NATION

PASSWORD

Orchestrated Defiance (MT, Atlas Only)

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

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Chazicaria
Minister
 
Posts: 2456
Founded: Jul 03, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Chazicaria » Tue Jul 30, 2019 5:00 pm

North Glendalough, Tenburg
2300, January 27th, 2019

Stepping over another of the Tennish corpses littering the sidewalk, Joachim Talz formed his fireteam up on the door they'd seen the wounded partisan duck into. Being the 2 man on the stack, he knew his 1 man, Erlicher always went left or straight when breaching, meaning Talz would go right or straight depending on the room. Erlicher gave him the ready tap and Talz passed it back to Leon who passed it to Heydrich. Then, to signal readiness, they passed the tap forward; the very second Talz tapped Erlicher, he pushed open the shot-apart door and they all entered the room with deliberate, focused movements. Expecting a fight, they were surprised to see an unarmed old man with a bloody white handkerchief wrapped around his leg drinking a bear with a rifle at his feet.

As the team swept the house, Talz knelt in front of the old man as the two soldiers locked eyes. He respected the old guy- this wasn't a just war, even if Talz knew why it needed to be fought, and he couldn't blame the guy for defending his home. Standing and spotting a photo on the mantle of the fireplace, Joachim recognized the uniforms in the photo as Tennish and Chazicarian 2nd Great War era. Despite the years in between the photo and now, the grizzled appearance of the bleeding man now enjoying his beer was still easily recognizable as one of the men in the photo; the other was a Chazicarian Corporal. Joachim summoned his barely passable Tennish, "You're a hell of a shot, old man. Even with that relic."

South Glendalough, Tenburg
2300, January 27th, 2019

It never pays to rely on indigenous fighters to actually do their jobs.

As the Volgarian attack helicopter rained rocket and cannon fire down on FTLA positions throughout the south of Glendalough, Norbert Mann silently chastised the FTLA weapons platoon they'd assigned to protect the air corridor into the city. Now they were having to call up another Panther Team unit, committing more Chazicarians to the fight than was ideal. The men were approaching from the east on foot, armed with MANPADs and would likely have a shot on the highly exposed helicopter within minutes, but those were minutes where FTLA guerrillas were dying. For now, heavy small arms fire from ground forces are all that would be faced by the heavily armed aircraft.

Despite the gunship, progress was being made in all sectors. The attack had been a well-planned surprise, and by sundown on the 28th FTLA hoped to have the city mostly under control.
Currently performing a complete reorganization of my military and nation. RETCONNS galore. Pardon the lack of organization and conflicting info in my factbooks.

Economic Left/Right: 7.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -3.38

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Tenburg
Envoy
 
Posts: 267
Founded: Feb 01, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tenburg » Fri Aug 02, 2019 9:25 pm

North Glendalough, Tenburg

Paddy raised his head and looked down his nose at the soldier, not intentionally, of course - it was hard to see him otherwise.
"That old relic's seen me through a lot. Three years in the TRA, four years infantry in the New Tennish Army... Ye get to know a gun well in that time."

The squad around him all seemed to pause as he spoke.

Erlicher, whose Tennish was decent, asked, "You were TRA?"

"Aye, indeed I was." Paddy took a sip of his stout.

"A long time ago I took an oath to defend my home. That meant shooting at countrymen sometimes back in those days."

He looked back at the photograph of him and his friend, remembering his cool, stereotypically Chazicarian demeanor.

"But old Henny kept my temper in check."
I offer only slanderous mockeries!

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Chazicaria
Minister
 
Posts: 2456
Founded: Jul 03, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Chazicaria » Mon Aug 19, 2019 6:05 pm

North Glendalough, Tenburg
2300, January 27th, 2019

Erlicher replied back in his best Tennish, "History is a circle, I think. You're shooting countrymen again." Of course, being professionals, the agents didn't dally around listening only to stories from an old man- Heydrich and Leon were pulling security from the 2nd floor to ensure they weren't caught by surprise by any Tennish troops or police. Of course, at this point that was unlikely as the assault into the town was really picking up.

On the 1st floor, Erlich and Talz continued their conversation as they provided basic first aid to the wounded man, "Can't imagine an old TRA man fighting for the new guys in charge. They're a decrepit bunch. Got any more stout?"
Currently performing a complete reorganization of my military and nation. RETCONNS galore. Pardon the lack of organization and conflicting info in my factbooks.

Economic Left/Right: 7.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -3.38

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Tenburg
Envoy
 
Posts: 267
Founded: Feb 01, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tenburg » Fri Aug 30, 2019 5:38 pm

North Glendalough, Tenburg

"Aye, it's in the fridge", Paddy replied, drinking more of his own. "Ye can help yourself to some of the water in the pitcher as well if ye like... Used it for the Misses' flowers, but it would seem one o' ye blew a hole in the garden."

He sat back, his mind rushing to avoid the now-searing pain in his leg. His thoughts went back to the war, to his friends, both Tennish and Chazicarian. McGlinchy, Joyce, Shaw, Heinrich, Otto... They were a crack group, for a bunch of young boys.
I offer only slanderous mockeries!

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Zerinfrium
Secretary
 
Posts: 39
Founded: May 12, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Zerinfrium » Sun Sep 08, 2019 11:36 pm

Abandoned Suburb, Tenburg

Federal Guardsman Private First Class- Thloki Hugsazinglr (Cause of Death Car Wreck)
0232 Tennish Standard Time

It had been a long night. These nights seem to get longer each day while i'm here. We had just gotten word that our position had been compromised. Reports of a group of men heading our way. Unknown nationality. We were rushing to get everything out of here. i had just spread the gasoline all over the papers we had. I finished my last cigarette, and threw it on the papers. It catching fire as it crumpled into burnt remnants and ash. My friend wait.. no.. partner needed help getting the last box into the tunnel. I looked at him with sad eyes, as he looked back after I handed him that box. Eventually we both heard a loud boom and a crash. We should have reinforced that door. His look turned from sadness to absolution and seriousness. He nodes. 'I'll remember you.' he said. After all my training I would've thought that that was a lie, or even a trick. I closed up the entrance behind him as he disappeared. All I heard were the boot steps. quickly approaching. The slight murmurs. I put my hands in my pockets, as that door swung open nearly falling of it's hinges. Flashlights in my face. Yelling, something in the common tongue about me to raise my hands. I decided to comply getting them out of my pockets, and with them a sort of pistol of Tennish design. I raised it to my head.

"The Black Adler rises!!"

All I heard next were two shots. I could tell the first one wasn't mine. All I felt were two pains. One in my hand. The other on my head. I looked at them shocked. I...I fucked this one up for sure. Why was I even brought into the Illusive Men. They grabbed me. I tried to fight them but I was not only in pain, but I was down one fighting arm. Eventually a rag was held to my face. Then blackness. I awoke, I don't even know how much later, to a splash of cold water. I shot awake not knowing where I was, and at first what city I was probably in. I was blindfolded. I knew if they didn't kill me here. That I was dead for sure.
Last edited by Zerinfrium on Sun Sep 08, 2019 11:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Stasnov
Minister
 
Posts: 2454
Founded: Mar 16, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Stasnov » Mon Sep 09, 2019 1:00 am

Republic of Tenburg, TBD
Countryside, near FTLA Compound AB-13
0230 hours




These guys were a pain in the arse. Aidan was an experienced First Chief Directorate operative for over 15 years, with now almost 6 years as a deep undercover agent in this civil war-infested hellhole of a country. He was a qualified expert in fields such as assassination, sabotage, psychological operations, weapons handing, close quarters combat and even money laundering. In his 15 years of service he had to use most of these skills. But these five fuckers still got to his nerves. He didn't even know who they were, other than that they were on the same team. He had first assumed them to be Spetsgruppa Vega, one of the KGB's several Tier One units. Or they could be from the GRU Spetsnaz Regiments. They didn't tell him themselves, and he sure as hell wouldn't ask the. He just expected some more comradership and respect for someone who had been living a false life, someone who hadn't seen home for six years. He missed his country. He missed his friends.

Aidan's thoughts were interrupted by the team leader's hushed order over the radio to remain low as a searchlight scanned the treeline near their position. They were in a forest near TBD, away from the immediate front line, but the faint sound of small arms bursts and artillery or tank fire was still omnipresent and unending. Ahead of them, in the edge of the forest, was a fortified Free Tennish Liberation Army compound. This was an assassination mission, and as such, pretty simple: infiltrate, eliminate, exfiltrate. The target was a high-ranking FTLA official - code name "Target Red" - with, rather stupidly, outspoken pro-Chazicarian leanings. The HVT's codename implied that there was another target in Tenburg that would be taken care off tonight, but Aidan wasn't certain.

Aidan had been ordered by his handler, the venerable Nicholas Fisher, to attach to the special forces team for this mission as a local guide and translator, though all of the operatives apparently spoke the local language. Maybe that's why the operatives weren't that talkative or friendly towards Aidan; they thought that he was there to babysit and oversee them. The good old stereotype of the KGB spook ruining the fun for the "cool" tier one operatives. The thought was both amusing and infuriating to Aidan, but he would soldier through this mission and get it over with. The order came to move.

The six men left the cover of the foliage and steadily advanced towards the barbwire fence. The beam of the searchlight was now scanning the other side of the compound, and the next foot patrol shouldn't be here for about two minutes. Plenty of time. Two men of the squad - the Mario and John - crossed the open area between the treeline and the fence, with Mario pulling a barb wire cutter from his backpack. The rest of the squad provided overwatch as the two men started working on the fence. All six men wore a mix of civilian clothing and military gear, with NVGs and balaclavas covering their faces and they also carried exclusively non-VP weaponry. They all communicated in English.

"Movement right" the radio suddenly cracked with the voice of Niko, the team sniper "Three foot mobiles and a dog. A rather cute German shepherd."

The team leader, Paul, turned to one of the squad members called Anton "What the fuck?" he whispered to him.

"IMINT suggested five minute patrol rotations" Anton shrugged.

There was no choice. Even if the guards would just walk by without seeing them, the dog would surely sniff them. Paul gave some sharp orders over comms, and the squad took position, with the cutter team staying put by low. Aidan aimed his silenced M4A1 at the closest guard's chest. They all held their breaths as the patrol approached. The dog suddenly became restless, and the first silenced shot from Niko's M110 DMR put it down. Three other silenced shots took out the the guards. The squad broke cover as the cutter team finally opened a hole in the fence.

"Control" Paul ordered "And hide the bodies"

Aidan and Anton complied, walking up to the bodies of the guards and their patrol dog and putting a silenced round to each one's head. They then quickly dragged them to the treeline and hastily hit them under the foliage. The squad entered the compound courtyard and kept to the shadows.




