Republic of Troperan
The city of Pyotre was one of the smaller urban areas in Troperan with a population of only a few thousand. It's seaport however, made it a strategic asset, allowing the Troperanian People's Army to smuggle troops and supplies OR allowing the Tauronian Imperial Navy to land masses of tanks and armored vehicles. In addition to the port, Pyotre was also home to a large airport capable of supporting the Imperial Air Force's heavy cargo planes needed for delivering supplies and fresh troops. Whoever controlled the city would have a much needed advantage over the enemy for the coming offensive. Neither side would be able to begin their planned aggressive push into enemy territory without a troop buildup in Pyotre first. A few months ago, the Imperial Army had wrested control of the city from the Troperanian People's Army and since then, Conscripts, tanks and armored personnel carriers had been flooding the city almost every week. Day to day life in the city had gone on fairly normally, the only detectable difference the near constant presence of Imperial troops. Convoys rolled down the streets frequently and every corner had a Conscript on it, watching for signs of rebel activity or crime. Criminals and communist guerillas were frequently lined up and shot in front of city hall by the Imperial Army, a restrained but pointed reminder of who was in charge and what it meant to resist.
Private Seth Coal, one of thousands of faceless Conscripts thrown into the war, walked quietly down the city streets, his AK74held close and aimed at the ground safely. He watched the passing civilians warily, paranoid of attack as he'd just arrived in country. His Squad Leader, Sergeant Collins, seemed relaxed but aware as he sauntered ahead of him and the other eight men of their Squad. He'd been in Troperan since the invasion and being a man of strong Christian faith (like most Tauronians) he didn't fear death nor did he feel it would befall him without God willing it, and if God willed it, it was going to happen. Seth, while he shared in the faith, was still young and inexperienced, having yet to conquer any fears or challenges greater than passing Infantry training.
Walking in a neat, single-file column with each man a few yards apart (they did this to avoid high casualty ambushes) they headed down the street to City Hall, the large stone structure standing tall over the surrounding apartments. On the front lawn stood a flagpole, currently occupied by the Tauronian flag, a black field bearing a red cross. The Troperanian banner had been ripped down by Sergeant Collins himself some months ago and given to the Platoon Leader, Lieutenant Clarke, as a gift. A few yards from the flagpole, three Imperial Conscripts dragged a blindfolded and bound young man over to the City Hall's stone wall, still stained black from the blood of dozens of executions. The man was shoved against the pockmarked stone and quickly stumbled, falling to his knees. The trio of Conscripts drew back from him and raised their rifles, firing a short burst into his torso without any ceremony or warning given. It had become too common and redundant to make long, drawn out announcements for every execution.
The young man let out a choked gurgle before he died, his white t-shirt stained red and a small pool of blood slowly growing around him. Two of the Conscripts each took an arm and dragged his corpse away, following their comrade over to a large military truck where they wordlessly tossed the body before going back to their patrols. The man had been a communist Guerilla responsible for attacking an Imperial convoy. Guerilla activity had grown heavily in the past weeks and this was the reason for Sergeant Collins' presence at City Hall. The Platoon Leader, Lieutenant Clarke, needed to speak to the Mayor about the problem and Collins' squad had been nearby, making them the obvious choice for a security team. While Seth stared wordlessly at the execution wall, Justice (Sgt. Collins) strode up to Clarke, his AKS-74 cradled in his arms.
He greeted with a polite nod. They didn't salute in the field as it marked officers as targets for enemy snipers as well as needlessly consuming time and occupying the dominant hand.
"We're ready when you are."
Justice said to the young female commander, glancing over at the steps of the City Hall, waiting for the Mayor to appear.