RisenDead

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

June

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Port Said, Egypt

Francisco de le Cal Delgado crouched behind what remained of a low stonewall, his chest was heaving with every breath from the run across the small open space a few yards away. Two bodies lay crumpled in the open, one in Spanish uniform, the other in the now familiar garb of Ethiopia.

The fighting had stalled here. An initial rush to take the square had been halted by, and Delgado still wasn’t sure if he’d seen right, a woman. She had dropped two of his soldiers before a bullet dropped her and she was pulled to safety by another soldier. The surprise of the attack had quickly worn off and while the Brigada Internacional had successfully driven the Ethiopians back from the Canal, they were now having to fight house by house, street by street.

His breathing had slowed now though his left eye still twitched uncontrollably for some reason and he tried blinking hard to clear it with no luck. A quick check of his weapon ensured he still had a full clip in his weapon. Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked around the corner of the wall. Darkness had blanketed the land and the only light came from the remains of several burning buildings and trucks. He looked for movement.

For a moment nothing showed itself but then he saw something shift, a shadow deeper and darker than the shadow around it. He almost stopped breathing as he stared at the spot. The shadow moved again.

In one fluid motion he rolled onto his left knee, sighted and fired. A man screamed and the shadow vanished. Then the whole world lit up as a wall of steel appeared to his left. The Aksum, making its run for the sea. It seemed as though every mortar or small arm the Ethiopians possessed now opened fire on the big ship, completely careless if it gave away their position or not. It was an all or nothing moment and he everyone knew it.

Delgado leapt up, screaming to be heard over the din, and waving his men forward. Shadows all along the streets and in windows came alive as gunfire drowned out all other noise.

He was running, halting only to fire quick bursts into small groups of Ethiopian or Arab soldiers. Twice he came across mortar teams that had abandoned their positions to try and fire directly on Aksum as it raced past. In each case he shot the man loading and then killed the others as they reached for their personal weapons. In one case he fired just as the man dropped the round into the mortar and it fell sideways with him, the shell slamming into a nearby building and bringing it crashing down into the street.

Something buzzed past his ear and he spun with it, catching sight of a kneeling Ethiopian soldier who grimaced as he missed, worked the action of the rifle he was holding and took aim again. Where he had got the rifle from, Delgado would never know, maybe a dead Arab, it didn’t matter. He brought up his own weapon and sprayed a line of bullets towards the other man. Two hit him, one in the foot, the second in his arm and he was down.

The Ethiopians bullet also hit its target, slamming so hard into Delgados helmet that he dropped to the pavement, stunned. The shot probably saved his life as a group of Ethiopians burst from a nearby alley to counter attack, running past him in the darkness.

He opened his mouth to cry out when the world shook, a shockwave from huge explosion, driving the air from his lungs as it slammed through the city. For a moment there was silence, almost as if the explosion had reminded everyone of just how bad things could get.

Then a machine gun fired, a flare arced into the sky, and the Ethiopians were retreating. They had failed to block the Suez Canal and now, their shouts loud in the night, Spanish reinforcements stormed into the City.

The Ethiopians went back, the Spanish went forward, and Delgado, still breathless on the ground found that he could not see. He was blind.

Buenos Aires, Argentina

A world away from the blood and screams of Port Said the Republic of Argentina was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunshine. As was typical with this time of year, it was hot, brutally hot so that tourists sweated away in their air conditioned hotels and locals made their way to small underground bars where the suns heat was negated by the cool stone walls.

Despite the heat the streets of Buenos Aires still buzzed with the sound of traffic. For many it had been another perfect day in the Republic. Few indeed had seen better days. The economy was stable and rising so for the first time in many generations everyone had a bit of spending money. It was a new feeling for many, especially those from the countryside who arrived in the city with eyes wide in wonder, more than a few would get hit by racing city drivers, but that was the price of progress.

In the countryside, further from the coast, men sweated under the sun as they laid out long lines of rail track and smoothed asphalt for new highways. New industries sprang up in regions that had only ever known poverty and for the Delgado family the new wealth of an emerging middle class had been a boon.

For a hundred years they had worked a small vineyard near the foot Aconcagua, the tallest of all mountains in the Western hemisphere. As the economy grew and the wealthy elite had looked for the finer things in life they had found the small vineyard and discovered in it and excellent red wine. One man even bought the vineyards entire supply for a year. That money alone had allowed the Delgados to expand their operations and now, as their son fought and killed in a foreign land, they had taken ownership of the largest vineyards in Mendoza Province.

