Same Feud, New Year (AEIA ONLY)

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

Same Feud, New Year (AEIA ONLY)

Postby Chalcia » Fri Mar 01, 2019 6:02 am

Same Feud, New Year

"Wreaths belong to those who labor"

North of Ferres, near the Veleazan border
77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion, 34th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, 7th Mechanised Infantry Division
0840 hours

The first days of spring didn't bring the warm and sunny weather generally associated with the season. Northern Chalcia was as cold and humid as it had been throughout the winter, with the snowfalls only ceasing to be replaced by downpours of rain. The ground was muddy and puddles of rainwater had formed virtually everywhere, most prominently on the craters left on the ground by the war that had ended only mere months ago. Visibility was bad, and one could only see about a dozen metres around him through the punishing rain and thick fog of the early morning. What was - arguably - even worse was that sound was as equally blocked by the rainfall, and the eight men of the patrol could barely hear each other talk, let alone hear possible hostile vehicles or infantry nearby.

The 8-man squad of the Chalcian Army belonged to 5th Platoon, 2nd Company, 77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion and were patrolling across the Veleazan-Chalcian border, north of the city of Ferres. All of them wore olive drab waterproof ponchos over their webbing and lizard-pattern uniform, and were equipped with G3A4s, MINIMIs and a couple of RPG-18s. Half of them were veterans of the war, with scars to prove it, and had experienced combat first hand. The other half, however, were conscripts that were drafted too late in the war and had never seen battle, their squad leader included. The were nearing the end of the patrol, and all of them were anxious to return to the base and get a wam meal and change into some dry clothes.

They walked in a tight column along the dirt road, trying to stay on the middle of it so as to not sink in the mud on the sides of the path. Regardless, most of them had the dark brown sludge up to their calfs, and despite their waterproof combat boots, their feet and socks where soaked in rainwater. Only the last waypoint of their patrol had remained, on a crossroads about a kilometre from the border. They were walking on an old dirt road through open ground that was once a corn field, one of the many in the area, but was now filled with bomb craters from the war, and the corn crops had been trampled by tanks and heavy vehicles passing through. It was a different patrol route that their usual one, but the SL, Sergeant Ilias Vasiliou, had assured them that they would reach the last waypoint in about 5 minutes. From there, they would backtrack halfway towards their starting area where another squad would arrive to replace them in a truck.

Sgt. Vasiliou, leading the column, stopped abruptly and the soldiers behind him almost crashed into each others backs. He stood there, frozen, without turning to face them. The fog had somewhat dissipated and the downpour had lightened up, but the soldiers on the column still couln't see what was ahead. Irritated and anxious to get on with it and return to base, Corporal Nikos Makris, the squad's second-in-command and one of the veterans, bypassed the others from his position in the column's rear and walked up to the sergeant to see what was going on. What he saw made him freeze as well. The soldiers behind them stared at them; the new ones where confused, and the veterans worried. And they were right to be worried. Instead of an asphat crossroads, the path stopped abruptly on a wall of barbed wire and tank traps. A sign was behind the barbed wire that read "WARNING - MINEFIELD" in Veleazan, Chalcian and English. Bellow the text was the Veleazan flag, notably the now outdated, communist one. This was the border. They had lost their way in the fog and rain and had ended up on the bloody border.

Makris was ready to disregard rank and start yelling at the Sergeant for misreading the map and leading them right next to Veleazan turf when they heard a voice yelling at them across the border.

"Take cover, now!" Makris shouted at the others and shoved Vasiliou into cover inside a ditch on the side of the road. The men obeyed and scrambled to whatever cover their could find, hinding in ditches, craters and behind large rocks, and he dove in the ditch alongside Vasiliou. The sergeant seemed to be returning to his senses and was checking his rifle.

They heard a voice again, which was now amplified by a megaphone, enabling them to actually hear what was being said over the rain. It was in english, but the strong Veleazan accent was notable.


Before Markis could say anything, Vasiliou was shouting back "WE ARE ON OUR STANDARD PATROL ROUTE. WE ARE NOT TO BE HARASSED-"

"What the fuck are you doing!?" the corporal interupted him.

"Watch your language, corporal" Vasiliou glared at him "You heard the Major's instructions; we're not to be intimidated by the Veleazans. They won't do anything anyway, they just want to scare us."

"Are you out of your mind? You fucked up and lead us straight to the border, and now you want to play tough?" he had to restrain himself from screaming at his squad leader's face.

*"TURN AROUND IMMEDEATELY, OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO OPEN FIRE!"* the man across the border shouted at them through his megaphone again.

"Sergeant, sir, what are our orders?" one of the other squad members asked from behind a rock.

"Once again, corporal, you're out of line." Vasiliou seemed to ignore the soldier's plea "Watch your mouth, or i'll have to report you. For the last time, we cannot let ourselves be bossed around by the enemy"

Vasiliou raised his head to shout again, but Makris grabbed him by the webbing and brought him back into the ditch "The enemy? What enemy? The war's over you green piece of shit! Are you trying to start it again?"

"Orders are orders!" Vasiliou protested, yanking the corporal's arm off his webbing.

Makris was ready to punch the sergeant unconscious but the loud *crack* of incoming fire interupted him. Long bursts of green tracer fire kicked up mud, hitting near, but not quite on the Chalcian soldiers. While visibiliy had increased after the fog thinned out, the Veleazans were still shooting at vague shapes from their side of the border fence. What appeared to be .50 cal fire hit near the ditch they where sheltering in, and Vasiliou instinctively almost burried his face into the mud in reaction. Makris felt him shudder next to him; it was after all the inexperienced Sergeant's first time under hostile fire. The veteran corporal took the initiative.

"Return fire! Papas, Kontos, smoke grenades, now!"

The two SAW gunners of the squad started responding to the Veleazan fire with their MINIMIs, letting off bursts of red 5.56 tracers. Their fire was shortly after reinforced by the riflemen's G3s, who fired in single-shot but in rapid succession. Markis heard the distintive sound of the smoke grenades being activated and thrown, after after some seconds he dared raise his head and take a look around. The smoke had expanded well enough to cover their retreat, though both sides were still firing blindly through it. He added to the Chalcian fire with his own rifle, trying to aim at the muzzle flashes he saw through the fog or at least the vague origin of the tracer fire. He looked back into the ditch and saw that Vasiliou was still lying face down into the mud, now visibly shaking. That was a CSR case if he'd ever seen one. He grabbed the Sergeant by the webbing and flipped him around, revealing a face covered with sludge. He shook him violently and after cursing him, his mother, and various other members of his family, he addressed the men.

