A Country In Chaos (Civil War Character RP) [IC|OPEN]

by **The Hindustani State** » Mon Feb 01, 2021 12:07 pm

A Country in Chaos
OOC|IC

The country of Valania is in turmoil. Following a decade of economic collapse and political violence, all out civil war has broken out between the many factions of the nation. This is the era of political and social upheaval worldwide, and Valania, having already gone through this phase not too long ago, is fracturing once again. It is either up to a new generation of leaders to decide the fate of this country now, or to return to an old order where times were much simpler. The fate of Valania rests in the coming years.

Context

It has been nearly 25 years since the country of Valania held its first democratic elections following the overthrow of the oppressive monarchy in 1919. The revolution, lead by liberal reformist Julius Zukal, ended in the overthrow of the centuries old monarchy with the forced abdication of King Jan III and ushered in the era of the First Valanian Republic, however, this was the era of numerous communist and socialist movements worldwide, and they found root in Valania too. Many followers of these movements laid low as Zukal, with overwhelming popularity, was elected as the country’s first president, instituting a liberal democracy with a free market economy. Many on the far left felt betrayed by this system, and over the years the coalition of the revolution ended with the split between the hardline communists and the liberals. Zukal publicly disavowed the communists, forming his own Revolutionary Valanian Party (RVP), in opposition to the communist’s Valanian Communist Party (VCP).

Six years into Zukal’s rule, the leader died of sudden cardiac arrest, as his successor was the timid and far less charismatic Oto Jerabek. Under him, the young republic’s economy collapsed into the worst crisis seen in a century, causing massive resentment from among the populace. Fearing another civil war and a revolution against his rule, Jerabek went against the very principles of Zukal’s revolution by heavily censoring any opposition, and using the police force, still loyal to the Republic, to suppress dissent. However, underground communist movements flourished with the poor state of the economy, with the newfound leader, the charismatic young Kvido Simek. In the following election, despite Jerabek’s attempts at suppressing opposition, the communist party triumphed, and ironically went on their own "reign of terror" against the RVP and its supporters, leading to a long period of political violence, further enhanced by the resurgence in popularity of the monarchy, especially in the Southwest, where monarchists claimed the revolution lead to the economic crisis and the violence.

With the next presidential elections in 1939 being won by the RVP, although under suspicious circumstances facing accusations of rigging by both communist groups in the VCP and conservatives, Jerabek returned to power and outlawed the VCP as a "terrorist group," leading to mass riots and protests in cities, especially with workers who formed the backbone of the VCP voting base. Further inflaming the tensions was the imprisonment and execution of Kvido Simek, leading him to adopt a near-legendary status as a martyr and hero of the cause among supporters. His successor was no less charismatic, Krystof Stejskal, a prominent trade union leader turned revolutionary theorist.

Meanwhile, large portions of the population were beginning to get fed up of the constant political violence and uncertainty in the country. Many people turned to the works of newspaper owner Rudolf Polak, whose views gained notoriety. Coinciding with the rise of fascism around the world, Polak believed that the only way to end political violence is through a strong totalitarian government, taking a third position which was neither left or right, and valuing nation over all else, with intense ultranationalist rhetoric. Polak formed the National Patriotic Front (NPF) and gained huge popularity especially in the Southern regions of the country, the NPF trained many of its young idealistic supporters and organized its own violent paramilitaries, known as the Lichtors. Due to the often violent nature of these paramilitaries, the NPF was banned from contesting elections and Polak imprisoned.

The Valanian military was arguably as divided as the country itself. Many military leaders were idealistic liberals, communists, ultranationalists, or monarchists. This all came to a breaking point in Decemeber of 1940. At the break of dawn, trade unions, assisted by sympathetic military leaders, led a massive storming of government buildings across the central part of Valania, North of the Middle Mountains. The most notable of these was the city of Glazhonsk, where large mobs of trade unionists took control of the city and maintained order through the sympathetic garrison in the city, imprisoning government officials and dissolving the police departments, which remained sympathetic to the Republic. These union uprisings were organized by the VCP, and that afternoon, Krystof Stejskal declared the second revolution, and claimed that the Republic had become as oppressive as the monarchy used to be. These uprising occurred all throughout the republic, however, those where the military garrisons were opposed to the communists were quickly crushed, leaving only the central area under de facto VCP control, as military stockpiles were raided and pro-communist workers formed crude paramilitaries to seize control of the countryside.

Seeing the chaos come to breaking point, the NPF leadership saw it as a "now or never" moment to advance their goals. While a military coup against the Republic had been considered in the past, it was deemed too unstable to succeed, until now with the communist uprising. Sympathetic military leaders cut off communications from the Republican government, all of them in the South of the country which formed the NPF’s main powerbase, and Lichtor militias seized military bases who remained loyal to the Republic or other factions. One of these militias stormed and freed Rudolf Polak from his prison, however, Polak being an ideological leader rather than a military one, chose to cede powers to sympathetic general Peter Rezincek for the duration of the inevitable Civil War, governing from the city of Morgaw. The NPF declared itself to be a country that prioritizes neither left or right, but Valania over all else. A sympathetic general who had been deployed to the extreme North also cut off communications from the Republic, sitting at the border between the communist territories and the Republic.

Seeing the chaos unfold, the neighboring nations of Maksaland, Freidhom, and Kartvelskia declared a joint agreement of neutrality in the Valanian Civil War, although how that neutrality will play out remains to be seen. All three were stable liberal democracies, although Kartvelskia had a growing communist movement as the economic depression of the 20s and 30s had affected it to a large degree as well.

Soon after, Janists, supporters of ousted monarch King Jan III, revolted with their militias, known as the King's Loyal Soldiers (KLS). While they failed to secure as much control as the other factions, managed to take their main powerbase in the Southwest Peninsula and the city of Novomaw. Despite only securing control over this area, the population of much of the Southwest is vehemently pro-monarchist, however with little military backing, they were unable to secure control over the area, and the area continues to remain unstable, against the Republicans who maintain control over it for now.

Seeing the systematic breakdown of the Republic, President Oto Jerabek declared martial law and entrusted himself with emergency powers, including the powers of mobilization. Retaining control of the capital and largest city in Valania, Kurmutsk, and most of the West, as well as the extreme East due to the establishment of sympathetic Republican garrisons in the area, he now faces the monumental task of keeping his government afloat and the Republic alive.

All factions vie for control over the entire country of Valania, but a brutal civil war where countrymen shall kill countrymen is inevitable now.

The Factions

Communists Push East
EASTERN VALANIA - It has been reported that communist forces have made a push towards the East, against Republican forces. How this offensive will ultimately play out remains to be seen, but with the Reds on one side and the Ocean on the other, the Republican forces on the Eastern area are cornered foxes.

Communist leader Krystof Stejskal has proclaimed this to be the beginning of a glorious new revolution, to overthrow the capitalist system and create a worker’s state.

by **Cylarn** » Mon Feb 01, 2021 2:31 pm

Brigadier I. Kalwa
Somewhere in the Northern Karokand Forest, Eastern Valania

Istvan swatted at the smoke gathering around his face, courtesy of the lit cigarette hanging from the right side of his mouth. The rays of the sun passed between the tall trees, illuminating the forest floor of the Karokand. Sitting side-saddle on his bike amid a temporary encampment, Istvan appreciated the timely opportunity to read Rosica's latest correspondence. Had he need for a personal driver, Istvan could have read the letter on the road, to his heart's content. However, Istvan saw the motorbike as a horse; he would ride his own mount into battle, as did his men.

In the letter, dated two days prior, Rosica outlined the various issues besetting the family in Istvan's absence: her recent recruitment as a Republican propaganda officer took time away from the boys, who were now in the hands of a military preparatory school in Halmberg. With the recent Communist offensives seeking to cross the Balerian and the Karokand and push the Republicans into the sea, the age limit for conscription was lowered to sixteen. According to Rosica, the boys at the school were already being mobilized; weapons familiarity and combat training was being provided to cadets of all ages, and the commandants were even deploying the older cadets on short-range patrols with live ammunition. In her last conversation with the twins, Rosica confessed to Istvan that she was unable to convince them to do their best to avoid combat service.

They are too much like Rosica and I. Istvan allowed a smirk to develop in response to the thought. Stepan and Pytor were raised hearing the stories of revolutionary heroism. They fled Central Valania during the Purges; witnessed their parents kill repeatedly in order to keep them out of harm's way. They believed themselves ready to fight. It is not fair; this is not their war. My boys do not deserve to pay the price for Jerabek's fuck-up. Istvan remembered Stibor's decomposing body, mangled beyond all recognition and sticking out from below a tarp. At fifteen, Istvan had buried his father and brother, and he did not want to. He wanted his boys to bury him; not the other way around.

Rosica had included a photograph. Istvan blinked twice at the photo, contemplating how much she had to pay for it to be colorized. Clad in a tan khaki uniform with a knee-length skirt and a garrison cap atop her head, Rosica posed before the front entrance of a chateau. Her hands were clasp behind her back, and a curt smile decorated her face. Istvan smiled warmly; she was as beautiful as she was on the day that they married. His thumb lovingly caressed her image. Soon, my dear.

"Sir, the tanker truck has refueled half of our bikes, and the scouts have returned," a voice spoke, pulling Istvan from his thoughts.

He looked up from the letter, taking eyes on his executive officer, Colonel Ygor Stibliz, who rendered and held a salute to his forehead while standing at attention. Like his commander, Stibliz was dressed in the proper attire for a field officer in the Motor Rifles. A khaki uniform worn with cavalry breeches, knee-length brown leather boots, a Sam Browne belt, and a tan dress shirt with a black tie. He wore an "Adrian" helmet, adorned with a pair of riding goggles and a signature dark blue length of cloth tied around the helmet - an additional unit identifier. Barely budging from his seat, Istvan returned the salute and smiled faintly at his second-in-command. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and promptly stamped out the embers, an overt gesture of respect. Stibliz was a friend; they had attended college together, and fought along the Balerian in the early days of the Communist putsch.

"Very good, and go ahead and get yourself at ease. We shouldn't be static for much longer. What do our scouts have to report?"

"First Battalion of the 22nd Infantry is at our west, holding at the banks - but they are under intense fire from long-range batteries. Two companies of Communist militia and mutineers have already crossed the river, and Captain Gnieslund believes that they are posturing to flank our friends while a temporary bridge is installed for the rest of the Communists to push across the river."

It all sounded familiar. "Are they attempting to cross where the Nyfir Bridge used to be?"

Ygor nodded. "The very bridge we blew up a month ago."

It took fifty pounds of TNT on both ends of the old stone Nyfir Bridge in order to deny its usage to the Communists. Istvan and three recklessly brave privates managed to scale the bridge during an intense rifle battle with a company of mutineers, planting explosives upon the supporting struts and buttresses of the bridge. In his official report, Istvan omitted his participation in the demolition, instead claiming that the three privates had taken the initiative upon themselves out of fear that his presence under the bridge would have overshadowed the contributions of those three men. The Nyfir was positioned over one of the more narrow stretches of the Balerian; it was an ideal place for large formations to cross. We have to go back, or we will go into the sea, pressed between two Communist forces on either side.

"I see. I want all company and battalion commanders here in five minutes, and their men are to prep their gear and bikes."

"Very good, sir."

Istvan stood up from his bike, picking up his helmet from off of the handlebars. Ygor threw up his right hand in salute, and Istvan returned the courtesy. "Carry on."

Five minutes later...

A gaggle of officers stood in a circle around a foldable wooden table. Atop it was a topographical map of their area of operations. The most recent scouting report provided them with a rough approximation of the friendly and enemy forces in the area, with lines and circles drawn in red and blue, respectively, to denote their positions on the map. Istvan stood front and circle in the circle, all eyes focusing on him. A pen sat between his fingers. No one spoke, instead waiting for the Brigadier to lay out the orders of the day.

Istvan glanced around. The faces of his officers were gaunt, uneasy. That was the typical mood among the Republican officers serving in Eastern Valania.

"Gentlemen," he said, injecting confidence into his voice, while he directed the point of his pen at a blue vertical oval. "A single infantry battalion is positioned before the Communist advance here." His pen moved to the left of the blue oval, crossing the Balarian to point at a red arrow as he spoke. He then moved the point to a large red circle some ten miles back, with a question mark sitting in the center.

"Enemy artillery is in this area, but exact locations of their pieces are unknown at this time." He then pointed to a long red line crossing the Balerian, and curving down into an arrow pointing at the northern flank of the Republican troops. "Two companies of Communist troops have reportedly crossed the Balerian on their own efforts and initiative, and are poised to launch an assault on the northernmost flank."

He removed the pen from the map, and glanced around at his officers. "Battalion commanders, listen very carefully, as I am decentralizing you to achieve certain objectives."

Istvan put pen to paper, pointing to a blue circle positioned some twenty miles from the Nyfir Bridge. A blue line was drawn, following the road to connect the two blue circles on the map. He looked up towards the officers.

"First battalion will reinforce our friends at the bridge. Establish positions with your light machine guns and utilize your mortar element to hinder the enemy's capacity to move forward or lay down fire. Under no circumstances are the Communist engineers allowed to establish their bridge. Set aside one company to support our reconnaissance platoon, whose objective will be explained further on."

Istvan then drew another line from the blue circle denoting his battalion, ending it right in the center of the suspected Communist downward-flanking assault. "Second battalion is to screen the northern flank and intercept the two reported companies in that area. Once they are dealt with, provide security and supporting fire on the opposing forces on the western banks."

Istvan drew a third line, this one ending in a circle just below the friendly battalion. "Third Battalion will take up security on the southern flank. Primary objective will be to prevent the enemy from trying to flank the south."

A longer line was then drawn, leading from the Third to the suspected Communist artillery battery. "Scout Platoon, your objective will be quite dangerous, as I will have you cross the Balerian - without your bikes. I need to know exactly where the Communist artillery is, and once you locate it, deliver word via radio of their locations so that Headquarters & Support can arrange for aerial assets to engage, at your direction. In the event that air support is unavailable, I want you to identify enemy supply lines in the area, and then return to our side of the Balerian."

"Any questions?"

The officers remained silent, but Istvan could see the affirmation as he studied their eyes. They were ready. He gave a nod. "Very well. We move out in ten minutes. Dismissed."

The officers then dispersed, and Istvan walked back over to his bike. A bespectacled sergeant stood beside of the sidecar, fiddling with a bulky field radio. He turned around, seeing his commanding officer. Although he did not snap to attention, he offered a quick salute. Istvan quickly returned the salute.

"Sergeant Savic, do we have High Command?"

The sergeant nodded, and passed a corded telephone to Istvan. "Yes sir. Command is awaiting your word." Istvan nodded, and took hold of the telephone, bringing it to ear-level.

