|
|
Post by callmedelta on Sept 24, 2023 23:41:01 GMT -5
The War Room, Royal Palace, Pareau.
The War Room felt far, far too large to host just the three men that it currently hosted. The constant flurry of telegrams that had been coming into and out of the room when news of the invasion first arrived in Pareau had stalled now, the room’s large center table dominated by reports from the fronts. None of them were good. In the south, Shysil. In the east, Galra. No news from the Kumo border, yet.
“How fast can we get men mobilized, Director Colletti?” General Ranulf asked, looking over estimations from the Shysil front. Reports of landships and planes, at least ten of the latter and five of the former, some estimations putting them as high as seventy landships and thirty bombers. He’d only briefly been able to skim the reports from the Galran front currently in Marshal Zelgius’s hands, but the numbers on that front were even worse. This did not bode well.
“How many men we can get mobilized isn’t necessarily the question, Ranulf, it’s a matter of how many are going to show up. I was in the process of compiling a report of the sheer number of desertions we were seeing in conscript units in the weeks leading up to the invasion. My current estimates suggest the Franerri military is at roughly 60% manpower compared to pre-desertion levels, figures remaining consistent between active and reserve personnel. But with desertion numbers like these, it’s hard to say how effective a mobilization will even be.”
“I don’t give a damn how effective it is,” Zelgius said, “We need every man we can get in this fight, even if only half those who are called up report. Now how many men can we mobilize?”
“We have 358,750 conscript reservists, 85,000 professional reservists, 24,000 Carabineer, and 24,000 Dragoon reservists that can be called up in short order. Increasing conscription to the level it was in the Tafatu War, we could have nearly 1.2 million men in the field, though this doesn’t take into account desertions, draft dodging, or the sheer fact that we may not be able to produce rifles for all of them, to put it bluntly.”
“Very well,” Zelgius replied. “I need four things from you, Director. Every division of reservists you can muster. Every gun we have in our stockpiles. Every factory you can build. And two lines of defenses along the Breizh Peninsula and the River Marse, using the modern Ashinaran techniques. Those are the only two spots we can even hope to hold the Galrans at -- everywhere else in Franerre is perfect flat marching country. Ranulf, I want you to manage the Shysil front. I’m going to leave you with every division I think I can spare, and I want all of Leclere’s planes to go with you. Holding the Marse becomes almost impossible if I have to worry about Shyshil on my flank. Crushing Shysil fast enough is our only hope at winning this war. They don’t have the men, material, or navy that Galra does.”
“How many men can you spare for me, then, Zelgius?” Ranulf asked.
“Give me the 48,000 Cavalry, 100,000 Standard Infantry, and 25,000 Heavy Infantry reservists,” Zelgius answered, “If you can get any new artillery or field guns produced, send them either my way or put them on the Marse. Get 50,000 Standard Infantry to garrison the Breizh Peninsula and 40,000 to reinforce the Elerian border. Ranulf, take every other damn soldier in this country and stop Shysil.”
“That few?!” Ranulf exclaimed. “You can’t seriously expect to do much of anything worthwhile with those few troops. It could take a month to get them raised in any shape to fight.”
“If you can get your damned job done and clear my flank, your divisions can reinforce mine,” Zelgius answered, the stress and his anger at the situation leaking into his voice, “I simply need to delay them long enough for that to happen. I’ll force the Galrans to take every city between our border and the Marse, while our cavalry infiltrates their lines and wreaks havoc on their supplies. That is the only way that Galra can even be slowed down long enough for this plan to have a chance at succeeding. Now unless you’re going to argue with me anymore, I’m going to take my staff and move my headquarters as east as I think is safe. Godspeed, gentlemen.”
|
|
|
|
Post by callmedelta on Oct 28, 2023 15:37:43 GMT -5
The back alley behind the War Dog Pub, Alcasse, Franerre
Giles Olivier slipped out the back door of the pub, cigarette already between his lips. Taking a match from a pocket, he lit it up, looking to the mouth of the alleyway. The street was busy, full of women, children, and soldiers going to and fro. Never did Giles think he'd ever be thankful for his limp, and yet here he was. Gilles blew a puff of smoke out of his mouth, trying not to cough as he did. Sometimes Giles joked he was the only man in the country who didn't smoke. Of course, that was just about the only legitimate excuse someone would have for loitering around a dark alleyway this time of day. At least that was what old man Blancher said, but the fact he insisted Giles had to actually smoke the thing to sell the illusion made Giles think the old man just wanted him to smoke. Smoke break taken, without anyone from outside the alleyway having paid attention at all, Olivier threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped with his good foot. Giles searched around for the button for the mechanism Maribelle had made, pressing it and quickly sliding the old sewer grate out of place. Without that little machine of hers, it probably would have taken five men to get the old rusted hunk of metal off. It still took Giles some effort, but it was doable. He should have been able to use the hidden entrance in the cellar, but the stairs to the cellar were visible from the pub's main floor. With all the soldiers coming in, Giles knew that he couldn't risk someone wondering why he never came upstairs and discovering their whole operation.
