The Final War (alt-Draka story)

[Black Admiral]

One last thing. Do you seriously think that if the U.S were fighting the most evil regime in the history of the world, and it had just nuked the entire east coast, Berkleyites would still focus their hostility on Bush?

I dunno, some people could be that stupid (like all the "Bush did it" conspiracy theorists on 9/11). It'd probably take the snakes going rape-of-Nanking on a couple of cities to snap them out of it. (I know of a couple of people that ignorant in my area)

[CaptainChewbacca]

I reckon the stupid Berkley-ites wouldn't really realize immediately what had happened.

“This isn’t random or light” Lynne said over the radio. “Somebody made a mistake. Somebody made a big goddamn mistake!”

*cough* starshiptroopers *cough*

When the Americans started their rally-run, why wouldn't they be targeting troopships instead of carriers? The Snakes can bring in all the carriers they want, but its the infantry that's gonna ruin your day.

[Black Admiral]

When the Americans started their rally-run, why wouldn't they be targeting troopships instead of carriers? The Snakes can bring in all the carriers they want, but its the infantry that's gonna ruin your day.

Taking out the carriers strips away at least some of the air support for those troops, and unless I'm mistaken the snakes' higher ups for the invasion were hoisting their flags on the carriers as well. In that sense, knocking out the CVs would make sense in terms of damaging the chain of command.

[CaptainChewbacca]

When the Americans started their rally-run, why wouldn't they be targeting troopships instead of carriers? The Snakes can bring in all the carriers they want, but its the infantry that's gonna ruin your day.

Taking out the carriers strips away at least some of the air support for those troops, and unless I'm mistaken the snakes' higher ups for the invasion were hoisting their flags on the carriers as well. In that sense, knocking out the CVs would make sense in terms of damaging the chain of command.

But they've committed their air power to this one strike. Temporarily taking out the chain of command doesn't help if they get their invasion force to the Chesepeake intact.

[Typhonis 1]

Thety did get some and here is something else CaptainChewbacca how much supplies DO those invasion troops have and how much will they need to import to remain a viable fighting force?

[CaptainChewbacca]

Thety did get some and here is something else CaptainChewbacca how much supplies DO those invasion troops have and how much will they need to import to remain a viable fighting force?

Yeah, I don't think the Draka really thought this through, and I'm willing to bet we're all going to be happy that we let the assault weapons ban lapse.

[Junghalli]

Brilliant again. You'd think the Draka would come to expect this kind of fanatacism from their enemies, but apparently it just keeps catching them off guard.

Thank you. It's good to know I didn't totally ruin the drama with technical stupidity (I admit having been influenced way too much by WWII battles because that's basically what the bulk of material on big sea battles I've seen deals with-has there even been a real big ocean battle in modern times?).
The Draka have a very poor grasp of human nature, based on the books. They think the best way to control people is to reduce them to a state of absolute helplessness and terror. They don't seem to grasp that the natural human response to being in that position is to look for a means of escape, and if there is none then the fight half of the "fight or flight" response kicks in and terror starts turning into anger. The Tarkin Doctrine (rule through fear of force) only works if you can achieve some kind of safety by being a good sheep, but the Draka don't get this.

I get the feeling that any cities with the misfortune to be in Ingolffson's way are in for a bad time. That whole piece of description was excellent, by the way, she's not one of your sympathetic snakes (like Setzer), but you still manage to show her as a human being, though that doesn't stop her from being a monster.

Thanks, I did think her character was some of my better work. In Stone Dogs she vented her anger by giving one captured Alliance spy the Madred treatment. Here she's in charge of a third of the Draka army on the East Coast, and she'll have the power to take out that hatred on entire populations. Knowing how bad the Draka already are as their SOP she'll probably do things that would make Genghis Khan proud, like a scorched earth policy when she has to retreat that basically amounts to "kill everybody".

*cough* starshiptroopers *cough*

I was wondering if somebody would catch that little homage there.

