WFF: Twin Pines [PRIVATE, IC]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

WFF: Twin Pines [PRIVATE, IC]

Postby Valefontaine » Sun Jan 27, 2019 5:08 am


Important Assets //

OP Speaking //

This is the IC thread for the Without Fear or Favor arc, Twin Pines. Relevant information is in the OOC thread.

The Red Pine Dispute
The otherwise unremarkable southern half of the state of Red Pine came under the occupation of Alvimian forces during the Third Alvimian-Euphemian War, which ended in AC 104. Since then, there has been nothing but animosity between the Euphemian natives in the occupied territory and the Alvimian military and settlers in the region. Waging a war of attrition for the past two centuries, the Free State Army is all that stands between the way of life of the Euphemian locals and total Alvimian occupation.

To the Alvimian government, however, the perspective is a very different one. The occupied territories, or as they are called by the Alvimians, 'Fronteira', are a vital point — withholding Euphemie's ability to construct a strategic pipeline into southern Ophir that would establish it as the dominant oil exporter on the continent. The fight has expanded beyond the small Euphemian state, however — within Alvimia, it is quickly becoming apparent the Free State Army isn't the biggest threat that exists to the great southern power.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

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Posts: 136
Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Sun Jan 27, 2019 5:52 am




In the beginning of the second century, the Alvimian Empire had defied fate itself and defeated the Euphemian war machine, occupying the southern half of the state of Red Pine, which was promptly renamed 'Fronteira', or Frontier. Little did Dom Agátocles II foresee that his victory would establish a ticking timebomb of a burden upon the nation that would plague it for centuries to come.

The days of the Empire are gone now, of course. The Alvimian Succession Crisis, which lasted from 130 to 140 A.C., culminated in the current Kingdom of Alvimia. A compromise between monarchists and republicans, the state exists by toeing the line between various, constantly-shifting factions in government, which to some degree hold disdain for one another.

Maintaining the status quo is the goal and ambition of the Associação de Assistência ao Governo Real, known in Euphemian as the Royal Government Assistance Association. The ruling party of the Kingdom of Alvimia, they are all that stands between the monarchy's dignity and concessionists, republicans and jingoistic radicals.


Due to its powerful military and strategic control of Fronteira, Alvimia bears unprecedented influence in the Southern Hemisphere, despite all internal divisions within its government. However, not all was well within the 'Mirror of the World'.[1] Her position on the world stage, paired with her unlawful occupation of Red Pine, made her a prime target for terrorist organizations. The Free State Army, a group of Euphemians in opposition to the Alvimian occupation of Red Pine, have harassed the Alvimian military with terrorist attacks for the past two centuries. Refusing to become extinct, they continue their campaign of resistance against the Alvimian military.

To combat threats, both external and internal, the Departamento de Segurança Estadual (Department of State Security) established a counterterrorism committee[2] to investigate the funding, membership, ambitions and capacities of all organizations and individuals suspected of sponsoring or partaking in terrorism. The committee's findings were particularly troubling to the Alvimian government: not only were the Free State Army fully capable, financially and militarily, of waging a campaign of protracted people's warfare against the Alvimian government, but there were a multitude of terrorist organizations active within the Kingdom. To combat them, the committee proposed a special taskforce to combat and destroy the terrorist threat. It was to have a series of wide-ranging, extraconstitutional powers to ensure national security was upheld.

While the Alvimian constitution of 141 A.C. limited the capacity of the military to investigate and operate against civilians, it could not regulate the existence of a 'civilian' paramilitary organization. Modeled on the Federal States of Euphemie's Federal Marshals, this new organization swiftly became the cutting edge against dissidence in the Kingdom of Alvimia.

This group had a name: the National Security Battalion.
Porto Plácido, Kingdom of Alvimia
18 August, A.C. 391

Image Cpt. Lourenço Éden Martins
Batalhão de Segurança Nacional (BSN)


Xipucaí is a neighborhood situated in the bustling, lively heart of Porto Plácido, connecting the adjacent neighborhoods of Iauarí and Manacapuru. The metropolitan rail line runs through the neighborhood's main street, specifically the 7 line. Along with local bus stops, Xipucaí also hosts Gûakary Street Station, which makes it a rather significant transport hub with routes headed directly to downtown Porto Plácido.

A symptom of slow, creeping deinstrialization in Alvimia is warehouses — far too many warehouses. Such inconspicuous places are simultaneously the place anyone would expect and the place nobody would expect. Long gone is REMESSA GERAL, S.A. — yet the dried, faded paint of their logo remains on the walls of this warehouse.
A simple warehouse. It'd been seized in a pre-dawn raid by Porto Plácido police, following several months of investigation into terrorist activity, after which they'd found the van parked within the warehouse, and it revealed a significant discovery. A quick opening of the vehicle's rear doors revealed the Euphemian-made BGM-97 TORA-W anti-tank missile launcher stowed in the back.

Lourenço looked on at the weaponized van, brick-like SulTek TC938 mobile phone in hand. He was on the phone with Major Paulo Moreira, his partner. Moreira was off handling affairs downtown with others in the BSN brass regarding further investigation of the March 1st Incident that'd killed military governor Diogo Alves and thrust the Red Pine occupation into chaos. The AAGR-led government was of no help either, at least not with that compromising fool Martin Campos in power.

"What's the news?" Moreira's voice, accompanied with the sound of a helicopter's rotors crackily echoed from the phone's plastic speakers.

Concealing post-industrial horror are facades far too sterile for an onlooker's comfort.

"Our van's most likely the one used in the March 1st Incident. One of the men looked into toll road records, placing the vehicle in the general vicinity of Manning, Fronteira by the 15th of February. License plates tie the vehicle to Cardoso Cleaning Company, run by a certain José Oriel Cardoso."

"You find him yet?"

"Another guy in BSN took him in for questioning. I don't think he had anything to do with it though, actually. Guy was out on vacation in Etoile Marin with his wife and kids when the van was stolen from his business."

"Well, are there any leads?" Moreira almost seemed frustrated. Investigating a months-old attack would be difficult, especially with all the contradictory reports of how the attack had occurred. Some even said that multiple missiles had been used, though the crash site had been far too unrecognizeable for this to be confirmed. There was additionally a terrible lack of CCTV footage — and those that did exist were too low-quality for anything useful to be obtained.

"Well, yes, actually—" Lourenço chuckled to himself. "One of my buddies from the precinct managed to gather an employee list. Get this: one of the employees was found to have ties to the Alvimian Revolutionary Army. Ernesto Sulacruz, 28, no job, no family, no known affiliates or friends. We don't even know where the sonuvabitch is!"
Ernesto Sulacruz, 28. Some are destined, perhaps by birth or perhaps by circumstance, to be the outliers of society.

"The ERA? God damn, I thought only the Free State Army was involved in this! If I bring up the possibility that the Free State Army and the ERA are working together, there'll be an uproar at the BSN!" Moreira exclaimed, surprised. "Well, I've gotta go — I'm arriving at the airport."

"I thought you were headed to headquarters."

"Oh, I am — but I'm headed here first. I'm expected to be flying with one of our brass, the one from Fronteira. Guess all the other choppers are in use or somethin'."

"Don't tell me it's that Alvaro Soarez dirtbag." Lourenço grumbled. Soarez was a hardliner, and a corrupt one at that. He wouldn't be surprised if the man was on the Aliança Nacional's[3] payroll. The man had more politics about him than integrity, and would sooner order the unlawful execution of Euphemians than do his job properly. Of course, Soarez hadn't done that yet, as far as Lourenço knew at least.

"Yeah, unfortunately." Moreira replied. "Anyways, I'll catch you later. Excellent work, follow up on any leads you find. See ya."

Lourenço hung up, returning his focus to the scene before him. "Anything else?" He looked to one of the officers on the scene.

He owns the house under a fake name.

"Yes, in fact." The officer replied, stepping away from the BGM-97 launcher. "Weapon's been stripped of all identification, numerical or otherwise. Fairly easy to figure out who provided it, though." It profoundly irritated Lourenço that the Alvimian government was willing to seek negotiations with the state providing the terrorists with these weapons. "That aside, we've got a call from Xiruhara PD. They've found Sulacruz's current residence in Araxú.[4] He owns the house under a fake name — took some cross-referencing to get a positive ID on him."

"Anyone there at present?" Lourenço asked.

"No, and it'd take some time to get a warrant." The officer shook his head. Alvimian law enforcement was critically limited in many regards by bureaucracy and legalese, which made the existence of the BSN essential to the state's goals of counterterrorism.

"Get me the address, and tell them I'll be there."

1 - 'Mirror of the World' - There is no exact term to properly translate the phrase, 'espelho do mundo' to Euphemian, but the term is used to express how the world is 'reflected' by the Alvimian nation-state. They emulate the cunning and shrewd negotiation ability of the Euphemian and the clever business of the Aenaran, and have an unparalleled culture in regard to their diversity.

2 - counterterrorism committee - The Comitê Nacional de Contraterrorismo (CNC) was established in 139 A.C. to develop a solid solution to the terrorism plaguing Alvimia. The solution was the BSN.

3 - Aliança Nacional - The Aliança Nacional, or National Alliance, is a far-right political organization representing the fringe ideas and beliefs of exmilitary, veterans and pseudo-fascist, borderline esoteric ideologues in Alvimia. From a genocide of Euphemians in the occupied territories to the restoration of a 'divine' Alvimian Empire, the Aliança Nacional's bizarre ideas are largely maintained under a guise of faux suit-and-tie professionalism in the Kingdom's congress. It is also suspected the AN has the cloak-and-dagger support of large corporate entities.

4 - Araxú - Araxú is a largely suburban neighborhood in Porto Plácido, developed during the economic miracle of the 310s. Due to the adjacency of Porto Plácido Federal University (UFPP), it has also become a hotbed for politically active youth, particularly those subscribing to leftist thought.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

User avatar
Posts: 136
Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Sun Jan 27, 2019 10:14 pm

This was written as a collaborative post between Valefontaine and Turmenista.




A Euphemian strategist once theorized warfare was not a measure of the biggest guns, or the lowest casualties, or the most advanced technology. True war requires a total mobilization of the human spirit, he claimed. Confusing the enemy, making your goals and intentions unknown, deceiving their spirit with false victories — all these were tenets of maintaining a constant initiative in warfare. The Euphemian mode of war is not like that of its allies — confusing, obscure and enigmatic, it is much more akin to strategies developed in the East than those of the West. It is that inherent difference that sets the Euphemian apart from the Aenaran, from the Oesterran.

Those were the words of Joey Rawlins, the first commander of the Free State Army following the Third Alvimian-Euphemian War. He'd witnessed the collapse of his superiors' forces, who foolishly and naively adhered to Western strategies and tactics. He'd been educated in the East, however. He had devised a method based upon their ways, adapting focalism, notions of the protracted people's war, and Euphemian mobile warfare doctrines to develop a concept unseen by any defense analysts that had preceded him. He called this method 'Absolute Combat Mobilization.'

Rawlins, isolated by his peers for refusing the post-war peace, served with the Free State Army for the rest of his years. He had made many enemies within the Euphemian defense community, however. The Free State Army under Rawlins had extreme success, even with little to no Euphemian support. Following his death, the Free State Army fell into a state of decline, with reduced activity for the next two centuries. The ascension of James Freeman Queen XII to the role of Commander of the Free State Army led to a sudden resurgence in the group — believed to coincide with the Qarik War.


Perhaps the greatest deception that Rawlins and his successors created was convincing the Alvimian public that the Free State Army was a distant problem. A bunch of hicks with too many guns, who simply hated Alvimia and wanted reunification with Euphemie — a lie so true most would believe it. The reality, however, was much grander in scope. James Freeman Queen was an Imalakian-Euphemian who'd grown up in Fronteira — a name no Euphemian would call Red Pine — and witnessed division not only by nationality, but by ethnicity and class. He'd seen injustice firsthand, and lived through it all — and it'd given him a much different perspective than his predecessors. He still adhered to Rawlins Thought, and pushed for the prolonged people's war against the Alvimian occupational menace, but he had a different idea on how to execute it.

The greatest way to achieve victory over your enemy, he figured, would be to exploit their kindness, mercy and sympathy — symptoms of weak character. He figured that, to do this, he had to abandon the notion that all Alvimians were the eternal enemy of the Free State Army's cause. He brought forth a deal with the Alvimian Revolutionary Army, a far-left wing revolutionary group advocating for the dissolution of the Kingdom of Alvimia and the establishment of a 'socialist state'. Included in such plans were the liberation of Red Pine, which was a symbol of Alvimian imperialism and warmongering.

The Free State Army, which had once relied on Euphemian spies beyond Red Pine, could now easily conduct clandestine operations with the ERA's help. They were Alvimians, after all, and could easily blend into the society of the enemy. Thus he had forged an unholy alliance, or perhaps too holy — determined to liberate Red Pine... and what better way to liberate Red Pine by bringing the downfall of the Alvimian government?
Porto Plácido, Kingdom of Alvimia
18 August, A.C. 391

Image Cpt. Lourenço Éden Martins
Batalhão de Segurança Nacional (BSN)


Araxú, a largely suburban neighborhood in Porto Plácido, is a hotbed for diversity and cultural mingling, as evidenced by the various Sinican and Imalako-Alvimian communities living there. A relatively high-class neighborhood due to the nearby Porto Plácido Federal University (UFPP), it is also a hotbed for left-wing intellectuals and the exchange of praxis. An Anarchist 'People's Library' exists at the center of this neighborhood, where books are distributed for free. Impressively, there are very few cases of books actually being stolen.

She shelters her under her umbrella. They talk without speaking.
From his black sedan, Lourenço eyed the bustling activity on Avenida Magalhães. More precisely, he was looking at the unassuming house situated by the avenue, which had nothing seemingly out of place. The address, however, was exactly as it read on the note-paper he'd jotted down.

"Headquarters says they're sendin' someone to help you with the house op. Says this Sulacruz guy might be armed and dangerous." Moreira's voice buzzed on the other end.

"Armed and dangerous? Pffft. No big deal. Gimme a break. Tell 'em—" Lourenço was interrupted by his superior, which made him grumble and swear under his breath.

"They're on their way already." Moreira explained. "Anyways, don't fuck this up. See ya." This time Moreira had hung up first. Lourenço grumbled, setting his phone aside and fetching his Modelo 06 8mm pistol from the glove compartment. Loading it, he kept his eyes set on the windows of the house. Stepping out of the car, he carefully approached the house, knocking the door and quickly moving aside, firearm at the ready.

"Ministério do Desenvolvimento Urbano! We've received a report your residence isn't up to code ..." Lourenço declared, hearing a pair of footsteps on the other end.

"Really?" Asked a masculine voice inside the house."I had my house checked two weeks ago!" It wasn't uncommon for Porto Plácido types to use 'clever' lies like that. However, there was also the possibility the man told the truth, and that would screw him over easily.

"Yeah, well I've got the warrant right here, you can come out if you don't believe me." Lourenço replied. He reached into his coat, pulling a scrawled-over spreadsheet he'd left in his pocket as extra note-paper. Pressing it against the small vertical slit-window on the front door, he waited for the response.

"Alright, I guess." The lock came undone, and the knob turned. In a split-second reaction, he kicked the door open, which sent the man tumbling to the floor in startled surprise.
A tight confrontation in a tighter space.

"BSN! FREEZE WHERE YOU ARE!" Lourenço aimed at the man, clearly not hesitant to empty a round into his skull. It was Ernesto Sulacruz, alright. The man obviously saw he was in a disadvantaged situation, raising his hands in surrender. Something was amiss, however. The sound of footsteps, hurriedly making their way downstairs, echoed through the dimly-lit halls of the house. He shifted his aim to the staircase, ready to shoot. The man on the ground had noticed this lowering of his guard, and had lunged forth to disarm Lourenço. The reaction was sudden and swift, and in a second he had Sulacruz in a chokehold, gun aimed to the man's right temple. "Shoot me and your friend dies!" He declared to the other man that'd emerged from the staircase.

"Our movement always needed a few martyrs!" The other man, evidently armed with an M341[1] battle rifle, took aim — but screamed in agony as Lourenço fired first, putting a bullet through his hand and bringing him to drop his weapon.

"You fuckin' son of a bitch!" The man exclaimed, gripping his hand in pain. "We'll get you for this!"

"Sure you will," Lourenço threw Sulacruz to the floor, shooting him in the foot for good measure — an action which was followed by excruciated screams. "Tell me how many other people are in this house, and maybe I won't commit an extrajudiciary killing or two!" His position was quickly becoming a disadvantaged one. If there were, in fact, more people in the house, he would have to keep his focus divided. That would give his two hostages an opportunity to overwhelm him, or it would give any sudden appearances the opportunity to shoot him first.

"Nobody!" Sulacruz screamed, clutching his foot in pain. "It's just us two!"

"Terror cells don't operate in two. Why did you steal a van and supply it to the Free State Army?" He aimed his pistol at Sulacruz's head once more, ready to fire. "Tell me!"

Unbeknownst to Lourenço, the second man was slowly creeping his left hand towards the knife he had tucked into his hoodie pocket. That was not all. Lourenço could not hear footsteps on the stairs over the (intentionally) loud screams and groans of the two injured men...


Yet another shot hand. The man beside Lourenço fell to the ground, clutching his palm. The pocket knife that was in his hand clattered to the floor as the man upstairs began sprinting down. At this point, it was clearly evident that someone else had entered the fray—but whose side were they on?
A second BSN agent?

The answer also became evident once the third man was swiftly disarmed, stunned by a pistol whip to the side of the face. A second BSN agent? had appeared, their black hair tied neatly back and covered up partially by a baseball cap emblazoned with the Alvimian flag. Judging by the attire—soccer jersey, cargo pants, and some new Niko™ shoes, they had to have been a student, or just a regular commoner.

That is, until they showed the badge. “Sorry I’m late, capitão.”

"My fault for not waitin' for the backup, huh..." He muttered. Looking back to the three disarmed men, he aimed about. "Now, anyone here willin' to answer, or are we gonna need to put a bullet in one of you?"

"Fuckin' fascist pigs..." Sulacruz still clutched his foot in pain, looking up at the two officers with a gaze of pure hatred. "Alvimia's an unequal society, just look all around you. The rich get rich and the poor get poorer... all while those big-wigs in congress sit around and decide how to best fuck over the common man. Reform is a myth... protest is a joke. The only way for people like us is armed resistance."

"Cut the lip-service, buddy." Lourenço pressed his Modelo 06 to Sulacruz's forehead.

"To answer your questions;" The Alvimian dissident grumbled in pain. "Yes, you've got all three of us. Yes, I stole the van from my employer. Do I know where it went? No. Free State Army? Good! I'm glad they're resisting this country's illegal, genocidal occupation of Red Pine." Whining again, he looked up to the two. "Now can you get us a FUCKING ambulance before we all bleed to death here?"

“I’ll do it, but I want some of my own information first.” The agent said. “One: The March 1st incident. Tell me more. Two: Your ties to the FSA. I know there’s more to this than just being business partners, my friend.”

The prodding put Sulacruz on edge. "I've got... nothing to do with the March 1st Incident. The Free State Army did it. I'm not with the FSA... I'm an Alvimian!"

"We know that," Lourenço began. "You're with the Alvimian Revolutionary Army. Now tell us what you did with the stolen van."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know." Sulacruz grumbled, irritated. "After I stole the van, I gave it to my contact in, uhh... shit..." He trailed off, trying to remember. He became anxious as Lourenço pressed the pistol tighter to his forehead. "U—uhhh... in Xiruhara! We've got a cell there. I gave it to a guy, I— I don't know his real name. Tijuca! Yeah, that's what he went by. Dude was a complete ghost. Only interacted with me through his associates. I meet with him... on the 23rd of every month... at the Serena Hotel in Manacapuru... at 5:30 PM."
Manacapuru thrives, a scenic bustle on the riverside. The Riverwalk travels through the neighborhood, which makes it a prime destination for curious foreign tourists.

"It’s a start.” The other agent said. “Go on.”

"I meet with him in Room 104. He reserves it ahead of time. Two of his guys are there. They set up a computer, put me on a 'video chat' with him. The meeting ends when he says it's over."

"Some tech-savy terrorists, huh?" Lourenço smirked, pulling his gun away from Sulacruz's head. "We'll get the precinct to confirm what he's saying. We've got a few days until this 'meeting' takes place, too. If he's right, we've got ourselves a nice lead." Lourenço looked to his backup. It seemed they'd be working on this one together, regardless of Lourenço's typical lone-wolf nature.


1 - M341 - The M341 rifle, formally designated 'Fusil Alvimiano M341, Calibre 7.62 mm' is an Alvimian select-fire battle rifle that entered service in 359 AC. It became the standard-issued designated marksman rifle for the royal Alvimian military, replacing the M301 which had entered service 58 years prior. Despite its age, it has lasted as a capable, reliable, and powerful rifle, though it is now replaced for the most part by the M358 assault rifle, which uses smaller cartridge ammunition. It has remained in active service mostly as a designated marksman rifle. It also served as the basis for the M66A3 sniper rifle.
Last edited by Valefontaine on Sun Feb 03, 2019 11:20 am, edited 2 times in total.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

User avatar
Posts: 5415
Founded: Apr 09, 2014
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Turmenista » Tue Jan 29, 2019 12:10 am

This was written as a collaborative post between Valefontaine and Turmenista.




In order to fight an enemy that normally does not play by the rules, you would have to disregard the rules themselves. Normally, a decision like this is one which would normally warrant accusations of treasons or violations of human rights...unless, of course, you happen to be a ghost. Be it Akhmanar or Aenara, Euphemie or Alvimia, at some point or another, corners will have to be cut. Loopholes will have to be made. Sometimes, this may mean supporting non-state actors, whose ideologies may differ from your own, all for the sake of pursuing your own interests.

Euphemie and Alvimia are no strangers to “ghost warfare” at all. Through the use of pro-Alvimian and pro-Euphemian militias, mercenaries, and even armed wings of political parties, a proxy war has once again reinvigorated tensions between the two old rivals, with such intensity only seen during the Alvimian-Euphemian wars of years prior. In their unsolicited killings, however, the realization soon dawned upon the two fighting sides that their very definition of warfare had changed, unbeknownst to the corporate suits and military brass that condoned their clashing.

To them, wars were no longer fought over imperialist greed or globalist corruption—it was now simply a matter of life and death. Conventional fighting was now conducted by mercenaries and armed partisans, rather than home-grown troops. Alvimia’s involvement in the insurgency in Red Pine was not the typical story of removing a warlord with too much power that was not about to lose it. Instead, it was a matter of defending the Alvimian people in the region against what could only amount to a foreign-supported terrorist organization. For the Euphemians of Red Pine, however it was a matter of survival, defying the odds to resist a hostile, imperialist aggressor whom had occupied their homes.

Truly, war had changed, and the vast majority of the world was blissfully unaware of it.

Porto Plácido, Kingdom of Alvimia
21 August, A.C. 391

Image Sgt. Sabina Augusto
Batalhão de Segurança Nacional (BSN)


Euterpe is a neighborhood in Porto Plácido. Often called the "Bucknee of Alvimia," in a reference to the diverse neighborhood of the same name in Torch City, Euterpe has grown into a large business and economic center despite existing for a little over 50 years. It's also one of the more diverse neighborhoods in Alvimia, with a large preference placed on Imalako-Alvimians and Turmenistan-Alvimians.

Their drive through town had been quiet and uneventful. This was to be expected of people who were, in short, total strangers. However, in the back of Sabina’s mind, the mere mention of Tijuca three short days ago still haunted her. Tijuca was an enigmatic figure who was in the gray area of being a tech-savvy terrorist and criminal kingpin. At times, it was hard to determine what he was trying to be, but no matter who—or what—he was, he was still the same evil, ruthless enforcer she knew very well.

Lourenço had prodded her about her knowledge of Tijuca a few times before. She had seen his interest in her background and her information on the enigmatic terrorist, though had insisted to leave the details vague, for now. When they stopped at the traffic light, his interest in the topic was reinvigorated. Sooner or later, she knew that she’d have to tell him the truth about why she took this case.

“You’re wondering why I took this case, capitão?” She inquired nonchalantly. Of course, her style of responding in such a manner was an emotional cover-up.

"I'm surprised HQ sent me a field partner. Surely they have their reasons," Shades of red were cast upon Lourenço's face — and much of the car itself — under the shimmering glow of the traffic lights. "I'm accustomed to working alone, but you prolly figured that much. Haven't read your record yet, though— didn't have the time since we got this lead."

“My excuse is simple.” She paused for a moment, contemplating whether she should answer. It wasn’t seen as professional to let one’s emotions enter their job—especially the BSN—but this was too personal of a mission to not give some exposition.

“It’s..personal. I was given the opportunity to pursue this case after tracking the ERA for quite some time. Knowing my history with them—Tijuca to be exact—I was the perfect candidate to track him down. Few have seen his face in person, only seeing a shadowy silhouette through a computer screen. I might be one of the only agents in the BSN to have ever seen his face.”

"You've seen this Tijuca guy, huh?" Lourenço asked, curious.

“Long ago.” She propped her cheek up against her knuckles as she leaned on the door, beginning her story..



The name Tijuca derives its meaning from the language of the Potu peoples of Alvimia, from the word ti, meaning "water", and îuká, meaning "to lure" or "to kill." Knowing this, it’s easy to see why such a name is fitting for a man like Tijuca. An ERA enforcer as ruthless as he is enigmatic, he exists in the gray area between organized criminality and terrorism, operating with the highest sensitivity to ensure his anonymity and interests is upheld.

To those that interact with him in person beyond his associates, they would surely know why little challenge his authority, and why he maintains such a low profile. Those who wrong him are often killed in brutal, methodical fashions, as seen in a tragedy regarding a certain family almost 15 years ago.

At age 10, Sabina Augusto would witness the murder of her mother and father at the hands of Tijuca and his enforcers, following a brief spat between her father, an associate of Tijuca, and the boss himself. Her father’s throat was cut with a machete, whereas Tijuca himself dealt the final blow to her mother following her father’s execution. Too grief-stricken to even move, she was effectively spared when Tijuca and his goons left, but not before setting their home on fire.

Narrowly escaping the flames to a safe house owned by family friends, Sabina vowed to one day find Tijuca again and bring him to justice, dead or alive, for what he did to her family. Even while hiding in a closet, she could still remember his face vividly, a small grin on his face as he pushed Sabina’s mother onto the bed and murdered her.

“Ever since that day, I’ve been preparin’ for a moment like this whenever I could. Of course, I’m still one of the lucky few who’s seen his face and not died. If I see him, I’ll know it’s him.”

"From cold-hearted thug to revolutionary cell leader... maybe the man's found a little purpose in life." The streetlights switched to a bright green, Lourenço resuming his drive. "Now I'm no genius, but if we somehow pull it off, we'll have an exact idea of where he's hiding out in the city. Man's a ghost — no photographs of him exist, and we don't even know his real name... Porto's a big place — easy to disappear, you know."

She nodded. Of course, there still remained the possibility that Tijuca was just leading them into a trap. They hardly knew of his capabilities or the extent of his little criminal syndicate—let alone his section of the ERA, at all, and all they had to work with was a description by memory and a location. Still, they were hopeful in tracking down the location of the man himself and bringing him to justice. They would have to take this one step at a time, one foot in front of the other.

Tijuca had evaded capture for nearly two decades. Soon, he would have his judgement.
Last edited by Turmenista on Tue Jan 29, 2019 10:23 am, edited 5 times in total.

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Posts: 136
Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Tue Jan 29, 2019 12:30 am




Not much is known of Rawlins' youth, save for its rather humble beginnings. Born in 59 AC, his mother died in childbirth. He was raised early on by his father, who was exmilitary and been involved the pacification that followed the end of the Civil War. He'd learned the way of the land at a young age due to this, and had developed a knowledge and awareness of ideological praxis and its role in warfare from his grandfather, who had fought in the Euphemian Civil War that came after the bombs fell. His fate — to serve the nation — was decided early on.

By seventeen, he'd joined the Federal Army, and demonstrated incredible adeptness and wit. Despite his lack of any formal education, in 78 AC his application to the officer school was accepted, and he was transferred along with 7 other men to an undisclosed country in the Orient. There, he'd been exposed to the Oriental perspective of warfare, which echoed his grandfather's teachings.

During the events of the Third Euphemian-Alvimian War, he commanded the 4th Infantry Division under the rank of Major General. While other forces had crumbled in the wake of the initial attack, Rawlins adapted what he'd learned effectively, and his division became the backbone of the Free State Army once 'peace' had come and support from Serondequot had been cut.

Rawlins' vision of reunification lives on in the modern-day Free State Army, and his diverse views on warfare have been largely embraced by both the Free State Army and the Euphemian military.

Dom Pedro XV expressed fears to his son and future king Pedro XVI that ideas were harder to kill than men — that thinkers were far greater a threat than even the greatest general. One could perhaps estimate he did not consider the danger a warrior poet general — and his ideas that have outlived him by centuries — could pose to Alvimian military ambitions.


The byproduct of the success of Rawlins Thought can be witnessed in Red Pine. Alvimia's military is strained, their morale weakened by their neverending fighting of a war they cannot win without extermination. So too is the spirit of the people challenged by this war, which leaves them weary living under the constant news cycle of dead soldiers, policemen and reports of bombings.

Commander James Freeman Queen had perhaps been the right man at the right time, or perhaps he had the ideal mix of vision, ambition and an aspiration to achieve his sacred destiny — his Manifest Destiny — by any means necessary. His refinement and application of Rawlins Thought, bolstered by unprecedented advisory and material support from the Presidential Order, has given him the tools for success for the Free State Army to achieve their God-graced goals.
Porto Plácido, Kingdom of Alvimia
22 August, A.C. 391

Image Captain John "Jimmy" Howard Cash
Southeastern Command
43rd Branch
Free State Army


Manning International Airport
Manning International Airport has largely been reduced to a regional hub, with a significant military presence ever since the March 1st incident. It is the subject of many jokes due to its poor service and structural design.

Subcommandant August Nguyen fled the country seven years prior in a high-stakes escape. Caught by Florianan authorities in a pre-dawn raid, his extradition to Alvimia may change the stakes of the peace negotiations.
Cash had masqueraded himself as airport staff. The Order had assisted in the preparations thus far, providing him a fake identification and a cosmetic makeover that involved a lightening of the skin and a concealing of his gruff stubble. They were professionals, that was for damn sure. Chewing dip, he eyed the mirror of the runway vehicle from which he waited.

A duffel bag lay at the seat to his right. An SMG-M64B1 was inside, which he intended to use for what was about to happen. Through the mirror, he could see the man. August Nguyen, flanked at both sides by BSN agents, descended the steps of the Aerovimia[1] Lo-176[2] passenger aircraft. His hands cuffed, he seemed to make no move to resist as he made his way down.

The press were present, watching the scene unfold from the tarmac. He glanced over to the time, which was glowed a photoelectronic red on the vehicle's dashboard. 10:59 PM. He reached into the duffel bag, knowing what would come next.


A fireball shot upward from the airport terminal's roof, sending broken fragments of steel roofing into the air. The grand glass windows shattered, a second explosion sending a cascade of flaming debris descending upon the tarmac. Those journalists that hadn't fled kept their cameras rolling, intently watching the scene take place.

Immediately reacting with panic, the federal agents began to move — but Cash had taken initiative. Firing away at the BSN agent standing beside the truck, he stepped out of the vehicle. Nguyen had, amid the chaos, disarmed one agent and put the other into a chokehold with his cuffs, stolen pistol in hand. "Make a move and this man dies!" He declared, bringing his hostage down to the runway. Cash aimed at the other policemen, ensuring they would think twice before reacting to the hostage situation. The two men made a beeline, bringing the hostage with them, for the Departamento das Prisões helicopter that waited nearby, climbing aboard.

The real pilots had been killed and replaced by their 'inside men' at the airport hours prior to the attack, and those who sat in the cockpit were already ready and willing to ferry them out. "Excellent job, comrades!" Cash exclaimed, grinning as the helicopter lifted off. "I ain't seen somethin' pulled off this cleanly since a certain trick I pulled few months back. Welcome back, Subcommander Nguyen, sir."

"Honor's mine, comrade. I been heard you were involved with the March 1st Incident. Ain't that an achievement..." Nguyen chuckled.

"What're you fixin' to do with the hostage?" Cash glanced over to the BSN agent, who Nguyen still held in a firm chokehold with his cuffs. The man refused to speak — and even if he would, patriots like Cash and Nguyen had never dared learn the language of their enemy. That was for the diplomats of the Free State Army to stoop to. He'd never speak a word of the Alvimian tongue.

"It'll be a huge blow to the Alvimian public's morale to hear one of their 'counterterrorist elites' been take'n hostage by the Free State Army. Maybe they'll be more willin' to negotiate if they know they've got lives on the line." Nguyen slyly smirked. "Or perhaps... concede."

1 - Aerovimia - Aerovimia S.A. is the largest Alvimian international and domestic airliner, also serving as the country's official flag carrier. Founded shortly before the War, its aesthetic emulates the success of the Alvimian economy and nation-state after the War, with an almost retrofuturistic jet era tinge. It is also rented to the Alvimian government for important tasks, including the transport of certain high-level prisoners like August Nguyen.

2 - Lo-176 - The Lorenz Lo-176 is a long-range wide-body Euphemian twin-jet airliner. It was sold to Alvimia in limited quantities during the National Republican-led detente with the Kingdom of Alvimia in the mid-late 300s. Aerovimia has a fleet of 26 Lo-176s and 13 Lo-141s.
Last edited by Valefontaine on Tue Jan 29, 2019 12:32 am, edited 2 times in total.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

User avatar
Posts: 136
Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Tue Jan 29, 2019 11:36 pm

This was written as a collaborative post between Valefontaine and Turmenista.



It was a name that inspired fear among the wiser of Porto Plácido's denizens. In his younger years, he'd been an enforcer for the Urujucu Cartel, but was considered by most to be a terrifying force in his own right. Most in the Cartel were in it for their own interests — make it to the top, or die trying. Yet for Tijuca, he seemed just content with his position of lieutenant. While the businessmen handled the drug trade in and out of the city, it was Tijuca who ensured deals were upheld.

However, he also gained an ample insight into the plight of the poor in the city. He himself had grown up in poverty, and witnessing the great class divide in the city, the abuses of police. Why was money being spent on pointless jingoistic rabble when the poor were cramped in massive, centuries-old government-made Blocos.

The Blocos were something that had always angered Tijuca. Looming above the city, a way to keep the city's rampant poverty concealed from the tourists of the world, these great superstructures were regarded as 'miracles' for 'self-sufficient communities' in the time of their construction. Now, however, they bore more resemblance to giant concrete prisons, a reminder of how little regard or empathy the government had for the lower class.

His gradual shift from thuggish enforcer to revolutionary began in the mid-380s. The Urujucu Cartel wasn't explicitly against groups like the ERA — they and their leadership cared only for more power. He cultivated an image among the poor of Porto Plácido, the image of a man of the people. Of course, few had seen his face and fewer were alive to tell the story, but his name alone carried more power than any face could.

By 387, he had left his 'job' in the Cartel with Rafael Caeiro's explicit assent — peacefully resigning was something few members of the organization could achieve. Tijuca wasn't looking for peace of mind, however. The opposite, in fact. Witnessing the widespread, state-induced errors, injustices and crimes that permeated through Alvimian society like a virus; it was like a sick, corrupting plague that had thoroughly turned Alvimia into a bloodied, bloated, rotting corpse.

He aimed to bury this corpse, and help create Alvimia anew. It wasn't difficult for him to rise the ranks of the Alvimian Revolutionary Army, soon placing him at the head of one of Alvimia's largest ERA cells.

Porto Plácido, Kingdom of Alvimia
23 August, A.C. 391

Image Cpt. Lourenço Éden Martins
Batalhão de Segurança Nacional (BSN)


Manacapuru is one of Porto Plácido's prime tourist hotspots. Located in the interior of the city, near downtown, many curious foreigners and cheeky romantics come to Manacapuru for its lavish hotels, scenic riverwalk scene, and the generally calm aura of the neighborhood.

It is said that a great Potu warrior once defeated a great îakaré in ancient times, and in its dying breath the beast blessed the land for the warrior's people to freely inhabit. Perhaps that is how the scenic paradise of Manacapuru came to be...

The Serena Hotel is host to the most high-class of occurrences among Manacapuru's cosmopolitans. Special galas, ballroom masquerades and artisanry intrigue serves merely as background noise to most of the hotel guests.
"Keep movin'..." Lourenço stood behind Ernesto Sulacruz, allowing some space to form between them as their (unwilling) patsy in the operation moved skittishly across the hotel lobby, the man ascending the steps to the second floor nervously. Carefully, Lourenço followed, looking to his sides to ensure they weren't being watched. He could fairly assume that Tijuca's men were in the hotel room, waiting for Sulacruz.

Sabina had been given a small device before the mission, which would allow them to triangulate Tijuca’s location once put into a computer. Its complex name—Compact Data Bus—seemed to betray its rather simple and straightforward nature. To use it was simple: you just had to stick it onto the computer and wait for the program inside to run its job. Personally, she wasn’t adept with using computers, so she was thankful that using the CDB was as simple as the folks at the lab said it was.

“If the dorks at the lab are correct, all we have to do is stick it into the computer.” Sabina watched their sides and rear, making sure they weren’t being followed while also trying to stay inconspicuous. After all, it never looked right to just wildly look around, as if you were intentionally trying to find trouble.

"Precisely," Lourenço quietly replied. He waited a good fifteen seconds to pass before following Sulacruz, ensuring he was within eyeshot but not too close. "It would appear Room 104 is strategically chosen. Boys back at HQ analyzed the floorplan, the layout — 104 seems to use some weird paneling that interferes with our usual eavesdropping equipment. Must be a private, VIP-type room for elites who don't want their secrets out. Must be rather expensive to book it..."

“Or, maybe our man has some connections.” Sabina figured.

Sulacruz looked around at the top of the stairway, nervous. He still had a limp about his walk. Natural, for someone who had been shot in the foot. The man continued walking, anxiously looking about to the labels on the hotel rooms. He was searching for the room number.

“Found it yet?” Sabina inquired. “We’ll be coming up on the room soon, if the signs aren’t lying.”

100, 101, 102, 103... 104. Lourenço paused, watching across the hall as Sulacruz eyed the door. He'd hesitated for a moment before knocking. As the silence ensued, Lourenço gestured his partner to move forward with him, drawing a suppressed MP56 submachine gun from his suit as he approached.

"You're here, comrade." A voice on the other end of the door spoke. The lock came undone and the wooden door opened, to which Lourenço hurried behind Sulacruz and opened fire. The first of Tijuca's men stood no chance as his chest was filled with 9mm, sending him tumbling backwards into assorted furniture in the VIP suite.

"Fucking bastard!" The second man reached for the VK-64[1] assault rifle he had slung over his shoulder. With Lourenço using their accomplice as a human shield, the man was out of his view. Entering swiftly, Sabina raised her silenced P1928 and aimed at the second man, firing just as he began to move. The shot flew over his shoulder and into the wall behind them, and in response to her missed shot, he snapped his attention back to her, flicking the slide back on his VK-64.

