Tides of Darkness (ATTN: UWO/Gholgoth)

by **Borman Empire** » Fri Sep 07, 2012 7:33 am

OOC: I’m going to pretend Bhalk already entered since I missed a chance to do so, and I’m also going to rewind the progress of my fleets a bit.

The Emperor sat still in his chair, his eyes and ears working at full speed to take in everything occurring. When he initially entered the Black Citadel, he was very surprised by how stark it was. The Emperor had always thought of the Reich as a reflection of a younger Borman Empire, but this clearly was not the case. Two nations who had started on a similar path took radically different directions. “War Machine” was in the long form title of The Empire’s name, but it seemed almost inappropriate to use it in comparison to The Reich. Whereas the Empire perfected the art of war and employed it readily and frequently, The Kraven Corporation had automated it. The Empire was not a machine, it was simply very good at war…The Reich, on the other hand, actually was a machine. Dedicated to the same ends, seemingly, but going about it in a completely different way.

All Bormans had a penchant for pomp and show, Bhalk was no different. He was a chartering member of a grand, lavish cigar club exclusively for dictators; his palace was also a fortress, but ripe with tapestries, slaves carrying fruits and liquors, and numerous other signs of wealth; parades and ceremonies within the Empire dazzled the world, and he was proud of that. The Empire had reaped much success and was enormously wealthy, and was more than eager to display it. Here, though, the joy of the conquest seemed to be gone. This machine raged war simply to do so, it almost seemed as if there were no benefits from the conquest – besides the blood that continued to fuel the machine. This Reich was not what Bhalk had imagined.

The Emperor remained silent, patiently waiting for his turn to speak. He drank deeply from a glass of bourbon, refilling it twice from the flask tucked away within his lavish, red robe. It was somewhat difficult to concentrate on everything going on, several stories were all unfolding at once. The bourbon certainly didn’t help. But Bhalk paid attention before it seemed it was finally his turn to talk.

“Reichminister Augustus, there are two things which jumped at me when you first spoke and no one has seemed fit to address. First, I didn’t come here to provide assistance,” Bhalk emphasized the work to highlight the insult he took to it, “to your invasion, and I doubt many others came for that explicit reason. I came here to work together with my allies as equals, as Gothic Brothers in crushing this scum who has thought himself worthy of challenging us.”

Bhalk suddenly turned to look at Gaius, whom he was still annoyed with for the way he had previously addressed the Gothic Lords, “Mr. Griffincrest, The Empire has already dispatched two fleets which should be within range of Tyrrhenia in a couple hours. Additionally, we’re mobilizing a massive invasion force which should be departing from our Cordensa colony roughly as our first fleets reach enemy waters.”

Bhalk turned once more to Augustus, “But I have ordered the first two fleets to slow their speed so that, instead of handling this ourselves, we could work with our allies. What I really object to, though, is your plainly stated threats toward your Gothic brothers. I don’t appreciate being indicted to slaughter as a result of economic recession. The Empire always stands ready to help the nations of Gholgoth, even if that means going to war for shits and giggles. Borman will not be threatened into offering assistance; it’s especially insulting when assistance is given so freely if simply asked for.

“That being said, I still have those two fleets which will reach enemy waters before any other Gothic vessels, unless someone has subs I’m unaware of. Now, we could send those fleets in to test their defenses. However, I worry that if we do so, they’ll have time to realize and shore up any weaknesses and it may actually benefit them. Unless, of course, Imperial assets destroy whatever remains of their navy and we can simply unload our soldiers. The purpose of this meeting is to work together to create a successful strategy, so I would like to submit the role of these fleets to any thoughts my fellow Goths may have. The invasion force as well, but they’re nowhere near enemy waters.”

by **Trivval** » Fri Sep 07, 2012 8:44 am

Operation: Snappy Jar
International Waters
Tyrrhenia Expeditionary Force
0812 Local

“Whilst our intelligence cannot be considered entirely reliable, it does indicate that a large international presence has converged on the Reich – mostly from those involved in the pro-Gothic Coalition in regards to the Blockade.”

Admiral Lo’Dezure leant back and sighed, cigar smoke filling the room – a fact that concerned the officers of the fleet. Lo’Dezure was seen as something as a fatherfigure of the entire fleet, and the cigar was a well know perk of his which only surfaced in times of stress. Since leaving Trivvalian waters, a joke rapidly went around the fleet that the aging Admiral slept with a cigar. Many concerns played on the man’s mind as he closed his eyes and massaged his temples with one hand.

Scout sub-surface assets had made contact with elements of what later proved to be a large Bormanian Fleet, which just added extra worry and stain to the Fleet’s assets. The Reich he could deal with, they had a clearly definable goal of killing everything unproductive. Gothic Armada’s he could understand, Trivval was at least friendly with some Gothic nations. The Borman Empire… he couldn’t even go through diplomatic channels and pull strings – little to no contact beyond trade, and a few notes in the more comprehensive texts. They were certainly somewhat significant on the world stage, just not running in the same circles as Trivval.

“Alright…” the Admiral sighed, “Give me a fleet update.”

Lo’Dezure looked over at Admiral Ghast Liker who was currently in discussion with one of his Lieutenants. The Fleet Staff had commandeered his boardroom aboard the Commonwealth-class HTV Grey Venger and officers had been coming in and out of the room almost constantly since the meeting had begun. Liker looked up momentarily before leafing through several sheets of paper that were before him. “The Fleet is strong… supplies are reaching us, and even without them we can run combat operations for quite a while before having to move back into supply range.”
“Could we… remove these Bormans?”
Liker rolled his shoulders in the Alpine version of a shrug, “Just from what I understand their fleet to currently be, I believe so. However I advise that we work together until we can understand each other’s full capacities before making a permanent decision.”
Lo’Dezure sighed, blowing more smoke into the confined quarters. “What is the nearest vessel?”
Liker looked to his right at his liaison from the Seventeeth Fleet, the current rear element. “The Butler, I believe?” To which he received a nod.

“Of course… the Butler.”

The Butler cruised softly through the waves, the dark radar absorbent paint and the angular lines of the Maria II-class Corvette almost blending in with the waves. Perfectly suited for it’s border scout role, the Corvette was just one of five amongst the eleven ships of Taffy-9 spread out in a protective formation along the right flank of the fleet. Whilst they were ordered to make contact with the Borman fleet, they were still operating quite close to unfriendly waters.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Maek Vdennr has just reached the Operations Room at the heart of the Butler for the start of his shift when his RADCOM reported the radar contacts which would ruin his day.
“Three air contacts, eighty kilometres out.”
“Roger, keep tracking, wait.”

“Sir?” queried the RADCOM again, “Three contacts operating on Mode II, negative IFF.”

This really peaked the XO’s interest, Mode II was the Military Only band of radio, and even if it was civilian it would transmit some kind of IFF. He could sense that this day was about to get worse before it got better. “Load contact to ANTICS FleetNet, see if we can get a signature match.”
“Already working, sir… contacts loaded, still tracking, Eighty kilometres out, heading central-wise towards the Grey Venger.”
“Roger, don’t lase yet.”

ANTICS was the Trivvalian solution to all the different Fire Control Systems which it’s vehicles used. Some used the Lyran Cromwell II, others used the Yohannesian Wilhelm, and even some used the Anemos-based Io. Thus, Trivvalian manufactures had created the Trivvalian Advanced Networking Tactical Control System, or ANTICS due to their love of acronyms. This system was an adequate Fire Control System, but when boosted with the Wilhelm or Cromwell it became a superior network to any other. Able to work efficiently with the Wilhelm and the Cromwell at the same time, and incorporate both with the other, the ANTICS is the perfect solution to the Trivvalian problem.

“Uploaded to Task Command, the Disconnect has the key… Still too far out to make an accurate picture, or it’s an unknown.” The RADCOM scrunched up his face. ANTICS rated foreign vehicles, ships and aircraft as non-discriminate alphanumeric codes. “We might have to update the log.”
ANTICS downside was the constant log which had to be updated with every new vehicle which was operated in Trivvalian Theatres. Every time a prototype was found, an extensive report had to be filled out. However it was beneficial at times like this when the more knowledge is best.

The XO sighed, Fuck off, this is not what I want.
“What’s their Pattern? Any other contacts? Query FleetNet,” he ordered.
“Wait out, sir, there’s two questions there.”
“Well there is four RADCOMs in this room, get onto it.”

There was a flurry of activity as the Primary RADCOM, a Petty Officer, gave out orders to the others. Suddenly the room was full of activity, with tasks being handed out. Using his initiative, the Petty Officer got one of the Radar Commanders to compile a report on the planes.

“Err… the Auspex in Taffy-3 reports a similar contact. Taffy-10 reports increased traffic on Mode II. We might be entering the forward area of Borman CAP.”

“Roger, alert the Disconnect. We could have an issue at hand. Hail the contacts on all channels, identify ourselves, let them know we’re friendly, and let them know our commander requests a video conference with theirs.”

Out of the eleven ships in the Task Unit, the large HTV Disconnect was best equipped to deal with air threats. Its CAESAR integration, combined with ANTICS, is designed to defeat attacking missiles and aircraft and is capable of pouring lead into the sky, and jam any threat. The Waarden-class’ CAESAR data-links allow it to utilise the sensors and weapons of the other ships in the Task Unit. Placed in key area’s around the central carriers, the Waarden’s could control the airspace over thousands of kilometres. In other words, this ship was ready to fuck someone’s day up.

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Fri Sep 07, 2012 12:25 pm

Mr. Pureheart noted the Parthians need for resources as he listened to the men around him speak. He was a bit taken back by the vulgarity used by several of the representatives, for while he was certainly not one with virgin ears, he was also not accustomed to world leaders sounding like drunken teenagers. Not even in the lowliest board meetings of the corporation would individuals use terms like "shits and giggles" or exclaim that they are not to be "fucked with." Such expressions had no place at the table of diplomacy.

Clearly insulted, Gaius faced the man punching away at the table. "I find it interesting you have forgotten us, your highness, for it was defeating your forces that helped propel our own onto the world stage. And correct me if I am mistaken, but we defeated handily you on more than one occasion did we not? Clearly that was many years ago, but I am actually surprised you are not still paying us reparations, or are you? Now kindly put your weapon away and behave like a gentlemen when in the presence of such."

He then looked to Mr. Vega. "Apology accepted, but please let us refrain from insults further on, shall we?"

Next he turned towards the man from the Borman Empire. "I am not Mr. Griffincrest, although at times I wish I were. I am Gaius Pureheart, a representative of his corporation. And I believe I speak on behalf of all of that corporation when I applaud you for the haste with which you have set your forces into the field. May the Lord watch over them as they deliver a righteous victory over those that stand against them"

by **Schultaria Prime** » Fri Sep 07, 2012 5:50 pm

OOC: Like Borman, I'll dispose of the formalities of arrival.

Central Director Schultz sat alone at his seat; left arm standing as a bulwark, his face perched atop his opened fist. Fatalistic from years of stress he was traveling more, usually with fewer in his company. Against the wishes of the other Directors and his Cabinet, he chose to travel to the Reich on his own. His security detail was at the airport, guarding the massive hypersonic Komomerenketsan spaceplane. The Secretaries of State and Defense stood watch, several thousand kilometers away, from a secure quantum holotransmitter deep within the labyrinthine gut of the SID.

Although a lord like all the rest, Schultz harbored lingering resentment against many of the representatives in the room. The honorific titles of Central Director and Designwerks CEO could not be earned through coup or coronation. Though his family represented the closest thing to a dynasty in national politics, the lineage to his grandfather - deified as the patron saint and founder of the state - was no guarantee of any political success. He, like the eight before him, had to climb their way to the top for the privilege. Unlike his predecessors, however, Schultz had been able to keep ahead of the fickleness of the electorate for seven elections... Thirty-five years... much longer than any previous Central Director had ever held the reins of power.

"Oppression," he thought to himself, with a blunt hint of hubris and cynicism, "is the toolbox of the lazy and stupid. None of these people would last a month if they were to be put to the electorate." As much as he would have loved to blurt out his seething rage, now was not the time.

