Ground Zero: Bourgogne

[Beautancus]

Operation: Blackout .2

​

Brigade Combat Team (BCT) "Blizzard"
East-Southeast of Ouistreham
Disputed Western Burgundy




Now this is getting it stuck the fuck in, Sgt. Redwald Hines would have stepped back to take the time truly required to fully appreciate the surreal majesty of the moment, were that not likely to see him reduced to largely disassociated gore and viscera.

The Cussian Sergeant couldn't estimate how long his squad and the rest of BCT Blizzard had been actively engaged with the foe, and wouldn't have even if he wasn't being shot at besides. Bad form, more important business...

Engaging the magazine release "paddle" on the lower receiver of his ASR operating on muscle memory alone, the noncom took long enough to tap any excess dirt or trash from the next before feeding it home. That had made four magazines put fully through in this firefight so far, more than Hines had ever gone through in this short a span before. Never had it stuck in this hard either Redwald, Hines chided himself.

Having pushed much deeper into the old Burgundian depot, which now seemed more a hornets nest that had been kicked than a wooded countryside blasted flat by modern gunnery, Hines' squad now found themselves the focus of such very particular attentions as well. Still clearly reeling from the pounding the Cussian artillery had brought down on their heads not that long before, the Burgundians were making up for what they lacked in unit cohesion with dogged tenacity and bravery approaching the suicidal.

Blizzard's advance through the depot had brought them here some minutes before, to what appeared to have been the laundry for the base. A sturdy built structure, it was far enough into the site to have avoided the worst of the Cussian artillery's concentrated bombardment. A force of North Burgundians had thought to make use of the position before Hines and his squad, and the settlement of their dispute over the building's rightful management had been a near-run thing.

Hines glanced to the nearest wall, yellowed from age and a leaky roof allowed to slide for too many months, if not years, and partially obscured by dark-crimson spray from the men that'd died here just minutes before. Hines had lost one man in the action, KIA, dropped as they breached the door. Two more had been injured seriously before the structure was fully cleared, badly enough that they were combat ineffective, bringing the butcher's bill to four overall for the day. Wonder how Cap'n Pound is making it, been a while since we were in visual contact...

From the next room Pvt. Buck opened up with his autorifle-configured ASR, its increased rate of fire rendering the already sharp, hammering report of the weapon a distinctly murderous chatter, even in the tightly clustered bursts being sent out now. Hines ducked down fast, lining up with the nearest peep-hole to try and catch some glimpse at what - who - Buck was going for. Catching it just right to see every bit of a single Burgundian's back and shoulder as he died and flopped to the ground, heaving and twisted as he was pounded by .26 rounds - not altogether helpful or informative.

A rasping voice from the stairwell provided all the intel the peephole had lacked for, though Hines found rather quickly that he'd almost rathered not to know. Somewhere between a hissing whisper and full shout, eyes white and wide against a face darkened with ash and soot, Cpl. Outlaw skidded over the ground-floor after coming down two and three stairs at the time.

"Sarge, we've got eyes on a fucking platoon of EI picking their way up that drainage canal, high-high-tailing it our way like they got a powerful urge to have a talk about something."

Hines blinked, suddenly unsure of his ability to hold their current position against a platoon, and perhaps more unsure of the ability of the position itself to hold up to that much concentrated firepower.

To underscore the severity of the Corporal's entirely unsolicited revelation, Pvt. Buck was letting go with long, heavy streams of automatic fire now - none of the more controlled bursts from even a few seconds prior. As soon as the autorifle ran dry, the normally jolly soldier slammed another home and resumed firing, getting off a few aimed shots, then a double-tap before defaulting to much longer bursts.

The tell-tale crack of gunfire outside was spiking in volume again, the laundry building shaking a bit each time a Burgundian bullet found its home in an old brick or piece of timber. Hines wasn't waiting around for any of it now, come what may.

He and Cpl. Outlaw were back up the stairwell as fast as Outlaw had descended it, both couching their rifles in anticipation before even taking up their (prepared) firing positions. Daring a look over the edge of this much larger hole, Hines involuntarily clenched his buttocks in response to what he found outside. The bullets that chewed into the outside of the wall, just inches from his eye, helped matters not one bit.

"They're fanning out, and the bastards for sure have an idea of where we are in here..." Sgt Hines spoke to Outlaw alone first, quietly, then reconsidering the situation he bellowed out the rest so the whole squad could here.

"Here they come boys, sumbitches rolling like they mean it! Time to thank em for the target practice!" Hines poked the muzzle of his rifle through the hole now, generally in the direction of the largest concentration of troops he'd seen, and let her rip. So did every other man in the squad with a trigger to pull.

Alright Redwald, you've got it good and stuck in - how're you gonna unstick it? Hines had no answer for the shitty little voice inside his head, none save to keep firing.

 

[Kazansk]

Bernard Soult had been recently promoted to sergeant and then with assigned the rest of his unit to the 3rd Amalgamated Oustrian Division, which of course given his luck was currently bearing the brunt of the latest enemy offensive. But the Engells weren't having it all there own way, so far the Republicans were holding and even launching counterattacks in certain sectors. Alas Bernard was too busying fighting for his life to give much consideration to the bigger picture, he would be quite happy if he managed to keep from spilling his blood for Bourgogne.

During a brief lull in the fighting Bernard was able to count the losses, three dead, another four wounded. News came in from the radio, elements of the 4th and 6th "Oustrian" Volunteer Divisions were being sent to reinforce the front line.


+++++++++

Orders from Pillau had come in. Ouistreham was to be destroyed " Sacrificed for the good of the nation". Bombardment of the city and its surrounding areas was to begin at once, with both rockets, artillery and aircraft to be used with all manner of munitions to be utilized including controversially to some White Phosphorous. and Thermite.

 

[Kazansk]

Volunteer Army of Northern Bourgogne

The latest spate of rocket attacks had destroyed several of the armies depots, while relatively few casualties had occured the damage to the local infrastructure was immense, fires were raging in several towns and cities which the local emergency services were struggling to contain...in part because these emergency services themselves seemed to be the ones targeted

General George Juin surveyed the reports coming in. They did not paint a pretty picture, whats more the latest Thaumatic assault was putting pressure on parts of the front line where previously combat had been in a lull with the Inserrectionary Army of Western Bourgogne clamoring for reinforcements. However the state of the major roads and high ways leading towards the front would slow down any reinforcements he could send on the ground, he would however need to consider an airborne reinforcement but with the state of most of the airfields following the latest bombardment.

++++++++

Frontline south of Ouistreham

The enemy seemed to be throwing everything it had into this offensive. The La Garde Républicaine" Division were holding although the line although for how much longer was anyone's guess. The 5th" All Burgundian" Volunteer Division was being redeployed to shore up any holes in the line. The Former Neustrian's were showing steely resolve in the face of the enemy and were more than living up to their title as Guards of the Republic.

Jules Fouchier was a member of the "Friends of the Burgundian workers" Battalion, one of the many volunteer units that had been raised following the declaration of the People's Republic. They'd numbered four hundred at the start of the campaign into Neustria, now they were less than half that. Jules had been a steelworker a few months ago, now he was a seasoned veteran, the unskilled and unlucky didn't tend to last long in this war. He crawled forwards on his stomach lying in wait for some Engell to make himself known. Surely enough one of them broke cover, Jules shot rang out and the man dropped, one less Engell but he'd need to kill hundreds more before it'd make a real difference.

++++++++

Pillau, People's Republic of Bourgogne.

The city centre was eerily quiet, even at midday. Following the latest bombardment the order had been given to evacuate the city of all non-essential personnel, its inhabitants to be sent into the countryside into vacant aristocratic estates or to hastily constructed camps. There were those of course who disobeyed the order, but most were more then happy to leave for the relative safety of the countryside.

