Sylva Rising

[Nova Sylva]

NOTE TO READER: I tend to try and filter my writing, but be prepared for some stuff your mother might find offensive. This story contains VIOLENCE, GORE, and SEX. (although I'm pretty sure I just made you want to read it more) Also note that when I say Sylva or Sylvan, the term is a bit generic, considering it's a war between the New Sylvan Republic and the Coalition State of Sylva - both, of course, are technically Sylvan.

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OOC: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=292712 - Comments, feedback appreciated
Started from: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=269014

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SYLVA RISING, PART I
TO ARMS - THE JACINTO CAMPAIGN

NSR FOURTH INFANTRY DIVISION HQ
JACINTO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
0900 HOURS

The tent looked nothing like a secure and comfortable base, yet Captain Andrew DeForest was absolutely delighted to see it as the remains of his border garrison staggered towards safety. They were following orders from a MUTT (Manipular Utility Troop Transport) driver that had driven their way searching for survivors, but not to much avail. As of yet, any Sylvan resistance had been halfhearted and disorganized. A pair of IFVs guarded the camp's entrance and were parked near the command tent and they represented the only uniform thing about the whole scene. Men at arms milled about with no real purpose as junior officers and sear gents desperately tried to organize the men into contingents. 4th Division headquarters looked more like a refugee camp than a military base, and it wasn't far from the truth. As men poured in from their shattered border guard posts, morale had taken a nose dive; even the sight of a fresh armored column from back east failed to restore DeForest's sapped spirits.

The escape had been nightmarish. They'd been attacked and nearly annihilated by an armored battalion the night before, and had spent the early morning hours wandering through the countryside by what seemed like the entire Coalition army. Halfway there, they'd run into a force of enemy paratroopers who had looked just as surprised to see them as they were. DeForest was lucky that the MUTT driver had found them. According to the scout, many other formation hadn't been as lucky.

A small desk had been set up in front of the command tent, and DeForest piled himself to a straighter posture as he took in the face of the man sitting opposite him, who was trying desperately to rally what little forces he had into a cohesive force. The man's BDU was wrinkled and the look on his face tired, as if he had seen the worst of the previous night's events. he hadn't, DeForest knew, but Lt. General Arthur Cosgrove sure did look like it.

Andrew saluted. "Captain DeForest, 4th Division, 5th Battalion, A Company, reporting for duty."

Cosgrove returned the salute and offered DeForest a hand, which he accepted. It wasn't often one got to shake the hand of a Lt. General, after all. "Good to see you in one piece, Captain." his voice was grim, but tightly controlled. "What was it like back there?"

"The Coalition forces attacked was with heavy armor and air support," he confessed. "We were quickly overrun and forced to retreat, and I imagine all the other border posts shared the same fate."

"I see," Cosgrove said. "What about there troop strength? Did you get a good look at their formations? Any divisional insignias, or noticeable signatures?"

"We were attacked by what I reckon was at least a full battalion, maybe more. If the Coalition was willing to throw a full battalion to take our post, I can only imagine how many units they most have to spare. I would put a conservative guess at two armored divisions, sir."

"Shit, if only we had seen this coming," Cosgrove said, more to himself than to DeForest. "First there offering a permanent peace deal, and now we've got perhaps a full Coalition Army Corps making headway towards Chandler. Now half our communications are down and and the only thing between Chairman LeBlanc and wiping the NSR off the continent is half a division."

Coalition State Chairman James LeBlanc had launched a coup de etat during the Sidonian War of yesteryear; since, a group of HighCom officers had attempted a revolution, one that had eventually escalated into full-scale civil war. Though the war was brought to an end, and Sylva split into two separate states, by the Worthington Accords that also settled the Sidonian War, the New Sylvan Republic had known it was only a matter of time before their westerly neighbors in the Coalition State of Sylva tried to reignite the conflict. they hadn't expected it, however, to come less than six months after the end of the first war.

DeForest recognized the offer of absolution and relaxed. "Sir, they can't win, can they? I mean, we've got the Fourth Division, the Air Force, and the Sovintern..."

"The Air Force was hit pretty hard last night," Cosgrove confessed. "And as the for the Fourth, well, this camp is essentially the entire Fourth Infantry. The Sovereign International will probably send troops, but it will take days, even weeks, before anything serious can be brought up to bear. We're on our own, Captain, which makes holding Jacinto all the more paramount. how many men do you have?"

"Forty-one," DeForest replied, "But we're short on ammunition and many of my troopers are wounded."

"They'll stay in your formation for the moment. since your the highest ranking member of 5th Battalion alive, I'm giving you command over what's left of the contingent. I'm guessing you'll have two and half companies, but once you organize your troop you should know for sure. The Lt. General slid a small black box over towards DeForest. He opened the box, finding a pair of silver oak leaves - the pendant for a Major. "Consider it a field promotion, Major DeForest. I'm a bit busy, you understand, so we'll skip the formalities for now. As for your battalion, form them up and assist Lt. Smith on the north side of town. He'll be glad for the reinforcements."

[Nova Sylva]

COALITION FIRST ARMORED DIVISION
~25 KM NW OF JACINTO
1100 HOURS

"Never mind the rebel tanks," Colonel John Bothe barked, as the line of his Trojan-II main battle tanks crested the hill and pushed through the remaining NSR positions. The enemy ambush had left ten burning tanks in it's wake, all picked off by the NSR tanks when they had emerged from thier hiding places to fire. The ambush had been a complete surprise to Bothe and the forward elements of 1st Armored.

Bothe glared down at his map. the division's (and the entire Coalition First Army Corps' commanding officer, Field Marshall Fredrick Fraiser) had divided the 1st into two prongs, one heading to straight west, and the second heading north-west, catching the city of Jacinto between them and hopefully forcing the NSR to stand and fight, after which the combined weight of the 1st Armored would destroy them. Fraiser's plan hoped to prevent the Sylvans from making a temporary stand, but they'd shown they had teeth even when on the run. The NSR was fighting much harder than Bothe had expected, as proved by the ten burning tanks behind him.

1st Armored was Fraiser's own unit, and essentially a small army. It had seen action in Sidonia under a different general, one that was now, ironically enough, one of the top NSR general staff officers. The oversized infantry, tank, and artillery force had laid siege to the EPD and nearly decimated their Mozrian adviseries, and now Bothe hoped Frasier could make it happen again, this time in the beautiful hills and rolling plains of the Tuscany Coast, against their traitorous Sylvan brothers.

The radio hissed in his ear as the artillery units to the south of him began pounding the Sylvan positions outside the city limits. The NSR lines were forming up around the entire town, turning the city itself into a fortress. Upon seeing this, Fraiser modified his orders slightly; Bothe's prong would spread out a little more in hopes of catching NSR troops before they could escape the trap. Bothe snapped an order into his own radio and the Trojan lurched back into motion, heading east, and then cutting across the country. A fence, designed to hold sheep and horses inside a farm, provided no barrier at all to the tanks; they just crashed through and kept going, navigating by their GPS satellites overhead.

"Don't stop for anything," Bothe said, as the infantry advanced in their units alongside him. They were passing through some small villages, many of which would have made nice string points should the Sylvans fortified them, but their were no signs of any defenders aside from a handful of partisans who opened fire from a prepared position, throwing grenades at the tanks. Bothe almost laughed at the attempt to stop his force, and ordered the tanks to charg the position. His tank smashed through the barricade and drove itself into the villag center, holding himself low inside the open turret as the Partisans tried in vain to hit him.

The tanks slowed as they left the village, waiting or the infantry to catch up with them (again) when Bothe heard the shot. It was aimed at one of his tank commanders; he saw, astonished, as the commander collapsed into the cabin of the vehicle. The whole force turned as one and ripped the sniper's building apart with HMG fire. The infantry then stormed the place, and Bothe hoped the sniper was dead; but as the infantry emerged, he saw that three of them were restraining a young man and others were escorting an older family. A father, mother, and two daughters...

"This is the one who fired the shot," the squad leader reported to Bothe, shaking the younger man. Bothe examined him thoughtfully; he was barely sixteen and without a uniform, just a rifle and the willingness to die for his country. Well, Bothe could grant that wish. "This is his family."

"Sir," the father said, "my son did not mean to fire at you, he-"

"Fired at us from ambush, killing one of my officers, and all without wearing a uniform." Bothe snarled, unwilling to deal with this wasted time. A captured NSR soldier would be treated good, and sent to a detention camp somewhere in the Cloysteric Highlands. An insurgent, however, was not obliged to have this same level of honor. They needed to discourage resistance or the whole invasion would bog down while boys like this one blew up power lines and took pop shots at his men. "Did you know he was going to fire on us?"

Bothe didn't wait for an answer. "Hang him from that streetlight," he called to the infantrymen, who went to work straightaway. The mother screamed as she saw her son being dragged towards the affixed noose. The father lunged forward, only to be clubbed in the gut by a rifle stock. Bothe watched as the infantrymen affixed a quick rope and pulled it around the ouung man's neck, despite his struggles, and pulled. A moment later, it was all over.

Bothe shook his head, unsure of his own feelings. Under different circumstances, that young man could have been him. At that age Bothe had a swelled sense of nationalism and would have willingly taken up arms against whoever threatened his country. He felt a slight tug of pity, but pushed it away. Men like him were the enemy, Bothe reminded himself. Men like him were standing in the way of Sylva's great unification, in the way of progress, in the way of an inevitable future.

He turned to the commander. "Is the house empty?"

The commander nodded. Bothe had one last task to preform, one he personally loathed. At his command, the family was moved a safe distance away and his tank placed a high explosive shell into the house, blowing it to smithereens. He looked over at the family and met the cold eyes of the eldest daughter; they had just made an enemy for life.

His gunner agreed. "We should shoot them all," he muttered. "They're not going to change."

Bother cast his eyes over to the assembling townspeople noting with amusement a young woman, probably his girlfriend, weeping below the swaying corpse. There was thin to say, not now; they'd been shown the price of resistance. As the noise of Coalition aircraft grew louder, he spoke a command and the tank rolled back to life. In the near future, an InSec team would check up on them, and force the family to register with the agency's database of possible militants, and drive home the message about resistance against the Coalition State.

A diagram of the Trojan-II main battle tank

[Nova Sylva]

SOME SMALL TOWN, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1200 HOURS

Ned Archer had kept his face carefully blank as the Coalition soldiers had taken Johnny Atkins, carried him to the main square, and hung him from a streetlight, all for taking a pot shot at the advancing Coalition tanks with an antique 30.06 bolt action hunting rifle. The young fool had hit one of the Coalition officers, as miraculous as that seemed, but the invaders had reacted quickly and arguably justly. They'd had the right to hang Johnny and blow up his house under the laws of war - his family would no doubt find a neighbor to live with - but he hoped that it would remind people of just what bastards the Coalition troops could be. He'd fought the last war an remembered it all to clearly. The Sylvans, especially those from the Coalition State, hadn't hesitated to punish resistance wherever they found it.

The cable near the village hadn't been disturbed by the advancing Coalition force, much to his relief; he'd feared that it would be cut as the Coalition tanks rolled across his homeland. He lifted it, attaching a field telephone (most cell towers had been knocked out as strategic targets the night before) and began whispering down the line. Within hours, the story of Johnny Atkins would be front-page news on The Acropolis Journal, and the entire world would know what the Coalition invaders had done.

Of course, he knew, they probably would'nt notice.

[Nova Sylva]

NSR 4th INFANTRY DIVISION, 5th BATTALION
JACINTO CITY OUTSKIRTS, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1800 HOURS

Major DeForest clutched the ground with both hands as Coalition shelling came down around them, scattering down over the Sykvan positions with thundering ferousity. He wanted to cover his ears as the pain grew wors, but somehow he didn't dare move his hands, or even dare to move at all. The clamor of combat was growing ever more intense, suggesting that the shellfire was either landing closer or the volume was being increased; how much more could his men take? They'd held their ground against three major assualts in the last six hours, but every time had lost more men and expended an ever-dwindling supply of ammuniton. He now understood what the Mozrians must had felt during The Battle of Spreck. No wonder their were so many PTSD cases related to artillery. The firing grew louder...until it faded and died. He rolled over and clutched his assault rifle as he stumbled into position. Most of the battalion had survived the bombardment, but he could see the smoke and flames rising from all over Jacinto. He glared up into the sky and saw a Coalition aircraft floating through the sky with a nonchalant lack of concern for NSR anti-aircraft fire. The defenses weren't anything like they had been at the start of the battle, but he hoped that they would hold a couple more times, before reinforcements could start pouring into Jacinto and push back the invaders. But he knew, deep down, it was a lost cause - Jacinto would fall, but hopefully the time wasted extricating the Fourth Infantry would give the rest of the Sylvan Defense Force could form up behind them.

Their orders were clear - hold the line for as long as possible, kill as many Coalition troops as they could, and then fall back towards the coast. He privately suspected the Sylvans were going to be encircled, and then, cut off from the vital lines of resupply and reinforcements, crushed. They'd have real problems escaping Jacinto then, and the only alternative was capture - and everyone had heard enough of the rumors to dread capture.

There, he thought as he saw them. The Coalition troops were advancing on their bellies, and bringing up IFVs in support. DeForest whispered a command to one of his snipers as he spied a Coalition officer. He saw the sniper wiggling away to find the perfect shot. Snipers had the worst job in the army. They were, in theory, protected by the laws of war, but tended to be shot out of hand anyway, as all soldiers hated enemy snipers.

"Fire on my command," he ordered. He could hear the dull pounding of a counter-battery assualt raging on the other side of the city as the NSR struggled to hold the line. The Coalition force in front of him kept advancing despite the mortars and light howitzers firing at them. They advanced in a calm and precise manner that DeForest almost envied. He muttered a second order to one of his men, cursed their shortage of ammunition, and then carefully sighted in on of the advancing Coalition soldiers.

"Fire," he barked, as he followed his own command. The Sylvan officer he had chosen as his target jolted once and died, the other Coalition troops firing back at the NSR lines. One of them was either very good or very lucky - a bullet buried itself in the earthworks in front of DeForest, and he flinched but continued firing. His men had excellent trigger discipline, but it certainly helped that the standard-issue G3A4 was a semi-automatic. The accurate and controlled fire brought down dozens of enemy soldiers, and the Coalition attack faltered once again. He allowed himself a second of hope that they might actually hold the line...

...which was dashed as the IFVs opened fire, sending a hail of explosive rounds over their heads and tearing at the foliage assembled to hid them. They couldn't aim their guns low enough to actually hit the Sylvans, but it forced DeForest and his men to keep their heads down. One of his favorite platoon leaders, Srgt. Wilson, picked up an AT-4 and stood up just long enough to fire the weapon into the frontal armor of the lead IFV. He smiled as the vehicle exploded, killing it's crew and a number of infantrymen around it. The other IFVs fell back, revelaing a line of main battle tanks rolling towards their position.

He cursed as the tanks spread out. A pair of larger rockets were launched from men behind him, but they went wide and crashed into an abandoned store instead. The tanks closed in, letting loose with their HMGs as they broke through the first line of defense. DeForest was stunned and disoriented for a moment, barely remembering the Coalition infantry advancing behind them, their weapons flaring at the battered NSR defenders.

A whistle blew in the distance. "Fall back," DeForest shouted, and the cry was taken up by the sergeants and other NCOs. The Coalition troops, seeing the Sylvan men flee for life rather then a semi-planned retreat, were encouraged to to stay on their feet as the second line of entrenchments began taking up the fight. The second line included some small howitzers and a recoiless rifle, a 90 mm emplaced anti tank weapon. They opened fire, cascading the advancing Coalition troops with red-hot shrapnel and even destroying the lead enemy tank. he though he heard screams as anti-personell rounds hit the Sylvans, but over the sounds of war their was no way know for sure.

The Coalition assault was getting bogged down, as three other enemy vehicles exploded in quick succession. DeForest hadn't had alot of anti tank weapons to deploy, but the ones he did have he deployed carefully and strategically. That was showing now, as the front of the enemy armored column faltered. The tanks rolled back as the infantry advanced again, trying to take down the antitank guns before they could do any more damage.

"Get down!" Sergeant Wilson yelled as miningun rounds strafed the company-sized battalion. DeForest hit the ground hard enough to jar every bone in his body; a remainder of the company wern't as lucky as at least a dozen men were taken out by the attack helicopter above. A hail of machine gun fire glanced off the chopper before a Stinger missile blew apart it's cabin, and the craft broke apart and fell to the ground. A burning pilot staggered out if the flaming wreck, screaming. It was all DeForest could do to fire a carefully-placed round into his skull, and end his agonizing misery and pain.

A second whistle blew and DeForest joined the line retreating men. He tried to direct the retreat as the Coalition troops and tanks surged into the ago they'd created. More tanks and helicopters were arriving now, and he saw one of the gunships strafing a street that ran parallel to DeForest's line of retreat before a hail of gunfire and no less than three Manpad missiles blew it apart. The Coalition were punching through the defense line, and judging by the noise inbthe distance, it was happening in more than just one place.

Jacinto was falling to the Coalition.

[Nova Sylva]

This is a map of Meridia - Save the fact that Erquin takes the spot of CACWA, Yngen takes the spot of Gerencer, and The Black Reich takes the Chagan Federation's spot. Meinkraft, AKA The Allied Nations, is also on that map. Mozria is across the Strachan Sea, but not shown. This is the newest map I have of Meridia, but still quite old - sorry about that.

