The Long, Twilight Struggle (Earth II)

[Terra Reborn]

Act I
The Trumpet Summons

Now the trumpet summons us again—not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need; not as a call to battle, though embattled we are—but a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out, "rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation"—a struggle against the common enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease, and war itself.
King Walker I of Apilonia, Speech upon the Restoration of the Empire (Original Speech (RL) by John F. Kennedy)

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
Valencia International Airport, Valencia Province
The Dukedom of Valencia
Tuesday 1st June 2015, 1200hrs Local Time (0200hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1000hrs Zulu)

Lady Jessica Warwick, fully Jessica Anne Rebecca Warwick, was the eldest child and only daughter of Her Royal Highness The Princess Anne, Duchess of Oregon, and her husband, the Duke of Oregon. She was the first cousin of His Majesty King Arthur and was currently eighth in line to the Imperial Throne. Of course in this day and age the likelihood of her ever becoming Queen was slim to nonexistent and as such she had a lot more freedom to get on with her life as she saw fit, hell she didn’t even have the prefix of ‘HRH’ or even the title of Princess, not that she minded. She had just finished her first year at the University of California, San Diego, studying a Bachelor of Arts in Classics, intending to seriously pursue an academic field in her adult life. Her academic focus was on the Romans, for all their modern descendants failings the Ancient Romans, the Classical Romans, were still a source of awe and inspiration for many, Lady Jessica included. The option had been available to go abroad for a year to study at a foreign university and she had chosen the University of Valencia.

The reasoning for this was two-fold. The first was that the story of Roman Spain, or Hispania as it was properly known, was an interesting story in itself, not to mention an excellent case-study for any number of investigations into the nature of Classical Rome. The second was that, during her first year, she had met Don Alfredo de Valencia, the eldest son of the Duke of Valencia, who had been studying at UC San Diego, his father eager to pursue closer relations with the Empire given that the presence of neighboring Gibraltar, and the sway that the Empire held over Portugal. It was therefore fortuitous for all concerned that Lady Jessica and Don Alfredo had become such good friends, and it was hardly a secret there were those within the households of both the King of Apilonia and the Duke of Valencia that watched eagerly to see if their friendship developed into anything more. Don Alfredo had invited Lady Jessica to Valencia over the summer so that they could get a good start on their research, which would culminate in their third and final year, but would be immensely helped by making as much use of the archives in Spain itself.

Of course there was no ‘Spain’, not really. The Goodrule Regime, now finally some years in the past, had seen to that; the fall of the Third Spanish State, and everything it stood for, had utterly destroyed the desire of anyone on the Iberian peninsula for a unified Spain in the near future. Five nations had developed since the fall of the Goodrule; there was of course the Republic of Portugal, which, after the Imperial Invasion several years previously had overthrown the Dictatorial President Maria Pires, was now on the right path… under Imperial guidance. The Junta Sotanabeltz had seized control of the northern provinces along the Pyrenees, and whilst the Empire was keeping a careful watch there was not much concern at this point. The remainder of the territory was made up by three squabbling Dukedoms: Leon and Castile, Madrid and, of course, Valencia. Although a unified Spain was out of the question, that didn’t stop the three Dukes, all of which could trace their ancestry back to the old Spanish Kingdom, from fighting over what was left, and supremacy on the Iberian Peninsula.

Truth be told this was Lady Jessica’s first real adventure overseas alone, although alone was relative given that she was being accompanied by two Agents of the Imperial Secret Service, the Federal agency responsible for the protection of the Royal Family, who were responsible for her safety for the duration of her say. Although the threat level was agreed to be generally low, none of the Dukedoms out here were stupid enough to provoke the Apilonian Empire so by attacking one of its Royals, but there was a degree of conflict on the Iberian Peninsula. Madrid and Valencia maintained an uneasy peace, but Madrid and Leon were at each other’s throats, with border skirmishes a daily occurrence. There was also the ever present threat from ‘the Conspiracy’, the remnants of the group of conspirators that had Assassinated King Walker and brought the Empire to its knees, who despite the best efforts of the Imperial Armed Forces, a number of its members were still at large, albeit being hounded at every opportunity by the Imperial Special Forces.

Lady Jessica and her two protective agents were met in the VIP section of the main terminal by Don Alfredo himself, along with two bodyguards, as well as the Imperial Ambassador to the Dukedom of Valencia, Sir Mark Harper. Lady Jessica and Don Alfredo shared a hug, they hadn’t seen each other in maybe a month since the end of the semester.

“Lady Jessica, welcome to Valencia,” Don Alfredo said with a warm smile. “You know of course, your Ambassador to the Dukedom?”

“Indeed I do,” Lady Jessica nodded. “A pleasure to meet you again, Sir Mark..”

“The pleasure is mine, my Lady,” Sir Mark replied with a smile. “All of us at the Embassy are looking forward to your company at future engagements during your stay here in the Dukedom.”

“As am I, my mother speaks highly of diplomatic functions,” Lady Jessica smiled, referring of course to her mother, the Duchess of Oregon who had, for such a long time, served as Ambassador to the Realm of Cotland. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing plenty of the Embassy in any case.”

“Yes, my Lady, most urgently we need you to come in for a security brief from the Security Officer, nothing you won’t have been briefed on by the Foreign Office, but it is protocol,” Sir Mark replied, then glanced over at Don Alfredo. “No offense, my lord.”

“None taken, Sir Mark,” Don Alfredo replied with a shrug. “Unfortunately the situation is what it is, and I understand your desire to protect Lady Jessica.”

“In that case I must return to the Embassy,” Sir Mark said simply. “Enjoy your stay, my lady.”

With a polite bow Sir Mark took his leave and was escorted by his own protective agents, from the Diplomatic Security Agency, to his waiting vehicle that would take him back to the Embassy. Lady Jessica and Don Alfredo made their own way out of the terminal to where a vehicle was waiting for them, specifically it was a Jaguar XJ Sentinel, the favored vehicle of the Imperial Secret Service for ‘low-key’ movement of protected persons. Technically speaking Don Alfredo should go with his own detail, but the Imperial Secret Service was held in such high regard that the Don’s own security detail was willing to trust their ability, so long as they were in the car immediate behind the follow-car, a compromise which was often used when individuals under the protection of the Secret Service interacted with foreign individuals also under close protection. Once all was in readiness the small four-car motorcade departed from the airport and began to head into the city.

Lady Jessica spent most of the time looking out of the windows like a schoolgirl on a field trip, drinking in the sights of the historic city and the men, women and children passing in the streets. She could tell that she was going to enjoy her stay here, and she knew that Don Alfredo was looking forward to showing her round, he had said as much in one of their numerous FaceTime calls over the past few weeks since the end of term. It was going to be an experience to say the least, as a member of the Royal Family, albeit a relatively minor one, Lady Jessica’s ability to just wander around a city and take in the sights had been limited. Although she had had more freedom than more senior young Royals, most obviously Arthur, she had still vey much lived a somewhat sheltered life. She was still a virgin for gods-sake! Even after a year of University life. As that particular wayward thought fluttered through her mind she found herself glancing over at Don Alfredo, and blushing madly at herself, quickly turning back to the window so that he didn’t see.

Soon enough however they arrived at their destination. The ‘apartment’ that had been chosen to serve as Lady Jessica’s home for the next year was in the upscale part of the city, where the lines of townhouses had been converted into a series of luxury apartments. In her case she was on the third floor of one of the townhouse and took up the entire floor and was decorated in the most expensive manner, as befitting an Imperial Lady. The Secret Service had worked with the Duke of Valencia’s security people to perform background checks on everyone in the surrounding apartments to ensure that there wasn’t a potential weakness around their charge. It took Lady Jessica all of five minutes of looking around to decide that she would be quite comfortable here, and knew that her family had no doubt paid a significant amount for her to live in such luxury, such were the advantages of coming not only from the nobility, but from Royalty. She also knew that for something like this it would have been funded by her family’s personal funds, not the Imperial Governments, with the exception of the Secret Service detail’s operating costs.

“What do you think, Jess?” Don Alfredo asked with a slight smile as he watched her wander around taking in her new environment. “I helped your people pick it out.”

“It’s wonderful,” Jessica replied with a grin. “Thank You.”

“My pleasure,” Alfredo smiled. “We shouldn’t waste time getting you settled in, my father asked me to take you to meet him.”

“Alright then,” Jessica nodded, deep down she was a little nervous but pushed that aside for now. “Let’s go.”

Lady Jessica Warwick
Ducal Palace, Valencia Province
The Dukedom of Valencia
Tuesday 1st June 2015, 1330hrs Local Time (0330hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1130hrs Zulu Time)

The Ducal Palace in Valencia was both the home of the Duke and the center of government for the city and the entire Dukedom. A grand building in the historic style of Valencia it was a beautiful building, from the towers of which flew the Duke’s standard proudly above his city. There were guards in dress uniforms stationed at each of the entrances, but Lady Jessica knew that they would be only the most visible of the security measures around what was quite possibly the best protected building in the entire Dukedom. The Guards snapped to attention as they spotted Don Alfredo approaching and saluted as the Don and his guest made their way up the steps and into the Palace itself. They were met by servants who informed them that the Duke was wrapping up a meeting and bid them wait for him in one of the sitting rooms on the family floor, away from the hustle and bustle of the work floor where the Duke’s staff were about the business of keeping their Dukedom running. Alfredo knew his way of course and after linking arms with his companion they made their way up the grand stairs and onto the family floor.

Upon arriving in one of the sitting rooms and making themselves comfortable yet more servants arrived to offer them drinks, both hot and cold, of which both accepted the latter, given the heat at this time of day. Whilst they waited for the Duke the two chatted casually, catching up after their time apart and just touching on the future and what they would be able to get up to. It wasn’t all that long before they were joined by the Alfredo’s father.

The Duke of Valencia was a man of forty-five ears and was aging in a distinguished fashion. He still had a thick head of black hair, although there were just the hints of grey, no doubt from the strain of ruling a nation. In his youth he had fought as part of the resistance to the Goodrule Regime and following its collapse he had restored his family to its rightful place in Valencia, spending the years that followed consolidating and growing his domain. But the Duke of Valencia was as dedicated an administer as he was a skilled military commander and in his time the Dukedom of Valencia had become a prosperous state born out of the ashes of the collapse of absolute despotism.

“Lady Warwick,” The Duke said with a warm and welcoming smile as he took her hand and kissed the back of it gently, as was traditional. “Welcome to Valencia.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jessica smiled warmly as she blushed a little, it seemed that Alfredo took after his father when it came to manners and traditional manners of greeting female nobility. “It is an absolute pleasure to be here.”

“We’re very happy to have you here, I know my son has spoken of little else since he returned from the Empire, you seem to have had quite an effect upon him,” The Duke commented with a wry smile. “I hope you will join us here for breakfast a few times a week, I am eager to learn more about your Empire, and your King.”

“Of course, Your Grace, I would love to,” Jessica replied with a nod.

“What kept you, Father?” Alfredo asked as they all settled down.

“I was in a meeting regarding the latest intelligence reports from the North, it looks like Madrid and Leon are at it again, some pretty large border skirmishes by the looks of things,” the Duke replied promptly. “Based on what my people are telling me it is a very real possibility that they will escalate into full-blown conflict, the Leon troops have started taking potshots across the border with mortars.”

“That’s an escalation, it’s normally small arms fire,” Alfredo commented with a frown. “Did Madrid respond with mortar fire of their own?”

“We believe so,” The Duke nodded grimly. “We also believe that both Dukedoms are calling up additional troops.”

“Jesus,” Alfredo scowled. “And no sign they’ll back down as they normally do?”

“Not this time,” The Duke shook his head. “By the sounds of it Leon is rattling the sabre and Madrid is fed up with it.”

“So they’re going to just have it out,” Alfredo sighed. “And plunge the Iberian Peninsula into chaos… lucky us!”

[Amigard]

Amigard Embassy
Valencia Province
The Dukedom of Valencia
Tuesday 1st June 2015, 1530hrs Local Time

“How Long do you think it will take before Valencia ‘requests’ to join the Apilonian Empire?” Virgo Ramio asked his compatriot using his fingers to make quotation marks in the air around the term requests.

Fateen Anwar shrugged “Does it matter; so what if they do?”

Virgo was a native to Valencia while Fateen hailed from Mosul, but both worked as staffers and aides at the Amigard Embassy in Valencia. Of course Fateen would be returning to Mosul soon, along with the Amigard ambassador to the small nation, as Valencia was among the nations that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had determined did not have diplomatic priority and therefore maintaining a full-fledged embassy was no longer deemed cost effective or necessary.

Virgo wasn’t sure what he was going to do once the embassy officially closed although he had considered relocating his family to the Theocracy of Amigard. Fateen had told him once that the Theocracy was looking to draw more Catholics to its borders and in some cases was willing to provide subsidized housing and other benefits for those able to show proof of their good standing with the Church and who were willing to relocate; and Virgo and his family fit that bill. On the other hand, given the Theocracy’s recent history Virgo wasn’t sure Amigard was great deal more stable than Valencia and Spain as a whole was.

“I don’t know” Virgo rolled his eyes as he continued loading another box with miscellaneous items from one of the embassy offices, “Seems they always manage to come up with some reason to expand; and with one of the royals showing up here I can’t help but wonder what the pretext will be this time. Kidnapping of the princess, hostage situation, violent protests, an invasion, or some other incident that the Duke cannot handle and will have to look to the Apolonians for intervention. Then everyone will be so grateful to the Empire that they will just demand to become a part of it.”

Fateen laughed “Maybe, but I’m not convinced it would be the worst thing in the world if that were to happen. The Apilonians tend to bring stability to a region without resorting to the brutal and oppressive tactics of the Goodrule regime.”

“Still, I’m just not a fan of their imperialistic style.”

“Imperialism isn’t necessarily a bad thing Virgo; when it becomes a problem is when it becomes exploitative in nature; when the parent nation begins exploiting its subject territories for the benefit of itself. I’m not aware of the Apilonian Empire operating in this way so…are we leaving these filing cabinets?”

Virgo looked over to the line of filing cabinets along the far wall of the office “I’m not sure” he replied “depends on if they will fit on the plane I suppose. I’ll ask the ambassador to make sure though. I know all of the computers are going.”

“You can still come with us back to Amigard. The basic training requirement isn’t that bad, its only nine weeks and the immigration program would ensure you have a job…I don’t see why you and your family wouldn’t be approved for the program.”

Virgo shrugged this time “I don’t know, I’m still thinking on it.”

“Well you don’t have forever to decide; we’re out of here in a little over a week.”

“I know, but this has always been home for me. It wouldn’t be easy to leave.”

Fateem nodded “I understand."

Inaaya, a young intern from Baghdad walked through the room, her heels clicking loudly on the wood floor “You guys hear; Madrid and Leon are at it again. Lobbing mortars at each other now.”

Virgo looked at Fateem knowingly and threw his hands up “and there it is!” he quipped in an ‘I told you so’ manner “I give it a month before half of Spain is firmly in the hands of the Apilonians.”

Fateen just smiled again and shook his head “Well if it bothers you that much Virgo, just pack your shit and come to Amigard already.”



OOC: Behold my glorified tag post!

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
Imperial Embassy, Valencia Province
The Dukedom of Valencia
Saturday 5th June 2015, 2100hrs Local Time (1100hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1900hrs Zulu Time)

Lady Jessica wasn’t the biggest fans of formal ‘parties’. As a member of the Royal Family she had not been able to avoid them as she was growing up but, given how far down the line of succession she was she had never really been the center of attention, except maybe her Birthday parties. Which meant that she was totally uncomfortable at this particular moment. The Imperial Embassy in Valencia had decided that it would be a great idea to throw a party to welcome the Lady Jessica to Valencia in ‘style’, and had invited the Duke and his family, as well as many other dignitaries as they could think off. To top it all off, Lady Jessica was the center of attention, which meant that she absolutely hated it. She had spent the past hour of the damn thing meeting and greeting the visitors to the Embassy, even if she hated it she was really rather good at it, she did have a great deal of training and experience in such things (even if she didn’t’ like them). The only redeeming factor was that she was on the arm of Don Alfredo, who was serving as her official Valencian companion for her stay.

Lady Jessica had complained about the entire thing for the past four days since she had been informed that it was happening, she had even tried ringing her parents to get them to put a stop to it. Unfortunately her mother, the Duchess of Oregon, had been the Imperial Ambassador to the Realm of Cotland, up until last year, and had instead spent over an hour explaining just how important such receptions were and encouraging her to do well. So, resigned to it as she was, she had retired to her apartment with her closet companion and had decided what to wear. In the end she had found a beautiful, and somewhat expensive, dark green dress with an emerald necklace, and they had spent some hours doing her hair and make-up, by the time they were finished she looked stunning if she did say so herself. Although she privately thought that she looked even better on the arm of the dashing young Valencian Don whom everyone agreed was a very good complement to her own beauty.

Don Alfredo was adorned in a crisp tuxedo complete with bowtie and had clearly also had his hair cut and was clean-shaved for the occasion. He looked incredibly handsome and Jessica had been unable to keep her eyes off of him for much of the evening, always sending sideways glances at him as they wandered around the main reception room at the Embassy talking to the various guests. There were quite a few local dignitaries that were eager to make the acquaintance of the Imperial Lady, whilst there was not even the hint of talk of Valencia joining the Empire it was common knowledge that the two shared affection for each other and were hopeful it would develop into something more, if that was the case, and given that Alfredo would be Duke one day, there would almost certainly be close relations between the Dukedom and the Empire regardless, and networking was important in the modern age. Jessica knew this, and she knew the angles that these people would all be working, but she had been prepared for this by her mother and the Embassy staff and was handling it well all things considered.

The Ambassador had surprised Jessica with the news that she would be expected to give some sort of speech, suffice it to say that her expression had said it all.

“You’re going to do fine, you’ve got a strong, beautiful voice and you always know what to say,” Alfredo assured her. “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve stood up to speak in front of people.”

“That was in front of maybe two dozen people in our seminar group about a subject that I knew well, not over a hundred about, well pretty much anything, including myself!” Jessica complained. “I’m just not suited to that, I can just about do the ‘Royal’ stuff and talk to pretty much anyone about anything, but public speaking is not, and probably never will, be my forte.”

“I have faith in you,” Alfredo said simply. “You’ll do fine, even if you’ve not spent the entire afternoon practicing in a mirror.”

Jessica felt her cheeks heating and knew she was doubtless blushing bright red, which in her case went all the way up to her ears, which turned a rather interesting shade of pink.

“You promised you’d never mention that again,” Jessica said with a mock pout as she jabbed at his arm. “You were allowed to be there to watch on that very promise.”

“I know,” Alfredo smiled, remembering back to the day in her dorm room where she had practiced her presentation with him as the not exactly impartial audience. “But I couldn’t resist.”

“Hmph,” Jessica replied with an unimpressed expression. “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we.”

Her attention was somewhat distracted however by something happening out by the foyer. The Imperial Defence Attaché, Lieutenant Colonel Simon Keebler, who was in the dress uniform of the Imperial Army for the occasion, was in what looked to be a close and fast conversation with another man, this one wearing the uniform of the Valencian Guard. It wasn’t long before they were joined by the Regional Security Officer, the Special Agent from the Diplomatic Security Agency responsible for all law-enforcement and security liaison with the Dukedom, and the Deputy Chief of Mission. It was obvious that something was going on, and no doubt they were all deciding whether it was serious enough to pull the Ambassador out of the function, but they were attracting attention regardless. It was therefore perhaps hardly surprising that a few minutes later the Deputy Chief of Mission, Jane Hunter, walked over and pulled the Ambassador away. It was likewise perhaps not surprising, given his presence, that the Duke was invited to join them… it was however surprising that Jessica and Alfredo were also instructed to follow the group.

The group made their way up onto the second floor of the Embassy until they reached the Ambassador’s Office and everyone settled into seats, the Ambassador sat behind his desk.

“Mister Ambassador, Your Grace, I’m sorry to pull you all out of the reception, however a situation is developing that we wanted you to be made aware of,” Lieutenant Colonel Keebler said by means of explanation. “A short time ago the Major here, from the Valencian Air Guard, came to me with a report from VAG early warning radar.”

The Valencian Major nodded but remained silent, his English wasn’t the best (Keebler’s Spanish was passable), leaving the Imperial Defence Attaché to explain the situation, the Major, or his superiors would no doubt brief the Duke in more detail upon his return to the Ducal Residence.

“The VAG Radar station detected a number of aircraft entering Madrid airspace from territory controlled by Leon, they engaged Madrid’s border patrols and proceeded to launch a strike against Madrid itself,” Lt. Colonel Keebler reported, his voice taking a distinctly grim tone. “The Madrid Air Defence Network was not on high alert but still managed to maul the enemy attack, but the city took a number of hits… smoke rises over the city tonight.”

“Good Lord,” The Duke exclaimed softly. “Madrid won’t allow this to stand… it will mean war.”

Sir Mark Harper nodded his agreement.

“Do we know what Leon was trying to achieve with this attack?” He asked.

“That is unclear, although the border skirmishes have been getting steadily more intense over the past few days, as far as we can tell from our sources in any case, this is a drastic escalation,” Lt. Colonel Keebler. “Defence Intelligence’s working theory is that this was some sort of attempt by Leon to take out the Duke of Madrid, his family and his senior officials and officers.”

“Was it successful?” Special Agent Ian Underwood, the Regional Security Officer, asked with a frown.

“This all happened literally ninety minutes ago, so intelligence is very thin on the ground, we’re doing everything we can to get a handle on the situation,” Lt. Colonel Keebler replied promptly. “Based on a satellite pass twenty minutes ago however there is significant damage done to several high profile target buildings… there will have been casualties.”

“Find out as much information as you can, work with Defence Intelligence to do the same, once we know anything I want you to pass it on to the Valencian Guard,” Sir Mark instructed. “Your Grace, instability on the Iberian Peninsula is a threat to the Crown Colony of Gibraltar, we’ve always enjoyed good relations with Valencia, so we’ll do whatever we can to ensure your protection and stability.”

“I appreciate that, Sir Mark, please pass my thanks on to His Majesty,” The Duke of Valencia nodded. “Well, I don’t think there is much else we can do right now, should we return to the party, our absence is probably becoming conspicuous.”

“Indeed we should,” Sir Mark nodded, then smiled slightly. “Lady Jessica still has a speech to give.”

If look’s could kill, the one that Jessica gave Sir Mark would certainly have sufficed.

Marshal of the Imperial Air Force Sir William Stryker GCS KAE DSO
Fort St Angelo, Joint Forces Base Valetta
The Crown Colony of Malta, the Empire of Apilonia
Wednesday 9th June 2015, 0900hrs Local Time (2300hrs (8/6/15), 0700hrs Zulu Time)

Joint Forces Base Valetta was actually a pretty sizable collection of military-owned buildings all across the capital of the Crown Colony of Malta, rather than a single cohesive military installation. The reasoning for this was simple enough; Malta, as a central (but safely isolated) position in the European theatre, was the location of the headquarters of Imperial Joint Regional Command, Europe, which controlled all Imperial military forces in the theatre. As a result of this there were a significant number of staff officers based out of Valetta, and that was without even considering the fact that the headquarters of both the Imperial Third Army and No.9 Group of the Imperial Air Force, and their associated headquarters and staff personnel. There simply wasn’t space on Malta to carve out a traditional military base large enough to accommodate all those units, so the decision had been made to follow the pattern adopted in the Imperial Capital and make use of civilian buildings for such purposes, and as such all over Valetta there were buildings owned and inhabited by various parts of His Majesty’s Armed Forces.