 

[Beautancus]

Operation: Blackout .3

​

Defensive Position #3, Insurrectionary Army of West Burgundy (IAWB),
under assault by Brigade Combat Team (BCT) "Blizzard,"
East-Southeast of Ouistreham,
Disputed Western Burgundy


Able now to discern the driving, shattering pounding of his own company's gunfire from that of the Burgundians, and finding it more than a little silly that someone could be thankful to hear such an awful screeching whine again, Captain Tredan Pound could only shake his head at it all. Though perhaps not quite so precariously engaged as his friend and subordinate Sgt. Hined, Pound had still seen better days.

A .223 had found its mark in the meat of his arm, drilling neatly through one side and out the other just beneath his tricep. It had hurt like a son of a bitch, and burned worse than any tattoo now, half an hour after the fact, but he still retained most of the use in the arm that was actually required at the moment. Small favors, like they always say, Tredan mused.

Some two thirds of a mile from Hines' own improvised position, Pound's larger command squad now held a four-story (as yet indeterminate subfloor levels) communications building. An empty rectangle of chainlink fence sat outside the building - Pound surmised that it had once contained a relay tower or generator - empty long before some piece of debris and smashed part of it flat to the ground.

The advantage in height offered by the building was allowing his men to lay down a field of very timely suppressing fire against the overstrength IAWB platoon pushing back against Blizzard, and Sgt. Hines laundromat in particular. Autorifles, medium and heavy machine guns and GPUs sounded off in regular intervals, some more pronounced than others, while sharpshooters and snipers brought merciless ruin to any medics, noncoms or radio operators their high-powered optics brought into focus.

~ Fwump Fwump Fwump FWUMP FWUMP ~ Pound wasn't able to fight back the urge to jump, though he did keep himself from diving for cover. The sound of mortars, now followed by heavier field pieces - thunderous artillery and shrieking rockets, too close to be Cussian...

"PENDER, SMALLS! ON ME, FUCKING NOW!" Pound roared for his radioman and JTAC operator, a flooding sensation of desperate necessity briefly overwhelming the Captain's synapses. His ears pricked up, the raw mat of muddy, greasy bloody hair at the base of his neck shivered under a windless chill - the din of the battlespace was changing around them.

What had been a steady, roaring hurricane of almost every kind of personal and small scale violence was breaking open under the thunder of heavy gunnery, seemingly from all directions. Outside and a few dozen yards away a grenade detonated, a sharp blast that would normally have seemed catastrophic taking on an obscene familiarity after no more than an hour or two of combat.

It was no more than a few seconds, but to Pound it felt as if he'd allowed his mind to wander freely for several minutes. Mind racing with a huge surge of adrenaline, the Captain made no further delay in relaying his now vital intelligence through radio and JTAC.

Screw me if this will do one ounce of good at this point...still, it might with someone. And they'll have a damned good bit better an idea of who to make pay. Pound hadn't consoled himself in the slightest, but all of it would have to wait its due turn. The Burgundians were putting their backs into it on the ground as well, even more irregulars flooding into their section of the depot. Volunteers, likely fanatically devoted to whatever cause had brought them here today.

Unfortunately for them, so was the Army of the Confederated Republic of Beautancus. Brigade Combat Team Blizzard was far from alone in this fight in the first place, they merely formed one segment of a much wider push the 49th ID was making. The push itself was merely part of a far greater and vastly more complex maneuver involving the 22nd ID, who were now pushing through and around the very outer perimeter of IAWB Position #3. Soon, that noose would be knotted.

"Sir, CAFV01* just confirmed our position, says that we are not to advance until he makes next contact." The radio operator couldn't help but look incredibly perplexed. A unit designation and vaguely threatening head's up only meant so much to him, but Pound knew what kind of armor those letters and digits were associated with.

The world split open outside, or at least sounded like it. The comm building shook with the hammering report of an enormous gun just yards away, maintaining a rate of fire that was best described as "withering." The floor of the building vibrated now, the jet-engine roar of an armored vehicle rising to join the autogun.

"Holy shit Cap, it's a f@&$in' Punisher!" One of Pound's soldiers cried out, peaking around the empty maw of a long-shattered window, childlike wonder overriding better sense. Not that Pound wasn't just as excited for "the Cavalry" to arrive - no, that was entirely on the contrary.

The hollow, pipe-like thud of grenade launchers joined the deafening fury of retribution, before being completely drowned out by the beefy chattering of a heavy machinegun. More autogun fire from the other side of the building, another Punisher bringing its monstrous 40mm automatic gun to bear on the hapless Burgundian volunteers.

The soldier nearest to Pound clapped him on the shoulder and offered an Alpaca, proud Redbone features darkened with the days fighting and grime. The Southwest-born soldier nodded outside and smiled, all the self assured humor of his race distilled down to one golden nugget of truth in the moment. "Rekt."

Almost every man in earshot, including Captain Pound, thought that the funniest thing they'd heard in a long, long damn time.






*Cavalry Armored Fighting Vehicle, 1st in this particular formation of the 93rd Armored Cavalry

 

[Beautancus]

Interlude


​

Combat Direction Center (CDC)
CRNV Grim Tidings (SCG 87),
Eastern Thaumantic Expeditionary Command (ETEXCOM) - Cussian 1st Fleet,
somewhere in the southern Engelsea



Word of the Burgundian "counterstrike" had arrived for Admiral Speier's immediate review in Grim Tidings' CDC as quickly as they had to BURCOM, REVSEC or anyone else for that matter. The man was well known to the crew for being "sanguine," to say the least, but his reaction to this situation report was a thing of an altogether more uncomfortable sort.

"And this is still ongoing, or have they shot their whole wad in this one go, have we got any ideas yet?" Speier's typically aristocratic sneer had pulled into a leering snarl of a grin, his wickedly intelligent eyes narrowed with calculation. One of his information control officers responded in the negative, the attack seemed to be still be ongoing, if lacking the intensity of the initial bombardment. The officer was clacking away at the systems terminal before him to collate the most up to date image feeds and intelligence for the Admiral, a cascade of prompts and windows overlaying each other over most of the screen.

A good number of UAVs of several different models, both AF and Naval assets, were in the air above and around Ouistreham at present, working to provide an invaluable, real-time view of a huge portion of the West Gallian battlespace. To most observers, even most of those in Grim Tidings' CDC, those video feeds told a grim, even shocking tale. But not for Admiral Heracles Speier.

A number of the city's suburban districts appeared to be completely engulfed in a localized firestorm, those facing and nearest to the ongoing fighting along the IAWB's hastily arranged defensive line. One of the UAVs was tracking a windblown thermal vortex - a tornado of fire, soot and superheated gases reaching hundreds of feet into the air - racing down a residential street for a moment before taking a sudden turn into the line of homes to one side. It continued to churn for another thirty seconds, blackening and blistering anything unlucky enough to be in the backyards of several dozen houses over a like number of blocks.

It was clearly evident that a surprising of civilians had chosen to remain in their homes, despite their proximity to the fighting, just from the portion Speier and the informational control officer had taken in. Many of them looked to have made it through alive even, albeit with the near total loss of their homes and worldly possessions.

The video feed cycled to the next UAV, arching around the Engelsea-side, western face of Ouistreham. Cutting through the sky at a rate obviously much faster than the first, the view it provided took in a far larger portion of the area at once. A few targets had been struck, particularly near the Port Complex Cussian ground forces were using as a primary staging area, sending greasy columns of black and gray smoke skyward here and there. Similarly dark, billowing fingers rose to dance in the wind across the many districts and precints of Ouistreham's full breadth, though not so many that it seemed the city would be a total loss. Enough to hurt though, no matter how it was spun afterwards.

Speier didn't look at the officer when he spoke, instead leaning even closer to the terminals monitor, examining the results of the firebombing very carefully. "If anything Lieutenant, these bastards have done us a good few favors when it comes time to permanently rezone this shithole, less red-tape to make it fit for Cussian habitation, after the fact."