COALITION 1st ARMORED DIVISION
JACINTO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1800 HOURS

The edges of Jacinto rose up in front of Colonel John Bothe as the tanks reached their first targets. They'd been warned that the Sylvans (NSR, he reminded himself, they were all Sylvans) had built a second line of defense further inside the city. The original defense line had been stronger than he had anticipated, and Fraiser had been forced to use his armored units as a scapel for digging into the enemy position, but Bothe was feeling quite confident. They'd made it through the chaos and survived, so far.

The NSR infantrymen were falling back and his tank engaged them with a spray of machine gun fire as helicopters above strafed down on the helpless troops. One of them took aim with a rocket launcher but was rapidly cut down before he could fire. Others scattered to avoid the advancing tanks. The channels were buzzing with information, most of it irrelevant as far as Bothe was concerned. He had a job to do, and that was take the town.

He checked his position quickly, uncomfortably aware that he was far to close to all kinds of possible cover that he would prefer, too close for comfort. The NSR-ians might be trying to sneak snipers up from town, or sending them into tall buildings too pick off his officers, despite the possibility that the Coalition would simply level the entire structure to kill the one or two snipers inside. He knew what InSec would have done - burned the town to the ground and built a base on top of the ruins - but he liked to think of 1st Armored as a more civilized unit then the ruthless and often reckless Internal Security. Besides, Fraiser would probably have his head if more damage than absolutely necessary was inflicted on the town.

A line of trucks and APCs pulled up and disgorged a company of infantrymen, forming up rapidly into platoons as they massed just outside the town. Bothe saw the commanding officer and held a quick consultation with him; the infantrymen would try to take the town by storm, assisted by Bothe's column of tanks. Ideally, the NSR would see sense and surrender, but from what he had seen from the determined citizen turned soldiers that was likely not likely. They wouldn't give up, atlasest not without giving the Coalition a bloody nose first.

He glanced down at his map as the radio updated him. The town was surrounded and most of the NSR forces inside had been wounded and were likely almost out of ammunition. They would have a hard time escaping the city and reaching their next command post and defense line before it was too late, but if they made it, the experienced troops would present the Coalition State with a big problem afterwords.

"Advance," the infantry commander ordered, and First Armored began moving towards the city center. More men arrived as they pushed through the buildings, breaking in and searching them incase any Sylvan sniper had decided to stick around and get a lucky shot. The tanks rumbled behind the infantry and Bothe watched as he saw the first barricade. The NSR had been busy; they'd dragged cars, trucks, and even a disabled tank to form a roadblock. He nodded once as the infantry commader issued an order and repeated it to a tank gunner; a moment later, a high-explosive round blasted the barricade into oblivion and the infantry raced forward.

The fighting surged forward and back as the NSR fought for every inch of ground. The firepower of the Coalition tanks wasn't held back after the first few moments, and Bothe's crew put shells into every building that the British were using as bunkers, reducing them to rubble. The Sylvans used the wreckage as cover and continued fighting, forcing the infantry to make extremely costly breach-and-clear tactics against the entrenched defenders. As the sun set and dawn passed, the two sides were still locked in combat, the NSR fighting to a point in which Bothe grew a sense of respect for his adversaries. It wasn't often a force kept a Coalition Armored Division at bay for so long, let alone a cut-off Infantry unit. Eventually the tanks cleared a bloody path to the center of town, and the battle intensified. A rocket narrowly missed Bothe's tank and a Molotov cocktail set one tank alight, dropped from a four-story hotel which was promptly leveled by no less than three high-explosive tank shells. The snipers took their toll as well, killing scores of Coalition troops as they advanced through the devspestation. If Fraiser had hoped to take Jacinto intact, his hopes had been dashed...

A shell landed near a building, a moment later, a small group of school children rushed out of the remains, scattering across the city's central square. Bothe ordered his tanks and men to cease fire, and the NSR followed suite. They'd hit a school, he realized, and the children mus have been using it as a bomb shelter, but he hadn't realized what he'd been shooting at until it was too late. How many children had they killed?

A NSR officer stepped forward from behind a makeshift barricade, blood streaming from one eye, holding a white flag. Bothe watched as his infantry commander came forward, and the two officers talked briefly, the soldiers took the brief truce as a chance to grap a quick sip from their canteens and catch up on reloading.

The reinforcements were already spreading into the city; he could still hear the bursts of gunfire echoing across the town as Sylvan killed Sylvan or aircraft dueled high above. They hand't seen much in the way of NSR aircraft - the Coalition State Air Force had done a marvelous job at keeping them off the tanker's backs - it would only take an A-10 Warthog one pass before his Bothe's entire column was reduced to a hump of smoldering wreckage.

"They're surrendering," the infantry officer shouted finally,a shout that was picked up by his people and the tanks. The firing in the distance ended abruptly the word spread through the clustered streets of Jacinto. Bothe watched as a line of NSR soldiers, most of them wounded atlases once, came out of the rubble and stacked their weapons in a pile. They looked they had been through hell, and Bothe could understand the despondency among the captured Sylvans. In many ways, they had been through hell and back.

Dismissing the thought for a moment, he ordered his men to take up positions to the east if the town and prepare for an unlikely but possible NSR counterattack. The main task now was to secure the rail lines and the airport, both of which had been sabotaged by the retreating NSR and further destroyed by the fighting that took place. The army engineers would probably arrive within a day or so, and now all Bothe and First Armored had to do was wait.

He glanced down at the map. The NSR lines had been shattered, Jacinto captured, and the Sylvans on the run towards whatever city was between Jacinto and Chandler. It wouldn't be long before Fraiser realized that an armored division wasn't really cut out for securing a town and would hopefully send them back at the head of the Coalition advance, or maybe find some other task that First Armored would preform. There were plenty of NSR contingents out their, and plenty of men in First willing to hunt them down.

***

"They forced us back," DeForest admitted finally. it was a painful confession to make, even to a man he had come to respect thoroughly, both as a General and a soldier. Cosgrove had fought well, wielding a rifle like all his men, and his staff and 5th Battalion had just narrowly escaped the encirclement of the town by the Coalition army. He was furious about having to vacate his headquarters, or having to move his staff and the small collection of maps and documents they had managed to carry with them back east towards Harrison Hall. "They broke the line and forced us back."

"That was expected," Cosgrove said in reply, alongside a heavy side. "We couldn't have held forever, Major. Not against a force with that kind of firepower." the whole Division had been virtually annihilated; it was now barely the strength of a regiment, about a thousand strong, instead of the original fifteen thousand the Division had.

He shook his head. "But for now we need to get some sleep and get dug in. Sooner or later, the Coalition will strike again. And this time, we'll be ready."

[Nova Sylva]

THE CITADEL
HIDDEN LOCATION, COALITION STATE OF SYLVA
1200 HOURS

The Chairman was in a good mood. When the Chairman was happy, so was everyone else in his cabinet, sharing the sometimes misplaced belief that Chairman James LeBlanc wouldnt have one of his fits or start ordering impossible military operations. LeBlanc might have been slightly delusional (the doctors said it was radiation poisoning from his upbringing in The 22nd Parallel) but he still remained a presence as one of the most powerful and often one of the cruelest dictators of the world. He was, after all, the undisputed supreme leader of the Coalition State, and soon, all of Sylva as well. His new InSec director, Lance Kholer, caught the eyes of the Army Chief of Staff, Thomas Wilhelm. Kholer made a point to ask what medications the Chairman was currently taking, as for the first time since him and LeBlanc had met, he looked almost...normal. Minus, of course, the ever-present arrogance that always played supreme rulers.

"We have finally broken the power of the New Sylvan Republic," he proclaimed, waving one hand at the massive map of the Tuscany Coast affixed to the wall. "The rebel nation of Sylva will be broken for all time!"

His voice rose higher. "I offered them a fair and just peace, and they refused." he thundered. "I offered them peace and freedom within the New Order, and they rejected it. I offered there crumbling provisional government haven within the Coalition State, and instead they throw the offer in my face! The arch menace Delacroix has taken power...he must die! We will kill him where he stands, as Chandler burns! Fools! Hopeless, helpless-" 

The Chairman broke into a fit of coughing and cursing again, clutching the back of a chair for support before regaining his composure and staring into the eyes of his cabinet. "We must kill Michael Delacroix," he said. "But first, where do we stand in the campaign?"

His fit of vociferous anger passed, Field Marshall Wilhelm began. "Sir Chairman, overall the invasion has been a success," he said. "Our forces pinned and destroyed the enemy at Jacinto, and now the road to Chandler is open. However before we march to final victory we must first consolidate our gains. Numerous insurgent cells have popped up in the occupied areas and are presenting a large problem for our supply lines. I recommend allowing Fraiser and his Corps a few days to reinforce the First Armored and restock on petroleum and ammunition stores. The division managed to take Jacinto, however the victory came at a much higher cost than we had expected."

"How many did we loose?" the Chairman asked.

"Upwards of six thousand, plus a large number of the division's vehicles and nearly it's entire helicopter wing. That puts the First Armored at about half strength, however the Fifteenth Mechanized Division and the Eleventh Internal Security Contingent are still relatively unscathed."

The 11th Contingent was the pride and joy of Internal Security. It was LeBlanc's command before he had been promoted to lead the entire administration and before he had murdered the leader he pledged to protect in the name of nationalism and political gain, taking complete power of the State for himself and crushing all those who opposed him. He no doubt had more faith in 11th InSec than any other unit involved, and was itching to see their prowess in battle. 11th InSec had served during the Winter Uprising and killed Coalition State political dissidents in their thousands on the front lines of one of the bloodiest purges the region had seen since the turn of the century.

"But stalling the invasion force means giving the NSR time to prepare," Kholer said. "I suggest we take 11th Contingent and push ahead of 1st Armored while they recuperate."

"But that would mean splitting Fraiser's forces. He would never approve. Give us a week, maybe more, to replenish our supplies and then we shall attack once more."

"Very well." LeBlanc said. "Where do we stand on opening a front against the Yngenites?"

LeBlanc's dream was to unite all Anglo peoples under a single flag. The only non-Sylvan enclaves of Anglo-speaking people's in Meridia were in the Tuscany Coast (the heartland of the NSR) and the small nation if Yngen, although to the Sylvans it was known as North Jamar. Yngen had been independent since the Western Wars in the early '90s, but LeBlanc sought to change this.

"We are ahead of schedule, sir. We have two full Army Corps assembled for the invasion, and are simply waiting for your order to begin the liberation of Jamar. Once the Sovintern declares war on us, which they most likely will, we will begin the invasion and drive the Yngenites into the sea, and reclaim what is rightfully Sylvan territory."

"Very good." LeBlanc said. "In the meantime, I would like to see that son of a bitch Delacroix's head on a pole. Mr. Kholer, see what you can do."

[Nova Sylva]

COALITION 87th AIRMOBILE BRIGADE
CHANDLER, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2100 HOURS

They had approached from the northwest, heavy turbojets pushing the massive aircraft through the air, each one packed to the brim with commandoes and their gear. They were flying lower than any of them would have preferred, but they were all used to it after seeing action in Cloyster during the Winter Uprising, taking down insurgent leaders. They held themselves with the confidence that they were the best soldiers in the whole country, all ex-JSF, reorganized from the ashes to something they could be proud of - the 87th Airmobile Brigade. There confidence of success in what to any other special operations force would have deemed suicidal was attribute to their certainty and sheer fanaticism. Their devotion to country and mission was absolute; every man in the brigade would willingly give his life to ensure that it was completed, or die trying.

The group's commander, Dylan Engel, glanced at his men, and smiled to himself. They all wore Sylvan uniforms and carried Sylvan weapons - while he would have preferred his custom submachine gun, the G3 was not a bad weapon by any standards. He had taken the liberty of removing the stock to make the rifle more compact, but Command hadn't complained. Kholer had at first objected to Engel's solution to the Delacriox problem, deeming the operation suicidal, but Engel was confident his men could escape from Chandler once the operation had been completed. If the Sylvans caught them wearing their uniforms, they had every right to shoot them as spies, although that had made Engel smile. They were literally going to parachute into the man's backyard and kill him; if the Sylvans didn't shoot them on the spot, then maybe some of the odder propaganda from Coalition Radio was true.

Engel felt the shape of one of his teeth with his tongue. Kholer had added a suicide pill in his molar just in case of capture, though Engel knew he wasn't going to need it. He would never surrender to the Sylvans, unless he had the chance to prime a frag grenade and wait for them to get close first.

A chime sounded in the aircraft and Engel pulled himself to his feet, making sure to exchange a quick glance with each if his men before they lined up besides the hatch, each man checking his partner's chute. He glanced down as the back hatch slid open and the light turned green. Chandler was glowing as aircraft swooped in; though the lights had been extinguished, the fires caused by the bombing run not an hour before still burning and illuminating the city against the crisp blue waters of the Strachan Sea.

He threw himself out of the craft, his body free falling towards the ground. He'd done it before, but the exhilaration racing through his bloodstream was something he only felt when jumping into a war zone. He yanked the cord at just the right moment, grunting as he hit the ground and rolled to break the fall, and removed the parachute before it could land on top of him. There was no use in hiding it; this wasn't a stealth mission. It was a kill-everything-then-get-the-fuck-out kind of mission. His favorite.

His men landed all around him, releasing their own chutes and drawing their weapons before assembling into six combat groups of twelve each - two to attack the War Office inside the Acropolis, another three to attack the army barracks, and finally Engel's group, which would attack 1100 Stone Gate - the residence of the NSR''s acclaimed President, Michael Delacroix.

The different groups sprinted down streets they had memorized, and Engel could hear gunfire in the distance. The gates of Stone Gate Drive loomed in front of him, barring the way to the unpretentious row of houses that served as the living quarters for the Sylvan Republic's government. There was no time to waste and they could care less about the damage; they placed charges on the centuries-old stone gate from which the street's name derived, and blew the wrought iron straight off it's hinges. The cobblestone walls housing the gatehouse remained intact, though an HE grenade tossed into the small building fixed that.

He then kicked open the door too the President's residence on 1100 and fired a burst from his modified G3 into an elderly man who looked stunned to see him before rushing up the stairs. No sound could be heard when he opened the door to the master bedroom. He looked in the bathroom. In the closet. Even under the damn bed. no one there...

He searched the other rooms and found a half naked girl in the adjoining bedroom, evidently the President's daughter, Patricia. He raised his rife. She didn't deserve this, he knew, but could care less. She would be a nice consolation prize for the President himself. He didn't hesitate and opened fire, emptying the entire magazine into the poor girl. She danced madly as the bullets tore at her, a final dance of death as she finally crumpled to the floor, barely recognizable as a human being from the hollow point ammunition that ripped her apart from the inside. In a rage he kicked the dead body, and a desk of mementos. the President's not here...so where the fuck is he?

"He's not here," Engel said to his men as he exited 1100 Stone Gate. "He's not fucking here!"

[Nova Sylva]

Sylvan standard issue assault rifle. Technically an R91/G3A4, though I call it the "Sinclair."

THE ACROPOLIS
CHANDLER, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2100 HOURS

"Sir, enemy paratroopers have breached the front gate," a Corporal said, running up to Army Chief of Staff, General John Carpenter, and striking a salute. His uniform was soaked by the rain, and he panted as if he had just ran a marathon. The panic was growing stronger by the second. Half the operating staff were on their feet, looking as if they expected the order to evacuate the building at any moment. "Captain Cole and his Rangers are looking for orders, but the barracks have been hit!"

John Carpenter took control of the situation by decisively firing a single shot into the ceiling and ignoring the bit of plaster that fell on him as a result. 'We're not in any danger," he said as silence fell and the staffers stared at him. "Corporal, inform Captain Cole that he needs to secure the Acropolis before the entire General Staff is a bloody mess.

"Yes sir," the Corporal said, and headed out the back door at a full sprint. The enemy bombers had taken down their barracks (and it's communication hotline with the Acropolis), forcing Carpenter to communicate with the NSR Ranger detachment stationed not two klicks from the central hub of the New Sylvan Republic the old fashioned way - runners. The operators slowly took up their places once more, picking up telephones and issuing orders to the military installation outside of town, Chandler Air Force Base. Hopefully, Chandler AFB would dispatch helicopters and reinforcements to secure the High Command building and then the rest of the city. Who knew how many commandos the Coalition had deployed? For all they knew, a full brigade could be strolling around in University Park!

Carpenter led himself out of the war room and into the Acropolis' concourse. He could hear the noise made by gunfire and smell the haze created by firing the weapons in an enclosed space. He stopped near a barricade, addressing a NSR Sergeant that held a standard issue service rifle. "Sergeant Yates," he said. "Report!"

Yates didn't turn to face Carpenter; instead, he kept his eyes affixed on the courtyard. "At least thirty men out there, sir," he said, grimly. His voice was dry and parched; it was probably from the dense haze of smoke from expending so much ammunition in the last few minutes, Carpenter guessed, looking at the hundreds of brass casings that littered the marble floor around him. "They tried to rush us at first, and we blew the shit out of them, killing a good dozen or so. Now they've gotten smarter and are trying to take the building from all sides."

Carpenter nodded. "Any deployments?"

"I put one platoon here and another in sniping positions," Yates said, before firing a burst at something Carpenter couldn't see. "Sir, I suggest you keep your head down…"

A flurry of bullets from outside that impacted the sandbag barricade in front of Yates underscored his words. "We designed this building to be hard to seize," Carpenter said, his voice calm, collected, and confident. "They might bomb us, but even then, we have the bunker."

"General Carpenter," a new voice said from behind him. He turned to see a man in a long trench coat that covered an assortment of bandoleers and equipment pouches that looked like he had been through hell, back, and enjoyed it. "I'm Staff Sergeant Pascal, NSR Rangers. Captain Cole sent me to inform you that Stone Gate is under attack."

