Blood, Blood Red as the Aegis [[MT :: ATLAS ONLY]]

by **Mairland** » Tue Jan 31, 2017 5:52 pm

MAS Mansfield- Communications Center

In the Communications Center there sat an unusual device. It was not futuristic, or advanced, but rather odd in its ancientness. It was a coded telegraph machine- belonging rather in the 1940s than in 2017- and sat alone in a separate, locked, dark room, with the keys held in the safes of two people: the head NCO in the Center and the base commander. In the modern day, no intelligence service still paid attention to what was being said over the wires; in a world of cyberwar and database intrusion, there was not a nation in Atlas that cared about decoding telegrams. Thus, the machine in MAS Mansfield was strange in its very ordinariness, for some of the most classified military information that ever passed between the Defense Council and their subordinates was received through it.

The base commander, having retrieved the keys from his safe, now fumbled with the lock for a few seconds before opening the gray steel door that led into the telegraph room. With him were the base's resident encryption specialist and a military policeman. The specialist strode up to the machine and extracted a nondescript piece of paper featuring several scrambled lines of printed text.

Two hours and many used pencils later, the following message was handed to the base commander.

DEFENSE COUNCIL
LEVEL SIX ENCRYPTION
LOCHIEL- 1/31

Joint Task Force HQ and the Defense Council order the commander of MAS Mansfield, to the best of his discretion, and the Air Service assets stationed there to carry out the following unilateral operation, codenamed Operation Schaw.

Appropriate assets of No. 2 Group to be determined by commander per current effectiveness are to perform the following tasks:

A) Attain air superiority over limited Brytisc air assets in Pepper Atoll, pending actual existence of such assets.

B) Conduct airstrikes using best available guided ordinance against following targets in the city of St. Joseph: the Presidential Palace, the city's military facility, and the docks, with the aim of the latter being both to render infrastructure unserviceable and to destroy any vessels anchored in the harbor.

C) Crater the A1 and A14 highways (marked on the enclosed map) at key junctions in St. Joseph and thus render them useless for transportation purposes.

D) Ascertain through the collection of aerial photographs the Brytisc military presence in the wider Atoll, as well as the presence of any significant infrastructure outside of St. Joseph.

END OF MESSAGE

Fale Ocean Battlegroup

War with Brytene and Stasnov had been the nightmare which occupied the minds of all Mairish military men, leaving them bolting up screaming in the middle of the night. But with the Chazicarian Navy on the ropes in the Fale Ocean, something had to be done, no matter how many warm glasses of milk it cost the Defense Council. If the Chazicarians folded, the way to Valdiu would be closed off and Mairish shipping at the mercy of the Vastava Pact and its lackeys. Thus, the painful decision was made to deploy the Fale Ocean Battlegroup, the mailed fist of the Mairish Navy.

There were two carriers; the Navy's pride and joy, the supercarrier MNS King David VI, its flight deck amply supplied with FDEC-21 Lancer aircraft armed with anti-ship missiles. A smaller carrier, MNS Cormickson, had a compliment of carrierborne modified IDI-126 Heralds as well as six Toriff SNH helicopters, specially equipped with FLIR sensors and heat-seeking anti-submarine torpedoes.

There were five Maycomb-class cruisers, with eighteen RPI-101 anti-ship missiles each, guided with infrared homing technology. There were eleven Menzer-class frigates, each with a CIWS system and seven each of Mark 766 surface-to-surface missiles and surface-to-air missiles, as well as two missile-launched anti-submarine torpedoes. There were six SSBNs, each loaded with sixteen ASBMs in eight 605mm tubes, as well as ten fast-attack submarines armed with 575mm anti-ship missiles.

And there were swarms upon swarms of aircraft that tailed the Battlegroup from MAS Colstroch on land. Attached to the fleet were 34 IDI-126 Heralds equipped with air-to-air missiles. In response to the Chazicarian request for ASW support against the Brytisc and Stasnovan Navies, Air Command had also designated 22 FDEC-21 Lancers, modified for anti-submarine capabilities, each with two FLIR-guided anti-submarine torpedoes, for air support.

If all went well, a double blow was about to be delivered to Mairland's enemies. Pepper Atoll would burn, and the navies opposing the Chazicarians would be faced with a fresh battle fleet.

by **Stasnov** » Wed Feb 01, 2017 10:29 am

Coast of whitebay, Brytene
12th Anti-ship Missile Battalion, 89th Independent Anti-Ship Missile Regiment, Strategic Missile Troops

Major Vladimir V. Gorshkov stood outside his camouflaged command post. The command post was located not far from the 2nd Battery of his Battalion, the 12th Anti-ship Missile Battalion of the 2nd Independent Anti-ship Missile Regiment, Strategic Missile Troops. On the coast of Whitebay, the three batteries were dispersed, the huge transport erector launcher vehicles were dug in in ditches and hidden with camouflage nets and whatever tree branches and bushes the Battalion could gather from the nearby area.

The cloudy skies above and the chilly winds were not something foreign to Gorshkov, who was raised in the Laptev Oblast of the Rostav SR, on the eastern coast of the Stasnovan Union. The Brystic people had been nice enough not to interfere with their work, save for a group of locals who gathered around some soldiers from 3rd Battalion who were cutting some tree branches to reinforce the Battalions camo, and waved signs and yelled about how the foreigners who just arrived here were destroying the local nature. His soldiers where saved by some Brystic marines that thankfully were nearby and persuaded them to return to their homes.

Gorshkov saw a Brystic officer he met some days ago in some briefing approaching. He giggled at the Bryton's comment, and respectfully refused the thermos he offered him with a nod.

"Ah yes, comrade Lieutenant Colonel. It is finally time. And don't worry about the weather, we are used to it. Well, except for some spoiled southern boys in 3rd Battalion" he said with a smile. He took a pack of unfiltered Stasnovan cigarettes, took one for himself and offered another to the Brystic officer.

by **Chazicaria** » Thu Feb 02, 2017 1:42 am

2:15 PM
2nd IRN Fleet, Supercarrier IRN Prime
Command Bridge

Chaos.

Stokes, even as a Vice Admiral, was unprepared for this. He'd been overconfident and complacent, and now he was paying for it. His fleet had been given every advantage, and he'd squandered them all- allowing the Brytisc, and if the intel coming from his attack subs was accurate, Stasnovans to strike with impunity. The Admiral knew damn well that he wouldn't have a career after this, but God be damned if he didn't preserve at least his reputation.

Despite the fact that a good number of the Brytisc missiles had been destroyed by electronic warfare and CIWS, the unholy rain from the skies brought about by Stasnov's subs was almost unavoidable. A number had been shot down on launch by long-range missiles on the fleets more modern destroyers and cruisers, as well as a few on decent by shorter range missiles and electronic warfare, but many still found their targets. It seemed that there had, perhaps, been a lack of good targeting information (likely the result of a lack of intel assets in the general area) as several missiles and warheads outright missed their targets. A moving fleet had made satellite targeting virtually impossible, as well.

Damage reports were in and, though not final, accurate as they could be. Kaiser was burning- total mission kill, though still mobile. Prime was lightly damaged as a result of a Brytisc missile. A support carrier, the John F. Dugan, and 2 destroyers, Vostland and Gralich, were among the complete losses, alongside the Ares, a cruiser, and the Scimitar and Cutlass, two previously damaged destroyers.

Beyond the Kaiser, there was also the Matthew S. Grayson support carrier, and Bravery LCS that were complete mission kills. All the result of Stasnovan missiles.

The Pharaoh, although targeted, managed to destroy the oncoming missiles using electronic jamming and CIWS (with support from the Nicholas Kane,which was struck and damaged)

Brytisc would be burned to the ground if Stokes had his way. Every man, woman, and child, would pay the price in blood for the lives of Chazicarian sailors slaughtered because of Brytisc interference in a just war. That'd be up to the Marine Riflemen and Army though- for now, Stokes could see only the Brytisc fleet and their Stasnovan masters.

Without hesitation, he ordered the complete and total annihilation of their fleet. Each of the 9 destroyers left from the volley opened up with 4 missiles each, totaling 36 AShMs. Jupiter, a cruiser, launched it's own volley of 8 missiles, combining with the missile subs Freedom and Justice. The total came out to 60 AShMs launched by the Chazicarian fleet to strike out at the opposing force.

None of this would result in the dereliction of defensive duty, however. Quite the opposite in fact- the sailors were on their toes and doing everything possible to prevent a possible secondary attack by enemy submarines. The 2nd Fleet's attack subs actively sought for any potential opportunistic enemy subs with the help of the remaining ASW helicopters.

The best hope for the rescue of the 2nd Fleet now was in the hands of the 1st Fleet, freshly arrived after failing to hunt down the Valdian taskforce in the Gulf of Cydonia. Immediate redeployment to the Valdian/Brytisc theater was their number one priority, as well as sub-hunting duties on the way there.

by **New Chilokver** » Thu Feb 02, 2017 3:33 am

Defence Conference Room
Apelia

President Ada Luong was not a happy person. She detested being called in during the dead of the night, detested the soft tinkle of the elevator music that accompanied her down into the fortified war bunker beneath the presidential palace. But mostly, she just dreaded what she knew was going to happen next.

The others were already waiting for her- a quick glance along the board table told her that each and every seat had been filled. The room was lined with all cornerstones of Chilokver’s defense, from the military to intelligence. What linked these men and women together was not their age, nor their uniform or medals. No, it was the looks of fierce determination that shone through their eyes that marked them as the true patriots of the nation. For a moment, doubt crossed her mind- I don’t deserve to be here. She pushed the thought aside and took her place at the head of the table.

The lights dimmed, and a video began to play- grainy CCTV images of a guarded aircraft hangar. Director Gahvin Park of the CIA began to speak, narrating over the film.

“After the counter-seizure of Chazicarian assets, their diplomatic jet was impounded separately due to its special status- we had hoped to glean any information possible from it before any possible sale or disposal. Their delegation was expected to leave the country via commercial airlines, we certainly didn’t expect anything like this…”

The doors burst open, and flashes of gunfire rang out. There were two sickening wet thumps, and it was over. Escorted along by the black clad special forces team were the Chazicarian ambassadors, fear clear on their tense faces. The plane pulled out of the hangar into the night, leaving behind the bodies of the security guards in its wake.

“We were forced to shoot down the aircraft before it escaped into friendly ICFS airspace. It’s begun.” Park finished wearily.

Luong felt her heart sink. This was exactly the worst case scenario- …and after we were so godamn close to that Valdian-Grozyar treaty!

“What are our options?”

It was the Minister of Defense, Terry Peng, who replied.

“Quite frankly ma’am, it doesn’t look great. We’re bordered on both sides by Karakhaznia and Songha, both ICFS members. If, no, when Chazicaria declares war, they’ll be treaty bound to attack us. We’ll be forced to fight a war on two fronts.
We can expect a great deal of aid from CHAVS Union allies, but it will still require committal of the majority of active divisions to combat if we are to stand a chance.”

Luong shook her head sadly.

“We don’t have a choice do we?”

Peng slid a piece of paper of a briefcase- heavily embossed card, printed with the seal of Chilokver. Once she signed this declaration of war, it would be put into place as an executive order, and then ratified by the Consillium. Luong realized her hand was shaking- it had all been so fast, so sudden. This distant decision would condemn the lives of men thousands of kilometers to death. What right did she, sitting in the safety of a nuclear bunker, have to ask them to them to sacrifice themselves for the nation?

She took another look at the still frame projected against the wall. The bloody corpses of the guards in the empty hangar were clearly visible. Their shredded spines, and dead, hollow eyes gave her resolve. E Pluribus, Unum. From many, one. And for one, many. Their deaths would not go unavenged.

“Let’s wage war.”

by **Imperial Cyllea** » Thu Feb 02, 2017 10:30 am

2 km inside the Southern Songhese-Chilokveri Border
Songhese 22nd and 27th Divisions
1430 Hours

It had been 5 days since the first time enemy forces stepped foot into Songha for over 40 years. Their advance surprassed Liuying, inflicting significant casualties on the battalion, but reinforcements from the 22nd and 27th Divisions had forced the CHAVS forces back, not expecting such strong defenses so early into the border. For 3 days, Songha had fought the CHAVS forces fiercely, eventually forcing them back to the border, and today, the two divisions marched across the southernmost border, while other divisions continued to advance in the north, still driving the CHAVS forces back. Now it wasn't the first time enemy forces stepped foot into Songha for over 40 years. It was the first time Songha marched into another nation in 40 years.

Fortunately, due to how close to the coast they were fighting, the land here was still mostly clear and flat - unlike the mountains, forests and jungles more north of the border. The soldiers of the 27th Division in the south could smell the ocean breeze in between the sporadic firefights with enemy forces. However, they'd yet to occupy anything of real significance other than a few rural farming communities. However, Songhese Forces steadily moved towards the coast, where surely there would be smaller towns and communities, and the occupation of Chilokveri towns would provide a large moral victory to the men, who thus far feel that they've been fighting and losing men for the sake of some fields full of wheat.

And so, the two divisions invading the south had set their sights on the town of Maota, Chilokver's closest town to the border, on the southern coast. Already, a few artillery shells had been fired towards the town by the artillery units, though what effectiveness they had or what the even hit was rather unknown. What they did know was that enemy forces had been using Maota for their main base of operations for the Southern border, meaning it was going to be one hell of a fight.

9 KM inside the Northern Songhese-Chilokveri Border
Northern Offensive Force
2000 Hours

4 days ago, orders came directly from the Royal Council in Hyugao to begin Operation Kar Funtaw, or Operation Recover, the invasion of the northern territories of Chilokver that were once controlled by the Seung Dynasty The same night, 4 Divisions of the Armed Forces swiftly swung into the North of Chilokver, while the Imperial Air Force bombarded the weak Chilokveri defenses in the north, making the invasion easier. A couple of days later another division crossed the border, while a further two remain in Songha's borders, awaiting orders of where to advance.

Due to CHAVS focus being on the Karakhaznian border and the Southern Songhese border, the Northern Songhese border was their "weak point" in the armour that their border was. A force of roughly 80,000 personnel would easily be enough to steamroll what small defenses were present here and establish Songhese control over their historical lands while the rest of the military advanced in the South. However, the land was of relatively low population, and the military was likely to continue to advance until they either reached Chilokver's high density population areas, or were stopped by a decent defensive force.

Bay of Furumichi, Taipeng Islands
Southern Fleet
1800 Hours

Admiral Jiang had been idle since the war's start, and if you were to know one thing about the Admiral, it was that he hated idling. Finally, orders had come from the Navy's HQ in Hyugao, the Southern Fleet was to prepare for an offensive intended to establish naval dominence in the Bay of Furumichi and the Waters in between Chilokver and Songha. The Southern Fleet was home to a total of 39 Warships, not including patrol craft, well enough to carry out an offensive. The Offensive Force was to sail out first, composed of the Submarines off on their own, and the Destroyers and Cruisers travelling together, while the Carrier, Frigates and Corvettes would trail behind. If Songha could hit the enemy before they saw it coming, it would be a massive advantage in the Auchoi War.

