseplate, this is Checkmate. Ordinance received with good effect. Target destroyed."

The Captain was not overstating the effect that the weapon had transferred into the old Town Hall. The 1,000 pound warhead had gutted the old building, blowing a huge hole in the side of it. Seconds after the initial explosion, the majority of the building had collapsed in on itself and the PAM infantry around the square charged forwards once more. The once formidable Ianderian defence was largely silent and those who were still in a fit state to put up a fight looked as if they would be quickly overrun by the superior numbers of the PAM.

The UKGSF troopers, however, were more interested in the armoured soldier who seemed to be stumbling around, somewhat disorientated from the blast. Ordinarily this would be a good chance to grab a prisoner and gather intelligence, but now was not the time. Now was the time to kill. With that in mind the Captain raised his rifle and fired the 40mm grenade launcher that hung from it's underside rails. The fist sized projectile spun through the air and impacted, or so it seemed, square in the armoured soldier's chest plate.

---

Mawerisian International Airport, Northern Mawerburg

The girl sat at the desk, visibly scared. She was barely 22 years old, a language graduate from the University of Stoney Bay, and now she was being faced down by three Vindicators. During her time at the embassy, she had heard of this unit but had considered them a myth. If they stories were true, she was in trouble. Her only advantage was the way she spoke; in her time at school and at the Embassy, she had learnt the local dialect and had lost her clipped Goramite accent whenever she needed to speak the local tongue.

So, from the top, who are you, miss Melvilliea?

"Uh, I'm Sophie Melville"

She stammered out

"I'm 22 and two months, I'm a Mawersian citizen. I've got family in Esbjerg, I want to get out of the city and see them. Please, let me go. I haven't done anything wrong."

Just then the building shook as a mortar round landed somewhere near by. The explosion seemed to be the cue for the gunfire to ramp up again and the low thump of a heavy machine gun or light cannon could clearly be heard. The noise made Sophie jump half out of her skin.

"I'm sorry...All this shooting and fighting, it scares me"

She said as he eyed the guard's rifle.

---

Navy strike force,
Within weapons range of Rive Panzerschiffhagen

Four Royal Navy fighters were coming up on the home of the Ianderian Navy. These aircraft were armed with anti-radiation missiles, aimed at destroying Ianderian air defence and any ground based radar. It seemed Panzerschiffhagen was well defended, judging by the number of ground based radar contacts, but as of yet no missiles rose to meet them. Still, the RN pilots were not going to wait of the Ianderians to wake up and the Super Ospreys duly opened fire.

The Navy aircraft let loose a barrage of ATS-10 HARM missiles, aimed at SAMs, radar guided flak and those few ships that had their radar systems illuminated. If any Ianderian elements on the ground had a radar system operational, it was making itself a target as the missiles would home in on the radiation given out. The only way to protect themselves would be to shoot the marauders down or shut off their systems. The main target of interest for the first wave, of four fighters, was undoubtedly the ships themselves. Whilst the light warheads of the HARM missiles would certainly not sink a vessel of any respectable size, nor even seriously damage it, but it might be enough to put out their electronic eyes. Without radar, the Ianderian vessels would have a much harder time effectively engaging the main strike force that was only minutes away.

---

East End, Mawerburg

Three paratroopers, hiding in the rubble, watched as the Dinofedelis' anti-missile systems fired, denoting a weapon some distance above the tank. Whilst the missile hadn't done the job, it was comforting to see. The weapon had clearly not come from the PAM, meaning that someone was looking out for them from on high.

Still the tank and its Panzergrenadier escort posed a major threat. The Grenadiers might prove easy enough to handle, but the tank was a different beast entirely. The 84mm rockets they carried might not even dent the paint work on the front glacis, but a hit to the vision slits or treads might slow it down sufficiently for someone to think of something. With that in mind, a dozen paratroopers, supported by perhaps 20 PAM fighters, opened fire from various positions up and down the street. Some hid in craters, others took cover in the rubble and a few brave souls had climbed a half collapsed building with a machine gun, captured from hostile forces. and now poured plunging fire down onto the advancing Ianderians. It looked a desperate fight, but they had to try.

