The Colonial Crisis (IC Open with sign up)

[Nalaya]

Vatani Airspace

That has been two days ago, now, it was time he arrived in Kingstown. The colonel had never been a diplomat, or a soldier, for that matter. He liked being a Cyannan official, working in his station post by day and sleeping off the fatigue in a sprawling colonial plantation home by night. However, the Cyannan government had made it quite clear to him that they had received word from a high authority in this neighboring country, and needed a military officer to attend the proposed meeting. Vatan was a country he disliked, a land ruled by warlords who had most likely been at odds with each other for hundreds of years before they finally grew tired of the killing. A decentralized state was a failed state, in his opinion, and he had no idea why Cyanna pursued such close relations with these people. Possibly white solidarity in the leadership of both governments had led to such developments.

Colonel Petzer settled into his seat as the tiny aircraft buzzed over the quaint buildings of Kingstown. The place, however developed, still had the air of a frontier settlement, like a final bastion of white racial superiority and western civilization trapped in the sea of unchecked barbarianism. He felt uncomfortable, however, for if it had not been for the Vatani prime minister, Van der Aart, he knew Cyanna--much less Lydenburg--wouldn't give a fig about seeing some highland faction leader. Possibly this is why they still selected himself, rather than sending to Kingstown some buffoon from the foreign ministry.

The man who sat buckled in next to him was an ever-present-Sternwell bodyguard, an unintelligent grunt to his bootstraps. He was wearing a starched black uniform, beret, and incredibly distasteful sunglasses. A dated walkie-talkie worn on the guard's shoulder muttered something unintelligible every few minutes.

Couldn't Rheelash at least sent him someone who was attired properly for a diplomatic tirade, or at least someone far more discreet? Sternwell was technically a law enforcement agency, an element of Cyanna's Department of Internal Security (CDIS), which served as a diplomatic protection service. Hopefully, the surveillance they had put the meeting location in Kingstown under would be far more impressive and much less obvious. He had been informed that DIS was also to slip plainclothes agents inside the city beforehand, monitor what they could from afar.

It was not that Vatan was particularly dangerous this time a year, Petzer reminded himself silently, but the thought of getting face-to-face with a warlord in an impossibly warlord-ruled nation worried the hell out of him.

Kingstown International Airport, Vatan

"Salam, Colonel. It is an honor to see Cyanna sending an envoy to us again," Abd al Rashid barked. The airport was blisteringly hot and dry despite the frantic efforts of the air conditioning units working themselves to an early malfunction. Another heat wave of the dry season had hit Kingstown, the same sun that shone down on the massive shifting dunes of the interior turning its burning ire down on the lowland countryside. "We have not met, I think. I am Abd al Rashid, warlord of the Vatani highlands, and speaker for the people."

[Lydenburg]

"Salam, Colonel. It is an honor to see Cyanna sending an envoy to us again," Abd al Rashid barked. The airport was blisteringly hot and dry despite the frantic efforts of the air conditioning units working themselves to an early malfunction. Another heat wave of the dry season had hit Kingstown, the same sun that shone down on the massive shifting dunes of the interior turning its burning ire down on the lowland countryside. "We have not met, I think. I am Abd al Rashid, warlord of the Vatani highlands, and speaker for the people."

Colonel Petzer and his ever-present-guard stepped off the plane into the deep sunlight, and both immediately regretted it. They were followed by Petzer's personal secretary, a man who favored fancy suits and was thus even worse off. Fortunately, it appeared that there was a welcome committee, the sort that was friendly enough for a low-level diplomatic exchange.

Petzer started to salute smartly, coming to attention in his khaki uniform before whom he had assumed was a Vatani official, but it was in fact the warlord he was supposed to meet.

"Greetings from the Dependency of Cyanna, my good man," the colonel offered his hand halfheartedly, but spoke in a much firmer tone. "It is indeed an honor to address someone of such importance. Have we chosen a more appropriate venue for our impending discussion?"

[Nalaya]

Colonel Petzer and his ever-present-guard stepped off the plane into the deep sunlight, and both immediately regretted it. They were followed by Petzer's personal secretary, a man who favored fancy suits and was thus even worse off. Fortunately, it appeared that there was a welcome committee, the sort that was friendly enough for a low-level diplomatic exchange.

Petzer started to salute smartly, coming to attention in his khaki uniform before whom he had assumed was a Vatani official, but it was in fact the warlord he was supposed to meet.

"Greetings from the Dependency of Cyanna, my good man," the colonel offered his hand halfheartedly, but spoke in a much firmer tone. "It is indeed an honor to address someone of such importance. Have we chosen a more appropriate venue for our impending discussion?"

Abd al Rashid shook his hand with a similar reluctant distaste. "Is not I you are here to meet, Colonel Petzer. Baas van der Aart and Khelilah bint Diya al Din would speak with you. We allow them to interact with the nations of the kēnar on our behalf," he said calmly. "There is an automobile waiting outside for you."

And outside, there was a dark limousine with the country's flags and diplomatic plates. Kingstown was a modern city with paved roads and skyscrapers. Yohannes knew how totreat foreign guests.

[Lydenburg]

Abd al Rashid shook his hand with a similar reluctant distaste. "Is not I you are here to meet, Colonel Petzer. Baas van der Aart and Khelilah bint Diya al Din would speak with you. We allow them to interact with the nations of the kēnar on our behalf," he said calmly. "There is an automobile waiting outside for you."

And outside, there was a dark limousine with the country's flags and diplomatic plates. Kingstown was a modern city with paved roads and skyscrapers. Yohannes knew how totreat foreign guests.

Colonel Petzer gave a curt, military, nod to al Rashid, grimacing slightly at the misunderstanding. He had only been told he was meet to significant warlord, and so naturally when he came upon this man at the airport he had expected that it was he with whom the meeting was to be held. Apparently not. He had also been briefed on Yohannes van der Aart, the Prime Minister of Vatan, but did not expect him to play a large role in the discussion. After all, was this not to discuss a certain faction leader? Although the invitation had been, of course, provided by the PM, he had been reading the Vatani newspapers, and they indicated that it was a warlord who was to be the driving subject behind this meeting.

Petzer glanced at his watch and, hugging his briefcase, stepped out of the airport and towards the waiting limousine. The poor excuse for a Sternwell bodyguard gave a two-finger salute and vanished off somewhere; only his loyal secretary followed. Petzer was fairly impressed by the level of infrastructure in Kingstown, although of course this was little indication regarding what most Cyannans knew of Vatan's vast rural interior.

He got into the car, a silent prayer on his lips.

[Southern Cynocephali]

Adrien DeBrun pushed forward on the throttle and the SCDS-68C turboprop roared to life. Adrien focused on the horizon in front of him as the well worn ashphalt runway stretched out in front of his cockpit. As the aircraft accelerated rapidly down the runway, Adrien waited until he felt the aircraft begin to reach V₂. Looking down at his airspeed indicator he confirmed that he had reached over 70kts and pulled back gently on the stick to get airborne. Trimming to keep his climb angle, he flicked the fuel pump off as the aircraft reached three hundred feet. His headset barked to life as the tower gave the next aircraft clearance to take off, as Adrien entered a climbing turn to join the rest of the squadron who were already airborne.

"I never get tired of that, sir." said an audibly excited voice through his headset. It was that of the mechanic, Marius Edinelle who occupied the co-pilots seat on this ferry mission. Adrien had initally thought that he had put the last of his 'taxi' driving days behind him, but on second thought had been glad for the opportunity to break up the monotony of patrolling a rather quiet border.

"I suppose you boys don't get much time in the air?" replied Adrien, glad at least to have someone to talk to on the flight.
The mechanic's reply was cut off by a flurry of radio calls as the final aircraft joined the flight. Adrien took up his position in the formation, and headed on the bearing of 210^o towards Kalumba.

---

Approaching Kingstown, Vatan

Dembe Diamanka looked out the window of the small aircraft as it flew over the burnt landscape below. The heat bore through the windows of the small twin aircraft, the on board air-conditioning struggling to keep it out. Dembe turned and looked at his two assistants, who were sweating profusely in the heat. Dembe chuckled to himself, as the pilot sitting to his left motioned at something in the distance.

Dembe looked out the front window and saw the unmistakeable shape of a city in the distance. The aging statesman felt a twinge of excitement he hadn't felt for years as they approached Kingstown. The danger of this meeting was not lost on him, however he had turned down the offer of armed security from the government. He had never felt the need for it before, and he wasn't going to start now. Despite the recommendations of the military, he trusted his hosts at their word; he didn't have much choice as even bringing the entire 1st Armoured Division would probably not guarantee his security. Dembe had always found, in politics and in private, that if you treat people with respect and honour then it will be reciprocated and he did not intend to deviate from his well worn strategy.

This meeting represented a real opportunity to solve one of the biggest issues of the region, that of the BAPL. Tensions had risen markedly since the arrival of the Norvenian forces off the coast. Dembe had seen this sort of military build up before, and it rarely ended well. Hopefully something could be worked out before it was too late; thinking of all his grandchildren, Dembe resolved himself that he would do his best to make sure they did not have to relive the horrors of the past.

