The Long Way Down | Closed

[Nova Sylva]

FIRE DESTROYS SPINNELI REFINERY, SPRECK IN DANGER
Massive inferno in facility and nearby EPD, city threatened

SPRECK, ALLIED NATIONS – Citizens on the outskirts of Spreck are being evacuated by AN military and police forces this morning as the inferno started Sunday night at the Spinelli Refinery continues to burn out of control, a day later. A 32 mph eastern wind last night pushed the flames into the adjoining production fields, and closer to the city as the flames continue to grow in intensity. Nearly sixteen hundred residents of the outer suburbs of Spreck have been ordered by authorities to relocate. Anyone still in this area is advised to leave immediately.

Firefighters from neighboring cities are arriving en masse to help combat the fire, which has still not been contained. The Allied Nations military has reportedly deployed a battalion from A.C.E. (Army Corps of Engineers) to assist in the effort. There is no word on when the fire is expected to burn out, though initial estimates place the amount of oil burning at nearly three hundred million liters. The blaze’s epicenter or cause has not yet been identified, but no foul-play is yet suspected the government of Meinkraft.

Universal Petroleum, which operates the refinery, said that seventeen of it’s personnel were unaccounted for, but the remaining two hundred are safe and sound, a company spokesperson said. Nevertheless UP’s stock in the Sylvan markets lost nearly a quarter of it’s value and is still plummeting. The refinery, the largest in the region and considered the flagship facility of that company, was dubbed a model of engineering safety at it’s conception, and has already sparked protest on the lax safety regulations in regard to petrochemicals enforced by the Allied Nations.

The Spinelli refinery accounts for nearly forty percent of the Allied Nation’s oil production, and the AN Maracaibo stock market reflected that this morning. The Dow Jones Average for the entire AN fell more than a thousand points, the largest gross daily gross loss in history. Meanwhile, stock in the Durmensk Energy Corporation (DREC) rose twenty-six dollars, twelve cents and Sylvan Energy (SYLE) rose eighteen dollars ninety cents for the morning.

In Sylva, Secretary of Finance Lauren Minnis addressed both the First Minister and a joint session of Parliament earlier today, and suggested an attempt be made to further subsidize the Coalition State’s petrochemical industry or import additional crude from the Aleckandor or Mozria, but added the latter would first have to meet it’s own oil demands. In addition, she predicted the loss of the Spinelli refinery would bring the price of oil per gallon to over a hundred fifty CSD for the first time in over fifty years. For the average consumer, this was reflected in gas prices, which surged to an average of four dollars a gallon.

But Minnis also pointed out that Sylva would fair this crises far better than most, due to the oil reserves in South Carmi and the Strachan Sea. While these alone do not make the country self-sufficient, she explained that underdeveloped nations without exploited petroleum reserves, such as Erquin, would fair the crises much worse.

Erquin and Aemen, both of which receive just under half their petrochemical imports from the AN, expressed major concern over the fire, which could result in lower amounts of fuel being exported to them. In all, many economists agree that the Spinelli Refinery Fire will affect the entire region in some way or another.

Richard Follet contributed to this article.

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[Aemen]

The Ministry of Finance, Erus
Sixteen hours after the incident

Four men, varying from middle-aged to elderly, sat quietly in the office of the High Minister of Finance, Archibald Vaulk, with their gazes directed towards the wonderfully polished screen of the room's 60-inch television, which was displaying a news report by the Royal Broadcasting Network on the predicted effect the refinery fire would have on the nation.

“Workers at the Ascended Legion Oil Terminal in Port Prince today received possibly their last ever shipment of barrels from the Spinneli Refinery in the Allied Nations. The shipment was already en route when news of an inferno tearing through the vital structure began to surface. Though the crown has expressed major concern over the loss of the refinery to the Allied government, it has of yet not presented a solution to the current crisis. Petrol prices are expected to rise in the coming months, making the lives of motorists slightly more difficult whilst potentially affecting public transport services. The government, meanwhile, will attempt to search for other ways to top up its stock and prevent a crippling shortage.”

One of the older men picked up the remote control, digging his finger onto the power button and turning the television off, catching the attention of the other three men. “So, gents. What are we looking at?”

The youngest in the room, a man in his very late thirties at least, spoke up. “We have enough oil to last the current population exactly three months, High Minister. Though, with the recent spike in demand, some of our richer citizens are attempting to hoard and store the oil, should the worst case scenario occur.”

“So, we have much less time than we think we do.”

“Precisely, sir.”

Vaulk turned to the other two men, leaning on the table and rubbing the tiredness from his half-open eyes. “I want lists of all major public road transportation networks and their expenditure, how many people that use them a day and how many litres it takes to fuel them for those days...”

The other two men began jotting down the High Minister's orders on already-prepared notebooks. As a former economic researcher at the Claus Folcwalding Institute under the previous king, Vaulk had a dire habit of wanting to be informed on the ripples of every financial decision.

“...I want to know how many barrels are left at Ascended Legion and the other oil depots around the country, see how many we'd be prepared to divert to the military in the event of a war without crippling public services, how many we can spare for the aristocracy alone and how many are left in the Royal Reserve. I also want the names of every company with investments in the oil industry; Salian and Co., Adler Petroleum, Folcwalding-Merovingia Shipping, we need to know how this will affect the private sector in the time we have. I want all of this information ready and presentable for the First Minister by the end of the week so that he discuss it with the King.”

Vaulk turned back to his younger adviser, the flare of focus in his eyes. “Get on the line to the Ministry of Relations... No, belay that, go there in person and bring me back their reports that describe how our neighbours are faring. The faster we can react to this, the slower the damage to the country will be until we can secure oil supplies from another source. Clear?”

“Yes, High Minister.” replied all three men, in varying tones and volumes. The three men jumped up from their seats and shuffled out of the High Minister's office, leaving Archibald to rock back and forth in his armchair slowly, deep in thought and brooding with impatience. Vaulk knew that even if he had the information to the First Minister at light speed, he would still have to wait until the King's speech at the next meeting in the Chambers of State to see what stance the crown would take on the issue. All he could do now was wait and hope that, if everything went south, the King wouldn't choose him to be put, literally, on the firing line.

[Erquin]

The Erquinian Telegraph - 25-Biticent
LATEST DEVELOPMENT! President institutes public oil rationing after Spinneli Refinery goes down in flames!

Editor: Jerry Keravel

A few days ago, the Spinneli refinery in the conglomerate, that is the Allied Nations, burned down in an inferno. The fire was nearly unstoppable by the incompetent fire brigade that was stationed at the refinery. The fire was only stopped when an army engineering unit got onto the scene, but they were too late. The fire burned down millions and millions of barrels of fine oil, alot of it being exported to Nova Sylva, Mozria, and the Aemenian republic (*Are you still a monarchy?*). The list also includes us, which is bad news obviously. We've been dependent upon this oil for decades, and then all of a sudden, everything goes down into flames. Why? Because the refinery is one of the most unsafe places to work, that is, according to some former workers from the refinery. "There were barely any safeguards against fire. Alot of people smoked cigarettes everywhere, the fire brigade at the place had aging equipment from the 1980s, some of it defunct. You could say that with the lax safety controls, the CEO of UP wanted more money to come out at the expense of safety. Now look at where its landed him." says Sean O'leary, a former foreman that quit the job a year ago. However, the biggest hit should be the measures our president has been forced to take to conserve fuel.

President Hillary has clearly stated that he wants to conserve as much fuel as possible. That means the the populace, in order to buy already expensive gasoline, must get fuel stamps. Heating is being tightly monitored and its encouraged to use large comforters instead of having the heaters all the way on. However, people using natural gas are not at a loss. Natural gas is predicted to have sales boost up by 10%, giving a good outlook for the industry and providing jobs. Earthen Gas, the leading producer of natural gas in Erquin, is predicted to grow from 2 production fields to 3 in the next few months if everything goes to plan, including 1 to 2 large scale refining operations. There is also oil shale, which may not be the best option, but may grow 1%. Shale is pretty expensive to take out of the ground, counting the fact that you must refine it too, which is quite expensive. Overall, we all should hope that we get through this catastrophe as soon as possible. The government think tank predicts a war over oil, something that was brought into mainstream context by the famous 1998 Sylvan video game, Blood for Oil. It was a hit, and with that, think tanks have been pondering about when we will start completely losing oil reserves, down to the last drop of oil. Right now, we might be facing a time where we will attempt to literally take the living blood of our fellow nations..Oil..

[Aleckandor REDUX]

[OOC: Because I am not quite done with my full post, the rest of my plot-based spiel will be put up tomorrow in a following post. The background news portion, however, is ready to go, so here you are. Also, I have sent a TG to Murovanka and I await his reception and response.]

Major U.P. Refinement Facility Explodes; Firestorm Rages In Spreck As Meridian Markets Feel Shockwaves
By Energies & Commodities News Journalist Enkhu Kidan
[Published: 03/16/2015 ~ 07:37 PM ~ MKAELFIZH|DUTILOS PROVINCE|G.S.C.A.]
[No Edit History]

The Spinneli Refinery was one of the largest petrochemical complexes operating within the lucrative vicinity of the economically notorious Spreck EPD - the acronym EPD representing the term of 'Extraordinary Petroleum Deposit'. Until now, the plant - owned and ran by the Meinkraftian giant, Universal Petroleum - was called one of the safest facilities of its kind, and was also the largest of UP's fuel production assets in and by the EPD. However, earlier this morning, Spinelli somehow underwent a catastrophic explosion; to make matters worse, strong winds caused the residual flames to commence plowing through the neighboring oil fields and towards the outer suburbs of the City Of Spreck, Meinkraft.

Since APPA's last piece of coverage on the situation today, the epicenter of the explosion occurred somewhere in the vacuums of Hydrocracking Block 4 - one of the main gasoline processors. But once again, until the ongoing fires can be contained (of which, according to local authorities, may not be until a few more hours up to a few more days), the causes of detonation will still be unclear.

[The gigantic main inferno rising up into the evening Casaterran sky, as visualized from a safe distance to the west by APPA camera personnel.]

According to earlier reports by UP personnel, seventeen of the refinery's employees are missing; however, the remaining 200 or so working men and women remain safe accounted for, some with minor burn injuries and other wounds related to the transpiration of this incident. Currently, AN military engineering units and other responders such as amalgamated local fire and police departments are continuing to pour their combined resources and efforts to evacuate people out of harm's way and battle the raging blaze. The 2015 Spinneli Refinery Fire, as this event is now being called by many, seems - for the time being - to be an accident; so far, no evidence has been produced to suggest that the regional government of Meinkraft, the federal government of the Allied Nations, or the likes of some other state or non-state actor could've been involved in a deliberate act of sabotage or industrial terrorism.

[Meinkraftian firefighters of Engine Company #27 from the local F.D. Spreck,
fighting off the oil-induced flames on the edges of a west side
suburban community from the main city.]

Spinelli, being the largest refinery in Mainland Casaterra, was considered by many third party corporate observers to be one of Universal Petroleum's most prized sources of company revenue, if not it's most valuable. As a result, the status of the Meridic oil energy market's stability has suffered a major infrastructural, financial, and ultimately geopolitical blow. In just one day, the Allied Nations' Maracaibo Market Value Index (MAMVIX) experienced a net cumulative loss of more than 1000 industrial averaging points - perhaps the largest loss in a single day ever recorded in all international stock market history. Simultaneously, incremental rises in shares for the Durmensk Energy Corporation [DREC] and Sylvan Energy [SYLE] have been documented, as well as that of Aleckandor's own conglomerative Táhnkeon Family Petro-Guild [TFPG] - whose own global price increased by $19.57 NSD since the Refinery Fire was first reported.

The DRM, or Democratic Republic Of Meinkraft, has taken quite an economic downturn due to this furious industrial cataclysm. The country, being the social and political heart of the Allied Nations, reportedly now has approximately four months of domestic oil reserves left to spare. Combined with huge gross national deficits occurring all at once and with little other options to invoke a fiscal stimulus, the AN public is increasingly finding itself to be in an increasingly strategic deadlock. For now, it seems that the shockwaves brought upon all of the Meridia by the Spinneli Refinery Fire will continue to palpably reverberate for a while. The Master State Bureau of the Aleckanodrean Confederal Governance has stated that it will continue to monitor the situation as it develops. "It is imperative that the Confederacy and its neighbors throughout the Expanse maintain a high level of relative calm and civility in resolving the economic crises that lies in the wake of the disaster." quoth Director Of The Legislature Álízzäh Vaenzěttēē on the topic through a special press conference conducted earlier by the Governmental Opinion Panel today at the Consortium in Pandomonita, "It is imperative we remain vigilant; after all, as we Aleckandoreans will often say, the uncertain future is absolutely certain."

[These MAMVIX numbers, as one can discern here and from the auspices of the current situation as a whole, do not look good.]

---

In Other News Throughout Aleckandor & The World...
Cooperative & Competitive Alecko-Sylvan Military Exercises About To Kick Off
Heated Debate In The Sidonian Parliament: To Confederalize Or Remain Unitary?
Fylbrähaem Peace Summit Anniversary Marked By Anti-UWO Street Demonstrations
The Revival Of Pre-Aleckandorean Dragonriding Traditions In Satit Province
New Trade Federation Mercantile Armada To Set Sail In April
Private Army Commander Of 'Forward Unit Nergal' (F.U.N.): "We're Funding An Expedition To Jedoin"
Ancient Native Oileanic Ruins In Central Bodega Now Opened For Public Touring
Ardoki Issues Official Condemnation Of The Far Right S.A.C.T.O; Stirs Proverbial Hornets' Nest
Gokhur Wen-Lugu Wins Baktoidia's National Horse Archery Games

[Aleckandor REDUX]

Octavius Training Center & Proving Grounds
Arcadian River Valley
30 Km. West Of Eagleton | Coalition State Of Sylva
[17th Of March 2015 // 1010 Hours]

Scores of young and pale faces - those of the Sylvan Army, to be exact - stood as firm in rank as the bodies that carried them. It was a little windy and cloudy at the moment, but fortunately, no rain was forecasted this week. Each soldier felt within his heart a chill run down their spine as the gentle breezes caressed their strong, virile but still quite soft Casaterran faces. Their commanders looked on from the makeshift elevated platform, watching and waiting for their quarry to come down the road. Meanwhile, flags waved and fluttered softly as one or two designated cameramen periodically snapped photos of the assembly and its warrior attendees here on the fields of the Octavius TCPG.

The Sylvan soldiers stood straight and firm, and have been doing so for the past three minutes. Their cumulative numbers were divided into rows of brigades, subdivided through columns of squared companies and platoons. Aside from their cocked black or ultramarine berets, their uniforms and fatigues were all pressed: crispy and cozy, as well as giving forth a traditionalistic aura of pride and professionalism. An ideal defense force, by almost all standards. And in the silence of their waiting, the inception of the treble of a melody in the distance, the rumble of both man and machine.

They - the Aleckandoreans - were arriving at the Opening Ceremony of the first ever SIMBATSYL (Simulated Battles: Sylva) bilateral wargames.

They had been marching up and down and meandering through the MSR towards the ceremony area from the moment they touched down at a nearby air base, two precise columns of armor and vehicles in escorting the wings of the processional infantrymen. Unlike their CSS counterparts, the Confederate personnel that could be seen striding towards them were truly of pallet of colors and blood - not just different ethnicities, but entirely different races far and wide. Most, obviously, were of the gray varieties hailing from Meridia's Eastern Continent, Yerhvenn - from whence Aleckandor originates and centers its administration hence. But a great deal of them were also Asiatic, most of them Finno-Mongolic Baktoidians and a few Sianese. There were white Greco-Romanic troopers coming from the brave island rocks of Novoseleukidia Major or from the hilly vales of Reformed Arkotania. Among this procession were also pale sallow or tan brown Regulars, Para-Grenadiers, or Marine Legionaries; they came from the outermost reaches of Intraversal Alecksdom, the once-primitive native peoples and cultural groups out of the Aleckandorean Tarakas, Khormahao, Oilean, and Fairhaven on Ardentes.

All of these soldiers, these hardy fighting men and women of the battle-tested 112th Mechanized Cavalry Division, 36th Airmobile Dragoon Division, and Marine Order XXIII - despite all their outward differences and intrinsic national value codes - were all fiercely united together in the common ideal of a single great agglomerate of both freedom and plenty the world over: the ideal of Aleckandor.

The soldiers were led by a small band detachment of Land Army Songster Guards, one of the great many patriotic musical ensembles that could be found in Aleckandor's vast war machine. Upon coming in sight of the Opening Ceremony and the Sylvans neatly gathered on their side, the lead drum major commanded the advancing band through the stiff grappling of his black-and-gold tempo baton to transition from a slow 88 BPM percussive cadence to the 120 BPM quicktime playthrough of The Founder's Chariots. Altogether, the vehicles and the men in their battle dress - though still equipped with either their usual Mark-X combat rifles or special ET-96Z caseless ammunition bullpups - began approaching the gathering at a much faster pace set to music.

A few minutes passed as the troops precisely marched into similar row and square formations complementing their Sylvan cohorts right of them. The few dozen vehicles the Aleckandoreans brought along maneuvered straight next to the area offsides next to their ally's cavalry vehicles, the helmet-donning crewpersons popping up out of their hatches and standing tall through them. Soon, the whole Aleckandorean welcome group sent from the much larger force hanging back at the airport they touched down upon was in place, the fanfare winding to an abrupt stop. Suddenly, silence once more.

But then, the tranquility was broken yet again by another rumble, this time not from the ground but from the azure sky above. A black V-22 Osprey bearing the maroon 'A' and on the gold-stroked Yervhennic Day-Star was to be seen, flying through the valley and tilting its rotors to hover. It landed gently on the meadow imbued greenbelt behind the stage, the turbines and blades all whirring down as its ventral doors came down. Three tall gray men in three different types of commissioned officer uniforms walked out, flanked by a sullen but deadly detail of SMG-wielding military policemen from the dreadful Active Inter-Services Gendarmery, who saluted them on their way out and then followed towards the stage.

The three Aleckandorean officers climbed the steps and the Gendarme safeguards saluted them stiffly once more and formed two doubletime lines back to the Osprey. Just as the aircraft's rotorblades started spinning up again, one officer in the middle of the trio saluted and then reached out to shake the hands of one of the major CSS military commandants in charge of their portion of the event.

"Pleasured greetings," the Nord Yervhennian Aleckandorean army official in the dark emerald attire began in fluent Anglo with almost no detectable accent, a result of over three centuries of forced multilingualism during the slave times before the Revolution, "I am Marshal Sêllkhyr Lízhühn, commanding officer of the Grand Aleckandorean Land Army's 112th Mechanized Cavalry.

"Oh," he then added, "And because I've noticed that in most frank encounters, outlanders do understandably find it both odd and difficult to pronounce Authentic Yervhennian names like mine. So, if you'd prefer, you can just call me Selim." His smile was warm and honest enough, so he turned to introduce the other two men standing onstage. They gave their salutes as he cycled through their titles and monikers.

"Over here is Lieutenant General Aerynn Qwynmhär of the 36th Airmobile Dragoons operating in the Para-Grenadiers' ," he iterated towards the way of the light olive drab suit, "And over here is Ělěck Zíyvíhrôn, another Lieutenant General of the Marine Legion's 23rd Order - which is a division element centered around combined arms, so to speak." he then said as he gestured towards the other in slate gray. He turned to face the Sylvan commandant and his entourage again and smiled, awaiting their round of introductions. However, back home in the Foundersland, things were not as plain and transparent; on the contrary, they were devious in design.

Downtown Vertygius | Republic Of Nellech [Provincial Code: NL]
Nord Yervhenn | Domain Of The Original Foundersland
Aleckandorean Confederacy
[1130 Hours]

High up in the pristine penthouse of Vöhlkeoph Holdings Tower smack-dab in the middle of that postmodern jungle of vitrified glass, steel beams, and nanorods that was the Great City Of Vertygius (the most populated metropolitan community in the entire Global Sovereign Confederacy Of Aleckandor), another impromptu meeting for members of a little-known elite think tank and discussion club was about to begin in a few minutes. This organization of the country's wealthiest and most politically adept cognoscenti, however, wasn't just your ordinary crackerbell moot of premium paygrade philosophers.

Nay, the Fellowship Of The Dark Cathedral Spires (AKA 'The Darkspire Fellowship' or 'DarFell') was actually the brains of almost the entire extent of Aleckandor's foreign policy of democratizing expansion and geopolitical consolidation. And as the sweet Sianese maids tidied up their extravagant space of private intellectual conferring, one of the two service elevators was already heading up to the skyline view and satin sofas overlooking the Vertygian urban cosmopolis and the gleaming port beyond it.

"Nêllídè says my High Suhraanoseon sounds much better from when our lessons first began two years ago," conversed Arthur Gelnikos, a former Nationalist Party Senator of the Westronian United Republics Congress that just so happened to now reside in Aleckandor. "I must say that I'm grateful you found me an instructor that could also do more than just teach." he gleefully added with the obvious implication. Rôphtór Vöhlkeoph, CEO of the corporate shareholders' group that owned the building to his namesake, let out a soft chuckle.

"Well, I figured that since our little Vírtēēzhāyûs Chapter in the Fellowship is, well, as little as everyone else's...I figured that taking you in under my wing was one of the good non-monetary investments I've made while in business." Vohlkeoph told the former congressman from The West. "The least I can do to award associates of mine is to inundate 'em with my best wine, women, and song for a good 5 years."

"Heh," started a flattered Gelnikos, "I'd like to know what's be the most you can do in a similar scenario. What then?"

"Eh, I'd probably fake my suicide and catch some rays in a private condominium I have in the Sirian Triangle. And that associate? He can have my goddamn company and all those stooges on the Board all to himself. I mean, I have enough money at this point in my life to not really give a shit, so it'd be a win-win kinda thing."

"Perhaps. But if that's what you would do in that sitch, why's it that you haven't already done it, the whole retirement bullshit?"

"Actually, that's it, my friend," the powerful gray man in the three-figure jet black suit with navy blue necktie quaintly realized, "It's bullshit - the whole 'my retirement' muck, I mean. Proletarian folks that are decent citizens of this Confederacy working seven, eight floors below us filling out reports and performing other mundane tasks, as we speak, look forward to that point in their lives of guaranteed post-labor benefits because that's all they have done with their lives both before, during, and after the Founder's Revolution: feed, reproduce, work, die, repeat. It's this machine of artificial living that we aristocrats and our degenerate bourgeois bureaucracy perpetuate...it's really the greatest tragedy of techno-economic development." He went off on a tangent thence.

"But as for me? I'm a fucking leech, a vacuum where everyone's wallets gets sucked into oblivion. It wouldn't be anymore less immoral for some mob to find, grab, castrate, and lynch me from a lamppost at some time in the near future. Not that I'm all too concerned, I don't even believe in God or Heaven anyhow, so my reputation here on the planet's surface? Wouldn't matter, wouldn't count for more than what shit some rundown desert gift shop sells. At least I don't buy into that secular humanist mantra, the only logical way to be a godless and greedy bastard like me is to be like Nietzsche, who did say once that God is dead and we killed Him. And this brings me to my point of not wanting to retire: since I have all the time and funds to spare, I'm perfectly capable and willing to..."

"Wow, okay, you're train-coupling your thoughts again, ya pseudo-leftist reactionary tit...slow down and breathe." calmly cut in the clean-shaven, 6'2" but skinny Westron conservative politician-turned-expatriate author. Rophtor realized that his Asperger's was causing him to act up again, making him more talkative and contemplative as usual; to that end, he complied with the ex-Senator's advice. He took out a small plastic capsule and piped a single episodal medication tablet down his throat, then washing it with water from a flask separate from the one for his gin. "You can save those self-actualizing ideas of yours for the caucus we're about to have with the Treasury Minister and his posse of oil tycoon underlings from the Táhnkeons." At that moment, the electronic chime and computerized audial announcement of reaching the 33rd building story sounded forth, and the metal doors slid open. Both men walked out and onto the ebony wooden floors of VHT's fancifully serene penthouse. Once they took their seats among the other prominent Aleckandorean citizens of prominence and their colleagues, the special meeting between the Spires began without further ado...

[Nova Sylva]

Havard Naval Base
Madrigal, North Carmi
18:55 Hours | 16 March 2015

Lt. Commander Jacob Lynch felt his heart pound in anxiety as he approached his table, where Vice Admiral Desmond Chance waited for him. Lynch had received word that he was to meet MARFORSTRAC’s commanding officer at 19:00 hours 21 March. The problem was, he had no idea why.

