A Jackal's Feast (Earth II)

[Yanitza]

8:04 AM, Local Time
January 18, 2015
Presidential Palace, Dakar, Senegambia

“President General Sir”

No response.

“President General Sir ?”

Still more silence greeted the Presidential Aid's questioning.

“President General Sir?!” The Aid asked for the third time, this time a lot louder and more forcefully.

President General Ibrahim Segou awoke with a jump, his bloodshot eyes darting around the room frantically, his hand fumbling for the draw under his desk for a few seconds before he realised that he had merely been awoken from sleep. Ibrahim slumped back into his chair to take a few deep breaths, before looking across the room to the somewhat nervous looking Aid standing in the doorway, clearly not used to seeing the great military strongman of Senegambia, in such a nervous state.

Ibrahim rubbed his eyes and swore under his breath before curtly asking the Aid what it was that required his immediate attention.

“President General Sir, Brigadier General Oussea is here to see you, sir”

“Send him away”

“President General Sir, you said that yesterday. Brigadier General Oussea seems very urgent to see you sir” the Aid pressed on.

Ibrahim swore for a second time, his foul mouth being an infamous habit that was renowned throughout Senegambia, as his tired mind remembered that yes, indeed he had already dismissed Oussea once. He could not continuously delay the inevitable bad news that the Brigadier General would bring him about the deteriorating situation of the country. Ibrahim ordered that the General be brought in before getting up from his desk to pour himself a glass of water.

While he waited for Ouseea to arrive, Ibrahim took the time to regain his composure and return to his characteristically assertive personality. For the past four days, he had not left the presidential palace in Dakar, indeed not even the study where the Aid had found him holed up. He had barely slept in those four days and had been reduced to a bundle of nerves. Four days ago, Ibrahim had been fortunate enough to escape from an assassination attempt with just a graze on his neck, while greeting his beloved people in the port city of St Louis. While at the time Ibrahim had mearly laughed off the incident with typical bravado, over the course of the day he found that the event had greatly shaken him to the core, so that by the time he they had returned to Dakar by nightfall he was keen to retreat from the public eye and any more potential assassins. Despite being no stranger to danger as a result of his military service, the President was indeed quite rattled by the incident.

Although the perpetrator was still yet to be found, popular rumour amongst the Senegambians blamed the resident Khorsuni population for the attack. This could certainly have been true, as Senegambia was home to a scattered population of Khorsunis whose heritage in the region streched back for more that 2000 years and had gained a reputation for militancy. Yet the President General knew that the culprit could have equally been a member of a tribal militia fed up with the blatant ethnic politics played in Senegmabia, Religious extremists who called for Islamic Revolution as the antidote for the countries woes, Gangsters who did not enjoy Ibrahim's patronage, Student radicals fed up with the rotting carcass that was the government, or even a disgruntled public servant who had not seen a legitimate pay slip in god knows how long. Ibrahim had no shortage of domestic enemies.

Brigadier General Oussea, Commander of the Senegmbian forces around Dakar and the Wolof basin, the heartland of Ibrahim's support, entered the room and gave the President General and sharp salute. Privately he was glad to see that Ibrahim seemed to be recovering from the petrified state that gripped him for the past half week.

“Well come on Oussea, spit it out, I don't have all day” Ibrahim said gruffly

Oussea nodded and deposited a cream folder full of documents on Ibrahim's desk. The President General raised an eyebrow at this, it was rare these days that anyone in the Senegambian army, indeed anyone on the governments payroll, bothered to compile a report on what happened in the country.

“Sir, Brigadier General Fulfe is dead, along with a good 18 soldiers and a dozen more wounded. Rebels successfully raided a military compound in Nzerekore city, very organised and very well supplied”

“Ah fuck me” Ibrahim sighed. In the absence of functioning administrative services, generals such as Fulfe and Oussea acted like feudal lords of the past , serving to enforce Ibrahim's rule in all corners of Senegambia and collect taxes. All were exclusively Wolof.

“Well do you have any evidence so far as too who was responsible for the attacks?”

“Not yet President General Sir”

Oussea then gave the President a blank stare, as if to say that he should already know who was likely responsible for the attacks, and Ibrahim damn well knew who the likely culprits were.

The regions of Nzerekore, Faranah and Kankan in Southern Senegambia were the scenes of rampant rebel activity for the Senegambian Khorsunis. While elsewhere in the country their influence had been somewhat curbed by the Senegambian military and rival militias, in Southern Senegambia they were far more brazen and effective in combating the government, with large sections of the countryside effectively residing under the control of ethnic Khorsuni militias. Here they were far more organised, well supplied and fought in greater numbers, and Ibrahim didn't doubt for a second that this was attributed to Senegambia southern neighbor, the Republic of the Khorsuni nation.

Initially when the Khorsuni revolution had succeeded in overthrowing the corrupt West African regime, Ibrahim had hardly been alarmed. The President General himself had seized power via a coup only four years before Taneltar had, and Ibrahim believed that the Khorsunis would be content to essentially maintain the status quo and simply fill the vacuum of the former West African Government. Yet they quickly showed themselves to be far more effective then their predecessors, and the Senegambian leadership watched with increasing fear as the Khorsunis transformed themselves into a major regional power that prized the reconquest of old Khorsuni territories. With his territorial ambitions in Liberia temporarily curbed, Ibrahim privately feared that Ankhazar Taneltar's red shaded sunglasses would have turned north to his politically weak and isolated Senegambian neighbour. The fact that Senegambia's capital of Dakar was built upon the ruins of the legendary Khorsuni city of Kusan no doubt served to make the country an even more tempting prize for the ambitious Leader.

“President General Sir, You need to strike back hard at these scum, you need to look strong or people will doubt” Oussea insisted, snapping Ibrahim out of his private thoughts

Ibrahim, who disliked having his strength questioned, sneered at this “Do you think it is that easy Oussea? Did you not learn anything from Liberia? Raise one finger against those people and the whole Khorsuni republic will scream for blood” The Senegambian army had been relatively lax on countering Khorsuni rebel activities (which meant that widespread harrasment and imprisonment against ethnic Khorsuni civilians was low) in an attempt to remain on good terms with the Republic, although in reality it was out of fear of a harsh Khorsuni response.

“President General Sir, You cannot, I repeat you cannot, let this continue unpunished. You enable their aggressive behavior by not punishing them, and it encourages other sections of the population to agitate as well”

Ibrahim remained silent at Oussea's response, he knew the man was right. Oussea sensed the Presidents indecision and decided to press forward

“President General Sir, Perhaps it is time that you start looking for foreign allies to help alleviate pressure, its not like the Khorsuni's don't have en-”

“Ha! You know nothing Oussea” the President General spat “You think becoming vassals to one foreign power over another is a solution?”

“But look at Liber-”

“Yes lets look at President Fox's regime, he was a reformer, an idealist and poster boy for Humanitarians around the world, you think they would tolerate the way we run politics in Senegambia?. “

“Most governments see us as a regime that makes the former Hirgizstani states look stable,” He continued “ if we invite them in it won'tbe long till they find another candidate who would be amendable to their interests.”

The Senegambian regime was fully aware that they were a corrupt, mean little dictatorship that only the most unscrupulous politicians and businesslike would deal with, and they intended to stay that way. Even if it meant letting the country go to the Jackals. Defeated by his President's logic, Oussea simply stood silent and awaited for Ibrahim to give orders. After a few minutes of silence, Ibrahim spoke.

“Get a replacement for General Fulfe, and tell him to change nothing except tighten security in the urban areas”

“Yes sir, President General Sir”

“And tell Brigadier General Abodou that I want his forces to step up and begin clamping down on rebel activity in his jurisdiction”

“General Abodou Sir?” Oussea asked with a raised eyebrow. Abodou ruled over the regions of Mamou, Labe and northern Boke (collectively known as Fuota Djallon), which were adjacent to the deceased Fulfe's domain.

“Yes General Abodou” he snapped back “I understand that he has been having his own troubles with the locals, yes?”

Oussea nodded in agreement, the situation in Fouta Djallon was perhaps worst in the country, as the Senegambian army was holed up in various cities and towns in the region, with the highlands almost entirely in the hands of the local Fulani people.While the Fulani appeared to have no foreign backers, they had proven to be equally troublesome to the Dakar government, where they utilized the local terrain to the full advantage.

“Well tell him to stamp them out, he can call on reinforcements if he needs them. We might have our hands tied dealing with the Khorsunis, but no one will give a damn about a few backwards herders in the highlands now will they?”

Oussea nodded his head in agreement, understanding the President's course of action was more to be a symbolic show of strength to the country t that he was still firmly in charge, rather than actually trying to solve a major domestic issue. With their meeting concluded, President Segou ordered his servants to begin preparations for a visit to the Dakar suburbs. It was high time the population be reminded that President General Ibrahim Segou was still the Strongman who had seized power 14 years ago and would not relinquish it without a fight.

[Khorsun]

Noon of January 18, 2015
Lola, Senegambia

Two armed pickup trucks rolled to a stop next to each other on a Lola street, passenger side doors facing one another. Lola, a town of nearly 60,000 only thirty kilometers apart from both the city of Nzerekore to the west and the Khorsuni border to the southeast, was just one of the many no-go zones for the Senegambian Army that dotted southern and central Guinea like a pox on the map. Lola was a stronghold of the KKA, the Kuerrarta dhala Khumu Astalata, or Warriors of the Twin Stars in plain English. The KKA was just one of a web of Khorsuni militias in Senegambia that also included the Sharmatandh Dambetum Onadhum (Northern Storm Coalition), the Trhavensarta dhala Mozhana Lanayom (Defenders of the Beloved Nation), the Gordumtata dha Zarmangata rhad Shamora (Keepers of Oaths and Honor), the Volgar dhala Antarsaka Khorsunatum (Thunder of the Khorsuni Century), and the Vanzharta dhala Saraga Banayum (Avengers of the Blessed Virgin), along with a host of smaller militas that each owned a single village, town, or city block.

Both of the trucks bore KKA markings, but only one of them was truly owned by the KKA. Dhavorgaz Zhabadi rolled down the window of the truck on the left. The broad-chested man with heavy eyebrows and a permanent scowl was a karona (colonel) of the KKA and its head commander in Lola. The window of the other truck rolled down to reveal the face of Lakhuskavi Nuzhemba, a man of lean features and cold demeanor whose gaze gave Zhabadi the unsettling impression of a praying mantis in shades. Nuzhemba was a Sharokh Force officer, and not just any officer. He was the spider at the center of the Senegambian web, reporting directly to Brigadier Lamal Dorbrhano, the Zepakhda (the Specter), the head of Sharokh Force.

Nuzhemba spoke to Zhabadi in a quiet, serious, and measured voice. "Your victory in Nazarakara honors the Khorsuni Nation, Karona Zhabadi" he said, morphing the name of the city to better suit the Khorsuni tongue. Nuzhemba raised his hand in a three-fingered gesture of congratulations, which Zhabadi accepted with a bow of his head and a hand clasped over his heart, a gesture of humility and deference that would surprise his own troops, who were used to his strutting and boasting.

"The raid could not have gone so well without the advice and material assistance of the Sharokhta," the colonel replied.

"Yet it succeeded beyond our own expectations," Nuzhemba answered, "thanks in no small part to the daring of your warriors and your own courageous leadership." Zhabadi bowed his head and spoke demurely again, deflecting the praise once more onto his men and Sharokh Force. Nuzhemba was a king-maker amongst the leadership of all Khorsuni rebel groups in Senegambia; those who failed to make a favorable impression upon him would inevitably find themselves ousted and replaced with someone with a better combination of pliability and competence.

Nuzhemba reached down under the seat and pulled up a bottle of vhobukha, the palm wine Khorsunis drank on occasions of great significance: in wedding, in mourning, in coming of age - and in celebration of a triumph. "The news of General Fulfe's demise has reached the Ankhazar and brought joy to his heart even as he is far away on a diplomatic trip to foreign lands. This vhobukha he sends to you from the cellars of the Zetadha as a toast to your victory," Nuzhemba said, watching Zhabadi's eyes grow wide as he offered the bottle to him.

"I am the servant of the Ankhazar," Zhabadi answered, placing a hand on the bottle but gently pushing it back towards Nuzhemba. "The servant is not to drink from the same bottle as the master."

Nuzhemba fixed him with a stare. It was the Khorsuni custom as it was in many places to make a show of refusing gifts; one did not, however, decline the gifts of the Ankhazar. "The Ankhazar rewards only the worthy. He bestows his blessings upon heroes and martyrs and others who set a virtuous example for the Khorsuni Nation. Accept the honors he bestows, for he would not give them to someone who has not earned them. Do not question his judgment." Zhabadi quickly corrected his error and accepted the vhobukha with thanks and praise for Ankhazar Taneltar.

Nuzhemba went on. "I have a convoy of trucks arriving in an hour for your Warriors. You will receive your payments, including bonuses for the success of this mission. Replenishments of ammunition, rifles, mines, and grenades. Several new weapons as well. 60-millimeter mortars and M79 grenade launchers, twelve of each, along with several boxes of anti-tank mines. All simple enough to operate, but a few men will stay in town for the week to provide training and integrate these weapons into your units. We'll have more of each to send to you once your men have proven their proficiency with them."

"Very good, we'll be happy to have those and put them to excellent use. The government troops scare off real quick when we have explosives of our own to throw back at them," said Zabadi.

"Indeed they do. I have a question for you, however, before I leave town. You have heard about the shooting of the President-General." Nuzhemba's question came out more as a statement of fact.

"I certainly have. We were all very sad to hear it didn't kill him, though," Zhabadi answered, spitting into the dirt between the two cars.

Nuzhemba's stare was concealed behind sunglasses but Zhabadi could sense it turning icy. "The death of the President is not in our Nation's strategic interest at this point in time. While the shooting took place on the other side of this country and I very much doubt that any man under our banner was responsible, I want to make it clear that the Ankhazar has a strategy that you and I and every other Khorsuni in Senegambia must follow. Discipline is one of the pillars of our nation and it is the mother of victory. Just because we are capable of taking an action does not mean it is prudent to do so. It is boys who make war by racing to see who can take the most scalps the quickest. And boys will always lose when they fight a war against men. We must be men. We must be smart enough to forego easy pleasures and cheap victories when they will be counterproductive to our ultimate victory. Remember that, Korona Zabadi. Instill that into your warriors."

Zabadi gave a solemn nod and salute. "We will bring pride to our Ankhazar and freedom to our Nation."

Nuzhemba returned his salute and nodded to his driver, bidding Zabadi good-bye. He had other strongholds to move on to and inspect. Sharokh Force's project in effect had produced a second goverment across much of Senegambia, providing Verela a crucial lever to strongarm the Ibrahim Segou government in Dakar with. The rebel militias helped keep the Senegambian government weak, inflicting attrition upon its armed forces, denying it the ability to collect taxes across much of the country, and eroding its legitimacy among its own people. The Senegambian army couldn't stamp out the militias without cracking down on the Khorsuni civilian population as well, and it couldn't crack down on the civilians without drawing the wrath of the RKN, whose army would mostly likely roll over the Senegambian forces like a speed bump on their way to Dakar.

Khorsuni motives in Senegambia went beyond nationalistic; there were also great economic benefits to be had through domination of its weaker neighbor. Senegambin soil was home to some of the world's largest bauxite reserves, as well as iron ore and other mineral resources. The militias were the crucial stick that went along with the carrot of investment when it came to Verela's dealings with Dakar. Khorsun could use its militias to raise Hell in the mining regions unless the Senegambian government agreed to give Khorsuni companies first priority on licenses to develop Senegambia's resources. Elsewhere the militias preyed upon road traffic and made the highways so dangerous that southern Senegambia was forced to carry out its trade with Khorsun instead of the rest of the country.

The status quo was thus highly favorable to Khorsun, which reaped a great deal of profit and leverage over Senegambia's government without the costs of actually trying to govern the country and deal with all of its various problems. It had its benefits as well for Ibrahim Segou, who could count on discrete bribes and rewards if he stayed in the RKN's good graces as well as Khorsun's guarantee to protect his country against invasion from Birea, Senegambia's other large and unscrupulous neighbor.

The nearly successful assassination attempt on Segou had therefore come as an unpleasant surprise to the RKN; it threatened to spoil these useful arrangements. A Senegambian collapse would imperil the Khorsunis of Senegambia and the RKN's economic investments, not to mention the possibility of inviting a Birean invasion or worse, another of the Apilonian Empire's humanitarian interventions (which inevitably tended to be followed by humanitarian annexations). Birean or Apilonian ownership of the holy Kusan could not be tolerated, for neither of them, with strong armies and nuclear weapons at their disposal, could be removed at Verela's convenience the way the Senegambian government could. Khorsun therefore would be obliged to enter a dangerous war to stop either of these powers from entrenching themselves there.

So it was with a wary eye that the Republic of the Khorsuni Nation watched to see whether Ibrahim Segou's grip over his nation would be shaken or steadied after the St. Louis attack.

[Yanitza]

3:00 PM
January 18, 2015
Labe Province

Omid Sassani felt another shiver of cold go up his back as he pulled his large coat more tightly over his thin frame, having only just managed to stop his teeth from chattering. In his own native country of Persia it often reached freezing temperatures in the villages that were perched on the Iranian plateau, but he was used to that. Omid had expected a country like Senegambia to be much more of a tropical or savannah like setting, yet up here in the ravines of Fouta Djallon, the lush mountains of the region had embraced him with a deep cold

It was just as well that Omid was trekking through the green vegetation on foot, the movement helping to warm up his body slightly. He felt slightly exposed however, travelling in the open environment where he could only see a few meters ahead of him due to the thick mists that clung to the hills. Omid's hosts had assured him that he was completely safe while travelling in Fouta Djallon, having sent six bodyguards to escort him along the narrow paths that only the locals knew of. He certainly felt safer in the company of the Kalashnikov wielding warriors, impressed by the martial spirit of the native Fulani people who inhabited the Guinea highlands. It was partly the reason why Al-Shams had become so interested in the country.

When Senegambia had first been suggested as a potential host country, Omid had barely heard of the place. A backwater in the global scheme of events, perhaps the most backwater country in existance in modern International politics. Yet further investigation by his compatriots had revealed that Senegmabia in fact represented the ideal location for Al-Shams to establish themselves. It's population was majority Muslim and highly devout, one that mostly lived in poverty under an oppressive regime. The latter two were a deadly combination that often bred resentment against local authorities and thus who were ripe for recruitment and revolution. The lack of effective government control over vast tracts of the country meant that the organisation would be able to easily establish camps, safe houses and weapon stockpiles. And finally, the countries relative global isolation meant that it was very unlikely that the world would be aware of the budding Al-Sham's cell in the country until they had become far to well entrenched.

After God only knows how long of trekking through the wilderness, Omid and his small guard finally arrived at their destination, a small village nestled away in the wilderness. The village could have been plucked from any point in history, planted in the 21st century and Omid would not have been able to tell the difference, except for the presence of the machine gun toting guards that milled about everywhere. It was not long before Omid was taken towards the village center and into a small hut, where awaiting him was one of the most notorious warlords in Senegambia, Hafiz Abbas Puulor.

