Caught In The Web: Astyrian Conflict & Intrigue (IC/Closed)

by **Riysa** » Wed Apr 16, 2014 12:56 pm

Blackhelm Fleet, Near the YSR Coast

Commodore Sami al-Ghazali got a very quick response from Carrier Group London, inviting him to communicate via radio.
"This is Comodore Sami al-Ghazali, commanding the Naval Expeditionary Force YSR of the Riysian Navy, from the Saddam al-Tikriti. Carrier Group London, please respond."
"This is the BCNS Divine Right, we hear you, state your intentions." A radioman replied.
"Our orders are to make contact with Carrier Group London to co-ordinate action against the YSR fleet and coastal aerial assets."

Verifying this claim, the radioman quickly switched over to the bridge. "Good evening Commodore." Commodore al-Ghazali heard.
"Good evening, who am I speaking to?"
"This is Admiral Marcus Redfield, commanding officer of the Confederate carrier group in theater." The Confederate Admiral replied.
"A pleasure to meet you Admiral, and a good evening to you. What is the current status of the carrier group?"
"Been better, commodore. We took some damage in the last exchange, but we are still afloat. We can use a drydock soon though."
"Aye, we're here to help. What can you tell us about what we'll be facing?"
"There is one carrier, managed to avoid our last volley, but we did manage to cause some damage." The commodore heard a bit of a sigh. "Not positive on what exactly our results were, but we can tell you the carrier is definitely a Kuznetsov. We can handle that on the return if you can take care of what's left on land. No positive numbers on what exactly remains there, but I imagine it is significantly less than a few hours ago."

The commodore thought to himself for a moment. "What's the status of your aircraft?"
"They're all well. We didn't lose any yet, and there's only a few ships damaged."
"Perfect." al-Ghazali thought, as a plan formed in his mind. "Would they be available for an offensive? We've got a full compliment of aircraft, and a squadron of anti-air destroyers."
"I suppose we can certainly make something work. We have several cruisers and destroyers, as well as smaller vessels we can commit."
Sami took in a deep breath. "We have an idea, but before I send it, do you have any suggestions?"
"I do. I propose a two pronged strike. We will hit the fleet, you loop around while they are busy and deal with their aircraft, and whatever else they've still got standing."

"Good, that's what I was thinking. We would appreciate it if you can keep the carrier off our backs while we move in to attack. Forwarding you a map of airbases we've uncovered with satellite recon. If we time it right, we could keep the aircraft grounded, or at least occupied. We'll devote our cruisers and destroyers to assist you in your fight, but this carrier will have to hold back."

"I doubt that we will be so lucky. I would expect near constant air patrols after that last hit, we really stirred up the hornets nest there I believe." The admiral replied.
"Hmm. Perhaps we launch our aircraft ahead of us to clear a way just in case?"
"That sounds like a good plan to me."
"Alright, when do you want to attack?"
"As soon as possible, the more time we waste the less likely it is some of these ships will make it afloat to a safe harbor."
The commodore checked a clock in the bridge. "Agreed. We can be prepared for combat in 4 hours. We plan on hitting the Fellsjon AFB first, at it is the closest, and then once we move closer to it we attack any of those remaining airbases. We'll let you know when we're ready."
"Roger that. Admiral Redfield out."

Four Hours Later

The flight deck of the Tikriti was abuzz. The attack was being prepared; a carrier-borne AWACS had already been sent up about an hour ago and was keeping a long-distance watch over the area, so that the attacking aircraft wouldn't be rushing in blind. It had recorded 15-25 aircraft from Fellsjon patroling the local airspace at any one time - costly in terms of fuel and maintenance, definitely, but the heavy air patrols around each airbase had been effective in preventing the Blackhelm fleet.

The plan was pretty simple - two squadrons of TaH-29s, for a total of 24, would engage the Yellowsian aircraft and establish air supremacy, which would then be followed by a squadron of 12 more, assisted by electronic warfare Shrikes, which would hit the local air and anti-ship defenses. Meanwhile, the Blackhelm Confederacy fleet and CAG would engage nearby Yellowsian naval assets. Combined, both the Riysian and Blackhelm convoys would be able to clear a path to Ecosse. It was a good plan, but there was some worry that they didn't have the numbers to take losses, especially if the Yellowsian navy proved to be stronger than first thought. The planners at High Command had already gone ahead though, and given a name to the attack - Operation Shibil.

"Everyone, check in." Colonel Tajjar, commander of this operation, radioed from the cockpit of his own Daqanoush. Although in charge of all aspects of this particular attack in Furqan, he'd be primarily leading the attack on the Yellowsian aircraft, while one of his subordinates, Major Kafarsisi, would be directing the ground attack. His second in command, Muqaddam (Lieutenant Colonel) Hitto, would be available to provide reinforcements in case resistance was greater than expected.

All 34 aircraft reported in, and seeing as there was still some time before take off, Tajjar went over some basic points from the lengthy briefing earlier.
"Good, good. I won't repeat what our job is, because we all know what it is. I will go over what we expect to find there, however - intelligence expects a mix of MiG-29s, 25s, and possibly some Su-27s. Don't be overconfident, and don't underestimate them, because a MiG-29 is still a 4th era fighter, and if you aren't careful it will hurt you. Remember to use range and your aircraft to its highest limit - the MiG-29 radar is notably inadequate and outdated, and shouldn't be able to even see you. Even if they upgraded from the base N019 to the Zhuk-M series, they won't be able to see us until in range of our Muthnibs, at which case we'll active the countermeasures and engage in close combat."

"Alright, we're cleared for take-off. Qulu Allah ya rijal, and fire your weapons - may they be accurate! Riysa, may God protect it!" He yelled to the combined war cries of the pilots over radio. With that, the first flight of 3 took off, and the operation started. A message was sent to Carrier Group London at the same time:

Attention, Admiral Redfield, we are launching our aircraft. Begin your attack when ready. - Commodore al-Ghazali

Around that same time, Riysa

Za'im Tawfiq al-Hiwari had, the previous day, announced that he would be preparing a very important press release. Now, while the Riysian Navy started Amaliyah Furqan, Tawfiq al-Hiwari stood in front of an audience, being recorded live by various Riysian and Astyrian news agencies. He looked up, towards the cameras and the audience, and started talking in his native Arabic.

"Greetings, and may the peace and blessings of God be upon us and on His blessed Prophets and Messengers. Following that, I have called this release to discuss a very important issue, one that has a significant impact on Riysa, our holdings abroad, and in particular, the region of Astyria. Many have speculated what the topic would be, so I will get to the point - it is about the Yellow Star Republic."

"Every Riysian, and many people around the world, know that socialism and communism is a blight on us, for a variety of reasons. While that is bad enough, the Yellow Star Republic has taken it further, succumbing to imperialism and bullying of its local neighbors - although their beloved Marx and Lenin forbid calling it that, as they claim to be opposed to it. I come here prepared with a declaration of war - from this moment on, the Jamhuriya al-Arabiya al-Fashi al-Risi is at war with the Yellow Star Republic. All economic and industrial assets will be seized, and any military assets will be attacked and destroyed on sight."

"Oh sons of Riysa, oh descendants of Abu Bakr, Umar, Uthman, and Ali! And Khalid ibn Walid and Salah ad-Din! Carry your head up high, and strengthen your resolve! We shall take the fight to the imperialist oppressors, and shatter them wherever they stand against us! Take up your weapons, and go forth, for the entire nation, our allies, and the Almighty are behind you. I leave you all with this. May God protect Riysa, eternal and unified." With that, he nodded, and left. A communique was also wired to the nation of Nouvel Ecosse.

by **Aurora Confederacy** » Mon Apr 21, 2014 3:20 pm

Aurora Confederacy wrote:ACNS SPARTAN

Cruising now down the eastern coast of the Aurora Confederacy, the sub was still in friendly waters so Meritxell, rather than cruise deep looked at the helm "Helm take us to zero fifty meters please"

"Fifty Meters aye" he said, then slowly pulled back on the subs control column, this would put the sub in a position to stalk any unwanted vessels that may stray into Auroran waters whilst the sub is in the area, news of the recent commando raid by YSR commandos (OOC: featured in the BURG RP as they were after the Glislandian Royals), their support ship may be still hanging around waiting for a return and such a target may come under the target of opportunity rules, especially if it was involved in the carrying out of a potentially hostile ask, and Meritxell won't be asking questions.

She picks up the intercom "Torpedo room, load all tubes please, keep them dry though at the moment until we come across something" she says
"Aye captain" came the reply, a destinctly male voice, Meritxell, captain of the ACNS Spartan is the only female aboard the ship, not just the only female officer, but the only female, PERIOD, and Spartan is her boat, and right now its cruising Auroran waters, keeping its speed down to keep its noise down, almost as if its hunting something, or some one.

With the submarine now cruising down the east coast of the Aurora Confederacy, and at periscope depth, the sonar operator is keeping a close ear on the hydrophones that are on the hull of the sub, listening for the sounds of any vessel that should not be there, though a large vessel, indeed somewhat larger than a Typhoon sub, the Spartan is still a capable vessel and at its nose are 6 torpedo tubes, loaded and ready to be fired.

"Lights out please, put us on red" says Meritxell, and almost immediately the lights in the conning tower go from white to red, "up scope" she orders. As the scope comes up Meritxell grabs hold of its handles and puts her eyes to the viewfinder, where she begins to slowly sweep as the submarine, cruising just below the surface at around 10knots eases past various inlets, Meritxell knows what she is looking for and it is very much fair game.

Meritxell also wants the kill to be swift and without warning a such when the YSR boat, probably she suspects either disguised as a trawler, or possibly a microsub, to be hiding in nearby trying to lie as low as possible as not to attract attention as the various assets of the ACSDF sweep the area, including regular overflights of the waters along the coast by various search aircraft, in some cases Freedom 94s with extended wings, often just a few hundred feet above the waves, and Meritxell is in the mood for a hunt....

by **Nouvel Ecosse** » Wed Apr 30, 2014 11:30 am

BOOT CAMP
UNSPECIFIED TOWN
NORTH-WEST OF NOUVEL ECOSSE

He had been in the back of a truck for days, as he and a bunch of others from Edinburgh had been brought to where all the new recruits were coming. There were numerous barracks dotted around the north-west, well away from the front where the real action was. Where Lou and the others had been just a couple of weeks back, back in Edinburgh. That desrted ghost town. A little life had returned to it since Lou had left, although he didn't know that. At least the Airport was back open with a few flights and the trains were once again running. It was no longer its own little island in the vast sea that was Ecosse.

He didn't know any of the other recruits when they had boarded the truck, but he knew some of them now. Dougray Light was also from Edinburgh and spoke in a constant blur, which with both speed and accent almost became indistinguishable from gibberish. Wallace Ferguson was from Asimov and said that Edinburgh had gotten off lightly. His house had been bombed, luckily whilst he was at work. The men called him "Blitz". Then there was Jon Vennigan, a former butcher handy with his cleavers, Gary Fosters, a reformed alcoholic, a man known only as "The Fifer", the Trainspotter, and Decibels, who enjoyed blaring out his music through those tiny headphones that came with the device.

Their overseer was some stern-looking decorated war hero. Supposedly he had witnessed the Veterans Day Slaughter the year before, had witnessed his friends killed, and had signed back up on arrival back home. He was called Lieutenant Dan Volk, and the new recruits were yet to even hear him speak. He just ushered them in and sat them down, and then had ignored them the whole time. He was leaning over a couple of pages of maps near the front of the truck right now, where he enjoyed ample space. Much more space than the recruits.

There were rumours that the driver of the truck, a talkative man called Kurt Von Boulle, was actually an Adlerite, although he neither spoke unless it was clandestinely to Volk. That part was probably false, though Oligny. The Adlerites had no love for the Ecossians, especially not enough to fight on the Ecossian side against their own people.

The Boot Camp loomed ahead.

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Wed Apr 30, 2014 9:00 pm

Aboard the BCNS Divine Right

Redfield didnt need to hear it twice. The word that the Riysans were moving against the Yellosian ground assets was exactly what he had been waiting for, and he immediately ordered his own air arm into action. His entire flight of Ay-05NG’s, twelve in all, was scrambled to provide protection for an equal number of SuFb-18 Strike Phoenix fighter bombers. Their mission was simple, sink the Sæskrímsli, and they would be damned if they weren't going to give their all to do it. With ground based aircraft hopefully tied up by their new Riysan friends, the mission should be an easy one, but not entirely without trouble. There were still a number of escort ships, as well the carriers own air wing, that need to be beaten.

To make things a bit easier, the vessels of the fleet let loose yet another missile barrage, sending dozens of guided warheads towards the Yellosian vessels. Chances were that CIWS would down most of these, as they had before, but at least some would get through and cause chaos, lightening the load on the aircraft zipping through the skies just behind them. With these missiles screeching into what was still afloat of the Yellow Star Republic’s Second Fleet, there wasa very good chance that the complete chaos and disarray, exacerbated by the devastation inflicted upon fleet command from the earlier strikes, would leave the enemy completely bewildered and in no shape to effectively respond when the aircraft finally arrived on scene.

Meanwhile, the soldiers in the transports throughout the fleet, especially the Venatores, were itching to get on land and start making a difference. They had all been receiving news through a live stream from the Airborne Guards already ashore, and had watched the fighting in and around the air base and were now all just begging for the chance to get their revenge. Mission plans were also already given out to the Venatores, who would not bother wasting time settling in to their new home. That was for the rest of the guys to worry about. They would immediately begin to split up, some making their way over into Adler, and a number of others slipping into Glisandia and even moving towards far off Aurora Confederacy, were rumors of the Glisandian locals being present began to surface. Once within those nations borders, they would get to work organizing resistance movement and seeing what they could get established in terms of a local movement to throw out the Yellow menace.

by **Gaveria** » Wed Apr 30, 2014 9:54 pm

Christmas came early

Gaius Valerius Octavius
0600 Hours
Via Constantine

There a few things a lifetime career in Intelligence can contribute to life outside of a penchant for avoiding situations that might eventually be a drain on local infrastructure. Everything else that one had learned in that field well and truly had no use in the normal world; there was no need for men and women with skills in vicious close quarters combat(CQC) or expert marksmen or a former soldier who could pick out a plant in a crowd from 300 meters away.

So without a legitimate retirement package and the prospect of work after life in the Aurelian CIA; Gaius Valerius Octavius code-named John Frost had decided that he would not life out the rest of his life in a government funded retirement home for men and women who held national secrets and couldn't afford private care in their old age.

Instead he faked his own death during a black operation in the late 90s in the Yellow Star Republic and proceeded to sell any and everything to the Republics enemies. Frost sold classified information to the highest bidder for little over a decade until he was wounded by the very people he was selling down the river in 2009. His death was never confirmed and as far as his former comrades were concerned he was still alive and still a threat, a threat that had to be eliminated sooner rather than later.

And they were correct in their assumption; Frost had indeed survived his encounter and went underground in a halfhearted attempt to fool the big wigs in Cansæ into thinking that he actually perished that faithful winter night. It failed and after almost six years underground he was running low on cash and needed to offload some files he had stolen from a CIA safehouse in 2001.

To this end he contacted a few foreign contacts from his CIA days and set up a meet in Telora, Aquitayne.. The meet was scheduled to take place at a cafe downtown. In the movies he would have simply had to take a seat inside the cafe and await for his associates to arrive and exchange the documents for the money in the bathroom or alley. Fortunately, this wasn't a movie and he wasn't a amateur.

Frost had been in country for six months and rented a room in a apartment building overlooking the cafe using a forged Auroran passport and identification papers.

His surveillance of the location had revealed nothing out of the ordinary and after spotting his ''friends'' arrival in a older model matte black sedan he exited his apartment with his files, his field kit which consisted of a scrambled satellite phone,sidearm, first aid pack and a back up set of identification papers and passport.

