Pelasgia
Established Nation
Hagios Georgios, Caria
16/04/2022 | 05:45
The calm waves of a mid-spring morrow broke on the sandy shores of Hagios Georgios island. Above the water, a lazy sun rose on a barely lit sky, dawn having not yet properly broken. In the distance, some thirty or so kilometers out, a howling shriek pierced the eerie silence, otherwise punctured by the intermittent sound of the waves.
The sound’s originator, a
Certainly, the Pelasgians had the stated objective of harassing the Carian forces stationed on and around the island, which is why they would constantly send out groups of such fighters to violate Carian airspace. But, for all their bravado, they would never send a fighter directly over foreign territory, especially in such a delicate situation. Unfortunately for them, MA-06N 9-41 had one fatal flaw that its sister planes did not: due to insufficient repairs on its navigation equipment when it was rushed back into service, the aircraft’s systems slightly overshot the course set by the pilot. The first flight had shown no sign of this, in part because the pilot was new and far too inexperienced to detect it; but the problem had since gotten worse, thanks to continuous simulated dogfights with the Carians’ more advanced airplanes—and now, unbeknownst to the sole pilot, it was leading the fighter straight to Hagios Georgios. The policy of radio silence to avoid alerting the Carians until the last minute for further pressure meant that the pilot had no way of knowing where he was headed.
On the ground, the plane had been detected long before its shrieking cry sounded over the skies near the southernmost island in the Carian Kingdom. A single team of four servicemen—all conscripts—and a commander tracked its motions inside the Carian air defence station on an elevated point near the island’s northern tip. The bunker, hastily built by men of the Royal Engineers shipped south all the way from the Serbovian border, was not particularly spacious or comfortable. It was, however, well concealed and more than adequately equipped to detect and display the movements of MA-06N 9-41 as it approached the island at high speed.
“We should alert command!” said one of the conscripts in a semi-panicked voice.
“No time,” answered the commander, his dark brown eyes fixing on the screen. “They’ll be within bombing range of the island in a matter of minutes.”
Another serviceman verified the plane’s trajectory. “They’re heading straight for Livadeia Airbase.”
The commander took a deep breath before addressing his men. “Shoot it down.”
Everyone in the room froze—but they knew it had to be done.
But a few seconds later, MA-06N 9-41’s pilot received a loud pinging notification of having been locked onto. He tried his best to deploy flares and to evade, but it was to no avail: within a few seconds, the jet had been reduced to a pile of debris and flames. The pilot had been lucky to escape with his life, having ejected just in time. Yet, he knew, from the moment he activated his SOS beacon, that being rescued would be the least of his concerns.
--
Hagios Georgios, Caria
16/04/2022 | 06:30
Giorgos rubbed his eyes one more time. Dawn had barely broken on this arid, barely habitable island, and already he had been roused by an alarm and sent to the coast to help reinforce defences.
“Don’t dig the trench so far ahead! The sea will flood it!” he shouted, trying his best to monitor the works in between helping the ordinary servicemen carry around sandbags and other construction materials.
As he handed the last sandbag from a crate to the soldier next to him, his tired, half-closed eyes focused on the rectangular olive-green hunk of steel overlooking the coast where his unit were working. Suddenly, almost as if one of the Meridian’s notorious quick sea storms had erupted, the shrieking howl of a missile pierced the air.
Giorgos barely had a moment to fall to the ground, before the shriek gave way to a boom—an explosion so massive it shook the ground, devouring the TY3-A SAM system and half the cliffside it had been positioned on with it.
“Is everybody alright?” Lieutenant Glafkidis, Giorgos’ superior, shouted.
Apart from a few pained groans from those thrown to the ground by the impact of the missile, it seemed that “Yes” was the answer.
Meanwhile, somewhere to the south of the island, tens of kilometers away, a Pelasgian submarine was submerging, having delivered a successful hit with
16/04/2022 | 05:45
The calm waves of a mid-spring morrow broke on the sandy shores of Hagios Georgios island. Above the water, a lazy sun rose on a barely lit sky, dawn having not yet properly broken. In the distance, some thirty or so kilometers out, a howling shriek pierced the eerie silence, otherwise punctured by the intermittent sound of the waves.
