Manala, a worldbuilding project [IC / Closed]

[Tuonetar]

Manala - A Collaborative Worldbuilding Project

Welcome to the world of Manala - A world of modern-day megacorporations, unstable shattered empires, liberal democracies and authoritarian regimes, yet a world that has been moving towards peace for a long time after the devastation of the Three World Wars - or, so was thought. Rise! For you must assume the position as leader and guardian of your country - It is your task alone to guide your country into prosperity! Navigate through the hellscape that is domestic and global politics, and you will reap the rewards.

ROLEPLAY RULES:
1. Have fun and be friendly towards other roleplayers. If you have a dispute that neither of you can solve, please contact me on Discord or TG.
2. No godmodding, no overpowered or unrealistic technology, no roleplaying other people or the casualties of others, etc.. If it's details about another nation, ask their permission.
3. The day / month / year will always be the same as it is in real life. No skipping ahead of time - though you are allowed to reference the past in your posts to establish things.
4. As such, stick to real-world technology. You can have near future tech with moderator permission.
5. You may not possess nuclear weapons. Other WMDs are allowed with moderator permission.
6. On celestial bodies, everything is the same as in real life, with the exception of our RL home, Earth. This has been replaced by Manala.
7. Wars must be approved by moderation, and to prevent numberwanking each side must present basic military information and numbers to myself before a war is approved. This isn't supposed to be a game of Hearts of Iron - Please keep wars and the reasoning behind wars as realistic as possible. Additionally, both sides of a war must be reasonably comfortable with the war. All peace terms at the conclusion of a war must be agreed upon by all combatants. We're not trying to have a horrid mess after all.
8. Additionally, the outcome of a war or battle or other IC engagement should be mutually agreed upon by both sides OOC. If this isn't possible, please contact moderation and the matter shall be settled.

[Itielia]

Ministry of State Security
People's Republic of Itielia

Top Secret
Eyes Only
No Copies

Central Committee!

The revealing evidence discovered by the Ministry of State Security compels me to inform the Central Committee of the serious threat presented by the units of the People's Army in Vetromest Garrison.

Dispatched operatives of the Ministry have discovered up to forty incidences of sedition within the period of 2 months. Of them twenty-four acts have been committed by servicemen in officer ranks, three by servicemen in warrant officer ranks, and seven by servicemen in sergeant and private ranks, and six remain unknown. Seditionists have called to overthrow the People's Government and commit despicable acts of violence against the Party, the State, and the People's Army. Operatives have seized twelve leaflets which propagated anti-party thought and activity, counter-revolutionary and anarchical treason, bestial hatred against persons of different ethnicity and race, and acts of violence against comrade General Secretary of the C.C. Leonid Corneliev Andonov. For the purpose of illustration, I quote: "the Party has betrayed the cause of socialism, inviting foreigners to feast on Itielians blood, while the country becomes poor", "the foreigners have subjugated our leaders to buy our fatherland for their own vampiric interest". Such propagation of adversity against the People's Republic is outrageous, even more so that this was disseminated by members of the Party, trusted communists, and officers responsible for political education in the military.

What is even more outrageous is the policy of connivance and concealment from military commanders, even after the Ministry of State Security have informed of such dangerous activities happening in units under their command. Especially I would attract attention to commander of 7th Mechanized Infantry Division, Major General K. I. BROKGAUZ, who have taken personal interest in protecting seditionists from lawful persecution for their crimes against the state and the people. Furthermore, the Ministry of State Security possesses information that Major General K.I. BROKGAUZ have repeatedly tuned on foreign radio and have procured access to foreign media to his subordinates, including noted seditionists. The Ministry does not deny the possibility of influence of foreign agents of influence, especially Niagaran and Furbish secret services, by supply of anti-socialist and anti-people propaganda material to military personnel of the Vetromest army garrison.

All further materials, including interrogation protocols, examples of spread leaflets, and list of perpetrators are included in the appendix.

I would petition the Central Committee to resolve the matter immediately and to the fullest extent of the socialist law. Perversions of the party and army discipline shall not go unpunished, and no agent of foreign powers will escape justice.

Minister of State Security
S. G. GNIEWEK

17th September, 1988

CENTRAL COMMITTEE
COMMUNIST PARTY OF ITIELIA
Long live the People's Power!

Top Secret, Eyes Only

Resolution of the Central Committee Politburo, 22nd September 1988
"On the Report of the Minister of State Security"

1. Dismiss the report of the Minister of State Security
2. Reprimand Minister of State Security comrade S. G. Gniewek for conducting investigation beyond jurisdiction of the Ministry.

General Secretary of the Central Committee
L. C. Andonov

22nd September, 1988

[Gagium]

July 16, 2022
16 kilometers northwest of Roclincourt, Rachelia

The proud city of Roclincourt stood at the forefront of Rachelian history, being one of the first settlements created in the aftermath of the Masidrian Collapse, destined to then become one of the bustling trade centers of Provitia. The archaic city would peak in the medieval period after the formation of the Kingdom of Gagium, with its ancient structures standing to remind both nobles and peasants alike of the permanence of Provitian culture as well as the triumphant reign of the Gagian Kingdom over the lands. Roclincourt was a fortified bastion of commerce, culture, and of noble elegance, while those less fortunate were often doomed to become agricultural laborers and peasants for the rest of their working days outside of the tall walls of Roclincourt. Such was the way of life in the city for many centuries, through many ages and many different Kings who proclaimed the Gagian landscape to be their own.

In the modern day, however, a different order has been recognized. The modern-day Roclincourt, with a population of over 75,000 people, remains an important center for the region, yet arguably more important are the trade routes and infrastructure networks that Roclincourt lays on, connecting Rachelian cities like Fort-Anfree to both northern and southern metropolises. From these networks, shopping centers and commerce parks have risen on the outskirts of Roclincourt, bringing new industries to the region; Conversely, the city of Roclincourt itself remains a quaint reminder of a long-gone era, and while its older buildings and monuments are pretty to look at, they have no future, save for hoping to attract tourists who might instead be destined towards one of the 155 cities with a population yet greater.

Constable Cédric Gérin of the Rachelia Commonwealth Police owes a lot to the small city of Roclincourt, though. Without the old pubs and taverns of the city, his job as a highway patrolman ensuring the safety of the roadways passing through the city's borders wouldn't nearly be as exciting or fun. In fact, Cédric often remarked to his colleagues that he couldn't imagine wanting to stay to watch the plethora of cars that passed by on the renovated highways if it weren't for those old, deteriorating buildings far detached from his patrols.

Cédric was sitting in his patrolcar on this fateful day, the 16th of July, legs kicked up on the dashboard and reminiscing of his younger days as an officer in a city not very different at all from Roclincourt. The sun would set in a few hours from now, and that would mark the end of Cédric's 824th day on patrol for this city. Or was it the 825th? Certainly Cédric wasn't about to lose count now. He shook his head to himself, taking a glance at the passing cars while he pondered what had led to this calamity, barely noticing the van. Cédric had seen many like it - sleek, refined vehicles produced by the luxurious Tirita Motor Company, founded from a long-standing family of wealthy Anikgan lords and bankers. As Cédric kicked his patrolcar into motion, activating the car's blue-and-blue lightbar and sirens, he reflected on his many encounters with the Tirita V-Class, particularly surprised that he had not yet encountered one without a license plate - up until now.

Within a minute, thanks to Cédric's dominance of road traffic that he had carefully mastered over the years through meticulous study of traffic patterns and how many cars passed him for every minute until his shift was over, he was behind his prey, who seemed to indicate that they were indeed aware of Cédric and his superior traffic-navigating skills as they slowed down, inferiorly maneuvering themselves to the side of the roadway, Cédric expertly parked his car in front of this van, cutting off their one avenue of escape. Cédric made due haste to exit his vehicle as fast as his 46-year old body would allow him, surging forward until he was on top of his prey, then realizing that he did not know what his prey actually was, taking note of the van's tinted windows. Yet, his prey was fully aware of what was happen. This was something that always sat at the back of their minds, year after year, encounter after encounter. Of course, they didn't actually want to do it, but the goods have to keep rolling, right?

Cédric knocked on the door of the van, and was meant with a barely audible grunt. As the window began to roll down, a plethora of information was revealed to Cédric in an instant, and as he stumbled backwards, he couldn't compose himself. The target that he thought he had complete control over gazed at Cédric, but all Constable Cédric Gérin noticed was the deathly stare of the 9mm barrel that was pointed directly at him.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

[Greater Niagara]

0500
07–06-2022
Outskirts of the village of Disdal

The village of Disdal was a picturesque village in Southern Niagara. Surrounded on the west and north by small mountains, covered in trees, with the Riga River flowing through the centre, the village had been a bub of local tourism, with people coming to visit the old style shops, travel down the narrow cobblestone streets absent of modern cars, and hike through the many mountain trails crisscrossing the surrounding area. Disdal was truly the symbol of a small town successfully transitioning to keep out of irrelevance.

Disdal now, however, was in a sorry state, nothing compared to its former glory. Nearly all the citizens had been evacuated by the Niagaran Republican Army over 3 months before, as Royalist forces continued their advance to crush the anti-government rebellion once and for all.

Private Mickel Davson, (Royal) Niagaran Army, looked back at the small map of Disdal, crouched inside his Leopard 2A6 Landcruiser in the loader’s position, as it continued its advance towards the village. Noon had hit an hour before, and the summer heat beat down on the cruiser as it barreled down the road in a small column of other cruisers. Fortunately for Davson and crew, with all the hatches closed to avoid shrapnel injuries, the heat was kept out, and instead the cool air of the air conditioning unit circulated in the cramped space of the turret.

“How much longer, Nick?” Mickel shouted, over the noise of the engine to the cruiser commander, Corporal Nick Fredicksen. Fredricksen bent down as far as he could in the commander's seat to face Davson.

“3 more clicks to the village, Private!” He shouted in return. Davson nodded, going silent. Feeling somewhat bored, he opens the sliding door to the ammunition store, checking over the various ammunition, making sure they are all in their right places.

Suddenly, Fredrickson sits up straight. “I got a bandit, moving slowly, you see him?”

“I got him!” the gunner exclaimed, the targeting system locking on to the enemy cruiser about a kilometre away. “Mickel, give me a sabot!”

Davson shouts confirmation, opening the magazine, and carefully, yet quickly, grabs a AP sabot round. Placing it in the loading tray, he gives it a good shove to load it into the 120mm smoothbore gun.

“I got a lock!” Davson pulls back, placing his hands on his ear protectors. The gun fired, a deafening sound as the gun recoiled, ejecting the used cartridge into the tray below. Already Davson had grabbed another round, using one had to push the used cartridge down the tray as he put the new round in the gun.

“That’s a kill!” Fredrickson confirmed. The round had penetrated the side armor of the enemy cruiser as it was maneuvering for a good firing position, and it had exploded, now burning and throwing smoke into the air. “I got another one for you, 10’oclock!” The turret turned to face the new enemy, and Davson loaded the round he was carrying into the gun. It was going to be a long battle, he thought.

0505
10 km south of Disdal

Brigadier Erik Harfjordsen stood, overlooking a table of Disdal and the surrounding area. One of his aids stood by a radio, listening to the radio chatter. “Bravo cruiser company reports they have engaged the enemy in Disdal,” he relayed, holding the headphones on one ear, the other dangling to the side. “They estimate maybe two dozen cruisers, mostly Leo’ 1’s, probably recommissioned from reserve.”

Erik nods. “Then our intel was right, the republicans are running low on landcruisers. Estimated air coverage?”

“We haven’t detected any republican fighters or close air support as of right now,” another officer replied. “We got a flight of F-15E’s almost at the village to help take out the cruisers, and a second and third flight in case the enemy sends in reinforcements.”

“Alright.” 12 fighters on ground support was good, but Erik was hoping that High Command could spare more interceptors for the mission. Enemy ground attack had been murderous in the last few attacks. “Let’s pray that the bastards decide this place isn’t worth defending, and withdraw up to the mountains.” Erik took a sip from a thermos. “Whatever happens, we have the upper hand. We’ll win this, folks.”

[Nordhagan]

Dorprivier
Confederacy of Onsland
Viceroyalty of Alaoyi
22:00, Saturday, 15 June, 1944

Nwokewu¹ Agabe walked to the crest of the hill overlooking the village. Snow billowed down in small drifts as a freezing wind blew. Agabe looked as a kamanjide² stared through the binoculars at the small town ahead of the ogidi³. It was one of the standard small towns for this part of the country. Small brick and wooden buildings, a cobbled road, and even a set of electicity poles. That last one in particular was surprising. Pales, though larger in number than the darker Ndibeanyan, weren't usually given access to the electic grid the government set up over the last few decades. Such discrimination was common and unspoken. Agabe took it for granted, like most Ndibeanyans, the most powerful ethnic group in Alaoyi. Despite the declarations that it was unpatriotic to question the status quo, Agabe wondered that if, just if, a little bit of kindness and equality for the Pales from the Alaoyan government would've prevented the uprising that had paralyzed Alaoyi for almost three years now. Then, shoving such thoughts out of his mind lest they affect his duty, he went to see what the watch commander had to report. The watch commander wore the dark forest green uniform of Alaoyan infantry, meaning he was hard to see when he was in the dark pine trees common in this part of the country.

"Superior sir!" exclaimed the kamanjide, "I was not aware you were coming up to inspect us so soon!" he continued, saluting.

"At ease kamanjide..." said Agabe, looking at the name tape on the officer's helmet. This officer wasn't from one of his units, "... Kalu. Your saluting can be reserved for the parade ground. Here, on the front, one of the rebels would notice your salute and decide that perhaps it was time for me to meet the prophets⁴."

"Apologies sir. Would you like to hear the report?"

Agabe rubbed his chin, "Sure Kalu, let me hear it."

Kalu nodded. "The village couldn't have held more than 1000, maybe 1500, residents in total. Insurgents in the town seem to be a few dozen, maybe a hundred at most. Maybe another couple hundred civilians in tow, mostly women and children. They fly black, white, and red banners."

"They'd be Onslanders then, no Diash.", replied Agabe. Onslanders were the Pale group which inhabitated the frigid pine forests and coastal regions of Alaoyi. They were the largest group, with almost half of everyone in Alaoyi being an Onslander. The Ndibeanyans called them the "Sitenaoyi". The Diash, though the Ndibeanyans called them the "Ndịalala", were the other major Pale group. They spoke an entirely different language and had an entirely different culture than the Sitenaoyi. In contrast to the black-white-red vertical tricolor of the Sitenaoyi, the Ndịalala used a white symbol, something from their religion, on a blue field.

"Is that good or bad sir?"

"Good."

"The Ndịalala would've been worse?"

"Yes, but the Ala-Efu would have been even worse." The Sitenaoyi had been under the thumb of the Ndibeanyans for longer than the Ndịalala. They tended to fight much cleaner. The Ndịalala had a large portion of their population be independent until 30 years earlier or so. They fought dirty, but didn't kill prisoners for the fun of it. The Ala-Efu, a Pale liberation group, had no ideology except hatred for the Ndibeanyans. Ala-Efu soldiers, who fought under a black-white-blue tricolor, were generally executed when captured, if they ever were. Many tended to die fighting or strap a belt of grenades to their chests before pulling the pins and jumping into a crowd of Ndibeanyan soldiers. The other insurgents were pro-Sitenaoyi or pro-Ndịalala even to the detriment of the Ndibeanyans. The Ala-Efu were anti-Ndibeanyan even to the detriment of themselves.

"Should we ask for a surrender, superior sir?"

"Do it, but don't bother expecting anything from it, Kalu. If they knew when to surrender they would've surrendered after Handelstad." replied Agabe. Handelstad was, or had been, the largest city in the interior, sitting at the base of small ridge. It was an insurgent stronghold. Alaoyan troops had been sent in to quell the uprising there in September of '42. The army had become surrounded by the insurgents by November. Over the long, wet, and frigid winter, the coldest in decades if the weather reports were to be believed, much of the army withered away from starvation once the blizzards prevented any air support to resupply. The insurgents, well organized for this fight, took no prisoners here. By the time a relief force came in May of 1943, nearly two of every three men had died. The relief force... took revenge to say the least. Thousands of insurgents and, unofficially of course, their families were killed or evicted from their homes in the city. Handelstad was to be renamed and repopulated by Ndibeanyans, not Pales. Of the surviving initial force, four of every five were too malnourished or wounded to be of any use. Agabe had been one of the lucky, or unlucky, few to have come through relatively intact. He could still remember huddling up next to a fire in a basement, deciding which men would split the meager food supplies and which would go hungry, fearing another attack... his shiver had nothing to due with the cold of the present.

"Sir?"

"Sorry Kalu. I'll take your report back to the Ezigbo⁵ and let him know."

