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Roads Through The Sands The bus is only possible because of the repairs made to the Long 15 - wide stretches of new, white concrete stretch into the horizon. Travelers on the Long 15 can even note that even the raised highway is repaired, the one that travels over Freeside before heading north towards Utah. Indeed, the repaired road stretches all the way to the Arizona-Utah border, allowing caravans to more easily access New Canaan - though Utah itself requires further pacification before the roads can truly reach that fabled land. The bus route plans to eventually add an express bus, once Raul finishes repairing more buses; for now, however, passengers will have to content themselves with the multi-leg journey between the Strip and the Mojave Outpost. It's still way faster than riding a brahmin, or beating the pavement with your own two feet; the bus even has air conditioning. |
Abyss General Gill poured himself, and the two men seated across from him glasses of whiskey, his old hands shook as he poured. Gill had once earned rank 4 expert marksmanship during basic training, now he questioned if he could even hold a rifle steady. He sat back in his chair and looked at the two men sitting across from him, Colonel Hopkins and Major Nash. Nash took a drink out of his glass, Hopkins pushed the glass away. "Come on Colonel, there's no harm in the occasional drink-" Gill began. "What are we doing here sir?" Colonel Hopkins interrupted. In Gill's day that'd be insubordinate, now it was just a bit rude. Gill sighed. "I'm dying Colonel, Major. I have maybe a week, maybe a month left at most, but I'm dying." Gill said bluntly. Major Nash looked stunned. "Dying? Are you sure sir? Doctor Page has been wrong before..." Major Nash trailed off. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out, look at me. I'm sick and ragged, my uniform hangs off my chest, and I can't even summon the strength to button my collar." Gill said, he looked away so the two men couldn't see the tears in his eyes. Nash sighed, and Hopkins looked down. They were silent for a long moment. "So... what now sir?" Hopkins finally spoke. "Tension between the Reformers and the Purists is getting high, too high for me to keep a handle on it. I want... an election." Gill said, he turned back towards the men and put his hands on his desk. "An election? For Governor?" Nash asked, a bit take aback. "Not yet, an election for my post. Lord knows we have enough Colonels on this base." Gill said with a slight chuckle that turned into a cough. "Well... yes sir. We'll make it happen." Major Nash said, nodding at the thought. "Good, I've always appreciated you two." Nash and Hopkins stood up. Gill grabbed their arms before they turned around. "Take care of this base, these people, they're counting on us. Promise me you two will do that." Gill pleaded. "We promise sir." The two nodded, before turning to leave. |
Two o'clock in the afternoon of Saturday October 23rd 2077 did not seem all that different from the same time the previous day. The people of the United Kingdom spent their afternoon with the same anxieties they always had and believed they always would have. Many were grumbling quietly to themselves as they returned to work from their lunch breaks, the guarantee of finishing their shifts at five o'clock and returning home to loved ones bringing comfort to them as they labored away for bosses and CEOs. They never did. The more educated among them would have perhaps been letting their thoughts stew over the BBC lunch time radio show that had discussed the recent developments in the 'States. With Alaska liberated from the Chinese, the US Correspondent was hopeful that Britain could secure a deal from the Americans for some of the reclaimed oil. If not, with the last of the North Sea Oil drained, it was thought to be a very tough winter ahead for old blighty. A winter tougher then they could have possibly imagined. Of course that correspondent didn't live to see it, having being wiped out by the blast wave of the first nuclear strike in London. The citizens of the UK had only 4 minutes warning of the Armageddon that would later be referred to as the Great War. For millions across the Isles their work shifts ended early that day, at exactly 2:04pm BST for those in London, Birmingham and Manchester, the first to be hit by Soviet and Chinese ballistic missiles. By 3pm BST, the United Kingdom had collapsed. The Majority of the workforce and their loved ones dead with it. As the mushroom clouds faded away, the survivors of the War, mostly from the more rural areas of Scotland, Wales and North East England, faced the harshest winter Britain had ever seen. The majority would not survive it. Over the decades, the people roaming the lands formerly known as Britain began to bounce back. It seemed not even nuclear war could completely destroy the spirit of the people in the end. The old counties that made up Yorkshire were among the first to make a return to something resembling civilisation, with the natural geography of the area seeing off the radiation rather quickly then compared to the rest of the Isles. Now, after years of communication and trade, the settlements of the Yorkshire and large parts of the wider Northumbrian area have united under the reign of Richard IV, styling himself as a continuation of the last king of the House of York, Richard III. Richard IV earned his crown after he raised and led the armies that defeated the People's Republic of Northumberland, an expansionist communist city state that threatened the fragile trade in the region. With the PRN defeated, Richard IV now has the difficult task of building a kingdom worthy of the House he seeks legitimacy from, as well as rehabilitating the defeated Geordies or risk a second communist movement in England... Santiago AU, Ardentus, Griezelland, NewAusdonia, and 2 othersThe Moonsund Lands, and Colorado enclave |