Their story was not unusual in this new age of prosperity. People flush with money they had not had before were spending more on luxury goods from around South America and seeing themselves in a new century, Argentina’s Century they called it.

News of the war in Africa had of course been long in coming and local newsmen had jumped at the chance to report on the Brigada Internacional and the young farm boy who had led the beach attack on Port Said. Details were slow in coming and sketchy at best but it did not matter, the imagination of a nation was being captured by this young man who had no idea what effect his actions would have on the course of Argentine history.

The reports had also caught the attention of men in uniform, men of high rank who had been watching the conflict with great interest. All knew that Argentina had a burning national pride but only those in power knew truly how far they would go to achieve greatness.

It was on that hot afternoon, his face to the setting sun, that the President-General wrote several idle musings on the corner of his napkin as he enjoyed a cold beer. Condor Legion. For now it was but words a dream, in the months to come it would become a reality and it would lay the groundwork for Argentina’s rise on the world stage.

The New Empires

Clansmen with a mountain full of shiny gold... The Dwarves want.

Clash of Civilisation: A Historical/Alternate History RP

Are there limits on size of territory and I assume we're going with Romanesque time frame for technology?

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Port Said, Egypt

There was no great burst of gunfire, no flares to signal the advance, nothing to give away the fact that four hundred men, their faces and weapons blackened to match the night, were slipping quietly into the city. They went in small groups, no more than a dozen at a time, using the reeds and ruins as cover as they darted from shadow to shadow. Thankfully the night was mostly dark, the odd cloud parting to allow the moon to show through.

Delgado went first, as they knew he would. He had his rifle slung across his back to prevent the desire of using it until the most dire situation. In his right hand he carried his bayonet, the metal blackened with fire soot until it looked like a billy club. His foot falls were gentle, reminding him of the times he had stalked wild game on his fathers farm. He was amongst those to use the water approach, the most dangerous. He lowered himself ever so gently into the water, wincing as the water reached his groin and then beyond. He was thankful it no more than waist deep and, ducking low amongst the reeds, he moved forward. One by one the dozen men he had selected came after him, their movements in the water hidden by a small wind that came up, causing the lake to ripple of its own accord.

Reeds brushed against his face and chest as he went, the mud sucking at his boots, and on more than one occasion he was forced to pause and yank a boot free, Each time he would pause afterwards, waiting, hoping no one in the enemy held buildings would see him. Those behind him struggled as well and for all he could tell, they were making enough noise to wake the dead but no voices called out, now shots rang into the darkness. All was quiet.

Worry assailed Delgado. What if the enemy knew and was simply waiting until they got close enough to kill them all. He tried to shake the worry but every time the moon came out he froze, expecting the night to come alive with the crack of rifles and the screams of dying men. But the shots never came, no voices called out over the water. Only the wind seemed to be awake, that and the occasional explosion of crack of gunfire from where the Spanish Armada was held up by a bunch of poorly armed Ethiopians and a single warship.

Delgado came at last to the far bank, a place he knew that enemy forces had been spotted by observers as they planned their attack in the brief time given to them. There had been four or five men, all of them trying to keep a keen eye out without becoming sniper bait. He climbed from the water, cringing as the sound of his movement sounded like thunder in his ears. Nothing moved.

His footfalls were careful, the same skills he has used to hunt wild boar as useful against men as it had been then. His men came behind him until all twelve of them were kneeling in the reeds. He looked from left to right as they all nodded to him and then they stole up the bank. The enemy lookouts were still there, indeed they had lit a small fire that was well hidden from any viewers on the Spanish held airfield. Four were sitting quietly, speaking in low whispers, the fifth was keeping a steady lookout, how the advancing Brigada Internacional had not been spotted he would never know. He waved his blade forward and they went forward like wraiths. There was a brief struggle, sound of blades pricing flesh and then the smell of blood was rich in the night.

Moments later the Brigada Internacional was moving swiftly into the ruins of Port Said. Those who had never killed a man less than a few hours before were now learning how to do it with a knife, learning the weak spots in a man so that he might be killed swiftly before he could give the alarm. They did not spread out but moved in a path no more than fifty yards wide, slaughtering their way towards the Canal. It was a blood letting like the world had not seen since the Great War. Men struggled and died in a welter of silence and blood. How they made it to the Canal without the alarm being sounded Delgado would never know but suddenly the ground dropped away and the Canal was before them. He could vaguely make out the ships of the Armada to the north, and to the south the Aksum, just on the edge of his sight.

