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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Dec 6, 2007 22:55:04 GMT -5
(OOC: Ignatious: I fixed it, and you were correct about me meaning to Put O'Riener! And you, Canton, I meant to keep the fight in the warehouse going, but whatever I guess, unless you want to edit your post)
General Azana was happy to hear this of the man, but also needed to explain his situation as he sensed the man felt he was a moron.
"Well Mr. O'Riener, I realize your status within the S.S.A. don't get me wrong.I am not an idiot although it may seem quite the contrary. The only thing is, most Military commanders are too stubborn and bull headed to think outside of the box. They also are not as intelligent with matters outside of warfare, which is why I brought you here.
Azana continued..."My perfect example of what I just said would be enemy #1, Francisco Franco, a perfect example indeed! But, enough with this talk, I need to go make sure everything is going well so far. I have no 'assignments' par say at the moment, so feel free to go as you please, but take this phone with you. I'll call you when I need you. You may want to examine the information in here a bit too."
With that Mr. Azana, grabbed the sunglasses off the desk, and opened the door quickly, shuffling to the side to avoid running into the door, and then slammed the door as he rapidly walked away. He was told a new letter from another nation had arrived showing their support for him.
O'Riener was left in the room, a few others inside, but with headphones on listening to the radio's and what not trying to get information. There were piles of papers everywhere on the old wooden table. Computers littered the desk space along the walls as well, some operated by people, others just running on their own. All that could be heard were the clicks of a key board, and the beeps from the machines.
City Limits, Old Warehouse
The Group of 9 men realized they were in trouble. The enemy had not found their exact locations, but knew they were in the upper floors by now. They were pinned down in their spot, so as soon as they were found they would be as good as dead. One man turned his scope and saw another man running across the floor below. He waited to shoot, knowing that it was too hard of a shot to make. Then man disappeared, leaving the silence to control the air once again.
The men were beginning to get really nervous. They did not know that there were so many Nationalists. They would have run if they did, but they were stuck there now. The sniper could still see everything, and was now in a new blind, behind an old furnace on the top floor. He aimed below and saw two men, one had fallen asleep, and he shot the man that was awake. The other man rose from his slumber, but was delayed in realising his friend was shot, then a bullet reached him in the chest. The Sniper grinned at his accomplishment. No one would know where he was, as it was two excellent shots.
Just then, a group of enemies, stood up and released a wave of steel bullets into the Defenders. Yes, they were hidden behind the manikins, but they were just plastic. Two men were shot in the leg and arm, and another man came close to being hit in the head and dying. Then, as soon as the wave started, then men rounded a corner into a hallway and took cover again.
The defenders now had 9 men, two with injuries that may kill them with time, and another man that as petrified at the fact his life flashed before him. It would only be a matter of time until the grim reaper himself would come to claim victory over the fight.
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Post by Canton Rouge on Dec 7, 2007 16:02:17 GMT -5
Old Warehouse, City Limits
Claude now sensed that with less shots being fired from the Republicans, the time had come to end the firefight once and for all. He yelled out, "Prepare to assault!" Cries of his order followed down to the other 27 people that were still combat capable. As soon as everyone was ready, Claude cried out, "Assault!!!"
As soon as the order was given, all of his men started to rush into the warehouse. Of course, the Republicans took this time to fire down at the Nationalists, killing at least six. But eventually, everyone was able to get into the warehouse, and behind cover.
Claude now decided to flush the Republicans out of hiding, to end the battle before he lost more soldiers. Reaching into his left pocket, he pulled out an M67 fragmentation grenade. He pulled the pin, counted to two, then threw said grenade onto the second floor, where the Republicans were hiding. After he heard the 'BOOM!' of the grenade, Claude yelled, "Assault the second floor, pronto!"
With his order, everyone started to climb the stairs, ready to cut down any survivors that were still in hiding amongst the mannequins. But what Claude was not aware of, was that...
Around the same time, Docks of Barcelona
"Unload the cargo here!" a quartermaster shouted. Upon his command, the dock worked started to move the boxes of supplies from the awaiting cargo ship to the docks. Next to the cargo ship, a converted liner to troop ship was busy unloading 5,000 soldiers belonging to the 147th Voltiguers, a prime infantry unit from Canton Rouge. Around the same time, Stryker APCs were being delivered from another cargo ship, but this time, they were driving off a ramp and onto a shallow beach area next to the Canton Rouge base. Watching over this was Brigadier General Yohann Burgermeister, an experienced soldier with 30 years under his belt. Next to him was Command Sergeant Michael Willard, the division's communication officer; Captain Beau LeGrauer, a devouted Stryker commander; and Lieutenant Michelle Davis, a superb infantry leader.
