The Great Era RP of 1925 : IC

[Aclus]

The Great Era RP: 1925

---

Statistics Page

OOC Thread

---

Welcome to the 20th Century, for a span of 9 years the world had burned in what seemed to be the end of civilization itself. Great armies of man and machine had come to blows, plunging mankind into an age of darkness never before seen, with the world's foundations shattered from the fires of war, revolution and disorder. Great cities and marvels of the world that once stood high and proud, now laid waste by shot and shell.

And to think that with such sacrifice, all man was left with in the end were the painful reminders of what may be if greed and the lust for power were to meet once again. Examples of an inevitable future foreseen time and time again…


The alliances that had once held much of the world together like glue, were dismantled and done away with after the war's end. The Alliance of Republican Nations had already been fractured piece by piece, initially with the Norcourtian Republic's withdrawal from the pact in 1902, and ending with the last stand of the Traansval Boers in 1921. In regards to the Western League, despite still being active, at least on paper, stood as a paper tiger when enforcing its foreign policy, being mocked by the working class and wealthy politicians alike. The inability to commit to action and pure indecisiveness that stemmed from disagreements among the leaders of the league, has left the once strong beast, crawling in the dust of time, and dissent.

Though man's arrogance would not seem to only warrant destruction and despair. As the old world burned away, a new one would emerge from its ashes...

Fast forward to now, the year is now 1925, 4 years have passed since the “War to End All Wars”. The world has changed dramatically, in the new world, ideologies had emerged from the once thought madness of the old, and had become prominent and popular. One such ideal brought to fruit, could be seen with the Red Socialists of the Transvaal, who have brought their ideology to the forefront of its political stage, imposing hegemony on the Afrikaan continent. Young nations forged in the flames of the World War would also come to light as the fires of old fizzled away, with many of which emerging in the continent of Indianum, such as that of the Nations of Iron Guard Hoosier, a downright authoritarian strong man of a nation, and the Federation of Breyburg, long since sleeping, neutral in the brutal war since passed, began to wake.

Though changes did come with the passage of time, the scars of the old world are still very much so prevalent in this modern one. From the shell hole ridden lands of the once mighty Manticoran Empire, to the many rivalries that managed to survive the onslaught of the war, like that of the Arengin Union and the people of Ruskland, with their confederates in the Triarchy forever fueled by their old Slavic rivalries. Even that of the Aydinirian and Aclusian Empires, who had come to blows, as one pushed the other over feuds of ancient titles and lands of the Eastern continent, and legitimacy of the Aclusian Raj, still persevered despite years of stagnant diplomatic efforts.

In the southern continent of Zeeland, or Elixia depending on what side you're on, the Elixian Union had been born again from the state formerly addressed as the Norcourtian Republic, untouched by the fires of the 9 Years War, ridding itself of internal struggles, and a painful civil war that lingers in the minds of many, even 20 years later. Still, the Aclusians enforce their aggressive foreign policy on the land, securing Aclusian held Zeeland and dominance over other such foreign landholders like the Twelve Isles and Wargloria. Nevertheless, with but one spark of flint the balance of power can be shifted, with tensions arising amidst many border conflicts between Aclus and Elixia, and the recent Elixian annexation of the Kingdom of Nuza.

With all of this in mind, the world has suffered through many a struggle, but none of which the people themselves are not willing to endure. The beacon of hope and a prosperous future, though dimming, still bleakly shines in the eyes of many, after all, the wheels of time and history, though riddled with blood and steel, will never stop moving…

---

For many of these nations, history continues to be written. However It is into this war torn world that you, nations both old and new, are thrust. Despite the loss of life, there has been no closure, for the issues which caused The Nine Year War have not been resolved. Dark clouds of war hover on the horizon and omens appear, heralding the deaths of millions more sometime soon. How soon, however, is up to you. Will the world experience a period of peace or will this be but a brief respite, the eye of the storm so to speak?

The path lies in your very hand my friend...........Welcome!

If you have any question, feel free to ask me or Manticore, and Arengin Union. Also, join our Discord Server Here: https://discord.gg/wchRbUw9

[Breyburg]

Planting Seeds
January 1st, 1925
Lilleske, Brey
Federal Palace of the Ministry

Upon Simeoni Lehtola’s desk was a vast array of papers, telegrams, letters, newspapers… He was 1 year into his tenure as the Prime Minister of the Federation of Breyburg, and there was still much to be done.

Simeoni Lehtola inherited a nation untouched by the Nine Years War, the Great War, as some called it. A nation that had been relatively unaffected by the brutal war beyond the occasional breach of waters by Western League and ARN ships.

During this period, the Brey Military began to strive for a doctrine of total defense. If Breyburg was to stand, if it was to survive, it must learn to fight. Of course, the Generals and Lieutenants of the Army, Air Force and Marines never wished that such a time would come in which it must utilize its newly generated skills and tools. During this period of bolstering Breyburg created a new branch of the Armed Forces, the Home Guard. Every single province of the Federation, including islands such as Palpää and Reykðir were to field and train a reserve Army, dedicated to defending their respective provinces. The Brey Home Guard was the largest with Suder trailing behind by only a couple thousand. Lehtola was proud that the people of his province, the Suoma Domain, a semi-autonomous Province headed by a majority Suoma government, would field the largest Home Guard in all the northernmost states. Lehtola reminisced on his childhood in Suoma; the sweeping, gradual snow fields of winter of which he remembered optimal for skiing, the warm and bright spring and summer of the countryside, dotted with wildflowers, and the sweet air of the forest in summer.

Lehtola was to continue this policy of Total Defense, as the budgeter and second in command of all of the Armed Forces to King Gustaf Enrikkson II. He had final say over when, where and how the Armed Forces would conduct its operations. Lehtola simply ran the Armed Forces, alongside the whole of the Federation. He also conducted the foreign policy and negotiations on the behalf of the Royal Family and the Federation.

Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola

That reminded him, he had a message for the Iron Guard Hoosier to the south of Breyburg. It was a proposal of sorts. Between the recently risen nations of Hoosier and the Socialist Federal Council Republic of Transvaal had an agreement been conceived. Hoosier was in need of machination, Transvaal had machines. Transvaal had a desire for crops, and Hoosier had crops. Breyburg had machines, and had crops, but would certainly benefit from increased trade, especially in this post-war world.

Breyburg wanted in on this Machines-for-Crops agreement. Lehtola would direct an assistant of his to telegram the Hoosier Government a transcription of his letter. He just had to find it. After rummaging through the papers on his desk, and in his drawers, he found the letter, neatly packed in an envelope with the Federal Seal, a ten sided star, the Tiostjärna, adorned with clean circle, supposedly representing the fact that Breyburg sat within the Arctic Circle, but Lehtola figured it was just to keep the design from looking too boring.

To the Government of Iron Guard Hoosier
From the Prime Minister of the Federation of Breyburg, Simeoni Lehtola

I am aware of your arrangement with the Socialist Federal Council Republic of Transvaal. The Federation of Breyburg, on behalf of Gustaf Enrikkson II and the whole of the Federation, would like to join said agreement. We shall reduce the taxes on the exportation of machines. In turn we expect a reduction in the cost of import of grains from your nation. If you agree to such a treatise, please respond soon.

Lilleske, Brey
Royal Palace

“I want for a series of fortresses to be constructed on the eastern coast,” King Gustaf Enrikkson II stated, “I feel a growing unrest in this world. I wish not for Breyburg to be thrust into it.”

“We would need to allocate funds, sir.” an assistant told him.

“If we cannot allocate them from the defense budget, make them. Or, if it comes to it, take some from the Royal Treasury. The Home Guard and our new metal toys are not enough to fend off potential invaders.” Gustaf said.

“I can see if we can.”

You will.”

Within the Royal Family and the Federal Government, a deep dread had begun to boil. After witnessing warfare spread to Europa, and indeed a distant neighbor, now in a metaphorical coma, Reikland, neither party wished to see such an event happen to Breyburg. Gustaf knew that the Riksdag and Prime Minister Lehtola would be in support of such an action, the fortification of the Western Coast.

King Gustaf Enrikkson II

Gustaf knew that Breyburg is situated in a special place in Indianum; Modernized, old and stable. Something that could not entirely be said for the rest of Indianum, especially Reikland. Oh, the pity Gustaf had for Reikland, being blown to pieces like it had been. The last time Gustaf had been in contact with the Reikish government was before the Nine Years War, in which the Reikish leader had congratulated Gustaf on his 30th year on the throne. That was in 1920, Gustaf had now been King for 35 years, and it had begun to show. Since his congratulation, the government had gone silent, presumably gone into isolation, like a dog tucking its tail after a stern talking-to by its master. There had been rumors that Reikland had descended into a cacophony of warlord states, all vying for control over the islands. These rumors stayed so as no one had been able to enter Reikland, supposedly any ship approaching their shores was to be shot. Again, another rumor. Rumor or not, fact or fiction, Gustaf did not want to see his beautiful Federation bombed to pieces as Reikland had.

[Norcourt]

Unionis Elixianae

January 1st, 1925

---

Much had changed in the recent years of the former Norcourtian Empire. After the death of Caneius in 1920, the Elixian Council, unable to find an heir for the now passed Emperor, took it upon themselves to lead the nation by their own hand, what followed was a period of corruption and peril for the Norcourtian people. Rebellion in the colonies led to the loss of all imperial holdings in Sud Afrika, and Golrosiya, with the army facing terrible casualties in the 2 year-long war that followed. While much of the blame could be placed at an incompetent military, deteriorating from years of lack of funding, even an Aclusian could tell who was truly to blame… the Council.

Protests in regards to the council’s failed response to the Sud Afrikan campaign weren't made any better by the council’s response to the protests, many Elixians still vividly remember that damned day. On March 2nd 1921, 10,000 soldiers of the Sicalian National Militia opened fire on 25,000 protestors, unleashing volley after volley of continued rifle fire on their own brothers, directly outside Council Hall.

Within the next few months, paranoia had ran rampant among the aldermen of the council, with constant infighting leading to the proposals of absurd search and seizure laws, and suspicion of supposed treasonists, setting precedent for thousands of snatch and grab cases and impromptu street trials, leading to little more than government sponsored lynchings for those found guilty.

By January 1922, the Council’s reign of terror had not died down in the slightest, with extreme dissent and hatred brewing swiftly within the nation. Hope was found in the form of one revolutionary General Maranossos from northwestern Sicalia, who had just raised an army of defected army personnel, national militia members, and angry citizens in Saradegra, southwestern Norcourt. “The Black Army”, it was called, had already seized all of Saradegra from government forces by the time March came swinging along, moving rapidly and recruiting many enthusiastic young men along the way. Public support now lay behind the Black Army.



As conflict arose, within the next year, and after a string of defeats, The Council's Armies proved to be no match for the Black Army, as many who once supported the paranoia-driven terror council, pledged their loyalty to Maranossos. Those who fought on and surrendered at the last bit, were to be pardoned on the basis that they were fellow countrymen, fighting for a once legitimate government. The former aldermen that were seized after their subsequent rebellions, were to be imprisoned, with many falling victim to unfortunate "accidental" deaths while serving their tenure behind bars. With power finally secured, Maranossos' first initiative was to reinforce the organizational structure of this newfound nation, proclaiming himself to be Consul of the new Elixian Union, following near unanimous support from the populace.

With power centralized once again in Norcourtia, and a new council of handpicked peers, Maranossos declared that the volunteer and national militia regiments were to be disbanded and returned to their resident localities, if this new Elixian Army was to be held in any sort of esteem, it would need to follow a strict principal and have at the very least, an adequate sense of martial order, one that had been unattainable with the previous state of volunteer rabble. Discipline was essential. Modern advances were to pave the way forward for the next few years to come, and despite Norcourt’s neutrality in the 9 Years War, it had become very much apparent that funding would need to be spent on the modernization of field tactics, backed by a force of combined arms and armor, as well as a large and well trained air corps. Maranossos had made it clear to not repeat the mistakes made by several factions of the war, in order for Norcourt and all of Elixia to secure its southern realm, it’s martial backbone must be strengthened, and it’s place on the world stage secured.

---

While Maranossos was gaining provinces to his name, his 2nd in command, Maranossos' most trusted Marshal, Edvard Magnar, led the invasion of The Kingdom of Nuza. Despite being autonomous from the former Norcourtian Empire, the Kingdom of Nuza held very much the same sympathies within, as its own King David III had died 10 years previously, leaving no heir to the throne. The nation was in a constant state of civil war, with feuding nobility sending thousands of their own serfs to die for their own personal stake at the crown, in a brutal war of succession crisis not too different from those of previous centuries. Thus, the invasion of Nuza became much more an annexation than an invasion, with the populace and disorganized weakened peasant armies standing down after initial fighting.

Magnar installed a pro-Union government in the state, with the Black Army suppressing royalist uprisings on several occasions, eventually purging said nobles. With the feuding royal families of the land having the blood of perhaps a million soaked on their hands, banishing the likes of them had not proven too unpopular. Despite this, it was not to be said that the Nuzans were comfortable with a Norcourtian being elected to represent them in Elixia, thus recognizing this, Magnar had made it a statement to Maranossos, that if he were wise, he would allow only a resident of Nuza to hold that position, and his call heeded, quelling the relatively minor unrest that had arisen.

The annexation of Nuza had proved that the new regime was capable of expanding in such ventures, regardless of the previous predicament that had been occurring in the newly acquired state, it was without a doubt that their position in this new and very much true union, was solidified. Residents of Nuza were to be fully integrated into society, receiving their Elixian citizenship without need for military service, being excused from the tribulations that would be endured by any Non-Elixian subjects. Having no proper professional army, volunteer and guard units of the former Nuzan Noble's Armies were to be absorbed into the Elixian Army, in their own appropriate regiments, with past quarrels mostly put aside by newfound nationalist fervor.

It is now 1925, and tensions on the Aclusian held Zeelandian Border had been slowly rising after several border incidents occurring, all in which leading to very minor states of conflict, influenced by ethnic and political disputes, involving both the peoples of Elixia and Zeeland, as well as refugees attempting to flee the new union, who were seen as traitors, and instigators of the terror of the previous regime.

Of all of this, one statement still remained certain, what lies ahead for Elixia, is very much so an uncertainty...

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

A New Era Dawns to Fill the Void
The 1925 Winter Triumph

Perhaps it was fate that today was sun-free, though it was truly a shame- to him anyways- that the clouds refused to part on this day. "Some of that warm would’ve been nice…" The Kasteleszky thought to himself, his sigh misting up as it left

Photographs from the Autumn Triumph of 1924

his lungs and into the chilly January air, "At least there’s no wind around, and no sign of heavy snowfall." Indeed, the clouds above had been lying around for some time, and not once did the snowfall ramp up, even with him referencing said clouds and snow even earlier; no jinxing either it seems. "Good, no chance for toda- Oh, there they are, just on time." It was also around this time that the wind suddenly picked up, eliciting a grunt of annoyance from the pale-haired man.

The pompous noises of horns, the rolls of drums, the crashing of cymbals; these noises grew and grew as the parade approached, until it shared nothing but the adulation of the people, in the air of the streets he was on. "Keh, ever confident these shits are." Malentin couldn't help but scoff slightly to himself, "A lot of these probably didn't even fight in the war." Then again, neither did he, but he didn't make a big fuss about it, at the very least. This big fuss he was seeing, it was yet another celebration of the Triarchy's triumphs over the Arenginians in the 9 Years War, in the Bog and in Skarten. The fourth of its kind since the war's end, and definitely the last if he was in charge of all of it; but alas, the younger must serve the elder, and serve faithfully he had. ""I keep my people happy." He says, then again, bread and circuses." He remembered that talk well, and the back and forth he and his brother had, about who ruled this people and all that; perfectly normal things for teenagers to be talking about, definitely, yes, "He implied many things…" He thought about those things, wondering if Abel held them even now. Many of them, he realized, went against the current ideas of this time, this Triarchy.

He shook his head as he waded through the crowds, the sounds of the parade being muted to him as he turned inward.

Something waded along with him, toward him- no, someone.

"Sir Malentin, your brother has summoned you." It was a man with those ridiculous yellow turtleshell helmets, guards of this most holy city of theirs, "The usual business, politicking and all that noise." Said man gave him a sympathetic shrug, seems like he had no liking of those things like himself. And with a swipe of his hand, he was led forward accordingly.

It seemed as if his brother wanted to speak to him before he said his speech at the parade's endpoint, at the Palace Square. "Probably to imply things in his speech as if he were some clever man, bah." Imperceptibly he shook his head, "All this dancing around the point, must he really be so indirect with his words? He's not as clever as he thinks he is."

They were far ahead of the triumph at this point thanks to his bodyguard-slash-escort's expeditious use of shortcuts and alleyways, leading them to a point where the spires of Palas Fomalhaut could be seen clearly; the very birds on said spires could be seen easily at this distance, and he never even noticed the rapid approach. "Must've been too distracted by my thoughts." Soon enough, they were in the square that was in the formerly royal Palace's front, a place clearly designed with parades in mind with its half square kilometer's worth of empty flat space, entry from nearly all directions, and a towering fountain with multiple sculptures smack dab in the middle. The side facing the palace had a street separating it from connecting altogether- and so it also was with every side that a street split the square away from the other blocks- and it was in that palatial street that that a podium had been built. And it was that podium they were approaching "From the far side of the square, no less." Malentin grumbled inwardly.

