Striking the Balance

[Sheridan]

Admiral Heely and his underwater/surface fleet had just recieved new orders. They were to enter the Green Sea, which was going to be a hot spot of Coalition Forces in maybe a week. He was ordered to achieve dominance in this area before the Coalition forces could... and he had been given clearance to attack any ship that flew the flag of any nation joining the Coalition Forces... including Aquitania.

By this time tomorow he would be in passing the coast of Brettaine and entering the Green Sea. He was happy to be part of such a big plan in Freiheit, and while he would rather be attacking Sarmatia, the Coalition forces would be a nice substitute.

 

[Radilo]

To all Republican Armed Forces

Memorandum

Under orders from Prime Minister and the Parliament Assembled, Le Fleet de la Marine Républicaine, under the command of Admiral Pierre Delacroix, is to sail to Freiheit with all haste. Be prepared for further orders regarding rendezvous.

God Speed.

Jean Jacques Auguste,
President

Michelle D’Anise,
Prime Minister

Giuseppe del Madino,
Defense Minister

 

[Thaumantica]

OCW Solomon, Khagan Class Amphibious Assault Ship
Eastern Implarian Ocean - Secondary Phase of the assault upon the rogue German "Free" State
0300

"GAS . . GAS .. GAS!" he barked from behind a partially assembled protective mask, each repetition roaring in an identical pitch and tone. His eyes promptly acclimatized to the shaded lenses as a bustle of camouflaged activity manifested around him. Loud mechanical shifts of the Sarmatian Amphibious Assault Vessels occupied his ears beyond the noise of velcro and Chem-Warriors testing their facial seal from the outside world. His own "Mission Oriented Protective Posture"/MOPP Suit donned within a minute, he had ample time to watch the Platoon slip in to their own protective suits in a fluid routine. "Hurry the hell up troop!" Plutonier (E-6) Barnutiu ordered, his voice drowning ghoulishly from within his mask.

"One up"

"Two up"

"Three up"

"Four up"

From every squad leader was an announcement that their respective element had donned MOPP-4, or full kit protection from chemical agents. With the Platoon dressed to standard, lower enlisted began combing other soldiers in search of tears in their suit, or mistakes in how their kit was worn. Plutonier Barnutiu performed a once over the Platoon Officer, before the silent officer returned the favor, only indicating a positive check with a casual gloved thumbs up.

"CLEAR!" Barnutiu proclaimed, first removing his protective mask to amplify sound, and truly test the air for theatric purposes. At a slower pace, Chem-Troop Alpha (CTA) peeled masks and the remaining kit from their tired bodies, groaning in protest at the monotonous drill which occupied this chapter of life. "GAS .. GAS . . GAS!" and it all transpired again, mere milliseconds shaved off with each iteration. The rumor mill had produced a suggestive "one-second faster" that Chem-Troop Bravo's Platoon Sergeant bragged of every evening. Pride was triumphing over pre-combative rest as the OCW Solomon, Khagan Class Amphibious Assault Ship sailed towards its beachhead objectives.

'Reconnaissance of Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear Elements' or R-CBRNE, Arsyburnee as derived from the ridiculously lengthy acronym, was their primary mission. As Union Army attachments to the Sarmatian Military, CTA could place boots on ground zero where no conventional Infantry Troop from any faction would hope to tread. Sprung from an Air Assault segment of the Union Air Troopers, their training in CBRN warfare complimented a fast-paced modern urban tactical operations background.

Twice divorced, Plutonier Barnutiu lived the life of a Union Non-Commissioned Officer to its fullest, the backbone of his unit, and a functioning alcoholic to boot. The Sarmatian Naval Officers were wise enough to ration out a few swigs here and there between off-hours to him and his Platoon Officer. Barnutiu had only one concern in the world: all information he was receiving filtered first through Sarmatian Commo, second through Union Commo, third through the Chemical Troop Command hierarchy. Sarmatian Navy ships had been equipped with a kind of Electronic Warfare Suite, jamming even the Union Signal Corps from dispatching communications home. This fact concerned him more then any other, leading him to believe his Troop would charge in to battle unaware of Sjadnbrdo's direct orders.

Exhibiting his sternest posture, albeit through MOPP-4, he addressed Chem-Troop Alpha for perhaps one of the last times before land deployment status by calling them in to a respectable formation. Between words his breath apparatus wheezed like a chain smoking asthmatic, though he felt that it was no labor after these last few days of continued gas drills aboard the Solomon.

"No challenge too difficult, no foe too great, no element impossible for us to overcome" Plutonier Barnutiu recited, the Chem-Trooper's Motto in full force. "We have repeated this motto every morning for the last eight months in garrison" he continued, "Yet until now they have just been words, mere phrases intended to motivate you before a long run. In these next few days, weeks, perhaps months: this motto will save our life, and thus become our life." He removed his mask to expose a somber bare face, exclaiming "CLEAR!" after a short breath.

"I need to see your war faces . ." he asked of them, to which forty belligerent mugs responded with a scowl.

"I need to hear your battle cry . ." he asked of them, "VICTORY!" forty troopers yelled out in response.

"I need to know what you are made of . ." he asked of them, "IRON!" they retorted.

"I need. .", swiftly walking towards his Platoon, he stopped no less then six inches from the front line, "I need to know that our Virtuous Republic can entrust the well-being of an entire planet, solely on the shoulders of this Troop if need be. ." he finally asked of them, "NO CHALLENGE TOO DIFFICULT, NO FOE TOO GREAT, NO ELEMENT IMPOSSIBLE FOR US TO OVERCOME, SERGEANT!" the forty Chem-Troopers of Alpha Platoon answered.

