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Post by Warork on Jun 6, 2015 5:31:33 GMT
"But here in this graveyard that's still no mans land, The countless white crosses in mute witness stand. To man's blind indifference to his fellow man, And a whole generation were butchered and damned."
Hello there. I'm making this thread for all those Iron Empire players who are interested in writing fiction pieces based on the events in Nate's Nations game. This thread is for the posting of any "In character" segments you can think up whether they be actual pieces of fiction or journal entries from soldiers, quotes from different characters, or whatever else you guys' twisted little minds can come up with.
I'll be making the first post for it soon...stay tuned...
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Post by Warork on Jun 8, 2015 3:47:53 GMT
12th of May, 1912
Fort Stockton, Texas
At times like these Brigadier General Alexander Morgan liked fantasize in his mind a bit. It was the only thing that kept his mind off the blazing heat, the bright sun beating down on his head, and the god damned bugs. He swatted at one on the back of his neck absent mindedly. Damn things, he'd give his commission just to be rid of them.
General Morgan liked to pretend that he was Scipio Africanus. It was certainly fitting then that he had been posted here in the wastes of the southwestern desert, an equal to North Africa if he had ever seen one. He waved a gnat from his sweat covered brow contemptuously and wondered if the great Roman general had ever had to deal with bugs like the ones they had in Texas. He quickly surmised that it was possible. Morgan looked out onto the yellow-white plains of dirt and sparse grass to the southwest. Out there under the bright blue, cloudless sky lay in wait his enemy...his Carthage in this case.
"Carthago delenda est." He said to himself as he raised his field glasses up to his eyes to scan the horizon. He had a tremendous view from the top of the Fort Stockton redoubt; a construction of mud bricks stacked twenty feet high that had served as a small fortification during the first Mexican-American war. Now it was reinforced with mounds of sandbags, spools of barbed wire and the bulbous muzzles of maxim guns. A slight shadow fell across him, Morgan looked up and to his right. There in the wind waved his legionary banner; the red and white striped pennant of glory with a blue field of white stars. Around him, below upon the ramparts of the fort and in the town around it as well as from here all the way to the Guadalupe mountains in the distance were an army, his army, legionarys in their own right. It might have been that the days of scarlet red tunics under plates of metal armor were gone along with the gladius and the scutum and replaced with olive drab and springfield rifles. Yes, the old days of Rome might be gone but here and now in this moment with the sun high above him Morgan was not a Brigadier but a Consul surveying the field he would give battle in.
"What's that, sir?" A voice bearing a distinct Tennessee accent said, completely shattering Morgan's illusion. Morgan looked away from his field glasses for a moment at the intrusion only to see that the voice had come from his adjutant; a bright eyed young man wearing a green mud hat that conspired to look too big for him. He stood at ease, waiting for the general's response patiently.
"Ever read of the Punic wars, lieutenant?" Morgan asked, returning to his view of the field.
"Well...can't say that I have, sir." the lieutenant said, swatting a bug that had landed on his wrist. Morgan chuckled, he wasn't sure how he kept forgetting that the lieutenant was not a well educated man. He was a good soldier, and Morgan was thankful to have his ranks filled with good soldiers, but he sometimes missed the days of lecture and debate about classical writing and history back home in Massachusetts.
"Cato the Elder was a Roman patrican and senator during the time of the Republic's wars with Carthage." Morgan explained, he wasn't sure why of course, he knew the lieutenant probably had no idea what he was talking about. "When the Carthaginians steered for war for a third time in a generation, the elder had had enough. From the time that Carthage and Rome went to war to the time that Scipio Africanus razed Carthage to the ground Cato would end all of his speeches on the floor of the Roman senate with the phrase 'Carthago delenda est."
"Sounds like he was awful sore about it, then." The lieutenant said in his usual way of stating the obvious when he didn't understand what was going on. Morgan laughed and adjusted his officer's cap with his fingers gloved in fine leather.
"Yes, I suppose he was." There was a pause for a few moments before Morgan finally lowered his field glasses and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was only 10 am but the Texan day was already sweltering.
"You know, lieutenant." Morgan began somberly. "I suppose that is the way of some nations. These Mexicans, just like the Carthaginians all those thousands of years ago, think the only way to rid themselves of us is to pursue war against our republic."
"You think the Mexicans ever read about all that Carthage business?"
Morgan suppressed his laugh this time, it wouldn't due to make the lieutenant think he was belittling him. "No, I don't suppose so. Else they would know the words of Scipio Africanus; 'Bellum parate, quoniam pacem pati non potuistis."
Now it was the lieutenant's turn to laugh. "Those Romans sure did talk funny."
