Operation SLAYER (Attn Varathron, Semi-Open)

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Operation SLAYER (Attn Varathron, Semi-Open)

Postby Fortress Automailia » Sun Mar 05, 2023 8:08 am

Operation SLAYER

Zehlit Garrison,
Fortress Automailia,
03:01 Standard Imperial Time

Beneath the choking darkness the land of Automailia had been washed away with contemptuous ease. In its place the deep foundations of a Fortress had been dug. Macrofoundries sprawled across the former elysian fields, their gargantuan structures housing tens of thousands of Citizens toiling away within the hellish working conditions producing armaments for the next conflict. The seas were now choked of life, and had become charnel houses as millions of tons of fish had washed ashore, their corpses bloated by corruption, their lives taken by rampant, callous pollution dumped haphazardly as byproducts of the impossibly vast industrial processes. Where once city skylines stood as proud symbols of progress, now flare stacks vented thick plumes of black smoke. Where once there had been light, now there languished a crushing gray hell as ash drifted upon sour winds.

This final transformation had not come willingly. It never did. When the disloyalty of the Automailian KVF had been recognized, the Reichs patience had run out. Quotas were lagging in key areas. The natives had been too concerned with agriculture, too busy with social restructuring. Norska's Expectations had been laid bare by the arrival of the Corvid Brigade. The next great conflict was coming and Automailia needed to be ready. The liquidation of their domestic forces had caused unrest across an already breaking people. Disobedience always followed these necessary acts. It had been the same in Cydonia, Milograd, Vetalia, and would be so long after Automailia was naught but a faint memory in the oldest textbooks.

When the sky turned pitch black the Citizenry had resisted more fiercely. Resistance became rebellion. The KVF was either overwhelmed or switched sides. The Corvid Brigade had been busy during these few months, as reinforcements were brought in from Norska. The rebellion coalesced around one Colonel Medved, a survivor of the initial liquidation. His impassioned speech had been broadcast across the radio waves, carried by messengers, and screened across the television of a thousand different nations. For the World, this was yet another freedom fighter to rally behind. Another great, shining soul to stand in defiance of the coming darkness. They called it the Medved Revolution. Communists cheered him on as a liberator of the Workers. Fascist proclaimed him the protector of the Race, whichever one they so happened to be of course. The children of democracy and freedom made great posters about him. The theocrats said their gods were with him. They showed him as a knight in shining armor, as a powerful superhero, as a great Olympian hero of old. He was shown slaying the Great Demon of the Norska – a black and twisted thing.

For the Black Citadel it was classified as Civil Insurrection AS-217. On its internal scales it was registered as nothing more than a moderate rebellion, vastly smaller than the one in Cydonia decades ago. The world's hope was proven false when two months later Naval Arm South arrived in Port Chainmail and brought over a dozen Battalions of Capitol Police. From the moment the first Troopers jackboots hit the concrete pier, it was all over. A month later Colonel Medved swung slowly from a lamppost. There was no final showdown. No heroic last stand. The World stood by as it always did. The bastions of truth had lied. Promises came everyday of an inevitable rebel counter attack, or superweapon. When the horrifying truth became undeniable, the World turned its callous gaze towards other matters. They were always too engrossed in their petty political concerns.

In the many months since the former nation-state had been converted into a true Fortress-State. Its production lines burned hot. Its storehouses were full. Its Battalions had been doubled, then doubled again. A new KVF had been formed under the ever watchful eye of the Corvid Brigade. The time had come.

Kommadant Konstantine stood motionless as the authentication codes ticked across the screen. His gaunt frame and pointed features expressed the ware and tare on his body more than he ever would. His silver eyes held cool detachment from his surroundings. Sleep often eluded him. There was too much to do, too many important tasks that must be completed. The Capitol Police Trooper sat before him, its own silver eyes fixed on the screen as it typed methodically. Konstantine has replaced the KVF staff in his Command after the liquidation. Troopers were more efficient, they complained not at all, and much like him required little sleep.

"Authentication is confirmed, Kommadant" said the Trooper firmly but without passion.

"Acknowledged," he replied absently. Konstantine looked over the message again. There could be no mistaking its intention now. He'd known they were true the moment they scrawled across the screen, but confirmation was required per protocol.

"Have Governor Holt awoken immediately. I shall meet him in his office," said Konstantine. He turned and strode off.

Governor Holt entered his office in a sorry state. His eyes were hollow, haunted pits sunken deep into his skull. His hair was thinning. His standard issue uniform hung loosely from his spare frame. Konstantine ignored the Governor's lack of discipline only because it was his orders. Had Holt been a KVF soldier, he'd have been lashed severely for the infraction. The Black Citadel had decided to spare Holt despite the setbacks in Automailia. The Governor had, after all, willingly and without complaint signed the death warrant of every member of his Inner Circle. Had signed the extermination order for whole cities and had provided valuable intelligence on the inner workings of his old political party, which sped up their liquidation. The man had done it out of fear but done it all the same. Protocol dictated that Holt remained the Supreme authority in Automailia, second only to Dietrich in Norska.

"You … have orders from Norksa, Kommadant?" asked Holt wearily. He didn't bother to protest being awoken even though his sleep rations were unlimited.

"Yes sir. Orders from the Black Citadel itself. I have already confirmed authentication."

"Right … right of course," replied Holt as shakily made it to his desk, "Please, tell me what the Reichmarshal commands."

Konstantine handed a paper over to Holt who took it hesitantly. For a long moment he only held it, his eyes drifting across the room. The last time orders came from the Reichsmarshal it commanded Holt to murder his closest friends and families for Thought Crime. Neither Konstantine nor the two Corvid Brigade Capitol Police at the door made eye contact with Holt. All stared impassively at a spot behind him. With a shuddering sigh he let his eyes drop and scan the orders.

"Harvest It All Until It Is Done."

It was a code. One Holt knew would come one day. He looked up to see Konstantine holding a folder out before him, the Twin Hammers stamped on it.

"Your signature is required, sir."

Governor Holt knew no such thing was required. The Reich did what it did regardless of his scribbles on pieces of paper. It was another test. If he faltered then Konstantine would execute him and assume his position. Terror simmered just below the surface, it swam in his gut like lances of ice. He took the folder, but still did not take a seat. Flipping it open he saw the words Operation SLAYER. It would be the first of many. Reaching for a pen he hesitated as it touched the cream colored sheet. His signature was death itself. He could feel Konstantine's icy gaze upon him.

He put down his scribble, killing millions with another flick of his wrist.

Automailian-Arkan Border,
09:12 Standard Imperial Time

The verdant jungles had been stripped away months ago. Millions of Citizens, under the watchful eye of the Capitol Police, had been dispatched to begin digging trench networks, pouring reinforced concrete bunkers, laying razor wire, and all the apparatus of a defensive line. The black nanobot laced sky which hung over all of Automailia broiled at the edges of its declared border. Capitol Police patrolled the vast stretches, their heavily armored APCs thundering along belching noxious smoke. Spotlights mounted on watchtowers methodically scanned both sides of the border. These defensive formations were standard along any border the Reich had with non-complaint states. The Milenkan colony of Arkan was no exception and its people had long cast a weary eye on the worsening conditions in their northern neighbor.

Behind these garrison forces had amassed an invasion force. Millions of Capitol Police had begun arriving months prior under the official orders to reinforce the borders in case any foreign powers sought to assist the rebels. The 297th, 411th, and 331st Capitol Police Battalions had been preparing forward operating bases for themselves, along with several divisions of the new KVF who arrived in the aftermath of the rebellion's defeat. Artillery emplacements had been quietly constructed and Stratosphere gun batteries moved forward.

The invasion of Arkan had long been planned. A direct attack against a Gothic Lord had to be a calculated move and finished quickly. The colony was only nominally defended and with Milenka slinking back into isolationism, it was deemed by High Command to be a solid target to start the Varathron Harvest. But the Milenkans were no fools. Any appreciable state that bordered the Reich quickly built their own defensive works, lest they invite attack through passivity. For Arkan this was no different. A series of trench networks stretched across their side of the border with gun emplacements and armored columns held in reserve all the same. But it was the insidious enemy that lurked within that saw these preparations falter.

The Arkan Command had been slowly infiltrated by the latest generation of Replicants – beings who appeared human in every respect. For many of them they did not even know they were Replicants until the Relay called to them, activating their latent programming. Thirty minutes before Reich Artillery opened up, over a dozen critical officers in the Arkan Command were suddenly murdered by random members of their staff. Chaos spread through the ranks immediately.

Automailian Artillery opened up, with tons of ammunition dropped across the now disorganized lines. Armored columns of heavy and superheavy tanks belched smoke as they pushed across no-mans land supported by Capitol Police elements in IFVs. The counter-attack was swift as anti-armor missiles shot out along the line knocking out advancing tanks and IFVs alike. The Arkanis had pre-determined defensive orders that didn't rely on Command. If the Automailians so much as spit in their direction they were to unleash hell. And so they did.

Mechanized infantry companies pushed forward to blunt the initial Reich assault. Their supporting armor had both the advantage of terrain and superior position. Reich tanks were blown apart at alarming rates. Minutes later, fighters screamed overhead spitting death as volleys of missiles rained down on the advancing enemy. The Capitol Police were undaunted by this, for the Relay and their own indoctrination refused them the privilege of fear. Many blandly walked into the killing fields, taking numerous wounds before their enhanced physiology failed them. Others pulled their broken bodies forward into craters left by the ongoing artillery barrages from both sides. There they ignored their pain and returned fire in methodical precision, their MG42s adding to the growing cacophony.

The thrust faltered. Burning tanks littered no man's land. Capitol Police lay dead by the hundreds, some still robotically attempting to crawl forward. For the Arkanis, the last hour of fighting had been brutal but inspiring. Careful propaganda spread by Replicants over the years had demoralized many of them into thinking the Reich was an unstoppable force. Command had begun to reknit itself after the assassinations. It seemed to recover remarkably quickly in fact. Order coalesced around a General Oshtu who had reacted to the news of Replicant attacks violently. Several were gunned down as special forces units were deployed in good order. In fact it was only Oshtu's voice that seemed to make it anywhere. Other commanders in the field experienced radio failures, or found themselves inexplicably cut off. A handful were shocked when Special Forces suddenly raided their command bunkers, cutting them down in a hail of gunfire.

General Oshtu had given these orders as a necessary evil. The Reich had infiltrated his homeland and impersonated his comrades. It had nearly cost them everything. He could not trust anyone in the chain of command now. It all rested on his shoulders. The men who gave the orders had been willing to trust him enough to carry them out without question. Doomsday had nearly come to Arkan and the terror was fresh. Oshtu has begun to reorganize his forces for a defense in depth. His command center was noisy and bustling with more activity than one man should've been capable of processing, but fate had called upon him now. He took field reports in and instantly knew what he needed to do. Support companies were moved forever to cover new attack vectors, fighters were redirected for strikes on vitally important targets, counter battery fire was coordinated for suppression on hard hit areas. Reinforcements were already being rallied deeper in Arkan territory, and calls had already been placed to Central Command back in the capitol. The whole engagement played out across his mind as if he could see every unit moving as a living thing, obeying his rapid-fire commands, with the Reich forces reacting far too slowly to keep up. Their forces withdrew in areas they were gaining ground, areas he knew were his weak points, and massed for assaults on his most reinforced sections. The dance continued for hours.

A headache had formed earlier but he couldn't remember when. He had been so intently focused on map displays, unit movements, and air strike reports that his eyes had become bloodshot. His aides had offered to take over and allow him time to rest. He refused them. They offered him coffee and he refused them. At some point he began to understand that something was amiss. His mind kept racing but he became detached from it. Those around him could not understand. Fate had chosen him. He could feel its presence with him even now, as he had always felt it. All of his life had come down to this moment. He absently understood that he had barked out another series of orders, but he couldn't really recall what they were. Looking out across the ever changing map he saw the perfection of his life's work. The Reich, the Great Enemy, had been held. It was plain as day to see. Until his detached conscience stared at a portion of the line. Had he ordered the 32nd to detach its armor elements? If not, then where were they? He must've asked because the distant voice of a colonel said the armor had been destroyed hours ago during a counter attack he ordered the 32nd to make. He vaguely remembered it – a noble sacrifice needed to keep pressure off the 11th Grenadiers. Nodding he scanned for the 11th and found them … out of position? No matter, the 67th should be able to fill the gap. No … the 67th was at half strength and currently reinforcing the 9th Mechanized in holding back yet another determined thrust by the Enemy. With growing horror, General Oshtu began to see the larger picture for what it really was. How could he have not seen this coming? The evidence was plain to see. Why had no one stopped him? He glanced around the room. Where once he saw hardened officers carrying out his wishes and using their own wits to put out the small fires he saw desperate, exhausted men who stared at him like a savior. He tried to tell them. To tell them to begin pulling back. If they retreated now they could rally with additional forces further south and mount a real counter offensive. But the words refused to enter his mind. His lips refused to move to give them voice, the very air in his lungs denied him. Terror gripped him as he felt the presence of fate once more, but no longer did it bring soothing warmth but only cold, hard calculation. Perhaps it always had?


General Artava Oshtu then withdrew his service pistol and without a word ended his life.

The death of General Oshtu shattered the entire Arkan line. The general staff panicked and broke ranks, taking whatever transport they could and fleeing south. Without orders coming in, the dance came to a sudden jarring stop. The Reich surged across no man's land along all fronts. The Arkanis were spent. Oshtu had spent them as a fighting force. His moves had stopped Capitol Police assaults, pushed them back, and in a few rare occasions even taken portions of the Automailian line. All had as High Command expected. Unlike Automailia, Arkan remained a lush jungle and there had been concern of a protracted guerilla campaign if the Arkanis could not be broken decisively. Their nearby reinforcements had bravely reinforced the line, their fighters had gone on increasingly difficult missions to keep the line from falling, ramping up their losses. Artillery batteries had inadvertently been put periodically into precise kill zones and been dismantled. As the Relay twisted Oshtu's Replicant mind towards its will it had turned the entire Arkani line into a hard but brittle thing.

Along all fronts the Arkani held firm for a brief time but soon crumbled. With no orders from Command, most of their air and artillery support gone, the spent men and women fled before the newest onslaught. By nightfall, the Twin Hammers flew over Oshtus former Command bunker.

Arkan was collasping.
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Mon Mar 06, 2023 12:58 pm

Operation WARLORD

Port Chainmail,
Fortress Automailia,
+77 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER
11:15 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The cacophony of activity continued despite the torrential downpour. It was early March and the rainy season had come to Automailia, hailing a return to springtime weather. Tens of thousands of Civilians and KVF groups rushed about carrying out all the minor, inglorious tasks that were required to prepare for the destruction of whole nations. Crates were loaded onto grumbling trucks which hauled them hundreds of yards away to organization zones where sharp-eyed overseers shouted at Citizens to move these boxes here and those over there. Container cranes rolled ominously through the torrential downpour, picking up recently loaded containers and delivering them to loading zones nearest the looming leviathan cargo ships which swayed with the roiling seas. Onboard these ships awaited crews of KVF soldiers who ensured all were loaded in strict accordance with procedure deep within the bowels of the vessels. Amongst all this hustle stood the implacable forms of the Capitol Police. Their glowing red spectacles swept methodically over every inch of the scene. Any infraction, any sign of disloyalty or laziness would be met with swift punishment. A pile of corpses off to the side of each pier was testament to reality of this lethal intent.

Miles deeper inside of the Fortress sat sprawling airfields. Helmed by concrete walls topped with razor wire and guarded exclusively by the Capitol Police, these fields were also abuzz with assiduous activity. Thousands of aircraft were already on in the waiting yards, with several prepped and on the runways. KVF soldiers were everywhere, freed from their normal guard duties, to see to all this mundanity completed. At points along the perimeters of the airfields sat Kanone 230L (or Stratosphere Gun) emplacements. There was no immediate threat to Automailia but paranoia remained an ingrained conviction. The thousands of aircraft included TFI-13 Lionfish, ISA-32 Sawfish, and SFKz-106 Fimbulvinter – each with a role to play in the next step of the Varathron Harvest.

Operation WARLORD would see the conflict expanded as the preconditions needed in SLAYER had been achieved. The Arkanis had been broken and the past two days had seen the Capitol Police achieve exemplary gains along the front. With no immediate word from Replicants in Milenka citing any impending retaliation the eyes of Reich turned to another seemingly isolated and complacent neighbor – Reman. The Remans owned the Cronus Islands, a chain that stretched across the bay. These islands were vital to the commencement of further breakout operations. If the Remans had any sense then their forces would already be on high alert following news of the invasion of Arkan.

In the night, thousands of vessels from Naval Arm Varathron, which had been stationed in Port Chainmail pulled anchor and pushed out to sea. Hundreds of submarines were already spread across the bay, avoiding Reman counter-patrols, and keeping tabs on their movements. In the previous months that had remained quiet and still. The discipline of their Capitol Police crews made this possible with not a soul moving for days at a time. When hunger or boredom would have overcome lesser men, the Troopers did not understand discomfort, only the ever present will of the Relay. The Reman submarines had been suspicious at first, keeping their own activity low but they could not outlast the Kriegsmarine. This attempt as quiet was replaced by a flurry of activity as the Remans suspected something must’ve been amiss. Still the wolf-packs of the Reich remained ever still, ever vigilant. The Reman submarines eventually settled back into their routine patrols as the suspicion turned to paranoid acceptance. Wolfpacks accurately identified most Reman patrols in the area during this time and gradually positioned themselves to be in excellent striking position come orders from Zehlit.

Naval Arm Varathron broke apart once far enough from Port Chainmail. Its bulk breaking down into small, more targeted squadrons. Each was led by a Subjugator-class Super Dreadnaught, along with a full compliment of Dies Irae coastal siege-monitors. Safely secured at the center of these formations were Phobos-class nuclear-powered troop transports. Dozens of them had been commissioned in Norska and sent to Fortress Automailia over the past several months as the Varathron Harvest took shape on paper. Within each contained over twenty-thousand Capitol Police who stood in stock silence in near total darkness – almost like cargo themselves. The rough seas tossed all of the vessels about, except the Subjugators, as they drew closer to their targets.

The strong storms had been used as cover to get the Naval Arm out to sea undetected but High Command did not suspect it would remain undiscovered for long. The Remans maintained a respectable surface fleet for just such an occasion, backed up by air wings of their own. Once again, one did not exist near a Reich Fortress without defense being their chief concern. Two days the storms bought the Reich as they grew in intensity, keeping the complacent Reman ships in port, and its aircraft in nominal patrols. When they broke just before dawn of the third day the Remans reacted exactly as they should’ve – with extreme violence. Every surface vessel that could be sent to sea immediately was. Air wings were put into combat the moment they could be prepped. Anti-ship missile batteries across every island within range of Naval Arm Varathron opened as dozens, then hundreds, then thousands poured forth to buy the Navy time.

Close-in weapons systems lit up across the Naval Arm squadrons as each island reacted similarly. Chattering miniguns sprayed tons of ammunition ahead of the ships to stave off the attacks. The weight of fire was too much and began to overwhelm the CIWS guns, forcing each ship to rely upon its ludicrously enhanced armor plating. Slowly the losses began to mount as one ship and then two took sustained bombardment. Capitol Police crews rushed within vessels to put out fires, compartmentalize hull breaches, or keep damaged engines running. They all remained at their stations even as sea water rushed into their compartments, engulfing them in minutes as their vessels sank into the black depth of the bay. Even as these ships sank, they would continue to execute the last task given to them by the Relay. While their lungs filled with sea water and their vision blackened, they never ceased until biologically impossible to continue.

Naval Arm Varathron responded. Ballistic missile return fire filled the local area with smoke, but the Reman had played their hand. Reich satellites in orbit had been watching the engagement, their orbital flight paths times perfectly to be overhead. The launch sites of the Reman anti-shipping missiles were identified and verified with UAVs in the area. Counter-battery fire from the Naval Arm hammered along the coastal defenses with alarming accuracy. The exchange continued until the Reman emplacements spent their ammunition or were destroyed. Fighter-bomber wings, however, continued their passes spitting death into the invaders before breaking engagement for resupply. With little preparation the Reman pilots did exceptional, crippling several Reich cruisers or destroyers. The numbers were simply against them.

The Reman Navy had wisely chosen to abandon any hope of stopping every island landing and focused on protecting the largest island, which High Command designated Cronus Prime. The Fleet assembled was respectable but was heavily outnumbered. High Command had received no word from Replicants in Reman itself for a reason why pleas from Cronus for additional ships had been ignored for years while Naval Arm Varathron only grew. The Overlord paid for this mistake as the Reman Navy quickly found itself outmatched. The long-range missile bombardments, so common in modern warfare, came and went with the typical losses. So common was this tactic by now that any major power worth its flag slapped enough CIWS systems onboard to manage direct engagements. The Reich was no different and once the Reman cells ran dry the Naval Arm pounced. Subjugators closed the maximum-range gap and opened with conventional fire. This direct fire was an archaic style of warfare that few built precautions for and the Reman Navy died because of it. Their armor hulls much too thin they were split apart by coordinated and suspended bombardment. Attempts to retreat were hampered by cruisers and destroyers also closing the distance, keeping up with even the flank-speed utilized by the slowly unraveling Reman Command.

By nightfall the pride of Reman Fleet in Varathron was burning or beneath the waves and Dies Irae Siege Monitors pushed to the front of the pack.

Of the Reman submarine squadrons nothing was ever heard …
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Posts: 19
Founded: Jul 29, 2020
Civil Rights Lovefest

First Contact

Postby Langong » Tue Mar 07, 2023 11:44 pm

Last edited by Langong on Sat Apr 29, 2023 10:04 am, edited 2 times in total.
Friend of Kraven, 2005-2023
18 years of stories deleted
Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Greater Ordena
Posts: 60
Founded: Nov 06, 2021

Postby Greater Ordena » Thu Mar 09, 2023 12:31 am

Rosgaard, Reichskommissariat Dietsland.

The Reich Chancellery in Rosgaard which had been created as the administrative center of the Reichkommissariat in Dietlsland was abuzz in activity and more so than usual. Satellites observing the borders with Fortress Automailia which was a Kraven client state had observed disturbing images of Capitol Police and KVF movements into one of it's neighbors, Arkan. This would greatly alarm the Wehrmacht command in Dietsland and bring true what had been widely feared would be a possibility, that Kraven would eventually set their gaze upon them and look to strike. The Wehrmachtbefehlshaber in Dietsland conducted several meetings with other commanders in country and with the Reichskommissar himself urging them to contact Berlina immediately to request for aid. At first Reichskommissar Bohm did not believe that Automailia would be invading Dietsland at all and that it was likely going after it's other neighbors such as Arkan.

This was until reports from civilian fishermen and Kriegsmarine patrols off the North Eastern coast of Dietsland witnessed the fall of the Reman controlled Cronus island chain in which the entire Reman Navy based there was destroyed by Naval Arm Varathron. This would be the wake up call that the Reichskommissariat needed in order to understand that it was now almost certain that Automailia was likely to attempt an incursion into Dietsland its self. The main border between the two nations was and had been sealed for quite some time and military authority established over the border region known as Frederiksberg which now hosted over 300,000 remobilized Dietsland Army soldiers manning several layers of trench networks and bunkers. The Dietsland Armed Forces following the initial invasion of Dietsland by the Greater Ordenite Reich had not been completely dismantled with only select high ranking officers and generals that were cited as likely not friendly to Ordenite rule being dismissed and arrested and replaced mostly with equally as competent Ordenite officers and commanders.