He could see figures rushing about the edge of the Canal and trucks, their lights removed, hurrying up to unload cargo. The majority of his men had arrived, a few had died along the way or been wounded and left to fend of themselves. He crouched, waiting and watching, he hadn't planned for the attack to go so well and was almost unsure of his own intentions now. At last he realized that delaying would only make matters worse and so, taking the flare pistol from his belt he fitted a red flare and then, with a deep breath, he fired it into the air.

The moment he pulled the trigger he knew he'd made a mistake. HIs men were not deployed properly but it was to late for that. The instant the flare went up, all hell broke loose. The Brigada Internacional opened fire on the men and their trucks where they had frozen in the act of dumping more debris into the canal. He fitted another flare and fired, this time a yellow one. It arced away, bouncing off the top of one of the trucks and skittering across the ground. Within moments the reports of Spanish naval guns sounded and shells, sounding like freight trains, trundled overhead and the trucks vanished in massive geysers of earth and fire.

"Begin to advance southwards!" The Brigada Internacional spread out as best they could and, the element of surprise over, opened fire on everything that moved.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Port Said, Egypt

The sun had begun to set when the first reinforcements for the Brigada Internacional came ashore, moving up through the bodies scattered across the beach and through the burning remains of the Egyptian and Ethiopian defenders of the airport. They were parceled out where possibly, bringing the 109th strength back up to what one might consider fighting fit. Already those who had fired shots in anger looked down on these new arrivals as “new blood”.

For the newly promoted Sergeant Delgado it meant new orders. He had been summoned to the command post set up in the airports old terminal. The building, as he approached, was a bombed out shell. Miraculously, the control tower still stood despite previous shelling by the Spanish and now sporadic mortaring by the Ethiopian forces.

The jeep dropped him off at the front of the building and he was waved inside by a burly officer in the uniform of the Spanish regular army. His epaulets told Delgado that the man was a major, though he did not recognize the unit insignia. Though, if he was honest with himself, he knew virtually nothing about the Spanish army.

His boots crunched on broken glass and scattered bits of roof tiling as he walked into the building. Rows of empty seats vanished into the fading light on either side of him, the once blue plastic buckets now coated in a thick layer of dust. Shops lay empty, long looted, the security gates lying in ruined heaps on either side of gaping entrances. There were no bodies to be seen but pools of dark dried blood gave testament to the battle that had raged here only a few short hours before.

He stepped over a crumpled mass of steel that had collapsed from the ceiling and into what had once been a food court. The vendors were empty and quiet but the reinforced concrete ceiling gave the assembled officers somewhere relatively safe to hold their meeting. They were gathered around a small table, one left from the food court furniture, and many of them were seated in the almost comically small chairs so common in airports.

They nodded at his approach and few offered him tense smiles. A far cry from the disdain he would have earned from them the day before. Mohammad was already there, his face the only non-white in the group and his smile was broad and genuine. The two Brigada Internacional sergeants were the only ones with any sign of recent battle on their uniforms, the rest of the assembled officers and sergeants were all Spanish regulars who had evidently just landed, or avoided the fighting.

“Welcome Sergeant.” The ranking officer, a Colonel by the looks of it, greeted Delgado as he strode up. “My congratulations on an outstanding offense. I understand your promotion is well merited and certainly deserving of a medal.”

“Thank you sir.” Delgado said with a slight incline of his head.

“It is this bravery that I am going to call upon again. I have to confess that we did not expect you attack to be so successful so our regular troops are still heading ashore so we are going to send you onwards again.” He stabbed a finger onto the map in front of him. “The Navy has reported Ethiopian troops and militia are trying to make the Suez unusable for our ships and we need to put an end to that immediately.”

The finger moved to the airport, then jabbed at Delgado as the Colonel continued to speak. “We need to force the Western edge of the airport and move on the Canal, as quickly and quietly as possible. I need the Brigada Internacional to move out within the hour and move as quickly, and as quietly as possible, through the city to engage those enemy forces trying to block the Canal.”

Delgado had to suppress a grunt of disbelief as he stared at the Colonel. The other mans eyes were intense, almost pleading, as he stared back. Sweat was trickling down from under his helmet and it took Delgado a moment to realize that this Colonel was afraid. Not perhaps for his own life, but certainly of failing his superiors in what was obviously a vital part of the operation.

