Imperial Recrudescence [Greater Díenstad; In Character]

by **The Macabees** » Sat Nov 22, 2014 2:53 pm

Roundup of Relevant News, E. I

Golden Throne Officials Heavily Criticize Haize Trade Restriction Plans

Fedala, Imperial Province — The Haize Government's decision to restrict imports by 40–70 percent, by issuing import quotas on agricultural goods and raw materials, has received harsh criticism from both the Imperial Government and Senatorial Government. While the restrictions are unlikely to affect direct trade between the two countries, the Golden Throne has for a long time been a strong advocate of open borders and free trade. The new quotas may also impact Macabee trade indirectly, by making delivery of goods via low-earth orbit flight more expensive. Restricted items can pass through Haishan, if not directly sold to Haize markets, but must do so within 24–48 hours, hiking up distribution costs. Despite the setback to Macabee policy, neither branch of the government is likely to take any retaliatory action.

Macabee economists have also been vocal in expressing criticism. According to economist Petre Gaus, a professor at the University of Beda Fromm, "Haishan will only succeed at making their markets more volatile. Rather than benefit from the flow of outside goods when suffering from real shocks, they'll experience shortages and increased prices. Neither of those the kind of markets that benefit from protections while realizing economies of scale. They are relatively labor intensive industries where Haishan has no competitive advantage. Ultimately, real shocks will restrict the flow of raw materials to their capital intensive industries, hurting their exports where they do have a competitive advantage. The new policy simply makes no sense; it's the kind of thing a third world country would do."

________________

Imperial Peacekeeping Mission to New Empire Ramps Up Operations

Poseidon, New Empire — The surprise handing over of peacekeeping responsibilities in New Empire, from the Holy Empire to the Golden Throne, did not seem to be so surprising to the latter. Immediately after the Stevidian government made the transfer official, roughly 30,000 soldiers deployed to the northeastern Greater Díenstadi nation via airlift from recently established bases in Imbrinium. These focused on establishing their presence over their jurisdiction and conducting preliminary patrols of the various underground cities of New Empire. They will soon be joined by another 660,000 regulares, to form Army Group 'Nuev Imperio.' These include an undisclosed number of Nakíl and Lince tanks, thought to number at least 3,000. The Laerihans will also deploy over one thousand aircraft, although here too the details are ambiguous.

One thing that is for certain is that the Kriermada will deploy only a very limited number of resources to the new theater. It's suspected that the Imperial Government decided to restrict its naval presence in the area to avoid setting off alarms in neighboring governments. With recent territorial acquisitions in central Greater Díenstad, the deployment of troops to New Empire could be interpreted in a similar light. The limited naval deployment is hoped to communicate that the Golden Throne's intentions in New Empire are entirely for the purpose of temporarily taking over Stevidian responsibilities. The Holy Empire's ability to maintain its peacekeepers has been tested by the significant losses resulting from its war against Imbrinium, Lyras, and others. The Golden Throne, which has recently signed a treaty with Stevid, is seeking to relieve some of the pressure on its neighbor, hoping to continue to foster intentions of good will towards them.

________________

Mokastana Joings GATA

Centrijo, Mokastana — Mokastana's recent entry into the Global Aerospace Trade Association is another step towards a more completely integrated Greater Díenstadi market. Specifically, their entry will improve the movement of goods between the central and eastern areas of the region. The move will also further integrate Mokanstana into non-Díenstadi markets, namely between non-Díenstadi and Díenstadi members of the association. Similarly, Mokastana's entry will further solidify their recent peace treaty with Haishan, another GATA-member.

Mokastana's recent addition to the trade association has also caused the Imperial Government to take on a more favorable look of the northeastern Díenstadi country. Relations between the two soured when the Golden Throne decided to back Haishan's defense of sovereignty in Istegium. However, the Mokan government's flexibility when establishing the terms of peace with Haishan and their evidence of restraint when opting for peace talks over invasion impressed the Imperial Government. Mokan entry into GATA only helps to improve relations between the two further, especially when the flow of goods between the two countries begins to grow. Related to GATA, several government representatives and representatives of private business have traveled to Santa Franco, Mokastana for the North East Greater Díenstad Trade Conference. These events bode well for regional economic growth.

________________

Strategic Bombing Campaign Continues in Holy Panooly

Panooly City, Holy Panooly — With some 70,000 regulares — belonging to the 57th Airborne Division and the 760th Regulare Mechanized Infantry Division — on the ground, GLI-34 heavy bombers have carried out a systemic bombing campaign throughout the northern regions of Holy Panooly. The bombers are targeting rebel military units in an attempt to halt the offensive towards Panooly City, the last remaining major city in loyalist hand. To justify the operation, the Imperial Government has cited the growth of the KN755 virus and has declared intentions to actively eliminate the infected. There, however, could be another interpretation.

The recent territorial expansion of the Golden Throne breaks a trend that had been true since the end of the War of Golden Succession. Namely, the foreign policy of isolationism. But, with the economic depression over, economic growth actually quite strong now, and resurgent Imperial power, Fedor harnessed these forces of imperial recrudescence to add Zarbia, Monzarc, eastern Guffingford, and northern Indras to the Empire. These acquisitions have naturally unsettled the political landscape, including raising suspicions in United Gordonopia — whose Thacu Islands sit inside the Golden Throne's zone of influence — and Lamoni. The explicit enforcement of Imperial policy in Holy Panooly, regardless of the local KN755 virus (which has claimed the lives of almost 90 percent of those infected), may only serve to reinforce those suspicions. Because of the danger to increasing tensions, popular support for Fedor's brush fire conflicts has begun to sway. Memories of the War of Golden Succession remain quite fresh, and the Macabee people are not yet ready for another major war.

________________

Jumanota Canal Work Continues

Tarn, Special Administrative Polity — Construction of Navitek's canal, to cut through Holy Panooly's Isthmus of Jumanota, continues at maximum pace. The company's endeavors there have certainly been helped by the recent deployment of over 28,000 Zarbian auxiliaries to the isthmus. These reinforce roughly 15,000 private military contractors that Navitek has hired out of Tarn, which has one of the largest concentrations of private defense agencies in the world. These forces combined have been able to control the local population, much of which is now employed on the canal. This has allowed construction to take place without too many setbacks, thanks to a much lower likelihood of rebel attacks on construction sites. This has allowed work to continue ahead of schedule, with Navitek now hoping to have it ready for traffic within five or seven and a half years.

The company has also taken steps to improve the living conditions of its employees. Navitek had recently taken flak for its relative lack of safety concerns and for the poverty in which most of its Jumanota employees live in. Its response has been to invest almost Ŗ32 billion in local infrastructure and housing, providing paving for roads, education for children, and distribution electricity and running water to nearly 97 percent of the isthmus' population. This also helped to spur local investment by other Macabee firms, looking to exploit opportunities in mining, the timber industry, and fishing. As a result, and unlike the rest of Holy Panooly, Jumanota is experiencing an increasing GDP, although for now this only means that growth is no longer as negative as it used to be. Economists nevertheless expect GDP growth to hit positive numbers within two quarters, and some have predicted peak growth rates as high as 7–11 percent.

by **United World Order** » Sat Nov 22, 2014 3:19 pm

Along the South Panooly-Holy Panooly DMZ, United World Order
0500 Local Time.
The Joint Macabeean-Ordernite Operation 'Talon' begins to come into fruition..

Operation Talon a joint Macabeean and Ordernite cooperative effort to completely cripple the rebels in Holy Panooly and contain a hazardous virus that has begun to spread because of the conflict. The operation would see three hundred thousand men and women at arms from the Ordernite Army and the newly created but ever growing South Panooly Defense Force who would take part in the operation. The Ordernite Air force would also be involved in close air support and over all air support in harassing and destroying Rebel contingents near the border and beyond as the ground troops pushed over the border making a bee line for the Capital of Holy Panooly, Panooly City. The Operation thus begun at five in the morning local time in Holy Panooly as the massing of Ordernite military assets for the operation had taken place in the pre-dawn hours as to not rouse suspicions of any kinds.

The ground forces were further split into three groups which would have specific tasks to complete as they moved through Holy Panooly. Army Group 'A' would be crossing the border from the West as it would advance up the coastline and secure the western flank of Panooly City and destroy any rebels they came into contact with. Army Group 'B' would move up the center heading north towards Panooly City its self securing the southern edges of the city when it arrived. Army Group 'C' would move from the East and further secure the eastern coast and secure a eastern flank on Panooly City and it had been considered of possibly moving into Delepasca but further talks would need to be conducted with the Imperial Government in The Macabees and Macabeean commanders.

So at five in the morning the beginning of Operation Talon was put into motion. From across the South Panooly side of the border all three Army Groups begun their movements across the border entering Holy Panooly its self, something that the Ordernite Military had wanted to do for a long time and with Operation Talon, they could justify doing it now. Further more in several military designated air fields within South Panooly, squadrons of Tornado IDS aircraft took to the skies over the border of South Panooly heading north to strike designated rebel targets and would do so with precision utilizing the Brimstone air to surface missile or the 'Storm Shadow' cruise missile which could be launched from the Tornado IDS.

As all the while the Ordernite Army force pushed its way north into Holy Panooly, rebels in their path would be engaged and destroyed completely as towns along the way would be seized as well. The Ordernite war machine was on the prowl and looking for blood and they would have plenty of it as they pushed forward toward their goal, Panooly City.

by **Mokastana** » Tue Nov 25, 2014 2:16 pm

Montana Inc appraisal team
13km inland from northern coast
Rebel territory

"GET DOWN!"

A sweep of machine gun fire tore through the entry way of the old stone building. The rebels had brought in the big guns to try and get these "foreigners" out. Two security officers were already down, the rest of the unit laid on the dirt floor, waiting for the hail of high caliber rounds to cease. The building's weight shifted as rounds began to tear apart the support beams, but it held long enough for the rebels to stop shooting.

"Control, we have six hostile vehicles outside, heavy fire power, requesting immediate support!"

With a break in enemy fire, two smoke grenades were pooped out the shattered windows.

"Switch to IR, take out those heavy weapons!"

Two soldiers with M4s flipped a switch on their scopes, while the others began changing theirs out for IR ones. Peaking out of the stone building the two rifle men scanned the group outside, dozens of rebels, six technicals and men standing in the bed of one hammering on something. Two quick shots from both men and the guys on the gun fell. More AK fire from the rebels responded, leaving the two men to pick off targets threw the smoke as their prey tried to get lucky.

"Control says strike package inbound, activating IFF tags!"

FPV Delacosta
Virginia Class Attack Submarine
70km North of Holy Panooly

The FPV Delacosta had been patrolling the waters around Holy Panooly ever since Montana Inc showed an interest in the country. She and her sister submarines kept quiet, avoiding local governments and maintaining a silent ace in the hole for Montana had they needed it. With negotiations between Montana PMCs and The Golden Throne, it was possible they could even make a profit off of this deployment soon, but first, they had a small situation to resolve.

Orders from local command came through, they were to launch one Hellion cruise missile in assistance of contractors under fire in the war zone. Getting closer to the surface the Delacosta's antenna connected to the Damocles satellite network(contracted out via the Mokan government) and got a live feed of the attack.

"Target acquired, missile away."

The hellion, loaded with dozens of small hockey puck shaped explosives, took off to the target zone. Mid flight new orders were being transmitted to the missile to recognize human shaped targets with typical heat signatures. With the IFF tags activated, any target within 30 meters of the IFF would be ignored. It would be a few minutes until missile strike, but the Captain's attention was pulled from the main screen.

"Captain, looks like another convoy in route to target, more pick ups and possible troop carriers."

The Captain had the satellite feed focus on the inbound vehicles, showing them ride along a dirt road still a few kilometres from the kill zone

"Launch another Hellion, Fuel air. Take out that convoy."

Montana Inc appraisal team
13km inland from northern coast
Rebel territory

Two more soldiers had fallen from lucky rounds, the remaining shooters had managed to take out a couple of RPG wielding bastards, but there were always more coming it seemed.

"Strike package one minute!"

"We can't hold out one minute!"

Ducking to reload, one soldier caught a lucky round to the shoulder. Instead of trying to stand, he went with the impact and rolled to the ground. Around him the sound of .50 caliber weapons went off again, but he had more pressing matters. Sticking a hand under his body armor he tried to feel for adv entrance would but couldn't find any or feel blood. Dauntess Body Armor saves the day again.

An explosion rocked the room, sending debris and wounded soldiers further inside. Since he was already laying down most if the debris missed.

"They're charging the main room!"

He couldn't hear the cries of his fellow contractors, but looking over to the hole in the wall he could see the mass of local riff raff charging ahead. Last clip. Finally getting the M4 loaded he assumed the barrel in the general location of the newly made hole on the wall. Something wet dripped down the side of his face, probably from his ear.

More deafening explosions from outside. They must have been close because he could feel the vibrations from the explosions rattle the ground. That and given he could hear the muffled booms from outside it must have been something big. Outside the hole, what was once a group of dangerous local militia nite seemed to be scattered red dye across the lawn.

Finally, someone came over to look at him, yelling something that he couldn't make out. Well, if they are getting wounded maybe the battles over. He tried to ask for a SITREP, but the medic was too busy checking his vitals to listen.

"Any available forces, this is Private Security Company Montana Inc requesting aide at our location. We have been assaulted by local terrorists and need evac!"

by **The Macabees** » Mon Dec 15, 2014 6:27 pm

Loyalist-Rebel Frontier, Holy Panooly
The rebel offensive is blasted to a halt...

"Did you see that?" Simâo Manuel's eyes darted about, scouting the dark, decrepit terrain in fear.

Joao Bagamba, the kgosi, tisked. "We have not seen another man in miles, brother." He thought back, and then slowly added, "Two hundred and twelve miles. I have counted every single one."

Manuel's face twisted in confusion. He then smiled and responded, "I didn't think there were that many miles to walk, kgosi. Then again, I was never fortunate enough to be taught geometry." He laughed to himself and then his smile faded, as he suddenly once again realized that the their long journey was not even yet close to ending.

"Geography. Not geometry, Simâo, geography," Bagamba corrected. "I suspect, brother, that we have been walking in circles. Two hundred and twelve miles, that is a lot of walking, Simâo. Yet, we seem to be in the same place we started. Explain that to me, because I cannot make any sense out of it, no matter how hard I try."

"I cannot really tell, kgosi, because all of this jungle looks the same to me," replied Manuel.

For seven days now, the two stumbled through the thick, twisted Panooly jungle. Along the way they defended themselves from Loyalist raiders — now under Macabee command — and assorted natural predators, including tigers, poisonous insects, spiders, and snakes, as well as bacterial infection. Indeed, suffering from wounds would most likely lead to gangrene and other diseases, as there was a dire paucity of medical equipment and training. Not to mention, the overbearing viral menace that was KN755, which had already swept Guamlumpeiron and the outlying villages. Bagamba's war party had started out sixty-three strong, now it was but the kgosi and his right-hand man, Manuel. Three, four, eight at a time, his men fell victim to the various hazards that encircled them, picking them off like wolves tracking a wounded herd of deer. Those who gave in to infection and disease either died quickly or their misery was put to an end quickly by the healthy — they could not afford to the slow down. Neither would they allow an opportunity for The Virus to rise amongst them. The frightful consequences of a KN755 confrontation were too well known. Such was the code of their 'anabasis.'

How it came to this was a confusing story, if only because eight days ago none of them had even considered this outcome. They thought they were mere weeks away from a glorious reconquista of their lands, taking it back from dreaded whitie, a people who had for hundreds of years now brutally oppressed them. The more recent variation of this theme, the Templeton regime, was particularly brutal. Hundreds of thousands of 'coloreds' were killed before their time, and hundreds of millions were institutionally constrained to a near-sustenance standard of living. The muscles of the indigenous fed the vicious, rotten, and authoritative bureaucracy that was the dictator's government. One, then, could imagine the euphoria that accompanied the glorious fall-of-2026 offensive on the city of Panooly, which to the 'colored' was the tenebrous symbol of white fascist power; most of the indigenous had never once directly set their eyes on the capital city. Their elation, however, had been utterly demolished by the Imperial carpet bombing campaign over the northern Panooly jungle. The fiery campaign threw the rebel army into disarray, immediately dispersing most of it out of the fear of complete annihilation.

Two hundred and fifty thousand men. Wherever the boots of a rebel unit stepped rose another dozen units like it. If the loyalists could hold up long enough, the rebel army may have risen to over half a million men and one hundred thousand women. It is amazing what tens of thousands of bombs and missiles could do to such a mighty force. Then again, how many forces have turned out to be mere paper tigers? This one was no different. Without adequate air defenses, insurgent soldiers caught 'in the open' were obligated to a hellish death. Mercy was not a relevant concept. The Macabee bombing campaign killed in between 60,000–75,000 people, not all of them soldier, within the seven day time-frame prior to Bagamba's and Manuel's present predicament. In the wake of the opening week, most likely tens of thousands more would die. By the end of it all, the rebellion would be put to an end, the 'coloreds' would be once again be essentially subjugated, and their ranks would be thinned by the deadly duo of KN755 and Macabee aerial munitions. What happened after that was the great unknown. The only person who knew the future of Holy Panooly, or what was left of it — with the independent occupations of Jumanota and the south —, was His Imperial Majesty Fedor I. His lips weaved an obscure pattern of ambiguous meaning.

In truth, Bagamba had not even the most minimal idea of where he was headed. They moved south, forced in that direction by the highly infectious virus. The kgosi knew that at some point he would meet either the rifle of a 'whitie' or that of a Macabee, and it was a manifestation of the unfortunate nature of their situation that both of those were preferred over death-by-zombie-like-virus. A black gloom grew darker in his eyes, as he and his right-hand man aimlessly traversed the thick, twisted terrains of the tropical Panooly forest. Twenty-two year old Simâo struggled alongside Bagamba, thinking that his kgosi had a plan. That, of course, was the illusion that served to hold entire armies together. Sometimes armies do well to put their faith in their superior commanders, other times the results were more disastrous. Of course, it helped that Bagamba was one of the most famous young kgosis that arisen during the rebellion. He was part of a select cadre of men who had displayed sufficiently extraordinary bravery, intelligence, and determination to earn a household name. Had the rebellion been successful, he would no doubt have been an important part of a new bureaucracy.

Now he was but a mere vagabond, roaming the dangerous tropical woodlands of Holy Panooly. He paused, and Manuel stopped with him. Looking at his right-hand man, Bagamba asked, "How are our food and water supplies, brother."

Simâo Manuel swung his pack off his back and opened it, grimacing at the scarcity of the things Bagamba was asking for. "We have a few meals left, kgosi. Maybe sufficient for three more days. Water? I have only what is in my flask, and it is very little. I haven't taken a drink in over four hours, kgosi."

"Drink," said Bagamba, although his words reeked with the kind of caution that came with an uncertain future. "You must drink. It's better to be dead tomorrow than to be dead today."