"3rd MIB to High Command, preparing to assist friendly forces at the Nyfir Bridge. We are requesting air support to be on standby for a combat patrol; how copy?"

Istvan hoped for a quick response.

by **Eggistaan** » Mon Feb 01, 2021 5:00 pm

Royalist Republican Border, South West Valania
1500, KING'S LOYAL ARMY FORWARD OPERATING BASE
Major General Gregory Kamen assessed the maps in his command bunker with a few similarly ranked comrades, they were aiming to either circumvent or destroy a VR defence instillation that consisted of a pillbox and a few tanks on standby. Gregory was ready to send his infantry men on a direct charge regardless of the consequences to show those republican pigs the might of the royalist army however this plan was rejected. One of the men in the bunker suggested an artillery bombardment to destroy the pillbox before sending in the infantry with anti tank weapons. Another suggested sending 3 anti tank field cannons to dispatch of the pillbox and the tanks reinforced by infantry armed with anti tank weapons in case things got hairy. Gregory suggested a combination of artillery bombardment and tank support to mop up the remaining resistance. The last suggestion was using tanks to do all the work. After a bit of squabbling back and forth they took it down to a vote which was ironic considering they were fighting a democratic power. Gregory took charge ,

"All for a merciless charge with nothing but bayonets and the sheer will of the monarchy say aye" He said, snickering slightly to himself.

"Come on Kamen, you know its a horrible idea let go of it, I'm not letting you get 1/3 of our fighting force killed before the war's even started" replied one of his comrades. They laughed for a bit before getting back to the vote. He went through each tactic one by one. The idea of using artillery on the pillbox was removed as it was deemed "too excessive" for a lone pillbox. They didn't want to risk too many this early in the war so nobody voted for a full tank battle. Gregory argued against the Field cannon idea, saying the stationary nature of the cannon made it vulnerable to the tanks' mobility. Any attempt at using a field cannon would need shrubbery to hide its location. Conveniently enough there was some shrubs that would hide a couple anti tank cannons inside, this brought the cannons back on the menu however Gregory mentioned that that would not survive on their own so it was decided that infantry consisting of rifle units, machine gun units and mortar units would do the job. Around only 90 troops were really needed for this. That was until a messenger knocked on the door.

After being allowed to enter he gave the royal salute before relaying his message " A Valania Republic fortress was found a few miles west by a scout, high command has ordered you to divert all your resources to take it, the general has asked for this to be our first strike." The messenger saluted and handed Gregory a map before leaving the FOB. "Right then, well have to destroy that pillbox in one sweeping move on our way to that fortress. Well have the tanks at the front with infantry behind them, going forward as one column and i want it to be on the move, lightning fast. Call it lightning war." Gregory insisted, moving the maps. He nodded at the other men and took his leave, just another day at the office.

REPUBLICAN FORTRESS, VALANIAN REPUBLIC
1700

The pillbox siege went smoothly, Gregory's troops managed to take the Republicans by surprise to the point that some weren't in their tanks. The result was a mighty victory for the royalists even if they went from deploying 90 troops to 1,300. The real test however was taking the fortress and when Gregory arrived in his GAZ-67 artillery was already going ham on the building. The assault was due to start in 30 minutes so Gregory went to meet the masterminds behind this masterplan. "Weve got anti air here, here and here so air support should be pacified. They've got large gun emplacements here here and here and that's where I've focused artillery bom... oh Major General Kamen, Field marshal Kreuzberg, are you ready to take the fortress?" He asked, keeping the other generals who were listening to his explanation in utter suspense. Gregory nodded and replied "I've come with armour, infantry and artillery how's the situation looking out there?" He dismissed the other men before turning back to Gregory "Weve been bombarding the fortress for around an hour, your men will be part of the first assault, i want you taking the fortress and the town behind it. You might as well get ready, the first whistle will blow at any time now." He then signalled to his watch to which Gregory responded by nodding and turning back to where the troops were preparing.

"Right lads, our first foray into armed combat under our revitalised Monarchy starts with this siege, many have bled to get this uprising going and we are here not only to make our dream come to true but to also avenge our fallen brothers and sisters who died at the hands of these sinners. Hell is where they belong and it is your responsibility to take them there. Every single life lost whether it be for the monarchy or some other regime is on the hands of this failed state, the reason we are here is thanks to these pigs wooing our people with "Democracy" and "elections" and look where it brought them. So come my brothers charge with me to make these sinners pay!" The Major general could his speech had worked, the eyes with young men were burning with passion, it was now time for them to exert it,

The first contact made with the enemy was when a BT-7 among the KLA ranks burst into flames. It had been hit by an anti tank shell fired near the fortress. The troops around it dropped to the ground with weapons drawn, an officer signalled and the mortar team began setting up their equipment before firing three shells at the source of the fire. Distant deathly screams ahead allowed the column to move forward again and when the tanks were in range they began to fire. This time another officer signalled and a hurl of anti tank fire hit the fortress, destroying a machine gun sentry. Troops began gushing out of the building and the column picked out its targets and fired. Planes could be seen in the distance however the anti air emplacement caused them to retreat. An Anti tank canon managed to pick off 3 T34 76 tanks before its crew were killed by shrapnel released by a nearby artillery shell explosion.

Once the column got close to the fortress the fighting got brutal. Republican troops that were entrenched would get the drop on Royalist soldiers before getting trampled by Royalist tanks. After passing the fortress, demolition teams set charges on it and blew it up, killing the soldiers remaining inside those who surrendered were shot immediately for their crimes against Valania.

After some gruelling window warfare, the town was now under royalist control. Gregory looked at the after action report, it read like this:
7 Tanks Destroyed (2 T34-76 5 BT-7)
78 killed 103 wounded
2 Mortar kits destroyed
4 Tanks captured ( 1 KV 3 BT7)
500 enemies killed 221 wounded
40 artillery pieces and cannons destroyed
Fortress captured
Town captured

Going back to the bunker Gregory was celebrating, the monarchy was coming back and nobody could stop them. If this victory was a sign of what was to come then he
had a positive outlook on the future.

by **Russkiya Svyachena** » Mon Feb 01, 2021 5:57 pm

Glazhonsk

Liberty and Revolution! shouted a group of people gathered in an old abandoned factory in Glazhonsk. These were the Revolutionary Anarchists of Valania, a subset of communists who opposed Krystof Stejskal’s authoritarianism. Vasiliy Malin, the "leader" of the group, author of The Philosophy of Anarchism and Libertarian Communism, stepped up to speak to the members of the group,

"Welcome comrades! I cannot express how much I thank you all for attending these gatherings, our numbers are dwindling, but that does not mean our cause is. It is a natural and understandable fact that many will value their own safety and livelihood over the cause, but for you all who attend, you have demonstrated your willingness to lay down your lives for liberty! The past month has been tough for our movement, the workers revolted and overthrew the capitalist elite in this city… but now we suffer under the boot of a new elite. An elite that pretends to be one with the people, Stejskal’s grip over the city has strengthened and many of us, including myself as you all know, have been forced to adopt aliases and fake identities to avoid Stejskal’s secret police.

Times may be tough, but we shall not lay low, it is our moral duty to keep fighting until our last breaths for the absolute liberation of all our people! As we did under the monarchy, as we did under Jerabek’s Republic, we shall now do under the false communists. We will resist, and build up our strength to topple those in power and end injustice! My task to you all who take up this challenger is this, so recruit your fellow workers to our cause. Every day when you go to work, lay low and pass mentions of our movement to your fellow worker suffering under the boot of the false reds. United we shall never be defeated by Stejskal’s quasi-fascism."

Later…

A bomb had been set up by the Anarchists at a factory in Glazhonsk, which produced military equipment for the communist war effort. A member of the group hid behind the street corner in front of the factory and detonated it using radio technology, a fairly novel invention…

by **Cylarn** » Tue Feb 02, 2021 1:02 pm

Brigadier I. Kalwa
At the Nyfir Bridge
Vishla Plains, East Valania

Istvan breathed a sigh of relief as he directed his bike off of the gravel path and onto the grass and dirt of the open prairie. The Karokand, for all of its natural beauty and splendor, could easily become a desirable spot for ambushes. Roads were defined, leading to destinations. A fixed path, often a fated one when the Karokand hosts warfare. The plains offered space, visibility, the freedom to roam a chosen path all one's own. Istvan came to the top of a rolling hill; down below, he could see the greenish length of the Balerian snaking through the plains and indicating the current border between East and West. The remnants of the old Nyfir Bridge - the bases and the beginnings of the stone arch, and a stone beam in the center - sat in the middle of a No Man's Land between the Balerian banks and the opposing positions in contest over the crossing, setting the engagement distance at one-hundred and twenty yards, roughly. A massive cloud of smoke hung over the scene, and Istvan brought his bike to a halt, motioning with his left hand for his troops to continue moving to their objectives. In the distance, he could make out the impacts of artillery shells hitting around the Republican foothold. His stomach ached slightly. Stop anticipating, Istvan.

He looked over his shoulder, back at the mounted troops behind him. Quite clearly, he could see lines and formations of motorbikes breaking off - the battalions were moving to their objectives. Istvan noticed Ygor bringing his bike beside of his, joining himself and Savic. The rest of the Headquarters Company arrived, bringing their bikes to a halt. Some of the officers dismounted to observe the engagement.. Soldiers quickly darted past them, heading down towards the carnage below. Istvan turned his attention back to the battlefield, drawing out a pair of binoculars.

It was a good-enough vantage point. Istvan relaxed his posture and took eyes on the engagement. Starting from his soldiers' approach, Istvan observed his men riding towards a treeline behind the foxholes and hastily-prepared defensive positions of the friendly infantry battalion, passing by a number of dazed Republican deserters. A few turned back around to their lines, apparently inspired by the possibility of reinforcements. The motorcycle troops quickly began pulling up at their starting point, throwing down kickstands and grabbing their weapons, ammunition, and gear as the ground quaked and artillery shells reigned down. Captains, lieutenants, and sergeants barked orders and directed their soldiers to take their positions on the fighting line. The mortar section of 1st Battalion dismounted, moving into position at the rear of the formation and setting up their 60mm mortars. Machine guns - both the belt-fed Maxims and the box-fed Monitors - were removed from their vehicle mounts and moved into position. Good.

It was time to check out the tenability of their current position. Already, some of the soldiers already present had started to flee, many dropping their rifles and fleeing with a handful of Sergeants and junior officers half-heartedly shouting curses over the booming roar of the striking artillery. Sixteen.. The infantry battalion had dug several rows of slit trenches and individual foxholes, and most of the positions had been reinforced with timber, rocks, vegetation, and dirt walls - whatever was on hand to stop a round, the infantrymen were using it. Istvan could clearly see the tan figures returning fire, and crouching in response to the barrage being hurled at them from afar. An unlucky direct hit mauled apart a reinforced dirt dugout. Istvan watched dirt and rifles and men and limbs thrown outward by the explosive flash. His heart skipped a beat. Fight it. The dead were everywhere.

Istvan turned his sights to the opposition, which arguably had a better position on the western side. The Communists built themselves a proper forward position; wagons and wooden crates and sandbags, combined with piles of dirt, formed excellent protection for the dugouts used by the machine gun crews and riflemen alike. Further down the road, he could clearly see a line of five trucks heading for the Communist position, red flags waving from the side windows. Formations of infantry jogged parallel to them. Great, they are bringing more men. Istvan then took eyes at an oddity coming from behind the formation of men and trucks; a flatbed truck driving at a high speed, in reverse, with what appeared to be a rudimentary wooden bridge made of timber poles and binded metal sheets. Lastly, he saw a solitary figure on the Communist side, laying in a foxhole right by the reed-lined banks. The purpose of this man was all too obvious to Istvan. That is the Forward Observer for the artillery that's pounding us.

"Savic, take note," Istvan said, not removing his eyes from the binocular. Savic pulled a notepad and pen from inside of the sidecar, opening up a fresh page and pressing his pen to the paper. He looked up at his commander, diligently awaiting his observation.

"Six trucks are approaching, with twenty men each. Infantry, two platoons of thirty, advancing parallel. One bridge-layer is being brought up. Lastly, one forward observer is laying in cover."

Istvan lowered his binoculars and brought his eyes to those of Savic. "That is all, Savic."

He then looked over to Ygor.

"Ygor, task a runner to appraise the Third. I want another runner to appraise Colonel Blagojevich and the First, and to pass on my direction to deploy his marksmen however he sees fit to remove that forward observer."

Ygor nodded, refraining from a salute and instead dismounting from his bike, taking the note from Savic to pass orders down to the Headquarters Company runners.

"3rd MIB, come in. This is Number Two Squadron, Fourth GAW. Over. Istvan immediately grabbed for the receiver, bringing it to ear-level.

"Number Two Squadron to Third MIB, receiving you. Over."

"Third MIB, we are an estimated twenty minutes from your position. Requesting target assignment. Over."

"Number Two Squadron, act at your own prejudice to target the western side of the Nyfir Bridge. Will mark target area with red smoke. Secondary objective will be to eliminate the enemy artillery sitting five miles away. Will provide location once ground assets have eyes. How copy?"

"Third MIB, affirmative. Going to resume contact once in the area. Over and out."

Istvan handed the telephone back to Savic, and then looked over his shoulder to Ygor, who was walking back to his bike. "Ygor, you have Headquarters. I am heading down to do what I can."

Ygor nodded in affirmation. "Be safe, sir." Istvan nodded, and roared his bike to life, charging down towards the fighting at the Nyfir. The Battle of Nyfir Bridge would either become a successful action by the Republic to hinder or even halt the eastward Communist offensive - or, the Republican forces would be forced to retreat, and the Communists would be that much closer to seizing Halmberg and all of the villages in between.

by **Bolslania** » Wed Feb 03, 2021 9:44 am

Captain Chkalov Saveliy "Sava" Ruslanovich
East Valania
Nyfir Bridge

From 2 miles away from the battle at Nyfir, Captain Chkalov Saveliy Ruslanovich of the 1st Bilsoy Mechanized could hear the artillery landing around the supposed positions of the Republicans. His company had been sent as an advance force of the 1st Bilsoy Mechanized Infantry Battalion. The Battalion as a whole was suppossed to push this offensive onto the flank of the Republican forces. However it would take a while for the whole battalion to get ready, so individual companies were being sent out as soon as they were ready. 1st Company had been first to leave, and the 3rd Company was about 30 minutes behind them. They were coming along the road, now they were close enough to hear the gunshots. No rounds had come at the trucks yet, but Sava shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As Sava was thinking about it a round came into the truck, ripping through the canvas covering the bed, and into the skull of Private Sopov Filippovich. Blood and brain matter flew out from his head over Corporal Olenev Yanovich as Filippovich slumped over. The driver put the pedal to the metal, throwing the truck forward as more rounds ripped into it. Many hit the metal bay of the truck, doing no harm to the personnel, however the man next to Sava, Private Kochenkov Igorevich gasped as a round hit him in the gut. He clasped his hands over his stomach, trying to hold his blood in. The other trucks in the convoy also had increased their speed, in an attempt to get the passengers to cover and get out of the danger zone before they got killed. Sava helped Igorevich apply pressure to the injury, but blood was beginning to leak out of the private's mouth. The truck lurched to a stop, they were assumedly behind cover, because rounds were no longer hitting the truck.