High above the fighting, the UAV wheeled away through the dawn sky. The missile had not impacted the tank, clearly they had some sort of anti-missile system. The controller weighed up his options mentally. Ought he fire again, or should he go in search of easier prey? In the end the decision was simple. The aircraft abandoned it's hunt of the MBT and went to rain down death elsewhere.

Elsewhere in the city, well away from the fighting, a man in Ianderian uniform sat in a chair. He had a bag over his head and he was held fast by plasticuffs. The man had been taken during the breakout from the East End and now, like all precious few Ianderians lucky enough to have been taken alive, he awaited interrogation. The bag was pulled off his head, exposing his unaccustomed eyes to a bright light. In the room with him was a hulking Mawerisan sergeant and a civilian who bore the insignia of the PAM. The sergeant drew up another chair, sitting awfully close, and began to speak.

"I want to know everything about you. Your name, rank, number. Your unit, your mission in my city, the disposition of your forces and your future plans. If you give me what I want, you will be handed over to the Goramite and treated well. If you don't, well I might lose my patience. If I lose my patience, I might have to step outside for a smoke. If I have to step outside, I'll leave you alone with him"

He gestured at the unfriendly looking PAM trooper

"He's ex-Mawerisian special forces. He knows how to make you talk and I imagine it won't be pretty. So it's your choice, really. Talk now, and save your kneecaps, or talk later and never walk again."

[Tagmatium]

“This is horseshit. Pure and unadulterated horseshit, of the highest calibre,” one of the Tagmatine security soldiers said, a look of annoyance visible between her bowl-helmet and the high collar of her body armour. The uniform was in a grey, blue, black and purple digital camouflage scheme, whilst the heavy body armour that topped it off was in a style that a klibanion of an earlier age.

All three of the security kentarkhones (companies) had taken up positions as best they could around the otherwise seemingly indefensible airfield. Runways, after all, were completely flat and open, in order to allow aircraft to land and take off without shredding themselves. There were blast-walls, designed to reduce the impact of a crashing aeroplane, and these had been quickly set up as impromptu strong-points. .303 water-cooled machine guns had been set up, as had the larger 20mm support cannon that were usually used by a Tagmatine skoutatos, or heavy infantry, unit. Sand bags, hastily filled with soil from near the runway, was used to construct these gun pits. Three mortar detachments, consisting of three 81mm mortars each, were the heaviest weaponry that the Tagmatines had available. Well, bar the anti-aircraft weaponry, but those weren’t designed to engage ground targets, and especially not hold off any of the insurgents that might well attempt to attack the Tagmatine AA units.

“Wouldn’t ‘of the highest pedigree’ fit better?” said another Tagmatine soldier, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably.

The first speaker, the 20mm gunner, gave the second a glance of irritation, who grinned back.

“Either way, these local barbaroi have got us by the short and curlies,” she continued. “We’re basically hemmed in and they’re battering down the gates. And the high-ups have given us a ‘weapons tight’ order” – her hands came off the firing handles in order to perform air-quotes – “as if we were fucking cloudpunchers, too. Fucking ridiculous.”

“You know what’s ‘fucking ridiculous’, skoutatos? You moaning all the fucking time, that’s what,” a third speaker cut in, in a calm, almost serene tone of voice. “I’ve a half a mind to knock both of your heads together.”

“Sorry, tetrarkhes,” the first two speakers chorused together. They were the gunner and loader of the 20mm cannon, whilst the tetrarkhes, or lance-corporal, was the commander. A fourth crewman, who acted as a secondary loader and replacement gunner, sat quietly against one of the sandbag walls of the gun pit. He held an assault rifle and was busily checking and re-checking the working of the rifle’s action.

“If you keep doing that, Theo, you’re going to go blind,” said the tetrarkhes, which received a groan from the rest of the unit and an eye-roll from the soldier the comment was aimed at. The banter that was going on between them, however, was forced. A reaction to the tension they all felt, which was increasing by the moment. The Ianderians were supposed to be sending some sort of escort for the Tagmatines, but there was no sign of it. Instead, there was a thin line of security units that stood between the anti-aircraft forces and the local insurgents. Most of who sat, cold and subdued, in the scant cover provided by earth-filled sandbags and the few structures that were scattered around the runway. Whilst they were of the same unit as the anti-aircraft forces, they’d gone through heavy infantry training, unlike the anti-aircraft crews, who had received just the infantry basic course. Because of this, they were referred to by the title the Greater Holy Empire gave its heavy infantry units – skoutatos. And this also gave them a feeling of separateness and, to some extent, superiority to those they were protecting. The skoutatoi had been the backbone of the Tagmatine armed forces for over a millennium, and played a leading role in many of its greatest victories.

