Imperial Recrudescence [Greater Díenstad; In Character]

[The Macabees]

Construction of the Jumanota Canal Begins
With their conflict in Holy Panooly now finished, the Macabee corporation has begun construction of the anticipated canal that will cut across the Isthmus of Jumanota. The naval passage is expected to open in nine years, although Navitek has expressed hope that the project will be completed ahead of schedule.


Large cargo ships are responsible for shipping building materials from the Empire to Jumanota.

With Navitek's war in Holy Panooly now concluded, the company has decided to go ahead with the construction of the Jumanota canal. Taking advantage of the lower local wage level, the Macabee firm has already recruited hundreds of thousands of the indigenous population to work on the project. Navitek's venture has drawn both praise and criticism, and the Holy Panooly government — currently defunct — has not formally recognized the loss of the isthmus. While the number of private military contractors involved in the occupation has fallen, the construction corporation will nevertheless retain the services of roughly fifteen to twenty-three thousand mercenaries. These will be responsible for policing the territory until an adequate local security force has been trained and organized. Neither has the company ruled out the possibility of a renewal of military operations, especially if Holy Panooly begins to dispute Navitek's claim.

With the help of thirty thousand contractors, Navitek began its occupation of Jumanota a month and a half ago. Holy Panooly unsuccessfully resisted, first being pushed out of the isthmus and then shattered in a week-long battle for Guamlumpeiron, a regional capital in the northeast corner of the country. The nation's likelihood of preserving was further diminished when Navitek struck an agreement with the Ordenite government. Their new-found allies had an interest in the southern coasts of Holy Panooly: to control a strategic asset in the southern half of Greater Díenstad. The arrival of Ordenite troops had freed Navitek's private military contractors to focus almost exclusively on continuing its drive south towards Panooly, the capital. Fedor's sudden, and unexpected, cease fire order then forced a lull upon the war and an uneasy peace has developed between the three belligerents. Although Holy Panooly has seen vast tracts of its land lost to occupiers, its subsequent collapse into civil war has impeded it from resisting the loss of Jumanota and the new Ordenite territory.

Because the Panooly civil war seems as if it will continue for quite some time, Navitek feels comfortable enough to continue with the construction of the canal. Since very nearly the beginning of the invasion, the company has been hiring an increasingly gargantuan labor force to dig out the path of the waterway. Much of this preliminary work has already been done, especially west of the Galden River which cuts near the center of the isthmus. The eastern half of the canal is not as well prepared, but the corporation hopes to complete the necessary foundational work soon, in order to start construction of the concrete and steel components of the water-bound passageway. While Navitek had always planned to recruit heavily from local population centers, it never expected the sheer demand for work that the Panooly people exhibited upon the company's arrival to Jumanota. Because of the labor supply willing and able to work on the project, the firm hopes that total construction time can be significantly trimmed — perhaps even by as much as, or more than, fifty percent.

Much of the time required for construction can be ascribed to the manufacturing of the individual components to the canal. Most of the materials must be imported from Theohuanacu and the Macabee mainland. While not so bad between Theohuanacu and Jumanota, shipping times between the provinces and Navitek's new colony can often be rather long and inconvenient. While the sheer amount of work left to do now means there's very little downtime, even when most of the necessary materials haven't arrived to the site yet, the firm will have to figure out a plan for minimizing the amount of dead time once the number of tasks begins to diminish. Time lost is time that Navitek won't be able to spend collecting fees from clients using the canal to traverse the seas on either side of Holy Panooly.

Another source of lost time are militant attacks on the project site. This problem has continued to bog down construction of the Fedala–Gus'Líam highway, which cuts across Zarbia, Nuevo León, and Monzarc. To protect their investment, Navitek will continue to count on the services of over 15,000 private military contractors. These soldiers are not only responsible for defending the canal, but have also been ordered to secure local populations and to take over the institutions of justice until an adequate indigenous security force emerges. This suggests that the contractor presence will continue for quite some time, with some predictions being as high as fifteen years. To amortize the cost of private security, it is believed that Navitek has offered the various contracted defense agencies free passage through the canal for an unknown number of years — a very similar agreement to the one struck with Navitek.

To further minimize the likelihood of loss, some believe that Navitek will appeal to the Golden Throne for security. Specifically, the ongoing civil war in Holy Panooly is unlikely to continue without some form of intervention performed by the Second Empire. Some political analysts in Fedala have gone as far as to suggest that Fedor is looking into the deployment of a peacekeeping force, which would not only establish peace in what was formerly an allied country, but would also serve to stabilize the nation's new borders with Navitek and United World Order. Given the Second Empire's current 'peacekeeping' deployments in its new territories, such a venture may come at a price that Fedor is unwilling to pay. To help assuage the Imperial Government's financial concerns, Navitek may offer a similar free-passage deal to Fedala.

The reception of the news concerning Navitek's canal project has been mixed. Some have criticized the corporation for taking advantage of the low wage level in Holy Panooly to hire large amounts of very cheap labor. By some accounts, the average hourly income of a Panooly laborer in Jumanota is the rough equivalent of two ríokmarks. The company's economists have responded by publishing data showing upward changes in wages as a result of Navitek's local investment. There have also been complaints of low safety standards. No official statistics have been published, but there have been reports of at least nine on-site deaths. For the most part, Panooly laborers do not have the legal recourse to seek compensation for workplace injuries. On the other hand, Navitek has been praised for shortening distances between trade partners, increasing regional gross domestic product. There has also been faint praise for the investment in Holy Panooly, a country which has seem most of its foreign capital stocks take flight during the past two decades.

This long-term canal project may be the first of its kind in Greater Díenstadi history. Certainly, there have been no cases of private occupations of territory held by foreign governments. Neither have very many sea-based investments been made. While various governments may invest locally on canals and other waterways, these types of international programs have so far been rare. Navitek, however, has seemed to change that trend. Other companies have already begun planning similar canal projects elsewhere, including one cutting across a relatively narrow stretch of Havenic land, near the south of that nation. One issue not yet addressed by any party is the friction developing between private parties and governments, since the latter entities do not always agree with the degree of belligerence these corporations have shown at the time of securing their investments. How the situation will develop in the future, only time will be able to tell.

[Radictistan]

Indras, near the Demilitarized Zone

Radchenko knew he had neither the men nor the equipment for a proper COIN campaign. Nor could he try to rehabilitate the local economy to try and keep young men and women from joining the insurgents in the first place. For that he had neither the mandate nor the resources. There was no doubt his report would make the Defense Ministry wish it had sent a Mechanized Brigade instead, unfavorable terrain notwithstanding.

He decided to alter his deployment plan to ensure that as many convoys as possible had an escort provided by the Pioneers. Their Panzerpionierwagen 80 vehicles had the armor and firepower for more serious engagements than did the Dingos.[1] The plan of operation also deserved a second look. Could a reinforced platoon outpost hold out long enough for the quick reaction force to arrive?

The General continued his fact-finding mission with those thoughts squarely on his mind.

---

The Radictistani warships remained just outside international waters save for the frigate Fougasse[2] which accompanied the cargo ship and large landing ships into the port of Botoşani. The latter immediately began disgorging armored vehicles, 6x6 trucks, smaller UAZ and LY83 Fox utility vehicles, and other large pieces of equipment. All would be mated with their personnel and formed into convoys for the trip south to the border region.

---

South of Botoşani, Forward Operating Base Trommel was beginning to take shape. Engineers from Maneuver Support Company, 361 Combat Engineering Battalion had been hard at work clearing ground, digging trenches, felling trees, and assembling prefab structures. Other available hands were pressed to fill gabions and perform other unskilled tasks.

Trommel was the new home away from home for 362 Light Battalion, which had responsibility for the easternmost third of the Indras internal border. Those infantry units not presently forward deployed to smaller border outposts would be based here as would the battalion headquarters and a variety of supporting units.

Small convoys trickled in to the incomplete facility bearing supplies and personnel. The field kitchen would be up and running within the hour. The poor verdammte infantry would be spending the majority of their time in their small forward outposts eating nothing but IFR-Fs. The field kitchen would be the principle joy of their lives one week out of every three.

At the southwest corner of the incomplete perimeter wall, Private Tibor was hoping for more time spent in the relative comfort of the FOB before deployment to the border. He was counting the days remaining in his two-year mandatory service, he had less than seven months to go in fact, and wasn’t being paid enough to suffer in that way.

Tibor and the five other men in the fireteam were perched over the gabion. The team leader, Corporal Felix Petrovosky held binoculars to his eyes as did Private Jens Horst. Hamid Al-Vali, the light machine gunner, cleared his throat to Tibor’s left.

“You know,” the Radictistani Arab said while squinting through the scope on his AG1SL, “anyone could get within two hundred meters of us and we’d never know it.” That was at least partially true. The engineers were doing their best but clearing sufficient fields of fire around the FOB was a hopeless task.

“I guess that’s what the drones are for,” Tibor answered.

“Shut up and keep a lookout.” Kapral Petrovsky was a conscript like everyone else. His earlier induction and an officer somewhere who had liked him meant that he was set above the rest. The man had a more than strong tendency to exaggerate his importance in the grand scheme of things.

Half an hour later the fireteam was relieved and the sweat-drenched soldiers filed in to what passed for a recreational area. Someone had set up a satellite dish and a small television so they could watch what came down from heaven via the RadSat-3 bird. There wasn’t much more than the RBS but it was a welcomed piece of home.

They were lucky this time to catch the last ten minutes of a football game. The Rabensberg Schweisern topped the Luerkraft Galaxy 2-0. They all stayed to watch the next program, not particularly caring what it was. Life was okay, for now.

---

From the beginning the Radictistani command understood that an effective propaganda campaign would be an essential part of the stability operation. To that end the decision was made early on to establish a radio station at the force headquarters to allow the peacekeeping force to explain their mission to the local population and solicit their support. Then of course there would be some popular music to get people to tune in. Radictistani engineers and signal troops set up equipment to broadcast simultaneously in medium wave and shortwave. Radictistani troops would hand out leaflets printed with the frequencies to all civilians they would encounter.

---

[1]The PPW-80 is an Engineer Squad Vehicle variant of the BTR-80. Retains the 14.5mm HMG and carries six dismounts plus equipment for basic combat engineering tasks and a mine clearance blade.
[2]Neustrashimyy-class. The name is supposed to be in Radictistani but I’ve never bothered coming up with Radictistani language names for all my ships. "Fougasse" might remain untranslated anyway.

[Alfegos]

Ge'sa was very happy. His platoon had rotated out of HQ Protection detail and were now attached to G Company, 3rd Battlegroup. Whilst he would have been even happier if they were on a rest and relaxation period, their current mission sounded an absolute joke. Guard pioneers as they worked on road construction. The unit he was attached to was Mechanised, which meant he didn't have to walk too far, the armoured hull of the LY219 a reassuring, air conditioned shield against the outside world. But above all, he had been asked to stay with the vehicle to work with his battle buddy Qi'si. Minimal effort, maximal reward, and an opportunity for him to take the occasional sneaky nap.

Qi'si on the other hand was not as impressed. Whilst his helmet offered minimal relief to the sun beating down, his role providing top cover on the vehicle was less appealing. The 12.7mm machinegun that sat mounted in front of him was certainly a deterrent to anyone wanting to start a fight, but his exposed position in the baking sun was far from comfortable. The rest of the section had spread out from the vehicle, lurking in ditches. Soon enough they would rotate to patrolling the area, as their platoon commander dictated.

'Ge'sa, you lazy prick, pass us up a drink why don't you?'

A hand reached up past his leg, in it clasped a thick plastic bottle of lemonade. They had managed to buy some crates of drink from a local shop as they drove up to the building site, the two large packs now sitting in an internal kit locker. Best of all, they got money back when they handed the crates and bottles back in to the shop - a deal if there was one. Unscrewing the cap, he heard the liquid hiss, before taking a sip. It wasn't ice cold, but the onboard air conditioning had left it cool and refreshing, enough to take the edge off the heat. He smiled briefly, before turning back to check his surroundings.

The road they were on was one of the many military roads that were to be constructed. In essence, the plan was to divide the DMZ up into sectors, each with their own supply roads. Whilst logging tracks and the very few main roads already existed, none of them ran parallel to the border, or to the inner edge of the DMZ. The road they were on now was to demarcate the border between the DMZ and Lamoni-held territory in Omega, a simple anti-personnel fence marking the edge of the controlled zone. To do this though required a lot of effort and heavy machinery. Chainsaws roared, the occasional deep cracking and thuds of giant trees collapsing marking their slow progress. Behind this front line of tree clearance and removal, giant sawn log segments being towed out to the road side for later use, the pioneer work gangs dug, machinery cutting out ditches, digging out a road foundation, laying rock and earth. On the outside edge of the ditch, the large fence had also been started, uprights hammered deep into the earth before dangerously sharp coils of razor wire were laid between the two.

From Qi'si's position, his view covered the dirt track they had taken to get to this position, one which would inevitably be improved as soon as civilian equipment, supplies and contractors could be located. Whilst the Lamoni were rather happy to provide them with cheap bulk materials such as ballast, cement and rubble, there was an inherent difficulty in getting them to provide civilians to work on road construction, or to provide them with the most specialist equipment. There were rumours of Montana, a company from Mokastana, being contracted to do a large amount of road improvement work such as tarmacking, though that was far from being confirmed.

'Hello 3-0-Charlie, this is 3-0-Whiskey, civilian vehicle approaching from South, pickup truck four occupants, over.'
'Roger, out.'

He was careful not to train the machinegun on the vehicle, instead letting it rest in a nice easy position. The weapon was cocked and ready to fire already, just requiring a few simple movements to unleash utter carnage. He doubted he needed to fire it, though he felt slightly on edge as the vehicle stopped, two of the occupants dismounting.

'Ge'sa, wake up you arse! We've got company!'

Down below, Ge'sa quickly sat up, rifle and equipment clattering as he moved around. The civilians casually walked over, halting as their section commander walked over to engage them in conversation. They were just curious as to what was going on, that was all. After a few minutes, the group moved away, the vehicle driving off. However, Qi'si had been watching the pickup truck, noting the man in the back with a notepad and pen. Perfectly innocent? Perhaps. He shrugged, looking over to his section commander.
'Don't worry Qi'si, they wanted to know what's happening to the civilians in the area. I told them to speak to the Lamoni military governor - it's not our problem.'
Qi'si sat and thought, looking back over the road. Where would the civilians go? If it was like the buffer zone in Milkavich, or along the Neo'Los border, then everyone would be evacuated. Everyone. And that would definitely cause friction.

=== === === === ===


The sound of satellite television was quiet, yet the voices carried easily in the heavy air across the clearing. Here on the edge of the rainforest was the border between two great nations, between supposedly warring sides, for now a theoretical notion. And yet here was the closest the Fegosian scouts, the Reconnaissance teams, were willing to get. Whilst pioneers trailblazed their roads through the forests, the zone of control expanding like tentacles from the body of Station Omega, the scouts had moved ahead to the border, gathering intelligence on foot in areas of high risk. Dropped off five kilometres from the edge, they had quickly disappeared into the thick forest, making their way in and around the area as they mapped and checked terrain, and searched for any possible hotspots.

Brigade Reconaissance Platoon Sierra had been assigned Sector 44, the eastern-most sector of the DMZ, with the entire sector under their watch for the next two weeks. A 310 square kilometre grid they knew would not be suitably covered, instead focusing on key point-to-point foot patrols from temporary harbour positions. They weren't elite, stealth forces by any means - they were just well trained in the task they had to perform. Right now, there were three four-man patrols out on the ground, whilst the rest slept - they were operating to a twenty-four hour routine. Two teams were patrolling the planned access route, checking whether it was even plausible, whilst the other had moved right up to the border to listen in on their counterparts. Sector 44 had population centres on the coast, which would be watched soon enough - but for now, the forest was their friend.

With a frequency hopper, the platoon EW expert had hoped to pick up something, instead being rewarded with an encrypted signal. Briefly enough, he had picked up the sound of television playing in the background of a clear voice broadcast, his headset pulling free to release the loud noise on speaker. Now he was back on whisper mode, he went back to the encrypted signal. It was strong, certainly. He quickly passed the basic information back - the frequency, the amount of traffic, the relative strength. He had no way of decrypting any signals, or any willpower to record information. Instead, he contented himself with a far simpler system - passive triangulation. With his frequency hopper set to triangulate, he signalled to one of the others in the section. Reeling out a length of cable, the man quickly removed the second ground-spike antenna from his backpack, before clambering up a tree fifty metres away. With the antenna firmly wedged in the bough of a tree, copper segments gently bending out through the canopy, the man signalled down, nodding. Soon enough, after a couple minutes came the readings, of the main powerful broadcast, and the smaller backpack radios broadcasting on the ground. Whilst the latter were difficult if not impossible to trace, the stationary signal gave them an opportunity soon enough.

The distance and bearing were duly logged by the specialist, before he signalled for the equipment to come back in. They were done for now, and would be moving out shortly. The operator noted to himself as he started the slow, painful walk back to their temporary rest point, that the signal had come from within the DMZ - confirmation that their counterpart peacekeepers, the Radicts as they had already been nicknamed, had arrived.

===

[Lamoni]

Cluj-Dolj

As refugees from the Omegan part of the DMZ came south, the Lamonians were working twenty-four hours a day to create enough Quonset huts to house them all. Quonset huts were relatively quick and easy to make, and best of all, they did not require skilled workers to make, so long as you had the right materials. The materials were constantly being brought in by both air and sea from the Lamonian mainland, and putting them together was a paying job for those who were able to get jobs doing so. As part of the scheme to get the economy of Omega back on track, these jobs paid in Lamonian Rushannas, which merchants in Omega were required to accept in payment, as Omega was formally a part of the Free Republic.

