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PostPosted: Sat Sep 07, 2019 12:44 am
by New Decius
National Party Headquarters, Raus
Fraternal Socialist Republic of Capile
Caspian Initiative

“...for the tenth time you idiots we have a prior appointment with the General Secretary on behalf of various interests so let us through.” Dieter Göllwitz had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a rather French tactic for a German to take up, but even with a scowling face managed to maintain the perfect muscle control to keep it from falling as he glared at the three men in front of him. He had been standing outside the National Party Headquarters of the BSU here in Raus waiting to speak with General Secretary Terry Blücher for almost an hour now and he was getting very mad to the point of hostile at this point. Judging by the youthful faces of the two guards and the officer in front of him, chances were Dieter wouldn’t even need to use more than a couple tricks to kill all three; really Blücher should be sending the you conscripts to the front and keeping the old soldiers around him until he had a more secure base of power.

To be honest he couldn’t entirely blame the guards for holding them up, after all Dieter and his group were quite the sight. Next to the German Socialist was his comrade from the Communist Party of Vietnam (Đảng cộng sản việt nam/Since 1994 and up till present the largest insurgent faction in the German Indochina Colony) Chu Quang Hùng, followed by his comrade of the Congolese Communist Party (Chama cha Kikomunisti cha Kongo/Since 2005 the most prominent insurgent faction in Deutsch-Mittelafrika) Hamidi Zawadi, then the comrade from the French Communist Party (Parti Communiste Français/Illegal since 2003 but not a present insurgency in France Proper) Gabriel Gachet, and finally from the Communist Party of Russia (Kommunisticheskaya partiya Rossii/Illegal since 1987 after Soviet-German War and a major insurgency since) Lavrova Elisavetta Victorovna, the only woman of the group. All of them garbed as if seasoned mercenaries, which in effect they were, and armed with an assortment of weapons of varying nationalities, and all of them looking thoroughly pissed off because of the holdup. The reason they were mad was because the upstart Lieutenant in front of them had only just sent someone to inform Blücher several minutes ago when he should’ve sent someone on arrival, but he instead chose to scrutinize them particularly the non-whites which frankly pissed off Dieter the most.

While the Western and Eastern socialist groups may not always get along they largely put aside racial and ethnic tensions in favor of fighting a common enemy; Capile’s socialist movement had been isolated from the larger world and so would probably receive a shell shock still when its leaders told them they were to let foreigners, non-Germanic foreigners at that, teach them how to conduct a war. At least that was what Dieter hoped would be the case, after all if the Vietnamese could decide to allow European Socialists to help them try and kick out the Germans then why couldn’t the opposite apply here in Capile. Put racial differences aside to kick the Royalists and Fascists where it hurt, especially given how outmatched the BSU’s militia armies were in comparison to their opponents; Blücher needed the experienced veterans as well as the smuggled arms they brought with them to turn his militia into a proper army.

“Come on our boys and girls have all been waiting in makeshift camps outside Raus for hours now because they can’t officially take up quarters or start doing their job until we speak to Blücher, so someone tell him were damn here!” Dieter was raising his voice now because he was beginning to lose his temper, something Gabriel noticed and placed a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down. The two men had previously served together training Algerian rebels when the German’s reclaimed the territory for the reborn Kingdom of France in 2004 and Tunisia in the same year. “I did not travel halfway around the world evading who knows how many agents of the Abwehr to come train a bunch of farmers and factory workers how to be soldiers only to be held up by a upstart boy who thinks just cause he’s got some braid on his shoulders that he’s better than the snot nosed brat he is!” By now the cigarette had indeed fallen to the ground but that didn’t concern Dieter since another one seemed to appear out of thin air and replace itself in his mouth, however Dieter did not give a care towards the switch as he continued to glower at the young brat in front of him. He normally only smoked when he felt stressed.

Since he had arrived in Raus he had already gone through almost half a pack.

“Look kid, I have seen more fights in my life than your likely to ever see in yours even if you lived to be two hundred, thats if a halfwit like you even survives on the battlefield! If our orders weren’t to render complete cooperation to our fraternal marxist brethren here in Capile I’d knock your block off, but I can’t because that might not be considered cooperation.” Now an evil glimmer came to his eyes. “You better hope to any God of any ridiculous faith that you don’t get put in one of my training units boy. I’ll make a soldier of ya but it’ll be long and hard and aching before its over.” Then the evil glimmer was gone replaced once more by the hard steel that had once inhabited Dieters’s gaze. “Then again you’ll probably come back and thank me for that afterwards, if you live, cause I’ll train you so you have a chance of surviving your battles.”

Reichstag, Berlin
Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire
Federation of European Monarchies

Richthofen was going through some reports concerning the ongoing Russian infrastructure improvement efforts in the Caucasus, the least frustrating documents on his desk at the moment given all the missives from the Foreign Office and the OHL regarding Capile, and praying that his day would continue to at least have some semblance of calm. It had so far been an unusually pleasant day for the Reichskanzler; he had slept at his home the night before rather than passing out on the couch in his office, enjoyed a delicious breakfast with his wife and their two youngest daughters, managed to fit in a amiable conversation with his son Heinrich whom was presently stationed in Martinique, and had arrived at the office to a reasonably calm atmosphere rather than a buzzing hornets nest of activity. Such days were very much a rarity before the present political and global climate, but were now becoming even more scarce.

Since the authorization of the Economic Revitalization Loan to the Grand Duchy, the Reichskanzler had begun to receive information that the War in Capile was rapidly becoming a topic of heated debate in regards to the Reichstag’s upcoming election’s in 2020 (The Reichstag holds elections every 6 years (2020,2014,2008 etc) while the Reichsrat is filled by representatives of the ruling German nobility) especially among the DVP. With the Authoritarian Democrats membership swelling with elderly veterans who didn’t want their children and grandchildren sent to die in a foreign land, they were rapidly transforming from the ‘war hawks’ party they had been for decades into an ‘anti-war’ party. Meanwhile the SPD was completely the opposite as the Social Democrats were some of the most vehement opponents to fascists in the German political sphere and so were all for continuing the fight to the very end until the thugs were beaten down to the ground. Then there was the AV which true to its Paternal Autocrat/National Populist message was swearing left and right that the BSU was the true enemy while of course hinting at a global ‘Jewish Bolshevik’ conspiracy that thankfully remained on the fringe of German society. Frankly this war had turned German politics completely upside down as the traditional doves became war hawks and the traditional war hawks became doves and it was all giving the Reichskanzler a massive headache.

Now while Richthofen didn’t really have to care which party controlled the Reichstag for his own sake, his position wasn’t political and only the Kaiser could remove or appoint the Reichskanzler, he did have to care about who filled the seats for the success of the cabinet he put together since the Reichstag dictated the budget for each cabinet ministry. For the past five years, he had, with the help of his more able cabinet colleagues and the Reichspräsident, managed to maintain a fairly balanced national budget only going over a few times and with good reasons such as natural disasters or military operations, however that had all changed. Now with a full-scale war on the Ministry of Defence had seen a massive budget increase corresponding to the overall significant rise of the military budget as the OHL happily dug into the national purse to finally test out all its brand new advanced weapon systems. This had the result of shattering the Reichskanzler’s perfectly balanced budget and causing several of the Ministry’s to lose significant funds which had the further result of earning the ire of his cabinet colleagues as well as those citizens affected by the cuts to various programs.

Presently he was seeing where he could make cuts to German commitments to larger European Federation projects to perhaps rebalance the budget at least somewhat. He could afford to trade the temporary anger of the European states for a stable German economy, though already the Foreign Office had been sending him missives from the Russian’s whom had of course caught wind of the cuts before they were made.

At least there was no trouble out of the Imperial Household to pile on.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in.”

A tall man in a pristine suit entered the room with poise and dignity, his short black hair neatly combed back and piercing blue eyes calm behind gleaming spectacles. The man did a short polite bow as he approached the desk causing Richthofen to don a cheeky grin that defied his fifty seven years. “Your Excellency I hope you are having a good morning.”

“Come now Horst you have been my Principle Private Secretary for the past seven years, our wives are good friends and our children attend the same school. So how many times must I give you permission to address me by my first name before it gets through that thick head of yours?”

Horst Linden rose back up as he adjusted his spectacles keeping a perfectly composed expression at all times. “Perhaps just once more Your Excellency.” Horst had been snatched right out of the Foreign Office seven years ago when Julius was appointed Reichskanzler and chosen as his Principle Private Secretary, the man who ran the Reichskanzler’s private office. Horst also acted, unofficially, as Richthofen’s eyes and ears in the cabinet, the OHL, and at the Court, relaying back to him full unbiased accounts of all the goings on of government just in case people dared try to conceal things from the Reichskanzler.

“You say that everyday.” Richthofen mumbled under his breath with a light chuckle before turning to business. This morning he had sent Horst to the Stadtschloss to mingle among members of the Kaiser’s Court and see what might be in the cards. “What’s going on at Court? Is the King of Bavaria still in hot water with the Duke of Brunswick after they found out their children were secretly seeing on another? I always find the affairs of those nobles provides a good laugh now and again.”

“It does appear that His Majesty and His Grace have for now buried the hatchet though at the very least His Majesty is doing his best to avoid the subject in the Court.” There was a few moments of silence as Julius had a good chuckle over the spat between the two high nobles before Horst delivered a blow. “Oh and it appears His Imperial Majesty intends to rewrite the Constitution.”

Richthofen froze like a statue as he was leaning back in his chair, absolutely astounded by what he had just heard. It took him a few moments to process exactly what that could mean followed by exactly what parts of the Constitution the Kaiser had ever even taken an interest in or taken exception to. “The Kaiser intends to rewrite the Constitution?” When Horst nodded he could only fearfully ask. “Which Article?”

“Article IV which designates the Imperial House of Germany and the Royal House of Prussia as one and the same and declaring the Prussian King or Queen to also be German Emperor or Empress.”

Now the Reichskanzler was on his feet, his chair flying backwards and striking the wall with some force as he slammed his hands on his desk. The shock on Richthofen’s face would’ve been suitable for the most fantastic twist ending of a mystery film, but it was mixed with horror and confusion all the same as yet more implications ran through his mind. “His Imperial Majesty intends to separate his rule over Prussia and Germany!? He intends to upend the very fabric of our government that has been in place since the Restoration as well as the tenure of the First Empire!” Then the terrifying thought came to mind of what noble family the Kaiser might intend to cede his rule over Prussia to; all the major or prominent nobility in Germany already possessed a ruling title and yet another Article of the Constitution forbade any ruling noble reigning over more than one Constituent State of the Empire. “What exactly does he intend to do?”

Horst calmly cleaned his spectacles with his handkerchief before going on. “If what I heard is to be believed, His Imperial Majesty, seeing that His Imperial Highness Crown Prince Karl Friedrich is only two years old feels that he does not want the full attention and weight of both an Imperial and Royal title upon his son and heir. He also feels that for too long have Prussia and Germany been attached at the hip by a joint sovereign and so has decided to appoint another heir apparent to the Prussian throne in Karl Friedrich’s stead until the Crown Prince sires his first and second children at which point a referendum will be held as to whether or not the House of Germania will regain the Prussian throne or stay with the Kaiser’s chosen recipient.”

“I’m almost afraid...strike that I’m terrified to ask who the Kaiser is considering as his heir apparent to the Prussian throne.”

“It would seem the most likely candidate is Her Royal Highness, Elizabeth Louise Princess of Austria and Hungary. As she is the second child of His Royal Majesty King Maximillian I of Austria and Hungary, and His Royal Highness Crown Prince Albrecht of Austria and Hungary has already fathered two children, it makes her unlikely to assume the Austrian and Hungarian throne and therefore eligible as the monarch of a Constituent State of Germany. As she is also tied by blood to His Imperial Majesty that technically means he can claim to not be separating the House of Germania from the throne of Prussia-“

“Until that ludicrous referendum comes around.” Richthofen cut him off sharply as he finished the explanation until his eyes widened in realization. “Or until she is married and takes her husbands name thus transferring Households by the Laws Governing the Peerage.”

“As you already know, at present Her Royal Highness is engaged to His Royal Highness Prince Karl Marius Friedrich of Capile of the House of Saxtonburg-Hohenzollern.” The implications had finally all been revealed.

The Reichskanzler wasted no time as he marched for the coat rack next to his desk and donned his hat and coat. Seizing his phone from his pocket he called ahead for his driver to bring the car around so he could go to the Stadtschloss. “Horst I may be in prison by the end of tonight because I am in the mood to murder whoever has caused this outrageous circumstance.” The two men swiftly left the office and made their way through the halls for the elevator. “Someone has gotten it in the Kaiser’s head that his workload and responsibilities as a in theory dual monarch are too heavy to pass on to the next generation and so a temporary release should be granted. While at the same time helping a noble and vaunted ally rise in prominence and influence...BY HANDING OVER THE LARGEST STATE IN GERMANY GIFT WRAPPED!”

It had been a perfectly nice day.

“My main suspect is Regensburg because he has been all for establishing contingencies should the Royalists lose this war, but this goes too far. Offering to shelter exiles here in Germany alongside monetary support is one thing, hell even propping them up in one of our colonies as a state-in exile is doable, but this?! Setting them up as the potential monarchs of Prussia, this goes too far! If Elizabeth is made Queen of Prussia that will make Karl her King-Consort allowing him to basically recreate the Capilean aristocracy among the Prussian nobility, transfer Capilean business interests and major corporate tycoons into the German market, secure Royalists officers high ranks within the OHL! Not to mention that as the largest and most influential state in Germany, Prussia has significant influence over not only the Reichsrat but also my Cabinet allowing foreigners to dictate our laws!”

By now they were outside and getting into Richthofen’s car which was flanked and proceeded by a police escort. “By Gott Horst I will march into the Kaiser’s study and argue with him for the next week if thats what it takes to squash this nonsense! In the meanwhile you get ahold of His Former Majesty so I can come at our current monarch on two fronts, hell get ahold of the Austrian’s too while your at it, I can’t imagine Maximillian will be too pleased with the Kaiser deciding his daughters fate.”

It had been a perfectly nice day.

Battle for Stammburg
Operation Faust, Heeresgruppe Beowulf
Sumpfwald Pocket

“OBERST SCHLÖM YOU WILL CONTINUE YOUR ADVANCE! I DON’T CARE IF YOU FIND THE CONDITIONS UNSUITABLE FOR PROPER COMMAND! OUR BOYS SEEM TO BE GOING ALONG JUST FINE AND YOU WILL GOD DAMN GET UP THERE AND LEAD THEM YOU BASTARD! THAT IS AN ORDER!” General Lilian von Schneider screamed into the telephone as she slammed it down on the table in front of her and ended the call before the offending officer could get another word in. The boom of artillery was hardly a distant sound, in fact her makeshift command center was practically shaking from how close to the front it was, though the fact that said position was erected on a plot of land which had been teeming with trees only hours ago but was now cratered and barren may have suggested the same.

’Gott I wish I had one of those new CNC (Command and Control) vehicles their issuing to all officers ranked Feldmarschall and higher. Manual operators are perfectly efficient but an automated satellite connected command system sounds superb for a campaign such as this.’ Recently Kaizertech International had designed a new CNC vehicle based on a large military transport, and the OHL had immediately put in an order as soon as the first five were produced in December 2018, the Reichspräsident had almost had a seizure when the OHL’s attaché to her office informed her each vehicle cost twelve million Euromarks but had decided to consent after being given a demonstration of its capabilities. The Vulcan S5 required a crew of only seven operators and they were only for its automated defense systems as well as mobility and potential maintenance; its chief features were a satellite guided holographic display with links to all strategic and tactical networks of the German militaries allowing a commander to link in directly to their men in the field. A high performance supercomputer also provided extremely effective tactical and strategic advice capable of calculating the enemies future moves with almost instant reaction time, hence why Lilian so desired such a vehicle. ’Though by what I hear, alongside the latest weapons shipment to Capile to replenish their arms supplies, three of the Vulcan’s are also going for Capilean use.’

The 12th Armee was making excellent progress given their operational objectives at present and that they were limited in their rules of engagement, however in truth the forces Krebs was throwing at them were the real reason they were advancing so quickly. Even despite fanaticism and suicide tactics, fresh conscripts and partisans were hardly anywhere close to a match for seasoned German troops armed with the latest modern weaponry had to offer, as well as devastatingly effective artillery and air support where it was needed. They were advancing so much that they had even begun encountering some of the scattered squads of Luftkavallerie remaining in the Sumpfwald, though Lilian was pressed to throw them immediately back into the fight despite the desire to give those brave idiots the rest they had truly earned. She needed all the troops she could get to keep pressing the enemy and make sure he had no time to regroup or slip troops behind her lines, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake General Ulräch’s forces in 22nd Armee had made by underestimating the abilities of partisans and allowing even small groups to slip behind their lines. Though in truth she doubted whether she could’ve gotten the Luftkavallerie boys to agree to go behind the lines for medical attention even with a direct order to do so; the fanatical desire to fight like the Germanic warriors of old that their training and conditioning instilled in them was in all truth some times counterproductive to military discipline. Lilian, like many students of Rommel and thus a great believer in proper treatment of ones subordinates, had been very opposed to the Luftkavallerie system when it first came up for debate at the OHL in 2006, well not the idea of creating helicopter borne infantry regiments but rather their purpose and conditioning. Dropping men behind enemy lines with limited supplies and limited chances of survival with orders to fight like bastards until they died or there was no enemy left to fight. The whole program was designed along the lines the Japanese Kamikaze training courses of WW2, basically conditioning men to be willing to commit suicide.

Thanks to the anti-air umbrella erected by the SPAAG units at the front moving up with the Panzerkompanie’s, Lilian had been able to effectively commit her helicopter gunship squadrons for CAS duties as well as call in tactical airstrikes without having to risk any craft being shot down. Soon enough once Großadmiral Stürnben had positioned his destroyers off the coast, the anti-air umbrella would be large enough that Lilian could begin utilizing the aircraft available to her with impunity, and when that happened, any VF troops inside the Sumpfwald Pocket would be finished without German forces having to actually engage them. Then the whole Heeresgruppe could turn its attention towards Stammburg itself and finish the job.

At the moment the feisty General was dealing with an irate Oberst in the Artillerie whom was upset with the conditions of such ungentlemanly warfare; the man had gotten his rank and command because his cousin sat on the Reichstag Armed Services Committee, which also prevented Lilian from just outright sacking him and replacing him with someone more seasoned. Even in Germany there remained an issue in the armed forces of the powerful using their connections to secure glorious commands or grand positions for those close to them, in defiance of the meritocracy which the OHL was meant to truly be. Lilian dealt with such officers by being as brutal as possible to either terrify them into resigning their commission or actually becoming a half-decent officer which usually yielded results of the latter category since war was enough to make even the most pompous ass of a commander see at least some daylight filter through.

At present 12th Armee was rapidly closing the Sumpfwald Pocket as 22nd Armee’s forward armored units closed in on the coast, finally having overcome the major partisan strongholds in its path after a few Jäger Regiments were transferred over from 12th Armee to assist. Satellite imagery had spotted some of the heavier VF units attempting to quietly but swiftly withdraw from the closing encirclement in the Sumpfwald but a few cruise missile strikes on the more viable roads in the area as well as some well placed air strikes later saw moderate damage dealt to said units and also their best routes for swift retreat. It was only a matter of time now and then the offshore warships as well as the troops of 12th and 22nd Armee would crush the remaining VF forces in the Pocket.

By now the skies were very clearly in German hands, largely due to the significant number of SPAAG’s moving forward with the troops creating a large anti-air umbrella allowing broader air strikes to resume once more, since now the German troops could usually shoot down the SAM’s targeting the Luftwaffe’s aircraft. With this additional air support as well as the fact that the partisans did not have the munitions or training to keep up sustained resistance for very long, 22nd Armee had been able to reverse the ill fortune from which it had suffered in the early moves of Operation Faust. Particularly since the increased anti-air security allowed General Ulräch to commit his helicopter gunship and airborne infantry that had been held in reserve due to the threat from the VF’s SAM vehicles and static sites; this meant that rather than having his main line divisions bogged down in every town and village they passed through, such positions could now be tackled by the helicopter troops which meant Ulräch’s Panzers could head right for the coast. The only problem which continued to make itself ever more apparent was the insufficient numbers of Militarpolizei attached to each of the field armies, meaning here and there front line troops had to be detached to guard and administrate POW’s.

As per Rommel’s order all prisoners were being treated according to the Geneva Conventions, including the partisans whom by most definitions would not warrant status as POW’s but spies and saboteurs out of uniform. Several processing centers and makeshift POW camps had been setup behind the lines far enough from the front line that escapee’s couldn’t slip away, not that conditions were bad enough to make many want to run. Prior to the start of the campaign, Rommel had ensured there were adequate supplies of food, medical supplies, and assorted other necessities not just for his own troops but also for a potential of two hundred thousand POW’s, and they weren’t anywhere close to such a number so the camps certainly weren’t under supplied or running low on food. Quite frankly the majority of the occupants of these camps were partisans and conscripts as opposed to the veteran professional troops which either showed how good the Stoßwehr was in a fight or how much Krebs was conserving his real heavy hitters.