The Maltese didn’t mind. They had long ago realized the necessity of a strong defence for their isolated, but highly sought after, islands, and living and working alongside Imperial Forces was old-hat to them. The impact that the presence of so many additional personnel had on the Maltese economy was hardly a bad thing either.

The newly restored Fort St Angelo had been chosen as the Headquarters of IJRC, Europe. It had once been the Headquarters of the Imperial Mediterranean Fleet, before the Fall of the First Empire, as HMS St Angelo, and it was a symbolic choice to say the least, as the Fort had been the location of the last stand of Imperial forces on Malta before the islands had been seized by enemy forces, against the wishes of the Maltese. It had taken some decades to return the Empire to Malta, but it had been done, and Malta was rapidly prospering and many said was entering a new golden age as the Imperial Flag fluttered over Valetta once more. The choice of Fort St Angelo, one of the most iconic parts of the Great Harbour, as a vital part of the Imperial infrastructure in the region was a testament to just how important Malta was to the Empire once more.

The Imperial Joint Regional Commandant, Europe, Marshal of the Imperial Air Force Sir William Striker, stepped out of the Jaguar XJ staff car just outside the main entrance to Fort St Angelo. Standing guard, in full dress uniform (albeit with fully functioning weapons) on either side of the main entrance were four individuals, one each from all four branches of the Imperial Armed Forces (Army, Navy, Marines and Air Force). All four snapped to attention and presented arms as one of the highest ranking officers in the entire military approached them. Sir William returned their salute as he passed them and entered the Fort. He made his way through the corridors of the Fort until he reached his office where there were already a number of officers waiting for him. By tradition Wednesday was the day in which all of the senior commanders gathered on Malta to discuss the strategic situation in person; although this was easier for everyone except the Commander-in-Chief, Imperial Mediterranean Fleet, given that they were all based out of Malta themselves. There was significant talk of moving the Fleet’s headquarters to Malta, just to make everything simpler and more streamlined.

“Sorry for dragging you out here again, Lady Stanford,” Sir William said with a slight smile as he nodded to the aforementioned Imperial Mediterranean Fleet Commander, Admiral the Viscountess Stanford. “We need to sit down at some point and seriously discuss moving your headquarters here to Valetta.”

“Indeed we do,” Viscountess Stanford agreed. “After this meeting perhaps?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sir William nodded. “Alright, before we get down to business, I believe we have an update on the situation on the Iberian Peninsula?”

Rear Admiral Harry Cooper was the Staff Intelligence Officer (J2) of IJRC, Europe. He had joined the Imperial Navy some years previously and had been selected during Initial Officer Training for assignment to the Office of Naval Intelligence, having been deemed to have the right aptitude. He had served in a number of roles over his career before being selected as the J2 for IJRC, Europe.

“We’ve finally got the final death toll for the airstrike, the Duke and his family are safe, as is their Defence Minister, but they suffered a significant number of casualties in their upper military command structure, and their Interior Minister, so Madrid is in a pretty bad state right now, the Duke is ruling by decree under a State of Emergency,” RADM Cooper began his briefing. “In the aftermath of the airstrike by Leon on Madrid the fighting has intensified along the border, both sides have started to move artillery and armoured units to the border and we’ve observed a fair few engagements which go beyond ‘skirmishes’ and arguably become fully fledged battles.”

RADM Cooper paused to let that sink in.

“We’ve also confirmed by Rivet Joint that orders have been transmitted from Leon Central Command for all reserves to start to mobilize, we don’t know of Madrid has learnt of this yet, but we’ve passed out intelligence on to Valencia so that they are prepared if this is a bigger move by Leon for the whole Peninsula,” RADM Cooper continued. “There have been a few aerial skirmishes but nothing on the scale as the last raid on Madrid, both sides know they have limited aircraft and both air defence networks are still largely intact.”

Sir William frowned.

“The bottom line that I want to know is whether or not Madrid can stand up to Leon, we do not want the Duke of Leon becoming the most powerful man in Iberia,” Sir William said firmly. “So can they do it? Can Madrid hold the line, or do we need to start encouraging Valencia to prepare themselves for an assault as well.”

“We don’t know, Sir,” RADM Cooper replied promptly. “All of the Dukedom’s have relatively equal strength, but Leon certainly has the advantage of surprise and the initiative.”

“And sometimes that can be enough,” Sir William sighed. “Alright, I want daily updates, this has the potential to blow up in our faces and Gibraltar would be in the firing line.”

Sir William shook his head.

“Alright,” He said simply. “What’s next?”

[Itailian Maifias]

Prime Minister Daniel Soer
10 Downing Street, London, England
June 6th, 2015 - 8:30 AM

Daniel looked out over the assembled faces before him, the dozen or so each expressing their looks of curiosity, anxiousness, attempts to play a poker face, but no matter what, no one in the room could deny that the Cabinet of Daniel Soer was increasingly curious as to the attendance of a particular person, His Majesty King Richard IV, who with his beard looked out of place in the room. He sat at the head of the long conference table, wearing a dark blue three piece suit, his brown hair beginning to get on the long side but was still combed over and back in a sort, with his full beard trimmed close to the cheeks, but still covered his full face. A few coughs and amused looks, and others, were exchanged before Daniel cleared his throat.

" Thank you for coming ladies and gentlemen. I'm sure as you are all wondering is what did we do wrong to deserve the King and his justice "

The last was a joke meant to clear the air and it mostly did the trick, most in the room chuckling, even Richard. " Well, unfortunately, it was nothing we did, but something others did. George?"

George Blackwood, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs was a thin aging man, but he had served his nation well and continued to do so as it's chief diplomat and his fierce rhetoric still retained the power it possessed when he was an MP under the Third Spainish States, and continued to hold it, now under a more free system. He sat half way down the table on the right side and flicked open a leather portfolio and read some notes before he began to speak, a deep tone " Approximately last night at 2100 hrs local time, jet aircraft under the control of the Duchy of Leon launched a surprise aerial strike on the Duchy of Madrid; the Madrid managed to maul them up a bit, but there was still some losses, MI6 heard some chatter about their Minister of the Interior, but it appears the Ducal family, which we believe to be the target, survived. "

A few dark looks were exchanged across the table at the mention of the news - promoting and ensuring European stability was one of the new foreign and internal policies that had been adopted last year when the Empire was formed and they remained dedicated to it, and one of the tenents was that Europe was for Europeans; meddlers just made it worse, and of course the other state in the Spanish lands was already near a Apilonian territory. Apilonia, a quandary that dogged the Cabinet and the Empire for a number of years, in the years since the Allen Agreement and with cooperation in Liberia and other parts of the world their relations had taken a significant increase but many were still incredibly wary of their imperialistic ambitions - and now coming at a piece of Europe seemed to be the final extreme act. Richard was the first to speak following George's news "I'm here today because I have asked the Prime Minister personally to ensure that we resolve this, quickly. We do not need the rest of the Spanish peninsula becoming the next crown colony of Apilonia, and this seems to be the perfect time to display how committed we are to ensuring European stability, especially to our newer members that have recently joined us into the EDP fold. We need to come up with a solution, today. "

Albrecht Zurich, the Secretary of State for Defense spoke as soon as Richard had finished "We have several options we could perform in the area, but perhaps an outright military invasion isn't the answer. Look, we know the Apilonians standard tactic is to offer help and suddenly, new colony. So, why don't we send out feelers to the Duchies of Madrid, and Leon, and offer to send a task force down to keep the peace, keep the status quo. If we can get the forces down there to enforce a cease fire, and then keep it between the two, and then we can work from there."

Daniel looked at George "Think we could do it? "

" My experience with dealing with the Ducal leaders is restricted at best, but sending out letters to both of them offering to host a meeting to keep the peace is worth a shot. We don't need another war breaking out in Europe"

To: His Grace, the Duke of Leon
From: Prime Minister Daniel Soer of the British Empire
Re: Escalation of Hostilities

---

Your Grace,

We have watched in alarm as violence has not only returned to the lands of the Spanish, but now also increased. This concerns us greatly, Europe has been scarred enough thanks to the chaotic regimes of the Goodrule, and Third Spainish States, and we believe it is past the time for Europe to remember we can be great and leave those torrid pasts right where they belong, in history books. To this end, we wish to host a meeting on neutral grounds between yourself and the Duchy of Madrid to negotiate a cease-fire or peace settlement, in hopes of returning peace to both lands.

Signed,

Daniel Soer
Prime Minister of the British Empire

To: His Grace, the Duke of Madrid
From: Prime Minister Daniel Soer of the British Empire
Re: Escalation of Hostilities

---

Your Grace,

We have watched in alarm as violence has not only returned to the lands of the Spanish, but now also increased. This concerns us greatly, Europe has been scarred enough thanks to the chaotic regimes of the Goodrule, and Third Spainish States, and we believe it is past the time for Europe to remember we can be great and leave those torrid pasts right where they belong, in history books. To this end, we wish to host a meeting on neutral grounds between yourself and the Duchy of Madrid to negotiate a cease-fire or peace settlement, in hopes of returning peace to both lands.

Signed,

Daniel Soer
Prime Minister of the British Empire

[Layarteb]

June 6, 2015 - 10:00 hrs [UTC-5]
Layarteb City, New York
Fortress of Comhghall
(40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W)

The Emperor and the assembled Cabinet were reviewing the daily brief when the topic of Spain came up, which brought many confused looks. "I was wholly unaware of border issues between Spain's states."

"Sir we placed a low priority on them as they did not threaten our assets or the assets of our allies," Minister Flores of Intelligence said.

"Right well, is this really any concern of ours, this business between Valencia, Madrid, and Leon and Castile? It doesn't threaten us or our allies. Does it threaten the Junta Sotanabeltz?"

"They are on the periphery sir but none of the states have shown any hostile intent towards Manresa sir."

"Then we'll disregard it for now. We have better things to do than concern ourselves in something that truly has no effect on us whatsoever, what is the next item of business," and the meeting went on as it was supposed to, without further sidetracking or interruption. Hours later, when the Emperor was alone in his office, he was visited by his chief of security, Jack Delaney. "There's a potential kink in our plans," the Emperor said after Delaney had shut the door.

"What is that kink sir?"

"There's a flare up in Spain that might drag in the Apilonians, you know how 'concerned' they get with these situations, always looking for that benevolent annexation."

"Yes sir I do."

"Find out some information if you can; and let me know if we have to forestall our plans. We're less than three days away and I do not want any delays or distractions."

"I will sir."

Ajax Rising troll

[Terra Reborn]

The Rt. Hon. Countess of Thurston LW GCG PC
North Bank, Karin City
Duchy of Alaska, The Empire of Apilonia
Wednesday 9th June 2015, 0700hrs Local Time (0700hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1500hrs Zulu Time)

The North Bank neighbourhood of Karin City was a large, upscale residential district on the banks of Yukon River, to the east of the Royal District. Its architecture was Georgian and Regency in style, grand in size and expensive to say the least. What space wasn’t taken up by these grand buildings, usually five or six stories high, was taken up by parks, squares and memorials, the majority of the latter were dedicated to influential men, and women, who had lived in North Bank at some point in their lives, and there were a fair number of them. It was a high profile, well-known neighbourhood and living there was highly prestigious. The crime level was low, no doubt mainly due to the fact that there was a heavy presence from the Metropolitan Police, given the number of high-ranking civil servants, politicians and other important individuals that lived in the neighbourhood. In short it was home to the great and the good, anyone with the money or with a position that entitled them to a grace and favour home from His Majesty’s Government.

One of those people was The Countess of Thurston, the current Imperial Foreign Secretary, and is widely agreed to be the foremost expert in Foreign Affairs in the entire Empire, having held that position for an unprecedented seven years. She had developed an interest in both politics and international relations in her teenage years and had subsequently spent nearly a decade in higher education, eventually earning a Doctorate in International Affairs and Conflict Management. She had originally been offered a position in the then State of Washington Diplomatic Service, but her interest in politics encouraged her to stand for election to the Washington Assembly. When Washington joined the Empire in 2002 she had been elected to the Imperial Parliament and received a place o the Foreign Affairs Select Committee, within two years she was the Chairman. After four years in this position she was appointed Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, a role she held since, being raised to the nobility in 2010 at the request of the Duke of Washington. Given her high office the affairs of her county were handled by her Chancellor, with her input when necessary.

All of this meant that the Countess didn’t’ exactly need a ‘grace and favour’ home, in the five years she had been a Countess the revenue from her country had made her really rather wealthy, and she would have been able to afford a home in North Bank in her own right. But it was tradition, and protocol, that all Ministers of the Crown have a home provided for them by His Majesty in the Capital. It just so happened that the Countess spent the majority of her time in the capital, rather than in the family seat in Olympia.

On the average day the Countess wok, at approximately seven. She had a shower and otherwise made herself presentable for the day before having breakfast with her husband. She was out of the house by eight, striding down the steps of her townhouse and towards the waiting vehicle, a Jaguar XJ. She was flanked on either side by two members of the Diplomatic Security Agency: as the Foreign Secretary she was the only individual protected by a law enforcement agency other than the Parliamentary Police Service. One of these agents was her driver, the other was her close protection agent. In addition to the Jaguar there were also two black Land Rover discoveries, one in front of and one behind, the Jaguar, each carrying more DSA agents. In total the Countess was protected by ten agents specifically, not counting additional DSA activity and wider police protection, equal to other senior Ministers, only the Prime Minister and the Royal Family had more. Once she was in the vehicle the small group of vehicles headed off into the relatively quiet streets heading towards the Royal District.

On most days she would have gone straight to the Foreign Office for her days work, however today she had an important meeting in Parliament, specifically she was meeting with the Foreign Affairs Select Committee to discuss the situation in Spain, which had grown more complicated over the last few days. As the fighting had continued to rumble on the Dutch-British Empire had waded into the quagmire. The Dutch-British were something of an uncertainty, the unlikely and unexpected union of the British and Dutch Kingdoms had taken everyone in the Foreign Office by surprise, and had significantly altered the balance of power in Europe. From a diplomatic perspective it changed a great deal, and from what the Secretary of State for Defence, the Earl of Wade Hampton, had indicated, it posed a significant military conundrum if there was ever a conflict; specifically up until this point the Imperial Military had been confident that it could contain the Dutch’s main offensive striking arm (its Navy) in the North Sea, leaving the only real targets within their range being the Crown Colonies in the Mediterranean, which were already well protected. The uncertainty in their relations made it all really rather difficult to plan for, from both a diplomatic and military perspective, sometimes conflict seemed very far away, other times it seemed a lot closer than one would like.

In the eyes of the Imperial Foreign Office their foreign policy was generally seen as being uncertain and influx as well, sometimes they would totally ignore situations on their doorsteps, others they would operate in an expeditionary fashion very far away from home, and it was very difficult for anyone to estimate when they would deign themselves to get involved. Which was yet another thing that made it very difficult to plan for. With this in mind their diplomatic intrusion into Spain had been unexpected to say the least. There had however been some developments overnight, and the Prime Minister had tasked the Countess with forming a consensus with the Foreign Affairs Select Committee on how to proceed.

With a lot on her mind and the latest intelligence reports from the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) to read on her way in, it didn’t take them all that long to arrive on Parliament Avenue. As soon as they arrived they came under the added protection of the Parliamentary Police Service. She was met by two individuals, the first was the Chairman of the Foreign Affairs Select Committee, Edward Harrison, the other was the Government Chief Whip, John Greenwood. They had all met before so they exchanged handshakes and headed inside, making the normal small talk as they made their way towards the Committee meeting room. As the various committee members entered the room handshakes and introductions (there were a few new members present) were made before everyone took their seats. The Countess sat behind the desk immediately in front of the half-circle, although this was no inquiry, and she was after all the Foreign Secretary, she was not a member of the committee and as such that was the most appropriate place for her to sit.

After a few more moments, at precisely nine, Harrison banged his gavel and brought the committee to order.

“My Lady, thank you for coming before us today,” He said, nodding respectfully to the Countess. “You may begin your briefing.”

“Thank You, Mister Chairman,” The Countess nodded. “The military situation in Spain has not really changed since your last briefing, however the diplomatic situation has shifted significantly.”

The Countess paused.

“As you are all aware the Dutch-British Empire sent identical communiqués to both the Dukes of Leon and Madrid in an effort to get them to the negotiating table, rather than allowing the conflict to continue, for the past two days the conflict has however continued to rumble on at the increased, but still relatively low-scale, fighting, we have seen thus far,” The Countess began. “Madrid accepted the offer immediately, however as we expected Leon did nothing of the sort, overnight however that has all changed… our sources in both Leon and in London have confirmed that Leon has accepted the offer of talks.”

The Countess paused again and sipped her glass of water.

“According to intelligence sources highly placed within Leon’s diplomatic service the general consensus over there is that the Dukedom has nothing to lose by attending the talks and everything to gain… by refusing they would have isolated themselves from everyone on the world stage,” The Countess continued. “We do not believe that the Duke is likely to be particularly cooperative even if he is turning up, and we do not anticipate the fighting stopping, even if talks are on-going; in short Leon isn’t likely to sacrifice the strategic initiative, and Madrid can’t back down without compromising the integrity of their defences, so whilst cooler heads will try to prevail, the fighting will still rage on in the background.”

“My Lady,” Harrison asked in the Countess’ next pause. “Do we anticipate any sort of peace settlement?”

“No,” The Countess replied bluntly. “Before the strike on Madrid there might have been a chance for the two Dukes to solve their differences, but now…”

The Countess shook her head.

“In short the answer is no,” She repeated. “If we had thought there was any chance of a peaceful solution, we’d have offered ourselves.”

“And Valencia?” One of the other committee members asked. “What of them?”

“Trying desperately to stay out of the firing line, there is no personal animosity between the Dukes of Leon and Valencia, but the Duke of Valencia is wary of Leon’s not-exactly-subtle claims to a unified Spanish Throne,” The Countess replied promptly “Given the legacy of the Goodrule, in which the Duke’s family suffered significantly, the Duke is very wary of any sort of Spanish unification… he’d rather join up with us than any sort of pan-Iberian initiative.”

“Is that likely, Valencia joining the Empire?”

“Not in the conventional sense, the Empire does not have any designs on Valencia, although its strategic position is desirable, and at this point Valencia does not have the need or the desire at this point to join the Empire,” The Countess replied. “We’re more likely to see Valencia joining the Empire if the burgeoning relationship between King’s niece and Don Alfredo de Valencia gets more serious.”


“Alright,” Harrison nodded. “So what is the opinion of His Majesty’s Government on how to proceed?”

“We let the Dutch have a shot at it… the chances are that it won’t work, and if it doesn’t then its not our Diplomatic reputation that takes a hit its theirs, and on the off-chance that it does work, we have peace on the Iberian Peninsula without our having to spend diplomatic capital,” The Countess answered. “We ‘request’ that the Dutch allow us to send an observation party to the talks, given our presence on Gibraltar, and we don’t disrupt the talks by attempting to influence Madrid, they get their shot at diplomatic limelight, we keep an eye on the situation as it relates to our presence on Gibraltar.”

“I agreed,” Harrison nodded. “Any objections?”

The Countess watched as the nine other members of the committee shook their heads. She was a little surprised, this was relatively unusual. Although the Foreign Affairs Select Committee was probably one of the least partisan in Parliament, given that Foreign Policy concerned the welfare of the Empire primarily, it still existed due to the different ideologies the various parties had when it came to dealing with its neighbours. As such it was still uncommon for the decisions to be unanimous. Not that she was going to look a gift horse in the mouth, the Prime Minister would no doubt be pleased that a consensus had been so easily reached.

“Okay, so entered into the records,” Harrison nodded. “Now, my lady, onto the next order of business…”

[Terra Reborn]

Wing Commander Olivia Croft DFC DSO
IAF Gibraltar
The Crown Colony of Gibraltar, The Empire of Apilonia
Monday 15th July 2015, 1000hrs Local Time (0000hrs Imperial Capital Time, 0800hrs Zulu Time)

It was a hot, humid day in Gibraltar as Wing Commander Olivia Croft made her way across the hardstanding towards her waiting aircraft, a Wraith F.1 Air Superiority Fighter. Looking around, even after a year of being stationed here it still surprised her just how unconventional IAF Gibraltar really was. The station was co-located with Gibraltar International Airport, located on the very northern parts of the territory, right on the border with the Duchy of Valencia. Part of the aerodrome was civilian and operated various civilian aircraft, the other part was sealed off and secured by the Imperial Air Force and used as a flying station, the vast bulk of the support facilities, including accommodation, was located around the territory. In terms of actual equipment the aircraft of No. 39 Wing IAF were all packed in really rather tightly in a relatively small area that was always abuzz with activity. But then it was not unlike the Imperial Army and Imperial Navy’s presence on Gibraltar, both were significnicant but crammed into small spaces by necessity. Gibraltar had always been a critical military outpost for the Empire of Apilonia, and why even in the modern age it had been a priority to reclaim once the Empire began to turn its sights overseas once more.

Olivia Croft (Olivia Carpenter as she was then) joined the Imperial Air Force in the year 2000 at the age of eighteen, eschewing the ‘easier’ route to an IAF Commission by deciding to join straight up rather than attend university. This decision proved to be a good one as she excelled at the Officer and Aircrew Selection Course (OASC) with the highest score of her intake, and she gleefully accepted a position to train as a pilot. She attended the Imperial Air Force Academy in 2000, commissioning as a Pilot Officer in September before starting Initial Flying Training and after demonstrating a natural flare for flying was selected for the fast-jet stream where she would spend the rest of her initial two years as a pilot officer, eventually earning her wing in 2002, being promoted to Flying Officer at the same time. Flying Officer Cooper found herself in a trial by fire, serving as part of No. 11 Squadron and seeing action in the Oregon War, over the course of which she downed five enemy aircraft, earning her ‘Ace’ Status and the Distinguished Flying Cross. Flying Officer Cooper was promptly re-assigned to No.14 Squadron, flying the Raptor F.1, a position she held for two years before being promoted to Flight Lieutenant in the summer of 2004.

As a Flight Lieutenant she served as OC of C Flight of No.24 Squadron for two years, followed by another stint as OC of B Flight of No. 18 Squadron. It was during these relatively quiet years that she met and fell in love with a dashing naval officer, Lieutenant Daniel Croft, a decision that did not go down well with her family however the two preserved and married in the summer of 2008. Shortly afterwards Flight Lieutenant Croft, as she was now, was promoted to Squadron Leader, and took command of No. 18 Squadron IAF. Croft fell pregnant with their first child, at which point she was re-assigned to serve as a Staff Officer at No. 1 Group IAF, it was during this period, whilst heavily pregnant, that Squadron Leader Croft was integral to the successful outcome of the Minnesota War, and was recognised for this feat by being inducted into the Distinguished Service Order. In September of 2010 she gave birth to their child, and was on light duties following her return from maternity leave. Upon returning to active duty in 2012 she was assigned to serve as the Squadron OC for the elite No.1 Squadron, tasked with protecting the Imperial Capital, which despite being prestigious was quite a dull posting, meaning that she could still spend a lot of time with her family.

In the summer of 2014 she was promoted to Wing Commander, and assigned to command No. 39 Wing, attached to No. 8 Group and based out of IAF Gibraltar, After a special request to the Admiralty, now Commander Daniel Croft was re-assigned to the Gibraltar Squadron, allowing the family to remain together. Up until recently it had been another relatively dull posting; of vital importance like her last, but dull none the less. The sudden outbreak of violence in the Iberian Peninsula had caught everyone on Gibraltar by surprise, it was perhaps fortunate that the violence wasn’t, for once, directed at the Empire; at least not yet. The situation was fluid and every changing, and it was safe to say that the situation was hardly improving.