Abbas hadn't initially struck Omid as the ferocious warlord in the hills that many had spoken about with a mixture of awe, respect and fear. Certainly the man carried around about him an aura of respect, yet Omid had always seen Abbas as more of a holy man due to the deep sense of spirituality and devotion to God he held, after all he had earned the honorific Hafiz through his memorisation of the Quran. Perhaps had Abbas not been born into the chaos that was Senegambia, he may have gone the path of the Imam as opposed to the Ghazi. While Omid was rather lank and covered in long, dark hair that cascaded from his head, Abbas was like a bear. His powerful frame was tone from years of harsh rural life, and his face mostly clean shaven except for a thin beard that sprouted from his chin. Most of the time he was simply clad in a modest Boubou and Taqiyah.

Upon seeing Omid enter, Abbas stood up to greet his guest with a hug.

“I must apologize, my friend, for forcing you to hike through the hills” Abbas said while taking a seat “But petrol is scarce in this country especially when one is not in the city or in bed with the regime.”

He gestured for Omid to take a sea opposite him

“Besides, it was much safer for you to travel silently along paths only known to my people than taking a main road on a jeep”

Omid dismissed this with the wave of his hand “ It is nothing, keeps me in good shape anyway”

Food and drink was brought in for the two men, who casually conversed for 10 minutes about trivial concerns before Abbas decided to ask Omid of the nature of his visit.

“Well Hafiz” Omid started, addressing his fellow by his honorific “I have no doubt that by now you have heard of the assassination attempt on President Ibrahim's life?”

Now Abbas cracked a small smile “Are yes, such news travels fast, tell me, did West African Jihad have something to do with this?”

West African Jihad (WAJ) being the name given to the rebel groups that Omid had helped foster among the Senegambian. While much of the leadership was composed of veterans from various Al-Shams cells and operations, the WAJ functioned much more like an umbrella organisation that sought to integrate the various Senegambian militias and societies under a common leadership and cause. It's current operations, while focused exclusively on Senegambia for the time being, although long term plans to expand into the neighboring muslim populations like that of the Birean Empire remained a dream of much of the leadership.

Omid shook his head “Unfortunately no, not that it matters anyway as the perpetrator has helped us regardless”

He now leaned forward to address Abbas seriously

“This event has greatly shaken the administration, Ibrahim has gone to ground and it appears that his behaviour is beginning to weaken his support base”

“So now you think is the time to strike?”

“Soon, Abbas, soon” Omid confirmed “Abbas, if we are to prosecute this war with greatest efficiency, we need rigid discipline and cooperation between all elements of West African Jihad, not scattered militias”

Abbas, who had somewhat sensed that this is really what Omid had come to talk to him about, simply smiled again and shook his head

“Please Mr Sassani, we have been through this before. My soldiers are loyal to me-”

“Yes Abbas-”

“And” Abbas continued “ I have pledged my support for the cause of West African Jihad. Their is no need to complicate things further, my men will only fight for me, not foreigners or any others”

By others, Abbas of course referred to any other Senegambian who was not of Fulani descent. This was a trend that Omid had quickly discovered among the population a few days after arriving in Senegambia. While Senegambians may share a common religion, years of ethnic politics had created sharp fault lines amongst the state's highly diverse population. Abbas and the Fulani of Fouta Djallon may pledge allegiance to the WAJ cause,but that was about all they pledged. They had stubbornly resisted all attempts to be subordinate to the Al-Shams leadership in Senegambia, and had so far refused to donate any fighters that would not be under the command of the Fulani leadership. While they could sympathise with their Fulani compatriots in Senegambia's north, a region known as Fouta Toro, it had taken the intervention of Omid personally to put an end to a low level conflict between the Fouta Djallon Fulani and the Malinke people who lay to their north and East.

This was especially troubling for Omid, as the Malinke people disproportionately made up the largest number of soldiers under direct WAJ, and thus Al-Shams, command. A majority of the WAJ training camps were located in Tambacounda region at the behest of the Malinke chiefs, who saw the foreigners as an opportunity to gain access to guns and ammunition that might allow them to overthrow the Wolof hegemony of the country, as well as challenge the power of the Khorsuni and Fulani warlords. A majority of WAJ recruits meanwhile were Malinke from Southern Senegambia, who sought to liberate their homelands from the stranglehold of the Pagan Khorsuni militias. Aside from the Malinke, it was mostly other dispossessed groups such as the Kissou from Southern Senegambia and the Serer (whose homelands lay in close proximity to those of the Wolof) from the coast that flocked to the WAJ banner. Omid increasingly found it was struggle to keep his creation from becoming another ethnic militia in this broken country.

Sensing Omid's frustration at the continued stubbornness of the Fouta Djallonis, Abbas sought to alleviate the man's worries

“Omid, surely you realise that having many heads is better then one?” he said with a coy smile

“So long as we are all fighting for the same cause here, what does it matter if we aren't neatly organised like a European army? Harder to defeat that way eh?”

That was a rather smart comment given the highly decentralised nature of Al-Shams, Omid of all people did not need to be reminded of that.

“Do not forget Sassani, we in Fouta Djallon are descended from those warriors who fought for Islam many centuries ago, far before Al-Shams was ever conceived of”

This was another irksome discovery that the Al-Sham's operatives had discovered in Senegambia, the almost condescending attitude many Senegambian leaders held towards the foreigners. Despite the fact Al-Shams was an organisation that had networks across the globe, almost every nation they had encountered in Senegambia was keen to remind them that they're ancestors had been Islamic Revolutionaries at some point in history or another. It was small joke between Omid and his comrades that had the Senegmabian put aside their differences they would have conquered the world by now.

“Well I guess you're right then Abbas” Omid finally replied, resigning himself to defeat “May I suggest however that you begin to mobilise your men and keep in close contact with....with the other commanders of WAJ”

“President Ibrahim is at his weakest now, even his own people are beginning to doubt his grip on the country now that he chooses to cower inside his hole like a hare. The time to raise the banner of Holy war is near, as we are already making preparations for war in the near future. A word of warning however, the President is a violent man, he may seek to lash out at any threat to his authority in order to re assert himself”


"He will likely not go after the Khorsuni, he is to afraid of the Dhimmi and their benefactors to raise a finger against them. You, my friend, may appear to be a much more tempting target, as am I in the West"

“And if he does, we shall cut off his hand “ Abbas replied, making a chopping motion with his arms.

Omid chuckled at Abbas's bravado, as stubborn and infuraiating the warlord could be at times, he could certainly be relied upon not to shy away from a confrontation with anyone that dared threaten his mountain domain. And that didn't just apply to President General Segou or his own allies. Abbas and his warriors proved themselves more than capable of repelling the Khorsuni militias, many who learnt the hard way to respect the Muslim stronghold in central Guinea. And unlike Ibrahim, Abbas held no qualms about attacking civilians. The people of Fouta Djallon called him Abbas “the Saviour of the faithful”, but to his enemies of all races he was Abbas “the Devil of the Mountain”

Omid and Abbas hugged once again as they parted ways, with the Persian once again having to make the arduous climb out of the Guinea highlands and towards the north where his main base of operations lay. At times it felt that WAJ was little more than a glorified truce between Senegambia's unrepresented peoples, a temporary one that threatened to unravel once the common enemy had been removed. Yet Omid forced himself to remain confident of victory and the the Pan-Islamic cause of Al-Shams would ultimately be able to prevail in Senegambia, as the organisation had certainly put down roots and was determined to play an influential role over the country, and her inhabitant's, future.

[Yanitza]

7:00 AM
January 20, 2015
Rural Senegambia, outside Labe

Sergeant Sayyid Lombossa made sure that he maintained as close to 360 degress vision as he could get. His body felt constantly tense, like a coiled spring just bursting to be released and his hands remained squeezed to his rifle. Sayyid's eyes continued to flick back and forth, observing his environment, watching for every little flurry of movement, every twitch of sound that might alert him to a possible ambush. And he had good reason to fear an ambush, the jungle ravines that cut into the Guinea highlands were notorious for being death traps among the Senegambian army units stationed here. At least amongst Fouta Djallon's rolling grasslands that lay on it's fractured plateau, it was harder for the militias to sneak up on the patrols, unless they were amongst the villagers who would then suffer a terrible reprisal as punishment. But the thick vegetation that surrounded the crude paths in the valleys skilfully hid the rebels so that it seemed almost as if the jungle had come alive and was shooting at the soldiers.

Although if one were to look at the world map, Fouta Djallon (or mountain Guinea as it was most commonly listed) would clearly lie in the middle of Senegambia's borders, for Sergeant Lombossa and the rest of the Senegambian military (who were overwhelmingly Wolof despite only representing 6-7 million out of Senegambia's total population) it was akin to an occupied territory in a foreign land. In the towns and cities that the military held, the locals often looked upon them with a mixture of fear and loathing, while the soldiers in turn viewed the locals with suspicion. Communication between the two was done through the intermediary language of Arabic, as both held their own respective languages, although they were related. And in the country side, it was almost expected for patrols to return having suffered casualties. Elderly generations often spoke of a time when such rampant tribalism was non existent, western notions of Nationalism and Secularism were to blame for Senegambia's ills according to many old folk. Ethnic identity had increasingly replaced the old religious identity.

Lombossa's patrol reached the small village with no casualties thus far. One might say a lucky break, but for Lombossa that just seemed suspicious, perhaps a lull before a much bigger storm. As the soldiers filed into the poor village, his doubts were only increased when the inhabitants came out to stare at the intruders. The young, the old, and the women were present, but much of the village's men folk seemed to be missing. Very, very suspicious. Along the way from Labe to the village, the patrol had caught glimpses of locals in the Forrest, no doubt they had run back to forewarn the villagers. Seeing a venerable old man, to which a number of the villagers were clustered around, Lombossa approached him with a stern look on his face

“Where are all the men of the village” he said to the old man in Arabic.

The old man replied to him in the local tongue, Fula. Lombossa rolled his eyes at this, this was a typical little game uncooperative civilians liked to play everywhere, a passive form of resistance that he was in no mood for today. The sergeant ordered two of his men to grab a women at random and proceed to beat her. The crowd reacted in horror, but were kept at bay by the guns. Normally it would have been the old man who copped the beating, but he looked to frail to survive the trauma.

“Okay Okay!” the old man cried in Arabic “Enough! Enough!”

The women was let go, he quickly fled into the crowd with blood and tears running down her face.

“To our shame they have abandoned us, they're kin and family for a life of banditry and plunder” the old man sobbed.

Lombossa narrowed his eyes “Bandits huh?” That was certainly a lot more of a convincing answer than they were all at work. But these people were crafty, maybe they knew that as well?

“Ah fuck it” he mumbled to himself, he was getting more uncomfortable by the minute standing in this remote village and was keen to leave. Instead on dwelling on the information the elder had give him, he skipped straight to the point of his presence here.

“Why have you peasants refused to pay your dues to the government?”Tombossa boomed to all those present “President General Segou gives you everything and even trusts you to tax yourselves, and you miserly peasants abuse his kindness with greed and banditry? Well Segou has had enough of your foul attitude, if you will not listen to kindness , you will listen to discipline!”

And with that, the Senegambian soldiers set upon the village to destroy, ransacking the houses, smashing furniture and burning homes. This was an action repeated all throughout Fouta Djallon and Ibrahim sought to make an example of the rebellious highlanders and show that he was still as ruthless and he was 14 years ago. Villagers such as these has remained safe from the local military bosses in the city thanks to their remote location, but such blatant defiance could no longer be tolerated under the current circumstances. In the absence of a adult male population, civilian atrocities were low in this village as neither Tombossa nor most of his men enjoyed their work, merely they knew who their income and thus livelihoods depended on. Of course that didn't stop some the more sadistic men from carrying out rape or torture. A seen, again repeated across the Highlands.

“Hey Boss! Come over here!”

Loomobossa followed the soldier, who lead him into one of the villagers larger dwelling, where upon entering inside were an additional two more soldier. Both were squatting on the dirty floor, holding open a trap door. Lombossa frowned, as he pulled out a cheap electric torch and peered into the hole. It was mostly empty, despite its large size, except for the gleam of bullets and casings that lay scattered throughout the ground. Almost as if the hole had been quickly emptied of it's contents prior to the soldier's arrival.

“Sneaky fuckers” he muttered to himself and ordered that the village leader be brought in to explain the find.

Upon seeing the trap door and it's secret compartment, the old man simply spread his hands, as if at a loss to explain the discovery. Before he could answer however, Lombossa, tired of the man's lies, raised his rifle and shot him at point blank range. It seems he was told a half truth, certainly the village's men had turned to a life of banditry, yet it appears that they had not abandoned their village. And neither had their village abandoned them.

Almost on cue with the discovery, the village soon came alive with the crackle of gunfire, lots and lots of gunfire. Lombossa immediately hit the ground as he heard the cries of surprise from his soldiers who scrambled for cover from the unexpected attack, and the screams of civilians who fled the fire fight lest they be hit in the cross fire. With his men scattered and hiding throughout the small village, their was little the sergeant could do except return fire, hoping that the rebels would break off as they usually did, content with killing one or two soldiers. Yet as the battle drew on for more minutes, it dawned on Lombossa that this was no mere ambush. Not only were his men surprised, but surprisingly they seemed outgunned as well. President General Ibrahim Segou and his Generals had clearly underestimated the fighting strength of the locals, and now it would cost Lombassa and his men.

The superior fire power of the rebels began to take it's toll on the soldiers, who guns were silenced one by one. With their enemies numbers dwindling, the rebels began to emerge from the brush and push into the village, eager to stamp out the remaining soldiers. Lombossa struggled to keep them at bay, although he dropped a few of the fighters who took the plunge into the open, he knew he could not stem the tide. A bullet cracked through the door way and dropped a soldier,a mere centimetres away from Lomobossa, spraying his face with hot blood. With a gasp, Lombossa hit the ground, aiming his rifle to return fire, but was answered with a gut wrenching click, the magazine was empty. Struggling to reload, he was and easy target for the two youths who excitedly filled the dwelling full of machine gun fire, riddling Lombossa with bullets and sending him to an early grave.

This event was by no means an isolated one, as the Senegambian army found themselves ambushed by an enemy whose size, organisation and tenacity they had grossly underestimated. It almost seemed as if they Guinea highlands were ablaze with rebels. Ibrahim Segou would find out that he had unwittingly kicked a hornets nest, one who size he could have hardly imagined.

[Layarteb]

January 20, 2015 - 20:00 hrs [GMT]
Dakar, Senegal
Layartebian Embassy to Senegambia
(14° 44' 41" N, 17°31' 35" W)

Like all embassies around the world, the Layartebian embassy to the Republic of Senegambia, located in Dakar, was a veritable fortress. High, rebar walls topped with razor wire, concrete Jersey barriers at the entrance, regular perimeter patrols, bulletproof windows, and an easily accessible helipad either on ground-level or on the roof were just some of the adornments of the structure and its compound where hundreds of Layartebians lived and worked. It was a shame too as the embassy was located in the most beautiful part of the city, the Cap-Vert (Cape Verde) peninsula located in the extreme west of the city, in the district of Ngor. To the embassy's north was a golf course and to its south was a private club for the richest of the rich and four kilometers to the east was the international airport. Secluded far away from the misery of Senegambia, the embassy operated in its own world. Individuals ventured out of the compound often enough to sample the local culture but there were many no-go zones, which wouldn't change.

For Ambassador Nathaniel Bailey, one of those who regularly traveled outside of the compound walls, though never without escort, the location of the embassy was beyond ideal yet the political atmosphere in Senegambia couldn't be worse. The country had massive potential but it was wasting away thanks to despotism and corruption. The only thing that could solve Senegambia's woes was a true revolution and not of a violent one since violence would only perpetuate the problems. It had to be a revolution that stretched down to the very core of society and affected everyone from the lowliest peasant to the President but the odds of that happening were slim to nil. In a single-party state like Senegambia little, never mind an all-encompassing revolution, could happen.

Ambassador Bailey wasn't really the star of the embassy though. That honor befell the station chief, Danny Ledet, whose official cover was that of a photojournalist in the embassy's press corps. Ledet had a talented, young, and ambitious staff of officers too. He had eight case officers - or agents - underneath his tutelage who had recruited a few dozen assets throughout the country, several of whom were within the Senegambian government, two being within the Senegambian intelligence agency, one being in the Senegambian defense agency, and three being in the Senegambian interior agency. Ledet wanted individuals within their foreign relations or state agency too but that would take more time. There was good reason for this too and it was because of West African Jihad, the moniker and overall banner for Islamist militant organizations operating in the war lord controlled, rural areas of the country. Naturally, West African Jihad was just a loose confederation behind which the real string puller was the notorious, Al-Shams.

The Empire's interest in Senegambia was thus two-fold. For starters, West African Jihad numbered 9,000+ men, which was a serious number. They were ruthless and they were intelligent. These weren't run-of-the-mill militants running around on technicals with Kalashnikovs and RPG-7s. They were hardened, devout warriors, loyal to their war lords first and fanatical Islam a close second. In that regard, Al-Shams' influence was limited but that they had influence was troubling enough. This did not bode well for Western Africa, which included the Kingdom of Dalmasce, a great ally of the Empire and Sierra Leone, held by the Empire of Apilonia, an ally in the October Alliance. The second reason for the Empire's interest lay to the east, the Republic of the Khorsuni Nation, an enemy of the Empire and a thorn in the side of the Apilonian Empire too.

For Ledet, Al-Shams and West African Jihad was the top priority with Khorsun a close second. That was why Ledet had waited until the sun had gone down before he opted to utilize a specialized exit from the embassy, an exit few knew about. This particular exit was a series of underground tunnels, well maintained but locked throughout the way by padlocks and other security devices. It was meant to be an escape route in the event of a siege but the case officers of the intelligence division often used it to sneak out of the embassy without people seeing them. As Ledet followed that tunnel this evening he was constantly checking both his back and his watch. He was running late and in his haste, he wasn't sure if anyone within the embassy was following him. He'd taken one less precaution in the process but he was safe by the time he popped out near the Hotel des Almadies.

Hopping into an awaiting cab, Ledet directed the driver to a bus terminal in the Sicap-Liberté district of the city, ten kilometers away from the embassy's protective walls. Just east of the airport, it was densely populated with just shy of 50,000 residents. Dakar itself had nearly 2.5 million residents in just the city alone so 50,000 wasn't much, in retrospect. Ledet didn't think about it as he boarded a public bus and watched for anyone too interested in who he was. He'd switch busses twice more before he arrived at his destination, another bus station just a kilometer away.

Exiting the bus terminal, he began to work his way through an active bazaar and then a nearby eatery until he finally slunk back into an alleyway in between two very narrow buildings. He went halfway down the alleyway at rapid speed before standing in the nook of a doorway. Utilizing the darkness to hide what form of his was exposed, he stayed there for a few minutes, watching the entrance of the alleyway, to make sure no one was following him. When he was satisfied, he turned around, continued into the alleyway, hooked a right at the end, went down the steps into a restaurant's crowded and messy kitchen, walked through it and out of the other side, then exited the restaurant, crossed the street, went into another alleyway, checked his six again, and finally entered an apartment building.