Theo, the fourth member of the gun crew, finally stopped fiddling with his rifle and set it down. He dug around in his webbing and pulled out a small smokeless, flameless fuel burner. On top of that, he set a small pan and some water, into which he poured the contents of packet he’d also pulled from his webbing.

“Getting a brew on, Theo?” asked the tetrarkhes appreciatively. “Good man.”

Tea would sort everything out. Or at least make them feel a bit warmer for a moment. The crew huddled towards the warmth being given out by the small burner. They weren’t particularly happy to sit in a country they’d barely heard of before being sent there, but tea would at least give them a small reminder of home. Silence fell in the gun pit for a moment, before the gunner broke it again.

“You know what takes the piss a bit?” she asked of no one in particular. “That these Ianderps don’t really seem to give a fuck about us being here. I mean, we arrive in their country to make sure their civilians don’t get blown up, and they can’t even be bothered to have anyone meet us properly.”

The loader scratched an itch under the rim of his bowl-helmet and nodded. “Yeah, right. I mean, we’re sitting here, freezing our arses off with their subjects baying for our blood. At least they could do is have a party in our honour.”

“With wine and cake and hookers,” said Theo, whilst stirring the tea tentatively with a spoon that had appeared, again from his webbing, before adding milk and sugar to the mess tin. It was as if there was nothing that his webbing didn’t contain. Judging that it was ready, he gripped the mess tin’s handle and doled out a measure into each of the three mugs that had appeared almost instantly in the rest of the gun crew’s hands, before pouring some into his own mug. He picked it up in gloved hands and took a cautious slurp.

“I wish you wouldn’t drink it like that,” said the tetrarkhes. “I know we ain’t at the Holy Emperor’s Court, but you don’t need to drink it like some fucking barbaros who has only just discovered what a fucking cup is.”

Another explosion, closer this time, from towards the terminal building, broke through the fragile good mood that had been building since the gun crew had started making their tea. Theo quickly upended the burner into the snow, to make sure that it was cold and wouldn’t burn any of the crew if it was knocked against them by gunfire or an explosion. The rest of the crew necked their cups of tea and made themselves ready.

[Goram]

Mawerisian International Airport, Northern Mawerburg

The PAM were pressing hard for the only runway in the Mawerburg area that was capable of landing large numbers of aircraft and do it quickly. They had been advised by the Royal Navy that Goramite QRF could be in the city in under 24 hours, just so long as the airport could be secured. Even now, a battalion of the 1st Airborne was being prepared for immediate dispatch to Mawerburg. In fifteen hours, the battalion would be wheels up and within twenty they could be in the city but all of it hinged on whether or not the airport could be taken and held.

The battle was a still a relatively small skirmish at the moment, but that would soon change. Roughly 40 fighters were trading sporadic fire with the defenders of the main terminal and every so often a mortar round was lobbed their way. The real meat of the attacking force lay hidden in the snow just outside the of the perimeter track. Armed with a startling array of small arms, they numbered roughly 400 hundred. Most of these men and women were simply civilians who had taken up arms but the core of the "battalion" was made up of ex-military, Mawerburg police and PAM veterans. In the preceding hours, this small core of experienced fighters had designed their plan of attack. Firstly, the men on the tarmac had to be cleared. They wore strange uniforms, not at all like those of the Ianderian. No one knew who they were or how they would react but if they fought, they would have to be cleared out. This would be no small feat as it was quite clear that they were heavily armed, if a little exposed on the apron. It was felt that if these unknown forces could be cleared out then their weapons and positions might prove invaluable in forcing an Ianderian surrender or in aiding the storming of the terminal building.

Orders were passed along the PAM line and seconds later, a dozen or so dull pops could be heard as mortar bombs, ranging from 50mm to 120mm, were fired almost in unison. The bombs arched through the sky and plummeted down onto airfield. Some landed in and around the Tagmatine positions on the apron whilst others impacted the terminal building. Barely moments after the shells exploded, the PAM infantry opened fire. Tracer from both sides criss crossed the tarmac and it seemed that the battle had begun in earnest.