Today marked the first day of the Anglo-Dutch Empire’s ambitious summit to try and sort out a peaceful solution for the escalating conflict on the Iberian Peninsula. But if the diplomats were meeting in London to try and come to an agreement on how to proceed, the troops on the ground and the airmen in the air showed no sign of letting up on the actual fighting; indeed if intelligence was anything to go by the fighting had actually got worse in the past few days. It seemed likely that the fighting would only stop if there was actually an agreement achieved in London. It was for this reason that Military Intelligence, not to mention the Imperial Foreign Office, were of the opinion that the talks would fail; if both sides were still killing each other, there could be no trust, no peaceful solution, and on the off chance that something seemed to be proceeding, all it would take was one particularly bloody engagement, or a critical target hit to derail in all over again. The Imperial Foreign Office had a significant amount of experience in this sort of thing, contrary to what some might think there had been a number of situations in which the Empire had played a role of mediator, without any subsequent territorial annexation or anything like that, and it was the opinion of the Foreign Office that the talks were a waste of time.

“Wing Commander Croft!”

Croft stopped at the foot of the ladder that she had been about to climb up into her aircraft and turned to look at the source of the voice; a tall man in No.2 Service Working Dress, unlike her own flight suit and gear, bearing a single thick stripe on his arm. The man was Air Commodore Sir William Dance, a respected Air Officer who had distinguished himself the previous year whilst in command of IAF Akrotiri during the Cyprus Intervention, and was a well respected pilot to boot. Air Commodore Dance was the Station Commander, which meant that he was responsible for co-operating the actions of the Operations Group (which consisted of Croft’s command, No. 39 Wing, as well as a wing of the IAF Regiment for ground defence), the Engineering Wing and the Administration Wing, to ensure that the station’s mission statement was carried out.

“Yes sir?”

“Long range Radar has picked up increasing levels of activity all over the Iberian Peninsula, it started with Leon, as it always seems to, with Madrid scrambling their own aircraft in order to counter them, with Valencia following suit as a precaution,” Air Commodore Dance explained promptly. “In short there’s a shitload of aircraft up there, Wing Commander, there’s a lot of scope for this to go badly wrong on very, very short notice, so I want your head on a swivel up there and and for you to treat everything up there with a handful of salt.”

“Do we have any intelligence indicating an attack is likely?”

“On us? Not at all, Valencia and Madrid have no reason to, and as crazy as Leon is acting, we don’t think they’re stupid enough to ruin any chance they’ve got of victory by attacking us of all people, and they have no reason to anyway,” Dance replied. “My main concern is the sheer number of aircraft up there, even with careful control there’s every possibility that something could go wrong, I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the situation.”

“Roger that, Sir,” Croft nodded. “Will we have AWACs up?”

“Affirmative, as soon as you’re up we’re putting an AWACs up over the Straits, should give us adequate range whilst keeping it out of the busy flight lanes around Gibraltar,” Dance confirmed. “Other than that, stay safe up there Wing Commander, it’s gonna be a busy day.”

“Just the way I like them Sir,” Croft smiled.

Dance nodded and stepped back from the flight line to watch as Croft performed her walk around of the Wraith before climbing up into the cockpit and running through the rest of the preflight checklist. It wasn’t long before she was taxing towards the runway where the complex process of stopping the civilian traffic long enough for the military jets to get into the air was complete. In this case Croft was taking up a patrol of eight aircraft from across her squadrons, plus herself and her wingman, taking full advantage of the opportunity to get into the air. Wing Commander was the last rank at which an officer could expect to continue flying operationally; Group Captain’s and above could still fly and get their hours in to remain qualified, but they almost never flew in combat; their duties were on the ground and at higher commands. Croft was not looking forward to the idea of not flying almost every day, but she knew that it was still at least four years away, she was a recent promotion to Wing Commander, but it was a sobering thought; even if it meant that she would then be able to spend much more time with her family. Croft loved flying, but she loved her family more.

Croft did love flying from Gibralatae in particular, looking down at the colony was an awesome sight and she and all the pilots in her wing a great deal of experience and knowledge when I r came to Gibraltar and the surrounding areas. A quick glance down at her radar repeater soured her mood somewhat however; Dance had not been wrong, her display was full of contacts, some operating in very close proximity to the other. Some of those would be I close contact with each other, and those that weren't were probably also engaged in combat operations. That wasn't even counting the Valencia jets arrayed along the border to defend against any agresssion against their Duchy.

Looking down at that screen, and having read her morning intelligence report, Croft couldn't help but feel that peace, of any sort, was a very long way off right now.

[Terra Reborn]

Captain Daniel Croft DSO IN
Mediterranean Fleet Headquarters, Devil’s Tower Garrison
The Crown Colony of Gibraltar, the Empire of Apilonia
Monday 15th July 2015, 1200hrs Local Time (0200hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1000hrs Zulu Time)

Captain Daniel Croft of the Imperial Navy returned the salute of the two Imperial Marines standing post outside the entrance to the above-ground building of the Devil’s Tower Garrison. Gratefully removing his peaked cap from his head, knowing that it would leave a lovely red mark due to the heat, he relished in the cool air finally being allowed to his head. He didn’t envy those two young Marines, in full dress uniform no less, having to stand post in this sort of weather, but then knowing the Imperial Marines as well as he did he rather suspected that they were enjoying themselves, or at least seeing it as some sort of challenge. In any event Captain Croft, being an officer, was used to more civilised settings and completely appreciated the air conditioning that was keeping the building nice and cool, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat out side. The Devil’s Tower Garrison was a modern building, replacing an older structure that had been in place when the Empire retook ownership of Gibraltar some years previously, but to those in the know it was only the tip of an iceberg of tunnels and underground facilities that spread all over Gibraltar and had once, upon a time, housed the entirety of Imperial Regional Command Europe, now it was just home of the Mediterranean Fleet and its associated subordinate units; but all kept at high readiness in case Gibraltar ever needed to become a critical military nerve centre once more.

Captain Croft was the Commanding Officer of His Majesty’s Ship Malta, an Ajax-Class Heavy Cruiser the was part of the 2nd Cruiser Squadron, based out of Gibraltar. The Ajax-Class Heavy Guided Missile Cruiser (CAGN) is a major surface combatant of the Imperial Navy, designed for long-range operations independent of other vessels (particularly escorts) although in many cases these Cruisers can operate in company with each other. Designed along similar lines to the Saga-Class Battlecruiser, the Ajax-Class is designed to be a multi-role warship, with some focus particularly in anti-surface warfare. In the Imperial Navy the Heavy Cruisers operated independently of each other, generally on flag-flying operations and with significant scope to travel between Fleet commands; the 2nd Cruiser Squadron was based of Gibraltar and served the Mediterranean Fleet, the North Atlantic Station, the South Atlantic Station and the East Indies Station. Command of a Cruiser therefore meant a highly independent command which could be called upon to support pretty much any operation; and as such they were highly sought after commands.

Captain Croft had been summoned to meet with Admiral The Viscountess Stanford herself, the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Mediterranean Fleet. He presumed that it had something to do with orders that the Malta had received from the Admiralty to reduce to an hours readiness for sea, which usually indicated that, sooner or later, they would be receiving detailed orders to get underway. Croft knew his way to Admiral Stanford’s office without any guidance and made his way at a decent pace through the corridors until he stepped into the suite of offices that Stanford worked out of. He spoke briefly to a Chief Petty Officer sat behind a desk outside the ornate door to the Admiral’s personal office, most likely her personal Yeoman. He was expected and shown straight into the office where Stanford was waiting for him.

Alice Stanford, Viscountess Stanford, was young for her rank. She was one of those officers who had risen purely on merit during the rapid expansion of the Imperial Navy during the 2000s, and had an uncommon two rows of medals to prove it; aside from a number of campaign medals she also had ribbons for her Dame Commander of the Most Glorious Order of the Sword, the Distinguished Service Order and the Distinguished Service Cross (complete with bar). She was, quite simply, one of the higher decorated officers in the Imperial Naval Service and her rapid rise through the ranks was evidence of that. She had been based out of Gibraltar for some years in various roles, and had a very close working relationship with the Governor of Gibraltar, and was seen as a very likely candidate to serve as Governor herself in some years, when she eventually retired from the Navy. She was an attractive woman, her short brown hair perfectly framed a well-formed face, with sharp blue eyes and a warm smile. It was an open secret that she was involved with Admiral The Earl Harrington, the former Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Atlantic Fleet, who now served as Flag Officer, North Atlantic .

“Captain Croft,” Admiral Stanford smiled, leaning across her desk to shake his hand. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, Ma’am,” Croft replied with a matching smile as he shook her hand. “Is it just me or is there more people about?”

“No, there are more people about, IRC Europe is doing an investigation to determine whether it is a good use of resources and space to move the Headquarters of the Mediterranean Fleet to Malta, to join the other services and IRC at JFB Valetta,” Stanford replied promptly as she settled into her seat, indicating for Croft to do the same. “On one hand it would make sense, having all the service headquarters in one place close to our joint command, but at the same time having them all in the same place is dangerously, not to mention its a massive waste of money given how much was put into the Devil’s Tower Complex over the past few years.”

“Will it happen?” Croft asked curiously.

“I’m not sure, I’ll all depend whether the bean counters decide that the money saved be having them all co-located will be more than the money wasted by having so much of the DTC going unused outside of an emergency,” Stanford replied with a shrug. “I’m keeping out of it, I joined the Navy for the operational side of it, not for paper exercises around costs and budgets, I get enough of that every year.”

“Fair enough, Ma’am,” Croft smiled. “You asked to see me, Ma’am?”

“I did, you’ve already received orders from Fleet Command to reduce to one hours notice for sea, and I’m sure that you're eager to find out what your orders are exactly,” Stanford nodded. “Your orders are simple enough, you will sail as soon as you are able and proceed into the North Atlantic, there you will come under the Operational Commander of Flag Officer, North Atlantic.”

Stanford leant back in her chair.

“FONA will provide you with a detailed Operational Order, but in short your orders are to meet up with a group of Type-26 Frigates from the West Europe Squadron and proceed to the area off the coast of Galicia, in the Duchy of Leon and Castile, specifically their naval station at Ferrol,” Stanford explained. “You are not to enter Ducal territorial waters but your orders are to position yourself in a fashion to keep an eye on, and potential intercept, any sortie out into the North Atlantic, just in case these chaps decide to launch a naval attack against Valencia.”

“What sort of enemy force are we looking at?” Captain Croft asked with a frown.

“The Leon and Castile Navy (LCN) consists of five AEGIS Frigates, of the Alvaro de Bazan-Class, these are air-warfare ships, destroyers by ours and other nation’s estimations, they have formidable air defences but only eight Harpoon anti-ship missiles per ship,” Stanford replied. “Their air defences is the main reason we’re sending the frigates with you, although we fully expect that your ship’s air defences could have handled their firepower, if you were smart about it, it is unlikely that you, alone would have the missiles to sink all of them.”

Stanford smiled slightly.

“The LCN also has eight corvettes of the Meteoro-Class, however these are small-fry, only equipped with relatively short-ranged guns which will be easily outranged by your eight-inch guns, you should be able to handle them at guns range,” Stanford continued. “If you do have to engage in combat with the LCN, you may also come under fire from a LCAF squadron based in the region, so you may want to bear that in mind.”

“If the LCN does attempt a break out before hostilities are declared, what are my orders?”

“FONA will confirm, however it is likely that you will be ordered to shadow them in order to engage them if directed by Fleet Command, it will all depend whether Leon intends to attack Valencia, and what role the LCN will play in that attack,” Stanford replied. “Your deployment is very much a precautionary and pre-positioning measure, not a specific strike mission against the LCN, we’re making sure we’ve got the capability to engage them if we need to.”

“Understood,” Croft nodded. “In that case I’ll look to sail within a few hours, I’m not sure if we’d reduced to one hour’s notice before I left.”

Stanford nodded.

“In that case, I’ll let you get to it,” Stanford agreed. “In that case, good luck and godspeed, Captain.”

Croft nodded and took his leave from the Admiral and headed back out towards the main entrance and soon enough he was stepping out into the sunlight, settling his peaked cap back onto his head. Instead of making his way towards the port and his ship he turned right and headed towards IAF Gibraltar. As a Captain in the Imperial Navy he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone and no one challenged his entrance into the air force station. It didn’t take him long to find the person he was looking for, specifically his beautiful wife, Wing Commander Olivia Croft. He found her underneath an Wraith F.1, covered in oil and grease. It seemed that during her patrol there had been a hydraulics failure, and she wanted to find out exactly what had come really rather close to getting her killed. As soon as she saw her husband however she hurried out from under the aircraft and took her leave from the ground crew, who shared knowing looks. The two officers made their way into the buildings. Once they were inside they headed straight to her office where she immediately stripped out of her dirty flight suit leaving in in just her underwear and a sleeveless shirt, covered in sweat, but at least it wasn’t dirty. As soon as she was done she turned to her husband and embraced him, kissing hungrily.

“Someones eager,” Captain Croft grinned.

“I always am when it comes to you,” Wing Commander Croft responded. “I take it you’ve been given your marching orders.”

“I have, we’re to sail as soon as we are able,” Capt. Croft replied. “We’re to head up to Northern Spain in case hostilities break out.”

“I hope it doesn’t then, for your sake, you stay safe up there,” WC Croft said sternly, then glanced at the door to the office. “How long do you have?”

“Enough,” Captain Croft grinned. “Does your door have a lock?”

“It does,” She replied with a broad laugh as she moved over to look it before returning to him and pulling him close once again. “Come here you."

[Terra Reborn]

Lieutenant Colonel Simon Keebler, AG
Córdoba, Córdoba Province
Andalusia Community, The Dukedom of Valencia
Monday 15th July 2015, 1500hrs Local Time (0500hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1300hrs Zulu Time)

The city of Córdoba was the headquarters of the main, regular manoeuvre formation of the Valencian Guard; the 1st Division. a mechanized force that would conduct the bulk of the fighting in any major conflict, and also served as the heavy back-up for the troops (mainly full-time reservists specially trained in the border protection role) that were tasked with manning the border checkpoints, specifically the 2nd Division. The Division was based out of a major military base on the outskirts of the city, and with everything that was going on in the Iberian Peninsula over the past few months the entire camp was bustling with activity as the entire division worked tirelessly to ensure that they were ready to respond on very short notice if this entire mess kicked off. The atmosphere and the tension was tangible all over the city, many of the people who lived in the city were married or otherwise related to the soldiers and officers who called the Córdoba Garrison their home, everyone was worried about what was going to happen next. Which was understandable, given that even with the peace conference doing its damnedest to bring an end to the conflict, the fighting was still rumbling on all across Iberia.

Lieutenant Colonel Simon Keebler, of the Australian Guards, and the Imperial Defence Attaché to the Dukedom of Valencia, was stood in an office in the Garrison Headquarters looking out over the activity that was taking place all over the base, but particularly on the huge parade square at the centre of the camp. With a deployment likely the 1st Division had pulled in its attached units and arrayed them on the parade square, most notably the heavy artillery, so that if the Division had to deploy it could go straight into combat without having to wait for the artillery to turn up. In order to keep it safe an entire air defence battalion was arrayed around the camp and the Valencian Air Guard (VAG) had at least a flight of fighters over the base at any given time. Given that the Division was the main offensive punch of the Dukedom, the Valencia Guard was making damned sure that it was well protected, the danger of a knockout strike here against the Division was obvious and something that its commander, Major General Don Lorenzo de Massaredo, who was eager to avoid such a thing.

Strictly speaking Lieutenant Colonel Keebler shouldn’t have been there at all. At the current moment the Empire of Apilonia was, formally, neutral in the entire affair, and whilst Valencia was not at war with Leon it went without saying that there was a great deal of fear that they would be the next target. As such, given the circumstances, under most diplomatic protocols it was inappropriate for a foreign defence attaché to be at a host-nation military base. However no one was likely to admit to his presence and it was very necessary as far as the Imperial Ministry of Defence was concerned. The Foreign Office had already made various assurances to the Duke of Valencia that, in the event of an attack upon them by Leon, Imperial military forces would be available to assist in the defence of the Dukedom, the close relationship between the Empire and the Dukedom, due in no small part to the Imperial ownership of Gibraltar, had only been strengthened by the presence of Lady Jessica, which was only exacerbated by the extremely close relationship between Lady Jessica and Don Alfredo, which was showing many signs of developing into something more.

Indeed Don Alfredo de Valencia was accompanying Lieutenant Colonel Keebler and was stood at the next window along looking out, just as grimly. The young man was dressed in the service uniform of the Valencia Guard, wearing the rank insignia of a full Colonel. He had been made Colonel of the Ducal Guard, an elite force tasked with the close protection of the Duke, upon his eighteenth birthday, even if the day-to-day operations were naturally carried out by his Lieutenant Colonel. The young Don’s appointment was for appearances sake and moral purposes more than anything else. The Duke was the Captain-General of the entire Valencia Guard, but he was too old, and in the current situation, too valuable to visit the troops, particularly those on the frontline, and as such it fell to Alfredo to do that duty. The young Colonel had confided to Keebler, who was technically his junior in rank, that he felt like a child playing dress-up in his father’s uniforms, the Duke had served on active duty once upon a time, but Keebler had reassured the rank and file appreciated their rulers coming to see them, particularly in uniform, and that traditionally they were fiercely loyal to their Colonels. Before his ascension to the throne Arthur, then as Prince of Australia, had been the Colonel of the Australian Guards, and the Guardsmen had adored their Royal Colonel… even if her normally wore a naval uniform.

This had reassured Alfredo somewhat, as had being reminded that he was intending to serve on active duty upon his completion of his degree at university. Keebler liked the young Don, he was honest and surprisingly humble for someone of such rarefied blood, he was down to earth and had a cracking sense of humour, which no doubt contributed to his popularity with the troops. He would make one hell of a Duke one day, he had the dedication and commitment to lead a country like Valencia amidst the troubled Iberian Peninsula; he would do just fine on his own, or if down the road Valencia ever became a part of the Empire, he would be a fantastic addition to its peerage. Whatever the situation ended up being Keebler was more concerned with the here and now.

The balance of power was, broadly, level across Iberia, relying more on strategy and tactics than brute force. The Leon Forces had spent most of the past weeks slowly whittling down the strength of the Madrid forces whilst ensuring that they did not leave themselves open to a counterattack. It was a damned smart strategy and the price was beginning to show, in both material losses and morale in the Madrid Forces. Right now Madrid needed a successful outcome at the London Conference than Leon did, and that might very well encourage Leon to go for broke and try and achieve a military solution. If they did so they might even be so emboldened to take on Valencia as well, with or without Imperial assistance, the Duke of Leon’s ambitions to be King of Spain were not exactly a secret. It was therefore necessary that Valencia keep very sharp eyes on events north of the border and prepared for any assault that they themselves might have to weather. The priority was to ensure that, in the event of a conflict, Valencia was able to seize and maintain the strategic initiative; Madrid had failed to do that and they were now suffering the consequences as they reeled from one successful Leon offensive to another.

From the discussions between Keebler, Major General Massaredo and Don Alfredo the plan was simple enough. In the event of a major offensive into Valencian territory the Imperial Army would respond to wherever they were needed. The forces would most likely come from theatre quick reaction force (QRF), specifically the 3rd Cavalry Division based out of Malta, not to mention much needed air support from the IAF Wing based out of Gibraltar. After the initial attack the Imperial Army would be primarily responsible for protecting Valencian territory, allowing them to push forward and fight the war as much as possible. Keebler knew that Imperial Special Forces were already working closely with their Valencia counterparts, and would no doubt continue to do so if the shit hit the fan. In short the Empire was primarily concerned with protecting it’s regional friends, rather than fighting a full-scale war in Iberia, it would do it if it had to, but everyone from the King down would prefer if the Valencia Guard could do the bulk of the fighting, it was only right after all and Don Alfredo had agreed.

“Their most likely line of advance is here, through, Extremadura, they’ll still be far too tied up with Madrid holdouts to launch a major attack down the centre, and I doubt they’re going to take on the Junta to get through from the North East,” Major General Massaredo commented looking at a large map of Iberia. “That puts this division in perfect place to intercept any thrust through Extremadura, however if they do get some probing assaults through the centre we could have problems.”

“Well anywhere in the Dukedom is within ferry range of the UH-60M Black Hawk and CH-47F Chinook, so we’ll be able to get our forces into position to block any central thrust, which would allow you to manoeuvre without worrying about your flank,” Lieutenant Colonel Keebler commented, moving over to the map and pointing at it. “If we get forty-eight hours notice of trouble we can set up a FARP about here, those Black Hawks are going to need refuelling and rearming if they’re going to carry troops into combat, so will the Chinooks.”

“That’s possible, just give us a heads up of where you want to set up and we’ll get a group team on the ground to help you out as much as we can,” Massaredo replied. “I’ll feel a lot better countering a major enemy thrust if I don’t have to worry about my flanks.”

“Alright, then I’ll make sure that the word gets to the Cavalry where we need them,” Keebler replied promptly. “I’ll be your main liaison officer for the duration… it’s the closest I’ll get to getting in on the fight.”

“Not fun is it, my friend, being a defence attaché,” Massaredo laughed. “I know this from experience.”

“No its not, but it’s good for my career prospects,” Keebler replied with a slight scowl. “And I had a battalion command last rotation, so i’ve had a good run so far.”

“Indeed,” Massaredo smiled. “Alright, let's get into the details of this, I think that we should…"

[Terra Reborn]

Admiral The Viscountess Stanford DCS DSO DSC**
Stanford House, Gibraltar
The Crown Colony of Gibraltar, the Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 16th July 2015, 0700hrs Local Time (2100hrs Imperial Capital Time, 0500hrs Zulu Time)

Alice Stanford, Viscountess Stanford, Imperial Navy Admiral and Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Mediterranean Fleet, stood at her window and looked out at the sparkling sea in the early morning light. Where once, a few weeks ago, she would have been looking out from the Penthouse Suite of an apartment building in the main town she was now looking out from her living room in her brand-new home. She had decided, after quite some sort, to give in to both reality, and her love for Gibraltar, and put down some roots of her own here on the Rock. She was likely to spend much of her career in the Mediterranean, or at least the European theatre, given her experience in the region, and she had had enough of living out of an apartment, even if it was a rather nice one. She had had more than enough money to finance the matter, between the prize money she had been awarded after a few of her victories and some clever investment by her financial manager she had a more than decent bank balance at this point, and she was pretty damn happy with what she had been able to put together.

She had purchased a plot of land atop the bluffs overlooking Europa Point and the only road running up the eastern side of the entirety of Gibraltar. Upon that land she had built, or rather ordered to have build, herself a nice little home, or not so little really. The architect she had hired had wasted no expense in both the form and function of the building, and by the time it was finished it was a home very much appropriate for an Imperial Peer. Right now she was stood in the living room, which was lit gloriously by the entire wall of window-doors on the eastern side, with a decking on the outside looking out over the coast side road and the Mediterranean Sea beyond. Had she cared to step outside onto her deck she would have been able to see Trinity Lighthouse on Europa Point, the Straits of Gibraltar and then, beyond, Imperial Morocco and the African Continent. She was incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful home with such beautiful views as her own, and although she had never done any of her deeds with the reward in mind, it was nice none the less.

It had taken her some years to get used to the idea of being an Imperial Viscountess, the prestige, the deference and the responsibility that came with that, but she rather thought that she was getting used to it by now. She had also found that it came with advantages, and despite her initial hesitance to do so, she had availed herself of the opportunity to speak in the Imperial Parliament, as a member of the House of Lords, on matters that concerned her, usually defence related. Indeed she had played a role in bring about the downfall of the Warren Government, strictly in her role as an Imperial Peer and not an Officer of the Imperial Navy, given her concerns about his defence and foreign policy, all before they had all known that particular Bastard’s real intentions. She had always detested politics, and found herself hating herself for getting involved in them, but she had become good at it and knew how to use it for her beloved Navy’s best interests.