"Beautiful day to send word that these Nationalists will not gain any ground here," General Burgermeister said, a hint of charm in his eyes. He knew that though the Nationalists had expertise in urban warfare, with his army now, their advantage was null.
"Enough of my hopes though," the general continued. "We're starting our war right now. Captain LeGrauer, Lieutenant Davis, I have a joint operations assignment for your units. According to Republican intel, the Nationalists are holed up in Estacion Santos, three kilometers west of here. Estacion Santos is practically a fortress, between all of the barricades and roadblocks there. Lead your units there, and rout them from the area. And, I have some Republicans who shall lead you to the area, and may fight, if necessary. Is that understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!" LeGrauer and Davis responded, who then turned to their units and gave the orders. Gen. Burgermeister then turned to Command Sergeant Willard, and said, "As for you, can you run the radio between this task force, and any air units the S.S.A have in the area? You have the only system designed to handle such traffic."
"Aye, General," he replied, and Willard then turned to his radio post, and started directing traffic. Meanwhile, the Stryker unit of 5 APC's, 500 battle ready soldiers, and a contigent of brave Republicans stood ready to go. With a shout of good luck, everyone started the journey out to Estacion Santos, ready to prove their worth against the Nationalists...
OOC: Metz, feel free to take control of most of the aspects of my army, except for major combat, since you allowed me to run my Nationalist squad.
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Dec 7, 2007 16:34:55 GMT -5
Old Warehouse
...was that the men had already booby trapped the stairwell that the men were running up. They placed a trip line and a grenade right in the middle of them, effectively bowing the bits out of the large group that was running up at them. Some of the stairwell even began to fall, until the remaining men backed down them a bit. Just as the Nationalists were regaining their coordinates from the blast, one of the Republican men appeared at the top of the stairs unleashing a fury of bullets at the men. They shot him, after he killed about 3-5 more guys, and he fell downward breathing the last breath of air.
The rest of the men, glad that the grenade missed them, quickly realized that their partner was not so successful, he had been hit by the grenade, and was completely gone. They had no idea what to do next. They were going to wait and see what the enemy was doing, and so they backed off and hid again amongst the manikins...
Docks of Barcelona
Senor Ruben went to greet the new shipment of allies from Canton Rouge. He went and greeted Williard, the communications office, and brought the others inside as well to the Main Base of Operations. He sat them down at a bar and told them to grab whatever they wanted.
"Well guys, I have no idea what the hell we are going to do with you. I guess just keep your men moving onto the beaches, as the rest of the space is taken by the S.S.A. already. You guys will have to organize and create an attack on the next city or whatever soon, or we may expand too much. I have to go make sure everything is under control with Azana. Make yourselves at home gentlemen, and Welcome to Spain!"
With that he grabbed a beer bottle sitting on the table and tipped it back with ease as he chugged what was left. The other gentlemen looking at him and laughing a bit. They were happy to get off the ship. Senor Ruben then proceeded to wave goodbye and walk off.
(OOC: Well, I was expecting for Franco to have some assistance by someone, but I guess that is not the case...I'll Figure something out)
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Post by Ignatius on Dec 7, 2007 19:14:16 GMT -5
American Marines Barcelona
After a short fifteen minute trek through the winding streets of Barcelona, the Marine armored column finally made it to the Republican stronghold in the abandoned warehouses, observing much to their surprise a sizable Nationalist force assaulting the smoking building. Flashes of light bursting from the barrels of automatic weapons could easily be seen despite the distance, giving the heavy machine gunners on the crew service .50 MG just the reference point to set their sights on. With the 'Stars and Bars' of the SSA flapping on the lead Bradley IFV in the armored column, the American force arrived on the scene with their guns blazing, a welcome sight to the hard pressed Republicans struggling to hold out against the opposing Nationalist assault squads.
*blaaaam*
Depressing the weapons lever of the Browning M2 heavy machine gun mounted on the Bradley, armor Lieutenant Xavier Capalla expertly ripped one 'funky'-looking Nationalist to pieces with a carefully aimed torrent of fire, mowing down several others with the sheer fury of the crew-served weapon, motioning for the other soldiers in the armored column (and supporting Marines) to open fire on the perfectly condensed Nationalist force caught inside the warehouse.
"Light 'em up!!" bellowed the Lieutenant over his tanker's headset, sweeping the barrel of his M2 Browning to the left, "I don't want any of these bastards escaping!"
Almost on cue, the heavy 25mm cannons of the Bradley's blasted away at the enemy militiamen struggling vainly to take cover behind the warehouse's thin plaster walls, ripping down entire segments of wall down with the sheer force of their explosive power. Already covered by the heavy suppressive fire of the armored column, the two platoons of dismounted Marines (eighty men) quickly moved forward at a crouched run, expertly setting up an elaborate enfilade of bullets which completely pinned down the tiny Nationalist force down on its belly.