When the Americans started their rally-run, why wouldn't they be targeting troopships instead of carriers? The Snakes can bring in all the carriers they want, but its the infantry that's gonna ruin your day.

They started out doing that, the problem was the bombers kept getting shot down before they could do enough damage. Then they saw the Draka flagship get turned into smoking scrap and realized that this would have compromised their C&C and would give them a window where the Draks would be disorganized. And since most of their high-ranking officers would be on carriers if they went for them they stood a good chance of killing the guy who'd take over from the Draka admiral, and maybe the guy under him too, thereby prolonging their window and letting them take out more ships period.

[Junghalli]

The leaves in Nantucket had yet to turn brown, it being only the beginning of September. In a month or so they would begin to wither and mummify and splash the landscape with their usual riot of fall colors. The sun had just risen at it was still cold in the bell tower in which O’Brien had set up his observation post. He had a good view of Nantucket harbor. There was a stiff breeze and slow waves broke against the coast. The place was quiet, unusually so, the stillness only occasionally broken by the passage of a car or station wagon or sometimes an SUV loaded with furniture. The last civilians clearing out in anticipation of the Draka invasion. It was peaceful. The day before the end of the world, he supposed. If the Draka wanted to bring their full manpower to bear and establish a semi-secure supply line back home it would be vital to their campaign that they seize harbors all along the East Coast. O’Brien knew they were somewhere out there, not far away. Spotter planes had last sighted the approaching fleet a mere spitting distance from here, they should be coming over the horizon at any time.

“You see anything?” Falkenhorst asked. He was eating a breakfast of Drake’s coffee cake and some tea and watching a Seinfeld rerun on the battery powered TV set he’d dragged up here. It was the episode where Kramer and Newman conceived a scheme for using Newman’s mail truck to drag bottle caps to a smelter which paid twice as much as the one in New York. Lying between the TV set and Falkenhorst was a long black sniper rifle and a case of 7.62 mm rounds.

O’Brien took his binoculars from the wall and scanned the sea. “Holy!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Falkenhorst asked.

“Take a look for yourself!” O’Brien passed him the binoculars and scrambled to the radio. “This is Third Lookout to base, we have visual contact with Dragon! Repeat this is Third Lookout to base we have visual contact with Dragon!” Dragon of course was the code word for the Draka fleet, which O’Brien could now see coming up over the horizon.

“Confirmed third lookout” the voice of Major McCaddy said over the radio. “Follow plan 1.”

Falkenhorst was snapping rounds into the sniper rifle. He extended the small tripod and fixed it firmly to the window sill. He had a nearly unblocked field of fire over the beach from here.

“Better put our gas masks on” O’Brien reminded him. “You know how the Draks like their chemical warfare.”

“You don’t need to say that twice” Falkenhorst said as he secured his gas mask to the full NBC suit he was already wearing. O’Brien sealed up his own suit seconds later. He paused momentarily to turn Falkenhorst’s TV set off while he was at it.

“This is Third Lookout” he called over the radio. “We are ready.”

“Roger that” the voice at the other end said and the communication was severed.

O’Brien heard the roar of jets overhead. Draka Falcon bombers. He tapped Falkenhorst on the shoulder. “Better brace yourself.”

The ground shook as the Falcons dropped their loads, blasting apart houses and warehouses and splattering every structure with flaming napalm. Dust and pulverized stone drifted heavily across O’Brien’s field of vision, dislodged by the tremors of heavy bombs striking earth. Then cruise missiles were fired into the town, causing even more damage.

“The bastards are trying to smoke us out” Falkenhorst concluded.

“How we holding up?” O’Brien asked.

“The building seems to be staying solid enough” Falkenhorst said. “I’m good. Get on the horn to McCandless over in the church and remind him the first Draka that hits the beach is mine.”

