The Peacemaker

[Philosphy]

This is a fictional story not based on a game of any sort. Just a story I have been plotting out in my mind day by day. In the story you'll find a few undertones and similarities to real worlds current issues. Anyway, enjoy the first segments


In 1978 during the Agorian Conflict, Greece was simultaneously attacked by the Egyptians from the southern isthmus of Giza and north by the Persians from the Herat Heights. During the stages of the war, Greece was at first overcome by the sheer numbers of the attacking forces. However, their modern army, equipped with superior technology in mechanical infantry support turned the tides of battle. By mid summer of 1981, Greece had captured the Egyptian isthmus as well as the Persian City of Herat. There was an uneasy peace after the signing of a treaty and since then peace has remained. It is now 15 years later and that peace is once again being threatened…



The well-lit room was relatively quiet, besides for the on and off humming of the air condition or abstract movements of a bold-faced pin, scratching across a piece of paper. To the left of the room, stood two cushy chairs just parallel from each other. Straight ahead there was an open window, which provided the room with little luminescence since it was nearly 11:00 at night. To the immediate right, laid a brown-wood desk, from where the stroking sounds of the pen originated. The wielder of the pen and the architect of the paper was none other then Abe Lincoln, president of the United Sates of America. Lincoln himself was as quiet as the Washington night. He seemed almost completely absorbed by his writing as he in-scripted every single word with scrupulous detail and attention. The President paused for a moment, letting the pin stop on the final curve of the letter "n" of the word "negotiation". Just before he could continue on with his work, a barely audible knocking reverberated from the door.

"Come in." He said plainly, not bothering to look up from five-paragraph speech before him.


The doorknob slowly rotated and in stepped Kenneth Duffy, the International and Diplomatic Advisor to Lincoln. Duffy was a rather pale man, who stood at only 5'3 in height. He was small fry compared to the tall giant that was Lincoln. Still, he was a loyal advisor and a close companion of Lincons. Duffy swiftly plodded across the office until halting in front of the desk. In his right hand were about four documents, each one neatly stapled together.

"Mr. President." he nodded and went on. "There was a suicide bombing..."

"In Herat at a Grecian Hotel. Twelve Grecian by standers were killed. Two diplomats, one American and three other persons of Persian descent were seriously injured" Lincoln chimed in, literally taking the words from the mouth of a speechless Duffy.

Duffy shifted through two pages of the packet, pausing for a moment as his eyes went back and forth across the page. “Correct, how did you know?”

Lincoln grasped for his sliver-tented remote, laying out on the desk to the right. Without looking up he turned on the television, centered against the opposite wall of the office. As if to answer Duffy’s question, the national news appeared, covering the incident in Herat.

“And I saw that same report six hours ago on another channel...What the hell is going on with my intelligence agency?”

Lincoln finally looked up toward Duffy who simply shrugged his shoulders and put the report on the left side of his desk. “Maybe if you paid them more, sir. They have complained that the department is under funded.”

“Maybe if I sent out pink slips and forced retirement notices, I would receive more timely information.” he said with a chuckle.

Duffy laughed lightly “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“How is Alexander taking it?” he asked Duffy, eyes wondering back to the speech.

“Not well, he threatens a serious retaliation against PLF (Persian Liberation Front) radicals and Persian Government.”

“On what grounds does he have to attack the Persian government?”

“He claims that they’re supporting the PLF with weaponry, money, and possibly nuclear material.”

“That can’t be. Xerxes agreed to the Nuclear Contraband Treaty. He knows good and well that the word community will ride him up rail for violating it.”

“Intelligence say that Xerxes might be doing other wise, sir.”

“Intelligence can kiss my ass as far as I’m concerned right now.” Lincoln paused for a moment as he stroked his chin.

“What’s wrong, sir?” Duffy questioned, leaning in over the desk.

“I hate writers block.”

He smiled and headed out the door, leaving Lincoln to his thoughts.





The Presidential Limousine cruised along the city streets of Cincinnati, a three mile island city located in the middle of the river valley along the Appalachian Range. It was also the home to the Intelligence Agency, the destination of the car. In less then thirty minutes the limousine was pulling into the submersed garage of the eight-story building. The bright overhead lights of the garage glimmered off the limousine’s windows until it came to a complete stop in front of a revolving door. The last door on the vehicle opened and out stepped Lincoln, Duffy, and three of the best Secret Service members. The five-man group walked into the door, which was highly guarded by building security. They came out into the main lobby, by passing the guards who carried weapon detectors. The group continued down a curving hallway, which finally ended in front of a 10-inch glass door. Lincoln entered a five-digit code on a digital panel and in seconds the glass door slowly creaked open. As Lincoln and Duffy entered without the secret service, they instantly spotted the secretary of defense as well as the intelligence advisor. The secretary of defense was like any other man re-born from the military. Low cut hair, broad shoulders and row of stars and military awards, streaming across his shoulders. The intelligence advisor was quite the opposite however. She was a thin, shorthaired woman, who wore small-framed glasses and a snazzy business skirt to match.

