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Propaganda in the Jungle - The Rebel Cause.

"General de Peralta!" The radio man yelled from his covered dugout. He frantically beckoned his commander over as he switched the broadcast from the headset to the speakers they had requisitioned from a burned out outpost. The look on his face was that of scared kid, but de Peralta placed his hand on his left shoulder to reassure him. "You are doing great solider. Turn up the volume, let all the men hear it, let the world hear the lies of El Presidente Trujillo. There can be no doubt in who we are fighting against." de Peralta stood back up, and listened to the broadcast being transmitted from Santo Domingo that very moment.

A male and female broadcaster duo were speaking very tersely, with a slight tinge of fear in their voices. 'Good and smart. Using a woman will help garner sympathy from the Westerners no doubt. Though the fear... I wonder if that is from what they are reading, or if that fat pig Trujillo has gunmen in the room with them.'

"Proud people of Hispaniola, of the Dominican Republic, rejoice and know that Presidente Trujillo stands with you against these rebel defilers. Take faith and comfort in knowing your loyal soldiers and marines are here to protect you. The Government has always had your best interest at heart. We have cared for you through the storms of both nature and man, and here we still stand with you." The man had spoken first, a strong and proud voice, before inviting the woman to speak.

"Your proud soldiers and marines fight in the North against the rebels, a pack of wild dogs without a master. Our sons, fathers, brothers, uncles, our proud men of the uniform can not fight without your support, as without us, they have but naught to fight for. Our soldiers, sworn by duty and oath to our Presidente, fight against barbaric monsters who seek to enslave our proud and free people. It is with a heavy heart that I must report to you these harrowing reports from the front, with permission from the military and Presidente Trujillo himself, to show you who we are fighting against."

One of the other radio operators called de Peralta over, having him listen in to a military channel they had tapped into via the outpost's telephone wires. "Yes, your orders are to seal off the ports and airfields. Presidente Trujillo's orders. No one is to leave the country. He and his commanders have issued strict travel orders as well, the people are to stay at their places of residence when not at work. Just get it done, General Garza already sacked two colonels who questioned the orders."

de Peralta shook his head in disgust, before listening back in to the propaganda broadcasts. He even agreed with his enemy on some level, using the civilians as shields against his invasion, and ensuring that no one could flee from the conflict. All about control with Trujillo, a man gone mad with power and his iron grip upon the people.

"It's truly terrible. Rape! Murder! Torture! Daily executions of loyal soldiers they capture! There have even been isolated reports that they are eating the hearts of captives to absorb their strength! People of Hispaniola, we can not let these devil worshipers into our midst. Together as one nation, we must fight against them, and repel them back into the sea." The woman finished speaking, even sounding as though she had been crying as she turned the broadcast back over to the man.

"And yet, sadly, there are some among our great people who do not march with us. Their voices raised in dissent and opposition. Rebel sympathizers and traitors! Soft minds that take the words of the Rebels for truth! Policía de Hierro are our guiding shepherds, these brave and noble men who seek out those who bear the seeds of rebellion in their hearts and question the way of Presidente Trujillo. To those of rebel sympathy, and to those who harbor sympathizers, hear this: Would you have us embrace the very monsters that seek to enslave us? Would you make us lay down our rifles and surrender our armor, stark naked before a force that wishes only death for us? Peace is something we all desire, none greater than Presidente Trujillo, but the rebels would make it the peace of the grave! Shattering our nation's spirit and burning us to ashes, our wives and daughters enslaved, our sons and fathers entombed! Beware the puppets amongst us, sons and daughters of Hispaniola! Know them, and spite them! Give them no succor or shelter! If any one of you doubts the fidelity of another, be it neighbor, brother, parent, or child, speak! It is the sworn duty of the Policía de Hierro to isolate and re-educate these misguided souls. To bring them back to our fold. Expunge their weakness for the greater good!" The man spoke in a fiery tone, as though he were giving a religious sermon rather than reading the news. He had finished, saying something to the effect of 'My apologies...'

The woman spoke up again, the sound of tears almost in her eyes personified into her voice. "I understand why people won't forget their pain, the loved ones we've lost, the countless innocents slaughtered by the rebels. We must never forget that these rebels are the same snakes driven from our great lands nearly thirty years ago. We must never forget. These men are no longer our friends, family, they are no longer our people. They make their pithy, mewling claims of liberty and righteousness, and all the while, they look upon the face of our brave and noble soldiers with loathing and disgust. The enemy sees your soldiers as prey, livestock fit only for killing. To the foe we are less than human, but they will learn their mistake, my people. We do not suffer the fox and the snake who threaten our chickens, nor shall we suffer the rebels who eat the hearts of men."

The broadcast ended there, outside of some updates on commodities being rationed, the power grid needing to be conserved, and the other litany of governmental control over its people.


