The whistling wind swayed the bare branches of the trees. Beatha Squadron kneeled on the sides of the expressway. The ancient asphalt below them had grown cracked and discoloured over the decades. The scrap from the endless parade of abandoned cars had long been stripped away, and now only the steel skeletons remained. Far on the horizon, over some small fields and clusters of row houses and through a light fog that hugged the ground, was the great mass of crumbling concrete towers.
The ruins of Birmingham.
The old Lieutenant stood at the front of the column, consulting a map held up by a young soldier. The Irishman slowly dragged his finger along the map, memorizing the route to the city. He was meant to meet Alfa squadron halfway there, and if he got lost or arrived late, it could mean disastrous delays for the meticulously planned attack on the city.
After a moment, he seemed satisfied, and folded up the map, handing it for the young soldier to carry. “Suas!” he commended, and his soldiers swiftly rose to their feet. The weapons they were in possession of were wildly diverse. Some held bolt-action rifles, some clutched submachine guns visually similar to Sten guns used by their ancestors, and one man appeared to be carrying a long metal tube, a crude anti-armour weapon. The Lieutenant had a sabre at his hip, and was carrying a revolver tied to his chest rig by a piece of red cloth.
“Máirseáil ar aghaidh!” the Leitenant shouted, and the column continued their trek, leather boots clicking against the asphalt. As the mismatched green and khaki-clad men disappeared off the expressway and into the fog, it became hard to distinguish them from the Ériu soldiers of today, and those of the First Great War over six centuries ago.
-
The Republic’s heart lays in the Irish countryside, where fields were still green and full of a bountiful harvest, and the skies were still blue.
Dublin and Belfast, being the largest population centers on the island, had both fallen into anarchy and destruction following the flash, with the lack of food soon driving a mass exodus to the countryside, where they faced little hospitality from the farmers. The city of Cork, however, fared differently. Following the flash and mass panic, a group of nationalist university students headed by a young Aidan Campbell led a mob into the city capitol building, seizing power and establishing a temporary government with Campbell as acting govorner. Campbell was confident that the Flash was not an act of God, nor any sort of bad luck. He warned that if they allowed dangerous rumours or ridiculous theories to get in the way of their senses, they would be thrown back into the dark ages.
The people believed him, and he was accepted by Cork and the surrounding town. Once the immediate dust had settled, Campbell formed the new Republic of Eiru (despite the fact he had control over only a small area of the island), which was governed by an emergency council that he appointed. They, of course, elected him as the Republic's president.
He gathered local militias to form an army, and over the next 6 years of his life, he led a slowly growing army across Ireland, peacefully annexing many counties, and getting into occasional fights with communities unwilling to join the Republic. He especially had trouble taking the cities of Dublin and Belfast, which had fallen victim to being controlled by constantly fighting gangs. By the time he was 30, he had unified all of Ireland, and was hailed as the saviour of the Irish people, preventing the island from falling into chaos.
Before he could finish his work of consolidating his power and beginning the reconstruction of Eiru, Campbell was shot dead while visiting a community of extremist Catholics.
-
The city of Birmingham had not recovered well since the Great Flash. Since it had happened, the city had been an unlawful mess. With no law enforcement or military to stop them, gangs had taken to fighting over the ruins of the city, with the poor survivors stuck between them, scrounging for any food or supplies. A similar situation to Dublin and Belfast, except there was no Campbell to come save them before the situation spiralled out of control.
The leaders of these gangs slowly began declaring themselves kings and dictators of their respective areas of control. Not one gained full control over Birmingham over the decades, but these street gangs had formed armies of their own right, with command chains and proper units. However, they still lacked equipment and were without the supply and support that Eiru's army had, and they had brought the wrath of Eiru when they sent raiding parties over the Welsh border.
Beatha squadron, with Alfa squadron following behind, slowly moved forward down a thoroughfare, gripping rifles with gloved hands. The black brick rowhouses on both sides of the road sat completely silent. All the windows were shattered, and one had a tattered blanket hanging out of it. Something shifted, and the house with the blanket creaks. It takes less than a second for each man to have their rifle pointed at the windows, ready for the fight to come. After months of training, then waiting, then marching, they were ready to finally do some fighting.
Yet nothing more came. One of the Scotsmen approached the door, which was made of old, dark wood. The knob had been taken off. Simply, he planted his back foot on the sidewalk and kicked it open. The door didn’t break off at the latch but instead folded inwards, crumpling as the Scotsman nearly fell through, not expecting the wood to cave so easily.
He quickly recovered, forcing his way through the door with rifle raised, until he could confirm the room clear. Upon quick inspection, the soldiers found that the wood door had been rotting from the inside, leaving a sturdy looking door no stronger than a piece of cardboard. The Scotsman continued leading the advance inside, despite the slight embarrassment of overestimating a door. His teammates follow closely behind him, having to swing around the unwieldy rifles inside as they checked corners and entered rooms.
As they passed the kitchen, they found an empty plateware cabinet and a dining table with no chairs. The Scotsman slowly made his way up the stairs, testing his weight on each step to make sure they would not cave through. He saw a door left slightly askew across the hall. Pushing it open with his foot, he saw two young men in tattered clothing, gripping clubs.
One lunged at him, and the Scot shot him dead, his lifeless corpse crumbling at his feet. A chain of panic followed. The other man dropped his club and covered his head, yelling, as more men burst into the room and began kicking him. They screamed at him in Gaelic, although he could not understand.