Joao started to bleed from under his right eye, but he did not have the energy to do anything about it, at least immediately. The wound had kept closed for three days now, but over the past week it had re-opened several times. The culprit was a Macabee bomb or a cruise missile, although most rebels could hardly tell a difference. It struck almost a hundred feet away from the two men, but the subsequent distribution of debris was equally as harmful. A cut beneath the eye was the least of it; one of Bagamba's men had his left leg sliced right off at the kneecap. Suffice to say, that man died soon thereafter. Simâo took notice of it and voiced concern, "Kgosi, your eye is bleeding again. You must close it before it gets infected."

The older man waved Manuel's suggestion away. "Maybe infection is a better fate than whatever is in store for us, brother."

Simâo shuddered. "Is that fate better than the lives we left?"

The unintentionally philosophical question was left unanswered. Bagamba ordered the other man to set up camp while he scouted their immediate surroundings to check for sources of edible berries and plants to forage. Sometimes the two of them would go hunting for prey, but only if they had gathered evidence for a nearby animal. Otherwise, hunting could be an all-day affair, and neither of them had time for that nonsense. If they were unlucky and found nothing, they would have to reduce their caloric intake for the day for the sake of saving food for the future. Water was clearly another issue, but around here looking for a source was bound to end in disappointment. The problem was that they didn't have the equipment to carry extra water, so they were stuck filling up a limited amount of flasks which only lasted them so long. Those were the problems that had landed them in their current rut, not knowing where they were going and with supplies sufficient, perhaps, for a two-day, one-man trip at most. Their present had deteriorated quite a bit and by now both of men must have considered themselves as good as dead.

Bagamba's ears suddenly perked at the sound of crunching twigs. Simâo was still yapping away and the kgosi quickly pressed his right index fingers to his plump lips. While he could not make anything out through the foliage, eyesight was often deceptive. He crouched towards the ground, with Manuel soon following him, and the two pointed their TK-60s towards the direction of the noise. Hands slightly shaking, they awaited for their hunter to show himself. Time went by and nothing of the sort happened, but the two men remained alert — their once man-abundant unit had been burned too many times by events that had similarly eerie beginnings. Their instincts proved correct when they heard the crunch of leaves off in the distance, this time to their three-o'-clock. While Bagamba kept his rifle straight, Manuel pivoted in that direction. Then, as sudden as the other ones, the same sound came from behind them. Joao quickly realized that there was more than one...thing...out there. They were being surrounded...

Simâo started to quiver as fear overcame him. Bagamba told him to shut up, although Simâo was now a lost cause. If whatever was out there had evil intentions, no doubt the two Panooly rebels were dead men. To end the tension once and for all, Joao called out in his home language, "Show yourself! Kill us now, we are ready to leave this troubled world!"

The only response was the cackling song of a jungle bird far away and the slither of a serpent. Even the usually-cool, calm, and collected Joao Bagamba began to shake in anxiety. They say there is an unspoken agreement between men: don't toy with your prey, kill it and move on. Apparently, whoever was out there didn't follow that rule. But, maybe their intentions differed from Bagamba's expectations. Whatever the case, he wouldn't find out until much later, for some sort of dark abruptly struck the kgosi's right-hand man on the side of his thick neck. As soon as Joao noticed, he received a dart of his own. Before they knew it, they had passed out over the jungle floor and as soon as that happened the figures of five men suddenly emerged from the dark. From behind the trees they walked towards the limp bodies of the two rebels, carrying what appeared to be stretchers. They talked between each other in a foreign tongue — one might identify it as díenstadi —, but their faces were not visible. In fact, they barely seemed human.

That was because, from head to toe, the five men were dressed in some kind of strange HAZMAT suit. One could notice the thick scale breast- and backplates, as well as two smaller accompanying pieces of ceramic woven into a fabric that covered the sides of their torso. Their faces were covered by masks, with a thick tube leading from their mouth to their packs. There was not a single inch of skin left uncovered and one of them was carrying some sort of handheld device which was making some weird sounds, with a dial shooting back-and-forth as if it were responding to radiation levels or something. The man carrying this device looked at his colleagues and shook his head. He then put the machine away and swung out his rifle, which he pointed at the bodies of the two Panoolies as the pack approached them. Without much being said, Bagamba and Manuel were loaded onto two stretchers, which the strange men carried with them back into the depths of the jungle. Put to sleep by a heavy dose of tranquilizer, neither rebel put any sort of resistance up.

Joao awoke only forty minutes later. He found himself strapped onto the stretcher, laid out parallel to the walls of a large, green transport truck. Frantically trying to break free, the large 'colored' man soon thereafter put an end to his tomfoolery when the soldiers who had shot him with tranquilizer looked down at him. They were still wearing their armored suits, but their helmets were off. Some of them blonde, some of them dark haired, they were quite obviously not locals. Given the opulence of their uniforms, they were most likely not loyalists either. That left only one alternative: Macabees. Bagamba turned his head to look at Manuel, who had also woken up to the sharp shaking of the vehicle as it traversed the poorly maintained, and quite bumpy jungle road. The two men said nothing to each other, and their gazes turned away and back at their captors. The situation was far too strange for anything to run through their heads and silence was their only recourse. Besides, it did not seem as if the Macabees found any kind of non-submissive behavior amusing.

One man, sitting at Joao's feet, finally spoke up and in the local tongue, "Do you know Díenstadi, rebel?"

Bagamba nodded his head and responded, in Dienstadi, "A little."

Another voice emerged, this time from behind the laid out 'colored.' "If we let you go, will you behave?"

"Yes," responded Bagamba.

The first Macabee, the one near the end of the truck, smiled and said, "Good, because otherwise we'd have to kill you." As he ended the sentence, his smile turned into a serious stare. He wasn't kidding. As if to reinforce the threat, he menancingly looked down the stock of his Hali-53 rifle, which was pointed down towards the floor.

"Where are we headed," the kgosi asked, while the Macabees untied the straps holding him down. When they were done, they invited him and Simâo to sit on two empty seats along the side of the truck, right next to a particularly large soldier who could most likely crush both of their heads with a single hand (and, remember, Bagamba is no lightweight).

"Panooly City," replied another Macabee.

As they drove on, Joao and Simâo looked at each other, unsure of where their costly adventure was taking them now...

by **Radictistan** » Tue Dec 23, 2014 1:36 pm

Radictistani Checkpoint, Indras Demilitarized Zone

Jantzen was surprised at his opposite number’s willingness to appear even obliquely critical of his government. He took it to be a polite fiction staged for his benefit; a career spent in the Radictistani military allowed for no other conclusion.

The prospect of further Macabee air operations over the increasingly misnamed demilitarized zone was frightening. Besides the obvious deconfliction issues, it could easily provoke a larger conflict.

“More airstrikes in the DMZ? I've got men in close combat with insurgents there, not to mention own air operations. We’re still jumpy from that last stunt you pulled. And how will Lamoni respond to thousands of insurgents coming out of your territory?”

He paused. “But, damn it, there’s nothing I or my superiors or anyone else can say that will change a goddamned thing.”

“My superiors’ patience is not unlimited. If you really want to help you’ll raise the troop ceiling, otherwise there’s no telling if Nuxenstat will have us stay. And we’re not staying five minutes longer than they tell us to.” Jantzen did his best to let that hang. You don’t want us here? Fine. We’ll leave. See how you like brushing up against the Big Boys.

The Colonel softened his gaze. “On behalf of the Radictistani people, I thank you for the assistance in compensating our soldiers’ families for their loss.” Some more hard currency. They should give me a medal just for that.

“My government will anxiously await your answer.”

Reichsfurt Air Base, County of Yestingsur, Radictistan

The apron at Reichsfurt Air Base in Yestingsur was quiet. A lone Ilyushin transport sat on the concrete silent and unmoving. The rear cargo door was open and the ramp down.

Between the large, well-groomed honor guard and a gaggle of civilians, a line of dignitaries stood stone-faced on the pavement. Field Marshal Randolph Murk, the Minister of Defense wore the full army dress uniform as did the Grand Duke standing to his right. Both men had deemed it impolitic to miss the arrival of Radictistan’s first war dead. Also present were the commanding officer of V Corps Colonel-General the Baron Hapsten and the commander of 63rd Light Division Major-General Erick Wyndham.

The caskets began their tranquil journey toward the ramp. Each one was covered with the Radictistani tricolor, twelve in all. The uniformed onlookers saluted as a traditional military lament began to play.

The soldiers’ families, dressed in black, awaited the unhappy reunion with their loved ones. The simple ceremony was conducted. A three-volley salute rang out for the fallen and flags were solemnly presented to the mothers, fathers, and wives. The Grand Duke himself went to each offering brief condolences. All the while the gears in his head turned calculating the political price to be paid for each homebound body and how many of these ceremonies it would take throw a wrench into his foreign policy.

He met up with his Defense Minister when the ceremony was concluded and the grieving families had left. “Things could be worse,” the monarch said. “Our casualties remain light.”

“Things could get worse, sir,” his old friend replied, “if the Macs don’t let me reinforce them.”

“Politically we’re still in fairly good shape.” Now the Grand Duke spoke more to assuage his own concerns. “Radicleb is keeping his backbenchers in line. The party’s too Monarchist to challenge us for now. Although I hear you’re taking awkward questions from the Delegates.”

The Field Marshal grunted. “I am.”

“I can threaten to pull out if they don’t let us add to the contingent, leave them holding the bag. That should work. It has to.”

Indras Demilitarized Zone

Radictistani soldiers gingerly approached the burned-out house. They each turned from side to side as they walked, covering possible ingress points with their weapons. The village was quiet and the streets mostly empty. A few villagers watched the procession from the imagined safety of their windows.

“Al-Vali,” squad leader Boris Ufelsky called out, “you and Saunders get up there and give us some overwatch.” He gestured to a flat-roofed building on a short hillock near the village outskirts. The LMG man and his second moved out without a world. Oberkapral Ufelsky picked the other fireteam’s heavy section out of line and sent them out to cover the other way into town.

As they neared the house one of the local babushkas began gesticulating wildly. While the language may have been different, every Radictistani peasant there knew exactly what she was saying. Ufelsky brought their local translator up the line.

The house had belonged to a local man now at one of the forward operating bases being trained by Radictistani forces for the new Local Self-Defense Units. The motive for the attack was obvious.

Ufelsky sniffed the air. He didn’t want to stay long. With insurgent movements becoming more common, Battalion was authorizing fewer and fewer patrols “outside the wire.”

The interpreter eventually managed to get some sense out of the old woman. They had come in the middle of the night firing into the air. The gunfire kept the villagers inside while the intruders threw petrol bombs through the open windows. The recruit’s mother had made it out. The wife didn’t. It was a simple but well-executed operation.

There was nothing to do but offer the survivor some hard currency and [something] in compensation for her and her family’s loss. They boarded their Dingos and began the drive back to the outpost.

It was the same road that down which they had already tread, meager in breadth and condition. The drive back was the most dangerous part of the day. With little choice as to route given the terrain anyone planning an ambush had ample opportunity to carry it out.

Up above and ahead an RPA swept its electronic eye back and forth across the planned route. The forward surveillance was of little comfort to the men piled into the two light armored vehicles. The day before a Dingo had stopped a bomb. No one died but there had been injuries all around.

The gunner of the lead vehicle covered the axis of advance while his counterpart to the rear covered the traversed ground. The Dingos had good lateral visibility for the passengers, although doing anything about what they saw would have to wait for the remote weapon stations to traverse to one side.

The light convoy had just crossed another tight bend in the road when a large mass appeared at its center, soon resolving into a number of individual persons. All armed.

“Contact, front close!” the driver shouted. “Fucking useless drones!” The armed men on foot raced towards the protection of the surrounding jungle. The lead Radictistani gunner fired a burst from his machine guns. A few desultory rounds emanated from the apparent insurgents.

The concern now was to get out of a potential kill zone and that the Radictistanis did. The Dingo drivers went all out. The rear vehicle emitted a few semi-aimed bursts as the convoy raced past the equally stunned insurgents.

Ufelsky reached for a handset and brought it to his mouth. “Bekker 36, this is Bekker 32.” After a few anxious moments he got a hold of the company command post. The squad leader reported the contact and was relieved to be ordered back to Third Platoon’s combat outpost. Thus ended one of the briefest engagements of the Radictistani deployment.

Indras Demilitarized Zone

From the sky, Radictistan monitored the great columns of refugees moving south. RQ-7 and EMT Luna remotely piloted aircraft and Su-25RM attack jets utilizing their powerful electro-optical systems.

But watch was all the Radictistanis did. They lacked the resources to support the refugees in anyway besides the occasional airdrop of food. (An inspired maintainer on the Count of Nuxenstat came up with the idea of placing small food packages inside the airbrakes of the MiG-29K jets.)

On the few occasions in which Radictistani ground units encountered large numbers of refugees, the unfortunates were given what little food and water the soldiers could spare but otherwise were kept at a distance using CS gas. The force radio station advised refugees to stay north of the demilitarized zone. RBS journalists transmitted a few, heart-wrenching photographs and videos back to Radictistan despite rarely venturing beyond the large Forward Operation Bases. The government’s policy towards Indras was about to get more challenging.

by **The Macabees** » Fri Jan 02, 2015 6:16 pm

Business Journal of Macabea

A Unified Government in New Empire?

As the Golden Throne ramps up peacekeeping operations in New Empire, Fedala has been making efforts to reunite the dozens of disparate city-states populating the remnants of New Empire, with the hope of providing the country with political self-sustainability.

^{SHARE THIS:}

Halisfavon, New Empire — With almost 700,000 personnel in New Empire already, tasked with keeping the peace in territories formerly assigned to Stevid, the Macabee deployment to the northeastern nuclear wasteland will be doubled over the next two to three months. This decision was made public after it was also publicized that the Golden Throne was taking over Imbrinium's peacekeeping mission in the country. Overall, the Empire will have almost 1.4 million ground troops in New Empire by the beginning of the next Imperial calendar year, 2027. These will be spread across the entirety of the country, operating both on the surface and underground, patrolling the many subterranean city-states that populate the desolate countryside. Their main purpose, however, is not so much to distribute justice, but to protect New Empire from the imperialist ambitions of neighboring countries, in accordance with the Treaty of Hoogensbosch.

In an effort to solidify New Empire's — or, what remains of it, at any rate — independence and autonomy, the Imperial Government has pushed forward a plan that has been in the works since the end of the War of Golden Succession. This consists mainly of the restoration of a federal, republican government. Such a solution would put an end to almost a decade of internal conflict and civil strife, with the various city-state governments vying for power. With their ability to defend themselves shattered after the Lyran invasions and the subsequent "peacekeeping" occupations by Stevid, Imbrinium, and Morrdh, the time is now ideal to push for reunification. Not only would this entail the re-establishment of the United City States of New Empire (UCSNE), but also the reconstruction of a standing army to defend the country from external threats. Ultimately, this would put an end to the need for any peacekeeping at all, and would entail the eventual expulsion of all foreign forces.

A continuous round of diplomatic talks have been held between representatives of the Imperial Government and the governments of the eight largest city-states (depicted on the map below). According to sources within the Imperial Government, the agreed upon system of governance consists of a thirty-three member Assembly of Deputies. Each major city-state would have four deputies, two of which will represent the city and two of which will represent the 'autonomous region.' These 'autonomous regions' — the equivalent of states —, in turn, consist of a geographic group of city-states, with one of eight major city-states serving as a regional capital. That will make for eight autonomous regions total. Internally, each of these regions will have its own locally determined state-level of governance, most likely consisting of parliaments or senates. Coming back to the Assembly of Deputies, the thirty-third member will be an Imperial Advisor, who along with advisory duties will also hold executive command (under authority of His Imperial Majesty) of all Macabee peacekeeping forces.

[New Empire City-States: Five of the original city-states now form part of the Lyran Empire.]

Stevid and Morrdh do not seem to be partaking in discussions. This circumvention of their influence was not necessarily done out of hostility. Instead, the Second Empire may have just wanted to avoid bureaucratic red tape. Furthermore, the inclusion of foreign powers, with all of their imperialistic ambitions and political stubbornness, would have held up the political discussions and may have condemned the reunification to failure. It may nevertheless be also true that this sends a clear message that Morridane and Stevidian troops have no future in the country.

The possible interpretations of the latest Imperial diplomatic coup are possibly unlimited, and the political commentary has been unceasing. Political scientist Hazard Kargo's, head of the Marsa Bruth University's international relations department, economic explanation is a popular one within academic circles. Given that the Second Empire's ambitions are mostly economic in nature and that New Empire represents a colossal, virtually untapped market, Kargo reasons that the Golden Throne's efforts are aimed mainly at protecting that market from further destabilization.

Georg Van der Klass, professor of political science for Hoogensbosch University, offers a competing theory. "The Golden Throne has taken full responsibility for New Empire's sovereignty and, as such, there can be no question that they are making moves to ensure the dislodging of immediate threats to that mission, including that posed by Stevid and Morrdh."

Recent comments by representatives of the Imperial Government certainly give Van der Klass' theory some traction. Indeed, in a recent interview with the press, well-known diplomat Karl Hansel chastised the instability that had come with the Morridane and Stevidian peacekeeping missions. "Under the guise of peacekeeping, Morrdh, Stevid, and Imbrinium have only brought their own conflicts to an already war-torn nation. The Golden Throne seeks to put an end to that state of affairs."

What about Lyras? Despite the deep ideological differences between the Golden Throne and Lyras, the Second Empire has consistently pointed to the other as a model to follow. Their occupations of vast tracts of land in eastern Greater Díenstad, including the lands of CommunismRevisited, Tadjikistan, and parts of Jagada, has come with the establishment of a new peace in those territories. Although the Golden Throne has no intention of forcing upon New Empire the sustenance standard of living of Lyran society — preferring the materialist abundance of free markets —, it does hope to provide New Empire the same degree of political stability. Indeed, with Lyras firmly in control of New Empire's eastern borders, Fedala truly believes that this frontier is secure. Thus, while Lyras may not be directly involved in New Empire's political reorganization, they are nonetheless key actors in that there is a tremendous level of trust between them and the Imperial Government.

As a public measure of good will, the Imperial Government has worked to squash all hopes for the inclusion of the five major New Empire city-states now under Lyran control — Obersek, Poseidon, Strobald, Molares, and Finastadt. His Imperial Majesty Fedor I has made it clear that the restored United City States of New Empire will acknowledge and respect the existing Lyran territorial claims. Any diplomatic talks held towards the end of reuniting the entirety of New Empire will have to be held between the country's future republican government and the Lyran state, with the Golden Throne not directly involved. To ensure peace and stability along the New Empire–Lyras frontier, the new constitution being drawn up for the New Imperial government specifies a demilitarized zone along the entire border, with a depth of about 10 kilometers. Over the long-run, the UCSNE and the Golden Throne hope that will promote both peace and economic cooperation.

