NATION

PASSWORD

A World Apart 1949 (USSR RP, IC)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]

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Intresha
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Posts: 59
Founded: Dec 19, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Intresha » Fri Sep 06, 2019 8:52 am

Terra Incognita, The People's Republic of Verdun, Montietam
3rd Landing Group
July 4th, 1949
12:34 AM

Fire streaked across the night sky and into the tree line as the flamethrower crews advanced. With most of the high command picked off by sniper fire, they were now tasked with paving the way for the rest of the general infantry and armored corps. It was rumored that defoliant agents would be deployed in the next round of air raids. The Private knew that it would be of little use, though.

In his very short time on the front, he had already witnessed the ingenious savagery of his enemy. He saw half a dozen men maimed by a shrapnel bomb. Not even four hours later, he had the pleasure of witnessing a man getting impaled - the aftermath, anyway. He was a flamethrower trooper. Apparently, he had fallen through some foliage into a spiked pit. A spiked pit. It was there, looking at the ruptured body of a man he had never known, that the Private knew for certain that this war would come at a great cost. Likely not to himself, however.

Placed at the far back of the column, he was about as far removed from the shit as one could get. He wasn’t complaining, though. With a wife back home and a newborn on the way, life and limb were just about the most important things to him. Here, trudging through the mud and mosquito laden jungle, he tried not to think about them. He had enough worries as it was. The only thing that mattered now was linking up with Antonescu’s forces at Tuartau.

His thoughts of home were abruptly broken by the halting of the column. A bad omen according to practically anybody. He cautiously chambered a round in his Mosin-Nagant. In the following moments, the standard cacophony of the Verdunese forest dissipated to muteness. The birds stopped in the middle of their songs. The distant rustle of the underbrush ceased. Hell, even the mosquitos quit buzzing for a second.

”AMBUSH!” The cry was anonymous.

The first gunshots came from the head of the column, but were far from being the only ones. They melted in from the trees. On every side, including the rear. Verdunese paratroopers.

Before he knew it, the Private was a inch away from one of them. Wrestling for his life, he attempted to club him with the butt of his rifle, but only succeeded in getting disarmed. The brute threw him to the ground, bowie knife in hand. The two wrestled for a time before the Verdunian pinned him to the ground for good. The Private managed to grab the soldier’s wrist, though, securing him precious seconds to struggle. He grabbed his neck, and didn’t stop grabbing. His veins coursed icy cold, and he knew nothing but his instinct to survive. The paratrooper’s grip on his knife loosened before it dropped to the forest floor. The mans eyes began to bulge as his fingers dug in deeper and curled tighter around his windpipe. He could feel it now, the whole trachea. He pulled. Nothing came out, but the struggle was indeed over.

The Private would never forget the eyes that stared down at him. Those bloated, beady, bloodshot eyes. The eyes of a dead man.

His first kill would haunt him for the rest of his life.

In the interim, he pushed past his own nausea and threw the corpse off of his chest. Staggering in the mud, he looked around.

The chaos was over. He ran up to a passing soldier, still panting from the exertion of his confrontation.

”What happened? Where the hell did they go?” He asked, now realizing he was coated head to toe in mud.

The much older infantryman looked the twenty year old, flicking a cigarette butt onto the ground.

”Dead or back into the woods. Where have you been for the past hour, kid” He laughed before continuing forward.

Time had elapsed so quickly. What felt like twelve seconds had actually been sixty minutes. It sent shivers down his aching spine.

Walking the impromptu road made by the men in front of him, he studied the carcasses of his less fortunate countrymen. The horror on their faces frozen for all eternity to see. He thought about how easily it could’ve been him.

In his bedroll that night, he didnt sleep. He stared drowsily at the canopy, too scared of his own dreams to fall asleep. This would be the case for the next night, and all of his nights to come.
Last edited by Intresha on Fri Sep 06, 2019 8:57 am, edited 2 times in total.
☦︎☦︎Radio Translavia☦︎☦︎: June 11th, 1949

“...The nation weeps for the virtuous Toriddian comrades that sacrificed their lives during an atomic detonation over Castle Desna yesterday morning... Suspects have been detained, and the B.H. is on high alert at home and abroad... Later this week, Vozhd Morozov will meet with his Central Committee to discuss ‘potential recourse’ against Verkoft and other rebel-aligned nations... The war criminal Lavrov must be apprehended...”

