Author Notes:
Wee~! Late night RM chapter let's freaking go~!
And yes, I am drunk on coffee, again. I legit don't know how much coffee I mixed and drank, only that I always seem to have a pot in the fridge at the ready.
Before I crash out, however, let it be know that I am messing around with the AI models, so expect some wonky picture sets kek.
Oh, and the special recruitment drive/discount is still running, yippie?
https://www.patre-on.com/Heartbreak117
https://ko-fi.com/heartbreak117/goal?g=0
Yuki Royal 3: https://postimg.cc/Lq0T7BJN
Yuki Royal 4: https://postimg.cc/cggmNgYy
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Due to the pressing timeline, neither the 3rd nor the 4th Expeditionary Strike Groups can form up together as a Fleet, at least not yet. The two ESGs instead opt to park outside the sinking Maunsell sea forts, due Northeast and East, respectively. This means that their dispatched invasion forces will have to rendezvous midway before hitting the bombed shoreline at Shoebury. Escorting this merging blob of air and amphibious assets are pairs of destroyers and cruisers, heavy and light alike, with even the larger Scharnhorst-class battleship being sent nearer to the coastal water in case the need arises.
"5!"
As Squadrons of Ospreys airlifted their cargoes of Marines, special forces, and even field engineering supplies, Flights of Harriers and Skyraiders zip overhead. The Belkan soldiers who are sitting by the open side doors of the Ospreys cheer and whistle upon seeing the visages of their guardian angels.
"4!"
The Harriers disappear into the cloud, hawking the battlespace for signs of high-risk threats to the invasion force. And already, a few guided 250 kg bombs can be seen free-falling. As Erusean fortifications and heavy armaments explode near the landing site, a few Skyraiders swoop down from mid-to-low altitude. Rather than discharging their weaponry, these Skyraiders are instead carrying less-than-harmful, long-lasting smoke bombs and smoke curtain projectors. Deploying these in tandem, and with proper coordination, just a few Skyraiders can obscure vision for a multi-kilometer-long stretch of beachhead for minutes on end. With the thick smokescreen in place, the remaining Erusean force, if there's any left in Shoebury, won't be able to spot anything coming right up their noses.
"3!"
Mere moments after the Skyraiders deployed their smoke charges, the first Ospreys reached the Erusean shoreline. Yet, none of them makes any attempt to land, opting to fly further inland in the direction of the Royal Air Force base of Rochford. Carrying inside these Ospreys are the elites of the invasion force: Marine Force Recon, Oceanic Witches, SOFCOM 141st troopers, and the Marshal's Ravens. It's easy to see that they're fully intent on coming down hard and fast on RAF Rochford, seizing the critical location before the Eruseans can mount a proper response.
"2!"
As the first wave of Ospreys makes it past the Southend-Shoebury residential and plantation areas, the rest of the Belkan VTOLs alight over the sandy coast. Transitioning from high-speed flying to hover mode, the Ospreys deploy their landing gears as they lower their altitude. Door gunners cautiously scan the spanning landing zone, while the co-pilots of the Ospreys direct the chin turrets to proactively guard against any threat coming out of the smokescreen. Hilariously, due to the favorable wind conditions and the Ospreys' prop wash, the smoke screen is swept inland, completely obscuring the Erusean side of the beachhead from seeing the Belkan landing force, at least for now.
"1! Go! Go! Go!"
Even before the wheels of the Ospreys can fully touch the soft sand, the on-board Marines are already hopping off, seeking spots in the uneven and disturbed coastline for cover. Interestingly enough, one of the first, if not the very first, soldiers to set foot on Erusean soil, grabs something from his rucksack before standing straighter than all others... Figuratively speaking, of course, as the man is one stout, Belkan dwarf. And the object he is unfurling right now, however, is none other than the Belkan flag itself. As the extendable flagpole is made taller than his own height, the dwarf picks a nice, stable spot in the sand to plant it with a mighty stab downward. With one hand grabbing the flagpole, while the other is holding up a custom carbine version of the G1 rifle, whose length will make the recoil and fire rate overwhelmingly obnoxious and impractical for a normal soldier, the dwarf bellows in a grand voice for all his compatriots, and even his foes to hear.
"I, Byron Borcherding, third of my name, son of Tufson Borcherding and Regunda Borcherding, Sergeant of the Belkan Reich Marine Corps, claim this place in the name of the Marshal! Honor and Duty!"
"Honor and Duty!" The dwarven Sergeant's domineering speech inspires those around him to shout the Belkan Marines' motto.
Here and now, these men and women of all races are banding together to topple a kingdom, to have their names be burned into the annals of history. Surely a bit of childish grandiosity is permitted, and who else can do it best but a dwarf, am I right?
Yet, perhaps a bit surprisingly, of the many Marines that just landed on Shoebury beach, a considerable number of them are actually Marine Combat Engineers. Byron the dwarf is also one himself.
"Alright, enough posing around like a bunch of useless Erusean muppets! Get your asses dirty and your hands scabby! I want this whole section of the beach flat and compact like my pop's anvil, stat!"
"Sir. Yes, sir!"
With the planted flagpole as the center, the Combat Engineers set out to flatten the terrain in preparation for the incoming hovercrafts and heavy vehicles. Due to the earlier earthquake bombs, which excessively disrupted the underground foundation of the Shoebury coastline, the beach is soft and swampy, unsuitable for anything heavy like an artillery tank. Traditionally, such a landing ground wouldn't have been chosen in the first place, as sinking sands would be nothing short of a logistical nightmare. Yet, thanks to the availability of magic users in the Marine Combat Engineering unit, they can prep such a disaster-stricken zone and make it suitable for landing in minutes, and they do so without needing to use any heavy equipment whatsoever. Humans, elves, and a certain dwarf work together, their hands reflecting the shine of their spells as they fill up holes and flatten uneven hills. The sand beneath them is compressed and drained of saltwater as much as possible. Not stopping there, a portion of the Combat Engineers start setting up temporary fighting positions and full body cover for the frontline Marines ahead of them, raising walls of compressed sand and gravel before freezing them solid. Byron makes a conscious effort to make sure these structures can tank more than just a few hits.