"Everybody out! Tolya! Misha! Carry Kochenkov!" He shouted, Privates (Misha) Romanovich and (Tolya) Timofeyevich nodded as the looped their PPDs over their shoulders. Sava hopped out of the truck running into a foxhole. He was joined by Sergeant Agafonov Sergeyevich, who shouted

"How the hell are we breaking out!" Sava crouched lower into the foxhole as a round slammed into the dirt in front of him.

"No goddamn idea!" He shouted back over the gunfire. He sat up slightly, bringing his binoculars to his eyes as he peeked over the lip of the foxhole. He scanned the Republican side of firefight.

"Shit, they had the same idea. They just got reinforced by....motorbike infantry by the looks of it." Sergeyvich swore. They weren't going to get a secure this area if the Republicans had reinforced with a fresh Battalion of infantry. He looked around, looking for some kind of command dugout. There it was, about 75 feet to the left. He tapped on Sergeyvich's shoulder

"I'm going to go for that dugout over there" Sava pointed in the direction of the dugout. "I need to speak with whoever's in charge here!" Sergeyvich nodded, he raised himself from where he was laying down to kneeling

"I'll cover you!" He shouted. "On three!" Sava nodded, slinging his PPD over his shoulder, bracing himself for the sprint that was to come.

"1!" Sergeyvich yelled, pulling back the bolt on his PPsH 41 into the open position, Sava turned away, facing the edge of the foxhole. A bullet hit a man somewhere near, who screamed in agony.

"2!" Both men tensed up, ready to spring up.

"3!" Sergeyvich popped up, firing on full automatic across the river. Sava pulled himself out of the foxhole and sprinted towards the dugout. A bullet landed at his feet, causing him to trip. He hit the ground hard, scratching his face on the rocks and dirt. He lurched forward, getting to his feet and continuing to run. Men around him were firing towards the Republican infantry and the wump off landing artillery drowned out the din of small arms combat. Sava made the last few feet to the dugout throwing himself into it. Inside he found a major, kneeling next to a radio. The major looked up at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Captain Ruslanovich, 1st Bilsoy Mechanized Infantry." Sava said, the major nodded.

"Major Zefirov Valeryevich, 4th Glazhonsk Rifles." Sava nodded.

"What's the situation sir?" Sava asked, the major gestured across the river.

"Well Captain, we were crossing the river when we made contact, we established these fortifications, what are you here for?"

"I'm here to assist with your breakout sir, command said we need to establish a secure beachhead so engineers can make a larger bridge." A bullet slammed into the dugout. The major nodded.

"Sounds good, I need you and your men in the front most part of the fighting, I've got a platoon of riflemen up there, they've been taking casualties. What I'm going to try and do is get close with the Republicans, we can't let them reinforce more than they already have."

"Yes sir, 3rd Company is about 25 minutes from arrival, but I don't know about the rest of the Battalion." Sava said, the Major scrubbed at his face.

"Do you have any armor?" Sava shook his head.

"We didn't when I left sir." Valeryevich swore

"Shit, thats what we need. We need some armored cars or something to push through these assholes." Valeryevich sighed.

"Well get up there and reinforce those riflemen Captain." Sava nodded.

"Yes sir." Sava said, he darted out into the fire and screams. Waving his hand in the air.

"1st Bilsoy! With me!" He shouted. Men of his company looked up in confusion, there was a moments pause before NCOs and lieutenants started kicking the private's in to action, the 1st Bilsoy sprinted through the fire, which was more sporadic, due to another barrage from their artillery. They dropped into the trench system, a few bodies were sprawled out where they had previously been sprinting. They were joining a ragged group of infantry, who were suffering some casualties. Bodies lay in the trench, some dead, others dying. Medics were doing their best to keep wounded alive, but the hellstorm that was this firefight was making moving around difficult.

"I need some fire on those Capitalists!" Sava shouted, unslinging his PPD and opening up, rounds flying downrange. His men joined him, a DP28 had been set up, its gunner firing off bursts at the fresh motorbike infantry in an attempt to keep them at a distance.

by **Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States** » Wed Feb 03, 2021 1:27 pm

Tap… Tap… Tap…

The sharp sound of a steel-tipped cane tapping against aged marble reverberated through the long, empty corridors of the Interior Wing.

Tap… Tap… Tap…

The sound was slow and consistent, sounding more like the ticking of an old clock than anything else. Jaroslav Wlawek caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective windows of the Garden Hall, now wetted by a soft drizzle of ice-cold rain, brought on by the easterly winds. A single blue eye stared back at him. Wlawek sighed, wondering if he was indeed as sad as his own reflection would make him seem. On the other side of the Garden Hall were doors leading to various offices, though the doors were closed and the offices deserted. Where there once were hundreds of civil servants running, writing, thinking, deciding, there now was utter silence. One could walk through the Grand Palace for ten, fifteen minutes without crossing paths with another living soul.

While the Grand Palace was originally constructed as the Kurmutsk Residence, somewhere in the mid-17th century, it had never really grown in prominence until the late 18th to early 19th century. The kings began taking an active interest in the governance of their kingdom, which meant installing themselves right on top of the largest city of the country, where sea and road lanes met along the delta of the Kurmu river. The Garden Hall was constructed to house foreign guests, who visited the palace for state banquets, and as part of the large garden expansions designed by Svetlana Maritova. More and more additions were made throughout the 19th century, adding more and more offices for the various ministries. Eventually some ministries were forced to move into buildings in the city proper, which had encroached upon the palace in such a way that transport and communication became easier. But the kings always kept the Interior Ministry and the Ministry of War close. A tradition that had survived the abolition of the Crown in 1919.

The Garden Hall, once housing the bulging offices of Wlawek’s ministry, separated the Interior Wing from what was once the War Wing or the Defence Wing. Nowadays, it was simply referred to as High Command. While the Interior Wing was decorated with fine art pieces from Valania and abroad, the Defence Wing was a physical reminder of the martial history of Valania. Swords, lances, paintings of old battles and older glories… Wlawek stopped for a moment to look at Feratov’s 1849 rendition of the Battle of Prokupiewz. It tread the bounds between romanticism and nationalism, depicting a conversation between Grand Marshal Kalwa and king Jan I. The latter was pointing at a map and gesturing into the distance, with the Grand Marshal looking with approval in his spending hussar uniform. The histories did not record the presence of king Jan at the battle, but he was keen to have himself injected into it as a military man. Wlawek shook his head and continued his saunter through the Grand Palace.

The Defence Wing had once been the most dusty of the Ministry Wings, back when there still was a strict division between the civilian administration and the officer corps. The people working there had all been silent, bookkeeping types, generally concerned with the supply of practice grenades and that no more than two learner planes should crash in a given quarter. Those still existed, but were largely overshadowed by a new presence of uniformed officers, marching through the halls of the Grand Palace as if it had been a conquered city. Wlawek nodded kindly at the officers as they passed, but they did not give him any head apart from sidewards glances. The relationship between the pacifist Wlawek and the army was not good at the best of times, especially as the gendarmerie kept strict discipline among the city’s garrison.

Towards the end of his route Wlawek passed by the War Room, what had once been the Crystal Ballroom but which had been repurposed in order to properly conduct the war. On a large central table lay various maps, with the staff officers of the High Command bent over them. They spoke in hushed voices, knowing the echo of the old halls carried far, but Wlawek caught a few words. “Vishla”, “Bridgehead” and “Nyfir Bridge” were among them. Wlawek even caught a glimpse of president Jerabek himself, nodding at a lieutenant with a telephone.

“Copy, 3rd MIB. You are cleared to assist; air support will…”

Wlawek turned the corner and returned to his office in the Interior Wing, taking the direct route that took him through the Royal Hall. It had at one time been filled with portraits of the Royal Family stretching back to the 1500s; when the communists took over they had at least had the decency to take them all down. The new Republican government had put some of them back, but only a number that was tasteful, and only the kings and queens Jerabek could get behind.

The ones he could get behind…

Wlawek sat down in the chair behind his oaken desk, from where he could look out of the city below. From atop the Palatine Hill, a large portion of the inner city was in view. Barrage balloons hung over it now, and various warships lay either in port or were sailing up the river Kurmu. It was so silent in the Palace… Like the country was recovering from a bad hangover, and no-one could disturb it for fear of causing a headache. Or like the city was holding its breath. A wing of bombers with roaring engines flew over the city, mostly to let the city know the Republic was still in charge. But Wlawek knew how tenuous it was. Communists, fascists, monarchists, all abound and at each other’s throats, thinking they could beat one another by force of arms, and Jerabek to proud and too afraid to show weakness to even contemplate peaceful solutions. Total war, total surrender, the propaganda posters all over the city said. To continue until every last communist was dead. A frightful task, if Wlawek was to consider its implications.

The monarchists could be reasoned with. Constitutional monarchy was popular both with the Church and with many Republicans. Perhaps even the Third Positionists could be reasoned with, as long as they faced the communist as a common enemy. But Jerabek would have none of it. He had shut down Wlawek’s inroads twice, the second time screaming something about strength and traitors and… Well, it mattered little. Jerabek had chosen the hardest possible war to fight, and Wlawek would have to partially fight it for him. He looked down at his desk, a large stack of papers and reports begging for his attention. He picked up the first one, and checked the title.

“Fascist infiltration of police forces and prison complexes, 1935-1941”

“Here we go” Wlawek whispered to himself as he committed himself to his labour.

by **The Hindustani State** » Fri Feb 05, 2021 9:50 pm

KLS Advance

SOUTH WEST VALANIA - An offensive by the King’s Loyal Army in the Southwest Peninsula, led by Major General Gregory Kamen, against all odds, seems to have broken through Republican forces at the border. KLS soldiers were greeted with cheers and shouts of support as they descended on the villages and towns just North of the SW Peninsula, as the region holds monarchist sympathies, despite the local military forces staying loyal to the Republic. This offensive is a surprising, yet relatively blow the the Republic, for whom the KLS is a considerably smaller threat as compared to the Communists and the NPF.

Church bells rang in celebration and members of the clergy rejoiced as KLS forces descended upon the City of Bratisk, just north of the SW Peninsula. It is evident that popular support in the Southwest region as a whole lies with the KLS, especially support from the religious establishment. However, the KLS gains do not seem to have translated into a sweeping turn in the balance of the conflict in Valania. Despite that, military analysts at the Herald say that the boosted morale from the momentum could dramatically shift the position of the KLS in this conflict, if built into a continuous offensive. What the response of the Republic shall be remains to be seen. The office of President Oto Jerabek as declined to comment on this matter.

Today in Novomaw, General Kvido Syzkin held a military parade and played the Royal March on Valanian soil for the first time since the fall of the monarchy, presumably to boost morale and instill cause among KLS soldiers.

Factory Bombing in Glazhonsk

GLAZHONSK - Reports have come of a factory bombing in Glazhonsk. This bombing occurred at a weapons factory in the city of Glazhonsk, which reportedly had been making weapons for the communist militias. Four workers died in the explosion, and the factory has been rendered useless. Communist leader Krystof Stejskal issued the following press statement,

"The perpetrators of this bombing are likely reactionaries seeking to undermine the worker’s revolution. In order for the safety and security of the worker’s revolution, any treasonous activities against the people and the revolution shall be severely punished. The police have been dispatched to conduct a full investigation of this incident, and the perpetrators, who lie among us in Glazhonsk, shall be caught at all costs.

Long live the revolution!"

Rumors circulated that the bombing was conducted by NPF "Fifth Columnists," other rumors say the bombing was done by supporters of the dissident communist and author of The Philosophy of Anarchism and Libertarian Communism, Vasiliy Malin, who hasn’t been seen in public since the General Strikes were proclaimed. Before the strikes, Malin gained notoriety for his fierce criticism of Stejskal, to the point where he referred to Stejskal as a "secret Lichtor," referring to the NPF paramilitaries. It is rumored Malin has fled the city to avoid political violence directed against him.

by **Cylarn** » Sat Feb 06, 2021 8:13 pm

Scout Platoon
Third Mechanized Infantry Brigade
On the western banks of the Balerian River

The road leading to the Nyfir Bridge served as a demarcation line between the farmland of the Central Hinterlands, and the forest wilderness that dominated most everything south of Glazhonsk. Where the fields were flat and rolling, free of stones and logs after generations of diligent cultivation, the forest concealed all manners of hills and creeks and stones. It was difficult for infantry to traverse in strength; utterly impossible for vehicles outside of the few footpaths wide enough for a truck to fit through, and even then rocks and ditches posed a serious obstacle. However, for a force of twenty experienced foresters, the forest served as the most ideal pathway to travel without hassle.

Departing from the traditional uniform of the motorcycle troops, the Third's dedicated reconnaissance platoon dressed and equipped themselves suitable for their role. Walking through the woods in widely-spaced lines, they practically blended in with the surrounding foliage. All of them wore long tent quarters as ponchos, colored in a disruptive forest camouflage pattern. Most wore brush and branches on their helmets, secured with the cloth band unique to the Third. Also unique were the rifles; a common 7.92mm bolt-action of the Republican Army, modified with better rifling as well as long-range scopes.

At the head of the line was Captain Gnieslund, his head swiveling every now and then as to survey the area around him. Like a hunter, he moved with the stock of his rifle up to his shoulder, ready to quickly level his weapon if a target crossed his path. Forests were prime spots for ambushes, especially with his troops having crossed into Communist territory a mile downstream from Nyfir. They were now at least three miles into Communist territory. Maintaining his pace, Gnieslund released the handguard of his rifle, tilting his wrist as to look down at the time. His prey was waiting, and they had twelve minutes before air support would be moving in.

Suddenly, he dropped down into a crouch and raised his rifle. The rest of his men followed suit, keeping their barrels pointed downwards and their eyes on their captain. The crunching of leaves drew closer. Movement. Gnieslund looked through his scope and breathed a sigh of relief; a pair of camouflaged soldiers approached. He lowered his rifle, and the two soldiers moved briskly in his direction, taking a knee before him. One of them reached into his satchel, pulling out a notebook and positioning himself next to Gnieslund. He opened up the notebook, revealing a rough sketch. Phallic-shaped symbols, drawn in red ink, sat side by side in a line of five. A square, and a handful of circles were scattered around the guns.

"Five guns," Gnieslund said in a hushed voice, looking down at the sketch.