Despite his absence from the official intelligence world; he had been on the lamb for almost two decades and had picked up something of sixth sense when it came to picking out things that didn't belong. And as he crossed street from his apartment to the cafe, his ''sixth sense'' started going berserk.Despite being experienced intelligence officers, his associates were dressed in simple two-piece suits a tactic that would be appropriate given the meetings location downtown near the local business headquarters which was what stood out. If they were really professionals then they wouldn't have had time to change into geographically appropriate clothing and should have been wearing something entirely different. Next, judging by their walk and demeanor the men he was supposed to be meeting were ex or current military rather than intelligence trained paramilitary. Recruiting men out of the Defense Force was a favored tactic of the Aurelia CIA.

Too many things were wrong for the deal to go through as planned. It would much safer to catch a cab and exit stage right out of the country.

Halfway across the street; Frost abruptly changed course began walking away from the cafe.Almost immediately the whole scene went bad,pedestrians who were previously minding their business morphed into CIA operatives and his friends retrieved their sidearms from their holsters and in a single instant, carnage was unleashed on the streets of downtown Telora.

Frost unholstered is own sidearm and opened fire on a pair of CIA agents 30 meters in front of him as he dashed down an alley.. They returned fire with their own firearms striking the pavement and mortar that was only seconds before occupied by Frost.Gunfire rang out on all sides as Frost attempted to fight his way out of killing field.

Bullets ricocheted off the walls as both sides exchanged fire with one another while civilians attempted to escape the firefight that had erupted in the middle of the busy downtown street...Frost was continued to return fire from the alley as he dashed from cover diagonally towards the other end of the alley.

The firefight had not gone unnoticed by local authorities and as the firefight carried on; two local police officers fought their way to scene through a crowd of fleeing civilians only to be fired upon by Frost's assailants..

In the span of less than 3 minutes; a firefight had erupted downtown and soon turned into a three-way gun battle between the men who Frost could only guess were either CIA operatives or under their employ, local law enforcement and himself.As the police officers were forced to retreat, being outgunned and fought by their attackers; Frost saw his opportunity to escape and made a run down the remaining section of the alley and onto the next street were he blended in with the crowd of screaming civilians.

by **Gaveria** » Thu May 01, 2014 10:31 pm

16 Minutes

Presidential Palace
Cheyenne,District of Emmeria
1 Mensis Maii, Anno CCCIII Publicae

It is a rare occasion to be ''invited'' to the Presidential Palace for a private meeting with the President of the Republic. It was rare because most members of the government knew better than to frak up so tremendously as to warrant such a trip all the way to the capital to be scolded by and possibly arrested on the orders of POTAS.

So when CIA Deputy Director Noah Vosen received the communique politely ''requesting'' his presence in the capital to confer with the President; he was neither happy or surprised. The shootout in downtown Telora was front page news in every major paper in Astyria and was the tongues of anyone even remotely associated with the Aurelian intelligence community. Four dead, including two civilians and a hundred spent shell casings all along Constantine street ensured that no one would be forgetting the event anytime soon.

Vosen silently packed his things and made the hour long trip to the capital from the CIA headquarters in Arlington,Caprica for his lecture with the President.

He was immediately waived through every security measure in the capital and was inside the Palace in less than 15 minutes; which was more than likely a record for anyone regardless of security clearance. Two Praetorians were waiting in underground parking garage to ''escort'' him to the President's study. The walk was quiet, quick and nerve racking to say the least.

Vosen wasn't some slimy bureaucrat that had only obtained his position in the agency because his family knew important people. He had been born in suburbs of Cansae to a accountant and homemaker and since his birth had worked towards his dream of making it to the head of the Company; the Directorship. He studied harder than his peers, he trained harder than his classmates and eliminated anyone who stood in his path. His methods had served him well, atleast up until now.

The lead Praetorian made a quick left and opened a mahogany door that looked exactly like all the other mahogany doors within the Palace. But behind this particular door sat the man who was arguably the most powerful man in Southern Astyria and a contender for the title of most dangerous man in the world.

Marshall, unlike Vosen had never truly had to work for anything in his life. He was what the priests called, ''touched by the gods'', a man whom everyone was given and nothing taken. He was born into the prestigious ''nouvelle argent'' Marshall clan, son of a important Senator,nephew to a CIA legend and grandson to one of the wealthiest Aurelians in history.He had been groomed since birth to claim the Presidency for the family, a accomplishment he had achieved before his 50th birthday. None of this however detracted from the fact that he was without a doubt one of the most capable,intelligent and prolific warriors in the Republic. His childhood in the cradle of wealth and civilization as well as highly decorated careers in both the Special Forces and Intelligence Communities furnished him with a unique and varied skillset that made him a formidable opponent in any arena, one Vosen didn't possess any desire to challenge.

''Mr.President, it's good to see you. We miss you down in Arlington.'' He began; hoping for a moment to play off their former friendship from back in the day.

''Save it Noah. I want you tell me why I have journalist,diplomats and everyone with half a brain calling me regarding this clusterfrak in Aquitayne.''

'''Well sir, We received intelligence Frost was looking to dump some stolen files on the black market so I authorized a ambush at the meet..We had ho....''

''You had hoped you could kill him without a hitch right?'' Marshall barked, interrupting Vosen's well practiced explanation.

'''Well, yes sir.''

''So you brought in a IEC team, sent them in and started a firefight in the middle of Telosa? What the Frak were you thinking Noah? We don't start firefights with fugitives in neutral countries, especially not on an election year. Now I want you to clean this shit up, I want you to find Frost and eliminate him, silently this time without any more frak ups and I want it done now. The Republic cannot afford to be held accountable for shit like this and we've let this bastard breathe for seventeen years too long. Get it done Noah.''

''Yes sir.''

by **Riysa** » Mon May 05, 2014 9:13 am

Several Days Prior to YSR Attack, Capital of Hamdan, al-Raha Governate

Almost overnight, the governate of al-Raha was abuzz. The entire 21st Corps (7th Army, Expeditionary Force Command, Riysian Joint Ground Forces) had been shuttled from the mainland along with two air defense regiments, a full wing of Shrikes, the Riysian Navy 1st Amphibious Warfare Division, and several combat and landing ships. The logistics of such a move were undoubtedly enormous, and quite noticeable - it was only the Riysian government's tight control on the media and information that prevented anyone from learning that such a force had been sent to al-Raha. Even so, the growing difficulty of keeping it suppressed had led the government to officially announce that they had moved "a number of soldiers" to al-Raha for an unspecified purpose that many guessed was related to the escalation of the Agrincourt-Casegene war, or perhaps the rise in tensions with the YSR after its invasion of PA and the bombing of Ecosse.

Feriq (Lieutenant General) Anwar Sayd of the Riysian Joint Ground Forces, permanent command 21. Corps, knew that speculation to be completely wrong - he was the commander in charge of this expeditionary force. All the soldiers had been given a brief pamphlet of their mission on the way here, which had nothing to do with Casegene or the Yellow Star Republic - rather, it had to do with the unstable Insula Fera region. Anwar was right now concluding a briefing with the top commanders; Liwa' (Major Generals) Amin, Lahaam, Nawawi, Fallahi, Maymun, al-Haskai, Dumani, Abd al-Aziz and Salih of the divisions of 21. Corps and the Navy's 1st Amphibious Warfare Division, Mushir al-Jaw (Air Marshal) Ziyad of the 9th Fighter Wing and commanding the Air Force assets of this operation, and finally, Commodore Busni of the Riysian Navy, providing the naval support assets.

As soon as he had finished and wished everyone luck, an aide came in with a message from Expeditionary Force Command.

OPTIMAL TIME ACHIEVED. COMMENCE DELIVERANCE IMMEDIATELY. RIYSA ETERNAL, MAY GOD PROTECT IT.

Anwar smiled. The mission was a go. He returned back to his office, and immediately started working on an AMAML - the Riysian version of an OPORD.

AMALIAH: INQATH
OPERATION: DELIVERANCE
SECRET
21. CORPS (EXPEDITIONARY FORCE COMMAND) #12903

1. Situation

Forces from the United Kingdom have been engaged in military and humanitarian operations in the highly unstable Insula Fera region of Astyria, combating insurrectionists, supplying aid, and rebuilding the local governments after total regional collapse had occurred. Forces from the EATA have been causing trouble by exploiting the situation to their own ends, setting a possible future battleground.
Futhermore, the Insula Fera is a known hotbed of pirate activity which negatively affects the large amount of commercial shipping that passes close to the area, and has mostly been without stable or defined governance or rule. It is estimated that up to 30 - 40,000 people live in the Riysian PKZ alone.

2. Mission & Objectives

As soon as this message is received, Operation Deliverance will commence. The overall objectives are as follows:

Primary Objectives
1. Establish a Riysian presence in the Insula Fera.
2. Secure and/or eliminate any weapons caches or terrorist posts in the Riysian PKZ.
Secondary Objectives
1. Suppress pirate activity originating from the Riysian PKZ.
2. Build and repair damaged and destroyed infrastructure for both civilian and military use.
3. Secure the region for possible colonial or commercial influx.
Tertiary Objectives
1. Stabilize and secure the region until the local people are deemed capable of self-governance.

The United Kingdom forces will receive a copy of this message. SEND TO: LEIRMAK NAVAL BASE, GRAND FIELD MARSHAL MEIR, AQUITAYNIAN ARMED FORCES.

3. Battle Order

Commander: Feriq Sayd.

1. 51st Mechanized: Liwa Lahaam
2. 41st Mechanized: Liwa Nawawi
3. 1st Amphibious Warfare Division: Liwa Salih
4. 56th Armored: Liwa Dumani
5. Air Force Assets: Mushir al-Jaw Ziyad
a. 9th Fighter Wing: Mushir al-Jaw Ziyad
b. 21st Air Defense Regiment: Aqid Mukhtar
c. 10th Air Defense Regiment: Aqid Amman
6. Naval Assets: Commodore Busni

4. Movement Orders

1. The Riysian Navy's 1st Amphibious Warfare Division will land and secure the coast by the "corridor" of the PKZ. As the terrain is less than optimal, the engineering elements of the division will immediately work on facilitating further landings.
2. As soon as the coastline is secure, the 51st and 41st Mechanized divisions, and the 56th Armored, will land and move up to secure the local area. The 1st Amphibious Warfare Division will remain at its original objectives until further notice.
3. All Air Force assets will remain in al-Raha until further notice. Air cover for the mission will be supplied by the Riysian Navy.

Now, all that was left was to wait.

Three Days Later, off the cost of "al-Ajamiyah" (Riysian PKZ)

Major General Salih was monitoring the deployment of his division from the bridge of the Riysian carrier Shukri al-Quwatli. Being a general-grade officer, he wouldn't be in the first wave of deployments, but through "Rummaneh" - the Riysian equivalent of the Global Information Grid - he could watch the blips that marked his men and vehicles swim from the landing craft towards the beach. It was exciting for him, seeing the landings on a scale that was more reminiscent of a conventional war than a pirate or terrorist suppression campaign. As he noticed 1. Amphibious Regiment get close, he decided to radio the colonel in charge. The pirates and terrorists weren't suicidal or stupid; he was pretty sure they wouldn't risk attacking the marines at this stage, but it always was good to check up anyways. "Colonel Tayr, report. Over."

Colonel Tayr was enjoying being in the first charge. Something of an action seeker, it was held as almost fact that Tayr would refuse any further promotion just so that he could remain on the field. That statement was at least partially true; while some of the more strategically-minded officers might enjoy sitting at a desk and moving virtual pieces, Tayr preferred a more direct approach to command - leading by actions.

And right now, to him, there was nothing more rousing or inspiring than leading a massive charge of several dozen-odd NJM Salamah-ASBh and BBhs troop transports. It felt like something out of a war movie or a propaganda ad, and he was loving it. His fun though, was temporarily interrupted by the radio from divisional command. "Colonel Tayr reporting, over."

"What's your situation, colonel?"
"Everything is fine so far, sir. No mechanical problems or enemy fire, and we're traveling at maximum speed."
Of course, Salih would know virtually immediately through the network whether they had come under fire, but it never hurt to check.
"Very good. I'll check in with you in person after the landings are done. Make us proud."
"I'll have the coffee ready, sir." With a mutual goodbye, Tayr cut the connection. From his own network connection and through a periscope sight, he saw the first couple of platoons land along the long, curvy coast. They had finally arrived at Insula Fera.

"WAHIDU!" Tayr yelled into the radio, as he heard his Salamah-BBhQ move from water to sand. Everywhere he looked, Salamah APCs were landing and disgorging their troops. It was a glorious sight; one that he would treasure for a long time.

At the Same Time, Riysa

Having gotten confirmation of the first troops landing, the Riysian government released an official statement for the rest of Astyria and the world.

On the side, a diplomatic missive was sent to Aquitayne and Symphonia.

12 hours later, Insula Fera

The 1st Amphibious had gone about 70 kilometers inland so far, spread out across the entire peninsula of the PKZ; although they could've gone further and faster, it might have left the rear vulnerable, which in this situation was dangerous. As of right now, the rear was protected by elements of the 3rd Amphibious Regiment and their artillery, while scout vehicles a few kilometers out kept watch over the local area.

3 kilometers to the left of the rearguard

"Lieutenant, we've got movement on the radar. Several human signatures at 21 kilometers, moving at minus twenty degrees perpendicular. Definitely natives. Shall we move closer and examine?" One MI-2B reconnaissance vehicle, number 109, radioed its platoon commander.

"I see the data on Rummanieh-M. Negative, keep watching them on radar. Heads-up; we're stopping for the next few hours, so hold your position and watch your 0-7s and radar for anything. There's a supply helicopter making its runs from the Shurki and it should be passing close to your position sometime soon. Make sure to radio it if you need anything."

"Amrak, sidi. 109 out."

The vehicle kept monitoring the movement of the natives. They walked closer, although their movement patterns seemed they were searching for something, but didn't know where to look. They kept getting closer, and closer, until they were within 5 kilometers range of the vehicle. The crew watched them slightly nervously, wondering what their purpose was. Suddenly, the supply helicopter rose up above the horizon a couple kilometers behind the recon vehicle, on its way to continue its supply run. That seemed to change something in the behavior of the natives, and the sergeant commanding the vehicle prayed that they were just curious locals.

by **Insula Fera Pirates** » Tue May 13, 2014 9:19 am

Last Week

Several agents of an unidentified foreign state had been arriving, un-uniformed, under the cover of darkness over the last few days to meet with many of the local pirate chiefs in their caves, coves, and shanty towns. They did not come without gifts, either, most of them coming in with crates containing a variety of munition, mainly mortars of varying sizes and assault rifles, althoug a handful of sniper rifles and rocket propelled grenades found their way into the mix as well. The average pirate, out getting drunk, finding whores, or sleeping on the rocks had no idea what exaclt was going on inside the dens of their chiefs, only that they had been told not to harass their new visitors, or face a fate worse than death. Most didn't know that that fate even entailed, but they were sure they weren't going to like it so they left the newcomers alone. Besides, most of them brought new booze to win over these rough seafolk, and more booze was good booze, as far as the pirates were concerned.

Not long after those first shipments arrived, came a second wave of men. Not many, only a few small groups, but these men took a much more active role woth the pirates, teaching them the basics in how to fire and load a mortar, use their new RPG's, etc. The training wasn't very much, just the basics, as the men doing the teaching did not want to stick around long enough to be picked up by the invading armies that were no doubt about to make landfall any day now. By the time the Riysans did finally land on this beach, the teachers would be long gone, and the handful of pirates that they trained to operate some of the larger systems would be prepared, awaiting their arrival.

Present Day, Riysan LZ

Small little groups of pirates, armed with mortars and sniper rifles, began setting up positions behind rocks and in the various caves and crevices of the area near the Riysan troops. The most important piece of equipment that they brought with them, however, were the Doomani made MANPADs. With these, they would be able to swat down not just helicopters, but even pesky drones and low flying attack planes should they so please. It would only be a matter of time before that very first Riysan chopper cleared the cliffline off of the beach, and as soon as it did, the pirates would be ready and waiting.