Already, modular buildings were being constructed in the Free Republic, and would be shipped in pieces to Omega, where they would be assembled, and really start to get things moving. Modular schools, hospitals, police stations, government buildings, the list went on and on. As things improved with time, Omega would go from modular buildings, into more permanent facilities, working to rebuild all that had been torn down since the old Indrasi government had fallen. At the same time, the insurgency had to be put down, especially starting with the warlords who had somehow managed to survive the COIN operations that had been conducted thus far. Most of the insurgents no longer attacked the cities, but this likely had more to do with the fact that they had been pushed up north, towards the DMZ where Alfegan and Radictistani peacekeepers were doing their best to patrol their new areas. One nice thing had also come with the supply ships, however. Lots of satellite television and radio equipment. More than the Lamonians themselves would need, the commanders decided to offer some of them to the Alfegans, while taking the rest of the excess, and giving it to the locals, after installing it, and providing power to it.

[The Macabees]

Siege of Delapesca, Holy Panooly
The city's white-dominant stronghold begins to crumble...

We didn't see it coming, thought Willan Galbraith. Nine days, eight nights, and with dusk soon coming, the rebel artillery pummeled the fortified polis of Delapesca. At first, the rebellion was slow coming, with pockets of 'agitators' sparking about the countryside. Most of the Holy Panooly military, however, had been rushed to defend Panooly, the capital city, and the eastern extremes of the fragile country were left largely to their own devices. There were, of course, some local military units — maybe a total of four thousand men —, but the bulk of this detachment was moved to Gualumpeiron, where the rebellion was gaining steam and threatening white control of the city. Thus, what was originally a network of strikes, street violence, and public demonstrations was allowed to snowball into a full-fledged armed revolt. It was not long thereafter that the greatly outnumbered (white-dominated) loyalists were pushed into the polis.

The grounds on which the loyalists were making their final stand was called the polis because it sat on a large plateau that rose above the city. To the north, and approaching on either flank, extended the modern city of Delapesca. Neighborhoods close to these impressive heights were generally of a higher income status, although most of their residents were now hiding within the polis. As one's gaze approaches the horizon, the average income level quickly falls. Barely visible are the beginnings of a vast sea of shanties and tents, where millions upon millions of poor 'coloreds' (as the whites called them) lived in dire poverty. There was no work for them available, so they could not afford to live elsewhere. Being born in these mangolas was being born in a trap, because there was no escape from the misery of hardly being able to scrap together the basic necessities of life. It was no wonder they had soon risen in anger against the white-dominated city government of Delapesca.

To the south, the polis was quite beautiful. The rear end of the plateau abruptly ended at the edge of a long harbor that sprawled towards either direction perpendicular to the heights. While the port had been modernized during the early twentieth century, the original passages from the polis to the harbor were conserved. Each walkway was composed of tens of thousands of stairs, meaning hundreds of thousands total. In ancient times, workers would walk up and down carrying trade wares, such as pottery, foodstuff, oil, and ceramics. Archeologists suspect, and have found evidence that supports the contention, that various lifts would move heavier goods up and down the jagged cliff. The light brown dirt that decorated the surface of the plateau was frequently broken by green-leaved olive trees, some of them as old as three hundred years. For hundreds of years, these impressive historical testaments brought Delapesca hundreds of thousands of tourists. Not so much anymore.

The ancient walls still stood; before the 1990s, the Panooly government had taken good care of the city's historic architecture. Soaring at over two hundred meter from the ground and on top of the plateau at that, it seemed as if they rose all the way to the heavens above. But, the gradual decline of the nation under Dominic Templeton's regime meant the coffers were by far too empty to afford the constant upkeep of buildings thousands of years old. As a result, the walls were stained by graffiti — some actually quite artistic, although still generally shunned — and some of the merlons were beginning to deteriorate. These days, the moss had invaded the southern surfaces of the colossal ancient urban fortification, which further manifested the neglect they had been shown. On some level, it was all quite despairing, because in its day the ancient fortress of Delapesca, or Lejombo Muska as it was known as at the time, was impenetrable. That the city still stood at its original site was testament to its one time grandeur.

The polis was still proving its image of invincibility. Rebel probes had so far failed to break through the well defended city walls and a couple of heavier attacks had been successfully repelled, although at quite a cost. At this rate, in any case, it looked as if the loyalist stronghold would continue to stand for a long while. Even the incessant rebel artillery did not dent the hopes of the whites bottled up behind the age-old walls. Although hundreds were dead, many of them still strewn across the streets they were killed on — because of insufficient manpower to find and burn all of the dead —, the fear of the coloreds was too great to allow for a surrender. They feared that their collective fate as prisoners was much worse than that which results from suffering a prolonged siege. High casualties and no sign of the loyalist defenses weakening, the rebels by now were content to simply starve the polis into submission.

Willan's stomach grumbled. He hadn't eaten in over a day, and he drank water sparingly. Supplies were running low and the frequency of resupply was rapidly decreasing. When the siege first began, the Panooly military was running naval missions from across the bay, using medium-sized cargo ships to bring the besieged food, weapons, ammunition, and fresh water. Learning quickly, the rebels quickly clamped down on these waterborne routes, using small fishing boats and other small naval vessels to intercept the loyalist ships. The battle in the bay was quite vicious, and neither side could really dominate that facet of the conflict, but it did significantly restrict the ability to resupply the fortification. Soon enough, food began to run out and rationing became more severe. Now, the white hold-outs were on the frontier of starvation and the situation was rapidly worsening. Although Willan, much like everyone else, had become accustomed to the lack of grub, he was gradually weakening. Decrepitude among the defense did not bode well for the whites.

The true feeling of hunger is something not well understood by most. It is a great fortune to humanity that these days a much lesser number of souls have the misfortune of experiencing starvation. The thought of being hungry without feeling hunger is lost to many. Pain is still present, and in force, but the mind has learned to put it to one side, where the discomfort is vague and abstract. Your body, your body is consumed by itself, your cells forced to feed off each other to survive. Microbiological cannibalism, or something to that effect.

Besides Willan stood Fabian Doherty, both them dressed in the same green fatigues. Their helmets, however, were mismatched, evidence of the scarcity of worthwhile military equipment. They held TK-60Ls, a modernization of the widely used Panooly assault rifle, and looked out of an opening in the wall where at one time archers might have picked off oncoming would-be-conquerors. Their task: to patrol a stretch of the the inner hallway that lined the full breadth of the walls, looking out for rebel movements. Soldiers Willan and Fabian were making a temporary stop to look out and scan the surrounding urban jungle. Around them sat dozens of other soldiers, which formed a permanent defensive unit. They were taking a rest, although sitting was risky — they were supposed to be always vigilant. The fighting was tiring, though, especially on an empty stomach, and so these men had at least some justification for their apparent dismissal of the rules.

"I see nothing," said Fabian. He took another look, but shook his head. "Nothing. The coloreds have been quiet these days."

In a solemn tone, Willan responded, "Certainly not very comforting." They could be looking right at us, toyed the Panooly soldier. He didn't say that last thought out loud, because he didn't want to demoralize his comrade.

"I'd say the respite is well received, but the longer they wait the weaker our defense." Fabian most likely intended the subtle irony of his statement.

As the two turned around and continued down their patrol route, another soldier coughed behind him. Many of his fellow soldiers covered their mouths with the collars of their uniform jackets, although that could help with the plague. Dead bodies left untreated attracted disease, and various infections had spread amongst the citadel's population. Thousands more died from this biological scourge, and the complication was rapidly spreading. Depreciating stocks of food didn't help the situation, as the loyalists' immune systems had grown weaker and more susceptible to disease.

_________

[A view of the alkazar, a Díenstadi term for an ancient city's central fortress.]
_________

By prioritizing the fighting men, soldiers typically remained healthier than the rest of the population, but the leadership couldn't hold off the mounting swarms of bacteria and viruses for much longer. Where the rebels were failing, the multitude of epidemics were creeping towards victory. Once again, the worst of enemy of mankind proved to be the tiniest and seemingly most simple of threats.

"I'm so thirsty," complained Fabian.

Willan grimaced, "Drink some of your water, then."

"I can't," lamented the other soldier, "I can't fill up my canteen until tomorrow morning. I should save for the rest of the day and even the night. Attack can come at any time, and it's best to have some drink for then. Four weeks ago, who would have thought we'd be in this situation, right Friend?" Fabian managed to chuckle at his own noir humor.

"Then drink some of mine," offered Galbraith.

"No, brother. You might need yours for later too," reasoned the other.

Willan tisked and proceeded to insist, "As far as we know, I might be dead from the plague tonight. Death is near no matter what, brother. We might as well enjoy our last minutes, no?"

Fabian had to agree, there was some sense to his comrade's words. Long days of battling in the cities of Delapesca had taken their toll on his will to resist. While the soldiers were safe from the barbarous rebels below the heights of the plateau, other enemies were consuming the loyalist fortress from within. "Don't speak like that, Willan. The generals will devise some sort of evacuation plan, I assume. The bay is closing and I'm sure they will extract us...well, the soldiers at the very least. They need us to defend the capital."

"They could have started that a long time ago," disagreed Galbraith. "They could have evacuated the whole population if they wanted to. But, they didn't. The citadel is a symbol of Panooly authority over Delapesca. They will never accept its fall."

Fortunately for them, Willan Galbraith was wrong. What remained of the Panooly navy — a handful of frigates, really — has amassed just south of the bay to the west of the peninsula Delapesca sat on. They were soon to begin an intense offensive against the impromptu rebel naval presence, temporarily putting them on defensive to allow loyalist cargo ships to ferry the white population from the ancient city of Lejombo Muska to the opposite shores. The soldiers would join units defending the central Panooly jungles and the civilians would be escorted back to the capital proper. While the fall of the eastern Panooly city would come as a huge moral blow to the loyalist defense, the white war leaders had nevertheless calculated that maintaining the remnants of their military forces alive would outweigh the symbolic cost. The initial sea-based offensive would begin the very next morning, while the sun still sat behind the horizon, and the first cargo ships were scheduled to arrive hours later. Those cliff-side staircases being the only method of approaching the harbor below, the trip was precarious given that the rebels would no doubt being shelling the area once they became privy to loyalist plans.

But that horror was still for another day, and Galbraith and Doherty continued to be in the slightly less horrifying state of mind of not being sure whether they'd be alive the next day. Heavy and consistent bombardment was not the only expectation they were ignorant of, but also a revived rebel offensive against the walls. They would know that the 'whities' inside were making an attempt at escape, and they would indubitably cease the opportunity to attempt another round of scaling the walls and seizing the ancient polis. A treacherous hike down the narrow staircases of the Delapesca cliff corridors on side and a sustained assault on the other; those are things that are better left unknown. Sometimes in the monstrosity known as war there was a silver lining, even amongst the darkest clouds. What a vicious thought.

[Radictistan]

Indras, south of Botoşani

Tibor didn’t get his wish. With the three FOBs and the Force Headquarters nearing completion it was time for the Brigade Task Force to begin Phase Two of its deployment. And so the Third Platoon of B Company, 362 Light Battalion was moving slowly down what passed for a road on the way to its assigned position. Once at that spot, identified by one of Radictistan’s reconnaissance satellites and reconnoitered more thoroughly by unmanned aircraft, the platoon and an attached engineering unit would establish a Combat Security Outpost. This would be one of twenty established to keep an eye on the surrounding territory.

Ten Dingo 2s carried the men of the rifle platoon and the attached automatic grenade launcher squad. Two armored bulldozers and a trio of the ubiquitous Ural trucks traveled at the center of the convoy for protection. The lead Dingo remained a hundred meters ahead of the main group. The hope was that in the event of an IED-initiated ambush only a small fraction of the convoy would be inside the kill zone. Given the extremely limited visibility either to the side or to the front, that security measure was of limited relevance. The Luna unmanned aircraft loitering overhead was of greater import. At a height fifteen hundred meters above ground level the small aircraft could theoretically see across the entire demilitarized zone. It had a medium wave thermal imaging unit installed in the modular sensor bay. Sharp and lucky eyes might spot an ambush party in time to save Radictistani lives.

---

With the force protection situation seeming more dire by the hour, the Radictistani government made the decision to keep the Count of Nuxenstat battle group within the region. Officially the ships would be conducting routine training – one hundred and fifty nautical miles off the east coast of Indras. No sorties would be flown “feet wet” or otherwise within Indras airspace but the capability would be maintained to bring a pair of Su-25RM attack jets to bear within half an hour of a call for air support. The sortie could not be maintained indefinitely but for a few weeks at least there was a contingency plan if the Radictistani peacekeepers had to fight their way out of the “demilitarized” zone.

[The Macabees]

Town of Stamvaru, Indras
Militiamen use the cover of rubble to ambush a Theohuanacu patrol...

Stamvaru, once a proud town of some seventy-six thousand souls, now lay in ruins. The pavement of the crisscrossing streets had been literally churned by Imperial artillery during a five day shelling. Homes, storefronts, administrative buildings, factories, and any other building one could think of, had been blasted into pieces and the remaining rubble strewn across the ground. Occasionally, one could see the burnt out chassis of a civilian vehicle, oftentimes covered by thick pieces of debris "created" by the perpetual stream of explosives that pounded Stamvaru for one hundred and twenty hours. One witness to the event, no doubt a Theohuanacu auxiliary, had likened the destruction of Stamvaru to "creative destruction." While definitely not how Joseph Schumpeter had defined the term, there was an element of truth to the testimony. There was a certain art to the task of dismantling a town by means of as blunt of an instrument as artillery.

Perhaps the barrage hadn't been the worst of it, though. After Stamvaru was bombarded into a pulp, a battalion-sized unit of Theohuanacu auxiliaries swept through the town and killed anything and everything with a pulse. Ethnicity, gender, and even species, were completely irrelevant dimensions. The five bandags — a company-sized unit — were issued the simple order of ensuring the permanent elimination of Stamvaru as an urban center. Thus, the infantrymen went from demolished house to demolished house and they killed whatever they saw. While the town was not completely defenseless, whatever militiamen had survived the artillery attack were too few in number and too disoriented to put up an effective or organized resistance. The women had it particularly bad, as the Theohuanacu were not always sufficiently well-discipline to avoid some of the ugliest horrors of war, including sexual predation upon helpless women. Sometimes it's strange how a soldier can consider himself "brave," but then target the weakest victims.

This was the fate that befell those villages, towns, an cities that defied Imperial authority by aligning themselves with the insurgents. Of course, usually there was not much of a choice. The militias often used towns, typically hidden deep within the Indran jungle, as temporary bases of operations. From these localities they were would plan a series of ambushes against Imperial patrols. They would continue doing so until the Imperial presence grew, in terms of boots in the area, and then the militias would dig in behind the stone walls of the homes and workplaces of the unfortunate townspeople who were caught in the middle of the conflict.

_________

[A solemn view of the "rape of Stamvaru".]
_________

There was a learning curve to all insurgency movements, but the bloody "Çescus" had learned quickly. Slaughtered in open battle, they opted to strike at small patrols and to draw the Imperial military into fighting an urban battle. The result? An increase in the number of dead invaders.

In response, the Fuermak would flatten traitorous locals. At first, the objective wasn't as much about punishing the townspeople as it was about avoiding the casualties associated with intense street-to-street fighting. But these were exactly the situations prone to devolving into massacres. If most of everything was either destroyed or dead, finishing the job came easy. Many of the Theohuanacu auxiliaries, in fact, felt entitled to the right to sack their prey, because they, their families, or their friends had suffered the same treatment at the hands of regulares, or Imperial soldiers, during the occupation of Theohuanacu. Particularly vivid and painful were the barbarities committed by the Amastolian and Doomani regulies, who competed against each other to see who could spread the most horror.

These types of atrocities were being committed by both sides. Urban governments were quick to change sides because of the violence that characterized the two opponents. If insurgents could afford to amass the necessary strength for a mission of this type, they would attack populations accused of collaboration. This charge was broad enough to include just about anything, but in particular the militias wanted to dissuade the Indran population from doing business with Macabee nationals. For example, His Imperial Majesty Fedor I had borrowed roughly twenty billion ríokmarks to fund an infrastructure renewal program in the new territory. There was a special emphasis on the decadent and decayed Indran highway network; reconstructing, modernizing, and adding to the existing roadways would make it far easier for Macabee troops to move from one area to the other. Every once in a while, a village or town caught undergoing these improvements was attacked and pillaged by large-sized formations of insurgents. That's why local governments were very often willing to harbor the militiamen — doing anything else would have meant drawing the ire of the rebels.

That was the trap that was sprung on Stamvaru. In return for avoiding a ransacking, the Indran town risked — and received — its complete razing.

Bogdan Milosovici admired the chaos, as he sat within a cramped space enclosed by rubble. He was situated underneath the collapsed roofing of a house, which was positioned on a main highway that passed through Stamvaru. With Milosovic were Andrei Grigorescu and Ștefan Vasilescu, these two latter men being under the first's command. In fact, căpitan Milosovici held command over roughly one hundred and thirty militiamen lining the NT-505 highway, which winded through Stamvaru without much separation from the adjacent buildings. As to the exact locations of these men, not even Bogdan knew. They were given orders to hide and not to move until the general signal was given, the signal being a flare that would be fired from somewhere deep inside the urban sprawl. Căpitan Milosovic had devised a plan to exact retribution for the desolation of Stamvaru. He had returned to Stamvaru to ambush the Ejermacht where it least expected it.

