Uncivil War (Closed, Regional RP)

[Novitera]

Heselory, State of Calirma, Novitera

Archie handed the warrant over to the two BIE special agents at their headquarters who looked it over with little enthusiasm. They were displeased at having to take the time to make this arrest.

"Don't make a big show of it. Just get Gaspar to come without a fuss." Archie told the woman who pocketed the warrant.

Her name was Patricia Lorrin. She was in her mid 30's and from what Archie could tell, a fair amount of experience in the BIE which was a prestigious law enforcement unit. Although Archie held most of his respect for state police. Especially Heselory PD that had to deal with the various street gangs of Heselory. Patricia would have been none to pleased at being Archie's errand girl but she had worked considerably on the case against Gaspar.

later

A black government car pulled up to the restaurant in Brompton Beach. Special agents had arrived before dressed in civilian clothing and took up seating in the restaurant. It was a precaution in case the Guristas decided to shoot it out. That rarely happened as they preferred to evade justice through preventative measures. If it ever got to the point where they were being arrested, they knew it was too late and it was time for the lawyers to fight it out.

Patricia walked and subtly flashed a badge to the hostess who let her through. She took a quick glance around at the tables to find Gaspar with his wife. This was their weekly routine. Patricia walked up to their table and pulled up a chair for herself, sitting down nonchalantly. Gaspar himself was not a handsome man. He had a full head of blonde hair though groomed himself well. Across the table from him was his pretty but poorly educated wife.

"Piss off suit. I had enough of you fucking feds heckling me." Gaspar declared knowing right away that Patricia was the BIE.

"Let's not make a scene Gaspar. We have a warrant for your arrest. It's time to come in." Patricia replied.

"Gaspar! What is going on?! Who is she?" His pretty wife asked worriedly.

"Nothing darling. Don't you worry." He said to his wife then looked back at Patricia. His eyes scanned the room which allowed him to recognize a few faces returning the gaze. Gaspar knew right away they were feds too and this was for real. The man folded up his napkin in resignation then downed the last of the whiskey in his glass. "Go home and call my lawyer sweetheart. Everything will be alright." He said then got up. Patricia did too. Gaspar gave his wife a kiss who still looked confused.

Patricia and Gaspar left together to meet a few more HPD officers outside in uniform. They put the cuffs on him and began to pat him down finding a stainless steel 1911 pistol in a shoulder holster underneath his suit jacket.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be sued against you..." Patricia recited the due process warnings before Gaspar was put in an HPD squad car.

Later

The city jail was not the right place for something so high profile. Instead, Gaspar was taken to the city's BIE detention center adjacent to the main BIE office. It was not long before a Guristas employed lawyer arrived demanding to see his client. Archie wanted to move this along quickly and so turned over copies of the evidence they had letting Gaspar and his lawyer talk. This way Gaspar could know for sure he faced 50 to 60 years in a federal maximum security prison. There was no getting wiggling his way out of this one. Archie entered the interrogation room alone and took a seat opposite Gaspar and his lawyer.

"What kind of plea deal are you offering?" The lawyer asked right away.

"A good one. Sing and immunity from prosecution." Archie replied.

"I sing and I die, my family dies." Gaspar shot back coldly. That was out of the question.

"Witness protection. You'll all get new names and we'll move you out east into the countryside or abroad. Probably Ghant so bring your jacket and say goodbye to Noviteran sunshine. But at least you'll have your family and won't be locked up in a hole." Said Archie who pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Gaspar who accepted then took one out for himself. "We want a put a stop to these drug and gun shipments coming through." Archie pulled out his lighter and lit their cigarettes. "This is just how it works. We can't wipe all of you out...Guristas, AE, Nijuuni, and all the other scum gangsters in Novitera...but when the party gets out of control, we crack down and the cycle continues. You Guristas have been moving far too many black market goods wholesale to all the street gangs around here. HPD seized a crate of submachine guns from Sangre Comillo just two days ago and there's been an uptick in shootings. " Archie informed Gaspar showing amusement at the situation. "The FPO and BIE wants to know how it's getting in. Where is it coming from? You smuggling it yourselves or is it somebody else? Where and when is the next shipment?"

Archie took a drag from his cigarette. Gaspar had his head down listening and considering his options having smoked his cigarette so quickly. Archie left the room for Gaspar and his attorney to talk. It was not long before they asked him to come back in.

"My client wants the deal in writing." Gaspar's lawyer stated immediately.

[New Edom]

To: Supreme Chairman Frieda Trotsbeck
From: James Quadratus, Ambassador for the Allied States to Azurvalai, Lowell City
Subject: Aid protection
Encryption: delivered by the Ambassador's courier in sealed pouch

Dear Madame Chairman,

I am writing to provide an update on the CPO mission--quorum and successful voting were achieved. The ground forces corps sent to help with the refugee/aid distribution will be composed of CPO nations' contingents, so it seems that the President's gesture has worked and the conscience of at least part of the region has been responsive. This will take some time to organize properly but we estimate the first units to arrive within a week's time, with more to follow in the week after that, with your acceptance and agreement.

I have the honour to be
James Quadratus,
Ambassador

[Azurlavai]

Onboard the Ravns
In all honesty, the fact that a worshipper of the Aesir was here among Bull Company was a bit of a shock to Kilo-6. Jaeger, of course, showed little reaction to this fact, but then again the man didn’t usually react to much these days. To Astrid, this was a little unusual, and she wasn’t quite sure how to react. The idea that the faith was spreading should have pleased her, but in all honesty she had lost a lot of her belief that any God was watching over her, even after the events of a few years ago. Part of her did believe, especially her old self, but the war had turned her hard to quite a lot. Still, as the saying went, there were no atheists in a foxhole. And she had been in a lot of foxholes. With no more active suppression of religion these days, most people were free to at least believe again, but the stigma of the old Republic still clung on to many.

She glanced at the Shalumite lieutenant (she had to actively try not to think of them as Provies) and found that he had to look away immediately, fiddling with his helmet chin strap. Likewise, Astrid suddenly found an intense fascination with the toe of her black boot, and she stared at it for several minutes before she finally looked up at him, squinting and asking “So…got anyone back home? Nice guy like you, it would be a crime if he didn’t have a wife and kids waiting for him. Why come down here?”

Meanwhile, in another helicopter, the soldiers of Bull Company were starting to get integrated with those of Mjolnir Company. A unit of Fallschirmjeger, these paratroopers weren’t as skilled or heavily armed as the kommandos of Kilo-6, but this platoon meant that they had a lot more guns to volunteer, and they were still quite competent on their own. In fact, over in Wolf’s Ravn, it was a surprise to see Bull and Mjolnir getting along so well, and a light tap on her shoulder revealed a young, fresh-faced man who had ventured over to her, his two shiny lieutenant’s stars at odds with the rest of his uniform.

“Captain Wolf, yes? I are Løytnant Haug, Mjolnir. We support Bull und Kilo, ja?”

Unfortunately, his grasp of English wasn’t as good as some of his fellow officers.


Lysbringer Power Complex
"This is Nord Team broadcasting on UCA channels. Be advised, the Lysbinger Power Complex under attack by Revenant forces! Requesting immediate assistance, we're going to be overrun!"

In truth, Nord team would be lucky to receive reinforcements. The nearby airfield at which a wing of Phantoms had been stationed to be on call if the complex came under attack had, as the attack picked up, been hit by a strafing run from two low-flying Slegge strike fighters, tearing up the gunships with autocannons and rocket fire. The posted AA defenses hadn’t even had time to respond before they were torn apart by the storm of fire.

The Thracia state army was also extremely spread thin, having put far more stock into their air power from Azurlavai’s strategic airfields. From here, the Luftsovar watched everything from the capital eastwards. Without these, the Commonwealth would be forced to rely on smaller, more local airbases. As a result, the nearest land forces bunker was far, too far away to provide assistance. And the nearest airbase would need time to scramble their fighters to come to the rescue for CAS.

But the radio still chattered anyway, and the reply was astonishing.

”Nord Team, this is Hammer-4. Complement is sixteen LfH 12 centimeter guns. We’re parked on Hill 338, six kilometers to your east. I’ve got Sovngarde Luft Base breathing down my neck to give you fire support, and we’ve got that entire area presighted. Send us some targets, and we’ll see about leveling those bastards. They got any big guns? We can provide counter-battery from here, over.”

The LfH was a 122mm artillery gun, normally a towed piece, with the ability to reach out and touch someone at 10km. With that range cut nearly in half, landing shots on target would be little more than target practice for Hammer-4, who had cut down their guns’ mean error rate to 5m. They’d had plenty of practice bombing the hills down south, and their rotation was supposed to deploy the 29th Artillery regiment to rotate out another unit away from the DMZ.

Ironically, they’d be firing their guns and –not- intending to hit Shalumites.

Meanwhile, back in the fight, Langtøyet noticed the Javelin and machine gun fire stemming from one part of the trees, and realized he would actually have to work instead of toying with the other hapless commandos. Leave those to Ermene and Brannballtre. Instead, he swung his rifle around, squinting as he watched the spec ops team leave before he placed his crosshairs on the machine gunner’s back, his finger twitching again to blast another .338 round out.

On the ground, the trio managed to escape the inferno and breath in fresh air as the forest began to catch fire around them savagely, still searching them out as the Firebat continued to wade into the hellscape he had made.

But suddenly, they didn’t seem to matter, as Ermine made his entrance by leaping down from one of the trees, slamming a broad-muscled arm into Wasburne as he clotheslined the man in epic style, rifle still slung over his back as the massive ex-con turned to the other two before leaning down and, with one arm, hauling the stunned man up by the chest to hold him above the ground.

“Okay…hvem er neste?”

Okay…who’s next?”

Jentye, Demoman and Zeta Lead were dashing through the trees at high speed, not caring too much about stealth anymore. Langtøyet had reported another team moving through to flank, and it was a done deal that the militia were no longer going to be so useful anymore. Zeta squad had to save their brothers in the fight, and eliminating the Provie spec ops out here would deny the enemy sniper support.

With but a glance, the team split. They had worked together for so long, they knew each other line no one else, and Jentye split off into the trees, disappearing like a shadow as she drew a knife in one hand, Spitfire in the other. Demoman and Zeta lead split off, both moving into the forest at a half-run, weapons up as they searched for the other team. If they could cut off the Nordlandurs before they could relocate, they might be able to slaughter them right here in an ambush.


Down below, as the Revenant pressed the attack, the 115th finally got their legs under them. The troopers caught out in the open finally fell back to their secondary defenses, the buildings themselves. With windows facing every direction and thick walls designed to counter a siege like this, it turned the main building into a massive bunker, and the militia were forced to take cover behind the sandbags of the first defense line, many of them turning and breaking, the others putting their arms over their heads as they sought shelter from the storm of bullets coming down on them.

The mercs, however, were much bolder. They eagerly dove in, wanting to earn their paycheck as they went toe to toe with the Panserbjorne over control of the buildings, even breaching the doors to the main building and starting a knife-range shootout over control of one of the large rooms. The fighting got savage up close, as veterancy and grit clashed with war lust and greed. Knives flashed, pistols clattered and shotguns boomed, turning the room into a bloodbath, bodies piling up on both sides.

The Revenant soldiers had also dug in further out, deciding to use the buildings as the Commonwealth troops fought back tooth and nail, realizing they were tangling with a foe that still had teeth. Using several smaller power buildings and maintenance sheds, the soldiers in blue popped out and returned sporadic fire, but unlike the UCA, they possessed automatic weapons. StGs, AKs and Shalumite MARs chattered and buzzed, a pattern not heard in Azzie hands for some time as the skirmishers fought this pop and duck battle.

One Revenant tank, an amazingly restored Sabertooth tank from the Thesumite War, rattled between the buildings, settling on the main building before it’s 88mm cannon boomed, carving out a corner of the second level. Once the dominant weapon of the Republic during the Shalumite Blitz, it had fallen out of favor in the 60s’ before being replaced by the Neshorn and its variants. Its main gun had once spelled doom for any vehicle that came into its sights, and the only armored unit that the northerners had more fear for was the dreaded Hekaton superheavy, the titan of the battlefield back in its day.

Alas, it was not to be this day. For as the Sabertooth swiveled around, looking for another good shot, a wall nearby ruptured open, admitting the large, brick-like form of a Stag IFV. Its man gun swung around, the autocannon opening fire on the aging tank, carving holes into the plating. In retaliation, the Sabertooth’s gun boomed, and one of the Stag’s treads shattered, grounding the vehicle where it stood, but not before the autocannon chattered again, and the enemy tank went still. In back, the rear ramp dropped to allow the squad of UCA soldiers inside to dash out, seeking positions in the rubble to return fire while the crippled Stag traversed its turret, looking for more targets. A blistering storm of bullets came licking its way back at them, tearing two troopers apart in the blink of an eye, but they at least drew fire away from the main building, and a tongue of flame tore out from the flank force, enveloping a Revenant fire team and setting them alight, detonating ammunition and explosives with the flamethrower’s intense heat.

The 115th wasn’t down and out yet.

[Azurlavai]

Schmeidesse
Raghnild chuckled at Tenya’s question. It seemed a bit obvious to herself, but she supposed that such a thing would be a little hard to picture from another standpoint.

“Our faith is not as widespread, accepted or strong as yours, Priestess. Until 2004, the government was actively trying to stamp out religion, and did so for a century. People of the faith were ridiculed or, at worst, hauled away to the forced labor camps. Only now are those who follow the Aesir gathering the courage to come back again. They are still ‘in the closet’ I suppose you might say.” She paused to consider that analogy, thinking it might be a bad comparison before she continued on. “We have tried to approach common folk, warning that this group has conducted such savage actions while saying they worship the Trickster God, as horrid a sin as the acts themselves, but they look at us like a cult ourselves. And thus we are forced to keep away. Circle the wagons as it were.”

