Nkotha Forest, Giseya District, Republic Zambezi
Tuesday 15th December, 2015, 08:46
Lekthu Brigade
"Come Brethren! Rally to my call! For too long these oil guzzling imperialists have sucked what is rightfully ours from our soil. For too long have their boots trudged on our land, for too long have we been shackled by the greed of their emperor. Many of you will die, for though we are superior in numbers and in will, they hold weapons far superior to ours. But they were crafted in your blood! Those of you who fall, your descendants will live in a free Zambezi, not a puppet state run by mercenary collaborators. Beyond that ridge is a Krïdan convoy, ransack it, it's ours!" Brigadier Mpeke Xwathu declared, raising his Makarov Pistol into the air. Around him, thousands surged forward, through the forest and towards a rise in the terrain. The Lekthu was a brigade only in name. It consisted of just over 2,000 men most of whom lightly armed. Much of their heavy military machinery had been abandoned or lost in battle. Xwathu knew that his force was a shambles. He had led it from the beginning of the civil war, at first a proud force of defectors and patriots. Whilst still strong in spirit, they were at loss with all else. Perhaps victory in this forest, against a mostly defenceless convoy would bring success.
Nkotha Forest, Giseya District, Republic of Zambezi
Tuesday 15 December, 2015, 08:51
13th Royal Kisraadian Supply and Logistics Regiment & 21st Royal Kisraadian Mounted Skirmisher Regiment (1st Battalion)
Major Gert Woorgrijkers made a throaty cackling noise as he observed Nyirago Ridge, now teeming with Zambezian militiamen.
"Gullible fools!" He exclaimed. The convoy, on the road below them had been abandoned and stripped of all its goods a good half our ago. It consisted of several oil tankers, a handful of armoured personnel carriers and a good number of lorries. Most of the vehicles for the troops were hidden from sight and covered in foliage.
Woorgrijkers leaned into his radio.
"Sergeant Gooï, prepare your mortars for firing. Captain Feertsma, ready your troops for an assault to finish them off. Lieutenant Beurwenvlaaï, get your support platoons into position. I want every last one of these fuckers, dead or captured. Mostly dead, the ones we spare are for interrogation. And even then, I don't have time for anything lengthy. On my signal."
There was a great deal of rustling as people moved around, the occasional clink as a mortar round was loaded.
In the meantime, Xwathu and his 'brigade' had arrived at the convoy. When they found it deserted, caution took hold. They milled around, checking in vehicles for anything. The odd barrel of fuel, some ammunition, a few boxes of rations.
"There's nothing fucki-"
Six explosions ripped through the morass of vehicles and men. Great mounds of earth, mixed with metal, flesh and foliage were thrown into the air. Before panic set in, dozens crumpled to floor, single, gaping holes in their felled carcasses, blood oozing out. Three more mortar shells rain onto the Zambezians, ripping them apart, literally. Brigadier Xwathu spotted glints, and plumes of smoke on the opposite ridge.
"THERE THEY ARE!!! MAKE THEM PAY FOR THIS!!!" He screamed, pointing at the rocky outcrop. His hordes surged forward, before buckling as, like ripe corn to scythe, they were cut down by light machine guns, spraying in arcs, creating zones of death. They responded with small arms fire, many kneeling or adopting the prone position. But in vain, as they were still too clumped. Several under-barrel-launched grenades soon dispersed them, along with a devastating salvo of mortar shells.
On the Krïdan held ridge, lying next to Major Woorgrijkers was Ensign Floris Jaaweldoorn a young officer just recently dispatched from training. He stared in horror at the scene below, his first sight of real combat. He stood up and lent against a tree, before spewing forth his previous meal. Before hem lay a sight that no one should have to see. Great craters, filled with body parts, often floating in blood. Corpses were piled up and strewn far and near. Human tissue and torn clothing matted the ground. The dying screamed like wraiths, begging for mercy. The air was thick with smoke and blood, it's sickly scent infused with the odour of charred flesh and that sulphurous smell of expended shell and round cases.
"Captain Feertsma, finish it." Woorgrijkers said curtly. Though a seasoned veteran, even this episode of combat had made his stomach turn. He stood up and turned away from the scene below.
Onto the scene ran two companies, around 250 men, their rifles fixed with bayonets, or they had their close quarters weapons drawn; handguns or submachine guns. They scoured the wreckage, shooting and bayoneting survivors. Captain Feertsma, his KLOSCH HW-45 in hand, was looking for one person. Finally, he found him. A man, face down was dragging himself back into the forest, leaving a smear of Crimson behind him. Feertsma, levelled his weapon at the man, clad in tiger stripe combats and a red, though singed beret. He fired, sending a round into his shoulder, forcing him to crumple onto the blood stained dirt.
"Where do you think you're going?" Sneered the captain, kicking the man in the ribs, forcing him to roll over. The wheezing figure of Brigadier Xwathu lay on the ground, his uniform spattered with blood, five large entry holes in his lower abdomen.
"Tell me where Djakele is and I'll make your death quick. Otherwise, things are gonna get nasty!" Feertsma snarled, pointing his handgun at Xwathu's bloodied head.
"I-I don't know..."
" Bullshit!" Feertsma took his knife from his boot pocket and stabbed it through Xwathu's left eye. A blood curdling scream resounded.
"He's back in the capital, he returned this morning...."
A single gunshot echoed.
