"Are all the logistical preparations completed?" Bell asked, crossing his arms and gritting his teeth. He hadn't slept since last night; now, it was two in the morning. He had been busy coordinating with the command staff, including Shruss, Hussar, Linda, and Moore from each division, to organize this grand plan. Lukas had just been flown in today to oversee the entire operation. Representatives from the air force, like Lilith, Larry's commanding officer, were also present.
Lukas, freshly arrived from Frostwood, reported to Bell, "T-3 hours, Bell. We're positioning the army and maneuver division for optimal placement and ensuring sufficient logistics accompany them." Lukas paused, then continued, "However, the 120th Air Assault Division and Strategic Response Division will parachute down in minutes with their vehicles."
"That's too long. Saven will be in jeopardy by the time we launch a ground assault," Bell argued, knowing that Saven's elves would be bombed relentlessly until none remained. Minutes was too long; Bell needed the bombardment to cease immediately.
"I figured as much," Lukas added. "Don't worry, Bell, the air campaign has just commenced."
"Good to hear," Bell replied, relieved.
Still in the command center, Bell surveyed the datalink alongside drone footage. The drone continued to circle Saven, capturing the ongoing bombardment. Truth be told, most of the towns had already been reduced to ruins, and coalition troops were relentlessly engaged in combat, slaughtering elves left and right.
To halt the bombardment, a squadron of B-1 Lancers and F-15s had been dispatched for the opening airstrike. Their objectives were to target the coalition's headquarters along with the ironclads docked at the port. Accompanying these aircraft were E/A-18 Growlers, tasked with jamming any attempts to interfere with the bombing runs—a necessary precaution. Flying at full afterburners, they would reach Saven in just fifteen minutes.
The ironclads, moored at the dock, would be caught completely off guard. All they would witness would be explosions from the bombs and rockets fired at them, and Bell couldn’t wait. This was the Federation's demonstration of strength against the Southern Coalition’s conventional military, and Bell intended to ensure it was a glorious display.
"This is Warhound Squadron, nice to be flying again, sir," Larry greeted over the comms. "We’re 3 minutes away from the area of operation."
"Good, keep me updated," Bell replied, anticipation evident in his voice.
The drone, an unblinking eye in the sky, witnessed the relentless barrage. Ironclads, once the proud behemoths of the sea, unleashed a ceaseless torrent of shells. Their goal was merciless: to reduce the quaint town of Saven to nothing but ash and memories. In the command center, Bell stood, a figure tensed with anticipation, his heart racing for the moment of reckoning. The air was thick with the electric buzz of awaited vengeance.
As the first bomber made its presence known, the night sky was torn apart by the fury of the opening salvo. Explosions danced along the docks, each hit a precise stroke of retribution. Bell's voice cut through the command center, a triumphant roar over the cacophony of destruction, "GOOD HIT! Kill those motherfuckers!" His words were a fierce echo to the chaos unleashed.
The scene on the screen was a prove of the Federation's might and strategic brilliance. Ironclads, once symbols of naval supremacy, now resembled wounded beasts, their metal hides torn open by the guided fury of JDAMs. The sight was so surreal that even Lukas, ever the composed lieutenant, felt a shiver of exhilaration mixed with dread at the raw emotion displayed by their commander-in-chief.
As the B-1 bomber continued its deadly dance, guided bombs fell like vengeful deities upon the ironclads. The night was alive with fire and destruction, a symphony of explosions that sang the downfall of the coalition's naval might. The bomber, invisible to the enemy and aided by the unseen hand of F-15 datalink technology, delivered justice from the heavens.
Below, the port was a vision of apocalyptic ruin. Ironclads, those titanic symbols of coalition power, were now but broken silhouettes against a backdrop of flames. Each vessel, a multimillion-dollar asset, was rendered obsolete by the cunning and efficiency of Federation strategy. The air was heavy, not just with smoke, but with the palpable scent of impending victory.
Among the wreckage, only the slave ships remained untouched, floating grimly as silent witnesses to the night's fury. However, they would get their fair share of treatments. The only thing protecting them were the slaves that they were carrying that would surely die from a JDAM bombardment.
"This is Warhound Squadron. Target destroyed. Proceeding to secondary objectives," Larry's voice crackled through the comms.
"Copy that, keep it up, Warhound. Overlord out," Bell responded.