"Shit!" Lourenço kicked Sulacruz forward, putting the terrorist in the path of the assault rifle's fire. The man screamed in agony as he was filled with bullets by his comrade, tumbling back comedically onto the carpet floor. In the midst of the chaos, Lourenço dashed forth, seeking cover behind one of the black granite countertops inside the penthouse. They'd raised more of a ruckus than Lourenço had preferred — maybe it'd have been a cleaner job if I worked alone. He thought. If they were to implement the device onto the computer, they'd need to kill the armed gunman guarding it first.
Must be a private, VIP-type room for elites who don't want their secrets out. Must be rather expensive to book it...

"Show yourselves, you fuckin' feds!" He screamed, aiming his gun about. Firing wildly, he sent 7.62mm bullets shredding through the granite, just inches from Lourenço's head. The close call had brought the federal agent to move forward down the counter, ready to emerge and catch the terrorist by surprise.

“Head down, capitão!” Sabina suddenly shouted, aiming her sidearm downrange at the gangster. The first shot went way over her target, sending dozens of fragments of a nice vase out onto the floor, but the second was a direct hit, going straight through his heart.

"Gaaahgk—!" The man dropped the foreign-made assault rifle, clutching his chest as he collapsed to the floor. As it became evident he was no longer a threat, Lourenço vaulted over the counter, hurrying over to the laptop situated atop the penthouse's dining table. There was a video feed on the other end, and the glow of a red light beside the computer's webcam indicated it was recording on both ends.

A shadowy figure, his face obscured by a grey hoodie, laughed on the live video. "One of you looks... awfully familiar."

“Remember me, asshole?” Revealing the CDB, Sabina stuck it into the port in the computer and pulled away from the computer, balling her fist. “Does this face look familiar? It might remind you of my mother, who you killed with your own hands, and my father, who you had executed in my own house, before burning it to the ground. You’ve evaded capture for long enough, Tijuca.”

"Catch me... if you can." A second window opened on the screen, bringing up a progress bar as data of Tijuca’s location was concurrently broadcasted to the BSN van outside. His IP address flashed on the screen in the green text, all while possible locations of the computer he used cycled on the screen. Much to her irritation, it was taking much longer than expected to find his location.

Lourenço's radio crackled to life as the computer hummed rhythmically, the voice of their 'tech guy' on the other end.

/// [ALVFOR] - [BSN] - [SIGINT Branch] - [Cb. Roberto Cardoso] /// - "We're conducting a trace of the address. Stand by."


The sound of an explosion reverberated through the lobby. "Of course they'd have backup... typical. I never get a break here." Lourenço muttered, irritated. Approaching the corpse of one of the gunmen, he tucked his MP56 away as he fetched the VK-64 and made for the lobby. He was ready for the confrontation. He'd have to ensure not a single of the ERA's men would reach the penthouse and interrupt the tracing.

Gunfire shredded through the wallpaper behind Lourenço as he ducked behind the marble overlook on the second floor of the lobby, moving forth as bullets marked the wall behind him. "Show yourself, you son of a bitch!" Came one of the angered yells from the men on the first floor. Judging by the few glimpses he'd gotten, there were ten of them, aggressively pushing civilian onlookers away. Luckily for him, they didn't seem trained, or harboring of any particular discipline in the use of firearms. Peeking again from cover, he opened fire, briefly creating a red mist as arterial spray flew from the necks of one of the assailants, who promptly collapsed to the floor in an incoherent gurgle. The attack on one of their comrades brought the attackers to seek shelter behind the various furniture pieces and counters about the lobby.

Shouting for the civilians to scatter, Sabina ducked behind one of the marble pillars, keeping her head down herself as a bullet chipped away the side of her cover. Raising her weapon again, she fired off three shots down at the men, swearing loudly from her missed shots. In response, they swept their rifles up to her and began firing, forcing her to move away from her now-overwhelmed cover towards something more stable.

Reaching a pillar adjacent to where she was, she reloaded her pistol quickly. “Just my luck.”

From their positions in the lobby, the nine remaining men returned fire at the duo, Lourenço suddenly flinching in pain as one of the rounds grazed his right shoulder. Screaming, he emerged from cover again, firing madly at the enemies, which sent another one dropping to the floor, dead. Moving further along the second floor's walkway, he stopped to clutch his shoulder, which burned and throbbed with pain.

Sabina, on the other hand, seemed to have most of the bad luck today. Unbeknownst to her, as she was switching cover, a shot had went straight through her leg, though she was either unaware or too pumped up on adrenaline to even notice. Once in cover, however, the pain was immediate and overwhelming, almost causing her to double over and fall to the floor. Clenching her burning leg, Sabina gritted her teeth and leaned against the pillar, racking her weapon.

Bobbing out of cover for a moment, she lined her sights up on the head of the assumed perp that had shot her. One shot was all it took to send most of his brain spraying outwards onto his partner, who held his mouth agape in a mixture of shock and fear before sprinting away.

“Capitão, cover me!” She suddenly dropped down behind the column, twisting the sound suppressor off her handgun. As methodically as a first responder would’ve, she created an improvised tourniquet out of her shirt and the suppressor, intending to, at the most, stop the bleeding until proper care arrived.

"Fuckin' hell, keep it together!" Lourenço continued laying down fire on the men below, emptying the rest of his magazine into a rather burly shooter, who fell backwards into the front desk of the hotel lobby, letting out no more than a pained groan. Tossing the VK-64 aside, he hurried to his partner, who'd been injured amidst the shootout. He preferred working alone, sure — but he wasn't about to let his partner die. They'd only managed to kill three of them, and the men were now making a hurried charge up the stairs. Drawing his MP56 from his coat once more, he fired away at the men on the stairs, which sent two of them falling limp down the stairs. The third, seeing the weight of his situation, leaped off the railing of the stairway, tumbling back down to the first floor. Gunfire continued sporadically, as the remaining five assailants took potshots, striking the walls behind them. "Look alive, Sargento." He returned his attention to his subordinate, kneeling down to tighten her tourniquet. He could hear no footsteps upon the staircase, which meant he had time — still though, he kept his MP56 aimed to the stairs' end, where anyone foolish enough to approach would end up running into his line of fire.

As if to cover up her embarrassment, Sabina looked away from Lourenço, continuing to hold the area where she was shot until the pain became bearable. “I’m.. I’m fine, capitão. Fucker shot me, but nothing’s lodged in.”

Hearing footsteps along the staircase again, he rose from cover, opening fire upon the men. One by one, they collapsed, rolling down the stairs. One of them was less lucky, his forehead popping open and sending its contents flying as he tumbled backwards over the rail, hitting the floor with a loud CRACK.

This was met with screams from the remaining two attackers, who fled the hotel out the front entrance, which they'd blown a hole through when they initially attacked. Judging by the sirens outside, they wouldn't get far.

"Can you walk?" Lourenço asked, extending a hand to offer to help her up. She nodded lightly. Much of the pain had since subsided from her adrenaline rush, but the fact remained that her leg still needed to be treated. It wouldn’t do her any good to leave it as is, so she took his hand, slowly easing her way back up onto her feet. A sharp pain caused her to double over once more, but, for the most part, she could walk unassisted.

/// [ALVFOR] - [BSN] - [SIGINT Branch] - [Cb. Roberto Cardoso] /// - "Tijuca's location has been triangulated to an office building in Xiruhara. It's likely where he's running his terror cell."

/// [ALVFOR] - [BSN] - [Field Branch] - [Cpt. Lourenço Martins] /// - "Well, my partner's wounded and Tijuca knows he's being traced, so we don't have much time to pull this off, now do we?"

/// [ALVFOR] - [BSN] - [HQ Branch] - [Maj. Paulo Moreira] /// - "Don't push yourself, capitão. We don't want a repeat of the 'incident' that happened yesterday with Nguyen and one of our own. HQ is not sanctioning any further BSN operations until further notice."

It was, indeed, troubling for the BSN's agents that one of their own could fall into the hands of the enemy. Lourenço hesitated for a good moment, looking to his partner. This was probably the only shot they had at getting Tijuca — and her only shot at getting revenge.

“Son of a bitch!” Evidently aware of what was being said over the radio, Sabina suddenly lashed out on the closest thing to her—the fallen bodies of one of the thugs, ignoring the fact that her soccer-like kick was with her injured leg. Possibly out of pure anger, she seemed to be dismissing the pain altogether. “This was the last chance we had to find Tijuca and bring that bastard to justice, capitão, and they’re taking it away from us! Damn it. It’s no use trying to track him down now. He’ll just find someplace else to hide for 10 more years until we try to find him again.”

"It's up to you, Sabina." It'd been the first time he'd called her by her name, a noticeable break in formality. "It's both our jobs on the line here, but if we pull this off... it'll change things. We all have our reasons, but that's part of why I joined the force." Lourenço looked to her, concerned. "And at this point, we've got only our badges to lose."

“He took everything from me.” Once outside, she rested herself against the steps for a moment before continuing on. “You’re right—I’ve got nothing to lose except for this badge. We’re this close to catching Tijuca.” She placed her index finger above her thumb as if she were pinching something, almost touching her thumb with her finger. “We can’t lose momentum now. Injuries or not, this ends today.”

"Well, then;" Lourenço looked to his black sedan, which he'd parked just across from the hotel. Police had already been at the scene and had detained the two men, who had surrendered in fear of their lives. "I suppose we ain't got much time to spare talkin'..." He led the way to his vehicle, stepping in and tossing his MP56 into the glove compartment. "Come on, now. We ain't got all day — and if that injury of yours is too much, I can stop." Lourenço reassured her. Pushing his already-injured partner to the limit was risky, of course. He wanted to make sure she was certain of this.

For the moment, she seemed to be alright. Despite a heavy limp, she had made it over to the car just as he had, settling into the passenger seat and immediately opening the glove box. Fishing past the MP56 and useless papers revealed a small first aid kit—usual for most law enforcement vehicles—that she promptly opened and dispensed the contents out onto her lap. Rolling up her pants partially, she saw that the bullet’s entry point was small, but lightly bleeding at this point, meaning that the tourniquet had done its work. All she needed now was a copious amount of bandages and something to alleviate the pain, as well as something to clean the wound.

She found the third thing she was looking for in the first aid kit, slowly removing her torn sleeve-turned-tourniquet from her leg and biting down onto her sleeve as she cleaned the wound, kicking her good leg from the ensuing pain. Once finished, she wrapped her leg up with care, placing the first aid kit back into the glove box roughly.

“Good as new.” She chuckled hysterically, checking her handgun for ammo.

"I ain't gonna say I didn't try." Lourenço started the car's engines, fetching the siren from the cupholder and setting it atop the vehicle. Activating it, he sped off, southbound for Xiruhara, sirens blaring into the distance. The hunt for Tijuca had begun.

1 - VK-64 - The Varennikov VK-64 is an ancient pre-war weapon, made before even the War itself. While these ancient models can occasionally be found in various states of decay, they're typically made by local arms dealers due to the simplicity and patent-free nature of the ancient design. The old phrase, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it' applies in this case. The weapon is just as effective a killer as any rifle.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

User avatar
Posts: 5415
Founded: Apr 09, 2014
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Turmenista » Wed Jan 30, 2019 10:57 pm

This was written as a collaborative post between Valefontaine and Turmenista.



It was the year 140 A.C. As a result of a crisis in succession, the monarchy and Prime Minister became the dominant figures of power in the Alvimian government. Formed from a compromise between republicans and monarchists that supported the Second Empire, the Kingdom of Alvimia succeeded the Second Alvimian Empire. Even under this 'compromise', the PM and king held disproportionately large amounts of power, often using it to bully or shut down Congress, push forth controversial decrees, and more. Unbeknownst to them, while they ruled, the repressed people of Alvimia wanted change.

Enter the year 351 A.C. The monarchy was now well-grounded in Alvimian politics, though opposition was fast on the rise. Leftist groups existed back in the 140s and 200s, comprised mainly of republicans that were either cheated out of the deal or too late to profit on it. However, these groups were small in terms of influence and manpower, often directly suppressed by the government itself. With no other options left, many of these republicans transitioned over into a more moderate mindset, establishing themselves in the cities as disgruntled, liberal businessmen with morals, and little chance of challenging the political system...

...that is, until a discovery was made, by leftist rural guerrillas, who found records of an ancient ideology which predated the Fall itself. It was known as “communism”, written by a strange intellectual named “Knox.” Adopting this ideology, they soon realized its dangerous potential when the monarchy began to suppress any and all “communist thought.” These guerrillas found solidarity in the most unusual of places: urban Alvimia, among left-wing intellectuals whom also had re-discovered communism.

It was a leftist match made in heaven itself. By May of that year, a coalition was created, uniting revolutionary students, rural guerrillas, cosmopolitan liberals and moralistic business magnates together under one communist, anti-monarchist banner. The resulting child of this relationship was none other than the Alvimian Revolutionary Army—the ERA.

Porto Plácido, Kingdom of Alvimia
23 August, A.C. 391

Image Sgt. Sabina Augusto
Batalhão de Segurança Nacional (BSN)


Milênio 500 building, Xiruhara
The Milênio 500 building is a multipurpose building located in the Xiruhara of Porto Plácido. Several shops, restaurants, and other venues are found in the lower floors of this building, while many offices are found on the upper floors, with tenants ranging from radio stations, to technology firms, to tech-savvy terrorists...

In particular, the ERA had a front company operating as tenants the building, as one of the many tech firms. On paper, Tecnologia Faísca, Ltd. was a legitimate business, turning a decent monthly profit. Thus, they are able to effectively hide in plain sight under the guise of a regular company, though, how long they can last hiding is about to be tested...

Either the ERA were pure geniuses for being able to hide in the city for this long, or the BSN just wasn’t doing an optimal job in finding them. Their choice to use the Milênio 500 building as a headquarters turned out, in the end, to be more of a blessing than a curse, given their connections to existing criminal syndicates and businesses in the city. On surface level, it was deceptively peaceful, located in a relatively safe part of town. Underneath, however, it was a front to some of the ERA’s more lucrative operations Porto Plácido, due to its urban setting, and made for the perfect stronghold for someone like Tijuca, since the front company which operated the building was a primarily information technology and computer firm.

Even Sabina was stumped and bewildered on how they could hide for so long in such a public location like this. However, that was in the past. They had arrived at the building minutes ago, planning out their course of action for taking down Tijuca himself. What mattered most now was getting to him—alive—and taking him to justice.
Upon a cathodic wrist-monitor, the target looks closer than ever.

A van outside, doors still ajar, seemed a dead giveaway to the enemy's intentions to vacate. Lourenço eyed the vehicle with suspicion, noting there was nobody nearby. Perhaps they were fetching whatever else they needed to get from the office. Drawing and reloading his submachine gun from his suit, he looked to his partner. "You ready?"

Sabina racked the side of her handgun. “Let’s do this.”

Stepping out of the sedan, Lourenço's first move was to approach the back of the vehicle. By the time he was back in Sabina's view, he held an M358[1] assault rifle in hand, his suit perhaps a bit bulkier from the grenades and explosives he'd tucked inside. "We're probably going to be up against a lot of 'em. Best to come prepared."

Figuring she’d do the same, she went to the trunk to find something of use. Immediately, Sabina was greeted by a treasure trove of guns, ammunition, explosives, guns, and more ammunition. While restocking her P1928, something covered up by some stray papers and cloth caught her attention. She reached for it, taking the E60[2] up in her arms and racking the slide. The audible cha-chk was the universal sound for “kiss your ass goodbye,” so having the E90 in her hands definitely seemed to alleviate her concerns.

She looked over to Lourenco after grabbing some more ammunition for the E90, nodding. “Ready. Let’s go.”

Civilian bystanders had taken little notice to the two armed BSN agents, as the sight of armed policemen wasn't all too uncommon in the city. What was about to happen, however — that was going to be rather uncommon. The evening sky was a shade of pale blue, the sun bound to set soon. An evening shootout — how fitting.
An evening shootout — how fitting..

They both stepped rather nonchalantly into the atrium's lobby, running straight into five of the suited men, lifting a set of boxes down the stairs.

"Shit! It's them!" One of the ERA henchmen exclaimed, eyes widening at the sight of the two.

In reaction, the men immediately dropped the cardboard box, drawing their guns — to which Lourenço emptied 5.56mm into the men, sending two collapsing down the steps in gurgled chokes and screams. Before the others could shoot, Sabina raised her shotgun and opened fire upon one of the gunmen, sending his body flying backwards—almost comically so. Racking her shotgun, she cast her aim over to the last two as they drew their sidearms, only to cut them off prematurely when she pulled the trigger. Both of them tumbled down the stairs as a result of their spacing, the hand of one of them dangling off his wrist by his ligaments alone. With terrified screams, civilians fled the scene, triggering a small stampede as they were flushed out by the shootout.

”Get down and stay down! Don’t be a hero—get the fuck out of here, NOW!”

Without a word, Lourenço led the way, hurrying up the steps. The information he'd procured regarding Tecnologia Faísca, Ltd. indicated they would be on the third floor, through which they'd access the office by a door in the atrium.

Hurrying down the steps were more of them — four in total. As they hurried down the steps, Sabina and Lourenço fired away at the men, bringing them collapsing down the stairs. Slinging his M358 assault rifle over his shoulder, he reached for his MP56, swiftly spraying more rounds into a would-be surprise of three more hurrying down the steps. Sabina stepped past her partner, aiming at two more that were coming down the steps. Her shotgun quickly ended the life of one of them as he aimed down at them, his weight causing him to slump over and eventually fall down the stairwell entirely. Quickly racking the slide to her weapon, she fired again, narrowly missing her target before following up with another shot, this time grazing his arm. Unable to use his weapon, he slumped down onto the ground, executed by a final shot to the chest.

As they made up the steps, Lourenço suddenly ducked behind the metaplastic[3] paneling that constituted the railing of the staircase. Sabina quickly saw why — one of the men, clad in business attire like the rest of the dead henchmen in the atrium, held a MG71 machinegun at the hip, obviously intending to fire. Rounds proceeded to shred through where Lourenço had stood seconds before, to which the BSN agent in turn swiftly popped his submachine gun over the railing, returning fire at the rather burly armed man. It was to no avail, however, the rounds instead tearing loose paneling from the ceiling above.

Blindly firing above the railing in an attempt to hit the machine gunner, Sabina too wasn’t faring well—the gunner had weaved away before she fired, narrowly evading the pellets. In response, he continued his shooting, spraying their positions with his machine gun.

Footsteps could be heard — presumably help had arrived for the lone machine gunner. It didn't seem to dissuade Sabina's partner Lourenço, however. Pulling the pin off one of the incendiary grenades he had tucked in his suit, he lobbed it across, culminating in a roaring BOOM as a bright glow erupted across the third floor. Dashing forth, he aimed ahead at the men — discharging his submachinegun into the screaming, burning gunmen he'd caught with his throw. Emptying a good few rounds into the machinegunner's chest too, he threw his weapon at the man, effectively pistol-whipping him in the forehead. Drawing a Modelo 06 pistol from his suit, he finished the man off with three consecutive shots to the head, which sent the hulking beast of a man staggering back, falling backwards over the railing to the first floor. A distant CRASH confirmed he'd met his end. Now, ahead of them, lay only the agape door to the rented office space the ERA's front company held.

“This is it.” Ejecting the spent shotgun shell, Sabina reloaded the weapon, waiting by his side intensely. Her anger now was palpable—tightening grip on the E90 and narrowed eyes gave away her emotions.

"Stand back," Lourenço pulled from his suit a grouping of dynamite, setting the fuse aflame with his lighter. Tossing it inside, he closed the door to the office, standing aside in wait.


The metal door flew off its hinges with incredible speed, crashing into one of the shops across the floor. On the other side, the source of the blast was mostly in flames now, more panicked ERA gunmen panickedly running around inside. Taking advantage of the confusion, Sabina stepped into the charred and smoking room, immediately blasting away one of the gunmen (and his arm) in doing so. She cast her aim to the right and fired at two others—once again, spacing mattered—and promptly took both of them down with one shot.

She counted down her remaining shots in her head: four, before she needed to either reload of swap her E90 out for her sidearm. She took a shooting stance and fired at an a man behind an overturned table, causing his body to roughly hit the floor with a THUMP. Directly behind that table were three more, spread out in an irregular fashion in the room. Sabina ran forwards and vaulted over the table she had just shot through, just so happening to drop kick one of the men behind the table. After finishing him off, her head bobbed back up to the others that were readying their weapons. One’s arm was partially blown off as she dove to the side to evade his retaliatory fire, firing her last shot at his legs. His body comically flopped to the ground, her head lined up just in time for her to sit up and draw her P1928, emptying his head of its contents onto the back wall with a well-placed shot to the forehead.

She stood up, casually reloading her shotgun. “I think that’s all of th—”

Suddenly, the thumping of feet and shouting was heard from another door, revealing a man in a business suit with what appeared to be a sword in his hands. Holding the blade with two hands above his head, as if he were preparing to let loose a powerful slash on something, he charged her, screaming all the while. Sabina held the E90 up sideways to block the sword, calling for her partner to help.

"Fucking bitc—" The sword-wielding man's response was cut short as Lourenço emptied 3 rounds into the man's chest, to which he dropped his sword, stepping back in shock. Sabina pushed him back, racked her shotgun, and promptly blew him away. His feet left the ground as his body flew backwards for a few feet, almost as if it were out of a cheesy action movie from the 380s. He crashed down onto a nearby table, finally crumpling down onto the ground after a dramatic stumble and cry of pain.

Moving through the office, it seemed they'd cleared it. Lourenço looked to a metal door along the office's corridor. As he did, one of the men leaped forth from the storage closet, to which Lourenço quickly dispatched them. As the man collapsed on the floor, scattering fragments of his brain upon the wall, Lourenço returned his focus to the steel door ahead of them. He fired a round into the doorknob, to which he heard explosives go off on the other end.

"As expected." Lourenço noted, briefly pausing before he kicked the door with full force, leading the way into the next room with his gun drawn. The room was full of monitors, computers steadily humming and setting the ambience.

A webcam was situated at the center of the room, just above one of the many monitors. There was the silhouetted figure of someone sitting upon the sole office chair in the room, his face obscured by the dim lighting of the room. He faced the various computers at the desk, not bothering to turn around.

"So you finally come," The voice began, unmistakably Tijuca's.

“It’s over, Tijuca.” Sabina stepped past Lourenço, her pistol aimed right at his skull. “You’ve lost.”

The voice seemed to reply to Sabina's statement with a wry laugh. "So you think."

“You killed my family, and hundreds—no, thousands, under your watch. And you think you can so easily escape from us?” She paused, as if to think, then began speaking right away. “No. End of the line.”

"Fine, then." The voice replied. "Come get me." The figure in the seat seemed motionless, as if waiting for one of the two to approach. Her partner, Lourenço, kept his gun set on the man, ready to shoot if he made a sudden move.

Sabina hesitated for a moment as she approached Tijuca. How was taking him this easy? Something had to be up. She couldn’t tell what his facial expressions were, but by his voice—the hint of arrogance as if he was expecting them—he had something in store for his BSN friends.

“Get up from your chair. Slowly.” She ordered, flicking the safety off of her P1928 as if to emphasize her point. “Turn around, make sure I can see your hands.”

There came no reply.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Tijuca. Get up.” This time, her voice was more firm. As she slowly approached him from behind, she could see the carnage that they had caused from the earlier raid: bodies littered the ground in the other side of the video call, occasional spatters of red on the ground. A grisly sight—reminding them of their action, as well as their mistakes.”

She reached for the chair with one arm, keeping the other pointing her sidearm at Tijuca’s head at all times.

"Shit— SARGE!" Lourenço moved forth to stop his subordinate as she turned the chair around. There was no Tijuca — there was but a mannequin, dressed in a grey hoodie. As the chair turned, a series of barely-visible strings glimmering under the light of the computer screens pulled forth at something — evidenced only by the light ping of several small metal objects hitting the ground. Lourenço tackled his subordinate, pushing her aside onto the floor as a massive fireball engulfed half the room, shredding through the electronics arranged upon the desk. Shielding her from the blast, he kept over her until the flames had settled. Only the painful ring of the blast remained now.

Tijuca had deceived them, the entire office location being a red herring for the BSN.

Once the tinnitus subsided, Sabina sat upright amid the fires, staring blankly at what used to be the workstation of “Tijuca”. All this time, the BSN had been played by Tijuca like a fine piano, leading them on a wild goose hunt chasing false leads and sending them straight into traps, such as this one. They were so close, yet so far away, to finding the man who had killed thousands like her own parents...and yet he was treating it as if it were a game.

Unable to control her rage, she lashed out on the nearest object once more, pounding her fist on the ground while screaming in rage. “NO! You were right there, dammit! You were right there! Why can’t you just DIE already, you bastard?!”

She’s blind with rage—he’s trying to get his bearings. What just happened?.

Her partner, laying on the floor, reached for his radio.

/// [ALVFOR] - [BSN] - [HQ Branch] - [Maj. Paulo Moreira] /// - "Capitão, what the hell did you do?"

/// [ALVFOR] - [BSN] - [Field Branch] - [Cpt. Lourenço Martins] /// - "We weren't about to let him go, sir... it was a trap, we—"

/// [ALVFOR] - [BSN] - [HQ Branch] - [Maj. Paulo Moreira] /// - "That's not what I'm talking about, god damn it! We received a massive signal from your position moments before the Tokamak outside Porto Plácido went out. Contact with all units in Fronteira also seems to have been lost as well. In the case of most fuckups of this scale, I'd ask you to hand over your badge. In this case, however — it seems we're going to need whatever help we can get. Report to headquarters, now!"

Lourenço leaned up, confused. The explosion had blasted a hole in the wall, revealing a glimpse of the city outside. Getting up and staggering towards the hole, he looked on in confusion — his confused glare quickly becoming a horrified, awestruck gaze as the lights went out across the various city blocks within view, one by one. Already, the two could hear sparse gunfire in the distance. The sun, which had set behind the western mountains some time ago, did little to help the fact that Porto Plácido was now submerged in darkness.

Making her way over to the hole in the wall, Sabina stared out towards the chaos in the background, only needing five words to describe how she felt on the matter.

“Capitão.. what have we done?”

1 - M358 - The M358 rifle, formally designated the 'Fusil Alvimiano M358, Calibre 5.56 mm,' is an Alvimian select-fire assault rifle that entered service in 364. Replacing the M341 battle rifle as the Alvimian Military's main service rifle, which now serves as a designated marksman rifle, the M358 is an indigenously-designed and produced weapon, designed as an easy-to-make counterpart to rifles like the Euphemian AR-M64A5, which also entered service around the same time, that does not sacrifice its quality. Chambered in 5.56 x 45mm, it uses a smaller size round than the M341, but this allows it to be much more man-portable and lightweight. It has held up as an extremely reliable and accurate weapon capable of fielding grenade launchers and other attachments. Its reliability has garnered it popularity among special forces, who often make M358 conversions into carbines or "commando"-style rifles personalized just for them. It has also seen circulation in the criminal market as a more expensive, exotic weapon.

2 - E90 - The E90 is a 12 gauge pump-action shotgun developed by the Corporação de Indústrias Bélicas Alvimianas (CIBA) in 304. Designed for military and police units, its ideal for close-range engagements and breaching, and is able to field multiple types of ammunition, including standard buckshot, flechette, incendiary, and slug rounds. The E90's military conversion also has a bayonet lug, though the bayonet rarely sees use outside of training. The police conversion is capable of firing non-lethal stun rounds for riot-control purposes.

3 - metaplastic - Metaplastic is a type of synthetic plastic substitute designed the visionary entrepreneur Martin Long in 198 A.C. A product quite literally ahead of its time, metaplastics, despite not actually being plastic at all, has revolutionized the plastics and manufacturing industries because of its less-pollutive nature.
Last edited by Turmenista on Wed Jan 30, 2019 11:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Wed Jan 30, 2019 11:24 pm




Asymmetrical warfare is something Euphemian strategists have sought to perfect since the birth of the nation. Minimizing casualties and dealing blows to enemy morale in multiple areas has been the aspiration of the Federal States of Euphemie's present military doctrine, Absolute Combat Mobilization. However, not only does it rely on the oriental method of asymmetrically detrimenting enemy morale, but it also implements western concepts of superior firepower and the notion of maintaining a technological edge.

Red Pine acts as the proving ground for the Euphemian military's notions of asymmetrical combat true, allowing Euphemian forces to clandestinely combat the Alvimian military and perfect their revolutionary concepts on warfare.

With Alvimia's government attempting to pursue a deescalation policy in Red Pine, attempting to integrate the region by means of negotiation and pushing for Euphemie to accept deals beneficial to Alvimia, this plan is threatened. Yet the Euphemian federal government knows what it wants, and will get what it wants.
Fort Reclamation, Red Pine, Federal States of Euphemie
23 August, A.C. 391

Image LtGen. Michael Sweet-Nothings Unto-the-Horizon Horner
XXIV Corps


Fort Reclamation
Fort Reclamation, named after the Euphemian nation's ambitions and goals to reclaim its rightful territories, was founded in 105 A.C. to maintain defensive cohesion against the Alvimians, who now were even closer to the Euphemian heartland. It is home to the XXIV Corps of the FS 2nd Army, and several divisions that comprise the corps. It is by far one of the largest military complexes in the Federal States.

Lieutenant General Michael Sweet-Nothings Unto-the-Horizon Horner was a proud Euphemian patriot, his face bearing the signs of age. Merely a sign of how long he'd served the Federal States of Euphemie, and the holy President. He wasn't much a political man, National Republican and Federalist didn't mean all too much to him — anyone who was worthy enough to be elected to the Presidency of such a sacred republic was clearly an avatar of God. The XXIV Corps was headquartered in Fort Reclamation, which was a fitting name for general Horner's goals.

Aside from hosting a significant amount of Army and Air Force assets, the rather vast 'fort', moreso a small city, also hosted some electronic warfare assets that were thankfully under Horner's command. He eyed the various consoles and monitors inside the underground command complex. Things were leading up to this moment, after all. He was expecting word from the Presidential Order of Patriotism, who were very much in touch with the Free State Army. Word was, one of the ERA's high ranks would coordinate a massive strike on the Alvimians, knocking out power to Porto Plácido, arguably the jewel of the South Ophiric power. The ERA and the Free State Army had forged an unholy alliance, as their goals aligned almost beautiful. A match made in Heaven... Horner thought, chuckling as he watched the usual activity about the screens.

"Sir," A voice behind Horner began. It was one of the radiomen, Horner didn't even need to ask — for he already knew what this meant. "The ERA has greenlit the operation. Tokamak reactor has been disabled by the ERA. Free State Army and Presidential Order forces in Red Pine are coordinating a strike. They need only we—"

"Commence War Plan Southcross, Act One." Horner ordered. He had presidential authorization — hell, he could start the damn war itself if he wanted to.

This was met with nods of assent from the men in the room, and Horner watched intently on the screens, a smile creeping upon his face. Alvimian communications in Red Pine were about to be jammed. Once they were, he'd send in E-981 Vultures to take out vital communications facilities and microwave towers. With their radar jammed, they'd be blind and oblivious to the party responsible.

Horner also was keen on matters of space. At present, the sole Alvimian military communications satellite was on the other side of Tsion. With the snap of a finger, he could jam a majority of their communications assets and severely hamper the efficiency of reinforcements from the capital. Even if temporary, it would be just enough to allow his comrades south of the border to enact their plan.

"Jamming in effect, sir." One of the men said. "Free State Army forces are taking this as a greenlight for Operation Tiger versus Dragon."

"Well, it is." Horner explained. "The first step towards reunification begins today — not here, where we stand behind our computers and electronics, but on the field. The brave men and women of the Free State Army, who toil and risk their lives so that Alvimian aggression will not remain unchecked, have brought us a step closer to reunification with our assistance. It matters not in what 'God' you believe in, for He stands with this great nation! God Bless Euphemie!"

His brief speech was met with a resounding "GOD BLESS EUPHEMIE!" from those in the room. Reunification was on the horizon, and the general knew it more than anybody else.
Last edited by Valefontaine on Thu Jan 31, 2019 5:05 am, edited 1 time in total.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

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Left-Leaning College State

Postby Turmenista » Sun Feb 03, 2019 1:19 am

This was written as a collaborative post between Valefontaine and Turmenista. This is part 1 of 2 posts.



In the enemy's confusion, Euphemian strategy thrives. With the biggest city in Alvimia bathed in darkness, the enemies of Alvimia can act while the Kingdom is in a state of disarray. Like a strategic shot in the dark, the already unstable situation in Alvimia had spiralled out of control, with the government none the wiser on the matter of pinning the culprit.

Porto Plácido is in chaos as the Alvimian Revolutionary Army enacts its plan of action against the government. All cards are on the table as insurrectionist cells across the city activate with the sole aim and intention of forcing the authorities out of the city. This, of course, paves the way for criminals and rioters taking advantage of the chaos.

Regardless, the BSN has plenty of trouble on their hands. If order collapses in the Pearl of the South, then surely the rest of Alvimia will surely follow.
Porto Plácido, Kingdom of Alvimia
23 August, A.C. 391

Image Sgt. Sabina Augusto
Batalhão de Segurança Nacional (BSN)


BSN Headquarters
The BSN Headquarters, commonly referred to as 'Olho de Aurum' or 'Eye of Aurum' for its metaphorical status as an extension of the federal government's legal capacities, is the nerve center of the Batalhão de Segurança Nacional's operations. While local facilities exist, they are all subordinate to Headquarters. The security of such a vital location cannot be underestimated.


It was as if the end of the world was happening, and as if Porto Plácido were under the same sort of siege that a city like Sielia in Manae would be under the El-Hadhai. Rioters, looters, and rebels all ran the streets, trying to kill any semblance of leadership or authority on the streets.

Through the darkened streets, the two BSN agents could see how bad things had gotten. Gangs, no longer fearful of the police, had taken to battling in the streets. By the time they'd reached the BSN Headquarters, Lourenço's sedan had been riddled with its fair share of bullets. The parking lot was off-limits: local BSN units had established a makeshift perimeter, presumably due to rioters nearby.

Once they arrived, they hurried towards the entrance, the sound of an aircraft taking off not too far from their position. The HQ overlooked the airport, so Lo-141s flying over was quite a frequent happening. Lourenço flashed his badge to the BSN agents at the perimeter, quickly managing to get them through. The jet engine continued its roar as it took off not far away, though the sound was cut off by a bright flash, followed by an explosion. The Lo-141 had been reduced to a flaming husk, its remains cascading down to the city below — presumably wrecking a few city blocks in the process. Almost immediately, the two were met by members of BSN brass hurrying out, presumably due to what had just transpired. Moreira, Lourenço's superior, was among those in the group.

"What the hell's going on, sir?" Lourenço demanded.

"Someone's been fucking with our IFF. Alvimian fighters downed the airliner thinkin' it was enemy!" Moreira's reply helped the grave nature of the situation descend upon the two. Porto Plácido had truly been thrown into chaos.

“The hell..?” Sabina thought aloud, turning to watch the resulting fire that had come from the downing of the Lo-141. With all this in mind, she had to ask herself, was this a full on invasion, or an insurgency?

“How much of the city would you say is still in our control, sir?” Sabina inquired. “The route we came from can’t be no more than a kilometer or two long, and we were shot at all the way.”

"That's the problem, sargento." Moreira replied. "We're dealing with rioters, looters, protests, criminal gangs— and among them, of course, are the ERA. As it stands, the Porto Plácido police force isn't equipped to deal with this — we would be, if we weren't undermanned here. Most of our agents are focused in Red Pine, which means we're essentially standing our ground until the army steps in."

"All due respect, sir. This ain't a crime wave, or the typical op we run on terrorists — this is a fuckin' war." Lourenço replied.

"I'm aware, capitão. We did some tracking on that signal before everything went to shit. It traced to a server room in Bloco 15." Moreira was, of course, talking about one of the most violent, impoverished Blocos in the entire city. The authorities' general nature to avoid such a place made it almost the perfect place for a man like Tijuca to really conceal himself. "We have no idea when the power's coming back up. It'd seem not only the Tokamak was knocked off the grid. Either way— the fact you two got through all those terrorists is enough to tell me you're probably the best we've got right now. Go to the armory, get what you need, and get your ass to Bloco 15." A rocket was fired off from an adjacent building, which struck one of the headquarters' upper floors. "GO!" He yelled to the two.

Nodding, she sprinted away with Lourenço, hurrying into the building. The lobby was a mess, papers strewn across the ground while the injured were attended to. The occasional sound of gunfire was heard from the upper levels, presumably trying to hit whatever had just hit the building with the rocket. The armory was located beneath them, housing within its confines more weapons than either could ever fathom requiring. Assault rifles, machineguns, pistols, launchers of every variety — it suited what they were about to do. Aside from the neatly-arranged weapons, there also were several suits of Choque armor situated upon a variety of metallic stands. Typically it was reserved for the riot units, but they provided ample protection against whatever they'd be bound to go up against.

"Whaddaya say?" Lourenço looked to the suits of armor, then back to his partner.

She picked up one of the helmets, viewing her reflection through the red goggles of the black helmet. “If we find Tijuca, for real, this time, then even I am not sure what we’ll do to him.”

She shouldered her helmet. “I’m in. I’m ready to tear something up.”
Last edited by Turmenista on Sun Feb 03, 2019 9:07 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Mon Feb 04, 2019 1:24 am

This was written as a collaborative post between Valefontaine and Turmenista. This is part 2 of 2 posts.



The longest night has begun in Alvimia. The security forces in Porto Plácido are undermanned, undergunned — with their only orders being to survive the night until the military steps in. The democratic experiment in Alvimia has failed, and now the repercussions are apparent everywhere around them.

Two BSN agents venture into the city's metaphorical 'heart of darkness', with the singular goal of bringing down one of the ERA's enigmatic leaders, a certain 'Tijuca'. Blood will certainly be shed.

It matters not of who triumphs in this hour — it is known by all that Alvimia will forever be changed by what transpires in these trying hours.
Fort Reclamation, Red Pine, Federal States of Euphemie
23 August, A.C. 391

Image Cpt. Lourenço Éden Martins
Batalhão de Segurança Nacional (BSN)


Bloco 15
The wretched heart of Alvimia's criminal underground, Bloco 15 has effectively existed free of government intervention for decades. As such, it's a haven for those with nowhere else to go — and those who want to flee the government's watchful eye. Being the first Bloco of which the government lost control of in 279, various matters of the building's integrity have either fallen into disrepair or become handled by private actors.

Towering above the darkened city, the darkened Bloco loomed over the two BSN agents almost oppressively as Lourenço brought the battered, bullet-ridden sedan to a halt outside the facility. There was some activity outside the complex, and certainly not from police. Passing the checkpoints, Lourenço could quite clearly see the bodies of the officers that usually guarded the Bloco. The place had been managed like a prison until the 'uprising' — testament to the cruelty inherent in Alvimia's class hierarchy.
The face of law and order shows little semblance of mercy.