They were however under the operational command of the Ordenite Wehrmacht and made up the current bulk of defensive capabilities available to defend the Reichskommissariat in an event of an invasion. That was not to say that the Wehrmacht did not have a significant presence in Dietsland which it definitely did. The Dietsland Theater and what made up Theater Command Varathron consisted of a decently sized Kriegsmarine force more than capable of upholding sovereignty over Dietsland's territorial waters. The Luftwaffe had in the few years following the capitulation of the Second Kingdom established its self well throughout much of the nation. This included several thousand aircraft both combat and logistics capable spread across multiple air bases and air fields manned by the Luftwaffe, however this was excluding the still in tact Dietsland Air Force which also maintained it's own fleet of aircraft. The Ordenite Army and Waffen-SS in Dietsland numbered at least 40,000,000 of which the majority were Ordenite Army formations while their being only few more elite Waffen-SS formations. However the majority of Ordenite ground forces were allocated as a strategic reserve to be used decisively during an invasion.

The Dietsland Army, Marine Corps and National Guard provided most of the direct defense of Dietsland including it's borders. While alarm was surely a appropriate response to the developing situation with Fortress Automailia's neighbors, the Reich Chancellery in Rosgaard and the Reichskommissar believed that the nature of the defenses in Fredriksberg province would be more than enough to hold against their Northern neighbor, or so they were being led to believe. Nevertheless the Wehrmachtbefehlshaber compiled several reports of hostile activity by Fortress Automailia along with the suggestion that the Wehrmacht should consider mobilizing forces in the event Automailia decided to invade Dietsland and forwarded them to the Reich Ministry of Defense.
IC Population: 22.714 billion
IC Nation Name(s): Greater Ordenite State(Official), Ordenite State(Unofficial)
Previously known as '"United World Order"
Condemned by the World Assembly, December 25th, 2018.

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Thu Mar 09, 2023 6:46 pm

Operation SLAYER

Outskirts of Murcalla,
+103 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER
19:32 Hours Standard Imperial Time

Capitol Police Battalions moved deeper into Arkani territory. Remnants of the frontlines who had broken first and ran quickest organized enough to put up a fighting retreat even if it was primarily concerned with detonating bridges or ambushing recon parties. These efforts were done more out of a desperation than any greater strategy. Arkani Command was still reeling from the initial shock and organizing their forces in the south, concentrating as many men and material as possible to mount a counter offensive. High Command had predicted this turn of events much like it had predicted the Reman Navy’s actions the previous day. The advance remained ahead of schedule for there had never been any real hope of pushing to the coast before the Arkani could mount some kind of response.

The city of Murcalla was the farthest one north of any notable size. Census records stated that over two million souls lived in the greater metropolitan area. Replicants had infiltrated the city years before and as the Reich advanced had sabotaged evacuation efforts. Trains had been dispatched early and at only half capacity with no hope of getting back before Automailian forces arrived. The municipal airport was disorganized as flights were cancelled, then restored, then cancelled, then rescheduled again. For hundreds of thousands the option of staying was no option at all and a mass exodus along the highways had begun. Arkani infrastructure was advanced for Varathron but choked under the strain. Long lines of cars sat idling on multi-lane highways as passengers grew more desperate. At night they could see flashes in the distance as fighting raged on. Municipal officials turned on each other once the signs of Replicant activity were confirmed by Milenkan Intelligence. When the first synthetic-being was shot dead and its insidious corpse laid bare for all to see mass panic as followed. Rivals accused each other of being enemy agents and the police were divided on who, if anyone, they could trust. Riots broke out in the poorest districts once word spread that the roads were clogged, and the trains were gone. Spilling over into the more affluent and commercial districts these riots spread further chaos as neighborhoods fought each other. Long before the first of the cruise missiles dropped the city was burning.

The 411th had been tasked with the central thrust of the invasion its forces were the first to arrive on the outskirts. The professional military had become ensnared in the transportation night once they try to push through Murcalla. Mechanized Capitol Police companies swept around the metropolitan area, supported by König der Könige (Kdk) heavy cruiser tanks they brushed aside the few Arkani units that attempted a fighting retreat. Once these forces realized Murcalla was Troopers primary target they chose the better part of valor and left the city to its fate. The noose tightened by the end of the day. Reich forces converged on the primary highway heading south out of the downtown districts, cutting it off, and killing anything living within several miles of their convergence point. For the hundreds of thousands now trapped within Murcalla the grim reality of their predicament settled in poorly. Milenkans had never once dealt with the Reich and so mistakes were made. The municipal government agreed immediately to seek terms with the invaders and offer them the city in exchange for the lives of their people, and more importantly, themselves. Scattered remnants of the fleeing Army protested this but were overruled. A message of surrender was sent out to the invaders mere hours after the city was encircled.

The message of surrender was relayed through the networks back to Zehlit Garrison. Minutes later the word came down: Accepted. The municipal government promised compliance with the invaders decrees and the metaphorical gates were thrown open. Reich forces pushed into the city from all directions, avoiding the impossibly clogged major highways while sending KVF detachments to clear people from their vehicles and begin herding them towards the city center. Arkani Army units trapped within the city, however, refused to surrender. As Capitol Police formations moved in they had the experience to not engage them directly, but instead to wait for the softer and poorly equip KVF units who followed.

Firefights blazed on behind them as the Capitol Police rushed to secure the primary government buildings, pushing cars out of the way, and eliminating any civilians too slow to remove themselves from their path. Downtown districts descended into chaos as the Arkani left-behind forces kept up the assaults, coalescing around the idea of bogging the Capitol Police down in the dense urban centers. Surprise assaults were launched from the subway and sewer systems, allowing improvised light infantry to sneak in behind the advancing Capitol Police and launch devastating raids or ambushes against the advancing KVF. Capitol Police units pushed onwards regardless, as the Relay commanded them to prioritize strategic locations over the lives of the KVF.

Behind the advancing Trooper units, in areas where the Arkani left-behind units were not active, the population was rounded up like cattle. Breakaway units of Capitol Police began the initial round-up with KVF filler units brought into the heavy lifting, easing the duties on the Troopers to take up overseer roles. Tens of thousands were herded into local stadiums, city squares, or parks were an immediate improvised razor wire fence was set up. Hostages were seized at random and separated from known family units. In the cases of males of fighting age who were seized with no family or identification, only a bullet welcomed them. Driven to desperation and fear the Arkani complied with the Reich, believing their predicament to be temporary. Rumors had abounded for years of the horrific conditions within a Reich Fortress State, but was often the case these people prayed that they have been exaggerated.

Capitol Police units pushed to within a mile of the mayor’s office, along with the meotrpolitan police headquarters before they were stopped by stout resistance. The Arkani soldiers had little trouble finding volunteers to rapidly form a rag-tag militia, with guns stolen from the now turncoat metropolitan police armories, the officers themselves joining the loyalists against the cowardly city officials. Trooper units set up for a pitched battle and continued to launch probing attacks against the well-entrenched Arkani formations.

Within the Relay this information spread like a wildfire and one conclusion was found for immediate success.

An hour and a half later the stuttering whine of turbofans could be heard weaving through the skyscrapers of Murcalla. The buildings along their path had long been scoured by Capitol Police units who meticulously pushed from floor to floor, eliminating everyone. With these buildings secure the flight path was confirmed safe for their approach. Two Fimbulvinter STOVL aircraft roared into the downtown district with little announcement. Their arrival was heralded by an intense artillery bombardment, supplemented by coordinated cruise missile strikes against known rebel strong points. The Fimbulvinter aircraft dropped their altitude to just above “tree line” and swept for the mayoral office, with the second one breaking off towards the metropolitan police headquarters. In both cases the STOVL appeared suddenly, catching the beleaguered and sheltering defenders off-guard. Their swiveled and fixed autocannons roared to life cutting down anyone brave enough to stand out in the open to take opportunity shots at them. Reinforced nylon ropes dropped to the ground as Corvid Brigade Capitol Police hooked on and took the descent down. In the background deep-roared bursts from Barracuda close-support aircraft could be heard as they made attack runs against the increasingly disorganized Arkani militias. Corvid Brigade hit the ground and began clearing the area out with brutal efficiency. No surrenders were accepted, and no quarter was considered. The sympathetic politicians now held captive by the Arkani resistance had to be taken, while the police headquarters had to be seized since it had become the hub of organized resistance.

Caught off-guard the resistance fighters recoiled from the Corvid Brigade who breeched the mayoral office and police headquarter simultaneously, despite being several blocks apart. Close in air support strafing runs were called in and brought down danger-close to Capitol Police units even as they entered the buildings, to keep any organized counter-attack at bay. Fighting within the decorated, if not opulent, halls of the mayoral palace was quick and bloody with Arkani soldiers outmatched. At the police headquarters the fighting proved more concentrated as armories not already drained were looted and heavier ordinance brought forward, but even this supply proved too little against the coordinated volleys of MG-42s and Protection Armor.

Mayor Eshtu found himself cowering in a corner as the Corvid Brigade blew open the locked doors to his office. Screams of hatred followed as Arkani soldiers opened up into the gap, cutting down the first two Troopers who entered. Soldiers closer to the door, armed with automatic shotguns, took full advantage of their position to gun the next three who attempted to push through. A handful of flashbangs then followed, and as the defender gripped their now blinded eyes the Capitol Police made another push. Their MG-42s chattered, as spent ammo casings rained down, with each defender cut down in turn. Mere seconds passed before the mayor and his huddled aides were all that was left. A Capitol Police Officer marched over to him, his towering presence giving naught comfort.

“The Black Citadel has accepted your surrender,” it spoke plainly, its voice distorted by the inbuilt gas mask, “Call upon all resistance fighters to lay down their arms and surrender to the Kravenic Reich.”

The mayor was an elderly man, clearly in his fifties, and his voice quivered as he spoke, “I-I would, but I’m not sure the army would listen. We have already surrendered and yet they-“

His words were cut off by the echoing retort of the .50 caliber desert eagle in the Officer’s handed discharging. The back of the mayor’s skull blew out with brain matter covering his aides who sat in shock horror. The Officer seemingly picked another at random.

“You are now in command of Murcalla,” it said impassively, “The Black Citadel has accepted your surrender. Call upon all resistance fighters to lay down their arms and surrender to the Kravenic Reich.”
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Fri Mar 10, 2023 10:10 am

Operation WARLORD

Cronus Isles,
+128 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER
09:15 Hours Standard Imperial Time

Coastal siege monitors continued to belch death in a steady tempo. The shore of Cronus Prime was awash with blood smoke as the defenders were gradually ground down beneath relentless salvos of 800mm superheavy guns. The Remans took their defenses seriously and were manned by professionals. Their forces had constructed a string of fortified bunker complexes within the high cliff walls, overlooking the beaches. Heavy machinegun and autocannon fire from fixed, shielded positions, had cut down the first attempted landed by the Capitol Police. With the first wave butchered the Reich had upped the ante by launching multiple non-nuclear ICBMs from Automailia against the Remans. Their high-yield air-busting and bunker-buster variants had been impressive light displays, knocking out a few of the emplacements. Though it did not yield the results Zehlit had wanted and the Remans had shown remarkable resilience.

A Capitol Police Officer peered out the armored glass of a Subjugator-class Super Dreadnaught. The roiling seas between the Naval Arm and the beaches were littered with smoldering landing craft, bobbing up and down lifelessly their crews and charges long since cut down by the Remans. High above the Reman cliff forts a steady rain of cruise missiles disappeared over the horizon, hitting artillery emplacements and supply depots identified by UAVs which circled high above like crows, unhindered in their task by the Reich’s local air supremacy. The Officer looked over the monitor set before him, taking in all the relevant facts at a sweep. Though the Relay was omnipresent it was not all-powerful and had to carefully utilize itself for maximum efficiency; which meant that semi-autonomy was granted to Officers to pursue objectives set by the Relay with their own initiative. The Officers eyes, hidden behind the gas mask, noted that supply ships had already been launched from Port Chainmail. A quick survey of ammunition storage reports from coastal monitors, super dreadnaughts, cruisers, and all the rest of Naval Arm Varathron showed suitable stockpiles. Naval landings were happening all along island chain, from Cronus Prime to Cronus Octo. Yet, only on Cronus Octo and Septem had successful landings occurred. On these islands the Remans had initially been believed caught off-guard, but once Capitol Police finished their sweep it was realized that the Remans had abandoned them.

The Reich’s focus on Cronus Prime had caused the desired effect. Reman command likely suspected that it was the natural primary target of any invader, with its sister island of Secundus being a close runner up. Wishing to hold their primary islands the Remans had begun air-lifting troops off the rest of the islands further to the east, realizing that the loss of Prime and Secundus would mean their eventual capture anyway. UAV flights had revealed that stout, but undermanned, garrisons had been left on most of these eastern islands making them vulnerable to assault. For Reman command it appeared holding the western islands was paramount for eventual reinforcement from Gholgoth.

For High Command Cronus Prime had never been the primary target of Operation WARLORD.

With air supremacy secured, Naval Arm Varathron mustered additional squadrons to the east. Once Cronus Octo and Septem had been confirmed captured, along with reports of Reman focuses consolidating in the west, these squadrons went into action. Sweeping past the captured islands the Naval Arm pushed north. As it did salvos of missiles and superheavy shells were fired into the next islands encountered. Task forces were peeled away from the main body and assigned their own islands to capture. Unlike Cronus Prime these islands were not endowed with high cliffs and strong fortifications. Capitol Police units hit beaches that were already ablaze from offshore bombardment, whose skies had been seized and were now terrorized by strafing runs from Barracudas, their distinctive ripping sound quickly becoming a harbinger of death the strained Reman defenders. The contested lands proved successful, with Reman defenders fall back towards the interior while harassed by air support. With increasingly little room to retreat the Remans eventually set themselves up around their island’s headquarters, taking each salvo of incoming missile fire or Barracuda strafing run with grim stoicism. The Remans did not offer their surrender nor did the Reich show any sign that they would accept such. Hours passed before the last Reman holdouts were finished.

Reports filtered back to the Officer aboard the Subjugator overseeing Cronus Prime’s assault. The information was verified and messages sent to Zehlit Garrison about the completion of Operation WARLORD’s primary objective – open a path through the island chain to Belphegoria.

International Waters,
Near Neufreksland Protectorate,
+78 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER

Wolf Pack E-12 prowled beneath the Sorgen Sea. They were hunting wounded prey. When the order had become from Automailia to commence Operation WARLORD, they had sprung into action. The Reman submarines they’d stalked for months were nearly caught by complete surprise. A sudden failure in one of their UJM-100 Centurion submarine’s primary quad-turbo diesel engines threw the plan into disarray. All but one of the Reman submarines was immediately destroyed, with the lucky survivor turning about and pulling away fast. E-12 has pursued because it was the only orders they had from High Command. Had the engagement against the surface fleet gone poorly they might’ve been recalled but with the operation gaining ground on all fronts it was deemed more important to let them finish their hunt.

This decision proved a complicated one. E-12 never lost of the ‘scent’ of the Remans and had stayed with them. Eventually a mistake would be made, and they would close the gap. That mistake came when sonar scans revealed the Reman submarine was making an emergency surfacing. E-12 broke one of their Centurions off to quietly surface and scan the horizon. It was possible a Reman surface patrol was nearby, returning to the distress call from Cronus. A surface patrol could prove beyond the reasonable capabilities of the Centurions and a similar surface task force might have to broken from the invasion to deal with it.

The Centurion, U-701, did not quite surface all the way but instead got to within periscope depth. Surveying the scene it was determined that a foreign patrol had unexpectedly been near Neufreksland and was conducting a rescue operation of the Reman submarine. VTOL aircraft were spotted making runs back and forth. U-701 then slipped beneath the waves again and made ready for their attack. The rest of E-12 had spread out across the local area. When U-701 did not ping its radar in signal it was determined that an attack could be made but would be left to 701.

A single volley of torpedoes launched. With the enemy submarine sitting still in the water and her crew in the process of evacuation there would be no chance of it avoiding the hit. For those on the surface the first sign of something going wrong would be when explosions ripped across the Camellia. Anyone onboard would’ve been killed either in the explosion or when the Camellia swiftly disappeared beneath the waves. In the immediate aftermath, U-701 surfaced within plain sight, if at a respectable distance, from the LangGong vessels.

A message was relayed.

“LangGong vessels! You are interfering in an official Reich military operation! The sailors you have taken are lawful combatants and belong under the jurisdiction of the Fortress State of Automailia, acting on behalf of the Black Citadel.

You will surrender these persons to us immediately or you will be fired upon.”
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Posts: 19
Founded: Jul 29, 2020
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Langong » Sun Mar 12, 2023 11:57 am

Last edited by Langong on Sat Apr 29, 2023 10:08 am, edited 2 times in total.
Friend of Kraven, 2005-2023
18 years of stories deleted
Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Posts: 2346
Founded: Apr 24, 2008
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby LOVE DOG » Sun Mar 12, 2023 5:21 pm

’We're not afraid
Terrors of night, arrows that fly by day
Ten thousand may fall
But we, we will remain

A beast growls at the world around it, a war machine that needs blood to grease its joints. Unstoppable as the jackboots start moving. An inhuman threat to the world itself. A snake that needed its head crushed a long time. And that beast growl at those that falsely they have control over it. No one has that type of power of keep the beast in a cage. They live a dream within the truth of a nightmare. That beast was unchecked and may the Wicked Ones have mercy on the souls within Gholgoth and Varathron. But a threat did not need to be unanswered, even if it was sent by a bunch of inhuman manic bastards. A message from someone equally as inhuman in nature as the Kraven Reich.

A video would come into existent that would arrive to Kraven High Command, the Gothic Lords, new stations worldwide and so on. There was no fanfare like normal coming from a message from that being, oh so loved by the Dominionites. The video opens in a snow-covered landscape, the Sun bearing down in the distance creating an unfocused sense. As it came into focused, the viewer would see a man dressed worn black leather duster with black cowboy hat facing the Sun. The viewers would also see that the landscape was in the mountains somewhere and the man was standing on the edge of a ledge.

"Twenty four hours..." said the Count as he looked back at the camera. "Getting soft on us, o' big scary beastie? I wonder..."

He chuckled, low and deep, as he slowly turned, zipping his dark blue jeans up with a smile that would make Elvis jealous. To the viewer, the Count was a man of maybe his mid-forties with little salt in his black as night hair with neatly trimmed goatee. His lifeless grey eyes semi hidden by the shadows of his cowboy hat. But the truth of the matter was this man wasn't in his mid-forties. Try ancient and a being that you would try not to cross.

"Feeling froggy, o' scary beastie?" asked the Count as the zoomed towards his face. "Then fucking leap!"

And the video ended. A taunt by a lunatic. Was it needed? No. But sometimes there comes a time to remind the masses that there was something more dangerous in the shadows. And that it wasn't blind to the events of the world.

* credit for lyrics ~ Crowder – Crushing Snakes (feat. TAYA)*
Last edited by LOVE DOG on Thu Apr 20, 2023 6:47 pm, edited 3 times in total.

User avatar
Greater Ordena
Posts: 60
Founded: Nov 06, 2021

Postby Greater Ordena » Sun Mar 12, 2023 7:59 pm

Maybach II, South of Berlina
Command bunker of the Oberkommando des Wehrmacht.

There was always an eerie silence throughout the paved and furnished hallway like tunnels that connected the several bunkers deep underground which altogether made up the complex referred to as Maybach II. The deep underground bunker complex served as the operational headquarters of the Oberkommando Des Wehrmacht, otherwise known as the Supreme Command of the Armed Forces. The complex had been constructed during the infancy of the Greater Ordenite Reich and had over the many decades had been refurbished and modernized again and again. From these bunkers the OKW could command and control the various theatres and forces arrayed across the Greater Ordenite Reich and its subsequent overseas territories. In recent years the bunker complexes that made up Zeppelin, Maybach I and II had been hardened against electromagnetic pulses from enemy weaponry such as nuclear devices.

Oskar Felzmann was all too familiar with the atmosphere that the underground bunker complex gave to those working within it. It was practically his second home as he was typically working and carrying out his duties as Chief of the OKW from the bunker complex. Today he had arrived in the early hours of the morning as he did every morning but he would today be taking part in a meeting with his Staff that made up the upper echelons of the Oberkommando des Wehrmacht. Such a meeting was held semi-frequently every month and was done to update and brief the General Staff on the status of the Wehrmacht across the wider Reich. Several new topics of discussion had been pooled together for them to go over and discuss within the comfortable confines of a well furbished conference room. They all gathered around a large mahogany table and took their seats with Feldmarschall Felzmann sitting at the helm of the table.

Before the meeting was underway a pair of maids entered the room briefly giving out glasses of hot coffee which had been freshly made for them and once the two maids left the room the meeting began. The first order of business was developments in Hailandkill on both sides of the demarcation line between Ordena and The Golden Throne.

"Since the end of the last war developments in former Hailandkill have been uneventful since the agreed armistice. The Fuermak and the Free Killian Army have been establishing themselves to the North as we have in the South. Currently we have an estimated forty million personnel on the field within the newly annexed territory and plentiful reserves across the former border with Hailandkill. Repairs on air bases and air fields affected during the war have been completed. Expansion of the Reichsautobahn and Reichsbahn into the annexed areas have also been reported as completed and logistics for our personnel are optimal in case of renewed fighting."

Hailandkill had to this point been afforded the utmost focus of the Wehrmacht as it knew that for now it still maintained relative military superiority on the Hugen continent. It was their backyard and the Golden Throne were perceived as trespassers and if fate willed it the next war could very well mean the resuming of offensive operations deeper into Hailandkill with the strategic goal of removing TGT military assets and forces completely from the continent and reaffirming sole Ordenite superiority.

"Krasnova. Developments on the island have been uneventful as well with reconstruction efforts of the Reichsautobahn and Reichsbahn being successful. Currently the Wehrmacht possess over 40 million personnel completing the target goal for force projection on the island. Partisan activity has hit a all time low with attacks being fewer than 10 every six months, resistance activity has mostly resorted to terrorism and isolated attacks against Police and security forces. We project that by 2040 all resistance among the population within Ordenite territory on the island will cease to exist." Krasnova had for the last decade been a headache for the Wehrmacht due to the near constant warring with other major powers in the region and the partisan activity taking place. However following the final capitulation of the Unified Eastern Star Soviets several years ago the Reichskommissariat had been largely successful in pacification of resistance and keeping the native population firmly under the Ordenite boot.

"Wanderjar and San Castello. Developments have been of some concern as of late with the resurgence of the DIENPAC insurgency which we had aided the Free State and San Castello in defeating years prior. However it is still too early to tell how the situation will play out and for now the Free State is acting accordingly to stamp out the resurgent insurgency before it grows out of control."

"Fustera. Developments have been of concern with the increasingly active native insurgency growing there in the Northern region of the country. The Abwehr have their suspicions that they are receiving arms and munitions from foreign governments. However the Fusteran Armed Forces have been deployed to the troubled areas to combat the growing insurgency. Wehrmacht personnel are closing in on its projected force projection goal of forty million personnel from across all branches."