"There is another issue. They have a quad."

There was an AA battery; by the slang term used, it meant they had a four-barreled heavy machine gun platform. It was the type that could rip apart a ground attack aircraft in its attack run. Gnieslund could no longer accomplish his objective by simply calling in the location.

"I see. We will have to deal with that. How many sentries are on the ground?"

"From what we saw, a single squad of nine. Three were mobile, four are smoking cigarettes by a truck, and two are standing vigil by the ends of the gun emplacement."

"At each gun?"

"Three, with one officer for every three guns."

"And their command post?"

"I counted only three entering the fortified box. There may be more."

Gnieslund nodded in acknowledgement. He turned around to face the rest of the platoon, cradling his rifle in his arms. "Second Squad, on me. Third Squad, hold here and put eyes on the road."

He turned back to the soldier who had delivered the news. "Go to my radioman and send the map reference to Brigade HQ."

With that, Gnieslund set off down the path towards the artillery position, six men following behind him. The captain moved at a light jog, staying in the relative cover and concealment offered by a forest ridge running through the area. The path had been trailblazed before; had there been a risk of detection, protocol would have caused First Squad to post sentries along the path as to guide the rest of the platoon undetected. The goal now, was to get to the artillery battery and "prep" it for the air support.

Not before long, Gnieslund could tell by the spacing between the tree cover ahead and above, that the forest was about to end. His eyes looked up into the hefty branches; two soldiers sat concealed amid the branches. Gnieslund gave a slight whistle; a bush ahead of him rose up, revealing a smiling, camouflaged soldier. Without a word, this man motioned for Gnieslund to follow him in a low crouch, moving towards the edge of the treeline. Both men took to a prone position. Gnieslund drew out a pair of binoculars.

The scene was almost perfectly as it was in the earlier depiction. The focus of most of the men was upon lobbing as many shells as possible towards the Nyfir Bridge. A symbiotic relationship between the crews played out; three men worked in unison, picking up and passing the shells to be loaded. Gnieslund could hear the shouting of the officers standing behind the gun emplacement, calling out adjustments to the range and sway of their fire. There were others, walking in and out of a sandbag bunker covered by a metal sheet, with a long antenna sticking out from the top. On the opposite side of the artillery, sat the quad-barreled AA emplacement and the truck it was towed by, manned by three men. The barrels pointed upwards, the crew idling about the emplacement.

"Air support is on the way," Gnieslund said. "But we need to take out that quad, and the command post."

The captain paused for a moment. "How many satchel charges and rifle grenades do we have?"

"Four charges per squad, and two grenadiers mean me have sixteen rifle grenades," the other soldier said. Gnieslund nodded in acknowledgement.

"Two pairs of two men. The rest of the squads take position here, and at the other treeline facing the rear of the guns. Our pairs will close in on either target and deploy their charges. They will have to low-crawl and avoid detection, but if things get hairy, I want both squads to immediately provided directed covering fire."

And so, the course was set. The two squads of scouts took up positions around the treeline surrounding the artillery site, organizing themselves in an L-shape and taking sight of potential targets. Two pairs of infiltrators broke from the treeline, crawling amid the tall grass towards their objectives, stopping every now and then in order to avoid detection. Gnieslund peered through the binoculars, watching the men as they drew ever closer to their objectives.

"Fucker!" a voice cut through the explosions. The mission was compromised. Rifle fire began to ring out, the scouts putting down accurate fire on the suddenly aware Communist troops. Rounds flew about in the L-shaped killing field, Republican marksmen targeting the ground troops from two different directions. The two men closing in on the AA gun moved low and systematically; one stayed stationary, firing their rifle at the Communists as they scrambled for their rifles, sitting nearby, while the other soldier bounded forward before reciprocating the gesture. Fire and movement. The two closed in, one of them quickly pulling the satchel charge forward and priming it, with both men quickly sprinting for the treeline.

Gnieslund grinned as he watched the AA gun erupt with a fiery flash, the explosive charge of the satchel and the full magazine of the gun combining in ignition to destroy the piece. He then looked to the command bunker. A submachine gun barrel appeared to be sticking from the entrance, letting out a hail of bullets that forced the next pair of infiltrators to hold their position and stay low. Rounds bounced off of the exterior of the bunker; one of the soldiers close to the bunker attempted to toss in the satchel charge, only to be met with a hail of bullets that tore open his chest and spilled his guts upon the grass. The satchel fell ten feet short of the bunker, and the explosion did little but kick up dirt and likely stagger the men inside. Gnieslund pulled his eyes away from the binoculars and turned back down the line.

"Pass it down: all rifle grenades, fire on that bunker!" He shouted amid the gunfire. The grenadier closest to him obliged, popping a blank round into the chamber of his weapon, and then fixing a rifle grenade to the barrel mounted. His left hand flipped up the sight for the grenade launcher, and he raised the weapon up. A few moments passed, and he pulled the trigger. The grenade struck the roof of the bunker, damaging the antenna as another grenade struck directly in front of the open entrance to the bunker.

Gnieslund grinned; their objective was complete, and just in the nick of time. Even without the binoculars, his naked eyes could see six trucks hauling from the distance towards the artillery site. Two trucks in front carried heavy machine guns, and they raked the trees with automatic fire.

"PEEL OFF, FROM THE END!" Gnieslund yelled as he ducked down to avoid being struck by the incoming fire. The order echoed down the line; the scouts, starting at the end, began to fall back to join the rest of the platoon a mile away. Each man waited his turn, continuing to pick targets and take shots until it came their turn to exfiltrate from the combat zone. From there, it was a matter of avoiding serious engagement until they could cross the river.

by **Bolslania** » Sun Feb 07, 2021 12:21 pm

Captain Chkalov Saveliy "Sava" Ruslanovich
East Valania
Nyfir Bridge, 1 hour later

"Sir! 3rd and 4th Company have arrived!" Lieutenant Uvarov Dmitrievich shouted in his ear, Sava nodded as he was reloading his PPD. The barrel was beginning to steam, he had been firing it for damn near 40 minutes straight. He would've normally run out of ammunition by now, but the dead and wounded were no longer in need of theirs. He looked over the trench, seeing the trucks pull to a stop and unload their passengers behind cover.

Corporal Konstantinovich ran up, carrying the field radio box in his hand, his face was covered in dirt and blood, but his face was set. He dropped down, sitting next to Sava.

"Sir! Major Valeryevich ordered an assault once 3rd and 4th Company make it up, we got word that our artillery got attacked about 15 minutes ago!" Sava nodded. Fuck how did they get to our artillery?

"Fresh mags! Pass it down! Fresh mags!" Sava shouted, NCOs and Lieutenants began passing the word down, men expended the last few rounds in their SMGs and changing out for fresh mags, crouching down. For a moment the battlefield was quiet. The occasional pop of a rifle from the Republicans. Konstantinovich was listening to his radio, finally he said Yes sir. setting down the telephone on to the rack, slinging it on his back.

"We go over the top at the minute sir." Sava looked at his watch, that was about 20 seconds from now.

"20 seconds!" Sava shouted, it was passed on by Lieutenants. The few riflemen that were still alive fixed their bayonets, men weren't showing it, but it was clear that they were nervous. Sava looked at his watch, it was time.

"Lets get em boys!" He shouted. A shout arose from the men in the trench and the men behind them. Sava pulled himself out of the trench, his men following him. He sprinted forward, men falling as Republicans shot back intermittently. They were about 25 yards from the Republicans, with the other companies about 30 yards behind them. They came upon a dugout, throwing themselves to the ground as rifle fire erupted from it. Sava threw some rounds back, but to no effect. In his peripheral, he could see a man advancing to it in a low crawl. The man pulled a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and flicked away the spoon. There was shouting as the Republicans attempted to get out, but the grenade exploded before they could escape. Sava got back to his feet, the man next to him falling with a scream. He and a Private charged at a trench, mowing down the surprised Republicans inside. Sava dropped into the trench, followed by his comrade's corpse. He stared in shock for a moment, a scream bringing him out of his stupor. A man 15 feet away had taken a bullet to the gut and was bleeding out in the middle of a field. Sava made a quick and brash decision, leaping out of the trench. A medic in a crater had the same idea, and the two hoisted the man up, carrying him into the slit trench. The medic set to work, sticking a morphine needle into the man and applying pressure to the wound. The man breathed raggedly. Sava took stock of the surroundings. They had taken the first set of defenses, but they still had a fresh battalion of enemy infantry to deal with.

by **Cylarn** » Sun Feb 07, 2021 1:13 pm

Istvan Kalwa
At Nyfir Bridge

Istvan winced as he saw the Communist charge actually succeed in pushing back the first Republican line on the eastern shoreline. He knew that the first line had been in the engagement since the start, but despite how expected their retreat might have been, Istvan's heart stoll skipped a beat as he sat on one knee at the second line, flanked on both sides by a stronger line of fireteams armed with rifles and light machine guns and positioned behind dugout barriers. Some of the retreating Republican troops dropped down into a prone position upon reaching the second line. Others simply continued running east. Slung around his shoulder was a submachine gun of wood furniture and a side-mounted box magazine; he took the weapon in both hands, leveling it at the new Communist position on their side of the river. More were crossing, and he could clearly see the improvised bridge being drawn in closer and closer. He looked over his shoulder, out to an officer standing several yards behind him.

"Readjust by twenty yards! The enemy is on our banks!" Istvan shouted amid the roaring gunfire. He turned around to face the Communist positions, firing a burst of five rounds towards the dugouts before ducking down to avoid a hail of returning fire. He looked down at his watch. We have five minutes. Istvan stayed low, watching the mortar position.

The officer, holding binoculars, turned around and repeated the command to the section of eight mortars positioned at the rear of the formation. Upon the order reaching them, the two-man teams hastily began to re-dial the trajectory of their mortars as to target the eastern banks.

"On my command, fire!" another officer, positioned with the mortar section, called out. The teams obliged, dropping the shells into the barrels. A loud popping sound, the in-unison firing of the mortars, erupted. Puffs of white smoke were visible to Istvan.

"INCOMING!" he yelled, prompting the men around him to duck their heads down and echo the command.

In and around the Communist positions, eight mortar rounds impacted the ground. Dirt and shrapnel flew up and around the Communist shoulders; the simultaneous impacts shook the ground as an earthquake would. After a few mere moments without shooting from the Republican side, the gunfire erupted again as the Republicans poked their heads up and took to their weapons. Savic, moving low, approached Istvan on his right, holding out the receiver for him to take. The Brigadier ducked down, taking the receiver from Savic and bringing it to his ear.

"Go ahead," he said, speaking loudly over the gunfire.

"Scout Platoon, regrouping with the battalion. We have destroyed an AA emplacement and a command structure. Enemy position at Map Reference 045269."

Istvan let a smile creep onto his face. "Copy that. Return to the Nyfir for further orders."

Istvan turned around to look at the mortar observer. "Start marking the opposite side of the shore with red smoke!"

The fighting carried on, mortars and Republican machine guns laying down consistent fire upon the Communist assault. Red smoke hung over the western banks, as a quartet of monoplanes could be seen drawing closer and closer from a high altitude.

"Number Three Squadron, making attack run," a voice called out over the Republican channels.

Almost moving in a line formation, the planes swooped low in a semi-dive pattern. Their machine guns came into play, serving to strafe the men and vehicles on the western shoreline. Drawing in close, two of the planes released sixteen-pound bombs onto the positions below, before the squadron broke away, heading further into Communist territory.

by **The Hindustani State** » Mon Feb 08, 2021 6:49 am

Battle of Nyfir Bridge
While having inflicted heavy casualties on the Republican forces, with air support on Republican side, and Communist artillery and AA destroyed, orders came from the People’s Army High Command to retreat and regroup for the time being to Captain Ruslanovich

by **Russkiya Svyachena** » Mon Feb 08, 2021 8:59 am

Vasiliy Malin
Glazhonsk

Malin’s band of dissident anarchists were now in the full wrath of Stejskal. Following the factory bombing, intense police investigations were put in and the group could no longer safely hold meetings. However, at the last meeting, concerted efforts were made to secretly recruit more and more workers to the anarchist cause. Almost everyone in the group was involved in trade unions, and would encourage workers to sabotage factories, however, no major plans were made yet as many of the union leadership still allied with Stejskal and the communists. The though was, through secret meetings and underground passing of messages, another general strike could be coordinated to oppose Stejskal’s rule, once the numbers were in.

The issue with that was communist focus overall would be diverted from the war effort, and the one thing worse than Stejskal’s rule in Malin’e eyes was the Republic or the NPF defeating the entire communist party as a whole. Instead, the plan was to scale up striking and violence, yet not outright revolt, but offer a compromise with Stejskal to allow anarchists into the communist party leadership. This would hopefully lead to a democratization of the party as a whole.

And so, the operation was set in motion. In order to avoid the secret police, anarchists would go under aliases and wear trench coats when engaging in political business. Communication was maintained between anarchists through exchanging letters at pre-decided meeting spots, usually late at night and out of the public eye. These letters would contain planning information and were carefully encrypted with a cipher. Through these letters, an anarchist network would be built up in the city of Glazhonsk, with the support of some labor unions.

Malin himself would be at the center of this, going under numerous different aliases and spreading rumors that "Vasiliy Malin" had fled to the North, in order to divert the attention of the secret police.

by **Bolslania** » Mon Feb 08, 2021 10:45 am

Captain Chkalov Saveliy "Sava" Ruslanovich
East Valania
Nyfir Bridge, 2 minutes later

High pitched whistling pierced the battlefield as the Republicans stopped shooting. There was a moments pause, followed by a

"Get down!" Men threw themselves to the ground as mortars landed, the shelling having barely stopped when the roar of engines and machineguns screamed overhead. Sava watched as one of the planes swooped over the command dugout, dropping a bomb. The dugout exploded, bits of wood and body parts flying through the air. Konstantinovich rolled into the slit trench next to Sava, shouting in his ear.

"Sir! Command has ordered a retreat for regrouping! You're in charge!" He shouted over the screaming and shooting. Sava swore.

"Fuck! Alright, we're pulling out." Sava stood up, waving his arm in the air.

"Pull back! Pull back!" Sergeants and Lieutenants had men throw smoke grenades as they retreated back to their rendezvous point. Medics and stretcher-bearers attempted to grab as many wounded as possible, but many were left there ahead of the Republicans. Sava and his men ran back to the river, fetching up as the engineers intercepted them. A major pushed his way up to Sava.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked, looking up and down Sava, who was covered in blood and dirt.

"They repulsed us sir, they reinforced with a new battalion of motorbike infantry and mortars. Major Valeryevich was killed in an airstrike." The engineer major rubbed a hand over his face.