"Fall back! Fire and maneuever! Petrides, you got the mauenuver fireteam, go!"

"Yes sir!" the veteran squad marksman replied.

Petrides got up from cover, followed by two of the riflemen, the rest of the squad - minus Vasiliou who was still in shock - providing cover for them. After some moments, the three retreating soldiers turned around, went prone and started providing covering fire. Makris got up, dragging Vasiliou behind him. They bypassed to covering fireteam and took positions themselves, opening fire shortly after. The shellshocked sergeant seemed to be getting better now, and he started firing as well. Returning enemy fire always pumped some confidence into a soldier. The process was repeated several times until they were far enough that the fog and rain engulfed them, concealing them from Veleazan fire that now was wildly off target. After they made sure visibility between them and the hostiles was entirely obstructed, they made a mad dash back towards the way they came.

The managed to reach a treeline, where they took shelter, some of the men collapsing from fatigue while a couple standing guard, their rifles ready. There, Makris opened his thigh pouch, took out the local maps and started studying them. He looked around, trying to spot landmarks, paths and roads through the fog. After a while, he showed the map to Vasiliou, emphatically pointing with his finger the turn that the sergeant had missed on their way here. Vasiliou looking both physically and mentally exhausted, just looked away.

"Laskaris, get over here" Makris called to the squad radioman.

The young soldier got on his feet and approached "Sir!"

"Radio Company HQ - no, actually, call Battalion. Tell them we were fired upon by Veleazans on the border two clicks north of Iphitis hill, the one with the temple on it. Let them know that we may have pursuers, so we will fall back to the base of the hill next to the eastern road and take up a defensive positions there. Tell them to pick us up there."

"Yes sir!" the radioman said and went to call Battalion HQ.

"5 minutes rest everyone, and we're off for Iphitis" Makris announced to the men.
Last edited by Chalcia on Mon Mar 04, 2019 5:50 am, edited 1 time in total.
This is an alt/secondary account of Stasnov

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New York Times Democracy

Postby Veleaz » Fri Mar 01, 2019 6:03 pm

South of Segovia, Veleazan Border Station
B Centuria, 5th Border Cohort, 1st Internal Legion, 1st Border Vexilatio, 3rd Legion Victoria
0835 hours

Time always seemed to be indecisive and hesitant in how it decided how fast it should go. Long moments a slow, monotonous drag that seemed to never end, followed immediately by short bursts of excitement and blur. This went double for those unfortunate to be a member of the Veleazan military, which was the case for Francisco Elcano. Barely 26, and already having seen more action in the brief two-month long Triskaideka War, or the Liberation War, as the old Veleazan regime branded it, than he had throughout the past 5 year years of service, or even the 12 years of service that his father had had before him. To be fair, no one could've predicated that Veleaz would've gone from throwing threats to backing them up, least of all Francisco. Before the war, he was just entering his sixth year of service and had spent much of it along the Appian Wall, which was about as exciting as watching paint dry, with disappointing weather to boot. His redeployment to the Chalcian border in the January of 2018 had been a welcome break, here at least he would gain the benefit of sun during his hours of standing around doing nothing. That, and he was closer to home.

Of course, skip a few months of the aforementioned standing around, he was thrust into the armed thrust into Chlacia mere days before he could take a weeks leave. He could remember the shock on the elderly Chalcian's face when he saw Francisco's squad enter his small village, just outside of Litochoro. Hell, he could remember the conversation;

"Invading, at this time of day?" the old man had asked, his nonchalance at facing a group of armed men putting Francisco off balance.

"Might as well enjoy the sun while it's out" He had replied, having regained himself. The first few days were easy for them, the Chalcians were about as surprised as the Midrasians when the Veleazans attacked and offered, at best, a handful of gunshots before pulling back. He blamed his own naivety for not expecting the counterattack at Makarioupolis, but this was his first war. It had come hard and swift, a polar opposite to the morning they had had, spending it laying in the grass and playing football. An onslaught of shells drove them to cover in pre-dug ditches or any building, then, as if from the smoke itself, the Chalcians came and forced them from the city, at quite a cost to both sides. The battle also gave his squad their first casualty, 19 year-old Eugenio Montero, a stray bullet in the back of his neck had put him down, not so much as a twitch coming from his as he hit the ground. Certainly wasn't an easy memory.

After Makarioupolis, they spent the next four weeks on the back foot, offering stiff resistance where they could, but they could feel their moral sap whenever news came through from the Midrasian or Sclavic front. The Midrasian entrance into Tolvas was what had the largest effect, with the entire front being pulled back to the relatively safety of the Segovian Hills, ironically where Francisco found himself now. Following the surrender of Veleaz, he applied, and was transferred to one of the Border Cohorts. Not out of any sense of duty, but the Border Cohorts were the only units that were still taking on new men, and Francisco still wanted to get paid. And that's how he found himself here, only a handful of hours south of where he had ended the war, though this time, he was happy not to worry about any would be enemies creeping up on him. Plus, he was close to Zamarramala, the beautiful coastal town he had grown up in and where his family still lived.

"Hey, Cabo, how long do the rains here often last?" a voice asked, tearing Francisco from his reminiscing thoughts. The rain always did that to him.

"At worst, all day. At best? Maybe another 10 minutes." he answered, tearing his gaze away from the border fence where he eyes had fixated, though whether he had been paying attention was dubious, to look at Federico Echegaray, the only private in his platoon that had not seen action during the Triskaideka War. They had adopted him eagerly, christening him 'el hijo', though he was often utilised for meaningless tasks that wouldn't put him in harms way. None of the Platoon trusted the brief training period he would've been given during the war, and the NCOs often took turns giving him more effective lessons, "Why? Not used to the rain?".

