Wellington, 8/1
Columns of troops swept over the city. It was an Orange Star seaport, and it was located several miles beyond the landing point. Due to lack of resistance, Blue Moon had taken roughly a quarter of the country in only a few days. They would attempt to starve Orange Star of their resources and attempt an easy takeover.
On the radar, Maxwell McDowell scowled at the advancing phalanx of red dots among the city. He was a very large man who had an insistent habit of weight training. Whenever he was not in command, or sleeping, or kissing up to Nellie Sarcowsky, he was weight training. Whenever a pair of his muscles burned, he would work another area of his body.
His opposing commanding officer was a coward of the most indigenous type-a sniper. Not a shady man who waited on a rooftop, but a militant prude that focused almost entirely on artillery and rarely brought his troops into direct combat.
Maxwell's efforts in the war had been well founded but hopeless. His bombers had been shot down by incredibly accurate SAM fire, and he had lost control of the seaport, so a navel battle would not take place. His ground forces had only one way to attack the city, and that was to charge straight into the city and destroy everything. And considering the astounding range and accuracy of the enemy's artillery, and the short range and weak munitions of his, it was suicide. He had always modified his tanks to have incredible firepower to their weapons, with a larger caliber gun and greater propellant, but it was useless now.
He spat into a rusty bucket beside him and adjusted his radio to summon his crew.
"Captain!" he said in his booming voice.
"Yes, sir!"
"Tell Nellie I hit an impossible standpoint in this battle, and I can't do squat. We gotta to pull out quickly, or we'll suffer blistering artillery fire."
"Yes, sir!" the man repeated, and he goose-stepped off to the officer's lounge while Maxwell sat and pondered. Would it be possible to go through the forest? Or maybe cut around the enemy city and attack from all sides? It would require faster transportation, better trained troops and more convincing capture potential. This would most definitely be the perfect job for his partner, Samantha Rowe. She conceived battle in an entirely different way from him, but it was far more helpful in certain situations. If only they had a third commander so that it would be easier to concentrate themselves at more effective locations.
Sole Harbor, 8/1
Gratin had never felt so used in his life. He had broken Orange Star's recovering line of defense, and it seemed to be for no reason. Why would Olaf make him do this? What was he truly planning? And how was he supposed to continue with this?
"Gratin! Are you listening?" yelled Olaf over the radio. "I want you to press on to the capital immediately. We have to act fast, or we'll lose our opportunity.
"To what? Why are we doing this?"
"We are getting rid of them once and for all," said Olaf with a snarl in his voice. "After they have been removed, we will become the world's super power once more. What's more important right now is that I'm needed for the second battalion right now. Apparently, our beloved general Fritz has been lost in battle, and they are falling to superior, brewing numbers in the North. I will be arriving by helicopter tomorrow. Good-bye."
Gratin turned the knob on the radio and reluctantly ordered his troops to continue. His battleship, the Shrike, bobbed up and down slowly in the cold, murky waters. He wasn't anxious to see Olaf. He wasn't anxious to keep fighting, either. He didn't know what to do. He remembered back when he used to work for a rifle company in Orange Star. His boss, Maxwell McDowell, pulled him up and helped him to get educated in munitions and tactical strategy. He had become one of the best in the nation in the field of direct combat tactics, while Gratin had created some of the most effective long-range guns in history. They were opposites. And now he worked for Olaf, a demanding, self-indulgent man who could stir up powerful morale with his people. They didn't seem to fit together nearly as well.
Sole Harbor, 8/1
"We're moving on already?" asked Theobald to his comrade.
"I don't know. Sarge!" he yelled.
"Yes, Henry, we're preparing another charge. It seems we've destroyed what little army they'd begun to build."
"Great, sir, but why are we doing this?"
"Beats me, son, but orders is orders," he said as he bit his stogie. "I would have thought we might have at least warned them Orange people before we cut their nation in half, but it seems Olaf has got somethin' new planned. Gratin says we're trying to become the dominant power in the Western Hemisphere again."
"But we've never been the dominant power. Green Earth has always been larger and more powerful, and Orange Star surpassed us technologically."
"Well, it all seems like a good idea to me. I mean, who are these candy- ass, whiny little people to tell ours what to do? Now let's move out." He motioned in a stick-arm fashion to head on into the woods.
Theobald concurred, but sullenly. He stepped through the narrow paths in the trees. It was dense, cool and green, and he was thankful he wasn't in those frigid boats again. As the path widened, he climbed aboard the handrail on the side of a full armored personnel carrier. It sped up, and the forests widened into a clean, paved road. Large cities were visible ahead. Mountains loomed over them, and forests seemed to swallow up all else. It was much more beautiful than the frigid tundra wastes and arctic desert that Blue Moon had settled for. But the distant shots that rang out from the city tainted the beauty.
The APC stopped. The row of vehicles spread out around the road and slowed to a stop. A whistling noise sounded as two petrol shells exploded in front of them. A missile streaked overhead. Theobald climbed down and got behind the APC for cover with his fellow soldiers. The Blue Moon artillery began to thunder away in their positions, while the tanks maneuvered to the side and fired their less effective shells. More charges exploded around them, and one hit the APC and tossed it into the air.
"Holy crap!" yelled Theobald. The soldiers regrouped behind other vehicles. It was cowardly, but it was an excellent way to avoid getting hit by artillery-even if the protecting vehicle was hit, it wouldn't hurt the crouching soldiers behind it unless it was knocked back a lot. After a short while, the shelling stopped. The Blue Moon guns had gone silent. Orange Star had been beaten again. It was much too easy.
Davenport Commanding Officer Outstanding Achievement Ceremony, 8/4
"Andrew Klein!"