[Tagmatium]

As soon as first mortar bombs landed, Sgouros knew that the situation had changed drastically. The problem was no longer breaking out of the besieged airport, but getting out alive. And she knew where exactly to place that blame – the allies of the Greater Holy Empire, who had sent them to Mawerburg, despite protests. The droungarios cursed them inwardly, but didn’t let her expression change in front of her operations officer. Sgouros turned to him and asked him to get hold of her opposite number in the 1111th. Both senior officers walked around the side of the command vehicle, where the operations officer handed her a handset.

“Droungarios Kontomytes, this is Droungarios Sgouros,” she said into the mike. “The situation here has changed someone. The 1111th will no longer be able to land, as the airport has come under attack from an unknown number of hostiles. Please turn back towards Iander proper. May Christ be with you.”

There was a pause as Kontomytes obviously digested the information he had just been given.

“And you, Droungarios Sgouros. I fear you may need it.”

Sgouros turned to watch as the lead aircraft of the 1111th, which had begun its descent, began to bank and regain height. Sighing to herself, she fished around in her webbing and produced a cigarette and inserted it into her mouth. One hand still on the headset, she had it patched through to the senior Kentarkhes, who had overall command of the three kentarkhones that made of the security element of the anti-aircraft brigade.

“Kentarkhes Lakhanodrakon, you’re now ‘weapons free’,” said Sgouros. “Engage any and all targets that present themselves to you.”

With that, she handed the handset back to her operations officer and exhaled a plume of smoke. The airport was being attacked by an unknown number of enemy forces and she had at her disposal an odd mix of gun crews and well-trained infantry. Each skoutatoi kentarkhones had 140 soldiers in it, divided amongst varying positions. Each of the batteries had roughly sixty soldiers, with the hemikometes two hundred all told, and the kometes four hundred and fifty, depending on strength. This gave Sgouros roughly two thousand soldiers, from the skoutatoi of the security units to the drivers, cooks and gunners of the AA units and their support groups. Against an unknown number of enemy attackers, who seemed to be armed with at least mortars. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect them to have heavier equipment waiting in the wings. She drew on her cigarette again. There would be no way the heavy transport aircraft could land to pick up the 1094th, not with the barbaroi insurgents attacking – the huge Oyranokratores would be sitting ducks for rocket-propelled grenades as they lumbered in for landing. And there was a shade of madness to the whole affair - she wanted to get her troops out of the airport as fast as possible, but the fact that these insurgents were attacking meant that the Tagmatines had to fight.

Back to the task at hand…

Sgouros turned back to her operations officer. “Hemikometes, I need everyone armed and ready to defend the airport. We need to make sure that it’s secure, so that our transports can land.”

The man nodded. “Breaking out the carbines?”

“Yes,” Sgouros nodded. “We’ve got to assume that the insurgents are attacking in enough numbers to wipe us out here.”

The droungarios leant back against the side of the command vehicle and scratched at the chin strap of her bowl-helmet. She wanted to run a hand through her hair, but taking a helmet off in a firefight was just asking to catch a chunk of shrapnel. At a thought, she checked her automatic pistol, cocking it and making sure that a round was in the chamber before flicking the safety on and sliding it back into the holster at her right hip. She also slid her hemispathion sword from its scabbard and then back again, making sure that it was loose, just in case the enemy rebels pushed in too close.

“Once everyone is armed, I want them to reinforce the defensive perimeter already set up.” She flicked her cigarette as far as she could. “And where the fuck is that Ianderian escort we were promised? Are they that fucking terrible at everything that they do?”

The operations officer, despite the dire situation, suppressed a grin. “I imagine that their absence might have something to do with the fact that they’re fighting over the terminal, droungarios.”

“I bloody hope so,” Sgouros growled. “They can’t seem to do anything right. I fucking can’t believe that they got us to land here. If I get out of this alive, and Tagmatine forces are deployed here again – or alongside Ianderian forces in the future – I shall expressly recommend that we follow our own plans and ignore what they say.”

This time, the hemikometes snorted with laughter. “I really don’t think that that would go down well at all.”