Malentin and Mud;
by Willamen Bolling, Court Painter
Abel Playing with a Courtier's Child;
by Willamen Bolling, Court Painter

It took a few minutes to get there, but arrive there they did, and with little fanfare would the pair arrive at a small compartment-slash-room at the bottom rear of the raised podium. Dull red eyes met dull red eyes, with a pair of blue ones wavering between both pairs. "With your leave, sir." He waved the guard off, and after a moment it was now merely him and Abel left inside the cramped room, and their reflections by the mirror and table. Whereas he himself was clean-shaven but with a ragged yet silky mop of middling white hair, his elder brother had short, trimmed, and slicked-back pale hair, with equally as snowy muttonchops growing on the sides of his face. He was clothed in the dim yellows and blacks of his family, and he himself was clothed in grays and browns. "Brother." He gave a deferential nod along with his greeting.

Abel countered with a bear hug, "Come, sit." He pointed at the table by the mirror; and conveniently, there was a stack of chairs nearby, "I don't have much to say right now, but…" He gestured at the table, there was an old map of the world on it, worn out in the edges, but clear nonetheless. He must've missed seeing it earlier.

"What of it?" He said back with a shrug.

"Less what of it, and what it all implies." There he was again, Malentin reckoned inwardly; that moving about the point through flowery speech, "But I'll get straight to the point, I can already see that you don't want me dancing around what I'm saying."

"Perhaps he's somewhat as clever as he thinks he is." He thought with an inward scoff, only Abel would be able of reading him like this, like an open book. He knew that his elder brother had been extensively learning of every slight tell he gave in every move he made.

"Here lies a once in a lifetime chance to change things, to once more remind those Southrons as to who is the elder of the Slavs… See, I've been hearing things from my friends in MEAD: there's a fire brewing down in Arenland, a fire that would consume all and call the leftover ashes unity, pah!" His brother scoffed loudly, leave it to him to be paradoxical in natures; oh so quiet in one, and oh so loud in the other, "And this is where… You, will come into play." He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, and on his face was a reassuring look.

"And what for, this one wonders?" He raised a brow in return.

"A simple little thing, a simple little task. You see brother, I've been hearing things from the Golden Lodge as well; a fire growing in the depths of their ranks, so to speak. And as for what they say, well-

By the Bog; by Unknown

we will be living in interesting and olden times…" Cryptic, and definitely not worrying, nope, not at all, "But that is beside the point Malentin, I'll inform you of the details when the time comes. For now, I need you to wriggle a bit more to the top, get some room in MEAD- I know you're planning to be more than just some attaché there, and my friends there and I of course, will give you the way to get to that position you want. But you need to do us a few favors in the form of going to specific countries that may be sympathetic to our friends, to… Hmm, I don't know, a few marriages, a few agreements, a few alliances, a few quid pro quos so to speak eh?"

This was treason they were planning, but something echoed in his mind, "Is it really all that bad? The jockeying of the Triarchs have been getting a bit chaotic as of late, and so it also is in the lower ranks; Who knows what'll happen if that chaos bleeds further and further downward hmm?" He sighed, and gave his agreement, as silent as it was.

"That's good, thank you for this, brother. Rest assured that all this will not be in vain; and do rest right now, I've a speech to hold, people to impress, that sort of thing." He gave him another pat on the back, "Feel free to leave or stay, don't really care that much. Just get the job done will you?"

Soon enough, he was left only with the sight of his brother rapidly receding from view, to hold a speech for the end of the 1925 Winter Triumph.

The following speech was perhaps one of the best his brother had ever held.

For at the end of it all, he and his brother both were bombarded by the raucous cheers and noisy agreements by the audience, from both soldier and civilian. He could hear it all even from here in the changing room, even with all those wooden walls. "Probably shouldn't have thought that much of them, I mean, wood? Really now Malentin…" A silly assumption even for himself, the pale-haired lordling of Carcosa thought, "And I have been given leave after all…" And after writing a small blurb on a small paper, he left with a contented sigh.

As annoyed as he was with his brother's antics regarding his way of talking, of his various mannerisms, and many other things… He was still his brother, his elder brother who ever so diligently took care of them with their mad father Yandry, both before and after that man's premature death. His elder brother who taught each of his siblings everything he knew, his elder brother who brought the best out of all of them, himself, Elaena, the twins Damon and Duram.

Malentin chuckled as he waded once more through Carcosa's storied and crowd-filled streets, "Heh, quid pro quos indeed brother, quid pro quos indeed…" He muttered amusedly to himself.

Interesting times were indeed inbound, but he couldn't help but wonder as to what Abel had meant when he attached "olden" along with that word…

[The Hoosier Alliance]

January 1st, 1925
The ancient Hoosier city of Tenochtitlan has stood for centuries. It has outlasted kingdoms, cultures, and sieges. It has been the seat of power for three Hoosier Empires and served as a reminder of greatness for countless Hoosier monarchs. Tenochtitlan has stood the test of time, changing with the times. This is true, even today.

The grand Hoosier capital, a relic of the past and a peek into the future, is the centerpiece of Hoosier industrialization. New, modern businesses and factories dot the landscape—the streets bustle with citizens making their way through the maze of shops and homes. The new Hoosier government, dominated by the Iron Guard Party, a fascist political organization that came to power after the September Coup deposed the Hoosier Rey, has plans to breathe new life into the nation with industrialization. However, it will not be an easy road.

Across the sea sits the new communist regime, the Federal Council Republic of Transvaal. Under better circumstances, the fascists of Hoosier would never deal with the Red Menace. However, these Reds shared a common enemy; the Aclusian Empire. Additionally, the largely agrarian society of Hoosier needed all the help it could get, even from the Reds. Therefore, a deal was struck—crops for machines. The Hoosiers would trade agricultural goods, mostly squash, beans, chilies, maize, and the like. In exchange, the Traansval would give much-needed machinery to the Hoosiers.

Additionally, the Federal Republic of Breyburg, a nation to the north of Hoosier, has also sent a trade agreement to be approved by the Chief of State, the former General Zyapan Patee. The offer of reduced tariffs for Hoosier agricultural goods and Breyburg machinery was briefly debated before being approved.

To: Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola
From: Chief of State Zyapan Patee

This arrangement seems to be very beneficial for both our nations. We will lower tariffs on Breyburg machinery in return for a reduction on tariffs for Hoosier agricultural goods. We hope this will lead to further success for our nations and a stepping stone for bettering relations between our great countries.

Under the new IGP regime, the lives of many have been improved. Serfdom was abolished, land ownership was taken from the nobles and given to those who supported the government, and the economic status of countless Hoosiers was enhanced. However, not all is well within Hoosier. Ethnic and religious tensions risk the fragile peace in the Western Peninsula. Under the Rey, a few loyal ethnic groups were given more power over the others, allowed to enforce their will as they saw fit, so long as they paid their taxes and gave soldiers for the army. However, when the IGP seized power, this policy was revoked, and the government moved to reestablish total control. This has caused many issues. Even though the once oppressed minorities in the region are grateful to no longer live under the thumb of their enemies, they seek revenge and greater autonomy. As a result, the IGP has been forced to deploy a battalion to the states of Yopico, Otomi, Xolotlan, and Tonanytlan, four in total. These soldiers help keep the peace by patrolling the region and mediating disputes between the ethnic and religious groups.

Outside of the Western Peninsula, peace managed to reign. However, following the September Coup, the nation was in disarray. Many within the military wanted to return home, something the new rulers could not ignore. With millions returning home, the army was gravely undermanned. So, the IGP turned to various fascist paramilitaries to maintain law and order while the new national government composed itself. Some of these civilian-military factions treated the people well enough and attempted to protect them. Others used more brutal methods to keep the locals in line. Regardless, crime and anti-fascist sentiment were kept in check. Now, years later, the army and local police departments can maintain order. The Iron Shirts, a nickname for the fascist secret police, assist where they can, rooting out troublesome individuals and organizations. Despite all the trouble and repression of the last few years, the IGP is looked upon generally favorably, considering the increase in quality of life compared to the monarchy.


Iztapam, Otomi
Commander Necanan Coyol exited the car, nodding to the soldier holding the passenger door for him, and walked toward the tavern serving as an impromptu meeting place for the second round of peace talks. The city of Iztapam was the capital of a once-proud people that dominated the Western Peninsula before the cannons of the Third Hoosier Empire brought them to their knees. Now, it sits nestled in the mountains and serves as a vital transportation hub for the state of Otomi, an ethnically split state. The various clans, tribes, and religious sects that dot the state keep to themselves, rarely meeting anywhere except Iztapam or the battlefield.

Due to all the ethnic groups in the city, the Eleventh Cavalry Battalion maintained order. While not under martial law, the situation was considered fragile enough to demand soldiers on hand, ready to respond at a moment's notice. That was why Commander Coyol was present.

Usually, the Iron Shirts were used for more covert operations. However, Coyol insisted that he be present. He was born and raised in the region, so he understands the conflicts more than most. As he entered the building, the Commander could hear shouting coming from the large side room the meeting was held in. He wasn't entirely surprised; he was running late after all.

Soldiers stood guard just outside, flanking the door. They tapped their heels together, saluted, and opened the door as the Commander approached. The swinging doors surprised the arguing men, who turned to see Coyol enter. The men at the table, all standing and red in the face, recovered from their moment of shock and took their seats, anger still present on many of their faces. Among them, the youngest man was in his late forties, though most were in their sixties or even older—these tribal leaders from around the region gathered here without their warriors, under the guard of the Hoosier Army.

The tribes had been summoned, yet again, to try and sort out border disputes, return of property, and an end to several tribal wars. All in all, thirty-seven tribes had sent elders, out of about forty-four.

"Finally," snorted one of the tribals, "the government man is here. Perhaps he can talk some sense into you fools."

Before another argument could arise, Coyol spoke.

"Gentlemen," he began, "I have come here to try and strengthen us. Not you. Not myself. Us. You may not like it, but we are all Hoosiers. We live under the same banner. Therefore, I see it as my duty to protect each and every one of my fellow Hoosiers, including you and your tribes. I believe we can come to a conclusion that will leave us all more or less pleased. Now, may we begin?"

For several hours, Coyol spoke with each tribal representative. He heard their complaints, talked to the accused, and attempted to rectify the situations. He agreed to send Hoosier soldiers to oversee prisoners' transfer, ensure free travel through disputed roads, protect the weak as they collected water from shared waterways, and other similar matters. He also promised to investigate claims of intertribal theft, murder, and whatnot. The Commander also reaffirmed the promise of government aid to several tribes to help them rebuild after that's years floods and reasserted the enforced peace that would take place by week's end. If any tribes continued to fight, they would be in breach of the law and would find the total weight of the local army upon them: an extreme, but sadly necessary, measure.

The sun had barely reached its highest point when Commander Coyol arrived. Now, as the meeting was ending, it had set hours ago. Nevertheless, the Commander stayed seated even after the last of the elders were escorted out.

"Sir?"

One of the guards entered the room.

"The last of the elders have been sent on their way. Their personal detachments of riders will see them out of the city and back to their people before returning, as per your orders."

Coyol sighed.

"Thank you, corporal. I'd like to be alone for a few more moments."

The soldier nodded and exited the room. The Commander pulled out a cigar and match. He puffed on his tobacco for a few minutes to calm his nerves. Speaking with those men, those elders, was somewhat stressful. Constant yelling, threats, and damn near brawls. However, he managed to do it. He managed to get through the day without having to arrest, beat, or shoot any of them. Sure, little got done, but no one was dead or in jail. That was progress over the last time.

[Rannoria]

Farewells and Greetings
January 1st, 1925

---

A Farewell to the Old Rannoria
Rannkradle
It took many by surprise when, one year prior to the first of January, 1925, the Combined Occupational Forces in the Rannorian Republic declared there to be an election of sorts. As local and national newspapers filled their headlines with remarks such as, "The Return of the Republic?" and "A New Dawn for Rannoria", many knew that this simply would not be the case. The reason for this ad hoc election would be to select "a true Rannorian representative - a man dedicated to the future of Rannoria and her causes." In other words, it was just another line of Occupational bullshit that was spewed out by whatever clever Warglorian or Aclusian lackey believed to be what the Rannorians wanted to hear. That was how the everyday Rannorian thought. Had those words been said four years ago as the war ended, many Rannorians may have clung onto the hope that Rannoria truly was coming back, whether it be out of genuine belief or out of desperation. However, after four years of continued direct occupation, many Rannorians had given up on the idea that a true Rannorian republic was coming back, and had resigned themselves to a lifetime under either Warglorian cruelty or Aclusian tyranny. For these Rannorians, life would go on regardless, and in a cruel and terrible world filled with hunger, disease, and death, the idea of a truly free Rannoria simply wasn't their largest priority. This, though, was not all people. Between the Rannorians that had only just recently lost hope after another year of continued occupation, to the Rannorians who believed that Rannoria was a doomed nation from the beginning of the Great Tragedy, there were always a group of Rannorians who embodied the true spirit of Rannoria - unbroken. These men, women and children had the optimism to believe that Rannoria as a nation was a Rannorian's birthright, and while it did not exist currently, it certainly would in the future. Within this ideology lies an array of approaches on as to how to restore the republic, whether it be through arms or through roses, but what could be said for certain is that - in 1924 - this was not the right time to take action. Indeed, how could willpower defeat empires that defeated the world? This group of Rannorians that so desperately clung onto the idea of a free Rannoria had to bide their time, and by 1925, their time had come.

"Sunny day, isn't it?" The harbour of Rannkradle was bustling with soldiers and civilians alike. As ships came and went, and as smokestacks rose into the sky with street vendors selling their goods to whichever passers-by would take them, Rannkradle almost looked as though nothing had changed since 1910. Almost. If one were to walk further into the city, further and further south, they would reach areas of Rannkradle still under rubble and debris. The Annihilation took a toll on almost every major Rannorian city, and Rannkradle was the furthest from the exception. Even by the harbour, where the reconstruction effort was at its strongest, could change be seen. As Occupational soldiers patrolled about, and as Aclusian and Warglorian tongues shouted and bickered with each other, Rannorian civilians could be seen shooting glares at the outsiders and muttering words that would surely earn them beatings had they been heard. Once again, while many Rannorians had lost hope for a free motherland, the burning anger - no, hatred - left over by the war still blazed within them. Even disregarding the debris that still lay untouched in Rannoria's cities, orphans, widows, and lost men could be seen milling about. Many lost their homes. Their friends. Their families. The lives that they had cultivated vanished in less than a year after the Rannorian defensive lines fell, and some simply gave up trying, living day to day begging and homeless, motivated only by natural instinct to keep on pushing on. There were also many that were simply unfortunate after the war, and, despite having the will to go on, could not find the means to. These people were signposts of what Rannoria had lost, and as the fortunate ones passed these people by everyday, they were reminded only of bitterness.

"I wasn't asking you anything, Paules. A Harbourman like you wouldn't know jack shit about how it is in some parts of the city, especially in the Onweyyken."

Representative Reider smiled. "As a speaker for the nation I believe that you ought to owe me some degree of respect, Henri. It's not everyday that you get to speak with the one that would negotiate the future of the country." As they walked to the Zeeparle, Reider glanced at his friends face. Surely enough, he had those same, dead eyes most people had during these times, with no smile to alleviate it. "You ought to smile more, y'know? That's the only thing keeping anybody alive in these damned times."

"What's there to smile about when everyone I know is either dead or dying?" Henri grunted out. "To be honest, I don't understand how you're staying so optimistic. At best, the COFRR is going to make you into their own lackey - a puppet held by strings that actively strangle it. At worst, they make you disappear, crushing any spirit this country has."

Reider laughed. "You're worrying too much. To think that the Occupational forces would go through all this effort to stamp out any bits of hope left in this country is just silly." He looked towards his friend, who simply shot him a tired stare. "Okay, to be honest they might actually do that. But, realistically, this occupation has become too costly for them. Although the resistance has greatly dwindled since the war's end, their efforts are still noticeable enough to cause issues in our foreign friends' administration. They're losing both men and money, and the longer they stay and the more they antagonise us, it'll only be moments before one of us really takes up arms. Even if I do die, I believe I'll die a martyr." He laughed again. "How romantic. A symbol of hope dying for the motherland, under the hands of foreign giants. Really puts bumek raksasa into perspective, huh?"

Henri's lips curled up into a smile, and for once his eyes followed suit. "You really are an idiot, aren't you. Only idiots think like that." There was a pause before Henri continued. "It'll take all the idiots we can get to bring us out of this mess, though." And silence ensued.

A photo of the Zeeparle.