Updated map of Military Assets (Includes adjustments made for Mercanda's hiatus and therefore Kyukoku not taking part)

by **Grozav Inima** » Thu Feb 02, 2017 9:17 pm

Kapitány Bonifác Hajós
TAH-15, Corsair Class
3rd Submarine Squadron

The Six Corsair-Class submarines finally completed their journey across the Fale, it wasn't much in terms of a supporting fleet for the Chazicarians, but between the bulk of the Chazicarian fleet and the Mairish fleet, it looked like the Brytisc fleet would not last much longer. The Corsairs each carried four STIR-83 Ballista cruise missiles, thirty-six EHIT-88 Barracuda torpedoes, and ten EHIR-77 Starcrash AShMs. Although their mission was supposed to be trade interdiction, the subs had been diverted as they neared the mission zone, losses suffered by the Chazicarian navy warranted support as soon as the Corsairs could provide it. They crept up on the eastern flank of the Brytisc, the wolfpack preparing to pounce on their prey...

At 9km range from the far edges of the hostile fleet, two torpedoes each streaked out of their tubes, and the barracudas swiftly swam towards their target, a Brytisc Teorell-class destroyer, for a total of 12 torpedoes rushing forwards in a loose staggered line towards the enemy vessel to best avoid enemy countermeasures, but with a total of 12 torpedoes on the singular target from different angles, Captain Hajós didn't have high hopes for the survival of the Destroyer.

It would also only be a short time before hostile ASW warships would arrive in the area to intercept them, hit-and-run attacks would remain their best chance to stay alive, the Corsairs, content in their handiwork, turned away and bugged out, keeping their silent running, restricting them to an agonisingly slow 20 knots. They would wait until they reached a safe distance from the Brytisc fleet before turning north to move into the safety of the friendly Chazicarian fleet.

Karabélyos Horațiu Dalca, 3rd Republican Guard Division
Stasno-Elesarian Border

The situation on the Stasnovan border was intense. The submarine attack against the Chazicarian fleet was almost confirmed to have been orchestrated at the hands of the Stasnovans, but a lack of hard evidence, and desire to keep Stasnov out of the war long enough that the situation elsewhere had an opportunity to improve, led to an unbelievably tense calm-before-the-storm on their border. The camp was near freezing, the snowy air of northern Vaznik, a constant biting cold in late winter. The troops huddled together around campfires and portable heaters, large wool and nylon coats covering them head to toe.

While war was yet to begin, forward listening posts along the border, counter artillery batteries and air defence vehicles were littered some kilometres behind the border, the "Hacksaw" self-propelled anti air guns guarded the installations from close air support and helicopters, their radar sensors turned off until they would be needed, to increase survivability against enemy antiradar and SEAD. The "Starscream" mid-range surface to air missiles, firing a missile at mach 3.5 with a range of 11 kilometers were scattered throughout the front, hidden with camouflage and prepared to move immediately after firing, their SACLOS and infrared hybrid targeting granting them immunity to Stasnovan Antiradar SEAD missions. Lastly, the "Phalanx" long range SAMs, with ability to engage enemy aircraft at ranges in excess of 100km and ballistic missiles in ranges of approximately 20km. These would be located further back, prioritizing high value enemy air targets before packing up and relocating before the Stasnovans could fire on their positions with artillery.

The Ground Forces were spread out across a 100km front, with over 700 Jaguar Main Battle Tanks and a large supporting complement of Sheepdog IFVs and Artemis Tank Destroyers. It was a highly mobile force capable of swiftly engaging the Stasnovans head-on, who were expected to utilise their standard tactic, with large numbers of motorized and mechanized infantry quickly rushing over the border with a focus on unrelenting firepower from their artillery and aircraft. The GIGF would deny the Stasnovans air superiority with their deep network of air defence, the constantly moving mechanized and armoured units of the GIGF would be difficult to reliably strike with heavy artillery. They would counter-attack with a vicious relentlessness as soon as the first comrade stepped across the border.

The 96 Cyclones of their supporting air wing would only be lightly involved, primarily concerning themselves with engaging Stasnovan aircraft over Elesar, and only engaging in ground attack missions when and if the situation on the ground required it.

by **Valdiu** » Fri Feb 03, 2017 12:22 am

It was a pitiful sight.

Six million people, getting the fuck out of Dodge. A fifth of the Valdian population, fleeing like cowards.

It was purely precautionary, of course. The Second Fleet had just received eighteen reinforcements. The Chazicarians were about to learn that the Republic of Valdiu was an angry, teenaged bear: small in its own right, ferocious, if attacked, and if you dare bother it anyway? You’d better be afraid of the backup that comes.

Still, for now, Valdiu was on its back foot. As it stood, despite the severely crippled condition of the Chazicarian fleet, the invasion was still on. The Navy, however, had other plans.

BREAKING: FIRST BATTLEFLEET OF THE REPUBLIC REACTIVATED

Robert B. Rohtin, Reporter | robbie.rohtin@pcnn.net
2:14 PM, Feb. 5, 2017

In response to the appearance of a hostile Chazicarian response off Reach, President Alexander Sterling has signed into effect an order reinstating and reactivating the First Battlefleet of the Republic of Valdiu.

For the uninitiated, the First Battlefleet of the Republic of Valdiu is a historical fleet - one of the most respected names in Valdian history. The first First Battlefleet was the name for the combined ships of the Valdian Navy during the Valdian Revolution. The second First Battlefleet was the combined might of the Valdian Navy that escaped when Valdiu was invaded and overrun by Roskian forces during the Second Great War. Now, as Valdiu is threatened once more, Sterling has reactivated the fleet and its venerated name.

There has been some backlash over whether the First Battlefleet designation is necessary at this point; however, those voices are largely subdued and many agree that the gravity of the situation is appropriate for the reactivation.

The following is the text of the executive order in which Sterling reactivated the unit:

“As the enemy approaches the waters of the Republic with hostile intent, I now must call upon the services of the First Battlefleet of the Republic of Valdiu. I charge you, our Valdian sailors and heroes, with the defense of the Republic and with safeguarding the sovereignty of our nation. The ships now assembled within the waters of the Valdian Republic I command to be assimilated under the banner of the First Battlefleet of Valdiu, under the command of Admiral R. “Dick” Simmons. The mission that is entrusted to the Battlefleet is most honorable and most imperative. Onward Audaciously.”

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First Battlefleet North Command
Reach, Valdiu

“Sir, the First and Third Fleet reinforcements have arrived and are within the theater. As per your orders, nine ships have been sent to the Reach area; the rest are on combat patrols.”

“Excellent,” Simmons said. It had been years since he had held a combat command; yet, here he was, in charge of the first line of defense between those Chazicarian bastards and the boys back home. Right now, Simmons was eyeing the SITREP following the Brytisc and Stasnovan attacks on the Chazicarian fleet. One supercarrier was a mission kill, with one still operating.

Still, even in the retaliatory strikes, their admiral had overlooked the Valdians. This was a mistake that would cost him gravely, for Reach was their largest city and the Navy was their largest branch. They would dispense missiles as fast as they could refill them. Their ashore missile batteries held immense stores of missiles, and could be refilled far faster than ships. The Chazicarian SEAD had failed to touch the ashore VLS, and even though many of their terrestrial radar sites were now gone, the naval radars were still operating, and effectively.

By Simmons’ calculations, the Valdians had over a thousand missiles on their ships. Though many of these were air-defense missiles, they still had literally hundreds of anti-surface missiles, which they intended to use to full effect.

“How many ash-bums do we have in range of their ships?”

“Upwards of five hundred, sir.”

Simmons smiled devilishly. 250 tons of explosive at his disposal.

“Here are orders: I want nine ships to be prepared to launch missiles. I want as many missiles on the supercarriers as is necessary to ensure that they’re sent to the bottom. Then, I want the rest to be dedicated to mission-killing those transport ships, and any left over will be saved and the missile-launching ships will put in and restock. I want them back out within 24 hours. The remaining three ships will be on a missile picket to ensure that we have defensive capability while they’re in. Then, rotate. How is the army?”

The aide, dressed in a khaki blouse, noted his orders. “Fortifications are underway. The reserves are evacuating Reach-Deca’s civvies towards Harvest and Delaney. They report that they are doing fine and need no assistance.”

“Excellent. That is orders, please ensure they are carried out.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Offshore Reach
Valdiu

“Sir! New communique from NORCOM, to all ships in the fleet. Fire mission for all ash-bums. The CIC is already working on executing it; we fire on the Admiral’s mark then turn in for Reach-Deca to reload.”

The captain turned around. “Huh? What’s our target?”

“K-kill supercarriers, M-kill transports.”

“Goodie.”

After a short time, the klaxons sounded, and the ship’s complement of fifty anti-ship missiles began to roar out of their tubes. Almost immediately, the ship began to turn, creaking and groaning as its weight slowly lifted and lifted. Nine ships were launching fifty missiles - that meant 450,000 pounds of explosive were now hurtling towards the poor Chazicarians. Three ships were left to face the Chazicarian might, however diluted it may be now.
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by **Krosny-Zdzieszowice** » Sat Feb 04, 2017 11:27 pm

Pit Mine 21, Site Three
Stargard Szczeciński Labor Camp
3.2 Miles south of Sycow, Village Of

"Attention, all guards posted at Site Three are to report to outside the LKSW office in Sycow. Repeat, all guards posted at Site Three are to report to outside the LKSW office in Sycow. A new shift will enter as you leave."

A freezing, and shivering Podpułkownik Leszek Gwozdek picked up his AK-74M and jogged over from the entrance of a mineshaft with a sign labelled 'Pit Mine 27'. The mine was located next to a dirt road, and as he got on it a flatbed truck appeared further up the road. It drove up to the entrance and stopped right next to him. In the flatbed were ten people, a single LKSW soldier holding a AK and the other 9 being reactionaries ridden over. They weren't making the walk from Sycow, so he assumed that they were either freshly arrived, or perhaps just had a special status. The single guard herded the group over at gunpoint whilst he leaned up to the driver's window.

"I'm being ordered to head over to Sycow, let me in the back will you?"

"Get in, I'm picking up a few others on the way."

Leszek went to the back and hoisted himself up into the flatbed, legs dangling out the back. The truck started moving north, to Sycow. As it headed up the mountains, he looked back at the vast range of pit mines located along the side of the mountains. He could barely feel himself in the cold of the mountains, a snowstorm eating his view almost. The ride was rather bumpy, but 10 minutes later the truck arrived at one of the iron mines at Site One. A few LKSW guards got in the back with him, and they drove the remaining mile to Sycow. A few minutes later they hit asphalt as they entered the town. Sycow was a lonely village of 100 people. It was perched on the edge of a mountain, and had only one street, brick and mortar houses running along on both sides. It was inhabited entirely by convicts. The village had originally just been a series of tents and wooden shacks, but with petitioning from convicts and the availability of resources, along with the kindness of the overseeing Commissar, they were allowed to build up the village into quite a impressive, though small village. They stopped in front of the LKSW office.

Leszek got off to see a row of LKSW standing at attention. He quickly got into line. He saw a row of MT-LB's further down the road. Why? The Commissar of the site came out of the office and took position to speak.

"You may be wondering what the sudden ruckus us, comrades. I'm sure you've noticed the commotion, heard the announcement and seen the APC's further down the road. Well, here's the reason. All of you here have been given re-assignment from higher up, and will be transferred to guarding various border towns along the border with Karakhazina. This is not a demotion nor is this a promotion. We are simply in need of more men along the border, and you all are going to be transferred over. You will be allowed to eat and drink in the office, and warm up. In two hours you will board the APC's and head down into the valley and board a train at the Mazowiecki Train Station. Now go."

Exiting the office, Leszek noticed that the temperature was now -17, according to the thermometer next to the main door. He boarded the APC's, and twenty minutes later arrived at the train station. Boarding the train, it was now late at night. He got some vodka and was informed of his assignment. He would be going to the town of Recz.

Recz LKSW Command Building
Recz, Knyszn Socialist Republic

Located in Recz was the LKSW command post in the region. In yelling distance of it was the border checkpoint. It consisted of three buildings: A guard shack next to the road barrier, a three-story building for customs, and the command post. There was also a armory next to the customs building but it wasn't considered part of the checkpoint. In the main planning and intelligence room on the third floor, a rather young Commissar sat at his desk, sitting next to a rather large window. On the desk, to the left of his computer sat a pile of several neatly organized documents. He picked up one of the documents.

Oficjalne Zawiadomienie od Dowództwa Południowego Laskowza Korpusu - Wydany przez Generała Stanisława Bartosz

I, General Stanisław Bartosz, commander of the Southern Laskowza Corps am officially writing this notice to the offices and Commissars of all Łagrach and border towns along the border of Karakhazina and all LKSW outposts.

Today I have ordered the moving of the 27-te Zmotoryzowany Piechoty Gwardii, and the 11. Lekka Zbroja Brygada to the border with Karakhazina under orders from Presidents Sieniawa Podhaļanski and Aureisz Rzeszów, noting that a state of war exists between the state of Karakhazina and various other nations, with additional powers likely to enter the conflict Karakhazina is currently involved in. This is not a declaration or hostilities against Karakhazina, unofficially or officially. This is simply a act to further shore up our borders in the event of unprovoked conflict with Karakhazina or the rest of the International Coalition of Free States. As well, additional LKSW units and soldiers will be moving with the afore-mentioned units to reinforce the border checkpoints.

A detailed composition of these units will be sent to you once the units arrive in their positions.

by **Zoboyizakoplayoklot** » Sun Feb 05, 2017 12:44 am

Khởi Dầu, Yul, Zoboyizakoplayoklot
The sound of the waves lapping against the shoreline was entrancing to the security guards, lulling to sleep most of those who hadn't already passed out from boredom. You couldn't blame them though. Here they were, at some foreign owned tourist trap of a town, guarding summer homes and luxury hotels while the police stuffed their mouths with boortsog while watching reruns of sitcoms back at the station. That left it up to the security guards to patrol the place. Despite international tensions and the heightened threat of the YLF, there was no military present in the town, the small cluster of resorts deemed as strategically undesirable by the federal government. As it was winter, the town was unrecognizable compared to the way it got during the summer months, though the amount of tourists was still on par with the small population of locals. All seemed peaceful in Khởi Dầu; but it was only the calm before the storm.