"Dietsland. Concerning developments in the Varathron region with Fortress Automailia a known Kraven client state however it is suspected that Automailia has been fully incorporated into the Kraven Reich. Recently in the past few days it has begun invading it's neighbors which has brought concern from the Military Commander in the country who believes that soon Dietsland could be next. Wehrmacht force projection has reached it's projected goal however a war with Automailia and therefore the Kraven Reich may mean that current force projections in the region are inadequate for sustained conflict." Felzmann was thoroughly perplexed by the news coming from Reichskommissariat Dietsland. A war with the Kraven Reich? Where was Gholgoth in all of this?

This development would certainly be something he would bring up in the next convening of the Ministerial Council for the Defense of the Reich. Felzmann could only hope that something could be done before it was too late. The invasions by Automailia would result in the Military Authority of the Fredriksberg province being put on alert. The prospects of a possible major war in Varathron in which Ordena would have to intervene in a major way to defend it's overseas territory so soon after the end of the previous war would mean bringing Ordena into a war footing on a scale not seen in decades. It was not if Ordena could bring its self into this war footing but when it could bring it's self into the war footing needed to fight the Kraven menace directly.
IC Population: 22.714 billion
IC Nation Name(s): Greater Ordenite State(Official), Ordenite State(Unofficial)
Previously known as '"United World Order"
Condemned by the World Assembly, December 25th, 2018.

User avatar
Drakonian Imperium
Posts: 128
Founded: Antiquity

ELINT*, Orders, and Action

Postby Drakonian Imperium » Sun Mar 12, 2023 11:27 pm

0142 Zulu
West of Neufrekesland
Sorgen Sea, Varathron
Drakonian Surveillance Aircraft

"Sir, I've got something."

High above the Sorgen Sea flew the R-1995 Dragon Eye Surveillance Aircraft. Originally derived from a civilian aircraft design, the Dragon Eye had been modified with a range of sophisticated sensors across the electromagnetic spectrum. Allowing it to detect, identify, and locate a wide range of signals, including, but not limited to radio traffic and radar emissions. A relatively new addition to the Imperial Aerospace Force, the Dragon Eye had replaced an older aircraft with a similar role, but less advanced sensors. This Dragon Eye had been deployed recently to Neufrekesland to monitor the military build-up in Automailia.

Much of the internal volume of the aircraft was devoted to the equipment necessary for its function. With the crew cabin laid out in a series of workstations for operating the various sensors and antennas. Now, the Senior Intelligence Officer approached one such workstation.

"Have you got them," he asked the crewman who had spoken up.

"Yes, Sir," the enlisted man responded, craning his head to glance back at the man now standing behind him. "A large formation moving north. Lots of signals. Possibly weapons fire."

"Alright," the officer acknowledged, turning to a standing crewman who had followed him. "Corporal Salvius, inform Captain Julius that we have contact and have him alter course north."

The Corporal nodded, heading for the cockpit of the aircraft to carry out his orders.

"Airman Russus, activate satellite communications and begin transmission of location information," the officer continued, addressing a crewman at another workstation, before turning to a third crewman. "Sergeant Cornettus, give me a full electromagnetic spectrum work up. Catch and record everything."

2111 Zulu
International Airport
Profugium, Disia
North Tarmac

The order had come through suddenly.

"You are hereby ordered to bring the 1st Varathron Volunteer Regiment to full readiness. Transfer all men and equipment to Profugium International Airport for transport to Landungberg, Neufrekesland. There you will assume command of defensive preparations, until relieved by a superior officer."

Colonel Felix Arcus and the 1st Varathron were no strangers to Neufrekesland.

A new nation, Neufrekesland had only existed for a decade. In 2011, the Freekish colony of Belphegoria had declared its independence by launching multiple invasions across Varathron. Northern Dietsland had been one of the first areas occupied. However, the war had ended abruptly less than a year later. Most of the occupied territories had been abandoned, but in Dietsland the Freekish settlers had doggedly hung on to their lands. They were joined by soldiers repatriating from the war in Gholgoth, from the occupation army in Disia, Drakonia's colony, and elsewhere in Varathron. Tensions remained high and occasional violence broke out between the settlers and Dietslanders. The Freeks formed a government, calling their fledgling nation, Neufrekesland.

In 2018, the 1st Varathron was part of a Gholgothic Peacekeeping Mission in Dietsland, principally organized by Drakonia and the Pantokratic Dominate of Emperor Pudu. It had only been successful in keeping outright war from breaking out. It was there, on his first tour of duty, where Colonel Arcus had gotten a nasty scar on his cheek from an overeager insurgent sniper. It was also in 2018 that the Kingdom of Dietsland ceased to exist. This time the invasion was from Ordena.

Avoiding involvement in the conflict, the peacekeepers had withdrawn across the border into Neufrekesland, where the mission changed from protecting the Dietslanders from the Freeks to protecting the Freeks from the Ordenites. But, no invasion of Neufrekesland ever happened. Instead, Ordena and Neufrekesland managed to establish a friendly working relationship. Leaving Drakonia with little to justify its suspicions. The 1st Varathron had conducted a second deployment in Neufrekesland training the locals and watching the border before pressing needs elsewhere soon saw them recalled home to Disia.

Not a part of the regular Imperial Army, the Volunteer Regiment was organized as a unit of the Volunteer Drakonia Army, an subsidiary emergency formation established to supplement the manpower of the Imperial Army in times of major war. The last time the Volunteer Army was active had been during the 1940s. It had been reactivated in 2014, but instead of mass mobilization the formation had seen limited recruitment. Primarily used for Peacekeeping Missions, such as the one in Neufrekesland, the Volunteer Army had become an experienced core which could be expanded when and if the need arose.

With this new mission, the 1st Varathron had been issued with flesh camouflage uniforms. These were of the Imperial Army's recent Multi-Environment Pattern. It was traditional for the Volunteer Army to use an older Universal Pattern used during the early 2000s. That pattern had proved less than ideal, but what it lacked in actual camouflage value it made up for in distinctiveness and the Volunteer Army found it useful to distinguish its soldiers as peacekeepers. That the older pattern had not been issued for this mission and the Colonel knew that could only mean the Army expected open warfare.

Marching across the tarmac, he noted that the unit's vehicles were in a similar state. Some were painted in greens and browns, while others were painted white, with a maroon red stripe, and the black letters "GFOR". Until recently, the 1st Varathron had been in northern Disia contesting the border against a Reich incursion into Ozbekskinia. There had been intense fighting and the Regiment had been relieved, returning to Profuga City for rest, rearmament, and to be brought back up to strength. The units current vehicles were drawn from those that had been in use along the border (camouflaged for a jungle environment) and those that had been held in reserve should the 1st Varathron or another Regiment of the Volunteer Army be again called to peacekeeping duty.

As he advanced, Arcus watched the Regiment's soldiers frantically preparing to repaint all the vehicles appropriately to match Neufrekesland's environment.

"Sergeant," he called out trying to locate the non-commissioned officer in charge of the chaos. He couldn't find the man.

A head popped up from behind one of the vehicles.

"Lieutenant Calidarius," the Colonel barked, affixing the head with the stare of a predator. "Pack this mess up!"

"Sir?" The Lieutenant was young and new to the Regiment, barely a month out of war college.

"We will have plenty of time to repaint these vehicles in Neufrekesland." A cluster of enlisted had stopped distributing paint buckets and was watching the exchange with mild interest. "Get these vehicles loaded!"

Lieutenant Valerius Calidarius looked sheepish. "Yes, sir," he said with less enthusiasm than the Colonel would have liked.

"Now, Lieutenant! This Regiment will be the first boots on the ground. The Volunteer Army, not the Imperial Army! We are not going to let the Legions beat us to that honor!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Action was no longer delayed, with haste the Lieutenant and the enlisted set about storing their paint equipment.

"A rousing speech," someone observed from behind the Colonel.

Arcus turned to find Major Ignatius Ascius standing there with just the slightest hints of a smile on his face. The Major was purportedly an officer of the Imperial Army assigned to Army Intelligence, but Arcus was certain he was actually working for the civilian agency of Drakonian Intelligence. While the man had clearly worn a uniform in the past, he no longer acted like a military officer, he acted like a spook, a secret agent. He acted like a civilian spy who thought he could get away with anything. The niceties of military courtesy as lax they were in the Volunteer Army were more strictly observed by the Imperial Army. Ascius acted as though they were optional.

They had served together on the Colonel's second tour in Neufrekesland and Ignatius had always addressed Felix Arcus, the senior officer, in a casual manner.

"There is little chance of the vaunted 10th Airborne or 14th Special Ops beating us to Landungberg. We are simply in a better position and readiness."

The Colonel just stared at the Major. "We?"

"I'm here to join your little expedition," the Major offered.

An eyebrow raised. "Are you?"

"Yes." Again, the Major smiled. "Orders."

* ELINT: "Electronic Intelligence", part of SIGINT, Signals Intelligence.

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Mon Mar 13, 2023 11:11 pm

Operation SLAYER

Arkan Protectorate,
+136 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
01:32 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The city glowed like an ember in the hazy, cool night. The downtown district had been breeched hours before and sustained Capitol Police assaults had divided the defenders into increasingly smaller pockets of resistance. Tens of thousands of KVF troops poured in, in the aftermath, securing all major routes in or out, vital infrastructure such as water treatment, power plants, and industrial facilities. The banner of the Reich was hoisted from all government buildings adding an air of finality to it all. Hundreds of thousands of Arkani civilians had been cut off from escape south and had been herded towards the city center, but away from the on-going battle. Temporary internment camps were set inside of stadiums, parks, even warehouses. Terrified people milled about these places under the watchful eye of the KVF and their Capitol Police handlers. With major fighting done the 411th Battalion began to withdraw from Murcalla and hand over control. A sigh of relief was palpable as Ragnarok IFVs and Lowin APCs carried the grim Troopers out along now cleared thoroughfares.

The nightmare had only begun. Hours passed with no word from their occupiers on when or if they could return to their homes. The streets remained eerily quiet except for the occasional patrol. From the north came dozens of black APCs. As they entered they avoided the internment camps and instead dismounted in various fields and parking lots across the city. These were the Totenkopf, the liquidators of the Fortress State. The sentence had been passed down from High Command and so their tasks would begin. Murcalla had been selected as a natural concentration point for their operations. A centrally located city with plenty of in-place infrastructure was ideal for the industrialized process they specialized in. They did not come alone, as several divisions of the Volunteer Forces (KVF) came in with them. In each location they set about laying the foundations of the liquidation centers. Large, deep, and rectangular pits were dug, as fencing was put up and topped with razor wire. Guard posts followed and were topped with Capitol Police heavy weapons squads which guarded the KVF just as much as the civilians they were intended for. Fuels trucks ladened with tens of thousands of gallons of flammable liquids were posted up as replenishment depots.

The process to liquidate an entire city was not any easy one. Once it began the Totenkopf would be on a time crunch to ensure units were processed efficiently. Once large concentrations of units became aware of their inevitable fate there grew the increasing risk of massed revolt. These could be put down but would disrupt the flow, it would ruin the efficiency. Red spectacled Capitol Police convened with each other in clipped, laconian sentences discussing ways to tweak the process. A line was shortened here, an overflow pit dug there, or resupply caches positioned optimally closer to the task point. Within only a few hours the liquidation centers had been established, the process had been determined, and Officers gave the go-ahead to KVF and Capitol Police guard units.

The stadium was the first to be emptied. Its units had been cataloged in the meantime by height, weight, and general shape – so as to maximize each pit. As they were processed the chatter of MG42s filled the air in long, barking staccatos. Totenkopf units conducted each processing, utilizing flamers for the final stages. As the primary pits reached capacity, overflow pits were quickly utilized, and the general flow of units was shifted. As each pit became full, a squad of flamethrowers carrying Totenkopf came forward and lit them on fire. The fuel utilized was not a standard mix, but a specialized blend discovered by the Science Division to allow it to burn hotter faster. Flames reached dozens of feet into the air. The acrid smell of the pits mixed with the cordite of the MG42s and the decaying smell of the whole thing. Hundreds resisted once it became abundantly clear what was going to happen to them. Desert eagles and bolt-action rifles barked as guards neutralized anyone attempting to flee. Dozens were only wounded, by order of the Totenkopf, who soon took them and hung them from nearby streetlights with corded ropes, their twitching forms a grim reminder to those further back. The whole ordeal took hours with Capitol Police guards within the stadium reporting the final batches being rounded up. For the Arkani nothing was ever told to them as their friends and loved ones were marched out. No lies of relocation or questioning. The Kravenic Reich had long dispensed with these unnecessary comforts.

Across all of northern Arkan this procedure was carried out with clinical efficiency. Totenkopf units moved into every town, big or small, and rounded up the people. In particularly small ones they simply liquidated them on the spot as opposed to wasting fuel for transportation, these units then set the towns ablaze with flamethrowers and left their burning husks to smolder.

Systemically all territory that Fortress Automailia controlled in Arkan was being cleansed of its human resources.

Operation SHRIKE

+151 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER
14:19 Hours Standard Imperial Time

It had once been home to the Supreme Warlord’s son, Azrael, in what was another age. Belphegoria now lay in ruins, Automagfreek long since divesting itself of this broken place. For High Command the seizure of Belpehgoria was a tedious affair. On one hand the Freeks had never formally given up their claims, but maintained no garrison forces nor provided basic welfare for the scattered survivors of the long-ago conflict. The island was a strategic necessity as both supply depot and rallying point for further operations in northern Varathron. The Freeks had since slumbered content in their splendid isolation. With the invasion of Cronus and Arkan, two Gothic Lords had already been struck. It was decided that the die had been cast already and one more could do no more harm.

Naval Arm Varathron pushed through the corridor in the Cronus Isles, attached to it was a vast armada of supply ships ladened with all the materials needed to turn Belphegoria into a reflection of Automailia. Drones had been flying over Belphegoria for months, which was how High Command knew the Freeks maintained no garrison or how only scattered survivors still lingered in techno-barbaric tribes. Capitol Police Battalions reached the southern shores of the island and dismounted to no resistance. Hour stacked upon hour as they pushed deeper in. The ruins of large cities were targeted and occupied quickly, with whatever squatters living within seized for forced labor units. Meagre resistance was offered only sporadically by tribesmen who had long since forgotten their homeland but whose blood still pumped through their veins. A certain animalistic hatred of these black-clad, red spectacled machine-men lighting something deeper within them.

City infrastructure was critically damaged. If they had been in any worse condition the Reich would’ve abandoned them all together, but certain places like ports or airports could still be repaired and used for the beginning phases. Days later the boats began to arrive, their holds filled with thousands of traumatized Reman civilians captured during WARLORD. Prodded forward by Capitol Police they separated into work gangs.

Airfields were cleared and piers expanded. Day by day more ships arrived and additional supplies dropped off. Soon cargo planes were landing daily, then hourly. Additional naval landings were carried out on the northern shores of Belphegoria once a southern foothold was fortified. The work there was no different, but now Reman work gangs were in short supply, prompting Automailia to export its own Citizens, forced from their tiny modular homes on vessels in conditions only slightly better than the Reman who preceded them.
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Tue Mar 14, 2023 4:20 am

Macrofoundry J-21,
Fortress Automailia,
+160 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
07:15 Hours Standard Imperial Time

Governor Holt walked with slow methodical steps down the assembly lines. Keeping his eyes straight ahead he avoided the gaze of those around him. Their focus remained on their work … but he knew. They hated him. They wanted to kill him for everything he had done. Though they dare not take their attention from their tasks it was no secret that the Governor of Automailia was making an inspection of Macrofoundry J-12 on this date. The Overseers had ordered purges of all the “dead weight” before his arrival. Those craven, carrion-feeders met him whenever he visited these hellish places. They stood erect and saluted him as if they did some great service for him. Cold indifference was all he showed them, all he would ever show them. They were almost the worst that Humanity had to offer – those who flicked the whip and scared the backs of their fellow man for pitifully little gain. The only thing worse were those who sold their people out … those like him.

The assembly lines stretched on for hundreds of yards. All of it was encased within a concrete and steel shell meant to provide protection from aerial bombardment. Not for the survival of the workers there but to protect the machinery. The Reich maintained engineers and skilled craftsmen in slavery like everyone else, but they were given additional rations and slightly larger living spaces. Purges took them all the same and Holt had found nothing to suggest that they received any slack. Adjusting his ear plugs he glanced at a machine that belched smoke and fire as it electrically welded machined pieces together. He didn’t know what was made here. He didn’t care. Occasionally the fancy would take him and he’d actually review the inspection dispatches from Norska. He felt pathetic at the thought. For those around him their entire lives would be spent either within this loud, smoke-filled concrete cage toiling away or locked away within cramps apartments stacked on top of their other cramped apartments. This was the sum of their existence now because the Reich had deemed it necessary. For a blessed few they were be rounded up after his inspection and summarily executed.

He would lodge no findings; he never did. But the Capitol Police would arrive like they always did, and workers would be taken at random and shot in the street or hung from lampposts as punishment for crimes nobody committed. He was Death Incarnate. Wherever he treads people die. Norska did not need him to perform inspections. It was a routine duty assigned at random and could’ve gone to any number of lesser officers, and most often did. No … he had slowly come to understand what it was really meant to do. The Black Citadel was sending him a message.

Reaching the end of the facility he saw a tall, thin, and pale man dressed in an overseers uniform guarded by KVF waiting for him. Words passed between them briefly. The thing spoke sentences which Holt assumed were meant to ensure he wouldn’t be added to the upcoming purge list. As always Holt said little, giving no hint. Not because he didn’t wish the man to die but because the executions were truly random. Overseers died alarmingly at the same rate as their charges. Salutes were exchanged and Holt entered the back of an armored vehicle that sat idling for him. Two Capitol Police stood outside his window, his informal guards through the assembly floor; another sat on the other side of the vehicles from him starring impassively at nothing, while another two occupied the front seats. Holt didn’t bother to give the order to go back to Zehlit, in thirteen to twenty-two seconds the vehicle would do exactly that with or without him saying anything.

It had all been smoke and mirrors. From the day the Reich arrived and his gave his oath of allegiance, the veneer of his authority had been dangled in front of him. As the vehicle learned fourteen seconds later his weary, sunken brown eyes stared out the window without comment. His mind drifted to better days, stronger days, when he had been a younger man living out in the jungles in hidden bases. Life had been so vivid back then when he joined the Revolution. He would sit up at night, a fire crackling in front of him, surrounded by his comrades and stare up into the beautiful night sky. It was filled with so many stars. Back then Automailian industry only existed in the cities. Now the skies were black all day every day. He refused to look at it.

Turning down a wide street the vehicle approached the first of many checkpoints. Holt absently pulled out his identification papers. Nobody moved through Zehlit Garrison, not even him, not even that thing Konstantine, without their papers. The Capitol Police there took them and after a few moments gave them the signal to proceed. As they did so an APC passed them as it too stopped at the checkpoint but was immediately waved through after a quick word from the driver. Holt couldn’t muster the energy to even sigh. He knew it was Totenkopf squad heading to J-21.

Operation HYDRA
Zehlit Garrison/Automailia-Jackburg Border,
+206 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
04:30 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The fall of Murcalla had been another trigger point within the overarching plan of High Command. Its captured ensured that SLAYER could proceed south without threat of having to retreat into Automailia. Deep within Zehlit Garrison these reports along with hundreds of others were tracked and relayed to the approach Officers in charge. Commandant Konstantine stood around a large metal table with several Capitol Police Officers as they stared at updates from all fronts. Capitol Police Battalions had pushed past Murcalla and were racing towards the provincial capital of Tri’Valesh. The eastern Cronus Isles had been taken and the latest update confirmed that at least one beach had been secured despite stiff Reman resistance. Belphegoria was well on its way to being occupied and converted into an extension of Fortress Automailia.

Konstantine reviewed the secured objectives being nodding to himself, “We have met the preconditions to commence HYDRA. Do you agree?”

Each Officer took several seconds to review the digital display on the table, taking careful note of all the same finding that Konstantine himself had made. One by one they answered in the affirmative. Operation HYDRA was the invasion for Artitsan-owned Jackburg Protectorate.

“We have received no reports from Replicants in any Gothic nation that the Lords are preparing any organized counter-attack,” said one of the Officers.

“The Gothic Lords are preoccupied with Fortress Norska’s threat on Pelion. The Freekish Peace has made them complacent,” deadpanned another.

Konstantine nodded, “Their response has been considered. Jackburg must be taken quickly. High Command has pushed up timetables due to our success in SLAYER and WARLORD.”

None offered complaint.

For the Jackburgians the war had raged to their west but had so far not affected them. Protectorate troops had repositioned forces along the western border and began to reactivate old units. Tens of thousands made their way to training bases across the protectorate to prepare for an invasion that their generals believed would undoubtedly take place once Arkan collapsed, if not before. The invasion of Arkan had done first explicitly for the purpose of bypassing the well-defended and dug-in units along the border with Automailia. Capitol Police Battalions now moved through an increasingly depopulated Arkan, taking up positions closer to the Jackburg border.

When the order came down from Zehlit, massed artillery fire was the first sign. Across the Jackburg-Automailia border these field guns conducted heavy bombardment as Capitol Police moved forward, pounding away at fixed positioned or bunker complexes with heavy armor or bunker-busting munitions. Further south, Battalions quickly routed those defenders who had been hastily reassigned to this unexpected front. Reich forces did not maintain the same methodical conquest that they had in Arkan thus far, but instead once a breakthrough was made they pushed ahead, pockets of resistance were only contained and then left behind. Reinforcement Battalions, rushing in behind the advancing forces, would mop up these hardpoints.

The war expanded yet again …
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Tue Mar 14, 2023 10:36 pm

Operation HYDRA

Jackburg Protectorate,
+268 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
14:44 Hours Standard Imperial Time

They called it the Morell River. It was born in a small mountain range in northern Jackburg and flowed all the way south to the southern seas, bisecting the Protectorate. Jackburgian forces, caught off guard by the western thrust by Automailia, had attempted a retreat to the east but it had fallen apart into a route. Tens of thousands of terrified, confused soldiers moved as a swarm until they came to the river. Here they huddled as the few bridges across its thinnest section were clogged almost to a standstill. Officers regained control of their men and began to establish fixed positions in the direction of the advancing Reich forces. If there was to be any hope of crossing the Morell, then many would have to pay the ultimate sacrifice so that the bulk of the armed forces could safely retreat. Volunteers were not in short supply. The Jackburgian Command had recovered from the initial shock and were back in control of the situation. Reserve divisions were driving towards the Morell from eastern bases intent on holding the Reich forces back. Air assets had been fighting for the past two days in the sky, keeping the Reich off the backs of the retreating forces.

Panic would begin to set in when the first Capitol Police units encountered the fixed lines of the Jackburgian volunteers. Fighting was fierce was as armored companies punched through the lines within an hour only to be thrown back by suicidal charges from reserve units. Another breech occurred later in the evening as Capitol Police concentrated sustained, heavy-ordinance bombardment along a small part of the line before throwing several armored companies at it. Jackburgian reserve units failed to stop the breakthrough entirely but halted it from getting any worse. This cut the a dozen mile stretch of the ad hoc line in the north off from the rest. A counter-attack, backed up by close air support failed to dislodge the Capitol Police who began to dig in. With a section of the line cut off the Automailians were reinforced by an unusually large number of Battalions who focused entirely on the isolated pocket. For the defenders on the other side they could do nothing but watch helplessly during the night as flashes lit up the night and the Reich squeezed the defenders in an unending vice. Desperate pleas came over the radio for reinforcement, for support, for God … for anything. An hour and a half before dawn the radio communications ended, with the last transmission being only weeping. The only saving grace for the Jackburgians was that the isolated pocket had no bridge across the Morell.

