The American Front

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Callsign Eagle

Original poster
As their national situation deteriorates by the day, the USSR prepares to launch the war with the west they have waited so long for. Understanding that they stand little chance in the long run, a daring plan is hatched to divide NATO in two. In early April of 1986, with most of the US carriers distracted in the Pacific and their allies preparing to attack through Germany, a massive fleet and swarms of aircraft move past Iceland, heading for the northeastern coast of the United States.

"Heavy activity again today, sir," the young assistant notified his commander. "Same routine that's been going on the past week, though it's been increased heavily today."

The general let out a sigh, running a hand over his head in the dimly lit room inside the Department of Defense. He had to listen to such reports constantly, and make the correct calls in reaction to them. It became a hectic job in situations like this, with forces of the Warsaw Pact constantly in motion in eastern Europe. The initial guess was that it was just an exercise, or a ruse intended to cause a scare. But as time went on, the scale seemed to indicate something larger.

"The Germans have stated they're preparing to mobilize; they've asked both British and American forces to do the same."

"What are the British going to do, and the French for that matter?"

"The Brits will probably move up to their frontal positions. The French have stated they don't want to rush into things, but they're putting their military on alert; they're still staying within their borders. The rest of the Alliance will probably do the same."

"Sir, we've got a lot of reports filtering in!" one of the other men sitting at a screen called from across the small room.

"Hang on," the general replied, shuffling over, and still drowsy from waking up so early. "Alright, highest priority first."

"One of the national posts is calling in about some emergency, codename India 7, out of...Maine. Said they've got something odd on the scopes."

"Hold off on it; probably something local," he stated, more concerned about the possible conflict in Europe. "What's the general view on Germany?"

"Heavy activity all around from the past few hours; ground movement, helicopters, large aircraft formations-"

"Give the order to stand-to for all forces in Europe, same in the Pacific."

For the past few weeks, China had also been making threatening moves in the Pacific; as such, most the America's carrier fleet had been relocated to various points there to act as a deterrent. It hadn't worked in that regard, as the aggressive actions continued. Still, China did not have much of a navy, and the carriers could deal a harsh blow to any move they made alone. Because of this power, some of the others in the Atlantic fleet were moved up to port in the UK until things settled. The Navy was looking at striking the Soviets as soon as the war started.

"Alright, connect us to Yokosuka," he ordered. "Romeo 4, what've you got to report."

"Radar is tracking some thirty bogeys moving southeast near our area."

"Inform the Navy of the updated situation in Europe," he told the guard on the other side of the world, quickly switching his focus elsewhere. "What about Iceland?"

"Nothing sir, Oscar 1 has been quiet. We haven't heard from Keflavik in a few hours," the assistant stated. "Last report was about tracking that Soviet fleet nearby and picking up a large aircraft formation. We got nothing out of them since then."

"Christ, we need them to track that fleet. Keep trying to make contact. Now give me Sierra 5 next."

"Connecting to Nome."

"Sierra 5, report; we've heard about contacts over the Bearing."

"Confirmed sir, signs are showing some seventy bogies," the Alaskan responded.

"Be ready to act if necessary," the general ordered. "Ok, now...what's California calling about?"

"Hang on, sir."

"This is Charlie 3, our radar is tracking some ninety bogies moving over the Pacific to the north, heading southeast. Is there some kind of malfunction, over?"

"Uh, stand by for further updates until the situation is clarified Charlie 3, out."

"Would they send that many aircraft to bomb California? Seems like a waste."

"Possibly just to shake up our moral, but I can't think of another reason to risk that much," the general theorized. "Most of their forces are in Europe, so it might be a malfunction or some ruse."

"India 7 is still trying to contact, sir."

"Alright, let's hear them," he said, waiting till the connection was made. "India 7, we may have a situation developing-"

"Come in! They're all over the sky! Respond!"

"India 7, repeat; what's going on!?"

"Soviet aircraft are in our airspace! There's tons of them! Multiple fighters, transports, bombers! What’s going on!?"

"India 7, Can you confirm!?"

"Affirmative! Soviet build! I'm looking at Fulcrums flying over I-95 and Bangor! How the hell did they get here!?"