As the B-1 bombers elegantly banked in the night sky, their sleek frames silhouetted against the moonlit clouds, a new chapter of the assault was about to be written. The pilots, with the calm precision of seasoned warriors, switched the bomb-bay doors, revealing an arsenal meant for destruction and deliverance alike. Their cargo ranged from the formidable 1-ton GBU-31s to the smaller, yet deadly GBU-39s.
The F-15s, circling like guardian angels with their targeting lasers, marked the next phase of the assault. Their targets: a cluster of enemy forces, momentarily paralyzed by the shock of the initial bombardment. These men, still reeling from the loss of their naval giants, could scarcely comprehend the source of their doom. High above, unseen and unfelt, the B-1s released their silent hunters—the GBU-39s. These small-diameter bombs, though less imposing than their larger brethren, were no less deadly. Guided by lasers and the unerring eye of technology, they glided through the night.
The streets of Saven, which moments ago had trembled under the wrath of the GBU-31s, were once again the stage for destruction. But this time, the explosions were smaller, more focused. The GBU-39s found their marks with chilling efficiency, turning enemy clusters into scenes of chaos. The bombs struck with surgical precision, their blasts hurling debris and combatants alike. The once-proud warriors of the coalition were reduced to mere puppets of physics, thrown about by the indifferent force of the explosions.
Through the grainy, monochrome view of his thermal camera, Bell observed the spectacle unfold. Each explosion bloomed on the screen like a deadly flower, its petals a shockwave that sent debris scattering into the night. The white silhouettes, which represented the heat signatures of enemy combatants, were suddenly jolted by the force of the blasts.
After the explosions ended, it was clear the strike was effective. It showed how modern warfare relies on precise planning and strategic thinking. The event was a harsh reminder of the immense power air control brings, capable of changing battles and outcomes instantly.
However, this was only the appetizer.
"This is Thunderbird Squadron, bombing run complete. Will stand by for further tasking, over," came the voice over the comms.
"Copy that, Thunderbird. Overlord out," Bell responded.
Bell shifted the drone's vision as he observed a flight of C-17s and C-5s heading straight towards Saven. The cavalry had arrived with their aircraft. They would drop troops, tanks, and armored vehicles into the ruins of Saven.
Flying at low altitude, multiple Black Hawks accompanied by four Apache helicopters from the 120th Air Assault Division began to approach, their goal to safeguard the south and north directions, ensuring that coalition soldiers could only evacuate to the west. Bell waited in anticipation as the cargo bays of the C-5s and C-17s opened up.
Armored vehicles rained down from the cargo bays of the aircraft. The cargo aircraft dropped M1 Abrams, Puma IFVs, and several supply packets into the ruins of Saven. Multiple parachutes opened at high altitude to slow down these massive armored vehicles. They landed on the streets with a loud thud, kicking up clouds of dust.
The humans on the ground ran in horror as the giant beasts rolled down the streets. The heaviest vehicles ever seen rolling in the streets of Saven were LAVs, not tanks. These were a different beast, supported by some of the best IFVs that money could buy.
The 19th-century coalition forces, despite their numbers and ferocity, were simply unprepared for the 21st-century warfare tactics and hardware unleashed by the Federation. The sudden appearance of advanced armored vehicles and precision-guided munitions from the sky left the coalition in disarray, their ironclads and ground forces obliterated before they could mount a meaningful counterattack. And all of this happened in less than an hour.
As the Federation's ground forces began to mobilize, the streets of Saven transformed into a high-tech battlefield. The M1 Abrams tanks, boasting composite armor and powerful 140mm guns, rolled through the streets with impunity. Their main guns thundered as they engaged targets, the sound reverberating through the city.
Meanwhile, the Puma IFVs, agile and heavily armed, provided support. Their autocannons and anti-tank missiles made short work of any coalition units that dared to stand in their way. The coalition soldiers, armed with nothing more than muskets and cannons, found themselves facing an enemy seemingly imbued with the power of gods. Their primitive weaponry had no hope of scratching the paint of those formidable tanks.
To make matters worse, the Federation's use of night vision and thermal imaging equipment rendered the cover of darkness useless for the coalition. Encrypted communications allowed for coordinated, lightning-fast maneuvers that the coalition could neither predict nor counter.