The walk to the Zeeparle was long, even for Paules who lived by the harbour. Built upon an artificial lake, the parliament was one of the few things left untouched by the scourge that was brought on by the invaders. Grandiose and rich with history, it served as a reminder of what Rannoria once was. Once housing the likes of Grand Adance in the 1870s, the building now serves as a headquarters for the administration of the various Rannorian occupied zones. It felt as though there was some sort of poetry at work here, a cruel trick that Bann'jo had played upon his people, but Paules wasn't thinking about that. No, his mind was instead focused on the crowd of people that gathered in front of the Zeeparle in the distance, to which Henri quickly bade his leave and left the representative to his own devices. He continued his walk, but far before he could reach the main entrance of the building, a host of Occupational forces that seemed to be killing time spotted him and surrounded him, ushering him quickly towards the entrance. As Paules neared the building, he could hear cheers for his name. He spotted a line of Occupationals pushing and shoving Rannorian citizens back, yelling orders in their own languages. Paules smiled. Not all was lost.

As the door to the parliament was opened, and as he was guided towards the meeting room, he noticed two other people being escorted in a manner similar to him. One of them was distinctly Rannorian, with telltale Mastupian features blended together with Hadorian. The other was more generally Europeian-looking, though her Aclusian still had a slight Rannorian accent to it that made it clear that she was not Occupational either. This confused Paules. He also noticed the elevation in his heart rate, and thoughts suddenly rushing through his head. Why now? Not now. No. As he was hurried along, he took deep breaths until he reached a large pair of doors that led him into a room with a large ovular table. The room itself was flanked not only by guards, but bookshelves filled with countless books. He quickly picked one out with his eyes and read the name, 'A Summation of Old Rannoria; the Kingdoms of Rann, Eikon, and the Hadorian Lords'. Paules would've been thoroughly impressed by the literary appetite of former Grands had the book next it not not been named, 'A Thorough Dissection of Mastupian and Hadorian Interbreeding'. Disregarding that, to his right, he spotted the two Rannorians that had been hurried to the room like he was. On his left, two men donning Aclusian military dress could be seen, conversing quietly. When they noticed Paules, they nodded to him and quickly returned to their conversation, before Paules could return a nod. At the end of table stood another two men, dressed in the unmistakeable fashion of Wargloria. Given Paules' especially recent history with Warglorians, he felt much less inclined to return the silent greeting the Warglorians offered him, but returned it nonetheless. In between the Warglorians and the Aclusians sat a person of no discernable nationality, dressed in fairly common clothing, and seemingly embroiled with whatever documents they were attending to. They paid Paules no attention, and Paules didn't bother to catch theirs either. As Paules waited for a Warglorian or Aclusian delegate to speak, he walked towards the two other Rannorians and inquired as to who they were.

The Mastupian-looking one introduced himself with a nervous energy. "Yes, good day to you too. I am Marshas Seyy, speaking on behalf of Rannoria at this meeting, yes."

Before Paules could interject, the other one introduced herself. "Good day, Representative Reider. I'm sure you're confused as to why there is more than one Rannorian representative present at this meeting, but I can assure you that we will all come out victors by the end of this. The name's Rivers - Chantal Rivers. You should also know that I am speaking on behalf of Rannoria as well."

Paules nodded, and before he could ask the lady about her surname and question the both of them further about the situation, he heard the unmistakeable sound of someone clearing their throat to garner attention coming from the other end of the room. The Aclusians stopped their chattering, and the person that was seated between the two groups of delegates continued their course of action by continuing to be immersed in their documents. A Warglorian spoke, "Mr Reider, Mr Seyy, Ms Rivers. Pleasure to meet the three of you. All you need to know of me is that I go by the surname 'Stahl'." His tone was completely formal. If there was one good thing about a Warglorian, it was the simple fact that there was - usually - no bullshit at hand when you spoke to one. "The man to my right will be documenting what is said throughout this meeting, and will be writing down any terms that we come to concerning the state and autonomy of Rannoria. Everybody, please seat yourselves." As everybody took their seat, the Warglorian continued. "Mr Reider, I'm sure you have something to ask about this arrangement."

"You would be correct, Mr Stahl. I was unaware that there were three Rannorian representatives. Why is this so?"

"That," Stahl smiled, "is a wonderful question. While you were chosen by the Rannorian people, you were not chosen by all Rannorians. In other words, these other two representatives represent more... fringe groups within Rannoria, so to say. Ms Rivers is of half-Aclusian ancestry, hence the odd surname, and she has maintained excellent relations with the Aclusians throughout these troubling times. Mr Seyy is of Mastupian descent, and has done an excellent job in keeping portions of Mastupia under wraps." As Reider glared at his two countrymen, Stahl's smile quickly fell. "This occupation has not been the most pleasant, you know? You Rannorians seem to be excellent in stirring up trouble. Despite the actions of all our armies ten years ago, I think we all should learn to move on, and thus that is why the joint occupational forces believe that Rannoria should no longer be ruled directly from foreign hands."

Reider nodded, and with that, the Warglorian spoke once again. "Then let us begin."

[Aclus]

The Price of Victory

The Winter of 1922, 8 months Since the Great War
City of Aclusia

---

The sun rose in the capital city of Aclusia, as the morning dew began to make its way out unto the snow covered streets, life began to make its way through. Cars and buses driving by and by, children running around and laughing with the occasional snowball fight in the streets, while the air was filled up with the scent of the local bakeries, the new year had seemed to get off to a lovely start. Though as the day progressed on and the pleasantries of the city's image started to pass, it wasn't a all to merry a time for the average Aclusian.

The last thirteen years had been the darkest chapter of Aclusian history, starting when the world descended into a bloody stage of madness. Thirteen years ago the empire had followed suit alongside its allies of the Western League, in what is now known as "The Great 9 Years War". The conflict saw the empire unsheathing its sword to battle the Alliance of republican nations, from continent to continent clashing mighty armies of man and machine against one another.

Over the course of the years that followed, would in time lead to the tragic losses of life over minor gains of territory, the dissent of the masses over a general disability of military leadership, as well as much significant losses of Aclusian assets and territories. The Empire has almost reached its breaking point, facing hardships overseas and at home, the end was almost in sight.

However through the hellfire that gripped the world, Victory did soon come on that cold Winter day of 1921. With the decisive defeats of the Alliance of republican nations in Rannoria, to the final battle against the Boers for the capital city of the Traansval, the world had finally come to know peace once more.

Through the following months after the conflict however did come to see a new age for the world being born, the rise of new ideologies having been forged in the fires of the war followed by massive changes in modern society as a whole. Many having been made within the social constructs of within the empire, bringing about major conflicts inside the government itself. With the beginning of such drastic changes made in this new post war world, even a Elixian could tell The Aclusian people were no longer the united driven force it had once been.

It didn't much help the situation at home either, when the massive return and demobilization of the armies from abroad had been initiated. Millions of fighting men returning home to a land much different than the one they left, coming back as total strangers to their old lives, and to loved ones having been away for so long. Many of these men even coming back broken, either physically or mentally to a unforgiving and divided land.

As the process of demobilization was already proven a difficult task, when coupled with the cost of funding such a force overseas while nursing a tired empires wartime economy, the struggle would prove to be even greater than many would've expected. This great struggle being a prime example however that the peacetime that was so greatly fought for, for nearly a decade, would not be all it had been made out to be.

---

A time of Confusion



The year is now 1925. In the following years since the Great wars end, saw a many changes to have come of the landscape of the modern world. With time having been passing since the guns fell silent on that cold and dreadful January day, the Aclusian empire had been in a steady state of moving on from the troubled past that had shadowed the planet. Through the bickering of back and forth legislation's in the house of parliament, saw rebuilding programs finally being initiated in what was left of the occupied nations of the war, alongside operations of humanitarian aid and relief to the local populace through the efforts of the empire and the Western League.

By the early days of the year 1924 the empire itself had also been in a constant stage of rebuilding and improvements. Catching up on much of the time lost in the war, the Aclusian empire saw fit to begin a period of reconstruction rather than the repair of the previous systems it once had in place.

One of many in line to follow had been the major demobilization of the imperial armies, many of which having been deployed around the world across every continent during the war. Being a process started in late 1921 at the wars end, it had been deemed a priority by the government as to preserve what resources the war torn world had left to work with. Though to substitute the massive change and loss of manpower, a compromise had to be made to establish a notion of security around the empire.

The decision that would finally be made for this dilemma came to be as follows, Dominions would be reverted back to a state of full autonomy as to levy and control armies of their own raised by their own provincial forces, while being paid for on their own accord. This change to a return of a self governing state would also allow the Aclusian expeditionary force to revert back to its original formation, as a smaller professional territorial army allowing itself to be refitted and modernized throughout the rest of the decade.

Now as itself being brought down in size, the AEF was now easier to be subjected to a new standard of mechanization, thus finding itself to be significantly much more mobile enough to deploy quickly into any part of the empire if needed than its pre war counterpart. However with these implementations came its own consequences, as the main problem of such a revamp would only be found in the lack of pre war manpower and supply.

In due time however, what the impact of such a decision, would ever have an effect on the strength of control over Aclusian territories overseas was still up for debate. Though as tensions rose in the Dominion of Zeeland against the Neo Elixians, the answer may come even sooner than expected.



Aclusian Army Instructor in the territory of Zeeland

[Breyburg]

Preparations for a Threat Untold
January 3rd, 1925
Lilleske, Brey
Riksdag

The Riksdag.

The Riksdag was an old and seasoned building, adorned atop a small island within the Lilleske River. Its granite red and marble white details made the parliament building distinctly memorable within the gallery of grand old brick buildings of Lilleske. It stood as a grand, entrenched symbol of Breyburgian democracy, dating all the way back to 1838 when it was first constructed. The spirit of Brey democracy, however, like a line of string, spun from 1668, when the Kalmaa Confederation was first established.

Today, a session of the Riksdag was being held. Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola was present, observing the Representatives as they began to seat themselves. Like a creeping flow of water, sunlight finally spilled through the large circular skylight which illuminated the chamber of the Riksdag. There, in Lilleske, days were longer than his Suoma home, even during winter. So it was still unusual to be graced by sunlight at three in the afternoon. Lilleske scarcely bare witness to the Aurora Borealis in comparison to his home, which Lehtola remembered fondly, falling asleep lying beside his bedroom window, watching the dancing opalescent lights flicker above his head.

A shrill bell jolted Lehtola awake. The Speaker of the Riksdag, Oskar Huvden of District 5 in north Suder, was performing the age-old duty of his role. To mark the beginning of each session, the Speaker strikes a sizable bell, situated beneath the Speaker’s desk. Murmur and chatter from the 90 Representatives faded and it was clear business was to begin.

The first topic was a proposed bill from Elisabet Moller of District 39, west Åndalreid. Said bill was to reduce military spending, which was currently at one quarter of the national budget. Lehtola was aware that it was a largely unpopular bill, given the horrors demonstrated by war in Europa.

“Firstly, I would like to give a couple remarks before delivering my case for this bill,” Elisabet spoke before the chamber, “What happened in Europa, is scarcely bound to happen here. What happened was, not to put it lightly, horrendous. But the reactionary increase in military spending in anticipation of a similar event happening here in Breyburg or Indianum is frankly dimwitted.”

Murmurs and silent objections fell upon the chamber, like a tidal wave of disagreement.

“We are a prominent exporter of steel, of grains and lumber. Attacking Breyburg would mean potentially disrupting the world economy. No nation in their right mind would dare attack this nation. Even if one did, our policy of neutrality enacted ages ago, would ensure someone would retaliate against the invader.” Moller continued.

“Moller, don’t be so naive. Granted, our exports do replenish much of the world's steel, lumber and grain reserves, it does not exclude us from being attacked. And when was the last time neutrality worked indefinitely?” Luukas Pekkala of District 82, east Suoma.

“It worked during the 9 Years War.” Moller remarked.

“Yes, but if we should learn anything from that war, it is that peace is never guaranteed, no matter what. The 9 Years War, sprung from a simple territorial dispute in Europa, I remind you. What happens when, say, the Twelve Isles declares Reykðir as rightfully their land? We must be prepared for all cases, all outcomes, all situations.” Pekkala rebutted.

“I see your point, Representative Pekkala, but Reykðir has been cemented as clear Breyburgian land since our Viking days. No European power would ever lay claim to the island. It’s simply absurd to suggest such a thing.” Moller snarked.

“Representative Moller, I believe you are astoundingly close minded.” Pekkala sat down.

After another hour of debate, the bill was voted down, 67 to 23.

Lehtola thought, had the 9 Years War not been proof enough that Breyburg needed a strong and capable military? Had the millions of deaths displayed before us in our newspapers, on our radio sets, not been evidence enough that Breyburg must defend against, protect and deter potential threats?

Riksdag Chamber.

January 4th, 1925
Lilleske, Brey
Royal Palace

The morning after the Riksdag session, Lehtola was scheduled to meet with the King. It was quite a pleasant commute from his residence to the Palace. Lehtola had purchased a motor vehicle for the first time in his life, always having used a bicycle to get from place to place. It was a loud and smelly thing, but damn it did get him where he needed to go.

Lehtola and King Gustaf Enrikkson II spoke on military matters that morning. Lehtola reported to Gustaf that there would be enough money to be allotted from the Federal and Royal Treasuries to construct the series of Fortresses on the eastern coast. Gustaf was pleased to hear the news.

The construction was to commence immediately. The new Forts were to be constructed at key places along the east coast; 4 in the Suoma Domain, 3 in Brey, 6 in Suder, 2 in Molberg, 2 in Jönbacka, and 1 in Nyhamn.

Breyburg was to commence preparations for a threat untold, and Lehtola wished it would stay untold.

[The Manticoran Empire]

A New Dawn
11 January 1925

---

The War was over. Chronologically, at least, it had been over for nearly four years. But for many of the citizens of Reikland, it had ended only recently, when the last ships bearing home Reikish soldiers held as prisoners of war had returned from the nations of the Western League. Four years of worry and hope, four years of prayer, finally brought to an end. But with the end of one era came the dawn of a new one. New worries. New hopes and prayers.

Among these worries was, at least for Conservative Senator Gilbert Rossi as he walked down the street towards the Conservative Party office, the continued public belief that the Liberals were great peacemakers. Unfortunately, he had to admit they had a point. The War had been a catastrophe, sparked by naval officers that were too trigger happy firing on Western League warships while enforcing a blockade. Rossi had thought the blockade was unnecessary but, unfortunately, his opinion had been in the minority. Equally unfortunate was the short memory of the population. How quickly and readily did they forget that more Liberals voted for the blockade and the war that followed than Conservatives. Of course, when the Conservatives failed to win the war, the Progressives got their turn. And when the Progressives failed, the Liberals got their turn. The Liberals also failed but, unlike the Conservatives and the Progressives, the Liberals secured, “Peace with Honor,” as they liked to say.

Rossi turned up his collar against the wind as he turned onto Cambrea Square. The Libs could say what they wanted to but their “Peace with Honor'' amounted to little more than betrayal. It had taken one Warglorian offensive in Rannoria for them to approach the Aclusians about a settlement. One offensive that took four months to achieve its goals and inflicted almost as many casualties on the Warglorians as it did on the Rannorian and Reikish troops in the sector. But the line HAD broken in several sectors and it wasn’t helped by what came in Terraria in Ninth.

It was almost guaranteed that the Arenginian Offensive would go down as the most successful hundred days of combat in history. Casualties exceeded a million soldiers on each side but the Arenginians shattered the lines and their advance killed any hope of salvaging the situation. The Libs were able to secure their “Peace with Honor”, at the cost of abandoning the Boers and the Rannorians to Western League occupation. And how could there be “Peace with Honor” if you betrayed your allies?

His train of thought broke off as he reached the door and pushed it open. The warmth of the lobby, heated by a large fireplace off to the right, hit his face, a moderately unpleasant shock compared to the bitter cold of mid-winter. A nearby aide took his coat while the secretary at the desk greeted him. “Welcome back, Senator. How was the committee meeting?” Rossi smiled warmly as he rubbed his hands together and said, “It went well. The bill is still in its early stages but I think we’ll be able to secure enough support to get the new plan through.” A short round of applause echoed through the room. Every person in the building was a devoted and card carrying member of the party and they were hoping to get a massive budget approval in the next spending bill.

The War had been far less devastating to the Reikish economy than it had been to many other economies in the world. Reikland’s isolation and its large fleet had served to protect them against invasion or bombardment and the Navy’s wartime experiences against Aclus had enabled the establishment of well protected convoys that quickly adapted to submersible warfare. However, none of this had prevented hundreds of thousands of Reikish soldiers being killed or wounded during the war, requiring enormous expenditures of manpower, money, and material resources. In the wake of the war’s end, Parliament had gradually cut back funding. However, many in the party, including Rossi, could see complications arising if the funding was cut back too far.

That was the purpose of the new spending plan. A five year program to ensure that the Armed Forces would be able to maintain their current size and capabilities while also instructing the Armed Forces to study what they would need going forward. The way Rossi had been framing it to the Committee was that the bill, if passed, would benefit the economy by allowing the industries to maintain production of pieces of equipment, keeping open jobs for returning veterans. In addition, it would maintain Reikland’s security against any potential threats while simultaneously providing an environment with adequate funding for the development of new equipment, doctrines, and strategies to better fit the needs of the nation.

So far he was able to garner enough support to keep the bill stuck in Committee. He’d need an additional carrot if he was going to get it to the floor.