On the other side of town from the five-star hotels and beaches was a trailer park. The trailer park seemed to accurately summarize the Yullish struggle. Seemingly abandoned by the Grozyar and Zobik run federal government, the people who lived there failed to succeed despite the best efforts of the welfare state. With many of its inhabitants either unemployed or living pay check to pay check, one wouldn't have even guessed the trailer park was part of the same town as the rest of Khởi Dầu. As it was late at night most lights were off, but one building stayed lit. Inside was a man in his early-thirties. He sat casually on his couch, watching the late night news. Criticism Of Conscription Continues, the segment was called. The man scoffed. Just a day before, he had seen the nineteen year old son of his neighbours head off to a training camp in Második Inima. He personally doubted he would come back. Being Yullish, he would probably just be cannon fodder for soldiers of Zobik and Grozyar ethnicity. The press and government denied that such a thing would happen, for how would it be allowed in a token country such as Zoboyizakoplayoklot? The man shook his head as he loaded some shells into his hunting rifle. During the tourist season he used it to hunt game, which he would sell from a stall to hungry tourists. But today he wasn't hunting deer or saiga, rather, the silent oppressors of the Yullish nation. Upon loading the gun he stashed the extra ammo down his pocket, hoping that the meager amount he had would be enough. He proceeded to continue on with his watching of the news, until about fifteen minutes later a knock on the door came. Standing up with a spring, he was relieved to see a who he was expecting on the other side of the door. Across from him stood three men. The one in the centre was a larger man, about the same age as him, holding a crossbow which he was likely in possession of for the same reason he had his hunting rifle. On either side of him were two other men, one younger, one older. The younger one held a Kalashnikov, the older one a pistol. They weren't very well armed, but behind them was a machine gun mounted truck, a younger woman already manning the gun. That, coupled with the support promised by the YLF would assuredly be enough to take the town.

With few words being said, the four men piled into the truck, the older man taking the wheel. As they set off, the dull sound of rap music on the radio was the only sound, the security guard barracks their destination. It wasn't until the highway came into the sight that the silence was broken, a unusually long string of headlights sparking the attention of the youngest man.

"Is that them? Is that really the YLF?" he asked quizzically while fondling his Kalashnikov in an odd way. The older man grunted a yes, his eyes set on the road. Once they got into town they found the militants to already be clearing out buildings, with the bodies of security guards and police officers sporadically lying dead in gutters, surrounded by jeering separatists. Ignoring the mayhem that ensued around them, the truck proceeded through the town to the guard barracks, arriving to find the place boarded up. It was highly likely that the guards in the building had heard of the chaos elsewhere in the town. The four men leaped out of the truck as the machine gun whirred, penetrating through the measly wooden boards, killing those unlucky enough to get caught in the mindless machine gun spray. The four men picked off those who tried to flee, and in ten minutes all the security guards at the barracks were dead. Unfortunately, very few had tried to fight back.

Back at the police station, YLF militants lined up the police officers who had surrendered, about twenty or so of them. They were all lined up, mouths gagged and hands bound. The flag of the YLF waved on top of the station, easily within the frame of the camera below. With the camera rolling, one particularly fanatical and charismatic separatist spoke about the struggles Yullish people faced, and how Zobiks and Grozyars had oppressed them for generations. Once he was done his spiel, one last wave of gunfire flew through the air as the police officers fell to the ground. The video would be uploaded to the internet soon after, though the taking of the town was about more than idealistic vendettas and propaganda. Controlling a coastal town, the YLF now had access to foreign aid. The Yullish dream of freedom had just taken a big step towards becoming a reality.

by **New Chilokver** » Sun Feb 05, 2017 5:07 am

Chilokveri-Karakhaznian Border

Fort Nakano was an oblong slab of concrete, crudely plonked in the middle of the rolling forest. In the pre-dawn light, its spotlights and defensive placements swivelled dutifully, watching over the bunkers and barracks in which soldiers slept an uneasy sleep. They all knew of course, about the Chazicarian embassy’s daring escape and inevitable shoot down. That had been a good 24 hours ago, however. Nothing but an ominous silence had been heard by the men since.

Despite the pale glow slowly peering over the horizon, the inside of the base remained dim and quiet. It was the last shift of an uneventful night, and most of the officers on duty in the main operations room were ready to finish and go get some breakfast. Thus, the red flash and shrill tone that indicated an incoming dispatch came as a bit of a rude shock to them.

“Message from Northern Command, sir. It’s been routed through and encrypted by HERMES. Decoding... now.”

The commander felt a wave of suppressed panic run through him.

“Declare red alert. Rally all forces and prepare for immediate deployment and combat. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is not a drill.”

As the alarm rang through the base, all heads turned towards him.

“What is it, sir?”

He clenched his fists hard, nails biting into his palm.

“It’s war.”

2 hours later

Far off in the distance, low thunder and dust clouds shook the earth. Despite the element of surprise the Karakhaznians had gained by attacking first, they were still forced to deal with the reinforced trenches, mines and obstacles that had been set before them. The defences corralled them even tighter against the terrain, packing them into easy targets.

“Load HEAT round, target lead AFV.”

The shell spat out of the front of the CAT-10 Scorpion’s 120mm cannon, whistling into the vehicle in a burst of flame. The MBT slewed backwards behind cover, as the other three tanks in the platoon fired in succession. So long as the defences held, this was no battle- it was a shooting range. The Karakhaznians could not advance their forces and heavy armour without first clearing the minefield, yet they were unable to clear the minefield effectively without first eliminating the tanks which hampered those attempts. Any progress they made in opening a path was quickly negated by artillery, which pounded the front with shells, scattering new mines in areas that had previously been cleared.

Together, the stalemate gave time to fully mobilize all 4 divisions and respond properly. Now, the Karakhaznians would have to fight against an enemy that was fully prepared, and backed by aerial support and artillery. Whatever move they made next, they were ready for it.

by **Greater Hudian Republic** » Sun Feb 05, 2017 6:52 am

retcon.

by **Stasnov** » Mon Feb 06, 2017 6:53 am

Over the Fale Ocean, international waters
23rd and 24th Heavy Bomber Aviation Regiments, Revolutionary Air Force
1440 hours

One of the Tu-95MSs shortly after take off from the Stolichny Naval/Air Base

The large Tupolev bombers shot through the skies over the Fale Ocean. Seventy two of them were present, two entire Heavy Bomber Aviation Regiments, specifically, the 568th and 569th Independent Heavy Bomber Aviation Regiments of the Stasnovan Naval Aviation (AV-MF). The bombers were split by Regiment, and the two formations flew about 50 kilometres away from each other. Each formation was originally escorted by two squadrons of Su-27SM fighters of the VVS, until the reached Gorbatovic air space, where met up with three Gorbatovic tanker aircraft, refuelled, and the escort broke off and returned to Stasnov. Now, with a short Gorbatovic fighter escort which broke off after they left after the strike force left Gorbatovic air space.

They had taken off from Stasnov prior to the coordinated missile attack on the Chazicarian 1st Fleet, so the would able to strike no much later than 20 minutes after the attack was finished. A mishap with the refuelling operation by the Gorbatovic tankers caused a delay of about 6 minutes, but they were still within acceptable mission parametres. They were now north of the Allied Connurist States, and changed course to south-west. The Brystic and Valdian assets in the area constantly sent them updated information on the position of the wounded Chazicarian fleet. Now, it was the time to strike and finish it off. Under the wing pylons and weapon bays of each of the Tupolevs, were two brand new Kh-32 anti-ship missiles, for a total of 144 missiles carried by the raiding force in total.

The 23rd made its approach from the north, while the 24th approached from the north-east. This was the usual attack pattern of the Stasnovan maratime strike bombers, though somewhat altered because of the new missiles. They approached at low altitude, and when roughly 1,000 kilometres from the position of the enemy fleet, the engaged the afterburners and entered a steep climb. The low flight profile wasn't necessary as the range of their missiles allowed them to launch well beyond enemy radar range, but the Stasnovans wouldn't take any chances. In contrast to the regular Naval Aviation raider tactics, however, the Tupolevs did not activate their jammers, as doing so would reveal the direction they were coming from. Once at roughly 30,000 feet, the bombers released their 144 missiles.

The new Kh-32 was the latest iteration of the dreaded Kh-22 long-range anti-ship missile. The new Kh-32 is designed to climb to 40 km (130,000 ft) to the stratosphere after launch, transition to level flight, then perform a steep dive to the target; its combination of speed and flight path makes it virtually invulnerable to interception by ground-based air defenses and fighters. The inertial navigation system and radar homing head made it independent of GPS/GLONASS navigation satellites. The missiles was set to fly a pre-programmed course towards the enemy fleet, without emitting until terminal phase, in order to make them even more difficult to spot. When in position, they would begin terminal phase, activate their radars, scan for targets, lock on, and then perform the steep dive to the target. In contrast to the R-37K warheads used in the previous attack, the 500 kg of RDX in the Kh-32's warhead were more than enough to sink the Chazicarian destroyers and cruisers in a single hit, while also being able to destroy the remaining carrier in one well-placed hit, or with two or more hits.

The Tu-95SMs themselves, turned steeply to the east, dove down to their original height, and began their egress back home.

by **Brytene** » Mon Feb 06, 2017 11:38 am

CFS Pelegiad,
Off the southern coast of Wesseax

Fleet Admiral Botas' eyes flickered to the horizon as warning alerts flared up again. The Chazicarians were swinging back, and he knew that whatever he did, at least some of his people were going to die today. But that wasn't a reason to give up. He had yet to play his trump card, but with the arrival on-station of the Valdian navy, who had opened up with a massive barrage of their own, he figured it was time to deliver the killing blow. The Chazicarians hadn't realised it yet, but the larger half of their navy had arrogantly placed itself right into the middle of a five-way crossfire. The Brytisc navy, the Stasnovan submarine fleet, the Valdian navy, the Valdian land defenses, and now the Brytisc land defenses.

Sixty missiles were streaking towards his fleet, backed by 75 fighters of the Chazicarian airforce. He had 35 fighters in the air himself - 32 VeKs and 3 Spearfighters, with eight of his fighters trapped below decks now that the Pelegiad was so badly damaged. Happily for Botas and his ship-mates, however, the third stage of the Brytisc plan was indeed underway, as Botas had confirmed shortly after the last wave of enemy missiles had struck. The fight was not quite out of his hands, but now larger force were in motion, carrying out set-pieces that he had directed some time previously, and now it was down to patience and nerves of steel as he watched the missiles whip in towards his fleet, roughly five per ship this time. This time the Brytisc were not alone, however...

Whitebay, Hlaford Base
Airstrip 1

The forces at Hlaford Base were not the largest by any means, but with 12 additional VeKs and one of the three-plane Spearfighter squads at their disposal, along with plenty of Revelators include the 'Spooky' AWACS model, and as requested they were putting them in the air. 15 fighters and two Spookys roared south to reinforce their companions of the CSG Rapax, placing a total of 50 on-station fightercraft fitted for air-to-air combat against the attackers, making it a one-to-one duel against the two enemy squadrons.

The chatter amongst these pilots was almost cheerful, however. They had seen the damage already inflicted on the Chazicarian fleet and knew that, unlike the Chazicarians, they had entire batteries of Stasnovan S-450B land-based SAMs at their backs. The home field advantage counted for a lot, not least for morale, and as the advanced airframes stormed into the air with a screaming roar, the pilots whooped, half nerves and half sheer joy. Climbing quickly, the reinforcing squadron was on-station in barely any time, the Brytisc CSG only a few score kilometres off the coast of Brytene at this point. When they met up with the 35 fighters already in the air, they would separate into pairs, climbing to attack altitude and assuming formation to punch a hole in the enemy airfleet, firing their own long-range missiles.

Coast of Wesseax
12th Anti-ship Missile Battalion

Vickers had taken the cigarette cheerfully. Smoking tobacco wasn't the most popular pastime in Brytene, but then again this was a special circumstance and Vickers was a social smoker. Taking a drag of the harsh, yet oddly comforting Stasnovan cigarette, he squinted into the distance, and then his SlatePad beeped. He glanced down at it but it confirmed what he already knew. He hit a button and across the coast, S450 SAM launchers threw off their cover and began blasting into the sky, sending streams of hunter-killer anti-air missiles into the sky in support of the distant jet fighters he could faintly hear screaming through the atmosphere, an almost intangible wail at the edge of the world. A total of six platoons, of two vehicles each, had been moved across Wesseax to pound into the sky. With a range measured in the hundreds of kilometres, they were more than able to reach up and pluck down invading aircraft, giving the upper hand to the defending fighter squadrons.

"Comrade," he said to Gorshkov, gesturing with a grin towards the imposing Stasnovan war machines nearby. "If you would be so kind, I believe it is time for your little sparrows to take flight and shit all over the enemy."

CFS Pelegiad,
Off the southern coast of Wesseax

Botas calmly began giving out orders, watching with pride as a second volley of sub-launched cruise missiles, another 48 in total, roared out towards the Chazicarian fleet at the same time as a second pounding of ASBMs was delivered against them by the Valdian navy. The Moby-Dick class subs were risking their necks to remain on-station, and indeed even as he watched the barrage of light and smoke intensify as chaff, flares, and anti-missile measures lit up the sky around them, he saw a sudden bloom of flame as one was struck. The others, their payloads dispensed, quickly dove beneath the water, slinking north behind the fleet to resupply and re-arm, their part in this conflict over, but the CFS Commonwealth was badly hit. As the smoke began to thicken, Botas heard the calm but urgent tones of Captain Sandra Bell as she ordered the torpedo munitions to be dumped to avoid further damage as the ship fully surfaced, limping back towards the coast and to safety. Mission kill he thought grimly, wondering how many men and women had died in that explosion. Even as he reflected, there was a flash of light from the west. Without having to check he knew that it was most likely the CFS Greenhow. Glancing over, he saw the small corvette already listing terribly, flames billowing madly from its superstructure as small figures leaped into the churning sea, one small group managing to get away in a lifeboat whilst another half dozen or so climbed aboard the miniature scouting helicopter at the rear pad, some perched on the rails.

Even as nearby ships deployed helicopters and boats to pick the survivors from the water, the Greenhow began to sink, rolling onto its side to expose its underbelly like some butchered whale before slipping slowly beneath the surface, leaving behind only debris and a cloud of filthy, acrid smoke.

The rest of the fleet was largely intact, however, thanks to their own defenses and the cover offered by land-based missile defense networks, and they were making good progress. The three destroyers, almost as if in protest at the death of their smaller comrade, lashed return fire into the sky, more cruise missiles pounding out into the air. Another 60 in total, lashing the remnants of the Chazicarian fleet, even as the destroyers began switching to acquire targeting data for the inbound aircraft that were flying headfirst into a storm of shrapnel.

In the air, over the Brytisc fleet
9th Naval Air Brigade, Amur 3 Flight

Major Leif Eikursen glanced over his shoulder at his combat systems operator, Skeppare Ashley Wetherby. This was the young womans' first fighter-to-fighter experience - otherwise they ran sims, practice missions, patrols and the occasional intercept of wayward jets or shifty-looking private planes around Pepper Atoll.

Around them their radar systems were screaming, as waves of SAM fire roared up from the mainland behind them and the fleet beneath them, whipping towards their enemies even as they began to line up shots themselves at long range. Invisible to them, he knew that Stasnovan air assets would be bombarding the Chazicarian fleet from long range, but that was not his fight. Each fighter carried two MRAAMs as the opening blow of an encounter, but these were easier to counter and the real killers would be the short-range dogfighting SRAAMs.