Gently slapping Grigorescu's right shoulder with the back of his hand, Milosovici held up his right index finger to his mouth and softly said, "Do you hear that?"

"No, căpitan, I don't," responded Andrei.

"You don't hear that?" He paused for a second, extended his head a bit as if trying to listen more closely to whatever it was he was hearing. "The sound is so characteristic. Listen closely, kid. That's the fucking sound of death. Have you ever been face-to-face with a Nakíl?"

Grigorescu shook his head, "No, sir, I haven't." The militiaman then took a small photograph of a young girl, most likely his daughter, out of his pocket, gave it a thoughtful look, and finally put it back where he took it from. A Nakíl was no laughing matter. For every Macabee tank knocked out, thousands of Indran insurgents paid the price with their lives. Andrei, like some of Milosovic's other men, sometimes thought that his commander took unnecessary risks simply to take in the pleasure of the thrill.

"Today is your lucky day then." Bogdan let out a savage laugh.

Heading towards the town, a patrolling Theohuanacu unit was working its way up the NT-505. Sure enough, it was spearheaded by three Nakíl 1A2UW — the most recent variation of the Nakíl 1A2, but with changes in the armor composition to add protection against improvised explosive devices. Behind these three beasts were a combination of infantry fighting vehicles and lighter armored vehicles, including three HIM-TACs. The mechanized bandag was making its way east, sweeping the area in search of insurgent movements. Although the Macabee presence in Indras was soon to grow to over half a million men, there was still insufficient manpower to put into place a physical action in every locality in the territory. The next best thing was to commit to frequent patrolling, where small units of auxiliaries could report concentrates of militiamen. They were especially concerned with villages and small- to mid-sized towns that were liable for housing insurgent personnel.

Up above circled a GF-11 Archer, an unmanned bird with a wingspan of a little more than thirteen meters. The Imperial patrol was no doubt aware of the area it was about to enter and it was common for patrols to be assisted by reconnaissance units. The Ejermacht in Indras had devised a reconnaissance strategy that is analogous to a zone defense in football (soccer). Entire areas were assigned to particular scouting units, and these could respond to individual demands within their delineated grid. In this case, a local reconnaissance company had responded to a request for intelligence and had launched a GF-11 to search the rubble in search for life. If properly operated, the aircraft was invisible to unassisted sight on the ground. During the early months of the occupation, the GF-11 had been instrumental in minimizing Macabee casualties by helping to uncover ambushes during the initial invasion and during subsequent patrols.

Out of the corner of his eye, Milosovici saw one of his men run across the street, probably in an effort to change positions. Bogdan scowled, "Damn it, idiot! He may have given us away!"

"Do you think they caught the movement?" asked Vasilescu, who had up to now remained silent.

Face now completely serious, as if concerned, the căpitan responded, "They see everything." He pointed up towards the sky. "Up there, somewhere, is an aircraft of some sort and it is looking directly at us, trying to find us." Bogdan's suddenly frowned and looked back in the direction of the oncoming Imperial patrol. "They've stopped."

An ear-piercing silence ensued. For a minute, peace finally reigned over Stamvaru. But, it was a false peace. Screaming down above them, the screech of an artillery barrage filled the vacuum. As if the town had not already had enough punishment during the previous bombardment, Macabee artillery shook the area directly bordering the highway. Here and there, a few rounds would be lobbed into deeper targets, but only if the GF-11 could pick up movement during the strike (usually a signal of an insurgent changing positions to protect himself from shrapnel and explosives). For fifteen minutes the barrage continued, launching piles of dirt into the air and killing whoever was unfortunate enough not to have found adequate cover. The rubble helped to protect Milosovici's men, but it couldn't save all of them. Up an down the NT-505, up and down, shell after shell fell upon Stamvaru. Hundreds of years ago, the medieval women of the Indran town would tell stories of a curse. Perhaps these stories were true.

Bogdan wore blood spattered across his face, but it wasn't his own. Rather, it was soldat Grigorescu. The soldier's neck had been sliced perpendicular of a carotid artery and he had bled to death during the artillery attack. Bastards, thought the căpitan. We will avenge you brother Andrei, I promise.

Soon after the bombardment had ceased, the Macabee patrol continued moving towards Stamvaru. It was not long before they entered the town. The awaiting insurgents did not attack right away, preferring to wait until the Imperial convoy drove deeper into the municipality. While Milosivic could have used a radio to communicate with his dispersed men, he didn't bother because the patrols always jammed a broad range of signals to protect themselves from remotely controlled improvised explosive devices. Instead, the Indran captain preferred to train and inform his soldiers well before the mission began, to minimize the need for orders during the battle. Of course, if the situation changed — as what happened as a result of the artillery strike — this type of command method did not do a very good job at changing the battle plan. Indeed, it was unlikely that Milosivic truly understood how well the attack had foiled his ambush.

While the rubble did a good job of protecting the majority of the hiding rebels, they had nevertheless dispersed to find better cover than that originally taken. As a result, the ambush lost much of its oomph. Thus, when the trap was unleashed upon the no-longer-unsuspecting Theohuanacu auxiliaries, the damage was much less dramatic and effective as what Bogdan had originally expected. Nevertheless, the insurgent assault began tremendously. A rocket propelled grenade hissed through the air until it hit a rear panel of one of the HIM-TACs, rendering the vehicle non-operational. Already, the machine guns manned by Imperial troops began to fire without pause, gunning down whomever they could spot. All the while, the rebels broke into a massed charged towards the strung out patrol, hoping to overwhelm it now that the convoy's flanks were exposed. Popping in and out of obstacles, ironically provided to them courtesy of the previous five-day long shelling marathon, the gunmen mercilessly and joyously preyed upon the Theohuanacu soldiers.

The massive Nakíl turrets swiveled back and forth, as rockets zipped by them. There were many impacts, although none of them critical. Sometimes, the RPG would hit a storage bin and fail to strike at the armor at all. The tank's large 120mm high velocity guns pounded down high explosive rounds against threatening targets. Behind them, the infantry armored vehicles joined in, while the remaining HIM-TACs were simply trying to avoid being hit. The patrol stopped only briefly, loading those who survived the fatal shot on the HIM-TAC and were still capable of fighting, and then veering off the highway and into Stamvaru. The commanding officer probably expected the heaviest concentration of militants to be along the highway, and thus he decided to waste time, evade the enemy, and take another route through the town. Those alive, but wounded, were left behind with their dead comrades. Some of them resisted until the very end, some of them committed suicide, and none of them surrendered or were taken prisoner.

Raging on, the battle began to lose some of its intensity. Milosovici's men were having a hard time keeping up with the Imperial vehicles and the patrol had managed to circumvent most of the danger. Intermittent firefights broke out, but nothing the heavier armor couldn't deal with. The patrol wouldn't leave the town until the threat was neutralized — they couldn't allow the militants to ambush the next scouting unit —, but they were trying to run down the clock, so to speak. Little did the rebels know that two GLI-76s were fast approaching; the insurgents had no response to fighter jets. Neither could they respond to the Falcons' ordnance, which put the firefight to rest. Whichever militants weren't killed began to scatter, and they were only pressed further into chaos when the Macabee armor re-appeared on the highway to pursue the fleeing assailants. Least to say, Bogdan's gamble had failed to pay off.

When the dust finally settled, the Theohuanacu patrol returned to the site of the non-operable HIM-TAC. The dead and the vehicle were drenched in gasoline and set alight; a proper Díenstadi burial. The căpitan was in fact found dead by a Macabee infantryman and his body was hoisted onto a pole, his wrists and ankles bound to the thick wooden stake. He was joined by the handful of insurgents who had been encircled and forced to surrender. They would soon die of thirst, infection, or even at the hands of a wandering animal predator. Wrapping up their securing of Stamvaru, the Macabee soldiers continued on their way to put out another fire. This was the nature of a "blessed" deployment to Indras.

[Alfegos]

The job of a sentry was a boring one at the best of times. That of a RADAR air sentry was even more dull. It wasn't that the two men were bored staring at the same set of screens, the early warning RADAR monitoring all airspace within 80km from atop a tethered aerostat, the backup RADAR sitting on a trailer at the base of the airfield. It was more the dull hum of the computers in the command trailer, alongside the dimmed lighting to give them better view of the computer systems, that acted as something to make anyone drowsy. Cups of coffee steamed as the two quietly chatted with each other, always alert for the warning tones in their headsets.

The door to the command vehicle opened, a shaft of light briefly illuminating one corner of the interior, before it was hurriedly closed. It took a moment before one of the men realised who had just arrived, taking his headset off and standing to attention. A rigid salute was exchanged, the Brigadier chuckling and asking the two to stand down.

"So, how are we doing chaps?"
"Haven't had anything other than four scheduled flights to our south and north, including a couple transport flights the Radictistanis have filed plans for or alerted us to, sir."
"Excellent. In that case, since it's been a quiet day, the Battery Commander has agreed with me that a few practices are in order. After all, air defence is one of the key components of this operation."
The Major commanding them appeared out of the dark, leaning over the screens showing traces and plots.
"Well, let's scramble the crews."

=

Out in a tent erected for the AA battery, the men on standby sat back, relaxing for the afternoon. The job of the troops manning the brigade's AA battery was simple enough - to wait. At any moment, they had to go from what they were doing to being engaged in combat, with a response time as rapid as possible - after all, within a minute of the siren sounding, their enemy could have travelled over 20 kilometres. If they were truly unfortunate, or simply slow, they would be engaging hostile aircraft as the bombs dropped around them.

The missile troop had at their disposal four armoured vehicles, variants of the Basalt APC, each mounting eight Nimbus SAMs. Two other troops were ready to deploy at fiteen minutes notice, should the alert level rise again, yet for now they were stood down - both armed with the same SAM system. At the battalion level, and in some of the specialist attachments, the units would have their own air defence weapons, albeit in the form of man-portable missile tubes or a single dedicated LY220. Not that it would do them any good if things really kicked off - that would be the time when they disappeared into the rainforest, to conduct the war from there.

More importantly, other than the tent, the SAM battery had equipped themselves with the amenities necessary for those sitting on call for most of the day. Spare rations, a water boiler and a stack of mugs sat on a trestle table, the gentle rumble of boiling water masked by the sounds of a news presenter. Perhaps the biggest prize of all had been them acquiring a satellite TV unit, the dish sitting perched on the corner of the tent. The group mainly seemed to have it on in the background for that moment, enjoying their drinks and conversation as it were.

A sudden, loud electronic siren burst out from the command vehicle, a speaker atop the unit broadcasting a loud two-tone warble that cut through all other sound. There was no question from the crews as to what it meant. Mugs and cups dropped, chairs were kicked over, as the teams sprinted to their vehicles. The first men piled into their Basalt AAV, the engine starting with a rumble as driver slid into his position. Behind the bulkhead, switches were thrown, the entire system powering up rapidly, red light filling the vehicle interior.
15 seconds

"Alpha-One-Charlie, Alpha-Zulu, drill, drill, drill, continue as if not. Target is object marked Golf-Charlie-Seven, I say again, target is marked Golf-Charlie-seven, acknowledge over."
"Alpha-One-Charlie, roger over."
"Alpha-Zulu, out to you."
The vehicke commander looked over the team as they rapidly worked. The RADAR operator was already locking the RADAR onto the target, hands frantically operating controls as the vehicle's target RADAR came online. The range wasn't as long as the second feed he had, of the early warning RADAR, just the single white spot on the locking system giving them their point of contact. On just long enough to get his target, then off. On, then off. Switching off power meant that the inevitable radiation-seeking missiles that were bound to be in theatre would have nothing to go on, giving the crews time at least.

45 seconds
"Missiles spun up, weapons hot."
"ECCM online."
"RADAR locked."
"Altitude locked."
"Ready to fire!"

The vehicle commander nodded, signalling for all to stand down. Power dropped from all systems, the hum of the onboard power units and generators whining down to nothing. One minute, and they would have fired. One minute and twenty seconds, they would have started seeing impacts. At least, they would if their target wasn't ready to resist a lock from a missile at any cost. Whilst the Nimbus missile could operate passively, that didn't mean that an aircraft would do its upmost to block the other RADAR in use in the area.

The final circuit breakers were pulled, the vehicle going back to its silent self, the officers waiting.
"That was good, but it can always be better. We'll keep having these. Dismissed."
The group nodded, pulses racing as they moved back over to the on-call area.

================================

Deep in the demilitarised zone, the jungle hid all. Amidst the wall of noise, insects and birds combining in one almighty roar, even the slightest of sounds would be impossible to hear. Except, to the trained ear, that wasn't always the case. It was one of those moments, of what might have been movement, which had stopped a militiaman as he walked with his group along a trail. All had stopped, standing in wait as they watched him. They might have joked that the man was mad, or bolting around like a young stallion. But this man was a tracker, a man who knew the forest. When the Macabeeans had first landed, he had been the one who had spotted tripwires, or avoid ambushes.

The group leader moved over, a relatively young man for his responsibility. His father had led them once, before he was shot and killed in a skirmish. Now, he had taken on the burden of leadership, and relished it.
"Milosevi, what have you seen?"
"Don't make it look as if you are watching, but there is something watching us. It's been following us for the last kilometre at least, but I haven't got a glimpse of it until now."
The leader paused, nodding slowly, before directing his men to sit down off the trail, hidden.
"Now, I want you to look in a minute at the tree my rifle is pointed at. From there, follow the trees about fifty metres back, almost to where the undergrowth gets really dense. Have a look at the base of the tree. Do it quickly, and now."

The leader didn't question, following the man's directions. Looking into the shady undercroft of the trees, his eyes darted around, looking, searching. He turned back.
"I don't see anything Milosevi."
"Look again."
He stared, instinctively reaching to aim his weapon, the tracker slapping his hand out of the way.
"If you raise that weapon, it might be the last thing you do."

It was after a few seconds that something clicked in his head. There was something there, he had known it as he looked, but it was only now he realised the shadow was... well, wrong.
"And there it goes." The shadow had gone, back to normal.
"What the hell is that Milosevi?"
"I've feared it might happen, but we're being tracked. It's rumoured the Fegosians are able to summon spirits to fight for them."

The group leader laughed for a moment, the laugh suddenly catching in his throat as he looked at Milosevi's serious face.
"Man or not Milosevi, it can die, can't it?"
"Pieter, my good friend, ask yourself this. Why haven't they killed us yet?"
"Milosevi, it's because... oh god, count the men, count them now!"

The leader stood up, weapon raised, finger on the trigger as the tracker counted the group in.
"We're missing Yakov and Moris. Where the hell did they disappear?"
Behind them, the machinegunner began firing into the bushes, a hail of lead spraying from his GLM-83.
"We've got contact!"
The rest of the militiamen began returning fire, the group retreating in the directiong they were headed - something had attacked them from behind.
"Where's the enemy?"
"They were there! Just there!"

The firing stopped, the group leader diving into cover off the path in a position where he could see his gunner.
"Where you idiot?"
"Just there, in the bushes off the road. I swear I saw someone move. It's dead now anyway."
The commander signalled, some degree of professionalism returning to him as he remembered what the foreigners had taught him. Take control, find out what was going on, get out if they had no chance of winning. One of the men moved up with him, TK-60 in hand, the machinegunner covering them as they advanced. Rifles raised, the two made short bounds into the bushes, disappearing from view as they dropped down with each bound.

There was a loud crash as one of the men stumbled, followed by a yell. The man had found Yakov, hands tied, mouth gagged. The man was dead, face disfigured by multiple bullet shots, his trunk covered in wounds. The insects were already swarming around the freshly dead body, tearing small bites from it as they moved around. He had obviously tried to escape from his captors, and paid a terrible price for his poor judgement. As he was about to make up his mind for another move, yet more gunfire started. Single, precise shots, measured to make men fall. The remainder started running - they weren't hanging around in what had become a killing zone.

"Come back here you cowards, fight!"
Pieter raised his rifle, firing off a burst into the men fleeing. His finger released the trigger briefly, as he moved to reaim, before a shot knocked him off his feet. Bleeding, he looked up as Milosevi bent over him, dragging him into the cover of the bushes.
"Don't yell. Use your belt to cut off the bleeding. That way you might survive. I'm going to get help."

The tracker stood and ran, sprinting between trees, trying to minimise the time he was in the open, as the fighting continued around him. Within seconds, he had made his escape, stumbling up the uneven path like a man possessed. Diving into a bush by the roadside, he paused for breath, before looking up. Above him, what had been part the tree had taken the form of a man, dirty tunic covered in moss and lichen, rifle wrapped in camouflage tape and foliage, the entire form a dripping mass.
"Put the rifle down, tracker. You've been defeated this time." The harsh fegosian accent told the man his convictions had been true. The man paused in dropping his rifle, to be rewarded with the hard metal butt of the weapon. The world exploded into stars, before disappearing into darkness.

[Mokastana]

Puerto Del Oeste
Lamoni Controlled Territory, Omega

It had been two weeks since Montana's contractors had landed initially and things were going as best as they could, give the circumstances. Which was to say, everything had gone to hell despite the progress. Sitting in a corporate meeting the Major Vasquez listened to the blue and white collar company leaders argue and hash out their problems. Even so, it was up to him to tell them what they could and could not do security wise, and luckily he would have the final say. It had taken attacks on two of the Major's patrols to get there, but finally the collars would listen to him. Now with insurgency forces confirmed to be active in the area he had to waste resources combing the jungle for the few bastards who might take pop shots at contractors. On top of that, the Mokan Navy and government workers from Mokan Industries were scheduled to arrive by boat today. For the Mokans had made an agreement with the government of Lamoni to purchase a portion of land and build a major Naval Station out here which would be called Puerto Del Oeste in the future. No one accused the Navy of being creative when it came to naming conventions. Since the major airfields were still under construction, high ranking members of the contract holders had to take ships from Greal to get to Omega. Initially they were going to be flown in via Lamoni, but the Belmotin, New Garrack, Greal route proved a shorter boat trip.

