FrettzoExpressing interest; still got room?
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Colonel Naranbaatar Batbayar strode down the gangplank and onto the battlements with the grim demeanor befitting the circumstances of his jaunt. His combat fatigues were flecked with oil from an engine that had been cracked open by small arms fire and dusted with sand and debris kicked up by the low flying air-boats. A thumbs up was all that was needed to send the Di-Vu lander up into the sky, the gunner on the deck offering a swift salute. The wind-blasted mustache of the Minga/Bingal officer twisted up at the ends in an unusual look, giving a sense of joviality that was not present at the moment. Batbayar scanned his surroundings as his troops, the ferocious Marine Raiders, scoured the battlements for the wounded to be carried to the now-erected Aid Station. To their credit the Aeromarines were not selective in whom they saved; unlike the lot of ground pounding infantry butchering the captives down in the river-valley, these men had full intent to save the men they had just been fighting.
“Colonel! What a lovely surprise!”
The heavily accented voice didn’t once catch Naranbaatar off guard and, with a slight scowl, the Colonel quickly turned to look at his new company. The Lavanian Tribune, Lucius Magnus Tibero, strode across the battlements like a prowling hyena with his pack of armored and ferocious Comintatus baying at his heels. Batbayar admitted to himself that they were the picture of intimidation, so armored that even their clanking lock-step march was more reminiscent of a light armor squadron than of an infantry platoon. Of course, he would never admit that to the Tribune.
“Tribune, I see you survived the assault,” said the Colonel with a wry smile who’s mirth was detracted from by his slight scowl, “We are all fortunate to have it be so.”
Lucius smiled broadly, as if a man entering a competition with a well-respected and highly pleasurable foe, before waggling one outstretched finger on his right hand at the side of his head in his typical fashion. It was his display, his little show that he was onto what was going on and found it evermore entertaining. As always he turned to the Comitatus on his right, the thoroughly armored foreigner completely immune to the prying eyes of others searching for his emotions, whom would always simply continue marching in a disinterested fashion. The Comitatus were not Lavanians but foreign troops under the employ of individual Lavanian officers (there was no better way to ensure loyalty of bodyguards within the Lavanian state apparatus) and they often did not share the Lavanian sense of humor with their ward. Despite this, Lucius acted as if raucous laughter followed his every word.
“Haha! Such a sardonic humor, Colonel! You and I both know that I was nowhere near the frontlines! No such reason to put a man of my stature on these battlements when there were enemies crawling about on them, is there?”
“No, certainly not,” responded Naranbaatar with a snide nose crinkle and a shake of his head, “Though your Comitatus certainly did work . . .”
Naranbaatar had seen from above while he observed the taking of the designated Fort 28. His Marine Raiders had hit a snag trying to enter the battlements with their complement of Assault Sappers having been redirected to a particularly fierce area of combat on Fort 25 just down the river. Even with the Raider’s skill and fortitude at close-quarters combat they had found the resistance at Fort 28 to be notably stubborn. The Comitatus commander, one Centurio Ulz Anzanang, had offered a contingent of his own forces to take the field. Accepting the offer, Naranbaatar had directed the heavily armored Lavanian troops to the fiercest fighting in the depths of the breached castle and the Iron Men of Lavania had proven their bloody reputation to be entirely factual. Resistant to most small arms fire and fragmentation grenades, the Comitatus had suffered no casualties and only partial damage to some of their suits while clearing the breach for the Raiders to pour in. Now, it seemed, Lucius was here to collect on the dues he did not earn.
“And it is no surprise they did; I selected them myself. Every single one of my men are born fighters, hand picked for the job.” There was a pause as a real sense of malice seemed to emanate from the Tribune as he considered one of the corpses at his feet before he looked up, his emerald green eyes flashing like reflective plates, “I am glad that they could be of assistance. You, of course, know my dedication to the Zhenxiang cause. It pleases me that even my small contingent can provide for the greater good of our most righteous campaign.”
“Of course…”
The Laureate-General peered out across the rolling hills, far-reaching steppe, and low-flowing rivers of Northern Delsai. It was open to him now, with full freedom of movement granted to him by the defeat of his most-despised Monarchist foes. The blacks had been crushed, though not in the way he had ideally wished for, and opportunities would provide themselves soon. He opened his eyes to reveal the map before him, showing off the unit dispositions across the highly stratified terrain of Northern Delsai. He was in the war-room aboard his personal craft, the corvette-turned command vessel known to by its newly christened Zengravi name, Zenlong. Staff officers went about their business to direct the growing needs of the Zhenxiang forces on the ground. Casualties needed to be removed from the frontline, deployed units needed requipping, aircraft needed refueling, and a load of prisoners needed to be hidden from view.