“Good day, gentleman and women. Shall we get down to business?” Lincoln started off as he sat down in the seat at the head of the marble table.

Duffy was taking a seat beside Lincoln as secretary of defense spoke up. “Sir, as you have seen my recent report, are 3rd and 54th Calvary division in Hamburg, Germany have come under heavy opposition fire. Nine men were killed in the guerilla attacks and eight others injured. These kind of incident in Germany are occurring more and more frequently. By next year we estimate the American casualties to rise by an estimate of 120. Sir, we have to do something and fast.”

“What do you suggest, General Hawthorne?”

“My first option is to send more support, maybe send in the 19th infantry division to keep the peace. The other option is to pull out half of our troops and hope the United Nations will donate some peacekeepers to the cause. Of course the choice is up to you, Sir.”

“The second option is highly unlikely right now. Russia, Spain and the Ottomans have already voted out half our proposals towards stabilizing Germany. I’ll consider throwing more troops at the problem, but for now we’ll have to sit on our hands and wait. How about the Grecian-Persian conflict, what’s your take on that?”

“I can answer that question Mr. President.” Maxine Shaw, the Intelligence Advisor said in her usual confident tone. “Apparently Alexander has made due with his threats. As you can see on the satellite images I had faxed to you earlier, there seems to be a vast mobilization of Mechanical Infantry and G-22 Tanks on the borders of Persia. He has also positioned lethal artillery on Herat Heights, for “defensive” measures. Xerxes has responded by repositioning strike jets outside of Susa and placing his Republican Guard ten miles from Herat. Xerxes is also denying any association with the Persian Liberation Front.”

“So what you’re telling me is that if we don’t diffuse this situation quickly, were going to have a serious war on are hands?”

“From the looks of it, Sir” she said with a nod.

“What are our options in a worse case event?”

“Well sir, we can put pressure on the United Nations to send Peacekeeping troops on the borders of the two nations. Of course they will be under heavy fire and I doubt they have the stomach for that. The other way is to continue peace talks with both nations and hope they come to terms.” The defense mister stated, knowing both choices would most likely become fruitless.

“You’re not leaving me with much to work with general. Hmm…let’s take a recess and see what happens tomorrow. In the mean time let’s pray for the best.”

With that, the cabinet walked out the room the last two being Duffy and Lincoln.

“You were quiet in their Duffy. You alright?”

“Oh yah, I’m good…just been kind of off it lately.” He responded, his voice trailing off.

“How’s your wife?”

“Huh?” he looked up at the president almost as if he had asked Duffy to marry him.

“Your wife Duffy. How is she?”

“Oh, she’s doing alright. The doctors say the cancer has stopped spreading.”

“That’s good. Just take it easy Duffy…after all your vacation leave is tomorrow.”

“I’ll enjoy it as much as I can, sir.”

The two slipped back into the limousine and after a roar of the engine, the car sped out the garage and onto the streets of Cincinnati.


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It was eerily placid on the border seperating Persia with Greece. It wasn’t a peaceful calm, however. It was a calm that instilled fear and paranoia on those standing in its midst. The calm and silence of the night seemed to invite chaos. It was a silence that would precede destruction…

A soviet-style mobile artillery vehicle by passed the iron-chained gates of a dilapidated car garage. Its grinding noise broke the delicate quiet of the night and stirred up the nocturnal animals that were around to witness its furry. In the drivers seat of this mechanical monster was a thin, hairy Persian man around the age of 25 or so. His mission was simple; to deliver the truck to an abandoned garage, just inside Grecian territory. Luckily or perhaps unluckily he had a friend who allowed him to smuggle such contraband weapons across the heavily enforced border. However, he and driver would become a minor character in incident that was about to play out. The vehicle had at last come to a stop in front of the seemingly inactive structure. This image was soon put to rest after the large, rusty garage door smoothly went upward. From the shadowy depths of the building came two men, one Egyptian, the other Persian. The driver quickly jumped out the car to meet his comrades with a handshake and a wide grin of success.

“Ah, you did it Afshad! It is beautiful!” the Egyptian exclaimed as he studied the truck and the pay load it totted.

“I did good job, yes?” Afshad yelped out like a little a child who awaited praise from his parents for doing a good deed.

“Very well. This will be perfect…” the third man answered.

“How much will you pay me for my work?” Afshad said eagerly holding out his hands for his just reward.
In return however, he only got a laugh. Afshad looked back and forth between the two men, becoming ever more confused and angry. “What? What is so funny?!”

The two stopped laughing and a malicious smirk crossed the face of the Egyptian. “You are.” Just as he finished that phrase, the Egyptian revealed a half-concealed shotgun. Afshad could only look on in horror as his fate was clearly decided. “BANG, BANG” The sound echoed across the area and silently faded away. By this time the Egyptian had turned his attention to the control panel, located below the five I-365 missiles sitting snuggly on their respective platforms. He wiped away the dust on the panel and flawlessly typed in the activation codes. His partner in crime had stepped over the bleeding chest of Afshad and was now looking over the Egyptians shoulder.