"Copy that, preparing to warn nearby units," he said before cutting the communication. "Get everyone up, get the message out immediately."

It all became clear why reports were coming so close from home, why Iceland hadn't responded, everything was clear.

"All stateside units stand-to immediately! Multiple contacts have been confirmed in the northeast. Iceland and the SOSUS line are down. Mobilize and prepare for combat and follow-up orders; engage in combat if it is taking place near your area."

Callsign Eagle

Original poster
As the sun rose into the sky, it slowly began to warm the usually cool waters of the harbor of Boston. Even if it meant having to get up early, Jan Cleon thought it was worth it to watch the scene. Getting up early was a staple in the Army anyways, having grown used to it.

Though for the week he was not 'officially' in the Army, this was vacation. A chance to sleep as late as one wanted and wear clothes that were to their liking, among the other things many in the normal world took for granted. This was a small enjoyment, and after a short time sitting on the bench, letting his Walkman encase him in an audible world of rock, the sun had finished climbing up and the view was complete.

Taking off the headset, he wiped his eyes a bit to shove off the weariness before standing and stretching. Off to his right, he caught sight of a woman who was looking out to sea with a face of concern. He had not noticed her before, but decided to see if there was something wrong.

"Everything alright ma'am?"

"I'm not sure, I've been hearing these rumblings since I left the house a few minutes ago. It sounds kind of like thunder, but the skies are clear."

"Yea, I'm just now hearing it," Cleon replied, his ears now picking up the sound. "That's a lot of thunder to just be a storm, if it is one."

"What do you suppose it is?"

"I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"Oh, it's nothing, I'm sure. Thank you," she replied, continuing on her way.

Cleon then left the waterfront, walking back in the direction of the hotel he was staying in. Strangely, the rumbling continued, seeming to come closer as time went on. Stopping to listen, the distant noise sounded akin to thunder, but there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and it was rather frequent. The only other thing he could think of did not make much sense to him.

"What do you think that could be?" an elderly man, apparently having the same thoughts as him, asked to the startled listener.

"If it's not thunder, only thing I could think of is...artillery, maybe. But that doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't."

"Maybe the Navy's running-"

His suggestion was cut off by a closer, much louder roar, followed by the flash of an explosion down the street. The yelling and screams were muffled by further explosions at various spots in the area. The first instinct he had was to run into the nearest building, a small convenience store. He ran into the owner as he entered, trying to go outside to see what was happening. Jan quickly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back inside.

"Hey! What's-"

"Shut up and stay the hell inside if you want to stay in one piece," Cleon ordered.

"What? What's going on?"

"Artillery shells are going off in the streets."


"You know, big guns that shoot explosives," he clarified. "These are probably from ships."

"Why’s artillery shooting at us!?"

"Well it's not ours-"

"So who's is it!? Why!?"

"Why do you think? It's from an invading military! They’re bombarding the city!"

"An invasion?"

"Yes for God's sake!"

The conversation was interrupted by another explosion outside the shop, blowing in the front windows and barely missing the two. The owner seemed dazed but unharmed. Jan was only slightly better, though having experience; he’d never been on the receiving end of a bombardment.

He thought for a moment how this could be happening. It was clear the only enemies that would attack would be the Soviets, yet the war was supposed to be an ocean away in Europe. He was clueless as to how they got here, but he did know what he had to do now. He had to get out of the city, and find a way back to his unit.

"You stay here and get to a safer spot, I have to go."

Ignoring the remaining calls of the owner, he ran up to the store's door, waiting for the fire to shift or stop. He dashed out when he saw a chance, running past the pieces of rubble and panicking people. He had to hold his luck and hope he was not caught in a bad spot; at times the fire got a bit too heavy and he would duck into a house. At one point, as he ran into an alley, he discovered a man in a suit lying face down, unmoving in a pool of dark blood. For a minute he wanted to see if he was alive, but further explosions and the roar of jet engines overhead reminded him of what was important. He had to get back to his unit; he had to get out of Boston.

Leaving the alley and continuing down the street, he finally came across what seemed like a Godsend. A Humvee, probably belonging to Massachusetts's National Guard, rolled up to a nearby intersection. Cleon immediately ran in front of it to stop it from going anywhere, much to annoyance of its driver.

