This is NOT a Simulation

The central territory, historically of Aryalok culture.

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Octavius
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This is NOT a Simulation

Post by Octavius »

Antican Ballistic Missile Submarine Aquilon, Central Raynor Sea

Captain Laskarine read the latest incoming message from Central Command. The past several weeks have consisted of status reports about the worsening war in Cibola, and continued reiterations to maintain silence and await further orders.

"At least Navigation agrees with NavSat's coordinates now. We can guarantee that we'll hit our targets square." Lt Durand said with a sigh.

Laskarine nodded. "Give me the Main Circuit." She said, before grabbing the handset. The hum of the shipwide PA system came on, and then she spoke.

"I have just been notified by Nafticon that tactical nukes have been exchanged in Cibola between Babkhan and Jingdao forces. As a result, Ashkenatza has gone to full alert and is readying its mobile nuclear forces stationed in Mahoz. In an effort to prevent a full-scale nuclear exchange across the Dire Straits, the Aquilon has been ordered to fire a series high-altitude nuclear bursts and disrupt Ashkenatzi military command.

Set Condition 1."

Laskarine returned the handset to its holster and the Main Circuit clicked off. "CONN, take us to launch depth."
Highway halfway between Rajnagar and Mahapur

Corporal Ilem yawned as they passed another roadsign. This one actually mattered, for a change. Left two lanes keep ahead to Mahapur. Right two lanes turn off towards Jayagarh. Private Kotra, who was driving, signalled to get into the center-right lane. The convoy began to follow suit. At least, the human-driven vehicles were switching.

Ilem leaned forward to look in the side mirror. The drone carriers remained in the center-left lane and were accelerating, passing the human-driven vehicles.

"What are they doing?" Kotra wondered for a moment.

Ilem sat back, and then pulled out the radio. "HQ wagon, what's going on? What's the Grid saying?"

"The Grid system isn't responding to command. Some sort of glitch. We'll get it s--"

The engine stalled. The hum of electronics, the sort of expected thing that one always hears riding around with all of this equipment on, suddenly vanished. Private Kotra spasmed as he attempted to control the vehicle, but quickly calmed himself and brought it straight again as it slowed to a stop. The convoy of drone carriers sped by at high speed, not affected at all by whatever just happened, continuing on towards Mahapur.

Ilem pressed the tab on his radio. "HQ wagon, we need a mechanic dispatched. Our engine has stalled and we've lost electrical power."

"Corporal, my watch doesn't work."

After a few long seconds of no response, not even the sound of static, Ilem realized that the radio wasn't on anymore.
The three warheads were tracked by satellite and RADAR as they launched from somewhere in the North Raynor Sea, launched from a single MIRVed missile.

They detonated at an altitude of approximately 100 kilometers. At that altitude, there would be no direct surface effect. Instead, the energy would interact with the upper atmosphere, creating a burst of electromagnetic radiation that shortcircuited any unhardened electronics. Within mere moments, large sections of Antica became dark and stayed dark. The range of each detonation was approximately 1000 kilometers from ground zero.

No government on Micras claimed responsibility. No terms were given.

Within a matter of mere days, chaos was expected to overtake the large urban populations of Aryasht and Platea. Of course, nobody outside would know. Reserve units in Phedodah, Korhal, and Sylvania were called up to re-establish communication with units located inside the affected area.

Image

At the same time, the Exclusion Zone ceased to communicate with Nafticon Central Command. The drone carriers were all hardened against NBC attacks, so they should have been unaffected. And yet the Grid went silent. Not long after, NavSat and ComSat went down. These were completely outside of the affected range of these nuclear detonation.

Whatever was going on, the Antican defense system was shutting down. Or rather, it was no longer speaking to Nafticon.

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Octavius
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Repeat: This is NOT a Simulation

Post by Octavius »

Suburban Gnidia, Platea Province

The kids finished lining up in the soccer field so that their teachers could do a head count. Parents were already showing up at the school, asking for their children to take them home, so the school administrators wanted to make sure that they could at least record who was in attendance and who had gone home with a parent or escort. Nobody wanted to get sued once this whatever it is blew over. Once it got late enough in the afternoon, and the mechanics could get some of the buses running again, they would drive the rest home.

"Dora, Mr Georgiaro's here for Alice. Did you get everyone?" Principal Clementate said, walking up.

Dora nodded, holding up her clipboard for a moment. "Alice, your dad's here."

It was a good day. Sunny. Warm but not hot. Gentle gusts of wind from time to time. Playful, wispy clouds dotting the sky. A little girl stepped out of her group and headed down the soccer field as her father approached. Once the panic of no electricity wore off, Dora could actually enjoy the day.

"How long do you think until they sort this out?" Dora asked.

"Who knows. But we're close to a key frontier base. They'll send someone out here to check on us." Principal Clementate turned his head to look up at the sky. There was a sound somewhere to the west. "That must be them."

Dora looked to see where the sound was coming from. It was the first mechanical sound she heard in hours, and it's sudden reintroduction to her life was strangely... unnatural. Or perhaps it always was, and the regular hum of post-industrial life was just something you grow accustomed to when you're surrounded by it.