Some minutes later

"Control"

*pop pop pop*

The three dead guards near the entrance of the compound HQ room were made sure to remain dead. Niko provided overwatch as the rest of the team hid the bodies in a bathroom, alongside the bodies of four other guards. The team then stacked up on the door of the room where Target Red was supposed to be. However, there was a problem. The small windows on the double dour were boarded up, and the operators couldn't see inside. Aidan looked at Paul and pointed at a flashbang hanging from his plate carrier. The team leader shook his head rather disapprovingly, signing "too loud". Paul turned towards John, making a couple of hand signals. "Camera" Aidan understood. These guys really came prepared he thought.

John unzipped his thigh pouch and pulled out a flexible cable camera and a PDA. The crouched down and slipped the camera under the door, turning on the PDA. A live feed of the room appeared on the screen. Paul knelt down next to John to inspect the room. After some moments, the TL explained the situation. Seven armed men were inside. Four officers hunched over a map on a table in the room's centre, as well as three guards, two of them guarding the door and one in the back of the room. Paul assigned targets to each team member, and Aidan had the guard on the other side of the room. The men stacked up and Mario swapped his G36C with a suppressed Mossberg 590, sticking the end of the larg silencer on the door's lock. Paul raised three fingers. *Three, two, one*

It was over in seconds. The point-blank shotgun blast blasted the lock and Mario kicked the door. Paul and John entered the room, shooting the door guards on the back of their heads at point blank. Aidan followed, firing three shots at the guard on the far side of the room, who instantly went down. Mario blasted one of the officers with his shotgun and John took out another. Aidan killed an officer, a captain by his insignia, who tried to reach for an FN FAL on a chair. Paul fired two shots from SCAR-H at Target Red, the top of his head disappearing in a red mist.

"Clear" said John

"Room clear" declared Paul "Let's get this done. Take photos, grab any documents. Five minutes and we're out of here"
Last edited by Stasnov on Tue Sep 10, 2019 1:52 pm, edited 3 times in total.
#ValaranSoFab
My alt/secondary account: Chalcia
My FT alt account: Union of Collectivist Systems
19 years old, Greek, male, heterosexual, Communist, LGBT rights supporter, secularist, atheist
Puzikas wrote:"Wanna know how I got these scars?"- Gorby probably

Yalos wrote:"Nazi Germany lost WW2 because it thought like an NS player"

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Chazicaria
Minister
 
Posts: 2456
Founded: Jul 03, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Chazicaria » Mon Sep 09, 2019 5:22 pm

Just Outside FTLA Compound AB-13, Tenburg
2355, January 28th, 2019

Yet another checkup.

It'd been a routine with these FTLA Compounds- Sword Team would move to each, one by one, and physically gather intelligence deemed too sensitive to transmit. Then, they'd personally hand the info off to a collection team which would bring it back to Chazicaria for the Bureau guys to peruse. Nothing too incriminating or valuable was every at the compounds, but valuable battlefield intelligence or political machinations being performed by FTLA independent of IRIS or the Chazicarian government were obviously present.

After firing the opening shots of the war, it was a little degrading for Sword Team to now be glorified babysitters and mailmen for the FTLA. Of course, it wasn't every day that IRIS Ops guys got to actual do their jobs, so a brisk walk through the Tennish countryside in full kit was nothing to really complain about. There was always the chance of reassignment to more engaging work, especially considering the sheer scale of IRIS operations in Tenburg. Sword itself was a perfectly normal IRIS Bureau of Operations Team, specifically from Section 1 which handled Western Chazicaria, Tenburg, Volgaria, and the Allied Castarcian States. The team was made up of two fireteams of four men each (breacher, automatic rifleman, grenadier, team leader), and a sniper team of three men (marksman, spotter, security man)- 11 men in total, with the Security Man on the Sniper Element serving as the actual Sword Team Leader- Sword Actual. All other members of the team had number designations from Sword 1 to Sword 10.

There was a process to checking in on the Compounds, and each specific one had its own process for security purposes. For Compound AB-13 in particular, that process was a 6-click radio transmission that would to any normal radio operator be confused for static- this would alert the radioman to put the perimeter guards on high alert and to click back twice, signaling his acknowledgement. The IRIS team would then approach the perimeter, stealthily, and give a challenge phrase that changed based on the day of the week. Today's phrase was to be, "Pan," followed by the reply from the guards which would be, "Cake." Sword has run through this process with the Compound's Commanding Officer, Major McGinnis, a dozen times in practice.

Obviously, this phrase wasn't going to be used, considering that the 6-click radio transmission was never replied to by the usual two clicks. Worse yet, no perimeter guards could be spotted by the Team's Sniper element, which was as usual posted on a shallow ridge (it was, after all, mountain country) overlooking the southern side of the Compound- today's approach for Sword.

Sword 1, Alpha Team Leader and currently the lead element in their bounding overwatch movement clicked over on his commo to Sword 5, Bravo Team Leader, "Nothing. Charlie hasn't got anything either. Assume compromise and move to secure- as per ROE, all not FTLA will be dispatched, out."

Moving ahead with his team, and all with their NVGs deployed, Sword 1 slowly crept across the short yard on approach to the building's entrance, Sword 5 providing cover. On the shallow ridge almost 800 meters away, Sword Actual took updates from his Marksman and Spotter, currently viewing the compound from the thermal optics attached to their rifle and spotting scope, respectively.

Not another checkup, it seems.
Currently performing a complete reorganization of my military and nation. RETCONNS galore. Pardon the lack of organization and conflicting info in my factbooks.

Economic Left/Right: 7.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -3.38

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Stasnov
Minister
 
Posts: 2454
Founded: Mar 16, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Stasnov » Tue Sep 10, 2019 9:18 pm

Republic of Tenburg, Location classified
KGB Blacksite
0300 hours




The, long, dark room was devoid of any furniture other than a chair in its centre and and two turned off floodlights aiming directly at it. The walls were unpainted and were just cement gray, and the three windows were boarded up. There was only a single door, on the side the chair faced. One of the two lamps hanging from the ceiling was broken, the other was turned off. Two barrels with a bucket and some rags were on one of the corners, while two long wires were hanging from the ceiling behind the chair. Target Black-P1 was sat in the chair with his hands tied behind his back and a dirty, black cloth bag over his head. The chair - that was tied to the floor with heavy chains - was metallic and rusty, its back almost broken. Anything to make Target Black-P1 uncomfortable. But, to the surprise of his captors, the he was still asleep. Two figures dressed in civilian clothing walked up to the chair.

"So that's Target Black-P1? Why's his hand and head bandaged? I thought you said he was intact, Doc." said the man on the right. He spoke in perfectly accented Tennish. He was skinny but tall, and wore a black turtleneck and jeans.

"He tried to shoot himself." replied Doc, the other man, also in Tennish, though his accent was slightly off but still believable. He was of a more muscular but significantly shorter build than the other man. He wore a green jacket and tan pants, as well as combat boots "But the idiot wanted to go full spy movie and screamed some bullshit motto first. So Mouse had to shoot him in his pistol hand and his own bullet grazed him. Funnily enough, Athlete bashed him with his rifle stock in the exact spot of the head wound." the man chucked.

"Well maybe he bashed him too hard" the other man said, remaining stone-faced "He still hasn't woken up. Let's help him."

The other man nodded "Sailor, Sultan!" he shouted and two other men appeared from the door. They were both armed with M4 carbines. Sultan, a darker skinned man, opened one of the barrels and filled the bucket with the water that was inside. He walked up to Target Black-P1, splashed him in the face and removed the hood from his head, while Sailor, a bald, lean man, turned on both flood lights. Black-P1 cringed at the coldness of the water and the intensity of the flood lights on his face. The man in the turtleneck walked up to him slowly, cracking his fingers. He started at him for a while and then leaned down, speaking in Tennish.

"If you refuse to answer to my questions, i hurt you. If you lie to me, i hurt you. If you play mute, i hurt you. Only you can stop me from hurting you. Understood?" he said.

Black-P1 didn't reply. Sultan's punch broke his nose. He shook violently in place, trying to fight the shackles. The next punch bruised his right eye, the next made a tooth go loose, and the other two were directly aimed at his head wound. He grunted, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his broken nose.

The interrogator moved closer to his face, almost whispering "See what happens?"

He grimaced and glared right into the interrogator's eyes "What do you want?" he also replied in Tennish, with the accent of either a local or a professional linguist. But the interrogator wasn't fazed.

"How long have you been an IM agent in Tenburg" he asked him.

"What the fuck is IM?! I'm just an arms dealer!" Black-P1 replied and spat out blood and saliva. Sailor, who had walked up behind the chair, kicked him in his arm would with his steel-tipped boot, while another punch by Sultan landed on his head wound.

"If you lie to me, i hurt you" the interrogator said again.

Black-P1 screamed, and started violently coughing. Doc slightly turned his gaze to the interrogator, who in turn met it with his eyes. Now he was the one worried about the prisoner's health. Maybe they were taking it a bit too far for the first session. The last thing they wanted right now was for Black-P1 to suffer a concussion. But the calm, cold look gave a very clear message. I know what i'm doing, don't show weakness.

As he regained his breath, the prisoner slightly raised his head "I'm not lying" he growled "I'm just an arms dealer."

The interrogator sighed "Get the water" he said to Doc and made a hand gesture to Sailor and Sultan. The two men grabbed the prisoner by the arms and wrestled him to the ground. He started violently trashing, trying to soldier on through a situation he probably knew he couldn't get out off. He started thrashing even more violently when he saw Doc get to the two barrels, lift the rags off one, and starting to fill the metal bucket. The Interrogator knelt next to the prisoner and stared him straight in the eye. Doc walked up to them with the rag and the water-filled bucket, putting the former on the prisoner's face.

"How long have you been an IM agent in Tenburg" he asked once again, in calm, almost peaceful tone.

"I am a arms dealer. Nothing more." the prisoner replied, suddenly appearing calm, as if trying to match the Interrogator's tone "I was here for a business venture"

The Interrogator nodded to Doc, who started emptying the bucket.

7 minutes later...

"What? I can't year you?" the Interrogator leaned in closer to try make out the muffled words coming from the drowning prisoner.

"-OKH..OKH-AY" the voice came from under the drenched rag, more like the scream of animal rather than a human voice. Doc removed the rag. The swollen, almost purple face of Black-P1, appeared from underneath, gasping from earth and spitting out water.

"I..I don't know what the IM is" he struggled to get the words out, continuing to spit out water after every word "I'm an arms dealer sponsored by the Chazicarian government....to sell arms to the Tennish dogs"

The Interrogator stood up "Get him up" he ordered.

Sultan and Sailor grabbed Black-P1 by the arms and stood him up, then getting him sitting on the chair again. A a smile started forming on the Interrogator's face, who walked up in front of the prisoner, pulled a pack of rolling tobacco from his pocket and started rolling a cigarette. His looked at Black-P1, smiling, obviously content.

"It wasn't that hard, was it?" he asked as he put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it.

Black-P1 seemed relieved. A faint trace of a smile even appeared on his swollen face ""You fuckers are crazy, but to crazy to be simply some Elesarian or Tennish agency." he appeared thoughtful "Hell... you're most likely Zerinite Federal Guard. So I have to tell you guys what i'm doing to maintain Chazicarian and Zerinite relations, as long as you get me patched up, right friends?"