“Uphold Orthodoxy. Shun the outsider. Hail Intresha, Hail Morozov.”

END OF BROADCAST

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Toridd
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Posts: 20
Founded: Apr 03, 2019
Corporate Police State

Postby Toridd » Sat Sep 07, 2019 1:37 pm

Slavograd, The People's Republic of Verdun, Montietam
Perschel Palace
August 4th, 1949
2:22 PM


Ten years ago, Shoshanna Lestrange, was too young to fight. She couldn't pick up a weapon to safe her life, not like now. Ten years ago, the Marathonnians invaded. They raped, pillaged, plundered. Brutality was their calling. She witnessed it. It made her weary. She saw her family take up arms and make sacrifices that one shouldn't have to make. That's how it was though. Accompanying the distant rumble of artillery fire, a voice snapped her out of her trance.

"What was it like?"

Shoshanna gazed to her left, seeing the young boy sitting against the wall. He was maybe 15 or 16. A bolt-action Springfield on his lap. She locked eyes with him, evaluating what he was asking. She returned her gaze between the wooden planks that covered the windows, looking out into the nations heart. Craters littered the streets, though many buildings still stood. The Verdunian 1st Army had managed to halt the Toriddian advance from the north but there was news of a foreign army incoming from the east. Word was they would slam head on into the 9th Army. Word was the 9th was severely exhausted. Many guessed when it did happen, it wouldn't take long for the turkey shoot to end.

After that, no conventional army would stand in the way of Slavograd. Just her and a merry band of civilians. About fifty to one hundred of them; they occupied the symbol of communist hierarchy which covered about three square blocks. In the upper levels of the palace, a small detachment of Verdunian Army personnel. Around twenty of them. Half of them were officers. They were roomed upstairs with a working HAM radio.

"It was brutal." she muttered.

"How so?" the boy inquired.

"Kid, the Marathonnians were wiped out by the Christians...by being more brutal, we're going to have to one up them...if we can." she finished.

A somber silence came from the kid. Shoshanna gripped her StG-44, slinging it quietly over her shoulder. With three motions and a hair-tie, she quickly secured her strawberry blonde hair into a bun, a few strands escaping her grasp and resting on her temples. The boy's gaze indicated attraction but there was no such time for a luxury like that. Shoshanna checked her watch, looking down the semi-busy hallway. Some civilians found comfort in walking around; many were antsy and restless. She stood up, darting her way up the stairs to the second floor. The difference was visual. The more she paced deeper into the second floor, the more the appearance of the combatants changed. There was a cut off point to where Verdunian military personnel were allowed and where civilian resistance fighters were not. Shoshanna was about halfway down the hallway when the two olive-drabbed uniforms halted her.

"Out of my way!"

"Ms. Lestrange, please...the General won't see you—"

The brown double doors about ten feet down the way opened up, halting the conversation. A tall, slim, definitely older man exited.

"That's fine, gentlemen. Ms. Lestrange...if you would please." the General waved her over.

Her small frame and height would make it seem anyone taller would by default garner a condescending gaze. Instead, Shoshanna devilishly glared at the two soldiers that had previously man handled her. They backed up, allowing her room to walk. She paced forward once again, turning into the Palace Council Chamber. It was a large room with about one hundred seats. A few red banners hung around the room, though many had been requisitioned for the front. Several officers sat in the center, some noticing the young girl. The doors shut behind her.

"My apologies, gentlemen...I'm sure you're all acquainted with Miss Lestrange...she's running civilian resistance cells behind the line—"

"Was. Was running. Can't really run anything when communication is cut but...we're hopeful...a lot of good people have died..." Shoshanna remarked.

"Good people die everyday...hell...the 9th Army is—" a Captain put his bit in.

"Negative thoughts will bring about demise faster. The 9th Army can handle the Intreshans...they're but peasants." a Major added.