Reich air strikes grew increasingly common once they pushed the Jackburgian air wings out of the area. Even as Jackburg reinforcements pushed into the area, themselves harassed by Barracuda strafing runs, they set up anti-air positions and the dueling began. With each hour that passed thousands of Jackburgian soldiers and tons of equipment/material made it safely over the bridges. For High Command the cost to benefit ratio of the bridges had dried up. As evening came on the second day, cruise missiles struck each of the bridges in turn, blowing sections of them apart. Thousands died in the explosions and hundreds more died in the stampede as the desperate soldiery knew what the machine-men were trying to do. Another salvo minutes later finished the job and each of the bridges plunged into the Morell.

In the years to come they would call it the Miracle on the Morell. Once the bridges fell the defenders were left in terror as the prospect of slowly being squeezed by the advancing Capitol Police. Their pleas for mercy were answered. The Jackburg army engineers rushed to find some way to evacuate the forces on the other side. Soldiers scoured along the riverbank for at homes, businesses, or anywhere. All craft that could floated were seized and pressed into service. Calls went to every town along the banks of the Morell who had not already been evacuated, all amateur captains were pressed into service. Boats as far away as the protectorate capital of Vella were hastily prepped and put across the river. Soldiers piled onto these boats, jet skis, barges, and the like. Army engineers rigged up sections of bridging, floating them in sections across the Morell to shorten the distance watercraft had to travel. Thankful, exhausted soldiers rushed down these and into the waiting arms of their brothers. Reich aircraft continued to strafe the area, killing hundreds of those who managed to make it to the bridges, blowing up barges or fishing trolleys as they tried to cross the river. Jackburigan AA guns kept the skies lit up, along with SAM carriers and the occasional sortie by the remnants of the air force.

Parts of the line began to collapse as High Command ordered continued assaults. Piece by piece the line was broken apart, isolating sections that were then beset by everything the machine-men could throw against them. The night drug on as more pockets of resistance were crushed, whole units choosing to stay in place to keep the Reich busy rather than flee. Certain sections were cleared of the wounded, terrified, or injured first and for these the defenders did their best to slowly collapse their lines back to the banks of the Morell, where concentrated artillery waited to box them in and keep the Capitol Police off them long enough for an escape. In some cases, this worked and the beleaguered defenders cheered as the red spectacled Capitol Police peered at them from the banks of the Morell. In others the comrades of those men died on the muddy banks with bayonets in their stomachs, their cries drowned in the cacophony of artillery duels, missile strikes, or chattering machine-gun fire.

The Jackburgians dug into the eastern bank and dared the invaders to cross.

Operation SLAYER

Chelmar Marches,
Arkan Protectorate,
+399 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
15:36 Hours Standard Imperial Time

Capitol Police Battalions had continued their progress south to the sea. The loss of their border defenses, aggravated by the fall of Murcalla had sent the AAF (Arkani Armed Forces) into disarray. Units had routed only to be encircled and destroyed piecemeal by the Reich, others had opened fire on each other in desperate, crazed confusion. Whole battles had been waged by friendly forces who, due to Replicant actions, could no long entirely trust one another. The corruption and infiltration of Arkan had been so pervasive that political and military purges were already occurring under the cover of covert operations by the protectorate government. Those districts in the direct path of the Capitol Police, south of Murcalla, had been infiltrated beyond the point of salvation as Replicants clogged roadways with pre-planned accidents, planted explosives in industrial or commercial facilities to sow terror, or went as far as outright acts of mass violence. Guns had been prohibited in the Protectorate but Replicants found them all the same, walking into government or police buildings and murdering without discrimination. The chaos continued unabated as the Arkani Protectorate imploded.

Within the AAF order was restored after gross purges were launched. Anyone even remotely suspected of being a Replicant was executed out of hand. Though hundreds of innocent people were slain it was the only way to be sure. Those of high enough office who had been sparred were required to undergo testing to determine if they were Replicants as well. News of this was suppressed by the government as best it could but dozens of conspiracy theory websites took the rumors and ran with them. Though discredited they spread their message to the populace who was beginning to turn on themselves. Protests turned into riots and riots into calls for political and even violent action. Surviving government officials could not be sure that these riots were not the work of Replicants within the population and reacted in kind. Police forces were granted lethal force to break up the riots, arrest any ringleaders, and gun down anyone who tried to stop them. These riots turned bloody quickly as an increasingly panicked population could not bring itself to trust the government, their fears fanned by influencers who shilled that the government was now controlled by Replicants, who called on the Military to save them. The police ruthlessly began to put down these crowds with hundreds dying in each encounter.

For the Arkani Armed Forces there was no time to intervene in the growing civil insurrection, or was it liberation, occurring outside of their bases. One too many counter-intuitive orders from the Governor’s Office had prompted Command to sever its allegiance and only reply with false promises of obedience. For days their men had organized within the chain-linked or walled bases outside of major cities, watching as the fires and sounds of battle raged only miles away. For many they stood hollow-eyed watching the flashes and coiling trails of smoke with a sense of deadness. What befell the civilians had already swept them. Few had not been asked to kill their best friends or truest comrades. Tears stung their eyes as they stood out naked in the cold as black-clad, unmarked men scanned and prodded them. Those who failed these examinations died and everyone knew someone who’d died. Several who were innocent died with them as they refused to believe it.

When the orders came down that they would go north, many gave a sigh of relief. They were glad to leave their blood-stained barracks. Many hoped they would never return to such places. By this point the riots had spilled out of the downtown centers and sporadically occurred around their compounds. Desperate civilians arrived in groups to plead for the Military to intervene and save them. Jaded men and women turned them away and shot those who refused to leave. Arkani units opened the gates and began the drive north. In some cases, they had to drive over the rotting corpses of rioters or beggars to do so. Those civilians who huddled in the shadows at the periphery watched in mute horror and took note of the emotionless faces of those who manned the APCs, tanks, and trucks. Their souls already broken.

Arkani Command had coalesced around General Ortava, who just so happened to be the last surviving member of the highest rank. For the good general this terrifying reality was not lost on him. Many of his superiors had been killed out of hand when the slightest abnormality had been noted. His survival had been predicated entirely upon his predictable nature and how rigidly he had adhered to it. It was beyond the point, it was believed, that Replicants took the same act. He did not understand the science behind that decision and did not overly worry himself with it. With total command of the AAF he understood that he had only one chance to turn the war around now, before the mortal wound the intelligence services made had time to rot out the core of the AAF. He knew another round of purges would be coming soon.

The Chalmer Marches had been chosen. In summer and winter the ground was hard and easily passable, but during spring when the heavy rains came turned into a quagmire. The Capitol Police Battalions pushing towards the capital of Tyr’Vellar would have to cross this terrain if they wanted the most direct route. Ortava was counting on this, and hoped that a successful counter-attack here, when the Reich’s forces were crossing, could throw them back and allow Arkani forces to push through the gap. He held no illusion of being able to stop the invasion entirely but an Arkani Corps breaking their center and pushing north would force the flanks to stop and contract to deal with the threat. It would buy him time to come up with something more. To find additional staff that could be vetted by the intelligence services, or to give the Governor time to reclaim control of the cities.

Arkani forces had prepped on the southern side of the Chelmar Marches in the days leading up to the Automailian push. High Command was not unaware of the difficulties of the crossing. Satellite imaging and Replicant reports had described the place in vivid detail with pictures and video. High Command had surmised that it was a likely place for the Arkani to dig in to repel the 411th Battalions push south. The Capitol Police pushed into the soggy grounds of the Chalmer Marches on the evening of the 16th day of the invasion. Their armor long since pitted from previous engagements, their Capitol Police dirtied or bloodied by earlier fighting. The Arkani shelled the area during the advance, calling in air strikes where opportunity presented itself. Commando raids out into the marches caught some units of Capitol Police off-balance and further delay crossing these nuisance forces had to be dealt with. Automailian air strikes soon followed along with counter-battery fire and cruise missile strikes deep behind Arkani lines, trying to sniff out their command and control centers.

Arkani units prepared for their decisive counterattack. Reich forces were being slowed down by the quagmire of the marshlands. Though they advanced steadily through artillery bombardment and air strikes they kept the pressure on the commando units sent out to delay them. Just as the Arkani units began to push into the marsh their world was lit up by bright flashes as thermobaric munitions detonated against their lines. Replicants had not been completely weeded out of the Arkani command structure and leaked the plans to the Reich. The moment the order went out to move a message was sent from Zehlit Garrison to launch those particular ordinances.

Arkani troops were pulped by the thousands along the lines as these weapons burned the air from their lungs, scorched their skin to crisps, or outright killed them in the pressure waves. Thousands died instantly and thousands more died in the minutes afterwards. Vehicles sat unmoving their ammunition cooking off and killing those around them who still lived. Stunned by this sudden action the Arkani counterassault faltered. Some units tried to reorganize and push on …

The Arkani 9th Division was one such unit. Their soldiers, though scourged by the munitions, had reorganized. They were an elite unit that had been touted at the perhaps one of the finest in the Protectorate. Hoping to regain the initiative they deployed into the smoke-filled marshlands. Slogging through these wetlands they saw no combat for nearly the first hour, only to harrowing sounds of machine-gun chatter off in the distance. Flashes of light lit up the smokey skies around them. The first sign of the enemy was a armored hand reaching up through the muck to grab onto an Arkani soldiers ankle and pull him down into the mud. Capitol Police opened fire from all directions, having boxed in the shell-shocked Arkani. Air burst munitions detonated above their heads sending shrapnel scything into their ranks dismembering or mortally wounding dozens at a time. Capitol Police continued to rise from mud, utilizing their superior strength to snap the necks of Arkani soldiers, or their sidearms to gun down those closest to them. Soon the barking retort of MG42s filled the growing nightmare around them. The Arkani 9th caved in. Soldiers ran towards the center of their lines, which were themselves already overrun with Cappers. Soldiers screamed as hands burst forth from the muck to drag them down and drown them in the muddy soil. Squads, then platoons, and companies broke one after another and fled south once again.

The first one out was General Ortrava, who sat within his command car and wondered how in the fuck he was suppose to recover from this …

The Arkani counteroffensive had failed.
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Posts: 958
Founded: Apr 29, 2006

Postby Telros » Wed Mar 15, 2023 1:02 am

As Adon stared at the images being shown to her in the Situation Room, the High Command of the Compact military, along with the Director of Intelligence, having finished their briefs on the unfolding information, she remembered a lesson from her days in the military. An era that was only a couple years past, yet felt like eons since she had commanded her unit in the Duskflower Rebellion, and it was a bit of advice she had hoped not to see playing out in front of her:

”With war, especially in the modern era, the signs will grow slowly, but once ignite, the fire will spread at a speed that defies comprehension. It is a struggle, but we must be able to react instead of being guided by the flame.”

Her eyes rose to make contact with the representatives sitting in on the council, to one set in particular, the leader of the Isolationist Party. She couldn’t help but feel a dark part of her, where her hate, her spite, and her rage dwelled, enjoying the confusion, horror and fear in his eyes.
“I warned you, Stefan. Hamilcar warned you. The Director warned you. Our allies and years of reports, news articles and capture video warned you. And you refused to listen and this, this.

She tapped the screen, that showed the utter devastation being unleashed on Arkan, scores of vehicles left burning and shattered, meat of what was once civilians, soldiers, innocents all spread like the remnants of an animal’s meal, and the figures of the Capitol Police striding through, heedless of wound or obstacle, the footsteps of the doom of their time.

“-is the result of your inaction, your fear of the conflict you tried so hard to avoid coming upon us. The inevitable has occurred and we are not ready!

Worse, it has grown beyond what even the Alliance feared. Arkan is being consumed by the Automail, a different entity but the hands of the Reich move the puppet; this could have been contained to Varathron, the Alliance able to respond while maintaining containment, but now, they’re striking out at everything they can muster a force for. Belphegoria, Jacksburg. The Cronus Islands. Our protectorate, the Alkus Sovereignty, is in danger, considering is on the west side of that continent in Varathron. And now, the Reich is demanding Gholgoth abandon Fortress Pelion, which is in effect, a demand to allow them to consume south-western Gholgoth, consolidate their territory and have more ports to expand outside of Gholgoth. Containment, the Stratagem, will have utterly failed.”

The man looked to rise up, as if to offer a defense of himself, but the flashing images seemed to force the import of the situation upon him. There was no defense at this point that wouldn’t be seen as petty or defensive; as much as she wanted to tear into him, let loose the boiling flood of rage that had built up from her interactions with him and his ideology for the past year, she remembered the words.

Seek Balance in all things, temper the flame of Anger into the forged sword of Purpose.

“I see that you understand the situation; while it is far beyond ideal, we are not without resources and weapons in which to fight this war. Despite the lethargy of our recent efforts, progress has been made, with special investment and aid by the Imperium and other allies; we are not fully trained and equipped for a modern war, we cannot reduce our defense too far, lest we give the Reich a potential foothold to threaten Northern Gholgoth, Kylarnatia and the Vetalia situation.

But you know what would be required for us to have any hope of mustering the strength and supplies necessary.”

The man blanched at the thought and his hands tightened, his knuckles white with the force.

“We have only been at peace for a couple of years, surely we can take the time to prepare, while sending arms and supplies to those who need it, give our people time-“

The anger flared through her control, causing her fist to grip and slam itself down on the table.

“They have HAD TIME! We have spoken, at length to the public about this and many have realize the danger we have been in, the ‘peace’ paid for by the lives of the Vetalians and the many lost in ‘random’ murders and attacks that are the Replicants testing our defenses. There is no ‘good’ time for war, only advantage and disadvantage.”

“The Replicants are a perfect reason why we have to stall, we have to root them out to prevent what is happening in Arkan from happening here-“

“They’re going to be a threat no matter what do or don’t do, Stefan. It is the Reich’s hand on our threat to keep us compliant while they try to hide that they are reaching for the knife. This will cost us, we will lose people, a lot, may even face an invasion here at home. But if we don’t stand now, when? And how long will the Alliance, and hope for Gholgoth and perhaps the world, if we don’t stop the Reich now? Genocides, mass murderers, unjust wars and invasions, there is always handwringing on when is the right time, and after the fact, with that benefit of hindsight, it is shown we should have done it earlier.”

The man hunched over, eyes staring holes into the wood of the table, seeking answers that never came. Adon’s voice softened, the unknown harsh grating easing back to her more diplomatic tone with trained ease,

“We have delayed too long as it is, now is the time to stand. As the Sacerdotium teaches, ‘evil is to be fought whenever found, for it seeks to remove the Balance innately-‘“

“-and if you are to stand, it will be together, for only through our united soul as Humanity can we overcome such evil.’ Yes…. yes, I know.

I hate that you’re right.”

A weary smile from Adon.

“I know.”

A shuddering breath and then,

“It is agreed; I’ll inform the rest of my party, as I assume the other outliers will be by your government and we’ll make a joint appearance at the press conference, show unity in the messaging.” He made eye contact again with her.

“The Compact goes to war.”

A receiving nod.

“The Compact goes to war.”


All hell had broken loose from the news conference; shock ran through the nation, and debate consumed restaurant halls to the nightly dinner table; the Compact was going to war. But as the populace soaked in the news, once being rumors on the evening reports, but now being fed by the 24/7 news cycle of the ongoing horrors and of the threat to Alkus and the other nations in Varathron, movement was beginning. Rust had coated the gears and workings of the giant that was the Compact, but now a rain of flakes were thrown off as the engine turned into full gear.
The economy of the Telrosian state had been slowly put to work, producing guns, material, vehicles, body armor, etc., some having been focused on more up to date designs and platforms, but much was producing older equipment, to build up the stockpiles. With first orders from Anax Hamilcar, a series of contracts and orders were put into place, funding to allow for as much overtime and production that could be squeezed out, expansion of factories, foundries and more. The fires blared red, as the anger of the Telrosian people was awakened, called to war and duty by the government and the Archpriestess; hammers pounded, molten metal poured, workers rushed to their stations after rousing floor briefs or called in by desperate supervisors and 3D printers hummed. The giant had shrugged, but it would be some time before its eyes opened.

The war machine of the Compact was put into motion, orders were sent to the detachment in Pelion, whose situation had not been made public, to prepare for the coming Reich onslaught and to aid all alliance forces in the defense, while formations of soldiers began to move to prepared staging areas and ships began to form up and prepare to move. Crates of ammo, food, medical supplies and more were gathered from warehouses and prepared to be moved. Orders were for a two to three QRF forces, mixture of Marine and Navy, to go to reinforce the Sovereignty, to try and get ahead of an assault by Automalia, since it had yet to go west,


While the mainland proper continued its preparations, with a general order for mobilization issued and reservists were called up, as well as draft numbers were called to begin filling out the numbers. It would not be an elite force, but this was going to be a war where the cup of blood would be overfilling before long, bodies would be needed before even the first week was done. All major powers and hands in the Compact knew the next war with the Reich was begun, official declarations had not yet opened and only the first moves had been completed, but it wouldn’t be long before the entire region was aflame.

User avatar
Greater Ordena
Posts: 60
Founded: Nov 06, 2021

Postby Greater Ordena » Wed Mar 15, 2023 10:44 am

Border Post 3, Dietsland-Jacksburg Border.

In the past and in recent history the Dietsland-Jacksburg Border which by far was the longest borders Dietsland currently shares with a neighboring country, were for the most part uneventful in happenings. Responsibilities for the maintaining of the Border and overall all borders with Dietsland were slated to the Dietsland National Guard who generally were rotated in and out of Border duties every 8 months if chosen to do so. In the past few days Dietsland's northern neighbor Automailia had begun actively invading it's neighbors with the first to come under direct assault being Arkan and then the Cronus Islands and eventually the island of Belphegoria its self. These chain of events had come to bring concern within the Reichskommissariat as by far the only neighboring country to was Jacksburg its self. So far the only response done by the Dietsland Armed Forces and the Wehrmacht were the increase in reconnaissance and surveillance of the neighboring countries being invaded by Automailia which were to act as a early warning in case Automailia would decide to strike against Dietsland too.

The Kriegsmarine and the Dietsland Navy were also steadily increasing it's surface patrols of it's own territorial waters while the U-Boats and submarines of both navies prowled beneath the waves also doing patrols of their own. However on the border with Jacksburg in the past two days at first what was a trickle of Jacksburgian civilians requesting entry into Dietsland became a stream of civilians arriving at the various border posts such as Border Post 3 requesting entry into the country. All of them cited various reasons as to why with the number one reasoning being was that Jacksburg had been invaded and that the invaders themselves were pushing eastwards looking to cross the Morell river. While the Dietsland Border guards didn't know that just two or so days ago Automailia had invaded Jacksburg, the Reichskommissariat were already maintaining a firm watch on the developments.

Several years prior during the time of the Second Kingdom the influx of refugees at the border would be prompted with being allowed entry into Dietsland immediately. However with the establishment of the Reichskommissariat the matters of Border security and how such was handled would be done through Ordenite means and protocols. At least another week would pass and the amount of Jacksburgians arriving at the border continued to grow and swell in numbers. This would prompt the Dietsland National Guard to activate it's units in the vicinity of the border with Jacksburg for likely deployment to assist in keeping the masses at the border from illegally crossing over. The situation would eventually spiral out of control as desperation among the refugees as they were being denied entry into the country, many would begin attempting to illegally cross into Dietsland sparking full on riots. These disturbances were at first handled with non lethal methods such as tear gas and Border guards and National Guard troops in full riot gear, however eventually patience began to wear thin and orders were relayed to the Border Guards and National Guard. All illegal attempts at crossing the border into Dietsland were to be handled with lethal force at all costs and so the true mayhem would begin.

Jacksburgians attempting to illegally cross into Dietsland at the border were now being shot at by Border guards and the National Guard assisting them. Some would attempt to not shoot them directly and gave what were considered only warning shots but those who actually seen as coming too close to getting across the border were immediately shot to death in most cases. It also became apparent that civilians were not the only ones attempting to flee from the Automailians as soon enough bands of Jacksburgian Armed Forces personnel began making their way to the border in order to cross into Dietsland, many of them came armed still with their issued equipment and even vehicles. This prompted the immediate deployment of the National Guard and elements of the Dietsland Army that were within the vicinity. At least 3 Divisions of the National Guard and 2 Divisions from the Army were given orders to begin deployment to the border with Jacksburg as incidents involving armed Jacksburgian military personnel attempting to force their way across the border became prevalent. This would lead to many of the Border Posts to be needing to be fortified by the National Guard and the Army with machine gun nests and barbwire now greeting the masses of refugees stuck at the various border crossings with Dietsland.

Despite this a more sinister plan had been hatched by the Reichskommissariat as orders were given to those manning the border that only able bodied and of fighting age Jackburgian males would be allowed passage into Dietsland. Thousands if not tens of thousands of young men would be allowed into the country from which they were immediately escorted by authorities to predesignated locations for their collection. These able bodied men would then be transferred to what were called "transit camps" which was essentially a state of limbo in which most who ended up here usually were then directly sent to labor camps. So the plan would be to gather as many able bodied Jacksburgians they could take in and either put them into the forced labor pool or if Automailia did decide to invade Dietsland, canon fodder. Of course Jacksburgian refugees were not the only ones being scouted and selected for this purpose. Dietsland historically had originally been a vast land of indigenous peoples who since the establishment of the Reichskommissariat have been slowly and methodically weeded out from society with countless millions making up the numerous labor camp facilities across the nation. They too if needed would be carelessly sacrificed to the Automailian invader in order to see to the slowing down of any invasion. The bloodshed along the Dietsland-Jacksburg border would continue as the masses attempting to cross into Dietsland would continue to steadily grow as time went on.
IC Population: 22.714 billion
IC Nation Name(s): Greater Ordenite State(Official), Ordenite State(Unofficial)
Previously known as '"United World Order"
Condemned by the World Assembly, December 25th, 2018.

User avatar
The Caleshan Valkyrie
Posts: 1502
Founded: Oct 07, 2004
New York Times Democracy

Postby The Caleshan Valkyrie » Fri Mar 17, 2023 3:36 pm

WindShear Mountains
Mountain King Foundry 146G

Cala Sekhesh Mountain King stood on a catwalk above the workings of the foundry, monitoring the operations with a mug of coffee in her hands and barely a thought given to the cortege of support staff standing ready all around her. She had learned long ago to tune them out except for when she needed something done. She had spent the past three months getting this foundry up and running, and her workers had voted her a discretionary duty day, of which she was going to take every advantage.

The Mountain Kings were something of an anomaly among the Caleshan. Whereas every other tribe in the Compact spent a great deal of effort looking up to the skies and aspiring towards the stars, the Mountain Kings focused their attentions downward. The World itself was their mother and supplier of magnificent bounty, and thus the only Sedentary Ascendant tribe chose to remain close to the wonders of the world. The rest of the compact needed her metals, no matter how much the Starwalkers continued to push into the markets the Mountain Kings had cornered long ago. The Starwalkers could make Titanium more pure and more efficiently than she ever could, and she had acknowledged their dominance and cut her losses long ago.