“But look,” she continued, gesturing to the crowd of the injured and sick around her. “The Empire has gotten good faith, its priestesses especially. You have people converting to your religion, even, to which I will not address again. The point is, people will listen to –you-, Tenya. Because they believe in you, not some crazy woman with an eyepatch tattooed on her face.”

[Azurlavai]

To: Brigadier-General Perrin Pahath-Moab, Leader of the Allied States of New Edom
From: Supreme Chairman Frieda Trotsbeck
Subject: RE: Humanitarian Aide
Encryption: NSB Classification Vermillion Level


Mr. President,

I apologize for not answering your letter sooner. With the election on and increasing hostile activity in country, I am afraid my attention has been a bit scatterbrained as of late. Plus, I find the rather debilitating effects of being four months pregnant is contributing to my lack of attentiveness. Fortunately, after I received your notification, I also got a note from Ambassador Quadratus, informing me that the CPO vote has finally gone ahead in favor. While I am of course grateful for everything the world has contributed and that which they are about to give, I cannot help but feel that we’ve been undercut a little. Sure, we receive additional aide and security, but the Commonwealth is still shouldering the majority of the fighting, and the Revenant will have a target that does not know them.

I apologize, I tend to ramble these days. I do wish to express my appreciation for your extended offer of assistance. At this point, I would turn away no help offered, for if we hope to emerge from this war with a chance at recovery we must use whatever is available. The storehouses are empty, the armory needs new weapons, whatever metaphor floats your boat.

I look forward to working with you on these issues of internal security, and wish the best to your soldiers as they prepare to enter this savage land.


Yours Sincerely,

Frieda Trotsbeck
Supreme Chairman of the United Commonwealth of Azurlavai

[Shalum]

Onboard the Ravns

When he thought it was safe, Thomas stopped fumbling with the chin strap of his helmet, knowing that it was going to a secure as it was going to physically get without digging into him. The urge to look away was gone, and much to his surprise, the Azzie lieutenant who he had looked at a few moments earlier, was now looking intently at her combat boots with an expression on her face, below her helmet; that he couldn't read for the life of him. Something about him felt odd about the whole situation at hand, but he didn't know what.

When she finally broke the silence, Thomas blinked in surprise multiple times, meeting her eyes nervously. She was still a bit scary, but she had earned his respect as well after that very short stint in the ring. Before he spoke, Thomas coughed twice, covering his mouth with his arm. He found himself a bit warm at the statement that it would be a 'crime' for him to be untaken back home. "I-er-umm" he tongue stumbled for a moment, much to his dismay and embarrassment. "No ma'am, I don't have anyone back home waiting for me. After I turned eighteen, I did my mandatory four years and decided to reenlist. My unit got shipped down here eventually. I haven't really haven't had time for a partner" he replied with a shrug. His right leg was bouncing up and down, a sign of nervousness he knew, but he couldn't get it to stop no matter how hard he tried.

He swallowed a bit before he continued. "What about you ma'am? Any kids or a man at home?" he asked curiously. Beside him, his squad mates shot the two curious glances. Thomas and Astrid were the only ones talking in the helo for the most part, other than the soldier who had just finsihed his prayers to the Nordic gods. The only noises, other than the two talking, were the sounds of the helicopter's engines, and the occasional ruffle of gear.

In the other helicopter, Wolf was going over the battle plans in her head for what felt like the millionth time. She hated fighting the Revenant, they were a viscous bunch, and had been a pain in her side since she had arrived; originally as a Lieutenant. The men from Bull that she had brought along had all fought the Republic's forces in the past, but not as much as she had. She knew that they could withstand the fire that they were about to face, she had faith in them. She had faith in the Azzies paratroopers as well. She knew what they were capable of, if the border war back in the late 80s said anything about how good of soldiers they were.

She glanced at the lieutenant, who looked fresher than she had been expecting. His men were surprisingly well mannered, as her own soldiers seemed to enjoy the company of Mjolnir. For his sake, she switched to Gothic, noticing that he wasn't the best with English. She shot him a small smile as she adjusted her helmet. "That is my understand, Løytnant Haug. We're to be providing support" she replied in perfect Gothic, with more accent than Thomas used.

Lysbringer Power Complex

One moment, Washburne was sprinting, his comrades at his heels as they moved away from the fiery landscape behind them. The next moment, his eyes were widening in pure shock as a burly figure dropped from a tree like something out of a movie. In what was less than two seconds at most, the air had been knocked violently from his lungs. For a brief moment, Washburne thought he was going to pass out, as black spots filled his vision, unable to be simply blinked away. As he was held up in the air, very much alive, but battered; body limp, his vision refocused. As he came to, his training began to kick in, yelling at him to strike with his free legs; but the pain was still fresh enough from the hit that he was having a hard time concentrating on striking back.

"Wash!" Loki bellowed, no longer caring about 'stealth', which had been lost already. In unison, the two Nord Team members brought their weapons to bear, Loki armed with nothing more than his secondary HK45 tactical pistol, and Foreseti his ACX-M battle rifle. There was no fear in the muscular commando's eyes as he leveled he assumed a shooting stance, sights set on Ermine's chest.

"Drop him! Now!" Forseti ordered sternly, face set in hard lines as he braced his rifle against his right shoulder, sights set on Ermine's head. It would only take one trigger pull to end the man, something that under any under circumstance, Forseti would have done without a second thought, but not now. His hands were shaking for more than one reason, and he was afraid of hitting Wash, a man who had drug him out of fire more than once. The idea of killing Wash was just...sickening.

"Fuck that!" Loki barked, firing off two rounds in quick succession; both of which caught the Revenant warrior in the chest; which was covered by tactical armor capable of stopping the forty-five round. Loki hadn't been shooting to kill, though he wouldn't have minded in the least if they did. What he hoped happen, did. Unceremoniously, Washburne was dropped to the ground, the Azzie stumbling backward in surprise, not dead; but probably pretty angry. Without any hesitation, Loki charged forward to tackle the man while he was still off balance. The Shalumite had been a gridiron player back in his college days, and still retained both his strength and speed. There was a loud crash as the two commandos went to the ground.

Meanwhile, Forseti had lowered his weapon, opting to run to Wash's side to drag him out of the combat zone. He sighed in relief as he realized that the man was still very much alive, just a bit banged up. Once he was sure Wash would be out of the scuffle zone, he set his weapon to the side and dashed into the fray. Loki had the initial upper hand, but the chances of him winning the melee in the long run weren't good enough for Forseti's liking. It was a two-on-one fight, and the odds would be a bit better that way.

Meanwhile, Wash was recovering from the ambush, recovering his breath as he pushed himself up using his arms. He was quite sure that was the hardest hit that he had ever experienced in all his years of service. He shook his head a few times, trying to recenter himself. He needed--no had to get back into the fight. To his right, his two battle-brothers were locked in a fight. As he looked up, his eyes widened in horror as he saw a man with a flamethrower lumber in. It was most defiantly the same one who had burned them out earlier. Wash fumbled to find his rifle, which hadn't landed far away from where he had originally been snatched. He stood up shakily, grabbing his rifle as he did so.

He fired shouldered his weapon and fired two shots off in the man's direction. "Hey asshole! Ready for round two?!" he bellowed, firing off a few more rounds before he began to run; knowing that staying still would be a death wish. He doubted any of his rounds had hit, but they had most definitely gotten the man's attention, which was the point.


”Nord Team, this is Hammer-4. Complement is sixteen LfH 12 centimeter guns. We’re parked on Hill 338, six kilometers to your east. I’ve got Sovngarde Luft Base breathing down my neck to give you fire support, and we've got that entire area presighted. Send us some targets, and we’ll see about leveling those bastards. They got any big guns? We can provide counter-battery from here, over.”

Loff grinned in surprise at the reply, surprised that she had gotten anything at all. She had halfway been expecting to get nothing back but static in reply. Glancing to the side, she saw her squad mates fighting for their lives, their leader included. She made the decision to call in the strike herself, it wasn't too hard. "Good to hear your voice, Hammer-4! Nice to know we ain't alone out here" she replied. "I don't think they've got big guns, maybe a MLRS or two, but nothing major. Right now they're focusing on attacking the power station. They're in the area between the tree line and the power station itself, spread out in waves. If you can, hit that area. Be advised, friendly and hostile forces are clashing in the woods, do not fire into the woods!" she ordered.

Nearby, there was a loud cry of pain as Kraken went down. The commando had bent over to retrieve his MG, knowing that he didn't have enough time to reload the javelin. Unfortunately as he did so, a enemy sniper round tore through his steel plate, sending him to the ground in a heap. The round had tore through his back, before tearing through his stomach. He didn't die instantly, but it didn't take long either.

"Sniper!" Heimdahl shouted in warning , diving to the side. On instinct, all of the remaining Shalumite commandos hunkered down or dived behind what cover they did. None of them went to check on Kraken. They knew he was dead, or wouldn't be alive much longer; and it was too dangerous even if he had a chance.

"We've got to pull back, they know we're here!" Klara ordered, slowly crawling backward from her position. The rest of her men followed suit, wanting to get away while they could. There were secondary points that they could move to if the need arose...assuming they made it to those points; and didn't get attacked by whomever was stalking them in the woods. There were four of them in Klara's group. For the moment, they stuck together, but if it came down to it, they were more than able to break off into group of two; or even on their own if they had too.

[Shalum]

To: Supreme Chairman Frieda Trotsbeck, Chairman of Azurlavai
From: Brigadier General Patricia Beckman, Director of the Special Tasks Group
Subject: Possible STG liaison
Encryption: National Command Authority (Highest)

Dear Madame Chairman,

In the last few hours, Madame Chairman, I have been informed of your current situation by Imperator Holland. I must first offer my sincerest congratulations at the prospect of becoming a mother. I myself am a mother of two, one boy, and one girl; and they have been nothing but a blessing so far. That being said...the situation at hand is rather unique and must be approached cautiously; to avoid an international incident of some kind, or stir up rambunctious public debate.

After speaking with both the Imperator and Imperatrix, we believe that it may be best for an STG special agent, or two, to be sent to Lowell City as liaisons. At this time, we wish to know if it would be acceptable to do so. Already, we have a number of people who would be more than qualified for the position, should you allow it. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.

I have the honor to be
Brigadier General Patricia Beckman,
Director of the Special Tasks Group

[New Edom]

To: Supreme Chairman Frieda Trotsbeck, to the Heads of Government and Defense of the CPO Signatory Nations
From: Brigadier-General Perrin Pahath-Moab, President of the Council of Minister of New Edom, Director of Peacekeeping for the Cornellian Peacekeeping Organization
Subject: Cornellian Peacekeeping Operation Mission Azurvalai
Encryption: Most Secret, Eyes Only

---

I have in consultation with my military advisers devised the following plan of operations for the operation designated as CPOMA.

Commander-in-Chief: Vice-Admiral Prince Elijah Shalmaneser

Deputy Commander: (to be designated)
- 1 New Edomite Mechanized Infantry Division
- 1 United Valikan Marine Division
- 1 Combined Continent Division (1 Roman Marine Legion, 1 New Macurean Light Infantry Brigade, 1 Arbites Light Infantry Battalion, 2 Arbites Artillery Batteries, 1 New Edomite Air Defense Artillery Regiment, 1 New Edomite engineer regiment)

Naval Operations Deputy Commander: (a Roman Admiral)
- 2nd Roman Imperial Fleet
- 1 New Edomite Amphibious Squadron
- 1 New Edomite Light Carrier

Air Operations Commander: (rank of Major-General or equivalent. It is proposed that this should be a Draconian Air Force officer)
- 1 New Edomite Transport Group
- 1 Drcaonian Air Transport Group

Intelligence Operations Commander:(rank of Brigadier-General or Colonel)

Adjutant-General:(rank of Brigadier-General or Colonel)

Logistics and Transport Operations Commander:(rank of Brigadier-General or Colonel)

Provost-Marshal: (rank of Brigadier-General or Colonel)
- 1 Battalion of New Macurean Security Forces
- 1 Regiment of Adiran Military Police

The main landing zone for naval operations will be at Tritonsberg, Kellam State, and will be outside of the city limits at a FOB designated "FOB Acheron".

The main landing zone for air landing operations will be outside Lowell City and will be designated "FOB Belisaria".

The following states will in the immediate future have CPO operations zones which are to be designated in brackets beside the states' names:

Rheinmetall (FOB CPO-Alpha) (New Edomite Division)
Liguaran (FOB CPO-Beta) (United Valikan Division)
Novaka (FOB CPO-Gamma) (Combined Contingent Division)
Maiquis (FOB CPO-Delta)(Adiran contingent with New Macurean Security element)

The following states will be negotiated with to establish safe conduct convoys of refugees and aid workers with CPO escorts:

Gwinnett
Dhuria
Radik
Kellam
Toducin
Kinishcha
Bekett

The following states are for the time being off limits to all CPO personnel, CPO aid workers, observers and mediators.

Gallagher
Liam
Thracia
Janus

This concludes the outline of the CPO mission to Azurvalai. Pending approval, operational orders will be formally drawn up and issued.

I have the honour to be,
Brigadier-General Perrin Pahath-Moab
President of the Council of MInisters
Director of Peacekeeping for the CPO

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

Schmeidesse

In truth, Tenya had not realized the depth of the situation. Wrapped up in her work, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, giving the homeless a warm place to rest and teaching the faith of the Mother Goddess to those who showed interest, she had not had time to consider how her actions and those of her Sisters across the country might be impacting Azurlavai on a larger scale.