Meanwhile in the South, 16th Armee under General Witold continued its efforts to try and goad Krebs into an open engagement outside of Stammburg to little success. A small engagement here and there but nothing too significant, Krebs was refusing to take the bait and commit his main armored forces to a battle he most surely couldn’t win, precisely as Rommel expected he would. Still Witold was experiencing the least resistance to his advance because his front was effectively a ceasefire given that he was forbidden from attacking Stammburg itself due to the risk of civilian casualties, and Krebs refused to sally forth and properly engage the German forces waiting for him. All the same in the end you couldn’t keep over a hundred thousands troops cooped up inside a city indefinitely especially when that city was cut off from land, sea, and air with no chance of resupply or relief; eventually strife would ensue between the soldiers and the civilians as food and medical supplies began to dwindle. If the soldiers kept everything for themselves while children started going hungry then the civilian’s inside Stammburg might think they’d get a better deal with the people outside rather than inside even if they didn’t particularly agree. On the other hand if the civilian’s got the lions share of the supplies while the VF’s troop sheltered inside the city, just how long could Krebs enforce effective military discipline among tired, hungry, bored soldiers being prodded and teased by a tasty target on their doorstep.

In the end a German victory was inevitable.

PostPosted: Sat Sep 07, 2019 7:56 pm
by The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile


Comrades of the Socialist Council,” a thin voiced echoed through the chamber, “do not allow the victories of our brethren in arms to cloud your judgement. I will refer you again to the report of Comrade Dr. Ewald Groenigen, who found that food stores to be perilously low! Even when taking into account the potential harvests of the territory our armies stand to acquire, our population will not be sufficiently fed during the coming Winter! I urge you to consider the plan I have proposed, which, if implemented, may avert the impending cri-”

“Enough, Comrade Pabst!” the much deeper voice of Terry Blücher boomed. “This Council has already established that the research of Ewald Groenigen is biased and factually incorrect, as has been proven by the work of honored Party Comrade Dr. Trofimsky.” The General Secretary nodded microscopically to a tall, thin, sallow man with an oddly skeletal appearance. Dr. Trofimsky was seated, along with a dozen or so austerly-garbed men, in a raised pew behind the towering box in which the Socialist Council stood.

“As such,” Blücher continued, “we have reason to name Groenigen as a traitor to the Party and a potential foreign insurgent; the type of man with whom a member of the Socialist Council would not associate.” At the General-Secretary’s words, the rest of the Council nodded gravely. The Council was split in two; one half were fat, empty-headed men who could be easily controlled, while the other half were hunched, beady-eyed sycophants.

Of the twelve men who comprised the council, only three stood out from the rest. The first was, of course, Terry Blücher, big in all proportions, ruddy-faced, and deep-lunged. The next was Eugen Herzog, unremarkable in his ideas, which consisted mostly of new armored vehicle designs and styles of proletarian architecture, but startling in appearance. His face was marred with a half-dozen unattractive scars and crossed by an eyepatch, testaments to his dedication to the Revolution; his lone, electric blue eye flickered wildly left and right; and a shock of unwashed ginger hair completed the vulgarity of his appearance.

Last was Kurt Pabst. Scrawny and weak, Pabst had not been a steel-worker, like Blücher, nor a soldier, like Herzog; and so, at least initially, he had the support of neither groups. In fact, the handsome features of his face, the crease in his nose created by his gold-rimmed spectacles, the gray stripes in his well-combed hair, and the neatness of his pinstriped suit suggested that he was a middling aristocrat or a university professor. But his eyes revealed his true nature. Shining a fiery blue from the pale diamond that was his face, they seemed to scream for equality, for justice, for fraternity without words. He alone had ever stood against Blücher, and represented his only opposition in the Council; but without, Pabst had won the hearts and minds of many a Kongsburger.

“Based on the agricultural policies of Comrade Dr. Trofimsky, and with the newly acquired tracts of farmland between Rulund and Osthilt, we will be more than able to fill the stomachs of the Capilean people.”
“But Comrade Trofimsky’s research is entirely unscientific!” Pabst cried out, flinging his arms in frustration. He stood before the Council at a podium, instead of alongside them, as usual, so that the meeting seemed more like a trial. At this accusation, murmurs rose from the Council box, from the pew, and from the small audience before them.

“Silence, silence!” Blücher decreed, hammering a gavel and gradually restoring order to the room. “Comrade Pabst, you will only discredit yourself by denigrating upstanding Party Comrade Dr. Trofimsky and promoting this subversive, Groenigen. Furthermore, the rest of the Council has already reached a consensus as to the supposed grain shortage, and there are much more important military matters to be discussed. Comrade Pabst, you will return to your place.”

The scorn flaming in Pabst’s eyes seemed to be magnified by the lenses of his spectacles. He stood, erect and wordless, for several moments, his blue pools locked with Blücher’s. At last, he gave a conciliatory gesture and walked smoothly back to the far end of the box.

An ambiance of rustling papers and low voices took over as soon as Pabst moved, and went on unabated for several minutes, until Blücher spoke once more.

“And now that Comrade Pabst has finally finished filibustering,” he said, a little too contemptuously, “we may proceed to military matters.” He was interrupted by the clang of the chamber’s double doors being thrown open.

A young aide seemed to fall into the room, followed closely by a pack of stout, swarthy guards.

“Apologies, comrades of the Council,” an officer said, following after his inferiors, “but this insolent one would stop at nothing to see you. With your approval, I will take him away for interrogation.”

“Wait, comrade,” Blücher ordered quickly, holding up a heavy hand. The olive-clothed soldiers stepped hastily away from their quarry, who stood up and straightened his uniform.

“Comrade General Secretary,” he began, “a delegation from our allies in the Socialist Commune has been waiting to see you!”

“For how long have they been waiting?”

“Over an hour, Comrade General Secretary.”

A frown crossed over Blücher’s face like a stormcloud. “The Council is dismissed,” he thundered. Immediately, the others scattered, as if they were fleeing from a violent rainstorm. When room was emptied and only the General Secretary and the messenger remained, he spoke once more.
“Show them in.”


After the Bavarian generals had disembarked, they were hastily chauffeured to an elegant chateau on the outskirts of the city, which was revealed to be the headquarters of the French General Staff. They were led to a handsomely-appointed war room, where, amidst tables of delectable pastries and thronged by waiters carrying trays of wine, they found a sprawling tactical map of the region.

A tall, handsome, strapping man in an olive uniform greeted them. His gold-accented red kepi sat aloft brown, curly hair, and a small mustache curled around his lips.

“General Julien Champion,” he introduced himself in a rich French accent, though he spoke in clipped German. “I was recently promoted to lead the first army-sized formation of my country after my victory at Roappe.”

Beside Champion, a smaller, wider, pinker man stepped into view. Judging by the amount of gold lace he was adorned with, he outranked the other.

Maréchal Maurice Galland,” he intoned, clearly annoyed by his subordinate, “commander of the entire Free French Army.”

Once introductions were settled and each man had a glass of wine in hand, the attendants were dismissed, and talk of strategy began.

“Despite our success in Roappe,” Galland began, pointing out the concentration of French forces in that city, “we have had major setbacks in the West. After defeating the Royalists at Wolfcour, the Fascists have seen us as their next target. Thankfully, their forces no longer include an entire tank army, but they are still as large, if not larger, than our entire army.

“Our first task should be to slow this advance as much as possible and prevent the fall of this city, which it seems the Fascists are attacking toward. If all else fails, we may even seek an arrangement with the Reich. If they agree to respect our neutrality in exchange for the use of our shipyards, which I suspect they are after, then we might be forced to accept.”

“I will die at the gates of this city before I seek an arrangement with the Reich!” Champion declared dramatically.

“Yes,” Galland concurred flatly, rubbing his thick mustache with his finger, “it would be regrettable to have to deal with them. So, my allies, do you have any creative solutions to our problems?”


A sliver of moon hung over Captain Dietrich Stolte, as if to light his way; but it was obsolete, due to the night-vision goggles that obscured his angular face. He trooped silently forward, his company behind him, countless other companies before him.

The 27. Brigade had been transferred from the Sumpfwald just days ago, and now was preparing for the last offensive. Their Colonel had spoken to them of duty, of honor, of courage, of the glory of death. They would emerge from this battle as heros, or they would die.
There was no other outcome.

Stolte was one of nearly 200,000 soldiers who were about to launch Operation Jörmungand. The operation was Feldmarschall Krebs’ last chance at victory. If rumor was to be believed, the high command had been frustrated with the lack of a decisive triumph over the Germans, and had ordered Krebs to either resign- which, in the vocabulary of the Stoßwehr, meant death- or attack.

Krebs’ plan was simple. The German 22nd Army had overextended itself in its rush toward the sea, leaving a thin rear-guard alongside military police formations defending the strip of territory it had conquered. Through Schwerpunkt, the concentration of force, the German troops would break the German line and achieve an encirclement of their own, trapping the 22nd Army whilst simultaneously freeing their comrades about to be cornered within the Sumpfwald. For the plan to succeed, the coast would also have to be held, which was why Krebs had also shifted significant forces to meet the 22nd Army’s march to the sea, hitherto only opposed by militiamen.

By then, Dietrich and his comrades had fanned out, skirting through the open plains before them with ease. He held his rifle before him; it was a trusted ally, one he would be happy to die beside. He came to a halt beside an immense tree stump, and waited. Time passed imperceptably; seconds or hours could have passed.

Stolte tensed; in the far distance, he heard the echoing roar of artillery, followed by the shriek of mortars and jet fighters, and then the orchestra of small-arms fire. He jumped to his feet, sprinted forward, covering ground like a cheetah. In no time at all he had run into enemy defenses.

Before him was a machine gun position. Shouts in a dialect of German very foreign to Capile rang out from inside it, as its inhabitants rushed to its defense. They never saw their attackers; an ably-tossed grenade snuffed them out.

The next positions he encountered were more ably prepared, as the commendable German troops sprung into action. But they were no match for the overwhelming columns of tanks which were now racing toward the Sumpfwald, eager to meet the troops within the Sumpfwald, who had mounted their own offensive against the 22nd Army’s rear.

Dietrich observed the cohesion of his brethren as they fought. They had trained together since they were boys just out of high-school; they were closer than brothers. When one of them slew an enemy, they all rejoiced as if it had been their own kill; when one of them was slain, no one wept. Instead, they exacted a terrible vengeance on whomever had slain him.

This, he thought, was the peak of the Stoßwehr, a peak which his formation would likely never see again. For, for every vehicle that was destroyed, there was not one to replace it. For every veteran that died, there was but a callow boy to replace him.

The Stoßtruppen pressed onward, their assault troops and armored formations assured that once they were past the initial German defenses, they would be met only with meager anti-partisan forces.

PostPosted: Tue Sep 10, 2019 7:53 am
by Karevka
Polarnik Naval Base
Democratic Socialist Republic of Karevka

Polarnik Naval Base was the largest Karevkan military installation in the country. Situated on the granite cliffs and rocky beaches of Kershev bay, it housed dozens of naval vessels and hundreds of aircraft. Within its concrete-walled perimeter was a complex of supply depots, hangars, harbors, and support facilities. The base extended into the cliffs surrounding it, bunkers and tunnels dug underneath the stone cliffs. Several battalions of naval infantry were stationed there year-round, who manned the missile batteries and radar stations. It was from this fortress the VII Karevkan Expeditionary Corps was departing for Capile, in a flotilla of two light carriers, three destroyers, five transports, and two cruisers.

It was beginning to rain, Major General Nikita Stepanov noticed. At least they were wearing their wool coats. He and his colonel, Artem Salkov, were walking up the concrete path towards Harbor 8, which could be better described as a micro-harbor, where the VII KEC flotilla was moored. Stepanov was a known war hero in Karevka, not a household name but still a hero. He had shown his skill as a commander in the Annexation Wars, saving the encircled 2nd Army in the Battle of Derengrod and holding his ground against five enemy divisions on Barok Hill. It was for his heroism Prime Secretary Artyom Komissarov choose him to lead Operation Wolfstone's ground troops.

He believed the Communist Party had the people's best interests at heart, but deploying troops into Capile was an ill-conceived plan to support their fellow socialists. Too much could go wrong. If a Karevkan body was discovered by the Royalists, their peacekeeping cover story would be blown. The expedition was also undermanned and underequipped: they lacked heavy anti-air weapons to combat New Decius' airpower not to mention aircraft of their own. Twenty-five helicopters and jets per regiment wasn't enough. Three days before, he had brought all of these concerns to the Prime Secretary and his ministers and had asked for more troops and equipment. His request was denied. That meeting in the basement planted seeds of doubt about the judgment of his superiors.

"Colonel Salkov, do you have any doubts about the operation?" He asked his colonel.

Artem replied quickly "None, comrade Major General. I have full
confidence in you and the Prime Secretary."

The two made their way up some steps, their hands tightly gripping the metal railing to avoid slipping. None spoke for a while until the flotilla was in sight, troops still boarding.
"Stepanov, why do you doubt the Politburo's handling of the operation?" Artem asked. He had noticed the cynicism in his superior's earlier question.

Stepanov couldn't blame him. He came from the Junior Socialists Leauge (JSL), more or less communist boy scouts, that often indoctrinated children. The State Child Care & Youth Administration had been trying to reform its political classes for years to avoid overly partisan children.

"We are undermanned, underequipped and in over our heads." Nikita began to explain, as the pair crossed the boarding bridge onto the command cruiser. The rain began falling harder now. "First, we don't have enough heavy AA weapons. Second, even with the reserve flotilla, there isn't enough aircraft or men and third, the deception could too easily be broken." They made their way across the boarding bridge.

Salkov nodded, listening to his mentor intently. They were now on deck, near the door that leads into the cruiser. "I understand completely." Was all the colonel said.

A sharp crack of thunder interrupted the men. The younger colonel opened the heavy door and held it. "After you Major General."

As Stepanov and Salkov entered, the flotilla began to set sail for Rochefurt, Capile. Many of the men were confident that victory would soon be their's, others stressed about their loved ones at home. In the lower decks of the supply ships, disassembled tanks and planes rested. Locked away behind false containers of rations and clothing. Soon their guns would be turned on the enemy.

PostPosted: Tue Sep 10, 2019 2:46 pm
by Luxembourg-Bavaria
The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile wrote:

After the Bavarian generals had disembarked, they were hastily chauffeured to an elegant chateau on the outskirts of the city, which was revealed to be the headquarters of the French General Staff. They were led to a handsomely-appointed war room, where, amidst tables of delectable pastries and thronged by waiters carrying trays of wine, they found a sprawling tactical map of the region.

A tall, handsome, strapping man in an olive uniform greeted them. His gold-accented red kepi sat aloft brown, curly hair, and a small mustache curled around his lips.

“General Julien Champion,” he introduced himself in a rich French accent, though he spoke in clipped German. “I was recently promoted to lead the first army-sized formation of my country after my victory at Roappe.”

Beside Champion, a smaller, wider, pinker man stepped into view. Judging by the amount of gold lace he was adorned with, he outranked the other.

Maréchal Maurice Galland,” he intoned, clearly annoyed by his subordinate, “commander of the entire Free French Army.”

Once introductions were settled and each man had a glass of wine in hand, the attendants were dismissed, and talk of strategy began.

“Despite our success in Roappe,” Galland began, pointing out the concentration of French forces in that city, “we have had major setbacks in the West. After defeating the Royalists at Wolfcour, the Fascists have seen us as their next target. Thankfully, their forces no longer include an entire tank army, but they are still as large, if not larger, than our entire army.

“Our first task should be to slow this advance as much as possible and prevent the fall of this city, which it seems the Fascists are attacking toward. If all else fails, we may even seek an arrangement with the Reich. If they agree to respect our neutrality in exchange for the use of our shipyards, which I suspect they are after, then we might be forced to accept.”

“I will die at the gates of this city before I seek an arrangement with the Reich!” Champion declared dramatically.

“Yes,” Galland concurred flatly, rubbing his thick mustache with his finger, “it would be regrettable to have to deal with them. So, my allies, do you have any creative solutions to our problems?”

Lietenant General Lukas Werner
Bavarian Armed Forces
Gravines, Nova Capile

Werner smiled as he listened to the French generals outline the present situation.

"Gentlemen I do believe I have the perfect plan for our predicament. My army group numbers 250,000, all elite infantry itching for a fight. Our combined forces here number 368,000. Now if I understand correctly, your intel maintains that two Fascist armies totaling 378,000 are driving on Gravines. I see a few possible courses of action here. One is to force an engagement outside of Gravines to keep the fighting out of the city and away from the civilian population. The second is to bring all our forces into the city, evacuate as many citizens as possible, dig our heels in and fight street to street. The advantage of this is we will be able to bring in naval support from our fleet docked in the city."

Werner paused for a moment before continuing.

"However, if we force an engagement outside of the city we will have air support from our aircraft carrier in port."

At this point, Admiral Wagner stepped in.

"Our pilots are highly effective. Our course of action should be to keep the fighting away from the city in order to prevent civilian casualties and damage to the city infrastructure."

General Werner nodded. "Agreed. However, it is your country Maréchal. We will do what you think is best.

BMS Journey's End
Bavarian Aircraft Carrier

Aboard the flagship of the Bavarian fleet, activity was bustling. Pilots were running everywhere as planes were frantically readied and brought into launch positions.

Admiral Wagner came on over the ship-wide intercom, grinding all movement to a halt.

"Attention all personnel. Ready all planes and await further orders. Signal all ships to ready all anti-aircraft guns. We must be ready for anything. That is all.

As the intercom crackled off, the ship continued its work at an accelerated pace.

PostPosted: Tue Sep 10, 2019 7:25 pm
by The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile


At General Werner's words, Maurice Galland's pudgy red face brightened. Even the haughty countenance of Julien Champion seemed a little more eager.

"Your support would greatly increase our odds, General Werner," he began, gears clearly turning in his capped head, his tawny eyes sweeping the tactical map beneath him. "You are correct in that we should keep fighting as far as possible from Gravines; the destruction of not only the lives but also the cultural heritage of our people would be catastrophic. To that end, I will also organize the slow but steady evacuation of the city. Our civilians will be dispersed throughout the countryside and in other major cities, such as Roappe, as I have no doubt that Fascist air raids will soon begin.

"To defend against the enemy, I can offer you but 169,000 troops. I think you will find, however, that those troops are seasoned, not only from the recent months of war, but from years of quiet partisan resistance against the Germanics. In addition, there is the fine armored corps of General Champion-" the man in question gave a sweeping bow- "which has proved instrumental to our operations in liberating Roappe. While I of course will remain in command of these troops, I am ready to submit myself to your expertise and to give you command of them should you see fit.

"I believe we should immediately begin to fortify positions as far afield from Gravines as possible, as the Fascists are already bearing down on us. It is my hope that we can soundly defeat them in a decisive engagement, so as to make them reconsider their invasion. If not, then we shall have to simply give them enough of a thrashing that they run out of men and willpower before they reach this city."

There was a moment of silence, and then Galland brightened. "Ah, yes. Not to distract from your strategizing, gentlemen, but there is a significant diplomatic development you should be aware of. Our diplomat in Oranjstad was able to negotiate a ceasefire with the Dutch, likeminded secessionists. He is currently attempting to draw them into a defensive pact with us. There is some minor squabbling over territory, but if that can be sorted, I believe that their aid would significantly improve our situation. Forming a solid bloc on the eastern coast would make states such as the Reich think twice before attacking us, and if we managed to pool our resources into a single campaign, there is much we could accomplish. If nothing more, it would at least be one less enemy."


Despite the frantic transfer of Royalist troops westward, by the end of the month of August, the grain-rich Rei Valley had fallen almost completely to the Reich. Not even the harvests themselves could be saved; racing tanks often outran the hapless peasant farmers before them. Only a few trainloads of crops were salvaged from the corners of the valley, enough to feed perhaps a single city through the Winter.

Royalist resistance stiffened, however, when it came to the defense of Quassdorf. By the time the Wolf-emblazoned panzers were able to leer at that city, it had been bulwarked by a fresh shipment of armies from the East. Exhausted by a week of nonstop campaign, the Reich took a moment to recoup.

Walther Nemetz's spirits were usually high that day, as reports streamed in to his office from the front. His men had liberated the valley, had wrested thousands of hamlets and dozens of metropolises from the Royalist grip. The Wolf had extended its claws deep into the most fertile and populous region in Capile, and was already hard at work on integrating it into the Reich.
What encouraged Nemetz the most, however, was the news of sprawling, endless gold fields of grain, of food plucked from the mouth of the Crown.