Though she was closing in on seventy years of age, she presented an imposing figure in spite of her relatively short stature. Her arms were bared and easily showed the long years of heavy use, with prominent muscles and frequent scars near her hands. She only possessed eight functioning fingers, having lost her right-middle finger and left pinky to different incidents, and she wore no jewelry. She kept her head completely shaved, as hair had very unfortunate inclinations in areas with high probability of flame exposure. Her outfit was one more frequently worn by metalworkers, for she was exactly one such. A sheen of sweat glazed exposed skin, even with her relatively light activity this day, and her eyes and ears were ever alert for the slightest sign of incongruity in the workings of her metalworks. Any thing out of place had the potential to end lives, and so she was ever alert for anything even remotely off-kilter.

Even through the cacophony of the newly minted forgeworks, she could hear the sudden burst of chatter from her subordinates. She slowly turned to regard her Keeper of Itineraries, Gaspar, as he held a finger to his ear and asked for a repeat of the previous message. A few moments later he looked up and jumped slightly as he realized his Cala was already looking at him.

"Cala, you are summoned!"

"By who?"

"By all the others. The entire council awaits your presence."

"Seven curses to the wind, what happened?"

"All I know is that it is priority one. I am not privy to further details. Shall I summon transport to bring you to your quarters?"

"No need. I'll accept the summons in the headsman's room. Make sure I have some privacy when I do so."

Gaspar immediately held his finger to his ear and said "Mark immediate comment as direct order and execute."

Without waiting, she set off.

Headsman's Office

In the recently cleared office area, Sekhesh sat down and pulled out a small holocomputer and methodically deployed it. She activated the camera and the holodisplay and leaned back in her chair.

"Cala Sekhesh answers the call."

A voice on the other end immediately replied as if spoken directly in her ear. "Acknowledged, Cala Sekhesh of the Mountain Kings tribe. The others have already gathered."

"What warrants the entire council meeting? Usually these occasions must be planned many months in advance."

Another voice: "This is a very unusual occurrence, Cala Sekhesh. And one of grave import to yourself, as it is for all of us."

The computer's holodisplay flared to life, and the face of a significantly younger individual appeared before her. Cala Victus Starwalker's face seemed a tad puffy, which was normal in the zero-G environment he had resided within for many years now. His hair was close-cropped, but it was still possible to see the individual strands bobbing up and down as he floated freely.

"Cala Victus, eavesdropping as always?"

"Not just the eaves, my lady. I dropped everything for this."

Another voice, and another face joined the others. This one of a close-cropped woman wearing black body armor. Her eyes suggested that she had not gotten much sleep of late. "Cala Sekhesh, you have arrived. That is good." Azzakrat's voice seemed hoarse as well, as if she had been barking orders frequently, even with her Keeper issuing those orders on her behalf. Something strange was very definitely going on.

"Cala Azzakrat," Sekhesh replied, "What is it that draws so many out? I only just got the call a few minutes ago, but this is for the entire council?"

"Well, best let Victus answer, and I'll provide additional information as necessary. Sound roll call!"

Victus and Azzakrat's faces both shrank as the space before Sekhesh filled with the faces of the other Calas. While such meetings with the entire council had typically been enormously raucous and contentious affairs, the behavior of the Calas today was downright subdued. Role-Call went very swiftly, even with the inexperienced Okhar Sandrider taking a moment to recognize he needed to verbally respond, and not just wave when called as was permissible in less formal meetings. Once the last name was called and responded to, Cala Victus began.

"The past few hours have demonstrated what can only be described as an unprecedented display of activity and aggression by the nation to our south and east. The land known as the 'Automail State' and more recently 'Fortress Automalia' appears to have engaged in an all-fronts assault on multiple other nations in its immediate vicinity."

A series of satellite photos arose to display pictures of naval, infantry, and aerial operations, most notably including pictures of hostilities taking place against the most recent addition to the Caleshan tribes. Reminded of this, Sekhesh scanned the assembled Calas, looking for the Thalduhm representative.

Victus continued: "It would seem that the Kravens are attempting to claim dominion over the region known as Varathron, which includes our territory as well, and they have initiated a show of force that I personally have never before seen or imagined. Truly, one would not be remiss in claiming that we may well have a Final War on our hands."

"What of the Thalduhm? They are situated right on top of the location most likely to be the Kraven Beach-head."

Azzakrat responded to this question: "We have not gotten any communications from their high command. I have been monitoring the situation, and I have received no distress calls even with a recent attack by 'mercenary elements' on one of their associated islands. By our observations, the Thalduhm have proven themselves a remarkably resilient people. I will say, they do seem to enjoy digging. Still, the lack of communications has been a cause for concern, and I've sent some envoys to establish contact and apprise them of the larger situation if they are not already aware. The last thing we want is for them to be blindsided by something of this magnitude. If the Kraven attack and manage to establish a beachhead through which they can strike at our heartland, they'd be punching directly through the Southwestern Windshears. Many of Sekhesh's newer metalworks are concentrated in that area, if I recall."

"By the Compact," Sekhesh whispered, in disbelief. "How did we not see this coming? I thought we learned from our earlier mistakes?"

Victus cleared his throat before replying, attempting to hide his annoyance at being reminded of the intelligence failure that led to the Caleshan making themselves known at all: "These pictures are not even an hour old, Cala Mountain King. I called this meeting as soon as they were brought to my attention."

Vermuth Iron Tiger spoke next, his bearded face barely fitting into the picture frame: "This is no time for finger-pointing. The simple fact of the matter is that this has caught us at a most inopportune time. Cala Granses and I have dedicated most of our forces to the Vanaheim Colonization efforts, and so we are not currently in position to provide any assistance if the Red-Eyes should make a play for the Caleshan heartland. Cala Azzakrat, Cala Corchat, what of you?"

Azzakrat spoke first: "Most of my forces have been holding post off the southeastern coast, monitoring things to the east, but we're close enough to the Thalduhm region to offer assistance when needed. We've started dropping sharks to set up a perimeter. They can keep a holding pattern for many months before they need to recharge. If the Red Eyes attempt to make a landing that way, they will be in for a mean surprise or two... thousand, whether they come tomorrow or next year."

Corchat followed up: "We've been working on setting up waystations for the Vestheim colonization, but I have dropped the priority on those operations and started recalling my forces back. We should be in a position to both assist the Thalduhm and the Mountain Kings if a strike should happen. I can start transporting soldiers over immediately, if Cala Mountain King is amenable."

"I appreciate the offer," Sekhesh replied, "but I must decline for the moment. We do not know how long it will be until the Kraven move, IF they move at all. While your troops are second to none in skill, my people are quite effective at setting up fortifications and I daresay having additional troops underfoot would be counterproductive at this time."

"Suit yourself, Cala Mountain King." Corchat's eyes twitched at the implication of his soldiers 'getting in the way' of anything, but he did not dignify the slight with a more overt response. "At the very least it would be of use to have some of my planners to assist. No more than a hundred. You might have an edge on building static defenses, but if we wind up working together I will need to know how best to distribute my troops and you could use input on how best to support us in the event we are forced to work together. Is this a suitable compromise?"

"It is," Sekhesh replied with a nod. "I shall make preparations to receive them."

"What of the other tribes?" Another Cala asked, and the screen expanded to show Cala TomeKeeper. "The Tribes militant have been caught with a lot of their pants down, so to speak. There is a very real threat that the enemy could penetrate into the heartlands."

Cala Gerude Plainsrider responded first: "I would suggest setting up air defenses. Though we have a decent lock on how the enemy will penetrate on the ground, this ignores airborne strikes that could pass over the mountains. We need to be ready to address any attempts at airborne insertions or missile strikes as they come, and for that I would stress that there is no such thing as overkill. Get everything ready and on standby, start getting rations together to bolster any stockpiles we might have, and more than anything, be ready to act on a moment's notice. We cannot let the Red-Eyes enter the heartland."

Azzakrat smirked. "I find myself surprised at how decisive our chief cattle rancher has become."

Gerude took the comment in stride. "Since I came into possession of that null-grav tech, I've been fielding a lot of new decisions of late. Apparently it's caused my tribe to improve its station a little. Who would have thought?"

This was something of a massive understatement, of course. The Plainsriders were widely considered to be the next Ascendant tribe due to their serendipitous encounter with an outsider gravship. That Gerude would start demonstrating intertribal leadership behaviors would be the least of the developments currently underway within her tribe.

"Fair enough," Azzakrat smiled. "Fate has a sense of humor, but it is good that we not let it make us the butt of the joke."

Vermuth spoke next: "What of the Hawkeyes? I have not heard much from you, Windham."

"It is as the sedentaries said," Windham replied as his screen rose to prominence. "An aerial attack can come from anywhere. I am however sending out all of our Grendels to establish forward observation stations and air-defense platforms, with a concentration to the south but with special care taken not to leave any avenue of attack unguarded. We can be fully set up within a matter of days, a week at most. I am also ordering my carriers to establish a perimeter, but we will need to coordinate with any military assets the sedentaries might have in play. At this juncture, lack of a communication could prove our downfall, so I am not about to leave any vulnerabilities if I can otherwise help it. I recommend that we have all-Cala meetings with status updates, say every week or until a major development arises? I place this as a formal motion."

"Seconded," Vermuth added.

"All in favor?" Windham continued, acting as the headsman due to being the entity putting the motion forward.

Sekhesh voted yes, and her screen glowed green for a moment. All of the other screens did the same.

"The motion carries by unanimous consent!" Windham said once all votes came back. "I'll see you all back next week at this time, and I think I speak for everyone when I say I don't want to see all of you again on the same screen even one day early."

Several Calas chuckled nervously, mostly those representing sedentaries.

"If there is no other information to bring forward," Sekhesh said after a moment, "Might I suggest we get our collective rears in gear? Motion to adjourn."

"Seconded," Vermuth said again.

"All in favor?" Sekhesh asked. All screens blinked green. "Motion carries. See you in one week, hopefully with good news if any news."

Screens began to vanish, and Sekhesh shut her computer down before returning it to her pocket. Leaning back with a sigh, she looked around at the Headsman's office and drummed her fingers on the table.

Well, nothing for it. Best get started.

She stepped out of the office and every member of her entourage looked at her expectantly.

Sekhesh sighed. "Get our combat engineers on the line. Pull all non-essential staff from their duties and get ready to build fortifications. There's a chance we're going to be invaded, and WE are square in the path of their projected line of advance."

Her Keeper immediately put his finger to his ear. "Mark previous comment as direct order and execute. Maximum priority. War footing." He looked at Sekhesh. "Who should we prepare to repel?"

"The Kravens."

Everyone else in the entourage gasped in shock. Nightmares were coming true. Some whispers started popping up about Sekhesh's vow of pacifism.

To his credit, Gaspar didn't miss a beat before continuing his directives. "Repeat, Maximum Priority. War Footing. RedEye Rampage. Load up the protocols. This could go Total."

The whispers behind him were starting to reach a crescendo, and Sekhesh held up a hand for attention. The whispers stopped. "Yes, I took a vow of pacifism. I said I would only ever strike once in anger. I am a metalworker and an armorer. My vow has not affected how I work, and by Hel's bosom it should not affect how you work. We have bigger things to worry about than my personal faith, and I suggest we get those bigger things dealt with. Any questions?"

Somehow even the general noise of the forges seemed to become muted, so heavy was the silence that followed.

"Then I suggest we get going."

And Sekhesh took off with a will.
Last edited by The Caleshan Valkyrie on Fri Mar 17, 2023 3:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Godulan Puppet #2, RPing as technologically advanced tribal society founded by mongols and vikings (and later with multiple other Asian and Native American cultures) motivated by an intrinsic devotion to the spirit of competition. They'll walk softly, talk softly, and make soothing noises as they stab you in the back and take your stuff... unless you're another Caleshan, whereupon they'll only stab you in the back figuratively!

Used NS stats: Population. That’s it. Anything else not stated in the factbooks is not used.

Intro RP: Gravity Ships and Garden Snips (involved tribes: Plainsrider, Hawkeye, Wavecrasher)
Current RP: A Rock Out of Place (involved tribes: Night Wolf, Deep Kraken, Starwalker)

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Mon Mar 20, 2023 10:07 pm

Operation WARLORD

Cronus Secundus,
Cronus Isles,
+678 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER
14:15 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The corpses of Capitol Police swirling in the rolling tides of Infernus Beach. Blood swept up with that tide and drenched the once white sands. Further up the beaches the black-clad corpses lay thickly upon the ground only occasionally broken up by the still smoldering shells of destroyed vehicles. Thousands had died on Infernus Beach; it was only one of sixteen that the Reich was attempting to seize. Unlike Cronus Primus, its smaller secondary island was not favored by their gods to have high, sheer cliffs but the Remans had done their level best by installing elaborate, fixed bunker networks. Sustained bombardment by Naval Arm Varathron over multiple days had weakened these networks but wave after wave had to be sent against those white sands. Lesser armies would have crumbled after the third assault, most assuredly by the sixth. For the Capitol Police there was no thought given, or allowed, for their chances of survival or for the necessity of their orders. There was only the Reich.

Reman bodies began to litter the ground a few hundred yards inland. The first string of their bunkers had been blasted into rubble. The Capitol Police went into those broken bunkers, down into the depths where thousands more died to ambushes or traps. Still they came on, squad by squad, company by company until the first series of bunkers had been confirmed cleared. The Remans collapsed the tunnels that connected back to the second line. Work crews were unable to penetrate the collapse and so High Command confirmed that another aggressive assault would take place. Once more thousands died on both sides. After days of bitter fighting the second line began to falter, the Reman reinforcements throwing themselves at the Capitol Police in suicidal counterattacks to retake crippled bunkers. Like before they lacked both the capacity for sustained high intensity conflict and the numbers to keep the Troopers at bay much less push them back. The banner of the Reich flew over the second line after five days of combat.

The city of New Abaddon was the capital of Cronus Secundus, and in the grand scheme was the fourth largest city within the Isles. It also played host to the command staff for the island’s defenses. For several days the city had been under constant bombardment. Cruise missiles had rained down, day after day, hitting anything of strategic value. The skies overhead had played host to intense air battles between Reich Lionfish and Reman fighter-jets. Surface-to-air batteries had levelled the playing field in the early days but as their munitions began to run dry, or were struck by missiles, this turned the skies decided in favor of the Reich. When the landings began to fall behind schedule new, and creative, paths were developed for breaking the Reman spirit. Bomber runs focused on causing mass destruction of residential areas targeting random residences, wastewater facilities, or even hospitals. Emergency crews rushed to these locations, now mass casualty events, and did they grim business of saving as many lives as possible. That was when the Automailians would return, swooping in with Barracudas, firing 40mm autocannon shells in the massed emergency workers – or detonating flechette munitions over them. Within two days emergency crews stopped responding to any crisis. New Abaddon began to dissolve into chaos. With no support the municipal authorities were pushed to the breaking point.

When panicked news arrived that the Reich had broken the third, and final, line of bunkers chaos broke out across the capital. Evacuation had proven impractical, but also impossible given the presence of Naval Arm Varathron, given that major highways had already been crippled by sustained bombardment. The Reman military was in full retreat towards the city it was said.

In actuality the Reman military was throwing itself against the Reich in a desperate attempt to stump their breakout from the beaches. The armored and mechanized infantry assets had been held in reserve. The first breakthrough was thoroughly checked with the Capitol Police company responsible for it being utterly annihilated by Reman forces before they could consolidate their gains. The hole in the line was plugged with whatever forces could be spared and the reserves pulled back. Another breakthrough happened on the other end of the island and these reserves once more pushed the Capitol Police back. Then two breakthroughs occurred at once, forcing them to split their forces. Though pushed back by sheer firepower the reserves took losses and it took longer. Their morale was sky high, forcing back four Automailian breakthroughs would cement them as legends amongst their people.

On the other side of these exchanges a cold, clinical calculation was taking place. High Command cared not for their own lives much less the lives of the average Trooper. The Reman reserves were being felt out, their response times were being measured, their troop composition tallied, and their weaknesses categorized. This information was disseminated amongst all Reich forces in-theater to improve their own efficiency. Once it was determined that all useful information had been gleaned a more concerted effort was put forth. Two breakthroughs were scheduled at the same time, forcing the reserves to split once again. Riding high on their previous success the Remans still performed well. As they were buttoning up these breakthroughs, another three occurred along the line. Reman forces in the bunkers were already tired and strained to the breaking point. The reserves peeled forces away to deal with this sudden, lethal threats. Within hours another line crumbled, then another, then another. Just days later the reserves had collapsed as a coherent force, their independent units scattered to far across the whole island to even be capable of coordinating.

The Reich pushed ever on towards New Abaddon.

Operation SHRIKE

+700 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
21:26 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The Freekish ruins in Belphegoria were being removed. Once bustling port cities had been converted into labor camps. Thousands crawled across it broken edifice to repair its infrastructure or cut away its dead weight. Like a wounded beast, encrusted by the long passage of time by refuse, these forgotten places took on a new life. Though these labors occurred under the watchful eye of the KVF and their Capitol Police handlers, hundreds of thousands of chattel slaves toiled away. The work had been surprisingly quick. Reman slaves, imported from the ongoing conflict in the Cronus Islands, had been told that they would be paroled back to Reman in Gholgoth once the conflict was over. Blunt overseers stated that Norska had deemed to be merciful to them for status as technical Goths. For Goths it was almost expected to receive some kind of fair treatment by their own kind. With this in mind they passed their time in back breaking labor, with no safety gear or equipment and only the barest rations grudgingly given.

All of this was, of course, a blatant lie. The Fortress State never paroled anyone. Once you entered the service of the Reich it would take a direct order from the Black Citadel to set you free, and even then, there was always some ulterior motive involved. High Command had deemed it advantageous to lie to these Reman Goths with the gamble being increased productivity. By the time any of them became truly aware of how damned they were, the critical phase would have passed. Belphegoria was being cleared in remarkable time after all. Though its entire surface would take years and years to fully clear and convert into a proper fortress in its own right a series of ports and depots were already completed or nearing completion.

These sites would be utilized for the next, and far more ambitious, phase of Zehlit Garrison’s war.

Operation SLAYER

Headquarters ‘Talon’,
Arkani Protectorate,
+706 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER
04:55 Hours Standard Imperial Time

General Ortava sat in his personal quarters and listened to the lilting chimes of the music waft through the air. The tantalizing sounds use to calm his nerves, now they felt more like the clanging of some metaphorical clock that inched ever closer to midnight. The disaster on the Chalmer Marches was near two weeks behind him but the consequences of it would haunt him the rest of his life. The shattered remnants of the AAF fled in stark terror before the machine-men of Fortress Automailia. They’d lost a lot of equipment and more importantly a solid chunk of their elite formations. Capitol Police crossed the Chalmer and kept pushing south, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Everything had gone straight to shit.

Reports littered his desk. None of them had the old markings on them – SAFE or SUSPECT. The ad hoc method developed by his staff to sift out which orders were worth considering from the civilian government and which seemed too impractical to not come from Reich Replicants. Too many of his staff had abandoned their posts since Chalmer for the rest to bother with it. It was all they could do to even keep the minimal operation going. He’d taken to disregarding anything sent by the civilians; four days ago all orders from the civilian government ceased. This confirmed his suspicion that the Replicants must have won out over Intelligence. The cities were ablaze behind his forces, while the jungles were ablaze in front of them. The chains were growing tighter.

Glancing as the digital monitor on the wall, he took note of the last confirmed locations of his units. Everyday the number of icons shrank. Some were lost to the Capitol Police, pinned down and encircled. Killed off long before word could even reach him to plead for help, he couldn’t afford to send them. He’d come to rather enjoy that the Reich was cutting off communications. Arkani and Milenkan satellites over Varathron had been downed by Naval Arm Varathron weeks ago, and radio frequencies were being drowned out by Reich propaganda.

Now … now there was nowhere else for him to go. Talon had been set up on the outskirts of Tor’Vellar, the provincial capital. Arkani forces were conducting a haphazard fighting retreat, hoping to anchor their lines in the large city where the urban fighting would slow down the methodical machine-men. But that couldn’t be easy either, could it? Tor’Vellar had torn itself apart like every other city in the Protectorate. Civil insurrection against a suddenly brutal internal security force had left the city a warzone when Ortava arrived. The eerie part was that none of the factions identified bothered to request his assistance in crushing the others. Those armed mobs attacked his units just as well. With supplies low from Chalmer, he’d resorted to sending in company-sized formations to push towards their old bases to recover what they could. These bases were often blackened husks or shantily armored compounds for one of the mobs. To Ortava’s surprise his soldiers did not balk at the idea of gunning down civilians. Equally to his horror he noted the cold indifference they showed when they reported such necessary acts back to him.

The supplies had been seized at minimal loss to his crippled forces. General Ortava had no false hope. Tor’Vellar would fall but he hoped to make the Reich pay dearly for it. Maybe, just maybe, they could buy time for Milenka to send reinforcements …

Operation HYDRA

Morell River Line,
Jackburg Protectorate,
+718 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
19:14 Hours Standard Imperial Time

For weeks the Jackburgians had held the Morell River. The miracle performed in getting thousands of their men across has bolstered the defenders and fueled them with a sense of higher purposes. Those with religious persuasions had muttered that their gods were with them. Everyone else took it as a stroke of good luck. Since then, the Capitol Police had attempted multiple river crossings and bombarded the defenders in a series of artillery duels. The Reich maintained air supremacy and pummeled the Jackburgian lines time after time with thousands of tons of ordinance but each time they suffered through the casualties and repelled the next crossing. Capitol Police corpses and burning river ships floated far down the Morell to the shocked horror of civilians in the capital city, many miles to the south along the coast.

It was further north where the Morell Line would become endangered and ultimately destroyed. The mountains that fed the river were not impassable. Jackburgian mountain infantry divisions had attempted to check the advancing Capitol Police in those mountains – triggering avalanches and rockslides to slow them down and only engaging in battles that supremely favored themselves. For the Capitol Police this strategy was effective but time restricted. Every hour that passed, more Troopers pushed into the mountains. Every engagement cost the Jackburgians dozens and then hundreds of men and women. Even as tens of thousands died along the Morell River, High Command refocused their efforts in these mountains. Reinforcements were peeled off from the river, at first, until the situation there became untenable, and orders were sent to hold out as long as possible.

To their credit the mountain infantry held the passes another four days before finally being overrun. Once through a forward operating base was rapidly set up by prisoner labor and the Capitol Police dug in to repel an expected counter-attack. But none would come. The Jackburgians had fallen into the same trap as so many armies did. Faced with disorganization in the initial days of the invasion their commanders craved control and organization to stem the bleeding. This inevitably led them towards static defense doctrines which many nations excelled at against the Reich – itself preconditioned for just such a conflict. Once locked against the Troopers in a style they excelled in the enemy would become fixed in place and unable to move to counter other thrusts or unconventional tactics that may be employed. In essence they became hard as diamond and as brittle as glass.

The Auotmailians reached critical mass in the north and swept south. The Jackburgians never lost communications, despite attempts by the Reich to break it, and instead rolled up their own lines pulling back south and attempting to block the advance. Simultaneous river crossings pinned several units in place – so dogmatically they had resisted for days that few were willing to cede what they saw as their best chance to hold the enemy in place, away from their homes and families. These forces became encircled once the lines shattered and mechanized formations swept past them. Surrounded by advancing infantry and armor from behind and faced with continuous bombardment and aggressive river crossings all of these units were gradually crushed.