The Interrogator exhaled the smoke and nodded, the big smile still on his face "Pull his nails out. Begin with this fingers."" he said to the others, still smiling. His smile then disappeared abruptly and glared at the prisoner "When you lie to me, i hurt you!" he repeated his professional mantra, almost growling.

The light disappeared from Black-P1s face. He watched in horror as Doc dissipated into the shadows in one of the room's many dark corner's, only to return a couple of moments later with a black briefcase. Sailor and Sultan untied the prisoner's struggling hands and tied them again to the chair's armrests. Doc laid the briefcase in front of the prisoner and started putting in the combination on the lock.

"OKAY OKAY OKAY!" the prisoner shouted out "I'll...i'll talk" he almost whispered the words, a look of shock and misery on his face. Doc locked the briefcase. From what he understood, the man knew that he had just signed his own death warrant. The prisoner took a deep breath "IM has been here before the beginning, trying to destabilize Tenburg. We didnt start it, we mainly fanned some of the flames, but we are here to make sure the side we want to win does."

The Interrogator smiled, for real this time "Good, good. If you help me, i help you" he paused, taking a long drag from his cigarette and allowing Doc to feed the prisoner some clean water from his canteen "But" he said again, exhaling the smoke "I need details. Arms and supplies shipments to the FTLA, contacts with their high ranking officers, their political leanings, large-scale troop movements. Can you give me this information?"

"I'm not much of a note taker, and I burned all our documents before you busted down that door." the prisoner replied, looking somewhat resigned "So you see, we both are fucked. I'm not even the head of operations here."

The Interrogator threw away the butt of his cigarette and too some fast steps towards the prisoner, his tall frame shadowing the almost crouched form on the chair "Do you want my friend here to get his briefcase again? The only one who's fucked here is you if you don't tell me what i need to hear. If you think i'm stupid enough to believe that a Zerinite spy can't memorize basic intel, you're gravely mistaken. So get talking."

Black-P1 sighed and then nodded positively. The Interrogator turned to Doc "Make copy of the recordings so far and send them to Vastava." he whispered "Now, let's get the info we need."
#ValaranSoFab
My alt/secondary account: Chalcia
My FT alt account: Union of Collectivist Systems
19 years old, Greek, male, heterosexual, Communist, LGBT rights supporter, secularist, atheist
Puzikas wrote:"Wanna know how I got these scars?"- Gorby probably

Yalos wrote:"Nazi Germany lost WW2 because it thought like an NS player"

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Brytene
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1493
Founded: Mar 17, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Brytene » Tue Sep 10, 2019 10:27 pm

Brytisc Embassy, Port Pierce, Tenburg
Ambassador Julia Wulff



Ambassador Wulff had not been having a fun few months. The fact that the Tennish government was essentially fascist was not something that thrilled her, especially since she herself had misgivings about the rise of Socialist-Nationalism in her own country. A brutal war between the FTLA and the Tennish government meant that every day she spent in this place was another day of nervous glances and weary resignation from the locals she had to deal with, not to mention the chance that the conflict would boil over and catch her small patch of Brytisc soil in the crossfire.

Wulff was a brunette in her early middle age, with a generous figure that could still catch the eye if dressed strategically and placed under the right lighting. Her face was not so much pretty as handsome, with an arch smile that would either draw you in or annoy the everliving fuck out of you. She was a relatively competent politician, but her failure to get on board with the rising star of Socialist-Nationalism meant she had been denied a choice posting in some luxurious Entente nation closer to home, and was instead negotiating the quagmire that was the political landscape of Tenburg.

It was no secret that Chazicaria were aiding the FTLA rebels (or loyalists, depending on your point of view), and she had long suspected that other nations were also delving their grubby fingers into the pie, but this was the first action they had seen anyone pull off. Together with Major Mendenhall, her chief of security at the embassy, and Felix Luna, officially a trade analyst, she was reviewing a report from an informant out in the countryside.

Felix, whose family had emigrated from Musgorocia several years after he was born, was in fact an R-DARK agent, and in fact the section chief for Tenburg. His was a small department, but Felix was a dedicated and competent intelligence officer and he had managed to establish a network of informants who, thanks to Brytene's supposed neutrality, were able to operate mostly without suspicion. The informant was reporting that local rumour had it that earlier in the night, an FTLA outpost housing a high-ranking official had been completely wiped out, and a cautious probe to the Tennish military suggested they didn't even know the outpost had been attacked.

Potentially pro-government vigilantes or militia, then, except that the official who had died was stridently pro-Chazicarian in his outlook. Felix knew that the Stasnovans had been trying to win over the FTLA as a fifth column for some time now, and Brytisc policy was such that communists were viewed as a preferable outcome to the unholy abomination that was the K-Pact, and so they were on somewhat friendly terms. He had not expected the Stasnovans to simply start assassinating anyone who became an obstacle, at least not already.

"You're sure it was Stasnovans?" asked the ambassador, incredulously.
"No ma'am," Felix replied, "but if I had to bet five shillings..."

The Major shrugged. "I doubt anyone on either side will even notice. It's not like the Tennish government and the FTLA are going to work together to figure out who did it."
"Well then what if it's some other third party?" demanded Wulff, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms.

Felix stood, gave a knowing look at the ambassador, and pulled out a cigarette as he headed for the door. He had been to the school of hard-boiled intelligence agencies and had passed Smug Fuckery 101 with flying colours. "I'll just ask the Stasnovans." he said as he paused to light up his smoke, before disappearing into the night.

Soon, a simple SMS was winging its way through the night from burner phone to burner phone. With no identifying code words that could trigger an automatic search, and the phone having been purchased elsewhere in Tenburg and then delivered to the embassy by sealed diplomatic packet, there was effectively no way it could be targeted for interception, but even so Felix spoke in the casual innuendo that would arouse little suspicion.

Code: Select all
to my dear friend boris

i heard that our mutual acquaintance hancock had a rough night last night. was he was partying with you and the boys? i guess it's hard to handle your vodka after you've been drinking chazi shit for too long!

your patsan, felix
Last edited by Brytene on Sun Sep 15, 2019 1:43 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Brytene is: centrist, pagan, democratic, free-market
Imperalizt Russia wrote:Being on fire will affect shot placement

Socialist Mercanda wrote:Incumbent Blessed Brytene, who is rumoured to be one of the many lovechildren made by Amin and his 69,420,666 wives has retired and we thank him for his glorious service to this region! Glory!

Imperial Nalydya wrote:Spent too much damn time with the nations of Laptev. The old professionals...
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Stasnov
Minister
 
Posts: 2454
Founded: Mar 16, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Stasnov » Wed Sep 11, 2019 9:24 pm

Republic of Tenburg
Countryside, near FTLA Compound AB-13
0252 hours




Egress was always supposed to be the easiest part of an infiltration mission, and so far, it looked as if that would be the case for tonight. Well, that was apart from another four dead guards, and one more guard dog, in one of the main building's bathrooms, with a grenade tripwire awaiting to be triggered by whoever was unlucky enough to go for a quick piss in middle of the night. A good deal of the base's wheeled vehicles had also been sabotaged by punctures in their fuel tanks and slashed tires. Whoever tried to come after them, definitely couldn't.

The team also took several "souvenirs" with them as well. Photographs of the dead officers and their operations room, and whatever documents they could find from maps showing troop movements to logistics files detailing weapon shipments from the Kruppstahl Pact. For a total of 13 guards, 4 officers and 2 guard dogs killed, the night had been relatively uneventful and largely successful. But it was still not over.

Five out of six men were moving slow and carefully through the forest in a line abreast formation, with a spacing of five metres between them. Niko, the sixth man and the squad sniper, was roughly 15 metres ahead of them, acting as pointman. They were now about three kilometres away from Compound AB-13, and they had another eight to go until they reached the exfiltration point where another team with three pickup trucks was waiting to extract them.

Niko raised his fist. The others froze. They all crouched low in the shrubbery, scanning the area with their weapons. Paul slowly moved up behind Niko, who was standing perfectly still, looking through the thermal imaging scope of his M110 DMR. Possible movement, 100 metres, front Niko signed with one hand, the other holding his weapon up. Paul turned around to give out orders.

The distinct "crack" sound of a bullet breaking the sound barrier echoed through the woods and Niko's jaw violently recoiled back.

"Contact front! 100 metres!" screamed Paul, still in Tennish, as he dove for cover.

All hell broke loose as the KGB team opened up at the yet unseen enemy, with silenced rounds flying left and right. John laid down suppressive fire with his M249 SAW, while the others fired on semi-auto with their rifles. Aidan, who had been on the center of the team, felt a round graze his calf. He grunted, and checked the wound. Thankfully, it was just superficial.

Suddenly, a faint, distant explosion sounded behind them. After some moments, an alarm started blazing. The remaining guards at AB-13 finally figured out what was happening.

He jumped up and raced towards a fallen tree trunk, where Mario was taking cover. Aidan slid into cover and reloaded his M4A1, and turned to glance at Mario. He noticed that the man wasn't breathing. After a quick checkup, he found two bullet wounds that had managed to get through the operator's plate.

"Mario is 200! Mario is 200!" he declared into the radio and took the dead man's backpack, which contained some of the intel they had gathered.

"Fuck" he heard John exclaim on comms "And where the hell is Anton?"

Aidan was ready to call out for the missing operator when Anton's voice came through the comms "I'm at your 2'. I'm 70 metres next to two of them, clear line of site. I can also see movement further south, at your 10. I'll turn on the IR laser at the targets on your 10 for a sec, and then hit the other two. Be ready."

"Copy that, prepping GL" Aidan heard Paul say on comms "We'll hit them and bug out. The entire compound garrison will be on our asses in a few minutes."

Aidan himself found a broken part of the tree trunk where he could take aim without making himself too obvious a target. He took a deep breath. A couple of seconds later, he saw the IR laser going on and off from where Anton was hiding, for just a moment. *Pop* The location where the laser had pointed exploded as the grenade from Paul's M203 underbarrel GL hit it. A second after, he saw Anton taking shots at a rock formation and repeating the laser procedure. He saw a form go down, while another made itself visible for a few seconds, apparently to fire at Anton. A few seconds was all Aidan needed. Two quick swots and the figure went down.

"Anton, move!" Paul ordered

"Movi-" Anton's voice on the radio was interrupted by a grunt, and then resurfaced "Bastards hit my knee cap" they heard him grunting.

"Coming" said Paul, and dashed towards Anton's location, only to be forced into cover by heavy fire. Anton was in a relatively open area among the trees, with little cover "I can't reach you!"

"Fuck it, i'm throwing you my bag"

Anton managed to get on his good knee, pulled his backpack from his shoulders, and put his whole body's strength into the throw. The backpack, containing part of the sensitive intel the team had retrieved, landed close to Paul, who was able to reach it.