Nor had she ever considered herself a role model. Shrailleeni fables were filled with tales of Priestesses who accomplished incredible things with only their faith in the path of the Mother Goddess. She had grown up with such tales, and some of their glamor and mystique had influenced her decision to join the Temple and take her Holy Vows. But she had never seen herself filling such a role, she was just an ordinary woman. And yet here she was, asked to settle a growing unrest just as the Priestesses of old had done. It was incredible, but she could no more resist the calling than the word of the Mother Herself.

She considered Raghnild thoughtfully for a moment, then spread her hands open.

"Where would you have me go then, My Sister?"

[Novitera]

Heselory, State of Calirma, UFN
Special Agent Patricia Lorrin: Bureau of Investigation and Enforcement
Prosecutor Archie Raynard: Federation Attorneys' Office


Two spotters laid low on a high rise observing the unloading going on at the docks. The night was hot so they were sweating in their black fatigues. Once in a while a cool breeze would come in from the ocean which they welcomed. They kept their eyes on the scene unfolding. Crates were being wheeled out one by one and loaded unto semi truck containers. The cargo ship was a small one. If it were not for the Gaspar's tip, the BIE would have no knowledge of this. At the ready were a number of BIE special agents as well as Heselory PD SWAT team forces that would raid the scene as soon as the order was given.

The government wanted to assault rapidly and hopefully prevent a shootout. Even a chopper was close by ready to shine down bright lights unto the docks for a greater projection of the futility in resisting. Patricia was watching the feed from a nearby van. The Guristas and Ice Troll guards looked lax thinking this would be another routine hand off.

Unfortunately there was a shootout as the sharpshooters had to drop the guards carrying automatics. SWAT forces moved in quickly but some of the suspects decided to draw their pistols anyways. They were taken down quickly. It took another thirty minutes to sweep the ship but eventually every crew member was drawn out. A fair number of Guristas and Ice Trolls sat on the ground in handcuff being watched over by SWAT.

Patricia was supervising the operation. She noticed that Archie was standing next to her. "Let's separate the Guristas and the Ice Trolls. I want to address the Ice Trolls while they are together at the detention center then move them into individual cells." Archie stated. Patricia, who did not like being ordered around by some attorney simply gruffed in response. Three large vans pulled into the scene that would take them away.

"Load em up!" Patricia ordered loudly. "Seize all the weapons and drugs. That's now state's evidence."

Later

The Ice Trolls were held in a group holding cell with the guards not bothering to take their handcuffs off. All had been processed according to procedure, being stripped of their clothes and put into orange jumpsuits with "DOC" written clearly on the back.

Archie walked into the room wearing his black suit feeling it made him look more like a "G-Man". He was separated from the suspects by steel bars. They eyed him angrily as he put his hands in his pockets and glanced them over with a look of satisfaction on his face. Behind Archie was a platoon of guards.

"You are being held in custody by the authority of the United Federation on charges of illegal arms and narcotics trafficking, and being in violation of the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act. Each of you is looking at 6-10 years of incarceration in a federal prison after which we shall deport you back to Azurlavai or extradite you to any other nation where you are wanted should that be the case." Archie led with that and paced around. "Fortunately for you, the Department of Justice is interested in making deals for information." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket that looked official. "I have here an order from the Federation Attorneys' Office granting me the authority to give one year sentences to anybody who comes forward with the accurate and precise location of Ice Troll bases in Azurlavai, information leading to the arrest and conviction of anybody affiliated with the Jotnar operating illegally in Novitera, or any information leading to the capture or death of one Unni Yarudi." Archie waved the piece of paper and put it back in his folder. "Before you are incarcerated, you will also be given new identities and Noviteran citizenship allowing you to stay and work in Novitera upon your release. If that is your wish."

He smiled. "The choice is yours. But keep in mind I only need so much information. First come, first serve. So make your decision quickly lest your companions act before you do." Archie let that stew for just a heartbeat before gesturing at the guards. They opened up the cage and filed the Ice Trolls out while shouting at them not to speak. No time was given for them to discuss the deal among themselves. Each Ice Troll would be taken into separate cells where they can be left to stew over which of their companions would rat and why they should not do it first to get the better deal.

[Novitera]

Heselory, State of Calirma, Novitera

Patricia Lorrin was seated in the black government SUV just outside a high rise apartment on Brompton Beach. She was waiting for her people to get in position. This was going to be done quietly so no SWAT team was present. Waiting, she watched tenants come and go out the front glass doors. One in particular was of interest who she thought was Molly Aitor with three others. The BIE agents in the car waited for Patricia to order them out. There was only four of them. It seemed Archie’s little gambit had played out successfully. One of the Ice Trolls had already cracked, revealing the location of one of Unni’s lieutenants in Novitera that was right here in Heselory, Amaran Berakgauekartzen. They had built a bit of a case around him already just not enough that would stick. A signed affidavit from one of the Ice Trolls would be enough to put him away.

“Let’s go.” Patricia ordered. Each of the doors opened at once. Her and three men in suits quickly entered the building, Patricia flashing her badge at the attendant. They took the elevator up to Amaran’s suite on the 22nd floor.

Quietly the agents approached the door and drew their pistols. Patricia gave it a few hard thumps. “Federal police! Open the door!” She yelled.

Amaran Berakgauekartzen was sitting on the couch wearing a tunic and some slacks, watching television. When he heard the shouts, he got up from the couch and walked to the door, and opened it. “Is there a problem, officers?” He asked.

Patricia took out a piece of paper and flashed it in his face. “We have a signed warrant for your arrest Mister Berakgauekartzen, from a West Heselory District Court Judge.”

They had their pistols out but kept them aimed low. One of the male agents stepped forward. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back sir.” He ordered gruffly.

Amaran turned around and put his hands behind his back. “What am I getting arrested for, exactly?”

“Criminal violation of Federal and State law for illegal arms and narcotics trafficking.” Patricia responded as the agent put the cuffs on his wrists. There was a quick pat down where they found nothing. “You and you.” She said to the two other agents. “Protect the scene until more of our men can get here and turn the place upside down. Lets go.”

The two of them hauled Amaran out of the building and into their SUV. Soon enough, he was sitting in the city detention center interrogation room. They did not bother to cuff him to the table. Archie Raynard entered the room and read Amaran his due process rights. “...anything you say can and will be used against you…” He said methodically then took a seat. Archie brought out a pack of cigarettes and placed them on the table. Gesturing at Amaran to take one.

“Your lawyer should be here shortly. We want to speed things along and let him review the evidence first.” Archie stated.

Amaran nodded. “Thanks, but I don’t smoke. Mind if I call you Archie?” He asked, cocking his head.

“Of course you may.” Archie replied and grabbed the pack from the table. He took out one of the cigarettes and fired it up. “You know who I am and you know what I do so lets get right to it.” He said and took a drag. “Your lawyer is going to come in here and tell you we have enough evidence to put you away for 15 to 20 years. You’ll rot in prison. He’ll urge you to make a deal and I’m willing to give one. Perhaps we can bring it down to four years and a year house arrest. You’ll be out in a flash.” He stated, looking for a response from Amaran.

“...What evidence?” Amaran asked.

Archie pulled out a folder. He took out the pictures of mug shots of the Ice Trolls they captured. “You recognize these men? A few of have signed affidavits that they made dealings with you to smuggle in illegal arms and narcotics. That this operation has been systematic and continuous.” He said then pulled out another folder, pushing it over to Amaran. Those were copies of the statements. “They have also agreed to testify against you. This evidence, which corroborates the case the BIE has been building against you the past few months…” Archie pulled out another set of folders and set them on the table. “...I guarantee the charges will stick and you’ll be living in a hole for a long time.”

Amaran shrugged. “I don’t recognize any of those men...so let me see if I get this straight. A bunch of douchebags get caught, you need a name from them, they gave you mine, and based on their word you are going to drag me in here and threaten me with prison time? Give me a fucking break Archie.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do here. I’m very good at this. Remember those Guristas bosses from Avantine now doing 40? That was me. It’s not just based on their word. Like I said, the BIE was building a case. Their testimony connects the dots which will be enough for a jury to convict you.” Archie replied calmly. He put his cigarette out on the ash tray and stood up. “I’ll leave you here for a few minutes to review the evidence. Your lawyer is going to come in soon and verify what I have said about your impending incarceration.” The man whistled a tune before walking out.

Archie let Amaran speak with his lawyer for the next hour before returning. “Have you had enough time to consider?” He asked and sat down.

“...What do you want to know?” Amaran asked.

“Unni Yarudi and the Jotnar.” Archie stated. “Others like you operating in Novitera, anything that leads to the arrest of Jotnar cells, locations of Ice Troll bases, Yarudi’s lieutenants in Novitera and Azurlavai. Who are they and where are they. Yarudi himself.” He explained.

“You know, Archie, the more of that stuff I tell you, the more likely it is that I will be taken out. 20 years in a hole is better than being dead with my brains blown out.” Amaran answered.

“The more you tell me, the less time you spend in a hole. Tell you what, I’ll put you in witness protection. Get you a nice place out in the countryside and a whole new identity. The deal will come in writing if you will just….rat.” He said.

“Unni will find me and take me out. You seem like a nice guy, Archie. So I will give you some advice. Be careful when you start sticking your nose in Jotnar business. The deeper you dig, the greater the danger will be to you and your family. I would hate to see that happen. Unni has big plans. Nothing will get in his way.”

“I have no family.” Archie replied. “Well I do. No wife, no kids. Just cousins but not on paper. My name isn’t even really Archie and the UF government puts round the clock protection on me. The Jotnar may be dangerous but so are the Guristas, Avantine Exchange, Nijuuni and Sangre Comillo. I’ve been putting their goons away and mucking up their operations for years.” He said and laughed. “This is what I do Amaran, what I live for.”

“Now, the Federation Attorneys’ Office would not have the success they have had if it were not for the integrity of our witness protection program. Somebody has to snitch and know they are protected in our cases. We’ll keep you hidden. Life might be lonely but you’ll be alive and not behind bars.” Archie explained.

Amaran laughed. “I don’t have any family either for that very reason. Business like this, that sort of thing is only asking for trouble. I suppose you are fortunate then. When Ragnarok happens, you might be safe...for awhile anyway.”

“I would stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself.” He said, then got an idea. “You’re more concerned about retaliation from Unni than going to prison!” Archie remarked happily. “Shouldn’t have shown your cards Amaran. So this is what I’m going to do....unless you give me what I want...I’ll ask the judge for two years. Two years when everybody knows you should get 20. How’s that going to look to your boss Amaran? He’ll think for sure you talked after receiving such a good deal. Then it’s a shank to the neck while you’re in the showers.” Archie said then grinned deviously. “Or, you really talk and go into witness protection. You may not trust it but you’ll sure have a better chance there.”

“...I tell you what I know and I don’t do any time at all.” Amaran said.

“You’ll have to leave Heselory. We’ll liquidate whatever assets you have and put them in the account of your new identity so you can live comfortably...if not happily.” Archie told him. “What you have to say better be good though.” He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. It was the deal terms. “This makes it final. However it may be revoked if your information lacks substance.” Archie pushed it over.

“...I would want to go back to Ghant. Go home, get out of this business, and start fresh. Can I do that?” Amaran asked.

“That’s a coincidence you ask that. We have a deal with the Ghantish government. They allow us to send over those in witness protection and give them new, Ghantish, identities. That can be done.” Archie answered.

Amaran took the pen and paper, and took about thirty minutes to write out what he knew. Archie read over the information. Much of it seemed to corroborate what they knew of the Jotnar in Novitera so far. He trusted it was authentic and extensive. Even if it was not, Amaran probably would not give any more. Archie thanked Amaran and had the BIE take him home where he said he would stay under guard the next few days until everything was prepared. The BIE agents who watched were under strict orders to not allow Amaran to communicate to the outside world. They took out all the phones, computers, tablets and anything else that would allow that from his apartment.

The next day, Archie came to pay him a visit. He came with two other men, dressed in street clothes and wearing BIE windbreakers. One of them handed a BIE agent standing outside a wad of cash. “Same as before. We were never here.” He stated. The FIS and BIE had certain, clandestine arrangements. These agents specifically were accustomed to it which was why they were put on duty.

Archie and the two men entered Amaran’s apartment. “Amaran? Where are you?” He called out.

Amaran emerged. “Right here, Archie.”

“Amaran, these are my associates. Seymour Fulk and Jerry Hayate.” He said. The two men just stared. Archie pulled out a bottle of whiskey. “You a drinking man Amaran? I thought we should celebrate. Novitera will be a better place thanks to your information.”

Amaran waved his hand. “Thanks for the offer, Archie, but I will have to pass. I am ready to be reborn and wash all this away. I have been trapped in his life since I was a boy of ten...they took me in, gave me clothes, food and a place to stay, and in return they expected me to become a part of their world. I did because I didn’t have a choice. I have never known a life outside of it...and I want nothing to do with the life I am leaving behind. I want to start over, and do some good with me life. I will seek redemption and forgiveness for my sins, and try to atone so that I might have good Patu.”

Archie nodded. He was not a man devoid of sympathy. This job of his was for the country anyways. He took it as his duty to put evil men behind bars. Sometimes however, the means could get a bit dirty. “Amaran....it is an unfortunate life you have lived. I am sorry my friend. But this Scotch is from Schottia and I insist.” Seymour drew a suppressed pistol and aimed it at Amaran. “Lets have a seat.” Archie offered politely and sat at the dining table. He gestured at Amaran to sit down across from him and filled two glasses with the whiskey.

