Building A Dream (Maredoratica)

[Sondstead]

Palace of the Federal Diet
Asteriopol, Sondstead
12:35 EAST 9 June 2014

The assembled press had been kept waiting more than half an hour after the scheduled noon press conference. The only word that had made it out of the government was that "urgent business" was taking longer than expected to finalize. Many of the reporters nervously tapped their feet checking watches and smartphones. The sunny late spring weather could scarcely be less somber, but the mood in the press room was tense.

Finally, the Prime Minister arrived, strode towards the podium flanked by the Ministers for Commerce and Finance and the Governor of the Royal Bank, and cleared her throat.

"Ladies, gentlemen. Good afternoon. As you are I am sure aware, this morning the Questarian National Bank allowed the Pound to float as per their prior announcement last Thursday. In the lead-up to the float fears of the presently overvalued Pound rapidly depreciating prompted the markets to react swiftly; we saw the beginning stages of a currency run and a substantive effect on the stock markets in Sondstead and elsewhere. Investor confidence has been seriously hurt and there is an imminent need for stabilisation measures to mitigate the heightened risk of a sovereign default and to restore investor confidence."

"The Pollonan commerce department has already announced it's intention to purchase Pounds in an attempt to stabilise the currency's value and Morieux is considering a similar program. At this point stabilisation, while ideal, is unlikely, however there remains a chance to prevent a free-fall situation by purchasing Pounds to ensure a soft landing over a period of months. Effective immediately the Sondsteadish government will release 625 million Ecu equivalent to purchase Pounds as a pilot program, without preconditions. Contingent on action from other countries or the Maredoratic League as well as cooperation and communication on the part of Questers in the coming days, additional funds will be released as necessary."

"Due to the importance of these short-term measures the cabinet has voted unanimously in favour. I am confident that given a concerted, unified international effort a full scale crisis can be averted, and I am equally confident that the international support necessary will be forthcoming. If not the government is fully prepared to accept responsibility. I am very hopeful as well that this crisis will be a wakeup call to Questers to pursue a more sustainable and accountable economic policy."

"I will be happy to take any questions."

The room eased up a bit and quickly got to work.

"Yes?"

"Henri Lidet, La Resistance. Will further aid be contingent upon economic reforms?"

"The economic situation in Questers is vey serious, and frankly unsustainable as this experience shows. However, this is a question that we will work out with Morieux, Pollona, and any other participating states. At this point the goal is to shore up investor confidence and prevent further deterioration of the regional economic situation. In the coming days we will look seriously at any preconditions to be attached to further measures. Next question please."

"Yes, Gustav Jelínek, Pollonan Financial Daily. Will the Sondsteadish government be intervening in the bond market as well to counter the sharp rise in Questerian interest rates?"

"We are monitoring the situation carefully. It is definitely on our radar, but in the short term we are focusing on the exchange rate issue. Yes Mr. Gjorgssunr?"

"Löwis Gjorgssunr, SRR. 625 million Ecu is little in comparison to the size of the Questarian economy and is not even one percent of our foreign reserves. Will this be sufficient to reassure investors?"

"I think that foreign governments backing the Pound at all will give investors confidence that their Pounds will not be worthless overnight. In the short term it will still be difficult times but further out a floating rate will be better for business. Our challenge is to ensure their is an orderly devaluation, and if necessary and if we are supported by larger economies with more leeway to act we will release additional funds."

"The bad news is that the first if is not a big if. The good news is the second if is not a big if either.", she added, eliciting a handful of chuckles. Something to lighten the atmosphere was sorely needed.

"Iznan Goduar, Boaga Bulletin. Do you anticipate this situation having far reaching consequences? And if so, what can common people do to mitigate the negative effects?"

"I am confident that it is still likely we will prevent the worst of the potential crisis. However, it will indeed be far-reaching even if the effects are cut short and shallow. Morieux has fairly high exposure to Questers and is the world's largest consumer market, so it is highly likely no Maredoratic economy will be unaffected. The worst effects on consumers will be in Questers but in all countries people will need to tighten their belts to get through it. Times will be difficult for many people, but it will be survivable. Yes?"

"John Peabody, The Daily Star. How much profit do you estimate that Sondsteader speculators have made so far in their assault on the Pound?"

Lindkwist blinked and raised her hand to her forehead in exasperation.

"I am afraid I am not privy to that information and I don't feel the need to give you my best estimate. I would also like to remind you that investors only sold off Pounds because of the fear that the Questarian National Bank's guarantees would imminently become almost worthless. One last question please."

"Günder Radebe, North Sondsteadish Post. You mentioned the government will take responsibility if these measures fail; what would constitute a failure? Is the government prepared to call snap elections?"

"If the Pound continues to freefall that would be a failure of the stabilisation measures. As for your second question, that is rather premature. I will reiterate that the government was unanimous in approving the short-term package and that there is not an imminent possibility of a no confidence vote."

"I would like to thank you all for your time."

[Oseato]

Saint-Lô
9 juin 2014

"Despite recent events in Questaria, my government hereby requests the Bank of the Republic begin the proposed program of stabilizing the Questarian Pound-Sterling by-" before Duclerc had even made it to the second sentence of her prepared statement, the National Convention devolved into an uncontrolled roar as the assembled politicians all began shouting over each other. Every time Duclerc tried to clear her throat and resume speaking, the uproar only increased in volume. Finally, after 15 minutes of chaos, Duclerc requested the Convention be cleared of all Members of the Convention not named to the Committee of Public Safety. Members of the Republican Guard tasked with guarding the National Convention quickly moved in and began removing, by force when necessary, a vast majority of the Convention. After they were done only fifteen members of the National Convention, representing mostly the Parti Révolutionnaire and Bloc libéral démocrate, remained.

"Now that the press has been removed from the chamber, along with most of our colleagues, I don't feel it's necessary to continue my prepared statement as you all know its contents." Duclerc sighed as she lifted her papers off the podium. "The question is now what do we do about the Questarian mobilization?"

"I would, again, like to raise my objection to the proposed course of action,"Jean-Louis Chauveau, leader of the BLD, called from his seat, "We should consider a full withdrawal with Questers! Economically, politically, and militarily! For years we've been paying for Tanguay's mistakes. This is, frankly, all too much. The ill-advised actions of the Mouvement have finally cost this country dearly and I will not allow it to continue."

"Save your demagoguery for the press, Jean-Louis," Mouvement solidare leader, and one of two MS politicians on the Committee, Claude Yared said, "The fact of the matter is that the Questarian people are this country's greatest ally in our effort to contain Prekonate. My predecessor understood that and so does First Citizen Duclerc."

Duclerc tried to continue, "In any event, it is now critical that we work with the wider region to be-"

Chauveau interrupted yet again, "No, I am sorry Monqiue. I, and the rest of the Bloc, will not stand for even more engagement with Questers. I am afraid we will have to pursue a vote of no confidence should you insist on this course of action."

"So be it." Duclerc waved her hand, "I don't have time for symbolic acts while The Republic is facing what could be worst crisis since the First Intifada. The Guards will escort your colleagues out as they will no longer hold their ministerial posts. You and M. Prieur may stay as opposition party representatives until formal appointments can be made."

Chauveau merely nodded as several of his colleagues were escorted out of the chamber by the Guards. He knew it was unlikely that, even with the outrage, any vote of no confidence could succeed so long as the Mouvement Solidaire rank and file remained the main proponents of the continued alliance with Questers.

"Now," Duclerc finally could speak without being interrupted, "The economic situation is not the only issue we'll have to deal with in the coming hours and days. Ambassador Gaillard has informed the Foreign Ministry that the GSR's army has begun to mobilize and is currently patrolling the streets. The Ministry of State Security has confirmed a full mobilization of the General Social Republic, both using its assets on the ground and electronic surveillance. Maximilien, what does your ministry think the Questarians are capable of?"

Maximilien Delmas-Varenne, Minister of War, cleared his throat, "The Questarians are capable of fielding roughly six million soldiers of varying quality and training once it is fully mobilized. Our joint training has often focused on the capabilities of their 'Category-A' units which command the best equipment, but with the numbers they can field its likely that whoever Rawlinson decides to target wont be able to mount a prolonged defense even if they are able to dispatch the elite formations. In all honesty, none of neighboring states will stand a chance if Rawlinson decides to invade. Even if the Maredoratica League were involved it is unlikely that any support would arrive in time to influence the decision."

"Do you think Rawlinson will really turn to military adventurism? On the heels of the Karaman Intervention?"

"Madam First Minister, I can't speculate about Rawlinson's intentions, I can only give your their capabilities. I think even State Security would have a hard time understanding Rawlinson's decision making at the moment. However, if our attempt to stabilize the QPS fails then," Maximilien shrugged, "Rawlinson's hand might be forced. He can't afford to be seen as weak and he certainly can't be seen as bowing to international pressure if we decide to make our aid contingent upon economic reform."

Duclerc sighed again, "That's all I need to hear for now. We'll hold another meeting later tonight, I want a full briefing on the possible military scenarios we could see and what we can do to influence Questers one way or another. I want reports from our ambassadors in Sondstead, Van Luxemburg, and Pollona before I call them about this. I'm afraid we're not going to be able to stabilize the Pound on our own. Anyone have anything else?"

Chauveau cleared his throat to speak, but it was Duclerc's turn to interrupt, "Yes, M. Chauveau, I will tell the Captain of the Guards to reopen the chamber so we can get your vote over with."

[Berry]

Courtyard of the Palais Vieux, Châlons
18:00, 9 Juin 2014

Alexandre Bonnet approached the podium in between the two granite statues of the dukes of Saintonge that had once dwelled in what was now his workplace and house. As he opened a folder containing the message he was about to read, an aide brought him a glass of water to clear his throat.

The moment he stopped, the flashes began, and he finally became aware of the press surrounding him.

‘Good afternoon. As by now all newspapers have reported the Questarian government’s decision to float the Pound in order to stop the shrinkage of their foreign exchange reserve has had considerable effects on the world financial markets. By this time, the Bourse of Gênes has already closed and, as a result, we can make a full assessment of the impact today. It clearly has affected our national economy and negatively so. Today, the Berrian écu saw appreciation while firms involved in the Morivaine and Pollonan markets suffered considerably. The federal government feels vindicated that the measures taken over a decade ago to prevent this were right, we fear however that as we were almost alone in preventing investment into Questers, we must also bear the burden.

This government wants to reassure the citizenship that the government will not stand idle, in the elections in December it promised economic dynamism for the economy and it will deliver. Governing is formed by dealing with unforeseen crises that get in the way of electoral commitments. And this is one of those crises. The Ministry of Economy alongside the Federal Bank have already designed a programme to prevent excessive appreciation of our currency and to support other states’ efforts to salvage the worsening global financial situation.

From observing the financial drops in neighbouring countries as well as in those in which exchanges are yet to close, the government has decided, effective immediately, that in order to prevent large market disruption, the Bourse will not open tomorrow, neither will the other major exchanges in Berry.

The remaining batteries of measures are to be voted by the Council of Ministers and will be signed as a decree by the President. Sadly, there is no time to convene the lower chamber’s economy committee, but we will inform them of any decisions. As a result, I have summoned an extraordinary Council of Ministers meeting that will meet in less than an hour.

Thank you.’

The Minister-President retreated back into the main building of the palace, as an aide informed the press that he had no time for questions.

Council of Ministers meeting, Palais Vieux, Châlons
18:30, 9 Juin 2014

Émile Jobert, devout Catholic, PCP leader, master of intrigue and Minister of Economy sat down.

The Minister-President, Alexandre Bonnet was sat to his left, and to his right, the Minister of Finances, the austere Mdme. Repentin and close by was Mr. Castèlvèlh, who was both minister of Foreign Affairs and Commerce.

They were in the room as the storm troopers, ready to prevail over any opposition of their colleagues. They had made sure that they counted on the support of the parties, and had talked to the temporary leader of the PRS, the ex-Premier Fromantin. The Federal Bank’s President has also been consulted and the plan drafted in coordination with his institution and even the under-secretaries and junior ministers of economically-sensitive portfolios had been convinced. This meeting was more of a façade of “collective decision-making” than anything.

‘Good afternoon everyone, with such an important economic situation in our hands, it would be more appropriate for Émile to brief you in all the details, but I need to begin with an announcement, the SFRS just confirmed that the Questarian Army has called a general mobilisation, they have unconfirmed reports of a possible reshuffle in the military and fear an Army takeover’

The 15 ministers –minus Castèlvièlh and Busquin- looked at each other concerned, murmured and whispered.

‘Therefore it is imperative that we step up our measures. For the moment, Raymond and I have decided not to mobilise our own troops. We fear it could lead to incomprehensibly bad consequences if things heat up, However, we have decided to move troops to the border and have placed the Army and the Air Force in high alert. At the moment, we don’t know what Questers plans, this is not the first hostile posturing in their part, but the situation now is highly volatile-’ Castèlvièlh was interrupted by Jobert, who nodded at him, so as to tell him to let him speak.

‘Thanks Ramond, clearly the situation has worsened, but so far, the measures to be voted by this Council should be enough to counter the economic side of their decision, however we will need to increase the quantity of funds available. Furthermore, it would be expected that the interest in our long- and short-term bonds rise, especially if it appears there is a war in the making.

The measures taken, in order to alleviate the market include buying a limited amount of Questerian pounds and we will sell a part of our reserves of libras and provoz. I know buying pounds is dangerous for our own currency, but this was proposed by the Morivaine government in order to prevent the currency crisis to spread to any country holding pounds, we need to show confidence in the pound’

‘But we don’t have it’ remarked the Minister for Labour

‘No we don’t, at all, it’s worthless.’ He emphasised ‘But it is necessary to prevent a brutal depreciation of the Pound and its effects on the Morivaine écu and from there to any other market, including ours’

Jobert stopped talking and looked at the Premier.

Bonnet began ‘Émile, Ramond, thank you for your clear words; alright let’s take a vote, doe anyone oppose to the joint plan?’

Silence.

‘Abstentions?’

Silence.

‘Good then, I am sure I don’t need to remind you that you vowed to keep secret of the deliberations of the Council of Ministers, so I will personally start an inquiry if there’s any leak to the press from any minister about the Questarian Army mobilisation. If anyone asks, deny it, unless I announce it first.’

‘Édith’ said, referring to the Minister of Education and Culture, ‘please contact the major newspapers and tell them to keep quiet on Questarian mobilization, use whatever means you need, we must remain sealed, if news get out, there’ll be panic’.

The Minister nodded.

The Premier rose from his chair and left and then so did everyone else in the room.

[Questers]

Five o clock

“He is unpredictable, and out of control,” Hambard leaned back in the chair. “Have you any gin?”

“Ah, I don't think so,” Luc said, standing up, looking around a cabinet. “Brandy.”

“You know that gives me a headache.”

“I am quite sure, mon ami, that it will be a mere drop in the ocean.” Luc took two glasses and poured two very stiff drinks. “Now, tell me all about our comrade Rawlinson. What are your Defence Forces doing?”

“Don't know,” Hambard said. “None of us know. It hinges primarily on the First Manoeuvre Group. That's our main striking arm, as you know. We won't launch any offensive without it. So far Rawlinson hasn't given any orders, but it is on standby. He will likely give the order at seven o clock. Then they'll move either north or south.”