“No, but it might mean that Tagmatine soldiers don’t squander themselves needlessly,” Sgouros replied, but with some of the irritation lessened. After all, who could have guessed that the tide had turned so rapidly against the Ianderians? It was mainly the fact that the Goramites were supporting the rebels. Undoubtedly, without their meddling, the Royal Empire could have cleaned up the mess in its own back garden months ago. “I don't even want to defend this fucking airport! The fucking PAM can have it, for all I care! Shit!”

A mortar round landed nearby, sending shrapnel ricocheting off the side of the command vehicle and causing both senior officers to duck for cover. Sgouros picked herself off the ground and found herself looking at some Ianderian officer. Who was incongruously offering her a briefcase. It took a moment for her to parse the language that he had used. “Ianderp” was the derogatory nickname that the lower ranks had come up with over the last few hours, and it was all that Sgouros could think of at that moment. And giving her the fucking battle plans, whilst the enemy pressed in? She straightened up and returned the Ianderian’s salute in the Tagmatine manner, with a half-bow, mindful of any snipers that might be watching.

“Oberstleutant von Klonk, I welcome you on behalf of the Greater Holy Empire,” Sgouros, without a trace of irony. “I am Droungarios Kassine Sgouros, commander of the Tagmatine forces in Iander. I greet you. As you can probably see, we’re under a bit of pressure.”

As if to punctuate her words, a spent bullet rang off the side of the command vehicle. Sgouros had wished that there would be more Ianderians. The 1094th Anti-Aircraft Droungos had its back up against the wall, but they were not going to go down easily. Tagmatine soldiers fought hard until the end.

---

The voice of the security kentarkhon’s commander came over the headphones of the 20mm cannon’s crew.

“Weapons free,” he said tersely.

Two words that they had wanted to hear, so that they could strike back at the PAM forces that had seemingly boiled through the perimeter of the airport. It meant that some Tagmatine unit must have been hit, presumably by the mortar rounds that were bursting in amongst positions of the skoutatoi. Almost immediately after giving the order, the Tagmatine mortar sections fired off nine shots almost simultaneously. They were attempting to break up the PAM forces that were waiting on the other side of the perimeter track, although their aiming points were just muzzle flashes. Each section of three acting independently wouldn’t be entirely useful in breaking up any large-scale assault, but the full nine might be able to swing things in their favour.

“Just in bloody time,” muttered the gunner beneath her breath. She reached forward and pulled on the cocking lever, which snapped back into place. The rest of the crew crouched low beneath the sandbags, bar the tetrarkhes, who leant his arms on top of it and used a range finder to try to select a decent target for his gunner. He spared a glance around his gun crew’s position, and saw the other two 20mm cannon crews of their kentarkhon going through the same motions. A skoutatos company, the heavy infantry of the Greater Holy Empire, usually had a section of three mortars, three 20mms and three .303 machine guns. The mortars were deployed together, whilst the guns were positioned so that they could cover as much of the airfield as possible.

Behind him, he could vaguely hear shouts and commands. It was probably the rest of the security unit taking up positions to counter the attacks of the enemy who were attempting to dislodge the Tagmatines from the airfield. The Tagmatine non-com didn’t think that it mattered to his gun crew at the moment, so he turned his attention towards the attackers. He ran his range finder across towards whether the PAM forces were starting their assault. From across the track that ran around the airport, the tetrarkhes thought he could make out figures moving. It was definitely where the fire was coming in from. He pursued his lips for a moment, thinking. It didn’t look like they had much in the way of cover, but he couldn’t really tell, because of the snow. At any rate, he doubted that any cover would protect the PAM forces much.

“Gunner, targets two o’clock, two-six-zero metres distant,” the tetrarkhes said. “Twenty round burst.”

That would eat up a third of one of the bulky drum magazines, but they had plenty where they came from. He watched through his range finder as the shots landed. Puffs of white snow were kicked up into the air as shots fell and he swore that he could see a few sprays of red, but the tetrarkhes wasn’t entirely sure.

“Another burst. Make sure that they’re down for the count.”

The other gun crews would be choosing targets in a similar manner and the roar of the other 20mms could be heard amongst the explosions and chatter of small arms. The 20mm cannon were originally developed as man-portable anti-aircraft weaponry seventy years before, but they’d become obsolete with the advent of faster propeller aircraft and then jet fighters. They had then taken up the role of a large-calibre machine gun, in the way many other nations used .50 calibre weaponry. They were less mobile, but Tagmatine military thinking was that they made up for it in destructiveness and the flexibility of the ammunition that they could fire. At this point, they were using high-explosive rounds, guaranteed to ruin someone’s day.