Amaran gulped, and he took a seat as he began to shiver. He looked down at the table as he sat down, having a good idea of where this was going. “I understand. I have done things that were dishonorable. I have broken the Old Laws. I must reap my Patu.”

Whatever Amaran was speaking of, Archie had no idea. “Amaran, I don’t know about your culture. But you did the right thing. I respect you for it. Now…” He pushed the glass across the table. “Drink.” Seymour, still pointing the pistol at him gave Amaran a threatening look. Archie raised his own glass and beckoned at Amaran to toast him.

Amaran meekly picked up the glass. Suspecting that it was poison, he closed his eyes, and then spoke in his mother tongue. “Zaharra jainkoak, mesedez barkatzen me nire bekatuak, eta onartu dit zure erresuman sartu.” Then he returned the toast, and downed his glass.

“Relax.” Archie stated after finishing off his own glass. “Not poison. Watch.” He filled his glass again and threw it back. “Damn fine Scotch.” Archie filled up his glass again then filled Amaran’s to the brim. “Again.” He said forcefully raising his glass.

Amaran went along with it, and repeated.

“My, that is strong. I’m afraid I can have no more as I’m working late tonight. You though...you have nothing to do.” Archie filled his glass to the brim once again. “Have another.”

Amaran downed a third glass. This repeated over and over until he was severely inebriated. “That’s enough. You don’t look so well. Get a glass of water and some asprin.” Archie stated. Jerry went to the kitchen and back with a glass. He set it down on the table with a plastic bottle of asprin. Archie held up the asprin to show Amaran the seal. “Not poison either. Just something to make you feel better.” He opened it up took out a several pills. Pushing them over and the glass of water over to Amaran.

Amaran’s world was a blur...moving at 100 miles per hour. “Aspirin...alcohol...don’t mix...could kill...no...can’t die...must go home...warn them of...Ragnarok...the wolf freed from its...chains...Surtr...flaming sword...demons...the babies...fire…”

Archie turned around and nodded to Jerry. The man came over, picked up three tablets and forcefully shoved them in Amaran’s mouth. He held his mouth shut making sure Amaran swallowed.

“I’m sorry Amaran. I take no pleasure in this. But I owe the FIS. They can’t risk you warning Yarudi or the Jotnar. There is too much at risk. We need them to believe you chose death over betrayal.” Archie explained. “Is there anything else you’d like to say.”

While that was happening, Seymour came back with one of Amaran’s kitchen knives.

“...My fate...I accept...I do not...deserve to live. Ragnarok...it is coming...warn them all.” Amaran received a moment of clarity then. “When you...kill me...please...with a blade...and look me...in the eyes...when you...do it. My life...I have lived...dishonorably...all I ask is that...I might die honorably...Please…and my body...take it home...” Tears began to stream down his face.

Something Amaran said caught Archie’s interest. “Amaran...what is Ragnarok?” He asked. “Tell me and I will do as you asked.”

“The end...the wolf shall...break free of its chains...the demons shall...rise...Surtr shall...wage war with a...flaming sword...and the trickster shall...betray his home...look to the north...where the...wolf is bound…”

“He’s babbling nonsense.” Archie said then nodded to Seymour. The man closed in on Amaran, grabbing his hand. He made a quick slash, lacerating his wrist then handed the knife to Jerry who did the same thing to Amaran’s other wrist. The blood began to flow out. “The asprin should thin your blood and make this quicker. May you find peace in the afterlife.” Archie said to him.

Amaran grew faint, his skin a pasty white and his eyes began to sink into his head. He fell forward, hitting the table, and then the floor. As the world began to fade to black around him, he had enough strength to meekly mutter one more word before he was gone from the world.

“...Roses…” Amaran said as he locked eyes with Archie. Then he died.

Jerry set the knife down on the table while Seymour put on latex gloves. He checked for a pulse then nodded to the rest of them. Archie wiped the bottle of whiskey of with his handkerchief, getting rid of his fingerprints. Seymour put the glass Archie used in a plastic bag then the three of them left.

“Call it in in an hour. You came in to check and found him like that. Clearly the man committed suicide. He was depressed. The autopsy will test positive for alcohol and acetyl salicylic acid.” Seymour said to the two BIE agents standing outside the door as they were leaving. The agents nodded in response.

“I promised that man he would get to go back to Ghant. The FIS owes me one now.” Archie said to Seymour while they walked out.

“Yes, we understand.” Seymour replied.

The least that Archie would do is make sure Amaran’s body was taken to Ghant he decided.

[Novitera]

Heselory, State of Calirma, Novitera

The Department of Corrections officers were loading up the Ice Trolls and other soon to be prison inmates onto the bus at the Heselory Detention Center. There were 12 Ice Trolls in total who seemed quite cheerful. Perhaps the prospect of only a few years in prison and living in peace after brightened their moods. Rumor has it that the FAO had given them a good deal compared to what their previous lives were in the Ice Trolls.

It was nighttime and the officers were wondering why the escort had not arrived yet. Soon enough they were ordered to proceed without being told Heselory PD was busy with a shooting in South Eastmont again among other incidents. The bus pulled out of the detention center and began making its way through the streets of Heselory. On one road, a sign and traffic cones had been put up, forcing the bus to detour onto a less traveled road. It took them through a warehouse area which was empty as the workers had gone home for the night.

A black SUV stopped in front of the bus blocking its way and forcing the driver to slam on the brakes. He could not back up as SUV's materalized behind the bus as well. Men in dark civilian clothing and masks closed in pointing submachine guns. Tear gas grenades shot through the windows stunning both prisoners and guards alike. The men, wearing gas masks blew off the door and ordered everyone out. Keys had to be taken off a guard to open the cage separating the prisoners from the guards and driver. All quickly rushed to the exit blind, coughing and spitting. The guards were quickly taken down and disarmed who knew from the beginning this was not a fight worth dying for. The prisoners were herded into a line. One man went through them all while holding pictures up to their faces. Slowly, the Ice Trolls were separated from the other prisoners at gun point.

"Everybody else, lay down and don't move or we'll put holes in you!" One of the armed assailants ordered.

The Ice Trolls were backed against the bus by a squad of the armed men. A long rattle of gunfire from submachine guns sounded throughout the night. When it was done, twelve Ice Trolls lay dead. The armed men quickly rushed back to their cars which sped off into the night.

Earlier

Scot Akira's job was to make shady deals with shady people on behalf of the FIS. Not the most glorious duty but just as necessary. He remembered the deal he made with that Jedorian arms dealer for weapons. The same weapons that made it into the hands of the Peregrino Independence Force. He liked to think that it helped them stave off complete obliteration until the ceasefire could take place. What he did know was that he had to make this deal because Archie Raynard came through and received some critical information from these Ice Trolls. FIS wanted to make sure they could not communicate out of prison to their friends back home and warn them about what has been compromised. That being the precise location of 6 Ice Troll smuggling bases. It would have been too easy to do so. Then the UF government would be back to square one when those bases were moved.

The man sitting across from Scot is one he had dealt with regularly and called himself Mark. He was Nijuuni. The UF government gave the Nijuuni crime syndicate some slack because when the FIS needed to outsource work domestically or abroad, it was them they turned too. Mark was looking over a folder that Scot gave him with names and accompanying mug shots.

"We set it up so the bus has no escort. Should be easy. They'll be taking them south to Oak Bay Prison. All of them cracked so we don't have to separate them. Make it clean. Nobody else dies except the people in this folder." Scot stated while Mark flipped through the contents of the folder.

"Very well. Our usual fee." Mark replied without looking up. Scot set down a heavy brown paper bag on the table. Mark took a quick peep inside seeing the stacks of cash. "We'll get it done."

[Novitera]

TO: Council Deacon Anton Gauring
FROM: Executor Eric Douglas, Department of State
SUBJECT: Request For A Meeting
ENCRYPTION: Highest


Greetings. The United Federation Government has recently procured some highly sensitive information that we have now designated as classified. It concerns both our nations and is a matter of great import. Chief Executor James Trask would like to send a delegation to meet with United Commonwealth military and intelligence commanders that possess top level security clearance only. The purpose being for our delegates to present this information and to discuss how our two governments will proceed accordingly. It is imperative that you accept this request. The UF would like to send;

Lorraine Hanna, a Federation Intelligence Service Officer; and
Colonel Clyde Nobu, an Ishukone Military Intelligence Officer with Federation Armed Services Command

The United Federation respectfully awaits your response.

Regards,
Eric Douglas
Executor of State, United Federation of Novitera

[New Edom]

Fineberg, New Edom

"I want to impress upon you, Elijah," said Perrin Pahath-Moab as he and Vice-Admiral Prince Elijah Shalmaneser walked through the ornate, geometric and neat gardens at Beatharan Palace, "That while this is a straightforward mission, it is also a highly dangerous one. Unlike our previous missions, it is an actively warring nation. I encourage you to be bold in your preparations and to assume that nothing will be straightforward when you get there."

The taller more somber man nodded, saying nothing. Perrin continued, "I will want to review your plans for how to carry out the operation when you are finished with them, but that was all; I realize you have many preparations to make."

Prince Elijah nodded. "As you say. I've picked Barak as my first choice for ground forces commander--do you have any objections?"

"None," Perrin replied, pausing to smile as he watched their two dogs, Rover and Nimrod, gamboling about the lawn, both sniffing and hunting their way towards the flower beds. Rover was an Airedale while Nimrod, Elijah's dog, was a Saluki who would only sniff in a cursory way before lifting his head up again, his long elegant muzzle and silky ears cocked as he looked for something to chase. "Barak is perfect for this, steady, obedient, loyal, and good under pressure."

"Those were my thoughts," Elijah said. He turned to Perrin. "I will leave after dinner--I would like to meet with my new staff, and send a message to Barak myself congratulating him on his appointment."

"We might as well go in," said Perrin. "Must not keep the Dowager waiting for dinner..." Not that either man cared, but politeness was considered a virtue.

---

The Department of Defense had put together a new division, the First Infantry Division, revived properly for the first time since the First Civil War where it had been broken up by shifting loyalties. Now it was to consist of 2 Damoclean Mechanized Infantry Regiments, 1 New Edomite Air Cavalry Regiment, 1 New Edomite Armoured Cavalry Regiment, 1 Damoclean Artillery Regiment, 1 Damoclean Engineeer Regiment, 1 New Edomite Transport Regiment, 1 combined Support Brigade with field hospital, administration, military police, and logistics units. Barak, who had served in Damoclea, was considered the ideal man for the job of commanding both this division and the CPO ground forces corps itself.

Orders were given and received, which required that leaves be canceled, that military rations should be packed by crates and on pallets into planes, that ammunition should be appropriate to the TO&Es of the units requisitioned and prepared. Inspections of vehicles, weapons, fitness of units was to be carried out by commanders at various levels.

Everyone's private small story was swept up as by a tide--Colonel Elena Weber and her Lancers fit and rested up from their tours of duty in Hutanjia, Dengali, Bara; the 14th Hussars' officers feasted by their Colonel-in-Chief, the President; the 2nd Transport Battalion to be moved out of Lazodiria and replaced, redeployed, Lieutenant Haggith wondering if she should resign after this. The Damocleans eager to prove themselves, to prove what their training would result in.

Maps, cultural briefings, language briefings, intelligence briefings descended on these units as heralds proclaiming their destination of Azurvalai. A drumroll of placenames, fitted to videos and pictures, satellite and other maps, of codes and operational plans. Let it be done: the spear of the Edomites points the way for the Cornellian Peacekeeping Organization across the waters and the land to Azurvalai and what God in Heaven had in store for all of them.

[Azurlavai]

Onboard the Ravns
Astrid chuckled at the obvious discomfort that she had caused the Shalumite. Kind of funny, seeming to be all trained and still so easy to get nervous like that. If she wasn't so schooled in keeping her reactions level, however, she might have blushed at his next question.

"What about you ma'am? Any kids or a man at home?"

Why did that get under her skin? She'd been asked it plenty of times, and every time she'd just given the same straight, level denial that she always did. She'd only ever been married once, and that had turned out to be a damned disaster. And the thought of her bringing up a child? What child could benefit from the lessons she had to teach it? So, she'd committed herself to a life alone. Not celibate, of course, just alone. She' been through far too much to grow the care needed for another person or two. There was commitment to unit and country, of course, but beyond that she didn't know if she had it in her to grow attached to another person like that. But when this Lieutenant Hew asked her...she suddenly felt her chest tighten a bit. As if she wasn't sure her answer would hold up enough water. Instead, she decided on a more simplistic reply.

"No. No, I gave that up years ago. I'll never fall in love."

For a few awkward minutes, the only sound inside the Ravn was the roaring of the engines outside. The other Kilo members were watching warily, hands on their weapons as the only reply they could think of. The Bull Company soldiers stared on, unsure of what was happening in a situation they did not understand the context of.

In the other Ravn, Haug nodded, grateful that Wolfe had at least switched to a language he could speak.

"Alright. I need to make sure we keep ourselves coordinated once on the ground. Trust me, Revenant are nasty bastards in this kind of fight, and we need to keep up the momentum-"

His words were cut off, however, by the scream of engines outside, an explosion and the pilot screaming over the Ravns intercom.

"Falk-2 is down! Repeat, Falk-2 is down! Shit, incoming missiles!"