“And where do you think they will be going?” Luc sat down.

“Who knows? The likely first target is Lagunia – that would secure our petroleum supplies for a larger offensive against Berri. But the General Staff might feel their flank far too exposed in the South, and launch a direct offensive against Berri first, and deal with Lagunia later. Or Sondstead.” He drained his glass. “Say, pour me another one of those.”

Luc poured.

“And Prekonate?”

“The Pound is falling fast. The recovery packages are working, actually. The situation would even be nearly positive, except that Prekonate is selling off its huge stock of Pounds as quickly as the other countries are buying them. They're obviously not intimidated. And for good reason – they're out of our reach.”

“Do you really think they will attack?”

Hambard sighed, and Luc accepted the resignation of ignorance, and he reached for a remote, turning on a television: the GSR Economics Network was playing a news clip on repeat. A spokesman stood in front of a crowd of hushed cameramen and journalists. In the background, dusk began to set. Firstly, the GSR will continue paying foreign assistance transfers for the foreseeable future. Secondly, the Economic Measures Committee will be giving a full debriefing of future plans in the morning. We are confident the situation will be resolved. That is all. That is all.”

“Rawlinson might have just seen sense,” Luc said, folding his arms.

“Not a chance,” Hambard said, draining another glass. “You don't understand.” He stood up, taking the brandy bottle with him. “You don't understand, Luc.”

“What do you mean? What don't I understand, Harry?”

“You don't understand him. You – you don't understand us. It's crazy, we're – whatever we do, there's no way out. There's no good option. There's only the least worst option.”

“What do you mean, Harry?”

“We're damned if we do and damned if we don't. But look, Luc. Rawlinson. It's – it's being dealt with. But he's not the only maniac. He's not the only maniac with a gun in this country.” He drank from the bottle and put his hands in his head.

“Harry,” Luc said, leaning in. “What do you mean it's being dealt with?”

Hambard looked up. “I'm sorry for hanging up on you.”

Six fifty seven

He looked through the files again, out of the corner of his eye. The room was dark; in front of him, he could see the barrel of a gun. Behind that, a man in a uniform. “Time's up, Comrade Rawlinson.” General Dorman levelled the pistol. “Don't say anything. Comrade Winders, disarm Comrade Rawlinson please.”

Winders stepped forwards from the corner of the room, walked across the table, and took Rawlinson's sidearm from his holster. Rawlinson didn't even look up.

“Now, Comrade Winders, please go and lock the foyer door.”

Winders left.

“How did you get him on your side?”

“I didn't,” Dorman said, smiling. “I think he just hates you.” Rawlinson heard the foyer door click. Then he heard Dorman's gun click. Winders appeared at the doorway, but he could only see his face above Dorman's body, smiling. He was smiling. “Time's up, Comrade Rawlinson.”

There was a gunshot.

The body slumped. Blood began to trickle out onto the desk, the meeting desk of the Committee of General Security, a present from Morieux – an old table of their own thought-untouchable royal family. Winders stopped smiling.

Rawlinson opened his eyes. The first thing he did was flex his fingers and toes. Winders appeared at his side, pistol in hand. “Your sidearm, Comrade Secretary-General. Minus one cartridge.”

“Winders.”

“I shall go unlock the door.”

He watched Winders walk out of the room, looked at Dorman's body, and looked back at the doorway. He took the pistol and slowly walked out. Winders was facing the door, locking it. He raised the pistol and aimed it at the back of his head. Winders' dark brown hair was in his sights.

He lowered the pistol, walked back inside, and screwed open a bottle in the drawer. Poured a hard drink. Winders came back in.

“Comrade Secretary-General, it's seven o clock. The First Manoeuvre Group is waiting for your order.”

Rawlinson reached for the telephone. He picked it up. It rang for one second exactly. “General Inkerman. This is Control. Can you hear me? Taurus. That is all.” He hung up. “Comrade Winders: get me the red line to Madame Duclerc.”

[Van Luxemburg]

Vun Lëtzebuerger Nationalbank, Esch, 9 June

“I’ve just spoken to the Morivaine and Sondsteadish ambassadors, as well as the Ministry of Defence. Both states will be supporting the Pound.”

Nicolas Hirtz ended the last of his calls as he walked back into the meeting room at the Van Luxemburger Central Bank, where he had been for most of the afternoon. The entire meeting room was littered with half-consumed cups of coffee and tea, and leftovers from sandwiches and salads.

“May I inquire as to why the Ministry of Defense called, Nicolas? They are not involved in this situation.” Bonningstedt, the President of the Central Bank, sat at the end of the table, overlooking the rest of the various stakeholders in the meeting. He was a heavyset man with conservative preferences, both in his professional life and in his private life. His critical attitude had put off more than one of his colleagues.

“They informed me of a briefing I would have had to attend in Luxembourg – their sources indicate that the Questarian armed forces have mobilized. It is anyone’s guess what they’re thinking to achieve with that, but it will surely increase the fear of a war in Alisna. Our government will not be mobilizing, however. To de-escalate the situation, so they say.”

A long sigh passed through the room; a man buried his face in his hands. As the director of the Vun Lëtzebuergesche Bourse, the Esch Stock Exchange, he would be responsible for the trading there.

“Schäissdrek.” He remarked.

“That will cause widespread panic among investors, they’ll try to withdraw every penny they have and stuff it in their mattress. Any money they have, be it with banks, or at BESA. The stock market and banks can collapse if that news becomes public knowledge.” He continued, explaining the potential problem.

“We’re going to have to consider closing BESA for tomorrow, just to avoid everything will go down the drain. Otherwise all investors will be selling off stock like there’s no tomorrow. Literally, even.” He concluded.

The meeting room was silent for a moment, until Bonningstedt spoke up.

“This is very bad. Very bad. I may not be in a position of authority here, but I would definitely recommend closing BESA tomorrow and wait until things settle down.”

“Yes, ideally we’ll have more information that can settle the markets down, by the end of tomorrow” Hirtz said.

“Very well, I will discuss this with my staff. BESA will not open tomorrow.” The director answered.

“Very well.” Bonningstedt reshuffled in his seat, whilst lighting one of his cigars.

“Ernst, you can’t smoke in here..” A professor of Economics from the University of Esch protested. Bonningstedt briefly looked up, before continuing to light his cigar with a match that was now almost completely consumed by its own flame.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friend. Now, on to the Pound.” Bonningstedt paused as he had finally lit his cigar.

“I propose that we join the Morivaine and Sondsteadish in their purchasing programme. If developed economies tied to Questers suddenly start dropping like flies, which will happen if the Pound is not supported and Questers will have to stop importing, we’re in deeper shit than we are now. So supporting the pound seems like our best option right now.” The president of the Central Bank calmly suggested. Around the rooms, a few nodded in silent agreement.

“How much do you intend to use for this, Ernst?” The economics professor from the UvE spoke up again.

Bonningstedt pondered for a moment, staring at the wall opposite to him, where a 19th century painting of one of his many predecessors looked down on the room.

“There is sufficient foreign exchange reserve to buy some pounds. As we have discussed long and hard today, I find it difficult to give you a limit, since that of course depends on how the market responds. For the time being, I would be willing to invest the equivalent of 1 billion Florin into this project. Then we can re-evaluate our progress.” He spoke, whilst calmly shaking off the excess ashes from his cigar.

Again, a number of nods of agreement went around the room. Others mumbled in agreement.

“Very well, then that is settled. Gentlemen, the press will be waiting downstairs for an update. I think we should tell them about our intention to buy Questarian Pounds and keep BESA closed tomorrow. Ernst, can you inform your secretary that she brings in my PR woman to prepare the speech?” Nicolas Hirtz spoke, as he rose from his seat and walked to the window, next to Bonningstedt.

[Sondstead]

Palace of the Federal Diet
Asteriopol, Sondstead
12:48 EAST 9 June 2014

"I would like to thank you all for your time."

The Prime Minister left the podium, and the assembled reporters began to themselves filter out, a little reassured. A little belated, but the world was prepared to do whatever it took.

Things looked almost stable. Until Questers changed the landscape once again.

---

Windstrand, Sondstead
00:16 EAST 10 June 2014

"Good evening and welcome back, I'm Markus Märtenssünr for AUF24. Our newsroom has just received some very troubling news from foreign ministry sources which we unfortunately do not have many details on this at this time; according to our sources the embassy in Jesselton has reported martial law has been declared in Questers and an unknown number of conscripts have been mobilised since Monday morning. Uh, we don't have exact numbers but our sources estimate well over a million troops."

"We aren't aware exactly what is going on and this news has not been officially confirmed by the government but you can expect us to hear some word from the foreign ministry in the morning, or, uh, later in the morning at this point. As far as we know we are bringing you this story first in Maredoratica and we intend to follow this story throughout the night with whatever we learn. We'll keep you informed right here at AUF24 and I want to assure you that while you should be vigilant and keep up to date, there is no need to panic. If you keep a rifle at home as I know a lot of you watching out there do this isn't the time to break it out and go running off like some Méridional film hero. I'm asking you to sit tight and wait while we just try to sort out what is going on and get it out to you."

"Now with that I've said my piece on that we're going to move back home where we are still covering the tragic landslide in Banade̊l, where out of the estimated 80 missing Northwestern state authorities have sadly now confirmed they have recovered nine bodies from the rubble, but the authorities have said that they are not giving hope for survivors…"

---

Windstrand Börse – Trading Bulletin

10 June 2014 / EAST 04:32 – The Börse will remain closed and all trades frozen for the duration of the trading day of 10 June. This decision has been taken by the Board of Governors in light of recent economic and diplomatic turmoil and will allow investors time to examine the situation in more depth before trading reopens.

[Pollona]

Offices of the CBSE (Brno Stock Exchange)
Port Brno, Pollona
9 June - 16:36

Internal Audit Report For Trading Halt on June 9th

At 9:00 on Monday, June 9th the CBSE opened to the regular opening bell and resumed normal operating procedure. On Thursday and Friday of the preceding week (June 6th and June 7th), rumors circulated that the QPS, the Questerian Pound Sterling, would be lifted from it's exchange controls and allowed to freely float with all other currencies on the open market. Initial market volatility resulting from this announcement on the previous Friday appeared calmed by several announcements from the Federal Government and the larger Pollonan financial institutions. The PITA, though encountering wild trading swings on Friday June 7th, remained within the CBSE's defined "safe band," and appeared to recover a 2/3rds of its day trading losses.
A meeting of the Board of Governors was held, to discuss the situation. The board agreed that any closure of the markets on Monday would unnecessarily panic the markets in Pollona. By the time the QPS would be allowed to float against the Koruna, federal officials and leading banks would be in a position to buy a large quantity of Pound Sterling in order to prevent a contagion into the domestic market. By unanimous consent, the Board of Governors agreed that the markets should open in Pollona on Monday June 9th as scheduled.

Following the traditional opening bell on Monday June 9th:

• 9:00 - The QPS:PKR peg of 2.826:1 was formally abolished; immediately the QPS depreciated, as predicted, by over 10% to it's black market value. PITA: (+0.03%)
• 9:09 - QPS continues sliding against the Koruna, QPS loses 18% of it's value from the peg.
• 9:33 - Purchase program on the part of the Government and Clearinghouses begins, QPS:PKR starts slowly rising from its nadir price of 4.282:1 , still down 33% since opening. PITA: (-2.08%)
• 9:44 - PITA: (-1.39%)
• 9:54 - Selling-Buying volume of QPS reaches highest point in 3 years. QPS:PKR Exchange rate temporarily stabilized at 3.983:1.
• 10:30 - Volatility in currency market starts heavily and negatively affecting domestic stocks. Board enacts trading curb for 30 minutes. PITA: (-3.62%)
• 11:25 - QPS:PRK jumps upon rumors that multiple nations will commit to buying excess Pounds on the global market.
• 12:33 - Hedge Fund JCMT announces that it is divesting all of it's Questerian Bonds, setting off a panic-sell in Soverign Questerian Bonds denominated in Koruna. PITA: (-5.88%)
• 13:15 - Average Questerian Bond Yields up over 70 basis points in under 1 hour. Word leaks of Questerian Mobilization. QPS:PRK peaks at 3.387:1. Stock market continues slow slide. Trading curb enacted for another 30 minutes.
• 13:57 - Questerian Bond Yields up 160 basis points; QPS:PRK slides to 3.609:1. Emergency Meeting of the Board is called. PITA (PITA -7.61%)
• 14:05 - Board moves unanimously to call for a Trading Halt for the rest of the day. Trading Suspended.

Upon suspending the trading day the Board took into account all financial loses, the PITA lost almost 8% of it's value on June 9th, amounting in very sharp losses in the domestic market. The QPS:PRK exchange rate at 2:05PM (14:05) was calculated to be 3.704:1, representing a devaluation of over 24%. Questerian Bonds are considered highly volatile, with bonds (at least in PKR) averaging up 210 basis points from the beginning of the trading day. Loses on these bonds alone are calculated to be in the millions. The Board unanimously agreed to appoint a special investigative committee to overview trading activities on June 9th, and advise "Pound Supporters" on what to do next.

The Board recorded five divisions. After discussion the Board rejected closing the CBSE for Tuesday June 10th (15-10), but approved a shorter trading session for the day from 9:00-12:00 (18-7), following the shortened trading session the Board agreed to review trading activities for Wednesday, June 11th (21-4). The Board agreed to continue listing both Questerian Sovereign Bonds and the Pound on the CBSE (14-11), but agreed to petition the Pollonan Ratings Agencies to re-evaluate the investment grade of Questerian Bonds and their recommendation regarding the QPS (unanimous).

Hereto Agreed and Recorded on the Above Date.
Peter Kovařík - Governor of the CBSE

Holenstein Palace, Central District
Liberec, Pollona
June 10 - 12:25PM

"...I can assure the honorable Governor of Pardubický that we have taken the necessary steps, in conjunction with the major banks and financial institutions in Pollona, to uphold the integrity of our financial markets and the stability of the Koruna. I have been in personal contact with my Moravine, Sondsteadish, and Berrian counterparts over their own Pound Sterling Purchase programs, and for the most part we are presenting a united front. As I have illustrated in the evidence presented to the council today, governments across Maredoratica, including our own administration, are uniquely situated to adapt to the situation as it develops."

Patricia turned off her mic and let out a very small sigh, one that hopefully, everyone else present could not here. It was a particularly grueling hearing for her today in front of the Executive Council, for over two hours Patricia felt as though she was raked over a hot set of coals by the Civic Democrat opposition. She was disappointed that even the Liberal Unionists, the Lt. Governor's own party, gave little help to her. They continually asked a series of 'concerned' questions about the conduct of the government, which was amusing since they were on the same side and formed the majority. Perhaps, they were as nervous as she was about the packed public and press galleries lining the chamber.

"Thank you Minister Delrová," Benjamin Pavlek, the Council President started. "...I think you have sufficiently answered the Governor's question."