Lynch had not felt such a nervousness take over his body since the rigorous application process to Naval Command School, where he had been relentlessly examined by a panel of half a dozen Navy officers. But he had gotten through that, he reminded himself. Hell, he had graduated salutatorian in a class of five hundred – he had done more than just “get through.”

Then why was he so nervous?

Well, for one, Fleet Admiral of Coalition State Maritime Forces – Strachan Sea was less then ten meters away, and drawing closer by the second as Lynch approached the table. After all, what could an admiral want with the weapons officer of a guided missile destroyer? Had he done something wrong? Besides, of course, screwing General Patterson’s daughter. That one had got him demoted from the fast track to the command of his own ship into the CIC of a destroyer.

He could feel his legs turning into rubber, and felt like they would melt any second as the twenty-eight year old Lt. Commander approached. His peripheral vision blurred and his heart pounded in his chest as he drew ever closer…

“Ah, Lt. Commander, your late.” Vice Admiral Chance said, standing up and offering his hand for Jacob to shake.

Lynch stood dumbfounded, and glanced at his watch. “But, sir, it’s five till.”

“Early is on time, Lt. Commander, and on time is late. Any good commanding officer should know that.”

“Excuse me, sir, but I’m not a commanding officer. I’m the weapons control supervisor aboard the CSS Corbinsburg.”

“Son, sit down.”

Lynch did as he was told. Chance sat down as well, and smiled at the man across from him. It was now that Lynch was able to take a good look at the Vice Admiral’s features – his uniform was pinned with hundreds of campaign ribbons and medals from the various conflicts the Coalition State had fought over the past three decades. His face was worn with age, and tanned from many hours spent on the deck of a Navy vessel. Yet the wrinkly skin of his face was complimented by a youthful vigor in his bright blue eyes – a vigor that had not faded, even after thirty plus years in the Coalition State Maritime Forces.

Chance picked a piece of bread from the small basket provided by one of the Officers Club’s many waiters. He set the piece of flat french bread down on the table, and then placed eight sugar packets around it, two red, four blue, and two green, arrayed in a rough phalanx formation. Lynch immediately recognized it as a diagram of a carrier battlegroup.

“Son, do you know what this is?”

“Sir, in the literal or metaphorical sense? Metaphorically, it seems to be the formation of a Sylvan carrier battlegroup. Literally, it is, well, a piece of bread and some sugar.”

“Very good,” Chance observed. “And do you know what each of these represent?”

“Yes, sir. The blue packets represent destroyers. The two red packets are missile cruisers, and the two green packets are AWS frigates. Provided, sir, that this is the Delta formation.”

“Oh?”

“Well, sir, typically we put the AWS frigates in front, to form a screen for enemy submarines. Except here, you have the destroyers at the head of the formation.” Lynch switched around two of the blue packets with the green ones. “There you are, sir. Now it’s a delta formation.”

Chance leaned back in his chair, and stroked his goatee as he looked long and hard at Lynch. “I was right about you, Mr. Lynch. Salutatorian of the Naval Command School, excellent marks. Then you went to were assigned to the frigate Esteban Garcia, and published three papers on the use of combined arms for AWS warfare. Now here is what confuses me. After that, your reassigned to a destroyer as an adjacent in the CIC of the oldest destroyer in the fleet, because you knocked up Patsy’s daughter.”

Chance laughed. “You should have seen him at our annual golf game. So pissed off. And we gave him so much shit for it.”

Lynch twitched uncomfortably in his seat. “Sir…”

“Relax, Lt. Commander, I’m not here to scold you on fornication – though as a rule of thumb I would avoid sleeping with the daughters of General Staff commanders.”

Lynch blushed. “Yes, sir.”

“In fact, I’m here to personally congratulate you on your new assignment. As you very well know, the Coalition State recently completed the construction of two new Pharris-Class anti-submarine warfare frigates. They are both being assigned to the Maratime Forces - Strachan Sea carrier group, replacing the old Ulysses-class that is being transferred to Maratime Forces – Crimson Sea.”

“You will be taking command of the CSS Kingfisher, FFG-127. Furthermore, Commander, your new promotion should eliminate any doubts you have about my faith in you to uphold the name of Navy and honor and defend the Coalition State of Sylva and all her inhabitants.”

Lynch blinked.

Chance smiled and continued. “You are to report to the Kingfisher in two hours. Your crew will be waiting for you. Your personal belongings from the Corbinsburg have already been transferred.”

“Sir…”

Chance held up his hand. “Right now you are questioning why I chose you. It is because, Commander, you have the most knowledge of anyone in the Navy on AWS warfare. Your scores in last year’s ANNAVEX proved that – a spotless record. Six enemy vessels ‘destroyed’ with not a single loss. Tell me, Mr. Lynch, does anyone have a record that good? No, they don’t. And I’m not going to let General Patterson’s maternal instinct and ego problem prevent me from having the Navy’s best where they belong – in command.”

Lynch didn’t know what to say.

“Speaking of war games, we have a joint operations exercise with the Aleckandorians starting tomorrow. I want you to show them what you – and the Navy – is capable of.”

“And son,” he added, “I pulled a lot of strings to get you this command. Prove me right.”

CSS Kingsfisher
Havard Naval Base, North Carmi
19:30 hours | 16 March 2015

The drive from the Officer’s Club was less than ten minutes long. The MPs at the front gate were being extra vigilant with the exercises going on, checking even the SUV with a three star flag. Meanwhile, the base itself was a flurry of activity. Trains rolled down tracks set into the streets, repair shops and testing facilities working around the clock – all for the exercises with the Aleckandorians. The Sylvans wanted to make it clear they were capable, ready, and willing to deter any form of foreign aggression – and the point was being made abundantly clear. Even the base’s burger joint was working a twenty-four hour day, providing drinks and quick meals for the tens of thousands of servicemen in Sylva’s largest naval base.

“She’s brand new, only a month in commission. Just long enough to calibrate her electronic suite and weapons systems,” the Admiral said as the car approached the docks. “We’re a bit low on helicopters at the moment, with the full deployment and all. As such, you’ll be going out with just one for now, a Sea Hawk-F variant, the one with dipping sonar. You’ll also get a pilot who knows the Sea Hawk inside and out – Captain Henry Harrison.”

“Yeah, I served with him on the Esteban Garcia,” Lynch said. “Doubt he remembers me now, though.”

The Kingfisher was quite a ship. Raked clipper bow, severed hull lines, and a sleek form that reminded him more of a racing yacht than a warship. At only 3900 tons full load, it wasn’t far from the truth – she wasn’t a big ship, but manifestly an extremely fast one. Her superstructure was ugly, at least aesthetically so; but the straight masts, boxy aft dockhouse, and rectangular superstructure showed an underlying purpose of function over fashion. They were ugly because they had to be – the hull was sleek because speed required it, the superstructure ugly because it had to be.

As Lynch walked up the gangplank and into the bridge, the ship’s bell was rung four times, indicating the captain’s arrival.

“CO on the bridge,” the man at the helm said, saluting. Lynch waved him off.
“Commander Jacob Lynch,” he said, offering his hand, which the man took.

“Lt. Commander Vincent Grainger, XO. That over there is Roger Fitzgerald, chief engineer, and Thomas Kendricks, weapons officer.” Those two men saluted as well, and introduced themselves. After the quick exchange of pleasantries, however, Lynch was ready to get to work.

“So I haven’t been briefed yet on our assignment,” Lynch said. “According to the Admiral it has something to do with the Aleckandorians?”

“Yes, sir,” Grainger said. “We’re going to conduct ASW exercises alongside the Confederate frigate Grey Cougar in the Strachan Sea with two submarines, the CSS Neptune and the, uh, I’m not even going to try an pronounce that name.”

“Are all the preliminaries finished, XO?”

“Yes, sir. Everything is ready, Commander.”

“Very well. Helmsman, take her out.”

The Kingsfisher blew her horn once, and then took to the waves. Lynch felt his heart race as the mooring lines were dropped, and a tug guided the frigate out of the harbor. Around them, the night lights of Madrigal reflected off the warm nighttime waters of the Strachan Sea. Lynch looked ahead – waiting for them was the Confederate Navy frigate, Grey Cougar. He looked closer. The signal light on Cougar was blinking a message.

WHAT IN GODS NAME IS A KINGFISHER, it read.

Lynch smiled. “Signals officer,” he ordered. “Message back the Cougar : At least we don’t name ships after our mothers.”

---

OOC: The Kingsfisher, and her Pharris class is identical to an American FFG-7 class frigate. Any stats come I know about the FFG-7 comes from Clancy novels (which, all things considered, isn’t a bad source) and wikipedia.

---

3S Stadium
Chandler, Capital District
1400 hours | 17 March 2015

Staff Sergeant John Salvatore slide-tackled his Alecko adversary, and watched with delight as the greyskin slammed into the ground, and a fellow Sylvan stole the ball again, passing it to a middie as a second Confederate closed in on him.

The crowd of soldier-spectators broke into a mixed chorus of cheers and jeers as the Sylvans brought the ball back into Alecko territory, where it had spent most of the first half. As part of the preliminary SYMBATSYL exercises, a soccer game between the best Aleckandorian servicemen and the best soccer-playing Sylvan servicemen was being held – and if it’s objective was to get everyone pumped, well, it was certainly doing that.

The current score was 2-1, with Sylva in the lead. Salvatore cheered and thrust his fist in the air, as the scoring deficit increased in his team’s favor.

The Confederacy started with the ball for a fresh attempt on the Sylvan goal. They were going about the game all wrong, in Salvatore’s opinion. They were treating it to much as a rigid, strategy-based game – treating it too much like war. Then again, the Sylvans were doing the same thing, applying their military doctrine to the game. Except instead of the rigid, centralized, drill-oriented Alecko, the Sylvans focused on individual unit tactics and the superiority of tactical victories rather than a strategic one.

That had helped them so far; as individuals, the Sylvans were far better soccer players. The problem was, the Confederacy was displaying an extraordinary amount of teamwork and close-unit coordination. While one on one the Sylvans would win, they continually found themselves double teamed, and their breakouts contained by a well organized intercept formation. In addition, the Sylvans were, after ninety minutes of play, extremely tired. The Alecko seemed to have endless reserves of energy...

Amazing what you could learn from a soccer game, Salvatore thought, as the Confederates began another push into the Sylvan side of the field.

Salvatore sprinted towards the ball, which was being dribbled by an Alecko midfielder, surrounded by two of his compatriots. A Sylvan defender attempted to break through the rough phalanx and get to the ball – he was boxed out with a particularly nasty elbow bash. Salvatore determined he was going to flank his adversary, and come up from behind.

Unfortunately he underestimated the speed of the Confederate player, and his own trajectory. He was forced to compensate, swinging around…

…as the Alecko drew ever nearer to the Sylvan goal.

The last line of defense the Sylvans had, made up of two midfielders and the goalie, attempted to block the Confederates’ push. One of them looked more intent on smashing the opposing player than getting the ball – a vicious body check flattened the visiting team’s player, but forced the Sylvan middie out of the play for a precious few seconds. The hit drew a gasp of shock from the crowd, which was by now in full uproar as the Confederacy attempted to score.

The remaining Confederate player boxed out the goalie as the ball was passed. Salvatore closed in on the ball, and was inches away before a ramrod straight arm clotheslined him. His vision blurred and he saw blood shoot out of his nose before the back of his head slammed against the torn-up grass. While in most countries this move would have been illegal, in Sylva, playing dirty was the only way to play. But Salvatore couldn’t remember the last time he had been on the receiving end of such a move.

The crowd burst into cheers as the Confederacy scored their first point. Salvatore was helped up by his fellow defender, who winced as he saw Salvatore’s wound.

“Dude,” he said. “Look at your face,”

“Fuck off, Rosachi,” he said, unable to suppress a grin nonetheless.

“Like, dude, your girlfriend is gonna throw the biggest bitch fit.”

“Yeah? Well don’t worry, I can still fuck your girl on a daily,”

Rosachi laughed out loud and handed him a towel to wipe off the mix of blood and sweat covering his face.

The Sylvans were starting with the ball now, but they had lost the initiative. The Confederate soldiers in the stands had finally found something to cheer for, and were making up for ninety minutes of silence in an extremely high-decibel vocalization of what could only be the Aleckandorian National Anthem, The Founder’s Chariots.

Meanwhile, the Sylvans were moving the ball again. They were pushing down the center of the field, where the individual experience of the Sylvans could hopefully match the Aleckandorians. But it was not to be – a stupid, but brave attempt to steal the ball resulted in the the Confederate player getting flattened and trampled, but at the cost of Sylvan control of the ball. The anthem was momentarily interrupted by the shouts of excitement from the Aleckandorian fanfare.

The Confederacy made another push downfield, and once again the Sylvans moved to intercept. Elbows, legs, and even punches were thrown as the home team attempted to defend their goal. Salvatore focused on the man who had clotheslined him, and moved to engage, this time judging the distance perfectly. He ducked, focusing his center of gravity, and slammed straight into the Confederate player with a lowered shoulder. The man flew back and landed hard, and was slow to get up as Salvatore closed from behind on the ball carrier. But once again, he was too slow – the Confederates shot again, and scored, tying the game.

The Sylvans called a much needed timeout with two minutes left on the clock. He could barely make out what the coach was saying over the roar of the crowd. Luckily, the drawn out harmonization of the Aleckandor National Anthem had left the Confederate fans as exhausted as their players. The Sylvan fans were taking over the cheering once more, and the beginning of the Sylvan national anthem was beginning to take hold in the painfully loud stadium.

”There’ll always be a Sylva,
And Sylva shall be free,
If Sylva means as much to you
As Sylva means to me!”

The Coalition State’s team took the field once more, determined as ever – the Aleckandorians shared a similar resolve, as the entire game came down to one final effort by the Sylvans.

”At Jacinto town and Eagle-ton,
our brave fathers, side by side
they firmly stood, and nobly died
for our dear rights maintained,
we swear yield them never!
Our watchword evermore shall be
The Flaming Torch Forever!”

The Sylvan offensive began with the intensity of modern tank battle. This time, the Sylvans began working as one cohesive unit – with five of the players probing the Aleckandorian defensive phalanx, looking for a way in. One of the offensive players found it, and was passed the ball. Two Aleckos between him and the middie who passed it were immediately rendered obsolete to the push as the scwherpunckt was identified and exploited, just as one would do in maneuver warfare. The object is not the destruction of the enemy force, Salvatore remembered from tank school. It is the accomplishment of a specific objective that renders the enemy position useless.

But battle was not unavoidable – a clash between three Aleckos and two Sylvans resulted in all five players being taken out of the play – and the Sylvans closing in on the goal…

”There’ll always be a Sylva,
wherever there’s a plantation wide
beside a mountain tall.
There’ll always be a Sylva,
Where there’s a busy street,
For at every settlement hall –
There’s a million marching feet!”

The Sylvans scored with ten seconds left on the clock, and the anthem was interrupted by the joyous cheers of every non-Confederate in attendance. Salvatore joined in the sudden festivities – but remembered, deep inside, how the Aleckandorians had nearly bested them. It was a sobering moment, before he was pulled once more into the jubilant celebration of victory.

[Meinkraft]

FIRE AT SPINELLI REFINERY, SEVERAL INJURED

GSRN HQ, ALTAGRACIA - At approximately midnight last night, an equipment failure likely sparked a massive flareup which engulfed the Refinery in Spreck. Crews responded swiftly, company engines on the job as well as local firefighters, with the assistance of volunteers. After an unprogressive day of attempting to subdue the fire, the President finally ordered a contingent of ACE to aid the firefighters in their efforts. As of the publishing of this report, the fire is now one percent contained. Oil giant Universal Petroleum reassures the public that there is nothing to worry about, and that the supply will continue to flow until the facility is repaired, which they speculate to be in late next March.

In the international market, UP stocks took a huge hit, dropping value by more than thirty percent. As a reactionary response, smaller rivals’ values rose, such as Sylvan Energy, by as much as twenty-six Universal Standard Dollars. CEO Dr. Lorraine Rubin has published her own statement, announcing that UP will “survive, and even thrive, after this debacle.”

The Central Government has remained silent on this issue, and it remains to be seen how this will affect the common man. --Angie Burr

©2015 Global Satellite Reporting Network Inc.

Refinery Access Road
Outskirts of Spreck
11:57 am, March 16

The roar of the flames could be heard from here, a mile away from the nearest fire. Here was where the blast had been contained, and the once profitable, if not cumbersome industry was now an almost barren moonscape, for thousands of feet around. Buildings, which used to be the barracks of the many engineers and workers, were charred cinders, barely amounting to a pile of rocks. Some kept their structure, and were still smoking. The roadway to the interior of the facility was completely obscured by fallen ash, which laid thick and black over the entire area. If not for the occasional mile marker, the truck which drove down this road would have almost certainly have gotten lost. Crunching down the highway, the lime yellow pickup kept a constant speed of 35, in the direction of the fire. On the side front door of both sides of the vehicle was the Universal Petroleum logo, painted black, instead of the usual white. Mounted on the back of the truck was a mannable water cannon, attached to a sizable tank which sat in the bed. In this particular vehicle sat five men; Two in the front, two in the rear, and one at the water cannon. Three of these men were from ACE, the Army Corps of Engineers, and the two attending the front were part of Tactical Solutions Inc., a subsidiary of UP, and part of their private army. For the majority of the trip, beginning in the downtown Spreck bus station, the men sat in silence, until one of them, the one named Curley, spoke.

“We done fucked up this time, now haven’t we?” asked the young mercenary, rhetorically.

“Yep...fire’s burnin’ real bad. By the time we get it down, there won’t be nothin’ left.” replied the merc to his left, driving the vehicle. The man, known to others as Shock, was senior in age to the rest of the men in the car, at the venerable 45, but regarded his fellow contractors as equals.

“We’ll get to it before it fucks up the entire empire, right?” asked one of the men in the back, who leaned forward into the conversation. He wore standard AN combat fatigues, except for one notable difference--his helmet was not blue, but forest green, with a large white spade symbol on the front, identifying him as a member of ACE.

“Hopefully,” replied Shock, “otherwise the economy’ll go right down the tubes.”

The men, all four of them now, spoke to each other in quiet murmur, until Curley brought the truck to a halt, whispering, “Oh my god….”

In front of them were other vehicles identical to theirs, as well as fire engines from theirs and neighboring counties, throwing water and fire retardant chemical solution onto a towering wall of flame, which belched thick black smoke into the air, completely blotting out the noonday sun. A click and subsequent hissing sound notified the crew that their own water supply was now engaged on the raging inferno.

“My god, it’s like the World’s in Flames.” remarked Shock, and indeed it was.

[Aemen]

Harrow Military College, Sarston

“...I declare that I will serve, obey and bear true and unwavering allegiance to His Majesty King Reginald the Second, his heirs and successors and that I will, in duty bound, defend His Majesty, his heirs and successors, his territories and possessions...”

These were the words being spoken by a large group of new recruits ready to serve their five years of compulsory military service. Lance Corporal Francis Evers and Lieutenant-Technician Aldert Beullen presided over the new inductees as they spoke the final passage of words which bound the next phase of their life in service to the crown in a synchronised declaration. The two were stood among a line of officers that far outranked them, Buellen and Evers were only present because they had been chosen to represent their positions for this particular attestation.

“...I will dedicate, from this moment, five years of uninterrupted service, in protection and loyalty, to His Majesty King Reginald the Second, his heirs and successors. Long live the King.”

There was a moment of silence around the academy's inner hall. A commander stepped forward from the line of officers, with the new recruits, who had already undergone basic ceremonial training, raising their hands to their foreheads to salute him. Evers spotted one or two newcomers momentarily panic and salute with their wrong hand before realising their mistake and hastily switching over. He smiled internally, thinking back to his first days as a trainee.

“Baron Company! Ho!” The recruits quickly stood to attention, primed and ready for what came next. The commander then turned to Beullen and Evers' line. “Officers! Ho!”

Buellen, Evers and the other officers, with timeless precision, assumed the same position as the recruits. The commander turned back towards the crowd and waited patiently whilst another moment of silence enveloped the hall. Suddenly, the entrance doors flung open, giving way for a group of admirals and air marshals who casually strolled into the hall with the Elector-Margrave as their lead. The commander, ever adamant to impress his superiors, marched passed the new recruits, who were unaware of the identities of the men behind them, to meet the entourage.

Evers leaned over subtly towards Buellen and whispered, somewhat confused. “What's the E.M. doing here?”

“The King's speech. Major Geelen received a message thirty minutes before the attestation that the E.M. and some of his top brass wanted to watch it alongside the new troops.” replied Beullen, continuing to stare straight ahead.

“Probably to put the fear of God in them.” Evers retorted.

The commander, the Elector-Margrave and the other high-ranking officers moved to the front of the hall, passed the line of officers and out of Buellen and Evers' line of sight. Some of the recruits, upon seeing Ridley, seemed to shake, perhaps in fear, awe, or both, but retained their posture.

“Baron Company! Stand at ease!” shouted the commander. The recruits relaxed, letting the tension in their bodies vanish, though some were still apprehensive being in the presence of such influential military figures. The commander soon turned his orders to the officers. “Officers! About turn!”

Buellen and Evers spun on their feet, making a successful one hundred and eighty degrees turn to come face to face with a large television screen. “Officers! Stand at ease!”

Almost as soon as the order to stand easy was given, the television flicked on, presenting the hall of the Harrow Academy with the intimidating image of the man that Baron Company had just sworn away five years of their life to...



Chambers of State, Erus

Reginald stood in front of the camera that was broadcasting his face across the nation, fixing the lens with his stern glare. The Chambers' staff and government ministers had vacated the entire room, instead watching the speech on various televisions throughout the building. With only the production crew operating the camera equipment in his presence, Reginald breathed in, preparing to explain the situation to his kingdom.

“Good afternoon to all of my subjects. The purpose of today's speech is to outline the plan the crown intends to put into action concerning the recent oil shortage. As you all may or may not know, the nation has been forced to rely on our reserve supply after a devastating fire engulfed the Spinneli Refinery in the Allied Nations. I will not bore you all with the copious details, but the main effect that you will encounter in your lives will most likely be a simple increase in the prices of petrol and diesel.”

The King stopped momentarily to adjust his tie and sip from a nearby glass of water, clearing his throat. “As a result of the shortage, the armed forces will have priority for all military vehicles over the ordinary citizenry. Defence is one of the staples of our society and, as your protector, I will not leave our borders open to opportunistic political strongmen with something to prove. I have bid the Ministry of Relations to open appropriate channels with our neighbours, with the aim of securing deals that will plug the hole left by the Spinneli inferno. I have also given my blessing to the Ministry of Enforcement to deploy deterrent officers to Aemen's oil depots. This is to ensure that greed does not divide us during a time when we should stand together and to maximise the length at which we can keep public and private transport operational. Theft of national resources in a period of crisis will not be tolerated.”

Reginald paused, letting the last words of his speech linger and sink in to the minds of whoever was watching. After letting an appropriate amount of time pass, the King relaxed his stance slightly, still exuding an authoritarian aura but with noticeably less intensity. “Ordinarily, Aemen would be able to sustain itself on oil reserves for three months alone. However, we have found temporary relief within our newfound ally, Achesia, who has agreed to help stretch out the amount of time we have until our reserves become entirely depleted. I am grateful to the Achesian monarchy for their aid until a more permanent solution can be found. On the subject of Achesia, I believe that Aemen may have a permanent and influential partner with which to do business with. As such, I will be making another announcement at a more appropriate time which I hope will bring our two nations closer together. For those who are slaves to detail, the Ministry of Information will publish a report describing all of the actions being put into motion pertaining to the oil crisis within the next week. I expect more decisions from my ministers in the coming days as both they and I will search tirelessly for the best solution. I wish you a good afternoon and thank you for listening to the words of your king.”

[Achesia]

Tower of Ascendancy, Imperium City, Imperium



In his right hand was a pomegranate, in his left an ewer. His eyes bore upon me, his presence surrounding me and squeezing me. The oak under which I sat began to fracture as he consumed the space in which it occupied. Without words he commanded I listen to his edict, I dare not squirm from his grip less he fracture me as the tree. I gazed obediently as he poured out the ewer over the roots of the tree, a black tar dripped to the ground and as it lathered the wood fire burst from its void. The whole tree in which I was under began to flame, but as I thought the inferno would consume me, he squeezed the pomegranate so the juices might dash the fire. As they did the fire receded...

Mid afternoon, the Ackular would be taking his coffee now. Solomon was a servant to the monarch and typically served the Ackular his coffee this time of day, black with a dash of salt. He draped a towel over his arm and picked up the fine porcelain laced with etchings of violet and gold. He steadied his arm as to not drop the hot liquid over the stone floor as he made the trip into the Ackular's chamber. From the side of the chamber he would enter, it was just a small entry way for the servants to go back and fourth from the kitchens.