"Are you the one in charge here?" he asked. Sava nodded. The engineers had slowed working, some listening in on what was being said. The improvised bridge was only partially completed. With the engineers in the way it would be damn near impossible to get across to their rendezvous point.

"Sir we got orders to cross back over the river for a regroup, now we can't do that unless your men retreat as well. I don't know what our current plan is but we're probably going to rally with the rest of the 1st Bilsoy and try again." Sava said, his men had taken up defensive positions, in case the Republicans had decided to chase after them. It appeared the enemy was holding their ground there. In the distance explosions and gunfire could be heard at other parts of the ongoing battle.

"Alright, we'll clear the way." The major said, he turned and began barking instructions, engineers began to pack up their gear as they walked across the bridge. while it was no where near complete it could support the weight of the infantrymen as they crossed.

by **Cylarn** » Mon Feb 08, 2021 6:04 pm

Brigadier I. Kalwa
Nyfir Bridge

The air support - coupled with the efforts of the mortar section- had done just the trick for the Republicans; Istvan stared on at the sight of the remainder of the Communist forces on the other side of the bridge falling back. Fire had engulfed the improvised wooden bridge, and the strafing run had shredded the engine and cabin of the truck pushing it into position. The few soldiers who had managed to cross the four-foot-deep river also began to fall back under the cover of a smoke screen. The Republican soldiers kept up their fire. Istvan held up his left hand into the air, his right keeping hold of his weapon.

"CEASE FIRE!" he shouted repeatedly, looking down the line. Accordingly, the command was echoed by the battalion commanders and on down by the junior officers and NCOs.

The gunfire slowed, and then trickled, and finally the guns stopped firing. The mortars also stopped. Istvan decided to sling his weapon over his shoulder, and turned back to Savic.

"Radio," he said calmly. It was time to report in the results to High Command, and the last thing he wanted was to be tied up defending Nyfir Bridge while the eastern garrisons sat miserly over the units at their disposal. The motorbikes make sure we get to the thick of it, at the right time. We can't respond along the river if we are tied up at one point. Savic, crouching beside Istvan, passed him the receiver once more.

"Third MIB to High Command," he said, following up with a repetition of the hail. "Enemy forces appear to be retreating. Enemy bridge is immobilized and not yet established. Requesting reinforcements to establish a hardpoint here. Over."

Something on the other end caught Savic's eye. The sergeant drew out his own binoculars and brought them to bear at the opposite shore. There were men moving towards the bridge equipment; some carried tools and surveying equipment, while others were attempting to lead a team of horses over to the immobilized truck, in order to tow the bridge up to the stone remainders of the Nyfir.

"The engineers are back," he said as he lowered the binoculars." Before Istvan could respond, the radio crackled. Gunfire was erupting elsewhere in the distance.

"Second Battalion to Third MIB HQ. We have made contact with the enemy. Over."

Istvan looked over at Savic. "I will coordinate the response for the engineers. Stay here, and ensure that Second completes their objectives, and that Third continues to hold the shore downriver in case the Communists attempt a crossing."

With that said, Istvan broke away from the positions, and passed behind them, moving back to the area in which most of the bikes were corralled. He quickly made it to his bike, pulling from the sidecar a long bullhorn, and quickly dashed back towards the Republican positions. He skidded to a halt as he passed the mortar section, and he began scanning his ranks. Marksmen...where are my shooters?

Before long, he spotted a gaggle of men, clad in camouflage smocks and sporting scoped rifles, lined up along a small hill to the rear of the dugouts. Some of them sat crouched, guns leveled out towards the Communist-controlled banks. Others sat idle, smoking cigarettes and taking the opportunity in the lull to grab a breather. Istvan strode over to them; a dour-looking man sitting at the center of the group stood up, cradling his rifle as he walked over to Istvan.

"Good fighting, eh sir?" the chap said, giving a toothy grin to his commander. Istvan reciprocated the grin, and made eye contact with the soldier.

"Who is your best shot, Lieutenant? I have a job," Istvan stated.

The Lieutenant pointed to a man sitting at the far right of the line, and Istvan took sight of him. My God, he doesn't look much older than Stepan and Pytor. Istvan gave the Lieutenant a courteous nod, and moved down the line to the soldier. The young marksman, baby-faced but almost dead in the pits of his eyes, looked up at the Brigadier and attempted to stand up before Istvan held up his right hand.

"Stay seated, son," Istvan said as he took a seated position to the boy's right. "Name?"

The soldier looked back to the bridge. "Garo, sir."

Istvan nodded, and pulled out his binoculars from his personal satchel, bringing them to eye level. "Take scope, Garo. Do you see the engineers; specifically, the one walking about and barking orders?"

Garo brought his weapon to bear and peered through the scope. Sitting on his butt with his knees up to his chest, Garo used his knees to balance the rifle as he began to gradually slow his breaths. He saw his target; a portly Communist officer to the center-rear of the other engineers. Garo brought the reticle level with the man's chest. "Got him, sir."

May God forgive me come my Day of Judgement, for this unholy act of assassination. "Fire," Istvan calmly ordered, his sights trained on the target whose fate he had marked. Garo responded by holding his breath, taking a few seconds to assess his target. With a firm, heavy, gradual pull of the trigger, the rifle let loose a single round. The round hit dead-center in the man's chest, sending him colliding with the ground five feet behind him, where he laid motionless. A warning.

Istvan patted Garo on the shoulder. The marksman looked up from his scope, eyes refusing to meet Istvan's.

"Good work, Garo," Istvan said as he stood up, walking back down to the forward positions. He moved up to a machine gun emplacement, taking care to be to their right. Istvan brought the bullhorn up to his mouth, and decided to play a little diplomacy. The Communists still had wounded men on both sides of the river, writhing in pain and calling out for help, while their comrades retreated and regrouped. I hope the Communists hear this.

"I am Brigadier Istvan Kalwa of the Valanian Republican Army!" he shouted through the bullhorn. "Withdraw your engineers from their futile task! I am prepared to grant you five minutes to withdraw your wounded. You have fifteen seconds to deliver me an answer, or I will turn your shoreline positions into a crater!"

He turned to the men at his left, and brought the bullhorn to his chest. "If they do not respond in fifteen seconds, rake up the rest of the engineers."

Istvan looked back over his shoulder, to the mortar section. The officer in charge was already staring right at him, having anticipated the next order. Istvan gave a single nod; the officer turned around, barked an order, and the mortar teams responded by adjusting their mortars for the range of the opposing shoreline.

by **Bolslania** » Tue Feb 09, 2021 7:26 am

Captain Chkalov Saveliy "Sava" Ruslanovich
East Valania
Nyfir Bridge, 1 minute later

A shot echoed out across the former battlefield. The major of the engineers flew backwards. There was a moment of shock from the retreating engineers and infantrymen. A man shouted Sniper! and men were scrambling for cover. A moment later, Kalwa's voice carried down the small hill towards the Communists.

Cylarn wrote:
"I am Brigadier Istvan Kalwa!" he shouted through the bullhorn. "Withdraw your engineers from their futile task! I am prepared to grant you five minutes to withdraw your wounded. You have fifteen seconds to deliver me an answer, or I will turn your shoreline positions into a crater!"

Rage replaced the shock in Sava. The audacity of that Republican bastard to shoot an unarmed engineer and then call for a ceasefire was asinine at best. Sava reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, waving it in the air at the republicans. Hopefully that would be taken as an answer. Sava called over Konstantinovich, who jogged over, low to the ground.

"How long until the rest of the Battalion gets here?" Sava asked, his rage barely veiled. Konstantinovich's face was hard set as well.

"7 minutes." He said, looking up at the Republicans. "Here's the best part sir, they secured a Ba-10 for our use." Sava and Konstantinovich both grinned maliciously. The Republicans would pay for what they did. Sava gestured to the engineers.

"Get across the fucking bridge, go!" He shouted. The engineer's dragged the corpse of their commanding officer, picking up their gear along the way. He turned to Lieutenant Dmitrievich, who was kneeling a few feet away.

"Get your men to start reinforcing these positions. We know damn well that bastard is just postponing turning this place into a crater." Dmitrievich nodded, and started barking at his men. The soldiers gather up pieces of wood and scrap metal, anything to reinforce the small trenches that were being dug. Sava picked up the major's bullhorn.

"This is Captain Chkalov Ruslanovich of the 1st Bilsoy Mechanized Infantry Battalion!" He shouted through the bullhorn. Sava stood on one of the walkways that the engineer's had been using to help lower the planks on to the bridge, hoping that this Brigadier Kalwa would have the decency to respect his own damn ceasefire.

"Your ceasefire is accepted, our medics will be out shortly!" He said. Setting the bullhorn down, saying audibly to the men around him, the bullhorn laying on the ground, he said

"You won't have wounded to worry about when we're done with you." The men around him chuckled and grumbled, obviously they were as angry as he was. Sava looked around for his marksmen. Of which he had two, god knows if they survived the battle though. There, Sergeant Emanuel Raducanu, sitting on the Communist side of the bridge. Something of a foreigner to Bilsoy, but a damn good shot. Sava walked over to him

"Emanuel, I need you to find me that sniper." He said, Raducanu nodded, kneeling down silently. He set his Mosin-nagant with a 3x scope on a rock, scanning the Republican positions silently. Suddenly the traverse of his rifle stopped,

"Got him." Raducanu said, his voice distant. He was clearly seeking the kill. Sava put a hand on his shoulder.

"I want you to fire on my command, no sooner. We know that he will start mortaring us as soon as our medics aren't in the way." Raducanu grunted in acknowledgement. His grip and focus on the rifle decreasing slightly, but his reticle was still firmly affixed to the skull of the Republican sniper.

The medics sprinted across the bridge, stretchers in their hands. They loaded the living up first, ambulances had been pulled up, they were horse-drawn but they did the job. A field hospital must be nearby. The engineers got on to their flatbed vehicles they had been using to create a make-shift bridge and started off back towards friendlier territory, they would be no use in a firefight. Sava turned back and headed back over the bridge, getting into a roughly completed slit trench. He helped pull a piece of scrap metal over it, sticking some wooden braces from the engineers stockpile under it to brace it up slightly. The metal and wood would hopefully protect the men from shrapnel. It wouldn't stop a direct hit however. It also provided concealment, it would be harder to see exactly where the men inside were. Sava patted the men on the back as he got out, walking to his other slit trenches and helping his soldiers out, offering words of encouragement to his soldiers as the wounded were caravanned across the bridge. Sandbags had been collected from somewhere and they were being put in front of machineguns and radiomen. Sava found Konstantinovich in a slit trench, speaking into his radio.

"What's the news?" Sava said when Konstantinovich set down the phone.

"Not much of interest, they're bringing extra ammunition to resupply us as well as a section of 81mm mortars. It seems like the plan is to overwhelm them with men and firepower, and push down south to support the main crossing." Sava nodded. Retribution was close at hand. 3rd company was on their left, 40 yards away, and 2nd company was 40 yards to their right. 1st Company was in front of the bridge. Not the perfect layout but it would have to do. The men were reinvigorated by the death of the major, and were ready to give the Republicans hell at a moments notice. Sava looked down at his watch, their five minutes were up.....now. The medics had done it in time, and only the dead remained between the opposing forces. Sava got into the trench with Konstantinovich, some other soldiers joining them. Sava looked over towards the communist side of the river, and noticed Raducanu looking at him, waiting for the signal. Sava didn't want to pre-emptively fire unless he knew he could establish fire superiority, and right now he could not. But with the mortars, armored car, and hundreds of fresh soldiers arriving in 2 minutes, he could.

by **The Imperial Warglorian Empire** » Wed Feb 10, 2021 8:02 am

Maladosk, Murminsk Peninsula
Northern Valania
General Stanislaw Baranovskiy
National Patriotic Front

The Murminks Peninsula was, to be frank, a rather worthless territory. Despite its strategic position to the far north as a halfway point for any ship travelling the cold upper waters, its potential remained unexploited as the territory remained relatively rural. The green hilly countryside was complemented by a climate that never exceeded 18 degrees and the occasional settlement that permeated it.

Sparsely populated, a large proportion of the few hundred thousand citizens that called the peninsula home resided in Maladosk. A coastal settlement, the rather quaint city's tranquil atmosphere was disrupted by the activities of soldiers on its streets. Patrols marched by, as armoured vehicles drove on its roads towards gathering points on the other side of the city. Already the proud eagle of the Republic had been ripped down from flag posts across the city, replaced by the black gear of the National Patriotic Front.

The old red-brick city hall found itself especially changed: the NPF banner hanging from every window, a great many soldiers guarding the premise of what was now the NPF's commandeered HQ in the area.

Inside one of these rooms, a group of men stood around a large table. Wearing black uniforms adorned with gold appaulettes and medals, these men were the high ranking officers of the 7th Armoured Shock "Iron Guard" Division, most of them veterans of previous wars.

Stanislaw Baranovskiy stood at the head of the table, his face stuck in a seemingly perpetual scowl. He had a balding head and a few early wrinkles that spoke of sleepless nights and increasing stress, yet his posture remained rigid and unbending, giving off an intimidating aura.

Stanislaw looked down at the various maps that were laid out on the table: one displayed the entire continent of Valania and detailed the borders of the various factions that made up the civil war according to recent intelligence, while another was more specifically zoomed into his own position in the North.

Stanislaw continued to survey the maps in silence, when one of the officers in the room sneezed, his nose red from the cold.

"My God, it's absolutely freezing," the officer, a Brigadier, complained as he rubbed his nose, "why don't we turn up the heating? Surely they'd have been upgraded by now."

"My words on rationing are final, Brigadier General Bugakev," Stanislaw coldly replied, his face continuing to scan the maps, "I will not waste our resources for your benefit while the rest of the division doesn't even have solid walls."

Bugakev's mouth immediately clamped closed, a look of shame now on his face. While the majority of apartments and hotels had been rented out for the division, the fact of the matter was that the small city barely had the capacity to hold them. And as Stanislaw had forbidden the forceful eviction and seizure of property, that meant many of the division had to reside in tents outside of the city in makeshift camps.

One of the younger officers, a colonel who'd been promoted to replace his superior who'd deserted, spoke up attempting to ease tensions.

"And besides, we need to save the fuel anyways," the young colonel placated, "with our position cut off, the tanks and trucks need all the fuel we can get, especially for the upcoming operation."

"Speaking of the upcoming operation, have you decided upon our next course of action, sir?"

Stanislaw responded with a brief nod, "our situation is dire, we're stranded in enemy territory with the rest of NPF forces to the south,"

"We could hold out in this peninsula for years, but as you all know I detest complacency," Stanislaw continued, "even cut off we must do our duty and support the war effort."

"What do you suggest, sir?" another one of the brigadiers asked.

Stanislaw crossed his arms, "we march on Kurmutsk."

The room fell into silence, various degrees of surprise and shock appearing on the officer's faces.