He brought the vehicle to a halt outside the parking lot, which typically would service the vehicles of the Bloco's police. Most of the vehicles had since been torched, stolen or flipped over, presumably in the chaos of the first few hours of the blackout. It seemed rather ridiculous, the two both clad in almost military-grade riot armor inside the car.

They'd armed up for the occasion, too — much heavier a loadout than what they'd both used at the office building. Lourenço held a M368M[1] squad automatic weapon in his hand, which was automatically fed magazines by the mechanism attached to the armor. Riot cops weren't called 'tanque' without reason. The armor could stop a myriad of things — it'd take a .50 to put a dent in it. While relatively bulky and slow, it wasn't as slow as one would expect, surprisingly.

"Get out," Lourenço ordered. "Take what you need. We're torching the car before we go in." He probably didn't intend for a vehicle carrying sensitive BSN information to fall into the hands of criminals — or worse, ERA terrorists.

She took up her M368, pulling the charging handle back checking the underbarrel grenade launcher. It was a weapon she’d only used a few times before, but with enough experience, it was a deadly weapon in anyone’s arms.

Lourenço stepped out of the sedan, gesturing his partner off the vehicle. He turned to look at the dark building towering upward. Through the night-vision goggles of his helmet, he could see quite well the activity around the ground level. Mostly civies, though a few were armed, presumably with what they'd taken from the police. Those were to be targets.

“I see them too.” She raised her weapon, waiting for the order to begin firing.

Positioning his weapon's bipod upon one of the concrete barriers, he aimed ahead at the idle armed targets in the parking lot. The BSN was for handling terrorists, not criminals — but what was the difference at this point? He counted heads — one, two, three, six. "I've got the three on the left," He said.

“I’ll get the ones on the right.” She rested the rifle against the concrete barricade, placing her finger off the trigger guard and onto the trigger itself. All she needed now was permission to fire.

"Fire." Lourenço immediately opened fire on the armed men, which sent the civilians loitering about in the parking lot fleeing from the scene. She began firing soon after, a small pile of brass casings gathering by the side of their feet. The armed men by the parking lot fell down, unaware of where they were being fired from or who was shooting them. Lourenço moved forward, throwing an incendiary grenade behind him at his vehicle. With a small explosion, his vehicle caught flame. Anything sensitive he'd stowed away would be taken away by the fires as they spread.

The entrance of the Bloco had been practically destroyed, bullets ridden across the steel entrance. They stepped over to the doors, which lay ajar following whatever chaos had transpired earlier. The bodies of more policemen lay strewn on the floor, clearly an indication of the violent gunfight that'd taken place.

It was a suicide mission for sure, but this would be the only way to get Tijuca. The thought hadn't yet dawned on Lourenço — the question of 'what then?'. What would he do after they arrested — or killed — the mysterious ERA leader?

“Moving forward.” She announced, stepping in front of Lourenço while moving up. The atrium of the complex was even darker than the exterior, although it was still busy with the denizens of the Bloco. The floor level was illuminated by lit barrels and dim gas-lamps, which cast eerie shadows as they walked forth. The various civilians around them noted the riot armor, which made them instinctively retreat.
The floor level was illuminated by lit barrels and dim gas-lamps, which cast eerie shadows as they walked forth.

"The fuck you doin' here, Fed?" Came a voice. "WE run shit now!" Petty criminal — but the assault rifle he carried was enough of a threat.

Lourenço didn't bother to respond, firing away 7.62mm rounds into the man's chest and sending him collapsing to the floor. In response, he could see the muzzle flashes erupt from various points in the lobby, which mostly missed in the dimly-lit room, though occasionally he could hear the 'ping' of rounds hitting his armor. Returning fire at the various points, the two BSN agents dispatched them with ease.

Sabina cast her weapon around as they began shooting, returning fire as best as she could. In her night vision, she sprayed down every flash that came at them.

As the dust settled, Lourenço looked around, as if a hunter were seeking its prey. His night vision suddenly shut off, and he quickly realized why. The lights had returned, revealing just how much of a mess the lobby of this place was. It also revealed more criminals, hiding amongst the various walkways and makeshift market stalls along the lobby. The BSN agent assumed cover behind one such shack as gunfire came down from various positions in the lobby. Popping out of cover, he took fire at one of the point men on the second floor walkway, who promptly screamed in pain as he tumbled down and crashing into one of the stalls. A rather sudden, disfiguring fate for sure. As he continued firing at the enemies, he recoiled as a bullet struck his right shoulder armor, doing enough to put a good dent. There were too many of them — he'd need to keep exploiting his cover.

Stepping out of cover, Sabina moved in to help her superior, raising her weapon. Despite holding down the trigger for about five seconds, her shots never really strayed from where she was aiming. One body fell down from one of the upper levels, riddled with bullet holes and clutching a rifle, while another cried out in pain before his body was hit by more 7.62mm bullets. Shots whistled past her ear, but were far enough from her to not be anything to worry about. She swung back into cover once this happened, breathing heavily. “What the fuck are we doing here...I got two!”

"Here they come!" Lourenço emerged from cover as four of the men on the ground floor approached, meeting a volley of gunfire from Lourenço. The other three men leaped to the side as one of their own was flayed by the gunfire, his bloodied body flying backwards into one of the market stalls, landing amidst a rack of assorted fruits with a clamorous crash.

The three men fired at him in a panic, bullets soaring past as he emerged from cover again. Without hesitation, he gunned down another one of the men before returning to cover once more.

Using their disarray to her advantage, Sabina stepped out to begin firing. Her first spray was a miss, chipping parts of the atrium and whatever furniture was inside, but leaving the armed men unscathed. In retaliation, she was fired upon from the upper levels, rounds bouncing off of her chest plate. The perps responsible were still aiming down at her when she fired back, hitting one in the neck while the other drew himself back, his shooting rendered useless from the bullets. As the resolve of their enemies began to visibly falter, Lourenço suddenly left cover, approaching and emptying his rounds into the skull of the last remaining enemy in the market. The brutality of the sight was enough to send the other men running, obviously not wishing a confrontation with the BSN.

Lourenço stood over the body, hands trembling as ammunition was automatically fed to his rifle. He looked to his partner. Though they both wore the helmets, he could tell she had the same look of madness about her eyes. It was an awakening.

“Lourenço, what the fuck are we doing here?”

"Wolves... in human skin." He muttered, disturbed at the sheer scale of just how many they'd killed. Attempting to compose himself at the sight, he looked away from the gory mess that'd been made. "We.. gotta get Tijuca." His breathing was audibly labored, despite the distortion his helmet gave to his voice.
Wolves... in human skin.

She nodded, continuing to press on, though heavy in her step and at a much slower pace than before. She was visibly shaken from the shootout which had just occurred—which was nothing short of a bloodbath—but they both needed to press on. Somewhere, in the dark bowels of the Blocos, Tijuca was hiding..waiting for them. However, he had nowhere else to run, and something in her gut was telling her that this was the last time they would be facing him.

The elevators were obviously out of service — they had been for the past century — to which Lourenço led the way, pressing on to one of the building's many winding staircases, which formed near-fractal mazes to the floors above. The server room in question, if the data Moreira had sent was right, would be on the eighteenth floor. Of course, this place had thousands of people living in it — he could only imagine it would be hectic trying to get there.

He paused at the sounds of yells up the stairs, aiming up in wait. "Catch 'em by surprise. Grenade, preferrably smoke or incendiary." He instructed his subordinate.

She took the respective grenade from the bandoleer around her chest, pulling the pin and waiting a few seconds (lest she blow off her hand and blow up Lourenço too) before lobbing it down the hallway. “Frag out.”

The explosion happened to synchronize with the arrival of the men, sending two henchmen flying into the air, their legs reduced to gory stubs by the blast. The screams were cut short as they hit the bottom of the stairs with a morbid crack. Easier than Lourenço had expected. "Good work." He commended her throw, continuing up the stairs. Another armed figure awaited their arrival, though he seemed younger than the others. There was fear in his eyes as he clutched the VK-69 assault rifle in his hands, which trembled at the sight of them. "Get out of here!" Lourenço yelled at the kid, who promptly dropped his rifle and ran.

What a close call. He thought. Lourenço returned his focus to their mission: ascending the stairs until they reached the 18th floor. By looking up, one could see the maze of age-old concrete stairs, which were complemented by newer makeshift arrangements.
The upward maze extends above.

More footsteps could be heard from above — neither of the agents knew just who they were fighting, save for the fact they were either criminals or ERA who didn't like the notion of the Feds treading upon the Bloco.

“More coming.” She commented, pointing the barrel of the M368 towards the source of the sound. Towards the end of the hallway, someone unarmed had come sprinting towards them, screaming bloody murder. She would’ve shot him, were it not for the fact that he was unarmed and occasionally looking behind himself, as if he were being chased. Quickly, it became evident what he was running away from: four armed thugs had come out from that side of the hallway, opening fire on the two BSN agents. Sparks came from Sabina’s left shoulder and Lourenço’s right shoulder pauldrons, indicating that they had been hit. Lourenço recoiled from the damage dealt to his armor. If they were taking damage like this, the armor probably wouldn't last to the eighteenth floor. In reaction, he and Sabina unloaded their weapons into the four men as the civilian hurried past them. The four criminals dropped to the floor, dead, the sound of their weapons hitting the floor a chilling echo across the hallway.


A thunderous sound followed, which brought Lourenço to turn around. Several armed men were hurrying down the stairs, as if they were in a panic. Their terror reached a crescendo as they were buried in debris as the stairs above collapsed, crushing the gunmen to death and destroying the stairway the two had taken.

"Shit." Lourenço muttered, looking on at the empty shaft that now lay in the wake of the destruction. There were, of course, several other ways to get up to the 18th floor — but they'd need to get across the 2nd floor first. There'd, of course, be plenty of resistance. Turning around to look down the corridor, he reloaded his weapon once again.

“Damn it. We can find another way.” She grunted, moving away from what used to be the stairwell. Both of them knew that there were other ways to get up to the 18th floor..but that would mean more people would be trying to kill them. At this rate, she thought, they were better off going in without any armor.

"Well, Tijuca's not goin' to just wait for us." Lourenço moved forward, carefully checking the corridor as he stepped past the criminals they'd gunned down. The corridor ahead was clear, perhaps eerily so. "So, what does Tijuca look like? I mean, you're one of the few who's seen his face." He asked, stopping at another empty corner.

“Well, he’s much younger than you think. Dresses in black, usually expensive Tucci™ stuff, mostly. Didn’t see his eyes from the sunglasses, but I remember the way he dresses.”

"And that was?..." Lourenço questioned how long it'd been since she'd seen the man.

“Nearly 15 years ago. I was 10 when I saw him, and I’ve never forgotten that face since.”

"I'd have expected someone like him to be a vet in this field. Probably is — lives longer than a lot of 'em do, anyway. Must be in his mid thirties now." Lourenço carefully moved forward, gun aimed ahead. Making their way across the corridor, they happened upon the walkways of the second floor, situated directly above the lobby. The gunfight that had transpired earlier had left casings littered across the floor. Lourenço turned to the sound of gunfire, a bullet soaring past him. Five more of the thugs, firing away at them. He quickly assumed cover, taking fire at one of the men. One of the men instantly fell forward, collapsing to his death as he plummeted down to the lobby. Immediately, Sabina chimed in and opened fire on another thug by her superior, blasting him away with a burst of her rifle. She swept her aim over to the immediate left of the man, ending the life of the other thug with a three-round-burst to the chest.

The exchange of gunfire continued, Lourenço's right shoulder pauldron flying off in a burst of sparks as it was struck again. Popping out of cover, he fired once again, his next burst of gunfire bloodying one of the men and pushing them against the wall. In another spray, he'd all but reduced the final thug's face to a disfigured pulp, the man falling limp upon the walkway's railing.

Pushing onward through the second floor of Bloco 15, the BSN agents continued until they'd reached the stairs, gunning down those stupid enough to stand in their way. The second stairway, luckily enough, had not been destroyed. This renewed battle was notably less intense than the first two floors — presumably, they'd exhausted the Bloco 15 gangs with their continuous fighting. The eighteenth floor came eventually, and it was obvious who they'd be facing next. They weren't being expected, though — anyone on the floor could've easily assumed the gangs were simply fighting amongst themselves.

The concrete steps led up to the 18th floor, though it was obvious there'd be no going back. To bring Tijuca to justice, or to die trying — there was no alternative. Even if all order in Porto Plácido was lost, they had to do this at all costs. It was personal now, and to ignore duty would be a disgrace.

Sparks flew from damaged electronics on Lourenço's helmet, which prompted him to toss it aside. "Well, whatever's ahead of us," He reloaded his M368M, a final preparation for the fight that would lay ahead of him. "You were prolly the best partner I had the pleasure of bein' assigned to. I'd be honest, I didn't think it'd work at first— but hell, here we are."

Sabina remained quiet for a moment. “You know too, Lourenço. You too.”

Much of their armor had been battered by the constant firefighting: bits and pieces were chipped away, while some of the shoulder pauldrons themselves had been destroyed or removed. In any event, it was due to be stripped off. Sabina checked her ammunition to her weapon: the mechanism that automatically replaced empty magazines with new ones had been damaged in the fighting, meaning she had to do most of the reloading herself. She took out the old magazine and put in a fresh well as a grenade in the underbarrel launcher. Undoubtedly, she was going to use it soon.

Moving up the steps, Lourenço stopped, listening to the chatter. If he wasn't mistaken, there'd be a few guys ahead — at least three. With his free hand, he reached for a grenade, lobbing it over the steps. He heard the clink as it touched down, followed by the usual explosion. A brief series of screams and gunfire in the blast (presumably one of the men lacked trigger discipline) echoed through the space, Lourenço finally approaching with caution. He aimed about, noting he'd gotten rid of any resistance in the corridor ahead. He could, however, hear footsteps — on the same corridor where the server room was marked. Lourenço hurried to the door, shooting the lock and aiming straight ahead. "Go in, I'll cover the hallway!"

Nodding, Sabina rushed inside, briefly dropping down to a knee to shoot through the door towards anything coming closer, before she got back up to continue her rush.

Two men came at her as she dropped two behind them, kicking away her rifle. At this point, her armor was worthless—mobility was all that mattered for capoeira.[2]. She took notice of the knife that one of them had brandished, while the other slipped on two brass knuckles. Assuming a regular kickboxing stance, she suddenly stepped forward, planting her left foot firmly ahead of her as she spun around in a roundhouse kick, using her left hand to support herself as she went low, her leg straight up in the air. The resulting kick let a powerful CLAP echo through the air, undoubtedly dislocating the man’s neck.

The other flashed his knife and rushed for Sabina, foolishly thrusting it towards her belly. She easily anticipated this, countering the jab by bringing it up well past her face and out of the way of anything vulnerable. Another powerful kick to his wrists broke them in a direction they normally shouldn’t have moved in, while she flipped him over onto his back and brought the knife down onto his neck.

Lourenço fired away at the other men as they approached, not ceasing until his mag had emptied — and he had sustained a round that had barely pierced his body armor. He'd killed the men, but now he had one job left to do. Following Sabina into the body-filled room, he looked across the aisles of server computers. Among the various rows of machines, a figure stood, clad in a rather expensive jacket. It certainly didn't fit any image of Tijuca that Lourenço had conjured up in his mind, but to Sabina, it was her target.
It certainly didn't fit any image of Tijuca that Lourenço had conjured up in his mind, but to Sabina, it was her target.

She pulled the hammer down to her P1928. “It’s over, Tijuca. You’ve lost.”

"Rather anticlimactic, I know." The man said, leaning against one of the machines. "Now, I'm sure my life won't be spared. Porto Plácido's in flames, after all. Killing me won't undo that, though." He chuckled to himself. "You BSN lackeys fell for my trap hook, line and sinker. I'm not the biggest guy in the ERA, though. I run... most of the cells in Porto Plácido, give or take. The thing that you Feds don't understand.. basic warfare, I mean. The ERA is like a beast of many heads. You cut one, two grow in its place. This organization isn't going to collapse because I'm dead. The opposite, rather. Operations will become micromanaged twofold— because we know our shit. Now, I'll talk about who's above me — the man I take orders from — after I have a little, hm.. what's the word— nostalgia trip?"

Lourenço eyed the man with distrust, reloading his weapon.

"See, your parents were just as complicit in this city's drug trade as I once was. See, back when I was involved in the Urujucu Cartel n' all that, your father was one of my associates. You probably know that, though." He laughed, looking to the server computers before returning his focus to the two. "See, even back then, I had, uh, somethin' of a moral code... ethics. Crazy, a criminal with ethics, I know. Your father did somethin' that I personally disagreed with. I don't like it..." Tijuca stepped away from the computers, which made Lourenço steady his aim, ready to empty 7.62mm into Tijuca's head if he made sudden moves.

He stopped, however, raising his hands as if to gesture he meant no harm. "Your father was slingin' product to minors — an explicit 'no' in my rulebook. Nobody — I mean nobody under me — was allowed to pull shit like that." He approached her, his pale blue eyes seeming to stare into her soul. "I was doin' what's right— just like you think you're doing the right thing. Truth is: people like you BSN types and myself aren't all too different. We're all wolves in sheeps' clothing, doing what we've gotta do to survive. Only difference? You lick the boots of the state. I might be a monster... but how many sons have you left fatherless, just in your pursuit for revenge? How many fathers have you robbed of their sons? You didn't reach me by playing it clean."

Sabina remained completely silent, her hand shaking slightly as she pointed her pistol at Tijuca’s skull… he was right there—the man who had caused her and countless other innocent people so much pain was right in front of her, but she was hesitating? All that was needed to kill him was just a single pull of the trigger, and everything would be over.

"Oh, I just know you want to put that bullet through me. The relief you'll feel to see the life escapin' from my eyes — you'll feel hot all over, won't you? You monster..." He chuckled. "I can't tell you what happens after I die, but if this is where I die, then so be it!" In a swift motion, he disarmed her.

"Son of a—!" Lourenço readied to pull the trigger and end Tijuca's life — but his opponent had been too fast. A sharp, burning pain shot up from the right side of his abdomen, bringing him to collapse to the floor in pain, dropping his rifle in the process.

"One on one!" Tijuca exclaimed, discarding the pistol and cracking his knuckles. There was no telling what he'd pull next. Practically screaming, she rushed Tijuca and dropped down to the ground at the last moment, looking to send a kick straight up towards his abdomen. Tijuca attempted to block the move, but had been caught off-guard. Sabina’s kick wasn't exactly a good one, and his block had been hasty — he'd been sent back a few feet, almost bumping into the computers in the aisle behind him. However, he came back with a swift kick that struck her in the head before she even knew it. The Escorpião, as it was called, was a move that was especially deceiving and hard to avoid in Alvimian Capoeira. It sent her off her feet, but even on the floor she'd have an opportunity to retaliate in turn.

The blow to the head caused her to stagger back a few paces, but once she had recovered, she immediately moved back into fighting mode, dropping down and evading a kick sent at her by Tijuca. In retaliation, she dropped down deceptively low, almost to the point where she was sitting on the ground, and swiped out her leg in a powerful kick on his side, causing him to stagger backwards and crash into the supercomputers, knocking one of them over and triggering a domino effect. Sparks flew amidst the cold air as Tijuca composed himself, conducting a Gancho towards Sabina. With ease, she blocked the kick, responding immediately with a Martelo towards his temple. Tijuca's attempt to block the attack was in vain, as he flew backwards, landing roughly atop one of the toppled computers. Yet, in his apparent position of disadvantage, Tijuca laughed. Why, after being brutally struck, did he laugh? The answer came quickly thereafter as he leapt to the floor and conducted a Meia Lua de Compasso. It was called the 'king of kicks' in Alvimian Capoeira for a reason. He evaded a rather pathetic attempt at a block, his kick again dealing a blow to her head, sending her towards one of the supercomputer aisles. A row of the machines separated them now, though she could hear him on the other side.

"Perhaps 'BSN training' isn't as good as real streetfighting!" He boasted. He seemingly kicked the computer separating them, sending it falling towards the already-downed Sabina. Quickly, she recovered and rolled back and out of the way, evading a rather messy scenario when the computer came crashing down beside her. Almost immediately, she was startled as Tijuca howled madly, leaping atop the toppled computer and conducting another Escorpião kick. Her block would've stopped him, but alas — his shoe met the side of her temple, knocking her sideways into another one of the machines, which promptly fell over and sent sparks flying. Tijuca reoriented his posture, gesturing the BSN agent to come at him again. "Your father put up a better fight!" He taunted.

Enraged, she blindly came at him with an Aú, to which he caught her leg with ease. There was a second in which he looked to Sabina, utterly smug at his advantage. In the next, he'd swept her off her feet with his leg, sending her falling to the floor once again. "Looks like you're losing your cool!" He exclaimed. With her posture open, he attempted to send his foot down, with the obvious intent to crush her windpipe and finish the fight. Just as this happened, Sabina recovered and evaded, responding immediately with an Aú-turned cartwheel-kick that broke his guard. An attempt at a counterattack was met further in turn, which sent him staggering back, falling and knocking over another one of the machines. It seemed as though Tijuca lay there, almost motionless — had she seriously injured him?

She panted, resting by one of the computers for a moment before slowly stepping towards Tijuca. Her eyes passed over Lourenço for a moment as she reached down to grab one of the pistols, ready to deal the finishing shot to Tijuca once atop him.

"So naive!" He laughed, suddenly lunging forth and sending a kick straight into her gut. Sabina was sent flying backwards, past one of the toppled computers, and through the rather thin wall's paneling, landing her in the adjacent room (and disarming her in the process). By the looks of it, she'd landed in the average apartment, and had just scared the shit out of the unsuspecting family that lived inside. Tijuca approached, casting aside his black $4,700 Tucci™ coat as he tread into the apartment space, cracking his knuckles as he drew nearer to Sabina. It was like a predator tracking its prey.

Swiftly pushing herself back onto her feet, she went into the standard Ginga movement, rapidly trying sidestepping around Tijuca, as if she were dancing, in an attempt to find an opening while limiting her own. Finally, she lunged at him with a crescent kick, aimed towards his head. He grinned, evading the kick and leaping onto the sofa, before jumping before her once again. He was swift, even if he was bruised from the fight. "Is that all you've got?" Tijuca taunted. The family in the apartment were, of course, stunned spectators to the scene.

“I’ll kill you!” She followed it up with another crescent kick— to which he evaded once more and knocked her off her feet with a Banda sweep, which sent her crashing into the TV in the apartment. Tijuca followed with a kick to the gut, which pushed her further against the shattered CRT television, sending broken glass into her back.

"Pathetic!" He mused, fetching a kitchen knife from the counter and approaching. As soon as he said this, however, his legs were swept out beneath him by a spin-style kick, followed up with a chop down to the chest with the same leg. The knife he had previously was kicked away to the other side of the kitchen, leaving it clear from Tijuca’s reach. Clearly irritated by how close he'd come to finally finishing her off, Tijuca attempted a Martelo kick — but she'd blocked faster than usual. Stepping back, he laughed again. "Maybe you're learning. Not bad for a Fed, I must say!"

She assumed a fighting stance and came at him with a Ponteira after this, aiming to strike him in the chest. The ERA terrorist was quicker, however. Rather than attack her, he struck the salt shaker on the kitchen table, casting it strategically at his opponent. Leaving her temporarily stunned, he sent a Chapa-de-Frente her way, aiming for a kick to the gut. His kick was met with an equally-effective block, to which he leapt back and then conducted another kick — this time aiming for her legs.

She evaded the kick, immediately moving into a move she hadn’t seen before: Beginning with a cartwheel moving forwards, she steadied herself with one arm on the ground and executed a powerful kick onto Tijuca’s chest, practically blasting him away with the force behind the kick. He crashed through the front door of the apartment, quickly getting back on his feet. The fight had moved to the corridor.

"Maybe you are better than the worthless scumbag criminal that was your father!" He taunted again, a sly grin on his face as he wiped blood away from his nose.

She balled her fist, glaring at him. “You’re going to pay for this, Tijuca.”

"Come at me, then!" He assumed position, waiting for her to charge him. Foolishly doing as he intendended, Sabina ran right for the bait. A 'Meia Lua de Compasso' kick struck her in the temple, sweeping her off her feet and bringing her to land face-first on the cold concrete floor. "Nice try!"

Moving back into a fighting stance, Sabina suddenly executed a Macaco, bypassing whatever form of block Tijuca had hastily prepared with a downwards kick to the shoulder. Tijuca had been brought down, but he attempted a rather low blow, literally — a punch to the groin — but had been blocked with ease. Confused by the rather troublesome situation he found himself in, he attempted a sweep, but found himself equally unable to strike her.

Moving back into Ginga, she assumed what was, at first, a standard kickboxing stance, which was followed by a sudden and powerful roundhouse kick, like the one she had opened up with in the beginning of her fight. He had been kicked back again, getting back to his feet and attempting a swift Gancho towards Sabina — which was met by a clever block. Now at an advantage, she struck him with another Escorpião, which he had managed to block albeit losing a bit of ground in the process. In reply, he conducted a rather textbook Ponteira kick, striking her in the abdomen.

She stood up slowly from the ground, rubbing the area where she had been struck for a good while. "Where'd that resolve of yours go?" Tijuca questioned mockingly.

She grunted. “You talk too much.” Moving straight into another Aú, she was poised to go in for yet another cartwheel kick on her opponent. The maneuver failed, Tijuca evading the kick and coming behind her in a sudden maneuver. A sharp pain coursed through her back as he threw a rather hard-hitting kick, which met the glass already embedded in her back.

Yelping in pain, Sabina moved forwards for a rather wide haymaker punch—a far cry from their usual kicking and dancing around. This was likely from the pain in her back. Tijuca moved back, evading the strike with ease. Howling with an almost primal rage, he kicked her in the chest, sending her tumbling backwards into the server room where the fight had begun. She landed face-first, not far from where Lourenço lay.

"You'll share a similar fate to your partner over there," Tijuca approached her from behind, chuckling. "You BSN are too... how do I say it.. by the book." Sabina could feel his presence oppressively looming over her. Was this the end?


"By the book my ass." Came another voice — Lourenço's. He lay on the floor, M368M in hand. Evidently, he'd just emptied a magazine into Tijuca's abdomen. The ERA mastermind collapsed to the floor, clutching his chest, his breathing reduced to a labored struggle. Lourenço's attention immediately shifted to his partner.

"Sargento—" He reached over, visibly concerned of his subordinate's status. The gunshot wound, which marked the edge of his side, would not stop him from prioritizing those that relied on him.

She was battered and weakened from the fighting, but still managed to limp over to her superior slowly to see if he was alright. From the looks of it, he had been grazed on the side—lucky enough to not be hit by anything, but taken out of the fight nonetheless.

Struggling to his feet, he composed himself, his left hand still clutching where he'd been injured. "I couldn't imagine letting my partner die in the line of duty. Especially not to some terrorist type." He looked to his subordinate. It was visible from her battered gaze that she'd been through hell and back. She took a good, long look at Tijuca, glaring at his body, before turning to her superior.

“You’re a very thoughtful man, capitão,” she said, offering him assistance onto his feet. Still struggling, he took her help, attempting with difficulty to steady himself.

"Half my body's burnin'." He grunted, shifting his focus to the door. It was a good time to consider an escape plan. Perhaps the fact he'd subconsciously regarded it as a suicide mission had made him do less thinking. A laugh made Lourenço immediately aim his rifle to Tijuca, who lay bloodied on the ground.

"The moment I die..." Tijuca began, gesturing to a wireless device on his chest. "Coordinates to a so-called 'bomb target' will be falsely relayed to Alvimian aircraft. There'll be a bomb coming down on this place. The government, well—" He choked out some blood. "...they'll be blamed for bombing a building full of thirty-thousand of Alvimia's poor and downtrodden. Imagine the reactions..." As it dawned upon Tijuca that his moment was near, he smiled, almost as if at peace. "Godspeed, you."

A sinking feeling dawned upon Lourenço at Tijuca's news. "I'm not gonna make it out of here. You won't either, if you drag me along."

The feeling dawned upon Sabina as well. “I’m not leaving you here, capitão.”

He grimaced. "At least we can die trying — better than nothing, right?" Lourenço offered, laughing grimly. The server computers seemed to be reacting already, lights flashing in various different colors with Tijuca now dead. It was fair to assume the disinformation had already reached the Alvimian military — and the race was now one poised against time itself.

Soon enough, they had reached the stairs and began their descent, but word of Tijuca’s death probably spread like wildfire around here. As they made their way down, Lourenço utilized his M368M against thugs, ERA gunmen, and whoever else could stand in their path. Floor after floor, they descended — the clock ticking towards what would undoubtedly be the building's destruction.
A blast engulfed the side of the Bloco, soon spreading across the building in a catastrophic spectacle.

By the time the two had made it out and a fair distance away from the building, Lourenço staggered over in pain and exhaustion, looking up at Bloco 15 in the distance. The explosion hadn't yet occurred, but he could already see the blinking lights in the sky, presumably Alvimian military aircraft. Exhaustion had likely taken its toll on his subordinate as well. "Sarg—" He hesitated. "Sabina... what do you think's going to happen to this country?"

Looking among the chaos all around them, she simply shook her head, unsure of how to answer that question...let alone, what to answer with. Democracy had since fallen, and now, things were progressively worse from there. “I don’t know, capitão. I don’t know.”

A blast engulfed the side of the Bloco, soon spreading across the building in a catastrophic spectacle, the centuries-old concrete structure collapsing almost instantly from the bombardment. The roar of jet engines followed — as expected.

Sabina watched the burning building from afar. A move like this was nothing short of controversial, and only meant one thing among the poorer and working-class people who lived in there: war.

"God save Alvimia.." Lourenço muttered, looking on at the terrible sight. Things could only get worse from here, and he was certain of it. Lourenço wondered many things — just who, or what, were they fighting for? There was no 'status quo', not anymore — it was crumbling all around them. "It's been an honor serving with you." He looked on at the flames, dancing like demons from the smoldering rubble of Bloco 15. He knew it now — this would be what turned the Alvimian people against the government — the rallying cry of a popular revolution.

1 - M368M - The M368M is a heavy barrel version of the M368 battle rifle, used by the Royal Alvimian military as a squad automatic weapon.

2 - capoeira - Alvimian capoeira is a martial art descending from the various martial arts of Imalakia, due to the slave trade. The nature of the martial art is quite decentralized, with many different schools aside from the BSN's own methods. It is known for its very powerful kicks, which can deal lethal blows to an unprepared fighter uninitiated in the art.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

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Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Fri Feb 08, 2019 7:04 pm

This was a collab between various WFF members.



It has been four months since the chaos that overtook Porto Plácido — much more would have been lost, had two incredibly lucky and heroic BSN agents not killed a top ERA commander. Unfortunately, democracy in Alvimia effectively collapsed thereafter, leading Dom Pedro XVI to assume the royal prerogative and declare the Third Alvimian Empire, clamping down on all political opposition against the AAGR-AN coalition. Much has changed since then, however. Euphemian President Depeche Stardust's successor, President J.D. Neworder, announced the deployment of Euphemian troops into Red Pine in his inauguration speech — an action that sought to define the tone of his political career.

Waging a sacred war of reunification, the Euphemian military faces the Imperial Alvimian Army, which is severely outmanned and outgunned at present. Euphemian forces are in a fight against time to secure the occupied territories before the Alvimians send reinforcements — a move that could only lead to a fully-fledged escalation beyond the Euphemian state.

Fears of interference and involvement from across the sea also exist. The Tangaliroans will surely not be benefitted by an ascendant Euphemie, especially with Neworder in power. Red Pine may be the flashpoint for a conflict that the continent of Ophir has not witnessed in centuries. Yet the question remains — who will prevail?


'Reunification forces' is a general term applied to the forces commanded by FS 2nd Army general Theodore James In-My-Dreams Eric C. Johnson, personally responsible for the units under him, particularly the XXIV Corps under his equally zealous subordinate lieutenant general Michael Sweet-Nothings Unto-the-Horizon Horner.

While the general carries not the repute of his counterparts in the FS 1st Army, he is among the most adept of the Federal Army's brass and has held unorthodox views to warfare, which is partly why he mastered Rawlins' doctrine of Absolute Combat Mobilization so easily. Within a day, the media has established him as the central figure of the Reunification War, along with President Neworder himself.

General Johnson has made it clear he regards warfare and its laws first, and politics second — he desires Serondequot to allow him to operate at his full capacity rather than be constrained by the petty political rivalries of politicians, or centuries-old treaties. Neworder intends to give Johnson this political leniency, of course.

Johnson, of course, isn't solely utilizing the Federal military. Through his Presidential Order connections, he manipulates the Free State Army's moves to coincide with his own — all in accordance with Rawlins Thought on Absolute Combat Mobilization. Through his connections to the media and the politicians in Serondequot, his game expands even further: allowing him to wage a multi-pronged facet of warfare on the Alvimian nation.
Midfort, Red Pine
25 December, A.C. 391

Image Spc. Harrison Dovercliff Fujiwara "Mark" Dolby B. Skydreamer


Much of the city of Midfort fell to Alvimian occupation during the Third Euphemian-Alvimian War. Poor attempts by the Alvimian government to implement segregation largely led to the economy of the formerly Euphemian city to collapse. Once a bustling economic center along the Great Sea, it became the perfect case for the Alvimian government's failure to maintain Euphemian urban infrastructure. Crossing the Demarcation Line in tandem with Neworder's December 25th inauguration, Euphemian troops set foot on Alvimian soil for the first time in over two centuries.


Reunification day had commenced. While those back home enjoyed the sacred holiday of 'shopping' during Solstice, the responsibility fell to average grunts like Harrison Skydreamer and the rest of his squad to defeat Alvimian forces in the ground campaign. It wasn't a war, at least not legally — it was a reassertion of Euphemian sovereignty upon its territory. The brass sure as hell regarded it as a war, though — and judging by the sheer scale of the air campaign above them, the air marshals did too.

Some among the squad could even tell if the aircraft going down were Euphemian or Alvimian — so far, not a single one of them was Euphemian. Their APC-M373A4 'Super Sparky' had crossed the demarcation line a minute earlier — in precise synchronization with Neworder's inaugural address, which played on a shortwave radio sitting in the passenger comparment.

"... The peace we seek, then, is nothing less than the practice and fulfillment of our whole faith among ourselves and in our dealings with others. This signifies more than the stilling of guns, casing the sorrow of war. More than escape from death, it is a way of life. More than a haven for the weary, it is a hope for the brave.

This is the hope that beckons us onward in this century of trial. This is the work that awaits us all, to be done with bravery, with charity, and with prayer to Almighty God.

God bless you all, and God bless Euphemie."

Harrison sat in the passenger compartment, lit cigarette hanging from his lip. "Who d'you think's goin' to die first?" He eyed one of his squadmates, Lacona Your-Secrets M. Nevilase. She was manning the second machinegun, which faced leftward. The view Harrison got from this made the fact they'd been assigned to a M373 Sparky — or as he liked to call them, Calistor Coffins[1] — a bit less bad than it'd ordinarily be.

"Shut it, Skydreamer." The leader of the squad, Sergeant Ferdinand Taehyung Floyd B. Churchton, was some humorless hardass from Amure. To say the least, Harrison's sense of humor tended to piss him the hell off.

"Well, if we're talkin' who dies first, I'd say it'll be the two dumbasses manning the guns." Corporal Bortange Drive-My-Car Sugar-Sugar Anthem D. Medley led Harrison's fireteam. He was a surfer type from Los Imperios, Torch City — and seemed more fit for a sports magazine cover than a GI uniform.

"Someone's jealous.." Corporal Claytrail No-Reply Starlight E. Floyd was the rather flamboyant fireteam leader of the second fireteam, and had elected to man the main machinegun on the M373.

"Say, what's goin' on ahead of us?" Private Lawson Carry-On-Wayward-Son Oyster C. Merriweather was from the second fireteam. Something about the man told Harrison he was rather... unhinged. Must've been one of the Qarik vets.
A rather unpleasant coffin.

"Sparky ahead of us. Augustans, I can tell by the fact there's some idiots hollerin' up top, wavin' their stupid flag." Claytrail replied.

Private Jonathon Brookes, a veteran of Qarik and the AT trooper in Harrison’s fireteam, from Turmenista, poked his head up to see the sight of the Augustans.

“I was betting on Alword dying first from a stroke, but it looks like those dumbasses will.” he quipped. A few chuckles came from the others in the squad, including Harrison himself.

"Approachin' Midfort International Airport." The driver's voice was hardly audible over the noisy engine.

"What was that?" Ferdinand asked.

"He said we're approachin' the airport." Harrison exhaled another small cloud of smoke into the passenger compartment, which led his squad leader to smack the cigarette out of his mouth.

"I'd rather not get lung cancer, Skydreamer." Ferdinand replied angrily, pulling his hand away from his subordinate.

"Actually, I heard it's good for you." Harrison chuckled, picking up his cigarette from the floor. He could, over the sound of the roaring engines, hear gunfire and explosions. The smell of burning, however, he was certain wasn't his cig. Looking back to the squad leader, he noticed the man was on the radio.

"To the idiots too lazy to pay attention in briefing, we've got a company of Marshall tanks coverin' our advance." Ferdinand announced, lowering his radio. The vehicle came to a halt, presumably after receiving orders to do so. This brought him to check his radio again, before making another rather loud announcement. "WE'RE CLEAR TO GO!"

The doors of the Sparky swung open, hitting the grass just off one of the airport's runways and allowing the morning light to shine through. The runway had been rendered useless for Alvimian aircraft by Duirel anti-runway bombs[2], which would severely reduce the Alvimian military's capacity to evacuate important personnel.

What followed was the rush of adrenaline that'd always come when those doors opened, even in the exercises. Harrison hadn't served in a 'real' war like Qarik, he'd been assigned to forces in Red Pine ever since he'd joined the Army. Like many from his state, he'd joined for obvious reasons — reunification. The charge across the grass led them to the smoldering wreckage of a T4 Jupará MBT, presumably part of the Alvimian armored units that'd been obliterated in the first minutes of the air campaign.

The orchestra of shots and explosions was all-enveloping, even if they weren't being shot at yet. The other fireteam was still catching up — to no surprise, they were the one that had women after all — though they were two less in number.

"Where the hell's your team lead?" Bortange called out.

"He's still in the APC. He and Nevilase will man the guns while we move up, sir. The fireteam's under my responsibility now." Spc. Edeko Purchton Eyes-of-a-Stranger M. Wingman was some specialist from the second fireteam, and was too much of a bootlicker with her superiors for Harrison to have a liking for her. He wouldn't go as far as to wish death on anyone, but an accurate Alvimian bullet would certainly make the squad a tad more tolerable overall.

The main terminal, the objective of their task, was across one of the battered runways, and the sound of engines assured them that a second advance was reasonable. The jetbridges along the terminal led to abandoned airliners, which had no chance of being used for evacuation now that the runways had been filled with craters.