Heads exploded, arms were ripped off, and entire torsos of once living Nationalists disappeared under the hail of unmerciful American firepower, with the area rapidly turning into a messy blood bath for the tiny enemy force. Boldly spurring his armored vehicle forward like a medieval warhorse, the Bradley of Lieutenant Capalla brutally slammed its massive armored bulk into one of the weakened walls of the battered warehouse, ripping a massive opening into the structure. Spotting a small trio of utterly shocked Nationalists cowering in the demolished stairway of the mannequin warehouse, Capalla instinctively swiveled the massive barrel of his crew-served .50 machine gun towards the three men, firing point blank into their faces from a distance of fifteen feet away.
Made half-deaf by the monstrous roar the mighty weapon made in the enclosed area, Capalla watched in wonder as the faces of the three soldiers caved in under the hail of .50 caliber bullets he sent through his Browning machine gun, splattering the interior of the warehouse with brain residue.
Without a doubt, the cavalry had arrived for the minuscule Republican squad hiding out in the battered structure, completely overwhelming the slightly larger (but still tiny in comparison to the armored column) Nationalists squads with an unstoppable torrent of firepower..
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Post by Canton Rouge on Dec 7, 2007 20:02:58 GMT -5
Claude was urging his men to go on, when he heard the sounds of cannon fire. Using instinct, he jumped down to the first floor, and took cover underneath the most secure thing he could find: a table. While he took cover, he noticed his squad still fighting at the same positions. This resulted in their untimely deaths. And with his squad now massacred, the Republicans took this opportunity to escape the warehouse. Claude still hid, hoping no one would search for him.
Warehouse ruins, Barcelona, later on
Claude emerged several hours later after being knocked down by falling timber. When he awoke, he saw pure chaos. Utterly pure chaos. All around him, dismembered Nationalists lay covered in blood on the floors. He was the only survivor of the S.S.A. attack, but he could not tell who did this. He thought that the Republicans had managed to bring in heavy weaponry to do this.
After leaving the warehouse, Claude thought about whether he should really continue the war. The thoughts of all of his dead men continued to plague him as he hopped into an abandoned car and drove through carnage and chaos back to his apartment. Along the way, signs of "Viva Spain!" and Republicans conducting crude patrols did not seem to deter him. He reached his apartment, which was still in good condition despite fighting all around. He entered his apartment, turned to the T.V., flicked it on, and decided to spend his last hours in peace. But what he saw next would surprise him....
***NEWS FLASH***
"Buenas Noches, Spain. We have just received word that Canton Rouge has landed soldiers in Barcelona to aid the Republicans and the S.S.A. Confirmed so far are the 147th Voltiguers, the 5th Stryker Brigade, and the 26th Helicopter Detachment. That is all for now."
Claude swore that his home country would aid the Republicans, but after calming down, he knew what must be done. He had to support his mother country, no matter what. So after cleaning himself up, he opened his closet, put on his combat uniform, grabbed his other set of papers, hopped back into the car, and drove off to the docks.
Barcelona Docks
When Claude arrived, he saw a swarm of activity in the C.R. sector as men left for patrol, cargo was unloaded, and just nearby, he saw a familiar face. His old CO, General Burgermeister. Claude walked over to the general, and said, "Remember me?"
"If it isn't Claude DeVoort. Last I heard, you were off to here. So why you in your combat uniform?" the general asked.
"Read the news article that you were here, and figured you could use my aid, even if I am technically a Spanish resident now."
"Heh. Well, since you convinced me, I already sent some people to secure Estacion Santos. The rear brigade will be leaving right now. See if you can hitch a ride with them," the general replied. Before Claude left, the general said, "Oh, and it's nice to see you back with us."
Claude smiled, saluted the general, and ran off to the awaiting IFV at the convoy rear. Upon reaching it, he asked if there was space for him. The driver replied, "Yeah, but you'll have to man the .50 caliber gun. Apparently, our gunner is sick today."
Claude agreed to do so, and upon getting into the turret, the convoy rear sped off to catch up with the others. Inside the turret, thoughts were swirling around Claude's head. But all he could think about, was finally being back with people he knew. People he could trust. People who did not make stupid mistakes. "It's do or die time," Claude said to himself, keeping his trigger finger on the ready as the convoy slowly made its way into the city...
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Post by Ignatius on Dec 8, 2007 18:49:49 GMT -5
Barcelona
Despite the best efforts of the Nationalist forces struggling to maintain a foothold in the city of Barcelona, the combined Republican-American force easily managed to sweep what remained of Franco's "Legion" out of the streets of the city within two days, butchering the inexperienced milita forces with a combination of overwhelming air superiority and the advantage of having heavy armor units in the area. Very few pitched firefights had been fought by the 21st Marine Regiment over the course of these two days, with the only notable engagement with Franco's men having been the complete destruction of an eight thousand man strong unit (Nationalist) by the American Expeditionary Force in Barcelona's heavy industrial complexes on the outskirts of town.