They had gone against the Great Leader’s direct orders. The Zhenxiang Army, along with their allies, had taken prisoners of those enemies who had surrendered to them. Nearly ten thousand men, professional troops of the Royalist enemy, had been captured and taken under Zhenxiang custody. It was not part of Kyeung’s dream for a reformed and better Zengrav to see every single one of those men who fought against him put to death and he certainly would sully his morals at the behest of any man or woman, even the Great Leader. They were supposed to be winning hearts and minds; how were they to do this if they took heads instead? His morale and ethical problems aside, it was also a waste of potential manpower. These men had fought for the Royalists and were subsequently abandoned to their fate; there were no better targets for the Jide than such men. They would be treated well, like all prisoners, and would be slowly moved to see the world as it truly was. Though nothing short of a long-term investment, it was one that the Laureate-General intended to recreate numerous times across Zengrav. What better a time than this to have a trial run?
“General, all logistics related endeavors are underway.” The voice was from Kesor Nimh-Kah, Hyeun’s personal adjutant, who waited patiently and silently off to his General’s right. “What are your orders?”
Hyeun steepled his fingers before his face in consideration, his eyes turning to slits as if to aid in his thought by keeping them from escaping. There was now much to do and much to consider. First and foremost, he would have to deal with the problem of his prisoners. The Great Leader would be incensed that he let them live and would likely seek them returned. Giving them up, of course, was out of the question; to hand them over would be even worse than putting them to death himself. He would need to find a way to obsfucate their presence has best he could from prying eyes and make it as difficult as possible to discover their identities.
“Colonel, I need you to do a service for the Zhenxiang Army and ALL of Zengrav. You shall take your staff and write up enlistment papers for all of the prisoners we took; note them down as volunteers, the lot of them. Give them Gailzri, Quin, or Jorguk names if you have to but make sure their identities are as difficult to determine as possible. I want them to appear in every way as volunteers for our glorious revolution, as they most certainly will be.”
“Aye General, I shall handle the matter personally, sir. What of the Zhenxiang? Where to next?”
“All of Zengrav.”
“Colonel! What a lovely surprise!”
The heavily accented voice didn’t once catch Naranbaatar off guard and, with a slight scowl, the Colonel quickly turned to look at his new company. The Lavanian Tribune, Lucius Magnus Tibero, strode across the battlements like a prowling hyena with his pack of armored and ferocious Comintatus baying at his heels. Batbayar admitted to himself that they were the picture of intimidation, so armored that even their clanking lock-step march was more reminiscent of a light armor squadron than of an infantry platoon. Of course, he would never admit that to the Tribune.
“Tribune, I see you survived the assault,” said the Colonel with a wry smile who’s mirth was detracted from by his slight scowl, “We are all fortunate to have it be so.”
Lucius smiled broadly, as if a man entering a competition with a well-respected and highly pleasurable foe, before waggling one outstretched finger on his right hand at the side of his head in his typical fashion. It was his display, his little show that he was onto what was going on and found it evermore entertaining. As always he turned to the Comitatus on his right, the thoroughly armored foreigner completely immune to the prying eyes of others searching for his emotions, whom would always simply continue marching in a disinterested fashion. The Comitatus were not Lavanians but foreign troops under the employ of individual Lavanian officers (there was no better way to ensure loyalty of bodyguards within the Lavanian state apparatus) and they often did not share the Lavanian sense of humor with their ward. Despite this, Lucius acted as if raucous laughter followed his every word.
“Haha! Such a sardonic humor, Colonel! You and I both know that I was nowhere near the frontlines! No such reason to put a man of my stature on these battlements when there were enemies crawling about on them, is there?”
“No, certainly not,” responded Naranbaatar with a snide nose crinkle and a shake of his head, “Though your Comitatus certainly did work . . .”
Naranbaatar had seen from above while he observed the taking of the designated Fort 28. His Marine Raiders had hit a snag trying to enter the battlements with their complement of Assault Sappers having been redirected to a particularly fierce area of combat on Fort 25 just down the river. Even with the Raider’s skill and fortitude at close-quarters combat they had found the resistance at Fort 28 to be notably stubborn. The Comitatus commander, one Centurio Ulz Anzanang, had offered a contingent of his own forces to take the field. Accepting the offer, Naranbaatar had directed the heavily armored Lavanian troops to the fiercest fighting in the depths of the breached castle and the Iron Men of Lavania had proven their bloody reputation to be entirely factual. Resistant to most small arms fire and fragmentation grenades, the Comitatus had suffered no casualties and only partial damage to some of their suits while clearing the breach for the Raiders to pour in. Now, it seemed, Lucius was here to collect on the dues he did not earn.
