Location: Durban, South Africa
Unit: Scots Guards, British Army
Date: 20th April 2025
Years had elapsed since the destruction of the Oceanic Empires' base in Antarctica, yet the NZA remained resilient under mounting pressure. However, the UN command meticulously documented the escalating casualties among their adversaries, realising that the numbers were forming an almost vertical curve of losses over time. Additionally, rumours circulated that the NZA fleets were dwindling, with whispers suggesting they had been forced back into their harbour and annihilated.
While many credited the SAS, SBS, Delta Force, and other renowned Special Forces units, only a few were aware that the situation ran much deeper. Among those in the know was an individual stationed in Durban, dispatched by the British Army to counter regional threats.
He was a Scottish gentleman, his weathered skin reminiscent of well-worn bricks. Sporting a full beard, his hair cropped neatly beneath his Khaki green beret, he flicked open a piece of paper and perused the orders once more. Summarising the contents, he uttered, "Evacuate. OE forces are inbound."
Examining the reported details more closely, Sergeant Lachlan Gillie observed that two battalions, along with a small fleet of destroyers and battleships, were involved.
The immediate plan entailed evacuating the remaining civilian population and military forces to Rorke's Drift, where they would join an established defensive position and staunchly hold off the NZA with all available resources. They would await reinforcements from the inbound task force.
Sergeant Gillie, situated in the dilapidated building, meticulously counted his spare rounds and placed them into his spare magazines. Ensuring each magazine contained thirty rounds, he handled his L85A3 assault rifle. Applying oil to the bolt, he pulled it back and forth several times, keeping it locked back momentarily. With a round from a secure pouch, he smoothly inserted it into the chamber and swiftly released the bolt with a resounding click.
Folding the document with care, he inserted it into his plate carrier. Stepping out into the hallway, he whistled, catching the attention of a few young South African soldiers. Waving them over, he called out, "Hey lads, give me a hand with this, will ya?"
The young South Africans nodded in agreement as Gillie handed each of them a box. Carrying one himself, they made their way down the war-torn building and emerged onto the street.
Approaching the back of a truck, Gillie and his enlisted helpers carefully set down the crates. Thanking them, Gillie dismissed the soldiers as the truck drove off to join the rest of the extensive convoy.
While everyone else seemed in a hurry, Gillie strolled through the camp. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up. Hearing a flickering sound behind him as he took a puff, he noticed another British soldier fidgeting with his own Zippo lighter.
Gillie whistled at him and said, "Smoke while you run!"
A young Scot hurriedly approached from behind, exclaiming, "Gillie, we need to go! GCHQ says the enemy's shelling will commence soon!"
Gillie nodded, glancing up at the sky, and replied, "Alright, lad, you go ahead. I'll follow." As the soldier mounted his Husky TSV, Gillie slapped the front seat, and the vehicle sped off, joining the rest of the convoy on their arduous journey.
Gillie smiled, turning around. With one hand, he checked the chamber of his pistol, confirming the presence of a bullet before re-holstering it.
Closing his eyes, he focused on detecting any changes in the atmosphere—the distant whistling of shells, faint yells, or cries. Anything that could indicate the impending arrival of an Oceanic Empire attack force.
Suddenly, he heard a single whistle, and the upper floors of a tall building exploded. Gillie swiftly dove into a nearby corridor, narrowly escaping the shower of stone shrapnel that landed where he had just been standing. Hearing coughing nearby, he emerged again, noticing a family stumbling onto the road. One of them had fallen amidst the rubble.
Rushing over, Gillie urgently exclaimed, "You need to get going!"
He swiftly lifted the fallen civilian and guided the rest of the family towards a nearby car. Placing them in the passenger seat, he tapped the roof as bullets whizzed overhead.
Whirling around, Gillie engaged four NZA soldiers, eliminating them with precise gunfire.
Seeking cover, he deftly moved back and forth, alternating between taking shots and repositioning himself.
Suddenly, hearing a whizzing sound, he swiftly dove into a nearby building, simultaneously tossing a smoke grenade into the doorway and deploying a small explosive device with the unmistakable inscription, 'FRONT TOWARD ENEMY,' in bold letters.
Climbing the stairs, he continued to toss several more grenades, creating a dense veil of smoke that obscured the hallways.
The streets erupted with the sound of machine gun fire as Gillie sought refuge beneath a balcony. When the gunfire momentarily ceased, he rose to his feet and unleashed a hail of bullets.
The machine gunner collapsed, slumping over his weapon, unable to continue firing.
In a retaliatory response, the NZA troops opened fire on the balcony where Gillie had taken cover. He swiftly dove to the ground, unhooking a grenade and hurling it, sending the safety lever and explosive soaring through the air. The grenade landed at the feet of a tightly grouped squad of NZA soldiers.