She escorts the Captain into the massive structure, columns and archways casting deep shadows as they progress further into the depths. Eventually they arrive at a simple oak door guarded by two members of the Gendarmerie, whom step to the side as a woman with frazzled hair pushes the door open, clutching a variety of papers to her chest as she leaves the vicinity - her pace approaches that of a man on the run, but she still moves with an air of dignity and respect about her person; clearly, she has some level of importance in the Royaume. After a quick check with the sentries, the pair are let into the office. Compared to King Courtet's throne room, Prince Bain's working area is virtually spartan. A simple metal desk from before the Great War, polished and cleaned of its rust, sits in the center of the room; upon it lay sheaves of paper, carefully organized into stacks and folders. A large shelf stands present to the left of the desk, holding several dozen books of varying size - a quick glance reveals many topics, such as the legal intricacies of the United States of America, the history of Louisiana, economic theory, and all manner of other things that would have been seen in a pre-war university library. To the right of the room is a display case, where an ancient laser rifle in pristine condition lays enshrined - both a trophy and a serviceable weapon should the need arise. At the desk itself, though, sits Emilio Bain, Prince of the Principality of New Orleans - one of the many right hands of the King. He appears deeply engrossed in an official looking document, the pen between his fingers flying across the paper at record speed, before he looks up to observe the intruders to his sanctum. "And who might we have here, hm? What business do you have here?" |
New Canaan Crusade, pt. 3 Liberating all of Utah was not what the New Vegas mercs had signed up for, and they flatly refused to follow him into battle. This didn't matter much to Joshua - they would help him just as much by holding the rear against any possible 80s flanking attacks. Two of the New Vegasians, however - Boone and Manny, of course - did offer to follow him into battle, an offer that Joshua readily accepted. At least, after he'd made his peace with them. The meeting between Boone and Joshua Graham was tense, to say the least. Boone had been at the First Battle of Hoover Dam, directly responsible for the deaths of many of the Legion's finest officers and men overall, a main contributer to Joshua's current eternally-bandaged state. On the flip side, Graham had been the Malpais Legate, the enabler of Boone's wife's death, the main reason the Legion had made it as far as it had prior to 2nd Hoover. Had they met in previous times, they surely would have tried to kill each other. But in the present, with Graham having been exiled from the Legion and his home burned by it, and with Boone having more or less made peace with his past, they found in each other a kindred spirit - two flames, fed by trauma, burning brightly against the world, with a will to destroy it and anything and anyone that stood in the way - modified only by the measure of peace that both men had found, through different people. They entered the tent as enemies, and left as friends - and not even Manny will speak about what was spoken in that tent that day. Graham moved out on the rest of his crusade not long afterwards, Boone and Manny performing recon in advance of the tribals. The Dark Horses and the Sorrows were somewhat in awe of the pair's tracking skills, which were on par with some of their best wilderness experts, especially for westerners with little knowledge of the local terrain. As Graham and his tribals barreled up the valley, Boone visited the ruins of Ephraim, the town for which the valley was named. They arrived just in time to watch the 80s attack the town in force - someone had apparently offended somebody somehow, and now the 80s were there to sack the town completely. When Boone and his scouts arrived, the 80s had just begun their attack - and were quickly overwhelming the defenders, despite their fairly well-built defensive positions. Graham was moving fast, but he wasn't going to get there in time. Sending the tribals back to give the report, Boone and Manny threw themselves into the fight, scrambling into the foothills on the eastern side of the town where they could get a good vantage point. From their vantage point, they started picking off the raiders, targeting anybody who looked like they might be in charge. The 80s were stunned when suddenly heads started exploding out of nowhere, and their attack faltered, giving the townsfolk of Ephraim precious time to regroup and counterattack. They managed to drive the 80s back to the walls, where the fight stalled amidst brutal hand-to-hand fighting. The delay was enough for Graham to get there and fall upon the 80s left flank, quickly routing them. The entire battle line of the 80s quickly collapsed as the raiders ran for their trucks, intending to hightail it back to the Great Salt Lake. Many were unable to escape as Boone quickly targeted tires, gas tanks, even drivers through missing windshields in an attempt to stop as many as he could from getting away. About 20% of the vehicles suffered these bullet-caused mechanical problems, leaving their hapless crews to be slaughtered by Graham and his tribals. The rest fled up the valley, going to the next stronghold. Graham pursued them all the way up to Provo, where the 80s attempted to make their next stand. Provo was the beginning of what could be termed the "Great Salt Lake Megalopolis", or the ruins of it at any rate - the southernmost point of a cityscape that stretched all the way up into Ogden. This meant more defensible positions for the 80s - or, at least, it would be if they had much experience fighting in blighted, ruined urban landscapes. The 80s were raiders built for lightning-quick raids, using their vehicles for high mobility - they had no clue what to do in an area where they couldn't use their vehicles to their full capacity. That's not to say that the fight for Provo was easy. Casualties mounted as Graham fought his way up the eastern side of Utah Lake, slowly pushing the 80s through the ruins in a systematic fashion. Still, the casualty rate was being lopsided - for every Sorrow or Dead Horse that was cut down, several 80s were cut down. Eventually the remaining 80s lost their nerve and fled, passing through the skeletal ruins of Salt Lake City (with many being killed by the mantises that inhabit those charred ruins). The battle won, Graham finally paused to lick his wounds and bury the dead. His crusade wasn't over, but his forces had taken enough of a beating in the fight for Provo that he needed to stop and regroup. He hadn't intended to liberate New Canaan from the 80s... but since he was here, he would smash the 80s, reclaim the Great Salt Lake, and perhaps, just perhaps, allow New Canaan to be reborn - for the third time. |