The building was alive with the local music as the evening was a cause of some celebration for some of the residents, perhaps a birthday party or a wedding he concluded. He went up to the fourth floor and entered an apartment, which was nothing more than a safe house for the Ministry of Intelligence wherein he apologized for being late. He was meeting with Seckou Dieng, their only contact within the defense agency. Middle-aged but well-placed, Dieng was drinking tea and smoking a cigarette when Ledet arrived, "I trust there is not a separate crisis that has delayed you?" Dieng said casually though a little annoyed to have been kept waiting for twenty extra minutes.

"There's always something Seckou, I'm glad you made yourself at home here."

"Well the place is nicely stocked. Fine then, since time is of the essence and I am running out of it, I might as well share the information I wanted to share. West African Jihad has gone berserk in the highlands."

"Tell me they ambushed another patrol?"

"Wiped them out to the last man outside of Labé."

"They're rather comfortable out there. Is this too much for your military?"

"Maybe, maybe not. We underestimated their size and scope and perhaps they are getting funding and arms from outside of our territory but we're going to shift our policies and our tactics naturally."

"That's unfriendly country out there Seckou. I wouldn't want to be an infantryman out there." Ledet finally took a seat and took off his plain baseball cap. He would swap it out for one of a different color for the return trip home. "Have you received any direction yet from the palace?"

"If so it hasn't come across my desk yet. Still an offensive will only tackle half of the job. As you suggested, I passed up the recommendation that we have to fight West African Jihad on a different front as well, that we must drive a wedge between the warlords and the Islamists and make them fight one another."

"Any luck?"

"It's under advisement," Seckou said with a wave of his hand. "I suppose they'll think about it again now that this has happened," he checked his watch, "and thus I have to leave." He finished the last bit of tea in his cup and put it down on the end table.

"Let us know the moment you hear something."

"I will anything else?"

"Yeah, we had rumors that Khorsuni groups were operating over the border in Guinea. Heard anything about that yet?"

"Not yet but I'll make some inquiries."

"Thanks Seckou." With that, the defense agency official left and Ledet went about sanitizing the apartment. He cleaned and dried the cup, he changed his shirt and his pants, he switched out his cap, and he placed a few phone calls to various persons before leaving and taking an extra long and redundant route back to the embassy.

[Yanitza]

3:00 AM
January 23, 2015
West African Jihad Camp, Outside of Naye

Omid had been angered, yet not surprised when he had learned about what had happened in Fouta Djallon. As he had already warned Abbas and his warriors, it was likely that Ibrahim was going to lash out at any enemy he deemed weak enough to show that he could still flex his muscles, and that the most likely of the targets was going to be the high profile Fulani warlord. Yet he had hoped that Abbas would have at least taken to the countryside, leaving the Senegambian army to ravage the villages before returning to normal. A bitter pill to swallow certainly, but it certainly would have allowed West African Jihad to better organise a large retaliation that would sweep the country up in revolution and oust the Segou regime, thus allowing for Abbas to have his revenge.

However, after having received the initial news, Omid and the rest of the Al-Shams leadership knew that ultimately Abbas had been left without any choice, simply letting the military go unpunished would have diminished the fierce reputation of the Warlord and lead to a breakdown of hierarchy amongst his warriors. Really, Abbas had no choice, it was the government that had forced this action with their harsh retaliation. However the uprising in the Guinea Highlands was not a complete disaster, not by a long shot. Although Omid had yet to hear from Abbas, from what he had heard of from scattered reports on the ground, the mountain king had certainly surprised the government, and Al-Shams. They had never been able to get a totally accurate number for the amount of soldiers that Abbas had under his command, the warlord was never to welcoming to the probes of Omid and fellows, but it appears even they severely underestimated his reservoir of manpower.

The Fouta Djalloni's had successfully beaten back Brigadier General Abadou's forces back in a speedy and spectacular fashion. Despite they're superior arms (although given the state of the Senegambian army with it's rampant thievery and antiqued equipment this was hardly a decisive one) , the Senegambian soldiers had been surprised by the ferocity and size of the attacks, which appeared in a disturbingly coordinated fashion and had successfully sent the surprised soldiers streaming back into the towns. Realising that the dice had essentially been cast and that it was too late to turn back now, Abbas's soldiers began to lay siege to these outposts, cutting electrical wires (those that hadn't been stripped for a profit by bandits or soldiers) and imposing a blockade on traffic. Although the Fouta Djalloni's were far from being well equipped, they had managed to acquire a few heavier weapons from enterprising Quartermasters in the Senegambian and Birean armies, as well as from Al-Shams suppliers. These were put to quick use, with larger garrisons like Labe finding themselves coming under motor fire from the countryside, many soldiers dreading the inevitable urban combat that would erupt when the rebels try to storm the strongholds.

Although it was certainly a brave move on Abbas's part and showed that whatever issues he might have with working outside of his ethnic group, he was still committed to the WAJ cause, it was still a risky move. It was extremely unlikely that the Senegambian military unit's trapped in the towns would crack soon enough before reinforcements arrived, even after the route they had suffered in the rural areas. The full force of the Senegambian army would be sent to scatter the rebels in the highlands and relieve the besieged towns. This was where Omid was to play a crucial role in neutralising the army.

Omid pulled back the flaps of the large tent that revealed itself to be the main operational centre for West African Jihad in Senegambia. It wasn't permanent of course, as the Al-Shams leadership regularly liked to move about in a random fashion throughout the several bases it had established in the East. Although an assault from the Senegambian government was unlikely given that most commanders were either ignorantof their location or size and thus did not warrant them as important enough (especially with all eyes on Fouta Djallon), Omid and his compatriots had learned to be kept on the toes. After all their was still the threat of Birean military raids from across the border to contend with. Out here in the countries East, the terrain was mostly flat and covered in the tropical grassland that distinguished the Sudanian savannah region of West Africa from the more arid Sahelian grasslands in the north and the forrest-Grasslands of the South. The hot temperature of the region meant that Omid often kept a large water bottle and hand all times.

Inside the tent, cloistered the leadership of WAJ, or at least those that weren't spread out amongst the organisations various cells throughout the country. The Leadership assembled here could be divided into two distinct groups. The First Generation, as they were known, consisted of foreign Al-Shams fighters and veterans from various other Islamist causes. Many were Persians such as Omid, already used to working outside of their home country and veterans of the civil war, others were survivors of other former cells in Eritrea, Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan. Also included in this number were previously non Al-Sham's affiliated Jihadists from Birea and the former Hirgizstani states, including the deceased West African Republic. All had found a new cause and purpose in Senegambia and approached their task with zeal. The other group were referred to as the “Second Generation”, all recruited local Senegambians who reported directly to the Al-Sham's veterans as opposed to local warlords and hierachs. Although many of the Second Generation remained subordinate to the First for now, they represented the future of the organisation as it was eventually hoped that warlords such as Abbas would eventually be cut out as middlemen by native Senegambians, thus creating a coherent fighting force rather then a motley coalition.

Omid approached the large table where many of the Leaders were cloistered over scattered maps and field reports.

“How goes verything so far?” Omid casually asked, not to anyone in particular

“A lot better than it could have been” replied a man commonly referred to as al-Shirazi (despite hailing from Baku), a long time associate of Omid.

This brought a slight smirk from Omid

“Yeah, we are certainly blessed with foresight amongst us”

They were referring to the fact that WAJ had in fact begun mustering it's forces since the 14th, the day that President General Segou had nearly met a fateful end. A move many began to view as a possible game changer as it certainly now allowed the militants to quickly react to the situation unfolding.

“Our militias have already began their attacks” another man spoke “It's to early to call now, but we must have faith in their training and resolve, no doubt they will soon drive the army into the towns, they lack resolve”

Omid nodded, this was the answer he had half expected to hear, it was that their seemed their was little else he could do for the time being other than hope the WAJ militias were able to execute their objectives. Knowing that the full force of the army was going to come down on the highlands, WAJ had taken the initiative and had begun it's uprising in Senegal. The aim was again, to overwhelm the government forces and force them to retreat into the towns and cities. Scattered and besieged, it would not be long till discipline break down amongst the Government soldiers, leaving Senegambia free for the taking. Of course it was not going to be that easy, after all much of Senegal was covered in flat grasslands, thus the Senegambian military was not at much of a disadvantages it wa sin Fouta Djallon. Not to mention that western Senegal was the heartland of the Wolof people, thus the military would put up a much more tenacious defence.

A Fierce battle was now raging for it's second day throughout the regions of Tambacounda, Kedegou, Matam, Saint Louis and Kolda, where WAJ had the most influence and organisation. To a lesser degree, WAJ militias also had commenced attacking military outposts in Eastern Senegal as well, however the organisation had found it much harder to infiltrate this region due to the large solidarity between the government and it's inhabitants. Nevertheless, by exposing the heartland to attack, many Al-Shams strategists believed that this would frighten the government enough to turtle it's forces into the East, thus abandoning much of the country to WAJ and her affiliates to take control.

“What about the International response” Omid inquired, this was one issue that was really bothering him “I trust we are keeping as best an eye on that as possible”

A lanky man of likely Eritrean or Somali origin shook his head “We haven't picked up anything yet from anybody, although you can bet the Khorsuni's are going to be getting involved really soon”

Omid smirked at this “Oh I have no doubt about that, I have a feeling Ibrahim's going to be leaning very heavily on support for them”

Aside from the Senegambian military, the Khorsuni presence represented the other major threat to WAJ domination of the country, and arguably the more threatening one. While Ibrahim's dictatorship had the potential to be toppled quickly by itself, the Khorsuni's were certainly guaranteed to put up a more stiff fight, and were more then likely to provide aid for the teetering regime that could pose a threat to Jihadist plans for the country. Although the bulk of WAJ energy was directed against the government for now, a number of raids were to be simultaneously conducted into Southern Senegambia, the heartland of the Khorsuni networks. The objective of these raids was not so much to achieve a decisive military victory, as it was too sow discord between the Senegambians and the Khorsunis. Following Fulfe's assassination, his predecessor was likely to be very leery around anything with a gun that wasn't in the army. By attacking the military in the South, WAJ hoped to provoke the military into clamping down on anything that moved, even the Khorsunis.

“They aren't the only ones that need watching though, it would be foolish to think that the Layatebians haven't their eye on the situation as well” interjected al-Shirazi, who by mentioning the Layartebians had brought about scowls from most of the men present. Many had already suffered the defeat at the hands of the Empire in their own respective country, thus bearing a grudge against the country.

Omid nodded in agreement with this “Given the size of our operations here, the Layartebians would have to try not to notice what was brewing”

“Our best bet is that the Khorsuni's might act as a deterrent in this situation however” al Shirazi smirked “warding off intervention by the Empire in what is their backyard”

“Whose to say that’s not more of a reason to be involved however” the East African spoke up again. Omid had already considered both sides, and knew that each were especially valid. The fact that the Apilonian Empire, an ally of the Layartebians, held territory in Sierra Leone and were operating in Liberia also added tot he equation. If they were willing to intervene in Liberia over the atrocities in Buchanan, they would have field day with what was likely to erupt in their much larger neighbour, the only problem being that no side was likely to have it's hands clean.

With that, the men gradually fell silent and returned to their duties, their was little more to be said at this moment, yet little more to be done for the Al-Shams leadership, as it watched the fire of insurgency that Segou had started blow up into a full blown civil war under their careful management.

[Terra Reborn]

His Grace The Duke of Sierra Leone
Freetown
The Duchy of Sierra Leone, the Apilonian Empire
Friday 23rd January 2015, 0700hrs Local Time (2200hrs Imperial Capital Time (22/01/15), 0700hrs Zulu Time)

To the eyes of the Apilonian Empire, and those that approved of its foreign policy, Sierra Leone was perhaps one of the best examples of benevolent Imperialism. For all the criticism that had beset the Apilonian Empire on occasion during its years of expansion, whenever they went in somewhere it tended to turn out for the better. The likes of Rhodes in the Mediterranean was considered the template for such actions, the Empire had come in and restored order to a lawless island, put an end to the violence and depravity that had taken over and now, some years later, Rhodes was a prospering colony of the Empire. This was not Imperialism of old, where a weaker people were subjugated by the more powerful, this was Imperialism for the Twenty-First Century, as it was sometimes called. The Apilonian Empire had wanted territory, resources and the power that came with that, but it was not prepared to make the same mistakes it had in the past, this time instead of subjugating a people they worked together with them. A symbiotic relationship in many cases, and only ever when they were asked. It may not be the traditional definition of Imperialism, but it was what the Apilonian Empire adhered to today, although that period was largely coming to an end, given that the Empire had regained its Great Power status.

William Dubaku, Duke of Sierra Leone, was the embodiment of Sierra Leone’s transition into the Empire. Prior to joining the Empire he had been a Dictator, sure he had been benevolent and never committed atrocities against his people but the fact remained that he had gained power by a (bloodless) military coup. The Empire had come to his assistance when some of his own treacherous officers had tried to oust him, partially because an Imperial Frigate had been attacked by rebel forces, and together they had defeated the Rebel forces. Subsequently it had been decided that Sierra Leone would join the Empire, and it had made sense to a lot of people. The rising power of the Republic of the Khorsuni Nation to the south had been concerning to many, and Sierra Leone, like so many African countries not blessed to be part of the New African Republic, was underdeveloped. The Apilonian Empire would bring protection and investment, which in the last few years had had a visible and remarkable impact on Sierra Leone, most notably improving its infrastructure and several major housing projects. In return the Empire got Sierra Leone, and its vast supplies of natural resources, including diamonds.

As far as William was concerned, it was a good deal.

The continuing Khorsuni belligerence, which had come to a head in the Liberian Civil War, had only confirmed that belief amongst the Imperial citizens of Sierra Leone. In response the Ministry of Defence had recently announced the redeployment of a significant amount of forces to the European and African theatres of operation, most notably increasing four-fold the number of combat aircraft stationed in Sierra Leone. The purpose was simple enough, sufficient forces could never be permanently stationed in Sierra Leone to single-handily hold off a determined Khorsuni invasion, so the decision had been made early on to not even attempt to. Instead the three Divisions that had been raised from Sierra Leone itself were tasked with defending critical cities and military strongpoints long enough for additional forces to be deployed from the Empire, which could vary from a day (for Rapid Response Force elements) to weeks. As a result the Imperial Military forces stationed in Sierra Leone were primarily focused on defence.

With all this in mind William, the men and women of Imperial Joint Command Africa, and many back in Karin City, were becoming increasingly concerned with the situation in Senegambia. The situation had been unstable for some years, but it had been of little concern to the Empire. The concessions that the Khorsuni had managed to get out of the Senegambian ‘government’ were unfortunate, but in general they were seen as too splintered to be any sort of threat. What was now concerning was the reports that the Khorsuni were getting more intimately involved. The Khorsuni tendency to try and destabilise a country from within through ethnic minorities, and then use any crackdown on them as a casus belli, however flimsy it might be, was well known, and in nations like Senegambia it was far more likely to work than in, say, the Apilonian Empire. There was therefore increasing concerns that the Khorsuni were setting themselves up for a military operation in Senegambia followed by a forceful annexation and occupation. Which would leave the isolated Duchy of Sierra Leone utterly surrounded by a hostile state.

Which was simply unacceptable.

The problem was however that Senegambia was, quite simply and to use a military phrase, a Clusterfuck.

There were enough factions to sink a ship, the central government lacked the strength to enforce its authority over much of the country and there were more humanitarian atrocities than one could shake a stick at. It was therefore a totally different situation than Sierra Leone or Liberia, where then President Dubaku and President Fox had been able to prevent any ethnic strife, and as such the Apilonian Empire would not get involved. It went against everything that the Empire stood for to prop up a regime that behaved in the way that the Senegambian regime did. If things changed on the political scene that might change, but the alternatives to President Ibrahim didn’t look any more attractive than the strongman himself. As such the Apilonian Empire’s choices were limited, they were going to have to operate simply for their own ends, this time military intervention was unlikely to succeed, and would be politically impossible even if it stood a chance of success. As per the Walker Doctrine, as put forth by the late Monarch, however, the Empire was committed to doing whatever it took to protect its interests.

A doctrine that had only been reinforced by the Assassination of King Walker last year.

The Duke scowled as he looked out the window from Dubaku House, looking out over the city. Many things had changed in the past few years, the central business district was growing steadily including a number of high-rise, and the slums had all but disappeared, replaced with organised streets of good quality housing. He knew that the organisation that owned the flag that flew above a complex of buildings a few dozen meters down the road was largely responsible for that, being of course the Imperial East India Company whose construction arm had done the vast majority of the building in New Freetown. All he and his people wanted to do was live and prosper without having to pander to the desires of the Khorsuni minority. He knew that many, particularly in the RKN, looked down on the Apilonian Empire for its ‘Imperialism’, but in his eyes there was nothing worse than ethnic imperialism, the enforcement of a particular nation or political system on all those members of a given ethnicity, regardless of who else might live around them. The world had become multicultural and multi-ethnic, and attempts to operate a policy on an ethnic basis were doomed to failure at best, and likely to result in genocide at the worst.

So William, and the rest of the Empire’s citizens in Sierra Leone, were consigned to a life of eternal vigilance, and keeping strong against a belligerent power that would only bring ruin to Sierra Leone and everything they had built here.

William glanced up at a knock on his door and smiled as General Sir Nicolas Leach, the Commanding Officer of Imperial Joint Command Africa (and General Officer Commanding Imperial Fifth Army), entered the room. A decorated and experienced officer, Sir Nicolas had proven himself well suited to the unique challenges that defending Imperial West Africa presented.

“What’s the news?” The Duke asked.

“Nothing concrete, an increase in rebel attacks on Government forces in response to brutality against civilians, there’s a lot of movement but nothing firm or coherent as of yet,” Sir Nicolas replied. “We’re doing everything we can to get a firmer picture of precisely what is going on, but its difficult to say the least.”

“Do we have any intelligence on what is going to happen, rather than what has already come to pass?” Duke William sighed. “It’d be nice to know ahead of time.”

“Very little, Your Grace, our penetration of most of the rebel groups is next to nil, we’re only getting information on what is currently happening because we have men in-country watching events unfold,” Sir Nicolas shook his head. “We do however believe that something is going to happen, if only because the tempo of fighting has taken an uptick recently, not to mention the assassination attempt on the President.”

“Alright, well make sure that the UNIT District Officer keeps me up to date on the situation, as best as we can,” The Duke said simply. “Will you join me for breakfast, Sir Nicolas, I’m sure we’ve got plenty to discuss.”

[Yanitza]

2:47 PM
January 30, 2015
Dagana, Senegambia

“Alright that's it!” Pvt Ahmed Billou yelled out over the loud, incessant noise of the heavy machine guns next to him. A lack of hearing protective aid in the army stores of Senegambia had meant that Billou had been forced to resort to sticking ragged pieces of clothing in his ears, which sadly, largely failed to live up to their function.

The machine gunner however, largely seemed to have not heard not heard Billou or chose to ignore him, and kept firing off into the the now retreating enemy force, which was rapidly disapering from the outskisrts of the town and back towards the wilderness from where they had emerged. Only when he was sure that he was shooting at nothing more than Dust did the machine gunner stop firing, the adrenaline of conflict now wearing off.