"Retrieved!" Paul declared.

"Good" sounded Anton "Now, get the fu-" a grenade exploded next to him.

"Shit" Paul exclaimed "Let's get out of here. Covering fire!"




Republic of Tenburg, Port Pierce
Embassy of the Union of Socialist Republics of Stasnov, Cultural Relations Office (undercover KGB Rezidentura)
0602 hours


The KGB Rezident in Tenburg, officially the Head of the Cultural Relations Office of the Stasnovan Embassy in the Tennish capital, sat at his oak desk, smoking a cigarette. His name was Boris Yaroslavovich Kolontayev, and at 65 years of age, he had began to thing he was getting too old for this job. One would assume that 40 years of service in the Committee for State Security would get you a better posting, in a place calmer than this war blasted excuse of a nation. But apparently, Centre considered him too "valuable" and "experienced" to retire him now, especially from a target nation.

Well, fuck their considerations. If they indeed valued him so much, maybe he wouldn't need Central's approval on whether or not to respond to the message. But no, when the courier arrived with the burner phone two hours ago, he had to spend through more than an hour of going through the appropriate channels to reach central and ask for permission. Then, he had to wait another half hour for the response to come in. Then....he sighed. Maybe he was getting old and bitter. OPSEC was OPSEC, and it wasn't his place to question procedure.

The burner phone was on his desk, right in front of the ash tray, in which a small mountain had formed. This was getting him nervous. The message came from the Brytisc R-DARK station chief in the nation, whom he had the displeasure to meet a couple of times in diplomatic events. He was a smug little piece of work, and probably not that easy to work with.

But this was the least of his worries. The R-DARK doesn't simply message you some hours after one of your teams kills two dozen people, to simply ask you if you truthfully did it. They were interested in this. Which probably meant the Entente was interested in this. They would possibly want to co-operate with the USRS and the VP in general in Tenburg, possibly to counter KP expansion. Normally that would be a good thing, but to Kolontayev, this meant possible escalation. Escalation no one wanted.

The Rezident sighed and picked up the phone. Maybe he would find out if that Felix was as much of an asshole as he seemed to be.

Code: Select all
to my dear friend felix

Haha, he did indeed. The boys are totally hammered, but most of them made it through the partying just fine, though some lost their way home from all the drinking. And yeah we decided to get rid of that chazi piss they call alcohol. We should grab a coffee some time, catch up a little, eh?

your friend, boris
Last edited by Stasnov on Wed Sep 11, 2019 11:30 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Granzery
Bureaucrat
 
Posts: 62
Founded: Feb 05, 2018
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Granzery » Fri Sep 13, 2019 4:08 am

Granzery, Palatial Senate Building
1900 Hours



"Drastic action is needed. A Granzerian ally is having her territorial integrity and political sovereignty blatantly violated, not once, but repeatedly, by a belligerent nation. The Tennish Government has failed. Volgarian peacekeepers have failed. Granzerian action is not only needed, it is righteous. Should the Chazicarians threaten war over interference, war there will be, for if the VSO are to disrespect their associate nations by looking idly by as foreign powers orchestrate hostile takeovers of their homelands, the VSO will be worthy of neither respect, nor loyalty."

"To this end, the Granzerian Royal Defence Force will very shortly begin operatons within the Tennish theatre, with the aim of securing major population centres from Chazicarian puppet terror cells, and purging the countryside of any terror cells fleeing to ground. The Terrorist organization known as the "Free Tennish Liberation Army" shall know their doom is upon them, every Tennish citizen will sleep in safety and security when this war is ended, and stability is, for the first time in decades, restored to Tenburg."

The haunting speech by Vezér István Árpád left the Senate stunned, televised live not just to Granzery but across the world, this address left the looming feeling of imminent war and destruction for all that heard it. However the Senators couldn't help but agree that Chazicaria's brazen actions needed to be addressed, lest their warmongering and destabilization reach to other Granzerian allies in the region, primarily Volgaria. Whether it was worth risking war? Nobody could say for certain, or perhaps they just dared not oppose the Vezér. Besides, the deployment was already set in motion and could now not be reversed, whatever path they were on would be the path they remained on.



Forward Operating Base, Bróker-20, Port Pierce, Tenburg
0500 Hours



For days, Hundreds of troops had been pouring into Bróker-20 via helicopter, truck and aeroplane. As opposed to the grizzled Paratroopers which had been deployed in a mostly advisory role thus far, these troops were different. They were Royal Guard, Királyi Őrség Osztály. Zealous ideologues and shock troops, Royal Guardsmen would show no mercy nor remorse, not to Tennish traitors, not to Kruppstadt agents, not to anybody. They had a sordid history, most of the Royal Ground Forces didn't like them overmuch, but had no option but to respect them.

A full Mechanized Regiment were to arrive eventually, those of the 3.KGE Tigers, 1.KŐO, known colloquially as the KŐO Tigers, numbering some 2,500 men. In other parts of the country rumours claimed that more of the Royal Guard Division were arriving in secret, best guess was half the Division was to be deployed, somewhere north of 7,500 men, which would be the largest active deployment of Granzerian troops since the Transkarpatian War. Alongside them were some fifty-eight V-10 and V-12 fighters, to provide air support, and even a complement of three Elesarian BM-54 Zasukha thermobaric rocket artillery batteries, alongside their regimental mortars and howitzers.

Crosskeys would be the site of possibly the most important engagement of this war so far, Granzery and her children wanted to ensure that it was an engagement that progressed their interests alone.
Last edited by Granzery on Fri Sep 13, 2019 5:50 pm, edited 4 times in total.

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Gorbatov
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 406
Founded: Jul 08, 2015
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Gorbatov » Fri Sep 13, 2019 1:31 pm

Glen Forge International Airport
Port Pierce, Tenburg

“Which gate are they coming from again?” muttered Aleksandr, as he walked across the airports terminals hurriedly. Aleksandr checks his phone, with a message from his contact, that they were waiting by gate 13. As Aleksandr walked towards gate 13, he spotted two men waiting by the wall in front of the gate.

“Just two? I thought their would be more?” Aleksandr thought to himself. The two men caught a glance at Aleksandr, they began to approach him. The taller of the two, came to hug Aleksandr.

“Albrecht! Brother, how long has it been!”

“Ah yes Bernd! It’s been too long, how was your flight from Vielau? Was it good?” exclaimed Aleksandr, though was slightly startled by the sudden act.

“Yes, yes, but we’ll talk about that later.” said Bernd, as he gestured Aleksandr’s attention towards a person who was slightly shorter than Aleksandr, standing beside them.

“Oh? It’s cousin Niklas! It been far too long since we’ve seen each other. How’s uncle?”

“He’s well. I’ll be frank, we are kinda famished from the flight, let’s find someplace to eat.”

Aleksandr as he gestured toward the departures exit, “Yes, let’s go then, I know just the place.

REDACTED, Tenburg
One Hour Later

The group arrived in front a large apartment complex. “Here we are,” said their taxi driver.

Once the group exited their taxi, they walked into a secluded alley beside the building complex, until they reached a steel door near the end of the alley way. “This must be the safe house then?” inquired Bernd.

Aleksandr nodded at Bernd, and pressed a button on the door’s intercom. “We’re here,” muttered Aleksandr.

After a moment of silence, the intercom replied, “Copy, opening the door.”

The door’s locks and can easily heard from the outside, and as the door opened, a man wearing a slightly taller than both Aleksandr and Niklas, gestured them to come in. “Come in hurry, we have a lot of work to do.”

Several minutes after setting down, they all met in the briefing room. “We haven’t been properly introduced, Captain Aleksandr Kovalyuk of the KDB.” said Aleksandr to his ‘supposed’ brother.

“Pleased to meet you Captain, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Borislav Petrovsky of the Vympel GSO, feel free to call me Boris.” replies Boris, as he shook Aleksandr’s hand.

“This is Captain Maksim Rykovich, he’s in the GSO, he was the top sniper of his class back in Valozhyn.”, said Boris, as he gestured toward Maksim.

“I’m Major Ilya Paznyak, KDB; Lt. Colonel where are the other two? Valozhyn said their would be four GSO operatives coming?”, said Major Paznyak as he gathered the documents on the briefing table.

“Well Major, as we arrived in the airport, they went to out early to secure our equipment from the weapons smugglers we hired couple days prior leaving Gorbatov. They should be able to join us momentarily.”

“Very well, I assume you’d want to be debrief to what’s our mission will be.”

Major Paznyak gestured towards the projector screen. The projector showed the full map of Tenburg, with overlays detailing the latest reports with the ongoing unrest in the country. “As you can see here comrades, though a footnote in terms of threats to Gorbatov, Valozhyn has taken an interest in this state, as GESA continue their campaign against FTLA, though communist, have malign intentions.”

“Malign intentions?” interjected Maksim.

Major Paznyak hands a report to everyone in the briefing room. “We’ve received reports from Stasnov, that they’re currently being influenced heavily KP, most specifically Chazicaria, and if the FTLA were to win, they’ll likely align Tenburg towards Nox Mynus.”

“I assume Valozhyn wants us to stop that?” said Aleksandr, and he skimmed through the report.

“Yes, we’ll be sent to Eastern Tenburg, where most of the fighting is happening, and meet up with our Stasnovan comrades, who have already begun their operations.”

“Very well, I will relay a message for the other two GSO operatives to meet up here, then we’ll go to Eastern Tenburg.”

Just as they were about to prepare to pack for their mission, Major Paznyak approaches them holding a box of cigarettes, and began handing them a single cigarette each. “As we are in hostile territory, we need to ensure that we are not to be captured, as we will be likely tortured and interrogated for our state’s secrets, thus Valozhyn provided us with these.”

“Cigarettes?” inquired Maksim.

“Yes, in case you’re at risk of enemy capture, bite the filters, as they’ve put cynanide pills into the filters.”

“Huh....anyway, let’s get packing for this mission, we don’t want to keep our Stasnovan comrades waiting.”, ordered Lt. Corporal Petrovsky, as he put into his jacket’s internal pocket.
Last edited by Gorbatov on Fri Sep 13, 2019 1:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The modern revisionists and reactionaries call us Stalinists, thinking that they insult us and, in fact, that is what they have in mind. But, on the contrary, they glorify us with this epithet; it is an honor for us to be Stalinists for while we maintain such a stand the enemy cannot and will never force us to our knees.."
-Enver Hoxha-
[__✯_]
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) If you are a Stalinist; put this in your Signature.

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Chazicaria
Minister
 
Posts: 2456
Founded: Jul 03, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Chazicaria » Fri Sep 13, 2019 2:54 pm

Just Outside FTLA Compound AB-13, Tenburg
0035, January 29th, 2019

"3, drop him."

A single shot tore through the cool night air, originating from the suppressed STG-95, one of the several used by this team to mimic Volgarian agents. There was no muzzle flash, just a 5.5mm projectile impacting directly into the head of the pointman about 150 meters to Alpha's front. Within a second of the first shot, both Bravo and Alpha opened fire in full, cascading rounds through the darkness into the spaced out enemy formation.