“Is it time?” the Persian whispered, looking around the vicinity for signs of anyone else.

“Yes.”

The Egyptian hit the white “Launch” button and instantly the first two I-365 missiles spewed flames from their bottoms. At first they struggled to take off, but after a moment they were shooting up in the air. The two men gazed on as the missiles simultaneously dissapeared from view. The missiles target was a Greek helicopter that always flew over the Greek settled areas of Herat during this time. The helicopters were old and outdated and did not consist of missile detectors or deterrents. The crew would virtually be left defenseless.

“Deos, it’s a smooth flight tonight, eh?” The co-pilot asked his pilot, trying to start a conversation on a seemingly boring round of security duty

“Yup, last night was just the same. They say that things are heating up on the border.”

“Pfft, that’s just a rumor spread by the head commander, so we won’t get lazy on the job. Personally, I can’t wait tell my shift is over…my mothers whipping up something good from the stove, fried kalamaraki.” He licked his lips as he thought about the mouth-watering meal waiting for him at home.

“Kalamaraki, huh? Maybe I’ll come over for dinner tonight.”

The two exchanged laughs for a moment until they heard a roaring sound in the distance.

“What’s that?” Delos screamed over the racket, which was increasing every second.

“I don’t know, it’s getting louder. Is it a jet?”

“Can’t be, they don’t fly over at night.” He answered back, looking out the window for the source.

“Maybe it’s a rocke…. HOLY sh*t! Look out!”

Instinctively, the pilot jerked the controlling stick right, forcing it just inches away from the cone shaped missile. The helicopter stalled in mid air for a minute before stabilizing. For a second they were alive and flabbergasted.

“What in Apollo’s name was that?! Was that a f**king missile?!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know! I’m going to call in at home base and see they picked up that son of a b***h on radar.”

Delos attempted to steady his shaking hand as he nervously reached for the communications panel to contact home base. Unknown to the crew of two, a second missile was swirling unavoidable towards the back end of the helicopter. An explosion of shrapnel and fire gushed from the behind the cockpit, throwing the co-pilot forward and out the front window to his descending death. Delos was helplessly left strapped to his seat as intense heat went up the back of his neck and sharp glass shredded through his flight suite. The helicopter spiraled downward into a whirling mass of flames and twisted metal, before crashing into a residential building. A spectacular orange-reddish plume of fire rose into the air and finally dimmed into a climactic string of smaller explosions. Delos could feel a stream of warm blood pour out from his left side. He started to shake uncontrollably and an unnaturally cold feeling paralyzed his body. Delos was going into shock and he knew then that he would not survive to see tomorrow. In his mind he recited a brief prayer to the gods, hoping they would save him an honorable place in the fields of heaven. Two pilots died that night and four others living in the neighborhood perished as well. With the shattering of a silent night, came the shattering of peace…

[vovan]

Great stuff, Philosophy! I quite enjoyed this part of the story. Quite a beginning for some greater conflict, too - nice build-up there. Looking forward to seeing what happens next.

[unscratchedfoot]

Good. Now let's see a nice big war happen. Will the Greeks beat the Persian geeks until they're as flat as leeks or will they stay meek and bleak?

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Nice stuff

[Philosphy]

Sitting in the center of the International meeting room, located in the White House was Maxine Shaw and Lincoln. The two didn’t converse much as they awaited the arrival of Alexander. A black-glossy fan whirled round and round above overhead, each gentle waft of winds slightly moving Shaw’s hair. They would exchange glimpses now and then, but for the most part there was little to say, at least for Miss Shaw anyway.

“How goes the department, Maxine?” he started off.

“Were doing well, sir.”

“Lately I’ve been seeing different.”

“I assure you sir that we are doing an adequate job.”

“I don’t call a missed opportunity to nail a run away gunman in Richmond an adequate job.”

She sighed, half-knowing where this was all leading. “We did the best we could with the evidence we were offered. Where are you going with this, sir?”

“Miss Shaw, my intelligence is failing me and it has been for the past two years.” He edged forward, gripping the table. “This last thing I need is…”

“Sir, with all do respect the last thing we need is another unrealistic demand from you and the administration. If you want top notch results from Intelligence then I suggest you put money where your mouth wants to go.” She retaliated, equally shifting forward to face Lincoln.

The unexpected entrance of man wearing a dark blue collared shirt and black slacks signaled the conclusion of their brief argument. “Mr. President, he has arrived.”

Lincoln unlocked his eyes from Maxine and nodded. “Send him in.”

The employee ducked back out the door and was replaced by medium sized frame of Alexander. As he stepped into the light, streaming from the transparent glass floor, rather then from the ceiling, you could make out the rather sophisticated gentleman in small-framed glasses. He wore a dim-gray suite, which clashed, with his pasty pale complexion and his face bared a five o' clock shadow. Lincoln straightened up in his chair as if attempting to keep the dominant role in the room. Maxine remained casual, preferring to stay with her “nothing impresses me” demeanor. Alexander and Lincoln shook hands as customary and exchanged half-hearted smiles. He took a seat diagonally from Lincoln and the session proceeded.

