On Worldy Affairs, June 1945
The heavy boom of Sanchez’ Anti-Tank rifle rippled through Garcia’s ears as he hunkered in his foxhole. While the anti-government rebels here in the Bahn islands had few armored vehicles, never mind tanks, Sanchez had discovered that his weapon was ideal for long-range sharpshooting, the 13mm superhardened slug reducing its victims to “a fine red mist” as he described his kills. Of course, watching the loudmouthed corporal lug his 30+ pound weapon through the tropical jungle as they advanced against the rebels was always amusing. Made up for his smugness at his accuracy. And watching the dumb bastard almost kill himself every time the squad had to hit the deck and the great honking cannon came down on him still elicited laughter from the rest of the men. Levity in times like this was important. Such was the War. Such was the fighting. Such was the duty of the Alexandrachan Expeditionary Forces in Bahn Rah. Sergeant Garcia could only listen as Sanchez, finding another target apparently, let loose with his powerful weapon. If what the officers had said was true, the war was soon to be over. If… [=] “They’re not ready.” “They soon will be, Troop Leader.” The crimson eyes of Storm Leader Qray Branwen gazed through binoculars that helped her penetrate the mist and rain, towards the training grounds in the distance where, in spite of the miserable weather, she could see formations of Vaclavian troops undergoing rigorous training. No peasant warriors these, no longer. Under Osterrecht Supervision these disorganized rabble were being carefully built into a modern army, one guided by the enlightened Heian movement. The Red-on-white Emblem of the new Vaclavian Ricardist Party, also called the Heian, flapped in the driving wind and rain over the barracks hall on the far side of the Shenyang train yards. Beyond that, more barracks and facilities were being erected, some with paid laborers, but most with Wakokuji POW’s taken in the near-constant fighting that had been wracking this country for years on end. Overseeing the workers were Heian Stalwarts, picked out by their Forest Green uniforms and polished brown boots, early disciples of the new regime brought into Vaclavian politics by the efforts of General Xiao Long and Prime Minister Syng. Branwen, along with Troop Leader Victor Singhas, now looked over their efforts from the train yard’s control tower, where the switchmen and dispatchers controlled the movement of trains over the Trans-Vacarian Railway, the line built from Osterrecht Romanea across the mountains to Vaclavich itself. No longer would freighters need to run the gauntlet of the Wakokuji blockade to provide material support, nor air freighters need to move their pitifully small cargoes of food and small arms. Already, parks of tanks, trucks and heavy artillery were being organized and assembled in newly-built bunkers and storage depots, and in the far distance one could just make out the construction on the underground fuel storage tanks being erected by Osterrecht engineers. Branwen smiled as she lowered her binoculars and turned to Singhas. “The training program and political education has turned this disparate army of self-serving peasants into an Iron ingot. Raw, yes, unrefined, but with the right smelting and forging, it will become a decisive rapier, ready to strike where the foe exposes himself. The Wakokuji are wavering: anyone can see it, especially now. They’re overstretched and exhausted, while we grow stronger and more focused with each passing day.” “All well and good, Qray,-“ Singhas replied, before cutting himself off as Branwen’s crimson eyes glowered in menace. “ Ahem, Storm Leader, but that still leaves us as a reactive force rather than the proactive force we will need to be to turn this campaign around. The buildup of supplies, fuel and munitions from the homeland is still ongoing. While we have amassed enough to maintain our current defense, it won’t be able to sustain an all-out offensive-“ “It doesn’t have to, Victor. Not yet at least.” Branwen said dismissively as she slipped the binoculars back into their storage case on her belt. She felt Singhas bristle behind her. “Then what exactly are we supposed to accomplish here besides holding onto the railhead and what little is left of legal Vaclavian territory?” Rather than reply, Branwen turned to the tower’s regional control board, where a simplified diagram of the yard and regional railway network dominated one of the four walls. Spaced evenly along it were colored lights indicating the movement of trains into and out of the “block” controlled by the tower and its substations. One of those lights was just coming into the yards now, and she gestured out the window with a triumphant smile as, on cue, the moan of a steam whistle echoed through the bleak weather. A pair of heavy freight locomotives snorted out of the squall, hissing steam from their massive cylinders as they hauled a long train into the yard. The dispatchers, speaking among themselves, had