The Cpt. speaks with elegance, and sincerity, attempting to respect the man, however with his strong accent, it is hard to understand him at first, as he also has a fairly raspy voice. "I am the Captain of the 27th Infantry Company, 6th Batallion, 2nd Brigade of the Republic of Texas. I am Cpt. Zeller. Sir." He finishes slightly awkwardly however says the rest as if he has said it 3,000,000 times. "I am Representing not only the Republic's Armed Forces, but the Republic as a whole sir. He have come a long way and have lost several men getting here." |
"Texas? Some of the Marquises and Comtes have dealings with wandering caravans from that old dustbowl, but I'm sure they would have mentioned the existence of a Republic." He puts down the pen, clasping his hands together atop the document - if one were to look closely, it appears to be about an airbase of some sort, though the precise details are too small to be legible to Zeller's sight. "Assuming you speak true, why are you, a self-professed military man, here to conduct diplomatic talks? Does your Republic not have a dedicated service for such, of men and women trained in the delicate arts of etiquette and negotiation?" |
In Copenhagen, before the departure The First Mate looked at the foreigners and waved at Misha in response. Then in French, he spoke from his position, going straight to the point but politely, "Before you come on board, we were told that you would pay with amber stones, can you show us the merchandise, please ?". He looked behind him and spoke in Danish, "Malthe? Come here, you were a jeweller before, weren't you?" A man came up beside him and replied in Danish, "Yes, sir". "They're going to show us some amber stones, normally. Have you ever worked with those?" continued the first mate in Danish. "Yes, a little." "Good, could you help me estimate the value ? If there are four of them, it must be worth at least 20 copper coins." The first mate looked towards the foreigners again, "Once we've seen and validated your payment, you can come aboard, gentlemen". Captain Rubert had swapped his binoculars for his diary and was beginning to take notes on what he saw. Every ship's captain had to do this kind of work. These notes were the reports of the major companies. He was waiting for everything to be clear about the agreement before welcoming the foreigners to his ship. |
Can you even call this a taxi i didnt see any cool stripes or anything Artur nodded, impatiently, not even waiting for the translation, and opened the bag, showing the 50 gleaming stones, cut into discs. Misha Yusupov: "Yours to count, gentlemen, and take aboard at your leisure. He hopes the money will also cover a return journey, and perhaps the trouble of feeding us along the way." |
In Copenhagen, before the departure The first mate looked at the bag with the Danish sailor. The sailor whispered to the ear of the first mate who spoke afterwise, "That should be good, welcome aboard" he said smiling and proposing a hand to help the foreigners to come aboard. "Captain ! All is clear here ! They speak our language !" he shouted in French. The captain finished writing, came closer, and opened his arms to show the deck of his ship. "Welcome aboard the Golden Lion", he said in French while smiling, "We only have some humble accommodation, as we are usually transporting merchandise, and not people but I hope you will like your rooms. We will have some time before arriving in the kingdom of the Lowlands, so make yourself at home. We will have two stops during our journey before reaching our destination. If you have any questions, you can ask me or my first mate and if everything is clear to you, we can start to leave." |
boat boat Misha Yusupov (francais): "Golden Lion. A fine name, sir. Thank you for hospitality, I believe we will need to await nothing further but what we have packed." Artur Pitka (in eesti): "He said we have rooms, people, plural. I believe this will be an agreeable journey." Arvo Thorne: "What do you want rooms for? I've seen you fall asleep in a closet! You seemed suspiciously comfortable there-" Artur Pitka: "I enjoy personal space. This is not always an easy feat in the home guard." Misha Yusupov: "I would be a hypocrite to judge, sirs - applying to work at the capital building, I did offer to live on the ceiling and eat paper. Thankfully it turned out a little better than that." Lukas Lighstone: "Personally, I prefer staying in a crowded barracks." Arvo Thorne: "Ah, you find it more comfortable to be in the same space with all the comrades you trust?" Lukas Lightstone: "Well... if we happen to be ambushed, statistically speaking, the first one to be stabbed is less likely to be me." Artur Pitka (francais): "I have a question, Captain. So we will have two stops. Where else will the boat go?" |
In Copenhagen, before the departure The captain nodded and began to give his orders in German while the foreigners spoke in a language unknown to the captain. The first mate followed in Danish. The ship was about to begin its voyage. As the crew set to work all around, the captain answered the question from the man in front of him, "We're going to pass through a small harbor before reaching the open sea, where we need to drop off some goods and pick up some new ones, as well as some supplies. From there, we'll head along the coast to Brunsbüttel, the headquarters of the Great Company for which we work. So, rest assured, everything's on our way, we won't have to make any detours." The first mate waved flags towards the other ship, which was now also starting to raise its anchor. |