Rebel support amongst the people - The Northern Front

General Corso was helping to oversee the distribution of captured arms and munitions to locals that had been flocking to their cause. Already, he had seen some two thousand men alone come over to them, and their stories had been a variation of the same tale. 'Presidente Trujillo was a brutal dictator, having sold his own people out to foreign capitalist investors, with his cadre of secret police meting out beatings, imprisonments, and executions to any who did not subjugate themselves to his regime.' They knew support for them would be greatest in the North and the South-West, but even this had not been expected. There was even the two battalions that had defected to the rebel cause. The Major and Lieutenant-Colonel of their respective battalions held no love for Trujillo, both of whom had lost family members to the Policía de Hierro roundups throughout the years. They had spoke to General Corso about the conditions of the army, with those closer to the capital receiving preferential treatment, better supplies, gear, food, pay, while those in countryside appeared to be an inconvenient after thought.

Together with the incoming local militias, and the defectors, General Corso was planning to push South over the Cordillera Central and seize control of San Juan de la Maguana and its vital airfield. With the jungles for cover, and now local knowledge of the terrain, the plan was in motion to be carried out in less than twelve hours. General de Peralta had given his blessing, and would continue the fight East, San Francisco de Macoris and Concepcion de la Vega needed to fall to ensure full control of the Northern sector. He had his own fight to trudge through, and now it was General Corso's turn to bring glory to the Guarda Coasta.

The Jungles of Eastern Hispaniola


It was hot and painfully humid. Nothing had gone as planned thus far. Sure, the storm had sent the army regulars scrambling for their barracks, but it has also scattered the planes far and wide. de Peralta's own plane had to make an emergency landing in a river, nearly ripping off the right wing in the process. He drank from his canteen, sweat dripping down his face as he tried to get the radioman's attention. Six days ago, that was how long it had been since landing. His own weapon lay discarded somewhere in the jungle, a fallen enemy's rifle now firmly clutched in his hands. The radioman finally came darting over, his beret tucked into the shoulderboard of his uniform. The radio crackled and hissed as it came to life, frantic chatter coming over the waves as de Peralta ordered the net cleared. He had to wait a few moments as different commanders barked orders, before the chatter died down aside from the occasional cross feed of the enemy communications.

"Enemy forces around Moca are in full retreat. Keep pressing east towards San Francisco de Macoris. Bring forward captured enemy armor, and use it to take Concepcion de la Vega. I know you are tired, and I know you are hurting. We are all in this together, and we shall win our home back. Listen to your commanders, the enemy has fight in them still. Peralta out." He handed the set back to the radioman, before turning to join the firing line once more, taking shots at the rapidly retreating regime forces. Ducking down, a shower of earth filled the air as a rifle grenade slammed into the ground nearby. All Peralta could think was, "This must surely be hell, war is hell..."

Somewhere off the Northern Coast of Hispaniola - Tropical Storm Clouds


Francisco de Peralta looked out the windscreen of the plane he rode in, watching as the heavy rains lashed out, while the winds buffeted the plane. He held on tightly as the wind seemed to dropkick the plane upwards, the wings and metal tensioning wires groaning loudly over the roar of the engines. He cursed the lack of a meteorologist on the islands, had they known about the storm, they would have waiting, but now... it was too late. He stepped back away from the pilot and copilot, looking over to the navigator. "How much further? We're burning through fuel faster than we've anticipated... This is now for sure a one way trip." He had to yell in order to be heard. The younger man looked up at his commanding officer, beckoning him closer to point out at the map.

"We're at worst...." He steadied himself as the plane shook violently, "No more than another two hours of flight time. The storm has slowed us down considerably. I don't dare radio ahead, the vanguard would know more, but we're too close to enemy airspace now, they might pick up radio chatter." The crewman turned away, trying to keep his tools from flying off his station, the plane now kiltering off and down to the side. Peralta patted the younger man on his back, nodding thank you to him, before returning to his perch, looking at the windscreen again. 'If, God willing, the invasion force isn't completely scattered, I'll consider it a blessing.' He tightened the chin strap of his helmet, hoping that he'd not have the unluck of the plane going down in the middle of the ocean.

Peralta looked up at the plane's ceiling, holding his breath as it seemed every piece of metal groaned collectively. He thought he could even here a few rivets popping, giving way to the strain. Ahead, lightning flashed brightly, blinding the pilots and him for a few seconds. 'Of all the luck, a tropical storm just happened to form on this day... figures.' Taking a breath again, he strapped himself into his seat making sure his rifle was still nearby, Peralta clasped his hands together and began to quietly pray. He closed his eyes, focusing on his thoughts instead of the storm outside the thin metal body of the plane, and lent out his prayers to those on his own plane, and to all the souls on the other planes. 'We who fly unto the sacred lands of the our fathers, we who fight in God's name, we who are prepared to pay the ultimate price ask for your blessing and protection father. Grant us your holy strength, and if we are to fall in battle, allow your divine grace to guide us up unto heaven. Amen.'