Stanford watched as a smallish white vessel, with the distinctive red ‘racing stripe’ of His Majesty’s Coastguard, made its way lazily around Europa Point and began to work its way up the coats of the Rock, one of several Cutters based out of Gibraltar. They might not be Navy but they were highly respected by the Imperial Navy and they underwent exactly the same training at the Imperial Naval Academy on Kodiak Island and the only thing that really distinguished them was the roles they carried out. And yet even the sight of fellow seafarers did little to improve her mood, for her mind was busy considering many concerns. As the situation on the Iberian Peninsula continued to deteriorate, despite the talks in London, more and more Imperial forces were being moved into position, ready to support their Valencian allies in case the situation escalated as many feared it would. As more and more Imperial assets were operating in close proximity to the fighting it was, in her mind and her experience, only a matter of time before they got dragged in, caught up or generally intermingled with the fighting, and that assumed they weren’t directly attacked, which wasn’t exactly out the realms of possibility.

Stanford was an experienced, capable and decorated combat officer, she had quite literally made a career out of pulling off one military escapade after another, but the men and women she had lost in each of them haunted her to this day; and as much as she was very good at fighting a war, she hated doing it. The only thing she hated more than the actual fighting was the waiting, sitting here on the edge of a fight that she couldn’t escape from, or spare her people from, was worse than the actual fighting; once it started she could at least do her bit to save as many people as possible. And yet right now all they could do was wait, if the Castillans attacked the Valencians, which she strongly suspected they would despite the London Talks, as they had effectively shown their hand (and dreams of conquest) by attacking Madrid, then the Empire, and Viscountess Stanford, would have to get involved. Perhaps the Duke of Leon and Castille did not think the Imperials would intervene to protect Valencia; the process in diplomacy between the Empire and Valencia over recent weeks told a very different story.

Despite her worries and her concerns, Stanford couldn’t help but feel a little bit better, as she always did, when she felt a pair of firm, warm hands grasp her round the middle. She allowed herself to sink back into the strong, reassuring arms of her love; Admiral the Earl Harrington, who wrapped his arms around her as they both looked out at the sea. The two had been in love for several years now, first meeting when Stanford was first posted out here, then as Senior Officer on what was then the Gibraltar Station, the precursor to the Imperial Mediterranean Fleet. For some time they had kept their relationship secret, they had been in the same chain of command after all and thus their relationship would have been considered illicit. After the establishment of the North Atlantic Station and Harrington’s assignment to command it, after his time in command of Joint Task Force 001, and his subsequent conquest of Western Australia (which had resulted in his peerage), they had been able to be more open about their relationship, culminating in a very public display of comfort and affection when he had broken the news of King Arthur’s assassination.

Stanford knew she could always rely upon Nick to be there for her, regardless of what else might be going on in her life, and god knew that, as the Commander-in-Chief of the North Atlantic Station, he was even more intimately involved in the recent deployment of ships than she was. Yet, he knew exactly why it was affecting Stanford more; she hated feeling helpless and unable to make a difference.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Nicholas Harrington, Earl Harrington, asked softly.

“Worrying that my people are going to get caught up in another tyrants petty attempts at conquest,” Stanford replied quietly. “I was looking at the casualty reports from Madrid last night, they’ve lost hundreds with thousands more injured, military and civilian, all because the Duke of Leon and Castille has ambitions to be King of Spain.”

“I know, especially given that he’ll have nothing to lose by attacking Valencia, either now or in the future, as long as he doesn’t think we’ll act to protect Valencia,” Harrington agreed with a sad nod. “And no matter how many times our Ambassador in Leon tries to warn him what that course of action will result in… and I know how much you hate sitting on the edge of a fight you can’t stop, and I know how much every man or woman you lose affects you.”

Stanford nodded. Harrington had held her during more nightmares than she cared to think about; no matter how long had passed since then and now, she often found herself flashing back to any one of her several bloody combats. There was no doubt that Stanford was a highly skilled naval tactician, given that she had pulled off some pretty lopsided wins; unfortunately those unlikely victories had come at a high cost in lives, and whilst the Empire and reaped accolade after accolade upon her, and her she was highly respected by her colleagues, she would alway wonder if all her medals and ribbons had been worth the blood spilt for them. She could never talk to anyone about it, she would doubtless be diagnosed with something or another, which would take her away from her beloved Navy, but she did have Nicholas, and it seemed that was all she needed. His comforting embrace, his knack at always knowing the right words, and his eternally loving heart.

“Unfortunately, as I’ve said to you many times, it is the line of work we’re in, and sometimes we need to fight, either to protect ourselves or others, or to stand up for what we believe,” Harrington continued. “Every man and woman under your command… every man and woman who has ever died in combat for the Empire, knew that when they signed up to the King’s Service, and made the ultimate sacrifice.”

“I know, but that doesn't mean that I have to like it, although I should have got better at not fretting so much anymore,” Stanford sighed heavily. “Alright, let’s see what we can do to stack the odds in our favour abit… I could order Reprisal up to the coast off of Valencia, it’d be a significant symbolic gesture, and provide significant additional air protection for the capital itself.”

“I like that idea, we’ve got more than enough fighters here and in Imperial Morocco to protect us and the southern parts of the Duchy, and having Reprisal alongside only puts her at risk,” Harrington nodded. “One thing I do feel uncomfortable about is that cruiser and its frigates being so exposed, especially with the Duchy getting themselves involved with all of this, and this time of year those ship’s are going to get tossed around in the Bay of Biscay.”

“Would you be able to bring down some or all of your Surface Action Group,” Stanford commented thoughtfully. “Their missile firepower alone would significantly stack the odds in our favour.”

“I can probably spare two, maybe three of my battleships, and some escorts, I want to keep the rest of them in Northern waters to keep an eye on the Dutch,” Harrington agreed quietly. “I agree with you entirely, they’re getting too interested for my liking, by the looks of the London Conference they’re being ineffective, but if they decide to take a more active role…”

“Then we’ll need a few Battleships and Aircraft Carriers to get them to back off,” Stanford replied. “I’m meeting with the Imperial Regional Commander, Europe, this afternoon, I’ll get Sir William to confirm our orders, but I think it’s safe to say we can get the ball rolling."

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
Ducal Palace, Valencia
Valencia Province, the Dukedom of Valencia
Monday 20th July 2015, 2200hrs Local Time (1300hrs Imperial Capital Time, 2000hrs Zulu Time)

Jessica yawned into her wine as she sat on the rear patio of the Ducal Palace in Valencia, sitting alongside Don Alfredo, his father, his mother and his two sisters. For some weeks now she had regularly joined the Duke and his family for dinner, Friday was no exception, indeed it was one engagement in her week that she ensured she kept above else. The Duke and his family had welcomed her into their home with ease, her distaste for large gatherings in her honour did not mean that she was not charming and excellent company, and the chemistry between her and Don Alfredo was as obvious as it was electric. In addition to her close relationship with Don Alfredo Jessica was friendly with both the Duke and Duchess, and already fairly beloved by Don Alfredo’s two younger sisters. It was therefore perhaps hardly surprising that she had a standing invitation to Dinner every night of the week, when her schedule allowed, and given that many of her days were spent with Alfredo exploring the historical sites, she had stayed for dinner on more than a few occasions.

Although neither the Duke of Valencia, nor Jessica’s own father, the Duke of Oregon, would ever push their offspring into a marriage merely for the potential benefits, both were watching the proceedings with great interest. For the Duke of Valencia the marriage of his only son to a member of the Imperial Royal Family would bring links and opportunities in the Empire of Apilonia, with all the protection and advantages that entailed, potentially even inclusion in the long term. For the Duke of Oregon such a marriage would not only be a more than suitable match for a daughter as highborn as his own (although this was less an issue than in times past), but it would also serve the larger Imperial posture in the region. Close links to a friendly nationstate in an unstable region were obviously advantageous, and once Don Alfredo became Duke it would be easy enough to bring the Dukedom of Valencia into the Empire, if it so wished, given the personal union between the two houses. As such even King Arthur was watching the developing relationship between the two with great interest; Valencia was deemed to be both strategically and geopolitically important as far as the Empire’s interests in Europe were concerned, whether they eventually became part of the Empire or not, a personal union would be of significant advantage.

In spite of subtle encouragement from their parents and peers and non-to-subtle pressure being applied to both of them by both Imperial and Valencian press, or perhaps because of it, the two were taking things slowly. They had been friends for a fair time now, immediately hitting it off when they had first met over a year previously, and had rapidly formed a fast friendship, ultimately resulting in Jessica’s decision to study overseas during her second year. In the weeks that had passed since her arrival here their relationship had only grown closer, with many long days spent alone poking through various historical sites, archives and academic books and articles. In a long conversation that had gone on into the early hours of the morning the pair had admitted that they had feelings for each other, but partially in an effort to not ruin their friendship, and painfully aware of the potential implications of their relationship deepening they had both agreed to take thing slowly and not force anything.

Things had been awkward for a few days, but they had steadily slipped into a comfortable routine once more, albeit one that was perhaps a little more intimate than before. Nothing particularly obvious, gentle touches, increasingly lengthy hugs, things of that nature, yet every time Jessica felt butterflies in her stomach, like she hadn’t felt for a few years, and decided that she liked it. She had known there had been something different about Alfredo from the minute she had met him, their similarities complemented each other rather than competing and their differences intrigued rather than separated, and he could make her laugh, cheer her up or give her inspiration with very little effort, like no one else ever had managed. More to the point he had made her feel special because he had taken an interest in her, not her title, not her family or her relatives, not what she could do for them, just simply because she was who she was. It had been like a breath of fresh air, to meet someone, and be so close to someone, who did not want to spend time with her because of something she could give them.

“Jessica?”

Jessica blinked with a start as she realised that the Duke of Valencia was looking at her, having repeated her name. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had completely missed that he was speaking to her, the fact that she was incredibly tired probably had not helped. She sat upright in her chair and took note of the Duke and his families small, warm smiles; clearly they hadn’t taken any offence.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, my mind was elsewhere,” Jessica said apologetically. “What were you asking?@

“It’s not a problem, my dear,” The Duke replied warmly. “I was asking what you planned to do after you graduate.”

“I’m probably going to go straight back to University to do a Masters, then probably stay on to do my PhD, I seriously want to make history and the classics my career path,” Jessica replied thoughtfully. “In fact, I’ve got something of a project in mind, it’ll take me all over the world so if my uncle needs me for anything, I’ll be available.”

“What project?” The Duchess asked.

“A full, in-depth history of the Empire and all of its constituent parts, it’ll take me years and years of course,” Jessica replied with a slight smile. “It’s not like I’ll be the first, but I’ve got access and insight to the most recent history, which is where I believe I can add.”

“One of the advantages of being so far down your line of succession,” Alfredo commented with a sigh. “I’d love to do a history of Valencia, but as my father’s heir there are various duties I must fulfil, and of course one day, hopefully not soon, I will be Duke.”

Jessica nodded her understanding. She knew that her uncle, King Arthur, had had a very promising naval career prior to his Father’s untimely demise, which had raised him to the throne. It was generally agreed that, if he had been a ‘normal’ person he could quite easily have risen to the highest levels of the Imperial Navy. Indeed even without considering his unexpected early accession to the throne his career, promising as it had been, had already been subject to restrictions; less sea time, less long-term deployments and more time away from the Navy on his increasing naval duties. Arthur had confided in her over Christmas that his curtailed naval career was one of his biggest regrets. She could see the same regret in Alfredo’s expression.

“How are things going in London?” Jessica asked, changing the subject, and saw a flash of relief and appreciation on Alfredo’s face.

“Not well,” The Duke replied with a sigh. “Madrid is refusing to accept anything that will compromise it’s security, and by and large Leon is being stubborn because they hold the upper hand from a military point of view, and they’re being ‘magnanimous’ by even turning up.”

“And without any military pressure there’s absolutely no reason for Leon to even consider making any concessions, at this point they could defeat Madrid and they both know it,” Alfredo commented. “The British are unlikely to get involved, they’d be stuck in fierce fighting in terrain that Leon is very good at fighting in, and you Apilonians have no interest in getting involved.”

“Unless you are attacked,” Jessica reminded him gently.

“True, but I doubt that the Duke of Leon will be stupid enough to do anything of the sort, he knows full well that you’ll get involved if we’re attacked, so I reckon he’ll take Madrid and the rest of Iberia and then call it a day,” Alfredo replied. “He may want to be King of Spain, but attacking Valencia, and incurring your wrath, won’t help him towards that goal, and he knows it, we know and you know it, which is why he has no reason to make concessions in London.”

“Then why even attend?” Jessica frowned. “What does he gain from it?”

“He’s buying time,” The Duke replied. “For what, I don’t know, but he’s buying time for something.”

“But doesn’t time give Madrid more time to build up its defences and call up its reserves,” The Duchess commented. “Surely that’ll just make it harder for Leon, even if they can call up their reserves too.”

“It does, which means that he’s got something else in mind, something he hopes will swing the odds overwhelmingly in his favour,” The Duke sighed. “I only wish I knew what it is… the Duke of Leon is a wily bastard, he’s got something up his sleeve.”

An uneasy atmosphere settled over the meeting, and Jessica was still unsettled by the time that she and Alfredo were walking slowly through the ducal palace towards the main entrance where Jessica’s vehicle was waiting. She was no military mind but she was a historian who studied military subjects in some cases, and she was not stupid. It was obvious that the Duke was all too correct, the Duke of Leon clearly had something planned and it went without saying that the fact that no one knew what was disconcerting to say the least; if they didn’t know what he had planned, they couldn’t oppose it effectively and that was when people got killed. As Alfredo had said, Jessica highly doubted that there would be any sort of attack on the Empire, but it was possible that Valencia would be attacked, even if in a restrained manner, and that meant that people might die; people that Jessica had become rather fond of. The only way that the Duke of Leon had even a chance of attacking Valencia without dragging in the Empire was to wipe out the Ducal Family, and hope (unrealistically perhaps) that the chaos and confusion would make it difficult for the Empire to intervene.

Such naked ambition as being displayed by the Duke of Leon was disturbing to say the least; and ambition had been the cause of more wars over history than any other. The vast majority of people in Iberia, having thrown off Goodrule oppression, just wanted peace and prosperity; and yet here was a man, supposedly one of their leaders, putting all that at risk, and asking his people to put their lives on the line, for his own ambition. Jessica knew that the Empire, as a whole, had ambitions and dreams, but that was a cultural thing that the vast bulk of people agreed with, each and every time they voted in a certain type of government, and the Empire’s ambitions were never at the expense of someone else; despite what the Empire’s detractors might try and say. What the Duke of Leon was doing was nothing more than blind ambition for his own gain, and damn however many people might be hurt or killed to accomplish his objectives.

Alfredo could tell that she was troubled as she turned to face him before getting in the car. He didn’t say anything, there were not really any words, instead he hugged her tightly and kissed her lightly on the cheek before saying goodbye. Jessica sighed heavily as she settled into the backseat of the Jaguar and closed her eyes, trying to forget the troubles of this part of the world for a while, instead enjoying the subtle buzz in her head as a result of the wine.

[Terra Reborn]

Regional Officer Simon Harding, SIS
SIS Regional Headquarters, Valetta
The Crown Colony of Malta, the Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 21st July 2015, 1000hrs Local Time (0000hrs Imperial Capital Time, 0800hrs Zulu Time)

Nestled in the great, historic city of Valetta in an unassuming, but deceptively large building, was housed the regional headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service for the European Theatre. Whilst the vast bulk of the analysis and intelligence work was done by the European Analysis division back at SIS Headquarters in Karin City, the actual work of gathering the intelligence, the operations side of things, was based out of a headquarters a whole lot closer to the action. The European Regional Headquarters, like its counterparts in each over the various theatres, was responsible for supervising and supporting the operations of all SIS personnel within its jurisdiction, from the various SIS Stations based out of Imperial Embassies to the Tactical Analysis Teams (TATs) deployed to areas of interest and, ultimately, the highly secret agents of the Zulu Branch. In short the Regional Officer, the highest ranking SIS Officer in the theatre, had a great deal of responsibility, fortunately the Imperial Intelligence machine was as well funded as the military, and any given SIS Regional Officer had a great deal of resources at his command, and the European Regional Officer was no different.

Given the steadily worsening situation on the Iberian Peninsula, as talks in London continued to drag on with no end in sight, the vast bulk of the Imperial Intelligence community’s interest was focused on Iberia. Working closely with Defence Intelligence, its constituent arms, and GCHQ to ensure that the Empire had an idea of what the military situation was, as well as doing everything they could to determine precisely what the Duke of Leon’s intentions were. Indeed Imperial Intelligence had much the same concerns when it came to what exactly Leon had planned that the Valencians did. The writing as they say was on the wall and it didn’t take a genius to figure that Leon had something up his sleeve, that he believed would swing the balance of power on the Peninsula and justify his decision to play for time by indulging the peace talks in London. That alone was disconcerting, as although the fighting continued Leon had effectively surrendered the strategic initiative, and maintaining such initiative was an essential part of military strategy; to willingly give it up meant that you had something decisive in mind that would survive even the enemy going on the offensive.

Regional Officer Simon Harding, whose overall responsibility the European Theatre was from a SIS perspective, had decided that they had learnt all they were going to learn from a passive perspective and had authorised a series of moves intended to more actively seek out the information they needed. The agents based out of the Imperial Embassy in Leon were under such close surveillance that they were of absolutely no practical use at this point, and several of their assets had turned up dead, whatever else might be said about him, the Duke knew how the game was played. So Harding had authorised several covert missions inside the Duchy of Leon; the first was the deployment of a Tactical Analysis Team (TAT) into the Duchy, their mission was to get a better idea of what was going on; they were deniable Special Agents operating under non-official cover, who would fly under the radar and, hopefully, be able to gather intelligence the Official Cover agents simply couldn’t under the constraints of their cover. He had also put a request up the chain of command that the SIS deploy a ‘Zulu’ Agent, who would infiltrate as high as he could in an effort to get the intelligence they needed desperately.

It was incredibly frustrating, between the SIS, GCHQ and Defence Intelligence they had a good idea of what was going on, from a military perspective, but that was just what was obvious. What wasn’t, and what they really wanted to know, was what the Duke’s endgame entailed. The Empire had nothing to fear from the Duke militarily, the Imperial Forces in Europe could repel any assault against the Empire, or its Valencian allies, that wasn’t the problem. What the Duke had planned, and was taking such lengths to attain and keep secret was of a concern. More than that in his time as an Intelligence Officer Haring had learnt too vitally important facts about intelligence; you had to have it in the first place, and it had to be right. If you didn’t have it at all you risked not having the full information you needed about a given operation. If it wasn’t right you risked making a decision or formulating a strategy based on faulty information, with potentially disastrous consequences.

Both of those facts were very much at play with regards to the situation in Iberia. The Empire’s entire policy in the region was based on the intelligence that they had at the moment; no revelation was likely to change the policy, but if they were missing something they risked basing their posture for a given situation where it was in fact entirely different. As such Harding was eager to uncover whatever it was that the Duke of Leon was trying to hide. At the same time he knew that if he got faulty information, or worse if he was so eager to find some sort of intelligence that he took any sort of bait that the Duke had put up to disguise his real intentions, which certainly had a reasonable chance of being the case. Therefore as much as he was eager to find out what was going on, and he knew how important it was, he also knew that he had to be cautious, pragmatic and not jump to conclusions. He had given his appreciation of the situation to his team and his regional analysts and emphasised that as much as he wanted an answer to the many questions on Iberia, he wanted the right answer.

Harding was pulled from his thoughts by a knock on the door to his office, followed by the appearance of his PA, who announced the arrival of Special Agent Frank Thompson, the head of the TAT that he was deploying into the Duchy of Leon. The team was pretty much ready to go, from here they would fly to Valencia after which they would infiltrate across the border into enemy territory. Harding stood and smiled as he leant across his desk to shake the younger Special Agent’s hand and gesture him into a seat.

“Thank you for coming, Special Agent,” Harding said simply as he leant back. “I doubt I have to emphasise to you the importance of your mission, but I wanted to speak to you before you go in, in case you have any questions.”

“Of course, Sir,” Thompson nodded. “My main question is simple enough, do we have any idea what we’re looking for?”

“Our working assumption is that Leon has some sort of plan in place that would allow them to overwhelm the Duchy of Valencia and inflict a military defeat on them before we could intervene, in the hopes we’d cut our losses,” Harding replied promptly. “As I’m sure you can appreciate this could be anything, we’re assuming its some sort of major sneak attack in the eastern parts of the Duchy, which is keeping very quiet.”

“So we’re looking for on-the-ground evidence of a major enemy strike force… if they’re deliberately keeping off the air to hide their movements and intentions, they’d have a bigger logistical communications footprint,” Thompson nodded his understanding. “And to avoid our reconnaissance flights they’d have to be well camouflaged, so we’re looking for a lot of low-level, subtle military activity where it shouldn’t be with no obvious source?”

“Essentially… however I must emphasise that is only our working assumption, there could be something else we’ve missed,” Harding said sharply. “In short, we don’t know exactly what’s going on, and I don’t want to prejudice your operations, but that is our main theory.”

“Understandable, Sir,” Thompson nodded. “I know this is meant to be a covert mission, but will we have any fire support if we get into bother?”

“That’ll depend on the situation, obviously we don’t want to get into a fur ball with Leon before we have to, but we won’t hang you out to dry if its life or death,” Harding replied. “The Aircraft Carrier Reprisal, and her escort squadron, is positioned off the coast of Valencia meaning that heir aircraft tare in range, although we’d have to fly over Madrid’s territory to hit any targets inside Leon.”

“Understood, Sir,” Thompson said, leaning back in his chair. “I assume as we’re deniable there’d have to be some sort of cover target for those birds to hit as well?”

“More than likely,” Harding nodded. “We’d much prefer it if you can get in and get out again, with the intelligence, without ever being detected.”

“Of course, Sir, we’ll do our best,” Thompson smiled. “Now, onto the details of our deployment…”

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
King Walker Memorial Airport, Nicosia
The Crown Colony of Cyprus, The Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 0800hrs Local Time (2100hrs Imperial Capital Time (31/08/15), 0500hrs Zulu Time)
 
Lady Jessica felt a stab of sadness as she caught sight of the large name sign at the front of the main terminal building. The International Airport at Nicosia was just one of many, all over the Empire, to be named after the late King Walker following his untimely demise, the first anniversary of which was fast approaching. It was perhaps hardly surprising given that it had been him whose Empire had brought peace to Cyprus, indeed one of his last major engagements before his Assassination had been to formally bring Cyprus into the Empire as a Crown Colony. Just under a year on it was still a painful thought for the young Imperial Lady, every reminder that her doting uncle was gone and never coming back. Sensing her sadness and quickly determining the cause, Don Alfredo took her hand and gave it a gentle, comforting squeeze. Alfredo had never had a chance to meet the Imperial King, not growing close enough with Jessica for such a thing until after his death, but he knew and could understand the pain she must be feeling, especially given that King Walker’s affection and tendency to dote on his nieces and nephews was well know.
 