"No, Cabo, it's just that I thought I could see something on the road by the fence, but I can't tell from the rain" Federico replied, visibly straining his eyes to get a look, physically lifting himself up on the stationary ADD-67, prompting a smack on the back of his head by Francisco.

"We don't climb on the weaponry. The Party provided this out of the Kindness of the Generalissimo's heart." he said, only half-jokingly. An apology by Federico heralded the lessening of the rain, improving visibility. "Hijo...were you saying you could see something by the centre road?" Francisco asked, eyeing dark shapes that had come to a stop by the border fence. Armed figures.

"Yes, Cabo"

"THIS IS THE VELEAZAN ARMY. TURN AROUND IMMEDEATELY!" Francisco yelled at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of the Company's captain, Arturo Gutiérrez-Reverte.

"Cabo? What's got you yelling?" he asked.

"Chalcians, sir" Francisco answered, matter-of-factly. A look of confusion, followed quickly by apprehension, passed over Arturo's face. Francisco pointed to the crowd of now scrambling Chalcians in the distance.

"Right then, you know the drill. Two more warnings, then we hit them with some warning shots. We might've lost to them in the last war, but this does not grant them to right to infringe on our sovereignty. Am I understood?"

"Crystal, sir" Francisco answered, picking up the megaphone and repeating his line "THIS IS THE VELEAZAN ARMY. TURN AROUND IMMEDEATELY!", definitively sure they had heard him this time. By the time he finished, the Captain was gone, informing the rest of the Company and his Tenientes.

"Why aren't they fucking turning around?" Federico said, nervously eyeing them up.

"Nevermind that, prepare the ADD for warning shots" Francisco responded, his rigorous training taking over.

"Course, Cabo"

"TURN AROUND IMMEDEATELY, OR WE WILL BE FORCED TO OPEN FIRE!" he said, adding "You fucking fools, just turn around" under his breath as he pulled the megaphone back. Their refusal to move only confused him further. Did they not know the war was over? Were they trying to provoke another one?

"What now, Cabo?". Francisco quietly gulped. They had refused all three warnings, and the Veleazans could not be seen as unwilling to back up their threats, they couldn't be seen as spineless, they'd be humiliated enough.

"Warning shots, 5 metres left. FIRE!" he ordered, with Federico acquiescing. The rhythmic Ka-tung ringing out, with small pieces of mud flicking up from the shockwave leaving the barrel. However, it soon became clear the warning shots were misinterpreted, with Francisco ducking as a round of 5.56mm rounds embedded themselves in the trench wall behind them. "Fucking HIJOS DE PUTA, aim at them for fuck sake" he ordered, picking up his RdA-21 firing in bursts at the Chalcians. Soon, the entire trench were exchanging fire with the Chalcians, with the sound of shouting behind them making it clear that the rest of the Company were responding to the sound of gunfire in kind.

"Smokes up sir, should I keep firing?" Federico asked. Francisco almost couldn't help but chuckle in the midst of the fighting, the sheer innocence in the private's questions.

"Negative, keep firing until Teniente Zulueta orders us to stop." He answered, shooting at his guess to where they were in the smoke. Soon, however, the order to ceasefire came round, with the NCOs summoned to meet with Zulueta. The fair haired Teniente looked less than pleased with the situation.

"To put it simply, the Captain's pissed and has already had altered Cohort HQ. He wants a platoon to follow the retreating Chalcians to engage and provide positions for mortars, who'll hit them hard, before the Platoon pulls back to the trench, understood? Good, B Platoon, B Centuria, you're up. You got 2 BMPs with you to provide vehicle support." The NCOs nodded and returned to their positions.

"Right, Federico, we're off".

"Off, Cabo?"

"We're going Chalcian hunting" Francisco replied, clipping his webbing over his Flora camouflage and filling its pockets with magazines "Zulueta will give you the brief, let's move"
Last edited by Veleaz on Fri Mar 01, 2019 6:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Chalcia » Mon Mar 04, 2019 6:17 am

Base of Iphitis Hill, North of Ferres, near the Veleazan border
77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion, 34th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, 7th Mechanised Infantry Division
0900 hours

The white marble of the ancient Chalcian temple on the mountaintop contrasted the colours of nature surrounding it. It was strange to see such a temple in the middle of nowhere; most ancient Chalcian temples usually had some form of other buildings surrounding them. They were either located in cities or in the middle of the large Necropolises of the Kentavrian period, but not this one. The temple on top of Iphitis was dedicated to Pan, the God of the wild in the ancient Chalcian pantheon, and it seemed fitting for his temple to be in the wild, away from civilization. It had stood there over the centuries, not only facing the wrath of nature itself, but also the brutality and arrogance of man. The temple, maybe exactly because of its remote location, had survived through countless wars and even the enforcement of Christendom in Chalcia during the medieval times. But would the destruction wrought by humankind's feuds spare it today?

Makris shook away his thoughts in his hastily made dugout on the slope of the hill, and returned to checking his G3A4 rifle. The atmosphere was so humid that he felt soaked down to his skin through three layers of clothing, which made him even more paranoid about his rifle's ignition chamber getting wet and jamming during a firefight. The fog had risen and largely dispersed by now, and the rainfall had been reduced to a drizzle that seemed to be undetermined on whether it wanted to blow up in a storm again or stop for good.

The squad had been dispersed around the northeastern side of the hull that overlooked the main road going to the border, and had a good view of the area almost up to the border. Each squad member was in a shallow foxhole, with each dugout having a 10 to 20 metre interval between the others; spread out enough to avoid multiple casualties by single hits, but close enough to hear shouted orders if necessary. Makris' foxhole was in the middle, with Petrides to his left and Vasiliou to his right. The sergeant seemed to have resigned from the command of the squad and had entirely given up on trying to re-assert his authority. He barely spoke and he didn't dare look the men in the eye. As such, Makris had retained his emergency command of the squad, and in all honesty, he didn't mind at all.

Makris heard someone whistling on his left, and turned to see Petrides pointing at the road. He took out his binoculars and scanned the area. A kilometre or so to their north, coming out of the fog, where a couple of IFVs with infantry riding desant on top of their hulls. He counted at least two dozens of them, heavily armed and with a BMP-3 and a BMP-2 for support. He and his squad didn't stand a chance against a mechanized platoon, even with the high ground and the element of surprise on their side. He couldn't stand and fight it out and hope to survive. On the other hand, they were closing fast and would soon be on top of them, so he couldn't retreat up hill either, unless he wanted to get himself and his men spotted immediately. He had mere seconds to make a decision.

