HMS Coattail Flagship, Orange Star, 8/11
This was maddening! Every move he'd made, and the boy made one to counter it! Every strike opportunity thwarted! This kid had no weaknesses!
Olaf paced up and down, thinking of a way to defeat Andrew. Morale among his troops was kept up by reminiscence of their premiere victories, but they had lost the backbone of their assault. Most of his front-line ground units were in shambles. Troops through the forests were blasted away by artillery. Scouts destroyed by hiding missile troops. Tanks lost in confusion, forced into open, vulnerable areas while shells pummeled them from all sides.
But he had backup. A massive navy poised for destruction, and a quick sea strike to regain lost territory. These would deter the trio. It was he against them. Sure, Grit had helped a little bit against Maxwell, with the advantage of dense fog surrounding his position and superior artillery. But he couldn't save the attack from collapse. Not when things got clearer and more into the open.
He decided to call on his personal Navy just to get the drop on the Orange Star irregulars. He phoned his second general, Pfeiffer.
"Hello?" said a voice that sounded very deep and throaty, almost cancerous.
"Yes, Pfeiffer? I am giving you the order to strike soon, upon Sole harbor, with your fleet. We will need you to hold it as long as possible while I concoct a counterstrike."
"Yes, commander. When shall?"
"Try nighttime, maybe 400 hours tomorrow? Something to surprise them."
"Got it. I'll ready my troops right away."
"Oh, and Pfeiffer, just what had your fleet consisted of again?" Olaf asked indignantly, knowing exactly but wanting to hear it just for excitement's sake.
"Our three largest battleships, three submarines with nuclear capability and three old but completely refurbished cruisers. Al; ready to destroy, sir."
"Excellent. Be on your way."
Olaf hung up and chortled to himself, knowing that there was no way he could possibly fail.
--
Davenport, Orange Star, 8/11
Theobald looked out the window of the cell. It was thick glass instead of the more classic steel bars, and the cell itself was surprisingly clean and sanitary for such. He heard a guard open the door behind him, but remained still.
"Get up," said the guard as he opened the heavy iron door, which swung squeakily on its hinges. Theobald got up and walked out to the man, who was holding his rifle up at his torso level, seemingly knowing how sneaky Theobald was. He walked very briskly and jabbed him with the barrel whenever he lagged.
He was idled into a small, dank room, with three other people, all of whom looked like prisoners, and were chained together. He didn't recognize these three people from his unit, so he wasn't sure if they were survivors or just criminals or whatever. The guard attached the chains to his hands while another man scribbled something into a notebook.
"All right," the man said in a mild southern drawl. "If you all want to return to your country, then you'll have to behave until the fighting dies down," he said. Theobald was sure, now, that these four had been the scant few survivors. Everyone else had either retreated or died.
"Now, when I say behave, I mean do whatever we say, whenever we say. You see, we here aren't meant for notorious cruelty to our prisoners, like your nation, Blue Moon. But this offense is far worse than that of most prisoners of war." He emphasized 'war', pronouncing it woe-her. "You people have split in half out land, without warning, and with even less reasoning. To not eliminate you right here on the spot would be a leniency."
"We've got some work to do, rebuilding bunkers and such here, and we'd be glad if you helped us out on that," he said, motioning for the guard to usher them out at rifle point. The five of them walked through the hall, going deeper and deeper into the building, and eventually to a brick- walled, filthy underground cavern. Workers banged away at nails and knocked through damaged walls to put on fresh brick. They were led out to what looked like a cement bunker, smashed in completely and with powdered dust and dirt smeared around everywhere. Another man waited these.
"These are the four?" he asked. The guard nodded. "All right. I will coach you guys on repairing this," he said. He handed them mops. "First, you are to clean all of this filth off the floor," he said. The prisoners nodded, and the man stood there, while the four men began scrubbing away at it furiously. Theobald swore loudly to himself.
---
The night was quiet except for the gentle thrumming of the engines of Chamond Drake's landing craft. They plowed up the river, kicking up water on all sides. The Bounty River stretched through most of Northern Green Earth, and it was the perfect way to land a navel strike on the captured Dire Range airfield.