"Mr. President," the councilman protested. "The Minister has yet to disclose when the government first drafted this proposal. It's unfortunate that the Lt. Governor could not be present, but-"

"That's quite enough, we've heard a lot out of the opposition today" Pavlek interjected. "I would like to remind the other 16 members of this body, that the Council was only summoned yesterday, long after the government agreed on the Pound Sterling purchase program"

Patricia smiled, at least Pavlek was on her side. She then bowed before her mic again.

"Governor Pavlek is quite right, the Lt. Governor is currently in an emergency cabinet meeting. I am more than capable of answering questions, or indeed this same question multiple times." To her delight, Delrova could see that her latest swipe infuriated the councilman, who looked as though he was about to erupt in anger. Pavlek intervened, pressing the council to address a different subject, leaving Patricia with the last word.

Another round of side-chatter broke out amongst members of both the government and opposition, this time over possible domestic effects on the Pollonan economy. Once again, Patricia nervously waited for another question, slowly slumping back into her chair. Nervously twiddling her pen, she stared vacantly at the rays of sunlight dancing inside the chamber. In fact, she almost missed her cue, but thankfully the gentleman sitting next to her, Miroslav Chládek, jolted her back into consciousness. He had also testified earlier, but as a civil servant he was far less likely to be called upon.

"Yes, we have a question from the majority," Pavlek announced. "...the Councillor for Náchod, Governor Zetika..."

"Minister Delrová, what are the chances that this market correction of the Pound will spread to our domestic market"

Patricia looked at the panel around her, then to the Council, then up into the gallery, and finally back at Mr. Chládek. On this point he offered to respond for her. "I believe that Mr. Chládek is more than capable of answering the question."

"Thank you minister," he took up. "As you know governor in response to situations such as these the Commerce department undertakes rigorous analysis of the wider Pollonan economy and analyze carefully the possibilities of any contagion in the domestic market. This is of course done through a series of algorithmic projections plotted on a..."

Patricia smiled, he was giving a completely incomprehensible answer only as a civil servant could, and to her delight this went on for minutes. A bit longer and the council would be dumbfounded, and then adjourn on such a convoluted note. However, she couldn't help but perk up when he mentioned that the 'department's analysis showed some concentration of risk in certain sectors'. This was dangerous, she was unaware of this herself, why did the Department not inform her? Her worst fears came to light when Governor Zetika interjected halfway through Mr. Chládek's tangent.

"Excuse me Mr. Chládek, but you mentioned that there was a 'concentration of risk' in certain parts of the financial sector...can you elaborate?"

"Ah...um...well Governor...there are certain financial institutions which were heavily invested in Questerian Bonds and other financial instruments linked to both the Pound and certain Questerian import sectors. Naturally they are more exposed to failure if the market does not recover...It's only three or four institutions at most..."

"Three or four?" Governor Zetika frowned. "Which 'three or four' Mr. Chládek?" Her inquiry was followed by a sharp silence. Everyone in the room, from the journalists in the gallery, to the members of the council, to Patricia herself, leaned forward so they could hear his response. "Well? Just spit it out! Your tests showed 4 financial institutions are at risk, who...are...they?!?!"

"Yes ma'am..." Mr. Chládek replied, obviously defeated. Left with no choice, he proceeded as slowly as possible. "Our tests showed that one investment company and three commercial banks are at serious risk. The Investment House...uh...Janda-Marek n. Co...the 3rd largest of those institutions Pollona..."

Collective groans and gasps were heard throughout the chamber. J-M was an important go between for both international investors in Pollona, as well as for Pollonan investors abroad; naturally, they would have invested heavily in countries like Questers. It was unsurprising for sure, but critical : Saving J-M would be hard enough.

"...as for commercial institutions we discovered the most at risk were....the Bank of Olgrad, Estra Financial, and...UBS..."

Stunned silence. Patricia could only look at her colleague in shock, she almost swore in his face. She eyed the gallery: they were as speechless as she was. Suddenly a lone reporter stood up in the crowd, yelling at the top of his lungs, he asked:

"So to clarify, those are the 8th, 5th, and 2nd largest banks in the country correct?"

[Questers]

Peter Ogilvy sipped from his glass of water, waving away the offer of gin from the attendant. He, rarely, was not one for drinking – but in this situation it was incredibly critical he did not lose control of his senses. He extended a hand. “Comrade Rawlinson.”

“Comrade Ogilvy.” The hand was shaken.

“A pleasure to see you again, Comrade Secretary-General.”

“It's always a pleasure to meet the Chairman of the National Executive Committee of the Republican Front,” Rawlinson countered. His mouth smiled, but his eyes frowned. “In fact, it has been far too long since we have spoken, Comrade Ogilvy.”

“True. So, Comrade Rawlinson, if that's the case, why did you ask me to meet you today?”

“Comrade Ogilvy, there is something you ought to know. Yesterday treasonous members of the Committee attempted to take my life. They failed, obviously. The man who tried it is dead. The ringleaders have been arrested. And we will be dealing with the remainder of the Generals who I no longer trust shortly. You know, Comrade Ogilvy, the Army has been a little bit too strong in this country recently.”

Ogilvy did not move. He clocked incredibly quickly, and was taken by surprise, but did his best to show it – and apparently, he was succeeding. “I am surprised to hear you say that, Comrade Rawlinson, seeing as how you are the Commander in Chief of the Defence Forces.”

“I am also a Generalist, a Socialist, and a Republican, Comrade Ogilvy.”

“Ah.”

“So, Comrade Ogilvy; it is high time that the Directorate reigned in the Defence Forces. The removal of these upstart Generals will be a good beginning. And I propose that the Directorate should be able to elect the Committee members, from a pool of Directors.”

“And you think the Army will be fine with this.”

“They will be fine when I am appointed Chairman of the National Executive Council.”

In his mind, Ogilvy closed his eyes, and sighed. In his outward appearance, he blinked, once. “I'm sorry, Comrade Rawlinson.”

“Comrade Ogilvy, I do not think that you understand,” Rawlinson said, cocking his head. “The Defence Forces are ready to fight. And if they think that the Republican Front is playing the dove, they might have to persuade it to a more patriotic position.”

“Is that a threat, Comrade Rawlinson?”

“You don't want a war, Comrade Ogilvy. You don't want a war on your hands. Neither do I. We need to contain this situation. We need to cut the generals down to size. But the Front can't do that. Neither can the Courts. Only a military figure can do that. Look, Comrade Ogilvy, if there are people who you think are in your way, we can deal with them. The practicalities are not a problem.”

“Show me, Rawlinson. I don't trust your word. But I trust your actions. You want to help this country? Stand down the mobilisation.”

“No.” The answer was as quick as it was blunt.

“Then we're done here.”

“Then I am left with no choice. Operation Taurus is already underway. The initial preparations will end tomorrow.” Rawlinson checked his watch. “We are moving on Thursday.”

“You are mad. You are utterly mad. What do you think you stand to gain from this? What can be won?”

“We didn't choose to enter this storm. But we need to get out of it, Comrade Ogilvy. We had no other choice but to make them see the seriousness of the situation. Now that our plan has failed – there's not really any other choice to proceed. At least, not in the minds of the Committee.”

“Listen to me Rawlinson. There is a way out of this. You know that already. So if you are ready to do as you have said, and decapitate the General Staff, go and do it. And then we will talk. But Rawlinson. Remember. I am the only surviving member of the Executive Council from the revolution. If you touch me, you will be next. You are not a King and this is not a Monarchy. Remember that, Comrade.”

Wednesday mid-day

“Please, silence. Please. I'm only going to ask one more time. Remember this country is under martial law. There will be no questions here - If anyone attempts to speak over me they will be removed from the room. It won't be pleasant.”

“The room hushed, and the spokesman from the Committee of Emergency Measures for the Economy began to speak again. “We are aware that the Pound has lost a significant amount of its value. This is going to have a very negative effect on the Questarian economy, to be frank. And I would like to take this moment to inform you – publicly – that the Defence Forces issued a general mobilisation on monday. Now, I would like to explain to you why that is.”

“Our intelligence services have presented the Committee of General Security with information that strongly suggests an effort by foreign forces to sabotage the economy of the General Social Republic as a prelude to a military assault. I can not release that information to you yet, but you will receive it in due time. Fortunately, the Pound has begun to recover somewhat and is stabilising: the worst, we believe, is over.”

“We need to be frank and honest. We owe a lot of money. A lot of that money is denominated in foreign currency. We are going to pay our debts back. There's no doubt about that. Debt service payments will continue as normal. Now, I would like to outline some plans that our Government is considering. I say considering because we will only enact these plans when we are completely, definitely sure that our country is secure. And I mean completely sure.”

“In the first place, we have identified quite a large quantity of individuals – subversives – who have been holding large quantities of foreign money and have been planning, or have actually been carrying out, speculation operations against the Questarian Pound. As of last night, these individuals were brought into custody. These saboteurs will have their assets confiscated. And, as an emergency measure, we will be increasing the top level of income tax. I have to tell you that the rot has set very deeply. Some of those arrested have been high level of members of the Government and the Republican Front, who, this afternoon, were charged with treason and sabotage against the people of the GSR. We'll pursue these parasites mercilessly for their crimes against the body politic.”

“In the second place, the Government of the GSR is committed to spending cuts in order to finance our debt service payments. I have to tell you that our foreign aid budget is going to take a severe hit. Foreign aid to Badouma will cease and foreign aid payments to Karaman and Rochehaut will be severely reduced.” The spokesperson looked down – difficult to tell whether it was real, visceral shame, or merely a play - “We're sorry, comrades.”

“Domestic spending on a number of public infrastructure programmes will cease, the Atomic Energy Programme being an exception. Healthcare and education spending will be reduced. Our initial calculations tell us that we'll be on track to repay debt service payments. The exact cuts in spending will be published soon.”

“Lastly, if we can not make up the difference, the Defence Forces will see cuts in their expenditure.”

“We will get out of this crisis. Things will return to normal. Yes, we have sustained some serious damage to our economy. But we will recover. We will do everything to recover. Thank you.”

Wednesday

He blinked. The desire to scratch his nose was back again, but he fought to ignore it, knowing that in the future there would be a much greater need to resist. The whitewash walls glinted at him. It was so quiet. So peaceful. Electricity humming, that's all.

He squirmed a little against his confinement. The handcuffs, predictably, didn't budge.

The door opened.

“Good evening Comrade Tomlinson.”

The man stood there. Black trousers. White shirt. Green belt. Boots. He closed the door.

“Good evening,” Comrade Tomlinson replied. “I suppose you are here to hurt me.”

“I don't know if that's what you'd call it,” the man said, walking up to the table and putting his satchel down. He opened it; Tomlinson looked a little surprise. “What, you were expecting scalpels and knives? We're not that backwards.” A series of syringes were strapped in. He unstrapped one.

“I don't get it. You know I'm innocent.”

The man unstrapped a vial. “Innocent is in the eye of the beholder.”

“You mean the torturer.”

“We know who you are Comrade Tomlinson; we know you are a member of the Movement for a Liberal Questers. We know that you organise demonstrations on sensitive topics. We know that you took a large payment of foreign money from a Berrian intelligence operative to whom you disclosed troop movements. We know that, via a third party, you have speculated on the currency markets, without a permit.”

“Not all of those things are true.”

“Doesn't matter. You are going to say that they are.” He loaded the syringe up from the liquid in the vial.

“Why would I do that?”

“Why does it matter to you? If they're not true. You realise that you don't actually have a choice: your suicide will make everyone believe you're complicit. And we're not going to kill you.”

“How am I going to kill myself?”

“Oh,” the man said, walking over, taking off his belt and strapping it round Tomlinson's arm. “I expect you'll jump off a building, or something like that.”

“Why me?”

“It's believable, isn't it? You are a subversive, you agree with that. And, Comrade Tomlinson, you're not the only one. Or perhaps you're asking a more philosophical question. Well, I can't answer that. But you know, you don't matter. No offence. Neither do I. What matters is the survival of the Republic and the body politic. That's why I am going to stick you with this needle, and you are going to regret, very strongly, not confessing straight away.”

“Please.”

“I'm sorry.”

He didn't even scream.

[Boaga]

“Things in Between”
Festival Grounds
Baratza, Boaga

As the evening sun began to descend, the festival on the edge of Baratza was in full force. Among the orchards there were people playing music, dancing, feasting, and enjoying the merriment of the occasion.

Queen Urraka was present, as were her children, Crown Prince Eneko, Princess Ines, and Prince Erramun. The Queen and her daughter looked radiant in their dresses, while the Princes wore tunics of blue and white. They all looked similar- tall with dark brown hair and muddy eyes, fair skin and pearly white teeth. They mingled with the common people, and everyone was happy.

But not everyone was there. King Gozo III, Urraka’s husband, was nowhere to be found. Most assumed that it was because the King was plowing some pie on the edge of the festival grounds. Also missing was Prime Minister Manual Mardo, who supposedly excused himself from the festivities on account of some serious matters of state.

But then there was Izeba, the eldest daughter of the King and Queen. A serious girl she was known as by the people, who was intelligent but also implacable. She was very much like the Queen’s family, for in her part of Boaga the women act as if they are men, and the men behave as if they are women. A strange place indeed.

Izeba was where she usually was during these sorts of festivals. Along the rocky, jagged cliffs the comprised the shores of west Boaga, sat Izeba, under a old tree standing tall, like a monolith amongst the tall grass.

Izeba sat in silence as she stared out into the sea, watching the waves come in, and the slow movements of the clouds. She was wearing a dark green jerkin and a long skirt to match. She was tall and lithe, with curly brown hair and dark green eyes amongst a fair face with some dark freckles here and there.

Implacable she was, for she sat there, wondering what was beyond that Sea. She suspected that it was a world filled with beasts and men, and things in between.

Then she heard pounding of hooves against the soil. She didn't turn around to look. She knew it was someone that was looking for her. Someone that she hoped wouldn't.

“Princess, your father and the Prime Minister request your audience.” She knew the voice. It was Borlo, one of her father’s men.

“What is it, Borlo? I would rather not…”

“It is urgent, Izeba. Please come at once.”

Izeba rolled her eyes, and walked over to her horse, tied to the tree. The horse was as white as winter snow, and so too was its name. She loosened it from the tree and mounted it. She didn’t ride horses like a Lady- she rode them like a man.

She followed Borlo on horseback, through the tall grass and the strong breeze of the evening, through fields of gold with scattered trees.

Eventually, a large house came within view on the outskirts of the city. Izeba cocked her head as they approached, clearly vexed.

When they arrived, Izeba couldn’t help but notice how old the building was. Most buildings in Baratza were old, but this one especially. They tied their horses to some wooden stakes out front, and then they both approached the front door. Borlo knocked, and the door opened with a creak.

There were guards lurking about in the hallways, and it was fairly dark. They approached another door deeper inside, with guards posted on either side. Izeba suspected that it was some kind of an audience chamber- she was usually right about such things.

Borlo knocked on the door when they arrived to the audience chamber, waited for the reply to enter, then went back to his patrol as Izeba opened the door.

“Hello, Izeba, my dear” said the King, who Izeba could not see due to all the darkness. A light flared, and a candle was lit, barely revealing the Emperor and Prime Minister Mardo. “I hope I have not interfered with any plans you may have had with the festival.”