Lincoln coughed before beginning “Good evening Alexander, thank you for coming. It must have been a long trip.”

“Yes it was, but I prefer we get on with this, so I may arrive home quickly”. Alexander struggled a little with his English, a thick Greek accent somewhat taking over his speech pattern.

“Very well, let’s not beat around the bush. You and I know why you are here, Alexander. My cabinet informed me that you have thousands of troops amassed on the borders of Persia. You claim the Persian Government is sponsoring the PLF and even producing nuclear material. Is it possible Alexander that you maybe jumping the gun just a bit? “

Alexander sighed, placing his shoulders on the table, making a quiet “thump”. “Jumping the gun? Mr. Lincoln a helicopter was shot down over the city of Heart. It was an I-365 missile. The culprits were Persian and Egyptian; the deliver was also a Persian. Each one of them having ties to the PLF and the Persian Government. What more proof does your administration need?”

Lincoln paused for a moment, soaking in circumstantial evidence. “How can you be so sure that the weapon was not stolen from a military base or a few PLF supporters in the Persian Government allowed them to take the weapon?”

He was eager to counter. “I doubt that Mr. Lincoln. The people who head the Persian government are tightly linked in all aspects, from business to personal belief. If one does it, then so will all. That is why they are such a threat! We have even done recon missions over their territory…” Alexander shifted through a briefcase as an interested Lincoln looked on. In his left hand Alexander produced twenty-odd arial shots of what appeared to be nuclear power plants. “…they have opened nuclear plants and only the god’s know what they have already created.”

Lincoln briskly looked over all of the shots and then nonchalantly slid them to Maxine, who had not uttered a word sense the meeting started. She analyzed the pictured with more attention and suspicion then Lincoln had and finally came up with her verdict.

“They look like plants to me, not as modernized of course, but sufficient enough to make plutonium rods.” Maxine glimpsed up at Lincoln, who was awaiting a different judgement. “Ahem, then again, they could simply be commercial factories.”

Maxine slid the photos back to Alexander, who was obviously not buying their second opinions. “Lincoln, you have told me and my cabinet not to retaliate against the Persian Government and the PLF when they unjustly lash out at my people. You have told me to talk instead of take actions in order to defend the interests of Greece. And so far, your counseling and advice has brought on more attacks and violence. I may be naive and old enough to believe your empty words, Lincoln, but the Greek people will not be so easily persuaded. Mr. Lincoln, you have told my country to remain on the defensive side of war for the common goal of world peace, yet you have occupied German territory, claiming them as a threat to the entire world.”

“Alexander I….”, Lincoln tried to justify himself, but was cut off.

“In all honesty, I’m beginning to see your administration as a hand full of hypocrites. Now, if you will pardon me Lincoln, I will be going. I have many matters to address in Greece. May the god’s be with you.”

Alexander nodded coldly to the two and then directed himself out the doorway. Lincoln placed his right hand over the many wrinkles of his forehead and fell back into crevice of the chair.

“He was very reasonable.” Maxine bellowed in a sarcastic voice.

“In a way I don’t blame him.”

“I do.”

“Why? How can you criticize a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders? In fact, I know just how feels.”

“Simple, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to take on such a responsibility.” Maxine grinned as she stepped toward the exit. Lincoln laughed, reasoning that she was referring to not only Alexander, but also him.


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Rain pitter-pattered off the aluminum roofing of a little known Greek Restaurant, the “Pharolas”. It then merged into a fluid sheet of water, which inevitably fell off the edge, forming a mini waterfall in front of dungy, unwashed window. Across the window from the in the interior of the café, sat two people, one an American, specifically the ambassador to Greece. The second a Persian women, who served as secretary to the Domestic Advisor.

“But, how? How did you get your hands on these?” Rodney Henderson whispered looking at the bold- faced words glaring back at him. “CONFIDENTAL FILES CONCERNING THE SPENDING OF FEDERAL FUNDS. ”

“It is a complicated story, I would rather not discuss it.” Jamillashad went on as she tossed the thick document to Henderson. “These papers you hold right now have grave and important information that could prove to Alexander that Xerxes has no connections with the PLF.”

“I don’t understand. Why doesn’t the Persian Government simply release this information to the Greeks?”

Jamillashad discontinued eye contact and glanced down at the table. “There is something else to the documents. Something, Xerxes was afraid would back fire if he released this.”

“What?” Henderson questioned as he skimmed through a few pages of the packet.

“You see, at first the Persian Government WAS providing the PLF with money and support. Over time the PLF became more radical and violent. They were becoming too much for the Persian Government to keep in check…”

“So they cut the PLF off?”

“Right, but during that same year Persia was in an energy crises after the Gordium Dam gave way. The money that was previously used for PLF support was then routed toward the energy consumption. And the only immediate source of power to compensate for the loss was…”

“Nuclear Power.” Henderson interrupted as he pointed to a passage in the document.