Using a combination of well-directed air strikes and the massed 120mm cannon of American Abrams tanks, General "Stonewall" Jackson of the AEF brutally wiped out the unsupported Nationalist force in a particularly vicious fashion at the Barcelona industrial works, taking literally very few prisoners after the one-sided firefight had ceased. By the end of the day, throngs of jubilant Republican supporters filled the streets to watch the victorious Spanish-American forces parade the remnants of Francisco Franco's 'Legion' through the major roads in Barcelona, raising the Stars and Bars over the Barcelona Opera House in a symbolic show of American power over the Nationalist enemy.
"Wonderful... Wonderful..." muttered General Jackson to Jack O'Reiner on the back of a flag-bearing American Humvee, waving at the rejoicing masses of Spaniards following the American parade through town, "You're certain that the 2nd American Fleet has arrived in the Balearic Islands just this hour, bringing with them the additional material needed to completely win this war?"
Jack O'Reiner, having taken the opportunity to free himself from the rather boring "desk duty" he had been working on with the Spaniards, grinned happily at Jackson's inquiry, knowing full well the extent of the CIA's intelligence had in the Mediterranean. Leisurely puffing away on an American-made cigar, the CIA operative coolly blew a stream of smoke towards the crowd in an impressive fashion, grinning at the crowd of people from his position alongside the high-ranking American General.
"Yessir..." replied O'Reiner, turning just in time to see the eccentric general pull out a lemon from his pocket, "The Central Intelligence Agency is quickly working alongside the Republicans in both the Balearic Isles and Catalonia in the construction of CIA-run training camps for the rather inexperienced Republican Army.. You need not worry about the 2nd Fleet, General Jackson, for Admiral Falconer personally informed me of their arrival in the American bases in the Balearic Isles via telephone..."
An eccentric old man with very peculiar tastes, Jackson was prone to sucking on lemons whenever he had a spare moment, and had already begun to tear apart the skin of the lemon he was holding with his teeth when he turned his gaze back at O'Reiner's face.
"That's noteworthy indeed, sir..." mumbled the General, biting hard into the lemon with great gusto, "Noteworthy indeed.. I suspect that the main force of National Guardsmen are expected to make landfall onto the mainland... when?"
"A force of 250,000 men will be ferried/airlifted from the Balearic Isles by the end of the week, General Jackson..." quipped the CIA Operative seconds after the General asked his question, "That'd be about... Ten divisions of National Guardsmen with their needed support units... By the end of the week, our total numbers in Hispania will be large enough for a serious drive into the Nationalist-infested center of this damned peninsula, allowing American-trained and equipped Republican troops to get a grip on this hell hole of country as soon as possible..."
"Excellent!" exhorted the General, wincing at the sharp taste the lemon had on his tongue, "While we wait for both Republican and American power to build here in Hispania (the S.S.A. will personally see to the standardization of Republican weapons in accordance to American Military standards), inform Falconer to continue his aircraft bombing runs on important Nationalist-held bases around central Espana, and specifically order one of his submarines to commence a tactical cruise missile strike on all of Franco's major military bases in the North-East... In the meantime..."
"The CIA will work to surgically remove the head of the 'Franco Operation'... Via assassination..." mumbled O'Reiner, catching the General's drift, "I've got it..."
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Dec 9, 2007 20:13:32 GMT -5
Military Base Hidden in the Middle of Spain in a mountain
Fransisco Franco had walked up to the steel door, martially concealed by old foliage that had overgrown on the door. He kicked it down, and then pushed on the door. When he walked inside, it was completely pitch black. He followed the walls, feeling up and down them for a place to turn on the lights, as the other men followed him doing the same. Finally, *Click*, and a few flashed of light occurred, resulting with the room being fully lit up after a bit. What they saw was incredible. There was all sorts of old equipment from the Romans inside. They had tanks, radio's, guns, even a few spy planes and such. He realized that with the Airforce he had at the other military base, and all of the weapons he had found here, he was not out of the war. He would be able to attack once again, and re-take Barcelona. The enemy didn't even know that this base existed too, which made it even better.
While looking over everything, he began to laugh psychotically. The other men were stunned, not saying anything. While still laughing like a maniac, Franco said, "Guys, welcome to victory! Hahaha...With all of this we will surely see our fair share of the killing from now on. See if the radio's work, and start organizing a counter attack. We need about 100,000 men to get their asses over here and quickly. Do it by night too, so that no one will see them. This base has to stay under cover."