The landers came in two different sizes, as usual, one for small squads of infantry, and one for vehicles and large companies of troops. They docked on the easternmost beach of the range, while Eagle and his land-based army came up from the South, almost flanking the whole city. Troops in green cameo poured onto the beach, while Eagle's elite Fusiliers swarmed from the forest. The Orange Star gunners were unaware of their descent until it was too late to effectively stave off an attack; not a single beached Green Earth soldier was killed during the first wave of advance. They used grenades and plastic explosives to blast open the backs of the fortifications and execute the gunners inside. Others simply threw them into the front view port and incinerated them.
The Orange Star watchmen heard the ruckus and alerted their sleeping comrades, but were surrounded and silenced quickly by the approaching marines. Those who'd even tried firing back were to find themselves trapped by fire and killed in seconds. Sturdy Green Earth tanks, typically of the fixed-turret design, rolled through the streets and gave covering fire against the outnumbered Orange Star vehicles, overturning APCs before they had a chance to get away, while tanks were smashed in their parked positions.
Eagle jumped out of his command truck and waited as the Orange Star troops were rounded up. Searchlights bore down on them as they were dragged, two by two, disarmed and unequipped, into several straight columns.
"Search them all, and find Andrew Klein," said Eagle to the Fusiliers. They nodded and combed through the crowd, looking for any small, wiry man with frizzy black hair and a red mechanic's garb. And time after time, Andrew remained hidden. After several thorough searches, dawn was almost upon them, and still no Andrew had been turned up.
"He must have escaped, mate," said Drake as he bit his cigar. "The lad's a genius, he's probably staged an elaborate escape plan."
"But no vehicles were reported to have left the area since the attack, and it was confirmed that Andrew was leading it directly," said Eagle.
"Something doesn't seem quite right. According to an Orange Star news bulletin, Andrew had just recently driven Olaf's forces out of Davenport on the seventh. And that is when the dogs attacked this place. It doesn't make a lick of sense."
"I refuse to believe that my officers are incapable of a simple intelligence report," shouted Eagle. "I will get back at Andrew, whether or not it helps Blue Moon take over the region."
Within minutes, the city was in the hands of Green Earth again, and Theodore Eagle smiled as he ordered his airforce to regroup and prepare for the counterstrike on Orange Star.
This was maddening! Every move he'd made, and the boy made one to counter it! Every strike opportunity thwarted! This kid had no weaknesses!
Olaf paced up and down, thinking of a way to defeat Andrew. Morale among his troops was kept up by reminiscence of their premiere victories, but they had lost the backbone of their assault. Most of his front-line ground units were in shambles. Troops through the forests were blasted away by artillery. Scouts destroyed by hiding missile troops. Tanks lost in confusion, forced into open, vulnerable areas while shells pummeled them from all sides.
But he had backup. A massive navy poised for destruction, and a quick sea strike to regain lost territory. These would deter the trio. It was he against them. Sure, Grit had helped a little bit against Maxwell, with the advantage of dense fog surrounding his position and superior artillery. But he couldn't save the attack from collapse. Not when things got clearer and more into the open.
He decided to call on his personal Navy just to get the drop on the Orange Star irregulars. He phoned his second general, Pfeiffer.
"Hello?" said a voice that sounded very deep and throaty, almost cancerous.
"Yes, Pfeiffer? I am giving you the order to strike soon, upon Sole harbor, with your fleet. We will need you to hold it as long as possible while I concoct a counterstrike."
"Yes, commander. When shall?"
"Try nighttime, maybe 400 hours tomorrow? Something to surprise them."
"Got it. I'll ready my troops right away."
"Oh, and Pfeiffer, just what had your fleet consisted of again?" Olaf asked indignantly, knowing exactly but wanting to hear it just for excitement's sake.
"Our three largest battleships, three submarines with nuclear capability and three old but completely refurbished cruisers. Al; ready to destroy, sir."
"Excellent. Be on your way."
Olaf hung up and chortled to himself, knowing that there was no way he could possibly fail.
--
Davenport, Orange Star, 8/11
Theobald looked out the window of the cell. It was thick glass instead of the more classic steel bars, and the cell itself was surprisingly clean and sanitary for such. He heard a guard open the door behind him, but remained still.