They were currently stood in the concourse of the main terminal, which provided a much more secured perimeter than the pavement outside, whilst the vehicles were brought around; they had made better time than expected and had actually managed to beat their transport to the airport. Although she didn’t feel like she particularly deserved it, Jessica was comfortable enough to indulge the men, women and children who had identified her (the Secret Service Agents providing her protective detail had hardly helped her keep a low profile), and posed for their pictures and shook hands. The presence of Don Alfredo was both expected and unexpected; that he was joining her on this trip was the most obvious sign yet that their relationship was, perhaps, becoming something rather special. As a general rule there was a ‘Gentleman ’s Agreement’ between the Crown and Imperial Media, the Royal Family would be allowed as much privacy as possible, in exchange for regular opportunities for photographs, information on their personal lives and developments, and a restraint in the usage of the Official Secrets Act.
 
“The vehicle should be ready in a few moments, My Lady,” The lead agent of her detail, Special Agent Michael Jackson, said quietly to her, his tone implying that he wasn’t best pleased about the delay, particularly given it was an unanticipated delay. “We have however been able to reroute your Equerry.”
 
“My what?” Jessica frowned.
 
Intellectually she knew full well what a Equerry was, specifically it was a military attendant to members of the Royal Family; the King had the most of course, given his role as Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Armed Forces, but other senior members also had them, given their role in supporting the King, and their command over their own personal Guards. Given that Jessica was not, and never would be, an Imperial Duchess (or even a noble highly ranking enough to hold command of troops), she had not anticipated requiring an Equerry.
 
“It was decided that you would benefit from having an Equerry for this trip,” Agent Jackson replied. “But I’ll let her explain herself.”
 
Jessica turned to look where Agent Thompson was inclining his head. Approaching her was a young woman wearing the No.3 service dress of the Imperial Marines, better known as ‘Lovats’, similar in design and style to the service dress uniforms of the Imperial Army. Instead of a peaked cap as would be normal in the Army, she wore a distinctive green beret identifying her as an Imperial Marine Commando, and for a woman so young she already had three medal ribbons, including that of the Military Cross. With both those pieces of information, and a quick search of her memory, she could identify the young Marine Officer as Lieutenant Jessica Mackenzie, the first female Marine Commando who had distinguished herself in combat during the Cyprus Campaign the previous year. She noted that Lieutenant Mackenzie was armed with a service pistol in a holster on her hip. By and large Cyprus had been quiet and peaceful since the Cyprus Campaign, but there were still a few fanatics, and it was likely this more than anything else that had provoked the desire to give Lady Jessica a Equerry, additional local knowledge and an extra gun in the event of an attack. After all Jessica was here to represent the Empire in the anniversary celebrations, it stood to reason that it was possible that someone might try and take her out. Indeed Lieutenant Mackenzie said as much as she made introductions.
 
“They didn’t fly you all the way out here just for me, did they?” Jessica asked, sounding aghast at the thought, as they finally climbed into the vehicles that would take them to Imperial Square for the celebrations. “Oh god, that’d be so embarrassing.”
 
“Don’t worry about that, My Lady,” Lieutenant Mackenzie smiled slightly. “I’m assigned to the Fleet Protection Group Battalion tasked with defending HM Naval Station Cyprus, I was detached to serve as your Equerry for the next week.”
 
“Oh good!” Jessica replied her relief obvious. “What’s an officer of your record doing assigned to the Fleet Protection Group?”
 
“The Corps decided that I had had more than enough excitement during my first deployment to last me a while, and up until recently I was still resting up from my injuries,” Lieutenant Mackenzie shrugged her shoulders. “Besides, the Fleet Protection Group might be a little slower paced, but we do an important job, especially in parts of the world away from the main centres of Imperial power.”
 
“I’m sure, I wasn’t trying to minimise your people’s service,” Jessica replied quietly, making a rubbing away gesture with her hands. “I just would have thought an officer like you would be assigned to a frontline Commando.”
 
“Well, I’m due for promotion to Captain early next year, and I expect to be returned to a frontline Commando, most likely as a Company 2iC, besides I’ve enjoyed the downtime,” Lt. Mackenzie smiled. “And don’t worry my lady, I knew what you meant and I didn’t take any offence.”
 
Jessica smiled, relieved that she had not managed to alienate her temporary military attendant within minutes of meeting her, otherwise it would have been a very long week here on Cyprus. Fortunately it seemed that it had had the opposite affect than she had feared; her social faux par had made it clear that Jessica, despite being a Royal, was hardly the most formal and official, which had no doubt alleviated some of the young Lieutenant’s own concerns that she might say something stupid to someone who could ruin her career if she wanted to. In any event the two, or rather three of them including Alfredo, were able to make casual conversation as their vehicles made it way through the busy streets of the Capital of Imperial Cyprus. It didn’t take her long to realise that she quite liked the young Lieutenant, she was obviously tough as nails (she was an Imperial Marine Commando after all), but she was also funny and interesting. It wasn’t going to be a bad week after all.
 
Special Agent Frank Thompson, SIS
TAT Observation Post
Soria Province, The Duchy of Leon
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 1100hrs Local Time (0400hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1200hrs Zulu Time)
 
Special Agent Frank Thompson felt more like a Special Forces soldier than a spy, but then the men and women of the Tactical Analysis Teams were highly trained that they were as close as the Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) came to having its own Special Forces, and were ideally suited to this kind of role, in a way that not event ‘the Increment’, the highly classified arm of the Special Air Service that provided black operations capability for the SIS, could match. The TATs were not designed for direct action or close reconnaissance of enemy positions, but they were designed for long-duration operations within enemy territory to gather as much tactical and strategic information as possible, operating as a hybrid of spies and special operations soldiers. The role being carried out by TAT 262 was both similar dissimilar from normal TAT operations, usually they operated out of safe houses and a more established support network, in this case they were operating out in the open, but then that was hardly surprising given that it stood to reason that the enemy, if they were in fact hiding something, were also out in the countryside as well.
 
Special Agent Thompson was hunkered down underneath the camouflage netting doing his best to heat up his rations. Like his uniform and weapons there was nothing about his rations, or the hide at large, that could directly tie back to the Empire; the TATs didn’t operate under any sort of cover and as such were totally deniable. If they were captured or killed it would look like they were mercenaries more than soldiers or spies. They had been in-country for over a month now without finding out precisely what was going on; they had confirmed that there was something afoot but they hadn’t been able to uncover precisely what it was, and that was disturbing, they had relayed the confirmation that something was going on and continued to work on finding out what.

At the current moment Thompson had three other Agents here at the observation post with him, looking out from their highly strategic position, keeping an eye on troop movements and generally anything that went on within sight. The other four members of his team were deployed on a patrol, following up the latest leads to whatever the bad guys were hiding from them. It was frustrating as hell, but the Duke of Leon was playing his cards incredibly close to his chest, and as much as he was coming mighty close to being Thompson (and the Empire’s) ‘enemy’, the skill at which he was playing this particular game was respectable to say the least. It was one of the best misdirections that Thompson had ever heard of, and if it ultimately resulted in a successful attack it would be one of the most successful sneak attacks in recent memory. Of course Thompson and his team were here to prevent exactly that from happen, but he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that they were getting far too close to the endgame and he just hoped that they weren’t too late.

“Boss, the patrol is coming back,” One of the other Special Agents called out.

Special Agent Thompson picked up his weapon and moved over to the agent that had called in the report and sure enough his patrol was making its way cautiously back up the hill to the hidden observation post. To do so properly and without revealing the location of the OP it took them a good few minutes to get into the post. Special Agent Edward Ramirez, the patrol leader, approached with an excited expression.

“Boss, I think we found it,” He said with a grin. “I want you to take a look and confirm before we put it on the net, but if it is what I think it is….”

“Alright, let’s get moving,” Thompson nodded. “We have no time to lose.

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
Imperial Square, Nicosia
The Crown Colony of Cyprus, The Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 1500hrs Local Time (0400hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1300hrs Zulu Time)

The atmosphere in Imperial Square had been electric and generally amazing all day, unlike anything Lady Jessica had ever felt before, and as such, it was perhaps hardly surprising that the eight hours that she had spent there had flown by. She had spent most of it amidst the crowds, despite the unease that this was causing her protective agents, but here she was in her element. For all her shyness in giving speeches and being at the centre of attention, she was charismatic and charming, and she loved meeting new people and just talking to them; it was a trait that most of the royal family shared. Indeed, she had even managed to get up on the stage and give a speech without trembling, the fact that it had been prepared specially for her by the Royal Press Office had no doubt helped. She couldn’t help but realise that, slowly but surely, she was steadily getting more and more comfortable in carrying out the public duties that her birth had given her as a responsibility in return for all of the rights and privileges that her lofty birth allowed her. It had been a nice distraction if nothing else, for Jessica and, perhaps more importantly, for Alfredo.

Jessica knew that the continuing situation in Iberia was playing havoc with Alfredo’s emotions and mind, especially as it seemed to be escalating. The talks in London had slowed to a crawl, it was becoming obvious to everyone that, sooner rather than later, they were going to break down completely; indeed many were surprised that they were even still ongoing. In the meantime, the fighting was getting more and more intense along the border, there had not been any major offensive actions but the fighting along the border itself was fierce to say the least. The fact that the Secret Intelligence Service had confirmed that something was afoot, combined with the impending failure of the peace talks (which were widely accepted by many in the upper echelons of both the Duchy of Valencia and the Empire of Apilonia to be a stalling tactic), all meant that whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon, and if they still didn’t know what was coming… it would be damn difficult to combat.

As they continued to wander around the square Jessica turned and caught sight of Lieutenant Mackenzie looking around in something of a awed daze, and she couldn’t help but smile. The young officer had led and lost troops to help bring this day about, she had bled and nearly given the ultimate sacrifice for this day, and she was clearly soaking up the atmosphere. She had been here, on this very spot, a year ago and had done exactly the same, but today was different, better in a way given that now, a year later, so much progress had been made and the fruits of their labours were now very much more visible. In her daze Lieutenant Mackenzie was stood with her arms crossed, the thumb of her right hand was fiddling absent-mindedly with the ribbon of her Military Cross, and Jessica knew that what she was seeing now was a far better reward for her service and her sacrifice than any ribbon. Sure she was doubtless proud of her achievement, and rightfully so, but Jessica got the impression that Lieutenant Mackenzie was one of those true believers, who was in it for her country, not for any personal glory or prestige.

“Lieutenant Mackenzie!”

Jessica found her head copying the Lieutenant’s in snapping around to the source of the shout. It was a male voice, strong and melodious and a quick scan identified it as coming from another wearing the Lovats uniform of an Imperial Marine officer, although this particular one wore a standard blue beret instead of the distinctive Commando green. A quick glance at the rest of the uniform identified pilots’ wings and the rank insignia of a Major.

“Major Ballantine!” Lieutenant Mackenzie replied with a broad smile, and just a edge of a very happy tone that piqued Jessica’s interest to say the least. “My Lady, may I introduce Major John Ballantine.”

“A pleasure, Major,” Lady Jessica smiled and offered her hand, which the Major shook firmly. “How do you know the Lieutenant?”

“I was deployed to Cyprus on operations during the war, flying Cobra attack helicopters, the most interesting episode of my war was providing close air support for Lieutenant Mackenzie and her platoon,” Major Ballantine replied, with a fond glance at Lieutenant Mackenzie. “I’m currently deployed aboard an Assault Ship, but apparently when you earn the Distinguished Flying Cross for gallantry in combat it’s pretty easy to get leave granted to come and join in the one-year celebrations, so here I am.”

“I’m glad you made it,” Lieutenant Mackenzie commented with a wry smile. “How much leave time do you have?”

“A week, my ship is in a self-maintenance period anyway so it’s not like I’m going to miss anything important,” Major Ballantine answered happily. “And I couldn’t pass up on the chance to link up with an old friend.”

Jessica glanced over at Alfredo and shared a knowing glance. If first impressions were anything to go by the way the two were talking, not to mention their body language and the obvious chemistry between the two, they were far more than ‘old friends’. But then the bonds born in combat were some of the strongest known to man, and it stood to reason that with men and women serving side by side in combat that they would lead to romantic feelings in some cases. Such things had been amongst the main reasons for forbidding women to serve in combat for so long, but as long as they were kept off the battlefield and within the confines of fraternization regulations, Jessica, and most Imperial citizens, had absolutely no problem with it.

“Do you want to join us, Major?” Jessica asked with a welcoming smile. “I’m afraid Lieutenant Mackenzie is my assigned Equerry, so I’ll have to keep hold of her, but you’re more than welcome to tag along.”

“I’d like that, Ma’am,” Major Ballantine smiled.

“Good, well I hope you brought your Mess Dress,” Jessica grinned. “We’ve got a formal dinner tonight!”

Special Agent Frank Thompson, SIS
TAT Observation Post
Soria Province, The Duchy of Leon
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 1400hrs Local Time (0500hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1400hrs Zulu Time)

Special Agent Thompson and his entire team made their way quietly and slowly through the countryside of Soria Province heading for the forward observation post that Special Agent Ramirez had made his startling discovery from. He had insisted on not forewarning Thompson what he had seen, he wanted his unbiased opinion of what he could see; he didn’t want Thompson to see what he ‘wanted’ to see. They had been forced to avoid a number of patrols on their way here, only reinforcing the idea that something was amiss; after all when military patrols started replacing the normal police patrols, something was likely amiss. Indeed leaving their main observation post unmanned was dangerous, but it was very well hidden and in addition to that they had hidden anything vital or classified away, and even that wouldn’t be the end of the world if it was discovered as nothing they had could be linked back to the Empire. The atmosphere was tense as the eight Imperial spies made their way up the hillside to the ridge where the FOP was located, this was the most isolated part of their approach but once they were in the FOP they would be safe.

It took them maybe another fifteen minutes to reach their destination but they were soon hunkered down in the FOP and taking positions to defend themselves in case they were attacked. Once they were settled down and in good order Thompson moved up with Ramirez to where the high powered binoculars had been stored and picked them up and began to scan the valley below, following the instructions of his junior agent to find what he was supposed to be looking at. It didn’t take him long to find the first hints of something; subtle guard points and defensive positions and, after a few minutes of scrutiny he started to pick out the camouflage netting; effective as it was.

Once he knew where he was meant to be looking his task was much easier. And he continued to see the small details that gave away the fact that something pretty significant was going on down in the treeline alongside the river. He still couldn’t see what was so damn important, maybe this was it, but at least it was something and now they knew where to look they would be able to find out what the problem was. He was just about to give up when he caught sight of a very unnatural shape and he focused in on it and felt his heart skip a beat as he realised what he was looking at.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“If you’re thinking that’s a Scud missile launcher then that’s exactly what you think it is,” Special Agent Ramirez replied grimly. “I can’t be sure on the model, but that thing could hit anything in the Duchy of Valencia.”

“Or Gibraltar,” Thompson commented, his tone equally grim. “We need to report this.”

“It’s too late,” Ramirez replied, pointing down at the valley. “They’re preparing to fire.”

Squadron Leader Stephen Green IAF
IAF E-3D Sentry
Allied Airspace, The Duchy of Valencia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 1445hrs Local Time (0545hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1445hrs Zulu Time)

It was a quiet day for the Iberian Peninsula, at least as far as the airspace was concerned. There were a few fighters from each of the Duchy of Leon and the Duchy of Madrid, mostly flying combat air patrols over their respective capitals, and a few ground attack aircraft providing close air support to their troops along the border. The Duchy of Valencia had the most aircraft in the skies; given that they weren’t taking part in combat operations they had not suffered losses yet, mostly flying combat air patrols over Valencia itself and along the border. By and large, as had been the case for some months now, civilian air traffic avoided the combat zone as much as possible, diverting around where they could with only a handful of carriers risking flying into the two respective capitals, other than that the airspace was pretty much empty. Except of course of the Imperial Air Force, from the fighters over Gibraltar to the E-3D Sentry, call sign Checkmate 2-2, that was watching it all.

Squadron Leader Stephen Green was the Tactical Director, which meant that he was the mission crew commander and as such the airborne mission commander; tasked with executing the strategy as directed by those up the chain of command. Given that an AWACs aircraft operated under the authority of the regional air commander, Squadron Leader Green had the authority to command and direct any and all Imperial air assets to carry out the objectives he had been assigned, as well as handling any emergencies that arose. Of course there were some actions that he would have to seek higher approval for, but as the Tactical Director he had a great deal of authority regarding actions within his area of responsibility. In all his time in the Imperial Air Force however Squadron Leader Green had not been called upon to exercise that command authority in combat, just routine operations over peaceful skies. He couldn’t help but wonder if he, or another one of the Tactical Directors based out of Gibraltar, would find themselves caught up in the escalating war, and he had been reading up on the protocols so they he was prepared if and when it happened.

Almost as the thought was passing through his mind all hell broke loose. Alarms began sounding from the various consoles and the mission crew jumped into action.

“Report,” Squadron Leader Green ordered crisply.

“Reading multiple launch transients,” Flying Officer Joel Larson, the Surveillance Controller, reported. “Short range ballistic profiles… looks like Scuds.”

“Commence tracking,” Squadron Leader Green instructed. “Comms, get on the horn, let Regional Ops know.”

“Got forty confirmed launch transients,” Corporal Bill Harper, one of the Surveillance Operators, called out. “Splitting into two groups, thirty and ten.”

“Vectors?”

“The larger group is heading South-East, most likely target is the Duchy of Valencia,” Corporal Harper replied. “The smaller group is heading south… but their profile doesn’t look like they’re going after Madrid.”

“My god, they’re going for Gibraltar,” Squadron Leader Green said in sudden realisation. “They’re going to try and his us at Gibraltar!”

There were a few moments of silence as they all took that information in, and the implications of what it meant. If they were in fact Scuds they flew at speeds in excess of Mach 5, which meant that once up to speed they would cross the hundreds of miles in mere seconds. That meant that Valencia was going to be hit within two minutes, Gibraltar would follow in less than five.

“Flash signal, all commands,” Squadron Leader Green ordered. “Missile strike warning, Gibraltar… this is no drill.”

[Terra Reborn]

Admiral Alice Stanford, Viscountess Stanford DCS DSO DSC IN
HM Naval Station Gibraltar
The Crown Colony of Gibraltar, the Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 1550hrs Local Time (0550hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1450hrs Zulu Time)

Admiral Alice Stanford, Viscountess Stanford, the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Mediterranean Fleet, was just stepping off the gangway from her flagship when the air raid sirens began to wail across Gibraltar. It was a sound that she had known was a very real possibility for some years, but had hoped to never hear. Within seconds the sounds of the air raid were joined by the distinctive klaxon of the general alarm from her flagship, and many of the other ship’s alongside and in the harbour. These overlapping klaxons were quickly joined by voices from the main broadcast systems aboard the warships and shouted orders from the upper decks. Everyone was scrambling to get a handle on the situation and to prepare to defend themselves from whatever attack was about to hit them. The ships of the Gibraltar Squadron, and the other units alongside, were totally exposed if they were specifically targeted and even those out at anchor in the bay were hardly in a better position unless they were able to beat speed records in getting underway from anchor. It took every fibre of her professional being to not run back up the gangway to her flagship, but she knew she would be of more use in the command centre beneath Devil’s Tower.

She hadn’t even made it to the main gate out of the Naval Station when the sky was filled by a new sound, one easily identifiable as vapour trails appeared from various parts of the Rock of Gibraltar, screaming skywards towards the incoming missiles. Much as had been the case for centuries Gibraltar was a Fortress, and the Empire of Apilonia had wasted no expense when it came to ensuring that Gibraltar was defendable. The Rock itself, and the area around it, was literally peppered with weapons of various kinds, ranging from traditional (yet modern) naval guns and anti-ship missile emplacements designed to allow the Empire to close the Straits of Gibraltar to anyone they wished, as well as defend against a land invasion, to surface to air missiles designed to protect against air and missile attack. It was this latter which was even now leaping to the defence of Gibraltar, trying to down as many of the incoming missiles as possible, the densely populated nature of Gibraltar meant that even one strike had the potential to be devastating; multiple strikes would be unimaginable.

Explosions filled the sky as the intercepting SAMs hit home and downed their targets, Stanford found herself counting them, and even as she ran through the streets her eyes were skyward, searching for the incoming missiles. Unfortunately with such short notice, and given the type of interception they were attempting, they were unable to get all of the incoming Scuds and an almighty explosion ripped through Gibraltar as one of the Scuds hit home. Stanford’s head whipped around to the source of the blast and to her dismay discovered that not only had a building been hit but that it was an apartment complex. Even the most optimistic estimates would put the death toll in the hundreds, although given the time and that it was during the midweek they might get lucky, but even then there would be hundreds if not thousands of men, women and children without homes tonight. A second Scud got through and slammed into the water close to one of the moored warships, which suffered some blast damage and minor hull damage as it was thrust against the dockside by the force of the blast. A third and final scud slammed into the Rock of Gibraltar itself, but fortunately missed anything of value, including the weapons emplacements on the Rock.

Stanford couldn’t spare any time to consider the impact of the three missiles that had got through, she had to get to her command centre; if someone was prepared to launch an attack like this they were certain to follow it up as quickly as possible. Regardless of what happened next it was likely that the Mediterranean Fleet would be heavily involved, and that meant that Stanford needed to be ready, and in any event she was one of the four most senior officers in the Regional Command, which meant that she’d play a role in shaping the strategy in any event. If she was going to be asked her professional opinion on how to proceed she wanted to actually know what she was talking about. In addition to her well-recognized gallantry and bravery in combat she also had a reputation for doing her ‘homework’ and making sure she knew as much as possible about what was happening, and this was no different.

Commodore James Rodney, the Chief of Staff for the Mediterranean Fleet met her at the entrance to the Devil’s Tower Garrison; whilst it was the headquarters for the Imperial Army troops stationed on the Rock it also held the headquarters of the Mediterranean Fleet, below the surface, including a situation room. It was down into the subsurface sections that they made their way. Commodore Rodney briefed her as they stepped into the lift.

“AWACs detected forty missiles launching from somewhere within in the Duchy of Leon at 1445hrs Zulu, they immediately split into two groups, one of ten which headed for us and one of thirty which targeted the Duchy of Valencia,” Commodore Rodney reported crisply as the lift began to move. “The missiles targeting Valencia stuck their targets within three minutes, the ones heading for us took five minutes, and as you no doubt saw three got through our air defence network and his targets within Gibraltar.”

Rodney paused grimly.

“One hit an apartment complex, casualties are expected to be significant as there was a lot of blast damage and shrapnel, one struck the Rock and one landed close alongside HMS Seattle, we’re still waiting to hear damage reports,” He continued. “As far as Valencia goes they had nothing like our air defence network, not even around the capital, and the air defence around the capital was not on as high alert as our Rock batteries are maintained.”

“What’s the damage in Valencia?”

“Significant, we’ve not got anything even approaching details, but our AWACs bird confirmed that twenty-eight of the incoming Scuds hit their targets, only two were successfully shot down and those were by fighters that happened to be in the right place at the right time to hit them on their terminal phase,” Commodore Rodney replied. “Casualties in Valencia are expected to be high, as twenty of the thirty were targeted against the city itself, whilst the remaining ten were targeted against critical infrastructure, the effectiveness of the latter strikes is unclear, given that the Scud-C has an accuracy of around 700m, but casualties in the city will be high regardless.”

“My god,” Stanford murmured grimly. “What do they gain from this?”

“They hit Valencia hard and they throw them off balance, there’ll be a hell of a lot of confusion out there and any attack, which we have to assume is coming, will be able to make significant headway,” Commodore Rodney replied. “As for hitting us… maybe they were bloodying our nose to encourage us to keep out of it…”

“Remarkable that people still think that’ll work… after they’ve killed our people they think we’ll let them get away with it,” Stanford scoffed, but the anger was obvious in her eyes. “Alright, well we’ll assume that an attack is coming and prepare appropriately, I want every ship underway as soon as possible… if IRC Europe calls upon us, I want to be ready.”