In conjunction with the promotion of a unified government, the Golden Throne will also be the main force behind the country's rearmament program. Preliminary planning hints at a first-stage defense force of an estimated 2.4 million ground personnel. About 600,000 of these would consist of existing paramilitary elements belonging to the various city-states. The rest would be conscripted. A second-stage defense force program would thereafter be implemented, and part of this program would include the introduction of a mandatory two-year enlistment period between the ages of 18 and 20 for all criteria-meeting citizens. Subsequent increases in the size of the UCSNE defense force will depend on the country's economic strength, since the Golden Throne is hoping for a fully self-sustainable force. Even the first-stage defense-force will be fully funded by the UCSNE, bar a few subsidies via reduced prices for initial armament orders from Macabee ordnance manufacturers, which will provide almost the entirety of the equipment to be used by the UCSNE military.

Sustained, rapid economic growth is sure to come to New Empire. Already, thousands of Macabee companies have begun a search for real estate in the vast underground cities of New Empire. Others have looked to the surface. At least three construction companies have begun detoxification operations along certain sectors of New Empire, hoping to prepare those grounds for industrialization. Large Imperial businesses are hoping to exploit the various natural resources and the vast pool of human labor available. Of course, plenty of other nationalities are represented amongst the flood of alien businessmen: Ordenite, Lyran, Stevidian, Mokan, et cetera. Nevertheless, given the role the Golden Throne has taken in New Empire, it will be Macabee businesses which have the head-start in the reopened markets of the hundreds of city-states dotting the New Imperial landscape. Experts predict at least half a billion of ríokmarks worth of direct Macabee investment in New Empire within the next six months.

With the tensions surrounding this political reunification, it is easy to get too far ahead of oneself. There is still much work ahead for this new agreement between the city-states to be solidified, and it's not clear how unanimous support for this new arrangement is between the smaller city-states. While the new UCSNE and the Golden Throne uphold an image of peaceful political change, there will undoubtedly be some level of coercion when it comes to enforcing the new order. Neither is it clear how other Greater Díenstadi powers will react, although Fedala has declared a hard-line when concerning its policy in New Empire. For many years now there has been talk of retribution against those who warred against the Golden Throne during the War of Golden Succession, and the Imperial Government of Fedor I is most certainly firm and unwavering in its program of making sure such treachery never happens again — this program includes the imposition of a peaceful, pluralist government on New Empire and its inclusion within the Macabee sphere of influence.

MORE FROM BJM

Díenbank officials speak of new 'safe' financial product to be unveiled internationally [ 21,194 ]
The Imperial Territory of Monzarc holds its first elections for the Monzatat, the newly established territorial parliamentary government [ 44,937 ]
Imperial Government reveals new bilateral trade agreement with United World Order [ 237,886 ]

Comments

31,870

E-mail

68,732 comments

^{FAVORITE THIS DISCUSSION}

Freddie Varnel, PhD · 2 hours ago
Fedor I is involving the Empire in a conflict that isn't theirs, namely that between Stevid and the Covenant. I hope, for the sake of regional peace and for the lives of our children, that the tensions that this decision in New Empire will inevitably bring about don't cause an eruption.
120 up · 73 down
REPLY · UPVOTE · DOWNVOTE

Matic des Fíor · 4 hours ago
Our government has the gall to accuse Stevid and Morrdh of imperialism, but what is it that our government has been doing Zarbia, Monzarc, and Indras? Or, is that not imperialism?
118 up · 137 down
REPLY · UPVOTE · DOWNVOTE

Emil Stanos · 4 hours ago
Let's hope that all of this ends well. It's undeniable that the economic gains for all parties involved, with restored markets in New Empire, would be worth it.
123 up · 13 down
REPLY · UPVOTE · DOWNVOTE

by **United World Order** » Sat Jan 03, 2015 3:18 pm

Raw Mineral Mining Zone 1, South Panooly
Southern Dienstad
Ordernite Mining Companies swarm South Panooly for it's Raw Mineral deposits.

A small column of MAN HX60 General Utility trucks slowed to a stop at the entrance to the Mining area which was designated 'Raw Mineral Mining Zone 1'. A pair of guards who were Panooly had signaled the trucks to stop outside the entrance as they moved from driver to driver to confirm who they were. In the back of these trucks were Panoolies who had been selected for labor in the mining areas, some were even teenagers who along with their Fathers had been selected by the South Panooly Mining Corporation which was run by their Ordernite handlers in Berlina for manual labor. Once the drivers were confirmed the gate was opened and the trucks were allowed to move into the Mining area following the paved out dirt road which had engraved tire marks from other trucks that had passed through various times. The road begun a climb as if they were driving up a hill which from below one could see the outside mining excavation at work as hundreds of Panoolies dug and dug for raw minerals.

Amongst the workers were armed men who wore olive green BDU's and carried assault rifles, they were Panoolies from the SPDF who were tasked with ensuring the laborers worked to their fullest potential and they didn't try to steal minerals they may have found. Punishment was either a beating for laziness and a desire not to work or worse for being caught for stealing a hand was removed or it was execution. The Corporation was still able to get fresh laborers as the population in South Panooly both colored and white was a total of one hundred and ninety million with 92 percent being colored and the remaining 7 percent being white.

The trucks reached a downslope to the hill like road as they generally came down to a road which would give a closer look to the outside excavation happening. The trucks then approached another gated area as they slowed to a stop outside the entrance, this entrance was to the tunnels which mining took place inside of an actual mountain. A pair of guards approached and checked the drivers before allowing them through and as the trucks entered they turned into a parking area as their were other vehicles parked there. The trucks parked up appropriately as several guards approached along with the Underground Operations Officer who was Ordernite, as most of the higher level positions were filled by Ordernites or White panoolies.

The forty or more so men and younger boys were lined up in two single file lines as they stood quietly. A pair of guards came around carrying a box each full of hard hats which had lights for them to use for when they started working. As hard hats were being passed around the Ordernite in front of them begun speaking about their new job and the expectations.

"Welcome to your new source of work, this is Raw Mineral Mining Zone one and you have been chosen as new workers for the mines within this mountain." He motioned the view of the new workers to the mountain which was being excavated from within for minerals. "You will be working here everyday for fifteen hours a day as this has been estimated to increase and reach our daily quotas of minerals found." The Ordernite added as the new workers all had their hard hats which they put on their heads.

"Now I am not going to explain how to do your job, the men inside will show you. I want to make something very clear before you get off to work." The Ordernite began with a stern voice. "Laziness is unacceptable and any slacking while on the job will result in appropriate action being taken. Stealing of minerals you may have found is strictly forbidden and doing so will result in severe punishment." The Ordernite finished as he nodded before motioning for them to head for the mines.

"Turn right!"

"March!"

The forty new workers as commanded began their march towards the mines they would be working in. As they made their way to the entrance of the mines they were handed their tools they would need. As they moved inside they would then be assigned someone who was a more seasoned worker who would show them how to do their job and then send them on their way to actually working. Numerous minerals were excavated daily from the numerous Mining zones that were operational within South Panooly. Minerals such as coal, steel and iron along with even diamonds and goal and many other raw minerals were being found and harvested out of the numerous mining zones in South Panooly. Seven mining zones currently exist within the territory and it was estimated that the South Panooly Mining Corporation had put in the works for three more to be made and occupied by workers.

The hundreds to even thousands of minerals that were harvested from these mining zones daily were then transported by ships to the mainland of UWO for refining and where the actual money was being made. The SPMC does make it's fair share of money handing off the raw minerals to Ordernite refineries because of shipping and receiving it's cut in the profits. It has currently been in the work in cooperation with South Panoolie partners to develop refineries in South Panooly for a ease of refining the raw minerals.

by **The Macabees** » Sun Jan 04, 2015 7:21 pm

Somewhere in the Skies West of Holy Panooly
The Golden Throne destroys the evidence on KN755..

Koronel Arnet Kol looked down upon the open sea below him solemnly, as his GLI-34 Albatross slowly made its way across the straits between Theohuanacu and Holy Panooly. His mind poured over the mission time and time again, although this only seemed to make things worse. There was something deeply immoral about what he was about to do, and no matter how much one considered 'duty to one's government,' the ethical factor was overbearing. Kol looked over to his co-pilot, Kapitán Díeg Varsolemu, then looked back out the broad glass cockpit. The koronel's face manifested his concern. He and his partner-in-crime would soon be responsible for the deaths of over one million people. While most of those 'people' were actually essentially zombies, they would soon be dead zombies — they would go from "possibly curable" to "burnt to a crisp." They were still lives about to be taken, barbarous lives as they were. That's because within the bowels of the Imperial heavy bomber lay but four weapons, all nuclear-tipped cruise missiles.

The irony in this all was the aversion the Golden Throne, and its people, had to nuclear weapons. While the technology was ubiquitous, manifested mainly within the hundreds — possible thousands — of nuclear power plants spread throughout the Empire. Past events, however, had instilled a fear for militarizing nuclear technology, to the point of persuading the Imperial Government to cut its ordnance by half. One event, in particular, had precipitated this national disdain: the nuclear attack in Macabea, which had utterly ravaged the coastal zones of the ancient Imperial port city. Hundreds of thousands of poor, defenseless souls had died. Of course, the foe — the Holy Empire, Stevid — had been urged to action by a similar attack on the Stevidian fleet in Portsmouth, conducted by Macabee bombers. Such was the shock of the sudden nuclear escalation of the war that the two sides agreed to a peaceful resolution thereafter. This adversity to nuclear warheads carried on ten years later. Until now, it seemed, because Kol was most definitely about to drop a nuclear missile on Guamlumpeiron.

As 'ground zero' for the KN755 virus, Guamlumpeiron was a natural target of mass destruction. Its streets were the cesspools from which those 'creatures' had come, migrating outwards in wake of the rapidly spreading, airborne, and highly infection disease. Those 'creatures' were the so-called 'survivors,' made up of roughly 13 percent of the infected. The other 87 percent had died within a matter of days, unable to sustain the physical, biological, and mental changes that were induced by the terrible virus. Guamlumpeiron, by now, had turned into a playground for the bands of zombies which were feasting on either whatever remains they could find or on each other. Still, as the nucleus of it all, the city had to go. Koronel Kol was the man dispatched to do the dirty work, the missile he was carrying capable of flattening the entire metropolis, suburbs included. Over a million of those 'things' would burn alongside Guamlumpeiron, of course that number was incomparable to the almost nine million city-dwellers who had perished at the brutal hands of KN755.

The virus had spread far and wide. That eight million figure concerned Guamlumpeiron alone. Outside the one-time largest city in northeast Holy Panooly, many more million had died as well. Millions others were no longer human, an even worse fate. By decimating the 'colored' Panooly population in rebel-controlled territory, the virus had effectively shattered the rebellion. Fragments combated each other for control and power, and the mighty offensive towards Panooly City had dissipated. The Macabee bombing campaign contributed to this, but for the most part it was KN755 that would ultimately damn the rebellion. At its peak, the revolution commanded almost 400,000 men, women, and children; now, there were perhaps 130,000 of them left — a very liberal estimate, needless to say. A force that had once seemed unstoppable was now a carcass, about to be picked apart by vultures. That flickering light of hope for a culture that had endured at least two centuries of oppression, exploitation, and domination had prematurely burned out.

As Kol navigated these dark thoughts, the co-pilot suddenly broke his train of thought. "You don't look too good, dude."

Leut Kapitán Tarz Granjer was a tall, slender man, the perfect kind for officership in the Laerihans. His light blue eyes betrayed his Sarcanzan heritage, although his surname suggested a family line that could be traced back to the 'core' provinces of the Empire. Despite being of lesser rank, Granjer had more experience in the service than Kol. It wasn't because Kol started in a higher position, or due to differences in motivation, ability, or intelligence. Well, maybe intelligence had something to do with it, because what he did to stall his career was pretty stupid. During the peace of 2018–26, there wasn't much for a military man to do, other than what was essentially a five to nine job on base in Sidi Rezegh. With a core group of nine military pals, Granjer ran a protection racket to safeguard small-to-medium businesses in poorer neighborhoods, which were often brooding grounds for young men recruited into one of the many large gangs. As Granjer's growing group displaced many of the gangs, their protection racket grew into a coerced taxation scheme. It wasn't long before he was 'put out of business' by local authorities — he was subsequently stripped of his officership, which he struggled to earn back.

"Yea, I don't feel so good either," replied Kol.

Granjer looked over with overt concern. "Oh no, buddy, what's up?" The two had been long-time pals, having met at the University of Sidi Rezegh and then later having gone through the officer training together (the first time). Despite the Leut Kapitan's appetite for trouble, Kol was always a friend he could trust. In fact, the Koronel had been a measure reason why Granjer wasn't punished even more severely. Indeed, his military partners that had joined him in his extortion scheme had all gone to Roc'Tíol, an infamous state-run military prison rumored to boast of a forty-five percent release rate. It's not that the others had a life sentence, it's just that they were more likely to die while doing hard labor, or as a result of a feud between them and another inmate. Granjer himself had never heard from his friends again, and he suspected that most of them were dead by now. But, he was grateful that he was still alive, thanks in particular to the man who was now his superior officer. So he was genuine in his feelings of concern for Kol. He reiterated his question, "Dude, tell me what's up. How can I impart to you my awesome wisdom if I don't know what's going on?"

The koronel laughed, "Yea, I don't think it's your wisdom that I need...knowing where that big brain of yours has landed you before." He sighed, and then moved on to serious matter, "It's this mission, man. It's killin' me." He looked at Granjer, paused for a second, and then went on, "You realize that we're changing the course of history, right?"

"Conceited much?" the leut kapitán answered back.

The pilot shot back a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Granjer opened a compartment in some sort of central compartment between him and Kol, took out what looked like a small dark candy, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. "Well, you know Arnet, you're just some guy taking orders, right? You're changing the course of history in the same way Karnish soldiers did at the Battle of Qüalçea" — he was referring to an ancient battle in modern-day Safehaven —, "but, it was only general Anathros who was credited with eternal glory." Seeing that Kol was still a bit confused, he summed his point up, "Look, what I'm saying is that you're just a soldier taking orders, so the burden of immorality...or whatever it is that concerns you...isn't on your shoulders."

The koronel was not persuaded. "That sounds like too cheap of a solution to the problem, Tarz. Do you think that the soldiers who carried out the systematic destruction, enslavement, and oppression of the Shooban people are free of moral responsibility for their actions? After all, they were just taking orders."

Shaking his head, Granjer clearly disagreed. "Those who destroyed, enslaved, and oppressed the Shooban did it as an end. There was no purpose other than the immediate satisfaction of tyranny. Surely, it is from the end that the moral value, whether positive or negative, of an action is imputed. Otherwise, I cannot make sense of you joining the Fuermak at all, because if the ends don't justify the means then how can you legitimately claim to be a moral agent in an Empire's armed forces?"

"You make a good argument, Tarz," the other man conceded. He had never thought about it like that. But, his quest for an ethical justification for the annihilation of Guamlumpeiron was not completely satiated. "But, tell me, what is the end from which the value of what we're about to do is imputed?"

The co-pilot smiled, "Have you ever heard the story of the Yurgan woman?"

Kol shook his head, having never heard the parable before.

"Fifteen hundred year ago, during the height of the Stoíndran Empire" — an incredibly advanced civilization for its time —, "a civilization in decline was witnessing the besieging of its last great city. One night, Stoíndran soldiers climbed the walls of Yurg, capital city to a once great kingdom, and opened the towering gates from the inside. A mass of Stoíndran warriors poured into the streets of Yurg, slaughtering every last man, woman, and child, freeman or not. All except one, a young Yurgan girl. She was a one-person circus, being paraded around the empire as a symbol for the conquest of Yurg. After some years, she no longer serves any use and she is released into a world that was not her own. She survived, however, and bore eight children, all of which were instilled with a deep hatred of Stoíndra. Twenty years later, those children — all men — grew up and collectively assassinated the emperor and all his family, ending a dynasty that had ruled the empire for over two hundred years. They met their fate because they failed to finish the job in Yurg."

"Maybe there should never have been a job at all," retorted the Koronel.

"That is besides the point," said Granjer. "It is what it is and now we have to look forward. Holy Panooly has been offering us trouble for years and our overlords no doubt would like to get rid of the source of that trouble as effectively as they can. Guamlumpeiron, for whatever reason, stands in the way of us the Empire accomplishing whatever they're seeking to accomplish, so they have to get rid of that obstacle. I trust His Imperial Majesty; I trust him more than any other world leader. When has he led us astray? I can only assume, then, that the end he works towards gives what we're about to do a great value, even if it's a value far too abstract and complex for us to understand."

The philosophical debate would have to end there, because it was time to complete the deed. The GLI-34 had flown far enough. It lowered its altitude a bit, flying remarkably close to the ground as it approached the edge of the northwestern Panooly beaches. The bomber's bay doors opened gracefully, revealing a deep compartment within it. Mere minutes later, out came a long missile with a large warhead, its rockets soon booming in order to propel it over the treeline. It was a cruise missile with an effective yield of 200kT. Behind it came four others. Guamlumpeiron had many suburbs, and they would all have to be destroyed. Before the GLI-34 could turn its trajectory around, to return to base, the missiles had already zipped away, making their short trip to soon-to-be extinguished Panooly metropolis. By the time Kol's bird returned to Theohuanacu, most of the buildings in Guamlumpeiron would be flattened by the missiles' blast effect. Most of the vagrant 'zombies' who called the city home would be killed too, although some were bound to survive. Most important, any evidence of the origins of KN755 would be destroyed.

Little did the two Laerihans officers know that the task they had just completed was related to the end of decimating the indigenous Panooly population, to reduce its capability of waging a war of subversion against the future North Holy Panooly government. The true objective was the liquidation of the local power structure, which would have otherwise caused friction with whatever institutions the Golden Throne imposed through a new government ruling out of Panooly City. That kind of friction could only bring disgruntlement, resentment, and, finally, violence. But, a military campaign to destroy the incunabula of indigenous governance would have taken too long, would have been too costly, and would have drawn too much unwanted attention from the international community. It was much more convenient to have the 'coloreds' killed off by a spontaneous and accidental virus, and thus was born KN755. Thirteen million dead later — and more to come within days — and entire city destroyed, the Imperial objective was met and North Holy Panooly was finally ready for a political stabilization that would hopefully remain eternal.

by **Mokastana** » Fri Jan 16, 2015 3:07 pm

Company headquarters of
Eastern Military Deployments Inc.
Subsidiary of Montana Inc.
City of Tarn,

Federal law was a tricky thing for Montana Inc to get around, but they had some of the best legal teams available to pull it off. One such creation of that batch of company legal operatives was the Eastern Military Deployments Company. Technically a separate company in only the most technical form, EMD acted add a local branch of Montana Security. While Montana Security specialized in Special Operations and policing operations, EMD specialized in the kind of actual warfare the surrounding nations offered.