* * *

It was unseasonably cold in Moscow that day. The streets were emptier than usual, and the few people who were out were so heavily bundled they looked like they were halfway to wearing space suits. As was typical of the USSR Moscow was a bleak looking city of brooding grey concrete blocks, enlivened only by the occasional propaganda mural painted over the side of one of the oppressive glowering buildings. It looked especially depressing under today’s dark and cloudy sky. In the distance a few columns of black smoke curled lazily into the clouds from the smokestacks of factories. The Premier’s limo drew up to the Kremlin and Premier Vladimir Putin stepped out, accompanied by three bodyguards. The Premier, just returned from his summer home in the Crimea upon hearing of the Draka attack on the United States, went straight to his office. Several prominent government ministers and Party officials were already waiting for him there.

“Premier, the Draka have-“ one of the men began.

“I am aware of the general situation” Premier Putin cut him off. “Comrade Denisov, I want a full report.”

“Certainly Premier.” Defense Minister Denisov was a big, beefy man with thin grey sideburns and a round face. “The Draka have destroyed cities all along the American East Coast and the region of Baja with nuclear bombs. They are now beginning landings in those regions.”

Putin raised his eyebrows. “My first question, obviously, is whether you think this will lead to a full nuclear exchange, and to what extent we can expect our own territories to be contaminated should that occur.”

“It is difficult to be certain” KGB Director Kazakov said. “We still await the American nuclear response. Our feelers indicate there is a great deal of debate as to how extensive this should be. I would suggest, Comrade Premier, that our neutrality in the war is a large part of what is holding both parties back from using their full nuclear arsenals. They are worried about somehow provoking us to join the other side.”

“Surely they don’t think we would join the Draka!” Chairman Gurov sputtered.

“Their President… does not see the stark differentiation between ourselves and the Draka slaver scum” Director Kazakov said. “He and his advisors tend to see us as simply two-what was that word Reagan used-ah yes, evil empires. Much as some of our more extreme elements tend to see Americans and Draka as simply two different classes of bourgeoisie, one simply much more subtle in its exploitation of the proletariat than the other.”

“As for the contamination question” Denisov interjected “We would expect most of it to be concentrated along the Draka frontier, in our southern Republics and western China. Indonesia and western New Guinea may also be effected to a degree. Also, we would be facing food shortages due to nuclear winter-this would be global, all countries would be affected.”

“I suggest” Agricultural Minister Sarkovich said “that we begin stockpiling any food surplus we may have in anticipation of this.”

“See to it” Premier Putin said. “What, Minister Denisov, is the worst case scenario in your opinion.”

“A full nuclear exchange leading to nuclear winter and a famine not seen since the days of Stalin, and conquest of America and Britain by the Draka” Denisov said.

“I dispute that this would be a worst case scenario” Director Kazakov argued. “We would conceivably be able to seize Australia, the rest of New Guinea, New Zealand, and the American puppet states in South America for ourselves, to keep them out of Draka hands of course. One of our main rivals would be eliminated and the other one severely weakened. We could attack the Draka while they were still licking their wounds and we were still strong. We could…” he paused, realizing how quickly simple extrapolation had propelled him from the present situation to something that would have qualified as daydreaming a few days ago. “We could defeat them and establish a World Soviet Union!” Kazakov leaned in close to Premier Putin. “Comrade Premier, this is a time of unparalleled opportunity, if we can exercise just a little patience. A similar formula applies in the event of an American victory. Comrade Premier, simply look at any world map. A World Union will happen eventually, every historical trend for the past two hundred years has been slowly pushing for it. The three superpowers already control most of the planet between them. The question that is being resolved now is will it eventually be an American world, a Draka world… or a Soviet world? Let one of our rivals kill the other for us and exhaust themselves in the process. We will remain on the sidelines and bide our time.”

“And suppose you are wrong” Minister Denisov said. “We should join America and destroy the Draka. Yes, they are capitalist imperialists, but compared to the Draka they are saints!” he looked hard at Kazakov. “Are you really willing to risk the possibility of a worldwide Dominate? The yoke and the brand and a boot in the face for the entire human species, for all eternity?”

“This arguing is pointless” Premier Putin said forcefully. “For now, the Soviet Union shall remain uninvolved in this conflict. I will issue a public statement of moral support for the United States, but that shall be in the end of it. We have nothing to gain by becoming involved.”