Carpenter shook his head, finally realizing the paratrooper's true objective. They had wanted to kill President Delacroix, and figured he was either at his home on 1100 Stone Gate or in the Acropolis. Thank God he was in Maracaibo, in an emergency session of the Sovereign International, thousands of kilometers away. Thank God.

"We will retake Stone Gate later," Carpenter said, "I've sent a runner already to tell Captain Cole to rally here. For now, take up a rifle and help defend this building. God knows we could use the help."

[Nova Sylva]

Sorry I haven't been updating this, I had exams. But now it's summer, and I should be extremely prolific in my writing from this point forward.

ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT
CHANDLER, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2130 HOURS

Cole picked himself up off the ground and barked orders, watching as armed soldiers ran around, trying to form up into units. The Coalition had bombed the barracks with precision munitions and reduced the building to flaming rubble. The soldiers and policemen were running around, trying to assemble the soldiers into composite units, but it wasn't going to be easy. His Rangers were stationed in the NSR's capital as a sort of Praetorian Guard,  tasked with the safety of the President and the officials of the Republic. He thought it would have been an easy assignment, a welcome change for the ex-Joint Strike Force trooper, but that dream had come to an abrupt end when the Coalition had attacked the heart of the NSR - Chandler.

"Sir," a runner shouted, sweat pouring down his face. "The Coalition is attacking the Acropolis. General Carpenter said to tell you that they are at risk of storming the place."

Cole felt his blood run cold. There was a closer unit, stationed at the Acropolis itself, but if they were to few to repel the attacks, then the adjoining barracks must have been hit pretty badly. "All soldiers, form up on the MUTTs," he said, motioning to a group of humvee-looking vehicles in the motor pool. It had been by the grace of God that the MUTTs, small multiple-purpose vehicles armed with machine guns and used primarily as scouts, hadn't been destroyed. It was slow, but with clear orders now the troops began to assemble into a coherent force, preparing for the unbelievable - an assault against there own government - or atleast it's buildings. there were hundreds of VIPs inside the Acropolis by the Coalition, and somehow he suspected that the thousands of civilians fleeing in all directions were not the main targets of the enemy raid. 

"Sir, they're wearing NSR uniforms," the runner said, his voice somewhat calmer now that he had managed to catch his breath. Cole swore at the Coalition's paratroopers. Fighting at night was hard enough, but when the enemy looked exactly like your guys it was damn near impossible. 

The column of troops and vehicles moved out at once, spearheaded  by the MUTTs. The streets were emptying quickly as policemen, some of them looking on the verge of panic themselves, urged civilians to get out of the firing line. It had been years since any sort of evacuation drill had taken place, and now Chandler was paying the price for that oversight. Flames could be seen in the distance, unextinguished by the pattering rain, some of them billowing up into the sky almost as if they were daring the Sylvans to put them out, others, much closer, were rising up from the direction of the barracks. Cole detailed a runner to rally whoever might still be in the barracks as the soldiers picked their way closer to the Acropolis. 

Their first taste of combat in the day came as soon as the column turned onto Riverside Road, which ran perpendicular to the Acropolis and parallel to Stone Gate Drive. They'd bumped headlong into a Coalition defense line, a makeshift barricade of abandoned cars and fallen debris. The MUTTs opened fire with their machine guns, the tracers illuminating the night as they flew towards their targets. The Coalition raised weapons - identical to those the NSR used, the G3A4 - and returned fire. One of them lobbed a grenade, which blew up under a MUTT and sent the vehicle into a wheelie before landing on it's back and bursting into flames. A sniper hidden in a building took out two of his men before succumbing to a sniper round himself and toppling out of the window, landing with an audible thud on the wet pavement. The entire battle was turning into one of the bloody counterinsurgency fights Cole had been involved in during the civil war; except back then, the NSR were the insurgents. The Coalition had won the few fights when the Pro-NSR forces had come to do battle with them on open ground, but had failed to quell the uprisings that eventually formed the New Sylvan Republic. 

He ground his teeth as the soldiers slowly pushed their way into the park and courtyard that served as the Acropolis' annex. The noise of gunfire was growing steadily louder, most of it coming   from the direction of Stone Gate, so he assumed that the majority of the enemy force was there. He didn't want to have a house-to-house fight in Stone Gate but if there was no other choice he would just have to suck it up and deal with it.

"We're going to have to dig the Coalition out of the area," he said, shortly, to a squad leader. It was the only order to give - attack. "Take A Company and move towards Stone Gate. B and C companies, on me."

The group yelled a scream as they charged up the stone steps towards the Acropolis' concourse. Gunfire from the Coalition up ahead, at first, was crippling - no less than two dozen were hit - but as the garrison inside the Acropolis counterattacked, the Coalition paras were caught between a hammer and an anvil. Cole tossed a smoke grenade and advanced through the cover it provided, and emerging from the cloud found the Coalition troops laying down their weapons and surrendering to another group of NSR soldiers, presumably from inside the Acropolis itself.

"Mister Cole," a voice said, and the Ranger turned to see General Carpenter, who held an assault rifle like all of his troops. "It took you long enough to get here," the General joked.

[Nova Sylva]

INTERNAL SECURITY LOCAL HEADQUARTERS
JACINTO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1200 HOURS

The ornate stone-and-timber building had been Jacinto's premier private school before the Coalition had taken the town. Now, Coalition State Internal Security had made the school it's base of operations in Jacinto, forcing every person in and around the city to register with them. A Sec soldier had told Zachary Cyr and his wife and son that anyone who didn't register by the end of the week would be detained, or worse. The entire city had been forced to watch the hangings of a family that had hidden a wounded NSR lieutenant after the battle, and knew not to challenge their new overseers. Not yet, anyway. A large group of men that had formed the Jacinto County Militia (JCM) before the war had survived the siege, and were now blending in with the crowds, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Cyr listened to the Acropolis Journal's radio station, even though doing so was now a punishable offense; the Coalition preferred them listening to Coalition Radio, the Coalition's state broadcasting service. Coalition Radio didn't have much in the way of news, instead it reported endless Coalition victories and thousands of NSR soldiers surrendering at the very sight of an enemy force. They even claimed to have taken over Chandler with a force of paratroopers, and while it might have been true, APJ Radio reported this story very differently. The NSR station was much more inclined to report on the progress of the invasion, although it was long on the stories of Coalition atrocities and NSR bravado such as the young Johnny Atkins, who was being proclaimed as a national hero.

"I don't want to go to school," his son, James, said. Zack's wife, Felicity, crouched down and talked to the eight year old, comforting the small child. "Don't worry, honey, I don't think you'll be coming back here for a long time." 

Inside, Zack was struck by a sense of vertigo. The scene was like that from an apocalyptic film; soldiers and Sec troopers were everywhere, rifles ready, as lines of civilians wound into classrooms and even the Dean's office. Zack wondered what had become of the dean, but pushed the thought away. It hardly mattered at the moment. 

The signs and repairs that had been hastily tacked up reinforced the sense of having stepped into another world. The building had been hit by artillery, but not severely so, and so plaster from the ceilings covered the floor and crunched as Zack stepped. The children cried, and mothers tried to sush them as fathers looked on helplessly...he felt Felicity's hand squeeze his, almost painfully so, as the line advanced to the door, each family beckoned inside...and then it was there turn.

He'd been in the classroom before, studying geography in high school, but it looked different now. The child-sized desks had been pushed into a corner and the teacher's desk sat in the center of the room, with an InSec officer sitting behind it.

"Name please?" the officer asked, and Zack realized with shock it was a woman. He didn't know that the Coalition had drafted women - unless, he hoped, it was that short of manpower. The New Sylvan Republic, in seceding, had taken 75% of the population and 25% of the land, the area along the Strachan known as the Tuscany Coast. The Coalition State had retained most of the land, but had lost a vital element to any military - population.

"Zachary Cyr," he said, "and this is my wife Felicity and our son James." He produced his NSR driver's license, which she took. She fired off a series of questions at him, ranging from innocent ones like when were you married to stranger ones like his relations outside the city.

"And you were military, Mr. Cyr?"

"For one year. I dropped out after James was born," he lied. In reality, he was a Reservist who did military training exercises every other weekend, but he felt it best to keep that to himself. 

"Do you own any firearms, explosives, or tactical equipment?"

"Yes," he said, "A 9 MM handgun given to me by my commanding officer after leaving the service." once again, he had lied; Zachary owned a dozen weapons, four of them military grade assault rifles and machine-guns, and the rest pistols and hunting shotguns, as well as an ungodly amount of ammunition. It had made Felicity nervous at first, owning so many guns, but over the course of their marriage she had learned to accept this minor fault in an otherwise great guy. What was wrong with a man wanting to hunt? Nothing. There might have been something wrong, however, with someone who hunts with a fully automatic assault rifle.

She made a few more notes on a legal pad. "You have been registered as a citizen within the Coalition State of Sylva," she said, formally. "As of now you are subject to the laws and regulations of our great nation and any transgressions will be dealt with according to Coalition State law. You are expected to be loyal to the Coalition and work towards it's interests at all times, and any attempt, successful or not, to impede these interests will treated as treason to the second degree."

She nodded towards the rear exit. "Take this slip to the Internal Security officer over there. He will present you with your Coalition identification card." It was covered with notes, and Zack noted angrily that she had misspelled Cyr as it sounded - Sear. Well, to late to go back now.

Cyr and his family were huddled in front of a green screen and the Sec soldier snapped a photo. After a second another trooper printed off and handed them each an ID card. Zack frowned at his picture - not the best, but easily recognizable as himself. "You must carry this with you at all times," the Sec troop said. "Failure to do so will result in detainment." He handed Zack a large black book. "This is a list of all laws you are subject to," he said. "I would advise reading it thoroughly - ignorance of the law does not constitute as an excuse." Zack was about to reply when the trooper yelled "Next!" and his family was shuffled out of the room, then out of the building.

The bright sunlight filled his retinas with a stark contrast to the dimly lit Sec building. Around him, Jacinto - what was left of it, anyway - stretched out before him. Buildings lay in ruins, and the roads were clogged with potholes from bombs and artillery, as well as abandoned or disabled vehicles of all make and model. The Coalition had pressed the towns now small population into service, clearing the roads, unloading equipment, and making repairs to buildings that the Coalition deemed strategically important, like the airport and police station. 

"C'mon honey," his wife said to him, smiling at Zack through her beautiful hazel eyes. "Let's get home."

KENNEDY AIR FORCE BASE
CAPISTRANO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1400 HOURS

The eastbound road to Capistrano was filled to it's brim with troops, tanks and trucks. The forces being assembled here were the newly-designated V Corps, and it contained the battered but experienced remnants of Cosgrove's Fourth Infantry Division, the fresh 16th Infantry, the elite 7th Airborne, forward elements of the 22nd Armored, as well as the infamous Ranger battalion, the First Recon.

The latter was nicknamed "The Last Thing You'll Never See," and the claim wasn't far from the truth. 1st Recon excelled in special operations, guerilla warfare, insurgency, and generally making tons off stuff
go wrong for the enemy in important places by killing important people and destroying important things. They would be deployed deep behind enemy lines, causing trouble for the enemy and proving to them how vulnerable their rear-guard was.

In charge of V Corps was Carpenter himself. His plan was to rally his forces at Capistrano, where the airforce already had a strong presence. Capistrano was to be the last line of defense; loosing the city would leave the road open to Chandler. As such, engineers had been hard at work preparing the city's defense; homes were being transformed into bunkers, roads blocked with concrete barriers, and hilltops being transformed into forts. The countryside was littered with medieval-era stone castles, and those, too, were being garrisoned by NSR forces.

At Capistrano's adjoining military base, Kennedy AFB, hundreds of aircraft were being taxied into reinforced hangars and bunkers. The 7th Airborne's C-130s, C17s, and U-225s were coming in by the hour, each bringing dozens of fresh troops and tons of desperately needed supplies for the war. General Carpenter looked at the whole scene with content from the Air Traffic Control tower, which he had made his temporary headquarters. "How much so we have, and how much is on it's way?" he asked, to no one in particular. One of the logistics boys, not surprisingly, perked up. "We've assembled about 10,000 men in Capistrano. It doesn't seem like much but we've only had five days. By the end of next week we should have about four times that number with enough ammunition and fuel to mobilize them."

"So when will I have enough forces to counterattack?" he asked. He was thinking like a General now - on his feet, pacing the room, deep in thought. It was his job to throw back one of the largest armies ever mobilized to invade Sylva, and the only way to do that was to push them back to the border, and, possibly, into the Coalition State itself, retaking the Cloyster and Gladshiem provinces for the NSR. "And is the airforce back in the fight?"

"Yessir," the aid replied, handing him an ORBAT (Order of Battle) on a clipboard. An ORBAT showed the units in a specific theatre of war, their designations, their type, and their combat readiness. As he read, he frowned; the airforce had dozens of fighters assembled at Kennedy AFB but they were strictly on intercept duty. There were next to none left for close air support, an essential part of any offensive. This meant that, no matter how much he wanted too, Carpenter could not counterattack now. He would have to wait - either for his forces to assemble or for the Coalition to attack - whichever came first.

Aireal view of Kennedy AFB

JACINTO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2000 HOURS

At 10:00 PM, Zachary Cyr kissed his wife goodnight and slipped off into the shadows. He'd practiced remaining unseen under the cover of darkeness many times during Basic Training, but never in a real combat situation where one slip up could cost him his life. He'd have to be very careful, and not just for his sake. If the Coalition found him, they would immediately punish his family swell, most likely by putting a bullet in their brains. The Coalition forces had enforced a strict blackout over the city in fear of NSR airstrikes, but it wasn't necessary - the NSR would never bomb it's own cities. He hoped. The scene was eerily dark but he had little difficulty escaping through the twisting alleyways into the forests outside of town. There, in an abandoned farmhouse the Jacinto Militia used as a safehouse, he found a dozen other men and a few women, all exchanging stories about the occupation. The Coalition had pressed even the women, atleast, the single ones, into service alongside the men, and were quick to punish any laziness on the job.

"They work us hard, Zack," his friend, Robert, said aloud. "They rounded all of us up and made us work long hours at the airstrip, unloading all that equipment from their planes. They are rumors that the Coalition are planning to build a second one, to increase the amount of supplies they can bring in. They're bringing in thousands of men and vehicles, but from the air it seems to be strictly logistical crap, like food and bullets and fuel."

"I'm working with the repair crews," a woman said. "they're focusing on rebuilding the highways and especially the train station so they can bring in more shit,"

"We need to hit them now, before they consolidate their gains," Zack said, to murmurs of agreement. "They have a convoy coming in tonight," Robert piped up. "The guards at Sec headquarters were talking about it."

"First we need to let the NSR know whats going on," Zack said, unused to the job of sudden leader. "Emily, send a wire down to Chandler. Tell them everything you guys told me." she nodded, and retreated into the farmhouse. They had a telephone cable connected to Chandler inside the house. He didn't entirely trust the cable; if the Coalition tapped it, they could set a trap for the Militia, but there was no other way to get to NSR authorities. The Coalition had blacked out the Internet and cell phones were useless without towers to relay the signal, so they had to resort to more old fashioned methods. "The rest if you, grab your gear. Rob, lead the way."

It was a long walk to the ambush point, and it wasn't relaxing because every second he expected the Coalition to pop out of the dense undergrowth and lay into them with hot lead. When they got there, the group split up and took opposite positions along the road, hoping to catch the Coalition vehicles in a crossfire. Robert planted a set of HE mines and a grenade trap before sliding onto the ground near Zack. "Lights," he said, pointing down the road. Sure enough, a pair of headlights shone through the night, and Zack could here the grumbling of a diesel engine as the vehicle rolled down the road. "Wait for the mines," he hissed, and the order was passed down the line. He recognized the vehicles as MUTTs - both the NSR and Coalition militarize used them extensively - and the humvee-like trucks were armed with either a grenade launcher or a 50 cal, either of which was bad news for his militia troops. They wanted patiently and professionally for the MUTTs to come into the killzone. The first one ran over a mine, one of those high-dollar Mozrian ones used during the Sidonian War, and the vehicle exploded in a dazzling shower of sparks and flame. Then the militia opened up with everything they had, pouring fire into the stunned Coalition ranks as they tried to dismount their vehicles. Robert detonated the second mine and destroying another MUTT. The Coalition, despite being completely surprised, managed to return fire. They're military instinct took over, and soon the ambush had turned into a bloody skirmish. Zack calculated the odds and decided to blow his whistle, the signal for retreat. The militia scattered and ran into the woods as the Coalition fired over their heads. They knew the forest well - there was n chance the Coalition troops would be stupid enough to chase them, not without air support and some heavier armor. As he ran back towards Jacinto, he could hear the patter of helicopter blades as Coalition choppers tried to illuminate the forest with searchlights and then take them out with onboard machine guns. 

The alert hadn't reached Jacinto yet, so it was easy for Zack to slip into the house, strip off his muddy  clothes, and climb into bed beside his wife. Felicity hadn't slept a wink, as far as he could tell, and she was very, very relieved to see him. Cyr held her in his arms as he drifted to sleep. He slept soundly, for the first time since the war started, knowing he had put some hurt on the invaders. Those damn Sec soldiers were not going to be happy when they heard about this...