With news of the most recent change in Mokan Law, Montana Inc "sold" their contract with the Kingdom of Imbrinium to this firm to avoid the legal and financial penalties recently placed on business with the Kingdom. They would need to raise and hire more from the surrounding area to reach the numbers requested, but that wouldn't be hard. They already had 220,000 plus aircraft to deploy, and a cease fire made resupply easy.

So when the President Torres of Eastern Military Deployments had a visit from Mr. Montana's head of security, he thought that it would be pertaining to that. Instead he got a whole new surprise.

*****

"Mr. Kushkev, we both know who this client is, we can forgo the charade. Obviously all records will show him as "anonymous", but no one else short of major governments have that kind of money. Shall I try to make it look like a foreign power? Throw the scent off?"

"You are in charge of handing payments, the client does not care if the Ordernites find out, but I do. Hide the client. Fulfill the contract, get bonus, stop asking questions."

Torres read over the contract once more, he knew Federal law in The PUF meant all dry docks in the Federation belonged to the government, so either Montana was buying war ships himself, or had bribed his way into the government's reserve fleet. Either way, the money was just too good.

"Deal."

48 hours later, President Torres contacted some of the best pirates and Naval PMCs he knew, with a contract from an "Anonymous Eastern Government." The terms were simple:

One million for every UWO owned ship sunk.
Half a million for every capture.
Four million for every warship sunk.
Eight Million for every capital ship.

The contract was freely open for the first billion dollars, highest kill count and highest revenue would be offered additional contracts.

In addition, land and army based PMCs were offered a chance to subcontract with EMD for their new South Greal Contract. Minimum 50,000 contractors required to bid.

by **The Macabees** » Mon Jan 19, 2015 8:26 pm

Demilitarized Zone, Indran-Side

As Jantzen finished expressing his utter disillusionment with the present mission, Verdát started to scratch the back of his head slowly. I'm busting this guy's balls, but no one is seeing it from his side. The Macabee lasagos was most definitely a jackass of the first degree, but as a soldier, he also definitely had some empathy for those in similar shoes. He had seen plenty of combat. Hundreds, if not thousands, had died under his command — most in the brutal war with Safehaven. Many of those died because they were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. It's war. Shit happens. Still, there was a lingering compassion. Verdát could put himself in Jantzen's shoes. He could envision the horror of your own men dying because your allies are too arrogant, too callous to even bother coordinating with you, in a territory that is technically illegal for them to trespass over. Contrary to hard-ass character he was portraying up to them, Verdát set about correcting the Macabee attitude towards Radictistan.

Backtracking to Jantzen's concern about the Lamonian response over Macabee intervention in the DMZ, Verdát said, "I'm...we're...not sure how Lamoni will respond. Honestly, I'm not sure if anyone cares." He shrugged. "I think some people at top are trigger happy and itching for a fight. I don't think they're crazy enough to outright start a war, but they'll push the limit to see how far they can get. As far I can register, my side's foreign policy seems to revolve around imposing authority. Yea, we're pompous assholes, but that attitude has gotten us this far, hasn't it." He swept his hand as if surveying his lands. "The fact of the matter is, don't count on Lamoni being a factor in command's decision-making process. Shit, they'll have their hands full with Çescus soon enough."

"But, I'll link up with my superiors, and I promise to make a case about factoring you guys in," he continued, moving on to the point Janzen had made about his own men and their susceptibility to friendly-fire. "I can't promise you perfect coordination, but I'll try to make sure you get warned about our missions in the DMZ. We'll give your guys time to back off from our targets if they're around, or we'll make sure you don't waste your men deploying them to painted targets."

Going on, "In the end, our air activity should only help you guys out, driving the Çescus south and out of your side of the DMZ. In fact, I recommend you guys bunker down for the time being. Your guys might get blind sided while on patrol; the incoming migration waves are massive. They steamrolled some of our smaller outposts up north. We suffered some pretty hefty damage. You guys are less than us; strength in numbers, brother."

Verdát spaced out for a brief second, as an atrocious memory of a past war shot across his mind. Tlaloc, 2023. At that time a mere Komandánt, he led the 4075th Tabor in an only superficially tamed pirate city. He and his men were in the middle of a two-week-long patrolling mission, driving up and down the city's tight streets, keeping their eyes on the locals. 4 April, a well-placed roadside bomb hit a HIM-TAC, flipping it over and killing one of the men as he accidentally opened fire on himself. Days later, the city was set alight by incessant gunfire, as the local pirates rose up in rebellion along with those of Tiwanaku and Palenque. He and his headquarters unit was ambushed in their hotel rooms — somehow the scallywags had found their location —, and he survived only after an intense four-hour firefight through the narrow halls of the multistory building. Over three thousand dead and injured in the first week; the city succumbed once again only after another fifteen thousand dead.

Jantzen's men were about to get the same treatment, this time from the Çescus. They'd have to put up with a good beating. The Golden Throne wanted most of the insurgents to remain alive. They were just pushing them south, into Omega, to dislodge the Lamonian occupiers. That's why soon enough Macabee aircraft would be swarming into the Radictistani DMZ to continue harassing the insurgents with bombs, missiles, and strafing gunfire. There was no intention to damage their allies; all the opposite, the more effective the bombing campaign, the faster the migratory rebels would shuffle past into the lush Lamonian lands.

On that note, he offered the Radictistani commander another helping hand. "I'll have my superior talk to yours, but I think we're on the same page regarding deployment size. The constraints on your size are imposed by Lamoni...another reason you guys shouldn't care about what they think. The Fegosians couldn't commit any more men; the limits on you are to keep things even. But, those Fegosians haven't done shit since they've gotten here. So, who cares about them, right? Take this with a grain of salt, but the talk upstairs is of green lighting an increase to the size of your deployment. Although, the decision will be independent of the guys in Omega. How many guys you reckon you need? 20,000? 30,000? I suggest your high command shoot my high command some numbers, so we can work towards accommodating that. I'm sure they'll be game."

Partrude shot a look at Verdát as the lasagos finished up. It was time to go. The insurgent wave was closing in and they had to get back across the border before the storm hit. They might even catch the beginning of the hurricane, as they approached their home base of Barbakán 'Barbosa.' It would be close no matter what, but if they left any later they'd all be most likely dead. Otherwise, they might have to stay with the Radictistanis. The Macabee infantryman shuddered. Fuck that. He wasn't comfortable there. He was too accustomed to life in the Imperial barracks. So he nodded at his general again, this time with more urgency. The other man begrudgingly nodded back and turned to bid Jantzen farewell. Partrude could only think, Good luck, you'll need it.

by **The Macabees** » Thu Jan 22, 2015 8:56 am

Cuayan, Holy Panooly
So begins the 'peaceful resolution'...

Thunder streaked across the sky as an armored column moved along the broad, deserted boulevard that split Cuayan's southern suburbs in half. A colonnade of bald, half-broken palm trees flanked the wide street on either side. They had been, for the most part, destroyed or burned during the two-week long battle for the city. This battle had by now dissipated, pincered by the Imperial intervention in the south and KN755 from the north. Now Cuayan was beset by an eerie silence, devoid of even the most minimal signs of life. Only occasionally could the soldiers see the head of a young and far too curious boy poking out from behind the bars that caged basement windows. The rest of the civilians were bunkered deep within their homes, hiding not from the Imperial soldiers, but from the horrific virus. Reports of its arrival to the city's northern suburbs was enough to persuade all those not infected to fortify themselves however they could, which typically meant barricading themselves within their houses.

Their treads crushing the loose gravel of the poorly constructed pavement, the column was led by a sektón of Nakíl tanks — four in all. Another sektón trailed behind a middle component comprised of eight HIM-TAC armored cars. It was a small force, incapable of taking and holding Cuayan on their own. Fortunately, that wasn't their objective. No, soon — if all turned out well — there would be no need for the forceful occupation of Cuayan, let alone any Panooly city. Charging up the boulevard as fast as the terrain permitted, the Macabee unit pierced the city like the sudden thrust of a long, steel blade. They were there to meet someone, to bring peace to Holy Panooly and to begin a necessary 'healing process,' as His Imperial Majesty had termed it. Ironic, though, that it was Fedor who deemed it necessary to kill off a considerable segment of the Panooly people, and thus was born KN755. The Macabees were signing a peace with a country they had already gutted and taken hostage.

Leaving the southern suburbs and entering Cuayan proper, the column continued to almost the very center of the city. Governments throughout the years had tried to spruce this area up, adding quite a few 'administrative buildings' built in an archaic colonial style. But these were scarcely scattered and hardly impressive. It was an impoverished regional capital typical of a banana republic. But, today Cuayan would earn itself a place in history, as the place where Holy Panooly's sovereignty was signed over to the Golden Throne. This was all nominal, of course. The Empire could hardly afford to alarm its regional neighbors further, after the already ample territorial growth achieved so far. But, even if Holy Panooly remained putatively independent on the map, its government's policies would for now on be parallel to those of the Golden Throne. Indeed, what was left of the country would be renamed as the Satrapy of Northern Holy Panooly and it would be advised by an 'Imperial Councilman,' who would probably not be that much different to a governor.

Nakíls ahead and behind, the armored column finally halted before a large building that looked a lot like the temples built by cultures of old. The heavy Macabee armor arrayed itself in a protective stance around the smaller HIM-TACs, which had parked curbside just outside the structure. From the front passenger seat of one of the armored cars came out a soldier garbed in full battle armor, an oxygen tank replacing his air supply to avoid airborne contagion of the KN755. He proceeded to open the rear door, waiting for another two soldiers to exit, and then closing the door behind them. One of those soldiers had the markings of a lasagos, a Macabee general. The men around him were proudly wearing the badges of his command unit, usually combined of more experienced, battle-hardened soldiers. They would fight to the death to protect their lasagos. Above them circled a couple of unmanned aerial vehicles, which were looking for enemies...and the infected.

Another twenty-eight soldiers emerged from the other HIM-TACs, each dressed in the same armored suits. Their physical characteristics were all hidden, covered by metal alloy, wires, and glass displays. Once gathered together, they walked up the faux marble steps and into the building. Inside, it was chaotic. Walls had been destroyed by gun and cannon fire, and much of the furniture lay shattered around the floor after being torn to pieces in the undoubtedly fierce firefights that had plagued the city streets during the height of the rebellion. The walls and floors were washed in blood, but the bodies had been cleaned up. This building had probably been used as a fortification by loyalist soldier, who when cornered by the insurgent hordes had very clearly put up one hell of a fight. The thirty-one Macabee men and their general made their way through the rubble, towards a central stairway that curved to a second floor. Before they could start climbing up, a rough voice appeared from a hidden corner, "Halt men of the Golden Throne."

With a Godly voice, "Reveal yourself, Panooly," commanded the lasagos.

From behind large chunks of broken concrete ceiling appeared a rugged-looking colored, his muscular chest and arms exposed by torn holes in his dark green shirt. He wore sandals, not boots, and his pants were hardly in better condition than the rest of his outfit. He carried a GLM-83, although he did not seem to carry much ammunition; not that such a weapon would help much in such close a range, especially against Imperial body armor. He had difficulty hiding his anxiety. "Deo Faical, commander of the war party holding this building and the surrounding area."

The Macabee general nodded and calmly responded, "I'm glad to make your acquaintance kgosi. Now,take me to your cacique."

Scanning the other Macabee soldiers with his finger, the Panooly stammered, "Leave all but two of them here."

Turning his head first to the right, to peer behind him at his men, and then to his left, the lasagos chuckled. "Fine," he said. "But, all of your men must be accounted for. We have laid all of our cards on the table, now show yours." He then turned around to give orders, "Korner, Vestalt, you guys are with me. The rest of you, look pretty."

Outside, the city's former silence was disrupted by the sudden outcry of gunfire. It originated from the far north, but it was intense enough to be heard all the way down here, with the help of the wind. There were no loyalists up there; the city had been completely occupied by the rebels since a few days earlier. The virus. The general amended his orders, "Keep a watch on the armor and reinforce them. Don't let anything get into this building and make sure we have an escape route out of here if shit hits the fan."

One of the other Macabee soldiers responded, "Aye, lasagos." Others echoed him.

By this time a larger contingent of rebels had amassed. Faical had brought his war party together, as the Macabee general had requested of him. When the latter man surveyed everything around him, he took off his helmet, nodded, and followed the kgosi up the staircase. Behind them, a few of the armored infantrymen moved to the front door to keep an eye on happenings outside. Two others were now scouting the premises inside, just in case there were any other rebels hiding in the dark — better to discover an ambush soon rather than later. The rebels looked at them, but did nothing. They must have felt powerless in the presence of the Empire's titanium beasts. Faical was a man of honor; there were no men other than those he had gathered in the crippled lobby. Upstairs, now past several winding hallways, the three Macabee men were led into a rear room, which was guarded by two large, TK-60 wielding militants.

Inside were six men, one of them seated in a rudimentary pseudo-throne. Faical turned, waved his hand toward that man while bowing, and proclaimed, "General, our Cacique."

Cacique, 'king' in the local language. Nothing more than a warlord, in reality. Although, this one just happened to be the warlord holding most of the others' loyalties. One week later, it may have been a different cacique altogether. No matter, any one of them would do, as the end result would be the same regardless. This one did not make an effort to get up, something which vexed the general a tad bit. "You know, not getting up when a guest enters the room is considered rude in the Empire."

"Good thing we are not in the Empire, brother," said the colored king, gracefully.

The Macabee cracked a smile. "Well...let's be honest, here."

The cacique scoffed and said something to his lieutenants in his native language. He twisted his torso to reach into the drawer of a coffee table to his side, unveiling a cigar box from which he took one. He put it between his lips and waited for one of his men to light it for him. Only after taking two or three puffs did his turn his eyes back onto the general. "I suppose you already know we consider the Macabee people one of the most arrogant. Do you think this stereotype holds true?"

"We built the justifications for that arrogance. It's why I, Lasagos Kravak Boldernit, stand before you, as the victor." Boldernit reeked thick with a vile confidence. One day the Empire's hubris would surely be its downfall. But, not this day.

Across the room, the rebel leader gave the Macabee a cold, unamused stare. He tapped his fingers on his chair, perhaps rethinking his commitment to ending the rebellion and handing the reins of his country to men like this. His face bore the grimace of man who faced unhappy prospects. But he resigned himself to let out a deep breath. "Yes, I suppose you are right, brother."

Gunfire in the north again. "Let's move things along, shall we. We musn't waste much time," hurried the general.

"You know, I did not envision being rushed by a man forcing me to sign my people away." The cacique looked up, warning Boldernit to back off. "You should not worry about the virus, brother. It is still too far north, in the suburbs."

The lasagos gave out a booming laugh. He took off one of his armored gloves, placing it on a dresser sitting against the wall behind him. Pushing a button, a compartment in his suit opened up and he reached in to take out a syringe. Full of a a sky blue liquid, its long needle was menacing, although Boldernit didn't seem to mind it much. Across his face was plastered a wide grin. "Oh, don't worry about me, brother, for I have the antidote. It's only your people who don't."

"Yes, that is why we are here. Because my people are dying, and yours have the cure." Said the cacique, seemingly unperturbed. "I am sure you are proud of yourself, Kravak. I can call you that, yes? Answer me this. Have you ever heard of the lifeboat scenario?"

Boldernite sneered, "I don't waste my time thinking about what should be. I only what is."

"Not much of a philosopher then." The colored cacique signed and resigned himself to moving on to business. "Very well, let us negotiate the future of Holy Panooly."

It wasn't much of a negotiation. It was more of a 'we'll distribute the antidote if you agree to our terms.' For his part in reaching peace, the cacique was offered Imperial backing when it came time to campaign for a position in the new North Panooly bureaucracy. It was also promised that the new government would be at least nominally democratic, and that it would offer the colored population a voice proportional to their size as a community. Of course, ever since KN755, that community had grown to be smaller and smaller — twenty-three million deaths reported so far. Another three and a half million had 'survived' the infection. More would die before the Golden Throne could complete the distribution of the antidote. The most conservative estimate was for a total of twenty-six million and nearly four million 'survivors.' Of course, the 'survivors' were no longer human, so they would eventually have to die too. Thirty million deaths in one country alone; it was no wonder the cacique was so complacent to the demands of the lasagos.

After the discussions were over, Boldernit placed his helmet back on, his imposing, steeled figure towering above those of the coloreds. The conqueror before the conquered. Before leaving back down stairs, he said, "We will begin distributing the antidote tonight. In a few hours, a larger Imperial column will come to Cuayan and these will carry sufficient antidotes for all the surviving citizens of the city. We expect for the entire country to be serviced within two weeks." The 57th Airborne Division was already in the north and they would at least begin to stem the virus' tide in the region once governed from Guamlumpeiron (laid to waste only days earlier). Soon the 81st and 323rd Regulare Mechanized Infantry Divisions would arrive in the country as well. "I would tell you to ask your rebels to lay down their arms, but given the existence of...survivors, if you want to call them that, my recommendation is to keep them by your side and kill any of those beasts your men might come across. They cannot be salvaged."

by **Stevid** » Thu Jan 22, 2015 11:14 am

Holy Panooly
Some 5 miles from Guamlumpeiron

The ‘civil war’ in Holy Panooly was showing no signs of easing, but that said the territory was no stranger to war. Peace had not come to Holy Panooly for well over a decade. Where some areas of the country could be comparable to the first world, most other areas certainly could not be. The rise of poverty leant power to pirate lords and now these figures control large swathes of the black market. The first and older civil war, the Second War of Golden Succession, local imperialism, piracy, economic plight, this had lead to the unstable Holy Panooly known today. The Holy Empire of Stevid was one of very few remaining nations in the region still recall a time when relations with Holy Panooly were not only good, but were built on a solid foundation of a strong governmental institution – fascist, but strong. Now it was a far cry from those golden days. But the Empire des not forget its past or commitments it held to nations of old. The government supported Church mission to Holy Panooly, and then onto the Holy Land, to discover the Ark of the Covenant may have been a failure, but the idea of such a crusade had never been forgotten by the Church. It was a power play strategy by the Church, an entity that had gotten a firmer hold on Stevidian politics in recent years. An idea could be manipulated, sold to the people, strengthen a position – a method of coercion. The recovery of the materials filed by Holy Panoolian archaeologists was paramount to the Holy Empire, which was why Gnaeus Drusus of the Holy Office of the Stevidian Inquisition, and his Templar guards, had been dispatched to the war exhausted nation.

After careful ‘persuasion’, Panooly City historians and leading archaeologists in the nation’s principle and most prestigious museum had handed over all texts, documents, electronic files, photographs, maps, manifests, artefacts, everything, that was involved in the joint mission to the Holy Land. Convincing the Panoolian officials of this course of action was not difficult. In a logical sense it made sense to move the texts to a safer location but having said that, the Inquisitor and his retinue were likely to have simply taken what they wanted should they have encountered opposition. The region of Greater Dienstad knew of Stevid’s Inquisition and Templar Order – move often than not both were granted the respect they deserved and were rarely challenged when on official business. In this instance the recovery of texts, while in the Inquisitor’s ‘job description’ was a small fry assignment that an acolyte and serf could have handled. But the persuasion of an Inquisitor added much more weight to Imperial and Church demands.