"...sir?" Bugakev questioned, "you know we would follow you to the end, but-"

"But it seems like quite an extreme course of action, sir," another brigadier finished, "as you say, we're cut off with little possibility for reinforcements, with tens of thousands of enemy troops all around us, is it really wise to march on the enemy's capital in such circumstances?"

Unlike many other officers, Stanislaw was not so pompous as to assume himself without flaw. He often encouraged his officers to question his orders to an extent: he would accept clarification and criticism of his plans, but he would not accept blatant insubordination.

That would be rewarded with severe repercussions.

"Our enemies are occupied, we are a minor presence compared to the other factions in this area and the Communists are occupied with infighting," Stanislaw continued, "Kurmutsk is also a much more developed city, with resources and facilities we could use."

"Marching on Kurmutsk will allow us to solve our resource problem, while supporting the war effort to the South and bring us ever closer to the rest of our forces."

"And what of the Peninsula? Surely we can't just abandon it," the young colonel questioned.

"We will leave a regiment of troops here to defend the territory, and will recruit the help of the locals," Stanislaw replied, "I've already ordered the formation of militia units: these people know this countryside better than any of us. They, along with our own men, could hold off an invasion force in this countryside for months if needed with guerilla tactics."

"Are there any more objections?"

Silence.

"Very well, organise your regiments, we depart as soon as possible."

A while later

Stanislaw stood in the cold breeze, his cap covering his bald head and a black overcoat keeping him warm. Surrounded by his Officer's Staff, he watched as his soldiers loaded both supplies and themselves onto trucks, preparing for the journey ahead in an orderly and disciplined fashion.

As Stanislaw saluted a tank crewman passing by on a T-34, Stanislaw saw grimaced as smoke clashed into his face. Turning to the right, he saw Bugakev puffing onto a rather expensive-looking cigar.

Bugakev was about to go for another drag before he noticed Stanislaw's glare. Nervously chuckling, Bugakev dropped the cigar and extinguished it with his boot to Stanislaw's curt nod.

He sighed, Stanislaw didn't smoke nor did he drink, he thought of both as distractions. Yet, in times like these, he'd been the smallest bit tempted to take some himself.

The other officer's concerns were completely valid, to march on the enemy capital so suddenly was a great risk. But Stanislaw had a duty to his country, and he'd be damned if he was going to waste away in some corner while he had the opportunity to do something.

"I say, who are those chaps over there?" Stanislaw broke away from his inner thoughts as Bugakev pointed at a group of raggedly dressed men on horseback, clearly not being military despite the rifles slung on their backs. One of them approached the group of officers, a rather rugged looking older man with an unkempt grey beard.

"We'd be your guides: the roads and terrain out here ain't exactly convenient," the man said, his accent betraying his countryside and lower-class upbringing, "oh, what are my manners, Damir Aakula at your service."

"Mr Aakula is a member of the local rangers," a young colonel explained, "They will help guide us through the wilderness and get us to Kurmutsk faster, I sought out his men upon recommendations from the locals."

Stanislaw looked over Damir, scrutinising the man, "You are missing a limb."

Damir, surprised, lifted his right arm and removed a glove covering his hand. Rather than flesh and bone, Damir's hand had been replaced by a prosthetic one.

"How'd you know?" Damir asked.

"Your fingers were not moving at all and you heavily favour your left hand to a ridiculous extent."

"Heh, observant lad, aren't you?"

Stanislaw bristled at the blatant disregard of respect namingwise, though kept himself calm, "Are you a veteran then?"

"Indeed lad, lost it in the last war, Friedhom bastard lobbed it off."

"Mhm, and tell me Ranger Aakula, why would I rely on a guide who is missing a limb?"

Damir smirked, "well lad, I've been up and around the place adventuring, returned to the north once the war was over and walked about. When I'd walked across the peninsula, I went through the rest of the north. After that, I went to the South. Soon enough, I'd hiked through the entirety of Valania. I've learnt my fair share of survival tricks, and I know this land, both urban and wilderness, like the back of my one good hand. You won't find any better guides in the entirety of the nation."

Stanislaw stood there for a while, before giving the briefest shadow of a smirk. "Very well then Ranger Aakula, I expect the best of results from you and your group."

Suddenly, an aide marched up to Stanislaw and gave a full salute, "General, the division is ready to head out."

"Good," Stanislaw replied, turning to his officer's staff, "return to your units, we head out immediately."

As the various officers saluted in affirmation then marched off, Stanislaw turned to Damir. "Ready your rangers, they will head to the front of the column and guide the division."

Damir simply nodded as Stanislaw walked off towards his staff car before suddenly stopping and turning back to Damir.

"You are now under the employ of the 7th Armoured Shock Division of the Valanian Army, as such you will address me as either 'sir' or 'general'," Stanislaw stated, his eyes revealing no compromise, "consider this your first and only warning Captain Aakula: we are marching to war, not a social gathering."

by **Cylarn** » Wed Feb 10, 2021 9:18 am

Brigadier I. Kalwa
Third Mechanized Infantry Battalion
The Battle of Nyfir Bridge

"Thank you, Comrade Captain!" Istvan answered back, putting a somewhat sarcastic emphasis on the word 'comrade.' Some of the soldiers around him snickered, to which Istvan responded by giving a playful smile at the soldiers to his left and right, before holding the bullhorn back to his mouth. "The toll rates here are astronomical, if I may say! You're better off heading back to Glazhonsk to catch Happy Hour - if you Reds left the taverns alone, that is!"

The Communists agreed to remove the engineers and take time to gather their wounded. Istvan grinned; it was a genuinely compassionate gesture, from his perspective. Someone has to be the human here. Those Reds would be far too preoccupied with scalping and raping my wounded to care about such things. He peered through his binoculars, observing the withdrawal of the engineers and the arrival of the medical staff. Other Communist soldiers were taking the opportunity to further entrench and reinforce their forward positions. A few of his men were moving about the Republican lines, doing the same for machine gun positions, while other soldiers dug their foxholes deeper, and connected them as to make a rudimentary, shallow trench over the five-minute period. But the majority kept on their guns, wary of a violation of the cease-fire on the part of the Communists.

Istvan lowered his binoculars and stood up. "Keep your guns up!"

The call was further echoed by the sergeants and lieutenants, while Istvan walked towards the commander of the battalion's mortar section. He looked down at his watch. Five minutes.

"Sir, are we intending to resume fire once the five minutes expire?" the officer asked. Istvan made eye contact and gave a single nod. "They are digging in further on the shore, but once their medics clear out, we will pound the shoreline again and see if they hit their breaking point. How is your ammunition supply?"

"Enough for three more minutes of sustained fire," the officer replied. "If we space out our barrage, could double that time. I am confident that we can bring rounds down on top of them, force them back - before we run dry."

"I'll put in a request for resupply. Command has yet to respond about my request for additional forces, but since we got a squadron on scene quickly, things could be going our way today. Once you get down to six shells per mortar, direct the remainder of your fire to hit specific targets at your discretion."

The lieutenant nodded and turned around to face his men, giving out a series of orders as Istvan walked away, looking around once more for his next point of contact. Not too far from the mortar position, he spotted his headquarters company, established in a hastily-built bunker of dirt and sandbags. Teams of enlisted soldiers dashed back and forth, carrying crates of ammunition from the bike supply trailers to the troops on the line. Some officers drew out points on the map.

"ALL BATTALION AND COMPANY COMMANDERS, ON ME, DOUBLE-TIME!" Istvan roared, approaching the front of the bunker and crouching down. He looked at the time. Three minutes, thirty seconds. Looking back up, he saw a collection of officers sprinting over to him; within a few seconds, he had all of his senior officers circled around him.

"This is very brief and straight-forward," he began. "We are opening up at the end of the five minutes, so..."

He looked down his watch, and winced. Three minutes; I hate time. "Three minutes from now. Our medics need to get as many of the wounded and dead out before then. As for the rest of your men, make sure they are ready to go once the mortars initiate our fire. Our goal now, is to buy time for reinforcements to shore up a fortress or whatever here."

With that, Istvan stood up, giving a nod to the officers. "Carry on. Ygor, I want the marksmen dispersed among the infantry, instead of sitting on their asses. Pass on the order to place priority upon any identifiable sergeants that they can hit."

Istvan looked around the command assembly, eventually finding Savic, sitting down and messing with his radio, cigarette hanging from his mouth. "Savic! Get Number Two back on the horn; I want them to give me one last run on the Reds. If they have any munitions and fuel left, I want them to harass anything that could harm us, especially if Glazhonsk is sending more men."

Savic nodded and began turning the dials before he stood up, receiver in hand and the radio on his back, following behind Istvan as he walked back to his original position. "Number Two Squadron, come in. This is Third MIB, requesting additional strafing run on Communist forces at Nyfir. Personal discretion permitted. Please respond. Over."

Istvan crouched behind the earthen barrier, his knees squat in the muddy red foxhole. He unslung his submachine gun, setting it barrel-forward on top of the barrier. Garo soon joined him, taking up position to his right. Istvan gave the young man a nod of courtesy, unaware that the young man was being hunted by an adversary on the other side of the river. Then, Istvan looked back at his wrist. Thirty seconds. He dropped the bullhorn and looked out to the opposite shore. The Communist medics were wrapping up the show, loading up the last batch of wounded from their shoreline. One company of Communists sat entrenched right around their remnants of the Nyfir. At least two platoons-worth of dead Republicans laid strewn across the Republican side of the Balerian. Istvan wanted a few seconds of peace; the dead wouldn't let him have that peace. He turned his attention to the enemy medics, who were just now clearing out. I will carry your bodies off of this forsaken shore. Just give me more time. Please.

Istvan dropped his hand, and the word "FIRE!" was shouted to his rear. Time's up; go back to Glazhonsk. The pop-crack of multiple mortars erupted, and the Republican firing positions soon began directing a combination of rifle and machine gun fire, backed by rifle grenades and the firepower of the mortars reigning overhead onto the Communist-controlled shoreline.

by **Bolslania** » Wed Feb 10, 2021 12:07 pm

Captain Chkalov Saveliy "Sava" Ruslanovich
East Valania
Nyfir Bridge, 25 seconds later

They all heard it. The relative silence of the Communist lines did nothing to mask the whistle of the incoming mortar rounds.

"Here it comes boys!" Sava shouted. Men ducked down in their trenches as the mortar rounds slammed in. Sava was in the trench with Konstantinovich, along with several other soldiers. He stuck a hand out, giving a thumbs up to Raducanu. Raducanu on his part was grateful for the signal, his position was pretty strong, but he didn't feel like staying out any longer, especially seeing as how he had counted at least 4, maybe 5 Republican marksmen moving around. He set his eyes back to his sight, his mark hadn't moved. An older man was standing next to him, holding an SMG. But that wasn't his target. His target was scanning the communist lines, looking to find a sergeant or officer to pick up.

Raducanu took a deep breath, drowning out the explosions and gunfire. He let out some of the air, his reticle setting neatly and steadily on the snipers head. He placed his finger on the trigger, a mortar round landed nearby, throwing dirt on him. He ignored it, that was irrelevant right now. He applied minor pressure to the trigger, he would not be surprised by the gunshot. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the trigger clicked and the pin came down on the 7.62×54mm round, the bullet soared through the air, and a handful of milliseconds later, found its target, connecting with the snipers head. The enemy sniper fell backwards. Raducanu quickly worked the bolt on the Mosin Nagant, a hot casing jumping out and hitting the ground. He pushed the bolt forward and down, bringing a new round into the chamber. He knew he should move, but this damn mortar fire was making that hard to do. He had a handful of options. He could try to crawl to a new firing position, but crawling through the mortars would be very dangerous. He could try and sprint in between mortar barrages, but that would increase the likelihood that an enemy sniper saw him and took him out. Or he could stay where he was and try and use the chaos of the firefight to pick off the enemy snipers before they found his bolthole. He knew it was only a matter of time before they found him. He deliberated for a moment before bringing his eye back to the scope, scanning the Republican positions. He wouldn't shoot unless he would hit, and he was focused on hitting enemy snipers. They were the danger. The mortars would be used to fix the communists in position, and the snipers would pick them off. He would like to go after the mortar crews, but he couldn't see them, for the Republican officer obviously had a brain in his skull, and had hidden them from sight.

Raducanu was scanning the Republican positions, staying almost perfectly still, the only movement being the slow and steady movement of his rifle. He hadn't seen anything, he checked boltholes he would've chosen, and had seen nothing. He was currently working his way through the Republican trenchlines, this would take a bit for him to pick out the snipers hiding amongst regular infantry. On his part, he was hiding behind a collection of rocks, his rifle set in between two rocks. It wasn't great cover but it was excellent camouflage.

Sava crouched down in his slit trench, the wood planks and scrap metal above him giving him at least the illusion of safety as the mortars and machine gun fire rained upon him and his men. Konstantinovich crouched down beside him, the two endured the barrage in silence. Some of the riflemen tried to occasionally fire of a shot back at the Republicans. The sandbags provided a fair amount of protection, the men inside not needing to expose themselves to fire. Sava flicked the fire selector on his PPD to semi-automatic. He slowly crouched up, bringing the barrel of the SMG just above the trenchline, a bullet slammed into the sandbags, making him flinch a bit. He tried to find a target but the hail of fire made that difficult, he squeezed off a few shots before ducking back down. He could hear the clacking of a DP28 somewhere nearby, returning fire to the Republicans. Brigadier Kalwa had done exactly what Sava suspected he was going to do, but there was only so much that could be done about it. Sava dropped down again, gesturing for the telephone, Konstantinovich nodded and passed it over to him.

Sava depressed the transmit button, and shouted into the speaker over the sounds of fighting.

"Bilsoy Actual this is Bilsoy 1! Do you copy!?" He shouted, taking his finger off the button, pressing the phone up to his ear. A moment later a reply came in.

"Bilsoy 1 this is Bilsoy Actual, we copy you, whats the situation?" came a calm voice of a Battalion HQ officer. Sava replied.

"We're facing off against at least a battalion of enemy motorbike infantry, we have fortifications on both sides of the river, but we are under heavy mortar fire. I need you to pass a message to Bilsoy 4!" Sava said, he could hear and feel the impact of the bullets hitting the sandbags and dirt of the trenches.

"Copy that Bilsoy 1, if you need I can patch you in to Bilsoy 4?" The HQ officer said.

"That would be good, do that please." Sava said, sinking lower into the trench as dirt and shrapnel flew through the air and impacted the top cover.

"Understood, going through....now." Sava heard an audible click as he was connected to 4th Company.

"Bilsoy 4 this is Bilsoy 1, how copy?" Sava asked, a moment later came a reply.

"Bilsoy 1 this is Bilsoy 4, we have you loud and clear. It sounds like you guys are in the shit."