The feed cycled to another aerial drone, this time even closer to the front and directly focused on the course of the fighting. Just more than a thousand feet above the hazy vastness of the battle field, tracers spopped brightly through the smoke shrouded light of the now rapidly waning day. The Lt. brought up the data-feed paired with this video, able now to point out that the 1st Armored's "Black Knights" were engaged in a huge swinging arching action, driving through and obliterating one Burgundian position while simultaneously cutting two more off. Those were being assaulted by elements of the 22nd ID and 93rd Armored Cav, placing the traitorous Communard insurgents in a position from which they were very unlikely to escape.

The upper left quadrant of the picture was illuminated suddenly, an almost blindingly white flash of intense heat that blotted outevery other light source on the screen. The drone was obviously banking sharply, mechanical eyes zooming in closer to the source of the enormous explosion, the image resolution bottomed out before coming back into focus. A firing position of some kind had been scorched, perhaps even the source of some of the incendiary munitions currently bedevilling Ouistreham. A dark shape flashed through the drones perspective, a thing of long and sleek lines that never failed to impress even the most jaded observer, the mirage-like effect of its massive rotor-blades making identification immediately possible.

"That was a Marauder, Sir - one of ours it looked like!" The Information Control Lieutenant didn't disappoint, warranting a smile and nod from the warlord of fleets.

"It would indeed appear so Lt, and not alone, I would expect." As the Admiral called it, there were at least three of the murderously effective Engello-Cussian gunships weaving through the air over the battlespace, air-to-ground missiles lancing out from their hardpoints to reap an appropriately fiery vengeance on the Burgundians below. Likely to be providing close air support and seeking targets on their own, the Marauders stuck low to the ground as much as possible - doing their best to avoid giving the Burgundians a decent firing solution.

All the same, it didn't take long for a SAM to streak up at one of the black-hulled gunships. The Marauder bled altitude and built speed, firing countermeasures at what seemed like the last possible moment. The missile exploded harmlessly a bit more than a thousand feet behind the helicopter, handily fooled into premature self destruction by an apparently very well-collected Cussian pilot. "Brave bastard," Speier growled his admiration, breaking his attention away from the action slowly.

"Get BURCOM on the line in my office Ensign," Speier turned to another of the CDC crew now, working his way down a mental checklist even as he spoke. "It would be prudent to raise DEFSEC Albrecht as well. See to it."

"Aye aye, Sir!" The Ensign snapped a smart salute and went to it, with an earnest hypervigilance and precise speed that Heracles Speier never remembered being possessed by at that age. Never one to linger overlong on sentimentality, the Admiral checked the feed from the UAVs once more before stalking off to his office. If I know Albrecht at all, and I'm beginning to think I do, the Burgundians have just authorized an entirely new order of hurt for themselves...

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

Cassiopeian Sea

Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon, forming a large towering wall of darkness that was approaching fast. Long before the thundering roars announced the approaching storm, winds had already picked up and began whipping dirty green waves of seawater against the grey hull of the ship. The navy cruiser Hope was guiding the entirety of the its fleet - 2 cruisers, 4 destroyers and 4 fregates - eastwards, past Johnston Isle and into the Thaumantic sea, where the wild winds and the waves, the lightning and the thunder might not pose any real danger to the ships, but still threatened the wellbeing of their crew.

"Madame President, we should probably head below deck."

President Trumm gave her bodyguard a dismissive gesture with one hand while continuing to talk into the phone in her other hand.

"I don't care how irritated senate is over this, we can not give the Cussians a heads up while we're not yet in the Thaumantic. Just keep stalling." ... "Listen, Lou," she continued after taking another look at hear bodyguard fidgeting besides her, obviously uneasy over the prospect of losing the President of the Socialist World Republic to the sea. "I have to end the call. We have some inclement weather coming our way and those dobermanns from the guard want me tucked away. Just give me one more day, the public will forget all about this silence once they see what I am doing."

With a swipe of her hand, Donna Trumm terminated her call and finally heeded the advice of her personal guards to get below deck.

 

[Beautancus]

Interlude 2

​

The House of Burgesses,
1016 West Canal Boulevard, Statesboro District,
City of Welmonton,
Confederated Republic of Beautancus



As was the case with most of the rest of Beautancus, the House of Burgesses had not received the news from Ouistreham neither calmly or quietly. The cries from the floor of the House this morning came impassioned and indignant, "Fictional Barbarism. Communist Savagery. Gallian Treachery. Atrocity in Ouistreham!" In a chorus, rising, rising.

The foremost Burgess, and Speaker of their house, Sir Jorace Abnett had delivered a fiery report of his to open the session. Voice unwavering and almost flatly cool, the Speaker enumerated many of the various horrors experienced by the citizens of Ouistreham the day prior. He dwelt even longer on the stories of those service personnel of the Domain permanently scarred or altogether consumed by the inextinguishable fire unleashed by the spiteful foe.

"Here now, honored and noble Burgesses, do we see the malice that rules Pillau laid nakedly bare! Claims of fighting for the sake of their countrymen can be well and truly discarded now, by even the most gullible people...none of whom sit now in this chamber, I should hope!" The hinted rumble of laughter washed over and around the floor of the House, Speaker Abnett making a rather dramatic show of turning to meet the eyes of his fellow Burgesses.

"The flames of Ouistreham light clear for the world entire to find the way to the truth of this matter, to the greed of the plurocrats and their pet unions, the union bosses and their pet party leaders, the party leaders and their pet warlords! Greed, hateful and destructive, is at the heart of this atrocity! The money-grubbing hypocrites preach proletarian genocide while casting their heaviest nets as wide as possible, seeking the vineyards and harbors to match the industrial output of their factories and foundries. Let us never forget the native productivity and wealth of North Burgundy, resources and skills they have now so eagerly and wastefully turned to the cause of tyranny against their former countrymen!"

Affecting the full fury of well rehearsed genteel outrage to close his push, Abnett leaned into the forcefulness of the speech, "We have sworn to the people of Ouistreham and West Burgundy that they shall be free from this barbarism and terror, free in the fullness of the word as only the citizens of the League of Four Nations may understand!"

With a scant few more scathing words, the Speaker ceded the floor.

Though not the next to speak, it fell to Mr. Clarence Gerrold Turner to hone the edge Speaker Abnett had passed to the floor. A well-regarded Thaumanticist, and junior Burgess from the Commonwealth of the Great White Lake, Turner had only recently attained prominence through his naming as Co-chair of the House Select Committee for Nat'l. Defense.

Aided now, as ever, by his native Western drawl and boom baritone voice, Turner wheeled the collective ire of the House around as if by bit and bridle. "Where now are the hypocritical arguments or protestations from the Imperials over the Medieval savagery of the atrocity in Ouistreham, as there were over our joint intervention in West Burgundy? An intervention undertaken for the cause of civilization and order, because we saw clearly what was to come - while their powers and principalities squabbled over which inbred ass would sit which chair!"

Waving away a smattering of applause and cheers, the Junior Burgess conducted the floor as if he were born to the Welmonton elite. "How could anyone else ever count upon them to defend their sovereignty when all that pack of dynastic wastrels seems good for is dragging their feet and wringing their hands over whom they shall sell their own sovereignty!?"

Turner made the point to allow himself a drag from the cigarette he'd spent the past moments gesturing with so ferociously, and a quick pull from the tumbler before him to refresh his echoing voice. "There is to be found lurking a yet deeper and more profound malice, even beyond the cruelty of this action taken by the North Burgundians."

A new cigarette gestured for the man from the Great White Lake now, smoking recrimination thrust with each furious motion. "We all know that the most base form of opportunism rules the hearts of those fiends in Pillau, nothing like the insidious malevolence or even black-hearted audacity that is necessary to give form or realization to this treacherous enterprise! There is a greater malefactor behind this, one strong enough to be have their assurances to Pillau believed, when offering the venemous promise that there would be support after the fact, and support enough to matter in the face of the League's retribution!"

