Lowport
The wind was almost as fierce as the shelling. Burgundian aircraft had done their best to provide support but low level precision bombing was expressly forbidden. The lines were holding despite the rebel howitzer which were turning the city into dust and rubble. Only a few buildings remained untouched. One of them, a protestant church, rang its bells to mark the hour. Gramelski had watched since noon as single boats, no bigger than 18 ft, brought in something of a relief force. 4000 marines from Sequoyah were slowling making their way from the ships offshore, protected by the some of the Burgundian fleet, to the twisted and torn docks of Lowport. Gramelski had watched silently as a thin line of Sequoyan marines traversed the heavily damaged quay. The port facilities had largely been destroyed by Gramelski's forces to prevent them from being captured. A few small ships were scuttled at the port entrance so that only small boats could enter it now. Only one dock truly survived the explosion, relegating these marines to small launches. General Gramelski had watched now for three hours and it would still be many more until they were ashore. Returning to his HQ, he had sent an aide to make contact with the Sequoyans and to advise them until Gramelski could meet with their commander. It was not until late that evening that all troops and equipment came ashore. Gramelski had watched closely and could already tell the troops were overwhelmingly green. Their demeanor and even equipment showed their freshness. Much of their webbing was newly issued and some of the rifles looked as if they had barely seen light outside the factory. It was barely 615 in the morning and the rebels had pobed the lines thoroughly, apparently unaware of reinforcements arriving. Gramelski had sent word for the Sequoyan Brigadier, Daniel Millard. Apparently the man had a reputation but Gramelski wanted to see for himself.
The headquarters was in a cellar beneath the ruins of a pub. It was kept light by generators but the bulbs flickered every few minutes. It was no bigger than a moderately sized cafe's kitchen and most of the staff were in a cellar across the rubble strewn street in the cellar of a flower shop. Brigadier Millard was shown is as Gramelski sucked on a pipe while leaning over a table which was draped with a hand drawn map of the city, complete with rubble piles and nicknamesfor streets and ruins. Gramelski was tapped on the shoulder by his orderly and was made aware of Millards appearance. He motioned for Millard to follow as he led him to a corner where a small writing desk, strewn with papers and bits of plaster from the ceiling, had been placed. Gramelski sat and extended a hand. There was a silence as Gramelski pulled on his pipe. Unsure if he could speak French and doubting that he spoke the Wendowie tongue, he waited. From across the street, a very thin and storkish looking young officer appeared at the entrance to the cellar. He spoke English as a second language but Gramelski's thick Wendowie accent often gave the young officer trouble.
"Now, we meet" said Gramelski, waiting for the interpreter to begin. "Your men will be on the lines in 4 hours. I will give you a briefing and my staff and Ivernish Imperial staff will brief your company commanders in their respective areas. About a quarter of your men will be going on the line tonight. Your men, will relieve some of my men for the next 48 hours and starting tomorrow your men will also relieve Imperial Ivernish positions. I apologize for being so blunt and impolite but time is finite. Rest assured your men will be on the line with ours so there is no need for worry on that note. What questions have you?"
[MENTION=1891]Sequoyah[/MENTION]
The wind was almost as fierce as the shelling. Burgundian aircraft had done their best to provide support but low level precision bombing was expressly forbidden. The lines were holding despite the rebel howitzer which were turning the city into dust and rubble. Only a few buildings remained untouched. One of them, a protestant church, rang its bells to mark the hour. Gramelski had watched since noon as single boats, no bigger than 18 ft, brought in something of a relief force. 4000 marines from Sequoyah were slowling making their way from the ships offshore, protected by the some of the Burgundian fleet, to the twisted and torn docks of Lowport. Gramelski had watched silently as a thin line of Sequoyan marines traversed the heavily damaged quay. The port facilities had largely been destroyed by Gramelski's forces to prevent them from being captured. A few small ships were scuttled at the port entrance so that only small boats could enter it now. Only one dock truly survived the explosion, relegating these marines to small launches. General Gramelski had watched now for three hours and it would still be many more until they were ashore. Returning to his HQ, he had sent an aide to make contact with the Sequoyans and to advise them until Gramelski could meet with their commander. It was not until late that evening that all troops and equipment came ashore. Gramelski had watched closely and could already tell the troops were overwhelmingly green. Their demeanor and even equipment showed their freshness. Much of their webbing was newly issued and some of the rifles looked as if they had barely seen light outside the factory. It was barely 615 in the morning and the rebels had pobed the lines thoroughly, apparently unaware of reinforcements arriving. Gramelski had sent word for the Sequoyan Brigadier, Daniel Millard. Apparently the man had a reputation but Gramelski wanted to see for himself.
The headquarters was in a cellar beneath the ruins of a pub. It was kept light by generators but the bulbs flickered every few minutes. It was no bigger than a moderately sized cafe's kitchen and most of the staff were in a cellar across the rubble strewn street in the cellar of a flower shop. Brigadier Millard was shown is as Gramelski sucked on a pipe while leaning over a table which was draped with a hand drawn map of the city, complete with rubble piles and nicknamesfor streets and ruins. Gramelski was tapped on the shoulder by his orderly and was made aware of Millards appearance. He motioned for Millard to follow as he led him to a corner where a small writing desk, strewn with papers and bits of plaster from the ceiling, had been placed. Gramelski sat and extended a hand. There was a silence as Gramelski pulled on his pipe. Unsure if he could speak French and doubting that he spoke the Wendowie tongue, he waited. From across the street, a very thin and storkish looking young officer appeared at the entrance to the cellar. He spoke English as a second language but Gramelski's thick Wendowie accent often gave the young officer trouble.
"Now, we meet" said Gramelski, waiting for the interpreter to begin. "Your men will be on the lines in 4 hours. I will give you a briefing and my staff and Ivernish Imperial staff will brief your company commanders in their respective areas. About a quarter of your men will be going on the line tonight. Your men, will relieve some of my men for the next 48 hours and starting tomorrow your men will also relieve Imperial Ivernish positions. I apologize for being so blunt and impolite but time is finite. Rest assured your men will be on the line with ours so there is no need for worry on that note. What questions have you?"
[MENTION=1891]Sequoyah[/MENTION]