The Ezigbo was tall and lanky officer from the mothercountry, the Alannan Empire named Mbak. He was the overall commander of the two ogidi, each of which, in this case, consisted of 12 iriri⁶. Each one consisted of 10 colonial iriri, members of the Alaoyan Army. Agabe commanded 5 of those. Another 2 iriri, consisting of crack imperial shocktroopers, were assigned to each ogidi. Mbak personally commanded the imperial troops in addition to the force as a whole, but usually passed that duty on to one of the onyeisi⁷ during combat. Onyeisi Ezek, though he wore the ugly green-brown uniform of imperial troops operating in Alaoyi, was not nearly as elitist as Ezigbo Mbak. Agabe found the command tent and walked in. Warm buttery light from the lanterns strung up inside filled the tent, as did the smoke from tobacco. While Agabe did not personally smoke, many Alaoyans did. The officer's council, consisting of the senior officers of the force, had assembled while waiting for Agabe to bring back the watch's report.

"Agabe! Did that worthless pinesucker⁸ find anything useful?" barked Mbak, who, by his tone, expected nothing.

"Yes superior sir, kamanjide Kalu identified an insurgent force, likely a few dozen, maybe a hundred at most. They are Onslander nationalists. Rules of engagement say that we are to hear a surrender and take priso-"

"Nonsense. They are only Pales. We take the town. Rally your troops, we move in at 0200." retorted Mbak.

The other officers looked at each other. Mbak had the stereotypical elitism and distrust of colonials associated with Alannans. However, attacking a fortified town, even while heavily outnumbering the insurgents, was likely to inflict heavy casualties. Booby traps, hidden machine guns, fortified positions? The Alaoyans could easily take the town but without careful planning or bombardment? Too many men would die compared to the value of the town. But as many of those men would wear the dark forest green of the colonials and not the brownish green of the imperial troops... to say Mbak didn't care wouldn't be far from the truth.

Choosing his words carefully Agabe began, "Superior sir, perhaps we could bombard the town first? Or station some of our sharpshooters to take bites out of their men during the fight?" The colonials were primarily armed with bolt action or semiautomatic rifles. They had range compared to the imperial shocktroopers, who mostly carried submachine guns, although a few, mostly just officers, were armed with new automatic rifles.

"Negative. You will take your troops in, Nwokewu Agabe. If you don't I'll simply remove you and have one of your subordinates go in instead. His majesty's finest will go in behind you and act as a reserve."

"Great." thought Agabe, "My men will go in and be slaughtered. His men will go in later and take all the glory." His anger rising, Agabe stared down Mbak and simply said "No."

Mbak pulled out his service pistol and pointed it at Agabe. Looking around, Agabe realized that the imperial officers would side with Mbak simply out of loyalty to the chain of command. The colonial officers would side with Mbak out of fear. He was alone.

"Nevermind sir, you've convinced me." said Agabe through gritted teeth.

1= A field officer who commands a force of 300-400 men
2= A junior commissioned officer commanding a unit of roughly 30-50 men
3= A military formation of 800-1200 men
4= A religious expression, a euphemism for dying
5= A field officer who commands an ogidi, or roughly 800-1200 men
6= A military formation of 80-120 men
7= A junior commissioned officer commanding an iriri, or roughly 80-120 men
8= A term referring to Ndibeanyan Alaoyans by Alannans, refers especially those who live on the coast. Comes from the pine brandy popular in the colonies. Can be used playfully, as a matter of designating someone's origin, or as an insult.

[Greater Niagara]

Off the coast of Niagara
Early in the morning

In between the thundering sky and roaring ocean, two parallel lines of helicopters skimmed low above the sea level. These helicopters, belonging to the No.464 Naval Airlift Squadron, departed from ACS 20 hours ago, carrying 240 shore patrolmen. In order to complete such audacious journey, as a test to the ACSDF capabilities, each aircraft carried a pair of extra fuel tanks and would be refueled 8 times throughout the mission. In the leading element, Commander Michael Everton carefully checked on his flight displays for location, fuel, and weather, which would be a vital factor in the next refueling.

Since the outbreak of Niagaran Civil War, the Antarctican leadership had expressed unmatched interests in the matter, and many of its statesmen advocating a bold approach to safe guard the friendly bond between the two nations. Hence, Operation Lighthouse, under which ACSN would commit active military troops in assistance to the Niagaran loyalists forces.
The ACS squadron had previously encountered Lt. Yokkel's No.97 RNN, which escorted No.464 during its seventh refueling. Now heading due North, Cdr. Everton ordered the squadron to break up into 5 sections, each following their flight leader, and climb to 1500 meters above sea level, hoping to appear on Niagaran radar. This would be his eigth and final refueling before arrival. Soon, Everton picked up 20 signals on his own radar at precisely 650 kilometers South of the Niagaran coastline, where he planned to rendezvoused with Cpt. Fjorden's No.112 RNAF and 2 MRTTs.
Cdr. Everton and Lcdr. Keelings positioned their helicopters behind the MRTTs and carefully lined up their probes with the drogues. After the 5 minutes of connected flying, Everton and Keelings broke off to the sides and immediately dove to regroup at sea level. With F-18Es monitoring the airspace high above, the rest 20 MH-90s lined up, flight by flight, to receive fuel in similar fashion. When the refueling was finished, the No.464 returned to its double-file-line formation and rushed towards Oslo Air Force Base at 300 kilometers per hour while RNAF fighters trailed closely behind at landing speed.

18 F/A-E of the No. 112 Squadron followed closely behind the ACS helicopters. A few kilometres south, Lt. Yokkel and his No. 97 squadron flew away from the group of allied aircraft. Cpt. Fjordsen radioed to Yokkel: "We'll take over escort from here, over."

"Roger, Captain, see you on the mainland," Lt. Yokkel replied, "Get them to Oslo in one piece! 97th Squadron, returning to carrier." The "Warkawk" Squadron turned back south, returning to their assigned carrier.

Fjorden then sent a signal to Cdr. Everton. "We've got about 600 km. to Oslo AFB, over. How you guys holding up?"

Everton checked his control panels "We will maintain our current course...if the weather doesn't change we will arrive just in time over."

"Roger... Must have taken a bloody long time to fly all the way here, eh?" He looks over his own instruments whilst replying.

"22 hours of flying minus the...the time we spent in Cocos," Everton comments, "I heard over the radio two SPs threw up in Lt. Binkowski's (4th flight lead) aircraft earlier during a storm."

"Oh!" Fjordsen chuckles. "That's going to leave quite the mess. And 22 hours, geez! They definitely aren't paying you guys enough for that."

“It’s definitely the longest flight I have been on. Plus us officers have decent base pay so it’s not too much of a concern,” Everton replies, “those enlisted guys get nothing but more stripes.”

"Those poor chaps get nothing to do but sit around all day," Fjorden replies. "I don't know, a whole day effectively not working, what I'd give for that!"

“A whole day staring at your NCO’s face would surely be fun,” Everton suggested ironically, “it’s a wonder how these kids can fall asleep sitting in a vibrating steel box.”

"All the better to get them to land then, eh?" Fjordsen chuckled.

“Absolutely, although 300km is the fastest this good boy can go,” Everton glanced at the Niagaran shore, which is beginning to take shape on the horizon, “you sound quite young for a captain. How long have you been flying?”

"I enlisted back in 2018, before the war began. So that makes it... about 3 and a half years of flying. Yourself?"

“I got my wing in 2005…so its about 17 years. Can’t believe I sat in this tiny corner for 2500 hours,” Everton replies with a slight pause, “I’m a fossil, but you’d get alone quite well with my lieutenants.”

"2500 hours? Geez, how worn in is that seat?" Fjordsen replied jokingly.

“More worn than my bed at home,” Everton let out a slight grin, while checking the flight control panels again.

Fjordsen laughed, then looked down at his radar. "We're coming up on the Niagaran coast," he replied, looking through his cockpit to the shoreline below, where spread out radar and SAM sites spread at even intervals stood on constant watch.

“Anything I should know before I take the boys to land?” Everton asked the Fjordsen.

"Just be on alert, we don't know if enemy intelligence knows about your arrival yet, and we can't take any chances."

Fjordsen then flips a switch on his control board. "The radars and SAMs should also now you're friendly, but just in case I'm transmitting a signal to you guys to broadcast in the case they don't have your IFF's as friendly."

“Received. It was a pleasure flying with you. See you on the ground.” Everton switches frequency, “attention all units, IFFs on, descend to 0150 and follow your flight leaders. Welcome to Niagara gentlemen.”

As the helicopters and fighters passed over the SAM line, they could see several soldiers manning them cheer as the ACS helicopters flew by.

After a moment, they could see the Oslo AFB on the horizon. A new voice crackled over the radio.

"No. 464 Squadron, No. 112 Squadron, we have you on radar. 8 kilometres to landing field, over," the flight controller said.

"Cdr. Everton, copy that." Everton replied, "first column on me. Keelings you take the second. Make sure the pads are clean before you touchdown."
Separating from the escort fighters, Cdr. Everton led his column to the Southeastern corner of the Oslo AFB, where the helicopter pads were located. The string of helicopters hovered over the pads, and with the assistance from ground crew signals, landed steadily. Keelings' column followed the examples. Within seconds, the entire No.464 was on the ground, sending dust swirling into the air.

A few moments later, the control tower gave clearance for the fighters to land. They turned to the northern airstrip, where within 5 minutes, all 18 aircraft had landed, and taxied to where the waiting crews were to perform maintenance.

Meanwhile, several dozen ground crew also ran towards the ACS helicopters, performing quick maintenance checks and helping to unload supplies and soldiers.

ACS sailors, belonging to SP Squadron 7, 12, and navy band, quickly departed from the helicopters and gathered for roll call, while air crewmen unloaded the supplies and perform checks on each aircraft before leaving them to Niagaran ground crew for parking. Cdr. Everton, Lcdr. Keelings, and a few other pilots in No.464 exchanged flight details and head to the officers' barracks.

[Nordhagan]

Vrystad
Republic of Alaoyi
2:00 PM, Wednesday, 14 July, 2010

The procession rolled down the large avenue. Trees, some evergreen pines, some deciduous and bare of leaves, lined the sides of the avenue. The buildings on either side, all of them foreign embassies or consulates, government administration buildings, or headquarters for political parties and lobbyists, all flew flags at half mast. Despite the bitter wind and blowing freezing rain, on the sidewalks and spilling into the streets was a mournful crowd, somber as they watched the procession unfold from the otherside of a barrier of military honor guards. Four detachment of honor guards, the first in the dark forest green of the army, the next in the pale blue of the air force, the third wearing the white of the navy, and the final in the red of the gendarmie preceded a hearse drawn by three black horses and led by more soldiers, all wearing green dress uniforms. A coffin, draped in an Alaoyan flag, lay in the hearse. Cars carrying a grieving widow, adult children, and a plethora of grandchildren followed the hearse. The final member of the procession was a riderless horse. The procession stopped in front of a religious temple as the casket was carried inside. A number of politicians, leaders, and family made speeches, gave eulogies, or simply showed to show their respects to the deceased. After the ceremony, the casket was again carried back to the hearse where it was taken to a graveyard, one filled with the remains of famous heroes, leaders, or both. The casket was carried well into the cemetary where, finally, the pallbearers stopped. The gravestone was a large ornate one with a simple inscription:

Kema Agabe
8 December 1921 - 11 July 2010

Loch Mór
Diash Republic
Viceroyalty of Alaoyi
1100, Thursday, 21 December, 1944

"Major! Major Agabe, sir!" cried the runner as he came up to Agabe and sketched a salute.

Agabe pulled away his binoculars and turned to the runner. "What's going on?" he asked, returning the salute. The two men had to speak rather loudly, nearly yelling in fact, to be heard over the artillery batteries.

"Sir, colonel Mbak and the Imperial troops have attacked down the southern slope. They went-"

"What?!? That daft bastard is going to get his men slaughtered! Let me look." said Agabe, shocked. The town below, Loch Mór, sat on south side of a massive lake and was surrounded by water on the northern and western flanks and by hills on the southern and eastern sides. Diash nationalists had established a major base in the town, which had to be taken. The Alaoyan government troops, and some of the more rational Imperial officers, had planned to bombard the town and then extend a second offer of surrender and amnesty before beginning any assault. However, colonel Mbak, an Imperial of course, had demanded an immediate attack and no quarter for the rebelling Diash.

Looking through the binoculars Agabe could see that the runner spoke the truth. Imperial shock troops, distinguished from the "colonials" by their green-brown uniforms and automatic rifles, were making their way down the northern slope, supporting by a few of the light tanks that could make it up the hill in the first place. The Diash rebels, never one to let an easy target go, were beginning to open fire on the descending imperials.

Agabe turned to the runner, who wore the proper forest green of a colonial soldier and had an Alaoyan submachine gun strapped to his back, and ordered "Have captains Chochi, Ezek, and Aoku prepare their men, now!"

The men were well trained and inside of 10 minutes the colonial troops had assembled into companies and were prepared to make their own way down the slope. Agabe looked down at the Imperials. They had stalled and become pinned by sniper and machine gun fire from the town prevented them from either moving forward or retreating. Agabe turned to the officers and men assembled and began to speak:

"Chochi! Take your company down the left, relieve the Imperials! Azak, follow me down the center! Aoku, take your company right, and secure the flank! The rest of you, we take this town and Baloch falls. We are almost there men! Now, follow me! For Alaoyi!"

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Billericay, Bedfordſhire, Van Riemsfijk
Morniŋ, Tridi, 3 Fructidor 218 (Saturday, 20 Auguſt 2022)

John Johnſon stepped outside his apartment, which stands on top of a small hill. He stopped for a moment to appreciate the view of the Boſton Bay before he went to his job. The eleven province Boſton Bay Area includes the city of Boſton, the capital and largest city of Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands, and some smaller cities. The smaller cities, including his hometown of Billericay, are referred to as “Budget Boſtons” or commuter towns by Boſtonians. Boſton is referred to as “the center of the universe” by the rest of the country, especially by other Bay Area cities, because of their stereotypical arrogance, but Boſtonians have also adopted that name. Despite some resistance, especially from older residents, many cities around Boſton have turned into commuter towns for people who prefer to live just outside the city. Billericay, being placed between the city centers of Bedford and Boſton, about thirty kilometers from both, was no different. The city is the westernmost part of Bedfordſhire, and borders the Boſton City-Province.

Like many smaller towns surrounding larger cities, rush hour traffic is heavy. Johnſon did not mind, however. He walked down the road, crossed a small street, and sat down on a small bench at a tram stop. “Why the fuck do people even drive to Boſton, look how fucking slow it is.” he thought. He looked at the departure board. His tram was three minutes away. It is one of the three interurban trams between Bedford and Boſton, build over a century ago by three competing companies, and later taken over by the city of Bedford. These trams are not the only way of traveling between both cities by public transport. A suburban rail line owned by Bedford reaches Boſton while stopping at Billericay, as does a line of the Greater Boſton Railroad. The large amount of transit agencies around the Bay Area lead to the creation of BAUPTA, or the Bay Area Unified Public Tranſportation Auþority, to coordinate schedules and fares. The station Johnſon waited at also serves a small bus and tram network owned by Billericay, and some routes from Boſton.

Johnſon eyed a tram in the distance and took out his wallet. All Bay Area transit agencies accept the CharlieCard, named after the proprietor of the first tram opened in Boſton. A complex fare structure did exist behind the scenes, especially when transfers were involved, though that did not matter to most users who just needed to tap their card on a fare gate. The tram driver waved to people waiting as the tram stopped at the platform, opened its doors, and some people walked out. “Good morning. Please mind the gap between the tram and the platform.” said a voice over the tram’s speakers, and it then said the destination. Displays on the side of the tram said “Good morning!” and the destination. These signs on trams are known worldwide as an example of Furbish politeness. After some people walked out, more walked inside.

The tram spent some time winding through the narrow streets of Billericay. Like the majority of Furbiſh cities, the streets changed little since colonial times, which made walking convenient but driving and navigating a nightmare. Many buildings were from the period, and more recent buildings were built to mimic the style. On either side of the tram, traffic was slow in both directions. “Love the taste of driver tears in the morning.” thought Johnſon. The tram’s stops were frequent, but not as frequent as some local trams. Despite the tram terminating in Boſton, Johnſon got off only a few stops away at Billericay’s main train station. There, he waited for a faster suburban train.

Several suburban, regional, and intercity railroads served the station. Johnſon waited for a Bedford and Boſton train, which stopped at more towns but was the cheapest. He did not have to wait long either, as trains were fifteen minutes apart during the morning and evening rush hours. The blue and gray electric multiple unit train pulled up and Johnſon entered after tapping his CharlieCard on a conductor’s scanner. The ride was not long, but Johnſon took out his phone and opened the news to pass the time. “Problems Faced by Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands” was the title of the first article he saw. “This looks interesting.” he thought and he tapped it.