"And what of our soldiers? What are they, if not peasants?" the General's words quieted them.

Shoshanna adjusted the StG on her shoulder. The rifle itself disgruntled many in the room, whom were Great War veterans. She was new to war. Experienced already but still very new.

"Have you heard anything from the Allies?" Shoshanna asked, breaking the silence.

"The Insurgians are dealing with Dycen..." the General muttered.

"Dy...cen?"

"Some dictator on Vaudus...killing thousands with some weaponized flu...he's got a higher body count than the Committee apparently...more demand for attention or something...either way, we're on our own for now. Until the new boy grows a pair or they find another President..."

The crew of officers sighed almost in unison, knowing the Insurgians had surely damned them to certain death. A pair of fast steps came from the hallway. The double doors pushed open. Shoshanna turned on her heels, gripping the sling on her StG. Another olive-drab, catching his breath, adjusting his officers cap and uniform while pacing in. Shoshanna could decipher that he was a Lieutenant Colonel. One in good shape.

He struck a salute.

"Afternoon, sir."

The General returned it.

"What do you got?"

"News from the front...the 9th Army...has made contact."

A pen dropped. An eerie silence filled the room. Shoshanna's lips parted in realization. Everyone looked from the Lt. Colonel to the General. The old man blinked uncomfortably.

"God help them."
✯✯Republic News Network✯✯: June 11th, 1949

"...in recent light of the invasion of Verdun, many foreign military observers have flocked to Montietam to watch the action unfold, many of whom under Allied orders...while there has been no direct military intervention on behalf of Allied powers, military tension is at all time high with reports of an Insurgian fleet en route to Montietam..."

"May He hear our prayers and find us truly worthy of His kingdom."



General Information
The Republic of Toridd is a theocratic, Neo-puritanical autocracy.
The year is 1949.
A Tier 5, 21.2 civilization, according to this index.

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Intresha
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Posts: 59
Founded: Dec 19, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Intresha » Wed Sep 11, 2019 7:18 pm

Standard Infantry Camp, The People’s Republic of Verdun, Montietam
3rd Landing Group
August 4th, 1949
6:42 AM


”Men of the 9th: The end is coming. In the north, the Toriddians prepare for final victory. In the south, our soldiers continue to land. You’re outmanned and outgunned. Don’t play hero for your Communist overlords. There is no dishonor in retreat, and in defeat there is only death...” The Private read the sloppily translated Verdunese printed at the bottom of the leaflet.

The lone copy had circled around the camp for the past couple of days, changing hands between anyone who cared enough to read it. They had dropped hundreds of them over Slavograd since the start of the week. Some fool figured it would weaken the enemy’s resolve. The Private scoffed at the very notion.

The Verdunese 9th Army was many things, but cowardly was not one of them. Their encounters with the Toriddians had been brutal and decisive. To say that some of the men were frightened by the rumors was the understatement of the year.

Sitting by the fire, he took a swig from the flask as it made its way to him. He drank deep, hoping to perhaps find courage at the bottom of the container. His comrades looked morose as they watched the sun begin its slow climb over the distant cityscape.

He watched as the brass sped around the camp in their staff cars, the air force men not far behind them on foot. There would be an extensive aerial bombardment coupled with the ground assault. Checking his pocket watch, the private kept his eye on the sky. It would’t be long now.

”I heard they boil their prisoners alive.” One of his compatriots piped up, fixing his eyes on the dying fire.

Another, more aged man grinned in response.

”Don’t worry, Levka. I don’t think Slavograd has an aquarium that would fit you. Jested Ravil, lighting a cigarette.

The sullenness of the group was interrupted by rollicking laughter.

”You know,” The Private began.

”You shouldn’t be so hard on Lev. Make him too mad and one of these days he’s bound to sit on your old ass.” He finished, trying to continue the trend.

As the men continued the teasing, the Private watched as the first planes began to take off for the city. They wouldn’t be carrying paper this time.