---

During the 10th Reikish-Aclusian War, Reikish forces had encountered the Aclusian Infantry Division in combat. The divisions, combined arms elements of around 11,000 officers and men, organized around two infantry brigades. These formations combined Engineers, Infantry, Artillery, and Cavalry under a single, unified headquarters, proving highly effective against the Reikish Army, which relied on Brigades as the central tactical arm. This led, in 1900, to the first formal organization of a division as a tactical unit.

The 1900 division boasted 19,850 officers, enlisted men, and civilians and contained three Infantry Brigades, each of two Infantry Regiments, a Cavalry Regiment, an Engineer Battalion, a Signal Company, four field hospitals, and an Artillery Brigade of two regiments. An ammunition column, supply column, and pack train were also assigned to the division to decrease its reliance on other formations.
A cavalry division followed in 1902, organized with 13,836 officers and men in 3 Cavalry Brigades of 2 Cavalry Regiments, a Signal Company, an Engineer Company, an Artillery Regiment, and two field hospitals. Ammunition and supply trains finalized the division.

Further studies would result in the 1906 reforms that would see the Infantry Division’s strength climb to 22,646 personnel in an effort to increase firepower while the Cavalry Division’s strength fell to 10,161 personnel in an effort to increase mobility. However, the strengths would change again in 1907, with the Infantry Division growing to 28,256 officers and men while the Cavalry Division grew to 18,164 officers and men. The General Staff believed this would allow the division to function most adequately in prolonged combat situations. However, exercises in 1908, combined with the rapidly increasing specter of war, would lead to a new reorganization drive in 1909. In 1909, the Infantry Division shrank to 17,700 officers and men, where it would remain until the start of the War, when it grew to 18,919 officers and men. The Cavalry Division would remain at its 1907 size.

During the War, the Infantry Division would grow to 23,000 men, similar to the 1906 tables, before being cut to 19,385 officers and men by the end of the war. The final structure, adopted in 1919, included a tank company for the division, which would be maintained in the post war reorganization.

The cavalry division saw little use during the war, aside from a few suicidal attacks early on that quickly relegated them to rear area use or saw them converted to infantry. However, it would fall to some 7,463 officers and men by 1919.

After the war, both the Infantry and Cavalry divisions were reduced in strength once again, falling to 16,273 in the Infantry division and 6,207 in the Cavalry division.

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

Nights for Long Knives, Fists, and Gibes
The Hunt Ball at the Maugham Residence

A Hunt Ball; traditional formal celebratory event
in the Triarchy. Usually held before and after a hunt.

"Oh, no ma'am, never been one for dancing I'm afraid." A gruff man's voice said in polite refusal as he was approached by one of many women for a dance, "I've been told that I've got two left feet, heh." The lady acquiesced with a nod and left for another partner to dance with; the whole table had refused dances for quite some time. And as she left, one of his fellow Lord-Freeholders of the Upper House sighed with a shake of his head.

"Your branch will die with you at this point." The one on the gruff one's left said with some mirth, an old man with stories to tell from the looks of it, "No wonder your da' lost his hairs early, couldn't bear to see no grandchildren from his golden boy." A few sensible chuckles were had, and the whiskey or wine was given a few sips. A pause was given to let the alcohol settle down, and soon enough the talks resumed.

"Ah well, you know me Edric. I've got a few things to take care of, scores to settle, the usual you know?" He sipped another glass, "Besides, the amount of work I'm doing and I'll be doing, got no time, I'd be a poor man to whoever the poor lady that wants to get hitched with me." Edric nodded in sage agreement, the pair had been acquaintances even before the war, and after those grueling nine years toiling against the Aclusians, Arenginians, and Skartenians, the pair had grown further into actual close friends, rather than their friendship being a mere formality of their work. A breath of fresh air in the political field, someone who you could trust and rely on. Edric had found that his friend had a talent for it, turning mere acquaintances into staunch friends and close allies.

"That is true, Stephen my friend, but don't tell me that you haven't used the- you know, that particular way to unwind."

Lord-Freeholder Armstrong, 1922

Stephen J. Armstrong rolled his eyes with a jesting scoff as bawdy laughter erupted from their table, adding to the cacophony of sounds that was the Maugham Hunt Ball of January. In terms of how loud they were, they barely dented anything; there was a loud song playing, people having a great time dancing about on the floor, love and laughter was in the air. A jubilant time, a joyous time.

"A strikingly different time." It was a far cry of what occurred barely half a decade prior, the rationing, the sometimes audible rumbles of empty stomachs, the sounds of war close to the border, "It's amazing how much things have changed since those dark times... Never again." This he swore then, and even now. The people would choose their wars if it were up to him, and that might just be the case if he played his cards right. But for now, he had a celebration to enjoy.

They had won a war many of their own had thought to be hard or even impossible to win, and on a strongly positive note, no less. It was justified to him and to many others that they should celebrate as much as possible, "Never forget the Morvernians and the Bronzies." Two wars in a row, but they won big in the war that mattered.

He turned away from his thoughts and to his friend and also fellow Lord-Freeholder, this time the one sitting on the right of himself. "I have Oliver, I have. And if we were to count it, I'd probably have more tallies than you, ha!" He gave Oliver J. Yamdon a friendly if rough pat on the back, and laughter once again was had with the five on their table.

Matthew S. Clayt, Lord-Freeholder

There was Oliver Yamdon, a soldier-to-be denied, only for the man to sneak into the army as a medic and getting much honor for his service at Holihs Hills in Ninstints and later at the Bog. To his left was the previously mentioned Edric P. Alto, an old, aged, and wise man who was formerly a General during the Morvern War- youngest ever, if he recalled correctly. Now he was a joyous old coot, deceptively a coot if Stephen had any words for the man's masks.

The remaining two were Halle D. Dubrovnik, even older than Old Man Edric but still as sharp, though a few places that the man couldn't sharpen remained dull and grew duller by the year. He was an officer way back then, but never rose to prominence unlike Edric, however; but it seemed that that was to be expected as the man grew in politics with his fiery speeches and witty rhetoric, "Wordy Halle" some liked to call him, others preferred "Silver-tongued Halle". And finally, there was the quiet one out of the bunch, though Armstrong knew that man hid a great fire and will that aligned with his own ideals; Matthew S. Clayt, ever the silent and mysterious type, though he knew that he was just a little reserved. "Better to save your words for the things that matter than sputter about and ruin everything as you do." He recalled the man's words, and found them truthful.

But this was not the time it seemed, for Matthew to keep quiet.

"We must needs leave inconspicuously, just look behind you if you wanna know why." Stephen and the rest turned as suggested, and lo and behold, pale haired men and women, in garish black and yellow clothes with a golden pin to top it all off; all symbols of opulence, colors of power, and of the strength of their blood. A symbol of the old regime, a Yellow Sign. "Bloody Order, always sticking their noses in whenever something interesting happens." Stephen knew what it was like, having the Golden Order sending in a lackey or two to whatever social gathering was occurring.

"Keh, when will the bastards learn that the old times ain't coming back?" Stephen thought with a scoff, though a darker possibility was brought up to the forefront with his train of thought, "They've been active as of recent, ballsy even. There's something big they've got planned, but what?" He figured that he and the rest would have to dig further into this.

"So, what do you lot say about a little gathering in the Armstrong manor?" the Lord-Freeholder asked the rest of them in a hushed tone, one that got their attentions fully, "I'm thinking that we get to the bottom of what I've been seeing, these pisscloaks snooping around more than usual." Matthew gave nothing but a nod of agreement, ever the quiet man that he was.

"Aye, I'll make time for it." Halle agreed, with Edric only nodding as he did, "Say, you want this to be big or a small one, Steve?" And at that, Armstrong shook his head, explaining that it needed to be inconspicuous.

"There's a conspiracy afoot, I can feel it." Oliver said, leaving the table's occupants dreading slightly as to what it exactly was.

[Breyburg]

A New Dawn For Indianum?
January 12th, 1925
Nyhamn, Nyhamn
Hoosier Embassy

Tarje Aavik, a Breyburgian ambassador to Iron Guard Hoosier, had flown in from Lilleske to meet with a Hoosier ambassador in Nyhamn. Typically, a meeting like this would be about something mundane like imports or discussion around Brey-Hoosier relations, but this meeting was about something different. The Federation of Breyburg was to express its desire for an alliance of sorts. Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola of the Federation of Breyburg had dispatched Tarje to discuss the potentialities of Hoosier membership in a theoretical “Indianum League.” Such an Indianum League’s (IL) purpose would be to promote diplomatic solutions within the continent, act as a forum for discussion within the continent, and promote the well-being of the inhabitants and citizens of Indianum.

Mezma Huitzil sat at his desk in his office at the Hoosier embassy to Breyburg. The embassy itself had only been reopened within the last few years. After the army deposed the Rey, Breyburg and Hoosier cut ties when Breyburg did not recognize the new military regime as legitimate. However, after the military “stepped down” and allowed the IGP to take control of the country, Breyburg and Hoosier resumed normal diplomatic relations. Now, Huitzil handled many diplomatic dealings with the Breys on behalf of the Chief of State, Zyapan Patee. This included the meeting requested by Tarje Aavik, the Brey ambassador. Relations between the countries were a bit strained due to the strongarm tactics of the Hoosier government, but Huitzil had always found the people to be more or less pleasant when he interacted with them. They may be monarchists, but they’re polite monarchists.

“Sir?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“The Brey representative has arrived.”

“Good. See him please, at once.”

Tarje was dropped off at the Embassy by a Royal taxi, and approached the embassy’s doors. Outside stood two Hoosier guards, looking not exactly intimidating, but not purely easy-going either. He made slight waves to either before they checked his identification. The embassy had a strange air to it, perhaps it was the architecture. The building had a hybridization of intricate leftover ornamental designs that clashed with the rigid design of the Hoosier government. Tarje thought it was a sign of sorts, a symbol of the potential mixing of Brey and Hoosier society.

Tarje was directed to the second floor by an embassy staff member. As he looked around, he found copious amounts of Hoosier flags and seemingly infinitely detailed paintings of ancient Hoosier gods and scenes from myths. It appeared to Tarje that Hoosier indeed had a mythos as deep as the Breyburgian array of gods. He wondered if there were any equivalents in their mythology, but now was not the time to discuss beliefs.

An embassy worker opened the door to the meeting room, situated within the center of the second floor. It had an oblong shape, and at either end of the room, Hoosier and Brey flags had been arranged.

“Hello, Mr. Huitzil! How pleasant it is to meet you!”

“Mr. Tarje, hello.” Huitzil stood to greet the man.

The two shook hands with a firm manner and both sat down.

“Mezma, I imagine you’re wondering why the Federation of Breyburg has arranged this meeting with you.”

“Yes,” Huitzil said, taking his seat once more. “It’s always a pleasure to entertain guests, but that isn’t exactly our purpose here. So I suppose we should get down to business, but first,” Huitzil produced two Hoosier cigars from a small wooden box. He offered one to Tarje and readied his lighter.

“Thank you, Mezma, that’s very kind of you. Now, I believe we should get down to my purpose in meeting with you. The Prime Minister has expressed interest in forming an ‘Indianum League’ of sorts. It would be an alliance, but not in the same vein as the Western League or the ARN. Now, I’m here to determine whether Hoosier would be inclined to be a member of said Indianum League.” Tarje informed.

“Well,” the Hoosier began, puffing on his cigar and leaning back in his seat, “the Iron Guard Party is, to say the least, split on how to deal with your nation. I know it’s no secret that relations are rocky between our nations, though both our governments remain cordial with one another. However, I’m not sure if the more, let’s say, “conservative” elements would want to form any permanent pact with you Breys. Still, I’m here to represent Hoosier and the Chief of State, not the old fucks sitting in the Assembly. So, tell me what exactly your people have in mind, and I will try to push for what I think is for the good of my nation, regardless of how others might react.”

“I understand, politics can be a mess. The vision for the Indianum League is that it will act as a forum for all nations of Indianum to come together, potentially annually, to speak on certain matters. It may act as a way for peaceful deescalation of conflict, or it may act as a method of gaining outside aid for certain issues. The Federation wants it to be a way for the nations of Indianum to coexist and come together. You saw what happened in Europa. They were split, they still are split, and it resulted in a war. Petty geopolitics and egos. With such an organization as the Indianum League we could learn from Europa’s mistakes and protect our citizens and nations from such a horrid war.” Tarje explained.

“My people,” Huitzil began, “do not want another war waged in the name of some bastard's ego or family feud. The monarchs of Europa care little how many of their subjects must die to secure their wealth and influence, but I think we can agree that such a thing should be avoided. This ‘League’ of yours sounds…appealing, to say the least. I will pass this along to the Chief of State. I believe we can come to an agreement.”

“That is great to hear! Let this mark the beginning of a new peace upon Indianum, good friend.” Tarje reached into a bag he had brought with him and removed a small wooden figure of a horse, painted with vibrant colors, “This, Mezma, is a traditional Breyburgian Dalahäst, from the city of Dalarna. It stems from a long running Brey tradition. No one is quite exactly sure as to how they came to be, some say quartered soldiers carved them as a token of appreciation for their hosts. Nevertheless, I wish to gift you this Dalahäst as a token of appreciation towards your and Hoosier’s ever present cooperation with the Federation of Breyburg.”

“Thank you Terje,” Huitzil said, taking and examining the gift, “This is very well made. Wonderful craftsmanship. Hopefully, this is the start of long, peaceful, and profitable relations between our two proud peoples. Cooperation between the Breys and Hoosiers can only ensure the success and safety of all of Indianum. May the gods bless our partnership!”

Tarje departed the Hoosier Embassy, and directed the driver of his escort to deliver him to the nearest telegram operator. The driver obliged and Tarje found himself writing up a message to be sent to Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola at the Ministry.

End, Co-Write with The Hoosier Alliance.

BREY NATIONAL TELEGRAM
To: Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola
From: Tarje Aavik
I have just spoken with Ambassador Mezma Huitzil at the Nyhamn Hoosier Embassy. He says his people would be quite interested in our Indianum League Proposal. I believe we should invite the nations of Indianum to our organization as soon as possible, sir. I believe we are sitting upon the edge of a new dawn for our people, and indeed, the people of this grand continent.
My best regards, Tarje Aavik.
Fee: Waived

January 12th, 1925
Lilliske, Brey
Federal Palace of the Ministry

"Prime Minister! Sir, you have a telegram from the Ambassador to Hoosier." an assistant waved down Lehtola.
"Ah, good poijke!" Lehtola recovered the letter from the assistant and proceeded to read the document. It was brief but it told him all he needed to know for now.
"Well, sir, how'd the meeting go?"
"Poijke, it appears the meeting has gone swell. The Hoosier's seem quite receptive to the League proposal. I will message the leaders of Indianum, inquiring about their reception to this proposal." Lehtola informed. Lehtola proceeded to sit at his desk and write four letters; one for the leadership of the Libertian Union, the Commonwealth of Reikland, the Naakhota Confederation and Free Aulata.

AN OFFICIAL TELEGRAM FROM THE PRIME MINISTER OF BREYBURG
To: the Libertian Union, the Commonwealth of Reikland, the Naakhota Confederation, Free Aulata
From: Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola of the Federation of Breyburg
Greetings, the Federation of Breyburg has a proposal. We have already discussed this concept with the Hoosiers, but I am personally inquiring to see if your constituents would be receptive to such a proposal. We wish to establish an Indianum League, of sorts. It will act as a vessel and forum for peaceful discussion on issues within and around this great continent of Indianum. We would meet annually, perhaps at rotating locales within our borders, and discuss all sorts of matters; military, geopolitical, economic... Perhaps we could learn from the happenings in Europa and carve a more peaceful future for our people.
Sincerely, Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola of the Federation of Breyburg.

[Norcourt]

State of the Union, January 1925

In Nuza

With the boiling pot of incidents following the change of power in recent years, progress towards a single standard fighting force was expectedly slowed down. Tallying at a fully mobilized conscripted force of 635,000 men, the Army of Nuza was a substantial increase in manpower for Elixia. Though it was not to say that the Unions armies were in disarray, as the command structure held firm with power centralized in Norcourtian authority, and the interchangeability with the Nuzan-Elixian dialect, the only true problem was in union-wide uniformity.

The Nuzan state's recent absorption into the Elixian Union meant that the former kingdom would have autonomy in control and procurement for its own divisions, despite being in itself a part of the Union's Army, Nuza would have to arm itself by domestic means, until future measures were in place.

An arms commission was to be established to source guns in an effort to modernize the army to the likes of contemporary military standards. Several commission members were sent to nearby nations that had favorable diplomatic ties with Elixia. The Transvaal Boer OGK M1915 Automatic Rifle had piqued the interest of several members, admired for its great manufacturing simplicity and low cost of strategic resources. 20 were made in standard Norcourtian 7x57mm, and were trialed overseas. Despite proving somewhat unpopular with troops in regards to ergonomics and general crude appearance, the M1915 ran well after Boer troops trained the Elixians on how to use them properly. The board would proceed to designate the auto rifles as the Light Machine Gun, 7mm, Model 1915/25, however to the Elixian soldiers who handled them, it would be known as the Daka, due to the rifle’s unique sound, and hard kicking long recoil action. Orders for 12,000 M1915/25s were set in place, as well as the purchase for the license of domestic manufacture, so that assembly lines could begin retooling and production back at home, with the M1915/25 being adopted by both armies in the Union.