And so it was, a helicopter made its way over the top, clearly visible on the bright sunny Feran day. Around the rocks, men scattered about as the vanguard of what was nothing short of a foreign invasion made its way towards them. One pirate waited, locking on to his target as it drew nearer and nearer. Unbeknownst to him, a second pirate not too far to his east had the same idea, and now the unfortunate chopper had two threats locked upon her. Suddenly, there was a blast, followed by a second one immediately on its heels from a different direction, and two missiles began making their way inbound for the doomed bird. As soon as they fired, the two men took off running while other men gathered to watch. A rescue group was a certainty, and so others hid with their rifles and MANPADs, waiting the next to rise. Meanwhile, shepherds with their goats and fishermen who had plied this area for centuries were starting to gathe rto look over at the scene unfolding on the beach below.

by **Gaveria** » Sun May 25, 2014 8:14 pm

6 Minutes

Consular Palace
Nova Roma, Aurelia
XXV Mensis Maii, anno CCCIII publicae
0447 hours

Press conferences were a thing government officials, celebrities and businessmen had to do or wanted to do when something big went down. There wasn't a place in the good old Defense Force in the press other than announcing victories on the field of battle. Unfortunately in the modern world, limiting their press exposure wasn't even a remote possibility.

Which was why Lieutenant General Mather had been literally ordered by his superiors to go out in front of every reporter that could be scrambled to the border to give a statement to the Republic. At five o'clock in the morning, there were only thirty seven people in the whole world who knew what he was about to reveal to the world and half of them were in Rome waiting on the announcement, the one he was seconds away from giving.

Mather was a tall, muscular man of tanned skin and a face hardened by a life in the service of the Republic and Rome. His golden hued hair and piercing blue eyes gave him what the older officers called the ''look of eagles'' about him.

The General smoothed over his regulation fit Defense Force uniform one last time before stepping out into the crowd. It was expected that his appearance be literally picture perfect and since he was about to become a very popular person; the pressure to ensure every medal, every ribbon and rank was in it's proper place and shined as bright the god Sol in the sky.

So without further ado and one more brush over his uniform, the general stepped out into the sea of reporters.

''Ladies and gentleman please be seated.

At approximately 0300 hours today, a unmounted patrol of soldiers from Legio IX Equestris encountered a group of individuals attempted to illegally cross the border from the Republic into Andomonia. The patrol called for the group to cease and desist attempts to breach the border to which the party responded by firing upon the patrol. My men returned fire and after a brief engagement; subdued the party. After returning to the FOB, it was later revealed after a routine blood analysis that one the captured assailants was indeed the Eduardo Snow; the man wanted in connection with the leaking of classified government documents last year.

He is currently in our custody and is being examined by military physicians and will be released to the proper civilian authorities after his health has been confirmed.

I'll now open the floor to questions.''

A young brunette woman from the Cheyenne Gazette stood up before the last two syllables had even left his mouth. If he remembered correctly and he normally did, her name was Illythia and she was from Caprica.

''Has Eduardo Snow said anything? She yelled at him from across the room.

''Not since his capture. I do believe he screamed during the firefight.''

There were a few chuckles from the sea of reporters and journalists that had been gathered but Mather's humor went unnoticed or cared for by them.There was a slight pause as they wrote furiously in their notepads and did other annoying reporter things but like the Legions that Mather so loyally served, they pressed.

''General, How many individuals were with Snow and who were they?''

''There were a total of seven people and that's including Snow. We are currently in the process of identifying his companions.''

''Who are the men who captured Mr.Snow?''

''They are members of Legio IX Equestris' 3rd Cohort.''

''Who were the men who were with Snow?

''I don't have that information at the moment.''

''But who are they? Are they connected to any foreign governments? Are they citizens or residents? What did they engage the patrol with? How did they get to the border?''

''Again, I don't have that information.''

''What will happen to the 2.5 million denarii reward for Snow's capture?

''To my knowledge it will be divided among the members of the patrol who brought him in. Of course their will be a small donation to the Legion's post-service organization.''

''Where is Snow right now?''

''I can't disclose that information at the moment. I'm sorry to do this but I truly have no more time to answer questions, I have troops to congradulate and a training exercise to supervise. So have a good day and Donec iterum conveniant. ''

With that General Mather bowed gracefully and exited quietly.

by **Aquitayne** » Sun Jun 01, 2014 3:12 pm

"Status report."
"Progress is uniform, all fronts are advancing smoothly."
"Do we want 'smoothly'? Or do we want decisive action?"
"Both, Sir?"
"Good answer, but it's the safe answer - and you're still wrong."

2300 Hours,
Corvus, Pangus

Jean-Mark Tirsault, known better by his nickname 'Salt' to his comrades, was ascending the staircase of a dismembered apartment block, silently and meticulously avoiding the various objects which lie strewn across the darkened concrete floor. There was no electricity on this side of the city, and there were no organized survival groups willing to provide it. It had been obvious since his jump into the city that it had gone to hell in the chaos of the collapse; it looked as though some psuedo-government forces were controlling some areas while gangs and marauders took hold of others. Either way, there was nothing except bullet holes in the walls, rotting corpses in the bedrooms and longing toys sitting about the complex.

Only the moonlight illuminated the damp stairwell. He preferred the darkness to the artificial green hue of technological advancements. He and his partner, Marcus Oakwall, a native of the Blackhelm Confederacy - but no friend - were attempting to find a vantage point which gave them a line of sight to the airfield, as well as the surrounding districts of Corvus. Their mission: act as forward operators and intelligence gatherers for the ever-approaching 5th Infantry Division, and alert command to any sign of the Dangish 'coalition forces'.

Salt was ascending to the third floor of the building when he heard something. Signalling Oakwall, the pair moved up the stairwell in harmony, sweeping their rifles left and right, eyes peeling up and down, searching for any sign of unwelcome guests. As Salt signaled to go left, a large husky man, dressed in tattered fatigues and what looked to be a '60s Confederate chest rig, lept out and took Salt by the throat, throwing him to the ground. The bearded man's hands were cold, callace, and committed to their task. As Salt felt the air being stripped from his lungs with no relief, he dove his right hand to his hip, took hold of the thermosetting polymers which made up the ASP .45 caliber handgun, and took it out of the holster.

Salt pressed the barrel against the bearded man's side and gently put the five pounds of force needed to pull the hair trigger. With three consecutive and purposeful discharges, the bearded man slowly hunched over Salt, his grip around his neck releasing. Taking a deep breath, all Salt could feel was relief, unfortunately, there was no time to relax - as when there was one, there were others.

Regaining is breath and picking up his rifle, Salt rounded a corner where he saw his partner digging his knife into some teenager's throat. The kid was armed, and that was all they needed to know. The duo cleaned themselves up and gathered their thoughts: they were approaching the fifth floor, and had been assaulted by two individuals. This either meant that they were a son and father, or part of a larger group of survivors hidden somewhere else in the apartment complex. From here on, either way, things were going to be done slowly and methodically.

It took almost until sunrise for the pair of Legionnaires to clear the rest of the apartment building. They had encountered no other resistance, and they were more than grateful for it. They took positions in a two-bedroom apartment on the tenth floor facing the northern area of the city. It wasn't an especially nice room, it had accommodations and the comforts of modern living but nothing extravagant, but the real beauty of it was the view. Normally, under a situation where one might want to buy the apartment, this is probably what sold it. Especially for the sniper pair, it was perfect.

As the room faced north, the pair didn't need to deal with having the sun in their face, and even better was the fact that they had a perfect view of the large airport and its runways. It looked as though the civilian terminals had already been raided - probably by former government troops - and that the majority of the area was deserted. Ontop of a metal table on the balcony of this apartment the pair placed a pair of thermal binoculars which transferred video via wire to a monitor inside the apartment; this allowed the pair to monitor any individuals - day or night - that were using the airport, record it, and be safe while doing so.

Additionally, Salt and Oakwall quietly took down the glass window next to the sliding glass door and moved a large oak desk to a walking space in between the bed and the concrete wall from which the window had been detached. The team pushed the bed to the back of the room and moved the desk to a spot where the sniper rifle could be mounted whilst Salt lay prone on the bed and where the sunlight would not penetrate the room. In a matter of hours, the team had set up a hide, and to them, it was beautiful.

Oakwall, whilst his partner began sketching the area, set up the satellite communications systems needed to contact their commanders. It was a small dish placed on the balcony of the apartment, on the left side of the balcony on the floor facing to the right, for the best concealment and coverage, and a radio set which sat inside - as well as a laptop computer. Oakwall began the connection of their small terminal to the mainframe.

[23:52:10] ***Opening encrypted tunnel AES-265
[23:52:15] ***Tunnel opened, connecting
[23:52:20] ***Connected to SAT5/AQMIL VERIFY
[23:52:21] ***VERIFY PASS: B5h%RW3AV+cHr.X2CpB%;,4kQXtJtbF!{Ze>St7MM4"<x
[23:52:22] ***//password verified//
	---Communications Secure---
[23:54:25] >>Looking up t341SjL201nNzArsPwr.frame
[23:54:28] >>Connecting to t341SjL201nNzArsPwr.frame (129.20.21.2:2901) port 6669...
[23:54:57] >>Connected. Now logging in...
[23:55:04] ***Looking up your hostname...
[23:55:08] ***Checking ident...
[23:55:12] ***No ident response, user prefixed with ~
[23:55:15] ***Enter login information
[23:55:25] >>/msg identserv identify SGT OAKWALL, A w/ pass P4arQt2901AjrRahs
[23:55:34] ***Checking login credentials...
[23:55:36] ***Login credentials confirmed...
[23:55:36] >>Welcome SGT OAKWALL 
[23:55:36] >>Select Channel
[23:55:42] >>/join XR21BB-819901/SECCOM1
[23:55:43] ***Connecting...
[23:55:44] ***Connected
{OAKWALL}: In position & monitoring.
{SECCOM1}: Roger, any movement by UICOM?
{OAKWALL}: Negative, no sign of Dangish forces or 5ID.
{SECCOM1}: So what's the problem? Why enter the emergency channel?
{OAKWALL}: Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?
{SECCOM1}: I don't know to what you're referring.
{OAKWALL}: Cut the shit, T.
[25:53:25] >>SECCOM1 is now known as Tirs 
{Tirs}: So what's the fucking problem?
{OAKWALL}: This mission is bullshit.
{Tirs}: Your point being?
{OAKWALL}: Salt didn't agree to this - there's no way he's going to do it. 
{Tirs}: That's not my problem, that's yours. 
{OAKWALL}: You forget he's the triggerman. 
{Tirs}: So are you. Did you not get trained on the SR10R1?
{OAKWALL}: Not to his calibre.
{Tirs}: You like him, don't you?
{OAKWALL}: He's my partner, of course I do.
{Tirs}: Well get the fuck over it. Just because he doesn't know what's going on doesn't give
you an excuse not to execute.
{OAKWALL}: I'll execute. That's not the problem.
{Tirs}: Then what is?
{OAKWALL}: He won't keep this between us.
{Tirs}: I'll wire him money.
{OAKWALL}: I don't think it'll be that easy.
{Tirs}: If he turns down $250,000 Aeros, he's crazy.
{OAKWALL}: He's an honest man, you won't be able to just pay him off.
{Tirs}: Is that my fucking problem?
{OAKWALL}: Yeah, actually it is.
{Tirs}: And how do you see that?
{OAKWALL}: He just won't, and you're in charge of this.
{Tirs}: You forget I'm behind 10 layers of military grade encryption.
{Tirs}: I'll wire the money, you show it to him, guage his response. If it's less than on our side, shoot him. 
{OAKWALL}: Yeah.
{Tirs}: Are you going to be able to do this, Oakwall?
{OAKWALL}: Yes, it's fine.
{Tirs}: It fucking better be. Just get it done.
{OAKWALL}: Wilco. Have his account number?
{Tirs}: Yeah, no worries. If he gives you any trouble, you know what to do.
{OAKWALL}: Oh, also, for Command reference, we've picked up thermal signatures in the airport.
{Tirs}: Military?
{OAKWALL}: Don't think so, might be. Looks like either a gang or former government troops. Here.
{Begin File Transfer}
//SGT OAKWALL File Transfer SECCOM1DATABASE//
//File Transfer In Progress: 125.1 Gigabytes of 527.5 Gigabytes transferred//
//File Transfer In Progress: 308.8 Gigabytes of 527.5 Gigabytes transferred//
//File Transfer In Progress: 476.9 Gigabytes of 527.5 Gigabytes transferred//
//File Transfer Completed: 527.5 Gigabytes of 527.5 Gigabytes transferred//
{End File Transfer}
{Tirs}: I'll look at the data and get back to you.
{OAKWALL}: I'm sure you will.
{Tirs}: We'll re-establish comms at 0630 tomorrow.
{OAKWALL}: Roger, wilco.
[24:01:22] ***//TIRS has exited Data Link XR21BB-819901/SECCOM1//
[24:01:42] ***//SGT OAKWALL has exited Data Link XR21BB-819901/SECCOM1//
[24:01:55] ***//Data Link XR21BB-819901/SECCOM1 empty//
[24:02:12] ***//Data Link XR21BB-819901/SECCOM1 closing tunnel...//
[24:02:13] ***Tunnel closed.

5th Infantry Division
En Route to Corvus

There was a long line of armored vehicles making their way through the rolling hills and grasslands of Pangus. The 5th Infantry Division had been tasked with securing the city of Corvus and, more importantly, the Corvus International Airport. Their Dangish "comrades" were already on their way to the city, in rather light vehicles for the occasion, and were hastily attempting to seize the airport before the Aquitaynians could get their hands on it.

Colonel Ionus Portus, commander of the Fifth Infantry Division, was going to make sure that didn't happen. The logistics regiments of the Division were being stretched to their maximum, but the unit had enough fuel, ammunition, water and food to make the 32 hour drive to Corvus, of which almost 22 had already been driven. The Colonel knew that his troops would be tired and groggy after the extremely long drive, especially the ones driving the vehicles, but it was necessary if he were to succeed in the orders he was given and to secure the airfield - and outlying suburbs - at once.

Already he had called in UAV missions to the city to get an idea on what they would be facing. A Legionnaire sniper team had already sent in thermal images of personnel inside the airport, and it wasn't clear whether they would turn out to be friend or foe. Nevertheless, it was becoming readily apparent that Corvus would not be the peaceful cakewalk the Dangish had experienced in their encounters with drunks and addicts at the port of Costano. This city was going to be much, much different.

While estimates placed the Aquitaynian division reaching Corvus just before the Dangish, the obstacles that they might face along the way were variables which would also put the Division behind the Dangish if prompted. Only time would tell who would get there first, and only getting there would tell what they would be facing.

UK Security Zone
HMRS Temporary Offices

Timothy Hall was a young agent with His Majesty's Royal Service, and had been deployed to Insula Fera alongside the more public soldiers as a liaison between the military and the HMRS. While he had more of a desk position at the moment, he had hoped for a field role in the action, as there was always intelligence that needed to be gathered. Even so, a bout between his superior's daughter and himself had landed him behind a desk, and it was shit. The room smelled of molding carpet, the coffee tasted like sewer water, and the food was military-grade dog food. It fucking sucked.

As Tim began shuffling through the mountain of paperwork sitting on his desk, he noticed an 'URGENT' folder which, obviously, caught his attention. In its contents contained photographs of unknown individuals handing out documents to villagers in two of five small towns on the outlying border areas of the Security Zone. The men were ethnically not Pangeian, and their clothing suggested they were not from the area either. Inside the folder was what was believed to be what they were handing out: A picture of an ethnic Symphonian holding a knife to a young woman with the text "Keep this horror from your home: Support the EATA Peacekeepers".

It was obvious, then, just as the report concluded, that these unknown personnel were Confederate agents working with the CIS to promote destabilization of the border towns. It wasn't clear, however, why the Confederates would want to prevent the locals from working with the UK forces, other than simple political rivalries and the Confederacy's want for always interfering with the progress of things. Even so, the report came to a logical conclusion, and that meant Tim had to go see the Confederates at their camp, which was something he had would have rather not do.