The all too well known whistle of incoming mortar shells brought him out of his dilemma. The danger of being spotted if retreating was never really a danger; it was already a reality. Three shells impacted behind them in quick succession, and soon more followed suit. Makris fought the urge of his instincts to lay as close to the ground as his foxhole allowed him and raised his head, screaming over the bombardment.

"Return fire! Return fire!"

The dug-in soldiers obeyed, firing on the incoming BMPs and dismounts with their rifles and LMGs, with the enemy opening up as well. Green and red tracer fire intertwined in the air between the opposing forces, and were soon joined by the heavy heavy yellow-ish tracers of the BMPs 30mm guns. The "thump-thump-thump" of the autocannons was followed by explosions on the hillside where the high explosive shells had impacted, adding to the already suppressive but off-target mortar barrage. The trunks of the trees on the hillside exploded and fell over as they were hit by the incoming fire.

Far to Makris' right, Papas was killed in his foxhole by a direct him from a 30mm hight-explosive incendiary round, his body reduced to a pulp, while Romanos, one of the LMG gunners, was raked by 7.62 rounds from one of the enemy machine guns. To the left, Petrides took a piece of fragmentation to his right arm, and disappeared into his foxhole. Markis could hear him screaming; at least he was alive. On the far left flank of their line, he heard a sudden "bang" as one of the squad's two RPG-18s, and he saw the rocket drop and fall in front the advancing Veleazan light armour and infantry. The enemy had them in range for his heavy weaponry, but the Chalcian AT weapons were out of range. Now only one RPG-18 remained with the squad, and that meant that they could disable at least one of the BMPs. He cursed out loud as he fired his weapon, remembering that the last RPG was carried by Papas, and was probably shattered by the HE round that had killed him.

More mortar rounds fell, but now they were falling even closer, while the small arms fire and the incoming 30mm autocannon shells continued to punish the remaining Chalcians. To his left, Petrides had stopped screaming, probably dead from blood loss, while Kontos had become another casualty, ripped apart by mortar shrapnel

Despite the chaos pf the explosive inferno on the hillside, Makris managed to spot movement with the corner of his right eye. He was petrified for a moment, thinking that the Veleazans had sent additional men to flank them. But he realized it wasn't Veleazan reinforcements; Vasiliou had left his foxhole and was running down the line to far right of the formation, towards the deceased Papas' foxhole. Idiot is trying to play hero Makris thought as he inserted a fresh 20-round magazine into the G3s mag well and slapped down the charging handle. He raised his head as much as the incoming fire allowed and tried to scream at Vasiliou to get back to cover.

The disgraced sergeant never heard him over the chaotic firefight, or at least pretended never to hear him. Vasiliou dove next to Papas' charred remains and started searching, incoming fire falling around him. After a dozen seconds which had felt like an hour, he managed to retrieve the RPG-18, battered, but largely intact. Makris saw the sergeant run forward with the short tube in his hands, trying to get closer to the enemy to get a better shot. He switched to full auto to provide as much covering fire as he could and started firing short bursts at the enemy. He watched Vasiliou as the sergeant dashed forward between the tree trunks; incoming fire seemed to evade him as by miracle. The Veleazans where about 400 metres away now, but Vasiliou had closed to about 200 metres with them.

Makris saw him brace his body one a tree, aim, and fire the RPG. He watched the rocket fly through the air towards the enemy BMPs, almost in slow motion. It seemed that the sergeant's aim was true; the HEAT warhead was flying directly towards the leading BMP. The rocket impacted, and the advancing IFV disappeared in a cloud of smoke and dust. He had done it! The bastard had hit it! They had managed to bloody the enemy's nose and-

The BMP-3 reappeared through the smoke, its left track taken out but the vehicle was still intact and operational. It slew its turret around and strafed the hillside with another burst of 30mm rounds. The other BMP and the infantry continued to advance past it and punish the Chalcians with heavy fire. Another Chalcian foxhole exploded after a direct mortar hit, instantly killing its occupant, a private named Ioannides.

Makris was almost ready ready to give up and throw his weapon down, his morale crushed and his body too tired to continue the fight. It was then that the other BMP exploded in a ground-shaking blast, its mechanical guts spilling out of the massive hole on its side.

West of Iphitis Hill, North of Ferres, near the Veleazan border
35th Armoured Battalion, 34th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, 7th Mechanised Infantry Division
0911 hours

"Target hit!" the gunner reported.

The empty shell casing dropped into the turret floor with a "clank" and the loader slammed another HEAT round into the 120mm gun's breach. The advancing Leopard 2A6CHAL of Cpt. Alexandros Raptis rushed the advancing Veleazan mechanised platoon from their western flank,alongside four other Leopards of the 35th Armoured Battalion's 1st Tank Company, 3rd Platoon. The Chalcian steel beasts traversed the open countryside, followed by 77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion's 2nd Company, riding in 13 M113s APCs behind them. The MBTs sprayed the enemy with their coaxial 7.62 GPMGs and .50 cals, while the second tank of the platoon took out the wounded BMP-3 with another HEAT round.

They had caught the Veleazans in the open. The Leopards stopped and so did the M113s behind them, unloading 130 soldiers from their rear ramps. The three infantry platoons fanned out and advanced towards the Veleazans in loose formation, firing their small arms at the enemy and covered by the APCs and MBTs. More HEAT shells flew towards the remaining Veleazan infantry, throwing geysers of mud, dirt, and severed body parts into the air as they impacted among them. The MBTs slowly started advancing towards along with the infantry towards the now retreating enemy. What was a victorious assault for the Veleazans had now turned into a crushing rout.