"The initial airfields are plowed, and we have begun digging for the first of the Naval base harbors. Bogota is still in negotiation with Mokan Industries to get us the contract to build non-essential buildings on the Naval Base as well, since we are here for the long haul, but you know how government construction teams are regarding government buildings. If it wasn't for the insurgent problem and our free PMCs we might have never won the Naval Base Contract."

"Still, we should not be experiencing delays this early. Our offices in New Zevkhay are hard at work trying to convince the Fegosian government to give us the contracts in the DMZ. Not only building operations but maybe even some defense work out there. We need to show them we are capable of handling this work with no worries."

"Well, we would have been expanding had security not been tightened."

Eyes turned to the Major, who gave the white collar a second to revoke his statement before responding, he did not:

"Security is tightened because I lost three men last week, one to a sniper and two to a mortar that decided our armed patrol was a bigger threat than your union workers. Since I assume the Union has certain parts of their contract regarding employees in a hostile work zone, you may want to avoid risking putting them in one. Let me do my job, and you do yours, whatever that might be."

"Now gentlemen, this is not time for pointing the blame." The man in charge said glaring at the office worker. "I already put in a request for additional forces to be deployed under your command Major. It will be a temporary bolster in forces but Bogota thinks that additional boots on the ground will help us with the Fegosian Contracts. If we get them, the majority will be sent to the DMZ, but I trust you to use them for the week or so they are here to quell the local trouble. Can you do that?"

" I will use them to best of my ability."

"Good," The phone belonging to the man in charge buzzed on the table, he tapped the screen and read his messages "It seems as if the Admiral and MI reps are here. Major you are on call in case something happens to them, Wilson, Yukov, come with me."

[Radictistan]

Most of the small outposts established by the Radictistani forces came in one of two basic forms. The first form was followed by the interior CSOPs. Whenever possible these were built where they could command the surrounding countryside from a higher elevation. A makeshift command bunker, a sleep area, a small observation tower, and when available a ground surveillance radar, were located at the summit. Down the slope were a number of small fighting positions and a perimeter barrier, either gabions or concertina wire.

The second form was followed by those outposts located directly on the border. These were situated two to an operations area and located near civilian settlements. While centered around a vehicle checkpoint, these positions still had to maintain all-round security. The platoon’s two GPMGs and attached weapons were situated where they could deliver a blistering crossfire on any vehicle which attempted to run the checkpoint. For added security a small number of anti-personnel mines were deployed by GMZ or by hand. The fields were placed far enough out past the perimeter that they would keep insurgents from getting too close but near enough that they could be covered by crew-served weapons.

---

General Radchenko knew better than to try and run his operation from the heavily fortified headquarters to the rear. After allowing for the creation of three quick reaction forces he had three Mi-17 helicopters at his disposal and he made good use of them to travel between the FOBs. He was now preparing to visit FOB Trommel, having already reached Gitarre and Klavier. Two of the three reserve helicopters sat on prepared ground with rotors turning.

Radchenko’s aide-de-camp, Senior Lieutenant Karl Braun, stood by the second helicopter. “Tails, sir,” the young man reported. The two officers had decided on a system of using a coin toss to determine which aircraft would carry the force commander and which would play the role of decoy. Tails meant the second helicopter would carry Radchenko and Braun.

The two men boarded their aircraft. The lead helicopter took off first and circled the facility while the second revved up and lifted off from the ground.

While the helicopters cruised towards their destination Radchenko opened a nondescript folder and removed two documents. The first was a report from the brigade signals company concerning a sharp rise in Macabee radio traffic originating near the town of Stamvaru north of the demilitarized zone.

The second document was a series of satellite photographs of the same locality. The Militarnachriktsamt – the Office of Military Intelligence – had been watching the island closely using Radictistan’s small fleet of reconnaissance satellites. The fruits of their attention were striking. The town had been wiped off the map.

These are the allies we have, the General thought, brutes. To think how he had shared witticisms with them. He did his best to push those feelings aside. He was a Radictistani officer and Radictistani officers followed orders. There was a saying in Radictistan. It was cynical like most Radictistani sayings. A private who got political received a dishonorable discharge. A junior officer who got political received a prison sentence. A General who got political had an unfortunate accident. The last part so far was just a saying. It was still an enlightening window into the Radictistani mindset.

In addition to all his other worries Radchenko now feared that a refugee problem would develop. Thousands of people would flee the Macabee oppression into the Radictistani zone. Those thousands would have to be fed, watered, housed, and protected from the insurgent/criminal groups.

More patrols to the north? That wasn’t possible given the present troop levels. More RPA flights would help figure where the need was greatest but those assets were in short supply too. Problems were piling up faster than solutions. It didn’t bode well for the mission.

[The Macabees]

Siege of Delapesca, Holy Panooly
Fall of the great polis, part I...

Under the cover of early morning darkness, a small fleet of eight frigates traveled north into the bay west of Delapesca. Before them the seas were hidden beneath a thick, grey layer of fog, but in reality the waters were crawling with dozens of rebel naval vessels. These were often modified with makeshift armor and whatever weaponry the rebels could get their hands on. They were enforcing a naval blockade of the Delapesca polis, a thick-walled fortress on top of a tall plateau on the southern extreme of the city. Inside the ancient citadel, the civilians and soldiers inside were beginning to starve and disease had spread to the verge of an epidemic. In a few days, the city would undoubtedly fall to the rebels and the government would lose control over western Holy Panooly. In a desperate final attempt to salvage whatever they could, the Panooly frigates entered the Bahía de Caracaná to break the barricade.

Whereas the rebel gunboats were typically equipped with heavy machine guns and, on the rare occasion, a small cannon, the Panooly frigates were heavily armed and proficiently manned. Along with two twin-barreled 120 millimeter cannon, they also flaunted a 30 centimeter mortar and several 20 millimeter autocannons. Their hulls were strong enough to withstand most of the rebel gunfire; in these waters, it is as if the Panooly navy had sent in a squad of battleships. Using their relatively advanced sensory equipment — modern by Panooly standards, at any rate — to spot and track rebel vessels, the ships' lit up the sky with their palette of armaments. Cannon fire ripped through the light hull of converted fishing boats and small merchant ships, and the mortars could waste entire crews as these helplessly resisted. But, the insurgent boats were quick and they could maneuver around the Panooly task force with incredible agility. The seaborne firefight would have been an incredible sight to a passing spectator. Surely, perched on top of the Delapesca plateau, the loyalists were observing the unfolding battle.

Suddenly, a reddish-orange streak shot across the black skies and struck one of the frigates on the armored belt. Soon after, another, and then another, ripped through the air, some of them undershooting their intended targets, other overshooting and just a few aimed just right. But these rocket propelled grenades were too weak to do major damage, although a lucky hit could damage some of the ships' tracking hardware — such as their small RADARs. Although the rebels did have a small stock of anti-ship missiles, they had not expected the presence of ships as large as frigates in the bahía. So, for a at least a few hours the Panooly navy could control the bay until the 'coloreds' brought in some heavier ordnance. If they could clear the waves, they could also suppress newly launched boats in comfort — although, they would have to worry about land-based anti-ship missile launchers. That way they could screen the government transports that would ferry the besieged civilians and soldiers to the opposite shore.

In older days, perhaps Rear Admiral Walter Lancoft would have been looking at the unfolding battle from his bridge, but these days naval command usually sat deep within the hull of the flagship. Thus, Lancoft found himself inside of one of the eight frigates — the PN706 —, continuously updated on the progression of the waterborne firefight. Beside him were Captain Gerald Piedmont, Captain Roger Charleston, and Commander Lipton Hermes, as well as an assortment of other officers and enlisted men. Most of these persons were considered top in their class, which is why they were tasked with evacuating the Delapesca citadel. Together they planned their next moves while the war outside raged on. It's impressive how far modern technology has come that we have gotten to the point that the top naval officers responsible for a fleet in the heat of battle no longer need to directly witness the carnage on the seas.

Feeling a sudden jolt, the rear admiral smiled, chuckled, and said, "Looks like the job is pretty much done."

"Not much of a job, to be honest," quipped Charleston, who looked more bored than anything else. "If the history books were written by someone else, perhaps they'd call it a massacre."

A vexed look overcame Lancoft, who retorted, "And what would you call the siege of Delapesca? Does that not qualify as slaughter or massacre?" He relaxed a bit and waved the debate away, "In war, such charged terms have no place. War is neutral...objective. There is a winner and there is a loser. I want to make sure we're the winners and those damn rebel traitors are the losers."

The captain nodded and calmly responded, "Aye admiral, but you have to admit this is not much of a fight."

"Son, the fight has only just begun," Lancoft boomed. "Look around you. By the end of tonight, I will bet any of you five hundred ríokmarks that at least one of us is dead." As he stood up, he extended his left arm out towards the other men, quieting them collectively. The rear admiral approached an electronic board with the positions of the ships in his fleet and all known enemy craft, with symbols to differentiate between those vessels destroyed and those vessels still posing a threat. "These bastards have thousands of mediocre gunboats. Reports have come in to warn us of the impeding loss of control of the waters directly west of Panooly, and we're here evacuating this godforsaken city. I have to make sure all eight of our frigates leaves intact by tonight, because I know the coloreds have the ordnance to take us out. They just have to get it here. Trust me, they will, because we're what's left of what's of any value in the entire goddamn Panooly navy."

Up above, the faint sound of the PN706's two twin-barrel cannons firing away at targets creeped through the layers of thick steel walls which compartmentalized the ship into dozens of individual rooms. Since its beginning, the fighting did not cease. The rebel 'navy,' if one could call it that, numbered in the thousands and the rate of expansion was accelerating, so it was worse than what Lancoft thought. Even in the bay alone, the display of resistance against the Panooly task force was much more impressive than what Lancoft or any of his men expected. Not that it was sufficient to avoid surrendering some time [to evacuate the citizenry] to loyalist forces, but it was costing them much more ammunition than they had planned for. These kind of things may not matter as much in the morning, but they do matter later on. That's why Lancoft wanted to pull his ships out as soon as possible — if they ran out of ammunition, the rebels would simply board them and take over the ships.

Commander Lipton Hermes was one hell of an officer. He steadfastly believed in the right of a white-dominated state in Holy Panooly, because otherwise they would be savagely abused by the coloreds. Over time, this allowed him to develop ties with regional and national politicians. Hermes was also a good fighter and a brilliant thinker: at the age of only twenty-seven he was already a commander. Looking at the rear admiral, he asked, "So what's left to do now?"

"Not your best question yet, but a decent half first step," complimented Lancoft. "There's only one thing to do right now, and that's clear this bay. If one of them gets through us some how and hits one of our transport ships, we can consider the mission a failure. So we need to be damn sure that there's nothing breathing in those waters other than us."

"Why don't we split the frigates up?" It was the young Lipton again.

One of the officers in the back laughed; Piedmont to be precise. "Then we can't defend each other."

"Defend ourselves from what?" asked Hermes. "We will dominate the bay until they can threaten us from the shores, and that means we have just about twenty-four hours. Once the rebel presence begins to lose density, our ships can command larger areas individually, which allows us to cover more ground. That gives us more time to extract our people from the polis; otherwise, we're going to come out short."

Piedmont was just about to reply when the rear admiral cut him off. "Commander, I think you're right, but I think I'm going to compromise. You're right, the rebel presence is thinning out. So, let's spread out and have two to a group, with each group responsible for a specific zone of the bay. One of these two-ship groups, which will consist of PN706 and PN707, will patrol the shores and make sure nothing that can sail can get off the beach. That should address Piedmont's concerns, which I think there is truth to as well. There's a balance between spreading out and remaining clustered for the sake of joint defense."

Back on the surface, the battle was dying down. Many of the rebel boats had begun to withdraw, some south and others north. The Panooly frigates did not slow down, however, putting pressure on the gunboats still prowling the waves. The former's 120 millimeter cannons made short work of the low-armored converted fishing boats used by the ingenious insurgents. Gradually, the bay was cleared of a naval presence other than that of the eight frigates and the dozens of transport ships that were slowly making their way towards the ancient harbor of Delapesca. Lancoft's flagship and PN707 advanced a few dozen kilometers further north before they were in range of the coastline, and then proceeded to slowly decimate whatever ships there were along the coastline. Some of these were on the beaches, ready to be rolled into deeper waters with the change of the tides, and others were in actual harbors — dispersed between dozens of coastal towns and villages. Wherever they lay, the Panooly Navy found them and riddled them with large caliber rounds.

Up and above, a few birds of war were circling around, looking for their prey. These were four or five Veerogen VE-37,¹ a ground attack aircraft developed indigenous during the late 1970s and early 1980s. Armed with a 35mm autocannon and enough hard points to carry an excess of bombs and missiles, the VE-37 'Lunatic' was aptly named given the type of combat it was usually involved in. When the enemy had little ability to defend from airborne attacks, the 'Lunatic' could wreak havoc. Although most of the Panooly air force had been wiped out during the Navitek invasion of Jumanota, there were still a number of fighters left behind. While certainly not enough to defend the country from foreign invasion, the government nonetheless found them useful for attacking their internal foes. As such, a squadron of these mad birds was dispatched to assist the evacuation efforts around Delapesca, and assist they did. Convoys were hunted down and torn to shreds, in a desperate attempt to cut down the rate of rebel reinforcements flowing into Delapesca. Various other targets were efficiently sought and destroyed as well. As few of them were, the VE-37s could very well have been the most important component of the evacuation operation.

Towards the east, on top of the fog-ridden plateau and behind the polis' thick stone walls, loyalist artillery breathed fire. While rebel guns had pummeled the citadel for days on end, the Panooly troops in the fortress had decided against the use of their own long-range gunnery equipment until there was absolutely no other choice. They were afraid that if used, the rebels could simply destroy the loyalist artillery in counter-battery fire. But, now was that time when there was 'absolutely no other choice.' Indeed, the time to make an escape had come and, if missed, it would never return. Thus, for as long as they could, the artillery batteries in the citadel bombarded the suburbs which sprawled north of the plateau in either direction. The night sky lit up like a discotheque, the stunning spectrum of colors seemingly synchronized to the beat of war. But why alert the rebels? They weren't; they actually intended the opposite.

Largely invisible to the frigates, hundreds of Panooly infantry had suddenly emerged from behind the walls, moving down the winding hillside highways which connected the polis to the rest of the city. They were taking the fight to the rebels, as if they were trying to push them out of the city. They poured over the surprised insurgent positions closest to the siege lines, and then diffused throughout the city streets. As loyalist artillery continued to barrage deeper into Delapesca, throwing rebel organization into disarray, the Panooly soldiers drew the forward units of rebel gunmen into a street-by-street gunfight. The principal objective? To waste time. As soon as they could, the loyalist infantry dug in and prepared themselves for a day-long battle. Most of these men would never see their families again, and most of them were aware of this fact. Sometimes the few must be sacrificed for the sake of the many.

Within the hour, the evacuations of civilians would begin. Already, the thousands of frail and hungry survivors made their way down the narrow staircases between the citadel and the harbor. Sometimes, the knees of the weak would buckle and the person would tumble down the cliff to their death. It was truly horrendous, but the risk was a necessity that unfortunately came combined with the situation. Sieges are cruel things, a common trait to a large number of human inventions. For now, insurgent artillery remained suppress; soon, however, they would unleash their own firepower upon the helpless men, women, and children making their way down to the transports. The 'Lunatics,' and the frigates offshore, would do what they could, but it would never be quite enough. The operation to extract the loyalists of Delapesca would be long, grueling, and bloody. The sun would soon rise to reveal the carnage in Delapesca...

_____________________________________

1. The VE-37 is the rough equivalent of a Sukhoi Su-25.

[The Macabees]

Siege of Delapesca, Holy Panooly
Fall of the great polis, part II...

Manuel Thornsbury looked back up towards the citadel, as he and his family descended down the never-ending steps to the docks. A large cloud of smoke loomed over the polis, fed by the various tributary smoke stacks created by myriad fires spread out throughout the city. The suburbs received the first beating, as loyalist artillery submitted rebel forces deployed within Delapesca to an explosive steel storm. It took only a couple of hours for the insurgents to respond by relocating their guns and partaking in counter-battery fire. Panooly forces in the polis had by now thinned and it was only a little longer before their artillery had been absolutely squelched. For the rest of the day, the ongoing bombardment was a rebel monologue and the main audience were the civilians trying to climb down the almost 90 degree surface of the great Delapesca plateau. But death by artillery was by far a favorable demise when compared to the torture that awaited any loyalist who surrendered to the coloreds.

From the clear blue sky above screeched a high explosive round, impacting right on one of the staircases that connected the polis with the port. Manuel swiveled his head in the direction of the blast, but at first the impact site was concealed by a thick plume of dirt. As the dust settled, one could see the dead slowly tumbling down the side of the cliff, with an assortment of limbs and other detached body parts littered across the landscape. It was truly horrific, but it seemed to fit in with what these people had experienced during the past two weeks — starvation, disease, and death. The staircase was blown into two halves, with family members on either side struggling to cope with the shock of their sudden losses. Their family members and friends had died before their very eyes, and only a few minutes away from the dozens of transport ships patiently awaiting them below, protected within makeshift armored pens.