Dembe's thoughts were interrupted by the pilot speaking into his headset. Unable to hear the tower, Dembe was not sure what was being said to him but heard the pilot giving his position. After a few moments the pilot returned to silence, and judging by the fact they were descending, Dembe thought they must have been given clearance to land.

Within minutes Dembe saw the runway come into sight, directly in front of them. The aircraft continued to descend until he felt he could almost touch the rooftops below. Reaching the end of the runway, the pilot pulled back gently on his control yoke, and reduced the throttle to idle. The aircraft gently floated down to the runway, and touched down with barely a bump. Braking gently the pilot slowed the aircraft and taxiied off the runway, across to the bay designated by the tower.

As they approached, Dembe noticed a gathering of official looking individuals gathered nearby. As the aircraft came to a halt, the pilot flicked a few of the switches near Dembe's left knee, before pulling a lever marked 'Mixture' to the aft position. The engines spluttered as they were starved of fuel and the propellers began to slow. Opening the door to his right, Dembe stepped out of the small aircraft onto the wing, and down onto the tarmac below. Out of the aircraft, Dembe began to feel the oppresive heat but did not let it show, he had learnt the value of appearance in his many years. Striding across towards the group, Dembe's assistants struggled with their briefcases as they tried in vain to keep up. Reaching the group Dembe extended his hand with a grin. "What a beautiful day. Dembe Diamanka, representing Lycaon, how do you do?"

[Nalaya]

Kingstown International Airport, Vatan

In the distance of the city, a vast shimmering mirage of skyscrapers and polished glass, the call of prayer echoed over the sounds of traffic. Even in the airport, almost everyone dropped what they were doing to kneel down and pray, facing towards the Holy City. Abd al Rashid, however, despite his devout nature, did not. He had spoken to an imam and requested a dispensation. He would pray at corresponding times during the night to make up for it. Saleem, however, politely excused himself.

Abd al Rashid shook Dembe's hand firmly, if with the same air of hesitation. It was a Western manner of greeting, something that had never caught on in Vatan despite colonial efforts. Then again, neither had Christianity. Nalaya's initial effects had been too powerful to undermine. "Dembe Diamanka, I have heard of you. The great figure of independence! Many in Vatan consider you a noble and honorable man. I am Abd al Rashid," the Vatani warlord said with a touch more pleasantness to his tone than one might have expected.

It had pleased the Vatani greatly that Dembe had taken them at their word in regards to his safety. He had been rendered 'untouchable' by mandate of the warlords—anyone who did him harm forefeited not just their honor but their status, life, and the honor of their bloodline.The Lycaon could walk down Kingstown's streets at night alone and unarmed without fear: no criminal would dare even look on his person for fear of what would happen to them. And not even the BAPL would cross the warlords united.

Yes, the Vatani were warlike, brutal, mistrustful of strangers almost to the point of xenophobia, and seen as barbaric. But they were honorable and often painfully honest. As the saying went, if a Vatani was going to stab you in the back, he'd do it to your face.

Abd al Rashid smiled pleasantly, his teeth white against his dark brown skin. There was little in the diets of the Vatani to ruin their dental health: little refined sugar and even fewer chemicals. He did not smoke hashish or tobacco either, though he had a deep and abiding fondness for coffee sweetened with honey. "I think we will depart for the regional office now. Kalumba has not seen fit to trust Vatan at it's word: they have the address, and so I can only assume they come on their own. Our representatives are eager to speak with you."

[Kalumba]

Salisbury Airport

"Targets approaching Sir" came the voice over the radio to the mechanics waiting on the runway for the arrival of the new aircraft from Lycaon. All comercial use o fthe airport had been suspended for the day while the new planes were delivered and the Vice-President left for the conference in Vatan aboard a Hercules transport with three armoured cars and an armoured Rolls-Royce. The single blip on the old radar set became three then ten and formed into a line and approached from the northern end of the runway.

"Salisbury Control, this is Transport 018 permission to land?" "Transport 018 this is Salisbury Control, permission granted happy landings." The mechanics watched as the specks on the horizon became larger and then began a gradual, and graceful, descent towards the runway. As each plane touched down a mechanic ran out with a red flag and directed them towards the two specially reserved hangers, and as soon as the last plane was safely in the hangers the doors were closed from any prying eyes.

Each pilot was shaken by the hand and showed towards a small hut where they would have refreshments and be briefed on the flight path onto Gwelo Air Base. But in the hangers it was a hive of activity as mechanics refuelled the aircraft and brought out the spray guns. Tarpaurlins were dragged over the cockpits and the planes were repainted in the deep green of the Kalumban Air Force, sand brown flecks were added to the planes to help conceal them in the brush of Kahali National Park over which they would be deployed. Finally Kalumban Roundevals were added to the wings and tails, the single elephant tusk on a black square.

In the hut Wing-Commander Frank Patterson was briefing the Lycaonese pilots on the flight path to Gwelo Air Base. "You will follow me in my Folland Gnat, should you become lost from the remainder of the flight this is the route you will follow." He indicated a flight path out over the ocean from Salisbury before turning east and coming back inland south of Muzera, and from there onto Gwelo Air Base. "The call sign to land is Zonke Nyoni, once the planes are touched down you will all be bused to Gwelo where you will enjoy an expenses paid weekend at the Gwelo Holiday Lodge Hotel. After that you will be flown back to Lycaon on board a Hercules transport, and let me just say thank you for your efforts to maintain the peace in our region. The planes will be prepared for take-off in an hour."


Kalumba-Vatani Border

Julius Limbani always felt uneasy flying and especially over airspace where a Kalumban airliner had been shot down by BAPL insurgents just eleven year previously. That had brought the most severe bombing of Vatani territory by the KAF, and had brought the region once again to the brink of war. At least for once there was an attempt to keep the peace as the Vatani offer of a conference seemed to suggest.

Limbani sincerely hoped that a lasting peace could be achieved, as both of his sons were in the Kalumban Native Rifles and would surely see action in a war and the thought of losing them was a terrible worry to him. So he would try and placate the dignitaries from the nations harbouring BAPL whilst forcing as many concessions as he could from them. The President had instructed him to give up little and even use the threat of force to achieve Kalumba's aims and he was fully willing to do that.

He was struggling to focus on the conference however by the conditions inside the Hercules. Never designed as a luxury transport and filled with twenty soldiers, three armoured cars and a Rolls-Royce helped contribute to Limbani's discomfort. It also raised his apprehension about being within the borders of a nation which had fought an aggressive war against Kalumba and had since then funded and given bases to the hated Bechuane Army of People's Liberation.

The pilot turned in his seat and yelled something to him but he didn't understand until one of the SAS troopers yeeled in his ear above the roar of the turbo-props, "Ten minutes until landing Sir" nodding his ascent Limbani replaced the documents in his briefcase and held on for dear life as the huge aircraft began it's lumbering descent.

As soon as the plane touched down the pilot swung it around ready to take off again, and opened the rear ramp. The SAS troops moved with speed and precision to unload the three armoured vehicles while Limabani's staff moved the Rolls out and climbed in. Limbani, escorted by four heavily armed SAS men, walked towards a small welcoming commitee and addressed them. "Forgive me for not shaking you hand but it is not in my nature to be amiable to my countries enemies. Please lead us to the conference." With a curt nod he returned to the small convoy and climbed into his Rolls.

[Nalaya]

Abd al Rashid laughed at the Kalumban. "You may leave if you have no wish to be diplomatic, kēnar," he said, though his eyes were hard. "Perhaps you misunderstand the nature of the conference. The Vatani do not speak to the deaf. Leave your sword outside the door of the meeting, or do not enter."

An attitidue like that would burn every new bridge Kella was trying to build before the end of the first day, and Abd al Rashid knew it well. Apparently this would just be a great game of who could start a war the fastest. His love was patient, but not that patient. Already the tribes felt backed against a wall with Norvenia and Kalumba pressing them harder and harder. And the Kalumbans had disdained protection, so there was no blood price protecting them.

The warlord cordially escorted his other guests to the waiting car, where he clapped Diembe on the shoulder companionably. "You are what the Nalayans would call Arzhani. I approve. May this meeting become a new chapter between Lycaon and Vatan. Go with Allah, sadiq. Perhaps we will meet again in the days to come."

The armored automobile, an old Packard from the 1930s with a beautiful spacious interior, rolled off towards the meeting place.

Office of the Regional Magistrate, Kingstown, Vatan

"Xasím, your guests are here," a wiry little man said, stepping in barefoot to the conference room. There were no guards, a low and large circular table occupying the center of the room. It was surrounded by rugs and cushions to kneel or sit on.

Kella looked up from her folded hands. "Who are they, Nadir?"

"The noble Diembe Diamanka of Lycaon, honorable Colonel Petzer of Cyanna, and a hostile man with many armed guards who introduced himself curtly to the clerk as a Mr. Limbani. He speaks like a Kalumban."

"Inform them that their weapons and guards will have to wait outside like my own. I will allow an exception for a dagger," Kella said calmly. "If this is not agreeable, they may wait out in the lobby until we are finished. This is the way of things. You may show them in."