They had faint signals in the distance though, enemy fighters closing and fast.

"Ready, Batter?" asked Leif, his tone jovial. Ashley just nodded, thumbing a switch. She paused for a moment, then fired, one-two.
"Missiles away." she confirmed, her voice taught with nerves.

by **Mairland** » Thu Feb 09, 2017 12:12 pm

No. 6 Expeditionary Group MAS

The Fale Ocean seemed to stretch on forever. It was one with the horizon, the golden light of the sun indistinguishable from the foam which was churned up by the mighty waves of the sea. God, so the saying went, had never done as fine a job with Creation as he had done putting together the Fale. But humans, inevitably, outstripped Mother Nature in their technology as the centuries passed, and in the 21st they could traverse the mighty and bottomless expanse in minutes. The merchant of the 1500s would have looked in disbelief at the warplane of the 2000s as it screamed overhead, carrying a cargo of laser-guided death. It was a flight of Heralds, the workhorses of the Mairish Air Service, and they were on their way to bring an end to a city. St. Joseph, long battered and torn by the forces of instability, was about to be ripped apart once and for all.

The six Heralds were arranged in a V-formation, and began to decrease their altitude as the distance between the briny water and the green-hued coast of Pepper Atoll shrank further and further. The formation banked to the left as St. Joseph began to come into view. The city had been carefully mapped out by military planners during the past three days, with every structure of importance to the Brytisc war effort identified and targeted for destruction. PKW-500 laser-guided missiles, fitted out with cluster munitions, would be sent hurtling towards the Presidential Palace, the Brytisc military facility in the city, and the two highways- the A1 and A14- which intersected St. Joseph. Ships at harbor would also be vanquished- sunk by missiles and raked by autocannon fire.

St. Joseph was now fully in view, the sandstone surfaces of the buildings facing the coast reflecting a light red hue from the old paint on their walls which was chipped and dirty. A schooner with sail floated lazily near the beach and people, small as ants, scurried about, enjoying the ocean air and the refreshing wind. It would be a sin to obliterate such a peaceful scene, but war was Hell and it demanded moral sacrifices from those who played its game.

The lead Herald released the first PKW-500. Two others followed suit with their own missiles, the entire flight descending rapidly to acquire the other targets. The three PKWs streaked over the city and, within seconds, smashed into the white stucco walls of the Presidential Palace. There was a mighty boom as the front of the building exploded in chaotic light and sound. Chunks of stone and rebar were flung for a mile around and a sheet of fire flashed across the palatial estate. With a creaking roar like a dying animal, the Palace, which had stood since the 19th century, leaned forward slightly, unable to stand on its own foundation. Then, it collapsed, engulfing the north of St. Joseph with dust and smoke.

While the Palace disappeared in a black-and-orange cloud, the Mairish warplanes engaged other helpless targets in the city. The military facility, standing near the highway, served adequately the needs of the Brytisc Fleet's presence in St. Joseph, but the money was stretched too thin to allow for the purchase of anti-aircraft guns. The alarm went off and personnel rushed to their stations; it was too late to make any difference. A PKW landed in the center courtyard, killing all those unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Autocannon fire, like Satanic rain, smashed what remained of the facility into pieces, sending the old steel watchtower toppling over onto the highway. The Heralds flew overhead and came around for a second run. The watchtower's searchlight, its operator twisted lifeless underneath it, was flashing madly into the sky, providing a useful target for the Heralds as they prepared to block the A1. Five PKWs landed at varying intervals, throwing cars into the air and leaving huge craters in the asphalt that rendered the highway completely impassable.

The warplanes once again came past overhead, went out to sea a little, and then banked right for a final attack against the stricken city. The Pon Cagaaran, the bridge which connected the eastern and western sides of St. Joseph, stuck out like a sore thumb with its beautiful polished marble surface in this city of dirty sandstone and brown brick. A missile was fired but overshot the center of the bridge, landing in the water. A second PKW hit the Pon Cagaaran's left side, wrecking the bridge's support system. With a groan, it sagged and gave way. The Heralds now turned their weaponry against the docks. The harbor was crowded with frantic schooners, pleasure craft, and small cargo boats; as St. Joseph was hit by one airstrike after another, hundreds of civilians had fled to the harbor to escape the city by water. The biggest vessel in the harbor was a supply ship, bringing consumer items from the mainland. A missile struck it dead in the center and it was blown in half by an enormous explosion that sent it to the bottom barely a minute later. Now, autocannons were turned against the civilian craft that sped in unison towards the harbor's exit. They were sunk, overturned, or reduced to floating hunks of metal by the fierce rain of steel fire that poured down upon them. The cranes and warehouses lining the docks were also targeted and brought to the ground, a final victory in this savage attack on a city.

The Heralds turned back and flew home, leaving the lifeless corpse of St. Joseph behind them.

Hueslam, Pepper Atoll

The thunder coming from the distance was not natural, for the sky was clear, but rather man-made. Flashes of light tinged the treetops with yellow and orange, and thick black plumes of smoke trailed off into the pure air. St. Joseph was being wracked with Mairish missiles and Mairish bullets, but that was not the concern of the Manaagnwe Militia. Their existence was dedicated to the removal of Brytene from Pepper Atoll, and whether or not this was brought about by terrorism or world war did not matter. What did matter was that St. Joseph now lay open to occupation, and that the liberation of the Atoll from foreign control was no longer a far-off, impossible dream. The Manaagnwe's luck was not only limited to the ruin of the Atoll's capital. The agent of the destruction, Mairland, had agreed to send an emissary to meet with the militia.

In an old lawn chair sat a large, swarthy black man. He was bald, one eye covered with a patch; he had on old military fatigues in dark green camouflage and a red bandana. The lines on his face showed the signs of a predilection to methamphetamines, and a thick pink scar ran down his face, from his forehead to his chin, swerving around his right eye. This was Matthew Bataya, and he was tied to the Atoll in every way imaginable. Ironically, his family was indirectly responsible for the entrance of the Peppur homeland into the Brytisc Confederacy. Two years before, Matthew's second cousin, the President of Pepper Atoll, had been gunned down at point-blank range on a St. Joseph sidewalk. The Brytisc moved in to exploit the power vacuum and within weeks the Atoll's independence had been stripped away. Matthew himself had not seen his cousin in fifteen years, and the harsh training of the Manaagnwe had scrubbed away his familial loyalty, but in his heart of hearts he still felt responsibility for the failure of the Batayas to preserve the future of the Peppur people.

Matthew's shred of morality and his sense of ethnic duty was unknown to the Manaagnwe soldiers, who called him "Captain Explosion" and knew him only for his brutality and his loyalty to the aged and decrepit Colonel Cutuu, who had not been seen outside of his private compound for weeks. As Captain Explosion, Matthew strutted across the stage, his great physical strength matched only by his heartlessness, striking fear into the hearts of young militiamen by executing dissenters and inflicting savage punishments on those who dared to smoke the marijuana that was reserved for officers and strongmen. But he could not always wear the mask of a tyrant, however much he wanted to. There were occasions when even Captain Explosion himself had to be diplomatic, and the visit of a representative of the Kingdom of Mairland required him to scrounge up a certain amount of civility and respect.

* * *

On the dirt road which led into Hueslam struggled an old armored truck, breaking through one layer of jungle shrubbery only to encounter another. The truck was dirty and leaked oil; besides that, the interior was almost unbearably hot and smelly. In this environment, on a wood stool, sat Edward Hallway. Or at least, that was his name on this particular assignment. "Hallway" was a veteran of countless missions for the Military Intelligence Service, and he had dealt with a galaxy of different people in as many nations. He had jumped off a moving train in Stasnov, shot dead a policeman pursuing him in a Kugandan alley, and ridden on the underside of a speedboat in Songhan waters with only a snorkel mask to protect his face. He had never been scared before. But now, he felt anxiety creeping up on him. He had heard stories of the Manaagnwe, how they had lined schoolchildren up against a wall in the '80s and shot them in their backs, and how recently they had taken to kidnapping Brytisc families from their houses outside of St. Joseph and extracting ransom money, invariably torturing them almost to the point of death before their release. Hallway could only imagine what, having already defied the Brytisc government, what they would do to a foreigner from Mairland who delivered to them terms which they did not like. In his pocket, he carried a piece of paper with offers from the Mairish government, in return for a few small demands. He hoped that the demands were small enough for the Manaagnwe.

The truck came to an abrupt stop alongside a dirt embankment, kicking up mud as it did so. Two militiamen, assault rifles slung over their backs and cigarettes dangling from their cracked lips, stepped down from the embankment and swung open the truck's passenger door. The light was blinding at first, but Hallway was soon able to distinguish the militia motioning for him to come out. With a pang of fear- a sensation he rarely felt- he did so. The sky, a pretty shade of velvety blue, was intersected by twisting columns of black smoke. His superiors had been right; St. Joseph had been bombed before his visit.

It was a walk of some distance before Hallway and his guards, four militiamen flanking him on all sides, reached the clearing where Captain Explosion waited in his lawn chair. He had grown bored scanning the distance for the Mairishman's entourage and lit a joint to occupy his time. Now, remembering that he needed to appear civil, he threw it to the ground and pressed it with his boot, reducing it to mush. With a forced smile, he stood up and crossed the remaining between himself and Hallway, holding up his hand in greeting. He spoke first.

"Hello, Mr...?"

"Mr. Edward Hallway," the lie in this statement flying over the head of Captain Explosion.

"I am Captain Explosion, second-in-command to Colonel Cutuu, the leader of the Manaagnwe Militia. Please, sit." A scrawny man in fatigue pants and a brown shirt pulled a tattered lawn chair next to the one already there. The two men sat down, Hallway rather uncomfortably after the long ride sitting bolt-upright on a stool.

"Captain, as I'm sure you know, I come representing the Mairish government, which is currently at war with the Confederacy of Brytene. It is a war which we did not want but which was forced upon us. Do you understand?"

Captain Explosion nodded his head and scratched his chin.

"Because the Manaagnwe Militia are enemies of Brytene, Mairland would like to provide you with resources in exchange for a few small... concessions."

"And what are you offering?"

"We offer the sum of five million airgeads, as well as six Songbird fighter planes which are no longer used by Mairland to be delivered to your airfield." Hallway reached into his satchel and pulled out a bottle of liquor. "I also come bearing a gift of fine cognac for Colonel Cutuu. In exchange for these amenities, which I'm sure you'll agree are very considerable, Mairland would like to ask for some amenities for ourselves. Do you wish me to continue?"

Captain Explosion reached over and took the bottle of cognac. "I'm sure the Colonel will be very pleased. You can go on."

"In exchange for recognition of Pepper Atoll as an independent country and not a part of Brytene, and the Manaagnwe being left to their own devices throughout the rest of the Atoll, Mairland would like to retain control over the city of St. Joseph as an overseas territory. We propose that the capital of the independent Atoll be set up here, at Hueslam, with Mairish funds to help develop the village. What do you think?"

Captain Explosion was surprised. St. Joseph was an integral part of the Atoll, its capital during both the independent Republic and Brytisc rule, and a hub of Peppur culture and trade. To not gain it back after thirty years of Manaagnwe efforts would be a stinging blow. But then again, the terms offered by the Mairish still glittered. Five million airgeads was a sum beyond the Manaagnwe's wildest dreams, and jet planes to augment their small air force would make them much more formidable in the sky. Besides that, the recognition by a foreign power of the Atoll's independence would be a huge step forward; hitherto, every Atlasian nation had viewed Brytene as the Atoll's legitimate owner. It was slowly dawning on Matthew that he was the one who would make the ultimate decision regarding the Mairish terms; the Colonel lay in a half-coma in his compound, his health ruined by meth and other drugs which he took liberally for pleasure. His train of thought had long since derailed off the path of reason and his mental state bordered on insanity. Matthew's next word would define the future of the Atoll. There was a long pause while the planets aligned.

"Yes. The Manaagnwe agree."

In the distance, the sky blazed with the colors of a glorious Fale sunset, casting jeweled hues over the burning city of St. Joseph. A wind came from the west, blowing away the dust and debris that lay in the streets, and it carried away Brytisc control of the Atoll with it, once and for all.

by **Zoboyizakoplayoklot** » Sat Feb 11, 2017 9:36 am

Zoboyizakoplayokloti Broadcasting Guild

2nd RZA Assault Division Deployed To Yul Following Increased Speratist Violence

The Federal Government will attempt to squash the YLF before they become a genuine threat; but is that really the correct approach?

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Sándor Somogyi (@realgoodreporter)
^{Jan 8th, 2017 | Wavaxangrad, Második Inima Province, Zoboyizakoplayoklot}

The nation received shocking news this morning when it was revealed that Khởi Dầu, a popular tourist spot in the Province of Yul, was captured by YLF militiants. The small town, which holds a permanent year round population of around 2,000, was reportedly weakly defended. There was no military presence in the town, and the YLF had only security guards and police officers standing in their way. Despite a lack of military training and quality weaponry, the town is said to have fell quite easily. The capture of the town comes just days after the YLF asserted control over a number of small villages and urban neighbourhoods, but the prospect of Khởi Dầu falling under YLF control is particularly worrisome. Due to its coastal location, it is highly likely that the YLF will now be able to receive foreign support from nations opposing Zoboyizakoplayoklot.

Although many would prefer for the RZA to charge into Yul and capture all YLF territory with ease, Prime Minister Devononokin Kawerdrop claimed that it would not be that easy. "From what we've seen, the YLF is using asymmetric warfare and propaganda of the deed to achieve their goals. When you also take into account the densely forested geography of Yul and the unknown [though likely high] amount of YLF supporters, our military actions in Yul will have to be meticulously coordinated and carried out carefully and effectively."

On top of the RZA deployment, the Tuslagch Kholboo also pledged to aid in the quelling of the rebellion, stating that it is in the best interest of the Crown and Zobik people of Yul remained part of Zoboyizakoplayoklot.

Tune in tonight at 8:00 PM ZST for your nightly news.

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42069 comments comments

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Supporter5 · 3 hours ago
The YLF is gonna get beaned

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YullishNationalist$$$ · 3 hours ago
Well, I guess it's time to go grab my shotgun

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ChronicKiddo · 3 hours ago
Huda hell writes these crappy articles

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Xuqihar, Khyarga Province, Zoboyizakoplayoklot
Nayan tightened the grip of his hand on his rifle, sweat dripping down his forehead, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The sun beat down on his face, the warm spring sun almost mocking him as he gasped an weezed in pain. No matter how many killstreaks and play of the games he got playing FPS games on his couch, nothing could have ever prepared him for the stress and physical beating caused by real life combat. It was like nothing he could have ever imagined, but he knew that it was destiny to fill in his role as a conscript in the Royal Zoboyizakoplayokloti Army to the best of his abilities. It had to be, or why else would the draft notice have come in the mail? So the government had more bodies to block bullets with? Maybe, but Nayan tried to sugar coat his expendability. Mustering up one last burst of courage and energy, Nayan stood up, pulling back the trigger and letting out all the anger he had pent up over the years. All the times he had been beaten up by his older brother. Shot away. All the times he had been beaten up by his younger brother. Shot away. All the times he had been rejected by someone who he thought was the girl of his dreams. Shot away. Opening his eyes, Nayan grinned. The training dummy stood with more holes than Cydonian cheese. He was feeling pretty good about himself, but then the now familiar voice of the Drill Sergeant pierced through the air.