Solomon entered quietly, the Ackular often did not want loud disturbances at this time, just a quick placement of the coffee on his large oak desk and back through the servants door. Today instead of pouring over papers and reports the Ackular instead was standing in front of the large painting behind his desk. It pictured an oak tree against the yellow sky. He seemed enamored by the mural which stood as large as the wall in the huge airy chamber.

"Your majesty, your coffee." He whispered as he set the china down on the desk. The Ackular did not move, strangely nor acknowledge his presence. Curious Solomon stole a glance at his majesty and too his horror found his eyes black as the nights sky, pupils lost in the void, with blood dropping from his ducts.

"Your Majesty?! Guards, call for the physician!" He yelled, terrified as his leader stood fixed. He tried to grab the Ackular, lay him on the ground, do something to keep his condition stable but he would not budge. Suddenly the main doors to the chamber opened and Solomon quickly looked to see who had come to the rescue. Before him however stood the Arch-Praetor, the head of the Archari Gregian, his black and gold robes flowed over the stone floor and his hands resting together before him.

"Your Eminence! We must get the Ackular to a doctor, his eyes, they are black and bleeding!" He hustled towards the older man, hoping to find relief in his wise presence.

"Be still child, for it is a glorious sign of the Summer God's love." The Arch-Praetor smiled. He took the servant gently by the arm and lead him to the mural of the tree. "You see the vista." He motioned his arm.

"Yes, it changes almost every week. Last week the painting was of an empty and dark ally."

"Far from having a keen taste in the arts, the Ackular requires more of these canvases. They are his window to meet with the Summer God." He began to lead the servant back towards the main chamber door. "The Dread Lord communicates to his majesty in visions that take place within these paintings. It is a most holy and glorious thing, good tidings I suspect shall come to the Realm in this vision."

"I see." Solomon remained unsure, and confused of that he has witnessed. "I'm not sure I understand though."

"Your not meant to." The Arch-Praetor spoke bluntly as he pressed a bayonet into Solomons stomach, Solomon hunched as the thick metal lurched through his abdomen. The elder man struggled to lower the servant to the ground as the blood poured over his robes. "I am sorry my child, but the Dread Lord commands the secret nature of his communication with the mortal realm." The Arch-Praetor stroked Solomon's cheek as he breathed his last gulp of air. "Sad is a wasted life." Bastian Kuno had been a layman for his entire adult life, and killing a man in the name of the Summer God was no easier as time went by, but it was necessary.

Kuno turned towards where the Aukular still stood unmoved during the whole ordeal. He knelt, arms held open and gaze to the ceiling as he meditated on the glory of the Dread Lord.

It was several minutes before the Aukular came back to the living world, and with a loud heave he breathed the air of this plain. Julian the VII turned and drew breath in again. His face rested with ease as he faced the Arch-Praetor.

"I hope the Dread Lord has sent tidings of blessings to the Realm your majesty." He said eyes still fixed on the sky.

"He did indeed." The Ackular tilted his head in curiosity as he looked upon the body bleeding on the floor of his chambers. "Its time for the Realm to re-enter the fold."

The Kuno looked upon the Ackular and smirked.

Julian Airfield, His Majesties Air Corps Base Hawker, Imperium Province

The screams of the engines as the two MAS.81's pealed across the airfield were deafening. The way their wings hit the air was just right to make one think they were hearing the cry of an ancient dragon barreling across the plains. The Violet and Crimson Striped aircraft banked hard to the right, one after another as if they were at chase. As the lead plane tried to escape its pursuer the hunter found its way back on its tail. It was a high speed came of cat and mouse as the fighters began to ascend high into the sky in an almost vertical position. Suddenly however the lead fighter pointed its nose down and to the left and descended at rapid pace towards the tarmac bellow. Aircrewmen scrambled away as they feared its impending crash but just at the last moment of hope it pulled up and thundered across just meters from the ground. The stalking aircraft seemed dumbfounded high in the sky as it searched for its prey, but it was not long before it began to hound after it again. With a quick barrel roll to fixed itself on the low flying fighter.

"Dispatched." The pilot squawked satisfyingly over the radio.

"Motherfucker." The responding aircraft sent back." The two hornets lined up wing to wing as they passed around to the landing pattern.

The ornate aircraft taxied towards the terminal of the Air Base one after another until they reached the outside of a large hanger that bore the emblem of the House of Requient. The canopies of the aircraft opened and two young men stepped out as the aircrews brought ladders to them.

"I believe you not to be my brother, but instead a bastard hound bitch, the way you seek out while you fly." The young man yelled to the other pilot as he jumped down from the ladder. The aircrew around the aircraft knelt on their knees as the pilot passed. "As you were, very fine work on this aircraft." He said politely as he walked towards his companion from the other plane.

"Thank you your majesty." The senior enlisted responded, eyes fixed on the tarmac bellow him. As the Pilot Prince or "Acklium" as it is said in Achesia walked away from the aircraft he rose and began to bark orders to his crew to begin maintenance immediately.

"So what you are saying is our father fucked a hound? I don't believe he would be pleased to hear that." The other Acklium mused.

"What I am saying is some witch cursed you, and now you are the son of a bitch I always said you were." He laughed as he patted his brother on the shoulder. "Father would be proud of your skills as pilot, my younger brother is turning out to be quiet the aviator."

"Seems like you should stick to the ground, you drive a bullet better than a plane." He returned the compliment.

The two walked towards the wardroom adjacent to the hanger, two guards opened the doors and saluted arms as they entered.

"Attention to the Princes." A guard yelled and the occupants of the wardroom stood to attention. "As you were." The older of the two Acklium Hugh Requient shouted. The occupants rested into what they were doing previously. A guard officer approached the Ackliums and handed them a data pad.

"A urgent report your majesties. News from your father, your needed at the tower." He bowed his head.

"Thank you." Acklium James bowed his head in return, like an officer returning a salute. The guard snapped to and walked out of the wardroom to the tarmac where a AgustaWestland AW109 painted in a black and violet scene was being rolled out and powered up.

"It seems that ends the fun for today." Hugh smiled as he began to walk out of the building towards the awaiting chopper.

"Lucky, this avoids you being bested in fencing. You would be both shot down and stabbed for the day." The little brother sassed.

The elder of the two didn't honor it with a response but rather made his way to the helicopter, his flights suit flattering in the wind of the blades.

The flight from the air base to the royal fortress was only 20 minutes, the two Ackliums enjoyed the view of their city bellow them as they passed over the high walls of the outer defenses. The white washed fortifications have been added to and modernized since the medieval times. Their famous color was a sight that was known all around the Realm.

The Fortress of Ascendancy was at the western most part of the city where the walls met the steep cliffs of the Mountain of Pactguard. The tower has looked over the city since 1175 when it was erected by Ackular Luther the III. The helicopter descended to the ground in the gardens of the royal palace. As it set down ground crews dressed in ceremonial garb met them to open the door and welcome the Ackliums to the palace. The formal bows were exchanged and the two heirs to the Realm ran across the field to the doors which lead into the Palace. Through chamber and hall adorned with the history of their household until they came to the large doors that guarded entry to their fathers chambers.

"My sons, please sit." The Ackular said as he heard the chamber doors open. He stared at a large mural of the ocean that had been recently hung behind his desk. He seemed to study every stroke of paint that decorated a wave of the sea.

The two boys bowed to their father, their knees resting on the hard stone floor. "You summoned us father?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat as he turned from the painting. The oceans seemed to surround him as he stood behind his desk. "I have serious business to discuss with you, sit." He motioned to the space in front of his desk and two servants ran out from behind the chamber and placed two chairs. The boys paced over and sat as they were told, each wondering what would warrant such a serious reaction from their father.

Before the Ackular began several other men walked in from the chamber entrance. They were easily recognized as Aucks- lords of the Realm- each wearing fine clothing embroidered with the most lavish of colors: some signifying their house they swear loyalty to, others to pronounce their riches. They all stood on either side of the Ackular's desk each holding various papers or data pads.

"Its time to discuss the future of our Realm, and your part in it." Their father began. He paced behind his desk for a moment and then sat across from them and leaned in. "Our seclusion as a nation is now at an end, we must join the fold to further our position in the world." The boys seemed confused for a moment as they glanced at each other and then at the Aucks that stood around them. The Realm of Achesia had been in seclusion from the outside world for hundreds of years, not having much contact with the many nations that lay beyond its boarders. "Our resources are valuable to other nations. We produce allot of oil, more than we consume and this could be very profitable for us, specially in these times." He took a paper from one of the Aucks and placed it in front of his sons. "Recently an oil refinery exploded in the Allied Nations, this has driven demand up high for crude oil. I have used this opportunity to secure for the Realm an alliance with an old power, the Kingdom of Aemen." He again took another paper from a different Auck. Before his sons he lay a photo of a family, one that seemed to be of some wealth and stature from the look of it. "This is the Royal Family of Aemen." He pointed to a specific member. "That is King Reginald II's daughter, which you are to marry Hugh." This came as a slight shock to Hugh, he did not expect to be married for another few years, and much less to a foreigner. Surely he thought he would be paired with Priscilla Daevous a woman of note in the Realm.

"This is all coming at such a rush father." Hugh sat back in his chair.

"This is what your life has lead up to my son. To marry, have heirs of your own and to succeed me. Your marriage will secure the Realm a close ally, and leave an ever lasting legacy for our dynasty."

[Nova Sylva]

The following is a classified transcript of an Acropolis meeting between First Minister Stephen De La Calle (DLC), Office of National Intelligence Director James LeBlanc (BLANC), Coalition State Armed Forces Army Chief of Staff John Carpenter (CARP), Finance Minister Lauren Minnis (MINN), Defense Minister Daniel Calabrese (CALA), and Foreign Minister Cecilia Follett (FOLL).

BLANC : Alright, so we’re all here?

DLC : Actually, Cecilia isn’t here.

BLANC : As if the Foreign Minister would have any valuable input?

CARP : Well, according to Daniel, she does have a fantastic output.

CALA : My nephew says the same about your daughter, Carpenter.

DLC : Gentlemen!

CARP/CALA : Sorry, sir.

(FOLL opens east door, takes a seat next to CALA)

DLC : Cecilia, thank you for coming. I assume you have prepared your briefing?

FOLL : Of course, Stephen. Sorry I am late - I got hung up with security.

BLANC : That’s quite alright, Ms. Follett. If you don’t mind, may I begin?

FOLL : Of course.

BLANC : So, as all of you know, the recent fire in the Allied Nations completely destroyed the Spinelli Refinery, the flagship UP petrochemical plant. What we didn’t previously know are the consequences this will have at an international level. The AN, by the Office of National Intelligence’s estimates, have lost somewhere between thirty and forty percent of their production capacity. Note that these are only preliminary estimates, and based on circumstance.

DLC : What kind of information led you to this conclusion?

BLANC : First of all, we have guys in the field that gave us corresponding and from what we can tell, fairly accurate figures regarding the refinery’s net production before the fire, and the amount of fuel lost during the fire in addition to the extent of the damage to the refinery’s infrastructure. Then came a lot of differential calculus, taking these observations and translating them into mathematical figures. We also observed through our RORSATs that the Allied Nations’ Strachan Sea and Crimson Sea fleets are being called back, apparently for regularly scheduled matinence. AN fighter patrols along the border have decreased, as have the rate of rotation of border guard forces. When taken individually this is not cause for any alarm. However, when piled together, we come to the conclusion that the AN may have lost a vital portion of their economy, and are no longer self-sufficient in oil production.

FOLL : This is fantastic news for our Casaterran agenda. Without their oil exports, the AN are going to loose their ace in the hole.

DLC : I agree. We need to capitalize on this.

MINN : Speaking of capitalizing, and capitalism, Sylvan Energy is buying out UP.

DLC : What?

MINN : Sylvan Energy began a hostile takeover on the opening bell, and secured a majority stock by lunchtime. There is nothing legal that UP or the AN can do to stop it, but that hasn’t stopped them in the past.

BLANC : If this is true, the AN may try and nationalize the company. If they don’t, Sylvan Energy will have secured all of UP’s assets – which is roughly another forty percent of the AN’s crude oil production, and twenty percent of their entire energy sector.

MINN : They may, but that would be illegal. If they nationalized a corporation headquartered in another country, well, we would be pressed to instill sanctions against the Allied Nations.

DLC : Which we will do.

MINN : Well, further sanctions against the AN could lead to a recession in that country, possibly a total crash on the stock market. Furthermore, any foreign company invested in the AN would probably pull out in fear of further nationalization. To be frank, they are in a no win situation here. If they nationalize, they risk cutting off any and all trade with the other countries of Casaterra. If they don’t, they loose they’re oil production.

FOLL : If we really wanted to play this to the end, we could possibly go about the complete dismantlement of the Allied Nations as a world superpower. We are on good terms with Aleckandor, which share a similar hate of the AN’s hyper-expansionalism. We should build on this, and the current war games, SYMBATSYL, could help with that. Possibly, we can arrange some group agreement to destroy the AN.

CARP : All of this alludes to the idea that the Allied Nations would not take direct offensive action against us, Aleckandor, or some other country. They need oil, right? Well, there is plenty of it just south of us, in Sidonia. It’s possible that they may try and take it. If so, the Sidonian Defense Forces, the SDF, are ill-prepared to counter a full-scale Allied Nations invasion.

DLC : Well, I know that they are in talks with Aleckandor about joining the Confederacy. If Aleckandor sent forces…

CARP : What you must realize is just how thinly spread the Confederate military is. They have as many men in arms as the Allied Nations, spread across an empire twice the size. To requisition enough forces to counter a full scale invasion would be…well, almost impossible. Not to mention the amount of logistics required to support such an endeavor.

DLC : What are you saying?

CARP : I’m saying that, if this hypothetical should become a reality, we should be the ones supporting Sidonia. Alongside the Aleckandorians, of course, but still.

DLC : But the AN has ten times the amount of men under arms as we do!

CARP : This is true, but at the same time not so. Let me explain. The Office of National Intelligence has a standing database that rates the combat capability of foreign nations’ armed forces. We rank each unit as a Category A, Category B, or Category C, based on the strength, training, equipment, and experience said units possess. The Coalition State Armed Forces possesses eight Category-A divisions, six of which can be called up for combat in the near future. The AN can realistically field anywhere between ten and twelve from their offensive corps, and if they let the slack slide on their provincial holdings that number could increase to fifteen.

DLC : So how many troops, if the AN was to invade, could we expect to face?

CARP : That’s a loaded question, and it also depends on the circumstances. For example, there is an Allied Nations province directly north of Concordia, one of our colonial holdings. If we came to Sidonia’s – and the Aleckandorian’s – aid, we would also need to put our troops in Concordia on alert, and perhaps bolster our standing force there. The AN has to do the same, but on a much larger scale, due to the sheer amount of territory that comes under risk if and when they go to war against Aleckandor.

DLC : Can the Aleckandorians beat the AN alone?

CARP : Once again, a loaded question. In the long run, yes. They have infinitely more reserves, a stronger and more developed economy, and from what I understand a much more capable general staff. But the Confederacy has the same problem as the Allied Nations – too much territory, too little troops. They would have to organize an expeditionary force strong enough to either retake Sidonia directly or invade some other Allied province, and negotiate for the return of Sidonia from a position of strength. This would all take time – to much time.

DLC : But if we were to defend Sidonia, and we lost, what would be stopping the Allies from coming into Sylva?

CARP : That’s the real question, Mr. First Minister. But what would be stopping them if we didn’t help Sidonia?

CALA : He has a point.

CARP : We would be fighting a defensive war either way. So why not fight a defensive war where we don’t have to pay for the infrastructure destroyed, the citizens displaced? Furthermore, we have a much better chance of success if we fought alongside the Sidonians and the Aleckandorians from the get-go. Even more so if we could get Mozria, Erquin, or even Aemen to send troops.

CALA : The other point we need to discuss is what happens if we win. If we can decisively defeat the Allied Nations Army, we may be in a position to make sure they never present a geopolitical threat ever again.

CARP : The Defense Minister is correct. Hypothetically, if we defeated the AN, in the long run it may be better to eliminate the Allied Nations altogether – and march on Maracaibo. By the time this war kicks off, the full weight of the Aleckandorian military will be behind us. I am planning to hold a conference with the Aleckandorian General Staff as part of SYMBATSYL anyway, so I will bring this point up – if the Confederacy could put pressure on another part of the Allied Nations, and force them to fight on two fronts, it would make the fight for Sidonia that much easier. Furthermore, if we beat them back, multiple fronts would be crucial to the destruction of the AN.

DLC : This is sounding more and more like a world war, gentlemen. Sylva, or anyone in the region, for that matter, is prepared for a drawn out war of attrition.

MINN : Sir, with all do respect, we can. We have sizable currency reserves, and the Aleckandorians have even more. They would most likely subsidize any support we gave them – making the burden on our economy much less. Furthermore, if other nations, such as Erquin, or Mozria, contributed, their financial support would be just as crucial as their military forces.

DLC : But if the AN was able to secure an alliance, what then?

FOLL : The AN isn’t in a place to negotiate for anything. In exchange for direct support in a war, they’d have to offer a hell of a lot in return – that used to be oil, but they don’t have much of that anymore. Besides, their hyper-expansionism has just about everybody on edge – no doubt the other governments of Casaterra are just as wary of a strong AN as we are.

DLC : So we go, then?

CARP : I vote yes.

FOLL : Yes.

MINN : No. We should keep to ourselves, let the Aleckandorians sort this out.

CALA : I’ll go with whatever you think, sir.

DLC : I say we go. Mr. Carpenter, contact the Aleckandorians and the Sidonians, pass along this intelligence report, and offer Sylvan military assistance. In the meantime, prepare whatever forces you deem necessary to move to Sidonia.

CARP : Yes, sir. Though three of our divisions that form the bulk of our forces are currently involved in SYMBATSYL, which will be over by the weekend. After that, I’ll move them directly to Sidonia, probably alongside whatever the Confederacy has involved in the exercise. That will put friendly forces in Sidonia at…oh, ten divisions, more or less. We’ll still be outnumbered, but once we – both us and Aleckandor - can mobilize completely, it will have to do.

DLC : And how long until full mobilization?

CARP : One month for us, probably a bit longer for Aleckandor. If we get help from the Mozrians and Erquinians, their armored forces will most likely take a while to deploy…I’d say, for full effect, two months.

CALA : Just in time for the summer campaign season…what about the Allies?

CARP : That’s the problem. They already have eight divisions on the border, and a large portion of their population is located near the Sidonian border – meaning a proportionally large amount of military forces is located their, as well. They could be ready, troop wise, for a campaign in less than two weeks. However, that would rely on absolute and decisive success in the opening stages of the war. If the Sidonians could them behind schedule, even for a single day, the AN logistics situation would fall apart. If they waited a month, however, they would be able to amass enough supplies for a prolonged campaign ranging in length from two to five weeks.

DLC : So they must chose between surprise and preparedness.

CARP : Precisely. I will begin moving airborne quick reaction forces to Sidonia immediantly, but their outmatched by tank divisons. They can hopefully hold the line long enough, should the AN invade right off the bat.

DLC : Hopefully...

#END TRANSCRIPT

[Nova Sylva]

GENERAL DEPLOYMENT ORDER 1
FROM : COSAF HIGHCOM
TO : CINC SOUTH, CINC MARITIME, CINC CONCORDIA, CINC AIR
ENCRYPTION : CHASSE-J (HIGH)

Coalition State Armed Forces to deploy to Sidonia to assist local defense forces against possible Allied Nations invasion. Commander In Chief Southern Forces to move forces into Sidonia in 100 (ONE-HUNDRED) hours.

XIIV (SIDONIA) CORPS

>1. Cavalry Division (STALLION)
> 1. Reconnaissance Battalion (Guards)
> 24. Armored Cavalry Regiment
> 27. Armored Cavalry Regiment
> 29. Armored Cavalry Regiment
> 31. Combat Aviation Brigade
>3. Armored Division (ARGENT)
> 9. Infantry Brigade Combat Team
> 12. Infantry Brigade Combat Team
> 21. Armored Brigade Combat Team
> 33. Combat Aviation Brigade
>7. Guards Airborne Division (BLACKJACK)
> 18. Air Cavalry Regiment (Guards)
> 19. Air Cavalry Regiment (Guards)
> 22. Air Cavalry Regiment (Guards)
> 64. Combat Aviation Brigade
9. Infantry Division (CLOVER)
> 11. Infantry Brigade Combat Team
> 16. Infantry Brigade Combat Team
> 23. Armored Brigade Combat Team
> 41. Combat Aviation Brigade
15. Guards Armor Division (MARATHON)
> 32. Infantry Brigade Combat Team (Guards)
> 36. Armored Brigade Combat Team (Guards)
> 44. Armored Brigade Combat Team (Guards)
> 39. Combat Aviation Brigade

Commander in Chief Concordian Forces to prepare to receive reinforcements in 48 (FORTY EIGHT) hours of multiple brigade strength and 421st Fighter Wing for additional air support. CINC-Concordia is hereby authorized to mobilize local reserves and assume defensive positions along the border. Be advised of recent AN buildup along border, composing of Allied Nations 32. Motor Rifle Brigade (Category B), and 168. Tank Brigade (Category A).

>4. Infantry Division (LAMBDA)
> 9. Armored Brigade Combat Team
> 11. Infantry Brigade Combat Team
> 16. Infantry Brigade Combat Team
> 20. Field Artillery Brigade

Auxiliary/Standalone Forces
> 2. Recon Battalion
> 39. Combat Aviation Brigade

Commander In Chief of Coalition State Maritime Forces to prepare for possible hostilities against the Allied Nations. Dispatch naval reinforcements to Concordia, Catalina, Grisham, and Argyle; prepare Crimson Sea Fleet, codenamed TIGERSHARK for anti-shipping and blockade operations. Strachan Sea Fleet, codenamed GREY WHALE to link up with Confederate Navy forces, codenamed EPSILON.

Commander in Chief of Coalition State Air Forces to increase training regimens for all crews for all possible contingencies. Delivery of prototype aircraft, designation [[REDACTED]] expected to arrive in 12 (TWELVE) hours to 111. Special Air Squadron, at Eagleton Air Force Base.[/b]

[Meinkraft]

Floor B2, UPHQ
Maracaibo, Allied Nations
March 17

The room would be completely dark, except for the bluish light bathing every corner from dozens of computers lining the walls. The walls themselves were of a dark, opaque color. Not quite black, but of a purplish hue, like polished obsidian. On the carpeted floor, well dressed technicians and stock brokers of both genders patrolled the room at a brisk pace, and drummed frantically on the computer keyboards. At the far north end of the room was a large flat screen, which currently showed a blue background and the numbers "51%" in large white letters, with numerous, smaller numbers at its side changing at an impossibly quick pace. A gunmetal colored steel mezzanine looked over the expansive rectangular space from the south end. It was from here that a tall, suited figure stood, observing the organized chaos. The silky, gelled black hair, the piercing brown eyes--It was none other than Universal Petroleum's Chief Financial Officer, David Espinoza.

David leaned against the railing, smirking at the organized chaos that proliferated below. A single, white gloved hand flowed through his hair, which he then brought to rest on the rail again.

Sylvan Energy thinks they've cornered us, thought he, but they've got another thing coming....

An audible chuckle left his mouth.

If this scheme doesn't work, I'll be willing to quit!

The computers were connected to UP's Stockpile, and they were at work at...replacing...the acquired stock with new stock, while maintaining the price in the Market. This diluted the sway shareholders had on the company, and also practically reversed the hostile takeover attempted by the Sylva-based corporation while simultaneously draining their coffers--as long as the computers operated faster than Sylvan Energy's stockbrokers could act.

Espinoza leaned back and unleashed a haughty laugh, which echoed across the relatively quiet room.
"Ahahaha! Keep the presses hot, boys!" A single hand went up in a flourish, addressing the masses. "If these computers don't break, I'll be damned if I don't give Mr. Templin all he wants of Universal Petroleum!" His voice boomed with an authoritative air, and the employees cheered.

Situation Room, Admiralty House
Maracaibo, Allied Nations
March 17

President Kerman sighed as he surveyed the people sitting in his room. The War Advisor, Roland Wilkins, the Financial Advisor, Jessica Chamberlain, the Treasury Minister, Jacob Stylac, and the CEO of Universal Petroleum, Doctor Lorraine Rubin. The discussion had gone on for hours, and they were no closer to a conclusion than when they first had assembled.