Coughing to gain the NCO's attention, Alpha's Platoon Officer threw a jabbing thumb up in the air, marking his assured approval in the units readiness. Plutonier Barnutiu nodded, sparing the Officer an unnecessary salute, "Roger, Sir".

 

[Holy Frankish Empire]

HMS Liberté
Imparlian Ocean, North of Sainte Pierre

Admiral of the Blue Jacques Nicolet peered through his binoculars at the horizon. With radar and modern equipment, the action wasnt overly necessary, but old habits were hard to break. The battle group was a ragtag group of vessels, consisting the majority of Marquette's Sainte Pierre fleet. While small, the group was well equipped for its mission. The dusklight sent an orange sparkle over the waves as the ships gently rolled north.

Nicolet prayed that his fleet would return home. They intially were on routine patrol, but an urgent Royal comminque, from the King himself had ordered the move.

Encoded 553-222-421R, BCRT

TO: SP FLEET
FROM: ICOM

You are authorized to sail North to aid in possible Coalition action against Freiheit. Currently, no state of war exists. All rules of engagement level 3 apply. Good luck, God Bless and happy hunting. -HRH

"Come to flank speed Captain. Come starboard, 3 degrees" said the old Admiral. He was only months from retirement. He didnt have time for this shit.

 

[Radilo]

Memorandum

Under orders from Prime Minister and the Parliament Assembled, Le Force Océanique Stratégique de les Fleet Sous-marines, under the command of Commandant Antoine Disraeli, is to accompany Le Fleet de la Marine Républicaine, minus four nuclear subs* which are to remain in and around Radilan Territorial Waters.

God Speed.

Giuseppe del Madino,
Defense Minister

OOC:*nuclear powered, NOT armed with nuclear warheads.

 

[Touzen]

Miyake Island
Eastern Ocean
East Side of the International Date Line

The air conditioning cooled the small hut to a manageable 20 degree Celsius, while outside the air began to flicker due to the merciless presence of the Eastern Ocean's midday sun. The sky was entirely blue and no clouds were to be seen anywhere. From inside the small office, by looking between two palm trees, one had a good view on the flat surface of the endless blue ocean. The sound of an old fan that had a rhythmic hiccup every ten seconds or so and the almost silent sound of skilled fingers slamming onto the keys of a computer keyboard were the only sounds that could be heard.

"Stupid pricks in Nokanawa are again late to send us the water rations and they aren't checking their emails, incompetent bunch", the single figure in front of the outdated crt monitor complained as he extinguished his cigar by smashing it onto the wooden surface of the small desk the computer was standing on. The man rearranged his glasses, clicked the left mouse button and leaned back. The next instant he glanced at the fan that was still roaring with its defect, facing his seat. After a few more moments he rose from his chair, stretched his arms and stepped to the open window just when a fine cloud of white sand dust hovered over the ground near the hut as the silence on the island was broken by an aircraft descending onto the nearby airstrip.

"That is the seventh time in two days they are sending one out..heh", the man thought, looked to the fan, and nodded firmly.

"Heh."

Slowly he made his way back to the seat when the black pager machine with the anime stickers he had put onto it over the time began to come to life with a series of beeping sounds.

"Been ages..", he muttered as he strolled to his place again, eying the machine with keen disinterest.

 

[Frescania]

Miraflores
Frescania

The last twenty-four hours had been dramatic for the group seating with president Gutierrez. They had been working together with the Tysks in the line any possibilities of a war with Freiheit after a numerous of intelligence reports had come in showing their movement north towards Tyskreich.

And now, the Security Council was (or had, they weren't sure yet) approving a coalition force to bring down the Freiheit Government after they announced they would genocide the Otchi people, and the SC would be asking Frescania for military support.

Gutierrez would obviously support the Security Council. Such racist government had to put down, but how many troops would he send? Santander spoke as if he could read his mind.

“5 divisions should be sufficient. We are not the only ones in the coalition.”

“That takes a lot of time, maybe something smaller?”

“3 should be enough, together with one fleet. We can send more once the area giving to us is secured.”

His head was going to exploded, he knew it. Know he understood the reason why presidents aged faster than others during time of conflict. Martinez was the one responding to Rodriguez's suggestion.

“3, 5 or 4, what does it matter? Do we have the support in the Assembly? Or even the public?”

“That's your job as Chancellor, Carlos.”

He got up and looked outside as a shift of guards outside the palace took place with tourists taking pictures and even recording it. They don't like to fight, yet I will command their sons, daughters, sisters and brothers to the end of the world. He was thinking of other things before he felt someone behind him.

“Alejandro?”

“4 divisions and prepare for more if needed. Tell the first fleet in Santa Maria to depart towards the Implarian.”

Santa Maria Naval Base
Puerto Azul, Gerpaza, Frescania

He looked over harbor as the ARF Terrastania began to take its place in the fleet formation. Admiral Pedro Alpaz had received orders to go north to Tyskreich, and while he didn't like the prospect of the cold north, there was nothing he could do.

He turned around and drank his warm coffee when his secretary came in.

“Sir, orders have been slightly changed.

“What do they say?”

“Where are to move north, but to the Implarian. Apparently the Security Council is close to approving a coalition force against the Freedom State and Frescania will be sending forces.”

Now we take direct orders from Nokanawa? He thought, “Very well, we will depart at once.”