Ndago City, Gojale District, Republic of Zambezi
Tuesday 15th December, 2015, 11:05
Haabricht Company, 2nd Battalion, SOCC Airmobile Brigade
Lieutenant Ūjao Yutséko watched intently as three EMP missiles exploded above the urban, but dilapidated sprawl that was Ndago City. He closed the visor of his combat helmet with a hiss, as it sealed. He spoke into the inbuilt communication system.
"Gents, we are here for one man; Djakele. Colonel de Krůjf wants him alive, but kill everything else. Let nothing stand in your way, we have one hour to get in and out before we begin shelling this city. The city was evacuated two days ago; anything left here is out to kill you. Rendezvous at the Bembe Gate 12:10!" And at that, the six KLK-NSK-22 VTOL tilt rotor aircraft began their descent to the city. Soon, several figures below came out of the woodwork to greet the invaders. However, a few bursts from the twin 40mm machine guns ground them into red dust.
"Gųśćawo, your platoon can block of any exit points from the building. Ryaikūga, yours can land on the roof and work your way down. Nøjkaarborg, you enter in, 5th floor north side, Chāwei your platoon will enter on the 14th floor south side and Kwislau, you and your platoon will come with me, onto the 10th floor west side."
The helicopters dispersed, as they now approached a large, relatively modern building. It was tall, but also wide, with several offshoot buildings. Yutséko's helicopter approached its desired location, it's twin guns clearing a hole in the wall. The doors opened and Yutséko jumped in, followed by his platoon. Clad in light urban grey combats, and mostly clutching assault rifles, they ran through hallways, checking every room. Anytime someone was in a room, they were greeted by a shower of bullets. Throughout the buildings, gunshots could be heard, along with the occasional scream. Now, parties of fleeing soldiers and other government officials ran through the corridors, but few made it far before they were cut down. Finally, a soldier kicked open a door and inside was a group of people, cowering under a conference table. Yutséko smiled grimly.
"Get Djakele, kill everyone else." Two soldiers stepped into the room and dragged a man in a black suit from under the table.
"Don't kill them, that's my secretary and my wife!" Djakele yelped hoarsely as he was dragged from the room. Two more soldiers entered the room, both with submachine guns.
"Up against the wall. Now!" One of them snapped. Three women in blouses and two men in suits crawled, shaking like leaves from under the table. Before they reached the wall, they were suddenly shot in the back.
Outskirts of Ndago City, Gojale District, Republic of Zambezi
Tuesday 15 December, 2015, 12:15
6th Royal Haneiīkyojan Artillery Regiment
"All systems ready to fire, Colonel!" Announced Lt. Colonel Yori Takenōdu, snapping to attention as he entered into the command vehicle, illuminated by various screens. Colonel Nāwojo Hakkoimūra stared blankly at the saluting subordinate.
"Fire at will." He replied plainly, as if what was about to happen was of little consequence.
"FIRE AT WILL!" Hollered a voice over the radio. Like robots, the crews of the KLOSCH FHW-66 field guns took positions, a single man pulling the cord to fire the gun.
Nokküschlecht Palace, Aastejk, Grand Duchy of Könjinslargen
Tuesday 15th December, 2015, 17:37
The parliament responded with a thunderous applause and jubilant jeering. Vidkun Stokkaar, a notorious troublemaker hailing from Gjordkvist Province had tried to accuse the Realm Chancellor, Atsūjiri Gyēzashiri of starting illegal wars over oil in the north of Kombuk. The Chancellor had roasted him alive. Vidkun slumped in his seat. Speaker of the House, Shyeung Botéda was trying to suppress a chuckle as he brought the chamber to order.
"Order! Order! I will ha-" He gave up and sat down, grinning like a fool as MPs roared insults at each other.
"It's muttering twits like yourselves who bring this nation to its knees!"
"You warmongering pig! You couldn't wash the blood off your hands if you used acid! Pouring it down your throat may be a better use of it!"
"No wonder your province had a shortage of beef last week in its supermarkets, it looks like you ate all the cows, you useless heap of lard!"
"OOOORDERRRRRR!" Screamed Botéda, his voice cracking like a teenage boy's. "The Honourable Province Minister of Poco Válloñe, Vincent Córsada wishes to speak! Please, calm yourselves, or take a laxative! Mr. Córsada."
A small, wiry man with a neat three piece suit and glasses stood up. He glanced nervously around the room.
"Thank you Mr. Speaker. A month ago, Zambezi and Ouwagi both suffered military coups against their governments. Their first move was to drive up the price of oil by cutting off exports to western countries. The next day, these coups are put down, silently in the dead of night. Power is restored, but most strangely, the oil fields are teeming with Krïdan soldiers. Oil exports resume. Yesterday saw the defeat of the Ouwagi Republican Army, a victory so decisive, they sued for peace. Guess what else happened yesterday? His Imperial Majesty's Minister of Financial Affairs Dr. Jioccino Leauchérne and Governor of the Imperial Treasury Klowis de Snaaï announced that the Imperial Budget had increased. Which departments benefited? The Ministry of Military Affairs. Look at him, His Imperial Majesty's Minister of Military Affairs, sat there all smug. We, the elected officials that represent our people were not even informed of such a war, we found out the next on the news like everybody else. I tell you gentlemen, that they are starting illegal wars to fund their own interests. I stand by Mr. Stokkaar when he says that our democracy is slipping from our fingers and into the hands of Atsūjiri's puppet master. We all know why he won, it involves him being the first slitty-eyed Realm Chancellor. He's just a tool of someone else, grasping the strings of power!"