[CaptainChewbacca]

Come on, Putin! You know its the right thing to do!

[MKSheppard]

He walked quickly into his World Media class, hoping if he could get in a desk quickly he wouldn’t bring undue attention to himself. They had the TV going, probably analyzing a film or something. He was going to take out his notebook and start taking notes when he noticed it was a live CNN report… showing a dark cloud of smoke rising above Manhattan Island.

Now THAT is exactly how I learned of the World Trade Center attacks. I first thought it was stock footage, and then learned that yes, this was real.

[MKSheppard]

There is no such thing as Nuclear Winter. What you would have is a nuclear autumn; temperatures would dip a few degrees, and the sunsets would be spectacular.

[Junghalli]

There is no such thing as Nuclear Winter. What you would have is a nuclear autumn; temperatures would dip a few degrees, and the sunsets would be spectacular.

Wouldn't a worldwide drop in temperature totally fuck up crop growing patterns?

[CaptainChewbacca]

There is no such thing as Nuclear Winter. What you would have is a nuclear autumn; temperatures would dip a few degrees, and the sunsets would be spectacular.

Wouldn't a worldwide drop in temperature totally fuck up crop growing patterns?

It depends on the time of year. We're heading into fall/winter, so it'll be a bad winter.

[Instant Sunrise]

The worst that would probably happen was that there wouldn't be a hot summer the following year, like after Krakatoa erupted.

The models that predicted nuclear winter didn't have mountains of oceans in them, with the oceans acting as a huge moderator of global temperatures.

[Ford Prefect]

Lookin' pretty good Jung - you're an excellent writer, I have to say, but I'm looking forward to seeing some ground combat, because that's where it's at.

[Junghalli]

A very special thank you to MKSheppard for taking time out of his own schedule to rewrite the ending of the Battle of the Atlantic for me. The new ending has been edited in, I hope the chapter will now be what it's supposed to be instead of being remembered for its technical errors. Thank you again MKSheppard.

[Junghalli]

CHAPTER 7

If somebody had walked up to Jim Gardener on September 1st and told him that twelve days from now he could crouched behind an overturned hot dog stand with a machine gun shooting at Draka slave conscripts as they stormed up the beach in Portland Maine he’d probably have laughed in their face. He was an intermittently employed, intermittently alcoholic mediocre poet who’d originally joined the Reserve to pay his way through college and hadn’t been called up in years. He was a little out of practice, but the beach, although narrow, was a pretty good kill zone and these Janissaries didn’t seem to be very high quality. Half of them barely seemed to grasp the idea of duck and cover and some of them were obviously too high on stim meds to think straight. Makes sense he thought to himself. They’re just cannon fodder, the real army comes after they’ve cleared the beaches.

“How much more ammo do we have left?” he asked the Private next to him.

“Enough” the man said. “Remember, we only have to hold them here until the Air Force can come through with their little surprise.”

Gardener nodded and kept shooting. The Janissaries were dropping like flies in a cloud of Raid but there were just too many of them. Gardener and the few other machine gunners holding the beach couldn’t possibly hope to hold them off for more than another ten minutes, at the very most. He had a sinking feeling as he watched more and more landing boats pull up to the beach. He wasn’t sure what the Air Force had cooking but it had better be damned effective or else the Draka were taking Portland. Gardener gulped audibly at that thought. Of all the burdens that weighed upon the men and women holding the line against the Draka one of the heaviest was the idea that they might be forced to concede still populated cities to the enemy. God knew what a party they’d have in the streets of Portland or Augusta or Los Angelos. Although come to think of it there were a few people in this town who Gardener personally wouldn’t have minded seeing being simultaneously ass-punked and flayed alive with a cheese grater by a couple of big ugly Draka, but that was just him. He pushed that thought aside as he paused to waste a couple of more Janissaries.

Corporal Repperton tapped Gardener on the shoulder. “The Air Force is about to clear the beach, fall back to the first line of buildings.”