Within thirty-minutes, the 1st Fleet in decades began its journey north.

 

[Beautancus]

Kara-18E, call-sign: Kogutmistrz, K01
Podpułkownik (Lt. Col.) Armin Groszowski
Engagement with Admiral Huit's Flotilla
0335​

It seemed almost unsporting in a way. Having already eviscerated the majority of the Freiheiter's fleet from a distance, and now laying down such a volume of radar static as to make it horrifyingly difficult for the "Free-Germans" to gain- much less maintain- an accurate reading on any of the fighter-bombers in his squadron, which had now grown to officially include the wing of Kara-18G's (electronic warfare "specific" multi-role fighters). Though it seemed almost unsporting, an old Sarmatian martial adage passed from father to son since time out of mind rose up from the recesses of his mind- "There is no such a thing as a fair fight."

Having long since cut down through the relative safety of the air above the light cloud cover that had partially obscured the Implarian, the collection of cutting-edge aircraft still designated as the "St. George Task-Force" were now less than a minute from engaging the remnants of the Freiheiter's fleet when the first of many warning indicators exploded to life amongst Groszowski's controls.

"Bandits, Bandits, Bandits!!!" One of the "G" pilots' voice cut through the near deafening- and at some points maddening- radio silence that the Podpułkownik had imposed upon the squadron in this last leg of their "journey."

Searching for the source of his fighter's "distress," first to either side- and then above- Groszowski yanked at the stick, pulling his fighter into an upward arch, which afforded him the first glimpse of one of the Freiheiter fighters- no doubt amongst the last real defenses that their shattered fleet had left.

Having been extensively briefed on the build and capabilities of the "L-39's" the enemy fielded, Groszowski had been forced to not only impress the fact that while technologically inferior in nearly every way, their pilots still had the desire to kill them, and would likely give their lives in an attempt to take even one of the Empire's aircraft out of the sky. The level of desperation that the enemy was no doubt feeling, with not only the Empire bearing down upon them, but apparently a CoN task-force as well, would be the most dangerous variable in this engagement...

"Cleared Hot!!!" The Podpułkownik cursed himself furiously for allowing himself to fall so deeply into his own thoughts now, of all times. Groszowski and his wingman, a veteran nearly so seasoned as Groszowski, had managed to pull over the force of L-39's attempting to shatter the cohesion of the Imperial squadron.

Singling one unfortunate soul out from the rest of the pack, a pilot of some talent as well if his "style" was any indication, Groszowski and his wingman bore down for the kill. Caressing the firing mechanism on his stick as lovingly as any smooth-skinned Sarmatian wench he'd ever known, Groszowski allowed the seconds to wash past him- time nearly slowing to a near crawl despite the insane speeds that everyone involved in this battle were pushing.

That patience, and the tens upon tens of millions of złoty that had been thrown into his training- and the crafting of so sublime an engine of war as this Kara rewarded the Imperial Podpułkownik- a flashing green outline surrounded the image of the L-39 on the tracking screen in his console- and a split second later, that same firing mechanism that he'd so tenderly molested just an instant before was engaged.

"Fox-2 Away."

With swan-like grace, the Halabarda (AIM-9 Sidewinder) missile detached from one his under-wings hard-points, balancing perfectly in the air before roaring to life. Mere seconds passed as it covered the space between attacker and target, the sole purpose of the missile's existence accomplished with the blossom of flame and super-heated metals that signaled the end of that L-39.

"K12, K12 'come-off,' I repeat 'come-off'..." Groszowski caught wind of the trap that one of his best pilots had allowed himself to fall into, perfectly bisected by strafing fire from two L-39's a split second too late. The explosion that claimed that Kara- and her pilot was no less bright than the one that had mere seconds before claimed one of his Freiheiter counterparts.

Both of those flames, however impressive and horrid they'd been in the moment, paled in comparison to the massive explosion that lit the near pitch-black ocean far beneath them, where one Groszowski's pilots had apparently made a successful run on one of their primary targets- the ships of Admiral Huit's flotilla. Refusing to allow himself even a second of celebration, the Imperial pilot forged onwards, squeezing a stream of depleted uranium spikes down and into the fuselage of a wildly maneuvering L-39, which was promptly engulfed in orange-red tinged black smoke- and likewise slumped into a mad spiral to the pounding waves beneath.

"K04, 'drag' the waves." Though he hated to, Groszowski had thus ordered his wingman- who'd no doubt seen that dazzling explosion so far beneath them as well as the Podpułkownik- to take a steep dive, and to make a hard line directly for the rest of Huit's ships while the Freiheiter's were still disorganized and scrambling...

 

[Montelimar]

Fecamp Naval Base,
Ile-de-Mormant, Montelimar

Foreign intel agencies would undoubtably notice an increase in Montelimarian military communications traffic, especially within those frequencies that are identified as those used by the Royal Navy. Though that traffic is of the scrambled and coded type, it indicates something was up. And once the infrared images from the myriad of satellites that pass over Montelimarian naval bases are studied, especially those that passed over Fecamp where the increased heat signatures of a dozen vessels, including the fleet carrier NSM Souverain Royal was the suspicion confirmed.

***ENCODED***

From: Commander, Combined Fleet
To: Commander, Battle Group Souvarain Royal

Proceed to the Implarian Ocean, at best speed with full combat load and compliment, to rendezvous with Coalition naval forces, coordinates to be transmitted once enroute. If encountered, you are ordered to engage Freiheit naval and air units.​

 

[Gherichtisch Reich]

Kaiserlische Militarisch Rundfunk
0905 hours

"Flotte-Gruppe 'SMS Kaiser' to rendevous near Freiheit.
Flotte-Gruppe 'SMS Erzherzog Maximilian' to rendevous there as well.
3. U-Boot Gruppe to attend.
2. Jagd U-Boot Flotte to provide cover."