Operation Event Horizon - Part I "The darkness was as thick - From the Lacplesis/Bear-Slayer ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Devastation sailed upon the North Sea. The lonely turret ship crossed the Skagerrak of Jutland, where they caught glimpses of crystalline, pulsing coral. It grew mainly on the wrecks of atomic ships, just barely submerged along the shore. Below them, a man on watch called out in terror, claiming that a massive shadow had passed under the boat. Nobody else could substantiate his claim. Then... open water. It was a new, terrifying phenomenon to those used to the shallow Baltic coasts. The crew, already on edge, was even more perturbed by the next sight. Abandoned, crumbling platforms dotted the sea. The largest appeared to be former oil platforms, but many of these were surrounded by small bunkers. The ship sailed silently by them. However, amongst the jumpiest of the sailors, reports of movement turned to reports of ghosts, which turned to prophecies of doom. The tension broke in the mess hall, when an old, frothing sailor respectively accused his shipmate of being a Jonah (false), the Chef of smuggling a banana aboard (false, where would he even get one), the Engineer of forgetting to smuggle a lucky rat onboard (true), and the Captain of being a woman (also true). A fight began. Pasta was hurled across tables, as well as, more dangerously, the bowls, and it took both Captain Voldemariene and the ship's contingent of infantry to break it up. For a moment, she considered simply pointing to the old sailor, and telling the crew that she had "found the real jonah". It was a powerful accusation, even if few of the sailors were actual followers of the book in question. Coming from the Captain, it would have been slightly less merciful than a bullet to the head. But despite her roaring reputation, the Captain wasn't that cruel. She instead settled for throwing the fellow in the brig, and giving an inspiring speech about duty in the face of danger. It at least evoked a weak hurrah. The Chief Engineer, Albrecht, (who, by the time this occurs, has returned from Switzerland) followed it up by striding confidently into the mess hall, and giving his own speech. Talking points included that none of their superstitions were real, and the entire crew were a bunch of little babies - a statement that was less well-received. One sailor dared to object to Linhardt, stating that the banana thing was at least real, because historically speaking, bananas that went bad were known to explode. Or something. Since nobody could say exactly what a banana was, the argument was shelved. A crackling storm lit up the sky with a rainbow of multicoloured lightning. The ship rocked through the waves as they entered the mist-shrouded English Channel, hugging the north coast (but not death-by-rocks close). First, they passed great cliffs, where, aided by a spyglass, they could see the eroding, fossilized spine of an ancient beast. Against expectations, the oncoming storm actually calmed the crew. Many had feared that their little turret ship would be deathtrap on the open ocean, barely more seaworthy than the monitors the coast guard had scrapped. But the Devastation rode comfortably in the storm, exceeding even her officers' expectations. The next meal brought tankards together, toasting their vessel's health. But the Captain was suspiciously absent. She was unable to fake a smile for the crew, and did not try. A lookout had sighted a sea mine - a fact she kept from all who did not need to know, to keep up morale. Regardless, the ship was slowed to a crawl, and the deck swarmed with a confused double-watch. There were no more mines. But there was plenty to see. After the storm, they found that the cliffs had receded, in favour of tidal bogs. A plucky young fellow with eagle-like eyesight snatched the spyglass, dictating what he saw to his comrades. Apparently, he could see a mix between a dog and an otter, with no eyes, and with endless rows of teeth, growing even outside its mouth. It seemed to be in a battle for territory with some kind of rat-like, horned marsupial. Those listening took bets, but all were disappointed, for neither was victorious. According to the lookout, a giant ball of some sort of moving heath plant had simply rolled over the two animals, slowly absorbing them. The sight of life, even strange life, however, had done well to distract the crew from their terrified monotony, and bring morale up to a serviceable state. Then, Europe ended. |
Post self-deleted by Santiago AU. |
Operation Event Horizon - Part II "All felt now strong the will - From the Lacplesis/Bear-Slayer ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Finistere, former France. "End of the Earth", the Bretons called it. A little village was balanced atop a precipice, tucked in among smooth, windswept pink granite. A group of old villagers with equally weathered faces sat around a table, at a little cobbled square, sipping on fine wine that they'd apparently just plain magicked into existence. They listened to two men in grey-blue uniforms - a grinning, almost grimacing one with golden hair, and a wild-eyed, yet reserved one with a large grey beard. Colonel Gaston Chevalier: "I launched the torpedo, and we hurled ourselves overboard, just before the Estonian guns destroyed our boat. And that's how we destroyed the very real Baltic super-dreadnought, and saved all of Denmark from murder and pillage." Captain Marcel Choufflet: "Sigh... Yep, yep, it all definitely happened. Sole survivors of Copenhagen, that's us. I don't use the word often, but we're reallllllllll heroes. That's why you should hire us Poilu Mercenaries." Unimportant Mayor Who Doesn't Need a Name (its bertrand bobet): "Er, listen young fellows... at least, compared to me, oh ho ho! I'm not questioning your story, I believe you wholeheartedly and unconditionally. But I just don't have any hope that anybody can stop the Perrot! Archdruid Lu has rampaged through the country these past few years, and so many little village militias have already made their last stands. I won't let them drive us into the sea - and that's why, if they come here, I'm going to surrender. Perhaps they'll... they might have mercy." Captain Marcel Choufflet: "Yes, they might. If they're feeling especially generous, They might only take the men." Colonel Gaston Chevalier: "And none of those towns had us. Come on! We can smash these thugs! We smashed the Estonians - hell, I'd love to see the looks on their faces right now!" Just then, a great, deep steam whistle bellowed from the rocks below, then again, then again. The villagers, rushed to look over the cliffside, towards the sea. The mercenaries joined them, and the colour instantly drained from their faces. Below them sat a ship with wooden decks, and steel, pancake-shaped