---

Kentarkhes Lakhanodrakon had gathered the other two security company commanders and was trying to sort out tactics with them. They were crouched behind some sand bags set up near the centre of the runway, as far as they could be from the sporadic gunfire and mortar rounds. Occasionally, a stray round glanced off the tarmac or buried itself in the sandbags. The heavy weapons, the three .303 HMGs, 20mms and 81mm mortars each kentarkhon had at their disposal had already been set up, with arcs of fire covering as much of the airport’s perimeter as possible. Bar, of course, the terminal building itself, which seemed to be occupied by the Ianderians. A small battle was going on over it as the Tagmatine soldiers discussed their next move.

“We need to neutralise their spotters as soon as possible,” said Lakhanodrakon. “That’ll be the first point of order. All dekharion marksmen need to put anyone who looks like they’ve got binoculars or a radio down on their arse as quickly as possible.”

The other two officers nodded. The insurgents were lobbing mortar rounds as big as 120mms at them. One of those was more than capable of blowing a huge chunk in the Tagmatine lines. Without spotters, the accuracy of the mortars being pointed their way would reduce significantly.

“What about a counterattack?” asked one of the younger kentarkhai. “At least, we could take pressure off the Ianderians holed up in the airport terminal.”

Lakhandrakon nodded. It was a sensible idea, and one that he approved of. Rather than sitting around and waiting for the enemy to come to them, then it might be a better idea to try to force the enemy’s hand. His kentarkon would act as the attacking force, moving by fire and movement towards the terminal, in an attempt to relieve the Ianderian defenders. He nodded again, his decision made.

“Right – you two, your kentarkhones will stay here and babysit the gunners,” he said, looking from one to the other. “Aim for the spotters and make sure that they don’t get too close. If they do – consider counterattacking. Remember – we have God himself behind us.”

With that, he stood up and started gathering up his force, whilst his two counterparts scurried off towards their forces, making sure that they knew that they could now engage the attacking PAM forces as soon as they came within range. His own kentarkhon, bar the heavy weapon units, grouped up quickly in front of Lakhanodrakon. They looked like they were raring to go – the barrage and gunfire was putting them on edge and they wanted to make sure that these insurgents knew exactly who they were dealing with – Tagmatine soldiers, not the barbaros Ianderians, who couldn’t even hold down a country that had apparently welcomed them in with open arms. The Kentarkhes moved into a low crouch in front of them, making sure that they could all see him. He grinned at them, and told them what they wanted to her.

“Right, lads and ladies – we’re cut off and surrounded, with an unknown number of enemy pressing in towards us in an attempt to take the airport and annihilate us. Therefore, we’ve got the advantage. They’re shit scared enough of Tagmatines that they’re trying to wipe out a bunch of anti-aircraft gunners. So we’re going to make them really fucking afraid. And don’t be scared to use sword and bayonet when you’re up close.”

They grinned back. They wanted to show these insurgent upstarts exactly who they were fucking with.

“But don’t be fucking stupid,” Lakhanodrakon continued, looking across the gathered skoutatoi, trying to look each one in the eye. “Fire and movement is the order of the day. We’ll have the heavy weapons keeping their heads down and covering us.”

Lakhanodrakon swung his own rifle from its strap, cocked it and move it so its butt was under his shoulder and his right hand on its fore grip. With his left hand, he slid his hemispathion from its scabbard and back again, making sure it could move when he needed it.

“Right, fuckwits – start moving.”

He didn’t lead the way. That was the job of Alfa Kontoubernion (platoon), who began moving up by fire-teams, one moving to cover whilst the last covered them. It wasn’t a quick charge forward, but a methodical advance as each sub-unit covered the other, moving from each piece of sparse protection the runway offered to the next. Rounds started to come in, but the HMGs began to offer suppressing fire when they saw where the PAM positions were. Skoutatoi died, of course. It was to be only expected. But Tagmatines had advanced in the face of worse odds before, and would undoubtedly do so again. Once they were within sprinting distance of the terminal itself, then they broke into a run, moving towards the shelter of the terminal building as fast as they could.