However Inquisitor Gnaeus Drusus was still in the country despite the recovered items already en route back to Stevid Capita. He had received a new assignment, one that was far more interesting, chilling, and deadly. In fact, it was the most dangerous tasking he had every been assigned to accomplish due to the fact his retinue numbered only two and none of them had any weapons aside from small combat knives held by the Templar’s.
A distressing news report from the Golden Throne had piqued Imperial Intelligence and Astratii Intelligence… a virus, a nasty one. The Golden Throne had not officially leaked much in the way of the extent of the outbreak, it cause and hoe widespread the infection was. Details of the symptoms were harrowing reading to Stevidian officials in Adaptus Astrates, horrified that a virus that mimicked the Stevidian Reanimation Virus was right on its doorstep.

A Defiler Class command ship and an Antares Class cruiser were both deployed off the west coast of Holy Panooly under the official auspices of anti-piracy. Both vessels were in fact working together on local surveillance of Holy Panooly, specifically in the area around Guamlumpeiron. The Defiler, with its comprehensive and massive suite of super computers tackled the bulk of the surveillance by monitoring unencrypted channels, emergency services, hospital networks, civilian TV, radio and amateur radio broadcasts. In unison with the Antares Class she sifted through military networks that were not so difficult to crack or simply monitors that amount of radio traffic as apposed to the actual content. The capabilities of the Antares Class meant she could monitor cellular data exchanges, military data transitions if big enough, and insecure Internet connections. Little was known about Macabee military comms and how they were encoded – but without actually needing to attempt hacking it, Stevid gathered enough intelligence to make an informed decision on this KN755 outbreak.

Symptoms were, as the Golden Throne had put it, ‘Zombielike’; enough to warrant an Imperial investigation and the assembly of a naval/marine task force in Adaptus Astrates. Initial symptoms were insidious, 95% chance of infection when within an enclosed space such as a building with an infected person therein – the virus being able to pass from person to person via air or fluid. Death is almost guaranteed but death, fortunately, was final. The infected underwent a drastic chemical character change; they would exhibit violent and animalistic behaviour, be unable to comprehend command, will not listen to reason, they would devolve into a primitive state. But the key point was they would not be dead. The infected would require nourishment, oxygen and water (in any medium) – thus the Stevidian Reanimation Directive was not to be applied to the situation. This did not deter the government in its decision to send in the Inquisitor. The virus was incredibly lethal and contagious and worthy of some form of investigation.

The three men had not gotten far from the sources of local outbreaks before the scenery changed for the worse. The Antares Class detected airborne military targets, strategic bombers heading in the direction of Guamlumpeiron. Fearing the worse attempts were made to warn the ground team of a possible attack on the settlement and outlying areas by the Golden Throne in a bid to curb the spread of the disease. The actual type of attack surprised everyone.

First there was a blinding flash in the sky causing the car the Inquisitor’s group was travelling to stop. It was immediately clear to all three of them what was happening. The flash was a surface detonation of a large nuclear device over Guamlumpeiron. What followed was an enormous explosion followed by a shockwave. The 200kt blast was utterly devastating the city; the fire ball would incinerate everything within half a kilometre and a subsequent 200m wide crater would leave everything around it vaporised or unrecognisable. After 6km the shockwave would fall to about 1.5psi leaving a trail of collapsed buildings behind it and outwards of 12km people would suffer very degrees of burns. The electromagnetic inference was far too great for the combined effort of the Royal Navy’s electronic vessels – and the Inquisitor and his team were never heard from again.

by **Ordernite South Panooly** » Fri Jan 23, 2015 3:42 pm

[OoC: Further posting by me being the United World Order will be under the new account 'Ordernite South Panooly'.]

Recommended Listening.

South Panooly, Southern Dienstad
The South Panoolie government and the Ordernites prepare for the arrival of Ordernite settlers.

The goal formed by the United World Order when they officially took control of the southern portion of Holy Panooly during what was the Holy Panooly Civil War, it was for the creation of a new hub for the Ordernite Navy, new economic opportunities and trade and also the re-organizing of property and land for the eventual settling of most of the country for Ordernite 'settlers'. All but one of these goals had been completed , several ports were now active and serving for Ordernite civilian and naval vessels doing a variety of tasks in and out of these ports and harbors. New economic opportunities had defiantly been revealed with the takeover and making of a monopoly over raw and rare minerals by developing multiple industries and corporations to take charge. The coming of a national economy had taken shape smoothly with the nationalization of key industries such as the collection of raw and rare minerals, fishing and logging. New industries were also being built up and would be nationalized soon enough as the population were finding jobs.

Urbanization in South Panooly seemed like a new thing to the population as the southern portion only consisted of one actual city which was Qadesh. The rest of the population lived rurally in a multitude of sprawling villages and communities all through out the country. Laborers by the thousands were being put to work building up urban centers for the population to soon enough be put into to live and prosper. A large urbanization project for the country was being jointly done by the South Panoolie and Ordernite governments. Of course these new cities would be inhabited primarily by the Ordernite 'settlers' and Panooly Whites to live in which would be able to hold a massive amount.

The Organized Settlement of People and Property were a national organization made for this type of scenario. The OSPP had been credited with a lot of the late urbanization in the United World Order in getting more of the rural elements to convert to a more urban environment. The OSPP was now in charge and determined to move and re-settle almost half of the country which would move the Panoolies more north towards the border and allowing them to settle in that area without letting them leave to head into the newly established Panoolie government under the guide of the Golden Throne. Preventing the Panoolies to leave was an easy task as the new border fortifications had been built and new legislation coming from the local government that no citizen shall be able to leave the country to take permanent residence elsewhere. Also helping was the propaganda effort in the country to further discourage citizens from traveling north into a 'Land of false democracy and corrupted politics'. Instead positive fluff about South Panooly and it's government would be everywhere for all to get exposure to which was a joint effort by the Ordernite Ministry of Propaganda and the newly created Ministry of Patriotic Development.

The estimates for the first batch of arrivals were to be from 500,000 to almost 3,000,000. The goal would be that within five years over 42,000,000 'settlers' would be living in the newly renovated lands destined for them to live in. All the while a estimated amount of 52,000,624 Panoolies which the majority were colored would be moved north and into sprawling ghettos that were near slums compared to the prospected urban environment and conditions the settlers would be obtaining. The future would behold a new wave of instability and insurrection that would claim thousands of lives because of the forced migration, but that was the future and this is the present.

by **The Macabees** » Sat Jan 24, 2015 8:14 pm

Village of Caludran, North Holy Panooly
Exterminating the 'survivors'...

No more than 100 kilometers east of the ruins of Guamlumpeiron lay Caludran, a small village once populated by 16,000–18,000 souls. Under normal circumstances, Caludran would now be alight with festivities. Every year, the northern mining towns of Holy Panooly would celebrate their annual yields. Queer music would fill the streets, interrupted by the excited shouts of the young and the drunken chatter of the adults. Most would be dancing. There would be a great deal of food, great banquets — the one time of the year these towns could afford the extravagances of life. The next day was technically part of the festivities as well, but more hours were spent recuperating from the previous night than anything else. This year, however, there was no one left in Caludran to celebrate. The only people roaming the streets were KN755 'survivors,' now more beast than man. The rest were either dead or had fled. Caludran was turned into a border marker, distinguishing the beginning and end of an 'infection-free zone' which lined the northeastern coastline.

Sargént Noran Gorgín pressed his back against the building separating him from a main street. Behind his helmet he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then took a look around the corner. Nothing. He let his breath out; he had been holding it for a while. Turning to his sektón, he waved to one of his two ekipés, ordering them to round the building and set up a position on the other side for fire support. These four men did so, their padded metal boots making a soft noise on the packed dirt below. In little more than a minute, they were positioned correctly. Gorgín took his other ekipé and moved on down the street, towards a location to his northwest. When they set up there, he ordered the first fire team to relocate as well through his battlesuit's comm. Like this, methodically, they made their way through Caludran. Throughout the town at least a hundred other sektóns were similarly sweeping Caludran street-by-street. For all the action, the battlefield was still eerily silent. Something about it turned Gorgín off.

Catching his breath — at thirty-eight, his body wasn't what it used to be —, he turned to Soldat Harponis, a nineteen year old Faracati who had only graduated from airborne school a few months ago. It didn't take long these days for fresh recruits to be packaged into units and shipped off to one of the faraway territories. Harponis looked composed, although everyone looked composed when wearing a powered suit. His head periodically swiveled back and forth, looking for threats. "This doesn't seem right, does it?" There was a hint of worry in Gorgín's voice.

"What do you mean, sargént?" There was no enemy in sight, still the soldier clutched his Hali-53 in preparation for a firefight. He was too timid to express his concerns.

Gorgín looked around him, "They told us to expect over a thousand Gargoyles" — a name Macabee soldiers had given the 'survivors' — "and so far we haven't seen shit. Something doesn't seem right. We're what...a couple of clicks from the town center? We should have come across something by now."

At first, Harponis failed to respond. He hung his head down. "Sargént, I feel them watching."

The sargént shuddered. He hadn't thought about it until now. But, it was true. It felt like there eyes on his back. It made him quite uncomfortable. Looking around him, his eyes settled on what looked like an abandoned apartment building. The top floors had been pulverized by bombs, the remnants amounting to a number of support beams and large standing pieces of brick and concrete. The rest of the building was in poor shape, windows replaced by large holes created by a rocket or artillery. Whatever walls were left intact were pocked with bullet holes, a permanent memory of the fighting that had taken place a few weeks back. Gorgín couldn't see inside of it; it was far too dark, any incoming light blocked out by piles of rubble. But, as he stared at this building he felt a knot forming in his stomach. He had a bad feeling about it. There was something inside...something living. And as he looked on, he felt that this something was looking back at him. So he did what any respectable Macabee regulare would do. He decided to explore.

"Karis, take your men around the back of that building over there," said Gorgín, pointing at the building. "See if there is a secondary entrance. If so, park yourself around it and get back to me. Wait for my order to move in." He paused and then added, "Take care of yourself boys. Whatever we're fighting here, it's not like anything else we've ever fought."

Kabo Karis took his ekipé towards the building and then widely circumvented it, making sure to stay in the open. There was a weird sensation where it felt that being in the middle of the street was better than hiding in the shadows, because there already something in the shadows. From inside the building still emanated utter and absolute silence. It as if the devil himself looked out from inside, gliding from place to place without making a sound. From what the soldiers had been told, the 'survivors' were large, ponderous creatures incapable of surprise. They were portrayed as daft, too. But while the sensations given by the building did not fit that profile, there was something drawing Gorgín and his men there. Not too long after they had initially departed, Karis' fire team had found some cover behind the building and from there they were able to see a small door that would let them into the apartment structure. The kabo toggled his comm, "In position, sargént. Access route confirmed. I repeat, access route confirmed. Ready on go."

"Roger that," Gorgín confirmed. "Stay put, wait for my go."

He turned around and toggled his comm to speak only to the four men who would follow him into the building. "I don't know what's in there, men. But, whatever it is, it won't be good. Keep your eyes peeled. Guard all angles. Take a look to your right." The men did so. "Take a look to your left." They followed that order too. "Make sure that the man on either side of you comes out alive by the end of this, roger that?" All the helmeted heads nodded back. They were ready as they were over going to be.

Gorgín's ekipe followed him as they entered the tall structure through the main entrance. The broad wooden doors were already blown to bits, so they passed on through unimpeded. Floors cluttered with debris, walls soaked in blood, and ceilings half disintegrated, the building was no different from any other one would have found in Caludran. It was dark inside, but the men's battlesuits had already turned on their night vision. The bottom was once a large lobby; one could see the now shattered mailboxes on the wall, the vacant elevator that had been burst open from the inside by some kind of explosive, and the now useless light fixtures embedded in the ceiling above. Towards the rear, there were two staircases that led to an intermediary platforms, where the staircases reversed, and this pattern continued all the way to the top, eleven floors later. When they climbed the first set of these stairs, they arrived to the first floor — two doors in front of them, one on either side. Four rooms per floor times ten makes for a whole lot of apartments to inspect.

"Karis, enter through the back. First floor is clear. I repeat, first floor is clear. Move up through the left-hand set of stairs and meet us on floor one. I say again, met us on floor one." He needed his whole team if he was to get through all the flats. He'd also need them just in case things got hairy.

When the second fire team made it up to their location, he sent his own fire team — under the command of Kabos Lisandros — on into the first apartment. Karis' men would stay back, to guard the entrance. As customary, the least experienced soldier barged in first. This was Harponis. He burst open the lightweight door using his leg and rushed into the living room, only to find it empty. The other three infantrymen came behind him and they made their way throughout the home. Empty. They shuffled back to the hallway, after which Karis' fire team took the next apartment. Like this, they went through all four first floor flats. As with the first one, they were all empty. There was some hesitation to continue. What if we're wasting our time? That's when Gorgín first became aware of the smell. A thick, putrid stench seeping through the air from somewhere above. It was the rancid stink of rotting flesh. Rotting flesh. There was something, or some things rather, still here. After some hesitation, the sargént led his men onwards, "Lisandros you go up left, Karis you go up right."

With some undertones of fear the kabos responded, "As you order, sargént."

Thirty seconds later, the two teams met themselves on the second floor. Much like on the first floor, they looked through the four apartments, one by one. As with the their counterparts one set of stairs down, these were abandoned. There was something strange about the homes, however. Lisandros was the first to grasp at it, "Sargént, all the flats so far..." He hesitated a bit, perhaps afraid that he'd say something stupid, but then went on. "Well, all the closets are full. All the furniture...it's in place. Other than the damage from our bombings and from firefights in the streets and in the lobby, the apartments are actually in fair condition. Yet, there's blood...everywhere."

Others were nodding in agreement. "And, and the kitchen cabinets, the refrigerators...if they had one...were all empty. There was no food left. None, sargént."

"Hm, yes," mused Gorgín, "those are odd details indeed." He sniffed the air. "Shoot to kill, boys."

They climbed the next sets of stairs, one fire team per side. The soldiers completed the same routine as before and came up with the same result. They moved on the fourth floor, then to the fifth, and finally to the sixth. The higher they climbed, the stronger the smell. For some it became too overbearing, so they toggled the internal circulation setting in their battlesuits. They also gripped their rifles more tightly, as if the stench was an omen for impending doom. Gorgín had smelled worse. In Aurillac, he was one of the few survivors of the Havenic bombings. For days, the only smells that filled his nostrils were those of freshly dead skin, muscle, and bone, which radiated forth from the scattered bodies of the more than twenty million Macabee civilians who died during the carpet bombing of the city. He had smelled, hell, seen worse. So he shouldered no emotional burden when he sent Lisandros' fire team into the first room on the sixth floor. What he saw once the door was kicked down, however, matched the terror he had suffered from in Aurillac. Before him stood a survivor.

It stood over a meter taller than Gorgín, who by no means was a short man — just shy of two meters. Rippling muscles twitching and twisting as it flexed lined its entire body. Its arms were at least thrice the size of the most muscular man in the Macabee sektón. Broader shoulders than any mortal man and feet reminiscent of something out of a horror story, it did not even look remotely like the human it once was. Its hair had fallen out, even on its arms and legs, and it mostly unclothed. Whatever clothing it was wearing when 'it' was a 'he' were now gone, as it quickly grew out of them. The thing's face was lined with deep groves and scars, and its eyes were just beady black dots. Penetrating, they instilled fear into the hearts of those who looked directly into them, like Madusa turned men to stone. It did not speak, only grunted and snarled, its lips pulled back to reveal the dark color of decayed gums. At first, it stood still, then it looked back into another room where there another three just like waiting. Gorgín and his men had found a nest of theirs.

A front of fear overcame the Macabee warriors.

Mere seconds passed between first seeing the beast and one of the sargént's men opening fire. Four tungsten-cored 6.64mm Orchomenos punctured its skin, burrowing deep within its thick body. The thing groaned, but did not fall. Neither the bullets daze him for long. With a lion's roar he charged the soldiers, which frantically fired back. Some of the men had changed their targets to the other beasts lying in one of the bedrooms. But, they took bullets well. To their rear, facing Karis' fire team in the hallway, other creatures emerged from the dark. Now the whole place stirred with activity, as other 'survivors' rushed down from upstairs. Under pressure, the two fire teams were pushed into that first apartment. Lisandros' men were finally able to kill the one in the living room and the three in the first bed room. A soldat kept moving to the rear of the flat, waiting by a corner for the rest of his team to give him some covering fire. Before they made it, a large arm appeared from around the door, grabbed him, and dragged the soldier into the room.

"Shit, shit, shit! Get your men in there Lisandros! Get him out alive. Go, go, go," urged Gorgín.

Lisandros' fire team put safety aside and quickly turned their rifles in the room that the soldier had been pulled into. If it hadn't been for the battle suit that poor infantryman was wearing he'd probably already be dead. Instead, there were two beasts desperately pounding on the man's armor. Still, they were making considerable dents and given more time they would undoubtedly succeed in their quest for fresh food. Fortunately for the Macabee, his comrades were able to gun the two 'survivors' down after showering them with bullets.

Gorgín pulled as Linsadros' shoulder and ordered him to clear the bathrooms and kitchen. He then pulled the fallen soldier to his feet. "Are you shaken, lad?"

The soldat did not answer immediately. He was clearly shaken; the poor kid had probably experienced his first face-to-face with death. Ah, to be that young again. But, the infantryman eventually recovered and belatedly responded, "I'm good to go, sarge."

"Good!" bellowed the superior. "Now go join your brothers in combat!"

The immediate task at hand was breaking out of the room. Then, now knowing that they had bit off more than they could chew, the sektón would try to escape out to the street again. From there they could decide their next move. Without wasting time, Gorgín pushed his men forward back into the hallway. Many of the creatures had retreated back into their rooms to avoid the hail of gun fire. The Macabee infantrymen were being fired back on. They know how to use our weapons. Beasts up above attempted to snipe at the Imperial soldiers, their cruder Panooly small arms unable to effectively pierce their armor however. Some of the monsters had made it to the floors below, meaning the sargént and his men would have to make their retreat under fire. Down the staircases they went, protecting their rear to their best efforts and killing anything that stepped out in front of them. The doors to the apartments on the bottom five floors were closed, but as the infantrymen passed by some of the doors would open to try and snatch the armored soldiers as they moved briskly.

One or two of them fell victim to these tactics. These men would have to stay behind. One of them was Linsandros, who was a very good warrior. But, saving him was too costly. So they left him to die. Some of the men present would later claim that they could hear his screams as they neared the building's lobby. They weren't screams of sudden pain, in the moment of first being eaten alive. They were the screams of a man suffering from an intense torture. What exactly those men suffered will never be known to the living, because living after such treatment is not humanly possible. Now reduced to seven men, the sektón finally burst out of the building and spilled into the street like a mob. They had transitioned from a minor skirmish into a full flown battle. All around then, inside buildings, on the street, man clashed against beast in a battle to the death. There was only one clear thing that could be made out, the Imperial soldiers were ceding ground. They were consolidating and preparing themselves for a longer fight. The Killings of Caludran had begun.