The state's economy was sputtering... badly. The State Industries needed the regional economy to stay healthy, or Schultaria would face a social crisis not seen in generations. Though Designwerks supplied a majority of Gholgoth's heavy industrial equipment, the recession placed Schultaria in a precarious bind; two-fifths of the state's revenue, export-dependent, faced slow strangulation under the threat of foreign interdiction. Money for education and welfare, dependent on these export revenues, could be offset with foreign currency reserves and precious metal stockpiles for a while. Once those began to dry up, it was anyone's guess as to how the population would react. All anyone knew was that they would react badly, but against whom?

With his turn to speak, the Central Director didn't make any effort to stand. He propped himself, contorting his spine to fit the vertical precision of the back of his seat - the vagaries of age and a jostling hypersonic flight had strained his body enough for one day.

"Reichsminister Augustus, the Schultarian State thanks the Reich for providing a forum to conduct this business. On behalf of the United Socialist States, we are in full agreement with the Reich and the rest of the assembled delegates that this blockade represents a severe threat to our long-term regional stability.

The State Industries of Schultaria Prime are suffering badly from the blockade. Although enforcement is patchy, the impacts are beginning to have severe repercussions. Fellow Gothic states and foreign customers, worried about the security of their shipments, are canceling orders faster than the state can keep track. Insurance companies cautious about losses, especially after the mysterious disappearance of the Stygere some eight hundred kilometers from the Tyrrhenian regional economic zone, have begun to raise premiums on Designwerks shipping eight-fold.

Designwerks' freighters, carrying tens of millions of tons throughout the region, are sitting empty and derelict. Our state is doing all it can to keep its citizens working, but our treasury will exhaust its reserves in less than five months. If that were to happen at least three billion citizens will be out of work and will foment animosity against current commitments to Gholgoth. If that were to happen, I can not guarantee any long-term economic or military assistance to the region. Internal social problems will pose a threat to our current government's stability, and those needs will have to be addressed promptly."

Turning towards the Borman Emperor, his voice and brow softened a bit, telegraphing solidarity to the crimson bedecked leader, "I am also in agreement with Emperor Bhalk. If this is to be an allied operation, we are willing to operate under a unified command, but with common, regional, purpose. The United World Order has transgressed against all who have come here, and we all have grievances we'd like to see fulfilled, or extracted, from their state."

Adjusting the sleeves on his ceremonial robe, he turned back towards the Reichminister, "We currently have two Territorial Fleets, about thirty percent of our active navy, northeast of Minnysota. The SKC also has several divisions of Otkron ParaOrbital Commandos ready to be inserted as a vanguard into the United World Order on four hours notice. If the Defense Forces are needed for this operation, we shall divert them immediately to join with the rest of our regional allies. If our commitment needs to be strengthened, we shall do so, but it will take time for the necessary mobilization."

by **United World Order** » Fri Sep 07, 2012 6:32 pm

OoC: The 'Days of Darkness' is a series of posts following up to when the Gothic combined fleets arrive in Ordernite Waters.

Days of Darkness

The Day of Solitude

"A Ordernite is essentialy the greatest gift to mankind a leader for the rest of the barbarians to follow" - Ordernite Philosopher Faldor Slaag

Factory Block Sector Eighty Eight , Northern Sturmburg City
5:30PM Standard Time , September 7th, 2012

The rising black charcole thick smoke could be seen for miles being coughed up like a lung by Factory Block 88. The factory block had atleast from a receant census 100,000 workers employed working around the clock. The factory block was essentialy the size of ten football fields and made up most of northern Sturmburg city which was a hub for essentialy war production and men hard at work. Every couple of hours there finished master pieces would roll out of the factories and into the large street that seemed to stretch endlessly. Tanks and armoured vehicles were usualy seen taking these roads, most commandeered by volenteers who would drive them off to be organized into a armored coloum for use somewhere in the OUB or one of the military bases. Even with some of the effects being done in light of the reccession things were returning to normal piece by piece. Vehicle products and other equipment were being produced as usual along with other manufactering goods. Shacks and residential buildings made up a qaurter of the block so they could house the workers, if there happened to be no more buildings avalible they would be sleeping in tents out in the sidewalk. The workers when they would awake in the early hours of the morning would march and be herded by factory guards who were mostly comprised of Sturmburg Police Officers, into there factory stations.

Factory worker who was simply called Frank pushed open the main gate with the help of several others. The gate creaked as it slid to the side as frank stepped off to the side as a new coloum of freshly made L-2s and armoured vehicles rolled out of the maingate and into the street. Frank got ontop of one of the armoured vehicles sitting ontop of it as he watched the coloum on the move. He took a ciggerate from his shirt pocket and a lighter as the ciggerate lit with ash falling and blowing into the wind. He took a slow deep inhale as the smoke filled his lungs before he let the smoke filter out into the cold misty air. The coloum was half way down the street as they passed through the residential area, essentialy empty because everyone was expected to be at work. Those that stayed home would recieve harsh disciplinary action, which could be beatings or death. He watched as the houses passed him by and looked at the L-2 who was infront seeing a fellow factory worker sitting ontop of the tank smoking a ciggerate aswell as they traded glances before nodding to one another. As they passed the residential area they came up on the main perimeter fence which would seperate Factory Block 88 from the rest of Sturmburg city. Large towering watch towers with machine gun weilding men stood atop them watching like hawks from above they had the authority here in Factory Block 88. Frank peered up at one of the watchtowers gazing at one of the machine gunners who gazed down at him his sunglasses having the sun reflecting off them.

This was his stop as he looked down and hopped off the armoured vehicle and caught up with the fellow that sat ontop of the tank. The rest of the coloum had been allowed exit and soon made it's way out of the perimeter and off to some base somewhere. Frank however now climbed aboard the back of a pickup truck. The grey exterior with large block letters "WORKER TRANSPORTATON BUREAU" labled on them as the truck began moving back to the factory block Frank had left. He gazed at the man next to him a older man probably twice or three times his age.

"Sie wollen eine rauchen?" he spoke to the older aged man as the man turned his gaze his bagged wiery eyes focused on him. He up nodded his head as he put his hand forward. Frank handed the ciggerate over to him as he took it inbetween his two old wrinkled fingers as he took a inhale of the fumes before he exhaled the smoke into the air with a smile appearing on his face as he offered the ciggerate back to Frank with a nod and a smile.

"Vielen dank kameraden" he spoke with his gruffy tired voice before staring off into the distance. Frank soon after smoking a bit more disposed of his ciggerate and as the truck went through the gate of his factory he hopped off the truck waving goodbye to the old man he met and shared a ciggerate with. Thats how most workers knew eachother, sharing ciggerates or working side by side inside the factory walls. This was the life of a common worker.

by **Questers** » Sun Sep 09, 2012 7:12 am

Who'd have known ruling a country was so difficult?

Nothing like an Army, Rawlinson thought. In the Army, they did what you said. In the Army, just the provision of food and a hot cup of tea was enough. Some cigarettes and they'd follow you to the end of the Earth. Civilians required things like televisions and refrigerators. Agriculture, industry. Services. Education. Well, Rawlinson had resigned himself, that's what Generalism was about. Pleasing the people. He was only there to see that nothing, no foreign power and no domestic subvert disrupted the path of the general will.

"Captain of the Ship of State." He liked that.

There were always meetings. Mostly they were consultory and all he had to do was stamp something he didn't really understand. The economics he left to his inferiors. By far his favourite part of the day was the arrest warrant signing, signing those papers for the arrests of dissidents so important they needed his signature. He kept that until late, at night, when the rest of his work was finished. A bit like an employment dessert. It was really rather amazing how quickly he'd come; a senior officer in the King's Army, a coupist, and now in charge of a country. Oh, he'd been clever about it. Hide in the background, always behind deniability. Nobody suspects you if you look like you don't have any ambition.

"Comrade Rawlinson." His aide. "It's time for your evening strategic debrief."

"Yes," Rawlinson said, standing up and slipping on his jacket. "Did you get my cigarettes?"

"Comrade."

"Thank you." Rawlinson left, the aide almost jumping out of his way, and trotted down the corridor at a steady but slow pace. Keep them waiting, just a little bit. Never allow them to predict when you'll arrive: that way they have to stand there in awkward silence, waiting for you to come. Rule by awkwardness. Well, this is Questers, after all, he thought. He entered the Committee room and sat down at the head of the table, silently. The rest of the ministers, some generals and some intellectuals, sat down. "Comrades," he addressed them. "Evening strategic debrief begins. Comrade Hoggart, would you care to address the Committee?"

"Comrade." Hoggart stood up. His dress uniform was a dull blue. He left his hat on the table. "Comrades of the Committee of General Security, the Legislative Authority. It appears the blockade of Gholgoth has been destroyed. Remaining anti-Gothic forces in the area are either in retreat or are isolated and will soon be destroyed. The blockade has been lifted, effectively."

"Before we could arrive," Rawlinson said. He light a cigarette. The "no smoking" lights had been turned off.

"Yes, Comrade Rawlinson. As you know, following the blockade, we put all our international stations onto active. This morning, our naval attache in Trivval reported intelligence that suggested a large naval deployment from Gholgoth. They seem to know something we don't, but our intelligence forces have managed to gleam some second hand information from that country. Intelligence piggybacking, as well as our own signals and communications intelligence, strongly suggests that the Goths are massing a force of unknown size. Their intention as of yet is completely unknown. The signals information is in this folder."

"I think their intention is obvious. It will be retribution."

"Ye-es Comrade Rawlinson, the problem being that our intelligence troops don't know who will be receiving this retribution. We-"

"It's fairly obvious that everyone involved will be feeling the end of the Gholgoth stick, Comrade Hoggart. Are our intelligence troops stupid? Who is issuing their operational parameters?" Rawlinson opened the folder.

"I am, Comrade Rawlinson."

"You'll cease to issue such stupid parameters." Rawlinson skimmed the manila folder, keeping his eyes off Hoggart.

"Yes, Comrade Rawlinson."

Rawlinson looked up and stared Hoggart in the eye. "Sit down."

"Yes, Comrade Rawlinson."

Rawlinson himself stood up. "It's obvious that Gholgoth can not allow this test of their mettle to go unchallenged. The blockade succeeded, albeit briefly, regardless of the incompetence and bravado of the forces issuing it. It's obvious now that the Goths intend to humiliate permanently the nations who have humiliated them temporarily. No-ow, this is something the Republic does not ordinarily need to concern itself with. We have no particular alignment with the blockaders, in fact we have fought some of them before. Although we do not know yet to whom thery are sending their fleets, we do have an idea who is mobilising. Comrades, we can not allow the Kraven Corporation to wreak havoc once more in our world. We can not stand by and watch as this exploiter nation adds another nation to its own empire.

"I give the following order. One half of the forces we mobilised during the blockade will be sent to Tyrrhenia. The other half will be distributed between the other states involved in the blockade. The relative closeness of Tyrrhenia to Gholgoth suggests this will be their first and main axis of attack, but it might not be their only. We will confine our operations to the areas where we know the Kraven Corporation to be engaged, when we have received further intelligence as to where that is. We do not want to fight the whole region, international sympathy probably lies with them. It is our goal to ensure that the Kraven Corporation does not extend its maniacal influence across the world any more than it already does. Any disagreements or comments?"

"No, Comrade Rawlinson."

"Dismissed." Rawlinson caught Hoggart on the way out and leaned in to whisper in his ear: "Comrade Hoggart, do not fail me again."

Rawlinson walked away to sign the evening arrest warrants.

by **Ralkovia** » Sun Sep 09, 2012 12:02 pm

The Imperial Palace

"SIEG HEIL," the man sitting at the table screamed, upon the entrance of another into a blackened chamber of exorbitant size. Black granite walls that did not flicker or shine, but expanded out in lengths unimaginable. In the center of this massive chamber stood a white clothed man, holding his golden mask in his hand and his fist in the air.

"Wait...what?" came the confused man, who had just entered. He walked towards the white clothed man, his figure protruding from the darkness like a beacon. A beacon of love, adoration, and insanity. Pure insanity of an Empire that had confided its entire power in the mentally ill ruses of a sociopathic, schizoid with multiple personality issues.