Base of Iphitis Hill, North of Ferres, near the Veleazan border
77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion, 34th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, 7th Mechanised Infantry Division
0920 hours

The rainning had completely stopped and the fog had all but disappeared by now. The ancient temple on the hilltop was burning; hit several times by the Veleazan mortars, the canvas covers put on top of the temple by archaeological teams to protect the ancient building from corrosive rain had caught fire. Large chunks of white marble where thrown into the air by direct mortar hits and where now scattered throughout the hill and the surrounding area. It was a sad sight to behold, thousands of years of history blown away in a mere 20 minutes. But that was only the lightest casualty of the day.

As the sounds of the Chalcian pursuit of the retreating Veleazans became more and more distant as the engagement moved north, the remaining squad of corporal Makris was gathered around a disfigured body bellow Iphitis hill. Petides, who had after all survived the shrapnel hit and was now being taken care of by the medics of the Battalion's 1st Company, which had arrived after the main relief force to secure the area and retrieve the survivors.

Makris knelt next to the body; the name tag on the torn uniform's breast was too covered with blood to make out the letters. He reached bellow the gored head and pulled the dog tags from the body's neck. The inscription was "ILIAS VASILIOU 207-002908-16 (A)+". He stood up and clutched the small metallic plate in his hand.

"Wreaths belong to those who labor" he quoted the ancient Chalcian proverb and the Brigade's motto.
Last edited by Chalcia on Thu Mar 14, 2019 2:32 pm, edited 4 times in total.
This is an alt/secondary account of Stasnov

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New York Times Democracy

Postby Veleaz » Fri Mar 08, 2019 9:53 am

South of Segovia, Veleazan Border Station
B Centuria, 5th Border Cohort, 1st Internal Legion, 1st Border Vexilatio, 3rd Legion Victoria
0910 hours

"FALL BACK! FIRE AND MANOEUVRE!" Captain Zulueta shrieked over the ecstasy of combat, his orders being echoed by the numerous hardened NCOs and knee-shaking privates, eager to rid themselves of the overwhelming energy and testosterone that ripped through their bodies. The less experienced men of the unit found their aim to be shaky due to their hands not being used to the drug that was combat. Francisco wasted no time in ensuring the younger ones moved back first, holding his position and firing at the attacking and entrenched Chalcians. It was only when he heard his name called over the shriek of mortars that he sprinted back, before resuming his position. Through the smoke of the shattered BMP-3, he could see the injured and dead being desperately dragged by the men that knew them, without hesitation Francisco fired to cover them.

This pattern of retreat and covering fire continued for the best part of ten minutes before they were comfortably out of the Chalcian reach, who had long ceased since firing at them. Then did the Veleazan retreat turn into a full-blown sprint to cross back over the border, with the rest of the Cohort having been alerted to the withdrawing squadron, thus placed on high-alert should the Chalcians, who had had their noses bloodied by the Veleazans, decide to take a retaliatory strike against them.

In the distance he could hear a shot being fired off, before an angry exchange of words took place. He could easily infer the list of curses that were used, and he would have used them too. After all, no one wants to be killed by their own side, especially after surviving contact with the enemy. Soon the managed to pass through the defence line and held in the rear, either kneeling or sitting, however everyone still kept their weapons on hand, just in case. Quickly, Zulueta stood in front of the assembled men;

"Right, the good news is our casaulties are by no means drastic, the crew of the BMP-3 are confirmed dead, with a further 5 killed during the ambush. Injured, we have 6 that we've recovered, but 3 others remain unaccounted for. Clearly, the Chalcians were expecting us and purposely engaged us at the border to draw us out. Why? I can't say for sure, but the Chalcians are by no means ready to accept any of the signed peace accords. We've already sent reports over to HQ with instructions to directly to inform the Interim President, even at the cost of interrupting the Constitutional Convention. However, we can't be too sure how intensive the Chalcian threat is and summoned reserves from Zamarramala and Medina-Sidonia. I need volunteers to act as liaisons with those units." Zulueta reported, with Francisco's hand shooting up.

"I'll go, Sir, I'm from the area, so I'll be able to integrate with the Zamarramalan contingent more efficiently"

"Right then, take Federico Echegaray with you. Where is he?" Zulueta asked

"Dead, sir. He was right next to the BMP-3 when the tracks came off. Couldn't find a trace of him afterwards. I'll Soldado Pacheco and Soldado Yanes with me, if that's acceptable" he answered, with Zulueta nodding in agreement. "Pacheco, Yanes, get your things" he said, rising from his squat position, with the two younger men following him. It was by no means random he chose these two. They both had only arrived in the Cohort the week previously and have been near the BMP-3 when it exploded, and he knew the effect it would have the two green men, so he assumed bringing them behind the lines to come to terms with it would be more efficient than placing them on a monotonous defensive position would be.

In no time, he had picked up his small amount of belongings, sparing a quick glance at the now empty Echegaray bed, and left the accommodation, flagging down a transport truck, and taking a seat in the rear with his two subordinates. Soon after, they were on the road to Zamarramala.

El Antiguo Salón, Central Veleaz
B Centuria, 1st Signals Cohort, 1st Internal Legion, 1st Vexilatio, 2nd Legion Victoria
0930 hours

The halls of the medieval El Antiguo Salón were by no means quiet, with the sound of arguing and debate ringing out across its hallowed halls, as well as the click of shoe heels upon its marbled flooring, as attendants rushed to and fro. Carlos de Quevedo was one of such man, having arrived mere minutes earlier in a requisitioned truck, his otherwise smart military uniform had become covered with the light dust the truck had kicked up during its frantic drive to El Antiguo, with a small entourage of OPF cars that were trying to flag the truck down. He had barely threaded through the crowd of police before he managed to reach the doors of the building and enter.

"Where's Collado?" he asked, his breath momentarily escaping him. He was pointed down one of the many hallways, with the noises of police officers desperately calling after him to stop, but he couldn't. The news was just too important to explain away. Rounding the corner of the hallway, he collided with an imposing figure of a man. Looking up, Carlos recognised the man immediately, General de Ejército Benito Sotomayor, one of the numerous top-brass that had rejoined the military following their release from communist imprisonment on charges of perceived counter-revolutionary behaviour, though in Sotomayor's case, it really was.