“Save the damn ammunition” snarled his Lieutenant, clearly not happy with the lack of discapline being shown by his troops “We don't know when the next batch will come”.

Billou peered over the sandbags that lay on the dusty street to get a could look at the carnage before him. Broken bodies lay strewn around the small town, thankfully most of them identifiable to the attacking WAJ force, although a few uniformed men lay scattered between them. These were casualties that the beleaguered Platoon holding down the town of Dagana could ill afford, especially if the Jihadist fighters intended to keep pressing on like they did. This was the fourth attack on the settlement since the beginning of hostilities, in which the Senegambian military had been completely unprepared for. Lying along the River Senegal, which formed the natural boundary between Senegambia and Birea, Dagana itself was a stepping stone on the highway to the much larger and important town of Ndiangu-Xhouma (IRL Richard Toll). The Ultimate end point of this route was the major sea city of Saint Louis, which if fell would be a major moral victory for WAJ, for having cracked the rapidly forming defence line of the Senegambian army. Thus Daganda was escalating into a major point of conflict between WAJ and the Military

Satisfied that the enemy had taken a respite from combat, Ahmed finally allowed himself to relax, rolling over on his back and pulling out a cheap plastic water bottle to quench his thirst. His comrade, who had likewise been sweating profusely under the hot African sun put his hand out. While the two men allowed themselves a few minutes to recover from the fighting, both knew that their job wasn't over yet now that the battle had come to a close.. Like vultures, the soldiers would now have to scour the battlefield for the dead, stripping them of weapons and ammunition first, as well as any other supplies and trinkets from the bloodied bodies. If any comrades were still alive, the most would be made to try and help them, although medical supplies were stretched thin in Dagana, thus little could be done to save those with more life threatening wounds. Enemy wounded would simply be executed, keeping POW's would simply be a waste of the garrisons meager resources.

“This is fucked” murmured the machine gunner as he stalked over the battlefield like a bird of prey “The third fucking time they've come and they keep coming harder”

“And it does them much good doesn't it?” Billou replied irritably. He was having a enough problems keeping his own spirits up to hear the lament of another. He motioned to the burning wrecks of a few Jihadist Technical s, that had proven no match for the heavier weapons that the Garrison thankfully kept a hold on.

“You just wait” the machine gunner spat back “We're going to sit here like the sacrificial lamb, so Segou can save his own neck” he gave a swift kick to a dead insurgent to emphasise his anger at the situation.

Pvt Billou, who had nothing to say to this, simply peeled off and left the man to his misery. This partly because he knew that the man was right. Even if no official orders had been sent out, one would have to be blind to see that in the panic that had emerged with the first week of fighting, many of the government soldiers in Northern Senegambia had rapidly abandoned their posts in the West and were pulling into a defensive zone in the East, ultimately protecting Dakar and Segou within it. This was particularly demoralising for soldiers like Billou who lay on the fringes of this defensive zone, and thus were uncertain as to whether they should abandon positions and flee East, allowing Jihadist forces to encroach further, or stay and possibly be abandoned by his own forces to be overrun by the militants. Billou had already heard many horror stories from surviving soldiers fleeing fallen key towns like Naye, Matam or Tambacounda. The Jihadist's had proven themselves to be brutal to the conquared, and in many cases the crowds of these cities had joined the rebels in the streets, lynching the captives from lampposts.

After an hour amidst the broken bodies of the latest failed assault, Billou couldn't stand the stench of drying blood no longer. His small bin bag of loot, sagging under it's load bloodied ammunition and trinkets taken from both enemy and friendly dead, was hauled over his back as he turned back to the town. Flies swarmed over the dead in black clouds and filled the air with their incessant buzzing, and by now other scavengers such as birds and stray dogs were beginning to arrive on the scene. Also beginning to emerge was the few inhabitants of Dagana. Much of the town had already been depopulated, as more civilians continued to flee their homes in each successive skirmish between the insurgents and Government. As with any conflict, a refugee problem was already beginning to emerge in Senegambia, although many of the refugees were finding that they were unable to find any measure of security in the country, thus many were already considering crossing borders into Senegambia's more stable neighbours.

Billou regarded the frightened inhabitants with suspicion, as the gazed out through windows and doorways, some even braving the streets again, confident that at least for now the fighting had stopped. Although many that had left were indeed refugees, Billou and every other soldier in Dagana always could not help thinking how many of the locals had instead fled west to sign up for WAJ. The soldiers in Dagana had already began breaking in and searching homes lest they fine insurgents behind they're back. The civilians in their turn, were terrified of the soldiers, as news had just filtered in from the rest of the country of the massacre at Diofor Village. Lying smack in the middle of Military controlled Senegambia, A large number of her inhabitants had raised the banner revolt at seized the village under the WAJ banner. The military response had been brutal, every combatant had been killed to the man regardless if they had surrendered, and the civilian casualties were rumored to sit around the figure of a hundred. The message was simple, President-General Segou was a far worse enemy to have than any Jihadist.

One skinny child had at least braved the streets of the ghost town, staring at Billou with wide eyes, filled with an expression of hunger and fear. The Child was dressed in filthy rags and no adult could be spied in site, thus making it very likely that the kid was a war orphan, another tragic side effect of the conflict. With the countries adult population being killed or fleeing around them , it would often be the children who were left behind to pick up the pieces, with little idea what or why events were transpiring around them why they did. Moved by what humanity he still possessed, Billou rummaged through his loot and held out a few small rations of food he's pried off a dead soldier before. A small act of humanity in the midst of the hell that surrounded him.

[Layarteb]

January 30, 2015 - 14:00 hrs [UTC-5]
Layarteb City, New York
Fortress of Comhghall
(40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W)

The Emperor and the National Security Council sat around the massive conference table in the former's office. Outside, the sun tried its best to poke its head out but it struggled against the lingering clouds of the morning's snowstorm, which dumped about an inch or so of light, fluffy snow over the area. The temperature was hovering in the high-30s but it promised to do nothing but decline as powerful, Arctic winds came in behind the storm. "What is the first order of business?" Asked the Emperor as the logs in the great fireplace cracked and snapped, filling the room with waves of warm, dry heat.

"We need to discuss the deteriorating situation in Senegambia sir, it's been pushed out several times already," the Minister of Intelligence said. "It concerns the Al-Shams affiliate, 'West African Jihad' and their push against Senegambian forces throughout the more rural, eastern areas of the country."

"All right then, what about it?"

"What about it sir? West African Jihad has a massive army of men, nearly nine thousand men at the last estimation. They're making significant progress in the eastern regions of Senegambia and they've been going head-to-head with the Senegambian military and by and large succeeding sir."

"They are loosely affiliated, is that correct?"

"Yes sir, they operate under the banner of Al-Shams though."

"But they are nothing more than a confederation of warlords who have given Al-Shams allegiance for the moment. Truth be told, this situation isn't our concern." The Emperor said, shocking everyone in the room. For years now, the Empire had made it a point to go after Al-Shams and every one of their affiliates with a vengeance but this was the polar opposite. "The political climate in Dakar is not conducive to it being our concern. This is a country that cannot get its act together and a country that has shown its indifference to us in the past. They are a puppet for the Khorsuni government in Verela and frankly, West African Jihad isn't a problem for us yet. They haven't professed a hatred for the Empire, issued any fatwas against us, or claimed that we are the Great Satan. Their focus is on Dakar and as far as I am concerned, so be it."

"But sir shouldn't we deal with them now, before they become a problem?"

"If the Senegambians cannot handle their own affairs, and they certainly can't, we're not going to nose in where it's obvious we're not wanted. We have bigger fish to fry right now. Maybe the British can help them but I doubt even the British want to wade into that disaster."

"Sir," the National Security Adviser said, "shouldn't we at least reach out to Dakar?"

"Dakar knows what we've done to Al-Shams. If they want help, they can come ask for it but so long as they're Verela's lapdog, they aren't going to get help from us. I'm not sending Layartebian soldiers or matériel into their country to solve their own domestic issues. That's really the end of it. West African Jihad and the warlords under its banner don't want to rule the planet; they want their own domains. They look to Al-Shams because Al-Shams gives them money and support. If Al-Shams suddenly issued policies they didn't support, they would run the other way. The only thing I'll go as far as authorize is an attempt by the MOI to wedge some sort of division between the warlords and Al-Shams, that's it."

"Sir, I think we're making a mistake on this one," the Minister of Intelligence answered. "We should be doing something about it."

"If you like we can pass the information onto the Apilonians and the British, even the Dalmascans and see where they all stand on the matter but I do not think, nor will I authorize because of it, that Layartebian troops and matériel can do any good in Senegambia. We'd likely just make the situation worse." The Emperor said, virtually ending the discussion where it stood. The Minister of Intelligence, shut down in the meantime, would certainly reach out to Karin City, London, and Rabanastre to see where they stood on the matter but insofar as a concerted and coordinated military response, none would be coming from the Empire.

[Khorsun]

The Presidential Palace
Dakar, Senegal
January 30, 2015

Amrahan dha Dakassa, the brawny, swarthy Khorsuni ambassador to the Senegambian Republic, arrived at President Segou's palace in a heavily armored car, having called the night before and insisted on a meeting with the President. Rekhan Taneltar was more than happy to turn the Senegambian ambassador away whenever it was convenient (or whenever he felt like it), but the Khorsunis had generally come to the expectation over the last few years that their officials could knock on the door in Senegambia whenever they felt like it and expect to be answered. Dha Dakassa himself tried not to abuse the privilege too much, knowing that such arrogance grated on the pride of his hosts, but the situation unfolding this month demanded courtesy be put on hold.

With an iron jaw and mean-featured face under his close-cropped black hair, Amrahan dha Dakassa looked more like a fighter than a diplomat. Once a KZI fighter, dha Dakassa had indeed been chosen by the Khorsuni foreign ministry for this posting precisely because it was believed a military man would be the ideal figure to carry relations with a military regime.

Dha Dakassa stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut; the paranoid Segou was leaving the gates closed out front and would not open them even for the cars of the Khorsuni embassy. Dha Dakassa made a point of approaching the palace steps unaccompanied by any of his own guards. President Segou might be afraid to go out on his own front porch, but a proud Khorsuni like dha Dakassa, who had had a few bullets aimed his way himself back when Verela was called Abidjan, would not show such fear.

Dha Dakassa had spent the last two weeks in close contact with both Valorsa Trakhun, the Khorsuni foreign minister, and with Lakhuskavi Nuzhemba, Sharokh Force's number one man on the ground in Senegambia. The whole cesspool of a country had gone to Hell in short order; Islamists were coming out of the woodwork in every direction, the Senegambian Army was falling to pieces, and Segou seemed to be out of touch with just how badly his forces' efforts to contain the jihadists were going. Neither dha Dakassa nor Nuzhemba had seen any signs of the Segou regime changing its tactics to account for the jihadists' unexpected strength, and Khorsun's foreign ministry was going increasingly concerned over what to do about all this.

The hardline voices were doubling down on their usual rhetoric: Segou's puppet state was a worthless puppet state and ought to be wiped off the map, ought to have been wiped off the map years ago in fact. Khorsun should let the tanks roll all the way to Dakar and restore it to its rightful name of Kusan, blasting every Wolof, Fulani, or jihadist who even so much as spat in their direction. The cautious voices spoke out against any further involvement, which risked drawing another confrontation with the Apilonians or Layartebians and could end up putting the Army into a counterinsurgency quagmire. This was why we should not have started our militias there in the first place, these cautious voices who had opposed such ventures insisted; we undermined the government so badly that the Islamists were able to gather strength.

Neither of these wings, however, carried the commanding influence of Khorsun's foreign policy. Taneltar had cultivated a core group that was pragmatic and ruthless in the extreme, taken to gambles and schemes but not overtly jingoist, not by Khorsuni standards at least, and devotedly nationalistic. Senegambia was seen by these people as a part of Greater Khorsun; likewise Liberia as well as the Duchy of Sierra Leone, regarded as occupied territory. The Khorsuni state could not help but be intimately involved in Senegambian affairs.

Conquering Senegambia was certainly within the realm of possibility but it would not solve the Islamist problem. It would only redirect it against Khorsun itself, which could turn out very badly indeed. Khorsun had jihadi problems of its own, having conquered substantial Islamist-ruled territories in Burkina Faso and subjugated a large Islamic population. Nearly a quarter of Khorsun's population was Muslim, and they remained troublesome and rebellious subjects, especially given Khorsun's efforts to spread the Zherduta faith. Islam therefore was especially singled out for repression, moreso than Christianity and the traditional animist faiths that remained widespread among the black population. Islamist insurgency still simmered in Khorsun's north and east but had largely been brought under control; like drinking a mouthful of tainted water, conquering Senegambia with its active al-Shams cell could bring back the infection and re-ignite Muslim rebellion in Khorsun proper.

The Segou regime was thus serving Khorsun well as a shield to absorb the jihadis' attacks. The Khorsunis hoped to keep it propped up until the Islamist and black ethnic insurgencies at home were well enough stamped out for the RKN to be ready to expand its borders. The question was how exactly to do that. The militias were fighting the jihadists where they could, holding Khorsuni turf for the most part but being driven out of several salients they had made futher north. They weren't strong enough to achieve anything decisive, however. They were tough, well-motivated light infantry, but so were the jihadists - and the Khorsunis weren't many in numbers nor willing to stray too far from their homes, and they also had the Senegambian Army to deal with.

Sharokh Force was open to bringing in its own special forces infantrymen and had several battalions of Tazhalta Khasmarum standing by at or near the border to reinforce the militias if the jihadis made a concerted push for the south. Nuzhemba was even working up plans to have the Tazhalta help the militias seize the major regime-held cities in the Khorsuni regions if Segou's forces weakened enough.

But that didn't answer for the rest of the country. Khorsuni Army Aviation had presented plans for a bombing campaign to provide the Segou regime with air support; these had been rejected, as the Senegambian Khorsunis would certainly be outraged to see RKN pilots flying for Segou's army. In its place, however, dha Dakassa had come to see Segou today with another proposal. The Khorsunis were prepared to lend-lease a fair number of aircraft to the Senegambian Air Force to be flown under its own markings. Trusting in neither the reliability nor the skills of their hapless allies, and being somewhat behind the cutting edge themselves in aviation, the Khorsunis weren't going to offer them anything to up-to-date. But they did have thirty-six MiG-21 fighters and twenty MiG-23s that they were willing to 'loan' to Segou.

Neither dha Dakassa nor the Khorsuni Army were optimistic about the prospects of getting these fighters back in one piece, but these were aircraft the Khorsunis were willing to write off. Dha Dakassa would be offering them with a caveat, in lieu of the Senegambian Air Force's notorious reputation for stripping down its aircraft for sale or using them for carrying drugs. Further Khorsuni aid would be predicated on whether the Senegambians could prove they were using them as intended. And if Segou's pilots made the mistake of bombing Khorsuni insurgents instead of jihadis, they could expect Khorsun to terminate its lease of the aircraft - by blasting them off their own runways, along with the rest of Senegambia's ragtag collection of fighters and helicopters.

[Yanitza]

9:00 AM
January 30, 2015
Presidential Palace, Dakar

The last few days had, understandably, taken a rather heavy toll on Ibrahim, as he struggled to cope with the magnitude of the situation that he was dealing with. Militia's had always been a problem in Senegambia, yes, as was the threat of extremist religion, although Segou had always tried his best to make sure that he presented himself to the public as a good Muslim. But the uprising he was facing was unprecedented in it's scope. Every day since hostilities had begun, Segou awoke to find himself confronted with more reports of field losses, of towns fallen to rebel troops, and of government soldiers beating a retreat to the nearest source of strength.

Thus when the Khorsuni ambassador had arrived to meet with the President General, Ibrahim was hardly in his most presentable form. His face had remained unshaven for a few days and a fuzz covered his cheeks and chin, while his eyes held deep bags from nights spent sleepless trying to organize an effective response to the insurgency, or ranting into the night about the troubles that had befallen him recently. Despite his disheveled physical appearance, Ibrahim still made sure that he was dressed in his finest military uniform, his military career still remaining as thing of pride for the Dictator, despite his recent behavior having undermined this reputation. Although he had let his physical appearance drop somewhat, Ibrahim still made sure that he dealt with everyone in the same manner in which he had always done.

Given the importance of the Khorsuni Republic in Senegambian affairs, Dha Dakassa was a name that Ibrahim knew well enough, having spoken to the man many times on matters concerning relations between the Khorsuni Republic and Senegambia, which more often than not also included domestic issues that most states would not consider within the realm of interest of a foreign state. While Segou had always carried a chip on his shoulder against the Khorsuni's due to the unequal relationship enjoyed between the President-General and the Ankhazar, many of his closest confidants had noticed that as the country slid into civil war, Ibrahim had begun to cast the blame for his troubles more and more so on the shoulders of the Khorsunis, in an effort to absolve his own actions. Yet Ibrahim was no fool, and was genuinely appreciative of the support the he could rely on from his powerful southern neighbour. It was extremely unlikely that Segou would turn his back on the Khorsunis and seek other aid, that was something Taneltar and his regime could rely on.

Ibrahim awaited in his personal favourite study for the Khorsuni ambassador, who was being escorted through the Presidential palace by an armed escort, for his own safety naturally. The problem with the Jihadists was that their ideology nominally allowed them to break through the ethnic fault lines that ran through Senegambia, thus Segou for the first time in his life found himself keeping an eye on the loyalty of his own people. Awaiting Dha Dhakassa with the President-General were several key advisers to the Dictator from the military and various government departments. The ever dependable Oussea was currently absent, as he was organising the countries defense in Segou's absence.

“Dha Dakassa” Segou said in a gruff tone “If only we could meet on a much more lighter note that the current” he continued, giving the soldier diplomat a firm handshake. Segou grabbed a seat at his desk and offered the opposing chair to Dakassa, while a servant poured two glasses of imported wine for the men. Alcohol was a habit that Ibrahim had picked up in his youth in the army, a habit that he was careful to keep concealed form the public. While not illegal in the nominally secular state, it was socially frowned upon.

“As you can no doubt guess Dhakassa, recent events have kept me rather busy, and I feel I must get straight to business.” he begun.

“The situation is not good” Segou stated frankly, seeing no point in pretending the obvious wasn't true “We have been caught completely by surprise by this militant threat, whose organisation and size is completely unprecedented. Yes they, have dealt us quite a blow in the past week, although I can assure you this rabble will be no match for the army once we are able to regain the initiative.”

Segou paused and took a healthy swig of wine ”Appropriate measures are already being taken” he added.

He felt no need to explain to the Khorsuni's what he meant by this, who after dealing with Ibrahim for so long no doubt knew that the man was referring to a savage repression of any population suspected of harbouring WAJ sympathies, his usual solution to domestic issues. One of the upsides to being aligned with the Khorsuni's was the lack of regard they seemed to show for the President-General's way of dealing with dissent (excluding their own ethnicity of course), a luxury Ibrahim no doubt knew he wouldn't enjoy if he was in the pocket of say the Apilonians instead. Voices inside his own private circle had suggested that perhaps the President-General was better off approaching this threat by using diplomacy instead, by reaching a compromise with certain regional warlonds and thus neutralizing the unity of WAJ as a whole. A very strange suggestion in Ibrahim's ears, who had angrily shut down such suggestions by stating he would rather see his regime toppled than it' s power diluted with glorified gangsters.