PostPosted: Thu Sep 12, 2019 6:04 am
by New Decius
National Party Headquarters, Kongsburg
Fraternal Socialist Republic of Capile
Caspian Initiative

At long last the group was finally shown in to see Terry Blücher, the lot of them deciding that military discipline would prevail first over Socialist dialect as the five Commanding Colonel’s of the Caspian Initiative came to stiff attention and offered a salute to Blücher whom returned it with equal respect. In the time they had been waiting, rather than brushing themselves up or acquiring more conventional uniforms, the five of them chose instead to remain looking like the guerrillas they were. They intended to look like they knew what they were doing as well as proving it with their actions.

“Comrade General Secretary Blücher it is a pleasure to meet you at last, I am Colonel Dieter Göllwitz of the KPD attached to the Red Army of the Collective.” Dieter wisely decided to not smoke inside as had all the others except for Gabriel whom seemed never without a cigarette dangling from his lips. However at the very least the smoke did not seem to bother Blücher, too much. “General Secretary Pfaff sends his warm regards and hopes you are doing well. He hopes to see you again soon though he wished me to remind you rather cheekily I might add that next time you are buying the drinks.” Blücher had met with KPD General Secretary Karl Pfaff during the most recent Columbian War when the BSU and Socialist Collective had been rendering underground aid to Columbian Communists. Unfortunately the Collective had had to withdraw much earlier than expected after a cock up or two almost exposed a vast majority of their organization to Abwehr spies.

As followed the colleagues introduced each other one by one.

Next to the German Socialist was his comrade from the Communist Party of Vietnam (Đảng cộng sản việt nam/Since 1994 and up till present the largest insurgent faction in the German Indochina Colony) Chu Quang Hùng, followed by his comrade of the Congolese Communist Party (Chama cha Kikomunisti cha Kongo/Since 2005 the most prominent insurgent faction in Deutsch-Mittelafrika) Hamidi Zawadi, then the comrade from the French Communist Party (Parti Communiste Français/Illegal since 2003 but not a present insurgency in France Proper) Gabriel Gachet, and finally from the Communist Party of Russia (Kommunisticheskaya partiya Rossii/Illegal since 1987 after Soviet-German War and a major insurgency since) Lavrova Elisavetta Victorovna, the only woman of the group.

After the introductions had finished, Dieter produced a flash drive from within his jacket and handed it to Blücher. “We have precisely three thousand seven hundred and four of our Comrades waiting in makeshift quarters outside the city, that drive contains files on each and every one of them. All of them are seasoned combat veterans with a specific skill set and a knack for being able to pass on said skills.”

“If I may be frank Comrade General Secretary?” Blücher gave a nod of assent. “None of us can actively participate in the fighting here in Capile, as the Abwehr is aware of the identities of a fair number of our members so we cannot risk blatant exposure. Our sole involvement will be in training your troops up from militia to proper frontline soldiers. We can train them in a wide variety of skill sets such as marksmanship, vehicle salvage, combat medicine, camouflage, by the time we are done your troops will be more than prepared to wage war against the Royalists and the Fascists alike.”

“Our goal is to train your troops in guerrilla warfare, as well as numerous methods of flexible asymmetric warfare. This will be much better for the BSU to utilize seeing as you presently lack the resources which enable the Royalists and Fascists to maintain large scale conventional offensives.”

Battle of Stammburg, Operation Faust
Heeresgruppe Beowulf Staff Headquarters, Anstedt
Grand Duchy of Nova Capile

’So he finally made his move did he? It took him longer than I expected.’

Generalfeldmarschall Rommel observed the holographic display table in front of him inside his personal Vulcan S5, arms crossed over his chest and a blank slate for an expression, even though his mind was racing at a hundred kilometers an hour. The situation at the front had changed rapidly in the last twenty-four hours as Krebs forces had gone on the counteroffensive, admittedly mobilizing quite an impressive large scale offensive in such a short amount of time; already the rear guard of 22nd Armee was beginning to show some cracks as General Ulräch was forced to rush two of his more mobile Panzergrenadier Divisions from the drive to the sea to cover his flanks.

’It would seem Krebs intends to encircle the majority of 22nd Armee’s heavier divisions forward in the line near Kortelein by cutting the front at Bischofsfort. This in turn will not only encircle eight German divisions based on how many troops Ulräch is driving on the coast with, but also relieve the pressure on the VF troops inside the Sumpfwald.’

It was a bold plan indeed and, if successful, could result in a defeat crushing enough that German forces would be forced to retreat back to their starting positions ceding all the ground won from the VF. Such an outcome would likely ensure the Stammburg enclave survived for months longer if not half a year even, while Heeresgruppe Beowulf licked it wounds replenishing almost an entire field army as well as the smaller but still present localized casualties suffered by 16th and 12th Armee’s. Arguably the worst facet of such a defeat was that it was highly probable the Fascists would capture significant amounts of munitions, vehicles, and supplies from the encircled divisions and also while the Heeresgruppe withdrew thus shoring up their position significantly. Indeed if they managed to pull this off it would be the greatest defeat of Rommel’s career and the greatest defeat the Kaiserliche Armee had suffered in almost fifteen years.

If being the operative word.

Unfortunately Rommel wasn’t about to stand by and let Krebs have everything his way. He had a reputation to uphold after all.

“Computer give me an estimate of the percentage of civilians likely remaining in the potential combat theater?” Unlike most military AI’s, the supercomputer installed on the Vulcan could produce millions of extremely accurate calculations a minute so it could properly act as a tactical aid. Initially Rommel had felt it took something out of being a commander but not anymore.

”Calculations conclude that the majority of civilian non-combatants have left the potential combat zone. Satellite and human intelligence alongside calculations estimate approximately fourteen percent of civilian non-combatants remaining in the potential combat theater.”

Well that was an acceptable percentage for combat. While Rommel was against civilian casualties if they were preventable, in scenario’s such as this it could not be helped but accept there must be some collateral damage as events transpired. Fortunately the Finance Department at the OHL had already allocated sixteen billion Euromarks for potential compensation payouts for accidental civilian deaths and property losses.

“Transmit orders to all commands at Armee and Division level. All fire support restrictions and operational tactics restrictions previously in place are hereby lifted.”

While preventing civilian casualties was a reason behind the tactics and fire support restrictions in place for the campaign, there was another more strategic reason. By forcing the campaign into a slow but steady crawl on all fronts civilian’s were much more likely to flee ahead of time than if they saw the enemy on their doorstep and chaos reigned. Rommel also figured that eventually Krebs superiors would become frustrated and demand and offensive, forcing the VF to come out of their shell at Stammburg and finally face the German troops bayonet to bayonet in the field as it were. By doing so however they had exposed themselves in a most vulnerable fashion. Though the terrain of the Sumpfwald did provide some natural cover for the VF forces still holding out there, with the restrictions lifted that meant General von Schneider would simply begin blasting the whole of it to pieces with artillery and air strikes where previously such attacks were restricted to within the combat radius. The enemy was even more exposed further South where the open plains gave German aircraft every opportunity to blow the Fascists there to smithereens. This also was an advantage for the German armor who could now clash head on with their Stoßwehr counterparts as General Witold had been trying orchestrate for some time now; with his enemy now out in the open where he could fight them, the General could send his Panzer Divisions smashing into them like so many hammers.

“Computer issue following orders to 22nd Armee Command.” Using a tactical marker Rommel began formulating a new operational strategy as he drew an advance from Ulräch’s main forces near Kortelein to the coastal city of Carrbeck. “General Ulräch is to ignore the threat to his rear and instead make all speed for Carrbeck with all of 22nd Armee’s current field strength. Kortelein is to be bypassed rather than captured and any enemy heavy main units are to be engaged and destroyed.” As these orders were being sent, Rommel began marking several new avenues of advance for 16th Armee in the South under General Witold whom had his headquarters at Orburg. It seemed a shame to have all those eager troops just holding the line rather than plunging deep into enemy territory as they had been trained to do. “Further orders to be dispatched to 16th Armee Command. The Fascists 3rd Panzerarmee is their primary target of engagement and all speed should be made in a general advance. The enemy is to be pressed along the entire Southern Front with no relief night or day, I expect Witold to continuously press them thus preventing the 3rd Panzerarmee actively supporting the relief of the Sumpfwald Pocket.”

That just left 12th Armee which had been steadily, but slowly slugging it out in the Sumpfwald for the majority of the campaign. “Großadmiral von Stürnben is to render all available fire support from the fleet to General von Schneider’s suppression of the Sumpfwald including cruise missile strikes. The 3rd, 5th, and 9th Regiments of Luftkavallerie will render themselves unto General von Schneider’s command for her usage as she sees fit.”

As the computer began transmitting the orders he had decreed, Rommel found himself spacing out as he watched the map in front of him change with the live updates coming in from the satellites. He admired the boldness of Krebs offensive, but in hindsight it was more harmful to his own cause than to his enemies. To start with the skies were very surely in German hands and by now the VF’s stock of both Jagdhund’s and the ammunition for them was running dangerously low, so low that the Luftwaffe could all but disregard them as a serious threat and thus resume heavy CAS operations. Then there was the supply situation; while Rommel had ample reserves remaining to keep his troops resupplied, current estimates only believed the VF had enough supplies to maintain three to four days of offensive operations before being forced to go back on the defensive. While waiting your enemies out was a tried and true strategy especially when they had limited logistics, Rommel was most certainly a commander of action so he would press his attack most vigorously, launching a counteroffensive against a counteroffensive. By doing so he would force his enemy to exhaust his supplies even further as well as destroying the quickly assembled supply lines Krebs had setup now that air support restrictions were lifted allowing for strategic air strikes on all major infrastructure once again, after which it was simply a matter of crushing his grinding the enemies remaining forces between hammer and anvil.

A message popped up on the display, transmitted from the SMS Himmelreich, Großadmiral von Stürnben’s flagship. Operation Ludwig Is Ready On Your Order bringing a smile to Joachim’s face.

Though his cover had been blown when he revealed himself to Feldmarschall Krebs to present the surrender offer, Hauptmann Willi Dernen had in fact managed to conduct extensive surveillance of Stammburg before finalizing his mission. These included points of vital command and defense infrastructure as well as gaps in the cities security grid which the Abwehr officer had made sure to document in his notes as well as putting in place certain other ‘arrangements’. Such ‘arrangements’ were the negotiation with the black market and underworld elements in the city to setup several secure and several dummy safe houses in the city alongside making sure a number of those gaps in the grid remained open through the delivery of certain payments to civilian administrators. Dernen was fairly certain that the underworld contacts, even if not trustworthy, would do as they were paid if solely because of how much the Abwehr had decided to pitch for the operation; almost fifty million Euromarks changed hands before everything was setup, so Dernen was at least sure the criminals would keep their end of the bargain if only to get more of the Abwehr’s illicit work in future.

Operation Ludwig was the deployment of not one but two KSK Special Operations Groups (SOG Anton and SOG Dora) from the SMS Himmelreich by helicopter to Stammburg for an operation aimed at capturing the VF Party Headquarters in the city and with it the Fascist civilian and military leadership there. For this the Luftwaffe was going to deploy one of its experimental weapons via a supersonic bomber deploying out of Ostafrika; a new type of Electro Magnetic Pulse (EMP) warhead under development since 2011 as part of the Weapons of Mass Disruption Program. The weapon is designed as a ‘blackout’ weapon specifically for usage against enemy civilian targets as a ‘soft terror’ weapon meant for causing panic and chaos. Currently the latest prototype had an effective range of three kilometers with the proper surge behind it to knock out all electronics civilian or military short of the highly secured systems built in nuclear bunkers, so utilizing the warhead on Stammburg should have successful results and provide not only enough chaos for the two SOG’s to slip into the city, but also knock out the anti-air defenses in the city center. The original model first proposed in 2011 had been meant to act in coordination with an attached thermobaric warhead to start a large fire which a blackout city would be hard pressed to fight, however that was shot down in 2015 when the Kaiserreich authored the Convention Regarding Civilians in War Zones for the European Parliament banning the intentional targeting of civilians with lethal strategic weapons. This latest prototype merely produced a minor impact explosion when the warhead made contact on the ground, just enough charge to properly destroy the device contained within after it had set off the pulse, that way the job was done and the enemy could not properly examine the technology.

Joachim first drafted an order for the launch of the bomber from the IX. Luftflotte stationed in Ostafrika, then sent back an order to the Himmelreich to launch the helicopters in precisely one hour which should give the bomber time, not that a supersonic bomber needed much, to get over the target. After this was done an alert popped up that he had an incoming call on the monitor from Command Staff for Heeresgruppe Siegfried. Upon putting it through he was greeted with the grizzled features of a clearly annoyed Feldmarschall Franz Lütold von Sonnenschein who came to attention with a salute as Rommel was his superior in rank as well as his Theater Commander.

Joachim returned the salute with a wry smile as he took in his old friends expression. “Franz, its good to see you. I take it that Heeresgruppe Siegfried has finished its arrival process and the airlift has been completed.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I also take it based on your expression that the Eastern Front is in worse condition than we expected?”

”That would be putting it mildly Joachim. When I arrived here it was to find that unlike the pristine well maintained airbases and harbors that Beowulf arrived to near Rochefort, Südhoof did not have similarly maintained facilities.” The veteran produced a cigarette from inside his jacket pocket, alongside a match seemingly out of thin air, and took several puffs. ”When we set out from Germany, the Capilean’s told me that Südhoof and the surrounding area did indeed have the proper facilities to handle the airlift of an entire Heeresgruppe. Apparently that fool Zaiser did not consider that these airbases and harbors would be damaged at all by the Red offensive or just how large a German Heeresgruppe is, despite the fact that our two militaries have been cooperating and training together for almost a decade now. I arrived to find that Zaiser has been sacked, half of the Royalist Divisions are too under equipped to go into the line and the other half are too exhausted and beaten to go back into the line, oh and I keep having civilian bureaucrats raising bloody hell everytime I make a move in their area of jurisdiction. Christ its hard enough just getting my divisions organized after the airlift but their making it hell to even find barracks for my troops.” Unlike when Heeresgruppe Beowulf arrived at Rochefort, Heeresgruppe Siegfried had not been sent to Capile with an immediate offensive plan in mind, as Rommel’s sole objective to open was to secure Stammburg and put paid to the threat to the Royalist capital. As such not much concern was made to quarters and barracks for the troops since they immediately went on the march for their staging areas around Stammburg. Not so in the East; Franz at present did not have a specific strategic objective planned out yet so his troops would be idle for a short time. The solutions were to either basically build small cities specifically for quartering German troops (The legality of such a move was in question as to whether it was technically a foreign power seizing Capilean sovereign soil) or making arrangements with the local towns and villages to quarter his troops there.

“Precisely how bad would you say the Royalist position is in the East? Are they capable of stopping the Raus to Kongsburg linkup? If not would your intervention assist at all in such a respect?” Rommel felt he already knew the answer to that question but he needed to hear it for himself.

”If I’m being absolutely blunt they cannot stop the linkup between Kongsburg and Raus, they haven’t the supplies nor the fresh troops to get a meaningful sizable force into whats left of the gap. Frankly at this stage any force Winser did send in would likely end up encircled and then they’d either have to attempt repeated breakouts or fight to the last.” That wasn’t entirely terrible, Rommel knew that Winser was a more than competent commander unlikely to waste troops on a far fetched chance for an unlikely victory. ”Also I cannot get my troops anywhere near the gap in time without utilizing a massive airborne offensive, an operation which would require time and planning as well as the OHL sending me several Divisions of Fallschirmjäger else I make a Market Garden of it all. The best bet would be to encircle the BSU’s territory in a blockade while they are still consolidating their gains, or at the very least marshal troops to keep them from actually going for the coast. In my opinion the Royalists currently don’t have the capability to conduct offensive actions on this front due to a lack in manpower, equipment, and basic necessities.”

“Very well then. I’m about to give Krebs three in the gut and one in the teeth so I’ll get back to you later but I get hold of the Reichskanzler and see if he can’t expedite that quartering matter. Dismissed.” And with that the call ended.

PostPosted: Thu Sep 12, 2019 10:46 am
by Luxembourg-Bavaria
The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile wrote:

At General Werner's words, Maurice Galland's pudgy red face brightened. Even the haughty countenance of Julien Champion seemed a little more eager.

"Your support would greatly increase our odds, General Werner," he began, gears clearly turning in his capped head, his tawny eyes sweeping the tactical map beneath him. "You are correct in that we should keep fighting as far as possible from Gravines; the destruction of not only the lives but also the cultural heritage of our people would be catastrophic. To that end, I will also organize the slow but steady evacuation of the city. Our civilians will be dispersed throughout the countryside and in other major cities, such as Roappe, as I have no doubt that Fascist air raids will soon begin.

"To defend against the enemy, I can offer you but 169,000 troops. I think you will find, however, that those troops are seasoned, not only from the recent months of war, but from years of quiet partisan resistance against the Germanics. In addition, there is the fine armored corps of General Champion-" the man in question gave a sweeping bow- "which has proved instrumental to our operations in liberating Roappe. While I, of course, will remain in command of these troops, I am ready to submit myself to your expertise and to give you command of them should you see fit.

"I believe we should immediately begin to fortify positions as far afield from Gravines as possible, as the Fascists are already bearing down on us. It is my hope that we can soundly defeat them in a decisive engagement, so as to make them reconsider their invasion. If not, then we shall have to simply give them enough of a thrashing that they run out of men and willpower before they reach this city."

There was a moment of silence, and then Galland brightened. "Ah, yes. Not to distract from your strategizing, gentlemen, but there is a significant diplomatic development you should be aware of. Our diplomat in Oranjstad was able to negotiate a ceasefire with the Dutch, likeminded secessionists. He is currently attempting to draw them into a defensive pact with us. There is some minor squabbling over territory, but if that can be sorted, I believe that their aid would significantly improve our situation. Forming a solid bloc on the eastern coast would make states such as the Reich think twice before attacking us, and if we managed to pool our resources into a single campaign, there is much we could accomplish. If nothing more, it would at least be one less enemy."

Admiral Dieter Wagner
Bavarian Armed Forces
Gravines, Nova Capile

As the French marshal delivered his response, Admiral Wagner developed the basis of a battle plan, at least on the naval side of things.

"Maréchal Galland, I do believe I have the beginnings of a battle plan, at least for my ships. Our aircraft are ready to launch and the fleet is on high alert. During the battle, I can give you an airstrike every 30-60 minutes for around 10 hours. After that, they will become very sporadic because we will have to begin refueling our fighters."

Wagner paused to look at the tactical map.

"Now, what I mean by an airstrike is simple. Each strike will consist of 5 fighters and 5 heavy bombers. The fighters will go after lighter targets but their primary mission is to protect the bombers. The bombers will look for armored formations and harder targets to hit. In this way, we can systematically force the enemy to try and conserve their armor which will impede their offensive drive. I believe if we knock out their armor their numbers advantage will be negated. Now, I am a naval officer so I am not the foremost authority on ground tactics. I believe this is where General Werner will take over. "

Lietenant General Lukas Werner
Bavarian Armed Forces
Gravines, Nova Capile

General Werner listened intently as the admiral spoke.

"Yes, indeed Admiral. I do believe you have the general idea. Targeting their armor will slow down their offensive but it will also cause confusion and chaos. That is where we will strike. In the aftermath of each airstrike, we will push them back."

He stood up and straightened out his uniform.

"Now, on to the rest of the plan. We are still familiarizing ourselves with Capilean geography. Is there any location outside Gravines that would be particularly advantageous in a pitched battle?"

After he had finished speaking, a Bavarian military aid burst into the room, carrying a military issued radio.

"Sirs, urgent message from Munich!"

Werner frowned. This was certainly unexpected, he thought.

"Put them on."

The radio crackled to life.

"General Werner, Admiral Wagner. I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is we have reinforcements on the way. Army Group Krüger is en route to Gravines. They are being transported in some transports escorted by a squadron of cruisers. That is a total of 275,000."

"Copy that Munich. Why the extra men? Army groups are typically 250,000."

"Major General Krüger requisitioned a division of marines."

"Well then. What's the bad news?"

"Ah. The bad news is there will be no reinforcements in the near future."

Werner stood up in disbelief.

"What! Why!"

"A law was passed by our legislation to suspend further reinforcements to any foreign conflicts. Chancellor Kasel is leading an effort to repeal it but it could take months. We'll keep you posted. That is all. Munich out."

The aide saluted and left the room.

"Well, that does not bode well. However, we must focus on the task at hand. What would be the best place to force a confrontation? Also, General Champion, what is the composition of your armored corps?"

PostPosted: Thu Sep 12, 2019 10:35 pm
by Akordania
Cioplydom Residence, Veroykne

The crack of Petyr's .308 tore Sergei from his trance.

"Wake up, Mr. President. I've got you by one boar now."