Izeba shook her head as she said, “No, I had no plans tonight. What is going on, exactly? Why is it so dark?” That was when she realized that they were meeting in one of the meeting houses that didn't have electricity in it. Splendid, she thought sarcastically.

“Well, please excuse the gloom,” he began, “but this meeting is of a sensitive nature. The nature of our trouble is darker still. Its subject is Questers, and the issues surrounding the QPS of late. I do not what the consequences of this economic crisis will be in totality, or how it will impact Alisna, and Boaga. Perhaps you could find the reason. You could close the gluttonous jaws of Questers and the JP and help bring peace to Alisna, and deliver it from hegemony. I ask this of you as your King, and also as your father.”

“…I don’t understand.”

The Prime Minister responded. “The Questarian National Bank allowed the Pound to float. That Boaga Bulletin fellow, Iznan Goduar, was in Asteriopol for the press conference, and he had this exchange with the Prime Minister of Sondstead.”

The Prime Minister slid a piece of paper over to Izeba, who quickly snatched it up to read it, but not before grabbing an oil lamp sitting on an end table nearby. She held it up close so the light would illuminate the paper she held in her other hand.

Do you anticipate this situation having far reaching consequences? And if so, what can common people do to mitigate the negative effects?"

"I am confident that it is still likely we will prevent the worst of the potential crisis. However, it will indeed be far-reaching even if the effects are cut short and shallow. Morieux has fairly high exposure to Questers and is the world's largest consumer market, so it is highly likely no Maredoratic economy will be unaffected. The worst effects on consumers will be in Questers but in all countries people will need to tighten their belts to get through it. Times will be difficult for many people, but it will be survivable. Yes?"

Before she could respond to that, her father interjected. “I have one other lesser request. Boaga has for many years now been isolated and aloof from the affairs of Maredoratica. I believe that the situation in Questers illustrates the reality that Boaga can no longer sit idly by and watch the world move forward. It is for this reason that Boaga must now seek out new potential friends and allies, that might make common cause with us. Prekonate might be a good place to start. We would have you travel there. If you can do this for me, I would be most relieved.”

Before she allowed herself to be shipped off to Prekonate, she stood her ground and responded. “Prekonate? Why Prekonate? Father, Mr. Prime Minister. Tell me.”

“Prekonate is selling off their stock of QPS. Questers relies upon intimidation to achieve its goalds. Prekonate is not intimidated, and neither is Boaga. It makes sense for us to make common cause with them, and I do not doubt that they are considering ways to take advantage of this situation in order to advance their station in the world. I say, better Prekonate then Questers and its JP lapdogs.”

Izeba sighed. "Mr. Prime Minister, father. I don’t understand what all this means. Talks of stock, investors, economic this and economic that. Who gives a shit? The only thing that matters is what is right, and pursuing justice and upholding noble virtues.”

The King smiled. “This is precisely why I want you to lead the way. The world is filled with crooks and cutthroats. Who else can represent Boaga the way it ought to be represented? I am old and less then gracious, and not nearly as intelligent as you. Both of your brothers have their virtues, yes, but both could never hold a candle to you, Izeba. You are intelligent, willful beautiful, kind and just. You are everything a father could want in a daughter. And I believe that you have what it takes to navigate through this mess and find a way to make a stronger, safer Boaga, and maybe even deliver Alisna from the clutches of Questers, Gods be willing.”

“I will do my best. That is all I can promise.”

The Prime Minister nodded in approval. “I will provide you with my official letters, demonstrating that you act upon my authority as well.”

Before she could say anything more, the King dismissed her, friendly but absolute. “Now, my daughter, rest well tonight, for tomorrow you depart for the Republic of Prekonate.”

And so it was that Princess Izeba of Boaga would finally learn to what extent Maredoratica was a world filled with beasts and men, and things in between.

[Hanalia]

PERC, Government HQ
Lei, Hanalia
12 June

"To be honest, this is the biggest sh*t pile this country has had the good fortune of being in. We simply have to get out there in order to prevent any event of this magnitude ever having the same consequences again"

He didn't even know who spoke this time but it was just the same as everything else he had been told about the crisis unfolding out of Questers. "End of the economy", "We're all doomed", "Its continuing to slide". The meeting was going on around him but Harry Foster, the Hanalian Prime Minister, was too tired to listen.

Evidently someone just directed a question at him as there was a roomful of blank stares coming his way, many from faces just as tired as his own, "Look, I'm calling it a day. Suzie?"

"Yes Prime Minister?"

"Put together a press release something along the lines of The Primary Emergency Response Committee meet again today to discuss the yada, yada, yada. They will continue to monitor the situation overnight and will meet again tomorrow" Got that?"

"Yes Prime Minister"

"Did everyone else get that? Tomorrow at 0930?"

Disapproving mutters of approval came from round the room as everyone else got up to leave but the PM sat on having already fallen asleep in his chair.

From: PERC Meeting - Prime Minister's Office
Dated: 12 June 2014
Regarding: Regional economic crisis originating in Questers with the flotation of the Questarian Pound on the monetary market

Once again the Primary Emergency Response Committee (PERC) has meet to discuss the effects recent changes the regional economy have impacted upon Hanalia. From it's outset this was likely to have long lasting implications for the Hanalian economy especially with such a fragile import/export market. The PERC will continue to monitor the situation overnight and in the coming days and it to meet again tomorrow morning.

The following is a summary of the events to date.

It has become evident that weak knowledge of international markets lead to Hanalian investors pulling out of foreign, especially Questarian, enterprises with reinvestment in Hanalian companies, heavily inflating our stock market. When it transpired that the import/export market was heavily reduced with many companies reportedly pulling out from international deals.

This caused the rapid decline in Hanalian stock as investors looked for more secure investments due to the lack of business confidence. This has caused a major setback in the government's program. It was the wish of the government to expand trade throughout the region over the coming year to stimulate growth in an already stagnating economy.

This program has been put on hold with its future uncertain in light of recent events and declining business confidence. The market remains volatile and currently appears to be both reactionary and sensitive. There is however already evidence emerging that a recession in the Hanalian economy is likely though severity and length remain uncertain.

[Questers]

Thursday, Midnight

“Leyton's Corps is in position and ready to move on our order, Comrade Marshal. They have opted to take the route Evry-Giverny. Their Corps Stores Group reports full supplies for seven days sustained fighting.”

“Thank you, Comrade Russell. That only leaves Piper's Thirty-five Corps in the North. They're waiting on their CS Group to receive their last transfer of stores. They'll have to go without those. I'm sure Piper can deal with that.” He stood up over the map and took it in its full glory. “Gentlemen, across the front we have more than a million men, four thousand tanks, fifteen thousand personnel carriers, eight thousand fighting vehicles, two thousand guns... I should have liked to have gone with the First Manoeuvre Group,” the Chief of the General Staff, Marshal Clarke-Phillips, hammered his finger on the map, “But they will catch up to us by the time we need them. If we're going to go, we're going soon. Rawlinson gave the Taurus order yesterday... the cancel time expires in five hours.” That means they'll be fueling up the aircraft for the opening strike any time now.”

“The Berrians haven't even mobilised,” Marshal Clarke-Phillips' second in command poured a glass of water. “Initial intelligence points to some movement of troops in their country, and our first-echelon scouts are reporting units in position near the border. We can't confirm strength or type, but without a mobilisation, it won't be anywhere near enough.”

“Still,” Clarke-Phillips said, musingly, “I would have liked an extra two weeks. Four days is not really enough. The stores are in place, the signals networks will perform – but we've virtually no accurate intelligence and some of the rear-area transport units are not in position. Well, we don't have a choice. It's war, gentlemen.” The briefing room was silent. “I... I never thought it would come to this,” Clarke-Phillips said, “But it appears they twisted our hand. I guess it's time to show our detractors that our theories were right. I just want you to remember – that our enemies are still people, like us. I want this last order sent out – don't break the radio frequency, deliver it manually via helicopter – to all Corps commanders. They can send it to their troops at zero hour.” He passed a paper note to an aide. “Read that out please, Comrade Lieutenant.”

The assembled generals listened.

“Soldiers of the General Social Republican Ground Forces. We have, these past years, striven for peaceful relations with our neighbours. Unfortunately, that offering has not been returned. The Ground Forces can not stand by while our country is being crippled by the market forces of the capitalist powers of Maredoratica. At five o clock this morning, we will enter the Berrian Federation with the aim of collapsing their armed forces in a broad offensive stroke. He will be absolutely helpless against our speed, our tenacity, and our unrelenting pressure. We will envelop and destroy his armed forces and position ourselves in his country as a means to securing peace and freedom at home.

Remember that thirteen years ago the Berrian people rose up against their capital masters and went on strike to secure peace between our two Republics. We enter Berry not as invaders or aggressors, but as liberators. Treat the people who you meet, civilians or captives, as friends and comrades, like you would your own people. Treat them with dignity and respect, but do not forget our mission: to secure the General Social Republic from external aggression.

We expect that casualties will be high. Many of you shall die. But you shall go down as the most honoured and glorious military force in world history. You shall die as the protectors of your country's freedom and the guarantor of the ideals on which our country is built. Go to the task ahead of you with a firm resolve and an indomitable spirit, and we shall see victory.”

The aide folded the paper up. The room of Generals stood up and clapped loudly.

“Comrade Marshal Clarke-Phillips, there is a man outside to see you.”

The marshal turned his head around. “Who?”

“He has a top level security pass.”

“Excuse me, Comrades,” Clarke-Phillips raised a weak salute and stepped out of the large tent. Around him, the forwards command base was a hive of activity. One man in a uniform stood waiting for him.

“Comrade Marshal, I am First Captain Maugham of the Tenth Directorate Political Activities Division. Would you walk with me, Comrade Marshal?”

“A First Captain invites the Chief of the General Staff to walk with him. Now, Comrade Captain, I see that this is an equalitarian country. But you shall have to state your reason first.”

“Comrade Marshal, this is a sensitive matter. I come straight from the Republican Front National Executive Committee.”

“With a top level security pass, too. Alright, Comrade Captain,” the Marshal said, falling into step. They approached the helicopter pad.

“Comrade Marshal, I am here to inform you that you have been placed under arrest. At this moment, the rest of my team is placing your Staff under arrest, as well as a number of the General Staff, presently deployed or not.” The Marshal felt for his pistol. “I wouldn't, Comrade Marshal. If you keep listening, I will tell you why. We do not want to alarm the country or cause serious divisions. That is why you must come peacefully. We are on very thin ice here. And this is not my view, either.”

“Then who's view is it, Comrade Captain?”

“That is the view of the Chairman of the Republican Front's National Executive Committee, Comrade Marshal.”

“You mean Jack Ogilvy? What does he have to do with this?”

“No, Comrade Marshal, I mean Comrade Chairman and Secretary-General Rawlinson.”

The Marshal paused. He could see into the dark interior of a waiting helicopter. Lights flashed and briefly illuminated the seats.

“Comrade Captain, you are telling me that the National Executive Committee, and so obviously, the Directorate of the Body Politic, and the Committee of General Security have ordered my arrest. And my Staff. Five hours before we are about to invade the Berrian Federation.”

“Precisely, Comrade Marshal.”

“I shall have to see your order warrant.”

The Captain presented it, and Clarke-Phillips looked it over. He passed it back.

“I suppose this means that Operation Taurus is off.”

“Comrade Rawlinson will order the Ground Forces to stand down the moment you are on-board that helicopter, Comrade Marshal.”

Clarke-Phillips looked at the young Captain. He looked him up and down, from his boots to his peaked cap. “I have a word of advice for you, Comrade First Captain Maugham. If you are taking orders directly from Rawlinson, then go to a doctors and get yourself some very powerful sleeping pills. Otherwise, you're not going to be able to sleep at night. Now, I'm going to get on this helicopter, the moment that you promise me one thing.”

“Comrade Marshal?”

“Tell me that you are not going to harm any of my Staff.”

“Of course not, Comrade Marshal,” Maugham lied, and Clarke-Phillips stepped onboard the helicopter.

[Boaga]

“Munchkins”
Airspace over Alisna

Princess Izeba of Boaga sat restlessly in her seat aboard the private jet provided to her and the Boagan diplomats by the Prime Minister. She stared out the window, and through the clouds she saw forests and hills. So this is what it would be like to be a bird, she thought. She found the thought unnerving. If men were supposed to fly, surely they would have wings.

She wore a tunic typical for a Boagan of her station, although she was not accustomed to such garb. Izeba thought that wearing a jerkin would reflect poorly upon her country to the foreigners, and her other options were a suit or a dress. She was loathe to wear a dress, and a suit seemed very unfitting. So a tunic it was.

Earlier that day, she took a good look at her home before she left it. It was a small, but pleasant house on the fringes of Baratza. She had several friends in her neighborhood that would look after it when she left, and tend to her horse in its stable. She packed a bag with clothes and personable items, and then waited for the government vehicle to come pick her up and take her to the airport downtown.

The airport was a place that Izeba spent a good portion of her life trying to avoid. The noise, the commotion, the foreigners with their strange tongues and mannerisms. What annoyed Izeba the most, though, were all the people with a stuck up air about them- people that walked around with a stick halfway up their asses. Izeba was uncomplicated. She watched the sunrise and the sunset most days, fed her horse and rode it through the countryside, and often napped in a field of flowers, with the sun caressing her skin. How many of these people enjoy the simple, honest things of life? She thought as she went to her terminal with the diplomats.

And there she was, on the plane, looking out the window. She got bored of that after a time, and looked at her fingernails. They were short and plain, but still had dirt under them. Izeba took a pick from her bag, and started methodically picking the dirt out of them with it.

That was how Inigo Asla found her, as he walked from the other side of the plane.

“Princess, you look beautiful today.” Asla said with a warm smile, as he took a seat across from her.

Just my luck, Izeba thought. Inigo Asla was one of those college boys that Izeba made the mistake of bedding one night after a party in College town, when both of them were drunk. That would have been the end of it, except that Asla was a bright young man from a good family, who rose quickly through the ranks of government service upon graduation. Izeba didn't know that Asla was coming on this trip, although it is just as likely that Asla wormed his way into it after he found out that Izeba was going. Whatever the case, there he was, attempting to make small talk.

Izeba didn’t look up at him. She just kept looking down at her nails as she picked the dirt out.

Asla was persistent. “Izeba, you there?”

She grew annoyed. “What do you think, Inigo?” She said without looking up.

“Listen. I know you don’t want to be here. I know you don’t really believe in what Boaga is trying to do. That’s ok. Just try to relax and have fun.”

Izeba sighed, and put her pick down as she raised her head, her eyes meeting Asla’s. “You don’t get it, do you? Am I the only one that gets it?”

Asla laughed. “Get what, Princess?”

“What Boaga does is irrelevant. Boaga doesn’t matter. We have no power, no influence. No leverage, no strong connections or ties. Sure, we are in the Maredoratic League, but what else? It would take us hundreds of years to be on the level of anyone in the Brezier Group, Martigues Agreement, or whoever the fuck else thinks their King shit in the world. This business with Questers, Prekonate, or whoever, is a clash of titans. And Boaga is nothing more then a munchkin. For that reason, I believe that we are wasting our time. We should be continent to hide in our little corner of the world as the rest of the world goes about its business. Its worked for a very long time, it should work for a long time still.”