“Can we count on support from the regular army and naval elements?” Delgado asked. He knew virtually nothing about large scale operations but he had an uncle in the Argentine army who allowed him to join him at the officers’ mess from time to time and he had picked up a smattering of knowledge from listening to them.

“As much as we can give.” Responded the Colonel. He was looking at the map and Delgado could see small marks denoting the locations of the ENS ASKUM and the Spanish fleet where they were trapped into the Canal.

“A night attack with inexperienced troops, this hardly seems like a well thought out plan.” Mohammad had spoken up. His accent was tinged slightly, betraying his Moroccan heritage and several of the officers glared at him, clearly resenting the presence of the black man, let alone his questions. To everyone’s surprise the Colonel did not get angry. Instead he sighed, and his shoulders slumped slightly.

“You’re right Sergeant, it is not a great plan, but at the moment it is I the only plan we have. The Brigada Internacional has been decimated, I know, in fact you only have one senior officer left. But for this fight I don’t want fancy thinking or pretty tactics, I just want you to reach the Canal and put an end to the Ethiopian efforts to block it. I need men of action who can get this done no matter what it takes, have I got those men?”

He looked from Mohammad to Delgado who, after a moment, nodded. “Good.” Said the Colonel. “You have four hundred or so able bodied men, each of you will take two hundred. Go fast, go hard, and take no prisoners, we don’t have time to guard them. Regular troops will continue the attack behind you to clear the areas you pass through. I don’t care how you do it, or how you get there, just fucking do it.”

There was a soldier standing to one side with a pair of back packs and he stepped forward at the Colonels wave and handed one to each Sergeant. Delgado opened his to find a flare pistol and a collection of flares, red, green and yellow.

“The red will light the sky for you, yellow will burn on contact, fire them at enemy positions you want the Navy to bombard. The green will denote a friendly position, be careful with their use, they’re all I have. I scrounged them from the helicopters that are coming in and stole a few from the Navy.”

The two Sergeants, thusly dismissed, turned and hurried from the terminal towards the jeep that still idled out on the tarmac. They climbed into the back seat, the stench of violent death and burning floating to them on the westward breeze.

“I think this may be a suicide mission.” Mohammad commented as the jeeps tires squealed on the tarmac and rushed towards the distant eastern edge of the airport.

“Fuck them.” Delgado said casually. “They’re desperate and like it or not, we have to prove ourselves to the Spanish so let’s do it. We may not be an elite unit but we can be.”

Nothing else was said as they raced across the tarmac, the wind plucking at their hair, each man trying to pretend he was no exhausted as his eyes drooped and their heads bobbed along with the motion of the jeep.

They came to a halt in front of the exhausted Brigada Internacional, the men were scattered about in some long grass, most of them curled up sleeping or smoking quietly. Some stuck up their heads as the jeep arrived, even more sitting up another three jeeps arrived, loaded to the gills with grenades and ammunition. Those who did not wake were soon roused by a gentle prod in their backs. They quickly made a semi-circle around the two Sergeants and more than a few had the faraway look of men who know they were not done yet.

“Gentlemen, we’ve been asked to move out. It seems that the Navy can’t sort its own shit out and we are going to have to pick up their skirts for them.” Delgado spoke loudly and more than a few chuckled at the mention of the uselessness of the Navy. It wasn’t strictly true but nothing brought men together more effectively than a mutual scorn of something else. “We are moving out in 30 minutes to move fast and hard towards the Canal. We are not taking prisoners. Rearm yourselves, get some food and water in you, and make sure your bayonets are sharp. That is all.”

The men fell out with little comment, reaching out to take the ammunition from the Spanish soldiers who are brought it. For the first time since he had joined the Brigada Internacional Delgado saw something that made him smile slightly. The irregular soldiers were treating the regular Spanish soldiers with the same disdain they had experienced only 24 hours before. They were the ones who had paid with blood, their uniforms bearing testament to the struggles they had seen. They were becoming more than a scared misfit collection of men, they were becoming soldiers.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Awesome post Vilage. I'll put up another post this evening.

The New Empires

Well, Feigling, am I good to go?

The New Empires

Peace Keeper said
Life of us amazing people is hard.

Isn't it just!

Right, modified sheet up, check it out and let me know what you kids think.

The New Empires

Nah, I had some ideas overnight, i'll just overhaul them.