"I am a dwarf and I'm digging a hole
Diggy diggy hole, digging a hole!"
If anything, Byron is quite enthusiastic in his job. His enthusiasm is quite infectious as well, as the Combat Engineers find themselves working their muscles faster than expected. When it's made clear that there are no Eruseans left in their landing site, the Combat Engineers holler for more lasting bullet-resistant bastions to be dropped off by Ospreys. With some efforts and elbow grease, these bastions with firing ports and adequate protection form up a semi-continuous line of defense just outside the now dissipating smoke cloud. And alongside the walls and fighting positions constructed by the magic casters, the Marines attained a nice temporary footing, enough to stave off low-intensity attack and to welcome incoming reinforcement. By the time the hovercrafts make landfalls in droves, the Combat Engineers have been seriously considering having the Ospreys offload a couple of M777 artillery pieces, not for bombardment, mind you, but for direct attack roles, just because they're bored. Thanks to Byron and the Combat Engineers' effort, the beach is made hard enough not to buckle under the weight of Belkan treads. Swiftly, a massive quantity of Belkan Marines and war machines is disgorged from the belly of these high-speed hovercrafts. Once the smoke screen has run its course, the full Belkan Marine Corps battleline is made visible. Yet, what comes afterward is not a hail of gunfire, but something quite more peaceful than that.
"W-We surrender!"
What comes out to greet the Belkans aren't Erusean soldiers or militia, but the representatives of the Shoeburry municipal citizens who have been scared shitless by all of the prior bombing. And thus, the beach landing is a mission success.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Buckingham Palace is in turmoil... No, it can be said that the entire London is, more so than ever. The sudden bombing conducted with impunity by Belkan aircraft has thrown a wrench into any plan the three warring factions have. Their collective future is now as bleak and uncertain as it can be; it's all but confirmed that the Belkans have set their sight on them at last. Because if not the Reich, then who else has the balls to bomb their capital, London, in such increasing fervor?
Currently, all three factions have taken various losses during the Belkan bombing campaign. Somehow, the Belkans have identified each of their major munition and equipment caches before swiftly eliminating them in a show of spectacular fireworks that left the entire neighborhoods in flames. The fires in London go out of control so fast that all three factions find themselves unanimously stopping their fighting. Instead, almost all combatants suddenly find themselves driving firetrucks and shouting for water buckets. An uneasy truce lingers over the civil war factions, but Colonel Bradshaw of the Royal Guards remains unoptimistic.
News has been broken to him and his staff in what used to be the frontline around Buckingham that assassins intruded in the royal chamber, tortured, and poisoned the royal family. The Colonel would have set out for the palace immediately, if not for the pressing needs of the war and his own uselessness in investigative matters. Instead, he dispatches his close aide and more soldiers back, and all the doctors he has who are free to aid the royal family.
Bradshaw has also been swift to enforce an information lockdown, preventing the fate of the royal family from escaping outside the confines of the palace proper. Yet, Bradshaw still thinks that, sooner or later, rumors will spread, especially now that the Belkans are attacking them, and it makes everyone anxious. Anxiety, of course, will make people start asking questions they shouldn't, or being too loose-lipped for their own good. If the royal family's fate is to be widespread morning news, then the Crown is as good as finished before the Belkans ever set foot into London.
But an information blockade is the best that Bradshaw can do. None of his training or accrued wisdom could have prepared him for a reality as absurd as today. Just the way Bradshaw is constantly pulling and reholstering his service pistol is enough to tell that the man is troubled by the sheer, hopeless weight of his status as the acting leader of the Crown's force in London, now that King George VI is made unconscious due to severe blood loss. Coupled with the Belkan air raids, the Colonel doesn't think there's any hope left in holding London with their current forces.
Bradshaw, who has no idea that the Belkans are already making landfall, voices his exhausted order.
"Get the runners to go out and confirm the status of our forces and any reinforcements that are coming our way. If we don't have any, then send out those who are lightly wounded and can still walk. We need every man we can get to go out and get the read on the situation; otherwise, we'll be running as blind as bats. Depending on what the runners bring back, I will decide whether London is worth holding or not. Before the worst can happen, we may have to extract the King and his family out of London, by hook or by crook. Northolt could be a viable midway stop, but anywhere further than that will make for a safe choice..."
"But, Sir... About the perpetrators...?"
Bradshaw grits his teeth hard to make an uncomfortable sound.
"Do we look like we're in any shape or form to pursue the matter? We're being bombed as we speak, and this ceasefire agreement will only last for as long as the fire outside this room can keep greed away from the people's hearts! Trying to keep a grip on reality is already hard enough, much less trying to chase after threats that are gone with the wind!"
"Now, go! I need those runners on the tracks yesterday! And keep the men prepared for anything, and I mean anything! The night is already over, but I have a feeling this nightmare won't release us just yet."
Oh, if only Bradshaw had access to the full picture. Perhaps then he really would consider pulling his pistol out on himself in a bid of helpless acceptance, sparing himself from carrying the heavy mantle of unglorious command. Yet, it does not need to be said that fate is never truly fair. For the Colonel of the Royal Guards, his painful duty will continue to the painful end of this conflict.