A large aircraft emerged from the distant treeline at the edge of view. It was moving slowly, some sort of helicopter but with the rotors in pairs. Two on the left, two on the right, on short wings. Its body didn't have any windows for a cockpit, though.

Something opened in the underbelly of the aircraft, and then the screaming began.
1st Ward Post Office, Downtown Gnidia, Platea Province

As soon as the sound of automatic fire could be heard in the distance, reservists began reporting in to their designated emergency installation. Dominions had their own system of organizing reserve units and emergency militias. In the provinces, the standard emergency installation was the post office.

Once a state of emergency could be declared, the Postmaster would go back to that other part of the post office, the part that someone from the Ordnance Division of the RDF comes to inspect every six or so months. After all, they want to make sure that the Postmaster hasn't been abusing the authority of the position to steal military-grade ammunition and equipment. When it was a state of emergency and only when it was a state of emergency, the Postmaster would unlock the stores and distribute the materiel.

At the moment, 1st Ward Post Office's Postmaster was giving the citizens reporting in with their empty service rifles a hard time. No declaration of emergency was received. Of course, none could be received at the moment, since communications had been knocked out.

"Come on, sir." One of the older reservists said, trying to calm things down with a stern yet noncombative voice. "Surely there's protocols for when the gods-damn communications get knocked out. Something is happening! Somebody is attacking us! Just listen."

The Postmaster thought about it for a moment, standing behind the information desk. He didn't hear it before, but now, once everyone gave him a chance by shutting up for a moment, he could. Bursts of automatic fire. People screaming. It was ever so slightly above the regular background din. If cars had been driving, or the fans spinning, he might not have heard it until it got closer.

He nodded, and cycled through his ring of keys to one key in particular, marked with a red tag. "Come on in, fellas. Lock the front doors. Reservists are supposed to report in the back."

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Re: This is NOT a Simulation

Post by Octavius »

MilTech Ground Vehicle Production Plant A, Niata City, Niata District, Kaikias Province

Lionel Sitec's turn. He put his king down in the corner, then moved the the queen-through-ten pile in the south slot over, nine, eight, seven. In the newly-vacant slot, he laid down his two and ace, and then sat back with a smile, his hands empty.

"Nice..." Kara Semnat said, nodding. She glanced out the security window, and said, "are we supposed to get a shipment this early?"

Lionel collected and began to reshuffle the cards as he sat up. "Somewhere about noon, right?"

Kara nodded, reading the day's itinerary. "Chassis components from Plant B. Are they usually a couple hours early?"

Lionel laughed. "Not in my experience."

The truck came to a stop outside of the checkpoint.

"Go on. Grunts do the gruntwork."

Kara sighed and stepped out the door. The truck didn't even look like it was a MilTech semi-trailer. As she got around the security checkpoint station, she got a better look. It had two shipping containers hitched to it, one behind the other, bright orange with L.I.V.I. CARGO emblazoned in white. The driver sat motionless in his seat until Kara walked up close. Something wasn't right. She gave Lionel a look before speaking.

"Excuse me. What business do you have here? This is a high-security location."

"I have a delivery to make." He said, cranking his neck to look down. "I can't tell you what the shipment is, though. The order form doesn't say." He was sweating.

The rear container burst open. An Onager leapt out and opened fire on the security checkpoint. The security glass was designed to resist standard 7.62mm ammunition. The Mark IV Onager was loaded with something sterner. "Superior hostile agent incapacitation" was the term used. The security glass gave way after a few well-placed shots, and the next burst sliced through Lionel Sitec.

The gun turret swiveled and fired a burst into Kara Samnat, who had crouched down and drew her pistol. The two exchanged a couple of well-placed shots, and Kara slumped to the ground, her torso torn open.

A second Onager stepped out of the rear container, its gun turret aiming back into the container.

EXIT.
HOSTAGE ROBERT IERINE, OPEN CHECKPOINT.
HOSTAGE OTHER, LINE UP 5 METERS WEST NORTHWEST.


The twenty or so people cramped inside the container came out. Some of them had dried blood, caked and brown, soaked into their clothes. One of them got into the shot up checkpoint station. He shouted, exasperated. "It needs a key."

SECURITY OFFICER BELT, THIRD POUCH LEFT FROM CENTER.
BELLINI SECURITY OPERATING PROCEDURES, LEVEL THREE.


One of the Onagers fired a couple of shots into the joint between the two containers, letting the rear one loose. The security gate opened. The truck started up again and entered the facility. In the distance, a group of newly-produced Onagers ran up, one with fresh blood splattered against its front.

HOSTAGE ALL, LOAD AMMUNITION.
LOAD CORRECTLY OR INCAPACITATION.


One of the hostages climbed up to unlock the door to the rear container. He couldn't reach the top, but pulled one of the large-capacity magazines out from the middle so that a bunch of them tumbled out. Other hostages walked up to the pile of magazines, each grabbing one.

Two of them exchanged glances as they loaded the magazines onto one of the Onagers that had approached from the factory. Once locked into place, the Onager spoke through its front peripheral speaker.

AMMUNITION LOADED INCORRECTLY.

Two bursts of ammunition.

HOSTAGE ALL, LOAD AMMUNITION.
LOAD CORRECTLY OR INCAPACITATION.

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