[Goram]

The roar of turbofans virtually drowned out the sound of battle as the monstrous Tagmatine aircraft applied full power to abort it's landing. The aircraft had come down low enough that it's outline was clearly visible against the dark sky and this proved too tempting of a target for some of the more inexperienced PAM fighters. A handful of men, forgoing all tactical awareness, stood up and began blazing away at the aircraft as it passed over head. Tracer rounds looped up and around the airframe, with some hits visible, though it was doubtful that the strikes would do even the smallest amount of damage to the underside of the machine.

Those who had chosen to fire on the aircraft paid dearly for their mistake. They had, to a man, been cut down by the incoming fire from the Tagmatines. Some would later be found with wounds caused by .303 calibre ammunition, but others wouldn't be found at all. High Explosive Incendiary rounds, fired from the 20mm cannon, simply dismantled those hit by them. The cannons themselves were fearsome weapons, but the effect that their ammunition had was worse still, especially to the inexperienced PAM fighters. Knowing the sort of firepower the enemy had and having seen what that firepower would do was enough to coax some two dozen or so insurgents to throw down their weapons and run head long into the night. Breaking from cover was a fatal mistake for many as the Tagmatine rounds, though almost certainly not aimed specifically, sought them out in the dark.

Things seemed to be going from bad to worse, for the PAM, as their most valuable weapons were slowly having their capability corroded. The mix match of mortars that the insurgents had put together were reliant on spotters for the patchy accuracy they were able to achieve, but it seemed that the enemy were wise to this. Several spotters had been killed already, prompting the others to take cover or rely on the naked eye to spot the fall of shot. It was quickly apparent that this was having a serious effect on the accuracy of the largely untrained crews, some of whom were now randomly dropping shells all over a wide area.

One team, operating a 60mm tube, was making a rather better show of it than the others. This crew, like all the others, had never received any formal training but had learned, over the last six months or so, how to operate their weapon with a rare degree accuracy. The mortar had been "liberated" from Mawerisian Army stores the same day that the Ianderians had taken over. The team had been operating the weapon ever since. The spotter for this weapon was of a rare pedigree as well. She had switched her binoculars for a rifle, with optics mounted on its top rail, in order to avoid attracting undue attention from the enemy. She stood tall, in the middle of the firefight, using the scope on her rifle to spot the fall of shot and pass corrections back to her crew through a personal radio, captured from the Ianderians. Such equipment was reasonably a common sight on those PAM fighters who had previously served in the military or city police and whilst it did distinguish her somewhat from the irregular PAM, it did at least do something to hide her purpose as a spotter. Combining the bravery of the spotter and the skill of the crew, a steady fire of high explosive shells were now being littered around the enemy's heavy weapons teams, focusing largely on the fearsome 20mm cannon.

Elsewhere, the enemy seemed to be advancing steadily. Large groups of enemy infantry were moving forward; sprinting between pieces of isolated cover on the open tarmac. Some of the foe fell there, never to rise again. A entire squad was cut down in the open by a long burst of .50 calibre machine gun fire, but such losses did not seem to dissuade them. Three soldiers were caught by the blast of a 120mm mortar round, spreading their entrails and fragments of bone over their compatriots and yet not one man shirked from the advance. No matter how many Tagmatines were killed as they came on, they simply would not stop. It was almost as if God himself was behind them. Perhaps they believed that He was and to deal with such conviction, some serious shock and awe was needed. The commander of the PAM force had realised this and, to satisfy that need, he picked up a radio telephone.

Operations room, UKG Indefatigable

A man in the uniform of a Royal Navy Commander strode into the Operations room.

"Alright, my lucky lads, listen up. Our insurgent friends on the ground are in the shit around Point Whiskey, so we're going to reroute some unmanned firepower to help them. We're taking the aircraft from Point Yankee and Zulu in order to support them. You boys light those Indie bastards up."

In the night sky above the relatively quiet sectors of West Mawerburg, two drones banked tightly onto a heading that would put them over the airport in only a few minutes. Each aircraft was armed with four 250 pound bombs, in an internal weapons bay. Those these bombs were "dumb", the operations of the aircraft were trained to an exceptionally high level, though they'd never dropped live ordinance in combat before. Still, there was a first time for everything and if eight 250 pounders didn't stop the Ianderians, then it seemed that very little on this Earth would.