"We've got mechanized and armored cover," Ferdinand declared, looking to the approaching vehicles. Returning his gaze to the airport proper, he drew his binoculars, searching for any immediate threat. Harrison sat down, a good measure away from the destroyed Alvimian tank — he had a bit of paranoia of it exploding. "Keep watch." He ordered Edeko, gesturing her (and her men) to take point and spot any enemies.

Groundshattering explosions resonated as the next round of bombs struck their Alvimian targets across the airport. Euphemian aircraft were engaging from a conservative range, not even needing to enter 'Alvimian' airspace to conduct anti-ground missions. Harrison could only hope he wouldn't die to a friendly fire accident.

The sound of grumbling and incoherent mumbling finally became audible after the bombs were finished delivering their rounds of high-explosive tinnitus to friend and foe. The source was none other than Avery-Jamieson Johnson Sabbath P. Floyd Nirvana, Jr., or—as he often insisted he was called—A.J. Although only a PFC in rank, A.J. was hardened POG who had served in Qarik, often flaunting his story of killing two Sanjis with his trusty rifle and grenade launcher. He often posted his escapades to 981nfo[3] under the name Cleathos, where his hilarious clapbacks and illiteracy was seen.

“God, I ain’t dying to nuh bomb from the F-S-E today.” He scanned the area casually, almost as if he weren’t concerned about the immediate possibility of being vaporized by a bomb. “Wuddyuh’ got, Sarge?”

"We're waitin' for the second fireteam to spot anythin'," Ferdinand replied, eyeing the airport from their point of cover at the tank. The sound of footsteps upon the wet grass made the squad leader turn his head, facing Edeko again.

"Clear, sir." She said. Harrison grumbled at the lowly bootlicker mannerisms of the girl. Blind obedience would get them all killed. He wondered if she was from Torch City, or one of those mil-brats from Alainor.

"You heard her," Ferdinand rose back up to his feet. "We're movin' up."

Carefully, the 11-man squad moved forward, stepping foot onto the cratered runway. Guns aimed about, the men carefully searching for enemy contacts. Perhaps command had underestimated the military presence at the airport. Harrison watched their mechanized support approach, with the armor not far behind. Should things get heated — or when they got heated — they'd have a hell of a lot more firepower.

"We might have something." Private Charls M.D. The-Rain E. Alword was one of the older men in the second fireteam, and the roles of anti-tank had been consigned to him. He wasn't much to talk, unless he was drunk or it was about sports. He gestured ahead to one of the maintenance doors at the terminal, on the tarmac level. Typically, it would help staff get around and ensure the loading and offloading of luggage was going about in a timely fashion, but in this case, it seemed to be helping Alvimian soldiers get around.

"DROP!" Ferdinand ordered, bringing the entire squad to prone. There was no need for a fire order — the rules of engagement were rather liberal and the men setting foot on the tarmac sure as hell didn't look Euphemian. Shots flew as they opened fire on the presumably Alvimian troops across from them, Harrison's squadmates managing to drop three of them in total.

The machineguns from the two Sparkies came live, shredding through the rest of the ill-fated Alvimian squad. This was followed by a few cheers and hollers, which indicated to Harrison that the band of rowdy Augustans they'd been driving near earlier were on similar objectives. Seeing one of the APCs donned an Augustan flag only sought to confirm this.

"They all look dead, sir." Bortange said, looking on at the eight disfigured bodies that now lay on the tarmac.

"No shit. MOVE!" The squad leader ordered. With a grumble, Harrison got back up to his feet. Unlike the rest, he didn't intend to waste ammunition on Alvies the mechanized support could easily deal with. It seemed simple enough: they'd enter the maintenance way the Alvimian grunts had come through, and the majority of fighting was (expected) to be on the main floor. Approaching the door to the maintenance corridor, they formed up along the wall. The responsibility of these duties rested on Harrison.

"Gettin' the ol' boomstick." Harrison drew the SG-M64S3[4] he typically kept holstered on his vest, aiming to the door.


Firing thrice in quick succession, Harrison made sure whoever was — or could be — on the other side was dead before he kicked down the door and entered, the rest of the squad following behind. The maintenance corridor was incredibly tight, the lights above flickering sporadically as they moved forth in the dim space. Even indoors, the echoes of the ground campaign resonated through the very spirits of the men. Nobody had said it, but it seemed to occur to everyone that now was a good time to be quiet. The Alvimian presence in the airport seemed to be sparse, but he didn't want to make assumptions.

Even in the dim lighting, Harrison could see a series of steps leading up to the second floor. One could fairly assume there would be more Alvimian resistance, and to that end he could foresee being proven right. Ascending the steps with caution, he kept his shotgun aimed ahead. The flight of stairs stopped at a landing, before resuming upwards. Carefully, he kept his weapon at the ready, only stopping after they'd reached the door. The faded words 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' were inscribed on an old sticker on the door, another sticker over it reading the same in Alvimian. At least he assumed that's what it meant, because he wasn't about to speak the language of foreign occupiers.

Firing thrice upon the next door, he kicked it open, the squad quickly filing out and almost immediately running into a fireteam of four Alvimians. Shots were exchanged immediately between the two forces, Harrison himself emptying two shots into the chest of one of the Alvimians, sending him flying back in a near-comedic fashion, knocking over one of the ATMs in the terminal. The Alvimians quickly dispersed, seeking cover while the Euphemians did the same. Harrison found him and the rest of his fireteam huddled in one of the duty-free stores. It was in that moment that he'd realized civilians hadn't evacuated the airport, judging by the terrified cashier behind the counter.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" He ordered. The man clearly didn't speak Euphemian, though. With two shots to the ceiling, he repeated the order, and the terrified man complied, fleeing the store they'd occupied.

"Churchton must be with the second fireteam." Bortange noted, looking about and realizing he hadn't come along with them.

"At least we can catch a break." Harrison smirked, kneeling down to fetch a chocolate bar off one of the shelves. Stuffing his mouth with the bar, he returned to his focus to his gun. Ten shots. It was time to reload. Discarding the spent magazine, he loaded in another, but holstered the weapon regardless — his trusty AR-M64A6 would serve its job better in the open environment of the airport terminal's wide halls. Peeking from the shelf, he checked for enemy activity. The corpse of the man he'd shot lay beside the ATM he'd knocked over, a fair amount of blood pooled at his feet. Two other Alvimians, who'd presumably been gunned down by the others in the chaos, lay face-first on the floor. He chuckled — they'd been running. That did leave one straggler, who'd probably alerted the others by now.

“Y’all saw dat muthafucka?” A.J. snooped around the terminal, leaning his AR-M64A6 on his shoulder as he sifted through whatever he could. As usual, it was difficult to discern what he was trying to say, from his heavy drawl. “Mothafuckas are trying tuh run from us, man. Anyun see where he went?”

Jonathon took the chance to also empty out his magazine, having also been shooting at the Alvimians. Putting in a fresh one, he grabbed an Alvimian soda bottle off a rack. “What flavor of piss do you think the Alvies drink?” he asked. He too wondered where the fourth Alvimian had went, so he kept his AR up. He suspected the soldier had ran away like the others though. He took a look around the rest of the general area and decided to pick up what he thought was an Alvimian-Euphemian dictionary. He thought about keeping it, but threw it to the ground. Who the hell wanted to know what the enemy was saying anyways?

"Wonder if they've got beer somewhere here..." Harrison looked about the shelves, searching for any sort of alcoholic beverage. He couldn't read a word of Alvimian, but he had an unparalleled eye for beer. He knew the few imported Alvimian brands, and drinking them now would serve as his own little humiliation of the enemy, at least in his mind. Opening one of the refrigerators, he began rummaging through the drinks available. He stopped, however, at the sound of footsteps and chatter. The drawl, which at first glance would be mistaken to either be a foreign language or mentally-ill ramblings, was unmistakeably Augustan.

The men seemed to ease up as they collectively realized the other squad had arrived, even if a bit late. "Fuckin' Augustans." Bortange muttered, leaving the store. Finding a can of soda (he could not read which brand), Harrison decided to settle, listening to the chatter between their fireteam leader and the Augustans.

"Wherethehell's y'all's squad leader?" He presumed it was the voice of the Augustans' squad leader.

"Hell if I know, man. 'prolly took up shop in, well, one of the other places." Bortange replied.

"You'll will REGARD me as SIR." The Augustan replied in a slurred drawl. "We gonna take cover 'till further orders 'rive. Fire team two, enter that store, whatever it is. Cain't read Alvimian for shit. HEY, ain't y'all got one of a translator?"

"Nah, that's the other team. Our squad leader's with the second team too. Go talk to him 'bout whatever you need." Bortange stepped away, approaching the store again — stopping as five of the Augustans attempted to enter the store with him. "Fuck off, we ain't got space for any more of y'all."

"The fuck did you just say to my men, y'fuckin' city-slicker son of a bitch?" Their squad leader was clearly angered at Bortange's refusal to let them occupy the same store as them.

"I said 'fuck off, we're full' — I don't think I need to say it again."

"I outrank you, corporal." The Augustan raised his voice.

"I don't take orders from a Strickland-votin' hick such as yourself." Bortange's words almost immediately culminated in a physical altercation, the two men exchanging punches and the Augustan squad becoming a rather rowdy audience. Bortange had spoken much among the men about his boxing days, which he'd apparently done on the side when he was a surfer down in LI. Harrison had yet to have seen it in action, however, stepping forth to watch. The sound of gunfire was rather distant, so he wasn't particularly concerned if Alvimians would show up.

Jonathon had mostly tried to ignore the confrontation between the hick and the surfer, but the fight caught him off guard. He was strongly tempted to watch, but as soon as he saw the first punch fly he could feel someone was getting a serious reprimand. He decided to anyways.

The fight broke up soon enough, a few insults being spat back and forth between the two men. Harrison's attention was set further down the airport gate, in case any more Alvies showed up. What caught him off-guard, however, was the shout behind them that made him quickly turn around. He didn't speak Alvimian, but he knew what certain phrases like "INIMIGO!" meant. Eight of them, presumably coming after the sound, reports from panicked civilians, or from the one straggler from earlier — it didn't matter what'd drawn them in, all that mattered was that they'd shown up. Shots were exchanged almost immediately, Harrison firing upon the Alvimians with the rest of the Augustans as the gunfight broke out.

They were likely up against conscripts, given their enemy's lack of accuracy and weak morale. One by one, they were dropped, until one remained. The Alvimian dropped his weapon, as if in surrender.

"I gotta say, you Augustans're a bunch of dipshits, but y'all put up a good fight." Bortange complimented.

"Same t'you, surfer boy." The Augustan squad leader seemed moreso impressed than pissed he'd risked the lives of his men. "I ain't gonna report this incident." He looked to his men, gesturing them to the lone survivor of the gunfight. "Get 'er up."

More footsteps brought Harrison to instinctually raise his rifle, though his fears were dissuaded when it became apparent it was Ferdinand and the other fireteam, emerging from one of the adjacent shops. "So it's clear then?" He asked. Harrison lowered his weapon, though his squad leader's cowardice pissed him off.

"All clear." The Augustan squad leader replied. "Your subordinate's ex-lent at his duties, n' I do say he should be commended. If I ain't mistaken, he killed three o' the Alvin bastards himself!" The almost honorable fighting spirit of the Augustans fascinated Harrison — how quickly they'd come to respect Bortange for picking a fight with their commanding officer.

The Alvimian soldier was brought before them, thrown back down to the floor by two of the Augustan squad's men. "Maybe we can, like, use 'im for intel, man." Bortange suggested.

"Wingman, question the POW." Ferdinand ordered. Harrison watched Edeko question the Alvimian prisoner, not understanding a word either of them were saying. To Harrison, speaking other languages was a duty for traitors and city-slicker college-educated pansies.

"He says the Alvimians are concentrated at Gate A. We're in, uh, Gate C right now, sir." Edeko said, rifle still pointed to the Alvimian's head. "He also says the air traffic control tower doubles as a communications hub for all Alvimian military units in the area."

"He's useful and talkative, I like that." Ferdinand smirked. "We'll bring him along with us. I'll call the rest of the squad off the Sparky, get 'em into the airport and we'll be moving again."

"Where to, sir?" Bortange asked.

"We'll be killing every Alvin sunuvabitch from here 'till Gate A." Ferdinand answered, looking down the many rows of duty-free shops and fast food restaurants. It was a rather large airport, which made getting around a rather slow task.

1 - Calistor Coffins - An affectionate name for the M373, due to the fact many of them are manufactured at the Leland Tractor Plant in the state Calistor.

2 - Duirel anti-runway bombs - The Duirel anti-runway bomb is a Euphemian anti-runway bomb designed to render enemy airstrips and runways inoperable.

3 - 981nfo - 981nfo is a social bulletin board system (SBBS) created, coded, and administered by donnie_fresh_91, a computer programmer of unknown origin. Topics discussed on the site include art, video gaming, film, politics, and anything else (under the infamous “WEIRD” category.)

4 - SG-M64S3 - The SG-M64S3 is a Euphemian 12-gauge shotgun patterned upon the M64 series of assault rifles. Typically assigned to specialists tasked with breaching entrances, the weapon is incredibly lethal in close combat. Developed in 385 to replace shotguns already in service, it was derived from the M64 to further streamline the production of parts.

Last edited by Valefontaine on Fri Feb 08, 2019 8:02 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

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Western Pacific Territories
Posts: 13874
Founded: Apr 29, 2015
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Western Pacific Territories » Fri Feb 08, 2019 11:55 pm

This was a collab between various WFF members.



Within an hour, Neworder's speech had changed the political fabric of Euphemie. In a day, he had done what no other President before him had done for centuries. Two distinct 'wars' were born: the Air Campaign and the Ground Campaign. Both, working in tandem with one another, enacted Rawlins' theory on Absolute Combat Mobilization with shocking efficiency.

Neworder had become a President of unparalleled willpower in the eyes of the people due to his apparent lack of hesitation to bring Euphemie to reconquer its rightful claims upon Red Pine. Despite the fact the Alvimians were outnumbered almost two to one, the threat of Alvimian reinforcements was still a concerning one. Such an action would threaten to escalate the reconquest into a fully-fledged war.

In the eyes of the Euphemian public, however, it was already a fully-fledged war. Some in the press called it the 'Reunification War', others called it the 'Liberation War', some dubbed it 'Johnson's War' after General Theodore James In-My-Dreams Eric C. Johnson, who was in command of the FS 2nd Army, or as the media affectionately called it, "Reunification Forces".

Midfort, Red Pine
25 December, A.C. 391

Image Pvt. Jonathon Dark-Days-Come-for-You A. Brookes


Midfort International Airport
Built before the war, Midfort International Airport is a relic the Alvimian occupiers have bothered little to repair. It is the main hub of air transit in and out of occupied Red Pine. When the Euphemians built it, it was one of the most efficient air hubs in the country — while it has progressively decayed under Alvimian administration, it is still impressively efficient considering its age.

It'd been awhile since they'd continued moving, the rest of the second fireteam disembarking from the M373 and joining them inside. They were still in Gate C, which would be some distance from their destination, Gate A. The walking was getting tiring, even for a soldier who had, you know, completed basic training and all, what with the AT-M88.

The paging system for this section of the airport came alive, as someone, certainly Alvimian, started talking, apparently giving orders or something. Jonathon didn’t know what, but he wanted to. “Hey, what’s that guy on the PA saying?” he asked to nobody particularly.

"He's calling for all forces in the vicinity to reassert control over Gate C. Sounds pretty pissed, too." Edeko's secondary assignment as a translator seemed to have some use.

The rest of the fireteam was busy messing around with the Alvimian POW they were bringing along. Harrison in particular was rummaging through the man's kitbag, looking through items of relevance. "Looks like a picture of his girlfriend or something. Shame she dates a pussy like him," He laughed to himself, looking for something else.

"Picture of Dom Pedro. Must be his idol or somethin'... what a joke. Pistol, grenade... can't have these." Harrison discarded a few of the Alvimian's belongings, ensuring he couldn't pull anything if he got the chance. "Hey Wingman, how do you say 'fuck you' in Alvimian?"

"I don't think I should tell you — you'd have too much fun with it." She answered.

Jonathon, feeling rather bored decided to attempt cheap comedy. “Lemme try,” he said. He grunted, and faced the Alvimian. “Fucca eu.”

This was met by a grumble from the second fireteam's specialist, as she clearly knew he was speaking total nonsense. "It's best you not try."

“Ey, settle down, mkay?” A.J. called from the back, snickering. “After all, e’ ain’t had his daily intake’uh tapioca yet.”

Jonathon remembered that Alvimian-Euphemian dictionary he’d thrown away back at the store. “You think they write how to say fuck you in the translator’s dictionary?

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Tyson, who had been mostly quiet the entire time, chimed in.

“She must’ve learned it somehow.” Jonathon countered.

The distant sound of boots making contact with the ground echoed across the desolate expanses of the airport. Jonathon raised his gun in anticipation of an attack.

A door for one of the staff-only hallways opened up as three Alvimian soldiers rushed out. Harrison was first to react, emptying a few bursts of ammunition into one's chest which sent him falling backwards. The recoil caught him off guard, sending a few bullets into the ceiling that would've otherwise nearly struck one of the Alvimians in the head.

Jonathon fired a shot at another of the soldiers, getting a very narrow grazing shot on his head. Perhaps the man’s skeleton had deflected it off, but he still fell over in agony. He fired a shot which missed, but took aim at the wounded soldier’s head and finished him off with a clean shot to the man’s temple.

Tyson opened fire on the soldiers, narrowly missing the Alvimian’s neck. He fired another burst of rounds, instantly killing the remaining Alvimian.

“There anyone else?” Jonathon asked. Noticing the lack of noise, it appeared there wasn’t.

Approaching the door where the three Alvimians had come out, Jonathon froze. He could hear another Alvimian in the hallway, trying to look for his three missing squadmates. He pointed his gun at the door, waiting for the soldier to come out.

When he did, Jonathon and Tyson both fired at the man. The former’s shot went past the soldier’s leg and impacted the door, while the other hit the man in the abdomen, sending him to the floor. Jonathon put another bullet into his head.

Jonathon moved forward to the hallway door itself, now crowded with the bodies of five dead Alvimians to make sure nobody else was in the hallway. Peering in, he could see that the room was filling with smoke from an internal fire, probably electrical, judging from the sparks coming down from the roof panels. He took cover behind the door, stuck his gun barrel in and fired into the hallway. Spraying rather wildly, he knew he had hit two men, judging from the separate shouts and death moans. He shut the door, and continued on with the squad forwards.

"Gate B," Edeko read aloud the sign that hung adjacent to the terminal gates. "Almost to Gate A."

The sound of gunfire still permeated through the airport — presumably other elements of the 1st Armored Regiment were overwhelming the Alvimian defense at the airport. Through the glass windows of the gate B, the soldiers could see the air traffic control tower of Midfort International Airport, various pieces of communication equipment aimed about from atop the cylindrical concrete structure. Ferdinand, the squad leader, had notified command of the soldier's word on the Alvimian comms hub earlier.


The explosion was enough to rile up the other Augustan squad, the air traffic control tower collapsing as the fireball dispersed, sending it collapsing on a section of airport ahead. The sound of the collapse echoed across the terminal, perhaps giving indication of the state of things ahead.

Whoever had previously been directing units to Gate C on the intercom came back online again. As the microphone gave some loud, ear-piercing screeches, he started coughing before giving more instructions, in what was quite clearly a very angry, almost screaming tone.

“I think we pissed off air traffic control,” Jonathon joked. “What’s he saying now?”

“Fuhh if I knuh,” A.J. screamed. “Sounds like mor like ta-co!”

"He's saying all units have been ordered to retreat to FOB Primeira Linha." Edeko said.

"That means we can shoot 'em in the back." Lawson spoke up, smirking. It warranted a few glances from the rest of the squad.

“And here I was thinkin’ we were doing just fine.” Tyson joked.

"What? I'm just kiddin'.." Lawson shrugged. There was something unhinged about him that made those around him fairly aware he'd snap at any moment.

Jonathon gave a slightly concerned look around. “Let’s go then.”

Much of Gate B happened to be free of enemy forces, the only indications of a previous military presence being the occasional ammo boxes sitting about. Civilians huddled beneath chairs, cowering amid the literal war that'd erupted. The Alvimian deployment to the airport was relatively small — it was no surprise they were folding under the attack of a superior force.

"So, we're goin' to Gate A to shoot some Alvies — where's the exit of this place, anyway?" Harrison questioned.

"I look like a structural engineer, Skydreamer?" Ferdinand asked. "We ain't special forces. We're not getting ourselves a floorplan of the place."

A.J. came in quickly before anyone could respond with something only a dumbass would say. Surveying the building, he sucked his teeth. "Or maybe, them Alvies just are SHEIT at buildin’ shiet, yknowhatimsayin’? Yuh know, dumb ass peuhpl build dumb ass shiet.”

There was perhaps irony to be found in the Turmenistanian's words — the airport was centuries old, built before the war, before the Alvimian occupation.

"Don't think I ever needed a floorplan to shoot somebody, sir." Harrison chuckled to himself, reloading his assault rifle as they drew nearer to a series of illegible signs hanging from the ceiling.

"We're goin' huntin', y'all already know whatitis!" One of the men from the Augustan squad exclaimed.

"Gate A, ladies and gentlemen." Edeko announced, translating the sign.

"If I knew we'd be walking this much, I'd have stayed in the Sparky." Claytrail quipped.

As the squad entered to Gate A, the place seem deserted, empty. Almost too empty…


An Alvimian M1976[1] machine gun opened up on the squads, forcing them to run to cover. The Alvimians had a decently fortified central position at Gate A’s lobby, and placed a squad to hold out the Euphemians while everyone else retreated from the airport. A few Alvimians also popped their heads up to start shooting, though they were being deceiving, hiding their numbers quite cleverly.

"MAN DOWN!" A voice — Harrison's, caught the attention of the squad. He dragged Bortange to cover behind a row of seats, trying in vain to find signs of life. Bullets whizzed overhead amid the chaos, only adding to the terror. Responsibility over the first fireteam now lay in Harrison's hands.

“GET THAT MUTHAFUKIN EM GEE!!” A.J., doing exactly what he was just yelling, slid open the GL-M367[2] under his rifle and slapped a grenade in. He fired at the MG first with a burst from his rifle, missing the position entirely as he swung back into cover, hurling expletives his way. “TACO EATIN’ MOTHERFUCK.”

Suppressed quite heavily, Jonathon didn’t want to risk popping his head above the kiosk stand he was sheltering behind. He leaned to the side, peeking the corner, and fired a few rounds at an Alvimian soldier rushing to the aid of his comrades, hitting his neck.

"What the hell are you doing? Get—" A bullet struck Ferdinand in the throat as he approached Harrison, a red mist temporarily blinding Harrison as the sergeant's blood sprayed across his face.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!!” A.J., apparently ignoring the Sergeant’s demise, aimed at the machine gunner with his rifle once again. One hand on the GL-M367’s firing trigger, he let the high explosive grenade fly, a sharp clunk indicating that it was away. A second later, the machine gun fire abruptly cut out following a flash and boom towards the center of the lobby. “Nd FUCK YOU, piecea-shit!”

"Looks like I run the fireteam now," Harrison muttered, approaching the rest of his fireteam with his face still bloodied.

"Where's the fuckin' squad lead—" Claytrail No-Reply Starlight E. Floyd turned around, visibly set aback at the realization Ferdinand had been killed. "Well, shit. Looks like I'm the highest rank now."

As the soldiers reacted to the loss of their squad lead and a corporal, two of the wounded Alvimian’s from A.J.’s grenade tried to escape in the confusion. Jonathon wasn’t about to have it though, they were still enemy combatants.

He fired at the closest of the two, filling up his entire back with bullets, sending him crumpling to the ground. As for the second, he just fired a single shot, which hit the chest and sent the Alvimian to the floor as well. Now, he turned back around and took the brief respite to sit up against the kiosk.

"First order of business," Harrison announced, looking to the Alvimian POW they'd been dragging along with them. He approached the Alvimian, picking him up by the collar and standing up, holding him at gunpoint. The Alvimians seemingly took notice of Harrison's use of the man as a human shield.

"You, do the talkin'... say we won't kill this Alvimian officer if they just go about their merry way n' retreat." Harrison gestured to Edeko. She might've been a bootlicker, but perhaps she had a use.

"Alvimianos... nós temos um dos seus comandantes refém. Continua sua retirada, e nós não vamos matar-lo." The words seemed to have gotten a reaction from the Alvimians, who lowered their weapons and continued their retreat. The direction of said retreat, of course, gave them an idea of where the exit would be.

"The fuck did she say?" Lawson took a sniff from a suspicious plastic pack he kept with him. The white powder's residual below his nose was fair indication of what it was.

"I said we have one of their commanding officers hostage, and will kill him if they do not retreat." Edeko explained. "This was your idea?" She looked to Harrison.

"No, it was my brother's." Harrison sarcastically replied, throwing the Alvimian down and sitting back down on the carpet flooring of the gate, leaning his head against one of the chairs. "He wasn't an officer, by the way. Rank looks to be Private or whatever they call Private in this shithole of a country. Dumbasses."

“Whadduhwe do with this pathetic ‘lil scoundrel anyways, huh?” A.J. asked.

"He might not be an officer or nothin', but he knows 'nough to be useful." Harrison wiped the blood off his face, looking to Ferdinand's corpse. "Right, shit. Almost forgot. Our orders were to head to Gate A. Fuck we do now?"

Claytrail, who had effectively become the squad leader, knelt by the body. "That's what I'm about to find out, honey."

Harrison quietly muttered a slur under his breath as the new 'squad leader' took Ferdinand's radio and handled the typical comm bullshit.

"Right, uh, we're a-goin' to the entrance of the airport now that we reached Gate A. We're followin' those retreatin' boys." Claytrail set aside his radio, reloading his rifle and gesturing the men up. The Augustan squad was bickering amongst themselves, as apparently one of their corporals had his skull crushed by the machinegunner's volley. "Handle that Alvimian prisnah, will you?" Claytrail gestured to Harrison.

"Yeah, yeah." Harrison brought the man up, pushing the barrel of his rifle against the man's temple. "How do you say 'move your ass' in Alvimian?"

"Vamos, seu fiodaputa." Edeko said. "Let's go, you son of a bitch."

Harrison chuckled. "I might just use that more often."

The squad moved on, pursuing the trail of the Alvimians they'd scared off. The signs served to guide them, eventually leading them past derelict security lines and baggage claim areas until they'd reached the entrance. The other Euphemian units had done their job — Alvimian POWs lined the space, the bodies of those that'd put up a fight beside them.

“Ey’, look guys, it’s an Alvie pett’n zoo!” A.J. laughed out loud in hysterics..still unaware of the demise of his superiors and friends. Even this sort of behavior wasn’t expected from him—it was much more appropriate for someone like Lawson.

"This must be the asshole that killed Bortange." Harrison looked in disgust to one of the Alvimians who still carried a belt of ammunition about his vest. He wasn't even sure if it was the one — but he smirked as Lawson immediately reacted by beating the shit out of the man. The Alvimian's screams were met with confusion by the other prisoners, and it'd been a good forty seconds until a few other Euphemian officers pulled him away from the prisoner.

"What about Churchton?" Edeko asked.

"What do you mean, 'What about Churchton'? Fuck 'im." Harrison replied, irritated.

"Alright everyone," Claytrail returned from chatting with a few other officers, folding his arms at the scene that'd taken place. "We're heading back to Firebase Geta."[3]

"We'll miss you dearly, Ricardo." Harrison pushed the POW down to the huddled group of Alvimian prisoners.

"That's not his name." Edeko quietly objected.

"When'd you two start fuckin'?" Harrison sarcastically quipped. Looking to Claytrail, he continued. "What, so you're like, squad leader now, sir?"

"Nah. Some dipshit newbies with promotions will replace the dead. Prolly think they're hot shit." He answered, shaking his head. They began on the way out of the airport, presumably to fetch a truck and begin the drive back across the border — which wasn't far, of course.

"We ain't in Qarik no more..." Lawson muttered, trembling. Presumably the weight of the deaths had finally set upon his unstable mind.


"Well, who's up for a few drinks?" Harrison offered. Perhaps it was a good alternative to wallowing in death and the trauma of war.

“Alvimie or Euphemian?” Jonathon asked. He knew what the response would be, but whatever.

1 - M1976 - The Modelo 19 Ano 376 (M1976) machinegun is a medium machine gun produced by Corporação de Indústrias Bélicas Alvimianas (CIBA) for the Imperial Alvimian Army. Entering service in A.C. 376, the machinegun is often seen with the better-equipped Alvimian squads.

2 - GL-M367 - The GL-M367 is a Euphemian single-shot, 40mm under-barrel grenade launcher designed to attach to a rifle, though it also comes in standalone versions. It is known for its low recoil and good accuracy, and is capable of firing high explosive, flare, smoke, and even buckshot grenades. Because of its simple nature and the often "easy" enemy kills that come wit hits use, it has often been dubbed the "noob tube."

3 - Firebase Geta - Situated north of the border, near North Midfort in the Euphemian side of Red Pine, Firebase Geta is the home base of several units subordinate to the 1st Armored Regiment. It was among the first bases to deploy forces when Neworder's inauguration initiated the Reunification War.
Last edited by Western Pacific Territories on Sat Feb 09, 2019 10:15 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Turmenista » Sat Feb 09, 2019 5:34 pm

This was a collab between various WFF members.



The seizure of Midfort International Airport made the possibility of an Alvimian retreat a lot less feasible. Now all that stands along the border is FOB Primeira Linha, a hilltop Alvimian military facility that serves as a hub for military forces in the north.

If Euphemian forces successfully seize Primeira Linha, Alvimia's chances in the first phase of the ground campaign will be severely reduced.

Midfort, Red Pine
26 December, A.C. 391

Image PFC Avery-Jamieson Johnson "A.J." Sabbath P. Floyd Nirvana, Jr.


Firebase Geta
Situated north of the border, near North Midfort in the Euphemian side of Red Pine, Firebase Geta is the home base of several un its subordinate to the 1st Armored Regiment. It was among the first bases to deploy forces when Neworder's inauguration initiated the Reunification War.


Click for Music

According to the map, they were doing a pretty good job at things. Much ground had been taken in Red Pine following yesterday’s events, inching the men of the 2nd army closer and closer to joining in arms with their FSA brothers. For now, they needed some rest.

After all, much of their squad’s command structure was killed in action yesterday, meaning that a shift in power was inevitable. A.J.’s squad had been informed that the replacements would show up in a “timely manner,” but from his personal experiences back in Qarik, he knew a “timely manner” could very well be a day, a week, or two months. As far as he was concerned, their squad was better off without any “bitchass NCO sar’nts,” as he put it. So long as they had a good one, he’d be content.

A boom suddenly shook the barracks as he lifted his head up from the 981nfo screen on the computer, mid-typing up a well-worded response to an Aenaran about his thoughts regarding Red Pine. He quickly sprinted over to to the door, head bobbing around to find the source, or whatever was just blown up. “EY! Sold’r, that outguhn arty or incomin’ arty?”

“Outgoin’ arty!” The response made the others in the barracks, and especially Lawson, sigh in relief. “Thank God! Well, don’t actually thank him that time—thought he was gonna strike me down for that dream last night!”

“Tellyuhwhuh, I decided u’re a frickin’ psi-cho, Lawsun. Wuh dream, sold’r?” A.J. asked.

“She-who-shall-not-be named-”

“Heeellll nah.” A.J. cut him out, plugging his ears comically. Yup. Lawson definitely was a pervert. “I knewyouwus stupid, Lawsun, but I neva knewyouwus a perv, man!”

“Well, where the hell’d you come from, A.J.?” Alword, who never really spoke at all, finally said something interesting. A.J. scoffed. “Yuh f’rst, old man. Teacher?”

“Nothin’s really important about me. I believed in Neworder, voted for him, and ended up here.”

“Tellyuhwhuh, I woulda thought yuh’dbe a teachr.” A.J. nodded. “Well, furmeman, I, uh, ah was at JNU in Arcad’yuh, dropped out cause shit was ‘xpensive, then took up hackin’. Th’military offr’d me lotsa muney, suh thatswhy im hurr.”

“You said you were in Qarik, right?” Lawson noted.

“Damrightahwas.” A.J. proudly said. “Kill’da shitton of Sanjis o’er there. Was on mah way tuh corporeal. Mah squad got fuck’n vap’rized by a Sanji rocket on Qarik City, I’s the only one left.”

He pointed to a scar above his temple, which hair did not grow over. “Got shift’d hurr not too long after that, then th’rest is, uh, histry.”

Harrison entered the room, smoking a cigarette per usual. With no NCOs to boss him around, he had nothing stopping him. "We get our, uh, change in leadership yet?" He discarded his nearly-spent cigarette on one of the bunk beds in the room — Wingman's, to be specific.

“May’n, that’s a fiurhazrdman.” A.J. frowned. “I’un’nt no.”

Harrison walked past his squadmates, heading to the window and opening it, tossing a piece of chewing gum in his mouth. Presumably it was to get rid of the taste of cigarette. There came a knock at the door, which made him turn around.

"I been alerted the others, but I guess y'all too lazy to leave the room every once in awhile," Claytrail announced in his usual lisp. "Replacements arrived just now. We should be ready to run a mission in no time — unfortunately for you all," He pointed to Harrison, Jonathon, and A.J. "Y'all's corporal is an Augustan, un-fortunately. Fortunately, however— he's one hell'uva hunk."

“Ah, fuckna.” A.J. shook his head. “We’z alreadydeadmayn.”

"What 'bout squad leader?" Harrison asked tentatively.

"Some sheriff's deputy outta New Pembroke City. Don't try and compete for him — I know this one's mine." Claytrail chuckled, leaving the few soldiers on their own in the room.

"Aw, fuckin' hell. I miss Ferd'nand already." Harrison grumbled, visibly irritated they'd have some Augustan douchebag in charge of the fireteam.

“Where’s the Augustan at? I wanna eye him up, see what he’s gonna be like.” Jonathon asked.

"Maybe we'll run into him on the way to the supply depot," Harrison was clearly suggesting they grab more ammunition than they were assigned on a standard basis. Spitting the gum out the window, he fetched his rucksack off the floor and walked out of the room.

“Tellyuhwhahh, I’min.” A.J. cut off the monitor to his computer and grabbed his belongings. “Uhneadsommor ‘nades ‘nyways.”

Jonathon decided to head over with Harrison to the depot. He always thought that his loadout of only three anti-tank rockets wasn’t enough, he’d prefer having a fourth one. And maybe a pistol to go along with it, seeing as only a few AT troopers could get their hands on one.

They came up on the supply depot relatively quickly. Unlike most depots that he saw over in Qarik, which were more or less glorified stockpiles of weapons that sat around getting sandy all day, the depot here was actually cared for, though, with how many people were at the Firebase currently and with people getting shifted around left and right, it was hardly ever guarded by an armory Sergeant.

Surprisingly, their M373A4 'Super Sparky' was sitting by the depot, the vehicle's two crewmen handling resupply — one of them appeared to be welding something to the vehicle rather than loading ammunition onboard, however.

"What a coincidence." Harrison muttered, entering the rusty warehouse that served as the depot. The welding died down as they approached, the M373's mechanic hopping off the vehicle. Now that he thought of it, they hadn't really spoken much with their 'designated drivers'.

"Came just in time for the new upgrade," Claire Bleed-It D. Hughes was second to the driver himself, and had earned the nickname "Scrapmonkey" at base for her proficiency at repairs, welding, improvising — pretty much anything. Word was, she'd been a mechanic from some ass-end part of Amure before joining the Federal Army. Go figure.

"Uh, I ain't got a clue what I'm lookin' at, here." Harrison looked to the device that'd been installed atop the vehicle.

"RR-M340 recoilless rifle. An old one, but it'll do a number on enemy armor." She explained. "We aren't actually authorized to do this, but who gives a shit. What're y'all here for?"

"We're here to steal ourselves some ammo," Harrison bluntly replied, walking past her and opening one of many crates sitting about, rummaging through its contents.

Jonathon took a look through another one of the crates by himself, deciding what he wanted. He took three extra mags for his assault rifle, and thinking about it, decided he could use a grenade — AT troopers weren’t issued frags. So he took one, and decided to look elsewhere for a pistol. He busted open another crate, which had a bunch of tubular shells — he guessed that those were for the recoilless rifle that they were welding onto the Super Sparky. No luck there, but in the third crate he found a pistol with about four mags and a frag. He added the pistol and magazines to his rapidly overfilling kevlar rig, along with the grenade.

A.J., meanwhile, had grabbed a comically large handful of HE, flare, and smoke grenades for his GL-M367, stuffing them in his bag and whatever other pockets he could find on his person.

Harrison hysterically laughed as he found something he didn't expect — four incendiary mags for his shotgun, which were labelled accordingly. "We're 'boutta cook ourselves some Alvies."

A series of footsteps drew the attention of everyone as it became the rest of the squad had come over. Two new faces could be seen among them — Ferdinand and Bortange's replacements.

"Y'all's my fi-team right?" One of them, who seemed rather young, spoke up. His nametag read 'HERRINGTON', and his uniform implied he held the rank of corporal. "Mark Opposites-Attract Escapade Herrington, I'm n-charge o'y'all now."

"That so?" Herrington didn't bother to conceal what he'd been doing, tossing the magazines he'd collected into his rucksack and walking over. "Well, it's an honor," He cynically jibed, turning his attention to the other new face. "You the sheriff?"

"Sheriff's deputy, 'least I was." The other man nodded. "Collectin' ammo— I'd discipline y'all for it, but I oughta commend such unorthodox wit. We'll need it outthere in Red Pine. Name's Hill. Jameson Ice-Ice-Baby D. Hill. I'd have some more chit-chat, but we oughta be somewhere — the War. We're headed straight for FOB Primera-whatever. We're goin' Alvin-hunting."

FOB Primavera... A.J. thought to himself briefly, remembering the map that had been posted in their barracks, the mess hall, and the command center. If he was correct, that wasn’t too far away from them, and he had a big enough brain to know that meant they were going to attack it.

"Isn't stealing ammunition a violation, sir?" Edeko questioned, which warranted an angry glance from Harrison.

"It is, but I ain't inclined to care. You— mechanic o' this vehicle?" He pointed to Claire.

"Yeah, I am." Claire hopped off the M373 again, shaking the new squad leader's hand with a motor oil-covered hand. Didn't seem to bother Jameson.

"Where's your superior 'round?" He questioned.

"The driver? He's inside, helpin' with the upgrade. Pretty much done, though. We headin' out 'r somethin'?" She climbed the vehicle again, seemingly doing a final check on the recoilless rifle.

"Yeah, right now." Jameson gestured the squad into the vehicle, following them inside.
FOB Primeira Linha
FOB Primeira Linha, literally "FOB First Line", is the northernmost Alvimian military facility in the occupied territories. As the name implies, it is the intended 'first line of defense' against a hypothetical Euphemian invasion — well, it's not really hypothetical anymore.