In the command center, Bell watched as the operation unfolded, a mix of satisfaction and solemnity on his face. Both Lukas and Lisa had promised what a combined arms assault would look like, and they didn’t disappoint. It had only been thirty minutes, and already they had pushed the town's people to the outskirts. No more bloody trench warfare, no more biological warfare—just the sheer display of power.
The coalition's attempts at organizing a retreat or counteroffensive were quickly thwarted by the overwhelming technological superiority of the Federation. Just as Lisa promised, they were nothing more than targets. On the ground, the elves of Saven watched in awe and fear as their city became the stage for a battle unlike any they had witnessed before. The Federation's soldiers, clad in advanced body armor and wielding weapons that seemed to harness the power of lightning, moved with a precision and speed that the elves had never seen.
The demons, once seen as the sign of destruction, were now seen as the sign of hope as each dismounted ground force did their best to free the elves from the rubble and the coalition soldiers. They prioritized the safety of civilians first, moving with a level of efficiency and care that astonished the onlookers.
As Bell observed the monitor, Lukas could only comment, "Man, the armored and infantry divisions won’t have anything left to attack by the time they get there."
"Says who?" Bell asked.
"Just a feeling," Lukas added with a shrug.
Bell watched with a critical eye as the remaining coalition forces were systematically dismantled by precision strikes and armored assaults. The strategic deployment of the 120th Air Assault Division and the Strategic Response Division had ensured that the coalition's forces had no viable escape route. Even if they attempted to flee to the west, they would encounter a line of armored vehicles waiting to intercept them.
As the sun began to rise, casting a soft light over the ruins of Saven, the operation neared its end. The once-proud ironclads of the coalition now lay at the bottom of the harbor, their destruction serving as a testament to the Federation's determination and technological superiority. However, the escaping coalition soldiers still needed to be dealt with. For that task, the 1st Armor and 1st Infantry were standing by. Additionally, there were a few encampments and clusters of soldiers that required attention, though the bulk of the force was concentrated there. Despite having more than enough volunteers defending New Glacier, Bell decided to send only three brigade combat teams.
He then switched to the tactical map, displaying the bulk of the 6,000 men with a top-down drone view. "Alright, Shruss, Hussar, you’re up," Bell said, nodding toward the two individuals operating AR goggles to coordinate the battlefield.
"Are all the logistical preparations completed?" Bell asked, crossing his arms and gritting his teeth. He hadn't slept since last night; now, it was two in the morning. He had been busy coordinating with the command staff, including Shruss, Hussar, Linda, and Moore from each division, to organize this grand plan. Lukas had just been flown in today to oversee the entire operation. Representatives from the air force, like Lilith, Larry's commanding officer, were also present.
Lukas, freshly arrived from Frostwood, reported to Bell, "T-3 hours, Bell. We're positioning the army and maneuver division for optimal placement and ensuring sufficient logistics accompany them." Lukas paused, then continued, "However, the 120th Air Assault Division and Strategic Response Division will parachute down in minutes with their vehicles."
"That's too long. Saven will be in jeopardy by the time we launch a ground assault," Bell argued, knowing that Saven's elves would be bombed relentlessly until none remained. Minutes was too long; Bell needed the bombardment to cease immediately.
"I figured as much," Lukas added. "Don't worry, Bell, the air campaign has just commenced."
"Good to hear," Bell replied, relieved.
Still in the command center, Bell surveyed the datalink alongside drone footage. The drone continued to circle Saven, capturing the ongoing bombardment. Truth be told, most of the towns had already been reduced to ruins, and coalition troops were relentlessly engaged in combat, slaughtering elves left and right.
To halt the bombardment, a squadron of B-1 Lancers and F-15s had been dispatched for the opening airstrike. Their objectives were to target the coalition's headquarters along with the ironclads docked at the port. Accompanying these aircraft were E/A-18 Growlers, tasked with jamming any attempts to interfere with the bombing runs—a necessary precaution. Flying at full afterburners, they would reach Saven in just fifteen minutes.
The ironclads, moored at the dock, would be caught completely off guard. All they would witness would be explosions from the bombs and rockets fired at them, and Bell couldn’t wait. This was the Federation's demonstration of strength against the Southern Coalition’s conventional military, and Bell intended to ensure it was a glorious display.
"This is Warhound Squadron, nice to be flying again, sir," Larry greeted over the comms. "We’re 3 minutes away from the area of operation."
"Good, keep me updated," Bell replied, anticipation evident in his voice.