As the explosion consumed them, their anguished screams abruptly ceased, leaving behind nothing but a haze of red mist.
Acting swiftly, Gillie fired again, his shots ringing out amidst the chaos. A barrage of machine gun fire tore through the wall around him. Reacting instinctively, he dropped to his stomach and crawled along the ground, seeking refuge in a nearby side room.
Taking a moment to assess the situation, Gillie fired twice at a window, causing cracks to form in the glass panes. Seizing the opportunity, he sprinted forward, veering to his left, and dove through the shattered glass at full speed, shielding his face with his rifle. He hit the floor of an adjacent balcony and rolled, landing firmly on his feet.
Suddenly, an explosion erupted behind him, followed by several more, throwing the NZA troops into disarray as they stumbled out of the burning building. Seizing the momentary confusion, Gillie opened fire on the dazed enemies.
One by one, they collapsed to the ground, their bodies going limp. Under his breath, Gillie muttered, "Stupid fucks."
Speeding down the exterior stairs, Gillie swiftly mounted his motorbike. Revving the engine, he could hear the ominous whizzing of shells slicing through the air, the explosions painting the surroundings with destruction. With deft manoeuvring, he skillfully weaved left and right, evading the deadly shrapnel. The scenery became increasingly verdant as he rode on. As he approached the concrete bridge, he noticed a mechanical figure stepping out in front of him, wielding an ACR-3 rifle. Gillie quickly drew his pistol, firing at the weapon until it shattered in the android's hands.
Without slowing down, Gillie abruptly pulled the bike to the left, hitting the brakes as the tires left dark skid marks on the road. Charging straight through the robot, he sent it sprawling through the air with the impact against its reinforced parts.
Coming to a halt, Gillie glanced back as the android slowly regained its footing. He gulped, muttering, "You're one tough son of a bitch."
Stepping off his bike, Gillie approached the android. He deftly avoided its swing, plunging a blade into the mechanical monster's side. Ripping it out from the front, he jumped back just as he heard the crackling of electricity. An explosion erupted, disintegrating the robot before his eyes.
Climbing back onto his bike, he let out a sigh. Looking up, he noticed several muzzle flashes in the distance, but these were no ordinary rifle shots. They originated from artillery guns.
Quickly retrieving the radio from his bike, he checked it, finding it undamaged except for a bit of fluid. "This is Sierra-Three-One-Charlie, requesting counter-artillery at these coordinates, over," he transmitted. He also flipped open a small phone on his plate carrier, entered the coordinates, and sent them, hoping for swift assistance.
A crackling voice came through Gillie's headset, "Sierra Three One Charlie, this is Oscar Two Three Delta. Transmission received, opening the floodgates, hold for the report."
Gillie moved to the side of the bridge, his attention caught by the sight of three missiles descending upon the enemy positions. The impact was devastating, obliterating the once-peaceful grassland and triggering a series of subsequent explosions. Flames engulfed the surrounding forest.
The voice of the radio operator sounded in Gillie's headset, "Shots hit assigned target, over."
Gillie turned his gaze towards the scene of destruction, muttering to himself, "Bloody hell..." Collecting himself, he transmitted his response, "This is Sierra Three One Charlie, all hits confirmed... enemy guns silenced, out."
Climbing back onto his bike, he revved the accelerator with all his might.
Within minutes, he skilfully weaved through the wreckage of cars and abandoned military barricades, finally reaching the convoy. Whistling, he waved a small Scottish flag, no larger than A4.
Pulling up behind a large truck, Gillie positioned himself as the soldiers began to open the ramp. Keeping his bike just inches off the ground, he revved the engine before hoisting his front wheel into the air. Propelling himself forward, he fought to get the struggling bike onto the back of the truck.
A fellow soldier patted him on the back, saying, "So you've finally joined us, Sergeant."
Gillie nodded grimly, "Had to take out an artillery position."
The group of soldiers, taking a moment to rest, chuckled in response. "Well, we had our fair share of civilian issues," one of them said, making a rotating gesture with his hand. "Breakdowns, families refusing to leave their cars, preferring to face death than ride in a military vehicle... And let's not forget, we lost a whole truck loaded with javelins and mines."
Gillie raised an eyebrow, his jaw-dropping in disbelief. "How on earth did that happen?" he exclaimed.
The soldier chuckled, shaking his head. "The brakes failed, so the driver had to ditch it."
Gillie let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Great... just great. What are we supposed to use against enemy armoured units now?"
The soldiers shrugged, a sense of uncertainty hanging in the air. Gillie turned around, facing the road ahead. "I guess we'll have to pray to whatever gods are listening that there are some spare weapons at Rorke's."