"We are, listen carefully. Do NOT bring the unarmored vehicles to the bridge, the zone is too hot. set up the mortars farther back. Infantry needs to come up here on foot in loose formation. Do you read?" Sava shouted. An explosion hammered his chest, that one landed pretty close to his trench. No one was hurt however.

"Understood, I'll relay that to Captain Valerianovich." Came the reply

"Excellent, see you boys soon." Sava said, placing the telephone down. He took a drink from his canteen, the water feeling good on his dry, gunpowder choked throat. They would have to sit tight and endure the Republican fire, if they were lucky they could maybe run the Republicans out of ammunition before pushing across the bridge.

by **Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States** » Wed Feb 10, 2021 1:22 pm

I SERVE THE BLACK BARON

Pitch black tar letters adorned the torn-off back rest of a chair; tied around both ends was a piece of rope, which was itself neatly hung around the neck of man. The man, in turn, had a different rope tied around his neck, the other end hanging from a lamp post, which illuminated him in the evening dark. His body swayed gently in the icy winter wind, which had coloured him pale blue by that point; the bloody marks around his neck and on his face had hardened and frozen into darkness. Beside him, two police officers with a step ladder tried cutting through the rope, but the thick harbour cable, frozen over with sleet, was difficult to cut through. One of the officers suggested getting a bolt cutter; the other still tried sawing through it with his knife, which at this point had morphed into a matter of pride.

Jaroslav could not keep his eyes from the scene. Seeing the stone-cold body twist and turn with every slash of the knife made him feel decidedly chill, even though the back of his limousine was sufficiently heated. The door opened and a man with an eye patch and a navy blue overcoat stepped in, saluting the minister as he sat down. Even though the door was only open for a second, it let in an uncomfortable winter chill. The man removed his gloves and let his hands warm, first by rubbing them and then by opening them up to the limousine heat. He then removed his blue police cap, resting it on his lap and revealing the shimmering, balding patch atop his head.

“My boys just came back from his widow; she confirmed his identity. Poor woman, left alone with three young kids…”

Jaroslav was never sure if Kalvo Zjécsik, captain of the Kurmutsk police, was sincere when speaking about his emotions. He must surely have meant some of it, but whatever the news, the captain always brought it in a manner-of-fact way that made you doubt whether he truly meant what he said. Still, Jaroslav had heard him complain about ‘the miserable rain’ in the same way, and was sure he meant it then. But something about this one-eyed veteran, the scar that took his eye jutting out from under his eyepatch, made you feel like his emotions were artificial, and only meant to make other humans feel at ease around him.

“So, who is he?” Jaroslav asked, now watching as one of the officers firmly held the man’s legs in place as the other placed the bolt cutter along the cord. If they had any sense they would have placed the cut lower, where the damage could be easier hidden below his funeral suit, but Jaroslav doubted whether the occasion would be open-casket.

“Zdenko Jankovič” Zjécsik responded.

“A fascist?” Jaroslav asked, almost instinctively. It did not feel right; whether a death was regrettable was not dependent on one’s political persuasion, and yet, he knew he would feel easier of this was not some random act of violence. If Zjécsik had opinions about this, he did not voice them; as was his restricted and silent nature.

“Not that we know of. But he was a veteran, and served under Baranovkiy for a while. He was pensioned before the good general ever voiced his opinions about the Republic, though. From eye witnesses it seems that he was talking to a few veteran friends of his and mentioned his past actions; within earshot of some dock workers involved with the Union. They then… Well, needless to say, really” Zjécsik answered, nodding sideways at the corps now being put in a body bag. Its stiff limbs made him easy to navigate but hard to close a nylon bag around.

“Any leads on finding the perpetrators?” Jaroslav asked, but Zjécsik shook his head. Jaroslav knew the question was pointless; even if they did, they did not have the manpower to actually chase after some dock workers. They had bigger fish to fry, and upsetting the harbour unions was the last thing they needed on their plate. Even if they knew, it would take officers off the task of simply keeping order. They were busting more secret fascists and communist societies by the day, and like a hydra, more seemed to emerge where they had just been stamped out. It was an exercise in futility, but not as futile as trying to find a group of dock workers in a harbour city. Jaroslav sighed.

“This probably won’t be the last man we find hanging from a lamp post” he said. As if his verbal flood gates had been opened, Zjécsik vocally agreed with the minister.

“No, sir, not by a long shot. There has been violence against supposed traitors for months. Fascists and communists at each other’s throat, aided by all kinds of other political persuasions. The fascists are most violent towards minorities, but the communists won’t hesitate to kill fascists, either. And then there are the anarchists, who will bomb just about anyone for wearing shoes that are too polished. With the advance of Baranovskiy, sir, well… It’s only going to get worse”

“Question is…” he tried carefully, now himself peering out the window as if disinterested in his own proposal.

“Whether that is necessarily a bad thing. We know there are actual spies of Baranovskiy in the city. Same for the anarchists and the Reds. The city is rife with tension… It might be preferable to just let these things happen naturally. Increase the risk for those seeking our secrets”

“And hand over the city to the mob?” Jaroslav retorted. He wanted to sound firm, but hearing his own voice, he heard it did not come across as a rebuke. It sounded like an honest inquiry.

“We would maintain order and government, of course” the police captain answered. “The streets belong to us. Especially with the military build-up. But we have only limited resources, and we could simply choose not to waste precious manpower on those who would collaborate with the enemy at the earliest opportunity. Intolerance of intolerance”

Jaroslav nodded. He did wonder where the otherwise stoic Zjécsik got his propensity for democratic philosophising, but he was in no position to argue. The city was about ready to explode, and he simply could not spare the manpower to investigate this kind of thing. A few careless whispers here and there, in the right areas, in the right pubs, could save the justice system a lot of trouble. Especially since the military police was more and more involved with justice and order in the city… And Jaroslav was not going to lose ground to them. Losing power in the capital was tantamount to losing political power.

“Very well. See to it, then. But…”

“… you were never here, your excellency” Zjécsik said simply. He put his cap back on, donned his leather gloves, and walked back into the winter chill without even so much as an acknowledgement. The two officers had put the body bag in the back of their truck, and saluted the captain as he walked past. They all got in, the captain in the passenger seat and one of the officers in the back, securing the body. As the truck drove off into the dimly-lit night streets, so did the limousine, turning around and driving straight for the ministerial residence, at the foot of the Palatine.

by **Smanatchenka** » Thu Feb 11, 2021 7:53 pm

Capt. Tomáš Pyotrič
1400 Hours
Town of Mitloj

The fog was beginning to set upon the rolling hills just north of Mitloj. A small town with the R-28, a two way road running from the east almost to the extreme west of the nation, proved to be an essential route to retain control of. The Communists and Republicans frequently squabbled in the past to retain control in whatever areas they could before it fell under majority NPF control. Mitloj, paralleled by emerald green hills and the occasional plains to the north and the immense and entrancing Bogranič pine forest to the south, was stretched out thinly for half a kilometer on the R-28. Tomáš found himself shoveling entrenchments for DP-28 machine gun positions on the north side of the town, just to the right of an Orthodox Church which served as the headquarters for the local NPF command.

“Captain, we need to discuss something urgently,” called Colonel Travorič from the window of the churches sanctuary whose stained glass windows had been shattered by rifle fire. Tomáš took a deep breath before stabbing his field shovel in the red, damp dirt beside the foxhole he had been hastily digging. The Captain knew he would have to be the one to mention the futility of their current position to the Command Staff, as any other member of the field command would be too hesitant to speak up. Tension among the Command Staff was at a high. The Colonel was already irate due to an intrusion of 7 locals supporting the Racialist splinter faction of the NPF, or so they claimed they were.

The Staff, composed of six officers, was huddled around two tables placed side by side with a map detailing their position stretched to show the territory within 20 kilometers in all four directions. An ashtray and canteen holding down the map on the left and right to prevent it from rolling. Tomáš approached the table at a slowed pace, almost as if it was a funeral. The air was damp and the smell of tobacco and aged wood from the destroyed pews had filled the increasingly cramped sanctuary.

“Mortars have been deployed just before the start of the forest but I fear that they will not be able to sustain fire for long. Our ammunition supply is extremely limited. If the reports about the...” the Colonel’s voice trailed off as he took a gulp of air and adjusted his collar before resuming, “ armored divisions is true, we stand absolutely zero chance of holding this town.”

“How many do we number now?” Interjected Lieutenant Colonel Ravić. The recent weeks of suffering failure after failure had tested his patience, and his wits in front of the rest of the Staff.

“Nine hundred-seventeen, sir. Keep in mind the number is still approximated. We haven’t been able to record a clear count, nor properly attend to the injured.” Captain Tomáš made direct eye contact with Ravić. He could see a twitch in his eyelids which had been amplified by this news.

“We stood at two thousand eight hundred and sixty just last week. Another offensive by the Republicans will absolutely decimate us. We are simply unprepared for another battle. Retreat is the only option that we have left.” The Colonel tapped his knuckles on the table nervously while Tomáš peered over at him with surprise. He assumed the Colonel wouldn't take a vitriolic stance on retreat. For it was fear now creeping over the Staff. Was it fear of death, perhaps? Or was it something bigger. Fear of failing the State and the cause was grilled to the front of every mind in the NPF. If the collective were to shatter, then so would the individual and thus, the State.

Stepping away from the table for a moment, Tomáš pondered the possible outcomes. What if another offensive couldn’t be spared by the Republicans? What if the NPF couldn’t send anymore reinforcements? The wounded, where could they be tended to? How would the ammunition be resupplied when it ran dry? So many thoughts, and so little time to come to a resolution.

Suddenly, Tomáš was snapped back into reality by a chair being kicked across the sanctuary.

“You must want our men dead then! Last time I checked, I was your superior and nothing is cleared until it comes through me. If you wish to usurp my word, then you’ll find yourself on the other side of a Carcano!” Colonel Travorič’s face was now beet red with near animosity for his lieutenant. Ravić didn’t raise his eyes from the map. His entire body, now tense. Truthfully, Ravić knew that staying to defend would be a death sentence for the NPF in this area, however, he found complacency in what he perceived to be a hopeless situation.

“Captain, have the men pack their weapons and as many supplies as they can onto the trucks. We need to pull back into the forest, reassess the situation, redraw our defensive lines, and service the only three tanks that we have left. Only in the pines will we be able to confuse the enemy if we can draw them in. If we have any mines left over, we will place those along the old logging roads cutting through the forest. I’ll make sure the broadcast is made to the troops promptly.”

“Yes Colonel, right away.” Tomáš stamped his feet together and shot up a salute to Travorič before hurriedly marching out of the makeshift HQ to gather his troops. The NPF had no time to spare in this area. They were targets, and the forest was their last bastion. If they could hold out in the pines just long enough to receive additional manpower, then, and only then, could they send the Republicans scurrying back across the hills like rats.

by **Cylarn** » Fri Feb 12, 2021 7:57 am

Brigadier I. Kalwa
Battle of Nyfir Bridge

At this stage of the battle, the Republican mortars an almost complete perception of their target. Communication between the spotters, the officers, and the teams was very much on-point. Their initial barrage in this instance was much directed at First Company and their rudimentary fortifications and trenches. Rounds bounced off of their sandbags and metal sheets, but as for high-explosive and fragmentation rounds dropping in on their heads, their overhead cover could only do so much. A proper mortar-proof trench system takes hours to build; sturdy base of wood with layers of metal sheets and sandbags. One in four of the rounds were making direct hits either into the gaps of the trenches, or onto the wood and metal roofs. The ground shook around them violently, splashes and mud and sand and shrapnel and wood flying about in the trenches as many of the roofs could not stand the focused bombardment. The Communists may have been reinjuvenated by the death of their major, but even with anger and adrenaline flowing through their veins, they would all be feeling an almost overwhelming sense of fear going all the way down to a cellular level. The tenability of the immediate shore around the western end of the Nyfir was rapidly deteriorating.

Istvan watched the proceedings through his binoculars until he felt something wet fleck across his face. He heard a sudden crack to his right; quickly, he looked over just in time to see Garo falling backwards, a penny-sized hole in his head. Istvan's heart dropped, his eyes were fixated on the boy. For a brief moment, he saw Stepan's face in place of Garo's, those lifeless brown eyes staring up into the sky. God damnit! Okay; I want to see nothing but craters and human limbs and blood on that shore!. His blood boiled, and he looked over at Savic, who was staring at Istvan, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Call Third; I want their mortars in action now, and one company to reinforce and relieve what's left of the battalion that isn't ours!" he sternly and loudly declared to his radioman. Savic nodded in response and began dialing for Third. "Third Battalion, this is Third HQ. Bring your mortar section into action against the Nyfir Bridge. Send a spotter immediately. Over."

Istvan nodded to Savic, and looked up and down the line. We have anti-tank rifles, why aren't we using them to perforate their bunkers? Istvan peered back over the wall, breathing heavily. Plumes of smoke bellowed from the trenches; a few bunkers remained. He looked back down at Garo's corpse. He is not your son. Look at the hole in his head. For a few moments that carried on as if they were hours, Istvan studied the fatal wound. Istvan thought back to his cursory look, seeing Garo's head snap straight back. It hit him head-on, not like a lucky pop. Why Garo? I am not hard to spot, and I was right there. He turned his head left and right, shouting for them to hear.

"SNIPER! FIND THAT FUCKING SNIPER!" he roared. The assailant must have been using the bunkers. "GET THE ANTI-TANK RIFLES ON THE LINE!"

Savic pointed up towards the sky. "Sir, in the sky. They're coming back around."

Istvan looked to the skies. Two Hs 123s appeared to be heading back towards the Republican side, and three more were flying in tandem towards the Nyfir, some distance in the rear. They swooped low, and Istvan clearly made out the profile of muzzle flashes erupting from the guns of the first plane, firing into an unseen formation moving towards the Nyfir for five seconds before breaking off to join the other two planes. The second one dived down for the same maneuver, firing for three seconds before breaking away. The third plane was less lucky. Sparks rapidly popped up on the metal fuselage of the plane, a machine gun catching the tail and belly.

"Oh, fuck me..." Istvan said, watching the plane catch fire on the tail as it passed over the smoldering Communist trenches, getting lower and lower before a friendly mortar round made contact with the plane's cockpit, exploding it into a fiery ball that crashed into the flowing Balerian. The second man I murdered today without a gun. Istvan noticed some of the soldiers preparing to advance towards the shore. Like a scolding father, he jutted a finger at them and shouted.

"Get in your holes, men!" he roared, before holding up a single finger for his mortar officer to see. From a distance, the man acknowledged the order - and the mortar frequency toned itself down from barrages, moving to conserve their ammunition and make each round count with directed shots. Something caught Istvan's eye, to the rear of the formation. The sight of a company of motorbikes brought a smile to his face. Ygor made it to them as they dismounted from their bikes, relaying some information to their commander.