"So, Lorraine, you refuse to have your company nationalized?" inquired Kerman finally, reclining in his leather chair.

"No. UP needs to remain a flagship company that I alone control." replied Rubin stubbornly.

Silence once again pervaded the room for a few moments before the War Advisor piped up.

"Sir, I think I have an idea to counteract our oil predicament."

"Oh yeah? And what is this idea?" asked the anguished President.

"I say we seize Sidonia, an oil rich nation, through the technique of 'Gunboat Diplomacy'."

Kerman leaned forward. "I'm listening, Mister Wilkins."

"Well, the country is fairly small. As you know, we're low on oil at the moment. With the right display of military force, we can force the nation's leaders into a diplomatic agreement to seize their oil."

Thoughtfully, Kerman stroked his clean shaven chin. "A sound plan. I like it. Lorraine, how much oil have we got for this?"

"We have enough for what you need. Provided this works, of course."

"Excellent. Wilkins, I'll put it into action. For now, this meeting is adjourned." concluded the President.

[Aleckandor REDUX]

Operation: Valley Of Kings
SIMBATSYL Airland Bloc Parameters
Octavius Training Center & Proving Grounds | Sylva
[21st Of March 2015 // 0950 Hours - 1725 Hours]

"Commence battle!" Marshal Lizhuhn called forth over the hi-power speakers, the Aleckandorean commander's booming voice reverberating all throughout this part of the Arcadian River Valley. The soldiers at their starting positions heard the call to battle and began to move out in their assorted armored fighting vehicles. Infantry wielded firearms loaded with the sky blue marking cartridges of simunition, while the armor ha specially manufactured rubberized smoke projectiles to demonstrate explosive combat. They'd be facing emplaced or roving gun drones programmed to defend their geographic location, as well as pop-up targets made of camouflaged sheet metal at their first objective. However, from that point on, they would have to encounter and engage live human foot-mobile and mounted resistance.

But the greatest and most important part of the exercise taking place was the critical fact that the commanders of both countries' militaries had traded each other their troops but kept their doctrine manuals. In other words, Aleckandoreans directed Sylvan troops while Sylvans commanded the Confederate horde. It was nothing short of a test of tactical adaptability by both armed entities, both of whom operated in the field with their own definitive style.

Lieutenant General Ziyvihron of Order XXIII was given command over the elements of the Coalition State's famed 1st Cavalry Division. His opposite number in the Sylvan military controlled the 36th Airmobile Dragoons, a medium mechanized GALA Para-Grenadier unit composed primarily of crack rocket troops, marksmen, and fast infantry combat vehicles. Ziyvihron's mission was to fight his way across the valley and capture the key OpFor position at the final hill held by the defending Confederate troops. Adversely, the Sylvan officer in charge of the 36th that was his opponent in this exercise was duly tasked with pushing back Sylvan BluFor and/or completely driving them from the designated battle area via total and utter annihilation. Stakes were high and both sides prayed to come out on top.

"Report on left flank advance, stat." requested Ziyvihron, leaning over the ever-fluctuating digitized battle map-table in the command bloc, sitting quaintly on an armored bed aboard a High Expanded Mobility Tactical Truck sitting in a net-camouflaged ditch.

"Mustang BCT proceeding as planned, General Ziyvihron." an Aleckandorean interoperable command signals officer answered knowledgeably. Middle thrusts and inner prongs led by advance elements from Bronco and Stallion rolling at projected pace, sir. Almost within range of engaging first hostile positions."

"Excellent, first level is pretty much a cake walk. But be on your guard, anything goes in a real battle against a real enemy." Ziyvihron commented, studying the blips and figures and data streaming live across his the map-table, in sync with an exceptionally connective geosynchronous reconnaissance satellite above. Today's exercise was to be last of the Airland Bloc of SIMBATSYL 2015, and the Lt. Gen. was determined to win in the Confederacy's name in order to properly compensate for the soccer match from before. The previous training sessions were held cooperatively in tandem with his friendly adversaries, dedicated towards the mutual mastery of curricula relating to field infantry tactics, armored maneuver warfare, and the skilled usage of artillery and aerial assets. However, this would be a trial of asymmetrics, of different fighting styles and different cultural philosophies pertaining to war.

As accurately observed by some of the Coalition State officials, Aleckandor placed a great emphasis on regimentation, centralized leadership, and synergetic teamwork, with room for some operational flexibility if it is absolutely necessary in its employment. On the other hand, the Confederate commanders and soldiers themselves learned quickly that Sylva's methods and schools of military intellect revolved around the key principles of individual unit strategy and a high degree of freedom in existing command structures. The Marine General was all at once both attracted and repulsed from the idea, himself; to him, while he greatly admired the lack of bureaucratic constraints for those operating in frontal combat against a more stiffer opposed entity, he was not fully convinced that it was ideal on the massive scale theaters that Aleckandor always challenged its tyrannical enemies on far beyond the realms of the Expanse Of Meridia.

If I were a Sylvan colonel or general, I would have already deigned to take the iniative, meditated Eleck, still watching the screens and vaguely listening to the amalgamated radio chatter back of him, And placed some of the 36th's anti-armor missile cars and carriers at Point-Alpha, waiting to devastate opposing BluFor mechanized units upon coming within range. Aleckandoreans, but particularly its majority Gray Yerhvennic people in general, tended to be more stoically intuitive rather than being confined purely to logic based on certainty. This could evidenced by the infinitive based grammar of the harsh Suhraanoseon dialects they spoke and a deeply rooted spirit of actualized esotericism in their ancient religious traditions. In relation towards the scenario at hand, this meant that Ziyvihron - and indeed a great deal of his kin - were somewhat lifelong experts in the psychoanalytical art of anticipating others.

Thefore, the General soundly decided to act upon this intuition.

"Major 'Aephrähnn', direct the front columns to halt their advance and the rearguard to reduce march speed." he suddenly ordered. "Tell Mustang that they are to move ahead and screen our front laterally across the valley until they have re-established themselves as the right flank. Send one Apache from Colt to the point here, a good three and a half kilometers southeast of Alpha. In the meantime, I want the mobile mortar crews of attached to Stallion to deploy arms and stand-by..."

+ + + + + + +

The Sylvan Apache Longbow attack helicopter whose callsign was Romulus was part of the much larger rotary assault formation from 1st Cav's Combat Aviation Brigade (Callsign: "Colt") that hovered northwards as a vigilant and menacing swarm. For now, they were tasked by their temporary Aleckandorean handlers to provide a fluid rear overwatch on the allied divisional advance, waiting to rapidly be brought up when called for. For the two pilots sitting in the chassis of Romulus and the other Apaches, this kind of Confederalist set-piece mode of consolidating ground and engaging when specifically instructed produced a suspenseful eerieness for them - one that they felt quite uneasy about it. Rather than the expected glorious bravado and camaraderie displayed via direct assaults against pitiful enemies, it seemed to them that the Aleckandoreans were very keen on removing the organic side to pitched combat and have thus totally and utterly churned it up into an industrially emotionless cesspool that was void of all passion, honor, and sanctity.

The dogs of war were exceptionally hungry today, but their cruel Easterling masters were deliberately starving them.

"I don't know about you, Henry," started the chopper's weapons pilot aboard Romulus, "But I'm getting the feeling that exercises like would probably make me feel much more tense than in, you know."

"The actual thing, you mean?", his friend and the navigatory pilot, George, iterated.

"Yeah."

"Eh, I guess I see you point. These Aleckos are just stiff as fuck, don't ya think?"

"Yeah, for all their talk about unification and world justice, they sorta shape up to be quite the authoritarians themselves."

"Con-fucking-curred, brother."

"Either they're scared to lose us as assets, or they purposely want their guys led by our people in front of us to win."

"Perhaps it's the first," suggested George, breaking the naysayers' cycle, "I mean, from what I've heard about their Para-Grenadiers, they're all Grade A psychopathic killers, as far as I'm concerned. I heard from one of the grayskins I talked to back at the mixed camp three days ago that they're all literally unhinged. They fight and kill differently than their Regular or Marine Legionary brethren."

"How unhinged, George?" Henry then asked, curious.

"Like, you know how in most armies this wide world over tend to view war as either some undertaking that's glorious or tragic, right?"

"Uh-huh, I guess..."

"Well, for Alecko PGs...for them, it's kinda like waking up next to your wife and giving her a morning screw before commuting to the office. Like, most of them soak up all the PR in the Military Schools they go into at a very young age and are more efficient murderers because of it. True, they're far from spec ops, but a great deal of 'em fit the definition of warped realities. Some ConfedAlecks I've talked to say that their depraved insanity is a result of them jumping outta transports for a living, others say it's the other way around. So I guess it'd be best to stay on edge against these guys for this exercise."

"Oh..."

What both of them failed to realize immediately however in this little discourse amongst themselves in the canopy, was that the fact the type of GALA Para-Grenadier Cohort unit they were going to do battle against were 'Airmobile Dragoons' - dedicated area denial speed demons specializing in light skirmishing tactics and surprise attacks. What current level of caution these pilots had was not enough, for they would have been alarmed to know that the 36th in particular was one of the first Aleckandorean surface combat elements to master the revolutionary SíÜr-600 Zhāymbíhr BMCV (Bi-Mission Combat Vehicle). The Zhaymbihr or colloquial "Zimbo", though not well armored or structurally luxurious, was ridiculously fast at an efficient top speed of +75 MPH and was - as suggested in its operational moniker - capable of engaging both immediate or distant air and surface threats with a rapid autocannon and guided missile pods, quickly transitioning between the two fighting modes in a very timely manner additionally.

Coupled with the vitrified non-pneumatic wheels that give it unprecendented all-terrain traversal and an array of onboard countermeasure suites, the Zhaymbihr was, in the enemy's eyes, a nuisance at its best and a nightmare at its worst. But because of the 36th Dragoons' experience with these cost-effective and relatively numerous fast attack platforms and the fact that they were now all at the disposal of a Sylvan commander with Sylvanesque tactics, they were probably going to be the purported nightmare that they would be. The 1st Cavalry would find out for themselves once they crossed the threshold and established preliminary contact.

+ + + + + + +

"Attention, 1st Cav-Div Combat Aviation Brigade 'Colt' Squadron #6." the Aleckandorean signals officer back at the southern forward operations base squawked on the frenquency. "This is Anakim, reporting on behalf of Lieutenant General Ziyvihron. Do you copy? Over."

"Squadron Six Lead, copies. What'll it be, Anakim-Actual?" a Sylvan chopper pilot responded, the whirring of the rotor blades outside his canopy able to be discerned over the rudimentary transmission.

"Commit your Number 8 helo to immediately move up to the following codified scenario coordinates: November / Echo / Niner / Niner / Five / Oscar / Victor / Two / Eight / X-Ray. Patch us directly to that unit's comms and video feed, over."

"Roger-wilco, Anakim-Actual. Your eyes and ears'll be enabled momentarily." the Squadron Leader said. The chopper locked over to his starboard and saw Romulus hovering at the eastern end of the steadily combing spearhead formation. At that, he pinged them and sent his radio transmission.

"Yo, George & Henry. ConfedAleck guys upstairs want you to move your asses up to a forward position."

"Oh boy," sighed George, the navigatory pilot on the other end. "Where to, then?"

"Objective coordinates are: N-E-9-9-5-O-V-2-8-X. Get moving, I'm patching your live data stream to 'em as per their request. Oh, and try not to piss them off, their commissioned officer types don't usually put up with the shit that ours would."

"Eh, alrighty then...you got it, Boss." George replied callously, and began moving ahead towards a rightly direction away from the rest of the other Apache Longbow attack helicopters.

+ + + + + + +

The Aleckandorean General's strategic presumptions were indeed correct; the Sylvan OpFor commander, utilizing his human troops in the form of the Confederate PGs, had methodically reinforced what was supposed to be automated garrison at Point-Alpha. The site was a small and tight collection of concrete prisms, narrow alleyways formed through thereof, and shrubbery in between to better simulate a township one might find in an underdeveloped nation far away from the continents and oceans of Greater Meridia.

Both within the middle of the mock urban space and in the outlying areas of its perimeter, there were several computerized stationary sentries and motorized armed walkerbots brought over from Aleckandor's own fields of training. Attached to these devices were several circular targetboards simulating mobile or emplaced hostile personnel, which were to be hit in order to deactivate them. Of course, the BluFor personnel could just as easily melee or shoot the drones at wherever hardpoints were necessary to knock down and thus disable, such as their camera optics or whatever kept them standing.

In addition to these however, the area was crawling with surface-to-surface missile elements from the 36th Airmobile's independently operable Nomad Anti-Armor Company. Protecting them from skyborne threats was three daunting trilogies of Zhaymbihrs (nine vehicles) brought down from the improvised motor pool set up at Point-Bravo, as well as two Lyran King Shepherd tracked anti-air vehicles. Had Ziyvihron never foresaw this, there could've been a disaster in the opening moments of the battle for him and the 1st Cavalry Division soldiers underneath his command authority.

+ + + + + + +

"This is Colt Six-Eight-One, Callsign: 'Romulus', reporting in to Headquarters: Anakim." the pilot George announced over the secure comm link back to the Aleckandoreans' HQ, just as soon as he and Henry were connected to them. The signals officer tapped at his headset as he looked back from the monitor towards the Lieutenant General, still leaning over the table. The General's eyes met his and he made his way on over and gestured with his hands to put the transmission on speaker for him and everybody to hear and respond to.

"Copy, Romulus." the signals officer acknowledged. "Prepare to receive your next instructions from General Ziyvihron himself."

"Rog' on that." George replied. Ziyvihron was handed a small wi-fi mic to speak into.

"Greetings, pilots. I'm Lieutenant General Eleck Ziyvihron of the 23rd Marine Order, the man you're taking orders from." he cordially introduced. "Do you read, Romulus?"

"Romulus reads you loud and clear."

"Excellent," Eleck uttered, as he instructed the signals officer to dial the video feed into the Apache Longbow's anterior thermographic imager. "Alright, so you're going to do for, boys, is that you're gonna focus that FLIR of yours down range towards Point-Alpha and slowly creep up to it at 350 meters in altitude. Scan left and right, and do not stop your approach until I permit you or if you need to commit evasive maneuvers."

"Roger-wilco, General."

The Raytheon AN/AAQ-26 FLIR camera mounted on the Apache's nose began slowly coming closer at a lower altitude, veering laterally over every other seven to eight seconds in interval by the general direction of the mock village. The General leaned in towards the screen and began studying it intensely, his silvery eyes glistening against the advanced infrared images reflecting into them. Suddenly he spotted the signature of a well-hidden vehicle, then another, and then another. He then saw a couple of them roving around and some enemy sharpshooters in and around the buildings. He tapped the shoulder of the targeting information analyst sitting adjacent to the signals officer to sync with the FLIR footage and mark the hard targets' locations with laser designation. White digital squares started popping up on the General's screens and his intuitive conjecture was fully proven. There were ATGM tripods everywhere, as well as mobile missile-carrying CFVs imbued in leafy woodland camo.

"Go calculate those designations topographic axes, will you?" he whispered to the analyst as he stood up to fold his arms while leaning his posterior against the map-table's edge.

"Romulus, this is the Lieutenant General. Halt your reconnaissance, we have collected the necessary data."

The other guy won't know what hit him until the counter-mortar radars start registering the strikes, the Aleckandorean deviously cogitated.

+ + + + + + +

At first, George didn't react when he heard the distinctive cockpit tone of an enemy radar spike. But as the sharp, warbling chime filled his ears more and more, he began registering his surprise and his adrenaline kicked in.

"George! GEORGE! We're spiked!" Henry the gunnery pilot yelled. "Get us outta here!"

"I'm on it, I'm on it!" George cried out as he banked hard towards the left, and Henry started pouring out chaff and flares. But before he could start speeding southbound with the chopper, he felt the exceptionally resounding and hyperfast thuds and thumps of heavy caliber simunition projectiles slamming into the side and rear of his chopper. Both he and Henry noticed that their vehicle's health meter was going down exponentially from each tagging. The Sylvan navigatory pilot then made for a tree clearing in the valley close by and hovered underneath the cover of the trees.

"Fuck!" cursed Henry as he tried to catch his breath. The radar spike alarm was still on, so they were literally not out of the woods yet, however.

"Christ, we almost got waxed by that ack-ack...we're at 34.982% in operational HP. And bleeding fast." George reported urgently.

"Shit," started Henry, "Then that means-"

"We're pretty much out of the action for good, right now."

"Well I'll be damned then, what a fucking shame to be the first casualty of battle." a respiring Henry groaned. He looked behind his seat and at George in the pilot's side of the canopy. "So I guess we should hoof it back to the FOB before we actually go down, then."

"Yeah, let's...wait, hold on..." George paused and listened. The radar spike chime had evolved into a slower but more quite digitized note, growing ever-higher in volume and frequency. "Alright, time to go!" exclaimed George when he realized that was in fact a missile lock from beyond visual range. "Dump more countermeasures, man!"

"On it!" complied Henry, fastidiously flipping the rearmost flare pods as the Apache ascended quickly into the air and began acclerating rapidly back to the Starting Point it took off from. Suddenly, the tone became one single continuous note, which meant only one thing: an Aleckandorean SAM was in the air, about to meet them in a few seconds.

"Evade, George, evade!"

"Holy shit, I'm trying!"

"It's coming closer, it's coming closer! We're gonna be dead!"

"Shut up, Henry! C'mon, cmon! Pull it together, Romulus!"

Alas, the Sylvan attack helicopter met its fate as the guided simulated missile rubber hammerheads collided with the rotorcraft harmlessly, bouncing off and falling towards the ground with killed thrusters. Romulus was the first casualty of the battle. The Aleckandorean commander, who was on the other end of the frequency that was still on before it was cut off automatically by the HP meter's zeroth percentile mark, actually expected as much and was thus unphased. He knowingly sacrificed a good Apache to not only gather intelligence which could have been reported in by a forward-deployed scout sniper team (which did have eyes on the compound at Alpha, ironically enough), but to inevitably test his adversary's reaction capabilities and what they would make of the situation presented to them.

If the Sylvan commander was as clever as he had thought, a hostile chopper's presence in their airspace would signal to him that his positions were compromised and most likely lazed, leading him to tell the forces he had at Alpha to retreat and regroup elsewhere to avoid the wrath of guided artillery and aerial ordnance. But Eleck also thought that the Sylvan might be bold, even defiantly so, which would lead him to have those same Airmobile Dragoons spread out and move forward to initiate the main engagement in order to gain momentum. And there was also a plethora of third options that may surprise the Marine General, but he still knew what exactly to expect from each presupposed eventuality.

+ + + + + + +

Alistair and his scout sniper comrades observed the whole ordeal involving the Apache's attempt to escape under fire. Some of them thought the act to send those pilots in was somewhat strategically necessary, others wondered if the Aleckandoreans were really this lukewarm towards preserving the lives of their very own soldiers. In fact, the situation was actually an admixture between both situations; the Confederate view of battle, unfortunately, largely differed from the Sylvan model in its icy rigidity of conduct. If something had to get accomplished, it had to get accomplished without regard for losses - without regard for body bags and weeping mothers. That idea lay within that vicious theorem that in willingly sacrificing lives pave a path or gain foreknowledge, commanders would be able to make their decisions more precisely in order to maximize enemy casualties and seize the field.

"Doesn't a Zimbo have only one autocannon, Al?" inquired one of his ghillie-suited forward scouts with a sifting whisper. "Those shells seemed too many and too rapid to have been just one."

"No, Jeremy, Zimbos don't have one cannon. Externally, it only looks that way. The outer barrel is actually a coolant cover for four little spinning barrels, and they've got powerful series circuitry. " Alistair answered, zooming through the scope of his binocucom through the wet morning brush. Suddenly, he felt his portable satphone vibrating with an intercept and quickly took it up, correctly inferring it to be Headquarters trying to contact him.

"Telephus-Actual, reporting."

"Telephus, this is Anakim." a new and prettier voice - that of a female Aleckandorean dispatch officer's - came through, "General is requesting a report on renewed movement at the village at Alpha, over."

"Roger, stand-by for update on hostile movement." Alistair complied, then putting his binocucom up again, switching to his communication headset. He scanned the area to and fro, glazing over the positions he and the four others in his Sniper Team marked earlier in the past 10 minute since their deployment. Thirty seconds passed, and it seemed like nothing was happening so far. The Zhaymbihr by one of the more rectangular blocks on the staggered road was still running and there were still men with black berets or ballistic helmets still manning their anti-tank missile positions on top of the roofs of the structures. The slow-moving gunbots still patrolled their preprogrammed area of defense, just as their counterparts in the sentry turrets guarding windowsills, narrow causeways, and small foxholes spread about the compound. Nothing, registered the team leader as he observed all this.

He pressed at his headset's TALK Button and found Anakim's frequency of authoritative multiplicity.

"Anakim-Actual, this is Telephus, coming in with a report."

"Anakim copies, Telephus. What do you have?"

"Same old, same old. The Dragoons haven't...wait hold on, Anakim." urgently paused, taking up the binocucom once more and zooming in. The lights and shapes of armored personnel carriers with grenade launchers and TOW missile platforms were materializing in front of him down the lane, and the soldiers that were sticking to their positions - those that were exposed, anyway - suddenly started making a move for those vehicles. They boarded them and they began heading northbound quickly on the other side of Alpha.

"You seein' this, Boss?" asked one sniper, a certain Quinn from a Nolivar suburb.

"Yeah, I see 'em, alright." Alistair rhetorically confirmed. He touched the headset again.

"Anakim, this is Telephus back with a new report, enemy anti-armor regimental troops have begun withdrawing from Alpha, due north. Only remaining threats in the area include the drones and some mobile Triple-A. Confirm transmission, over?"

"Transmission confirmed. Your intel has been relayed to the appropriate sections." the dispatch girl told him.

"Oh, and Anakim." started again Alistair, "Do we have clearance to begin engaging targets?"

"Clearance granted."

"Copy, Telephus is now engaging. Out." Alistair ended, and halted the transmission altogether. He looked left and right at the other men with him, each man having their woodland patterned M24 SWS rifle aimed down range towards Point-Alpha. They peered at him for a few seconds while still clutching their weapons, their faces murky with the warpaint and their expressions hidden by the melded detritus of their fatigued suits. Alistair then gave the orders for his men to start picking off the enemy drone targets and any other remaining human infantry that still patrolled the vicinity. The first shot rang out from the one known as Quinn. His round struck cleanly upon the upper spinal area of one Alecko PG, the area upon which he was hit splattered with a small cloud of blue simunition chalk before he dropped down in an episode of stark agony.

The second shot came from another sniper known as Tyler, whose round barreled deep into the camera of a roving gun drone wielding a light machinegun on its metallic arm, causing it to move around erratically until it fell into a ditch disabled. The men of the Sylvan Sniper Team that Ziyvihron had sent for much earlier than the downed Apache continued picking off the OpFor's personnel and materiel at long range for 30 more seconds until Alistair held up a fist to signify a ceasefire order. He listened and heard the rumbling from above and the thunderous chorus from the southern flank whence they originated. Mortar strike, he and the others correctly thought to themselves. The smoke shells then began sporadically impacting the targeted area about the village in a timely interval.

+ + + + + + +

Just 15 minutes after the mortar barrage's commencement, forward units of the 1st Cav's three premier Brigade Combat Teams - Bronco, Stallion, & Mustang - were sent in to assault whatever remained of Alpha and secure it for its advantageous tactical value. Following them closely behind were vehicles coming up the rear from the Field Logistics Brigade stationed at Starting Point FOB, including the personal detachment of the mobile Aleckandorean HQ unit. Stallion's IFVs struck first in the front, suppressing light and medium Para-Grenadier resistance and offloading platoons of Sylvan soldiers that advanced in tandem with the armor. Mustang, who was on the right flank now, raced ahead with its Stryker IAVs and Abrams MBTs to engage the self-propelled artillery vehicles, especially the fast Zhaymbihr BCMVs.

By 1130 Hours, the mock village was secured and all hostile forces defending it were defeated, sent walking or riding to sideline area as registered casualties; for the 1st Cav, losses were relatively light: 49 soldiers KIA (dozens more wounded), 3 Strykers destroyed, 1 Abrams disabled, and just 5 humvees blown apart. In any lower level of intensity concerning the realm of modern mechanized warfare, this would've been considered nothing short of devastation. However, luckily for the Sylvans underneath the command of their Aleckandorean general, these were acceptable casualties thus far into Operation: Valley Of Kings. But it was not long until the ravenous Aleckandorean Airmobile Dragoons operating under the orders of Ziyvihron's cunning opposite number in the Coalition State Defense Forces mounted a counterattack to break and delay the 1st Cavalry Division's consolidation operations.