turrets. The Baltic ironclad Devastation. Colonel Gaston Chevalier: MERDE. But whatever the mercs may have thought, the ship had not come for them personally. The sailors had not even noticed them. Instead, they simply kept a safe distance from the rocky coast, taking everything in. Just past this point was the vast, open Atlantic ocean. Faced with such enormity, it felt as though the the floor had fallen out from under the sailors. They simply didn't know how to process it. No land visible, for such a vast distance, all the way to the strange, smoldering continent that had helped bring about the end. America. And nobody knew what horrible things might lurk in the water before then. The cliffs of Bretagne, having to bear powerful wind and waves, were sharpened like a dragon's back. In some more protected places, the crew saw the rusted, twisted pieces of countless ships, new and ancient, thrown up on shore. Some had run aground in storms, dashed to pieces. Spiders half the size of cars wandered among the wreckage, down the vertical face, and drilled directly into the metal, where they extricated dinnertime, in the form of hiding slugs. The Captain noticed part of one ship, particularly high up, and weathered to a stub. She felt a lump in her throat. Judging by the angle, it was almost as if the old ship had been crashed there on purpose. It was almost certainly not the only one. After the war, for those who had been lucky enough to be at sea, where else was there to go, what else was there to do? The crew saw this all this, considered this possibility, and immediately rejected it. Men ran about on the decks, screaming about how a giant whirlpool had done all of this damage, and that they were next, if they didn't turn back now. Considering the likely end of many of these ships, it was probably a more comforting story. Except for the implication of their own mortal peril. A sudden lurch didn't help. Sailors called out in alarm as Captain Voldemariene sprinted to the bridge, terrified that they had hit an unseen rock. They very fortunately hadn't. But a confused young helmsman had picked up the cries about a whirlpool, taken them completely seriously, and had begun ordering a series of sudden, nearly random rudder changes. He was relieved on the spot, before he could do any real damage. After steadying their course to her satisfaction, the Captain passed the wheel off to Gundega, her first mate. After explaining the situation, in as far as they weren't in imminent danger, the crew were called to the deck. Hats were removed, and an Officer at the top of the mast lit a little torch. The Captain took a little cup full of fresh water. Captain Viktorija von Voldemariene: "Sailors of the Coast Guard! The sea - is greater than us. Many have sailed it before. Many greater than us. Many of them have been lost to her. Respect that, and remember them. ...for those of you who are not Lightkeepers: this is a secular vessel. If you wish, you may return to your duties. Now then. Lieutenant?" Lieutenant Ants Kiili: "Beyond the great bank, in the empty darkness, lies the shining spring. Great Ahti, master of the deep. May your waters flow amenably. Prince with the Gown of foam, bless our travels, and cleanse us from curses. For those who have passed within your kingdom, please guide them north, past the firmament, past the river of Toonela, where they may rest. Great Ahti, to whom we are eternally grateful, we return a humble offering to your spring, and hope for your blessing." Captain Viktorija von Voldemariene: "Let it be so. Now then. Engine room! Hit it!" The steam whistle bellowed out, audible for quite a distance. 3 long tones, and 2 short. A master salute, for the fallen. Even most of those who weren't particularly devout seemed satisfied. Whatever had happened here, it was appeased. They could go about their duties with zeal. But on the coast, not all the wreckage was on the shore. No doubt with great effort, chunks of other vessels had been hauled further inland, where they created makeshift village homes. Others occupied ancient concrete forts, which the Devastation's Captain assumed were built to fight the French's ancestral enemy, England. The ship carefully picked her way around jutting rocks, and little, dangerous currents. On the shore between the cliffs, there were little translucent forests, sitting in carefully cultivated pools of water. Farmers fussed over them constantly. Some were nought but thin green stems, where others had grown their little crystalline branches - strange flavours of salts, all in varying colours. |
The Constance drifts toward what had once been the city of Los Angles and begins to descend toward the busy harbor below. Following directives from the NCR government, the airship begins to inflate its air cushion system and conduct a water landing. Using its nozzles to supply downward thrust, the four landing cushions make contact with the Pacific Ocean gently, marking the first time the Pacific had been reached by Swiss Forces in history. With the ship now resting on the surface of the water, its rear turbine propels it to the dock where the lower gondola lowers down to. The ramp is at a bit of a slight include due to the elevation difference between the dock and the ship. Professor Oleri, Captain Brenden, and two guards wait at the ramp for further direction from the NCR. |
An Invitation to the Alps As the Estonians walk about the ship and explore their surroundings, Captain Richter can't help but smile once more. Any civilians or even regular army soldiers were always astounded on their first voyage. As she watched them talk among themselves, the Ritom continued its slow voyage back to Swiss airspace. Within an hour, it had left the Baltic coastline completely behind and was now over the expanse that had once been Poland. The fields of mud that Estonian reports had proved to be accurate. A massive bog had spread across the region that created a massive brown scar across the once fertile land. The only exceptions were a few small settlements and city ruins such as Warsaw that stood apart from the rest of the dreary wetlands below. While no Swiss airships had been able to land on the sites due to concerns of being stuck in the boggy terrain with the air cushions, aerial surveys had been conducted over the routes to and from