Kella was a dark, slim woman dressed in black, well-fitting pants and a shirt. Her hair was sort of covered by a scarf, but that was clearly more an afterthought than strict adherence to religious law—her brown hair was readily visible. She set her reading glasses down, amber eyes focusing on the door. She did wear her dagger, but no other weapon. Like most Vatani, her ears were pierced many times with studs in a line that lead down to a small ring, and her hands bore the intricate patterns of ritual scarrification. Her English was impeccable and European in accent—though few knew it, she had attended university and had a Ph.D. in biochemistry. People too often expected the stupid native when they came to her.

She had little to no hope for Kalumba, honestly. She knew war well in all it's guises, and this was just another. They would likely do the same thing many colonial powers had: make her a deal she could not accept, then brand her a warmonger who hated diplomacy and invade. They had shown their intentions already with the Norvenian build-up. But Lycaon was promising, and Cyanna was at least an ally now. She doubted that state of affairs would last another decade, but that was another issue entirely.

"Qasim," she muttered a little with a shake of her head, looking back at the note from Yohannes. The poor kēnar had nearly had a heart attack when he opened the package from the warlord and found a severed human head. Once, not long ago, it had been attached to the shoulders of Nnamdi Chidiebube, the BAPL leader within Vatan. It was accompanied with a suggestion that Kella should beat the Kalumbans with the head until they agreed not to invade.

The sad part was that she found the idea sorely tempting. But perhaps that was just her inner cynic coming out.

[Lydenburg]

Office of the Regional Magistrate, Kingstown, Vatan

Colonel Petzer, feeling very much out of place in his dress uniform and a briefcase, walked slowly into the pleasantly Spartan conference room. He did not have a weapon on him, and was pleased to think that at least he, ironically the only true military officer who seemed to be present, was spared the embarrassment of having to surrender a concealed firearm.

The dear native female who appeared to be receiving himself and the other delegates herself seemed to be seated inside, with no attendants in sight. Petzer nonchalantly glanced at his watch. He briefly considered asking where the drinks were stored, but kept his face blank, his mouth closed, and his cool, dark, eyes utterly unreadable, a practice he had mastered long ago when training for what to do under enemy interrogation. Even so, he could not restrain a cursory assessment of his host. Clothing that could have come from anywhere, devoid of fashion sense but strangely tasteful in some off-the-knee way. Glasses on the table, although no sign of the vertical scars under eyes he saw on many half-breeds and blacks in northeastern Cyanna, from whence he hailed. The only three men he'd bothered to ask about this in his entire lifetime claimed, without variation, that the marks were from a surgery for optical defects that they'd undergone when they were children. Hands in good nick, although scarred from what appeared to be tribal rituals, perhaps.

The Cyannan colonel politely avoided prolonging eye contact. He could tell without question that there was more to this character than met the eye, and believed that the other representatives might reach similar conclusions--all but one, that is, unless the Kalumban "diplomat" was willing to leave his private army at the door.

[Southern Cynocephali]

Dembe motioned at his assistants to wait outside as he walked into the conference room slowly, yet purposefully. Following Colonel Petzer into the room he looked at the dress uniform of the man in front of him and wondered if that was a sign of things to come. Dembe wondered what place a military man would have at a table discussing the avoidance of conflict, most of the uniforms he had met in the past were more interested in playing with their shiny toys rather than doing their best to avoid a fight. The Kalumban representative seemed to have brought a well trained security force, which Dembe did not agree with but could understand. Although, perhaps they had not considered their hosts, who had somewhat understandably seemed offended at the suggestion that either they would harm or were incapable of protecting their guest. In his many years in government, especially in the Independence negotiations, Dembe had learnt the value of saving face for others and treating others with respect.

The aged man caught himself. Perhaps he was being overly critical, he did not have to live with the ever-present threat faced by some Kalumbans. Sometimes he forgot how lucky he was in that Lycaon was generally recognised as a regional power and so her enemies generally carefully considered moving against her. As well, the government of Southern Cynocephali had passed on the lessons learnt in over five decades of policing Northern Cynocephali, and they had repeatedly learnt the hard lessons in counter insugrency operations.

Dembe slowed and took in his surroundings. He admired the room; whilst unembellished it was elegant without being overstated, as if it had just stumbled upon its appearance haphazardly. The workmanship of the builders was superb, and Dembe ran his hand along the wall softly as he followed the Colonel.

Passing Colonel Petzer as he walked further into the conference room, Dembe was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a lithe form of a woman many years his junior. Whilst not necessarily what some would call beautiful, Dembe was absolutely captivated by her. Her amber eyes seemed to glow gently, sparkling like the dagger which hung gracefully at her waist. Her dark brown hair framed her face, positioned perfectly but looking as if it had just fallen into place naturally. Her headscarf sat loosely atop her rich brown hair before flowing gently around her shoulders, and combined with her black attire she simply intrigued Dembe.

Dembe shut his eyes briefly to regain his composure, taking a couple of deep breaths. Opening his eyes, he noticed that the woman was now looking at him. His natural smile spread onto his face and he instinctively straightened his tie, as he slowly approached the woman. Stopping just out of arms reach, Dembe spoke,
"I am Dembe Diamanka, representing the Government and People of Lycaon. I am honoured to be your guest, and I thank you for the hospitality shown to me already." Dembe paused briefly, moistening his lips which were drying out in the strong heat. "The Lycaoni government thanks you for the opportunity to be here at this discussion, and to share our views on the current situation. I hope we can work together to ensure a better future for all of us, and our children."

[Nalaya]

Kella smiled, shaking his hand without the usual hesitation that came from the Vatani. "Salam, Mr. Diamanka. I recognized you from your pictures—the university here just had a conference on the end of colonialism and where the region might go from here. You were understandably mentioned. I apologize that this meeting was called on such short notice, but the actions of Kalumba took us all by surprise. Vatan has been wounded by the unwarranted attacks on our ships, but we are not all terrorists as we have been painted. War is a poor way of life; we hope that through speech, we can avoid it and focus on areas of more pressing concern. But it seems so far that we are not so fortunate and the old prejudices remain on both sides."

She spoke both English and Afrikaans better than Yohannes van der Aart, the normal liaison with the outside world. "I am Khelilah bint Diya al Din, what you might think of as a warlord. The actual meaning of our titles are sadly lost in translation, as many things are. Kella, however, will suffice. Your journey was not too difficult, I hope. The winds from the desert seem to disagree with the constitutions of many. I fear Mr. van der Aart will not be joining us; he is suffering from a lamentable case of heatstroke after an ill-advised public event this morning."

How anyone could be so poised in the blistering heat of Vatan or so full of vitality was a mystery that had baffled the rest of the world since Vatan's founding. And Kella was even worse as a highlander, enduring sudden freezes equally without complaint. Thankfully, this room was mystically cooler than the rest of the building, hovering around a much more comfortable eighty degrees. The secret was a clever sort of Vatani engineering, using the water that fed the gardens to cool the center-most room of the building. It was also half sunken into the ground, much lower than it seemed.

She inclined her head respectfully to the Cyannan as she shook his hand as well. "Colonel Petzer, I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. It is ever an honor to host Cyanna's representative here in Vatan. I wish you a chance at peace and an end to your insurgency. I understand our relations may have contributed somewhat. We are not well loved by our neighbors, and this is not without cause. But perhaps this is the first step to a change. Now that the tribes are a legitimate part of the government, we grow less hostile. As the shadow of colonialism fades, the future brightens."

Kella's optimism had done much to ease the old hatred for all things foreign. She was the bridge that joined a hopeful future to the bloody past. Her time in the outside had profoundly changed her. Nalaya had taught her that the impossible could be achieved, and her studies had stripped away preconceptions. The old ways were true for the old days. Now, Vatan was beginning again. Kella had risen to prominence for her vision, charisma, and a will you could bend horseshoes around. If Vatan went to war with Kalumba now, it would be for a future and not a past.

She motioned for them to have a seat at the low table. "If you would like anything, you need only ask. There is iced tea coming, as it is almost three o'clock, and I had the secretary unlock the liquor cabinet. Much of Vatan is a dry country, but Yohannes has a great and curious weakness for both schnapps and brandy."

Despite the overwhelming Muslim population, Vatan had never become a country where alcohol was illegal. If people wanted to get drunk, that was fine in the city. But outside of Kingstown and the colonial areas, it was almost impossible to find and usually kept for guests.

[Kalumba]

"Unwarranted attacks?" demanded Limbani who had finally aquiesed to enter the room without the 10 man KSAS escort he had brought with him to the meeting. "You label the shipping conatainers as car parts and when we open them they are full of assault rifles, and mortars. That is an unwarranted attack? And why describe the perfectly legal practice of searching a suspicious vessels cargo as an attack, you are trying to paint us in the poorest of lights.

Now i can prove nothing of where these weapons were going but ever since 'The War' the Bechuane Army of People's Liberation has operated out of Vatan, and Cyanna" he added with a pointed glare at the Cyannan officer sat at the other end of the room. "But it seems likely to us, and to the Central Intelligence Organisation source that told us the ship was loaded with weapons, that they were going to arms dealers who show no moarls in who they sell the weapons too. And in the past have dealt with BAPL agents. Kalumba will not allow any threat to our nation.