"Mm. My apologies, Petyr Andreyovech."

Sergei slipped his smoldering cigar between his cracked lips and shouldered his rifle, scanning the field ahead for any remaining movement. To his left- movement in the foliage. He followed it for a few seconds, before at last squeezing off a leading round into his target. Stillness. "And what of it, Petyr?" He'd chuckle, handing off his rifle to an aide before removing the cigar from his mouth. Petyr Andreyovech was a typical titan of industry within Akordania; overly competitive to the point of obsession...getting his rocks off from any subtle dig at his enemies. At this point in the game, the truth was besting his fellow oligarchs in hunting and drinking was Petyr's only remaining means of taking a stab at them. Anything more would be mutually assured destruction. The two men, along with several other players, were much better off working together. Regardless, Petyr found the President's newfound interest in a distant civil war very concerning, and it had weighed on his mind all morning. He'd bring it up then, but he felt it a shame to sour a good day of hunting.

But I'm tied up in this just as much as this buffoon, he thought to himself. The portly man turned toward Sergei, clearing his throat.

"Save it, Petyr. I really won't hear any more of this from any of you. I'm committing fifteen hundred troops and some supplies to the fight. The belligerent I'm backing has all the makings of the victor and will make strong leadership for Nova Capile in due time. It really is not a tough choice by any means. You know as well as I do that we need allies. Now, more than ever." Sergei stated plainly while puffing on his cigar.

Petyr scoffed and glanced off at the dead pigs a few hundred meters away.

"Right. I suppose that is true. You know you're not the only one I get intel from. I've got plenty of friends in that internal ministry. Heard some seriously gruesome tales about the goings-on back East. JIihadists really are quite the pest, aren't they? When are you planning on getting serious about that?

Sergei ignored the first part of Petyr's statement.

"I've placed Internal Troops into the fight. Also killed a great deal of the leadership along with any of the families I could find within our borders. I'd say I'm pretty serious. The problem is just that-- they're pests. It's much easier fighting a uniformed enemy with a rigid chain of command. Anyway, it will be dealt with. With luck, we'll have a great deal of foreign aid in the near future to finally crush those rats."

Sergei at last tossed his cigar onto the ground and crushed it beneath his boot, advancing toward the fallen boar; a waddling Petyr in tow, alongside aides.



Addressed to: Reichsleiter Walter Nemetz

Reichsleiter Nemetz,

It is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I will save your precious time and skip the pleasantries. As you may know Akordania has taken quite an interest in the ongoing civil war plaguing Nova Capile, and has observed the multitude of factions in an effort to gain adequate knowledge on the balance of power, and additionally who would best suit the advancement of Akordanian interests. It is my firm belief that the future belongs to the strong, and your regime undoubtedly radiates such a trait. Your emphasis on nationalism and economic revival, as well, is certainly in line with the goals of the Akordanian Republic. In conclusion, as a token of friendship I would like to offer you military equipment and reinforcements in the form of the 3rd Special Airborne Guards Brigade; a Spetsnaz unit with unparalleled tenacity and aggression. They are outfitted primarily as light infantry, and deploy with soft-skinned vehicles, though they are reinforced by a regular mechanized Army detachment. In the event of your acceptance, please use them in whatever capacity serves you best. I await your response.

President Sergei Yukashenko

PostPosted: Sat Sep 14, 2019 6:11 pm
by The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile


Operation Jörmungand had met with limited success.

Krebs’ plan had called for two principal thrusts, although one was intended to be only diversionary. That attack, launched toward Bischofsfort, had seemed to draw the most attention from the tenacious German defenders, who rightfully feared the encirclement of their 22. Army by the city’s capture.

Stalled by the unforeseen and rapid reinforcement of German mechanized units, the Reich’s panzers had fallen short of overrunning Bischofsfort. This did not concern Feldmarschall Krebs, as his forces directed at Bischofsfort paled in comparison to the host he had dispatched toward Orburg.

Perhaps greedily, Krebs had aimed to encircle not only the 22. Armee, but also the Capilean Army Detachment A and various military police and rear-guard formations by linking up with the Sumpfwald through Orburg, rather than Bischofsfort. As such, many veteran panzer and assault grenadier divisions had been assigned to the Reich’s rightmost thrust. This positioning allowed for both an advantage and a disadvantage. Namely, it would be much more difficult for German forces to reinforce the more distant Orburg- especially since their lines were being attacked from all sides- but there was also more ground for Krebs’ troops to cover.
It was ambitious; but so was the whole operation.

The small town of Orburg burned.

The flames engulfing it took the shape of metal behemoths, groaning tanks and trucks which rolled through the streets, eviscerating whole apartment blocks with single shells. Clad in dark uniforms and shining helmets, the Stoßtruppen raged forward with flamethrowers and machine guns, cleansing the city.

Its defenders, frantic gendarmes both Capilean and German, fought back against the flames with what few anti-tank weapons they had. Aside from roaring fighter jets, professional German reinforcements had not yet appeared, as had been promised, and what few defenders remained were hard-pressed to fight back against the inferno, which was fast consuming all that remained.

The fire did not extinguish until it had nothing left to burn. By morning’s light, the Reich’s banner fluttered over the ashes, and Captain Dietrich Stolte and his men were racing ever onward, racing against time.


To: President Sergei Yukashenko
From: Reichsleiter Walther Nemetz


I am proud that a nation such as yours has dared to stand against the international, unholy alliance between greed and Marxism, the alliance I have dedicated my life to fighting.

Enemies of this accursed union are always welcome on Capilean soil, and so I accept your offer without hesitation.

It will be an honor to fight alongside you, if only in spirit.

Walther Nemetz


Terry Blücher weighed the words of the men before him carefully, all the while taking in their diverse and grizzled appearances.

At long last he spoke. “Comrades, I take your advice to heart, as you are some of the most experienced allies of the Revolution. However, I also have some questions to pose.

“First of all, you mentioned that the Revolution does not currently have the capabilities to go toe-to-toe against the Fascists and Monarchists. While this is, in some sense and for the moment, true, I believe that it is rapidly becoming irrelevant. Under the Party’s direction, the heavy industries of, Kongsburg, Raus, and even Pritzen have been reformed. Now that their workers and freed and no longer subjected to inhumane conditions, their devotion to the Revolution has increased tenfold, and so has the production of our factories. We are rapidly exceeding replacement levels of our equipment, and as has been demonstrated by the liberation of Rulund, we are able to field an armored corps.

“So, we are now close to being able to equip our vast armies. And, thanks to your expertise, our troops will soon be in tip-top fighting condition. Completing our numerical and morale advantages with effective equipment and professional training would, in the opinion of myself and my generals, leave us in a position where we would be perfectly able to launch major offensives.

“I agree that for the time being, once Raus and Kongsburg have been linked, relegate ourselves to a defensive role. But once your training and our equipment production has swung into full gear, we should bring our advantages to bear as quickly as possible.

“Unless you disagree with me, then I would have you begin educating my own drillmasters on urban warfare and offensive combat, alongside limited partisan training. You will train the trainers, and so on, so that your invaluable experience is disseminated throughout the width and breadth of the Revolution. After which I would have you instill further discipline and tactics within the most experienced of my revolutionaries.

“Any qualms, comrades?”


Maréchal Galland tugged thoughtfully at his brown mustache, hazel eyes scanning the tactical map below him as he considered his allies’ question.

“I must say that the terrain is not particularly in our favor. It consists mostly lowlands and flatlands, along with many marshes, though none are broad or treacherous enough to give us a significant advantage. I will mention that in the past months we have been constructing various defense lines to the West, although none is yet complete enough to hold back an enemy offensive by its own virtue. Thus, we will most likely have to rely on tactics rather than terrain to defeat the enemy.”

When his commander had finished, General Champion spoke up in answer to his Bavarian counterpart. “My armored corps has, regrettably, been utilizing mostly captured enemy equipment due to the fact that we possess neither the heavy industries nor the materials to manufacture fighting vehicles. We had many more vehicles than trained crews in the early days of the war, but especially after the Battle of Roappe, we have run into a deficit. That is a problem which, without meaning to presume, I hope that aid from your country might alleviate. At present, I have approximately 600 armored vehicles ready for battle.”

Without an abundance of armored spearheads, the Reich’s advance had slowed, and now dragged across the French wetlands, opposed tenaciously by the ever-withdrawing Free French skirmish line. Miles behind these preliminary scrimmages, hordes of burly soldiers and workmen alike labored in the sweltering Summer sun, digging trenches, erecting bunkers, and installing machine guns and flamethrowers within their newly-built emplacements.

The French were emboldened by the fact that for every mile they retreated, they were yielding whole villages of their wives, sisters, and children to the iron grip of the leering Reich.

They were ready to dig in their feet, to fight, to defend their homeland.

Or to die trying.

PostPosted: Sat Sep 14, 2019 6:32 pm
by Akordania


The eerie howl of hulking Ilyushin-76s pierced the air above the countryside surrounding Saxtonburg; leaving behind a seemingly endless trail of parachutes in their wake. As the planes continued lazily gliding through the air, the shapes of suspended vehicles and crates were replaced by the silhouettes of men. Some minutes later, the rear hatches of the airframes crawled upward, and with that they cut off in a loop- back to wherever they had come from. The sky stood littered with the tools of war for some time, their descent slow and controlled. On the ground, vehicle crewmen crawled out of their respective machines and wrestled with the massive nylon chutes now consuming their hosts. The parachutes were severed and cast aside to reveal a medley of armored and soft-skinned vehicles; predominantly BMD-3 IFV's, T-72 MBT's, KAMaz troop trucks, and UAZ 3132's. Strewn about the landing zone among the vehicles were crates containing supplies of all kinds...though ammunition was naturally most common. Just as engines were coming to life, batches of paratroopers crashed into the earth, some landing more gracefully than others. Immediately, chatter of the southern Akordanian dialect among the men broke out, with a great deal of laughter. The soldiers stripped off their jump equipment to reveal faded camouflage jumpsuits accompanied by body armor, with balaclavas and helmets to match. It took little time before NCO's proceeded to bark out orders, dispatching soldiers to their assigned vehicles as three separate columns began to form. All three columns would begin and end with a T-72 for protection and pace dictation, while IFV's would be after every other troop transport. When the aforementioned transports ran out of room, the soldiers would pile on top of the remaining armor.

Eventually the convoy tore off to the north, leaving a hundred meter safety gap between each column as they rode. Brigade leadership had long been informed of de-mined stretches of road leading further into Reich territory, and as a result felt no need to be reserved; ordering the T-72's to push their 60 km/h limit. If anything, they'd likely be more susceptible to enemy artillery fire by trying to be wary, they reasoned. While the current formation was by no means tactically sound, the 3rd Brigade would eventually break down at the detachment level to ensure optimal movement on the battlefield. For some time the Akordanian military had gone completely untested in war, and stuck to the primitive doctrine of their former Soviet overseers. As time progressed, however, independent Akordania was blooded through the trials of a jihadist uprising in the far East of the nation. At the onset of the conflict, the military confronted full-scale conventional hosts, armed to the the teeth and as fanatical as they come. They suffered greatly at the hands of the jihadists, and after many humiliating defeats, strategic doctrine was revised at all levels to fit the new nature of their wars. From then on, the militants who once posed a significant threat were reduced to fragments in a matter of a few months. What the Akordanians lacked in experience, they made up for in sheer brutality. Collateral damage is never a consideration, and very rarely will quarter be given. If the enemy is in a dense village- raze the village. If a target is missing but their family is present- take them as prisoners instead. Little to nothing is off limits. Anything and everything must be done to secure victory.

In seemingly no time at all, the tank at the head of the column cut right onto a much wider, well paved road leading into Saxtonburg proper. Its driver eased off on the acceleration, passing through several layers of entry control points before at last crossing the threshold. The stormtroopers and civilians alike eyed their new masked guests suspiciously as they rolled down the street. Many of the paratroopers simply lost themselves in the sheer scale of the city; taken aback by its sprawling buildings and streets. Given that most of them were from rural South Akordania, such sights were like something out of a dream. The column at last slowed to a halt in the driveway of the Party Headquarters; the rear of the formation still sitting in an open intersection. As the engines were killed, troops lit cigarettes and lounged around near their vehicles, exchanging remarks about the city they had finally found themselves in. In the center of the column, the door to a UAZ was opened with the help of an aide, and out stepped Lieutenant Colonel Katerina Rybakov- commander of the brigade. Forming her stark white beret to her head as she walked, Katerina turned to her aide- a Junior Lieutenant by the name of Petro Korbov.

"You're dismissed for the time being. Let Sergeant Major know the men need to chow, and once I'm out of this meeting we'll reform and proceed to our position."

Korbov gave a quick nod and headed back toward the gathering of soldiers, as Katerina ascended the steps leading into the building. Katerina approached the receptionist at the front desk. "I am the commander of the Akordanian forces sent in support of the Reich. I'm looking to report in to whoever is charged with command in this region." She'd state in a thick accent. The receptionist eyed her wordlessly for a few moments before clearing his throat and giving her the appropriate directions. Katerina nodded, advancing further into the building to an office. Prior to stepping into the room, she removed her beret- smoothing a hand over her hair, now tightened into a bun. Command wears on you, she thought to herself. Question is, can you handle the reins here?" "We'll certainly see." She'd mutter, before opening the office door and advancing in, before abruptly halting and rendering the Akordanian salute; bringing the index end of a closed right fist against one's chest. She then assumed parade rest. Though military custom varied country to country, she assumed such courtesies would still be recognized. The commander here undoubtedly earned their position through many years of distinguished service.

"Greetings. I am Lieutenant Colonel Rybakov. My brigade, the 3rd Special Airborne Guards have arrived in full force and are awaiting deployment to their forward positions on the front. Simply say the word, and we'll make haste in that direction."

Outside in the driveway, the paratroopers relaxed their gear and continued to smoke and joke, some of them now pacing around on the sidewalk, their Kalashnikovs and PKP's still hanging loosely from slings. Some men drew card decks, others breaking into rations and brewing tea atop searing hot engine vents. A few broke out in song, to the displeasure of nearby stormtroopers who stood guard. In the eyes of the 3rd Brigade, there'd be little time to let loose on the front. Every second would count there toward crushing the objective, and for most of the men, they hoped the objective was simply killing as many of the enemy as possible. The jihadist uprising in the East was the most that many of them had encountered, and while undoubtedly a good fight, it was winding down into an insurgency as opposed to a genuine ground war. This conflict could be yet another test of their harsh training.

PostPosted: Sun Sep 15, 2019 5:42 pm
Tokyo, Empire of Japan
Imperial Army Headquarters

The Empire had so far neglected the conflict in Nova Capile, just four years ago, a new government had been reinstated by the Japanese people after they created their very own constitution. The constitution had called for the reinstating of His Holiness the Emperor by the Prime Minister, Shinzo Abe. The Japan Self Defense forces had become the Imperial Army and Navy, and was seeing rapid expansion to its former glory. With more tanks and new carriers being built, the Empire was becoming a more formidable force. While quite lacking in the ability still to wage all out war, its offensive abilities where increasing, and now was the time for the Prime Minister and the Emperor to make a choice; get involved in the conflict and end over 70 years of peace, or watch from the sidelines as a new threat grew.

With the new constitution, the Imperial Diet had been rendered a puppet to the Prime Minister and Emperor's will. And thus in a the Imperial Palace, the issue was about to be brought up.

Chief of Staff, Joint Staff General Kōji Yamazaki walked into the crowded war room and quickly took his seat. He was surrounded by politicians, generals, and to one side of the room, sat the Prime Minister and the Emperor himself. The Intelligence Chief Shigetake Ogata of the former Public Security Intelligence Agency was the first to speak. Saying "Intelligence reports have shown advances of the Communist forces in Nova Capile, which is a threat to our system of government. I suggest we assist with at the least economic aid or even support operations."

Minister of Defense, Takeshi Iwaya replied, "I agree, we must take action, but the Empire must come first before other nations. What do we have to gain from this?"

General Yamazaki then spoke, "I believe we should center around building up our forces in Japan and not getting involved at all in this war. We can take action, when we are ready."

The other politicians continued to bicker, before the Prime Minister was seen specking in a hushed tone to the Emperor. The Emperor, having been listening the entire time, then spoke saying "I believe there is something to gain from being involved, and an enemy to defend against. We cannot wage all out war, but we can send aid and a strike group could be made in the future to be deployed. The situation is quite confusing, so I suggest we support the Capilean Reich for the time being, in secret, while we see who is the best suited to win and would act in favor of the Empire should they win."

Prime Minister Abe nodded, "Your judgement is very wise your Imperial Highness."

Soon everyone in the room was nodding in agreement, despite their beliefs knowing the newly reinstated Kenpeitai would be enforcing the Emperor's will. And crushing all who disagreed.

General Yamazaki stood, "I will ready a report on how the aid shall be shipped and have a small force mobilized along with one of our carrier groups."

Intelligence Chief Ogata stood as well, "I will have a report made on all sides of the war, and ready detailed maps and information for any troops that are being considered for deployment."

"Dismissed" said the Prime Minister, and the meeting ended. He nodded at an assistant, "Ready a message to the Fatherland Front."

Message to Parteileiter Walther Nemetz
From Prime Minister Shinzo Abe
Encryption: Top Secret

The Empire of Japan wishes to offer economic support and potentially deploy forces to the glorious Fatherland Front should you approve. In the war against Communism, and Royalist anarchy we seek to lend our support where it is needed. With one word from me the Empire's forces will be sent out. I await your reply.


General Sato looked out at the fleet as Admiral Yamamoto stood beside him. The Imperial Japanese Navy Izumo Carrier was being readied, armed with its 28 F-35 and F-22 Fighters. He watched as they were being loaded with weapons, and men were running about the deck. This was his flagship. He looked to the side as five Ōsumi-class tank landing ships were being readied with around 2,500 Imperial Marines boarding the vessels. 10 destroyers, 2 corvettes, 3 submarines and several other support ships would be joining the fleet to escort them once the green light was given from High Command.

He was not being given very many men, and was quite worried about that. Reinforcements would only be sent should it be deemed the Fatherland Front be able and have the ability to fight off the enemies. A vast amount of men could be drafted, but since no war had yet been declared, this was all he would get. He looked grim as the thought of entering another war entered his mind. The Empire was finally gaining strength, and this would be a chance for glory and gains. Soon he thought, soon.

Sergeant Hashimoto walked up the ramp armed with his Howa Type 89 Assault Rifle and his SCK/Minebea 9mm Pistol. He was quite nervous, as this would be his first real battle experience, and he would be leading as a section commander, and if deployed, he and his men would land at the beaches, and move on to support allied forces. His mission was quite simple, destroy Communist forces before they could gain control. While he himself knew little of the operation, he knew in his heart, he was ready to die for his Emperor.

PostPosted: Tue Sep 17, 2019 1:45 pm
by Luxembourg-Bavaria
Nova Capile

General Werner frowned at his allies' words.

"The terrain is insignificant we can work past that. Now our armor is severely lacking. Due to logistical problems and the fact that we were rushing to get here as quickly as possible, we only have 80 tanks with us. However, Major General Krüger's army group consists of a large armored corps. If at all possible we should try to delay the battle until we can bring up his tanks. We believe they will arrive in the next day or so. If not, then we will need to focus on disrupting the pushes of their armor. In order to bring about the most efficient victory possible, we must stay on the defense until our second army group arrives. Then we can push the enemy back. Then from there, we push on. This is what I propose. Order your skirmishers to stop. Then bring up our combines forces and bring the Fascist advance to a halt. Then with our reinforcements, we will drive them back. Then the whole world will know the resolve of Free France!"

At this, Admiral Wagner interjected.

"I have received word from Major General Krüger. He reports that his troops are approximately 15 hours off the coast. Barring any storms slowing them down, they will be in play very soon. Additionally, a second aircraft carrier is with the battle group. With 2 carriers running sorties we will be able to accelerate the rate of air support and also will be able to sustain it for longer. I agree with General Werner. Now is the time to make a stand. We must draw a line."

BMS Pride of Bavaria
Bavarian Aircraft Carrier
En route to Gravines, Nova Capile

Major General Henrich Krüger sighed. He really hated the ocean.

"Captain, what is the estimated time before we reach Gravines?"

"For the last time General, we are 15 hours out, barring any major storm fronts."


Krüger paced back and forth across the bridge.

We've got to win this war. We've got to, he thought to himself. The French State must be preserved. No matter the cost. He swore silently he would die before he saw his French allies defeated.

"General? You asked to see me?"

Shaken from his thoughts, Krüger looked up to see his young tank commander, Captain Klaus Leimann.

"Yes, Captain. I would like a report on our armored forces."

"Well sir, we have 150 Leopard 2A5 Main Battle Tanks, 75 T-2 "Tango" Wheeled Battle Tanks, 75 T-100 "Warg" Main Battle Tanks, as well as 50 cruiser tanks."