It didn't take a genius to track the team as they'd begun their exfil- they'd likely not expected professional special operations to arrive on the scene of their killing spree. As a result, they'd left tracks. A quick sprint after them and some use of their thermals later, and now Sword was going to go to work.

With the opening volley, the opposing team had been rather well suppressed and 6 had managed to put a burst of rounds dead center on another operator, indubitably shredding his plate in the process. Seconds later, AB-13 was awoken from their slumber and alarms were sounded, though they'd be of no assistance here. The enemy here were professionals just as much so as IRIS, however, and their quick reaction and mostly unflinching reaction to the overwhelming fire demonstrated that fact more than sufficiently. When they opened up with a noticeable IR laser, 8, who was currently situated about 125 meters behind Alpha and Bravo with his sniper section, began to line up a shot. Just as he did so, one of the operators managed to get off a shot with his grenade launcher.

It was that impact that almost immediately killed 1 and 2- they lasted a minute or less as they suffered multiple arterial bleeds and collapsed lungs. In an attempt to drop the grenade launcher, 6 had risen above his cover for a better shot and suffered for it with consecutive shots to his plate carrier. One of those shots managed to just barely weave through his side plate and put a shallow, light wound on the right side of his chest while the second hid dead center and completely knocked the wind out of him, causing him to drop back down behind cover to recover.

With the pressure on, 8 doubled down on his focus and took a deep breath in and exhaled, lined up his shot, and took it. He knew he'd gone a little low, but when he saw the target's leg literally fold the opposite direction it was supposed to, even he cringed.

15 minutes later...

Even with his lower leg hanging by just a few strands of shredded tendons and skin, this guy put up a fight. It took three men on Bravo to restrain him long enough for the fourth to bust his teeth out with a rock and gag him just in case he decided to scream, or had one of those cyanide caps. It was not a good day for this man.

Of course, it wouldn't be any better when he got drugged up, stuck in a "long-term transport" coffin and thrown into the cargo hold of a passenger plan to Verico, either.

None of that mattered right now however, as this was the time where Sword was patiently awaiting their evac, with all three sections set up in a security posture around their chosen HLZ. Breakfast would be decent, then.
Currently performing a complete reorganization of my military and nation. RETCONNS galore. Pardon the lack of organization and conflicting info in my factbooks.

Economic Left/Right: 7.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -3.38

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Brytene
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1493
Founded: Mar 17, 2015
Ex-Nation

Postby Brytene » Sun Sep 15, 2019 1:54 pm

Bar Celona, Port Pierce, Tenburg
Félix Luna



The generic style bar was perfect for this kind of meeting. Felix had selected a booth near enough to a window to allow for a quick escape, but not readily visible from the street. Contrary to popular opinion, spies did not often sit out on the street in smart suits drinking coffees and making quips at each other. He had a light lager and a slowly cooling bowl of lattice chips in front of him, which he would from time to time dip into ranch sauce and munch on.

He was waiting for the KGB resident, or possibly one of his underlings - the KGB had, he assumed, dedicated far more assets to Tenburg than had R-DARK. Brytene was not a fan of the KP and was sympathetic to the Stasnovan cause here, but realistically the country was far less important to them, with much of R-DARK being tied up hunting down the Frontiersmen terrorists and trying to blunt the surge of criminality that had overtaken Pepper Atoll since the withdrawal of Brytisc troops. That said, Felix had no intention of handing over Tenburg to the Kruppstadt Pact, and so was here to offer his stations limited assistance to the Slavic socialists next door.

With his Hispanic features and trim pencil goatee, the slender Luna was clearly not a native of Tenburg, but not was he obviously Brytisc, or Stasnovan for that matter. Wearing a loose linen shirt with the top few buttons undone, and with pale slacks over sharp brown shoes, he looked every bit a stereotypical latino, an effect enhanced by the attentions he paid to the one television showing football in the place. Sipping his lager and grazing his chips, he waited patiently for the Stasnovan to arrive.
Brytene is: centrist, pagan, democratic, free-market
Imperalizt Russia wrote:Being on fire will affect shot placement

Socialist Mercanda wrote:Incumbent Blessed Brytene, who is rumoured to be one of the many lovechildren made by Amin and his 69,420,666 wives has retired and we thank him for his glorious service to this region! Glory!

Imperial Nalydya wrote:Spent too much damn time with the nations of Laptev. The old professionals...
The Obi-Wan of New Atlas
My IIwiki is no longer 100% canon
pls contain your salt



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Stasnov
Minister
 
Posts: 2454
Founded: Mar 16, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Stasnov » Fri Sep 20, 2019 11:08 am

Republic of Tenburg, Port Pierce
Bar Celona
2200 hours



After six years undercover in this country Aidan still couldn't get used to how abrupt rain came and went in Tenburg. Being from the north of the USRS he was quite used to adverse weather conditions but this was more of an annoyance than a proper storm. A light rain that started and finished often between minutes, while other times it lasted for hours. Not proper rain, but a drizzle. An infuriating, unbearable drizzle that made his sleep deprived, still on edge from last night self even more irritated. He sighed. Maybe a good drink where he was heading to would sooth his nerves.

He splashed through the puddles that had formed on the sidewalk as he headed to the meeting point. This wasn't a bad part of town, but it traffic was scarce. Even though Port Pierce was away from the frontlines, the atmosphere of the capital was still extremely tense. Young men like himself were far and few in-between, most off to fight the FTLA, or indeed, join it. Aidan himself had managed to avoid any drafts by paying off a doctor to file a medical report stating that his nearsightedness was to severe for him to serve.

He used a group of women coming towards him on the sidewalk as cover to slip into a side-street. He hadn't gotten the feeling that anyone was following him, but after the events of last night he could never be too careful. He changed streets often, something that would increase his walk to the meeting point by some time. But he had considered his and left home early. His Glock 17 sidearm was still in a concealed holster beneath his clothes, as were two extra mags and a combat knife. If police stopped him he could always say he feared FTLA or looter attacks. Or he could just kill them and dump their bodies in a trash bin.

He turned one last corner and saw the meeting point, the Celona, a largely mid-tier bar. It was a good place for a meeting. He scanned the street, careful not to make any sudden movements, and crossed to the other side. A couple of drunk guys burst out of the front door as he approached, slightly startling him. It was really early to be this drunk, but this was Tenburg. He entered the building.

It was cozy, and the atmosphere was relaxed. There weren't that many people in there, and the music wasn't loud enough to provide much noise for a safe conversation among a crowd. But he would make do. He saw this acquaintance sitting at the bar, drinking from a pint. He smiled and approached.

"Mark! It's been a while" he exclaimed and shook his "friend's" hand.

"Steve! Good to see you finally," replied Felix with a smile.

"We got a lot to catch up to, mate. Mind if we change tables?" Aidan nodded towards a table to the edge of the room, as away from the bar as possible "The air conditioning here makes a frozen Zerinite forest seem like a Meralan beach resort."

"Sure," said Felix, finishing his last chip and scooping up his pint. "So what's new with you?"

"Oh you know-" he pauses and turns to the bartender "Get me whatever he's having." he turns to Felix again "Just the normal stuff. Fam is driving me crazy these days, and with a second kid on the way..." he trails off as they reach the table and sit down "Good to see Brytisc intelligence is still willing to work with us.'" he said in a more hushed tone, smiling.

"Better you than the Kruppstadt Pact," replied Felix, taking a sip of beer. "They're using the FTLA like puppets, they don't actually give a shit about these people."

"Klaudia can't decide on a name for the baby!" Aidan switched the conversation as the barman arrived with his drink "You believe that? If i knew Kossarian women were this difficult - thanks" he thanked the man, who was soon on his way. He switched back to the topic "I'm surprised. Didn't expect to see such sense of humanitarianism from the vaunted R-DARK" he replied, making an effort to appear sarcastic, at least in part.

Félix laughed, and for the benefit of the room said "then pick for her!" and then, in the same tone, replied with a wry smile "We like to do what we can for those in need. A communist like you should understand state charity."

Aidan giggled, and raised his glass in toast "To state charity! And to naming babies!" they clinked.
"But to the matter at hand" Aidan put his glass on the table "You requested this meeting, so you obviously know of our activities. What can the Union do to help Brytene? Or maybe it is the other way around?"

Felix shrugged "We have nothing on the table right now, but I have permission to offer our limited assistance to your operations here. We only have three agents, one of whom is a desk jockey if honest, but we also have a modest network of informants and some useful tactical equipment."

"I have received authorization to begin the establishment of a network with you." he took a pre-rolled cigarette from one of his jacket's interior pockets and lit it "An initial exchange of information would be much appreciated, especially on KP activity within the FTLA. What we're mostly after is additional info on Chazicarian boots on the ground-" he paused, realizing what he was doing "I hope you don't mind?" he nodded at the cigarette in his hand "Last night was pretty tough, and i still haven't slept properly. I tend to smoke a lot when that happens."

Félix waved a hand. "Who doesn't, in this line of work?" he replied, taking another swig. "Information exchange should be no problem, although of course we will not be sharing the identities of informants. Operationally, we will invent some bullshit reason for Stasnovan staff to visit our embassy and vice versa - some agricultural project, perhaps. And if you need extra firepower or a fresh set of eyes we are ready to assist too"

Aidan smiled "Of course, naturally. Though i believe you'll need to schedule a second visit, and not from the Stasnovan embassy. Our third accomplice, who i believe just entered the bar, will explain further." he nodded to a man who had just walked through the door "Bernd! Over here!" he waved at the man before turning to Felix again "No need to be alarmed. Gorbatovic KDB, our third partner in this operation. It was a last minute thing, so you'll forgive me for not informing you earlier."

Felix was not thrilled at the ambush, but he had expected that Stasnov would be sharing their Intel with Gorbatov one way or another. "Why not? The more the merrier."

Aidan grinned "I like your enthusiasm" he said. He turned towards the KDB agent "Bernd, welcome to Tenburg!" he said, and shook the man's hand "This is Μark, an old friend of mine..."

A lots of pints would be ordered before the night was out and the group caught up to things.
Last edited by Stasnov on Fri Sep 20, 2019 2:13 pm, edited 2 times in total.
#ValaranSoFab
My alt/secondary account: Chalcia
My FT alt account: Union of Collectivist Systems
19 years old, Greek, male, heterosexual, Communist, LGBT rights supporter, secularist, atheist
Puzikas wrote:"Wanna know how I got these scars?"- Gorby probably

Yalos wrote:"Nazi Germany lost WW2 because it thought like an NS player"

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Chazicaria
Minister
 
Posts: 2456
Founded: Jul 03, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Chazicaria » Sat Oct 19, 2019 4:00 pm

North Glendalough, Tenburg
0200, January 28th, 2019

Fighting had continued into the night- it was clear that FTLA was winning as the radio rattled off with reports of objectives being seized, surrendering or defecting soldiers and police, and citizens joining the fighters in the streets against the resisting troops.