Riga. However, by the end of the third hour of flight, the brown marshes of Poland were replaced by the dreary forests of Germany. Unlike Poland which had succumbed to the bogs, Germany was coated in a massive forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. Even passing over some cities like Berlin showed that the sprawling metropolis was being consumed by the plant growth. The trees were also abnormally thick, with trunks spanning the width of a truck being common in the region with heights reaching 200 feet. The mass of trees had been found to extend through much of central Germany and was starting to appear in the southern portions as well. As the Ritom glided over the towering forest Richter provided the Estonians reports on that the Swiss had been conducting on the trees. The plants seemed to be a mutated species of pine of some sort with a high growth rate thanks to a tendency to eat radiation. However, the regions the plants were found in still retained high radiation levels indicating that while the trees consume radiation they do not seem to eliminate it from the surrounding environment. Soon, the airship passed the border of Germany and into France, giving the Estonians their first view of the Alps. As the ship neared Switzerland, the Jura Mountains came into view, their snow-capped peaks looking like they were skimming the skies above. For 1,000 years, the northern mountains had acted as a natural wall to the forces from the north, making invading the nation a dauting task. The trees and plant life on the mountains was scant and few signs of life could be seen in the hills below save the odd campfire every now and then. Swiss reports indicated that the heavy number of raiders present in France had made any large scale development of civilization exceedingly difficult and as such no major settlements had been found north of the Jura Mountains as of yet. However, as the ship continues forward, the Estonians begin to notice that the mountains begin to taper off and slowly shrink in height. In the last thirty minutes of the trip, the Ritom lowers its altitude to 500 feet and begins to push forward on the final leg of the trip. Captain Richter looks at the Estonians and smiles, “You all may want to grab a window, we are about to cross the Wall and enter Switzerland.” As the ship turns around the final bend, the mountainside gives way to a flat open plateau spread between the Alps. Unlike the rest of the wasteland which had been coated in grey and brown, the plateau instead was a vibrant green. Massive farms were spread across the hillside with tractors running up and down the fields collecting a variety of foods. Between the rolling hills were streams and rivers pouring into a massive lake that was ringed by a series of purifies and water pumps. Set between all of this was the city of Geneva, returned almost to its pre-war glory. Buildings were being repaired, trains ran through the streets, and factories buzzed with production. The Red Cross HQ, also called the White Tower for its skyscraper-like appearance, jutted out from the city’s center, a beacon of progress and a sign of the city’s revitalization. Beside it sat the Palace of Nations, the former seat of the United Nations and the destination of the Ritom. The city was a sign that Switzerland was slowly but surely returning to the pre-war era of prosperity. But that wasn’t the only thing that stood in front of the Ritom. The Wall stood as both a symbol of strength and a warning to those who sought to enter the Swiss Confederation. The fortification mass of metal, concrete, and rebar towered over its surroundings, its 150-meter-tall ramparts and armored watchtowers provided the means to keep the people of the Swiss Plateau safe from the hell of the wasteland. For years, French raiders had tried to breech the Geneva Wall, each time resulting in failure. The ruins of cities and camps below stood as a testament to that. But that was when the wall was old and decrepit. No more. Gunports line the lower sections of the wall, M-2 Pike railcannons line the ramparts, and Skyguard III CWIS cannons watch the skies above the Wall ensuring no one would strike from above. However, the heart of the Wall’s defensive might was highlighted by the presence of the M-1 Sentinel Railguns mounted on the top of each watchtower. Mounted in dual turrets with a range of just over 40 miles, the weapons highlighted that even though the Wall was a defensive structure, it still had offensive potential if the local raiders decided to test their luck. However, as the Ritom arrived in Geneva there was something else that caught Captain Richter off guard. In the skies above the city, the entire Home Fleet was deployed. Cruiser airships, the transport fleet, event the blimp fleet, lay in the city’s skies. This was not an exploration or salvage fleet, nor was it a diplomatic fleet. There was only one reason a force of this size had been created. A combat mission, and a large one at that. The entire fleet was being deployed just as the Estonian representatives were coming to Geneva under a mysterious sudden request? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Additionally, this may cause some concerns with the Estonians, seeing a military force of this size may cause them to think this is a notification of conflict or a breaking of ties. Captain Richter looked at the Estonian delegates, “I apologize for the state of our city, usually our entire fleet is not put on display in front of guests in this manner. I assume you will all be filled in upon us landing, however, as clearance may take a minute or two I can do what I can to calm some nerves if need be. I assure you that whatever the fleet is doing, it has no ill will toward the Federation.” |