M3A3s and M-84s rumbled down the road adjacent to the camp’s outskirts, creeping to the base of the hill. They would lead the charge before the standard infantry and B.H. flooded in to overwhelm whatever survived in the city

The squadron watched somberly as the bombers came into range of the 9th’s anti aircraft guns. It was like watching lightning strike up from the ground. And while the Private harbored pity for the airmen that would inevitably fall, he felt more gratitude for them than anything. Every Verdunese they killed was one fewer he would have to face.

”How many tonnes do you reckon they’ll drop today?” The Private nearly whispered.

Taking a lengthy drag from his cigarette, Ravil grumbled his nearly instant response.

”Not enough. Never enough.” He told the rookie, exhaling smoke from his nose
Last edited by Intresha on Thu Sep 12, 2019 10:16 am, edited 1 time in total.
☦︎☦︎Radio Translavia☦︎☦︎: June 11th, 1949

“...The nation weeps for the virtuous Toriddian comrades that sacrificed their lives during an atomic detonation over Castle Desna yesterday morning... Suspects have been detained, and the B.H. is on high alert at home and abroad... Later this week, Vozhd Morozov will meet with his Central Committee to discuss ‘potential recourse’ against Verkoft and other rebel-aligned nations... The war criminal Lavrov must be apprehended...”

“Uphold Orthodoxy. Shun the outsider. Hail Intresha, Hail Morozov.”

END OF BROADCAST

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Toridd
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Posts: 20
Founded: Apr 03, 2019
Corporate Police State

Postby Toridd » Wed Sep 11, 2019 11:10 pm

Slavograd, The People's Republic of Verdun, Montietam
Perschel Palace
August 4th, 1949
9:33 PM


The distant sound of gunfire kept the palace residents on their toes, moving about cautiously in the dark palace with but a few lanterns lit. The 9th Army didn't stance a chance. It would be quick and within a couple of hours, maybe sooner, the Intreshans would be here. Shoshanna paced the first floor, listening in on the gunfire, deciphering it. StG's, Mosin-Nagants, PPSh's, to name a few. She could make out in the bitter distance, the exposing color of flares in the sky, lighting the ground below. The gunfire just grew more intense. A grenade explodes. She listens. There was almost a second of silence before a DP-27 ripped a couple of poor souls to shreds. The distant shouts of some foreign language sent shivers down her spine.

An engine nears, she paces quickly the front of the palace, catching a glimpse of the military truck pulling around to the front. Supplies. Ammunition and medical supplies. Food wasn't exactly priority. There were enough K-Rations, however, to feed them. Coming upon the front entrance, several other uniforms are present. A few civilians also crowd. Shoshanna stands by to watch as several men unload the truck with crates. Some bearing the Insurgian mark.

"LUKAS! TAKE A THOUSAND ROUNDS AND PUT YOURSELF UP ON THE THIRD FLOOR! TAKE AN EXTRA THOUSAND ACTUALLY!" the Sergeant quickly shoved a young Corporal belts of ammunition.

"WE GOT SOME ANTI-TANK SHELLS! PUT THAT IN THE FOYER WITH THE 105!" he quickly barked orders as they disembarked with the supplies.

Shoshanna approached the now shallow front door, the Sergeant turning as she neared.

"What's the news, if you don't mind?" she asked.

"The Toriddians are engaged with the 1st Army..." he stopped, looking around.

He paced forward, tugging her along into a more private distance away from the other soldiers and civilians.

"It sounded bad on the comms...a lot of our soldiers don't have enough ammunition to even give ten rifle rounds to each man...we're lucky we got this shipment."

"How long you think till the Intreshans swamp the 9th?" she asks.

"An hour...maybe two...you got the manpower...the 'Surgians gave us a hell of a lot of explosive, mind setting it up?"

Shoshanna walked toward the truck once more, viewing the interior. About two dozen crates untouched. She did the calculations. That equaled out to twenty-four Amatol filled bombs that could be wired and buried. She gave the Sergeant a glance and quickly strutted off into the first floor, quickly collecting the more physically capable civilians for the haunting job of booby-trapping every way into the square. It wasn't long before buff and burly men were hauling these crates from block to block with crews of three of four with shovels and other such equipment. Every road in a three block radius would be wired and ready.