"Prepare 17. Infanterie-Division to board transports.
Prepare 18. Infanterie-Division as well.
In addition, ensure to transport 7. Panzer-Division."

Kampfgeschwader 6 to pair with KG 7 in preparations for intervention.
Taktischegeschwader 4 to be prepared for the above."

Kaiserliche Rundfunk
0905 hours

"...and because of our commitments internationaly in Freiheit, we are ordering a partial mobilisation. All those on the mobilisation rolls, make your way to the nearest army depot to recieve your arms, as well as some additional combat training. Thank you."

 

[Caelia]

SHC Headquarters, Kyiv, Kyiv

"This timetable is ambitious, I'll give it that." Vice Marshal of the Commandry Hryhorii Tyryk, Commander-in-Chief of the Commandry Air Assault Force fingered through the plans prepared by the GSAFC Operations Directorate.

General-Adjutant Artem Rakovsky has to credit the man for his ability to keep a straight face. Calling the GSAFC-OD's deployment plan ambitious was a grave understatement if he ever heard one but this was not the time or place to question such details. "Marshal, the Generalissimus is adamant, it does not matter if you get the first there all it's men and equipment or five men, none of it's equipment and a goat. All that matters is you do it and do it before anyone else. Freistadt must not be allowed fall. Not to the CoN, not to the Sarmatians, not to anyone."

Hryhorii suppressed a sigh. Getting an Airborne Division to Freistadt before the CoN sanctioned invasion force could steamroll the country into oblivion would stretch the Commandry's resources to the breaking point but the OD was not staffed by fools, they could do it. Barely. "I, we, can do it. It won't be pretty, it won't be graceful, but it can be done. I can have the 1st ready by tomorrow but the CAF damn well better have every transport and every tanker in the air force ready when the fleet arrives in Freistadt. We won't have an hour to spare."

Artem expected nothing less and of course neither did the Generalissimus. If the armed forces could not complete the objective then what good were they? "Excellent Marshal. The CAF will be ready, there is no other option. Tell your officers the CAAF leaves as soon as the flotilla docks in Freistadt. And remember Marshal, the Commandry is not going to Freiheit to start a war but to end one."

"I don't intend to, sir."

 

[Breotonia]

Naval Communication Service
Encryption Code: Red
Classification: Restricted
Public Key: file/behold_a_pale_horse/

281010Z JULY 2010
From: NAVCOM - Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood
To: EASTFLEET command ship HMS Armageddon's Edge (CVN-80)
Subject: Operation Homogenous Clarity

In accordance with Council of Nations Security Council Resolution XII ships of EASTFLEET are to move to a wartime stance. The following orders are to enter into effect immediately:

1. The public key now in use for ships of the EASTFLEET is file/behold_a_pale_horse outgoing communications are to switch public keys accordingly.

2. EASTFLEET will endeavor to providing coalition forces with all necessary data and information and to act as their presence until such time as a substantial coalition force arrives.

3. Prepare for direct coordination with the Oikawan naval presence in the area. It is the largest foreign coalition force nearby. NAVCOM is attempting to create an arrangement currently. Standby for further orders on this matter.

4. Reposition ships to monitor incoming and outgoing traffic from Freiheit.

5. Engagement protocols have been updated. Attack and neutralize all Freiheitian forces that enter into your area of responsibility.

6. Above all else continue to provide protection for civilian and neutral traffic.​

--------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Naval Communication Service
Encryption Code: NA
Classification: NA
Public Key: NA

281005Z JULY 2010
From: NAVCOM - Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood
To: Oikawan Command Vessel
Subject: Naval Coordination

In anticipation of successful passage of Security Resolution XII Breotish naval forces in the area (designation EASTFLEET) would like to arrange for constant communication and coordination with the Oikawan naval presence at least until such time as coalition forces arrive. Attached is contact information for the command ship of EASTFLEET (designation HMS Armageddon's Edge CVN-80).

 

[Sheridan]

The 1st FLeet under the command of Admiral Heely was now entering the Green Sea, and it was headed for a straigth shot to Aquitania's Capital. However the Freiheitians were already planning the next phase of their plan to cripple the CoN's coalition capabilities.

A little over 400,000 Freiheit soldiers were marching towards the border, in front of this army was 30,000 Otchi people, who were going to be dumped over the border. These 30,000 were the only ones left that the government was aware of. They were badly beaten and in some cases dropping dead on the way.

Frei-Aquitania Border
22:43, July 28

The Freiheit soldiers came to a stop, yards away from the border. The Aquitanian border guards looked at the massive amount of soldiers anxiously.

"Have no fear! We come merely to give you these pigs..." yelled General Adolf Dieter, the commander of this attack, from his TTV-Shveer transport. The Freiheit soldiers shoved the Otchi forward. One soldier shot an Otchi in the back of the head before she could reach the border checkpoint.

The border guards raised their rifles, while the Freiheitian soldiers laughed. It was then that the Freiheitians stepped foward, showing the war-paint on their faces. Using black and white paint they had created intimidating masks on their faces, which was more or less a way to pass teh time before marching down here.

One of the border gaurds spoke up in rather shitty german, "We have them, now you are no longer needed to stand there."