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Operation Backstage Pass - Part I The Cleansers moved on to Odense. The great belt was vast, nearly 20 kilometres. It was hard to imagine a bridge reaching so far, but the remnants evidence were unmistakable evidence. Too bad the spans had long since collapsed beyond any utility. Instead, two destroyer escorts and an icebreaker pulled relay work, bringing small groups across the water, to the marshy town of Nyborg. It was slow going, especially since one of the boats had to peel off, to investigate a little unmarked, bobbing islet. Upon the vessel hitting the islet with a shell, it revealed itself as a creature, known locally as a sjodraug, and slipped beneath the waves. Upon arrival in Odense, no humans could be seen, and nothing conscious greeted the soldiers. They hoped. A group of pitiful dogs approached. They all had something resembling stitch marks, which caused the alarmed soldiers to try to keep away. One approached to investigate, only for the animal to horrifically split open, revealing a strange parasite, an attacking wormball creature. Several, with the element of surprise, ripped right through soldiers, before shotgun blasts put them down. It seemed that there were no massive beasts left in Odense, but the place was infected with enough small mutants to make reclaiming the city prohibitively dangerous. It seemed that Copenhagen was once a similar story, but it had at least been important enough to be worth the guns, and the lives, for the surviving Danes to sweep free of beasts. Now it was Odense's turn. There were renaissance castles, and old churches, but all sheltered something or another. There was nowhere onshore to set up a secure base. First, slowly shuffled creatures known as Kalmes, though frequently confused with ghouls. They were of the more skeletal variety, and spat acid, though they, too, seemed to host a controlling wormball creature. More than once, a grove of spitting Kalmes emerged around already cleared street corners, taking patrols by surprise. Others, known as wights, were generally black and spider, preferring to live in walls. Upon finding prey, the wall slowly cracked apart, and they used the debris as tools to drag in humans. The cleansers' NBC suits saved countless lives, especially from acid. But equally invaluable were the sniffer foxes, who sadly took outsized casualties protecting their humans. Nevertheless, they were often the only warning the troops had. Eventually, unable to sustain this battle of attrition, the Cleansers pretty much gave up on protecting Odense's buildings. They brought up newly refueled flamethrowers, guarding the operator carefully, and began torching beast dens, block by block. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Exploration: Fyns Militærhistoriske Museum: Museum Langelandsfort: |
Operation Cog - Part I "We interrupt regular programming for an important message from TT news: ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The island of Gotland. Barely 200 kilometres from Kuresaare, it was a land of strange rocks - or, at least, that was all anyone could tell from a passing boat. Smack dab in the Baltic sea, it was hard to avoid the island, yet most people tried. It had a reputation. A reputation of strange lights, and those who dared its shores soon disappearing. A reputation that the Selenian shore party was rapidly learning. They landed unopposed on the remote north shore. The landing lifeboats came in behind a beached cargo ship, using it as cover, and a platform to unload from. There was little there other than the strange column-like stone formation known as rauks, and, amidst pools of water, other limestone cliffs, carved into all sorts of odd pancake shapes. There was initially no cause for alarm other than the perpetually hungry Razorgulls, which needn't have been underestimated - they managed to drag one man off into deep water, and the rest had to be held off by snipers. Then, a robot whirred overhead. A 'Crow' type. A little platform sitting on top of a turbofan, it hovered incessantly over the Selenians, and blared a little klaxon. A little, badly garbled voice came out of a speaker, shouting such things as "Communism detected on Swedish soil", and endlessly repeating such phrases as "total defence means total commitment", and "gott mitt uns". Upon receiving ground fire from the annoyed troops, the tone of the klaxon changed. The 'crow' swooped down low, and spilled little tanks of chemicals from a couple of side tanks, before being destroyed. Terrified, the Selenian soldiers assumed poison, and were promptly evacuated to the icebreaker Suur Toll. Fortunately, after some analysis, it seemed whatever substance they'd been attacked with had become inert. It was when they moved further inland, that the real trouble began. Gotland, whatever importance it had held in the medieval world, was now greatly diminished. Old bunkers, and the round turrets of sunken coastal batteries lined the shore, more often than not showing signs of battle damage. Old Soviet hovercraft lay on the beach, like the bleached bones of whales. Inland was mostly sand and smooth, worn cliffs, with some hardy trees hanging on. There weren't a lot of larger animals. One couldn't go far without passing a bomb crater, sometimes full of standing water that nobody was particularly eager to drink. The soldiers found what looked at first like a tiny canyon, but then revealed itself to be a massive fissure in the Earth. There, they found the hatches to a Swedish nuclear missile silo, broken and bombed to pieces, with the twisted remnants of one rocket still inside, to be disposed of carefully. But though the remnants of the old war mostly came in the form of smashed artillery and crashed fighter planes, something still fought on. Army robots roamed the island. Through the stones of empty houses, three-legged, doglike bots patrolled constantly, their servos whirring. The Swedish "Vallhund" model. The shore party waited behind rocks, and the bots indeed retreated to some unknown base, to recharge. Only to be replaced with more. Unfortunately, the decision to open fire was perhaps premature. The robots all let out ominous beeping tones, like their own howl. The 'Vallhunds' had a laser mounted on their backs, which absolutely shredded cover, and a tendency to rush towards the soldiers, sporting a shotgun where one would expect a snout. Nor did the Selenians bring the best weapons for the job - while the robots weren't heavily armored, steel plate protected the vital bits, and unless they were willing to waste an entire magazine, it usually took a shot from an anti-material rifle to put one down. Before they could be overrun, thankfully, the Cleanser contingent brought up their flamethrower. It was found that the 'Vallhund' batteries fried and popped almost immediately, faced with fire. Unfortunately, the robots had reinforcements. The 