Just outside Paddy's home, a casualty collection point had been set up and FTLA medics treated casualties to the best of their abilities. Panther had brought Paddy out to make sure the medics got a look at him, and Erlicher made sure to stay with the old dog while the rest of his men consulted with the senior officers to make sure effective sweeps were done for potential holdouts.

Stout in hand, Erlicher sat at the cot where Paddy was being examined by a young female combat medic. "Vazandische?" She nodded her head in confusion- clearly not understanding. Switching to his native tongue, Erlicher chuckled, "We'll ignore those shots you took at us and FTLA if you ignore that we shot you in the leg." The decade-long black ops veteran had a sneaking suspicion Paddy likely remember some Vazandisch from his time fighting.

Glendalough, Tenburg
1130, January 28th, 2019

Directly in front of the police station in a shot-to-hell park, a makeshift POW camp had been set up for the captured soldiers and policemen that had resisted the FTLA assault on the town. Just across the street from it in a clinic that had managed to avoid too much of the fighting, another casualty collection point had been established- this one mainly full of men that had been killed or wounded by the Volgarian helicopter attacks. Blanket-covered corpses littered the alley beside it, with a truck on its way to the local city cemetery being loaded with more unfortunate cargo.

The HQ for Scarlet, Orange, and Violet Companies (which had at this point been organized into the 2nd Battalion of the FTLA), was in the nearby armory for security forces in Glendalough. It'd fallen at about 0300, and immediately was deemed the most secure structure for the new HQ. Nearby rooftops had MANPADS and MG teams emplaced to provide security. Inside, the planning for the next phase of operations was taking place. With Bushmills and Balaclara both taken, and rapidly swelling forces marching on Dundalk, Louisburg, and Dungiven, things were looking up. Crosskeys was now threatened by direct rebel assault with the capture of Glendalough- FTLA and their advisers believed that would cause a defensive reaction that would draw security units away from the smaller towns and cities around it. The hope was that such a withdrawal could be used for both military and propaganda purposes.

Propaganda had been a constant part of this war from the start. A concentrated social media campaign to support the rebels had been started covertly by IRIS, radio broadcasts to citizens in rebel-threatened areas encouraged resistance against the loyalists, and undercover Tennish fighters worked to construct underground fighting cells to harass the Loyalists and their VSO allies in Tenburg.
Currently performing a complete reorganization of my military and nation. RETCONNS galore. Pardon the lack of organization and conflicting info in my factbooks.

Economic Left/Right: 7.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -3.38

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Tenburg
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tenburg » Fri Nov 08, 2019 10:20 pm

8 March, 2019, 0032hrs
Skies Near Dungiven, Tenburg

Tenburg had grown into a dark place in the months since the beginning of this war.

After the shooting at the police station in Crosskeys, Mara Byrne's government had began clamping down on citizens, with checkpoints on every street, soldiers on every corner, and microphones in every pub.

In every part of the country outside Connemara, she had full control.

Something about it didn't feel right to Killian, but he had his objective.

Before he had gone to Mont Chagrin, he had completed his mandatory service as a crew member on a CJ-32M aircraft just like the one he was on right now. The removable 30mm cannon was at his fingertips, and he watched his heads-up-display closely as his teammates, along with a squad of rangers known as BLUE 3, raced through the hills in their trucks.

Finally, they had caught up to a company of FTLA long enough to take the offensive. These bastards were in for a hell of a night.

"Kingfish, we've got people walking out of the buildings right now, heading toward vehicles, so we need to speed up the timeline if you can," he said over comms as he watched the tiny white figures on his display, heading for trucks.

The pilot of the gunship replied. "Going as fast as we can, crew."

"Roger."

"Kingfish, this is Wildfire, we're gonna shut off vehicles here and let you guys do your work, how copy?"

"Cut engines and we'll do the work, Kingfish copies all."

KIllian spoke up again. "Kingfish I'm seeing multiple vehicles facing east-west, east of the building, and it looks like we may have some armor as well. Missile run will be necessary."

"Roger that."

Killian watched carefully as a pair of trucks began to back up, one being a large transporter and the other a small pickup, perhaps a gun truck. He used the controls to bring the 30mm gun onto target, pointing it just ahead of the smaller truck in front.

"I've got two trucks moving out. Cleared to engage?" Killian asked.

"Smoke 'em."

Killian squeezed the switch and let it fly.

TAT-TAT-TAT..... TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.

He watched as NVG-colored explosions rocked the truck into a burning husk.

"That's a hit."

"Roger."

Killian moved the gun back over the larger truck, which was now desperately trying to reverse.

TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT... TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.

The truck erupted into fire and one body rolled out of the rear, also engulfed in flames.

The other trucks and troops began to scatter.

"Multiple targets and vehicles on the move."

"Engage. Smoke 'em."

Killian began working on every target he saw.

TAT-TAT-TAT... TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT... TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT...

The thirty rattled out its song.

TAT-TAT-TAT... TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT... TAT-TAT.. TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT...

Come to sing them to sleep.

TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT... TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT... TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.

"Kingfish, we got armor on the move, heading north out of the compound, two marks."

"Roger, two northbound."

The plane began to roll gently to the left.

Mahoney spoke over comms from the ground, presumably watching the carnage. "It's a wonder how they've gotten those so quiet... Back in the day you could hear the auld Four-Four's rumbling from twenty mile away... you must be right above us and I can't hear a thing."

The CJ stopped rolling and went into a shallow dip, leveling out for an attack run.

"Kingfish, Fox 1."

Killian heard the whoosh of a Hawkwind missile as it raced away from the aircraft, and the pilot adjusted to hit the second.

"Kingfish, Fox 1."

Whoosh.

"I've got more personnel trying to leave."

"Kingfish, BLUE 3, we're firing up and moving in, cover our backs."

"Copy, Blue 3," the pilot replied.

Killian zoomed out with his display to see the two friendly trucks moving in. Each squad hopped out and Blue 3, the larger in number, took the larger square building, while Killian's Banshees took the smaller, rectangular one. The CJ circled quietly overhead for several minutes, waiting either for a clearance to RTB or something else to shoot. Annoyingly for them, it took twenty minutes of dawdling to receive the former.

0105hrs

As Killian made his way down the aircraft steps, Mahoney and the rest of his team met him there.

"Chazicarians," the old man growled, waving an envelope. The bastards have been training and guiding the FTLA this whole time. We got even more on a USB. There's something big coming."

Killian nodded back towards the gunship as she was rolled back into the hangar. "Thankfully we've got something 'big', too.


[REDACTED], Empire of Elesar

Padraig lit another cigarette, eyes wide open and glued to the television in an otherwise dark, luxurious parlor. He sat quietly and watched as his home was being jackbooted by Mara Byrne on one end and torn to ribbons by guerrillas on the other, as it was portrayed to him by sympathetic Elesarian news agencies. Everything he had grown up valuing had been torn down. Everything he knew, gone. It seemed Tenburg had died with his father.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally look away from the TV, moving his eyes instead down to the floor. He was told he could never go back, and it didn't look like there was much left there for him anyway. Byrne had ensured their safe escape, but she was no friend to his father... or to him.

There had to be something... anything... he could do.
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New Elesar
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Postby New Elesar » Sun Nov 10, 2019 1:44 am

March 9th, 2019, 1246 hours
Outside of Dungiven, Tenburg

If it hadn't been for the distant sound of sporadic gunfire, today would have been absolutely beautiful. Only a few clouds in the sky, a bright sun shining above, and the first signs of spring beginning to make themselves apparent on every branch of every tree. Soon enough, however, another sound was heard in the distance; the roar of three BTR-3's of the Imperial Elesarian 15th Mechanized Brigade making their way down a long stretch of road just outside of Dungiven.

Reports of FTLA activity in the area (and what seemed to the Elesarians, at least, the incompetency of the Tennish military to put down said rebels) had lead to the increase in patrols as of late, with, however, rather fruitless results. Insurrections like this were not unfamiliar to citizens of the Empire, having dealt with the troublesome Nokhchiy at least twice since the fall of the old communist regime in 1974. Just like at home, it seemed, the FTLA were very much able to mount attacks and then quietly slip back into the civilian population. This combined with a number of remote compounds dotted throughout the Tennish landscape made rooting out the rebels just that much more difficult.

The convoy came to an abrupt stop.

Captain Dmitro Holubovych was quick to get on the radio with the front vehicle. Something clearly wasn't right.

"Why have we stopped?"

On the other line, another voice replied. "A blockage in the road, sir. We're going to have to go around."

Memories of twenty years ago flashed through Holubovych's head, back to when he was fresh out of the officer's academy and on his first ever deployment. The Nokhchiy had used the exact same tactic; block a road that had no business being blocked, and before a decision could be made put an RPG straight into the convoy.

To the left of the road was a small ditch; on the right, a fairly tall berm of about twelve feet. Now the setup was obvious.

"Don't go around the blockage; get everyone to disembark, and as fast as you can get into that ditch."

As soon as the message had gone through, the first BTR was hit.

"Everyone, disembark and get into the ditch! Fire at the treeline!"

The 30mm autocannon of the middle BTR opened up on the treeline, focusing on the remains of a puff of smoke where the operator of an RPG had once stood. The men of the two remaining vehicles, and eventually the survivors of the third, though dazed, made it into the ditch and popped off a few rounds at the treeline. After giving the order to cease fire, Captain Holubovych got onto his radio once again, this time to ask for a helicopter sweep of the area.





[REDACTED], Elesarian Empire

Olesya genuinely hated to see Padraig in such a state. "It must be hard for him," she thought, "seeing his homeland in such a state." As she slowly descended the stairs, she wondered to herself if she would be able to stay so composed, even just externally, if she were in the same situation. She stopped behind Paddy's spot on the sofa and placed her hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them.

"I can't imagine how you must feel," she said quietly, "I know there's nothing I can say to make it better, but I hope you remember that I'm here for you."

She walked around the other side of the sofa, taking her seat next to him and pressing herself against him, hugging his arm as she did so. They sat like that in silence for what felt like an eternity, Padraig staring at the ground and Olesya going between him and the television. Finally, she spoke again, now with a fire in her eyes.

"I don't like Byrne. She's letting your country burn while she is sitting in her little palace, attacking innocent people. And the way she treated you..." She scoffed. "The way she treated you was terrible. If I were you, I would never stand for this. You are your father's son, and what is she? A cruel, greedy woman who would let her people die, even by her own hands, if it meant control."
"Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius."

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Tenburg
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tenburg » Sun Nov 10, 2019 1:35 pm

[REDACTED], Elesarian Empire

Paddy shook his head. "She keeps talking about continuing what my father was doing. It's bullshit. She was no friend to my father." He took another drag of his cigarette as the TV flashed to images of Collach tanks rolling down country roads. Then Tiger helicopters, trucks, infantry... All the power that woman could flex, on full display.