The first mentioned was high speed rail. The Furbiſh high speed rail network is the largest in the world, with all major cities on the large islands connected, but more lines are being built, many of which people say are not worth their cost. Construction companies that built these lines are some of the richest and most influential in the country. “Bullshit. Why do they all care.” thought Johnſon as he read through, until he got to the last sentence, which links it to the next section of the article.

Alternative for Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands, or AFÐFI, is a right wing populist party that rose to popularity in the last decade. Entering the public spotlight after the 2008 financial crash, many of their supporters come from smaller cities in the interior which felt left behind as coastal cities grew. Among their complaints was excessive government spending on high speed rail while ignoring programs that will actually benefit interior cities. Because of some far right views AFÐFI holds, other Furbiſh parties formed an unspoken agreement to never form a coalition with AFÐFI. After their election into the Furbiſh Parliament, no other party was able to form a stable coalition. “Yeah, fuck the ignorant interior farmers for fucking up our politics.” thought Johnſon, unaware elitist attitudes like his from residents of larger cities contributed to the rise of AFÐFI.

Across the ocean, the León monarchy faced a civil war for nearly a century, which started with a succession crisis between the Khakmadoy and Santa Bárbara branches of the House of León. Many countries intervened in the war, though Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands intervened the most in the conflict. This has been controversial among many Furbishmen including AFÐFI and some of the international community.

The last problem listed was global warming. Being on the equator, a warmer planet could render much of Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands uninhabitable, and many low lying areas could be flooded by rising oceans. Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands has been one of the global leaders in environmental policy. Many measures are widely supported, but many more drastic measures have been more controversial, including among AFÐFI. “Yeah we are fucked.” thought Johnſon, who was only in his 20s, and likely to see effects get worse in his lifetime.

Johnſon suddenly received an SMS from his girlfriend, Emma Erickſon, asking of he remembered his keys when he left the apartment. “I remembered this time.” Johnſon texted back. He then sent a link to the article he just read with “some journalist thinks high speed rail and the León monarchy will cause the republic’s downfall lol”.

They had a brief conversation until the train pulled into the Capital Diſtrict. A small federal district that is an enclave in the Boſton City-Province, it originated as a colonial garrison before being the seat of important federal buildings, from the houses of Parliament to small executive agencies, including the tax agency where Johnſon worked. Many buildings still resemble medieval or colonial fortifications. The Capital Diſtrict station is one of the largest stations around Boſton. Many services stop there because they were requested by the federal government, even if they are barely used. They are nicknamed Parliamentary Services by Boſtonians. The station is also famously hard to navigate, though Johnſon already knew which direction to go after working there for some time.

After walking through the station, Johnſon saw a roadblock on the way, guarded by a single gendarme. The Gendarmerie is one of two federal law enforcement agencies, and a branch of the military. The gendarme had a dress uniform that changed little over two hundred years, wearing a white shirt and trousers, a black waistcoat, black boots, a powdered wig, and a bicorn. “Good morning, how are you?” he said.

“Doing fine. Trying to get to my job over there.” replied Johnſon, pointing at the tax agency building.

“The road is blocked because there is a state visit going on. Do you have an employee ID?” said the gendarme.

“I do.” said Johnſon, stopping to look through his wallet. “Fucking hell. That is the third worst picture of me ever taken.” he thought.

He finally took it out and the gendarme let him through. “Have a good day!” he said.

“You too!” said Johnſon as he walked down the near empty narrow street. The Furbiſh national day, when all three constitutions were ratified, was three days before, yet he could still see signs of it being celebrated. One of the things Johnſon liked about the Capital Diſtrict was that cars are banned from there, in part because widening streets would require destroying or moving much of the buildings. “I hope the government’s plan in case of invasions does not involve hiding in this fortress then starting a bayonet charge to chase the enemies back to the bay.” thought Johnſon. He knew Furbish traditionalism did not extend that far, though his job was coding COBOL computers, a decades old programming language that is not used by newer companies and systems.

---

Furbiſh Railroad Company Dispatch Center Souþ
London, Mecklenburg, Dampiera
Early Eveniŋ, Tridi, 3 Fructidor 218 (Saturday, 20 Auguſt 2022)

The Furbish Railroad Company’s dispatch office in London was not too different from the many buildings that were built inside the mountains in southern Isla Sin Valor. The head house on the exterior was large, but in the same style as the rest of the buildings in London. They are more modern, as London and the surrounding Avon metropolitan area were built more recently than most Furbiſh cities, such as Frederickſburg sixty kilometers to the south. The building’s exterior does have security and visible communications equipment but for the most part retains elements of traditional colonial Furbish architecture. More modern elements are mixed in, as are some styles unique to the Avon area. The interior of the building is the same, until one passes security and enters the underground section. There, white circular corridor leads to a set of elevators, which take employees to the main room the dispatchers operate in, a room that is far more modern in aesthetic.

Rows of cubicals stretched across, with a person inside most of them at all times. The front of the room had a giant screen showing a diagram of all tracks dispatchers controlled, in roughly two thirds of Dampiera and the southern half of Van Riemsdijk. All signals on those tracks, outside the stations, are controlled from that room. Being a dispatcher is not an easy job, as they have to strictly follow timetables and crew schedules of different train operators that use the tracks, and fix unforeseen problems such as breakdowns or vehicles crashes. Unsurprisingly dispatchers needed an entire year of training before they were allowed to work alone.

Madeleine Lawlor sat in one of the cubicals, ready to begin an evening shift at the center. Several computer screens showed the tracks she controlled with all trains and signals. The set of tracks was high in the mountains, in an area known for snowstorms and avalanches. Another one of her screens had the timetables of several operators, and another had the weather report. She carefully watched the report and one sleeper train. According to the report, there was only a small amount of snow, safe for all trains in the mountains, though she continued keeping track in case anything changes.

“Good evening, Maddie.” said the voice of Ramona Ophoff, Lawlor’s boss.

“Good evening.” Lawlor replied, seeing Ophoff. Next to her stood John Shackley, who is Ophoff’s boss.

They spent some time looking at Lawlor’s screens. “The weather says there is only light snow headed here but I have a gut feeling there will be a storm.” said Lawlor, “That passenger train is pulling into Richmond, which is the largest city it will be at for a while.”

“Where will its next stop be?” asked Ophoff.

“Going west, unless the weather changes suddenly the train has enough time until its next station where it can stay for a while.”

“Let the train go past and stop if the weather gets worse. These delays are not necessary.” said Shackley.

Lawlor was uncertain. “Do you know who is driving the train?” asked Ophoff. Lawlor clicked on the train, which showed the crew.

“Amandine Vannier.” said Shackley, looking at the table, “She is one of the best engineeers the Furbish Railroad Company has. She will be able to go through.”

Lawlor nodded. With Ophoff and Shackley standing on either side of her, Lawlor picked up the phone on her desk, then dialed the train’s number. The engineer picked up quickly. “Hello?” she said.

“Good evening. This is Maddie Lawlor calling from the London dispatch center. Be advised your train may have to stop in a station ahead because it is approaching some snowfall.”

At the same time, as a ticketing agent was sitting down at the break room in Richmond Station, another walked in and said “Holy shit I just sold tickets to this one dude who I think is a fugitive on the loose.”

“What?” said the agent who was sitting.

“Dude bought a ticket on a train leaving in a few minutes using cash and asked for it to not be counted towards any rewards, then asked if he bought another ticket with his credit card will it be recorded as being bought by the same person, then he bought a ticket for a train going the opposite direction using his credit card and asked for that to be counted towards rewards. Then he left in a hurry.”

“Could be running away from something too.”

“I haven’t thought of that. Either way, I told security about it.”

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Bolsrade, Nieuw Maasland Colony
Noon, 31 January 1805

Julian Van Spijk climbed to the top of a statue of a colonial governor with the help of his friend, Vincent Gelderman, then grabbed his pistol, loaded with a blank round, and raised it in the air. This caught the attention of some of the mob around them. For weeks, public protests began over colonial rule. People demanded more representation and lower taxes from colonial authorities, and a few wanted full independence. Protests erupted as colonial powers were fighting wars on their home continents, and many Furbishmen no longer wanted to fight these wars. Colonial authorities, including in Bolsrade, violently suppressed protests, which only caused them to grow more violent and people to become more radical. The day before, van Spijk, and Gelderman met with four other old friends. Van Spijk was well known among many in Bolsrade. He was elected to the assembly, where he advocated for more rights, self determination, and against wars of conquest fought with the indigenous population. Gelderman was a privateer who stopped at the city to resupply. Sieb van Oorschot is an army officer, returning from his leave just in time for the riots. The six of them, who would later become known as the Bolsrade Six, spent the night planning an overthrow of the colonial government as they got drunk. The next day, realizing the situation in the Furbish colonies, they decided to follow through with the plan.

“My fellow citizens, what are we waiting for?!” shouted van Spijk, “The colonial government will do nothing but take our freedoms before us! Your words mean nothing to them! We must take to arms, to his garrison and his palace!” His words gained the attention of more people, who all cheered. Some chanted slogans from previous revolutions. After some time, van Spijk jumped off the statue, and people carrying ropes and sticks approached. They threw their ropes on top and began to pull, while those holding sticks walked to the other side where they pushed from below. Hundreds of people helped, until the statue began to tilt, then come down. The loud thump echoed throughout the streets of Bolsrade. Louder was cheering from the people on the street.

“To the Garrison!” shouted van Spijk. He and Gelderman lead the people through the narrow streets. There was no resistance as they walked. Some soldiers sent to investigate the sound turned around immediately after seeing the crowd.

The main colonial garrison in Bolsrade is based in a fortress on the city’s coast. It is on a small cape, surrounded by water on three sides and the city on its east. The series of earthworks and bastions would have frustrated the advance of a modern army. However, the gates of the fortress were wide open, and a single officer stood by, saluting when he saw the crowd. Van Spijk recognized him as van Oorschot.

Van Oorschot made a signal as the crowd was near him. A door near him was then opened. Some soldiers were there, holding a large amount of muskets. Other soldiers held bayonets, musket balls, and sacks of gunpowder. They began to distribute them to the crowd. This did not go on for long before they were noticed by the garrison commander from his quarters. Van Oorschot noticed him, and walked towards him with some soldiers. “You are under arrest in the name of the people of Bolsrade.” he said.

“Van Oorschot, cease immediately.” said the commander, just before two soldiers grabbed him and pinned him against a wall. Van Oorschot grabbed the commander’s sword in view of the people and they cheered. Some officers, seeing what was happening, threw down their own weapons, and some joined the protests.

Lead by the Bolsrade Six, the protesters then marched to the governor’s mansion. A large amount of soldiers stood around it with bayonets fixed to their muskets. People quickly surrounded the building. The soldiers then fired into the crowd. The crowd, with their new weapons from the armory, fired back. They quickly overpowered the guards by numbers. While some attempted to surrender, the people, lead by van Oorschot and van Spijk, walked into the mansion. Every room or corridor they turned to, they saw a people shocked, who all threw their weapons down and surrendered. The people inside witnessed the luxury the governor lived under, in complete contrast to much in the city. Seeing the vast number of servants, chefs, and other staff made the people angrier as they approached the governor’s office. He hid under his desk, surrounded by some soldiers and servants, knowing what was going on.

“Citizen Pier Kroepanne, you are under arrest.” said van Oorschot to the governor.

“I am the governor. Surrender immediately before the army marches in on Bolsrade to end your rebellion.” said Kroepanne.

However, he was unable to do anything as van Oorschot grabbed him and dragged him from his desk. “The people have decided you are no longer the governor.” said van Oorschot.

He left the house, escorting the former governor. To a cheering crowd, van Spijk said “Today, the Nieuw Maasland Free State is established in Bolsrade. Pier Kroepanne will be put on trial for crimes against the people he committed when serving as governor.”

---

Preſent Day

The painting is large, covering much of the wall. The style was unmistakably romantic, with realistic expressions and individual brush strokes visible, and blurred in a way that it looked like the viewer was present at the scene. The central figures of the painting were the Bolsrade Six, standing in front of the governor’s mansion, and next to them was the former colonial governor. A mob surrounded the building, many armed, and all cheering. Soldiers around laid their arms down. Bodies of soldiers and of citizens were on the ground around them.

This painting is one of eight in the National Aſſembly’s chamber. Two hung on the left and right sides, and three on the back. Above the paintings, the chamber is slightly larger, making room for a walkway used by visitors, and three levels of booths used by interpreters, journalists, and other observers. Other smaller busts and carvings featuring well known people, both Furbiſh and foreign, and important events in Furbiſh history, decorated the chamber.

“These eight paintings are known as ‘Ðe Birþ of Ðe Republic’.” said the tour guide, “Displaying important scenes in Furbiſh history. The first four were commissioned by John Dodſon in the tenth year of the Revolution, the next three by Jozef van Biddinghuizen in 71, one of which replaced Dodſon’s fifth painting, and the last by the National Aſſembly the same year. Moving counterclockwise from the front right corner, they are: the storming of Bolsrade, the battle of Boſton, signing of the first constitution and founding of the United Provinces, the defeat of colonial forces in the second year of the Revolution, the defeat of colonial forces and end of the Furbiſh civil war at the tenth year of the Revolution, the desertion of 19 gendarmes in 69 who would later found the Burgers, Jean de Flandre’s attack on Camp III, and the coup of 27 Pluviôse 71.”

---

Maastricht, Willemia, Nieuw Maasland
Night, 30 Floréal 69 (19 May 1873)

Maastricht is a small village at the river, home to less than one hundred people, many of whom are farmers who work at the surrounding fields. The city has usual buildings, taverns, a church, a general store, and a small train station. At night, however, as a line of several ferries docked, the village’s population increased nearly tenfold. An entire Gendarmerie regiment exited, setting up tents near some empty land, where they would spend the night.

As Captain Sibren van Aalzum, the commander of one of the regiment’s ten companies, inspected his company’s tents, he was suddenly approached the company first sergeant, Maup Dorman. “Captain van Aalzum, this is bloody ridiculous.” said Dorman, “Your men were pulled while most were on leave, into this small boat.”. He pointed at the boat, which still had gendarmes exiting. “Where we are packed like sardines and there are more gendarmes than the boat’s capacity. We can’t even sleep on the boat or in houses, we have to stop at these villages to set up tents. Why the hell are we doing all of this? No one has given us an explanation, but your men demand one.”

“We on this small boat on the river so we won’t get seasick traveling through the ocean.” said van Aalzum, “But I was not given an explanation about the rest of of this either.”.

“Then demand an explanation from the colonel, or I will speak to him directly.” said Dorman.

“I will speak to him myself.” said van Aalzum. Dorman turned back and walked to a tent. Sighing, van Aalzum turned back to the boat where the regiment commanders were. He could have given Dorman a warning or other disciplinary action, as his commander, but van Aalzum completely agreed with Dorman. As the most senior non-commissioned officer of the company, Dorman’s job included bringing up the concerns of other enlisted gendarmes to the officers. Van Aalzum thought it was better that he spoke to the colonel than Dorman, knowing Dorman had a temper and spoke his mind.

“Drumpf wants us to go into each city one by one to suppress the strike. Send them back to the railroads, shoot anyone who gets in the way, arrest the troublemakers. If we’re lucky we’ll take the trains back instead of that boat.” said the Colonel Govert Hankamp, the commander of the regiment, just as van Aalzum was within earshot. The rest of the regiment officers laughed. Van Aalzum froze, finally understanding everything about the mission. Railroad workers in the Army Railroad Company in the north were on strike because their wages were cut, despite high inflation. This was the reason why the gendarmes went by ferry, and why they were never told where they are going or what they are doing.

“Van Aalzum, what are you doing here?” said another officer.

“Sir, I–” he began.

“Get the hell back where you came from. If you tell anyone what you just heard, I will kill you.” said Hankamp.

“Yes sir.” said Van Aalzum and he turned back immediately. Many thoughts raced through his mind as he walked back. What was going on was immoral, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Hankamp said “Could be worse. An officer from another regiment told me about a lieutenant called Jean de Flandre. De Flandre often disregarded superior orders and picked fights with other officers. He was a loose cannon and unfit to lead.”

“Whatever happened to him now?” asked another officer.

“Bastard got promoted. He’s now a captain leading an entire mobile Gendarmerie company.”. said Hankamp. The rest all laughed.

“Sibren, are you okay?” said a voice. Van Aalzum turned to see Jan-Willem Martini, the captain of another company, and a close friend, standing near the woods not far from the tents.

“Perfectly fine.” said van Aalzum.

“You do not sound like you are fine.” said Martini.