"Hey! Hey, roll down the window!" Jan yelled, with the diver grudgingly replied.

"All civilians are ordered to stay indoors! Get out of the way!" he yelled as Jan ran up to the window.

"Hey, Private! I need you to give me a lift. I need to get out of the city."

"No chance, no transporting civvies!"

"Wha-no! I'm in the Army. H-hang on, just wait!" Cleon said, yanking out his wallet and quickly pulling out an ID card. "See? Staff Sergeant Jan Cleon, 10th Mountain."

"Oh, sorry sir! Hop in the back," the Private said, allowing him into the armored vehicle. "We're already heading out; farthest I can take you is Lexington; you're on your own after that."

"What's the situation?"

"Don't know, reports coming in from all around New England and the Atlantic Coast. The National Guard and police are trying to set up defense, but it looks like Boston is going to fall."

"Alright, just get us out of here. We'll come back for it later."


Original poster
It was early morning in Picatinny Arsenal, the large munitions and training facility was abuzz with activity. The Base held troops from all five military branches. Even with the world's tension, they found ways entertain and humiliate each other, such is the way of inter-branch rivalries. The Marines of Golf Company were well known for their early morning "drills", that often made the base much more livelier.

Staff Sargent Dan Grayson, was busy drinking his morning cup of what the military claimed was coffee, when he heard a loud crash. He just assumed it to be his fellow Marines dicking around, when heard the intercom turn on and "All troops, to your company command, repeat, all troops to your company command!" was quickly called out. As with such a call, the mess hall was flutter of commotion. Grayson quickly leapt from the table and was heading towards his company command.

"Didn't even get to finish my damn coffee, before some one decides to run a drill." Grayson swore under his breath as he neared the Marine company command building, when he suddenly heard a loud explosion. Grayson quickly looked out towards the pier and saw one of the supply ships they loaded with ammunition and weapons bound for Europe was suddenly a large twisted piece of scrap metal heading toward the bottom. With renewed vigor and reason he quickly jumped to his feet and ran for the door of the building.

"Grayson! Get out there and muster your squad, shit's hit the fan." Shouted Captain Hattan.
"Aye sir!" Was the only response given as Grayson quickly ran towards his barracks. Once there he quickly found his squad, most of which were already putting their helmets and ALICE packs on, "Sarge the hell's going on out there?" questioned Corporal Johnsone.
"Shit's hitting the fan, one of our supply ships just blew, Acton hand me my rifle." as Grayson caught his M-16A2, he quickly ordered a count off, everyone was accounted for. Suddenly the intercom came to life "All units, we are receiving unconfirmed reports of Soviet aircraft and naval forces are attacking, repeat the Soviets are invading!"

With that announcement fresh in everyone's minds, Captain Hattan entered, "Marines, as you heard we are being invaded, orders are that we're going to move towards Jersey City and assist in it's defense, the Army will dig in here and ensure the commies don't take our supplies for them selves. Gentlemen make no mistake we are now at war on our own soil."
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Original poster
For Tylor Mackenzie, the day was another excellent day off. Being an assembly line worker for GM and being a single father really was quite tiring. As he lay on his couch with an automotive magazine he quietly reflection how peaceful his home could be when his boy was away with his friends. Then the phone rang.

With a groan he made his way over to the phone. After a moment's hesitation he picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"Tylor? I trust that you've heard the news-" A voice that he recognized as Bill began.

"No Bill, actually I was enjoying the peace and quiet before you called." Tylor responded.

"That's Colonel Bill Williams to you. The Soviets just blitzed the Maritimes, and Turner just gave orders to mobilize the reserves." Bill snapped back.

After a moment of silence Tylor responded, "Really?"




"Really? I mean they've always told us that the Reds would catch us with our pants down, but I'm literally standing in my kitchen wearing just my boxers." Tylor said as the facts sunk in.

"Just get to base!" Bill exclaimed.

"Ugh..." Tylor groaned, "Yes sir." After hanging up he phone he quickly wrote a note for his son;

Dear Timothy
Daddy's off to save the world now, you'll have to arrange to stay with a friend while he's gone.

With that taken care of Private Tylor Mackenzie of the Ontario Regiment ran out in to the streets of Oshawa towards the reserve base, in his boxers....