"Yes Sir!" the other men said, smiling cleverly.
The other two men ran up some stairs to a raised platform littered with machines to operate all of the things that they needed to do. With this miraculous discovery, they were back in it, with a decent chance of survival.
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Post by Canton Rouge on Dec 10, 2007 20:42:40 GMT -5
Near Estacion Santos, Barcelona
Convoy rear had caught up with the rest of the Strykers, and were now about three blocks from Estacion Santos. Everyone was ready to assault the final Nationalist stronghold, and end the conflict in Barcelona. Therefore, spirits were high in the hopes of a quick and painless battle.
As everyone moved into position, Stryker 6-1's commander pulled out a megaphone, and yelled, "You are surrounded! Surrender now, or be crushed by our mighty and powerful..."
"Sir! Incoming armour! Looks hostile!" cried a soldier, and sure enough, rolling down the road into Barcelona, were tanks that were once Roman, but now under Franco's control. The Canton Rouge forces now realized they were in a predicament, having no anti armour assets with the current forces at Estacion Santos. Realizing this, the holed up Nationalists launched a Panzerfaust at one of the Strykers, hitting it right in the center. The end result, was an APC now on fire, with the occupants struggling to escape.
And upon the Stryker being hit, everyone's training kicked in as cover was sought, the APC's moved to a secure location, and surpressing fire was put onto the station's windows. But the armour threat was increasing, as the tanks steadily made their way into town. The only option now to destroy the tanks was to call in air support. The squad radioman pulled out his antenna, then said, "Bravo Three-Six to Echo Base, requesting air strike at co-ordinats Lima X-Ray Four Niner, out."
"Stand by," the radioman for Echo Base responded. He knew that the C.R. Air Force wouldn't arrive in time because they were still unloading, but he might get the S.S.A.'s air force on the scene. He then entered the frequency for the S.S.A., then said, "Echo Base to S.S.A., units at sector Lima X-Ray Four Niner are requesting any available air support, reply if you can or cannot. Over."
Now, everyone could only hope that the S.S.A. would receive the message, and use their mighty air corps to assist their allies in this endeavour of a battle.
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Post by Ignatius on Dec 10, 2007 22:15:44 GMT -5
OOC- ARRGHH! I had an awesome post just moments ago which was deleted by no apparent reason! Stupid Computer!
"What in God's name?" blurted General Jackson from the interior of his comfortably-made command quarters in the center of Barcelona, "Those bastards are making a counterattack?"
Swarms of staffers and intelligence operatives inside the concrete command bunker were already hard at work dealing with the flood of radio requests for immediate fire support at the Nationalist stronghold of Estacion Santos, feverishly drawing up coordinates that would be passed on to the American Naval Aircraft stationed just several miles off the coast of eastern Spain.
"General, sir, Franco seems to be intent in his foolhardy goal of retaking the city of Barcelona..." shouted one Lieutenant, busily manning one of the radio's in Jackson's control center, "and by some manner which defies conventional thinking, has mustered up a mechanized division of Nationalist paramilitary on a counterattack against a Canton Rouge infantry unit at Estacion Santos, the sole remaining stronghold that remains around Barcelona’s parts!”
Angrily ripping off the rind of the lemon he had yanked from his general’s jacket, Jackson furiously sank both his teeth compulsively into the sour citrus fruit, wincing at the sharp taste which filled his mouth immediately after his bite. The cogs of his mind working irately inside his thick skull, the venerable American General swiftly placed two and two together to form a plan to counter this unexpected turn of events, turning towards his closest Lieutenant to dictate his orders.
“Lieutenant!” barked the General, angrily gesturing at an aerial map of the area with his free hand, “While this event was not foreseen by any of us, we have not been caught totally off guard… What units can we use to reinforce our Canton Rouge ‘bedfellows’ that are in the vicinity?”
“The only reinforcements that can immediately respond within a ten-minute time period are the 7th Cavalry (National Guard) Regiment and some elements of the 13th Marine Regiment.. We can easily order an enormous bulk of our now-80,000 strong presence in Barcelona to address this massive threat, and request the immediately airlift of the 170,000 National Guardsmen from Palma (American Base in Balearic Isles) to consolidate our position here on the mainland, but that will of course take time…”
“Enough!” snapped the General, yanking a phone receiver from the table, “We cannot afford to waste any second of time leaving the Canton Rouge 147th alone to face the brunt of an all-out Nationalist mechanized assault on their position.. Immediately have the attack aircraft we have on alert on our carrier fleet to provide the desired support fire on Estacion Santos ASAP, with the whole circus out on parade for this occasion… A-10’s… F/A-18’s… AH-64’s… A gunship or two… Hell, send in Blackhawks armed with 60’s into this fray… We cannot let the enemy advance any further than he can..”