"It means hail sieges...or something. I'm uncertain," responded the man in white, beckoning a servant from some darkened corner. The servant quickly grasped the mask from the Emperor's hands and began readjusting it, tying in the straps and hiding the face of the G-d king of Ralkovia. The servant bowed, as the Emperor's hand came up and grabbed her. Quickly, forcing her upon his lap, he only smiled behind the mask. Presently, the look of terror on her face was way to enjoyable to let her go.

"So wait...I thought standard policy was to avoid sieges," the man in black added.

"Sometimes. Personally, it gives me the excuse to manufacture catapults," the Emperor responded, pantomiming the motion of a catapult with his hand.

"For the infants?" he said, watching the women's face as the Emperor launched his hand. She nearly shrieked, which brought a smile to Gustav's face.

"Of course," the Emperor responded, a little laugh in his voice. "So why have you come to visit me?" the Emperor added placing his hands on the servant, the look of fear on her face had disappeared.

"UWO...blockaded Gholgoth. Their fleet was wiped out-"

"And that makes your anus tingle?" the Emperor said, referring to a past comment Gustav had made about how his ass tingled whenever war was coming.

"Certainly, the chance of Gholgoth letting UWO stand is highly unlikely. We're situated at two areas that Gholgoth could possibly come through," Gustav said, a serious look at the Emperor and then the girl.

"Oh of course. Servant girl, you may go," he said, swatting her ass as she walked away. She sighed with a certain type of relief. The Emperor smiled and pulled his pistol from his coast and pointed it towards the woman walking away. Gustav didn't even change the look on his face, causing the Emperor to frown.

"Really, am I even a surprise anymore?" the Emperor responded with a tone of disappointment before placing the handgun on the table.

"You gave me the order to never lie to you. If I had acted in surprise, I would have lied to you my Emperor," Gustav retorted, placing his hand on the other chair before sitting down in the large and empty room. His thoughts had already turned toward the possible Gholgothian reprisal for such a broad insult as the Ordernites had delivered. Certainly, they were more than justified in whatever punishment they saw fit, it just didn't serve Ralkovian strategic interests to let them near Tyrr.

"Well...send them the thirteenth legion, an engineering corp, and...I don't know...a slave group...also send them a partial defensive battle group. Declare our neutrality and call for an area of prohibition. If they attempt to break through the area, the full military strength will be upon them...or something like that. Declare it to be a three hundred mile area around our coast...something ridiculous, but easy to follow. Chances are they'll send the fleet from the South rather than the North. Then we can just twiddle our thumbs or something. To be honest, I'm about to take a nap, just follow my orders and no arguing," the Emperor said, breaking Gustav's response. Gustav bowed and removed himself from the Emperor's presence.

Already mobilization orders were to be given out to the local slave holdings, the men on the other hand had long since been mobilized. This was all just circumspect predictions, yet even Ralkovia was not so stupid as to think Gholgoth wouldn't assault UWO. Already nearly forty eight Ralkovian military bases were in UWO, the rest of the troops would just be icing on the cake. Ralkovian dominance in the region would not be threatened so easily.

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Mon Sep 10, 2012 11:24 am

The Griffincrest delegation looked on in awe as the Reichs-Marshall and his automatons rose from the ground, with a few even letting out a panicked gasp as the machines stepped forward. Finally, however, the Reichs-Marshall spoke addressing their leader.

"Yes Reichs-Marshall" Gaius answered. "Complete agreement"

Now he had just hoped to be able to speak tot he Kravenite personally once this whole meeting concluded. It was of immense importance to know just what, exactly, he and his forces would need in this conflict, and any information on how Griffincrest could get it to the front.

by **Dremnen** » Mon Sep 10, 2012 4:01 pm

In comparison to its neighbors and fellow Gothic Lords, the Nine Baronies of Dremnen is a small, underpopulated, rather insignificant land. But how then have they survived, and indeed, even prospered nestled in the killing fields of Gholgoth? They have not the vast resources of the Kravenite corporate realm, nor the infinite fleets of the Freekish Empire, nor the financial might of Yohannes, or the mass zealotry of the Azurans. I will tell you why. In every battle the Dremnians have ever fought, regardless of victory or defeat, every single one of their foes has always been able to confirm the Dremnian dead had sustained only forward-facing wounds. And that is the secret of how Dremnen has carved its place in Ghologth: they simply refuse to quit.---Leopold Cartwright, "Canticles of Gholgoth: A History of the Old Lords"

The Black Citadel
Fortress Norska

The Kravenite corporate machine was just that, a machine. It was flawlessly precise in its inhumanity; every moment of time was cataloged down to the picosecond, every drone of the state apparatus micromanaged by the minute, every single moment of time was enslaved for the greater profit of the Corporate Reich. So, when two men arrived to the Black Citadel, the vast host of cameras and other surveillance forces dutifully noted it had been 6 years, 2 months, 14 days, 3 hours, 27 minutes, and 3.56 seconds since a Kravenite emplacement or personnel had laid eyes, camera lenses, or ocular prosthetics on the Sigil of the Raven's Cross. This fact was relayed throughout the silicon lines that coursed through the Citadel like the veins of a more organic lifeform, and within the time a man would draw a single breath, the former-man who sat on Norska's Throne was aware that a lost Gothic Lord had emerged back into daylight. It was possible that if Dietrich still had any of his human mind left, he might have appreciated the irony of choosing this sunless, forsaken place as the stage for a nation and people to re-enter the limelight.

But then again, Kravenites were never really known for a sense of humor.

Through the bare halls of granite and metal strode two men, one a half-step behind the other. The first was a rangy, almost scarecrow-like man of barely 6 feet in height. He wore a luxuriously tailored black three-piece suit, a gunmetal gray shirt showing underneath the jacket and a black-and-gray tie serving as the modest accent to the man's attire. His hair was a mess of midnight black locks that shared more in common with a sea anemone than any salon-crafted style or fashion. A sedate, mildly pleasant smile was painted on his features, but it was more there by practice rather than any emotion he felt currently.

At his side and behind his left shoulder strode a mountain of a man, towering almost 7 feet in height. Unlike his comrade, who looked ready for any corporate boardroom meeting in the world, this man was arrayed less like a gentleman and more like a bipedal tank. A panoply of heavy Kevlar, thrice-reinforced steel, and thick leather padding totally ensconced the man. A massive zweihander greatsword forged of dark metal, stretching to a ludicrous length, hung menacingly on his back, and he cradled a twin-barreled shotgun crafted with a baroque Damascus steel pattern in one arm. A tabbard of white cloth draped about his armored torso, the same raven-and-cross emblem emblazoned in ebony on its front. His helmet, or at least its exterior was a complete throwback to a bygone age; it was a massive cage of steel obscuring all but two narrow eye slits, with slightly decorative bars of metal extending from the temples down to the base of the neck from the helmet's sides, and a flaring visor extending from the forehead a few inches from the face. However, to the studious observer, the unmistakable hiss of filtering technology could be hard from the helmet, and it was a safe guess to make to conclude the armor was likely designed with NBC protection as much as defense against small arms and blades in mind. The only other piece of ornamentation was on the shoulder paldrons of the armor; an expertly forged and detailed metalwork mimicked bird's feathers arrayed as a wing adorned each shoulder on the front and back, giving the impression of a raven's wing fully extended in flight.

The security programs and officers monitoring the pair's progress noted that a Raven Guard had entered the Black Citadel, and that if ordered to engage him, Capitol Police soldiers were advised to use their highest-available caliber firearms. With nothing but distance and the silent spaces of this Lovecraftian palace-fortress standing in their way, the pair made quick progress through the Citadel, although occasionally the man in the suit would remark to the armored man about certain features or things he found interesting or worth mentioning. Eventually, the pair stood before the massive doors that led into the Kravenite conference room that held the Gothic Lords gathered to plot the malevolent future concerning those who had risen against the Old Lands.

With no ceremony and even less pomp, the pair pushed open the doors as the Griffencrest representative finished speaking. They moved purposefully but without hurry to two open seats near the far end of the table from the Kravenite cyber-throne. The man in the suit nodded towards the Reich-Marshall, and then spoke in a sauntering, almost lyrical cadence.

"Dietrich. You look....," here the man flourished a wry smile, "...well."

by **Borman Empire** » Sat Sep 15, 2012 7:41 am

OOC: Crunched for time, but want to keep this going

“Flight path clear, reporting open…wait, hold on. I’ve got a single target on radar.”

“Just one?” the officer aboard the command vessel inquired.

“Yeah, just – no, more coming up. A lot of them. Readying weapons and preparing to engage. Bravo squadron, sweep in from – hold on. Receiving transmission…friendly units from…Trivval, I believe. They want a video conference with our admiral.”

“Oh, alright. Inform them we’ll be establishing a link now.”

The admiral strode into the communications room, straightened the medals hanging from his chest, and sat down in the chair. The many screens around him hummed with a low white light, but for now, he was only interested in the large one in front of him. His left hand methodically turned pages of intelligence he had just received while his right hand was used to feed himself honey roasted peanuts from a small bowl on the table. All he needed now was for Trivval’s commander to accept the link.

--------------------------------------------------------
“My apologies, Gaius,” Bhalk replied. “I did not fully comprehend the structure of your group. But I thank you. We are very eager to get his underway before they have time to sense our intentions or bolster their defenses.”

Bhalk then met the eyes of director Schultz and allowed a smile to come to his face as he bowed his head, also a motion of solidarity. No words were necessary.

Finally, the Reich-Marshall appeared. The Emperor was surprised, shocked, and impressed – but he didn’t allow any of the emotions to register on his face. He simply stared and listened while his mind raced wildly. When he finally addressed Bhalk, he quickly replied,

“Ah, I see. I’m glad to hear that is the case. And I think I’ll be remaining here to command my forces. Can only help if we’re all together.”

by **Kylarnatia** » Sun Sep 16, 2012 1:26 pm

The Black Citadel, Fortress Norska
The Fortress Continent, Southern Gholgoth

It was so complementing she almost blushed, but like all Kylarnatian women Silvier kept it hidden for they all knew it was what men wanted to see. Simply nodding in respect of the Templar General's words with her never disappearing smile, she observed the war of words between Menias and Jonathan. The Dark King seemed to bark like a dog and it amused Silvier for she never imagined another royal, let alone another Gothic Lord, slamming his or her fists on tables and causing their mouths to literally froth with rage. But then, the man before her did come from the dark crypts of the Reich, so she didn't expect anything less of him. With the Templar now at her side, she took the gift gracefully and gave him pardon, then removed the ash rose and smelt it with delight.

"I will have this put on my tunic later." She thought, before moving onto the note inside. Thanks to the many books given to her as gifts from the Templars she was able to read the note quite successfully, and upon finishing she placed it back inside and passed the small envelope into her retinue of guards. Silvier remembered all the discussions with Menias, whom she knew was the Interim Grand Master all along and just pretended that he was a standard General so that Vega didn't try and kill him, about Hells Gate. Her advisor's and Dux Imperator's had originally questioned her decision to help the men of a very different faith to that of the Silvier Sacerdotium, but Silvier went on to explain how much of an asset the Templars were. Having grown close to them with her cunning and charm, she knew that she could rely on them in future, be that if she helped them take over Briska or they chose Kylarnatia as their new home. All that she knew for now was that she intended to help the Templars rescue their comrades from Hells Gate.

Silvier wasn't surprised by how quickly the other Lords had took to her plan. By the time Reichmarshall Dietrich appeared, whom the Kylarnatians called 'the new corpse upon the Obsidian Throne', there was little question that her plan seemed to be the accepted course of action. Silvier observed the man briefly, if he could be called a man any more, before speaking to him and the rest of the chamber briefly.

"Thank you, Dietrich, I'm happy that you're satisfied with my plans. Hopefully your actions will overshadow those of your predecessor, who disgraced this region. I can only hope that he is sealed within Tartarus as we speak, being torn apart by those he did wrong by in his lifetime. Your coup did this region proud, and I have no doubt the forces of the Reich shall help lead this region into a new golden age under your command. Now, I shall make sure my ships make there move immediately, and I will unfortunately have to pardon myself from the walls of this fortress, for the matters of my state also beckon to me. I have no doubt that many of my Opti shall be moving through these halls in the next few days, however."