[align=center]***[\align]

"This will not stand," InSec Commander Albert Stahl said as he surveyed the burning wreckage and limp corpses scattered around the road. The sun rose was rising under protest, the first rays of heat burning away in the early morning mist and revealing the wrecked convoy vehicles. They were carrying troops, fresh from the State, to the front when almost all of them had been killed in a despicable ambush. It had left a few of the enemy dead aswell, but sadly no wounded that he could interrogate. As head of Internal Security forces in occupied Sylva, it was his job to prevent this, and his ass if it happened. 

"We have swept the forest, Commander," a Sec officer said. "No sign of the enemy."

"Indeed," Stahl said, pondering. "Whadya think caused this, Luetenant?"

"A mine, Commander," the Luetenant replied. "I would guess a fleeing NSR Army formation."

"That was my first thought as well," Stahl replied. "It was not, however, an escaping force that caused this. A fleeing group of soldiers would not have instigated an ambush, but rather hidden and waited for the convoy to pass. It could have been they encountered them by sheer chance, but judging by there hit-and-run strategy, as well as their retreat route, it would seem they wanted to get back to Jacinto. Why would they want to do that, Luetenant?"

"Because they live there," he replied.

"Exactly." Stahl said. He clicked his fingers and his driver motored his small vehicle over to the pair. "I think it is time," Stahl said, smiling, "That we remind our new citizens that citizenship within the Coalition State carries it's obligations as well as rights, don't you?"

[Nova Sylva]

THE CYR RESIDENCE
JACINTO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1130 HOURS

Zachary Cyr had risen late that morning, mostly due to the fact he went to bed at nearly 0300 Hours (3:00 AM). He ate a small breakfast and made a quick check through the house for any clues of his nighttime activities should the Coalition search the place. InSec was certain to react in some way, shape, or form to the attack, and while he was sure that they couldn't wipe out all of the JCM, it was quite possible that they would unknowingly sweep some of them up at random. He was on his way out of the house when the first Coalition armored car rolled down his suburban street. It was a MUTT, almost identical to the one he had destroyed, followed by two trucks full of Sec soldiers in their infamous charcoal uniforms. he froze for a moment, wishing he had kept a weapon with him, but then watched as they stopped at the house opposite of him and stormed the place.

There was a crash as they broke down the door and ran inside. Moments later, they shoved out Mr. Davidson, his wife, and two daughters, both on the verge of adolescence. Davidson had served in the last war and his son was in the army. Cyr whispered a silent prayer that he was alive and not one of the thousands of dead NSR soldiers that had been thrown into a mass grave after the Battle of Jacinto. Rounding up the family they ziptied their hands and left them kneeling in the hot pavement as they searched the house. Felicity came up behind Zachary and clutched his arm like a lifeline, watching as the Coalition troopers searched the house with a speed and efficiency that impressed Cyr. 

"That's horrible," Felicity remarked in disgust, too quietly for anyone but her husband to hear. He followed her gaze and saw the two crying girls as they knelt in front of the Sec troops, who kept their standard issue R98s pointed firmly at the family's heads. "What did they do?"

Zack knew what was happening, but said nothing as more Secs arrived, securing the area and keeping a close eye on civilians like Cyr. The noise of the search was falling now, but the crowd gasped as the Coalition soldiers emerged from the house. One of them held up a Mozrian battle rifle. It was probably a trophy from the last war, Cyr thought, as he remembered that Mr. Davidson had fought in the Sidonian War. Had he kept the weapon, despite the order that all weapons and ammunition be surrendered, or, like Cyr and most of the JCM, kept their guns? Or had the Coalition planted it somehow?

The Sec guy screamed at him as he waved the weapon in his face. The reply was too quiet to be heard, but it didn't satisfy the Sec soldier, who bashed him in the gut with the weapon, forcing the Davidson to double over and cough up blood. The Sec soldier motioned for two of his compatriots to grab the family and shove them roughly into the trucks. There was a long moment as the crowd glared at the Coalition troops in helpless fury. Felicity buried her face in Cyr's back as the truck drove off. 

"The Davidson family was caught in violation of three laws concerning the Occupied Territory," the Sec soldier said, calmly. There was a sense that he was neither aware of, nor cared about, the shimmering hatred building up in the crowd. "He possessed a weapon he failed to declare, listened to anti-Coalition propaganda, and took part in anti-Coalition activities. As a result for his crimes he has been charged with treason to the second degree and will be executed after his interrogation by Internal Security forces. The remaining members of his family will also be interrogated and their fates will depend on the information in their possession."

He paused, than added with a grim smile:

"It is impossible for you to defeat the Coalition State. Your armies are in retreat, your cities burned to the ground, and your government in shambles. Accept your place in society or face the consequences."

Cyr watched as the Coalition loaded back up in their vehicles and drove off. they left the Davidson house empty and open for anyone to take whatever they would like - with most of the city in ruins, people probably would - and become complicit with Coalition crimes. Others would try and preserve what they could in hope that the family could someday return.

He knew what had happened; the Coalition had jumped to the wrong conclusion and raided the wrong house. Mr. Davidson wasn't even a member of the JCM. Deep down Cyr felt horrible. That family was destroyed, and it was all his fault...he watched as Felicity walked back inside, her face filled with tears, and then he looked back at the Davidson house.

The Coalition was going to pay dearly for this, he knew.

[Nova Sylva]

INTERNAL SECURITY LOCAL HQ
JACINTO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1500 HOURS

"I don't think he knew much," InSec Lieutenant Wolfe said to his commander. Stahl examined the corpse of Sergeant Davidson. The interrogation had been brutal, but the former Army man had been tougher than expected. He'd died during the interrogation, and Stahl suspected that they merely found someone who kept a trophy gun from his military days, and not a real insurgent at all.

"He's dead," an irritated Stahl confirmed. The failure would look very bad, even though it had probably intimidated the real rebels enough, assuming they had watched the house being stormed. "Have the interrogator disciplined for his failure," Stahl ordered. "Have the wife sent to a detention camp for the immediate future."

"Yes, sir," Wolfe replied, snapping a perfect salute. His tone became a cross between a leet and a sneer. "And what would you like done with the girls, Commander?"

Stahl considered it. One of the darker secrets of the Cloysteric Insurgency was that some truly horrible things were done to the women, all in the name of the State. In Cloyster, no one would have thought anything of him for throwing the girls to the men, or atleast those who had a taste for such young girls, but Stahl considered himself much more civilized than that. The thought of doing it made him sick.

"They're both of very good stock," he said, after a moment of consideration. "The secretaries can look after them until I make arrangements to have tyne shipped back to the homeland and be integrated into a family." 

Wolfe protested.

"There are prostitutes here!" Stahl snapped at his subordinate. The local whorehouse had, if anything, appreciated the influx of new customers, even if they were Coalition. "This is not Cloyster, and if anyone breaks the rules on conduct towards the local female population, I will have them shot, understand?"

Wolfe sighed. "Yes, sir. I will issue the orders at once."

JACINTO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2000 HOURS

I really shouldn't be here, Zachary Cyr thought, as the woman at the door waved him towards one of the smaller rooms. He was a father, a husband, a committed Catholic, and less than a week ago was one of the voices that wanted to burn this building to the ground. Being anywhere near it sickened him, but he knew what importance it had with Sylvan Intelligence's efforts against the Coalition. It was all he could do to walk inside, past the InSec soldier standing guard, and request a particular girl.
The Sec trooper had even winked at him as he walked past - the first sign of humanity from the invaders he had seen since the war began. 

He glanced around, purely for tactical reasons, of course, as he walked to the private room. The building had started life as a motel on the outskirts of town but had been bought by a madam who turned it into a brothel, which had been quietly ignored by the mayor and police. 

"Woof, woof," the girl said as he entered the room. Cyr took one look at her and felt the heat rising to his cheeks. She was young, pretty, and naked. He could see her breasts peeking out from her long dark hair and his eyes fell downwards to the neat dark ellipse between her legs. She sprawled in perfect relaxation with an easy smile, an invitation to any man who saw her. "Enjoying the view?"

Cyr, with effort, tore his eyes away from her breasts, trying to remember why he was here and who he had waiting for him back at the house. Felicity was hardly a shrinking violet, and she enjoyed sex nearly as much as Zachary did, but Janine, the prostitute, was far less inhibited. According to Emily, who had received a telegram from the Department of Sylvan Intelligence, DSI, Janine was born in Cloyster and had moved to the Tuscany Coast during the Insurgency where she began working for Sylvan Intelligence. She hated the Coalition...yet opened her legs for them all the time. 

"No, thanks though," Cyr said shortly. Janine didn't look offended. She turned a little bit, and her hair fell to cover her breasts completely. "How long do we have, Janine?"

"I specialize in the long and happy time, so I'll guesstimate that we have thirty minutes." Janine said. "Take your clothes off and sit next to me, if nothing else; you don't want to be in here with your clothes on, do you?"

The correct answer to that one was that Cyr wanted to be naked and forget his priorities, but he kept Felicity's face firmly affixed in his mind as he shook his head no. Janine shrugged, stood up, and gently pushed Cyr onto the bed where she began massaging his neck. Her touch was rougher than necessary, perhaps to avoid arousing him more than could be avoided, but as she whispered into his ear, it began to take an effect on him anyway. Janine had a way to make even the most businesslike conversation sound like an invitation to bed.

"I have some clients from the 1st Armored's officer corps that like coming in here," Janine said, her voice a breathy whisper. The reminder that she slept with the Coalition tankers made it easier for Cyr to remember he was married, and didn't want or need her. "They were quite keen to chat about there careers and plans for the future. Some of them got very boastful once they got some alcohol in their system."

Cyr blinked. "Alcohol?"

"I was hired to work last night at an officer's party  as a hostess," she said. "I don't know what they were thinking; they wanted me to serve them naked, and after all of them got a turn with me and the other girls...well, some of them had odd tastes, but they paid well and didn't hurt me, so..."

Her voice trailed off for a moment her breasts pushed up against Cyr's back. "They talked, as men do, when surrounded by women and an excessive amount of quality alcohol. They all said that their was a major assault being prepared against the NSR positions at Capistrano," she said. Cyr stiffened and his heart raced, before Janine's hands relaxed him again.

"In a week, maybe less, the Coalition is going to launch an all-out offensive against the NSR defense line. The only reason they are waiting is because they took heavy casualties during the battle for Jacinto and needed to replenish their men and material reserves."

"Do you know for sure where it's headed?"

"Definitely for Capistrano," she said, "One of the officers was stupid enough to give me his number on a piece of paper, which turned out to be a map of the city. Also, one of the InSec guys asked me if I knew any...colleagues in that area."

Cyr almost laughed at their stupidity. Janine was a great intelligence asset indeed - he couldn't wait to get this information back to DSI. 

"Thank you, Janine," Cyr said, standing up. He gave her a perfectly chaste hug and was surprised to see a tear in her eye. She had always seemed so hardened against the rigors of life, being a prostitute and all, but in truth, she was smarter and more capable than alot of her clients. "I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Your a good man," Janine said, as she pulled a robe around herself. "Please, make those bustards hurt."

Cyr nodded, and walked out the door.

***

"Your going back out there tonight?" Felicity asked, after the two had drank some afternoon coffee. "Do you have to take such a risk?"

"Yes, I do. But I'll be back. I promise." he kissed her hard enough to make her blink. He made love to her, before holding her for a very long time in silence. It was only when James came hone from a friends house that they separated and and ate dinner as a family. The dark thought that any of these dinners could be his last loomed loudly in the back of his mind. He waited another hour after that, watching through the window as the Coalition picked up - or picked off - curfew violators, and then slipped into the night.

He didn't take the same route this time. He kept very low and well hidden, watching as the Coalition helicopters flew around, patrolling from the skies. InSec had been exploring the forest during the day, trying to find the dozens of safehouses, arms caches, and observation posts set up by the JCM in advance of the invasion for a time just like this. 

The moon was shining down when he uncovered the wire and box. It had been carefully sealed long ago, but he didn't trust it too much; it was always a possibility that the Coalition had tapped it. He attached a battery, and in morse code, sent a signal down the line to DSI Headquarters, his heart pounding as he waited for a reply.

According to Emily there was someone on the horn 24 hours a day, 7 days a week - to his relief, a signal was sent back down the line. He had told them exactly what Janine had said - the Coalition was going to launch an attack on the NSR positions at Capistrano in the next week to ten days. The reply was simple, but he could imagine the sudden chaos unfolding in the DSI's Information Reception sector right now. After a moments pause the reply was sent back.

GOOD WORK. GATHER MORE INFORMATION CONCERNING THE ASSUALT.

He sent back an acknowledgement and packed up the box, burying it in the ground. he made sure to pack enough soil above it that no unsuspecting Coalition conscript could stumble on it by accident. Just for safe measure, he threw a bunch of oak leaves right above the box and wire's location. Listening for signs of nearby soldiers, and hearing none, Zack walked slowly and carefully back towards Jacinto. 

Just before reaching the edge of the forest, he heard the sounds of incoming vehicles and quickly hid as an entire Coalition armored contingent rolled past, heading east towards the coast and Capistrano. They must be mobilizing for the assault, Cyr thought. 

He kept low as a second Coalition convoy rolled past and managed to make it back into his house undetected. He considered his orders before undressing and climbing into bed beside a warm and welcoming Mrs. Cyr. The higher-ups wanted more information, but unless Janine took a senior officer to bed and somehow got information out of him, he couldn't see how the Jacinto County Militia could obtain such information, unless...

An idea took root in his mind. It was risky, crazy, no, not crazy, borderline insane, but it just might work.

NSR FIRST RECON
OUTSIDE HARWICH, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
0300 HOURS

Most people would have thought the First Recon's mission, to disrupt Coalition supply lines and as such give Carpenter more time to organize his forces in the defense of Capistrano, a bit too ambitious and a bit ambiguous. But for the Rangers of the First Recon, it was the kind of operation they thrived on. They specialized in guerilla warfare, hit and run ops, and causing a lot of damage before they enemy even knew they were there. Hence the nickname, "The Last Thing You'll Never See."

"Here we are," Sergeant Wilt muttered, before passing his commander, Lt. Preston Knight, a shovel. The two dug a small hole in between the railroad tracks and buried the HE mine. Wilt set the detonator and wrapped the wire around the railway track, and smiled in the early morning darkness. "The trap is all ready to go, Luetenant."

The two men moved away from the railway line and back where a platoon of Rangers waited. The battalion sized First Recon had broken up into platoons for identical strikes all over Coalition territory; if they were lucky, when all the platoons returned to Kennedy AFB the next morning, they'd still have a battalion.

They'd watched the Coalition for half the night and watched as they sent massive trains across these lines, at precisely the same time, every hour. It had impressed him, ruefully. The Coalition kept this area of the occupied territory lightly guarded, but there were certainly hundreds of soldiers inside of Harwich  defending it's rail lines and municipal airport. As soon as the mine detonated, and the train derailed, the Coalition would spill out spoiling for a fight - and the Rangers would be ready to give it to them.

"Sir," Wilt said. "It's coming."

Knight could hear it long before he could see it. The railway lines were starting to sing, humming to themselves as the train approached. He kept his face perfectly composed as the bright white lights shone across the tracks. He stared at it through his night vision goggles. The first six cars were passenger ones, after that, they had lines of boxcars and oil cars that was long he couldn't see the end of the train. It was a Shane to blow it up - he had wanted to be a train engineer as a boy - but had no choice. It was serving the Coalition.

The explosion was deafeningly loud as the mine exploded and the locomotives prow disintegrated, sending the remainder heeling over and smashing strait into the ground, the carriages smashing up like a concertina as their inertia carried them on.he heard the ugly sound of screeching metal as it broke and tore under the impact. The locomotive was screaming like a dying man as it caught fire, flames licking the carriages as they fell, smashing into the ground themselves.

A moment passed before a broken peace settled as the wrecked train finally came to a stop...and then the first Coalition soldier appeared, staggering like a zombie from the burning wreckage. He could see the Coalition trooper's broken, burned face through his NVGs. Other were emerging, and...

"Fire," Knight ordered, and his platoon opened up. He heard the shots and the screams of the Coalition soldiers below as they died in their hundreds, caught in between flames and a hail of bullets before they could defend themselves. The crack of rifles echoed into the night, followed by the repeated bursts of machine gun fire. The gunners walked the length of the train, spraying bullets into every passenger car and tossing grenades to finish the job. Some would survive, Knight knew, but Coalition morale would take a beating from being caught so badly with their pants down.

His radio buzzed once, a warning. "We have company inbound," he barked, hoping that the soldier who had volunteered to watch the road from Harwich had been able to escape alright. The Coalition retained rapid-reaction forces in each conquered town, and now this one was out for blood. "Get ready..."

The noise of the Coalition helicopter rose over the burning train as it swooped down, firing it's machine guns down into the woods. The Coalition hadn't seen them clearly, even with IR equipment, and were shooting in the totally wrong direction. Wilt didn't wait for orders; he unslung his Manpad and let loose a single missile. The rocket illuminated the sky as it sped towards it's target. The helicopter deployed chaffs but it was too late and the chopper fell out of the sky, landing with a massive fireball near the wreckage of the train, further damaging the Coalition reputation.

"The infantry are coming," Wilt said, as he pointed to the road. Knight peered through his night vision goggles and and saw atleast three companies of infantry and support vehicles heading towards them. "Sir...we can't stop that many!"

"I know," Knight said. "Joe, your up. The rest of you, party's over. Let's move out!"

Corporal Joe Boyd nodded and lifted his sniper rifle to his shoulder, sighting through the thermal scope and snapping off shot after shot with towards the advancing Coalition, who fell to the ground and returned fire. The HMGs on the vehicles tore massive tracks through the foliage around which Knight's Rangers retreated. Knight kept his head down and his ears covered as bullets whizzed by. 