"Calm it, soldier." he ordered, with Carlos instinctively saluting and handing him the paper, his breath too ragged to inform him of the issue. Sotomayor's face was a mask when reading the field action report, detailing the skirmish with Chalcian forces and the rumoured ambush and pre-meditated nature of the incident. The sound of incoming police became louder and louder, Sotomayor looking up to see 5 policemen standing at the end of the hall. Dismissing them with a wave of his hand,he spun on his heel and motioned for Carlos to follow, him doing so without question.

Arriving out of the Interim President's office, they paused momentarily before entering; catching the Interim President in the midst of a heated debate with on of his ministers;

"-ting those blasted Crylantians was a mistake. They would do away with everyone's military if they could, and will not cease in their insistence of neutrality..." one of the ministers could be heard saying, before being silenced by Collado;

"General Sotomayor, a pleasure as always, what has you looking quite so rattled?" Collado asked, seeming to notice minute details on the General's face that no one else could, to everyone else he look almost stoic.

"Bad news, Señor, very bad news" Sotomayor responded, handing him the battle report. Collado's originally relaxed face quickly became furrowed. Without removing his eyes from the report, he spoke.

"This remains buried until the Constitution is agreed upon, am I understood?"

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Founded: Mar 22, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Chalcia » Thu Mar 14, 2019 4:27 pm

Veleazan territory, Veleazan-Chalcian Border
Alpha Raider Battalion, 33rd Raider Regiment, Mountain Raider Command
0300 hours, March 8th

The downpour had ceased, and most of the afternoon sky had been dominated by the bright sun high sky. Spring was finally upon the Chalcian Republic and the newly born Veleazan state. The five trucks of the Veleazan border guards drove through the crossroads heading north, their headlights lighting their way and their large tires splashing the water puddles formed by yesterday morning's constant raining. Despite the seriousness of the situation between the two states, the Veleazan soldiers in the vehicles' cargo holds were chatting casually as the 6x6 tucks sped on the road, finally relieved as they were taken back to their barracks from the border outpost. Some of them were smoking and laughing, exchanging jokes while others more somberly made comments about the events of yesterday morning.

One of the border guards on the third truck tossed the cigarette butt of his spent smoke out of the vehicle, and it landed near the bush on the roadside. After some moments, when the trucks were now speeding away, the bush moved. It doubled in height, grew feet and legs and stomped on the still lit cigarette butt, putting out the small flame. More bushes nearby turned into anthropomorphic forms, producing silenced assault rifles and LMGs from under their overgrown bellies. The lush green monsters scanned the immediate area with their bulky, metallic googly eyes and through the sights of their weapons. Once they made sure it was clear, the one in the front made a couple of quick movements with his hands, and another one of the strange forms approached, handing him the headset of a long-range, high-gain radio.

"Cub 2 to Wolfmother, five amphorae with twenty olives each left the third market stall and are returning to the warehouse"

"Copy that, Cub 2" a voice cracked through the raido "Proceed as you were. Wolfmother, out"

Team 2, 1st Platoon, Alpha Raider Battalion of the famed and dreaded Chalcian Mountain Raider Command, rapidly crossed to the other side the road. One could hardly tell that they were human, their ghillie suits perfectly breaking the shape of their silhouettes. The 8-man team was armed with M4s and a couple MINIMI LMGs, as well as a M21 DMR, all of them equipped with attachments appropriate for their mission; infrared laser sights, night-vision scopes and most importantly, silencers. Beneath their ghillie suits they wore their digital lizard pattern uniforms and plate carriers, and on their backs were large carryall backpacks that were also covered with camo netting identical to their ghillies.

They were one of the six teams - the total complement of Alpha Raider Battalion's first two Platoons - that crossed the border that evening at sunset. Their callsigns were Cub 1 through 6, and they had a variety of missions in preparation of what was to come in 27 hours. Team 2's mission was one of the most important of the bunch; the location of five separate Veleazan SAM sites across the border that could pose a threat to Chalcian air assets when the attack begun. Their timetable given to them was more than enough to accomplish their task, which was easy enough. The SAM sites would be flattened by Chalcian artillery and SEAD strikes as soon as the invasion started.

What what came after the primary mission, was their secondary task, which was much harder. The secondary task was the elimination of the Veleazan 3rd Legion's commanding officer, and they had to wait all 36 hours to do it. High Command had identified the 3rd Legion as one of the main formations standing in the way of any Chalcian advance in the area, and crippling its command by killing the Legion's commander would mean the attacking units would face a much more disorganized enemy. Locating the SAM sites was a textbook operation for special operation forces personnel, but an assassination was something bold and risky; something that hyped up the Raiders more than anything they had faced before. Still, that had to wait.

Team 2 crossed the field into a treeline and disappeared in the darkness among the hedgerows.

Mavropefko Forest, near the Border
35th Armoured Battalion, 34th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, 7th Mechanised Infantry Division
0100 hours, March 9th

There were 13 Leopard 2A6CHAL main battle tanks in the treeline, but Captain Alexandros Raptis couldn't see a thing, even when he looked through night vision optics. The fact that his Company had become so proficient in concealing their vehicles. Intense training, and most importantly, actual combat experience does that to soldiers, he thought. He then remembered that behind his tanks was also the full 77th Mechanised Infantry Battalion; 41 M113 APCs plus support vehicles and 640 infantrymen. He begrudgingly accepted that those footsloggers were also good in concealing their own equipment. Not as good as his tankers, but good enough.

Raptis walked among the concealed armoured personnel carriers and their infantry squads that were huddled together next to their vehicles, discussing in low voices. He was dying for a smoke, and he knew that many of the men did as well. However, Brigadier Charalampos Papaioannou, commanding officer of the 34th Mechanised Brigade had enforced a strict no-light policy. His tank crews weren't even allowed to smoke within the confines of their tanks, and he had heard the infantry couldn't do so in their vehicles either. It was excruciating. In his 5-year career in the Army, Raptis had come to the conclusion that soldiers smoked more than any other profession, many times out of just boredom. But that had been in peacetime. In wartime, and especially mere hours before wartime like right now, smoking was a way to calm the nerves and the anxiety.