Van Aalzum stepped to the side, motioning Martini to follow him. “Do not tell anyone about this.” he said, “Maup demanded that I speak to Colonel Hankamp about the shit they are dragging is through. So I walked over to Colonel Hankamp, but I heard him say the reason why we are here”. He repeated Hankamp’s words.

“That is fucked.” said Martini.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do about it?” van Aalzum asked.

“Desert, that’s what.”

Van Aalzum stared at Martini.

“I will talk to my company, you can talk to yours. This order is wrong and we will not follow it. We have no other options” said Martini. Van Aalzum could do nothing but nod. “Have your men follow that road to the next village. We meet there at dawn.”. Martini pointed to a road that looked like the one people would least want to travel through at night. It was narrower than the rest and darker.

Though still speechless, van Aalzum knew Martini was right, they had no other options. After a long moment, van Aalzum said “See you there.”.

Walking back to his tent, van Aalzum called his company to a meeting. They all gathered quickly from their tents, some being annoyed they were called. He repeated everything said by Hankamp.

“Why the hell are you telling us this if he did not want any of it said.” said Henkie Evenboer, the company’s first lieutenant.

“What do you mean, why the hell are you telling this? We are being told to commit crimes against the republic.” said Dorman.

“Silence before I report you for insubordination.” said Evenboer.

Some gendarmes were between Dorman and Evenboer, which Dorman walked through to meet the lieutenant. “You are clumsy and incompetent. You make a mess everywhere you go that I clean up after. This company would fall apart if you had your way. And you want to report me for insubordination? The only reason why you have been promoted is because you suck up to your superiors, not because of your abilities. Go to hell.” said Dorman.

“I am your commander. You will not speak to me like this.” said Evenboer angrily.

“Dorman is correct.” said van Aalzum, “I would dismiss you for incompetence if I was able, but Colonel Hankamp likes you too much.”

After some silence, Dorman said “Captain van Aalzum, you are not going to make us follow these immoral orders, correct?”.

Van Aalzum hesitated for a moment. He said “We are deserting now.”, to the shock of every gendarme but Dorman.

“No one is going to go anywhere.” said Evenboer, even angrier. He raised his revolver and pointed it to the direction of van Aalzum, but van Aalzum did not flinch.

A bang was suddenly heard by the gendarmes. Evenboer fell to the ground with blood pouring out of his chest. Some looked around in shock. Dorman stood next to him calmly, holding his own revolver which had smoke coming from it. “If you believe the republic and the future of your children is worth dying for you can follow van Aalzum and myself. If you believe enriching Drumpf is worth dying for you can stay here. If you want to sicken Lucifer from your actions, you can arrest us for desertion and murder. If you are lucky you can meet him tonight.” he said, turning to the rest of the gendarmes, loading another round into his revolver.

Van Aalzum walked back immediately. Dorman turned and followed him. Three more gendarmes, including another sergeant, picked up their guns and followed. The company was left without any commissioned officers but that would be the least of their problems. The gendarmes stood, doing nothing as the group of five that included their leaders disappeared into the jungle.

---

Richmond Station
Richmond, Mecklenburg, Dampiera
Eveniŋ, Tridi, 3 Fructidor 218 (Saturday, 20 Auguſt 2022)

Franck Bachelet, a Furbish Railroad Company security officer, waited on a platform of Richmond Station with some other people. His uniform was similar to that of the rest of the train crew, wearing white breeches, black trousers, a powdered wig, a bicorne, and a blue waistcoat, but Bachelet’s waistcoat is a darker shade of blue and he had a badge. Security sometimes wear a normal crew uniform or even civilian clothes if they need to be undercover, but Bachelet was told that was not necessary. Most passenger trains, including ones from the state owned Furbish Railroad Company, did not have security officers, but they are sometimes assigned to trains either randomly or if a train has a suspected security risk.

Half of the sun already disappeared into the mountains when a train arrived, though it was difficult to see as snow was falling. It is a night train going west, terminating in Boſton the next morning. Bachelet expected that he will be put on a southbound train, returning to his home and likely having a day off. Working on a train required irregular schedules, though be preferred this to his old jobs. He first served in the army, fighting in the 2004-2007 war in the León monarchy, then became a police officer for nearly a decade before becoming a security officer. This was a career path shared by many of Bachelet’s colleagues.

Bachelet waited patiently for the train to stop and the doors to open. He tried to move ahead of the rest of the people, despite many not liking other people pushing ahead. As the doors opened, people started rushing in. When Bachelet was at the door, he stopped next to a crew member. “Good evening. I am from security. Where is the conductor?” he said, showing his badge and ID.

“Hello. She is in her office.” replied the crew member, telling Bachelet what car she is in and pointing him to the direction. Bachelet thanked the crew member.

Bridget McDermot looked outside her window and saw snow falling. The weather report said there was only light snow in their route ahead, but the dispatcher warned the train may be delayed. “Going to be fucking great.” she thought. McDermot worked for the Furbish Railroad Company for years, starting as a junior crew member and recently being promoted to conductor. She was now in charge of all operations on the train, from safety, to making sure the train remains on time, to customer service. She counted down the hours until the next crew swap, which union contracts ensure will happen in a few hours whether or not the train was delayed by weather.

Hearing a knock on her office door was something McDermot was already used to. It is usually a passenger who needed something but could not find another crew member, or a crew member who needed to speak with the conductor. What was less common is a uniformed Furbish Railroad Company security officer, especially on a train which did not have any, which is what McDermot saw when she opened the door. “Oh. Good evening, sir.” she said.

“Good evening. I am Franck Bachelet.” he said, holding his badge and ID.

“I am Bridget McDermot.” replied McDermot. They kissed each other on the cheeks, the standard greeting in all of Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands and nowhere else. “What brings you here?” McDermot asked.

“The strangest bloody case that I have ever seen.” said Bachelet. He sat in a chair across from McDermot’s desk as she closed the door to her office then sat down. Had the exchange taken place two decades before or in a crime drama, Bachelet would have pulled out a notebook and a wallet with some physical pictures, but modern smartphones have eliminated the need for both. Instead Bachelet took out his phone, opened pictures of several people, and placed it before McDermot. “About ten minutes before this train arrived, this man bought a first class ticket using cash, then used his credit card to buy a ticket going the opposite direction. They believe he is being chased, either by law enforcement or someone else.”

“And who may that someone else be?” McDermot asked.

“Shortly after him, seven more people bought tickets for this train. All used just their credit cards.” said Bachelet, flipping through images on his phone.

“I have never heard of this many people buying last minute tickets. Where are they going?”

“All eight bought tickets to Boſton, though we believe all eight will get off somewhere before.”

McDermot shook her head. “Is there anything I need to do?” she asked. “Second week on my promotion and they’re already doing fucking this to me.” she thought.

“I am just informing you why they have me on. You may have some crew talk to the seven. I will talk to the first man, maybe some of the others depending on his response.” said Bachelet.

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Between Maastricht and Nijverdal
Willemia, Nieuw Maasland
Night, 30 Floréal 69 (19 May 1873)

Sibren van Aalzum has never been so stressed from a short march. As a Gendarmerie captain, he walked through many rural roads surrounded by tall sugarcane or jungle, even at night. However, he was no longer a Gendarmerie captain, he was now part of a group of five deserters, one of whom committed a murder. Whether or not they will be able to escape punishment depends on how well the locals in the next village he visits reacts to the news.

“Captain van Aalzum, you made the right decision.” said Maup Dorman, formerly van Aalzum’s first sergeant.

This statement came as a surprise to van Aalzum. Dorman was hardly content with anything, and always made his opinions clear when he was not. Minutes ago Dorman shot van Aalzum’s former lieutenant, who raised his gun when van Aalzum first mentioned deserting. Even for gendarmes who are trained to think and act quickly this was an action few would have taken.

“Thank you.” was all van Aalzum was able to say. He then stopped for a moment, and turned back. Dorman stood at van Aalzum’s right as they walked. Behind him were three more former gendarmes. “Keep your guns on your backs and march with your hands up. Be ready to shoot but do not give villagers any reason to think we are a threat.” he said.

“Yes sir.” replied the rest, doing as told.

Van Aalzum put away his revolver then turned back and continued marching. As he mached, he considered how a single moment can change life so radically. Only minutes ago he was a respected man with a stable job. It was suddenly gone and he had no way of getting it back. He was now destined to live the rest of his life as a fugitive, fleeing law enforcement until he inevitably gets caught and hanged. Though respect is not the same from everyone, van Aalzum thought. Most of the Gendarmerie would want to see the entire group dead. Among most of the north, on the other hand, who began to see the Gendarmerie as thugs enforcing the will of dictators from Boſton, van Aalzum just became a hero.

The march felt like an eternity to the gendarmes. They marched along a pitch black road, illuminated by a single lantern van Aalzum held. Surrounding them were tall crops, a perfect location for an ambush. Every animal that ran through the crops or wind that blew them over could be gendarmes sent to pursue the deserters. Van Aalzum tried to calm himself by thinking a chase could not be organized this quickly, but still found himself wanting to reach for his revolver at any moment.

The Gendarmerie was more often sent to patrol rural areas as cities began establishing their own law enforcement agencies. Because of this all gendarmes were familiar with rural Furbish geography. Small villages would be surrounded by fields the villagers tended to and roads leading to other villages. Sometimes jungle was between them. Van Aalzum tried to treat the march as yet another march between villages, but it was hard knowing he may be chased. Also unlike these marches, he had no map and no idea when he would reach the next village. It could be as close as two kilometers or as far as fifteen, taking from half an hour to walk to over three.

“How long did we walk? Five minutes? Two hours? Three?” thought van Aalzum. He noticed relatively flat ground near where he left turned to hills. “Easy to defend if the Gendarmerie attacks us here.” he thought. All the gendarmes were sweating at that point, though that was hardly a main concern to any of them.

The gendarmes then saw a sign that said “Welcome to Nijverdal”, a sign they were able to read because beside it stood a bewildered man holding a rifle in one hand and a lantern in the other. “Good evening.” the man said.

“Good evening.” said van Aalzum. He then hesitated for a moment. The Gendarmerie’s presence would likely not be welcomed in a small Dutch speaking village, especially late at night. Telling the real reason why they are there may or may not end well, depending on the villagers’ opinions on the Gendarmerie. They could also think it was a Gendarmerie sting operation with the intent on arresting anyone who is disloyal to the federal government. Van Aalzum had little time to think, however. Dorman turned to van Aalzum and gave an annoyed look. Van Aalzum said “We deserted from the Gendarmerie and need a place to stay before we get hunted down.”.

The man stood still and did not say a word, completely unsure how to react. “I will have to speak with the rest of the town.” he said after a long moment.

“Is anyone else going to be with us?” said Dorman. At that moment, the man eyed another group in a distance, which van Aalzum noticed and he turned his head to see a group of fourteen more gendarmes. Leading the group were captains Jan-Willem Martini and Sijbrand Kortum. Van Aalzum saluted the group and the two captains saluted back, while the man was more surprised.

“Good to see you here, Sibren. I heard that gunshot and I was worried about you.” said Martini.

“Did you hear that gunshot too?” van Aalzum asked, facing the man.

The man nodded. “They sent a few of us at every trail to guard the village after we were informed the Gendarmerie landed in Maastricht and we heard the gunshot.” he said.

Van Aalzum turned to Martini and said “My first lieutenant threatened to shoot anyone who wanted to desert so Sergeant Dorman shot him.”.

“Just Citizen Maup Dorman now.” said Dorman. He and some gendarmes chuckled.

“Defying superior orders, desertion, now murder. We are going to be in serious trouble.” said Martini.

“Do not forget the worst crime of all: being Dutch.” said van Aalzum. The entire group including the guard laughed nervously.

A long pause followed. It was broken by the guard who said “We will meet at the church. Follow me.”. He turned and lead them through the town. Van Aalzum glanced at the clock on the town church tower, seeing that less than one hour passed since they deserted. The sky was pitch black, meaning all of the town was asleep. Or would have been had they not heard a gunshot.

---

Furbiſh Railroad Company Dispatch Center Souþ
London, Mecklenburg, Dampiera
Late Eveniŋ, Tridi, 3 Fructidor 218 (Saturday, 20 Auguſt 2022)

Madeleine Lawlor sat at her cubical working what she thought was a normal night shift. Some of the screens in front of her showed the tracks she controlled, a stretch in the mountains. Dispatchers usually needed a year of training, but for tracks with more difficult terrain they also needed years of experience. All trains on the tracks were shown on the computer screens. Small dots along the tracks showed all signals and what position they were set to. Unlike most countries, Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands still used semaphore rail signals, though they are now controlled remotely by a hydraulic system.

Lawlor carefully tracked the weather report and one sleeper train. Despite her having a gut feeling something will go wrong, the weather report did not change, so she let the train go through a station a few minutes ago.

A large amount of the track suddenly went black. This meant that overheard wire lost power. With nearly all tracks in Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands being electrified, most people did not need a year of training to know why this was bad news.

“Fuck.” said Lawlor.

This caught the attention of Ramona Ophoff, her boss. A dispatcher making any sort of mistake is never a good thing, something most people also did not need years of training and experience to understand.

On ðe train, 5 minutes earlier

It was dinner time, but Franck Bachelet, saw a passenger sitting in the cafe car surrounded by mostly empty chairs. Bachelet walked up near him and asked the barista for a coffee. As Bachelet is a security officer, wearing his uniform, the barista was surprised but took his order without asking to pay.

“Lovely evening outside.” Bachelet said to the passenger, despite nothing being visible from the window besides the night sky and some snow, as the barista was making a coffee. He spoke in English, the language spoken by most Furbiſhmen. The passenger just nodded. “How are you doing today?” Bachelet asked.

“Fine.” replied the passenger softly.

“That is good to here.” said Bachelet, “Are you enjoying your ride with the Furbiſh Railroad Company?”. The passenger just nodded. This began to frustrate Bachelet. This passenger was the first of eight to book a last minute ticket on this train, and unlike the other seven he really seemed like he was running away from someone. He is the reason Bachelet was asked to board the train. “I realized we never introduced ourselves. I am Franck.” said Bachelet.

“I am Robert.” said the passenger.

The train began to enter a tunnel, though Bachelet did not notice. This man, who matched the exact description, bought tickets under a different name. “Nice to meet you, Robert.” said Bachelet, “Well if you have any complaints, we are always here to help out.”

“Your coffee is ready.” said the barista, handing Bachelet a cup.

However, the barista was not able to finish his sentence before the lights briefly flickered off then turned back on but slightly dimmer. The train began to slow down at the same time, coasting to a stop. This caused Robert to look up, panicked. More experienced crew members like Bachelet and the barista knew what was happening though.

At the dispatch center, Ophoff looked at Lawlor’s screen and realized quickly what went wrong. Lawlor did not notice her boss standing behind her, instead focusing on her screen. The first thing to do if the power is cut is to signal all trains in the area to stop before they reach the section. For passenger trains it meant the nearest station, while for freight trains it meant a siding if available. As signals are powered by batteries, they are unaffected by power outages. Lawlor then had to call all trains to inform them of what happened, but it could wait for a few minutes. Other dispatchers were also made aware on their computer screens that power was lost, and that they would have to reroute trains in their sections.

The passenger train Lawlor tracked carefully is stuck in the section with no power, inside a tunnel in the mountains. Lawlor saw this and dialed the nearest depot, sitting just outside Fredericksburg. Several depots around the country have rescue trains, which are pulled by two diesel locomotives and have a relief crew with some supplies. They push other trains to the next station if the trains are broken down or to the next source of power if that is the only problem. Depots also had trains with repair crews and equipment. Fortunately, with freight trains stopped in sidings, the rescue and repair trains had a clear path to the stranded passenger train. The trains will be given priority all along their route.

“Hello, this is Maddie Lawlor from the London dispatch center. We had heavy snow in the area and lost power along a section of track, and a passenger train is currently stranded inside a tunnel.” said Lawlor.

They briefly talked, and when Lawlor put the phone down Ophoff said “That passenger train’s conductor, it’s her first day after being promoted.”

Lawlor stared for a minute and said “I would shoot myself if all of that happened on my first day.”. She paused and said “Could be worse. They could have a murderer loose on the train or something.”. She and Ophoff laughed.

“All available staff report to the galley immediately.” said the voice of Bridget McDermot, the train conductor, over earpieces worn by all crew. The barista walked away from the cafe car. Bachelet stayed with Robert. “I am a security officer. My job is to make sure everyone here is safe. If there is any concerns, please let me know.” said Bachelet to Robert.

“What is going on?” Robert asked.

“We lost power. We are stuck here until a rescue train arrives.” said Bachelet.

“And how long will that take?” said Robert, even more nervous.

“No idea, but likely a few hours at least.”