However we are happy to note that in some areas BAPL camps are being cleared by Vatani forces, and we are prepared to relax the ban on importing weapons if these actions are kept up." Turning to Colonel Petzer Limbani returned to his bellicose nature of before "Cyanna on the other hand has shown no attempt to diperse BAPL insurgents and they still freely cross the border near Kahali National Park, which as i am sure you are aware is on our two nations border. As such Kalumban ports remained closed to any arms shipments to your nation and we will continue to target terrorists caught either side of our border."

With this he sat down and awaited the tirade of abuse he felt sure would come from the Vatani and Cyannan delegates, and wished he had the SAS men with him. Paranoid as usual he feared a physical attack upon his person.

[Lydenburg]

Kingstown, Vatan

Colonel Petzer cringed as the blustering Kalumban delegate stormed into the room without proper formalities or introductions. His narrowed eyes clearly indicated that this was a man at the end of his patience, and it wasn't long before they fell upon Petzer, in his Cyannan military uniform.

I hope this good fellow remembers that it is never a sound policy to shoot the messenger.

Still, he remained silent until the Kalumban's frustrated speech was finished, sitting upright at the conference table as an object in a display glass.

"....We are happy to note that in some areas BAPL camps are being cleared by Vatani forces, and are prepared to relax the ban on importing weapons if these actions are kept up. Cyanna, on the other hand, has shown no attempt to disperse BAPL insurgents and they still freely cross the border near Kahali National Park, which, as I am sure you are aware, is on our two nation's border. As such, Kalumban ports remained closed to any arms shipments to your nation and we will continue to target terrorists caught either side of our border."

When Mr. Limbani appeared to have run out, he finally settled down into a seat, looking about with the expression of a cornered cat.

Petzer spoke in a patient tone as he responded carefully. There was only one remedy for someone who makes the diplomatic mistake of losing his patience and talking like a drunk.

"We seem to have touched you in a rather tender spot, my good fellow. However, I was not aware that the sole purpose of this meeting was to discuss the BAPL freedom fighters in Kalumba." He allowed a moment of silence to follow before looking at the Vatani woman, who was no doubt trying to process the flow of angry words they had been bombarded with.

"Now that we've settled one viewpoint of the matter, shall we open the real proceedings?"

[Nalaya]

Office of the Regional Magistrate, Kingstown, Vatan

"Ah yes, you make a great deal of noise about those weapons. I wonder--Mr. Limbani, is it?--if you are aware of the more valuable cargo that was taken from us, which was not reported," Kella said with a polite smile, picking up her reading glasses and donning them as she looked down at her notes. "50 crates of antibiotics, 14 crates of prescription medications specifically ordered, 25 crates of anti-inflammatory and painkilling drugs, 5 specialty containers with vaccines for polio and other childhood diseases, 25 crates of anesthetics and surgical tools, and 1 crate of eyeglass lenses made for order."

She set down her glasses and clasped her hands on the table in front of her. "I am willing to believe that you honestly did not intend to intercept those particular parts of the smuggled cargo. I would almost dare to hope that these are still in Kalumba, and have not been sold by your teams who found those weapons on the black market, where they would fetch a great deal of money. Are you aware of the sanctions still held regionally against Vatan? We have no legitimate way to obtain these things. We sell arms to anyone who will buy them, including the BAPL, because our tribes have been extorted to destitute poverty by both reparations and our own colonial leaders here in Kingstown. You are not a man who understands necessity, Mr. Limbani. You do not know what it is like to wake up every morning and have to explain to your child why they cannot have breakfast or why their medicine is not coming."

The Vatani warlord did not flinch or back down from the Kalumban delegate, meeting him measure for measure in his stare. However, she was perfectly calm, unlike him. "I am not an unreasonable woman, Mr. Limbani. I know how dangerous the BAPL are. I have taken action against them because they directly threaten our livelihood. But if you storm in here and wave around your righteous indignation, you will learn that the Vatani have no peaceful words for those who do not listen."

She glanced up when Nadir came in with a ceramic tea service, setting it down on the table. "Thank you, Nadir. That will be everything."

Kella poured herself a cup of tea, leisurely breaking eye contact with the Kalumban. "Since borders have come up, I think this is as good a time as any to discuss one of the other concerns of Vatan. It has been difficult, but we have finally brought everyone on our side of the border into respecting that barrier. When did things like national sovereignty and borders become optional for Kalumba? Would they allow us the same freedom to come and go as we like, firing guns and detonating bombs with impunity? I recall such things once being considered an act of war, but perhaps I am old fashioned."

She gave her guests a bright, friendly smile, as if to suggest she hadn't taken the cross-border raids seriously...yet.

[Kalumba]

"No, i do not know what it is like to tell my children their medicine is not coming or too explain why they can have no breakfast. But i did have to tell them for years why their mother was not around. Because she was raped and killed by a BAPL insurgent when they crossed from your country into mine!" replied Limbani with anger in his voice. "And you assume perhaps that our armed forces are as undisciplined as yours and would sell impounded goods for their own gain. In fact all items are in a government warehouse and while we try to impose fair sanctions upon our enemies, we do not deliberatley attempt to prevent the arrival of medical aid but in the past such crates have turned out to be filled with weapons of war not humanitarian aid so we must stop these as well. However as we now know these crates are full of non-military goods they will be returned to Vatani government once the correct import duty has been paid, double that for General Foodstuffs as the crates were labelled.

And you claim to have turned your border into one people respect? Then why do we still have terrorist attacks in our northern cities? Perhaps the isurgents walked unseen all the way from Kahali National Parker in the southern most part of Kalumba, or parachuted in from their own stealth aircraft? Or maybe they operated from their well known camps within Kalumba? Or they came from Vatan, we appreciate the small efforts you have made but still BAPL exist and we only target them. Name one time Kalumban troops have attacked Vatani civillians or detonated a bomb in your territory? We kill BAPL on your land because you do not. You clearly have not lost the woman you loved, as i and countless other Kalumbans have. You do not live in daily fear that as you board the train to work that it will be blown sky high, or that your children's school will be taken hostage by terrorists and you own flesh and blood gunned down. You have never had an airliner brought down by a terrorist missile, you do not know what it is to live in fear every day as each Kalumban has to and as such cannot understand the reason we impeach your borders. If you cannot stop BAPL we must!"

Limbani sat back in his seat and stared at the Cyannan officer, here sat a man who may have sent soldiers aginst Kalumba and spoke with the laid back manner of a university drop out. He spoke like he was better than Limbani, whom he had made abundently obvious that he believed was a fool. This Limbani felt was his most dangerous foe. Despite his claims most BAPL attacks were in the south and crossings from Vatan were minimal. It was Cyanna where the threat lay and where proffesional raids were carried out. He must try and force some settlement with this man.

[Lydenburg]

Kingstown, Vatan

Colonel Petzer pretended not to notice the unwavering gaze of the Kalumban diplomat. He thought about the operations that he had seen, the plans laid out, for attacks into Kalumban territory. He had also seen BAPL insurgents, up close, who were only to happy to receive crates of unmarked automatic weapons smuggled in from Lydenburg.

He thought about the Cyannan helicopters which flew daily recon missions over Kahali National Park, about the brave aviators who risked their lives to deliver information day or night. If only the Kalumbans knew that the Cyannan authorities had ordered their soldiers to stop the major cross-border operations for now. Rising briefly above his cluttered mind, Petzer decided the time had come for him to speak.

"Sirs, if I may interject here. I believe that you thus far--" His eyes connected with Limbani's. "--Have made very serious implications against the government of Cyanna, and thus of Lydenburg, without fully considering exactly what you have been saying. You seem to claim that we in Cyanna fully sanction the activities of the BAPL insurgency, and furthermore are allowing them to cross Kahali National Park on our borders. However, do you have any solid evidence that we are supporting them? No, you do not, and without evidence claims are nothing. You must understand that our frontiers are very hard to completely police, there is much wild country where any degenerates from bandits to the BAPL may hide. Nothing short of a massive search-and-destroy operation will flush them, if there are any, out, and we do not have the resources to waste on chasing ghosts."

His piece said, the colonel straightened his tie and sat down. It would be interesting to see if the Kalumban overreacted mechanically or actually proved reasonable, for a refreshing change.

In the meantime, if the worse came to worst and Kalumba was able to convince other nations in the region to impose an arms embargo on Cyanna, the authorities in Lydenburg would be able to make strong diplomatic protests and, supposing they could be manipulated enough, even ensure enough arms would still be shipped to the Cyannan dependency to defeat the purpose of sanctions. If the Kalumbans stepped up their cross-border raids, then here again Cyanna had the advantage. It would be then possible to retaliate with more covert operations, justifying them on the grounds that their neighbor was guilty of the same thing.

It was this balance which Petzer intended to maintain, meeting or not.

[Kalumba]

Limbani sifted through his folder and pulled out the document he had been looking for. It was a short report by the Central Intelligence Organisation accompanied by five photographs. Keeping the report to himself he passed the photographs to the other delegates. "These were taken in April of last year, three miles on the Cyannan side of the border near Kahali. As you can see there are clear military training facilities, a firing range indicated as A on the photographs. Also you will see a rudimentary assault course, marked B, and finally three barrack buildings and a barbed wire enclosed storeroom, marked C.