It was then that the Frieheitians began to march away, much to the relief of the Aquitanian border guards.

"Are the tanks ready to fire?" asked General Dieter.

"Yes General. Should I have them fire now?" replied one of the junior officers.

"Yes, open fire, then the men charge." Dieter replied. With his reply the tanks began to assualt the border checkpoint, ripping it to shreds. No doubt the border guards had alread contacted the army laying just beyond the border, and so the Freiheitians now had to move.

"GO MEN! FOR GLORY! FOR REVENGE! FOR DEATH!" Dieter yelled at the top of his lungs, while the soliders shouted and charged. They had orders to kill anything and everything, there was to be no prisoners, and no mercy. They needed to strike before the CoN began moving Coalition forces into Aquitania and moving them into Freiheit.

The Helicopters which had been flying about a mile behind the Freiheitian army had recieved orders to move in, and now were coming to the battle. It was the largest Freiheitian Military operation thus far in the war... it couldn't fail.

 

[Josepania]

Holy Imperial Tiburan Base "Fort Hibernia"
Northern Warre - Closing Stages of First Phase of Mobilization
1200, Local Time

Artificial lights blanketed the Oltremaren base in Warre, blocking out the stars that would have otherwise dotted the night sky. There was no time for stargazing at any rate. The Tiburan Expeditionary Fleet had finally arrived from the fatherland, to provide escort and support for the three infantry brigades that would soon be boarding and setting sail.

The destination was Freiheit, that sick country that had alienated the entire world and even now made more enemies by the day, with reports claiming they had just attacked the Aquitanians. What possible gain that could come from attacking those insane zealots was lost on Caporale(Corporal) Marco Puccini, but it was not his job to analyze the strategy of genocidal maniacs. He was supposed to be loading supplies onto one of the massive cargo ships functioning as transport for the ground pounders, and if he was caught slacking off, his ass would be in military prison for longer than he felt was necessary.

Heaving the box off the ground again, he lugged the supplies through the bustle of the base, a bustle that would continue for a good few more hours, hours that could not be wasted. The soldiers of Freiheit could not be underestimated. Rumors said the bastards would refuse to surrender no matter their casualties. 'Just means less prisoners...' Marco thought to himself with a grimace.

A helicopter overhead distracted the Caporale as he looked up to see it winch a group of crates onboard the cargo ship he was supposed to be heading towards. 'Dammit, I want one of those, would mean mercy for my back...'

Nevertheless, he bustled on, as did the rest of the base. The Holy Tiburan Empire would taste blood before the end of the month...

OOC: This is all assuming Warre gets the American Union spot.

 

[Beautancus]

OCW Awangarda (Vanguard)
Eastern Implarian
0400​

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Wiceadmirał Kazimierz Ostrogski knew that he hadn't been able to hide the disgust- and outright confusion from his voice, so there was no point in trying to back-track. Nothing was making sense- at all, though that general state of nonsensical affairs was conspiring to make his job- and that of his countrymen all the easier.

The initial reports, which included satellite imagery, digital images and footage (some of which was still coming in on a real-time feed) gleaned from UAV's scouring the skies in the southern reaches of the battered country, and now from frantic radio transmissions between Aquitanian border check-points- to say nothing of the absolutely careless transmissions that the Freiheiters themselves were making...the initial reports indicated that a significant portion of the remaining Freiheiter military was now making mad-dash for the South. Actively engaging a foe that while committed to entering the conflict, had not yet done so- and thus still might not, by some miracle- was complete and utter madness. Criminal incompetence, plain and simple.

"...I suppose we should have someone send them some token of our thanks- after all of this is over of course. As is..." Ostrogski double-checked the screens displaying the information being transmitted from the squadrons of Kara-18's currently engaged with Admiral Huit's battered- and just shy of annihilated- fleet. That engagement was going quite well, despite the veritable swarm of L-39's that the Freiheiter's had poured into the skies over their coastline...but there was only so much that aircraft as outdated and poorly armed as that could do to stand, or fly rather, before the Imperial Sarmatian military's greatest aerial work-horse.

"Whatever the case, just because it looks like the whole rotten edifice is about to collapse in on itself doesn't let us off the hook. We have some arrows to let fly, do we not gentlemen?" The Vice-Admiral proffered his very best wolf-grin, nicotine stained teeth gleaming dully in the half-light of the sub's CIC.

Lighting yet another cigar- having long since moved from chewing them to simply smoking them down to the very nub, and virtually lighting the next with the last- Ostrogski stalked down to the missile control station, trailing a cloud of smoke a half-spoken curses. Glancing back over his shoulder to the Comm's station, where the Deck Officer was monitoring transmissions from the Vanguard's sister subs. The Deck Officer's nod told Ostrogski all he needed to know.

"Alright then. Light 'em up."

And so once more a wave of (non-nuclear) Trójząb-II SLBM's arched up from the spines of the three Imperial submarines, one cluster each headed for the ruins of Freistadt, Gilrae and St. George, targeting what was left of each city's infrastructure (any and all civil service [including fire and rescue], government facilities, law enforcement, military, and communications hubs, as well as any major troop concentrations not directly connected to the aforementioned targets).

 

[Sheridan]

St. George

The ruins of St. George now only contained about 15,000 soldiers. All of which were snuggled tight inside the tunnels and bomb shelters built around the ruins. St. George had become nothing more than a military base, but now that 400,000 of the ones originally stationed there were down in Aquitania attacking and burning the country.

Colonel Heimat was the commander of the St. George forces, and he and his forces could see over the horizon the battle in the sea.