Aboard the ACIAS Indomitable
30km off the coast of Fortress Norska
The Southern Gothic Ocean, Gholgoth

Only months before, the ships of the Imperium had been off the coast of Norska firing shots at the coastline in an attempt to cripple the 'enemy of the day'. Now, they were there in unison with the men of the Fortress Continent, in order to stride out against the world in a show of Gholgoth's dominance. A whole armada was forming, some already on their way towards Tyrrhenia and their target of the United World Order. It was a magnificent and awe-demanding spectacle which could make any man tremble in his boots. The force that assembled off the coast of Norska was the force of Angels, of Plagues, and even of Gods. It was something very few dared to stand in the way of, and Admiral Marcellus Blasius of the Caesar's Imperial Navy knew of very well.

Sitting in his 'Command Throne', which was effectively a slap of cold steel with monitors relaying countless numbers of information about his vessel and the fleet to him, he observed the bridge of the Indomitable, his personal Gholgoth-Class Aircraft Carrier from which he would guide the fleet from in unison with the other commanders on their vessels. From observing the faces of all his Opti, he could tell when something was about to happen. For instance, with the Comm Opti.

"My Lord Admiral--" The Opti began, before Marcellus stopped him.

"We are to depart?" The Admiral, well into his mid-forties, was an experienced one.

"Yes, Admiral." The Opti bowed his head.

"Relay the order. We depart immediately. Inform the Engine Room - forward five knots."

"Forward five knots, Aye."

by **Questers** » Sun Sep 16, 2012 3:22 pm

S-1041

The Saturn class nuclear submarine had a commercial feel to it in that it was pumped off a production line like a plastic toy or a white oven. Identical in construction to so many other of the class, nothing distinguished it except the white lettering of her pennant number. Even the crew were not particularly different, the same mold of the same class of the same school as their brothers half a world away.

The Fleet held the attention of the Republic, but down here, under the swirling currents of the ocean a whole different military unit was operating that, for reasons of secrecy, the public knew little to nothing about. They knew of course what a submarine was, what they were armed with, and that they were deadly killing weapons, but the precise nature of their operation lay out of reach for the layman.

And sometimes to Captain Pullman, too. How they could keep a hundred men undersea for such a period of time and not have them crack and even more to keep them together, a united, disciplined body was almost beyond him. Almost. Though it was beyond him philosophically that this was what the Republic was trying to be, what it was aiming for, he did at least know the practical details of his own command.

It was natural for him to be thinking of how well his crew were operating at that time, of course: in front of him he held the latest order from Theatre Command.

COMMANDER S-1041
PATTERN AEW-335
091512

YOU ARE INSTRUCTED TO PROCEED TO ENCLOSED POSITION AND CONDUCT RECCE. PROVIDE HEADING AND DISPOSITION OF OPFOR. PRIORITY IS PLACED ON IDENTIFICATION OF ENEMY CAPITAL WARSHIPS. DETAILS OF OPERATIONS AREA TO FOLLOW.

WEAPONS CONDITION: ONE.
TRANSMISSIONS CONDITION: TWO.
EMISSIONS CONDITION: ZERO.

BE READY TO GO TO A WAR-FOOTING AT ALL TIMES.

GOOD LUCK

CSM CAMPBELL

Diary of Admiral Campbell

Today ordered picket submarines to conduct recce. Would like to have fix of enemy movements which were reported by orbital elements yesterday. Orbital forces let down - not precise enough to make any judgment. S-1049 yesterday spotted enemy carrier -- same turned out to be very large supertanker. I suspect that this will be continuing problem, but we are trained for it, at least.

Am currently re-arranging forces for possible war operation. If doesn't go ahead, not bad practice anyway. But am hopeful it will. Bad business to put fleet to sea and not use it.

Rumours amongst the sailors are spreading that we will be fighting Gholgoth. All are said to be in high spirits. The number of countries involved rises with every report I receive. Personally doubt our commitment will be large enough, but of course, publicly we are going to win. Have been planning this sort of thing for many years so would not like it all to go to waste, really.

Tomorrow more staff discussions on carrier placement. Last went very well. Have decided on course of operations discussed prior. Plan is sound and good mix of daring and cautious. Though, didn't a famous man once say 'damn the torpedoes and straight ahead?'

by **Newtdom** » Tue Sep 18, 2012 12:04 pm

The Black Citadel, Fortress Norska
The Fortress Continent, Southern Gholgoth

To Prince Henry, the grotesqueness of the Reichs-Marshall's throne was quite unsettling. He had heard the rumors and stories about the cold, machine-like state of Kraven but always put them off as hearsay or the ridiculous calumny of Newtdonian nobles. Yet, with the Reichs-Marshall's kind and endearing words, Henry's consternation of the sight slowly was relieved.

He would always remember this day. Certainly for his performance, but primarily for finally realizing the world was more than debutante balls and elaborate ceremonies. He would finally be considered a player in the affairs of the state, and where better to earn this regard than amongst the mighty Lords of Gholgoth and halls of the Black Citadel.

The Bridge of the NRS Imperium
300 KM Northeast of The Fortress Continent

The coast of Newtdom was riddled with various naval ports and stations, and all had been quietly preparing for the upcoming retaliatory strike against the perpetrators of the blockade. Even before a target had been decided upon, contingency plans had been set in motion. Various ships of the line had been moved from their home port to new stations in what would seem to the casual observer as frenzied redeployment. However, this was meant as a mask for maximum operational security. While it would look like the Newtdonian Navy was in the midst of massive reorganization, it was actually putting together the task forces and battle groups that would make up the invasion fleet.

After the blockade had been broken, these task forces and battle groups put to sea. All sailed in different directions, some taking direct while others indirect routes to the rendezvous point off the coast of the Fortress Continent. As more and more of what would become the invasion fleet massed, any nation able to locate and successfully identify these movements would have no doubt of its intention.

The namesake of the Imperium Class Super-Dreadnaughts, the pride of the Newtdonian Navy, had been deemed the flagship of the combined invasion fleet. Despite the excessive cost, and its limited reach in terms of air power, the Empire always maintained several super-dreadnaughts for the purpose of sheer terror. The sight of an Imperium Class off the coast with all of its batteries aimed towards the sea wall would certainly cause trepidation in the hearts of the most experienced soldiers. The hulking behemoth was well armed and armored, a floating fortress, and protected by a top of the line escort, all meant to protect the commander of the fleet and his staff.

On the bridge sat Fleet Admiral Johann von Gorschen, Marquess Vitter, a distinguished flag officer who most recently had seen action in Gothic Civil Wars. He was tall and thin, but not lanky. Young for his rank, but highly experienced, trusted immensely by the admiralty and admired by his men. A man with whom honor was sacred, and in his mind, there was no greater honor than serving his Emperor.

His eyes were fixated on the open sea. The sea squalls, the white caps, the pungent briny sea, he loved it all. But what he loved the most was the tradition. He imagined the seemingly ancient heroes of Newtdonian Naval lore gliding through the water in their low keeled sloops or sixty gun frigates. Gulls cawing and screeching as wind caught their sails.

His task force would be the last to arrive at the rendezvous location. This was done in case the mission was compromised. Once assembled, the invasion fleet would head directly towards the coast of UWO. Potentially, but not necessarily, linking up with additional Gothic Forces.

He rose from his chair and walked briskly, without a word, out onto the flying bridge. His boat cloak fluttered in the wind as a strong gust caught it like a sail. He thought this was how his heroes must have felt. Not quite different, but not quite the same.

by **Questers** » Tue Sep 18, 2012 1:39 pm

S1041

The map held Pullman's attention in the discerning manner of a military commander. S1041 had just surfaced to take a routine transmission and had been given the location of the other three submarines of her division. That data was between five and sixty minutes old, but it was enough. One had to work with outdated information, sometimes, especially in this job. They together occupied an area of sea defined by a box at which the corner was the operations area of a submarine; it was sufficient that none of the other boats would come into contact with each other and risk a friendly fire incident.

That said, it wasn't the position of the friendly boats that Pullman particularly cared about. That was obvious. It was the scrawl that he himself had written on the map in red pen, the grid location of a sizeable group of ships that an orbital radar had finally, finally detected six hours ago. Six hours. He ran it over in his mind for the umpteenth time. Three hundred and thirty kilometres, at most. That was how far the force grouping could be. The intelligence was basically already out of date. He had no idea in what direction they were heading, or their composition. All the satellite intelligence had been able to say was the grid location of a group of ships that could only have been military. Six hours makes all the difference, he thought.

"Mr Evans?" he lowered the map and looked down his glasses towards a bank of computers. No response. He tapped a button on the chair and Evans turned around, taking off his headset.

"Sorry Sir."

"Anything?" Pullman stood and walked over to Evans, who had his headset around his neck. Those headphones alone, Pullman thought, would sell on the market for more than most music-obsessives earned. Now they were being put through the test.

Evans winced a little. "It's difficult to say Sir. There's a lot of noise. The system can't yet decide what it is or how many ships, but it's a lot of propellers, a lot of vibrations. We are at a very long distance; I'd say more than two hundred kilometres, at least. There's no use hoping for a definition, at that distance."

"Military, though?" Pullman looked at the map again.

"Definitely, Sir. You don't get civilian ships grouped so close together as to make as much noise as this. It's obviously military. We'll have to get a bit closer if we want to know how far away, how many there are, what types... but it's military."

"You know that S1049 mistook a supertanker for a carrier two days ago?"

"There's no mistaking this, Sir." Evans looked up. Confidence in the boys eyes, Pullman thought.

"I'll take a listen," Pullman said, putting on the headphones.

They were linked to the ship's sonar, a complex set of thousands of hydrophones throughout the front and flanks of the vessel that could detect acoustics in the ocean, those sort of noises that made a ship a ship. The rush of water around a hull weighing thousands of tons, the beating of turbines and reactors, the slicing of propellers. You could hear them, all right, because they were together. Hundreds of drums beating in unison makes it difficult to pick out an individual drum. The noise was a great many whumps, not too loud, but distinguishable, and interweaving, revolutions of engines too far to be analysed. The lack of a pattern made any kind of analysis just impossible.

"We'll get closer," Pullman ordered. "That's them alright." Captain Pullman ordered the S1041 deeper in the water, increasing her flank speed, and put a heading towards the approximate direction of where those noises were coming from. He cross-checked them against the map. There was no doubting it: they were the same grouping of ships that the satellites had discovered. Marking their rough position six hours ago to their longitudinal position now, he drew a straight line to the destination they'd reach if they kept on moving. S1041 had to surface for its next transmission in six hours: then the higher-ups might have some rather pleasing intelligence on their desk.

Diary of Admiral Campbell

SIGINT today indicated more enemy forces have left port. They don't seem to be stopping. I wonder if the forces allocated to us will be enough? I attended a training operation today with our Barracudas -- strange looking aircraft -- and it occurred to me only then that we are building up to something that is simply going to explode. I hope that the escalation has been steady enough that all involved may commit to their duties without hesitation. Any panic now would be ruinous.

In other news, we have finally assembled in the proper manner. We left half the carriers behind and moved ahead with the strike forces ahead. Hopefully by the time any contact is made the enemy will be unable to detect our rear-area forces. In line with that, after we had dispersed, I requested orbital satellites to look for our own ships and ordered an unattached intelligence unit to try to analyse the results.

They replied to us just a few hours ago and the results are positive. We've taken every measure to hide from that form of detection and its working well for us. Of course, that will be just one element of the disguise, but we'll see how the whole thing turns out in short course. I ordered the beginning of OVERWATCH and so far we're putting a lot of interference and activity along a certain axis of our advance. The rear-area forces are being silent. Hopefully the enemy's elint and sigint will catch the interference and our rear area units can hide underneath it. We're now awaiting replies from our recce subs that should be coming in soon.

It's difficult to send out pilotsand ask them to bring as much attention to themselves as possible -- it goes against everything in their nature. It's necessary, though, for our deception to work.