“And it is no surprise they did; I selected them myself. Every single one of my men are born fighters, hand picked for the job.” There was a pause as a real sense of malice seemed to emanate from the Tribune as he considered one of the corpses at his feet before he looked up, his emerald green eyes flashing like reflective plates, “I am glad that they could be of assistance. You, of course, know my dedication to the Zhenxiang cause. It pleases me that even my small contingent can provide for the greater good of our most righteous campaign.”
“Of course…”
~~~~~
The Laureate-General peered out across the rolling hills, far-reaching steppe, and low-flowing rivers of Northern Delsai. It was open to him now, with full freedom of movement granted to him by the defeat of his most-despised Monarchist foes. The blacks had been crushed, though not in the way he had ideally wished for, and opportunities would provide themselves soon. He opened his eyes to reveal the map before him, showing off the unit dispositions across the highly stratified terrain of Northern Delsai. He was in the war-room aboard his personal craft, the corvette-turned command vessel known to by its newly christened Zengravi name, Zenlong. Staff officers went about their business to direct the growing needs of the Zhenxiang forces on the ground. Casualties needed to be removed from the frontline, deployed units needed requipping, aircraft needed refueling, and a load of prisoners needed to be hidden from view.
They had gone against the Great Leader’s direct orders. The Zhenxiang Army, along with their allies, had taken prisoners of those enemies who had surrendered to them. Nearly ten thousand men, professional troops of the Royalist enemy, had been captured and taken under Zhenxiang custody. It was not part of Kyeung’s dream for a reformed and better Zengrav to see every single one of those men who fought against him put to death and he certainly would sully his morals at the behest of any man or woman, even the Great Leader. They were supposed to be winning hearts and minds; how were they to do this if they took heads instead? His morale and ethical problems aside, it was also a waste of potential manpower. These men had fought for the Royalists and were subsequently abandoned to their fate; there were no better targets for the Jide than such men. They would be treated well, like all prisoners, and would be slowly moved to see the world as it truly was. Though nothing short of a long-term investment, it was one that the Laureate-General intended to recreate numerous times across Zengrav. What better a time than this to have a trial run?
“General, all logistics related endeavors are underway.” The voice was from Kesor Nimh-Kah, Hyeun’s personal adjutant, who waited patiently and silently off to his General’s right. “What are your orders?”
Hyeun steepled his fingers before his face in consideration, his eyes turning to slits as if to aid in his thought by keeping them from escaping. There was now much to do and much to consider. First and foremost, he would have to deal with the problem of his prisoners. The Great Leader would be incensed that he let them live and would likely seek them returned. Giving them up, of course, was out of the question; to hand them over would be even worse than putting them to death himself. He would need to find a way to obsfucate their presence has best he could from prying eyes and make it as difficult as possible to discover their identities.
“Colonel, I need you to do a service for the Zhenxiang Army and ALL of Zengrav. You shall take your staff and write up enlistment papers for all of the prisoners we took; note them down as volunteers, the lot of them. Give them Gailzri, Quin, or Jorguk names if you have to but make sure their identities are as difficult to determine as possible. I want them to appear in every way as volunteers for our glorious revolution, as they most certainly will be.”
“Aye General, I shall handle the matter personally, sir. What of the Zhenxiang? Where to next?”
“All of Zengrav.”
I most certainly will not.
Laureate-General Hyeun Tae-Kyeung stood patiently among the roaring crowd, near to the back beside his Chief of Staff, his personal Adjutant and the Lavanian Tribune. Brigadier General Ngoi-Hui stood to his right with a frown and a furrowed brow marring his normal visage; it was clear that even his high spirits had trouble dealing with the current situation. Back to his left, Colonel Kesor remained placid and stern in face with a clipboard pinned tightly to his uniformed torso, ready for use.
The odd man out in multiple perspectives, Tribune Lucius Tibero grinned broadly. A sneer had formed across his aquiline features, no doubt taking a sick pleasure out of the ravings of the Nationalist High Command. He was no fascist, even if he thrived in the world, but the foreigner did have an undoubtedly sick sense of humor. A light chuckle escaped his lips as his gaze turned to read the emotions written across Hyeun's face.