“Order the 7th Cavalry (Airborne) to hop on their heli mounts immediately, and reinforce the 147th via helicopter drop within fifteen minutes… The 13th Marine Regiment will also immediately move with whatever armor and/or heavy weapons they can bring to reinforce Allied presence at Estacio Santos.. As for the rest of our current force in Barcelona… Mobilize them at once!”
----------------------------------- S.S. Georgia 1st Fleet
After checking the flight status of the controls of his bomb-laden F/A-18 Hornet attack aircraft, Pilot John Jenkins immediately yanked back the control lever of his aircraft’s engines to full throttle, willing his vehicle onwards to the front of the flight deck with words of encouragement and the help of the aircraft carrier’s ‘catapult’. Rocketing towards the air at several hundred miles an hour, Jenkins grinned happily at the feeling of complete control he had in his magnificent ‘flying steed’, watching dozens more of his bomb-laden brothers blast off after him from the decks of the dozen aircraft carriers stationed in the Mediterranean Sea. Massive AC-130 gunships could clearly be seen taking off the S.S. Piedmont from far below, soon to follow after the initial wave of strike aircraft with their formidable flying artillery batteries of 25mm and 40mm cannons.
“Black Dahlia… Black Dahlia…” hailed Jenkins through his intercom, tipping his wings at the sight of his wing commander’s aircraft, “Blue Johnny is prepped and ready for this ‘run’… We should arrive at the scene in approximately five minutes…” ---------------------------------------------- 7th Cavalry
“Move, move, move!” bellowed a Sergeant at the masses of exasperated airborne cavalrymen sprinting towards the ‘active’ Blackhawks awaiting the men of the 7th Cavalry Regiment (National Guard) in front of their temporary billets, cumbersomely lugging his massive M240 machine gun on his broad soldiers, “Men are dying out there, and the enemy will not wait for us to get on location!”
Having just been transported via airlift from the American bases in the Balearic Islands, the 7th Cavalry Regiment were recognized proudly within the ranks of the American National Guard (regular army) as a venerable and elite unit within the service, being one of the oldest air cavalry establishments (dating from the Vietnam war) in all of America. Highly motivated and proud soldiers with morale equal to the extremely ‘tough’ American Marine Corps, the 7th prided themselves in their ability to literally plant themselves into nearly any location with the use of their well-piloted Blackhawk helicopters, and were truly the elite ‘light infantry’ of the American Armed Forces.
Corporal Mark Walburg, an eighteen year old kid who had just began his mandatory term of conscripting in “Garry Owen’s” Regiment, nervously gripped the handle of his trooper-issue M4 carbine with his shaking hands, slightly frightened by the fact that both death and glory were just a helicopter ride away here in the Iberian Peninsula. While understandably frightened by the new experience, Walburg managed to keep his composure due to the presence of the respected, battle-hardened veterans of the 7th Company (those who had earned their combat stripes in battle), and was determined to show the same kind of heroism as his idols had in the face of overwhelming odds.
Leaping into the transport bay of the nearest Blackhawk helicopter he could sprint into, the eager 18-year-old immediately moved to man the helicopter’s mounted M-60A4 machine gun, anxious to prove his worth in battle by taking up the dangerous role of the ‘door gunner’. Feeding into the action of the machine gun a chain of 7.62mm ammunition, the boy swiftly yanked back the arming knob of the weapon to lock forward a round into the chamber of the weapon, expertly swiveling the barrel of the weapon towards the sky. After a short two minute wait, the helicopter group took off from the ground in a most professional fashion, expertly weaving through the air traffic with relative ease and swiftly moving towards Estacion Santos at a speed of nearly two hundred miles an hour.
Help was clearly on the way…
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Dec 11, 2007 16:43:53 GMT -5
(OOC: Canton, what has happened has happend, but can you not RP my troops randomly attacking the city of barcelona again. I had an airforce at one military base, and an army hidden in the mountains, and now I have an army attacking barcelona that is abot to get owned by you and ignatious...)
The Armed assault unit had rolled right into the head of the canton rouge forces. They were unexpected ad had the element of suprise. They were destroying everything in their path so far, and were not meeting major resistance. The Canton Rouge forces would soon be annihilated should help not arrive.
There were loads of tanks, and they were planning on heading straight back into the heart of the city. They were informed that Azana himself was inside of a building there, and they knew that if he died, so did their entire cause...their goal was to find and kill him, no matter the cost.
The robotic manuevers of the tanks could be heard all around the city, but far off in the distance, airplanes could be heard, if you were not inside a tank. What was about to happen, would destroy almost all of the tanks in one foul swoop, but perhaps they could get far enough into then city to do some heavy damage. The tanks still thought they would have it easy...