“Ah shiet, shiet! Tellyuhwhat, thisshit’s awesome!” A.J. gawked at the sight outside in all its glory—though, mind him, they were still trying not to get killed in one shot by enemy rockets or tank rounds. It was actually pretty neat to see the rest of their force roll in to the AO, both in front and behind, all focused on one single task: liberating the area, kicking ass, and kicking those bitch-ass Alvimians out.

"So, what's the plan when we get there, deputy?" Harrison asked Jameson, exhaling a puff of smoke into passenger compartment.

"Kill us some Alvies." Jameson answered. "We'll be targettin' the headquarters building that our A-Wax[1] identified. I heard you put a gun to some pris'ner's head, convinced the enemy it was one of their officers."

"Yeah, that was me. Couldn't have done it without our translator's help, though." Harrison took the cigarette out of his mouth, pointing to Edeko.

"Interesting." Jameson quietly noted.

"What's goin' on out there?" Lawson asked. He'd managed to get two packs of cigs off Harrison, and had been chain-smoking them since.

"Whole lotta dead Ricardo." Lacona answered, manning the left-side machinegun per usual.

"Ricardo?" Edeko asked, confused at her squadmate's slang.

"Saw Harrison call one of 'em Alvie prisoners Ricardo, figured it'd be an easy way to call 'em." She replied. This seemed to warrant a few nods of curious agreement among the squad. Ricardo — who woulda thought.

“Ay’e man, tellyuhwhut,” AJ spoke up, eagerly fiddling with opening and closing the grenade launcher on his rifle—of course, there was nothing in it. “Yall, uh, think that thuh FSA’s gonnuh come meet us? Last I checked, they ain’t that faruhway on thuh map.”

"Probably. General Johnson pretty much tells the Free State Army what to do at this point anyway." Edeko nodded in agreement.

"How're the Augustans?" Harrison nudged Claytrail, who was manning the central machinegun.

"They're just behind us, to our left. I think our driver's tryna race 'em!" Claytrail replied.

"Damn right." The driver laughed, his voice almost drowned out by the vehicle's engines.

"Shit! Tank!" Claytrail yelled. Obviously, a machinegun would be able to do little to an Alvimian main battle tank, but the recoilless rifle they'd thankfully installed today would. In a hurry, Harrison passed a round to Tyson, who manned the recoilless gun.
The T4 Jupará — an infamously competent tank, even by Euphemian standards.

Tyson hurriedly loaded the round into the recoilless gun. In the panic that had set in and the nerves he had missed his shot, and screamed for Harrison to pass him another round.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! SHOOT IT!” A.J. could only just scream, unable to distinguish where it was or what was going on. “KILL DAFUKN TANK ALREADY!”

Harrison handed another round to Tyson, hands shaking — almost dropping the round to the floor.

“FUCK! FUCK!” Tyson’s second shot had also missed, “I NEED ANOTHER ROUND!”

Harrison grabbed another round, handing it to his squadmate. "DON'T fuck this up!"

"Oh FUCK!" Lacona screamed. The fact she was gunner made her reaction all the more troubling. "IT'S AIMING AT US!"


The Alvimian tank came to a halt from its elevated position upon the FOB's hill. The hit had seemingly startled the enemy crew, as the turret angled a bit to the right — towards the Augustans. They'd startled them, but the tank sure as hell wasn't dead. It took a reaction shot, turret still off-angle, at the Sparky adjacent to them.

"GOD DAMN!" Claytrail exclaimed. "Nearly fuckin' hit the Augustans! Thank Fern it wasn't us!"

Harrison quickly handed Tyson another round, muttering a silent prayer as he did. One hit from that tank and they'd be finished.

Tyson loaded the round into the gun, this time aiming for the frontal turret of the T4. He fired the gun.

Sparks flew as the round penetrated the tank's turret, bringing the turret's movement to a halt. The continued lack of a response from the tank elicited celebration from the gunners.

"YOU FUCKIN' GOT 'IM!" Claytrail exclaimed.

"Looks like someone just saved our sorry asses." Harrison chuckled. He'd been about ready to hand over another round of ammunition to his squadmate, but it readily seemed that wouldn't be needed.

The 'Super Sparky' persisted uphill, approaching the Alvimian FOB. The machineguns up top soon went live as they fired upon apparent targets — one could assume it was the Alvies entrenched on the hill, or Alvies shooting from the FOB's various structures.

"I can hear the bullets whistlin' by me!" Lacona exclaimed.

Jameson lowered his radio as the Sparky came to a halt, his yell rousing the squad to action. "EVERYONE DISEMBARK!"

As the M373's door came open, they hit the dirt, sprinting in the closest cover in sight: one of the trenches that had been set up around the FOB. Machinegun fire persisted from the APC as they moved in the trench, the mechanic presumably manning the central machinegun.

Shouts and yells immediately sounded out as they ran into their enemy: three Alvimian fireteams, huddled in the trenches in wait for the Euphemian assault. One of the Alvimians had a reaction time quick enough to attempt opening fire upon Harrison. He'd failed, Harrison taking aim with his shotgun and firing two shots at the Alvimian. He'd missed once, but struck him the second time, throwing the poor bastard backwards into his friends and setting him alight. The panic that ensued was almost comedic.

“FUCK YEAH!!” A.J. shouted, firing at whatever he could see that was moving. He seemded to be having too much fun with this.

Jonathon, startled by the unexpected presence of a squad and a half of Alvimians in their trench fired two shots wildly into the bunch, the first missed, but the second tore straight into the heart of one of the soldiers, killing him. Four more of the Alvimians dropped amid the chaos as the squad opened fire, and it appeared that morale had shattered among them quite rapidly following the incident with the incendiary munitions. Harrison fired two more times into the terrified Alvimians, ripping another to shreds and setting him alight. Those that remained — about five of them, two of which were also on fire, had quickly dropped their weapons and fled, unarmed, presumably to be captured by reunification forces.


An earthshattering sound could be heard by the squad as an all-too-familiar Euphemian aircraft soared past, strafing the Alvimian barracks. An explosion followed soon thereafter, as its missile payload struck the barracks, tearing the main building a new one and sending a few of the adjacent tents sky-high.

“Blown to fuckin’ smithereens!” Lawson screeched, watching the aircraft fly away.

"I think the Augustans got us covered," Jameson peeked from their cover in the trench, listening to the all-too-audible howls and cheers of the Augustans nearby. "Let's move up on the barracks — or what's left of it."

"What 'bout friendly fire?" Alword asked.

"They know we're headed to barracks. They were just pavin' the way..." Jameson chuckled, reloading his AR-M64A5 and vaulting over, beginning the charge towards what remained of the Alvimian barracks. As the squad advanced, the sound of helicopter rotors was almost oppressing, UH-36 Reed[2] helicopters circling the FOB and laying down suppressive fire on Alvimian positions.

“Holuponthatchargenow, sarn’t!” A.J. shouted ahead to Jameson, advancing not too far behind their sergeant. He held hisi AR-M64A6 up high, opening up his GL-M367 and sliding a grenade into it. “We, uh, needsomsmokenow! Ricardo’s in that barracks!”

"WHAT?" Jameson turned around, not managing to hear A.J. over the chaos. A loud dink sounded out, which made the squad leader hold the back of his helmet in confusion and turn around. An Alvimian, visibly injured by what'd taken place at the barracks, dropped his P1928[3] in fear and began screaming something incomprehensible in Alvimian.

"You SON OF A—" Harrison yelled, charging after the Alvimian grunt.

"He's saying he surrendered!" Edeko's words were quite obviously ignored by the specialist, who proceeded to beat down the Alvimian mercilessly.

"He's only surrenderin' 'cause he got caught!" Harrison exclaimed, throwing his shotgun aside to fetch his rifle — he'd have emptied some 5.56 into the man's head, had she not pulled him away in time.

"That was too close a call." Jameson picked up Harrison's shotgun, handing it back to him as they continued into the scorched remains of the barracks. Evidently, most of the men around were injured, dead or had survived unscathed by some miraculous grace — and surrendered. "Fireteam two, get them outta here."

The second fireteam complied, dragging the unarmed Alvimians out of their tents and ordering them at gunpoint to run into the Euphemian lines further downhill — where their surrender would be accepted.

"Looks like these pussies done gave up." Harrison looked around, noting they'd pretty much gotten everyone out, aside from the scorched bodies of the dead. "Only Ricardo left are the dead."

"We're movin' up — Alvins have got some artillery a bit past here. Getting rid of it will hasten the more cautious officers to send their boys up." Jameson declared. "Fireteam one, you'll be movin' up first."

"Shit, looks like it's gon-be-us. Hopefully Iain't end up like y'all's last corp'ral." Mark chuckled, reloading his rifle. The sound of an engine's roar brought their attention to the road, their M373 Super Sparky moving past the ruined concrete pile that'd become of the main barracks. "I think y'all knowwhattodo. We'll go right behind'em."

"Right." Harrison nodded, following the team leader until they'd formed up behind the APC. The beast of reinforced steel, olive drab paint and rust pushed onward, kicking up its pungent diesel as its engines continued their orchestral cacophony.

There were audible pings of bullets bouncing off the front of the vehicle — which were soon drowned out by the Sparky's own machinegunner.

"They call'er the Scrapmonkey." Harrison noted, obviously talking about the mechanic manning the machinegun. "Awful fittin', aint'cha think?"

"So she's-th'wun repairin' shit 'round FB Geta?" Mark asked.

"Damned if there ain't a mechanic on that base better than'er." Harrison replied, peeking from behind of the M373 with caution.

As the squad with their Sparky approached the artillery park, their targets came into sight. Three M907A2 Mártir[4] self-propelled howitzers on an open space, surrounded by a few soldiers, probably making up those who hadn’t surrendered and instead retreated back. The recoilless rifle wasn’t being manned right now, so Jonathon took matters into his own hands.

Finally getting to use his AT-M88 for the first time this entire war, he ran out from the cover of the M373 to take cover behind a small dirt mound next to some pre-fab walls. Pulling his AT-M88 out, he loaded a rocket in and took aim at one of the vehicles.

He fired at the vehicle left-most of him, scoring a hit. Nothing particularly eye-catching about the vehicle’s destruction, but it was enough. He loaded in another rocket, while he started to take rifle fire from the Alvimians, being a rather high-priority target.

Poking his head up again, he took aim at the second and fired. The rocket went right through the frontal armor of the vehicle and seemed to have set off the ammunition, creating an impressive fireball and bursting all the hatches open. One severely injured crew member, on fire, climbed out the top. Jonathon reloaded his AT-M88, putting in his last rocket.

Much like the second M907A2, the remaining one burst up into flames when Jonathon fired his remaining round at the vehicle. He seemed to be getting shot at by every Alvimian around, so he just kept his head down and waited for his squadmates to take care of the Ricardos.

Giddily, A.J. stepped out and fired off a grenade, cheering as he saw a few Alvimians die from the ensuing explosion.

With the gunfire continuing, Harrison climbed atop the Sparky, taking shots at the Alvimians as they entered the artillery park, running over a few tents in the process. He'd taken shots at a lot of them, and he couldn't count amid the sheer tinnitus the Sparky's machinegun had incurred, but by the time it was over, the enemy either lay dead or had dropped their weapons.

Harrison hopped off the vehicle, ears still terribly ringing. Cover was ahead — a bullet-ridden prefab comms station. He promptly sought cover there with the rest of the fireteam, slumping over as he waited for the ringing in his ears to settle down. "Fuck'n Ricardo all over the place.." He muttered.

From the south, the second M373 approached, Augustan flag waving high above its rear. Atop the vehicle, the Augustans were cheering and hollering, a few firing off shots into the sky. The second fireteam, along with Jameson himself, emerged from one of the adjacent tent clusters, walking over.

"Careful, y'all." Jameson gestured to the communications station they'd sought rest besides. "We're gonna blow a hole in this one." The fireteam stepped away from the small station, Jameson lobbing a grenade into one of the opened control panels on the machine. Sparks flew as the blast destroyed the comms box.

"I 'sume we're headed to fuk up Ricardo's head-korters next." Mark raised an eyebrow, looking to the squad leader.

"You'd be correct." Jameson nodded. "Cleanup forces aren't far behind, they'll handle these folks." He gestured to the Alvimians that had surrendered.

The squad continued forward with their Sparky along with the Augustans towards the HQ building. An intimidating concrete block surrounded by sandbag positions, it would be a bit of a pain to clear out. However, maybe the recoilless rifle could help with that. It did come with High Explosive and High Explosive Anti-Personnel, after all.

As they approached the fortified position, machineguns opened up on the Euphemian attackers. Harrison kept close behind the Sparky, mostly out of self-preservation.

"How the hell are we gonna—" Lacona was cut off — literally — as .50 caliber filled her chest and sent her lifeless corpse collapsing into the mud.

Harrison would've been shocked, but the adrenaline had a tendency to numb such feelings. "Man the fuckin' recoilless rifle!" He called out to Tyson, hopping aboard the Sparky.

“Harrison, gimme a fuckin' round!” Tyson called out.

He grabbed a round from one of the boxes, passing it to Tyson as soon as he boarded the Sparky. He wouldn't man the left-side machinegun of the vehicle — he had to help load the recoilless rifle — and Scrapmonkey had an admirable figure, now that he noticed it.

“Holup, I GOT THIS SHIT.” Sliding open the grenade launcher underneath his rifle, A.J. slapped in a HE grenade and aimed at the machine gun position, raising his rifle high up above the Sparky and raising his barrel upwards.. as if he were adjusting his aim in very small increments.

"Letmegiveyousomething new, HIGH HEXPLOSIVE, YUHASSHOLES!"


The hit was a success, with the machine gun fire abruptly cutting out as A.J. hollered out in success. “Anduhhhfuckyou to you, tapioca-eatin’ Ricardo!”

Jonathon noticed that a couple of Alvimians were ascending to the roof to gain the best view of the surrounding camp as they could. Two or three of them were running up to the ledge of the roof to take potshots from above, but he went to work with Tyson at killing them. With a few bullets he killed one, who fell off the roof and hit the ground two stories below. Tyson fired one shot, instantly killing the Alvimian as the bullet shredded through his skull.

The Sparky shook as it struck the headquarters, backing up momentarily before striking the building again — something had audibly given way. The Sparky pulled back, allowing the squads leeway to charge in. This was indication enough for Harrison to disembark, his shotgun at the ready.

Harrison charged in with the others, letting loose a few 12-gauge rounds, practically decapitating one of the Alvimians and setting him alight, the flames quickly spreading through the ground floor.

Entering with Harrison, Jonathon ran into one of the rooms to see one Alvimian, a radio operator, jump out of his seat and attempt to grab a pistol. He put a bullet in the radio operator, then turned his attention to the rest of the floor. Reloading his magazine, another Alvimian suddenly appeared, his weapon held up. Jonathon dropped the gun he was reloading, pulled out his pistol and shot the man in the head - an impressive quick-draw. He continued reloading his gun and started looking for the staircase to the second story.

Harrison suddenly yelled, falling over and firing a spray of bullets into the ceiling. He'd gotten shot somewhere, given he now clutched his leg in pain.

Jonathon heard the blood-curdling yell, and turned his head to see Harrison on the ground, blood pooled around his leg. “Ah shit!” he yelled, running over to Harrison. He turned the corner to see an Alvimian officer reloading his sidearm, Harrison probably caught too much off guard to fire. Jonathon fired three shots into the officer’s chest, sending him crumpling down. A second Alvimian appeared, and fired a shot, but it missed hilariously. Jonathon put another round into this second soldier, killing him as well.

Harrison had been quite obviously put out of commission due to the shot that'd struck him. "Take my gun, Brookes." He offered his shotgun to his squadmate, returning to clutching his leg.

“Sure, gimme your mags too.” Jonathon said, squatting to the floor to pick it up. Taking the magazines from Harrison, he took his pistol and their respective magazines out of his chest rig and gave them to Harrison. “There might be someone down here still,” he said, walking away. “I’m gonna clear second floor with the rest.”

As the squad pushed onwards to the second floor, the Alvimians visibly had been caught off guard — perhaps they hadn't heard or noticed the gunfight below over the sound of their own machineguns. One of the Alvimians turned around, attempting to take a shot — only for his M358 assault rifle to explode in his hands. This seemed to say a lot about the quality of the Alvimian forces.

Ascending to the second story, Jonathon took out his sole frag grenade, pulled the pin, and chucked it into the HQ’s command center. The crowdedness of the HQ helped the Alvimian’s though, as the majority of the shrapnel flew into clusters of desks and chairs. His gun seemed to be more useful in this environment, as he used it to kill one of the Alvimian soldiers firing out the windows at his comrades outside the headquarters.

"Wait, they're saying they surrende—" Edeko was flung backwards as a shot ripped through her throat, making her tumble down the stairs, hitting the bottom with a CRACK. The firefight concluded quickly, the squad gunning down the last of the Alvimians.

"There goes our fuckin' translator." Lawson muttered.

“They’d surrendered?” Jonathon asked when the shooting stopped. “Well, it sure didn’t fucking look like it.”

"She sure's hell was wrong." Claytrail wiped some of his squadmate's blood off his face — the arterial spray had gotten on a few of them. "That dead body over there mus' be their c'mandin' officer."

"You'd be right, Claytrail." Jameson nodded. "With their HQ down, their chain of command will soon follow — if the other units don't overrun them first."

Returning downstairs, the squad found Harrison, smoking a cigarette as usual. "Guess I'll be out for a few months, huh?" He'd haphazardly made a bandage out of his sleeve and a torniquet out of one of his smoke grenades — it'd last him for now.

"You did your job. We'll get you a medevac." Jameson nodded. "Get 'im out!"

Getting injured was certainly less bad than dying, as it meant the infantryman would be able to return to fight another day — much less could be said of the other Euphemian casualties, or the Alvimians.

1 - A-Wax - Euphemians from the state of Augusta have a wide range of slang. "A-Wax" is Augustan military slang for AEW&C aircraft.

2 - UH-36 Reed - UH-36 Reed - The UH-36 Reed is a military utility helicopter developed by Lariat Aviation Technologies, Ltd. It was developed in 352 A.C. to fulfill the Euphemian Army's demand for a multirole helicopter to succeed the aging fleet of UH-33 Dandy helicopters.

3 - P1928 - The Pistola Modelo 19 ver. 28 (P1928) is one of various sidearms utilized by the Alvimian Army. Like many other firearms, it is made by Corporação de Indústrias Bélicas Alvimianas (CIBA).

4 - M907A2 Mártir - The M907A2 is an Alvimian 155mm turreted self-propelled howitzer.

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Posts: 136
Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Sun Feb 10, 2019 5:00 am

This was a collab between various WFF members.



Most of FOB Primeira Linha had fallen to the Euphemian advance in the previous day, giving significant leeway to the advance of Reunification Forces. The possibility of the facility delaying the advance, however, poses a strategic concern. With the Free State Army advancing from the south, the Alvimian military faces an increasingly dire situation.

Intending to prolong their defense and delay the Euphemian advance further, the Alvimian military desperately airlifts supplies to FOB Primeira Linha's airbase, with the clear intent to keep Euphemian forces at bay for as long as possible.

Midfort, Red Pine
27 December, A.C. 391

Image SPC Heley Davis You're-So-Vain Alks Roshing P. Conavard


Firebase Geta
Situated north of the border, near North Midfort in the Euphemian side of Red Pine, Firebase Geta is the home base of several un its subordinate to the 1st Armored Regiment. It was among the first bases to deploy forces when Neworder's inauguration initiated the Reunification War.


Click for Music

Heley Davis You're-So-Vain Alks Roshing P. Conavard had seen and felt the horrors of the Qarik War firsthand — well, it wasn't really horrible, but it was war nonetheless. Fighting in the 13th Airborne "Screaming Eagles" Division, she'd applied for a transfer the moment Neworder had finished his inauguration speech — and said transfer did come. The 904th Infantry Division, 1st Armored Regiment, and a few other units below that. Apparently she was to fill in a slot made recently available, meaning someone had gotten injured or killed.

The specifics didn't really matter. She'd been sent to some ass-end military base north of the border, Firebase Geta. She and a few of the other new arrivals, or as they were called around base, 'spare parts', quickly found their respective units.

Heley had been assigned to some squad that apparently carried some notoriety due to the apparent tendency for people to die. She'd figured it was a byproduct of incompetent leadership, or perhaps it was filled to the brim with grunt knucklehead types.

The room she'd found seemed to match the ones on her papers — numbered 441, and with some old graffiti marking the steel door. Knocking once, she opened the door before a response came.

"I'm assigned to this squad," She announced, setting down her rucksack by the bed number also labeled on her papers. It appeared not all of the squad was present — or maybe logistics were that incompetent. It didn't matter much, though.

"Yeah, y'reunder my k'mand." Mark was in his bunk, bong in one hand and picture of a woman in the other — presumably his girlfriend.

Jonathon, reading one of the manuals the higher-ups issued, wondering who this woman would be replacing. “You Harrison’s replacement? Wait, ‘course you are.” he asked.

"Don't think any'ne else in this squad died." Heley remarked.

Lawson was looking on the computer, and judging by his demeanor, someone had left it open earlier and he was snooping around. "Name's Lawson. You 'prolly won't survive long. Unless you were in Qarik."

"Yeah, I was, actually. 13th AB. You got that desert-head look 'bout you. Where'd you serve in?" Heley asked.

"Wow, you noticed." Lawson muttered some incoherencies under his breath. "Eleventh Infantry, 'Sunshine' Division." He answered. "I'm not in y'r fireteam, but there's 'nother Qarik vet who is. A.J., think his name is. The fact you're here probably means command is gonna send us off to fight Ricardo off at FOB Prima."

A.J. waved once his name was mentioned. “That’s me!”

Ricardo. She could deduce it was some kind of slang for Alvimians. "I take it FOB Prima's the one closest to the border?"

"Smarter than most noobs, I see." Lawson nodded.

“Yeah, we were at Prima yesterday. That’s why you’re replacing Harrison. He took a bullet to the leg, first person in our squad shot that hasn’t died. A good record,” Jonathon said.

"That raises my hopes 'bout this squad somewhat." A series of footsteps drew her attention to the door to the hallway, which had been left open. Jameson stood at the door, another new face beside him.

"I see the other new arrival's settled in." Jameson said. If 'settling in' meant standing in the barracks for a few minutes, then she'd certainly filled the criteria.

"I'm Sarah Tonights-the-Night Gonna-Be-Alright F. Wynn." The newcomer beside Jameson introduced herself, and Heley could almost immediately tell the girl was a noob. Turmenistan, Torch City — one of those more sheltered places in Euphemie for sure.

“Well, if we’re playing the introduction game I suppose we should all do it as well. I’m Jonathon Dark-Days-Come-for-You A. Brookes, from Alanoir, Turmenista. Served in Qarik, killed three self-propelled howitzers yesterday. I’m the fireteams AT trooper.” he stated.

“Alainor, Jon?” A.J. seemed surprised, genuinely. “Welluh, yuh’s a rEEEAL Alainor Military Brat[1], dassforsure.” He chuckled heartily. “M’names A.J. Das short fur Avery-Jamieson Johnson Sabbath P. Floyd Nirvana, Jr.”

Heley realized she hadn't even told anyone her name yet. "Heley Davis You're-So-Vain Alks Roshing P. Conavard. Served in Qarik, killed nine Sanjis."

"Lawson Carry-On-Wayward-Son Oyster C. Merriweather." Lawson introduced himself. Heley could tell by the look of him that he was a little bit unstable. Maybe Qarik had fucked with his head.

"Ah, right." Jameson nodded, realizing it was his 'turn' to introduce himself. "Jameson Ice-Ice-Baby D. Hill. I'm the squad leader. I'm sure y'all two will become well-acquainted with the squad." Checking his watch, he raised his eyebrow, as if realizing something. "I'm headin' out. Y'all can do your usual."

"Well, whydn'twe celebrate the new 'rrivals by going looting?" Lawson suggested.

“I gave Harrison my pistol, and I’m guessing he went to the hospital with it, so sure.” Jonathon stated. “I also wasted my only frag.”

"Well, I figure it's best I get myself some better shit than standard issue." Heley nodded in agreement. The other newcomer seemed confused by what was going on, but didn't seem inclined to object. "Wha'bout you?" She looked to the Sarah girl.

"Uh, alright!" The girl nodded. Heley wondered how soon the noob would die.

The supply depot wasn't far from the barracks, a rusty old warehouse from which the sounds of ear-piercing welding emanated from. A M373A4 'Super Sparky' seemed to have some activity around it, aside from the mechanic standing atop the vehicle and welding something on. Upon closer inspection, the mechanic was working on tread armor up-front on the armored personnel carrier.

"Oh, these the newcomers?" Claytrail sat atop an ammo crate, watching the vehicle upgrade. "Which one's under my command?" He purred.

"Take it easy, Floyd." Jameson had apparently returned from whatever he'd been doing, standing near the corporal.

"I believe I've been assigned to your fireteam, sir. I, uh—" Sarah looked through her papers, as if trying to confirm it. "Yes. It'll be an honor to work under your command, sir."

Overly-disciplined. Heley didn't really like those urban military academy types, as they'd always act like this. She was pretty young too — she figured seventeen or eighteen. At least it wasn't as young as some other militaries' soldiers could get — in her younger days, she'd put a bullet through two Aenaran mil-academy trainee aspiring-ranger types that'd crossed onto her farm on the Euphemian-Aenaran border. Aenarans were the scum of this world, and rumors that Aenaran soldiers would occasionally take shots at Euphemian farmers were more likely than not true.

"That all the newcomers?" Heley asked.

"Nah," Claytrail pointed to the M373. Someone was helping the mechanic, carrying a toolbox about him. As the person in question left the vehicle, as if for a break, he sat atop the ammo crate, oblivious to the other new arrivals. Turning his head, he seemed to take notice, walking over.

"These two the n—" He looked at the two, noting one of them sure as hell didn't look like a noob. "new folk?"

"You'd be correct." Heley nodded. "Name's Heley Davis You're-So-Vain Alks Roshing P. Conavard."

"Sarah Tonights-the-Night Gonna-Be-Alright F. Wynn." The other newcomer nodded.

"Ah, well, uhh... pleasure to meet you. I'm Nick. Nick Killing-Me-Softly-With-His-Song Darrell Jr. Different fireteam, right?" He asked.

"I'm in the first fireteam. You must be in the second." Heley nodded. "You the squad repairman or somethin' now?"

"I'm just helpin' with upgradin' the Sparky. Used to do mechanic work on the side before I joined, just like Scrapmonkey over there."

"Scrapmonkey?" Heley raised an eyebrow. The mechanic, as if overhearing the conversation, lowered her welder, approaching the scene of the chat.

"Who called?" She asked, removing her welder's mask.

"I was just askin' who the Scrapmonkey is." Heley replied.

"That'd be me. Name's Claire. Claire Bleed-It "Scrapmonkey" D. Hughes. I 'ssume you the one that's replacin' Harrison? You certainly look the type."

"Yeah. You handle the Sparky, I assume." She looked to the vehicle. It was unmistakeably modified to some extent, a recoilless rifle and two machineguns atop the vehicle — not to mention the obvious welding work being done at the front of the Sparky.

"That'd be right. Mechanic." The girl answered.

"Is it functional right now?" Jameson questioned, looking to the vehicle.

"Should be. We're headin' out today?" Claire asked.

"We've got our 'spare parts'. 'course we're headin' out. We were just waitin' for 'em to show up." Jameson nodded.

FOB Primeira Linha
FOB Primeira Linha, literally "FOB First Line", is the northernmost Alvimian military facility in the occupied territories. As the name implies, it is the intended 'first line of defense' against a hypothetical Euphemian invasion — well, it's not really hypothetical anymore.

They were on approach to FOB Primeira Linha, the sounds of gunshots and explosions audible even over the vehicle's engines. The treads were noticeably quieter than most Sparkies she'd had the misfortune of being inside before — Heley could assume the tracks had been swapped out for quieter rubber variants. Judging from the visible discomfort among some of the squad members, it was obvious that the fighting was a bit more intense than the previous day's.

"Louder this time, ain't it?" Heley questioned.

"Not seizin' Prima 'prolly pissed off General Johnson a helluva lot. He's throwin' all he's got at this place." Claytrail announced from his position in the central machinegun. "Throwing a few cruise missiles at the place, too."

“I heard a battalion of Alvimian paratroopers jumped in last night.” Jonathon said, having heard this rumor - maybe false, maybe true, from a member of another squad.

"They elite types or somethin'?" Lawson questioned. "We muss' be the deadliest grunts on the field!"

"Don't go jinxin' it, syko. You might be dyin' next for all we know!" Mark joked.

“Paratroopers tend to be elite. I wonder who the Alvimians are being commanded by.” Jonathon said.

"Didn't y'all shoot up their HQ yest'day?" Heley questioned.

“Yeah, like Jay Naylor Uni got shot up.” he said. He hoped the squad wouldn’t find his rather edgy joke to be too offensive. There were chuckles from a few in the group, particularly from those who weren't from Turmenista.

Unfortunately, A.J. didn’t seem to happy about that joke. “TELLYUHWHAT, fuck you. Sunbitch.”

"Bigger question is — when's those Alvimian reinforcements crossin' over into Red Pine?" Lawson asked. "S'we can have us more Rikkie to shoot."

“Never if we keep them on the backfoot.” Jonathon commented.

"Jonathon's right," Mark agreed. "Do your jobs right and we ain't gonna need to worry about Alvimian reinforcements — we'll have taken the state before they even cross in."

Euphemian forces had taken much of the FOB in the previous day, but the airbase had not yet been seized. Anti-runway bombs had made Alvimian reinforcements difficult to come by, but they were now conducting low-altitude drops of supplies, equipment and troops.

The unmistakeable sound of an A-13 Lucifer letting loose on an Alvimian position could be heard outside, which culminated in a few cheers among the group.

"Ricardo's gettin' it!" Jameson chuckled. Through some means of NCO magic, he'd gotten his hands on a few cigars — a notch above the cigarettes most others were using.

"I heard some crazy-ass governor sent NG over to Red Pine." Lawson said.

“That crazy ass governor was Strickland, he’s trying to make up for losing to Neworder!” Jonathon said. His political tendencies may have been shown to his squadmates.

"Well, if Neworder's reunifying us with our brothers down south, I ain't got a problem with it. Least Strickland sees eye-to-eye with the Pres'dent on this holy war." Charls said.

"We've got somethin' up ahead. Ricardo has some IFVs up ahead!" Claytrail announced, instinctively ducking back into the passenger compartment. Sarah, who manned the left-side machinegun, was still unaware of what was ahead of them.

Heley, out of instinct moreso than sympathy, dragged her squadmate out and away from the hatch — seconds before the unmistakeable sound of 20mm hitting the vehicle echoed through the compartment.

"You— you really saved my ass." Sarah got up, seating herself beneath the machinegun hatch she'd been manning. Had Heley not come in, she'd have been torn to bits by 20mm fire.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [23rd Infantry Brigade] - [Engadine National Guard] - [Sgt. J. Carmichael] /// - “IFV up ahead, three of them!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [23rd Infantry Brigade] - [Engadine National Guard] - [Sgt. W. Hardwick] /// - “Hold on, lemme get a shot!”

The sound of a BGM-97 missile whizzing through the air could be heard thanks to the open hatches of the Super Sparky, and so could the sound of an Alvimian IFV exploding.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [23rd Infantry Brigade] - [Engadine National Guard] - [Sgt. W. Hardwick] /// - “Got ‘em!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [23rd Infantry Brigade] - [Engadine National Guard] - [Sgt. J. Carmichael] /// - “First vehicle kill in the Engadine National Guard’s history! Good job, Bravo-2.”

"Enemy IFV down." Jameson announced, lowering his radio. "Court-sy of the Engadine National Guard."

"I'm not manning the MG again." Sarah shook her head. Heley noticed the girl was also a coward, aside from being overly-disciplined.

"Well, I guess we c'n rest easy know'n we've got the craziest mo'fuckers supportin' our advance..." Lawson grinned.

"We just go in, take the airstrip?" Heley questioned, glancing down to the AR-M64A6 assault rifle in her hands.

"There's a bit more shootin' to it, of course," Jameson chuckled, checking his radio again as the Sparky came to a halt. "Alright, y'know the drill!"

The doors swung open, the squad filing out and finding themselves amongst the same rather unruly bunch of Augustans from before. It was Heley's first experience seeing a bunch of soldiers of such unparalleled lack in discipline, which took her a bit off-guard at the sight of the grunts hollering and carrying their flag with them.

"That normal?" Heley had taken cover behind the some rocks on the uphill ascent along with the rest of the squad, but was still visibly confused by the Augustans on the other side of the dirt road leading uphill into the airstrip.

“For them, yeah! Only one of them’s died so far though, maybe we should take a note from them..” Jonathon observed.

"Don't chart up to bad luck what can be blamed on incomp'tence." Heley quietly muttered, looking to Jameson. Bullets soared over the rocks, the origin obviously being the small fortified line of tents uphill. Taking a few careful peeks at the enemy uphill, Heley popped out from behind the rocks, taking two burst shots. The result came soon enough, as a single Alvimian tumbled downhill, hitting the rocks with a gruesome CRACK. Heley knelt back down, knowing her kill had been confirmed.

The near-deafening sound of an Oesterran OF/A-17E[2] filled the air as it flew above the squad, a single Mark 93 bomb[3] parting with the aircraft, gliding towards the hospital that some Alvimians had holed up in. All that followed was a fireball and a cloud of dust, rising from over the hill. The gunfire died down in the immediate aftermath of the blast, as if it had caught the Alvimians off-guard.

"Who's the guy on the recoilless rifle?" Heley asked Jonathon, pointing to the man operating their Sparky's RR-M340.

“That’s Tyson, he don’t talk much but he’s our unofficial gunner! Harrison loaded shells for Tyson before he got hit,” Jonathon explained. He turned towards Tyson, who was now manning the recoilless rifle. “Hey, put some shots into those tents! They’re taking cover there!” Turning back to Heley, he asked “Tyson needs a loader, can you do it? You’re just a rifleman, I might need to be dismounted with the AT if any tanks come up!”

Before she could respond, however, an A-13 Lucifer soared past, strafing the Alvimian position and ripping several of the tents to shreds. The Sparky began its advance up the hill, to which the squad followed in suit, advancing uphill amid the bullets whistling overhead. Heley followed with caution, keeping to the rocks along the ascent. Word was, the squad wasn't the luckiest around — and had a big tendency for losing its own.

"Keep y'fuckin' head down!" Mark exclaimed, holding onto his helmet as he sought cover with Heley. "Qarik, you said y'was from?"

"Yeah. You?" She asked.

"Nah. This my first war." Mark shook his head. "Just tryin' not to get myself 'r y'all killed."


A rocket soared past them, striking the Augustan Sparky and causing it to go up in a spectacular explosion, flames shooting upward from the wrecked husk of the vehicle.

“Hotdamn!” A.J. shouted. “Thatones toast!”

"Least it wasn't ours." Heley peeked from cover, taking a few shots at the Alvimians up the hill. Another one came tumbling down the hill, striking the rocks at the base of the slope like the one that'd come before her. The squad opened fire on the position where the Alvimians were holed up, killing about a squad’s worth of them. By the time they squad had regrouped atop the smoldering ruins of the tents along the hill, much had been destroyed — and the Alvimians had surrendered by the time the squad's M373 Sparky had arrived. It seemed most of those in the tents weren't even armed, as a few of the tents were assigned to intelligence officials.

"What're we gon'do now?" Lawson looked around at the empty tents, the Alvimian prisoners — the footsteps of the Augustan squad turned a few heads, and the Augustan squad leader immediately beat down one of the prisoners, yelling incoherently about how he'd 'killed their driver'.

"We're attackin' a mixed command n' control fas-lity up 'head." Mark was in one of the tents, kneeling down as he analyzed a map that'd fallen to the floor. "Dunno if you paid any attention."

"Wuh? We?" Lawson was almost comedically confused.

"Least, my fireteam is." Mark said, picking up the map and tucking it into his vest pocket. "We're a'movin', ladies'n'gents."

“Fuckyeah.” A.J., even though he hadn’t fired his weapon, still flaunted himself around as if he were hot shit. “Let’s get, uh, movin’. Fuggingon killmesumRicktuhnite. Damfugginpiecesuh..” His voice trailed off into incoherent mumbling.

Mark wandered off and led the fireteam forth, seemingly without the squad leader's permission. "Did we ev'n get an Alvimian translator after the other one died?"

"Think the other fireteam got the translator." Heley replied. "I sure's hell cain't speak Ricardo."

“Sheit, uhh.. It ain’t hard tuh read Taco ‘N Tapico, rie?” A.J. shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, cummand cent’r doesnt sound that different from uhhh... whats this word.” He squinted his eyes. “Centra? Yeahuh thassounds lie cummand cent’r.”

The squad took position on a slope overlooking the command facility. It gave a fairly good view of the Alvimians below, not to mention the apparent epicenter of the command facilities — a wooden structure connected to a rather tall communications tower. Jeeps, trucks and other vehicles waited, and the Alvimians seemed to be loading crates in a hurry.

Mark lowered his binoculars, looking on with fascination. "They's evacuatin'."

“Let’s stop ‘em!” Jonathon stated, raising his rifle. He took aim at two Alvimian’s loading a truck, shooting one and sending him to the ground, and then the other.

"Why don't you use that rocket-launcher o'yours?" Heley proposed, laying prone as she watched her squadmate take fire at the Alvimians below.

“There were tanks here yesterday, and I’m assuming there’s going to be tanks here today. I’m betting they’re gonna want to protect their command center.” he explained.

"Well, if they're here, we oughta be able to hear 'em by now." Heley curiously replied, looking back to the scene below. She took another shot at the Alvimians, dropping one of them. Seven of them remained, who were mostly dispersing to take cover in the various command buildings and tents in the area.

In quite ironic fashion, almost right after Heley said that, Jonathon noticed a vehicle moving in the distance out from the airstrip.

“Ah shiet, is that a plane?” Squinting, A.J. thought that he knew what that was. Boy, was he wrong...

“Tank, coming off the airstrip!” Jonathon shouted, removing his AT-M88 from his back and inserting a High Penetration rocket in, to ensure penetration of the front armor. Its engines roared as it approached, though it obviously hadn't sighted them yet. A few bullets whizzed by, bringing Heley's attention back to the Alvimians below.

"Keep your aim steady, I'm fixin' to lend cover." Heley said, taking aim at the Alvimians below. The rest of the squad opened up on the Alvimian soldiers below, with three more of them dropping immediately.

Jonathon flicked the front and rear sights of the AT-M88, and took a crouching position as the tank approached. “Comeon, bastard!” he shouted. He fired his first of three rockets low, to try and penetrate the underarmor. However, the shot barely missed and hit the dirt instead.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” he shouted, loading another HP rocket in. Taking aim again, he prayed this one would hit it’s mark. Aiming a bit higher, he fired and hit the tank. The turret moved, originally pointing to the squad’s left, towards them, clearly it wasn’t out.