"What's the matter, General? Something you ate?"
The Tribune snickered under his breath, flashing his smile towards Hyeun while his emerald green eyes bore deeply into him. They had enjoyed each other's company, for the most part, with the Tribune sharing many of the same interests and hobbies as Hyeun, but when it came to matters of Zengrav the Laureate-General found it difficult to urge his companion to sympathy. For Lucius, this was just more of the same he had experienced in his own country; manic leaders ranting about lopping off heads and killing all before them. It was just in a different country and a new language to spice it up.
"I swear, Lucius, these men would rather sate their desires than actually claim victory; the fools have forgotten how close we came to obliteration and that we stand here now only because of Lavania. It is short sighted and absentminded."
Lucius offered a poorly faked image of empathy across his face before his sneer returned. His lips were scarred, with circular marks running parallel to each other on either side of his mouth. It was a punishment in some Lavanian units, especially those from the coast, where troopers who spoke to often or in ways that displeased their commanding officers had their lips sewn shut. This would remain unchanged until such time as their voices were forgotten and further punishments came when they weren't responding to verbal commands with affirmatives. Lucius had imparted the story of his father, a Legatus at the time, punishing him in such a manner for the vainglorious act of referring to him as father; when at war he was Legatus or nothing and Lucius learned his lesson swiftly.
"I must agree with you, General," came the more quiet response of Ngoi-Hui, his distaste having tugged back his lip in an ugly grimace, "It is as if some of them are fighting the Royalists simply to replace them as the new nobility."
"Would that it would be so sooner," quipped Lucius as he cleaned nails gingerly, "so that we could simply handle them ourselves. The Primus Populare has no interest in fawning oligarchs who play at war. I admire their fervor though; I imagine I might only find a more humorous lot in the Imperial Throne Room. At least between the boy and his Iron Fa-"
"Enough."
Lucius snickered again, wolfishly smiling towards Hyeun before shrugging innocently, his face suddenly a mask of obliviousness. As the cheering finally began to die down Lucius prowled off into the crowd as he often did, excited to find some manner of pleasure to take from the gathering. Ngoi-Hui saluted his commander and walked his separate way as well, making a beeline for one particular officer he was often known to cajole with. The two had served alongside each other in an earlier posting and had only learned relatively recently, in Seraat just before the loss of the city, that they had both coincidentally joined the Nationalists in unrelated actions. Kesor, Hyeun's Adjutant, remained slightly off to the side as his General's second shadow. With his posse now dispersed Hyeun made his move towards the seat at which Yesui sat. He would have words with her and they HAD to happen now.
She looked the part of a dictatorial tyrant, he had to admit; the facepaint and makeup had done little or even the opposite of reducing her frightening appearance and her slumped position made her look brooding and ferocious. As he closed the distance to her position at the head of the ruined church he mused on the fitting chamber in which this sad company was found. Decrepit, ruined by war, and actively falling apart from poor construction and its faulty foundations; an unfortunate picture to paint but one no less accurate for its content.
Hyeun nodded to several officers and other Nationalist warlords he knew to be friendly or at least generally amenable to him and ignored those who scowled his way while muttering things under their breath. At last he closed to the slightly raised dias and bowed before rising and saluting in a clean but ultimately tired gesture.
"Great Leader," he intoned, echoing the title by which they had referred to her earlier, "I would speak with you in regards to our upcoming offensive. It is my desire to gain your approval and blessing for a change in tactical dispositions and general orders for all those commanders involved. Given even but a minute, Great Leader, and I assure you I could convince you of my plan's rectitude."
The rumble of the engines was deafening.
Wind whipped around the sun-baked airstrip outside of Daozhi kicking up dust devils and throwing about the refuse of an active military base. The airstrip was a massive undertaking that had taken much of the Winter Reconstruction to get fully up and running but it had been worth every moment of it. Multiple prefab hangars dotted the landscape in tight, compact rows and barracks for the innumerable crewmen and pilots sat in organized squares beside the hangars of their aircraft. The fields were lined with aircraft, the freshly upgraded Shengli monoplanes, and just above the swarm of Airships only increased in density.
In the command and control center of the base, standing inside the control tower directing all of the going-ons of the base, stood the Laureate-General with his arms crossed behind his back patiently. He watched with grim satisfaction as he saw the next set of Di-Vu airboats loaded with a platoon's worth of Raider Marines take to the sky. Off to the right, at the widened and thoroughly flattened edge of the airstrip, large logistical craft were loaded with light armor, entire companies of Aeromarine grunts, and all the ammunition they would need for this great undertaking.