The trees gave way to fields and the platoon took a moment to check their backs and take a sip from their canteens. "Sir, Private Jackson is wounded," Wilt said. Knight took a moment to examine the wound and cursed. The Ranger, the youngest and least experienced of the bunch, had taken a round in the shoulder. He'd lost his weapon somewhere in the forest - a punishable offense, but under the circumstances understandable. Knights concern was more practical. Can you make it back to the helicopter?"

The Ranger smiled. "That or I'll die trying." Knight patted him on the back. That was the Ranger spirit.

"We need to move," Wilt said, and the group continued on. The noise of pursuit grew louder as the Coalition threw everything they had into the chase. It wouldn't be long until daybreak, when running would be useless. If the sun came out before they had reached the escape helicopter, well...they wouldn't let that happen.

"Here we are," Wilt said, motioning towards the small patch of trees behind which the small helicopter was hidden. The platoon piled in.

"Good to see you," the SAF (Sylvan Air Force) pilot said. They didn't even know his name; the First Recon's commanding officer, Major General Samantha Clarke, had said that he had experience with special operations and left it at that. The deafening roar of the dual rotor aircraft echoed inside the cabin as it rose into the sky, flying east.
"Did you have a successful trip?" the pilot asked.

"I'm sure Coalition Radio would deny it, but yes," Knight replied, and the two laughed. "Do you think you can get us through the enemy lines okay?"

"Well, I'm flying a Coalition dropship with NSR markings, so yes," he replied. "With the amount of shit they have flying around, they're not going to check us out. If anything, the only thing to worry about is our own IADS, but as long as I fly us in the proper course they'll know it's us."

Wilt snorted. "Isn't their a danger a Coalition plane flies the same course?"

"Not unless he knows the precise flight plan," the pilot said, yanking the helicopter through a quick course change to the north, then swung it back around eastbound. "Trust me, your safe." He laughed, and left it at that.

The remainder of the flight was about half an hour before the pilot put them down in a field that had been turned into a makeshift airbase. "Good hunting!" he said, before a truck arrived and took them to the barracks. The truck was uncomfortable and smelled like it was used to carry horses - which was a finite possibility considering the amount of vehicles that had been commandeered by the army - but to the exhausted Rangers it was heaven.

The truck drove them to Major General Clarke's headquarters and Knight gave his report. Samantha was the daughter of Sylva's greatest general, the now-retired Field Marshall John Clarke. She had a lot to prove - but with command of the First Recon she certainly could. "Good work, Lieutenant," Clarke said. "I trust you gave the Coalition a taste of what the First Recon is capable of?" 

"Yes ma'am," he replied. "We took down a trainload of troops and derailed the oil and box cars attached  to it."

"Any idea what was in the boxcars?"

"Judging by the massive fireball when it crashed, my guess would be ammunition or explosives."

"Great work," she said. "Now get some sleep - the Coalition is going to attack within the week and we need you and your men ready for when it happens."

Shoulder patch worn by all First Recon operatives

[Erquin]

ENS Hammerhead
Eastern Coastline of the Strachan Sea
11:27 AM Local Time


As the TBH-2 landed on the carrier, the landing cord catching onto it locked into place, and the craft ended the first of many patrol runs for that day.  It had been such a short time since the order to mobilize for the invasion of the Sylvan homeland had been ordered, and the Erquinian's first target was Catalina Island, a military base that is home to the NSR's Home Fleet and a vital target if the invasion was to be a success. The carrier, ENS Hammerhead had been out in sea with a task force of ships only 50 miles from Catalina Island, and had only left port a day earlier. In roughly 48 hours the task force will move in and attack the island with the full might of the Erquinian Navy.  Paratroopers would land down on spots on the island to encircle the base, as missile cruisers and the naval air wing pounded the island's defenses relentlessy. Its been rumored that the leaders of Erquin are going to make all forces, on the land and on the sea near Catalina Island, attack simultaneously, but the rumor had been disproved and beaten down to kill the stress on troops. There was no doubt, however, that war was coming.

The 2 missile cruisers of the task force, the ENS Monsteraz and Gargantua, have been tasked to bomb the island without second thoughts of remorse or mercy for the Sylvans. Its unclear what the commanding admiral of the taskforce, Junior Admiral George O'Henry, was thinking when issuing the order, but it has passed through the senior admirals eyes to detect discrepancies and signs of treason, abuse, and other factors that can severely demoralize or hurt troops. None were found, and as such the orders were given a green light. Another rumor is that the Hammerhead has a nuclear warhead on board, however this has not been proven on any side as where this "atom bomb" is placed is locked up and the highest rankings have the special keys for them. As for the planned airstrikes against the island, its unclear of how many TBH-2 multi-roles will strike the island, but as crew-members of the Hammerhead say, it will be a like a swarm of wasps, all stinging spontaneously and making heat as they go. Its also unclear if the Sylvans are prepared or even acknowledged about Erquins military buildup on their borders, but it is known that Catalina Island shall fall by Erquins military arm, an arm of steel and tungsten, that is powered by everyone in Erquin, bit by bit.

UN-56 Intelligence Submarine
Approx. 50 miles from Catalina Island
5:35 PM Local Time

"Jonas, tell me what you see boy!" says a commanding officer to the radar operator in the ships's CIC. 

"Sir, I think I saw 2 NSR frigates with ASW equipment of their decks." answered Jonas, as he moves aside and points towards the 2 frigates, or rather, to their blips on the radar screen. "I think they are anchored, but they might even know about our task force!" Stated the spotter, as he looks at the radar screen again. "The Sylvans have an AWACS airborne, and have certainly found that are fleet left port. More than that, I can't say." The officer looks at him, then back to the 2 NSR frigates, as he ponders what they really were doing. We might be able to find out about this phenomenon via the tapped radio lines if I'm correct, thinks the officer to himself, and he started moving down the ladder towards the central communications hall, going to the radio tappers cubicle. "Judd, I need you to tap some 2 frigates that are to our east, can you do that?" says the officer, as he looks at the man with the headphones and documents with pencil, finally being answered "Already ahead of you sir, they are just sentries at the ready, but I too think they know of our taskforce." Getting up from his chair, the radio tapper goes towards the cafeteria as an aroma of Erquinian style omelettes fill the rooms, making other crew members exit their cubicles. Soon, the officer is by himself, pondering what this could mean, but he dismissed the phenomenon, and he walked down the hall way, taking out his brinner ration ticket, sniffing the aroma of victorious smelling food...

[Nova Sylva]

ADMRIALTY HOUSE
NEAR MARACAIBO, DEM. REP. OF MEINKRAFT
1100 HOURS

Maybe it was the humidity. Maybe it was just that brutal Meinkraftian sun. Or, more likely,  the sweat prespiring from every inch of his body was from the stress of the previous week's events which seemed to be piling on the shoulders of one man - the NSR's first President, Michael Delacroix. And by the looks of it, Delacroix was to be not only the first but the last president of the New Sylvan Republic. Nonetheless he sat in a white lawn chair outside of the Admiralty House, staring at a glass of lemonade that his fellow head of state, the Allied Nations' President Kerman, had given him. The latter was attempting to make small talk, to momentarily distract the exhausted Delacroix from the war that threatened his nation and the death that tormented his family.

"How do you like it?" Kerman asked, pointing towards the sparkling blue waters of the Amazona River. "The Amazona Expanision project completed not a month ago. We can now sail blue-water vessels all the way down to Loggerhead Dam, and vice versa." Kerman looked over at Delacroix, who seemed to be lost in thought. He continued. "It's added some vital revenue to our nation's more remote cities in the central rainforests. Personally, I certainly enjoy the great view it's given me from the Admrialty House..." Once again he glanced at Delacroix, and this time sighed. No matter how hard he tried, Michael was not interested. With a deep sigh he finally got straight to the point. "How's your family taking it?"

Delacroix looked at him. Or rather, through him. "My daughter is dead. Those Coalition paras broke into Stone Gate. They leveled the place and murdered..."

His voice broke off, and the man gulped. Kerman put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort the despondent Michael. "They killed her, Kerman. Sixteen years - she didn't deserve that! She had dreams, ambitions...but no more. But you know what the hell of it is, Kerman? She asked me if she could come to Maracaibo. Said she just wanted to be with me, spend some time...as a family..." Delacroix finally lost it and burst into uncontrollable sobs. Kerman aquardly hugged his friend, letting his tears soak into his shirt. He wanted to speak, to help Michael, to comfort him, but decided the best way to do the was to listen to the man's monologue.

Michael finally broke off from the rather strange embrace. "And I said no. Do you know what that's like? To be responsible for your daughter's death? And meanwhile I have Chandler breathing down my neck, wanting me to convince you and Regis to help...it's all to much, you know? I don't know how you do it. How do you do it?" he asked, looking at Kerman. The Allied President had been like a port in the storm during the Spreck Crises, constantly reassuring his citizens that everything would be alright. And they had loved him for it - Kerman's current aprooval rating was an unheard of 85 percent. 

"Half of it's bullshit," he said, "You just look the part. Convince them. It doesn't have to be true, just look true. But that's what politics is. Is a giant mother fucking facade for the public's approval. Those press-freindly meetings? Waste of time. It's at three in the morning, when your juggling the phone lines with Congress or signing that executive order to allow a covert op - that's where the real work is done. Look, Michael-" Kerman confessed. "You remember how, in gradeschool, people asked you what you wanted to be, and you would say, 'President,' and then everyone would say 'Well, that's a great job?' it's not. You've got to deal with the press, the legislature, the military, and not to mention those crazy Mozos across the Strachan." Delacroix smiled a little bit, and Kerman continued. "But in all my years of politics, I have never met someone with as much will, with as much integrity, with as much political skill as your predecessor."

"Foster?" he asked.

"Meredith," he corrected him. "She was the greatest politician I ever knew...she led the Coalition State into a golden age that was the envy of every world leader in Meridia. There was a reason she chose you as First Minister after she died, Michael. She saw something in you that she didn't see in all the other ministers in your Magistrate. And I believe that this, as crazy as it sounds, is your test. This war is bringing the New Sylvan Republic to the world stage. This isn't the fall of Sylva, Mike. This is your country's conception. This is the dawn of a new age, not the end of an era. It's chance to make a mark in history. Sylva is rising, Mike, and your at the helm. You have a nation out there that needs you. And not like this," he said, gesturing to the tear-soaked shirt. "They need the Michael Delacroix that Foster saw. The infallible, unbreakable rock that the whole of Sylva can look up too, believe in, and follow."

Michael straightened up in his seat. "Your right," he said. "Thank you." Delacroix opened his wallet and looked at his daughter's picture, his favorite one, the one he took before she went to Prom for the first time. He placed his hand on her face and imagined his daughter again. "It's what she would have wanted."

THE ACROPOLIS (WELL, UNDER IT)
CHANDLER, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1600 HOURS

The minute that President Delacroix's C-130 touched down at Chandler AFB, he had been hustled into a black SUV then escorted by no less than a dozen military vehicles to the Acropolis, where he was again rushed inside under the protection of his entourage of Ranger guards. Security was usually never this heavy, but considering that days earlier a brigade of enemy commandoes had paradropped into the city and proven to NSR High Command just how vulnerable they were, no one wanted to take any chances when their actual target, The President, arrived. For all they knew, dozens of enemy soldiers could have blended into the shadows, waiting for an opportune moment to strike against the NSR once more. The President himself hadn't slept in days - though sleep is impossible when your only daughter is murdered in her own bed. For a father, it was the worst tragedy he could have ever experienced; and for a President, with his country on the verge of annihilation...it would have seemed to be just to much for anyone to handle...except for Michael Delacroix. He seemed to be more determined than ever to lead his nation. It was if the news of war had invigorted him, or perhaps it was the meeting with the Allied President Kerman; no one knew but him. Delacroix now an aura of purpose around him, a contagious patriotic fever that was spreading to every corner of the country. To many members of the general staff and government, Delacroix seemed to be nothing less than the Messiah to save Sylva.

"Welcome home, Sir," the guards said, as Delacroix walked through the bullet-ridden halls of the Acropolis. Work crews would fix up the building eventually, but for now they had more important tasks at hand, mainly the construction of fortifications around the city for when and if the Coalition came. "A lot has happened since you left." They led him to a large metal door which took two men to swing open, an beyond it lay the nerve center of Sylva's military. Flatscreen TVs with live-feed information decorated three walls, and on the far wall the words NULLI SECUNDUS, the nation's motto, sat engraved in marble between two NSR flags strung vertically from the top of the wall. Logistics guys and military strategists sat at tables, pointing at laptop screens and circling areas on maps. In the center of the room, a circular table with a map of the Republic was surrounded by a group of senior officers. "General Carpenter is in Capistrano, preparing his defense," the guard said. "Lt. General Fargo has taken charge in his absence."

"Mr. President," Lt. General Fargo said, striking a salute. "Good to see you." Delacroix shook his hand. "Likewise, Greg. How are we doing against the Coalition?"

"We launched a series of raids last night," Fargo said. "The results were better than we could have ever hoped for. We've set back the Coalition supply situation back atleast a few days, as well as killed or wounded almost a thousand enemy soldiers, all curtosey of Clarke and her Rangers of the First Recon."

"We'll give them a unit citation later," Delacroix said, "But what about the upcoming assault? Can we hold them?"

"Yes and no," he said. "Reserves are pouring in and a recent influx of local volunteers have swelled Carpenter's army to almost a hundred thousand strong," Fargo said. "We've litteraly had to designate a new division, the 89th Infantry, to accomadate all these partisans flooding in. It's really quite amazing. While there combat capability is in question, the morale and the will of our forces is higher than it's been since the war began. In addition our reserves are being called up, and we now have almost twenty five active divisions, all being shipped towards Capistrano for the defense of the city. By the end of the month we should be at full strength, able to swing the full weight of our military against the enemy. We've also managed to stockpile a massive cache of material for the upcoming battle. When they come, we'll be ready. The problem lies with the Coalition forces opposing us. They have assembled nearly twice our number, along with a large contingent of armor and a sizable air force to strike against us. The only reason they haven't hit us already is their logistics situation. In other words, they have the men, but not the material to arm them. That's why we struck at them last night, to cripple there supply lines, and further infuriate the problem."

"We also have the issue of the Erquinians to our north," a new voice said. Both men turned to see Major General Shawn Casey, commander of the NSR's Northern Army Group. He was young, as most NSR commanders were, and known for his unpredictable, even rash, tactics in battle. He had seen combat during the Sidonian War as a tank commander, and had proved time and time again the benefits of fast paced maneuver warfare. "I have reason to believe the Commonwealth is preparing to launch an invasion across our northern border."

"What evidence?" Fargo demanded. "They've been quiet forever. Even during the Sidonian War, they didn't act at all, on behalf of either side. They're to plagued by internal security issues to present a threat."

"I beg to differ," Casey said. "The Commonwealth Fleet left port yesterday. A full naval battlegroup, with a carrier at it's head. Usually they alert us of exercises, but this time they haven't said a thing. And if it maintains its current course, by tomorrow morning it will be in position to attack Catalina Island."

"That's simply a guess," Fargo said, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not like we haven't done that before. And either way, what could we do about it?"

"Rear Admrial Lynch and Vice Admrial Chance support my belief," Casey said. "Just allow me to mobolize my ground forces and move the Home Fleet out of port."

"No, we can't risk provoking them," Fargo said. "Mr. President?" 

"I agree with Major General Casey," Delacroix replied to a shocked and somewhat insulted Fargo. "The reason were in such a shithole right now is because we were unprepared for this conflict. If the Erquinians are thinking of invading, we must be ready. Major General Casey, you have my permission to undergo a mobilization of the standing forces in the North. But as for the Home Fleet...I believe it would be best to leave them in port. Make sure they are drilled and ready for anything, however for now we shall keep our navy safe in port. Our fleet is not nearly as strong as the enemy force and therefore we should not engage them."

"Very well, sir. And if I may, sir, what is the situation with the Allies Nations?"

"Kerman himself is completely pro-NSR. However the Meinkraftian Parliament is firmly isolationist, atleast for the time being. And after getting the fuck beaten out of them by the Mozrians in the last war it's no surprise."

"We lost alot of men in that war, too. More than all Allied and Mozrian casualties combined, if you count our revolution as part of that conflict. Why are they complaining?"

"Because the Allied public is used to watching their troops topple tyrants and march victoriously through the other nations capital, a nation you have to look in an atlas to find. They're not used to the sort of superpower slugfest that made the Sidonian War so iconic - and so brutal. Nonetheless Kerman promises he will do everything in his power to get the full weight of the Allied Nations on our side."

"And until then?"

Delacroix sighed. "We hope. We pray. But we will win this war one way or another, with or without the Allies' support."

[Nova Sylva]

Sorry, forgot to include this part in my last post. And Erq, remember what Mozria said about player knowledge. Technically you don't know any of the following...


NSRS RESURGENCE
CATALINA ISLAND, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2200 HOURS

"Fucking politicians," Rear Admiral Desmond Chance cursed, scattering the maps on the table in an outburst of anger. His colleague, Fleet Admiral Jacob Lynch, simply took another swig from his cigar. "Getting mad at the table isn't going to help matters," Lynch said, groaning as he stood up and rearranged the maps on the table. The two admirals had been pushing Chandler to allow them to move the fleet; however without Delacroix's approval, no rebase operation could be ordered. He glanced down at the orders. "You know," Lynch said, "I think I may have found a loophole." 