"PRIVATE ULANGOR! WHY, IN GODS NAME, DID YOU JUST UNLOAD AN ENTIRE MAGAZINE INTO A TRAINING DUMMY!" the drill sergeant screeched. But before Nayan could respond however, the Drill Sergeant continued. "YOU'D BETTER BE THANKFUL THOSE WERE PLASTIC ROUNDS, AND NOT LIVE ONES, PRIVATE! IF THEY WERE, I CAN GUARANTEE YOU YOUR ASS WOULD BE HALFWAY TO VAALDHAVEN BY NOW!

Nayan gulped as the drill sergeant loomed over him. He was a Grozyar man, significantly taller and bulkier than Nayan. Nayan had grown to both despise and admire the man over the past few weeks he had been at training camp, and Nayan almost hoped he could get deployed to fight in some place far away, just to get away from him. Not that that was likely though. He was just a conscript. He'd probably just get deployed to some base in Songha where he could relax while the professionals did all the real work.

"With all due respect sir, but if there are extremely low chances of me or any of the other conscripts seeing action, how come you've been so hard on us over the last few days? You were tough at the start, then you eased off for a bit, and now you're driving us into the ground again. Why is that?"

For the first time in almost three weeks, Nayan saw something human in the drill sergeants face. His expression softened up, and his eyes almost seemed to water. "There's been a change of plans, boy. You and all your other newbie friends are going to northern Karakhaznia. Its... its for the best. From what I've heard, you guys head out tomorrow at dawn".

As the drill sergeant walked away solemnly, Nayans back slumped, his vision tightening. His whole world had just been flipped around, and it was possible he wouldn't even be alive at the end of the month. He had learned some basic facts about Karakhaznia back in grade school, and he knew one thing was for sure; this would not be the Songhese vacation he had expected. There weren't any official hostilities yet in the landlocked nation, but with the communist nation of Krosny on the northern border, it was only a matter of time before the snow turned red.

Hyugao, Songha
As soon as the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis had gotten settled in, they had already begun preparing to leave. They had just finished unpacking and setting up camp, and now they had to tear it all down. Zoboyizakoplayoklot was no longer aiding in the defence of Songha; instead, they were now assisting in the invasion of Chilokver. The order had rolled down the chain of command after the Songhese began to prepare for offensive actions, the Zoboyizakoplayokloti government planning to attack via the sea in conjunction with the Songhese. The plan was relatively simple, the Songhese navy, along with a couple of Zoboyizakoplayokloti ships, would assert dominance in the Bay of Furimichi. From there, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis would launch an amphibious assault on the Chilokveri coastline, hopefully successfully. Should the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis successfully gain a foothold in the Chilokveri homeland, it would theoretically make the jobs of the Songhese and Karakhaznian militaries much easier. Under the pressure of a multi-front assault like planned, the Zoboyizakoplayokloti Ministry of Defence was convinced that Chilokver would not be able to put up a sufficient defence, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis assuring themselves that the Chilokveri military would be spread out much too thin. If all went well, the Chilokveri nation would feel the full wrath of the ICFS, and crumble under it.

by **New Hayabusa** » Sat Feb 11, 2017 1:01 pm

THE FREEMAN'S CREED
Theme Song: GMS - Juice

Karakhaznian-Chilokveri Border

"Shit" was the only word that Evgeny Marstilov could think of at the moment. The commander of the Armoured Regiment which had been assigned to accompany the Army and Engineer Corps at the front lines of the Karakhaznian invasion, Marstilov was experienced and tactful enough to know what he was looking at through his scope. Looking through the same camera for the past two hours, he had seen nothing but thermal blackness across the Chilokverian landscape as the engineers worked as fast as they could to clear huge parts of the minefield before the fighting began. After a long wait, Evgeny was greeted with a pleasant terror - a distinct white thermal reading, far out in the distance. As more and more started to peep out from the black and grey on the camera, Marstilov knew exactly what was going on. Activating his intercom channel mic, he dished warnings to every Karakhaznian unit involved in the operation.

"All units, all units, this is Zulnashka 1-1. We are picking up multiple thermal readings in the distance, ehh... upon closer examination they look to be Chilokveri MBTs, all of them Scorpions. Who can verify?"

At once, vehicle commanders from other units began to scream into their mics a great variation of profanities and scattered calls to engage along with the verification of the presence of Chilokveri tanks. Karakhaznian High Command's predictions were scarily accurate. Each unit had been briefed on how to respond to the obvious and overwhelming threat of Chilokveri armour and heavy guns during the beginning stages in the invasion. They had prepared for all possible situations, but with the Chilokveris now showing their cards with their heavy armour, things have a higher chance of falling into place nicely.

Should Chilokveri armour engage Karakhaznian assets in the first wave of the attack while units were still within the minefield, VKD-3M IFVS, Kz. t6 tank destroyers, and some anti-tank infantry groups would halt progress and keep the enemy armour pinned, while the Army would proceed ahead with high power line charges, allowing for more hasty and quick movement across the field. While this was happening, artillery coordinators on the ground would relay the coordinates for Chilokveri positions to nearby attack helicopters and the big guns in the far back of the pack with the heavy armour, which would then launch a hell-raising salvo upon the Chilokveri key locations. Aerial power already inside of Chilokver, with the tactical help of AWACS and EW planes, would proceed even further, past enemy mobile assets to engage their artillery emplacements and main encampments. A deadly combination of airborne electronic warfare with SA-7 Phoenix air superiority fighters, TvL-21K Arya interceptors, SA-2 Pterodactyl bombers would do their worst on the Chilokveris for however long they could, return to base for refueling, and continuously fly back and forth until ordered otherwise. Back inside Karakhaznia, long range surface-to-air and anti-ballistic missile batteries would assist Karakhaznian combat aircraft in maintaining aerial superiority and do what they could to block Chilokveri AA from inflicting significant casualties on the airmen. With the Chilokveris scrambling to react to the large army group in front of them, the advancing infantry and armour behind the Army mine-clearing task force would then pull off to the flanks and proceed with an audacious attempt to rout the entire Chilokveri force into a congested area, with retreat to the snow-capped beasts being the only escape.

Pace. Pace determined whether such a feat could even be considered, or not. That, and the endurance and willpower of the light armour and infantry on the ground on the front lines. Despite cover from IFVs and tank destroyers, Chilokveri tanks and artillery would still be able to engage the Army and inflict some serious casualties if the rest of the Karakhaznian force did not move quick enough. The men at the front would have to endure more than several long minutes of hell, a given when acting as the distractor force. High Command acknowledged and warned everyone that there would be casualties, and chances of survival without retreat would be unfortunately low if the plan wasn't executed to perfection and on time. Regardless of any of that, what lied ahead for the unfortunate men on the front was nothing short of complete and utter chaos.

After the shouting died down, it seemed like a wave of supernatural pressure fell on Marstilov and all men who knew what was now ahead of them. The intercom, silent as can be, had gone from scattered screaming to pure nothingness in seconds. A drop of sweat ran down Marstilov's face as he stayed vigilant, watching as the white readings in the distance ceased their movements, and seemed to be adjusting their guns. What was now occurring between the Karakhaznians and the Chilokveris was something spiritual, a connection of respect and suppressed feelings of sorrow for having to sin in the name of their sacred homelands. A biblical iron staredown was taking place, a phenomenon that very few would be able to tell of to their children and grandchildren. The tensions were broken by a thunderous boom which echoed throughout the valley as a Chilokveri tank launched the Devil's hand of death out of it's 120mm main cannon. Immediately following was a fiery explosion as one of the VKD-3M IFVs was pulverised from the plain of existence.

"COUNTERMEASURES, DEPLOY COUNTERMEASURES," shouted Marstilov, yelling at his crew and over the intercom.

Before the order was relayed through to every armoured unit at the front, 22 vehicles had already been completely pulverised, while another seven lay incapacitated, sitting ducks for more inflowing tank shells and artillery raining down onto the ground around them. Even with composite reactive armour fitting and the late deployment of Arena countermeasure systems, the Chilokveri salvo was so large as to inflict such a ridiculous amount of knockout hits. Chilokveri tanks were moving in and out of cover, continuing to lay down a blanket of fire on the vehicles. The Arena active protection system blocked raining artillery rounds from knocking out the vehicles from above, and prevented Chilokveri ATGMs from inflicting kill hits for a small time, while the reactive armour came up big as the engagements became more selective. In a prophetic feat of fortune and luck, Marstilov's vehicle remained unaffected.

"Dima, activate the anti-tank guided missiles, make sure the backup tracking systems are in active in case they try jamming our radar, we're in business. Target any vehicle in the middle of the pack," Marstilov commanded the crew gunner, "additionally, adjust the autocannon to the correct distance reading. If our guided missiles don't knock them out, we'll pepper them with gunfire until they're neutralised. Should it get worse, Ilya," now speaking to the crew countermeasures operator, "deploy the smoke screen, and we will coordinate what to from there."

One of the ATGMs was released from the confines of he VKD-3M, and Marstilov watched as the round soared across the distance and impacted the target, sending flames sky high into the air. Many of the other vehicles were or already had followed suit, and were proceeding with the engagement plan for keeping the enemy tanks at bay. Plumes of fire periodically rose to the sky in the distance and in the Karakhaznian line, now becoming a tit-for-tat, even sort of battle. With both sides being equipped with modern countermeasures and armour, results were mixed, and a lot of the rounds being fired weren't resulting in knockout hits. Still, the Karakhaznian vehicular force struggled to stay intact, finding their armour plating weaker than those of the Chilokveri tanks. The only things that were really frequently inflicting one-hit knockouts were 120mm rounds from the Karakhaznian tank destroyers and those of the Chilokveri tanks, respectively. Everything was lying in the hands of the big guns, now.

...

The young Saman Korzikov was sprinting for his life, above him a steady stream of bright yellow fire, which morphed what should have been an eerily dark night sky into something akin to afternoon daylight in the form of strobes. The cold sweat of fear and nervousness drenched his innermost padding, adding to the weight of the combat uniform, making the already slower man run like a snail under the unreleting hail of destructing being unleashed by the Chilokveris in the distance. Clutching his new Kz. 2A service rifle tightly, he ran past a soldier who was curled up on the ground, yelling at God for having forsaken him, and begging to be returned to the sanctity of his home and his family's care. Diving into a small shell hole, he was immediately piled on by what was now a dead body - the guy behind him was instantly killed when he was hit with shrapnel that pierced him through and through the heart.

Pushing the body off of him, he got as deep into the shell hole as he could, trying to cover himself from the deafening sound of the booming guns and explosions all around him, and reduce the chance of him getting blown up by the artillery shells which were now raining down upon them. The hyperlethal Chilokveri artillery landed one large explosion followed by several smaller ones, capable of downing massive clumps of men who were too closely grouped together. Once flat, the land had been turn into a barren landscape of pitfalls and little hills. Other men, fearing to meet the same fate as their unfortunate comrades, sought to take cover in any place they could find, even if it meant huddling up to an active VKD-3M. Korzikov was impressed by the display of teamwork and calmness under pressure occurring in front of him as engineers made quick work, placing down groups of high power line charges, clearing paths for anti tank troops to proceed forward into accurate engagement range, under the cover of the friendly armour behind them.

After making a few hasty adjustments to find the correct channel, he began speaking into the mic of the radio. He, and other radio operators across the front, had the single most important job in the world at the moment. If they failed to relay the information back to the artillery coordinators behind them, the entire operation would fail, and Karakhaznia would likely be forced to retreat or hastily devise a plan B, which wouldn't go as well as the original plan and would give even more time for the Chilokveris to prepare.

"Come in, come in, this is Saman Korzikov, requesting a fire mission," Saman screamed at the top of his lungs into the radio, and listened for a reply with the headphones provided. Satisfyingly, after a few seconds of static, he was greeted with the distorted voice of his old friend, Anatoly Grisevich, who had been assigned to the less perilous part of the operation in comparison to Korzikov.

"Saman! I hear you, buddy, you're our first call in. I couldn't quite copy, though, so please repeat your last."

"I am requesting a fire mission at the following grid coordinates, danger close," Saman bellowed in reply to have his voice heard, and he began listing off a series of grid coordinates for what looked to be clusters of Chilokveri armour in the distance. He couldn't really see the chassis, even with night vision gear, because they were too far away, but when they fired from the same position more than once, it made for a rather obvious notation of positioning and consistent locations. He couldn't wait for a reply, as the static became too strong, so he tossed the radio aside, and dug in, trying his best to keep calm until the salvo was launched. Korzikov had done his part, and he knew that if he died, he would've served his purpose. Other radio operators found themselves in similar positions. Some regulars were now finding themselves yelling to radios, trying to explain the basic coordinates to the artillery coordinators. Somehow, the job needed to get done, for the furthering of the offensive and to honour the sacrifices of those who fought and died as practical meat shields for the radio operators.

Behind the Fighting

Anatoly Grisevich, while moving forward at quick tempo with the rest of his company, relayed the coordinates given by Saman back to the border base of Antashka in Karakhaznia, where a vast array of SRBMs, MLRS, and howitzer guns awaited the command to fire. MLRS, SPGs, and howitzers would all participate in a series of salvos on known Chilokveri positions, with the hope of forcing the retreat of Chilokveri armour. If the salvo was relatively successful and there were still armoured threats that needed to be dealt with, the process would continue. Should it fail, SRBMs would be considered a viable way to put the ring the bells of death on the Chilokveris if it came to such desperation.

The Volechka 5A, the main MLRS system of the Karakhaznian Army, was an absolute beast of a vehicle, with a massive chassis and 18 barrels to boast. 10 Volechka's would light up the night sky with powerful SVSM6 rockets, equipped with SADARM submunitions to have a better chance to knock out Chilokveri heavy armour, while another 10, which were originally loaded with anti-infantry cluster submunitions, were repurposed to fire SADARM as well. A steady stream of high explosive rounds launched from an assortment of SPGs would rain hell down upon the Chilokveri grid positions. Howitzer guns already inside Chilokver would also provide the same sort of fire support as the SPGs, with increased accuracy due to the closer range. Karakhaznian air superiority aircraft had direct orders to not waste bombs or any sort of munitions on the Chilokveri tanks currently engaging the front line forces, rather, report the positions of any reinforcements or small encampments along the way, and save the majority of munitions for knocking out Chilokveri artillery, which was currently decimating the Karakhaznian infantry at the front. Meanwhile, the SA-2 Pterodactyl specialised bombers, under small-scale escort, would attempt to drop their bombs on any Chilokveri assets between the artillery and the front line. The hope was that the air superiority fighters combined with electronic warfare harassing the enemy's largest assets would be enough to provide a veil of fire for the bombers to hide behind, quickly drop their payload, and leave.