Jackburgian Command realized their predicament and ordered a general withdrawal south where, it was hoped, they could concentrate their forces.

Unfortunately for the civilian population, the Automailians had little mercy to spare. Totenkopf units had been stationed in reserve and now struck out. Raiding villages, towns, and small cities they pushed the civilian populace out of their homes and sent them fleeing in the direction of the Dietsland border. For the Ordenite border guards, what they thought had been a flood of refugees suddenly turned into an overwhelming tsunami. Totenkopf formations, backed up by standard Troopers, set fires behind the civilians and aggravated the flames towards those that fled. With Capitol Police, and now a raging fire, behind them hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Jackburgians suddenly rushed the border guards all along the northern section of their border. As the Reich advanced south this strategy was employed.
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Posts: 19
Founded: Jul 29, 2020
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Langong » Wed Mar 22, 2023 12:45 pm

Last edited by Langong on Sat Apr 29, 2023 10:05 am, edited 3 times in total.
Friend of Kraven, 2005-2023
18 years of stories deleted
Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Political Columnist
Posts: 4
Founded: Mar 17, 2023
Psychotic Dictatorship


Postby Totenhoff » Sat Mar 25, 2023 4:13 pm

Opening Moves

The captain fixed his tie, and dusted off his uniform with the palms of his hands. He stared into the mirror and gazed deeply into it. He imagined that he looked like the same man he was thirty-five years ago, only his skin had grown a bit paler and the veins on his arms and legs had slowly grown more visible with the passage of time. He sighed, soon it will be over, and he can do what he truly wants in the remaining years of his life, however long it may be.

He stepped out of the room and got into his car, he started the engine and turned on the lights. It was night time, and drizzling rain was pitter pattering on the windshield, the sound was calming, considering he knew what was to come. It had been raining for a day now, but the weather cleared up finally. It was three in the morning according to his radio, which he tuned to his favourite, the classical music station. Something about the humming and whispering of the violins and flutes made the atmosphere almost joyful, regardless of how dreary the outside looked.

As he drove down the dock to his ship, he looked for the other cars of his crew, there usually would be eighteen cars for the thirty man crew. The discrepancy of the amount of cars versus the amount of men is mostly due to past agreements of living with flatmates to save money, or because they are brothers and sisters. Either way they were all accounted for, which made the captain smile.

He parked his car and walked towards the gangway to board his ship, the SS Kellion Canyon. It was a supertanker carrying forty-five thousand cubic meters of crude oil. Were it to sink or spill; it would cause an ecological disaster for several weeks until the oil could be cleaned out of the ocean, even worse if it caught fire.

“Welcome aboard Captain.” The first mate greeted him with his usual enthusiasm, and five-o'clock shadow.
“How are you today Jonas?”
“I'm doing alright sir, had a restless sleep last night, bad feelings about something. I'm not exactly sure what.”
“Are you still tired?” The Captain looked into Jonas’ eyes and saw the bags under them. He felt indifferent whether or not he was tired, but he knew he had to keep up the impression of being a good captain to his men to not warrant suspicion, even if he did find some of his men wanting in their discipline and vigor.
“Once we are underway you will be the first to get some sleep, that is an order.” The Captain smirked as he spoke.
“Aye sir.” They both started down the hallway towards the command bridge.


The arm raised high in a salute, the officer was sweating somewhat. It had been only five years but he had risen rapidly through the ranks, even for a normal human his administrative skills put him in command of some of the most powerful units in the Army, though he did not directly lead them, which he left to his more kin-like deputy, he was still quite a powerful figure in the Fiefdom of Totenhoff.

The room was moody, dark, and with the moon peering through the armored glass, as if it was the sights out of a gothic spire in a castle. The almost luxurious red rug with the eagle soaring down on it led all the way from the door to the glass. There was a desk in the center of the room, just outside of the sight of the glass, which the officer stood before. The chair had been moved aside, there were no visible lights in the room, or even candles. He felt the darkness crawl around him as if it was alive, it sent shivers down his spine and the hairs on his arms tingled. The atmosphere was almost oppressive, demanding that he fall to his knees and show that he was weak, and unworthy, but he stood unwavering even if he was shaking. The fear of being seen as a failure was more than enough to encourage him to stand where he was.

At the very edge of the room where the god rays from the moon poured into it, stood a figure with a coat on. The sleeves were not full, telling him that it was more draped around his shoulders, almost like a cape. The hat was without a doubt the Reichsführer. “At ease.” The voice boomed around the room like a gunshot. In an instant the Officer dropped his arm to his side. He was visibly sweating now, he kept his breathing as tame as he could but some small gasps were coming out. He focused and tried to control himself.

“I understand that you are not taking this meeting very well, Oberführer. I can almost taste your agony at the thought of having to stand here for this meeting. It's delicious.”
The officer shuddered at the last remark, he could barely control himself anymore.

“Please, take a seat, the chair should be to your right. Bring it to the front of my desk.”
He hesitated for a moment, and then looked over. He saw a leather chair with a bronze embroidery that covered the backrest, with bronze legs too, at the top was the eagle once again. No doubt the back of the chair was most likely very beautiful, but he would not dare a peek, not during this meeting. The chair was shockingly light, as he whisked it over to the front desk.

Sitting down was starting to calm his nerves, he was breathing a little better, and he adjusted his armband and tie, and made sure his ribbons were straight. He was a proud colonel, even if he was mostly just an administrator. Some men who went to these meetings never came out of the room alive, which concerned him but he forced it out of his mind, even if he could still see his friend Heinrichs face before he disappeared.

The Reichsführer slowly turned his head, peering his left eye over his shoulder at the officer. The gleam of the moon almost made his eyes look like glass, but they seemed to glow a vibrant purple. He shuddered again, finally admitting the gaze of the Reichsführer was almost unbearable. He had always seen him from a distance during ceremonies and large gatherings, but never in such a personal way.

The leader turned to face the officer, the golden epaulets and rope, the polished buckles and buttons, and the skull on the hat. He was carrying in his right hand a baton, one seen many times before, almost like a composer of an orchestra of destruction.
His expression was blank, or was it the shadows cast that made it seem blank? Was it hiding a smile on the other side? The only clear thing to the officer was the eyes.

“I have read your reports, your honesty is remarkable. It's to the point that I have personally had to have several meetings with similar men of your rank to make sure they were giving me the truth and not just being a bunch of worthless yesmen simply because they don’t want to disappoint me.” Suddenly, in almost a blink of an eye the Reichsführer had moved to his side of the desk and slammed his fist down on it, as if a sonic boom had gone off inside the room, the officer visibly jumped in his seat.

“I WANT MEN WHO ARE WILLING TO GIVE ME THE TRUTH, NOT DOGS WHO FEAR WHAT I MIGHT DO TO THEM! I WANT TO HEAR WHAT IS WRONG SO THAT WE CAN CORRECT THOSE MISTAKES!” The voice was like a cannon, never had he seen the Reichsführer in such a visible rage, he imagined him jumping over the table right at that next second and grabbing him by the throat, using him like a stress ball and squeezing until his eyes popped out of their sockets. But the Reichsführer did not do this. He unclenched his fist from the desk and brought it back to his side.

“I apologize for my outburst. I simply wanted to make my point known to someone other than those slack jawed dimwits who parade around like toy soldiers, trying to please me as if I'm their god. I am sorry Moritz.” As he was speaking he turned his back and looked at the glass where the moon shown through. He pondered and then grabbed his own chair and brought it to the desk.

Moritz did not know what to say. He was almost dumbfounded. To merely be in the presence of the Reichsführer was certainly a great honour, but to actually hear the thoughts and emotions of the man without the filter of propaganda or anything that it would usually have to go through was unbelievable.

“Sir I-.” Moritz cut himself off, he had finally brought the courage to speak but felt that wasn’t the right timing.
“Don’t cut yourself off Moritz, you may be talking to your leader, almighty and powerful as I may be-” he brought his hands up and around waving to the sky as if to show he was some greater than life being, “-but I am still… human, at least to some extent. Consider this meeting and any future meeting we have to be personal, unless the matter at hand is different of course. Now, tell me. What was it you wanted to say?”

“What is y-your name sir?”
The Reichsführer paused. He closed his eyes and brought his hands together as if he was going to pray to god.
“My name is Johan.” He smiled with his teeth in a fearsome grin. Moritz saw the fangs, he remembered very clearly just what he was talking to, rather than just who. Reichsführer Johan Clauswitz Von Schwarzenburg was not only the most powerful man in the Fiefdom of Totenhoff, but probably the most powerful Vampire in the region of Varathon. Probably not the world of course, even with the existence of Johan there were still doubts that he was the only one who had such power.

“Sir- erm… Johan. I’m sorry it's just hard to keep my composure. I have always had some trouble dealing with those of the other kind, you understand I am sure?”
Johan had closed his grimace to form a simple smile while bringing his hands back down to the desk.
“I don’t quite understand personally, for a thousand years of my life I don't think I have ever had quite the fear or terror struck into me while conversing with anyone really. I understand that my reputation may precede me, or that the rumors of my methods may have spread this sense of fear within the ranks of the humans within our organization, and in so, our nation. Could you illuminate me as to what you mean?”
Moritz took a deep breath. He tried to find some calm, he found that he was fidgeting with one of his gloves, perhaps to bring down his stress. He stopped so he could focus.

“Imagine you are a bird, not a very big bird but quite a small one.”
“Mhmmm.” Johan mused. His eyelids closed slightly as if he was imagining the scene.
“And you work with these other birds, like a family of sorts. And then you have an eagle, and this eagle doesn’t eat worms or anything of the sort, it eats the smaller birds.”
“Ah, I am starting to understand.” Johan opened his eyes wider.
“Your issue is that you are not used to confronting an individual like me, part of it being my reputation and the other being that who I am terrifies you knowing what I could do to you, am I correct?”
“Y-yes sir.”

Johan chuckled. The sound of him laughing made Moritz tense up, but there was something oddly comforting in it. Was he finally getting used to being in Johans presence, or was Johan more than comfortable enough to show the lighter side of himself?
“Moritz, I know you don’t take it so easily around our kind, especially under the circumstances of what I am going to ask of you in these short few minutes. But until then, do you smoke?”

Moritz’ eyes widened. Smoking? In Totenhoff? A luxury to be sure. It's not that smoking was prohibited but finding a vendor to sell cigars or cigarettes or any tobacco was pretty difficult. Most vendors in the cities sold more necessary items. Luxuries weren’t banned but having more than was required to survive in Totenhoff was almost looked down upon in the society.
Time was valuable, and relieving stress through smoking was not seen as a good way to spend your time. Donating blood to the state was seen as both a duty to the state and a way to relieve stress, on top of the fact that most people were not fit to work for a couple of days after donating. It was seen as a crucial service to keeping the state functioning.

Johan reached into a drawer and pulled out some of the finest cigarettes he had, along with two cigarette holders, embroidered with the eagle in a bright gold. He handed one to Moritz and took one for himself. Johan then did something unexpected, he reached into his drawer again and pulled out two pieces of metal, and removed his left handed glove. The metal pieces went over his middle finger and thumb. He snapped and a fire was lit on the middle finger, he then reached over and lit Moritz’ and then his before sitting back down in his chair, placing one leg over the other.

Both breathed in the smoke. Moritz choked at first and coughed. Johan laughed candidly at the expressions on Moritz’ face as he struggled to get used to the new feeling. But after a couple more puffs he was calming down. Something was in the cigarettes he presumed, maybe some kind of chemical additive to the already present nicotine. No longer sweating or feeling pressure from the dark and oppressive atmosphere of the room, he finally felt himself getting his composure back.

Johan noticed this.
“Are you feeling better? You certainly seem less scared than you were before?”
Johan mused. “Just yes?” His smile widened. Moritz snapped back to reality.
“Yes sir! Sorry Sir.”
Johan again laughed. Moritz didn’t want to let his guard down, there was still a chance that this could be a trap and that he could die any minute. Johan could be toying with him, but that wouldn’t make sense, didn’t Johan mention something earlier about circumstances?

“Sir you mentioned something earlier that you wanted me to do, what was it exactly?”
Johans eyes glimmered purple for a second in the hazy darkness. He blinked and pulled out several papers from a drawer under his desk.
“For the past seventy years we have been infiltrating several dozen nations in our region and beyond. Most of them have never found our agents, some that have, we don’t bother sending replacements. We have goals but they are not necessarily concrete. We don’t desire land like other empires, we simply desire one thing in our lives; war. We want a war so total that it rocks the fabric of reality itself with the carnage and slaughter that would ensue. We want to see cities painted red in the blood of the innocents and the streets filled with the destroyed remains of what was their nation. Their existence to be wiped from the earth, but not replaced with a new one. If we are to take territory, it is only to further our own goal of destruction. We have been waiting hundreds of years for the pieces to align together on the board and our chance has finally come.

Moritz felt that he was starting to get a bigger picture. He didn’t perfectly understand this craving for war and chaos but it was what Johan wanted, who was he to deny what he wanted?
“And what would you have me do, Sir?”
“Moritz, I am promoting you to Brigadeführer, and I am putting you in charge of overseeing a very critical operation, the one where we will finally reveal who we stand beside. In the wider world.” Johan pulled from under the desk a sword, it was a Degen, a special promotion sword. Straight edged and in this case a mandatory piece of kit that would be worn and sometimes even used.

“Sir I-”
“There is more. You are to go to Grothusen and board the SS-1012. You will be accompanied by eight Fallschirmjägers, your goal is to destroy a cargo ship bound for Fortress Pelion. By the time you arrive they should be ready to welcome you aboard the ship. The equipment you will need is already loading onto the boat. This will be your first major assignment, I want it done cleanly. If possible, I would like it if you take a picture of the fireworks from the periscopes. I want to see with my own eyes just what manner of destruction ensues.” Johan grimaced during the last sentence.

Moritz was no sailor, and dealing with the Kriegsmarine would probably be difficult to get used to. His big concern in mind was the fact that he never had been to sea before, would he get sea sick and embarrass himself in front of the crew? He dashed the thoughts, he was given a mission and an order by his commander, and he would carry it out to the letter.

“I will do my best sir.”
“Should you fail, which I doubt you will, it would be best to die on that cargo ship and at least make sure it goes off rather than coming back to me and telling me it didn’t work. If you succeed then expect a dinner with me and the officers on your return. We will go over our next course of action after that has transpired.”
Johan handed him the Degen, and papers documenting his promotion. He would take these papers and move to his new office and get his new insignia’s and epaulets before leaving on his mission.

“Now go, show the world who we are, if they will even know that we did it at all.”
Heil.” And after he had finished saluting, Moritz had walked halfway across the room before-
“Yes sir?”
“Take these before you leave.” He tossed him a packet of the cigarettes they had smoked.
“You will need these if you want to keep your composure on that boat, it's going to be tense for your kind and you will want to stay vigilant.”
“Understood sir.” he glanced at the packet, inside was a bronze lighter with the eagle on it. He took them and continued out of the room.

Johan sat back down again as the guards closed the door behind Moritz. He opened another of the drawers he had. Inside was a plastic pouch with a crimson liquid inside. He bit the edge off of the plastic tube at the end and drank from the pouch. He pondered Moritz. Could he be trusted? Was he even ready for a mission like this? Did he really deserve that promotion? His records surely said he did after the many years he had worked to earn it. Lost in his thoughts, a drop slipped out of his mouth, and stained his white shirt under his jacket.

Looking down he frowned, but then he mused on that image.
“Soon, soon that won’t be the only one to stain the color white. Soon…

User avatar
Political Columnist
Posts: 4
Founded: Mar 17, 2023
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Totenhoff » Mon Mar 27, 2023 7:40 pm

Out to sea

The Captain looked through his binoculars, though he didn’t really need them. A day ago they were moored in port, it was now morning of the next day. The sun slowly crested the horizon, rays of light shone into the bridge. The Captain was always known as a nightwalker, staying awake while the first mate took command of the bridge during the day time.

There was a mild concern that while transiting the waters surrounding the Kraven Reich the ship would be mistaken for another and seized by the nation, but so far during their passage through the outer limits of the Reichs EEZ, nothing had happened. Usually some form of interdicting vessel would have appeared on any normal occasion, but this was not a normal occasion. The Captain was sure they were actively tracking the vessel, there simply was no way they wouldn’t know they were there. Perhaps one of those underwater hydrophone barriers picked up the propeller noises, maybe a submarine was prowling the depths, a satellite was peering through the heavens with a live coverage feed to some dark command station, or even a spy plane was orbiting far out of sight.

Whatever the case, he felt that the ship’s presence was known to someone. The plan was still moving forward and so far nothing had happened out of the ordinary. The crew did show some signs of concern. They were briefed on where they would be sailing, but perhaps the lack of any signs of any interdiction by any force would build them some confidence. It's not like any one of them had a gun or even personal weapon to defend themselves. Pirates weren’t a serious problem in the region, but if they did show up, a measly assault rifle or shotgun would not be able to hold a candle to a proper armed cruiser. It would simply be suicide.

He blinked again, and saw the indescribable colors that form when one would close their eyes. The warping and odd shapes that try to replicate the light source that was shining into them. It was a bizarre thing, but he knew he was not the only one. Every human see’s it every day, they just don’t think about it.

The first mate came up and patted him on the back.
“Alright Captain, you go get some sleep, I’ll take command of the bridge.”
“Thankyou Jonas, continue the course as planned. Do not forget to turn at these coordinates.” He pointed to a map with the pre-drawn route. A sextant and a pencil were lying nearby on the table.
“Understood sir.”

The captain walked down the hallway to his quarters. In reality he wasn’t that tired, but soon he will get the update to his orders.

String & Woodwinds

16 hours before…

Moritz looked over. The city was beautiful, at least to him. From the view of the helicopter, the form of artistic expressionism that was tolerated to flourish within Totenhoff made for quite the sight. It certainly was nothing like the more progressive or democratic nations of the world, but it was charming. Ideologically driven and indoctrinated the people planted flowers and rested them on their balconies, flat roofed buildings flew flags high, showing the world how proud they are.

Some buildings were reserved for military applications, so heli-pads were pre-existing on them. That still didn’t stop kids from drawing chalk lines and such on them. Usually words of praise to those who protected them, others who were less creative or were still undeveloped drew mindless scribbles, as young kids usually do.

The roads were full of people constantly, especially around markets. Cobblestone streets were the area’s more friendly to pedestrians, but there were some paved asphalt roads in the more developed and newer sections of the city. Yes, Grothusen was one of the main developed port cities of Totenhoff, and it was magnificent.

Moritz looked to his left, there were nine others in the helo along with the pilot and co-pilot. Originally there was supposed to only be eight but after some discussions, Moritz would be better suited to bring along his deputy. The deputy’s name was Karl Schwarz, he had been with Moritz ever since they both met during their training. Karl certainly did not expect to get this far, but for a Unterscharführer he was pretty good at being the loud and aggressive one to compliment Moritz’ more technical skills. Sort of like a bodyguard, nobody would dare approach Moritz without going through Karl, especially considering that Karl was one of them.

Karl was looking through a book. Not one much to actually read books, which surprised Moritz. Perhaps he had rubbed off on his friend.
“What are you reading?” It looked interesting, but it was hard to see from the darkness in the helicopter. Karl glanced over, his red eyes gleamed in the hazy lights that occasionally passed into the helicopter. He seemed very deep into reading when Moritz asked.
“I am reading one of those foreign books, I found it in your library. Interesting to read how much other nations are willing to disclose to their general public in such an honest manner about the capabilities and technical specifications of all this ‘high tech’ that they proudly boast about.”

Karl turned the book over to the cover and showed it to Moritz in the moonlight.
Infantry Tactics of the Amerian Army’, it was an official publication dated 2016. Admittedly it was an older production. Regardless, unless some major restructuring of their armed forces had occurred in the past couple of years, the book was still considered up-to-date and a good source to educate any open-source intelligence gatherers.

Karl flipped the book back to the page he was reading. His face was expressionless. Always pretty pale, and ready to get out and do some fighting, he wasn’t his usual self when kept like a chicken in a coop. As far as Moritz knew, Karl hadn’t killed a man yet. He certainly has tried while he was training. Come to think of it, Karl has not changed much since the day Moritz first met him. His hair was still pitch black, and he hadn’t grown or changed much. The only noticeable changes was his skin became lighter and his eyes turned red. Moritz knew what he was now but something in Karl still resembled who he once was.

“What do you think of your new promotion, Moritz?” The red eyes peered over again, distinguishing the shiny new epaulets, the rope, and even the new baton that signified his new position. Equivalent to a Major-General in any other army, Moritz found himself blushing. Why?
“It's certainly a new feeling, so much more to consider and to be held accountable for. You know what I mean Karl don’t you?” He closed his eyes and scratched the back of his head with his right hand.

Karl snorted.
“I don’t exactly understand it, but I'm glad I don’t have to see to those responsibilities myself. But I will say getting the right to order around people higher than my own rank through you is something quite pleasing to me. They’re always so stuck up and thinking they are high and mighty. Yet now with you being in favour with the Reichsführer himself, there is not much they can do to question your capabilities.”
Karl paused and looked back at his book.
“Other than your lack of a spine that is.”
“But that is why they made you come with me Karl. You are what makes both of us a strong duo.”

The other men on board the helicopter were surprised with how this Unterscharführer was speaking to a Brigadeführer. They have so far never seen a dynamic like that. Always to them it's been a stronger vampire of a great rank dictating everything down to them, but a human and more or less a dog to do as he wished? The idea was funny to them. It would not be so funny for long however.

The helicopter landed on the end of the dock. Moored alongside was the submarine SS-1012, it was a U-1000 class submarine. Nuclear powered but designed to be as stealthy as could be expected. It was one of only a few Nuclear submarines in operation within the Totenhoff Kriegsmarine. There were other submarines, air-independent propulsion and diesel-electric but they were not required for this mission. Speed and stealth would be key.

The Captain of the submarine stood with most of the crew out on the dock as the doors opened. They all were lined up in a marching formation and saluting. Moritz was somewhat intimidated. All of them were vampires. The red eyes gave it away but the more concerning part was that he was a separate branch from them. The Army and the Navy had a rivalry to some extent. The Navy, or Kriegsmarine, got the lesser of the funding towards expansive projects, while the Army and even the Air Force got the majority combined.

Brigadeführer Moritz, welcome aboard the SS-1012.” The captain yelled out over the winding down rotors of the helicopter. Moritz walked towards and saluted the captain, before extending his hand out and saying:
“At ease Captain, I understand my company is not exactly the most desired but the Reichsführer has demanded my presence on this mission.” With a second of hesitation the Captain did bring down his hand and shook Moritz’.
“When will we be off?” Moritz continued.
“Say the word and we will leave in a few short minutes.”

Moritz paused and looked behind the captain. He stared into the eyes of all the sailors and other officers. Judging them. He made sure they saw his face to know who he was. Moritz didn’t want to appear afraid to them, not that it would change much. The voyage was expected to be long, though with a thirty-five knot maximum speed the submarine should make good time.

“We are ready.” Moritz proclaimed. The soldiers in his retinue shouldered their assault rifles in unison.
“Splendid.” The Captain spoke. He then gave orders to the crew, who rapidly broke ranks and scurried into the various hatches across the submarine, taking a few seconds before all the hatches were shut, bar the main one.