He realized he had walked off the trail through the forest as he was pondering. He cursed himself silently, and he started asking the infantrymen nearby for directions to his destination; the 77th's HQ. After asking around a bit, a corporal led him to the command tent. The interior was washed in the dim red light of a low-light field lamp, the only lights that were allowed by Brigade HQ. In the tent were the 77th MIBs Company Commanders - Cpt. Stathis Avramopoulos, 1st Company; Cpt. Vasilis Karagiannis, 2nd Company; Cpt. Michalis Frangos, 3rd Company and Cpt. Grigoris Metaxas, Support Company. Raptis was the last Company commander to arrive. Despite him being an officer of the 35th Armoured Battalion, he and his Company was attached to the 77th MIB for at least the first stages of the invasion, to provide armoured support. Standing among the Company commanders was Major Alkiviadis Petrakis, and all of them were gathered around a field table with several maps on it. He saluted as he entered.

"I see our tanker friend has finally decided to join us" Petrakis commented on Raptis' late arrival.

"I'm sorry sir. I was just running another check on the concealment of my tanks for one last time" he lied.

"Diligence is an important trait for the Chalcian officer!" Metaxas said in a mockery of one of the Army Officer Academy's most repeated lines, receiving sniggers from the gathered men and a somewhat annoyed look from Raptis.

"To the matter at hand" Petrakis interrupted the commotion "We cross the border in five hours. We went over this back in Ferres with the Brigadier, but i want to fill you in on some details myself." he searched the pile of documents on the table, and picked a map of the local area up to Torrelavega "As you already know, our primary objective is the town of Segovia, and also as you already know, to get there, we got to pass through the village of San Sebastian. And therein lies the issue. We expected San Sebastian to be defended by a Company of Border Guards at most, but it seems that they have been reinforced. New reports by a Raider unit in the field indicate that two company-sized tank elements have entered the village alongside some light armoured vehicles, some mounting ATGMs."

"Type and capabilities?" Raptis asked.

"The report suggested that the tanks are about 20 T-72Bs and the light armour are BRDMs, some of the anti-tank variant, maybe a dozen of them. We outclass them but their tanks outnumber ours, and the ATGMs may prove a significant threat. As far as we know, however, we severely outnumber their infantry force in the town, more than 6-to-1. We'll take full advantage of that, as much as we are able to."

The officers nodded.

"Our Battalion and the Captain's tanks are the Brigade's spearhead for this invasion, and as such Division has allocated special support for us. Four AH-64 Apache and one Apache Longbow attack helicopters from the 2nd Attack Helicopter Battalion will be dispatched to our sector to aid us half an hour after we cross the border."

There was a collective sigh of relief by the gathered officers.

"Let me also remind you that the Brigade's recce unit, the 54th Reconnaissance Company, has the lead in this operation. We will be in full radio-contact with them at all times as soon as the operation starts. Finally, you'll receive the call-signs of the Apaches, as well as artillery units for fire support an hour before the invasion. Any questions, gentlemen?"

There were none.
This is an alt/secondary account of Stasnov

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Founded: Aug 08, 2016
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Postby Veleaz » Sat Mar 23, 2019 3:49 pm

San Sebastian, Veleazan Border Station
C Centuria, 2nd Tank Cohort, 1st Internal Legion, 1st Border Vexilatio, 3rd Legion Victoria
0550 hours

"Swear this rain's never gonna stop" Juan Luis Landa muttered to himself, withdrawing his hand back inside the tent, drying it on the side of his flora print camouflage.

"Here's hoping it doesn't. Maybe it'll flood and drown the Chalcians, God willing." replied Juan's driver, Diego Conseules. Juan let out a small laugh, amazed at how his friend could remain a jokester even after all the things they'd done in the war. The two of them had grown up together in some backwater village outside of Tolvas, basically inseparable from birth, they'd even worked the same fields and, albeit accidentally, pined after the same women. About as close to a brother as anyone could get, which was why they enlisted together prior to the War with the CDN, managing to persuade themselves into crewing the same vehicle, then facing the Sclavics as they rushed the border like rats. Hell, they'd even both taken part in some executions that were swept under the rug. Those were the things Juan couldn't get past, but Diego seemed to do so with ease.

"Careful now, friend, don't think the Army is quite as willing to accept Alydians just yet." he warned, casting a quick glance to either entrance of the tent to ensure no one heard.

"Stuff them. War's over and communism's dead, I shouldn't have to hide my faith, nor should you." Diego replied, taking a drag from his cigarette "Besides, I intend to get into Heaven after this. Let the commies enjoy Hell cause of the Red all over the place."

"I forget how much of a fine line you like to walk on" Juan muttered, taking a seat "When's Montiel and Chúmez getting here? Shouldn't take that long to go into the village to get a bottle of wine" he added, rolling himself a cigarette. Montiel and Chúmez were the lowest and highest ranking members of the tank respectively, with Chúmez being their commander for nearly a year now, while Montiel was simply an engineer that had been with them since the start of the war. Despite being different ranks and in two different branches of the army, the four men were a family away from home.

"You know how the southerners are, stingy as could be. I told them they could've just gotten the wine from some of the Matchsticks, infantry always seem to have shit they're not meant to have" Diego replied, using the age old nickname for the Veleazan infantry, 'Matchsticks' due to their habit of lighting up. Before Juan could chastise his friend, both Chúmez and Montiel entered the tent, their shapes indistinguishable from the dark outside the tent.

"You boys should be in bed" Chúmez spoke, his voice thin and weary.

"And you're late" Diego shot back, smiling to himself "You get the wine?"

"Afraid not, it's like the village is under martial law."

"Martial law? There's only a company there"

"I know, maybe Cadillo decided to deploy some Interiors just to make our numbers seem larger, but they're bound to run if anything happens." Annoyingly, Chúmez was speaking from experience. They'd been assigned to defend some small town a few miles from the front against the Sclavs, bolstered by a number of Interior Forcemen. But the second the Sclas appeared above the horizon, the Regulars found themselves on their own, barely bring the Sclavs to a standstill before having to withdraw. Chúmez always blamed the Interiors for the loss, claiming they could've held the town if they'd stayed.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary. Chalcians may be jumpy, but they aren't dumb enough to start a war, especially without reason and just after the last one ended. Chúmez shrugged, planting himself down on his bed.

"Maybe, but I don't trust them either way."