The drone, an unblinking eye in the sky, witnessed the relentless barrage. Ironclads, once the proud behemoths of the sea, unleashed a ceaseless torrent of shells. Their goal was merciless: to reduce the quaint town of Saven to nothing but ash and memories. In the command center, Bell stood, a figure tensed with anticipation, his heart racing for the moment of reckoning. The air was thick with the electric buzz of awaited vengeance.
As the first bomber made its presence known, the night sky was torn apart by the fury of the opening salvo. Explosions danced along the docks, each hit a precise stroke of retribution. Bell's voice cut through the command center, a triumphant roar over the cacophony of destruction, "GOOD HIT! Kill those motherfuckers!" His words were a fierce echo to the chaos unleashed.
The scene on the screen was a prove of the Federation's might and strategic brilliance. Ironclads, once symbols of naval supremacy, now resembled wounded beasts, their metal hides torn open by the guided fury of JDAMs. The sight was so surreal that even Lukas, ever the composed lieutenant, felt a shiver of exhilaration mixed with dread at the raw emotion displayed by their commander-in-chief.
As the B-1 bomber continued its deadly dance, guided bombs fell like vengeful deities upon the ironclads. The night was alive with fire and destruction, a symphony of explosions that sang the downfall of the coalition's naval might. The bomber, invisible to the enemy and aided by the unseen hand of F-15 datalink technology, delivered justice from the heavens.
Below, the port was a vision of apocalyptic ruin. Ironclads, those titanic symbols of coalition power, were now but broken silhouettes against a backdrop of flames. Each vessel, a multimillion-dollar asset, was rendered obsolete by the cunning and efficiency of Federation strategy. The air was heavy, not just with smoke, but with the palpable scent of impending victory.
Among the wreckage, only the slave ships remained untouched, floating grimly as silent witnesses to the night's fury. However, they would get their fair share of treatments. The only thing protecting them were the slaves that they were carrying that would surely die from a JDAM bombardment.
"This is Warhound Squadron. Target destroyed. Proceeding to secondary objectives," Larry's voice crackled through the comms.
"Copy that, keep it up, Warhound. Overlord out," Bell responded.
As the B-1 bombers elegantly banked in the night sky, their sleek frames silhouetted against the moonlit clouds, a new chapter of the assault was about to be written. The pilots, with the calm precision of seasoned warriors, switched the bomb-bay doors, revealing an arsenal meant for destruction and deliverance alike. Their cargo ranged from the formidable 1-ton GBU-31s to the smaller, yet deadly GBU-39s.
The F-15s, circling like guardian angels with their targeting lasers, marked the next phase of the assault. Their targets: a cluster of enemy forces, momentarily paralyzed by the shock of the initial bombardment. These men, still reeling from the loss of their naval giants, could scarcely comprehend the source of their doom. High above, unseen and unfelt, the B-1s released their silent hunters—the GBU-39s. These small-diameter bombs, though less imposing than their larger brethren, were no less deadly. Guided by lasers and the unerring eye of technology, they glided through the night.
The streets of Saven, which moments ago had trembled under the wrath of the GBU-31s, were once again the stage for destruction. But this time, the explosions were smaller, more focused. The GBU-39s found their marks with chilling efficiency, turning enemy clusters into scenes of chaos. The bombs struck with surgical precision, their blasts hurling debris and combatants alike. The once-proud warriors of the coalition were reduced to mere puppets of physics, thrown about by the indifferent force of the explosions.
Through the grainy, monochrome view of his thermal camera, Bell observed the spectacle unfold. Each explosion bloomed on the screen like a deadly flower, its petals a shockwave that sent debris scattering into the night. The white silhouettes, which represented the heat signatures of enemy combatants, were suddenly jolted by the force of the blasts.
After the explosions ended, it was clear the strike was effective. It showed how modern warfare relies on precise planning and strategic thinking. The event was a harsh reminder of the immense power air control brings, capable of changing battles and outcomes instantly.
However, this was only the appetizer.
"This is Thunderbird Squadron, bombing run complete. Will stand by for further tasking, over," came the voice over the comms.
"Copy that, Thunderbird. Overlord out," Bell responded.
Bell shifted the drone's vision as he observed a flight of C-17s and C-5s heading straight towards Saven. The cavalry had arrived with their aircraft. They would drop troops, tanks, and armored vehicles into the ruins of Saven.