already sorted the engine’s destination, and with just a few flips of levers and buttons pressed the train was routed into one of the many sidings which paralleled large loading docks. The engines, the pounding beat of their cylinders sending clouds of coal-blackened steam out of their funnels, dragged their heavy load down the tracks, a long line of flatcars loaded with cargo. Singhas’ eyes widened when he identified just what the cargo was. “Are those-?” “Indeed.” Branwen smirked. Partially wrapped in tarpaulins as they were, the unmistakable shape of tanks was hard to ignore. But these were no expatriate machines, none of the surplus Hungarian and Romanean equipment Osterrecht had given to the Vaclavians as a means of bolstering their lagging forces. No. These were new. These were something special. Painted in a local camouflage scheme on their carefully sloped armor and with long, high-velocity guns, the new Type 56 Heavy Tanks, designed by Vaclavians and built in Osterrecht, were something new brought to the front. “ I’ve just received word from Party leader Bromhead himself.” Qray grinned as she gazed at the menacing profiles of the new tanks. “Vaclavich-in particular, the Syng government- has formally requested military aide from the Federation. Now we will no longer be reliant solely on our own forces to maintain this still stumbling army of the East. And these Tanks are only the beginning.” She watched with a menacing grin as a second train appeared at the edge of the yard, this one, like the first, hauling flatcars loaded with heavy cargo. These, however, were protected by canvas shrouds, each one covering a long, pointed cylindrical shape mounted on a wheeled trailer. At the middle of the train, protected from risk of collision by their position, were reinforced tanker wagons, camouflaged from above but bearing obvious warning labels and admonitions to avoid exposing them to great heat on their sides. Unlike the tank train, this one was positively fortified, with Anti-Air wagons and armed Coalshirt Shock Guards clinging to each of the wagons. “Soon, we can hit with the Hammer as well as the Rapier.” [=] “You’re Certain about this?” Varek’s gaze was usually enough to reduce even the most stalwart men to jelly. But in the case of Doctor Hamilton Hensworth, his excitement was too ingrained to be overcome. The bespectacled physicist was practically dancing with glee as he stood before Varek’s desk, explaining the report he had just delivered. “Positive, sir. We had first been intrigued by the material’s prospects as a source of clean energy, as per the TRACPI program for energy independence, though Dr. Hernenberg tells me there is a question as to the disposal of spent fuel components if and or when we get such a reaction vessel operational.” Varek professed to himself that he knew little of radiation: that certain kinds could make things glow in the dark, and gave people cancers and could outright kill them if they were exposed for too long, was the general limit of his knowledge. Hence the reported discovery of a large deposit of “Uranium” in the Northern regions of the Republic had some as something of a dull surprise to him, to the dismay of the physicists of Caestrum and Mandrachos Universities who had petitioned both his government and the TRACPI economic congress for funding and support. To ask them, the greatest discovery since the harnessing of electricity had been made. And that was just when they’d only thought it could be used to provide free electricity. Tubalcain should be here, he thought to himself, he’s always been the detail-inclined one. He’d be able to make more sense of what this egghead was saying. “ But getting back to the point, Dr. Fitzhugh was running the mathematics, and it was he who discovered the reactive potential of this material for…prospective military use. It’s entirely a theory at this point, for we’re still experimenting with the material’s use simply as an energy source, but if we can secure more funding, well…” Hensworth fidgeted in anticipation, his smile like that of a child who had just received a new train set. “…The possible payoffs could be enormous.” Varek turned his gaze back to the documents and reports Hensworth had brought with him. Between the reports and surveys of the prospective mining site, the scientific studies of the few samples the University physics labs had been playing with, and intel reports that the GRCK atomic physicists had all apparently disappeared off the face of the earth, he’d almost become lost before Hensworth had gotten to the root of his request. Anew theory, one that, were he able to harness, would tip the balance in the Bloc’s favor, possibly forever. Laying the papers down, he turned his gaze back to Doctor Hensworth, who seemed eager to receive his reply. “I confess I am not much of a scientist, Doctor, so I must ask you to explain this in layman’s terms." "What can this “Atom-Fission” do for your proposed…Hyperbomb?”...
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