Authors note: Hey guys, sorry for not updating, a lack of inspiration and not enough time have contributed to that. But I'm back, I swear this story will get updates. Rate and Review!
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Brighton Beach
0911 Hours
The once peaceful beachside city was under siege. Soviet paratroopers had already landed, overwhelming the limited Peacekeeper units in the area that were stationed to reinforce the police units in the area. What's more, they were only clearing a path for a massive Soviet armada, packed with enough weaponry and heavy vehicles to crush Britain if they weren't stopped and allowed to land.
From corporal Anton's perceptive, that meant killing as many Reds as he could. "Where are those reinforcements?!" He yelled into his radio. "We're getting slaughtered out here!" And so far, he only bagged five. Leaving a thousand more to go.
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Skies over Brighton Beach
0915 Hours
"Just our ruddy luck." Muttered the engineer. "The Germans AND fresh meat."
Squad Epsilon was squeezed in with Alpha squad on a carrier model Century aircraft, removing the bomb bay for expanded troop carrying ability. It was still very cramped though, with two squads plus a unit of dogs.
Squad Alpha was made of the toughest troops of the second division of the 7th Attack division. Half of their squad were Germans, one wearing matte-black coat over light armor and had a array of various knifes in complement with his shotgun, one mostly covered in bandages covered up by heavy armor plates and wielding a assault rifle with a under barrel grenade launcher plus a lot of explosives, and one wearing heavy armor, a gas mask on his face, and a large grenade launcher along with a missile launcher strapped to his back. The other three members were an Italian, a Frenchman, and a British, the Italian wearing a monocular over his right eye and carrying a toolkit along with a SMG, the Frenchman carrying a sniper rifle and a binocular/ laser targeter, and the British had a bandana wrapped around his head and used a SAW heavy machine gun.
In contrast, Squad Epsilon was made of fresh recruits and a few barely experienced soldiers. Their latest one, Ray, was from America, to the engineer's disgust.
"Not my fault I was transferred here." Replied Ray, who was barely 19, with the rest of his squad being about 2 to ten years older than him.
"Don't give the new guy trouble." Said the German with the knifes.
"Shut up Anatov." Replied Celia, the engineer. "Noone want to hear you talk."
"Its true you know." said the bandaged German in a raspy voice, "You sound like a broken record."
"Knock it off Hank. Ain't funny." Said the Italian, trying to end the topic as he knew where it would lead.
"Always the spoilsport Giacomo." Retorted the Frenchman.
"Uh, hey. Speak English people?" Asked Ray. All the squad members were speaking in their native languages, understanding words better than they could speak them. Sadly for Ray, his training did not encompass European Languages 101.
"Shut up American." Said Celia, and Ray was about to retort quite rudely when the pilot's voice came over the intercom.
"Attention all passengers, this is your captain speaking, we are now currently arriving at Brighton Beach, weather forecast shows a shower of Communist and a balmy temperature of 74 degrees Fahrenheit. Please fasten your parachutes and thank you for choosing Allied airlines."
"I am going to kill that damn pilot when we get back muttered Celia as she, along with the rest of the two squads, fastened their parachute packs. The group of dogs with them were already fastened with time-delay release version.
The bay lights turned red and the aft hatch opened. The wind was already beginning to streak in. The squads didn't see any flak that characteristic of Bullfrog transports, that meant there was still time to save Brighton.
The bay lights turned green. "Go! Go! Go!" And the two squads leaped out of the transport, dogs following. Their mission: kill every Red in the city.
And all across the skies of Brighton, the entirety of the 7th Attack division's infantry parachuted into the battlefield. They were all that stood between a free Britain and a Communist future.
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Allied Command Center 132
Unknown location in America.
0916 Hours
Russel didn't like this. The 7th Attack division were all the troops the Allies could muster to defend Brighton, most of their troops were tied down in Europe, leaving only a handful of divisions to defend Britain.
Aside from the 7th, a battalion of mechanized troops were inbound, 30 minutes till arrival. But they were mostly multigunner IFV's and carried light troops, discarding their guardian tanks to get to Brighton quicker.
In terms of orbital assets, a mark one orbital cryolaser satellite was being moved into position in geosynchronous orbit over Brighton Beach. Although he would have preferred a few solar laser and kinetic strike weapons platforms instead, but most of them were being used in Europe.
His thoughts were interrupted as Commander Giles' face came to view on his main viewer. "So. You're the new commander? Well shape up quick. I'll be taking command of the first company, you'll take command of the second. Commanders Warren and Lissette will take the third and fourth to secure the north while we secure the beach."
"Understood. Uploading my squad trackers now." Replied russel, switching to all-business mode.
"You better know what you are doing." Said Giles, obviously not believing that Russel could command a company of soldiers.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll get it done you Brit. No need to get miffed just because the Commies are attacking during your teatime." Retorted Russel, now switching to sarcasm mode.
"Why you-. As a matter of fact: I enjoy my midday tea! Just get into position!" And with that, the British commander cut the connection in his brief moment of anger.
Russel then turned to his main command station, a set of computers specifically designed to command his troops. Part of it was voice controlled, which is why he put on a headset with a microphone.
"Squad Alpha, move to point Gamma. Squad Delta, attack hostile 1."
The battle for Brighton had begun.