The sound’s originator, a
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fighter jet flew over the sea at medium altitude, having launched from its mothership, the mighty aircraft carrier PP Lycaonia of the Pelasgian First Fleet. Plenty of Pelasgian fighters had sortied around Hagios Georgios over the last few days, veering well into Carian territorial waters. This specific fighter, numbered 9-41, was no exception—only this one was heading straight for the island itself.Certainly, the Pelasgians had the stated objective of harassing the Carian forces stationed on and around the island, which is why they would constantly send out groups of such fighters to violate Carian airspace. But, for all their bravado, they would never send a fighter directly over foreign territory, especially in such a delicate situation. Unfortunately for them, MA-06N 9-41 had one fatal flaw that its sister planes did not: due to insufficient repairs on its navigation equipment when it was rushed back into service, the aircraft’s systems slightly overshot the course set by the pilot. The first flight had shown no sign of this, in part because the pilot was new and far too inexperienced to detect it; but the problem had since gotten worse, thanks to continuous simulated dogfights with the Carians’ more advanced airplanes—and now, unbeknownst to the sole pilot, it was leading the fighter straight to Hagios Georgios. The policy of radio silence to avoid alerting the Carians until the last minute for further pressure meant that the pilot had no way of knowing where he was headed.
On the ground, the plane had been detected long before its shrieking cry sounded over the skies near the southernmost island in the Carian Kingdom. A single team of four servicemen—all conscripts—and a commander tracked its motions inside the Carian air defence station on an elevated point near the island’s northern tip. The bunker, hastily built by men of the Royal Engineers shipped south all the way from the Serbovian border, was not particularly spacious or comfortable. It was, however, well concealed and more than adequately equipped to detect and display the movements of MA-06N 9-41 as it approached the island at high speed.
“We should alert command!” said one of the conscripts in a semi-panicked voice.
“No time,” answered the commander, his dark brown eyes fixing on the screen. “They’ll be within bombing range of the island in a matter of minutes.”
Another serviceman verified the plane’s trajectory. “They’re heading straight for Livadeia Airbase.”
The commander took a deep breath before addressing his men. “Shoot it down.”
Everyone in the room froze—but they knew it had to be done.
But a few seconds later, MA-06N 9-41’s pilot received a loud pinging notification of having been locked onto. He tried his best to deploy flares and to evade, but it was to no avail: within a few seconds, the jet had been reduced to a pile of debris and flames. The pilot had been lucky to escape with his life, having ejected just in time. Yet, he knew, from the moment he activated his SOS beacon, that being rescued would be the least of his concerns.
--
Hagios Georgios, Caria
16/04/2022 | 06:30
Giorgos rubbed his eyes one more time. Dawn had barely broken on this arid, barely habitable island, and already he had been roused by an alarm and sent to the coast to help reinforce defences.
“Don’t dig the trench so far ahead! The sea will flood it!” he shouted, trying his best to monitor the works in between helping the ordinary servicemen carry around sandbags and other construction materials.
As he handed the last sandbag from a crate to the soldier next to him, his tired, half-closed eyes focused on the rectangular olive-green hunk of steel overlooking the coast where his unit were working. Suddenly, almost as if one of the Meridian’s notorious quick sea storms had erupted, the shrieking howl of a missile pierced the air.
Giorgos barely had a moment to fall to the ground, before the shriek gave way to a boom—an explosion so massive it shook the ground, devouring the TY3-A SAM system and half the cliffside it had been positioned on with it.
“Is everybody alright?” Lieutenant Glafkidis, Giorgos’ superior, shouted.
Apart from a few pained groans from those thrown to the ground by the impact of the missile, it seemed that “Yes” was the answer.
Meanwhile, somewhere to the south of the island, tens of kilometers away, a Pelasgian submarine was submerging, having delivered a successful hit with
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—a retaliatory strike for the Carians’ downing of MA-06N 9-41. As it dove into the depths below, the leviathan’s radio transponder picked up
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