Noon came and two Dragoon motorized shock units, possibly those from the 36th's Yangniu [Sianese: "Heavenbeam"] and Rékhälsmûlbhä [Suhraanoseon: "Holy-War"] Light Armed Recon Battalions dashed across the field from the concealed woodland positions. The bulk of their attack came from a plethora of fast attack vehicles in the form of Mizhyunaeri (AKA 'Mizu' Or 'Missionary') armored cars and Zhaymbihrs, supported by a dozen LY7 Rottweiler medium tanks. 20 minutes into the skirmish, the enemy counterattack faded and was repulsed northward by Bronco BCT's heavy armor contingents. However, without an established mobile air defense grid helping to screen them, the Sylvan CO in charge of Bronco became eager to assault the forward encampment at Point-Bravo and violated orders to halt the advance and consolidate positional strength.

In a bid to smash through the Aleckandorean skirmishers' lines with sheer momentum and firepower, believing it to be the Confederate way of doing things that he was trying to adapt towards, Bronco's commander divided the glorious chariots of metal, rubber, and oil that made up the bride of his part of 1st Cav into successive waves. Heavy and light armor formed the spearhead and the flanks, infantry carriers and smaller vehicles formed the rear. But without self-propelled anti-air artillery, it came as a rude shock to the charging men of Bronco when out from behind a treeline in front of them by Bravo rustled violently as the ascending Ecktohvyss VTOL gunships materialized before them. Streams of guided rubberized smoke rockets made to simulate ATGMs decimated the front columns almost immediately, 33 millimeter explosive slugs being rapidly spit in their wake by the swarm of Ectos overhead.

The light armor of the enemy jump-jets was, fortunately for the men of Bronco, able to be exploited by the medium caliber cannons of the IFVs they had with them. Additional MANPADS fired in multitudes were thrown into the fray by dismounted infantry once the 1st Cav recuperated and began hitting back at the hostile aerial threats. The Ectos that weren't downed finally turned tail after a forty minute tactical encounter once the SPAAVs of the Mustang BCT came to their rescue. Helicopters provided by the 4th and 5th Squadrons from the Combat Aviation Brigade came in to provide the advance's escort. But by the time the gunships retreated and the reinforcements arrived, Dragoon berserkers riding in Zhaymbihrs clad in menacing slogans and torn flags raced out and took some surprise shots at the armored cavalry battalions that were shoring up at the site of the last encounter. Six more attack helicopters were taken out, along with several Strykers and Humvees, before the tanks and supporting tank destroyers stepped in to sanitize the area of the Zimbo scourge.

The first initial assault towards Bronco was costly: 54 main battle tanks, 67 other essential personnel carrying vehicles, and around 150-200 men had been wiped out in under an hour of fighting with those pesky pests usually churned out in such huge numbers from some of Aleckandor's massive warplants in the far-off Divided States Of Generex. As the 'dead' forces moved themselves off the controlled educational battlefield, the Sylvan forces had thusly learned for the first time what it was like being thrown against the very tactical meat grinder that their own Coalition State leaders employed. Conversely, the Aleckandoreans on the other side felt the very iron fist of the same breed of strategic advance their own officers hammered into them in their campaigns of liberation the world over.

This, General Eleck Ziyvihron and his opponent understood very well and respected the way it was carried out. However, there was still a mock battle to be won, still an honor to be bestowed upon one side for the glory of their own and for the glory of their people. The battle went on well into the afternoon, and after a pitched heavy armor confrontation as well as resultant dismounted infantry skirmishes, Ziyvihron and the remainder of his reserve forces were able to storm and secure Point-Bravo and Point-Delta by sundown. He personally met with his "captured" opposite number and congratulated him for the courage and cunning he had maintained all throughout the battle - something that had sincerely astonished the traditional Aleckandorean field commander. However, deep down, he felt quite odd - even a little sick - at having defeated his own country's elite warriors with those of another. Regardless, the Airland Bloc of SIMBATSYL had been concluded, and all Alecko-Sylvan forces were to clean up the Training Grounds and accordingly ready themselves for the Closing Ceremony of these joint war-games.

But something had changed; originally, the Confederate units delegated here for both cooperative and competitive tactical and strategic skill building were supposed to head straight back to their respective home bases, whether they be back in Nord Yervhenn or elsewhere beyond the Expanse in other realms that made up the vast Intraversal Commonwealth. Instead, the Caesar, Rôphtór Wêhndyg, had relayed direct executive orders from HIGHCOM in Pandomonita for those forces to remain upon the Casaterran Continent. So by the time the Ceremony concluded later that evening, both the Sylvan and Aleckandorean forces who participated in the Airland Bloc departed silently back to the main transit center they had been stationed at for the past few days. It was a silent trek along the service roads on the way back, no patriotic fanfare or whoops of young men in uniform. Nay, their commanders had told them that they were gearing up for a scenario, a real one. There was a seriously real possibility that what they had learned and accompished here in the exercises that just ended a few hours ago was going to be put to the test in actual combat. In turn, this meant there was a chance that the troops of these two great nations, even though they had formed a bond of friendly competitive comradeship with each other, could be very much killing and dying alongside each other in a conflict that may break out in manner of weeks, perhaps less.

They returned to a base - the largest in the area - situated on a greenbelt next to the Arcadian River, further down the southwest of the Sylvan capital. Here, they exchanged their simulated munitions and simulated weapons for real ammunition, real guns, and real vehicular ordnance. Both Confederate and Coalition State logistics detachments brought in via transport aircraft began supplementing the deployed divisions here with the remaining troops and supplies needed to bolster themselves to full operational strength. Complements of extra forces in particular were also flown in straight from the Foundersland by the Aleckandoreans, including the 7000-strong Special Circumstances Unit: MELKOR, one of the experimental interservices rapid-deployment formations that High Command brought in to strengthen and support larger forces with access to direct Black Operations intelligence and command authority.

After loading up on fuel and other essential strategic provisions, the amalgamated heavily armed contingencies of both the Global Sovereign Confederacy and the Coalition State filed out of the base via the main service road in numerous stretches of columns. With helicopters and VTOLs hovering ahead to their destined staging zones, the vehicles on the ground began merging onto the conveniently uncongested public freeways due further to the west on a trip that would take at least a day. And from there, they headed towards the borders of the little, independent, and ethnically Sylvan Republic Of Sidonia - known to be in possession of sizeable but untapped reserves of the precious black gold of industry and modern transportation.

[Nova Sylva]

SYMBATSYL Joint Operations Exercises
South Carmi Province, Coalition State of Sylva
2000 hours

“Battalions - Atten-huh!”

As one, 2 Ranger Battalion snapped to attention, all eight hundred soldiers moving in perfect unison. They stood organized by company, in parade formation. Behind them, the members of the Aleckandorian 133rd Marine Reconnaissance Battalion lay arrayed in a similar manner, just at parade rest instead of attention.

Less than twenty-four hours ago the two units had fought one another viciously in an mechanized objective-based combat simulation, the only difference from real combat being the ammunition used – simunition, a non-lethal alternative to the real thing. Also called TTR (Tactical Taining Rounds) simunition was essentially a real bullet, save that the FMJ tip was replaced by a canister of paint, and the round held a gram less of gunpowder to prevent the round from penetrating the skin. It still hurt like hell, though.

2. Rangers had been deployed with 1. Cavalry, and 133. Marine Recon with the Alecko Paragrenadiers. They had fought one another viciously, particularly at Point Foxtrot, though both units were upset they hadn’t been a part of the battle’s center of gravity at Point Alpha.

“Pre-sent arms!” The entire battalion saluted, and the flag bearers held the flags ramrod straight in front of them, with a single arm, as the Sylvan National Anthem began to emanate from the speakers.

“Whew,” First Minister De La Calle observed. “Their sharp.” COSGS (Chief of Sylvan General Staff) smiled. “Their the best we have, sir. The most experienced, well-trained special forces Sylva has to offer. Much like our Aleckandorian counterparts, we organize the Rangers into battalions, and operate alongside our conventional forces. We can detail them with specific tasks within larger operations. In this capacity, they will undoubtedly play a crucial role in our battles to come.”

That might be a lot sooner than we think, De La Calle thought dryly.

Colonel Samantha Clarke pivoted on her heel. “Battalion! List off! Farthest company on the right!”

The CO of A Company took three steps forwards, preformed an about face, and screamed at the top of his lungs : “List off, Alpha Company, all present!” This was repeated in all six companies, at which point the flag detail and headquarters company (which in truth was about the size of a platoon) took their places in front of Alpha Company. Then, the Sylvan Army March began to play, and the companies began their parade.

The left foot of every Ranger impacted the asphalt parade ground in perfect tandem with the heavy drum beat in the march music. Eight hundred Rangers, their uniforms perfect, all in exact step with one another – it was quite a sight.

The battalion made a perfect circle, before returning to it’s original position. Clarke’s dominating voice once again commanded the attention of all those present for the ceremony. First, she gave the instruction to order arms, which they followed with the same professionally they had shown in the previous close-order-drill parade maneuvers.

“Battalion! Par-rade, rest!”

As one, the entire battalion assumed the ordered position – feet spread shoulder width apart, hands on the small of their back, right over left. The flag bearers (guide ons, as they were known) assumed a similar position, with their left hand behind their back and their right holding the flags at a perfect forty-five degree angle, with the butt of the flag roughly six inches from the front of their perfectly-polished boots.

De La Calle felt sorry for them, in all honesty. It was the middle of the day, and the hot South Carmi sun was beating down on the men, who all were donned in full dress uniform, instead of the comfortable Khaki that was iconic to the Sylvan military.

“This is my cue,” De La Calle said. He stood, walking to the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Sylvans and Aleckandorians. We are gathered here today, not in competition, but in comradeship. And this is something I believe is not a belief of today, but one of tomorrow - a belief that Confederate-Coalition cooperation that will last much longer than the extent of SYMBATSYL –“

De La Calle’s speech was interrupted by an aide, who ran up and whispered something into his ear. The First Minister’s eyes widened. “They did what?!”

***

OFFICIAL DECREE OF THE COALITION STATE GOVERNMENT

All trading in the Casaterran International Stock Exchange (CISE) is to be halted immediately. Any and all transfers, purchases or sellings, are to be refunded, and all previous financial action on the day of 4 April 2015 are hitherto be considered NULL AND VOID.

Any Sylvan company with holdings internationally, particularly in the Maracaibo Stock Exchange, are also affected by this decree. The illicit creation of new stock, in violation of World Assembly International Trading Compliances Act of 2011, by representatives of the public corporation Universal Petroleum is reprehensible by law. In accordance with the ICTA, and from the authority of the Sylvan Federal Trade Commision, all Universal Petroleum employees on the Casaterran continent are hereby considered persona non grata. All UP assets within any country outside of Meinkraft are hereby considered nationalized by the respective nations in which these assets reside, including, but not limited to : The Coalition State of Sylva (and her entire commonwealth), Combined Sovereign States of Mozria, Volksrepublic of Murovanka, Kingdom of Aemen, Republic of Sidonia, The Socialist Republic of Equin, and Global Confederacy of Aleckandor.

Furthermore, the corporation of Universal Petroleum (or its affiliates and subsidiaries) are no longer welcome to do business in the Coalition State, the Republic of Sidonia, and the Confederacy of Aleckandor. Sylva encourages all other nations on the Casaterran continent to follow this decree, and bar UP from future unethical business on the continent.

Trading will resume on normal schedule on Monday, 6 April 2015, in observance of Easter Sunday (5 April).

“We have yet to hear back from the Murovankans, the Mozrians, the Erquinians and the Aemen,” Finance Minister Lauren Minnis told the First Minister as she handed the telegram to be sent off immediately. After having his speech cut short, the First Minister apologized and promised to make it up to 2 Rangers Battalion, a promise he intended to keep. From the parae ground he was flown by helicopter back to the Acropolis, and by the time they had landed him and Minnis had began writing a decree, which was then wired to every government in Casaterra.

“But the Sidonians and the Aleckandorians have agreed to nationalize UP assets within their countries, and forbid any future trading with their company.”

“And if the other countries don’t?”

“It won’t really matter. Universal Petroleum’s record for accountability and ethics has plunged to nearly zero – first the fire, now this – and they’ll be filing for bankruptcy by the end of the week. Though, knowing the AN, they’ll probably bail them out.”

“And if that happens?”

Minnis shrugged. “So what? Their business is already ruined. That’s what happens when you cheat. I doubt any nation is going to be buying any more oil from UP.”

Yes, the federal government does have the power to suspend all trading and “reset” the day. The reason for this is if the market experiences a sudden crash (like in 1929) the government can rewind, and essentially make it to where it never happened.

True, I’m using it in a different capacity here, and has undoubtedly costed the day’s traders millions of dollars…but the Casaterran International Stock Exchange (in Chandler) is under Sylvan jurisdiction. So while I can’t attack UP within the Allied Nations (because of the smaller Maracaibo Stock Exchange) I can prevent them from ever trading again on the CISE – which takes away at least half (probably more) of their business. In reality, a move like this would put a company under within a day. That, and combined with your ruined reputation…I told you, increasing the stock was NOT a smart thing to do.

Since UP is now forbidden to trade on the CISE, they have, (being a publicaly traded company) also lost all of their assets in countries that trade on CISE – which is just about everyone in Casaterra. Some nations may be nice enough not to nationalize UP’s former assets, but Sidonia, Sylva, and Aleckandor will. Probably Mozria and Erquin and Aemen for all I know. That’s up to them to decide.

Happy fucking Easter

-Syl

[Havensky]

Havensky Republican Airship Ephiany
Personal Airship of Lady Raven
Approaching Sidona Airspace

"Sergio, why do you look so cross?", asked Special Envoy Lady Regina Raven to the Skyan Ambassador to Sidona.

"I'm not cross Lady Raven, excuse me if I have that appearance., replied the noticeably agitated Sergio Vitier. The ambassador was wearing a sharp grey business suit with a bright red tie. A Skyan lapel pin fixed on the right side. Sergio was in his mid-thirties and fairly young for a Skyan ambassador.

The woman seated next to him was shorter with dark skin and impossibly curly hair. She was dressed less formally than her counterpart in a long coat.

"Please, you outrank me and I've never have been one for formalities. Call me Glitch.

Yes ma'am, replied Sergio nonchalantly.

Glitch shook her head.

"You think I'm here to babysit you don't you? Well listen, when we're on the ground it's you in charge. My presence has nothing to do with your work or the work of the arson investigators. I've seen your record and you've received top marks from the Academy of Statecraft and Law. You've served well as a member of Atticus' staff. And, you handled Sovereign International's request for an outside investigator with care and discretion. If Atticus didn't think you were up to the task he wouldn't given you this assignment. My title may be Special Envoy for Science and Engineering - but don't think I'm going to meddle in your work or the arson investigation either."

Sergio's face softened a bit and was replaced by a look of slight confusion.

"Then...

Why am I here?", interrupted Glitch.

"If I recall you leaked information about my service record as ordered correct?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure why. It's an open secret you were with Heartbreak Company during the war. The popular rumor is that you designed the armor used during the rescue along with some of the other tech. That's why they knighted you right?"

Glitch shrugged, "You know I can't talk specifics - but more importantly - why would we leak that?"

Sergio thought for a moment, "Because you want to confirm any suspicion that a foreign intelligence might have about you?

Because?

They'll act differently. The whole area is a powderkeg right now with both sides moving forces to the borders chances are this could break out into hostilities fairly quickly. It be one thing if they attacked with ordinary diplomatic staff in place, but with a high profile Skyan War Hero - it be foolish to risk injuring you. The outrage would be significant. At the same time, with you being a special envoy for mechanical engineering, we can easily say that your deployment is routine. You're here to provide expertise because the fire took place at an oil refinery.

Glitch nodded her head, "That's right - I'm a walking talking insurance policy with a dozen guards. My expertise is robotics - not oil refineries. I wouldn't dare try to guess what happened. That's why I brought a whole team of engineers with me. We'll set up shop in Sondria and once we get clearance the investigation team and the firefighter company will deploy to Meinkraft. We'll patch video through to the team here and I'll route that to oil companies in Texas, Gholgoth, and Sondria to provide insight and enterprise. The High Council simply hopes that my presence will discourage any shooting long enough for you to work out some deal to prevent a larger war. Of course, if the firefighters riding in the back find evidence of foul play that may be a little harder on your end."

Sergio nodded, "I see now... I just assumed from your rank and background.."

Glitch shook her head again, "I was a warrant officer. I never commanded troops and I don't intend to start pulling rank now. Speaking of our firefighters... Allison?

A stewardess came down the aisle with a small cart.

"Yes ma'am?

Could you bring the drink cart around to the back. I want to thank our guests for taking the time out to make the trip.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Mirko Vatrakrilo thanked the stewardess as took a cold beer. A shorter man with dark hair, he had worked his way up through the ranks to finally have command of his own rescue squad. Seated next to his was Lieutenant Derek Redtalon who headed the ladder squadron. In the window seat was Lieutenant Stacy Detek who served as Firehouse 51's fire investigator.

"Some duty we pulled isn't it?", remarked Derek.

"Yeah, I wish we would have been here for the big fire. That would have been one for the storybooks. Entire city blocks on fire with dangerous chemicals at every turn - WHEW - that would have been fun. Right now we don't even know if we're going or not!"

As part of the diplomatic incentive, the Skybound Republic of Havensky was going to offer to bring a Firefighting Company to relieve one of the houses that had battled the refinery fire for period of three weeks. It would give the locals firefighters a bit of a break while giving the Skyan firefighters some training in a different environment. All of their equipment and vehicles were riding in the back of the airship Beast of Burden since they imagined the local trucks needed to go through some major maintenance. Stacy had been brought along as part of the investigation team.

Stacy shook her head, "A fire like that... that shouldn't have been possible. These oil refineries are supposed to have safety features. Pipes to burn off chemicals, shut-down procedures, fire suppressants, their own firefighting crews. Everything has to go wrong for this kind of thing to occur."

"You're thinking arson?

Or something...It certainly doesn't sit right."

[Murovanka]

Krakenhof, Kingdom of Aemen
0200 Hours

Markus Pantelejen and his partner crept along the barbed-wire fence surrounding the mansion, which was home to a well-respected Wankan and his family. The place wasn’t guarded, despite the bubbling tensions between the darker-skinned ethnic Wankers and white ethnic Aemen majority. This made Markus’ job much easier. They reached the place where they’d cut a large hole in the barbed wire the day before, and crept through. Running rapidly amongst the shadows, they reached the door. Nobody was out at this time; the entire town was deadly silent.

It took Markus barely half a minute to pick the old lock, and both of them crept in, pistols with attached silencers in hand. The entire Weissman family lived here; had lived here for several generations, and had become a symbol of the Wankers claim that the Sellenland, as the lightly populated mountainous region was called, belonged to the Wankers. There was no time to waste. They quickly and quietly searched the ground floor. Finding nobody awake, they proceeded into the sleeping quarters. Light rays shone out from the bottom of one of the doors, it was the office. Heinrich Johannes Weissman, Wankan-rights activist, hero of the Sellenwankers and thorn of the local Aemen authorities, was up working.

Carefully, Markus turned the doorknob and opened it. A barely audible screeching alerted the victim that something unusual was going on. But there were two bullets in his head before he could register the masked intruders. It was no pleasure for Markus to kill his own countrymen, but this was necessary- for the greater good of the Wankan Volk. The Weissman family would become martyrs of the Wankan cause, their names would become known across the entire Wankan People’s Republic, and maybe, one day, even a stature of them would be constructed.

Finding nobody else in the office, Markus and his partner proceeded with their mission. They entered every room, silently killing any living being present, regardless of age or gender. Within minutes, the Weissman bloodline had been exterminated, more than a dozen Wankers lay dead on the floor, half of them children. The bodies were heaped together on the kitchen floor. Both proceeded to whack and punch the dead bodies, leaving them in a mess of bruises and cuts. On the walls of the house, they sprayed in red paint:

WANKERS, GET OUT! SELLENLAND BELONGS TO THE AEMEN PEOPLE


Finally, they each produced an Aemen-made submachine-gun.

”Bereit?”

His partner nodded. The night came alive with the sudden twin-fusillades of gunfire as sixty rounds were pumped into the dead corpses. When they were done, they swiftly left the house, exiting via the same way they came from, and disappeared into the night. The first neighbours had awoken, and had already alerted the authorities. When the deed would be discovered, both sides, the Aemen citizens and the Wankan minority, would both pay…

***

Abwehr Headquarters
Kronstadt, Capital of the Volksrepublik Wanka
0900 Hours, Same Day

Abwehr-chief Franz Kanaris rubbed his eyes drowsily. He had barely received 2 hours of sleep since the Allied Nations’ oil disaster had plunged Wanka into the worst crisis since the Dellian insurgency six years ago. Meeting after meeting had been called up by the nations authoritarian (and somewhat corrupt) government, lead by Ulrike Meinhof. Wanka only produced 40% of the oil it required, the rest came from imports, much of it from the AN’s Universal Petroleum. Seemingly every nation on Meridia was now scrambling to survive. Sylva had nationalized all UP assets, and had demanded that the other nations to do the same. But Wanka had refused- it had found a solution. And the solution to the crisis seemed to him the most utterly stupid thing that any government could do in such a situation. Invade and annex part of another country. A country which was more economically developed, had a bigger population and had a far more advanced military. And his job was to give them a casus belli for the planned “return of historically Wankan land”.

Historically Wankan, my ass, Kanaris thought. The history of the Sellenland was quite recent. The geographical position meant that few people bothered to cross the difficult terrain which formed the border between Aemen and Murovanka. Back in the 1800s, Aemen families decided to settle and build villages in the few cultivatable areas near the Donau and Elbe rivers of the Sellenland. Because of the difficulties in terrain, the area remained quite peaceful- until the remains of the Wankan monarchy arrived, fleeing from the popular uprisings and subsequent revolutions which ended several hundred years under the King’s rule. The survivors of the Königliche Garde, the King’s Guard, didn’t hesitate to surprise and occupy the villages of the ethnic Aemen population. The newcomers brutally expelled hundreds of Aemeners from their homeland, forcing them to flee and killing them when they didn’t. Thus, much of Sellenland came to be Wankan-dominated.

But once again, chaos threw the existing Wankan order apart. The Republic of Murovanka was torn into a state of anarchy which lasted for several decades with numerous factions fighting for domination. In face of the chaos, the Aemen King did not let the opportunity to retake what had been lost over a hundred years ago, pass. 1982, Aemen troops invaded the Sellenland and occupied it with little resistance. However, unlike the Wankans earlier, they did not attempt to force their enemies out; instead, more Aemeners were encouraged to settle in the Sellenland. The Aemen population swelled, and conflicts ensued due to racist policies of the Aemen authority. As a result, these policies were relaxed and overt discrimination ceased to exit; however, it was still widely present. The Aemen citizens were treated far more favorably and had a generally far better quality of life. Wankers were far more susceptible to being arrested and executed. This apartheid-like system generated much discontent and anger which continued to rise over the years, and was something the Wankan government was now happy to exploit…

And so, the Abwehr was to play a big role. As the nations foreign intelligence service, it was responsible for primarily these situations. Kanaris’ agents were now actively stirring and provoking conflicts between Wankans and Aemens; the number of wounded, dead and executed (mostly Wankan for the latter) was skyrocketing. Special-Forces squads of the 75. Sturmbattalion and Sturmgeschwaders 12 and 13 were being infiltrated past the porous Wankan-Aemen border with missions to find suitable pathways of advance, gather intelligence on Aemen Army strengths and to prepare for sabotage missions.

***

Hallenburg Militärbasis
Volksrepublik Wanka
1600 Hours, Same Day

Hauptmann Zweistein of B Kompanie, 1. Battalion, 66. Fallschirmjägerregiment (Paratrooper) kissed his tearful wife and two children goodbye. His little ones wouldn’t let go, especially his 7-year old daughter, who understood fully well that her father might not come back.

”NEEEEIIINN… Papa, geh’ nicht!” she squeeled, desperately clinging to his camouflage jacket, causing several heads to turn.

”Papa wird bestimmt zurückkommen. Das versprech’ ich dir. Sei ein gutes Kind und kümmere dich um Mama und dein Bruder, ja? Papa kommt bestimmt zurück.”

He firmly but kindly pulled his daughter away from him, waved at his family for the last time, and headed toward the waiting Transler-400’s military transport aircraft where men on loudspeakers were loudly chanting the respective unit names: ”ROT-BLAU, ROT-BLAU, ROT-BLAU, HIERHER..”