The Captain of Anatoly's company, "Polar" being his callsign, suddenly stopped, crouched down, and raised his hand, signaling for the rest of the company to seize their movements as well. Puncturing through the silence and tranquility, the booming sounds of war could be heard just over the horizon, accompanied by a brilliant show of bright yellow fireworks. Tracer rounds and explosions lit up the sky, turning it to an ominous yellow-orange color in the area where the first engagements had started. Grisevich, taking it all in, suddenly felt a blanket of nervousness cover him. Soon enough, he would be in there, and his life would be in the hands of luck and fate, along with the rest of the Karakhaznian Army. Although they were some of the best trained and most versatile infantry in the world, none of them had seen combat, and none of them were prepared for what was ahead.

"Men, we've got other orders," the Captain said, breaking comm silence, "our company is to proceed around the right flank of the front line. Engagements have begun, and the Chilokveris are packing heat, bringing everything they've got to the front. We are to proceed past them without firing a shot, and focus on condensing the outside parts of the Chilokveri force into a small area."

"Sir," Anatoly interjected, "armoured assets traveling with us? I know that we're an AT company, but there's no way we're going to be able to beat back multiple platoons of Chilokveri armour, should we encounter them."

"Yes," the Captain reassured, "directly behind us is a squad of tank destroyers and one TK-15. Not only can that tank beat out squads of theirs, but it's long range adaptive active protection system can cover us like none other, at least for some time."

"What," questioned Omar, "then why don't we just take em head on at the front?"

"The armoured division is already compromising for us by sending us our company, specifically, with one of those. Others weren't so lucky. It's because we want to put as little of them in danger as physically possible, we're going to need the TK-15s for the mountains and for Fukan. Plus, there's just too much firepower at the front right now, we'd be bound to lose some up there. Grisevich called in artillery to substitute, and he will continue to do so, that is our strategy at the front. The TK-15 will be more effective when it will force the enemies to readjust their focus from the front to it, which will allow our friendlies to advance with far greater ease."

"Who, may I ask," beckoned the second-in-command in the company, "is partaking in this operation?"

"The whole corps," bluntly replied the Captain, "we're just one small part in an operation of magnitude that the world has never seen. Now, enough questions, lads, we're fine. We need to get our arses moving or we'll be late to the party. Let's go, double time."

Looking behind him with his night vision gear, Anatoly could barely see the TK-15, flanked by four tank destroyers, far off in the distance. They'll catch up, he reassured himself, they god damn better. Anatoly jogged along with the rest of his company, holding his AK-74M with at his side with one hand. He had hoped that the new Kz. 2As would come in for the Shock Infantry, but as per the usual, the Army got them first, and the SI wouldn't get them until they were at the base of the mountains, if they made it to the base of the mountains. The Army probably needed them more anyway, considering that they would be in the gutter for the entire operation.

Suddenly, a series of grand resonating blasts were heard from behind them. Instantly flinching to see what it was, he looked up to the sky to see bright yellow rockets soaring through the air, barreling across his field of view as they lit the sky like giant torches. Rounds that were too fast to be seen were accompanying them. The first barrage had finally begun, and now, the Karakhaznians were in business.

Krosni-Karakhaznian Border

Koshkuduk was a depressing place. At the base of the now volatile Grostazina Sector of the Ostrevem Mountain Range, the gray aesthetic covered in the off-white colour of never-ending snow made it a very hard place to look at. It was less a village than it was a conglomeration of ugly and semi-rundown block buildings, left over from the Communist Regime that fell in the 70s. Somehow, 5,000 civilians unassociated with the military lived in the area, not in poverty but not living at a very high standard, either. In the midst rapid and unstoppable modernisation of Karakhaznia and it's people over the last 40 years, Koshkuduk was forgotten, and remained as it was under the pseudo-Jucheist regime.

The town of complete irrelevance was now the buzz of Karakhaznia Daily, multiple tens of millions of Karakhaznians turning their attention to the town and it's movements as the Krosnian military buffed up their presence along the border. Karakhaznia's own Elite Mountaineer Guards were dispatched to the area to overlook exactly what was taking place, and take necessary measures to stop it if needed. Instead of living in Koshkuduk, they slept in an underground base which had been constructed inside one of the mountains in the middle of the Grostazina Sector, and made the trek to the front on the daily to spectate any possible hostile movements. Specialising in snowy, gritty mountain combat, the High Command had full confidence that the one-of-a-kind mountaineers would be able to contain and neutralise a threat from Krosnian regulars should they try anything stupid.

Nursultan Kozlov, a sniper who had qualified for the EMG through unrivaled performance in Karakhaznia's roughest combat and training simulations, had been positioned in one of the small repurposed caves near the base of the mountain, looking past Koshkuduk with his binoculars. Something out of the ordinary was occurring today. Through the light snow coverage and fog, Kozlov could clearly see that one Krosnian BTR, flanked by infantry, had not stopped moving forward for the past twenty minutes. In fact, it looked as if the patrol was across the border. Kozlov had given them a chance, a ten minute window to see if they would retreat back as they usually did, but they didn't. They were coming dangerously close to one of the AT mine cluster positions, as well. Kozlov, unsure of what to do, radioed EMG command back at base.

"High Tower, High Tower, this is Kozlov, come in," he said, waiting for a reply.

"Yes, go ahead," someone spoke blankly back into the radio.

"I've got eyes on what looks like a standard Krosnian patrol, a BTR flanked by about 8 men, they will not stop moving forward," he replied, looking out below into the distance as the patrol continued to move ahead, "they appear to be approaching one of our anti-tank mine clusters. What do we do?"

"Yes, we've had about 30 other reports come in about these guys, already. Let them come, one of the mines will knock it out, they are on a direct path towards one of them, according to my map. Engage those who survive the mine blast - the Krosnians are going to get exactly what they are looking for. After this, they'll either attempt to go into Koshkuduk or hold their tempers. We've got plans for Koshkuduk, but we'll get there when the time comes."

"Affirmative, High Tower, proceeding with orders."

Kozlov shook his head, closing his eyes and resting it on the stock of his bipod-mounted Sako TRG-42 sniper rifle. In his mind, combat could be easily avoided, despite the Krosnian sabre rattling. The EMG could have sent a signal to the Krosnian BTR to return home, and nobody would die. However, that would alert them of EMG presence in the mountains, which they currently didn't yet know of. The EMG, or "abominable snowmen" as they were jokingly called, was depending on the element of surprise in the opening stages of combat to make sure that they got the upper hand, and then, the gritty ground combat would be an even easier and more natural endeavour for the monsters lurking in the mountains. The newest of Karakhaznia's long range anti air batteries, the A2K Prometey, under the concealment of the deep forest far behind Grostazina, would ruin the days of Krosnian airmen from hundreds of kilometers away. Krosnian heavy artillery would be made virtually obsolete by EMG guerilla stealth tactics, constantly in movement and always in concealment to harass enemy infantry. Krosnian medium-heavy armour would likely be the biggest threat to the mountaineers, but casualties from those assets should be rather limited if the mountaineers used cover and concealment to perfection.

All of a sudden, a plume of fire rose to the sky as a mine exploded under the tracks of the BTR. The vehicle's tracks were knocked out, sitting idle in the snow as the chassis burned, the men inside with it. Blood stained the snow as three of the surrounding infantry were instantly killed by the blast, the rest looking disoriented or injured from the concussion. Gunshots erupted from the mountains, and Kozlov watched through his rifle scope as the Krosnians were lit up by precision fire from a number of rifles. He ignored the disoriented men who were being fired at, as they were already as good as dead. Instead, Nursultan watched to hatch of the BTR, ready to neutralise anyone trying to leave. The hatch opened, and the head and torso of an enemy soldier popped out. Already adjusted for distance, Kozlov instantly pulled the trigger and released a .338 Lapua round from the barrel, the sound of his rifle echoing through the mountain range. Blood erupted around the man as the bullet impacted his chest, sending him back into BTR. He immediately rose his scope and began scanning the horizon, as reinforcements were bound to come. An active state of war now existed between Krosny and Karakhaznia.

by **Krosny-Zdzieszowice** » Sat Feb 11, 2017 5:48 pm

Recz Border Checkpoint
Krosny-Karakhaznia Border

Two men, Sergeant Cyboir Marszałek and Sergeant Kajetan Szczepanski smoked inside a small guard shack right behind the defined border between Krosny and Karakhaznia. There were two guard shacks, both on opposite sides of the only road leading in from the Stasnov-esque town of Koshkuduk into Recz and the train station north of it. In the middle was a red and white painted road barrier, lowered down. Next to the two men was a chest full of tolls paid for by a occasional Karakhaznian driver coming through to perhaps by some locally-made vodka, or perhaps a returning Krosnyan, coming back from doing whatever he was doing.

*BOOM*

Cybior and Kajetan looked up, trying to find the source of the noise. Something had happened. They looked east of the checkpoint and saw a pillar of flames. Kajetan quickly grabbed a pair of binoculars and zoomed in. A BTR on patrol, which he thought had somehow gone across the border had hit a mine. Several men around the vehicle were laying on the ground, dead or injured. A soldier hiding behind the BTR, which was cooking off ran to his left, and promptly was taken out by a bullet. But from where?

Kajetan quickly reached up and grabbed the shack's telephone, which was wired up to the LKSW Command Post just about 60 meters behind them. He called in, to have the telephone reciever respond back to him.

"This is checkpoint admittance, we just heard a large explosion! One of our BTR's seems to have mistakenly gone across the border, it blew up and killed a couple of soldiers around it, we saw some gunfire pick off a survivor."

"We all saw that explosion, fool, I didn't know we had Karakhaznians engaging though! Which shack are you in, if you can find the distance of the BTR from your shack and give the exact direction of the BTR explosion we can figure out if this was all just one giant mistake or if they've actually declared war on us. Get to it, now!"

Ser. Kajetan picked up his rangefinder binoculars, different from the other pair he was just using. He triangulated the BTR patrol's position, about 550 meters away from the shack. He took out a compass to confirm the direction and reported it.

"Explosion was about 550 meters from our shack, the one on the right. Direction is around 210-230 degrees."

"Copy. We'll see if the patrol violated Karakhaznian borders. A response force is henceforth incoming."

A few minutes later, the two men looked behind them to see a convoy of armed vehicles incoming. Three OPWP-12 APC's and two flat bed trucks behind them barreled in from the distance. The convoy pulled over and stopped before the train station. A single flatbed filled with troops continued into the town and stopped at the command post.

Recz LKSW Command Post
Krosny-Karakhaznia Border

"Judging from the information given to us by border checkpoint security, our patrol entered Karkhaznian borders and spent anywhere up to twenty minutes across the border before being engaged."

This lonely town's Commissar, Konstantyn Szwedko was engaged in intense conversation with a deputy, at his rank.

"Yes. We have also confirmed that Karakhaznian soldiers, most likely snipers engaged surviving soldiers who weren't killed by the blast. Our relief convoy has arrived, you have been authority to cross the border, Konstantyn."

"Well, we can't exactly let them get away with killing our men can we? I want our mortar to be set up and our machine guns moved to this building, on the third and second floors. The machine gun at the checkpoint will stay. All LKSW commanding personnel will leave the building to move back a few miles. At my order, the machine guns will provide suppressing fire on Koshkuduk and any possible positions in the surrounding mountains. The mortar will bomb the forest. If we receive heavy fire, a spotter in the mountain some 600 meters south of the train station will begin spotting enemy positions. When I give the call for suppressing fire to end our troops will cross the border and secure Koshkuduk. The civilians in the town will be allowed to flee to Chekchuvaldak and further south. If artillery is needed, the spotter will be contacted and relay the grid co-ordinates back."

"Understood, Komisarz. I'll inform the troops."

...

Konstantyn walked out of the LKSW building. Four trucks, mostly loaded with personnel, documents, supplies and other stuff were already in the back. He entered the cab of the first truck, riding shotgun and told the driver to leave with the other trucks. The lead truck turned around to head north and the other trucks did the same. The Karakhaznian snipers had to have known what was going on. The Krosnians were preparing for the worse case, or they were about to engage was probably their reasoning for this. The troops were entering the border checkpoint's buildings and setting up sandbag defenses and breastworks. The machine guns positioned inside the building were positioned close to boxes of ammunition for the sake of not wasting any time.

Konstantyn radioed it in once he and the other trucks were at a nearby artillery battery. It was becoming dark, it was 6:30PM now and the air was thick with the beams of the sun, now under the horizon creating several shades of red, orange and yellow.

"Units, open up suppression fire on Koshkuduk and the nearby mountains. Engage any hostiles."

Suddenly, three sets of tracer rounds opened up onto Koshkuduk. Any snipers who had stuck around would have been surprised. As the sporadic bursts of fire came upon the entire area, the mortar fire starting coming in on the nearby mountain range. The armored APC's began firing, waiting for the call telling them to advance. The war had begun.

by **New Elesar** » Sat Feb 11, 2017 11:08 pm

February 12, 2017
1:23 AM, Military Base on the Elesar-Stasnov Border

Colonel Anatoly Fyodorov couldn't sleep. War was both literally and figuratively just over the horizon, and he and his men were right on the front lines. For the longest time, the Empire had managed to stay out of a conflict with the "eternal enemy" that was Stasnov, but with last year's conflict in Seversk and this new, worldwide war, there was no way that the Empire would not be stepping in to aid its allies. The Republic of Grozav Inima could be described as the Empire's greatest ally, and President Petre Balan had sent regiments of Grozav Inima's military to Elesar to help in any potential conflict with Stasnov.

Colonel Fyodorov rolled out of bed, put on his long wool officer's coat and stepped outside for a smoke. The Grozyar troops were impressive, certainly, but the language barrier made it incredibly difficult to communicate without a dedicated translator on hand. He lit up his cigarette and took a long drag. Language barrier or not, they're important allies, he thought there's no way we're getting out of this one without their help. It was a freezing night out, and a light snow had begun to fall about an hour earlier. If this conflict dragged on into summer, the ground would thaw and turn to mud. That would hinder tanks, trucks, artillery, and anything else that wasn't flying. Even in modern times, where entire navies could be destroyed with the press of a button, Mother Nature was an unstoppable adversary.

-WIP-

by **Chazicaria** » Tue Feb 14, 2017 5:11 pm

2:35 PM
2nd IRN Fleet, Supercarrier IRN Prime
Command Bridge

"Not without a fight, you red fucks."

Those were the last words of Vice Admiral Jared McHenry Stokes, broadcast over open radio channels to the opposing Brytisc, Valdian, and presumably Stasnovan naval units. Just as he'd spoken those words into the live radio, a Stasnovan missile impacted the bridge of the Prime, killing him instantly, along with his entire bridge crew.