In Norcourt

The ever changing political climate of Norcourt had seemed to have finally slowed down in recent months, many Norcourtians were content in the comfort that they lived in an isolationist nation of relatively pacifistic nature, a nation mostly free from the foreign revolutionary cancer that was syndicalism- mostly.

Of the numerous minor uprisings led against the new regime, all of them but one were led by Elixian Syndicalist factions, whether these were homegrown or not mattered little to Maranossos, who brutally crushed their forces to finally secure peace in the realm.

In other news, pressure had been placed on Maranossos to even more so further extend his influence due to the aggression presented by Aclusian Zeeland. To much of the world, which Aclus did control, the Elixian Union was unrecognized as the rightful government of Norcourt, many nations still recognizing the overthrown republic.

Often mentioned was Maranossos' view towards Elixian Unification, and with the sudden regime change and Norcourt's striking increase towards military expenditure & mobilization, so it was fairly reasonable that the Aclusians saw the Union as a threat. The average Norcourtian during this new era of nationalist and ethnic fervor, held Aclusian Zeeland in much contempt, and utterly loathed foreign presence on the Elixian continent as a whole. Of course border incidents had grown tall in recent months, but surely after years of peaceful relations there wouldn't be war with the Aclusians…right?

[Newne Carriebean7]

Painting of President Marvin Washvelt, commissioned sometime in early 1917.
Beaver, Cactus
Vacation home of the Imperial Monarchy
January 1, 1925

A frigid storm brewed overhead, it's lashing winds and biting lounges hissing and screaming outside. Anything that was unfortunate to be under it's hate-filled gaze was met with curtains of hail and a literal mountain's worth of snow. The old man known as Father Nature had apparently been given waay too much to drink, so he was unable to hold in whatever it was bothering him. The result was a mess of white and gray smattered mush along the cobblestoned path and the long walls that surrounded the vacation home. Snow drenched Imperial Monks stood guard as stiffly as they were still able to, though a changing of the guard was a welcome relife to the tired, blink heavy warriors of an ancient land. A small smacking of formality still remained, as the forward unit saluted their counterparts as they marched past each other in an organized Colum of shining spears, bayonets and rifles that glistened off the smallest inkling of sunshine that escaped from the storm clouds that broomed above.

Inside, a man with a casual looking robe and somewhat tired looking souls that accounted for his feet flicked through another page of the novel he was currently engrossed in. To his front right, a roaring fireplace beat with the intensity of a rather toasty toaster oven. The man's pupils narrowed slightly as he strained to read his trusted hardback. He squinted hardily at the scribbles on the page, it all becoming nothing more than a jumbled mess of letters, semicolons and other grammatically sound devices that one might find in a leatherback novel. After much frustration and even more absent minded sips of his trusted tableside cup of coffee, he willed the brain power to get through another chapter in his book. He might have even mustered the strength for two whole chapters.

Until, Father fate knocked on the door.

The man cursed to himself and set his prized literary weapon off to one side, firming up the robe he adorned himself with before standing up to open the door.

"I thought I said I wasn't to be disturbed. It appears that message was lost in translation. What is it?" The man snapped, irritated that his pleasant week-ened plans were spoiled by politics once more.

"Really ol' Mike-Dave? I thought you'd have room for a friend like me?" The retired politician spoke. The man looked to be in his early 70s. Certainly an elderly gentlemen by even Carriebeanian standards, even if the leading minister was the definition of 'ancient' and any person standing next to him, even ones in their early nineties, would actually be a young spring buck in marked contrast.

"Oh Marvin. You never change, do you?" Emperor David III of Carriebean waved him inside and shut the door behind the two men. The fireplace crackled intermitidely as both men took up opposite sides of the fire, both firmly sat down and facing each other in classical rocking chairs. The former commander of the army was the first to speak.

"So...how's retirement? Y'all miss the youngin's n' the shootin' n' the Congressional manslaughter?"

The Former President laughed and shook his head.

"Oh, Mike-Dave, If only I could get some sleep around here. It was a lot easier being President than it is being some glum-shmuck."

"I find that hard to believe. You think your the first President I've had to deal with? I've got this dirt poor idjit farmer boy running about making hell of things. My job ain't too easy you know. I get my many mansions, I have to sometimes cut my own damn vegetables and even on occasion, I have to MAKE my own damn bed! Do you know how hard that is? Getting all those corners on?"

"I say, being the commanders of all these...idiots certainly isn't for the weak-minded or feeble hearted, that is a certainty. Now, excuse me for being so..." Washvelt held his tounge and perused what word to shop around for "...crude, but as the kids say, 'what in the sam-hell is going on'?"

"Oh, we've got those idiot militiamen beating the drums of war, preparing raiding parties and generally raising hell. I can't seem to tell if that's going to get us anything, but hopefully some level-headenesses plays out and we can all stay at home, sipping our whiskeys and trying to get along and sing fucking kumbaya."

The President attempted to restrain his verbal frustration with the interworking of Carriebeanian politics. An interworking, that he was all too familiar with with his nearly twenty year Presidential term of office. He remained numb for a moment, taking a measured sip of his whiskey before formulating a reply to the Emperor's news.

"Well, this shit-show ain't my problem anymore, so that's the good news. The bad news is that it is your problem, Mike-Dave. You're going to have all these idiots with rifles and wherever they're pointing their shiny, firey, boom sticks and one of them is bound to get hurt! Ok...like, a couple hundred will get hurt, but those were going to, like...die, anyways."

The President downed another small sliver of mana bestowed upon himself by the benevolent booze wielding gods. It was part letter play and another part more literal, as there were still those that cling to the believes of Rumans, a bastardized version of the Book of Romans that "Rumulans" adamantly insisted that they were "ordained by the great Hopes in the sky" to drink and be merry. As a small memory of the Rumulans trickled by his mind, he stifled a chuckle that turned into a sputtering cough as he was cursed to have his booze fall down his breathing hole rather than his getting fucking drunk hole.

"Now, I may not be in office.. but I'd like to give you some advice. If we are going to lose a war, let's at least waste our good tax-paying, graveyard banking idiots. The ones that give little to the state and are a 'burden.' I don't mean the cripples, Mike-Dave. I mean those in the militia that can hardly stand. Wave your pen around and form 'em on up to "Chain gang battalions". Throw open the Prisons, grab all the lunatics and have them march forth. It's what we did the last time we were at war."

The Ruling Monarch of Carriebean sat in stoned silence for a moment or two before looking back at his ex-executive ally and partner.

"I will confer with our military staff and cabinet on the matter, if we can ever get to naming all our positions. That is all, Marvin. Now, I will take my leave. I have many things to do around here. Have a happy birthday."

As the Emperor got up to leave, he felt his arm being dragged down. Turning around in surprise, he saw the former President gripping onto his shoulder as to garner his attention for a moment.

"I-It's not my birthday."

The Emperor blinked twice, as a small modicum of awkward silence made itself known with the dull 'tick-tocking' of the grandfather clock in the Imperial Study.

"Oh. Well have a good day, Mr. President. Please make sure to not make a mess of my library."

With that being muttered, the President retreated back to the faded hardback that he had been enjoying as David II vacated the room, the oak door behind him quietly shutting.

[Norcourt]

Big Trouble in Little Zeeland

---

---

February, 1925

Following the wave of Eixian ethno-nationalist fervor that had shook the continent, while the armies of the east clashed to unify the fragmented republic that once stood proud under Caneius, the garrisons that laid out west were fighting their own conflict. In late December of 1924, Divisional Detachments of the Black Army had begun engaging Zeelandian forces along the western border, this was because of the disputed zone recognized by the Union as “West Saradegra”. Though these would amount to nothing but minor casualties and diplomatic negotiations, but through the military supply of arms and dubious amounts of partisan elbow grease, the new and small Republic of West Saradegra had been proclaimed by Elixian sympathizers in the region, this was despite the management and authority still being held by Zeelandian and Aclusian administration, who had refused the rebellious opposition, taking a militaristic stance toward separatists and those who held pro-Elixian sentiments.

Maranossos had made it a statement to demand the autonomy of the small republic, knowing his proposal would fall on deaf ears, he formally recognized West Saradegra as an ally of the Union, and started the offensive on the homefront, arresting the staff of the Zeelandian consulate building in Saradegra, and authorizing the mobilization of divisions of the 1st and 2nd Elixian armies, which were to be commanded by newly promoted Marshal Edvard Magnar, and General Samuel Ballester, as the Elixian Western Army, totalling 200,000 men upon its onset. Diplomatic relations between Elixia and Zeeland were to be discontinued, and the conflict rallied support back home.

After arrival via rail to the Saradegran border town of Balenhoz, the Western Army were to drive back and engage Zeelandian border forces, and capture the town of Breckham, to secure a foothold in the disputed zone and allow the rebasing of air units from the 3rd and 4th Air Wings, this was in the hopes that the air corps would be able to provide vital air reconnaissance in the region, as well as support by means of ground attack on the logistical supply of Zeelandian forces. Five divisions were to support the Western Army’s right and engage the enemy at the town of Venrick northeast of Breckham.

It was in the hopes that upon successfully occupying the disputed zone, the Zeelandian government would cede the land to the Union, following a swift and surprise victory…

[Breyburg]

Doctrine Decisions
February 5th, 1925
Vagnkrona, Jönbacka, and Nyhamn

Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola authorized the execution of a mass training exercise along the Vagnkrona/Jönbacka/Nyhamn-Carriebean border. The 3rd Army, the Vagnkrona, Jönbacka and Nyhamn Home Guards will be conducting various mass training operations in the Vagnkronan counties of Kvällnäs, Jönhammar, the Jönbackan counties of Vummersund, Stockdal and the Nyhamnare counties of Nynäsele, Vadsås, and Sölvesköping. A large-scale deployment of the 3rd Army and the respective Home Guards will be deployed to 10 miles within the Brey-Carriebean border, in a simulated attack on Breyburgian soil by Newne forces. This will be the first Breyburgian exercise since the introduction of the Lehti Model 1922, and the development of various armored vehicles. This operation is being used as a proof of concept for the newly mechanized Breyburgian Military. The results of this operation will inform the direction and doctrine of the Breyburgian military going forward. A telegram has been sent to Newne Carriebean, but it's deliverance is not determined.

The Lehti Model 1922 (LM22).

February 5th, 1925
Lindholm Vapentillverkare, Lilliske

The Breyburgian Military has contracted LV to design and produce 5 rifle designs of which may be considered for combat roles within the military. The guidelines are that it must be easy to operate and clean and be light enough to carry into combat. The Military has not specified any firing actions such prototypes should employ.

[Aclus]

Identity Crisis
The Dominion of Zeeland, Aclusian Empire
February 1925

---

During the time following the Great war, the Zeeland continent had known peace for the first time in almost twenty years. Crops had begun to grow in abundance, while the modernity of the home isles had begun to spread through and through. Also unlike many other regions of the empire, jobs were plentiful as the country was a major powerhouse of industry for the empire, manufacturing many of needed modern appliances as well as a major exporter of livestock used through the world. To make things even better for the continent, the population had seen a major baby boom, with no doubt really boosting the outlook of life in this once divided country.

Though even with much advancements made in this return to peace, the modern climate of the rest of the world would still somehow find its way in.

---

City of Breckham
A couple of miles from the border
Beginning of the fire

The air grew full of the smoke of petrol, as cars were piling up in lines all over the city limits attempting to make their way further east away from the frenzy that had seemed to be swelling near the border. It was no secret that the newly formed government of Elixia had seen its ambitions skyrocket with their bloody reformations, ousting the old of their nation and filling it with their inexperienced youth. They found themselves with nothing left to do in their isolationism, but to begin to feast their eyes elsewhere, with the latest place being the peaceful Aclusian Dominion of Zeeland, with excursions between Zeeland supporters and Saradegran separatists already having been reported in the nearby region coming to blows on the border.

Though even as such a event transpired, the Zeelanders were beyond ready. Years before the speech given by Maranossos on the recognizing of West Saradegran seperatists, the Aclusian government had enacted a state of preparation for the Zeeland armed forces on the continent following a operation called "The Elixian question". Started in the year of 1920 towards the end of the the Elixian civil war, where questions were raised in the house of parliament about the prevention or escalation of conflict spilling over into Aclusian borders. Following the holdings, through the acts of Prime Minister Andwer Felix of Aclusia, the border had been a priority for defensive renovations, building up emplacements and minor trench lines in the case of a fallback defensive position was needed to deter an invasion or attack from any side that emerged out the conflict.

The operation would also put forth the idea of the creation of local militias in the area, seeing that majority of the nearby male population would have already served or come of age in this time. With the recent act as well being put in place in 1921 granting the dominion full autonomy, leadership of the forces on the border would be in the hands of a Zeelander officer, allowing for much better communication efforts than the previous method of leadership of a Aclusian officer transferred from the home isles.

Though even with much preperation put into place, it was still not a fond sight when the dreaded day had finally arrived, with reports of major troop movements along the border and the lack of Elixian political communication since their acknowledging of the separatists as their own entity and an ally of their people, a clash of interests on the continent between the nations seemed to be finally spilling over. It was obvious where the attacks were to be carried out by the Elixian thugs over the border, as the cities of Breckham and Venrick were the key to entering the core of Zeeland, thus evacuations had been set in motion while defenses were to be manned as soon as possible.

If the Elixians think this would be a walk in the park like Saradegra or Nuza was, they have no idea what lays ahead.

---

To: President Elaine Pritchard of the Libertian Union
From: Prime Minister Andrew Felix of the Aclusian Empire
Encryption: Maximum

---

Greetings my friend, I hope this telegram finds you and your people in good health. It has been a great time since a meeting of significant subject between our governments have been established,
sadly so however as the world has not been to kind to one another the last couple of years since wars end.

However upon that I would like to extend my hand and welcome you and your party to a meeting of matters that could benefit both of our beautiful nations.
A summit that I and many others in my government believe, would bring out the best of our people and further our advancements
in this strange but remarkable new world we find ourselves in.

The meeting will be in the city of Newcastle in the region of New Aclusia, on the date that works best for you and your party.

Best wishes, Andrew Felix

[Newne Carriebean7]

---

Presidential Palace
Carriebean City, the heartbeat of Carriebean
January 3, 1925

---

In marked contrast to the howling winds and the chilly, chastising vengeance that Father Nature had reeked upon the far north of the country, the sun shone brightly in it's naked illuminance that invited in few scattered naysayers of whispy cotton candy within the skies. The Weather was a rather good mood this morning. The morning merchants milled about, fiercely forsaking any attempt at saving their vocal cords and shrilled about the hottest loafs of bread and the most well behaved Amanzo slave.

Unlike what a few elderly politicians that mulled about in the 'halls of power'. To be more accurate, it was a simple boardroom where the main decision making abilities were wrought out in Carriebeanian politics. Sure, there was the legislative voice of the people whenever you could corral over six thousand people into the same damn room and have them vote on something/ debate in a 'civilized' manner. As the doorknob to the meeting room was turned, the short bearded fellow that had been mistaken for a dwarf (on too many occasions by too many drunk passers-bys, much to the man's chagrin) took a hefty gander inside to notice a handful of old men and the one or two women that Carriebean invited into the Cabinet huddled around the massive oak table that dominated the room. Large panels of glass shone brightly, thanks in part to a lack of curtains that made one side of the room increasingly warm, in marked contrast to the rest of the room.

The current President of Carriebean wasn't one that really invoked 'leadership'. In fact, the man looked as if he had far more intimate relations with a jar of cookies than he did any of his many mistresses and male admirers. He brushed off the crumbs that had refused to succeeded with his previous motions of the five digits and his palms. Taking a long puff from his trusted cigar that had seen him through shit-storm after shit-storm in terms of politics, he sat down at the middle of the table, staring at those that were behind the large windows.

A large cough killed off the many side conversations his ministers were having. Taking advantage of a quiet room, President David Mitchelson spoke up, bits of flehm spewing forth from the old man's lips in-between syllabus and verbs-spoken.

"Alright then. So glad all of you could make it to this meeting. Not like you all have wives or children or husbands to get home to."

Although the last remark might have invoked a feeling of rampant homosexuality within Carriebean, this was an aside meant to include the first female cabinet minister in Carriebean's history, Paula Ellison Monroe. Still, there was a small glimmer of that both Joseph Harold and Potters shared in their eyes when looking at each other, though they were careful not to let anyone else know about it, lest there be another round of 'crucifixions ' for the 'wrong people'.

The President continued:

"Now, then, first things first, as per usual, I'd very much like a status update on my various cabinets. That is why I called this cabinet meeting, now isn't it?"

"I thought this was because you're having an affair with your wife."

Michelson quickly swept that aside as his eyes then were transfixed on the agricultural minister.

"Yes, yes yes, very nice, fuck you too. Now, Mr. Bendouin, if you would be so kind as to knee cap Mr. Harold in the nuts when this meeting is over, I would be much obliged."

The Agricultural Minister looked like a brick face. His frame looked to be no heavier than fifteen stones weight, with his ribcage evidently clear as a sign of malnutrition. His eyes were sunken into his head as his skeleton was very much visible. The man seemed like he was a 'skeleton with skin'. Clearing his throat three times without success, he carried on with his presentation on his department's responsibilities and overall progress.

