Posted: Thu Nov 08, 2018 11:23 am
I.R.S. Valentinian, Harrenite Blockade.
Praefectus Agrippa stared darkly out of the window. Barely hearing the reports of the Valentinian’s Trierarch.
“In conclusion sir, devastation was conclusive and casualties massive. From what we can tell the rebels were on the edge of capitulation, but…”
“The Myraxians.” Agrippa said, practically spitting the word out. “They should stay in their own part of the world…”
“Indeed sir.” The man replied, apprehensively. “Word of this has reached the capital. Needless to say, Prince Nero is not happy with Myraxian forces active in the region. He’s authorised the 2nd Cohort of the 12th Legion to join us, under your command sir.” Agrippa seemed unphased however.
“How are the ‘glorious premiers’ preparations going?” He asked, his tone unchanged.
“As well as can be expected sir. He’s started ranting and raving more than usual, we could take that either way to be honest…”
The Praefectus waved his hand dismissively. “It makes no difference. The confederacy will break or die. We win either way.”
“Speaking of death sir.” The Trierarch ventured. “Our analysts predict that the subversives will not accept your generous offer. The Myraxian meddling gave them hope ,maybe if we were to extend the deadline until after…
“The target.” Agrippa interjected sharply, prompting his compatriot so stiffen.
“Meisa. Sir. As far as intelligence can determine it’s a former capital city and the former seat of their monarchy, before it was overthrown by pirates.”
Agrippa scoffed. “We’re these people ever not pathetic? I want the attack to commence the moment the deadline expires. If we wait too long the Myraxians will have time to reach us.
“Any preferences sir?”
“Operation plan Zeta this time. After the past week standard ordinance will have less of a phycological effect than before. Make sure to broadcast the Asgar-Romae defence agreement on all channels before and during our attack. Myraxia can choose. Spite and a rock in the middle of nowhere or their precious ESZ.”
Exactly Two days after the Razing of Salome.
Bzzt.
Bzzt.
Across the Confederacy the alert could be felt. Terrified citizens checked their various devises, praying to whatever deity they believed in that it was something, anything else. No such luck. The dark red screen, the resplendent gold eagle, those four letters that had come to symbolise terror and death across the Port Cities.
The, now infamous, features of the Roman commander once again stared down at the Islanders. He glowered in silence for a few moments before simply saying.
“I gave you a choice, you chose poorly. I now offer you another.”
City of Meisa, Harren Island.
It was a near certainty that many, if not most, of the denizens of the rebel cities were now gawping at the sky; wondering if it was them who would be the latest to feel the wrath of the Romans. The people of Meisa did not have to wonder long.
The all too familiar roar of jet-engines sounded thought the city. Not the occasional drone that preceded raids or food but a cacophony the sheer volume of which forced people to cover their ears in pain. Soon they could be seen. What must have looked like thousands of planes flying high in neat formations. Heading straight for them.
The islanders ran for cover, desperate for anything or anything that might protect them and their loved ones. They must have known deep down that it was pointless, surely, they had all seen the ruins of Salome?
A synchronised set of explosions racked the city, with no area of the city spared, but this time there was something different. The explosions were almost…tame? The destruction minimal. A sense of relief rippled through the city. Maybe the Romans had been scared into submitting? Perhaps their bombs didn’t work? The odd few loyalists may have even thought that Balthazar had curtailed his new allies. Then they heard it, a slow but persistent hisss coming from the craters. Gas.
The unfortunates nearest to the craters succumbed first. Collapsing in a fit of coughs and pain as their very lungs began to dissolve. On seeing this the people fled, barricading themselves in their homes, desperately trying to seal their houses and rapping themselves in cloth.
All according to plan.
When the gas bombs finally stopped and the whole city was blanketed in their deadly fog. That’s when phase II began. More planes filled the skies dropping their payloads, which exploded in great waves of fire, spreading Napalm and other flammable substances across the city. Buildings collapsed as the explosions rained from above and the fire ate away at them from below. Whole streets burned in bright chemical flames. Infrastructure, industrial and retail districts, even schools. Nothing was safe from the force of the flames or the tenacity of the gas. The attacks continued well into the night; the city itself blazing like a second sun, acting as a guiding light for its defilers.
Agrippa had been true to his word. The citizens of Meisa had been given a new and terrible choice. Burn in their homes, or choke in their streets.