"IS THIS HOLE BIG ENOUGH!" the young boy was struggling with the shovel.

"No no...it needs to be wider...we're not going to be able to bury it..."

The sound of gunfire unsettled them. It was a little closer. They recognized the sound of an FN-FAL. The Toriddian Battle Rifle.

"Christ..." the kid swore.

"Hurry. Double time!" the other two quickly pitched in more with their shovels.

A block south of the palace, Shoshanna aided a pair of female youths bury the large bomb under the ruble, successfully wiring it into the nearby apartment adjacent. They would do an alright job of hiding the wire under the dust but the darkness itself would do fine. Shoshanna was as collected as ever until she heard the ruble move. Spinning on her heel, she brought her StG-44 to eye level, taking aim at the figure maybe ten feet away. The man must have been over six feet, in a sort of green camouflaged rig and garb. The rifle in hand gave it away. The man in question was indeed a Toriddian. He had already taken aim. The two younger girls finally notice, their eyes widening as they see the man.

"Don't panic..." Shoshanna whispers.

"...what the hell do you want me to do..." one of the girls responded with a snarl.

Sweat poured off her head as she gazed down the iron sights of her StG. She could now make out the figures of two men behind the first one.

"Drop the weapon." his Insurgian was clear and crisp.

"Fuck that." hers was even better.

The man readjusted his grip on the battle rifle, his two subordinates covering him.

"I won't ask aga—"

A rip of gunfire exuded from the little girl next to Shoshanna. Locking it in position at hip level, she let the .45 Thompson lose into the trio. Two of them diving away from the barrage. The third not even aware of what was happening until he was ripped apart by .45 ACP. Shoshanna trembled, almost dropping her rifle. She shook herself awake, looking at the remaining pair. One adjusted his position, gripping his FAL. Shoshanna didn't hesitate, spraying in their general direction. Two rounds downed the culprit. One ended up cutting into the calf of the survivor. A scream of pain came from the man.

"HANDS! PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" Shoshanna approached, keeping the rifle aimed.

The Toriddian quickly raised his hands into the air, revealing his pair of combat gloves, rather a luxury in the field of battle. She pranced closer, essentially shoving the rifles end in his face. She could hear in the distance, other Partisans rushing over to answer the gunfire.

"Remove your headgear, slowly..." she sounded her words out, almost mocking his tongue.

The Toriddian slowly did so, first with the helmet, then with the balaclava. The man was very young, perhaps in his last twenties. She could see, however, under all that green was a rank. She squinted at it, lowering the rifle down into the fabric of his parka, pulling it down to get a better view of the tab. Three stars. A handful of Partisans approached, slowing down from their light jog over. The group examined Shoshanna before examining the surrendered Toriddian troop. A middle aged male drew his revolver from his belt.

"No, Jon...he's a prisoner of war..." Shoshanna explained.

"What the fuck you mean? Prisoner of—fuck that. These guys don't give a damn about us...we ought to return that brutality." he pulled the hammer back.

"He's valuable...he's a High Commander..." she whispered to him.

The man gave her a glance, placing it over to the Toriddian.

"Get him back to the palace for questioning...take these two as well." he gestured to the bodies.

The group of Partisans quickly picked up the bodies and their gear, quietly returning to the palace with one prisoner of war.
✯✯Republic News Network✯✯: June 11th, 1949

"...in recent light of the invasion of Verdun, many foreign military observers have flocked to Montietam to watch the action unfold, many of whom under Allied orders...while there has been no direct military intervention on behalf of Allied powers, military tension is at all time high with reports of an Insurgian fleet en route to Montietam..."

"May He hear our prayers and find us truly worthy of His kingdom."



General Information
The Republic of Toridd is a theocratic, Neo-puritanical autocracy.
The year is 1949.
A Tier 5, 21.2 civilization, according to this index.