You will also note that the figures, enlarged on the last of the set of photographs, living in this camp are black and not white and unless i am mistaken Colonel but your regime does not employ black troops. Now CIO operatives claim this is a BAPL camp and that they made three raids into Kalumban territory since these photographs were taken. This camp is a little more than 2 or three men hiding in the bush and should be easily locatable to a modern army and as such a target if you are opposed to BAPL activities.

While my government does not believe you truly support BAPL, as a communist nation on your borders would not be a good thing for a racist regime like Cyanna's, we do not believe you are taking any effort to oppose them. As my government has made clear in the past sanctions and other restrictions on your nations" looking at the Vatani woman "Can be reduced in return for a less bellicose attitude to Kalumaba and a crackdown upon BAPL within your borders. If not we will continue to impose sanctions and launch raids beyond your borders."

Limbani knew he had been right about the Cyannan delegate, he was a hard man to corner but he hoped the photographs and reports, all faked and based on a training camp in Kalumba for Tembe Scouts, would turn the other delegates against the Cyannans and back up his case. While he knew the photographs had been faked he knew the Cyannan Colonel would not and that the other delegates couldn't either. Also such camps did exist but the Kalumban Air Force could not spend a long time searching for these as the chance of interception by the CAF was too great and the consequences of discovery far to great.

[Nalaya]

Kella's hand made a sharp bang as she slammed it against the surface of the table. Her expression remained unchanged, but this man's disinterest in true diplomacy infuriated her. It was as if he was trying to goad them into a war. "You think we smuggle things because it's amusing, Kalumban?" she said, voice sharp and clearly pointed. "Your taxes on Vatani goods have been crippling since the last war. Most of the people who require these medicines cannot afford to pay the taxes. Your fascination with destroying anything that might possibly be BAPL is crushing the people in my lands, rekindling the fears that colonial powers will try to take everything from them again. Do you know why people listen to the BAPL? Because they go hungry, because their loved ones are dying, and Kalumba does nothing to help. I have fought an uphill battle already to have this meeting. Most in this country would rather tear out your tongue and send you back to your warmongers like that."

"Frankly, I could less if the BAPL has in the past worked out of Cyanna, as long as it ends. The terrorist attacks you speak of across the border are not made by true Vatani. Our kin sometimes forsake our ways out of desperation or worse, vengeance, but they are no longer ours once they forsake the ways of the Khlanlar. They are no longer people."

Kella made a gesture indicating supreme frustration, her hands sweeping the air aside. "I have brought the free reign of the BAPL within Vatan to an end. And what does Kalumba do? You threaten us. I will consider doubling down in my efforts once you, Mr. Limbani, and your president learn the meaning of gratitude. I possess an excellent copy of the Oxford English Dictionary if the word is unfamiliar to you." Her expression was calm, but her amber eyes betrayed a great disquiet. Kella was difficult to rouse to temper, but this man was venturing into dangerous waters.

"Do not pretend all of us here do not know the meaning of suffering. Rattle your saber at me, and the challenge will not go unmet."

There was a soft knock at the door and then Nadir poked his head in. "Xasím, Natiq Rshtuni of Nalaya is here. She submits her sincere apologies for her tardiness."

Instantly, Kella seemed to brighten up. "Wonderful! Please, show her in. I do not believe the others have had a chance to meet Nalaya's representative."

The young woman who came in after Nadir was wheelchair-bound, but it had not always been so. The ever-smiling Maro Rshtuni of blue eyes had once been an intelligence operative in the war, one caught after crippling the efforts of several brutal generals. But as she was fond of saying, that was in another life. Now Maro's bones were crooked and knotted where they had healed improperly, from her legs to her ribs. "Salam, Siruhi Kella," Maro said with a wide smile, clasping the Vatani's hand warmly and giving her an awkward hug. "I hope I have not missed too much chest pounding. You must introduce me."

Maro was much fairer than Kella but shared a face shape, and her hair had plenty of red mixed with the brown. She was small and finer boned than the average Vatani, normal marks of a Nalayan. She was also one of the few interacting with foreigners who did not wear the black military uniform.

"Colonel Petzer, Mr. Diamanka, Mr. Limbani, this is Maro Rshtuni, the Commandant of the Nalayan Diplomatic Corps. She will be with us as a moderating influence in our talks, I hope. Nalaya has respectfully allowed us to make our own way in the world, but we share a kinship of sorts," Kella explained.

"Good morning, gentlemen. I hope you will forgive me. Nalaya is quite hopeful that these talks will improve the situation regionally. We have been trying to help as we can, but unfortunately the recent military build up has made many nervous about allowing more medical personnel in." Maro's good nature had clearly done its job in calming at least Kella.

[Kalumba]

After nodding acknowledgement to the Nalayan delegate Limbani responded to the barbed statement issued by the Vatani. "You seem to be forgetting why the last war happened. Your people, and the Cyannan's, decided that Kalumban ports were a nice prospect and invaded our land to gain them. And not only did you occupy most of my nation you carried out atrocity after atrocity leaving a lot of bitter hate and resentment within Kalumba. You appointed pro-BAPL governers to the occupied regions who further increased the misery of my people.

You armed BAPL during the war and you supported them, and until very recently they had free reign within your nation. Why should we drop sanctions? As far as we know these supplies are sold to BAPL or sold to buy weapons to use against us. Why should we help your people, who went to war with us for greed? We struggle to protect our own land, we struggle to feed our own people. The entire infrastructure of Kalumba is still critically damaged from the last war. We have to import everything and only our diamond reserves stop us starving.

And if as you say the BAPL supporters are no longer your people why do you object to us killing them? Or why do you fail to act against them? And you speak of gratitude, should you not be grateful that Kalumban forces did not sack you lands after the war? Or perhaps that we did not shoot your PoWs? Or maybe that we didn't carry out a scorched earth policy in your land as you did in ours> You need to do a lot more to simply make up for the suffering you caused Kalumba in the war, let alone earn our gratitude."

Limbani returned to his seat and seethed with anger. Always these people expected to be treated as equals, when they had raped his land and suffered nothing for it. Who cared if a few of their citizens starved or went without medicine? The same happened in Kalumba every day and accross the entire globe. But no one else had a problem like BAPL, no other nation lived in constant fear of losing a loved one to the insurgents every day.

[Nalaya]

The Vatani woman seemed to explode into a fury, both of her fists colliding with the low table in a thunderous crack. "I have offered you an olive branch! That is more than you will ever get from any other Vatani ever! And you spit in my face, as if to say, nothing wi satisfy us but he destruction of Vatan and all it's people!"

Kella's hand twitched slightly, as if longing for a blade. "I have done my best to move beyond the past for this meeting, kēnar, and you drag us back into it," she said harshly. "Your President wants a war with us? Tell him he may have it. Your time here is finished as far as I am concerned. You will have exactly what you wish from Vatan. The next cross-border raid you send will return in pieces. Vatan will continue it's purging of the BAPL, but because it is my will and not yours. I do not make peace with those who cast any overture of friendship back inky face and spit upon my honor. Because I have given my word, you leave here with your head still firmly attached to your shoulders." She waved her hand. "Nadir, fetch me Qasim's gift. The Kalumban gentleman clearly does not acknowledge our attempts, so perhaps he needs a true token of our feelings."

When the small man returned with it, she tossed the silk-wrapped bundle onto the table. It was the head Qasim had sent her. "This belonged to the man who lead the BAPL in Vatan. I did not know him. You, I do not like. Cross this border again, and I will show you the same courtesy I have him, kēnar. Do not let the door strike you on the way out; it is quite heavy, and Allah forbid you should even bruise in this country. Your President would have his colonial masters nuke us for it."

Maro sighed and touched Kella's shoulder. "That was not diplomatic, Siruhi..."

"No, it was not. But he did not want diplomacy, he wanted a war," she said harshly. "That is all Kalumba ever wants, to punish Vatan for what our parents and grandparents did." Kella sat down at the table and held her head in her hands. "It took me three weeks to get anyone to even consider the possibility of this meeting. I should have stabbed myself in the leg instead. Quicker and much less painful."

Maro nodded a little. "If Vatan pursues no aggressive actions against Kalumba or her allies, I imagine General Vaneni would gladly make use of the Vanguard to secure your country. But perhaps if you can open more legal channels of trade?"

Kella fervently hoped so. That was why she had been so thrilled to see Lycaon's delegate. but now, she was looking at another thirty years of suffering, both among her own kin and the outsiders who hemmed them in. Those reforms, those optimistic calls to speak to the kēnar instead of just killing them, a thousand hopes and dreams for a better future burned to ashes in a moment. She felt a bitter hate for the rest of the world. It was as if their intent was to keep the Vatani as xenophobic, impoverished warriors trying to eke out an existence as they watched their children starve.

She could see why people joined the BAPL now. It was sorely tempting, except for the fact that she had a whole nation relying on her.

Finally, Kella looked up. "Would anyone else here like to throw down a gauntlet, or are we quite finished."

[Kalumba]

Limbani sneered when he thought of the meeting he had left. Nothing but the treacherous cowards and untrustworthy scum the Vatani and Cyannan's had always been. What had they done to deserve Kalumba's friendship? Kill a few BAPL units to try and get relaxed sanctions and benefits for them. And as if the women had tried to scare him with that head, he had seen, and done, much worse during his service in the Kalumban Native Regiment. Well enough of that meeting t was time to look to the future and prepare to defend the border from BAPL and strike at any terrorist wherever they were. Whoevers borders had to be crossed.