Asla laughed again. “You sound like your mother when you speak like that, Izeba. Bury your head in the dirt because the rest of the world is no place for Boaga or its people. Let me ask you something. That munchkin can hide in the corner while the titans battle, but when there is only one titan left, what happens to the munchkins?”

“Don’t be daft, Inigo. There will never be just one titan. There will always be at least a few, measuring their cocks with one another.”

“That may be true, Princess, but if we stand back and do nothing, then we shall just fade away and be forgotten, until someone comes to take us out. Munchkins like Boaga can always try, can’t they? Make an effort to get involved, and impact the world, however small that impact may be. If it is good for Boaga and the rest of the world, we have an obligation to explore opportunities as they present themselves, as long as the price is small.”

“The price is very small. Nobody gives a flying rat’s ass what we do. Where we go, who we talk to, what deals we strike, what we say. Questers is going to do whatever they are going to do, without giving us a second thought or even a passing glance.”

“Good. They will never see us coming then.”

That made Izeba laugh. “Are you really that stupid, or are you just trying to be funny now?”

“You told me once that you thought I was very funny…and cute.”

I should have seen this shit coming, Izeba thought.

“Listen, Inigo. That was a while ago. I was drunk, you were drunk, some things were said and some things were done. It happened, and it is what it is. I want to keep this trip strictly professional, if you don’t mind, and with all due respect.”

Asla looked sideways and bit his lip. “Sure thing, my Princess.”

“Oh, and please stop with the ‘my Princess’ thing. Call me Izeba. I bid thee.”

“Very well…Izeba.” Asla got up and walked away.

Izeba sighed as she leaned her head against the window and looked out again. The sun made her eyes glow in the faint reflection, and her brown her shined. She wondered what it would be like to have grown up a common lady, either in Boaga or elsewhere. Royalty was a much a blessing as it was a curse. Izeba often could feel the trappings of it. Unlike many of her countrymen, she held nothing against Morieux for refusing to recognize her father as the Head of State of Boaga. Nothing wrong with being treated like you are ordinary sometimes, she thought.

And Boaga lived in a state of detachment, misunderstanding and warped perception of how the world worked. It wasn't all right vs. wrong. It was right vs. left. Politics, ideologies, clashing foreign policy agendas. Shit like that. She didn't understand all of that, or all the posturing and chest pounding. Why can’t people learn to coexist peacefully with each other? She lamented. It is mostly greed, avarice, and gluttony. The never ending quest for power, and to be at the top of the ladder, staring down at all those in the pit, and laughing at them as you hold absolute dominion over them. The thought made her sad.

There was also a part of what Inigo Asla told her that she wished she could believe. That Boaga can made a difference in the world, and be a positive force for good, and pursue justice. But Izeba did not know how that could be done.

For Boaga was one of the munchkins.

[Nova Sylva]

"Such a beautiful city," Rachel Pascal said, leaning up against her husband as they enjoyed a cup of coffee in the Cafe de Belle. Matthew Pascal graciously accepted her offer of intimacy and embraced his wife. "It certainly is, Rach. Thank your parents for the trip again for me." The two had arrived for their honeymoon not two days before, and so far the city had proven to be the romantic destination of a lifetime. Rachel's father, a prominent executive at Universal Petroleum, had hooked the new couple up with an all-expense paid two-week vacation to Châlons as a wedding gift. It was certainly a great place to be, especially with the war going on against The Black Reich back in Sylva. The two had yet to explore what a fantastic city it truly was (as the last few days had been exploring the bedsheets, not the backstreets) and though Matthew would have been fine doing this for two weeks, Rachel had insisted they go out and see the sights. "So where do you want to go?" he asked, finishing his mocha.

"The Pa-lice Vucks looks nice," she said, and Matthew laughed. "Rach, this is Berria. They speak frog. I think it's pronounced Palais Vieux."

"Okay, Mr. Renaissance Man," she joked, laughing. "Let's go."

He waved down the waiter who brought him a check. When Matthew saw the bill, he eyes widened. "Forty ecu? For two cups?"

The waiter's Anglo was broken at  best, and was relieved to hear the Matthew spoke his native language. "Financial troubles," he explained to his wife, "Something about a crash in Questers, all consumer prices have skyrocketed."

Understanding now (Sylva had been in a similar economic position after Peak Oil in 2008) he paid the bill and left a generous tip. The waiter pointed in the direction of Palais Vieux and even went so far as to draw a map on a napkin for the couple before wishing them a good day. "Such nice people," Rachel said. "It'd be a shame if something were to happen to them all."

[Maachwabia]

Maachwabia's international paper of record

Business – 19/06/2014
Analysis: What it Means For Us – Jöhännes Aarens

The past two weeks have seen dramatic upheaval in the global marketplace and the announcement of deep cuts to Questarian aid, but Alqosia has reacted slowly – in spite of aid cuts and a potentially treacherous commodities market directly affecting most Alqosian countries.

The basics; Questers gives, or rather gave, more than four billion Ecu to Alqosia annually, and Questers is, for varying reasons including an insatiable demand for foreign resources, the largest importer in Maredoratica. In Maachwabia they buy beef, fish, grapes, and large quantities of minerals and spent 32 million Ecu on aid last year. They have rapidly become our second largest aid donor and are our fastest growing export market.

But now there are cracks in the armor at best. Questers is spiraling out of control. The rapid depreciation of the Questarian Pound is already beginning to squeeze our exports and last Wednesday Questers announced it would cease all foreign aid to Maachwabia and several other Alqosian countries including even it's staunchest continental ally, Badouma.

And given Maachwabia-Questers ties are still young, that's the good news. Rochehaut, one of our most important partners both economically and diplomatically also saw sharp cuts to Questarian aid. Sondstead is also being hit by Questarian capriciousness. Morieux is heavily invested in Questers and if Morieux goes, so will Berry, Ruccola, Santheres, and Van Luxemburg. Growth in Kampala is anemic already due to western sanctions, and any disruption in Kampala will be felt here.

And of course, not only do commodities prices tend to go down in a recession, but diamonds are going to be one of the first things taken out of the budget. Our fast-growing tourist industry will be next on the list. And economic troubles in wealthy countries will hit remittances from Maachwabians abroad. It's time to start paying attention.

---

Afrikaans | English | Français

[Oseato]

BLD QUITS GOVERNMENT!
Citing disagreements over economic policy, the BLD has left government. No Confidence vote set for Monday.

Saint-Lô - Following a strained meeting of the Committee of Public Safety, Jean-Louis Chauveau, BLD MC for Crécy, announced that the coalition government between the PR and BLD has officially come to an end. In the short press conference, Chauveau denounced the Pound-Purchasing program that was announced by the the Committee for Economic Security and the Bank of the Republic, calling the venture a "needless foreign entanglement" that "only serves to undermine our leadership potential in the Jesselton Pact and outside it."The spokesman for the Committee for Economic Security, Olivier de Iberville (PR, Oron), dismissed Chauvaeu's statements as "completely outdated" and "blindly ideological." He went on to state the the moves taken by the Duclerc government are entirely aimed at stabilizing the world's economic situation, thus preserving confidence in Morieux's image abroad.

The Bloc libéral démocrate has always been a strong opponent of the Jesselton Pact and the General Social Republic of Questers, going as far as to walk out of the National Convention's vote to ratify the Jesselton Treaty in early 2009. M. Chauveau also called for a national referendum on the treaty in 2009 following the electoral victory of Monique Duclerc and the inclusion of the BLD into the government, thought his calls went unheeded. A snap poll of the time suggests that, had the referendum gone ahead, the treaty may have faced considerable opposition, particularly in the more liberal regions of northern Moreiux. Today, polling suggests that most people support the current administration and its choices, though the number supporting a continuing alliance with the Questarian government is only at fifty-nine percent, down nearly fifteen percent from a year ago. M. Chauveau stated that the BLD will continue to oppose the bailout program regardless of the outcome of the no-confidence vote on Monday.

Chauveau announces split with government.

Monday's no-confidence vote marks the first electoral challenge for the the Duclerc administration since it came to power following the 2009 elections. While a general election is currently scheduled for next May, if Duclerc administration loses the vote on Monday early elections will need to be held. Many political analysts believe that the Parti Révolutionnaire runs a risk of having its more conservative members defecting to the BLD during the upcoming vote. With the exit of the BLD, the PR only has a lead of eleven seats over the Mouvement solidaire-Pari communiste coalition. A vote along straight party lines, not taking into account possible defects from the PR, will see the Duclerc administration forced to call for new elections. While Mouvement solidaire leader Claude Yared has yet to publicly announce his party's intentions, Parti communiste leader Malek Zemiri has announced that his party intends to vote against the government as a unified bloc.

Languages: French | English | Arabic
© 2014 La Resistance

[Questers]

Committee of General Security

“A WHAT?”

“A general strike, Comrade Secretary-General.” The man shook as he said the words.

“They can't strike now. Bastards!” Rawlinson stood up. “Well, which syndicates?”

“Dockworkers, transport workers, power workers, general construction workers, retail workers...”

“Enough. I get the picture. Comrade Inglewood, I want the names of the ringleaders on my desk tomorrow.”

Comrade Inglewood, the civilian director of State Security, sat in his seat without a word. Somehow, the Committee of General Security wasn't the same without generals on it. No bark and no bite either.

“If they dare go on strike, we are still under martial law, we will send in the troops and clear them off the streets. Such acts of sabotage can not be tolerated. Comrade Cook, I want you to instruct the DNSI to find out who put them up to this at once. We have to have answers.”

“Comrade Secretary-General,” Ogilvy, who had traded his Chairmanship of the NEC for a seat in the CGS, said, leaning back in his seat and smoking a cigarette, “I dare say they put themselves up to it.”

Rawlinson turned around slowly. He brought his full physical weight to bear on Ogilvy, towering over him, his moustache quivering, his eyes burning. “Repeat yourself, Comrade Ogilvy.”

“In the Executive Committee we are used to saying please, Comrade Rawlinson.”

“This is not the Executive Committee. This is the Committee of General Security. You'll not make such divisive remarks in this chamber, Comrade Ogilvy,” Rawlinson said, turning back to the rest of the Committee, who were sitting, frozen, in their seats. Winders stood at the back of the room, silent, unstirred. “Now. About this supposed strike. I want the garrisons of all major cities on alert. When we've got the ringleaders, we'll snatch them up.”

“And then what, Comrade Rawlinson? Are you going to shoot them? Are you going to shoot workers on strike? Have you forgotten that this is a socialist country?”

Rawlinson almost jumped out of his seat. “You,” he said, “Are treading,” his moustache wobbling again, “On very very thin ice, Comrade Ogilvy. I have warned you once that I will not allow you to sew division in the Committee. I will not warn you again.”

“Then what are you going to do, Comrade? Are you going to set your Tenth Directorate dogs on me? What do you think is going to happen if I disappear? You think nobody is going to do, or say, anything? Have you forgotten who I am, Comrade Rawlinson?” Ogilvy stood up. “Have you forgotten who was there next to Richard when we signed the abolition? Have you forgotten who was standing next to him when he proclaimed the Republic? This is a Democracy-”

“Get out!” Rawlinson said, his fists clenched, his face puffing up a colour of republican scarlet. “Get out, now! All of you. This Committee meeting is over. Get out of my sight.”

The last man left and Rawlinson sat on the table, his fists trembling. He looked at Winders, and Winders looked back at him. “I want him dead,” Rawlinson said.

“Are you sure that is a good idea, Comrade?”

There was a smash as Rawlinson threw a jug across the room. “I want him dead,” he screamed. “Use the Tenth Directorate boys, maximum force. Dead, you hear me? I want a bullet in Comrade Ogilvy's skull.” He gritted his teeth. “Make it happen, Comrade Winders.”

---

Maugham pulled the balaclava over his head, checking the headset radio was still working properly. It was. He could see in the darkness of the van the rest of his team preparing their gear, and when he slipped the night vision goggles over his head, they lit up in wondrous green. One by one, they each gave him a thumbs up. He clicked the headset radio.

“Two, one here. Radio check, over.”

“Two, in position.”

He nodded to the man next to the door, and the back of the van burst open, the six men leaping out and dashing to the hedgerows that guarded the houses on the left side of the street. People liked their privacy, and they erected huge hedges that blocked all view into the house. Luckily, Maugham thought, they also blocked all view out. The team stacked up, crouching low, right next to the break in the hedges where the drive was. Somewhere behind the detached house, the second team was getting into position.

Maugham gave the signal. The point man, dressed all in black, stepped out and into the drive, keeping low by the lavender bushes. Then the rest of the team went in, keeping their movement to a snails pace as they moved down the drive.

There was a series of clunks, just quiet enough to be recognised. Not close, but not far. A noise suppressor, Maugham thought. Then it all happened so fast. “Heat source,” the point man buzzed into the radio. “Left of the-”

There was a crack, and then all hell broke lose. Gunfire lit up the night and for a moment confused Maugham's night vision, and when he came back, the point man was lying in the middle of the drive in a pool of blood. Maugham began to fire, but he didn't know at what – and the firing came back, but he couldn't see from where. The rest of his team was firing, and the gunfire was deafening. Maugham somehow briefly became confused, and then a stray ricochet next to his foot brought him back to reality. “Go forwards, go forwards,” he said, rushing to a wall. Another man in his team dropped. “Two, come in,” he said, over the radio, looking around the garden.

Nothing.

The remainder of his team was strung out behind whatever cover they could hope to find, but the gunfire hadn't subsided: only become more sporadic. Automatic weapons fire. At least six shooters. “Two, come in,” he said again, on the radio. Again there was nothing. “Back out onto the street, Johnson and I will give cover,” he ordered, and his squad broke cover, dashing back onto the street. “Two, damnit, come in.” The gunfire became louder, and although he didn't hear anything over the radio, he could see – just through the hedge – and hear the roar of gunfire from the other side of the street. The two men on the road tried to return: backed against the hedge, they were helpless, and two more of his team were cut down on the road.

He didn't have time to stop and think. He just had to go. Crawling around the corner, he saw there was nobody in this corner of the garden. He had to be fast: they would be coming soon, whoever they were. He smashed the window and jumped through what appeared to be the kitchen: at that moment the radio went.

“One, this is two. I'm the only one left. They got the jump on us. They cut us down in the allotment. Where are you?”

“Can you get in through the pantry?” Maugham replied, ignoring the question.”

“Yes, I think so.”

Maugham moved to a window, and he saw a single, black clad figure jump from a break in the back garden and sprint towards the pantry – he saw the report of the shotgun and fired, but it was too late: the last commando lay dead in the grass.

There was still the mission.

Maugham scanned the house: there was nobody inside. The garden had a lot of bushes and trees, he thought. Keeping away from the windows, he quietly walked up the stairs. He had memorised the map – he went to the first door and quickly opened it, weapon raised. He made out the figure of a woman, sitting on the bed, covering herself with a pillow. He gave a fatal pause. There were three cracks that punctured the pillow from behind, and he fell to the floor.