And because he would have rather not visit the EATA camp, he didn't. Instead, he hopped into his government issued truck, and drove to an town on the border of the Security Zone, dressed in local garb. He scoffed at his superiors; how could they force him to sit behind a desk when he was about to apprehend a CIS agent conducting subterfuge against the UK mission in Pangus? He had his trusty .45 ACP with him, his training and his knowledge of surveillance. In a matter of days the CIS would be facing one hell of a problem. If the Confederacy wanted to interfere in the affairs of the United Kingdom through subterfuge and proxy conflicts, they would have their conflicts.

by **Dungeyland** » Mon Jun 02, 2014 6:42 am

0145 PANGUS STANDARD TIME 03/06/2014
Orsetta, Pangus

Coalition forces had made slow progress through Pangus, with insurgents providing significantly more resistance than was expected. The bulk of Coalition peacekeeping forces were still days from Corvus, but at last the first Imperial soldiers had begun to trickle into the west of the city. With intelligence suggesting that United Kingdom forces had reached the city at the same time from the east, however, it seemed highly unlikely that Dangish and Confederate forces would have strategic control of the city.

The newly formed Insula Fera Coalition Command (IFCC) was acutely aware of this. It was decided that Coalition command would instead stay in Orsetta, the former capital of Pangus, instead of Corvus as planned. This too, unfortunately, was proving problematic. Resistance groups in the city had turned virile at the prospect of an extended Dangish and Confederate presence, and the Coalition was somewhat unprepared for counter-insurgency operations.

Hubert Checan, commander of the IFCC, was not in a particularly jovial mood. Firstly, this was because Checan found the Pangus heat unbearable, in that it prevented him from sleeping effectively. Secondly, Checan was disappointed in Dangish progress with regards to Corvus. The main strategic purpose in holding Corvus was its international airport; Corvus International Airport was perfectly sized for extended peacekeeping operations, and control over it all but guaranteed air superiority over the entire Insula Fera region.

The airport was 26 miles northeast of the westernmost Coalition forces in Pangus. Meanwhile, aerial sweeps had revealed that UK forces, approaching the city from the east, were due to reach the airport in a matter of hours. Even if the logistics were in place, geography alone meant it was impossible for the Coalition to reach the airport first, let alone any insurgent operations. An alternative air field was therefore required for the Royal Air Force to operate to its full capacity.

Just as Checan was mulling over the prospect of a Dangish incursion to Fort Sacranium, the fiery sound of gunshots was heard. This was not in itself unusual, but the proximity to the IFCC headquarters was. Nevertheless, the Coalition held clear superiority in any individual battle with insurgents; the trouble was the cumulative effect of insurgent willingness to die for their cause.

The Office of the First Lord
On Behalf of Her Majesty the Queen
The Dangish Empire

Dear: Mr. Samuel Reich, the United Kingdom
BCC: The Chancellor of the Blackhelm Confederacy
From: The Lord Scylla, the First Lord of the Treasury of the Dangish Empire.

Dear Mr. Reich,

I am writing with regards to the situation in Pangus. As I am sure you are aware, the Insula Fera Coalition Command has been working to secure Corvus International Airport to be used as a base from which peacekeeping operations can run. Due to geographical and logistical constraints outside the control of Her Majesty's Government, Insula Fera Coalition Command has informed the Crown that it has chosen to cease activities to secure the airport for international use.

Nonetheless, the Coalition Command is adamant that the airport be available for the use of peacekeepers and non-governmental organisations such as charities. I have thus been requested by Field Marshal Checan to request United Kingdom support in securing Corvus and the surrounding area, including Corvus International Airport. The main goal, as far as the Coalition is concerned, is to prevent the Pangean capital falling into insurgent hands. Please do bear in mind, however, that the Coalition would be forced to insist on access to Corvus International Airport.

I am also writing to keep the United Kingdom government up to date with the latest developments in Coalition-held areas of the country. The Coalition currently has forces running from the southwest of the country near Dovadola through until Saccuti in the northeast. We do not currently have operational control of the central city of Titfenia and its airstrip due to insurgent activity, but it is expected that we shall occupy the airstrip provided no other forces impede our progress. Control of the far northwest of the country is also yet to be determined.

Her Majesty's Government is of the opinion that it is contrary to Imperial and Coalition interests to have operational control east of this parallel, provided the United Kingdom is able to maintain control of this land. This does not mean that the Coalition will not spread forces eastwards to assist with peacekeeping efforts, however. United Kingdom troops are by extension welcome in Coalition-held areas to conduct peacekeeping operations.

The primary concern of Her Majesty's Government is to secure Orsetta as the capital city of the Coalition Military Government for the Occupied Territories (CMGOT) in order to further develop infrastructure and move towards multi-party elections by the end of 2014. Naturally, we expect the United Kingdom to establish its own military government in the eastern areas of Pangus. Should this occur, the CMGOT will endeavour to have cordial relations with any UK administration.

I further reiterate the Dangish desire for the United Kingdom to join the Insula Fera Coalition Command. United Kingdom participation in a centralised military government would ensure a swifter move to democracy and the re-establishment of order in Insula Fera.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

The Baron of Viney, the Lord Humphrey Scylla, 4th creation.
The First Lord of the Treasury

by **Aquitayne** » Mon Jun 02, 2014 1:57 pm

OFFICE OF HIS MAJESTY THE KING
THE FOREIGN MINISTRY
In repose to The Lord Scylla, The First Lord of the Treasury, On the behalf of Her Majesty the Queen of the Dangish Empire, dated 6 June Year of Our Lord 2014;

My Lord,

Firstly, I may thank you on behalf of His Majesty the King for informing us of the Dangish Coalition Forces' progress in their securing of vital strategic targets, as well as their smooth progress on all fronts. The King is very pleased with the conduct of your armed services, and wishes to pass that appreciation to Her Majesty.

I can assure you, as well as any other representative body which might read this missive, that the Aquitaynian government has no intention of militarizing the Corvus International Airport. It is seen as a crucial military asset that must be secured with haste, and indeed the sudden push of Dangish military resources onto the island and their subsequent goal of securing the airport for yourselves placed it much higher on the tasking list of objectives which needed to be taken.

The United Insulian Command was more than displeased that a race occurred to secure this airport. It is their belief that in order to successfully restore peace, balance and order to this region we must work together as one to accomplish our mutual goal. Various approved non-governmental organizations, civilians, and military aircraft may be permitted to use the Corvus International Airport whence it has been secured by the Aquitanian Fifth Infantry Division, as current estimates place it arriving before the Dangish units which are en route - however, if the Dangish would prefer a mutual and coordinated assault on the airfield, such operations need be directed to the General Staff of the United Insulian Command. We can assure Her Majesty that the Fifth Infantry Division, alongside all branches of the Aquitaynian military, will serve to prevent the downfall of the city to the hands of insurgents when they enter the eastern suburbs and industrial areas of the city.

It is in the firm belief of the Aquitaynian Foreign Ministry, as well as the General Staff of the United Insulian Command, alongside the War Council, that the establishment of two separate military governments located in the eastern and western regions of the country will only serve to make fractal the efforts of securing a long lasting and prosperous peace. While the goals of the Coalition Military Government for the Occupied Territories - being supervised by Dangish and Confederate advisers - is admirable, it is not the route that His Majesty and the United Kingdom wish to take in this matter, and it should not be the route Her Majesty wishes to embark on.

The United Kingdom will not, unfortunately, be joining the Insula Fera Coalition Command structure which has been created by the Dangish Empire and Blackhelm Confederacy. We appreciate your kind offer, and your want to create a centralized coalition for ease of the democratic process, but the point of the matter is that the United Insulian Command is the senior coalition body within this operation, and the United Kingdom is ultimately the leading force behind these operations, even though we are more than happy to work jointly and cooperatively with your government. It is as such that His Majesty would counter the Dangish offer with an invitation to UICOM instead.

Regards,

James Zaeir

by **Dungeyland** » Tue Jun 03, 2014 1:55 am

The Office of the First Lord
On Behalf of Her Majesty the Queen
The Dangish Empire

Dear: Mr. Samuel Reich, the United Kingdom
BCC: The Chancellor of the Blackhelm Confederacy
From: The Lord Scylla, the First Lord of the Treasury of the Dangish Empire.

Dear Mr. Reich,

It is with grave displeasure and with fear for the future of the citizens of Pangus that I acknowledge receipt of your earlier letter and your refusal to join the Insula Fera Coalition Command. The invitation still stands, and it should be clear that the United Kingdom is welcome in any Dangish-led coalition structure in governing Insula Fera.

Nevertheless, the reality is that Her Majesty's Armed Forces occupy a larger proportion of Pangus than the forces of the United Kingdom, both in geographical terms and in population terms. We also currently hold Orsetta, the former capital city. It is therefore logical that the Dangish Empire assume seniority in any unified command. Do be aware of the Imperial willingness to make concessions to the United Kingdom military.

No Secretary of State of this Empire has ever so desired that a nation's peoples be separated by the military force of another. Mr Osborne at the Foreign & Colonial Office is crystal clear in his belief that Pangus should be a united nation. He is equally clear that it is contrary to the interests of the Pangean people to have their military government ran primarily by one country. To these ends, it is appropriate for a military administration to be operated by the alliance of the Dangish Empire, the Blackhelm Confederacy, the United Kingdom and the lesser powers of this conflict.

Provided the United Kingdom is adamant in its desire to delay multi-party democratic elections in its occupied region of Pangus, such elections will proceed as planned in the territories of the Coalition Military Government and there is little more to discuss. Elections are currently scheduled for November, and it is expected that the last pockets of insurgent activity will be extinguished by then. The full withdrawal of Coalition forces, assuming all goes to plan, is expected by May 2015. The government that, presumably, will only have authority in Western Pangus, will continue to be supported by the Dangish Empire in the case of any aggression from foreign powers.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

The Baron of Viney, the Lord Humphrey Scylla, 4th creation.
The First Lord of the Treasury

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Fri Jun 13, 2014 7:27 am

At Sea

The Yellosian death flail had tossed up a veritable sea of missile towards the Confederate fleet. CIWS, missiles, flares and all sorts of countermeasures filled the sky but for many of the smaller vessels on the outer picket, particularly the LCS's searching for possible mines, there was simply nothing that could be done. Four of these smaller craft were simply blown to bits, and the BCNS Shamless was pounded by a number of missiles and caught fire almost immediately before eventually rolling to port and slipping beneath the waves, bringing a number of her crew with her. A number of other vessels had also been hit, and although damaged they managed to stay afloat. Most importantly, however, was that the transports had remained untouched, and away from the fighting. The situation was now a grim one, and the fleet desperately needed to turn in for repairs.

Redfield received his reports that the YSR carrier had finally been removed from the fight and the Riysans were making their presence known amongst the Yellosian coastal positions with satisfaction, despite his losses. He could finally now move north to link up with the airborne forces in Matvayez and get his wounded vessels to drydock. With his precious cargo of thousands of troops as well as a legate in his fleet, he had to make sure to get into port safely and unload before the rest of the Confederate operation would be able to roll out. It would only be a short sail now to Nouvel Ecosse, and hopefully the Yellow menace did not have any more tricks up their sleeve. The fleet CAP stayed in the air running wide circles over the rest of the ships, and pickets were sent out to screen the area, but for most of the men in the carrier group, they were fairly certain that the enemy had been decisively beaten and would keep out of their way.

Matvayez

The young optio that had been called aside looked startled by a laundry boy calling him over "Arkjelstad" he thought in his head, "this must be something different". He quickly pulled his sidearm, unsure of exactly what was happening, only knowing that the city just mentioned was the capital of the Yellow Star Republc. "Hands up!" he shouted before approaching and circling around behind the spy. He poked his gun to his ribs. "Put your hands down and walk. Make no suspicious moves to alert the others what is going on. Try anything and I'll shoot you right through your heart, understand?" he said as he gave him a jab and led him through the base to the command tent of the tribunus and pushing him through. The optio then muttered something in Latin to the others, who immediately through the poor Yellosian to the ground and began to search him for arms, before patting him down and then tying his arms behind his back and securing a black burlap bag over his head, tied securely at the neck. "You do not move" one of the men said in a thick Confederate accent as Svarik felt two men lift him by his arms and push him into a chair.

Several minutes passed before the man felt someone give a little double pat to his cheek through the burlap. "Speak, Yellosian. What brings you to this camp" a gruff voice said. "You are a brave man for coming here. That I respect. You have my ear."

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Mon Jun 16, 2014 9:50 am

"My respect only extends so far as to not put a bullet through your brain for being a spy. Now speak, and tell me what you are doing here. If I like what you have to say, I will comsider taking that bag off of your head" the voice announced to the Yellosian. "And do not worry, whatever is said here will not make it to the ears of the west".

Meanwhile, at sea, the bloodied Confederate carrier group steamed on as fast as they were able, determined to make port. A number of their ships might not survive more than a few more days at sea, and another engagement with the Yellosians could spell disaster. For now, however, they pressed on northwards, crews wearily watching their screens for any signs of trouble and most men hoping they would make it to their destination without any more trouble.

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Tue Jun 17, 2014 4:25 pm

Port Blacksand
Terre Azure

"Let’s move you cowards!" yells Decanus Iosephus Whitewater as his shaken platoon of soldiers takes cover from machine-gun fire in the streets of Port Blacksand. Hours prior, his men and the rest of the EATA coalition troops had advanced in long columns behind their automatic TAURUS drones, but as they progressed deeper into the city they were forced to fan out more and more. This platoon has been ordered to hunt down and kill a group of Azuran holdouts hiding somewhere in a block of darkened houses. It is well past midnight by now, and the soldiers have been running from fire fight to fire fight with no sleep, fueled only by the modest pickings from their ration packs. As they searched through nine of the houses on the block, the soldiers turned up nothing. When they trudged into the 10th house, though, a trap was sprung: the Azuran men had lured them in and then opened fire, forcing Whitewater's men to scramble out of the house as glass and brick fragments peppered them and bullets ricocheted off the gates of the courtyard. The Decanus yelled for an armored fighting vehicle to provide support to his troops, and a BTR-60 answered almost immediately, tearing over from a block or so away. The eight wheeled APC drew along the gate and poured 14.5mm and 7.62nn machine-gun fire into the house, blasting a shower of concrete chips and luminescent sparks.

Whitewater, a gruff 32 year old career soldier, is pacing the street, preparing to go back in. The man’s bluster on the battlefield contrasts with his refinement off it. During lulls in the fighting, he could discuss the Imperial Renaissance and West Astyrian politics. "Get on me now," he says, ordering his squad to close in. There is little movement. He asks who has more ammunition. Two soldiers stand up and join him in the street. "Here we go, let’s do this shit" the NCO says. "You don't move from my fucking wing. You stay on my right shoulder. You stay on my left shoulder. Nobiscum?" The men nod. "Let’s go show the sand diggers what the jungle is made of!"

Reaching the barred window near the front door, Whitewater tells two soldiers to perch by the house corner and watch for insurgents trying to leap out the side window. He looks at one of his immunii, Immunis Marcus Brownboot and gives him a determined nod before telling him, "I don’t care your rank. You are coming in too. Give suppressive fire behind me.” Cautiously, the two men step into the home. From the living room, Whitewater rounds the corner into the hallway and to his surprise some of the the insurgents are still alive. Their AK-47s fire immediately but inaccurately, the men still somewhat shaken from the amount of gunfire the APC had pumped into their miniature fortress. Whitewater fires back, killing them both. "Hostis humani generis" he sneers before spitting at the two corpses by his feet.

The immunis stays downstairs while Whitewater scours the rest of the house for more insurgents. A string of rapid-fire single shots suddenly ring out followed by a few moments of silence and then a low, pained moaning. The two soldiers waiting in the courtyard call out to their decanus, but get no response. "Whitewater is not answering," a message is shouted back to the platoon members across the street. "We got a problem." The platoon's other decanus, Gaius Goldletter, younger than Iosephus but still quite capable, steps up. "Let's go," he says.