Manuel could see as one man looked back up towards the top of the staircase and then down, apparently deciding that the trek up to find another staircase — now that this one was split in two by a lucky shot — was far too long to make. He instead attempted to scale the southern end of the plateau on his own. Thornsbury could hear as another person farther away wrapped his mouth with his hands and yelled, "No! Go back up! You'll die!" His efforts were in vain.

The man proceeded to climb down the cliff on his own despite others' warnings. Slowly making his way down, he seemed to have good footing for at least a little while. Then his feet simply gave way and he began to tumble down towards the sea, hitting each successive rock as he rolled downwards. A woman who had been standing beside him put her right hand on her forehead as she screamed. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she could not help but cry as her husband plunged to his painful demise. That he could not even be spared of the jagged rocks, despite the fact that he already faced certain death, seemed to distress her more. She fell to her knees, apparently unable to continue. Those behind her had already begun to turn back to climb back up to the top and then start the decent through one of the other stepped routes. Left alone, the woman had nothing left to do but to let herself fall down the side of the cliff as well, hoping that she should meet her husband on the other side. Spectators who had stopped what they were doing to see what was happening soon turned elsewhere, preoccupied with getting to the harbor and far too busy to worry about other peoples' troubles.

Manuel Thornsbury returned to his own worries and he grabbed onto his two sons and his daughter, gently hugging them. He had already lost his beloved wife to disease during the siege, and his eldest son had also fallen ill, and Manuel was unwilling to withstand any more sorrow in his life. But he could not help but lose hope as he looked at his older son, Django, struggle down the cliff-side stairs. Once a tall, robust man, Django had been turned into a hunched-over octogenarian in all but age. At times, Manuel's son would stop to cough up blood and flem, his illness rapidly worsening and his health increasingly deteriorated. The family held on to their belief that once in Panooly the sixteen year old Django would be cured. Thus, despite the continuous and disheartening setbacks, the four of them continued their trek towards the awaiting transport ships below. Soon enough, all of this will be over, thought Manuel. Life must go on, right?

Up above and in the background, part of the polis' wall crumbled as it was struck by two successive artillery rounds. That stone rampart had stood the test of time, surviving in good shape for over one thousand years. All that was truly history now, though, as the rebels indiscriminately struck at what was now a rotting bastion of white power. With a deafening noise, adjacent pieces of wall collapsed in succession, their supports rattled and damaged by successive 155 millimeter rounds.

_________

[The glorious polis of Delapesca, two years prior to the civil war.]
_________

On the one hand, this was all so tragic. Thousands of years of Panooly history were being wiped out by combatants who would one day most likely lament their actions. On the other hand, the outcome seemed proper of what the loyalists deserved. Life under white rule in Holy Panooly was never easy and the 'coloreds' — as the loyalists called the rebels — were finally earning a chance at freedom and an adequate quality of life. If it was necessary to destroy the polis to rid Delapesca of the 'white scourge,' so be it.

As the artillery continued to rain down upon them, Manuel grew exasperated. "Django, we need to hurry."

"I know father, but I can't," replied the older son, "it just hurts too much. I'm trying to ignore the pain, but my mind is weak. I'm dying."

"You are not. Manuel refused to believe it. "I will carry you. There is no other choice; we need to get out of here and at this pace I fear the worst." Thus, the father loaded up his son into his arms and continued downwards, silently praying to God to give him safe footing as he went step to precarious step. Let this hell end soon.

The younger son, Albert, was but a mere eight years old. Tugging on his father's shirt, he innocently said, "Daddy, daddy, I can help! I can help!"

"I know, Albert. I want you to get the docks as quickly as you can, but be careful. Take your sister with you and make sure she's safe. Once you get to the ships, wait beneath those buildings that cover them, as they will protect you. Do not leave that area until I have found you. You must promise me that."

"Yes, father." With that, Albert and his sister started to descend as rapidly as possible, quickly gaining significant distance between them and Manuel. The latter, in turn, continued to carry Django in his arms, increasingly exasperated that his objective always seemed so far away...no matter how many steps he stumbled down. Thornsbury's legs were growing tired, but his preoccupation with the safety of his children seemed to give him perpetual strength. But, all things come to an end, even perpetuity.

The baritone grumble of a VE-37 'Lunatic' split through the skies above, as the aircraft darted south of the harbor and then turned around. It was most likely hunting for targets within the city now, attempting to support the Panooly infantry that were fanatically holding their ground just north of the citadel. The rebel presence was growing, and without loyalist artillery to hold them back they were asphyxiating the Panooly lines. Five or six VE-37s certainly helped a bit, but it was like a band-aid on a gunshot wound. The loyalist defense was hemorrhaging and it could not last for much longer. Some men were dying from thirst, others from heat, and yet others from disease. Those that survived resisted the rebel onslaught for as long as they could, but the only eventuality was their demise at the hands of a bullet or a sharp-edged machete. They dare not surrender and neither were they interested in being captured, because white prisoners of the rebels could only expect something much worse than death. As such, the fighting was brutal — to the last man — and those who could not fight any longer simply killed themselves.

A strip of fire jetted in the direction of the agile 'Lunatic,' and the aircraft made a few maneuvers to avoid the inbound vampire. It nevertheless failed to outrun the small missile and, hidden by a ephemeral plume of smoke, the jet fighter split into a thousand pieces, which scattered across the four winds. Aircraft components rained down on the plateau fortress and on the harbor below, but they seemed like just another commonplace item next to the ongoing artillery bombardment. This is so surreal, thought Manuel. Below him, he could see the faces of the soldiers protecting the harbor contort in horror. The loss of a VE-37 was no small matter, especially since there were so few of them to begin with. The largest chunks that remained crashed into the bay, including the cockpit which must have still contained the two pilots, as there was no sign that any of them had been able to eject from the cockpit.

As Manuel got closer to the port, one of the sailors standing outside his ship saw him carrying Django and ran up the two. The sailor introduced himself, "Sir, I'm Petty Officer Rikaards. Give me your son, I will take him to the ship. Is it just the two of you?"

"No. No, my son and daughter. They're...they're waiting next to the boat," Manuel panted back. He looked around, but couldn't see them behind the throng of people. "Where...where are they? I can't see them! Where are they!?"

Rikaards looked back to Thornsbury and attempted to assuage his concerns, "We'll find them, sir. I promise. But they're safe under the armored pens. The important thing now is to get you guys to safety as well."

The Panooly sailor was able to quickly run Django to the ship, while Manuel followed. When they finally reached the port, Rikaards looked back again and issued a set of instructions, "Look for your other children. I will take your son inside. When you find your other son and your daughter make your way through the crowd and tell the sailors at the bottom of the boarding steps that your family is inside and being taken care of by Rikaards. They will let you in, you have my word."

Thornsbury nodded and then turned to find Albert and Clarissa, the daughter. It took some time, because the harbor was crowded with thousands of civilian refugees desperately seeking a ride to the other side of the bay. There was a most likely false expectation of safety on the other side, but, then again, anywhere but here was a good destination. Many of these people would soon emigrate from the country if given the chance anyways. They would probably move to the Golden Throne, whether Theohuanacu or their mainland. Those who couldn't leave would have to seek shelter in Holy Panooly's capital city, Panooly. The devil would seek them out, as the rebels were not interesting in winning the war half ways. As soon as Delapesca and Guamlumpeiron fell, the insurgent armies would turn south, towards the rest of the country. This Panooly calamity would go on for quite some time and, as it always is, those who pay the most are those least a fault: the civilians.

Finally, Manuel found his two children and he dragged them towards the boat, pushing past those standing in front of him. It was quite a task, because the others were not particularly happy that three people were trying to cut in front of everyone. They were lucky that Rikaards had emerged from out of the ship once again, saw them, and helped them make their way to it. Manuel saw light at the end of the tunnel and the ongoing bombardment began to matter less and less. The heavy thud and clunk of inbound shells shook the steel walls of the harbor pens, but they posed no real threat as they could not pierce through the armor. Soon on the ship, father Thornsbury found out that there were no individualized quarters for them and that, rather, they'd have to stay in a large room already overfilled with sick, hungry refugees. At first somewhat taken aback, Manuel shook his head. Whatever it takes to get out of here. Whatever it takes. He found a corner for him, Albert, Django, and Clarissa, and they sat huddled around each other. The trip to the other side of the bay would take another five to six hours, although if the frigates could hold their ground at least it would be a safe journey. But, that was an 'if' rife with uncertainty.

Delapesca's polis would fall by nightfall. In the end, four thousand and a half civilians would be saved; another eleven thousand had died during the siege or as they tried to escape from the citadel. Eight thousand soldiers were also killed, and only four hundred rescued. Some fighting continued on through the night and into the next day, despite the collapse of resistance within the polis' walls. Pockets of Panooly infantrymen would dig into police buildings and other public installations with enough food and arms to last them for some time. But, within no more than forty-eight hours the city would meet a necessary silence, which would serve as a collective time of mourning. The coloreds would bury their dead and burn the bodies of the whites. Then, the rebel armies would move north, where battle still raged within Guamlumpeiron. If the latter megalopolis fell, the war would take a decisive turn in favor of the rebellion.

[Radictistan]

Indras Demilitarized Zone

With the completion of the Radictistani deployment to forward positions, Operation Mezzanine became Operation Windmill. The Radictistani troops soon fell into a routine of mounting squad-sized presence patrols from their small outposts while otherwise staying put. The reconnaissance troops were a little more active; they periodically established covert observation posts on hillsides. There they would stay for a few hours watching for any hint of insurgent movement before stealthily withdrawing back to their permanent positions.

---

The First Squad of the Third Platoon travelled as a staggered column down what passed for a road in central Indras. A local interpreter was protectively cocooned at the center of the column. The squad’s destination was the nearest village, some five kilometers from Combat Security Outpost 11.

The patrol had limited firepower. Besides eleven rifles and carbines each of the squad’s two fireteams had as standard issue one AG1SL light machine gun. The AG1SL, or Avtomatische Gewehr 1 Schwere Lange, was based off the standard AG1L 7.62x45mm assault rifle. The SL variant had a longer and heavier barrel to facilitate sustained automatic fire. Ammunition was fed from a seventy-five round drum magazine. One man in the lead fireteam carried a pair of RPO-A “Hummel” single-shot thermobaric rocket launchers for use against insurgents in cover.

The squad leader, Senior Corporal Orlitz ordered his lead team into a combat wedge as the village came into view. The patrol passed into the settlement.

“Check the buildings, lads,” Orlitz had said, “but don’t be too obvious about it.” The Radictistanis hoped to be seen by the local population as protectors and partners in peace, not as a hostile occupying force. So the order had come down to go easy. No one in the squad believed that directive would last long but for now they would obey.

The soldiers passed out index cards with the frequencies for the force radio station and met briefly with some of the local dignitaries: clergy and business owners. No one was willing to shed much light on the local conditions. They knew that in a few hours the Radictistanis would leave and the insurgents, if there were any in the neighborhood, would come and punish anyone who talked.

The squad moved out so as to time its arrival back at the CSOP with the evening stand-to. They travelled combat-ready and using a different route home than they had taken to the village.

[Radictistan]

Indras Demilitarized Zone

At 0721 Private First Class Erwin Lamm of Second Platoon, C Company, 632 Light Battalion fired the first shot of Operation Windmill. His AG1SL barked at the source of incoming fire. The rest of First Squad opened fire seconds later.

To the rear, Lieutenant Gregersen shouted to the Second Squad leader to bring his men forward to try and envelope the enemy. The instructors at the Royal Military Academy had always said that contact with irregulars was typically brief; they wanted to do some damage and pull out before indirect fire or air strikes could arrive.

The son of Scandinvan exiles, the twenty-one year old was new to the task of leading a platoon. He was still dizzy from having graduated from the RMA, his parents having arrived in Radictistan with almost nothing. The Grand Duchy was not known for social mobility.

The previous day an unmanned aircraft had taken fire near the Second Platoon’s forward outpost. The order then came down from battalion to conduct a sweep of the area. Gregersen took two squads out on patrol in compliance with those orders. About an hour and a half into the patrol the quasi-platoon had run smack into a small group of insurgents.

Second Platoon moved slowly over the broken terrain, too slowly to catch the insurgents in a trap. The firefight lasted for a total of about eight minutes. Three of the Radictistanis were hit. The able-bodied provided perimeter security while the platoon medic stabilized the three for transport. One dead insurgent was found forty meters away.

The nearest quick reaction force was called in. Three transport helicopters rendezvoused with Second Platoon. Two of them carried the QRF while the third acted as the CASEVAC bird. The wounded were evacuated to the force headquarters where a field hospital had been set up. Two of the young men were moved on to Bǫtosani for repatriation. They had received the proverbial “million Radin wound.”

The rest of the patrol continued along its way after the pickup. They eventually found a small, seemingly abandoned insurgent camp. After destroying all the materiel there – mostly camping gear and propaganda leaflets – the patrol returned to its base without further incident.

[The Macabees]

Territory of Indras
The true anti-insurgency campaign begins...

The sleek, black, and imposing figure of a Naram-Sin emerged from an greyish-white cloud that spread out across the clear blue skies just above the eastern coastline of Holy Panooly. Behind the bomber came another six, all of them most likely armed to the teeth. The Naram-Sin was an infamous harbinger of death, although not an often used weapon in the Golden Throne's arsenal. Usually, the Laerihans preferred the GLI-113 nuclear bomber for long-range missions or the GLI-34 for shorter-range objectives. In this case, though, the Naram-Sin was just perfect for what the Laerihans had in mind: the utter destruction of the resistance in Indras. As such, the seven sky-bound monsters ominously lumbered on towards their target land, the lush forests of the most recent acquisition of the Second Empire. Within their cargo bays they carried over two thousand eight hundred (2,800) missiles, each ready to fire, mostly comprised of a fair balance between air-to-surface cruise missiles and air-to-air combat missiles.

When counting the weaponry stored in the aircraft, the missile count grew. The previous figure, see, refers to the number of missiles loaded onto the various internal racks that contained the actual firing mechanisms. Powered by enormous air-breathing rocket engines, the Naram-Sin was well-known for being one of those Macabee aircraft with the capabilities of flying into the Earth's orbit so that it could "bounce" towards its target destination, which drastically cut travel time — in fact, it was this bomber which introduced the technology to the Imperial manufacturing sector, which would then apply it towards civilian output. Once over the battlefield, the Naram-Sin could fly around and unload its payload. The internal clips would then be restocked and the bomber would be ready again to wreak havoc. When completely out of missiles, it could be reloaded by air via special transport aircraft, although oftentimes Laerihans preferred for the bombers to simply head back to base and restock once on the ground.

Around them circulated a hungry pack of Lu-45 air superiority fighters, a fixed-wing gladiator that had been in service with the Laerihans since before the War of Golden Succession. While no resistance was expected within the flight path between Theohuanacu and Indras, the Hawks remained nevertheless vigilant, making sure the prized Naram-Sins returned to their base unscathed. To aid them in their effort, the Lu-45s received the help of two GLI-44 Blackjesters, which were acting in an early warning role — the bomber flight and its escorts wanted absolutely no surprises. While the probability of an attack was low, the Laerihans was known for taking all variables into account before sending its men on hazardous missions. Thus, the escorts prowled the skies around the bombers, their engines snarling menacingly, as if warning all those who sought harm to stay away or suffer severe consequences. Specifically in mind were contractor jet fighters still flying over Jumanota; since the arrest of several of Tarn Defense Solution’s top management, the Tarn-based private military contractors had turned their back somewhat to Imperial Authority.

_________

[An illustration of the illustrious Lu-45 Hawk.]
_________

Ultimately, the private defense contractors were neither here nor there, as the true targets were the Indran militias still operating throughout the Macabee territory. While these had been pushed further into the jungle by forces on the ground — now a total of very nearly 500,000 men —, they nevertheless continued to ambush armed patrols that covered routes between the strings of small towns that dotted the local landscape. Although the number of monthly casualties was steeply falling, thousands of Theohuanacu and Guffingford auxiliaries, as well as regulares, were falling prey to militant tactics. As the insurgency was driven further underground, fighting the resistance grew in difficulty. Finding them and routing them out of their heavily fortified hideouts was a painstaking and costly task, and it was coming to the point at which the Ejermacht was seriously doubting whether the dividends of these operations were paying off. Already, they were opting to obliterate known rebel operating bases through sustained artillery bombardments, although the results were so far mixed.

The Naram-Sins represented the Laerihan’s attempt to prove that it could accomplish the objective the Ejermacht had so far failed to achieve. Through a sustained, three-day long barrage of the Indran countryside, they hoped to drive the insurgents out of their hiding places en masse — every nook and cranny would receive its very own cruise missile. Just in case, the bombers could even send one or two more, just to make sure the job was done. The purpose of this all was to make it expensive…far too expensive…for the militias to continue to operate in Imperial territory. They could move south if they wanted to, but their presence would not be tolerated in Indras. If it took tens of thousands of cruise missiles to send the message, so be it. Some might claim that this particular approach lacks cost effectiveness, but over the long-run the price of a cloud of cruise missiles is most likely incomparable to that of a continued insurgency.