How weird that I refer to them as our enemy. The shooting hasn't even started yet.

by **New Azura** » Tue Sep 18, 2012 8:19 pm

The Great Hall of the Forerunner, Praeclarus
The Capital City, Tsyion, New Azura—10:30 PM

The reports were coming in hot and heavy from every sector that Calixte's Imperial Legions could cover. From the west, the Gothic Armada which had assembled by Fortress Norska was making ready to sail eastward towards the Tyrrhenian shores, most likely on a path which would bring them south of Azura's territorial waters. The more distressing report had come in from satellite reconnaissance over Haven, where the Questerian Navy had begun to mobilize for what looked to be a potential shadowing maneuver of the Kravenic Fleet. An Armada of Capitol Police Battalions was bad enough as it was, but to consider the potential for a major naval war to erupt off the lucrative shores of the Azuran mainland, where oil production was so vital... the Vänæzriná could barely comprehend it.

These damn fools, Calixte thought to herself as she sat staring idly past the military commanders begging her attention in her personal office. I cannot even begin to imagine the ramifications of how much our people could suffer if this turns into another world war...

"Your Graceful Elegance," Praetor Felix opined, "I beg of you, please! Order our envoy back home from Fortress Norska! Close down this insidious nonsense with the Kravenic Reich and their brutal Capitol Police! History cannot find a place in its annals to judge any assistance to those heathens as being a worthy cause! I—"

"And tell me, Lord Felix," Calixte shot back irritatedly, trying to refocus her thoughts. "What does history judge upon those who turn their backs on the Gothic Lords? Do tell, what would you have this nation do—reject a blood covenant wrought under the darkest of evils which hath prevailed despite itself? Verily, such recourse would bring immediate and total ruin to the visage of all that we are trying to achieve. This isn't a game, Felix; you can't just shut this off!"

Calixte rose up from her chair, pounding the polished wooden desk before her. "I need answers, and I need them now, Felix! If you can't give them to me, then I suggest you find a tall cliff and throw yourself off of it!"

Felix backpedaled, holding up his hands. "M'lady, I beseech you! In your infinite mercy, take pity on the men and women under your charge! We are doing the very best that we can; however, from my position here, neutrality is the only recourse for preserving the integrity of our standing in the world now. We—"

"You are relieved of duty, Lord Praetor!" Calixte screamed from behind the desk, moving around the corner with her fist raised. "Why I ever took the counsel of Riavan Grivas to appoint you as a Legion Commander eludes me right now. Pray that I find pleasure in sparing your career and your livelihood over this incessant nonsense!"

The fallen Praetor bowed profusely, backing himself into the protective custody of a trio of Sentinels, who were approaching the desk in that very moment. A pair of young, uniformed officers were being escorted into the office chamber, giving the Vänæzriná the opportunity she needed to dispose of the garbage. "Guards, get this impostor out of here at once! Ship him to Raevursan until I have use of him again!"

On cue, the Sentinels laid siege to the fallen Praetor, who began struggling mightily against their grasp. Yet Calixte's attention turned towards the attractive looking young officers before her. "Your Graceful Elegance," the lead woman spoke coolly. "Lieutenant Colonel Aila Tam and Wing Commander Ja'na Mial, reporting as ordered m'lady."

"Colonel Tam, Commander Mial," Calixte beamed proudly. "Never before have we had the pleasure of meeting each other. I take it your flight went well? I could get you something to eat if you wish, or perhaps something to drink?"

Wing Commander Mial shook her head briskly. "M'lady, thank you for the offer. We are both fine, ma'am, but a bit confused as to why the Vänæzriná would summon two staffers to Praeclarus."

Calixte nodded, crossing her arms. "I normally wouldn't be this informal, but given the circumstances, I thought... well, leniency with the rules was in order." She rubbed at the back of her neck before focusing in on the two of them together. "You two were included on a short list of young, intelligent and fiercely loyal officers for potential candidacy into my personal circle of advisers. Before the late General Valeria passed, I had him scout for the youngest, fiercest warriors that my nation possessed. You two were chosen a fortnight ago to enter into this circle, upon your volunteering to do so."

Tam looked over at the Commander with an incredulous look on her face. When she finally turned back to the Vänæzriná, that trace of bewilderment was lost into a bland, emotionless facade. "I accept, m'lady."

"As do I," Commander Mial added.

Calixte nodded. "Very well then. A more formal proceeding shall be held once our current situation dies down. For now, I do hereby decree with the full authority of the Throne of Az'ra Vor, that you Lieutenant Colonel Tam, and you Wing Commander Mial, to be rechristened immediately as Lady Praetors in the service of your Vänæzriná. You, Praetor Fausta, surnamed Tam, and you, Praetor Decima, surnamed Mial, will be commissioned unto your own Legions at first convenience. Serve well, lest you be removed from your post with due diligence and haste."

Both officers nodded succinctly, bowing deeply before their Imperatrix. Calixte motioned them away: "I need your tactical analysis on the Kravenic Expedition to Tyrrhenia within twelve hours. I am assembly the senior staff here in Tsyion then; afterwards we shall view the launch of the Horizon VII Mission from Vandengaarde. Come dressed to celebrate the regalia of your new posts, ladies."

by **Kylarnatia** » Wed Sep 19, 2012 9:48 am

Aboard the ACIAS Indomitable
5th Carrier Battle Group (Caesar's Imperial Navy)
100km from the International Waterline, Southern Gholgoth

"So, the Radar Satellites have picked this up..." Admiral Marcellus looked at the display to the right of his command throne. Standing beside him was an Nuntius (messenger) from the Communications station. Although the Opti of the station, which was situated only a few paces away from the Admiral could have been there himself, it was his job to maintain his station and therefore he had to concentrate and not leave his station unless he or she had the permission of the Admiral or commanding officer of the ship to do so. Keeping with this Kylarnatian tradition, all the Opti had a small team of messengers who could relay anything across the bridge or through the ship if necessary. It was a very serious atmosphere, which not everyone liked.

On the display screen, a black and white picture was burning brightly like it had the intention of burning itself into the retinas of all those who stared at it for too long. The background was black, whilst there were a variety of white dots in a variety of sizes all across the black space. There were scales on the axis of the picture, showing the distance that the picture represented. All though they were widely spread out and of a variety of different sizes, they all seemed to be generally coherent and seemingly in a pattern. Marcellus, with the naval experience under his belt, was sure it was ships. Almost positive. But he couldn't identify what kind, who they belonged to, if they were hostile...

For all he knew, they could just have been trading vessels or fishing boats, or actual naval forces that were heading towards them. For all he knew, Tyrrhenia could have been one step ahead and were preparing to attack the region. All that he could be positive of, was that he had started on the wrong footing, and that whatever was there would almost certainly know of their existence if they were other naval vessels, if they were friendly or hostile. All the Admiral could do was curse to himself silently.

After a few brief moments of silence, the Nuntius tried to make a positive suggestion. "There is a coloured version of the picture, Admiral."

"What difference does that make? It'll still show the same thing. How old is this picture?" Marcellus was quick and gave the Nuntius an authoritative look that warned him that he better had an answer. The young messenger almost choked under the stare, before giving the Admiral the answer he'd hoped.

"Literally fifteen minutes, Admiral."

"That's good enough. Return to your station...Sonar! Who's in our vicinity?" Marcellus cried out over the bridge towards the Sonar station, his voice almost croaking. He hated it, for it was a reminder that he was getting older by the day. He joined the navy because he thought he'd keep young and fit. He was obviously wrong about that, too.

"Allied ships, Admiral! They've been confirmed to be Newtdomian. Reports suggest the Kravenites shouldn't be far behind." The Sonar Opti was quick to reply. This made Marcellus smile a little, for at least he knew that he had someone to fall back on now. Sitting back, he thought over all the possible options in his head.

As apart of the Caesar's plan, his force had already started to disperse and spread out. This way if there were any hostile forces out there, they would be difficult to take out all at once and wouldn't be sticking out like a sore thumb. If the ships that the radar satellite picked up were hostile, he had to disappear as best as he could but also try and keep a superior footing on them, and that would mean having some form of mark on them. The options continued to pass through his mind, before he came to the best solution he could think of: Slow down, and turn to Passive Search. To keep a tab on the ships, he would have to send some submarines sprinting ahead, before slowing down and keeping a steady pace. It was a bit detailed, but that's what made it a great plan.

"Sonar! Turn to Passive. Comms! Carry out these tasks immediately - relay the Radar image to all the allied ships and Reich High Command back at the Fortress Continent. Then relay a message to the rest of the fleet to cut their speed by half and turn to Passive Search, and advise that allied ships follow the example and also disperse their forces if necessary. Send the eleventh and fifteenth Wolfpacks sprinting forward for at least two-hundred kilometres, until dropping down to quarter speed and holding steady. They too, are to stay on Passive. Understood?"

"Yes, Admiral!" The cries came flying at him from across the bridge. He didn't take the time to acknowledge them as he pressed a button on his command throne, which brought a phone out of the arm. It was a phone that linked him straight to the engine room.

"Engine Room?"

"Yes Admiral?" A response came back through one or two seconds later.

"How fast are we going?" Marcellus asked.

"Twenty knots, Admiral." The engineer replied.

"Slow us down to ten, and keep her steady."

"Ten knots, Aye." The engineer replied. Marcellus then hung up the phone, which disappeared back into the arm of the chair.

Code: Select all: +++///HIGHLY ENCRYPTED MESSAGE - SECURE TRANSMISSION A061673///+++ Message to: REICH HIGH COMMAND, CAESAR'S IMPERIAL NAVY COMMAND, THE GHOLGOTH ARMADA Sent from: ACIAS \INDOMITABLE\ (5TH CARRIER STRIKE GROUP, CIN) Attachments: #1 --------------------------------------------------------------------------- ####PICTURE ATTACHED SHOWS POSSIBLE NAVAL FORCES AROUND 1000KM FROM OUR POSITION. IT'S MINUTES OLD. ADMIRAL MARCELLUS BLASIUS OF THE ACIAS \INDOMITABLE\ RECOMMENDS THAT ALL SHIPS CUT THEIR SPEED BY AT LEAST HALF, AND THAT ALL SHIPS DISPERSE AND TURN TO PASSIVE RADAR SEARCH ONLY. THE 11TH AND 15TH 'WOLFPACKS' OF THE CAESAR'S IMPERIAL NAVY HAVE BEEN SENT FORWARD TO INVESTIGATE. SUGGEST THAT OUR FORCES SPLIT ONLY WHEN CLOSE TO THE OBJECTIVE####

Aboard the ACIAS Cold Grin
11th 'Wolfpack' (Caesar's Imperial Navy)
100km from the International Waterline, Southern Gholgoth

"Centurion! We have a message from the Indomitable. There are possible hostile forces one-thousand kilometres down our path. We, the rest of our Wolfpack and the Fifteenth are to go on ahead of the main force, spearheading for at least two-hundred kilometres before cutting to quarter speed and staying silent. We've also been ordered to turn to Passive." The Comm's Opti of the Cold Grin called to the Centurion (Captain).

"Then what are we waiting for then?" Centurion Varinius Octavianus cackled with laughter, "We can't let our brothers get ahead of us! Turn to Passive! Full speed ahead!"

by **Questers** » Wed Sep 19, 2012 10:20 am

GSRN 4th January

A little extractor fan pulled the smoke out of the combat information centre. It struggled, but it performed its job under the most pressing of circumstances. The staff of Squadron 30.51 were gathered around the information boards at the front of the room, with Campbell at their centre. Radio babble and the hum of solid state hard drives for ambience. "S1041 signalled to us that she spotted a carrier battle group of significant size here. That was four hours ago. They're due another transmission in two. After that transmission, the Richard Elliot dispatched a Barracuda on an off-axis. He's flying high and emitting actively. That's the radar picture on the left screen there."

Silence.

"As you can see, the formation that S1041 spotted no longer exists. It has fractured. The data S1040 passed us was analysed and we're confident their report was right."