One of his platoon commanders caught up with Zweistein, patting him on his back. Both had red eyes. Nobody spoke until they walked up the ramp into the aircraft, which was already halfway loaded with his company.

“What do you know about our mission?”

“I know as much as you do, nothing more, nothing less. What do you think is going on? As usual, the wording is so damn vague…”

“I’d guess its some bloody Dellen faction acting up again. We’ll probably have to flush them out of the mountains once more- or something like that.”

Zweistein grimaced at that. Both of them had been there, as privates, in the cold mountains near the Wankan-Aemen border. Dellian rebels were waging an expertly-led guerrilla warfare campaign which shook the entire north of Wanka. Together with several Gebirgsjäger (mountain troops) battalions, they were tasked with clearing the network of caves that the Delles were using to stage their attacks. The mission was met with varying success, with massive casualties on both sides. A ceasefire was agreed upon, something which holds to this day. The Dellian rebels still continue to live in the mountains, mostly on the Aemen side of the border, where the local authorities didn’t bother them.

“Still, watch your words. I think Meinhof’s loosening up her policy on the Delles, apparently trying to get them to ‘integrate’. Rumor has it that there are numerous half-Delles in the Armed Forces, and even some full-Delles.”

“Madness, gell? First sign of a rebellion, and they’ll switch sides. These cold bastards should be kicked out immediately.”

Zweistein shrugged at that.

“The regiment commander says they’re the best mountain troops around. Well, we will see. We’re in no position to decide.”

“Hmph.” Zweistein clearly saw that his subordinate wasn’t satisfied by the answer. The issue with the Delles was a twisted and complicated one- what issue wasn’t twisted and complicated? What bothered him about this mission was the vagueness about it. He’d only been told that they might be deployed to ‘protect’ Wankan lives up north, and that his company would undergo preparations and training in the cold mountains. He turned his head, just in time to see the last crates of locally manufactured air-launched anti-radiation missiles and air-to-air missiles get loaded onto the aircraft. The grey Transler-400 rolled out behind the massive Transler-5 strategic transport which was no doubt carrying several of the regiments Wiesel Waffenträger Armored Weapons Carrier on board.

We’re in a massive oil crisis, but the government still has enough to airlift entire divisions across the country. he thought. ”How strange…”

***

Map of the Sellenland

[Nova Sylva]

Rear Edge of the Battle Area
Capernaum, Republic of Sidonia
1400 hours

Sidonia’s capital was a buzz of activity as the forward elements of five Sylvan and four Aleckandorian divisions arrived in the city, which would join the already deployed three Sidonian divisions. This brought the number of Sovereign International troops in Sidonia to nearly half a million, if one included the vast numbers of aircraft, logistical personnel, and naval sailors aboard the many fleets converging on the oil-rich nation.

The Sidonian citizens tried to go about daily life as it had been before the crises – which wasn’t easy. Every day, the roads were clogged with military vehicles heading south. The skies howled with the roar of jet engines from the COSAF-AF fighter aircraft that were arriving in Sidonia by their hundreds. A nightly blackout had been enforced to deter any possible AN strategic bombings – though everyone knew deep down that with modern global positioning systems, it wouldn’t matter either way. Husbands, sons, brothers and neighbors were disconnected from their families as Sidonia called up all of her reservists, and instilled a mandatory draft in an effort to raise additional units to fight the coming storm.

But would it be enough? That was the question on CINC South’s mind as he was driven from the airfield to the Sidonian War Office in downtown Capernaum. The Sylvan Commander In Chief Southern Forces had been ordered to command XIIV Corps, and to take authority – and responsibility – over all Sylvan forces in Sidonia. The problem was, no one knew who was definitively in charge. As of yet, the Sovereign International had no supreme allied commander, though he had a feeling it would be the Sidonian Chief of Staff, General Adam Barnes. He was known as “the Legate” by his troops, a name he wore with pride; he had graduated from Sidonia’s military academy with top marks, before taking command of a regiment, then a division, and finally, all of Sidonia’s military. The problem was, Barnes had never seen actual combat.

War games could only teach you so much, CINC South knew. Nothing could come close to being in the trench with your childhoood buddy getting shot and bleeding out in your arms on some godforsaken Westronian hill, and knowing, what it was really like, to be in the middle of a firefight.

The night sky buzzed was anti-aircraft fire. Flares, lots of them, and the streaks of AHEAD rounds flashing towards invisible specters flying overhead. His company commander yelled something at the eighteen-year old conscript. He watched him mouth the words, but they didn’t register in his mind. His head rattled with every fresh artillery strike, every one closer, every one seeming to shake the earth, and him apart.

The company commander pointed at the ridge’s summit, and blew a whistle. Machine gun fire swooped down on them, and they returned it. More artillery. Someone had the brains to throw down a smoke screen, but the that just went further to blind them, and not the enemy position at the top of the hill. He tripped, and fell, and turned to see what he had fallen over – it was a soldier, a Sylvan soldier, eyes wide, gazing into the heavens above. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. A life, wasted. Like so many others in this damned insurgency…

Why were they charging it? The enemy had a fortified position, and entire infantry company was charging up it’s slopes. They could have flanked it, or waited for armor support. This was the third time his battalion had tried. Every time, the same thing. Who the was the idiot that kept ordering these charges? It was as if they believed the reason the hill had not been taken was because they hadn’t been brave enough. ‘More bravery this time, comrades. Charge up the hill, and don’t retreat this time!’

If we did that, no one would be left to retreat. They were trying the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result. The definition of insanity.

'John!’ I look up, and see Stephen. He’s running up the hill, a few meters ahead of me. He’s turned back, to help me up. He’s still holding that damn heavy machine gun, as if he could fire it from the hip or something. That’s until he suddenly flinches, and looks down at his chest before falling to his knees.

‘I got you, little brother!’ I say, and prevent him from faceplanting. He’s been shot. Through the liver, and their’s no exit wound. ‘Medic!’ I yell, but no one can hear me as the suicidal charge continues up the hill.

‘It’s gonna be okay, man! I got you!’

‘John, it’s alright,’ he coughs. ‘You just gotta promise me…’

‘No, don’t say that! Your gonna be fine!’

‘John! Promise me, man! Promise me, if your ever in charge, you won’t let this happen. Make sure….make sure no one dies becuase of a damn commander’s ego.”

‘If I ever get out of this, and I’m ever in charge, I’ll make sure none of our soldiers die this meaninglessly,’ I held his hand. He smiles at me, trying to moyth words, but it’s the blood that trickles from his mouth.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved a set of worn dogtags. Stephen Clarke, it read. Private First Class, seriel number COSAF-TRF346S.

John Clarke held his brother’s dogtags for another moment before the jeep pulled up in front of the War Office. I promise, brother. Never again.

[Achesia]

Crimson Sea, DLS-Calypso, Tenacious-Class SSA
0945 Hours

The papers hit the bulk head opposite their origin, a stooped over figure pounding his head on the wardroom table. Behind him the mess attendant stood at attention trying not to look at the Lordling wallowing in self-pity. The papers slid to the floor just shy of another set of feet who sat crossed under the table. With a couple sips of his morning coffee the man whom just narrowly dogged the flying papers mocked the slumped figure, scowling in his chair.

"Get over yourself." He took a few more sips before adding more salt to the coffee/cream mixture.

"Another moment in this tin can and I will rip a hole in the side and swim out into the black depths of the sea." He threw his head back and grimaced at his companion. "fuck...this...place."

"Perhaps this will teach your lordship a lesson not to make unwanted advances at the Crown Princess any longer, a stupid idea in the first place." He leaned his head in across the narrow table to almost nose contact with the other man.

"Fuck the Requients and their self center egotistical importance, thinking they can just banish me to the depths for 12 months on this hell can." He shooed away the mess-attendant with a broad wave of his hand when offered to pour him more coffee.

The other man looked around the room and at the attendant before leaning back in with a whisper so loud it was almost pointless. "Are you fucking stupid, you don't just mock the royal family thusly. Thats a good way to be banished to the depths with tin cans tied around your feet, much less in the most advanced sub surface warship in the fleet." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "You better take a lesson from this and suck it up, just because your a Warrick doesn't mean you can just do and say as you please. This isn't the North March where your daddy controls everything. This is a Royal Marine ship, there are very loyal Resolutes here who would give you up to their commanders in a heartbeat, just to see a snobby, green, rich boy like you sent to the brig for treason against the Ackular."

The lordling sat silently, a frown on his face, eyes fixed on the papers that slid back his way.

"Pick those papers up." The other man, wearing the rank of an Army Colonel spouted. The lordling by the name of Arthur Warrick looked as if he was going to refuse at first but soon leaned down to do so.

"A fine way to treat your uncle." The other man stacked the papers back together as Arthur handed them to him. Gregan Warrick was the third youngest brother of the Auck of Warrick. He had been assigned to the Calypso after his nephew the heir of Warrick was assigned here after his several indiscretions at court in Imperium. "Now do your job and review the intelligence reports, the Cancellarius expects a report from you this afternoon on the rising tensions in this area. Think of this assignment almost as a blessing. You are doing work that many just bellow your station would kill for, Here on the front lines reviewing the happenings of the other nations of the world.

Arthur reached out his hand and ripped the paper away from his uncle and crossed his legs and arched his eyes to view the paper with some new found pride in his work, as if he wasn't despising it before. After a few moments of reading he paper (longer then it would take the trained eye to decifer the information) he put the paper back down on the table.

"Increased Sylvan presence in Sidonia, still no decisive commander of the allies involved in the conflict to interdict the Allied Nations." He put the paper down and scoffed. "What do we care of the actions of the capitalists anyways. Let them have at each other, less for us to contend with." He crossed his arms and stared at the far wall.

"It is always in our benefit to know all of what the capitalists are doing. Even if we are not involved." Gregan leaned in, pushing his coffee aside. "Besides we have a new interest in this region. Our new allies in Aemen are close to this conflict and as long as there is heightened tension the council will want eyes near to it. Thats why you are here, the son of a prominent family."

"Now hear this, Lord Arthur and Major Gregan please report to 383." The 1MC suddenly sounded across the boat.

"How dare he summon me, I will..."

"You will do as your bid. Welcome to the military." Gregan stood up quickly and threw the leather folder into Arthurs lap as he walked out.

The pair wandered the corridors of the submarine for a few minutes before making their way to a closed hatch with a guard posted outside. The guard acknowledged the two and hit the intercom button. "Lord and Major Warrick have arrived Sir."

"Let them in." The speaker responded.

The guard punched in a pass code and pressed his thumb against the scanner. The doors opened with a hiss and Arthur and Gregan entered the blue let room. It was a moderate sized room for a submarine. It was about the size of a basketball court with several different computer stations spread about with sailors busy working away. In the center was a large computer table and over it stood a dominating figure of awkward height for a submarine.

Sir Warren Farran was a colonel in the Royal Army and was dressed in the standard digital green camo. The obtuse look on his face seemed to be due to the tight confines of the submersible vessel but as the pair approached Arthur remembered the colonels particular distaste for his lordly presence. Or if looking from the outside in, Arthur's arrogant temperament.

"Bad news."

Arhtur stood there without a response. It better be something important for such a lower person in rank t summon him here.

"It seems the Wankers are preparing to launch an airborne assault on Aemen." The Colonel rolled his eyes in the pairs direction. "I have requested a special address for you to speak with the Cancellarius about this matter." He handed the Lordling who stood an pause a data pad with relevant information to the assault fourth coming. The pad contained information on the makeup of the air armada and the latest intelligence about the Volksrepublik of Wanka and its military capabilities. "You might want to skim that quickly, your on with the council in 30 seconds." The colonel clicked on the monitor and camera that was across the room from the lordling. Arthur brushed himself off and nervously stood up straight and prepared to address the council. As the seconds ticked by the monitor came to life and in front of him sat the Ackular's council seated around a long table in a grand hall back in Imperium. To the left and right of the table sat the several Aucks, each head of their own ministry, one of which was his father Rigal who sat with the others, his face as blank in expression as any.

At the end of the table sat the man who sent Arthur on this mission the Cancellarius, Auck Christian of the House of Lackland. The old man of almost eighty waved his frail hand in the air and with a raspy voice beckoned him.

"Speakk." His words sounded almost a hack.

"My Lords." Arthur bowed his head. "I have urgent news from the Crimson Sea."

"Proceed."

"We have intelligence that the Volksrepublik of Wanka is preparing to launch an attack on Kingdom of Aemen in an undetermined location. It seems to be in response to the recent oil crisis."

"Most disturbing" Auck Titus of Koud the Auck of Culture uttered.

"Indeed, we most respond in support to our new allies." uttered another Auck.

"The Aequorial Battle Group is 800 miles north of the Crimson Sea on patrol. It will take 68 hours for them to re-equip, and then move into position to support Aemen." The Auck Militis informed the rest of the council.

"Move them there now then, have the logistical ships meet them."

"That gives us substantial risk to them."

"Its of no matter, make it so."

"Yes My Lord." The Auck Militis waved his hand to his aids to send the proper communiques.

"As for you Arthur Warrick... have fun on the rest of your cruise." The Cancellarius pushed a button in front of him and the screen went black with silence.

[Aleckandor REDUX]

Level 3 DarFell Meeting
Vöhlkeoph Tower | Downtown Vertygius | Nellech Province (NL)
Original Founderslandian Domain | Nord Yervhenn
Global Sovereign Confederacy Of Aleckandor
[22nd Of March 2015 // 5:45 PM - 6:25 PM]

"My good friend Marshal 'Qyllgóhr' from DAG-R (that's for Developmental Assay Group: Reconnaissance, Arthur) down in Pandox tells me that our milsats above have, for all quintessential intents and purporses, observed the Allied Nations' armies, navies, and aeroforces gearing up for a major move in Casaterra." Rophtor Vohlkeoph soundly divulged before taking a small sip from the exquisite Spartakan olive wine in his diamond chalice, "Well, obviously, nobody else other than the Sylvans, our government, and we members of the Fellowship really know the real ramifications of this silent posturing. Perhaps the Maracaibo Admiralty House in Meinkraft is interested in some new and quite possibly lucrative venture the Confederacy's got working about in the local region, which just might happen to be...oh, I don't know, maybe Sidonia, perhaps?"

CEO Vohlkeoph, as well as ex-URTW Senator Arthur Gelnikos, were sitting in the marble tiled and oblong shaped indoor jacuzzi in the highest penthouse suite of Vohlkeoph Tower, overlooking the north side of a pristine yet menacing skyline view of Vertygius during the hours of the darkening dusk. With them in the hot tub were three other quite powerful Nord Yervhennian men whom were members of the same low-profile Aleckandorean neoconservative geopolitical think tank: Minister Of The National Treasury Khôrbyn Grāvönítzá, along with Operations Director Tíhreon Georsheom and Finance Director Maelkymm Vrüwíll from the Táhnkeon Family Petro-Guild (one of the largest energy corporations in the entire Aleckandorean Confederacy as whole, and though primarily a dealer in classic crude, they also tapped into alternative sources of powering infrastructure grids for profit). None of them were wearing any trunks of any sort, for Aleckandor's practical entrepeneur aristocracy and elected leadership were patricians of both a Roman and a modernist context.

"Sidonia's gonna be working feverishly on getting that Gas Act of theirs passed in Parliament, so it's no wonder the AN wants to grab the damn place before they dry up and go all Mad Max. Conveniently for them, it's close enough to launch a massive enough invasion with the kind of supplies they have remaining in both their civil and military stockpiles." thoughtfully dispensed a cigar-smoking Gelnikos, quite enjoying himself at the fourth Level Three meeting he's been to with Rophtor in a single week. He took the Bodegan cigar from his mouth and freed some of the elegant bluish exhaust from his Casaterran lungs, slightly coughing a bit while thinking: Those gray farming colonists in Oilean sure really know how to make a man gag on some good tobacco fumes. Jesus, are Yervhennian lungs just built invulnerable to this stuff or is it actually just me? He put the cigar down onto an obsidian tray behind his shoulder by the wet poolside.

"Indubitably," started Treasury Minister Gravonitza, "There is little to no doubt that the largest conflict to erupt in the whole of Meridia since the '07 Eviction War will most likely be centered around Sidonia. UP not only wants to keep itself afloat and possessing of a large stake of influence in the Allied structure of world governance, it also wants to survive and endure - for the purpose of profit and expanding it thereof, of course. Oil does (or did, I should more accurately say), after all, represent a large majority of the raw material export surplus that the AN economy enjoyed."

"Which is exactly why UP's Meinkraftian financial assets deliberately shutdown Sylvan Energy's takeover operations through rapid share nullification and price controls a few days ago. Effectively, they've closed themselves down on the global exchange to prevent losing their corporate independence and integrity." Rophtor then said. He made eye contact over with Director Of Operations Georsheom in particular, sitting across from the other three in the bubbling tub with the Maelkymm. "What do the Tahnkeons make of this whole sitch, my good men?" Georsheom blinked and then formed a response in the distinctive Nellechite businessman accent, which made the harsh consonants and growls of the Suhraanoseon language sound rather cordial, if not more sly.

"Well, Mr. Vohlkeoph," Georsheom began, "The Guild as a whole is maintaining its current statuses of production and revenue accumulation, even in such exceptionally turbulent times in this Expanse. However, as you know, Partriarch Tahnkeon and those of his extended clan in the fledgling House Of Rainwaters have been, are, and always will be Aleckandorean patriots on our fiscal frontlines; therefore, they are all following the crisis very closely and making calculated decisions to deal with this crisis resulting from the fire as best as they can."

"Such as?" Gelnikos inquired.

"If you must know, I've begun raising and mobilizing our tactical employees in the Guild's Oil Brigade from private garrisons we've got in and around the Roho Confluence. The airlift of our corporate troops and materiel is already quite underway with full cooperation from CMS High Command. As well as obviously having the capabilities to engage in full combat activities, the Brigadiers will be tasked with defending Alecko-Sidonian petroleum interests from would-be conquerors desperate for their fill of nascent underground resources." Tihreon answered. "I've sent for Adjutor MkZhärvyss of the 8th Amalgamated Operations Levy - some 9600 armed adventurers - for the impending endeavors down the road. He's informed me yesterday that the rudimentary deployment procedures to Sidonia Proper will be complete by tomorrow noon or the morning after that."

"The Petro-Guild is also following Sylvan Energy's example of seizing Universal Petroleum assets operating anywhere within the sovereign borders of the Confederacy." kindly added Director Of Finances Vruwill, sipping from a glass the same kind of olive wine that Rophtor was drinking, "Of course, we are entitled to execute such drastic market maneuvers because of our confederal subsidiary status. Currently, we've shut down six of their international offices and confiscated 30 sealane tankers. We're currently working on freezing any of UP's known offshore monetary assets with help from the Treasury Ministry." He smiled and raised his glass towards Mr. Gravonitza, whence a smile was a returned his way in cheerful acknowledgement. Rophtor nodded at all this and took another sip from his glass.

"I'm assuming the Guild already has personnel on the ground assisting the Sidonians in building their new drilling, refinement complexes, and pipelines?" the young multibillionaire investor asked.

"Yes and no, Mr. Volhkeoph." flatly replied Tihreon. "While it is a physical truism that we have teams of civil employees already transferring in that have begun hiring from the Republic's own lucrative pool of young manufacturing and construction working folk, our major operations simply can't begin yet. Parliament still has to pass that Gas Act of theirs, and afterwards, vote upon whether or not they should organized as a Confederate Province to solidify collective military security, free trade, and a stake in Aleckandor's unifying grandeur for themselves."

"Well, I certainly hope the presence of Sylvan and our own armed forces stationing themselves all over their country ultimately persuades them to take the correct course of action." the Treasury Minister jovially commented. "Is it not the Aleckandorean way to count raised hands inside a building as it is to count the number of wielded guns outside the door?" All the men in the water shared a short chuckle at the implication, if not deviously. Just then, a cellular phone siting atop a white stool by the poolside vibrated. It was Rophtor's.

Vohlkeoph excused himself from out the jacuzzi, putting a towel over his exposed member before exiting the presence of the other men. He picked up the phone and listened to what the other end had to say without speaking a word for at least 15 seconds. After muttering a plain "Thank you.", he set it down upon the stool again and turned to stand and look at Minister Gravonitza, then at Gelnikos, then back at the Minister.

"Khorbyn," began Rophtor, "I thank you for giving me and Arthur this opportunity."

---

Moderated Caucus On The National Gas Extraction Act (Day 2)
Session Chamber | Halls Of Gennesaret | Sidonic Parliament
Gennesaret Capitoline Plaza | Capernaum | Republic Of Sidonia
[25th Of March 2015 // 10:15 AM - 2:30 PM]

The House Of Deputies had already debated the issue yesterday, smoothly presenting their figures and opinions to the whole legislature in the Session Chamber. Now, it was the House Of Legates' turn to shine. The moderated caucus had begun at least two hours prior, with politicians down the rows and aisles standing up and giving proclamations on behalf of their constituencies and grandiloquently restating things said yesterday. However, unlike the Deputies from the day prior, the Sidonian Legates were keen to use their congressional influence and power to swing debates wildly from the annals of moderation to the mires of radical tension. And everyone in the room knew that this shift in mood was about to happen the moment that Opposition Leader and National Prosperity Party Chairman, Member Of The House Of Legates John Fireside, stood up from his seat to reflect upon his positions.

"Freedom, Wealth, & Glory." boisterously recited Fireside, a man of Sylvan ancestry, aged 39 years and in his usual five-figure brownish gray suit, "Are these not the three things which characterize and comprise our proud Republic's motto? Are these not the three things that we as an independent nation-state strive to achieve for all of our people? Young or old? Liberal or conservative? Workers or management? People and government? If not for these high virtues, Sidonia has no reference point, no validity in our sovereign right to exist as an autnomous collective electorate of free individuals that live, learn, and love."

"Forbid it that we should ever betray such grand principles. So I say to those few unto us Parliamentarians that still wish to keep our country's doors closed in solitary decadence, that if you do not support this very vital Act and the next one after it, you are against the three principles which dictate the foundation of our nation! Our free and independent Sidonian nation!" the Legate thundered, to which whoops and clamor from the other Opposition members resounded throughout. The Parliament's Chairperson, Peter Almagro, hit the gavel twice and settled everybody down. A few seconds later, Fireside continued to preach his political evangel, four minutes and forty seconds remaining for him in his allotted five and a half-minute speaking time.

"Over sixty-three percent of the Republic's total population, according to the January Census, is near or at college age and soon-to-be bound for work. In our current infrastructural state, the majority of these young people will graduate not into the lives of prosperity and plenty that was promised to them by their parents, by their schools, and by us - the state. No, some of them will be forced to throw away years of hard work for themselves in our ever-exhausted menial service industries and uncreative office work. Even fewer will become artisans, but the main bulk of this new generation will find themselves unemployed and unsatisified with themselves, and promptly move themselves away from their home country to others which can give them a niche in their economies! We are talking about a deficit not only in our own ability to generate healthy revenue for our country's financial circulatory systems, but a deficit in the incremements of people that are the only reason why these systems exist!"

"Some of you doubt the importance of this legislation vehemently, but amen I say unto you now, this is probably the most important thing we as a legislature have ever deigned to legislate in the history of this young Republic." Once again, even greater applause; and also once again, the banging of the gavel followed by another period of cordial silence.

"If we pass the National Gas Extraction Act, Sidonia will not only have her entire economic infrastructure rejuvenated by a newfound oil and gas refinement and exportation sector, she will experience a rejuventation in national veneration by her own electorate, her own people. Our national gross domestic product shall undergo quantum levels of growth and expansion that will begin to rival even the most powerful existing structures in Casaterra. Jobs will be abundant from both local and foreign investment, and we can alleviate tax rates upon the citizenry with protective subsidization and petro-tariffs. This is our opportunity to really make this Republic work for itself, and I would sure as hell hate to see it be passed up instead passed forth." More applause, more gavel-banging. The Opposition Leader smiled proudly. This is the first time I've seen a spirit of cooperative multipartisanship in years, he thought as he he waited for the other Legates and the Deputies in the chamber to settle down again, I've got this in the bag.

"And that brings me to my other point," again MHL Fireside iterated, "The question of whether we should or shouldn't join the ranks of the Aleckandorean Confederacy, a multinational democratic superstate and a force to be reckoned with throughout this great and unceasing world of ours. Naysayers would argue that we would be selling our souls to a malevolent foreign dominion from the East, but again amen I say unto you, Confederalism will not just affirm the soul of our nation but the very soul of its core values, of which are?!" The MHL then quickly gestured a hand against his left ear and eagerly awaited the recitation.