The Ravn rocked as it was subjected to a barrage of shoulder-fired Luftjeger anti-air missiles, a swarm of them spearing out of the trees and bringing down the entire Ravn squad. One of them, the one with Haug and Wolfe, managed to tilt a little more, trying to run from the fury of the AA launchers, but a pair of missiles speared its belly, directly blasting into the passenger compartment.

Rather than carrying all the way to Gallow's Rest, the Ravns were all shot down over the frigid swamplands of Dhuria.

Right in the middle of the wildlands.


Lysbringer Power Complex

Ermine had to applaud these two Provies' thinking. Ganging up on him doubled their chances, ensured they could take on a physically superior foe. He had to admit, their training meant they had an edge over the goons he had stomped in prison, so it was a little more difficult to try and focus on them both. He'd block a punch from one and take a strike from the other direction, throw a kick and have his leg grabbed by the second target. Impressive. But little by little, he worked them out until he was sure of their style. Then, when he cornered the stockier one against a burning tree and lunged in with a vicious combo, he was ready when the skinny Provie came up behind him, swiftly reaching back and grabbing a punch before it landed, his hand squeezing hard, crushing the knuckles in his grasp.

"Spilletid er over!"

"Playtime's over!"

He spun around, swinging the second man from the tree into the one who's hand he squeezed, slamming the stocky man into the other before heaving a vicious kick into the pair. He reached up, cracking his knuckles before throwing himself at the first one to recover, launching into a brutal combo. He'd done a lot of working out in prison, and working in Zeta had only sharpened his skills even more.

Meanwhile, Brannbaltre felt the rounds bouncing off his armor, and he turned to see the Provie leader leaping towards him, handgun blazing sharply. The pyro grinned, goosing his flamethrower before turning it towards the Nordlandur, sending out a plume of fiery death, scorching this patch of forest as he brought the incendiary death down towards the Shalumite.

"Mmmm...La oss få matlaging!"

"Mmmm...let's get cooking!"

At the first sign of movement, Zeta Lead, Demoman and Jentye let loose with a blistering array of gunfire into the four Provies that appeared. Coming from three different directions (Lead on a small ridge, Demo directly ahead and Jentye up in a tree) they had the enemy pinned down, spraying lead down towards Nord team. At one point, Demoman took hold of the underslung grenade launcher, firing an explosive shell off before he let loose a chorus of incendiary buckshot. The combination of frag grenade and fire munitions started a small firestorm on impact, and it only seemed to lend to the illusion of a miniature inferno lighting up.

In the distance, a rumble sounded, almost like distant thunder on this clear day, and seconds later the high-pitched shriek of shells split the air before a quartet of explosions hammered each side of the complex in a line. At the front, the legion of militiamen were torn to shreds, their light vehicles exploding as the heavy artillery ripped them apart, leaving little to nothing after the creeping barrage tore through. The Revenant were a little better dug in at the edges, but they and the mercenaries still took heavy casualties. For them, the loss of tanks and valuable trained soldiers were hard-felt. Still, those in the complex itself pushed forward, knowing that heading back towards the treeline was sheer death at this point. It was either finish the 115th or pull back into a deadly barrage.

[New Edom]

I will love thee, O LORD, my strength

The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer;
my God, my strength, in whom I will trust;
My buckler, and the horn of my satisfaction, and my high tower.

--Psalm 18

In Transit

18 naval vessels set out from Harbourtown, Fineberg, Sterry, and San Marco, coordinating south of the island of Peregrino and forming under Vice-Admiral Prince Elijah Shalmaneser to head for Azurvalai. They consist of a single carrier, two cruisers, four destroyers, six frigates, one landing helicopter deck ship, two amphibious assault ships, one prepositioning ship, and one replenishment ship. They are also carrying division and corps staff. Other vessels are being transported from Ceti, the Shrailleeni Empire, from other parts of Acheron and Belisaria where they will coordinate at Azurvalai itself.

The Admiral, stoic and calm, drinks mint tea and listens to cantors singing his favourite psalm as he stands on the observation deck of the carrier Anacona. Far below him other souls are helplessly dependent upon him and his fleet until they reach their destination...

NENS Reme, a Kaztlan Class LHD, was traveling south in the first of the New Edomite convoys heading for Azurvalai. Within, half of the 14th Hussars were in transit along with members of the command staff.

The 14th Hussars had done a lot of transport by plane, rail and ship, and so many of them were used to sleeping in transit. It was a lot easier to just make use of carrier planes which had been constructed with interiors not for paras but for infantry. (if need be there was a parachuting capacity via the ramps). This was their third time going by ship.

A soldier reclining in his seat had his eyes closed but was totally awake. All about him, like the murmuring of caged fowl or breeze in the bushes, he heard the murmurs of men and women talking or dozing fitfully.

"I can’t go, I won’t go,” someone softly said out of a dream, and the soldier opened his eyes and gazed slowly about the hold, his vision becoming lost in the dim light around him, the troopers heads, mostly brown haired from light to dark, raven, here and there a flash of blonde or red, most in the damp warmth shucked to underwear or nudity, heads tossing here and there or moving now and then this way and that as though in conversation.

In a wardroom shared by officers of the Engineering Division, three Hussar officers, Captain Pogue of the Recon Troop, 2nd Lieutenant Adah Weber (the Colonel’s younger sister, commanding First Platoon, B Troop) and Lieutenant Joshua “Ratty” Menahem who commanded the de-mining engineer platoon attached to the Mounted Infantry Squadron had started a game of seven card stud with a couple of intelligence officers from headquarters troop. The Corps and Division staffs were divided between the four ships and they were a bunch of snobs anyway.

"I had to deal with some stuck up bitch on the General's staff called Wendt," Captain Fabian, the Senior Intelligence Officer, had complained during a smoke break earlier, "Over making sure we don't break up the squadrons during transit, said 'we'd be dealt with in order of priority'. A real Anglo-German Baran!"
"I'm an Anglo-German Baran," the Colonel had said with a grin. "Eh, Colonel, you know what I mean!" she had said, rolling her eyes. "Put someone one a general's staff, they become a little tin god!"

Weber's luck had been fair from the very beginning, but after one series in which she had taken three games in a row it had become phenomenal. She was feeling very good. There was a stack of copper notes scattered sloppily and extravagantly at her little side table, and while she felt (like most decent Edomites) that gambling was a sin, It gave her a thick lustful sensation in her throat, the kind that reminded her that she was an unnatural woman to love war and gambling so.

“You know what the funny thing is,” she said, not for the first time that night, “I’m not even that great at math. My brother, the Colonel, he’s the smart one in the family.”

“Yeah you’ve only told us that for the hundredth time,” grunted Ratty Menahem, who had black ugly glasses and looked like a moron in spite of a job that required smarts and coolness. “With your damned luck, you don’t need brains, you just need to be strong enough to carry your loot.”

Weber giggled; she was fair haired like her brother, wiry bodied and boyish in her build, tough and hard, the kind of young woman who even in an olive drab under shirt and no bra as she was now barely distinguished from any young male soldier except for her soft lack of Adam’s apple; even her voice was a rough husky contralto.

Captain Pogue said, “Let’s make this pile worth having.” He had an easy way with his officers. Weber wasn’t her brother’s pet; she was a good soldier if no genius; she was brave and dependable. Ratty was smarter than he looked, and he was one of the best rat trainers. Because they really did use rats—pouched Haranese rats that had been trained to find mines. Light and small and intelligent, they were tameable and for rewards of food they would sniff out all the mines in a given area.

Pogue felt a bit guilty though about gambling; his uncle had virtually raised him and was a priest, and he was an innocent in spite of everything about the life his nephew led. Part of him was glad that he was losing, and he felt that if his next had sucked and he lost any more that would be it.

But he had never really felt the same after that artillery ambush when they were evacuating Free Congress from Fineberg during the last Civil War, the 2nd Civil War. He was haunted by the fact only pure luck had gotten him and two other M28s out. It would be better once they were on the ground, but it was a torment for him to sleep otherwise. “Come let’s deal,” he said irritably to hide the temptation to dwell on it.

A spade.

He drew a heart on the next card. That gave him four hearts and there would be two more chances to pull the fifth heart. His anxiety eased and then was translated to a vital interest in the game. He looked about him. One of the intel guys, Joppa, was folding his hand even before the round of betting started, and Ratty was showing a pair of tens. Ratty bet two coppers, and Pogue decided that he had the third ten. If Rattys hand didn't improve, and Poguewas certain it wouldn't, then Ratty would be playing right into his flush.

Weber giggled a little (that giggle annoyed the hell out of Pogue sometimes) and fumbled for her money. As she dropped it down she said, "This is going to be a nice fat pile.”

Pogue fingered his few remaining bills and told himself this was the last opportunity to come back. "Raise you two," he muttered, and then felt a kind of panic. Weber was showing three spades. Why hadn't he noticed it before? His luck!

The bet, however, was only called, and Pogue relaxed. Weber didn't have the flush yet. It was at least even between them, and Weber might have no other spades in the hole; she might even be trying for something else. Pogue hoped they both wouldn't check to him on the next round. He was going to raise until his money gave out.

Ratty, was feeling another kind of excitement after the next row of cards was turned up. He played poker with a hard shrewd appreciation of the odds against drawing a particular card, and an effective knowledge of the people against whom he played. But it was the margin of chance which existed in poker that made the game meaningful to him. He entered everything with as much skill and preparation as he could bring to it, but he knew that things finally would hang also on his luck. Pogue had drawn another heart, and Ratty figured him for a flush. Weber's three spades had not been helped by the diamond he had drawn, but Ratty guessed that he had his flush already and was playing quietly. It had always struck Ratty how Weber was cunning under her veil of being an airheaded junior officer. He liked figuring things like this out--everything other than being a combat engineer in action always seemed like it was in slow motion to him, playable, even if it meant losing money he found an abstract pleasure in consequences that didn't really mean someone or something getting blown to pieces.

"Bet two coppers," Ratty said, adjusting his ugly glasses up his nose.

Weber threw two into the pile, and then Pogue jumped her. "Raise you two."

Ratty winked. "And raise you two."

But Weber rolled in with spades, and Pogue swore foully, obscenely.

“Sorry Captain,” she said, blinking.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, it’s just a damn game” He wished he didn’t see his uncle’s face thugh, serene, turning pages at the lectern, reading from the Psalms...

He swallowed some water and grimaced to clean the dry taste from his mouth that the tension over the game had brought on, watching the two intel guys cursing, getting up and said, leaning back, “Gambling’s a sin.” He made it sound like a joke but he realized he must have sounded too serious, because Weber stopped even counting her money. He made himself smile. “By tomorrow we’ll be on the ground, this will be one of our fondest memories probably. Enjoy it well. Get some rest.”

Like he should talk…

---

Few of the staterooms had private bathing facilities. In one of them, Lieutenant-Colonel Sara Wendt stood naked in the shower, cleaning her commanding general’s hairy, thickset, tall muscled body. Sponging around his heavy de-tumescent masculinity, stroking the soap into the crease between the rear cheeks, sponging his thick hairy chest and belly. Lieutenant-General Solomon Barak was certainly getting his deal’s worth—it was like a Binding Duel, where Baran and Haranese countryfolk would sometimes have a duel where opponents each bound one wrist to another in a foot long piece of rope or scarves while they fought with knives. While she felt sore and tender in the lower parts, the water soothed it. Part of her deal was pleasuring him. These days, she never hesitated. There was no end to the uses he found for her body, and she never fought him. There was no place on his body her lips and tongue were not familiar with. It had been difficult to adjust to his size and his now regular demands, but she had become very creative about it.

“You are such a lascivious creature,” he said with a sigh. “But you cool my passion wonderfully, with your constant teasing and endless well of lust.” Sara grimaced; this was his long time fantasy, ever since she had become his aide and later his Operations Commander he had imagined that her attractiveness was aimed solely at provoking him at first to acts of harassment, later to an agreement between them where by mutual blackmail she gave him what he wanted, he gave her what she wanted.

He could say this all he wanted—it was worth it that General Adams had praised her staff work before they embarked. “I wish I had even one like you on my staff, Colonel Wendt,” he told her. “Barak had better be careful I don’t promote you higher than he can command.”

“Anything the service requires I can do, sir,” she had said. And they had had a conversation—about her taking operational command of reinforcing the McNernians at Terpsichore in Damoclea, her being in charge of security in the Test Election.

“Do you have your jump wings?” he asked her gravely. Her throat tightened with excitement, her gut fluttered.

“Yes, I do,” she had answered. “But haven’t really put them to use.”

“Maybe this mission. There’s something in the wind, can’t tell you what yet, but be ready,” he had said with a friendly nod.

But the best satisfaction was seeing senior officers who had formerly just seen her as a ‘general’s poodle’ now seeking her out in the companionways of the ship, begging her to intercede with the general, asking her favours. “I’ll see what I can do,” were words as powerful as those written over the tabernacle of the Ark of the Covenant. Dealing with short sighted line officers who didn't see the big picture; whatever they really thought, they had to humble themselves now...

[The Shrailleeni Empire]

In Transit

Near the back of the fleet grouping being assembled south of Azurlavai was the S.I.S. Kelmet, one of several vessels joining the combined CPO mission from the Shrailleeni Empire. Several Imperial warships were now in the area as well, two destroyers and four frigates, but the warships were operating independently of this mission. For the CPO the Empire had sent a handful of its massive supply and refrigerator ships to help cut down the cost of the expedition, as well as the Kelmet. The Kelmet was a repurposed supply freighter, huge, clunky, and responsible for carrying the women and men of the 1st Kurungarran Black Wing Sub-Battlegroup.