3rd Fleet, Currently Engaging Sarmatian Forces

In the gulf near St. George a great sea battle was raging. The Freiheitian L-39's were being wiped out by the Sarmatian jets, and the battle was starting to be more and more immposible to win. Admiral Huit sighed as he saw one of the Destroyers in his fleet sink. He wished he could surrender, but he would either just be killed by the Sarmatains, or be killed in Freiheit...

"Keep firing the AA batteries! We can't let them overrun us!" Huit yelled to his already tired and demoralized troops...

Grau Mountains

In order to defend from another possible CoN front, 350,000 soldiers are moving up to the Grau Mounatins, along the border between Freheit and Warr. The soldiers are also aiding Christoph Denever in reaching the safe-house with his family. Many of the soldiers have already realized how completely insane Denever is going. Without medication the man is simply falling apart, and extremely paranoid.

It is expected that these soldiers will arrive at the border by this time tomorrow. The Freiheitians are completely gambling on the fact that the Commandry airborne unit will be defending Freistadt, becuase now only another 100,000 or so scattered Freiheitians remained to defend the middle of the country.

(The group of 350,000 near the Warre border consist of; 250 tanks, 150 Havoc Attack Helicopters, 50 Novera Transport Helicopters, and 349,550 ground troops)

(The group of 400,000 attack Aquitania consist of; 150 tanks, 200 Havoc Attack Helicopters, 300 TTV-Shveer transports, and 399,350 infantry)

 

[Guiana]

Waddington Air Station
Northeast Guiana

No.2 Air Wing, Royal Guianese Air Force, home base is at Waddington Air Station near the Northeast Coast of Guiana. Waddington-on-the-Sea was what those stationed there called it as it was just five kilometers from the the Bay of Aquitania and ten from the actual Aquitanian border. It was here where, along with their Aquitanian Air Force counterparts over on the Île de Saint Míchaël, cover the southern bay. It is also here that the first Guianese combat units to be stationed in Aquitania was coming from as the order had been given to Combat Group 2 to move its operations over to "Archangel", as the air base on Saint Michael was referred to as, and was, in conjuction with the Aquitanians, to conduct operations in support of Coalition ground, air and naval forces in Southern Freiheit.

 

[Aquitania]

Frei-Aquitania Border

The Aquatanian border guards had volunteered to man the check points, not to stop the oncoming Freiheit advance, but instead to give the impression that it was still manned. Their only orders were now that the enemy was at the gate was to get the hell out of there. Though they had wanted to put shoot the man that killed the Otchi, it had been done on the other side of the border, and instead they began backing up behind the barracades, and once the Frei started firing, they retreat as quickly as possible back along predesignated routes, back to their comrades, back beyond what will be a killing field. For as the Freiheit soldiers open fire on the now empty border check points, and start crossing that border, the lead troops find little surprises waiting for them.

This time the Templars are ready for them, for when the first landmind detonates, the order is given to fire and the Freiheit are given a warm two hundred gun salute with a 150 rockets thrown in for good measure. And if that wasn't enough to make the Freiheit soldier think that maybe it wouldn't be so easy, from the sky, like the host of heaven itself came the Aquitania's Knights of the Sky to add to it. It was the time Freiheit to feel God's wrath and it would be Aquitania the instrument of that retribution.

 

[Sheridan]

Frei-Aqui Border

The Havoc Attack Helicopters had arrived firing rockets and miniguns at the barricades and any Aquitanian soldier that makes himself noticable. TTV-Shveer troop transports are strong enough to withstand some of the strongest mines and IEDs out there, but unforutaunately not all the Freiheiter troops were isnide these beasts. The MA-Vertei tanks were now within range of the barricades as well, and opened fire.

With helicopters, and tanks opening up on the barricades things seem in favor of the Freiheiters. The Aquitanian Sky Knight's had proved to be somewhat of a problem until the Freiheiters came near the Aquitanians. Becuase then if the Sky Knight's fired on them, they would be hitting friendlies as well as Freiheiters.

"Give them hell, and keep up the fire on those barricades!" Ordered General Dieter through the radio.

 

[Beautancus]

Morzerycerz (Seaknight helicopter) HCS-5
Alpha Flight, Special Weapons Division, Advanced Strike Force
en route to St. George, roughly 60 miles out
0555, local time​

The dull thud of the Morzerycerz's had long since passed into the realm of unremarkable background noise, so far as Starszy Chorąży (Chief Warrant-Officer) Lech Kaszyce was concerned. They'd been inbound for fifteen minutes already, with perhaps that before them- if the route into St. George was as "open and clear" as the hotshot Flyboys were reporting. Which it likely was, considering the number of sorties that had been conducted near- and now directly over the southern Freiheiter city, to say nothing at all of the merciless ballistic missile barrages that had pounded all of the country's major cities just shy of two hours before.

Despite all of that prep-work, the powers that be weren't taking any chances with this deployment, and had attached a dozen Kara-18's to Alpha Flight, to make it an absolute certainty that Kaszyce and his fellows in the "Special Weapons Division" did make landfall. Perhaps the most elite soldiers in the Imperial Armed Forces- and containing some of the most gifted killers from Greater Sarmatia's allies, the Special Weapons Division was easily the best choice for a vanguard force, to establish a firm land-zone for the waves of Imperial Paratroopers and (Royal) Naval Infantry that would begin pouring into the country later in the morning.