"C-C-CAAK CAAAK CAAK. M-mister President, Us farming folks do report a large amount of manure being sold as fertilizer. This fertilizer is then sold off to the Minister of Manufacturing, which then turns the shit into the other word that begins with sh and rhymes with bells. We are vitality important to the war effort, Not only do we provide the food on Carriebeaners plates (if those morons would bother to pay for it), but we also can support the war industry if needed."

The Army Minister decided to play peanut gallery and interjected with a few snide remarks under his breath.

"Where the fuck were you when we needed eleven million shells during the War, shit for shells?"

Not hearing the venomous words of the Army Minister, Tao Bendouin continued after huffing on a cigar momentarily to provide 'lung relief'.

"HACK-HACK-HAAAACCKKK. I can give you data on our crop yields. We have produced 1100 pounds of potatoes, 1800 pounds of wheat and another 25,000 pounds of grapes and bean-fruits. Unfortunately, our harvests are not as bountiful as they once were. Our people are starving on the streets, and although a flourishing cannibal market-place is allowing cheap meat into Carriebeanian homes, one must wonder if we could be doing more.

Well we have empty territories out in the western portion of our country. We can increase our wheat and potato production there. That can also provide Carriebeanian with a balanced diet of human meat, a wheat bun and a side of baked potatoes, all over a roasting fire, I might add. The sheer amount of calories with our cannibalistic diet is benefitable to us as a whole.

This is, provided we continue to have a steady stream of 'willing volunteers' and slaves to be the hamburgers as it were. That is begining to run out. Apparently, when you want to murder people so you can turn them into food, the line of volunteers dries up immensely. We have solved some of this problem by introducing "Canned Limbs" and "Boxed Legs". Add in enough salt and you can make those war injuries and the wounded last a lot longer in the cellar down south. From what I hear, "Legged Jimmy" now can be preserved in enough salt for two full years. That's what we call progress. Defiantly putting the CANNED, in CANNIBALISM, now aren't we? Heh, Heh Heh..."

As many of those gathered around the table nodded along with the jokes and bad-puns that the Agricultural farm boy had horn-shoed painfully into his report, the eyes rotated around like massive battleship turrets to the Minister of Manufacturing.

"Shit. Fine, Fine, You want an update? Unfortunately, our industry for a possible war will not be able to sustain prolonged periods of time. Carriebean currently has sixteen hundred different factories producing...two hundred different types of ammunition and another seventeen differing types of weapons to fire from the various bullets and slingshots and old women we're manufacturing. Ok, we're calling nursing homes 'factories' just so we can hire old people as ammunition. Live ammunition if it were. We are currently having:

391 factories produce a daily total of s-some one hundred and eighteen Grace Imperial 1900 Rifles per factory. This means that the national stockpile of those rifles increases by about...46 thousand rifles a day. That's the most efficient we've got so far.

45 factories are producing daily a total of eleven Cowboy 1896 Rifles a piece. That means we're gaining a total of five short of 500 rifles every day.

89 factories are currently in the process of manufacturing seventy Bolting 1905 Rifles per factory. Carriebean is nabbing a total of 6,230 more of those kind of boom sticks every day.

27 Nursing homes are being converted into "Old People factories/training grounds". There the elderly specialize with Cane Rifles and denture filled grenades. In these dentures, each of the twenty seven teeth can be extracted with a pair of plyers and some good alcohol and then thrown about... two hundred feet. Oh, and if they're elderly, they'll throw it like, three yards or whatever fucking metric we use in this fucking country. Each tooth has the explosive power of a very annoying firecracker. Sure, next to useless, but better than nothing. IF the morons get lucky, they'll blind the driver of a tank and send him into a ditch. Then we can have the elderly people taunt them with a silly accent before reliving themselves on said tank in a manner of victory."

The fellow ministers nodded along at the completely reasonable and sensible ideas that the minister of manufacturing was proposing before the President's unwanted attention and gaze fell upon the Foreign Minister.

"Well, shit. I can't top that off. Uh, I don't see any telegrams or anything like that. Oh, we've got one from Breyburg."

The Ministers' eyes lit up with as much vivid excitement a child might get from tales of Christmas around the campfire in the middle of fucking nowhere. They all hung off of each word that the Foreign Minister spoke, making Joseph Harold very uncomfortable in this situation.

"U-Uh... They said...they wish us a happy new year. T-that's all."

Such excitement in every minister turned into a tulutous and bitter moan at the mundane, if genial, message that the Breyburgian Foreign Minister dropped off to the Carriebeanians. As Carriebean was currently under an embargo by the Breyburgians owing to their history, the Carriebeanians real top dog with respect to disrespecting the Breyburgians was Alakamzo Joffer, the Charge-de-affairs at the Carriebeanian Foreign Office.

"You know..." Began the Army Minister, curling his wickedly long and villainous handlebar moustache in his hands. "I believe I speak for everyone here when I say would it kill them to declare war on us? I mean, it would kill us, but we're likely to kill some of them. I'm hopeful for some deaths on the enemies side. One percent, that'd be great- Ten percent, now we're actually competent. ELEVEN PERCENT? Ok, even sheep must dream weirdly some-days... Oh, sheep.... Sheepy sheep mcsheepersons..SHEEPY SHEEPY SHEEPY. Wait, where was I? Hell if I know."

Some murmured agreement was muttered, even if the Army Minister was both a bit of a 'loose cannon' and an 'idiot'. There needed to have something done. Carriebean dosen't show weakness, it shows 'strong incompetence'. Making damn sure there's at least a protective wall of Carriebeanians corpses to better defend against enemy gunfire. Recent military studies had shown that a Carriebeanian .45 bullet was stopped by three dead bodies thick, protecting the soldier (and 'potential' fourth dead body) from meeting a grizly fate.

Whipping some fast gathering drool with a swift motion of his arm, ruining his only good suit, the Army Minister continued with his spittle and general jabbering-on, much to the chagrin of a few of those unfortunate enough to be in the 'splash zone' each time he excitedly tones his voice up with a pitch of a school girl.

"I am pleased to report that we have, at our command, nearly 140 total divisions. It is a near total of almost three million armed Carriebeanian servicemen ready to die for their glorious country. Such a patriotic thing, to die for one's country...Yes... Aaanyways, Since we have nearly eleven million rifles of all types and the sort and a standing army of three million soldiers, for once, we are not out of weapons to gift our ene-I mean ourselves. However, procuring the right types of ammunition thanks to the joke that Carriebeanian Logistics is, will be a pain in the ass. Now, any normal country would set up supply depots. Carriebean is not a normal country. We have massive supply trains that slow any possible movement of the mass armies and divisions that we do have.

Offensive actions are encouraged, as Carriebeanian soldiers can be proven to fight and survive in enemy territory for at least a week or even two. However, shortages of supplies once our logistics implode will mean that any tactical success gained from conquering a town or two on the border of Breyburg will have to be purely sim-symbolic. Hollow victories, Gentlemen...and women. This means that our tactics will be simple.

Occupy.

Burn.

Withdraw.

That should be simple enough for even the village idiot to figure out what in the sam-hell we're going to do in the event of a war. We cannot go up against enemy infantry purely on a quality. We have no quality, gentlemen. We have quantity. Quantity beats Quality every time. Or..so I've been told. I want breyburgian women and children to flee in abject terror at the sounds of Carriebeanian horses! Like the stepps of the old Emperors and feuding families, we shall ravage and ransack everything in our path! If our soldiers are not getting paid- Let the enemy pay them! Have them loot and pillage with rampant abandonment! Poison their wells, salt the earth and remove everything valuable from the enemies' possession. This shall be one of the ways we can fix our economy, which is.. unfortunately, lagging behind many of the other powers of this heavenly turtle world."

In spite of the beaming pride that the Army Minister held in his head, one staunch face was sternly looking at him. It was technically two faces, but one looked akin to a forest on fire, and the other was but a burning twig of mild irritation at Mr. Potters. This man was the Minister of the Navy.

Sampson "Shitty Sam" Norrington.

A political appointee and staunch ally of former President Marvin Washvelt, he had been permitted to keep his position thanks in part to the commissioning of four brand new Dreadnought battleships. The Navy had to be shown doing something, and those four wonderful warships enabled the patronage appointment to remain standing in the new administration, in spite of political differences between the right leaning and nobility backed Pirate Party and the left leaning and poor loving Farmers Party of Carriebean.

The Naval Minister had an uncanny resemblance to a Former Carriebeanian Prime Minister...if he had happened to run into a fucking brick wall repeatedly since birth. The man's nose (if you could call it that) was a simple protrusion of scarcely a few alligator teeth in length. His eyes were very much firmly on his face, looking high above. The most obvious feature of the man when he spoke was his very, very sharp looking teeth. It was said that Norrington sharpened his teeth himself in between bags of onions which he indulged in frequently. Apart from not being invited very often to cabinet meetings (and, when he does get invited, it is on the condition that he not eat any onions before the meeting), he was one of the most verbal defenders of the Navy and it's expansion programs, programs derided by the other two branches as "just allowing the Prime Minister to play with ships".

"If I may be permitted to voice my concerns, gentlemen, The Imperial Navy will not partake in any operations in conjunction with or by order of the President, with the Imperial Army. Should the Imperial Navy wish to take an island, we will do it ourselves with the Naval Infantry contingents provided onto each warship. Fire support in those instances will be undertaken by the fleets supporting their invasions of the Islands, not by stubby two pound cannons dragged from longboats that the Army wishes to use.

In terms of a Naval build-up, I hereby wish to add a small amount to the Congressional Budget. Please pass my concerns and the bill to the Committee on Naval Rearmament.

My demands are thus:

Another class of Four "Fast Battleships". These ships will have the following requirements:

11.76 inches of belt armor
The necessary machinery in order to reach a top speed of 27 knots
High caliber artillery of at least 14 inches in shell diameter with the following formats acceptable:
3 x Twin turrets arranged all in forward batteries,
5 x arranged with A double turret and Two triple barreled batteries.
2 x Quintuple batteries positioned fore and aft.

Low caliber artillery of at least 5 inches in shell diameter with at minimum of 22 secondary batteries combined for both sides of the vessel.

The development of a minimum of four and a maximum of twelve... "Torpedo Cruisers".

Such a vessel will be light enough to out run anything larger than it but will have enough torpedoes to sink anything smaller than it. It can also be utilized to attack enemy capital ships and their respective escorts. Main armament will be limited to a few light caliber weapons in order to make use of numerous torpedo tubes throughout the design of the cruiser. It can also be utilized to engage and defeat enemy destroyers and ships smaller than that."

President Michelson was not amused. Actually, he was rather pissed at his secretary for the Navy for having the balls to walk in here like he was the President himself and make demands. He wasn't in a role to do it. That's not what cabinet in-fighting was for. It was meant to be a special occasion, not a constant affair that got boring the fifth swing that the electric minister had at his Alcoholic ministry counterpart. The man quietly stood up and yanked the Naval Minister by the ear, towing the man next to the President's seat and hissed.

"I will let you know that we will think about your former offer..." Michelson looked at the blubbering excuse for a Naval Minister, who nostril let flow the snotty mana from his sinus as tears cascaded quicker down his face than any naval ship currently in the possession of any nation on the square.

"Is delightfully approved. This nation needs massive capital ships. I agree with you there. However, your demand for...'torpeeedo croi-sers', is rejected. If you have any more complaints.."

President Michelson then handed the man a grenade.

"Please, take it up with Gary the hand grenade. He'll be more than happy to pass on your complaints to H.R."

The President then sighs heavily, handing the Naval Minister 'Gary' before turning to the rest of his cabinet not currently in a puddle on the floor.

"Alright. Time to get blacked out drunk at the pub. Who's with me?"

Every person in the room, even the blubbering excuse for a naval minister who had been offered a way 'out', was in better mood once the question of alcohol was involved. The conference room quickly filtered out with cheers of "BOOZE" echoing down all the way from the halls of power down to the local pub.

After all, even politicians that craft the most important decisions that affect millions of people need to get fucking wasted.

[Arvenia]

The Liberty Post
February 6, 1925

Border Conflict Flares Up in Zeeland
ZEELAND - The continent of Zeeland is still suffering from violence. The Black Army of the Elixian Union has continued to attack the Aclusian-controlled parts of the continent, mainly around the so-called "Republic of West Saradegra". There were reports of staff at the Zeelandian Consulate being arrested by the Black Army, while 200,000 Elixian troops were allegedly mobilized in the area. The federal government has grown concerned over the conflict, with President Harlow Wilson wishing for the Libertian Army to be directly sent to aid the Zeelandians. However, many Libertians have opposed such move due to the population not being in the mood for another foreign conflict. It is yet to be seen what would happen afterwards in Zeeland, although the federal government has denounced the Black Army and refused to recognize West Saradegra as a sovereign nation.

President Harlow Wilson Has Been Struck!
LIBERTIA - Outgoing President Harlow Wilson has suddenly suffered from a stroke yesterday. It was confirmed by Vice President James T. Marshall today during a press conference. It is unknown how it happened, but Wilson is expected to be hospitalized until further notice. On the other hand, his presidency is due to end on March this year as he will be succeeded by Elaine Pritchart, who will become Libertia's first female President. More news of this incident will come out later.

To: Aclusian Empire
From: Libertian Union
Subject: Diplomacy
Encryption: Enigma
Dear Andrew Felix, we wholeheartedly accept your invitation as our countries need to grow closer to each other since the Great War. However, President Harlow Wilson has just suffered from a bad storke yesterday and is currently hospitalized. On the other hand, a representative of the federal government can attend the meeting. On March this year, Elaine Pritchart will succeed Wilson as the President of the Libertian Union. As such, we wish to get things done quickly before Wilson's presidency ends. We can hold the meeting during this month.

Sincerely, State Secretary Gainbridge Dolby

To: Federation of Breyburg
From: Libertian Union
Subject: Diplomacy
Encryption: Medium
Dear Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola, we wholeheartedly accept your proposal. However, we are not entirely sure about both Hoosier and Carriebean, since the former has been our rival since the 1840s, while the latter seems to be totally insane. Nonetheless, we hope such proposal goes smooth. We fully wish for peace in Indianum.

Sincerely, State Secretary Gainbridge Dolby

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

That Which Was Left
Hiramson Manor Grounds

The Same Ruins - Springtime
Also Pictured: Lillian Hiramson

A stranger to the unseen, and a contemplator of the seen passed through; chains rattling against gears, wheels turning, and slight laborious breathing. "I have to get home, he is waiting for me." Brown hair, brown eyes, brown fur, brown boots, brown bike frame, brown brown brown, amidst a canvas of whites and grays under a cloudy sky. Ruins of times far gone by greeted her sight, making her sigh in relief that the familiar landmarks were there, all 37 of them.

She had been in this place- no, area- many times before; seen it many times, in spring, summer, autumn, and winter; experienced nearly all that it could offer, muddied rocks and swarming archaeologists. She felt as if there was nothing left to be seen here, and yet, there was always that strange, niggling feeling. Of something new just somewhere around the corner, something strange, something beautiful, something horrifying perhaps, something mundane even. "This is an old land, indeed." Her nondescript eyes of brown scanned the ruins of old that littered around the Hiramson Residence, the same ruins she passed to-and-fro, "Strange stories this place has." Frightful ones from her father, mystical ones from mother, and thoughtful ones from grandfather. Only the lattermost remained, no thanks to...

"No." She shook her head sadly with a closed sigh; that way lay remembrance, of shades of red on white and black, "Home..." Her pace of cycling picked up, in this struggle of endurance she was able to forget easier. "Better that way."

She pondered them further, these stones, arches, and blocks ever so weathered by time and the elements, built by her forefathers most likely, and lost in the chaos. "Maintenance definitely wasn't on their mind back then." A no-brainer, she had learned from her classes that these were monuments laid down in the Age of Iron, a time where the first Triarchy reigned, a time of paradoxical strife and struggle, and peace and prosperity, "Quite the ruin that they left here." Blandly named "the Stone City" in the old tongue, it was likely no more than a set of settlements and villages that were wrought from stone rather than wood, stone that evidently, was built to last. And especially so in this particular section that she constantly passed through as she went to the town for her classes and back towards her home, her new home.

"Stone palaces for one of the many passing three back when they reigned, and the most peculiar just outside my doorstep." Built on a fault, the palace had seen many fractures, none more so dramatic than the one caused by the Rumbling of 1607 where the palatial ruin had for the most part, been split into distinct twains. Little notice was given back then, but as of the war's end, the area had been swarmed by geologists and archaeologists of all shapes, colors, sizes, and all the other definitions she could give them. Some came to marvel at a fault that essentially went dead on a relatively human timescale, others to puff-up nationalistic ideals about the Triarchy of old, and a few to simply see the sights. Perhaps in a sense, she could be considered all of them on some level, "Definitely not nationalistic, though." She chuckled at that, all that talk to her seemed silly, really. For her, it was a simple matter of "it is what it is".