Flying at low altitude, multiple Black Hawks accompanied by four Apache helicopters from the 120th Air Assault Division began to approach, their goal to safeguard the south and north directions, ensuring that coalition soldiers could only evacuate to the west. Bell waited in anticipation as the cargo bays of the C-5s and C-17s opened up.
Armored vehicles rained down from the cargo bays of the aircraft. The cargo aircraft dropped M1 Abrams, Puma IFVs, and several supply packets into the ruins of Saven. Multiple parachutes opened at high altitude to slow down these massive armored vehicles. They landed on the streets with a loud thud, kicking up clouds of dust.
The humans on the ground ran in horror as the giant beasts rolled down the streets. The heaviest vehicles ever seen rolling in the streets of Saven were LAVs, not tanks. These were a different beast, supported by some of the best IFVs that money could buy.
The 19th-century coalition forces, despite their numbers and ferocity, were simply unprepared for the 21st-century warfare tactics and hardware unleashed by the Federation. The sudden appearance of advanced armored vehicles and precision-guided munitions from the sky left the coalition in disarray, their ironclads and ground forces obliterated before they could mount a meaningful counterattack. And all of this happened in less than an hour.
As the Federation's ground forces began to mobilize, the streets of Saven transformed into a high-tech battlefield. The M1 Abrams tanks, boasting composite armor and powerful 140mm guns, rolled through the streets with impunity. Their main guns thundered as they engaged targets, the sound reverberating through the city.
Meanwhile, the Puma IFVs, agile and heavily armed, provided support. Their autocannons and anti-tank missiles made short work of any coalition units that dared to stand in their way. The coalition soldiers, armed with nothing more than muskets and cannons, found themselves facing an enemy seemingly imbued with the power of gods. Their primitive weaponry had no hope of scratching the paint of those formidable tanks.
To make matters worse, the Federation's use of night vision and thermal imaging equipment rendered the cover of darkness useless for the coalition. Encrypted communications allowed for coordinated, lightning-fast maneuvers that the coalition could neither predict nor counter.
In the command center, Bell watched as the operation unfolded, a mix of satisfaction and solemnity on his face. Both Lukas and Lisa had promised what a combined arms assault would look like, and they didn’t disappoint. It had only been thirty minutes, and already they had pushed the town's people to the outskirts. No more bloody trench warfare, no more biological warfare—just the sheer display of power.
The coalition's attempts at organizing a retreat or counteroffensive were quickly thwarted by the overwhelming technological superiority of the Federation. Just as Lisa promised, they were nothing more than targets. On the ground, the elves of Saven watched in awe and fear as their city became the stage for a battle unlike any they had witnessed before. The Federation's soldiers, clad in advanced body armor and wielding weapons that seemed to harness the power of lightning, moved with a precision and speed that the elves had never seen.
The demons, once seen as the sign of destruction, were now seen as the sign of hope as each dismounted ground force did their best to free the elves from the rubble and the coalition soldiers. They prioritized the safety of civilians first, moving with a level of efficiency and care that astonished the onlookers.
As Bell observed the monitor, Lukas could only comment, "Man, the armored and infantry divisions won’t have anything left to attack by the time they get there."
"Says who?" Bell asked.
"Just a feeling," Lukas added with a shrug.
Bell watched with a critical eye as the remaining coalition forces were systematically dismantled by precision strikes and armored assaults. The strategic deployment of the 120th Air Assault Division and the Strategic Response Division had ensured that the coalition's forces had no viable escape route. Even if they attempted to flee to the west, they would encounter a line of armored vehicles waiting to intercept them.
As the sun began to rise, casting a soft light over the ruins of Saven, the operation neared its end. The once-proud ironclads of the coalition now lay at the bottom of the harbor, their destruction serving as a testament to the Federation's determination and technological superiority. However, the escaping coalition soldiers still needed to be dealt with. For that task, the 1st Armor and 1st Infantry were standing by. Additionally, there were a few encampments and clusters of soldiers that required attention, though the bulk of the force was concentrated there. Despite having more than enough volunteers defending New Glacier, Bell decided to send only three brigade combat teams.
He then switched to the tactical map, displaying the bulk of the 6,000 men with a top-down drone view. "Alright, Shruss, Hussar, you’re up," Bell said, nodding toward the two individuals operating AR goggles to coordinate the battlefield.