User avatar
Toridd
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 20
Founded: Apr 03, 2019
Corporate Police State

Postby Toridd » Thu Sep 12, 2019 9:23 am

Slavograd, The People's Republic of Verdun, Montietam
Perschel Palace
August 4th, 1949
11:42 PM


Another haymaker connects to his jaw, launching his head like a rag doll to either direction he took impact. Aside from a broken nose, several lacerations on the face and a bullet wound to the right shin, this was the last place Bartlett expected to be. In the dim light of the basement, a lone ceiling lamp swung violently, illuminating the group of Partisans that occupied the small setting. Shoshanna stood at the rearmost from the prisoner, watching as the Toriddian received a few more lunges to the face. A swarm of violent footsteps rushed down to the basement. She turned, examining the descending group. A bunch of olive-drabs. One of the few Captains at the head of them. They finished their descent.

The Captain removes his headgear, running a hand through his jet black hair. The brute that was tediously punishing the Toriddian, Jon, retreated to the Captain. The rest of the Partisans dispersed into the darkness. Some even going back upstairs. Shoshanna remained, watching Bartlett spit out some blood to his right flank.

"Anything?"

"Nothing...this guy is sealed tight..."

"Let me." Shoshanna spoke up.

The two men looked at her, almost as if they questioned her sincerity.

"Ten minutes." she added.

The Captain raised a brow, looking at Jon. The accompanying uniforms stood by, waiting for command. He looked back at the young Shoshanna, eyeing her up and down. He turned back to the stairs.

"You have five."

The group quickly exited upstairs, shutting the door. The light from the first floor effectively detached from the basement. Shoshanna looked to the Toriddian, who simply returned the gaze. A river of blood dripped down from the corner of his mouth. There wasn't even a hint of intimidation in his eyes. Shoshanna didn't waste any time. Gripping her switch blade from her pocket, the blade extended. Light from the lamp reflected off it, catching the attention of Bartlett. He waited patiently, lifting his chin in preparation, looking at the ceiling. She gripped a nearby chair, setting it in front of him. She took a seat. Jon watched from the darkness.

"Oh..no you don't." she approaches.

With a single swing, the blade drives into Bartlett's left knee. A choir of pain comes from his mouth. She follows it up with a quick jab to his solar plexus. He attempts to gasp for air, only having the wind knocked out of him deemed any effort useless for half a minute.

"Focus. Right here. Right here...or I'll pop your goddamn knee off..."

Bartlett struggled for air, finally coming to compose himself once more.

"I want...every member of the Committee...names...places...all of it." she asked.

"...it won't matter...you'll all be dead within a couple days anyway..."

She twisted the knife. He grimaced in pain, almost coming toward another shouting match. With an open palm, she quickly struck his throat. He was once again choking for air.

"You don't have time to fuck with me. Names. Places. Your armies. Everything." she repeated.

Bartlett sucked down some air, coming to breathe normally again. He locked eyes with her, essentially saying fuck off without moving his lips. She squinted at him. Standing up from the chair, she quickly pranced around to the back of his chair. She kneeled down, gripping his left hand.

"What the fuck! NO! STOP! DON'T! he yelled, essentially begging.

"What a nice college ring...Omaha State..."

"DON'T YOU—"

With a quick snap, she shut the blade on his left ring finger. A wailing of pain came from him. The finger fell to the ground, a metallic clashing with the dust on the ground followed due to the heavy silver ring.

"YOU DUMB BITCH! THEY'LL FLATTEN THIS WHOLE DISTRICT! THEY'LL KILL ME!" he yelled.

She paced around to his front, adjusting the stands of hair that hovered over his forehead.

"That makes two of us. Armies. Committee. All of it." she rested the shut blade on his cheek.

Bartlett gulped, parting his lips. The two locked eyes, knowing the inevitable was on its way.
✯✯Republic News Network✯✯: June 11th, 1949

"...in recent light of the invasion of Verdun, many foreign military observers have flocked to Montietam to watch the action unfold, many of whom under Allied orders...while there has been no direct military intervention on behalf of Allied powers, military tension is at all time high with reports of an Insurgian fleet en route to Montietam..."

"May He hear our prayers and find us truly worthy of His kingdom."