Conditions on the ship were a far cry from the "luxury" that a standard naval vessel could afford. There was little to do, cramped quarters, and a barely acceptable hygienic standard. Crammed onboard were the 1st and 2nd Kurungarran Mechanized Commands, the 1st Aerial Command, the 1st Engineer, the 1st Battle Medics, and the 1st Logistical. Being so newly formed, these units had been cut and pasted at the leisure of the top Shrailleeni commanders, artillery and transport molded into each in a manner that worked but which pleased few.

Despite all of this, there was an air of positivity aboard the vessel which had nothing to do with situation that all of them were heading into. This was the first time in the history of Shrailleeni Kurungarra than an all-Kurungarran force was to be deployed overseas. These women and men were untested, newly minted, and filled with an energy which was drawn from the magical combination of inexperience and ideology. Only their Battle Leader, Varus Tillta, and the Commanders of their individual Commands had seen real combat before.

BL Varus Tillta was focussed on memorizing the reports in front of him, ignoring the ponderous rolling of the vessel as they neared their destination. Not only did he have the standard maps and briefings of the CPO mission, but also the more personalized reports of the Shrailleen volunteer leaders already operating inside of the country. He was looking over a particularly interesting report regarding the re-emergence of religion in the nation. It was fascinating to him, not only the native Azzie religions but also that belief in the Mother Goddess seemed to be taking hold there. He was an intensely focussed individual, a man didn't rise to the rank of Battle Leader without being driven, and he absorbed all of the information in front of him like a sponge. He had served in New Edom and Bratoslovoukia, and he took nothing for granted.

It was only after reading for several minutes that he realized something was different on the ship. Stuffed in the cargo hold with the rest of his unit, he realized that the air was filled with the sound of excited voices and rhythmic drumbeats. He paused, listening, and smiled slightly to himself as he placed what was going on. It was a Kurugarran war song, being sung by hundreds of voices in an enclosed space. The effect was reverberating, hypnotic. He knew Kurungo, having studied it fervently after being stationed in the High Queendom during the war games. This was a song about a young man who was lost in the forest, but befriended a lion who helped him and showed him the way home.

His people had a similar song, he reflected while nodding along. Although most Shrailleeni didn't sing to prepare themselves for battle. He hoped that it wouldn't come to battle, of course, but he was a soldier. War was never very far behind.

[Vyrsar]

10,000' Above Sea Level over Radik State
Taktische Luftwaffe Jagdgruppe 66
2-Geschwader

"Hawkeye to Raptor One."

"Shoot, Hawkeye."

"We need you to have two aircraft adjust course to bearing two-two-zero on overlay and move to intercept speed. Lower altitude to seven-thousand feet."

"Hawkeye, that course will take us right near a civilian airport and within range of Lowell City airspace."

"Acknowledged, Raptor One, but we have an engaged E-war aircraft that picked up some hostiles. Currently damaged by radar missile. They need fighter cover. No arguments. This is coming straight from command."

"Understood. Adjustments made."

"Happy hunting, Raptor One. Hawkeye out."

Colonel Erik Schäfer glanced around at the other aircraft in the squadron flying beside him. He quickly made up his mind about who he was sending.

"Ehrenberg, Vogt, you heard the orders."

"Jawohl."

"Jawohl."

The two Su-50 fighters rolled left, slipping away from the formation and towards the directed course. The sleek aircraft were both carrying 7 missiles each- four IS-10x short-range infrared homing missiles and three SAR-121 BVRAAMs. Vogt chuckled, his voice emanating out over the comms.

“What?”

“Happy hunting.”

-

8,600' Above Sea Level over Radik State
Bredsverd-4
Mission out of Kråkereir Airbase

The Fe-14 Slegge II was a very adaptable craft. Meant for quick reaction and modularity, it could respond to a number of missions in a very short amount of time, and the VTOL thrusters meant it could use short airfields and even helipads to launch out of. While the UCA preferred to use these craft as strike fighters and defense-oriented support, they had become the Revenant’s first response aircraft for anything that couldn’t be hit by a helicopter. Precision bombings, missile strikes, anti-air, whatever needed.

This pair, known as Bredsverd-4, had been on mission to try and draw out the UCA’s fighter craft. While the Commies had far more pilots and craft, the Revenant’s own pilots were masters in their craft, and they could compete quite handily with the far more advanced Svart Ørn that the UCA preferred.

Plus, the Revenant had a bona fide way to work against the enemy; draw them out, and fuck them over. This flyover, for example, was made to attempt to draw out some of the UCA’s valuable interceptors. Unfortunately, the local airbase had been unable to even see them coming, due to the local radar base being shot up by a passing biker gang that had been a bit too trigger happy. So, while the flyover had been witnessed, the trap went without anything to snap on.

For now, the Slegges had been ordered to turn back for home, which happened to be quite a long ways. Meaning they had little opportunity to stop for meandering. Still, something didn’t seem right…

Fortunately, the trap had been sprung after all, and the meat was delicious. A big, fat plane hit by the missile troopers who had spotted it and decided to take the shot. While the missile had detonated prematurely, it had certainly done a number, and the Vyrsarian plane would go down one way or another long before it got back to friendly lines. When a recon team on the ground had gotten a good look at the craft as it went overhead, they managed to figure out its classification. Turned out, that plane was a Vyrsarian Electronic Warfare craft in the area to presumably prepare for the coming Nordlandur invasion force. Right now, Bredsverd-4 had been tasked to tail it and, if possible, finish the wounded plane off.

“Hammer, this is Gun Fodder.”

“Go, Fod.”

“You getting a bad vibe from this chase?”

“Yeah...I don’t think they’d send this bitch out here alone. Or leave it now she’s got a limp. We getting anything on radar?”

“Ground team says this thing’s getting in the way. We’re no-go on early warning.”

“Shit. Head on a swivel, got it?”

“Something tells me we’re not gonna get much warning if we have to rely on that.”

“Look, you want to watch my ass, pull back and I’ll go for the kill.”

“You said it, not me.”

With that, Gun Fodder pulled his craft back, settling in at a further distance while Hammer moved in, both bringing up their targeting computers. While Gun Fodder set his for the missiles, Hammer toggled on the guns, preferring not to waste the valuable munitions on an already struggling target.

-

7,000' Above Sea Level over Radik State
Taktische Luftwaffe Jagdgruppe 66
2-Geschwader
Raptor Three and Four

“I don’t even understand why we have to speak in English over comms anyways.”

“Because you’re special, Vogt. The Shalumites want to be able to review the chatter too.”

Daniel Vogt scoffed, and then took a glance around his cockpi. So many buttons. That had been his first thought on his first day of training in a plane. Ever.

“Raptors Three and Four, this is Hawkeye. Two aircraft being identified by the Raven as hostile bogeys closing in on the position of the Raven. Bringing them up on your radar now. How copy?”

“Solid copy, Hawkeye. Locking them up.”

“You are cleared hot on any aircraft identified as hostile.”

Vogt checked his radar. The Su-50 was equipped with AESA. It showed the two hostile aircraft as being at 80 kilometres away. Well within range of his BVRAAMs. The Raven was 20 kilometres away from Vogt and Ehrenberg, and so 60 kilometres away from the bogeys. Remembering back to the briefing they had all recieved, he knew that the hostiles would be most likely armed with a full suite of AIM-9 missiles, with a range of only about 35 kilometres, or some of those combined with AIM-7s with a range of 50 kilometres. In either case, the Raven was out of weapons range of the bogeys, while the bogeys were well within range of Vogt’s and Ehrenberg’s weapons.

“Locked on bogey one.”

“I’ve got a lock on two.”

“Roger. Hawkeye, this is Raptor Four, we’re going hot.”

“Acknowledged Raptor Four.”

“This is Raptor Three, Feuer Drei.”

“Roger, Raptor Three is hot.”

“Raptor Four, Feuer Drei.”




Bredsverd-4

“Woah, hold up! Contacts on radar, coming in hot!”

“I see them too. Who are they?”

A high-pitched blaring suddenly split the air in both of the Slegges, and both pilots knew exactly what that meant.

“MISSILE LOCK!”

“Shit, I -knew- these assholes wouldn’t leave that plane alone!”

“Quick bragging and let’s fuck these guys! Disengage and acquire targets!”

Both fighter craft swiftly hit the brakes, Hammer twisting in a barrel roll before plunging into a tight dive while Gun Fodder preferred to go for a right reversal, bleeding altitude before slamming into an ascension, both craft coming around hard to concentrate on the new contacts coming in. Hopefully, the interference from the ground would help to break the lock, and should suddenly even the playing field between the two sides.

“What do we do, Hammer?”

“Okay, we got this. They’ve got better tech, but we might be playing against some rookies. Let’s set ‘em up, evasive until we get into missile range.”

“I don’t wanna get pessimistic, but that big duck’s still blinding us!”

“Take it down if you need to, but don’t forget which ones have the guns!”

“You gonna be alright alone?”

“Me against three Vyrsarians? Trust me, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, Hammer. Going for the kill.”

Abruptly, Gun Fodder deviated his climb, heading towards the EW craft and hitting the accelerators. He wanted to save his missiles for the fight, but the 25mm chingun should easily finish off the wounded bird. He would have to close to point-blank range, but hoped he could finish her off with just a burst before coming back to help his wingmate. As much as he trusted Hammer’s skill, three to one odds were never very good ones.

In the meantime, Hammer prepared to square off with the two Nordlandur craft coming in.

“Okay, you foreign fucks. Let’s dance.”

His Sidewinders were outmatched, he knew without even knowing their missiles, but he didn’t doubt that he could close the distance quickly. If he could get a good, solid lock, he might be able to blow away one of them and get the other two to back off a bit, buy some time for Gun Fodder to get back up again. Maybe even his Sparrows could get in, but he only had two of those.

For now, though, time to get tricky. This was an old fighter, but he knew her like his own body, and he used his low altitude to try and twist up behind the incoming threats. His missile would have a bigger target that way and they’d be forced to either play with the missile or confront him instead.

JG 66 2-Geschwader

Ehrenberg ran the quick maths in her head. Checking her airspeed, and then that of the bogeys on radar, she knew that they wouldn’t have much time before the merge. About two and a half minutes.

“We’re hitting the merge soon, Vogt.”

“Idea.”

“Shoot.”

“When we hit six kilometres, pop flares, split, and spiral to their altitude.”

“How do you know they won’t climb and fire before the merge?”

“UCA briefing. They line up their sights at the engine to get a tone. Missiles are too unreliable to get a tone head-on.”

Ehrenberg nodded to herself and gave a sound of agreement over the comms. Both she and Vogt pumped chaff, adjusting their position on the approach.

-------

“Shit, they’re splitting up! Gun Fodder, what’s the ETA on splashing that duck?”

“Just give me a few more seconds...gah, dammit, she slipped out of my sights. Hang on a sec-got it! Going for...shit, hang on!”

Abruptly, Gun Fodder’s plane broke off the chase, diving like a brick towards the hilly ground thousands of feet below.

“Fod, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Dude, that duck is gonna zoom past those fighters before I can even get a lock on her. We’ll last longer together. Look, they’re splitting up, we tag-team them one at a time.”

“Wanna join me down here against the ground noise?”

“Already on my way.”

Indeed, the second Slegge was already heading in a shallow dive towards its compatriot, intending to join Hammer down below. On their screens, thousands of feet overhead, they watched the two fighters split up, both heading in opposite directions.

“Damn, I don’t think we can wait until the merge…” Hammer muttered as he watched the readout.

“Why’s that?” asked Fodder, still in his dive.

“Look at that speed. Bet that isn’t even top. What do you want to bet they’ll try to pin us in the inside curve?”

“So?”

“So these things aren’t Svart Orns, Fod. We’re not built for tricks. So we’ve got two options...hit them before the merge or try and pull them into visual range.”

“You wanna dogfight them? Shit, if you think they’re too maneuverable already, how do you think we’ll fare going guns?”

“How many times did they tell you that you’d go guns back in the Luftforsvar? One in ten?”

“Twenty, I think.”

“And I’ll bet that stands with most flight schools around the world. Missiles are a bit overrated, you come to depend on them too much. Just stay low, see if they take the bait. Heading to thirty-five, see if we need to go lower.”

“Uh...shit, I’m still at six kay.”

“Drop, dude! Get your ass down here!”

“I dive any harder and this thing will tear apart!”

“Dammit! Fod!”

“Stop yelling at me, Hammer, I can make it!”

“Shit!”

Abruptly, Hammer’s own Slegge pulled nose up, and he literally slammed on the controls as he punched into the accelerator, twisting around as he rose higher and higher and higher.

“HAMMER! What are you doing?!”

“Get your ass down, I’ll chaff you! Just dive Fod, dive!”

-

JG 66 2-Geschwader

“Shit, Vogt, he’s climbing.”

“He’s exposed. Line up, I’ll cover and lock up the second bogey.”
Ehrenberg banked left, entering into a shallow descent. After a few seconds, she knew her nose was pointed at the bogey, and she pulled back on the stick, following what she estimated was his flight path. 20 kilometres. She selected her IS-10x IR missile, getting a tone after a few moments.

“Raptor Four, Feuer Zwei.”

She barely felt a jolt as the missile ejected from its hardpoint, the motor igniting and launching the weapon towards its target.


Bredsverd-4

“Hammer, missile incoming!”

“I see it, Fod! Don’t worry, I got this!”

“Hammer, you’re being an idiot!”

“You’re my wingman, Fod. Get your ass down to the ground, we’ll have a better chance at guns. Flares out!”