Morgan was just about to respond when a soldier quickly bounded up the stairs to the parapet they were sharing and saluted Morgan and the lieutenant.
"General Morgan?" The man inquired. Morgan returned the salute and nodded. The soldier produced a piece of paper; a telegram. Morgan quickly took it and read it.
"Attack imminent along entire front. Orders from Washington are clear; hold positions. Do not let the enemy pass. -Lieutenant General Harrison"
Morgan read the order a few more times before looking up. "Well," he said. "This appears to be it, boys. Lieutenant?"
"Sir?" The dutiful adjutant said, coming to attention.
"Find me some runners to spread the word to all units; the enemy is coming, we must hold him back here, understood?"
The lieutenant and soldier both saluted Morgan and quickly ran down the steps leading up to the parapet, leaving the General alone above everything else. Morgan felt a single pang of fear slice into his heart like an icicle. He wondered how many of his men would live to see tomorrow, but just like every time the thought entered his mind, he pushed it away. He had long ago accepted that his duty as an officer sometimes had to supersede the well being of his troops no matter how badly it hurt him to see them hurting. He looked out to southwest again, there, across the plains was Mexico and the hordes that would spew forth from it...no...not Mexico...Carthage.
"Carthago delenda est." Morgan repeated to himself. "Carthage must be destroyed."
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Post by admiral9 on Jun 28, 2015 18:12:44 GMT
The Tibor offensive
The 3rd of November
South of kursk
A cold breeze swept through the trench lines south of kursk, the sun had only barely started rising but the watches were ever vigilant. A scant kilometre or two north of this position were the Austro Hungarians, according to the reports this part of the front was relatively quiet with little troop movement occurring. Some of the early risers began their breakfast in preparation for the long duty in the trench lines. All was truly quiet on the front. Private Timoshenko, belonging to the 4th platoon was on guard duty at the time, he had a picture of his home sweetheart which he was longingly watching instead of looking at the desolate wastes that separated the two trenches. in this wasteland where none were supposed to be walking lest machinegun nests would tear them apart were the veteran storm troopers of the Ukrainian liberation army, after their baptism by fire in Kharkov these battle hardened men had been refitted and would now form the spearhead of Operation “die Tore der Moscow”. This operation would be the beginning of the great Austro Hungarian counter offensive to retake the Donbas and encircle and subsequently reduce the million Russians invested in the fight until all were eliminated. Two hours later was when the official start time of the operation was scheduled, and it started with the opening of the gates of hell.
Over 400 guns all pointing at the couple hundred meter wide stretch of land that was designated as the breakthrough point, a furious bombardment, one heavy enough to shake the earths in the imagination of the Russians poured down on them, hundreds died in the devastating onslaught and many more were wounded, 5 hours afterwards when the trenches were a mess and the lines of communications broken, the remaining Russians sighed a breath of relieve hoping that this would signal the end of this hell on earth, how mistaken they were.
Timoshenko was one of the lucky ones… he lived, at the start of the bombardment he had managed to dig himself into an already existing foxhole desperately praying for this to end. When it did with his rifle in hand he crawled out of the dirt filled hole, the scenery that he viewed was one of hell, limbs and blood were scattered all over the line and smoking craters covered the entire line. Struggling to keep the contents of his bowels inside of him he made his way back to the trench lines, as he crawled up to look over the breastwork he realized he was dead.
“Bozhe moy” were the only words that escaped from his mouth as he saw the wave of Ukrainians approaching, he could not imagine how they got so close in this time but they did, his life ended when a flurry of shots was aimed at him 4 of which hit him in the torso and head. Similar results were found all over the line with the ruthless charge of the “Voyovnychyy” smashing into the Russian lines and breaking it open.
This was followed up with the arrival of the 1st corps honved, 4th corps landwehr, 2nd corps honved, armee der panzerwagen and the 3rd corps of the common army the infantry corps widened the breach substantially and secured a proper breachead through which the armee der panzerwagen raced, its objective was Kharkov.