Indeed, the insurgency had already had a marked influence on the early shaping of the new Imperial Territory of Indras. Hundreds of thousands of civilians had been displaced due to the razing of local towns and villages, both at the hands of the Empire and at those of the militias. Continued warfare had taken its toll on the economic development of Indras as well, as the infrastructure had received little attention since the occupation. The air surrounding the safety of local assets was far too hazy to invite Macabee firms to investment in local roads and infrastructure. In fact, the only form of large scale investment so far was a comprehensive reconstruction of the local road and highway network, to facilitate the movement of Imperial troops. But, there were aspects of the Indran economy that were in dire need of repair. As such, it was time to move the insurgents out once and for all. Maybe then the task of boosting the local income level — perhaps one of the most beneficial aspects to Imperial expansion — could finally be accomplished.

There was also, unsurprisingly, a secondary motive. The Lamoni occupation of the southern half of the island was no doubt a response to the Second Empire’s territorial growth. While the Empire took care to avoid offense, as that kind of response was never productive, it nevertheless felt somewhat “insulted.” Truth be told, perhaps that was the wrong word; whatever the case, it was clear that Lamoni’s intentions in taking what was known Omega was more than just a land grab, because had it not been for the Macabee presence they would have never made a move of their own. Now they had invited Morrhidane forces to set up camp in Omega and there was some knowledge of additional foreign military bases in the area. Tensions between the various powers had, understandably, escalated, which was why the two countries agreed to a demilitarized zone occupied by foreign peacekeepers. Yet, the way the newly arrived peacekeepers had interpreted their purpose in a way different to that originally intentioned by the Treaty. Rather than focus on the insurgency, the Fegosi soldiers instead set to construct a long strip of border defenses and that was something the Empire certainly took affront to.

In an effort to destabilize the occupation of the southern half of the island, the Fuermak — Macabee high command — hoped that the eradication effort of the insurgency in Indras would drive the militias southward and across the frontier. They could do their bidding as long as it was outside of Imperial territory. In fact, it was preferred that they remain active in Omega, as that would offer the Empire at least some retribution for the Lamonian slap that had struck the Imperial Government in Fedala flat across the face. In that vein, several teams of komandíers, highly trained Ejermacht commandos, had already snuck into Omega — many of them even prior to the full Lamonian occupation of the territory — to blend in with local populations. These would soon start their nefarious activities, once they were fully integrated with the insurgent units south of the frontier. This would form the crux of the Macabee destabilization campaign in Omega, although the full extent of covert Imperial aggression would not be determined until the Golden Throne’s position regarding the ongoing conflict surrounding Istegium was fully fleshed out (relevant because of the Fegosi involvement in Mokastana, a nation directly war with the Imperial ally of Haishan).

In as long a time as it would most likely take to provide a truly detailed account of the network of intentions in Indras and Omega, the aerial task force traversed the distance between eastern Holy Panooly and Indras. Before their arrival, the escorting Lu-45s and GLI-44 Blackjesters turned back and headed back to base, as escorting duties would be taken over by the Lu-45s stationed in the territory. The Naram-Sin bombers did their own thing, spreading about the skies above the wide-ranging lands below, and opening their bomb bays in preparation for the “shock and awe” the Laerihans had prepared for the unsuspecting militias hidden in the foliage that covered the near majority of the Indran land mass — north of the frontier, at least. Once in place, the SRSBs hovered around as they awaited their orders, the pilots undoubtedly itching to begin the mission. It was rare to be sent on these kinds of missions and, if you’re the sadistic kind, they could be quite enjoyable.

Soon enough, the SRSBs received the common order, “Operation Wildfire is a go. I repeat, Operation Wildfire is a go.” As ominously as it came, the voice soon disappeared. But, the bombers responded with hellfire.

The skies were lit up with the orange, red, and blue streaks of missile after missile, as they were launched in quick succession by the Naram-Sins. Almost as soon as they were fired, the cruise missiles struck their intended — well, sometimes unintended as well — targets down below, hitting deep within the crowded tree line of the territory. Urban targets were not spared. If there was intelligence on an insurgent presence, the target was struck. Operation Wildfire was nothing more and nothing less than the comprehensive destruction of any organized resistance. Even if not entirely successful, it would be hard for the insurgents to recover from the utter annihilation of their sources of supply and their concentrated operating bases. Where they thought they were safe they would soon be face-to-face with an emotionless missile, and the latter would come out victorious every time. Neither could the militias do much about it all, since they lacked the ordnance for a meaningful response. They were simply helpless and the Laerihans was taking full advantage of its unquestionable superiority. It was the way of the world, after all —David beating Goliath is nothing more than a heart-warming myth to those too weak to stand up to greater powers.

The length of Operation Wildfire was practically indeterminate, but at first it was planned to continue for at least three days. To that end, the bombers proceeded to rain steel death upon their adversaries, communicating a warning to cease their attacks on Macabee assets or otherwise suffer the very painful consequences. Hopefully, the bombings would also have the intended effect of driving these insurgents south, across the border. To that effect, the Empire had failed to give due warning to their Radictistani allies, for the purpose of minimizing their readiness for the southbound rebel movements. They would soon become aware, in any case…

[United World Order]

Holy Panooly, Ordernite Occupied Zone.
Local Time: 1300 Hrs.

It had been known for sometime since the UWO had secured it's swathe of land within Holy Panooly that not everyone would accept their new rulers. It was also known in more recent events that what is now originally Holy Panooly has fallen into a brutal civil war with the rebels gaining ground in every engagement. The Ordernite High Command had begun to stress to combat commanders in the occupied zone about the repression of dissent and the crushing of any partisan forces that currently operate within the occupied zone. Local intelligence had noticed that partisans were becoming more common towards the border with what was now war torn Holy Panooly. It was being theorized that rebels from across the border were beginning to seep into the occupied zone to denounce the claim made by the Ordernites, a problem that had to be solved with extreme violence.

On the border with war torn Holy Panooly and the occupied zone was a contingent of Ordernite troops acting as security for the laborers working on reconstructing the border. The contingent was at a full division's strength and would be more then capable at delivering a proper blow to the rebels that were hanging around in the occupied zone. Search and destroy patrols had been created and sent out along the border to snuff out and eliminate all rebels that were currently operating in the occupation zone. Prisoners would be taken and transferred inland to a detention facility which only two currently existed within the occupied zone. It was a fact that they would eventually die while in captivity and it was hoped that they would indeed die while under captivity.

The overall construction of the new border was being carried out by laborers pooled from the population in the occupied zone. Professional contractors from the UWO had come to assist in the build as well. The laborers security would be a division worth of soldiers who also are taking part now in a counter insurgency operation. The entire construction project is currently scheduled to be finished in two months, fortifications, fences, barbwire, roads and other means of defense were to be constructed and placed properly in a two month time span. Slouching off or trying to skip work as a laborer would end in a beating or worse, along with that , the work was being inspected by the contractors to prevent possible sabotage which would mean for anyone caught doing so would suffer immediate execution.

Meanwhile within the towns across the occupied zones, primarily the whites were being tested for their citizenship as a Ordernite. Much went into a foreigner becoming a full honorary citizen of the UWO and the men and women behind it took it with pride. A full medical and physical examination was in order as they were examined for genetic faults that would prevent them from being a Ordernite. Additionally, they were questioned on where their loyalties laid with now and if they were willing if they hadn't already to become a member of the Fascist party in UWO. The persons applying for citizenship if they were up to standards with the examinations and questioning, they would then recite a oath to their new mother country and it's leader.

Once citizenship was achieved they were offered to join the military to become the future protectors of the territory, a training camp for those that have signed up was already in the works for them as the Ordernite High Command would be looking to raise a standing army to take over defense of the territory. Training would be carried out by selected soldiers who were currently stationed in the country and soon additional facilities would be built to suffice all of the recruits. The colored population would not receive citizenship because of the obvious genetic faults they have, they would instead be given temporary citizenship and considered as immigrants in the country. Second class citizens would be where they would stand in this society.

Plans had been made for the colored population in the occupied zone to be the main source of laborers. They would work the factories, construction projects and other manual labor that the white population would generally not be part of but instead be working as owners of the factories, CEO's or managers. The colored population would also be encouraged to join the military as they were the majority, the Ordernite High Command would allow them to be in the territories' standing army to compensate for the small population of whites in the country. The debate on whether the colored population should be allowed to be part of the fascist party was a stalemate. Some were against it as they were not true Ordernites and would damage the name and purity of the political organization while others said that they would in no time be devout fascists and loyal party members just like any Ordernite.

The progress made in the occupation zone was being noted, there was defiantly a noticeable difference between what the territory was before they had arrived and after to the present. Within a year it was predicted that the territory would be some what on par with the condition of living in the UWO. Only time would tell.

[Morrdh]

1,000km North of Lamoni

Steaming westwards was the Morridane convoy bound for Holy Poonaly, headed by the Tiger-class cruiser HSS Roland (name after a Morridane naval commander of the Great Border War). Amongst the convoy were a few passenger ships and cargo ships taken up from trade, a Fleet Auxiliary hospital ship, various support ships and the Centaur-class commando carrier HSS McKenzie with its two squadrons of Westland Wessex helicopters. Sailing as escorts were frigates and destroyers of different classes such as the Type 82, Type 42 and County-class destroyers and frigates such as the Type 22, Type 21, Leander-class and Rothesay-class. They were due to be met by a Lamonian Navy Maritime Action Group consisting of two Kalmar-class cruisers and a Tenskwatawa-class submarine, the Royal Morridane Navy's carrier HSS Wiseman and her escort group based in Lamoni would act as a relief force if anything went wrong.

Upon arrival in Holy Poonaly a port currently unoccupied by Ordernite force would be selected, the various warship dropping anchor in the waters outside the port whilst the 'civilian' ships would dock but not before a naval shore party had been put ashore. Amongst the shore party would be a company of Royal Morridane Marines, administrative clerks drawn from across the Morridane Armed Forces to process the paperwork for all the refugees, medical staff to check over each refuge and a joint Commonwealth Police/CIS team tasked with picking out wanted criminals based upon Interpol information. A semi-permanent presence was foreseen and a field company of the Royal Morridane Engineers had been despatched to sort out the needed facilities such as billets, offices, canteens, etc. In light of what was expected to be a major operation the Morridane Admiralty had coined the name 'Operation Goose' for the entire mission.

*1x Tiger-class cruiser:- HSS Roland
*1x Centaur-class commando carrier:- HSS McKenzie
*1x Type 82 destroyer:- HSS Ramarck
*5x Type 42 destroyers:- HSS Gotham, HSS Ord, HSS Ludford, HSS Lindun, HSS Fellig
*2x County-class destroyers:- HSS Beaufort, HSS Ulster
*2x Type 22 frigates:- HSS Broadsword, HSNGS Brilliant
*7x Type 21 frigates:- HSS Artemis, HSS Arrow, HSS Ardent, HSS Active, HSS Avenger, HSNGS Alacrity, HSNGS Antelope
*4x Leander-class frigates:- HSS Tay, HSS Lud, HSS Morr, HSNGS Argonaut
*2x Rothesay-class frigates:- HSS Gwentia, HSNGS Derry

HSS - His/Her Serenity's Ship
HSNGS - His/Her Serenity's New Garrack Ship

[HailandKill]

Fedala,
Empire of the Golden Throne, The Maccabees
0815 Local Time

The relationship between The Imperial Republic of HailandKill and The Golden Throne of the Maccabees had always been an interesting one, to say the very least on the subject. If one were to only compare the two nations briefly, it might appear that the two entities had very little in common except their geographical location.

In regard to domestic policy, The Imperial Republic was more libertarian in governance than their Maccabean counterparts; Killian citizens were fiercely beholden to the republican democracy that was established after the many years of civil war and political turmoil that followed from violent deposition of a brutal dictator. The Golden Throne, on the other hand, had been ruled by a dynasty whose power spanned over three-hundred years. The Maccabean government resembled something akin to a constitutional monarchy with an added abundance of civil liberties to make up for the some of the political freedoms that had not been present or available to all its citizens. Though The Imperial Republic and The Golden Throne had differing systems of political governance, the day-to-day freedoms afforded to their respective citizens were nearly analogous.

Within both the regional and international spheres, The Golden Throne had been a powerful entity long before HailandKill wielded any influence, or had even existed for that matter. However, both nations shared similar outlooks when it came to foreign policy matters, aggressively securing national safety and acting quickly to secure interests that best served the homeland and its people.

The Imperial Republic’s first diplomatic interactions with The Maccabees could easily be described as that of a client state. Following the conclusion of the Second Killian Civil War, The Imperial Republic was short of both war materials and the military engineering required to sufficiently design and produce them. Much of HailandKill had been ravaged and destroyed in the various campaigns and offensives that its citizens took upon one another. When the newly created government of the Imperial Republic sought to rebuild and bolster its armed forces, The Golden Throne and their numerous military conglomerates to the southeast were more than willing to exchange Maccabee armaments for Killian currency.

Considering the precarious economic position of the The Imperial Republic at the time, any country willing to provide arms for a currency that had not been widely established or circulated was taking a huge risk on their investment; if HailandKill had plunged back into another civil war, fragmented into separate states along ethnic lines, or witnessed any form of market catastrophe, any of their currency that was in the hands of a foreign government would essentially hold value equal to or less than the sheets that they were printed on.

As the worst of the post-civil war scenarios predicted by international analysts monitoring The Imperial Republic remained mere suppositions, a new Killian political era devoid of fractitious sectarian violence was birthed. The desire to move forward and heal the severe, severe, wounds of the past was evident in the increased cooperation between the formerly opposed north and south. Both areas of the country witnessed the rapid expansion of both the agricultural and manufacturing industries that had been left devastated in The Great War.

As internal growth within HailandKill began to stabilize, the now well-established leaders within The Imperial Republic sought to repay the monetary debt the country had owed to The Golden Throne, as well as the feelings of gratitude underpinned by military support and increased trade that had continued since the beginning of the new Killian state. Once capable of standing on its own two legs, The Imperial Republic began increasing diplomatic ties, and a mutual defense treaty was signed, officiating loyalties towards one another. The dynamic between both the Maccabees and HailandKill was still somewhat one-sided though as The Golden Throne was larger, wielded more influence within the region, possessed a much larger military, and had also existed considerably longer; realistically, Fedala held most, if not all, of the power.

The level of mutual cooperation and respect that had developed between the two was was certainly included within the the diverse facets of relations that existed between them. The short time period that the two countries had been aligned to the defense and aid of one another bore witness to a rapid number of developments and changes in both rapport and power relations.

The nature of power between the HailandKill and The Maccabees changed drastically when an armed uprising began in the northern portion of The Golden Throne following the death of the country’s leader, Jonach I. When the rebellion developed into a full-scale civil war, The Imperial Republic supported and backed the recognized heir to The Golden Throne, Fedor I, committing swiftly and aggressively to the conflict taking place on the Maccabee mainland. The move was both political and strategic; HailandKill valued its relationship with its ally but it also could not afford to see the flow of weapons and armaments stemmed or cut off.

When countries like Stevid and Safehaven became embroiled in the affair, The War of Golden Succession transitioned from a local conflict to regional one. The rapid escalation resulted in the further Killian deployments on both the ground and in the sea as The Imperial Republic undertook more combat operations. At the height of The War of Golden Succession both HailandKill and The Maccabees bore witness to a number of devastating battles, ones that have been remarked about countlessly over time thereafter. Views that equated The Imperial Republic with subservience to The Golden Throne were washed away as Killians undertook independent, and successful ground campaigns in Mons Dei, Aurillac, and elsewhere. The casualties suffered by both nations for a mutual goal brought the two closer together, strengthening the bonds between the countries in the forges of war.

The waning prosperity of both countries in the immediate post-war period, due to stretched treasuries and the economic perils faced by a long, continuous, war led both countries to turn inward and and temporarily abandon any roles they played on the international stage. Though there would always be a mutual respect for one another, cooperation between the Imperial Republic and The Golden Throne during the post-war period was shrunk to matters that mostly regarded to trade and commerce.

As the magnificent buildings and skyscrapers of Fedala passed by in a continuous, indistinguishable blur, Ambassador Revello reflected on most of these events during his long trip to the hotel from the from the Fedala International Airport. The man found himself thinking about these same events again when he awoke the next morning, and yet again when he was finalizing his appearance in the large mirror of his room, preparing to depart for the day. Revello felt responsible for both the positive and negative developments between the two countries; up until fairly recently all of them had all occurred entirely during his tenure as president of The Imperial Republic; he had witnessed the wax and wane of their relations like an astronomer observing a celestial body.

Revello strolled through grand hallways of the magnificent hotel that were bereft of anyone except the men assigned to protect him before arriving at the lobby. Looking at his watch he noticed he was a few minutes ahead of schedule, and Revello signaled to his armed detail to take posts throughout the large foyer as they waited for the Maccabee contingent of vehicles to arrive. When Revello could make out the Maccabean convoy that was starting to snake up the long roadway that lead up to the entrance plaza, he stepped outside to take a few quick drags of a cigarette before snuffing the thing out under his dress shoes with a quick motion. Revello was slightly aware that he might have been creating a security risk by stepping outside, but if it that were the case the Maccabean captain of the security detail betrayed nothing but professional courtesy when he stepped forward to show Revello his vehicle.

Revello slid into the shiny black leather seats of the idling truck before being sandwiched between two heavily armed men bearing assault rifles. No expense or procedure was spared when Revello visited The Golden Throne, and the man had felt like he were still the president of The Imperial Republic when he was visited for diplomatic purposes like these.