The plan had been underway for months, partially devised by Hyeun, and now the fruits of all that labor could be seen ripe for harvest. By now the majority of the airships were underway with the very last vestiges of the force being prepped for the attack on Delsai being loaded. The last two days had been spent getting the craft loaded and into the air, ready and waiting for the attack. Now all that was left on the ground in considerable number were the fighters and dive-bombers that would herald the attack to come, ready to launch as soon as the order was given. A pleasing sight, to be sure, and one a long time coming. Many of these troops had been present at Seraat, having escaped due in large part to the Laureate-General's daring breakout, and the chance to give back to the Royalists who had killed many of their friends and comrades was a tantalizing opportunity. Soon the dead could be truly put to rest knowing they had been avenged.
"So, what do you think? Shall we find success?"
Hyeun turned to look towards his friend and confidante, Major General Tse Tak-Sohng, to adequately respond to him; one does not speak to respected friends without giving them ample attention. A moment of consideration passed quite visibly on his face before he nodded affirmation, his brow furrowed in determination. Tse and Hyeun had been kept busy by the Great Leader during the planning stages of the battle and now at last they would see their plan in action; ideally, as a success.
"We shall not fail. That I am sure," uttered Hyeun almost breathlessly, exhaustion tinging his voice, "And within the week the so-called Great Northern Army will have surrendered. Let us hope they see reason and surrender to us before our Great Leader's forces put them to the sword. Such a waste of life . . . "
"Aye."
The tone was somber for the moment as the two considered the possibility that the enemy would refuse such overtures; these were professional troops who, even when desperate, could prove more loyal to the Emperor than to their own common sense. Particularly the noble officers, Hyeun thought. Just as he was about to continue the clanging of metal-shod boots on the gantry caught his attention. Colonel Naraanbatar Batbayar stomped up the steps before performing a neat if quick salute before lowering his hand and placing his cap right back onto his head. His mustache bristled as if, by a mind of its own, it willed him to action; the Minga/Bingal man was not known for inaction and the fight in him burned brightly in his eyes.
"Generals. Sir, reporting as ordered, sir," he grunted, the edge of his lips hidden under his mustache starting to show a tinge of a smile, "Pleased to report that the Raiders are loaded and prepared; my boys are ready for anything you have for them, General."
"Good. Very good. See to it you are on the next airship out, I'll need you on the forefront of this attack. We undoubtedly expect heavy resistance from the enemy and your raiders may be necessary for what I aim to do. You have your orders, Colonel; I shall contact you over radio when the mission is ago."
"Aye sir; will there be anything else?"
Hyeun smiled then, a full smile without any hint of grimness or distaste. In this moment he would show his fellow Nationalists the righteousness of the Zhenxiang Jundui's methods and, hopefully, draw them towards his point of view. He could claim a victory here well beyond that of destroying armies. It would be here, in Delsai, that the Laureate-General intended to claim hearts and minds.
"Save them all, Colonel."
Laureate-General Hyeun Tae-Kyeung stood patiently among the roaring crowd, near to the back beside his Chief of Staff, his personal Adjutant and the Lavanian Tribune. Brigadier General Ngoi-Hui stood to his right with a frown and a furrowed brow marring his normal visage; it was clear that even his high spirits had trouble dealing with the current situation. Back to his left, Colonel Kesor remained placid and stern in face with a clipboard pinned tightly to his uniformed torso, ready for use.
The odd man out in multiple perspectives, Tribune Lucius Tibero grinned broadly. A sneer had formed across his aquiline features, no doubt taking a sick pleasure out of the ravings of the Nationalist High Command. He was no fascist, even if he thrived in the world, but the foreigner did have an undoubtedly sick sense of humor. A light chuckle escaped his lips as his gaze turned to read the emotions written across Hyeun's face.
"What's the matter, General? Something you ate?"
The Tribune snickered under his breath, flashing his smile towards Hyeun while his emerald green eyes bore deeply into him. They had enjoyed each other's company, for the most part, with the Tribune sharing many of the same interests and hobbies as Hyeun, but when it came to matters of Zengrav the Laureate-General found it difficult to urge his companion to sympathy. For Lucius, this was just more of the same he had experienced in his own country; manic leaders ranting about lopping off heads and killing all before them. It was just in a different country and a new language to spice it up.
"I swear, Lucius, these men would rather sate their desires than actually claim victory; the fools have forgotten how close we came to obliteration and that we stand here now only because of Lavania. It is short sighted and absentminded."