The Fire Team ran back to the street and its cheap restaurants and touristy shops, staying low to avoid enemy fire. The cracking of T-50s followed them. The Janissaries, no doubt believing the Americans had been broken, yelled and began to charge forward.

“Here!” the Corporal motioned for the Fire Team to take cover behind a big mailbox about four blocks down. There was a roar of jets overhead and Gardener looked up to see a squadron of B-70 Valkyries.

“Show’s starting.” The Corporal grinned. “This should be good.”

The Valkyries circled around and passed over the beach. As they did so bombs fell from their undersides. The impacts of the larger bombs shook the ground. Janissaries screamed as napalm was sprayed onto their skins and shrapnel driven into their bodies. Gardener couldn’t get a clear view of the beach but he could see buildings close to it splintering and catching on fire and smoke rising into the sky to mix with the black clouds already there from burning buildings destroyed by Draka cruise missile bombardment. The Valkyries continued circling a few times, dropping their full bomb loads, then flew back toward the airforce base.

“Ryerson, see what’s down there!” the Corporal ordered.

Ryerson hurried down the street. A few seconds later he came back, an astounded expression on his face.

“Well?” the Corporal demanded.

“Sir, there is nothing left down there, and I mean nothing!” Ryerson exclaimed. “That whole beach is an inferno God-damn praise the Lord! The few ones that aren’t dead probably wish they were! That place is sterilized! Sir…”

“Yes?” the Corporal said.

“They whupped those Draks good! I just wish they’d let us get in on some more of the action!”

The Corporal cackled dryly, giving Gardener a high five. “Don’t worry son, I’m sure there’s plenty more where they came from.”

* * *

Los Angelos was burning. The entire waterfront part of the city was a raging fireball, thanks to punishing cruise missile bombardment and repeated carpet bombing by the DAF. Falcon bombers fanned out over the city, dropping fragmentation and incendiary bombs over freeways, bridges, and areas where the US Army was putting up heavy resistance. Other bombers dropped incendiaries on random residential areas in an effort to spread terror and despair among the defenders. Smoke blackened a sky already stained by the funeral pyres of Anaheim and San Diego. In the streets below US Army soldiers made a heroic fighting retreat against overwhelming numbers of Janissaries and vicious assaults by Citizen shock troops, forcing the Draka to pay in blood for every house and city block. The Army was overstretched and most of the serious troop commitment had been directed at the Draka’s main attack from the east, but what they lacked in sheer numbers and resources the defenders of LA made up for in determination, perseverance, and skill. There were still far too many people trapped in the city, and if the Draka were getting their hands on them it was over the dead body of every GI in the Los Angelos basin.

Lieutenant Stan Brickman surveyed the carnage from the cockpit of his F-19 as he flew toward a squadron of Falcon bombers dropping incendiaries on Pasadena. “Prepare for interception” he told his men. He primed his weapons and headed straight for the enemy.


Tetrarch Jacob von Karl noticed several contacts coming toward him. He waited as the computer analyzed and resolved the radar image. Yankee F-19 fighter planes. He scowled. He had been conducting a bombing run over the eastern end of the Los Angelos metropolitan area. He supposed it wasn’t very important. There were no areas of particularly heavy resistance there, but there were a lot of unevacuated civilians. Their suffering would be a valuable lesson to them in the folly of resisting the new order.

“This is Tetrarch von Karl to escorts” he said over the radio link. “There’s some Yankee fighters coming up behind us.”

“We hear you Tetrarch, preparing to intercept” a Monitor told him. The bombers’ covering wings of Ravager escort fighters peeled away to engage the Americans.

Von Karl closed the bomb bays and rotated his missile racks to bring the Falcon’s defensive missiles to bear. The Falcon was a minor miracle of engineering, created to serve the needs of an airforce which simply could not hope to match its opponents in size. Although strategically equivalent to an American B-70 Valkyrie it was far more heavily automated, requiring a crew of only one.

“We have engaged” the Monitor reported.