"FREEDOM! WEALTH! GLORY!" fellow NPP politicians across the row, including some members of the other parties now, boomed in unison.

"You're damn right, fellow Parliamentarians! It's freedom, wealth, and glory for Sidonia!" ecstatically exclaimed Fireside, "Membership in their great Commonwealth for us would not only provide Sidonia the vehicle to profit from the fruits of her national labor, it would take her purpose - her mission statement and social contract - to the next geopolitical level. A true Sidonian patriot can see that this is the way forward for us as a Republic! Those soldiers bearing the red 'A' of Älěck Íēû The Founder upon their standards and patches who are now helping our own to protect our nation from impending banditry will soon be brothers with us in the great story of mankind's progress; yea, we should welcome them with open arms as they take us under their guiding wing." It was at that moment that, with just 30 seconds remaining in his time, Fireside produced a fifty-page packet from his desk that was filled to the brim with small text on every page. Shaking it in the air with a clenched palm for emotional emphasis, the Legate then said, "Here, in my hand, are the names of over 276900 average citizens from across all the 63 Electoral Districts who have signed the 1st Petition For Joining Aleckandor. What other MHLs among my Party has similar packets from other Petitions that have come after?"

Four other men in the Legates' Section stood up across the room and held up similar packets, each one bigger than the last and filled with even more writing. Judging from what was presented, it was obvious that from both this and the continual demonstrations across the nation for months now, most of Sidonia was in fact pro-Confederate. Small murmurs broke out between the the politicans of the other groups and coalitions; apparently, the popularity of the movement, usually spurred on by the National Prosperity Party, was now clearly in possession of a majoritarian advantage. There was no question where the country would land on this particular issue. The gavel tapped lightly from Chairperson Almagro's high stand, upon which he muttered "Fifteen seconds!" towards Fireside's way. The Legate whom was speaking nodded and raised his voice to return attention to himself for a final conclusion to his tirade.

"Men and women of the Session Chamber, the people have spoken! Therefore, I firmly believe that no referenda are necessary for legislation on either the Gas Act or the upcoming Bill Of Confederalization. That is why I, John Wentworth Fireside as First Legate from Electoral District #52, am calling for this Sidonic Parliament to exit moderated caucus and enter voting bloc NOW!" The following uproar was deafening, and none of Almagro's gavel taps were heard as the chamber drowned in the decibels of shouts and pounding.

Eventually, the uproar did die down and a visibly distressed Chairperson ranted about keeping order and efficiency before ruling Fireside's request to end the caucus dilatory (which almost caused another uproar, but Almagro anticipated it enough to hit the gavel extremely hard before it started up again). However, out of all this, Fireside gained a heroic victory among Parliament; suddenly, when the other members stood up - even Chairmen from other parties, such as MHL Mark Dekapoli from the Center and Luke Straussier of the Patriotic Socialists - to offer their commendations and support for Fireside's message, pledging to align their parties with the liberal progressive National Prosperity for once in this committee. The second day of debate concluded a few hours later at 2:00 PM, and when the Legates and Deputies began filing out of the Halls Of Gennesaret with their personal details of secretaries and analysts, there was a faint wind of change felt about the air.

+ + + + + + +

But if there was one person who felt embittered against the rising tide of political transcendentalism in Sidonia, one could find him a few blocks across town, sitting in the Presidential Residence. 4th President of the Republic Of Sidonia Matthew Lanceman was that person's name, and even though he ran on an Independent ballot using his own connections within the private farming industry to fund the campaign, he quite was a staunch conservative through and through. The Traditionalist Party and the Libertarian Party each viewed him respectively as 'their' man, something that Lanceman was not really prepared to admit. However, in recent days, he had taken a much more vocal stand with them against what he saw as the 'prostitution of the Sidonian realm to people who don't look at all like Sidonians, much less were borne of Sidonian blood'. Sure, he welcomed the Aleckandorean troops as much as the Sylvans to help defend his the Republic's territorial integrity against an increasingly desperate Allied Nations. But was he prepared to accept erasing Sidonia's identity as a singular cultural and economic unit? Of course not.

He turned off the TV in his office as the Parliamentary Transparency Channel went off the air for the day and sighed deeply. How? he had often asked himself in his rocky and old mind, How do the denizens of not only Sidonia, but of Baktoidia and of Pancosa and of other places...how could they just up and get the nerve to give up their central authority to an artificial entity that only expands and expands and expands...like an intellectual and cross-cultural cancer that is boundless in measure! How did it all come to this? What at am I do as my position of head-of-state in this country gets reduced to that of a lowly Provincial Governor in a system that I don't wish to care for? And God give strength to me if I have to send our children on those meaningless expeditions of 'liberation' and 'democratization' to far-removed places and peoples who we don't even know!

The Sidonian President's negative train of thought was interrupted by three soft knocks at the door of his office.

"Enter!" he permitted, and the doors opened slightly, to which a black-haired maid with a pixie cut peered her head in.

"There is someone here to see you, Mr. President, sir." she softly declared.

"Did they say who they were?"

"Yes, sir, he did."

"Well, who are they?"

"Sir, he says he's from the Embassy...the Global Sovereign Confederacy's Embassy, sir. Shall I lead to you him?"

"Fine." sighed the President, after standing there for about four seconds contemplating whether or not she should deal with this. He followed her out the door and passed the two rifle-wielding Republican Marine guardsmen in official battle-dress, and down the torchlit hallway of quartz and marble. Eventually, they reached the edge of the lower antechamber by the center doorway. With the President nodding to the maid and gesturing her off, he opened the door and stepped through. He walked forward and down the middlemost of the three staircases in front of him and scanned the room. On his right, that's where he spotted the official, and made his way towards him cautiously.

He isn't gray, Matthew realized, upon approaching him close enough to extend his arm for a polite shake of the hand. He must be a Jecasu or a Southern Arkotanian. Maybe a Generexite even.

"President Lanceman," the oddly accented non-gray Aleckandorean male started with a smile that perhaps looked sincere, "It is my utomost pleasure to finally have the chance to meet you in the flesh."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, as well." said the President in response, a forced slight smile forming across his face as their shaking hands released from one another.

"Allow me to introduce myself, sir, I am Chectir BhiDiskom - the humble Cultural Attaché in the service of the Honorable Ambassador Síllzhyn Tzôrähníy."

Definitely a Generexite by blood, the contrarian Sidonian President confirmed once he heard the name of the attaché uttered. Cultural Attaché, huh? Maybe this guy is responsible for the corruption of my country's youth's susceptible minds, imbuing them with alien ideals of confederalism and 'progressive action'...maybe he's the reason what little university campuses we have are chalk full of liberal arts professors and social activists feeding them the poisonous milk of Alecko propaganda...

"Well, sir," started the Attaché in the cheery tone of his native accent, "I know it must be hard or difficult for you in these troubling times here in Capernaum, what with the dealing with the oncoming war with those blue-helmeted lads from the Allied Nations and all. Wars are dreadful, dreadful things, aren't they? They quite often make you late for supper. Haha, but jokes aside, if it is possible for you to make space in that tight presidential schedule of yours, Ambassador Tzorahniy is actually holding a spontaneous banquet tonight at six-thirty at the Embassy."

Mr. BhiDiskom, with a nimble wrist motion from his hand, elegantly slipped out a small black card from the left breast pocket of his suit's jacket. He presented it to Lanceman, upon which Lanceman took the card in his hands and flipped it open on the side of its contents and recited the gold laced and red stroked words upon it below the official Day-Star insignia of the Confederacy.

"Dear President Lanceman," Matthew read from the the invitational card, "I would be delighted if you could be so kind to attend the banquet I am hosting. If you do end up going, I would very much like to see you and speak to you in-person. It has been years since I have been in the presence of the Sidonian President, and with the dark times brewing ahead for Septentrion as a whole, it is my sincere wish for you to come and give me the blessing of conducting a conversation with you. You can expect to see parliament members and officers within the militaries of Sylva, Aleckandor, and your own Republic there. So please do find it in your best interests to be there. I and my staff would be very much elated to receive you. Yours Truly, Ambassador Tzôrähníy." After Matthew finished, the Generexite-Aleckandorean smiled.

"And elated we shall be indeed, my good sir, if we were to receive you." he said to the President. Lanceman, nodded and understood, and thought hard for a moment. Perhaps I should, perhaps I shouldn't, he tried to decide. After a few seconds, he finally chose his course.

"Alright, Mr. BhiDiskom," Lanceman uttered with confidence, "I will go."

"A splendid decision, Mr. President!" exclaimed the attaché with gleeful zeal. "Well, I guess I'll be off now. Good afternoon to you, sir! We shall see you tonight at the banquet! Remember that it is 6:30!" he spoke after on his way out the lobby of the Residence.

"Thank you, and good afternoon to you as well!" the President lastly replied, "And give my regards to the Ambassador!"

Chectir soon got into his black diplomatic sedan and drove off from cobblestone carriage way and back towards the main city via the exit road. Once the vehicle was out of view from the pristine windows, President Matthew Lanceman of Sidonia just stood there with the card in his hand. He looked down at it and opened it up again. He scanned the contents of it with his eyes, trying to read it for some implicit tone that denoted contempt or condescension. Then he looked at the Day-Star stamped on the top portion of the content side, he peered into it and felt that the dark, bloodred 'A' was gazing straight into him - straight through his soul. He felt sick. He crumpled the card into a small, ruinous ball and tossed it in through a chute leading straight to a receptacle in the wall. Global and sovereign my ass, was his last sullen musing before heading up the stairs again and back to his office to prepare for the dinner that night.

---

B.O.B.A. (Black Operations Brigade: Aleckandor) Darksite "DIAMOND SWORD"
EXACT LOCATION UNKNOWN | Somewhere In The DRMK
Allied Nations | Continent Of Casaterra (AKA West Septentrion)
[DATE & TIME UNKNOWN]

This Is An Encrypted Communications Exchange Between 2 Unauthorized-Tier BOBA Darksites. The Classified Transcript Thereof Is As Follows:

Code: Select all

IRON MOUNTAIN: Ping. <// Daily Passcode Phrase 1: Setting Sun //>

DIAMOND SWORD: Double-Ping. <// Daily Passcode Phrase 2: Last Light //>

IRON MOUNTAIN: Triple-Ping. <// Daily Passcode Phrase 3: Thrush-A-Knockin' //>

DIAMOND SWORD: Quadruple-Ping. <// Daily Passcode Phrase 4: Shine Upon It //>

IRON MOUNTAIN: {{Enter: SECURE LINE W/H 'DARKSITE - DIAMOND SWORD'.}}

[[[FREE TRANSMISSION NOW ACTIVE; SAFEGUARDS LAUNCHED FROM DOCKET; ALL HAIL ALECKANDOR!]]]

IRON MOUNTAIN: General report for Global. Immediate relay imperative.

DIAMOND SWORD: Refinery Fire contained thus far. Skyan Diplomatic Corps have deployed investigation team and firefighting personnel to Spreck. Universal Petroleum nationalization efforts stagnate, but underway. Allied Nations surface, naval, and aerial garrisons have increased all over the Maracaibo area. Majority of government reserves being pooled together for stockpile and utilization at various martial installations. Confirmation of objective imminent military action in Casaterra by Allied armed forces to be conducted within one to two months, perhaps less. Target is definitely the Republic Of Sidonia for its untapped deposits, which is now being reinforced with Confederate and Coalition State troops in response. End of general report.

IRON MOUNTAIN: Copy on all, Diamond Sword. Orders have been transferred directly from The Hexagon. Stand-by for reception.

DIAMOND SWORD: Acknowledged.

IRON MOUNTAIN: {{Attach 001 File(s) Entitled: 'NEW TARGET DESIGNATION & NETWORK EXPANSION DUTIES'.}}

DIAMOND SWORD: {{Open: LAST RECEIVED FILE(S).}}

IRON MOUNTAIN: What do you think?

DIAMOND SWORD: Arduous tasks, but they will be completed within the operational timetable according to Brigade parameters and protocol.

IRON MOUNTAIN: Excellent.

DIAMOND SWORD: Will that be all for now, Iron Mountain?

IRON MOUNTAIN: Affirmative, that is all for now. Carry out your new directives and continue to reconnoiter your zone of specialty.

DIAMOND SWORD: Understood, continue your directives as well. Diamond Sword, out.

IRON MOUNTAIN: Iron Mountain, out. {{Copy: ALL PREVIOUS MESSAGES.}} {{End: CURRENT TRANSMISSION.}}

[[[TRANSMISSION BETWEEN ALL PARTIES TERMINATED; SAFEGUARDS RESTORED TO DOCKET; ALL HAIL ALECKANDOR!]]]

[Aleckandor REDUX]

CONFEDERATE MILITARY SERVICES' ORDER OF BATTLE FOR THE SIDONIAN CONFLICT:

Grand Aleckandorean Land Army (GALA) 112. Mechanized Cavalry Division ["Greensleeve"]

Officiated by Marshal "Sêllkhyr Lízhühn" [SACSIDONIA], commanded by Major General "Věppír Raiabûzhíē". Estimated 13000 Regulars dedicated to medium-sized armor and personnel carrier maneuver warfare, supported by self-propelled howitzers or MLRS forces and defended by heavy SPAAVs. Charged with the defense of the northern flanks on the fields just below the suburban townships of Wessex, Kyleton, and Electrium; as well as defense, potential counteroffensive operations - if opened - will be methodically conducted.

> 93. Mechanized Infantry Brigade
> 124. Armored Shock Regiment (Guards)
> 125. Armored Shock Regiment (Guards)
> 65. Mobile Artillery Combat Team
> 78. Air Defense Artillery Battalion
> 231. Operational Sustainment Force

Grand Aleckandorean Land Army (GALA) 36. Airmobile Dragoon Division ["Dervish"]

Officiated and commanded by Lieutenant General "Aerynn Qwynmhär". 12500 Para-Grenadiers specializing in the fields of fast vehicular combat and anti-armor/anti-aircraft warfare, equipped primarily with ATGMs, light infantry combat vehicles, rapid multirole assault craft, various foward aerial gunships, and a plethora of field artillery pieces. To defend the Outer Cherbourg Salient and the Cherbourg Farming Village itself alongside Coalition State Of Sylva's 24. ACR with limited strength, remaining forces held in reserve at the northeastern pre-battle staging zones until called for.

> 84. Airborne Infantry Combat Regiment
> 85. Airborne Infantry Combat Regiment
> 101. Medium Mechanized Brigade
> 56. Aero-Cavalry Detachment

Grand Aleckandorean Marine Legion (GAML) Order XXIII ["Háhrgôl"]

Officiated and commanded by Lieutenant General "Ělěck Zíyvíhrôn". 12500 Marine Legionaries in a standard divison-sized array whose main role on any given battlespace is to directly engage symmetrical hostile formations using deep battle strategies, and they are given a large increment of main battle tanks, IFVs, tank destroyers of all sorts, armored cars, utility support helicopters, heliborne UCAVs, and sniper teams equipped for laser designation and field assassination tasks. Staggered deployment across major lines of defense and potential encirclement pockets at Calvary Heights, just to arid south of the Capernaum Metropolitan Area.

> 133. Force Reconnaissance Battalion (Guards)
> 93. Infantry Brigade
> 323. Heavy Armor Regiment
> 88. Rocket Artillery Battalion
> 69. Rotary Cavalry Detachment
> 475. Operational Sustainment Force

Privatized Brigade Of Condign Brigands & Adventurous Crusaders (Oil Brigade) 8. Amalgamated Operations Levy ["Clanker"]

Officiated and commanded by Adjutor "Wyllíáhm MkZhärvyss". Approximately 9600 Petro-Guild mercenary troops listed as part of a government-loyal Independent Battle Formation (IBF), complete with anti-armor vehicles, HIFVs, medium or main battle tanks, mobile cruise missile batteries, and light utility helicopters. Situated mainly in the vicinity of Samson Hill Oil Field (which is currently being built), and tasked with reinforcing the 23rd Marine Order with support in the form of fuel logistics, combat rescue, missile artillery missions, and direct surface contact with enemy using skirmishing tactics.

> "Tikal" Mechanized Combat Group
> "Kadesh" Armor Group
> "Memphis" Field Engineer Group
> "Babel" Missile Artillery Group
> "Harappa" Helicopter Group
> "Samarkand" Supply Group

Black Operations Brigade: Aleckandor (BOBA) Special Circumstances Unit: "MELKOR"

Officiated and commanded by Colonel "Noxim Kemverro". About 7000 elite and technologically advanced interservices rapid-deployment personnel underneath direct Black Operations strategic authority, well-versed in responsive combined operations by way of heavy mechanized shock infantry, AiMU special forces troops, cavalry fighting vehicles, wheeled tank destroyers, recon drones, as well as extensive forward VTOL air support. If the opportunity is presented, the unit will punch through gaps in the enemy advance to devastate supply lines and command chains before melting back into main defensive positions; otherwise, held in reserve alongside the 36. Airmobile of the PG Cohort.

> 15. GALA Light Armed Reconnaissance Battalion
> 8. GALA Armored Chariotry Squadron (Guards)
> 11. GALA Armored Chariotry Squadron (Guards)
> 14. GAML Elite Infantry Detachment (Guards)
> 43. GAAF Special Airland Mission Force (Guards/Special Forces)
> 66. AiMU Special Operations Element (Special Forces)

Grand Aleckandorean Air Force (GAAF) 34. Air Division ["Forneus"]

Officiated and commanded by Vice-Marshal "Qaeríy Kärlaiyúll". Standard Aleckandorean Air Division with the whole rundown: air superiority fighters, ground attack craft, tactical bombers, strategic bombers, transports, and AEWS planes. Using various military airports and transit bases found in both the Republic Of Sidonia and in the Coalition State Of Sylva to effectively conduct all manner of anti-aircraft, CAS, SEAD, or basic logistical operations.

> 46. Tactical Air Wing
> 47. Tactical Air Wing (Guards)
> 104. Close Air Support Group
> 75. Tactical Bomber Squadron (Guards)
> 35. Strategic Bomber Squadron
> 9. Command & Control Component

Grand Aleckandorean Naval Force (GANF) Power Projection Echelon VIII ["Vishqekh"]

Officiated and commanded by Commodore "Khenbish Guktirka". State-of-the-art expeditionary naval formation heavily inundated with the advantages of long operational strike ranges, a consistent chain of supplies from a multitude of offshore bases, and packs of heavy firepower. Currently deviating from a routine patrol course to the Wembley Ringlands from Naval Air Station "Endline" in the former Kokian Empire, now steaming towards the Meridian Expanse's westernmost edges and then towards Casaterra.

> AGNV NCV-81 "Zheophôn" (Nuclear Supercarrier) [Assortment Of +105 Aircraft]
> AGNV MS-06 "Halcyon" (Arsenal Ship)
> AGNV MS-15 "Fregata" (Arsenal Ship)
> AGNV CC-576 "Komet I" (Missile Cruiser)
> AGNV CC-577 "Komet II" (Missile Cruiser)
> AGNV CC-578 "Komet III" (Missile Cruiser)
> AGNV CC-1885 "Legend Of Argus" (Missile Cruiser)
> AGNV DV-1182 "Turbulent Times" (Guided Missile Destroyer)
> AGNV DV-3355 "Think Twice" (Guided Missile Destroyer)
> AGNV DV-2598 "Ísskaendhär" (Guided Missile Destroyer)
> AGNV FTP-654 "Gunray" (Modular Frigate)
> AGNV FTP-655 "Eokóllûdyn" (Modular Frigate)
> AGNV FTP-656 "Death Cult" (Modular Frigate)
> AGNV FTP-657 "Positron" (Modular Frigate)
> AGNV FTP-1089 "Clear Mind Intelligence" (Modular Frigate)
> AGNV FTP-1090 "Superceder" (Modular Frigate)
> AGNV SSS-343 "Rage & Grace" (Attack Submarine)
> AGNV SSS-344 "Torvald" (Attack Submarine)
> AGNV AOV-6789 "Dove Nest I" (Large Amphibious Troopship)
> AGNV AOV-6790 "Dove Nest II" (Large Amphibious Troopship)
> AGNV AOV-6791 "Dove Nest III" (Large Amphibious Troopship)
> AGNV AOV-6792 "Dove Nest IV" (Large Amphibious Troopship)
> AGNV FR-2553 "Sundered Satisfier" (Sea Refueler)
> AGNV FR-2914 "Quintessential Quencher" (Sea Refueler)
> AGNV GHV-888 "Deluxe Liveware Troubleshooter" (Hospital Ship)

[Nova Sylva]

SYLVA, SIDONIA, ALECKANDOR FORMALIZE ALLIANCE
Septentrion League officially formed

CHANDLER, COALITION STATE – A joint press conference with the Aleckandorians, Sylvans, and Sidonians last night announced an agreement between the three nations to sign a non-aggression pact and agree to a mutual defense treaty. Details are far and few between, however Sylvan Secretary of State Meredith Foster outlined a plan to establish a joint high command and intelligence service, as well as trade agreements and emigration treaties.

The treaty itself outlines the promise of both nations to not engage in hostile military action against the other, and for all participant nations to defend each other if attacked. It was hinted at during the press conference that the agreement could lead into closer ties between the three nations, such as a free-trade agreement or a joint expedition for oil in the Strachan Sea, though this has not been confirmed to be on the agenda of any of the three signatories.

“First and foremost,” Foster said during a Q & A session following the speech, “the Septentrion League’s goal will be the defense of Sidonia from the Allied Nations. I’ll go right ahead and say it – the AN is looking to invade. And we will stop them.” The Allied Nations’ Foreign Affairs Office could not be reached for comment.

It is no secret that the AN is mobilizing along the Sidonian border for an invasion. The northbound highways in the AN have been crowded with military vehicles, training regimens for AN soldiers have increased, and reserves are being called up. Sylva and Aleckandor have specifically warned the Allied Nations on separate occasions that any invasion of the Allied Nations will be met with direct military intervention, though it is unclear of what magnitude.

“If the AN launches offensive operations against Sidonia,” says APJ strategic analyst Major John Fred (COSAF-AF, Retired), “This could easily become a regional war. We could see the Aleckanodrians and the Sylvans countering the AN not just in Sidonia, but along every possible front. This means we could see battles in Concordia, on Catalina Island – even mainland Sylva, if the AN manages to defeat the SL’s forces in Sidonia.”

The SL has also left open the possibility to bring other Septentrion and even nonregional nations into the alliance, and singled out Mozria as a possible signatory.

Aleck Yu contributed to this article.

JOIN THE DISCUSSION | REGIONAL HEADLINES | ABOUT APJ |

[Aemen]

Krakenhof, Aemen
Twelve hours after the killing.

Standing in his office in the mountain town's small constabulary, Jeroen Korst rubbed his forehead as he poured over the photos of the crime scene. There had always been tension between the two ethnic groups of Aemen and Wankans ever since a younger King Reginald II had ordered the Sellenland to be retaken over three decades ago, but never had there been anything like this. The abundance of the splattered blood, the bullet-ridden and maliciously mangled bodies, the soul-ripping messages of hate scrawled into the walls. It reminded Korst of the time when he was a child, during the heated period of unrest that marked the last few days of the first Reginald, the King's father, along with the bloodshed that followed it.

As the Krakenhof detective looked over the evidence, stood beside him was William Arpen, dressed in thick clothes, sturdy boots and waterproof gloves to counteract the grim chill of the mountain air.

Korst sunk back into his rickety seat, sighing heavily and picking at the raised patterns on the chair's wooden arms. “Normally, at this point, I'd be in contact with the relatives, trying to calm them down, assuring them we'll catch the killer. That's what I'd be doing if there were any relatives to contact, anyway.”

Arpen moved closer, looking over the photos for himself. He held his hand over his mouth after spotting the pictures of the bodies, they were hardly recognisable and had been viciously torn apart by small arms fire. What remained were bruised and swollen corpses that barely resembled humans. “The children as well...”

Korst rubbed his forehead, trying to force his brain to process the situation at a quicker pace. “Will, what fucking monster could have done this? Here? This doesn't happen here.”

Arpen wasn't law enforcement himself, he was one of Salian and Co.'s legal advisors that lived in Krakenhof and worked on renewing the company's Sellenland oil operation as well as representing the staff that worked there. Korst had invited him to the constabulary because of the vicinity of the crime to the oil fields and because of the ethnicity of some of his employees. He stood silent for some time, reluctantly taking in the horror of what lay before him. “What can I do to cooperate, Jay?”

“Well, you're going to have to keep all of the Wankans on the oil fields away from their place of work. We're going to increase police patrols and we've pulled more men from Siegen to help with that.”