Gorgín took another look at the building he had failed to secure. His stark face twisted into a mischievous grin, and he said, "Shit, let's burn them out."

by **Morrdh** » Sun Jan 25, 2015 6:51 am

(OOC: Catch-up post)

Commonwealth Convoy HP01, Kualapal, Northern Holy Poonaly

Following news of the virus outbreak the convoy, and the port where it had docked, had been placed under quarantine to ensure that the virus did not leave Poonalian soil. The Macabeeans had effectively blockaded Kualapal despite Royal Morridane Marines having setup their own checkpoints on the roads leading in and out of the port city, though a trickle of resourceful refugees had made their own way into the city. After submitting them to an enforced medical check and quarantine, the few refugees that had somehow made it where questioned by an intel officer before being cleared to a hostel where they were to wait until a place aboard the convoy had been assigned to them. There was an effort made to double check the refugee's details with Interpol, mainly to see whether the person was wanted for any crimes and so that they could be arrested if they were. But the Morridane authorities turned a blind eye to how the refugees had made it into Kualapal.

With the arrival of the Audacious-class aircraft carrier HSS Wiseman the Morridanes had been putting the ultra low flying capabilities of the carrier's Blackburn Buccaneers to good use. A single Buccaneer with a reconnaissance fit had been launched once every few days to fly an ultra low level sortie overland, taking a wide circuit round the coastline before turning inland. It was done so that Vice Admiral Wade could have info on what was happening further inland so that he could report back to Morrdun. It was bit of a cat and mouse game, seeing if any Macabeean fighter could spot the lone Morridane aircraft as it literally skimmed the treetops and dodged electrical pylons. It was a rare chance for the Buccaneer crews to put their skills to the test, even if some would say that they were being too reckless.

Eventually the quarantine came to an end and Morrdun informed the Macabeean government that the convoy would be departing Holy Poonaly as the ships made preparations to set sail. A number of refugees in the triple figures had decided to leave with the convoy, though mostly from Kualapal, and a dozen or so of their number found themselves being escorted to a ship's brig and confined there by armed guards. The Morridane Foreign Office would be contacting various governments regarding those that had flagged up an arrest warrant when their details were check in order to hand said persons over. Though as the convoy sailed back towards Morrdh, the carrier HSS Wiseman struck a different course bound for Stevid.

by **Radictistan** » Sun Jan 25, 2015 9:56 pm

Combat Security Outpost 16, Indras Demilitarized Zone

The last two cards descended to the ammunition crate used as a table. A chorus of groans greeted their majestic entry. Private Jens Horst collected his winnings, about enough to buy a beer at a pub back home.

“Fuck you, Horst,” Al-Vali said.

“Yeah? Go crying to your rich Oma.”

“If I was so rich I wouldn’t be slumming it with this crowd.” The Radictistani Arab made a broad gesture with his arms encompassing the present ensemble. A half dozen conscripts sat around their makeshift den, most clad in only an undershirt or nothing at all above the waist. The heat and humidity of Indras was unlike any clime found within Radictistan’s borders.

“All Arabs are fucking rich.”

Al-Vali extended one middle finger just as there began a shrill noise rapidly becoming shriller as it approached. The young soldiers grabbed their personal weapons and jumped into the nearest dug-out fighting position, most immediately but some with a moment’s hesitation. The first and second mortar rounds to hit threw up large amounts of dirt already disturbed by the Radictistanis’ digging. The last of the squad to reach cover cried out as a piece of shrapnel tore into his back. He stumbled into his assigned hole. Janos Tibor swore at the added weight on his shoulders.

A sixth mortar bomb obliterated a section of sandbags. The overhead cover put up by the soldiers was holding.

“Mortar!” Oberkapral Ufelsky shouted from another fighting position. “Vicinity TRP 01!” The unmistakably racket of one of the automatic grenade launchers became apparent over the din. Whether they were hitting anything was anyone’s guess.

After a hundred seconds the action was over. In that time perhaps a dozen bombs had landed on or near the Radictistani position. After several more minutes a few of the soldiers cautiously emerged from their shelters and moved quietly towards better vantage points. In the end it seemed that this was just another random mortar attack, the second endured by the platoon in three days.

"Lehmann!" The Platoon Sergeant shouted through the declining ring in everyone's ears. "How many rounds have you got?"

"Ninety, Unterserzant!" the noncommissioned officer in charge of the two AGS-30s shouted back after a minute's consultation. The senior NCO's response was predictable, loud, and extremely vulgar.

At Third Squad's fighting position Private Horst removed his helmet and through it to the ground. "Vali," he said with burning frustration. "If you're so rich, buy us a way out of here."

Royal Radictistan Navy Carrier Battle Group Two, Off the Coast of Indras

A freak wave smashed into the Kirov-class guided missile cruiser Armiger. The twenty-eight thousand tonne ship took the blow in stride. A short-lived bout of discomfort for those stationed near the bow was the only effect.

In the Combat Information Center, Weapons Officer Captain Third Rank Andrei Maev eyed two pairs of radar contacts. The first, nearer pair represented the carrier battle group’s CAP: two MiG-29K fighters patrolling eighty nautical miles to the northwest. Of greater interest was the second pair of contacts which indicated another MiG flight loitering at a further distance.

Maev listened intently to the pilot chatter coming in through his headphones. Like everyone else in the CIC he wore anti-flash gear. The long white hood gave him the appearance of a desert nomad, an unlikely person to find on a naval ship underway.

Maev glanced at a display indicating the ship’s present position. He turned to the Armiger’s commanding officer, Captain First Rank Hans Woodser.

“Sir, we are in position.”

“Make it happen,” the Old Man said.

Maev pulled up the handset for the UHF radio and said the words to begin the live-fire exercise. “Mowen 1, weapons free.”

Captain Third Rank Yuri Malenkov turned his MiG onto a lead pursuit course toward the carrier group. His Zhuk radar picked up the ships of the group immediately. A twelve-year veteran of the Royal Radictistan Navy, Malenkov was executive officer of Jagdstaffel 2. Today he was flying as an aggressor. On two of his wing hardpoints sat MA-31 supersonic missile targets. Based off the Kh-31 missile commonly carried by RRN aircraft, the MA-31 could emulate both sea-skimming anti-ship missiles and quasi-ballistic anti-radiation missiles.

The CAP fighters did not respond to the aggressors’ movement towards the surface task force. The objective of the exercise was solely to test the shipborne anti-missile capability. Each of the missiles slung underneath the naval fighters had a preassigned course loaded into their onboard memory. Malenkov’s missiles would follow a high altitude flight path akin to those of anti-radiation missiles. Those of his wingman Captain-Lieutenant Stroebling would assume a sea-skimming trajectory.

At a range thirty-six nautical miles, Malenkov fired his portside missile. After about three seconds he fired the starboard missile. “Mowen 1, rifle rifle,” he announced the shots. Malenkov adjusted the trim of his aircraft and began an ascending leftward turn. The missiles he had fired lit their solid rocket boosters and catapulted up further into the sky. They reached their apogee at a hair above fifteen thousand meters. Having transitioned to propulsion via liquid-fueled ramjet, the missiles began their descent travelling at three and a half times the speed of sound.

Stroebling fired his two missiles at thirty nautical miles. They followed a ballistic arc for some forty seconds before their boosters fired. After the transition to air-breathing, the two target missiles ran in towards the carrier group just five meters above the waves.

Multiple reports of “Vampire!” filled the Armiger’s CIC. From this point the semi-automated air defense control system worked rapidly. Maev authorized the launch of a pair of 48N6E missiles at each of the first two targets. The MR-800 air search radar fed target position data to the 30N6E1 fire control radar for the latter to begin its more refined search and track operations.

The missiles were cold launched. Each live round jumped into the air followed only by a puff of smoke before lighting their rocket motors and racing up and far away.

The fire control radar kept a close track of both MA-31 targets and the rising 48N6E missiles. The SAMs received continuous updates to their onboard autopilots in order to keep them on a collision course with their targets. When the missiles neared their assigned targets the FCR shifted gears. In addition to the normal pulse-doppler operation, the radar produced a pair of narrow, continuous-wave beams.

The missiles' seeker heads took in the reflected radar energy which their electronic brains then used to devise their final maneuvers before impact. Rather than directly act upon this information, the missiles sent the data back down to the fire control radar on Armiger where additional computers made their own calculations. Both opinions were considered and a consensus reached. Once each missile had been guided to within killing distance of the target, the onboard proximity fuze triggered its fragmentation warhead, destroying the target.

The two high altitude targets exploded with a satisfying display. The sea-skimmers, their extremely low altitude having shielded them from direct radar observation, continued their approach. Their treatment had been assigned to the 3K95 "Kinzhal" missile system of the Udaloy-class destroyer Firefly. The 3K95 had the capability to provide guidance for up to eight missiles against four different topics. The aerial targets were not even a challenge. They were consumed by shrapnel and fire with range to go.

A signal came from the flag bridge on Count of Nuxenstat: TO THE OFFICERS AND CREW OF ARMIGER AND FIREFLY GOOD SHOOTING.

Radictistani Checkpoint, Indras Demilitarized Zone

Jantzen knew the MoD was prepping two more infantry battalions and an artillery battalion plus a few other odds-and-ends for rapid deployment. Adding the three battalions alone would bring his total force to about 6,500. That force level would allow the combat engineers to be pulled out of the line and employed at their actual jobs while still giving Jantzen an additional battalion to thicken the current line of outposts. The Radictistani general wondered how many soldiers Field Marshal Murk and the Grand Duke would be willing to send to Indras at maximum. He wasn't sure. The conversation was getting uncomfortably close to one which it would be more appropriate for the political leadership to hold.

"The Ministry of Defense and Foreign Ministry will have to continue this discussion," Jantzen eventually answered before the Macabees departed, "but our contingency planning will require a minimum of nine thousand personnel on the ground. That is the absolute minimum." Given the current budget situation and the "Troubles" in Norcustsur, he didn't expect the Powers-that-Be to authorize more than 20,000 troops in any event. After making all the necessary goodbyes, Jantzen found himself extremely relieved to once again deal with his own countrymen.

by **The Macabees** » Mon Feb 09, 2015 12:27 pm

Cüev XXIII, Theohuanacu
War clouds gather over the horizon...

Emergency orders had been sent in via an encrypted signal. Dorian Balak wondered what was going on now, as he left the familiar warmth of his house. Cüev XXII, just like every other Laerihans base, had been put on high alert this past week. Apparently, the southern pirates were looking for a fight again. Could this about the supposed rebellion? But, that was under control. All intelligence Balak had seen — although, given his rank and his import, this wasn't much — pointed to the fact that the pirates weren't yet strong enough to truly challenge Macabee rule in the south. It can't be the rebellion, it's too soon and why would they have to issue emergency orders? Still, that was the only 'thing' going on. Holy Panooly had been pacified, the Indran frontier lay relatively still, and there were no other known threats to the Golden Throne that would justify waking Balak in the middle of the night. Uncertainty or not, however, he owed a duty to his Empire, which is why he simply turned off his phone, kissed his wife, quickly got dressed, and took his car to the nearby military airfield.

The drive was lonely. There were almost no other cars on the roads and the highways were populated mostly by semi-trailer trucks shipping goods to-and-from the Industrial Sector. He passed around them like a river around rocks, paying them no attention as his headlights illuminated them around him. His mind was elsewhere. Emergency orders. Since joining the air corps, the only military action he had participated in was the occasional patrols on the western side of the Thacu Islands. He wasn't looking for more either. His wife was pregnant with his first child, and he was looking forward to staying with his son. Emergency orders. Those words seemed like bad omens to him. Janus. That's what we'll call him.

Fifteen minutes after leaving his house, he arrived at the cüev. At the south-side gates, he let the civilian guard scan his identification chip. After not too much of a hold-up, he continued to base headquarters without an intermediary stop. The headquarters building was a creature of the desert. It stood like a castle, an architectural oasis, made of sand-colored concrete and designed to survive the improbable likelihood of a bombing campaign, it was but the flower to a much deeper root. Below, the headquarters extended on all sides, occupied by the personnel responsible for the operation of the airfield. From it one could also travel to the various underground hangars, which housed a thousand Lu-45 and six hundred GLI-76 fighter aircraft. There were also no less than one hundred GLI-34 bombers, one of which was Balak's bird. The surface contrasted sharply with the commotion below; around the base headquarters structures were scant and widely dispersed. A handful of buildings stood in area of a little over twelve square kilometers, most of which was covered by faux hangars to throw off foreign intelligence — the full area of the below-the-surface base was classified.

A couple of soldats sitting behind a desk stood to attention as he walked into the lobby. "At ease," he muttered as he approached them. He extended his right arm, pulled back his jacket's sleeve, and looked at one of the soldiers scan the chip on his inside wrist. The other soldier went back to paying attention to the screen in front of him.

The scan brought up immediate results on the computer. The soldat controlling it — Rudyard by what his name tag said — looked up at Balak and said, "Kapitán, they expect you at O33." The kid's fingers moved quickly to push the keys on his keyboard. "Your clearance reflects your orders, sir. You're good to go on down."

Behind Balak opened one of the elevator doors. The captain whirled around and walked into the open space, cold alloy doors shutting behind him. He held his breath as the contraption took him downward at an unholy speed. In case of emergency, people needed to get from point A to point B quickly, regardless of the discomforts of the body. Actually, these elevators had become famous over time. They would actually use them in television advertisements, to goad young men into the service. The banality of society's 'young bright minds' was stupefying. But, Dorian had in his day succumbed to the same petty propaganda, so he couldn't really criticize too much. The Laerihans had, in any case, given him a spectacular income — for the value of his skills —, and a comfortable and so-far peaceful life. Emergency orders. The words his flight commander had used over the phone were damning. Within seconds, the captain's opportunity for introspective thought was lost and the elevator doors opened to reveal an artificially lit hallway.

Another soldier was there to greet him opposite of the hallway, sitting behind a desk within a niche carved within the metallic walls of the below-surface quarters. The lad snapped to attention. "Kapitán Balak, Leut Strategos Agamenos awaits you in O33," he said.

"At ease." Dorian looked down the right, then down the left. He never knew where these stupid conference rooms were. He usually got debriefed in his flight's office in the hangar. This part of the headquarters was typically reserved for general officers and members of the command staff. Decision-makers, not warriors. Emergency orders. Dorian's heart sunk. Janus will be born soon. Quetzalpochli — a local god that had gathered something of a cult following over the years (some accuse the temple's high staff of administering brainwashing drugs among believers) — would not do this to me now. The captain was a pilot, not a decision-maker. There couldn't be many reasons he'd be called to this part of base headquarters, unless something serious had happened. I'm not ready for war yet, I'll be a father soon. But, he also had a duty to his Empire, son or not. The soldier behind the desk noticed that the captain seemed not to know where to go, so he gave him instructions and Dorian set off to the right, making his way through the hallways until he arrived at O33.

The he realized who's name the soldier at the desk had thrown at him. Leut Strategos Agamenos. Emergency orders. Now there was no doubt, something was going down. Dorian could feel it in his bones, he had an instinct about this sort of thing. His sixth sense in foreboding was part of what made him such a great bomber pilot.

O33's door had a window in it, but the room's contents were hidden by closed plastic blinds. Dorian held his breath and hesitantly opened the door. Inside, the strategos and Balak's flight command, Koronel Arnhaus, were half-seated on a glass table on one end in the room. Twenty-five other captains were seated on blue plastic chairs, in rows, in the middle of the room. He didn't count them all, but he knew all his peers were there. There was an open spot for Dorian. Every single bomber captain in the cüev is here. Emergency orders. He took a look at some of his fellow captain's faces, but he found them hard to read. Some were excited, some were solemn, others were simply annoyed that they had been awaken at such an hour. Then he looked back at Koronel Arnhaus and noticed something that made Dorian grimace. The man was smiling. But, it was no ordinary smile. He was too happy given the occasion. There was a certain lust about him, not the typical lust that drives a man. This was a desire for something different...for adventure. For exploit. For war.

The strategos motioned to the open chair and said, "Take a seat, Kapitán Balak. Later I'll dispatch someone to settle you in our below-surface barracks for the night."

I won't be heading back home for a while, thought Dorian. When will I see Janus?

Caludran, North Holy Panooly
Digging in...

Sargént Noran Gorgín's nostrils flared when one of his soldier's accidentally brushed up against one of the hanging bodies, sending a putrid waft in the sargént's direction. His nose wrinkled, although by now he thought he had gotten used to it. There's no getting used to this stench, he thought. This shit is straight out of a horror story. Dozens of charred bodies hanged from the ceiling, the meant now burned to a black crisp. These people had died long before their corpses fell victim to the Macabee flamethrower. They had been killed by the 'survivors,' used as meat to feed tribes of these sub-, or perhaps super-, normal humans. Good, those beasts were never able to feed on these bodies. Their souls will have the opportunity to trascend. Along with the hundreds of feeding carcasses organized in various rooms in the top floors of the building — where it was coldest, and where it was more difficult for other tribes to steal —, hundreds of the infected had been scorched as well. Their remains were carried off and turned to ash. Even dead, those zombie-like creatures were impressive...and frightening all the same.

Noran turned away from the suspended cadavers and towards his sektón. There were new faces. Some of his men had to be replaced after losing their lives in the streets and apartments of Caludran. A grave depression had recently beset the sargént. With every death, he pulled in fresh blood into this vicious country. He knew it wasn't his fault that they died. They had been sent here by His Imperial Majesty — at least, that's where the buck stopped — and it was the Imperial Government that ordered men to their death. Still, Gorgín embodied some responsibility and it was he who actually led his men into battle. While others in their ivory towers saw casualties as statistics, Noran knew these men personally, had met their wives, their mistresses, their children. All these soldiers entrusted him with their lives, so their vicious passing was his liability. This weighed heavily on him now, even though this was not his first rendezvous with death. His memories turned to Aurillac. The shrill screaming of melting children. The sargént shuddered.

Forcing himself out of his nostalgic trance, he issued quick orders, "Mark these men for cleanup. It's time to move out and move on. Hustle it up, guys."

The others around him hurried their pace as they cut the bodies down one-by-one, wrapping them in special sheets that would sterilize them and prepare them for transportation to a mass grave. The carcasses were organized on the floor, in a pyramid. As his soldiers did this, Gorgín walked around, inspecting their work and making sure all was done to standards. Minutes later his new ekipé leader, Kabos Dinamant, appeared through the door, said, "Rooms up here are ready for cleanup, Sargént."

"Roger that," responded Noran. "Help Karis, here. Your help comes in due time. We need to move out, a.s.a.p. That means five minutes ago, you understand?" The other man nodded and ordered his ekipé to help their comrades with the organizing of the dead.

