Alexiandran Trench Line
150km South of the Alexiandran-Nerotysian Border
150km South of the Alexiandran-Nerotysian Border
All was quiet on the northern front. Long spools of barbed wire, treacherously dappled with a muddy brown hue, lay stealthily along the ground. Several signs, written in French, warned troops of the minefield ahead. "Péril!" they read. The Alexiandran garrison, sheltered in their trenches and dugouts, happily took refuge from the cold April rain. The bleak grey clouds seemed almost imperturbable - unmoving, they hovered overhead. The world, it seemed, was holding its breath.
A few lone sentries, armed with binoculars and range-finders, closely monitored the slippery fields of mud before them. At any moment, they realised, Nerotysian tanks could come rolling over the horizon. Machine guns and anti-tank missile launchers stood at the ready, but many of them were completely unmanned. Makeshift roofs had been placed over the fortifications in order to deny the Nerotysians satellite reconnaissance - small groups of soldiers now huddled beneath them, talking in hushed, expectant tones. In the trenches, word spread like wildfire. "Ils viennent," murmured the men.
They are coming.
The Alexiandran garrison was, by Greysteel's standards, abnormally small. Less than fifty thousand troops of the Royal Army patrolled the hastily-constructed trenches. Against the combined might of Nerotysia's armed forces, such a small garrison seemed almost contemptible. Unbeknownst to the wider world, however, the real masterstroke of Alexiandra's defensive stratagem lay to the south. A fleet of transport helicopters, assembled and controlled by the Royal Army Supply and Logistics Command, was now beginning its journey to the front. Upon arrival, it would evacuate the troops manning the defensive line, thereby removing them from the battlefront. The Nerotysians, having already launched their invasion, would fall headlong into the trap that had been set for them. Camouflaged anti-tank units, striking from the relative safety of Alexiandra's most remote hamlets, would proceed to ambush and eliminate key elements of the Nerotysian advance - or so went the plan. The small Alexiandran garrison was, for all intents and purposes, nothing but a decoy force; a lure, designed to encourage a Nerotysian offensive. Apparently, the bait had been taken.
Presently, however, the troops of Alexiandra's northern frontier were more concerned with the attack jets bearing down on them from beyond the horizon. S-400 surface-to-air missile batteries, many of which had an effective range of over two-hundred-and-fifty miles, began to calculate firing solutions, locking on to the host of enemy aircraft with their state-of-the-art radar arrays. Over forty missiles hissed ferociously as they took flight.
3 Miles off the West Alexiandran Coast
The lumbering behemoths of Alexiandra's Royal Navy ploughed through the waves, shouldering them aside with casual impassivity. They were moving fast, heading north in order to check Nerotysia's naval advances. Armed to the teeth with various anti-ship and anti-air missiles, the warships were Alexiandra's finest - an impressive sight. Over two hundred vessels had set sail from Nova Olympia, an Alexiandran colony just west of the mainland.
The entire armada was preceded by a broad screen of ever-vigilant AWACS craft. They flew high above the sea, scanning water that was up to six-hundred kilometres away. Behind them came the anti-submarine patrols - destroyers, armed with fearsome torpedoes and specialised helicopters, scoured the waves in search of enemy subsurface vessels. They were reinforced by a squadron of thirty Ares-class nuclear-powered attack submarines, which jealously guarded the fleet's main body. Dozens of guided missile cruisers and surface-to-surface destroyers formed the spine of the flotilla.
The Nerotysians would soon come into range. When they did, the fleet would scatter in an attempt to disorientate enemy missiles. Alexiandra's own salvo, it was hoped, would knock the Nerotysian navy out of the war.
Airbase Phoenix
300km South of the Alexiandran-Nerotysian Border
300km South of the Alexiandran-Nerotysian Border
"Angel-1, those fighters are closing in. Get your ass in the air, over." Flight Sergeant Paul Bishop wiped a bead of sweat off of his brow and ran through his pre-flight checks. The flaps were working. His missiles responded to the fire command. His helmet's interior display functioned perfectly. It was time to fly. The F22's powerful engines roared as Paul accelerated, driving the advanced fighter jet down the runway. Behind him, ten of his fellow pilots completed the same maneuver, propelling their aircraft into the bright afternoon sky. Paul turned the nose of his plane north, and the airbase rapidly became but a speck on the ground below.
"All callsigns, this is Angel-1. Bogeys closing fast. Prep for contact," Paul said calmly, flicking a switch and arming one of his AIM-120 AMRAAM missiles. By now, the jets had dispersed, adopting a wide-fronted wedge formation. Paul would lead the attack. He turned his plane towards the heavens, accelerating and breaking through cloud cover. For a moment, the world was calm. The Sun glistened off his cockpit, casting dazzling rays of light in all directions. Shielded from the brightness within his helmet, Paul felt a certain sense of serenity - then the blip appeared.
Firebase Bravo
250km South of the Alexiandran-Nerotysian Border
250km South of the Alexiandran-Nerotysian Border
"They want to launch an aerial attack on us? Let's give them something to think about, shall we?" muttered Colonel Joseph West. "I want a hundred Hellions in the air right now. Target bridges and skyscrapers in Nerotysia proper." His command staff eagerly obeyed his commands, rushing from station to station in an attempt to co-ordinate the strike he had just ordered. Joseph smiled, not bothering to conceal his glee. Many Nerotysians would die today.
Outside, in the blazing Alexiandran heat, a formation of launch vehicles had assembled on the tarmac. They raised their missiles to the sky, allowing the Hellions to acquire their targets. After a few moments, a mighty din arose, and clouds of thick smoke engulfed the firebase. The cruise missiles sped into the air, propelled by their advanced Lyran Arms AB112 turbofans towards the horizon. Two of the missiles were assigned to each of the key targets pinpointed by the base's command staff - they would fly high until they reached the frontier. At that point, they would descend, skimming the ground in order to evade detection. The Hellions had a maximum range of three thousand kilometres, and could easily strike targets in some of Nerotysia's largest cities.
They powered away from the base, heading north - towards the border, and towards Nerotysia.