“Any help that Verela is willing to give to her loyal ally, would be very much appreciated at this point”

[Khorsun]

"To your health, President General," dha Dakassa replied, taking a swallow of wine as he listened to Segou's blunt remarks after the toast. "Current events have the RKN very worried. We are frankly afraid that the Bireans will begin to interfere if you do not make a decisive show of strength. They have been isolated and frustrated in their regional ambitions and if they see the opportunity to put a jihadist regime in power here as an ally, they will take it."

Dha Dakassa paused and finished off the glass while he planned his phrasing carefully. "West African Jihad is our enemy too. We will not tolerate a jihadist victory. We are ready to increase our level of assistance, though there are limits to what we can do. The more visible help you take from us, the more legitimacy you lose in the eyes of the people. We've decided that getting the Senegambian Air Force off the ground again is the first step to take. We have an aircraft package to offer of thirty-six MiG-21s and twenty MiG-23s. They're not remotely fit for a dogfight, but fortunately, flying carpets aside, al-Shams has no Air Force to speak of. And these can drop a thousand-pound bomb as well as anything else that flies."

He looked Segou square in the eyes before continuing. "We want video logs of the flights. We want to ensure these aircraft are being used properly." Segou was more than aware of his own Air Force's cannibalistic tendencies; there was no need to elaborate on the implications. "These aircraft are yours at no cost until West African Jihad is destroyed. You will only have to pay replacement cost if you lose any of them in action. They'll fly under your markings. We can provide instructors if you need to train further pilots. We'll provide ground crews to look after them. We will provide spare parts, but only if it's our maintenance crews who ask for them. And we will provide you with an unlimited supply of barrel bombs, flèchettes, and napalm, provided we have those video logs proving they've been put to good use."

"You get all this in return for one thing. We would like to negotiate a temporary ceasefire in the southern regions, for humanitarian as well as strategic purposes," he said, referring euphemistically to the Khorsuni rebel zone in Guinea. "We will use what influence we might have on the militias there to redirect their efforts against West African Jihad instead of your troops." Another euphemistic phrasing, 'what influence we might have,' being that they operated more or less at Sharokh Force's beck and call.

"We've had some upsetting reports about 'reprisals' in the villages these last couple weeks; we believe the attacks you've experienced in the southern sector originate from the jihadist enemy and that they are trying to divide your forces' attention. A ceasefire in the south will free up men to go north and stabilize the front against the jihad. We can start to have those aircraft flown over once that ceasefire has taken effect. And needless to say, but these are to be used against jihadist targets only. Do we have an understanding, President General?" dha Dakassa said, offering the man his hand.

[Yanitza]

Dakar

Ah the Bireans, thought President-General Segou. With his mind currently overrun with the thought of having to deal with the Jihadist debacle and maintaining discipline among his own ranks, he had spared little thought for Senegambia's other menacing neighbour. Unlike Khorsun, Senegambia did not enjoy such an amiable relationship with Birea, and while the Empire was certainly not as powerful as Khorsun,it still posed a grave threat to Senegambia's sovereignty. It would be to easy to imagine an opportunistic alliance between the Bireans and Jihadists, as Dakassa proposed. Another burden on Ibrahim's mind, although one he certainly had less control over.

Ibrahim was much relieved that hear Dakassa confirm that the Khorsuni's still intended to back the Senegambian regime despite the reverses it had faced.The Khorsuni's would certainly find a WAJ lead Senegambia to be far less pliable as the current government. The offer of aid that Dakassa was proposing was a relief to to his ears. If the regime enjoyed one indisputable advantage over the Jihadists, it was certainly in the field of aviation, even with the airforce's somewhat stuttering response to the menace.

“That is wonderful” the President-general replied with genuine sincerety “ Rest assured, your superiors in Verela will know that their aircraft will be well used to crush our mutual foe”

The terms and conditions that came with the aircraft however, Segou was less enthusiastic about, although he had enough tact to hide this from the Khorsunis. While the flight videos didn't bother him the least as Ibrahim personally had no stake in the little schemes of the pilots (surprisingly), the thought of having to repay the costs of the destroyed aircraft was certainly not something he was to happy about. Assuming that the Jihadists would be unable to acquire thier own functioning airforce, their was still the threat of saboteurs int he military ranks as well as Jihadist take overs of airfields. The war would exhaust his resources, and Ibrahim did not want to further sap this limited pool by having to pay back the Khorsuni's after the war. Still, it was not like he was in any position to negotiate, beggars can't be choosers.

“Not to worry ambassador, we will have no problems with the pilots in this little conflict of ours” he simply told Dakassa. Several pilots had already been executed for continuing their criminal activities. While such antics may be tolerated in peacetime, indiscipline was not acceptable in the current conflict. However, the Senegambian air force could ill afford the loss of pilots, and thus the Khorsuni offer for the training of Senegambian pilots was another valuable asset that could be provided to the Senegambian regime. All of this at the cost of allowing the Khorsuni's to have a “cease fire” as they called along the south seemed to be a very good deal to Segou, who certainly needed to free up troops from the south regardless. If the Khorsuni militias wanted to joint he fray, Ibrahim certainly had no objections.

“Ambassador” he said warmly while pouring himself and Dakassa another glass “I think these terms that you propose are very much acceptable to the Senegambian people, and rest assured I have no illusions about who my friends and enemies are” hoping to dispel any concerns amongst the Khorsuni's that the Senegambian army may try and turn on them in the course of the war.

“A toast Dakassa” Ibrahim beamed “to a speedy victory over the WAJ scum!”

[Khorsun]

"Send them all to Hell," Dakassa answered, downing another glass of the President-General's wine. However deficient his stewardship of the rest of the country was, Segou clearly spent top dollar on wine and got what he paid for. "You can send the word around to your airfields to make themselves ready to receive their deliveries. Give us the word as soon as they are prepared and we will begin flying our planes in. The hour is still early, so might get started as soon as this afternoon if they are quick."

He rose and shook Segou's hand again. "If this goes well, I may be back again with more to offer. Show us what you can do with them. The RKN is counting on you. I will be returning to the embassy to get things moving as fast as possible. Best of fortune to you and your men, and my thanks as always for your hospitality."

Amrahan dha Dakassa soon departed the palace, making his way back to the armored car he'd arrived in. While he'd been in meeting with Senegambia's leader, his guards had seen to the unloading of a carefully bound-up canvas and its turnover to the hands of Segou's palace staff. The Khorsuni ambassador made a habit of leaving a gift whenever he called upon the President General; this time's was a little more poignant than most, a warning of sorts of the stakes at play. It was The Fall of Kusan, a classic Khorsuni war painting, depicting the ancient city that lay in ruins beneath Dakar during its sacking by the Ghana Empire; a fiery hellscape as seen from the harbor, boatloads of refugees fleeing the rampaging conquerors.

Or rather, it was a very good replica of the classic war painting; Khorsunis firmly believed that all great artworks of theirs belonged to the Nation. It was yet another of the sticking points that made the RKN so unpopular at parties in this hemisphere. Cotland, which had colonized the Khorsuni lands in the pre-modern period, had been the first to be pestered with calls to return 'stolen artworks' from its museums; the Khorsunis weren't too particular about the difference between public galleries and private collections, insisting the Cottish Realm was responsible for making returns from both. The Cottish state had paid little heed to these complaints but the Khorsuni campaign had succeeded in 'reclaiming' Khorsuni works from from a few millionaire collectors of particularly liberal and guilty mindset.

That success, small as it was, had emboldened the Khorsunis to take their nagging to the New African Republic, the Empire of Layarteb, and other destinations where Khorsuni arts and artifacts had arrived in the hands of Hirgizstanis. The Layartebians had told the RKN to pound sand, in diplomatic terms (though perhaps not quite so diplomatic as those offered by the NAR). The Khorsunis' guilt campaign had worked up a sizeable reaction though in the liberal press of the New African Republic, which took to castigating its own government over the issue and blaming the NAR's unwillingness to see the return of Khorsun's stolen heritage, among other things, as the cause of Khorsuni belligerence towards it.

Even Segou was not immune; he was indeed the most burdened of all by it. Every time a foundation was dug for a new building project in Dakar, his work crews seemed to unearth some new and unwanted piece of Kusanite legacy, some pile of bricks alleged to be some Ankhazar's sacred mausoleum or outhouse or something, which meant the Khorsunis up in arms again wanting another cultural heritage site (didn't they have enough of those yet?) and another headache for Segou. It got to be that his work crews started excavations in secret and under cover.

Not that it did them much good; the Khorsunis had spies on the ground, or always bribed someone in the right place, or something (both...) - the fuckers always found out about it, always had some 'spontaneous' mob of 'concerned patriots' arising within hours to protest. More than once, a worker who'd carried off some piece of precious Khorsuni heritage from a site had been found beaten to a pulp in his own home, the artifact in question having been 'liberated' by Khorsuni 'protestors' who somehow knew that he'd looted it, and where he lived. Another headache every time for Segou, another barrage of outraged complaints and conflicting demands from the city government, investors, the construction industry, the security forces, his own citizens, the Khorsuni locals, and the RKN embassy.

And all this was a minor problem, by Senegambian standards.

[Yanitza]

February 2, 2015
Nzerekore, Senegambia

Nzerekore had always been a fairly militarized town, even by Senegambian standards. Being the regional capital of Senegambia's most southern and remote district had meant that the military control here had always been forced to be more excessive in squashing local dissent, even when it came to the RKN backed militias. When one examined it's geographical location, it was not hard to understand why as well. The military Commander in charge here had to deal with the predatory Birean's to the North, whose patrols often provoked border clashes and raids (acts which the Senegambian's were not innocent of neither) and generally behaved as a hyena only being kept at bay by the Khorsuni lion. The Khorsuni Republic to the East always remained an omnipotent power, with one hand providing economic investment and trade, and with the other holding the local governance hostage via proxy forces. And in the South, the Apilonians, represented by their Duchy of Sierra Leone also provided an additional worry as although they had thus far shown themselves unwilling to intervene in the Senegambian debacle, their moralistic impulses meant that the Army was forced to keep a lid on more excessive behaviour lest they offend Apilonian sensibilities.

Brigadier General Rahim Touke, the hastily chosen replacement to head the district, was also haunted by the fate of his recently deceased predecessor, Fulfe. Thus the barracks where the business of governing South Eastern Guinea was partaken, was now crawling with military personal, who were told to be extra zealous of their duties of remaining ever vigilant against another assassination attempt. Thus much of the civilian population sought to avoid the surrounding area of the barracks for fear of military harassment. This suited Rahim just fine, who had increasingly began to feel more and more isolated as the Jihadist forces successfully cut him off from the rest of the country.

It was in the old mess hall that had been hastily converted into a large war room that Brigadier General Touke could be found, listening to field radio reports from the various outposts that dotted his personal fiefdom. It was partly due to the rough nature of Southern Guinea that the military here was more prepared to deal with the warlord threat, having spent a great deal of time skirmishing with militia's of all stripes. It was also partly due to the fact that the main thrust of the Jihadist offensive was located in the far north in Senegal where the head of the regime lay, the WAJ leadership content to leave the south largely alone for now. This didn't stop them from sending raid's into Touke's domain, in an attempt to incite the local Malinke's and Kissou's into revolt. One patrol had managed to capture a senior WAJ commander along the Niger river, who now sat bloodied in the facilities detention centre. Although the man was of African appearance, he was clearly not a Senegambian and looked as if he hailed from the Horn of Africa.

An NCO strode into the room and gave the General a sharp salute with his right hand, in his left he held a piece of paper. Due to the unreliability of Senegambia's communications network, important dispatches now had to be sent via an armoured courier to the senior commanders, which meant that Touke received very few communiques from Dakar.

“Any trouble getting here” Rahim asked sarcastically as he took the dispatch off the courier

“What is to be expected” The courier replied rather neutrally, he was in no mood for dark humour but couldn't disrespect his superior.

As Touke read the latest orders he received from Segou, he almost baulked at what they said. The Big Man himself was ordering Touke to not only cease any action he was taking against the various Khorsuni militias that were operating in his jurisdiction, but that now he must also open up the Southern border to them and begin to cooperate with the militias. The reasoning was that the Khorsuni's were to provide vital aid to the Sengambians in their conflict with the Jihadist's, a common enemy.

Despite the justification for Segou's orders, this was simply to much for the General, who had literally been promoted to his position as a result of the early death of his predecessor at the hands of the Khorsuni's. It was bad enough that the military was forced to combat the ethnic Khorsuni militias in a half hearted manner, but now they were being asked cooperate with those that blatantly disrespected the authority of the President-General and the Senegambian army. Touke, and many other Senegambian officers, was of the opinion that the Khorsuni presence in Senegambia should have died along with their city of Kusan. Thus it was indeed a bitter pill for him to swallow. And just for his own pride as well, as the General had fears that this course of action might appear to much like President-General was subordinating himself to the Khorsuni's, which would demoralise the soldiers and possibly splinter the ranks.

After spending several minutes standing, his mulling over every course of actions, Touke gruffly called over one of his lieutenants

“I want new orders to be sent to the field as soon as possible” he told the Lieutenant stiffly.

The Lieutenant pulled out a small pad and pen, patiently awaiting the orders as Rahim held his tongue.

“I want all soldiers to cease all combat actions against all Khorsuni militias” he finally said, begrudgingly “ I want their attention redirected to combating suspected Jihad cells instead. And tell the border units to allow the Khorsuni's to move their trucks through our territory” The General assumed the RKN had enough sense to arm any supply convoys they intended to send into the country, which would have to take the long route to reach Dakar as the Fouta Djallon highlands were virtually in rebel hands.

“But tell them to keep they're eyes on the Khorsuni's” Rahim added as the Lieutenant was about to leave.

He may have to follow Segou's orders, but he would only bend so far. Thus while Touke remained in command of the Southern region, the Khorsuni militias would continue to be tolerated, but not accepted as he had no intention of cooperating with any military force that was fighting under the Senegambian flag. Regardless of what Dakar ordered.

[Layarteb]

February 2, 2015 - 10:00 hrs [GMT]
Magburaka, Sierra Leone
Magburaka Army Base
(8° 43' 7" N, 11° 54' 49" W)

General Peter Armstrong entered his office with his executive officer, Lieutenant General Terry Gibbs and two colonels. General Armstrong was a tall but stocky man who never quite lost the muscle he'd gained from his days in an armored unit where he commanded tanks and often had to help repair them. His executive officer was much leaner but no less an ox, a man who made his army career by jumping out of cargo aircraft at fifteen hundred feet and hoping that his parachute opened. Both of them were a soldier's soldier and for that reason, they weren't despised by the lowest privates, as many generals were. The two colonels with them, on the other hand, garnered mixed reviews. Both of them had seen combat - and been decorated for it - but they were career HHC men. One was Colonel Rob Edwards and the other was Colonel Rob Thompson and colloquially they were known as "the Robs" when it came to the upper echelon at Magburaka Army Base.

Established in October 2014 following the Liberian Crisis, the army base hosted not one but two divisions of the Imperial Layartebian Army. There was the 13,000-man strong 26th Infantry Division (Light), of which Colonel Edwards was the G-2 or head of the intelligence department. Complementing it was the 27,850-man strong 28th Cavalry Division, of which Colonel Thompson called home, also as the G-2. Officially, the men were there to support Sierra Leone but the real reason for their presence was to boost AFRICOM's troops over 250,000 men and to send the Khorsunis a message that this time, should another crisis arrive, Layartebian troops were already on the ground in West Africa, ready, waiting, and more than willing to intervene on behalf of the Layartebian government.

"Sit down gentlemen," GEN Armstrong said as the other three men took a seat. He had just attended a three-hour meeting with the department heads and HQ elements of both divisions and now he had brought the two G-2s to his office to speak to them away from the ears of the various divisional heads. Despite being career HHC men, both colonels understood the value of a secret and of discretion. "I want an honest, no-shit assessment of West African Jihad and just what the hell they're doing up there in Senegambia and why we're sitting here on our asses." He began and half an hour later, when he'd been given precisely what he asked for, he leaned back in his chair and looked square at his XO. "Seems like a waste of resources huh?"

"We're damned if we do and we're damned if we don't," LG Gibbs answered. "By getting involved we hand a potential victory to Verela. It's obvious that the government doesn't think Segou is worth much. He's too deeply in bed with Verela who have exerted too much influence on his entire administration. If we don't get involved, we could exacerbate a crisis. Regardless, WAJ isn't going to conquer Dakar anytime soon and if they grew to that level, Verela would put a stop to it. It just doesn't matter to the politicians so long as Segou is Taneltar's lapdog."

"It's a situation ideal for a coup sir," answered COL Edwards. "Unfortunately, the military can't handle that kind of a shakeup since coups are inevitably succeeded by purges and the military just cannot afford to start purging men and officers while they're in a conflict with WAJ."

"What's the alternative?"

"Without the political will to do anything, nothing at all sir," answered COL Thompson. "They're handing the region to Verela or hoping that Dakar gets wise enough to cut its umbilical cord with Verela. If not, well we have enough men in theater to hold off any offensive into Liberia or Sierra Leone long enough to get the rest of our forces here."

"So far we're in the clear," COL Edwards added. "WAJ is focused along the border regions with Birea, where they have the advantage of a porous border and an utterly useless regime in Helene. Right now, they're fully content with giving Dakar the bulk of their headache. It would be foolish for them to attack Sierra Leone or Liberia, knowing that the Apilonians will get fully involved and by proxy so too will we."

"Is anyone running recce around the region?" LG Gibbs asked.

"Yes sir," COL Thompson said. "The air force regularly flies Global Hawks around the border area with Liberia and cooperates with the Apilonians on their own recce missions. We know that the MOI is pretty focused on intelligence collection but as far as men on the ground, I can't imagine they have a big presence. Senegambia's a difficult country. It's easy to penetrate but there's a massive swath of it that's simple a no-go zone."

"What a mess," GEN Armstrong said, leaning back in his chair. "What do we have for planned operations coming up?"

"Sir?"

"What do we have planned for operations coming up, I'm not going to ask again." GEN Armstrong had a look in his face that sparked mild fear in the two colonels and which immediately unnerved his XO, whom the asked was directed to, now both times.

"We don't have anything on the immediate dossier sir. The 26th has some training scheduled in a few months in the Loma Mountains sir."

"All right, I'm going to see if the Apilonians are willing to let us pull up the operation some. Let Major General Long know, will you Gibbs?"

"Yes sir."

"All right then, we're dismissed…"

[Yanitza]

February 13, 2015
Tambacounda, Senegambia

“...And I call on all of God's faithful to rise up against this false government of Kafirs! Apostates who cloak themselves as faithful Muslim's yet are mere puppets for the foreign Dhimmis of Khorsun, who persecute the faithful among their own borders and wish to bring their own cruel faith here. Segou and his cronies are mere apostates who must be made to answer for their crimes!...”