General Information
The Republic of Toridd is a theocratic, Neo-puritanical autocracy.
The year is 1949.
A Tier 5, 21.2 civilization, according to this index.

User avatar
Toridd
Lobbyist
 
Posts: 20
Founded: Apr 03, 2019
Corporate Police State

Postby Toridd » Thu Sep 12, 2019 9:57 am

Slavograd, The People's Republic of Verdun, Montietam
Verdunian 9th Army
August 4th, 1949
11:53 PM


The young soldier ran through the tall grass, the ripple of gunfire ever hunting him. He could hear the screams of his comrades as they were torn to shreds by either incoming aircraft or small-arms fire from enemy infantry. Gripping his SKS, he moved quietly through the grass, looking in both directions as the grass shuffled. Either from other comrades also evading the enemy or just some wind. He was on edge either way. Peeking up from the grass, he examined his surroundings. A bright red flare launched into the air, pulsating another beam of light as it peaked highest in the sky. His eyes widened as he saw the silhouettes on the distance hill opposite the city. Dozens, if not hundreds of infantry lined the hill. Small little spectacles of flame exiting their rifles as they mowed down Verdunian soldiers hiding in the brush.

He changed his view forward, leaving death behind him. Sprinting across the grass, he finally left the fields and entered a more urban environment. The difference was almost black and white. To his right and left, ranging anywhere from twenty to one hundred yards, he could see other figures running into the city as well. One could make a feasible assumption that they were the remaining souls of the 9th Army. Charging behind a building, he felt a heavy presence watching him. A few snaps whipped past his head, a bullet delivering impact into the concrete wall above him, sending debris all around. Luckily, his helmet kept him upright. He could hear the Intreshans bark about, only picking up a few words thanks to his minimal knowledge of Karaqi.

Catching his breath, he looked across the street, seeing the remnants of Slavograd. An ocean of craters littered every street. A few buildings remained upright but were leaning at a certain incline. Hugging the concrete wall, he could feel the vibration of incoming armor. Their M-84's were mowing down anything that moved. They weren't exactly a slow beast either. He had to be bit faster. He took a few more reserves of air, sprinting across the crater filled street. It wasn't until he was a little more than halfway across when the bullets resumed to chase him. Engaging in a zig-zag pattern, he successfully managed to take cover inside a bank tower. With no intention to stay, he quickly darted through the first floor, coming out the other side. The vibrations were a little more faint now but still ever growing. About three blocks down, he could see the outline of Perschel Palace. The Intreshans would be upon it in less than half an hour. Little to his knowledge, the Toriddians had viciously scrapped the Verdunian 1st Army into nothing. Coming from the north, wave of Merkava's pushed forward to the palace.

Even without the Toriddian advances, they were outnumbered. The Intreshans just kept coming.

Gazing down the street, he sprinted forward once more, the palace growing in size as he neared. In his peripheral, his noticed movement to his front-right. He almost stopped in his tracks but instead his instinct told him to dive. Fortunately he did. A cascade of bullets methodically sprayed where the young private once was but was a second late. Taking cover behind a small hill of rubble that provided little to nothing in terms of cover, the private raised his left hand for a split second, revealing it to the shooter.

"VERDUNIAN! VERDUNIAN!" he screamed.

There was a quiet silence. One could make out some swearing.

"...CIVILIANS! COME ON!" the sound of a boy was heard.

The private gripped his SKS, gazing back to the fields from where he came. He could make out countless figures approaching in swarms. A few metal blobs that rolled thunderously towards him. Only a few blocks away. He adjusted himself in the rubble, gathering his footing. He ran adjacent, climbing another small hill of rubble, joining a trio of civilians in what seemed like a MG position. The boy was handling the BAR, its bipod deployed on the rubble. The other two armed with bolt-actions. What the private also noticed was the wired detonation mechanism next to the BAR. The wire led out into the street but became humbly invisible under the rubble. The private hugged the ground, watching as the Intreshans advanced ever closer.

"Don't fire...don't fire till they're on us." the boy repeated to himself quietly.

Adjusting his SKS in front of him, he aimed down the sights, taking note of the hundreds of soldiers that lined the streets.