"I am not familiar with those two tank types, Captain."

"They were purchased from overseas, sir."

"Very well. So that is 350 tanks spread out over an entire transport fleet. Our first order of business when we land should be to mobilize them as quickly as possible."

Leimann smiled. "I agree sir."

"Thank you, Captain. You are dismissed."

Leimann saluted crisply and left the bridge.

Chancellor Frederick Kasel
Bavarian Senate
Munich, Luxembourg-Bavaria

"Order, order! Order I say!"

Chancellor Kasel groaned inwardly as the bickering politicians quieted down. Ever since the Senate had passed a bill preventing any further aid to the French State in Nova Capile, he has tried to find a way to repeal it without a veto. Now, as he saw it, there was only one option left. As the room finally lapsed into silence, Kasel cleared his throat and spoke.

"Gentlemen, you leave me no choice. I move to immediately veto the Ban on Foreign Military Aid as it is completely unfounded and unconstitutional. Now as is the law, you all now have a vote."

Each member of the Senate looked down to the data pads in their hands and began the voting. The votes all came in on a center screen.

Kasel took a heavy breath as he looked up at the big screen. One vote was needed to overturn the veto. He did some quick math in his head and realized that only one Senator had yet to vote. He held his breath as the words "Vote Incoming" appeared on the screen. Then, he saw the words "Motion Carried" appear. He exhaled sharply.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Now, unless there are any objections I will be ordering Army Group Leimann to mobilize in order to be deployed in Nova Capile.

Silence reigned unchallenged.

"Good. That concludes the evening."

With that, he turned around and walked off the podium. Everything was going as planned.

PostPosted: Tue Sep 17, 2019 8:20 pm
by The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile


The corridor leading directly to the Reichsleiter’s office was long and wide, clad with mahogany paneling so polished that it was if the room were a hall of mirrors.

A pair of honor guards stood across from each other every few paces down the rich carpet, and as Rybakov passed, each snapped into a Roman salute. Each of the sentries was at least six feet tall, was clad in a pristine black uniform with a white brocade belt and trimming, and wore a black helmet. At the end of the expansive corridor, a final pair of guards saluted crisply before turning and pushing open the double oak doors before Nemetz’s sanctum.

Rybakov entered, and was greeted with the sight of a man in a similar black uniform bent over his desk. Broad windows cast swaths of warm light into the chamber, which was filled with stately furniture. Rolling tables filled with beautiful scale models lined one side of the room, while towering bookshelves walled the other.

The man looked up from his work, and keen blue eyes sized up his newfound ally. Quickly he rose, revealing a tall and spry frame, and strode around his desk, coming to a halt before it. Snapping out a Roman salute, he then extended his hand for a firm shake.

“It is a pleasure, Lieutenant Colonel,” he began. His voice was not volcanic, as it was when he spoke before a crowd; it was pleasant, rather deep, and smooth.

“I hope you appreciate the beauty of this city,” Nemetz continued, turning to gaze out from the high windows. The view faced the busy construction site of the Great Hall, and the Reichsleiter fixated on it for several long moments, eyeing the rising scaffolding and eager workmen. Eventually he remembered his ally, and turned back around almost reluctantly.

“Ah, as to your brigade. I believe they would be of most use to my Lieutenant General Werner Falk, the man in charge of Operation Muninn. It is an offensive aimed at capturing Gravines.” Nemetz suddenly jerked to attention and called out, as if remembering something, “Hirsch, the map!”

Immediately, a tall and exceptionally young soldier who had been standing, unnoticed, in the corner of the room sprang to life.

Jawohl, Reichskanzler!” the youth answered, almost running to the wall behind Nemetz’s desk. He then unrolled a huge tactical map of Capile from the ceiling, which Walther Nemetz turned to view.

“You can see here Falk and Worgen’s armies- the 2. and 4.- and their objective, Gravines. The city is of great importance for the Reich, as it is is home to not only a magnificent shipyard but also a significant store of seaworthy vessels. These are vital for our naval programme. However, our intelligence has indicated that the French have been recently reinforced by their Bavarian allies, and thus that we shall meet with significantly more resistance than previously expected. Your brigade would, then, be most helpful in assisting with breaking through the enemy defenses.

“I am somewhat ignorant of the tactical situation, and so I will refer you to General Falk.”

The man turned and his handsome face split into an award-winning smile. “Is there anything else, Lieutenant Colonel?”


To: Prime Minister Shinzo Abe
From: Reichsleiter Walther Nemetz


Your nation is one of the greatest and mightiest to ever emerge, and I personally have immense respect for your great civilization.

Therefore, I am honored that you have sought to align yourself with my noble cause. I authorize any form of support that the Empire deems necessary.

It will be a great honor to fight alongside you.

Walther Nemetz


Karl Marius Ferdinand I, Prince of Nova Capile, was pacing across the room, as he often did when in deep thought or making a difficult decision.

His fiancée watched him with worried cerulean blue eyes that shone of quiet intelligence.

“It could mean so much for us,” he said excitedly, coming to a halt and turning on his heel to face his betrothed.

“It means so much to you,” she revised, “but to me it only smells of trouble.”

“King of Prussia! And you Queen,” he added, striding to the Victorian sofa on which she was seated. Karl sat beside her, his long, leanly muscled limbs bending. “Not just Grand Duke.”
“King-Consort,” Elizabeth of Hapsburg-Lorraine corrected with a smile.

Karl couldn’t help but smile at himself, too. “Yes, I suppose so.” Quickly, though, his mind turned back to his dreams.

“But, Liese, can’t you see it? Wouldn’t I make a good King- er, King-Consort?”

“Yes,” she agreed, but sealed his mouth by placing a finger upon it. “However, nothing has been settled yet. It is still unlikely that this even happens. And if it does, I hope you realize that it means more than just stepping into the Prussian throne.”

Karl sighed and slumped backward into the sofa. “Yes, I understand.”

Elizabeth ran a hand through his blond-brown hair. Suddenly she fought back laughter and then feigned indignity:
“And now I begin to wonder if you are marrying me only for my titles!”


Reports of a large enemy flotilla approaching Capile from the North, mostly gleaned from intercepted Monarchist radio chatter, reached the Reich quickly.

Deducing equally fast that the convoy was to reinforce the French Free State, the Stoßwehr quickly authorized a naval and air strike force.

Gathering in the coastal skies like so many flocks of birds, Fascist fighters, fighter-bombers, and naval bombers rushed together toward the enemy fleet, which was now being tracked by the Reich’s wolfpacks.

Less than an hour later they had closed the distance.

Rushing in in the early morning light, the metal falcons ripped at the decks of the enemy ships with fiery claws, sending bullets and bombs into the guts of Bavarian transports and gunships. With the near-perfect coordination so characteristic of the Stoßwehr, its submarine squadrons then flew into action, emerging from the deep to launch torpedoes and missiles at the fat Bavarian hulks.

The attack was meant to delay the Bavarian reinforcement and kill as many enemy troops as possible; the priority of the bombers was to first target any enemy craft that had not yet left the deck of their carrier, and next to send any transports they found to the deep.


Very well, then,” Maréchal Galland began, tracing a line before Gravines with a thick finger, “this position is already fairly well-fortified, and we will have to hold it.”

Before he could continue, an aide in rich uniform burst into the chamber.

Maréchal,” he cried, “the enemy have launched an attack! They are pushing rapidly over our outer defenses, and mean to strike directly at the city!” As if that weren’t bad enough, the mustached junior officer continued, “Our radar installations also detected a large enemy air detachment moving out into the ocean.”

“We must hold the line,” Galland ground out after a long pause. “Divert all nearby units to the defense of that line, and expedite the evacuation of the city. General Champion, I leave the command of the defense to you. The fate of the city lies in your hands.”

“I intend to rise to the occasion,” Champion replied, bowing sharply and then spinning on his heel and leaving the room. Maurice Galland watched him go before sighing and turning to face his Bavarian counterparts.

“We should be able to buy at least a day’s worth of time by ourselves before the line is pierced. If Champion is as capable a defender as he is an attacker, then I am sure of it. But as for the enemy air sortie: Due to the almost non-existent state of our air force, I am sorry to say that I must leave that to you. I have no doubt that it is meant to strike your reinforcing fleet.”

After receiving the news that huge-scale Bavarian reinforcements were incoming, Nemetz had not been happy. He had immediately ordered his generals to mount an offensive and capture Gravines before they arrived and turned the campaign into a drawn-out meat-grinder.

The attack was simple and classic, but effective. Across the board, the elite Stoßtruppen began to push forward for all their worth. Highly mechanized, they were able to achieve mobility and speed the French could never dream of, and supported in the crux of battle by isolated armor detachments, they made short work of the tenacious French defenders they met.

Within an hour, the French outward defense had collapsed, not from any fault of its own, but rather from the immense pressure put upon it, and Champion was marshalling his forces a few miles from Gravines, at the near-complete defensive line so many Frenchmen had spent so many weeks toiling over.

Before them was the enemy, and behind them was their capital. They would triumph, or they would be massacred. Only one thing was certain: they would fight.

PostPosted: Wed Sep 18, 2019 7:22 am
by Luxembourg-Bavaria
Indian Ocean
Capilean Coast, near Gravines

Chaos reigned as the fleet struggled on. After the initial wave, which caused many casualties, the warships of the fleet moved in to protect the transports and managed to keep the submarines relatively ineffective. The main problem was the air attacks. Despite the many AA guns in the fleet, individual bombers kept slipping through and wreaking havoc on the transports.

Aboard the Pride of Bavaria, fighters were being scrambled. Recently, the navy had purchased fighters from overseas. This would be their first test.

The captain of the carrier yelled at his men.

"We need to get a message to the fleet at Gravines. Their additional air support will end this!"

"They already know Captain. Admiral Wagner reports that fighter wings are launching from the Journey's End as we speak."

"They better hurry up before we lose everything."

He looked out on the chaos. It seemed most of the transports were damaged in some way. In the distance, he saw the fighters from Gravines approaching. The captain relaxed a little as he saw this.

Suddenly, an explosion rang out and alarms starting ringing on the bridge.

The captain stood up and began barking orders.

"Damage report!"

"A bomber hit the runway, sir!. It's not bad we can still launch."

"Good, I want all our fighters in the air."

In the outer part of the Bavarian formation, the cruisers began spraying depth charges. As a result, a few submarines were caught in the ring and destroyed. But the main consequence was now the subs could not target the transports without having to run a dangerous gauntlet underneath the cruisers. Up in the sky, a Stoßwehr bomber took a hit from an AA gun and went down, trailing smoke. Just as quickly, another managed to burst through the flak and drop its payload amid the transports, scoring a crippling hit on one before punching its way back out. It seemed the Reich had no compunction about losses.

As yet another Stoßwehr air wing committed itself to the engagement, the fighters from Gravines finally arrived. The elite pilots immediately engaged the enemy and after a while had shot down several planes. But they were not invincible, taking losses of their own.

The tide was slowly turning in favor of the Bavarians. Soon they would be in range of Gravines' naval defenses. Then they would be safe. It was only a matter of minimizing losses.

Outside Gravines
5 miles from the frontlines

The battle was raging. Even from the city outskirts, you could see it. After the hasty end to the meeting, General Werner had quickly issued orders to his commanders and his army group was ready to move. He made his way over to his communications officers.

"Get me General Champion. Now!"

The officers scrambled to the radio. One grabbed a headset and handed it to the general.

Werner put the headset on.

"General Champion this is General Werner. My men are ready to engage the enemy. Where do you need us?"

BMS Journey's End

Admiral Wagner hollered at his men.

"I want another fighter wing sent to support the incoming fleet. We need to prep the bombers for the land battle. We promised our boys airstrikes so by God we'll give them airstrikes.

"Understood, sir!"

Men scrambled left and right to carry out the orders.

A young ensign popped his head in the doorway.

"Admiral, Wing Commander Stetson reports his bombers have already been prepped. They are waiting for orders to engage."

Wagner snapped his head around to look at the junior officer.

"Give him the all-clear. Remind the bomber crews that their primary targets are the enemy armor and tell the fighters to protect them at all costs."

"Yes, sir I'll tell them." At this, the ensign snapped off a quick salute and ran off.

Wagner looked out onto the runway just in time to see two wings launch, one headed for land, and one for the sea. It is glorious, he thought, to watch your orders carried out efficiently. He brought himself back to reality.

"Lieutenant, how far away are our ships from the naval defense perimeter?"

"At their current speed, about 15-20 minutes. Perhaps quicker."


"Wait, sir!"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"The Pride of Bavaria reports the enemy submarines are withdrawing. The depth charge screens must have deterred them."

The admiral's heart rose. "What of the enemy air squadrons?"

"Pride of Bavaria reports that our wings have engaged them fully and that very few bombs have fallen since they arrived."

Again, Wagner felt his spirits lift at the good news.

"Well, gentlemen. We have indeed done our primary job. We have ensured the safety of our incoming fleet. Now we must turn to the task at hand. I want all bomber wings sent out as quickly as possible...."

As he was speaking a radio transmission crackled on.

"Admiral, this is Wing Commander Stetson. We are on our way back. Reich air defenses on land are minimal. We lost a fighter but not a single bomber. We also managed to destroy several tanks, but it's not looking good out there."

"Very well. We must run as many sorties as possible. When you return begin refueling immediately and prepare for another run."

"Yes, sir. Stetson out."

PostPosted: Wed Sep 18, 2019 12:38 pm
by Akordania


Rybakov stood at ease and accepted the handshake from Nemetz. “It is a pleasure, Lieutenant Colonel."

"Likewise, Reichsleiter." She'd say, watching his towering figure turn toward the window.

“I hope you appreciate the beauty of this city." He'd state coolly.

"I have, sir. Most of my men are from a remote part of Akordania, so much of this deployment so far has been surreal for them. The architecture here is remarkable. Quite different compared to Veroykne even...our nation's capital."

“Ah, as to your brigade. I believe they would be of most use to my Lieutenant General Werner Falk, the man in charge of Operation Muninn. It is an offensive aimed at capturing Gravines. Hirsch, the map!”

In the corner, a soldier snapped to attention and made haste toward the wall behind Nemetz's desk, unrolling a gigantic map. He was also a giant like his superior, but certainly much younger. He did not carry the air of authority that Nemetz commanded either. Rybakov encountered few men who truly held such a trait, and so effortlessly it seemed.

“You can see here Falk and Worgen’s armies- the 2. and 4.- and their objective, Gravines. The city is of great importance for the Reich, as it is is home to not only a magnificent shipyard but also a significant store of seaworthy vessels. These are vital for our naval programme. However, our intelligence has indicated that the French have been recently reinforced by their Bavarian allies, and thus that we shall meet with significantly more resistance than previously expected. Your brigade would, then, be most helpful in assisting with breaking through the enemy defenses. I am somewhat ignorant of the tactical situation, and so I will refer you to General Falk.”

Rybakov nodded slowly as he spoke, taking note of the marked enemy positions on the map, as well as the recent development of Bavarian reinforcements. Nemetz then turned his head to reveal a boyish grin- though the intensity somehow still manage to bleed through.

“Is there anything else, Lieutenant Colonel?”

Rybakov couldn't help but grin herself, shaking her head.

"No, sir, I believe that's all. Thank you for your time."

She quickly snapped to attention, rendered a salute, then executed an about face toward the door.

Rybakov formed her beret to her head yet again as she stepped out the door of the building, scanning the area for her aide. She caught his glance waiting by a nearby vehicle, smoking with the Brigade Sergeant Major. They both quickly flicked their cigarettes and jogged toward her, donning looks of excitement.

Saving them their breath, she stated, "Ready the men. We're headed to link up with a General Falk near Gravines. He's in charge of seizing the city from the Free State...apparently before foreign reinforcements arrive."

"Roger that." The Sergeant Major stated plainly, before turning toward the formation and barking orders. NCO's in each column relayed his demands and for a few minutes it was chaos; troops packing away their things and strapping on their gear. Finally, engines roared to life, and the formation proceeded to take off down the crowded avenues of the city eastward toward the French front.


A senseless rampage was all that could be described of the 3rd Brigade's advance to meet the Reich host. Though much of the area was already leveled and uncontested, split detachments of the brigade made it a point to comb the ruins for notable loot and survivors. Evidence of an Akordanian presence was signaled by graffiti and the bullet-riddled corpses of any who had the misfortune of crossing them. During occasional lapses in movement, paratroopers posed for photographs by the charred remains of French vehicles and positions, often showing off tattered banners as trophies. The 3rd had been quickly directed with integrating into the host committed to breaking the French line under General Champion; acting as yet another batch of regulars to hurl at the enemy...though they had the advantage of heavy armor directly under their control.

Even still, it was a long road toward the the front line, and it was clearly the Reichsleiter's intention to seize Gravines proper in a matter of a few days. Colonel Rybakov would be in the thick of it or not be there at all. They had already lost a great deal of time in their landing and subsequent meeting at Saxtonburg, so Rybakov ordered the Brigade to continue the push overnight. The formation continued to utilize uncontested roads traversed by the Reich, and even went so far as to shut off all their headlights and use night vision so as to avoid visual detection at the very least. At last, the inky blackness of a rural night sky gave way to fire. The thunder of battle soon came into earshot, and before they knew it they approached a lifeless urban sprawl. The formation broke down at the detachment level, veering off to different entry points. At the mouth of their respective points, the detachments halted and established 360 degree security.

Rybakov herself exited her vehicle and met up with her staff for a brief review on the status of their advance. She looked to her Sergeant Major primarily.

The grizzled and balding man looked up from the maps they had been issued and frowned.

"We're certainly going the right direction, ma'am, but it appears we're several thousand meters off course from the meeting point. In fairness, this is a four-digit grid and we've driving at night. Our only true dilemma is that we're running low on fuel, and with your order to advance through the night we were counting on a refuel at our meeting point."

Colonel Rybakov nodded slowly and came to his side, glancing over the map yet again.

"My biggest concern at this point is that we're very close to the front line, but we're outside of the Reich's perimeter. Meaning there's very little in the way of anti aircraft systems save for what we have. Taking whatever open roads we could a few thousand meters eastward would be faster but may also result in us getting vaporized. As absurd as this sounds, I feel that splitting up and taking this stretch under the cover of buildings," She'd gesture toward the outskirts, "Would actually be safer. We'll still maintain blackout and advance at a slower pace. Additionally, we'll have the men deploy on foot alongside the armor. What do you say, Sergeant Major?"

The old soldier briefly widened his eyes and returned to the map.

"Like you's really all we've got at this point. I'll arrange it." He'd outstretch his hand. "Radio!"

Sleeping Lion

PostPosted: Wed Sep 18, 2019 4:34 pm
by Rausenburg
Dutch Republic (Nova Capile)

Capile is a powder keg of Germanic cultures, in the middle of that, is a sovereign state of fellow Dutch-speaking Capileans.
They deserve the right to be protected from the sheer madness of war.
The Rasuen people will respond in kind and save our kin from this war. Maybe in the process save the rest of Capile from themselves.
Head Minister Sienna Johannsson

Albert-Jan van Klein Heksel, a diplomat from Rausenburg, stood on the deck of the CRV-14 A Sjoerdsma. A diplomatic vessel sent to Capile. It was anchored off the coast of Capile far enough away to be sitting in International Waters. The ship was smaller than most Rausen ships however, the ship could still land two aircraft on its deck. Had no offensive capabilities but it had 2 CWIS capable 9.3mm cannons to fend off incoming anti-ship or unwelcome aircraft. It had two EK90-RN's, a medium-sized, twin-engine, multi-role military helicopter, on its deck with a Navy aircrew working on getting it ready to fly. They would fly to the capital of the Dutch Republic and meet with their leader: President Andries Prather. Or at least, that was the hope. To add to the CRV-14 A. Sjoerdsma's arsenal was a Troop RMARSOF Soldiers, tasked with the protection of the ship and its crew.

Albert-Jan was sent by the Head Minister herself to see to assisting the Dutch Republic Government and Andries, organize the international support it was receiving and secure permission for the CRV-14 A. Sjoerdsma to come into a dock to act as the hub for Rausen support to the Dutch Republic and the tempory headquarters for the Armed Forces of Rausenburg. This was a tall order for Albert-Jan, as he would attempt to pull this off so Rausenburg would benefit from helping the Dutch Republic. It was the hope of Rausen Businesses to send freight to the port to kickstart the Dutch Republics Economy. This would earn money for Rausenburg, in turn, allow them to deploy more troops to help safeguard the border, train their troops and keep the Dutch of Capile safe.

He heard one of EK90-RN's engines kick on which caused him to turn and face it. It was starting its take-off sequence which means he could board. His team that was waiting inside walked to aircraft and boarded as well. His team consists of two RMARSOF operators as protection for the group, Eline le Nobel; a Military representative, Lowie Bloemendal; a Lawyer, Sr.Lt. Jette van Velthuis; his aide du comp and a tech specialist with the military and himself. This rounded team of civilians and military personnel would be the Dutch Republic's connection to Rausenburg until the big wigs arrived later with the military Taskforce that was no doubt already organized and en route with haste.