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Post by Ignatius on Dec 14, 2007 17:10:01 GMT -5
OOC- Sorry 'bout not posting, guys, but life has been very hectic over the past few days. My home comp is infected with Spyware and Trojan, and is at the shop getting a major wipe down... Estacion SantosLike the righteous hammer of god itself, squadron after squadron of F/A-18 Super Hornets swooped down from the night sky in a brutal bombing run on the foolishly-planned Nationalist armored offensive, blasting the helpless armored husks of the enemy vehicles into smithereens with a combination of laser guided and gravity bombs dropped in a precise fashion by the experienced naval pilots of the American Navy. Dozens of Franco's Leopard 2 tanks were ripped to shreds by the force of the explosion, and hundreds of Nationalist soldiers riding in the presumed 'safety' of the Nationalist armored personnel carriers were slaughtered by the bombing run. A hellish sight even for the American soldiers of the 7th Cavalry quickly arriving to the scene via helicopter transport, Corporal Mark Walburg felt his stomach seize up with terror at the frightening sights of battle he stared at from the gunner's position of his Blackhawk helicopter, horrific sights which would plague him for the rest of his life. Bewildered, frightened, and utterly disoriented Nationalist soldiers who had somehow managed (by the grace of god) survived the initial bombing run now desperately struggling to press on with the advance, and were immediately dropped to the ground by a napalm strike cruelly launched from the underbellies of the second group of F/A-18 Hornets diving in attack position. Ignited by the utterly inhuman flaming jelly of napalm, the enemy soldiers cried out guttural bursts of pain, resembling very much like burning effigies walking through a world of fire. Thinking only of ending the horrendous pain these soldiers were undoubtedly enduring below, Corporal Walburg swiftly swiveled the Blackhawk's M-60A4 machine gun towards the nearest group of still-living Nationalists writhing about in agony, depressing the trigger of the heavy weapon and spraying a hail of 7.62mm tracer fire at the bodies of the burning men. His training in the National Guard served him well, and the young Guardsman's bullets easily found their mark, ripping the defenseless men to pieces and forever silencing the painful screams of the Nationalist soldiers suffering below. "Holy shit!" spat Walburg's Sergeant, watching in amazement at the massive display of American firepower 'raping' the entire Nationalist division, "These stupid fuckers have got it in for them... I feel sorry for the men whose officers ordered this moronic stab at an offensive..." Immediately following the waves of F/A-18's were the feared A-10 'Warthogs' of the American Armed Forces, massive beasts of aircraft known worldwide for their extreme durability and pinpoint accurate 'tank-busting' ability which had served the Southern States of American time and time again in the bloody fields of battle. Diving from the heavens to blaze away at the massed Nationalist armor and men struggling to continue the assault, the fearsome Warthogs blasted thousands of 30mm armor-piercing cannon shells from the barrels of their GAU-8 anti-tank Gatling guns. Blasting entire holes in the enemy formations, the heavily-armored behemoths ripped the Nationalist offensive into shreds, sowing seeds of destruction throughout the entire Nationalist Armor Division which quickly bloomed to outright chaos. Continuing to blast away at whatever enemy soldiers he could see, Walburg slowly prayed for the souls of the slaughtered as he silently continued to do his line of work. As he continued blasting away at the specters 'dancing' from below, the convoy of Blackhawk helicopters slowly descended towards the ground, depositing the battle-ready force of heavily armed National Guardsmen onto a pre-designated position four hundred yards away from the slaughter zone. Sprinting to take up positions on a demolished segment of brick house just several yards away, Walburg's platoon (he had by now switched positions with another Guardsman) hurridly twiddled with the holographic sights of their M-16A4 assault rifles, swifty bringing fire to bear on the enemy advance. Propping up one of the platoon's five M240 general purpose machine guns, Sergeant Call of Walburg's platoon soon brought a withering hail of suppressing fire to the enemy caught in the American deathtrap, raking the chassis of a flaming APC and dropping a group of Nationalists attempting to escape their disabled vehicle.
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Post by Mr. Durandal on Dec 15, 2007 0:28:22 GMT -5
OOC: I'm taking Franco's side, as my snipers were already helping him.
IC Just as the Guardsmen were offloaded, there came the crack of a sniper rifle. Soon after that, the semi-auto sniper rifle cracked away 5 more time before needing to be reloaded. The sniper had never missed his mark and had been careful to pull the trigger at the right time. However, there were too many enemies to deal with, so Sniper Alpha radioed in for an MLRS strike on their position. Three Clamparapan MLRSs, too late to be part of the Battle of Catalonia, opened fire on the National Guardsmen, and, unfortunately, the Nationalists. Thirty-six rockets rained down on the firefight, certain to kill many. Sniper Alpha dove into cover, but Spotter Alpha was not as lucky. A rocket struck a little to close to them, and exploded. Spotter Alpha was in the blast radius and received near-third degree burns. Her right arm was shorn off and she was left gasping for air. The sniper rolled out of cover and tried to save his dying comrade, but she went into shock, which was too much for her body to handle. She died, quivering on the ground. Sniper Alpha was now alone and he had to escape...