Lucius offered a poorly faked image of empathy across his face before his sneer returned. His lips were scarred, with circular marks running parallel to each other on either side of his mouth. It was a punishment in some Lavanian units, especially those from the coast, where troopers who spoke to often or in ways that displeased their commanding officers had their lips sewn shut. This would remain unchanged until such time as their voices were forgotten and further punishments came when they weren't responding to verbal commands with affirmatives. Lucius had imparted the story of his father, a Legatus at the time, punishing him in such a manner for the vainglorious act of referring to him as father; when at war he was Legatus or nothing and Lucius learned his lesson swiftly.
"I must agree with you, General," came the more quiet response of Ngoi-Hui, his distaste having tugged back his lip in an ugly grimace, "It is as if some of them are fighting the Royalists simply to replace them as the new nobility."
"Would that it would be so sooner," quipped Lucius as he cleaned nails gingerly, "so that we could simply handle them ourselves. The Primus Populare has no interest in fawning oligarchs who play at war. I admire their fervor though; I imagine I might only find a more humorous lot in the Imperial Throne Room. At least between the boy and his Iron Fa-"
"Enough."
Lucius snickered again, wolfishly smiling towards Hyeun before shrugging innocently, his face suddenly a mask of obliviousness. As the cheering finally began to die down Lucius prowled off into the crowd as he often did, excited to find some manner of pleasure to take from the gathering. Ngoi-Hui saluted his commander and walked his separate way as well, making a beeline for one particular officer he was often known to cajole with. The two had served alongside each other in an earlier posting and had only learned relatively recently, in Seraat just before the loss of the city, that they had both coincidentally joined the Nationalists in unrelated actions. Kesor, Hyeun's Adjutant, remained slightly off to the side as his General's second shadow. With his posse now dispersed Hyeun made his move towards the seat at which Yesui sat. He would have words with her and they HAD to happen now.
She looked the part of a dictatorial tyrant, he had to admit; the facepaint and makeup had done little or even the opposite of reducing her frightening appearance and her slumped position made her look brooding and ferocious. As he closed the distance to her position at the head of the ruined church he mused on the fitting chamber in which this sad company was found. Decrepit, ruined by war, and actively falling apart from poor construction and its faulty foundations; an unfortunate picture to paint but one no less accurate for its content.
Hyeun nodded to several officers and other Nationalist warlords he knew to be friendly or at least generally amenable to him and ignored those who scowled his way while muttering things under their breath. At last he closed to the slightly raised dias and bowed before rising and saluting in a clean but ultimately tired gesture.
"Great Leader," he intoned, echoing the title by which they had referred to her earlier, "I would speak with you in regards to our upcoming offensive. It is my desire to gain your approval and blessing for a change in tactical dispositions and general orders for all those commanders involved. Given even but a minute, Great Leader, and I assure you I could convince you of my plan's rectitude."
~~~~
The rumble of the engines was deafening.
Wind whipped around the sun-baked airstrip outside of Daozhi kicking up dust devils and throwing about the refuse of an active military base. The airstrip was a massive undertaking that had taken much of the Winter Reconstruction to get fully up and running but it had been worth every moment of it. Multiple prefab hangars dotted the landscape in tight, compact rows and barracks for the innumerable crewmen and pilots sat in organized squares beside the hangars of their aircraft. The fields were lined with aircraft, the freshly upgraded Shengli monoplanes, and just above the swarm of Airships only increased in density.
In the command and control center of the base, standing inside the control tower directing all of the going-ons of the base, stood the Laureate-General with his arms crossed behind his back patiently. He watched with grim satisfaction as he saw the next set of Di-Vu airboats loaded with a platoon's worth of Raider Marines take to the sky. Off to the right, at the widened and thoroughly flattened edge of the airstrip, large logistical craft were loaded with light armor, entire companies of Aeromarine grunts, and all the ammunition they would need for this great undertaking.
The plan had been underway for months, partially devised by Hyeun, and now the fruits of all that labor could be seen ripe for harvest. By now the majority of the airships were underway with the very last vestiges of the force being prepped for the attack on Delsai being loaded. The last two days had been spent getting the craft loaded and into the air, ready and waiting for the attack. Now all that was left on the ground in considerable number were the fighters and dive-bombers that would herald the attack to come, ready to launch as soon as the order was given. A pleasing sight, to be sure, and one a long time coming. Many of these troops had been present at Seraat, having escaped due in large part to the Laureate-General's daring breakout, and the chance to give back to the Royalists who had killed many of their friends and comrades was a tantalizing opportunity. Soon the dead could be truly put to rest knowing they had been avenged.