The sermon continued to be delivered from the fiery, if somewhat small man who stood on the dusty stage. Various microphones and cameras , all bought and owned by al-Shams and smuggled into Senegambia through neighbouring Birea, surrounded the cleric, who delivered his speech to the large crowd that had gathered in front of him. The Speech was also broadcasted along television stations and radios that were controlled by al-Shams, through the main communications centre in Tambacounda, and could be heard throughout Senegambia and neighboring countries as well. The crowd that had gathered to listen to the Marabout were mostly enthusiastic, as to much of the city's inhabitants saw him,WAJ represented the liberation of their community from the tyrannical rule of the Segou dictatorship and his local represntative, the late General Mamadou. Mamadou had rule over Western Senegal with an iron fist for a good 40 years, preceding even Segou himself. Thus when the Jihadist armies entered Tambacounda, the cities inhabitants, in a public display of suppressed rage, stormed the General's mansion and lynched the old tyrant from a Street sign. Perhaps an ominous sign of the President-General's fate should Dakar fall.

In the sidelines of the rally, far from the spotlight, stood two figures observing the performance, Omid Sassani and Ibn Djarati, the latter being a colonel in the Birean Airforce. Omid watched the speech with a confident mile on his face, as his prodigy on the stage proved himself up to the task of being the public face of West African Jihad. Omid had picked Usman Zadata from Senegambia's traditional muslim leadership, the Marabouts, where he had already proved himself to be an influential member among st local society in Western Senegal. As a Senegambian, Usman could be used to represent the public figurehead of WAJ, and when victory was eventually achieved, would be declared Emir of the newly established Islamic Emirate of Maghreb and Sahel. As the name suggested, WAJ did not intend stop with Senegal, but eventually conquer the whole of West Africa.

But more importantly, Usman represented al-Sham's attempt to co opt the local Muslim leadership into it's organisation. Just as the Warlords of WAJ formed the link between Omid and the foot soldiers of the organisation, the Marabout's were the crucial links between al-Sham's and the majority of Senegambia's population. Unfortunately for al-Shams, they were far less cooperative then the warlords. Under Segou's nominally secular Dictatorship, an uncomfortable relationship existed that while kept the Marabout's out of national government, they were allowed to govern local societies without virtually any intervention from the central government, aside from taxes. Thus while Islam officially remained outside of politics, it remained firmly in control of society through the local courts and law. Most Marabouts were therefore largely ambivalent to to any sought of politcal change from above.

However, the emergence of a government that drew it's legitimacy from Islam, such as that advocated WAJ, would change this political arrangement between central government and local leadership. An Islamic government could possible threaten the traditional authority of Marabout's in matters of Islamic jurisprudence. This issue was further exacerbated by the doctrinal differences between the mostly Salafist al-Sham's leadership and the Sufi majority of Senegambia. While it may seem to be nothing more than a minor doctrinal dispute between clerics to some, such differences could be extrapolated into fundamental differences of law and government that threatened to create a clash between the Marabout's and al Shams. Thus the co-option of individuals such as Usman was vital to al-Sham's plan to create a lasting presence in the country.

“So Ibn” Omid said without turning to his companion “I trust you know why you have been invited here and that you have considered our offer”

The Birean Airforce Colonel turned away from the spectacle and gave Omid a lopsided grin “Well how could I ignore such a generous cash offer”.

Omid responded with a smirk but did not say anything, instead waiting for Ibn to continue. Al-Sham's network of wealthy patrons around the globe had certainly helped aided the logistics of WAJ with corrupt Birean border officials allowing a steady stream of munitions to flow over the border. A supply route that was unlikely to be harassed by any other foreign power as well.

“And as you already know I am sympathetic to the goals and aspirations of West African Jihad, however, financial and ideaological matters aside, I still cannot help but feel that involvement in Senegambia is perhaps not worth the risk”

Omid nodded his head in sympathy with the Air Colonel's dilemna, yet he was determined to persuade the man other wise.

“Naturally Ibn, with any great reward comes some amount of risk, but I think that perhaps you are over estimating the effectiveness of your enemy”

“The Senegambian airforce is a joke, they don't even have the benefit of relying on any inherited Hirgizstani weaponry like many of your others neighbours do. What few planes they still have running will be a minor nuisance to your men. It's easy money”

Ibn seemed to carefully consider this before answering “Clearly, they are not so toothless as you say or else they would not be posing so much of a problem to you operations, am I correct”

Omid quickly suppressed any feelings of surprise and anger at the man's response. Although he strongly doubted that the Bireans, much less Ibn, had any informants amongst the ranks of WAJ and the Government, he supposed that word did travel fast regardless. What Ibn had said was true, in the past week WAJ advance onto Dakar had stalled, with small villages such as Dagana turning into hotly contested battle zones between the Senegambian army and WAJ. The Senegambian Airforce, as decrepit as it may be, could still pose a threat to the insurgents who lacked any sought of airpower. What's worse, reports from cells operating in Southern Senegambia, and from the Jihadist occupied Fouta Djallon, told of increased Khorsuni activity and movement in Senegambia. If the Khorsuni's were stepping up their level of commitment in the civil war, Omid needed to ensure WAJ enjoy a speedy victory soon, lest it be bogged down in a drawn out guerrilla war. Something he couldn't do without Birean air cover.

“Believe me Ibn, were WAJ to possess some measure of airpower, all of Segou's planes would be smouldering wrekcs by now” Omid replied “But we don't, which is why I am asking you to aid us in our struggle. You have nothing to lose by intervening, the Senegambians will not put up a tough fight to your men, and whether or not we lose, You will still go home with a purse full of cash and the prestige of having been responsible for a succesful air campaign.”

Omid's appeal to pragmatism seemed to do the trick, as Ibn gradually let a smile creep across his face and nodded in agreement. The al-Shams leader breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a sense of satisfaction in having successfully countered the governments current monopoly on airpower, a move he hoped would drastically tip the scales of conflict in his favour.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
February 13, 2015
Nzerekore, Senegambia

Rahim Touke frowned as what he had just been told.

“Are you sure that your information is correct”

The soldier in front of him, who was sweating somewhat, no doubt under the intesity of his superior officer's stare, just nodded an affirmation.

“Yes Sir, from the most reliable sources sir, the Khorsuni's are definitely up to something sneaky”.

Touke went silent for a few seconds before grabbing a near by coffee mug from his desk and smashing it on the ground in a fit of rage.

“Cock sucking bastards” he spat “I fucking knew it”

In the past few days, just as instructed by the President-General himself , Brigadair General Touke had allowed the Khorsuni's to begin moving equipment throughout his territory, and had ordered his men to stand down on aggressive actions against the various Khorsuni militia's. Despite the General's misgivings about his neighbours, it had seemed to him thus far that the Khorsuni's had kept their word. Convoys full of equipment continued to trundle on through to Dakar, Touke himself never receiving anything, but that was no surprise given that the majority of the fighting was occurring north of his fiefdom. Yet what he had just been told now seemed to vindicate all his earlier suspicions of Segou's erstwhile allies.

It had appeared that, at least according to the reports he had been told, his own men had spied the Khorsuni convoys diverging on their road to Dakar. Instead of supplying their high grade military gear to the Senegambian army as promised, they were giving it to their own militias instead! Raheem had no doubts at all what this meant about the overall Khorsuni intention in Senegambia.

“I fucking knew we shouldn't have trusted those back stabbing fuckers” he continued to mutter to himself.

“Lieutenant, this little ruse that Taneltar is pulling on us ends now, I want all units near the border to immediately confiscate the next batch of weapons the RKN tries to bring into Senegambia immediately, I want them brought to Nzerekore, along with the trucks and crew. And begin preparations for a new offensive, we're going to push out the bastards while they aren't suspecting.”

[Khorsun]

Doromou, Senegambia
5:45 PM, February 15, 2015
Three miles from the RKN-Senegambian border

Rhutana (Lieutenant) Lezhotar Kizonar called out a heads up to his truckers as the N.2 road took a slow, serpentine curve to the left beneath their wheels; the Khorsuni convoy was about to emerge from the forest and into the village of Doromou, which the N.2 bisected. Hardly five kilometers into Senegambian territory, the Khorsunis fully expected the area to be under the control of friendly militias; no jihadists had made it this far south and the Senegambian Army in the region generally stuck to the confines of the cities, where it was safer for them. Still, this country was going to Hell, so there was every reason to be alert. Kizonar rode shotgun in a TOW-carrying ex-Hirgizstani Army HMMWV that served as the convoy's command vehicle. Behind it rolled eight supply trucks loaded with with Kalashnikov rifles, mines, grenades, and mortar and artillery shells. Kizonar's platoon rode in four uparmored two-and-a-half ton gun trucks, two up ahead on point and two at the rear of the convoy. Each mounted a fearsome 15mm heavy machine gun over the cabin along with two light machine guns in the bed.

Southern Guinea was considered a low-risk area of operations. Friendly militias kept the roads secure and the convoys informed of any hostile movements, and it was close enough to the Khorsuni border that the Army would violate Senegambian airspace to carry out an airstrike if a convoy did get itself ambushed. Hence the Khorsunis tended to operate in the Nzerekore Prefecture with small, easy to manage convoys; gun truck platoons like Kizonar's would take eight to a dozen trucks to a staging area at the far end of friendly territory, where they'd then be massed up into large columns of a hundred or more with a much more heavily armed escort to take them on the more dangerous leg of the route to Senegal.

"Eyes open, watching the flanks!" Kizonar ordered, pleased to see the guns on the lead trucks ahead of him already fixing on the low, dusty buildings that lined the road to the right and left. The lead truck to the right responded that it seemed emptier than last time. He was right. Kizonar's platoon had seen a number of convoys through Doromou before and there had always been villagers and livestock; now it was positively empty. He looked about on his right, where the bulk of the village stood. He couldn't see any people, but he also saw no signs of an attack. Quite possibly one of the militias had come and scared off all the villagers, most likely in fact, but still, it was worrying. Kizonar switched channels on the radio and reported Doromou's apparent emptiness up the chain of command.

"We're seeing something up ahead," said Gradamar (Sergeant) Trhakhtorkar in the lead truck. "A checkpoint at the end of the village, where the treeline starts again."

"Khorsuni or not?" asked Kizonar, putting his own pair of binoculars up to his eyes to see for himself.

"Uniformed. Looks like Senegambian Army soldiers," said Trakhtorkar.

"I see them," said Kizonar. Looked like two squads behind sandbags and tarps; Kizonar spotted a pair of RPK machine guns but no heavier weaponry, although that was no guarantee they weren't hiding RPGs or for that matter a .50 caliber behind their sandbags, or that they hadn't mined the road. "Convoy to a halt." They rolled to a stop two hundred meters from the checkpoint, well within firing range already. The trucks both leveled their 15mm machine guns at the checkpoint, as did the HMMWV's own TOW gunner, while the lighter machine guns kept watch on the right and the left for a potential ambush. The Senegambian and Khorsuni armies were nominally allied, but Senegambian presence on the supply route was both unexpected and unwelcome. The Khorsunis had made it clear to them that they would handle convoy security on their own, regarding Senegambian soldiers as more of a looting hazard than a helpful asset when it came to protecting supplies.

"I don't like this," Kizonar said into the radio. "There have got to be more of them here. They wouldn't put twenty men on their own in the middle of hostile territory."

"This is not your ordinary Senegambian toll booth," Trhakhtorkar replied. This was a phrase for the well-known practice where underpaid Senegambian soldiers or police officers would set up a checkpoint on the road and demand a bribe for an "escort" down as far as the next one; an unlucky traveler close to a major city might be stopped by a toll booth every kilometer. It was no wonder the economy here was so utterly stagnant; for many, the bribes made it just downright unprofitable to truck their goods into a city.

Trhakhtorkar was right. "Doesn't sit well with the village being deserted," Kizonar replied, eyeing the buildings carefully again before scoping out the Senegambians with his binoculars again. They too had guns up and aimed back at the Khorsunis; their commanding officer was striding forward and yelling something into a bullhorn, though Kizonar couldn't hear any of it.

"I don't see their trucks anywhere either," Trhakhtorkar added. That too didn't sit well with Kizonar. Senegambian Army discipline was lax and careless; Kizonar would have expected them to simply park their trucks by the side of the road. If they'd gone to the lengths of hiding them, that meant that they'd done it on purpose.

"This is looking like ambush. Be ready to engage," Kizonar said. The situation was becoming incredibly dangerous. The N.2 road was narrow and doing a U-turn on it with a truck convoy would be a nightmare. The supply trucks were loaded with munitions and even one of them would probably blow up half the village if it was lit up. They would get bunched up while the convoy was turned around and thus blow each other up as well if they were fired upon. Driving straight through the checkpoint would risk rolling the convoy over land mines, and the rest of the ambush party might be waiting concealed in the trees waiting for them to do just that. On the other hand, there was no way the Senegambians would cede them the cover of the town; they must have had soldiers hiding in the buildings.

"Escort 1, turn about and head to the rear of the convoy," Kizonar ordered, sending Trhakhtorkar's gun truck back to lead the retreat. "Escort 2, keep the checkpoint covered. "Escort 3 and 4, hold position, keep guns up and eyes out on the houses. Escort 1, give 'mark' when you are clear of the last vehicle. Convoy reverses at 20 kilometers per hour when Escort 1 gives mark. Escort 1, give halt once we've reached the field that was on our left when we entered the village. We'll have space for a full turn around there. All drivers confirm!"

There was a round of acknowledgements and Trhakhtorkar's truck swung across the road into a U-turn. Kizonar nodded to his driver, who had put the gearshift in reverse and was watching over his shoulder and awaiting the signal. Kizonar kept his eyes on the checkpoint, watching to see what the Senegambians would do. Their officer had come forward about thirty meters from the sandbags now, still yelling into the bullhorn and now waving his arm, swinging his left hand in a snap forward from the elbow over and over again. He seem to have a rhythm going; whatever he was yelling, he must be repeating.

Over the radio came a shout from Trhakhtorkar, not "mark!" but "TANK!" Kizonar snapped his head back to look behind, unable to see past the line of trucks stacked up behind. "TANK! JUST CAME ONTO THE ROAD BEHIND US!" So they'd managed to hide not just other soldiers but a goddamned tank behind one of the houses. Kizonar's HMMWV was the only vehicle in the convoy whose weaponry could take down a tank, and it was in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time.

"ID! What's it doing?!" Kizonar yelled.

"Stopped across the road at fifty meters, gun pointed at me. T-55," said Trhakhtorkar.

Then there was a massive crashing noise, not from behind as Kizonar might have expected but from ahead; a long, green-roofed building up the road and to the left caved into a shambles as something crushed its way right through it. "Another tank ahead on my eleven. One hundred meters. No, two! Two tanks!" Kizonar called out. His TOW gunner had fixed his launcher on the first one but a second had also emerged from the same hiding place and gone left while the first came straight ahead. The game was up, then; both tanks had their guns fixed on the missile-carrying HMMWV.

"Convoy halt! Hold fire unless fired upon," Kizonar ordered. "Time to see what these syphilites want." He handed over his radio to the driver, Khabralar (Corporal) Tradum Zarmangordum. "Tell chain of command we've been stopped by Senegambian Army tanks in Doromou."

"We are surrendering?" Zarmangordum asked.

"They probably just want our cargo," Kizonar said. "We'll hand it over if it gets us out of here alive. If they want us, too, they will be in ocean of shit without a boat to sit in. Radio command now. I'll go see what the asshole with the megaphone wants." He threw open the door of the HMMWV, wondering for a moment if his foot was actually going to be attached to him or not when it hit the ground; it could end up very far away if one of the Senegambian tanks fired its cannon. They didn't, though, so Kizonar got out and took a few steps away from the vehicle, waiting for the arrival of the Senegambian commander, who had lowered the megaphone and was strutting his way over with an insufferably smug look on his face.

[Yanitza]

The burly figure of Captain Ligolou proudly strode his way over to the now blocked Khorsuni convoy, his barrel of a stomach perhaps suggesting that the Captain was more of a paper pusher than a field man. This couldn't be further from the truth however as although the bullish officer was hardly the brightest man and would make a terrible general in any regular army, his thuggish and cruel personality ensured that he was perfect for enforcing discipline amongst the ranks of disillusioned soldiers. Unfortunately, it was men like him that gave the Senegambian army it's mercenary reputation, he was loyal above all else to his wallet and was a notorious bandit in uniform.

One of the Khorsuni drivers stepped out of the vehicle, clearly not pleased with the situation, yet understandably cautious at the same time. A majority of the Senegambians that were manning the checkpoint and in plain sight were little more than youths, orphans of the countries woes that had been persuaded/coerced into service. While they were more easier for an intimidating man such as Ligolou to control, they were also far more nervous and trigger happy. Ligolou's real soldiers were mostly concealed from sight, hiding away in the jungle or the village, so that if things did get heated it would be the youths that soaked up the Khorsuni's fire.

“I don't think you have the authorisation to stop the convoy, soldier” the Khorsuni said curtly, now that the two were standing face to face.

Ligolou gave the man a wolfish grin and wagged his finger “Uh ah, this is Senegambia you are in and I am in command here, you are immediately to surrender your shipments, vehicles and persons over to my control, unless of course you want speak with my friend over their” Ligolou replied and gestured at the tanks menacing down on the convoy. Actual working tanks were a rare find amongst most sections of the Senegambian army, even if they were woefully outdated compared most other modern army's.

Kizonar visibly stiffened at the demands “We are supposed to be on the same side here”

“Well General Touke clealry thinks other wise,as it appears our so called allies have been trying to dupe us the entire time”

General Touke huh, Kizonar thought, as he noted to patch that through to command once he was back in the truck about who the likely culprit of this shakedown was. Was this General Touke acting on orders from Dakar or was he simply taking his own initiative? That was a conundrum for the government to figure out.

“I think you should re think your strategy here and the potential repercus-” Kizonar stopped when he was that Ligolou was simply shaking his head. The Khorsuni then knew veiled threats against this man were unlikely to work, and instead silently weighed his options in the situation at hand.

Ligolou by now was beginning to grow increasingly impatient, as was his soldiers who were looking increasingly jittery as they tentatively fingered the triggers on they're guns.

“Well what's it going to be than” Ligolou finally snapped at the Khorsuni, he didn't want to destroy the convoy and it's valuable cargo but neither was he going to let them go and jeopardise his own position as a result.

“You can take the Cargo” Kizonar begrudgingly said, with a stony look of anger “That is all”

The Senegambian captain smirked “This isn't a negotiation, friend”

“It is if you don't want the loot going down with us” Kizonar shot back, a very real threat hiding behind his challenge.

Ligolou frowned in frustration. Would these Khorsuni's really be willing to risk their own lives when it was obvious they could not hope to win? More importantly, would Ligolou be willing to risk a potential pay day for the sake of following commands to the letter? In the end the Senegambian Captains own greed won out the day. Ligolou relented and agreed to the Khorsuni's proposal. He would rather go home with his pockets lined and job half done than risk leaving empty handed except for a few smouldering wrecks and minus a number of his own soldiers. At the end of the day it was the Gun's that were most important right?