“Yes, I know it will cause a controversy between our nations, but I believe it is worthy price to pay to avoid war. Please Mr. Henderson, get this to your administration at any cost.”

Without word, the diplomat nodded and hurried toward the door, leaving Jamillishad with the consequences of her actions. Having apprehension towards the future, she gazed out the window frame, wondering if the right decision had been made. She eventually convinced herself that her intentions were honorable, but the remnants of her concern withered away as an intense light gleamed through the window. It was difficult to make it out through the grungy window, but the lights soon formed into two bright orbs, which overlapped each other. Jamillishad fell back from the wall as a horrible rumble shook silverware right off the table. Her eyes expanded in fear as she realized her current danger. A truck was colliding into the restaurant…


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“Accept us back into the agenda of the Persian Nation.” Salamin Issmud, Prime Minister of the PLF urged Xerxes, who was perched on a plushy, multicolored couch of his extravagant visitors’ chamber.


“Your agenda is not the agenda of the common people, Salamin. Haven’t we been through this already?”

“How can you say that? The Greeks do not acknowledge the concerns of are people in Heart. They do not care for their safety! You can’t tell me that you do not want Herat back into the bosom of its rightful nation. Our goals are the exact same, Xerxes.”

“Our destination maybe the same Salamin, but the way we travel there is very different. I cannot support your way of liberation.”

“Our way of liberation is the only thing Alexander understands!”

“You are inciting a war, which will cause the death to thousands of people!” Xerxes growled, slamming his hand against the small circular stand off to his right side.

“If that is what it takes.”

“You are insane, Salamin. Leave my home at onc…”

Xerxes sentence was cleaved short, when his assistant stumbled in. His look of uneasiness was becoming more evident as he paced nearer to his chief.

“It’s the missing documents, sir”

“Yes, what about them?” Xerxes questioned, sizing up his assistant’s anxiety.

“The Americans have possession of them. We suspect their administration will know everything contained in this documents in the next four-days. Alexander has also commenced air strikes on household on the outskirts of Pasargrade. He says they are serving or were serving as PLF camps.”


Xerxes stood up in complete shock, nearly knocking over a priceless glass vase. “Damn! I want a full cabinet meeting in the palace as soon as possible!”

“Yes, sir” The assistant promptly left the chambers to assemble Xerxes’s closest men.

Salamin smirked as he swallowed fine Persian wine, which was offered to him by palace servants. He sensed an excellent opportunity to extend PLF control and he was going in for the kill. “Persia has many enemies and few friends, Xerxes. I suggest you make one associate you can rely on.”

Xerxes sighed as he turned the whole of his body towards Salamin, who awaited the most logical answer.
“I believe the Persia and PLF can come to some kind of agreement.” Xerxes cringed as he looked at Salamin. He was going to make a deal with a snake, a rat, and the worser half of himself.

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Alexander looked along the line of his foremost and brightest generals. Before him lay a projection of the whole Agorian Region, plus parts of Egypt. On the map lay miniature figures of Armored tanks and Infantry, each symbolized the real division out on the field.

“Are you completely confident that this plan of attack will succeed, General Haphronie?”

“If the eighth mechanical division is successful at flanking the Republican Guard, they will be entirely demolished within minutes.” The general continued on, moving the small models along with his explanation. “The seventy-ninth armored division will engage a lightly defended airbase in the suburbs of Susa and completely decapitate the airforce. The only thing we need now is the element of surprise and your final consent.”

Alexander looked across the agreeing association and then once more at the map. He gazed across the tiny border dividing Greece and Persia, sighed and gave his decision.

“Do it.”

[vovan]

Goog stuff, Philosophy. Lot's of dialogue in this chapter, but it isn't at all bad. Quite an intrigue you got brewing there. Although I was getting slightly tired of constant talking by the end, wanting for a little more action. Well, then again, I am sure we'll get plenty of that in the next installment, no? Looking forward to seeing how this battle out.

[unscratchedfoot]

Vova has the spirit of a doberman straining on his leash to go and inflict some major hurt on some hapless old granny. "More blood! Kill them all!" screams vova.

You got a situation all brewed up here Philosophy, but unlike the barbaric vova, I'm just hoping for a good war with endless mayhem and carnage. That's all.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Yes Scratch that Vova is very blood thirsty lately

A quality chapter with good dialogue and intensive build up Just now and then you seem to use the wrong word mid sentence, its not a big problem but might be worth editing your posts to fine tune them.

Heaven knows I make more than my fair share of little mistakes when I write.


EDIT Ive just had to edit this post cause Id spelled intensive tnsive

[vovan]

Yeah, scratchy, as always, is known to be tender as a little mouse, always hoping for cute and fuzzy plot developments. He would never hurt a hapless old granny: his revenge on her for crossing the street so slowly in front of his car would be swift and painless.

[sprudl]

Great story so far, Philosphy.