"So, what do you think? Shall we find success?"
Hyeun turned to look towards his friend and confidante, Major General Tse Tak-Sohng, to adequately respond to him; one does not speak to respected friends without giving them ample attention. A moment of consideration passed quite visibly on his face before he nodded affirmation, his brow furrowed in determination. Tse and Hyeun had been kept busy by the Great Leader during the planning stages of the battle and now at last they would see their plan in action; ideally, as a success.
"We shall not fail. That I am sure," uttered Hyeun almost breathlessly, exhaustion tinging his voice, "And within the week the so-called Great Northern Army will have surrendered. Let us hope they see reason and surrender to us before our Great Leader's forces put them to the sword. Such a waste of life . . . "
"Aye."
The tone was somber for the moment as the two considered the possibility that the enemy would refuse such overtures; these were professional troops who, even when desperate, could prove more loyal to the Emperor than to their own common sense. Particularly the noble officers, Hyeun thought. Just as he was about to continue the clanging of metal-shod boots on the gantry caught his attention. Colonel Naraanbatar Batbayar stomped up the steps before performing a neat if quick salute before lowering his hand and placing his cap right back onto his head. His mustache bristled as if, by a mind of its own, it willed him to action; the Minga/Bingal man was not known for inaction and the fight in him burned brightly in his eyes.
"Generals. Sir, reporting as ordered, sir," he grunted, the edge of his lips hidden under his mustache starting to show a tinge of a smile, "Pleased to report that the Raiders are loaded and prepared; my boys are ready for anything you have for them, General."
"Good. Very good. See to it you are on the next airship out, I'll need you on the forefront of this attack. We undoubtedly expect heavy resistance from the enemy and your raiders may be necessary for what I aim to do. You have your orders, Colonel; I shall contact you over radio when the mission is ago."
"Aye sir; will there be anything else?"
Hyeun smiled then, a full smile without any hint of grimness or distaste. In this moment he would show his fellow Nationalists the righteousness of the Zhenxiang Jundui's methods and, hopefully, draw them towards his point of view. He could claim a victory here well beyond that of destroying armies. It would be here, in Delsai, that the Laureate-General intended to claim hearts and minds.
"Save them all, Colonel."
I am definitely interested and will be joining, likely as a White!
I will be kicking myself into high gear in a bit here; very busy throughout the last few weeks but expect an IC post soon.
The Men of the Tarikhate stand Tall
"Yes suh'!"
The tide of roaring replies filled the air, the sound carrying across the flat ground to make the very earth shudder. In an instant the cry was halted, silenced by the raised hand of the individual before them. The Officer stood with his legs parallel to his shoulders, about a foot apart as he kept at ease while surveying the several ranks worth of infantrymen before him. Fresh troops, every single one, whom had recently enlisted. All across the Tarikhate were similar shows, of fresh regiments being organized under the watchful eye of veteran officers and those who had been educated outside the homeland in the Great Nations of the world. It was the will of the Tarik that his loyal army be a match for those from the Varian continent and meeting his expectations meant there was much work to be done. The recruits before him now, boys mostly, were all enlistees from the Rakka tribes, the earliest supporters of the Tarik outside the Akir world when the conquests began nearly one hundred and fifty years ago. These youths came from the tribal villages and towns in the arid parts of the nation, born to the semi-nomadic herdsmen that their ethnic group was famed for; and now they were to be soldiers. Their accents spoke volumes to the officer.
"You men, all of you, have come to serve our Tarik and Homeland!" cried the Officer, uniform fitting smartly to him as the traditional patterned senay garment flapped gently in the wind, "I am Captain Asla Kebidech and from here on out I am to be your drill instructor."
Standing behind the Officer, arrayed similarly to the raw recruits but dressed in the proper uniforms of their commanding officer, stood the men of the 21st Artillery Contingent. Each stood with well trimmed beard, perfectly angled artilleryman cap, and tautly fitting artillery-frock pulled from torsos to be wrapped around their bodies. They had been broken into teams of four with each holding the tools of their trade, with Commander, Gunner, Loader and Swabber all tightly packed together before their guns. Just behind them, of course, sat the unmoving forms of their cannons; each had been forged into being in the factories of Mulu Alem and well represented the leaps and bounds being made by Akur in terms of industrialization. Indeed, twenty years ago it would have been unheard of that foreign-designed weaponry could be manufactured effectively and rapidly in the Tarikhate but now, with the rapid industrialization of the arid nation, it seemed ever more likely that soon the Akir themselves would be designing the very weapons they used to keep their homeland free of foreign powers.