"Third HQ, this is Third. Mortar team in position; range calculated. Firing for effect on your order. Over."

Istvan took the receiver from its mount, bringing it up to hear. "Third HQ to Third Battalion, you are cleared to engage. Over."

Istvan brought his binoculars up again, looking to the battlefield. The Communist trenches were a mess; despite having lasted long enough for First Battalion's mortar section to run low, the companies on the banks of the Nyfir were now taking mortar fire from a greater distance away. One set of mortars deliberately targeted the reinforced trench positions with singular, aimed shots; the fresh section was bringing its own creeping barrage up their line. In addition, some of the craters closest to the shore had begun pulling small amounts of water into the Communist positions. The Republicans had brought down the frequency and rate of their small arms fire, in response to the Communists huddling in their trenches. Only a few men popped up occasionally to take a shot at the Republicans; most of those men were either caught in a mortar blast, or almost immediately shot through the chest by a rifle or machine gun. Some of the Republican grenadiers found a way to augment the mortars, timing their rifle grenades to explode somewhere between two and five feet over the trench, after being fired at a high arc.

I want to break them, to send them back up the road and away from the shore and bridge. If they do not fall back, I will break them into pieces. Istvan watched the battle play out from his position. They can't hold out much longer. They are in a killing field. Istvan went for the radio once more.

"High Command, this is Third MIB," Istvan said into the receiver. "Once again requesting reinforcements. An additional brigade, a sapper company, a resupply of munitions, an artillery battery, and additional aircraft are needed. We have the Communists fixed on the other side of the Balerian, but I think we should lock down the Nyfir with reinforced positions. They're throwing a lot here. Again, High Command: do you copy? Over."

by **Bolslania** » Fri Feb 12, 2021 12:01 pm

Captain Chkalov Saveliy "Sava" Ruslanovich
East Valania
Nyfir Bridge, 2 minutes later

Sava peeked out of his trench to appraise his surroundings, it was a bloodbath, mortar rounds had ripped apart several of the trenches, blood and pieces of men scattered everywhere.

"My God" Sava muttered, ducking back down. He shouted in Konstantinovich's ear over the fire

"ETA?" Konstantinovich quickly picked up the phone and spoke into it for a second, Sava couldn't make out what was being said. Konstantinovich shouted back.

"Mortar crews are ready! They can't send up a spotter so you'll need to range for them! Armor and infantry is about a minute out!" Sava swore, taking the phone from Konstantinovich and putting it to his mouth

"Mortar section, this is Bilsoy 1 how copy?" He said, a mortar round slammed into the ground, it was picking up intensity. How much ammunition do those shits have? A reply crackled through the radio

"Loud and clear Bilsoy, give us some range." Came the reply. Sava pulled out his map, laying it down on the ground, tracing his finger from the rendezvous point to the Republican positions, he looked at his compass quickly before speaking back into the phone.

"Alright, Republican positions are 700 meters North East of the Rendezvous point, length of their position is 100 meters wide, estimated 20 meters deep, over." He said, hoping that was good enough, please let that be good enough. Before he could get a reply, he heard the roar of engines, crackling of machine guns. He heard something else to, like rain on a tin roof, an explosion, and a crash like a large rock hitting the water. A cheer came from the Communists, they'd brought one of the planes down. Morale, for the moment had been boosted. Who knew how long their morale would last however.

"Copy....that Bilsoy 1, sending a ranging round now, tell us how it hits." Came the reply. Sava peeked his eyes out over the trench, not exposing himself too greatly.

Sergeant Emanuel Raducanu

He was scanning through the trenches when he saw a sniper break cover, obviously moving to try and find him. He followed the man with his scope, waiting for him to stop. The man was holding a scoped rifle

Interesting choice Raducanu thought, maybe he was a hard target to find. No matter, this man was about to die. Raducanu took a breath, ignoring the plane slamming into the river. The enemy mortar fire had adjusted, focusing entirely on 1st Company, which means he could move. He settled his reticle on the mans head, dropping his finger to the trigger. He squeezed on it, waiting for that familiar click. There it was. The shot soared, hitting this man in the chest. Raducanu didn't pause to watch the man fall, instead he tucked his rifle in his arms, and low crawled into a crater near his bolthole, pausing for a moment. He had only moved 5 feet from his original position, but there was an attractive looking clump of foliage 25 feet away that would be good cover. He low crawled again, moving slowly. There were some bodies over here that he could blend in with. He inched forward, not making big motions. But he never stopped either, the human eye would see a stopping and starting motion, where a constant slow pace would blend in better. He heard a whistling over his head, he flattened himself as much as possible, hoping that it wouldn't hit him. There was a dull wump on the other side of the river, he wanted to look, but he knew that it might give him away. So he continued to crawl.

Captain Chkalov Saveliy "Sava" Ruslanovich
East Valania
Nyfir Bridge, 25 seconds later

He watched the mortar throw up dirt and debris on the Republican line, he grinned at the men with him in the trench, who grinned back.

"Looks good mortars, light them up. Over." He said. It was payback time. Now they just had to wait for their reinforcements to show up, and they could finish this. With the support of another 300-ish men and an armored car, their chances against the Republicans were looking better. Communist mortar rounds began to fall in the Republican lines, some just suppressing the Republicans, others throwing pieces of people into the air. Sava did not have a sympathetic reaction to the hell raining down on the Republicans.

The Communists hunkered down, small arms from both sides had slowed down, now they were just exchanging mortar fire. Water had begun to trickle in to the trench, and Konstantinovich had set the radio on his lap to avoid it getting wet. More rounds hit the Republican lines as Sava watched for his reinforcements.

by **Eggistaan** » Sat Feb 13, 2021 1:03 pm

Captured Town
South Western Valania

The Refusal to offer a comment on one of the most successful KLA operations since the start of the war by the Republican President infuriated Gregory. In attempt to prevent himself from ordering his army to conduct a full blown charge he told himself that the lack of response conveyed a sense of fear in the Republic. A fear that their traitorous ways would come to an end and that they would be punished for their crimes. The HQ had moved into a local inn in the town they captured, they were allowed take a room for free thanks to the fact the keeper was a Pro monarchist patriot. The town itself was quite compliant with the occupation. The Garrison force did not have to do much to keep the peace and the only people who resisted the occupation were either POWs or non extreme Rexists that were uncomfortable with Kamen's troops executing surrendering enemy soldiers. This time in the planning room the generals were discussing the unnerving lack of response from the Republic in the form of a counter assault. The question on everyone's mind was whether to take advantage of the situation and charge forward with full force and risk an encirclement or to stay back and dig in to prepare for an oncoming counter assault and risk possible land gains. There was a lot of back and forth and Gregory, after finishing with his thoughts slammed on the table to evoke the attention of all the other men in the room. "Well do both, split the force in half and get one to make all the land gains while the other entrenches the town. in that way any oncoming force can be stalled enough until reinforcements arrive from the other detachment. Detachment 1, codenamed liberator, will continue its advance into South West Valania while codename Castle will stay back and entrench." He moved the pawns on the map to visualise what he was on about. The others seemed to nod in agreement. One however asked "How will we distribute the forces, what equipment should go where?" Gregory paused for a moment to glance at the map on the table where the group was huddled around, he then looked back at the inquisitor and replied "I want Liberator to consist of more mobile units to allow for the lightning war method of combat we discussed, Most of our infantry companies should be there along with light tanks and APC's while Castle should consist of artillery batteries, field cannons and heavier armour. Mortar infantry should stay back with the second detachment. Yes I think that covers everything" Gregory nodded before the man saluted and then left the Inn, presumably to inform the troops on the plan.

Detachment "Liberator"
950 of the 1,300 troops deployed on the front were supplied, fed and restocked with ammunition and men along with their issued light tanks and armour. Their mission was to reinstate the monarchy 1 town at a time. A parade was conducted before they set off in search for the Republican snake, Each soldier was ready to give his life for King Jan and would stop at nothing to see his reinstatement as the rightful ruler of Valania using the power of Lightning war, the brainchild of Major General Gregory Kamen.

Detachment "Castle"
The remaining mortar companies and heavy machine gun troops along with the artillery and field cannons of the 4th Royal armoured Corp were tasked with utilising
what remained of various ex republican fortifications to defend the KLA front across the South Western plain from any Republican counter attack. Sandbags were issued for window machine gun emplacements and entrenched field gun positions. They were even more zealous than their attacking counterparts as they received daily speeches from Kamen himself, they also managed to get the cooperation of the populace who would allow them to go into their houses and receive hospitality for being "the heroes of Valania." It would take a major assault to overcome the KLS positioned here.

(Liberator is highly equipped and mobile yet does not have the presence of Kamen himself and relies on archaic radio communication technology, if disrupted this unit can be easily encircled. Castle has transformed the town into its own fortress yet it is a static target and can also be encircled or overwhelmed with a large force. Thanks to their Kamen influenced zealotry if the fighting gets desperate, KLS units will throw themselves at the enemy with either suicide attacks/charges.)

KLA "Liberator" Light Tanks getting ready to begin its advancements

by **The Frozen Forest** » Sat Feb 13, 2021 3:26 pm

Marching For the King

2nd Royalist Army, Kings Loyal Army
Advancing towards liberated Bratisk

News of the liberation of Bratisk had spread quickly from the city back to the peninsula. Lieutenant General Frisk received the news while on the march towards the city, it having come as quite a shock that the young and ambitious Major General Kamen had succeeded in breaking through the Republican lines by himself. Such a feat was worthy of merit and succeeded in the general goal of the Kings Loyal Army of a rapid assault up from the peninsula. Reports that reached him afterwards pointed towards Kamen having split his forces, leaving a considerable amount behind to garrison and fortify Bratisk, which would not have been an action he would have advised. His own forces had not received orders from General Syzkin and thus Frisk was left with the choice between diverting to support Kamen or bypassing him and continuing the march north with intent of continuing their campaign of aggression.

Frisk turned towards the other officers riding alongside him. He turned towards his son Ryden and asked him "If we help Kamen fortify Bratisk we will be fortified and able to better plan our next move. If we march on towards the next fortification we can take it and bring our lines up and further weaken the Republican forces here in the southwest. What do you think is the correct course of action my son?"

Ryden rode along on a black horse and thought carefully about his fathers question. On one hand Bratisk now had symbolic value as the first city to fall on their march north. It was also the gateway into the peninsula and thus a critical point to defend. On the other hand they didn't have the forces to stand by and wait for Republican counterattacks. If they didn't attack they would be attacked, thus it would seem that the way forwards would be to attack. "I suppose we should attack, standing by would only leave us to wait for our doom. The next fortification to take will be costly but will ultimately be less ready to defend itself than Bratisk was."

Frisk nodded and raised his finger to the air as though to emphasis what he was about to say next. "That you are right my son! We should continue to advance, but what you have gotten wrong is that to advance is to suffer the attrition of war. Our army is too small to effectively combat the Republicans larger forces on the field. To do so would destroy us because we are small. When I was first training the Lichtors of the NPF this is something that they had trouble understanding. One cannot fight a war of attrition when you are so vastly outnumbered by your opponents. One must grow stronger, they must bring in fresh blood and grow so as to be able to meet the enemy on the field without such a need for luck. Luck has its hand in every maneuver, every siege, every battle and every war. When you depend on luck though you will find that eventually it runs out, and this is when your homes are burned and your fortunes are left in ruin.

It is unfortunate now that they took my lessons so to heart as to expand themselves and their viewpoints, because now our enemies are stronger and larger. We will march forwards but we will not do so with intent on taking the next fortress, but marching into nearby towns and cities and recruiting all those who would join us in this brave crusade. This is a task I could leave to no one but my most trusted officers, you and your brother. Ryden, you will take six hundred cavalrymen to all the nearby towns and villages, where you will recruit any who will join us. Appeal to our peoples senses of family and tradition, make them see that any family who doesn't contribute a son to our army will live in disgrace when the King returns. Accept young children who will become our drummer boys, accept gifts of food or cloth or medicine from the women, accept the young teenagers who will be the future of our nation and the newest recruits of of cavalry or infantry or engineers. However i charge you with this, do not rob the people nor coerce them by the sword. Under my orders offer them a tax break to any family who contributes at least one family member, or the equivalent cost of outfitting a soldier to our cause. Our forces will swell because the people support us, not because they fear us.

Find your brother and tell him to take a dozen more cavalrymen to Bratisk. On my behalf he will treat with Major General Kamen and give him my congratulations on his successful liberation of Bratisk. He will remain with the Major General and assist him directly until i order otherwise. He will study and learn from the Major General so that he has a wider experience. Make sure you tell him all of this and make sure he leaves with haste. I will continue with the rest of our forces past the villages and cities that you will be recruiting in, and i will scout our enemies to the north."

Ryden offered a salute and Frisk returned it. The young officer sped off towards the cavalry to begin his new assignment as well as give his brother orders.

_______

Over the course of the next few days the 2nd Royalist Army advanced past Bratisk and the forces of Major General Kamen. It encountered no serious Republican resistance within a days march and Ryden Frisk broke off with several hundred cavalrymen to recruit in nearby villages and cities. His brother Armfeld left the army to travel into Bratisk with a dozen more cavalry. There he was to treat with Kamen and congratulate him on his victories, as well as assure him that fellow Royalist forces were nearby and moving north with intent of swelling the Royalists ranks.

On the second day of marching since his sons left the 2nd Army, Lieutenant General Frisk met his first serious resistance in the form of a wide trench filled with Republican troops, which killed one of his cavalrymen who stumbled onto their defenses in the early morning. Such a fortification appeared to be nothing of much concern. It was certainly a barrier, though it didn't appear to have any sort of artillery or heavy armor. Frisk saw no reason to stop his forces for such a target and ordered his self-propelled artillery to take up positions. At 1600 they began a barrage that lasted an hour and which followed by a cavalry charge with armor and infantry support.

By 1900 Frisk was overseeing the capture of prisoners, of which there were around sixty. The enemy had sustained about a hundred casualties and he had unfortunately suffered around forty infantry casualties and exactly fourteen cavalry casualties. His prisoners were primarily made up of enlisted or conscripted infantrymen and a meagre handful of older officers. He ordered the prisoners to be fed and have their injuries treated, he offered them a simple choice of joining his forces and receiving adequate pay or face imprisonment in the south. Of the sixty infantrymen fifty agreed to his offer and of the officers only two accepted. He had them divided and placed in different units with new uniforms and a hot meal. At this trench line Frisk gave the order to fortify and hold for the night so they might deal with their dead, wounded and captured.

A Country In Chaos (Civil War Character RP) [IC|OPEN]

A Country In Chaos (Civil War Character RP) [IC|OPEN]

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