09-25-2019, 06:30 AM
Martin, Bjeorg
July 30th, 1991 - Mid-day
In truth, Colonel Anthony Peters of the Maximusian 17th Army Battalion was not a man who liked the front lines. He had a brilliant mind for tactical strategy but not the guts to see the fruit of his work up close. As such, he was completely unsettled sitting in his makeshift command center (the product of PVC pipes and canvas) in the middle of an occupied city. He knew that by this point all of the insurgents were had retreated, were captured, or were killed, but this fact did little to ease his mind when he thought of all the citizens who might want him dead. In any window could be his killer.
Since setting up camp in a small park on 6th street early this morning, Peters had been worked tirelessly to bring the city under his control. He now had nearly 150 captured POWs and had uncovered a dozen weapons caches. The city was under Maximusian control once more. Unfortunately, once city was not enough. Peters would have to begin moving his men south in the coming days, a task he utterly dreaded.
The loud static of a radio, followed by an unintelligible voice, forced Peters to rise from his folding chair and see what was going on. He lifted the radio receiver cautiously and and spoke into it. "This is Col. Peters of the 17th Battalion, may I inquire as to why this frequency is being used?"
A response came nearly as quickly as the question was posed, "Sir, I am Private 1st-Class James Mason of the 17th airborne devision. I have been ordered by superiors to inform you that a party of insurgents has been spotted near the city-limits on Cypress and Broadstreet. My commanding officer requests permission to engage the party with units present."
This was an interesting turn of events. Peters had not at all counted on the insurgents returning or making any further attempt to retake the city. Something felt off about the situation but Peters couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Regardless, Peters gave the order. "Tell your CO that he may engage the forces present so long as minimal manpower is required to subdue any active combatants." No sooner had he said it then he regretted it, though he couldn't quite say why.
The response came rapidly, "Acknowledged, Sir." At that, the frequency returned to being just static.
Why did this order seem so wrong? There was nothing unnatural about the request, nor the individual making the request. After all, there was a section of the 17th airborne on patrol near the intersection of Cypress and Broadstreet. Peters simply couldn't figure it out. His gut was telling him that something was wrong yet reason was saying that all was well. Peters knew it couldn't be both. He just worried that he would find out which was right in some unpleasant manner.
Intersection at Cypress St. and Broadstreet
There was no celebration, no sudden moment of joy after the men completed their solemn task. No words were spoken as two individuals began dumping kerosene on a massive bottle of Maximusian military uniforms. When the fire was finally lit, the men all walked silently away from the massive bonfire. The defection was completed as the group stepped over the road's median strip, crossing over city boundaries.
The plan had been beautifully executed. Thirty-five Maximusian soldiers had managed to coordinate a group defection to Bjeorg seemingly overnight. Some of the men had family in Bjeorg, others would be going in completely alone. As the fire engulfed the group's uniforms, however, the seemingly distant future was not of immediate concern to the defectors. They still had to travel at least fifteen kilometers more before they would reach another city. It was imperative that they make it there before nightfall, lest the darkness make the group look like a Maximusian scout group. The group crossed the road and began to jog towards their distant goal.
July 30th, 1991 - Mid-day
In truth, Colonel Anthony Peters of the Maximusian 17th Army Battalion was not a man who liked the front lines. He had a brilliant mind for tactical strategy but not the guts to see the fruit of his work up close. As such, he was completely unsettled sitting in his makeshift command center (the product of PVC pipes and canvas) in the middle of an occupied city. He knew that by this point all of the insurgents were had retreated, were captured, or were killed, but this fact did little to ease his mind when he thought of all the citizens who might want him dead. In any window could be his killer.
Since setting up camp in a small park on 6th street early this morning, Peters had been worked tirelessly to bring the city under his control. He now had nearly 150 captured POWs and had uncovered a dozen weapons caches. The city was under Maximusian control once more. Unfortunately, once city was not enough. Peters would have to begin moving his men south in the coming days, a task he utterly dreaded.
The loud static of a radio, followed by an unintelligible voice, forced Peters to rise from his folding chair and see what was going on. He lifted the radio receiver cautiously and and spoke into it. "This is Col. Peters of the 17th Battalion, may I inquire as to why this frequency is being used?"
A response came nearly as quickly as the question was posed, "Sir, I am Private 1st-Class James Mason of the 17th airborne devision. I have been ordered by superiors to inform you that a party of insurgents has been spotted near the city-limits on Cypress and Broadstreet. My commanding officer requests permission to engage the party with units present."
This was an interesting turn of events. Peters had not at all counted on the insurgents returning or making any further attempt to retake the city. Something felt off about the situation but Peters couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Regardless, Peters gave the order. "Tell your CO that he may engage the forces present so long as minimal manpower is required to subdue any active combatants." No sooner had he said it then he regretted it, though he couldn't quite say why.
The response came rapidly, "Acknowledged, Sir." At that, the frequency returned to being just static.
Why did this order seem so wrong? There was nothing unnatural about the request, nor the individual making the request. After all, there was a section of the 17th airborne on patrol near the intersection of Cypress and Broadstreet. Peters simply couldn't figure it out. His gut was telling him that something was wrong yet reason was saying that all was well. Peters knew it couldn't be both. He just worried that he would find out which was right in some unpleasant manner.
Intersection at Cypress St. and Broadstreet
There was no celebration, no sudden moment of joy after the men completed their solemn task. No words were spoken as two individuals began dumping kerosene on a massive bottle of Maximusian military uniforms. When the fire was finally lit, the men all walked silently away from the massive bonfire. The defection was completed as the group stepped over the road's median strip, crossing over city boundaries.
The plan had been beautifully executed. Thirty-five Maximusian soldiers had managed to coordinate a group defection to Bjeorg seemingly overnight. Some of the men had family in Bjeorg, others would be going in completely alone. As the fire engulfed the group's uniforms, however, the seemingly distant future was not of immediate concern to the defectors. They still had to travel at least fifteen kilometers more before they would reach another city. It was imperative that they make it there before nightfall, lest the darkness make the group look like a Maximusian scout group. The group crossed the road and began to jog towards their distant goal.