Olesya was right, in a sense, but he had been in hiding for so long that at this point his only protection was a five-man security team, and any of the allies his father had in the Dail were likely thrown out or had resigned ... he could be shot the moment he stepped on Tennish soil.

"You could be right, but I don't even know where to start. How would I get back there safely? What would I say when I got there? How would I avoid getting shot?"
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New Elesar
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Postby New Elesar » Mon Nov 11, 2019 8:24 pm

Redacted, Elesarian Empire

"How would I get back there safely? What would I say when I got there? How would I avoid getting shot?"

Just like that, the hardest part of Olesya's job was done. Planting the seed, the idea of a return to Tenburg. "Good," she thought, "Now he's at least considering it." Now it was time for the next step; adding water to that seed, and letting it grow.

Now or never.

She began to speak. "I think that you have answered your own questions, Padraig. She was no friend to your father, but that does not mean that those friends no longer exist." She gestured towards the TV screen, which was showing the aftermath of an ambush of an Elesarian patrol, and then quickly switched to imagery of martial law in Crosskeys.

"See how your people suffer? Now they must long for your father."

Slowly but surely, she stood up and placed two fingers under Paddy's chin, bringing his eyes up to look directly into hers.

"They long for you, Padraig. You are your father's son; you are his legacy. It is time to return."
"Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius."

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Tenburg
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tenburg » Mon Nov 11, 2019 9:56 pm

[REDACTED], Elesarian Empire

Paddy's spine tingled as her fingers rested under his chin, a warmth darting through his body as she spoke. He knew she was right.

A billion things ran through his mind. The Minister's Train, which he used to love to ride on with his father. The big chair in his office, the massive desk. His lips began to quiver as he took Olesya's hand and kissed it above the knuckles. It had taken him all this time to realize that everything his father had built was his gift to his son. Tenburg was his legacy. Paddy was his legacy.

He never wanted to get into politics. Hell, we wanted to play football with Killian.

Wait... Killian!

Paddy let go of Olesya's hand, threw another cigarette in his mouth and pulled out his phone as a tear rolled down his face.

"It's funny the people you think of."

CROSSKEYS, Republic of Tenburg

"MacDonald!"

Killian shot his head around as Captain Mahoney appeared through the bustle of soldiers.

"You're needed."

"Aye sir." Killian followed his superior back towards the Póilíní Míleata barracks, which the Army had adopted as an HQ. The two of them entered the stone building, glided up the stairs and entered a conference room. Killian nearly fell over as he saw Padraig O'Sullivan on a projector screen.

"Killian!" he called.

"Fuck, Paddy, it's good to see ye!" Where've ye been?"

"I can't really say with the Captain in the room there," Paddy admitted, looking a little nervous. "I'd like to speak with you alone."

Killian looked to Mahoney. "All due respect, sir, would ye piss off?"

Mahoney puts his hand up in concession and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

"Killian, I, eh, I've been sort-of in hiding."

"Where?"

"Internationally. I left Mont Chagrin with Olesya, we're in Elesar now... I'm going to come back."

"But I thought you said you couldn't..."

"Damnit, Killian, I... I have to. Look at the state of the place. I just- I can't let this keep happening to 'er. That's everything my dad built going down the bloody toilet. I may need your help."

Killian's spine shivered to the point where it almost shook him all over. "What the hell do you expect me to do? I'm with a special ops unti fighting guerrillas and all these other gobshites--"

"I don't know yet, I'm still figuring things out here. But... just keep your ears open, alright?"

"Aye, I'll try."

At that moment, Mahoney busted back in."Mack, I'd hate to break this up, but we need to move. There's reports of movements in the hills."

"Aye sir." He looked back at Paddy and winked. Paddy nodded and hung up the call.

Back to business.
I offer only slanderous mockeries!

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Chazicaria
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Founded: Jul 03, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Chazicaria » Mon Nov 11, 2019 9:58 pm

IRIS Compound at Joint Forces Base Weiss, Halbinsel, Chazicaria
1315, March 9th, 2019

Eamon McElroy and Tara Mohan entered the cold room in a hurry, flanked by two security staffers who'd escorted them through the eerily quiet halls of the compound. Both of the Tennish leaders, the real power behind Tucker's Presidency, were a little nervous.

They'd fucked up.

More accurately, their people had fucked up. FTLA got sloppy, gotten two Chazicarian IRIS advisers killed, and leaked almost irrefutable evidence to the world that their neighbor had been supporting the insurgency the entire time. While the information leaked hadn't revealed just how massive IRIS' investment in FTLA had been, it was pretty clear that it was considerable and the primary source of resources for the fledgling rebellion. Of course, the reality of Chazicarian support had been rather obvious to anyone paying attention, with most of the VSO openly acknowledging it.

Despite this, the fight was going rather well. Eastern Tenburg was on fire, and the insurgency was absolutely out of control for Tenburg and their VSO allies. Even direct military support from the Granzerians, Volgarians, and Elesarians had failed to prevent the FTLA from seizing more and more ground every day. Raids were increasing in frequency, more supplies and defectors were arriving daily, and recruitment was up everywhere. It was undeniable that things were going great.

But they'd still fucked up, and as they prepared to meet the IRIS handler that they'd been dealing with for the last few months, they were readying their explanation. Instead of meeting their handler however, they entered the briefing room to come face to face with the Director of IRIS himself, Claus Bonhoeffer.

"Mister, err, Director Bonhoeffer?" Eamon stumbled over his words, and even while speaking totally different languages it showed- the translator didn't appear to simulate that bit.

Sitting at the head of large oaken table was a cold, weary looking man, with the dim blue light only magnifying the menacing aura emanating from the grizzled Cold Warrior. Chazicarians had a name for intelligence veterans of the Cold War- Wintersoldaten, or "Winter Soldiers," as it would translate. Decades of constant covert warfare against the Vastava Pact had left IRIS full of veteran spies and spymasters alike, though most had retired by now. Not Bonhoeffer- the single most successful intelligence actor in Chazicarian history- if his contemporaries were Winter Soldiers, Bonhoeffer was a Winter Warlord.

"Have a seat," were the words he delivered with a deadpan glare. It wasn't the translator that gave the two Tennish the meaning behind his words however- it was his body language and tone. This man was serious. "Tell me what I'm hearing isn't true."

Eamon looked like he wanted to speak, but Tara shot back quickly, trying to appear composed, "They learned of your involvement yes, and the advise-"

"No. I don't care about two advisers or the discovery of our involvement- anyone who matters already knew, and they knew months ago. Tell me why the fuck I'm being told that the FTLA is prepping an all out assault on Crosskeys."

This time, Eamon managed to choke out a response, "Our field commanders believe they're vulnerable- that we can overrun the city and win a landslide victory. If we took Crosskeys, the war would be over in weeks, and the VSO would be out of the country even sooner. Our units are already moving into position, and our cells across the country are ready for the attack." If Tara didn't know that Eamon was probably on the verge of pissing himself, she'd have though the man had grown a spine with how he spoke- it might have even appeared arrogant to some.

Bonhoeffer stared for a few moments, wordlessly destroying the confidence of the two reps as they awkwardly awaited a response. Finally, he looked to his translator and nodded, "Good day."

With those words, he arose quickly, and oddly spry for an 83 year old man, and left the room without even looking at the two reps as they gave each other the glance indicating that they were going to have to drink this stress away later tonight.

They'd really, really fucked up.

Near Dungiven, Tenburg
2025, March 9th, 2019

"Fucking idiot FTLA cunts."

Albrecht clutched at his side as he stumbled through the forest just outside Dungiven. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but he wasn't exactly confident in the dubiously-clean chest seal that he'd applied. Being that the FTLA guys he'd been assigned to were basically volunteer militia, their skills were poor to say the least (ergo, his appointment as one of their advisers) and their management of medical supplies had been particularly offensive. Moving through the woods, he figured he was probably developing an infection about now, so he needed to find help soon.

He hadn't expected the ambush, but goddammit he should have. The militia he and his cohorts Hans and Kurt had been training had very little noise or light discipline at night, and they frequently left trash around their patrol bases- easy fodder for even the most basic tracker. Having given up on clamping down on the practice, the three of them had simple convinced themselves, and not unreasonably, that the other Tenns were simply too incompetent to track them, let alone organize a complex ambush under darkness with coordinated air support. Insofar, the Tennish opponents they'd faced had been uninterested at their best- probably the primary reason that even the most inexperienced FTLA guerrillas had been successfully gaining ground. The Chazicarian-trained Tennish had all but disappeared from the frontlines for whatever reason at this point, so militias had filled the gaps. Only real resistance they'd faced at this point were occasional fights with Tennish Army Rangers and the VSO Coalition. Those guys seemed more keen on fighting than the Loyalists were- odd, considering they were fighting a foreign civil war for their allies.

Of course, considering everything, Al was lucky. He'd been taking a piss when the fire started. One of the blasts knocked him unconscious and threw him into a ditch. When he woke up, he was covered in downed foliage from the fighting and thoroughly hidden from any inspecting opponents. Inspecting the site, he'd discovered Hans shot to pieces and Kurt's ruck, but no Kurt. There were enough dismembered corpses around from the explosions that he could deduce that Kurt likely died pretty quick. Collecting what medical supplies he could, Al had managed to perform a chest needle-decompression on himself and sealed the wound(a shrapnel piercing that was currently on the verge of collapsing his left lung); he was quite proud of that. Picking up some water he managed to scavenge and a map and compass, he plotted a route back to Dungiven and started walking.

So now he was here- he'd lost his pace count miles ago, so "here" could be anywhere between 10 and 30 kilometers from Dungiven. As night approached however, a little hope entered his mind when he looked to the sky and saw the telltale light pollution of a city. From the closeness of the light, he figured he had maybe five or six miles left. Five miles. That's it.

As Albrecht crossed a road he recognized on his map, his suspicion was confirmed- he was maybe 4 kilometers away from the city.

"Magnificent."

Deciding that taking the road would at least give him a chance of catching a ride with a FTLA patrol, he decided to hug the pavement for the rest of his walk. Only a few more minutes into his journey though, another stroke of luck- a quite obviously FTLA truck was approaching. Stepping out into the road, he waved at the truck. They screeched to a halt no more than 25 meters from Al and he was practically blinded by their headlights. He managed to make out a man jump out of the back- no, a kid, maybe 17 years old. He heard the teen shout something in Tennish, which after a few seconds clicked in Al's head: he called him a "loyalist dog." Fuck.

And then the boy shot him, right through his shoulder.

"Fucking idiot FTLA *cunts*."
Last edited by Chazicaria on Mon Nov 11, 2019 10:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Currently performing a complete reorganization of my military and nation. RETCONNS galore. Pardon the lack of organization and conflicting info in my factbooks.