To say the very least, nearly a week of some of the most intense martial actions that Europe had seen in decades was coming to a head- and it was quite likely that the future of Freiheit would be decided in the next few hours. St. George had been chosen as the Empire's primary target- both in order to cut off any possibility of Aquitanian invasion from the south- and to avoid the radioactive wasteland that the nation's nominal capital, Freistadt had become. Better to let other, less fortunate but still interested parties handle that quagmire.

Kaszyce smiled inwardly at that thought. So many nations in the world thought that they would get the better of his beloved Empire in this matter- and had in effect worked themselves into the worst possible position. Though not a particular racist man, unlike most of his countrymen, Kaszyce could figure no other reason that supposedly modern men would make such an infantile mistake beyond basic racial inferiority and general stupidity. It seemed to be a common trait, at least amongst the various Niemcy nations of the world.

The intercom system of the helo popped once, the pilot's tinny voice increasing in volume until it could be made out against the background noise of the helo, which despite having become that- background noise- was still considerable. "Wing-leader from KP-Flight just radioed back- looks like there were a few bandits laying in wait...dispatched them easily...enemy radio traffic negligible...looks like we might have our window...all..."

That was welcome enough news, by any stretch. Ducking in from the jets of hot, humid air buffeting him- just beside the "door-gunner's mount," he fought to get a cigarette lit. Once having done so, he sat back- momentarily satisfied in the knowledge that he would at least make it to the ground to take a few scalps. There was a rumor that there'd be a 5000 zloty reward- coming out the "spoils of war retirement fund"- per specimen...a grand incentive indeed. Enough of those- Kaszyce would finally be able to afford that cabin in the hills, where the boar and elk hunting was still good.

Smoke rushing from his nostrils and out into the early dawn light, the veteran Warrant-Officer checked his vintage wrist-watch again. His grandfather had worn in through six summers in the north, waging war against the bastard Rus'. He'd believed- quite firmly- that it had been his good-luck charm, and that he was sure it would serve the younger Kaszyce just as well. Generations of blood and grime had been spilt upon that watch- and washed clean, and soon enough it would drink deeply again.

Whatever flight of fancy the professional butcher found himself on, he recognized that they were three minutes out from their original ETA. A quick double-check of the pack between his legs- and a glance to make sure that the troopers under his command were doing the same followed- and a closer inspection of the sea rushing by...not so far beneath the helicopter. They must be coming in close now, dropping in altitude and picking up a little more speed.

The scenery transitioned from blue-green-gray ocean waves to rocky, sandy shores and foothills quickly enough, with the occasional burning wreck of a some vehicle or bunker- or perhaps AAA emplacement? There were no houses to be seen as of yet, just open terrain- some of it with old-fashioned tank barriers and a scattering of reinforced trenches topped with concertina wire. Grass had overtaken the terrain now- and there was an occasional tree, mostly cedar or some kind of pine.

And then there was the first evidence of the passing of their fighter-bomber escorts- great swaths of ground, once occupied with a variety of buildings and military vehicles- all scorched and smashed beyond recognition. Bodies lay in drifts three high in some places- scattered behind the burnt hulks of IFV's and APC's, or sprawled together in open spaces- caught by strafing fire that consisted of impossibly dense shells roughly the size of a grown man's forearm...the results being truly horrific to behold, even for a man of such refined tastes as Kaszyce.

The carnage continued in seemingly random intervals, a wrecked IFV or tank here- a burning structure there- what appeared to be a rapidly spreading brush-fire was also in the works, and spreading along east with the prevailing winds. That would have been a game-changer had the wind been running to the north, or even slightly to the northeast- but it seemed that God was in a good mood today.

Slowly, the Morzerycerz began to decrease in speed until it had nearly come to a crawl- after which it began to spin on its axis slightly- a rather battered suburban district sprawling out before them now. Fires burned intermittently every few blocks, leading all the way to the network of strip-malls and offices that hemmed the nation's major North-South interstate in on either side...that interstate, or the bridges and over-passes that dominated the main route into St. George itself were Alpha Flight's primary objectives- locations where they would be able to restrict the flow of any opposition personnel with relative ease- especially once reinforced with the Naval Infantry and their armor.

A familiar whine cut through the steady thunder of the helicopter's blades, as the door-gunner went into action, his auto-cannon hissing death at some terribly unlucky target on the ground near a house that had up to this point remained intact. Leaning hard at an angle to get a look at what the gunner was after, he caught sight of what could only be two local guerillas, cheap knock-off assault rifles flying from their already cooling hands. An SUV had been in the yard- and had provided momentary cover for one of the paramilitaries- who might or might not have been holding an RPG...no matter either way- he'd died instantly when the gas-tank of the SUV ignited- shattering the garage of the house with it. Another stream of fire pierced the natural-gas tank in the yard- igniting it, and demolishing the house as if it were so many twigs.

The helicopter continued on down this particular street for a bit- slowing to a stop over the soccer field of a burnt-out secondary school. Without a word, each man inside the helicopter went to work sliding on harnesses and triple-checking gear and ammo-stashes...and finally double-thumping their boots against the floor. One after another they zip-lined down to the startlingly emerald grass of the soccer field, spreading out and securing the perimeter for the next wave of landings.

It took less than two minutes for the entirety of Alpha Flight to unload and take up their forward positions- in one case coming across another group of over-zealous citizens armed mostly with hunting rifles and shotguns...more of a speed bump than anything- but still twenty-thousand złoty worth of scalps, if one was a bit ragged.