When this finished, the unit moved on down the staircases to the lobby. Making it down wasn't straightforward, because there were dozens of soldiers from a burner unit carrying down the bodies of the dead survivors. The beasts were especially heavy, after the transformation in their muscle and bone masses. Interestingly, their flesh was not as badly burned as that of the humans. It was apparently stronger, more resistant to extreme temperatures. Interesting? That's a weird way to put it. These things are monsters, nothing better. Nothing about them should be interesting. They should be despised. That, after all, is why we're burning them. But, their tissues weren't resistant enough. The now dead beasts were being carried to the bottom floor and throw into burn truck, special made from dump trucks from across the straits (Theohuanacu). These vehicles were large, outfitted with a new trailer carrying a large furnace. The survivors were being incinerated on the spot, as they were found, lest one of them get lost and forgotten. Macabee soldiers were ordered to get rid of all of them; extinguish any trace of KN755.

They finally made it out to the street, where the commander of his pielotón and that of the bandag — Alfleutnant Vividos and Kapitán Federoy. There were other sargénts around too, but they were loitering around with their men. Strange, why weren't they moving on to clear the next apartment building? Noran turned to direct his men towards an open stretch of sidewalk, told them to sit down over there, eat, and rest as much as they could. He then walked over to the officers, who were motioning him over.

Upon arrival, Noran nodded and half-bowed to each in them in turn, according to their rank, and formally greeted them, "Alfleutnant, Kapitán."

"We need to quicken the pace a bit, Gorgín," said Vividos.

The captain nodded. "Yes, we need to hurry up. New orders have arrived. It seems we're going to be in Caludran a bit longer, but not for cleanup. They are actually sending us more of these burn trucks and..." he trailed off, as he went into solemn thought. The kapitán's face twisted in shame. "...We're ordered to bury the humans somewhere outside the town, where we see fit."

"Not their ritual burial?" So far, the Macabee peacekeepers had followed local customs, but it seemed that the disinfection campaign was taking new urgency.

"No," responded Federoy. "They want us to clear Caludran as quickly as we can and then they want the bandag to dig in." The man scowled, "Less than one hundred and thirty men for an entire town." The captain looked up at Noran, seemed to scope him toes to head, as if measuring his worth. "You see, we're ordered to dig in."

"Why?" questioned the non-commissioned officer.

"I don't see why that's any of your——" started the aftleutnant.

Federoy waved him off, interrupting the younger officer. "It's only natural that everyone would like to know." He looked back at Noran and continued, "We're holding down the interior. The 57th up north is close to linking up with us. Once that happens, the territory our 760th covers will demarcate what we have to secure. The 81st and the 323rd are still arriving in the south, but most of their men are in place along the Southern Panooly Frontier. Almost sixty thousand total. Not enough, but sufficient to put up a fight."

The sargént scratched his head. "I thought South Panooly was friendly? We could really use those boys to help us up here."

Federoy shrugged. "Things change, I suppose. All I know are the orders that were given and what I've heard from friends in other units."

"So, why is everyone fuckin' around?" Noran asked.

"Cuz I fuckin' said so, sargént," retorted Vividos. "Get back to your men, relay them what the kapitán said. You guys have..." he looked at his brown, leather wristwatch, "...twenty-one minutes to eat, rest, and shit. Then we move out and finish cleaning up the town. We'll be up all night, so get your boys ready."

Norán grimaced, but hid it well from his superiors. He snapped to attention before turning around and briskly walking back to his sektón to tell his men the news. He turned his head one last time, to look at the two officers, and heard something about Zarbian reinforcements — something about another hundred thousand men from Cuilculben and Uxlapak, off the east coast of North Panooly. Reinforcements? The sargént could feel the knot develop in his stomach. The Panooly lands were bad enough with survivors, but they were dealing well enough with the troops they had on hand. But, now another hundred thousand reinforcements? Almost eighty thousand men already deployed along the South Panooly Frontier. Something was going down, but Gorgín didn't know what. I'm just a grunt, they don't tell me shit. Still, there was some uneasiness in him. He didn't like how the paradigm kept shifting in this godforsaken country. A simple peacekeeping mission — or so he was told — turned into beast-hunting, and now something else was afoot. Always a new enemy around the corner, whether beast or man.

Targu Iulia, Indras
The Macabee war fleet stirs...

Admirant, now Stratadmirant, Franc Mijorán looked out the purple-curtained window of his study. The Kriermada strategic staff building the Empire had constructed him was splendid. Beautiful, she was a mastery in architectural interbreeding — much like a late-medieval chateau, but somewhat taller and built from an uglier brick (to better withstand the impact of explosive blasts). Surrounded by lush gardens and, thereafter, a thick, stunning wall, the Stratadmirant felt safe. Safe for himself, at least. Not so much for his men, who had just left the port for a naval exercise off the Michcuatl Islands. Franc looked out, at the scarcity of warships that now lined the military port. All of the capital ships had gone, leaving behind a handful of escorts to help with port defense. He sighed. Good men might die soon. So much for a training exercise. That's how it had been advertised to Lamoni, at least. That's why the exercise was held so close to Holy Panooly. To make it clear that these waterborne maneuvers had nothing to do with the Indran tension. But, there'll be tension alright. They'll never see it coming, thought Franc. He wasn't referring to Lamoni.

A voice appeared behind him. "The Kierflot is almost in position, Stratadmirant."

It was that of Vicadmirant Cartago. Franc almost forgot he was in the room, keeping track of the battle fleet's movement. The exercises will start soon. Mijorán mulled over the possibilities in his head. He whirled around away from the window and looked at Cartago. "Relay to Admirant Jocluse to begin bombing missions over North Panooly at will." A feint, it seems proper. "Tell him to keep us updated every hour on the status of the exercises, the status of the Panooly overflights, and his distance from South Panooly."

"Yes, sir," responded the other man. He reached out for a phone, unhinged the contraption, and pressed a single button. It took him, via a secure line, to some other part of the building. He repeated the orders and then hung up the voice, turning his attention back to the stratadmirant.

Stratadmirant. It was only a few months ago that Franc had received the promotion. It was a necessity. The arrival of a second krierflot, stationed at Botoșani, necessitated the reorganization of Krierflot 'Kastil' in Targu Iulia. That task force was kept as is, but given a new commander. Franc was promoted to oversee both task forces, as commander of Kriergrup 'Indras.' Two Kriermada task forces. A powerful fleet, but still small compared to the size it will one day grow to. Mijorán's thoughts were correct. The Kriergrup in Indras would be responsible for projecting the Golden Throne's naval power east of the island, with a future Kriergrup based on the western shores of Holy Panooly to protect the territorial front — once the political situation stabilized and ports of sufficient size were established (the Panoolies were not yet aware of the Second Empire's intention to annex three or four large coastal cities for this purpose). Large fleets had a purpose, however, and that purpose made Franc uneasy. The decade-long peace with the Empire's neighbors was too comfortable to give up with brash moves.

Turning back to the window, Franc spoke to his vicadmirant while looking the other way, "What of Kriergrup Ixchel?" He was referring to another group of task forces, organized along Theohuanacu's southeastern coastline. They had deployed for training exercises as well, southeast of United Gordonopia's Thacu Islands.

"I have not received word from them since last night, sir," said Cartago. "I assume they are still sailing into position."

The stratadmirant grunted under his breath. War was coming...

by **Mokastana** » Wed Feb 11, 2015 12:19 pm

Puerto Del Oeste
Omega,
Lamoni controlled territory

Mokan army helicopters passed over Major Ramirez's vehicle as it towards the Perimeter Security Headquarters nestled deep behind machine gun and mortar nests. His Dingo 2 with its dark yellow 'TM' seal made him stick out from among the shorter Red Star decorated Humvees. Ever since the Mokan Army moved into Omega they made their presence abundantly clear. Technically, Ramirez was not a member of the Mokan Army, but a contractor, a Private Military Contractor.

As one of the first security forces brought to this God forsaken island, he had managed to build relations with many local communities. One of the many Perks of Montana Inc gifting to the locals. So when the Army and Navy began to take over duties from the PMCs, commanders like Ramirez handled the transitions with their counterparts on the government side.

Of course, now that things were heating up in the region (UWO finding aged Mokan prisoners, Nicaro and Firmador in civil war, virus outbreaks in Holy Palooney) the Mokan government had decided to take their new holding a lot more seriously. There was only so much that could be deployed from Greal, and most of those assets were focused on the South Greal conflict. What was suppose to only have a token fighting force expanded. An Air Calvary Division set up a base nearby, bringing security and funds to spend locally. There ess talk of building a marine base as well, but nothing official yet.

Of course, Montana Inc had the advantage of their early arrival. They had claimed land and set up their business before the new streets had time to dry. Their coca and other medicinal plants were now in the first growth cycles. While plants of the industrial variety had began to spring up across local towns. Roads and trade schools funded by the company were becoming common in the local area. Though these people were now citizens of Lamoni, the company new it world need an educated workforce quickly, and could not wait for "governments" to get around to things like education.

Lucky the Mokan government knew Montana was their best shot at influencing the local population, and so a grant was offered to help "bring peace locally". Simply put, the PUF didn't mind how to the money was spent as long as the locals didn't start shooting the Army/Naval station.

"Sir, we're here."

One day Ramirez would get used to be called 'sir' by his international PMC recruits, but he wondered if he would still be working when it came. Mokans had made it habit to never publicly identify an under with things like "sir," or "salutes".

Jumping out of the Dingo 2 and onto the freshly paved concrete of the 50,000 strong Naval/Army Station, Ramirez turned and grabbed one more folder. Ever since Montana Inc got the contract to build defenses for the DMZ, the 10,000 PMV strong force had slowly been siding from the Port to the border as company needs changed. The government could guard their own port, but the bulldozers and ditch diggers needed guns to protect them from the militants crossing the border. Which led them to the next benefit they could monetize.

Since they were not part of the DMZ security forces, troop limits didn't apply to them. They were "officially" part of the construction crews, protecting the builders and providing site security. Part of that security meant learning about the locals studying the influx from the north. It turns out they weren't the only ones interested in such information.

Intelligence gathering was a new industry for Montana Inc, but it was becoming clear that governments would pay good money for information on what they perceived to be threats. Some where in Tarn a new Montana Inc shell was being born, Dynamic Intel. Ramirez only knew because he had a meeting with one of their company reps later that week.

Still, he could worry about the ex Spook networks later, today he had to worry about what problem the new government issued PR reps were having and how he would be ropped into solving it.

by **Imbrinium** » Wed Feb 11, 2015 9:11 pm

It was late the night before the first leg of a long mission after almost a month in isolation prepping and working on this mission and weeks of packing the mission was at hand and still not ready there is always something else to work on one last issue that popped up.

These men are the best the crown has to offer and they never stop and think that’s it where complete with mission prep. These guys, these warriors never say we thought of everything we can complete this mission with no problems.

There where at least six weapons pre-teammate plus ammo and personal kit etc, being loaded on to non-labeled aircraft that just looked like contract supply aircraft that flew in everyday. Just the two hundred SAS troops and support group would take almost four aircraft to setup with another four aircraft bringing vehicles and helicopters for the mission.

Site R would be the base the guys would be flying into to setup for operation Panooly Thunder; the setup would take about a week or so before the operation would set out on its first stage. The advance group which was a twelve man SAS team and the company’s sergeant major, this pre-deployment sight team was to pave the way for the rest of the team by finding room for the team to setup its operation away from the others.

The following morning the first flights were ready the white aircraft took off one by one just like any other supply aircraft before daylight. Then landed a short time later and waited till daylight. The crew and everyone where dressed as civilians the aircraft had no markings except for tail numbers which lead to a fake aero-supply company ran by the IIA.

Shortly after 8am the aircraft took off again this time for New Empire to be refueled for the longest part of the flight to North of Site RInd and then the base at Site R.

by **Morrdh** » Sun Feb 15, 2015 12:17 pm

Omega, Lamonian Controlled Territory

The turbofans of the RMAF Vickers VC10 spun down and the ground hurriedly moved a set of boarding stairs into position as a side door on the aircraft was opened. First to step out into the heat and humidity of what was formerly southern Indras was Field Marshal Arthur Norwell, one of the Commonwealth's top commanders who'd risen up through the ranks of the New Garrack Army. Previously he'd been in New Empire fighting the Dukopolians, later the commander of peacekeeping operations in the same country and more recently on the southern borders of his home country. Now he was in Omega ahead of a Morridane troop surge in an attempt to help stem the growing insurgency problem.

Waiting for him on the tarmac was a pair of Morridane Army officers; Brigadier Douglas MacGuire who was Commander, Morridane Forces Omega and another officer only known as Major Blackwood who Norwell knew very little about. The two officers saluted Norwell as he made his way down the steps from the aircraft. "Welcome to Omega sir."

"Trust the Lamonians to come up with that name." Norwell commented as he returned the saluted. "Thanks all the same for the welcome."

"Yes sir." MacGuire replied. "I trust you want to get down to business soon as possible?"

"That would be preferable." Norwell nodded. "How have our troops done so far?"

"Fairly well, the Genchi in particular have done exceedingly well." Answered MacGuire. "Mere word of their presence now gets most insurgents to simply surrender."

"Not surprising with those scary bastards, probably could tame the entire country single-handedly if we let them."

"No doubt, though we have to abide by so-called 'laws of war'."

"Shame." Grinned Norwell. "Guess we'll have to settle with releasing them on the most stubborn bastards. Major Blackwood, how have your...efforts been fairing?"

"Just Major will do sir." Blackwood replied. "You've received my reports on the matter."

"Quite..." Said Norwell. "Anyway, lets see what our Lamonian hosts have to say."

by **Imbrinium** » Sun Feb 15, 2015 10:33 pm

After a long flight taking over twenty hours the cargo aircraft landed at Site R, and taxied to the hanger at a low traffic area of the base. The reason was the cargo inside the aircraft, the personal where dressed as civilians and flight crew personal.

The huge aircraft approached the hangers and opened their doors the aircraft where hurried into the hanger to be unpacked from their travel setup. The teams unloaded pallet and pallet of gear for the teams and started to setup the command center. The radios would be next along with other networks. Barracks would be next along with bathrooms and showers; everyone did their share to setup their home for the seeable future. Till the kitchen was put together the teams would be eating at the base chow hall. With strict orders not to tell anyone or let anyone know who they were, not even to the base commanders.

Hours later in the late afternoon the cargo aircraft pulled down to park with the rest of the aircraft. The area around the conexs and hanger where now being secured, the area almost the same size of the hanger was now being closed in and with the common areas and walk ways around the hanger. This would be the compound from which operations would work out of. The area was strictly off limits to everyone on base with a need to know.

It would be weeks before things would be ready but the guys were anxious to get started. There would be some run ups to the main mission at hand.

by **Radictistan** » Sat Feb 28, 2015 3:51 pm

Radictistani carrier Count of Nuxenstat, off the coast of Indras

The Count of Nuxenstat carrier air group kept up a steady tempo of operations. One morning during the insurgent migration crisis saw two Su-25RMs launch, followed as shortly thereafter as possible by two pairs of MiG-29s. The subsonic attack jets each carried an ESM pod under the centerline. The pods were each equivalent to a miniature ELINT/COMINT aircraft, not quite as capable but they would pick up everything from the emissions of portable radios to the radars commonly found on military ships and aircraft the world over. The data was shown on the pilots’ multifunction display and was also recorded for future detailed analysis. The two “ferrets” parted ways, one to watch the north, the other the south, both shepherded by a pair of MiGs. Additional flights saw both attack jets and MiGs assume holding patterns along the eastern coast of Indras waiting for close air support requests.

On the flag bridge onboard Count of Nuxenstat, Commodore Sir Klaus Yespensy, the carrier group’s commanding officer pondered the state of the mission. The task force had been on station longer than anticipated. While the carrier and cruiser were nuclear-powered, the naval aircraft and smaller escort ships consumed prodigious quantities of fuel. The replenishment ships would need topping off soon. The amount of ordinance expended by the fighters and ground attack aircraft thus far was minimal, but the next few days were likely to remedy that fact.

FOB Trommel, Indras Demilitarized Zone

The normal rythmns of live within FOB Trommel were punctuated by the sharp retorts of rifle fire. On the firing range a line of men ranging in age from the cusp of adulthood to the height of middle age methodically filled a rank of inert targets with holes. Each man wore the standard Radictistani combat helmet and charcoal-colored battledress from Royal Security Police surplus. They were all Indras locals being trained for the new Local Self-Defense Units.

There were eventually to be some six hundred LSDU personnel. The Radictistanis were training them as quickly as practical so they could take the pressure off the overstretched Brigade Task Force. Their main role was static defense of settlements so only the basics of infantry combat had to be passed on.

Radictistan

Ulysses Radicti, the Count of Grenwall was in his office finishing some paperwork when the telephone rang.

“Major Radicti speaking.”

The voice on the other end was that of the Corps G-1.

“Start packing. You’re on the next plane to Indras.”

Radicti swallowed his surprise, of which there was much less than he had expected. “In what capacity, sir?”

“We’ll figure that out when you get there,” the senior officer said blithely. “Needless to say this comes from the top.”

That was an understatement. Major Radicti knew exactly why his uncle the Grand Duke wanted him with the Indras peacekeeping force. The mass mutiny by Questerian forces in Karaman had the Radictistani government and Crown on edge. That it had been a conscript army like their own to commit the ultimate act of betrayal made the paranoid Radictistani political establishment even more fretful. The officers of 3 Independent Aviation Regiment were already placing bets on the first generals to be shot as a prophylactic measure.
Radicti sighed after returning the telephone handset to its usual resting place. Spending all day on a military transport would be an ordeal. At least there was the possibility of getting more flying time in, maybe even firing in anger for once.

Before then there was much to do. He would have to brief his Commanding Officer, update his will, and fill out all the other paperwork generated by an upcoming deployment. Grabbing his peaked cap, he strode out of the office.

At multiple airbases across Radictistan dozens of transport aircraft were being prepped.

The two additional infantry battalions alone constituted an increase of almost 1,800 personnel. The artillery battalion added another five hundred thereabouts. Two helicopter squadrons, one operating Mi-17 transports and the other Ka-52 attack helicopters (200 personnel), two tank companies (105 personnel), a psychological warfare company (62 personnel), an engineering company (200 personnel), an RRAF radar surveillance unit (150 personnel), two Ranger companies (268 personnel), a detachment from the Naval Gunfire Support Group, and various logistical odds and ends readied for airlift. All but the tanks would go by air. The helicopters and radar equipment necessitated use of the RRAF's fleet of An-124 superheavy airlifters. Altogether the immediate reinforcement would raise the total Radictistani end strength to about 8,500.

by **United World Order** » Sun Mar 01, 2015 1:00 pm

AFB Dachmau, 32 KM near the 'Demilitarized Zone', South Panooly

Speeding off the runway of Air force base 'Dachmau' was two Tornado IDS aircraft and one Tornado ECR aircraft. The mission at hand was the destruction of two Panoolie insurgent hideouts which were located in North Panooly which is known territory for the Golden Throne. The mission briefing had noted that these two hideouts are the main locations supposed "headquarters" of high ranking rebels for their operations in South Panooly. The trio of aircraft swept the skies over South Panooly and were soon approaching the 'Demilitarized zone' between South and North Panooly. Soon they would be able to see below them the actual 'Demilitarized zone' between the two newly made countries which it was obvious which side was more prepared defensive wise. The Ordernites had constructed their defenses for the border earlier then the newly arriving Maccabean troops had on the border. Seemingly endless miles of barbwire, fencing and vehicle obstacles lined the entire border with North Panooly.