Robert began to breathe faster. He moved closer to Bachelet and said in a quieter voice “Look, I am being chased. I was sent death threats. I need to get out of here as quick as I can.”

Bachelet had several thoughts racing through his mind at that moment. A civilian would probably have been confused or asked more questions, but Bachelet knew from training and experience that it was better not to. He also decided to not tell about the seven passengers who boarded after Robert, hoping to avoid more panic from him. “I can walk with you back to your seat and guard it until the train reaches its destination.” said Bachelet.

Robert, while still nervous, looked slightly reassured. “But if you stand in front of my door they will think I am there, if they are on the train.”. he said.

“I will stand at the door of the car, close enough that I can get to you if anything happens.” said Bachelet. Bachelet is a large man, one few people would want to pick a fight with, though he knew better than to question any passenger’s concerns.

Robert seemed reassured, but only slightly. “Follow me back but don’t make it look like you’re following me.” he said.

“I will.” said Bachelet. Robert walked some distance, and as he approached the door to the car Bachelet started walking after him. Robert walked quickly along the carpeted floors of the train, through the dimly lit coach car where passengers were asleep on their chairs, to the narrow corridors of the cabin cars. No one seemed to notice that anything went wrong, likely thinking the lights were shut off for the night.

Robert entered a first class cabin and locked the door. Bachelet stood by the entrance to the car. Bachelet suddenly heard McDermot say “Franck, where are you?” over his earpiece.

“Second car from the front near the door to the third. Our friend from earlier wanted protection.” said Bachelet.

After a short time Bachelet heard some footsteps. He turned around to see a man in a conductor uniform. “Franck Bachelet?” he said.

“I am.” said Bachelet.

“I am Diederick Harreveld, the assistant conductor.” said the man. He and Bachelet kissed each other in the cheeks. “Bridget told me about the eight passengers.” said Harreveld.

“The first of them is in one of the cabins, and wants protection from me. He was very panicked when I told him the train lost power.” said Bachelet. He turned back to the corridor as Harreveld moved in front of him.

“About the power, though. Bridget wants us all to remain awake for now, keep a couple of us standing by in every car.” said Harreveld.

“Do we know what happened?” asked Bachelet.

McDermot suddenly began to speak from the train loudspeaker. “Good evening passengers, unfortunately the train has lost power and will be remaining in place until further notice. Snacks, drinks, and other amenities will be provided free of charge. If you have any questions or concerns, do not hesitate to speak with crew members which are present in your car. We deeply apologize for this inconvenience.”

“This is Bridget’s first day as conductor.” said Harreveld, “We aren’t sure what happened through, the wires in this area are very strong so there must have been extremely heavy winds or snow, maybe an avalanche.”

“What a hell of a first day.” said Bachelet, “So we are just here until crew swaps?”.

Both men laughed. They continued to talk, joined by another crew member. Bachelet continued to watch the room where Robert was at. He saw a man walk up and start to knock on the door.

“Wait a moment, you guys have to check this out.” said Bachelet suddenly as he took out his phone and showed the screen to both crew. He turned it on and went to the camera and took a few pictures of the man, while he started to laugh.

The crew members were confused. “Oh, you don’t get it?” said Bachelet and he began to laugh again. At this moment, to his surprise, the door to Robert’s room opened and the man walked inside. Harreveld began to say something, then Bachelet said “Ah nevermind. I will be right back with you two.”. They looked at each other being even more confused.

Bachelet heard screaming coming from Robert’s room. He knocked, then heard “I was mistaken, it is nothing!” spoken in Spanish. He stood by for a long moment, hearing nothing. He then walked back.

“What was that?” asked Harreveld.

Bachelet looked around, making sure no one was within earshot, then said “That is the room where our friend is at. I am pretty sure the person who just entered was one of the eight last minute buyers. I took a picture in case there is any foul play.”

“Understandable.”

The man eventually left Robert’s room, and Bachelet took another picture. He noticed something off about the man, including how the man seemed to want to avoid making eye contact or even being seen.

All night, crew members stood by, rotating between cars every several times. By the morning, many were beginning to be exhausted. Without a clock it was hard to notice it was the morning as the train is still stuck inside a tunnel. Bachelet stayed in place all night, keeping watch on the room. Late into the morning, he decided to check on Robert. Bachelet knocked on Robert’s door, and heard no response. Bachelet knocked a second time, then a third, waiting a long moment for a response both times until he noticed that the door was unlocked. This was unusual for a paranoid man like Robert, and Bachelet did remember hearing Robert lock the door when he walked in at night.

Crew and security were allowed to search rooms on trains if they feel something suspicious is going on. This was part of the long terms and conditions that few, if any, people read. Zero response for what was several minutes, and other information known by Bachelet, did give him some suspicions. Very slowly, he opened the door, first waiting for a response, then opening wider.

“Bridget, Diederick, I need your presence immediately.”

[Gagium]

July 16, 2022
Northwest of Roclincourt, Rachelia

Despite the blank expression on his face, a million thoughts flew through constable Cédric Gérin's head as he entered into a staring contest with the barrel of a gun. Was he destined to become the latest Gagian police officer murdered after an encounter gone painfully wrong? Would the press even bother to write an article about this drug bust gone wrong, about how he was killed by some unnamed Hrvadan drug dealer who fled the scene and disappeared into the horizon? Better yet, maybe there would be articles, and maybe his name would even be mentioned, maybe somehow it'll turn out that he had stopped some villain mastermind of the modern era and would posthumously be honored by the Rachelia Commonwealth Police for his actions, for the 16th of July was the day that he set himself apart from the hundreds of other officers who served across the Commonwealth. As fun as this posthumous fame would be, though, Cédric then remembered his home that he came from and to every day, and his wife who he could not imagine leaving, who was the foundation of his day and of his life (outside of the bars and pubs of Roclincourt).

As intriguing as the 9mm barrel was, though, far more interesting was the face of who was presently wielding it, which Cédric had paid very little attention to up until this point. It was a masked face, but if Cédric had bothered to look, he would witness the almost comedic transition of the figure's face from anger, to impatience, and then to confusion. The 46-year old officer's eyes were forced wide open by the sound of the van's engine restarting, prompting him to shove out his gun from the holster as fast as he can, barely heeding notice to the barely audible "click" that emerged from the 9mm barrel, followed by a series of swear words. Cédric finally pulled the mass out from his holster, lifting the weight up to meet that of the figure, when he was stopped in his tracks by a loud, booming voice issuing a simple command- "Don't."

Cédric squinted his eyes, finally looking up at who he reckoned to be his captor - a masked figure whose expression gave away his years, exposing him to be a bit older than middle-aged. Cédric drew his gun back down and his prey-turned captor smiled. "Good." The captor twisted to turn his body, pulling a small briefcase out and nodding at Cédric. "Are we good?" Cédric took a second to glance downward at his new gift of what he imagined to be a large sum of money probably derived from the sale of some dastardly substance, keeping his gun at his side but his full attention was undoubtedly at the package which could possibly provide for him and his wife up until retirement. Cédric looked back up at his captor, who wasn't even turned to face him in that moment, and cautiously opened the briefcase. A deep feeling of dread filled him as the briefcase left his grasp, being replaced by the single crumpled sheet of paper that was laying in the briefcase.

That would be one of the last things poor Cédric, at 46 years and 96 and a half days of age, would set his eyes upon, though, as he felt a sharp, piercing pain through his stomach, failing to notice his captor now standing in front of him. As Cédric's vision blurred, everything becoming darkening, he was filled with nothing more than nostalgia, believe it or not. Oh, how this was similar to the old days of fun and excitement, when he never knew what the next day would bring him! When he had just married his wife, just finished training and spent his days in the most dangerous corners of the Agen metropolis! In the final moments of his life, he didn't care that the paper he had retrieved from his briefcase was shoved back into the container, which was then meticulously closed and placed by his side. As everything finally faded into darkness, a calming sensation filled Cédric as the van drove off in a fiery glory, carrying away the evidence of the operation that Cédric was oh-so-close to exposing. Those who noticed this van drive away were more upset by the red light that seemed to last an eternity, and many of these impatient souls did take very little notice of the police officer with a knife in his stomach leaning against his own car. However, eventually the Rachelia Commonwealth Police were informed of the tragedy that had befallen their own Constable Cédric Gérin, and their arrival at the scene of Cédric's corpse would be the beginnings of a tragedy far greater than that of any of the greatest Gagian authors.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Nijverdal
Willemia, Nieuw Maasland
Night, 30 Floréal 69 (19 May 1873)

“I feared a midnight raid on my native Nijverdal my entire life. Now I am leading a column of gendarmes through the town center, because they deserted from a larger group. When I was sent to guard the road to Maastricht after hearing that gunshot, the last thing I expected was a group of gendarmes deserting.” thought Diederick Grevinga.

Behind him marched Sibren van Aalzum, Sijbrand Kortum, and Jan-Willem Martini, all captains in the Gendarmerie before they deserted only one hour ago. Behind them were sixteen more former gendarmes. They all marched silently.

Martini, who stood in the middle of the three former captains, broke the silence saying “When I was young, six or seven I believe, I visited a city with my family.”. He paused. He continued, speaking slowly and more somberly than he usually speaks, “I was separated from them, then a group of large men with guns found me and took me to some alley, with a few more kids. Some black coated gendarmes suddenly appeared, fired a few shots, arrested the survivors, then made sure all of us kids were safe and found our parents. I have always wanted to be a gendarme since that day.”. He paused again, then continued, “To many kids, including me, they were the heroes killing the bad guys and keeping the country safe. As I grew older I began to learn about corruption in the Gendarmerie, but I still believed I can join to help the country. And I did order my gendarmes to treat locals well and avoid corrupt practices, sometimes defying orders from superiors. When I learned of our mission tonight, however, I learned this was all in vain. I wanted to improve my country but the Gendarmerie is little more than the stadtholder’s private army.”.

Van Aalzum, who marched at Martini’s left, said “I was not as set on my career until I became an adult. I was the fourth son so I was not going to get the farm. Between working in a factory or working in the military, I chose the latter. The Gendarmerie officer academy was the best choice I had when I was considering my options. I too knew full well about the Gendarmerie’s corruption and did all I was able to do to fight it.”. He then paused for a moment, then said “I was appalled seeing the men who shared my background but blindly followed orders to harass fellow northerners. I was fortunate to have an NCO like Dorman who called out injustice when he saw it, and who followed my orders when they contradicted with superiors.”

“We do not get much choices in the rural Furbish Islands.” said Kortum, who marched at Martini’s right. He is a larger man than any in the rest of the group. He said “Join the military and die in battle or are purged, move to the city and choke to death in smog, or follow your parents’ job. Mine were loggers, which I was set on doing until the native attack four years ago. Like nearly all men I fought back as we were surrounded, and I was promoted several times. As the areas were liberated, General van Aarle himself wanted me to join the Army. I chose the Gendarmerie instead. Being in the military is a better job than being a logger, but I did not want to fight another battle in the jungle so I chose the Gendarmerie. I remember the first order I was given from a captain, to lead one of those midnight raids. I became furious when he told me the details and slammed my fist on his desk. I did not intend to, but it broke and that captain backed down quickly. From then on I was known as the desk breaker and no one dared to hurt civilians when I was around, or ever defy my orders. I was made the captain of a different company, and I later learned the captain recommended me for a promotion just so he will not have to deal with me again.”

“I feel as the odd one out not being from the country.” said Maup Dorman, who was van Aalzum’s first sergeant and currently marched behind van Aalzum, “I come from Harrisbarig. I joined the Gendarmerie to flee my family. I witnessed their rampant corruption first hand. The first case was when I made an NCO stop shaking down this old man on the street. The NCO attempted to report me to the captain, until stopped by then lieutenant Van Aalzum. I swore to myself then that I will deal with every case I see in any way I can, whether by reporting to a superior or forcing them to stop in the act. I met my wife a week after I was first promoted to corporal when I stopped a sergeant from extorting her out of some very large amount of money.”

Lindert Roltvoort, Martini’s first lieutenant, said “I hardly had a choice either. As a Dutch man living in Van Riemsdijk, it was either moving to the city where you are treated like a second class citizen or joining the military to enforce the status quo on behalf of Boſton. It is fucked up, and we all knew that, but I had no better choice. In training I was pulled because they thought I would be better as an officer, and I moved to this regiment. Martini was recently promoted to captain of the company I was placed in, and I was pleasantly surprised when our first interaction was an explanation about how any attacks on civilians will not be tolerated.”

Van Aalzum then said “I do not know about the rest of you, but I am not keen on living the rest of my life as a fugitive.”

“What better choice do we have?” said Martini.

“We are in an ideal position to start a rebellion against the Stadtholder.” said Dorman suddenly. All were silent. This was a thought all gendarmes had, which they either dismissed or hoped another would bring up. Dorman continued “Most villagers have the same feelings we do. We wait until the regiment leaves, then we can quickly gather strength before the government is able to send a force to stop us. We have very little to lose because we are all going to be executed anyway.”

“They outnumber us entirely and have far better technology.” said van Aalzum.

“So were the Leóns when Gagium invaded them seventy years ago.” said Martini, “We need not fight directly, but fight indirectly to exhaust them.”

Grevinga listened to their conversations without saying a word. He lead the gendarmes along the main streets, and into the church. As he gave a signal earlier, other people from the village began to gather.

“What the hell do they want from us?” said one woman as she saw the gendarmes march down the aisle.

“Shoot them all. They probably attacked Maastricht and we are next.” said a man.

“I highly doubt that.” said an older man, “There are three captains leading a group of nineteen. Captains usually lead groups of at least fifty.”

“How do you know they are captains?” said the youngest man.

“The gold stripes on their sleeves. Captains have one thick and two thin stripes.”

“Everyone! Everyone! Please, let our guests speak!” said Grevinga. The people quieted down. Grevinga stood at the stage while the gendarmes were sitting in the front row. He walked to the three captains, and after exchanging a few words the three of them stood up.

“Ladies, gentlemen, tonight is far from a typical night for any of us here.” said Martini, “Half of a Gendarmerie regiment is camped in Maastricht, stopping for the night before they continue their journey, to a mission none of us knew until tonight. We were ordered by the Stadtolder to violently suppress the railroad strike, so we deserted immediately. Half of the four hundred gendarmes that remain know the purpose, but chose to stay.”

These words caused commotion inside the crowd. People had different opinions on Martini’s words, from wanting to take in the gendarmes to believing it is a setup.

“Where did that gunshot we heard come from?” shouted one person.

“My first lieutenant raised his revolver and threatened to shoot anyone who deserted after I told him what I knew.” shouted van Aalzum over the crowd, “And in response my first sergeant shot him.”

The crowd’s reactions were mixed with cheers and more suspicion. “How do we know this is not a setup to get us all arrested?” said one person.

Dorman at suddenly stood up and said over the crowd, “Hello, I am the sergeant just mentioned. I have served in the Gendarmerie for over a decade and I want to say, if any commander wants all of you arrested they do not need any reason. They can say any lie they want and the government media will spread that all around. They would also send more than nineteen gendarmes here, especially when they have half a regiment in the area.”

His words were once again met with mixed reactions, but there was more reassurance. As people were talking amongst themselves, Grevinga noticed one man standing up and walking forward. He was Quinten Tijman, the leader of the village’s militia. The captains stepped out of the way as he reached the front.

“Ladies, gentlemen, we are going to assist our guests in any way we can.” Tijman said. He then turned to the captains and said “Please let us know if you need anything from us.”

The people were quiet. There was some discussion. Dorman then turned to Grevinga and said “Tell him about our rebellion.”.

Grevinga looked at him, then at the captains. All three looked like they wanted to say something, but none did. They looked at each other then back at Grevinga and nodded once in unison. Grevinga turned to Tijman and said “Quinten, as we walked to the church the gendarmes discussed the possibility of starting a rebellion against the Stadtholder, using the same tactics the Leóns used against Vaugrat.”

Tijman froze, looked around, turned back to Grevinga, then turned to the captains. “For decades I have been waiting for a moment like this.” he said softly. He then turned to the villagers who still sat confused, and shouted “Ladies, gentlemen, tonight the revolution against the Stadtholder begins! We may be outmatched in many ways, but not in our desire for liberty!”

As more questions were asked from the villagers, Tijman began to answer. Van Aalzum then interrupted and said, “Sir, whatever we do, we need to think of a plan quickly. I suspect they will send a force after us and they know which way we went.”

---

Furbiſh Railroad Company Rescue Train 33
Near Beumer Tunnel
Morniŋ, Quintidi, 5 Fructidor 218 (Monday, 22 Auguſt 2022)

“Great, we are finally arriving.” thought Willis Ede as he felt his train slow down.