Rendezvousing near what appeared to be a mostly abandoned housing project- littered with abandoned cars and suitcases, more than likely freshly discarded- with the passing of so many Imperial fighter-bombers and helicopters. It would be those vehicles that figured some prominently in Alpha Flight's plans- with it being nearly impossible to have transported any IFV's or APC's in with them on this trip- with the possibility of them simply being blown out of the sky by a lucky guerilla with a grenade-launcher just too high.

Once Chief Warrant-Officer Kaszyce and his men had secured a 100% secure LZ, heavier gear would be lifted in- en masse if at all possible, along with the paratroopers that were supposed to be hitting the northern side of the city (whereas the Special Weapons Division troops, and the Naval Infantry's armor would be focusing on the southern approach of St. George- and the main body of the Naval Infantry cutting in from the city's docks) districts of the city within the hour.

As it happened, a Brytyjski "terrain-runner SUV" had been abandoned after running up onto a curve- and a more ideal vehicle it could not have been. A true, old-school 4x4- and in relatively good condition, given the natural sloth of the Freiheiter Niemcy- that would easily get Kaszyce and a portion of his squadron from A) to B) with acceptable speed. "Alright boys, in we go. Stow your gear where you can get to it- and be ready to bail as soon as I say. If at all possible, keep your guns down- we might be able to blow right through some of these amateurs by looking like yellow pussies- understandable with us on our heels...or something like that?"

The men around him chuckled loosely- most of them were in as good a mood as Kaszyce himself, and were looking forward to engaging some real soldiers- rather than these half-assed townies with pop-guns.

It took some time to secure proper transportation for the rather substantial body of special forces operators that had flown in as Alpha Flight- but once that had finally been taken care of, they were on their way- spread over a few blocks, and carefully pacing themselves down parallel roads. UAV images came in at regular intervals- with information on possible ambushes exchanged between individual squad-leaders within seconds.

And so- in the most inauspicious way possible, the men would ultimately lay claim to the feat of "conquering St. George" were on their way, the first Imperial and Allied ground forces to be actively engaged within the territories encompassing the defunct nation formerly known as Freiheit.

Skies Over St. George
0630​

Dozens of Kara-18's, refueled, rearmed were swarming the skies over the southern Freiheiter metropolis- reigning anti-armor missiles and bunker-busters down on troop emplacements throughout the city's interior, and at vital rail and road junctions. Any remaining civilian radio and television stations were also being mercilessly targeted, in an attempt to stamp out the Niemcy's ability to communicate on any mass-scale altogether.

Missiles had already been directed at any and all cell-phone towers- but any that were still standing were also struck. The same held true of government offices that might offer a reinforced shelter to Freiheiter soldiers desperately attempting to hold off advancing Imperial and Allied forces.

Any stray L-39's that were encountered were hounded mercilessly, and blown out of the sky one way or another. After all other nearby targets had been exhausted, local emergency services- including major fire departments and larger police precincts were struck, to further strain an already crumbling social structure.

These operations were set to continue for as long as needed- which would be until the Freiheiter government- and people surrendered to Imperial and Allied forces unconditionally.

Kara-18E, call-sign: Kogutmistrz, K01
Podpułkownik (Lt. Col.) Armin Groszowski
Skies Over the Final Remnants of Admiral Huit's Fleet
0730​

When Groszowski had at last pulled away from the hurricane of steel and tungsten, flame and oil, blood and saline that had engulfed the waters around the battered- and at long last dying ships of Admiral Huit's fleet. The Niemcy had conducted themselves with a certain fierce, barbaric honor that the Imperial Wing-Commander had come to respect in the past hours, as he and his comrades had conducted a near text-book assault upon an already badly beaten force.

The ocean below- thousands of feet below- were littered with the remains of God only knew how many poor, outmatched Freiheiter fighters, who though outmatched as they were had flown into the gaping maw of the abyss with fire in their eyes and hate in their hearts- much the same as their heathen ancestors of old. Those waves also held the remains of valiant Sarmatians and Khazars- too many for comfort...though as Groszowski had more than once told one of his subordinates on the flight back to the Despota- and now back to the sight of what the Fleet Brass were already calling "the Battle of St. George's Coast."

Huit's final destroyer was listing sharply now, burning brightly after having taken at least a half a dozen consecutive long range anti-ship missile hits.

The wound in the side of the vessel had encompassed a full half of its bulk- with the actual missile impacts and subsequent secondary detonations sending the crew into the next life with merciful suddenness.

All that remained now was Huit's aircraft carrier- all but a bare few of her compliment of L-39's obliterated, and a number of smoldering gashes blasted into her flattop. It was only a matter of time now before the final blow would be struck, and this battle formally ended. Even with that fact looming over their heads, the Freiheiter sailors fought on as best they could- a smattering of AA fire lancing upwards into the early morning sky- flying wild each time, but furious in repetition nonetheless.

"Despota, this is Kogutmistrz, permission to engage- and terminate- FNS Shveer?"

"Kogutmistrz, this is Despota Actual...send her off well. Savage bastards they might be- but a credit to fighting men the world over they are as well."

"Aye Skipper." Groszowski angled his Kara downward- followed smartly by half a dozen of his fellows, rolling out into an ever wider formation as the AA fire tracked closer and closer to them. Impossibly- those gunners found their mark- AA shells ripping into the nose and rear fuselage of Groszowski's wingman's Kara- sending him into a fatal tumble to the white capped gray expanse beneath.

"You bastards..." As one, the remaining Kara's barreled in, anti-ship missiles detaching from their hard-points and sped the last half-mile down into the bulk of the FNS Shveer.