He quickly takes a small team over the road to the two men still in the courtyard. "Good guys coming in," he shouts as he goes inside, to make sure he doesn’t draw any fire from Brownboot or the potentially wounded Whitewater. Inside they find to their surprise that the NCO is in fact alive and on the hunt. Like a lion on the prowl, he silently scans his way through the second floor, looking into each bedroom before suddenly an uniformed Azuran soldier leaps out of a closet. Whitewater falls down immediately and fires, spraying the man with bullets as another insurgent drops out of the ceiling, only to meet a similar fate as finally Brownboot’s gun spring to life, dropping the man before he can lift his gun. Yet another runs to a window and makes for the garden. Whitewater hits him in lower back as he flees, but he still manages to scramble to the outside. When it's over, four Azuran soldiers are dead; another has escaped badly wounded. Goldletter looks on in shock at what he had just seen before coughing out, "I am impressed man. You're a better soldier than me." Whitewater shakes his head. "No, no, no," he laughs. “Just a lucky one.”

When this whole thing started up several weeks back, Hesperidisian media was quick to bill the upcoming fight like a promoter at a heavyweight boxing match. This fight several thousand Confederate soldiers and marines and along with a number of men from the other EATA nations against some of Azura’s best troops and the last bastion of the mad priests nation was the main event on almost every screen throughout the continent. Unfortunately for most viewers, however, the battle did not see any showdown with massed Azuran forces. No tanks came out to meet EATA armor head on, no massive formations engaging in World War era pitched battles. Instead, for men like the soldiers of the 3rd Platoon the fight was far more intense, the enemy lurking in the shadows, never quite making their positions known but always being present. The Confederates and their allies battled Azuran troops not just street to street or even house to house, but also up close and personal, fighting him from room to room often at point-blank range. In terms of reaching their objectives, the assault's first day produced success, but the EATA forces had still not yet made it to the Citadel, that all mighty fortress in the center of Port Blacksand, standing like a thumb in the eye of the allied forces. During the day the Confederate 10th Infantry Division, swept in from the west and punched deep into the city, seizing one of Blacksand’s most important assets, the highway, and serving to divide much of the city in two. This initial assault opened the way for more forces to pour into the center of the while others, most notably men of the Polarussian army stormed in from the north with the intent of making cordon zones within the capital, forcing the enemy to fight in small pockets without communication lines to their comrades elsewhere in the city. It took several more days before the men of the EATA coalition had finally converged upon the city center, and took their fight to the priest himself.

The offensive, however, has left much of the Azuran capital in ruins, as air strikes, artillery barrages and ground fighting damaged and destroyed a number of buildings once used to house the enemy. It's impossible to count the number of enemy slain across Port Blacksand, but the attrition of government forces in the city was decisive. The EATA, for their part, were far from unscathed, and the end of the first day of fighting left 32 soldiers dead and more than 200 wounded. By sunrise the next day, operations would start again, and the soldiers would continue to capture more and more of the city from her determined, often fanatical defenders.

Shortly after 7 p.m. on the second night Whitewater watched as a group of engineers used a minesweeper to shoot 100-yd. lines of explosive down streets to destroy or trigger any booby traps in their path. Once clear, a TAURUS unit would lead in a column of tanks along a channel marked in green chemical lights, to take their positions on a railway berm on a main line which nearly cut through the very center of the city. These vehicles would cover 3rd Platoon's advance to their objective, a hunk of two- and three-story buildings known to be enemy strong points, and some of the last before the path to the citadel was kicked open.

Once the tanks were brought up, the men of the platoon were piled into the musty hold of a BMP-3. Among them is Goldletter, a thin, expressive Backland Pureblood and father of three who joined the military several years ago to fight the communists in the jungles, but has now ended up here in the desert far from home. He warns his team to "get ready to get out of this big metal bullet magnet." With the bulk of the Confederate-led assault force poised on the northern side of the railway, the men plowed forward before bringing their BMP’s to a halt beneath a row of houses. The platoon radio net crackled, "Drop ramp. All 3rd Platoon elements drop ramp, drop ramp." And with that, the ground battle began.

Despite all the intel showing movement within the buildings, the complex did not seem to be defended, but in the street behind it, a large gas tank lay on its side and a wire ran from it to a nearby house. A squad was ordered to go investigate, but no sooner were they gone then did they come rushing back. Much as the men suspected, it looked as though the gas tank was rigged to explode. This was something that by now was not new to the men, as booby traps had become the norm during the first day, and a bomb squad was called up.

Once an all clear sign was given, the men continued to move on, all the while helicopters circling over head, some of them even dropping commando units, most likely either ACF of Airborne Guards, onto the tops of some of the taller building. From there, some men would remain up top as snipers, but the rest would have the far more dangerous job of clearing these structures room by room, all while looking out for any potential booby traps and ambushes that might await them. As the men watched some helicopters deposit one such team onto a rooftop, a series of bombs exploded, tearing up the ground in front of them, injuring one young mile in his upper leg. He began pouring blood from his wound and immediately one of the BTR’s that were serving as armored ambulances pulled up. The men loaded him in, and he eventually recovered, but was out of the fight for several more weeks. The men soon found bombs and booby traps literally everywhere in Port Blacksand, in almost every home and alleyway, which lead to a change of tactics among the EATA forces, after several men became casualties of these little bits of treachery. If something looked fishy, call it in or blow it up with a grenade. No more chances were to be taken as the second day brought about another sixteen deaths and another hundred or so wounded.

The third day had finally brought the lead elements of the EATA force to the outskirts of the Citadel, that imposing, dreaded command center of the enemy forces. The usual fortification of the construct was clearly doubled in anticipation of the EATA forces, and the commanders were in agreement that all but the heaviest bombs would be unable to penetrate most of its walls. Unfortunately for the men present, the bombs required were not on hand, and so a full on push would be needed to bring down the maniacal government once and for all. Surveillance taken earlier in the fight had shown the allied forces that a number of explosives and landmines littered the area around the fortress, and their thoughts were confirmed when Confederate Ravorn Raider dropped a 500-lb. bomb on a weapons cache, which proceeded to set off a chain of roadside bombs for 100 yds. along either side of one of the blocks leading up to it. Several of the streets leading up to the building were also filled with dirt barriers, chunks of concrete, burned out cars, anything the Azuran troops thought could be used as an obstacle for the advancing forces.

Commanders had agreed to allow the Polarussian troops to be the first into the area, but to force their way in a Confederate unit brought up a BMP to smash over the street barricades after clearing the area with their C4 lines. Whitewater and his men watched as they made their way through a three story building along the side of the street within full sight of the Citadel. Once clear, a column of Polarussian troops tramped along towards the Citadel, where they immediately came under fire from soldiers and militia men within the building. The heaviest fire came from one of the turrets that jutted out from the concrete walls. Immense amounts of rocket and missile fire slammed into the turret, with drones even taking their turn to relieve the Polarussian men who were now using whatever pieces of rubble they could as cover to return fire. After nearly two full hours of fighting, the turret was subdued but the Polarussians were forced to pull back. Three of the numbers were killed and another eight wounded, including a sergeant and lieutenant. The men of the 3rd platoon could only watch as the bloodied Berbers fell back behind the BMP, dragging their dead and wounded behind them, leaving long streaks of blood down the rubble strewn street to the citadel.

With the thoughts of an attack directly on the structure now out of the question, the men needed to regroup. The decision was finally made to withdraw all units from the area around the Citadel, and the men under Whitewater quickly dropped back from their positions, unsure of what was about to happen. Moments later, the tremendous blast of every gun in the fleet, as well as all of the mortars and artillery in range was heard. The effect was nearly deafening, but it was also in a way awe inspiring as well, as blast after blast made its mark on the mighty concrete structure. As the men crouched low and covered their ears to the booming, they were shocked to see from behind them a number of Otokar Cobra and low profile APC’s go zipping by them into the smoke. These were the men of one of the Jafalan units, with a number of Confederate BTR’s and XM-1’s moving up hot on their heels. Recovering from the shock of seeing what appeared to be mad men heading straight into what was clearly among some of the most dangerous locations on the planet right now, the men suddenly heard their own radios crackle to life. “All troops within the vicinity of the Citadel, move in, I repeat move in”

Shocked by this, the troops took off right behind the convoy that just passed to see the smoldering broken Citadel. Unbelievably, many of its defenders were still returning fire out of the gaping holes that had been knocked into it, but as more and more EATA troops arrived, the volume of fire coming from within the enemy fortress gradually began to die down. Finally, the men of 3rd platoon heard a great cheer on their flank, and looked up to see a jubilant dark skinned Hesperidisian waving the on star flag of Cote d’Cuivre. The tiny force they had sent was now overjoyed, and began rushing the opening in the building. Others began following up and before long the men would be inside the fort, engaged in fierce hand to hand combat as they went room to room, office to office, to cleanse this last hive of villainy of the savages within.

Whitewater lead his men up to another opening in the wall, as the one where the Cuivrans had swarmed was drawing a significant amount of fire from other areas of the still standing Citadel. Once inside, they immediately found another group of dark skinned men pinned down in a hallway. One was clutching his shoulder, blood pumping from his wound and staining his green and black camouflage. From him, the men learned this group was from the Bungussan 4th Rifle Battalion. Goldletter quickly moved up to a corner and ordered his men to lob grenades around it, before his unit and the Bungussans began to advance together down the hall, keeping up a powerful suppressive fire as they pushed forward. The men kept pressing forward,, the deeper they went the more gunfire they heard coming in from adjacent hallways, as a mix of shouts in Latin, Berber, and French resounded through it all. Even a few of the localized native tongues could be heard, as some of the Hesperidisians neglected their national language in favor of their local one in the heat of battle.

The Bungussan/Confederate force containing the 3rd platoon finally swung their rifles around a hallway, to come face to face with the rifles of a Polarussian rifle team. After a brief moment of fear and near friendly fire, the group joined together and continued fighting their way through the halls until suddenly, the gunfire heard in other halls seemed to stop, and cheers began to spread like a wave throughout the building. The sergeant in charge of the Polarussians suddenly had his radio come to life, and a man excitedly spoke something in Berber. It evidently was good news, as many of the mne dropped their guns and hugged, clapping each other on the back and cheering before a radio on Immunis Brownboot’s vest also crackled up. “We got him boys” a voice said on the other side. “We got the priest!”

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Sun Jun 22, 2014 3:11 pm

The Confederate mulled the situation over for a bit before deciding on something. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere" he said, getting a kick out of his own joke as he walked from this tent to another to hail the Legate, still at sea. Their conversation was a brief one, and by its end the tribunus walked back into the captives tent and yanked off the bag.

"Contact your leader, Yellosian" he announced. "I think we can sort something out."

by **Riysa** » Mon Jun 23, 2014 9:07 am

Sea

Commodore al-Ghazali watched the engagement unfold on a screen, relayed from the Confederacy Fleet and the patrol craft from both sides monitoring the battle. The YSR fleet fought with all the courage and ferocity of a cornered animal, attempting to inflict as many casualties as possible before being themselves destroyed. He saw blips appear as missiles were fired, as missiles were shot down, and as missiles impacted. He smiled as he saw a Toufan anti-ship missile from the Hout cruiser rip in half a Sovremenny-class destroyer - the Risastórfiskur? - that had strayed too close to the Riysian defensive lines; the first confirmed kill of the missile class. As quickly as it began, the attack was over; the YSR fleet had been wiped to a ship, and the Confederacy fleet had taken a beating, losing 5 of their own ships to the sustained defense and sustaining major damage across several other ships. Interestingly, the YSR fleet hadn't been so doomed as everyone had though; while they aimed - and probably succeeded - at maximizing casualties in terms of raw numbers among the Confederacy fleet by focusing on taking down the LCS ships, it was possible that if they had focused on the cruisers and destroyers more, they might have been able to hold off long enough to escape or even force a draw. The writeup to High Command about the YSR's strategy would be an interesting one.

As the path was clear, there was no longer any need for the transports and the Confederacy fleet to linger around anymore. al-Ghazali sent a parting message.

From: Commodore Sami al-Ghazali, al-Tikiriti Battlegroup
To: Admiral Redfield, Carrier Group London

Congratulations on our victory; may it be remembered by both of our nations for years to come. We will keep your rear and airspace covered until everyone gets to Eccosse; our transport ships will be going with you, so please keep them safe. Godspeed Admiral.

Overall, it had been a good combat action. The Riysian battlegroup would hang around the local area until its mission of neutralizing enemy air along the coastline was complete, and then they'd return back to port to regroup with the rest of the formation. Simple...but not so much.

A surveillance aircraft from the carrier spotted the ships on radar first, then both fleets spotted each other with ESM. There was a troopship, a Gepard-class frigate, and an unknown low-emissions ship, possibly for ESM/ELINT. A general order went out to all ships to switch to passive radar emissions, to keep the YSR ships blind in regards to the position of the Riysian ships, while the commodore sent out a message to the ships.

GREETINGS. THIS IS A RIYSIAN BATTLEGROUP COMMANDED BY COMMODORE SAMI AL-GHAZALI. THE YELLOWSIAN SECOND FLEET HAS BEEN DESTROYED ENTIRELY. IF YOU SURRENDER, YOU WILL BE SPARED AND TREATED FAIRLY. PLEASE RESPOND WITHIN 3 HOURS. -CM.AL-GHAZ

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Wed Jun 25, 2014 11:51 am

Port Blacksand
Terre Azure

The priest had gone down it what to some could be considered a blaze of glory, and to others a last act of cowardice. As the Confederate marines began pouring into the citadel along with the rest of the EATA forces assembled, a number of them began making their way, unknowingly at the time, right for the offices of the government, and of the dictator himself. Room to room, hallway to hallway the marines pressed on, taking losses but dishing out far more in return as they reached ever closer to the lair of the beast. After rounding one corner, however, an unusually stiff resistance was met , the men assembled before a large dark wood double door. One man amongst them seemed to be shouting and encouraging them more loudly then the others.

“I think that’s the priest” a young mile said as he ducked back behind the safety of a corner after unloading a burst down the hall. A handful of flash bangs were tossed down the hall to cover the men as the once more rounded that wall and began firing, clearing out most of the men assembled. The loud one, however, was gone. The men then moved to kick the door through, however they found it barricaded and immediately set up a breaching charge, courtesy of the immuni they kept with them. In seconds, a large hole was blown the door and the men poured through. Handgun fire rang out to meet them, but it was only brief as the men returned bullets, cutting down their source. And there he was, the once mad dictator who had so callously ordered the end for so many, slumped beneath his desk, his final hiding place as divine justice came to find him. The bullets fired by the marines had torn through the wood that he was firing over, leaving his body riddled with lead and splinters. He was dead almost immediately.

A massive banner was quickly raised over the carrier at sea, announcing “Victores in Aeternum” as cheers began to erupt throughout the harbor and the city. Celebrations were spontaneous as civilians, those who were bold enough to remain as well as those who had moved to the EATA refugee camps around the area began to join in, dancing and cheering. Statues of the old regime were pulled down as an announcement was proclaimed that a Dr. Andrew Mullins would be made head of the new interim government. Mullins was sworn in to his new position aboard the decks of the St. Michael, a carrier aptly named for its role in driving out the Satan of this land.

The mission was not over, however. It was likely that there would be some hardliners that would still like to see the return of the old regime, and the former government’s troops likely still held positions in other parts of the country. There would need to be some prolonged mopping up operations to be carried out, but today, the Confederacy and her allies had been victorious, and the world was made a safer place.

At Sea

Redfield had received the message from the Riysans with a smile. "Send them back a congratulations as well!" he said cheerily to a nearby officer on the deck, who hurried off to dispatch the message. "We couldn't have done it without them!"

The joy, however, began to drain from his face as he looked out over his fleet. They were badly bloodied, and their missile stocks were low. The only opportunity they possibly had to arrive with the troopships intact was to sail towards Euralon, hopefully far enough out of the way from the Yellosian fleet to spare them from another battle, and then try to swing around. It would add at least another day to the journey, maybe two, but it would be worth it to save possibly thousands of lives from another battle in the frigid waters off the Yellow Star Republic. His mind was then made up.