“As you will, Brigadeführer. Your room is beside mine. You have bunks with your little untergebener and the rest of your guards in the rooms beside those. Provisions will be provided as needed. I will make sure my officers update you when available.”
Karl gave a harsh look to the Captain at the remark towards him. Moritz saw this and gestured his baton towards Karl to stay in place.
“Understood, Captain.”

User avatar
Political Columnist
Posts: 4
Founded: Mar 17, 2023
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Totenhoff » Wed Mar 29, 2023 5:38 pm

Persistence and Motion Sickness

The boat slowed. After entering Gholgoth waters proper, checks had to be made constantly. They had journeyed this gauntlet perhaps a hundred times, yet they still stood vigilant for this mission, as they would for the next hundred. The SS-1012 moved like a whale through the black sea. 1012's hull was designed with the intention of bouncing any active pings away from the ship that had made the ping, within the same logic of how a stealth fighter jet would function. That still didn’t make it foolproof but it gave them an edge.

Another patrol sailed off in the distance, the hydrophone operators on board the submarine listened closely. Because of their vampirism, and perhaps some genetic editing, they had some of the best hearing in the world. Targets could be tracked using the equipment on board the submarine that were far in excess of its weapon ranges, but intelligence was the most critical factor in any conflict.

“How are we looking?” The Captain was visiting the sonaroom.
“Sir, as long as we keep our constant turns up they won’t even know that we were here.” The head sonarman whispered. They were always the quietest type, preferring using hand signals over their actual mouths.
“How close are we to Dietrich's canyon?”
“We will be descending to enter it in two minutes sir. Once inside we should be completely invisible to any detection capabilities. Once we exit the canyon, our target should only be a few nautical miles ahead of us.”
“Good, I could almost say I'm feeling motion sickness after all these turns.”

The course always changed, every mission a different canyon had to be taken. The Totenhoff Kriegsmarine had been patiently and excruciatingly thorough in their mapping of the southwestern Gholgoth seafloor. It had taken seventy years of perfecting their technology, and in some cases stealing the maps of other powers in the region. Not to know what they already knew, but to see just how up to date those great powers were in their documentation. Apparently their prideful fleets had overseen anything that the Totenhoff Kriegsmarine saw value in. Writing off many caves and exceptionally dangerous canyons and trenches as impossible to traverse. Those powers never understood the feeling of being at the bottom of the food chain of nations.

Ingenuity and determination, and sheer force of willpower is what drove this submarine down into the jagged and threatening depths of Dieterichs canyon. It was a risky game to play, but they were all in.

Some time passed.

The bulbous nose of the 1012 peered around another corner of the canyon, which had become more thin and claustrophobic. The U-1000 class of nuclear submarines were not rated for this specific canyon, but there simply were too many patrols on the surface to risk going for anything else. This was the only option if they were to meet the target on time.

“Sixty four years of traversing this damn ocean, and yet every time the scans show something has changed in the landscape.”
There were sensors on all angles around the bow sonar of the boat, allowing total forward coverage to produce a real-time 3-D map of where they were moving just for these specific instances. These risky manuvers otherwise would be suicide.

“Captain, we have to descend another ten feet.”
“Do it, but why?”
“The sensors indicate a ship had sunk into the trench, with our course correction we would be sailing directly underneath it.”
“The world never ceases to surprise me. The chances of a ship as large as that to not only be sunk, but to end up precisely in this trench. It's as if fate dictated it be there to demand we make a new change in course.”
“Sir, you seem agitated.”
The captain sighed.
“I am just getting sick of these course changes, and the stress of this mission is putting me on edge. Carry on and continue changing course until we reach the designated area.”
“Should only be another three hours sir.”

The captain groaned.

User avatar
Posts: 888
Founded: Jan 01, 2008
Left-wing Utopia

Postby Havensky » Fri Mar 31, 2023 7:28 pm

The Kraven Corporation wrote:
An Announcement to The Regional Council of the Gothic Lords.

The High Command of The Black Citadel in Fortress Norska instructs the Regional Council to remove its forces from Fortress Pelion. The South Western region of Gholgoth now falls under the direct sphere of Fortress Norska and as such the presence of The Regional Administration will no longer be tolerated.

You have 24 hours to evacuate all forces.

This will be your only warning.

SRA Adamant Will
Flagship, Skyan 3rd Gothic Fleet
Port Tycho, Fortress Pelion

Sally Hale slammed her first on the table.

“This place is a f’kn rock whose only strategic value is being within gun range of capper city.”

The Sky Marshal stared down at the faces in her view screen. The back wall of the Adamant Will’s war room was simply one large video screen with high definition cameras and microphones positioned to allow her to give her scathing remarks in perfect clarity. Her short silver hair and green eyes only adding to her severity.

She had silenced the Skyan High Council with her sudden change in tone which up to that point had been very matter of fact.

“Trying to defend Pelion is a losing game. There’s nothing here for us. We have a dry dock that we use to maintain the 3rd and that’s it. There are no Skyan cities here, no critical resources - we didn’t even bring families here. The only thing we are here for is to put any Capper that steps foot here out of their misery.”

Secretary Gonzales motioned for her to continue, “So what are you proposing?”

“We stick to the original plan. We pull up every tech based in dry dock, get everyone airborne, and rain down ordinance till we run out. And if they’re still feeling froggy, we set off the charges when they get to Port Tycho.”

Prime Minister Atticus grimaced. It had been one of many unpleasant surprises when he came into office that the plan for holding Port Tycho amounted to letting the cappers advance and then literally blowing the place up underneath it. He'd been told the explosions would be seen from space and they'd have to announce what happened immediately lest somebody panic thinking that the Reich had dropped a nuke.

Atticus did not find the idea of running out of Pelion appealing. The next obvious target for the Reich would be Milograd which included the Skyan City-State of Argyz. if they could hold Pelion it might keep that city safe. Better to fight where nobody lived than see homes wrecked by another war.

“Is it that you can’t hold it or you won’t?”, he asked.

“Sir. The 3rd can make them pay for every step forward, but unless you’re willing to commit half the Armada it’s not sustainable. “

“And we’ll need those fleets to keep our hold on Argyz and the Safe Passage Routes. There’s no way they’ll stop at Pelion.”
, remarked Gonzales.

Atticus looked down at his desk inside the Citadel. Queen Heart and King Ironwing had said as much. Squall, after some pestering and ballyho about him not being the right level to have that conversation, relented and said his opinion as a Praetor not as a Skyan officer was the make Port Tycho a killzone for the Cappers and bug out after the thing was reduced to char.

Atticus sighed.

“Very well, you have my authorization to execute your plan Sky Marshal Ride including the use of PROJECT SYMPHONY. At the request of the Secretary, I am also authorizing the mobilization of the 1st Gothic Fleet of Citadel City and the 2nd Gothic Fleet in Argyz. I also authorize all Expeditionary Fleets to mobilize with the Queen’s Guard to be airborne within 24 hours.”

With that, Atticus picked up his ‘stamp’ and inserted it into the terminal placing his thumb on the cylinder to verify his thumbprint. He punched his keycode in and his digital signature appeared on the deployment orders.

“Yes sir.”, replied Hale.

“Thank you Sky Marshal. That will be all.”, noted Secretary Gonzales as he killed the feed.

Inside the Citadel War Room, Atticus took a big swig of coffee as High Executor Elisa Rockford pulled up her contingency plans.

“As is our policy when Kraven activity is anticipated, we will place Citadel City, Port Defiance, Argyz, and the surrounding areas under a soft lockdown. Public events will be canceled, schools will move to remote only, police forces will double their patrols, and emergency stocks will be unlocked. Air and sea traffic will be reduced.”

Atticus nodded, “Very well. Next issue.”

Secretary of State Hagane spoke next, “Would we like to issue a response to the Reich’s ultimatum?”

Atticus snorted and picked up a pen.

Send this exact message.

Code: Select all
The Skybound Republic of Havensky
(Pronounced Haven-Sky)

Territory held in
Texas - Gholgoth - Sondria

N&I RP Mentor Specializing in PMT, Character Development, Worldbuilding, and Diplomacy - TG me for help!

User avatar
Posts: 8455
Founded: Jul 07, 2008
Left-Leaning College State

The Imperium Antiquum Responds

Postby Kylarnatia » Sat Apr 01, 2023 8:44 pm

"The Response"
The Fangthane Palace, Krytopia
The Ancient Empire of Kylarnatia, Gholgoth
+136 Hours after the commencement of the Automailian Operation: SLAYER

The transmission from Fortress Norska had been received earlier in the day. It was, to nobodies overall surprise, plain and to the point: "The High Command of The Black Citadel in Fortress Norska instructs the Regional Council to remove its forces from Fortress Pelion. The South Western region of Gholgoth now falls under the direct sphere of Fortress Norska and as such the presence of The Regional Administration will no longer be tolerated.

You have 24 hours to evacuate all forces.

This will be your only warning."

For the Imperium Antiquum, this - along with the ever rapidly devolving situation in central Varathron following the bellicose invasion of Gothic client states by that of the Reich's own client known as Automailia - was the spark of what they had prepared over a decade for. It was an undeniably grave situation, and the beginning was always going to be bleak: they could never have predicted for certain where the first shots would ring out, and so any effective counter relied on the Reich showing its cold, soulless hand first. Now it had done so, and the ever-increasing pace of its own cruelly-calculated success meant that they had no intention in slowing down now. The Alliance, reforged only a few years ago and on tenuous ground with some, had done what it could to prepare the region for this moment; unexpectedly, those warnings had still fallen on indifferent ears who felt appeasement could still work, or who felt there was still enough time to carry out their own schemes. Some of them were now seeing the price for their ignorance being paid in blood in Varathron; many still were about to see the cost spill out across the whole Southern Gothic Sea, and undoubtedly even further beyond. This was a flashpoint that would not stop burning.

These next twenty-four hours would be crucial for establishing the tone and motivation that would decide the fate of billions. Some responses had already filtered through: the Skyans were now on High Alert, ready for a fight. The Compact of Telros was preparing for war, shaking off its rust and reviving to life an industrial base that, once at its peak, would be both marvellous and enviable. Then of course there was the venerable Count of the Dominion, who in his eons of wisdom, told the Reich to leap like frogs. Baffling as it may have sounded in the moment, his unflinching and expletive candour in the face of an enemy so often vaunted for their terror was something that everyone - from Caesar to the smallest child - took inspiration from. Frogs sporting cowboy hats became an instant hit on social media platforms across Gholgoth; in the armouries of the Caesar's Imperial Armed Forces, munitions handlers were proudly painting crude frogs in Capper uniforms looking scared along with quotes such as: "Leap over this, you slimy bastards."

For the Imperium herself, however, the response had to be pitch-perfect. Less so for the Reich - the Reich cared naught for any such fanfare - but for those billions whose lives would soon inevitably be at stake. It had to instil hope within the citizens, temper the fires set raging in their hearts from the scenes of ceaseless violence flooding in from Varathron, which they had had to witness before in their close neighbour Vetalia, which also hung under the threat of immediate liquidation. The Imperium and her allies had stepped in their to thwart that attempt, but it left a bubbling desire under everyone's collective skin to see it through to the end. To finally rid Terra of the Capper filth that had continued to spread like a plague. Imperium Supreme Command had continued to wait patiently, for in order for the Stratagem to have any meaningful effect, the Reich had to have its tendrils extended. Its belly gorged. For in its gluttony it would be blind to the blade that would rend it asunder. In its moment of calculated success, it would grow ignorant of the variables that warned of ever-growing risks of failure. The Reich was a Machine without Fear, something which it clearly bred out of itself, deeming it a trait of weakness. That only presented the real weakness: They wouldn't know when to stop.

By late afternoon, the cameras of news stations from across Gholgoth had been brought into the splendour of the Throne Room at the heart of the Fangthane Palace, known as the Sanctuary of the Millions of Years. It was a large space that usually reflected immense light off of its pristine marble, but today the lighting had been drastically adjusted. The sun's rays that filtered through the large stained-glass windows at the back had been concealed save for a few carefully curated streams of light, which gave just enough to illuminate two key areas. The first was at the foot of a large ascending staircase, which at the very top - some sixty feet high - sat the Throne of Avaris. The second illuminated the outline of the occupant, Caesar herself; the majority of her form was concealed in shadow, sacred and vaunted. But what was visible were the bright locks of her hair, and the effect of a burning halo from the back of her throne encompassing her temple. All the way down the staircase stood the shadowed forms of her Council of Dux Imperators, her Archpriestess' of the Sacerdotium, her Justices of the Imperium Supreme Court, her Secretaries of State; all symbols of immense power, all emanating from her.

Stepping into the light at the foot of the staircase, Dux Imperator Hyperion took centre stage. It was rare for the vaunted Son to do so, not known for making grand speeches, or saying very much of anything at all. Yet, it was by Caesar's own insistence that she chose him to be her messenger; he had developed a strong rapport amongst the Gothic Lords and their billions of citizens as being the epitome of an immovable object. With the bar set as it was by the Count, Hyperion seemed to be the most natural fit to match in his own demeanour. It also served to keep Caesar's words back for the even bigger moments that were set to lie ahead.

Wasting little time, the Dux Imperator delivered the response.

"Caesar follows no instruction from Fortress Norska. We will not surrender Fortress Pelion, nor will we abandon our brothers and sisters in Southwestern Gholgoth. Your claims of dominion are as empty as your spiritless vessels, your power built on brittle bones and fragile flesh entombed in prearranged coffins."

As he finished his sentence, in unison the previously invisible figures of Caesar's Guard - veterans of the Armed Forces handpicked to serve as her ceremonial guard - in the faint edges of the lens started to strike their shields with their blades, sparks revealing the faces of their helms and the pelts of the predators that decorated their bodies.

"Caesar will tolerate Fortress Norska no longer. The heralds of Avaris have summoned her Legions; they portent seas filled with the blood of Capitol Police. Their broken bones and rotting flesh will choke your production lines. Efficiency extinguished, your cold calculus will provide you no comfort. Your soullessness denying you any sense of a meaningful death. Your lack of fear will not save you from futility. The first salvos will not toll for Pelion, they will toll for the Reich."

Cries of "Vivat, Caesar! Vivat, Gholgoth!" echoed throughout the throne room, signing off the broadcast. Those words would echo in the banquet halls, stadiums and public arenas all across the Imperium Antiquum. None claimed to be unafraid, but all proudly spoke of being ready to die for something meaningful, of which there were endless reasons. The fire in their hearts beginning to temper, burning on an endless fuel.

"Setting the Stage"
Fortress Pelion, Southwestern Gholgoth
20 hours before the expiration of the Reich ultimatum

Even before the Imperium Antiquum's response had been made public, Imperium Supreme Command had already set in motion its preparations for the defence of Pelion by raising its Threat Condition Level to Two, bringing about the maximum readiness for conventional conflict. The island was integral to the defence of the former island of Milograd, itself a heavily contested arena, but also to ensuring that the Reich did not have sole passage to and from western and central Varathron. It was obvious to anyone with any semblance of a strategic mind that the threat levelled towards Pelion was an attempt to keep the Gothic Lords self-interested in Gholgoth to prevent any immediate interruption to the Automailian blitzkrieg.

For the time being it would succeed, but the Imperium hoped that a protracted defence could soon turn that advantage against the Reich. So long as the Alliance didn't budge from Pelion, Naval Arm South could not move unimpeded through the Southern Gothic Sea. Of course, that did not make the prospect of defence right on the Reich's doorstep any easier, but the Alliance had not sat idly in the time that Pelion had been commissioned. The whole island, its geography and topography, had been utilised in constructing an extensive and complicated nest of fortifications that reached the highest peaks of the mountains to the deepest caverns of the earth below. Hundreds upon thousands of miles of trenches and tunnels, all protecting strategically placed strong points that nested airfields, missile sites, railgun batteries; the full ensemble of Pelion was an armchair general's wet dream.

To defend it, the Imperium Antiquum had splintered off some six-hundred thousand men and women - two Cohors of the Caesar's Legion, supplemented with one Cohors Magnificum of the Caesar's Auxilia - from their main Army Group based in Briska to help garrison the island and serve as a flexible reserve for the Fortress Continent. Imperium Supreme Command had decided to hold the Legion back in secure locations, ready to deploy in the face of any impending Trooper landing. The Auxilia meanwhile would execute the opening response from their own gun and missile sites when the Reich inevitably followed through on their threat.

Out across the Southern Gothic Sea the entire Fourth Imperial Home Fleet named after the Fourth Son Belenus, the Aspect of Fire, was in the midst of carrying out its standard freedom of navigation mission when the order came in to readjust to ensure the defence of Pelion and the Safe Passage Route which protected the sea lanes that arched between Havensky and the Fortress Continent down towards. Caesar's Imperial Navy had, over the past two decades, developed a whole new host of capabilities which it was confident would prove decisive in displacing the Reich's Naval Arms; for now though, they would have to bide their time and prioritise disrupting any initial volley that came Pelion's way.

Imperial Cyber and Intelligence Command (CYBERCOM) had been keeping a constant monitor on Fortress Norska for some time, and the benefit of Pelion is that it had allowed them a permanent vantage point from which to gather data which had otherwise come through in limited bursts from occasional naval passes or aerial reconnaissance. What wasn't surprising right now was the absolute radio silence over the Reich's communications, usually the foreboding sign of an incoming attack order. What was more surprising, however, was the lack of any sign of Trooper concentration along the Southeast coast of Norska...

"Arms for Varathron"
The Coastal City of Arwad, Provincia Khonsia
+720 Hours after the commencement of Automailian Operation: SLAYER

Within a week of the beginning of Automailia's invasion of Arkan and subsequent expansion of its invasion to the Cronus Isles, which would later be followed by the former Freekish colony of Belephegoria and the Artitsan colony of Jacksburg, the Imperium Antiquum had announced an "Arms for Varathron" campaign.

Presently, the Imperium's forces in the region were still mustering to their full strength, and those currently active were dug in to contain the Reich's limited expansion into Eastern Varathron alongside the Disians of the Drakonian Imperium, which had been designated as Occupation Zone Thirteen. Responding immediately to the Automailian expansion with force was, unfortunately, not a viable option; not until the immediate security of Provincia Khonsia could be assured to ensure a secure base for offensive operations. However, that did not make the situation entirely helpless.

Firstly, the "Arms for Varathron" campaign - a lend-lease programme initially allocated over 1.25 trillion Caesar's Aurums (approximately 2.5 trillion USD) - had been signed off by Caesar and passed almost immediately by the Imperial Senate, appropriating excess funds from the Government Budget, to offer the means for Varathron states to restock their munitions or fill the gaps in their armaments quickly and with ease. If they could not be produced directly by the Imperium's own factory lines, they would be procured on the world market and shipped to their buyer under the protection of the Caesar's Imperial Navy. In both these instances, Provincia Khonsia served as the ideal candidate both for its industrial base but also for its deep water ports which provided ample room for shipping and the Imperial Navy to operate from. As the weeks turned to a month, ports like Arwad had grown to a whole new level thanks to the quickness with which the "Arms for Varathron" campaign was seized upon.

Secondly, Caesar's Eleventh Fleet which was assigned to Varathron had been keeping a watchful distance of the action in the centre of the region. While nominally still conducting its freedom of navigation missions, it had increased its surveillance and reconnaissance flights over the ever expanding warzones being conducted by the Reich client state of Automailia. Recording everything they captured, CYBERCOM were quick to decipher what they meant and what they told both the Gothic Alliance but also the nations most imminently under threat from being the next target. Right now it seemed like the blitzkrieg wasn't losing steam, and indeed was already in the process of carrying out liquidation efforts in Arkan and Belephegoria. Belephegoria seemed to be showing all the hallmarks for a future expansion of the Automailian Fortress, or perhaps become one of its own much the same as Fortress Arcadia had begun to appropriate Vetalian soil in Gholgoth. Equally concerning were the reports of extensive Replicant infiltration, the practice obviously continuing to become more refined with experience and causing no shortage of panic.

It would take years, probably decades, to fully ever understand the ramifications of what was going down right now in Central Varathron. But in the present it was obvious that they were in the eyes of a particularly vicious storm that so far showed no signs of slowing. And yet, even in small glimmers, there were signs of how even the Machine had its limits.

For now, the Imperium would continue to observe, but quite soon it was destined to act. They were determined to ensure that all those who had already died would not have lost their lives meaninglessly. At least, not for all those still left.
Last edited by Kylarnatia on Sat Apr 01, 2023 8:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Ancient Empire of Kylarnatia // Imperium Antiquum Kylarnatiae
Lord of Gholgoth | Factbook (Work in Progress) | Embassy & Consulate Programme
I write mostly in PMT-FaNT, and I enjoy worldbuilding and storytelling. Any questions? Ask away!
NationState's friendly neighbourhood Egyptologist
Come one, come all to my Trading Card Bazaar!
"Kylarnatia is a rare Nile platypus." - Kyrusia

User avatar
Fortress Automailia
Posts: 16
Founded: May 30, 2021
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Fortress Automailia » Sat Apr 01, 2023 11:10 pm

Operation COLOSSUS

Zehlit Garrison,
Fortress Automailia,
+749 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER
03:22 Hours Standard Imperial Time

Its walls were not so high, nor so thick. Its position not so absolute as the dreaded Black Citadel it served, and yet Zehlit took resolute against the dreary, industrial hellscape it resided within. Black skies hid it from the sun, grimy rivers oozed through its canals, and the filth of Humankind smothered all within the tight confines of modular apartment blocks stocked one atop the other. Dull, orange industrial lights cast feeble light onto blackened street corners who were dominated by sections of Macrofoundries or Habitation Blocks, their walls dotted with bullet holes from anyone of a thousand, thousand executions which had been methodically carried out. Though souls who prowled the streets bundled together, their dirty work overalls loosely hanging from their withering frames. Hollow eyes stared out in paranoia from sunken pits deep within skulls. Harsh strobe lights pierced across the gloom in mechanical sequences. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in them did not move once found; they stood still and awaited the inevitable. Black armored Capitol Police would march from stationary positions and demand in monotonous, microphone garbled tones to see their identification papers. Bloodied hands extended stained papers for inspection. They stood like beaten children before their overseer, their eyes glued to some point of interest at their feet, their mouths closed tight. Those who worked and lived so close to Zehlit were either deranged or savvy. Nothing in between these two extremes survived for long. Words were either minced between the Trooper and the Citizen, where demands were levied and only compliance was delivered, or a bullet would put through a skull and a corpse left to rot in the open air until disposal crews made their routine, weekly sweeps.

These facts were not unknown to Commandant Konstantine who resided within the heart of the Zehlit Garrison. Deep within its heart was the War Room, an armored bunker within an impossibly armored and defended fortress. He was the one true son of an abominable people. He was one of the few people who understood what the Reich represented. Billions died so that untold quadrillions might one day live in ultimate paradise. True Unification had yet to be achieved, but it would in time. The various ideologies of Mankind each pulled in radically different directions, straining at the leash to meet their “true potential”. In the end these systems would fail and tare Mankind apart in their death throes. If Humanity was to survive and the Reich’s ultimate goals be achieved then all resistance must be made futile. All hope must be crushed and Humanity itself broken down into a base, animalistic components. Only then could the true manifestation of Human Potential be achieved. Konstantine did not believe he would live to see such a day. It was too far down the road, too ephemeral. In any case that future was not meant for men like him. He was a monster, a psychopath, a murderer, a butcher .. simply a broken thing. But he was what the Reich needed in the here and now to achieve that vaunted, one-day paradise. He could see beyond his petty animalistic urges and into that future and was happy to give his life in fulfilment of that vision. Duty to Absolute Unification was everything to him.