[Lagunia]

The following is an intelligence report from the National Intelligence Diretorate in Belograd sent to Lagunian Prime Minister Mihail Josipović

The situation in Questers continues to deteriorate ever since the decision by the Directorate to float the pound according to the fluctuations of the economy. Overnight, everyone (including Lagunians) began dumping these virtually-worthless bonds, with our economy taking a hit as a result. As everyone knows, the Parliament and the Central Bank is still trying to contain the situation (with the Finance Ministry revising its figures). The Questarians however, are suffering with the situation being volatile for the first time since 2001. As a result, there is now a general strike, with troops being mobilized to crush it. It's expected that Gen. Rawlins would make a move against the strikers (and against Ogilvy, who we are to assume has already been shot to death). Once that happens, the strike could easily morph into an insurgency, and posibly a full-fledged civil war, quite like the one we see in Karaman today.

As of now, a sizable portion of the Lagunian Armed Forces (around 300,000 strong) are stationed in bases within 100 km from the Laguno-Questarian border, the rest being dispersed around Lagunia (with 170,000 strong) sent to defend our borders in the Western Andalian Highlands.¹ At the very least, it could take a week or two before the Lagunian military is mobilized to the border, and even more full-scale conscription is enacted). And even then, it would still not be enough if Questers decides to mobilize the reserves. However, a full-scale civil war in Questers could weaken and distract the Questarians from mobilizing against us. So, in order to achieve our goals in Maredoratica, we must move swiftly to ensure that Questers is weakened enough to make our moves (preferably without bloodshed)

Recommended actions:

We therefore recommend that the Prime Minister and the Cabinet make the folowing moves. . .

1) Initiate some small-scale mobilization of portions of our forces across Lagunia into the Questarian border, involving some Army and Air Force divisions in Eastern and Northern Lagunia. The mobilization should involve small units at a time, and secrecy must be maintained so as to not arouse suspicion.
2) Conduct a full-scale disinformation campaign against the Directorate to get the strikers to completely overthrow the Questarian government. If possible, get corrupt members of the Questarian Border Guards to allow consignments of Lagunian weapons to flow into the strikers, and "entice" said strikers to strike against armories to seize their weapons.
3) As of this present, we have dissidents and defectors living in Lagunia. So far, the DIN and the Border Patrol has so far kept the DNSI at bay. We should get them to form a "National Transitional Council" that would serve as a Lagunian-backed "parallel government" that could pave the way to a referendum on annexation to the Federal Republic.

Executive Palace, Belograd
20 June 2014, 14:24 Belograd Time (Central Alisna Summer Time)

"Are you sure the reports from Questers are genuine? You better have a good reason why I had to assemble part of the Cabinet and the Joint Chiefs of Staff together on such short notice." Mihail Josipović said in a rather agitated manner to DIN Director Milutin Telimerčić, as several ministers, including Defence Minister Marko Đorđević and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Ante Smiłànović, all filed in to their seats.

Telimerčić simply said, "We can't tell for sure. But the intellignce reports coming from our agents in the GSR suggests this is true."

"But are you confident we can undertake these measures? I don't want to get into an unecessary fight with those damn Questies, especially one that leaves us isolated on the world, and the last thing I want is Generalist tanks rolling through Belograd and Špalat."

Telimerčić replied, "Well, we can confidently enact the clandestine mobilization to the border. What say you about the state of the armed forces, Chairman?"

"The Eastern Army can begin preparations to mobilize within the weekend, with the 78th Motorized Division and 6th Tank Division making it to the border by the 23rd. And we can mobilize the Yotgalian and Arganaultian Militia units, pending approval from the Seimes and Sobor Ženeralitada, respectively." Smiljanović stated as he put on his glasses and pored over the troop dispositions across the country, "But we should caution you that the rest of the army wouldn't arrive by the end of the month, assuming we put out a quick mobiliztion camp. . ."

"Tovàrišt² Chairman, I hate to interrupt, but my proposal has stated it should be one OF STEALTH. We can't allow Rawlinson and the Committee from figuring out, or else they'll be prepared in response. What good will mobilizing our forces be if the Commitee smells funny business and opts for to mobilize or even, God forbid, intiate a premptive strike? No, the best way they can never know is that we do it slowly."

Chairman Smiłànović was taken aback, but simply went back to poring over his maps and info sheets. The rest of the Cabinet was just listening begrudgingly.

Finally, Prime Minister Josipović finally broke the elative silence by stating, "Chairman Smiljanović, you and your Generals prepare a mobilization table to be enacted with in the morrow. Remember, stealth must be the key, so keep mobilization discreet. As for the rest of the proposals Director Telimerčić, we would have to wait nd see before we act. Understood?"

The Director simply nodded.

"Good then. Dismissed."

As the cabinet and JCS members left, the Prime Minister walked over to his private study, which gave him a perfect view of the Belograd cityscape.

And as he looked over, he simply muttered, "God be with us."

=============================
Footnotes:
¹ - Western Andalian Highlands is the Lagunian name for the Andalak Mountains
² - "Tovàrišt" (Sondsteadish equivalent: Tovarisjh) is a Lagunian term equivalent to "Comrade", "Sir" (besides the term siňor), or "Madam" (besides the term siňora). Often used to address military leaders/soldiers by civilians. Pronounced [tɐvaːriʃt]

[Questers]

A Safehouse

Tommy Allenby put his pencil down on the table and stared at the door.“Jack? Are you alright?” The room stopped. Whereas before it was cramped with activity, men pouring over maps and documents, arguments in every corner, it was now silent. All eyes turned towards the door. “Jack, we hadn't heard anything. We thought you were dead.”

“Didn't I tell you? I'm invincible. Now, could I have a cup of tea, please?”

Four different people rushed to the tea counter. Allenby walked over towards Jack Ogilvy, shook his hand, and then embraced him. “We really thought you were gone.”

“Rawlinson did send his thugs. But we got the jump on them. Just like the old days, eh?”

“Don't say it like that. Look, it's not safe. We're organising the evacuation of vulnerable Front members. We have a place on a boat for you. It's a tanker returning to Pollona, sets off in a few hours.”

Ogilvy put his hand on Allenby's shoulder. “Thank you, Comrade.” He looked over the room. He knew almost all the people there, some of them from before the revolution. Some of them from before ninety five. He saw the look on their faces and he had seen it before. They were scared. So they were doing what scared humans do: they were running.

“But Comrades,” he said. “We are not running. We are not going anywhere. This is our Republic. We have worked for our whole lives for this, for a democratic socialism. We are going to stand our ground. I know that you are scared. I know you have families. Nobody said the road was going to be an easy one. We knew from the start we would have to be vigilant against usurpers. Comrades, courage is not the absence of fear. It's accepting fear. We've been scared before. We've hidden before, we've run before. But I made a vow that I would never do that again.”

“Jack,” Allenby said, cutting in. “You've been out for a few hours. I don't know how you got here. But Rawlinson has got troops all the over the capital. The strikers have been intimidated into silence. He controls the television and radio.”

“Then we'll do it the old fashioned way. Do we still control those printing presses?”

“Yes, Comrade Ogilvy,” a junior member in the rear shouted.

“Listen, Comrades, the people of the GSR won't give up their rights so easily. Not when they caked themselves in blood to gain them.”

“Then we just need a cataylst,” Allenby said.

“Comrades, the television,” a junior said from the back somewhere.

The room looked up at the television mounted in the corner. It was the Government news station – and it had a singular headline:

Comrade Rawlinson proclaimed as Protector-General of the Republic. All legislative, executive, and judicial functions reside within the Protector-General's office for the duration of the state of emergency. Citizens are advised to stay indoors. Martial law is still in force.

“I think you've got your catalyst, Comrade Allenby.”

[Questers]

He stood, and the rest of the chamber stood with him. It was a big chamber; tall and wide, and voices echoed in it if they were quiet enough. The wooden seats were old, maybe even older than the building itself, and the whole place lent itself an image – an atmosphere – of temporal authority. It seemed to say: I have been here for many years longer than you, and I will be here for many years after you, too. He stood, facing the seats, and the men in the seats stood, looking back at him. He turned to his left, where two men stood by him.

“Alright Rich?”

The man in the middle turned his head and smiled. “Never better, Jack.”

He looked over to the man on the left. “Dan?” He was met by a wink.

The music began to play through the speakers, the throng of men in front stood, and all began to sing. Jack felt his diaphragm bellow.

Then raise the scarlet standard high,
Within its shade we'll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitor's sneer,
We'll keep the red flag flying here.

The music came to a stop, the ballad keeping its momentum to the last. The song was over. The formalities done with. Jack put his hands behind his back and stood straight, and next to him, Richard began to talk.

“People of Questers. Citizens. Comrades. I, Richard Elliot, Chairman of the Republican Front, am here today to tell you that yesterday, I met with Stephen VI. As of midnight tonight, the second of January, two thousand and one, the Royal Family of Questers is dis-established. All houses of nobility are abolished. All titles, all legal privileges, and all inherited stations are abolished. At one minute past midnight, the first minute of the second day of January, our country will become a Republic. The General Social Republic. It will become a democracy.”

Jack looked over. Richard was not crying, but he felt a tear well up in his own eye. Not now. Today is a happy day. Today is a joyous day.

-

“Comrade Ogilvy. The rest of the Committee are here.”

“Thank you, Comrade.” Ogilvy got up and walked into the next room; around a table sat seven men. “Comrades. Where – where is everyone else?” Nobody answered. Ogilvy sat down. There was silence for a moment. “We will count their votes in favour. Comrades, I called this meeting of the National Executive Committee for a singular purpose. I mean to fight Rawlinson. I mean to overthrow him and restore our democracy. The first move is to kick him out of the Front. The second move will be to incite a nation-wide insurrection. The third move will be to release the captured Generals he placed under arrest and use them to remove him from power. And the fourth move will be to shut down the Committee of General Security.”

“How do you plan on getting those Generals out, Comrade Ogilvy?”

“We have a Front Intelligence Department for a reason. It has widely infiltrated all institutions of society. But, frankly, I do not count on the Army's loyalty. In the first place, I do not believe the troops, conscripts after all, will fire on their own people. I think they'd be more inclined to take orders from us than from Rawlinson. But we will see. We may have to bust them out by force. That will be the hard part.”

Another executive committee member: “And the strikes? Comrade Ogilvy, I believe the people are ready to go onto the streets. They've had enough. Almost every political organisation in the country will be up in arms over Rawlinson's dictatorship. But the Government still controls the media.”

“They controlled the media last time, Comrade Naylor. What we need are ideas.”

“Use the A Cells. Take the radio and television stations by force with Front paramilitaries, if necessary. The soldiers protecting them won't fire on their own people. We can go there in person and talk to them,” Naylor said. “Most of those soldiers are just scared boys anyway. We'll go there and persuade them to put their guns down. You can record a tape, Comrade Ogilvy, and we'll play it.”

“And who is going to volunteer to do that,” another Committee member questioned. “That's a big gamble.”

“I will,” Naylor said, quietly.

-

Central Signals Control, Jesselton

The night watch at the military communications station was a large room, filled with banks of computers. One of those computers began to beep. And then another. The corporal watching the monitors raised a hand. “Comrade Captain, you should listen to this transmission.” He offered his headphones to the approaching Captain, who put one to his ear.

“Put that on speaker, Corporal Jones.” He flicked a switch, and the room began to play the message. Everyone in the room paused to listen, turning around to face the Captain.

“Should we jam that signal, Comrade Captain?”

The Captain listened to the message repeat.

“Comrade Captain, should we jam the signal?”

“Wait,” he shouted. “Just wait. Where is it coming from?”

“One of the radio stations in the city. It's... here,” the Corporal said, pointing to a digital map on the screen. “Comrade Captain, I need your order. Should I jam that signal?”

The room waited for the Captain's order. He didn't get to make it – the door opened and a man in a blue uniform entered. “Jam that damn station,” he ordered.

“Who are you?” the Captain said, turning around.
“Do you see this damn uniform, Captain? Don't you know State Security when you see it? Now jam the bloody transmission.”

The room turned to look at the newcomer.

“Do you have authority to be in this room, Comrade?”

“Are you disobeying your orders, Captain? You have been ordered to jam any unauthorised signals. Why aren't you doing that?”

“Ordered by who?”

The State Security man thinned his eyes, and the Captain turned a knob, increasing the volume. The transmission continued to play over the speaker.

People of the GSR, this is Jack Ogilvy, Chairman of the National Executive Committee of the Republican Front. Today, the Republican Front has ejected Comrade Rawlinson from its ranks. Lawful authority resides with the Directorate of the Body Politic, not with the Committee for General Security and not with Comrade Rawlinson. The Protector-General is not a lawful position. It is an attempt to destroy the democratic institutions of the Republic. Citizens, your freedom is at stake. We urge every man and woman onto the streets. We urge every worker to take strike action. We urge every soldier to break ranks. Don't take orders from a tyrant. Don't give up the revolution!

“So, Comrade,” the Captain said, turning the volume down. “Tell me – who do we take orders from?”

[Questers]

“Well, they're on the streets. I don't say that lightly,” Allenby said. “It worked. The troops aren't doing much about it, either. You can't get a train in the whole country. Or a cup of tea. Or anything.”

“The workers like a good strike. That doesn't mean it's over. Rawlinson is still up there and he still thinks he has millions of soldiers under his command,” Ogilvy said. “We're playing the waiting game, I'm afraid. He's not going to resign, obviously. So the question is whether the Army will fire on its own people when he orders it.”

“They won't,” Allenby said. “They won't. It's over for our friend Rawlinson.” Ogilvy only looked at him, took a sip of tea, and looked at him again. The change on Allenby's face was rapid. “You think they will, don't you. We have to stop it – it will be a bloodbath.”

“I know,” Ogilvy said, frowning, and looking at the steaming mug.

“But – this was your idea. You almost ordered it.”

“I didn't order anything,” Ogilvy said, looking at him again. “But it was my idea. And I did know it would happen. It had to happen,” he said. “Someone has to be the martyr.”

Allenby stood up. His eyes began to move rapidly around the room. “It will be a cascade. Once one unit starts shooting, the others will have the impetus.” He turned back to look at Ogilvy. “We'll be crushed, Jack.”

“No, we won't.”

“Then it will be a civil war.”

“No, it won't.”

“I hope you know something I don't.”

“Look. You know how these Defence Forces blockheads are. The Army only cares about the Army. And Rawlinson betrayed the Army to get into the Committee. Now he's out of the Committee, the Army won't welcome him back with open arms. All we need to do is persuade them we're the good guys.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said. We can't count on the Army. That's why this is a gamble. That's why we need to play all of our cards. And they all need to be timed properly, too. Do you know about Y Cell, Comrade Allenby?”

-

Clarke-Phillips lay on the mattress, shifting. No matter which position he was in, it was uncomfortable. He had been in the cell for a week: nobody had said anything to him. They had fed and watered him, but he still had no idea what was going on. He had become used to it, almost. He spent the time thinking about chess and drawing chess strategies on a notepad that was beginning to run out. He heard the familiar noise of the main cell door opening down the corridor. Funny, he thought. It wasn't lunch time yet. And there were two sets of footsteps, he noticed. So it wasn't food. They were going to shoot him, he thought. He put the notepad back into his chest pocket and arranged his hair. Hopefully they wouldn't beat him first.