The Slegge twisted until it was head-on towards the incoming fighters. Hammer watched the incoming missile as the IR chaff flew out, hitting his brakes as he prepared to dive again. This wasn’t the first sticky situation he’d gotten into with Gun Fodder, and they’d ride it out just like they had a dozen times before. He had sixteen kill marks on his nose, after all, he could easily turn this fight around.

“Here we go, Fod! Head for the ground, let’s nail these fuc-”

Abruptly, the missile slid past the flare cloud, and Hammer’s eyes widened as he saw the slender form slice through his defenses, straight towards him. He only had a second to lament his decision, and he yelled out “FOD!” right before the missile slammed right into his fuselage, spearing the aeroframe and detonating in his munitions and fuel tank. Hammer never had a chance, torn to shreds as his plane blew into pieces in midair.

“HAMMER! STAN!”

-

JG 66 2-Geschawder

“Raptor Three to Hawkeye, Raptor Four’s kill is confirmed. Repeat, one bogey down. Second is bugging out. How Copy?”

“Solid, Raptor Three. You are ordered to withdraw back to friendly airspace immediately.”

“But-”

“Again, no arguments Raptor Three. Too much SAM risk without the Raven there. No time to stretch the fight any longer.”

“Understood, Hawkeye. Raptor Three out.”

Ehrenberg pulled her aircraft up next to Vogt’s and leveled it out. She took a deep breath. She had just scored the first air-to-air kill of the campaign. Strangely, she felt nothing at the fact that she had just killed someone. Swatted them out of the air. Like the four times before. This was her fifth kill. She was now officially an ace. She couldn’t understand why those bogeys acted the way they did. Revenant pilots were supposed to be clever. Crafty. But those two had acted like they were stuck in a ditch. It didn’t matter.

They were now in the war.


Kråkereir Luftbase
Southern Kalakuri

Tucked away high in the peaks of the mountain range separating Kalakuri and Julianica was a hidden base, a contingency plan put in place by the Republic in 1977, during their campaign to conquer Julianica in the south. While the airbase was finished only a month before the withdrawal, it had rested here in secret ever since, and was so far the hidden heart of the Revenant’s aerial campaign to whittle away at the UCA Luftforsvar. They had experience and location on their side, as well as the ability to strike where they wanted, opposed to the Commonwealth who needed to defend all the towns and posts under their command.

But as the Slegge II came in towards the open, waiting landing pad, the ground crew noticed that something was wrong. Hammer and Gun Fodder had flown ops together for ten years, and here was Løytnant Larsson coming in hot without his wingman...it didn’t happen. But the Slegge settled on the pad, its landing gear creaking as Gun Fodder cut his engines. With a rumble, the pad retracted inside the mountain where an electric cart was prepared to haul the fighter to its waiting hanger.

But Larsson stumbled out of his cockpit, his eyes wide and his face pale, ignoring the shouts of the ground crew and the questions of the other Revenant pilots. He made it into the locker room, the flight helmet tumbling out of his number fingers as he finally got to the latrine, hands gripping a sink with a death grasp as he stared at the mirror.

Kaptein Stan “Hammer” Davlin had been his friend since the beginning, right out of flight school. When the war had kicked off, they had stuck by their government to wait out this conflict. Only it never ended. Time after time they had taken off from that pad, soaring out into the sky to tangle with aircraft flying the banner of the rebel states and then, later the UCA and Shalumites. It wasn’t an easy fight, and his opponents had been skilled. But Hammer had been the better of them, reaching his ace rating first, and then slowly climbing the kill ladder. Ten years and sixteen confirmed kills later, and now he was dead.

“Why, Stan? Why the hell did you do that?” Fod asked his reflection, staring into his own eyes. “You -knew- there was no getting out of that! Shoulda left my stupid ass in that half-assed dive and taken the shot...why did you DO THAT?!” He swung a left hook up, smashing the mirror in front of him, stepping away and drawing his Kalt, planting two rounds in the wall behind it.

That was how the ground crew who rushed in found him, sidearm pointing at the ground, breath heaving, face sweaty and pale. The pilots who understood stepped forward, gently taking the handgun and patting him on the shoulder, guiding him back to the locker room, giving him the time and space he needed. He’d just lost a brother, after all.

But all that Løytnant Reuben “Gun Fodder” Larsson knew was that, though they’d been outnumbered before this, they’d -never- been outflown consistently, and certainly never outgunned. And now, here were these strangers, flying in aircraft they seemed more like UFOs and had just smashed his wingmate out of the sky without effort.

All he knew was that this war had just become so far out of his depth. And now, it had become personal.

---

Casualties
RAF Captain Stan Davlin (KIA), flying a Fe-14 Slegge II, shot down by VAF Lieutenant Colonel Veronika-Zoë Ehrenberg, flying a Su-50 using a IS-10x SRAAM at distance of 20km

VAF Colonel Lothar Boelcke and Lieutenant Colonel Sebastian Reiner (WIA), flying a EF-111, damaged by unidentified MANPAD, later scrapped over ejected airspace

Vyrsarian Air Force

Taktische Luftwaffe Jagdgruppe 66
2-Geschwader
1 Flugjagdgruppe 'Raptor'

Colonel Wilhelm Vogt [Callsign: Raptor Three]
Lieutenant Colonel Veronika-Zoë Ehrenberg [Callsign: Raptor Four]

Revenant Air Force

Bredsverd-4

Captain Stan Davlin {KIA} [Callsign: Hammer]
Lieutenant Reuben Larsson [Callsign: Gun Fodder]

[Shalum]

Onboard the Ravns

"No. No, I gave that up years ago. I'll never fall in love."

Thomas blinked at the statement, giving her a nod in acknowledgement, before glancing back down at his combat boots; an awkward silence filling the air, his hands clutching his MP61 tightly as he mulled over the answer. Why...why did that answer strike some form of nerve with him? Hell, it was something he had heard a million times before, from a number of men under his command. Out here, in the badlands of the south, there wasn't really room for love. Often, soldiers found solace in each other or the occasional local, but you rarely heard of 'love' being found, though it still happened from time to time. Even so, Thomas found his heart fluttering a bit at the statement, and not in a 'good' way like the movies talked about. Surely it wasn't heart disease. It was the, admittedly very weak, explanation that his brain could come up with on short notice.

When he finally glanced up, he looked to his left, eyeing the men and women of Bull who were trading looks with Kilo across the aisle. He found the two groups, in an odd way, amusing to observe them. At this moment, it was hard to tell the difference between Shalumite and Azurlavain, as they were wearing the same styled BDUs and were armed with the same weapons. The only noticeable difference really, were the flags and styles of names sewed into their uniforms, along with the fact that more than a couple of the Shalumites were olive skinned. That however, was where the similarities ended for the most part, though that was to be expected. While much of Shalum and Azurlavai were culturally similar, they were socially different.

Without any warning, the pilots began to chatter frantically, the helicopter jerking as missile apparently streaked up from below them. Their ride had just become a steel coffin.

Thomas' grunted loudly as his body lurched forward, the straps of his harness digging into his shoulder. Instinctively, his hand tightened around his SMG, his knuckles turning white under his combat gloves. The next moment...an explosion ripped into the Ravn, the missile striking the belly of the utility helicopter. In a split second, the air was filled was filled with deadly shrapnel, ending the lives of those who survived the explosion. By the grace of God, Thomas managed to not perish in this instant. As he looked up, some part of his consciousness telling him to check on the status of the female Kilo leader, the helicopter began to descend quickly, starting to spin the tail of the bird gone.

For 1st Lieutenant Thomas Hewbert...the world went black, the darkness consuming him.

----

In the other Ravn, the female Shalumite captain was paying attention to Haug, nodding in acknowledgement as the Mjolnir captain spoke. As he did so, she took a moment to adjust her brown hair bun, before putting her helmet back on. As she glanced over the Azzie man's shoulder, she saw her men continuing to hold something of a conversation with the Fallschirmjäger across from them. It was a start. In her experience, Shalumites and Azzies didn't-

Wolfe made a noise of surprise as the intercom blared and the helicopter shifted, the Shalumite captain knocked off her feet, slamming into Haug, effectively pinning him against against the wall as an explosion ripped into the Ravn. In a manner of moments, the majority of the Shalumites on board perished, most lucky enough to die instantly. As the helicopter shuddered, Wolfe felt pain arc up her legs before she blacked out completely.

A decent amount of time passed before she came to again. She was on her back, staring up at the wrecked ceiling of what had been a helicopter only what felt like minutes earlier. Wolfe groaned in pain, her hands shooting down to her left leg, clamping down. While she couldn't see it in her current position, a piece of shrapnel had cut up the side of her leg, though nothing was embedded thankfully. She knew enough from basic to treat it, now she only needed to find a medical kit. With a lot of effort, she sat up, her arms shaking as she did so.

"Hello?" she called out into the helo. "Is anyone alive? Anyone at all? Haug you still with me?" the disoriented captain asked, her tone not desperate, but definitely concerned.

---

[Hittanryan]

ANS Bowen
En route to Azurlavai

The Adiran contingent to the CPO Mission to Azurlavai was packed up into a series of LPDs escorted by three destroyers and a drone carrier. Once across the Tartarian they were to rendezvous with the main CPO force, which was being protected by the Roman Navy. It included mechanized infantry, aviation elements, artillery, reconnaissance, intelligence, and enough support units to keep the expeditionary force fighting.

Some of Brigadier General Welch's subordinates said she vaguely looked like their mother, with her grey hair, soft wrinkles, and commanding voice. Any supposedly "motherly" qualities ended there. Welch's mind was apparently focused solely on military affairs, except for her sketch books she took with her on each campaign. You could tell if she had called it quits for the day when her fingertips had turned black from the charcoal. It was difficult to get her to talk about anything else, in fact. The truth was that she could never give up life in the Army. Growing up in a dirt-poor town on the plains, she started officer training when the Urdnots loomed large over the Blue Mountains.

Ten years later, Welch was a major, and the first war broke out with the Imperium. As her unit participated in the push following Aldrich, she was exhilarated. She had purpose: defend her country and people. When she made colonel she decided to focus entirely on her career, and by the last war had made the rank of Brigadier General. She paid for it with a divorce and her two boys choosing to live with their father. Most of the time they didn't even want to see her, so military life really did work out in the end.

Her Operations Officer, Colonel Grant, apparently wasn't sure how to take a faraway peacekeeping assignment. Was it really recognition of his commanding officer's abilities or was it a dead-end mission? Naturally Welch approached the command with the same methodical precision as all of them. After a brief update on some logistics hiccup, he spoke his mind, but not before the General sat down and began sketching again.

"Permission to speak, ma'am?" The Brigadier nodded her permission, scarcely looking up from her hobby. "Why are we leaving? I didn't sign up to fight in some Belisarian boondoggle. The enemy's right over there, and when the time comes to kick his ass again, that's what we should be doing."

Welch's strokes of her charcoal paused for a couple of seconds before she continued and spoke. "Colonel, this is a simpler matter than you're making it. I've been given command of an expeditionary force consisting of ground, air, and support elements. My mission is to safeguard civilians from insurgents in Azurlavai, and I have been given the tools I need to carry this mission out."

"You seem to be making this more complicated than it has to be, Colonel. Is that how they want officers these days? They preferred me simple. I wasn't expected, and was indeed discouraged from asking "why" to every lawful order. I prefer things simple."

Meanwhile down below, a group of soldiers weren't asking why. They had orders, and that was that. C Platoon had the worst vehicle record in the company. One of their original drivers managed to get their Puma, a tracked IFV, stuck twice. The second time, the Imperials shelled it, and they got a new driver and vehicle. That's when the other one took an RPG to the treads. M-kill. After that, the Imperials got tricky and fired two RPGs at once at the same vehicle to try to get through the APS. It worked, but all it did was knock out the turret. The last incident in the war was when the vehicle's turret misfired; since the Puma's turret was unmanned, one of the crew had to actually climb out of the vehicle to check up on it. It was decided, the "C" stood for "Cursed."

In a day or two the Cursed Platoon would be back in the shit where they belonged. Where everything tended to break but by sheer force of will they pulled through anyway, with endless strings of profanity driving it home. They really did belong there though. After all, without the Cursed absorbing all the regiment's bad luck, how could they trust anyone else less experienced to roll with the punches?

In the meantime, they were beset upon by bouts of uproarious laughter. "Oh shit, no...no..." one of them said, trying to stifle himself. He was holding a series of white cards in one hand, and a black card with white text in another. He had three cards to fill in three blanks on the black card. "All right, fuck, there are some good ones:"

"Hey guys, I saw this movie, it opens on Suicidal thoughts, then there's some stuff about Growing a pair, and then it ends with...oh shit, no..." the reader said, his voice trailing off. The rest of the group egged him on. "..and it ends with The Washoe Hostage Crisis." The group burst into somewhat uncomfortable but uncontrollable laughter.

"OK OK, shut the fuck up. Hey guys, I saw this movie, it opens on A big musical number, then there's some stuff about Frolicking, and then it ends with Land mines."

"Oh, so basically the UXO public service announcements?" another asked amidst a few short laughs, a grin on her face.

The reader read the next set. "Hey guys, I saw this movie, it opens on A sea of troubles, then there's some stuff about loose lips, and then it ends with Cock." The others just sort of groaned, that set wasn't as good.

"Hey guys, I saw this movie, it opens on The gays, then there's some stuff about A hot mess, and then it ends with World peace."

"My, what a tolerant message," one of the soldiers said facetiously.

The reader held up his hand, waiting for everyone. "Hey guys, I saw this movie, it opens on Spring Break, then there's some stuff about Guys who don't call, and then it ends with A fetus." That one sent the entire group into a fit of laughter, and the reader rather triumphantly slammed those three cards down.