This was not before he managed to give the final order to the remaining ships under his command, "Breach the walls of Ozaroc. Valdiu can bleed."

Commanding officers of each ship new exactly what this meant- it was a reference to the famed Siege of Ozaroc in which 60,000 Chazicaria soldiers stormed a ludicrously heavily defended fort during the Civil War. The assault itself was completely repulsed with tens of thousands of men killed, but it had allowed the Emperor's personal army time to assault the nearby town of Ozaroc and win a massive victory for the Imperial Republic.

As soon as the order went out, every last remaining combat vessel, of which there were 12, dispatched every last missile that they had available. Most of the destroyers had been holding back their arsenals until now, so this would be a healthy dose of death and destruction to the chosen receivers of the attack- the Valdians.

From the destroyers, 8 in total with the primary fleet, 25 medium-close range AShMs were launched directly at the 9 Valdian ships dispatched to reach. It would be up to 9 ships to destroy 200 missiles- even with shore defenses that would be virtually impossible, especially considering the damaged state of said shore defenses.

Those same 8 destroyers also launched the last of their long range AShMs, 6 each. This group of 48 missiles, the most advanced available to the Chazicarian fleet, was targeted at the bulk of the Valdian fleet. It would be the destroyers who did the most damage to the Valdians though- the remaining 3 all launched the entirety of their missiles as well.

Of these cruisers, 2 exclusively targeted the primary Valdian fleet, each dispatching 12 long range AShMs along with 60 medium-close range missiles.

The final cruiser, Pharaoh, was separate from the Chazicarian fleet and currently assisting the invasion fleet in its objective near Reach. It had another target- Reach's defenses. Instead of engaging the opposing fleet, the Pharaoh launched another 20 medium-close range missiles at the still-sailing Valdian destroyers in Reach's waters. Additionally, 36 land-strike cruise missiles were fired at land-based AEGIS stations and missile defenses.

This attack was the final call of the 2nd Fleet, as minutes after launching it, the 2nd was completely obliterated. Every last ship, barring the Pharaoh and submarines, was either sunk or mission killed in the barrage of Brytisc, Valdian, and Stasnovan missiles. Only the attack aircraft and AWACS deployed by the Prime and Kaiser were left to finish its work. The AWACS, of course, would be able to remain in the air long enough to guide the missiles to their targets and provide live targeting info, all while the aircraft, 4 squadrons full, engaged the Valdian fleet as they made their way to their only potential safe haven: the newly arrived 1st IRN Fleet.

2:40 PM
3rd Navy Fighter Squadron
F-7cN "Blue Falcon" Naval Fighter

With the end of the 2nd Fleet occurring as they flew, the remaining 100 aircraft broken down into 4 squadrons, 50 fighters and 50 strike fighters, had but one chance for survival, and that was to reach the carriers of the 1st IRN Fleet where they could potentially salvage at least a number of the aircraft. However, there was an obstacle in their way: the entire Valdian fleet.

This meant that the only option for the aircraft would be to fly right through it. Of course, on their way through, it was expected that many would be shot right out of the sky by Valdian AA, but the Chazicarians had a little something up their own sleeves.

As the aircraft came upon the opposing force, they did so just minutes after the fleet's missiles struck, meaning the Valdians would likely be in disarray. This would be met with strike fighters all unleashing their short range AShMs, 100 in total deployed against any targets that hadn't been struck by missiles already, with 2 from each strike fighter.

The fighters of the formation would have relatively little to do, as apparently the Valdians hadn't deployed fighters beforehand. Instead, they moved ahead with an entirely different target: the Stasnovans.

Stasnov had deployed a significant number of its naval bombers to the theater and they'd done their job- though to do it, they'd put themselves in a precarious position. They'd either have to refuel, a process which would be virtually impossible with so many aircraft, or they could fly on towards Valdiu. Doing the latter would put them right in the sights of the Chazicarian pilots who were headed east to meet with the 1st Fleet. A long range volley of radar guided missiles (with secondary heat tracking) would be all that was necessary to inflict a plentiful amount of pain on the formation.

And that was but round 1.

2:55 PM
2nd IRN Fleet, Supercarrier IRN Sovereign
Command Bridge

This was not a good day. The 2nd Fleet, according to the limited reports available, had been obliterated. The culprits were 4 in number: Valdians, Brytisc, Stasnovans, and the righteous stupidity of Jared Stokes. Grand Admiral Calvin Trevelyan, hero of the Chazicarian fleet, would allow no such occurrence to happen to his fleet. Approaching from the east, the 1st IRN Fleet had traveled straight from the Gulf of Cydonia is pursuit of the Valdian fleet when it was learned that they'd somehow managed to make it past him.

Being the pride of the Imperial Republican Navy, the 1st had a greater compliment of combat ships than the 2nd, and as a result would make life living hell for any and all who stood in the way of the Chazicarian invasion. The first such action in support of this mission was going to be the absolute massacre of every Valdian alive in their little fleet.

To accomplish this, the 10 cruisers and 10 destroyers of the fleet each launched long range AShM volleys that were guaranteed to cause devastation. Each of the cruisers launched 8 such missiles, while the destroyers each launched 6, totaling at 140 such missiles. Additionally, another 50 land strike cruise missiles were fired at the Valdian's land based AEGIS, missile, and defensive sites.

Another lovely little treat provided by the Chazicarian reinforcements was a squadron of fighters- stealth fighters, to be precise. The IRN had 50 such fighters in 2 squadrons, both deployed to the 1st Fleet. While both were ordered into the sky, only one was currently actually in the air. This was going to be the squadron that finished off the Stasnovans.

The Stasnovans, having to essentially fly between the Valdian and Chazicarian fleets to reach Valdia, would be easily caught by the much faster Chazicarian fighters flying in a heavily dispersed formation as they launched their own volley of long range missiles and moved to intercept with short range ones.

The real fight was here, and it was going to be brutal.

3:00 PM
1st Special Bomber Squadron
B-100b "Nightsky" Strategic Stealth Bomber

It had been the 2nd Special Bomber Squadron, made up of 3 Nightskys, that had dropped the first bombs on Valdiu.

It would be the 1st Special Bomber Squadron, made up only of 2, that dropped the biggest ones, however. Specifically, they were dropping the massive 16,000 lb thermobaric beasts that would clear the way for the Marine Riflemen.

Targets chosen for this strike were the fortifications and bases all around Reach and Deca. Specifically, the massive naval base at the center of the harbor (which would take 2 bombs by itself, enough to flatten it, in all likelihood), as well as the 4 bases nearest Reach and Deca. The northernmost facility would remain untouched, as the Marine Riflemen wouldn't be venturing near it anytime soon. After dispatching their ordnance, the bombers would immediately turn around and head back to Mairland, being refueled once along the way.

The largest ordnance yet deployed in the war was going to be felt around the world, but especially in Valdiu.

3:05 PM
3rd Amphibious Assault Combat Brigade, 2nd Marine Riflemen Division
M11 "Galleon" Amphibious IFV

There were 5 different Amphibious Assault Combat Brigades (4,500 men each) taking part in the naval invasion at this moment, backed up by the remaining 5 Marine Multipurpose Combat Brigades, all of which had been loaded up into their Galleons and put in the water hours ago. It was only now that they'd be reaching land, though. The recent bombings had left even the Marines almost deafened by the explosive power of the thermobarics.

It wasn't long, though, before the booming fire of heavy and light machine guns and automatic grenade launchers drowned out the sounds of the bombing as the AIFVs started to make landfall. Any vehicles, specifically tanks, that opposed the landing force would be met with precise ATGM fire from the AIFVs, as well as sustained anti-tank rocket and missile fire from infantry teams that were able to dismount from their vehicles.

The locations of the landing were all to the west and north of Deca, just outside its outskirts. Small UAVs launched from the AIFVs provided immediately useful intelligence to the Marine Riflemen, spotting positions and enemy movements and allowing the invading troops to better anticipate enemy responses.

by **Grozav Inima** » Tue Feb 14, 2017 10:11 pm

Kapitány Bonifác Hajós
TAH-15, Corsair Class
3rd Submarine Squadron

The Corsairs lurked under the waves still, the battle was going ill, the two navies were both engaged in a vicious and brutal dual to the death, with no holds barred and fangs bared. The Corsairs had no desire for such foolishness, in the case of the fall of Elesar, the submarine fleet would be critical to helping area denial along the Grozyar coast, hopefully keeping the Stasnovans from launching a successful invasion from the sea. That wasn't to say they had no part to play. The wolfpack still had most of their fangs unused, namely four STIR-83 Ballista Cruise Missiles each. They patched into the GRV-KKK targeting sattelites in orbit, the Ballista was a fire-and-forget missile, once the Corsairs let them loose, their guidance systems would use smart scanners, GPS guidance and pre-programmed flight maps to strike within 100m of their targets.

They targeted surface installations, known military bases were targeted with high explosive warheads, airfields with sub-munitions dispensers designed to ruin the airfield and make it difficult or impossible to launch many aircraft. A total of five each were aimed at two airbases in Reach and Decanus, four more struck the naval base in the center of the bay, two each were aimed at the five defensive installations and radar stations along the border.

After they loosed their warheads they quickly bugged out, keeping at silent running as they crept back to Grozav Inima. At the righteous destruction that had been loosed upon Reach it would be amazing if any buildings remained standing in a weeks time. All was quiet on the other Grozyar Fronts, a ceasefire with Huda gave their forces there a long and luxurious rest in Ziadistan while the world fell apart all around them. The Stasnovans had not yet invaded Elesar either, but once they did, this time of relative calm for the Republican Defence Force would be shattered.

Bukik-Karabélyos Milán Illés
Bróker Squad, Republican Guard - Special Operations (KG-KM)
Songha

The KG-I had drafted an ingenious plan to obliterate Acronian morale and gain some critical information all in one fell swoop, cutting the hamstring of the Acronian force on the Songha Front. The Princess of Acronius, one Esther Astride Blanche Danielle, was touring the front along with a number of Acronian military staff. The KG-I had somehow found themselves in possession of a basic itinerary of one of their travelling days, a convoy of military vehicles, mostly likely MRAPs and IFVs, would make their way down a highway between two military bases, the three squads of KG-KM could halt the convoy, and quickly swoop in to kidnap the staff and princess. At least in theory.

Three stealth modified VH-99KL Battle Toad attack helicopters, with state-of-the-art engine shields, rotor covers, an extra main rotor blade (to slow down the rotor speed making blades quieter), RAM (Radar Absorbing Material) coating and straight lines used in construction, it was extremely difficult to detect in the dead of night, especially when flying low to the ground.

Its offensive capability incuded eight Crossbow guided missiles, capable of firing thermobaric, high explosive, fragmentation or shaped charge warheads, four FNHL-LR Striker infrared missiles, and a 20mm rotary cannon, it was a formidable attack helicopter in it's own right, but beyond its payload was the three squads of Tier One Special Forces, the KG-KM.

They crept over the border, their blades chopping through the air with surprising softness, they set down in a small field by the highway and the KG-KM disembarked, so far the plan was going excellently, they hadn't been shot out of the sky, thankfully. They found a stretch of the highway which was flanked by large tropical trees on either side, with a small amount of detonating cord, the trees were felled, creating a barrier by the end of the road.

The Convoy would need to stop and clear the blockage before continuing, and as they did, the helos would take off once more, quickly obliterating the armour with Hellfires, and Spec-Ops hidden in the trees would jump them with advanced anti tank rockets, as well as a series of pre-placed C4 explosives. The stunned convoy could hopefully be destroyed before it had a chance to react, leaving the princess and general's staff in their hands to be exfiltrated back to Songha, then flown via a Sovány PL-63 transport back to Grozav Inima.

by **Krosny-Zdzieszowice** » Tue Feb 14, 2017 11:17 pm

Coast of Zoboyizakoplayoklot
Near Khởi Dầu, Yul
KMSW Olesno Mazowiecki

In the sleek night, a dimly lit, silent destroyer halted silently in the waves. This ship was a Krosnyan destroyer, KMSW Olenso Mazowiecki. It had taken a path from Northern Krosny, cutting north past Maharlika and around, edging fairly close to Kirishiman waters then coming equally close to Maharlikan islands before entering Zoboyizakoplayoklot waters. It's one and only mission: Begin funding now-friendly Yullish rebels in the nation covertly via means of dropping supplies and training personnel.

The destroyer had traveled silently by itself up to here, trying it's best to lay low on radar or other means of detection, including visual. In the night, all non-essential lighting that could be seen from the outside was switched off. Radar was fired off very rarely, only occasionally fired off when the ship was edging Maharlikan islands and entering into Zoboyizakoplayokloti waters. This along with other measures, such as the end of non-essentially communication over radio had ensured that no paper trail for anything, or anyone following the destroyer would be left for them to follow to the ship, it's mission and the Yullish.

"Alright, The modified ASDS submarine is loaded up with the supplies they radioed us in for. Men, gather around!"

It was the very beginning of the morning. 5:30AM, about. The sun was just coming up over the water, yet it was very cold. If they fell in the water they'd freeze like ice cubes. At the very bottom floor of the ship, that was above deck at least a open hangar storing two of the submarines were stored in the water there. Four sailors gathered around a single officer.

"Koblyin, Stozek, you two get in the front. You two will drive, the GPS has been set up. Osiek will man the submarines external cameras and telescope, Kunow will man the radio. I will be in one of the modified bunks that's been left empty. All the supplies in this ASDS have already been accounted for, everything's good. Now, get in and let's go!"

The five men opened the sliding doors into the ASDS submarine, a sixty-five foot long craft filled mostly with ammunition, guns and breastwork equipment. They entered into the subs in full uniform, with two soldiers behind them pulling the sliding open doors back and shutting them securely. Inside, the men locked the sliding doors and radioed that they were ready to leave.

The ASDS submarine moved forward, leaving the water-level submarine hangar in the stopped destroyer. It's propeller moved quickly as the submarine rapidly descended to periscope level. It had a maximum speed of 20 miles, which while slow got the job done. Besides that, the distance wasn't too far only thirty miles. That was really stretching it though, about as soon as the submarine left the destroyer took off at full speed to leave for more open waters.

...

A hour and thirty minutes later, the town of Khởi Dầu was in visual sight from the ASDS's periscope. It was time to call in the submarine's arrival now. Sailor Kunov switched the radio to the channel that the Yullish, after extensive vetting were confirmed to be the only users of. Kunov picked up the radio speaker and tuned into the radio channel, speaking in a decent Yullish tongue.

"Yullish Liberation Force, do you copy? We are the Krosnians that were promised to you a few days ago, we're about a mile from the town by sea and we're full of highly enjoyable treats for you all."

"Ah yes, our new friends. Where are you?"

"We'll bring her up. No government forces to worry about, huh?"