Both men thus returned to their own forces, Kizonar having to inform his men that they were to simply dump their supplies for the Senegambians and go home. The Senegambians watched like hawks, with their eyes and their rifles, and the Khorsuni's cautiously began to unload their supplied from the trucks. Both the Senegambian tanks and Khorsuni trucks were trained on each other in a tense cold war stand off that threatened to erupt at any moment. However, the transaction continued without a hitch as the trucks were emptied and the Khorsuni's were sent on their way, with Ligolou keeping his word and leaving them unmolested.

His own men immediately scrambled over the weapons like ants. Ligolou and his confidants kept an keen watch on the men to make sure that none of the bounty disappeared and everything was accounted for. The Majority of the weapons were to betaken to the Senegambian trucks that had remained hidden in the encounter, due to the deliver the prize to Nzerekore. A small portion was of course to be siphoned off and hidden amongst the village dwellings, Ligolou's own personal cut for a job well done, to be sold onto the booming black market for the highest bidder. Whether these guns were to end up in the hands of the Jihadi's or another foe was of no concern to the Captain of course.

[Layarteb]

February 15, 2015 - 08:30 hrs [UTC-5]
Layarteb City, New York
Fortress of Comhghall
(40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W)

Half a world away, while General Touke's soldiers were setting up for their early evening ambush on the next Khorsuni convoy of trucks, the Emperor was in his Sunday casual dress milling about his office, tidying up where it was needed. It had snowed the previous afternoon and into both the evening and the early morning hours. Falcon City had suffered another foot of snow while other areas received up to two feet. This brought them up to nearly six feet of accumulation for the year and with nowhere to put the snow, there were piles thirty and forty feet high. The children loved it for these conditions were ideal for sledding. For the government, they were hell. In Layarteb City, the snow hadn't been much but the temperature had dipped down into the teens and another cold wave was wracking the northeastern portion of the country. Lake Erie was over 94% ice, Lake Superior and Lake Huron were both over 80%, and Lake Michigan and Lake Ontario were in the 50s. It was a repeat of last winter with as much veracity and hatred.

The roaring fire in his fireplace kept the room heated with dry, comfortable air. In the reception room, Judy Mitchell sat behind her desk tending to paperwork, enjoying the benefits of a nearby space heater. Thirty-two years old now, Judy Mitchell was still the vixen of the Emperor's receptionist staff. She'd worked for the Emperor for four years now and she'd proven herself more than adept and worthy of the job. In those years, little had changed in her physical appearance. She kept regular to her workout and exercise regime, which involved Tae Kwon Do outside of gym appearances. Her auburn hair had grown longer but she still kept it neat and to the dress code. Her body, in many ways, seemed just as toned as it did four years earlier when she sat for interviews with various members of the Emperor's staff, including his chief of security, Jack Delaney.

On this particularly cold day, Judy Mitchell had not forsaken the dress code - nor would she or any of her coworkers do such a thing, even on a Sunday. Of course, with the change in weather came some changes. Instead of light clothing, the women went to the thicker and heavier fabrics. Judy Mitchell did too, wearing a wool-knit skirt that ended just above her knees. She wore a wool sweater over her blouse. Unfortunately for the women, there was no getting around two very stringent requirements of dress that dated back quite some time into Layartebian formal culture. One affected winter weather, the other affected summer weather. The former was the ban on pants for women the latter was the requirement that bare legs be covered by pantyhose or stockings. Judy, like all women, went with a higher denier stocking in the winter and a much lower one in the summer. Still, cold weather like today cut right through the nylon fabric with little effort. To give herself some additional protected, she opted for knee-high, high-heeled boots, which were permissible in the Fortress of Comhghall's strict attire regulations.

Sitting behind her desk cross-legged, Judy Mitchell stood when the Emperor's scheduled guests arrived, doing so all together as if it had been planned that way. "Ministers, please have a seat, the Emperor will be with you shortly." She said, offering them seats and the customary beverages. Coffee was ready and so what hot water for tea. In attendance was the innermost clique of the Cabinet, smaller even more so than the National Security Council. These men and women met together with the Emperor less frequently than either the Cabinet or the NSC and always to discuss matters of the highest military secrecy. All of them had code word clearance well above and beyond that of any of their other fellow ministers. The seven of them included the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Ministers of Defense, Foreign Affairs, Intelligence, the Interior, and Justice, and the National Security Advisor. Unlike the NSC, this group (known as the Special Council), never invited anyone in as an observer, even if their opinion was warranted. The Special Council met when there was a particular crisis and there was a particular crisis.

Ushered into the Emperor's office minutes later, all seven of them sat around the conference table while the Emperor took his customary place at its head. Each had a briefcase and from hers, the new Minister of Intelligence, Carmen Flores, retrieved a series of small folders, each one marked uniquely for their recipient and each blasted across the cover with classification designations. This was codeworded material. "What you have in front of you is the latest write-up pertaining to BULLDOG, our continued study of the situation in Senegambia. In the past two weeks, we have added a significant volume of information, which has been gathered from ISR assets flying over Sierra Leone and Liberia and from collected information from HUMINT sources. I will brace you now; the situation is beyond salvage." She said, obviously the one leading the meeting today. "Let us get our bearings first," she began. "The first paper is a simplified map of Western Africa and only a section at that," everyone pulled out the piece of paper to look at it.

"If we look at the map we have the Kingdom of Dalmasce in the north, Birea shaded here in dark purple, the Republic of the Khorsuni Nation in light blue, Liberia in gray, and Sierra Leone in light purple. Everything else is Senegambia. The red denotes provinces where the Khorsuni militias have the majority of the land under their control. The blue denotes provinces where the Fulani militias have the majority of the land under their control. The yellow are where West African Jihad is most active.

"The Wolof control the country and they are heavily resented by the Fulani. The Fulani resent all foreigners, especially the Khorsunis but they've allied with Al-Shams only as a means to an end. They'll never allow themselves to be commanded by Al-Shams because they are foreigners. The parts of WAJ that are not allied militias are mainly the Malinke people with the Kissou and Serer involved as well. The sharp tribal and ethnic divides virtually prevent Senegambia from being anything other than a chamber pot.

"The Fulani have to worry about both the Khorsunis and the Senegambian government, as does WAJ. The Khorsunis have to worry about the Fulani and WAJ and perhaps, to an extent, by pockets of the Senegambian military, I'll get to that later. The Senegambian government has to worry about everyone. It's a 'battle royale' in this country.

"When Segou took power fourteen years ago, he was never able to rule with anything other than fear. When the Khorsunis toppled the West African government, they immediately turned their eyes towards Senegambia. Khorsuni majorities in the southern parts of Guinea enabled them virtually unhindered access to the southern part of the country. Since then, the Khorsunis have effectively undermined Segou whenever possible to establish themselves as a primary force within the country. They have fully succeeded and they reap the benefits by exporting minerals and other resources from southern Senegambia back into their country for sale. They're essentially stealing from Dakar and Segou is too weak and powerless to stop them.

"Segou is no unifier. His base of power comes from the Wolof and even that is tenuous at best as WAJ makes its push throughout Senegal. The Wolof people will see that Segou cannot protect them and their loyalties will waver. Segou will not survive the year, if he lasts that long. The Senegambian military is notorious weak. Their air force alone is more interested in cannibalizing aircraft on the black market and transporting drugs. The army is virtually always at a disadvantage and that's been engineered as such by the Khorsunis, who benefit from a weak Segou and a weaker military. It allows them carte blanche in the country. Simply put, the Senegambian military is collapsing by the day." Minister Flores said, letting it reach everyone in the room.

"The latest development comes in the border regions with the RKN. ISR has monitored convoys of military vehicles, mostly trucks and armored cars, moving north from the RKN, through the militia areas, and up, likely supplying arms to the beleaguered Senegambian military but just as likely to their own people. We believe that RKN special operations forces are at work in the Khorsuni-dominated areas, establishing their own puppet state within what could best be described as a puppet state.

"Additionally, we've monitored the delivery of 'new' - and I use that term lightly - aircraft to the Senegambian Air Force. MiG-21 Fishbeds and MiG-23 Floggers have recently arrived at Senegambian airbases from the RKN. It's obvious that Verela is just as concerned with the weakness of the Senegambian military as everyone else is. They are doing whatever they can, short of a full-blown invasion, to keep Segou in power. So long as Segou remains in power, they can influence the country. Segou out of power hurts the RKN severely. Right now, Senegambia is taking the brunt of Islamist warfare. If Senegambia falls, the RKN's Muslim population could grow very restless and very bold. Verela cannot have that and while that could benefit us, in the long run it benefits no one. Senegambia doesn't have nuclear weapons, the RKN does.

"Right now, the Senegambian Civil War is a massive proxy war between Khorsun and the jihadists. The only solution, as far as BULLDOG is concerned, is to remove Segou from power." The faces at the table had expected as much but hearing it was still something significant. "Segou is no unifier and the only solution to stopping both WAJ and the Khorsunis lies within the Fulani people. The Fulani people ally with WAJ only as a means to an end. They hate Segou and the Wolof people and that will never change. Should a leader arise though who is favored by the Fulani, there is a chance he could curtail their loyalties away from WAJ and Al-Shams. In the same go-around, their unwavering hatred for foreigners would mean they would automatically oppose the Khorsunis to their east."

"Taking out Segou is a big step," replied Minister Fisher of Foreign Affairs, "but I agree with that assessment. Segou can do no good for the country and so long as he remains in power, the RKN has an express lane to influence and control the government in Dakar. They smell the blood in the air and they know that Segou isn't long for this world. In the power vacuum that occurs in his immediate demise several things will happen.

"The Khorsuni-dominated parts of the country will either secede outright to the RKN, kicking out every Senegambian soldier still within their midst, if they don't flat out kill them. Or they will declare an independent state, and basically give all of their loyalty to the RKN leaving the RKN with the ability to infiltrate Sierra Leone and Liberia at will, which will resume that conflict shortly thereafter.

"The Fulani will likely end their agreement with Al-Shams and WAJ and announce their own independent state. That will put them at immediate odds with the Khorsunis but so long as the Khorsunis don't push into their territory, it might not spill over into a massive conflict.

"WAJ will control massive swaths of land in Senegal and likely ally themselves with Birea. So long as they don't intervene into the Fulani areas, they can probably stand effectively alone."

"So we have to get to Segou before everyone else does," the Emperor said. "Who will take his place though? Is there someone who can effectively unify the people long enough to affect this sort of change? The Fulani and the Wolof will never see themselves as anything other than Fulani or Wolof. Tribal affiliations will last for the next millennia and still not change. No one believes in 'Senegambia' except to their own ends and their own version of it.

"Eliminating Segou will only help us so long as his successor is not an ally of the Khorsunis, or worse, WAJ." Everyone heeded the Emperor's words carefully. There was no designated successor as far as they knew and time as rapidly running out for the Empire. "The idea of a regime change in Dakar can only help us in one condition, which is that they are not subservient to us or the Apilonians. If they are, we've accomplished nothing. At the same time, they must be hostile to the RKN. We need someone in Dakar who will be a force among the people of the country, respect our desire to help, and yet not be a puppet state of our own. I don't want to manage a puppet state but we cannot allow the RKN's puppet state to continue, not with the progress WAJ has made."

"Of course sir, in such a scenario we can expect an outright invasion of the RKN."

"Yes we can," the Emperor said, answering his National Security Advisor. "The RKN will most certainly move into the country to protect their people but they'll be in a sticky situation. They won't receive any overtures of friendship from Birea, certainly none from the Apilonians, the Liberians, or us, and they'll be there on their own. They'll essentially be pitted with the Islamists and they won't want that alliance because it would foster trouble with their own Muslim populace. It wedges them into a quagmire. Their military can certainly overcome the Senegambian military, and without trouble, but the Fulani are different. Their militias know the land better than any other army does. The Fulani might even rekindle some of their niceties with WAJ and Al-Shams to use as cannon fodder against the Khorsunis.

"In such a scenario I cannot say that I would be opposed to providing infantry and air assistance to Dakar and perhaps even the Apilonians will support us in the endeavor." The Emperor's words had opened up a new line of thought towards Senegambia and West Africa.

"The RKN stands to lose the most in such a scenario but only if we have the proper candidate and we back them up in such a way to support but not direct them," Minister Fisher said. It was unusual to hear the Minister of Foreign Affairs speaking so hawkishly. No hawk had ever or would ever hold that position, it was a job requirement that he or she be a dove but in this matter, nearly the entire Special Council was unanimous in their animosity towards the RKN and towards the Senegambian Civil War.

They'd been taking for over half an hour by the time they took a break and refreshments were brought in, which included light snacks and more coffee and tea. The Special Council would be meeting for the rest of the morning but the meeting's aim was clear, inaction was no longer viable.

[Khorsun]

The Ankhazar's Citadel
Verela, Khorsun
8:50 PM, February 15, 2015

Yaqoup Tipou arrived at the Citadel after an urgent summons had been sent to the Senegambian embassy, forcing him to set aside his own plans for the evening. The President General's nephew had good reason to be anxious; the Khorsunis rarely wanted to talk to him unless something had gone wrong. He had even more reason to be nervous when it was Kumbara Tolambaya, Rekhan Taneltar's personal secretary, who arrived to escort him through the building. Tolambaya's expression was grave and he said nothing to Tipou after their initial greeting. This wasn't good at all. Tipou braced himself for what was likely to be a dressing-down from the Ankhazar himself over God only knew what.

Segou's nephew was ushered into what was indeed the office of Rekhan Taneltar, spacious and ornate. And there was the man himself, glasses and all, waiting for him seated on the other end of an ebony desk. A single glass of wine sat waiting for him on the visitors' end of the desk, where a chair had been pulled up. Taneltar tapped his hand near the glass with the sound of metal striking wood; he wore rings on three of those fingers. "Sit down and have a drink, my friend," Taneltar said. He had a map of West Africa spread out on the desktop, which he turned about to face the young ambassador. "Are you familiar with a village called Doromou?" the Ankhazar asked, taking up a letter opener and tapping the point on a tiny black dot near the Senegambian-Khorsuni border, which had been circled in red ink.

"Doromou, yes," Tipou said, leaning in for a closer look after finishing off a sip of the wine to soothe his nerves a bit. He'd never heard of the place before. "In the...Nzerekore Region."

"One of our convoys was ambushed there this evening and had its cargo hijacked," Taneltar said.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tipou said, looking up from the map. This could only be the lead-in to something much worse. "Do you know who was responsible? Rebels?" He hoped it was rebels.

"Senegambian soldiers."

Tipou took another urgent sip from the wine glass as he prepared to assure the Khorsuni leader that the Senegambian Army would find the rotten deserters who were responsible for this and punish them with death. But Taneltar hadn't finished.

"Operating under the orders of a General Touke," he added, his tone starting to get icy.

General Touke? Tipou thought desperately, wishing he'd paid closer attention to the briefing reports General Oussea would send to him. He looked down at the wine glass, dismayed to find it was already empty. As far as he knew, General Fulfe was the commander in Nzerekore...only wait, hadn't he just been killed last month? Was General Touke his replacement?

"Noble Ankhazar," Tipou began, "I don't understand how this is possible. My uncle ordered the Army to cooperate with Khorsun. His generals never defy him openly like that."

"This one has," Taneltar said, sliding the letter opener's point over to the city of Nzerekore. "I do not think I have to tell you that an example must be made of him. I think you know that already."

"You think correctly, Noble Ankhazar," Tipou said, pulling a notepad and a pen out of his pocket and writing down Doromou and General Touke.

"Now there are two ways this might be done," the Ankhazar said. "The first is that I might make an example of him. I might tell Marshal Armanda of Army Aviation to go ahead with his planned operation, which would be bombing the city of Nzerekore into ruins during the night. The second is that the President-General might relieve him of command immediately, and I might place a last-minute call to Marshal Armanda and tell him the bombers can stay home. Being that you are our sovereign allies, I will of course leave the choice to you."

"Of course! I will get this back to my uncle right away," said Tipou, starting to sweat.

"Not quite, there are a few more things," said Taneltar, stopping Tipou as he was about to stand up from his chair. The ambassador sat back and got his pen and notepad ready again. Taneltar indicated the map again and went on. "The thinking here in Verela is with the situation continuing to deteriorate in the north, and with the Fulani in effective control of the Mamou and Labe regions, the Senegambian Army's position in the southern region is becoming...untenable."

Tipou said nothing as he hurriedly wrote down a note of that.

"The jihadists are threatening to cut off your supply lines from the capital and frankly, your forces are spread too thin. Your army needs to...consolidate its positions."

Tipou looked up from the notepad, having caught on. "Are you asking us to withdraw from Nzerekore?"

"I am offering to establish a Security Zone in Nzerekore Region," the Ankhazar said, "If the President-General were to decide on his own judgment that the troops he has stationed there are badly needed elsewhere. With the exception of the...Gueckedou Prefecture," Taneltar said, struggling a bit with the foreign name, the blade of the letter opener tracing over to what might have been the thumb of the very scraggly hand shape of the Nzerekore Region when viewed from the north. This thumb poked into the Apilonian-controlled Duchy of Sierra Leone. "We are not going to stir up the Apilonians by putting our troops on the border of their colony. But we will secure control over the rest of the region and free up your soldiers and our allied militias to go and fight against the Fulani."

Tipou wrote everything down, wondering how his uncle would respond to this thinly veiled demand.

"One final item, before I have to move on to my next appointment," Taneltar said. "I have something to offer the President-General to help bolster his forces and alleviate any shortages of manpower. Our Sharokh Force has established contact with certain factions in Ethiopia who are more than willing to lend their soldiers to foreign adventures, for a price. The financial situation being what it is, the RKN will be footing the bill for their pay. We'll be flying the Ethiopians into Dakar, so your generals should be prepared to receive them and to give them something useful to do. These forces will be built up gradually, but in a month or two we might have as many as 8,000, perhaps even double that figure by the summer. Hardly a shortage of Ethiopians who like to fight and need a way to get paid. So please go and take all of that back to the President General. I will be waiting to hear what he has to say."

[Yanitza]

February 17, 2015
10:00 AM
Nzerekore, Senegambia


When Raheem Touke was informed that he had an urgent phone call awaiting for him from the capital, he knew that their was going to be serious trouble. The fact that someone had needed to take the risk and use the collapsing telephone network to call him said enough of the message's importance. Of course he'd known the minute he'd chosen to disobey Segou's orders that their would eventually be a stormy response headed his way. It was inevitable. The only thing that was strange, was that it had taken two days for the response to come.

Waiting for the adjuctant to leave the room, Touke picked up the phone to his head.
“Yes Mr President-General Sir?” he greeted in a neutral tone.

“What the fuck do you think it is your doing down their Touke?” Segou greeted him with an exasperated tone. His voice sounded very hoarse, that was to be expected however given the little time for rest the national leader got these days.

“Defending Senegambia from all her enemies inside and out, President -General Sir” Raheem replied on an ambigious note.

“Like hell you are! As if I don't have enough on my fucking plate with these Jihadist shitheads and Birean vultures, and now what? You want to start antagonizing the one country that has the potential to save or damn all of us?”