TARIKHATE OF AKUR
Denonym: Akir
(Major Ethnic Groupings: Akir, Rakka, Yeab’Sra, Iyasu, Habtamu)
POPULATION:
61,000,000 (10,000,000 base + 5,000,000 from provinces + 46,000,000 for 8 points)
GOVERNMENT
Monarchy (free)
-- Current Ruler: Tarik Aman Melku Seydonkal (42 years old)
-- Regent (if Ruler dead/incapacitated): Tarik-Consort Aida Admas Petrokkal (37 years old)
-- Heir: Prince Noab Nazwari Seydonkal (13 years old)
Provinces:
Capital (Land)
3 Land Provinces in Serranthia (3 points)
6 Coastal Provinces in Serranthia (6 points)
Industry:
– 2 Major Factories (free)
– 1 Major Factory (7 points)
– 1 Minor Factory (4 points)
– 1 Minor Shipyard (2 points)
Army:
– 610,000 Regulars ((free))
– 200 Light Artillery ((2 points))
Navy:
– 18 Destroyers (free)
– 6 Light Cruisers (free)
– 3 Armored Cruisers (6 points)
Army Technology:
Weaponry
[Bolt Action Rifle (1895)] 1895 (4 points)
[Artillery (1885)] 1885 (4 points)
Firepower
[Indirect Artillery (1900)] 1900 (4 points)
DESCRIPTION:
The modern state of the Tarikhate has its roots in the ethnic group of Akir found originally in the lands currently incorporated into the Grand Survaek Empire; indeed, minorities with genetic and cultural connections to the Akir of the Tarikhate are still live in the Empire. Following a syncretistic, mystic form of Survaekom Aedak that combines the old pagan religions of the Akir and the beliefs and morals of Aedak, the Akir are organized into clan-like, patrilineal, Kabals founded by semi-legendary, possibly apocryphal founders. In the early 1750’s, during the Grand Empire’s decline under Waentaer, the Tarik (Warlord) Benyam Aurbu Seydonkal was designated the Chief Tarik of the Akir Kabals and given the freedom to conquer the Raethonite peoples outside the reach of the Empire. (Rest of description WIP but wanted to post up so as to not be left behind)
TARIKHATE OF AKUR
Denonym: Akir
(Major Ethnic Groupings: Akir, Rakka, Yeab’Sra, Iyasu, Habtamu)
POPULATION:
61,000,000 (10,000,000 base + 5,000,000 from provinces + 46,000,000 for 8 points)
GOVERNMENT
Monarchy (free)
-- Current Ruler: Tarik Aman Melku Seydonkal (42 years old)
-- Regent (if Ruler dead/incapacitated): Tarik-Consort Aida Admas Petrokkal (37 years old)
-- Heir: Prince Noab Nazwari Seydonkal (13 years old)
Provinces:
Capital (Land)
3 Land Provinces in Serranthia (3 points)
6 Coastal Provinces in Serranthia (6 points)
Industry:
– 2 Major Factories (free)
– 1 Major Factory (7 points)
– 1 Minor Factory (4 points)
– 1 Minor Shipyard (2 points)
Army:
– 610,000 Regulars ((free))
– 200 Light Artillery ((2 points))
Navy:
– 18 Destroyers (free)
– 6 Light Cruisers (free)
– 3 Armored Cruisers (6 points)
Army Technology:
Weaponry
[Bolt Action Rifle (1895)] 1895 (4 points)
[Artillery (1885)] 1885 (4 points)
Firepower
[Indirect Artillery (1900)] 1900 (4 points)
DESCRIPTION:
The modern state of the Tarikhate has its roots in the ethnic group of Akir found originally in the lands currently incorporated into the Grand Survaek Empire; indeed, minorities with genetic and cultural connections to the Akir of the Tarikhate are still live in the Empire. Following a syncretistic, mystic form of Survaekom Aedak that combines the old pagan religions of the Akir and the beliefs and morals of Aedak, the Akir are organized into clan-like, patrilineal, Kabals founded by semi-legendary, possibly apocryphal founders. In the early 1750’s, during the Grand Empire’s decline under Waentaer, the Tarik (Warlord) Benyam Aurbu Seydonkal was designated the Chief Tarik of the Akir Kabals and given the freedom to conquer the Raethonite peoples outside the reach of the Empire. (Rest of description WIP but wanted to post up so as to not be left behind)
Bumping this to bring it to anyone's attention!
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