“You want me to keep just under a dozen workers away from their jobs? Jay, if they don't work, then we can't pay them. That's company policy.” Arpen replied. It wasn't any secret to those on the higher pay grades of Salian and Co. that the business was a part of the Royal House of Olbridge's brand. Prince Ivan was the one pulling the strings and King Reginald was playing the tune to which his son danced. The Salians, the company's original founders, were only kept around as figureheads, as frontmen, as shields for blame.

“They'll have to cope Will. We recovered one of the murder weapons from outside the property, I didn't need to send it off for analysis to recognise it as being one of ours. I've seen soldiers from the watchtowers with the-”

Korst stopped and both men's eyes suddenly widened. The small Sellenland garrison of soldiers were the only people with access to those types of firearms in the area, if one of them were involved...

“My God,” Arpen uttered. “You don't think... that it was one of them, do you? One of the soldiers?”

Korst rose from his chair, stroking his chin in a tense moment and walking to the other side of the desk, looking at the crime photos. “I'm going to have to write a report to the Ministry of Enforcement. If there's a deranged ultranationalist soldier with a supply of ammunition and a functioning weapon on the loose, then they have to know.”

Aemen Air Space
Eighteen hours after the killing

Usually, the skies of the Sellenland were clear, calm, with only solitary birds of prey hunting for their next meal occasionally dotting the beautiful blue expanse. Today, however, that peace was shattered by the drone of helicopter rotors slicing through the air. The Ministry of Initiative, upon hearing of the incident in Krakenhof from the Ministry of Enforcement, decided to take matters into its own hands. High Minister of Initiative Augustus Folcwalding had ordered the Inspectorate, the small but ruthless arm of military law in Aemen headed by Augustus' eldest son Commander Niels Folcwalding, to depart immediately for Krakenhof to investigate Korst's claim of a renegade soldier.

Two black Chinook helicopters bearing a modified Ministry of Initiative symbol on the side began to descend as they came into the vicinity of the Sellenland's mountain range. Niels Folcwalding sat in the front of one of the helicopter's cockpits alongside the pilot as both airborne vehicles sped through the sky towards Reiterhof Air Field. Niels was holding on to a file of evidence and facts on the case and began to mentally run through that million dollar question.

What happened?

Was it really a soldier gone mad? Aemen troops don't shoot Aemen civilians, least of all when they're stationed in areas of residence. So, could it really have been racially motivated? All Aemen soldiers undergo psychological probing upon their attestation to root out symptoms of mental illness or extreme tendencies, was it possible someone had slipped through the net? What ever the case, the killing had happened and measures were now in effect to find the perpetrator. Niels' own eye in the sky, an unmanned aerial drone, was due to make regular and random passes over the area in the coming days, keeping a close watch on the settlements in the Sellenland for anything out of place, but its full attention would be on the Wankan-Aemen border. The Ministry had its skepticism on the true nature of the crime, as did Niels, which was probably the reason the High Minister ordered the Inspectorate to the Sellenland in the first place; simply for appearances, if not for the citizenry, then for interested observers of a foreign disposition.

A voice crackled through on Niels' headset, the thick Wankan accent throwing the Folcwalding off slightly. “I-V2 and I-V3, you are clear to land. Welcome to Reiterhof.”

Olbridge Castle
Erus

“You did what!?” shouted Roseanna to the King, her dissatisfaction echoing around Olbridge Castle's library where the father and daughter were conversing. “You promised me to someone I don't even know!?” This was the first Roseanna was hearing of her betrothal to a foreign prince. “You can't possibly expect me to go through with this father!”

Reginald stood firm against his daughter's protests. “Roseanna, we are experiencing a time of crisis, we need allies and the Achesian monarchy are suitable for that role. Not only will this allow us more time, it will bring us closer, economically, politically and militarily, towards a kindred spirit in an increasingly unstable world. Perhaps I will even find wives for your brothers amongst their nobility.”

“You traded me for a few drops of extra oil and some spare guns? Do I mean that little to you!?” The Princess stomped her foot. As the head of some of Aemen's largest charities, the thought that her work would suffer as a result of marriage was unbearable.

“Now you're being dramatically childish, Roseanna.” Reginald retorted. “I have a kingdom to run, a kingdom which is currently suffering one of the worst oil shortages of its time. As an Aemen Princess, you will do your duty to this nation and, right now, your duty is to secure this alliance.”

Roseanna was on the verge of tears, but she knew her father was right. If there was one thing she had learned during her father's forty one year reign, it was that everyone had their part to play. She moved along one of the library's vast and ancient oak bookcases, never leaving her father's sight, whilst contemplating her answer and the words she would use to convey it. “Alright...” she turned to Reginald, taking in a breath. “I'll do it. I'll marry him, if that's what I need to do, but I want to meet him first. Here, at the Castle.”

Reginald's facial expression refused to change and without hesitation he gave his answer. “Fine. I will give you your first meeting. Remember, no matter how it goes, you will marry him.”

“Yes, I understand that father. It's for the good of Aemen that I do.”

There was a knock on the library's imposing and impressive double doors. After a moment's wait, the door opened, letting one of the Castle's attendant's creep through. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, the First Minister has arrived to speak with Your Majesty.”

Reginald beckoned the attendant. “Send him in, the Princess and I are done.”

Roseanna curtsied to her father before passing by First Minister Nathaniel Capp on her way out of the library. The First Minister bowed his head and the attendant left the two men alone.

“How have we progressed since our last meeting?” Reginald asked, sitting down on a comfortable gold-trimmed light green sofa, far away from the bookcases. In their previous encounter, the King had ordered that the Ministry of Finance was to absorb the small presence Universal Petroleum had maintained in Aemen, transferring the confiscated assets towards housing revitalisation projects in Greerton.

Capp took a seat opposite the King, shuffling into a position which kept his back straight. “Yes, Your Majesty. The Council Authority contacted my office in the evening yesterday, they've received the assets and are putting them to use in the Lower Residential District.”

“Good. Is there news on the Sidonian situation?”

“As you know, sir, Sylva, Aleckandor and Sidonia have formed the Septentrion League to combat the Allied Nations' possible invasion. Channels are open to secure talks with their ambassadors should we seek to-”

Reginald cut Capp off, holding his his hand up to stop the First Minister in his tracks. “I'm not interested in joining their little clique, Nathaniel, at least not for the moment. Tell them I am considering alternative options. Should the Allies invade Sidonia, I do not wish to be on the losing side.”

Capp didn't stutter. He knew any expression of disagreeing with the King would be taken as a sign of insubordination; Reginald wanted a First Minister who was loyal to him above all others, not one who thought his own ideas were better heard. “Yes, sir. I'll have the Ministry of Relations stay in the loop. I have also authorised High Minister Augustus Folcwalding's request to send Inspectorate investigators to the Sellenland. The local police force there believes a renegade soldier is responsible for killing a Wankan family.”

The Sellenland. Reginald remembered the time he'd ordered the invasion of the region during a particularly bloody period of Murovanka's infighting. He wasn't fond of the ethnic Wankans in the area, though to deport them simply because of who they were was bound to attract the ire of neighbouring nations. “And the drone?”

“It will run random patrols skirting just on the border, sir. If the Wankans are up to something, I don't believe they will suspect us of having our inklings.”

“And the oil. Have we made any progress?”

The First Minister licked his lips nervously, looking down at the floor and taking in a breath. “None yet, sir. The Ministries are exploring all possible options, though Achesia's contribution to our reserves has made us more comfortable for the time being, it's not recommended that we rely on them, especially if and when our reserves do run dry. We will continue to formulate a long-term plan but with the situation becoming more unstable all around us sir, the oil shortage may become the least of our worries.”

The King rubbed his chin in thought, turning his attention to a large ancient world map of the continents of Casterra and Yervhenn which was displayed on the wall above the library's bookcases. “Perhaps it will, and that may be just what we need.”

[Havensky]

Sidonia

The Epiphany landed at the airport and quickly disembarked it's passengers. The diplomatic team had done it's best to rest on the airship since it was going to be a busy time from here on out.

Four Skyan Legionaires in white armor saluted Ambassador Sergio Vitier and Lady 'Glitch' Raven as they walked out onto the tarmac. They returned the salute before venturing into the armored car. The diplomatic team would head for the Skyan Embassy right away, while the firefighters would venture to a nearby hotel.

Once in the car, Glitch and Sergio began to pour over the latest intelligence reports that had been transmitted in the past few hours. It was the troop movements that were the biggest concern.

"This whole damn region is a power-keg. It's hard to imagine all this trouble from one single fire.", muttered Sergio.

"What's your first move Ambassador?", asked Glitch.

"Press conference... somebody needs to calm these groups down before they start shooting."

* * * *

The television cameras were already set up when Sergio arrived. Various members of the press corp were already seated as Sergio stepped up to the podium. The podium was tall with the Skyan seal affixed to the front with Skyan and Sondrian flags set up behind him. Translators stood just slightly off stage in order to give real time translation to the reporters in the room.

Good afternoon,

It is with great regret that we find the region in this state of heightened tension. While we mourn the loss of those killed in the Speck Refinery Fire, we commend the actions of the Allied Nations Army Corp of Engineers who so bravely fought the fire and rescued many lives. While I am the Skyan Ambassador to Sidonia, please note that the People of Havensky truly respect the efforts of the Allied Nations Corp of Engineers.

That being said, we note with regret that Allied Nations troops draw ever closer to Sondria. In fact, the same can be said for many nations in the region. We urge all parties to stop these aggressive movements.

Sergio paused for a moment to look directly at the camera and give a stern glance.

The Skyan People find it highly suspect that a simple accident caused such devastation and turmoil to the region. The Skyan People request permission to send a team of investigators to Spreck to confirm the findings of the Allied Nations. If we find evidence of arson or sabotage, we feel that this revelation would dramatically alter the conversation being held in the halls of power. IF this is sabotage, we would hope that all parties involved would agree to hold the culprits responsible. As a show of good faith, the Skybound Republic is prepared to offer additional oil shipments to the region to help make up for the loss of the Spreck refinery...as a gift from the Skyan people.

Sergio paused again to let that sink in. The actual amount of oil equated to roughly a million credits worth of fuel. It was certainly a generous offer by the Skyan government.

However, this would only be offered under the following conditions. First, all troops must hold their advances. Second, that we be allowed time and access to investigate the Spreck refinery fire. And finally, that representatives from each government agree to a peace summit at a location convenient for all parties. The Skyan People also offer the use of one of our humanitarian commandships - the HRA Friendship - as a place to meet. The Friendship, along with the First Humanitarian Fleet, is on station nearby and will begin to make their way here.

This offer will stand for twenty-four hours so long as hostilities do not break out in the meantime.

That concludes my diplomatic message, given on the behalf and at the behest of the Skyan People.

I will now take questions.

[Achesia]

Official Military Communique
Admiralty, Royal Marine
Classification: Top Secret, Level Black

To Whom it May Concern, Military of the Kingdom of Aemen

It has come to our disturbing attention that the Volksrepublik of Wanka is in the processes of preparing to launch an assault on a undetermined location of your sovereign land. This has come to the attention of an agency within the Realm that will remain unnamed. As far as reports can tell this assault will be conducted by elite mountain troops of the Wankan military, reconnaissance shows massive builds up of troop formations and transport aircraft, the assault will begin soon.

In answer to this disturbing round of intelligence we have rerouted the Aequorial Carrier Battle Group to the Crimson Sea ear the Aemen-Wanka boarder. We hope this will secure our interests in our alliance and would like to arrange the communication for the logistical support of sending more ground troops to the boarder region. While we apologize for not being able to pinpoint the exact location of this attack we hope this heads up will stave off disaster for our Ally. It will be 60 hours before the the Aequorial is in position, and 48 before it can send air support. We are arranging the mobilization of Royal Army troops now, Achesian elements of the military forces will be under the command of the Crown Prince Julian Charles the VIII, Acklium of the Realm.

Blessed be your summer ally, and in this time of need we stand by you.

BREAK, NOT BEND

[Signed]
Ackular Julian the VII of the House of Requient, Champion of the God of Summer, the Slayer of Beasts, Ruler of Man, Defender of Maidens, and Leader of all that is Light.

[Murovanka]

”The People’s Republic of Wanka condemns the treatment of ethnic Wankers in the historically Wankan Sellenland region by regional authorities and urge the King to reconsider the sovereignty of what had been illegally and unjustly taken from the People’s Republic.”
- Foreign Minister Heinrich von Preisen

Krakenhof
The Sellenland
Kingdom of Aemen
16:00 Hours, Day of Murders

The turnout was amazing, as astounding as the speed at which the news of the Weissman family’s brutal butchering traveled. Of the roughly 110,000 ethnic Wankers living in the Sellenland, nearly half were present on the streets of Krakendorf. Children, women, men of all ages were present, many having traveled several hours by car through the difficult mountain roads to reach Krakendorf. The stamping of feet, the rhythmic shouting, chanting, crying and singing echoed throughout the streets of the Sellenland’s regional capital. White shirts with the printing: ”Heinrich Weissman: Unser Führer, Unser Kämpfer, Unser Vater (Our Leader, Our Fighter, Our Father” were everywhere. Chants of “The Sellenland is Wankan land! Return the Sellenland to Wanka!” and “Foreigners, get out of our land!” grew louder and more pronounced. The atmosphere was electrified, the tension was rising. Standing rather nervously in face of such a massive crowd were numerous Aemen riot police, watching wearily for any outbreaks of violence.

Then came the turning point. In the town square, a leading troop of demonstrators attempted to erect a stone memorial dedicated to the Weissman family. That was too much for a number of Aemen thugs who’d been waiting for their chance to strike. Knives were drawn, and blood was quickly spilt. Riot policemen proceeded to separate the skirmishers, but this was interpreted as a move to protect the thugs. The fury of the crowd grew, and the police found itself under heavy fire from rocks and other debris. Locking their riot shields together, they advanced toward the originally peaceful demonstrators who had blocked road traffic in and out of Krakenhof for over an hour now; through loudspeakers, the protestors were ordered in English and in broken German to disperse and return home. To no effect. A homemade molotov cocktail was hurled toward the police ranks, halting their advance for several seconds. The response was instantaneous: Tear gas filled the air. Had the crowd consisted of angry young men, a riot might’ve broken loose, however, as it consisted many old folks and children and their mothers, the demonstration was stopped in its tracks. Video cameras tracked the Sellenwankers dispersal, filming crying children and bloodied men being carried away by fellow protesters. Small fights continued to break out in Krakenhof, and mini-demonstrations were held all over the Sellenland, but the fire of the main one seemed to have been extinguished…

… although that was not exactly true. Around Sellenwanker-populated districts within the towns, and the occasional isolated hut in the mountains, men wearing dark suits and sunglasses went from apartment to apartment, recruiting angry young Sellenwankers to the newly created paramilitary group, the Sellenwanker Ober-Allgäuer Battalions (Allgäu was name of a series of mountains along the Wanko-Aemen border). “You have seen how they treat us, you have felt the injustice we face. The only language the understand is violence; we will give them violence. And trust me, soon, they will be leaving our sacred lands. If you want true freedom, join us and liberate the Sellenland.” the recruiters went around saying in a rehearsed manner. The numbers swelled. Black vans carrying recruits disappeared into the mountains, where small training sites in caves and forests had been set up with the aid and funding of the Abwehr. The locations were excellent and extremely hard to detect, this partly due to a number of former Dellian insurgents assistance in re-inhabiting former Dellian caves abandoned on the onset of peace.

Here, the recruits were quickly registered and sorted to a company, then given a new home in form of a cave. Deep within the caves, firing ranges had been set up, and the sound of gunfire from the Wankan Armed Forces standard assault rifle, the Gewehr-74 (RL AK-74), vibrated the walls of the makeshift outposts. In the dense, isolated forests, with enough cover so as not to be detected by the surveillance drone above (a fact known to all Abwehr agents), guerrilla-warfare and standard infantry maneuvers were practiced. Little did they know that something similar was being done dozens of kilometers away to the south…

***

Outskirts of Waldorf
Volksrepublik Wanka
Operation Edelweiss
20:00 Hours

Hauptmann Zweistein gritted his teeth in the cold. Up here in the mountains, temperatures had dropped to 10 degrees Celcius, a tad bit too cold for a soldier who’d spent all of his life living in the warm Wankan north, even with all this winter clothing. As part of Operation Edelweiss, the mountain combat training operation to warm up the troops for the possible upcoming deployment, his regiment was tasked with defending a section of a densely vegetated mountain from units of the 75th Mountain Infantry Regiment.

He surveyed his companies’ position. The Heavy Weapons company, with its machine-guns, had a good field of vision over their entire sector, further reinforced by hastily dug-in positions and camouflaged ambush points. The thick snow and relative darkness would further hamper anyone coming up this slope. The Gebirgsjäger were in for a hard time if they decided to come up this area.

Or so he thought. Looking through his binoculars, he suddenly spotted movement, a little too close for comfort. Before he could alert his men, sudden, violent salvoes swept through the entire area. Several men shrieked loudly in mock pain, having been hit by the simunition rounds. Zweistein couldn’t believe it- the enemy had managed to sneak up several machine-guns to a distance close enough to keep his mens’ heads down. As Zweistein alerted his machine gunners to their location, white figures rapidly rushed up the hill. The Gebirgsjäger squads leapfrogged each other, one providing cover, the other storming forward. More than a dozen of his men already laid “dead” on the ground. Zweistein tried to estimate the size of the attacking force. But only more and more white-clad men appeared amidst the storm of simunition and snow. That only meant-

“Weiss-Kommando, Weiss-Rot, the enemy focus point of attack is here, I count at least two battalions!”

The radio crackled.

“Verstanden, Weiss-Rot, hold your position, sending in reinforcements.”

Zweistein observed the roaring firefight. He was close enough to the battlefield that simunition rounds passed him at nearly 200m/s.

”Erster Zug, ziehen sie zurück, wiederhole, Erster Zug, ZURÜCKZIEHEN!”

”Verstanden, Erster Zug zieht zurück.”

As ordered, the second platoon, clearly in danger of being overrun, pulled back. But it was a little too late. The onrushing Gebirgsjäger hurled paint grenades into the paratroopers’ dug-in positions, speedily overrunning the entire platoon.

”Feuern Sie auf die linke Flanke!” he ordered the heavy weapons platoon, whose heavy machine guns obliged, rotating toward the left flank before resuming their barrage. It was not so much the Gebirgsjägers’ expertise in the mountains, it was more likely that the paratroopers were simply not used to the cold climate. He could feel it himself- his energy and concentration was starting to drain away, just half an hour into the battle. A company of the 2. Battalion had arrived to plug the hole that his platoon had created. However, they moved slowly- way too slowly, through the annoyingly deep snow. By the time they arrived, the Gebirgsjäger had broken through, and Zweistein’s entire battalion had been split in two and were nearly surrounded. He and just a quarter of his troops managed to escape; after nearly three hours of continuous fighting in these conditions, they were thoroughly exhausted. Snow sprayed all around them as they crawled up to the rear guard, where the regiment commander permitted them to rest.

His company, now less than a platoon-sized unit, was augmented by two more nearly-destroyed companies, and was ordered to climb to a higher position up the mountain. The regiment commander, now clearly losing the fight, attempted to draw the enemy into a deadly trap. But that was not to be. The withdrawing paratroopers were so slow that they found themselves being surrounded. A simunition round smacked into Zweistein’s face, just as the brigade commander gave the order to surrender.

It turned out that on most sectors, similar things had happened. The Mountain Infantry had used its speed and expertise in the terrain to sneak around and flank around the paratroopers positions, and turned the fight from a seemingly impossible regiment-versus-regiment task, both of equal manpower strength, to a complete rout.

Safeties were snapped back on. The exhausted Fallschirmjägers picked themselves up, slowly dragging themselves down the mountain back to the Kaserne in Waldorf. He caught up with a fellow company commander of the Red battalion.

“What damn madness was that? Did you see how they moved? And we’re constantly being told that we’re the best Wankan troops, apart from the Schwarka (Black Cavalry) folks.” His colleague muttered in frustration. “If we’re gonna fight guys like these in the Sellenland, we’re screwed.”

“Don’t worry, I heard that the 101st regularly hold such similar exercises. They know every rock on every mountain here by now. I don’t think unit has beaten them yet in these mountains, not even the Light Schwarka regiment. Besides, I was told that we would only be brought in as quick reinforcements, if any hostilities break out. If we’re lucky, most of the fighting will be done by the 101st. Apparently, the reserves of the 26th Gebirgsjäger have been called up.”

“I hope we just get sent home. My wife’s due in two months, and I want to be not only alive, but also present to see that-“

Zweistein perked up at that, hugging his old friend while fighting back tears. ”Gratulation! Ach, du lieber Gott, this is happening at seriously the wrong time…”

“That’s fate, mein Kamerad…”

***

Kronstadt
Volksrepublik Wanka
21:00 Hours

All across the country, eyes were glued onto the cheap TV’s (which could only show several state-run news and entertainment programmes) showing the live feed of Wanka’s Aussenminister Heinrich von Preisen and his Ordernite counterpart. For the third time this evening, the two shook hands, and the Ordernite representative, escorted by a unit of stony-faced bodyguards, got into his black armored car. The camera followed its departure as the news reporter, a woman covered with layers of thick make-up, recapped the events of the evening. On the channel for foreigners, subtitles ran in English:

“This evening, the United World Order and the People’s Republic of Wanka have formally entered an economic and military alliance together. The two nations will now be obliged to assist each other if their national security is threatened, and have pledged to host a number of joint military drills between the respective armed forces in the coming months. Furthermore, the UWO has promised to invest in more efficient oil-extracting infrastructure in Wanka along with trade deals to assist in alleviating the effects of the oil crisis here. It has not been determined yet whether the UWO will set up a military base along with stationing a permanent number of troops on Wankan soil…”

***

Streitkräfte der Volksrepublik Order of Battle Streitkräftekommando-Nord (Armed Forces Command-North)

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Ober-Nord (Commander): Generalfeldmarschall Ludwig von der Leijen

Land-Streitkräfte der Volksrepublik (Ground Armed Forces of the People’s Republic)

• 22. Fallschirmjägerdivision (“Kraken”), Airborne, 12000
  - 66. Fallschirmjägerregiment
  - 67. Fallschirmjägerregiment
  - 68. Fallschirmjägerregiment
  - 22. Division Luftkavalleriebrigade (Air Cavalry Brigade)
  - 22. Division U-Truppen**
  
  
• 101. Gebirgsjägerdivision (“Edelweiss”), Mountain, 15000
  - Schwarze-Kavallerie Jägerregiment (“Die Feuerwehr”)
  - 75. Gebirgsjägerregiment
  - 76. Gebirgsjägerregiment
  - 77. Gebirgsjägerregiment
  - 101. Division Luftkavalleriebrigade
  - 101. Division U-Truppen**
  
  
• 26. Gebirgsjägerdivision* (“Höhlenspüler”), Mountain, 12000
  - 78. Gebirgsjägerregiment
  - 79. Gebirgsjägerregiment
  - 80. Gebirgsjägerregiment
  - 26. Division Luftkavalleriebrigade
  - 26. Division U-Truppen**
  
  
• 7. Füsilierdivision* (“die Langen Kerls”), Mechanized, 14000
  - 21. Füsilierregiment
  - 22. Füsilierregiment
  - 23. Füsilierregiment
  - 7. Division Luftkavalleriebrigade
  - 7. Division U-Truppen**
  
  
  Luft-Streitkräfte der Volksrepublik (Aerial Armed Forces of the People’s Republic)
  
• 1. Geschwader (“Die Erste”), 60 Aircraft
  - 1. Staffel
  - 2. Staffel
  - 3. Staffel
  - 1. Geschwader-Staffel z.b.V.
  - 1. Geschwader Kampftankabteilung
  
  
• 2. Geschwader* (“Blitz”), 60 Aircraft
  - 4. Staffel
  - 5. Staffel
  - 6. Staffel
  - 2. Geschwader-Staffel z.b.V.
  - 2. Geschwader Kampftankabteilung

Theatre Total: ~53,000 combat troops, 135 tanks, ~1,000 armored vehicles, ~400 artillery and anti-aircraft artillery, ~140 Helicopters, ~90 multirole fighters, 25 auxiliary aircraft

*Reserve Formation (in or nearby Waldorf, Waldorf Air Base, capable of being deployed but not planned to be used in combat)
**Division U-Truppen (Support Troops) include an anti-tank, light artillery, air-defense, engineer and logistics batallion

EDIT: After some minor reorganization, I’ve replaced the “brigade” with the “regiment”

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