That got Chance's attention. "Oh?" Lynch straightened his uniform, and offered his friend and co-commander a cigar. "Order the Resurgence and the Revelation to go on a patrol...with a considerable escort. If the Erquinians do strike, than atleast the carriers will be safe."

"You go with the carriers," Chance said. "I will stay and make preparations for the assault. If the Erquinians do strike, I think it best that your carrier-borne aircraft deal them a blow on behalf of the NSR Navy."

Lynch laughed. "So how about our defenses here?"

"We have a brigade of troops stationed on the island, in case they try to take it," Chance explained. "They are being deployed to strategic positions around the island. As for air cover, we have two AWACS airborne, and we will be able to detect any hostile missile launch or fighter takeoff and scramble our own jets to intercept. We also have a dozen SAM batteries and numerous AHEAD turrets around the base, and I have no doubt that any Erquinian strike will come at a high price to them.

"The problem lies with their objective. If they attempt to knock out the remaining naval forces here, I have no doubt they will succed. Them actually taking Catalina, however, is a different matter entirely."

"How so?"

"Well, considering how well we are dug in, and the stockpile of munitions we have assembled here, it would take by my estimates a full division to uproot us. And the only way they could do that would be either an amphibious or an airborne assault."

"Either way, the Erquinians have no idea the amount of forces we have here. I am expecting them to try and take the island, in which case well have a consolation prize for loosing the bulk of the Home Fleet."

"...Consolation...prize?"

"There will be many dead ErComs should they attack, many more than they will have killed of us."

"I see," Lynch said, picking up his cap as the horn onboard the vessel roared. "We must be going. If we leave now we should be safe by next morning. Good luck, Chance."

The two shook hands. "And Jacob," Chance said, "If it doesn't work out...it's been an honor."

"The honor is mine," Lynch replied, and saluted. "Erquin delanda est!"

"Erquin delanda est, Admiral."

[Erquin]

ENS Monsteraz
Strachan Sea
6:00 AM

Written by Syl on behalf of Erquin

Lt. Kawolski stared at the radar screen, unsure of his own feelings. He had, using the SPY-1 radar on board the cruiser, detected a Sylvan AWACs sending out regular pulses of radar waves - this meant that the Sylvans were actively looking for something, and that something was no doubt the Erquinian Fleet. But what troubled him more was that not a minute ago the AWACS switched to passive - listening for any Erquinian radar pulses - and had no doubt found his task force. With the attack slated for 0620, calling it off now would be a serious blow to the morale of his pilots, but not calling it off...

He picked up the ships intercom. "Captain, it's Lt. Kowalski," he said. "I have reason to believe a Sylvan AWACS is aware of our presence, and has no doubt alerted the island."

"How do you know?"

"Well, sir, I put the radar on passive - Listening mode, if you will. On passive we can detect incoming radar waves from an active, or speaking entity, like the AWACS. The Sylvan AWACS was sending regular pulses of radar beats until just a few minutes ago when it suddenly stopped sending the ra
emissions."

"So what?"

"Well, that either means they've decided to head home, or they know we are here. I think... I think it best to turn back, and to cancel the strike."

The intercom was silent for a few moments. "No, Kawolski, we can't do that. It's now or never. Were not canceling the attack."

"But sir-"

"That's an order, Lieutenant," the Captain said, sternly, without any hint of remorse of reconsideration. "Get back to your post."

ENS Hammerhead
Strachan Sea
Same time ish

Aircraft roared off the supercarrier's deck. Multirole fighterbombers armed with bombs and anti-shipping missiles suddenly took the skies, and within minutes the full contingent of forty aircraft was airborne, making headway towards the island. 

"Admiral, sir," a voice asked, and O'Hara turned. He had more space on the bridge, where he prefered to be over the CIC down below the decks. Though it safer, and more suited for a command station, CIC just wasn't the same as being able to look out across the sea from the bridge. "Yes Lieutenant?" He asked.

"A message from the cruiser Monsteraz, sir." he handed him a slip of paper which the Admrial quickly read. "What? This can't be..."

"Its true, sir. The enemy knows our location, and moat likely our plans for attack."

"Belay the order for the missile destroyers," O'Hara said. "If the enemy knows our location, they most likely have another battlegroup in the sea to counter us with. If and when the Sylvans strike, we will want to have our missiles at the ready."

"Yes, sir," the Liuetenant said, and marched off to give the order.

[Nova Sylva]

CATALINA NAVAL STATION
CATALINA ISLAND, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
0600 HOURS

Air raid sirens howled and horns blared alarm. One of the AWACS had picked up a group of fast-moving enemy aircraft approaching Catalina as it took off from the Erquinian naval task force. This had been rechecked and confirmed by the other AWACS, and then by shore-based arrays in the base, and they all agreed - the Commonwealth was launching a first strike. To counter the threat dozens of pilots rushed for their aircraft and took to the skies in hopes of defeating the enemy before they had a chance to reach the base. However the Sylvans had but twenty aircraft; the Commonwealth had more than twice that number. All the rest of the planes were crammed onto the decks of Resurgence and Revelation, which were sailing through the Strachan, avoiding the coming storm of fire. It took less than five minutes to get the whole squadron airborne, considering they had been armed and fueled the night before. As Group Commander Dylan Wright flew through the air towards his opponents at three hundred miles per hour he said a silent prayer for the battle to come. His fighters, Sif-19s, were all outfitted with anti-air missiles; hopefully, they would be able to take down the ErCom fighterbombers, which had been loaded with bombs and guided anti-ship missiles. But as the Erquinian force came into view, an the first plumes of smoke sailed towards the two groups, his hopes were dashed; they had left an escort of regular fighters to handle his formation. 

Within seconds the two sides' missiles met and immediantly five of his squadron's planes were hit. He took a grim satisfaction in knowing that more than double that number of ErCom aircraft were now spiraling helplessly towards the deep blue waters of the Strachan Sea below. His force launched a second salvo of missiles as the COM lines suddenly spilled with information. He let loose two Sidewinder IIIs and watched each one of them hit their targets before his cockpit glared a bright red. An enemy missile had found it's target, and was homing in! He dropped a batch of chaffs and cursed as the missile ignored them - countermeasures were never that reliable anyway - and made a quick starboard roll as the missile closed in. The missile exploded in midair, shaking his craft, but otherwise leaving the sturdy Sif-19 unscathed. A third, less cohesive salvo was now launched by both sides, and quickly Wright counted his friendlies - only seven left, facing about thirty enemy aircraft. Nonetheless his force kept on the attack. Part of it was bravado, the whole feeling of dulce et decorum est pro patria mari that was alive in the NSR, but the oter reason was that in moden aireal combat it was close to impossible to disengage. He could thank guided missiles for that.

Explosions dotted the sky as more aircraft tumbled. His cockpit beeped red again - this time three enemy missiles were targeting him - and in a moment of agony let loose every remaining missile on his craft before pulling the eject cord. He was launched out of the craft and shot up into the air and a second later watched his plane be pulverized in a hail of fire. As he drifted downwards towards the ocean, he saw the remaining ErCom fighters - too many to count - still heading towards Catalina.

***

Admiral Desmond Chance cursed as the last of the Sylvan fighters dropped off radar and was replaced by the ever closer wave of red triangles approaching Catalina. He took solace in the fact that the Sif-19s had proven superior to the enemy aircraft; they had taken down almost twice the number they lost, but it wasn't enough. Twenty-seven enemy aircraft still flew towards the base, payloads ready. They had one more hurdle to get through before they could engage the Sylvan ships in the harbor directly - a network of SAMs that covered the island from all sides, hidden the brush-covered hills that made Catalina such a popular tourist attraction.

The radio crackled to life. "Hostile aircraft approaching," it said. He recognized the voice of Brg. General Zhukov, commander of the island's Army garrison. "Wait for it...fire!" the sound of a rocket launch blasted through the radio and Chance looked out the window onboard his destroyer to see plumes of white smoke sailing skywards. After a tense five seconds the radio crackled to life once more. "Twenty-two confirmed kills," Zhukov said, surprised. Chance wasn't sure, however, if it was a good surprise or a bad one. They hadn't taken down all of the enemy fighters, meaning... "But we've still got thirteen of the bastards heading strait for the harbor!" CIWS guns onboard the ships came to life as the Erquinain aircraft descended upon them like eagles stalking rabbits. Lances of radar-guided proximity ammunition flew towards the oncoming aircraft as they let loose their missiles. Chance braced himself as they launched, waiting for the inevitable. Then there was the most brilliant heat he had ever experienced-

NSRS RESURGENCE
NSR HOME FLEET, STRACHAN SEA
0630 HOURS

Rear Admiral Jacob Lynch shook his head in disbelief as the live video feed from Catalina Island filled the television screens inside the carrier's CIC (Combat Information Center). Although all the Erquinian planes had been shot down, it had come at a terrible cost - fifteen ships of the NSR Navy lay burning in the harbor and the airfield had been virtually leveled. Helicopters sat pulverized on the tarmac, and men scattered about trying to extinquish the flames. Furthermore thick plumes of black smoke filled the sky as the fuel dumps burned uncontrollably, and the army arsenal had been reduced to nothingness. Overall, the Catalina Naval Station was simply no more.

But the Home Fleet had, for the most part, escaped; should Lynch and Chance followed their orders, however, it might have been. Instead the majority of the Navy had escaped certain destruction and was now steaming southeast. Within an hour the news of what the Erquinians had done would have reached APJ Radio, and The Acropolis: and when the news broke Sylva would be outraged.

"We will avenge this," Rear Admrial Lynch said. "Captain Turner, are the aircraft prepped for launch?" The Captain, though not the de facto commander of the vessel, nodded. "Both carriers are ready for action. In addition we have four missile destroyers and three cruisers fully armed and ready as well as twelve frigates, though the latter is sticking to providing an anti-air screen for any hostile attempts to hit us aswell."

"It's not necessary, but keep them there," Lynch said. "The Erquinians have no idea we are here or even that we exist. For all they know, the entire Sylvan Home Fleet has been sunk, and they are now the unchallenged masters of the sea." he laughed at the idea. "And in good time, Captain, we will give them a taste of sweet Sylvan revenge."

CAMP BELL
NEAR CARISBROOKE, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
0815 HOURS

"My fellow Sylvans, the television said, as the first platoon of the E-Company, 3rd Battalion, 87th Paratrooper Regiment, 22nd Airborne Division huddled around the TV to watch the President's address. "I come to you today bringing urgent but sorrowful news. For the first time in many years a non-domestic power has forcibly set foot in our nation. Sylvan blood has been shed on Sylvan soil in a pre-emotive strike by the Erquinian Commonwealth. Commonwealth planes attacked our naval station at Catalina Island not two hours ago, and now the world waits for our response. And we will give it to them. The Equinians think we are weak, being threatened by the Coalition State. They think we have lost our will to fight, they think we will not defend our northern border because of more pressing matters in our heartland. They think, in all their arrogance, that they can defeat the Sylvan Republic. I say to you, we have not yet begun to fight!"

"The NSR can never be conquered. We are more than a nation, more than boundaries and flags and cities on a map; we are not even just a people. The Republic is an idea, a goal for which all free men pursue but cannot obtain because the regressive governments over them. The hordes of tyranny gather at our northern border and defile our soil in the heartland. But the forces of freedom, of liberty, of democracy - they gather as well. The sight of free men standing up for their beliefs makes our enemies tremble with fear and I am here to say, today, that that fear is justified!"

Half a million men and women sit in patient anticipation. They cover every hilltop, fortify every hollick, and occupy every house along the front; waiting for the enemy to advance deeper into our nation. They are not, however, members of the Sylvan Defense Force; these brave citizens are mere partisans, which carry with them two things - a desire to defend his country and a rifle. As these brave men and women prepare for the inevetable, the brave servicemen of the SDF work tirelessly to stop the invasion. They fight for every inch of sacred ground and have made the enemy pay dearly for what the land they have defiled. But the time will come, and very soon, when this war is not fought on our soil. We aim not to simply restore our territorial integrity or destroy the enemy's armies; we will drive towards their capitals relentlessly, and  I swear we will liberate every man, woman, and child in this region before this war comes to an end. When the dust clears from this mighty clash of titans, all peoples of Meridia will enjoy the liberty and freedom granted by democracy. This is my promise.

"To the govement of the so-called Common-wealth, do not sleep. Tremble in your underground bunkers, your steel ships, your pillboxes; for the forces of liberty are coming. Tremble, for the end of your tyrannical reign is at an end. Tremble, for the dawn of a new age is at hand - and tremble, for you cannot and shall not stop the coming storm. You have woken a sleeping bear, one that shall fight with every tooth and claw in her arsenal.

"To our oppressed brothers across the Pananglo River, rejoice; for liberty is near. Your lives of slavery and state service are at an end and so I say to you, rejoice! For Sylva shall be free - no matter the cost. Thank you all - and good day."

"Alright, you heard the man," the platoon sergeant, Staff Sergeant Miranda 'Angel' Angelo, said, as she flicked off the TV. "The ErComs are invading the north. They've essentially wiped out the Navy and Catalina is in flames; as such, Command is worried that the enemy might be trying to take the island. We've lost all communication with Catatlina as of 0610 this morning, and so for all we know the ErComs have already taken it. Either way Command is paradropping the whole 87th Regiment on the island while the rest of the 22nd Airborne goes to Nolivar."

"But sir," someone objected, "The Erquinians could just pick us off with long range SAMs before we even reach the LZ. Not to mention the Commonwealth air force."

"The ErComs haven't found our two AWACS, and the one running on passive says no enemy aircraft are near our flight plan. Just in case Command has assigned us a fighter squadron to defend our C-130s while were airborne and stay at Catalina for CAS. In all truth, boys and girls, this one should be simple - get to Catalina, kick some ErCom ass, and be back for supper. Am I right?"

"Say it sister!"

"That's what I'm talking about," Angel said. "Now get ready and get dressed - wheels up at 0900, and we'll be at Catalina at 1200."

[Nova Sylva]

OFFICIAL COMMINQUE FROM THE DESK OF PRESIDENT M. DELACROIX



The unprovoked aggression of the Commonwealth of Erquin against the New Sylvan Republic is a casum belli for the full retaliation of the NSR military. If the Erquinian Commonwealth, and their allies in the Coalition State of Sylva, do not withdraw all troops from NSR soil and accept a status ante bellum by 2400 Hours, Chandler Mean Time, a state of WAR will exist between the New Sylvan Republic and all who dare oppose her, whoever and wherever they may be. God save the Republic.

WALTON AIR FORCE BASE
NOLIVAR, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
0900 HOURS

The two dozen Sif-19s of Fighter Squadron 169 launched in pairs of two off the tarmac, and Commander Slaton "Slate" Johnson amired their cohesiveness. They had mobilized less than two hours before, and now were prepared to deliver a strike on the Erquinian forces along the border. As of yet the enemy had not attempted to push into the country. Perhaps they were waiting to take out the Navy, or simply not ready, but either way, no one said the Sylvans had to wait for the Erquinians to attack.  The 169th Squadron would be the first of many sorties today as the NSR launched Operation: Honest Hearts. Op HH, as it was affectionately known, was the complete opposite of what the Erquinians - or anyone else, for that matter - expected. It was an NSR invasion of southern Erquin, in hopes of catching the Commonwealth by surprise and forcing the enemy to engage them on the Sylvan's terms.

Major General Casey was already throwing the bulk of two divisions into the fray, with one in reserve, though the Erquinians had nearly three times that many. His plan, which had astounded High Command, was ambitious to say the least - take two armored divisions and attack the Erquinian's southwestern flank, break through, and then turn and drive to the sea - and by doing so cut off the Commonwealth's line of retreat. Encircled, the Commonwealth Army would have no choice but to go to the negotiating table. In order to make this work, the third reserve division would be forced to hold the line against possibly a full Army Corps. As such, Casey had entrusted the job to the Sylvan 29th Armored Division - a legend among mechanized contingents. During the Axis-SDC conflict in 1998, the 29th had held off an entire invasion force sent by the 22nd Parallel. The tens of thousands of Sanian troops proved inadequate and inferior to the Sylvans - and it was still considered one of the nation's greatest victories.

However, if Casey could succeed here it would certainly top that. An envelopment of the Erquinian Army - it would be nothing less than a strategic masterpiece. And that started right now, with Squadron 169. The Squadron was targeting the Erquinian airbases along the border, and would hopefully prevent any sort of response from the Commonwealth's smaller but still dangerous air force. Meanwhile, miles above, the sixteen B-22 Barringer stealth bombers were releasing a dozen Rook missiles each - a total of a hundred and ninety two precision guided missiles - all targeting the Erquinian capital. More specifically, the Erquinian High Command building and Parliament. The Rook-II was accurate enough to hit a target within a hundred feet and devastating enough to level an entire city block. With any luck, the strike would cripple Commonwealth High Command and prevent them from making a quick reaction to the Sylvan attack. 

Furthermore, an airborne division, the 22nd Airborne, was paradropping all of it's force all across the border, giving the Commonwealth an impression of assault by a much larger force, and hopefully throw them into confusion - and even retreat. To seal the deal, Sylvan Intelligence's Cyber Command was flooding Erquinian communication networks with false information and hacking into important infrastructure, attempting to shut down hundreds of power plants and bringing the whole  Commonwealth war machine to a grinding halt. 

[I]If you mess with the bear, Johnson thought, Expect to see the claws.