He loaded his last rocket in, hoping for a vehicle kill. If not, someone else would need to take it out. “Here goes nothing!” he said. Firing, the rocket seemed to hit the left side of the tank’s armor… until he realized the shot had deflected. The tank's immediate response was to open up in a volley of machine-gun fire, immediately knocking Tyson off his feet in the process.

Heley's immediate response was to get downhill, taking cover from any further tank fire. Moments later, an HE round struck where she'd been laying prone, kicking up dust and dirt in the process.

"MEDIC!" Mike called out, presumably calling to the rest of the squad. Perhaps it'd been his error to move ahead without communicating with the other fireteam. The tank continued laying down fire on the hill, only barely giving the other squad members time to get off the overlook.

The tank’s priorities soon changed, however, as to the right of the squad, two friendly IFV-M7s of the Engadine National Guard rolled downhill along a road. Focused on Jonathon and his squadmates, the tank had too little time to react.


The leading IFV-M7 fired a TORAW[4] missile at the tank, achieving penetration, and causing an explosion which visibly ruptured the turret. One tank down.

“Hol-ey shit!” Jonathon yelled. “Our asses just got saved,”

"Placin' my bets it was one'nem Engadine folks." Heley reloaded her AR, climbing back up the slope to resume firing at the Alvimians. "Cover fire 'till the others arrive. If they ain't show up, I'll find 'em myself."

One of the Alvimians decided to poke his head and gun out from behind a tent. This didn’t end well for him though, as two bullets put an end to him. Heley could count three Alvimian soldiers among the crates in the command area, and took brief burst shots at them as they peeked, managing to drop all three. It seemed the IFV-M7s and their Engadine NG passengers would deal with the stragglers.

The sound of footsteps approaching drew Heley's attention behind them — the rest of the squad had shown up, and there was clearly some irritation on Jameson's face as he approached the disgraced fireteam.

"Now, why the HELL did y'all just run off?"

"Says on this here fuckin' map that this is their com-nikation n' c'mand center." Mark angrily replied, taking out his map.

“Yeup. Ah transliturated that.” A.J. nodded.

"Now, why didn't y'all fuckin' advise us—" Jameson stopped, squinting at the map. "Wynn, translate that."

"Yes, sir." Sarah approached the map in Mark's hands, taking it and carefully reading it. "Armored command and control center."

Mark swore under his breath, throwing the map beneath his feet. The injury of a squadmate, or rather the responsibility thereof, rested on Mark's rather abrupt decision to wander off and attack a command facility. They had, however, succeeded in attacking the command facility: certainly disrupting whatever remained of Alvimian combined arms units.

"Darrell," Jameson gestured to Nick, then pointed to Tyson. "Get that one patched up until we can get a medevac."

"Understood, sir." He nodded, tending to the wounded, near-unconscious Euphemian soldier. The most he'd be able to do would be stop the bleeding until actual medical professionals arrived. A heavy silence hung over the group, as the weight of the corporal's responsibilities hung over him.

"Whatever. We were headin' there after we checked thru the tents." Jameson shook his head, but was interrupted by his radio.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [65th Infantry Regiment] - [Engadine National Guard] - [Cpl. L. Stosenburg] /// - “Be advised, radar has just reported a cargo plane in the vicinity! They’re gonna drop supplies, someone stop them!”

“Man, lemmetellyuhwhat, I was fuggin’ RIGHT when I told y’all I saw uh plane!” A.J. shouted, squinting over in the direction of the incoming black blip in the background. Sure enough, it was an Alvimian EMA 310 Sagui[5] that was approaching the base, preparing to drop in supplies, most likely by parachute. Now seeing the plane in all of its glory, A.J. was just about to shout his callout out, already pointing his finger out towards the plane, when their radios began to screech.

"Somethin' tells me this one's goin' down.

/// [FSAFOR] - [1st Attack Regiment] - [White Sun PMC] - [Horus Mera-hba-sahu-pteh of Luxor] /// - “Commandant, that plane is ours.”

/// [FSAFOR] - [1st Attack Regiment] - [Battalion 18 “Bad Bunch”] - [Cdt. Carter Lee Stonewall I-Give-Bad-People-Good-Ideas Engadine] /// - “Send it, mummy[6] boys!”


Two streams of tracers came out of the jungle, swinging towards the plane as if it were a whip for a moment, before finally landing on their target. The tracer rounds tore into the underside and right of the plane, striking one of the right engines of the plane and sending it into a tilt. The strucken engine blew out in a fireball of smoke, as the plane approached the airstrip, though it was clear it wasn’t going to land there. It drifted towards the right of the airfield, and touched down near the now bombed-out hospital, blocking a road and erupting in flame as the plane’s gasoline began to cook and sizzle. It was unfortunate then that this plane was carrying a shipment of ammunition for the FOB’s defenders, as that slowly began to pop off due to the searing heat. Explosions filled the air as the EMA 310's fuselage came apart, tearing like wet paper and spiralling towards the battered runway of FOB Primeira Linha. As the aircraft struck the runway, its fuel ignited with volatile potency, turning the metal casket into a fireball that descended the extent of the runway with a thunderous BOOM.

/// [FSAFOR] - [1st Attack Regiment] - [White Sun PMC] - [Chathsthis-hetet of Sebek] /// - “Good hit on that bogey, Horus.”

“Wait uhhh sec’nd. Guys, did’jall just hear the word mummy on the radio? And who tha hell is thate?”

/// [FSAFOR] - [1st Attack Regiment] - [Battalion 18 “Bad Bunch”] - [LT Billy-Bob Lee Curtis Chester Lamar Free-Bird, Jr.] /// - “Attention all Euphemian and friendly forces: this is Billy-Bob Lee Curtis Chester Lamar Free-Bird, Jr., second in command of Battalion 18. The Bad Bunch, the baddest mother fuckers in the Free State Army, have arrived! We are elated to know that our brothers and sisters have come to join in the fight to utterly destroy the Alvie menace in Red Pine and liberate this great state! To all friendly forces in the area, we’re attackin’ from the Southeast! Don’t shoot the mummies—they’re on our side, too! As for the Euphies..”

A strange tone came on their radio as Alvimian shouting and barking of orders was briefly heard... before being droned out completely by some very loud music. What the hell was the FSA doing? PSYOPS, perhaps? Then, Billy-Bob’s voice came back over the radio as the music became person. It seemed they weren’t playing it over the radio at all, but, rather, at deafening volumes from speakers mounted on helicopters.

/// [FSAFOR] - [1st Attack Regiment] - [Battalion 18 “Bad Bunch”] - [LT Billy-Bob Lee Curtis Chester Lamar Free-Bird, Jr.] /// - “Attention all you dirty Alvie mother fuckers out there.. This is Billy-Bob Chester speakin’. To any of you that want to see the Free States Army and the Federal States Army joining together up close, this is your lucky day. In sixty seconds, the entire aerial might of the Free States Army is going to reduce your command center to flaming rubble. To any of y’uh that’re religious: Pray.”

The formation of UH-36 Reeds that were responsible for blasting the deafening music became visible, as well as their armament: rocket pods, machine guns, and miniguns. Some circled the area, cutting down Ricardos that moved, while those well-disciplined few who fought back were culled with extreme prejudice. Rocket pods from the Reeds slammed into supply depots, barracks, and other buildings around the command center, causing massive explosions to flower out from these buildings. Others simply came in towards the edge of the command center’s complex—one of them not too far from their fireteam—dropping off FSA troops before dusting off.

A.J. nearly fired his weapon at the sight of troops down there that obviously weren’t Euphemian. Some of them approached the group, and it quickly became evident from the way they moved, talked, and dressed, that they were Akhmanari.

“Since when did we get mummies helpin’ us?” Lawson asked.

“Since now.” Their commander, lowering his KT-91[7], replied in remarkably fluent Euphemian—probably one of them more “educated” ones from cities like Yevosh. “I’m Khebbenit Mur-kau of Djarzurma. This man with me is known as Eric. He... has some language problems, but he knows what to do. The FSA is taking this base.”

The squad had mostly recollected themselves, Nick having returned after treating their injured man and leaving the rest to the medical teams.

"These helicopters, Free State Army?" Heley looked up. Khebbenit nodded.

"State your loyalty," Jameson raised his rifle a few inches, suspicious of the new arrivals. By now, other Euphemian units were overtaking FOB Primeira Linha's airstrip, stopping as if on radio order as more soldiers emerged from the treeline south of the runway. Listening to his radio, he lowered his rifle, not needing a response. "Mercs, huh?"

Khebbenit nodded once again. “Don’t be so alarmed. After all, I heard you westerners sent some to Qarik and Sanjar.” He turned to his squad-mates, one of whom wasn’t an Akhmanari, muttered something in his native language, then turned then back to Jameson. “Sergeant, we have orders to join with your squad and assist you in attacking the Alvimian forces in the south. From there, we shall force their mongrel hides into a surrender, or kill them all if they do not.”

"That so?" Jameson reached for his radio, confused. Some chatter later, and he'd lowered his radio. "With a few grunts like us?"

“Precisely.” Khebbenit said. “I’ve learned that defying odds like this is what you Euphemians do best.”

Eric, meanwhile, was eyeing up the surroundings. You certainly didn’t see this in Mbanza, or Vajraya for that matter. He wanted to figure out who the commanding officer of these men were, and was distracted away from Khebbenit’s conversation with Jameson.

“Il a l’air important…” he muttered, looking towards Floyd. “Est-il le commandant?” he wondered, deciding to switch to Euphemian.

“Guys, he’s speakin’ cursive...” Lawson noted, whispering. Obviously, it was loud enough for the others to hear.

He approached Floyd, and attempted to speak his best Euphemian, though he wasn’t entirely confident in his ability to do so. “Are you the commandant of these people?” he asked.

"Do I look like one, honey?" Claytrail replied. "Our commanding officer is the sergeant," He pointed to Jameson. "Our 'commandant'? In some base north of the border."

“I’ll… take that for an answer. Pleased to meet all of you, especially…” Eric paused to read Jameson’s tag. “Jameson.”

"It would appear we've got'rselves orders to attack Fort Esperança, down to the south-west." Jameson announced, setting his radio back onto his vest. "No stops, no returns back to base. Everyone who c'n walk is headin' with. Wounded will be left for the occupation forces. As of right now, we're the spearhead."

Khebbenit turned to his men, repeating the same in his language. Their M373 approached, coming to a halt at the runway's edge. It seemed their drivers had received the same orders. By now, a good amount of the FSA helicopters were touching down, offloading more troops — who were quite well-armed and well-equipped, even in comparison to the standard Euphemian military.

“Never seen one of these in person before,” Eric commented.

"That one there's th'Scrapmonkey. She keeps the ride runnin' n' mans the guns." Jameson pointed to the Sparky's machinegunner, who was idly manning the gun, as if bored by the lack of action she'd faced.

"There's ten of us now widdout the inj'rd man." Heley noted. "We oughta ask them how many of 'em are comin' with.

Eric decided to speak for his Akhmanari friends on this matter. “All of us,”

“We may need a bigger transport.” Chathsthis-hetet of Sebek, the presumed second in command to Eric and Khebbenit, and the Akhmanari’s designated RG-89[8] gunner, voiced her concerns.

"Some's y'all goin' 'ta take rooftop point." Jameson said. In the background, it seemed the Augustans had managed to take a M57 Mercúrio truck from one of the depots, bringing it out — the Augustan flag up top would help prevent being misidentified as enemy.

Chatshthis’s right eye twitched. “Sir, are.. are we seriously-”

“No. We are taking the APC.” Khebbenit inspected the vehicle in question, slinging his rifle to his side. “This is a very interesting.. set up.. of weapons, Sergeant.”

"Thank Scrapmonkey. She's turned this veh'cle into a formidable fightin' machine." Jameson gestured most of the squad inside.

"Looks like we're in this one for the long haul, huh, sarge?" The mechanic left her post as gunner as soon as the squad boarded, presumably to allow the typically-assigned squad members to man the guns.

"Indeed. We're makin'a-move on the Fort down southwest, with some air support and cover from other Reunification Forces." Jameson seated himself, discarding a spent cigar to the floor of the passenger compartment.

“Reunification forces, eh?” Khebbenit chuckled. “Funny you say that. Our media likes to call you guys ‘rebels,’ fighting against the mongrel Alvimians. Apparently, this area we are fighting in was once your land, if I am correct. Things have really gone to shit here, it seems.”

"Well, if it ain't our fuckin' home they're occupyin', I ain't know whose it be." Lawson responded, a slight hint of aggression in his voice.

Khebbenit took note of this in a different way. “Nationalities aside, I am glad to be working alongside you guys on a noble mission. Our skills will be of great use to you, Euphemians.”

"Right. Who's mannin' the recoilless rifle?" Mark looked to those huddled inside. He glanced around, then pointed to Heley. "You are."

He still seemed pissed off earlier from his scolding at the hands of the squad leader. That didn't bother Heley, though — it was an opportunity to man a weapon that had more power than the average rifle. She stood at the hatch, assuming control of the weapon. There were a few of the foreign soldiers who'd taken point atop the M373. Maybe she could strike up conversation with them, but she doubted they could speak Euphemian conversationally. The most recent upgrade had relocated the rather modest pile of 105mm shells sitting in a small box that'd been propped up onto a welded stand.

"I saywhat, new girl, whas'y'r name 'gain?" Lawson asked.

"Heley Conavard." She replied flatly, still focused on their surroundings as the vehicle continued moving, engines beginning their usual hum.

"Hee—ley. Heley. You might'a want to, ah, be careful with A.J. over there, keepin' your body out unda'the hatch like that." Lawson cackled immaturely, nudging A.J.

“Man, lemmetellyuhhwat, Lawsun, I seen WS’s,[9] and I’s seen lady cops. I ain’t never seen uh lady mummy in muh life. Let alone uh lady mummy sold’r.” This registered a glare from Khebbenit, who looked at him oddly. “You aren’t wrong, Euphemian. It is a complicated cultural explanation.”

A.J. nodded as if he were paying attention—obviously, he wasn’t. “Yuh, but, Heley, yuh gotta watch out furme.”

"Screw around n' I'll kick your ass." Heley replied to A.J. as she maintained her focus on the situation outside.

“Screw around, eh?” Lawson chuckled. “Well, why don’t we do that right here, Heley?”

Taking one of the 105mm rounds from the rack that'd been installed by the RR, Heley climbed down. "Why don't I shove this up your ass, Lawson?" This elicited a few chuckles from the passengers, namely Khebbenit. “Euphemian humor. I love it.”

Heley climbed back up the hatch, returning her attention to the outside situation after returning the shell to its place.The bright orange-yellow lines of missile trails filled the sky, bound to the south. There was something about the sheer scale of the war being waged upon Alvimia that made it an almost awe-inspiring sight. By now, any semblance of Alvimian air superiority had crumbled, and Euphemian aircraft now freely patrolled the skies of Red Pine — rightful Euphemian territory, as it'd always been. Downtown Midfort glimmered in the late morning sun, a massive Euphemian flag hoisted atop the LaCroix Tower,[10] visible even miles away.

"What's, uh, goin' on out there?" Nick asked.

"Clear skies — few bombers headin' south, 'prolly B-64s. God, those're some old-ass, big ugly fuckers." Heley replied.

"They say a group of 'em killed twenny-thousan' Sanjis over in Qarik." Claytrail said, watching the scene from the central machinegun.

"Ricardo probably ain't gon' fare any better!" Mark exclaimed, chuckling. The words almost sent a chill up Heley's spine. They sure was hell weren't in Qarik — rather, things were about to get a helluva lot worse than Qarik.

1 - Alainor Military Brat - Alainor, a city in the Euphemian state of Turmenista, is known for its large military facilities and factories, and prestigious military academies. Thus, many Euphemian military brats are from Alainor, inadvertently creating the term.

2 - OF/A-17E - The OF/A-17E, designated Strike Witch, is an Oesterran twin-engine, all-weather tactical fighter aircraft. It’s known for its delta wings and high maneuverability, making it a staple in Oesterran aerial tactics.

3 - Mark 93 bomb - The Mark 93 bomb is an Oesterran general-purpose bomb. Although it is unguided by default, the vast majority of Mark 93s have been retrofitted with stabilizers to provide precise guidance.

4 - TORAW - The Tube-Operated RAnged-Weapon, or TORAW, is a wire-guided anti-tank weapon. Equipped with infrared cameras, TORAWs are armed with powerful warheads, making them dangerous stationary defensive emplacements to any tank that dares to approach. Most TORAWs are used as ground-based emplacements or atop IFVs or helicopters.

5 - EMA 310 Sagui - The EMA 310 Sagui is a military transport aircraft built by Emalvaer S.A in 355 A.C. Despite being domestically-produced in Alvimia, many have accused it to be a copy of its Euphemian equivalent, the C-120 Pegasus, due to the design similarities it possesses with the Pegasus.

6 - mummy - Mummy is a derogative term used to describe Akhmanaris or people of Akhmanari descent, primarily by the west, because of the mummification techniques used to preserve ancient Akhmanari pharaohs.

7 - KT-91 - The KT-91 is a bullpup 5.56mm assault rifle designed by the MANTICORE Arms Company, an Akhmanari Arms conglomerate, in 380 A.C. It quickly made its way into the Akhmanar Armed Forces as its primary assault rifle, where Akhmanari troops are thoroughly taught the inner workings of the rifle and how to use until it becomes second nature to them. It is known for its low recoil, high accuracy, and low weight, and modular capabilities. It also supports ambidextrous firing, and can mount optical or night sights on the carrying handle, as well as a bipod or grenade launcher. It comes in Carbine (C), LMG (S), and marksman (M) variants, each with different barrel lengths and features.

8 - RG-89 - The RG-89 Anubis is an Akhmanari-made reusable rocket-propelled grenade launcher adopted by the AAF in A.C. 389. It's popular in the military due to its portability, penetrative capabilities, and overall power. The El-Hadhai, who have also taken up using the launcher, have even used the primary GP-89V AT warhead to disable or destroy severall Aenaran Ma'mat tanks.

9 - WS’s - WS is an abbreviation for “Woman Soldier,” a slang term used to describe female soldiers in the Euphemian military.

10 - LaCroix Tower - Located in Downtown Midfort, LaCroix tower is a large tower located in the eponymous complex, with 19 other buildings also in the area. LaCroix Tower is the tallest of the 19, commissioned by J.T. LaCroix himself. Due to the Alvimian occupation, it saw a decadent decline in quality, but this may not last for long...

Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

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Western Pacific Territories
Posts: 13874
Founded: Apr 29, 2015
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby Western Pacific Territories » Sun Feb 10, 2019 9:50 pm

This was a collab between various WFF members.



Fort Esperança serves as the central nervous system of Alvimian forces in Red Pine. Without it, the military occupation is like a headless chicken — which is why the Euphemian military's first course of action after decisively defeating the Alvimians in FOB Primeira Linha, their next course of action is an assault on the Fort.

Home to several ten-thousand Alvimian soldiers, it is expected to be extremely well-defended — but the static defenses of the Alvimians may not last long against Euphemian shock and awe, much less the asymmetrical combat of the Free State Army.

There is also great strategic concern at the Fort — cousin to Dom Pedro XVI, Alexandrina is one of the junior members of House Pantaleão, and had been assigned to the facility as a junior commanding officer. The Euphemian attack has made evacuation difficult, however, and the royal's status is uncertain.

Midfort, Red Pine
27 December, A.C. 391

Image Pvt. Jonathon Dark-Days-Come-for-You A. Brookes


Fort Esperança
Fort Esperança is the headquarters of Comando Militar da Fronteira (Fronteira Military Command), effectively making it the central hub for all Alvimian forces' command and control in the occupied territories. The speed of the Euphemian attack — and the Alvimian military's expectation that the Euphemians would be delayed significantly by FOB Primeira Linha — has caught the Alvimians off guard. As the site is not yet fully evacuated — save for a majority of the families on-base, it is expected to be a prime target for the Euphemian air and ground assault.


Click for Music

The skies of Fort Esperança were clearly the most active part of the battlefield at the moment, as the Euphemian Air Force and their Alvimian counterparts battled for control. Evacuations which had been continuous since yesterday had been halted now that the Euphemian pilots were dogfighting with their much more outnumbered enemies, though this served as more of a means of distraction than anything else.

The careful observer would’ve seen a congo-line of sorts of F/A-127E Strike Vampire[1] aircraft approaching the Fort’s airbase from the northeast, all while Euphemian and Alvimian fighters duked it out, perhaps oblivious, perhaps too preoccupied to respond.

The line of Strike Vampires approached the airstrip, when their target was in the range of their payloads, the leading aircraft turned away, and then each did so after dropping their payloads. In a moment, it was clear what they were carrying.

Several successive explosions along the entire scope of the main runway open up craters, which showed what the Strike Vampires had carried: anti-runway bombs. Fort Esperança’s airfield would now be out of operation almost certainly, but more aircraft would come to finish the job, eliminating other smaller alternative runways the Alvimians could use.

The squad's M373A4 'Super Sparky' approached the Alvimian military complex — from the mountainside road, one already had a clear view of the compound down below — and the battle just beginning to erupt.

"Well, what's goin' on out there?" Charles asked, glancing up the recoilless rifle hatch.

"Whole lotta dead Ricardo." Heley replied, her attention still set on the scene down below. Red Pine's mountain roads were always treacherous, but they could in the least have faith that their driver was competent, even if he was a man of few words.

“Saw some bombs drop on the airfield.” Jonathon noted. The mercenaries on their Super Sparky had been suspiciously quiet the entire time, which slightly creeped him out.

“Man, I’ll tellyuhwhut, Ricardo ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” A.J. snickered. “They, uh, got a biggur storm cumminyuhsee.”

Jonathon, peering towards Fort Esper’s runway noticed some sort of shape lining up to take off, probably an airplane. He grabbed a pair of binoculars sitting on the top of the Super Sparky, he didn’t know whose they were but he hoped their owner wouldn’t mind. Using them to observe the runway, he confirmed his suspicion.

“Hey look, they’re still trying to evacuate. Using the same type of aircraft we shot down earlier. How long until this one gets shot down?” he reckoned. As the aircraft taxied to the end of the runway, a voice on the squad’s radio set interrupted his thoughts.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [Engadine National Guard] - [A-13 Lucifer - #302394] - [Cpt. B. Clay] /// - “This one’s mine, boys.”

The rather loud BRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTT sound produced by the Lucifer was certainly impressive, but as it turned out, the Alvimians had some AA available which could hit the low-flying aircraft. Not achieving any hits on the plane, the A-13 Lucifer waved off to avoid being hit by tracer fire. Jonathon didn’t expect them to resort to AA, not like Sanjar did.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [Engadine National Guard] - [A-13 Lucifer - #302394] - [Cpt. B. Clay] /// - “Fine, you shoot it down.”

“Damn, he gonna get away?” Jonathon asked. He would be wrong though.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [494th Fighter Wing] - [F/A-127B Vampire - #102839] - [1st Lt. J. Graves] /// - “Amateurs.”

The Vampire fired a missile, but his attempt to take down the Alvimian plane was laughable, even more so than the Lucifer’s. Turns out the Alvimians still had jamming equipment. Maybe this plane was carrying someone quite important?

/// [EUPHFOR] - [Engadine National Guard] - [A-13 Lucifer - #302394] - [Cpt. B. Clay] /// - “That’s just fucking embarrassing.”

Heley watched the scene at the airbase, noon sun glimmering across her aviator sunglasses. "How much you'll bet I cain't shoot down that bigol' plane down there?"

“Ten dollars.” Jonathon stated. Meanwhile, the A-13 Lucifer was coming back around for another pass at the big Alvimian plane.


An explosion erupted off the right-side fuselage of the EMA 310 Sagui moments after she'd fired, as if to confirm the hit. This didn't seem enough, however, as she loaded another round in and took aim again.


The second shot had struck the cockpit, clearly disrupting the pilot's attempt to take off — if not wounding or killing him. As the plane began to rise a good few feet from the ground, she loaded in another round.


The third shot missed her intended target — hitting one of the EMA 310's right-side engines instead, causing an explosion that practically tore off the right wing, which sent the aircraft gradually falling back down to the ground.


The Lucifer finished off the plane, almost tearing it in half and sending its flaming carcass spiraling into the adjacent airbase facilities.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [Engadine National Guard] - [A-13 Lucifer - #302394] - [Cpt. B. Clay] /// - “Who’s the amateur now?”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [494th Fighter Wing] - [F/A-127B Vampire - #102839] - [1st Lt. J. Graves] /// - “Both of us. Someone else blew off his right wing before you made your pass.”

"Where's those ten dollars?" Heley inquired, looking back to Jonathon. This action had warranted a few cheers and hollers from the group.

“Back at base.” He stated.

The vehicle continued its approach, pressing forward with the other M373s from the unit. The Augustans had taken a truck from the airbase, flying an Augustan flag to indicate they weren't enemy.

Another low-flying Euphemian fighter soared past, the air traffic control tower of the airbase going up in smoke as it flew past.

Amid the chaos below, a lone Alvimian propeller aircraft approached — the C14 Carapina was an Alvimian COIN aircraft, typically used for CAS — which immediately drew the attention of a few on the roof.

"Hold up—" Heley paused, watching the Alvimian aircraft erupt into a macabre fireball, spiralling down into the jungle below with a BOOM. That'd been rather underwhelming, but it'd been better than the slaughter that would've certainly taken place if the aircraft had reached them.

"What's exac'ly the mission hereuh, sir?" Lawson asked, looking to Jameson.

"We go in n' kill Ricardo. Grunts like us don't get the formality of the big fancy spec-for briefin's." Jameson replied. "Based on the orders, we'll be hittin' the airbase with the others."

"Simple enough. I just wanna drink some beer n' watch the game back at base!" Charls had a chuckle to himself.

“Tellyuhwhuh, if we keepituh, we’ll ‘e back at thuh base in no time, sold’r!” A.J. heartily laughed. “Lessgo!”

The scene continued outside, a series of bright streaks crossing the sky — more cruise missiles, speeding towards their targets. It took a few seconds before they emerged again, this time speeding directly downward and striking several targets at the airbase below — the fuel depot, several hangars and a few houses were ripped to shreds as the missiles hit.

Joining the chaotic display were the B-64H bombers they'd spotted from earlier, which were hard to spot due to their elevated position in the clouds. Their payload became apparent as the multitude of houses situated at the north side of the base were suddenly struck by the carpet-bombing, which put to a stop the firing of several anti-air installations caught in the diverse patchwork of explosions.

"Wait, those were houses! Weren't those civilians?" Sarah didn't seem particularly entertained by the fireworks display spreading across Fort Esperança.

“It appears so.” Khebbenit grimly said, silently watching the site.

"Well, they'd be pretty fuck'n'stupid to not evac their families outta the fort by now. They hadda few days t'do it." Heley replied, the explosions rising from the base reflecting across her shades.

“Yeah, they could just drive south.” Jonathon added.

“Well, my father always said, ‘son, civilian casualties are always acceptable casualties.’ I think that applies here.” Lawson grimly laughed as he imitated his father quite accurately, much to his chagrin as he saw he wasn’t joined in by everyone else’s laughter.

B-33B Merlins could be briefly seen in the far distance, turning back quickly — they didn't need to go far to drop their payloads. Napalm engulfed much of what remained of the rest of the fort, spreading until it had bathed practically half the base in flames. It seemed the Euphemian military intended to preserve the airbase section of the facility. After all, every enemy asset that wasn't destroyed was one that could be used against them in the future. The M373 came to a halt at the base of the mountain road, just before the fort's perimeter fence. With a last roar of its engines, the Sparky sped forth, plowing through the fence and persisted until it'd found itself upon the runway's edge.


On the radio, the FSA and their mercenary allies had begun their assault as well, the Reuinfication Forces and the guerrillas and mercenaries that accompanied them already causing trouble to the Alvimian garrisons. One of the orders came through on the radio as their APC closed in on its destination...

/// [FSAFOR] - [1st Attack Regiment] - [White Sun PMC] - [Horus Mera-hba-sahu-pteh of Luxor] /// - “All forces: The Nine[2] watches over us! Weapons free—burn any mongrel Alvimian you see. Wipe these beasts against the ground like excrement beneath our boots! MOVE OUT!”

"DISEMBARK!" Jameson ordered, the squad dismounting from the Sparky and hitting the dirt. Bullets whizzed by — not the enemy, but the machineguns of the various M373s that had arrived, their troops dismounting in kind. The mechanized assault on Fort Esperança had begun. Overhead, helicopters of the Free State Army and the Federal Army alike flew forward, bearing down fire on the enemy positions. Surely the rockets and unending stream of machinegun fire would soften them up.

"Shit! IFV!" Charls pointed to the EM-18 Suaçubóia that'd assumed an uphill vantage point upon the clearing between runways. Its gun fired wildly, shooting 25mm rounds that would certainly — and instantly — end the life of anyone it'd have the misfortune of hitting.

The squad hurried across the tarmac of the first runway, finding shelter at the slope's base. Their M373 approached in turn, sustaining a few hits from the

One of Khebbenit’s men came forward wih the RG-89 ANUBIS launcher on their shoulder, aiming IFV that'd come towards them. “In range!” He announced, before more shots from the IFV forced him back behind cover.

"HELEY! MAN THE FUCKIN' RECOILLESS RIFLE!" Jameson barked, keeping his head down with the IFV so close by. She complied, scurrying off towards the Sparky — almost being hit by a few of the shots. Either the Alvimians were panicking, demoralized, or both — they were performing quite poorly against the Euphemian assault.

"Don't y'all think, like, she's some kinda miracle worke—" Lawson's voice was drowned out by the deafening blast that overtook the IFV, the cause made evident by the smoke rising from the recoilless rifle. The smoldering husk of the vehicle slowly slid downhill, which made a few of the squad members move aside as the slide became a roll. The burning metal husk rolling down to the tarmac, a second explosion shot upward, casting shrapnel into the air.

Khebbenit scoffed as his subordinate slowly lowered the RG-89 from his shoulder. “Save that Anubis for a later time, Kemat-naa. Good work, He-ley. For a woman, you are a formidable fighter.”

"Sure thing." She nodded, her reply almost inaudible over the chaos erupting around them.

The squad persisted their advance, the M373 — its recoilless rifle manned, should any future incidents transpire — following close behind. There were at least eight other squads pushing forward across the runway, their advance covered by helicopters keeping close behind. A direct attack into the airbase would be dubious — the earlier EMA 310 crash had created a 'wall of fire' with its ignited fuel. Presumably it'd been carrying fuel out, judging by the sheer intensity of the fire.

As the squad and their friendly counterparts advanced along the various service roads around the burning wreckage of the EMA 310, a few Alvimian vehicles approached their positions at high speed - in the confusion, it seemed they were fleeing the wrong way.

As the vehicles sped towards the Euphemian advance, they were filled with bullets and rockets — from the ground troops, the mechanized support, and the helicopters overhead. Quickly, they were reduced to burning wreckage, those that hadn't died in the shooting fleeing their vehicles and being similarly killed — with no chance of surrender.

The remaining Alvimian troops at the edge of the airbase, however, didn’t seem to be interested in surrender. Quite unlike their counterparts, these troops weren’t running or dropping their guns. Jonathon himself was shooting at some of them, much like everyone else, killing three hiding behind some sort of sandbag wall.

A.J. fired off a grenade at the Alvimians from his rifle, missing them by a couple dozen feet. He swore loudly and swung back behind the Sparky for cover, calling for someone to help him with this. Showing his rifle skills, Khebbenit quickly knocked down two Alvimians with this KT-91S, keeping one hand on his drum magazine as he ended his burst. As the Euphemians pushed up, three explosions struck the face of the barracks ahead in quick succession, originating from the recoilless rifle — though it had little effect on the structure or its integrity, to which the Alvimians inside continued their stand.

“Chaththis!” Khebbenit shouted at one of his underlings. His sole female soldier knelt down onto one knee, firing the RG-89 warhead towards the building in question. A part of the building’s face that they were on exploded out onto the ground, spilling debris and the occasional soldier out to the ground. A few Alvimians had died, but the building still stood.

"MOVE UP!" Jameson hurried to the entrance of the barracks, but collapsed as machinegun fire from one of the windows filled his body with .50 caliber rounds, bringing him to fall to his knees before falling limp on the ground.

"OH NO, SHIT! THEY GOT SARGE!" Lawson exclaimed in a rather effeminate tone. This time, A.J. grabbed the man and pulled him to the side while the Euphemians and Akhmanaris pushed forward into the entrance of the building.

“FUCK! Not again!” Jonathon exclaimed. He moved over to the corpse of his squad leader, and thinking perhaps not with respect but out of need, took two grenades off Jameson and ran up to the windows of the barracks.

Kemat, thamet althakhanat binat!” Khebbenit ordered his comrade, presumably, to fire upon the building with his own RG-89. As he stood up out of cover to do so, however, the machine gun fired once again, riddling the man with bullets right as he fired. The rocket slammed, once again, into the building, causing only superficial damage, but exposing more of the troops inside.

It was at that time that A.J.’s eyes finally saw the machine gunner beyond the smoke and debris, and he immediately narrowed his eyes, pointing at him. “AYEUH JONATHON, theres that tapoicaeatinmutherfuckr right ther! Eviscurate his ass!”

BOOM The concrete face of the barracks collapsed as another shot from Heley's recoilless rifle seemed to do the trick, sending a plume of dust as it gave way.

“Got it!” Jonathon shouted, raising his arm, grenade in hand to clear out the gaping hole explosed in the face of the barracks. “Frag out!” he shouted, throwing the first one in. He promptly pulled out the pin of another one and threw it in as well. The sound of an Alvimian up there groaning in pain satisfied him well though.

Next came the flurry of rockets from the advancing Free State Army helicopters, speeding towards and striking the damaged structure, bringing what remained to come undone and collapse, scattering about debris in the process. Whichever Alvimians had survived were now buried beneath rubble, rubble the Euphemians would not bother to rescue them from.

As they pressed forward, approaching the maintenance and supply facility of the airbase with relatively no orders to go on beyond hearsay, a rocket fired off from one of the warehouses, striking the M373 sparky and sending a loose piece of shrapnel flying towards the recoilless rifle — denting the barrel. Had the Sparky lacked the frontal armor that'd been slapped on before, the rocket undoubtedly would've penetrated and killed the crew instead. Luckily, however, Heley had a near-death scare to operate on instead. This was enough to encourage her to disembark, joining the rest of the squad as shots began to be exchanged by both sides.

"Alvies crawlin' all over the fuckin' place!" Lawson had found cover behind a metal crate, along with a few other soldiers partaking in the advance — cohesion had largely fallen apart in the chaos of the assault.

The supply and maintenance depot was perhaps so heavily defended not due to the supplies it held, but the arbitrary notion of its strategic value to the facility — and the Alvimians were following orders accordingly in turn. Amid the hellish exchange of bullets — from the ground and from the helicopters overhead — the squad advanced with little orders to go on.

Five of the Alvimians had been killed almost seconds into the engagement, their bodies laying limp on the tarmac as the firefight continued on. From the second story of the depot, Alvimian machinegunners had taken point, and were posing a rather obvious threat to the Euphemians below, with derelict crates and containers serving as their only cover on the way to the supply depot.

"They're in th'fuckin' warehouse, second floor!" Heley shouted, hoping one of her squadmates would hear her over the deafening gunfire.

“Chathsthis, you know what to do.” Khebbenit ordered his squad to assume cover as their designated RG-89 gunner took point. AJ watched as the Akhmanari knelt down and fired off the warhead, undoubtedly laying waste to one of the machine gunners as the warhead slammed into the unfortunate man’s position. Now presented with an opening, the mercenaries proceeded to open fire, with Khebbenit dumping at least half of his magazine down onto the building in suppressive fire. Achen-het-naa was hit by one of the enemy’s machine guns, holding the area that he had been hit.

Frustrated by the machine gunners, and Jameson’s death at the hands of them, Jonathon decided that he would likely have no armored threats to use his AT-M88 on, and so pulled it out. Taking a crouching position, he flicked up his sights, aimed at one of the windows and fired.

The rocket flew into one of the windows, exploding and killing one of the multiple machine gunners. Taking some attention from the Alvimians now, he loaded and fired another rocket - however, this one just barely hit a concrete section instead of the intended window. As the machineguns continued their cascade of gunfire on the assault below, a few of the Euphemians advanced beyond their cover, finding positions closer to the warehouse — namely Heley. A few others followed amidst the confusion, including her own fireteam's leader, Mark.

Eric, meanwhile had remained remarkably unnoticeable this entire mission, perhaps it was just a result of his ability to go ‘incognito’ - something he was actually quite good at. Hell, he’d gone hours without even speaking, mainly because he was too distracted. He was a good commander, but he wasn’t commanding, and the adjusting of duties had forced him to concentrate more on what he was doing.

“We’ll get nothing done hiding here, we need to clean them out!” he shouted, abruptly leaving cover and rushing the door of the supply depot building, barricaded by its occupants. Managing to get to the door unscathed, he pulled out a weapon he hadn’t used in quite a long time. A machete, one he had kept around since his time in Mbanza.

"Form up, doors!" Mark ordered, crossing the asphalt to reach one of the doors. The unit, now numbering four instead of five due to Tyson's injury, formed at the doors.

"Trusty'ol bay'net ain't fail me before." Attaching the blade to her rifle, Heley prepared to breach with the rest of the group.

Jonathon couldn’t help but think of the shotgun Harrison had given him yesterday. He’d stowed it under his chest rig, but in the heat of battle had forgotten it. He realized it wasn’t loaded, so he grabbed ten rounds out of one his patches: two regular shells to bust open the door, the remaining six to fry anyone standing by it. Loading them into an empty magazine, he stuck it in and aimed at where he thought the top hinge would be.

Nodding, Mark gestured him to conduct the breach.

“Let’s fry us some Ricardo!” he shouted, putting two rounds into the top and bottom hinges of the door. Putting his foot up to give it a hard kick, the door collapsed down. Right behind it, three Alvimian soldiers, caught off-guard but still ready to defend themselves.

Jonathon unleashed the incendiary power of his shotgun shells on the Alvimians. With three presses of the trigger, they were all dead or aburst on fire, writhing and rolling on the floor. As the fireteam filed in, it became apparent there'd be a hell of a lot of enemies. One particular girl seemed to stick out to Heley, however, who yelled almost primally and charged forth, bayonet burying itself in the person's side — they didn't wear a military uniform, rather they wore one that implied some degree of nobility. It immediately caught the soldiers off-guard, but this 'target' seemed to also make an excellent human shield. With the dying Alvimian in her arms, she ducked into cover behind a desk situated inside the rather makeshift command center situated in the warehouse.

Most uninformed individuals would not have been able to recognize who it was, but her quick decisionmaking in targeting them apparently indicated some degree of knowledge.

Another foolish soldier popped up from behind a desk, pistol in hand. Jonathon’s quick trigger finger helped him though, as he reacted and set the man alight and falling back.

"You..." The Alvimian choked out in near-fluent Euphemian.