Once he sat he watched as the rest of the group organize themselves. Senior Lieutenant Velthuis ordered the two RMARSOF Operators to cover the doors to the aircraft and took her seat across from him She wore the same digital camouflage as the operators however they wore olive drab pants. The three of them were armed with M/78 Rifles. These rifles are the heavily modified M/07A4 rifles using a 7.8x48mm CTA Rifle round in comparison to the standard 5.6x45mm CTA rifle rounds. The 7.8mm CTA round is a heavier round and has an increased penetration rating in comparison to 5.6mm CTA. Once organized she looked at Albert-Jan.

"Hey AJ," She began. "Ben je hier klaar voor? Dit wordt de eerste keer voor ons allemaal in de Republiek."

"Maak je geen zorgen, luitenant, alles moet soepel verlopen. Ze hebben onze hulp nodig." He replied.

Moments after, the EK90-RN's rotors started to spin, which in turn made the helicopter shake in response. Once lift was achieved the nose edged down and the helicopter rotated to face their new course. They were on their way to Oranjstand and to war. Albert-Jan's job would see the hopeful peaceful end to the conflict. If he failed thousands of Rausen men and women would be sent to fight. This would shake him to the core if he was unable to see the Dutch Republic out of the war peacefully. Capitcilation was not an option for these dutch peoples. They had been fighting for so long, a successful breakaway was the only way to secure peace.

PostPosted: Wed Sep 18, 2019 5:44 pm
by Akordania


Corporal Kazimir Naumov rolled over to a blast of hot air, already deafened by the seemingly endless exchange of rocket and machine gun fire. The gust pushed him even further from the ruins of his perch, sending him scrambling down a mound of debris that was formerly the face of an apartment complex. Upon reaching the ground, he threw himself on his belly- surveying the street in front of him. His squad, bolstered with a BMD-3, interlocked their fields of fire on a machine gun position some fifty meters ahead; tucked within what was formerly a small side garage. To the southwest, French troops advanced down a ruined avenue, armed with machine guns and rockets. It all seemed to have happened in a millisecond. The brigade had been ordered to break down at the detachment level and advance through the ruins in the direction of the Reich's lines, all the while maintaining total blackout. The push had been completely unchallenged for around 1800 meters, before Naumov's detachment was drenched in hellfire from seemingly all directions. At this point, he was unaware of the status of the rest of the Brigade.

Bitterly wrestling for fire superiority with the enemy fortification, none of his squadmates seemed to take notice of the slimming flank. Naumov cursed, throwing his PKP over his shoulder and sprinting across the street behind his comrades, all the while avoiding the passing crack of enemy rounds. Crouching behind a burnt-out sedan, he turned his head back toward his squad, taking a deep breath before screaming.


Two of them took notice, ducking out of the stagnant formation to solid cover along Naumov.

"Light 'em up, Kaz! We've got you!"

Corporal Kaz nodded affirmatively and eased onto his belly, setting up his PKP just beneath the bumper of a burnt-out sedan. Meanwhile, the BMD crew had clearly run out of patience. The machine gun formerly jutting out from a slot in the turret withdrew, and in a moment the 30mm autocannon let out a thunderous burst, eviscerating the enemy fortification and the foundation of the building encompassing it. The building crashed down into a pile, spilling out into the road and creating a massive cloud of dust. Despite the low visibility, Kaz let loose with his PKP; squeezing off concentrated bursts on those unlucky enough to be be at the head of the hostile advance. Within seconds, the bodies of three Frenchmen were splayed in their own viscera. The remaining soldiers scrambled for cover, returning blind volleys of fire. Kaz's nearby squadmates began to pick targets themselves, hurling a hailstorm of bullets downrange. The BMD soon turned its attention to the remaining enemy, bathing the landscape in bullets as it crept slowly forward. Kaz, still overcome with adrenaline, laughed hysterically as he fired, confident in a crushing victory. Just as he did so, the BMD lurched backward as a rocket struck it directly in the hull, letting out a screech followed by a jarring internal explosion so powerful that the turret shot upward out of its seal. Seizing the moment, the French leapt out of cover, killing two Akordanians with surgical precision. The men collapsed onto one another beside the tank, sending their nearby comrades racing to safety. Kazimir cursed and returned an accurate burst, punching the rocket operator backward onto his rear before squeezing off another few rounds to finish him off. Kaz turned his attention to the men opposite his own position, as the other enemy troops were picked off by his squadmates. Hissing obscenities, he tore through their makeshift cover like paper and left them writhing in the blood-soaked dirt.

Silence fell over the avenue at last. Kaz clambered to his feet, tucking his PKP under his arm and jogging toward his brothers, who were now at work prying open the hatch to the BMD.

"Kaz, give us a hand!" One of the men yelled, cursing as he at last threw it open. Some of the others attempted to gain access through the remains of the turret, but the remaining fragments were searing hot. Kaz set his weapon on the ground and crawled up onto the tank, peering inside. Sure enough, the three man crew of the vehicle was spattered all over the interior. The Corporal closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, and crawled inside. While he set to work looking for dogtags, the rest of the paratroopers carried the bodies of their other comrades back down the street; cross-loading them into a UAZ. Thankfully, Kaz managed to find the dogtags fairly quickly; desiring to be out of the steel coffin as soon as possible. As for the advance- comms had at last been established with the other detachments. They, too, had encountered pockets of resistance in their advance, and yet again fuel was a topic of great concern. In spite of this, word from the commander came down the line decisively. They would reach their allies by dawn. Stagnation in the outskirts would likely yield more conflict of no strategic value, and that quite simply was unacceptable.

PostPosted: Thu Sep 19, 2019 12:06 pm
by Luxembourg-Bavaria
Outside Gravines
Near the Frontline

It was fitting, General Werner thought, that when it was most critical for communication, it was nowhere to be found. In anger, he pulled off his headset and threw it to the ground.

"Fine, we'll do it ourselves. Give me a battle report."

One of his aides stood up and walked over to him.

"Sir, the French are giving a good account of themselves. They are being pushed back but they are making the enemy pay for every inch. They currently are holding at the defensive line outside Gravines. However, we do have reports of a small force of elite troops fighting through the French lines. By all accounts, they seem to be trying to link up with the main Reich formations."

Werner frowned. Surprises like this were never good.

"Could it be Stoßwehr commandos?"

"No sir, they appear to be foreign. About 1,500 strong, with heavy armor."

"Ah, I see. How are our troops."

"They are executing their orders, sir. All available troops are joining the French to defend the city."

"Very well then."

Lieutenant Commander Günter Alnbach
Bavarian Armed Forces
Battle of Gravines

Artillery blasts echoed around the landscape. Behind the French lines, Bavarian troops flooded in as they reinforced the defenses. On the far right of the fortifications was a small village. It was there that the most intense fighting was taking place.

LCdr. Alnbach and his men were part of the Special Operations Brigade of Army Group Werner. Essentially, the SpecOps Brigade did the tough jobs on the battlefield. Today, it was to hold the enemy forces and prevent them from breaking out of the village.

Alnbach briefed his officers as the battle raged around them.

"Our goal is to hold this village and if possible push the enemy back. To do this we have the whole brigade* and a couple tanks."

He was cut off by the roaring sounds of plane engines as an allied air wing blew over them.

"We've got a job here. They aren't expecting us. Let's make it hurt."

The officers ran off to their men. Soon, the whole brigade was formed up. Alnbach whispered the order.

"Let's go men!"

The troops crept into the village, trying to conceal their presence as long as possible. In the main street, a French machine gun nest was firing at a mixed group of soldiers. Alnbach looked at his second-in-command.

"Some of those soldiers aren't Capilean."

"Command reported that a small group of foreign troops are on site. That's probably them.

"Copy that. Get our snipers up on the buildings."

Remaining hidden, several snipers began to scale the houses on the outskirts of the village. As this happened, the French position in the town center began to be overwhelmed. Shots began to ring out from everywhere as French soldiers started dropping. Alnbach grimaced. At this rate, he was going to have to commit his men to the battle earlier than he wanted. He looked up to see a sniper team signaling that they were in position.

As the battle raged on, the Bavarian snipers began to take their toll. As the French withdrew, they opened up to cover their allies. Several Fascist troops dropped. The rest scrambled for cover. The confusion was evident.

Alnbach signaled his men to advance. With the enemy largely pinned down, the Bavarian troops moved up and joined in the French defense. A French colonel scurried over to Alnbach as the deadlock set in once again. The exchange of fire was devastatingly loud, drowning out all but the loudest of shouts. The colonel surprised Alnbach by speaking in German.

"You are the Bavarian reinforcements?"

"Yes sir, Lieutenant Commander Günter Alnbach at your service."

"Splendid. These foreign troops have been giving us a hell of a time. You boys will make this easier."

"Indeed. We have a few tanks at our disposal if you want us to bring them up."

"Not now. The streets are too narrow they will be sitting ducks."

"Copy that."

As he spoke, a bullet struck the wall just above him. The next shot hit him in his shoulder. He fell to the ground, screaming profanities.

The colonel grabbed him and pulled him through a nearby doorway. He leaned his head out to shout orders.

"We got a sniper up in the church tower. Take him down!"

A French soldier unshouldered an RPG and took aim at the tower. Before he could fire, rifle fire from across the village found its mark, killing him instantly. A Bavarian trooper scrambled to grab the fallen RPG and fired it quickly before taking a bullet to his chest. The rocket shot through the air and exploded just below the sniper nest.

"Did we get him?"

"Keep your head down soldier!"

The confusion reigned across the village as Alnbach pulled out a morphine shot and injected himself as the colonel bandaged the wound. He sat up slowly.

The colonel spoke to him slowly, "Take your time, Alnbach. I'll be outside with my men."

Outside, the battle was still raging. Casualties were high on both sides, with elite troops on both sides, mistakes nearly always proved fatal. The deadlock continued to rage on as neither side could gain an advantage.

Alnbach slowly struggled to his feet. As he returned to the battle, he saw the body of the colonel who had saved his life. War is hell, he thought as he squeezed off a shot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glint up in the badly damaged church tower. Out of pure instinct, he raised his rifle and fired up in the tower. He heard a cry of pain, and a moment later a body dropped out of the tower, still clutching a sniper rifle. The allied troops started cheering at this and Alnbach's spirits lifted.

He returned to the battle line, yelling encouragement to the troops.

"Come on men, show them our strength!"

A shout rose up from one of the Bavarian snipers.

"Tank incoming!"

As if on cue, a heavy tank came into view, chugging down the village's main street. Its turret turned towards one of the last machine-gun nests.

Alnbach screamed out, "Concentrate fire on the tank!" as it fired, easily obliterating the nest. One of the troopers picked up the discarded RPG and yelled out, "I need a rocket!" A French soldier came running out of a building, with a rocket in hand.

Yells rang out among the Fascist lines. Fire began to ring out. In desperation, the Frenchman threw the rocket as bullets struck him in multiple places. The Bavarian reached out, grabbed the rocket, and in one motion loaded it and fired off a quick shot at the tank. As the rocket was on its way, the tank fired again, this time at a building that was part of the defensive line. Simultaneously, the rocket hit the tank, disabling it, and the shell stuck the building, completely destroying the wall and nearly collapsing the house. As the Fascist forces attempted to push forward, Bavarian reserves moved in and took up positions in the wrecked house.

At the same time, Alnbach saw the Fascists mustering for a push. He screamed out to his men.

"Here they come, boys! Hold fast!"

They came in a rush, firing wildly. Many were killed by the fresh reserves, but some still reached the Franco-Bavarian lines. The combat went hand-to-hand as more and more Fascists made it across the town square.

Alnbach continued to yell.

"Fall back men, fall back!"

The French soldiers disengaged and began to drop back. Some of the Fascist troops started to relax, thinking the battle was over. It was at this time that the Bavarian troops struck back. Using the space opened up by the French withdrawal, they opened up on the unprepared Fascist troops, killing many. This display of ruthlessness, combined by the fact that French surged back, broke the advance. Slowly but surely, the enemy fell back across the town square and settled back into their own fortifications.

The deadlock is reestablished. Alnbach and his men resigned themselves to a long fight.

*One Special Operations Brigade numbers 5,000 men

PostPosted: Thu Sep 19, 2019 6:28 pm
by Akordania


As the casualties were loaded and the formation continued down the street, they again came under fire. The UAZ's quickly broke out from the convoy, establishing themselves within the center of a 360-degree perimeter now coming together with the aid of two BMD's and an additional two T-72's. The troops dismounted again under the cover of heavy machine gun fire from the armor, a number of them being cut down by snipers. Further down the avenue past the burnt-out BMD, French troops advanced in droves. To the West of the French advance, seemingly out of nowhere, Capilean stormtroopers led an aggressive charge; carrying on despite many being cut down. Soon, the two sides collided; resulting in a brutal melee that greatly distorted the Akordanians' sectors of fire. The company commander, a First Lieutenant by the name of Ramzan Mendeyev, called for an elevation of fire to maintain suppression while minimizing friendly casualties. Meanwhile, the BMD's made short work of the surrounding buildings, letting loose on suspected sniper nests with their 30mm autocannons. Starting from opposite ends, the BMD gunners cast semi-circles before finally interlocking their fire; tearing apart the surrounding square.

Meanwhile, fireteams Alpha and Bravo were charged with maintaining suppressive fire alongside the armor. Behind them, Charlie's designated grenadier utilized his RG-6 to hurl caseless smoke grenades into the growing slaughter ahead. Breaking off, fireteam Delta filed off to the right, darting fifty meters deep down alleyways and side streets before cutting North toward the unengaged French left flank. As Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie dominated the field of fire with live rounds and smokescreens alike, Delta reformed into a line formation, advancing slowly down a side street. They halted at the mouth of square in which the fighting was taking place, taking cover. The French and Capileans, still engaged in hand-to-hand, were completely consumed in the chaos of combat, which was exacerbated by the introduction of smoke. Those troops who had yet to be engaged on the leftmost flank were slaughtered with concentrated bursts as Delta pushed forward, replacing their AK's with trench knives.

Delta then crashed into the scrum, gutting Frenchmen left and right before at last breaking through to their Capilean allies. By this time, comms had been established with the Fascists; Lt. Mendeyev begging for a Capilean withdraw in an effort to execute the maneuver decisively. Eventually they took heed, dialing back as Delta at last cut Westward after them...kicking and stabbing their way to the other side. Once Delta had cleared the killzone, Alpha and Bravo led a staggered line advance straight through the position. The slaughter was magnificient; with the Akordanians effectively having cut a cross through the French holdout. All throughout the square, Frenchmen scrambled to avoid a hailstorm of automatic fire from Akordanian Kalashnikovs. Men left and right were ripped to shreds, and brought to a total rout. Fireteams Alpha and Bravo finally tore through the chaos, breaking up to find more suitable cover as unknown, presumably Bavarian troops spilled out from cover further ahead. The push was halted with the thunder of their rifles, slaying countless Fascist troops along with a number of Spetsnaz.

Furious, Mendeyev trained the guns of his T-72's on the newfound combatants. The BMD's sped out of their original positions, widening outward to compliment the destruction being brought about by the 125mm guns of the T-72's. Bavarian commandoes were pulverized by the overwhelming wave of ordnance. The fireteams still locked in the killzone broke contact, with Delta planting as the base element to cover Alpha and Bravo's retreat. The aforementioned fireteams bounded back fifty meters before turning and doing the same for Delta, who withdrew another hundred meters back into friendly territory. In a final maneuver, Delta provided overwatch yet again as Alpha and Bravo bounded past them toward the convoy, picking off enemy troops that came too close. Delta then turned tail and ran, under the continual cover of friendly armor. Mounting a T-72 at the rear of the retreating convoy, the fireteam leader of Delta, spattered in blood, gave the Bavarians one final parting gift; two gloved middle fingers.

PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2019 6:20 am
by New Decius
Stadtschloss, Berlin
Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire
Federation of European Monarchies

“But if Excellency would allow me to finish-“

“Finish? Ha! Your not done yet? In that case by the time you are I expect all the grain in Ukraine, France, and White Ruthenia to be gone!”

Presently a rather loud and ferocious debate was taking place inside the walls of the Stadtschloss as two men came to argue their case before the Kaiser. The Honorable Count Ivan Sergei Mouradian, Ambassador of the Kingdom of Ukraine to the German Empire, was vehemently attempting to oppose the scheme being put forward by the Reichskanzler. They were holding this open argument in one of the many drawing rooms inside the large palace, with several of His Imperial Majesty’s aides and Richthofen’s own Principle Private Secretary also present. Meanwhile His Imperial and Royal Majesty was slumped back in his chair, fist against forehead in frustration.

“Well Your Excellency I wouldn’t go anywhere near that far nor does my proposal come anywhere close to even emptying Ukraine of all its grains nevermind the other major grain producers in Europe. However our allies are presently facing a food crisis due to reversals in the field, and there is the danger of millions starving over the coming Winter, which could have a potentially disastrous impact on the war situation. Regular shipments of grain and other foodstuffs will go a long way in securing not only the continued health of millions of innocent people, many of whom will be children, but also to safeguarding European interests in Capile.” Richthofen was himself on the verge of slumping down into a chair they had been arguing like this for going on several hours now.

Somehow, someway, the Ukrainian’s had gotten wind of a plan being floated around the Reichskanzler’s office regarding a dedicated and regular shipment of grain and other foodstuffs from Europe to Capile. As Ukraine was the third largest producer of grain in Europe after Russia and France, King Leo Stefan von Habsburg had immediately sent His ambassador to Germany on a march not to the Reichskanzler but to the Kaiser directly, forcing Richthofen to make all haste for the Stadtschloss after receiving a call that the ambassador was en route. The loser amongst them was indeed His Imperial Majesty, whom had been sound asleep until the palace’s majordomo Friedrich Sëckt had awoken the Kaiser to inform him of the arrival of the Ukrainian ambassador; has Sëckt not been serving the Imperial Family for five decades now despite being almost seventy years old, as well as basically being like a second grandfather to His Majesty during His youth, Josef would likely have punched him for waking him at such an un-Godly hour.

The specific scheme in question had been among a great number drawn up after it finally became apparent just how desperate the grain situation in Royalist Capile was, as the Royalist were, reluctantly, forward about their financial crisis but seemed much more embarrassed that their population was starving. The Kaiserlicher Landwirtschaftsminister (Imperial Minister for Agriculture) Siegmund Waxmann had calculated that Germany could probably spare approximately two million metric tons of grain and assorted foodstuffs a month if shipments were also drawn from the Kolonialreich (Colonial Empire), however with the military situation as it was in Capile this was unlikely to be enough. Waxmann and his colleague, Kaiserlicher Minister für Ernährung (Imperial Minister for Nutrition) Irmgard Bahnsen had both examined the figures heavily and concluded that two million metric tons was the absolute limit per month that the Kaiserreich and Kolonialreich could sustain as Germany could not afford to draw on its strategic grain reserves and the Kolonialreich was presently experiencing population booms in Indochina, Deutsch-Westafrika (Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo, and Benin), and Namibia. That meant that other members of the European Federation would have to chip in to ensure that Capile didn’t starve.

The Reichskanzler had convened his Cabinet as well as senior members of the Reichstag’s Committee’s on Agriculture, Nutrition, Fisheries, and Finance and essentially they stayed shacked up in Richthofen’s office for half a week trying to come up with plans. Finally it was worked out that Germany and its colonies would indeed provide the two million metric tonnes a month while France and Ukraine would source an additional two million metric tonnes a month, Russia would provide four million metric tonnes a month, while Poland, Britain, and Romania each contributed an additional quarter of a million metric tonnes bringing the total to almost eleven million metric tonnes of grain a month. By all calculations it was a feasible plan since both Germany and Russia possessed semi-significant strategic grain reserves should the other states require relief in any manner, and if the Capilean’s could recapture their major grain producing regions then the shipments could be lightened to a much smaller load. As it was though the European states would only be able to maintain such a pace for a maximum of six months before it began to have debilitating effects at home.

All this led to the here and now at the Stadtschloss...

Finally the Kaiser had had enough and slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair silencing the two men in front of him, one of whom stiffened in the presence of his sovereign and the other retained something of a respectful attention. “We will not have such bombastic debate in Our presence, Reichskanzler, Ambassador. You have both come here to present your cases to Us so that We may cast the die to the victor.” Given the early hour and his rude awakening, Josef would just have gladly said hang the Royal pronoun but since a foreign representative was present it prevented him speaking in a manner not befitting the Court. “However, in case Our Imperial Chancellor and Your Excellency failed to notice, We have just recently risen, rudely awoken from Our sleep by said bombastic debate brought to Our home. We have yet to even have our morning meal and God help you should you awaken Our son the Crown Prince or Our wife, Her Majesty the Empress, whom both still sleep soundly.” At that both men’s ears ran red as they were reminded that their debate had roused the most powerful man in Europe out of bed at an atrocious hour. Not to mention they might very well have woken up His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Karl Friedrich, though they surely would’ve known by now since if there was one thing two year olds were good at, it was screaming bloody murder when woken too soon. They would however have no warning if they had woken up Her Imperial Majesty, Empress-Consort Victoria since while women were notorious for being equally unpleasant when rudely awoken, they also had the capability to wait for the opportune moment to strike.

