Post by Duke Jeremy of Gascony on Aug 12, 2009 10:26:41 GMT
“Dantes? Where the hell is Dantes?” Duke Jeremy asked with an expression of bemused annoyance as he searched the map laid about before him. “I believe that’s what the rebels call St Dennis, my Lord” an aide interjected coolly. “Oh right...” the Duke began, “but have they not seen that we already declared where we were going to be? I thought it was made pretty clear that we would only be defending La Roche Derrien and Isle St Jean? And now we hear the Anticans are swarming all over Isle St Jean? Well I’m sure the commanders there are having a laugh..”
Meanwhile La Roche Derrien’s masons had been hard at work creating reinforced machine gun and artillery positions within the walls of the ancient city. Meanwhile anti-tank ditches, barbed wire, entrenchments, minefields and anti-tank obstacles littered the once green and pleasant land which surrounded the Duchy’s capital. The bright banners of the aristocracy and the saints continued to flutter atop the walls, and the population continued to brace themselves.
On Isle St Jean the Duke’s sarcastic prediction was proving more than a little true; the Ducal troops and their commanders looked on in alarm as foreign ships, aircraft and troops appeared across the island. The stand-to order was issued and the church bells of the island began their clangour to warn of impending invasion; however radio intercepts soon revealed there was very little threat. “Christ on His Cross! It’s the bloody Anticans!” Francis de Isle St Jean, local aristocrat and commander of Ducal forces on the island, declared before beginning to laugh loudly. “Should we inform the Anticans that we’re here, Messire?” The commander considered this for a time then decided it’d be far more enjoyable just to wait for them to figure it out.
Francis de Isle St Jean had stationed his headquarters in an unassuming farmhouse just outside of Pierrefeu and as the day progressed more and more Antican forces could be seen coming and going, until eventually a group of them decided to search the house. There was a smart knock on the door and the houses owner, a small elderly lady, crossed the flagstone floor and opened it ever so slightly. Almost immediately the door was forced fully open and the old lady, slippers shuffling madly, moved aside. A small group of Antican soldiers began searching the house, moving room to room looking for anything suspicious, and as the door of the kitchen was opened and a torch shone inside the soldiers appeared alarmed to find a group of moustachioed gentlemen dressed in ermine sat around the kitchen table smoking pipes and holding pistols.
Meanwhile La Roche Derrien’s masons had been hard at work creating reinforced machine gun and artillery positions within the walls of the ancient city. Meanwhile anti-tank ditches, barbed wire, entrenchments, minefields and anti-tank obstacles littered the once green and pleasant land which surrounded the Duchy’s capital. The bright banners of the aristocracy and the saints continued to flutter atop the walls, and the population continued to brace themselves.
On Isle St Jean the Duke’s sarcastic prediction was proving more than a little true; the Ducal troops and their commanders looked on in alarm as foreign ships, aircraft and troops appeared across the island. The stand-to order was issued and the church bells of the island began their clangour to warn of impending invasion; however radio intercepts soon revealed there was very little threat. “Christ on His Cross! It’s the bloody Anticans!” Francis de Isle St Jean, local aristocrat and commander of Ducal forces on the island, declared before beginning to laugh loudly. “Should we inform the Anticans that we’re here, Messire?” The commander considered this for a time then decided it’d be far more enjoyable just to wait for them to figure it out.
Francis de Isle St Jean had stationed his headquarters in an unassuming farmhouse just outside of Pierrefeu and as the day progressed more and more Antican forces could be seen coming and going, until eventually a group of them decided to search the house. There was a smart knock on the door and the houses owner, a small elderly lady, crossed the flagstone floor and opened it ever so slightly. Almost immediately the door was forced fully open and the old lady, slippers shuffling madly, moved aside. A small group of Antican soldiers began searching the house, moving room to room looking for anything suspicious, and as the door of the kitchen was opened and a torch shone inside the soldiers appeared alarmed to find a group of moustachioed gentlemen dressed in ermine sat around the kitchen table smoking pipes and holding pistols.
Summary: Ducal forces continue to dig in at La Roche Derrien. 10,000 troops defend the city while the light tanks patrol the surrounding countryside. Meanwhile the remaining 5,000 Ducal forces, already declared to have been on Isle St Jean, are getting to know their Antican guests. Gascon Ducal airpower is also on the Isle.