Yeah, if it existed, they were probably all going to hell. After all, they were Cursed anyway.

[Novitera]

San Crispiano, State of Jita, Novitera
Federation Intelligence Service, Bureau of Investigation and Enforcement


Brady Belmonte was a man of thirty three years. A career in the FIS had certainly taken its toll but he was still a comely man and reasonably fit one at that. He had never been in the military or police but still kept up with the fitness standards for a regular soldier in the Federation Armed Services. On this warm evening in San Crispiano he wore a polo, khakis and San Crispiano Patriots baseball cap. The car he was driving was nothing to be impressed about either. It was a typical sedan of any middle class Noviteran family. He had been driving around for about an hour, making stops for gas and a quick bite to eat. All of this to make sure there was no surveillance on him. That would blow a great opportunity wide open. Once satisfied nobody was following, he made his way down the brightly lit strip with its many hotel casinos. A left turn took him off it to something of a lower market shopping district. There was Brady's man, Donald Harper. Or that was at least the name he was using for his cover.

Donald quickly jumped in. Brady noted that he looked both rough and sophisticated at the same time. Don had a shaved head and light beard, average looking features and the same level of fitness that Brady had. He noted that if done just let his hair grow out, combed it and shaved his beard, he would look no different from any high brow corporate manager.

There was no need to ask if the other was followed. Brady got his training from the FIS and Donald, the BIE. Brady moved the car back onto the street and began to drive around aimlessly while still checking periodically for anybody following him.

"I have a masters in accounting from U of Cadmar you know? Wallstryn Bank offered me a job upon graduating. I could be making well over six figures by now." Donald told him.

"Yet you chose the BIE. You wanted excitement." Brady replied keeping his eyes peeled. He glanced at the mirrors and began to drive erratically for a moment to draw out any tails. It was dark so he had to follow the headlights.

"Too much excitement. They just killed Archie Raynard. Archie Raynard!" Donald replied.

"Archie was an attorney and public figure. You are a trained BIE special agent whose cover is intact. We won't get an opportunity like this again anytime soon. Especially with the position you are already in and with somebody of your caliber. This could potentially be a goldmine of intel." Brady told him.

"I've been undercover for a year. I am suppose to be out in a month. I've provided plenty of intel on their money laundering operations here. Get my old name back too. My real name. Brady, I'm 28. Instead of a girlfriend or wife, I have a fucking Guristas tattoo right on my chest and despicable friends who'd put a bullet in my head if they found what who I really worked for. Even shot up some heroine one time to prove I was down." Donald complained.

Brady pulled the car into a parking garage and moved to the top where no cars were. He pulled into a spot and shut off the engine.

"Donald. They're making you a captain and sending you to Azurlavai to work with hostile elements there. You've proved you can be trusted. Do you know how hard it would be and how long it would take to get a man inside the Jotnar, Revenant or Syndikat? This is for Novitera and more. The CPO and UC isn't going to defeat them with tanks and fighter jets. Perhaps they will for the media but these guys operate on a different plane of existence. A military victory alone won't put a stop to them. You know that." Brady told him passionately.

"What kind of support will I get?" Donald asked with a sigh.

"We'll have operatives on the ground. The Outfit is going to pour a lot of resources into this after we get the UC's approval. We should after what intel we have found so far. But none of them are going to get into a position as close as you are. So what'll it be? Are you going to be an Outfit man for your country?" Asked Brady.

"What am I looking for exactly?" Asked Donald.

Brady grinned, taking that to be a yes. Donald had been sold on the idea. His bet was right. After reading Donald's dossier, he had a hunch that an appeal to Donald's sense of duty to his country would be the button that flipped him. The man certainly was not after money after having turned down that Wallstryn Bank job.

"Insight on their operations and plans. Where are they getting the money? What accounts are sending them money from Novitera? Where are they getting their weapons? Identities and roles of key captains. Unni Yarudi. We'll train you." He answered Donald.

"I leave in a week." Donald said alarmingly.

"Then we'll have to train you fast. This is a different ball game. Not what you're used to with the BIE. How's your English?" Brady asked.

"Good enough." Donald answered in English.

"We'll meet again in two days for a mission briefing. Then again before you leave." Brady ordered sternly then put a hand on Donald's shoulder. "Welcome to the Outfit."

[Novitera]

San Crispiano, State of Jita, Novitera

FIS

Brady Belmonte: FIS Operative and Case Officer, Clandestine Service - Directorate of Operations
Donald Harper: Ex-BIE Special Agent, FIS Agent/Guristas "Captain"


In a well lit cheap hotel room, Donald was flipping through flash cards that Brady had provided. He was doing his best to memorize them all while Brady typed something on a laptop. There was no other way to study because Donald could not have a file of information on him less he be discovered. Everything had to be committed to memory. Once more Brady came over to quiz him.

He held up a picture. "Who is this?"

"Commander of CPO Forces in Azurlavai, Vice-Admiral Prince Elijah Shalmaneser, Allied States." Donald answered.

Brady flipped to the next. "Colonel Kerry Larkin. Soon to be commander of Noviteran Special Forces in Azurlavai."

"Supreme Chairman Freida Trostbeck...Council Deacon Anton Gauring...Brigadier General Welch, Adiran Armed Forces..."

It was important that he learned about notable individuals in case he hear the names in his observations. Donald was then quizzed on the states of Azurlavai and major cities. Everything was being done in English to help prep him for using the language. It was rather rushed but time was in short supply to get him ready. They went over suspected key members of the Jotnar, Syndikat, Ice Trolls and Revenant. Although Brady reminded him that these characters were just speculated to be involved though it was still wise to keep an eye out should he come across them. Everything also came with a codename which Donald had to memorize as well.

"Now, you need to learn how to say 'I am a Noviteran spy' in all languages of the CPO forces in case they capture you." Brady stated. That made Donald gulp. After going over that it was time to define the mission goals.

"Any insight you can get is good, but there's two main things we want intel on. Number one, Unni Yarudi. You'll be looking to identify any of his affiliates, what their roles are, what their relationship with him is. Any clues where he is located. A physical description of the man himself would help as well. How old, how tall, hair color, eye color, build." Brady said then paused. "Next is any intel on Operation Vraskyl. Just anything you can learn through what you observe." He stated.

"What is it exactly?" Donald asked.

"We have no idea other than it's going to be cataclysmic. Could be a terrorist plot, planned sabotage or infiltration, an assassination, or some kind of major offensive by the Revenant. Observe. Troop buildups, secret movement of armaments, mass transactions, anything you hear. Never mention the phrase 'Operation Vraskyl' to anybody but your case officer unless they make you privy to it or else your cover will be blown." Brady explained. Whatever that was the FIS was intent on getting on top of it. Donald nodded.

"Finally is the works. You're an elite BIE trained investigator. Use your instincts. Count troops, tanks, planes, artillery. We'll need to give some military intelligence to the CPO to buy some goodwill. How much money is going in? How much is going out? What is it for? From what accounts? Where are these accounts based? Ringleaders and kingpins. Who are they? What do they do? Personality? Skills? Training? Revenant weapons. Where are they coming from? Locations of arms caches, factories, supply lines...." Brady went on.

It was a lot to take in. Donald was given very broad mission parameters but there was no real time to train him in everything. Their meetings had to be brief and Donald's leave date was closing in fast. If only they had more time. Brady wished he could also drill Donald in identifying military equipment.

"You scared?" Brady asked.

"Yes motherfucker. This is not just taking down the mob. This is a war." Donald replied.

"Just keep a cool head. You've been undercover for a year already and know how this goes. Observe and do so objectively. Get to know the people you're around. Do not contact your case officer unless you have something really substantial. When you make your reports, remember to distinguish what is fact from your own speculation and emotions. Never panic but if you think your cover is compromised, get out. Surrender to the CPO, UC or try to reach your case officer and we'll bring you home." Brady encouraged him.

Donald's hands were shaking and he began tapping his foot incessantly. The man was frightened by the challenge that was laid out ahead of him. Succeed or fail, nobody would know except a few people inside the Outfit. At least they would recognize his efforts and offer him a position afterwards.

"What little record of your affiliation to the Bureau has been wiped. Your previous handlers at there have been ordered to keep their mouths shut. You're in this for the long haul now Donald and I have confidence you'll make it." Brady told him. It was important Donald go into this with courage and discipline or be exposed.

[New Edom]

The New Edomite Embassy, Lowell City, Azurvalai

"--and I said there's no more room! We're going to have to wait till the CPO is here in force--"

"We'll find the room, loaves and fishes--"

"Damn it, this is not the Gospel of Luke! We are overflowing, we have people living in the damned hallways--Mr. Ambassador, Dr. Hanno's heart is in the right place but--"

Major Kadarin shut the door and went back to his desk. The Cultural Attache put his fresh cup of mint tea on it. The staff were run off their feet; officials were getting their own tea and coffee and now everything was tight but the mint tea. More supplies were expected but it was a constant drain. Lack of proper oversight for the supply drops--they just handed them over to a Commonwealth agency and that was that, who knew where it went?

His chief concern though was being part of a web of intelligence in Belisaria that had its hub in the Late Roman Empire and spread out from there. Shalum was the next biggest, with Western Belisaria (Novitera, Jedoria, Hostillia) next in rank followed by Azurvalai. There were more secret aspects of it in Azurvalai than himself, but they were relatively new; he had the duty of managing things from the embassy.

Thus far his chief tasks were coordinating intelligence and communications between the Commonwealth and Admiral Shalmaneser's Intelligence Command led by Commander Hadoram Peleg of the National Navy. Landing zones, coordination with the Commonwealth to have to have at least landing facilities for a C-5 sized plane, they will have to have access to main roads and large flat areas we can establish as encampments and create defenses for as well as areas where refugee camps and centers can be placed. Ideally towns with existing infrastructure. What had been selected was Bidtholm, a refinery town with a large airport and roads to several other towns, Schmeidesse included.

"General Pharpar please," he said, picking up the phone, pushing a button, waiting for a response. He waited, lit a cigarette.

The rough voice of Pharpar came on over the phone. "Pharpar here."

"General, this is Major Kadarin, in Lowell City, at the embassy. Sir, we have a location for FOB Alpha, and I want to recommend that we have a couple of teams do recon around the site. All this has been very rushed--"

"You're damned right it's been rushed," said Pharpar. "But that's what we do, yes? Run it like it's war--because it is. I can do it. I can have a company from the 18th flown down there by tomorrow morning. Will that satisfy you?"

"Yes sir, thank you," said Kadarin gratefully. "That would be a huge help."

[Novitera]

TO: Lieutenant-General Sidney Harcourt, Minister of Police
FROM: Executor Eric Douglas, Department of State
SUBJECT: Request For A Meeting
ENCRYPTION: Highest


Greetings. The United Federation Government has recently procured some highly sensitive information that we have now designated as classified. It concerns the Allied States' military forces soon to be engaged in Azurlavai. This is a matter of great import. Chief Executor James Trask would like to send a delegation to meet with Allied States military and intelligence commanders that possess top level security clearance only. The purpose being for our delegates to present this information and to discuss how our two governments will proceed accordingly. As well as arrangements on how we can further cooperate and share resources in the Azurlavaian conflict to our mutual benefit. It is imperative that you accept this request. The UF would like to send;

Lorraine Hanna, Federation Intelligence Service - Director of Operations; and
Colonel Kerry Larkin, Federation Joint Special Operations Command - Senior Staff Member

The Trask Administration has deemed peace and stability in Azurlavai of paramount importance to both UF and Belisarian security. I respectfully await your response.

Regards,
Eric Douglas
Executor of State, United Federation of Novitera

[New Edom]

I will call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised
So shall I be saved from mine enemies.

Fineberg, New Edom

...Radio 3 National News. Adult literacy has risen by 16%. It is believed by the Ministry of Health that this is part of the reason why workplace related accidents have been reduced by 25% over the last three years. This and improved diet has as well as improved sewage and drainage systems has also continued to drop previously existing levels of dysentery, malaria and cholera in rural areas in the provinces. State Vermin Reduction Agency reports a dramatic reduction of rodents in urban areas which is believed to be vitally necessary in preventing disease and food contamination...*cough* Excuse me. The Ministry of Justice in cooperation with the Ministry of Health has produced a new study demonstrating that Edenism has been productive in reduction of sexual immorality and arrests for immoral sexual acts by 10% this year, an increase from 7% last year..

Sidney Harcourt sprayed the Nicotina flowers on his sill in his office, a cigarette hanging off his lip, and lifted the triangular leaves of one of the stems thoughtfully, then smiled. "There we are, my little one, enjoy." He turned the potted plant around in a semi-circle, then went back to his desk.

He read the letter again. Smacked dry lips, dragged on his cigarette, and picked up the phone. "The President."

That voice, sounding rich with life yet utterly calm, like a river that seemed smooth on the surface, fast and strong beneath. He inhaled it as though it was the richest tobacco. "I wanted to tell you about a letter I received." He related the contents of the letter.

"Let me know how the meeting goes, Sidney," the voice replied.

From: Lieutenant-General Sidney Harcourt, Minister of Police
To: Executor Eric Douglas, Department of State
Subject: Meeting
Encryption: Most Secret

---

It is hoped that this letter finds you and your nation and government well.

Your intention to have a meeting is agreeable. We will arrange for a meeting at the Palace of Justice. I will be present myself along with members of the government cleared for such discussions as the President of the Council desires.

Logistics for the meeting may be arranged directly between a senior member of my staff.

General Harcourt