NSR GARRISON
CATALINA ISLAND, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
0900 HOURS

Flames licked the sides of the building, and smoke poured out of it's windows. The NSR Catalina Garrison headquarters building burned like an inferno, and the rescue crews had deduced it was to dangerous to attempt any sort of rescue operation for anyone left inside. The flames were too hot, the smoke too thick, and the building too unstable. As such, everyone inside was dead - or as good as dead. This included almost the entire officer corps of the brigade-sized garrison, and therefore the NSR forces on Catalina were now in a much more precarious position. The communication towers had been hit and toppled as well, so the brigade was isolated, with no commander and no link to the mainland.

"Well, this sucks," Gunnery Sergeant Nathan Polanski said, to the agreement of those around him. "For all we know, every officer in the whole goddamn brigade was in there."

"Sergeant," A Navy corpsman asked, "What do we do now?"

"Well, I imagine the natural next step for the Commonwealth would be to land a marine force on the island. We need to prepare for an assault, wouldn't you say?"

The Corpsman nodded. "I'll try and rally the other men," he said. "Where should we meet?"

"The airfield," he said. "It's the natural strategic target for an attack. 1st Squad, take a MUTT and go to the armory. Bring everything you can to the airstrip. 2nd and 3rd Squads, on me. We need to dig in. Tell the pilots to grab some rifles and help us out - it's not like they have any planes left to fly anyway."

With a renewed sense of purpose, the men sprang into action.

[Erquin]

Catalina Island Northern Shoreline
0834 PM Local time
2nd Marine Armoured company

"This is Recon Foxtrot 01, Sylvan stronghold at a wrecked C-130 Hercules at the end of the airstrip, 50 meters to your groups northeast, do you copy?" chatters the radio, as the OC-67 rocks up and down on a poorly maintained road, stopping to fire and destroy a retreating Sylvan Humvee, the commander replying "Roger that, Recon Foxtrot 01, we're making our way down this fucking road, get out of there while you can.". The commander puts down the microphone and crawls deeper into the tank to take some binoculars, climbing back up and scanning the battlefield as the tank goes down the road. Its already been 3 hours since the AAS moved in to position and deployed landing ships, bringing in tanks like his, as well as many marines. The Erquinian Marine Corps is an elite force, primarily made up of experienced infantry men skimmed from infantry brigades and divisions, and when it comes to the Marine Armoured, its the same thing, they're 3rd in line to being the most elite forces in the Erquinian arsenal, 2nd being airborne and 1st being Alpha force, a force of only 500 personnel and their base unknown. The tank takes a hit, and the turret turns to face a Trojan-II, surprisingly enough, the shell did not even make much of a scratch. What the hell is a Trojan-II doing here? thinks the commander, as he starts lowering his body down until another shell rocks the tank, this time, the commander hits his head and falls on the turret floor in agony while a shell stays lodged in the turrets armor, glowing red hot. The gunner gets up and helps up the commander, saying to him "Lieutenant Okar, you ok?" as he pulls him back up, being replied by Okar "Thanks Jones, but god damnit, take out that Trojan NOW!", Okar shoo's away Jones and gets back up to his position, seeing an OC-125 AC platoon pass by, firing their auto-cannons at the Trojan-II that got stuck in mud.

*****

Jones fires a shot into the Trojan-II and it takes the hit like a trooper it is, and it starts moving out of the mud and fires its cannon to destroy an OC-125 passing by like a bastard, moving in to take out Jones's OC-67. As he aims the cannon at Jones's tank while Jones stands in fear, another OC-67 of the company rams into the Trojan-II, almost climbing over it, then sliding right off and shooting a shell right through the turret ring of the tank, making it explode into flames as it hits the ammo storage, causing flames to vent out of the commanders hatch in its fiery fury. Those poor bastards Jones thought to himself in both sorrow and relief, getting back to his work. The tank goes towards the airstrip, and goes to a view that was astonishing and shocking to the eyes. The airfield was a disaster, it became a killing field as Erquinian marines pull up through the numerous wreckage's of Sif-9s, C-130s, and the occasional TBH-2. Nonetheless, the field was bloody, with bodies littered everywhere and armoured vehicle wrecks. Although Jones was brave, he wanted to go back home, to his wife and kids, he had seen enough, but he was fighting for his great country, and no matter what, he must serve his great country. The tank jolted as it started moving again, and Jones pulled the trigger on a single Sylvan soldier, his thoughts being that of no remorse,Pesky bastard!.



Catalina Island airstrip
0934 PM Local time
4rth Marine Company "Madmen", 1st Platoon

The airstrip was in ruin, as trenches ran like veins throughout the strip and OC-67 wrecks lay dead on the field, with more aircraft then ground vehicle. But there was still life in the ruins of such a good, serviceable airfield, life in constant competition to survive each other. This was ground level zero for the invasion of Nova Sylva, and news about the movements of troops in the south-west of the Commonwealth are both sounding of pride and terror, for many men know that many men will die just to get the ground that Erquin deserves, ground covered in ashes and blood..


"Ambermale! Galan! Get to the trenches! Clear them out!" yells the lieutenant, as he ducks behind cover and pulls a hiding Sylvan from in front of his cover over to him, stabbing him in the neck "You guys gotta hurry up! The Sylvans are putting up a hefty resistance in the trenches and you guys are the only surviving stormtrooper trained marines this company has!". Ambermale taps Galans shoulder, and they both nod at the captain, going with each other to the trench system to eliminate the infestation. As they are going along, Ambermale stops suddenly, and Galan stops with him, but looking with wonder, asking "James, why did you just stop like a statue?". James looks at Galan, who looks at him, saying "Sylvans know how to make the best of their enviroment, just look at your feet and you'll see.." then pointing to a tripwire, then to a bundle of explosives embedded in the dirt of the trench. James, confident its best not to try and disarm it, jumps over the tripwire carefully, Galan doing the same, and they then start moving again, into a clearing. "Hey Fresco, what happened to your wife by th--" James is cut off as a shell from an improvised pillbox hits near them, apparently a recoil-less rifle, and he starts crawling away, with Fresco helping him. The lieutenant then comes in with the rest of the platoon and one of the soldiers goes up to the pillboxes door, opening it and throwing in an HE concussion grenade. The pillbox explodes, with plates of wood, bark, sheet metal, and netting flying through the air, with the lieutenant pulling James and Fresco back up, yelling "Lets move it, fellows! We're not dying today!". The soldiers run, charging the scene, until Fresco explodes into blood, a Trojan-II with a wreck OC-67 next to it pulls up, its barrel steaming hot. All the soldiers run away in fear as they get gunned down by the Trojan's coaxial, and in a last minute resort, James felt the need to sacrifice his life for many others, and he made the ultimate sacrifice. "Abermale! DONT!!!"....

[The Black Reich]

http://www.tanaxtrucks.sk/cache/images/tmp/field_mobile_hospital_tanaxtrade_b_3b378_800x800.jpg
A High Reichan medical unit, one of the elements of the High Reichan medical unit on Catalina Island.

CATALINA ISLAND, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
"Oh to hell with this!" Yelled Brent Janstone as another stream of off-mark tracer fire from the nearby battle stitched the sky above his head as he tried to make himself as low as possible.

For some weeks, even with the possibility of violence rising, a small contingent of foreign aid workers had been assisting the local populace - Catalina island, apart from the large military presence, was still somewhat behind other places in the region in basic necessities. So, in an attempt to integrate itself better with the international community - the Black Reich government had authorised a number of humanitarian support missions.

The missions, like any Reichan effort, weren't small affairs, what would normally be a team of maybe six at most with local support was actually a full-blown rapid-movement medical unit from the High Reichan Armed Services. Operating under a World Assembly banner (despite NOT being WA members), the HRAS Medical Corps, with its vehicles in bright white and marked with the distinctive green WA markings had been providing an invaluable assistance.
No one had truly expected the war to come to Catalina - it was out of the way of the main conflict, and the Reichan command had kept the team in the loop for a lot of the time. However; a recent culmination of events, including the fact that the unit's primary mobile communications vehicle had fried its main circuit board after being struck by lightning of all things.

All of these issues and more meant the team - instead of evacuating days earlier, were now madly driving away from the scene of one of the greater air battles anyone had seen in some time after recent communications had been established to the immediate tune of "evacuate NOW!"

Their goal, the airfield... of all places, they were about the drive not away, but TOWARD an active warzone... no big issue surely...

_______________________

Reicharia, capital of The Black Reich, the national unity state of Reicha.

https://cdn.tutsplus.com/photo/uploads/legacy/270_skyline/skylinenycatnight.jpg

Reichan Lord Minister Nathan Carroner thumbed through the report on his desk, even in the early morning pre-dawn darkness he was somehow still alert and awake - the ten empty coffee cups on his desk might have had something to do with that, but he couldn't sleep at the moment; the Helmarran's had recently engaged in a new campaign of insurgency within their homelands, and to top all that off, the medical unit that had been operating as a by-proxy World Assembly PR stunt was now neck-deep in a regional conflict.

He pressed his hands to his temples and rubbed as he groaned from the frustration - The Black Reich, after years of overall isolation, had finally decided to support a local coalition of people under the loose alliance of nations known as 'Meridia'. So far, it has been anything but an alliance, more like The Black Reich was (an amalgamation of smaller empires) only without an overarching ruling class to minimise the damage of internal conflict - and they were currently engaging in one heck of a civil war.

Since finding out what was happening, Carroner, like a large amount of his military staff, had been busy pouring over documents related to the conflict. They were not common - Reicharia had yet to really implement a good intelligence plan in these new lands - but they indicated most were advanced nations of similar technological expertise to Reicha and the nations of The Black Reich.


This conflict would be a good opportunity to see how the dice would roll for their future in the region - whether it would be peaceful between peoples, or whether they would have to muscle their way in to earn their passage. Already, warning orders for a possible Evacuation Effort had been drawn up, and wheels were in motion to make paper into planes.

The High Reichan Air Force had a number of aircraft on standby to assist the evacuation as the Lord Minister read the file:

Two Turboprop Transport (Heavy) *TT(H)*-7 'Tulip' heavy air transports

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Eight FB-12 'Forlorn' long range strike aircraft for air asset protection and ground suppression if required
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and a single RS-3 'Sidecar' airborne warning and control aircraft.
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Supporting them was a small ground force that would be inserted for security, which included Reichan parasoldiers and some light supporting vehicles - deliberately kept to a small scale purely to act as a safety reserve in case something went pear-shaped faster than the support fighter-bombers could react to.
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It was a small force, and hopefully, even though they would probably go in anyway to save their troops, there would be no issue.

Deep in his gut however, the Lord Minister made a call...

the call translated into the Lord Minister picking up a very special phone in his office - one kept specifically for one office, and one office only.


The war office.

[Nova Sylva]

87th PARATROOPER REGIMENT
CATALINA ISLAND, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
1800 HOURS

"We're taking a beating," Angel confessed. She had lost nearly half her platoon and a large majority of the garrison was dead or wounded. She took solace in the fact that the airstrip had been so heavily damaged that it would take weeks to repair and not be able to service the enemy if they captured it. 

That if was rapidly becoming a when. they were running short on ammunition, and the amount of wounded soldiers was astounding. Nonetheless they had held almost all day, against relentless Commonwealth attacks, and even the Erquinians had to admit that the Sylvans had much more fight in them than had been expected when they landed. Luckily, they had caught a temporary break - the Erquinians had left them alone for the past hour, and she hoped that the unofficial cease-fire would last until morning so she could catch some sleep. 

"Alright, listen up," Angel said. "Theres no way we can hold this position with Erquinians unloading tanks on the northern shore. We've got a battlegroup offshore, missiles ready, but they don't know the location of the enemy fleet. If we could somehow relay that information..." 

"The COM lines are dead," a Corporal confessed. "And our shortwave radios don't have enough range."

"Ma'am, if I may," a man said, and Angel noticed that he was an Air Force guy. "I have a JTAC kit in the hangar. If you could get me within range of the enemy ships, I could paint them as priority one targets. The Navy would then have the location of the fleet, and could engage."

"It's worth a shot," she said. "But the only way we could break through the Commonwealth lines would be to launch a counterattack. And by doing that we'd have to abandon our position, and all our wounded."

"Give me a squad of men, and when night falls we can slip through. I know this island inside out, and I can promise you I can do this."

"Okay," Angel said. "Go ahead."

The pilot ran off with a small entourage of soldiers while Angel contented herself to another problem - the large amount of wounded men in the hangar and the desperate shortage of medical supplies. There was a WA Health compound just up the road...but stealing medical supplies from an organization of over a thousand nations brought other problems. She weighed the odds. If she did, she could save the hundreds of men and women in desperate need of treatment - and risk a war with the Black Reich, but if she didn't...

"Private Smith, Private Berik, come with me. And bring a MUTT."

***

Janstone was relieved when the Sylvan MUTT pulled up in front of them. Perhaps, he thought, they were here to escort them ti safety. But that relief quickly turned to panic when he laid eyes on the rifles they were holding. "My name is Staff Sergeant Angelo," the female, who seemed to be in charge, said with an aura of superiority around her. She, unlike the two soldiers on her flanks, wore a ballcap, from the backs of which strands of beautiful black hair flowed. If it weren't for the uniform she was wearing, and the sidearm she was holding, Janstone would have found her quite beautiful. But then again, she obviously wasn't here to flirt with the Reichans. "On behalf of the New Sylvan Republic, I am here to confiscate your medical equipment and your staff."

Janstone blinked. "We're an international peacekeeping mission. You can't-"

"And I'm fighting a war," she said, sternly. "I regret to do this, but I have over a hundred men in desperate need of medical care. Now, you can come volunteering, or..." she patted her sidearm.

"We cannot take sides in a conflict, it's against policy..."

"FUCK POLICY!" she screamed, her patience run out. "I have a hundred fucking men who are going to DIE if you don't help them!" 

"I...I...fine," Janstone said, and waved to the quartermaster. Srgt. Angelo sighed deeply, greatly relieved at Janstone's decision. She really hadn't wanted to take the supplies like this, but in this situation, with the hundreds of wounded back at the airstrip, she didn't have a choice. "Thank you...I'm glad this didn't have to escalate-"

Her voice trailed off as she heard one of her men begin to shout extremely aggressively at a Reichan, or at least a man who she thought was a Reichan, his uniform was similar, but distinctly different as well... The man named Janstone groaned and said "Oh shit, it's our Helmarran Sergeant." He looked at Srgt Angelo apologetically and explained "He's not technically Reichan, but Helmarran; it's amazing in that Helmarrans and Reichans have been in a cold war for years, and yet the World Assembly forces us to represent as a whole... I'm just amazed he hasn't killed anyone yet"

"He better keep it that way, my boys are edgy as it is, if he's a loose cannon and they shoot him down I won't be sorry."

"Neither will I just quietly" Janstone mentioned to no-one in particular.

The Helmarran, by now, was engaged in a rather animated shouting match with a tired, dirty and evidently very, VERY angry private from the other force. The Quartmaster's open contempt for Reichans was magnified even more on non-Reichans, the Helmarrans may as well have worn swastikas and death's head emblems on their lapels the way they acted on the world stage - and yet, here they were.

Today, unfortunately, would be no different, which would lead to a horrific consequence.

"There is ABSOLUTELY NO WAY you are getting these supplies you ass!" the Quartermaster snapped at the Private. The Private was hearing none of it and snarled back at him "MOVE YOUR ASS OUT OF THE WAY BEFORE I PUT YOU ON IT" The Quartermaster let out a loud string of expletives describing the Private's mother in vividly non-favourable terms before growling back "you may be able to steamroll those pisswreck Reichans with some loud words and take what you want. But you're not taking Helmarran supplies! Try it and I promise you, you will not live to regret crossing a Helmarran soldier."

"Sergeant Herta!" snapped Janstone, "Shut the hell up before you get us all beaten to a pulp or worse, give them your trauma kits or I'll come over there and help that Private kick your ass myse... JESUS!!!" Janstone recoiled as the Private went to swing his rifle butt into the Sergeant's face. However, his attack was sloppy as it wasn't done with a full intent to hurt, more to startle. Herta seized the chance and quickly pulled his head back - the rifle missing his face by inches - before slamming his helmeted head back down against the nose of the Private before him - the man folded like paper as his nose was smashed into a pulp by the force of the blow, a spray of crimson from the broken appendage smearing the front of Herta's uniform... within seconds both the Quartermaster and the other soldiers had weapons raised... the Reichans themselves moving back away from the Helmarran; "SERGEANT HERTA PUT THAT AWAY DAMMIT!!!" Janstone's voice almost rose a full octave in pitch as the quartermaster levelled a heavy barrelled Reichan pistol at the other force's commanding officer.

"Go to hell Janstone, HAIL HELMARRA!" The quartermaster yelled as he pulled the trigger...

The crack of a pistol echoed through the scene, and Janstone watched, shocked, as Angelo fell, holding her shoulder. He turned to see the Quartermaster, pistol drawn, emptying the clip. "NO!" he screamed, before the two soldiers blew Janstone's compatriot to kingdom come. "Hold your fire!" Angelo croaked, on one knee, clutching her wound as blood trickled through her fingers. But it was too late - the two privates laced the area with gunfire, downing a dozen or so of the WA workers despite the Sergeant's pleas otherwise. "Fucking hell!" she screamed, finally controlling the two men. Janstone, the sole survivor, slowly stood up, hands above his head. "Stupid sons of bitches," Angelo cursed. "You just declared war on the entirety of fucking Reicha!"

NSRS RESURGENCE
STRACHAN SEA
2230 HOURS

"Sir," an aid said to Admiral Lynch, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...we now have the precise location of the enemy fleet."