The War Room was a solid block. Its size was adequate for its purpose of being the central nexus of all informational flow and command duties. It was from here that the Kraven War Machine in Automailia received its orders through the Relay. It was here that the fate of millions was callously decided based upon timetables, cost analysis, and benefit. The cold calculus of war conducted at a level unknown in even the most disregarding of regimes. Its bulk was illuminated dully with various monitors mounted along walls, each with tactical and strategic overlays of the various operations Autoamilia found itself engaged: SLAYER in Arkan, WARLORD in Cronus, SHRIKE in Belpheogria. Around each stood or sat a cadre of Capitol Police Officers who spoke in blunt but subdued tones about incoming data and how to convert that into the next step in said operations. At the center of this stood a wheeled table, its center hollow, with a similarly constructed light fixture above which cast sterile, cold white illumination down from below. Upon it was adorned the symbols of the Reich, the Twin Hammers. Here was the principle nexus of all operations where the senior officers of Fortress Automailia held council with Commandant Constantine being chief amongst them.

“Construction in Belpheogoria is preceding ahead of schedule,” monotoned one of the Officers, “The false hope of parole back to Reman has sufficiently motivated the laborers. The island is suitable to sustain the opening stages of GOLIATH.”

“The Arkan Protectorate continues to collapse. We have begun the push on their provincial capital and reports from Replicants in Milenka state a passive disinterest in the region. We do not suspect any complications in finishing operations and shifting more resources towards Jackburg,” intoned another Officer.

“Additional resources would allow HYDRA to be completed on schedule, as opposed to slightly behind. The Jackburgian holdout on the Morell River was an unexpected event, but well within the tolerances set forth beforehand. We have secured total control over Jackburg’s eastern border and are pushing the last of their refugees over the border into Dietsland”

“All islands in eastern Cronus have been secured. We are dealing with a developing situation with the Langong Navy in the area but do not expect them to escalate the situation – we do not believe they have much to gain from it beyond moral grandstanding. All preconditions have been met to begin COLOSSUS.”

Konstantine stared down at the folder with the words OPERATION COLOSSUS printed on them in bright, big, and bold letters. The manila folder held the schedule, strategy, and numerous other sensitives details about the invasion of Dietsland. The Ordenite Reich had long been considered the most formidable threat facing Fortress Automailia. Its command over the eastern portion of the southern continent had been the catalyst for the High Command to formulate various Operations to sweep the region before the Ordenite threat became unmanageable. Once Dietlands was secure further plans could be laid to support Norska’s expansion of Occupation Zone 13.

A further two manila folders sat off to the side of Konstantine, labelled Operation GOLIATH & GORGON. They represented similar plans for invasions of New Festung and Alkus, respectively. The eastern and western thrusts would be launched simultaneously to maximize the surprise. Once Dietlands was invaded and Fortress Pelion was shelled by Norska there would be no stepping back. He was well-aware that every nation in Varathron and Gholgoth would become immediately hostile.

“Where do we stand on GORGON?” he asked while flipping through the pages in the COLOSSUS folder.

“Arteries have been secured. Capillaries are nearing completion. Six Battalions have been assigned to GORGON and are prepared to deploy immediately.”

“See it done. GORGON, GOLIATH, and COLOSSUS will commence simultaneously. Gholgoth is stirring and we are losing the advantage of surprise.”

Konstantine rose to his feet, and the Capitol Police Officers echoed the movement.

“Kraven Prevails,” said Konstantine.

“Kraven Prevails!”

Commencement of Operation COLOSSUS,
Fortress Automailia – Dietsland
+900 Hours Commencement of Operation SLAYER,
17:20 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The bell tolled in the east. The border between Automailia and Dietsland had never been anything other than a no-man’s land. Trench works, armored bunkers, Stratosphere towers, and concrete walls were all that could be seen along the dreary, sodden border. Capitol Police units patrolled the border as they had always done. Their mechanical movements and scripted actions had become an almost dull part of the scenery. Only occasional work-gangs from the Kraven Volunteer Forces broke up the monotony as they performed maintenance on structures and equipment. Overnight these crews pulled back as their maintenance activities were halted. This was not entirely unheard-of as the Reich routinely carried out personnel inspections.

The hammer struck altogether at once. From sites both stationary and mobile, across Automailia, hundreds upon hundreds of intercontinental ballistic missiles were launched, each carrying the equivalent of over a dozen tons of explosives. Every radar station across Varathron and Gholgoth would light up as these warheads reached above the nanite infested skies. These warheads would rain down across Dietslands hitting targets of strategic importance. For years the Reich had utilized satellites to document and Replicants to verify the location of ammunition depots, military installations, air fields, government buildings, manufacturing centers, hydroelectric dams, waste treatment facilities and more. Larger sites like industrial facilities would be hit by multiple ICBMs to ensure maximized damages.

Squadrons of fighters and bombers, who up until a few hours ago had been parked in storage hangers, launched from bases across Automailia or improvised airfields in occupied portions of Jackburg. Their initial targets were to hit any Ordenite points of resistance along the border to loosen up resistance for the advancing Battalions. Of course their secondary task was to take any Ordenite planes out of the skies immediately to keep momentum on the Reich's side.

The border between Automailia and Dietsland was ablaze within the first few minutes. Waves of Capitol Police, supported by KnK companies, pushed forward even as hundreds of artillery and missile batteries opened up. Thousands of tons of ordnance fell against the Ordenite line within the first few minutes and this steadily intensified even as the Capitol Police approached the first lines of defense. The first waves were not expected to punch through the Ordenite lines. In fact it was counted on. Capitol Police Officers stared through binoculars or watched events unfold via Drone footage, gave no thought to the lives of their Troopers but instead methodically ordered each successive unit forward.

The Ordenite border with Occupied Jackburg was just as bloody. Capitol Police Battalions that had been pushing against the retreating Jackburgian military suddenly turned, other Battalions stretching their lines of advance out to accommodate, and pushed towards the border. While the assault occurred across the whole front two areas of priority had been established. The first was a push by four Battalions from the northern section, pushing northeast, attempting to circle in behind the Ordenite defenses along the border with Automailia. It was hoped the general assault there would tie down the defenders and prevent their escape before encirclement could be complete. The other was at the far southern edge of the border where Capitol Police pushed harder along the coastline – the cause, as yet, indecipherable.
Resistance Is Futile ...

Kraven Prevails!

User avatar
Political Columnist
Posts: 4
Founded: Mar 17, 2023
Psychotic Dictatorship


Postby Totenhoff » Tue Apr 04, 2023 5:57 pm


The Captain was laying down. He wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest. The bed was noticeably terrible, as he had not slept at all during the night. The ship would no doubt be at the point soon. Most likely while he was changing shifts with Jonas. He got up and turned on the lights in his room. He got dressed and looked into the mirror one last time. Nothing. He smiled, exactly what he wanted to see.

Walking out of his room, he felt something. He reached into his pocket where the short vibration was coming from. There was a ball, no bigger than a half-inch ball bearing. It was stainless steel. He opened it and looked at it. Inside was a small light blinking red and green.

As if it was a trigger, he slowly moved back into his room, hesitantly scanning his surroundings for movement. He placed the device on his desk and sat down. He studied the lights, deciphering what they said. Was it time?

Just then two loud knocks against the metal door boomed. The Captain snatched the ball and closed it, stopping the short vibrations. He placed it in his pocket before opening the door. Two of the sailors from the crew were there. He looked into their eyes and saw that they were crimson. A wicked smile was on one of their faces as they both held up the same device that he had. The Captain smirked. His own eyes flashed bright red for a second. The jig was finally up. They could stop playing games of life.

“Harry and Martin. I should have known it was you two who would be the ones to help me in this.”
“Oh come on sir, you always had a suspicion of who it would be. We knew it would be you because nobody else other than Jonas would have even close to the same influence as you, but he was far too lacking in his discipline.” Harry spoke.
“Fair, but we have our orders. Now follow me, for our future awaits!” They walked towards the stairs, heading to the bridge.

Three hours pass...

On the bridge all was quiet. Perhaps it was too quiet. Jonas checked his wrist watch, wouldn’t the Captain have shown up already? Out of the twelve years of working with the man, not one day has he ever, ever shown up late to a command changeover. It was already nine o’clock at night. The Captain would have been here three hours ago. He was about to go and check before he heard the door open behind him.

“Ah Captain, I was wondering when you would wake u-” He had turned around nonchalantly before audibly gasping at the sight. Others on the bridge either didn’t hear at first from having headphones on or didn’t turn around until they heard Jonas.

There was the Captain, Harry, and Martin. Shadows cast across their faces as the red light on the bridge lit the room. Their mouths were all in a terrifying grin, too many teeth. Harry and Martin had something dripping down their arms and hands, their shirts were stained from the collar and shoulders down to the lower chest. There were droplets all over their faces. Harry’s left eye was twitching erratically. The sight was chilling.

Jonas felt the hair on his skin prick up, his mouth agape and could feel sweat rushing down his face. He was in shock. Words escaped him, as did the others on the deck. A tense minute passed.

The Captain then took a step forwards, and another, and another. He reached Jonas and was bearing down on him. Jonas pressed himself closer and closer to the console behind him until he couldn’t scrunch up against it any further as the Captain walked towards him. Fear and agony in his eyes, Jonas couldn’t say anything, all he did was breath heavily. The Captain looked down at Jonas.

“And so it has come to this Jonas. Twelve years, twelve god forsaken years of dealing with your laziness and lack of any etiquette, or care for your job, or how important your position is and it's finally coming back to you!” The Captain had grabbed Jonas by the collars and lifted him up closer to his face.
“You could have had it all Jonas, you could have been better and I would have brought you on board this great scheme of mine and yet you never showed signs of improving your character!” He smashed his head back against the glass of the bridge window. A spiderweb of cracks formed in the glass, and Jonas’ head bobbed back and forth from the impact. His head dropped down and he felt blood seeping down his face.

The Captain dropped him to the ground. He would let Jonas wallow there in his own mind until he was ready. Looking over to see the rest of the bridge crew, the seven others were equally paralyzed. The red eyes of the Captain flared in the haze.
“Harry, Martin; our orders were clear. No Survivors.” Within seconds, blood had splattered against several windows. The bridge was filled with screaming and anguish as the vampires tore the crew, their shipmates, their brothers and sisters for so many years, into pieces.

Jonas regained some sense of consciousness and recovered from his shock. He looked over and saw their backs, several bodies on the floor, and a pool of crimson. A hand was outstretched towards him as if they were trying to reach him but the head of the body was missing. He was still shocked but he found the courage to move. He needed to escape. As desperate as it sounded there had to be something he could do. He looked around, his vision still had some haziness when he moved it around quickly, but he saw the emergency door that led down the stairs and to the deck. A lock was on the door that he could use to prevent them from getting outside quickly. He slowly and as quietly as he could got up and moved to the door, opening it and making sure to lock it behind himself.

He peered behind him, a bad idea. At that second, Martin must have looked back at the sound of the closing door and shouted at him. Jonas broke into a sprint down the gangway. He barely tried to use the stairs at all, gliding his hands down the rails to keep his momentum as fast as he could. He heard the door open after he was down the second stairwell. ‘Just two more sets and I'm on the main deck.’ He thought to himself. His heart was racing, his mind was in full speed. He either moved or he died.

Whatever the Captain and the others were didn’t matter to him, he wanted to get off the damn ship with his life. There was an emergency lifeboat on the back, but that was inaccessible from where he was. The only option was a small utility boat that was barely sea-worthy on the starboard side of the ship. He ran full sprint down the railings of the massive tanker, almost tripping several times from the sea spray that coated the deck in random places. He made the sharp right to the boat. It was still there, but as he moved for it something happened and the lines snapped, dropping into the water. He looked over the side to see the boat topple over sideways, barely rising back to the surface before sinking into the depths.

That was it. There was no chance now. No chance to escape death. His head thrummed in pain, his guts were churning, he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He vomited off the side as he cried.

“You just won’t give up, will you Jonas.” The statement could barely be heard over the waves. Jonas turned around, facing the Captain and the two lackeys. He coughed, and wiped his mouth with his elbow. He looked at it and saw blood, he didn't realize that he was biting down so hard on his inner lips that it drew blood. It trickled down his chin, as well as the gash in the back of his head. He straightened up and found his footing. Jonas spat on the deck before the Captain, before jumping off the ship.

The Captain did not expect him to do that, so his reactions were slowed. He rushed to the edge but Jonas had put about a meter between him and the Captain. Rage built up in the Captain as he saw Jonas fall to the sea, splashing down into the water. It didn’t matter, the fool would drown or die of exhaustion before he did anything. The Captain turned back to Harry and Martin. Their blood soaked uniforms showed that they were all monsters.
“I think our friends have arrived.” The Captain said as he pointed behind the ship.


2 hours prior…

Awake. Or was he? The blue lights in the submarine made it difficult to understand where he was. Moritz rubbed his eyes, he needed to look in a mirror. The trip under the sea at thirty-five knots was surprisingly smooth, he didn't actually know how fast they were currently going or what their depth was but he could feel his ears pop a few times. No weird noises disturbed him while he slept, and nobody had come to bother him or inform him of anything. He was a Brigadeführer, not a Konteradmiral, why would it be his concern about anything these bubbleheads would know.

He sat up, and shuffled off the top bunk. Karl was sitting on the bottom bunk. He seemed completely miserable. His expression was one of genuine disappointment.
“What's wrong Karl?” It was as much Moritz’ job to keep his troops, and in turn his friends' morale high.

“Well, to keep it bluntly with you Moritz, this fucking sucks. You already know I hate being inside these damn cans and yet following you around seems to only put me in more of them. How on this earth these slimy-slicks can even stand being in these tubs boggles my mind. Wouldn’t they want to be free and breathe some real fresh air and enjoy themselves maybe? Or do they get high off their own re-processed oxygen?” He used his hands to illustrate what he was saying before bringing them back to clasping his helmet in his hands and sighing.

“I will never understand Moritz, and I don’t think I ever want to try to understand them.” There was some clear cultural difference Moritz was picking up on, even with vampires there seemed to be classes or even groups that simply could handle these environments better than others.

“Me too Karl, me too.” He sat beside Karl.
“Say, you remember the time you made that Sturmbannführer piss himself when he realized he was talking to me?” This produced a smile on Karls face.
“Yeah, the moron thought you were below him, he thought he could give ME orders because I was lower than him.” Karl pointed to his chest as he spoke.
“I can’t get his face out of my mind, he was so beat red when you had him in that choke hold. You only stopped when he pissed himself.” Moritz chuckled as he said that last part.
“Ha ha ha, yeah and I dropped his face into his own puddle and called him a fucking coward, man that was great Moritz.” Karl was laughing pretty hard. He must have really enjoyed humiliating such a weak willed officer like that.
“What did you say exactly?”
“Ah it was something like ‘you coward, the next time you try to get between me and my boss I'm taking your legs!’ Aha ha ha!” Karl wept a tear or two of joy. Moritz grabbed a handkerchief and gave it to Karl. He wiped them from his eyes and stared at Moritz. Moritz stared back.

Karl snorted, and Moritz couldn’t help himself, so they both laughed again. That memory in particular always had a way of cheering them both up. Moritz stood up after coughing a few times.
“Alright, I am gonna get cleaned and dressed. We should arrive soon if my watch is right.” He checked it, ‘7:05’, they would arrive in roughly two to three hours so long as everything was going according to plan.

The shower was cold, surprising given it was a nuclear powered submarine, but understandable as the usual accommodations were vampires and not humans. It didn’t matter, he made it quick. He shaved and was very careful not to let any spots get cut. Not that he feared what chaos could ensue even from the sight of a drop of fresh blood but more because he wanted to be cautious and get it done right rather than wrong. The Brigadeführer had to look his best if he was to set the standard for his troops.

He kept his gloves off and in his pockets for now. He left the coat and baton. He was just about to put on his hat when a knock at the door occurred.
“Come in.” A sailor then appeared with some grime on his face
“Sir, it is your troops turn to eat. The mess is just down the hall.”
“Thankyou.” And the door closed. Karl stood up, he was about to grab his weapons when Moritz stopped him.
“It's just the mess, I seriously doubt they will want to pick a fight with all of us even if we are outnumbered. We are on a mission from the Reichsführer himself, just remember that.” Karl reluctantly put the weapons back down.
“Ok you can bring the ankle knife at the very least if it keeps you comfortable.”

The food at the mess was nothing special for the crew and in turn Moritz’ men. Blood packets to sip on like they were a bunch of kids with juice boxes. Moritz wasn’t particularly pleased with what he had. When a Totenhoff submarine runs out of blood packets as its primary ration, they have to turn to less liked but still usable soups. These soups specifically were made using tomato and herbs, as well as olive oil. Overall a simple canned tomato soup that was heated back up. Unfortunately because the crew are vampires, just tomato soup would not work. Each can was mixed prior to packing with small amounts of O+, apparently it was sweet to vampires and made them happier than just eating plain tomato soup.

Unfortunately, Moritz was not a Vampire. He tried eating it but could only get half of it down before he started feeling sick. Far too much iron did not make for a good stomach. There was bread but without any butter it tasted quite bland. He wasn’t going to dip it into the soup and ruin it. Moritz expected to be at least treated better than this, was it so hard for the quartermasters of the Kriegsmarine to requisition some half decent human food for the important officer on board?

He sat back up and sighed. Looking over at Karl, he had finished his blood packet.
“Are you okay sir?”
“No. I'm really not right now.”
“Let me see that.” Karl grabbed the bowl and tipped it back to drink. He swished it around in his mouth before swallowing.
“Yup, O+, about a sixteenth of this damn thing is full of it. No wonder you feel so terrible.” Karl finished the soup before slamming the bowl down and getting up. Moritz regretting having so much of it, he felt so bad that he failed to notice that Karl had walked into the kitchen and had grabbed the cook and held his fist back as if he was gonna throw a punch. He didn’t know exactly what Karl had said but the cook very quickly shook his head up and down and started working on something.

Karl returned to the table with something in his hand. He passed it to Moritz. He grabbed it and looked at it.
“What are these?”
“They’re purgation pills. You take one and it purges the blood in your stomach so that you can act normal again. No side effects other than maybe burping a little bit and having blood-breath, you should start feeling better after ten minutes or so.” Moritz blinked, before opening the container and popping one into his mouth. He grabbed the glass of water beside him and drank.

A couple minutes passed and sure enough the mess hall was filled with some of the loudest burps Moritz had ever made. The troops were all laughing and telling jokes by then now that the mood had lightened up. His cheeks were bright red from embarrassment but he laughed with the men as they told some of their own stories.

After another half hour or so the Captain of the boat entered the mess.
“Sir Moritz, correct?” Moritz turned to face the captain.
“Yes captain?” His cheeks were still red, as were the faces of the troops.
“We are coming close to our objective. Have your men ready and prepared to go topside in ten minutes. Get the job done and get back on the boat as soon as you can, being above the water scares me more than death itself.”
“We will do our best, as the Reichsführer ordered.”
Heil.” The captain saluted, before departing back to his station.
“You heard the man, let's get ready.”

5 minutes after the events of Motions…

“Bring us up to periscope depth.”
Jawohl.” Slowly the boat shifted upwards. Almost awkwardly the Captain pulled down the periscope and seemed to dance around in a circle, scanning the surface for any visible threats, before focusing slightly left or straight ahead.
“Surface the boat.” he spoke as he clacked the arms back into place on the scope.
Jawohl.” Another feeling of rising, and Moritz was shifted back slightly by the momentum.
“Meet me on the deck after the light goes green.” The Captain pointed to an overhead bulb in a small cage that was glowing red. The Captain climbed up the ladder to the top hatch. Moments later the light flickered green.

Moritz and his retinue made their way up the ladder to the top of the sail. Fresh air at last. In the dark night he could make out the silhouette of the cargo ship. It was massive compared to the submarine. No flag was raised in greeting or for identification, both parties knew who they were. As they pulled alongside, Moritz glanced at the bridge area of the ship.

Something had randomly blotched the windows. He wasn’t quite sure what that was for. Maybe to hide something or make the lights more inconsistent? Barely any of the proper signal lights on board the ship were functioning. On the deck stood three men as if they were waiting for them. Unmistakably they were also Vampires. "Will these missions ever have us meeting with a real human and not them?’ Moritz pondered on the thought.

A gangway extended between the boat and the ship so that they could board. Karl walked in front of Moritz, always protecting him, while the retinue followed behind. Moritz could now more clearly see the men even if the darker lights. Blood stained their uniforms, their hands, arms, faces, everything. He was almost disgusted by it.

“So you are it? You are the one they send me and my traitors-in-arms?” The larger of the three figures gestured towards Moritz.
“A human? In command of a posse of his own vampires?” Moritz took a step forward at that remark and brought the baton around and cracked it against the vampire's face.
“How dare you insult me, after thirty-five years of waiting for this critical moment to prove your worth to us and you decide to insult me! I should have the Reichsführer personally put a silver bullet through your rotten cranium should you think that you are above someone like me.” Moritz felt confident in what he said and he showed it. His troops pulled their assault rifles and Karl stepped just to the left of Moritz, ready to strike.

The Vampire at first did not do anything, then he slowly turned his head back and fell to one knee.
“My apologies sir. What would you have us do?” The other two followed suit.
Moritz looked down at the bloody mess that was these three. He should have just shot them now considering they already weren’t to be trusted.

“You will help unload the cargo from the submarine and place it on the pre-marked location across this ship. You will then sail this ship to the city of Pelion and issue the distress signal that you have lost control, before running into the entrance of the harbor and blocking it.”
“What will happen after that sir?”
“We will handle the rest.”

Several minutes passed, like a blur the troops and three others were hauling back and forth across the deck the large boxes. Red and Yellow hazard icons emblazoned the tops and sides, but actually seeing what they had written on them was impossible with the speed that they were moving at. Moritz watched from a distance with Karl at his side as they were finishing up the move. He checked his watch again, ‘9;45’.
“Let's go Karl. They should be done soon.”
They both walked towards the gangway and made their way across to the sail. They watched as the last box was hurled from the submarine by two vampires into the hands of the two waiting on deck, before they scurried away.

Soon all were accounted for, and it was time to leave.
“Do not fail us Captain, or else we will ensure that you never get the peace that you desire!” Moritz yelled over the sound of the wind and waves. The Captain saluted with the traditional hand to the tip of the hat rather than the Totenhoff specific salute. All the troops descended the ladder with Moritz and Karl behind them. The Captain of the submarine was the last to come down and close the hatch shut. Before he was down the ladder he was already shouting orders.
“Make your depth 1000 feet, ready tube one with a UUV, prepare it for swim out mode and flood the tube. Once we are ready I will give the order to launch, UNDERSTOOD!?”
JAWOHL!” the crew bellowed back triumphantly. They were like a living machine, with their Captain at the head.
“Gentlemen, you may retreat to your rooms. Moritz and Karl I will inform you when we are ready for the photo’s.”
“Understood, carry on Captain.” with that Moritz and Karl stood down the hallway to their assigned room.

The main event was about to begin.



Remove ads

Return to International Incidents

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Azadistan 2, Google [Bot], Nurvania, Stranarei


Remove ads