Eastern Caicos, Guarda Coasta Headquarters, King Alfonso Airbase - July 1955


The middle aged man sat quietly in the briefing room, watching the other officers briefing those in attendance. His glasses lay on the table next to him, his eyes already knowing what the maps displayed. He enjoyed this moment of respite, with a cold glass of orange juice held to his forehead, from the tedium of commanding his comrades. Thirty years, for his people, over one hundred for the Haitians, and for the Norteno Gringo's, a chance for a new home that wouldn't purge them. Leaning back into the folding chair, he brought his right leg up and over his left knee, taking another drink from his glass. El Exilio, his father and grandfather had referred to the mass exodus of like minded men and women who had fled from the Dominican Republic to escape the brutal regime of that American puppet, Horacio Vásquez. Of course now an even more brutal dictator ruled over their home, some illegitimate zorro named Rafael Trujillo, claiming to be the nation's president. Too bad for the ignorant pig Vásquez, he was too much of a lap dog for America to see his own traitors among his ranks. Finishing his orange juice, the man set the glass aside and rose up, putting his glasses back on. It was time for him to speak to his men.

The two officers that had been speaking stopped and turned, politely nodding their heads as the more senior of them spoke aloud. "General Francisco de Peralta, the floor is yours Señor." The two men backed away, and took their own seats. Francisco straightened his uniform blouse, before calmly presiding over the briefing room.

"Caballeros, Amigos, Familia, we are all gathered here today, from different parts of the world, but all with one goal, to retake our Patria so that we all may live as the true heirs and rulers of Hispaniola. I look around this room, at all your faces, and I do not see broken men, I do not see cowards or traitors. No, I see patriots and heroes, all willing to fight and die for a cause greater than themselves. Let us not waste time nor words, caballeros, for we stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, their hard work and sacrifice allowed us to be here. Behind me is what we all have been training for, what all of our hard work in all those petty conflicts across the world has been for. In roughly 48 hours we shall commence Operación Martillo, and there will be no going back once we start. We shall fight our common enemy, we shall kill those loyal to the enemy, and we shall take by force what is rightfully ours." He took his glasses off to clean them, taking his time before placing them back on and speaking more.

"Dios is on our side, and he is the only one we truly need to win our campaign. The Mexicano's have been covertly contacted, whether or not they decide to help is of no consequence. Those rumors are true, that we've yet to hear back from them, but let me assure you, we do not need their help to ensure victory. In the end, as with all things, it will be our sangre y sudor that shall pave the way to victory. Our landing sites have been chosen, these beachheads will ensure that we can take our foothold upon Hispaniola, and then press ever onward further into the country. Study this map, memorize it, ingrain it into your being. Once the planes take off, there is no coming back. There is either victory or death. We shall not retreat." Francisco de Peralta turned to the board, looking it over once more, before turning back to the cadre of officers.

"We land at the following beachheads; Pepillo Salcedo, Monte Cristi, Punta Rucia, La Isabela, Luperon, and Puerto Plata. The two key locations are Monte Crisit and Puerto Plata, yet do not let the smaller landing sites lull you into a sense of complacency. We will all be fighting our enemy once we've made landfall, and I must stress this, all of us must keep to the timeline. We will have 24 hours to make it to the rally location, Santiago De Los Caballeros. Our intel suggests that the garrison there has been complacent in their duties for the last year, if not longer. We take this city as planned, the northern portion of the country will be ours uncontested. And an added bonus is the large armory there that shall be of great use to us. Remember your training, have faith in your men and yourselves. I leave the rest in your capable hands. Vida a la revolució caballeros. I salute you all, and I am honored to lead you into the hyena's den." The room stood to attention as General Francisco de Peralta took his leave, shaking the hands of a few senior officers, before heading out onto the beautiful tropical sunlit beach.

Peralta sighed to himself, fixing his cap upon his head, as he gazed out at the ocean. 'Soon, father... soon, you and grandfather will be home once more, and can lay at rest with your loved ones.' He smiled at a few of his friends, walking over to a strand of trees with them and of all things, to take a picture together on this monumental eve of battle. Dominican, Haitian, American, and Frenchman, the five friends stood together, and allowed their picture to be taken. "For the history books, my friends." Peralta said with a smile, before they all walked in the direction of the mess hall.



@Dinh AaronMk Roger that. Just to be fully briefed concerning the parameters, any divergence from IRL timeline can not happen until either the start of WW1 (1914), or a little before WW1 (No earlier than 1910?)

I'll revise/ create a more lore appropriate nation that falls within the parameters. Is there any more information that I should be aware of?
Are you all still accepting applications for this RP?
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