I wonder if we're going to see a lot of backstabbing and plot twists or just plain old full frontal bloodshed

[Philosphy]

You guys are funny. Chrisius, I'll try to watch out of the common errors. I believe this chapter isn't as bad. I would also like to admit that I am not the greatest when it comes to action scenes But I attempted anyway, so feel free to criticize and critique. (But not too harshly )


The massive 12-inch rubber wheels of an Apollo MV uprooted the top layers of earth and soil on the back-roads leading toward Susa. It’s deafening sound was only adjoined by a whole convoy of thirty odd other Mechanical Vehicles plus the smaller humvees and artillery carriers. The company formed two orderly rows, which were easily visible on the parched, level plains of Persia. At the head of the caravan, was the field commander Zeno Clamarius, who was busy gazing through his field binoculars. To the Southeast he could discern amorphous figures of what he knew to be, Persian armored personnel carriers. With his left hand he put down the seeing instrument and brought up a bulky hand radio.

“Artillery division, cease all driving and prepare for phase one of the operations.”

The standing static of the radio faded away and like clockwork the vehicles hauling artillery departed from the main convoy and arranged into a horizontal line across the open plain. The troops exited from the back end of their trucks and proceeded to load eighteen caliber artillery-shells. The auxiliary resumed their excursion along the rugged path, in order to continue with the offensive strategy. Within the span of twenty minutes the 8th Mechanized Division was rapidly accelerating towards the unsuspecting Persian Republican Guard, who were anticipating an incursion from the south rather then from the north. Clamarious grinned as he talked into the portable radio again.

“They’re coordinates are 15 degrees south and 102 degrees east. Proceed with intense bombardment.”

The first line of mechanical motor vehicles separated into two vertical lines, which would assault the heavier tank force. The second line of mechanical trucks would encircle the Republican Guard from the east, forcing them into a strenuous two front battle. As the convoy came closer to the main tank line, they could already recognize the plumes of blazing gas from shell stricken tanks. The dumbfounded Guard scrambled into a proper defensive position. After a temporary moment of confusion the tanks unified into a pyramid designed counter-offensive. The 8th division initiated the engagement, as six-inch gun barrels discharged 10-ton shells, filled with explosive charges. Approximately two thirds of the pyramid tip detonated into a heap of flames scrap metal. The personnel in the armor were heaved helplessly into the air as though they were rag dolls in the hands of an enraged toddler. The secondary line of Mechanical Infantry was under heavy fire as they shifted away from the main attack force. From their left they were subject to a spray of machine gun projectiles, which were centered on the sides of the armored vehicles. The unforgiving bullets impaled several gunmen atop the mechanical vehicles, leaving a red trail of blood across the light brown grass. The platoon retaliated with a heavy round of shells. One tank was hit so hard that the upper capsule of the tank was blown sky high into the atmosphere, before descending directly upon the bodies of its fellow ground troops, crushing several of them to death.

Despite some casualties, progress was being made and the order of attack was executed flawlessly. The remaining twelve Republican tanks were stranded between a barrage of counter fire from the side and front. Blood curdling shrieks of Persian men who had been mistakenly crushed by their own line of tanks permeated through the battlefield atmosphere. The tanks themselves were not fairing up well as a few clumsily collided with one another in attempt to retreat west. The three tanks toppled over each other, smashing and grinding the crew inside like a blender. The Persian foot soldiers that were alive or seriously wounded were apprehended and bound up by makeshift handcuffs. There they would remain as prisoners of war, guarded by one third of the 18th division. Clamarius watched from the near distance as mutilated and disfigured bodies of both Persian and Greeks were recovered from the wreckage. In total, the division had lost only five mechanical vehicles and thirty-five men, when compared to the complete annihilation of the 1st republican guard armored division and the demise of 168 Persians. He could only trust that the seventy-ninth armored division was maintaining the same rate of success.

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Hiatus glimpsed down at the tanned skin faces of Susa citizens, surveying the parade of light-green armored vehicles trekking along the four-lane highway. Surprisingly to Hiatus, their expressions seemed void and perplexed, as if any sense of understanding had been snatched from their being. He was expecting mass hysteria and discord throughout the area, a pure exodus of people out the city district. In return however, he received and eerie silence that racked his mind and even stirred up a growing dread within his gut. Something was strangely unnatural about this whole scene; an intangible feeling of danger loomed over the division.

“Kind of weird, don’t you think Justinian.” Hiatus radioed to his amigo, perched on the tank ahead of his.

“What is?”

“The people, they’re just so…so…quiet.”

“I know what you mean, but they’re probably just dismayed to see so many foreign troops. Heh, they’ll get used to it soon enough.” His friend answered calmly, trying to conceal his own uncertainties.

“Maybe your right.”

“Hey, shsss the company halted.”

Hiatus switched off his radio as he looked towards the anterior of the convoy. There was a complete stillness amid the ranks and then abstract strings of gunfire, which paralleled the sound of popping popcorn.
The gunfire dwindled and was replaced by shouts. Hiatus etched forward in his seat and was recoiled back by the inferno of a tank, second from the first tank. Its metal skeleton jolted backwards against the third tank causing bumper to bumper affect along the line. Hiatus situated himself back into the seat as his vehicle geared forward behind the other tanks, which simply progressed on. Hiatus clicked on his radio again. “What in Hades just happened?”