"Get up," said the guard as he opened the heavy iron door, which swung squeakily on its hinges. Theobald got up and walked out to the man, who was holding his rifle up at his torso level, seemingly knowing how sneaky Theobald was. He walked very briskly and jabbed him with the barrel whenever he lagged.
He was idled into a small, dank room, with three other people, all of whom looked like prisoners, and were chained together. He didn't recognize these three people from his unit, so he wasn't sure if they were survivors or just criminals or whatever. The guard attached the chains to his hands while another man scribbled something into a notebook.
"All right," the man said in a mild southern drawl. "If you all want to return to your country, then you'll have to behave until the fighting dies down," he said. Theobald was sure, now, that these four had been the scant few survivors. Everyone else had either retreated or died.
"Now, when I say behave, I mean do whatever we say, whenever we say. You see, we here aren't meant for notorious cruelty to our prisoners, like your nation, Blue Moon. But this offense is far worse than that of most prisoners of war." He emphasized 'war', pronouncing it woe-her. "You people have split in half out land, without warning, and with even less reasoning. To not eliminate you right here on the spot would be a leniency."
"We've got some work to do, rebuilding bunkers and such here, and we'd be glad if you helped us out on that," he said, motioning for the guard to usher them out at rifle point. The five of them walked through the hall, going deeper and deeper into the building, and eventually to a brick- walled, filthy underground cavern. Workers banged away at nails and knocked through damaged walls to put on fresh brick. They were led out to what looked like a cement bunker, smashed in completely and with powdered dust and dirt smeared around everywhere. Another man waited these.
"These are the four?" he asked. The guard nodded. "All right. I will coach you guys on repairing this," he said. He handed them mops. "First, you are to clean all of this filth off the floor," he said. The prisoners nodded, and the man stood there, while the four men began scrubbing away at it furiously. Theobald swore loudly to himself.
---
The night was quiet except for the gentle thrumming of the engines of Chamond Drake's landing craft. They plowed up the river, kicking up water on all sides. The Bounty River stretched through most of Northern Green Earth, and it was the perfect way to land a navel strike on the captured Dire Range airfield.
The landers came in two different sizes, as usual, one for small squads of infantry, and one for vehicles and large companies of troops. They docked on the easternmost beach of the range, while Eagle and his land-based army came up from the South, almost flanking the whole city. Troops in green cameo poured onto the beach, while Eagle's elite Fusiliers swarmed from the forest. The Orange Star gunners were unaware of their descent until it was too late to effectively stave off an attack; not a single beached Green Earth soldier was killed during the first wave of advance. They used grenades and plastic explosives to blast open the backs of the fortifications and execute the gunners inside. Others simply threw them into the front view port and incinerated them.
The Orange Star watchmen heard the ruckus and alerted their sleeping comrades, but were surrounded and silenced quickly by the approaching marines. Those who'd even tried firing back were to find themselves trapped by fire and killed in seconds. Sturdy Green Earth tanks, typically of the fixed-turret design, rolled through the streets and gave covering fire against the outnumbered Orange Star vehicles, overturning APCs before they had a chance to get away, while tanks were smashed in their parked positions.
Eagle jumped out of his command truck and waited as the Orange Star troops were rounded up. Searchlights bore down on them as they were dragged, two by two, disarmed and unequipped, into several straight columns.
"Search them all, and find Andrew Klein," said Eagle to the Fusiliers. They nodded and combed through the crowd, looking for any small, wiry man with frizzy black hair and a red mechanic's garb. And time after time, Andrew remained hidden. After several thorough searches, dawn was almost upon them, and still no Andrew had been turned up.
"He must have escaped, mate," said Drake as he bit his cigar. "The lad's a genius, he's probably staged an elaborate escape plan."
"But no vehicles were reported to have left the area since the attack, and it was confirmed that Andrew was leading it directly," said Eagle.
"Something doesn't seem quite right. According to an Orange Star news bulletin, Andrew had just recently driven Olaf's forces out of Davenport on the seventh. And that is when the dogs attacked this place. It doesn't make a lick of sense."
"I refuse to believe that my officers are incapable of a simple intelligence report," shouted Eagle. "I will get back at Andrew, whether or not it helps Blue Moon take over the region."
Within minutes, the city was in the hands of Green Earth again, and Theodore Eagle smiled as he ordered his airforce to regroup and prepare for the counterstrike on Orange Star.