Richthofen was the first to recover and took the knee before the Kaiser with his head bowed while Count Mouradian settled for a low bow. “I must beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness for my participation in such a rude and vicious incident in Majesty’s home. I arrived here rather flustered and have acted not at all in the manner befitting Your Majesty’s Imperial Chancellor of the Realm.”

Mouradian was equally regretful. “I too must beg Your Imperial Majesty’s forgiveness for causing such a disruption. I have behaved in a manner most unbecoming for a guest in another country.”

Josef kept trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes before finally gesturing to two of the other chairs in the room indicating he wished the men to take their seats while Sëckt had a cart wheeled in on which was a still steaming pot of fresh coffee and three cups, accompanied by a small stack of documents for the Kaiser to review. “Gentlemen let Us first have some coffee to fire up a few more brain cells, cool your tempers, and then We shall discuss the matter at hand. Afterwards I hope you will do Us the good honor of joining Us and Our household for breakfast.” Neither man could very well refuse.

An hour later found the setting changed to one of the many outdoor gardens within the Stadtschloss where the party was taking in a light breakfast, the discussion rather cooled as the Kaiser had forbidden debate until he so chose the time. Joining the group were two other persons of August importance; of course there was Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Victoria, seated of course to her husband’s immediate right and looking for all the world as if such an unusual meeting were completely normal and as composed and proper as if appearing at the Court or the Reichstag. Then seated to the Kaiser’s left was His Royal Highness, Prince August Wilhelm of Prussia, the youngest one among the group. Prince August Wilhelm was, despite being the youngest one among them at 28, in a manner the Kaiser’s familial senior, the Prince being the youngest child of Kaiser Wilhelm Augustus III and therefore Josef’s uncle. He also served as Senior Secretary of State of the European Office of Agriculture, hence why he had been invited to this little breakfast meeting, though the Prince was far more genial being snatched from his estate outside of Posen at such an hour than his nephew was at being awoken at such an hour.

“So nephew of mine, why exactly did you fetch me from Posen this morning? It can’t be just to have a nice breakfast with me, though such sentiment would surely warm your dear old uncle’s heart.”

The Kaiser almost couldn’t refrain from snorting at such a comment given he was six years older than his uncle.

“I am afraid Uncle August that it is for business that I have called you here though I hope we can get the family together sometime soon. However for now I did call you here for a matter of state, specifically agriculture.”

“Well then you have the right chap. That is my trade after all.” The Prince might give off the appearance of a playboy aristocrat but was in fact quite a serious and efficient person when it came to his work. “I’m guessing that this has to do with the grain crisis in Capile?”

Josef nodded. “What would your opinion be in regards to a regular series of grain shipments from Europe to Capile? Could it be managed without putting undue stress on domestic agriculture?”

Clearly the Prince had already become well versed in this topic as his answer came within mere minutes. The topic had in fact been discussed heavily in the European Office of Agriculture as the civil war had effected the usual regular sale of foodstuffs to Capile by European companies. A regular shipment of grain and foodstuffs to Capile though? Nobody had yet proposed such an idea, largely because it wouldn’t exactly be the most popular of suggestions.

“Well could we manage it logistically, I think so, in fact if we had every European state chip in five percent of their total grain production we could probably send approximately six million metric tonnes of grain a month to Capile. That would be the absolute limit unless we were to restrict it to the five largest grain producers in which case we could have each contribute fifteen percent and send ten million metric tonnes a month. Rationed properly that could sustain a population approximately three times that presently in Royalist territory. One ton of grain can on average sustain an estimated total of 1,550 people a day so as long as the shipments were properly distributed then it should be doable.”

Before the Reichkanzler, Kaiser, or Ambassador could speak or restart their debate the Prince cut them off. As the Kaiser’s familial (technically) superior he was one of the few whom could actually do so, again ironic since he was six years younger than his much more powerful nephew. “However, such a rate could only be maintained for at maximum three months, and I do not speak lightly there. Three months would be the absolute longest we could ship grain to Capile regularly at such numbers, as the Office of Environment is expecting a particularly hard winter this year which will affect the agricultural needs of Russia, Ukraine, Romania, Finland, and Livonia. If we continued grain shipments to Capile then it could not be in sufficient amount to actually help them very much nor could Ukraine, Russia, and Romania contribute to these shipments.”

Now Richthofen took over as a pensive expression came across his face. “So the Royalists have three months to recapture their major grain producing regions, after that point we cannot supply them as we presently can?”

The Prince nodded his confirmation.

“Well I will approve the immediate shipment of the first ten million metric tonnes. Reichskanzler you will get in contact with the Capilean’s and find out the details of how this shipment is to be distributed. While simply sending it right to Rochefort by plane and ship is the most sensible given its strong position and the unlikely possibility of it falling to the Fascists, we could also air drop portions of these shipments across Royalists territory.” The Kaiser had thus given his consent.

At this Ambassador Mouradian took up his neckerchief and dabbed at his mouth before pushing his plate forward, his omelette barely touched, and rising from his seat. Based on the slight twitching at the corners of his mouth and the minor glare he was sending in Richthofen’s direction, it was quite clear the man was far from pleased with the decision. However he still showed the proper respect by bowing in deference to the Kaiser as he moved to take his leave.

“I must thank you for the delightful meal Majesty, if you will forgive me I must return to the embassy and convey the outcome of this meeting to His Royal Majesty in Kiev.” With that he departed the grounds, the victorious Reichskanzler throwing a smirk in his direction.

Said smirk soon vanished however as Richthofen found the perfect opportunity to nip the Kaiser’s constitutional adjustments in the bud, especially given that Prince August Wilhelm was here. Indeed Prince August had the most to lose should the Prussian throne be removed from his nephew, since technically if Josef forfeited the Prussian throne then his successor would by law indeed be his uncle, as he would be next in line of succession.

“While we are here Your Majesty, there is something else I wish to discuss.” At that Josef looked up, as if suddenly realizing what else the Reichskanzler might want Prince August here to discuss. Before the sovereign could stop his subordinate he had already begun. “Your decision to relieve yourself of the Prussian crown in favor of Princess Elizabeth of Austria and Hungary has caused something of a-“

Richthofen was interrupted by a crash as Prince August had dropped his coffee cup upon hearing those words and it shattered on the ground. The look of sheer fury on his face was very much indescribable as he slowly turned to look at his nephew, teeth gnashing as he narrowed his eyes almost to slits and for once the Kaiser knew he had crossed a line even a sovereign could not repair. Clearly he had not even factored in what Prince August, his technical successor to the Prussian (and German) throne(s) until Karl Friedrich was of age, would think about his idea until just now. Quite obviously the nephew had not anticipated his uncle being quite this angry.


“Now uncle please kindly calm-“


“How dare you uncle, I am the Kaiser-“


“Well I agree you have some interest in the matter-“


“Uncle I hold you in the greatest resp-“

“SHUT UP! I am getting ahold of Rosa (Princess Rosa Maria of Prussia, Age 29 and Fourth Child of Wilhelm Augustus III) and father (Former Kaiser WilAug III) and we’re going to sit down and have a nice family chat about this bloody stupid idea of yours! No argument!”

As the Prince and the Kaiser continued to have their argument, well as the Kaiser continued to sit there while his uncle six years his junior continued to lose his head with anger, Richthofen was sporting an ear to ear grin as his plan succeeded right in front of him. Though Princess Rosa Maria had largely left the aristocratic life behind, instead seeking a career as an administrator in the International Red Cross, she would not doubt be upset about the House of Germania losing Prussia to first their Austrian cousins and then their Capilean friends. The Former Kaiser would be even more furious than his youngest son, having just returned from a touring set throughout the Middle East where he met with several prominent Arab leaders, and would surely flip his lid when he learned of what his eldest grandchild had proposed.

That was one problem taken care of.

Battle of Stammburg, Southern Front
Clash Between 16. Armee and 3. Panzerarmee
Seven Kilometers Northwest of Orburg

“Well not much of a prize anymore is it? Still I’ll give them credit for a proper assault given their circumstances.” General Ludwig Witold, Commander-in The Field of the 16. Armee, commented as he looked at aerial recon photo’s of what was left of Orburg after German and Royalist troops made a fighting retreat from it. Luckily the General had relocated his headquarters prior to the VF’s surprise counter-offensive so he was not in threat of death or capture in the midst of the fighting.

“True, our resistance also forced them to expend more of their limited resources than they expected to have to do so. Based on their initial assaults they weren’t expecting the 12. Panzergrenadier’s to be in the area and only came equipped to deal with the 4. Infanterie.” Generalmajor Martin Heuss, commanding officer of the aforementioned 12. Panzergrenadier Division, pitched in as they reviewed the photos while around them there was the usual hustle of activity. “Whoever fed them information about our troop positions obviously wasn’t doing their job properly. Their attacks further South were foiled when they sent infantry against the 5. Panzer and 23. Panzer, another intelligence failure on their part, not that I’m complaining.”

General Witold stroked his chin in thought for a moment before passing the tablet off to one of his staff officers. Shrugging off his greatcoat he sat down in his chair while booting up his computer connected to the OHL’s CENTNET (Central Network), the highly secured staff command network. “It was probably one of Fleischmann’s officers who passed the info along, naturally we only tell the Capilean’s about our troop positions which will actively affect their forces as well. They had the gall to doubt the loyalty of our French colleagues while setting aside the fact that their the ones in a civil war. Besides the French troops are loyal to France herself, and her King, not to a fragile socialist state setup by descendants of French immigrants.” In all fairness it was very likely that Krebs only knew the very limited amount which he did about the German positions from a Royalist turncoat. Maybe not even ideological, but this civil war was in fact a ‘brothers war’ maybe someone was willing to trade information to a sibling or cousin on the other side in the hopes that their family would be safe. Well all they had managed to do was nearly encircle Orburg only they hadn’t known about the 12. Panzergrenadiers being around the hold up the enemy.

“Anyway, are all Divisions in position for the offensive?”

“Ja Herr General, we are prepared for the offensive to go into action. All airstrikes have been plotted and are ready for launch, and the fleet will be providing us with the cruise missile strikes you requested.”

“Well what are our chances as Rommel’s supercomputer in the Vulcan calculates?”

“Herr General, it is very likely that we will make a large breakthrough in the enemies lines, with the possibility to encircle the majority of the 3. Panzerarmee’s heavy units at the front. With fire restrictions lifted we don’t even have to concentrate our heavy divisions to keeping the pockets tied down, just tie them down with infantry and blast them to pieces with artillery and airstrikes.”

Witold’s general plan was to send all twelve of his Divisions into action with all four Panzer Divisions and the three Panzergrenadiers being sent on plunging strikes into the vast plains West of Stammburg and also driving right into 3. Panzerarmee’s flanks and logistics. The remaining Divisions would then be used to consolidate and tie down any pockets of enemy troops created in this order while heavy airstrikes would shatter the enemies supply lines as well as targeting command posts to bugger the chain of command. Now that Rommel had lifted fire restrictions across the front, it was believed that the massive commitment of air power to a new offensive, as well as factoring in the VF’s inability to continue their previous air defense efforts, would be able to shatter the enemy alongside plunging strikes by the ground troops.

“You really have to feel sorry for the Stoßwehr don’t you? This is their height, their peak as it were.” Witold was watching on the monitor as all Divisions reported full readiness status while overhead the sound of passing jets was a constant. He began sending the all clear signal to each Division’s command staff to begin the counteroffensive. “Never again will they be able to field this kind of veteran force, nor can they field such armored and mechanized forces ever again or at least not in the near future. Rommel didn’t just want Stammburg secured to defend Rochefort from potential attack, he wanted to wipe out the veteran troops garrisoning it.” The orders were sent and thus it would begin.

Generalfeldmarschall Rommel had known that though Nemetz did have some elite veteran troops at his command in the North, the majority of his forces were fresh conscripts or relatively green troops lacking experience and proper training. However, Feldmarschall Krebs forces locked up at Stammburg were truly elite veteran forces with proper equipment including the latest weapons either developed in Capile or bought from Germany, and with all capability to establish a VF bastion in the South forcing the Royalists to face them on two fronts. By taking Krebs forces out of the equation, it could set Nemetz plans back by at least six months to a year.

Not only would General Witold and 16. Armee be launching a large scale counteroffensive, but action would occur all down the line. General Ulräch and 22. Armee would marshal the heavy divisions near Kortelein and then launch an offensive aimed straight at the coastal city of Carrbeck while General von Schneider would continue her brutal advance in the Sumpfwald.

PostPosted: Sat Sep 21, 2019 5:43 pm
by The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile


Like birds of prey, the dark clouds of Stoßwehr craft swooped down onto the vulnerable transports, sending many a Bavarian to a watery grave by sinking his ship.

But the slaughter was halted by the sudden arrival of Bavarian planes, shooting defiantly into the battle and interrupting the onslaught of Capilean bombs and lead.

Happy with the scores of hapless Bavarians they’d massacred, the black craft swerved away from the flotilla, zipping across the skies and back toward the fog-shrouded coastline.

The Fascists withdrew, leaving destruction in their wake and at little cost. The battle had been fought and finished in but minutes.

“Die!” Rudolf Maier yelled as his hand loosed a slender grenade. The instrument of destruction arced through the air and fell neatly through the shattered window of a house. A shout in strained French and the sounds of frantic scuffling followed, but were cut off by the grenade’s deathcry.

Rudolf smiled grimly as he watched a brown-uniformed corpse fall limply from the second-story window of the house. Another building had been cleared.

The soldier turned his attention to the street around him. The quaint village on the outskirts of Gravines had been turned into a warzone in just a few hours. Almost every structure in sight had been either leveled or turned into a fighting position. Gray-uniformed Stoßtruppen surged through the city, precise and deadly. Against the French dogs they had grown used to running down, they excelled.
The Bavarians had proved more troublesome, however.

Arriving out of the blue, the French State’s newfound ally had successfully propped up that failed state, which would otherwise have already lost its capital. They fought as a professional army, far better than the French conscripts who had been thrown into battle, and almost as good as the elite Stoßtruppen they so tenaciously opposed.

Rudolf was distracted by the roar of a plane overhead. At first, he tensed, thinking that the Bavarian air support, which had already struck effectively once, was back again. His ice-blue eyes sparked when he saw that airplanes marked with the Reich’s raven were descending on the village.

An eerie hurrah arose from the Stoßtruppen across the battle-lines, who now recognized that the stalemate could be broken. Friendly fighter-bombers darted across the battlefield, flattening French positions and providing the heavy support the offensive had needed.

Rudolf joined the hurrah, sprinting into the breach with his brethren as the enemy line began to shatter.

General Julien Champion remained focused, even as the sound of whistling shells drowned out his thoughts. The tactical map displayed on a tablet before him was constantly changing, the battlelines shifting as live reports streamed in from the front.
The French line seemed to be folding.

The initial Fascist offensive had been a full-on frontal assault across the front. Then, elite Stoßwehr units had made concentrated breakthrough attacks at various points along the line, usually supported by armor and reportedly by foreigners.

Champion had responded to these attempted breakthroughs by ordering his own armored troops to plug them, to stem the influx of Fascists at all costs, in order to save the line. Heavy losses had been taken, and many tanks were lost because of the enemy’s advanced anti-armor weapons and skill; but for the most part, this had prevented the enemy from creating a crack in the line. In one place, however, in one hamlet at the part of the line closest to Gravines, the enemy had fully committed.

Reinforced by these foreign units and now by sudden air superiority, they had broken the stalemate and were now thrashing outward, determined to break out from the village.

What armor Champion had left was tied up holding other parts of the line or recovering from brutal combat. He had no recourse. The line was his only asset.

He looked up, finally noticing one of his aides, who had been desperately trying to get his attention for some time.

“General, the Bavarian commander is urgently requesting communication with you!” he informed.

“Tell General Werner that I am doing what I can. With how long the line is and how much the enemy has to throw at it, I cannot hold it all up at once. I have ordered what spare elements we have to regroup at the enemy’s breakthrough site to try and drive it back. But they are not much. I have done what I can; but I fear that the fate of the battle will lie with him.”


It is settled then,” the rich French voice said loudly, its hand flourishing over the ornate map of Capile that the two delegations had been slashing borders into for days now.

“Indeed,” a grave voice agreed. It belonged to none other than Andries Prather, statesman, diplomat, President, reverend, and poet. For all his titles, he was very austerely garbed, wearing but a plain black suit, with gray, broad-brimmed felt hat on his lap. His clothing, combined with the rough elegance of his long face and the white beard which sprouted from under his chin, gave him the appearance of a Quaker or Pilgrim who had been snatched from the past and thrust into the twenty-first century.

Compared to the modish, European-cut garb his French counterpart wore, one might assume that the ambassador, Orlando de Condé, was the more important of the two, when in fact it was the opposite. But there was an air of erudition and gravity that Prather exuded, and that confirmed his status as a wise man and as President.

Andries Prather rose from the stiff-backed chair he had been sitting in, gimlet eyes surveying for a final time the territorial changes he had agreed upon. The issue which had so delayed the French-Dutch alliance had been disagreement over land which neither owned– that between their borders, currently under Royalist control.

Now, the two had finally worked out a border which generally put Frenchmen under French rule and Dutchmen under Dutch rule. No one had given a thought to the German– but never in two-hundred years had the German given a thought for them.

The Dutch Minister of Foreign Affairs, Petrus Lowell, presented a gilded parchment to the two men.

“The Treaty of Oranjstad,” he said, clearly relieved that the talks had finally concluded.

De Condé signed the document immediately, his loopy signature large and garish. Prather stooped over the paper, and his hand traced in plain lettering his name.

The Treaty of Oranjstad was concluded, and a new alliance was sealed.

“From this day hence, the French and Dutch will stand as brothers against the enemies of independence!” de Condé proclaimed.

“Speaking of which,” Lowell interjected, “my aide has informed me that a foreign delegation seeks an appointment with you, De Heer President.”

“By all means, show them in.”


They were but kilometers from the Sumpfwald.

For days they had fought nonstop, raging through the German backlines. They had gotten this far; they could not stop now.

“Forward, forward!” Captain Dietrich Stolte shouted above the din of battle. His commandos obeyed, wearily.

They were exhausted from days of combat, from sleeping for only twenty minutes at a time on the floor of their truck, from stopping their march only to piss.
They had fought together for a decade or more, most of them. They had long transcended brotherhood; they were almost one, so was their cohesion and devotion to each other. They had fought through dire straits; but these straits were downright apocalyptic.

Dietrich looked ahead, across the carnage of war, burning hulks and twitching corpses, to the panzergrenadiers they were now engaging. The Germans had brought up their heavies, were fighting tooth-and-nail for every god-forsaken inch of territory.

Stolte had lost brothers, sons, had lost part of himself with every one of his men that was taken by a German bullet. By all right he was an empty husk, so much he had lost.

“We came this far,” he said to himself bitterly, sadly, with hatred for every son of Germany in his breath.

Planes thundered overhead; Dietrich knew without looking for whom they were fighting.

Operation Jörmungand floundered, stalled, gave one last gasp as blood ran from its mouth, and died.

Dietrich Stolte died, too, died in some god-damned trench in the woods, with blood running from his mouth and piss from his trousers, cursing what had taken so much from him.

And with him died the soul of Krebs’ army.

PostPosted: Sun Sep 22, 2019 9:14 am
by Luxembourg-Bavaria
Free French State

"You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated."
- Maya Angelou

The battle raged on. From his mobile command center, General Werner could see the entire battle. An aide ran up to him, shouting out his message.

"Sir, urgent communication from General Champion! He says he is doing all he can and his forces are stretched thin. It will be up to us to plug the gap on the right."

Werner frowned. This was not unexpected. Suddenly, his radio began crackling and a voice came on over the static.

"General Werner, this is General Krüger. My troops are unloading into Gravines as we speak. We took a beating from those Stoßwehr
bastards but the troops are ready to give one right back. I have 200,000 troops battle-ready and on the way to the front, as well as around 300 tanks."

"How are your losses, General?"

"We still aren't entirely sure but somewhere around 15,000 men, and additionally about 20-25 tanks. We are moving as fast as we can. What is the battle situation?"

"We are holding so far but the line is threatening to break in a village on the right of the line. I have committed my SpecOps Brigade there but we need more to hold. Your armor is also desperately needed. Move both to the village at all possible speed."