Wheeling to face the horseshoe of the House's wings in the same fashion the Speaker had done before, Turner took in as many of the faces of his fellow Burgesses as he could before speaking again. "There is the true rub of the matter, Honored Burgesses, that there are even greater foes out there already, acting against the Domain through the catspaw of doomed Pillau. We must accept this now, and begin to prepare ourselves accordingly. I would comfortably wager that BURCOM will have some idea on the identity of this Enemy of Liberty soon, all should be made ready to respond in kind the very moment those findings are made available to us!"

Well aware that insisting upon the necessity of the further investment of attention, manpower, materiel and time into anything was one of the quickest ways to lose this crowd, Turner took the time to gauge his fellows again. Inhaling the rich smoke of his beloved country's most famous leaf with great relish, the Burgesses found that they were still with him.

"To do anything short of this would be to neglect the charge of our oaths in the most criminal and neglectful sense, of this there can be no dispute or doubt. Like and all the same, I say too that Pillau's co-conspirator cannot save them from what is coming." His race lit now with that same wolfish, snarl of a smile the world had so well and infamously associated with the demeanor and predilections of his race, Turner was in truth almost elated to be at the end of it.

"Nothing in this world will stand between this Domain and the dispensation of justice. Gentleman, Ladies, I ask that you pay heed to this mighty suffering, and to our words concerning them. I know, as do the Cussian people, that we shall do the right thing. I thank you." There Turner bowed, waiting only long enough to politely acknowledge the thunder of applause raised by his fellow Burgesses before resuming his seat.

As he waved, filtering down through the great windows above the House's floor, the Sun's rays flashed briefly against the marvelously worked and jeweled Craft-ring so newly and prominently fixed below the knuckle of his index finger, in the fashion of the foremost Masonic Lodge in the land. Thus and in like fashion did the business of the House proceed, for the rest of the day's session.

 

[Thaumantica]

Insights from the Engellachian Contingent

Immediate death in the inferno of Ouistreham could be considered a gift while the survivors writhed in pain from their burns. Boils and blisters set in for the Engellachian troops, many of them previous casualties from the front who had been sent to the rear to recover, as tents of screaming young men and women died in excruciating pain of rapid shock or infection. Scarring damage done here would scar many physically, and millions more psychologically for generations.

The Combined Armed Forces hailed their Northern Constituent Republic Allies for rapid evacuation, hoping and praying privately that their erstwhile absent kindred would finally heed their call to act, react, or respond to this fiery terror. Captain Deerwin, placed in charge of this effort, ran through the streets of Hammersmith day and night to knock on the doors of politicians and military officers, both active and retired, appealing to their sense of duty to Thaumantic forces deployed and dying so close across the Engellsea.

Veterans of this conflict were already coming home to the West Engells maimed by this war, released from duty to mingle with the public without arms, legs, or a spirit of youth they had lost somewhere in the maelstrom. Their reception was mixed, as with anything Engellachian, supporters and anti-war activists were forming political battle lines and entrenching on the central issue going into annual elections.

Vesper honored the returning heroes protests, hurling toilet paper or worse at the veterans, while care packages and social support groups availed them from many other patriotic corners of the country who may not agree with the war, but values the sacrifice of their soldiers all the same. The two major candidates for President, the Dictator Karl Heydendahl seeking legitimate electoral power, and his actual veteran challenger in the form of Clayton County Sheriff Alton Pike.

Heydendahl portrayed the “Inferno at Ouistreham” as compelling evidence that the war must be contained on the old continent rather than spreading over to the new. Sheriff Pike meanwhile walked a fine line between supporting men and women in uniform, while decrying their deaths and injuries as unnecessary sacrifices in a foreign land filled with “Otherkind”. This way of thinking was supposed to be in the past, Heydendahl’s “Thaumantican” future did not conceive of “Engellkind” or any such racial ideas, the Dictator sought to align the nation with post-racial Thaumantic ideals such as free enterprise.

 

[Kazansk]

Somewhere outside Pillau, People's Republic of Bourgogne


With Pillau constantly being subject to bombings and rocket attacks as many civilians as possible were being evacuated. Some where being housed in refugee camps being built in the countryside far from the conflict. Others where being housed in the various stately homes that dotted Bourgogne. Tomas couldn't believe his luck, he didn't have to go to school anymore and he was going to live in a real life castle, what seven year old could ask for more?

When he got to the castle he was a little disappointed, from the outside it looked fine enough, all towers and battlements, but inside it boring all the paintings were gone, and the suits of armour instead the rooms where filled with rows and rows of camp beds. He looked around, there were other children here at least, and maybe there was a dungeon with secret passages like in the books.

+++++++

Headquarters of the Insurrectionary Army of Western Bourgogne.

General Pierre Moreau looked out at the burning city. he felt ashamed, he had sworn to defend Bourgogne and its people, and while he understood the military necessity of the firebombing but it still felt wrong to him and he simply couldn't reconcile his conscience on the matter. He made himself watch the fire, he needed to remember what he had been a part of. An adjutants arrival shook him from his reverie. " Sir, new orders have come in from High Command, we're to retreat and form another defensive line, while the Engells are distracted" at this the adjutant gestured vaguely at the burning city. " alright, go tell the men I'll come back shortly". He didn't want them to see the tears streaming down his face.

+++++++

Pillau, Cafe Azure Burgundian People's Republic.

Murat sat round the table with his co-conspirators " Well all in all gentlemen..and lady I would consider the bombing in Ouistreham to be a major success, we've killed a great number of the invaders and hopefully disrupted their plans. However the number of civilian deaths are truly lamentable and we must be careful how we proceed from here on, we're at risk of losing any goodwill we've built up in the international community, not that their goodwill counts for much, after all it seems Eiffelander cars are more valued than Burgundian lives".

 

[Thaumantica]

Engellachian Spearhead of Attack

The West Engell Combined Armed Forces, or just the Army at this point, was running on empty again. The irregular attack on supposed regular Burgundian Forces had yielded a retreat from the Gallian foe, or so they believed.

“I watched a bullet go through my driver’s eye and out his damn arm this morning,” Colonel Hopewell lamented under the cracks of uncoordinated reflexive gunfire. General Kentigern Hayes, himself concussed by an explosion and dried blood caked beneath his nose, shook his head and pointed out at the collapsed troops seeking rest and cover wherever they could.

“I want them to know what else we will all see and experience if we don’t pull ourselves up right now, ride down that enemy, and put a damn spear in his back!” Hayes shouted for what Commander’s and NCO’s has survived and managed to reach his outdoor conference.

“Every time you miss a shot your buck learns a lesson, let a bass get away he gets wise to your bait, and if we allow this wicked foe to run away now they will - mark my words - they WILL regather, they WILL receive relief, and they WILL revisit our kindness with indiscriminate massacre!”

Hayes’ Sergeant Major came running on to the scene then wheezing and coughing before succumbing to an explosive round of projectile vomit. He had run, no sprinted, three miles or more to get there and was fighting to get out of the breathing recovery position to report. “We got the . .” Sergeant Major Riske labored, “We got the green light from the Cussians!”.

The General patted his top NCO on the shoulder approvingly, but leaned down still to whisper “They kill your runner?”. Riske shrugged, “Missing or dead, like the last one, Miss Crane, never even learned this one’s name.”

“It was Specialist Pike,” Hayes offered, “If we lost him we’ve lost a future Sergeant Major I reckon.”

Kentigern separated from the man and returned his wild eyes to the rest of the tired command group, “This ain’t rocket science people, the enemy is in retreat, and we give chase!”.

Colonel Hopewell stirred once more to lament, crossing one arm and raising the other for attention, “ROE?” Hopewell clamored, voicing others concern as well over the rules of engagement they were running closer to trampling over with every new battle.