The Chief of the General Staff's assumption was logical, but not accurate. It was logical in that he escaped his assumed fate by a matter of hours – but not accurate in that it wasn't his executioners walking towards his cell, but two members of the Republican Front G Cell – a man by the name of Major General Ian Wallace and one Brigade General Hornby. They were trusted associates of Rawlinson, and he had no idea that they were in fact members of a Republican Front intelligence cell. He got the first suspicion that he was wrong when they saluted him at the door. He got the second suspicion when they handed him his sword back.

-

“They're getting closer, Comrade Major. You know if they pass that line you are obliged to open fire.”

“Yes, yes,” the Major said, refusing to look the Security Services officer in the eye. “Yes, I know.” He looked out from behind the armoured personnel carrier at the thin line of green soldiers and the slogan-bearing throng in front of them. They were going to cross the line. “They won't cross it anyway,” he said, as if saying it meant it were true. He passed a loudspeaker to a waiting noncom. “Sergeant Barnes, go and warn them again.”

The Sergeant ran forwards and began to shout the warning. The crowd shouted back.

“If you're not fit to command your company, Major, I can take control,” the blue-uniformed Security Services officer said, looking at his watch.

“Go to hell,” the Major said, jumping from the top of the carrier. He found the Company Sergeant crouched inside the carrier, by the radio set. “Company Sergeant Picking, listen to me. You only take orders from me. If that blue shirted bastard says fire, you just tell him to go to hell. Do you understand that?”

“Absolutely, Comrade Major.”

“Good. The last thing I want to do is-”

“Comrade Major, the strikers have passed the line.”

the Major ran out and saw. They were advancing faster. The Company Sergeant came out too and stood by him. “What are your orders, Comrade Major?”

Above them, on top of the carrier, the blue-shirted Security Services officer looked down. “Give your order, Comrade Major.” The Major didn't say anything. He repeated himself, louder, shouting.
The Major still didn't say anything. The Security Services officer himself jumped down, striding over to the line of hesitant troops. The Company Sergeant ran forwards, and the Major stood still, absolutely still.

“Open fire! Shoot!” the Security Services man bellowed.

The Company Sergeant retaliated - “Do not follow that order!”

The Questarian soldier is told from day one that the Sergeant is the boss – your section sergeant, your platoon sergeant, or your company sergeant, doesn't matter which. This is a man that you do not want to cross. He will make you regret it – but if it ever came to a war he would give his life to see you through it. On the other hand, they are also told, more often than they care to count, that a Security Services or a Security Troops officer can give orders to the Ground Forces, but cannot be ordered by the Ground Forces.

The blue shirt shouted again. “Shoot, you bastards! That's a direct order!”

“Do not shoot!”

It was too late. One round went off. And another. The Company Sergeant thumped the private on the head, grabbing his rifle. “Give me your damn weapon. What the hell are you playing at, boy?”

“The DSS-”

The Sergeant towered over the private. “Are you more scared of that blueshirt than your Company Sergeant, fusilier?”

The crowd kept coming. They were shouting louder. The Major just watched. There was a tap on the shoulder: it was his aide. The Major ignored it. “Comrade Major,” the aide said. The Major ignored it. “Comrade Major, a message for you.”

“Not now, Private Watkins.”

Watkins retreated a little, and then turned around, and screamed at the top of his voice. “Comrade Major!” The Major swung around. “A message for you.” He proferred the radio transceiver.

The Major grabbed it ungratefully and pressed it to his ear. He listened, and looked over, watching as the Security Services officer grabbed a rifle from an unsuspecting private and aimed it at the crowd. Suddenly, he dropped the transceiver, bolting forwards.

The DSS officer levelled the rifle at the crowd.

“Drop the weapon,” the Major shouted. “Drop the damn weapon!”

The blueshirt turned around to face him. “The Army does not give orders to the Security Services,” he screamed, “You are a counter-revolutionary! I will deal with you two afterwards,” he said, pointing with his rifle at the Major and then the Company Sergeant.

There was a crack, and the blueshirt fell to the ground. Private Watkins stood by the APC, smoking fluttering out of his rifle. He was shaking. “I'm sorry for shouting at you Comrade Major,” Watkins said.

[Pollona]

Executive Mansion, Dolany
Liberec Region, Pollona

Sitting on the long stone bench, he drew a deep breath to slowly bring his heart rate down. Reaching for his water bottle, he took a quick swig as he examined the inner gardens, as much a home to him as anything else in the compound. The calm sounds of the distant fountains, the slow moving shadows of statues and figures of Pollonan past, and the neatly trimmed hedgerows now in full bloom. Josef took the towel around his neck, wiping his forehead of sweat. Another deep breath, almost a sigh now. He needed to stop more often.

"Excuse the interruption sir, they need you in the Cabinet room," an aid announced.

"Thank you, give me a moment," the man replied. Picking up his bottle and tennis racket, he made the slow trek inside. It was hardly professional to show up to an emergency meeting in such a manner, but on such short notice he had little time to change. The blast of the internal air conditioning proved a relief and a curse, he was now freezing cold. The aid led Josef into the meeting room, where the Cabinet and a group of high ranking officials were staring at the News Report.

"...the general strike, which engulfed the Republic of Questers, has brought the country to a standstill. PTS has confirmed that most major industries and services are closed after the Republican Front ejected General Rawlinson and called for strike action. The government has called out the armed forces to suppress protests from the public, however the prospect of violence continues to rise. Meanwhile the markets this week closed downward on fears of a Questerian default and subsequent banking crisis in Pollona, it's expected tha-"

"Ah Your Excellency, perfect timing," one of the Special Branch officials motioned Josef to sit down. He turned the monitor back to the prepared presentation. "As you can see the situation is rapidly deteriorating, were you able to look at the briefings earlier?"

"Yes," the Lt. Governor mused, reaching for a stack of stapled papers. "I understand from the Foreign Ministry that the Questerian ambassador was paraphrased as saying 'it's a small domestic dispute that will quickly blow over'."

"Hardly," Minister Ales puffed. "If the full weight of the GSR's army is being summoned, the situation is bound to become a full fledged crisis. The demobilization was a huge relief to the General Staff, but it seems that it is turning from the foreign to the home front. Sir, I've been around GSR forces before, they can be ruthless...but against their own people I have my doubts. I'd daresay Mr. Rawlinson is the biggest gambler in Maredoratica..."

"Hmm...so the what about this Ogilvy fellow that keeps popping up? He seems influential to be sure, but I'm not very versed in my Questerian Revolutionaries..." Laszlo inquired.

"He's a member of the old revolutionary vanguard, a symbol of the revolution in 2001 if you'd prefer to call him that." A spokesman from the MZS, foreign intelligence, elaborated. "He is a very revered intellectual and political leader in Questers, it was nearly impossible to exclude him from government even after the current regime came to power. MZS believes that General Rawlinson may have attempted to assassinate Ogilvy a few days ago to finally get rid of him...we cannot affirm this report from our operatives. However, Homeland Security can confirm that several Questerian dissidents were planning on sneaking out of the country on Pollonan vessels; most opted to stay. It seems that Ogilvy's supporters are going to take the fight to Rawlinson. It could lead to a prolonged civil war..."

"Unless...however," Ales slowly interjected again. "one of the two sides is able to swiftly undermine the other. The army is key...with the right support..." However, he cut himself short. The rest of the cabinet also fell silent.

"I see...what your talking up is a very dangerous ploy." Laszlo frowned, tensing up. "I haven't met Mr. Rawlinson, but the present government has staunchly supported us...If we're caught, or even worse we're caught backing the losing side, god knows the consequences. We'd be overrun in an instant--I'd just as well sign our death warrant."

"Mr. Lt. Governor," an aid intervened. "An unpredictable, rational ally is better than an unpredictable, paranoid one. This is a chance that we simply cannot pass up, despite our allegiances...and it's a chance to bring to power a genuinely democratic government. We've prepared several contingency plans in case they fail, we will not be going into this alone. In fact the plan calls for a bit of joint cooperation." Laszlo scanned the proposal again. Glancing around the room, it was obvious that everyone else had made up their minds.

"Okay, let's do it. Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and I'll ring up Mr. Bonnet and Mr. Wirt. Let's see what our potential 'partners' think. If one of them says yes then let's give it a shot."

---

Classified Location, Châlons
Berrian Federation

"It's really quite simple Charles, my government is of the opinion that Rawlinson is simply far too dangerous. If this sort of uprising fails we can expect an outright purge in Questers, creating a far more repressive and unstable regime further alienated from its base. Down the road, the isolation and volatility of the present military government will end violently, and possibly drag us down with it. It's simply a matter of the hourglass running out of sand. But, to think that it could actually get worse..." Zíma replied, taking a short sip of his espresso.

"In short, even a protracted civil war greatly imperils the situation in Alisna, something that I'm sure the Federation would well wish to avoid. We've already seen the havoc that even a mobilization of their armed forces can cause, and we know that many in the Questerian Armed Forces view a war as an act of suicide. The RF and Ogilvy's supporters have the legitimacy, they simply lack the route of coming to power. To the MZS, the Front appear far more concerned with their domestic economic and political situation, which is essentially in tatters. It will require a large diversion of resources, resources away from potential wars with neighbors."

He took a short pause before continuing.

"Obviously this must seem as a bit unusual coming from us, but Pollona's marriage of convenience does not eclipse our independence. Our government is concerned with two things. That one: we are protected from aggression and from being dragged into military conflict. Which is completely unpredictable at present. And two: we need to avoid the looming financial crisis that could plague our country. Rawlinson may or may not pay up, Ogilvy might if we give him a bit of a nudge. I'm sure you have your own reasons for seeing the General booted out."

Zíma pushed the file across the table, back closer to his counterpart.

"As I've said our plan is simple: establish a field of covert operations in Questers. Our mission is to erode whatever is left of the government's power base as much and as quickly as possible. Now, at this stage there are two forces critical to deciding the end game: the GSR's Military and the DSS. There are several ranking military figures, seen as sympathetic to the RF, who are still imprisoned. Breaking them out, or covertly aiding their escape is a top priority. Most will probably desire to stay, but any seeking asylum or temporary cover we should at least try to provide. The DSS and the PSGSR are monsters in of themselves, weakening their hold even by a bit would aid the protesters. It's therefore imperative that we arrange a few...well...accidents...for several of their higher ranking members. We'd prefer drawing as little blood as possible, but it might be necessary. The safest way to do either of these things is through plants in the Front or in small cells."

He reached for his cup once more.

"Any direct aid or contact is wholly dangerous unless we are first contacted by the Front or their officials. If our mission is thus revealed it will not only squelch the revolution, but quite literally endanger us all. Most of our MZS operatives realize that they may not be coming back, and will take their own lives rather than risk capture. It's up to Berry if they wish to join us, but the SFRS' logistical and tactical knowledge about Questers are second to none."

"We've been given a choice between the lesser of two evils, now is the time to seize it."

[Questers]

“Look Irena, we're going to keep paying you. Honestly. You have to believe me,” the bureaucrat sighed, facing his Pollonan counterpart.

“Ano, ano. Yes. But with what? Where is this money coming from, eh?”

“Our secret gigantic stock of cash that we just found.”

“Be serious. I am not joking here, man. How can I believe you're going to keep paying if you can't tell me where that money is going to come from, huh?” Irena leaned over. “If you don't have it, Pilkington, you should just say so...”

“Okay, okay. Look,” Pilkington said, glancing around instinctively - “You can't tell anyone this, Irena. Ok, you can tell your Government, but only if they don't tell anyone. It would cause outrage in our country. People might start to side with Rawlinson. So far the Foreign Office, the Trade Office, the Production Office, they've all gone over to the Front. But if the people abandon the Front, then they may switch back...”

“Okay, okay,” Irena said, “But where's the damn money coming from? Do you think I'm a spy, or something?” she laughed.

“Please, Irena,” Pilkington put on those puppy dog eyes, “You really can't tell anyone. Really.”

“Okay, Dan,” she said, putting her hand on his. “I won't tell a soul that doesn't need to know.”

“Right,” he said, breathing in. “All state expenditures are going to be frozen. When this is over, I mean. Then there is going to be mass-sequestering. Do you know how much the Defence Forces spend? Why, my dear, it's almost half your gross domestic product. The Army alone spends more than your whole Government in one year. They're going to lose a lot of money. And the other services – they're going to see further cuts. Transportation subsidies, construction and public works – they're all going to take a gutting. What for? To pay off our international creditors, obviously. You're not first. Sorry babe-”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Sorry. But Morieux comes first. I don't know what Ogilvy said to Duclerc, maybe he struck a deal with that silly bitch. But they're the absolute priority. But you're next – and Van Luxemburg and Sondstead after that. Everyone else can go hang, apparently. The new Front boys are absolutely committed to paying off the debt. And honestly, between you and I, it might get ugly here. But hey, who knows what Rawlinson had planned. Anything's better than the Great Dictator, right?”

“Right. So you're saying that your Government is going to start cutting spending drastically? What about taxes?”

“Yea, they're going up,” he whistled. “Up and up. As if they're not already high enough.”

“Thanks, Dan,” she said.

“It's nothing. So, what about we settle up here and head down to the Harrington? I've a bottle of whisky with my name on it there...”

“Sorry,” she said, packing something in her bag. “I have to go. Business. Sorry. See you, Dan!” she said, getting up, smiling, and walking out.

“Wait – wait,” he said, and then slumped in his chair. “Bollocks.”

The waiter appeared with a bill. Pilkington looked over it once, and then once again, sighing. “Charge it to the Trade Office, Department A, Room 51.”

-

The Committee room still hadn't been cleaned: styrofoam cups were everywhere, and half of them were being used for ashtrays. The NEC members were dirty, unshaven, unkempt – the good old days, they were calling it. They were collected to hear a briefing from a Republican Front intelligence analyst, Comrade Harper, who was short and chirpy, and uncomfortably amused.

“You couldn't find two people more different than Rawlinson and Clarke-Phillips. Rawlinson, in person, as I'm sure many of you know, is a pusher. And he's rude. Ill-mannered. Angry. Clarke-Phillips is reserved, polite, even quiet – and he's as close to blueblooded as you can get in this Republic. On top of that – the two men hate each other. They come from opposing groups in the Army. For a start, Rawlinson is an artillerist. Clarke-Phillips is a cavalryman. Rawlinson's dissertation at the staff college was “War – Sport Without Rules.” Clarke-Phillips answered the same question with “War – Applied Mathematics.” We know that in his spare time Rawlinson is a boxer and an athlete, a javelin thrower. Clarke-Phillips is rumoured to play digital strategy games that he develops himself. He also drinks about a quarter as much as Rawlinson does, on a conservative estimate. And on top of that, apparently he surrendered himself without a fight.”

“Great,” Ogilvy said, resting his cheek on his upheld palm. “So in one corner we've got the bully son of a butcher who beats people up for fun, and the other a nerdy public school lad. Looks like we picked the wrong side,” he rolled his eyes, and the room laughed.