Sufficiently forgotten, her pace turned leisurely as she slowly but surely exited the area where the ruins were greatest. Gray homes of times gone by capped with white, contrasting with the late winter snows, they all turned into mere stones jutting from the ground as she approached her home's grounds. "All under... A dimming sky, it's getting late." Lillian Hiramson thought with some measure of trepidation, her grandfather had a tendency to lock the gates, doors, and every entry really at times like these, "I'm probably somewhat at fault at that one, can't really blame him, though." Shaking her head further, she picked up the pace to arrive home quicker, and to forget faster.

And soon enough, there they were, the wrought iron gates and its guards, the bush walls and their spikes; the Hiramson Manor itself. "Ah, a most timely arrival-"

Hiramson Manor - Summertime

She cruised onward on her bike without a word, and with no sound save the whooshing past of displaced wind, "-Ms. Hiramson..." The guard sighed, the usual then, from her at least.

She pulled up at an appropriate place before stationing her bike somewhere secure, and once that was done, she could let herself sigh in relief, "Just in time." She wiped the sweat from her brow. Here it was, Hiramson Manor, her home for much of the foreseeable future. A confusing mess of floors, rooms, halls, walls, attics, and basements, all well-built thanks to a single oasis of sanity in its builder's mind, and that was "MAKE IT LAAAAAAAAST!" She rarely heard tales of her great-great-grandfather from her grandfather, less in the avoidant way and more, "cannot coherently remember". Such was the madness of Hiram Hiramson, that ancestor who somehow lifted their family from obscurity into political power despite being as mad as a Yellow King on some occasions.

Political power that she honestly wanted less of, or anything with political in it, really.

Beelining for her grandfather's office with a shake of her head, she skillfully navigated the winding hallways of the manor, seemingly already memorized it like the back of her hand. A strange quirk, she quickly found out that it was common amongst the Hiramsons for some inexplicable reason. But then again, there was nothing to complain about, and everything to thank. "I can still remember being played by the servants here." Chief among those incidents was one where she abruptly walked into a wall after mistaking a walled off room's door as hers.

Galen Hiramson
High Lord of the Upper House

The snickers could still be heard to this day, and in hindsight, she couldn't help but join them in their mirth as well. And it was with a small chuckle that she opened those lacquered doors, entering Galen Hiramson's office, "My grandpa." She thought with a matter-of-fact tone.

Her gaze wandered off to said grandparent seated in front of a roaring fireplace, covered well in a black metal mesh. Above said fireplace was a sword in a hanging transparent case, "The family sword..." She had heard things about it from her grandfather the most, sometimes from her aunts and uncles, and a few times from her father.

She quietly shook her head as she moved forward, approaching the desk and eventually seating himself in one of the seats in front of it.

Galen was busy it seemed, reading what seemed to be a letter; likely business with the Upper House members. He wasn't even looking when he acknowledged her presence with a nod, "I suppose those doors were loud enough for him to hear." This was most likely what just had occurred, she thought, outwardly nodding back at him.

A few moments passed before he spoke up, and he did it in his usual manner towards her: gruff sounding yet with a warmth, like the fireplace whose heat they were enjoying as of the moment, a warmth that warded off the late winter chills. "How was schooling?" The usual then.

"It was fine, learned more about the ruins here, though I guess the lessons doesn't do the feeling of being here justice." It felt sterile there, though she supposed that it was due to the teacher's poor method of parsing information to them: clear, cut, and dry, very dry, drywall dry.

Galen chuckled at that, "I suppose so. I've been climbing up and down, in and out of those ruins, know every nook and cranny thanks to my childhood expeditions." He said with a smug confidence, "Just doesn't stick for me anymore, hearing people talk and teach about it. Only so much you can learn about the place before it gets dull and repetitive." He put down the letter.

She took the small pause as her way to speak up, "So, what could that be about?" She pointed at the letter, "The usual business?"

"Oh nay, this one's in that place between usual and unusual." He passed it over to Lillian, who immediately began skimming its contents, "A hunt ball invitation, from the Maughams. Declined it, you know just how much work I got on my docket, the empty desk's just for show." There was probably a drawer somewhere filled with paperwork, surmised Lillian; her grandfather had this strange quirk of keeping his work desks as clear as possible of any papers, pencils, etc.

"Thing's probably over by now." He muttered as he leaned into his chair with a sigh, "Skimmed over the thing a few days ago, probably would've made too many ripples for comfort had I been there." Maughams, Hiramsons, Yudkows, Armstrongs, all in one place. She had been taught about them, read up on them even, and even a high schooler such as herself knew the high probabilities of a mess happening at such an event. "From what I'm hearing from my friends that went, I made a good choice. The Golden bloody Order was there, and you know that's a can of worms nobody wants to deal with."

Living in Interesting Times

She'd heard about them as well, and how they were, according to that one paper she took a cursory peek at, "getting a little too uppity". There was always those who would remember the times when the Yellow Kings reigned supreme, unchecked in Carcosa, that ancient city and capital of theirs, "And ours." It was in a way, strange; for the Yellow Kings and the Triarchy both new and old had it as their capital despite the passage of time, and remembering that one time where she had visited the place, she couldn't fault them, it was in a good position, with good land and good people.

"Oh well, that's that. Should probably look into other things now." He said with a nod, "Messes in Indianum and Zeeland, the Triarchs are definitely going to put their "strongly worded letter" pants on again most likely, ha!"

He turned to her with a smile, "You'll probably know the specifics sooner than most, ain't it nice to know things?" At that she shrugged, on one hand, it was good to know things; one of her uncles even told her it was good leverage when doing "literally anything", but on the other hand.

"There's reason a lot of Rusklandr literature is filled with themes of forbidden knowledge, and the consequences of such..."

Or she could be just overthinking it. She did have the tendency to do that. "Now run along child, I got business to do. Unless you wanna sleep early from the boredom I'll give you, you best be going and waiting for dinner." He beckoned for her to leave while making a jape about his paperwork, and she quickly did so with a smile, retiring to her quarters for the time being until dinner was served later in the evening.

[Norcourt]

The Battle of Falkirk Hill,

Outskirts of the City of Breckham, West Saradegra
Late February, 1925

---

An Elixian 120mm M1880 Light Siege Gun preparing to bombard Zeelandian positions from long range

---

Occupation of small border villages such as Eddieston and Calmarston had went smoothly despite small incidents involving the local militia, leading to several ambushes and firefights between Elixians and Zeelandian insurgents, with the occasional reprisal being carried out towards sympathetic citizens.

The first initial contact had been made against true Zeelandian forces in the borderlands, as the 6th and 11th Infantry Divisions had been ordered to engage Firebase Zebra, a Zeelandian Artillery foothold, towering Falkirk Hill and overlooking key strategic zones over the town of Breckham.

Elements of the 12th Dragoons, and 78th & 56th Infantry Regiments were to make the valiant charge on the hilltop, with 12 Tanks of the 32nd Armored Brigade spearheading the assault. The 15th Heavy Artillery Regiment had begun their shelling the morning of, laying waste to the Zeelandian defenses, however it did not help that Elixian Infantry were to be beset upon the wrath of enemy machine gun fire, as well as point blank artillery shelling.

The large gray wave of uniforms had marked their presence on the base of the hill, many Elixian foot soldiers eager to meet their Zeelandian foe. Horse Artillery had been wheeled to the front, leaving their indent on the soft wet soil.

---

Soldiers of the 56th Infantry Regiment assaulting Firebase Zebra

---

Sergeant Anibal Bordello,
11th Infantry Division, 12th Dragoon Regiment, 2nd Elixian Army

Anibal crouched on the very frontend of the makeshift trench line, grasping the wood of the ladder that lay in front of him, he had a clear overlook of the battlefield that lay ahead. The virgin grasslands forward of his position had not yet been baptized by the hail of artillery as had been seen during the initial stages of the Unification War. Anibal had taken part in the 12th Dragoon's assault on the frontier, the 12th only being Dragoons by name, as their horses had been repossessed for use by the artillery brigades and being replaced by bicycles, in late 1924. He clenched the saw grip of his trusty revolver tightly, an M1884 Double Action, a classic workhorse of the Elixian Army that had been in service since the days of the monarchy. Lifting the top brake lever, he proceeded to load six cartridges of 10mm Norcourtian Ordnance into its chambers, snapping it shut firmly and cocking back the hammer to full cock. He awaited that damned whistle, the signaling of death for many an Elixian. Anibal maintained his composure and pitched his revolver rearwards, waiting for the signal.

"I wonder what it's like back home…" he thought to himself. Though it was near futile as for a matter of fact home was not so far over the border in Saradegra, where he lived alongside his brother and sister, Martin and Esther. He had been a professional soldier in the army for about 2 years now, enlisting in the ranks following the establishment of Maranossos' Black Army, seeing combat against the Republicans during the uprising, as well as the likes of the Nuzans during the initial stages of that nation's annexation. His brother Martin was a factory worker at an arms plant, assembling guns for the ordinance department to be serviced in the war that was upcoming at that time, Martin had sought more from his life and threw his talents to the floor, enlisting in the Elixian Air Corps to fly as a fighter pilot for the Union. With both brothers in service, it left Esther alone at home to manage their estate, working long hours on end, awaiting their return.

As several fighter planes flew in the sky, Anibal wondered if Martin was up there somewhere, wishing him the best, but within a brief second the whistle rang loud and clear. Instinctively Anibal swung his dominant arm forward, gesturing the charge, "Onwards men of Norcourt, onwards!" He shouted with deep rasp. Like a ripple of the waves, thousands of Elixians climbed up their ladders, sallying forth over the top towards Aclusian positions. He had braved the first stages of the Unification War, what lay ahead now was uncertain.

[Newne Carriebean7]

---

Painting of Congressional Majority Leader Fischer Schitz (served from 1890 - 1925)
Carriebean City
Capitol Building of the 70th session of the Carriebeanian Congress
February 2, 1925

---

There was a saying in politics.

'Politics is war'.

This statement was objectively and literally true for those steel hardened souls of the legislatures that almost needed to don steel helmets from the Nine Year's War. Large embankments of bullet stopping sandbags (human corpse shields and bunkers were reserved for the military, not politicans, unfortunately.) topped off with a tension-filled atmosphere that as soon as some poor congressman so much as farts, all hell would break lose, and that would require another round of snap elections, gubernatorial appointments, and the bickering-back and forth between the state governments and Carriebean City itself. Far-from the frontlines of even the most hellish landscape, you would be hard-pressed to see a difference between the bloody Carriebeanian mass charges against machine gun positions to "lure the enemy's ammunition out of hiding" and those that the legislatures indulge themselves in.

It did have some benefits, all the shooting, dying and legislating (on the oft occasion that the Quartermaster of Congress managed to pry every damn firearm away from all those that would rather have it be taken from their 'cold, sexy, hands') did lean itself to one of the most eccentric, if prepared, informal Carriebeanian triumvirates of three Disun commanders. There was little hope of sweeping victories, but there were still mad-men elected by those mad-citizens that believed blindly in "total victory", even if that 'victory' was defined as the congressman happily reliefing the national gold graveyard bank of unwanted currency as to 'prevent capture by Satan himself'. It would be a victory for the man's pocketbooks, after all. 340,000 Sais can only get a man a fresh loaf of bread and maybe the arm of an Amanzo slave to utilize as a gruesome back-scratcher.

All-in all, it was a dreadful affair to be elected a Congressman of an insane nation. The only benefit one might receive would be complimentary mints and free, green shaded tins of salted shit to consume in-between meetings. For once, slang lends itself to a smidge of sanity. 'Salted shit' is often what soldiers and the general populace regarded the small tins of rolled up jerky that came buried in sea salt so as to preserve it. Those idiots that came up with the idea (and there were A LOT of idiots), forgot that canning is a form of preservation itself. At least it was "double-preservation", so the Ministry of Manufacturing didn't bat an eye when he signed off some papers on his desk that legalized 'salted shit' as a military ration.

The Mints, are peppermint mints, so that's cool. It also acts as a way to prevent oral decay, because Carriebeanian medicine makes the medieval ages, Tudor times and even the cavemen look modern in comparison. The summary is that both Carriebeanian politics and the society around it are driven by war-time incompetence, most of the time. "Peace-time incompetence" usually looks like idiots passing a law that they forgot to read what was in the bill, hoping that the President has the foresight to veto it and they'd be saved a little humility by not over-riding the Veto and killing off the bill.

It would be a mixture of both today, as a muttonchopp, whiskered elderly man strided from his limousine of slave driven power into the halls of political power. This man was no ordinary man. Unfortunately, he had no skills of the occult nor had bothered to read up on any voodoo. Instead, this man had weilded power since the inaguration of Marvin Washvelt. For almost thirty years he had enjoyed his position. In-spite of the wounding, killing and political landscaping of the various elections that Carriebeaniers (mostly white, some asian and very rich) had voted for, he was a staple of it. A veritable 'statue among statues' of the greats. He had wielded the power of that Gavel for nineteen years, and wasn't about to give it up now. His congressional seat, one of the safest, as was to be expected from the Majority Leader's role.

"Congressional Majority Leader Fischer Schitz has the floor!" The elderly speaker of the house bellowed from his still powerful lungs, prompting those to sit down that weren't shooting at each other, while a few more 'unfortunate vacancies' opened up as a pair of members murdered each other in a duel with their revolvers.

"Now, now, let's get to buisness. Clerk will call roll to assembly- assemble a quorum."

"Mr. Deer."

"I'm here, I'm queer, I wan't some fuckin' beer!"

"Mr. Deer's remarks have been noted. We'll hold a vote on the procurement of additional whiskey and fine refreshments after the buisness of the house for today." The Clerk said was as monotone voice as one might hear from someone who's job it was to be the offical scribe of what in the hell happened in Congress.

With that, the ceremonial Colt Revolving Carbine was lifted up and handed to the Majority Leader. The various 'here's, there's and 'everywheres' was dulled out. A process many other country might find boring, instead turned into an intriguing game of 'how the fuck did we elect YOU?' and even the occasional glimpse of pride from the Majority Leader's eyes at the few competent men that he assigned to manage the un-manageables. In total, three hundred and fifty nine representatives were in attendance.

"The Clerk notifies the Majority Leader of the establishment of a quorum. The Majority Leader may introduce the following bill for debate: Naval Rearmament Act of 1925."

With a quick smoothing of his hair inbetween his military helmet, he scans the room for a moment, looking at political allies, lackies and enemies alike with the same smug grin that was almost copywrighted by him. (If Carriebean had any copywright laws, that is.)

"Gentlemen! I stand before you, in the eyes of our humble lord and savior Jesus Christ. I am here as a servant of the lowly carpenter son, cast up upon the thrones of power by our gracious people. Now, I say unto all y'all. Jesus was a sailor, wasn't he? He was a sailor, don't do a second on the holly bibble, damn y'all. N'w. N-n'w I wan't to speak to all y'all about is our critical national defense. Thar be important, donnit? It is indeed important. Important for our people, important for our slave based agricultural economy, n' it's far more critical to ensure our trade n' commerce from those that might bode us harm. That is why I am proposing the followin' ships.

I want our naval shipyards to get pregnant. I don't care who does that n' what paper work y'all'll have't figure on out, but I wanna see four big, beautiful quintuplte battleships starin' on back at meee! Boys o' Congress. These ships'll have either twin turrets, a double n' a triple, or two quintuple gun barrels. They'll have to be of the '14 incher' caliber so as to not waste tax payer sais."

He inserted the jibe at the expense of the Carriebeanian people, and found his crafty punsmanship pay off as an interruption of his speech with a cascade of laughs and chortles from the politicans. If there was one thing the government did right, it was waste tax payer dollars. Mr. Schitz then continued on where he was with his prepared remarks.

"Now, these ships n' shit, they'll have all the machinery n' amanzo slave power needed to reach over twenty seven nots. These sum-bitches will rule the waves n' accomate nicely the Chow-sow-kabe n' the Yow Shii-Now-boo classes o' fast warshipin's that w'all has inna our fleets 'ready. These ships have been passed through the Committee of Naval Affairs and Rearmament Practices. They have decided to go with, of the three suggested by the Naval God honcho his-self, a "Missa Shitty Sam" the three twin turrets placed forward. All our fire power will be placed ahead. If some dumb son-bitch wants t' mess wit the Carriebeanian Navy. They'd have a fiddy-fiddy chance o' sinkin' somethin' with a rubber band, some angry letters n' maybe even a bullet inna his rifle or sum-shit likes thats. Six Fourteen inch guns will assuredly make ANY man a diplomat. Except us 'f course...

I yield the floor to any one who wants t' speak on the bill, for or 'gainst the measure."

With that, Fischer Schitz sits down at his desk, watching like a hawk for the dumb son of a bitch to peek his head up. A thin nosed, flat faced middle aged man rose from his seat and raised his hand, robbing the attention of the Clerk.

"The Clerk recognizes Congressman Horatio Rushi-Ika of the state of Prickly."

The man coughed slightly, a nervous tone evidently clear from all three hundred and something eyes now (mostly) paying attention to what he had to spout of his mouth-hole.