“Ouistreham is my answer, Colonel!” Hayes replied with a growl, “Occitania is my answer, Colonel!” he continued, “Fire bombs, chemical bombs, IEDs, these are the means of Gallian warfare . . So ROE, you ask? No quarter, no mercy, no survivors!”

Whispers erupted within the command perimeter and from without, but Kentigern swiped them away angrily: “We stand in the killing zone, behind us is a killing zone, so someone make a damn wager on what waits ahead?”

“A bloody killing zone, sir!” Sergeant Major Riske agreed, “We all knew they’d start playing dirty with us, now they have, so don’t think playing nice is going to win us a war as the invaders storming their heartland!”

Orders soon went out to give violent chase to the Burgundian retreat, along with these new orders to no longer take prisoners. In truth their prisoner camps had either been engulfed in flames, or vacated to make room for Engellachian troops. The former POW troops would be rousted and trucked unarmed to the front, where if need be they could be used as barter or human shield for the battles to come.

Within an hour the breakdown of dignity for the enemy was in effect, and the Engellachians took sustenance from the frenzy of bloodlust and destruction - targeting chapels and the churches joyously, and delivering bullets or knives to captured enemies. This was, in many of their view’s now, how the Serazine fought and how the Burgundians fought, with fire and fury. If the Engellachians did not return back to this form of total war, then surely they would be defeated by it they believed.

 

[Touzen]

Corbon

“These supplies will last for another two weeks. Maybe three, if we ration them carefully and take the townfolks’ part as well.”

“Of course we will take their part as well. This isn’t a charity operation. I couldn’t give a single shit one way or the other what happens to them.”

The imposing Nethian man in his beige and green camoflage lit up another cigarette, flipping his previous cancer stick across the floor towards the corner of the townhouse’s living room that had been turned into a temporary headquarters of sorts where a frightened family of three - father, mother, daughter, the original inhabitants of the place - were huddled together, the child burrowing her face in her mother’s clothes while eyeing the invader in their home with one eye.

“We will take everything from this place, like locusts. And when there is nothing left, we will pull an Ouistreham and move forward to the next place. It’s the only option we have until we reach an airfield or a port. Right now, we are sandwiched between the Domain and the Burgundians. We will continue to move with the frontlines, stay in limbo and break through once either side shows weakness and gives us an opening”, the military man monologued to the Tiburan across the table.

“Certainly, Commander Paul. I’ll send the boys out for requisitioning. I just hope we can fuck off sooner rather than later.”

“And I’ll be...requisitioning...myself something as well”, Paul said with a sense of foreboding, staring across the room.

—

When the Domain intervention had begun, they had caught the mercenaries off guard. They had been sent into Oustreham from all corners of the world to assist the collapsing Neustrian regime. Before they could join the frontlines in force, aerial bombings had killed many of the men who had still been in the airport, while other flights that were still inbound and had to divert never reached their destination at all. Those were the lucky ones. Between diverted flights, those killed in the initial bombardements and those that died from subsequent fighting, about 600 of the original 1500 mercenaries remained in the country.

They had not received any new orders from their anonymous masters. They had been, for all intents and purposes, abandoned, tossed aside like the toys of larger machinations that they had been.

Of course, some managed to melt away during the initial chaos, particularily those from Burgundy or Serenierre that could blend into the local population. Again those were the lucky ones of the unlucky ones. The rest however were caught between a rock and a hard place - the Domain that would not take prisoners like them on the one hand, and the BPR who would see them as paid stooges of a fat cat’s regime on the other hand. And so they had done the only thing they knew how to do - they had started to fight.

Not for any banner or idea - for themselves. The marauding band had descended upon the anarchic Burgundian countryside with reckless abandon; burning, raping and pillaging all in their path like the undisciplined gang of brigands they were, unrestrained by rules of engagement ordained by any master. For now, they were holed up in Corbon, a small place somewhere between the frontlines of not more than 3000 souls.

The boozed up laughter of the stranded mercenaries and the fearful whispers of the townsfolk both said it in unison: This was the Republic of the Damned and Forgotten. Loyal to no one but themselves, a band with no future, no purpose and no restraints.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

Headquarters

As the Burgundian general walked down the hallways of the old, functional barracks building, he could hear unusual sounds for a military installation at times of war become louder. A bass was blasting from one of the rooms at the end of the hall, accompanied by people shouting Engellsh phrases he could not quite make out, though he could tell that one half of it were the voices of slightly inebriated men and women, while the other half of the noise was the staccato rhytm of rap music.

Mason Juin paused, when he finally arrived at the door. It vibrated noisily, creaking in its aged frame as each new basspump hit it. Through the milkglass window embedded in its upper half, he could make out shapes milling about in interior. He breathed a deep breath and stepped in.

"General Juin!"

The voice of a woman greeted him enthusiastically. It was a woman he had not known, up to now, for being capable of such uninhibited joy. She was clearly drunk, the shirt of her Burgundian uniform unbottened to reveal a surprising amount of cleavage, her sleeves rolled up messily, while her jacket was slouched over a chair in the corner. In its stead, she - or someone else - had wrapped the stars and bars, the flag of the World Republic, around her shoulders.

"Come on, have a drink with us. We have to celebrate!"

To be honest, he had always considered Major General Parker, the leader of the SWR advisory mission to be a bit of a stuck-up bitch. But here she was, clearly flustered, her cheeks reddened by alcohol giving a surprisingly youthful look to the 'Implarian cougar', as he had nicknamed her behind her back. She pushed a glass of champagne into his hand, almost playfully, and winked.

"Empty the glass," she ordered him with a grin on the face. "We already have a headstart. You gotta catch up."

Was she flirting with him?

"What is it you're celebrating," he shrugged and chucked down the whole glass in one go. "Some Implarian holiday?"

"The burning of Ouistreham," General Parker exclaimed cheerily.

Juin choked on the champagne. Coughing up the drink and with tears in his eyes as he grasped for air, he stammered: "what?"

"The first victory of the war!" She seemed oblivious to his shock. "It's achieved everything we hoped for and then some." She shoved copies of damage assesments and reports from embedded observers of the SWR in the Burgundian frontline under his nose. "We bought you time, we killed thousands of enemies, we obliterated their ability to resupply their forces in the west. Ouistreham is flattened, a smoldering ruin. Worthless to the Domain!" Her laughter sounded almost maniacally now. "And you should see the faces of the Cussians behind this war when they had to talk to the press. Pricless. They are absolutely livid. We grabbed them by the balls and then we yanked some."

General Parker was shaking with laughter as she refilled Juins glass with champagne, spilling some of it to the floor without minding it for a second. Juin, however, put his glass down. He was in no mood to celebrate and looked at her sternly.

"I am glad you find so much joy in our war, General," he said through his gritting teeth. "And we all are thankful for your advice and what you achieved, strategically. Yet I can't find myself celebrating this quite as you do. The Cussian airforce is destroying our cities more and more with each passing days. Bombs have been dropped on Pillau, where I had married my ex-wife. They are killing our friends and families indiscriminately, as they advance. And our reply to this is to burn our own cities."

The mood in the room changed, as every single one of the SWR officeres sobered up within a matter of seconds.

"I understand the military value of the decision to burn Ouistreham, I truly do. I approved of implementing your advice. But when I see images of the firestorm ravaging the city, I do not see the destruction of a military target, I do not imagine how many of the imperialist attackers perished in the flame, nor do I calmly assess the benefits of the destruction. I see my childhood home burning. I see streets that are part of my earliest memories vanish forever. I imagine the people who had not made it out, fellow Burgundians, people I might even have known."

"General Parker, when I saw the burning city, I cried. I have no desire to celebrate this 'victory' with you. Have a nice day."

 

[Clarenthia]

Clarenthian Forward Command
Unified Thaumantic Operational Command
Ouistreham

“two hundred and ninety-seven,” Brigadier General Horst Baker his report “I can confirm by final tally, two hundred and ninety-seven dead.”