At the very least it wasn't far from the sewer grate to the hidden entrance in down in the sewers. Even the little light that filtered in from the grate above was enough for Giles to navigate by, finding the narrow tunnel cut into the sewer wall. It was just barely wide enough for a man to walk through, though with his limp Giles went at a pace that seemed glacially slow. Despite the pace, Giles reached the end of the cut rock soon enough, groping around for the -- there! Giles pushed on the loose brick, the brick falling onto a bit of carpet on the other side of the door to reduce noise. "Help me get this blasted thing open, Giles," Maribelle Duchamp said from the other side, the heavy stone door beginning to slowly come open. Gilles obliged, pushing until he was inside the hidden safe room, and could now see just how dirty he'd gotten. This had been his third time using this method, and it seemed like he'd only picked up more and more grime each time. Maribelle, for her part, at least seemed unfazed. "Got news for our friend from Pareau -- big news."
"You can just call him Antione down here, you know," Maribelle said, "If anyone's around to hear us, letting that name slip is the least of our problems."
"It doesn't matter," Giles said hurriedly, walking towards the door separating the storeroom the pair currently occupied to what had become the Republican People's Guard's central headquarters. Inside that room were two men. The former was Antione Claude himself. The Contremaître. The most wanted man in all of Franerre, now taking up residence in the basement of a pub. The second was Juste Roy, formerly Brigadier General Juste Roy of the Royal Franerri Army, he was the highest ranking officer who had defected, though that was soon about to change. There were more men involved in the executive of the RPG, of course, but the only other one Giles knew of was Jerome Blancher, the owner of the War Dog Pub. Giles and Maribelle served as liaisons to the student movements at the university, where Giles had picked up his message, while Maribelle also provided some funding for the whole operation.
"A message for you, Antione, sir," Giles said, passing along the folded letter. He knew that Antoine didn't like being called sir, but Giles knew he hated being called the Contremaître even more, and it just felt wrong to Giles not to use some title for the man. "Guillory's father got it from a refugee from Saint Challan-sur-Mer down at the docks from a boat that came in last night. He passed it to me at class this morning."
Antione cleared his throat, reading the letter for all at the table to hear.
Antione paused, giving a moment for everyone to process the information they just received, but Giles could already see the gears in his head turning. "This is a golden opportunity for us to make clear to Franerre the failure of the Queen's government. And more importantly, it's the right thing to do. It's a day trip to Saint Challan by boat, Juste."
"I'm not sure about that, Antione," Juste replied, "I agree we need to help Montagne out, but I'm the man behind the majority of coordination between our partisan cells. If I die in Saint Challan, how much would we lose?"
"We'd lose less than we'd lose not helping out," Antione said, "And the fact that you know so much of our operations makes you the perfect man to assist Montagne. We have other people who can make sure the cells get what they need. Haven't you been teaching Giles here some things?"
"True, true," Juste muttered as he thought to himself. He turned to Giles. "Do you feel comfortable taking over my position here, temporarily at least?"
Giles looked between Juste and Antione, and deciding he didn't like their stares, looked to Maribelle instead. She didn't have much to comment on the issue, going by her body language. "Truthfully, I'm not confident, sir. But I agree with Antione. You need to go to Saint Challan. I'll step up, to the best of my ability."
Juste nodded. "Alright then. Maribelle, can you me a pen and a notepad? I don't like leaving a paper trail, but there are some things that Giles needs to know and can't risk forgetting. In the meantime, Giles, pass along a message to the docks that I need a boat."
|
|
|
|
Post by callmedelta on Apr 14, 2024 23:56:07 GMT -5
Franerri General Staff Meeting. Acrence, Franerre.