“The guys in my tank are telling me that it was hit by an anti-tank rocket. They don’t know whom or from where it came from. Everyone in the tank was killed.”

“Awww sh*t, this is getting deadly.”

“Get a hold of yourself man, we’ll make it through alive.”

“Yah, hopefully.” Hiatus huffed as he whirled his machine gun from side to side. He was beginning to wish he had applied for the navy.

The division continued on without disruptions for the next fifteen minutes, occasional small firefights would arise, but nothing of serious concern. By mid-journey, Hiatus realized that the roadways were less populated then before. A scarce amount women and children could be seen peeking out their doorways or windows, but eventually this trickled down to zero. The uncertain feeling that was nestled soundlessly in the back of Hiatus’s mind was becoming more apparent. He hummed cherished tunes from his past in order to suppress the feeling, but that did zilch to cease the swelling emotion. As he hummed, Mongolian constructed pick up trucks drove up along the fringes of the tanks, going at a speed of sixty-miles an hour. Four to five people sat in each truck, each one coated by a wrinkled blanket. At first they seemed like typical Persian citizens, evacuating the sector due to rumors of war, but something was suspicious about them. The driver of the truck beside Hiatus would every so often gesture toward the tank. The others in the back of the truck would stare, as if sizing up its strength. Hiatus clutched the machine gun preparedly, but kept it forward as not to instigate an attack. This would prove to be more harm then help as the men in the back of the truck tossed off their blankets, revealing an assortment of automatic-rifles and self propelled anti-tank missiles.

Instinctively Hiatus motioned his gun around, sporadically firing a volley of bullets. One Persian man was shredded open, along the torso of his body; the other two were blown off the truck from the sheer power. He prepared to revolve the machine gun back around, but a sharp pain shot through his arm. There was a separate but equally electrifying pain in his lower left side and he fell off his seat in agony onto the tank’s hatch. Hiatus struggled to raise his body, but managed to make out the gunshot wounds in his left side and upper right shoulder. He looked back in bewilderment, as every other tank behind him seemed to be ablaze. He could hear the air piercing sound of rockets ejecting from their rifles, followed by the decimation of another tank and most likely another life. The screeching sound accord again, but this time it was a stone's throw away. The tank before him had elevated from the ground and was spiraling uncontrollably into the air. Hiatus made an endvour to move, but his attempts faltered and he watched on in horror as the hunk of entangled alloy plunged toward his vulnerable position. His life literally displayed before his eyes, then an intense heat washed over his body and finally, darkness…. It was reported to General Zeno that the 79th Armored Division had been totally wiped out during a guerrilla attack.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

intense!!

On a side note I like the way you include the little inner parts about the ordinary folks, the helicopter crew earlier and now these tank crew.

[unscratchedfoot]

Wow, very nice. More battles like this please. There may even have been enough destruction here to appease Vova the Savage

[vovan]

Originally posted by unscratchedfoot
There may even have been enough destruction here to appease Vova the Savage

I prefer "The Crazy Russian", please.

Philosophy, as many thumbs as I have, all of them are way up for this last installment! That's some awesome stuff. Keep up the great work!

[Philosphy]

Sorry for the wait folks, I've been kind of busy. Still, I managed to write this short installment. I hope this can hold you tell next time.

[Philosphy]

Oops forgot the story.....



Three slick dinghies floated along the tranquil waters of the eighty-mile long Abydos Canal, whose water separated the Greek occupied Giza Isthmus. In each vessel sat four people in all black attire, wearing army boots, bulletproof vest, and hoods. Their destination was a small but heavily protected island in the middle of the canal. It’s craggy land held an almost impenetrable fortress, lined with anti-ship artillery, electric gates, and almost eight hundred troops and guards. The fortification had proved to be nearly indestructible during previous wars and was about to be tested once again. The three boats made a gentle landing on the smoother sandy shores of the islands western end. The soldiers wasted little time in getting out the boats and resuming with the duty at hand. There were three task squads, the primary one would be directed by Elite Special Forces Sargent Akufu Narma’mr. Their assignment was to assault lightly guarded halls of the fortress and disrupt if not totally destroy the communications room. The other two task forces were to obliterate weapons and ammunition storage and also take out main battery guns on the building battlement.
Akufu waved to his group, signaling them to make a speedy dash toward the strongholds electric fences. The other two groups would go around the stronghold and penetrate through the eastern defenses. The group of four met just beyond the gate, which informed them of the high voltage. Not concerned with this obstacle the Sargent nodded to the third person in his squad, a women named Nefta. Instinctively she produced a baseball-sized object, which resembled a grenade and chucked it toward the chain-linked barrier. It made a sharp popping noise and as the smog cleared a gapping hole was revealed.