"Copy that. The rest of my men will join yours on the line."

"Understood. Werner out."

BMS Journey's End
In port at Gravines

Admiral Wagner barked out orders.

"I want all available planes in the air ASAP! Tell the Pride of Bavaria the same thing. I need airstrikes every 30 minutes and all our fighters in the sky. We've got to keep those Fascist planes off of our boys!"

Officers scrambled left and right to relay the orders throughout the craft as a communications officer opened up a line to the Pride of Bavaria.

"Admiral, Captain Schmidt is on screen!"

Wagner pivoted around to face the MTAC* screen.

"Captain. Put all planes in the air. We must not allow the Fascist planes to harass our ground troops."

Schmidt grinned slyly. "Copy that, Admiral. We'll push 'em back."

Wing after wing of planes roared off of the aircraft carriers. Several dogfights broke out over the battlefield as the Fascist planes were forced to deal with the air threats. Wagner watched as a bomber wing successfully delivered its payload, eviscerating a Reich armor formation. The air battle slowly turned in favor of the Bavarians. Through sheer numbers, they forced any enemy planes to engage them instead of the forces below, running sorties all the while.

Lietenant Commander Günter Alnbach
Bavarian Armed Forces
Battle of Gravines

A bullet whizzed by LCmdr. Alnbach's head as he ducked behind one of the few standing buildings left. The battle had slowly been turning in favor of the enemy, as the numbers advantage proved somewhat insurmountable. His second-in-command leaned over to him and yelled in his ear.

"Command reports reinforcements are on the way. They also say the foreign troops in the village are Spetznaz from the Republic of Akordania, wherever the hell that is."

Alnbach smiled. A good challenge was never a bad thing. As the battle had raged on, his brigade had taken casualties, but they had given back as good as they got. However, the battle was reaching a turning point. They were slowly being driven out of the village. That was unacceptable.

He ducked reflexively as a Fascist plane roared overhead, cursing under his breath. The enemy began to push. The line was hard-pressed as the French troops started to bend. Alnbach poked his head out and fired off a quick burst of shots. His second shot found its mark, punching through the chest of a Spetznaz trooper. Despite the tough resistance, the Franco-Bavarian troops were on their heels and a sort of fighting retreat began. Several Fascist tanks began to roll up behind the enemy infantry. At this Alnbach yelled out to his men.

"Fall back to the last line!"

The last line was a work of the Bavarian engineers. Using the wreckage as well as the last line of buildings, they had constructed a hard, fortified line on the edge of the village. Using the cover fire from Bavarian sniper teams, the allied troops reached the line without incident. Alnbach climbed up to one of the sniper nests and began firing down on the advancing enemy forces. As the human wave of Fascists neared the line, Bavarian troopers pulled off the covers to several heavy machine guns. Immediately, an intense fire blanketed the streets. Stoßtruppen and Spetznaz alike were mowed down as the survivors pulled back. Stalemate ensued as the Fascist troops attempted to buy time for their armor to come up.

A plane roared overhead. Alnbach looked up to see the nose of a Reich bomber barreling towards their position. He sighed.

Just before the bomber could deliver its payload, a Bavarian fighter swooped down and sprayed machine-gun fire, damaging the enemy plane, forcing it to abandon its run. Cheers rang up and down the Franco-Bavarian line. Alnbach watched as another fighter finished off the damaged plane, waggling its wings at the defenders.

A salvo from a Fascist tank annihilated a sniper nest, snapping Alnbach back to reality. More engines could be heard now, as Bavarian air wings moved in. Two Bavarian bombers targeted the village, dropping their payloads before turning back to the sea. The majority of the bombs hit their mark, with all but one of the enemy tanks being disabled. The last tank proceeded to fire directly into a building, collapsing the wall and compromising the structural integrity of the building. French troops streamed out of the building. Many were dropped by Fascist bullets, but some managed to take up new positions on the line.

The Fascist tank began to rotate its turret to face the central part of the line. Alnbach saw this.

"Stand fast men!"

The tank fired. The explosion was deafening. The Fascist troops sprang up from their defensive positions and charged, determined to take advantage of the breach. Alnbach screamed out orders.

"Focus all machine-gun fire on the center!"

The suppressive fire halted the push, but the enemy still had managed to advance closer. The battle was on the brink of becoming a rout.

Suddenly, a cry came up from the rear.

"Reinforcements! Reinforcements have arrived!"

Alnbach glanced behind him. Before him was the greatest thing his eyes had ever seen. A Bavarian tank rolled up, quickly firing. The shot was a direct hit on the last Fascist tank, disabling it in a fiery explosion. Bavarian troops bearing the markings of Army Group Krüger poured in. As the allied armor began pounding the Fascists, the Stoßtruppen were pushed back.

A Bavarian trooper jogged over to Alnbach.

"Captain Johann Reinhardt of Army Group Krüger. I assume you are Lieutenant Commander Alnbach?"

"At your service, Captain."

"We can keep your men in the rear for now. Rest for a little and rejoin the fight when you feel your troops are battle-ready."


They saluted each other as Reinhardt moved to the frontlines. Alnbach leaned against a wall, slowly lowering himself to the ground.

They had held the line.

*MTAC stands for Multiple Threat Alert Center

PostPosted: Sun Sep 22, 2019 9:35 am
by Pan-Asiatic States

"Asians! Think back to your families, your friends, your colleagues, and the forefathers who have struggled before you: while we live in liberty now, there remains still those who are oppressed and alienated from each other by the Imperialists, and the will of a world that resists to share in our prosperity. Think of the masochistic Nova Capilean footman who spills his own brother's blood under the barking orders of his beloved tyrant; who fears to be killed and thus, kills. Think to him, and tell honestly to yourselves that we have no business meddling in the affairs of these Westerners. Tell your conscience that it is not in the best interest of free peoples to emancipate the shackled!"
- Congressman Sawachika Hitoshi, Japanese District Assembly

The radio broadcasted the words of the minor-league, firebrand Congressman at noon, echoing during the time-slot provided to him by the Yinchuan Rose. In the capital's weary heart, Asians went about their business, worrying about matters which concerned them most, chiefly, their jobs and the state of the economy. The bustling streets were filled with vendors selling new releases from the Neo-Manila Post. Pan-Asiatic exports had fallen, but were slowly regaining the pace. A rebellion had broken-out in Nusantara just as the People's Federation was in the natal stages of recovering from one of its largest Naval operations. Clean water initiatives were being doled-out from state to state. Bureaucracies were being cut-down by new authority. Crime was at an all-time low.

A pristine city of life and wonder, where the artist expressed his will free from political censorship, where the scientist was not discouraged by the servile chains of discrimination, where the worker was judged by his merit and not the race of his origin, was that of which reflected the bastion of Socialism in the East. Magnificent skyscrapers and vibrant architecture decked its horizon. Neon lights and clean alleys emanated from street to street. The finest of goods were being brought-in and brought-out of its lively ports. Truly, it was a place worthy of being crowned the Pearl of the Orient.

Overseas, in Nova Capile, the situation and the war seemed to be getting more and more gruesome. Months ago, when the conflict first broke-out, the Pan-Asiatic States released a communique stating its neutrality in the conflict. The leaders of the Pan-Asiatic States, confronting several other more serious local problems at the time, swore they would postpone any discussion on Klaus' War until issues were solved and crises were averted.

But after recent, serious economic blows were dealt to the nation's industrial backbone, the People's Federation suddenly needed wider investment opportunities. They needed compliant nations willing to submit to the Orient in the name of peace and prosperity. They needed a country indebted with gratitude towards the Pan-Asiatic States, while also being, economically indebted. Thus the debate sprung in newspapers everywhere all over again. The democratic assemblies of the Pan-Asiatic States were abuzz with counterfactual opinions and snobby political comments.

The Executive Council, composed of the 9 State-Presidents across Asia, moderated by the Secretary-General, gathered in Neo-Manila to discuss what was to be done of the situation in Nova Capile. As it tends to be, the conglomeration was chaotic. Objection reverberated across the walls where the discourse had been taking place. There were deafening shrieks from both sides, and misconduct of procedure was rampant. The leaders of the People's Democracy were arguing like schoolchildren.

A gavel banged once, twice, and then thrice. The current speaker, Mr. Kerika-Rebia Kasi of the Unitary State of Melanesia, First State of the Pan-Asiatic States, had just been disseminating the opposition's case with shrieks of delusion. Everyone respected the gavel. The room fell silent. The Secretary-General of the Pan-Asiatic States, Chairman of the Asian Communist Party, and Chairman of the Asian Military Command, Guanyu "Comrade Abra" Abramovich Jr., gave his words of precaution:

"Order, order. I think the gentleman from Melanesia could present his point in a more civilized manner: one that is actually becoming of his position."

"As I was saying, Secretary-General," spoke the State-President. "If we tipped the civil war in the favor of the Socialist Union, there'd much to gain. We could expand our infrastructure investment to new heights, and their grateful government could entitle our goods fairer prices and lower taxes. We employ their disenfranchised workers, we keep the profits, and there's one less dictatorship in the world. Everybody wins. I yield my time to points of inquir—"

"Yes, how exactly do—", interrupted Mr. Nguyễn Phú Trọng of the Tri-Interregional Popular Republic of Indochina (TIPRI).

"You have not been recognized.", reminded the Secretary-General.

"My apologies.", replied the stout Vietnamese man.

"Proceed.", commanded the Secretary-General.

"Yes, Mr. Speaker, how exactly do you define 'much to gain'? May I remind the members of this council that we are in economic deficit! One more military engagement and the whole economy will tip over and sink us back into debt! We've got a rebellion in our hands already, on our own soil, to quell. I have to ask, do you seriously think the means justify the ends? Do you seriously think this civil war is worth the bet?", asked TIPRI's State-President.

The Melanesian representative looked at the council with a nervous, almost childish face that seemed to ask for forgiveness. He looked at the Secretary-General with a look that foretold of his inability to answer the question. The Secretary-General stared back grimly.

"Right to reply, Mr. Secretary-General?", begged the Melanesian State-President.

"Granted.", replied Secretary-General Abra.

The debate would go on for more than two hours, ending only until the council grew increasingly deadlocked on their opinions on what was to be done with the situation in Nova Capile. Many advocated deterrence from another conflict, others merely wanted to spend as much money that was needed to keep the Socialist Union pushing for a few more months until victory was achieved.

The Executive Council eventually reached a compromise. The Pan-Asiatic States would rapporteurs to the country to gather more information. Officially, it was a fact-finding mission, but the Council had a more specific agenda in store for their agent. They needed somebody in the nation who could contact the Communist faction's leadership and relay directives from the People's Federation without being too conspicuous.

The Secretary-General knew just the man.


"If we want a free, stronger, and better Orient, we must not feign over who gets what, but rather, over what we're not getting."
- Wu Jingyi, Pan-Asiatic Deputy Ambassador of Socioeconomic Affairs to the Srivijayan Consortium (2019)

"A toast to my Sampornese comrades, who unfortunately, will never enjoy the delights of alcohol!", jovially announced a tall, pale, yet rather overweight ethnic Chinese man. His obnoxiously abrasive look frightened the soul out of the delegation from the Islamic-socialist country of Samporna, an audience of three men in traditional Sampornese attire and a woman in a burka. The Chinese man, Wu Jingyi, went on to consume the glass of red wine in his hand, as he parted with his fellow ambassadors to spend some time alone with himself. His badge, well-polished enough to reflect the chandelier above him, denoted that he was a man who had served his time in the army, and had even received the Order of Heroic Exemplar. He had used what remained of his social energy making that toast.

A short yet equally plump ambassador from the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, a country which was merely ranked as an observer-state to the Srivijayan Consortium and had not engaged itself much with affairs beyond the region's economic development, approached Jingyi, also secluding himself from the rest of the dinner-party. The Hispanic-Venezuelan man seemed much younger than Jingyi.

"Dios Mio! In the flesh! It's the Ghost of Guangzhou!", remarked the Venezuelan Ambassador. The Pan-Asiatic Deputy Ambassador looked at him with a stern look that seemed to shoo him off. But the Venezuelan insisted on making conversation.

"Is it true what they say about you? That you took-out 58 Imperial Japanese soldiers all by yourself?", inquired the Venezuelan. Jingyi refused to accommodate him. The Venezuelan tapped the other delegations, and started to make a scene, raising his voice.

"Gather around, gather around! This man single-handedly defended his unit's outpost in Nueva Ecija, with AK-47s in both hands, and a knife clenched between his teeth. I bet you sent those Fascist pigs a one-way ticket to hell! It truly is an honor to meet you sir.", said the Venezuelan, attempting to kowtow to Jingyi, a gesture which obviously offended the Deputy Ambassador, but nonetheless tried to act polite about it.

"It really was nothing—", the Deputy Ambassador remarked, but it was too late. The whole room now adored him with eager looks. Cameras shuttered, and autographs were asked of him. Jingyi retreated from the hall, taking a bus back to his living quarters in New Palembang. As soon as he got home, he fell unto his bed and into a deep slumber.

Jingyi found himself atop a guard tower. The mountainside was lush, and the afternoon sun scorched his backside. Sweat began to trickle from his forehead. In the distance, an entire battalion of Imperial Japanese army soldiers marched towards he. Almost upon impulse, he pulled the machine-gun from his watchtower and began firing indiscriminately at the hordes of Japs surging forth. They took cover behind boulders which Jingyi smashed to dust. Blood oozed out of the thin sheets of steel which the enemy tried to hide behind, the wreckage of one of their tanks. By the second, men, his and theirs, were completely annihilated by a fury of bullets.

He looked at the mortified expressions of the men he kept firing at, and kept wondering what the final thoughts of such radicalized youths could be. Was it of their mothers or fathers? Their sisters or their brothers? Their children or their spouses? Senselessly they fell one by one, at the wrath of Jingyi's machine-gun. The anarchy of war haunted him, like a feverish cloud of darkness which hung over his naive and self-blaming mind.

Suddenly, a grenade blew-up right below the tower's legs, and Jingyi came crashing down, unable to sustain his fall. He passed out.

Jingyi woke up screaming. It was all just a nightmare, and a frightening one at that. His bed was wet with sweat, and he felt the urge to vomit. Unnervingly, he felt a tingling sensation in his pocket, only to realize it was only his phone.

Still dressed in olive, state-attire garbs, he reached for the device. A call from an unknown number was patching through. He knew what it meant. He answered the call.

"Are you ready to get back into the game?", inquired the caller.

PostPosted: Mon Sep 23, 2019 3:06 am
by Akordania


In no time at all, the situation had grown increasingly more intense for the 3rd Brigade. Following initial contact with French-Bavarian troops, Colonel Rybakov ordered a withdrawal from the area and a general rally within the outskirts- drawing all detachments closer in an effort to consolidate and utilize the full force of the unit to smash through the thinning French lines there. Additionally, Rybakov managed to up-channel their status and location to headquarters, who promptly passed down the whereabouts of local Stoßwehr units and their standing orders. Now bolstered by the hyperaggressive and fanatical Stoßtruppen, the 3rd set about navigating deeper into the outskirts, all the while anticipating further engagements with fresh Bavarian troops. 1st Battalion naturally took the spearhead of the renewed advance, breaking down into Companies Alpha-Charlie in an even line formation; sweeping across the deserted streets with great haste. Just before the mouth of the village, Franco-Bavarian troops were dug in behind homemade fortifications, receiving overwatch from machine gun nests lining windows and rooftops. Wasting no time, 1st Battalion's heavy armor tucked themselves back into cover, softening up the defenses with a lengthy round of shelling from their 125mm guns. All along the line, man and machine alike were pulverized in the explosions, sending the survivors scrambling for cover.

Mere seconds following the conclusion of the shelling, BMD's roared out from concealment from seemingly every direction, maintaining fire superiority as Akordanian and Capilean troops capitalized on the momentum. In response, French machine guns chattered from the nests above; slaying exposed members of Spetsnaz with ease. With the growing loss of life, the Akordanians still wrestled for fire superiority, advancing at a crawl while squeezing off concentrated volleys of fire at exposed combatants. Once Reich forces had closed the distance enough, the shelling subsided; now leaving them at a worse disadvantage than before. Even still, the Akordanians had already spilled far too much blood for this stretch. There would be no going back. Turning their attention away from suppression, the BMD's instead took to targeting the machine gun positions, battering them with their autocannons. Alongside them, Fascist panzers crept forward, shrugging off hailstorms of high caliber while concentrating fire on dense pockets of resistance. Above them, Stoßwehr and Bavarian aircraft went head to head; shredding each other apart with ruthless precision. In a dramatic turn of fate, Bavarian bombers seized advantage of the chaos and ran a danger close fire mission, leveling Capilean-Akordanian armored columns in a wave of hellfire and tearing off toward the sea. The sound was absolutely deafening, sending a terrifying storm of flaming shrapnel in every direction and shrouding the landscape in a thick cloud of dust. Squads at the head of the fighting were butchered in the attack.

In spite of it all, they pressed onward. At the rear of the attack, Akordanian marksmen made the enemy pay for every second more that they resisted; sending countless men writhing to the dirt, clutching gaping bullet wounds. The survivors of the fire mission stumbled out of the way of their brothers as the remainder of Company A thrust into the breach, burning through magazines as they closed the distance to the first layer of barriers. At last, they smashed against it, cutting down its remaining defenders and clambering over in a desperate bid to seize it all. Frenchmen and Bavarians alike scrambled to the next layer of barriers under the relentless fire of the attackers. Behind them, the last remaining panzer settled its barrel on its new victim. Suddenly, the panzer let out a massive metallic clang as an enemy shell pierced its armor. A half second later the tank lurched backward and exploded in a shower of fire and iron. Up ahead, Bavarian reinforcements made haste to bolster their comrades. Realizing this, the Akordanians passed it down the line-- retreat. Unaware of the language, the Stoßtruppen shrugged off the foreigners' rambling and persisted, attempting to advance onto the second layer of barriers before being brutalized by heavy ordnance from fresh Bavarian armor. In an effort to cover their retreat, Colonel Rybakov ordered another barrage of the French-Bavarian lines through the use of the concealed T-72's, meanwhile grenadiers from each fireteam would concentrate smoke in the center of the clearing. Hurling obscenities and the remainder of their grenade bandoliers at the enemy, the Akordanians fell back, narrowly escaping friendly fire as shells impacted all along the barrier line.

Strewn about the landscape now were the contorted bodies of attackers and defenders alike. The carcasses of bullet-riddled, burnt out tanks still smoked. Wounded caked in dust and blood milled about aimlessly, while the occasional crack of a rifle echoed across the destruction. The loss of life had undoubtedly been tremendous, but there was surely more fight than ever in the hearts of the Akordanians. With the images of the battle still fresh in their minds, they were well aware of how close they were to victory. All it required, now, was just a little more creativity. Rybakov could certainly accommodate that.

PostPosted: Tue Sep 24, 2019 7:44 pm
by The Grand Duchy Of Nova Capile


Rudolf Maier threw his arms around his neck, grimacing as a plane crashed down to Earth and plowed into a ruined house across the street. Risking a quick glance upward, the young man saw dozens of craft weaving in and out of battle, performing a beautiful and deadly dance in the Summer sky.

The air war was, like the ground battle below, locked essentially in a stalemate. The numbers on both sides were almost matched, as was the level of skill of the Bavarian and Capilean aces. The only factor that could potentially tip the balance was the presence of the feared Jagdhunde on the battlefield; the light anti-aircraft tanks accompanied what armored packs the Reich still fielded, warding off Bavarian airstrikes and actively hunting the enemy planes with their piercing flak and precise missiles. And yet, the Jagdhunde were too few in number to accomplish much more than the protection of the Reich's tank columns.

On the ground, the Bavarians and their French lackeys seemed to rely heavily on static defenses and the belief that their enemy would charge right into them. But the Stoßwehr was not built on human wave tactics. It did not care to waste the lives of its veteran specialists with mass assaults or charges. Instead, each Capilean trooper had been taught to fight tenaciously, both individually and on a unit-wide level.

Working forward only yards at a time, the Stoßtruppen halted behind every piece of available cover before assessing what defenses lay before them. Then, they called precision air, artillery, or mortar strikes on whatever machine gun nest or sandbag position blocked their path, and waited until it was obliterated before laying down covering fire for another squad to advance the next few yards.
In this manner, the Stoßwehr ground forward, eroding the French line one position at a time.

Rudolf watched from behind an overrun mass of sandbags as his comrades surrounded an enemy bunker which had previously resisted some light strikes. A wolfish grin crossed Maier's face as he watched a flamethrower-wielding Capilean turn the pillbox into a giant oven.

The most important advantage of the Stoßwehr might not have even been their elite training, equipment, or experience. Perhaps it was the fear they evoked. They were not called shock troops for nothing. They were unfeeling killing machines, and at the sight of one and the smell of cooking flesh, only a brave man could help but tremble.