Marshal Zelgius was the last to arrive at the meeting, General Pape in tow. They took their spots at the right side of the square table. The left side was occupied by men from the Shysil front -- General Ranulf, General Faucher, Major General Loup, and Air Marshal Leclere. At the head of the table sat Queen Jadwiga herself, along with Julius Verenes. Each side has a litany of papers in front of them containing reports from the battlefield, production numbers, and diplomatic developments. The center of the table was dominated by a large map with the current state of the frontline laid out. The mood in the air was an odd thing. It was tense, yet tired, for no one had the energy to act on the tension. There were two opposite side, both ready to valiantly argue their points as to who should be given what resources, yet the heads of both respective camps both had the same exact goal.
Formal pleasantries were made to open the meeting, but soon enough the meeting began in earnest, General Ranulf clearing his throat. “The Shysil front is cautiously stable. We don't have the manpower to advance, but Shysil doesn’t have the manpower or the artillery to make a decisive assault, especially thanks to our uncontested air superiority on the front.” Ranulf nodded to Leclere. “Despite that, Shysil continues to assault our line relentlessly. If Shysil continues to assault at this rate, they will inevitably be unable to continue the assault and they’ll come off much bloodier than us for it. Given enough time, and provided we can prevent any Galran supplies or manpower from reinforcing the Shysil front, I believe our victory is inevitable. Given the current state of Tafatu, I believe it is in Franerre’s best interest to devote the majority of the newly trained army to the existing Shysil front. With the additional manpower and artillery, I can promise you Shysil’s capitulation by the end of the year.” Ranulf ended his report there, sitting down.
Marshal Zelgius had just begun to stand, before being waved down with a hand from the Queen. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, General. We need to liberate Tafatu. Our new army is going south.”
Zelgius and Ranulf shared a look, the latter speaking. “Milady, with all do respect, while Tafatu’s fall was a tragedy, we still have our own war to fight. We doubtlessly need to reinforce our southern flank, but so long as Shysil’s capitulation can be achieved quick enough, it won’t matter.”
Queen Jadwiga spoke before Ranulf could continue his thought. “Did you read the reports from the CoN?” Ranulf nodded. “Support from Marrlan and the UKUG is for Tafatu, not Franerre. We need to make a good showing in defending our ally. What’s more, we can’t let ourselves be shown up by them. That’s not to mention the terrible human cost being paid by the innocent people of Tafatu, nor the floor of refugees coming north. We need to march south. But the specifics can wait until we have the full picture. Now, Marshal Zelgius, how is the Galran front?”
“We’ve experienced a lull in the fighting along the Marse,” Zelgius said. “The Galrans haven’t attempted a major crossing yet, and are content to shell and bomb our lines with their artillery and air superiority. More manpower may be required to repel a Galran assault, but the specifics of it will be heavily dependent upon where Galra attempts to cross and the extent to which they can saturate that front with munitions beforehand. Now, Your Highness, there are reasons we haven’t tried to reinforce Tafatu before. The only major road and rail connections we had were close to the Shysil and Galran borders, and they fell in the first month of the war. The infrastructure in south-central Franerre isn’t up to capacity to carry the necessary supply trains needed to wage high-intensity combat like that we’ve seen along the Shysil and Galran fronts. I agree with Ranulf -- large-scale movements into Tafatu simply aren’t feasible. What's more, any army we would send into Tafatu would likely be fighting Galra now, not Shysil. An offensive against Galra may not be a task we're up to, at least not without drawing men and material from other fronts at critical levels. We cannot liberate Tafatu, not how the war sits currently. Until sufficient support from other nations, most likely Ashinaran troops given the CoN report, arrives in Franerre that will be an impossibility. "
“Very well then,” the Queen said, frowning. She turned to General Ranulf. “During the Union war, most of the Franerri logistics went through Saint Parsson, correct?” Ranulf nodded. “What if we were to march for Saint Parsson? It would put pressure on Shysil while also setting the conditions necessary for the liberation of Tafatu."
Ranulf thought for a moment. He would have preferred a push from the west or an advance all along the front, but a spearhead towards Saint Parsson would have its advantages. While it would create a salient in the line, provided it could be held, Shysil would have to retreat or risk being encircled by the oncoming army from the east. That being said, the plan did have it's risks. If the Galran army could link up with the Shysil front, then holding such a salient would prove to be a near impossibility, throwing the entire plan in jeopardy. Despite that, it seemed like the only way he'd get any manpower at all. “I believe the plan could work. Give me 50,000 for Saint Parsson. Zelgius can use the remaining 150,000 to fortify the Marse and the new front in the south.”
|
|
|
|
Post by callmedelta on Apr 17, 2024 0:20:32 GMT -5
The coastal village of Nanmont-sur-Canche, Galran Occupied Franerre
Juste smiled. Despite how terrible the situation was, things were going well. Reports from that attack on the airbase was that it had really given Galra a black eye. As much as he’d want to, Juste knew that lightning probably wouldn’t strike twice here. His partisans had to do something else, hence the meeting today. The partisans could carry out random attacks as they saw fit, but to slay a beast like Galra, you had to be coordinated and thoughtful in your approach. For all he liked about kicking the Galran hornets’ nest, hornets stung, and he didn’t like the reports he was getting about the Galran militia. In all things, though, there was an opportunity.