The Draka Ravager fighter screamed past Brickman’s F-19 and he just barely managed to avoid getting a missile up his tailpipe. He tracked it on his radar as it attacked him again, this time from the front, and again passed out of his range before he could fire. Damn. The bastards were getting smart fast. In the Battle of the Atlantic (as it was quickly coming to be called) a lot of Draka pilots had made the mistake of trying to circle around the noses of American jets, vastly overestimating their own maneuverability advantage over their enemies. It had cost them heavily and apparently Brickman was either dealing with a smart veteran or they were catching on to their mistakes quick.

Brickman pulled his fighter into a hard climb. The Draka was already moving to counter. He leveled off and came at the Drak, this time from above. As he passed the enemy fighter he managed to get a good lock and launched a missile, blowing it apart. But no sooner had he dealt with that monkey when another one made a pass at him. He desperately pushed the F-19 into a hard dive. The Draka swooped down on him. Knowing there was no way he was going to win that game Brickman leveled out and let the Draka come to him, then banked hard at the last second. The Draka fighter flew past, then whipped back around a speed Brickman he’d trouble believing. The Ravagers, like most Draka aircraft, might not be particularly good but they were fast. Brickman reacted quickly, launching another missile at him just as he was coming round. The Ravager fell toward the streets of Pasadena like a pigeon that had been hit with a rock. He checked his radar screens and saw that most of the Ravagers had been dealt with. He dispatched a small contingent of planes to mop up the last survivors and had the bulk of the squadron go for the Falcons.


Jacob von Karl evaded furiously as the pair of F-19s gained on him. The Falcons were good aircraft but they were no match for dedicated fighters. Stripped of their escorts they were being blown out of the sky like turkeys.

Fik he cursed to himself. He only had one chance. To go low over the hills. The less maneuverable Yankee aircraft wouldn’t dare follow him that close to the ground. He went into a hard dive until he was a mere few dozen meters from the ground, then pulled up. He was flying through a range of dusty hills with clumps of closely packed houses clinging to the side. As he predicted the American fighter didn’t follow him but contented itself with sending a couple of missiles after him, which missed and hit the hillside, doing little more than sending up sprays of dirt. He waited until he was sure the Yanks had lost him then started climbing back to altitude. Something caught his eye. He noticed a road snaking through the hills, and it was jammed with cars and busses. Civilians attempting to escape the Draka invasion. Von Karl swung around toward it with a very evil expression. He would show them that there was no escape from the new order.


Carlos Azarias had lived his whole life in East LA and knew the city had bad traffic problems but his was really ridiculous. He was beginning to seriously wonder if he wasn’t better of walking. He couldn’t have moved more than a half a kilometer in the last hour. The Azarias’ family station wagon was crammed with furniture and other possessions as well as his mother, father, sister, and younger brother, and it didn’t have air conditioning. It had to be over a hundred degrees out the steering wheel was so hot he could barely touch it. Sweat was soaking his hair and dripping down his face and to make matters worse if he didn’t get to go to the bathroom soon he’d piss himself.

“I told you we shouldn’t have taken the car!” his mother, Carlotta Azarias, said.

“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time” his father, Enrique Azarias, protested.

“Yes, and it seemed like a good idea to everybody else in the whole of Los Angelos!” Carlotta complained. “That’s the problem.”

“Yeah, maybe you’d rather have stayed and tried talking the Draka to death” Enrique said. “Heaven knows it’s working for me.”

“I think I’m going to be sick” Carlos’ twelve year old brother said.

“Wait!” Carlotta said. “Look!”

Carlos looked up to see an unfamiliar aircraft flying very low over the hills. So low he could pick out the Draka flag painted on its side. Carlotta crossed herself.

“See, I told you it was a good idea to bring my gas mask!” Enrique said as he put on an old, worn WWII gas mask that his father had brought home from his time in the Eurasian War. “You know how these Draka are with gas.”

“It’s not full NBC protection” Carlos said. “What if they use something that goes through the skin?”

“Then I die in agony just like the rest of you suckers” Enrique said.