'Alg' type was a heavier, tracked bot, with two blocky coilguns mounted on each side, like antlers. Four were immediately on the scene. And the soldiers had no means of bringing them down. Instead, being steadily picked off, they chose to withdraw, and signaled to the four Coast Guard gunboats, waiting offshore. The boat's covering bombardment, at least, was effective enough to demolish the bots. But the whole island was crawling with them. The soldiers had regrouped in a little neighbourhood in the island's north. Hoping to hold out for reinforcements. Or permission to withdraw. A door opened in a supposedly abandoned bunker, and they swung their rifles around, afraid of an ambush. Instead, a human looked back at them. A grime-covered child, with a lamp and helmet. They followed the child into the tunnels, and found an entire village, living in shelter, but squalor. There was a great deal of filth among their dimly lit wooden shanty, but also gold, and silver rings, and great piles of ancient norse, and even arabic coinage. Fortunately, a soldier in the party knew Swedish, and rapidly translated. The town of Di sma, the locals called it. They were... relatively safe from the robots, as long as they were careful in their movements. The tunnels, built for the Swedish army, lead throughout the island. Locals played a dangerous game, sneaking out to briefly tend to Tatoe gardens, or scavenge prewar food. The Di sma child offered an ancient, rusted can of apple soup, which the soldiers did their best to politely reject. Nevertheless, this was a great boon to the small Selenian force. They could gradually filter in reinforcements, who could pop up through the tunnels, and fry bots by flamethrower. If this proved dangerous, or impractical, they could simply draw a lot of robots to a marked spot, call in naval gunfire, and then vanish underground. It would, however, be a long, slow job, assuming they didn't find where the robots recharged soon, and these duties would be mixed in with the occasional cleanup of nuclear material. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Exploration: Visby Airport: Gotlands Flyg & Marin Museum: Gotland Defence Museum: |
Arriving in the Lowlands, Antwerp After a journey on a calm sea, albeit rainy from time to time, the two ships arrived at the port of Antwerp, which had been restored. Numerous other ships were navigating the waters and some were docked at this port which jutted inland. They couldn't miss the shipyard where other ships were being built. Captain Rubert rang the bell. The grey landscape of the harbour, covered mostly in ruined buildings, contrasted little with the colour of the water. The weather was grey and rain was on the way. The only colours came from the ships and their crews and some flags on the buildings. Crates were being loaded and unloaded on the quayside. The Gueux was there, also being loaded. The captains greeted each other. "You went to Copenhagen, right ?" asked the captain of the Gueux, shouting in French. "Yes, four passengers are on board" replied the captain of the Golden Lion with the same force. The merchant captain nodded and simply waved his hand, to which Captain Rubert responded by raising his hand in return. He went down the steps to his ship to wait for the strangers on deck. When they were all on deck, Captain Rubert spoke in French, "Well, gentlemen, we have arrived at the port of Antwerp. My first mate has informed me that you have paid for a return trip. When do you expect to leave ? Depending on the date, it may not be our ship that brings you back. Rest assured that if we can't make the return trip, I can make things easier for you by communicating your possible return trip to the great company, and all you will have to do is go to their offices. Their offices are over there. However, you should know that the language used here is called Flemish, and not everyone speaks our language." The captain pointed to a building on the port that had been rebuilt in Art Deco-like style. The white-grey building was new, no more than 10 years old, and although there were three other buildings of the same style, they were hard to miss between the ruined and makeshift buildings and those that seemed to date around them. Flags, some identical to those seen on the ship, fluttered beneath the windowsills of the building. Above the door, words in yellowed metal letters were inscribed in French on the wall, "Grande Compagnie du Commerce Oriental". Not far away, to the right of the building that the four foreigners could see, was an area with several carts, slightly crowded and, not far, a sign saying "Karavanen". If the foreigners wanted a share of their amber stones instead, Captain Rubert would not refuse since there was a high possibility that he couldn't make the return trip. --- |
Enclave Radio: Broadcast 1 "Hello, my fellow Americans, it's your new host, Charles Fisher! It is so so so good to be back on the air! Coming to you straight out of the Rocky Mountain Complex recording booth one! To celebrate the grand reopening of Enclave radio, I got some classics from the Pre-War era to help you remember America, and some modern music produced right here in the complex, to give you some of that new world hope!" Fisher put on a track, Uranium Fever, a classic and one of his personal favorites. Fisher then rolled in his chair over to his other desk. He flipped a few switches, making sure he was off the air and only broadcasting on encrypted channels, one specifically from back in the Oil Rig days. "This is Control Station Custer, broadcasting in the blind. Authorization code, Hamilton. Any true Americans still on this frequency come to the following coordinates." Fisher spoke the coordinates into the microphone, reading them off a sheet of paper he had hastily scribbled them on a few moments ago. Before ending the message, he spoke once more. "Remember, it's always darkest just before the dawn. America will survive, and with a little hope... it will thrive. This message will repeat from 0800 hours to 1600 hours." Fisher ended the transmission and set it to repeat before he rolled back over to his main desk. "Alright, that was Uranium Fever, by Elton Britt. Hope you all enjoy that track as much as I do, now for something a little different..." |
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