Stanford paused thoughtfully, by this point they were entering the command centre.

“In the meantime I want the Reprisal to scramble as many aircraft as she can, short her own CAP, to provide air cover over Valencia itself; if an attack tries to hit them whilst they’re still recovering from the Scud strike, we’ll be there to back them up,” Stanford added. “And let’s start getting our ship’s in motion, any battle groups, SAGs or squadrons that are available are to make their way towards us, I want the full force of this Fleet concentrated at and around the Iberian Peninsula.”

“General Signal from IRC Europe, Ma’am,” Lieutenant Commander Zack Reynolds reported. “Theatre War Alert, all commands to assume Defence Condition Three, Readiness Condition Zero or One and Force Protection Condition Alpha.”

“Very well, make it so,” Stanford nodded. “Inform all Fleet assets that they are authorised to engage any and all enemy units they encounter.”

“Ma’am, receiving reports of a major ground offensive all along the frontline between Leon and Madrid,” Lt. Commander Reynolds said suddenly. “Initial reports indicate an armoured spearhead straight towards Madrid, with the rest of the front pushing forwards quickly.”

“It’s all kicking off now,” Stanford sighed heavily. “They’ve been planning this for a while now, we’re going to be reacting for a while.”

Stanford was silent for a moment.

“Alright, I want to get back in control as soon as possible, let’s start putting some operational plans, one to defend Gibraltar, the other two defend Valencia,” She said grimly. “Once we’ve got a handle on the situation I want us to take the initiative, so let’s start thinking about that too.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Commodore Rodney nodded, then glanced down as he was handed a signal. “AWACs is reporting incoming aircraft.”

“Signal all ships with that information, Air Warning Red,” Stanford ordered crisply. “Other than that it’s all down to 9 Group.”

Air Vice Marshal Sir William Dance KCS DSO DFC
IAF Luqa, Malta
The Crown Colony of Malta, The Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 1615hrs Local Time (0615hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1515 Zulu Time)

Air Vice Marshal Sir William Dance stood on the command balcony and looked down at the busy operations room of No.9 Group of the Imperial Air Force, the gathered officers and aircraftmen were all working hurriedly to take in all the information from the various radar stations, AWACs and other sources and input it onto the larger situational display that showed the entire European theatre. Things had been completely routine and normal up until thirty minutes ago when all hell broke loose, and in the half an hour that had passed everyone had been scrambling to track and record the massive increase of air activity over the Iberian Peninsula. There was, naturally, a massive increase in the number of aircraft operating over Leon territory, but a Madrid was scrambling all its aircraft, as was Valencia, and for that matter all of the Imperial aircraft based out of IAF Gibraltar, which was hardly surprising given that Gibraltar had just been hit. Fortunately, Air Vice Marshal Dance had been on-station when everything had gone to hell and as such he had been able to make his way to his command centre and take command of the situation.

As the Air Officer Commanding, No. 9 Group, AVM Dance was responsible for gaining and maintaining Imperial air superiority within the theatre and, specifically the air defence of Imperial airspace. No. 9 Group was a subordinate unit of IAF Fighter Command, which held command and control of all of the Imperial Air Force’s fighter aircraft (with the exception of strike fighters and ground attack aircraft), and is responsible for all air-to-air operations, both defensively and offensively. Unlike pretty much every other command in the entire Imperial Military, Fighter Command operates totally independently, answering only to IAF Air Command, and may take control over all IAF Aircraft (primarily fighters) for the air defence of the realm. As such AVM Dance had a significant amount of autonomy given that all of her assets were assigned specifically for the roles for which he was responsible, which meant that he didn’t have to liaise with anyone and had a significant amount of responsibility.

Of course Sir William Dance was more than competent to shoulder that particular responsibility. Aside from being a decorated fighter pilot in his time he had served in a number of high profile roles, earning him appointment to the Distinguished Service Order, ultimately culminating in his assignment as the Station Commander of IAF Akrotiri. In that role he had been the senior Imperial Officer during the initial part of the Cyprus Conflict, he had organised and commanded the defence of the Sovereign Base Area, and even after additional forces arrived he had continued to command IAF assets throughout the campaign. His stellar service had earned him a Knighthood and assignment to lead a Group in the most competitive command in the entire Air Force. If there was anyone capable of shouldering the responsibility of commanding a Fighter Command group, it was Sir William Dance.

“Is everything up?” Dance asked quietly of his Operations Officer, Wing Commander Simon North.

“The lot, Sir,” North replied.

“Reserves?”

“None,” North said grimly. “Not near Gibraltar anyway.”

Dance nodded grimly and looked up at the strategic display. Where once there had been general quiet over Iberia there was now a veritable mess of activity. And amidst the red markers identifying enemy aircraft and the blue markers identifying allies were a larger number of green markers, identifying Imperial assets. But they were dangerously spread out. No. 39 Wing, based out of IAF Gibraltar, consisted of four squadrons, each of sixteen aircraft, one of Wraiths and three of Vipers. No. 173 Squadron (the Wraiths) were operating under stealth over Andalusia, no doubt intending to interdict any enemy assault, whilst No. 174 Squadron (of Vipers) were holding position over Gibraltar, ready to resist any air attack against the Rock. No. 175 Squadron (also of Vipers) was operating over Murcia, providing air cover for the Valencian Naval base there, whilst No. 176 Squadron (again, of Vipers) had joined the air group of HMS Reprisal (which Admiral Stanford had graciously placed under No. 9 Groups command unless she needed them), and aircraft of the Valencian Air Guard (VAG) in protecting the Valencian capital. For the moment Imperial air assets were not actively engaged in combat with the enemy, rather the VAG was engaged in running dogfights with enemy aircraft over the border regions, and although IRC Europe had authorised defensive efforts, and a declaration of war was almost inevitable, they could not launch offensive attacks until permission came from Imperial High Command.

The lack of engagement for Imperial air assets was about to change however as the plot updated to show a group of aircraft heading southwards towards Gibraltar; seemingly the enemy was moving in to take advantage of their missile strike (most likely not knowing it had been less effective than they had hoped, as all but one of the ships and the entire IAF Station had both avoided damage.

“Reading thirty-plus aircraft, AWACs is classifying them as F/A-18 Hornets,” Wing Commander North reported. “Likely outfitted for ground attack, it’s likely one or more of those Scuds was targeted against IAF Gibraltar.”

By the look of things the enemy was indeed caught completely by surprise by the presence of the Wraiths so far forward and the attacking enemy force was cut in half for no losses before the Wraiths turned and burned away now that their weapons had been expended. The remaining enemy aircraft were engaged over Gibraltar by 174 Squadron, but not before losing even more of their number to long-range missile fire, the assumption that they were outfitted for ground attack, and thus carrying only defensive A2A armament, seemed to be proved given that they had to close the range before opening fire themselves. The plot became chaotic as the remaining enemy aircraft began to engage the Imperial Vipers at increasingly close rangers. Dance found himself feeling a grudging respect that these flyers had continued to come at them, even after suffering horrific losses , it took a certain bravery to do just that. Above all else it made it painfully clear to him that next time, when they encountered enemy aircraft outfitted for air to air combat, and most likely flying the modern Typhoons, things would not be so one-sided. Indeed the success at which the Leon Air Force had managed to take out their Madrid counterparts was a painful indicator of that, and they were certainly bloodying the nose of the VAG. If nothing else Leon and it’s armed forces had proven themselves to be resourceful and brave, it would be vitally important that despite this overwhelming aerial victory no one was allowed to get complacent; this was by no means going to be a cakewalk.

“All enemy aircraft downed, Sir,” North reported again. “We lost three Vipers over Gibraltar, all were able to eject, and one Hornet was able to drop its bombs, they hit a Frigate in the bay.”

“Damage to the Frigate?”

“Moderate by all accounts, took out their hanger and engines, but casualties should be minimal,” North replied. “She’ll be out of the fight and a sitting duck.”

“Well, hopefully after that they won’t try something so brazen again, not now they know they didn’t take out our aerial assets in the region,” Dance commented. “Make signal to IRC Europe, inform them of the situation, then sit down with Plans and start working out a Operational Plan to gain and maintain air superiority over all of Iberia”

“Yes, Sir,” North nodded.

Lady Jessica Warwick
King Walker Memorial Airport, Nicosia
The Crown Colony of Cyprus, The Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 1745hrs Local Time (0645hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1545hrs Zulu Time)

The last hour had been a whirlwind.

One moment they had been enjoying the atmosphere and looking forwards to the evenings festivities, which included a fairly significant fireworks display, the next they had been bundled away by the Secret Service Agents, along with the two military officers that had been caught up with them. The Secret Service had refused to tell them what was going on, quite possibly because they didn’t know the full details themselves, and more importantly they were focusing on keeping her safe. As soon as they had made it to the Airport they had taken over an entire, easily securable, suite of rooms to defend whilst they waited for their aircraft to be prepared for take-off; all that the Secret Service had told them so far was that they were being removed to a more defendable position. Clearly something significant had happened and it had activated the various Secret Service policies to handle situations like this, and when that happened not even the King could really object. Both Jessica and Alfredo had spent most of the time after being secured pacing impatiently whilst the two military officers got onto their phones to try and get an idea of what was happening, carefully watched by a Secret Service agent to make sure that they weren’t giving away any critical information about the location and defence of Lady Warwick.

Although it didn’t seem that way to Jessica, to be fair to the Secret Service Agents as soon as they could they told them what was going on, and Special Agent Jackson approached to finally give them a briefing.

“What’s going on?” Jessica demanded.

“It looks like Leon has finally come off the reservation, they walked out of the peace talks in London and at almost the same time they launched a major missile strike against Valencia… and Gibraltar,” Special Agent Jackson replied grimly. “They took out an apartment block in Gibraltar, and although we’ve not heard any details, Valencia itself just took twenty Scud missiles… they’ll have got hit hard.”

“My god,” Alfredo breathed. “My father… my mother and sisters?”

“We don’t know,” Special Agent Jackson shook his head. “I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“Where are we heading” Jessica asked.

“Malta for the time being… Valencia and Gibraltar are too dangerous right now,” Jackson replied. “We’re going to be wheels up in twenty minutes.”

“Alright,” Jessica nodded, then glanced across at Lieutenant Mackenzie. “What’s the plan, Lieutenant?”

“Well, I’m assigned to you for a week, so if you’ve not got any objections I’ll join you in Malta… if nothing else I’ll be able to keep you up to speed on what’s going on,” Lt. Mackenzie replied promptly. “It’s not like my unit’s going to miss me, we’re FPG so we’re not going to be involved in all of this.”

“Alright, I’d love to have you with us,” Jessica nodded. “You wanna come too, Major?”

“Hell, if you don’t mind, Ma’am,” Major Ballantine smiled slightly. “I’d rather be doing something useful than sat on my ship watching the coverage.”

Jessica smiled, she was confident that she’d be able to get both of these officers assigned to her for the duration, and like Lieutenant Mackenzie had said she could use both of them to regularly brief her on the state of affairs.

“Alright, well there’s nothing else we can do right now,” Jessica said firmly, moving over to Alfredo and squeezing his hand comfortingly, he looked pretty damn distracted, which was hardly surprising. “All we can do is ensure that we’re ready to move when the time comes.”

[Terra Reborn]

His Majesty King Arthur of Apilonia, Australia and the Imperial Dominions
The Imperial Fortress, Karin City
The Duchy of Alaska, The Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 0700hrs Local Time (0700hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1600hrs Zulu Time)
 
The Imperial Fortress was abuzz with activity. The King had been woken an hour early as soon as the FLASH message regarding the attack on Gibraltar had reached Imperial High Command and had been informed of the situation, with a promise of a full briefing as soon as possible. It had taken every fibre of the young King’s restraint to stop himself from marching down to the Situation Room straight away, but he knew that he would just get in the way, especially given that the Service Chiefs were only just arriving and getting their own handle on the situation. So, with some additional coaxing from his Personal Steward, Sir James MacArthur, had had returned to the Royal Dining Room and, alongside Elizabeth, his Queen, and forced himself to sit down and eat his breakfast. He had insisted on watching the news and, given that there was no television in the Royal Dining Room, one of the staffers in the Royal Briefing Office had ran off to find an iPad and accessed the IBC News application. There was a lot of confusion, the only thing that the news media seemed to know what that there had been three explosions in Gibraltar, and unconfirmed reports of further explosions across the Duchy of Valencia.
 
Arthur was very relieved when Commander Nathan West appeared to inform him that the National Security Council had assembled in the Situation Room. Commander West his Permanent Equerry, a military officer who was in full-time attendance of the King to assist in him the execution of his duties. Perhaps the most important role carried out by the Permeant Equerry was to carry the Strategic Operations Briefcase (SOB), which would ensure that the King would have the ability to access and, if necessary, deploy, the Empire’s nuclear and strategic deterrent. Commander West was a combat veteran, having served as the Executive Officer aboard HMS Frobisher during the Eritrea Incident, and his assignment as Equerry was intended to give him a highly placed staff role whilst he reached the appropriate seniority for promotion to Captain and command of a Cruiser or, potentially, a Capital Ship. Arthur and Commander West got along well, in no small part to the King’s background as a naval officer himself, and he was relieved he had an officer like West at his side.
 
King Arthur felt the same tinge of unease as the gathered military officers, all of them far senior than any rank that he had ever reached in the Imperial Navy, climbed to their feet and stood to attention as he entered the Situation Room and took his place at the head of the table. The first time it had happened, shortly after the death of his Father, it had totally thrown him off, but he was, steadily, getting more and more used to it every time it happened. Ultimately, he was the King, which made him the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Armed Forces, and if he had only been a mid-ranking officer his father had never served in the military, and he had got used to it. Never the less he was glad once the gathered men and women settled into their seats and the Secretary of State for Defence, Field Marshal the Earl of Wade Hampton, stood to give the briefing. Even if, as a five-star officer, he was only on inactive service and not retired, the Earl was in civilian clothes to emphasise his civilian role, rather than the military uniform he had every right to wear.
 
“Your Majesty, at 1445hrs Zulu, an Imperial AWACs aircraft operating over the Duchy of Valencia detected launch transients coming from the Duchy of Leon, these were also detected by Imperial Strategic Command,” Wade Hampton began. “They struck targets within the Duchy of Valencia first, with over twenty targeting the city itself, whilst ten missiles were targeted at Gibraltar, over half of which were shot down by our air defences.”
 
Wade Hampton paused grimly and brought up images of Gibraltar.
 
“Unfortunately however three missiles got through, one hit the Rock itself causing no damage, another splashed down in the bay, causing minor splash damage to the Type-45E Destroyer HMS Zealous,” He continued. “The third, unfortunately, hit an apartment block and utterly took the place out, casualty reports are still coming in, but it was a damn big blast, so far we’ve got a hundred dead and hundreds more missing.”
 
The Secretary of Defence paused just long enough for that to sink in before continuing.
 
“Half an hour later the Leon and Castile Air Force (LCAF) launched a major air attack against Gibraltar, however because they failed to take out our aircraft on the ground at IAF Gibraltar, they were intercepted by Wraiths ahead of time, and the survivors were overwhelmed by Vipers over the Rock,” Wade Hampton said with his first smile since starting the briefing. “We lost three aircraft over Gibraltar for no fatalities, our other aircraft in the region, operating in support of the Valencia Air Guard (VAG) are currently unengaged, however we anticipate them being engaged alongside our allies within the next twenty-four hours, assuming Leon and Castile keep up their momentum.”
 
“At last check there’s fierce fighting all over Madrid’s territory, Leon and Castile is making significant gains, we estimate they’ll take the Capital by the end of the day,” Wade Hampton sighed, the smile was gone now. “After that we anticipate they’ll keep pushing into Valencia… they might even try and kick us off of Gibraltar.”
 
“Not bloody likely.”
 
The King found himself smilingly slightly at the low, growled comment from someone he could not quite put his finger on, but he agreed entirely and was not about to make any sort of a fuss over it. An attack on Gibraltar would make sense, at least if the enemy thought that the Empire would just give up if they were forced out, and as the unidentified voice had stated; not bloody likely.
 
“How do we proceed?”
 
“We’ve not had a chance to put together a specific operational plan, although we’ve been working on contingency plans for the past few weeks,” Wade Hampton replied. “We have three broad options, to be codenamed Operation THUNDERBOLT.”
 
Wade Hampton paused as he waited for the next image to appear on the display.
 
“Thunderbolt One is a highly restrained option, we deploy our forces to protect the Duchy of Valencia and our own interests in the region, however we operate totally defensively,” Wade Hampton explained. “Thunderbolt Two also focuses on defending Valencia and ourselves, but we take a much more proactive, aggressive role and in addition to our defensive efforts we actively destroy the Leon and Castile Military.”
 
Wade Hampton paused and glanced around at the rest of the Defence Council.
 
“Thunderbolt Three is highly aggressive, and will involve us invading and occupying the entire Iberian Peninsula, removing the Duke of Leon and Castile from power and rebuilding all of Iberia from scratch,” Wade Hampton continued. “It is the opinion of this Defence Council that Thunderbolt One is too reactive, and that Thunderbolt Three is too aggressive and will gain us widespread condemnation, our opinion is that Thunderbolt Two constitutes the best option.”
 
“Alright, what would Thunderbolt Two look like?” Arthur asked, leaning forwards.
 
“Sir William,” Wade Hampton said softly.
 
Field Marshal Sir William Trask, the Chief of the Defence Staff, stood and replaced the Secretary of State at the front of the room.
 
“In the short term we would assist Valencia in holding their ground, primarily through the use of naval and air assets, although we’ll want to get some rapid reaction force units on the ground,” Trask replied. “We hold the line and, as soon as possible, start to get major formations on the ground; we then push the enemy back into their own territory, liberating Madrid in the process.”
 
Trask paused.
 
“Both during and after our campaign to liberate Madrid we would be launching strikes to emasculate and degrade the fighting potential of the Duchy of Leon and Castile, until their military is effectively destroyed,” Trask continued. “Once the military is gone we can enforce a treaty upon them, ideally one that will limit the potential for further conflict in Iberia.”


“What sort of forces would we be needing for this?”
 
“In terms of our strike capability we’ve already got a decent amount of Strike Command assets in the region, as well as Bombers based out of Malta, not to mention aircraft from HMS Reprisal, so we’re pretty set up in that regard,” Trask responded. “It might not be the worst idea to bring down a few Battleships from Scapa Flow to hit enemy targets deeper inside enemy territory, especially before we gain air supremacy.”
 
Trask clicked and a new image appeared.
 
“In terms of ground forces we’d deploy some of our rapid response force assets in the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours, Rangers for sure, probably some airborne, backed up by Air Cavalry based out of Malta,” Trask continued. “Those assets would hold the line and aid the Valencians, we’d then start deploying Armoured and Mechanized Divisions as soon as possible, and once they’re on the ground we’d start pushing forwards.”
 
“How many divisions?”
 
“Working alongside the Valencian Guard, we’d be wanting three to four divisions, one armoured and two or three mechanized, to complete our objectives with an acceptable level of casualties,” Trask replied bluntly. “We’ll want to make sure we forward-deploy enough Strike Command, and other strike-capable, assets into Iberia in order to ensure we have adequate air cover, and to deprive the enemy of the same.”
 
“Very well, you have my authorisation to proceed with Thunderbolt Two,” Arthur replied, glancing down the table at the Prime Minister, James Alexander. “James, we can get the Rangers and RRF deployed under my authority, but I want Parliamentary Approval for the rest, can you get it?”
 
“After those bastards, pardon my language, just blew up an apartment building in Gibraltar…” Alexander replied grimly. “I’ll probably even have the opposition on board for this one!”
 
“Alright, in that case let’s get about it,” Arthur said and the meeting dispersed. “Thomas… Rebecca… hold on a moment.”
 
Wade Hampton and Rebecca O’Brien, Countess of Thurston (the Imperial Foreign Secretary) held back and approached their young King and waited until the others had left the room.


“Have we heard anything about the Duke of Valencia?” Arthur asked them. “We’ve got Don Alfredo with my cousin, Jessica, but I want to know whether his father is still alive or not.”
 
“Nothing heard, Your Majesty,” Wade Hampton replied. “We’re hearing painfully little out of Valencia itself, and there was widespread damage.”
 
“Find out,” Arthur said grimly. “And find out quickly.”

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
San Anton Palace, Attard
The Crown Colony of Malta, The Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 2000hrs Local Time (1000hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1800hrs Zulu Time)
 
Lady Jessica and Don Alfredo quickly stepped down from the AW139 helicopter, surrounded by Secret Service agents, and quickly made their way up the lawn towards San Anton Palace, the official residence of the Governor of Malta, retired navy Vice Admiral Sir Patrick O’Neill. It was the culmination of two hours of frantic and hurried movement. They had flown out of Cyprus as soon as had been physically possible aboard a government Learjet and had been given a fighter escort, first from fighters based out of IAK Akritori before they were relieved by fighters from Malta, before landing at Valetta International under heavy security. The Governor had sent one of his helicopters specifically to pick them up and they had been ferried with all due speed to the San Anton Palace, which was one of the safest places to hold them for the duration, short of a military base, which was deemed to be at more risk of attack by Leon and Castile. Given the even more severe danger on the Iberian Peninsula, it had been decided that the pair would remain at Malta for the immediate future, at least until Valencia was safe to return to.
 
Sir Patrick met them in the foyer, he was in civilian clothing as he always was except on ceremonial occasions, but his expression was grim and professional, the kind of expression Jessica was sure he had worn many times during his military career. It was an expression that, growing up around the Imperial Fortress, Jessica had seen on the faces of many. He held two pieces of paper in his hand.

“Let me guess,” Jessica said wryly as Sir Patrick approached. “Which one is the good news?”

Sir Patrick looked grim and simply looked down at the two pieces of paper.

“Word from Gibraltar… And Valencia.”

Jessica sighed heavily, and she felt Don Alfredo reach down and take her hand gently in his, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Gibraltar first, Sir Patrick,” Jessica said grimly.

“The causality estimates for the strike on the apartment block have just been revised upwards again, we’re looking at nearly two hundred dead and several dozen still missing,” Sir Patrick sighed. “There’s also now a confirmed six dead on the Frigate that got hit, the duty watch in the engine room by the looks of it, and a fair few injuries, not to mention a nasty crater in the side of the Rock.”

Jessica shook her head angrily as she took in the information, but looking back at Sir Patrick his expression told her that the news from Valencia was just as bad, if not worse.

“And Valencia?”

“Casualties are confirmed to be in the thousands, there was a significant amount of damage done by the Scuds and they hit some pretty population dense targets,” Sir Patrick replied, then sighed heavily and looked straight at Don Alfredo. “It is also my sad duty to inform you that the Ducal Palace suffered a direct hit, we had hoped the Valencian Guard had managed to get enough forewarning, however ten minutes ago we received confirmation… the Duke of Valencia is dead.”

Jessica just stared at Sir Patrick in shock and surprise, the news hit her like a brick wall. The fact that the kindly man that had so warmly welcomed her to his country was dead was difficult to accept. Of course if it was bad to her it was infinitely worse for Alfredo. She felt his grip on her hand tighten to the point of pain and she looked up at him, seeing pain and anguish across his expression. She nodded to Sir Patrick and guided Alfredo from the lobby into a side room where she sat him down on a sofa and sat down beside him, making sure not to drop his hand as she did so, wanting him to know that she was there for him in his grief. He didn't say anything for a long time, but she saw silent tears forming in his eyes and when he couldn’t remain stoic any more she allowed him to bury his head into her shoulder as he at last began to sob, the grief overwhelming him, which was totally understandable given the news he had just received. The unspoken implication that his mother, the Duchess, was almost certainly dead as well, only made it worse.