Lynch nearly coughed up his coffee. "What? How?"

A group of soldiers on Catalina are lazing targets for us with a JTAC kit and relayed it in not three minutes ago. We don't know what kind of vessel it the target is, but I would assume either an AAS or a carrier. The enemy task force, according to the coordinates, is anchored just off Catalina's coast, supporting what we presume is an amphibious assault."

"And our ships are ready for action?" Lynch asked, stroking his large, lumberjack mustache. "Yessir, and the targets have been sent to the missiles. We are ready to begin the strike whenever you give the order."

"Then let it begin. Launch the first salvo of missiles,  and scramble our jets. Let's hit these bastards where it hurts!" The cheer echoed throughout the Combat Information Center. Revenge would be sweet - the news of Catalina's destruction had hit some of the men with family their pretty hard - but more importantly the revenge would be effective. With any luck the hailstorm of missiles would hit the Erquinian fleet hard enough to prevent them from returning the salvo. The Commonwealth task force outnumbered the Sylvans in terms of ships and aircraft. The NSR carriers, though they had two of them, were much smaller than their Commonwealth counterparts, which were justly classified as supercarriers. And the Erquinian carrier was able to carry many more planes than both the Resurgence and Revelation, though the NSR could launch them faster because they had two separate flight decks. The Erquinians, by any strategist's estimate, would crush the NSR; they had three times as many ships and nearly twice as many aircraft. But for the Sylvans, forever optimistic, figured that if they could destroy, or atleast cripple, the Erquinian fleet...then it would all be worth it.

The cruise missiles launched vertically from the tubes inside their respective ships. Plumes of white smoke flooded the deck and over the edge as the missiles ignited and launched, before turning horizontally and speeding towards their targets. At just over 400 KM away, the Erquinian fleet would have only twenty seconds to react to the missiles before they pounded into their ships. But twenty seconds was more than long enough to detect the missiles, trace their origin, and launch missiles of their own. Lynch crossed his fingers and prayed as the Sylvan fleet began to change course, making a sharp starboard turn in hopes of avoiding the inevitable Commonwealth counterstrike.

[Erquin]

Erquinian Western Flank
23 miles from the 32nd and 36th NSR divisions
2nd Recon Battalion, 3rd Armoured Division
1700 hours

"You think they have been fooled, Yukon?" asks a soldier who enters the dugout, a dugout of mud and wood, with a little trickle of grass and netting too. "They may have been, but we can't be too sure, we lost a lot of soldiers to those damn Sylvan strikes, and I doubt the divisions they are sending are going to be any weaker then those...." says Yukon, as he takes a sip of water from his canteen, and he drapes an opaque tarp over the doors and window(s) of his his little dugout, considering it was a bright and hot summer, and when summer is around in Erquin, it gets hot, and hot it is down here. The thermometer on a pile of ammunition crates read 94 degrees Fahrenheit, yet Yukon can stay in the sun and heat for long periods without moving much. "Not sure what to expect from the Sylvans, but what I do know is that we can still kick their ass's with ease." says the man, as Yukon looks back at him in agreement, promptly stating and asking "You said it, George.. But would you like some Sylvan-style lemonade?". George nods yes, but he gets out of the dugout for he needs to haul ammunition crates from storage to a motor pool full of OC-67's. Meanwhile, Yukon just starts mixing up the lemonade, and he gets into his position again, only to see an OC-67 patrol lead by a OC-69 assault gun carrier, routinely checking the former positions to see if any stragglers remained to save them. He didn't know what would happen to the entire division, nor who would help them gain victory..


ErCom Scout plane, ICU-435
2364 meters from ground level
Same time-ish

"Damnit, when will we get to see the damned Sylvans, Sergei?" asks a female operator to Sergei, a lieutenant, replying "I have no idea,Kara, but what I do know is that the last reported position of a Trojan II was some 12 miles from the division, and that should lead us to them, keep looking.". Kara goes back to the screen, flicking some switches and typing in a code for electro-magnetism, instantly seeing 8 large blips and dozens more tiny blips on the screen as they pass over a heavily wooded area, and she screams in fright, making Sergei calm her down, then he looks at the screen, his facial expression both shocked and deceived. "You!" yells Sergei to a crew member, continuing "Tell the pilot to RTB and fast! We got ourselves a big, and I mean BIG spoonful of trouble and we need to take this back to base!" making the crew-man start running through the cabin to the cockpit to alert him, and as soon as you can say "Wait, should we already been shot at?", the plane takes a sharp turn, and the engines roar even louder as a sign of after-burning the turbo-props. As the plane goes over the wooded area, Sergei could see from the windows, Sylvan Trojan-IIIs and IIs..

[The Black Reich]

Within the halls of the National Defence Command Centre, Reicharia

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The situation room was a rather unique room in Reicha, commonly called 'The Blue Room' because of the unique, predominantly blue coloured lighting of the facility - the blue being an offshoot of the polarisation required for the visual holograms that were projected from a number of the arrays on the main screens. Today, all eyes covered in the hologram-detecting glasses, including the Lord Minister's, were focused on one particular image pulled from a Reichan ULtra fiedlitY Satellite SystEmS (ULYSSES) geo-imagery satellite that had been specifically re-tasked to focus upon the last known location of the Reichan World Health unit.

"You sure that's them?" The Lord minister asked... the last information they had was a single communique with a member of the Reichan WA activity going by the name of Brent Jnastone stating that there had been an incident with the local military caused by the Helmarran element, and it had resulted in a very one sided firefight between the Helmarran, a number of soldiers, and the medical team.

He was the sole survivor, and was being immediately shipped back with naught but a word.

"Yes sir, that's them... freshly dug ground here, here and here... and you can see where one of the vehicles that must've been damaged has been stripped of as much as possible and left in location" a Reichan general said as he pointed to images that glowed hot red over the map.

Lord Minister Carroner cursed under his breath... nearly seven years since they had developed this place, four since the Helmarran civil war began - and their first major contact with a non-Reichan force results in a bloodbath.

"Is it really so insane out there?" he said to no one in particular... the general simply shrugged and shook his head in agreeance.

"Fine, as of this moment, we are in planning to begin an overwatch on this conflict. It has cost us lives, I want to know why everyone is engaged in this conflict - I want to know names, personalities, force compositions, WHY they are fighting, and who is responsible for the violence. Get us permission to conduct overflights of this area from the invading force, explain what has happened."

The meeting dispersed soon after, Lord Minister Carroner watched as the General left and began pointing and shouting after the soundproof door to the briefing room was shut. He looked back to the images of the stripped truck and the three red marks of the overturned earth and sighed again.

He had a knack for telling when things were bad, his stomach would feel queasy... right now, he felt like throwing up.

REICHAN DIPLOMATIC SERVICES CONFIRM EMAIL COMMUNIQUE WITH SUSPECTED CIVIL WAR ELEMENTS 'NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC' AND 'ERQUINIAN COMMONWEALTH'

COMMUNICATION REQUEST PROCESSING...
...
...
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APPROVED - WELCOME LORD MINISTER - ALL PRIVILEGES AND ACCESSES HAVE BEEN GRANTED. SPECIAL MISSIONS AND PROJECT RAMSES FILES ARE OPEN FOR PERUSAL

... CLOSING PROJECT RAMSES FILES AND LOCKING INTO CRYPTOGRAPHIC SYNCH DATABASE, OPENING INTERAGOV FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE MESSAGE SYSTEM - PLEASE WAIT...
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...
...
SEND MESSAGE

MESSAGE TRANSMITTED, STANDBY FOR SENT MESSAGE DISPLAY
TO: *CLASSIFIED RECIPIENTS WITHIN NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC AND ERQUINIAN COMMONWEALTH*

To the participants of the current armed engagement on and within the region of Catalina Island, New Sylvan Republic

Good day, by way of introduction I am Nathan Carroner, Lord Minister of the nation known as the Black Reich, and recently a signatory nation of the Meridian Pact. In the process of integrating our nation, we have sent a number of goodwill emissary forces to provide free medical, dental and other basic necessities to some of your lesser developed regions - whilst not directly approved, such visits were sanctioned via a non-binding World Assembly agreement which the Black Reich requested despite not actually being a WA member.

In the course of these activities, one of our larger elements of Catalina Island has suffered from a horrendous act of callousness, resulting in the massacre of its people and subsequent looting of supplies. We believe we know the nation responsible for this act, but now deem that your conflict is of concern to our nation as a whole... you already encroached on Reichan territory before we joined the Pact, and this rapidly spreading conflict you are engaged in now concerns Reicha greatly.

As such, we demand that Reichan reconnaissance aircraft be given overflight permissions to examine the situation. We wish to see the cessation of hostilities near our borders, and intend to determine the likely response to the current situation through our activities. Our military is being placed on a heightened alert status, and any aggressive actions will be defended against.

As a measure of goodwill in this hour of sadness and to avoid any future calamities, our diplomatic ministry, with my guidance, is willing to accept diplomatic delegates from New Sylva and Erquin to explain the actions of Catalina Island and the cause of the deaths of our humanitarian missions, we are also willing to act as a neutral ground for both nations to present their case if required.

Sincerely,
*The digital signature was just like his actual signature... terrible and pretty much barely legible*
Nathan Carroner
Lord Minister of Reicha, the Black Reich and all Reichan domains.

[The Black Reich]

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High Riechan Army RA-7 Highlander tanks (Reichan built T-80U tanks) are prepared for deployment.

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High Reichan soldiers of the 7th Light Infantry Division await orders during the beginning of a preparation exercise.

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High Riechan Air Force intelligence collection aircraft takes off from an undisclosed location within the Black Reich, the specific plans of this mission were, understandably, not disclosed to the photographer...

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Mixed here is a combination of High Reichan and local Prelate forces. The Prelates often provided specific assistance to High Reichan missions as part of their assistance to wider High Reichan directives.

The preparations throughout the Black Reich were varied and dispersed. The order to mobilise and prepare forces for muster had been delivered only a week earlier, and already a massive assembly of Reichan military hardware was underway.

High Reichan military forces, often associated with any direct action against an incumbent foe as the first line of defence (or offence) against an opponent, were mobilising throughout the region along the New Sylvan border. No one was quite sure what was happening just yet, but one thing was certain - the huge number of overland Intelligence flights being undertaken by Reichan air arms (and possibly by some special forces that were preparing to or maybe already had penetrate into the region) would provide further information in the weeks to come.

Reicha itself was flying blind as to exactly what was happening, or even who to support, but one thing was certain, Reichan blood had been spilt, and that was enough to put the nation on edge - especially when that nation seemed to be falling apart under a major military assault...

[Nova Sylva]

COALITION STATE CAMPAIGN HQ
NEAR CAPISTRANO, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2100 HOURS - OPERATION MEDUSA ZERO HOUR

Colonel John Bothe watched as Field Marshall Frasier, standing in the back of a small vehicle, gave the Sylvan salute. The men of 1st Armored acclaimed him with their voices, each one returning the salute by placing his hand over his heart - a symbolic gesture representing victory before all else, including one's own life. It made him proud to be one of them, and honored to lead them, watching as his element of First Armored prepared to assault the NSR positions in what was certain to be the clash of the century. Over three-quarters of a million men, forty-four divisions, ready to launch a headlong assault into the New Sylvan Republic, which was estimated to have that many or more, dug in along a one-hundred forty kilometer salient around the city of Capistrano. These men were prepared for it - they might have fought for the Chairman and the Coalition, but they lived and died for Frasier. It wasn't something that could be explained to a civilian, or a Sec officer, but it was something all soldiers understood. A good officer was worth his weight in gold.

Or maybe InSec did understand. Frasier had been given command of the 11th Internal Security Contingent and its men were cheering him on with the same enthusiasm. The regulars didn't usually get along with the InSec troops, who were regarded as either glorified police officers or overpaid soldiers, but he was forced to admit that most Internal Security units were tough and capable fighters.

"Tonight, we march against the foe," Frasier said, his voice amplified by massive speakers, as the men stood at ease. He wouldn't have made them stand at attention or parade rest, much less at present arms, for the length of his speech; though Bothe knew some Sec commanders who did just that. Frasier had been a soldier once too - and he respected his and trusted those under him, down to the lowest private. "Tonight, we will assault the enemy, punch through their lines, and head for Chandler, allowing nothing to stop us."

His voice echoed in the air for a long moment. Frasier tended to treat the entire army as a storm division, something that had worked well in Sidonia, but less well during the Winter Uprising and here in the NSR. He'd been everywhere at once during the assault on Jacinto, flying around in his own personal helicopter and landing wherever their was a problem. It had almost gotten him killed twice, but it had worked; he had driven the soldiers on relentlessly, on ultimately, to victory. Now, he just had to hope it would work again. Only this time the NSR was prepared. They'd had weeks to prepare a 140 km defensive line, move in hundreds of thousands of troops, tanks, and planes, and Bothe was personally worried that if they failed here the entire invasion might be in jeopardy.

There was really no such thing as a DMZ or peaceful border between the two armies - for weeks the two had launched raids on one another and small scale attacks, as well as constant aerial fighting and occasional artillery duels. It had been hemorrhaging men and machines as the NSR attempted to delay the attack and the coalition prodded the line for weak points. The Sylvans also had a massive quantity of tanks now, something they had lacked at Jacinto; Bothe was quite looking forward to seeing the clash of his armor and their armor. The best efforts of the Air Force notwithstanding, it was unlikely in the extreme that the NSR had reinforced to the greatest possible extent.

"I expect each and everyone one of you to do his duty. Fur das Reich!"* Frasier shouted, saluting.

"Fur das Reich!" they shouted back. The attack was about to begin.

***

*Fur Das Reich means "For the empire." The Coalition State is largely Germanic anyway, but don't get it confused - their not saluting The Black Reich!

NSR 4th BATTALION, 29th ARMORED DIVISION
WINDBREAK RIDGE, NEW SYLVAN REPUBLIC
2100 HOURS

The artillery fell with, and very much like, the summer rain as the Erquinians directed their fire for yet another attack on Windbreak Ridge. The shells whistled before they hit, an ominous shriek that struck terror in the hearts of even the most seasoned veterans. Then, they would explode, shaking the earth and throwing up tons of dirt, metal, and bits of man before showering it back down on those lucky enough not to be pulverized by the storm of steel falling upon 4th Battalion. The small radar station on top of the hill had been all but destroyed in the days of heavy fighting, but the hill itself was of more strategic value - from it, one could see for miles. The NSR was using it to spot artillery, and so naturally the Erquinains had wanted to take it. By doing so, they could direct their own artillery on the Sylvans below, and compromise the entire defensive effort. It had been the sight of some of the most savage fighting of the war to date, with casualties on both sides nearing the thousands, but as of yet the NSR flag still waved proudly from the hill's summit. That being said the 29th, and 4th Battalion in particular, had taken heavy casualties, while the Erquinians seemed to have an infinite reserve of infantry divisions to throw at Clarke's Finest. Casey's envelopment maneuver, expected to take three days, was stretching into it's fifth - and the 29th was on the verge of being completely overrun as the Commonwealth cycled their divisions towards the front.

Lt. Colonel Daniel Calebrese peeped out from his foxhole as the Erquinian barrage faded and died, only to be replaced with the popping of flares and the combined voices of an entire brigade as it planned to charge the hill - for the fourth time that day. He wiped the mud off his Night-Vision Goggles (NVGs) and slid them on, covering the night in a greenish hue. Not a kilometer away, he could make out the line of Erquinian vehicles rumbling up the hill. "Enemy armor approaching," Calebrese said into his throat mic. The tanks were bulkier than normal, and traveling much faster - they certainly were not OC-73s. "New type of tank," he said. "Heavier armor, and more speed...let's see if it's tougher. All units, open fire!"

Through the falling rain, the Sylvans let loose with everything they had. Rockets, tracer fire, and artillery poured onto the Erquinian armor. A score of the tanks were disabled, but not to the effect that Calebrese had hoped. Erquinian counter-battery fire tried to silence the Sylvan guns, and the sound was deafening as the two artillery corps dueled it out. The tanks were getting closer when he made out the first Erquinian infantryman, the horde of them piling behind the vehicles, even as howitzer shells ripped apart their lines. He raised his R91, sighted in on an enemy, and pulled the trigger. The semi-automatic R91, with almost no recoil and incredible accuracy, rewarded him by blowing the target's head into pieces and showering his compatriot with brain matter, who joined his friend in the afterlife a second later. But the enemy tanks, now barely forty meters away, suddenly stopped. Calebrese was about to wonder why when lances of orange-hot flame shot forth from their barrels. "Flame tanks!" Calebrese yelled. "Fall back!"

Running out of his dirt pillbox, and over a trench, a wave of heat vaporized where he had been seconds before. Ahead of him a flaming trooper fell, burned alive. Meanwhile the rest of 4th Bn covered his retreat with a hale of .50 cals and grenades. He tripped, faceplanting in a trench, and was cursing his bad luck when he realized that it had saved him - fire engulfed the air above him. His NVGs were ruined, and his rifle dropped somewhere behind him, but otherwise the Lt. Colonel was unharmed. He was puled into a nearby trench by a group of troopers as the flame tanks finished their deadly barrage. Luckily for the Sylvans, by stopping the new flame tanks had made themselves perfect targets for the NSR artillery. One of the tanks took a direct hit and exploded in a massive ball of flame that rivaled that of thermobarics, vaporizing a dozen or so infantry men. He looked at the tanks again, before the barrels heated up again, shooting another wall of flame towards the Sylvans...