General Haywoode sighed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, letting the smoke pour out. He hadn’t smoked in about fifteen years, at this point, but he couldn’t think of a better reason to start again. After a moment of silence, the General reached out and grabbed the report – with a large [TOP SECRET | SECRETO SUPERIOR] stamped across it. He opened it and began flipping through the pages, only briefly skimming the grizzly details “How many wounded?”

“About six hundred more,” the Brigadier General voice was heavy “Our estimates are that about four hundred, or so, will make recoveries sufficient enough to return to duty. The others will require an honorable discharge.”

“How bad are they?” General Haywoode continued.

“It ranges, Sir.”

“That’s almost 900 that we’re short,” the General closed the report “Nearly a fifth of our entire force. What about civilian casualties?”

“Well, that’s a bit more difficult to determine,” Baker answered “So many were injured in the Domain’s initial bombing and those attacks were far more coordinated than this. This was a massacre. Estimates placed thousands in medical care of the Domain’s forces – primarily Treatyfolk medics and volunteers from home. Now, with our own wounded and a significant number of facilities destroyed, I should imagine the fatalities to rise dramatically.”

“I want the injured taken to NoCRER immediately,” General Haywoode ordered “I want them out of this fucking country. Perhaps the First Republic can lift a finger for a change. I will discuss this with Governor-General Sinclair, we’ll need additional soldiers. Ouistreham is lost, there’s nothing more here to occupy and the Burgundian Revolutionaries have proven themselves to have a bloodlust to match any other.”

“Yes sir,” Brigadier General Baker called out.

 

[Thaumantica]

Running reports floated up to the 1st Revolutionary Infantry Division Command group painting a picture that General Hayes did not want to see, but was soon made to see by his Command Sergeant Major who was willing to go toe to toe in a screaming match with the blood thirsty General.

“We don’t have the fuel, sir!” CSM Riske shouted directly in the man’s face, “our supply line from Ouistreham are bloody scorched, and these soldiers you are running ragged on the Burger’s ass are going start dropping dead from exhaustion, dehydration, and tell me true that you think we have enough combat arms after what we just went through to keep up this bloody tempo?”

Kentigern Hayes, the taller of the two men, maintained a towering lean over his non commissioned counterpart imposingly, “this is the tip of the spear, sergeant major, and we have it at there back!”

“Sir!” Riske shouted back, reaching up to put a hand on the General’s shoulder. As a team they had been together for nearly two years in garrison, a hundreds of meals and afternoons shared inspecting this division, and late nights at family dinners or in command tents discussing and re-discussing command philosophy. “I’m telling you your men are done,” Riske said, no longer shouting, “You have the final word, sir . .”

The General retracted from his aggressive pose and nodded, “So be it, Riske.” Hayes surrendered, “Fire up that DBF (Domain Battle Platform) and I’ll inform General Preston of our condition . .”

1RID subsequently ordered a halt to their advance, informed their Cussian counterparts of their disposition, and submitted to the disheartening process of giving up the initiative in favor of regathering and waiting for refit; uncertain if or when refit would be possible. A sigh of relief could have been heard in every truck, bombed out building, or ditch RID soldiers plopped themselves in after the order was given.

 

[Kadikistani Union]

Tirlemont Forest
70 kilometres North-east of Agneaux
Burgundian People's Republic

Shlebuchya Colonel Slavko Stojiljkovic was still de facto in charge of the All-Union covert operations in West-Burgundy, the territories currently under control of the Burgundian People's Republic. While his command was coming to an end with the arrival of the Continental Protection Force that would see him relinquish his coordinating role to General Yuri Zukarov and other bigger whigs, his part had no been played out yet. At 11 am local time the man in dirty tracksuit was already at his tenth cigarette, smoking like a chimney as he overlooked the battle reports of the last hours. His second in command, the ever loyal Uzakbay Aytiyev, was standing by his side waiting for the inevitable questions.

"Any news from the underground?", Slavko inquired referring to the tunnel network to which they allocated a significant amount of resources since the start of the Kadikistani involvement. Aytiyev handed over some documents with detailed indications while verbally supporting them, "The Engellkin bombing campaign has been relentless, but has also given us the chance to uncover some structural weakness at various locations. With the new drilling gear and enforcing materials we are able to anticipate and amend with stronger tunnel infrastructure as a result. Besides some delays in sector C I am happy to report we are on schedule.", Slavko nodded approvingly as he flicked away his cigarette while his eyes remained fixed on the documents in his hands.

Despite looking like an unhygienic member of a Kadiki street gang in a bad neighbourhood of Trier, Slavko was man of precision. The details were discussed for another twenty minutes after which the topic shifted to the local recruitment and training efforts. "The first batch of recruits will have received minimal training by the end of September. These are the ones from here and the various other sites that have been operational since our deployment here. These men, roughly two-thousand will be combat ready for active operations in the start of October. The lion's share of the recruits will remain in training, including those being prepped for various officer positions. They will converge and unite with those training in Calidia by the end of the year. By that same time we are confident that we will have a devout Burgundian force of nine-thousand fighters, casualty projections taken into account." Aytiyev paused for a few second before conveying the latest directorates from Ivar. "Brass wants us to have a division-sized local force before the coming of Spring." Slavko stopped scanning over the reports for a few seconds to give his second in command an annoyed look. Ivar's quota's were never the most popular nor realistic, but complaints remained largely unspoken lest someone would start doubting loyalty.

Last of the pages concerned the arrival of the CONPROFOR peace-keepers. Said force was not yet complete as the Eiffello-Retalians were still occupying themselves by negotiating with the neighbouring Grand Duchy of Lars regarding the passage of their military forces. Nonetheless at least the Rurikgrad Pact nations had shown commitment to the Pax Germanica Mandate, The Kadikistani Union spending the past two weeks mobilizing and transporting the 3rd Guards Motor Rifle Division under General Yuri Zukarov and the 17th Motor Rifle Division under General Ngapoy Ren had entered the BPR and were racing towards the rear of the front-lines. Along with the other regional partners they would form a barrier 20 kilometres behind the current front line to effectively stop further incursions inland from the Domain forces.

The proper channels had been used to communicate the intentions of CONPROFOR to the Domain Operations Planning the moment they entered Western Burgundy, offering full transparency of the forces under the Pax Germanica Mandate. After all it had to be clear that the Domain was fully aware of who they would or would not shoot and when they would there could be no hiding behind the chaos of war. The arrival of the first Rurikgrad Pact forces at the front-line would take less than a day and under strict orders of the Pact Unified Command not to shoot first, but only as a response to being engaged. The latter would mean war with at least the Rurikgrad Pact along with most of the other signatory states of Pax Germanica. Most because there was little faith in the backbone of Union State of Eiffelland-Retalia.

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

City of [XXX]

He had once loved someone.

Tom Flynn stood on the edge of the mole, staring out into the horizon as a gentle breeze ruffled through his hair. The sun was setting in the distance, as another late summers day came to an end and the major from the state of Arvum reminiscened of what had led him here. To a wartorn Burgundy, of all places. Love could lead you down strange paths, so far away from home.

It wasn't too bad of an assignment, he had to admit. The Burgundian port city had a certain charm, the architecture and every day culture clearly breathing the Gallian joie de vivre, even during wartime. Coffee was running low, but many of the small cafés had compensated with their own homebrew recipes for malt- or acorn-based substitutes, while others switched to offering teas made from local herbs and fruits. And the remaining warm and sunny days meant, that a refreshing lemonade was always an option, too, aside from the ubiquitous croissants, of course. If you ignored the occasional Cussian airplanes flying over, headed for Pillau to unload their destructive cargo, it almost felt like a vacation at times.

She had been on vacation too. He had met her back home, years ago, when he was still at college, unhappy and uncertain what to do with his life. He knew he wouldn't continue his studies and he knew his parents would be mad. Dropping out of a Laurel Union college, who does that? Who is so stupid as to squander such a chance? Even now, it shuddered him to remember the discussions he had with his parents, how they could not understand him and how they feared for his future. Back then, he used to spend hours on the beach, just sitting there, smoking and tossing stones into the Implarian Ocean.