As a Furbish Railroad Company conductor, Ede was used to not working regular hours. However, he was supposed to have this day off, but power was lost along a section of track and he was selected to be part of a relief crew for a stranded passenger train. The rescue train has two cars carrying the crew and supplies pushed by two diesel locomotives. When they reach the stranded train, it will be coupled, the crew swapped with the crew of the stranded train, and the two diesel locomotives will pull the train until they reach a section of track with power.

“Willis, I see why the power is cut.” said Ivey Clubb, the engineer, over his earpiece as the train came to a complete stop.

“What is it?” said Ede.

“The tunnel we were supposed to be in looks like it is covered by an avalanche.”

Ede walked out of his office and to the back car of the train, which has controls for when the rescue train is traveling to the other train. As he approached the control room he saw a large hill of snow that was far larger than the snow surrounding the train. He saw the tracks below and how they disappeared inside it.

“Fucking hell. I hope the people in that train don’t mind a wait.”

In the stranded passenger train only a short distance away, three people stood inside a first class cabin. Franck Bachelet, a security officer, carefully examined the open window. As they were in a tunnel, there was no snow or draft, but the room was still colder. Bridget McDermot, the conductor, and Diederick Harreveld, the assistant conductor, on the other hand, remained speechless.

“What the fuck do we do.” finally said McDermot, breaking a long silence. She and Harreveld could not bring themselves to take another look at the dead body in the center of the small room.

Bachelet, on the other hand, who was an Army veteran and former police officer, knelt to take a closer look. “Based on the stab wounds it looks like the attacker is left handed.” he said.

“So now we’re going to ask everyone if they were to stab someone what hand would they do it with?” said McDermot.

“We can probably ask everyone to fill out some sort of form and make note of what hand they write it with.” said Harreveld.

“Seems reasonable.” said McDermot, “What other information do we have about the attacker?”

“Franck and I saw a man knock on this door at night then leave.” said Harreveld.

“What?” said McDermot, who was more surprised.

Bachelet then explained the story about what he saw and what he heard when he knocked on the door. McDermot nodded nervously as Bachelet then took out his phone to show the pictures he took. “The person who entered is one of those seven last minute passengers. We should check security camera footage to see where that person went.” he said.

Harreveld and McDermot nodded in agreement. They stepped out, while Bachelet took one more look at the room. Being a first class room, it had a large table that was currently folded up, and a bed which could be folded into a chair. The corpse lied on the bed, and faced up with several stab wounds. Blood soaked th4 shirt and some of the bed sheets. Some was also on the floor, and some footprints were visible in the blood. The murder weapon, a bloody kitchen knife, lied to the left of the body. Nearby was also a bloody handkerchief, and a small piece of paper. Bachelet stepped out and McDermot locked the door. The three walked by a crew member who stood at the end of the car and McDermot said “Make sure no one enters room 2 and do not tell anyone that anything is going wrong.”

…

“CCTV is not important enough to keep working when the power is gone.” said McDermot, now sitting in her office with Bachelet and Harreveld.

“Well fuck- excuse my French.” said Bachelet.

“No need, we are fucked right now.” said McDermot.

“How long can power last?” said Harreveld.

“It should last a couple of days, more than enough time for the rescue train to arrive.” said McDermot. She then looked at the clock and said “The train should have arrived now.”

“We must be stuck inside of an avalanche then.” said Harreveld, “So what now.”

“You can start looking for all the left handed people. You know the rooms of the seven people of interest. I can start searching through the room.” said Bachelet.

[Greater Niagara]

1800
12-06-2022
Headquarters, Southern Theater Command

General Peter Harfordsjon stood over a table, which had on it the markings of the various units along the entirety of the so-called “southern pocket” of the Niagaran Republican Front’s remaining territory.

A lower-ranking field officer was pointing at several points on the map. “We have 4 divisions on the border near the NRF capital of Marksburgh, along the line of control,” he was saying. “Their artillery has been pounding their defensive positions for two days now. We estimate the enemy has 2 division-sized units remaining, mostly entrenched infantry, but with some landcruisers, arrayed along the border across from our troops, and a further 2 brigades of light infantry, and a battalion of landcruisers in the city of Marksburgh itself.”

“How’s their air-defence holding?” The general inquired.

“It’s still strong, sir,” the officer replied. He pointed to two symbols on the map which represented air-defence batteries. The rebels have two batteries of SAMs outside the city, with a very long range. They’ve been giving our air force major trouble, which is why it’s taken so long to take them out down here. We believe they have been supplied with a fresh supply of air-defence missiles from Seocheon, but we cannot be sure.”

“Hmm,” General Harfordsjon replied. “Alright. I want our forces to be ready to begin the operation by Saturday. I want to be able to begin the assault next week.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer replied, giving the general a salute, before leaving the room.

—-

1930
Line of Control, Southern Niagara
12-06-2022

Private Mikkel Davidson looked out from the loaders hatch of his Leopard 2A6 landcruiser, over to the artillery sight, about a hundred metres behind his current position. That battery had been firing since yesterday morning, aside from some brief stops for target acquisition.

He turned his head again to the trenches, dug in front and around his landcruiser’s position. Spread throughout them were dozens of soldiers, conscripts like himself, taken from their homes and families to defend their nation. Many of them would give their lives for that nation, like the countless that already had.

And what was it all for, he asked himself for what seemed like the thousandth time. The pain, suffering, the killing of their fellow countrymen, for what? Because some crackpot generals decided they’d rather be in charge? Because they couldn’t stand the idea of a functioning democracy? Or was it something else? All these questions had once rolled through his head, back when it began, when he got the letter calling him up, at the basic training before being rushed into combat where he would almost certainly perish, not remembered save for a note in a logbook somewhere. Not even a proper grave.

Although by now he was desensitized to the violence, as were his comrades, these questions still floated in the back of his mind. Sometimes he wondered if it even mattered anymore. Now they just follow orders blindly, no longer questioning what they did, but always remembering what they’d seen. Now Mikkel wondered what worse in that case: dying a horrible death on the battlefield; or living, knowing that when they came home to their families and jobs and normal lives that no matter what they did, there would always be the dreams. Of the horrible things they saw, or the horrible things they did. And there was no escape from the dreams.

[Greater Niagara]

A collaboration with Antarctic Circle States

CONTEXT: Greater Niagara entered into a Civil War in 2019. ACS, a former colony of Niagara, sends the 2nd (AQ) Brigade and support, alongside an artillery battery and SAS troop from Fort Philip Picket, also a former Niagaran Colony. Several platoons from both nations form a company team to participate in a larger offensive to take the rebel capital of Marksburgh.

0400
Line of Control, Southern Niagara
40 km NNW of Marksburgh, NRF Capital
12-14-2022

It was early morning, early enough that the sun had not rising. The temperature had dropped significantly over the past few days, from a relatively comfortable single digits celsius to low negatives. Inside tanks and trenches, soldiers of Niagara, Fort PP, and ACS huddled in their winter gear, trying to keep out the cold.
Lieutenant Mikkel Svenson, commander of the 1st platoon, Alfa company, 3rd battalion, PCLIR, kneeled down behind a barricade, waiting for the attack signal. He turned toward his ACS counterpart, leading their own platoon in the task-organized company team.
"How're you guys doing?" He asked quietly, checking his M4 carbine to make sure it was in prime condition.

"Quite well, sir," answered George K. Patterson, staff sergeant of 3rd platoon, "the boys are ready for the push."
"Mr. Svenson, it's a pleasure to meet you!" First Lieutenant Taylor, commander of 3rd platoon (Able company, 4 AIR), greeted the Niagaran officer with a slight grin, "us nimrods can adapt to this kind of weather surprisingly quickly. When will we move out?"

"Guess that's the nice part about living in the south pole. Must be shorts weather for you guys," Svenson replied with a grin as well. "We're just waiting on the signal from the brass. Should be any minute now."

"Weather can be real challenge sometimes, but we keep track of temperature using kelvin so the numbers don't look as cold," Taylor replied, "you seen much action around here?"

"I've been around for about a year and half," Svenson replied. "I volunteered before the 'recruiters' could conscript me, so I could get in as an officer. My battalion was posted to the western front until we pushed the reb's off the mainland last year. What about yourself?"

"I joined the army OTS as soon as I graduated university. It's been three years," Taylor paused for a second, "it's my first combat tour and the first for most of them as well, excluding George." He pointed at the staff sergeant, who was busy giving orders to squad leaders and checking the radio.
"I heard he has been to combat in the North and runs the show here in the platoon. The men respect him."

"Well, sir, I can assure you that it's quite the ride and not in a good way," Svenson said, looking over at the staff sergeant. He gave a slight grin. "I'm sure he can attest to that."
Suddenly, a voice came over the radio. It was the company team commander, a captain of the Niagaran army. "Orders from command: all units engage, repeat all units engage!"

"There is no need to address me as sir, for I'm also a lieutenant," Taylor replied, "we will see about that ride. 3rd platoon, mount up, move out!"
Hearing the order, infantrymen put on their helmets and scrambled to their armoured vehicles.

The Niagaran soldiers did the same, scrambling to their LAV III's. As Svenson climbed into his command-variant LAV, he grabbed the headphone/microphone set on a hook, putting them on over his helmet.
"Testing, testing, 123," he said as the driver turned on the APC's engine. "1st Platoon, readiness check!"
All the squad CO's radioed back their acknowledgements, signalling that they were ready to move.

Taylor and his platoon quickly mounted onto the 6 AQLAVs and checked equipments. Most of the soldiers only carried their service firearm with a handful of grenades and anti-tank weapons. The platoon's main firepower comes from the 25mm auto-cannons mounted on the AQLAVs.
"3rd platoon, sound off for readiness check."
"Patterson, HQ is ready."
"Kellen, 1st squad is ready."
"Snyder, 2nd squad is ready."
"Huerta, 3rd squad is ready."
"1, this is 1-3, readiness confirmed, over." Taylor reported to the company headquarters.

"1-1, 1-3, this is 1, readiness acknowledged," the HQ radio officer replied. "All platoons report ready. Company team will advance in line formation, repeat line formation. Expect enemy resistance. We softened them up with artillery barrages, but we can't be too sure.

"1, this is 1-3, roger," Taylor switched radio frequency, "3rd platoon, line formation, Huerta at the right flank!"
The 6 AQLAVs spread out in a horizontal line, with Lt. Taylor and Ssgt. Patterson's vehicles slight in front, moving on the right flank of the company. In doing so, the platoon can move forward while scouting for friendly units to its left and behind.
"Keep your eyes open, call it out if you see anything." Patterson instructed the squad leaders. The Niagaran LAV's do the same, coming into a wedge formation to the left of the AQLAV's. A troop of Leopard 2A4 landcruisers bring up the left flank.

The company advanced forward with a tank platoon on the left flank, 1st platoon in the middle, and 3rd platoon to the right. The company HQ, including an ACS FSLAV trailed right behind the formation, maintaining radio contact with the battalion command post.

Taylor fell silent with the rest of the platoon. No one was saying anything anymore for every soldier knew a tough fight awaited in front of them. The terrain was mostly flat, with a few isolated hills blocking the site of the village, their recon objective, 8 kilometers away. However, there was an eerie quietness which enveloped the field. The only noises were the vehicle engines and the sound of wheels rolling on the frozen ground.

As the company moved forward, Svenson was surprised at the lack of enemy fire that should have been coming at them. He wondered for a moment if HQ was wrong and there was no real risk of attack.
His thoughts of such were quickly cast aside when the distinctive sound of a machine gun started. About 150 ft away from the front of the formation, a trench had been dug into the earth, holding perhaps 2 dozen infantrymen inside. Most of the rebels began pelting the APC's with small arms fire, whilst two were equipped with SAW light machine guns.

"Contact front!" Sgt. Kellen called out immediately.
"Fire suppression," Patterson repeated, "pick your targets!"
The AQLAVs began to open up. A short burst of 25mm high explosive rounds flew in the direction of the incoming fire just short of the dugouts. The followings rounds connected with the trench, sending dirt and shrapnels flying. The Niagaran APCs opened up with their machine guns as well.
“1, this is 1-3, contact, infantry.” Taylor reported through the radio.

"1-3 this is 1, acknowledged. Engage and destroy." The company commander replied.
The lead LAV's 25mm autocannon fired at another part of the trench, sending debris everywhere. Several rebel soldiers that had survived the combined fire from the companies autocannons climbed out of the trenchs and away from the engagement zone, presumably to the next line of engagements.
"1, this is 1-1, our section is clear." Svenson said to company commander.

"Ceasefire!" Patterson issued the command to stop firing on the enemy, who were already on the run.
"Ceasefire!" All squad leaders responded.The auto-cannons stopped firing.
"1, this is 1-3, battlefield is secured,” Taylor reported, “no friendly losses.”

"Acknowledged, 1-3. Good job!" the company CO replied. "Continue your advance."


"1, this is 1-3, roger," Taylor signaled the squad leaders, "MTC formation, 3rd platoon lead, Kellen and Snyder on the flanks."
The Antarctican AQLAVs started moving again, leading the column by a little over 100 meters to provide forward security and reconnaissance. The armoured vehicles crossed the previously occupied trenches, which were left with nothing but shrapnels and a few scattered bodies. The company was on the move, and everything retreated back to the indescribable silence it began with.

The Niagaran LAV III's take position on the left flank of the main body, with the tank platoon covering the right flank.
After 15 minutes, they reach their objective: the village of Sudenor. Along the edges of the town, a series of trenches holds another platoon of rebel infantry, and 4 older LAV I's to provide fire support.

"Contact front!" Patterson spotted the silhouettes of a LAVs in the distance.
"1, this is 1-4, contact," Taylor reported the finding to company HQ, "count, 4 LAVs."

"Roger, take them out! Once you do, infantry dismount and take the village," the company CO ordered.

The Niagaran tank platoon moves in beside the AQLAVs, the lead tank already with a HE round loaded. Lining up the barrel, he fires the round, destroying one of the LAVs, sending shrapnel and debris around the enemy position.

The enemy had noticed the appearance of intruders. Small arms and machine gun fire erupted on both sides 500 meters apart. Tracer rounds cut through anything in their path and bounced in all directions, hitting metal and earth. The early skirmish had clearly alerted the defenders for the resistance was much more structured during this encounter.
A rocket propelled grenade flew out of nowhere and exploded meters short of Huerta's leading vehicle.
"RPG! RPG!" Patterson shouted, "who's got eyes on it!"
"Target spotted!" Pvt. Shaffer, gunner of 3rd squad responded, "Firing!"
Huerta's vehicle sprayed a continuous stream of high explosives, silencing the defenders on the outskirts of the village. One of the rebel LAV reversed itself back into the village, while its comrades were knocked out by Niagaran Leopards.

Realizing what was going on, the Niagaran LAV platoon quickly raced forward to the other flank of the AQLAV's.
2nd squad's 25mm autocannon sent a continuous volley of fire into the trench, trying to take out as much of the infantry in the trenches as possible.
Suddenly, another RPG appeared from a second firing position, directly hitting 2nd squad's LAV. The turret is damaged by the blast, and the gunner is killed by shrapnel penetrating through the armour.

"More RPGs!" Patterson shouted while directing his vehicle forward "Covering fire! I'm going in!"
Patterson's vehicle moved forward under the cover machine guns and auto-cannon fires from 5 other vehicles. Reaching 100 meters in front of enemy position, he stopped his vehicle, and laid down auto-cannon fire from point blank range.
"1, this 1-3, heavy contact," Lt. Taylor reported, "Re-"
Before he could finish, a loud explosion rocked the ground on the right flank near an AQLAV.
"Shit, looks like Wilson hit a mine, sir!" Huerta shouted in stress.
"Wilson, acknowledge, over." Lt. Taylor attempted to reestablish communciations with weapons squad in the radio.
No response was heard from the vehicle sprawling on the ground. Three of its left wheels were blown off and its armour plates bent inward from the force of the explosion.

The damaged Niagaran LAV moved backwards behind the others, it being of little use with it's gun out of operation. Meanwhile the other rebel RPG position is knocked out by Patterson's fire.
"He's probably dead, Taylor," Svenson called out to the Antartican lieutenant, his voice neutral. "Judging from the damage hopefully at least some of the guys inside are still alive."

"I hope so," Taylor responded, "he's got half the anti-tank weapons."
"3rd Platoon dismount!" Patterson gave order for the platoon to dismount and capture the trench.
"1, this is 1-3, dismounting infantry," Taylor turned to the gunner before leaving, "vehicle's yours corporal."
The Antarctican infantrymen exited the vehicles, now in command of the squads' 3ic, and began pouring down small arms fire from a distance. Patterson continues to hammer visible enemy positions.
"Wilson is alive, sir, he's alive," Kellen spotted a few men climbing out of the destroyed AQLAV.
"Glad to see you alive," Taylor shouted, "gather the wounded and reinforce HQ."