Raheem snorted at the President-General's last comment “Allie's who shake your hand with their right and stab you with their left”he smirked

“Don't you use that fucking tone with me, Boy” Segou snapped back in a harsh retort,” Don't forget whose in charge here”

This raised an ire out of Raheem who returned to a professional tone once more “Sir, it is some poor choice of friends you have chosen, given that the Khorsuni's have decided to start arming their own militia's instead of our soldiers, President-General Sir”

“Who do you think has been giving more all the planes and guns to fight the scum up here?, where the real fight is happening might I add”

“Sir, the Khorsuni's are scum, why do you think they were armi-”

“I don't care, I didn't need the Ankhazar himself too call up my nephew and tell him my own General's were disobeying my orders and potentially sparking a new war on top of this one. I don't think you realise how fucking serious the situation is from down their in Nzerekore, but while you sit around safe and sound in your little bunker, drooling over imagined threats, I am hanging on by the skin of my fucking teeth here with a very real enemy.”

Raheem fell silent, wandering just how the Korsuni's were able to gather that much intelligence on the Senegambian military organisation. How deep had they managed to get inside the Senegambian leadership, he thought while looking at his officers through the room's glass window with suspicion.

“Sir, you can't trust them to uphold their end of the bargain, President-General Sir”

Ibrahim sighed, “And I can't trust a General who won't follow my orders, even those as simple as simple as sitting tight and keeping the road open for supplies to come through. Clearly, Touke, putting you in charge was a mistake, and now the Khorsuni's want you gone. You are immediately relived of your position, I want your men to stand down and start heading north under my control. The Khorsuni's are going to take over security in Nzerekore and I need your men here”

Segou's orders shocked Raheem, so much that he was unable to reply. Instead, he just remained silent for a few seconds before hanging up the phone without saying anymore. General Touke sat fuming in his chair, still unable to believe what he had just heard . He had known that the President-General would have been furious at his disobedience and calling for his resignation was not so much of a shock, but to allow the Khorsuni's to take over? He might as well hand the whole of Senegambia to Taneltar on a silver platter!

No, thought Touke, this was simply too much. Clearly Segou had become little more than a puppet for Verela, this was not the man that Raheem owed his loyalty too. Raheem called in one of his lieutenants, his mind already made up on his course of action.
“Brigaiar General Sir, what did he say” the Lieutenant asked breathlessly, clearly anxious about what was to happen.

“Who cares” the General replied in a flat tone “He is in Dakar, and I am here, you obey me now. Segou is finished and won't be around much longer”

His superior's words shocked the Lieutenant, who knew exactly what the General meant, that he was no longer willing to serve the government of Senegambia any longer. He was going rogue.

“Lieutenant!” Touke snapped, raising the man out of his surprise “I need you tell the men new orders, they need to understand that is me they are loyal to, no one else, it is I who will be paying their salary and keeping their family safe.”

Touke knew it would be hard for many men to keep fighting under his command once they found out that he had split from Segou, a disproportionate number of them had families up north and would want to return to them now WAJ was bearing down on Western Senegal and that they would no longer be serving under Segou, who kept a tight rule over Senegal. Luckily for Raheem, he still had a large stockpile of Gun's and cash to keep their loyalty for a while longer, and could count on the dangerous road separating Southern Guinea from Western Senegal as a useful detterant for any defections.

“Next, I want you to start recruiting more levies from the local population, we are going to need more troops. And I want our soldiers to step up activities in combatting both Jihadist and Khorusni militias, tell them at all Khorsuni soldiers and convoys found inside Southern Guinea are to be treated as enemy soldiers. And ethnic Khorsuni' settlements are now fair game as well.”

General Touke intended for the Khorsuni's the Khorusni's to have a tough fight on his hands if they sought to enter Southern Senegambia, even with the President-General's blessings. The possibility of loot from the Khorsuni villages and neiogbourhoods would also serve as a further enticement to keep the military loyal to him, as the Khorsuni's had escaped much government harassment, naturally they tended to be somewhat wealthier than most Senegambians. Even if this was only due to the fact they hadn't been shaken down for everything they owned as of yet.

“An- anything else, Sir?” the Lieutenant replied, quickly taking note of all of Raheem's orders.

“Yes, one final thing, I need messages sent to Brigadiar General Lamel and Boudo, I will write them myself, I just need you to organize their safe arrival”

With a nod of acknowledgement, the Lieutenant left to carry out the new missive's he had just received. By Raheem's reckoning, Brigadier General's Aaliyah Lamel and Soulayman Boudo, based in Conakry and Bissau respectively, were Segou's last two remaining lords that existed south of the Casamance river. Touke intended to inform the two of them of Segou's treachery, selling out his own loyal General to the Khorsunis, in a bid to break their loyalty to the Segou government and leaving the Dictator isolated in Senegal, in essence little more than a warlord himself.While he doubted that the two of them would seek to subordinate themselves to his own command and challenge Segou for leadership of the country, if Touke could at least diminish Ibrahim's power base further, he knew that the President's tenuous grip of being head of state would slip further from his grasp. Without his military, Ibhrahim Segou would be finished.

[Yanitza]

February 20, 2015
Dagana, Senegambia

What remained of the once quaint town of Dagana was now little more than a rubble strewn ruin after a month of fierce fighting between the Senegambian army and WAJ. And now it seemed that the hotly contested battle zone was finely about to come to it's end. Bullets cracked and whizzed through the air as those Senegambian soldiers that still remained in the area sought to beat a hasty retreat in front of the militia's that were eager to press enwards. One of those men was Pvt Billou, stranded in a wide dusty street with a rag tag collection of survivors. Sheltered behind a derelict bus, the soldiers were pouring fire in front of them, keeping in check a large number of militia men seeking to push upwards through the road and into the main square.

The man to the right of Pvt Billou, standing up right and firing shot's ahead from behind the safety of the ruined vehicle, suddenly let out blood curdling shriek before he dropped to the ground, clutching his left leg which was rapidly spouting blood. Instantly the attention of the soldiers flicked to the left to see what had happened. Lying on the other side of the street from them, a small group of Jihadists had managed to slip into an alley way and were coming up onto the flank of the survivors. Stuck in such a crowded space, the Jihadists were quickly cut down by the combined fire of the soldiers, having given away their position too early to the soldiers and thus sealing their own fate.

One of the soldiers behind Ahmad tapped him on the soldier “They've taken the next street” he yelled over the racket of guns, pointing to his left, indicating to the parallel street where the Jihadists had likely snuck up from “We need to go now”

Ahmad nodded and put his hand on the wounded man next to him, whose movements were quickly growing slower and less erratic, and looked up at the other soldiers. They all nodded in agreement, with one of them putting his rifle aside to help take hold of the injured. While the rest of survivors laid down covering fire on the Jihadists down the street, Billou and his comrade heaved the wounded soldier off the street and onto the curb, before dragging him quickly inside a near by partially collapsed flat. The rest of the group promptly followed in turns, attempting to keep the Jihadi's pinned for a long as possible. The small flat would have once served as a home for a typical Senegambian family, no doubt too small for the large family's which would have consisted of many children and some extended family members. All signs of homeliness, however ,were now gone, as a huge pile of rubble lay in the center of the living room/kitchen with a giant hole in the roof. It remained completely bear of any other objects besides bullet casings, broken glass, dust and dried blood on the floors.

Turning to treat their wounded friend now that they had bought themselves some brief respite, The Senegambian's were dismayed to find that he had expired, the bullet in his leg having severed a major artery that caused the man to bleed out by the time he had brought to safety.None of them longer had much more sorrow left inside them, after weeks of fighting in this small settlement they had all buried far too many friends.

Ahmed let his mind flick back towards just days before, when it had seemed that victory was within their grasp. The Senegambian air force finally seemed to be it's act together and began strafing the Jihadist forces. With no air cover, they had finally broken off their relentless siege of the town and given it's beleaguered garrison a break. A very short victory it turned out to be, when the Jihadists miraculously produced their own airforce, something no one in the military could of conceived of happening. After a few short days of intense dogfighting the Senegambians, somewhat predictably, fell back, perhaps unwilling to risk losing any more planes, even if they were Khorsuni planes. Sure enough, the WAJ assault returned with renewed vigor. What's worse, leading this attack was the cream of the crop, the Musa Brigade. Named after the ancient Mansa (Emperor) of the Mali Empire, fittingly the Musa Brigade consisted entirely of Malinke's recruited both in Senegambia and Birea. The Second battle of Dagana had proved to be even more grueling than the last, one that was now reaching it's bloody climax.

After what must have only been a few seconds, Ahmad snapped out of his remorseful stupor and back to the situation at hand. It was over, their was no sense fighting this battle any longer. And he wasn't the only one thinking along these lines.

“Well” one soldier said quietly “this is it, nothing more now” the rest of the survivors quietly shared the man's sentiment, it was time to clear off and leave the town to it's fate, hopefully they would be able to reach the nearest government stronghold before the Jihadist's reached it first.

“We'd best split up, less easier to find that way” Ahmad found himself mumbling, with everyone else nodding their head in agreement. These men hardly knew each other at all, the only thing that bound them together was their seeming luck in having escaped death so far, so with parting of ways that was about to occur, no one had anyone words to say. Instead, it was a silent parting as each man quietly departed the collapsed flat, seeking his own route to escape the tightening ring of WAJ control.

For Ahmad, the next half hour would be one of the most grueling in his life. He felt reduced to a game of cat and mouse where he, unfortunately, was relegated to the role of prey, as he crept and crawled through the broken streets in an attempt to avoid the large enemy force that was still tearing itself through Dagana. Without a clear picture in his mind of which way he was going, Ahmad simply opted to avoid where ever he could the either sporadic fighting that still broke out or the sounds of other men, it was safer to assume everyone else in this town was now a hostile. Echoing throughout the entire time was the last embers of resistance as slowly the sounds of skirmishes gradually grew less and less common. His world soon became one of just creeping through shadowed alley ways, quick dashes across dirt streets and cautious stalking through destroyed houses. Yet sure enough, the soldier was elated when he finally reached the outskirts of Dagana, with the wide Sahelian grass plains greeting him. Dagana may have fallen, but Ahmad felt no remorse at all leaving behind the graveyard of Senegambia.

[Layarteb]

February 20, 2015 - 08:00 hrs [GMT]
Loma Mountains, Sierra Leone
Near Yorondo
(9° 10' 33" N, 11° 3' 13" W)

The Loma Mountains were barely twenty-five miles from the border with Senegambia and though relatively small, they were vast enough that a 13,000-man division of light infantry could operate relatively freely without bumping into one another. Mountain and jungle warfare were the specialty of the 26th Infantry Division (Light), which had relocated from Central America to Sierra Leone along with their companion division, the 28th Cavalry Division. Like all light infantry divisions in the Imperial Layartebian Army, the 26th ID-L had a regiment of air cavalry, an air defense and artillery regiment, an entire brigade of light infantry regiments, and a support brigade. It was lean and mobile, designed to move fast through the roughest terrain, whether on foot or in lightly armored vehicles. The jungles of Sierra Leone, like the jungles of Senegambia, like the jungles of Central America weren't all that different when you were walking through them at ground-level. They were hot, humid, full of dangers, and entirely unforgiving.

For First Lieutenant James Thompson, the commanding officer of a 35-man rifle platoon, light infantry, jungles, and mountains, were just hobbies. A man who rose through the enlisted ranks with the Rangers, 1LT Thompson decided to return to the conventional forces with his commission at the age of thirty-two and opted for light infantry, feeling it close to home. He was surprised when he found that his Ranger-conditioned muscles were strained in light infantry. Rangers walked, and walked, and walked. So did the light infantry. They were some of the fittest soldiers in the army and they were the smallest, non-JSOC unit capable of independent operation, which engendered a sense of elitism in the unit. 1LT Thompson noted it quickly as he commanded a rifle platoon. He had, at his immediate beck and call, the platoon sergeant, a corpsman, a radioman, and a joint fires observer who could coordinate air and artillery strikes. He had two 10-man rifle squads that included three grenadiers and a SAW gunner each and a third, 10-man rifle squad that had a marksman, a grenadier, and an LMG team. He had a lot of firepower at his fingertips for such a small unit of men.

One of three platoons in one of three companies in a 550-man battalion, 1LT Thompson was small fry in the grand scheme of things but he didn't mind. The battalion was tight-knit, largely because of its smaller size and independent nature. Of course, some groups were more tight-knit than others that the 29-man recce section within the battalion was the tightest knit of all. It was run by a sergeant first class who 1LT Thompson had come to take a liking to, chiefly because the man had come from special ops like him but also because the recce section was extremely capable and elite. They were essential a LRRP platoon that existed in the conventional versus the special forces and they were "outcasts" throughout the army. All recon platoons/sections were because they didn't operate on the same wavelength as everyone else.

Platoons, companies, battalions, regiments, brigades, divisions, and all the way up to corps looked for a fight when they deployed. They wanted to get into it with the enemy, destroy them, and push onward. In a recon platoon/section, engagement was failure. They practiced being as quiet and as stealthy as possible. Their men had to lie still on the ground and be literally pissed on by a superior officer in training in order to graduate Recondo School. No one relished that phase of the example and plenty of men washed out, especially when the training instructors got extra creative and if you wanted recon in any army or marine unit, Recondo School was a requirement, not an option. 1LT Thompson had gone through the course when he was a Ranger and nearly threw a rock at the instructor who decided to take a shit only inches away from his face.

Sitting with SFC Vernon Jones of the recon section on this particular morning, 1LT Thompson and his compatriot were brooding over a map of the target area. 1LT Thompson and his battalion were going to be moved during the night to a firebase approximately ten klicks from the border with Senegambia to act as "OPFOR" for the purposes of the training exercise. SFC Jones and he were looking at the best way to booby trap the surrounding areas. Both had agreed that they would only really know once they got onto the ground but they were doing pre-work now while they could. The battalion's CO virtually handed 1LT Thompson the map three hours earlier and said, "You were a Ranger Thompson so make sure no one fucks with us in that area. You got it? We're all alone, a battalion against a division. I want bragging rights for the next year, hooah?"

"Hooah sir," he had replied.

"Ten klicks from the border, that's close enough to spit," SFC Jones said with a smile as he flashed his toothy grin. "Think we could simply walk over it?"

"Given our tactics I'm thinking we should just cross it and set up three lines of OPs out at fifteen, ten, and five klicks. If we can catch them that far out we can make them bleed like hell until they get close," 1LT Thompson said, noting the distances as being quite far but not so far when you dealt with smaller units. "We can move a lot quicker than they can and that's saying something."

"Unless they come in with the AIR CAV regiment, which they might."

"Then we make it hell for 'em," 1LT Thompson said, flashing his own grin. "If we have to cross that border, that AIR CAV unit is going to need to be ready. Not that they aren't already but sometimes lessons get forgotten. It's best to remind them of it this close to combat. God knows how many RPGs those assholes have across the border."

"The closer the better right?"

"Right…" 1LT Thompson responded.

[Layarteb]

February 24, 2015 - 11:00 hrs [UTC-5]
Layarteb City, New York
Fortress of Comhghall
(40° 41' 28" N, 74° 0' 58" W)

"Sir, Senegambia is in full-blown crisis mode and we need to have units on standby, at the ready if we're going to be in any position to do something. Now I know we've been hesitant on this but we need to make moves sir. We need carrier groups in position in case we need to act. At the least sir, we need a response in case our embassy comes under attack. The Senegambian military is about as organized as a Chinese fire drill, the Khorsunis are taking full advantage, the Apilonians might or might not take part, and we have things to consider," said Chairman-General Barnes now that the Emperor had opened the meeting. "We have the 2nd Carrier Battle Group on station in the North Atlantic right now and we need to re-task them to a patrol sector off of Cape Verde where the 14th Amphibious Ready Group is already on patrol."

"Chairman-General I understand fully what you are requesting but there is more to consider. We also have the 13th Carrier Battle Group operating in the Gulf of Guinea with the British on Joint Fisherman. They're only tied up until Monday."

"Monday might be too late sir. The 2nd can get down there in three days, long before the 13th even departs from the Gulf of Guinea. We'll need the 13th to interdict Khorsuni shipping if the need arises."

"What a headache," the Emperor said. Minister Sanders of Defense nodded his head in agreement. "Minister is this necessary?"

"Absolutely sir, we need to re-task immediately and we need to get the 962nd Special Purpose-Quick Reaction Battalion up to Cape Verde."

"Where are they now Minister?"

"They sit in São Tomé sir."

"All right, all right," the Emperor said, shaking his head. "I don't want us involved in this conflict. This isn't our priority. The Dalmascans, the Apilonians, they can take the lead on it, not us but let's move into place. How far is it from Dakar to Praia?"

"Approximately four hundred miles as the crow flies sir," Chairman-General Barnes answered. "It's far but we can support Ospreys the entire flight. It's within range of the QRB."

The SP-QRB was a specialized, light infantry unit designed specifically for the purpose of evacuating embassies and providing additional defense to foreign Layartebian bases in times of extreme crisis. There were seven such battalions, each one consisting of 750 men. They were entirely self-sufficient and each battalion consisted of two, 294-man infantry companies and sixteen MV-22C Osprey transports, and an aviation company with six Harriers, eight C-130s, and eight KC-130s. The KC-130J Super Hercules tankers would stay with the MV-22s all of the way from Praia to Dakar, refueling them along the way as they transported the infantrymen. The C-130J Super Hercules transports could tag along too.

Though the SP-QRBs were assigned to the navy's special warfare divisions - not to be confused with special operations - the soldiers in them were largely marines though there were army men too. Billets in the SP-QRB were difficult to obtain and additional training, specialties, and selections were required. The men were elite marksmen, trained in a variety of insertion methods, highly specialized, and one rung below special operations forces. They were expected to go into hell to evacuate civilians and remain there for as long as it took, defending those civilians with their lives if it were necessary. They could call on their Harriers for air support but at four hundred miles, the six Harriers would be hard pressed to provide real-time support, all the more reason for the placement of the 14th ARG and the 2nd CVBG.

"Get them up and get them there," the Emperor ordered. "Four hundred miles is far though. Is there an option to put them closer?"

"We'd shove them aboard an LHA or an LHD sir, they'd fit but things would be very crammed for the Marines aboard."

"Tough luck," Chairman-General Barnes answered to the Minister of Defense's explanation. "It's necessary. We should issue protocols to the embassy to begin preparations. West African Jihad is going to be on the doorstep of Dakar soon enough. I don't have to explain to anyone what's going to happen to our diplomats if WAJ overruns the embassy."

"No you do not Chairman-General, Minister Fisher, you should issue the warnings now." The Emperor sighed, "When will the world stop being rife with these failed states?" No one answered… Over the next few hours, the 2nd Carrier Battle Group began repositioning itself to a patrol sector off of Cape Verde. They would move there at near 30 knots, blowing through the North Atlantic without a care in the world. The 14th Amphibious Ready Group would reposition itself as well and the 962nd SP-QRB would hustle from São Tomé up to Praia. It was no small feat but the SP-QRB was built to move fast and on no warning. It was all doable and it would be done.