"Their report was right four hours ago," Campbell said. "In that time we've closed to almost a thousand kilometres of that signal."

"Yes. Now, if the enemy knows we're coming, they've dispersed. They'd have no idea of our size because of our own very wide dispersion, but they are playing hard to get. If they don't know we're here, all the advantage to us, though they certainly do now, with that elint bird up there saying 'how dy'do' to everyone in three quarters of a thousand klicks of it. They couldn't estimate our strength from that single bird, though."

"Who ordered that Barracuda up there?" Campbell snapped.

"Winters, on the Elliot, Sir."

"Winters," he muttered.

"Anyway, what we are seeing is a complete fracturing of the enemy grouping. Hopefully S1041 is tailing at least one of the carriers, and we'll find out in two hours, but if there is more than one, then they've certainly lost the rest of them."

"All because Winters sent up that one plane."

"No, Sir. It seems unlikely they fractured because of that."

"Well remind him of the parameters anyway. And I want that bird back to the carrier. On a different off-axis to its way in. Our carriers are so spread out that if they follow that plane, they might go back to a different flat top. Winters is putting the rest of the task group in danger. What's worse is that if they do follow it, they're going to discover our surface pickets. If we're lucky, they'll continue passing as civilian vessels for a bit longer."

There was silence in the room as all the Officers thought. The limited radar picture -- the elint bird was now going home -- had shown the enemy had fractured, but not very much else. They were stalking an enemy fleet that was officially not an enemy and yet both sides would doubtlessly be positioning for a battle. The Questarians probably had the advantage at the time being since they entered the area dispersed, but that advantage would shortly be lost if they didn't act on it.

"How many carriers do you think they have?" Campbell asked nobody in particular, staring at the radar screen from the Barracuda, watching ESM contacts slip away as the plane deactivated its radar.

"Well, one. At least one. They have a flagship anyway, and it's probably a carrier. That Barracuda picked up a series of military signals coming from a single ship. C4I certainly, though we can't decode them. Orders, maybe. Or a routine transmission, I don't know. Anyway, those signals were certainly military in nature, which confirms S0141's assumption."

"When the S1041 signals again, if they're following a carrier, we'll go for it. Message Winters, since he's obviously raring to go - tell him I want four Hermes with mixed packages, including ECM and air to air, in the air in two hours time, precisely, at this location here. I want very limited signals between vessels, complete silence except when necessary. I don't want their sigint identifying ships that they thought were civilian to be actually military. We'll have to accept that they'll see our signals and interpret them as military, but I don't want them to identify carriers when they don't need to. Get it done."

The officers dispersed, leaving Campbell and his 2IC standing, watching the information screen. Presently: "Don't you think it's time to put up an ASW picket?"

"Not yet." Campbell said. "No, not yet. I don't want to give them an idea of how many ships we have, or just how wide we've spread them. Let's wait a little while."

S1041

Pullman was angry. At nobody in particular, it wasn't anyone's fault -- but as soon as he approached identification distance, the enemy fleet had begun to fracture, spreading apart in different directions at different speeds. It had annoyed him and his hydrophones; he was so close, so close to being able to starting making an estimate of the enemy fleet size and composition. Now they were gone, in different directions. He had stayed put and waited, and his patience had paid off; they'd picked up a very large ships rotor blades and followed them. Over time it had become obvious he was trailing an aircraft carrier, not a battleship or a very large cruiser. So he kept his distance, at twenty kilometres, hoping that there wasn't any enemy submarine right behind him.

He trailed it for two hours before the routine transmission, and when he surfaced, he also put up the radar mast, making a brief five minute scan. It was definitely a carrier. He sent the information off to headquarters via satellite transmission, knowing full well that that carrier now knew he was being followed. That five minute radar flash would have shown up on every ESM kit nearby, so he dug himself down low at four hundred metres and kept the same speed as the carrier. He had lost his first target; now he wouldn't lose this one.

Airspace

The four stealth Hermes bombers kept a steady altitude, knowing that they were safe from attack -- there had still not been a declaration of hostilities, and though they were equipped with an assortment of missiles and ECM pods, they were not actually hostile to anyone. Their orders: intercept a carrier battle group. The grid location was given to them and they moved to it in an off-axis pattern, sea-skimming for the first hundred klicks then going high and loud, looking for their target. They found it, steaming slowly, and definitely an aircraft carrier; it's a radar form that an advanced aesa doesn't miss at two hundred klicks, if its broadcasting for long enough. It was obvious to that carrier now that he had been detected; first a radar flash from a submarine's mast, secondly a radar buzz from aircraft. What the commander of that particular vessel would do next was not known to anybody. The aircraft slowed down considerably so as not to overshoot the carrier and began to follow it at a comfortable distance, at least until their fuel reserves ran out.

Back at the 4th January, a track was noted and marked, and was steadily changed as the aircraft reported the carrier's movement. They had found one: but how many more were there, and were were they heading?

Campbell was staring at the phone.

The 2IC was getting jittery. "We should attack. We can send out a strike package and hit that guy now. That would be one down."

"No authorisation."

"To hell with authorisation. If you just called and explained now, they would grant it. It's an opportunity."

Campbell kept staring at the phone. "The rules of war. We'll wait," he said, taking his eyes off the phone and towards the radar picture the Hermes were sending back. "It's only one carrier. They could have ten more, then what? We've just broken the rules of war and they have a bigger fleet than us. It would be an embarrassment. To charge into the darkness..." He lit a cigarette. "We must have a clearer picture, gentlemen."

by **Kylarnatia** » Wed Sep 19, 2012 12:27 pm

Aboard the ACIAS Icarus
27th Carrier Battle Group (Caesar's Imperial Navy)
20km from the International Waterline, Southern Gholgoth

On the very outward right flank of the entire force, the ACIAS Icarus moved along at its newly designated speed of ten knots. Vice Admiral Varinius Petronius of the 27th Carrier Battle Group sat casually in his commanders throne, knowing that he could do little but just trundle on through the waves. Admiral Marcellus was pretty clear on the orders and Varinius knew, especially when Marcellus ordered the armada (although he tried to make it sound like a suggestion) to follow his example, that something was out there and it was either coming towards them or they were going towards it. Occasionally Varinius looked at the radar satellite image sent by the Indomitable, which was hours out of date by then.

But it didn't matter, because everything quickly revealed itself in quick succession.

"Vice, we have multiple birds right above us. Judging by their formation, they're a fighter group. There's also one heading away from our position, and I can only assume that it's surveillance. Whatever that radar satellite picked up hours ago has to be military." The Opti of the Radar station called to the Vice Admiral, who looked in his direction briefly.

"And not to make matters worse, but I think we have a submarine right on our tail." The Opti of the Sonar station, right next to Radar, quickly added in. "I've picked up a radio transmission just now, no idea what it says, but the only thing it could possibly be is a submarine."

"Ignore the birds, they'll have to head back to their carriers sooner or later. As for the submarine, one of the Triton's would have also caught their radio transmission, so by standard procedure I'll think they'll park themselves comfortably in the shadows behind." Varinius was quick to calm what he could sense were their growing nerves. He couldn't blame them, having a submarine right on their tails and fighters right above them isn't the nicest thing in the world. He was glad that they'd switched to Passive hours before, because it was working to their advantage.

"Should we contact the Indomitable?" The Comm's Opti asked.

"No, we maintain radio silence. You know the rules."

The ACIAS Thorn

One of the two Triton-Class Nuclear Submarine's in the 27th Carrier Battle Group, it picked up the radio transmission from the unidentified submarine which had acquainted itself with the stern of the Icarus, like the Vice Admiral had predicted. As was procedure in those situations, the Centurion of the Thorn ordered that they were to tail the unidentified submarine, but were not to engage it unless they were fired upon or ordered to do so. With little hesitation, the Thorn slowly slivered its way as quietly as it possibly could behind the unidentified submarine.

And there it would remain, for the time being.

by **Questers** » Wed Sep 19, 2012 5:32 pm

"The Hermes flight is coming back."

Campbell rubbed his eyes. He wasn't feeling the stress yet -- it was more like tension, tension extended hour, after hour, after hour. It had only struck him intellectually that they would soon be at war; mentally, emotionally, it was a peacetime drill. A peacetime drill with lives on the line. "Alright. I want that carrier shadowed. Detach 2 Light Division with Hareshire and order them to close. Loosen up their parameters, they can put planes up if they want, once they're clear of the surface pickets. We'll control them loosely, I trust Houseman."

"Sir."

"In the meantime, gentlemen, we're going to play a game: catch the carrier." The staff laughed. Campbell checked his watch; 1105. "We're initiating Overwatch. Distribute that to the fleet. When we have got a good fix on enough of their carriers, I will request authorisation for a first strike. We need to catch these guys, these Gothics, off-guard before their reinforcements arrive, or we'll be overwhelmed. The fleet is ready and prepared. Go about your duties, gentlemen, with courage and honour."

Honour. What a false word. If Campbell succeeded, the Kylarnatian embassy would receive less than ten minutes notice of an engagement of hostilities before the strike was launched. That was if they didn't attack first.

-

Distribution: katherinebcampbell@westcom.co.que
Katherine,

Sorry I can't call. I gave the phone time to the other staff. That's only fair. We have to limit our transmissions now and I can't be seen to be using up valuable time on the phone. I hope you understand that. Also I don't know if it would be good for me to hear your voice right now.

Soon I will do something awful. In fact, by the time this email is distributed, it might already be happening. You might see it on the news. We are going to send our boys into action and a great many of them will be killed. The waters up north here are icily cold and the currents are strong. The rates of survival, I've been told, for shipwrecked crews will be low. For pilots it will be almost infinitesimal. There's nothing I can do to wash their blood from my hands.

I tell myself again and again, when I have spare time to think, they are not my orders. I've only been passed them by a higher power. I tell myself again and again that what we're doing is for you, and all the yous back home. It isn't, I know that. You can't rationalise, or justify war. You have to suck it up and get on with it and try to make sure as few of your own cop it. That's what we're all doing here on the 4th January. Many good men are going to die. I ask you to have confidence in the Fleet and in me. I know that everyone at home does.

Trust me, I'm coming back. Leave that cot packaged, I'd like to assemble it myself.

Love you a lot xxx
Jackie

by **United World Order** » Wed Sep 19, 2012 9:20 pm

Berlina - The Reichstag Bunker (ORDERCOM)

Below the depths of the Reichstag building deep within the earth below Berlina was the bunker which incase of warrtime or some sort of national emergency that required the bunker being used. A guard detail of Capitol Police officers were stationed throughout the bunker complex, mostly at most of the blast proof door entrances which needed specific keys to unlock such doors. The Bunker itself was reffered too by a certain codename as was many government and military instaliations. "ORDERCOM" was the correct phrase to use instead of "Bunker", it was taught to all who in there life time would ever enter the bunker. At the first entrance which was after the main large blast proof door that had to be activiated with a I.D card like device that was held by two people, the leader of the nation and a person of his or her choosing. Going through the first inside entrance would lead to several rooms across from eachother. These rooms were for mechanical and engineer purposes that kept the bunker stable through out it's use. After a walk through the small corridor leading to the next entrance door as going through there would lead to there being a room with bullet proof glass as it was a medium sized medical room. It had a full specialized team of doctors and surgeons that would work around the clock on anyones injuries. The next few doors down was a almost barracks styled area for people who would be brought along inside the bunker with other more favorable high valued persons within the government. Mostly bunk bed style living spaces with steel sliding door closests and across the hall was the restroom which had several stalls and urinals.

After many entrances and long corridors and rooms, they're was one room in particular that was highly important. The Command & Situation room where the leader and his staff and sometimes military officals would gather in cases of extreme emergency. The room in this case was occupied and a serious matter was being discussed within the doors of the Command & Situation room. The Embargo or blockade of Gholgoth had ended weeks or atleast a month ago. People were being suspicious and theories were being tossed around, what if Gholgoth was to come and try to get a taste of revenge?. There savage rules of war, they would certainly rob the country bear of humanity and resources. News had been circulating during the Blockade about international banks and franchises temporarily shutting down. It was chaos from what those that lived to tell about it. Everyone in that room could tell alot about it.