"G-gentlemen. N-now is not the time for large warships. My constituents are farming folks. Prickly is known for it's large, prickly trees and the flat and dry areas that my fellows have declared their homes for generations. My question to the Majority Leader is why are we wasting even more money on our Navy. I don't give a toss about those men who had died to secure our state. I care about putting canned shit on the table. I hear from my constituents about growing prices for their goods, and lower prices being offered to our humble farmers and plantation men-folk. I hear tails of anquish from the women and their babes struggling to keep warm during cold days.

Gentlemen, it is not the time for more warships. We can use that money to better our people. It can be utilized to make this country better than it already is. I mean, that's not saying much, but it is saying something, after-all. May I remind you of all the debt we're in already? I don't want to graspe at fiscal straws, but I will have to in order to say something superfical at all!"

Fischer Schitz replies with a slight frown at the news. He then decides to return fire as it were.

"Boy. That's a good set o' points y'all doggon did raise on up. Unfortunately, y'all abandoend them n' now they gots the 'daddy issues'. It ain't good. No. Just because w' is a spendin'... carry the three... multiply by the square root of thirteen... 'round five Sais on a warship don't mean it's a waste o' money. It's disrespectful for the man to inna-sinuate that because we ain't heppin' his district, he's gon n' got his panties inna knot. I know we can hep on out the people. I ain't a heartless sum-bitch. Unlike some people in this room!

This bill will hep people. It'll pree-vent enemy bombardment n' frighten all y'all. I dunno 'bout you, I represent a costal state. The state of Von Hoth. Y'all know who Hood Von Hoth is? He was the wisest military commander of the Imperial Carriebeanian Navy. He oversaw our buildin' efforts to become a great navla, I means the naval, powerhouse this planet-bitch has e'er seen.

I'll adress your point 'bout bitchin' bout our national debt. Y'all must be a damned Farmer Party member ain't ya? I am a Pirate party member. Always have and Always will be. Y'all know what yer boy Mitchelson is doin'? It ain't LOWERIN' our debt. He ain't gettin' our cotton out t' market 'cause he's a goddamned IDJIT. He has vetoed naval spendin' bills because he don't agree wit what we put on innit! If he'll g'an ahead n' veto HIS OWN ALLIES bill, I'd call upon our two thirds majority t' over-turn that sumb-bitch quicker than all y'all can say 'fuck'.

In conclusion, this bill will protect our commerce, n' merchants n' farmers while givin' our dockyards employment. It'll open on up new positions fer the naval sailors churnin' on out at Hood-Von-Hoth Navla-Naval Acadee-mee, n' it'll give those who work our mines like in your district, fresh orders for new steel n' coal for the navy. It'll hep on you out, n' it'll hep on me out. Why not?"

With a satisfied grin as if he had just eaten a full turkey dinner, Schitz turns to the Clerk of Congress.

"Motion to end debate and proceed to a vote."

"Motion granted, as there are no more to add to our...lively discussion on this matter. I will call roll. Please state your intention when I call your name on the Naval Rearmament Act of 1925.

"Mr. Deer."

"Hell No! I just wan' my gaddamned BEER!!"

"Mr. Smith of Coolidge."

"Aye."

"Mr. Smith of Coopertown"

"Aye."

"Mr. Box of Beaver."

"Nay."

The rare moments of general legislatively calm broke as the roll was being taken. The three hundred and fifty nine present representatives of their pocketbooks, purses, (oh yeah, and like, their people) spoke only once a man on what side of the fence they laid with the bill. Many (but not all) of the Farmer Party members stuck together in opposition to more naval spending, arguing that it would provide little with the way domestic affairs were being run, and insisting that there were more pressing concerns than "to build more damn boats".

The Pirate party, with a vocal minority of congressmen from the party hailing from the naval regions of the Capital and Hood von Hoth argued that Naval Parity with the enemy was paramount to security, and argued that Carriebeanian slaves, corn and cotton needed to be secured in the event of a war with an enemy nation. In the end, there were defectors of both sides, though not quite the numbers that the Farmer party had hoped for in order to defeat the bill.

PARTISAN COMPOSITION OF THE VOTE

---

AYES- 188 (180 needed to pass)

PIRATE PARTY- 164
FARMER PARTY- 24

NAYS-171

PIRATE PARTY- 50
FARMER PARTY- 121

---

NAVAL REARMAMENT ACT OF 1925

1. This legislation shall authorize Warensach- Bresslaou Naval Architecture to construct the following warships:

(a): Four "Fast Battleships" with hull numbers 34, 35, 74 and 120.

Expected characteristics of the ships found bellow:
11.76 inches of belt armor
A Main Armament of 3 Twin ("14" caliber shell) turrets housed forward.
10 x 2.5 inch QF DP cannon
4 x Quadruple 1.1 inch Anti-Aircraft batteries
12 x 3.0 inch QF cannon
8 x Triple 0.77 inch Anti-Aircraft machine gun batteries
Length: 903 feet
Beam: 41 feet
Machinery: 24 Bestton Boilers and 2 Reciprocating Engines driving twin screws

Designed top speed: 27 knots as a minimum. Lowest acceptable being 26.5 knots.

(b): Two "Fast Convoy Raiders" with hull humber numbrr numberZ34 and Z15 with the following characteristics for such vessles

Expected displacement will be no more than 13,000 tons when empty and no more than 16,194 tons when fully loaded for combat operations.

Length: 715 feet
Beam: 35 feet
Main Armament:
3 x twin 11 inch Parrot Ordnance Cannons with twin super firing turrets on bow and a pair of aft barbettes.
6 x 3.0 inch QF Cannon
5 x 2.5 inch QF DP cannon
4 x Twin 0.77 inch Anti-Aircraft machine gun batteries
12 x 21 inch torpedo tubes


(c): Funding for this project shall come from a 2.45 percent tax increase on Salt imported and exported to and from various nations of the world.

A new tax system on home goods will be established in order to pay for the new ships.

(c) 1. A 20 Sai tax attached to the sale, purchase or robbery of any and all widowed panes of glass produced BETWEEN the years 1888 and 1918. Sale is defined as between two 'merchants' of trade.

(c) 2. A 11 Sai tax attached to the sale, purchase or robbery of any and all bricks, stones and natural masonry produced from the years "before the Lord created the Earth" to the year of our lord Nineteen hundred and Twelve.

(c) 3. A 256 Sai tax attached to the sale AND the purchase of any livestock (including slave labor) for farming, hunting, smelling, shitting, entertaining, ignoring, saving, liberating and breeding. Both parties of the sale must pay the tax before any transaction is hereby approved by the respective county authorities in such areas that yield their respective import controls and tariff tills.

(c) 4. An 24 Sai tax on the movement, migration, immigration and internal steppings of the Carriebeanian city folk to any of the countryside areas. This tax must be paid in order to legally move around the country. Such funds must be diverted into the national graveyard bank treasury system in order to fund our Navy.

[Breyburg]

Att Ana Ugglor i Mosson
February 9th, 1925
Vummersund, Jönbacka

It has been reported by local and 3rd Army officials that Carriebean militia have attacked several homesteads and small villages. The Jönbacka Home Guard (JHG) and the 1st Battalion of the 3rd Army have been given the directive of combating these attacks. The Training Operation has been canceled, and the rest of the 3rd Army will begin to prepare the Vagnkrona/Jönbacka/Nyhamn-Carriebean border for potential future attacks.

The 1st Battalion, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Henrik Ljung has ordered each of the several divisions to construct machine gun emplacements at every village in Vummersund. They will also dig in on the several hillsides nearing the Brey-Carrie border. Those trenches will also be supported by machine gun emplacements.

The choice to include armored battalions at the frontline initially has not been made, but will be placed behind the various 3rd Army infantry encampments/defenses along the border. Artillery battalions have also been directed to prepare to strike the Brey-Carrie border if ordered to.

It is unclear to Breyburgian High Command as to whether or not this has been caused by miscommunications between Breyburg and Newne Carriebean. A telegram detailing the training operation was sent to the Newne Government but no response was sent.

Positions of Breyburgian battalions.

“Breyburg is willing to settle this potential series of border skirmishes diplomatically and peacefully with the Carriebean government.” Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola was quoted as saying during a press conference given this morning. In response to the attacks, The Vagnkrona/Jönbacka/Nyhamn Home Guards have been ordered to facilitate the evacuation of populated areas in the counties bordering Newne Carriebean.

Simeoni Lehtola was also questioned on his views on the brewing conflict in Zeeland, “Principally, the Federation is in full support of self-determination. We would like to see a peaceful conclusion pertaining to the independence of legitimate states carved out of Aclusian Zeeland. If the Elixians come to us, asking for military aid, we will not give it to them, but that does not bar private companies from supplying them with aid. I have constructed a task force to consider humanitarian aid to the Aclusian and Elixian sides if we see it fit and financially possible. Tackar, kiitos.”

Prime Minister Simeoni Lehtola.

[Newne Carriebean7]

NEW ISLE TIMES
10th of February, year of our lord 1925

CARRIEBEAN ANNOUNCES "HALF-ASSED" MOBILIZATION OF THE MILITAS

Army Minister of General Mobilization Elmer Phill has formally declared the start of a "partial mobilization" and the activation of Six Infantry Divisions, Five Calvary divisions and Thirteen Militia divisions. Doctor Phill has repeatedly stressed that this intention is "Not to escalate tensions, but to defend Carriebeanian homes and their family members from a hypothetical Breyburgian lightning strike." When pressed for more details, the Minister was happy to diverge the following information on a "lighting strike".

"Thank you mg-mh-mah boy. Now, a lighting strike is when the Breyburgians control the weather. You've heard of holding the weather compass in a Naval Battle? Well, the breyburgians won't just come after Carriebean with a simple weather compass, but the entire damn storm as well! Should one of these hit our ammunition depots and staging grounds, then that will be considered an act of war against Carriebean herself, and will be responded to-in-king-I mean in-kind."

The Minister did not go into any more detail as to if Carriebeanian cabinet and political leaders are aware of escalating tensions between Breyburg and Carriebean, but did state that there were "plans to talk" with the Breyburgians via the Carriebeanian self-appointed charge-de-affairs Alakamzo Joffer.

Furthermore, the Minister has denied Breyburgian reports of Carriebeanian raids into Breyburgian territory, insisting that such actions are "...nothing more than rumors and drunken hopes by an anti-Carriebeanian Breyburgian press that is hungering for a war between our two states. Disgraceful!"

A grand total of 520,000 Carriebeanian militia members have been ordered to prepare defensive fortifications, lay minefields and make ready their local artillery trains should they get to their respective positions for a possible war. On top of the half a million Carriebeanian militia, a total of 220,000 soldiers of the regular Imperial Carriebeanian Army have been called up. Around two thirds of this number are former reservists who have completed the mandatory three month training period and go into the reserves for twelve months. Supporting them are to be Twelve Motorized Light Calvary Disuns. A total of 360 RT-17 light tanks, along with 5700 support and infantry personnel.

To: The Socialist government of Breyburg

From: Carriebeanian Minister of Foreign Affairs Joseph Birmingham Howard

In light of recent tensions between Breyburg and Carriebean, I have been instructed by my government to see from your government what a possible solution will be to this sudden increase of tensions between our two countries. Alakamzo Joffer, our charge-de-affairs to your country, shall request an audience with your leadership or leadership-equvilant at the diplomatic level as to iron out any differences in policy that Carriebean has caused.

Should there be no agreement on either side, we will, regrettably, have to withdraw Mr. Joffer from your country.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that, shall we? : )

Best regards,

Joe Howard.

Prime Minister Tino Tara Travskaaløfiøke.

[The Hoosier Alliance]

One week after the Iztapam Conference
Necanan Coyol, an officer in the Hoosier Army and member of the infamous Iron Shirts, stood over the bodies of several young men. Hoosier soldiers milled around him, checking the forested area for wounded locals and collecting the fallen tribesmen. Commander Coyol had informed the tribal leaders in the region about the truce enforced by the government, but several decided not to listen. During the Iztapam Conference, it was made clear that several intertribal wars were to be halted under the threat of force.

Most of the warring clans did not want to feel the wrath of the better-armed and trained Hoosier Army and concluded their fighting, for now at least. A few, however, continued fighting over land and other petty matters. Thus, the Army arrived during the conflict and opened fire, killing and wounding nearly a dozen from each side. The tribal warriors killing one another with rifles given to them by the Royal government years ago fled when faced with professional soldiers.

Coyol's next objective was to split his forces and ride into their respective villages, where he would arrest those who broke the law and offer a stark warning: end the fighting, or we will end you. Law and order would be maintained, and the savages of the Western Peninsula would not stand in the way. Coyol mounted his horse as his men lit the pyre ablaze. With a wave of his hand, his men followed suit. They rode down the trail, hands-on revolvers and eyes scanning the trees. It was unlikely such a proud people would willingly submit, so the members of the Eleventh Cavalry Battalion steeled themselves for the inevitable fight.



In Tenochtitlan, Chief of State Zyapan Patee had laid out a plan to aid in the industrialization of Hoosier. Some minor progress had thus far been accomplished with the help of Breyburg and Traansval, but it would be months, at best, or years, at worst, until their full effects could be felt. Still, those deals were a good starting point. The Chief's next step centered around foreign investment from Breyburg, the Warglorian Reich, and the Reikland. Should their businessmen be persuaded, it could be lucrative for all involved, especially the people of Hoosier.

So, the government met with industrial leaders, up-and-coming business owners, and others in similar situations, both at the national and state levels. Next, Hoosier diplomats to Breyburg, Warlgoria, and the Reikland began meeting with investors and the wealthy, attempting to push them to the untapped Hoosier markets, trying to convince them of the money just waiting to be made. Of course, many were hesitant, seeing the unproven Hoosier industrialists, but the politicians did all they could to relieve those fears. It will take some time to see if what they said was enough. Still, several reports sent back to Tenochtitlan were hopeful that these investors would travel to the country to see the business opportunities for themselves.

[Breyburg]

Preparations for a Threat Untold II
February 12th, 1925
The Riksdag, Lilliske, Brey, Breyburg

It has been around 1 month since Elisabet Moller’s bill for a reduction in military spending was voted down. With the incidents on the Breyburgian-Carriebean, Oscar Torvalds of Nyhamn has proposed a new bill. It aims to increase military spending from 3.2% to 3.8% of the national budget. This would allow for a more streamlined military, as most of the new spending would go to the largely underfunded and under-equipped Home Guard. The Home Guard, being mostly funded provincially, is utilizing 10-20 year old military technology, whereas the Armed Forces are using 2-7 year old technology. In the event of a surprise invasion the Home Guard is expected to be the first to respond, with the Armed Forces close behind.
The incidents along the Carriebeanian border have placed Breyburg into a partial panic, as conflict has not come to Breyburg for hundreds of years. The federal government and the populace must come to a conclusion on whether or not Breyburg should increase focus on the military or continue to strive for total neutrality and diplomacy.

The bill, titled the “Breyburgian Armed Forces Spending Increase Act of 1925”, passed 62 yes to 28 no. Prime Minister, Simeoni Lehtola was asked if he would veto the bill or not. “I do not intend on vetoing the bill, I see no need to. Obviously, as we have seen with the incidents on the border with our sydlig neighbors, Newne Carriebean, and the war in Zeeland, the recent civil war in Hoosier, and the Nine Years War, it has become apparent that the political and societal tides are shifting across the globe, and we must do all the we can to protect the civil and economic liberties we as Breyburgians enjoy. With the passing of this bill, I will continue to push for peaceful and assertive options for opting for conflict in any such confrontation with a foreign nation. I believe that Breyburg should act as an arbiter of peace on the regional and indeed the world stage. This does not mean, however, that Breyburg will keel over and play dead in the event of an attack or any other meaningful cause for conflict. We will fight and whatever potential enemy will see that our diplomatic demeanor should not be confused with timidity.”

February 11th, 1925
Jönbacka Countryside

Menig Kjell Forsman was digging a trench under order from his Fänrik. The frigid, dry air plastered his face. His squadmate, Arnfast Ågren, had an armén cigar hanging out the side of his mouth that Kjell was convinced had been turned to mush through spit and dried ad nauseum. Arnfast never even lit that cigar; he said he enjoyed the taste more than anything. Arnfast endlessly confused Kjell, but nonetheless he trusted the strange kompis with his life.

The average foot soldier knew nothing of the validity of the reports of incursions into Brey territory by Newne forces, all they knew of was their duty to defend their peaceful nation. Kjell had a particular distrust for these stories, in his mind, it simply wouldn’t make sense for such an underequipped nation to attack one like Breyburg. At least, that is what Kjell hoped.

“Helvete! This sucks ass!” Arnfast shouted, recoiling from his work.

“Arnfast, the quicker we get these trenches dug out, the sooner we can rest.” Kjell argued. Arnfast only grumbled and continued digging. Kjell had only met Arnfast during training, as had he met the majority of his squad, but there was an exception.

Kjell was displeased to learn that an old childhood bully was indeed a member of his squad. The boy, now grown to a man, kept his demeanor of dickishness, but it was apparent that he had improved as a person. When Kjell saw Rolf Palme during training, he attempted to let go of his past experiences, and mostly did so, but even out in the countryside of Jönbacka, he could not entirely forget.

Until news came from Lilliske, or even from Carriebean, Kjell could do nothing but toil in the piercing February air, dig in and play cards with his squadmates, and indeed, Rolf.