Then she had just sat down next to him, a complete stranger, tossing another stone after his. Smiling at him and asking if she could bum a cigarette. He was immediately smitten with her thick Burgundian accent. Her bright blue eyes. Her blonde hair she had braided into messy thin plaits. For a whole summer, they would be inseperable, travelling across the west coast together, hitchhiking across the long third, sleeping under the stars, enjoying life. Two carefree lovers who needed nothing more than each other. And then she went back home.

Flynn tossed a stone into the Engelsea. Somewhere beyond the horizon was the fearsome power of the Domain, like a recoiled snake, poised to strike once again. Where would the next blow land? Again through the ravages of Ouistreham? Or at one of the many smaller port cities across the western coast? Maybe it would land at [XXX], ripping the Major from his memories and putting his work to the test. Because Flynn was one of dozens of officers from the SWR posted to coastal cities in Burgundy, advising the local garrisons on defense preparations.

He hadn't been idle. Flynn had helped the inexperienced Burgundian officer commanding the garrison with organizing squads of soldiers into smaller groups posted across the city, with preplanned sets of orders to be executed independently in case of an attack. Together they had integrated the police into the command chain, bolstering their defensive forces with additional trained units. Civilian volunteers had been organized into a civil defense, with a well developed evacuation plan that would help get civilians out of the warzone in a quick and orderly fashion and assist those who couldn't flee.

For a long time, he had asked himself why she fled. But of course, she hadn't run away from him. What they had was perfect, it just wasn't meant to last. She didn't leave from a place, she went to a place: home. To continue her education, to see her parents again and the friends she had finished school with. He never went back to college and became an officer in the army. That was more than ten years ago and of course, he had loved other women. Yet still, she had been the one he always found himself remembering, the one he could never quite forget.

Watching Burgundy descend into war, reading all those reports about the Domain invasion, it had stirred something in him. It was causing him a close and personal pain to see Burgundy set ablaze and as much as he had tried to tell himself he had volunteered because of the possible benefits to his careers, like many of his friends and comrades, or having been pressured into it by the superior who had approached him with this secret mission... he had readily admitted to himself, he was here to fight for a love long lost, to protect her, even though he knew nothing about her current life, didn't even know whether she was even living in Burgundy anymore. He would fight for her.

Claire.

 

[Ostmark]

Somewhere near the frontlines, Burgundian People's Republic...​

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The column of the elements of the 21. Volksgrenadier Division advanced along the asphalt road that led straight into the village. Ten white trucks bearing the flags of the CONPROFOR and the People's Republic of Ostmark carried tons in aid packages in the form of drinkable water, food rations and medicines, to be equally distributed among the local population and according to each one's needs. The humanitarian convoy, which included two ambulances of the Ostmarkian Red Cross and several jeeps carrying medical personnel and the rest of the staff, was escorted by two white infantry fighting vehicles of the Volkswehr, Ostmark's People's Defense Force.

A loud speaker on the top of the Infantry Fighting Vehicle infront of the convoy

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, with the goal of dragging the attention of as many people as possible. The convoy slowly advanced along the road, while the roughly 30 Ostmarkian Volksgrenadiers, who for this occasion were wearing light-blue helmets bearing the logo of the CONPROFOR, carefully watched their sorrounding.

None of them had real combat experience and they knew little about what to expect during this mission. In fact, it was the first time Ostmark deployed a military force in a foreign nation. All soldiers and personnel had been carefully instructed on the nature of this mission: provide relief to the local population, ensure a safe and peaceful environment in the area, act as a mediation force in case of incidents of any nature and, most importantly, win the trust of the local residents whom Ostmark regarded as victims of an unjust and unprovoked capitalist aggression to demonstrate the good intentions of the People's Republic of Ostmark in particular and the CONPROFOR mission as a whole.

In a radius of a hundred meters, locals hiding in their homes out of fear, or simply carrying out their daily routines, could hear the message spread by the loudspeakers in their language albeit characterized by a strong Ostmarkian accent "Women and men of Burgundy, Comrades! The men and the women of the People's Defence Force are your friends. We are here to help you and your families. We have doctors and equipment to provide care for the sick and the injured. We are here to help you rebuild your homes and your glorious nation so that your children, and your children's children will thrive and prosper, in peace and labor, in their native homeland. People of Burgundy, the Days of Sorrow are over."

 

[Beautancus]

Overview​

the front,
several miles outside Ouistreham,
West Burgundy


To the men engaged in Operation Blackout, the chemical-laden inferno racing through much of Ouistreham was little more than a distant glow. A distant glow, meek and pale in comparison to the yet still smoldering forest between even the cities outermost suburbs and they. Not even a shine on the heaps of fly-shrouded enemy dead tallied, stacked and committed to flame in the course of their advance already.

Like hellish lanterns of the new and terrifying liberty dawning in the West, the wreckage of the fortifications and hardware of the Burgundian foe were left to burn themselves out. Ghoulish shadows danced in the day's waning light, banished here and there by the sudden, barking flash of an ASR muzzle.

Owing in part to the fact that two divisions, one heavy armor and two armored cavalry brigades had formed the solid core for this operation - including extended trains of supporting regiments, some level of immediate local organization and resupply could be affected via temporary staging centers marshaling the combined stocks on hand from each formation. As a solution, it would hold for the next while, and well enough not to stall the operation - as the obliteration of the enemy army now on the run before them had been and remained the goal.

Temporary field hospitals were set up by the medical units attached to each of the larger forces, weaving into and through areas fully cleared for some hours now. Though rudimentary, and lacking the same immediate ease of medevac they would have normally enjoyed, they were still not without hope.

Ouistreham burned, yes, but the Navy and No.C.R.E.R. remained untouched. Though their path was now complicated by weatherfront-like atmospheric disruption of the inferno, the Cussian contingent of the Domain's forces merely continued to operate as their orders and training dictated. In short, helicopters were still on the way.

Some would ferry more men in and then rush others out, while others came heavy-laden with all manner of supplies for both Cussian and Engellachian alike. Others yet still, having preceded the bombardment of the city altogether, remained on station and continued to harry and strike at the Burgundian forces with redoubled fury and merciless purpose.

Newer elements were arriving over the battlefield as well now, having made most of the flight over the Engelsea without incident before being forced to reroute flight paths around Ouistreham at the last moment. Though delayed, the arrival of six Buzzardhawks of the 3rd Air Force Combat Wing - "the Stormwing" provided a considerable boost to the morale of all the League's forces in earshot or line of sight.

Responding to calls for CAS or targeted strikes on enemy formations or positions directly now, the legendarily robust ground attack fighters stooped fast and low, raining death from screeching missiles in the blink of an eye. Far more impressive however, were the short but incredibly destructive bursts of their seven-barreled, 30mm autocannons, ear-splitting BRRRRRRRRRRRRRTs of fiery annihilation. One could see the explosive impact of the massive rounds from some distance away, a relatively clustered gout of fire, incandescent sparks and heated shrapnel erupting amid what had been a column of enemy vehicles. Another burst scythed down an entire stand of trees, with every Burgundian unfortunate enough to be passing through them at the moment.

Working in tandem with these bitter angels, the leading elements of the 22nd & 49th Infantry Divisions and 121st Armored Cavalry were hot on the heels of the North Burgundians being dislodged from their defensive lines. Their advance remained methodical and simply would not waver, crashing against and over one position of stubborn holdouts and rear guards after the other. The relentless brutality of this succession of miniature engagements only worsened as the dwindling sunlight gave way to night - and an altogether unrecorded lack of enemy POWs.