"Tell them to surrender n' you'll get your medical attention." Heley spat back, pointing the bayonet to the Alvimian's throat. This warranted a weak nod, to which Heley grabbed her by the collar and left cover, holding the mysterious Alvimian at gunpoint. The response elicited by this was immediate.

"Rendem-se... ou eu morro!" The girl called out, assault rifle barrel still pressed against her head. The gunfight died down quickly, Alvimians dropping their weapons.

"Now use that radio of yours." Heley pressed the rifle tighter, bayonet almost drawing blood from the hostage's cheek.

Red Pine
27 December, A.C. 391

Image SSgt. Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr.


Westing Fields
Outside of Midfort is Westing Fields, mostly agricultural and quaint in comparison to the busy activity of Midfort proper — however, its position is about to make it the site of one of the Reunification War's greatest armored battles yet.


Click for Music

Shakur could only shake his head as his gunner and loader were freestyling in their tank to the music in the background, which wasn’t the rock and roll most everyone was blasting. Rap music. Even his driver was bobbing his head along to play along with their little song.

“That was comical. Now listen to this, bitchass niggas.” Kendrick “K-Roc” Public-Enemy John Paul, the driver, flashed a sly grin as the two knuckleheads in the back stopped, waiting.

“Well, Kenny?” Evidently, Pvt. LaDavid Morris Will-I-Am C-MOON Walker, the team’s loader, wasn’t that patient.

“Hold on. Damn, you is one ugly, impatient motherfucka, C, you know that?” Kendrick scoffed, intently listening to the music. Shakur could tell he wanted to be a musician by the way he treated it—as well as by his overall knowledge with music in general. Before he joined, Kenny had allegedly been a street performer, adding to the crew’s list of odd talents and jobs, including (former) convict, boxer, and professional athlete.

“Alright, I got it!” Kenny grinned once again. “So, I was cruisin’ down Aurum in my MBT, I turn out my tank and see this bitch starin’ at me, it’s a bitch-ass Alvimian that’s named Vivian, so I go out and tell her to S-M-D.”

Everyone remained quiet for about a second before bursting into laughter, since both the line’s delivery was terrible, and the line itself was hilarious.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Word is, 'cardo over at Fort Esper[3] surrendered! Some syko-ass grunt stabbed their princess'r somethin', threatened to kill her 'less she ordered 'em all to surrender. Boots on the ground're sure givin' em hell."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSgt. Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr.] /// - “A princess, huh, El-tee? What’s next, we gonna find ourselves a tank princess now or somethin’?”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [TANK CMDR] - [Ssgt. George Hill] /// - “You might find Pedro’s ninth cousin.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSgt. Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr.] /// - “I doin’t know ‘bout you, Hill, but Imma get me an Alvie girl tonnite.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [TANK CMDR] - [Ssgt. George Hill] /// - “If the Air Force doesn’t bomb all of them.”

The formation of armored vehicles maintained a steady approach. AEW&C had already identified the various Alvimian armored units on the approach, and according to the relayed data, they were T4 Jupará main battle tanks — specifically designed to combat the powerful Euphemian MBT-M4 series of tanks, they had the potential of being a genuine threat to the Euphemian armored advance.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "Now, don'tcha think'it's fukt-up we're basic-ly the bait for the Alvimian units? I mean, they'll come to'rd us and then the ATGMs out back'll just kill these Alvie suns'o'bitches."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSgt. Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr.] /// - “So, what’re, some kinna suicide squad?”

There were a few laughs on the other end of the radio as they drove on through the wheatfields. The press was keeping an eye on them — staying alive would be vital not only for themselves, but national morale.

/// [FSAFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [346th Mechanized Rgt.] - [IFV-M7 Jackson] - [CMDR] - - [SSgt. Arnold Bowie] /// - “Westing Fields. It’s ironic, really—such a peaceful place, now overrun by armored vehicles. Don’t you think?”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [HQ Section] - [MajGen. Crassus Pontifex Pulse-Power V. Hook] /// - "133rd, maintain your steady advance. Air support will be arriving shortly — and artillery's free now that Fort Esper's surrendered."

If the data being relayed from the AEW&C was correct, the Alvimians were about 9.6 km away from them, and were approaching at a slow but steady rate to engage. One could assume the Alvimians weren't certain whether the brunt of a full Armored Division was headed their way or not.

Inspecting the exterior for a moment, Shakur turned back into his tank and back to his crew. “Ricardo’s about nine and a half klicks—we’ll be in range to shoot at around two and a half. Don’t get ready; be ready.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSgt. Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr.] /// - “Aight, whats the plan, El-tee?”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Simple. Look pretty for the cameras, and kill all Alvies in sight. Apparently they got rid'o half the ROE yesterday, our grunts kept killin' POWs n' the brass can't be assed to care."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [TANK CMDR] - [Ssgt. George Hill] /// - “Awhile ago I was reading a book that said they had ‘rules of war’ before the Fall. Sounded like some stupid shit to me.”

They continued moving ahead, pushing through the fields. The sheer anticipation towards the engagement seemed to hang over the entire four-tank platoon as they pushed onwards, closer to the coming battle.

Dual Wielder's machineguns suddenly went live, followed by a single shot from its main gun. The wreckage of a jeep flew a few feet into the air, coming back down in a burning wreck.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "We got 'em all on thermal. Recon platoon, most likely. The enemy'll be expectin' us."

Hall turned his sight to look for the recon unit, before picking up one of the remaining jeeps on his thermals. “Gunny, ‘e got jeeps up ‘head, get ‘em!” The loader put in a shot, and Robertson, the gunner of the tank, fired his shot at the jeep. It exploded, flying up like the other destroyed jeep, and popped off, what little ammo the recon team had carried going off.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [TANK CMDR] - [Ssgt. George Hill] /// - “Got ‘un.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "I sure's hell hope they've got chopper s'port on the way."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [TANK CMDR] - [Ssgt. George Hill] /// - “I’d be scared to use anything that flies if I was the ‘Alvie commander.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSgt. Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr.] /// - “Hell yeah. I hear we got AA on every damn corridor, dawg.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "M4AD Liberty II, baby."

They continued down, passing a derelict barn — presumably it'd been evacuated in the midst of the War. The ground ahead appeared to slope slightly downward, which would seemingly play to their advantage. In turn, Dual Wielder slowed down, the rest of the tank platoon following suit. AEW&C indicated the enemy was now about nine kilometers away and lessening by the second.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Ralph Trevithick] /// - "Ricardo's closing in. Soon they'll be in missile range."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "And so will us."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. E’Shawn Dreous Malibu Kabier] /// - “Ricardo’s gonna be meltin’ in they bitchass tanks ‘fore they get the chance to shoot us.”

E’Shawn turned to his commander. “Yo, Staff Sr’nt, you got that scanner[4] workin?” Shakur nodded. “Sure do. Let’s listen in to hear what bitchass ricardo has to say..”

/// [ALVFOR] - [12o. Divisão] - [T4 Jupará] - [Sgt. Eugencio da Silva] /// - "É verdade? O Primeiro Divisão renderam-se?"

/// [ALVFOR] - [12o. Divisão] - [T4 Jupará] - [Sgt. Eugencio da Silva] /// - "Porra mano, nem eu sei... a princessa 'num tava lá?"

The chatter continued — it seemed there was some degree of worry or concern in the voices of the men, and perhaps for good reason — they were about to face the brunt of an Euphemian armored division.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [984th Fighter Wing] - [F-A/17C Vespa | #293842] - [Cpt. B. Hausenberg] /// - “Alvimie’s are pinging us with radar. Someone turn ‘em off, pin their location.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [666th Tactical Electronic Wing] - [EF-122 Night Armadillo | #252084] - [1st Lt. E. Stevens] /// - “Jamming, give me a moment... that should shut them up.”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [984th Fighter Wing] - [F-A/17C Vespa | #293842] - [Cpt. B. Hausenberg] /// - “Do we have any SEAD around?”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [666th Tactical Electronic Wing] - [EF-122 Night Armadillo | #252084] - [1st Lt. E. Stevens] /// - “Don’t bother, this is just some shitty primitive-ass radar. It’s probably more than 60 years old. I wouldn’t waste a missile on it.”

The Alvimians persisted in their approach further ahead on the slight downhill incline, closing the distance between the two forces to about 8km.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Enemy in range. Loading BGM-81 Far Trident."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. E’Shawn Dreous Malibu Kabier] /// - “Loading BGM-81 Far Trident!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Ralph Trevithick] /// - "Likewise."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [TANK CMDR] - [Ssgt. George Hill] /// - “Yep. Loading now.”

'Typical' Euphemian doctrine mandated two to three tanks targeting each individual enemy tank — at least when they operated on the assumption of numerical superiority. This doctrine didn't have ATGMs in mind, but they knew enough about the Alvimian tanks to know their active protection systems were inferior to their own. So long as their laser designators — and the aircraft also designating targets from above — kept their mark on the enemy tanks, the missiles would find their target without problem.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Loaded!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. E’Shawn Dreous Malibu Kabier] /// - “Locked and loaded!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Ralph Trevithick] /// - "Loaded."

Hill’s loader inserted the ATGM into the firing mechanism, as his gunner took aim at their Alvimian tank miles away.

“Get ready!” Shakur, peering into his sights, watched their targets’ range drop on his rangefinder. “Cameras are rollin’!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "All units, fire!"


The four Euphemian tanks fired away, sending the anti-tank guided missile flying forth from their barrels. One after one, the missiles detonated, instantly destroying all 4 of the Alvimian tanks in the distance. As predicted, the Alvimians' inferior APS could do little to stop the missiles.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. E’Shawn Dreous Malibu Kabier] /// - “And… BOOM! Ricardo BLOWN the fuck out!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Ralph Trevithick] /// - "Those bastards din't even see 'em coming!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Woo!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [HQ Section] - [MajGen. Crassus Pontifex Pulse-Power V. Hook] /// - "Air support is en route."

The platoon moved forward, along with the general advance, bracing to face the enemy.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [4th Bomb Wing] - [B-33 Merlin | #000043] - [Col. L. Stewart] /// - "Hope we aren't late."

A series of explosions dotted the horizon — including the presumed location of Natalândia and an armored platoon. Natalândia was--was-- an Alvimian colony. The tanks pressed onward, covered with the full support of the Euphemian air component.

Mechanized units took the lead as they reached the small town of Carollton,[5] where thermal imaging had confirmed the location of Alvimian troops a few hours prior. The platoon covered the IFVs as they offloaded their contingents, troops storming into the town. The tanks weren't intended for urban combat, but they'd be able to ensure the IFVs were safe for the span of the engagement. Pushing past the outskirts, another Alvimian tank platoon came into view over the hills. It was about six kilometers away, which was sufficiently in ATGM range.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Four of 'em T4s, west. Loading another Far Trident."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Ralph Trevithick] /// - "Loading."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf “Jungle Jim”] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. E’Shawn Dreous Malibu Kabier] /// - “Loading!”

“You know the drill, E’Shawn!” Shakur, once again, watched their range drop down in the rangefinder. “Wait for the signal, then we fire.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. William Robertson] /// - “Load’in miss’il!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Ralph Trevithick] /// - "Loaded."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Loaded!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. William Robertson] /// - “Loaded!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Fire!"

The four tanks sent forth their ATGMs, but it seemed the enemy was much more alert this time — two of the four missiles had been intercepted, albeit culminating in the destruction of half the Alvimian armored unit and sending them on the retreat. The rest of the division's spearhead was soon to join them, and with it would arise a battle unlike any that had graced Red Pine before.


1 - F/A-127E Strike Vampire - The F/A-127E is a 13.5th generation, all-weather multirole strike fighter built by the McLellan-Kuron corporation. Entering service in 389 A.C., the Strike Vampire’s high mobility and capability to carry a versatile payload means it often fills in close air support, precision bombing, and air superiority roles.

2 - The Nine - In the Pharaistic pantheon, the nine were a group of nine deities that have remained as the dominant gods in the pantheon: The Sun God Atum; his children Shi and Tunfet; their children Get and Turok; and their children Horet, Sebek, Nephon, and Armun. They rose to importance during the rise of Pharaism, and have remained prominent in Akhmanar throughout its history.

3 - Fort Esper - Fort Esperança, or known by the Euphemian “gringos” as Fort Esper due to pronunciation issues, is the headquarters of Comando Militar da Fronteira (Fronteira Military Command), effectively making it the central hub for all Alvimian forces' command and control in the occupied Red Pine territory. In addition to this, many military and military-affiliated families live here, making the fort a blend between a civilian center and a military stronghold. It was since overrun by Euphemian forces.

4 - scanner - Most Euphemian MBT-M4A5's carry an Electronic Warfare suite to listen in to enemy chatter, known simply as a radio scanner or scanner. In reality, this system is linked to SIGINT units or aircraft which normally would operate alongside these armored units, which monitor enemy chatter and relay it back to the tanks.

5 - The small town of Carollton is really more of a farming village, with a population of around 400. It has recently been occupied by Alvimian troops and tanks, or was, until it was taken over by Euphemian troops, who the town’s inhabitants welcome. It will soon become a name infamous to aspiring officers, strategists and journalists alike.

Last edited by Western Pacific Territories on Sun Feb 10, 2019 9:54 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Mon Feb 11, 2019 6:07 pm

This was a collab between various WFF members.



With Alvimian ground forces on the run, Euphemian forces were reassured in their advance. The media now follows the Battle of Westing Fields, closely watching the performance of Euphemian tanks against their Alvimian counterparts. Complementing this is the ever-pervasive air campaign, which ensures the Alvimian units well-equipped enough to damage Euphemian armor are kept at bay.

Despite lacking air superiority, the Alvimians persist in their increasingly hopeless fight, outnumbered and outgunned by the Euphemian military. As scenes of the war reach the public on both sides, two very different images emerge — a demoralized Alvimian public, already suffering the economic and political ramifications of the new dictatorship, and a reinvigorated Euphemian public.

Of course, if the Reunification War does not achieve its goals soon enough, this fresh vigor of the Euphemian public may soon wane. Pacifists who had been pushing for peaceful Reunification obviously will become louder voices should the War's goals not be fulfilled quickly.

Westing Fields, Red Pine
27 December, A.C. 391

Image Lt. Eli Korossykov McCoy Made-For-Lovin'-You J. Yaurie


Westing Fields
Outside of Midfort is Westing Fields, mostly agricultural and quaint in comparison to the busy activity of Midfort proper — however, its position is about to make it the site of one of the Reunification War's greatest armored battles yet.


Click for Music

Passing the town of Carollton, the tank platoon moved onward, headed west after the enemy Alvimian tanks that had retreated. The situation seemed quite well for them thus far, though it was true their anti-tank missiles were in limited quantity, and a close engagement would make the Alvimians a rather formidable threat.

"Don't'cha think there's a lil' bit of melancholy to this whole affair?" Eli Korossykov McCoy Made-For-Lovin'-You J. Yaurie was the commander of their MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf tank, keeping a watchful eye on the situation outside. There was no thermal activity in the fields, which served enough to the officer's confidence that they'd manage to continue onward towards the Alvimians.

"What'dya mean, sir?" Ralph Uncle-Sam-Does-The-Best-He-Can H. Trevithick was the tank's gunner. He'd already scored two kills this battle, to which they'd soon be marking the side of their tank with two kill-marks. Like many of the Euphemian soldiers that now fought in the small stretch of land that was the Occupied Territories — they called it the Liberated Territories now — he was from Red Pine.

"I mean, we're finally back... after two hunnid years!" He chuckled to himself, staying attent as the platoon pushed onward through the fields.

"My family used to own a farm 'round these parts many gen-'rations ago." Paul Edwards Dream-On Reed C. Manford was the tank's loader, though by his looks one would mistake him to be a model from one of Torch City's high-end districts. "If I see some Alvie sons-o'bitches occupyin' that land, I'll kill 'em all, civ or not."

"We're steady headin' west. Once we climb that hill, we can finish those two Ricardo tanks who ran away earlier." George Everybody-Wants-to-Rule-the-World M. Rutchell was the driver. He was some college dropout type out of Los Imperios, who'd apparently done a few delivery odd jobs before he joined the military and wound up in Red Pine.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "The remaining enemy tanks should be 'bout six kilometers away. 1 and 2 will be takin' care of 'em."

The tanks continued forward — one could assume the enemy would come into view upon ascending the small slope ahead. If the data C3I aircraft were feeding them was correct, fellow tank platoons had made quick work of a few unfortunate Alvimian armored platoons to the north and south. Not a single Marshall tank had been lost — the Alvimians hadn't been counting on Euphemian ATGMs.

Along with attack helicopters and actual aerial support, the chances of the Alvimians had been severely hindered — they'd expected an armored confrontation, but the 'armor' of the Euphemians was moreso a PR stunt than a reality.

"Cameras mus' still be rollin' on us." Paul noted. Indeed, the eyes of the press were watching them intently, following close behind. Defeat wasn't an option, not when the morale of the Euphemian public weighed upon their actions.

"They always are, gentl'men." Eli kept his eyes to the thermal feed, not spotting anything aside from a deer amidst the wheat fields, which quickly scurried off as the Euphemian tanks approached. Ascending the hill, they found the Alvimian tanks were closer than expected.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Jungle Jim"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Shakur Davis, Jr.] /// - "Hot damn—contacts!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Alvie tanks, up close! Load and fire!"

There was no need for the usual slow-paced formalities of long-ranged tank combat. The four tanks opened fire on the Alvimians in quick succession, but not before one of them had managed a quick shot at one of their tanks — Hill's, to be specific.

Inside Hill’s tank, all seemed to be going well. At least, until one of the retreating Alvimian tanks fired. Right after it did, the entire tank was shook by the vibrations of an Alvimian APFSDS round entering the center of the tank’s lower glacis.

Hill, for his part, could not have seen it coming, nor could any of his crew. In the blink of an eye, his M4 was now nothing more than a hulk. His driver had been vaporized by the shell, his loader and gunner would both be more akin to a pin cushion than a human at this point. Thankfully, the design of the tank prevented any fires or ammo cookoffs from occuring. Hill could only sit in silence for a number of seconds, paralyzed by what had just happened, while his fellow tankers were left wondering what’d happened to the Augustans.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "Shit! 2 was hit! No movement."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "4, check up on 'em."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Jungle Jim"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Shakur Davis, Jr.] /// - "Moving!"

The crew of Jungle Jim saw that the Augustans’ tank had been immobilized, not from any structural damage (any “hull losses” among the MBT-M4 series was practically unheard of), but rather from the crew..and it sickened Shakur to think about what could’ve happened to them in there. Once they were all positively sure that nothing else was going to hit them out here, he turned out of his tank to inspect the damage himself.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Jungle Jim"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Shakur Davis, Jr.] /// - "Hull’s intact! Insides looks like some shitty restaurant chowder. Damn. I’unno if anyone made it, sir."

Meanwhile, Hill could hear the radio transmissions of his comrades. He thought of what to say, but before he could, he looked down, and sudden terror gripped him. His left leg was completely gone. The sheer adrenaline of the situation meant that he couldn’t really feel it, but he sure he would soon, if he lived long enough, that is. He reached to his radio console.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Augustan Armor"] - [TANK CMDR] - [Ssgt. George Hill] /// - “FUCK! FUCK! MY CREW’S FUCKING DEAD! MY LEG’S FUCKING GONE! ‘GIMME A MEDEVAC, AAGH!”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Jungle Jim"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Shakur Davis, Jr.] /// - "Hold on now. We’re gettin’ medevac on the way. Open the hatch and tourniquet that nigga!"

The crew clambered out of their tank, with the gunner remaining inside while the others ran for the immobilized tank. Once opening the hatch, Shakur saw the damage in all of its glory: everyone but the commander was gone, with Hill’s left leg itself completely gone. Quickly, Shakur pushed open the hatch fully to let some air in, lest the man asphyxiate to death. He sacrificed his shirt and sidearm to use as a tourniquet, while Kendrick gave up his own shirt in an attempt to keep the man warm.

It wasn’t anything professional, but it’d get the job done until proper medical care arrived. Hopefully. After applying the tourniquet to the Augustan commander, the crew could only wait for a medevac from the mechanized infantry taking Carollton to arrive.

After a few minutes, a IFV-M7 medical vehicle from the mechanized arrived next to the two tanks to whisk off Hill. Shakur frowned as he watched the man get carried away. Augustans weren’t always the best around Imalakian-Euphemians when it came to race, but he had to give it to Hill, fighting through all the pain. “Godspeed, you glorious hick.”

“Thanks,” Hill muttered under his breath, as he was put into the IFV-M8.

As 'Jungle Jim' stopped by 'Augustan Armor' to lend temporary aid, 'Dual Wielder' and 'Night Dealer' continued forward, passing the wrecked remains of the Alvimian tanks they'd made swift work of.

The slaughter that'd become of Augustan Armor troubled the crew of Dual Wielder, as until moments ago the men perceived themselves and their armored machines of war to be invincible.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [DRIVER] - [PFC. George Rutchell] /// - "Man, I do tell y'what, I ain't plannin' on dyin' anytime soon."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Neither do I."

They persisted onward, though more cautious than before. Overhead, past the small wooded hedgerow, Eli had a clear view of the explosions, presumably those of the Euphemian bombardment. Missiles were coming down — largely air-launched cruise missiles that struck aerially-designated targets with precision. Whatever they were hitting, they were hitting a lot of them. Eli awaited further orders, as they'd cleared enemy forces up to the treeline — going further would raise the risk of an ambush.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [HQ Section] - [MajGen. Crassus Pontifex Pulse-Power V. Hook] /// - "Mechanized units will enter the forest first. Armored will cross when the all-clear is given."

The mechanized unit from earlier passed the platoon by, Jungle Jim soon rejoining the rest of the group. They were down by one, but that wouldn't stop them. Disembarking near the forest, the grunts of earlier hurried off into the woods, presumably to locate targets. A small pass would allow them to cross into the clearing ahead, and according to the data being relayed to the tank, much of the enemy across the woods had been brutally targeted by aerial forces.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "That path might have mines. We oughta use our mine detectors."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "If they use mines, I'm sure our commanders will respond in turn."

Some time passed until a response came from the mechanized patrols that'd entered the treeline.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [HQ Section] - [MajGen. Crassus Pontifex Pulse-Power V. Hook] /// - "Woods are clear. Armored units are cleared to advance."

The platoon moved forward, approaching the pass with caution. Eli's tank was at the lead, pushing ahead. As they approached the pass, Eli became tense with anticipation. What if the detector didn't work as planned? Murphy's law was something anyone in the Euphemian military had to account for.

They pushed further up the pass, treads kicking up dust and dirt as they made through the thin space between the hilly wooded surroundings.

"Man, if we fuckin' die— I'ma be pissed." Ralph grumbled, keeping his attention set ahead of them.

"How y'gon' be pissed if you's dead?" George quipped, chuckling.


The detectors went off, high-pitched electronic tones alerting the rest of the platoon to the presence of mines along the pass. It'd been a close call — they'd already lost several men in one day. The Air Force would handle the rest — but the ground forces had already fulfilled their goal: put on a hell of a show for the press.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
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Postby Turmenista » Tue Feb 12, 2019 11:51 pm

This was a collab between various WFF members.



In the last couple of days, the 5th Armored Regiment had been through hell and high water, besting minefields, enemy tanks, other armored vehicles, and more. They had scored numerous kills against their enemy, all without sustaining any losses to their own vehicles. The effects at home were immediate—morale was boosted immediately, the Euphemian MBT-M4 tank used in many of these battles gaining an almost legendary status overnight from the tale of its durability and other antics. To date, only ten crewmen were killed in penetration incidents, with not a single MBT-M4 destroyed.

Still, though, are these 10 crewmens' lives lost, or lives wasted, on some conflict that was on the verge of devolving into total war? “Minor losses” like these would be considered negligible..but not to the men and women of the 5th Armored Regiment. Many of them grew close bonds to these people, no matter their background, and were shocked to see them say their goodbye.

Now, down one tank, the men and women of the 5th await patiently, to see what assortment of ‘spare parts’ they would be given to patch up their losses.
Fort Reclamation, Red Pine, Federal States of Euphemie
28 December, A.C. 391

Image SSgt. Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr.


Fort Reclamation
Fort Reclamation, named after the Euphemian nation's ambitions and goals to reclaim its rightful territories, was founded in 105 A.C. to maintain defensive cohesion against the Alvimians, who now were even closer to the Euphemian heartland. It is home to the XXIV Corps of the FS 2nd Army, and several divisions that comprise the corps. It is by far one of the largest military complexes in the Federal States.


Click for Music

Following Hill’s harrowing injury, things had remained relatively quiet on Shakur’s end. He and his team, of course, continued with their usual antics and duties, but, for once in his life, he was sad to see the Augustans were gone. The unit simply didn’t feel whole with them gone—and what about the public? How would they react to a Euphemian tank commander who came back home with a missing leg and horrible memories?

He decided to put those thoughts in the back of his head, instead heading back into the barracks. Apparently, a new crew was due to arrive to replace Hill and his men—when they would be getting here was no issue. It was rather about who they were.

"New crew arrivin' today, if I ain't readin' these papers mis-correctly. They're bringin' another Schwarzkopf with 'em." Lt. Eli Korossykov McCoy Made-For-Lovin'-You J. Yaurie was the commander of the platoon, and rode aboard the MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf tank "Dual Wielder". He was from Red Pine, which meant he, like most others fighting in the Occupied Territories (or Liberated Territories, at this point) were doing so with fervent, unbreaking resolve.

“Really?” Shakur raised an eyebrow. “Ya know where they from, sir?”

"All over the place, uh—" Eli squinted at the paper, as if carefully reading. "Their commander, she's uh, from Etoile Marin or somethin'."

“Etoile Marin?” Shakur, who honestly wasn’t that well with his geography, thought long and hard as to where that was. “That’s them islands near Turmenista, right? All the way from over there, huh?”

"Yeah," Eli replied. "Way out in the Atlantic. Got one of 'em frog names, too. Can't read their cursive speak f'shit."

Shakur scoffed. “Ah, sheeit. My ass can’t even spell they names correctly, let alone fuckin’ pronounce ‘em. Imma have to call her fuckin’, uhh, ‘Anonyme du Bag-ette,’ or some shit.” Of course, he had obviously butchered the fictional name of Onime, giving their fictional guy the last name of the first thing that could come to mind.

"Jus' maintain conduct as it usually should be." Eli looked through the barracks. Most of the men were in the rather spacious room, which hosted the entire platoon's bunks. The window gave a view of the depot below, where their tanks were currently sitting. Minor checks were being conducted on their vehicles — though as far as Eli knew, only Hill's had sustained damage — with terrible results. That tank had been sent off to Calistor at some point after the Battle of Westing Fields. ERA had been installed to the upper and lower glacis of the platoon's tanks, as a preventative measure after what'd happened to Hill and his crew.

"New tank arrive yet?" Sgt. Ralph Uncle-Sam-Does-The-Best-He-Can H. Trevithick was the gunner of Dual Wielder, and had scored himself a few kills on Alvimian tanks in the process. Three kills, to be specific.

“Don’t think so, not yet,” Ralph’s counterpart in “Jungle Jim,” E’Shawn Dreous Malibu Kabier, watched the outside intently, looking out for the new crew. Much like his commander, he could see that the others were still trying to move on from that harrowing story from Hill. It really must’ve sucked for him—losing his entire team and all.

"That it?" Pvt. Kelco Trent Eyes-Without-a-Face M. Woodford was the driver for the fourth tank in the platoon, "Night Dealer". He was some scrawny graduate out of mil-college over in Arcadia, Turmenista — though he was probably descended from Torch City folk. He pointed outside, to an MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall that was being towed into the depot.

What had pulled into the depot could only be described as a veteran of the conflict these tanks were seeing. Unlike most [HC] Marshall models, the one being towed into the depot seemed to have been assigned to another unit before – the 5th Armored Regiment, given the prominent 5R symbol marked in black on its modular composite side armor. The vehicle had been modified too, presumably after the reports of Hill’s fate had gotten around; there were ERA modules mounted to the lower glacis of the Marshall. It was patterned in standard C/A-M78[1], though had an additional foliage camouflage net applied over the hull and sides of the turret – the most unique part of it, as it flew a rare Marinian national flag from its rear and bore the three stripes of Etoile Marin’s flag on the armor as well; a patriotic sign of the shared colors between Etoile Marin and Euphemie.

"That's one bling'd fuckin' tank," Eli looked on, admiring the vehicle in its depleted uranium-armored glory.

"Shiiiit, we jus' a bunch'o noobs compared to this one." George Everybody-Wants-to-Rule-the-World M. Rutchell was the driver of "Dual Wielder". He lowered his spectacles, taken aback by the sight of the tank. It was certainly impressive — certainly much moreso than their own tanks.

Lesia Leland Soox Tears-for-Fears K. Lavannerr, the gunner of "Night Dealer", looked at the tank from her bunk, turning her attention to the door. She was some Alainor military brat type that'd somehow wound up in the otherwise all-male unit as a gunner. There were two kills to her name, which she'd garnered back in Westing Fields. "Well, they oughta be nearby if their tank's already here."

That casual mention had made a few heads turn, as the platoon curiously anticipated the arrival of the new tank crew. Shakur made his way over to the window, where, sure enough, a whole tank had appeared in all of its glory outside. Comparing “Jungle Jim” to it, Shakur’s tank wasn’t that special: ERA had been added to the upper and lower glacis in light of their past confrontation with the Alvimians, while lyrics from some famous rap song (from two years ago) were painted onto the barrel as a good luck charm: “MAMA SAID KNOCK YOU OUT

The tank wasn’t the only set of splendor to enter the depot below them; when the tank was parked and situated, its hatches came open one by one – the crew were just now disembarking. The first to emerge was far from the Marinian tank commander that had been suggested, rather a fair looking Euphemian emerging from the driver’s hatch. A bit on the tall side with a bit of a long nose, the driver of this veteran tank didn’t seem all that special, surprisingly.

"That oughta be the driver," Eli said, looking to the papers then back to the scene below.

"They look rather competent." Wissons C.Q. Marney Roundabout B. Hsiu, commander of "Night Dealer", had also joined the various members of the platoon gathered at the window. He was from Styx Island, judging by his stories — it was rather rare for someone from Styx to not join the Navy or wind up sitting in the nuclear silos.

"Howc'n you tell, sir?" Jeffry Dexter Head-Over-Heels M. Hoyt was the loader of "Night Dealer". He was from Blume, Torch City, son of two immigrants from the old continent. Most couldn't pinpoint the precise culturo-political entities within Tangaliro, regardless.

"Walks like a professional. Most of us look like we've gotten somethin' up our ass — a few of us probably do." Wissons joked, eliciting a few chuckles among the group.

“Man, them niggas look like they’ll rip us apart like a dog and a stuffed bunny.” Kendrick “K-Roc” Public-Enemy John Paul, the driver of “Jungle Jim”, anxiously watched the man on his approach. Perhaps it was because he was young, but he felt anxious about the situation—meeting new people to replace what would’ve otherwise amounted to a dead team, and everything.

He was soon followed by one of the turret crewmen, another Euphemian with a more well built, all round form and a rare cap on his head - likely the Gunner.

"They're all pros. Fuck, man!" Kelco shook his head. "We cain't be proud 'bout our kills no more."

"Relax, this ain't a competition." Eli assured the men, heartily chuckling to himself.

That left the Loader – who didn’t disappoint, evidently a man of color responsible for making that decorated war machine tick. The grizzled, brown skinned man to join his comrades was likely a Native of Euphemie.

"One 'nem Tochockmee types. Which'un's the commander, sir?" Jeffry asked, looking to Eli. There was some suspense as to the one who hadn't yet come.

Which just left the tank commander herself, the one who must’ve been attributed for the tank’s successful appearance. She was the last to emerge, popping out of the commander’s cupola in appropriate uniform. Despite her origins, she hardly looked the part of the typical ‘fanciful’ Marinian. Just one look matched the visual profile attributed to her name though: Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée. The Freezing Rose, some called her back home. Yet all the crew, as they fully disembarked and grouped up to head into the adjoining barracks, clearly showed the opposite: this crew was cohesive and well bonded, no doubt from past experiences.

LaDavid “Loc” Morris Will-I-Am C-MOON Walker, Shakur’s gunner, took a good look at the crew as they moved in—especially the commander. He continued staring, looking like a complete idiot while doing so, before he reeled back over to his own commander. All he could really say was “Damn,” holding a hand over his mouth as Shakur scowled at him. “Loc, I know what your bitchass is thinkin’, and I don’t like it. Keep it to yourself.”

“Aight, sarn’t,” LaDavid looked away as best he could to recollect himself. It wasn’t everyday that you saw a Marinian woman in a place like—as far as they were concerned, operating tanks was a man’s job, always was a man’s job, and would always be a man’s job. With a few exceptions. While others like Loc were obviously interested in their new guests, all Shakur wanted to know was if they were viable replacements for Hill and his men.

"That there's the commander," Eli glanced down at the batch of papers in his hands. "C'mmand mus've raised the quota on our platoon."

"Hopefully they don't die like the last ones." The loader of Eli's tank, Paul Edwards Dream-On Reed C. Manford, had been oddly quiet up to now. He wasn't often a man of much words — but that didn't stop him from being a heart-throb for the grunts.

“Man, I bet a damn tank shell would hit us before them,” E’Shawn noted. “Them guys looked real cool walkin’ in here. Too cool, too pretty. ‘Cardo wouldn’t want to waste a shell on somethin’ so perfect.”

"Well, I been thinkin', n' it occurred to me," Ralph began. "Havin' a vet like this might put somethin' of a target on our heads, wouldn't'ya say?" He could've been right. The enemy might've been weaker and less determined to fight, but that sure as hell didn't make them stupid.

“Yeh, but think about it, bro.” Kendrick pointed to the team as they entered. “Shit could be a morale boost for us, man. They see Marinians ‘n shit fightin’ out here, they might love it, y’know? Plus, we got some badass fuckin’ tanks out there—all ‘Cardo’s got is some hand-me-down scrappy-doos from the scrap heap.”

Eventually, there came the sound of a door sliding open, and footfalls entering their barracks. It took but a few moments before the same tank crew they’d just seen outside coming into the platoon’s spacious quarters. Interest was evident on each of their faces — aside from the apparent Tochockmee fellow, the grizzled man as serious as he looked. Of course, the crew was led inside by the same Marinian woman they’d got a glimpse of outside. Her foreign nature was all the more highlighted within these walls, a well received one at least.

“Lieutenant Yaurie?” Staff Sergeant Alese called to the platoon assembled in the room, the woman searching for the commanding officer of the group.

"Speaking, ma'am." Eli replied, approaching the new arrival. Obviously the rest of the group wasn't very presentable — this was the barracks, after all — but Eli at least attempted to appear composed.

She smiled upon seeing Eli’s approach, extending a hand towards him. “A pleasure to make your acquaintansse,” She spoke with a profound Marinian accent, though her understanding of Euphemian seemed to be fluid. “I’m Staff Sergent Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée, commander of the MBT-M4A4 Marshall ‘the Président,’ as you probably saw when we arrived. We’ve been reassigned to your section from the 4th Armoured Régiment, of the 133rd Armoured Division.” She explained. “I trust the paperwork reached you before we did?”

"Of course," Eli's eyes met the papers he still held in his hands, addressed directly to his charge. Shakur watched the interaction from his side of the room quietly. These types of things weren’t his forte—but if Cymbétique was competent in her duties, as she was making herself out to be, she’d be a great replacement for Hill.

“Well that saves ous the briefings then. Would you all mindé doing introductions?” She asked, looking out to the rest of the platoon. “I’ve only heard little about you all, you’re probably as curieuse as we are.” The others behind her seemed just as interested in who their new platoon would be as she was, their optimism well placed.

"Lieutenant Eli Korossykov McCoy Made-For-Lovin'-You J. Yaurie. I'm in charge, but y'already know that. Welcome onboard." Eli chuckled.

"Sergeant Ralph Uncle-Sam-Does-The-Best-He-Can H. Trevithick. Same tank as Lieutenant here, I signed to blow shit up. Pleasure to meet y'all." Ralph nodded.

"I'm Paul. Private Paul Edwards Dream-On Reed C. Manford." He seemed to be a man of few words, though he looked quite charming.

"Private First Class George Everybody-Wants-to-Rule-the-World M. Rutchell. I'm the driver, that's pretty much all I do." George removed his spectacle shades, tucking them into the shirt pocket of his uniform. "I think y'all will get used to this place quick — but don't think it's fancy or nothin', we just like the grunts — 'cept they put us in those big ol' war machines!"

Shakur stepped forward to introduce his crew. “Shakur 21-Problems-But-You-Ain’t-One Lamar Davis, Jr. I command Jungle Jim and these stupid-ass fools here.” Of course, he was using banter to describe his crew, which he had a deep trust and respect for.

It moved then to the driver, the youngest of Shakur’s crew. “My name’s Kendrick Public-Enemy John Paul, but my friends call me Kenny or ‘K-Roc.’ Uhh.. I drive. I guess.”

“LaDavid "Loc" Morris Will-I-Am C-MOON Walker, at your service.” Loc tilted his head upwards, a classic sign of acknowledgement and respect. “I’m the loader. Time me—I’m faster than any bitchass robot autoloader you’ll put in fronta me.”

Finally, it moved to their gunner. “E’Shawn Dreous Malibu Kabier. I specialize in cookin’ Ricardo, however you like it, and at express speeds, if that fatass nigga behind me is workin’ fast enough. Not much else to say ‘bout me.”

"Wissons C.Q. Marney Roundabout B. Hsiu. I run the third tank in the group. The real surprise is that we ain't died first..." He smirked.

"Name's Lesia, Lesia Leland Soox Tears-for-Fears K. Lavannerr. I'm gunner, with Hsiu's tank. I've killed 'round two Ricardo tanks. Welcome onboard, y'all look like professionals."

"Jeffry Dexter Head-Over-Heels M. Hoyt. I load the shells in n' watch 'em go. Touchin' all this depleted uranium will 'prolly leave me dead at thirty-five." He wryly laughed to himself.

"I'm, uh, Kelco Trent Eyes-Without-a-Face M. Woodford. I drive, it's what I do." He grinned. "Oh yeah— pleased t'meet y'all."

“As to you all as well.” Alese gave a curt bow before introducing herself formally to the platoon, “Méy name is Cymbétique Guenneviere-Lesuseur Cymbeline “Alese” Adhémar Levée-Hamilée “la Rosé Gelée”. A mouthful, I’m aware, I’m Marinian if you didn’t know. Comes with being nobilité.. But I try not to let it get in the way of my sworn dutée, after all that’s what we’re here for.” She gestured to the rest of her crew to introduce themselves.

The Gunner from before gave a loose salute to the group before speaking. “Daryl Sonny-Don't-Quit I-Feel-For-You Towner Three. As Euphemian as yous’all and probably just as much a grunt’n smarts too. Aly ‘ere keeps me around caus’ I’m the one mannin’ the guns.” He spoke with a distinctive Lathrop accent, and definitely sounded as capable and disciplined as he looked.