The 6th of November
Rus'ka Lozova
The blitzkrieg had proceeded exceptionally over the past three days, with little to no resistance being faced by the armee der panzerwagen’s dash for Kharkov and the support corps filling in the holes left by the offensive, it could have not gone better. The first battle of the armee der panzerwagen took place at Rus'ka Lozova. A scant 10 kilometers north of kharkov. the men had been well trained and they had a large variety of mechanized wonders in their inventory, A Russian corps that had been dispatched to support the attack against the line was met at this village, not expecting to see Austro Hungarians here they mounted a desperate defense, it was all for naught though. Before the formation even reached the village itself to properly dig in the noise of planes was heard in the skies, when they looked up and saw monoplanes they assumed that they were scout planes intended to carry out reconnoitre of the situation, how wrong they were.
half of the planes broke off from the main formation and swooped down, with great speed they dived for the infantry and after dropping bombs they were gone just as quickly. Explosions were widespread and in the utter confusion large amounts of the corps was scattered, under constant machinegun, cannon and bomb harassment all cohesion was lost in the Russian lines, this situation was thoroughly exploited by the forces of the armee der panzerwagen which rushed in. The kugars and armatas of the motorised divisions tore the Russians apart leaving small isolated groups to be finished by the infantry, it was nothing but a total slaughter with the entire corps being destroyed to the man. Upon the arrival of the supporting infantry formations of the honved and landwehr the Armee der PzW went on, continuing to Kharkov.
8th of November
Above the skies of Kharkov
The Russian air fleet had scrambled to prepare itself for harassment of the armee der PzW in an effort to slow them down, 150 Romanovs, an impressive air force were in the air, they were met 40 of the new invention called the Phönix M.1/1913 an all metal monoplane, the Russian Romanov pilots already familiar with the fact that the only planes in the Austrian arsenal were parasol scoutplanes scoffed at the thought that such a low number could even try to fight the tsars airforce.
Pilot Erwin von Hausdorf was one of the pilots in this battle, he had been through months of training in preparation for this offensive and he had also participated in the decisive victory achieved at Rus'ka Lozova, he communicated that he would engage through the beeps and boops of his wireless telegraph and speeded up, he was flying at nearly 300 kilometers per hour climbing all the while, the rocking of the plane mixed with the sound of the engine reverberating through his cockpit as he put his sights on the first Romanov he saw, diving from the height he had gained he let loose a barrage of fire, the twin 23mm cannons in the wings barked and a dozen bullets were launched, 2 hit the right wing of the Romanov making it explode in an impressive manner, his next foe was dispatched using the machine guns mounted in the wings and nose which he used to riddle the fuselage of the biplane full with 8mm fire killing the pilot and gunner outright, fighting similar to this took place all over the line, the Russian pilots simply weren’t capable of even getting on the tail of a phönix as they were long gone when they tried, the only two planes that managed to escape did so through extreme luck and the fact that the Phönixes had started running out of ammo and fuel, at the end of the day with 148 romanovs shot down to zero phönixes it had been shown how war would be fought, the age of the biplane had long passed.
The 10th to 13th of November
Kharkov
Under the heavy fire of artillery the second battle of Kharkov began, the 100mm guns of the armee der panzerwagen had begun preparation fire on the suburbs supported by the Phönixes that were bombing inside the city, the first corps of Mikhail Dragan’s first army was positioned in Kharkov and had been suffering heavily but nonetheless having been informed of the approaching threat had managed to dig in, upon the arrival of the armee der panzertruppen at Kharkov they faced a well prepared enemy force, they had dug into the houses and albeit having been under heavy fire managed to fend off the first wave inflicting light losses on the Austro Hungarians, the assault was called off to be continued the day after, after a heavy preparation bombardment supported once more by constant strafing runs of the Phönixes a breakthrough was achieved on the second day, using a force of motorised infantry and kugars a small crack was opened through which the trucks raced, widening the breach until it collapsed, this was when the Russians retreated into the city proper, the battle devolved into brutal urban combat here with thousands dying on both sides and with the motorised ability of the Austro Hungarians being rendered almost useless in the rough city, on the 13th of November success was finally achieved with Mikhail Dragan ordering a retreat out of Kharkov, the battered first corps retreated towards Voronezh after abandoning Kharkov, and with that within 10 days the blitzkrieg had achieved its first objective cutting major rail lines into the Donbas off and taking the first strongpoint necessary for the encirclement of the million men inside the growing pocket
The 28th of November
All of the donbas
Lajoz tobor, the mastermind behind the victory at kiev and the schwerpunkt tactics carried out at the start of the operation had been watching the operations success from his field HQ situated at kursk since its beginning, and after receiving the news of the successful capture of kharkov had been planning a second offensive meant to neatly cut the Russian forces in the donbas in half, creating two pockets
One at korsun-cherkassy and one at Donetsk, each consisting of about 500.000 men, with the arrival of the Romanian army at the Dnieper line this gave the landwehr and honved holding these positions more strategic manoeuvring space which allowed for the drawing up of an offensive meant to be launched from Dnepropetrovsk Kharkov and Kiev exploiting the confusion caused finishing the total encirclement, this operation was launched at the 28th of November and met similar success, completely cutting through the Russian lines like a hot knife through butter, with minimal losses being taken thanks to the supporting attacks of the airforce the total encirclement was achieved on the 28th of November barely 13 days after commencing the operation, now the only obstacle in the way of total victory was Rostov no don, the city that had perfectly represented the way the wars of old were fought and would once more be the city that showed how the new wars would be won.