As the three aircraft swept over the border into North Panooly, the Tornado ECR aircraft activated it's electronic warfare equipment using it's jammers to blind possible Maccabean radars from spotting their trespassing into the Maccabean side of Holy Panooly. The two Tornado IDS aircraft prepped their armaments which were their 'Storm-shadow' cruise missiles. Once the two Tornado IDS aircraft got in appropriate range of the first target, two Storm Shadow cruise missiles were launched at the first hideout. Within literal seconds the first hideout was hit by the two missiles and confirmed to be completely destroyed.

The next hideout was closing in as the two Tornado IDS aircraft continued on prepping their second Storm shadow cruise missiles. The Tornado ERC aircraft staying close behind. Once the second and final hideout was in range, two cruise missiles were launched as the three air craft turned around and headed back for South Panooly. The cruise missiles would of within seconds destroyed the last hideout as the trio of aircraft made it over the border back into South Panooly and heading back to AFB 'Dachmau'.

by **Radictistan** » Thu Mar 05, 2015 10:21 pm

AOR Trommel, Indras Demilitarized Zone

Three of the Radictistani contingent's precious helicopters slalomed at high speed through the forested valleys leading up to the town of Dealesti. As they neared their destination the Mi-17s began periodically dropping flares to discourage ground-based heatseeking missiles.

It was rare those days for the Radictistani forces to leave their fortified compounds. The mass migration of insurgents through the so-called demilitarized zone had the understrength force trapped in a defensive posture. It took a mission of importance to get the quick response force for AOR Trommel out into play.

That mission was the extraction of one Father Sergiu, a local priest who had been instrumental in recruiting for the LSDUs and smoothing over disputes between the peacekeepers and the population. With the northern insurgents threatening to link up with local malcontents, the battalion command group feared for Sergiu's safety and would take no chances. So Third Platoon of A Company, 632 Light Battalion was speeding towards Dealesti.

The trailing helicopter set down on a hill overlooking the town just long enough for the seven-man machine gun section and the platoon marksman to jump out. The main landings took place in the town square next to the church and along the main road corridors into town. One squad each covered the north and west roads while the third squad and the platoon command section grabbed Sergiu from the parochial house. All this time the helicopters flew armed overwatch.

Oberleutnant Koontz and his snatch team were a hundred meters from their dustoff when the elevated overwatch squad reported the first contact. "Marder 36, Marder 34, I see movement on the north road in vicinity of the reservoir."

The men in the town quickened the pace. If the probable hostiles had RPGs or other heavy weapons the aerial extraction would be dicey. The squad tasked with watching the western approach began to pull back. Its two constituent fireteams provided mutual cover as they executed a reverse series of alternating bounds. Koontz kept his north squad in place to maintain depth along that arc.

The encroaching figures still had not quite met the threshold for "hostile intent" and the Radictistanis were still pretending to be on a peacekeeping mission as opposed to being someone's proxies in a three-way war. First Squad leader Oberkapral Dietz ordered the interlopers to halt twice. The second command included a warning that lethal force would be used if they came any closer. The BTF radio station had been broadcasting daily reminders of the Radictistani rules of engagement; there was no excuse to approach them so heavily armed.

The response was panicked gunfire. The Radictistanis returned fire. They had only the meager cover provided by the surrounding buildings. The insurgents had even less protection and were quickly and decisively outmatched. They disengaged within three minutes leaving one of their number behind, probably dead. Whether they had been moving in to seize Sergiu or were simply a hapless part of the migration south would never be definitively known.

The helicopter carrying the objective fired off flares as it rose into the sky. Dustoff for the remainder of the platoon was uneventful.

by **The Macabees** » Wed Mar 11, 2015 10:15 am

Panooly Theater

Panooly City, North Panooly
Reviving the institutions of governance...

Joao Bagamba was once kgosi — a war chief —, but no longer. He was a new man now. A different one. He wore a crisp navy blue suit, light, subtle stripes of various subtle tones crisscrossing vertically and horizontally, the kind that only a few weeks ago he couldn't even have imagined himself wearing. His benefactor, some Macabee general or politician who had persuaded him to this task, had said that Bagamba needed a wardrobe that better reflected his new status in society. What was this new status? The life of a bureaucrat. Not just any bureaucrat, however, for Joao was given the prestigious title of Provision Director of the Ministry of Justice. True, the Ministry of Justice was still a phantom organization — supplanting the local arbitrators, who ruled by the legitimacy of local customs, would take years, if not decades or even centuries. But, it was a powerful position nonetheless, and if Bagamba — the warlord turned bureaucrat — was successful he could make history as the very first leader of an improved national justice system. One not corrupted by the evils of the Templeton regime, toppled months ago by a Macabee construction organization and its mercenaries.

Why had they chosen Bagamba? Joao was a hero. He had led the breaking of the 'whitie' defenses in Guamlumpeiron. He also survived the 'Great Death' as it was known now in the country, the spread of KN755. Not many did. Bagamba was a symbol of 'colored' perseverance, of survival. But, with him at the head of the Ministry of Justice, it meant more than just survival. It suggested that the rebellion had been successful, in part. Beforehand, only 'whitie' held power. Now, Bagamba, one of those 'coloreds' who had been so oppressed under the brutal heel of Templeton's fascist regime, was the one with power. Of course, other 'coloreds' had been given other positions of power, as well — in the Ministry of War, the Ministry of Raw Production, and finally in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The only ministry left, that of War, was led by a 'whitie,' although not one who had held power in the previous regimes (all of those had been removed, most of them emigrating to Theohuanacu and then to who knows where). It was an important victory, although an incomplete one. No one know what color skin the new Satrap would have.

The Golden Throne, who had assumed responsibility for appointing this executive position, hadn't said anything to the effect. They had kept the identity of their 'chosen one' secret until today. Bagamba sat in the town car they had sent for him, to take him to Kensington House, the former residence of Templeton. It was one of the few beautiful buildings in Panooly, which was nothing more than an endless sea of ugly brick apartment buildings, with a few suburbs of individual housing units (for the wealthy). Eventually, the plan was to tear it down and build something new, surrounded by other new government buildings for all of the different Ministries. But, there was no money to do that yet, so for now Kensington House would have to do. Bagamba shuddered, so many of his friends had died at the hands of the man who once resided there. Things are changing for the better, thought Joao, as if trying to convince himself. His face, however, betrayed his concern. Why hide the identity of the new Satrap? He is surely a 'whitie. They were just trying to avoid further violence until they had the entire country under occupation.

As they passed by each subsequent block of apartment buildings, the tinted window distorted their image, reflecting something more twisted, more broken. Like Holy...North Panooly itself. North Panooly; the southern half had been occupied by the Ordenites, a people with whom the Panoolies had never interacted before. We will have to take that back for our people. Down there, what the Ordenites were doing was nothing better than Templeton himself. But, the Panoolies would have to deal with that problem later. Now they had graver issues to contend with: the reconstruction of Delapesca and Guamlumpeiron — both nothing more now than just a pile of ashes —, the piecing together of a new national government, and much, much more. The war had left millions dead, most to disease and not bullets. It was a deep wound that would take decades to heal. A cold, dark depression swept over Joao right then. He was strong enough to survive the civil war, and even the Great Death, but was he strong enough for what was to come?

Cüev XXIII, Theohuanacu
False alarms and new dangers...

Dorian Balak's fists shook with passionate fury as Koronel Arnhaus passed the bittersweet news from the Strategos to the bomber crews forming a mob at the bottom of the armored hangars. There were almost no threats that posed any danger to those men, within the deeply buried, intricately armored, and incredibly thick walls of that hangar. All that protection was for naught, for war had not yet come to Cüev XXIII. This both infuriated and alleviated Kapitán Balak, whose inner tempest of anger was as much directed against his own confusions as it was at his superiors. Despite his core desire to remain home, in this godforsaken airbase stranded in the contaminated deserts of Senatorial Theohuanacu, there was a certain thrill to the prospect of battle. From the safety of these great subterranean halls he could hear the shrill screeching of opening bomb bay doors and the cool hiss of her rotating launchers. Still, with his son to be born soon, it was in a way a great relief that the bombing raid on South Panooly was just a ruse, a game the Empire was playing with the Ordenites there.

"I know the situation may have caused...distress among your men, kapitán. But, you must understand that it was necessary, to keep you and your boys on alarm. The more real it is to us, the more real it is to them. It keeps those fachs" — a díenstadi slur for 'fascists' — on their toes. Let's them know we're ready to rumble when they are." The colonel's voice trembled with a strong tone of arrogance.

The adrenaline had taken its toll on Balak. His nerves had been fried, it would take days to recover. His GLI-34 and dozens of others had been sent over the southeastern seas, following an arch around to the backdoor of South Panooly, with the genuine intention of doing some real damage. Around them, a host of escorts and and a couple of battlefield command birds flew around them, preparing to come alive at the right moment, to provide the bombers with the support they needed. As the distant beaches of South Panooly revealed themselves to Balak, a call had come in. Someone had broken radio silence. Turn back, had been the order, Balak remembered. There were other such missions preparing themselves elsewhere as well, but it was still a risky maneuver. Detected too early and the crews may have lost lives — Balak's own included. One had to embrace a certain barbarian instinct, and like awaking a sleepwalker, suddenly shaking him from that artificial reality had really shook him up. He steadied himself, to inquire, "Do you think war will ever come, sir?"

"Without a doubt, kapitán." The general's gaze had wandered towards some far off place, as in deep in thought. "The informal alliance is a lukewarm friendship at best. Haven't you kept up with the news?" The koronel asked. "We have two battle fleets poised on either side of South Panooly, ready to pounce at moment's notice.

Balak nodded. He embraced both the possibility of being home for his son's birth, and the unquestionable probability of oncoming war.

The colonel turned back to the captain, "Your son, he will be born soon, no?"

"Yes. Two more months, sir." Some warmth returned to his body.

Arnhaus smiled. "You will, at the very least, be able to enjoy that moment."

Cüev CM, North Panooly
A mad defensive scramble...

The sleek, hook-nosed bodies of six Hawks pierced the star-pocked sky with ferocious aggression. They flew low, with a certain knowledge of the terrain, its rises, its depressions. The great conifer-bearing trees below shook below, their eternal peace suddenly disturbed. And then they were gone, and peace returned. The Hawks had flown several klicks ahead, darting in-and-out of the air, looking for their prey. There were several such hunting packs around, spread along the South Panooly Frontier, some patrolling, others prowling, and some hunting.

Something had tripped the alarms. Something on the south-side of the Frontier had begun intense electronic-warfare against Imperial mobile RADARs. It may have temporarily blinded Macabee defenses, it gave away the threat's presence. High Command Panooly Theater (Gardíl Panooly, in the local tongue) responded swiftly, resolutely, and intentionally. A Blackjack and a formidable bodyguard of Hawks were scrambled, to get some eyes on whatever it was that was penetrating Imperial air defenses. Well, maybe they were, maybe they weren't. The jamming revealed only a broad, unfocused abstraction of whatever had set it off. The GLI-44 had reported moments ago that it had briefly spotted possible vampires, like a flash of thunder between impenetrable clouds. Would the fighters be given the order to shoot the enemy down, if there was such an enemy? How many bogies were there? Was this some intent of war? Or was this just a scare tactic? High Command Panooly Theater would not accept the risk of being cause by a surprise strike.

Mariskal Gardón mulled over these inconvenient facts of his predicament. He had given the order to shoot down anything foreign, and unidentified, flying in Imperial airspace. The GLI-44 would find it, its various sensor arrays gradually narrowing down the probable area of alien presence. By then it was already relatively small, so Gardón signed in relief that this could be not be a major attack. That brought up other doubts, however. Were there other such raids planned? What motivated these actions?

A staff member, an officer of significant rank, had stepped through the study's doors, joining a concerned group of generals and other members of High Command. He came bearing news. "Strategos, initial intelligence has been confirmed. Rebel positions were hit by missiles. Not our birds, sir."

Gardón nodded and waved him off. He had figured that was the case from looking at the screens around him, showing various different interpretations of the unfolding battle. The missile attacks had happened what was now a significant amount of time ago, as far as air raids go, but surely the fighters were hot on their trail and the Blackjester would give them a precise position on the target(s). They attacked the rebels, thought Gardón. This was not a direct attack. That wasn't their intention. But then what was? The Mariskal returned his attention to the others' around him. "Communicate that the target(s) are not to be engaged."

Another office, standing nearby, released a, "Yes, Mariskal!" and repeated the order to a soldier operating a couple of screens showing some of the intelligence that they did have on whatever had struck those rebels.

The other generals stirred in subtle agreement, as if not to offer surrender too much authority to his rank. The strategos thought very highly of themselves these days. In any case, it was the obvious decision. The Golden Throne was not directly attacked, to shoot down whatever was flying over Imperial territory would be a clear act of aggression under these circumstances.

A screen ahead, hanging from the ceiling, was suddenly filled with the image of some sort of map. Shapes of a certain color demarcated Macabee aircraft, three red diamonds cut through the screen near the center. Ordenite fighters! "Thus scum!" shouted Gardón, furiously slamming his fist into the ugly metal table top in front of him. Those fachs were looking to embarrass the Golden Throne. Gardón had figured this for some time now, but now that it was confirmed the Mariskal was now without warning fully submerged into the deep implications of the Ordenite's actions. Were they trying to send a message? Were they trying to deceive the world? That we need help with 'the rebellion?' And what rebellion? The 'coloreds' had mostly surrendered willingly, many hopeful that that the Imperial presence brought an opportunity for justice. Even if they wanted to resist, there were too few of them in fighting condition. KN755 had crippled the rebellion in the north and resistance in the south was nothing more than scattered pockets of colored bandits and pirates.

Still, the Golden Throne could not, and would not, stand idle to such an affront. His generals now chatting between themselves, Gardón turned around, palms clasped behind his back, and pondered his response. The cold war along the Panooly Frontier had officially begun.

Barbokán Mesul
The Golden Throne deploys the specialists...

Komadánt Eugen Lazaro grunted as he jumped down from the landing helicopter, stepping down on solid ground. Rifle in hand, helmet firmly secure with full display spread on his full-arch display before him. He, like the rest of his unit, were persistently intense. They were of Harka 'Berach X,' an Amastolian unit of the Regulies. These men, all four thousand and five hundred of 'em, were killers. Death was their sixth sense, first nature. Lazaro walked forward a bit, surveying the landscape around him. The barbakán — the base — was in a commotion, a state of constancy it seemed, this close to the Panooly Frontier. The komandánt flashed a wicked smile. This was just how he liked his deployments. Grim, high-risk, high-reward. Behind him, others were disembarking the choppers once they had settled down, rotors above still slicing through the air's unbearable humidity. Hundreds of men were spilling out into the base, and hundreds more would follow. Four thousand and five hundred of them. Regulies. Widely regarded as some of the coldest, most violent, yet efficient, soldiers in the world, they had not arrived at North Panooly to 'keep the peace.'

All the contrary, Berach X had arrived to stir the pot. The komandánt shifted his sight southwards, towards the Frontier. They stayed there only for a second; he'd have plenty of other opportunities to get to know the Frontier soon. He turned his hard gaze elsewhere, back on the camp, analyzing it as if comparing it to other bases he had served with. Barbakán Mesul was your typical ad hoc territorial base, built to be easily dismantled. There were some buildings scattered throughout the premises that suggested permanency, but these were still relatively few. As the Imperial mission in North Panooly continued, Mesul would undoubtedly be transformed — more concrete or stone buildings, more storefronts, that sort of thing. For now, however, it was nothing more than a modern war camp, sitting close to the edge of the Golden Throne's newest dominion (whether officially or unofficially). Lazaro's mischievous grin never disappeared, and now his evil smile seemed more intense than ever. War camps like these suggested there was still a lot of work to accomplish in these quarters of the world, and more work meant more death. Death was Lazaro's specialty.

A koronel wearing the insignia of base staff scurried towards the komandánt, passing by a number of other unloading regulies who paid the man no mind. Lazaro saw him approach and met him halfway, heavy pack still strung across his shoulders, hanging from his back. When the high-ranking staff member came close enough, Lazaro snapped a salute. The colonel waved Lazaro's salute down and said, "Now, now, komandánt, we're at war. There's no need for formalities." He didn't wait for Lazaro to respond before moving on. "Let's move komandánt, let me show you where your men will sleep during your duration here at Barbakán Mesul."

"I was told we would be briefed on arrival," responded Lazaro, his voice neutral, unwavering.

The colonel nodded. "Yes, yes, but you and your men have enough time to put your things down." He looked at his watch. "I'll come for you at 1800 hours."

The komandánt's ice blue eyes looked forward, as if the koronel wasn't there. Those eyes...they were alive, but dead all the same. They were the eyes of a man who had seen more than he should have, a man who had experienced things no man should ever experience. I am a bringer of death. I am a regulie. "What are we to be briefed on?"

"All in due time," the colonel said quickly, almost in passing. "For now, your barracks. You'll have plenty of time to worry about your missions." The staff member thought of something for some time and then turned back to Lazaro. "Have your men report to the mess hall at 1800 hours. There'll be food for them there. You can be briefed alone and relay the orders to your men later. Let them get accustomed to their new home."

"Yes, sir," said Lazaro. His men didn't need to become accustomed to anything. They had suffered through worse inconveniences than traveling to a new base in a faraway country. But, he would have them follow the colonel's orders, to appease the man. Neither of them said anything more. While heading towards the barracks, Lazaro turned once more towards the Frontier, this time holding his gaze for some time. Their new home? Our new home is somewhere south of that line, thought the komandánt. Soon, very soon, the muddy Panooly soil will be our bed, and these ancient jungle forests will be the roof over our head. Lazaro wasn't exactly sure what the Ordenites had done to deserve the arrival of the regulies, neither did he know what exactly his men would be doing in Holy Panooly, but he didn't care. He sensed, the feeling penetrated through his bones, towards his soul, that something was calling him to battle. The major looked up at the red Panooly skies , his impish smile enduring. I am a bringer of death. I am a regulie.

Imperial Recrudescence [Greater Díenstad; In Character]

Operation Panooly Thunder: Stage one

Stage one and a half

Part I

Part II

Who is online