Salisbury, Kalumba

Limbani followed the secretary into the President's office and greeted Omeru with a firm handshake and a rueful smile. "Things did not go well i guess?" asked the President. "Sadly not Victor, the stupid Vatani expect us to drop all sanctions and offer them our hand in friendship and forget all the ills of the past in return for the occasional attack on a BAPL camp." "This is sad news we need peace not war"

"I understand Victor, but we couldn't by peace on their terms. We would gain nothing from dropping sanctions, bar a more powerful and potentially hostile neighbour on our borders. And the meeting ended in the most unfriendly terms with insulting gestures towards us. And threats, they have brough Nalaya into this conflict and are trying to force concessions from us by force."

"This is a bad day Julius, alert the Armed Forces to carry out Grade C mobilisation and i want all reservists to double training and be prepared for full integration into their combat units. Also have one squadron of Tornadoes moved from Gwelo to Bulawayo Air Base and prepared for cross-border interception."

With these orders dispatched Omeru sat at his desk and began to write an address to the nation to prepare them for the possiblility of war. With his tears occasionally dripping onto the page he wrote a short speech that went out on the radio that night:

"My fellow Kalumbans, we have tried to make peaceful overtures to our neighbours, we have tried to get them to deal with the problems that dog us. We have asked them to deal with the insurgents so we do not have to cross their borders to keep our children safe. But they have spat on our offers. They have insulted our nation and sent grave threats towards our lands. From this day forward the border with Vatan and Cyanna is closed, nothing shall cross into their nations. We will stop any ship carrying them goods and confiscate the entire contents. And the National Park at Kahali will be patrolled by our Air Force and by a massively increased ground force. We will also ask our Norvenian Allies to come ashore and help to defend our land in case of attack."


The Ocean

As Admiral Flawse came alongside the CSS Anselm he was again overawed by her sive and brutal power and wished he could command a vessel of such power. But he still knew that the Tenacious was more than a match for anything any of nation could gather in these waters. Brushing some spray off his black coat and golden epaulettes he climbed into the Sea King and began the short trip to the Anselm.

Once abaord a group of ratings hurried him inside and to Admiral Peters. After saluting Flawse read the instructions he had been informed to pass on. There were two reasons that the message was not sent by radio. First if any nation was to intercept the message a pre-emptive strike may be taken on Kalumba and second the severe weather was adversley affecting all communications accross all but the shortest of distances.

"Kalumba has tried to reduce local tensions diplomatically but all we have recieved is blunt refusals of our offers and insults and threats from our neighbours. As such we would ask that your units are brought ashore to discourage any attack upon Kalumba and that your naval vessels enter Kalumban waters and assist in the blockade of Cyanna and Vatan and stop any ship carrying goods for those nations."


Bulawayo Air Base

Major Featherington sat next to Ohwala in the makeshift mess tent that had been established now that the Air Base was actually inhabited. He sipped his tepid beer and grimaced, then spoke to his companion "The Killing Lands you say it means?" "Yes when Chief Beli Mazuta ruled the Uhali in the days of Great Bechuane he made this his new capital after defeating a Hita attack on his lands. Stories say 20,000 Hita were slain and that Mazuta decided to commemorate his victory by moving his capital to a new city and he named it GwaBulawayo." "How very interesting, but not as interesting as the orders The Brig gave me yesterday" replied Featherington handing his wingman a sheaf of papers. Ohwala exclaimed in surprise and joy when he learnt thay had been commisioned into forming a special unit that would carry out incursions into Vatani airspace and disrupt any military activity anyway they could.

"Basically what we do is cross the border at 25,000 feet, high above the range of any SAM defences, and then cause havoc behind Vatani frontline defences. We simply appear on the radar in their land and then when they scramble we flee back accross the border and drop to a heigh well within range of our SAM defences and try and cause them to lose as many aircraft as possible, and if possible provoke an attack and the international community will come to our aid and see them as the aggressors."

[Lydenburg]

With the meeting suddenly at an end and the rude Kalumban representative leaving the conference area in long strides, Colonel Petzer looked carefully at his female hosts in the room.

"Typical Kalumba, I'm afraid." He removed his eyepiece to give it a quick buff with the sleeve of his uniform. "I see they haven't changed a bit since the last major diplomatic conventions several years ago. Nasty, repulsive, people in their government."

Perhaps with the fool in the room removed, something could still be salvaged of this conference. Petzer turned on the Nalayan delegate.

"I'm sorry that you, as a guest to this region, have had to witness such inexcusable behaviour, Miss Rshtuni. Drinks haven't even been served yet and already, the man has stormed out like a child who has just thrown a temper tantrum. Kalumba's uneasy transitional position at this time will explain his attitude. Explain, but in my opinion, does not excuse."

Immediately hoping to take charge and pull the agenda back together, the colonel said in a low tone, "Kalumba has been saddled with an aggressive new prime minister. He talks loudly and wages a war of words. His diplomats have clearly been influenced by his way of thinking. They demand boldly and will not make compromises or negotiate, as even civilized men must do. This may say something about how the power balance here may lean in the future. I strongly suggest--" Now his watery eyes connected with those of the Vatani woman.

"--That we make greater, stronger, relations between Cyanna and Vatan, including all leaders national or regional, our eventual pursuit in light of the recent....sabre-rattling. I implore you to consider this very seriously. We all know that if one of our nations should ever come under pressure of any sort, the other will soon follow. There is no difference between us in the mind of the Kalumban regime."

[Nalaya]

Kingstown Meeting, Vatan

Kella sighed. "You know Cyanna will always have Vatani, Colonel. We are allies. Your enemies are our enemies. But Vatan will not be the aggressor. I will not start this war, in the name of Allah and his prophet."

Maro looked sad for a moment. "General Vaneni feared such an outcome. This is a dangerous situation. We intend to appeal to Norvenia to moderate this conflict and avoid war. I fear for the future of Vatan and Cyanna. We must build a better future than this.

Nalayan Diplomatic Corps Envoy to Norvenia

"General Vaneni, this is a surprise!" the liaison said with a small, nervous smile. "What brings you here?"

The Protector sat down across the table and leaned forward. "I have business. Tell the Norvenians I would like to speak with them about this colonial crisis."

[Livensola]

Disaya, Usaya

The Statehouse was the finest example of Coscivian architecture in Usaya. The country's only stone building outside of Khadari territory, the Statehouse had been built by the Livensólan government during the Protectorate. Save for the labour and the stone, white granite quarried from the Khadari highlands far upriver, everything involved in the Statehouse's construction, from skilled craftsmen to doorknobs, had to be imported from Livensóla.

Usaya had no industry to speak of. There were some small, family-owned workshops in the Scarfem towns that made shirts, cookware, glass, and the like, but their products were too few in number and too poor in quality to bring a first- or even second-world standard of living to anyone more than a few day's walk from the towns. Building materials, tools, fuel, medicine, pens, vehicle parts, bandages, even hairbrushes had to be shipped in from abroad. As such, the slightest hint of conflict among the countries that separated Usaya from the sea was cause for concern. During The War, Usayans were reminded of how much they depended upon the outside world for everything but food. Not only was Livensólan cargo unable to pass through the warzone, but wartime shortages made it so that Usaya could not even look to its slightly more developed neighbours for imports. Gasoline ran out after a month. Toothpaste after two months. By the time the Royal Aircorps was finally able to airlift provisions into Disaya Airfield, the government had resorted to handwriting official documents with berry ink on handmade paper from the missions.

The conference at Kingstown was probably over by the time Prime Secretary Ardredon had even heard that it was going to occur. Even information was subject to shipping delays in Usaya. The Livensólans had tried to introduce telephony, but the landlines outside of the larger towns gradually broke down after independence. There were twelve sattelite internet uplinks in Usaya, and four of them were in the Statehouse.

"So, Sèr Nayir, what are we to do?" asked the Prime Secretary, pointing to the open portfolio on his desk.

Mabuke Dafar Nayir, a middle-aged Mohombi man, and Usaya's Secretary of State, replied in Livensórona with an upper-class accent coveted even among well-to-do Liscem in the old mother country. "We, Sèr, are like the sailors in Hüvrius's Albatross. We can see the storm coming, and we know the trouble that it will bring. Yet stranded on a reef, there is little that we can do about it."

Nayir was one of only a few dozen Indigens in the government, and the only one in the Cabinet. Indigenous were rare in the government not because of Coscivian discrimination against them, but because the tribal delegates in the Grand Council were disinclined to put men from rival tribes in positions of power. Coscivians were appointed for their neutrality as much as anything else. The second son of a village chief and a convert to Ruricanism under Ardredon's father, who convinced the Rurican Patriarchy to send Nayir to university in Livensóla, Nayir was throgoughly Cosconised. He spoke four Coscivian languages, absorbed Coscivian literature like a sponge, and kept up with the latest fashion and abigen scores from Livenóla. However, he still had the calm, patient outlook of a people whose survival depnded only on the flow of the river and the regular cycle of the two seasons.