The two drivers of the ASDS drove the submarine up to sea level, making the top half of the submarine clearly visible and shiny in the early morning sky. The periscope, snorkel and other devices were dropped. Inside the submarine, the men began to look for a spot to beach the submarine. Eventually they spotted a shallows that ran for perhaps a hundred feet. The submarine headed for the shallows, and beached itself there. The submarine sliding doors opened.

The men stepped out to see a small patrol of YLF guerrillas expecting them there. They motioned them over to the boat, and the radio operator communicated with the patrol leader. They got the idea and signaled others to help unload the simply massive amount of ammunition, guns and valuable items that would be essential to the YLF forces.

Near Songhese-Chilokver Border
Unknown Hotel Building
Czesław Ksawery

Czesław looked at the messy table in front of him. He was born in Krosny. He pledged his loyalty and life to Al-Qaria. He made the devices that would kill dozens if not hundreds on a daily basis. And he made them in some run-down hotel near the conflict zone with Songha and Chilokver. He undeniably had a interesting life. But for him, this was now the norm. He had enough weaponry to wipe the slate clean of a entire squad of infantry, should he ever be cornered by a squad of infantry.

He was a professional bomb-maker for Al-Qaria, and they certainly treated him well for it. By shoving him in a moldy, unclean hotel room that probably violated a dozen plus health code violations. He would have welcomed a job infiltrating a Cydonian prison camp to convert the prisoners to Allah than do this. It was just temporary though, they'd move him in a few weeks. A couple contacts he talked with on a landline had shared their opinion that the Chilokverians would be at his location by the month's end.

In front of him was a thirty pound bomb. Al-Qaria had given him twenty pounds of C4 and plastic explosive to play around with to make a large, cell-phone operated IED for use on the side of a road somewhere. Well, not somewhere. They had instructed him to plant it on a road the Chilokverians would use once they seized the region. From there he'd hand the phone to another guy, and he'd blow the thing sky-high, whatever was poor enough to drive next to it when he was there.

A small explosion was heard in the distance. Czesław quickly rushed to the window and looked to the direction of the explosion. He may have stored a IED in the area where that went off. Did it cook off on accident? Did someone, or something set it off? Or was the war closer than he thought it was. He looked to his bomb. He couldn't leave, not in this state. The bomb wasn't complete. He opened up the closet door and pulled out a loaded AK-47. If the war was coming to him, he wouldn't go down without a fight. Armed with grenades, bullets, a defensive advantage and the ability to level the second story he was on. He was ready.

by **Zoboyizakoplayoklot** » Wed Feb 15, 2017 8:57 pm

Songha
The drone had been tailing the convoy for hours, and as its battery drained lower and lower, it managed to snap one last picture of the Acronian column below. It then turned around, making a beeline back to the Zoboyizakoplayokloti safe house. The safe house had been used by Zoboyizakoplayokloti secret services for decades, and the Songhese government had not been notified of it until fairly recently. In fact, if it wasn't for the establishment of the ICFS, it was unlikely they would've found out at all. Now, as the "empty" warehouse that was home to "squatters" now had an additional platoon of Zoboyizakoplayokloti Special Ops soldiers stationed there in addition to its small amount of original inhabitants, it was now an excellent base of operations for any silent work the Federal government needed done in the area. As a result, it came as no surprise that when a semi-suspicious Acronian contingent was discovered in the area, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis made it their number one priority. The only problem was that the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis had no idea what was in the Acronian convoy. It was guarded heavily by both Acronian and Valdian forces, and judging by the info gathered from the mid level encryption Acronian radio transmissions hacked by the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis, it seemed to be on a set route between military camps. This worried the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis slightly. Was it a large shipment of weapons? A show of force along the edges of the battlefield? Both theories were possible, but the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis needed answers. So up flew the drone, a Predator drone customized for long range surveillance, nicknamed "Tsakhlai" by its operators. It managed to run its course undetected, and now that it was back at base, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis now had a plethora of images to inspect.

Ozbeg tapped his foot anxiously as he uploaded the pictures from the drone on to his computer. Being permanently stationed in Songha as a ZFIB strategic analyst, the last couple months of his life had certainly been boring to say the least. He was rarely ever allowed to leave the blacksite, his social life restricted to the other ZFIB personnel stationed there. As a result, he was almost glad when war was declared on Chilokveri by Songha and his home country. With his post being right on the edge of the war zone, he was confident that his life was about to get more exciting. And he was right. Within a few days of war being declared, a full platoon of two dozen Special Ops troops had arrived at his door. The soldiers had initially been interesting to talk to, but Ozbeg soon found himself caught up in a large queue of work. Everyday some new task with what he perceived as minimal tactical usefulness came to him. "How's the weather where you are?" his orders would read. "Can you analyze the cloud patterns for us?" or "Do you think our troops would do well in the Chilokveri environment?". He was a strategic analyst, not a goddamn weather man. So when an order came to observe an odd Acronian convoy in the area, he was greatly relieved. One of his coworkers operated the drone and snapped the pics, and as the images finished transferring to his computer he knew it was now his turn. Doing what he does best, Ozbek scrolled through the images, looking for any sign that this convoy was special. He zoomed in, then zoomed out. He increased brightness, then lowered it. After around twenty minutes, he managed to find a breakthrough. One person seemed to constantly be the main focus of the convoy. The images showed them being heavily guarded, and possibly mingling around at stops. Fortunately, one image had their face shown. Ozbeg zoomed in and ran a search. Ozbeg figured that if this person was truly important, they'd be somewhere in the government database or civilian search engines. And he was right. Up on his monitor sprung a ZFIB profile of one Esther Astride Blanche Danielle, Acronian royalty. He grinned. This was far better than some General or politician. This was a new level, a chance to seriously damage both the military and civilian morale of Acronius, maybe even CHAVS as a whole. His moment of glory was ruined quickly however.

"Ay, Ozzie! I see you also dig some of them Acronian wheels!" hollered a soldier from the kitchen behind where Ozbeg did his work. Turning around nervously, Ozbeg gave the soldier, a Grozyar by the name of Lukacz, a state of ridicule.

"You know who this is?" he asked curiously.

"Duh, that's Esther Ashley Brittany Danika. She's an Acronian celebrity or something, yah? Lukacz paused. "I think that was her name at least. Anyways, she was voted as the Hottest Woman in Vaaldhaven by the men's magazine my dentist has in his waiting room. And let me tell you, sometimes I would wish my appointment could get delayed looking at that face. Hah!

Ozbeg pursed his lips. He wasn't a big fan of viewing women in the same light as Lukacz seemed to, but he knew many other of the soldiers stationed with him did. Extra motivation for a successful op maybe?

2 hours later
The Spec Ops troops stampeded out of the warehouse, separating into two equal groups and flooding into the vans waiting for them, labeled on the side as property of Old Man Yàn's Pizza Express. But as the vans sped down the highway towards the location of the Acronian convoy, it was obvious that the vans were not being used by an out of service pizza joint. They headed down the main road in the area, down towards a run down motel, one of the only buildings for miles. According to the same encrypted radio channels the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis had first heard of the convoy from, this should be along the Princesses' route. After driving for some time, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis pulled into the parking lot of the motel. They'd wait for the convoy to pass, and using the motel as cover, ambush the convoy. Hopefully, that plan would go off without a hitch.

by **Krosny-Zdzieszowice** » Thu Feb 16, 2017 11:23 pm

Near Songhese-Chilokver Border
Jeong Motel
Czesław Ksawery

"Samir, yes. My gun's in the duffel bag, along with some mags if we need them. I've packed the bag full of clothes so the magazines and the gun won't poke out. Let's get going, I know where it is."

Czesław and Samir Ziya al-Din, Samir being the only other Al-Qaria associate in hundreds of miles headed down the stairs of the second floor to the ground level and into the lobby. Staff was on coffee break. Figures. Good for the two of us, he guessed. They walked out of the building and entered Samir's rustbucket of a car. Given where they were though, it worked. They pulled out of the parking spaces and began driving towards where the Acronian convoy would be. Samir was curious though.

"Cze, where did you hear about that convoy you mentioned earlier? The one we're bringing the IED out for?"

"A certain officer travelling with the convoy is looking to mutiny. He leaked all the details of the convoy. Samir, I don't think you understand how much of a goldmine this could be for us. A princess from Acronius is in that convoy."

"Okay, now you're bullshitting me. What is this, some fucking C-rated action movie?"

"I'm not fucking kidding. Convoy is a few miles out. I've buried a IED further out her-"

He was interrupted by two vans, appearing to be pizza delivery vehicles driving one behind another in a line. He took a second to think about how stupid this fucking situation was before focusing on the empty road again. After a few minutes, Czesław pulled the car over on the side of the road. It was completely empty, probably because of the looming convoy. Good.

They got out of the car and hiked a few dozen feet into the woods, before Czesław got on his news and dug up a IED. Carefully, he picked up the crate the IED was stored in and carried it back to the car and set the crate down. Looking both ways, he ran into the middle of the road and planted down the IED, removing it from the crate. He scurried back whilst Samir held a AK-47, on alert. He picked up batches of leaves and scattered them until they covered the IED, and for the sake of not looking suspicious, they covered the entire road, looking like a windy breeze had blown the leaves onto the road. The two terrorists drove back to the hotel. The two pizza vans were parked in the parking spaces. Totally not suspicious. Samir and Czesław devised a plan.

The two, both fluent in Songhese tongue would try to fit in. Samir exited the town and chatted to Czesław about grabbing something to eat from his motel room whilst Czesław "worked on" refilling his car engine with clutch fluid, being sure to mention that they almost crashed into a fully-grown tree on the way to the motel from town.

Samir walked into the building without notice from the TBN agents in the pizza vans and took a broken-down elevator to the very top floor of the motel, then walking up a access stairway to the roof. He went prone with a pair of rangefinder binoculars and a cell phone, the one that would detonate the cell phone. Soon, as Czesław walked towards the entrance with the duffel bag in front of where the TBN specops units would fire from, Samir spotted the convoy.

He quickly speed-dialed the number '187-629-3892(6)', and watched as the lead truck, likely full of soldiers in the convoy went up in a massive explosion, taking out the second truck as well, disabling it. The convoy panicked and began to swerve around and take off at full speed. Samir took out his AK-47 and prepared to fire on the convoy.

by **Acronius** » Fri Feb 17, 2017 2:56 am

1353//17-02-17, Highway 69
5th Special Operations Group - Escort of Esther, Princess of Acronius
_______ County, _______ Province, Songha

Theme

"What now, sir?!"

Tinnitus roared a metal anthem through his ears. Blankets of smoke and dust claimed his nostrils. A deadpan, blank void settled into his eyes.

Terror grappled at his heart.

"I said, what the hell do we do now, sir?!" Camden's head panned left, panned right, and settled in the centre, focusing squarely into the eyes of Corporal Berthiaume. The former whirred back to life.

Rather quick to come to his senses, the lieutenant briskly posed his radioman a question: "Don't we have a column of APCs?" He was swiftly responded to with a nod. "Then, tell me Corporal, why in fuck is it not firing over there?", he continued, pointing at the motel in front of them. The platoon members turned to face the building, before turning back and exchanging glances. An IED set on the road had destroyed the first truck - not an RPG from the structure, as their leader appeared to think.

A gruff voice swapped in for Berthiaume. "Sir, the explosion didn't come from that motel, it was on-", volunteered one of the platoon-sergeants, but Camden interjected, gesturing at a figure on the motel roof, the silhouette of a Kalashnikov clearly visible in its hands against the afternoon sun. "That ain't no civvie, Greely." The platoon leapt for cover as the man began firing.

"Suppressing fire on that roof! Where the hell is my machine gunner?", hollered the lieutenant.

One of the privates turned. "Haynesworth is KIA, sir! Lambert, Pelayo, Keating, and Perry too - the whole fireteam, maybe even more!"

Camden cursed under his breath, before pulling Berthiaume back towards him and taking his comms device. "Command, this is Yankee-Eight, requesting available air units within sector Foxtrot 7 to reinforce immediately - authorization Sierra-Oscar-Golf-Yankee!"

"No can do, Yankee-Eight. We're picking up mobile AAs in neighboring sectors, and we're stretched out as it is. We can send in artillery from FOB Alpha, but we need coordinates."

"The king's fucking daughter is at stake here!", Camden retorted, slamming the side of his truck.

"No can do." Cursing again, the lieutenant tossed the device back to the corporal. Gunfire had momentarily died down after no more than a couple of magazines - the man on the roof was either hit or had been scared shitless and was bracing for cover. Out of the corner of his eye, Camden spotted movement in the tree-line to the west; and a curious bright flare.

***

She put him out like the end of a midnight cigarette. Wisps of pistol smoke ebbed away as the heiress to the throne of Acronius ambled forward, revealing a fat red crater swapping in for the face of the ISOD captain - the defector - who had sat facing her for the duration of the journey. Never had she ever needed to kill anyone in her nineteen years - but Esther didn't hesitate to end Captain Michael Bay, who was apparently too conceited to fathom the possibility of a .357 cannon for her own use as he rambled of the 'sinful' and 'vile' Acronian government. She thumped the window of the limo and, grabbing the attention of one of the soldiers, pointed at a dazed man caught in something of a crossfire, at the entrance of the motel. Sauntering back to the back of the limo, she saw a bright streak form by the trees.

Casualties
x6 5th Special Operation Group operatives
x1 Intelligence & Special Operations Division operative

by **Valdiu** » Fri Feb 17, 2017 11:40 pm

Highway 69
Songha

The Valdians rode far back in the convoy.

You wouldn't know they were Valdians. Their willful and somewhat intimidating reticence and austere misdemeanor betrayed no hint of their origin. Despite all their being clad in expensive and intricate camouflage patterns, despite their rifles, despite their skill, despite their helmets, one essential part of them was naked: their shoulder was devoid, barren of any national insignia.

These warriors were RAPTURE. Their glory was private. Their deaths would be commemorated not by an elaborate parade or a grandiose 21-gun salute, but by a simple white granite gravestone and a name, etched into a black marble monolith in a quiet forest outside Prevale that bore no title. This was their legacy: they had none. Perhaps centuries later, their names will be brought to light for the world to see so they can be commemorated properly. For now, they remained anonymous - by design. RAPTURE's mission was to be the smoking gun of the gloved hand of the Republic of Valdiu - to leave behind nothing but wisps of smoke and casings. If the gun were to be dropped, there would be no trace of its owner.

Despite their unbending temperament, within their own ranks, there was considerable camaraderie - not by choice, of course; they spent so much time sequestered within themselves that there was little opportunity for fraternization outside their shadowy organization.

They were caught by surprise by the fatal concussion that so demolished the Acronian force. "What the fuck just happened?" called the leader. The lethal hi-hat hits pinged against the side of their vehicle - luckily, these were stray bullets; the Valdians had not yet been inducted into the fray. "Everyone out!" the Valdian called.

Blood, Blood Red as the Aegis [[MT :: ATLAS ONLY]]

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