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Post by Ignatius on Dec 15, 2007 14:37:35 GMT -5
American Positions
Utterly shocked to see the brains of a nearby American National Guardsman scatter into the wind in front of his eyes, Corporal Walburg swiftly took cover behind the thick concrete wall his platoon had been hiding behind, curling into a ball as the ground around him was ravaged by a hail of Clamparapan and American firepower. Entire buildings were ripped to pieces by the force of the bombardment, with scores of Canton Rouge, Nationalist, and American soldiers killed by the faulty Clamparapan MRLs launch. Despite taking several casualties from the enemy strike, the Guardsmen of the 7th Cavalry were determined to stop the advance of the Nationalist armored division and continued to press their counterattack with the help of the massive American firepower at their backs. Blasting away at the horde of Nationalists struggling to charge up the heavily scarred hill overlooking the position of Estacion Santos, the small regiment held their ground against overwhelming odds, pouring down an accurate hail of small-arms and heavy weapons fire down at the enemy.
Yanking an emptied magazine from the magazine well of his M-16A4 assault rifle, Corporal Walburg swiftly reloaded his weapon with as much skill and speed he could possibly muster (given the situation), sprinting to a new location several yards away for a better vantage point at the advance of the Nationalist force. Carefully focusing the red-dot reticule on the head of a Nationalist struggling to escape the flaming wreckage of his former Porcuian armored personnel carrier, firing a three-shot burst at the hapless enemy militiaman with deadly accuracy. Feeling somewhat satisfied at his marksmanship, the Guardsman immediately sprang up from his cover position upon hearing the orders of his platoon Sergeant's orders.
"Move forward!" bellowed Sergeant Phillips, a swarthy Kentuckian who brandished a venerable M-14 marksman rifle in his arms, "We're pressing these bastards back! Do not fear the Nationalists, for they are scum... God and the full power of the American Air Force are with us!"
Sprinting forward to the eastern wall of a ruined Spanish Cathedral, Phillips's platoon easily mopped up whatever dying Nationalist troops they came up against in their path, covered by the enfilade of fire from the rest of 7th Cavalry's platoons. American air strikes continued to rock the area with terrifying aerial strikes of extreme accuracy, reaping a bountiful harvest of Nationalist lives with every bomb dropping.
An enormous tactical error which could have been recognized by any 'lowly' private, Franco's decision to assault the city of Barcelona without superior manpower had clearly cost him another division of desperately needed fighters and the chance at 'redeeming' his crushing military failures at the 1st Battle of Barcelona. With the 13th Marine Regiment (Armor) swiftly en route to Estacion Santos, and the rest of the 230,000 strong American Expeditionary Force to Spain quickly mobilizing in the city of Barcelona and the Balearic Isles, it was clear who would win this day..
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Dec 16, 2007 19:59:46 GMT -5
(OC: Sorry im low on time with the holidays, but here is another post. Feel free to keep going, but I have no idea how often I will be abe to post)
Military Base
Franco just received word that his assault on the city had been an utter failure. He figured as such, but was really hoping to be able to catch Azana out in the open. All of those hopes were now a dream, untill he found out that Clamparapa had arrived and began to fight the enemy with him. He must find a contact with Clamparapa, so that they could coordinate a well planned assualt. For now, he organized his men in hopes of containing the enemy to the outskirts and city limits of Barcelona...
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Post by Sir Metz a.k.a. "Metzy" on Dec 26, 2007 10:48:50 GMT -5
After Franco had Clamparapan soldiers arrive in Eastern Spain, he now had a solid force to lead a counter attack with. He had an airforce, and a lot of infantry, combined with the allies, they had about wnough for one last stand. They began to move in to position, in hopes of surrounding the city, and bombing it to pieces. If they could kill the leaders of the rebellion, and perhaps the generals of their allies, then they would win. The chances of that happenening were slim.
Franco awoke early in the morining to an aid yelling,
"Franco, Get the hell up, we leave in five! Everyone is ready, what the hell have you been doing!?"
Franco had nightmares all night, fearing his death. He dreampt of being shot after being cought by Azana, he dreampt of hitting a mine and being blown to bits. He was sweaty and out of breath as he gabbed his clothes and went for a nearby vehivcle for transportation. He feared that an oncoming loss to him, and a democratic Spain was on the horizon. He didnt think he could do anything about it, nonetheless, he would die in the last fight, or win in this last fight. His men began to make their way to the battlefield....
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