"Set a course towards Euralon" he ordered. ""We are taking the long way in."

by **Empire of Symphonia** » Mon Jul 28, 2014 8:20 pm

Imperial Palace of Relum
Hamasaka, Metropolis of Symphony, AFN-UK
8:15 PM EST Symphonica Time

Empress Seondeok sat quietly at her desk, looking over the Inner Courtyard of palace from the window of her third floor office. The shrill cry of the summer cicadas could be heard piercing through the air, as wind blew through the dense trees of the courtyard and the last light from the evening sun peered over the rooftops enclosing it. A lone worker was at the far end of the stone walkway running through the courtyard, sweeping up any disturbed soil or fallen leaves. Light from the stone lanterns softly illuminated the courtyard. On the bench not far below from the window, the empress could see her two children reading while their father appeared to be conversing with an official. The lights of the towering skyscrapers of Hangeng and Terra Imperiale could be seen in the near distance.

It was strange really, this kind of sheltered peace and closeness with nature amidst the most populous city in the Empire and the Federation, the lives of fifty million other people going about outside the walls and pavilions of Relum. Not to mention the one and a half billion citizens of the AFN and the rest of the United Kingdom of Aquitayne and Symphonia.

The empress sighed, before the knocking and opening of her office door brought her back from abstract thoughts.

"You know that I am not happy about the situation, right?" she said without turning around.

A chuckle from the bearded, turbaned man behind her, a low rumbling kind that could have been mistaken for that of an old man.

"Ah, so even the occupier of the Faceless Throne can have political opinions," the man said," As your First Minister, I'd advise you against such thoughts."

Adaminghir Singh was no longer the twenty-seven year old scholar from the Seong-Kiramashi Conflict. For one, he no longer sported the rectangular glasses and slightly long, shaggy hair, thin lanky body of someone who didn't exercise. At forty-one, he had thick round glasses, balding hair, a grey beard, and was slightly round. The quintessential middle-aged Indian man, in the empress' opinion.

"Even a throne whose occupant is expected to be stone-cold cannot be expected to robotic," Seondeok admonished," You've been with me for fourteen years, so don't expect me to just drop my memory of you just yet."

And another chuckle, followed by a spat of coughing. This time, the empress turned around and looked at Singh. The man waved his hand to reassure her as he coughed into a tissue.

"Your Majesty, I have been faithfully serving you for such a long time, over a variety of issues. They've taken a toll on me, and I've decided I need rest. A man can only endure so much. I've fought in two wars, and I started a war that may drag on for several more years. I think that this is enough."

The empress sat down in her desk chair, and opened up the folder in front of her. As a constitutional monarch, there was really little Seondeok could do to stop this. The Government was becoming exceedingly criticized over its bungling of the Prudensia intervention, the budget cuts, the recent war scares with the EATO. It perhaps a disgraceful, but necessary act to leave and let others to make better decisions.

With a great sigh, Seondeok signed the letter of resignation.

Times of the Orient
News Coverage For East Asia

Fall of the Singh Ministry, Results of the 2014 Election are over;
Akira vi Contruum sworn in as Prime Minister

Morning Edition

West Genevira, The Empire of Symphonia, The United Kingdom of Aquitayne and Symphonia
2:00 AM Eastern Symphonica Time

In mid-July of 2014, the Singh Ministry of the Empire of Symphonia and the Asian Federation of Nations fell. Widely criticized as a "bastion of sloth", the Singh Ministry is accused of dragging the Empire of Symphonia and the AFN into foreign intervention without a clear plan about post-intervention. Equally damning, was the failure of many of the Government's initiatives regarding regional trade deals and pacts, as the latest E10 Council of Nations pact has shown. The Ministry's failure to preserve its promises of political neutrality regarding the Dangish Empire and the Blackhelm Confederacy. The retreat of the UK Aero, the Imperial Koku, and the general lapse of major Symphonian initiatives on world stage were also considered major failures by many voters.

The Crown Democratic Party (CDP), which Mr. Singh belongs to, is weakened further by splits between its conservative and moderate wings, as both factions tussle over regarding the role of the AFN as a federal or unitary system, and whether or not the nation of Prudensia should be considered within the trusteeship of the AFN. Both issues figure highly into national politics among the six member nations of the AFN, as the devolution revolution process and AFN foreign intervention gain more attention.

Other parties, such the Democratic People's Party, the East Astyrian People's Party, and the Symphonian Union of Fascists, which made inroads into mainstream Symphonian and AFN politics, as dissatisfaction regarding Symphonian national prestige, strength, and domestic conditions continued. As of now, the Congress of the Federation is open for total election, meaning that 2014 could see a completely new legislative makeup in process, possibly changing in who controls the Office of the Prime Minister.

After a week of voting across the entire AFN, the Crown Democratic Party (CDP) regained control over the government, but lost its supermajority advantage in both the Congress and the Imperial Senate to a resurgent DPP and the fringe parties. Laws in the AFN require a two-thirds majority to pass the legislature and reach both the Throne and the Prime Minister for final approval.

Imperial Democracy: Weakened or Radicalized?

Many members of the large CDP majority who are leaving West Genevira in the coming week were part of the original core of the revolution that ousted the Seong Shogunate in the Seong-Kiramashi Conflict. Many were moderates from key constituencies in across the AFN member states, as well as the members of the aristocracy that supported the Imperial Family and represented several Cultural Regions in the Imperial Senate. Their fall in this election is perhaps a signal that a moderate Symphonian voice in international affairs is perhaps no longer in the interests of the populace. All parties ran on a nationalist platform, as well as the usual platforms on key domestic and government issues.

The notion of "imperial democracy", as espoused by both the CDP and DPP, posits the idea of bringing trustee territories into the orbit of the AFN with the goal of eventual incorporation and representation in mind. Territorial subjects, protected by the 1863 Pendragon Statute, are to be given freedoms and rights similar to that of AFN citizens. Territories are to be directly administered by the AFN government and have no representation in the legislature pending approval of either the Throne or the Prime Minister. On the other hand, territories that had an existing government could apply directly for either independence or AFN membership.

The great issue that the new legislature is bringing in is the status of Prudensia as a sovereign nation or a failed state. The region of Prudensia was created with the fall of the Imperial Spartanian Empire earlier this summer as results of attacks by the terrorist group, the Heralds. Under "imperial democracy" as interpreted by the majority of the CDP, the entire DPP, and the Throne, this would mean that Prudensia would be given independence once AFN trusteeship was deemed unnecessary. However, parts of the CDP, along with the entirety of the SUF, the EAPP, and most reactionaries, argue that Prudensia is merely a regional label and that no government existed to represent the area since the only legal government, the ISE, fell and the terrorists made no attempt to establish control, but only loot further.

The latter's argument is reinforced by photos that the Aquitaynians procured in the early stages of the UK intervention, showing the destruction and looting of homes and businesses across the former ISE. These photos were released by the Singh Ministry to help gather public support for intervention.

The opposition has promulgated a more radical version of "imperial democracy" to offer an alternative plan that the Singh Ministry originally had in place. The 'old-style restraint', the opposition's white paper argued, 'is slowly being ripped to shreds as Symphonia lounges in its past and lets its neighbors and individuals decide regional direction'. This new version of imperial democracy would immediately annex Prudensia as a direct governance of the AFN government, rather than as a member-state or be given the option of independence. Its supporters argue that since Prudensia was not a sovereign government, its recognition as such was merely an excuse for terrorists like the Heralds to continue to make a case of internal sovereignty against full and all-out Symphonian vengeance for the deaths of four solar power workers earlier this summer, not to mention the deaths of hundreds in Port Agincourt. Prudensia, the opposition declared, needs the civilizing hand of the AFN and the United Kingdom.

The PM Wild Card

Akira vi Contruum, 18th Marquis of Britannia, is an Aquitaynian-Nordic holding UK, Aquitaynian, and Symphonian nationality. His family was originally part of the Hienese aristocracy, but immigrated to Aquitayne to seek safety during the Seong-Kiramashi Conflict. His father, the 17th Marquis, was a member of the Symphonian Union of Fascists (SUF), and the two often did not agree with each other's political views, though many at the time allege that Akira took his father's opinions to heart. The 17th Marquis died in Helm, Aquitayne during the war following a murder-suicide that is widely attributed to his often openly-racist views. There were also rumors of Akira and Empress Seondeok having private machinations to eliminate the 17th Marquis as part of a wider secret program to eliminate aristocrats who supported the Shogunate.

After the war, Akira returned to Pendragon, the historical capital of Hienkoku, and was invested as the 18th Marquis by Emperor Kammu of Hienkoku, with the blessing the Empress Seondeok and Emperor Jacob. Former US law did not prohibit the investiture of foreign nationals as members of the imperial aristocracy, so long individuals could provide definitive proof of succession. With this, Akira became a sitting member of the Imperial Senate at age 18, the legal age of membership to be part of the political process. Despite his nationalist views, Akira joined the CDP just after the United States voted to reorganize itself as the current AFN, just in time to see Empress Seondeok relinquish her title as President-Empress.

In personal interviews, Akira alleged that members of the aristocracy and military bureaucracy were trying to reshackle the Imperial Family into its bonds before the Conflict. He believes that greater central power is needed to reign in wayward members of the government, and this applies to member-state governments as well, including any new regions that the AFN happens to come into control of.

The current crisis in Prudensia, he believes, can only be controlled by the ability of the entire UK to stabilize and take control of Insula Fera. This position falls into the more radical part of the "imperial democracy", as he believes giving local states autonomy is the hindrance to creating a more cohesive national policy. He backs his views up with historical analysis:

"The reason why the old Holy Imperial Federation and even perhaps the later days of the Sveltz-Britannia monarchs to succeed in their goals is due to the concentration of executive power and its ability to streamline government processes. A decision, backed by punitive action, is how the old Empire brought its weight to bear in history."

He adds:

"I'm not saying that we should just forget our status as a liberal democracy, or even attempt to create another Shogunate. History is something that we learn from, not something we attempt to recreate, because history is just a record of our mistakes. But now more than ever, we need to come to an understanding that there is a certain point by which our democracy is manipulated and used by our foreign rivals to make quick gains for themselves. Only by quick action can we get a head start on them."

The new prime minister was sworn into office by a vote of confidence in the AFN Congress, and recited the oath of loyalty to the Imperial Senate in front of both the Imperial Family and representatives of Aquitayne. His position is key in the current situation in Insula Fera as well as the entire Mare Ferum Basin, as Symphonia emerges from what its netizens call "The Great Awaking". The ambiguity of his position in Insula Fera, and the current balance of power in the Mare Ferum Basin, means that the new prime minister may change the status quo for something else entirely. This ambiguity is also what allows him to gain the support of both sides in the legislature, as well as giving hope to moderates and radicals of both spectrums something to believe in, as the nationalism bandwagon continues to roll through the AFN.

"For the last few decades, we have been content on staying in our islands and coming out to assail the enemies of liberty and justice. But we paid for our actions in blood at home, and wasted a centuries worth of wealth in doing so. It is time that we bring the fight to those who oppose us, whether it is by building a shield or a sword, now is the time to do it."

The applause that the prime minister got from the Imperial Senate is probably an indication of things to come.

- courtesy of The Times in the Orient

by **Nation of Polarus** » Tue Jul 29, 2014 8:50 am

Insula Fera

Sheikh Yabuti Ondadansflo had been hand selected for this mission, to ensure that the UK peacekeepers were there to ensure peace, and not to attempt some kind of 19th century land grab in this recently failed state. The Sheikh was a rather tall man, dress in a flowing white robe topped with a red and white keffiyeh, with big, dark aviator sunglasses to complete the look. He was one of the very few Polarussians with an understanding of Aquatainian as well as Latin and his native Berber tongue, and it was primarily for this reason that the middle aged desert dweller was picked to be the new EATA liaison on the Insula Fera.

The sun was just beginning to slip beneath the horizon when the Beriev made flying boat glided blissfully over the waves towards an Aquitaynian controlled pier. The pilot had received his clearance to land some minutes prior, and now the entire delegation was on their feet, awaiting their opportunity to disembark and finally meet with their counterparts to begin their mission of observation and cooperation.

Casgene

Unlike the mission undertaken by Ondadansflo, the men in Casgene were at war, and were giving casualties just as well as they were receiving them. Still, virtually every night, aircraft came in to remove wounded Polarussians and bring in replacement commandos, as well as unload ton after ton of munitions from both Polarus and the Blackhelm Confederacy, The members of the coalition had seemingly stabilized the lines after the initial Casgenian thrusts, and in some sectors were even driving back the intruders, Despite this, however, the commandos were given their orders to continue wit their mission, to assault the enemy supply convoys and force them to redirect vital front line forces to the rear.

On top of convoys, additional targets were added to the list now as well, in an attempt to stop some of the bleeding felt by the Casgenians. Mobile SAM's or artillery units that might be straggling or off on their own behind the coalition lines. These targets would surely be more difficult to find effectively, but any teams lucky enough to take out a position of such high priority was sure to be rewarded well, not to mention highly decorated ont heri return home, and as a result the men of each group talked excited about getting an opportunity to get their hands of some of the cheese eaters heavy operators.

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Tue Aug 05, 2014 6:16 pm

Seas South of YSR
Blackhelm Confederate Fleet
July 2, 2014

The heavily encrypted message had confirmed the plans to take the wide way around to Nouvel Ecosse, hopefully staying far enough out from the Yellow Star Republic to keep them from launching an attack on the badly damaged fleet and the now vulnerable transports. Despite the wide circle that they were making, however, submarines were still occasionally popping up on the sonar arrays in the rear of the formation, ensuring that even this far away from the main land, the enemy still had their eyes on them. Many of the men of the fleet, the admiral especially, would not sleep easily tonight, as the enemy was lurking almost literally just out of sight, and treachery could be at hand at any time.

Despite this threat of attack, however, celebrations were still erupting throughout the fleet. Cannons fired off into the air as jets performed celebratory fly overs and wine and whiskey was shelled out most liberally as news of the victory in Terre Azure made its way to the men. Much as was done aboard the St. Michael, banners proclaiming "Victores in Aeternum" streamed from every ship of the fleet as men cheered and drank merrily. After the battles they had just been through, this was a much needed boost to the morale of the bloodied fleet.

July 5, 2014

Carrier Group London was now finally pulling into Matvayez, long overdue. There was much fanfare on the docks too, as the airborne guards lit fireworks and fired off salutes for each and every ship to pull in and disgorge its human and material contents. Once again, the wine was handed out liberally and Guardsmen handed out cigars to the fresh troops, clapping them on the backs and telling them tales of all the glory they are about to attain, as well as of the previous air raids and what they had already seen in Ecosse. There was much talk of the fine Ecossian women and good Ecossian beer, and even more talk of how they will all be hailed as heroes once the army rolled into Adler. Soon enough, Legate Marcellus Greenleaf was on shore as well, and operation were formally transferred from Tribunus Silvershield to the newly arrived Legate, who was quickly given a tour of the camp.

Among the Legate's first orders of business was to establish friendly relations with the other members of the coalition. Having been a political appointee, his demeanor was far less gruff than that of his Airborne predecessor. Not long after settling into the base, he quickly made a point to contact his Rombergian counterpart to establish a meeting. A brief exchange of words took place, in which the Legate promised to attempt to mend frayed relations caused under the command of the previous commander, and a liaison exchange was established. Quickly, a team of five officers was selected, and sent over to the Rombergian side of the base to serve as the Confederate delegation.

Along with the men came a pair of Venatore teams. These men, rather grim ad determined, did not take part in the general fanfare and celebratory atmosphere currently taking place around the military base. Instead they quickly broke off into their respective teams and headed for their designated bunkhouses. They would need to be the first into both Adler and Glisandia for the Confederacy, and they didnt have much time to lose. By sun rise the next day, many of these men would be making their way towards the Yellosian defensive positions, scouting for any possible loopholes, however small they might be, to allow them to slip undetected into the currently occupied territories. For those going into Glisandia, they went with an ominous message. Their capture meant almost certain death. Any knowledge of their existence would be denied by the Confederate government, and their families would never be told of their fate. They knew their mission, and this only gave them more incentive to not fall into the hands of the enemy.