“Stad!” the Lieutenant ordered, running up the steps and into the room. His soldiers went silent and stood at attention, staring at the man in the middle of the room. The officer spoke in English, “Where are the rest of you?”
The man, now thoroughly beaten, managed a whisper, “After all that noise, they're probably outside."
The ruins of Birmingham.
The old Lieutenant stood at the front of the column, consulting a map held up by a young soldier. The Irishman slowly dragged his finger along the map, memorizing the route to the city. He was meant to meet Alfa squadron halfway there, and if he got lost or arrived late, it could mean disastrous delays for the meticulously planned attack on the city.
After a moment, he seemed satisfied, and folded up the map, handing it for the young soldier to carry. “Suas!” he commended, and his soldiers swiftly rose to their feet. The weapons they were in possession of were wildly diverse. Some held bolt-action rifles, some clutched submachine guns visually similar to Sten guns used by their ancestors, and one man appeared to be carrying a long metal tube, a crude anti-armour weapon. The Lieutenant had a sabre at his hip, and was carrying a revolver tied to his chest rig by a piece of red cloth.
“Máirseáil ar aghaidh!” the Leitenant shouted, and the column continued their trek, leather boots clicking against the asphalt. As the mismatched green and khaki-clad men disappeared off the expressway and into the fog, it became hard to distinguish them from the Ériu soldiers of today, and those of the First Great War over six centuries ago.
-
The Republic’s heart lays in the Irish countryside, where fields were still green and full of a bountiful harvest, and the skies were still blue.
Dublin and Belfast, being the largest population centers on the island, had both fallen into anarchy and destruction following the flash, with the lack of food soon driving a mass exodus to the countryside, where they faced little hospitality from the farmers. The city of Cork, however, fared differently. Following the flash and mass panic, a group of nationalist university students headed by a young Aidan Campbell led a mob into the city capitol building, seizing power and establishing a temporary government with Campbell as acting govorner. Campbell was confident that the Flash was not an act of God, nor any sort of bad luck. He warned that if they allowed dangerous rumours or ridiculous theories to get in the way of their senses, they would be thrown back into the dark ages.
The people believed him, and he was accepted by Cork and the surrounding town. Once the immediate dust had settled, Campbell formed the new Republic of Eiru (despite the fact he had control over only a small area of the island), which was governed by an emergency council that he appointed. They, of course, elected him as the Republic's president.
He gathered local militias to form an army, and over the next 6 years of his life, he led a slowly growing army across Ireland, peacefully annexing many counties, and getting into occasional fights with communities unwilling to join the Republic. He especially had trouble taking the cities of Dublin and Belfast, which had fallen victim to being controlled by constantly fighting gangs. By the time he was 30, he had unified all of Ireland, and was hailed as the saviour of the Irish people, preventing the island from falling into chaos.
Before he could finish his work of consolidating his power and beginning the reconstruction of Eiru, Campbell was shot dead while visiting a community of extremist Catholics.
-
The city of Birmingham had not recovered well since the Great Flash. Since it had happened, the city had been an unlawful mess. With no law enforcement or military to stop them, gangs had taken to fighting over the ruins of the city, with the poor survivors stuck between them, scrounging for any food or supplies. A similar situation to Dublin and Belfast, except there was no Campbell to come save them before the situation spiralled out of control.
The leaders of these gangs slowly began declaring themselves kings and dictators of their respective areas of control. Not one gained full control over Birmingham over the decades, but these street gangs had formed armies of their own right, with command chains and proper units. However, they still lacked equipment and were without the supply and support that Eiru's army had, and they had brought the wrath of Eiru when they sent raiding parties over the Welsh border.
Beatha squadron, with Alfa squadron following behind, slowly moved forward down a thoroughfare, gripping rifles with gloved hands. The black brick rowhouses on both sides of the road sat completely silent. All the windows were shattered, and one had a tattered blanket hanging out of it. Something shifted, and the house with the blanket creaks. It takes less than a second for each man to have their rifle pointed at the windows, ready for the fight to come. After months of training, then waiting, then marching, they were ready to finally do some fighting.
Yet nothing more came. One of the Scotsmen approached the door, which was made of old, dark wood. The knob had been taken off. Simply, he planted his back foot on the sidewalk and kicked it open. The door didn’t break off at the latch but instead folded inwards, crumpling as the Scotsman nearly fell through, not expecting the wood to cave so easily.
He quickly recovered, forcing his way through the door with rifle raised, until he could confirm the room clear. Upon quick inspection, the soldiers found that the wood door had been rotting from the inside, leaving a sturdy looking door no stronger than a piece of cardboard. The Scotsman continued leading the advance inside, despite the slight embarrassment of overestimating a door. His teammates follow closely behind him, having to swing around the unwieldy rifles inside as they checked corners and entered rooms.
As they passed the kitchen, they found an empty plateware cabinet and a dining table with no chairs. The Scotsman slowly made his way up the stairs, testing his weight on each step to make sure they would not cave through. He saw a door left slightly askew across the hall. Pushing it open with his foot, he saw two young men in tattered clothing, gripping clubs.
One lunged at him, and the Scot shot him dead, his lifeless corpse crumbling at his feet. A chain of panic followed. The other man dropped his club and covered his head, yelling, as more men burst into the room and began kicking him. They screamed at him in Gaelic, although he could not understand.
“Stad!” the Lieutenant ordered, running up the steps and into the room. His soldiers went silent and stood at attention, staring at the man in the middle of the room. The officer spoke in English, “Where are the rest of you?”
The man, now thoroughly beaten, managed a whisper, “After all that noise, they're probably outside."
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