Wheeling from the main thrust of Blackout to reinforce their Engellachians kindred, the 93rd Armored Cavalry and elements of the 1st Armored Brigade came not only with the relief of additional firepower, but so too several supply trucks worth of ammo, batteries, medical necessities and the like. Moving up from the rear of the tide of men and materiel in the Burgundian countryside, the 62nd & 150th Air Force Airborne Infantry Cohorts were deploying along a broad axis of two or three miles, several miles away from the Engellachians. They were to form the hard anvil upon which the now refortified West Engells would hammer the foe to atoms.

Ouistreham might well be burning, but this slowly spreading soldiers rumor did, and could only ever have ensured that these fighting men of the Domain were resolved to make the enemy's army die for it.


...to be continued, focusing on another portion of beautiful West Burgundy, and with more character - shortly

 

[Thaumantica]

“No way man, no way am I fucking going that way!” Private Greer protested through a trembling voice, “They told us we were going to the rear to recover, not suck on to the Cussians like a bunch of damn leeches!”

Lieutenant Renquist sighed and began unbuttoning the top of his pistol holder, as an officer or babysitter of the penal battalions. In this thankless command he had already been rushed by two soldiers, and had a shovel buried in his hip from another of his ‘own men’. “So what, Private Greer, are you gonna climb out of that shit trench you’re digging and desert?”

“Why not, whatchya’ gonna do: shoot me?” Greer jabbered, reaching for the ladder to climb out of the unfinished latrine pit. Before he could put a foot up Renquist was there to kick the ladder down with a swift boot. “No, we’re not doing that. You can sit down there and cool down for awhile and sort your shit out, but be quick, you’re digging a shit hole we are all going to want to start filling with shit.”

The Private groaned and took up his shovel begrudgingly, returning to the thankless job of finishing the latrine pit. After a minute Renquist left to rustle up the man a Cussian MRE and canteen, whistling down to Greer and throwing them down to catch. “Just do the right thing and you’ll get out of this war alive and with your record cleared,” Renquist advised, “That’s what all of us are here for.”

“What are you in for, sir?” Greer inquired from down in his own made hole. Renquist had never told anyone of them why he was leading a Penal Battalion, but these commands were usually given as punishments or soft dismissals of inadequate officers.

“It was a promotion, if you can believe that Greer, I left Westernesse as an enlisted man and happened to be in the right place and time on the night of the invasion touchdown.”

Greer scratched at his shaved head with a mud slimed hand, “Yeah sir, but why a Penal Battalion?”.

“Because on that first night I showed General Hayes I wasn’t afraid to kill a shitbag soldier independently of orders” Renquist replied with a wink. “Now if old Kentigern had seen my summary execution differently I’d be digging shit pits down there just like you.”

“But now you’re the commander of the shit diggers, I see . .” Greer reflected, “Well say, sir, I’m done down here . . So how about letting me up?”

“Throw the shovel up first, and go right back to your platoon and you can come up certainly.” Lieutenant Renquist answered. “We will move forward attached with the Cussians as ordered, I don’t want to hear any different from you or I’ll put you back down there and take a piss on you myself!”

“Fair enough sir, starting to feel claustrophobic down here!” Greer said, throwing up the shovel away from the officer and propping back up the small ladder to climb back up. When he rose to ground level again his eyes were met with other Penal Soldiers stacking civilians and enemy combatants for a pyre. A priest from the nearby hamlet was there praying for them, scuffed up a bit and bleeding himself from being forced out to this field.”The fuck is he doing?” Greer asked Lieutenant Renquist honestly.

“Fictionals believe if they say the right magic words their deity will come and spirit away the souls from those corpses . .” Renquist answered.

“Does it work?” Greer wondered aloud.

“As any magic does, Private, it works if the living believe it does.” Lieutenant Renquist suggested as the pyre of human flesh was set ablaze. “Good use of the Cussian refuel, eh?”

 

[Socialist Commonwealth]

Slowly but surely, the class rooms of the base near Agneaux filled up with eager recruits. While troopers were trained outside by Burgundian NCO's, a number of them battle-hardened veterans from Neustria, their future officers were receiving training by men and women with Implarian accents or outright relying on translators. Teaching them tactics and logistics, they were relying on the intense motivation of the volunteers, their burning desire to join the fight, to impart more knowledge in lesser time. After all, more units may be desperately needed soon, if the war kept burning through the country at its current pace.

The class rooms and training missions were where it was hardest to hide the fact that the advisors from the SWR were not really Burgundian officers. They pretended to be volunteers like the many hundreds that had already flocked to the country and were currently organized into the core of the first international brigade, but it was apparent that they were more professional, not just more knowledgeable, but more strictly organized and disciplined than those who arrived at the borders of the country. Still, no one seemed to care enough to ask themselves whether, perhaps, they were here with the support of their home country. The Burgundians in particular just seemed happy to have any support they could get.

There were enough volunteers to fight this war and the Burgundians had captured enough equipment and materiel in Neustria, too. What they lacked was organization, that much remained true still. Particularily for the air force, which had been shattered in the initial fights with the Domain. Again, there were enough planes to rebuild the air force and enough people willing to crew them, but training them in time - and well enough - to oppose the Domain was another thing entirely. Burgundy's western advisors had stated it quite clearly that only trained pilots could be brought into the new air force formations, at least to man the planes, if they were to enter the battle anytime soon.

-

General Parker had sobered up. She was no longer celebrating the burning of Ouistreham, even though she had received praise from the President herself for it: Trumm saw it as a clever move in line with her secret mission to escalate and expand the scope of the Burgundian war. To draw the Cussians in further and inflict mounting casualties on them. Ouistreham had made the war more difficult for the Domain, it had cost them dearly, but it also had enraged them and likely damaged chances of any resolution in the near future. At least that's how Deliverance saw it.

The General had seen it differently. Denying the Domain a logistical base was the first step to ending the war as soon as possible. The Cussians would not settle for a negotiated peace, not accept any truce but subjugation, of that much she was sure. That's why she had celebrated the attack as she had. She had truly believed it to be in the best interest of the Burgundians to burn Ouistreham. She still did, but her view on the matter had broadened to account for the human cost, the tragedy of the military decision.

Of course, the fires had given the Burgundians the chance to retreat and form a new defensive line. Even as the Cussians tried to push on hard, General Parker was certain they could not maintain the momentum. Soon, their supply problems would take their toll and they would hit hard against a new defensive formation, from where the Burgundians could build up for the counter-attack.

To ensure this remained a possibility, Parker had travelled to the new defensive line, inspecting it and seeking ways to improve its capabilities. The Volunteer Army of Northern Burgundy that was entrenching along the line were experienced regulars and well led, for the most part, but Parker had brought her best officers along and they were dutifully inspecting the positions, seeking ways to improve the strength.

What the new line needed to be, everyone agreed, was a deep defense in multiple layers of increasing strenght. Obstacles and minefields were to break armored assaults and channel them into pre-planned killing zones. That the Cussians had, in the direct aftermath of the firebombing of Ouistreham, focused their own artillery and air forces on supporting their offensive, instead of taking out the now exposed artillery, would prove valuable. The Burgundian army retained more artillery than General Parker had expected, even hoped for and they would prove valuable in new defensive positions.

But above all, the Burgundians would need to use stealth and deception to their advantage. If there was one thing that was essential to the success of the defensive line, Parker reminded the Burgundian leadership repeatedly, it was to deny the advantages derived from Cussian air power. Surely the SAM provided by the SWR and captured in Neustria could help, but Burgundy mustn't rely on it. Instead, artillery and anti-tank positions along the new line needed to be hidden well and troops needed to dug in deep and camouflage well. Additionally, decoys should be deployed to mislead their enemy into wasting aerial attacks on worthless targets.

Finally, mobile units needed to be kept in reserve in hidden staging areas, to allow for quick counter-attacks and reinforcing the line where needed. General Parker and her officers could only make suggestions to the military commanders of the BPR, but whether they heeded them or not, she was trusting on the new position to be the furthest the Domain would step on Burgundian soil.