July 14th, 2014

The final preparations were now made, and fifteen thousand combat troops, supported by several thousand back in Matvayez, were now massed along the Adlerite border. Days of Confederate artillery strikes had preceded this moment, but at 4 a.m., the Confederate army, coordinated with their Ecossian counterparts,bordered across the line. For the men of the Airborne Guard, who had been getting struck from the skies and forced to sit idly by for months in Nouvel Ecosse, the opportunity to finally get their hands dirty was an especially sweet one. Behind a rolling wall of artillery, most of it from the Ecossian army although augmented by four Confederate battalions as well as missiles from Tupolev bombers opening up at long range, the Confederate army rolled into the country.

They had plotted a route along the coast, hoping to move first into Andreas and then cross the Ferdinand Rhein to Jager Beriech before pivoting south to liberate the Adlerite capital at Iron Falcon. Should all go according to plan, and their Mohammedan co-belligerents further west do their job successfully (something which no small number of men, both officer and enlisted, quietly questioned), a significant amount of Yellosian forces would be trapped around Garteltier and Schotbusche, surrounded by the Confederate/Ecossian force on one side and the Riysans on the other. At that point, they could be dealt with however the joint commands saw fit. Care would, however, need to be taken to ensure that the enemy did not attempt a break out and sever the supply lines of the Confederate drive. To this end, after the initial breach through Yellosian lines, a heavy air campaign would begin on the troops to be kept in the pocket, one that would hopefully hamper their ability to mobilize and keep them buttoned down until the time to deal with them was at hand.

by **GHawkins** » Sat Aug 09, 2014 2:23 pm

GHawkins National Heroes Cemetery,
Just outside GHawkins City

Ready! Aim! Fire!

Seven shots, nearly simultaneously fired, echoed over the graveyard. The only other noises were the screeches of birds as they flew away, scared by the sudden shots; the soft noise of the raindrops falling on the leaves of the trees, the ground and the umbrellas, and the soft weeping of several women, including the widow. The sky above was grey, as the clouds had blocked out any trace of the sun and the blue sky.

Among the crowd, was Special Agent Anthony Palermo, in his black suit, matching tie, trousers and shoes. He had a white pressure bandage applied to a wound just below his left eye, covering the stitches that now held the wound together. His forehead, cheeks, nose and lips were all covered in several small scabs and scratches. His right arm was in a sling while bandaged up from the elbow down, with on the other harm just his hand bandaged. Palermo was supported by his wife, as it was obvious he had a hard time standing on his own.

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, toward the rest of the assembly behind him, as he was on the first row. Most of them were family, friends or (former-) colleagues, with the majority of them being from the GHawkins Security Agency. However, further in the back were several men, dressed up in black suits like most men here, though they didn't belong to any of the mentioned groups. Palermo recognized one of them as Chief Agent Deverell, who had acted as the liaison between the GSA and BGSI merely days ago. Deverell was attending the funeral on behalf of the Gaul government and out of respect. He had to support himself with crutches and his face was as equally damaged as Palermo's.
With a sigh, Palermo turned his head back.

Ready! Aim! Fire!

Seven shots echoed again across the graveyard. Some of the people in the assembled crowd of onlookers were scared a bit by the shots, some weeps sounded a bit louder.
Palermo didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He was just staring at the coffin, over which a GHawkins flag was held suspended by six GHawkins sailors, three on each side of the coffin. Each of them stood at rigid attention, looking into the nothing as they stretched the flag so that it covered the entire coffin. Palermo just looked, staring at the coffin, with the gaze of a dead man. A look of regret in his eyes, of horror. A look of "Why not me?", of survivor's guilt.

Inside the oak-wooden coffin were the remains of Special Agent John Burke. The coffin had remained closed for those who had come to pay their respects to his sacrifice. His remains were too far maimed to resemble the John his family, friends and colleagues had known. They had required his dental records to identify him, after he had been pulled from the ruins. The only person, disregarding the objections of the GSA, to see John's remains as they were, was his widow, who was now fighting to remain strong, some meters away from Palermo, their six year old daughter on the folding chair next to her.

Ready! Aim! Fire!

The seven simultaneous shots echoed again. Palermo still didn't move, as if his eyes were frozen to the coffin. The sailors who had rendered the honour shots put their M14 rifles next to them, their stocks next to their heels, as they saluted.
The trumpeter started playing Taps for the fallen Agent, who had served in the Office of Naval Intelligence, before transferring to the GHawkins Security Agency which made him eligible for a military funeral. The sad tones of the bugle, as had been in use with GHawkins since as far back with the GHawkins military from their creation in the 19th century, rolled over the cemetery.

As soon as the trumpeter had finished and lowered the bugle to his side, the sailors started folding the flag. Again, and again. Until all that remained was a near, small package of the flag. It was done very ceremoniously, almost robotic, with every move planned and rehearsed a hundred times. The day before, another funeral was conducted here, for Special Agent Terry Meyers, who had perished at the same time as Burke. The rain hadn't stopped, so the flag displayed darkened spots where the raindrops had fallen.

Through the light rain, none could see that one of the drops making its way down to Earth wasn't a raindrop, but a tear originating from Palermo's eye. For the first time, he actually registered blinking, away the tears.
The sailor who ended up with the folded flag, made his way down to the widow and got on one knee.

"Mrs. Burke, on behalf of the President of GHawkins, the GHawkins Navy and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service" he told her, holding the flag out to her in a way she could easily take it, but wouldn't feel too forced to do so. Her hands, trembling in the black gloves she wore, reached out for the flag as she took it from the sailor. She took it in her arms, like it was the last thing she had left of her fallen husband, tears rolling down her cheeks and onto the folded flag.
Palermo felt he was about to collapse under his own weight. But he had to be strong.

Five days earlier
LeClerc International,
Paritte, Terre des Gaules

The passenger liner touched down on the tarmac with a squeal, as the wheels suddenly had to rotate on an equal speed as the plane was moving forward. Small clouds of white smoke originated from the contact points, but it was nothing out of the ordinary on this dry, sunny day, where the black asphalt was hot, in contrast to the rubber.

The plane decelerated and continued to roll out the runway. They were the only plane still moving on this normally very busy air hub, as per the orders of the BGSI, the Air Traffic Control kept the area clear for the joint BGSI-GSA operation to take the plane. And over the past few minutes, the activity had slowly dried up. The decision had been made not to inform the pilot of the aircraft of the threat on board his plane, out of fear that the ALA had figured out the leak and decided to have this plane hijacked. If the pilot was informed and the terrorist had in fact breached the cockpit, they could have a far worse situation on their hands.

The pilot continued the routine of rolling out of the runway and onto the taxiway, to his assigned gate. If the pilot had noticed the absence of activity, he did not inquire to ATC about it.
Near the edge of the airport, but within view of the taxiing aircraft, were two black SUVs. Each vehicle had four occupants, but the driver and front passenger of the leading SUV had disembarked. Both had binoculars to their eyes, watching the plane.

"Everything appears normal." Deverell said with his heavy accent, lowering the binoculars, "We should get ready to move as soon as the plane reaches the gate, Monsieur Palermo."

Palermo drummed with his fingers on the frame of the binoculars and took a deep breath, before lowering them.
"I can't shake the feeling something's off." he said, as both he and Deverell turned towards their respective doors and entered the SUV. In the rear was another BGSI agent and behind Palermo was Special Agent William Jolly, Counter Terrorist Unit negotiator. He was the backup in case stuff went FUBAR real fast.

Once inside, Deverell reached for the radio mounted inside the dashboard.
"Toutes les unités, le statut." He spoke into the microphone, requesting the two GID teams to report their condition to him.
One GID team was stationed inside the terminal, just beyond the gate. GID (Groupe d'Intervention et Dissuasion) were special teams run jointly by the BGSI and Gendarmerie Nationale. They were the Gaulic equivalent of GHawkins' SWAT teams.

Once the passengers started getting off the plane, the GID teams would remain on stand-by and take down the terrorist as soon as the Agents identified him. A second team was outside the terminal, hiding from view near the parking spot of the plane. They'd access the plane via the tail, an emergency entrance/exit, and flush out the terrorist(s) if the situation required it. Both teams had a GSA agent, Special Agents John Burke and Terry Meyers respectively, with them.

Both teams reported they were ready for action, just as the plane made the final turn into its parking spot, to line up with the gate. The large aircraft rolled into its parking spot and stopped, the gate being moved to attach itself to the fuselage of the aircraft to start the disembarking procedure.
"Alright, that's our signal" Deverell said, as he revved up the engine and disengaged the handbrake, letting the vehicle roll from its parking spot, on a route that would take it towards the aircraft directly from behind. That way, both Deverell and Palermo would be on scene to command the operation yet their approach would never be spotted.
The radio crackled again, just as they turned onto a taxiway. The spoken words were in Gaul, so Palermo couldn't understand a lot of it. Deverell, however, paid attention as he turned onto the runway to cross it, still keeping his vehicle and the follow-up vehicle in the blind spot of the aircraft's passenger windows.

"It would appear our suspect is onto us." Deverell said as the radio grew silent again, "ATC has received a report from zhe pilot that a passenger has threatened to blow up zhe plane if anyone left it. He has not yet breached the cockpit and has made no demands, besides waving with a cellphone."

"Doesn't make sense" Palermo said, as he raised his binoculars at the plane again. He saw the ground team move underneath the plane, towards the rear where they could manually open the hatch and breach the aircraft. They had to wait for a signal from either Deverell or Palermo to act though.
"No demands, no attempt to actually control the plane, just... herd everyone together." Palermo pondered, as they continued to race closer to the aircraft.

"It would appear we have him cornered and he knows it." Deverell said, "Though, I am unsure how he could be onto us."
They were now fast approaching the airplane, with the ground team already having moved into position and ready on a moment's notice. Palermo scanned around, though there were no high structures around the airport that could be used as a vantage point for any spotter of the terrorist to warn of the impending take-down.

Suddenly, a chopping noise was audible, now that the large airplane had shut down its engines as it neared its docking with the gateway. Engines were shut down to prevent accidents towards the ground crew that would normally swarm the aluminum swathed behemoth. It was a very low, but continuous thumping sound.

"Un hélicoptère" Deverell said, cursing, "Zhey were supposed to have cleared the air space!"
Palermo looked around to spot the helicopter and after some looking around spotted it. It was a blue painted CNG (Chaîne Nouvelle Gaulois) 24 news helicopter, with a camera man hanging out on the side of the helicopter.

"Someone tipped off the media!" Palermo said.
Suddenly, within the span of 20 seconds, the operation went from rolling well, to fucked up beyond all recognition. Someone had tipped off both the terrorist of their action, and the media, resulting in the entire world now being able to see the oncoming SUVs creeping towards the parked plane, with men in black tactical vests covering the rear of it.

Then it hit Palermo. How could he not have seen it, how could he have been so blind to the obvious. This had been the plan all along. There was no transfer. There was no second plane targeted. They had ignored the obvious questions - Like why it was a connecting flight.
"We don't have him cornered, we are the ones cornered!" Palermo said, reaching for the radio immediately.
"All units, abort! Abort!" he shouted into the microphone.

"What are you doing?!" Deverell shouted.

"He's going to blow the plane, turn now!" Palermo said.
At that instant, the C4 inside the cargo hold, smuggled aboard by a coerced Gaul airport cargo handler in Marqueville, received the electrical shock from the detonator. The electric current flowed into the plastic explosives, causing it to explode. Within milliseconds, the inside of the cargo hold, and all luggage inside it, turned into a fireball. The force of the explosion blew the floor of the cabin upwards, before tearing it apart, adding metal, chairs, plates, flesh and bone to the mixture. What had been the inside of an airplane, was now nothing more than a violent fireball. Half a second after the explosives detonated, the force tore through the fuselage of the aircraft, sending debris flying in all directions surrounding. The fireball consumed the entire cigar-like hull of the plane.

The GID men and GSA liaison agents that had awaited clearance to breach the aircraft were disintegrated, not even having felt the explosion as they were killed by the over pressure and fire before their brain had the time to register the signals of pain sent to their brains.

3/4 of a second after the explosion, the wings and tail seemed to realize that they were no longer connected to anything and gravity was doing its best to pull them down. However, at the same moment, the wings started moving towards the burning ground, as the remaining kerosene in the wing fuel tanks ignited, adding to the fireball. The over pressure caused by the combination of volatile fuel and C4 blew out 60% of the terminal's windows and severed the gate it was attached to completely. Debris flew in all directions, sometimes propelled at terminal velocity, like a flechette round leaving the barrel of a shotgun. And the damage to the surrounding area sure looked like it. Nearby vehicles and objects were peppered and turned to Neu Engollian cheese, as were the walls of the terminal.

With the explosion just a few seconds old; the fireball collapsed, the kerosene and plastic explosives that fueled it depleted. What had started as a bright orange fireball, had now turned greyish and black already. The smoke cloud of what had been the fireball had already risen several meters off the ground and although the smoke still obscured most of the "ground-zero" of the blast, it was obvious not a lot was left standing.

In the oncoming vehicles, both Deverell and Palermo were blinded by the blast, though the latter had managed to reach for Deverell's steering wheel, throwing it to the left. The vehicle's wheels screeched, though it wasn't audible over the sound of the explosion, as they suddenly had to turn the vehicle in another direction. Just at that instant, the pressure wave from the explosion caught the lead vehicle and boomed over it. The windshield was instantly cracked and despite it being safety enforced glass, the immense pressure overpowered the safety check. This meant pieces of the so-called safety glass were sent flying. The shards of glass cut into everyone inside the vehicle. A rather big shard of glass barely missed Palermo's left eye, going through the skin of his upper cheek like a hot knife through butter.

In what Palermo would later call "just luck", he had held his right arm near his lower face and neck, whilst he was still holding the microphone for his broadcast moments earlier. This had most likely saved his life, as his arm caught most of the shrapnel meant for his neck area, thus preventing any damage to his major arteries. This, however, didn't prevent the small fragments of glass from causing major wounds to the rest of his face.

Deverell was bombarded with a similar barrage of shards and sustained injuries to his facial area as well. Deverell had closed his eyes due to the initial blast, which had saved his eyes. Later, in the hospital, they'd find small pieces of glass had penetrated through half of his eyelids. In a display of training taking over, or maybe just instinct, Deverell took his foot off the accelerator and jammed it on the brakes, all the way to the metal. Combined with the yank of the steering wheel to the left, the big SUV started to turn around its centre of mass, the nose turning away from the explosion.

Then the shrapnel arrived. Metal fragments, the size of bullets, impacted the broadside of the SUV, like someone was firing upon it with a machine gun. Though the fragments didn't have the velocity to penetrate the bullet proof vehicle, they cracked the windows and put more holes in the tires than your average insect screen has. While they were reinforced, run flat tires, they were not designed for this amount of metal lancing through them all at once. The sudden loss of pressure in the tires, as all air rushed out of them, dropped the vehicle slightly as it was suddenly driving on its rims; something which was followed with a spectacular display of sparks as the metal hit the asphalt. It spelled disaster for the occupants of the vehicle, though.

Changing the centre of mass whilst in a turn was not something recommended and was one of the reasons that trucks had their cargo secured in their trailers. The sudden deflation of the tires on one side of the SUV caused it to tilt to the right more. In accordance with Newton's laws, an object in motion would very much prefer to continue that motion in a straight line. This tilt, plus the turn, was more than the SUV could handle. Its two left-side wheels came loose of the ground and the vehicle was airborne for the slightest of a moment, as the two remaining wheels were pulled clear as well by the roll.

For the occupants, it appeared for a moment they were floating. Gravity was suddenly reversed as the vehicle flipped over. Inside, glass shards were going up instead of down. Palermo remembered finding this very, very interesting to watch, like he was floating in space. Even the blood rushing from his arm was going the wrong way. Funny, Palermo thought. At that instant, the vehicle came down upon its roof with a lot of force, putting out the lights in Palermo's head and replacing it with darkness.

