Brytene
Hlasyctere Aoife 'Brighteye' Lodbrok
Celeste gave a little gasp as she saw Aoife's eyes flutter open. The Jarl coughed and tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. She tried to sit up and Celeste rose, reaching an arm around her back to help her upright.
"Hey, good morning sunshine! Take it easy, take it easy, you're safe," she said, her tone soothing. She fumbled with the bed for a moment, bringing the head up so Aoife could sit, and handed her a cup of water. Aoife drained it all and then let her head fall back and closed her eyes. There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke, eyes still shut.
"I didn't dream...this..." she began, raising her left arm briefly before letting it drop back onto the pillows piled along that side of the bed.
Celeste glanced at her arm and then away, awkwardly. "...no. I'm so sorry, Aoife."
More silence.
"You had no other serious injuries, the doctors said-" began Celeste, trying to fill the silence. Aoife's eyes opened again and she tried to smile. "It's okay. I'm okay. Thank you for being here..."
Whitebay
Brytene
Sergeant Henry Berrocscirr
Out to sea, a huge storm was growing. It had been building all morning, the clouds revealing themselves as the morning sun woke the city, their banks rolling high into the heavens. The entirety of the 5th Regiment had been mobilised across Susseax, now that the island represented the southern border of Brytene thanks to the collapse of Pepper Atoll. An unknown enemy, highly capable and effective, lurked just out of sight over the horizon, or so it felt. The storm seemed apt, one giant meteorological metaphor for the danger menacing the Confederacy.
He and two of his comrades were stationed at the Whitebay North Tram Terminal. Trams were an odd local feature of Whitebay, and were the backbone of its public transport system, and thousands of passengers went through this terminal alone every single day. Armed with a TAS-HOGG shotgun, currently racked up with LTL rounds for crowd control, he knew that his two colleagues were armed with regular, blood-spraying, life-ending munitions, and the furtive and worried glances the passersby gave them made it clear that they too were feeling on edge this morning. To his left, facing south, the street sloped away down to the sea, the slate-dark and red-brick buildings in neo-classical style framing the grey-blue churn of the Fale Ocean. He watched a surly-looking man lumber past him and then glanced back to the sea, and almost did a double-take. A corvette was steaming out of the harbour, towards the roiling waters of the sea beyond. Overhead, a pair of Walkure attack helicopters hammered through the skies. The Sergeant frowned and then turned his gaze back to the crowd. No doubt the footsloggers would be the last to know what was going on.
Whitebay Harbour
Brytene
CFS Pen-y-ghent
The first of the small vessels came into sight just as the Pen-y-ghent passed out of the harbour waters and into the blue. The bridge crew were understandably nervous, what with the fate of the Brytisc vessels 1,000 kilometres south at Pepper Atoll, but the reports had been correct. Ahead of them, scrambling to escape the leading edge of a Brindawon-worthy maelstrom, was a motley straggle of vessels. Apparently there were more up and down the coast, and gods knew how many further back or lost in the storm, but the three small craft ahead of the corvette were due a speaking to.
Moving into their path, 75mm deck gun at the ready, the crew of the Pen-y-ghent readied themselves...
St Joseph Airport
St Joseph
Hrystic Monastic Mission
The figure in black, still perhaps a hundred yards out, stopped and stared at the scene, hands on hips. After a few moments, they unslung what looked like an oversize grenade launcher from their back. Casually making some adjustments, they hefted the bulky weapon and fired a single round at the nearest IFV. A HEAT round screamed at impossibly high speed directly into the flank of the vehicle, even as the attacker dropped the weapon and simply stood to watch its effect, leaning casually against a maintenance shed.
CN Erméa
23 kilometres north of Pepper Atoll
Commander Botin
Both vessels had been torn apart, quite literally - the vastly uneven and rocky seafloor in the area meaning that some parts of the ships had ended up quite a way away from one another as they sank. There was no torpedo casing to be found, at least not easily, although the many crevices and formations on the seabed could have concealed an entire cache of weapons with ease. What they did find, however, was damage consistent with explosives placed near to or even on the hull itself, either mines or limpet charges potentially. Though many of the crew were missing or too badly injured to be recognisable, the rover had also managed to get a few grainy images of Brytisc personnel with what were clearly bullet wounds and even lacerations, suggesting some kind of boarding action and close-quarters combat.
Above them, the bombers approached the Atoll completely unmolested...