They're prized fleet, the 1st Ordernite Armada had been crushed by the overall odds they faced especialy agaisnt the Freeks. They had displayed no mercy throwing thousands of missiles to the crippling Armada. Ships were sunk, sailors were lost at sea it was a terrible day for many back in the Fatherland. Now with the theories that the Gothic barbarian kings were conspiring agaisnt them and were planning to make there revenge that could ruin the fate of millions in the United World Order. The entirety that made up ORDERCOM were assembled in the room which was a long table with computer monitors assembled for the people who sat around the table. Victor Klubtz sat at the end of the table looking into the computer monitor which read with the background being bright blue "ORDERCOM". Adviors made up the rest of the seats that were at the table all gathered for the meeting of meetings. In all there job descriptions it was told that meetings such as these could occur, and that the outcome could decide the fate of the entire country and people.

A large flat screen monitor which was displayed on the wall infront of them all. Which showed military information such as where they were and how fast could they be deployed. Victor Klubtz sat with a ciggerate between his two fingers one of the fingers had a ring, which had the emblem of a simple skull. The ring had been given to him by long time friend, OBERKOMMANDER Grutsche who he had met in a military academy in Berlina before he had presued the party years ago. A fellow advisor gazed around the table seeing military and governmental persons of interest at the meeting. He would begin the meeting he supposed since meer anyone that was sitting at this table could begin the meeting but had to stay on topic and control themselves.

"Herr Klubtz. If i may speak as a advisor attending this here meeting, i would like to thank everyone for attending for these are grave times for our country" the advisor spoke as he finished nodding his head to everyone at the table before sitting down and taking a sigh as he pulled a ciggerate from his shirtpocket and soon reached for his lighter. Victor Klubtz after holding in the smoke from the ciggerate for several seconds he let go as the fumes escaped his lungs and rose into the air into the ceiling. Victor decided he'd put his words in as he was the leader in all this, all of the receant bullshit was in his hands. He carried a burden no one else wanted to even touch or therefore want anywhere near them.

"As leader of the United World Order. If the Gothic Lords decide to strike against us even in light of our receant failure in Gothic waters. We will be ready." he said simply as the others nodded or stayed udderly quiet. The UWO currently stayed within Tyrrhenia, two very important allies were in the very same area as they were. Ralkova and The Grand World Order. The two greatest allies, UWO has ever dreamed of meeting and having by there side. They had displayed there loyalty in the IFA and the Assendancy of The Chosen. Hopefully if the Goths came knocking, his greatest allies would come to there ultimate aid. The door closed shut as the men within the room leaned foward in there chairs, smoking there ciggerates and drinking glasses of water discussing the future and for what might come of it. The Future Looked Dark..

by **Blackhelm Confederacy** » Thu Sep 20, 2012 11:41 am

Somewhere near Gholgoth
Griffincrest Reserve Fleet

Admiral Atticus Clearwater strolled about the command room of his Homeland Class Battleship, The Baron, contemplating his mission to come. He was only willing to accept the position as Admiral of the Reserve because it virtually guaranteed that he would not have to do much of anything, but yet here he was, leading this glorified supply convoy off to a war half way around the world. He paused for a moment to look out the portal before him and observe his fleet. here were seven other battleships like his own, deployed to provide protection for the fleet but also to assist in any shore bombardment operations that may need to be undertaken in the attack on Tyrrenhia. Aside from them, there were a hundred and twenty Charon class frigates and forty Neptune class cruisers all around the perimeter, puffing massive black clouds of smoke into the sky as they chugged over the waves, leaving a trail of pollution in their wake. Their powerful Griffincrest diesel engines were made with pure power in mind, and no thought of the environmental impact, or even of the concept of stealth, went into their production and it showed. Thanks to the Charon's alone, the fleet was likely visible for dozens of miles around.

Positioned between these escorts and the square of battleships at the center of the formation were twelve Forestall class carriers, all of them several decades old and stripped down to the bear minimum. Only about ten fixed wing aircraft remained on each of them, just enough to give some semblance of air defense should it be needed. The rest of the space aboard these lumbering vessels went either to helicopters, to help ferry supplies to the shore as well as to extract any wounded personnel that may need assistance from the beach, and cargo room. Tons upon tons of supplies in all forms were being carried within these vessels, as they were providing logistics not only to the forces of the Kraven Corporation, but also to any other forces in the area that so requested it. Ammunition, food, cigarettes, clothing, blankets, medical supplies, even 5 gallon fuel cans and mechanical parts filled the vessels from top to bottom, and the same could be said of the thirty Wasp class LHD's. Within these Wasps were also a number of M3 half tracks and Mercury APC's to ensure delivery of the supplies from the shore to the troops wherever they may be in the country. On top of this, with six hundred hospital beds in each Wasp, the fleet stood ready to begin accepting the waves of wounded that were sure to come.

And finally, forming the bulk of the fleet was some three hundred odd vessels whose sole purpose was to haul supplies. Tankers, freighters, vessels of all shapes and sizes bobbed on the water with the rest of the fleet, providing the most important job of the Griffincrest fleet in the region. The ships were all lightly armed, with some SAM's or AA cannons, but they would by of little help in the vent of a serious attack. They were solely for transport duties, and thus would rely on the help from the escorts, but more importantly from the Kraven Corporation, if they wanted their goods to reach the men on the shore.

And so it was, the Griffincrest Reserve Fleet made their way towards the war zone, supporting quite possibly the most powerful gathering of nations ever assembled in the history of the planet. Admiral Clearwater had thought for many hours now of the implications of this involvement. For one thing, he was not sure if he could fully trust the Kravenites, but he knew at this point he had no choice. At any rate, he was excited to finally lay his eyes on the two kilometer long flagship of that corporation, and see if it truly would live up to his expectations.

"Men of the reserve fleet" he announced suddenly into a fleet wide intercom.

"You are about to take part in one of the greatest operations in the history of the world. In just a few short hours, we will be linking up with the fleets of the Kraven Corporation and others to set out for the region of Tyrrhenia and the nation of the United World Order. Chances are, we wont all make it home, but for those that do, our stories will be told for generations. Men, the eyes of the entire world are upon us, and we must not falter in this endeavor. The task ahead will not be easy, as the men and women of Tyrrhenia are well trained, well prepared, and well funded. Leave the bulk of the fighting to our allies, and fulfill your duties to a tee. Involve yourselves only when absolutely necessary, but do not hesitate to provide assistance to a wounded or endangered comrade. Go forth men, and bring victory to the Corporation.

May the Lord watch over each and every one of you in this coming storm, and may God bless us all.

And with that the admiral sat back in his seat, lit a cigar, and waited. For that was all he could do, wait, wait, and wait some more, until his fleet would come in contact with those of the Gothic nations, and eventually they would all do battle together in a war he felt his corporation had no part in.

by **Newtdom** » Thu Sep 20, 2012 1:43 pm

The NRS Imperium
50 KM Northwest of the International Waterline, Southern Gholgoth

The fleet had assembled hours ago and were cruising at a rate of twenty-three knots towards international waters. While somewhat imprudent to transverse the open sea as a cohesive unit, Gorschen could not be certain what was out there, lurking in the dark, cold depths of the northern oceans. He knew if someone was watching, or even just looking, the fleet would be found.

The admiral requested his staff, and the officers of the Imperium to join him in the officer's mess at 6:30 PM sharp. He knew that once the fleet reached international waters, all bets were off, and tensions would summarily rise. Gorschen was the last to enter, all of his officers stood at attention behind their solid mahogany dining chairs, quite the luxury for a ship of the line. Oil paintings hung on the wall, some of past naval engagements and others of famous Newtdonian naval officers but directly behind the admiral's chair hung a grandiose painting of the Emperor in his navy blues. The admiral's table was on a riser, with chairs pointed in only one direction, towards the rest of the officers of the Imperium. The other officer tables ran perpendicularly away from the admiral's table, in ten, long lines.

Gorschen made his way to his seat, and placing his left hand on the shoulder of the chair and his right holding a microphone so all could hear and said "Let us pray." The men in the room all bowed their heads and clasped their hands, while being religious was not a prerequisite or required in the empire, all respected those who were. The admiral continued "Lord, guard and guide the men who fly; And those who on the ocean ply; Be with our troops upon the land, And all who for their country stand: Be with these guardians day and night, And may their trust be in thy might."

As he finished, the officer corps began to sing:

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

As the hymn concluded, Gorschen motioned for all to be seated. He remained standing behind his chair, his hand still clasped to the shoulder boards of his chair. "Gentlemen, I have asked you all to join me for supper this evening, as I am unsure the next time we all may be together. I have asked the cooks to prepare us a fine meal...just don't expect a steak from Sandiford's." Laughter filled the room, as Sandiford's was one of the most exclusive dining clubs in the Empire, undoubtedly frequented by most of the aristocratic officer corps on board. He then shifted towards the kitchen doors and waved his hand.

Immediately cooks and stewards poured out from the doors carrying trays of filet Mignon, scallops, and crabcakes. Followed by potatoes au gratin, sauteed spinach and mushrooms, and warm rolls. The officer corps, smiled ear-to-ear and cheered as this gesture was unexpected but greatly appreciated. They jumped from their chairs and sprang to be first in line for the delectable meal.

Gorschen's Fleet XO, Fleet Admiral Sir Thomas Faye rose from his chair to the right of Gorschen and said "Quite good of you sir, these officers will love you for it."

Gorschen just smirked and replied "Faye, my good man, I have ordered this meal to be prepared for the officers of the fleet and I have also ordered a better meal be prepared for the enlisted men as well. And this..." he pointed to the bar at the back of the hall overstocked with alcohol, "An extra ration of rum all around.

Faye chuckled and said "Quite the party, I suppose it best be done now. Please excuse me, sir, there is a bottle with my name on it. As he got up and moved towards the bar.

The dinner continued long into the night, the Newtdonian officer corps comprised predominately of aristocratic men. Most had a long tradition of service, and attended one of the elite military academies throughout the nation. Despite the rigid military system, this evening was different, Gorschen allowed the men to drink, in reason, and party on as if they were in one of their prestigious finishing clubs in college.

At approximately 10:15, a courier ran into the officer's mess. He saluted the admiral and handed him a folded note. Gorschen smiled and looked down at the piece of paper, he had assumed it was a thank you from another ship but as his eyes went from left to right, his smile turned to a grimace. Faye, and other officers noticed and the room grew quieter.

Gorschen grabbed the mic that had been left on his table. "Gentlemen," he began "We have received an urgent flash message from our ally, the Kylarnatians. They have spotted, what we must assume to be, a fleet. We also must assume this fleet is hostile, or has an ulterior motive being so close to our home waters. You are hereby ordered to return to your stations at once, and prepare your men for maneuvers. Orders will come presently."

Groans from men filled the room, they were still in Gothic waters after all, and many would have to fight off their inebriation to do their jobs. But they were well trained and fortunately, so were their enlisted subordinates. The officer corps of the Imperium were the first to be disrupted, but this same message would be read aloud across the fleet, and surely the same reaction was made.

Gorschen and Faye walked together with members of their staff towards the bridge. Discussing their options, by the time they had arrived at their command and control station, a plan had been set. It was then immediately dispatched to the fleet.

The classified message was transmitted on a secure frequency to the fleet and read simply:

Execute defensive parameters: Alpha Alpha Zulu Charlie Tango

A bird's eye view of the fleet would show it splitting up. Rather than the condensed pocket, the fleet would extend itself in a much more stealthy manner. The sub-surface task force would race ahead to act as the eyes, and more so, the ears of the fleet. Simultaneously, four of the carrier battle groups would take point positions towards the front of the fleet, and in doing so extending the picket line by creating, in theory, a crescent shaped out picket line. The remaining two carrier groups would be left at the tail end of the formation serving as reserves and air cover for the center. Additionally, the carrier groups would launch their E-2 Hawkeyes and Growlers. The E-2s would run on either active or passive depending on their position. While the Growlers would provide jamming capabilities if needed.