Revello found himself reflecting again when the vehicle began to lurch towards the Imperial Palace, the whine of the high powered engine steadily increasing with the vehicles speed. "There would be plenty of time during this trip to make amends and restore the old status quo," he thought. Fedor’s warm welcome the previous night had assuaged a number of fears harbored by the veteran statesmen. The rapport between the current leader of The Golden Throne and the former leader of The Imperial Republic was one resembling old friends catching up after a long hiatus away from one another; there seemed to be no acrimony or assigning of blame for whatever had happened during the diplomatic sabbatical between the two countries.

Revello was buoyed by this thought as the black SUV thundered down the road at high speed, keeping perfect pace with the fast moving convoy. The diplomat was less tired and jetlagged from the the long flight than he had been the night before and he was paying more attention to the capital as he glimpsed through the windows to either side of him. Revello had always been struck by the seamless blend of both new and old buildings, intertwined with one another as though they had always been that way. Hailia, the capital city of HailandKill, had one historic district that was sacrosanct; the rest of the sprawling metropolis, though, was subject to constant upheaval and change as newer buildings continuously replaced older ones.

Revello was silently comparing the two cities in his mind, making a note to himself that he should visit Fedala more often now that he had the time to. Nearly all of his previous visits took place under harried conditions and rigorous schedules that left him with virtually no free time. “Understandable though,” he thought. “War has a tendency to hasten the urgency of even the most menial of matters."

When one of the men assigned to Revello’s security detail signaled to the others that they were nearing The Imperial Palace, his thought process switched back to the diplomatic missive that he was present for in the first place. President Eric Johnson had made it abundantly clear to Revello that the first priority was ensure that the current relationship between the two countries be improved through any means available to him. Revello’s next priority would then be securing a theater for Killian ground operations in Holy Panooly if possible, so that a naval base could be established there for any future operations in that area of the region. The current Killian President viewed the location of Holy Panooly as the perfect location for a military installation that could extend HailandKill’s reach to the farthest corners of Greater Dienstad. Though only a young soldier at the time, Eric Johnson viewed then-President Revello’s decision not to take any of the lands of the conquered nations as spoils of victory a serious misstep that he now saw the opportunity to remedy.

Revello had not noticed that the black SUV had come to a full stop in the midst of mentally going through his directives. The man pulled his head up and became more alert when the the bright glare of the afternoon sun poured in through the now open door, bathing him in its warm light. The leather seats of the interior squelched as the security agent to Revello’s right slid out and put his feet down on the grounds of The Imperial Palace. The ambassador quickly followed suit, stepping onto the running board of the vehicle and then onto the gravel floor. Revello noticed that the grey clouds of the early morning had given way to a beautiful afternoon. The sun seemed to lift away whatever feelings of introspection he felt up until now he thought to himself.

One of Fedor’s aides interrupted this brief idea when he approached Revello to show him the way towards where he was to meet with highest authority of The Golden Throne. As the two walked in silence, flanked by both Killian and Maccabean security agents, Revello thought to himself that if he had been a superstitious man he might have thought the change in weather to be a wonderful omen. As he walked closer towards the palace, Revello slowed his gait to admire the large stone turrets and magnificently adorned statues of the Imperial Palace. Upon reaching the entrance the man paused to look at the inscription above the tall arch but Revello could not make out what had been etched into the stone long ago, as the ancient Dienstadi dialect was indecipherable to him.

Shortly after stepping into the palace, Revello was greeted by the very man he had travelled so far to see. Fedor’s body language was as inviting as it had been the previous night as the two men greeted one another warmly. Their relationship was somewhat anomalous in the world of diplomatic relations. Whereas most countries highest heads of state rarely communicate directly with one another, the two men met frequently before and during the War of Golden Succession, developing a legitimate friendship and trust seldom seen between leaders of powerful nations.

This time there was no air of urgency surrounding their meeting this time as there had been during many other times that they had convened. The two walked casually, exchanging pleasantries as a flurry of activity occurred around them. The two were upon the meeting room in what had felt like an instant before Revello stepped in, ahead of everyone else. As everyone who had been deemed important enough to stand in on, or advise, this meeting filtered in and began to sit, Revello remained standing, scanning the room around him for recognizable faces.

“Gentlemen, most of us have met before,” Revello cordially said to the larger congregation of aides, military leaders, and important political heads that were seated before him. “You know, then, from previous encounters that I am direct and to the point in all of the matters I conduct, and this time is no different. Both my president and I believe that both our nations can benefit from increased levels of cooperation and further strengthening of our already close ties with one another. My missive here is to achieve that end and The Imperial Republic wishes to assist in the developing conflict on Holy Panooly while humbly asking for your blessings in building a military outpost there for future operations.”

After Revello finished his opening statement to the Maccabean statesmen assembled within the room he straightened his belt, brushed his dress pants downward, and sat down. The man had hoped that the comments he just delivered were both forthright enough to set the tone of the conversation while being respectful of the situation unfolding within the region. Revello had tried to be delicate as possible; he was no longer the highest head of state within The Imperial Republic and negotiating for someone else was still an aspect of being an ambassador that he had not yet adjusted to.

[United World Order]

O'Deutschland Hoch In Ehren Marsch

Holy Panooly, Ordernite Occupied Zone
Local Time; 1600 Hrs.

When it had been formally announced through social media from the likes of countries such as Lamoni, Morddh and Mokastana that a convoy was defiantly on it's way. The Ordernite High Command passed orders to the Ordernite Navy presence in Holy Panooly that the convoy was to be allowed safe passage if they were to want to dock in one of the territories ports. The Ordernite Army had put together a taskforce to set up a checkpoint outside a Port that was going to be where the Convoy vessels would use. The taskforce would be preforming security checks on refugees who wanted to leave, ensuring they were not rebels in disguise or did not have any contraband they were trying to smuggle out of the country. Barbwire fencing and a gate post would be erected where the checkpoint would be, several LAPV Enok vehicles were neatly parked off to the side of the checkpoint, all having the logo of the Army on the sides of their vehicles.

Two GTK Boxer AFVs were also positioned on the checkpoint, being shielded by a three by eight sandbag formation. The two vehicles were armed with heavy machine guns which were manned by their appropriate gunners. A number of Ordernite Army soldiers manned the checkpoint, some holding the leashes to trained dogs who were for attack or sniffing for drugs or any other contraband a refugee may try to sneak out of the country. Refugees were already showing up to the checkpoint as they were required to if they wanted to leave, bringing what they could carry with them as well. The process of getting the refugees through the checkpoint would commence, starting with a complete pat down of the person along with a search of their belongings and being sniffed out by a contraband sniffing dog.

After that process, they would be let through the gate and allowed to continue on to the port. Within two hours at least forty people were let through and eighteen people had been detained, mostly for contraband. The propaganda campaign that was on-going to convince possible refugees not to leave was working, only about one hundred showed up instead of the predicted several hundred by the Ordernite High Command. Even at the checkpoint several propaganda posters were hung up for the refugees leaving to see, they would say messages such as "A CONVOY OF MURDERERS AND SAVAGES ARE COMING" and "MOKASTANA, MORRDH AND LAMONI WILL ENSLAVE ALL REFUGEES" along with other slogans and messages.

It all ended in a matter of seconds for the checkpoint and the refugees that wanted to get through. A radio transmission came in to the acting Commander of the checkpoint, ordering the immediate shutting down of the checkpoint and the detainment of all refugees currently waiting to be let through. The gatepost was closed as the Ordernite Army soldiers raised their weapons and ordered everyone to drop to the ground and not to move. Of course their were those that were too stubborn and wanted so desperately to leave, several had suddenly gotten up and tried to run off from the checkpoint towards the port. Most were immediately shot down in their attempt to escape but two were able to not be hit and continued their escape, within minutes a Enok patrol vehicle was blazing it's way to where they were running off too.

One of the runners was rammed by the patrol vehicle as the other was shot in the back several times as the vehicle came to a stop. The injured one that survived the hit by the patrol vehicle was given a swift execution with a bullet to the back of the head. Back at the checkpoint the refugees who were detained were all shoved off into transport trucks and taken away for future imprisonment. The checkpoint was then turned into a fortified position by the Ordernite soldiers on scene, sandbags were moved and vehicles were moved as well. A roadblock had been created on the road leading towards the port as soldiers were posted there, ready for action if it came down to that.

[Radictistan]

Indras Demilitarized Zone

The Radictistani Ministry of Defense provided the deployed units a steady stream of advice. One concern held by those far removed from the fighting was that the Radictistani infantry would adopt a “bunker mentality” as a result of their low force density and lack of training in counterinsurgency warfare.

As the Radictistani contingent was still slightly below the troop ceiling imposed by the Treaty of Targu Iulia, the MoD ordered the deployment of the Special Reconnaissance Platoon of 16 Ranger Battalion. The twenty-six men of that unit were trained for long-range surveillance operations, the kind that would essential to locate insurgent strongpoints and field units.

While some Ranger subunits had seen active service in Norcustsur as covert intelligence gatherers, this was the first international deployment of any Royal Radictistan Army special operations unit.

The Rangers were flown in to Botosani with the minimum level of disclosure the Macabee would tolerate. The longer their presence in Indras remained unknown to the insurgents the more effective they would be. It wouldn’t do to have the adversaries tighten up their security.

The Ministry of Defense was not happy about the Macabee’s grand missile strike, particularly the fact that the Radictistani forces in theatre had not been informed. The sudden appearance of thousands of cruise missiles had created a near panic among the mission crew of an AEW aircraft flying off the Count of Nuxenstat. Four MiG-29K fighters were scrambled to bolster the carrier group’s combat air patrol. All ships went to Action Stations. There they remained until it became apparent that the missile attack was not directed at either the Radictistani sector of responsibility or the carrier group.

Back in Nuxenstat the Macabee ambassador was summoned to explain the unannounced escalation of the conflict and its ramifications for the Radictistani mission. More discreetly, the Naval Staff ordered two nuclear-powered attack submarines to the region.

---

Both houses of Parliament had passed the Supplemental Military Appropriations Bill. Buried within the statute was funding for five hundred positions within the new Indras Local Self-Defense Units of which ten were to be raised from the local population. Recruit training would be conducted at the three Radictistani forward operating bases.

These units would allow Brigade Task Force Indras-Omega to protect more communities from insurgent violence. Each ILSDU would be trained and equipped to protect one village in which its fifty personnel resided. The project would also inject much needed financial resources into the local economy through militia members’ salaries. Each pay envelop would, in theory at least, buy the loyalty of not only the individual payee but of a number of dependents.

The painstaking process of screening candidates for the new force began in earnest. The main problem was how to keep career criminals and insurgent moles out of the new organization without placing a big fat target marker on backs of the recruits. Concerning this question the Ministry offered nothing.

[The Macabees]

Fall of Guamlumpeiron, Holy Panooly
The rebels take the northeastern capital city and prepare for their drive towards Panooly City...

The beautifully decorated, multicolored pebbled streets of the inner city Guamlumpeiron ran red with the blood of slaughtered 'whities.' Roughly six thousand kilometers southeast, Delapesca had brutally fallen three days ago. Once a proud, majestic city lying on the Bahía de Caracaná, oft frequented by Díenstadi tourists in days past, the one thousand year old city now lay in ruins. The victorious rebels ran rampant throughout the city, setting fire to the ancient citadel sitting on the long plateau behind the city harbor. Jumping from building to building, the fire soon spread throughout the suburbs immediately surrounding the polis. However, since the city's infrastructure had been all but annihilated during the long siege of the loyalist stronghold, the tools to fight blaze were simply missing. Unhampered, the flames burned down almost a quarter of the metropolis, killing at least thirty thousand souls — and fires couldn't care less about race, implying that the rebels had managed to punish their own people as a result of their rabid hatred and impetuous temperaments towards the 'whitie' loyalists. Who could blame them? The 'coloreds,' as they were known, had been oppressed for over two hundred years, and they finally to seize an opportunity to overthrow their unwelcomed political masters.

In Guamlumpeiron, the rebels were a bit more careful, but equally as brutal. For three days, the battle in the city streets raged on. Slowly and surely, the rebels moved towards the administrative center of the regional capital, where the loyalist resistance had consolidated in order to maximize their chances in defending the city. Building after building, street after street, the insurgents slowly wore down the white resistance. Sometimes, but scarcely, the loyalists struck back and recaptured lost positions, but these micro-victories were short-lived as they would lose their conquest only hours later. By then, Guamlumpeiron had been completely surrounded by the colored militias, but the loyalists fought on — surrender- was an option as good as death, after all. The whites who were fighting to the death were therefore also quickly running out of food, ammunition, and soldiers. Extreme rationing had been put in place and disease ran rampant, since the fighting did not allow loyalist soldiers to assist in the burying of the dead. Civilians who had been killed by gunfire or rebel artillery usually lay strewn across the streets, right where they had been killed, because there simply wasn't the manpower to move their rotting bodies. It is no surprise that the Guamlumpeiron resistance soon simply collapsed.

There comes a point where a tired man can fight no more. Guamlumpeiron's point came seventy-two hours after the fall of Delapesca. Disheartened by the news of the fallen city, and already weakened by sickness and battle wounds, the loyalist peoples of the northeastern capital city simply gave up. They did not surrender; rather, they allowed themselves to be killed. Soldiers fired back at the swarms of rebel troops flooding through the city corridors, but almost without intention. They were soon dead, riddled by bullets or chopped to pieces by an angry rebel butcher. Civilians were wise to seek alternative demises. Many of them simply killed themselves by ingesting some kind of poison — the exact flavor varied. Women especially sought the 'toxin solution' — as it was referred to —, because the stories of the raping of whites suggested that life under the rebellion would be worse than no life at all. Those too cowardly to do themselves off, or perhaps too bold for their good, were cut down by the advancing insurgents. If the person was unarmed, all the better. The militants simply unsheathed their curved swords and hacked away, sparing no life.

One man in particular caught the attention of more than a few of his compatriots. Joao Bagamba, who had earned some fame earlier for a daring flanking maneuver during the first days of fighting in Guamlumpeiron, brought down one 'whitie' after another. Thick-bladed, long, and curved, his scimitar-like sword swung up and down, striking down whatever foe dare stand in the kgosi's way. Behind him, Bagamba's celéka, a small unit of twelve soldiers, moved quickly to catch up with their ambitious and blood-thirsty leader. Up ahead of them, they could see as Joao darted into a house — suddenly, the shrill screams of woman and children — and soon thereafter popped back out to continue his gruesome artwork against whatever remained of the loyalist defense. His face red, as the adrenaline and testosterone pumped through his body, he turned around to his men and yelled, "Ata menali!" Soon we kill.

Cheering back, some of them even taking the time to lift their weapons in the air and pump their arms up and down a few times, the celéka seemed genuinely boosted. Their rate of murder certainly increased; in a game where the objective is to kill as many people as possible, motivating your men to augmenting the pace of their killing is of paramount importance. Bagamba understood that, and as he was not shackled by any moral predilections he left no power of his unreserved when it came time to pushing those under his command to push on. Besides, Joao was a true believer in leading by example; as such, he continued to chop down his prey like no other, striking left and right, right and left, wherever a potential victim stood. Sometimes, out of the corners of his eyes, he'd see a comrade perform a splendid slaying and he'd quickly think of some creative method of his own to prove his superiority on the battlefield. A humanitarian might point out that such mentalities lead to the unnecessary massacre of the innocent and those willing to surrender; a military historian might commend the culture, because it led to much more efficient, and effective, fighting.

_________

[A rebel armed truck patrols the streets of the Guamlumpeiron suburbs.]
_________

WIde-eyed, the kgosi turned around once again, only to see that his men were still lagging behind them. This did not appease him, "Quicken the pace, kill! Kill! Kill!"

Someone yelled in support, "Hurry! Push on, push on!" The man's voice was drowned out by the noise of battle raging around him, but he nonetheless did his part to animate his brothers-in-arms. "Step it up, brothers! The whities are almost all dead; we must reach their wives and their daughters before they can kill themselves."

As the celéka made its way deeper into the center of Guamlumpeiron, a surviving band of loyalist infantry caught Bagamba by surprise. Still ahead of his own men by at least three hundred meters, the kgosi was temporarily on his own against twelve enemies. Fortunately, he was able to occupy an empty storefront, although he was quickly pinned down. As they chased after him into the store, he trolled the aisles, cutting the government soldiers down one by one. He stained the walls crimson with blood. Another chapter was added to the Legend of Bagamba, which name would be referred to for generations to come. Not all of them were easy prey, though. If left unaided for too long, Joao would no doubt die before seeing off all of his adversaries. Fortunately, his soldiers came to his aid in time, gunning down the infantrymen at an affordable cost — one man dead, twelve whites dead.

One of his scanned the walls and ceilings and muttered, "We should burn these bodies. Ashes cannot transcend."

There were some nods in agreement, but Joao shook his head, "We cannot, brothers. If we start a fire, our comrades will too. Soon, the whole city will be on fire. There are other coloreds living in Guamlumpeiron besides us. Don't you think they might have something to say about the fire?"

"I could not care less, kgosi," responded a brave soul.

Bagamba quickly approached him, drew his sword, and struck down the man at the spot. It was a spontaneous execution and no one said a word. Turning, his veins showing through his skin in a testament to his intensity, he harshly ordered, "There will be no fires tonight. Do I make myself clear?"

The men of the kgosi's celéka solemnly agreed to their leader's dictum, although they were unhappy with the ruling. But, Bagamba's wisdom amongst his men was unquestionable.