Twenty seconds after the explosion, the deafening klaxon produced its low booming warning signal through the station, combined with the loud bells ringing and the flashing red warning lights, which were attached to the ceiling. It was chaos, as firefighters scrambled for their vehicles. They had already been placed on high alert in advance, in case the assault went south, but they were not told what to expect. Despite them knowing something could happen, every firefighter was afraid of that signal and it added greatly to the chaos. Still, they knew what they had to do as they all grabbed their helmets and rushed for their vehicles.
"Allez! Allez!' the Fire Commander was shouting over the alarm, as he ran up front into the vehicle garage. The large, automatic doors were already being opened from the command centre, so that no vehicle had to wait for them to open once the vehicle was filled. When the firefighters reached their vehicles, they scrambled to get in as fast as possible. Any delay might cost lives.

Forty-seven seconds after the explosion, the first crash tender, painted bright yellow, left its bay. Its wailing sirens led the charge, as seconds later, it was joined by other tenders leaving their bays at intervals of mere seconds or less. They turned towards the large plume of smoke rising from the terminal. The fire was still concealed from the vehicle crews by the terminal and they had to drive one and a half minutes before they cleared the final barrier and arrived at the scene.
The firefighters had mentally prepared for an engine fire. Alternately, they had mentally prepared for a fuselage on fire with passengers scrambling to get out. But nothing could have prepared them for what they did encounter.

No engines or fuselage on fire. Just a scorched, burning skeleton of what had once been a plane, with the only parts relatively intact being the tail and the wing tips. No training can teach one how to react when confronted with something like this.

The nine tenders arrived on scene and the firefighters immediately began their work to extinguish the fires. More importantly, they attempted to prevent the fires from spreading to the terminal. Their vehicles were not equipped with regular water cannons, but with foam cannons, which were much more effective against the persistent burning of aviation fuel. The firefighters themselves were able to hook up hand-portable water cannons to increase the efficiency of the units.
By the time the foam cannons had activated and cast their white soothing spray over the husk of the airplane, the sound was pierced by the wails of many ambulances, police vehicles and fire engines throughout Paritte that were responding to the emergency at their city's airport.

Wrecked SUV

Palermo slowly regained consciousness. It was difficult for him to blink away the darkness all around him. He didn't know at the time, but the darkness he experienced, besides unconsciousness fading, was also the blood that had seeped into his eyes. He felt a massive headache, but beyond that, he was totally numb. He tried looking around, but something felt off. He couldn't really remember where he was. He tried reaching for his eyes, to rub away the "sleep". When he tried to move his right arm, a sudden jolt of pain brought him back to the here and now.

"Urgh...Fuck" he said, as he managed to clear his view with his left hand. He noticed he was still in his seat, yet the world still didn't make sense. The entire car didn't make sense. It was then he realized the problem. They were upside down.

Slowly, Palermo reached for the seatbelt and unbuckled it. Half a second later, he regretted it, as he was suddenly free to fall down onto what had been the roof, landing on his right arm and cutting it up even more.

"FUCK!" he shouted. Next to him, Deverell, also suspended upside down, made a grunting noise.
"Deverell!" Palermo called, but he got no reply. He started looking for a way out. Where the wind-shield had been was now only asphalt, so he realized the vehicle was upside down, with its hood on the tarmac. He tried getting himself up somewhat, enough to reach for the passenger door handle. The door didn't open.

"Come...ON!" he shouted at the door, as he tried pushing it open. It didn't give way. Palermo grunted away his pain. Then he rotated himself a bit, causing more pain to his right arm, so that his feet faced the door.
"You!" He shouted, as he kicked both feet against the panel of the door, slightly moving it.

"Son!" With another kick, moving the door slightly again.

"Of! A! Bitch!" He shouted again, kicking with each word. Finally, he kicked open the door which flew open, only to bounce back into his ankle after it reached the maximum distance of how far it could open.

"Goddammit!" Palermo grunted, as he pulled himself out of the vehicle. The whole world seemed too bright for him, a result of the blood loss. He didn't know what was going on around him, but he could hear the sirens. First things first, he thought.

Once he had crawled out of the vehicle, he tried to get up on to his feet. Something easier said than done, with one arm busted up and a door just having hit you in the ankle. Eventually, he managed to do just that and limped around the vehicle, towards the driver side door. He slammed his fist into the door when he reached it, struggling to maintain balance.
"Deverell!" he shouted again, using his left arm to pull at the door. This one opened at the second pull, causing Palermo to fall as he had not expected that to happen. He could hear Deverell grunt again.

"C'mon!" Palermo said, as he managed to get himself closer to Deverell. Palermo could see Deverell was bleeding from a multitude of wounds to his face. He was still upside down, hanging by his seat belt just as Palermo himself had been not even two minutes ago.
"Gotta get you-... out.. this is gonna-... hurt" Palermo said, trying to focus. He reached under Deverell and unbuckled the seat belt. And just like Palermo, Deverell crashed to the roof of the car. He took Palermo with him in the fall. Deverell grunted as he was partially concious, partially out of it.

"C'mon man.."Palermo said, as he grabbed Deverell by the back of his jacket and started dragging him with his good hand away from the vehicle. Palermo could see Deverell's nose was at a very odd angle, so it was obvious he had smashed into the steering wheel during the crash. He most likely had a heavy concussion. Hell, Palermo thought, for all I know I could have one as well.

When Deverell was sufficiently away from the vehicle, Palermo tried to get back on his feet and head back to the SUV to get the GSA agent and the BGSI translator out. He saw there was smoke coming from the vehicle, so he had to hurry. Though thankfully, when he got closer again, he saw another figure rise from the vehicle. It was GSA CTU Negotiator William Jolly. Jolly had been shielded from most of the shrapnel because he was seated directly behind Palermo and he didn't look very injured.
"William!" Palermo said, as he closed the distance, to get Jolly's attention.

"Anthony!" the elder GSA Agent said, as he observed Palermo closing. Jolly limped around the vehicle, obviously injured in his leg.

"You okay?" Palermo asked.

"Could be better." Jolly replied, "I think we should get clear of this thing, though" he said, motioning to the SUV which was now showing serious smoke coming from the engine area.

"Help me get the translator out first" Palermo said, as he reached Jolly, who nodded.
They proceeded to open the door for the BGSI agent, who was completely unconscious. They removed his body from the vehicle, but whilst doing so, the vehicle's engine finally overheated and caught fire. It was a race against time now to get clear. But they managed, despite Palermo's jacket catching fire due to his proximity to the fire. While putting out his jacket fire, he severely burned his left hand.

The GSA duo dragged the BSGI agent to where Palermo had left Deverell and placed the agent next to him. Just then, Palermo sank to his knees. The sound of ambulances approaching caught his ears but he was already too far gone to register what the noise might be. He looked up at Jolly, who was looking at something in the distance.
Palermo didn't bother to look, as suddenly sleep welcomed his weary self into its arms. He felt himself tumble down on to the asphalt and then darkness quickly overtook him.

Present Day

The funeral was over and the assembly headed home, or at least spread out and away, to leave the family to say their final goodbyes. Palermo was walking back towards his car with his wife supporting him, when he found Deverell waiting for him by his car. When they got closer, Deverell proceeded to approach Palermo, walking with his crutches. Palermo looked at his wife.
"Honey, would you mind?" Palermo asked at a apologetic tone. She said nothing, just nodded and, after making sure Palermo was able to stand on his own, she continued to the car. She just nodded at Deverell as she passed him.

"Monsieur Palermo" Deverell said as they closed the distance.

"Deverell. It's good to see you again... I wish the circumstances were different." Palermo replied.

"So do I. I wanted to see you in person, before I left for mon country. I never had a chance to thank you."

"Thank me for what?" Palermo asked after a couple of seconds, with a sorrowful tone.

"For saving my life back there...And that of my colleague." Deverell replied plainly.

"I don't deserve thanks. Nearly three hundred people were killed that day. Because I was blind and walked right into a trap. I could have prevented the death of some very fine men and women, yet they are dead now."

"There was nothing you could have done, Mon ami. We were all fooled by their ruse, you can not take the blame on yourself...Rather, put the blame on those who did this." Deverell said sharply.

Palermo looked him straight in the eye.
"Trust me. I won't rest until the men who are responsible for this have been brought to justice." Palermo said in a determined tone.

"And you will have Gaul with you. We want to see our dead comrades avenged as much as you do. I must go now and catch my flight. I have a lot of work to do to catch these bastards. We will meet again. I am sure of that. Take care, Monsieur Palermo."
With that, Deverell stepped into the vehicle that had just pulled up next to the two. He climbed in and nodded back.

Palermo watched the black car leave the parking lot for a moment, as he stood there in the rain. He then continued to his own car and got in. His wife didn't ask a question as she drove them home. When they got home, Palermo went upstairs to his study room and locked himself inside. And cried for the rest of the evening, mourning the loss of his friends.

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Tue Aug 19, 2014 8:37 am

Confederate Chancellery
Paradise City
Incorporated States of the Blackhelm Confederacy

The CIS director was underway with his weekly briefing to Chancellor Eaglebrand, detailing the successes in Casegene as well as the progress of the multiple theaters of operation in Insula Fera and elsewhere in the region when a nervous young secretary knocked on the door. After being invited in the two men could see she looked visibly worried and a bit paler than her usual cheery complexion allows. The sight did not give good feeling to either as they awaited the young woman to speak. "Sir...I'm sorry to interrupt, but there was an attack in Gaul...hundreds are dead". The CIS director let out a sigh of relief upon hearing that the atttack was on Gaul, and not on the Confederacy itself, but the Chancellor looked a bit more concerned.

"Do they know who was behind it?" he asked the girl before him, who promptly shook her head. "They say it was some kind of raid gone wrong. A terrorist group for sure, but it isn't clear yet which one. Almost all the media outlets think it was the same people behind the attack in Marqueville, the Astyrian Liberation Army"

The Chancellor now turned to his intelligence director. "Your people should have been alerting us of this, not Vipsania here." he said sternly. "Thank you miss Miller. You are dismissed." With that the girl nodded and back out of the room, leaving the original two men inside. "I need to make a statement...in the mean time, Livonius, I want you to gather as much information on this Astyrian Liberation Army as you can. Pull funding out of other areas if necessary, if they are indeed behind these attacks, I want this to be a priority. The terrorists will not be allowed to touch the Confederacy. If they do, it is on you, is that clear?"

The director nodded solemnly. "I'll have my men on it immediately".

"Good" the Chancellor responded. "I want troops across the country put on alert, and heighten security at all transportation hubs as well."

Half hour later
Chancellery Press Hall

As reporters from outlets around Hesperidisea, and indeed from around the region waited, Chancellor Egalebrand made his way to the podium emblazoned with the seal of his office before them. He cleared his throat and began.

"Ladies and gentlemen.

Earlier today, a horrific attack happened aboard a civilian airliner on the runway at LeClerc International Airport. Hundreds of innocent civilians lost their lives in the attack, as did a number of response personnel attempting to apprehend a suspected terror suspect on board that flight. As a Confederate, I can tell you I have felt the sting of terror in the past, and I would like to let the people of Gaul, no, the people of the world, know that we will not stand idly by as those who seek to do harm to innocent men, women, and children live amongst us. To the government of Terre des Gaules, we are here. Should you need anything at all, the Incorporated States will be more than eager to oblige you. And to those faceless murderers behind the attacks today, know this. You will be found, and you will be brought to justice."

After that brief announcement, the flurry of hands began to shoot up as the Chancellor did his best to answer whatever questions he could. Meanwhile, as ordered, troops were called to alert, and security was visibly heightened across the country as a police and even military presence began to increase in airports, trains stations, ports, and even malls and public squares.

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Mon Aug 25, 2014 3:05 pm

Northern Platteisen Adler

The Confederate advance would not just be a spillage of troops rushing over the border. Instead, the Confederate army and their Ecossian would advance behind a multi-layered screen of missiles, rockets, and artillery intended to not only sweep away any potential threats, but to break the will of the Yellosian defenders. Once they saw the overwhelming might of Confederate artillery and air power, it was hoped, they would lose their will to stay and fight, and would abandon their positions and withdraw to their homeland. The first layer of the screen would come in the form of Kh-101 missiles. There were three Tu-160 bombers in the theater, and each of these were capable of firing twelve of these long range, rather stealthy cruise missiles. This mean that at any given time, one of these aircraft were in the air, either moving to unload, or returning from their mission against the Yellosians. Their targets were radar stations, SAM sites, heavy artillery, and visible command centers, in order to disrupt the enemy and prevent them from returning fire against the coalition troops.

The second part of this plan was a joint barrage launched from Ecossian PzH 2000's and Confederate G-5 howitzers and Msta self-propelled guns. These would seek to clear out any remaining artillery at a distance, using rocket assisted shells to aid in staying out of range of enemy guns, before sweeping the area ahead of the advancing soldiers to clear our dug in forces. Following this would be the smaller 122mm D-30's of the airborne guards artillery section, pounding not only at what made it through the initial joint bombardment, but also loosing laser guided munitions against tank traps and other road blocks that the enemy moved to impede the allied advance. Behind these shells would fall the masses of rockets unleashed by BM-21's, attached to each battalion in the Confederate division. Their primary purpose was to rain down mine clearing submunitions over any suspected minefields, clearing large blocks of land from that threat ahead of the men on the move.

Still more would come behind this, as the mortar batteries of each brigade dumped in their 120mm shells, fired from their Russian made 2S12 Sani heavy mortars. Anything that was still moving would recieve a blast from these, which would follow tight on the heels of the preceding volleys. Rounding out the contributions of the ground artillery came the 60mm commando mortars distributed at the platoon level. Should anything still be present ahead of the men on the ground, these smaller projectiles should make short work of it.

That was not all, either. In the air, Squadrons of Sukhois and MiG's loitered behind friendly lines, eagerly awaiting the presence of Yellosian aircraft to challenge them. Along with them were the ten MiG-27's the Confederacy had deployed as well. Should a Yellosian position have somehow managed to withstand the waves of shells and missiles just mentioned, the men on the ground would relay their position back to on of these ground attack aircraft, who would then move in to dispense its own munitions upon the enemy. Only then, after all of this, would Confederate or Ecossian infantry actually need to engage their enemy in combat. It was far preferred to leave the fighting to the artillery and air force, and minimize casualties to the allied forces on the ground while maximizing those inflicted upon the enemy.

It was a squadron of MiG-29's, however, that were called upon to deal with the oncoming Yellosian patrol boats. Satellite surveillance had quickly informed allied command of the departure of the vessels from their base, and immediately MiG's were ordered in their direction. While equipped primarily for air to air combat, carrying missiles designed for that purpose on all of their wing pylons, all of them also packed a single Kh-29TE under their belly, just in case they needed to be called upon for ground attacks. The weapon would soon instead be called upon for a different purpose, as the MiG's turned to release their munitions against the quickly arriving enemy vessels.

And so the first stage of the allied invasion of Platteisen Adler had begun, behind what would seem like a virtually unending rain of missiles, shells, and rockets.

Casegene

Aboard on of the many planes shuttling in fresh supplies and commandos from Polarus, a new kind of cargo waited to disembark. About a dozen of the Blackhelm Confederacy's pilots, among them some of the most skilled in the country, now waited their turn to lend a hand to the fray. Some of these men would simply remain at the air fields, set to train and advise the pilots of Casegene in how to more effectively counter the threat of ATO air superiority. Other, the more daring amongst them, however, would don the uniform of Casegene and take the fight to the skies themselves. These men, of course, were no longer considered as members of the Blackhelm Confederate Air Force, but were now instead listed as foreign volunteers, men who were going to use their own military training in the service of another, after they were discharged from previous service, of course. They would head to the MiG-29 already loaned to them, and having already piloted these same kinds of aircraft at home, there was no need to accustom themselves to the controls.

Along with them also came a handful of CIS men. Their mission was to oversee some of the interrogations of ATO prisoners, and try and gather whatever knowledge possible to report back to Paradise City. These men would do their best to stay hidden, often watching interrogations from behind one way mirrors and speaking into ear pieces to advise their Casegenian counterparts in few helpful tips to better extract whatever information it was they were looking for.

Caught In The Web: Astyrian Conflict & Intrigue (IC/Closed)

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