Satisfied with their work, the group continued onward, cautiously going into the new passage. After clearing the first danger, they spurted into operation, hiding behind a cluster of overgrowing shrubbery to the right. The two other men in the squad swiftly assembled together sniper guns from sports bags they had been carrying the whole distance. The guns were propped up on two legged stands; each one aimed at the escarpment above. Hotep positioned his right eye against the targeting scope and swiveled the sniper around until finding a suitable mark. He focused on a passing soldier, who was lazily yawning, most likely from a long hour night shift. Hotep smiled as he pulled back the trigger on his sniper. The guardsman’s long awaited sleep would be eternal.

The two snipers continued picking off unaware guardsmen one by one as Akufu and Nefta slicked their way across the open courtyard. Not surprisingly the doorway was left unguarded. Nefta hunched down, eye level with the locked door. In her right palm she bestowed a key with an infinite amount of nooks and indentures. She put it into the lock and proceeded to twist the key. With every turn she struggled to open the door. An impatient Akufu looked on, his eyes scanning the area for watchman.

“It won’t seem to work, this key should fit every lock in this building like a glove.”

“Let me try.”

“No, I got it. I just have to…” she trailed off, once again failing to open the door.

Akufu rolled his eyes and took out a semi automatic gun. He propped the nozzle toward the lock and opened fired on the doorway, blasting the lock from the doorway.

“Or we can do it that way.” Nefta said, looking up at her grinning commander.

They tentatively pushed the hole-ridden doorway and entered the room. The room itself was little more then a stairway hall, which lead up to the second and third floor or down to the basement level. The two carefully went up the steps, which were well illuminated by the pure white lights from the sides of the walls. Akufu inched up the steps behind Nefta, who was guarding the rear with her own semi-automatic. Quietly they sneaked up the second staircase leading toward the third floor that held the communications office.

“Akufu, stop.”

“What?”

“I hear someone coming.”

They both halted and Nefta guided her firearm downward as the footsteps became nearer. From the corner of the first step came a man wearing a white shirt and wielding not weapon, but a crème colored folder. The white colored man froze as he realized he was gazing down the dark barrel of a gun. Nefta hated to execute non-combatants, but they could no afford to let him leave. A muzzled gun shot echoed through the stairway and the two proceeded on, leaving the man to a bloody and crude death. Shortly, they arrived on the third floor with no resistance. Nefta shut the door behind her and locked it with the skeleton key as to prevent any reinforcements from the lower levels. Akufu scurried down the concrete enforced hallway, followed by Nefta who was having trouble hauling her heavy bag full of explosives.

“The communications room should be just around this corner.” He said, preparing himself for a hostile engagement.

They turned the left corner and as Akufu had expected, soldiers barring arms were poised along the sides of the hall. The Sargent was the first to open fire, letting ten rounds tear through the upper chest of three guards. Covering him from the back was Nefta who let loose a barrage of gunfire, ripping open the kneecaps of a soldier in the center. The soldier fell on his bloody stumps of what used to be his legs, eventually being trampled by Akufu and Nefta. The two cleared the entrance hallway and were making headway into the communications office. Opposing gunfire was happening more frequently and the soldiers’ accuracy was becoming deadlier.

“Nefta, take the right and I’ll go straight into the main room.” Akufu screamed over the gunfire, his hand pointing toward where she was to go.

Nefta acknowledged his instructions and made a mad dash toward the outer office of the main room. She skillfully evaded rapid machine gunfire and barreled rolled behind a brown sofa. The couch jolted back against her as it was pummeled with gunfire. Every once and a while she would emerge from behind the sofa and let loose her own stream of deadly metal. Meanwhile, Akufu was dodging erratic gunfire in the main communications room. He was no father then five feet away from the main computer. In the corner of his right eye, he could see frightened civilians huddled up the corner. To his right, about six soldiers taking cover behind toppled chairs and tables. Akufu fired off three rounds in his gun, before hearing the dreaded “click, click” noise. His ammunition had depleted and he was out of shells. The six soldiers had caught onto this and were already coming from behind the furniture to seal Akufu’s fate. He waited in silence, his heavy breath and the panicky screams of civilians filling his ears. The soldiers gathered around Akufu and raised their weapons. Time seemed to drag, the sounds of screams warped and his breath faded. He felt a sense of peace and he fastened his eyes from the face of death.

There was a long pause and Akufu reopened his eyes. Around him the tables that had once been in some orderliness, were now scattered and aflame. He could see the strewn and scorched bodies of his would-be executioners and the terrified mass of civilians and workers running out the room. In the haze of smoke and confusion stood Nefta, who was bleeding furiously from her crimson colored face. Akufu stood in awe of her devilish appearance, flames from the exploding computers only adding on to her malicious appearance. Akufu and Nefta looked away from each other as two separate but powerful explosion echoed from the hallway.

“The other squads completed their mission, let’s go.” Akufu said, picking up loaded shotgun, lying beside a deceased soldier.

Nefta laughed as she followed the Sargent out the room. “When we get back to Thebes, they better have a grand procession for us.”

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Exciting stuff

[Paddy]

great writing ... wild story

thank you

[unscratchedfoot]

More fighting. Good. Keep it coming dude.

[vovan]

Quality stuff there, Philosophy.