The 30th of November
Rostov
The final objective of the blitzkrieg had been the recently lost city of Rostov no don, in a shameful retreat the city had been abandoned in an effort to save the lives of as many men in the area, thanks to this a large number of wounded men had to be left behind, Százados (captain) Géza Lakatos who commanded the 3rd attached infantry support company from the honved 2nd corps had been marching with the armee der panzerwagen during their blitz towards Rostov.
“It was a cakewalk, we were expecting our strongest resistance yet but under the cover of our phönixes and driving in our trucks there was nearly none, upon arrival in the city we faced small pockets of resistance but there was no organized defence, upon interrogation of Russian PoW’s we discovered why, it was fear. The news of our attack upon reaching Rostov had caused massed desertion within the Russian ranks leading to the few men remaining loyal to not stand a chance… but you see, this was not the worst tragedy. I fought in Rostov, I held the lines against the onslaught during the snowfall and I got on the ships afterwards but not all were as lucky, my friend and second in command Károly Beregfy was severely wounded and could not be brought on, he told me to, go pleading that I should take care of our men, and so I did swearing I would come back for him, upon arrival I took a squad of men with me and started scouring the city in search for any prisoners… we found many we found half dug graves filled with the dead bodies of our old comrades, each had gunshot wounds showing that they were most likely shot dead and subsequently thrown in these mass graves, we didn’t know what to say, we had been fighting a war we thought not a murder campaign, we fought for the freedom of our comrades not to shoot prisoners and ignore their plight… an attached news reporter that had gone with us took a picture of the graves as horrified at the events as us, this truly was a war that we had to win lest the Ukrainians will suffer this faith too”.
Russian losses: 250,000 men (Mostly desertion); 148 Romanovs
AHE losses: 12,000 men; 16 armoured cars
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Post by Deleted on Jun 29, 2015 1:14:51 GMT
“Operation Sky Lion”
“It was a surreal moment, as the drop doors opened, spilling in the lights of london into our otherwise lightness enclosure. Everyone was tense, you could cut the silence with a knife, but no one dared.
Then the commander gave the order, and 1st corps was off their perch and into the night air. Then the next. And the next. It was interesting,seeing their parachutes open up, slowly engulfing the city below as the floated down.
Then it was my turn. Without hesitation I jumped out, letting months of training take over. The wind against my face was sometime fierce, cold, terrifying.
As I drifted down,after my parachute had activated, I just focused on the ground, letting my nerves work themselves out. Already,i could see it was chaos below, gunshots echoed up to me louder and louder as the ground and fires drew nearer to me.
It was madness, men running around, shooting off their revolvers at anyone not wearing a dutch uniform, stabbing men and officers as they begged for mercy, while others desperately tried to pry open the rifle crates that had dropped along with us, when they could find one not on a roof that is.
When I landed, it was in the middle of a brawl, british cops and dutch airborne fighting like mad. I was in a panic, attempting to hack my way out of my infernal harness. At some point it worked, and I regained awareness with my thumbs sunk into some poor saps eyes. I felt nothing, and merely got to my feet, following my fellow dutchmen as they rushed, screaming like devils towards what we thought would lead us straight to the palace. At least I think we thought that. We were mad, men who had rained from the sky like angels of death, adrenalin in our veins.
Eventually we did reach the palace, guns and knives having carved a path through innocent blood to get there. The palace doors were already open, dutch running in and out, climbing through shattered windows to get into the thing. With an animalistic scream, our horde joined in. no drilling couldve truly prepared us for this first drop, our minds simply a wash of emotions focused on the mission, and nothing else.
Not even an hour later, we had the king, we had the royal family. The grenadiers were handing over their guns and weaponry, even their hats and coats if asked. With the rush of the battle slowly fading, we were regrouping slowly, both in rank and mind.
The king and his family were lead away, and we were put to work securing the city mostly peacefully, after what little resistance was either informed of the situation or put down.
I write this as mourning dawns, sitting eating some quite nice cheese and drinking some beer I got from some store or the other. A young boy stares at me from his window across the street,when he isn't staring up at the mass of zepplins blotting out the sun. I wonder, if he had dream of being a soldier for his glorious empire.
I wonder if he understands I have crushed those dreams. Crushed it like a divine punishment from god himself.”
-Marten Van Houten, of the Dutch Paratroopers First platoon
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