Original poster

"Make sure every tank in the regiment has been double checked on their combat readiness." Staff Captain Ebon Vallen instructed the Sergeant walking beside her as all of the Panzerbrigade 12 scrambled around them. "I want every canon ready to be fired, every tread ready to move over the fields and EVERY Iron Cross to be nice and visible. If the Russian dogs want so badly to die, then I want them to know exactly who sent them to hell."

"Yes ma'am." The Sergeant nodded, going to do as instructed as Ebon ducked inside a small tent being used as a temporary command post, seeing the other Officers in her brigade gathered around a map.

"The Americans and british are moving their lines up to here...." The Colonel pointed. "They are requesting that we move up and ensure their flanks are secure until the French arrive."

"Has anyone started shooting yet sir?" She asked, looking at the map of the folda gap.

"Not yet. But there has been heavy activity on the other side of the border that hasn't slowed down since we've been put on alert."

"It could just be a drill." One of the other Captians suggested. "Or they are trying to spook us."

"Don't be so cruel to Captain Vallen." Another officer snickered. "I think she's been praying for another war with all her might. Thinks she's the next Rommel."

"Oh don't make up stories." She smirked. "I'm better."

"SIR! SIR!" A private suddenly burst through the tent flap, saluting. "Sir....we have a report from West Berlin. The Russians are attacking."

"Then it has begun...." The Colonel was quiet for a moment. "God help us all. Get to your tanks and standby for orders."

All the officers saluted, and Ebon had to do her best to hide her smile as she left the Tent.

"Time for a real panzerkampf......"

(I'm just gonna stick to one character for now, since anymore would take up a lot of time I don't have for now)

An Iowa class battleship

Original poster
Portland International Airport
Oregon, USA
April, 1986

It happened with little warning... The Soviets have made landfall on the east coast. The first time since the Revolutionary War a foreign country has invaded us. The sun has yet to shimmer over the horizon and all forces in the west have begun to mobilize and organise a solid defence on the west coast in the event that the commies try to open a second front. Which is the reason why my division is flying out to Anchorage. The Air Force had organised the 517th Airlift Squadron from Elmendorf to transport my division to their home base which sits just outside Anchorage.

"With all our forces heavily engaged in the Pacific, the Chinese managed to slip a small force behind our lines and are making a beeline for Anchorage." I briefed my division commanders. "Which is why command has selected us to aid in the defence. We're flying out in twenty."

"Just us, sir?" Captain Danielle "Rose" Rosebud asked with concern.

"We'll be supporting the marines stationed at Anchorage with the full support of Joint Base Emelsdorf, Depending on the weather." I explained. "I'll go over the details once we're airborne, let's load up!"

"Yes sir!" The three commanders saluted before heading to their assigned platoons.

I stood alone as I let reality sink in... We were really being invaded... I wonder how many families are waking up now to the sound of war on their doorstep. The looks of fear on their children's faces, it must be terrifying. Reaching into one of my pockets, I pulled out a photograph of my daughter, Emma, with my son in-law, Doyle. And in their arms is my grandson. They're on holiday in Wisconsin, visiting Doyle's parents. At least they're not at home in Boston as the Soviets rain down on their neighbourhood.

"Colonel." A voice grabbed my attention. "The Firebirds are prepping for take-off."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." I thanked, placing the photo back in its pocket as I made my to one of the transport planes that the other commanders boarded.

Cherbourg Naval Base, France.
D164 Cassard.

In the wake of the soviet offensive in Germany, their naval forces have blitzed the Atlantic. The USN, Royal Navy and the Kreigsmarine have been heavily engaged in the opening hours of the war. The French Navy is scrambling to get it's fleet out to sea to aid their allies. Currently steaming out of Cherbourg is their newly commissioned Air Defence Destroyer, Cassard. Joining her is the Type 65 Corvette Aconit, and the Tourville class Destroyer De Grasse.

Commanding the new Cassard is Capitiane Adélaïde Chevalier. Chevalier is a renowned female officer with twenty years of experience in the force d'action navale. Today, she's going to need all that experience if NATO is going to have a chance in retaking the Atlantic.

"Capitaine! New orders from Cherbourg." Cassard's X.O announced.