“Boy you sure make me glad I didn’t join the Army like you wanted me to” Carlos mumbled to himself as he got out of the car. He helped the rest of his family out.

“Run towards that rock over there” Enrique said. “It’ll protect us from the shrapnel.” Carlos held hands with his sister and father so that they would not be separated and ran for the shelter of the rock. Everyone on the road had roughly the same idea, as it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that their cars had become very unsafe places to be. The Draka bomber passed low over the road, the roar of its jets deafening. The road exploded under as it dropped its bombs, cars being flung by the force of the explosions, gasoline tanks cooking off and adding to the fire. By the time it was gone the road was a strip of burning wrecks. Horribly, screams could be heard coming from those still trapped in their vehicles.

“Jesus” Carlos was shaken. “What do we do now?”

“We keep walking, away from LA” his father said. “The Army has a check point not far from here. Then we can hitchhike over to Texas or Mexico or something, someplace safe for now.”

The Azarias family began its trek along what used to be I-80, along with hundreds of thousands of other shaken, terrified refugees.

* * *

Decurion Timothy Jones led his Lochos into East Los Angelos. The Yanks had put up fierce resistance along the Los Angelos River and the Draka had finally been forced to clear them with generous helpings of Sarin and VX nerve gas, and even after that the DAF had to plaster the area with incendiary bombs. The buildings here were much bigger than anything a Dominate serf would be allocated but they had the same shabby look that did not speak well of the status of those who inhabited them. The streets were mostly deserted, save for the occasional human figure darting between the buildings and falling to Draka assault rifle fire. Here and there some mongrel dog pawed at an overturned garbage can looking for scraps. The streets were dirty and every once in a while broken glass would crunch beneath Decurion Jones’s boots. It was dark, the sun being obstructed by roiling clouds of smoke.

Jones took out his walkie-talkie and called up the Tetrarch. “Tetrarch, we are encountering no resistance.”

“Excellent, resistance in this part of the city at least appears to have been broken.” The Tetrarch said. “I will radio Merarch Richards and give him the good news.”

Timothy Jones motioned for his men to move forward. They did so cautiously, for although resistance appeared to have been extinguished one could not be too careful. He scanned the area disparagingly. The place offered few opportunities for plunder, from the looks of things. When they turned one corner there suddenly was a large group of men walking towards them.

“Ready your weapons” Timothy Jones said. His men raised their rifles. The men were clearly not soldiers. They wore coarse jeans and garish t-shirts. Many had gold chains around their necks or gold rings or earrings. Jones noted that they all seemed to be negroes.

“Halt!” he said. “Submit to your new masters!”

“Fuck dat shit, what da fuck’re ya doing in our territory?” the apparent leader said with an odd, thick accent. Jones flinched as, without warning, they all pulled out pistols and switchblades and even a couple of small SMGs.

“Kill them!” Jones said, but it was too late. He had foolishly allowed them to get close to his men and a messy close-range firefight broke out. The Draka managed to kill several of the gangsters but surprise and numbers were not on their side. Timothy Jones was stabbed in the gut with a switchblade and sank to his knees. He slowly rolled over and died in a pool of his blood, his assault rifle falling out of his limp fingers.

“C’mon, let’s grab their shit and get outta here” the lead gangster said as his fellow partisans took the Draka’s assault rifles and fled the scene, melting back into the nearest apartment building.

[CaptainChewbacca]

A few notes:

1. Los AngelEs.
2. Gangsters are in Chicago. In LA, we have "Bangers"

Other than that, awesome. If I were in charge of the LA front, I'd fight a strategic withdrawl and then trap the Draka in the Los Angeles basin. There's precious few ways out of there, especially with the radioactive ruins of San Diego to the south. God, I can't wait until Governor Schwarzenegger shows up at the head of the California Liberation Army.

[darthdavid]

I knew they were dead from the second you said "East LA".

[consequences]

I knew they were dead from the second you said "East LA".