"1st Platoon dismount!" Svenson called out as well.
"Finally!" a private exclaimed. "I hate being cooped up in here for so long."
As the other soldiers dismount, Svenson and two grenadiers run over to the damaged AQLAV, providing covering fire for the dismounting squad.
"You guys alright?" He shouted, intermittently firing at the enemy when they poked their heads from their trenches.

"Quite well, sir," Wilson responded, "the vehicle's busted but no KIAs."
"Bring the wounded back to company HQ and meet me at the trench," Taylor instructed remaining members of the weapons squad, "3rd platoon let's move!"

The platoon pushed forward, firing and moving towards the trenches. A few rebel soldiers were shot dead by the advancing APCs. Patterson had already secured the trenches, and was pushing towards the edge of the village. A rocket spurted out of the 2nd floor window of a farm house, detonating directly above 1st squad's AQLAV. All three crewmen were instantly killed. Flame and molten metal spewed out from the vehicle's cupola.
"ATGM team, 10 o'clock," Patterson called out its position while shooting at the building.
"Bastards got Summers, sir!" Huerta reported, "No survivors."
"McKenzie rack the building on 10 o'clock!"
Two AQLAVs emptied their 25mm clips on the ATGM team's location, while the rest of the company pushed forward, slicing through rebel positions on the outskirt trenches. The defenders, seemed like they have lost the will to fight, disappeared into the village.

The Niagaran soldiers move forward. 2 had been killed by rebel fire when they stormed the trenches. Svenson ran over to where Taylor was standing.
"They're moving back into the village!" he shouted. "How many did you lose?"

"At least three with more wounded. We are down to four vehicles." Taylor responded.
"3rd platoon, behind me!" Patterson gathered the rest of the platoon to form a defensive perimeter around the newly captured trenches, "set up the company HQ here."
"Wilson reporting, sir," Sgt. Wilson came with a few men, "four of my boys are wounded. I've got the rest here."
"1, this is 1-3, trenches secured," Taylor reported, "7 casualties and 2 vehicles lost."

"Make that 8 casualties and 3 vehicles," Svenson added. "One of my guys was killed when an RPG hit the gun on his LAV."
"Roger, 1-1, 1-3. We're moving in to set up company HQ at your position," the company CO replied. "Hold position, and kill anybody who attempts a counter-attack."

"1, this is 1-3, roger," Taylor turned to Wilson, "launch a drone to the west of the village."
"Negative, sir, drone is busted by the mine." Wilson responded.
"Lieutenant, let me take a few guys to scout the village," Patterson requested, "we can do the job just fine."
"I will go with you. Kellen, gather the vehicles and defend the company HQ. Shaffer (platoon RTO) you come with me," Taylor called the HQ again, "1, this is 1-3, dispatching a scout team to scan the village."
Patterson picked a dozen of troops, mostly riflemen, and headed into the village.

Several Niagarans, led by LCpl. Olaf, are chosen as well. The village is eerily quiet as the soldiers move in. Tense and on the lookout, they constantly point their rifles at broken windows, doorways, and other openings where enemy infantry could be hiding.

Spvt. Miles and Ssgt. Patterson led the column of 12 men. Sudenor was not a large village, made up of a few blocks of farmhouses divided by a single crossroads, and its residents already evacuated by the rebel forces to Marksburgh. No signs of enemy movement other than some tracks on the icy ground. A few blocks down the main street, Patterson gave signals for the team to halt and spread out.
"Contact right." Patterson said quietly, taking cover and pointing his rifle at the central church. Taylor looked in that direction direction and saw a tip of a camouflaged barrel, much bigger than the that of an auto-cannon, poking behind the church 200 meters away. A few republican soldiers were running around.
"Shaffer, radio," Taylor instructed Spvt. Shaffer to come over, "1, this is 1-3, contact, tank."

"Copy, 1-3. You don't have any anti-tank rifles on you, do you?" the company CO replied.
"1, this is 1-3, negative, requesting artillery support," Taylor responded.

"Copy. Give me a moment to contact battalion HQ, we've got fire support from some Fort PP infantry. I suggest you find some cover, things are about to get interesting over there."

"1, this is 1-3, copy, over," Taylor responded, "everyone take cover!"
The scout team moved into a nearby farm house, which offered some protection and a clear view of enemy forces.
"Captain, call it in?" Lt. Hutchings, the fire support officer, asked the company commander in the radio.

"Yes, uh 1-3, give me your position," the captain replied.

"1, this is 1-3, we are....400 meters down the main road. Enemy enemy forces are behind the central church..." Taylor estimated the rough range of his position to the church, "200 meters to the southwest."

"Roger. Fireworks inbound."
The company captain gives the coordinates to the battalion HQ, who relay them to the Fort PP artillery battery supporting the operation.

The HE rounds impacted around the area, sending thousands of shrapnels in all directions. A section of the church and a nearby hut collapsed under pressure. Dull grey smoke covered the village center.
"Landen set up that machine gun here." Patterson began establishing a defensive position on the 2nd floor.
"1, this is 1-3, ceasefire," Taylor called off the artillery and turned to Lcpl. Olaf, "Take a few quick guys out there and check out that tank."

"Right! Ford, Jamie, with me!" Olaf orders, and the trio leave the main group and head towards the area where the tank was, still on the lookout for any hostiles that might go after them.

"1, this is 1-3, target destroyed," Taylor reported, "requesting APC reinforcement."
"Let's move!" Patterson led the rest of the riflemen out the building, following Olaf's team.

Acknowledging the request, the company CO ordered 2 Niagaran LAV's to move into the village, leaving the AQLAV's and the other LAV III's to guard the exits out of the village.
After a moment the two APC's roll over to the team of infantrymen.
The driver of the lead LAV opens his hatch, saluting Lt. Taylor. "You needed support, sir?"

"No need to salute, I'm not very keen on getting picked out by a sniper just yet," Taylor responded, "move your LAVs to the east of the church. Shoot any rebs you see."

"Right!" He closes his hatch, and the LAV rolls off. The gunner moves the turret back and forth, looking for targets. As they move east of the church building, the driver sees a group of rebel infantry hiding behind a pile of rubble, who begin shooting at them with their rifles in a futile attempt at resistance.
"4 targets, 9 o'clock!" he yells out.
"Roger!" the gunner replies, and the turret turns to face them. A short burst of 25mm fire ended their annoyance.
"We're clear!" the crew commander/section 3iC called out over the radio.

“West side is clear,” Patterson and his team moved back to report, “two dozens rebs fled South. We got 6 of them.”
“1, this is 1-3, battlefield is clear, no casualties.” Taylor contacted the HQ.

"Excellent! We're moving in to set up shop up there," the captain replied.

0530
Sudenor, Southern Niagara
30 km NW of Marksburgh, NRF Capital
12-14-2022

After half an hour, the battalion HQ had been moved over to Sudenor. The battalion commander, LtCol. James May enters the post office that had been repurposed as a briefing room.
He enters to see the company captain, and the platoon commanders.
"Gentleman," he says, greeting the officers present.

Cpt. Freeman, commander of able company (4 AIR), and Lt. Hutchings, company fire support officer (11 AAR), stood in attention and saluted.

The Niagaran officers salute as well.
"Good to see you men alive," May said, returning the salute. "I see the assault here went well."

"Thank you, sir, 4th battalion is the best in the regiment," Freeman responded, "we believe that the enemy around Sudenor has been neutralized, is that correct captain?"

"Yes, we've pushed the rebel forces out of Sudenor. We lost 4 men, and another 4 wounded, alongside 1 LAV III and 1 AQLAV damaged, and 1 AQLAV destroyed. Overall, it was a success," Captain Haakon replied.

"Wonderful, that means the door to the rebel's capital is open and Marksburgh is some 30 km away," Captain Freeman exclaimed, "in one swing we can go ahead and take it, sir!"

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Captain," May replied, "but it isn't that simple. The enemy has at least a battalion of tanks in the city waiting for us, and their air-defence is still a potent threat."

"Well, in that case we will need some additional support from the brigade. When do you think it's the right time to attack, sir?"

"I'm not sure yet. If I was in charge I'd call in an armoured division to help us in the assault," May replied. "I think we need to wait at least a few hours until we know the tactical situation more fully."

"Yes, sir," Freeman suggested, "I can take baker company to scout the area and slap a few rebs, sir."

"Hmm," May considered that. "Approved. But stay on the lookout for ATGM's and RPG's. We don't want any other Antarcticans returning home with flags draped over them."

"Yes, sir, we will move out before noon." Freeman saluted and left.

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Between Maastricht and Nijverdal
Willemia, Nieuw Maasland
Early Morniŋ, 1 Prairiall 69 (20 May 1873)

Captain Gust Nijkerke marched at the front of thirty gendarmes in what he thought was a boring mission. “If you do not arrest them, find out where they are.” said his commanding officer a few hours earlier.

“Nothing here but a small path and sugarcane fields on either side.” thought Nijkerke. Everything was now illuminated by the sun which rose less than an hour before. Nijkerke noticed his company began walking up a hill, which he did not think much about. At most it was an inconvenience, as the gendarmes who are all wearing black uniforms, will be more hot. They were at least protected by their sombreros, wide brimmed hats that originated from the Spanish Furbiſh Iſlands that spread to the rest of their country due to their usefulness.

Nijkerke suddenly heard a large amount of gunshots on either side of him.

The night before, half of a Gendarmerie regiment was camped in Maastricht, stopping there as they traveled by boat to a mission none were told about. It was not the first or the last of their stops, but it was the one that not only changed everything for the regiment, it changed the course of Furbiſh history.

Nijkerke was with half of his company setting up their tents on the outskirts of Maastricht. Only half of each company was taken for the mission, five of them lead by their captains and five lead by their first lieutenants. The regiment’s colonel, major, and sergeant major were present, while the rest of the headquarters led by the lieutenant colonel stayed in their garrisons in western Nieuw Maasland. The boats the gendarmes arrived in, rented from a local ferry company, were anchored in the riverbank next to the gendarmes. The villagers were extremely wary of the gendarmes who outnumbered them by several times. Nothing was different from every other stop, until they heard the gunshot.

The first instinct of all gendarmes is to find the source. Most expected it to have came from the village, but the source of the sound was one of the gendarmes’ tents. The darkness made searching hard, but the camp was illuminated by lanterns. Those who turned to the source of the sound found smoke rising near one lantern. Around it was the company of Captain Sibren van Aalzum. Almost immediately after the shot was fired, five gendarmes including van Aalzum and a first sergeant marched away, and disappeared into one of the paths leading away from the village village.

Colonel Govert Hankamp, the commanding officer of the regiment, ran to the company immediately, followed by Major Jochum Wielents, the third in command, and Sergeant Major Arjen Harmelink, the most senior non-commissioned officer. When they arrived they saw the body of First Lieutenant Henkie Evenboer, which made Hankamp furious. As Hankamp was trying to figure out what was going on, and most gendarmes were focused on either that company or setting up their tents, few noticed a larger group of two companies that were meeting. Fourteen gendarmes from that group, including two captains and one lieutenant, deserted and marched down the same path as the first group.

While talking with soldiers of van Aalzum’s company, Hankamp noticed the second deserting group out of the corner of his eye and stopped talking. Looking at the major and sergeant major, he said “Gather the entire regiment, we are having a meeting. Get the highest ranked officers from that company near the front.”, pointing to the larger group.

All of the over three hundred gendarmes gathered orderly in an empty field near the boats. They all knew why they were gathered, or thought they knew. Harmelink lead a lieutenant through the group to Hankamp, who stood in front of them.

“Lieutenant Grotendijk.” said Hankamp to the lieutenant, “Tell us what just happened with your company.”

Second lieutenant Arend Grotendijk said “Captain Martini first showed up to us and wanted to speak with Captain Kortum. I noticed Martini sounded different, far less upbeat than he usually is.”. Kortum was the captain of Grotendijk’s company and he was good friends with Martini, something known by much of the regiment. Grotendijk continued “The captains wanted a meeting with both of our companies. When they gathered us, Martini began to talk, which he said you told to Captain van Aalzum.”

“Do not repeat anything he said that I said.” said Hankamp.

“Yes sir.” Grotendijk said, “Martini said he planned on deserting, and Kortum said he will too. It was at that point when we heard the gunshot. Kortum said ‘We’re getting the f out of here now’. Them and 12 others, including Lieutenant Roltvoort, walked away. They followed that other group of 5 deserters.”

“Why did you not do anything about that?” said Hankamp, “And everyone from van Aalzum’s company, why did you not do anything about his desertion?!”

“None of us wanted to act after Dorman shot Lieutenant Evenboer.” said one voice.

“No one?! It is your job to risk your life to fight criminals, yet you refuse to do so when you outnumber them thirty to five?!” screamed Hankamp, “What kind of gendarmes are all of you?!”

The scene Hankamp made attracted the attention of some villagers who stood and laughed from a distance. Wielents did not pay attention to Hankamp, instead realized the situation that happened. Two companies, Jan-Willem Martini’s and Sibren van Aalzum’s, no longer have officers present. Three of the five captains, including them and Sijbrand Kortum, deserted, leaving two. One lieutenant deserted and another was shot, which left five of the original seven.

“Captain Nijkerke, where are you?” said Hankamp. Nijkerke walked to the front of the formation. “Can you tell me why you recommended Kortum for the promotion?” Hankamp asked.

“Sir, I believed Kortum was a competent officer when he served as my lieutenant.” said Nijkerke. This was a lie. Kortum is a large man, previously a lumberjack before his village was attacked by natives and he led the defense. Kortum became a first lieutenant in Nijkerke’s company afterwards, three years before his desertion. When Nijkerke gave an order to raid every house in a village at night, Kortum broke Nijkerke’s desk in half out of rage, giving him his nickname of “The Table Breaker”. Kortum intimidated Nijkerke, who did not want to deal with him again, which is why Nijkerke recommended Kortum for a promotion.

“You were clearly wrong.” said Hankamp, “Stay with me when I dismiss the regiment. You are going to hunt down the deserters.”

“Sir, we only have two captains left-” began Wielents.

“That does not matter.” said Hankamp.

After his talk with the regiment, Hankamp then told Nijkerke more details about the plan. “If you do not arrest them, find out where they are.” and “This is a map of our route. Get one of those telegram offices to stop us when you do arrest them.” where the two orders Nijkerke remembered. A copy of the map was given to Nijkerke, the only officer in his company present, and his first sergeant, Jurriaan op Holsmans. Nijkerke and his company were then allowed to go to sleep and start their pursuit at dawn.

The night was chaotic according to the guards. Nijkerke was told that several times throughout, people would ride in and out of the village on horseback. Each time they requested to speak with a certain village official and ignored every request from gendarmes. One said “Fuck off” to Hankamp, then upon realizing Hankamp is a colonel the man spent half a minute swearing at Hankamp again before riding off.

When the sun rose, Nijkerke and the half of his company that were present were woken up by Hankamp, and they began to march on the trail. The rest of the regiment took down their tents and walked back to their boats. Most continued to travel along the river, and a single one remained for Nijkerke’s company. The march was boring. There was little scenery on either side of the trail besides sugarcane fields. What made the march worse, besides the heat and hill, was that the gendarmes did not have horses with them. Though usually mounted when on patrols, the gendarmes left their horses behind in their garrisons before they began the mission.

Suddenly a large amount of gunshots came from either side of the company. Nijkerke jumped back so he was within his column, safer from enemy fire. “Make two ranks on each side and fire back at them, wherever the fuck they are!” he shouted, and the gendarmes did that. The column of gendarmes quickly rearranged themselves into four ranks, two facing each side. Op Holsmans assumed command of one while another sergeant assumed command of the other. The gendarmes then took their carbines that were strapped to their backs and half fired several preloaded rounds, on orders of both sergeants, then knelt down. The other half fired as the first reloaded, and the groups repeated.

Nijkerke took shots with his pistol as he analyzed the situation. Despite overwhelming fire from the enemy he took few casualties, because everyone was firing blind. The gendarmes knew where the enemy was, but were not able to see them. The enemy knew gendarmes were there, but the only way they could know was if they were extremely close.

“Fix bayonets and charge!” Nijkerke shouted. The front ranks, after firing the next few rounds, fixed bayonets to their carbines as the back ranks fired, then fixed their bayonets. Two sergeants who assumed command of each half of the company then ordered a charge. Nijkerke stayed in the path and watched one side. The gendarmes first pushed through the tall sugarcane, then Nijkerke heard sounds of fighting. It was brief, however, and when the fighting stopped so did the gunfire. The gendarmes marched back to the path.

“There were a couple of gendarmes shooting at us.” said op Holsmans.

“Looked like it was villagers lead by gendarmes. They were wearing Gendarmerie uniforms.” said another non-commissioned officer.