Praefectus Agrippa stared darkly out of the window. Barely hearing the reports of the Valentinian’s Trierarch.
“In conclusion sir, devastation was conclusive and casualties massive. From what we can tell the rebels were on the edge of capitulation, but…”
“The Myraxians.” Agrippa said, practically spitting the word out. “They should stay in their own part of the world…”
“Indeed sir.” The man replied, apprehensively. “Word of this has reached the capital. Needless to say, Prince Nero is not happy with Myraxian forces active in the region. He’s authorised the 2nd Cohort of the 12th Legion to join us, under your command sir.” Agrippa seemed unphased however.
“How are the ‘glorious premiers’ preparations going?” He asked, his tone unchanged.
“As well as can be expected sir. He’s started ranting and raving more than usual, we could take that either way to be honest…”
The Praefectus waved his hand dismissively. “It makes no difference. The confederacy will break or die. We win either way.”
“Speaking of death sir.” The Trierarch ventured. “Our analysts predict that the subversives will not accept your generous offer. The Myraxian meddling gave them hope ,maybe if we were to extend the deadline until after…
“The target.” Agrippa interjected sharply, prompting his compatriot so stiffen.
“Meisa. Sir. As far as intelligence can determine it’s a former capital city and the former seat of their monarchy, before it was overthrown by pirates.”
Agrippa scoffed. “We’re these people ever not pathetic? I want the attack to commence the moment the deadline expires. If we wait too long the Myraxians will have time to reach us.
“Any preferences sir?”
“Operation plan Zeta this time. After the past week standard ordinance will have less of a phycological effect than before. Make sure to broadcast the Asgar-Romae defence agreement on all channels before and during our attack. Myraxia can choose. Spite and a rock in the middle of nowhere or their precious ESZ.”
Exactly Two days after the Razing of Salome.
Bzzt.
Bzzt.
Across the Confederacy the alert could be felt. Terrified citizens checked their various devises, praying to whatever deity they believed in that it was something, anything else. No such luck. The dark red screen, the resplendent gold eagle, those four letters that had come to symbolise terror and death across the Port Cities.
The, now infamous, features of the Roman commander once again stared down at the Islanders. He glowered in silence for a few moments before simply saying.
“I gave you a choice, you chose poorly. I now offer you another.”
City of Meisa, Harren Island.
It was a near certainty that many, if not most, of the denizens of the rebel cities were now gawping at the sky; wondering if it was them who would be the latest to feel the wrath of the Romans. The people of Meisa did not have to wonder long.
The all too familiar roar of jet-engines sounded thought the city. Not the occasional drone that preceded raids or food but a cacophony the sheer volume of which forced people to cover their ears in pain. Soon they could be seen. What must have looked like thousands of planes flying high in neat formations. Heading straight for them.
The islanders ran for cover, desperate for anything or anything that might protect them and their loved ones. They must have known deep down that it was pointless, surely, they had all seen the ruins of Salome?
A synchronised set of explosions racked the city, with no area of the city spared, but this time there was something different. The explosions were almost…tame? The destruction minimal. A sense of relief rippled through the city. Maybe the Romans had been scared into submitting? Perhaps their bombs didn’t work? The odd few loyalists may have even thought that Balthazar had curtailed his new allies. Then they heard it, a slow but persistent hisss coming from the craters. Gas.
The unfortunates nearest to the craters succumbed first. Collapsing in a fit of coughs and pain as their very lungs began to dissolve. On seeing this the people fled, barricading themselves in their homes, desperately trying to seal their houses and rapping themselves in cloth.
All according to plan.
When the gas bombs finally stopped and the whole city was blanketed in their deadly fog. That’s when phase II began. More planes filled the skies dropping their payloads, which exploded in great waves of fire, spreading Napalm and other flammable substances across the city. Buildings collapsed as the explosions rained from above and the fire ate away at them from below. Whole streets burned in bright chemical flames. Infrastructure, industrial and retail districts, even schools. Nothing was safe from the force of the flames or the tenacity of the gas. The attacks continued well into the night; the city itself blazing like a second sun, acting as a guiding light for its defilers.
Agrippa had been true to his word. The citizens of Meisa had been given a new and terrible choice. Burn in their homes, or choke in their streets.