Ardredon nodded in agreement. "During the last war, when supplies started running out, the border tribes started making raids across the border and selling themselves out as mercenaries. The common people, obviously, had little need for manufactures, but the tribal leaders wanted to control the supply of fuel and ammunition. They did so good a job of it that the Madoka and their allies were about to make war against them until the Livensólans flew in to restore order."

"As they will probably do again, if things come to war up there. If that is where things are headed, then there is nothing we can do about it. We have neither the cause to get involved in the affair, nor the influence to make a difference if we did."

"I don't think that you read Albatross properly, Sèr Nayir. The sailors on the reefed ship didn't just watch the storm approach. They took down their sails and battoned down the hatches, and we should do the same. We should dip into the reserves and start stockpiling gasoline and medicines, so that it is the government, not any tribe or group of tribes, that has a monopolay on them if the supply chain gets cut off."

"A wise choice, Sèr. But when bullets start flying, will it help?"

"More than nothing."

[Norvenia]

CNS Anselm, Flagship of the Norvenian Fourth Fleet, 0650 hours

"Kalumba has tried to reduce local tensions diplomatically but all we have recieved is blunt refusals of our offers and insults and threats from our neighbours. As such we would ask that your units are brought ashore to discourage any attack upon Kalumba and that your naval vessels enter Kalumban waters and assist in the blockade of Cyanna and Vatan and stop any ship carrying goods for those nations."

The bridge of the Anselm fell utterly silent. Every eye was fixed on Admiral Peters and General Burke. When Peters spoke, her voice was soft and noncommital. "Your call, General."

Burke sucked in a deep breath and then nodded swiftly. "We'll help, Admiral, but we'll do it in our own way. War has not yet been declared, so I cannot legally authorize a full blockade. What I can do is have every ship that enters Kalumban waters which might be carrying goods intended for Cyanna and Vatan stopped and searched for weapons. We have the naval strength for that." Peters nodded in confirmation.

"As to the deployment of ground troops, you've got it, but we won't move beyond Kalumban borders unless provoked. Supply of food and oil will also be your responsibility; I can't organize a supply chain across your entire country. But you'll have twenty thousand Norvenian troops guarding your borders by this time tomorrow."

Burke saluted Flawse. "Thank you for your message, Colonel." He gave a predatory grin. "Now let us do our job."

Kalumban Territorial Waters, 1200 hours

Ten Norvenian missile destroyers, four battleships, and two aircraft carriers fanned out five miles from Kalumba's shore to form a broad belt of overlapping radar surveillance stretching for the entire length of Kalumba's sea-coast. Any ship that entered that belt was hailed, and if there was an indication that it might be heading for Cyanna or Vatan, it was stopped and searched by Norvenian Fleet Security Force troopers. The FSF was an elite Norvenian naval unit that specialized in maritime counterterrorism; it was specificially and exclusively trained for shipboard combat, and each Norvenian warship carried a small contingent of FSF troopers. Admiral Peters carefully organized the blockade so that no ship of any size could slip through without showing up on the Norvenian radar; to make things extra sure, she dispatched reconnaisance flights from the two aircraft carriers to scan for smaller vessels, and she requested satellite surveillance of the Kalumban coastline, which was granted within a few hours.

In six hours, Kalumba's territorial waters were a Norvenian lake, and nothing larger than a speedboat could make it through without Peters knowing about it. One of her bridge crew, an older man by the name of Pyke, smiled and shook his head at the strength of the blockade. "Why," he muttered under his breath, "it's like we never left."

Troubled, Admiral Janice Peters thought about that for a long time afterwards.

CNS Augustine, Flagship of the Norvenian Seventh Fleet, 0700 hours

"Go! Go! Go!" The flaxons' flash and spin, coupled with the din over the intercom system, got Captain Richard Graber flying up out of his bunk and sprinting for the flight deck. Racing up the metal stairs within the aircraft carrier, he found Captain Gabriella Marks. Graber grabbed her by the shoulder and all but shouted in her ear, trying to be heard above the din. "What's going on? Are we under attack?"

"No!" Marks shouted back. "Better! We're deploying!"

An icy hand seized Graber's heart, and his hand flew desparately to his pocket, searching for his wallet. Tony. Sandra. Jesus Christ, I don't want to die.

Marks watched him, then snorted affectionately. "Relax. Right now, we're just flying overwatch for the infantry deployment. Not even a combat mission. Besides, there's nothing out there with a good chance of taking down a modern strike fighter, remember?"

Graber nodded. He wasn't much reassured, but there wasn't anything he could do about his fears, so he pressed them to the back of his mind and pounded up the steps. Marks and her group from Third Squadron peeled off to get to their planes, while Graber and his comrades in First Squadron came up into the balmy tropical air on the flight deck. Squinting in the sunlight, Graber was struck again by the beauty of this place - the still turquoise sea, the distant green shoreline. A tropical paradise, he thought. Jesus Christ, don't let me die here.

The flight crew had gotten his plane ready. Graber flung himself into the Super Hornet's cockpit, pulling on his helmet and mask. The world seemed to move a little farther away as the glass cockpit slid forward around him and sealed with a hiss. And then there was just the crackle of orders in his ears, the hand on the stick, the old routine of the takeoff, and he was hurtling into the air, and beneath him, Kalumba slid into view like a rumpled green carpet. Well, thought Dick Graber, here we go.

Bvumba Mountains, Northeast of Salisbury, 2240 hours

"My God," yawned Private Matt McMullins, "are we there yet?"

Private Jung-hye Park glared at the other Norvenian sitting in the back of their armored Humvee. "So help me God, Matt, if you do that one more time I'm gonna kill you."

McMullins opened one eye. "Ooh, I'm scared," he whispered. "Seriously, though, where are we?"

The Nineteenth Infantry Division had been deployed to the Bvumba Mountains along the Cyannan border; their job was to prevent any Cyannan preemptive strike on Salisbury or Sinoia. Fifteen hours before, the Nineteenth had been put ashore in Humvees and supply trucks and told that they, and a group of 75 Abrams battle tanks, had twenty-four hours to get to the mountains in order to preempt any Cyannan assault.

For the first few hours, it had been fun. The Humvees and trucks raced down the dirt roads, flinging mud everywhere. They rolled through villages at a slower pace, to prevent accidents, and the camoflagued Norvenian troops (like all other Norvenian soldiers, the Nineteenth had switched to MARPAT uniforms as part of the Norvenian military reforms) tossed candy to the children from the windows of their Humvees. Norvenia had voluntarily given Kalumba its independance, so there was no hatred of the Norvenian flag emblazoned on the vehicles that plowed through the village streets. After about nine hours, they had gotten to within a hundred miles of Salisbury, and the roads became paved in places. For the most part, the Norvenian troops were happy just to sit and watch the landscape, a place of jungles and savannas that streatched as far as the eye could see, so different from the fields and mountains and deep pine forests of their homeland. They were hot, of course, but that was bearable. For the most part, it seemed like a great adventure to be in such a wonderfully exotic place. Despite the occasional shriek of a Norvenian warplane overhead, there was no real sense of danger, and the soldiers mostly felt like they were on a road trip. "Join the Army, see the world," pronounced Private James "Rookie" Washburn at one point, and everyone laughed because it seemed so true.

Then, it got uncomfortable. For fifteen hours, there were no stops to stretch one's legs or answer the call of nature. They ate nothing but ration bars from their packs. They even rotated who got to stand in the cupola and man the Humvee's minigun, because that person at least got to work the cramps out of their legs. The exception to this was Washburn, who was driving, and who periodically let them all know how unfair it was that he was stuck in the driver's seat the entire time. The mood in the Humvee got steadily fouler as darkness fell, and McMullins had started up with his incessant "Are we there yet?"s, which had rapidly driven everyone else insane. Washburn fell into a brooding silence as the convoy wound its way up the jungle-clad slopes of the Bvumba mountains, and everyone else soon fell silent too as the Humvee rattled along dirt tracks leaning this way and that above alarming drops. At one point, the tires of the Humvee failed to grip, and Corporal "Preacher" Bennet swore foully in absolute terror, which stunned everyone. "I didn't know he could do that," remarked Jung-hye afterwards.

And now it was late at night, God-only-knew where way up in the depths of the mountain jungle, and Jung-hye looked about ready to kill McMullins and risk the court-martial.

Suddenly, Bennet stiffened as a voice crackled in his ear over the communications equipment built into his standard-issue Norvenian balaclava - now olive to go with the MARPAT uniforms rather than the traditional black. Bennet still wasn't sure how he felt about that change. For the moment, he turned to Washburn. "Rookie, pull over into that village and stop."

"We're there!" cried McMullins in delight. The Humvee bumped into the middle of a clearing in the jungle and came to a halt. The squad piled out, staring around. The Nineteenth Infantry and their armored escort had broken up into smaller and smaller units as they moved up into the mountains. Bennet's group now had two platoons mounted in ten Humvees, one Abrams tank, one M142 rocket artillery unit, and three supply trucks. The whole group came to a stop in the outside the village. Way up in the mountain jungle, the Kalumban villagers emerged to stare wide-eyed at the camoflagued Norvenians in their armored vehicles. Corporal Bennet watched as a lanky Captain got out of one of the other Humvees and began speaking to the villagers in halting Swahili: "We are from the Norvenian Army. My name is Captain Damien MacAdams. We are here to help protect your country. May we share the hospitality of your village?"