"What do they say?" Chevalier asked.

"We are to proceed north and assist the Royal Navy in Suppressing Soviet naval forces operating around the Denmark Strait." The X.O read the orders.

"Good, anything else I should be aware of?" Chevalier checked.

"No, Ma'am." The X.O shook his head.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Chevalier dismissed her second in command. "Aspirant (Midshipman) Adrien,
set course for the Denmark Strait, fleet speed!"

(Still making up names for Chevalier's senior officers, taking a French role is new to me.)​
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Callsign Eagle

Original poster
"Tracking formation, bearing zero-two-zero, at angels ten. Distance is twelve mikes," the lead of the three aircraft reported. "Musket one-one, you still with us?"

"Copy lead, still here," Captain Lenox Norm answered.

"Alright, stay in formation for now; remember you don't have someone to cover you."

Keeping that important detail in mind, the three F-16s of the 134th Fighter Squadron flew in the direction of the intruding Soviet formation. The unit of the Vermont Air National Guard had many more planes, but when the emergency had been sounded only the squadron leader, his wingman, and Leonx, the commander of Alpha Flight, were immediately available. The three had launched immediately, flying from Burlington to the interception over rural New Hampshire.

"Counting seven bogies up front, a few other formations far off,” the lead stated. “No friendly aircraft reported to be operating in this sector, and it should be clear of civilian planes. We are all clear to engage.”

“Two contacts broke away from the formation, heading our way,” the commander’s wingman quipped.

“Probably the escorts, Musket Two stick with me. We’ll deal with them. Pepper, push forward and engage the enemy transports; try to get to them before the enemy drops. ”

“Copy,” Lenox replied, breaking off from the three-ship formation and dropping altitude a few thousand feet.

As he pushed forward, he noticed the two blips on the radar closing fast with the other two Falcons. Suddenly, far ahead, something bright shot up from the ground, trailing a white line of smoke. Not long after, one of the blips disappeared and the other began to jink about. Lenox watched as the flaming wreckage of a Soviet MiG-29 fighter plummet to through the clouds.

“Someone’s shooting SAMs,” he observed. “Lead, can you tell them to watch their fire? I don’t want to take a missile on my belly from one of our guns.”

“Local AA crews have been informed of our arrival; just make sure your IFF is working.”


‘Pepper’ continued onward as his two companions tangled with the remaining fighter. Without very many clouds, he quickly picked up on the transport formation. A few white chutes indicated that the first two transports had already dropped their cargo. As such, he redirected his focus towards the other two, locking a Sidewinder onto one of them.

“One-One, Fox two.”

The missile few from the wingtip and through the air, connecting with the transport plane and exploding as intended. Lenox immediately locked his second missile onto the next transport and fired on it, as well. It struck just as the paratroopers were beginning to jump, causing a rattling and forcing the survivors to scramble in an attempt to escape the doomed aircraft.

At first he intended to switch over to his gun and chase down the retreating aircraft, but a warning tone interrupted this effort. Another MiG, probably the still hanging back around the formation, had dived down and gotten uncomfortably close behind him, trying to lock on to the American aircraft for his missile. The Falcon broke off and turned radically, firing off its flares and running the internal jammer to confuse the Fulcrum’s targeter.

“Bandit’s on my six!”

“Hold on, we’ll be there in a few seconds.”

Lenox jinked about to stave off his attacker until help arrived. He kept up the evasions, breaking right and left, keeping his speed up, ensuring he did not give the Fulcrum a clear shot. The thought of attempting to turn the tables by cutting his speed and getting the Soviet to overtake him, but that did not seem immediately possible, nor worth the risk.

“Pepper, break right! Break right!”

He did so instinctively, jerking his Falcon right and around. With this, the flight’s lead was able to drop in and behind the MiG-29, unseen by either his ally or the enemy. Lenox attempted to maneuver less, and though it was a greater risk to him, it caused the Soviet to do the same, allowing his commander to lock on to it with his Sidewinder. Before too long Lenox heard a dull boom and, with his plane untouched, knew the Fulcrum had been killed.

“Bandit down, you’re good.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied, relieved.

“Alright, three Fulcrums and two Candids confirmed destroyed. Flight, R.T.B.”
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