The
Columns of troops swept over the city. It was an Orange Star seaport, and it was located several miles beyond the landing point. Due to lack of resistance, Blue Moon had taken roughly a quarter of the country in only a few days. They would attempt to starve Orange Star of their resources and attempt an easy takeover.
On the radar, Maxwell McDowell scowled at the advancing phalanx of red dots among the city. He was a very large man who had an insistent habit of weight training. Whenever he was not in command, or sleeping, or kissing up to Nellie Sarcowsky, he was weight training. Whenever a pair of his muscles burned, he would work another area of his body.
His opposing commanding officer was a coward of the most indigenous type-a sniper. Not a shady man who waited on a rooftop, but a militant prude that focused almost entirely on artillery and rarely brought his troops into direct combat.
Maxwell's efforts in the war had been well founded but hopeless. His bombers had been shot down by incredibly accurate SAM fire, and he had lost control of the seaport, so a navel battle would not take place. His ground forces had only one way to attack the city, and that was to charge straight into the city and destroy everything. And considering the astounding range and accuracy of the enemy's artillery, and the short range and weak munitions of his, it was suicide. He had always modified his tanks to have incredible firepower to their weapons, with a larger caliber gun and greater propellant, but it was useless now.
He spat into a rusty bucket beside him and adjusted his radio to summon his crew.
"Captain!" he said in his booming voice.
"Yes, sir!"
"Tell Nellie I hit an impossible standpoint in this battle, and I can't do squat. We gotta to pull out quickly, or we'll suffer blistering artillery fire."
"Yes, sir!" the man repeated, and he goose-stepped off to the officer's lounge while Maxwell sat and pondered. Would it be possible to go through the forest? Or maybe cut around the enemy city and attack from all sides? It would require faster transportation, better trained troops and more convincing capture potential. This would most definitely be the perfect job for his partner, Samantha Rowe. She conceived battle in an entirely different way from him, but it was far more helpful in certain situations. If only they had a third commander so that it would be easier to concentrate themselves at more effective locations.
Sole Harbor, 8/1
Gratin had never felt so used in his life. He had broken Orange Star's recovering line of defense, and it seemed to be for no reason. Why would Olaf make him do this? What was he truly planning? And how was he supposed to continue with this?
"Gratin! Are you listening?" yelled Olaf over the radio. "I want you to press on to the capital immediately. We have to act fast, or we'll lose our opportunity.
"To what? Why are we doing this?"
"We are getting rid of them once and for all," said Olaf with a snarl in his voice. "After they have been removed, we will become the world's super power once more. What's more important right now is that I'm needed for the second battalion right now. Apparently, our beloved general Fritz has been lost in battle, and they are falling to superior, brewing numbers in the North. I will be arriving by helicopter tomorrow. Good-bye."
Gratin turned the knob on the radio and reluctantly ordered his troops to continue. His battleship, the Shrike, bobbed up and down slowly in the cold, murky waters. He wasn't anxious to see Olaf. He wasn't anxious to keep fighting, either. He didn't know what to do. He remembered back when he used to work for a rifle company in Orange Star. His boss, Maxwell McDowell, pulled him up and helped him to get educated in munitions and tactical strategy. He had become one of the best in the nation in the field of direct combat tactics, while Gratin had created some of the most effective long-range guns in history. They were opposites. And now he worked for Olaf, a demanding, self-indulgent man who could stir up powerful morale with his people. They didn't seem to fit together nearly as well.
Sole Harbor, 8/1
"We're moving on already?" asked Theobald to his comrade.
"I don't know. Sarge!" he yelled.
"Yes, Henry, we're preparing another charge. It seems we've destroyed what little army they'd begun to build."
"Great, sir, but why are we doing this?"
"Beats me, son, but orders is orders," he said as he bit his stogie. "I would have thought we might have at least warned them Orange people before we cut their nation in half, but it seems Olaf has got somethin' new planned. Gratin says we're trying to become the dominant power in the Western Hemisphere again."
"But we've never been the dominant power. Green Earth has always been larger and more powerful, and Orange Star surpassed us technologically."
"Well, it all seems like a good idea to me. I mean, who are these candy- ass, whiny little people to tell ours what to do? Now let's move out." He motioned in a stick-arm fashion to head on into the woods.
Theobald concurred, but sullenly. He stepped through the narrow paths in the trees. It was dense, cool and green, and he was thankful he wasn't in those frigid boats again. As the path widened, he climbed aboard the handrail on the side of a full armored personnel carrier. It sped up, and the forests widened into a clean, paved road. Large cities were visible ahead. Mountains loomed over them, and forests seemed to swallow up all else. It was much more beautiful than the frigid tundra wastes and arctic desert that Blue Moon had settled for. But the distant shots that rang out from the city tainted the beauty.
The APC stopped. The row of vehicles spread out around the road and slowed to a stop. A whistling noise sounded as two petrol shells exploded in front of them. A missile streaked overhead. Theobald climbed down and got behind the APC for cover with his fellow soldiers. The Blue Moon artillery began to thunder away in their positions, while the tanks maneuvered to the side and fired their less effective shells. More charges exploded around them, and one hit the APC and tossed it into the air.
"Holy crap!" yelled Theobald. The soldiers regrouped behind other vehicles. It was cowardly, but it was an excellent way to avoid getting hit by artillery-even if the protecting vehicle was hit, it wouldn't hurt the crouching soldiers behind it unless it was knocked back a lot. After a short while, the shelling stopped. The Blue Moon guns had gone silent. Orange Star had been beaten again. It was much too easy.
Davenport Commanding Officer Outstanding Achievement Ceremony, 8/4
"Andrew Klein!"
The