The taller Loader followed after. “Anthony “Ant” Brandy You're-A-Fine-Girl Gas-Station-Roses Cothrell m’self. I ain’t do much more or less’n load the gun for th’bolthead here.” He nudged Daryl next to him. “But I got’a family to feed and honest work to do, ain’t no better place than’ere if’ya ask me.” Unlike his counterparts, he seemed more of an intellectual. Probably studied up on the equipment they use now before enlisting. His accent and drawl hinted to him likely coming from Calistor.

That left the final member of Alese’s crew: her Driver. “Archambolt Áken I'm-the-Man Spells-of-Fear Talonsheyawake. These folks’a bit young compared to me, but I ain’t that much more experienced. Done my time on the Aenar’n border first. Just lookin’ to do my part I guess, and drivin’s all I got’s to do.” Despite his obvious warrior heritage and demeanor, he seemed immersed in the Mansfeld accent, which wasn’t too profound compared to the others.

By the end of their opening words, it’d given ‘the Président’ an interesting identity: a Marinian and three Euphemians, each unique in their own ways and fairly capable at what they had to do.

So it would be no surprise when Alese asked the question that’d been on all her crew’s minds. “Aussi, if yous ére willing to share, may I ask what became of the crew we are replaçine?”

"George Hill n' his boys, they uh—" Eli paused, as if remembering the moment. "Got hit by Ricardo. Shell right on 'thru the bottom. Killed his whole crew, took his leg. Tank lived, though — he's in the hospital, tank's undergoin' repairs." The lieutenant seemed a little unsettled as he recollected the events.

The mood shift in the new crewmen was clear on their faces. “..Ah.. désolé-er, my condolénces to the fallen.” Alese said softly. “At least they are with God[2] now, and I have faith that Sér George Hill will see a healthy récovérie.”

“Tshk..” Daryl seemed put off by the events. “Damned Ricardos’ gettin’ all our good folks.. Y’know, we’ve had our own fair share of problems ou’east. It’s all trees’n shit through’n through. Not the kinda place ya want a tank, but some’ns gotta do the job.”

Ant spoke up after him, “And we did it well, which is what we’re s’pposed to do.” He reminded them, looking to the rest of the platoon. “George Hill is a fine man, but you’ve got 3 working tanks and a fresh one to add to the bunch. What d’y’all say we do what Hill would want us to do, and give ‘em Ricardos hell?”

There were some chuckles of amusement and anticipation — the fact the replacements (or as military lingo put it, 'spare parts',) had arrived meant they'd soon be on the frontline again.

“So, what’s the move now, El-tee?” Shakur looked to their commander once again for orders.

"More likely than not — we'll be seein' ourselves on the frontline today." Eli replied. "It'll come when it'll come — but the fact spare parts are here means 'nough of what to expect. Jus' don't get y'all-selves killed."

1 - C/A-M78 - Camo (Armored) M78, shortened to C/A/-M78 is a woodland camouflage used on Euphemian tanks. Its coloration and pattern is designed to allow tanks to blend in better to forests and other wooded areas, much like camouflage on infantry.

2 - “God” – When referenced by a Marinian, typically it refers to the monotheistic religion of Polarism, native to Etoile Marin. It is an esoteric faith praising the North Star as a guiding beacon of humanity, and encapsulates this vision in the form of a deity known as “Stella Maris.” There are many interpretations of Stella Maris, some perceiving her to be a goddess, others a god, even a few in between. The God referenced here is Stella Maris.

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Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Thu Feb 14, 2019 11:27 pm

This was a collab between various WFF members.



One Alvimian division remained in the contiguous area of Red Pine, establishing a desperate defensive perimeter along the mountain roads in their desperate attempt to hold Manning against the Euphemian advance.

Rumor is already spreading that the Alvimians intend to retreat from Red Pine, given their colossal casualties incurred in only a matter of days. Regardless of their plans, the Euphemian war machine stalls not. A massive assault conducted by the Free State Army and the Federal Army upon the city of Manning will serve as the final decisive battle in the conflict over Red Pine.

Fear already grows that the Alvimians will not cease their fight after the bloody nose in Red Pine, however, and so the Euphemian military already prepares in secret the next phase of War Plan Aurum.
I-36, Red Pine
28 December, A.C. 391

Image Lt. Eli Korossykov McCoy Made-For-Lovin'-You J. Yaurie


The I-38 is the largest highway system in southern Red Pine, connecting Midfort to Manning, and by extent, to the rest of Alvimia at large. The latter expansion was conducted in the late 2nd century to better allow military units to be ferried into the Occupied Territory to suppress Euphemian guerrillas.


Click for Radio

The final push against the Alvimians lay ahead of them: Manning. At the rate of things, it seemed Euphemian forces would seize the entire state within the month. Word and hearsay as the 5th Armored Regiment, 133AD moved forward was that the Alvimians were carefully positioning themselves for a retreat — though there'd been no word from their Imperial Congress on the matter, it was expected they'd deliberate on the next course of action.

The scent of diesel was strong in the air as the four tanks pushed onward through the empty highway. Ground forces were advancing upon Manning from the north and west, while the Free State Army had escalated their asymmetrical guerrilla war against Alvimian forces holed up in the city. It was the execution of Rawlins' Absolute Combat Mobilization theory to its finest degree, the Euphemian military utilizing and aptly mixing superior firepower and highly-mobile warfare, while the Free State Army conducted the clandestine half of the fight.

"This oughta be the last step in the fight. Maybe then Ricardo'll run on back to his side of the border and we'll be reunified again." PFC. George Everybody-Wants-to-Rule-the-World M. Rutchell kept his eyes on the road as he drove their MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder" forward. They were (unfortunately) heading a spearhead along the highway, while other divisions pushed through the fields. If one were to look down the cliffside (when possible, as there were many thin, rocky passages along the path that blocked their view), they could quite clearly see the dust clouds being kicked up by other armored vehicles and tanks below.

Eli, on the other hand, was drinking from a cold glass bottle of Skyline Cola[1], keeping his focus set on the grainy feed across the electronic screens in his semi-compartment. "Fine ol' Red Pine weather, eh?" He chuckled. The temperature indicator stated it was 80 degrees outside, with the tank's interior itself a few degrees higher. Their air conditioning system was working in overdrive, but he'd heard a few unlucky tank crews had their AC systems malfunction — surely people who weren't from Red Pine were sweating their asses off at this point.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "How's er'body holdin' up?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "Tell me, sir, how d'y'all Red Pine folk put up with this fuckin' heat?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "What'd'ya mean? This is the perfect weather for a game o' baseball, huntin', hell... anythin', really."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "By God, I think I'm gonna pass out in this heat..."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Say, you're from Styx, right? What do y'all even do out there? Work at the nuclear silos?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "Most do to some extent or th'other, really."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [LOADER] - [Pvt. Jeffry Hoyt] /// - "We're runnin' out of water bottles..."

"Bunch o' pussies." Paul stood by the loading mechanism, ready for whatever they'd face. If they were lucky, the helicopters would make quick work of whatever enemies were ahead. The press, of course, was closely following them — some EBN journalist had holed up in one of the tanks (the fanciest one, of course) and kept his camera rolling constantly.

At least it wasn't Eli's tank, he'd figured — he had no desire for stardom, recognition or press. Hell, he didn't really like the press, either. All they cared about was sensationalism, he'd figured, and they knew nothing about the struggles of fighting in war.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "You know, there isn’t much difference between here and de-Lunes. Aside from the fumés, of course."

Alese’s M4A4 tank, the modified transfer to the 5th Armored Regiment, followed behind Eli’s as the second one in their spearhead. It had been positioned so far up to give some berth for the other M4A5 Schwarzkopf tanks in their platoon. She’d gotten fairly acquainted with the platoon by now, and much like Eli was within her own vehicle. Her crew weren’t as acclimated to the smoky Red Pine weather as she was, however.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [LOADER] - [PVT. Anthony Brandy Cothrell] /// - "Isn’ like we’re expectin’ anything colder this far south.."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [GUNNER] - [SGT. Daryl Towner Three] /// - "Like hell w’are. Damn Ricardo’sll won’t feel’n thing. How far’re we from Manning?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "40 klicks north from it and closing fast. Should be there within the hour if this keeps up. Any visuals ahead Dual Wielder?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Hang on."

Looking onto one of the electronic screens, he pressed a button to raise one of the MBT's electronic masts, giving him a clearer view of what was ahead. The nature of the mountain pass made constant AEW&C assistance difficult, which meant he'd need to utilize more 'manual' methods of detection. Two Alvimian T4 MBTs at a checkpoint, guarded by about 12 Alvimian soldiers — the image was sufficiently clear enough that he could identify at least two of them being armed with anti-tank weapons. Designating and marking these targets, the data was swiftly sent to the other three tanks in the platoon, warning them of the enemy presence ahead. With the enemy detected, the spotting mast was lowered down.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Spotted ahead. Two tanks, twelve men."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Checkpoint then. They are known for setting up AT et AP positions at them. Be wary of ATGM launchers."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Will designate targets ahead. 1 and 2, utilize ATGMs."

Eli raised the mast again, this time casting a laser upon one of the two Alvimian tanks.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Load ATGM."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [LOADER] - [Pvt. Paul Manford] /// - "Loadin'!"

Dual Wielder's main gun angle upward, conveniently utilizing the slight slope of the road.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Ralph Trevithick] /// - "Ready to fire."

The Président was close behind Dual Wielder, its gun trained on the other marked T4.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "ATGM loaded Dual Wielder. Ready to fire on your mark."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Fire."

The ATGM shot upward from Dual Wielder's gun, striking the tank in what could only be described as a split second — after all, it traveled at 300 metres per second. It met the vehicle's lower glacis, culminating in a bright fireball that briefly lit the thermal imaging on Eli's screen. The Président’s ATGM followed suit, crossing briefly in the wake of Dual Wielder’s before coming down on top of its target. The projectile speared through the second tank’s upper glacis, igniting in a plume of fire that blew the turret of the T4 clean off.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Kill confirmed."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "All armor eliminated."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Move ahead to engage infantry, expect anti-armor."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Copy that. Load in a Willie Peté."

Alese’s crew had been fighting in the dense forests before their deployment here; it came as no surprise they’d default to the usage of white phosphorus for anti-personnel means. Although, normally it was frowned upon to use such weaponry. Normally.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - ".50’s are on standby. We’ll mow them down when we are able to éngagé. Advance once we’re loaded."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [LOADER] - [PVT. Anthony Brandy Cothrell] /// - "Loaded’n!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [DRIVER] - [PFC. Archambolt Áken Talonsheyawake] /// - "We’re movin’ up."

The four tanks moved forward, Jungle Jim and Night Dealer leading first while the other two tanks reloaded their munitions. The Alvimians had gotten into position, still visible on thermal imaging screens as they either sought cover or — in the case of two of them — aimed rockets at the approaching platoon.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [LOADER] - [Pvt. Paul Manford] /// - "Firin' WP!"

Dual Wielder shot forth a white phosphorus shell, followed by Night Dealer. The rounds landed a few metres short of where the two anti-tank riflemen had taken up position, creating a smoky cascade of the volatile white chemical. The men immediately recoiled, uniforms catching fire before they were quickly taken down by the volley of machinegun fire that followed. The Alvimians were quickly dealt with, a few dropping their weapons (they would be arrested by the designated 'prisoner acquisition' units that followed closely behind, due to the rate of Alvimian surrenders).

The platoon charged past the checkpoint, knocking over barricades and speeding off down the road.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Well, that's one outta the way!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Now how many more lie in store for us?"

The platoon pressed forward, headed by the platoon. The sound of rotors — and an alert from the tank's own AESA radar brought Eli's attention to one of many screens about him — a helicopter, identified to be an Alvimian HA17 gunship, was on the approach. It moved forth, avoiding anti-aircraft fire as it opened up on the tank platoon.

It was at this point where Eli was relieved the tank's hatch had been shut, as the vehicle shook intensely from the volley of rockets that'd come down on the highway, setting off nearby abandoned cars along the highway route. The roar of jet engines suddenly eclipsed the sound of the rotors, and before Eli could look again, the helicopter had been practically obliterated in midair, what little remaining of the craft falling in twisted metal segments onto the various cars blocking the road ahead.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Go around the vehicles."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "Huh?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Ricardo coulda put mines or explosives on 'em, make 'em go off as we go over the cars. It confuses our mine detectors, as it can't differentiate the car from the explosive. Similar incident happened earlier — almost took out a Schwarzkopf."

The platoon continued on, electronic equipment on their tanks working in overdrive to detect threats, potential adversaries and more. The answer came with a shrill BEEEEEPPP in Eli's compartment as one of the monitors displayed a ground-penetrating radar readout of the ground ahead — it was riddled to the brim with explosive devices. Through a series of algorithms run by the computers aboard the tank, they were furthermore identified as Alvimian M11 anti-personnel mines.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "We'll take a hit for the team."

Dual Wielder sped ahead, driving over the personnel mines. Explosions erupted from beneath the tank, yet seemed to have no effect, the tank moving past the 'minefield' unscathed. To confirm this, Eli announced on the radio.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "We're fine!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Célébrate once we’re all across yeah? These blasted miens have taken our comrades out before."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [DRIVER] - [PFC. Archambolt Áken Talonsheyawake] /// - "Movin’ across."

The Président followed fluidly in the wake of Dual Wielder, taking care to monitor its equipment in case it got too close to a mine. With ease, a second M4 MBT passed through without trouble.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [GUNNER] - [SGT. Daryl Towner Three] /// - "Hell yeah! Come on’rver Night Dealer."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [DRIVER] - [PFC. Kelco Woodford] /// - "Fern be with us."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Please don't die... please don't die..."

Night Dealer revved its engines, Kelco's driving carefully attempting to emulate the two successful tanks that'd come before it. It did so with success, reaching the other end of the road without problems.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "You're up, Jungle Jim."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Jungle Jim"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Shakur Davis, Jr.] /// - "Roger. Movin’ up."

The Schwarzkopf in question moved forwards, following the path of the three tanks that followed behind it. Everything seemed to be going fine, until suddenly...

A loud BOOM sounded off as Jungle Jim set off the mines, blowing both its tracks clean off. The Schwarzkopf swerved into several adjacent abandoned civilian cars, crushing them under its hull as it came to a full stop. A tank of this weight and size would take quite some time to have its tracks replaced.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Jungle Jim"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Shakur Davis, Jr.] /// - "Ah, sheeit. Our treads is blown. We’re out of this one."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Well, that's one of us outta co-mission. This'll be a hassle."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "We're continuing?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Of course. Thos're our orders."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Oui, the cavalry can’t be far behind. Let’s press on."

The three tanks persisted on, with a lessened mechanized escort due to the rather significant blockage that now made the regiment's advance notably more difficult. Not all was terrible, however — helicopters from the Federal Army and the Free State Army were moving in to cover them, presumably after dealing with whatever enemies were down in the fields below.

As they pressed forward, they came across a ~46 degree downhill slope. Dual Wielder came to a halt at the edge of the decline, Eli watching the slope with caution.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "You thinkin' it too, sir?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "This is some suspicious 'roadwork'... I don't trust it."

He adjusted the frequency on his ground penetrating radar, toying with it as it 'scanned' the ground ahead of them. A shrill BEEEPPP emitted from one of the computers, indicating something had been detected. Judging by the loudness of this one, it was larger than usual. The image was processed and revealed on the screen, data shared with the adjacent vehicles of the platoon.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "God-damned improvised explosives all fuck'n over.. I'll hafta call somethin' in."

Eli pressed away at several buttons, transmitting the data as 'targets' to the airborne C3I aircraft, who would subsequently feed said data to fighter and CAS aircraft in the area. He waited quietly, watching the skies.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [LOADER] - [Pvt. Jeffry Hoyt] /// - "Uh, call what in?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "You'll see."

An A-13 Lucifer came around, AGM-77 Viper missiles soaring off its hardpoints, striking the various marked positions of the explosives. The result was a spectacle, as a few of the concealed bombs detonated, raising massive plumes of dust, dirt, loose asphalt and debris in the process. When the dust settled, their equipment could read no further presence of explosives.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "All explosives dealt with. Movin' on up."

Dual Wielder moved forward, beginning down the sharp incline. It reached impressive speeds as it descended, slowed only by the craters in the road created by the explosions. Reaching the bottom of the slope, their equipment could detect no further obstructions ahead — they'd passed another trap.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "That’s one way of résolving a problém.. Well, onwards then."

The Président began its turbulent descent down the sharp slope, trying to follow in the safe wake of Dual Wielder. It seemed to be doing well at first, gradually gaining speed as it wavered on the craters - however, it made an abrupt veering from one side of the hill, as if to avoid something Dual Wielder hadn’t caught onto.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "They missed a spot! We’ve got it marquéd, Night Dealer don’t get caught on those craters."

Tactical information from The Président followed her warning within moments: a singular round from the looks of it had escaped the precision strike run, and was situated deviously within the indentation of one of the craters; one wrong turn could send a Schwarzkopf barreling right over it.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "Hopefully they ain't missed another spot..."

Night Dealer carefully descended the slope, following the other two tanks down to the base of the decline. There was apprehension among the others as the tank descended, trying to follow the trail Dual Wielder had taken.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "Well, I sure don't want to--"


The earthshattering explosion immediately gained the attention of The Président and Dual Wielder's crews, who drew their attention to the damaged tank scraping its way downhill. There was a sigh of relief as it occurred to them that said tank hadn't been destroyed, simply immobilized like Jungle Jim. It was worse this time, however: the wheels had been destroyed on the left side, which meant the tank would be out of service for quite awhile.

The tank continued downhill, flipping over and veering into the ditch adjacent to the highway. It was a rather violent way to go down.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Wissons Hsiu] /// - "We're outta commission! Nobody's been injured, thank the President."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Night Dealer"] - [GUNNER] - [Sgt. Lesia Lavannerr] /// - "..we're trapped, we're fucking trapped—"

The situation had clearly left a few of the Night Dealer's crew in a panicked, terrified state. Eli quickly requested a recovery vehicle to the Night Dealer's position, before preparing to persist on.

The six IFV-M7s that'd gotten past the blockage caused by Jungle Jim earlier made their way down, joining them at the base of the slope. Also joining the group from one of the adjacent highway exits were four MBT-M4A4 [HC] tanks (presumably a platoon) and 2 additional IFV-M7s.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Mongoose"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Charles Grey] /// - "Dual Wielder, we've been ordered to lend support by command. Our platoon will work to the best of our capacities to assist your advance down the I-38."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Président, our orders are to continue movin' forward. I 'ssume there ain't any objections to that?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "God will save the crippled, and our ordres are to press on as long as we can. We’re with you, Dual Wielder."

Joined by the new platoon of M4A4 MBTs, The Président and Dual Wielder were now responsible for pursuing the spearhead through a short bend in I-38; a potential chokepoint for Alvimians to be holed up in.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "A'ight. Onward."

The group moved forward down the derelict freeway, guns at the ready. Manning could be seen in the distance, the long-occupied Euphemian city beckoning to them. Small pillars of smoke bellowed from the city, presumably where fighting had been the most intense. The Free State Army was coming in from the various forests around the city, conducting asymmetrical assaults — there were forces inside the city itself too, cells that had awaited the order to commence their assault.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Meerkat"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Jill Stryker] /// - "Any info on what's ahead from our C3I planes?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Mongoose"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Charles Grey] /// - "Negative, they're on the other side of the mountains now."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "You think Ricardo's gonna retreat after their losses?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Meerkat"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Jill Stryker] /// - "Hell if I know. Last I heard, there's talk in their government to consider a retreat. We might win this by New Year's!"

New Year's, huh?" Eli thought. It was a rather optimistic estimate. He expected the Alvimians would escalate the war if they really did intend to retreat. No nation would simply accept such blatant humiliation. The other four tanks were moving just a bit ahead of Eli and Cymbétique's, perhaps due to an excess of enthusiasm. As they approached the turn, a group of Federal Army helicopters soared overhead, target identifications quickly appearing on Eli's map as data was transmitted to their group. The other tanks had made a mistake, driving right into the view of a surprise column of Alvimian T4 tanks. They’d been driving right towards them.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Meerkat"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Jill Stryker] /// - "Shit! Open fire!"


Stryker's tank had been quick enough to take a reaction shot at the surprise visitors, landing a hit on the front of the T4, the tank smoldering and coming to a halt. The fate of the crew was rather easy to assume — only the driver could've potentially survived the hit, and he couldn't harm them in any meaningful form.

The reaction shot from the Alvimians came swiftly, striking the tank's cupola. The horror quickly dawned on everybody as it became evident just what round had been used by the Alvimians.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Meerkat"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Jill Stryker] /// - "OH GOD! FIRE!"

Eli solemnly listened to the screams on the other end. Meerkat had been unlucky enough to have been struck with a white phosphorus round — on the cupola, no less.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Meerkat"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Jill Stryker] /// - "IT BURNS—"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "Fire on those sons'o'bitches!"

Rakshasa took a shot at the Alvimian tanks, missing entirely. The agonized screams of the Meerkat's crew were still audible over comms as white phosphorus 'did its thing', burning them alive.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Meerkat"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Jill Stryker] /// - "I don't want to die..."

The blowout panels on the Meerkat swung open, presumably as a small internal explosion went off. The driver, in the chaos, attempted to escape, only to be cut down by machinegun fire from one of the Alvimian tanks. The commander followed, crawling out and collapsing off the side of the tank, desperately rolling to get the flames off herself.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [GUNNER] - [SGT. Daryl Towner Three] /// - "Ma’am, permission to fuck those Ricardo son’sa’bitches up?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Granted and ordered. Load a WP round. We’ll send one right back at them."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [LOADER] - [PVT. Anthony Brandy Cothrell] /// - "Loaded’n it Ma’am!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [DRIVER] - [PFC. Archambolt Áken Talonsheyawake] /// - "Send it Daryl!"


The Président’s gun shook as it launched a round towards the advancing convoy of Alvimian tanks. While it had been aiming for the leading T4 in the group, the round missed high - but not without striking the cupola of one of the rear T4s in the formation. Karma did its work, the turret of an Alvimian tank incinerated in much the same form as Meerkat’s demise had been. Alese knew how to place her shots well, it seemed.

With their shot fired, The Président’s engine whirred and hastily crossed across the median strip, mounting the opposite roadway to clear out of the line of sight of most of the Alvimian tanks - a wise decision, buying them time to reload.

Eli moved forward, ignoring the morbid scene that'd befallen the Meerkat's crew, slowly moving behind Rakshasa. Amid the chaos of the first few moments of the battle, both tank groups dispersing to assume better positions. The rest of Mongoose's team persisted in the engagement, Rakshasa's positioning covering Eli as he dismounted, desperately hurrying over to Meerkat's commander. There were plenty of burns about her body, but she'd most likely passed out from the sheer trauma and shock. He lifted her over his shoulder, running back to his tank. He was one to prioritize the minimizing casualties, and leaving an injured crewman out in the open wouldn't help anyone. Climbing back into the tank and sealing the hatch, he set the injured tank commander down.

"I commend your nature, sir, but we ain't paramedics," Ralph said, looking at him with confusion.

"I learned 'nough how to deal with this shit, don't worry 'bout nothin'— worry 'bout the fight." Eli replied, rummaging through the first aid kit mounted in the crew compartment.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Peacemaker"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG Aden Whats-Love-Got-To-Do-With-It van der Byl] /// - “Loader, gimme a WP shot. Let’s fry some Ricardo.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Peacemaker"] - [LOADER] - [Pvt. Marshall Everybody-Wants-to-Rule-the-World Merritt] /// - “Loading! Napalm sticks to Ricardo...”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Peacemaker"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG Aden Whats-Love-Got-To-Do-With-It van der Byl] /// - “Fire!”

A WP shot flew out from Peacemaker’s barrel, only to miss and fly past all of the Alvimian tanks. “Shit!” Peacemaker’s commander muttered, as his crew loaded another shell.
Last edited by Valefontaine on Fri Feb 15, 2019 8:14 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz

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Founded: Dec 18, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Valefontaine » Thu Feb 14, 2019 11:28 pm

A sharp noise echoed overhead, presumably as a shell soared over Dual Wielder. "Get us into the blind zone with Pres, will ya?" Eli called over to the driver, George, as he continued treating the Meerkat's commander. There were various points about her arms and legs where the skin had practically peeled off in third-degree burns. Eli had seen his fair degree of fucked-up shit before, so the sight bothered him little as he tended to the sight, bandaging the various deep gashes and burns that'd been created by exposure to the white phosphorus.

George nodded, driving Dual Wielder forward and assuming position behind The Président.

"You think the cameras caught that moment, sir? You's said you didn' like no press!" Paul chuckled. "That's some heroic shit, man."

"I can't just leave somebody to die," Eli got up, noting he'd managed to bandage most of the Meerkat's commander's injuries. "I'm mannin' my post again. Don't fuck around with our rescue."

Mongoose’s platoon was fighting hard, engaging the frontline T4s. Their hulls had angled well, surviving a direct miss once, although Mongoose was hit in the engine bay by what appeared to be an HE shell, it didn’t seem to phase the tank. Rakshasa had attempted to return fire, but that had been a miss as well. The two sides had traded several rounds in the past minute alone.

Next up in the firing chain was Peacemaker, who loaded a round of HEAT and aimed at the Alvimian tank platoon’s leader.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Peacemaker"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG Aden Whats-Love-Got-To-Do-With-It van der Byl] /// - “Let’s show ‘em the power of Euphemian uranium!”

Peacemaker’s loader put in the HEAT shell while it’s gunner took aim at the cupola of the Alvimian leader’s tank.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "Peacemaker"] - [GUNNER] - [SGT Morgan We-Built-This-City Kemp] /// - “Fire!”

Peacemaker fired a new shot, scoring a perfect hit on the Alvimian platoon leader. The tank burst into a series of explosions as it burst into flames, the sound of shells and machine gun ammo popping off audible. An improvement from their missed shot.

Watching the fight transpire, Eli raised the mast on his tank, spotting and designating the Alvimian tanks ahead. This data would be transmitted to the C3I plane in the air, which would in turn be sent to Euphemian aircraft in the AO.

The Président, meanwhile, seemed to have been waiting for the inevitable Alvimian column to advance further up the road - placing them in a perfect position for a side shot.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Let them have it!"


An ATGM fired forth from the tank’s barrel, arcing upwards abruptly like a beacon to all the tanks in the engagement. It moved as a streak of light, before slowly arcing down and slamming into the topside of an Alvimian T4 - one set, unfortunately for them, in the center of their column. It penetrated into the rear hull compartment of the vehicle, eliciting a loud CRACK before bursting the structure of the tank. Flames spewed forth from the cupola and hatches of the T4 abruptly - an ammo explosion. The disabled wreck cut the Alvimian column in two.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [GUNNER] - [SGT. Daryl Towner Three] /// - "HOOAH! By Fern that’sa clean kill!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "All other tanks, focus on the isolated T4s! They’ve been separated!"

Seeing the performance of the others, Eli ordered the tank forward, mast still raised to keep track of the targets ahead of them. Amid the chaos, Paul had loaded an APFSDS shell in, as it was what they typically used in these engagements. He waited until they had the view on the right side turret of one of the Alvimian tanks, then barked his orders to the crew. "FIRE!"

The shell ripped through the side of the tank, damaging its loader.

"WOO! We got that sumbitch!" Ralph exclaimed.

"Load 'nother Ap-Fiss[2] and back us the fuck up!" Eli ordered. The crew complied, driving them backwards past the wall of smoke created by Dual Wielder's countermeasures. Paul hurried another shell in, preparing them for the next potential target before air support arrived.

In a flurry of smoke, Dual Wielder backed up again, carefully repositioning itself. Some might've called it cowardice, but Eli fancied himself capable at maneuver, and wouldn't want to maintain such a dangerous position.

As Eli backed up, one of the wounded Alvimian tanks fired off another shot at Peacemaker. The shot shredded through the lower glacis of the tank - eerily similar to how Hill’s tank had been damaged a day prior, and set it ablaze. The heat of the fires inside quickly reached such a temperature that the paint on the tank began to melt off, clearly nobody inside had survived for long at all. The pressure inside popped the locked tank hatches open, spewing fire out.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Ant, need an AP-Fiss now-"

Alese’s communication was slightly disrupted as the very tank Dual Wielder had just damaged let loose a fresh shot that seemed to connect with The Président’s turret. There was a flurry of sparks, and the tank was quiet for a few moments. No damage seemed apparent.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [GUNNER] - [SGT. Daryl Towner Three] /// - "..Ma’am, the turret don’t turn no’ more.."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "The Président’s turret mechanism is compromised. We’ll maintain our position in case any more T4s approach."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "No worries, Pres."

The remaining Alvimian tanks were suddenly engulfed in a fireball as an F/A-127E Strike Vampire soared overhead, leaving only the instantly-burned husks of the Alvimian forces in its wake.

There were cheers across the radio channels, though it was quite obvious quite a few men had died in the name of this victory. It was incredibly circumstantial, as they'd have been much more prepared if the C3I aircraft had been overhead at the time of the engagement. The four remaining tanks and the units following pressed forward, a few more stragglers that'd been blocked by the Jungle Jim incident earlier catching up with them.

The Euphemian 'convoy' moved forward, down the otherwise empty mountain roads, until they happened upon a rather worrisome cluster of traffic ahead. This brought the group to slowdown as they drew near the mess ahead, though quickly the blip of an approaching C14 Carapina alerted them to the incoming CAS run.


Two bombs had narrowly missed Mongoose, striking instead the mountainside. The aircraft's cannons fired away wildly at the group, missing with fairly disappointing accuracy. It wasn't over yet, though. One of the missiles swerved, nearly striking Mongoose — it was a good thing their tanks had a vast suite of countermeasures against ATGMs.

One hadn’t been so fortunate however. Another ATGM from the Carapina had descended towards the convoy of Euphemian armor, this time heading towards The Président. Countermeasures were rapidly deployed, narrowly throwing off the missile from a certain death by turret penetration - instead, it struck the upper glacis of the tank. It was only thanks to the prior made ERA upgrades mounted to the hull that the effects were severely minimized; so much so that a gaping hole on the upper glacis of spent and blown ERA modules was now evident.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "We’re hit! Internals seem fine, what’s our status Áken?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [DRIVER] - [PFC. Archambolt Áken Talonsheyawake] /// - "Ma’am, you arn’t gonna believe this.. but those fancy blocks just saved our hide."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Bless Maris..”

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [GUNNER] - [SGT. Daryl Towner Three] /// - "Thank Fern.."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [LOADER] - [SGT. Anthony Brandy Cothrell] /// - "Thank’re thoughtfulness, honestly. They wer’a’ight to have them ERA mounted aft’ Midfort!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "Président’s stable and solide, Dual Wielder. It’ll take a lot more than that to keep us down!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Understood. We'll maintain the course, then. I'd be surprised at what they haven't thrown at us yet..."

The tanks moved forward, reaching an overpass atop the highway. Despite the fact they were effectively at Manning's gates, passing the rotting sections of concrete that remained of the city's 'perimeter security walls' as they entered the city. The fighting had worsened, presumably as more Euphemian units arrived to push the Alvimians back. Yet the particular location they found themselves in was eerily calm in contrast, only empty space leading up to the smoldering outskirts of Manning.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "Just don't get y'self killed, Dual Wielder."

The words concerned Eli. His tank was in prime condition, with no damage, so he expected electronics to be working at an optimal condition. As they approached, the mine detector went off with a shrill BEEEEPPPP, ground-penetrating radar marking the mines and relaying the data to the other tanks. The computers of the Schwarzkopf quickly identified the explosives to be anti-tank mines. The stakes were certainly high. They wouldn't be able to stop like last time, as their orders explicitly demanded they go on into the city.

"Well, if this'll be our last hour, 'least let us make it our finest." George chuckled from the driver seat.

There was an ominous sense of finality to Eli's decision as he looked ahead of them. They knew where the mines were, but when commanding a tank the size of the Schwarzkopf, there was always significant room for error.

"Back up 'twenny feet. We'll be movin' ahead carefully." Eli ordered. He looked to the injured commander of the Meerkat, who still lay unconscious in the crew compartment.

There were solemn nods from the crew as they reversed then carefully moved forward, trying their best to not trigger the multiple anti-tank mines concealed beneath the surface. They followed a slight bobbing and weaving motion as they moved forward, apprehension filling the men as Dual Wielder pushed onward.

The readings from the mine detection system suddenly came to a halt, indicating they'd reached the end of the minefield as they went below the overpass. Eli sighed in relief, hands trembling at how close they'd come to certain death.

The Président was the next obvious choice to proceed through the minefield. Alese was relying solely on the data provided from Eli’s Schwarzkopf, and had to trust in precise coordination with her driver to traverse the minefield safely.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "This is the Président.. we’re advancing into the minefield now. Bless Maris in the name of Fern."

She was nervous; it was a well set fear from what’d occurred to the remainder of their platoon, now here was hoping it wouldn’t end the same way. The Président lurched forward, steadily navigating the web of anti-tank landmines. Their tank wasn’t as maneuverable as the Schwarzkopf however..


A large eruption of force and fire burst from beneath the left track of The Président, sending links and wheels flying into the air. The tank was hit with such immense power that it lurched upwards, teetering on one track for several long, painful moments. Thankfully, the tank came back down to a flat surface in one piece - albeit without the left half of its transmission.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Mongoose"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Charles Grey] /// - "Shit!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Pres, y'allright?"

There was a silence. Then, it was followed by a reassuring response,

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "..We’re in one pièce, at least. Bit dinged up in here, and our track’s sacrifiéd."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Thank God.. y'all have served our nation well. We'll keep moving forward... hopefully we'll see each other again after this's all over.."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] Marshall "The Président"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SSG. Cymbétique Alese Levée-Hamilée] /// - "I think I speak for my whole crew when I say go with God’s intent, Dual Wielder.. We’ll garde this underpasse until Red Pine’s brought back right where it belongs. May Maris bless you all."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Godspeed. We'll wait for the rest of the formation to move on."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Mongoose"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Charles Grey] /// - "We're up next."

Mongoose moved forward into the minefield, attempting to simultaneously emulate Dual Wielder's maneuvering and avoid the same fate that'd overcome The Président. Its luck was to be tested...

They failed.


Like The Président, Mongoose was overcome by a blast on its left side, which sent fragments of its wheels and track flying upward, the tank verging on tipping over, before it landed upright once again.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Mongoose"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Charles Grey] /// - "We're alright! We're alright! Crossing's on you, Rakshasa!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "President's blessin' upon this crew..."

The M4A4 [HC] pushed on, driving past its downed comrades through the minefield. Eli watched in apprehension, closing his eyes as a fireball went off — when he'd opened his eyes, he realized it'd been a far detonation to the left of the tank, which had done little more than take off a few armor panels.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "Bloody hell, that was a close one."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "It's just me n' you now. Least 'till the reinforcements clear out those mines."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "Hopefully we ain't some kind'o... 'suicide squad'.."

The two tanks made their way down the desolate highway, pushing on towards the city center, as they'd been directed.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "C3I reports mortar in the area. Caution's advised."

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "We're too fast for 'em."

Dual Wielder kept to the right lane, while Rakshasa kept to the left. A plume of dust before them was indication enough that the enemy was firing mortar, as if to stop their advance.

"We Alvimia's most wanted out here! Shiiit!" George exclaimed, accelerating Dual Wielder through the barrage. Eli could see that an explosion had struck the upper glacis of Rakshasa, another striking the engine compartment (culminating in a spectacular blast) and a third striking the left side of the vehicle. They'd been immobilized and set alight by the attack.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "Shit! Driver's knocked out, engine's on fire!"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A5 Schwarzkopf "Dual Wielder"] - [TANK CMDR/PLTN. LDR.] - [Lt. Eli Yaurie] /// - "Need help?"

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [MBT-M4A4 [HC] "Rakshasa"] - [TANK CMDR] - [SFC. Michael Salvatore] /// - "Nah, we got this under control. Keep moving!"

Dual Wielder moved forward, with much more caution than before. They were the 'last tank standing', which meant they'd be thoroughly finished if they ran into enemy armor. Luckily, the C3I aircraft had come around, and would be able to transmit data on whatever lay ahead of them.

Eli kept his attention to the feed from their 'spotting mast', which was raised to better spot enemies in their vicinity.

"Slow down," Eli instructed, to which George promptly complied. "Ralph, get rid of that Ap-Fiss shell we've got."

"Yes, sir." Ralph nervously answered, firing off the shell into the air.

"Load BGM-81 Far Trident." He then ordered.

"Uh, alright, sir." Paul nodded, loading the guided missile in.

Eli looked at the screen, grinning to himself. A single 105mm M47[3] awaited, aimed at the stretch of road ahead. With the press of a button, he designated the target.

"Follow that target." Eli ordered.

"Uh, sir— that's no tank." Ralph nervously answered, looking at what he'd marked.

"It's the closest thing to guided munitions we've got." Eli responded, smirking. If you somehow miss, man the co-ax — I'll man my machinegun too, and we'll both fill the fuckers with lead while George sends us speedin' down the tunnel."

There were nods of assent among the crew. It sounded like a plan. Ralph carefully angled the tank's gun upward, and then...


The BGM-81 shot out of the Schwarzkopf's barrel, speeding towards the enemy position. In a split second, it'd struck the Alvimian recoilless rifle, ripping it (and its crew) to shreds. There were wild howls and cheers as they sped forward, accelerating through the tunnel and reaching the other side. Manning Plaza was ahead — they'd reached their ordered destination.

Evidently, the Free State Army had gotten there first, as the Euphemian flag (and various FSA militiamen) had gathered there, the destroyed remains of various Alvimian vehicles sitting about in various positions of disarray about the plaza. A banner hung from the town hall, reading 'MISSION ACCOMPLISHED' in hastily-drawn ink.

The men cheered wildly, after what'd possibly been the most grueling task they'd yet encountered.

/// [EUPHFOR] - [133rd Armored Division] - [HQ Section] - [MajGen. Crassus Pontifex Pulse-Power V. Hook] /// - "We've taken central Manning. Central Bureau of Intelligence reports Alvimian military transports crossing into the Alvimian side of the border. They're retreating from Red Pine! We've done it! Euphemie is back!"

The message had reached the men in the plaza, it seemed, as they too were wildly celebrating the event.

"What's the next move, El-Tee?" Ralph asked.

"We've got an injured rescue onboard. Get 'er immediate medical assistance." Eli always had been a goal-oriented type of person, and he wouldn't let that up even amid the celebrations.

1 - Skyline Cola - Skyline Coda is a Euphemian lemon lime beverage bottled in New Pembroke City, Torch City. It's particularly tasty when cold.

2 - Ap-Fiss - Euphemian slang for APFSDS.

3 - M47 - The M47 is an Alvimian 105mm recoilless rifle. When used properly, it can pose a significant threat to even the most powerful and formidable Euphemian tanks.
Too many old nations to count. NS user since 2013.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."

only difference between a negotiation and a battle are the rules of engagement
both are fundamentally based on maneuver
put that in your quote book
-The Enclave Government
-Carl von Clausewitz


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