"No one does Chúmy, but hopefully the Chalcians don't know that." Juan replied, "Oh, by the way, you heard that Dynamo is thinking of starting a club in Vill-" before he could finish his sentence, the sound of distant explosions brought them to a freeze. They all eyed each other, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Suddenly, the dreaded and screeching sound of the alarm tore through the heavy pitter-patter of the rain. Without hesitation, the men bolted to their feet, all pretenses of friendly banter dissipating with every passing moment.

"Tank. Now!" Chúmez barked at them, the three men sprinting through the entrance of the tent towards their T-72B, which they lovingly referred to as Anadón, and jumped into their positions. Juan slide into his gunner seat, the cramped interior of the tank bringing his mind to ease, reminding him of his tiny shack at home. The brief memory was almost enough to erode any dread he felt about having to face the Chalcians, who possessed tanks, he knew, outclassed them by miles. He at least took some small joy that he wasn't in the infantry, having the run on foot and fight in this rain.

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Founded: Mar 22, 2016
Democratic Socialists

Postby Chalcia » Fri Apr 05, 2019 12:50 pm

Outside of San Sebastian, Veleaz
1st Company, 35th Armoured Battalion, 34th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, 7th Mechanised Infantry Division
0600 hours

"Goose Actual to all Goose victors; 1 and 2, get off the road and form up line abreast on my left and right; Goose 3 stay with the infantry"

Captain Raptis received the affirmative responses of all three tank platoon leaders and ordered the driver into the field to the right of the road. The Leopard 2A6's powerful 1,479 hp V12 diesel engine roared as it propelled the 62-tonne vehicle off the paved road and into the soft ground of the relatively open field five kilometres outside the village of San Sebastian. The command tank's tracks dug deep into the ground and kicked up mud and dust, and it was soon followed by the eight Leopard 2s of 1st and 2nd Platoons, while the remaining four MBTs stayed on the spearhead of the mechanised infantry convoy as it sped towards the village. The two platoons formed on either side of Raptis' tank with great precision, performing almost dance-like moves on the soft terrain to get into position. It was testament to the experience of the Company's drivers, all of them veterans of the previous war.

Raptis had just received word from the 54th Reconnaissance Company that they had been pinned out by heavy enemy fire right outside of the village. They had separated too much from the main body of the convoy and now where cut off. Raptis had heard that the 54th's commander was an experienced officer, but this was evidence to the contrary. Then again, he reminded himself, mistakes happen in war. He had radioed Battalion HQ and received permission to rush to their aid ahead of the rest of the convoy by Major Petrakis. His nine tanks rushed over the field at full speed, two lines of hedgerows obstructing direct view of the village. After the MBTs crushed through the first hedgerows, Raptis opened his hatch and peeked his head out. He tried to listen over the growl of the engines. He managed to make out the sound of heavy fire, notably the loud "booms" of main battle tank guns. He slipped into his seat and closed the hatch, opening comms to the tanks with him.

"Goose actual to Goose 1 and 2; advance to the next hedgerow, halt and identify targets"

After receiving confirmation by the platoon commanders, he switched to the frequency of the Recce troops pinned ahead of them "Hypaspist, Hypaspist this is Goose. You'll have nine Leopards in overwatch position on the hedgerows to your 5 o'clock, ETA 30 seconds"

"This is Hypaspist" the response came a second later, among the sound of heavy gunfire "About fucking time. We have fallen back hehind a berm on the left of the road. Be advised; armour has been sighted among the first row of buildings, we count three vehicles at least."

"Goose copies all Hypaspist. Keep your heads down, out"

The tanks slowed down and came to a stop as they reached the second hedgerow, taking positions in a way to allow their guns and optics to have a clear line of sight through the foliage. Raptis switched on the thermal mode on his periscope and scanned the area. He saw the 8 remaining VBL scout cars of the 54th Recce parked in a depression on the left of the road, largely covered by incoming fire. The recce troops had dismounted and returning what fire they could, but the Veleazans were giving them hell. Heavy small arms fire was raining down from the buildings, and RPG rockets where flying towards the entrenched Chalcians. The long gun barrels of four T-72s where visible among the buildings on the south edge of the village, showing up white-hot on the thermals. Individual tanks started calling out targets on comms, and Raptis picked his own.

"Gunner identify, T-72, 700 metres, to the left of that corner shop at 11 o'clock" he told his gunner. The target vehicle was barely visible behind the old building, and Raptis could only see the front of its tracks and gun barrel on the thermals. However, he had total confidence that the DM63A1 APFSDS-T round in the gun breech was capable of going through the old structure as well as the side armour of the T-72 behind it.

"Sighted" reported the gunner, Corporal Stavros Moraitis.

"All Goose vehicles, fire at will" he radioed to all vehicles.

The nine 120 mm Rheinmetall L/55 guns fired almost simultaneously, sending APFSDS and HEAT rounds at hard and soft targets on the edge of the village. He saw the tracer of the round fired by his gunner impact the side of the building, and milliseconds later the T-72 behind it exploded, hit in its carousel autoloader in the centre of the hull. The turret of the dead vehicle flew several metres into the air, and landed in front of the shattered hull. Raptis saw at least two more T-72s combust in flames, while the faces of several buildings now had gaping holes caused by HEAT rounds. More tank founds followed, now mostly aimed at infantry in buildings, gradually suppressing the defenders to the point that return fire was minimal. Raptis' tank had fired about seven rounds in total at various targets when Battalion HQ radioed in.

"Darius to all Goose and Hypaspist elements, cease fire, repeat, cease fire" Raptis complied and ordered his tanks to stop firing. The transmission continued "Peltast-1 will fire smoke rounds for the infantry to advance into the village. Dory will advance from the south, Aspis from the East and Xiphos from the West. Goose, maintain overwatch position but prepare to split up to support the infantry. Hypaspist, circle around to from the east side and set up ambush position to the north of the village. Let's take this village. Darius out."

Raptis started relaying orders to his tanks as the first smoke shells from the Support Company's Mortar Platoon (callsign Peltast-1) started falling. Behind them, the M113 APCs started disgorging the infantry which in turn moved into position for the assault. Now the real battle started. Some minutes later, 640 Chalcian infantry fell upon the village of San Sebastian.
This is an alt/secondary account of Stasnov


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