Bennet wasn't exactly sure what they was going to do if the villagers said no - the Norvenians' orders were to come here and stay put. Not my job. Besides, the Kalumbans have been pretty nice so far. He wandered through the village, SCAR rifle held loosely in his gloved hands. Coming to the back of the village, Bennet suddenly stopped. Within his balaclava, his jaw dropped. Before him, the mountain dropped away and hills and valleys stretched off as far as the eye could see, silver in the moonlight, far away into the east. Cyanna, he realized. I'm looking into Cyanna. Bennet shook his head. So this is why the brass wanted us here, he thought numbly. With one last glance out at the sweeping vista, he turned his back and walked back to see if the villagers were going to agree to let them stay.

Kariba, 2130 hours

"We're here," announced Captain Tobias Conway, as the M1A2 Abrams shuddered to a halt outside of Kariba. The Second Armored Division had been broken up to provide armor and artillery support for all Norvenian forces, but the largest remaining concentration - almost fifty tanks - was in Kariba. That put them within easy reach of gas and resupply, but close to the Cyannan border. Technologically, Cyanna was a more serious threat than Vatan, so the odds of a tank battle were higher on what was already being called "the Cyannan Front" - hence the concentration of Norvenian tanks, ready to halt a Cyannan armored thrust.

A number of incredibly fast-moving supply trucks had made it to Kariba before the Second Armored, and Conway found a Forward Operating Base already under construction just outside the town, prefabricated tents and fortifications rising as if by magic. "Take us in, Jerry," he said absentmindedly, and the tank rolled into the FOB, parking in a cleared area marked with its serial number. "Well, out we go," Conway announced, and popped the tank's hatch, climbing out.

It had been an uneventful journey. The tanks had plowed inland northeast along roads that ran alongside the Bechuane river; detritus of the fighting from the old war was still visible here and there. The tanks hadn't stopped and had bypassed villages, so they'd made very good time. Twilight was just beginning to fall as they rolled into the Kariba FOB.

Corporals Jerry Hatfield and Emily Mason hauled themselves out of the tank, followed a moment later by Private Jeremiah Watts. A supply crew was already looking after the Abrams. I've got to think of a name for her, Conway thought, and then turned to his crew. "Well, good job today," he said awkwardly. "You can find your billets now." He glared comically at Hatfield and Mason, waggling his eyebrows. "And no funny business, y'hear?" The two corporals put on expressions of pained innocence, then burst out laughing and headed off, arms around each other. Conway shook his head with a weary grin. They've got to be careful. Not everyone is as forgiving of military relationships as I am.

Jeremiah Watts stared after the departing lovers, and then at Conway. The young man's dark eyes were utterly unreadable. Silent, he turned and walked away in the opposite direction from Hatfield and Mason.

Conway sighed. He's still damn scary, he thought. And pitiable, all at the same time. The captain's reflections were interrupted by a shout. "Captain Conway!"

Conway turned. "Yes, sir!" He saw a short, burly man striding towards him. For a moment, Conway didn't recognize him in the new uniform; Norvenian tanks and tank crews had both traded in the traditional black for olive-drab. Then it came to him. "Colonal Jeffries, sir! What can I do for you?"

"Conway, I've put in a call to the local Kalumban commander, told him that we need to talk strategy. He should be here soon, and I'd like you to be in on the meeting. Up for it?"

"Absolutely, sir." Conway nodded, and followed the colonel off towards the central tent. At that moment, for the first time, the reality of what was going on hit him and a shiver went down his spine.

I'm probably at war.

Gwalo, 0230 hours, D-Day + 1

The sudden jerk as the Puma Infantry Fighting Vehicle stopped cracked Staff Sergeant Marge Lansford's head into the armored wall of the IFV's troop compartment, knocking her helmet over her face and waking her up. "Aw, Jesus," she complained, "where the hell are we?"

"Gwalo," called the driver, "near the Vatan border. It's two-thirty AM."

"AM?" asked Lansford. "So it's tomorrow?"

"Theoretically," replied the driver. He sounded exhausted.

"All right," Marge announced, gathering herself. "Everybody up! Let's go!" The squad collected itself from where it was laying in a dog-pile on the floor of the IFV. The mad dash from the landings site to Gwalo had taken more than twenty-four hours, and ultimately everyone had just given up and gone to sleep. Marge had stayed awake as long as possible, watching Private Petey Han to make sure he didn't kill her in her sleep, but after even the Chinese gangster had fallen asleep, she had given up too. Now, the heap of camoflagued bodies that was Lansford's squad had disentangled itself and begun pouring out the back of the IFV as the assault gate went down.

Looking blearily around, Marge saw an FOB rising around the hundreds of IFVs and thousands of Norvenian troops assembled outside Gwalo. The Fourth Infantry were a mechanized infantry division, so they enjoyed the luxury of being based in a large town; they could move rapidly enough to meet any Cyannan or Vatani assault before it made it much beyond the border. She finally hunted down the figure of Lieutenant Tim Pritchard; the Norvenian combat uniform included unusually extensive body armor, covering thighs, groin, torso, neck, shoulders, and upper arms - that, plus the helmet and the balaclavas, packed with communications and air filtration equipment, made all Norvenian soldiers look essentially the same. Pritchard, though, had this annoying walk. It's too upright, Marge thought. He doesn't know when to duck.

Walking over to the lieutenant, Lansford saluted wearily. "What's going on, sir?"

Pritchard waved his arms. "This is our base," he announced. "We all need to find our billets. The general will be liasing with the Kalumban commander, but that's not my job, thank God. We're supposed to hold down the whole Vatani border, and part of the southern Cyannan border too, but I'm not worried." Pritchard's expression was hidden by his balaclava, but Marge was sure he was grinning. Cocky bastard. He should be worried.

"Well, sir, I guess I'll go and find my billet then." Glancing around, Lansford saw Corporal Mary Griffiths pull off her helmet and balaclava and shake out her long blonde hair. Marge felt an irrational sting of annoyance. Soldiers shouldn't look that good. Pritchard was watching; Marge could feel him watching Griffiths. With a growl of annoyance, she stormed off toward the prefabricated trailer barracks being set up in neat lines around the FOB.

Private Petey Han watched. He saw it all. And he smiled.

Kahali National Park, 1645 hours

The Airborne, of course, were in before everyone else.

Ten UH-1Y Venom helicopters touched down in the savannah outside a Kalumban army camp on the edge of Kahali National Park. It was a scene repeated all across the park, as five thousand Airborne deployed by helicopter around Kahali. A cloud of dust whipped up around the helicopters as they settled onto the dry ground.

Captain John Mortimer led the way out of the helicopter. The dust cloud would have been stifling, but the air filtration in his balaclava kicked in and he could breathe easily, albeit only rather shallowly. Hunched over slightly, he led the way towards the army base. Though the sudden appearance of the high-tech helicopters would probably be identification enough, he shouted out anyway: "Norvenian Airborne! Hold your fire!"

Reaching the edge of the army base, he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Grace, see to the helos." Lieutenant Grace Vandercreuse nodded and saluted crisply, taking ten men out of the hundred-strong Airborne company and heading back to safely ground the helicopters.

Meanwhile, Mortimer exchanged a glance with the two men flanking him. "What do you think?"

Private Nate Savage snorted. "I think that if a hundred elite soldiers showed up on the doorstep of my base in the late afternoon, I'd be pretty damn freaked out."

"We're here to help," observed Corporal Richard Chang calmly.

"Yeah," snorted Savage, "I know. Question is: do they?"

"Only one way to find out," Mortimer said. He gestured to the Airborne to stay put and tossed his SCAR to Chang, who caught it deftly. Then he walked into the center of the army base, hands held high. "Captain John Mortimer, Norvenian Tenth Airborne Division," he announced in fluent Swahili. "I'd like to see the commanding officer here!"

Chancellor House, Astor-of-Stone, Commonwealth of Norvenia, 1000 hours

An aide stuck his head into Chancellor Gwillem Thomas's office. "Sir," he announced, "we've got Protector Vaneni on a videoconference call for you. The Foreign Office says it's urgent, and Secretary O'Donnel says that you should take it."

Thomas nodded wearily and levered himself onto his feet. A tall, distinguished-looking man in his fifties with blond hair gone mostly white and piercing blue eyes, he was widely regarded as the most important Christian Socialist politician since Chancellor James Edwards. During his tenure as Chancellor, Norvenia had become a key player in world affairs, and he was credited with having made interventionism acceptable in Norvenian political discourse.

Now he nodded to the aide. "All right, Nick. I'm on my way." He strode through the crowded hallways of Chancellor House, past staffers and soldiers alike, until he reached a secure communications room. Settling himself in a leather armchair as the door hissed and sealed behind him, he tapped a stud on the table in front of him and saw the screen on the wall opposite come to life, filling up with the features of the Nalayan leader.

"General Vaneni," Thomas said with a small smile. "I'm amazed that we've never gotten the chance to talk before. So, what can I do for you today? Is this about New Edom or about Kalumba?"