Economic Left/Right: 7.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -3.38

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Granzery
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Founded: Feb 05, 2018
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Granzery » Tue Nov 12, 2019 2:53 am

Outskirts of Crosskeys - E.COY, 3.KGE, 1.KŐO

K.Őrcsoportvezér (Company-Leader) Márton Jankovics, commander of Elvtárs Company, tracked with his men through the woods, close on the heels of a company of FTLA rebels who had not seemed to have yet detected them, the KŐO Tigers hoped to find more Chazicarian operatives, not only would their capture send a message to IRIS and the Chazicarian high command, it could also reveal valuable intel about the FTLA operations. The FTLA company they were tracking were, frankly, pathetic, they clearly lacked discipline, leaving obvious signs of their path through the dense forests of Tenburg, discarded trash, test-fired round casings, the ease of tracking what were supposed to be a guerrilla organisation was laughable. Clearly these troops weren't even willing of the label of guerrillas, forsaking even the basic training of a guerrilla force, the Chazicarian puppeteers of the FTLA clearly sacrificed the quality of their puppets for quantity. It was a decision that Jankovics, known to his comrades as Jankosz,was certain would come back to haunt IRIS as time unfolded. He would always value training, discipline and good equipment over sheer force of numbers, it was the way of the Royal Guard, the way of the Tigers.

"Weaver 0-1 to Typhoon Overseer, come in," a transmission came over the radio. Jankos and his entourage stopped, vtook the mouthpiece of the radio to provide his response.

"Go Ahead, Weaver 0-1," his reply came. Weaver 0-1 was the Platoon leader of 1st Platoon, Callsign: Weaver, the other three platoons were Callsigns: Mascot, Fulcrum and Conclave. The E Company overall was Callsign: 'Typhoon', while Typhoon Overseer represented the Company Leader of the Company - which was Jankosz. Weaver was tasked with the vanguard, tracking the hostile company to wherever they had set down for the coming night.

"Contact spotted, grid reference 134-618, company-sized enemy force, mostly on foot, some 16 lightly armed ground transport, Weaver out." 1st Platoon leader said.

"Well done, Weaver 0-1, Company moving to assist, air assets on standby, all Callsigns, converge on grid 134-618, hold fire, repeat, do not fire unless ordered, over."

"Solid Copy, Csoportvezér, we will sit tight and wait for the cavalry," 1st Platoon Leader said.

The Company Armoured Personnel Carriers remained well out of the A.O. the loud rumblings of their engines would too easily betray their location as they got closer to their quarry, however they remained within a distance that they could reinforce if needed, whether to evacuate the troops, escape an ambush of their own or provide fire support with their 25mm cannons and anti-tank guided missiles. On foot, the company trudged through the forest floor as stormclouds began to gather overhead. "For fucks sake, just what we want, fucking rain," Jankosz said. "Let's get this done and go home."

A quick few minutes passed and the downpour began, Tenburg was somewhat infamous for the regular, torrential rains, it was why the country was so lush, but it made it a pain in the ass sometimes for someone used to the far dryer climate of Granzery back home. However, they had reached the A.O., the forest opened up somewhat into a small clearing, about 120 square meters of forgotten farmland, old decrepit stone buildings scattered across the field, while a rusting tractor lay in the field, missing a rear wheel. Looking through the NV binoculars, Jankosz could see through the night rain, military-style tents too, lay in mostly haphazard rows, fortified by sandbag walls. Impromptu MG nests lay at four roughly cardinal directions, GPMGs covering north, south, east and west of the base. One of these MG nests was built out of what looked like an abandoned stone-built shed, a number of bricks in the roof had either fallen out in the past or been removed by the FTLA troops, and Jankosz could barely see the outline of what looked like an MG barrel sticking out of the hole. Beyond these fortifications, the base also seemed to make use of the still-existing stone walls that snaked across the farmyard, complemented by erratic sandbag fortifications which looked more like they had been haphazardly placed due to pressure from a commanding officer than intentionally placed for their utility in combat.

Regardless, it shouldn't be too difficult a target, that said, the Tigers needn't take any more casualties in this fight than absolutely necessary. With all his troops in position he waited for a moment, and received confirmatory remarks from his Platoon Leaders, he picked up the radio. "Battalion this is Csoportvezér, requesting immediate air support, high explosive, at grid reference 134-618," he said.

"Battalion to Csoportvezér, V-10s are ten clicks from the A.O." the reply came. After a few seconds pause; "Battalion to Company-Leader, Air support confirmed, two strike fighters inbound, estimated time over target, 3 minutes, repeat, 3 minutes to air support, over."

"Copy that Battalion, Csoportvezér out," he said.

A tense couple of minutes passed as each soldier stared incessantly through their optics, waiting for the airstrike to begin their assault. An Alarm began to sound in the hostile camp, and Jankosz assumed they had spotted the incoming fighter jet, however seconds later a pair of GPMGs began firing on their position, he could hear the shouts of "Contact!" from all around him, riddling the trees and ridge they took cover behind in bullets. "All Callsigns, open fire!" Jankosz commanded over the radio. The Granzerian forces all began to fire downrange, marksman rifles quickly began dispatching some explosed machine gunners as the rest realised it was prudent to seek cover. Granzerian SAWs and GPMGs too, began to fire their steady rumble of death.

Within moments of the start of the battle they could hear the deafening roar of a pair of V-10 Super Cyclones overhead, and a couple of moments later, their complement of 10 900kg bombs each rained down like hell from the sky. The farm was half obliterated by the devastating explosions. "Christ Above, I should have only requested one Cyclone."

Sporadic gunfire continued to erupt from within the remains of the camp, but Royal Guard Platoon-leaders threw smoke canisters into the open approach between them, a couple of seconds later the command was given and the Guardsmen rushed forwards under cover of smoke, ready to engage whatever hostiles remained in CQB, something where the poorly trained, poorly equipped and panicked militia of the FTLA had little to no chance. Any soldiers captured could be a great asset to VSO interests in the area, so when possible Jankosz gave the order to take the hostiles alive.

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Chazicaria
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Founded: Jul 03, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Chazicaria » Mon Jan 27, 2020 7:27 pm

Crosskeys, Tenburg
1245, March 10th, 2019

Air so dense you could cut it with a knife.

Not for any meteorlogical reason, of course, but due to the ever-present threat of FTLA attack. Soldiers on every corner, civilians huddled in homes, terrified of the coming hours, days, or even weeks- situations like this were a breeding ground for the discontent that had fed FTLA a good chunk of the eastern Tennish population.

Of course, had the Chazicarians had their way, FTLA would have slowly ground down the will of the Loyalists with guerrilla fighting and continued propaganda efforts. This "Great Battle" as some in FTLA leadership tried to market it as, was an idea born entirely out of the exceptional early successes of the movement. Eastern Tenburg was almost totally under opposition control, and Loyalist forces with their VSO allies were not making much progress halting the spread outside of minor victories here and there.

In the mind of FTLA, this coming fight for Crosskeys would break the back of the Loyalist troops and inspire a nationwide uprising against the fascists and crooks that had taken control of government. IRIS advisers of course had strongly urged against such an idea and encouraged a continued guerrilla campaign, but they'd been totally ignored.

Today was the day, though, that the waiting would stop. On March 10th, at exactly 1245 Local Time, three remote controlled car-bombs rammed the gates of the city Capital Building, the Police Station, and a temporary Army hospital set up in a large downtown park. The VBIEDs were all pickup trucks with over 1,200lbs each of high explosives hidden in the bed by tarps. The shockwaves shattered windows across the city, and civilians were sent running for cover while soldiers tried to lock down the areas.

This initial attack was not by any means the climax however, it was just a signal. Across the city, armed men began emerging from wherever they could hide, and gunfights inevitably broke out all over the place. In sync with the inner city uprising, conventional FTLA troops began an assault on the outskirts and suburbs of the city as well, especially the Granzerian and Elesarian posts where their troops were stationed. Mortar and rocket attacks followed by machine gun and sniper fire were employed to try and pin the VSO allies in their garrisons where their superior firepower could be negated. FTLA units began advancing in motorized columns using a mixture of captured Tennish Army and appropriated civilian vehicles for transportation and fire support. There were but a handful of armored vehicles among the advancing forces, but a great deal of internationally sourced, Chazicarian supplied man-portable weaponry such as GPMGs, HMGs, RPGs, ATGMs, and MANPADS.

Spearheading this assault were the FTLA's best troops- veterans since the beginning, and virtually all of the units trained directly by the Chazicarians.

Finally, a reckoning between the Loyalists and revolutionaries had come.

Downtown Crosskeys, Tenburg
1310, March 10th, 2019

Gunshots could be heard in nearly every direction, and the distant cries of wounded men and injured civilians painted a gruesome picture for the minds of Panther Team. Redployed after Gelendalough and subsequent fighting in the countryside around it, Panther was at the top of their game. For this excellence, they ended up as IRIS' choice for this operation.

With the FTLA assault likely compromising the entire FRT itself, IRIS knew that this conflict would likely not last much longer and it needed to take a risk for the sake of making this effort positive in at least one manner.

So here they were, overlooking the south side of the Stasnovan embassy from the 5th floor of a high rise apartment building. Assisting in this mission was a variety of FTLA assets that had chosen to side with the Chazicarians over their own commanders. While officially still FTLA, this handful of troops were more like mercenaries for IRIS at this point. The battle had masked their preparations, so when the first mortar rounds landed in the courtyard of the embassy, it likely came as quite the shock to those men inside. Both Heydrich and Leon were perched in hides, suppressed sniper rifles perfectly capable of taking shots at defenders of the building when they exposed themselves.

This was merely the first step in securing the building though, and the FTLA men preparing the storm the courtyard and engage the hopefully shellshocked Stasnovans inside hoped to make it quick.
Currently performing a complete reorganization of my military and nation. RETCONNS galore. Pardon the lack of organization and conflicting info in my factbooks.

Economic Left/Right: 7.25
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -3.38

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Tenburg
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Founded: Feb 01, 2017
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Tenburg » Wed Jan 29, 2020 1:04 pm

Crosskeys, Tenburg
10 March, 2019

Killian's eyes stung as he struggled down the smoke-filled hall, whose broken glass doors and windows twinkled with the reflections of gunfire and flames. He kept his sights up, hoping he could clear the smoke before he had to shoot anyone.

"Mahoney!"

The only answer came in a flurry of bullets.

"Fuck!" He jumped behind a door, leaned back out and fired a pair at the shadow in the smoke, moving back into the hallway as it collapsed to the ground. The smoke began to lift as he reached a blown out door, only to be forced back in by yet another flurry of screaming rounds cracking past his ears. He put a pair of rounds into an FTLA guerilla and raced down the stairs, taking cover behind a smoldering truck, probably the cause of all this.

The absolute incompetence of this country's intelligence... How did they not see this coming, with all the information the Banshees had given them...?

"MacDonald!"

Killian turned around to find one of Blue 3, Durnin, emerging from the burning police station and joining him behind the car. "They're all dead, the lot of them!"

"I figured."

"What do we do?"

"Kill every one o' these bastards we see, I'd reckon!" Killian loaded another magazine.

"Sounds like a plan!"
I offer only slanderous mockeries!

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