Jessica wasn’t sure quite how long she held Alfredo for, but he eventually looked up at her, eyes red and the grief obvious in his eyes, but his expression was resolute and set.

“I need to go to Valencia.”

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
Valencia International Airport, Valencia
The Duchy of Valencia
Wednesday 2nd September 2015, 0400hrs Local Time (1800hrs Imperial Capital Time (01/09/15), 0300hrs Zulu Time)

The new Duke of Valencia returned to his city in the dead of night.

It had taken quite some doing to persuade the Valencian Guard to allow their Duke back into City given the death of the pervious one, although they had eventually caved to a combination of the much needed morale boost that his return would encourage, and the fact that Alfredo had been more than willing to simply order them to allow him to return. It had taken even longer to persuade Imperial High Command to permit Lady Jessica to return with him. Indeed the Imperial Regional Commandant, had discounted the plan out of hand, and had reportedly not been best pleased when Jessica had gone over his head to Imperial High Command, and subsequently over their heads to the King himself. Of course, King Arthur had not been particularly thrilled by the idea either, nor did he like overruling the military hierarchy for the benefit of his own family. However after a very long conversation Jessica had succeeded in persuading her cousin to allow her to go, and he issued the required orders to both get her there and ensure her safety once she was on the ground.

Once the orders had come through things had happened quickly. Although the Secret Service could not get more agents out to them quickly enough it was deemed necessary to increase Lady Jessica’s protective detail, and as such a team of four Officers from the Security Service (MI5) field officer on Malta, specifically those members of the Diplomatic Security section trained in close protection, had met the rest of them at Malta International Airport and, at the direction of the Secret Service agents, would assist them in protecting Lady Jessica for the duration. Once the increased protection was in place Lady Jessica, Alfredo, Major Ballantine and Lieutenant Mackenzie, along with the protective detail, had boarded a Foreign Office Gulfstream 650 for the flight to Valencia. They had been escorted most of the way there by Viper F.1 fighters from IAF Luqa, before the escort had been taken over by Super Tomcats from HMS Reprisal, as well as aircraft from the Valencian Air Guard (VAG), which had guided them safely into Valencia International and the relative safety of the ground.

During the flight over, whilst the Secret Service agents and the Security Service officers had worked on their plan to protect Lady Jessica, and Major Ballantine and Lieutenant Mackenzie either talked quietly or were in contact with various superiors, Jessica had remained close to Alfredo for the duration. She had not said anything, sensing that he was not particularly in the mood for talking, but she had just sat there, holding his hand and generally doing her best to comfort him. He seemed to have appreciated it, holding tightly onto her hand in return and when she had, at some point, fallen asleep on the flight over he had allowed her to nap on his shoulder.

Almost as soon as they had landed and been met by the Valencian Guard welcoming committee Alfredo had demanded a situation report.

By and large the situation had not escalated any further; the presence of Imperial air power had largely blunted enemy attempts to gain control of the skies, alongside the VAG, which meant that further strikes against Valencia and most of its other cities and towns had steadily decreased in size, severity and damage inflicted. Furthermore, with Imperial and Valencian control of the skies when the enemy had launched their first ground probes, under cover of darkness, they had been soundly pushed back before midnight and since that point things had settled down. It was deemed likely that the enemy would attempt a major offensive come the dawn; likely using what was left of their air force in an attempt to support a major ground push, which was part of the reason why it had been essential that Jessica and Alfredo get on the ground under cover of darkness. Fortunately by dawn there would be Imperial troops on the ground, in the form of the Imperial Rangers, who would operate offensively to throw the enemy off balance, followed up by at least wo Regiments of His Majesty’s Cavalry based out of Malta, followed eventually by further ground troops.

By the time the briefing had finished, in the back of an armoured limousine, they had reached headquarters of the Valencian Guard. Given that the Ducal Palace had been very badly damaged during the air raid, it had been decided that Alfredo would be much safer at Valencian Guard HQ than anywhere else in the Capital. Given that they had all been up for quite some time they were immediately provided with rooms to rest in. Come the morning there was much to do. Alfredo was already preparing for a live address to the Duchy, come the morning, to reassure his people that they still had a Duke. Jessica would do everything she could to support him, and serve as a valuable link between the Valencians and the Empire, personified by the Imperial Ambassador. Lieutenant Mackenzie would serve as Jessica’s liaison to the military picture of what was going on, both from the Valencian and Imperial perspectives. Major Ballantine would doubtless find something useful to do with his time, although neither his unit, nor the Imperial Marines as a whole, were likely to take part in this campaign in any real capacity (due to the lack of a need to land troops amphibiously), but it was likely that his services would be required in some form or another.

For now there was little any of them could do but wait for the dawn.

Lieutenant General Sir Godfrey Wolfe KCS DSO MC
Hal Far Garrison, Malta
The Crown Colony of Malta, the Empire of Apilonia
Wednesday 2nd September 2015, 0600hrs Local Time (1900hrs Imperial Capital Time, 0400hrs Zulu Time)

Lieutenant General Sir Godfrey Wolfe, Knight Commander of the Most Glorious Order of the Sword, stood at the window of his office and looked out over the flight line of the Hal Far Garrison, which was bustling with activity to say the least. He was watching the hurried activity of two Regiments of the 3rd Cavalry Division, specifically the 9th and 11th Cavalry Regiments, as every man and women, from the Cavalrymen themselves to the pilots and ground crew that flew them into combat, prepared for deployment. The cause was obvious, the rapidly escalating situation on the Iberian Peninsula, and it was essential that the Imperial Cavalry got into the picture as soon as physically possible. The 9th Cavalry Regiment had, initially, been the ‘on-alert’ formation ready for deployment within forty-eight hours, as the situation had escalated the 11th Cavalry Regiment had been brought up to the same status. The other two Regiments in the division, the 10th and 12th, were also being mobilised but would take longer, as during normal operations one Regiment was usually on post-alert leave and the other was generally on training. Which meant that both those Regiments would take longer to become as combat effective as their counterparts.

As such although, on paper, the entire 3rd Cavalry Division would be committed to Operation THUNDERBOLT, in realty the two pairs of Regiments would likely rotate, if the campaign went on long enough to necessitate such rotations. But then, unlike most Divisions in the Imperial Army, the Imperial Cavalry Divisions were not intended to deploy all of their forces at once, rather they were designed to get one or two Regiment-sized formations on the ground as quickly as possible with wide-spectrum support. The Cavalry Divisions filled the gap between the Rapid Reaction Force, which generally deployed battalion-sized units on short notice (although the rest of a brigade-sized units tended to follow in short order as part of the build-up), and the bulk of the Army which provided entire Divisions, however given their logistical footprint these Divisions could take up to two weeks to adequately deploy. The Imperial Rangers had already deployed a battalion of troops to reinforce Valencia Province, and would work closely with the Valencian Guard to throw the enemy off balance, and whilst they were not being rapidly deployed, a full brigade of airborne troops were being flown to Gibraltar to provide further options.

All of this was Lieutenant General Wolfe’s concern, for he was the General Officer Commanding, XIV Corps, the formation responsible for all offensive operations within the European Theatre. During peacetime, he had only had the 3rd Cavalry Division under his command, but in the last twelve hours the 5th Ranger Battalion and the 2nd Airborne Brigade had both been transferred to XIV Corps. Back in the Empire a number of divisions were being mobilised and, upon receiving Parliamentary Approval, would be attached to his Corps and deployed to the European Theatre. Based on his last conversation with General Sir Adam Spencer, the General Officer Commanding the Imperial Third Army, in person given that the Third Army Headquarters was located in Valetta, it seemed likely that he would be receiving three mechanized divisions and one armoured division, more than enough to overwhelm their enemies, particularly when working with Valencian troops. His Operations (G3) and Plans (G5) officers and their staff were already hard at work putting together operational plans for the Army’s portion of Operation THUNDERBOLT. General Wolfe would be the lead operational commander on the ground, answering to the GOC Fifth Army and, through him, the Imperial Regional Commander, Admiral Dame Laura Anderson, who held overall command of Operation THUNDERBOLT.

Lieutenant General Wolfe had had a long and distinguished career in the Imperial Army. He had been commissioned, shortly after the Resurgence of the Empire, eager to join the newly reconstituted Imperial Army and help rebuild the Empire, attending the first Platoon Commander’s Course at the Infantry Battle School (North) before joining the Alaska Regiment as a Lieutenant. His career had proceeded apace within the Regiment, earning promotions in good time and in good positions, He had been promoted to full Colonel shortly before the Oregon War, in which he served on the staff of the 2nd Infantry Brigade as the Operations (G3) officer. During a visit to the front he earned a Military Cross when, at great personal risk, he dashed out of cover and dragged a wounded soldier out of the open and back to safety, as well as being created Companion of the Sword. Subsequently promoted to Brigadier in 2004, and Major General in 2008, he held several senior command positions, earning the Distinguished Service Order for his command of the 4th Mechanized Division during the Minnesota War, Following his promotion to Lieutenant General, in 2012, he was Knighted, and held a senior staff position at Imperial High Command before being appointed to command XIV Corps in 2014. From what the Chief of the General Staff had indicated the last time they had spoken, Wolfe had a very good prospect for promotion to full General in 2016.

Of course his prospects for promotion would be significantly enhanced by a successful campaign, although that was only at the back of Wolfe’s mind as he considered the fight to come. For now Wolfe turned his attention away from the physical preparations, ready for the further planning that would consume most of his day.

[Terra Reborn]

Act II
All Bravely Unfurled

"Hear me now, O thou bleak and unbearable world. Thou art base and debauched as can be. But a knight with his banners all bravely unfurled now hurls down his gauntlet to thee!"
From The Man of La Mancha, Based on the Story of Don Quixote

[Terra Reborn]

Commander Jane ‘Viper’ Deaver DFC DSC IN
HMS Reprisal (R12)
Off the Coast of Valencia, Valencian Territorial Waters
Wednesday 2nd September 2015, 0600hrs Local Time (2000hrs Imperial Capital Time, 0500hrs Zulu Time)

“Keep your seats,” Commander Jane Deaver, Callsign Viper, said sharply as she strode into the main briefing room, having decided to brief the entire air wing together, but given the nature of the mission they were preparing for it made sense. “Good Morning, Everyone.”

“Good Morning, Ma’am,” Was the resounding response.

Commander Deaver couldn’t help but smile slightly as she looked over the entirety of Carrier Air Wing Thirteen, the air wing assigned to the Aircraft Carrier Reprisal; her air wing. Deaver had been in the Imperial Navy for some years now and had steadily risen through the ranks, and had been lucky enough to serve in combat numerous times. She had cut her teeth during the Intervention on Rhodes, scoring the only air-to-air kills in the entire campaign, her career continued normally for a few years before being involved in the Western Australian War, where she gained several more kills and qualified ace status (and with it the Distinguished Flying Cross). She had further distinguished herself during the Sierra Leone Civil War, providing close air support to troops on the ground, before earning the Distinguished Service Cross back aboard the carrier, saving the life of a fellow aviator at great personal risk to her own life. Since then she had served as the CAW (Commander Air Wing), although by tradition she was still known as CAG, for CAW-14 based from the Reprisal, working closely with Admiral the Viscountess Stanford as she had for several years.

Unfortunately, her success would soon bring her out of the air; she was due for promotion to Captain in the very near future which meant that, whilst she could continue to keep her qualifications up to date and fly when she could, she would be assigned to a non-flying billet, most likely as Executive Officer (XO) of an Aircraft Carrier, to prepare her for a command of her own. Whilst she was looking forward to this new challenge, so different from everything she had done before in her career, she was not looking forward to not flying anywhere near as much. It seemed likely that the Iberian Campaign would be her last one in which she played a role flying in combat.

“The situation is simple enough people, Defence Intelligence suggests that the Leon and Castile Army (LCA) is planning to launch a major ground offensive at or around dawn, that’s 0702hrs local time,” Deaver began simply enough. “Thanks to our efforts yesterday, we and No.9 Group have been able largely blunt the enemy’s air power, giving us the freedom to provide air support to the beleaguered troops.”

Deaver paused and clicked for the next slide.

“Our tasking is to support Valencian troops on the ground by providing them with close air support and battlefield interdiction services of enemy troops attacking or moving to attack friendly troops on the ground, for that purpose two squadrons will be outfitted with A2G ordinance, with only one squadron outfitted for A2A to provide over watch,” Deaver continued. “Our priority is supporting friendly troops in holding their positions, they don’t have the manpower right now to go on the offensive, but that’ll change once we get boots on the ground, for now we are the only thing standing between the Valencian Guard and a larger enemy ground force.”

“Are there any troops on the ground yet?” One of the pilots asked.

“Officially no, however there are several Special Forces teams operating within Valencia already, principally from the Special Reconnaissance Service (SRS) as pathfinders for our troops, and if you here an Apilonian accent rather than a Valencian one, chances are they’ll be the ones guiding you in on your attack runs,” Deaver replied with a wry smile. “In addition, within the hour we are anticipating a vote in Parliament to authorise military action in Iberia, once that is achieved a battalion of Rangers will deploy, first to Valencia and then to where they are needed.”

Commander Deaver looked around at her pilots.

“As soon as we’re finished here I want you to start getting ready, we’re launching from 0630 and I want all aircraft airborne by dawn, so we can launch a major counter-strike against the enemy offensive,” Deaver instructed firmly. “Once we’ve done that we’ll start rotating squadrons so that we have fighters aloft at all times to provide support, the way I want to do that is…”

The Right Honourable James Alexander FIA FRES MP
The Imperial Parliament, Karin City
The Duchy of Alaska, the Empire of Apilonia
Tuesday 1st September 2015, 2030hrs Local Time (2030hrs Imperial Capital Time, 0530hrs Zulu Time)

The Imperial Prime Minister, the Right Honourable James Alexander, sat quietly in his seat on the Government Front Bench as he watched to his fellow Members of Parliament, on both sides of the house, make their speeches; all broadly in support of military action. He had been right in his expectation of having the opposition on side, but when the enemy took out an entire apartment building with hundreds dead there was very little opposition to the thought of striking back; in general such things were not where partisan politics, which could be just as bad in the Empire as elsewhere, reared its head. In general, an attack on the Empire was met by a unified front in Parliament. If it had just been a case of supporting Valencia, which many had been in favour of already, it would have been a more contested thing, but as it was it was fairly obvious that the House of Commons would pass the motion, and the Lords had a vote scheduled for a short time afterwards. The news of the death of the Duke of Valencia had resulted in a wave of sympathy for their Valencian friends all over the Empire, and had pushed those on the fence firmly into the pro-action camp.

Alexander had closely discussed the situation with the Speaker and the Leader of the Opposition, both on Privy Council terms, in order to ensure that the vote occurred promptly. Both men knew that even now fighters from the Aircraft Carrier Reprisal were taking to the skies in preparation for offensive strikes against the LCA, which needed Parliamentary Approval to make it legal. Or rather it didn’t, the King had broad powers with regards to the deployment of the Imperial Armed Forces, even into combat, without the support of Parliament, however much like his father King Arthur preferred to have Parliament on-side, especially when the stakes were high. So whilst it would be entirely legal for the Reprisal to launch her strikes, it would be much preferable if Parliament had thrown its support behind the King voluntarily, rather than feeling compelled to after the fact. It was all part of the elaborate dance that took place between the Crown and Parliament; the King had the ultimate authority in all matters, however not only could Parliament make life very difficult if they wanted to, if the Crown was to maintain its widespread support it could ill afford to alienate the general population. The vast majority of the Empire was highly pro-monarchy, there was an entire political party called the Crown Loyalists after all, but whilst the Republican movement was barely existent, and certainly not represented in Parliament, there was no point giving that sort of people ammunition.

Glancing down at his watch Alexander shared a meaningful look with the Leader of the Opposition who promptly completed his speech and both men looked towards the Speaker of the House, who promptly stood.

“The Question is that this House authorise military action against the Duchy of Leon and Castile in support of the Duchy of Valencia,,” The Speaker said loudly and clearly. “Those that are of the opinion say ‘Aye’!

“Aye!” Was the resounding response.

“Of the contrary, ‘No’.”

“No!” Was a loud, but not quite so loud, response.

It was fairly obvious that the Government had won the vote, however it was equally obvious that for such an important vote, the Speaker wanted to make entirely sure.

“Divisions! Clear the lobby!”

With that the Division Bells began to ring all over the Parliamentary Estate, although all but a handful of MPs were already in the chamber, and they began to funnel into the two voting lobbies on either side of the House of Commons itself. As they passed through the lobby doors the whips on either side of the door counted the number of votes, and made note of those voting against the party whip, and surprisingly quickly they were back in the chamber and the tellers were stepping forwards, the senior member spoke loudly and clearly once more.

“The Ayes on the right, five hundred, the Nos on the left, seventy-nine.”

One of the clerks moved forwards with the piece of paper upon which the results were written and handed it to the speaker.

“The Ayes on the right, five hundred, the No’s on the left, seventy-nine,’” The Speaker repeated. “So the Ayes have it, the Ayes have it… Unlock!”

[Terra Reborn]

Captain Jason Johnson MC IR
Tactical Headquarters, Requena
Valencian Community, The Duchy of Valencia
Wednesday 2nd September 2015, 1100hrs Local Time (0100hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1000hrs Zulu Time)

Captain Jason Johnson yawned into coffee as he looked down at the survey map of the surrounding area, considering the situation. The 3rd Battalion, the Ranger Regiment, had deployed into the Duchy of Valencia several hours previously, landing at Valencia International Airport where the Battalion Executive Officer had established the Headquarters Company to best liaise with Valencian authorities. The Battalion Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Edward Preston, along with the Battalion Adjutant, Major Andrew Connelly, had pushed forwards with the bulk of the battalion to establish a forward position. At the advice of the Imperial Defence Attache, Lieutenant Colonel Simon Keebler, they had selected the town of Requena, relatively close to the front lines but far back enough to be out of artillery range, the site of an old Moorish fortress, attracted by the strong defensible position. Major Connelly established the Tactical Headquarters in the Moorish Citadel from which he and Lt. Colonel Preston would control the activities of the Battalion as it operated in support of Valencian Guard troops who had been ordered to hold the border with what had once been the Duchy of Madrid, but the LCA had managed to overrun the Madrid Guard and had turned their sights on Valencia.

The battalion had dispatched its four companies to reinforce the Valencian Guard in the four areas deemed most at risk of attack, the thinking being that the presence of elite Imperial troops would bolster the morale of the Valencians where it was most needed, and that their combat skills would be of their own use. Lieutenant Colonel Preston had travelled to the Headquarters of the Valencian 1st Brigade, which was responsible for this stretch of the border, in order to liaise, leading Major Connelly to fight the battle, as was not unusual for the Battalion Adjutant. As the Battalion Operations Officer, Captain Johnson was the fourth highest ranking officer in the battalion, and was serving as Major Connelly’s second; which made sense given that his main role was co-ordinating the physical activities of each of the battalions close combat companies and all of its supporting elements. It was not the up-close direct combat role that Captain Johnson was used to, but he had been in a staff role for nearly two years now and was used to it, albeit eager to get back out there.

Johnson had joined the Imperial Rangers from the Imperial Fusiliers some years previously, following the Minnesota War, and had severed in a number of conflicts as a Platoon Commander. His promotion to Captain two years previously, following the Liberian Incident, had come with an assignment as Operations Officer, a role he was told he was well qualified for, given his Military Cross. He had been frustrated at first, however staff roles were part of Army life and he had been reminded that high profile staff roles, particularly as early in his career as was the case, tended to be very good for one’s career in the long run. So Johnson had, with some coaxing from his fiancé, also an Imperial Rangers Officer, albeit in another battalion to get around the Army’s fraternisation policy, settled down and decided to perform his duties with the same vigour as he had in his combat role, and as it turned out that had been the right call, and Major Connelly had penned glowing annual fitness reports that would all but ensure him a role as Company 2iC at his next rotation, meaning he’d get back out in the field where he’d much prefer to be.

Never the less Johnson was glad to be here, and knew that he was doing an important job. Besides, it wasn’t like he was completely detached from the action; they were still close to the frontline, and sometimes staff officers visited the front, and indeed sometimes enemy troops paid a visit, uninvited of course, behind the lines. It was for that reason that, like all the other staff officers and enlisted troops, Johnson was wearing standard combat armour, although his helmet was discarded near the door, and he had a M1911 Warrior pistol in a leg-drop holster, just in case. Indeed although they were not in the midst of the fighting, they were easily close enough to hear its report; the heavy thumps and explosions of artillery was prevalent in the background, and more distant the sound of small arms fire. Outside in the precinct of the Moorish Fortress there was much activity; although the bulk of the support element was back at Valencia, there where two sections from the Signals Platoon, providing communications support, as well as the Regimental Aid Post, the frontline medical support led by the Medical Officer.

“Reports indicating a major LCA push along the A-3 Highway, looks like they’re trying to push straight through to Valencia,” Lieutenant Simon Nicholson, the Battalion Intelligence Officer, reported. “We also believe a secondary force will be sending in a left hook from the north whilst we’re tied up in the south.”

Major Connelly leant forwards to look at the map and nodded his agreement.

“Suggestions?”

“Best bet would be to consolidate two of our companies to support the units holding the defences along the A-3 and the foothills to the south,” Captain Johnson replied thoughtfully. “We then send the other two companies up to support a blocking force; the last thing we want is the enemy to sneak into Valencia through the backdoor.”

“Agreed, however we need confirmation about that northern strike force,” Major Connelly said firmly. “Lieutenant Nicholson, see if Defence Intelligence can get us a satellite overhead to confirm, the sooner the better.”

Lieutenant Nicholson nodded and disappeared to work with the signals platoon to get in touch with Defence Intelligence to put the request up the chain of command. It didn’t take long for him to be successful and one of the numerous Imperial surveillance satellites was re-routed to the general area where the enemy northern force was believed to be advancing, and sure enough they soon had confirmation. Once they knew for sure what was going on things happened quickly. Major Connelly contacted Lieutenant Colonel Preston to confirm the orders, and to pass the information onto Valencian 1st Brigade headquarters, as well as to get permission to personally lead the two companies heading north. Lt. Colonel Preston agreed and left the Tactical Headquarters under the command of Captain Johnson. With Connelly heading out to link up with the two companies it fell to Johnson to quickly get in contact with and organise the movement of the other two companies to link up with the Valencian battalion holding the pass through which the A-3 passed.

In the Imperial Army system battalion staff officers were outranked by Company Commanders, who held the rank of Major, which prevented any undue staff meddling. This meant that Captain Johnson’s communication with the Company Commanders was infinitely respectful, albeit subtly backed up by the fact that given his lower rank Johnson wold not be passing on the orders without a superior officers authorisation. If he had needed to he could have name-dropped either Major Connelly or Lt. Colonel Preston, but Imperial Ranger officers were far to professional to get involved in any staff-line bullshit. Especially given that even those not from combat-arms were all Ranger Qualified as a requirement for being in the Regiment.

Once that was done he contacted his counterpart in the staff of the Reprisal Carrier Battle Group, Navy Captain Harry Black, to bring him up to speed on what was going on. Given that they had called four companies out of their original positions to respond to two specific threats it would be essential that the carrier air wing pick up the slack in supporting the Valencian troops on the ground. Fortunately Captain Black agreed and promised to discuss the matter with his superiors and get the situation in hand. By the time the flurry of activity at Tactical HQ began to settle down several hours had passed and Johnson had barely noticed the passage of time as he had been so busy, and certainly hadn't noticed how tired he was after nearly forty-eight hours with barely any sleep. Not that it would be the first time.