Today, the struggle between the commanders and their surbodinates would be truly titanic. It's not easy to restrain the hunger of an army of thousands of men who were fighting for their right to an equal standing amongst their peers. Throughout Guamlumpeiron, other chieftains and leaders like Joao Bagamba would also be tightening the leash on their soldiers, trying to avoid repeating the calamity of Delapesca. Sometimes their efforts would be in vein, but the response to such lack of discipline was usually merciless. Much like Joao's unfortunate subordinate, many other rebels would fall to the weapons of their own commanders, as these desperately tried to maintain some semblance of cohesion within their respective units. Again, a military history might refer to these issues as 'growing pains;' a humanitarian would call them the ingredients to a recipe for disaster. Whatever the case, it was clear that the fate of Guamlumpeiron was held in very uneasy hands. A lack of concentration could result in a very big mistake, like a quarter of a city burn to a crisp (and its people too).

All the while, outside of the city and to its southwest, an explicit front line was forming between the rebels and the government; an invisible border that cut from the western corner of Jumanota, down to the coastline of the western side of the Bahía de Caracaná. While the loyalist forces were dwindling, the rebel army was growing in size by the day. Thousands upon thousands of young 'coloreds' joined the cause, eager to overthrow the oppressive 'whitie.' In total, nearly two hundred and fifty thousand militants had amassed along the front. Most of them were armed with some kind of firearm, but in case of a shortage there were always bladed weapons. In front of them stood no more than thirty-seven thousand government forces, who too suffered from a shortage of ammunition and weaponry — mostly related to heavier equipment, such as artillery. Morale was at an all time low within loyalist ranks; their task seemed impossible to fulfill. There floated about an embedded expectation of a bitter end. The means to defeating the insurgency were simply unavailable to what remained of the assassinated Templeton's fascist regime.

In Panooly, the capital city of a deteriorating state, the remnants of the government squabbled over bits and pieces of power. They fought over control of a rapidly diminishing territory, because they were not intelligent enough to recognize the true enemy: the rebellion. Some of the bureaucrats were truly delirious. Yes. In fact, many believed that the fall of Panooly to the rebels was an impossible fact. There was no way their world could change so dramatically. They had become oblivious to the harsh new Panooly order. Their soldiers did their best to do the hard work, while the grey-haired fat-men of the capital continued to unintentionally dig their own graves.

[The Macabees]

[OOC: I realize the tone of the post might be condescending. I definitely do not intend to insult you; it's just an in-character tone.]

Seven Kilometers North of the Demilitarized Zone, Indras
The Empire is summoned to explain their actions in the new territory...

A line three HIM-TAC armored cars, a Nakíl 1A2M+ tank, and two armored personnel carriers scurried down a dusty road through the thinning Indran jungle. They were all headed southwards, just exiting from Barbakán 'Barboja,' which served as a major hub for Imperial forces operating along a significant stretch of the 'recessed frontier' — the imaginary line that separated the Imperial Territory of Indras from the Macabee side of the demilitarized zone. The highway they were taking led directly to a checkpoint a little over seven clicks southbound, controlled by Radictistani troops which had deployed to the territory in recent weeks. While these lands had become infested with insurgents, as they fled from the north, not much pressure had yet been placed on the Radictistani and Fegosian peacekeepers. This would change in two to three days, however; over twenty thousand militants had begun a mass migration towards Omega, due to the unceasing bombing campaign upon Indras' forested countryside. The small armored convoy had managed to leave their base during an open window, although the return trip could get rather interesting.

Lasagos — General — Ankil Verdát sat comfortably within one of the HIM-TACs, his seat made of leather rather than the customary material. Sometimes this design choice made the vehicle susceptible to extreme internal temperatures, but it was a small price to pay for luxury; call them 'high-ranking military official problems.' The man had a strange first name, and an equally as "unique" of a character. Looking outside one of the armored glass windows of his vehicle, he took a couple of puffs of a fine Mokastana cigar. Beside him sitting a darker man, garbed in some sort of military garb that resembled wash rags. He was an Indran insurgent, most likely captured in battle. Indeed, his wrists were tied together behind his back and his feet were bound below. The man's face was solemn and he didn't move much. He had no doubt been "well trained" during his stay at Barbakán 'Barboja,' also commonly used as a central depot for captured prisoners of war. To show how little respect he had for the scum sitting to his left, Verdát turned to him and gently blew the cigar smoke into the insurgent's face. This other man coughed and a soldier sitting in the front seat of the HIM-TAC quickly turned around and jabbed the Indran in the stomach with the butt of his assault rifle. Joining in, the driver loudly ordered, "Shut up, prisoner!"

Unperturbed, the general chuckled a bit, his grin spread eye-to-ear. Turning back to the window, he took another puff, exhaled, and then softly ashed the cigar in an ashtray attached to a platform extending from the arm of the front passenger seat. Leaving the cigar there, he looked again towards the prisoner and said, "Welcome to the Empire, scum."

"This is Indras——," tried to defend the captured militant.

Now fully out of his seat, the soldier in the front passenger seat struck the Indran across the face with his assault rifle. Blood splattered across the seat and on the window, and the man must have lost a tooth or two in the process. "Shut up, prisoner!" repeated the Imperial infantryman.

"You are half-right, friend," The Lasagos responded. "This is Indras...the territory, of course." Turning his torso and stretching his right arm across the captive, he pointed at the gradually diminishing treeline passing the armored convoy by. "See that?" He took the top of the Indran man's head and forced him to nod up and down. "That's all owned by us. We took it from you. You are in the Empire now, and you will abide by our laws. Unfortunately, your involvement in the insurgency is evidence of your lack of dedication to His Imperial Majesty. Thus your current predicament."

The distance between the Macabee forward operating base and the Radictistani checkpoint was covered relatively quickly. In fact, Verdát had been chosen because of his proximity to the Radictistani headquarters. They had called for an 'ambassador,' but the Empire was hardly about to pay the thousands of ríokmarks it cost to transport a high-ranking political official to the demilitarized zone just for the purpose of explaining why the Empire had not warned their allies of Operation Wildfire. Instead, they sent a general. Not the sophisticated type, either. Lasagos Verdát was a countryman, born and raised on a farm in southern Ruska. If already the Díenstadi version of a hick, the murder of his entirely family during the War of Golden Succession — during which much of Ruska was occupied and destroyed by the invading Havenic armies — devolved him into an outright savage. That was part of the reason he had been chosen to command a 150,000 thousand-man army of regulares, two-thirds of which were positioned along the 'recessed frontier.' These peculiar attributes, however, made Verdát an absolutely horrendous diplomat.

When the convoy reached the checkpoint, the Radictistani soldiers waved them through. They had been apparently forewarned of the imminent arrival of a small task force of Macabee troops, which included the receiving of license plate information and other data that could help them verify their incoming guests. As the vehicles passed through, the peacekeepers could see the beaten up prisoner inside the general's HIM-TAC. The Macabee soldiers looked forward, incapable of caring less about what the Radictistanis thought aobut them. The Macabees were a proud people; on the edge of hubris. Verdát, though, looked back and smiled. While the Empire considered itself cultured and refined, foreigners were repulsed by their treatment of militants. The Golden Throne had fought insurgencies against their occupations for almost five years now, in Theohuanacu, Zarbia, and Indras — in all cases, the anti-insurgency campaigns were utterly brutal. The way these wars were fought, neither side liked to take prisoners. Capturing enemy soldiers slows you down, and it costs money. Those are the two main ingredients for a fight to the death, which was what an Imperial occupation usually turned out to be in areas where resistance was heavy.

The general slapped the man beside him with the back of his left hand, startling the shaken militant. "Don't worry, buddy! You don't have to be afraid of me." He laughed and then continued, "It's Compás here," referring to the violent Macabee soldier who had twice struck the Indran, "you should worry about." Turning his attention back towards the onlookers, Verdát commented, "Look, it seems you're the attraction of the evening."

His face expressionless and solemn, the insurgent had seemed to lost interest in further life. One cannot even begin to imagine the thoughts that run across a captured enemy combatant sitting in a car, whilst bounded both at the arms and at the feet, along with the commanding officer of the entire contingent of regulares in Indras. Am I going to die? Alternatively, Are they going to torture me?. Another thought could be, Will I see my family again? Surely, his two daughters flashed across his mind more than once. Without knowing the destination, and given the importance of the man sitting next to him, you could say that the prisoner was experiencing a genuine 'mindfuck.' It's not entirely unfair, then, to blame him for his apparent lack of enthusiasm. He didn't even pay attention to the general. That man...that man was a special breed. Half-bull, half-idiot, emphasis on the idiot. How he had made it to the rank of general befuddled the shackled Indran; then again, given the situation, perhaps he wasn't one to judge. In any case, by now he simply awaited his fate, because there was nothing else he could do but feel the pain of being uncertain about certain death.

After passing through the checkpoint, there was still some driving to do. The Nakíl tank and the armored personnel carriers had stopped at the 'recessed frontier,' because the Radictistanis would not allow heavy armor into their zone of control. While the Macabees were not fond of non-Díenstadis, they had to respect their allies' confidence. A number of their vehicles joined the convoy, performing escort services for the Macabee vehicles for the duration of their time in the demilitarized zone. The HIM-TACs continued down the winding road towards a large base; the Radictistanis had done some work to it, probably to facilitate their movements within their half of the demilitarized zone. Here everything seemed far more serene than it appeared up north, perhaps a testament to the peacekeepers' excellent approach to the occupation. But, it was also true that they simply had yet to experience the full extent of the insurgency. The hoard of militants moving south would soon arrive, anyways. While the Empire did not intend to bog their allies down in a full-scale insurgency, and they would certainly help them push all the militants down into Omega if need be, thei Radictistanis were unfortunately in the way and the spike in action they were about to see was a necessary evil.

Lasagos Verdát was sent to explain the circumstances to the peacekeepers, who had not received the sudden mass bombardment of Indras via thousands of cruise missiles very well. Well, he'd communicate the message in his own way...although, one struggles to see how he could deliver the message in a way that wouldn't offend, given Verdát's personality. As the general thought about his mission, the convoy arrived at their destination. Entering the base was more complicated than they had originally envisioned, since they didn't expect to be inspected to the degree they were. But, no one could fault the Radictistanis for ensuring the effectiveness of their security, especially given their mission of pacifying hostile lands. Finally, they made it through — although, not without some quizzical looks at the prisoner first — and the three HIM-TACs were led through the base towards the building they were supposed to meet with Radictistani officials in. When the vehicles finally stopped for good, the driver and front-seat passenger exited first. The former opened the door for the Indran, helping the captive out of the armored car (knowing that his feet and wrists were bounded together). The latter soldier opened the general's door. Verdát nodded at his subordinate, a sign that the Macabees were a respectful people, if one proved him-, or her-, self worth respecting.

One of the Radictistani soldiers, who must have been of a high enough rank to address Verdát directly, took a look at the Indran, who had been clearly beaten up quite a bit, and 'cautiously' asked, "What...what the hell is this?"

"Stand properly!" yelled one Macabee soldier, the driver of the lasago's HIM-TAC.

The Indran tried to stand straight, but bound he found it difficult to keep his balance. Falling to his knees from instability, the soldier violently snapped him back up. They refrained from the extreme physical violence they had practiced earlier because they were no longer in Macabee-controled lands (directly, at least), so they would have to abide by Radictistani cultural customs. Nevertheless, they were quite rude towards the prisoner and they obviously intended to humiliate the man before the wide-eyed, confused, and slightly disturbed peacekeepers.

With a smirk on his face, the Macabee general responded, "Say hello to the enemy! This one here killed four of my men before we captured him. Hell of a fighter; too bad he was fighting on the wrong side of the war, right? Anyways, you'll be seeing a lot more from where these came from!" (In reference to the southbound mass migrants of militants.) "Here, you can keep this one for research." He bellowed a deep, extended laugh and then pushed the prisoner towards the Radictistani soldiers. Satisfied with the snark, he moved on quickly to the day's diplomatic business, "So, let's get to wherever this shindig is going and get this over with. We have a war to fight, after all!" Hopefully the Radictisanis would recognize the general's antics as poor humor.

[United World Order]

Ob's sturmt oder schneit

Botosani, Macabeean Indras
In Response to foreign 'peacekeepers' landing in Lamoni controlled Omega, the UWO sends combat troops to the Indras DMZ.

It was a busy day for a military harbor that had been kind enough to allow the Ordernite convoy of transport vessels and a number of cruisers and destroyers that acted as escorts to the ships to dock there. Once the transport ships had docked in port, a swell of Ordernite army soldiers begun their disembarkment of their vessels and were officially stepping on Macabeean soil. A vast open area had been made available to them as they begun to group up there, setting some of their personal equipment down and either sitting down with a few buddies or patiently waiting for their orders. Logistic personnel and fellow harbor laborers went to work getting supplies and other things off the ships, base building materials were beginning to be unloaded as they then get loaded into trucks after wards.

Soon after the vehicles begun to come off the vessels, tanks , APCs and IFVs followed by logistic trucks and other vehicles. So far at least a Divisions worth of men and materials of war had arrived in the military harbor. Once the majority of the Division had gotten off the boat and had gotten their supplies in order, they prepared to leave the harbor and travel through Botosani towards the outskirts of the city. Their purpose was to find an wide open piece of land to construct a base, once the base was established another division would come into port and do the same the former did earlier.

A rather large convoy was now assembled before the Harbor's exit as the division prepared to leave for their travel through the city. A typical Ordernite soldier wore a Flecktarn BDU's uniform along with a pair of black jack boots. Most Ordernite soldier's uniforms also had two patches, one was the Ordernite Army patch which would have their rank insignia along with the Army logo, another would have a swastika along with the background would be the colors of the UWO national flag. Within a few minutes the convoy began it's move into the city and towards the cities outskirts, it was sure to draw the attention of the civilians in the area and others.

[Lamoni]

Omega - South of the DMZ

Forty kilometers south of the line where the DMZ began, a massive line of fortifications had been under construction for awhile now, as quietly and secretly as possible. A massive line of bunkers had been built across the territory, and they were only part of the defensive fortifications. Each bunker had been constructed three kilometers away from each other, and were provided with primary, secondary, and tertiary weapons. Artillery and SAMs in the rear area provided further protection to the defensive line, while areas from two to four kilometers in front of the bunkers had been mined. The locations where the mines had been laid had been electronically recorded, the better to deactivate them later, if and when that course of action became required. Gunships were on call if needed, and could even be vectored in by UCAVs meant both to patrol the area, as well as rain fire down upon what they saw. In addition to this, tethered AEW&C airships were also behind the defensive fortifications, their 676 kilometer ranged phased array radars peering beyond the DMZ, while the other multi-spectral sensors on the airships would be useful in multiple other ways. If reinforcements were needed for the defense, they would come running when called.

Of course, this was over and beyond the multiple divisions worth of personnel who still had to man the bunkers, run patrols, and defend the rear area. None of these defensive efforts would seriously slow a determined national army, but the main threat in the area came in the form of insurgents. Aside from that, the fortifications were decidedly defensive in nature. An enemy would have to come within the range of the weapons in order to be hurt by them, and that meant going deep into Omega itself. Too deep inside to be a mere accident. Before the fortifications had even been completed, the AEW&C radars on the airships had noticed what looked like a cruise missile attack on the Macabeean part of Indras. It had seemed like a massive waste for cruise missiles to be used against random patches of jungle that did not seem to hold targets, but it was reasonable to assume that the Macabeean intent was to scare and/or impress the local insurgents with Macabeean power. This just made the Lamonians work harder on the defensive line, as well as continuing to build up Omega in addition to taking out the insurgents on their side of the DMZ.

Like the situation or not, the Lamonian commanders on the ground realized that their responsibility ended where the DMZ began. That did not mean that they could do nothing, however. All available intelligence on insurgent movements was already being shared with the Alfegan and Morridane forces in theatre, and that included encrypted feeds from the Lamonian electronic sensors located in Omega, though that required the Morridane forces in Omega to have a liaison co-located with a Lamonian unit, since they did not have access to terminals capable of correctly displaying the relevant information electronically. It had even been considered to have a Lyran observer team or two in Omega, but time would tell about how far that that would go, as nothing had been decided on that score as yet.

[Morrdh]

Holy Panooly

With the Second Empire's expansion into Holy Panooly, the Commonwealth had despatched intelligence agents to allow it to get tabs on events in the country as they happened. Just before the Commonwealth's refugee convoy was authorized some of the agents had been detailed to the port that would become the Commonwealth's temporary hub in Holy Panooly so that the Commonwealth had eyes and ears on the ground before the convoy arrived. It was expected that the Ordernites would be uncooperative at best and at worst harass the operation, though the actual imprisonment of a large number of refugees and the killing off others was bit of a surprise. Having positioned themselves a discreet distance from the checkpoint, in buildings on the edge of the town, the agents had recorded everything that they could whilst taking great pains to ensure that they weren't noticed.

Within a day or the imagines and other information that the agents had gathered were on their way back to the Commonwealth, there they were copied before being sent to Lamoni and Mokastana. Another copy of the imagines had been sent to the Second Empire via a diplomatic pouch, along with a message that simply read; 'Please keep your dog on a tight reign.'

---

Commonwealth Convoy HP01, 300km East of Holy Panooly

Vice Admiral Fredrick Wade was on the bridge of the HSS Roland, at the head of the convoy as it steamed westwards towards Holy Panooly, when he noticed his signal officer trying to get his attention. Turning to the man he asked. "What is it?"

"Priority message from Morrdun sir." Answered the signal officer as he handed over a telegram which Wade promptly read.

'Opposition now expected.'

"Hardly surprising, though rely the message to the commander of the Lamonian escorts." Muttered Wade.

"Aye sir."