"We're going to need more ammo..."
✯✯Republic News Network✯✯: June 11th, 1949

"...in recent light of the invasion of Verdun, many foreign military observers have flocked to Montietam to watch the action unfold, many of whom under Allied orders...while there has been no direct military intervention on behalf of Allied powers, military tension is at all time high with reports of an Insurgian fleet en route to Montietam..."

"May He hear our prayers and find us truly worthy of His kingdom."



General Information
The Republic of Toridd is a theocratic, Neo-puritanical autocracy.
The year is 1949.
A Tier 5, 21.2 civilization, according to this index.

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Intresha
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Founded: Dec 19, 2018
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Postby Intresha » Thu Sep 12, 2019 1:28 pm

Slavograd, The People’s Republic of Verdun, Montietam
3rd and 4th landing Groups
August 4th, 1949
12:23 AM


The M-84’s fifty caliber gun shredded the would-be suicide bomber where he stood, detonating his payload in the process. A good fifty yards out, the small fireball was little more than a speed bump for the tank and squadron that followed it.

The explosion was the third of it’s kind in the past hour, and the pace only appeared to be picking up. With every inch the 3rd Landing Group drew closer to the Palace, the more fanatical the resistance became.

”You’ve got one coming up on the left, Lev!” Shouted Ravil from the opposite side of the tank.

Levka, in spite of his borderline obesity, was far from a bad shot. In all honesty, he was probably one of the best marksmen in the squadron, if not the whole platoon. If the Private had to guess, it was likely the one and only reason the lard hadn’t been put out to pasture.

Shoving a magazine into his STV-40, he tracked the fleeing Verdunian with the barrel of the rifle. Barely even noticing the advancing Intreshans, he looked shocked when Lev’s first bullet struck him just below the thigh. He hurdled to the ground like a ton of bricks.

The Private glanced worriedly at the fallen combatant, then back at his friend. Levka never missed. He had immobilized him on purpose.

”Why the hell did you do that for?!” Ravil shouted, taking the words right out of the Private’s mouth.

The rifleman let out a low grunt, lowering his firearm.

”He’s carrying something.” Levka responded, speed walking towards his fallen prey.

His comrades shared a look of confusion before jogging after him. Men from the rear of the column would come up to take their places, as was customary in situations such as these.

The boy’s remarkably young face was contorted in suffering. For all of his accuracy, Lev could not had predicted that he would have hit the kid’s femoral artery. Although, truth be told, he probably had one foot in the grave before the war even kicked off. Perhaps thirteen or fourteen, his olive tinted rags hung like curtains off of his malnourished frame.

”What did I tell you?” Levka rolled the boy over onto his back with the toe of his boot.

”The little ones always have something to deliver.”

As the preteen moaned out something in Verdunese, Lev snatched a yellow envelope from his underarm.

”Any of you read Insurgian?” He continued, squinting at the foreign writing on the top of the thick file, holding his flashlight steady.

Ravil snatched it away from the marksman, hurriedly breaking it’s seal before beginning to read the contents within. His eyes grew wider as he continued to skim the words.

”What does it all mean?” The Private asked, leaning over the old man’s shoulder.

The ancient soldier didn’t even so much as wince as a mortal shell sailed just over their heads, finally crashing through one of the Palace’s bay windows.

”For us?” He asked, smiling.

”A raise, if we can get to the Toriddians in time.” He sneered greedily, shoving the documents into his flak jacket.
Last edited by Intresha on Thu Sep 12, 2019 1:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.
☦︎☦︎Radio Translavia☦︎☦︎: June 11th, 1949

“...The nation weeps for the virtuous Toriddian comrades that sacrificed their lives during an atomic detonation over Castle Desna yesterday morning... Suspects have been detained, and the B.H. is on high alert at home and abroad... Later this week, Vozhd Morozov will meet with his Central Committee to discuss ‘potential recourse’ against Verkoft and other rebel-aligned nations... The war criminal Lavrov must be apprehended...”

“Uphold Orthodoxy. Shun the outsider. Hail Intresha, Hail Morozov.”

END OF BROADCAST

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