Over the following hours reports began to flood into him that the southern Ranger force had successfully reinforced the Valencian troops holding the A-3, arriving just in time to help throw back a major enemy assault that the Valencian commander on the ground had conceded would probably have broken through without the timely arrival of the Rangers to the battle. It was early evening before they heard from Major Connelly, reporting that his force had intercepted the enemy push north of Valencia. They had subsequently held the enemy force in position, with significant help from the Reprisal Air Wing, until Valencian forces could link up with them to push the enemy back with heavy losses. Throughout the course of the day the Rangers had helped reinforce Valencian positions, and prevent an enemy sneak attack catching the Valencian’s off-guard. A senior Valencian Colonel, visiting the Ranger’s Command Post had remarked to Captain Johnson that, without the Rangers, it was entirely possible that there could have been fighting in Valencia itself by nightfall. Whilst it was doubtful that the enemy could have taken the city, the damage to morale alone would have been catastrophic.

All in all it was a busy day for 3 RANGER, and whilst not caught up in the fighting it was just as busy and trying, mentally rather than physically, for the men and women at the Tactical Headquarters CP. Johnson yawned into what felt like his hundredth cup of coffee, he had been awake for going on forty-eight hours now and it was getting to him; although he knew the troops in combat had it far worse as they were having to fight as well as merely stay awake. Fortunately the word was that the elements from the 3rd Cavalry Division would be joining them by morning, at which point they would take up the slack, allowing the Rangers to get some rest before heading back into the fight. Over the coming days further units would be mobilised and brought into the theatre under the command of XIV Corps, at which point they could start moving away from mainly defensive actions to a full-throated offensive. At present the planning assumption was that the immediate priority was to push the enemy out of Valencian territory, although pushing them as far back as Madrid, if not further, was being considered at the highest level.

Captain Johnson yawned again, glancing down at the situation map and making note that there had not been any reports of new fighting in the past hour, he decided to hand the situation over to one of his subordinates and get his head down. He wasn’t going to be any help to anyone else if he was too tired to function.

[Terra Reborn]

Lady Jessica Warwick
Headquarters of the Valencian Guard, Valencia
The Duchy of Valencia
Wednesday 2nd September 2015, 2000hrs Local Time (1000hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1900hrs Zulu Time)
 
Jessica Warwick watched with a mixture of pride and sadness as Alfredo stepped up to the podium in the Valencian Guard Press Briefing Room wearing, for the first time, the uniform of the Captain-General of the Guard. Pride because of the confident and easy way he wore the uniform, despite having never served a day in uniform, despite his best intentions. Sadness because he shouldn’t have to be wearing the uniform so soon; after all the rank of Captain-General was held by one person; the Duke of Valencia, and for Alfredo to be wearing it his father had had to die, before his time. She could see the same pain etched on his face, although only because she knew him so well; to anyone else his expression was likely stony and unreadable, but beneath the surface Jessica knew that Alfredo was hurting. She wanted to be there, to hold his hand, to fold him into her arms as he had done so many times for her and not let him go until she was sure that he was feeling at least a little better. But she couldn’t, lovers they may be but she had no official place at his side, particularly not now.
 
Alfredo had already, briefly, appeared on national television to confirm that he was alive and that Valencia would continue to oppose its enemies, but the decision had been made to hold off on a proper address until the fighting had, largely been contained. That way they could shape the message more accurately; rather than having an unenviable situation where Valencian troops were falling back across the board whilst their Duke swore that they would defeat the invaders. More to the point Alfredo had wanted to be kept very much in the loop with regards to the military situation and had steadfastly refused any offers of moving him to an alternative location, instead favouring remaining at the Guard Headquarters for the duration. Jessica rather doubted he knew it but she knew, through Lieutenant Mackenzie and Major Ballantine, the latter having found a use for himself assisting as an ad hoc staff officer for the Valencian Guard Command, that his stubbornness and determination to remain hands on in the fight had earnt him increased respect from the senior officers of the Guard.
 
Indeed both the Imperial officers present had also earnt themselves respect from the Valencian Guard, not just for their association with the troops that had proven so helpful throughout the day. Major Ballantine had ably assisted plan an operation that had stopped another enemy thrust into Valencian territory, this time into northern Andalusia. Whilst the Imperial Rangers had assisted in defending the northern thrust of the invasion, the LCA had launched an armoured thrust into the south that threatened to reach Gibraltar if not properly stopped. Making full use of his own combat experience Major Ballantine had helped the Valencians spring a trap that had caught the enemy armoured thrust between two armoured brigades and a battalion of helicopter gunships, forcing the enemy into retreat with heavy losses and securing the southern flank. Lieutenant Mackenzie, whilst less intimately involved, had impressed everyone, Jessica none the least, by her energy, determination and professionalism with which she served as Jessica’s liaison to the Valencian Guard, not to mention the fact that she helped out when and how she could. To see the two uniforms, Valencian and Imperial, working side by side, one could almost be mistaken in thinking that this had been the case for a long time.
 
Jessica smiled slightly before turning her attention to Alfredo.
 
“My people, this morning I came before you to relay terrible news; that my father, our beloved Duke, had been killed in an enemy air strike and that I, his son, was the new Duke, this morning we stood on the precipice of total ruin; our enemies advancing on all sides, our capital in flames,” Alfredo began, speaking quietly. “This morning it seemed like the world had ended; this evening we know we still have reason to hope; our enemies have been pushed back, our Capital is safe and despite the tragic death of my father, we have stood strong against the darkness, as we always have through this long, twilight struggle that has engulfed Iberia for decades.”
 
Alfredo paused meaningfully, knowing that countless Valencians would be harkening back to the dark days of the Goodrule.
 
“The name ‘Valencia’ comes from the latin, Valentia, meaning strength or valour, and we have certainly proven ourselves worthy of that name over the last seventy-two hours as we have withstood assault after assault against our values, our beliefs and our very way of life with the highest valour I can imagine,” Alfredo continued, his voice growing with passion. “I come before you to make a pledge; Valencia will always stand against tyrants; those that would rule over others for petty ambition and a thirst for power; we will always oppose those that oppose freedom, and we will always fight with great strength and valour to protect what is ours.”
 
Alfredo paused and looked directly at Jessica, and the two Imperial officers flanking her, and smiled slightly before looking back at the camera.
 
“It would be remiss of me not to recognize the friends that Valencia is lucky to have, and recognize their sacrifice; early this morning, in the darkest hours of our trial, a battalion of Imperial Rangers deployed into the Duchy, and immediately threw themselves into the fire alongside our own fighting men,” Alfredo said with heartfelt, and obvious gratitude. “Valencia is lucky to call the Empire of Apilonia a close friend, whose assistance we are eternally grateful for, and we are fortunate to have Lady Jessica Warwick, cousin to King Arthur, in our city aiding us directly through this time of trial, and I am lucky to know her as well as I do.”
 
Jessica felt her cheeks heat as several cameras swivelled from the Duke to focus on her, and she was grateful she had managed to change into some smarter looking clothes. She knew exactly what he was doing; he was putting a personal face on the Empire’s assistance, and laying just the hints of something more. This latter fact would not be missed, and it was very true that sometimes people needed more than hope, they needed something else, and a love-story born amidst fire could very well be that something. She knew that she could feel angry with him for putting her on the spot like this, or using their burgeoning relationship as he had, especially given that they had not so much as kissed yet, but she couldn’t. Moreover, the sweet smile she returned, not to the cameras, but rather to Alfredo himself, said more than a thousand words ever could… and immediately endeared her to the Valencian people.
 
“We may have reached the dawn, but we have a lot of work and a lot of struggle to do before we can lay down our burdens; there will be many more nights, some of them dark, but if we face them with the same valour we have faced today, I have every confidence that we will prevail and always reach the dawn,” Alfredo continued as the cameras returned to him. “Valencia is strong, we have proven that today, and we will keep on proving it for as long as it takes to preserve our freedom and our way of life, so stand by your friends and neighbours, take up arms in defence of our great city and together we will continue to prove ourselves worthy of the name we hold. Thank You.”
 
Alfredo nodded to the camera before stepping down and departing the pressroom without waiting for any questions, aside from anything else he had another briefing to attend and then, with the situation dying down, he at last felt comfortable about getting his head down for some proper sleep. Jessica and her two escorts followed after him as they made their way through the corridors until they reached the suite of rooms that had been set aside for the young Duke to live out of for the duration. Once Major Ballantine and Lieutenant Mackenzie disappeared to resume their duties and prepare for the briefing, Alfredo and Jessica stepped into one of the rooms.
 
As soon as they were alone and the door had closed behind them, Alfredo turned to her and took her in his arms. This was not tremendously unusual, they had grown rather fond of hugs, especially the longer and more intimate sort, but what he did next was more unusual. Alfredo reached up with his right hand to stroke her cheek gently, his eyes full of affection. She had absolutely on objections when he leant down and kissed her on the lips, cautiously at first but as she responded positively to his move more firmly. Jessica felt herself melt into his arms as he kissed her, only her arm around his middle and her other hand gripping his hair kept her steady. When they broke apart she smiled breathlessly up at him.


“What was that for?” She asked softly.
 
“For being here,” Alfredo smiled, leaning down to kiss her again.

[Terra Reborn]

Colonel Simon Wood CS
Valencia Airport, Manises
The Duchy of Valencia
Thursday 3rd September 2015, 0800hrs Local Time (2200hrs Imperial Capital Time (2/9/15), 0700hrs Zulu Time)

Colonel Simon Wood, of His Majesty’s Cavalry, sat in the cabin of one of the lead UH-60M Blackhawks in the vast aerial armada that was approaching the Valencian coastline. They had launched several hours previously from Hal Far Garrison on Malta, in the dead of night, with the intention of landing in Valencia shortly after dawn. They were playing a careful game when it came to the range, as although the Blackhawk had more than enough ferry range to make the transit they were also carrying a full load of troops. Fortunately what made it possible was the fact that they were only going eight hundred miles, which meant that with external fuel tanks and no more equipment than was necessary, they had managed to pull it off (the equipment would follow in IAF Transport aircraft). Each Cavalry Division maintained enough UH-60s to transport an entire Cavalry Regiment, ensuring that once deployed that Regiment had full tactical mobility and flexibility, after all in general only one, maybe two, of each Division’s regiments would ever be deployed in one go, short of a full-scale war situation in which an entire divisional assault might be called for. In general, however the HM Cavalry were seen as a combination of QRF (Quick Reaction Force) and fulfilling the traditional cavalry roles of reconnaissance and raids.

Colonel Wood was a veteran of His Majesty’s Cavalry. Earlier in the year, he had commanded the 4th Cavalry Regiment, which had deployed to Louisiana during the Texan Civil War, earning him entry into the Most Glorious Order of the Sword as a Companion in recognition of his leadership. The Regiment had served as the QRF for the other invading Imperial forces, and indeed had captured several cities on its own initiative, demonstrating the reason why the HM Cavalry were an integral part of the Empire’s military strategy. They deployed a little slower than Rapid Response Force (RRF) units, such as the Rangers, and even the Airborne, but unlike the latter the Cavalry was able to deploy with significant organic support, whereas the Airborne, once on the ground, were effectively light infantry, with the advantages and constraints of that status, and although their initial deployment was highly flexible, once on the ground, although well respected in combat, their flexibility was limited. By contrast the HM Cavalry retained their flexibility, if larger logistical footprint, and as such were most often called upon to fulfil either roles such as this, or in longer-term, smaller-scale deployments.

Their destination was Valencia Airport. A significant portion of the airport had been set aside for use by the military, originally the Valencian Guard but it would now become home of the 9th Cavalry Regiment of the Imperial Army, which was a good thing given the hundreds of aircraft they had to get down. The same IAF Transports that would bring in the equipment would also bring in the substantial ground crew that would service and maintain the Blackhawks going forwards, and were due to arrive in short order, although for now they would rely on the Valencian ground crew to refuel their aircraft so they were ready to go if needed. Once the Imperial ground crew were on the ground they would establish a main depot here at Valencia Airport, before setting up a number of Rapid Refuelling Points (RRPs) and Forward Area Refuelling/Rearming Points, all across the operational area, to service both the Blackhawks and the RAH-66 Comanche Stealth gunships that were also attached to the HM Cavalry.

Colonel Wood braced himself against the side of the aircraft as the Blackhawk came in for a landing and absorbed the gentle bump before jumping down from the helicopter. Unlike many of the Cavalrymen around him Wood was armed only with an M1911 Warrior pistol, the standard issue sidearm of the Imperial Armed Forces, as, after all, if the Regimental Commander ended up in a fight something had gone badly wrong, but he still needed a weapon, just in case. He, and his headquarters staff, would set up the Regimental Headquarters, likely here at Valencia Airport, and oversee the operations of the Regiment from their command post, rather than getting actively involved; that was that the battalion commanders were for. It had been a strange shift several years previously when Colonel Wood had been promoted out of direct field command and had to come to terms with the idea that he would be safely behind the lines whilst his troops were going into battle, under his orders, but totally out of his own control. It was a shift that every officer in the Army, who reached the higher command ranks, had to come to terms with, at least he still held a field command (in the Imperial Army officers up to and including Brigadier were considered field officer ranks).

Colonel Wood got maybe a dozen meters from the helicopter before he was intercepted by another officer, in combat gear like him but armed only with a M1911 as well. A quick glance at his rank insignia identified him as a Major.

“Colonel Wood? I’m Major Jack Hammond, XO of 3 RANGER,” The Major introduced himself. “The Valencian’s have set aside an area of the terminal for our headquarters; we saved a larger area for your Regimental Headquarters.”

Wood nodded, appreciating the effort the younger officer had gone to. Doubtless, the Rangers were just glad to have additional Imperial troops on the ground; their exploits since their own deployment had been made well known across the 3rd Cavalry Division, but it was obvious they were spread thin supporting the Valencian Guard troops all along the forward edge of the battle area. Wood had a great deal of respect for the Rangers, and he knew that the Rangers had a great deal of respect for the HM Cavalry; after all in many cases it was often the Cavalry that reinforced and eventually relieved the Rangers during the small-scale, yet high importance, operations that the Rangers were often used for.

“Very Good, Major, now I’ll need to speak with your battalion commander at some point, preferably as soon as possible, we’ve got twenty four, maybe forty eight, hours before we get a general officer on the ground, so up until then the buck stops with me,” Colonel Wood said firmly. “Now I don’t intend to step on any toes, indeed I fully intend to continue to use your battalion in the roles it has been so far; as our QRF, with my cavalry battalions either doing the same across the entire front not just Valencia, or as reinforcement to you if you get in over your heads.”

“Makes sense, Sir,” Major Hammond nodded.

Colonel Wood might only be one grade higher than Lieutenant Colonel Preston, the CO of 3 RANGER, but he was an officer of superior rank, more to the point he was one of the more senior Colonels in the Army. The reason for this was simple enough; unlike most Colonels, who were staff officers of brigade XOs, he held a field command, indeed a similarly sized unit in any other part of the Army other than the Cavalry would have been held by a Brigadier. As such he held a significant amount of command authority; given that he already commanded several battalions, it had made sense to place the Rangers under his command. There was a Brigadier in the theatre, specifically the commanding officer of the 2nd Airborne Brigade, however his brigade was being held in reserve at Gibraltar and, as such, the decision had been made by Lieutenant General Wolfe, the XIV Corps Commander, to maintain field command in the hands of Colonel Wood until such time as the 2nd Airborne deployed into combat, or until a division, with a Major General in command, was dispatched to the theatre.

“What’s the situation?”

“No more enemy attacks overnight after their run to the North was defeated by our Adjutant, there’s been sporadic fighting and running firefights along the border, but no major pushes by either us or the enemy,” Major Hammond replied promptly. “Between our ground forces, and the close-air-support provided by Reprisal, the enemy lacks the muscle to punch through our lines; the Valencians choose their defensive positions well.”

Colonel Wood nodded thoughtfully, that fitted well enough with what had been reported to him. Truth be told the Valencian Guard had impressed the Imperial Army in the course of the conflict so far. The deployment of 3 RANGER had certainly helped matters, but it would be doing the Valencian Guard a disservice, not only had they held back the enemy admirably, especially in areas where the Rangers had not been there to help them, but they had chosen defensive positions that had bled the enemy dry all along the line. The deployment of Imperial troops would certainly ensure that they could continue to do so in the long term, which was the biggest concern the Valencian commanders had indicated, as well as making offensive options not only possible but very likely. As far as Colonel Wood was aware form the last Operations Meeting he had attended before deploying the current OP PLAN, known as THUNDERBOLT II, the plan was to advance as far as Madrid, liberating them from the Duke of Leon and Castile’s control. The general hope was that, between Valencia, Madrid and the Empire they would, going forwards, be able to convince the belligerent Duke to their North to remain in his box for the foreseeable future.

Although it was safe to say that a regular deployment of Imperial Warships to the Bay of Biscay was very likely going forwards.

Of course they had to win the war first.

“Alright then Major, this entire flight line is going to get rather busy pretty soon, so I suggest we get out of the way,” Colonel Wood commented, then grinned. “Come on Ranger, lead the way!”

[Terra Reborn]

Captain Daniel Croft DSO IN
HMS Malta
International Waters, The Bay of Biscay
Thursday 3rd September 2015, 1400hrs Local Time (0500hrs Imperial Capital Time, 1400hrs Zulu Time)

“Hands to Action Stations, Hands to Action Stations, Hands to Action Stations, assume damage control state one condition zulu,” The voice of Lieutenant Michael Lambert, the Officer of the Watch, echoed throughout the ship over the ship wide pipe. “Surface threat warning Red, air threat warning yellow, subsurface warning yellow; threat is, hostile surface action group, hands to action stations.”

Captain Croft made his way quickly, but calmly through his ship making his way steadily towards the Operations Room. He didn’t run, the Imperial Navy maintained that it was bad for morale for the ship’s company to see their Captain run to his action station, he was to remain calm and collected, exuding an aura of confidence. All around him his ship’s company were making their way to their stations, although they moved a little more calmly as they saw their Captain. All the hatches aboard ship were being secured, ensuring that the ship was as watertight as possible so that, in the event of a hull breach, the ship would not be lost. It slowed down movement through the ship, as anyone wishing to move had to request permission from the bridge to open a hatch and then subsequently close it, and do so at after hatch. There was a reason why, in general, once a hatch was closed it wasn’t opened except in circumstances of significant need. Within minutes of receiving the order to man their stations the Imperial Warship would be totally prepared for combat, and within seconds her defensive armament would be coming online. Fortunately they had had plenty of warning this time.

The Malta, and the four Type-26 Global Combat Frigates they had picked up from HM Naval Station Lisbon on their way through, had been sat in the Bay of Biscay for the better part of a month and a half, flying the flag and generally reminding the Duke of Leon and Castile that the Empire was both willing, and able, to bring the war to their proverbial backyard. As soon as the strike on Gibraltar had occurred the small surface action group had adopted defence watches, which cut the time needed to man action stations significantly, to ensure that they were ready in the event that the Leon and Castile Navy (LCN) had decided to come out and play. Defence Intelligence had been maintaining satellite surveillance of the Ferrol Naval Base where the LCN was hold-up behind the safety of significant shore batteries, both naval artillery and anti-ship missiles. A short time ago they had detected indications that the five Álvaro de Bazán frigates (destroyers by Imperial standards) were preparing to put to sea, as were the eight Meteoro-Class Corvettes. Upon receiving this information Captain Croft had immediately ordered his ship, and those of its consorts, to action stations.


“Report,” He ordered crisply as he strode into the Operations Room and sat down at his console.

“Five enemy destroyers heading straight for us, their corvettes seem to be moving into flanking positions,” Lt. Commander Adam Fagan, the Principle Warfare Officer, replied promptly. “They’re not even attempting to evade, looks like they’re going to try their luck.”

Croft frowned, that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Given the range of the shore batteries, and the missiles aboard the enemy ships themselves, he had been forced to position his ships well out of range and whilst his ships were racing southwards to interest them, the enemy had at least the chance to evade southwards with his ships on their heels; not a very good chance, but better odds than heading straight for him. Perhaps the Duke was facing opposition from his military chiefs based on the stunning reverses inflicted upon them in the ground war, and wanted a big victory to restore morale. If that was the case they had significantly underestimated the capacities of the Malta, they would have had a chance to take on the frigates alone, given that they outnumbered them, but the presence of the Malta swung the odds back into the Imperial Navy’s favour. Of course the presence of the BGM-205B AMESM aboard all of the Imperial Warships made things significantly harder for the enemy, and those ships were already in range.

“All ships, open fire,”

With that order the Imperial squadron opened fire, all four frigates rapidly fired all eight of their missiles, for a total of thirty-two missiles in total, these were joined by another thirty-two missiles from Malta, half entire complement, giving a total of sixty-four missiles hurtling towards five ships of the Leon and Castile Navy. Given the range the AEGIS-equipped enemy ships had plenty of time to see them coming, even with the sea-skimming low-observable nature of the missiles, and counter-missiles sped out to intercept them. However the fact that they were will within range meant that they could attack from multiple different directions; those missiles that were fired first went on longer courses to hit the enemy from behind and on both sides. The enemy had a significant amount of missiles to throw back at the incoming attack missiles, but they wouldn’t be enough, the evasion manoeuvres plotted into the missiles targeting systems were highly effective, and a number of the missiles were able to get through the incoming defensive fire. At least two missiles got through on three of the enemy ships, with one missile getting through on the other two ships. Those that took two hits were either sunk outright or heavily damaged, whilst the remaining two ships were heavily damaged. This was not, however, without them throwing their own salvo back at the Imperial Navy.

In total forty missiles were sent hurtling back at the five ships under Captain Crofts command, however these missiles were at the very edge of their effective range and, as such, they had little choice but to come in straight and simple. The Imperial squadron responded with Super Standard missiles as soon as possible, two missiles per incoming target to increase the odds of bringing them down, with Evolved Sea Sparrow Missiles following in their wake to bring down those that got through the outer perimeter. Each layer of defences was able to bring down steadily more of the older, less capable missiles with which the enemy had attacked, emphasising the superiority of the AMESM. A small number were able to get through, all but one of which were brought down by the CIWS and RAMs that served as the point defence for the squadron, the one missile that got through slammed into the bows of one of the frigates, causing significant casualties in the forward sections of the ships but not threatening the ship, although over the course of the next hour the damage control teams would fight a herculean effort to keep fires away from the forward magazine.

With the enemy ships no longer posing any missile threat Croft ordered the Malta and her three remaining undamaged frigates forward, splitting two off whilst one stuck with her, heading after the two groups of flanking corvettes. Both the Malta and the frigates outranged the enemy corvettes by quite a wide margin and as such it was little more than a turkey shoot, at leas until the enemy had realised that and promptly began to surrender; in the end the Imperial squadron took four of the enemy corvettes intact, sinking the other four. The capture of four advanced corvettes meant one thing to the crews of the five Imperial warships; prize money, hard earned. Prize Money had a long history in the Imperial Navy, in which the Admiralty would buy captured ships into service (if in good condition and useful) whilst some of the money would go to the Navy itself, and charities, a decent amount would go to the crews themselves. The Captains and senior officers getting more and the amount decreasing as the rank of the receiver decreased, but even the lowest ranking sailor aboard was likely to get several tens of thousands of pounds in prize money bonus, and as per longstanding tradition prize money was immune to income tax, despite periodic attempts by the Exchequer to change that.

All in all, with the Leon and Castile Navy at the bottom of the Bay of Biscay, and every Imperial sailor’s day made, it had been a very successful day of His Majesty’s Navy.