“Not quite, Comrade Ogilvy,” Harper said, his cheeks full of cheer, “It's not that simple. For a start Clarke-Phillips is probably twice as intelligent as Rawlinson.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, the competency tests from when they were at Staff College. Yes, Comrade, Front Intelligence is thorough. Anyway. It's not all bad. They have different leadership styles. Rawlinson is like the dad that beats his kids. Clarke-Phillips is your happy old grandfather that sneaks you a quid for a chocolate bar. One of his first moves as Chief of the General Staff was to open a route by which conscripts could make complaints about officers abusing their position. That won him a lot of respect amongst the troops. Importantly, those who remember that change are now the noncommissioned officers that basically run the Army on a day to day basis. And he's a lead from the front type – Rawlinson prefers to stay in the staff quarters. Doesn't like getting his hands dirty. And Clarke-Phillips is cunning. He repeatedly beat Rawlinson in tactical and operational exercises when they were both junior generals.”

“So how is it that Rawlinson is the big boss and Clarke-Phillips isn't?”

“Rawlinson cares about politics. He loves power. He plays people. Clarke-Phillips only cares about war. He's obsessed with military science and most of the theories the Ground Forces believe in come from him. Rawlinson invites you to his quarters for a sneaky gin then forces you to do what he says. Clarke-Phillips tries to talk to you about his latest differential equations. Not a hard choice to see who won the politics game.”

“So why does Rawlinson care about Clarke-Phillips? Why remove him?”

“Well, firstly, as we know, Comrade Ogilvy, it was to get the Front on-side. And because he hates Phillips. I mean hates. He's mad that Elliot appointed Phillips to CGS and not him, he's mad that Phillips beats him every time they have a contest, he's mad that Phillips is a cavalryman, he's mad that Phillips wasn't beaten by his father, whatever. He hates him. Anger: Rawlinson's biggest flaw. I'm sure you know that, Comrade Ogilvy.”

“So what does this mean for us?”

“Well, it's the reason why so many of the troops came around instantly. There wasn't another figure who would have moved them. But they respect him as a soldier, and they fear Rawlinson as a leader. Respect makes the empires crumble.”

“Don't quote Billy Bragg. This is serious. Has Clarke-Phillips made any demands of us?”

“Sorry, Comrade Ogilvy. He wants the DPP to elect the Chief of General Staff from now on. Not as curious as it sounds – he believes that the DPP will elect for competency, and so he believes he'll be CGS forever. And he also knows you'll accept it, and elect him for the first term, so he can turf out Rawlinson. Maybe the only political play he's made in his life, but it's a calculating one. A good one, really.”

“Yes, good. Well, gentlemen,” Ogilvy turned to the Executive Committee, “What do you say? Do we have our new Chief of General Staff?”

-

Questersnewsrochehaut – Official GSR Government organ for all your news in South Wilassia



Comrades.

This morning, we released an editorial called “What Is Happening in the GSR.” Unfortunately, our editor was in such a rush to release vital news to you that he made a few minor mistakes. We would like to correct them here.

In the first place it is not Comrade Rawlinson who is the Head of State of the GSR and Officer Commanding of the Armed Forces, but in fact the National Executive Committee of the Republican Front. And it is not Comrade Marshal-General Larkin who is Chief of the General Staff, but in fact Comrade Marshal-General Clarke-Phillips, who was absent on extended sick leave: his absence was only ever temporary.

In the second place, it is not the National Executive Committee that has acted illegally, but in fact Comrade Rawlinson; and it is not true that Comrade Rawlinson is still a member of the Republican Front and thus able to hold office, but in fact it is true that he was ejected from the Front, and is no longer legally able to hold office. It is also not true that the position of Protector-General was lawfully established, but in fact, this position is not lawful and against the principles of the Republic.

Lastly, the lawful authority in the GSR is not in fact the Office of the Protector-General, but in fact the Directorate of the Body Politic. The Chief of the General Staff, Marshal-General Clarke-Phillips commands the Defence Forces, not Marshal-General Larkin, whose command is the First Manoeuvre Group.

As an addendum, the Committee informed Questers News Rochehaut, via spokesperson, that foreign aid payments will be suspended only for this year, and the full transfer of foreign aid will begin again in 2015; and that the visas of all Rochehautese students in the GSR will be immediately renewed and stipends paid in full by the following monday.

We hope this cleared up some inconsistencies and inaccuracies in our previous editorial. Good night Comrades, and let the next day's sun shine bright on our bi-lateral relationship of Socialist co-operation!

[Yohannes]

"His Majesty has authorised the royal confirmation this morning, that we are to support the effort of the Morivaine and Van Luxemburger governments"

That very sentence was repeatedly echoed through the gloomy chambers of the Foreign Office in Te Whanganui-a-Tara. Located in the capital city of the Kingdom, the white, colonial architectural building, like most of the structures associated with the public sectors around its vicinity, was a uniquely Morivaine architecture of the nation's colonial past, brought to modernity, and only by the willingness of the supercity council to continually fund, through the years, its increasingly extortionate conservation and structural strengthening cost.

It symbolised the small kingdom - a largely public-approved willingness to keep old tradition alive, in the midst of all the financial bustle and banking hustle of modern Yohannes, as well as the export-driven growth of the Yohannesian economy through the years. Tauhokohoko me te whai rawa; together with 'peace', capital investment and shipbuilding exportation were the trio formula of periodical 'growth' and 'prosperity' for Yohannes. A geographically miniscule - and it is the smallest in Maredoratica by area - southern Alisnan kingdom with an increasingly vulnerable position -- due to its depth of integration with not just the regional market, but that of the wider extra regional economies of the world.

And while the latter of the three formula would most certainly not be affected by this recent dilemma unraveling in Questers, the former two were. It was of no question, therefore, from the moment that the sudden revelation of what a Questarian Pound failure would have, and how it would impact upon Maredoratica as a whole, that His Majesty's Government would support the effort of the kingdom's former coloniser - the Morivaine government - and the Grand Ducal government of Van Luxemburg.

"What should be the amount of our contribution, to bolster this recent, concerted, move and effort made by both the Morivaine and Van Luxemburger governments, Your Excellency...?", the frail, silver-haired elderly man inquired to the individual now standing before him. In his eyes were the near perfect caricature of the Pākehā Yohannesian aristocracy: green-eyed, fair-skinned and tall, posture erected to full height, and facial expression unmoving, resolute even under the most critical of pressure.

"Allow me to most humbly repeat my question... once again, Sir, what should be the amount of our contribution, to bolster this recent, concerted, move and effort made by both the Morivaine and Van Luxemburger governments...?"

"As much as we are able to... putting into perspective, of course, the need to not spend as much as we can, at the same time, out of our carefully-piled foreign exchange reserve."

"Accumulated through the years by hard work, I might add, Sir Owen."

Greed, greed and more greed. The thought had not cross the mind of the man now standing before him, that the crisis reverberating itself through the Questarian nation would most certainly impact innocent Yohannesians; that there would be three out of ten newbie mum-and-dad young family investors - with an enormous mortgage responsibility, one loving daughter and a comfortable lifestyle - suffering from it all. That there would be an eager, enterprising young bachelor, ready to set up his own business.

To be restricted, prevented from chasing his dream, resulting from the decision of the figure now standing before him: the Prime Minister of the island, the one with the power, and responsibility, to care for the Kingdom of Yohannes, and its people. At the end of the day, capital, growth, wealth, and more of the forementioned would forevermore rule the day, for behind the hollow facade of its urban glamour - constantly refurbished houses, and middle-income dominated society - the Kingdom of Yohannes would in itself be of not a single thing. Nothing more, but a bound and voluntary slave and eager participant to the force of multiregional capitalism: growth and wealth.

"Twenty-five per cent of the combined Morivane and Van Luxemburger effort."

"Not more, not a single cent more."

"... and I would expect you to very well recollect that figure - precisely - in front of His Majesty's parliamentary select committee, Sir Owen."

[Berry]

Ref: CGSFRS 4472/2014
Date: 22 june 2014

SERVICE FÉDÉRAL DE RENSEIGNEMENT ET DE SÉCURITÉ

*C.L.A.S.I.F.F.I.E.D*

Internal briefing

RE: Operation ADIKIA

SEC. 1.

The Questarian situation has gravely deteriorated in the last week in the socio-political sphere. Increased internal upheavals and an institutional crisis have resulted in a takeover by the military hardliner Commander Rawlison over the civil government.

Implications for Berry are hard to quantify. However, any possible subversive movement in Questers could be quashed either directly or more worryingly through an evasive movement to rally the generalist-nationalist elements into a war against Berry.

It is therefore important to undercut and increase opposition to the rule of Commander Rawlison. There is a considerable domestic opposition to the military’s takeover. As a result, the SFRS recommends the Council of Ministers to green-light the establishment of links with Questarian opposition.

Although these elements are still generalist, and hence, hostile to our democratic and liberal principles, the likelihood of an invasion would decrease and we would be able to gain valuable allies in the Directorate Public in the future. This would be a considerable step up from our current unsatisfactory efforts under Operation PHORKYS.

As well as the mentioned efforts to bring to power a friendlier government in the GSR, the SFRS recommends the government to partner with third parties in efforts to stabilise the Questarian economic situation if current efforts to pursue Operations PHORKYS and ADYKIA fail. It should provide much needed stability and funding to the GSR, and hence lowering likelihood of military intervention.

SEC. 2.

SFRS operatives undercover in Questers have reported worrying mentions of an Operation TAURUS, however, further information as not yet available. The likelihood that TAURUS is a codename for the invasion of Berry is high.

SFRS has observed worrying movement of troops southwards. It is unclear whether or not this is Rawlinson’s decision. For the moment, however, there are no reports of offensive movements beyond typical border crossing incidents.

As for Operation TAURUS, SFRS has ordered the prioritization of uncovering TAURUS to all operatives in the GSR, whether undercover or as a part of the diplomatic corps, and through whatever channels.

SEC. 3.

Recently, the SFRS was approached by the Pollonan MZS in order to establish a joint operation to restore the constitutional authority to the GSR. This subterfuge would work in a similar manner to our current Operation ADYKIA.

SFRS remains however not fully confident on the intentions of the MZS, as their warm relationship with the Questarian could be a considerable liability to the secrecy of our assets in the GSR. The SFSR has, however, decided to pursue the discussions with the MZS, although once these are approved by the Council of Ministers.

The MZS operation is ambitious. It aims to subvert the basis of the new Rawlinson regime through contacts and establishment of a network including all dissident elements of the Popular Front arrested or monitored by the Questarian regime.

It would require a linkage with Mr. Ogilvy. OLgivy is a bona fide revolutionary, only shielded by his prestige. As a result, it is not likely he would make a more pliable successor than Rawlison, even in the case of success.

The second side to the MZS-proposed operation would be the elimination of important members of the Rawlison circle although not the Commander itself in order to weaken its grip on power and his façade of legitimacy.

***

Attached to this document is a copy of the MZS proposal, including further details.

[Sondstead]

Excerpt from In Ünjementiden ("In Uncommon Times")
The memoir of Elfred Wirt

...I first spoke with Mr. Laszlo in the spring of 2012 at an MLDA summit in Gênes, and, for a time, I thought of it as an example of the inaccuracy of first impressions. At the time he was a rising figure in his party and had been serving as mayor of the city of Čáslav for about a year, and I was interested in speaking to him given the rising fortunes of his party in Pollona and his potential for higher office (although at that time no one could have predicted how far he would rise so quickly).

One of the first topics that came up, as it happened, was the Maredoratic League, and I found we did not precisely see eye-to-eye. Laszlo was staunchly in favour of Pollona's long stalled membership bid while I was, at most, conflicted about Lindkwist's ambition for Sondstead to finally accede, and we quickly got into addressing the merits and demerits. It remained civil but he called me daft for being an "isolationist" and I called him daft for disregarding the influence of the Maredoratic federalist bloc and for his opinion on agricultural tariffs, although I had not expected his knowledge of such to be comprehensive, just as I admitted I was not an expert on urban planning.

However, we also got rather deep into discussing the Pollonan retribution policy. Laszlo mentioned to, me off the record at the time, his personal, moral opposition to Odveta. For example, he described how his opposition to the policy had been part of the impetus for reforming his city's community planning and zoning laws, which had the effect of ending the ease with which local authorities could force German families out of their homes and his efforts to quietly equalise funding for the entirely Czech public school system and for the charter and parochial schools, many of which taught in German, which had the effect of both improving the choice and quality in the education market and greatly improving the access to good education for German children.

Given Pollona's strong relations with an increasingly capricious Questers I had already come to believe engagement was necessary regardless of reforms to the unfortunate retribution policy which I believed would come in time if we were willing to engage Pollona on equal terms. Speaking to Laszlo I was convinced he had the backbone and moral fibre to make the correct, even if politically unpopular, decisions. I was quietly very hopeful when he declared his intent to run for Lieutenant-Governor.

However, it was frustrating from my point of view to then see Laszlo and his party in their first few months in government particularly as I was not fully aware at the time how severe the political restraints he was operating under were. His inauguration speech was disappointingly unspecific and his early initiatives seemed to be a collection of half-measures. It took events later in the year to demonstrate that Laszlo had the wherewithal to make bold decisions that I had first attributed to him, as well as demonstrating the value of interpersonal relationships in foreign policy.

From afar it was interesting to see how Laszlo reacted to the successive foreign policy crises he found his government tackling. Going from mayor to a position where he had little influence on domestic policy and a leading foreign policy role would require, and I say this as a good acquaintance, significant on the job training. However, when it came to it he was strong in Karaman, deploying a substantial naval force to root out Karamish piracy as one of his early foreign policy moves.

By June of 2014 the foreign policy focus had significantly shifted, away from Karaman and towards the rapidly deteriorating situation in Questers, which threatened to break out into full on civil war. It was in light of this as well as my personal acquaintance with Laszlo that I received a call from him on the 21st of that month, outlining the plan his government and intelligence service had developed and were at the same time discussing with the Berrians. The core of the operation was to establish support for the Republican Front opposition and it's sympathisers in the military after Marshall Rawlinson's auto-coup and the RF's turn against Rawlinson and neutralising the DSS.

By any standard it was an audacious proposal, even more so from a country with, at that point, 40,000 Questarian troops on it's soil with the potential to subvert the democratic process. Whether or not I believed it to be good idea or not was a different matter; although it was obvious Rawlinson was increasingly authoritarian and dangerous, to some degree it struck me as a choice between an incompetent monster and a calculating one. On the other hand, any new leadership would almost invariably more rational than the incumbent one, while if Rawlinson's regime would only be able to prevail by becoming increasingly brutal and paranoid. Had I known at the time that Rawlinson came within hours of ordering an invasion of Berry in Operation Taurus the choice would've been even more obvious.

In any case, while I could express my personal support for the effort, it would likely be an even larger liability for Sondstead than for Berry and Pollona and I was unable to myself give any sort of go-ahead. However, after discussing the matter with Lindkwist, Märjä, and the rest of the cabinet I was able to promise that the Sondsteadish embassy in Jesselton would be able to serve as a neutral shelter for Berrian and Pollonan personnel, with the support of Ambassador Häsen and at not inconsiderable risk to himself and his staff.

During the course of the operation I was kept up to date on it's progress, both from Ambassador Häsen's reports to the cabinet and directly from Laszlo and his staff. Outside my ministerial duties at Commerce I quickly became something as a go-between for Laszlo and the rest of the government…