The door to Juste’s house opened, Major General Montagne entering. Juste didn’t particularly like Montagne, and the feeling was mutual, but the two knew they had a common enemy to work against. Juste held up a letter, handing it to Montagne. “How are the survivors from Saint Challan?”
“They’ve recovered enough to fight,” Montange said. He looked down at the letter curiously, accepting it.
“Good,” Juste said. “I want you to take out the Galran militia the best you can.”
Montagne looked at Juste, his expression conflicted. On the one hand, he liked taking the fight to the Galrans in a very direct way. The Galran militia would be less trained than their regular army counterparts -- it would be much easier to take them on in ambushes, as well as being easier to take their weapons from them compared to the regular army. At the same time, this very much so seemed like taking orders from Juste, and that wasn’t something Montagne particularly liked. “And why do you want me to take a leading role in this?”
“Because you’re good at it, Montagne. Better than I am,” Juste replied. “I’m an organizer and a planner at heart. I can see where we can best strike the Galran beast, but you are much better at striking that target than I am.”
“And what about you?” Montagne asked. “What will you be doing during all of this?”
“Oh, you know. Raiding supplies, destroying infrastructure. Perhaps blowing up another airbase if the Galrans leave one undefended.” Juste’s voice was sing-song, teasing. He also had plans to cut the head off the snake, but that was going to be all Juste’s operation.
Montagne knew that Juste was hiding something, but also that the only reason he was like this was because Juste wouldn’t tell him anything. “Very well then,” Montagne said, looking at the letter for the first time. Locations of cells and supply caches. “Best of luck, Juste.”
“Best of luck, Montagne.”
|
|
|
|
Post by callmedelta on May 30, 2024 23:34:51 GMT -5
Franerri General Staff Meeting. Acrence, Franerre.
An emergency meeting had to be called. The situation at the Marse was untenable -- it would fall far sooner rather than later. Contingency plans had to be put in place, of which there was only one realistic option. The Defense of the Marse had failed, now it was time for the Defense of the Sarhone.
It was a smaller council this time, just Queen Jadwiga, Marshal Zelgius, and Genral Ranulf in attendence. Everyone in the war room was stressed. There was no sign of pomp or pageantry, only the cold duty of war. With the map of the situation set before them, it became evident just how bad things had become. The Galran frontline in the south was just about to reach Ranulf's lines against Shysil. That lead into a now rather self evident problem -- if the Franerri wished to fortify the Sarhone, that would be impossible with Shysil troops still over the river. "How fast can you recapture the Sarhone?" Zelgius asked. "We only held off Galra for so long thanks to prepared fortifications. If we don't have time to set those fortifications in place the Sarhone won't even last half the time. Not to mention how the Sarhone is nowhere near as wide as the Marse."
"That's...difficult to say," Ranulf answered. "It's been nothing but a slugging match in Shysil. Both sides are out of strength. I have a few fresh troops, but they're in Saint Parsson -- they'll have to be pulled back across the Sarhone, unless we want them to get trapped. I've seen the reports of the Notch War stocks -- if we want to generate sufficient manpower quickly enough to actually matter, we won't have the time to train the divisions properly. Just a week's worth of refresher courses. They won't be good at attacking, mind you, but with enough shock and awe I'm sure Shysil's lines will break."
"You can't want all of them trained like that, can you?" Zelgius asked. "I--"
"I do," Ranulf said. "Do you want the Sarhone secured or not? With those 100,000 Conscripts I could take over Shysil, though I couldn't hold it with Galra bearing down on us."
"You just made my own point for me," Zelgius said. "You don't need the 100,000 men just for the Sarhone. That means we could use that manpower as further reinforcements for Pareau, for whenever the Sarhone falls."
"Fine," Ranulf conceded, seeing he couldn't win, "Give me 50,000 and I'll give you the Sarhone in two weeks. One week to train, one week to march down to the mountains."
"Very well then," Zelgius said. "In the meantime, I'll begin pulling troops off the Marse and across the Sarhone as best as I can. You should as well."
|
|