The four surface action groups would create a cross shape, one to the east, one to the west, one to the north, and one to the south of the center of the formation. In the center would be the Combined Fleet Command, and around it would be the logistics group and the amphibious assault groups. All spaced out, but still interweaving as the amphibious group was the most important aspect to the invasion of Tyrrhenia.

OOC:
Edits: 1&2 formatting, 3 clarifying part of the strategy.

By the way, I will be going out of town tomrrow afternoon, and will not be able to post again to Monday at the earliest.

by **Kylarnatia** » Sun Sep 23, 2012 12:19 pm

Aboard the ACIAS Indomitable
5th Carrier Battle Group (Caesar's Imperial Navy)
100km into International Waters

"Admiral, we're getting signs of aircraft approaching. They're at high altitude, so I would imagine they're scouting. What is your recommended course of action?" The Radar Opti looked to his Admiral, who'd spent most of his time sitting in his command throne and patiently waiting for something to happen. What this confirmed for Marcellus was that what they were approaching was definitely something of military origin. All they had to hope was it wasn't hostile, but from the approaching aircraft it was probably unlikely.

"We force them to turn back. Our earlier slip up would have let them know we were coming, but they don't know how many of us there are. That's what they're now trying to find out. How many of them are there?" Marcellus asked, putting himself through his paces again to think up what was the right response, though he'd already come to an definite conclusion.

"Three, in our range of sight. For all we know there could be more. It seems that the Newtdomians are sending up aircraft as well, so that could alter things." The Radar Opti quickly replied.

"Regardless, we should act. Send up three FA-40's along with a pair of Interceptors and a pair of AEWs. Send out a message to all the other carriers telling them to follow this example if they're approached by aircraft. Lets try and turn them around and follow them back, and see what we find. Worse case scenario: we shoot them down."

"Yes sir!" The Opti's cried, and in doing so they went back to their duties to carry out the tasks they were charged with. Marcellus noticed that the Sonar Opti was standing waiting to speak, so he beckoned for him to speak up, not understanding why he hadn't already spoken. The Sonar Opti cleared his throat and took one step forward.

"Admiral, it seems the Kravenites are increasing speed."

There was a long pause before Marcellus responded, "...What?"

In the Skies

Within minutes, three FA-40 'Gothfighter' (or 'Sirin') Superiority Fighter aircraft were sent up into the air by the Indomitable, followed by a pair of F-14E Strike Tomcat Fighter/Interceptor Aircraft, and a pair of E-2 Hawkeye AEWs. Their task was to intercept the incoming unidentified aircraft, and force them to turn back to their origin, as well as follow them there. If that could not be achieved then the incoming aircraft would be unmercifully shot down. The fleet could not risk being identified and outmanoeuvred at such a crucial stage in the proceedings.

The pilot of the lead 'Gothfighter', which was designated Indomitable Spirit 1-1, observed all his instruments before him. He was climbing to the high altitude necessary to intercept the incoming aircraft. Once he reached the necessary height, he levelled out. The other aircraft that were in his 'team' followed suit. On his radar display he could see the incoming aircraft, and in those brief moments he wondered about what was going to happen. Whatever did happen, he would just have to carry out his orders and serve his country with pride and dignity. He continued to tell himself in his mind that he was the greatest pilot in the fleet, and the enemy would not best him.

Switching to the Open Military Air Communication Channel (OMACC), which he could only hope that the unidentified aircraft were present on, he issued a verbal warning to them.

"Unidentified aircraft, this is Indomitable Spirit 1-1. I repeat, this is Indomitable Spirit 1-1. I must request that you turn around immediately and that you abandon your mission, for this airspace is currently restricted. Failure to comply will result in engagement. Repeat, failure to comply will result in engagement. Please turn around immediately. Indomitable Spirit 1-1 Out."

Similar air 'teams' of that dispatched from the Indomitable were dispatched from two other aircraft carriers in the fleet (the Vigilance and the Honour Bound) and they set out to intercept the two other unidentified aircraft groups picked up in the air. They were issued the same warning, and if the Kylarnatians had their way again the unidentified aircraft would turn around and they could follow them home.

The next few minutes would tell.

by **Dephire** » Fri Sep 28, 2012 9:32 pm

Galva, Capitol City of Briska
The Fortress Continent, Southeast Gholgoth

The sea crashed angrily against the great port. A storm brought its wrath to Briska's capitol as it threw torrential rain upon the city. Black clouds made darker by the smoke from Galva's thousands of chimneys only blackened out the sun and made day seem as though it were night. The rain was dirty and smelled of toxic chemicals, but the people had grown accustomed to these conditions. It was common for the people living in Galva to wear masks that vented out the fumes, and as a man dressed in a deep black uniform with bright red emblems and golden medals stepped out of the Honey Field Restaurant, the mask was still the most dominant feature. The man had a large escort about him, roughly twenty men who were all similarly dressed, and they walked in unison out towards the docks. After twenty minutes of enduring the harsh storm, the men stopped to take in their destination. The man with the golden medals paused to gaze upon the powerful ship that was anchored before them, the Godsend Class Super Carrier Defiance. "It's good to see you, my lady," The man whispered to himself as the men continued their march onto the ship.

Aboard the mighty Defiance, hundreds more similarly uniformed men bustled about preparing for an impending launch. "Admiral? I was not aware you would be present on this vessel." The man wearing the golden medals stopped in his tracks and turned slowly so that his hidden eyes could meet those of a man wearing a crimson trench coat and a golden monocle, Admiral Vince "The Blood Admiral" Jarkoll. Fear was not something the man with the golden medals was accustomed to, but there was something the Blood Admiral did in his stance that made him hesitate. "Ah, Admiral Jarkoll! I was not aware that I would be assigned to this vessel either, but orders are orders." The breathing apparatus integrated in his mask disguised his voice, making it sound deeper. The Blood Admiral smiled, paced two steps perpendicular to the man with golden medals, "Ah. I see," he turned abruptly towards the man with the golden medals and sneered, "Under who's orders, dear Admiral?" He stated accusingly and with venom.

"Under the Dark King's orders, Admiral," The man presented Admiral Jarkoll a set of papers, which were accepted with great annoyance. "As you can see, everything is in order."

"So they are... Well then, and who are your crew?" The man looked behind him, "Why my personal guardsmen, obviously!" The Admiral nodded, "Welcome aboard the Defiance, Admiral. I'm sure you will find it pleasing."

So it will be, the man with the golden medals thought, and soon, she will be mine once more.

It had been exactly one hour since the orders were given by the Dark King of Briska during the conference to launch a full-scale attack on United World Order. Now the Dephirian Armada was on its way. The Defiance slowly departed the dock, joining the ten thousand ships that were already leaving the harbors of Western Fortress Continent. Within ten hours, the armada will join forces with the Templar fleets that are already just outside the sea of operations.

All was not what meets the eyes...

His eyes glazed over by the months of torture... His inner inferno now extinguished... The young prince kneels chained in his chamber...

Abandoned.. Alone.. Desperate.

by **Questers** » Sat Sep 29, 2012 12:04 pm

Thunder in the skies, rippling across the ocean and throwing spray against the side of the ship. Ghostly figures passed around Campbell, ignoring him. He ignored them, too, and kept his gaze against that hard and strong storm, and even if he wanted to move, he knew he couldn't. Out there there was something, he could feel it as he felt the wind on his cheeks.

Out from the oceans rose a trident, and followed by a figure, his strong muscles flashing up as shadows against the lightning. The waters rose with him and his horses. They were riding towards Campbell, who didn't move. The God of the Ocean.

“Be calm and be cautious,” there was a voice. It was Perkins.

“Perkins? But you're -”

“Come on now Jack. You are the only one who can save them.”

“Who's that?”

“All these men. They're relying on you. Against that, against Him. They'll be swallowed, swallowed, swallowed, swalloooweeddd...”

Knock knock. Campbell opened his eyes and almost darted out of bed. “Perkins?”

“Sir?” the Midshipman blinked. It wasn't Perkins. Obviously it wasn't. Perkins had been dead for years. “They have requested you in the CIC, Sir.” Campbell got up and walked down to the CIC, fixing his tie and hat, brushing himself down a bit. What the hell did all that just mean? Funny, dreams...

… He stepped into the CIC. No wonder they had requested him. It was busier than he'd ever seen it, officers running to and fro, and at the centre of it, his command staff, who gave him a salute. An especially sharp one, Campbell noticed. “What's the matter?”

“CSM.” someone came forwards. “Radar satellites picked up this congregation of warships not so long ago.” Campbell looked up at the screen. It was unmissable from space, not one carrier, not ten; but hundreds, thousands and thousands of warships. Blobs of military pixels... there was absolutely no questioning it. No hiding of a task force that large.

“Shit.” Campbell put his hands behind his back. “This is not a glitch?”

“No Sir. Admiralty have the same details. You are to be expecting a call from Marshal Rawlinson.”

“Jesus. It must be the Kraven invasion fleet. Troop transports...”

“There's nothing we can do against a fleet that size,” Campbell's 2IC, Johnson, reasoned. He had a certain strength in his voice now. “Absolutely nothing. We must withdraw.”

“The honour of the national community is at stake.” The Squadron Commanding Officer, Phillips. “To withdraw now? In the face of overwhelming odds? What do we have to fear from these people who have pretence of being the masters of the world? We have the moral strength and material might.” He was addressing the whole room now, or at least the Officers. Trying to subvert Campbell's command. “If they cross the line, we'll show them the force of Questarian strength of arms.”

“And we'll be annihilated in the process. Nothing will have been achieved.” Johnson replied, but before anyone could say anything, a comms officer took Campbell's attention.

“Priority encrypted line from Jesselton, CSM.”

Campbell took the phone. His finger hovered above the button to put it on speaker, and then he decided against it. The whole room was watching him. “Comrade Rawlinson. Yes, Comrade. Yes, we have.” A break. “Understood, Comrade. Thank you Comrade.” he put the phone down and drew a breath, looking at his two principal officers. They waited, silently, for him to speak, and Campbell found that he couldn't speak.

The honour of a nation; the history of a navy. It was all on his shoulders, now. He spoke, finally, slowly, and considerately. “Gentlemen. A very wise man once said that it takes three years to build a ship, and three hundred to build a tradition. All of us know the strength of those words. From time to time we break tradition. We stand aside and let other considerations pass through, necessarily. And in other times we go with our traditions because know that only through these, honour, and duty can take the stand.

“For natural justice, the protection of the weak against the strong, for nothing more than doing what needs to be done. So today we'll take that stand. My orders are to engage and inflict maximum casualties on the enemy. We're outnumbered now by at least seven to one and up to sixteen to one, depending on who you trust. The annals of history will write about our sacrifice. We don't have much time, so let's make sure that they write about us favourably, shall we?”

-

The surface pickets of the fleet began to move forwards, adopting an air-defence pattern while still keeping as dispersed as they could. Their role was to get as close as possible to the enemy force when identification finally occurred, and attack with their payload of heavy anti-ship rockets. After that they provided forwards air defence for the carrier groups.

Behind them, the first layer of aircraft carriers prepared principally an air-superiority load. Behind those, the second layer prepared their Hermes bombers for a mass-strike.

When the Questarian aircraft currently in the sky turned and fired their full payloads of missiles towards the approaching Gothfighters, it became evident that there was now a war on. A simple message was sent over open radio: “Approaching warships: You have crossed the line of control. Make an immediate one hundred and eighty degree turn in heading.”

The carrier Hareshire, previously tasked with shadowing the Icarus, still had a decent idea of where that carrier might be. Her commander, the audacious Williams, put a flight group into the air and moved them towards what he thought was the location of the Icarus.

Within thirty minutes, each of the ten front-line main large carriers would have eight further fighter aircraft up and into the main airspace, escorting elint aircraft with the intent purpose of discovering enemy carrier forces. Their flight pattern consisted of a flight of four aircraft flying high broadcasting weak emissions, and a flight of four aircraft flying low, quite a way ahead of the first flight, on no emissions whatsoever, a standard baiting tactic. The Questarian goal was to take control over the middle ground, establish the positions of enemy force groupings, and engage with maximum force.

Tides of Darkness (ATTN: UWO/Gholgoth)

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