Novaya Muscovy - La República de Russo-España
August 26th 2016
It did not die with the draconian archaic roar that the entire world would have expected. No...There were no bellows, no great outcries of resistance; she simply buckled and became unto history as a footnote, like when the Romans took Carthage, never again was it spoken of. That too; was the fate of the Greater Russo-Spanish Empire. In her bed, silently in the night; assassins took her life. Now she was gone, dead and forgotten. In her place stood a dark parody to her former glory.
The Russo-Spanish Republic was a place ruled through the closefisted iron will of Generalissimo Dimitrian Alyosha Yakovlev; military commander of the newborn again nation. When he took power in May he was...Merciless; there was no symbolism of quarter to any of his enemies. Nobles; Kings, and men so great that not in a hundred generations would there be more like them. Then, came the morning; and only a single monolithic entity remained. The Republic.
There were objections, of course. Russo-Spain's closest allies decried him, even those who had nothing to do with them decried him. In the end, for naught; so it seemed. Now however; his power, it stood solidified and upon a throne of nails he sat oddly comfortable; unfeeling of the plots conspired against him. When his nation, and it's sister Alsionia were assured of their loyalty to him, he looked out on the world; he made allies with the ravenous beast that was the Commonwealth of Birkaine; he made deals with The Darkness itself.
Then, he set his objective. Russo-Spain was weak; she was mocked and laughed at for too long, for seventy years the world dared to prod, to jeer. No longer; when they looked up from the dirt of the Earth; they would fear. They would tremble before their rightful masters as they once did before. All the world would be humbled before them, from the frozen wastes of Rossiya to the distant tropical Hawai'ian islands of California. Those who laughed; would die. Those who were once among them, would be made so once more, via force of arms. He built up his armies, his navy and his aeroforces, he disciplined his troops in the ways of modern warfare; he drove out two thousand years of thought and idiocy; he reforged a new, a force that could bring the world it's reckoning.
His eyes then went south. The United States of Euro-Asia, the first true-born republic; the second democratic nation after Roma. Once, part of the Empire. A loyal constitute given freedom famously by the willing liberalness of Catherine the Great. Across the Athenian Sea there was the equally inapt Polish Republic; but for the time being at least their continued existence benefited the dictator. Euro-Asia however; held nothing but contempt for his being. James Westinghouse, Prime Minister therein and political leader of the nation, shortly after pulling his nation out of civil war before it could turn into a brutal slugfest made his denouncation of the new Russo-Spanish Republic crystal clear.
This was a breaking point for Dimitrian, while yes; he was as the Romans would say "Dictator in Perpetuity"; he'd at least attempted to make face towards the democrats of the world; their very systems their weakness, strength and cowardice coming in equal amounts with each new President, Premier or Prime Minister. There were elections, political doctorings and other such things enough to keep even the rabid liberal-imperialists of Eslovakia happy. Yet Euro-Asia could see through them all, a most annoying fact.
Dimitrian finally decided that enough, was indeed, enough. Euro-Asia was down on it's knees, it was crumbling from the inside and at the moment, had little ability to oppose them. Without hesitation Dimitrian sent word to his generals and admirals; his air fleet commanders and few advisers. Euro-Asia would be the first in a long line of disobedient subjects to crumble.
The Amber Mountains - Russo-Spain
September 16th - 2016
The conglomerated force of a world stood at the base of one of the tallest mountain chains known, say what could be said about the mighty Waldreich Mountains of Belka, or the snow-capped peaks of the Rossiyan Caucus Mountains; the Amber Mountains were a fortress; for over a thousand years no one ever entered, and no one ever left by way of land. They were the ultimate in defense, until today. The shield that protected them was known to them, every cave and valley, it offered no defense to anyone but themselves.
There were four passes through them, even now they began to become slick with frost, though the snow for the valleys below was months off at best. Yet they knew ways to avoid it, and so they came. As a general Dimitrian understood that he would not need teeming millions, and unlike the Commonwealth or the Rossiyans, there were no angelic numbers. One million, two hundred thousand; that was all. Men, Tanks, Horses, Artillery, Planes, Helicopters, and every mirade of conceivable thing in between them was allotted; the Russo-Spanish Southern Army; rightly speaking while it was trained modernly it had not seen proper warfare since the Second Rostilian War; where as the force it would be going against, battered as they were were scarred with the experience of war. These semi-green men would come down from the Amber Mountains like a raging gale, the thunder of their boots enough to shake the earth and crack the skies.
From the seas would come the Southern Fleet from Novaya Vladivostok in Alsionia across the Russo-Spanish Straits to strike at Euro-Asia's flanks along the northern and eastern coasts in the Iron Sea. From the Athenian Sea would come Battlefleet Athena, the most veteran, and now the most modern fleet in the Russo-Spanish Navy; while the battleship squadron got all of the glory, it was the conglomeration of two Admiral Kuznetsov Aircraft Carriers and their various escorts that did the actual fighting and dying for the Russo-Spanish; granted, in face of the conqueror of hundreds of nations, Battlefleet Legionaire of Birkaine, it was noting, but it could certainly hold it's own, especially now that it stood upgraded, modernized with the addition of six of twelve brand new Birkanian made 1080-class Missile Cruisers. More than a match for the Euro-Asian Navy.
While from docks came the ships, and land came the men; moving in tandem as one also came the planes. The Amber Mountains were tall things, but not tall enough for the ambitions of men, the Belkan manufactured Gu-215 Heavy Fighter Jet soared, an effective and battle hardened counterpart to Euro-Asian F-16s along side it the Hr-299 Light Fighter to support. Like pawns in a grand chess game, the men of Russo-Spain who were loyal to the ambitions of Dimitrian's evil moved forward in a singular grand wave of coordination that would've made the Romans weep with pride at such discipline. Across speakers from radios to the armed forces came the charismatic; powerful and disciplined voice of their leader as they moved to strike their objectives; Cape Rainy, for Battlefleet Athena, Anchorhead Bay, for the Southern Fleet, Faith Park, and Saint Ark itself; the very capitol of Euro-Asia for the army and airforces; before they moved to strike out and conquer every inch of the republic.
"Forward to the Goals of the Republic. Forward to the Russo-Spanish People. For Race and Empire..." There was no speech, just words of ambition, and strength; and a perverse uttering of a proud statement...