Hell I was pretty sure they were dead as soon as he said "Timothy", and absolutely certain at "Jones"

[Ford Prefect]

God, I can't wait until Governor Schwarzenegger shows up at the head of the California Liberation Army.

That would just be damn awesome.

[NecronLord]

God, I can't wait until Governor Schwarzenegger shows up at the head of the California Liberation Army.

That would just be damn awesome.

Seconded.

I will note that I'd expect the Janissaries to spike sharply in quality once beach-heads are established. At least the professional Janissaries are quite good. They're much like the vast majority of soldiers in history, sure, they get shit treatment compared to the elite, but they get to swagger around and beat down on the other serfs.

[Junghalli]

I will note that I'd expect the Janissaries to spike sharply in quality once beach-heads are established. At least the professional Janissaries are quite good. They're much like the vast majority of soldiers in history, sure, they get shit treatment compared to the elite, but they get to swagger around and beat down on the other serfs.

I tend to think Janissaries would be like Imperial Guard, they run from "take a mine worker/farm slave/serf grunt and give them a flak jacket, a helmet, a rifle, and five mintues of training" on the low end to groups like the French, Germanic, and Italian Janissary Corps which are about on the same level as the USSR military.
Their general philosophy is like the Red Army: throw conscripts at the enemy until they drown under them.

[NecronLord]

I tend to think Janissaries would be like Imperial Guard, they run from "take a mine worker/farm slave/serf grunt and give them a flak jacket, a helmet, a rifle, and five mintues of training" on the low end to groups like the French, Germanic, and Italian Janissary Corps which are about on the same level as the USSR military.
Their general philosophy is like the Red Army: throw conscripts at the enemy until they drown under them.

This is essentially correct. S.M. Sterling has described them as similar to the Red Army's motor rifle divisions, with better equipment:

What I had them do for the Janissaries was give them lots of wheeled APC's (also useful as mobile heavy mortar carriers and so forth), and simple assault-gun style AFV's with limited-traverse cannon in box mounts to give them antitank capacity and to help shoot the infantry onto their targets.

The style is roughly based on 1950's Soviet practice for motor-rifle divisions but with a somewhat better production base.

Lots and lots and lots of basic, fairly easy to make but good-quality weapons; assault rifles, light-medium-heavy machine guns, mortars, Katyusha-style rocket launchers, towed artillery, flak guns, and so forth, on the "quantity has a quality all its own" premise.

The Citizen units are mechanized or armored; heavy tanks, self-propelled rather than towed artillery, self-propelled AA guns.

[Junghalli]

This is essentially correct. S.M. Sterling has described them as similar to the Red Army's motor rifle divisions, with better equipment:

What I had them do for the Janissaries was give them lots of wheeled APC's (also useful as mobile heavy mortar carriers and so forth), and simple assault-gun style AFV's with limited-traverse cannon in box mounts to give them antitank capacity and to help shoot the infantry onto their targets.
The style is roughly based on 1950's Soviet practice for motor-rifle divisions but with a somewhat better production base.
Lots and lots and lots of basic, fairly easy to make but good-quality weapons; assault rifles, light-medium-heavy machine guns, mortars, Katyusha-style rocket launchers, towed artillery, flak guns, and so forth, on the "quantity has a quality all its own" premise.
The Citizen units are mechanized or armored; heavy tanks, self-propelled rather than towed artillery, self-propelled AA guns.

Wait, the Dominate tank divisions are mostly Janissary, right? Or at least they'd have to be in this timeline. Their heavy tank divisions would have to be pathetically tiny compared to those of the US and USSR in this ATL if they were all Draka like their air force.
Unless maybe they did what some people think the US Army is going in the direction of doing now and basically abandoned the main battle tank in favor of things like the Stryker. It makes a certain amount of sense, given that their army would be, to a great extent, an army of occupation. In which case I predict we will see much glorious Janissary ownage as their rickety tin death traps are crushed beneath the might of the Abrams.

Sorry for the lack of updates, I've been annoyingly busy with schoolwork lately, I should have a new chapter up by tomorrow or the day after.