“Great, we found who we were looking for, let’s tell Colonel Hankamp and go home.” said Nijkerke. He laughed a little, and some gendarmes did, but their laughter was cut short by more gunfire.

“Don’t fire, run forward.” said Nijkerke, and the gendarmes did. He noticed the shots were less accurate, meaning the enemy was further away, and they will likely not know where the gendarmes go. However, as they ran Nijkerke quickly realized the enemies expected the gendarmes to run forward. He also noticed that they were now facing gunfire from all directions, not just the sides, and from the amount of shots Nijkerke heard he knew his force was outnumbered. Facing the choice between running uphill and possibly into an ambush, or retreating and likely receiving reinforcements, Nijkerke’s next decision was easy. Quietly, Nijkerke said “Retreat back to where we came from, and do not let them know where we are.”.

The gendarmes all turned around and began to run the other direction. Facing the direction where the gendarmes came from, Nijkerke realized he had another more difficult decision to make. Several dead and wounded men lied along the path. Gendarmes were rarely treated well by any of their enemies, and Hankamp would be angry if gendarmes were abandoned. “Pick up all the men who cannot walk. Abandon the dead.” said Nijkerke. Some gendarmes ahead of him picked up some wounded gendarmes. Some were able to run, while a few staggered behind.

While moving forward, Nijkerke then noticed from the pattern of the gunfire that a row of people stood to shoot from behind. “Charge at that group that is in front of us until they stop firing.” he said.

On that order, the gendarmes that were able to fire once again split into two ranks and charged. Just like with the other charge, Nijkerke and op Holsmans were no longer able to see their gendarmes well as they pushed through the sugarcane. They were not able to see the enemy either, however they were able to hear the gunshots, which was enough. When the charging gendarmes reached the enemy, op Holsmans noticed, as with the last charge, most were farmers who did not have guns as advanced as the Gendarmerie, and did not have bayonets. But they did not retreat as soon as the gendarmes arrived, unlike the last charge.

“Hold your ground, use your guns as clubs if you have to!” said a voice that seemed vaguely familiar to op Holsmans. The enemy did as told, fighting gendarmes hand to hand, using their guns as clubs, deflecting the gendarmes’ bayoneted guns.

The better trained gendarmes quickly gained the upper hand, but gunshots from the rest of the enemy drew closer and op Holsmans realized a trap was set up for him. “Retreat back to the path!” he shouted, and the gendarmes did so after firing a few more shots. As they ran back, they saw the second group who also realized what had happened.

Nijkerke was even more furious. Being told what happened by the first group, he waited for both to retreat, then gave the order to run back along the path to their boats in Maastricht. “Sir, there was a familiar voice that ordered to-” began op Holsmans.

“I know. It was our friend Jan-Willem Martini.” said Nijkerke.

“Not only that, sir. Lieutenant Roltvoort stabbed me in the thigh with his bayonet!” said a wounded gendarme. He winced in pain as he tried to catch up to the group.

As the gendarmes marched back, the gunshots followed. “Not worth chasing them, they don’t know exactly where we are and we will keep it that way.” said Nijkerke. The gendarmes continued moving quickly. As the sun was high in the sky at that point, many were hot, but that was the least of their worries. All were trying to avoid being shot. A few shots hit, but most did not. The run back, while only half an hour, felt much longer.

As the gendarmes reached Maastricht, and the fields of sugarcane turned to houses and open areas, but Nijkerke’s hopes of a quick run to his boat were shattered quickly. The villagers seemed to have been tipped off about what was happening, and they gathered with their guns out. As soon as they saw the gendarmes they began to fire volleys.

“Well fuck.” thought Nijkerke. The boat the gendarmes were supposed to be on was still docked, but surrounded, and the door seemed to be shut. Knowing the gendarmes were surrounded and there was very little that could be done, Nijkerke said “We have no choice but to run to the boat. Shoot or bayonet anyone who stands in your way. Split into smaller groups and run in all different directions to confuse them. Op Holsmans, lead the first group to the boat. Some of you will stay with me back here to cover. Now!”

On that order, the gendarmes split up and began to run towards the boat. This briefly confused some villagers but they began to continue firing. Some gendarmes took shots, some then hiding behind houses or other obstacles to reload. Others charged with bayonets. The villagers fought back hard, and so did groups that began to emerge from the fields.

Nijkerke stayed back with a small group that attempted to provide covering fire for the rest. The group lead by op Holsmans charged forward towards the boat. The villagers surrounding the boat quickly dispersed as gendarmes ran at them. The crew of the boat then threw open the doors to let the gendarmes on. They began to take shots from the boat, and seeing this the rest of the gendarmes ran to it. This included Nijkerke’s group. Halfway through his run, Nijkerke gave up reloading his revolver and started fighting enemies that approached him with his saber. He fought off one man using his rifle as a club, then deflected a bayonet from a gendarme running towards him. By the time Nijkerke’s group reached the boat, more villagers were trying to board, being fought off by some gendarmes at the boat, but they once again dispersed as the group of gendarmes arrived.

Safe on the boat, Nijkerke and the other gendarmes continued to provide covering fire for the remaining gendarmes, either wounded men trying to stagger back to the boat or small groups who were hiding and waiting for a chance to escape. As the battle continued, Nijkerke observed the scene. There were no women and children anywhere in sight, just armed men taking shots. They had single shot rifles, unlike the repeater rifles issued to the gendarmes, but their greater numbers give them the advantage. Among the people firing at the boat was the over dozen gendarmes in black uniforms who deserted the night before, including three captains. Kortum eyed Nijkerke, and seemed to be taking shots at him.

After several minutes of gunfire, Nijkerke did not see any more gendarmes attempting to escape. The villagers also seemed to have noticed, and all fire was now directed at the boat. “Shut the door and get the fuck out of here, full speed!” Nijkerke said to the crew of the boat, and they did. As the boat paddled away, the gendarmes onboard continued to exchange gunfire with the villagers until they were out of sight.

“Twenty minutes until the next city and bringing the bad news. We started with thirty three men, fourteen did not make it back, and twelve are wounded. I hope at least one of you has some medical training.”

[Greater Niagara]

A collaboration with Antarctic Circle States

1130
Outside the Village of Sudenor
12-14-2022

CONTEXT: Greater Niagara entered into a Civil War in 2019. ACS, a former colony of Niagara, sends the 2nd (AQ) Brigade and support, alongside an artillery battery and SAS troop from Fort Philip Picket, also a former Niagaran Colony. Several platoons from both nations form a company team to participate in a larger offensive to take the rebel capital of Marksburgh. This is a continuation of the previous post.

Under the warm midday sun, Able company's armored vehicles departed Sudenor, the new battalion headquarters just captured earlier in the morning, and rolled south deep into the Line of Control. Trees were rarely seen on the Southern Niagaran grassland as more villages and towns appeared in the distance. The NRF capital is less than 30 kilometers away.
"Some locals said that the skyline of Marksburg could be seen from here," Captain Freeman muttered, looking through his binoculars, "I don't see a thing though."
"You will see it when the rebs there start shooting at us, sir." Warrant Officer Llyod Fernsby commented.
"Wouldn't want that to happen," Freeman ordered in the radio, "Able company, MTC formation....um....3 platoon in front."
"1, this is 1-3, roger," Lt. Taylor responded, "3 platoon, we going up front!"
"Fuck." Sgt. Huerta swore quietly.

Roger, 1-3 is moving to the front," Lt. Svenson acknowledged. "Where do you want us, sir?"
As the company arranges itself into formation, they stay on the lookout, making sure that rebel forces aren't moving in to engage.
"If the rebs are looking for us, it won't be hard," LCpl Olaf commented. "With this terrain you can see a car from here to the fucking Jotunheimen mountains in the centre of the country."

"3 platoon is undermanned and two vehicles short, sir," WO Fernsby reminded, "wouldn't it be more ideal if we put them at the rear?"
"3 platoon has the most combat experience in the entire company, Lloyd," Freeman replied, "I'm sure they can handle a few scattered rebs."
The 4 vehicles of Lt. Taylor's platoon moved to the front of the formation, screening the terrain ahead of able company. The rest of the vehicles followed closely behind.
"1-5, this is 1, you stay with us for now."

"Roger, 1, 1-5 is moving into position." Svenson replied.
"Doesn't Freeman realize that we've been fighting for quite a while now?" An infantryman in the back of Svenson's LAV grumbles.
"I'll bet he's never seen real combat before," another replies.
"Watch your mouths, gentlemen," the platoon staff sergeant warned.
Suddenly, a group of rebel infantry appears from a trench in front of the company, pelting the LAV's with gunfire and mortars.

“Contact front!” Taylor called out, directing his platoon to lay down suppressive fire.
“Here we go gentlemen,” Freeman ordered excitedly, “all units dismount. Dismount.”
“Sir, it’s just infantry, we have the perfec-” Lt. Warren, leader of 2nd platoon, protested.
“Deploy your platoon lieutenant.”
The AQLAVs pushed to the front to provide fire cover with their auto-cannons, while the Venator APCs armed with machine guns guarded the flanks and rear area. A few poorly aimed mortar rounds from rebel forces landed near the formation.

"Sir, deploying our infantry is unnecessary," Lt Svenson called out. As he says this, the LAV's use their 25mm guns to lay down covering fire. The Niagaran platoon dismounts, the soldiers moving in to engage the rebels in the trenches. Shrapnel from the mortars hits two of them, leaving one dead and another on the ground, crying out in pain. In revenge an LAV fires a long burst into the mortar position.

"Shit, bastards' got too many mortars," Patterson turned to Hoffman, a machine gunner in Huerta's squad, "don't shoot me in the ass."
The mortar rounds are still coming in. Gunshots became more intense as Niagaran armour and infantry started engaging the rebel forces in a fierce fire fight. Ssgt. Patterson jumped out of his cover, running towards a mortar placement. Several enemy soldiers noticed this unusual act and rounds started popping off around him.
"Let's go able company!" Freeman shouted while rushing forward and spraying the enemy position with his rifle.
"Look he's got his fucking bayonet out." Sgt. Kellen cursed.
"You heard the captain, move out," Fernsby ordered, jumping out of his Venator, "Gordon take your platoon to the front and reinforce 1 platoon."

Svenson's men lay down covering fire for Patterson, hoping to draw their attention away him for even just a moment.
As Patterson charges at the mortar nest, Sgt Olaf leads his section into another mortar emplacement, throwing a flash grenade to disorient the rebels, before jumping in himself, stabbing two of the men with his combat knife, whilst the two others inside are finished by gunfire.
"Mortar is down!" Olaf reported, putting his knife back in it's sheath.
"Good job!" Svenson replied, moving in on the mortar that Patterson was going for as well, but from a different direction.

Standing up completely exposed, Patterson threw a grenade into the mortar pit, killing 2 enemy soldiers. Under heavy fire, he jumped into a section of the trench, clearing it with a burst of rifle shots, and proceeded to move towards the third mortar pit towards the back of the rebel line. The volume of machine gun fires increased around them. Patterson got shot twice in chest and dropped to the ground under the immense impact force.

"Staff sergeant's down!" Spvt, Hoffman and Pvt. Miles carried the machine gun forward in an attempt to cover Patterson's attack, but a burst of rifle fire quickly stopped them, wounding Hoffman.

After a few seconds, Patterson got up with his busted helmet, and resumed his charge. Reaching the third mortar pit, he put a grenade right into the dugout, silencing the mortar crew.

"You alright?" Svenson called out, wide-eyed seeing Patterson's charge straight into enemy fire.
Meanwhile, the Niagaran platoon's medical officer runs over to Hoffman, carefully dragging him away from the front line.

"I'm good as a new-born stot," Patterson pushed the medic away, "get him (Hoffman) out of there first!"
Taking a small break from the daring assault, Patterson took out his med kit and assessed his wounds. One shot busted his kevlar and another one shattered his front armour plate. He grabbed his rifle and emptied the clip. All of a sudden, a young rebel soldier with ATGM poked his head out of a dugout few feet away from the neutralized mortar pit, aiming at Lt. Taylor's vehicle. Without time to reload, Patterson threw his rifle at the rebel soldier, and jumped into dugout with his bayonet, stabbing him to death.

The fire fight continued elsewhere. Lt. Gordon's weapons platoon has finally deployed his grenade launchers and machine guns, picking out rebel defense one by one. Some enemy soldiers began to retreat. Amidst the chaos, a rebel sergeant shot Cpt. Freeman in the right arm.

A few seconds after Freeman goes down, 2 Niagarans run over, one laying down covering fire, and one dragging him behind a nearby AQLAV.

Meanwhile, LCpl. Olaf leads his team deeper into the trench. He stabs one rebel in the jugular with his bayonet affixed to his rifle, shoots another with 3 rounds, and a third is killed by the soldier behind Olaf.
"Trench is secured here!" He calls out, wiping the blood from the bayonet.

"Captain's down!" Two ACS soldiers rushed over with a medic.
"Shit, buggars got me," Freeman yelled, "Don't worry mates, I'm all good!"
"Sir, you are bleeding too much, put pressure on your wound."
"1st platoon flank left! Charge! Charge!" Freeman swung his shining bayonet in the air, attempting to get up and resume his assault.
WO Fernsby walked over, took a look at the captain, and instructed the medic to send him back to battalion aid station along with several wounded. Tracers are still flying around, but the rebel defense had collapsed. Niagaran and Antarctican APCs finished off the broken remnants of the rebel line. A few rebel soldiers surrendered.

As the battle ended, Lt. Svenson gives the order for his men to return to their APCs. Squad leaders run a quick headcount and report that 5 Niagarans died in the assault.
Hearing this, Svenson then runs over to WO Fernsby. "Who's in command now?" He asked, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"Lieutenant Hutchings is senior, sir."
"By seniority, yes, but I'm a fire support officer," Lt. Hutchings laughed and turned to Svenson, "by doctrine Warrant Officer Fernsby is in command until another officer is appointed."
"Sir," Lt. Taylor came with a few other platoon leaders, who just finished cleaning the battlefield, "five guys are wounded but no KIAs, sir."

"I have 5 KIAs and 2 wounded," Svenson replied. They hit us hard." He turns to WO Fernsby.
"What are our orders now, sir?" He asked.

"Gather your men and return to battalion CP, the captives as well," Fernsby said, "that should be enough of a recon for today."

"Right," Svenson replied, saluting and withdrawing to his platoon's APCs. The POWs are handcuffed and taken away by several Niagaran soldiers.
"Right, 5th platoon, mount up!" Svenson calls out. The soldiers shout their acknowledgements and return to their APCs, which move out alongside the AQLAVs.

The ACS soldiers mounted up their vehicles as well. The Venators moved out first, followed by the IFVs. Blinding gray and black smoke engulfed the battlefield. Lt. Taylor laid back in his AQLAV, exhausted from hours of intense action since the morning. To the south, the cloud had cleared on the horizon. The afternoon sun reflected off buildings in Marksburg in the distance. The column was on the move again, but in the opposite direction, away from the wartorn battlefield and away from the golden skyline of Marksburg.

[Not The Furbish Islands]

River Saint-Denis
Saint-Denis, Nieuw Maasland
Morniŋ, 1 Prairiall 69 (20 May 1873)

“Check and mate.” said Commandant Jochum Wielents as he moved a piece across the chess board.

“Another win for Major Wielents.” said Sergeant Major Arjen Harmelink, who sat to the side of the board, “We’re owed more money now.”

“Fine.” said Colonel Govert Hankamp, who sat on the other side of the board, as he slid the stack of guilder notes to Harmelink and Wielents. Hankamp then opened his satchel and grabbed an empty check and a pen, then wrote himself some money.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” said Wielents, chuckling a little.

“What are you going to do, tell the colonel?” said Hankamp, then all three men laughed. Though gendarmes were only supposed to use checks to make bribes, and not on themselves, many still did for smaller amounts and were not noticed. It was well known among the gendarmes that writing those checks was a cause for inflation in the north, but many still continued.

“Okay, my turn.” said Harmelink.

“I am betting my money on Wielents.” said Hankamp as he and Harmelink switched places.

“See, even the colonel has little doubts to my abilities.” said Wielents.

“Oh we will see about that.” said Harmelink.

As the chess game began, Hankamp looked at the board, as it was his turn to judge, and occasionally out the window. The three men were on a boat, the smallest in a convoy carrying nearly three hundred gendarmes to a mission known only by the three leaders. Half of each of the ten companies in the regiment were taken with its leader, Hankamp, third in command, Wielents, and senior non-commissioned officer, Harmelink.

“Boat is slowing down.” said Hankamp.

“Maybe there is traffic along this part of the river. We are near a large city.” said Wielents.

“I will see. Do not cheat while I am gone.” said Hankamp. He walked past the room where he sat to another one, which had a small group of gendarmes and crates of supplies. He walked up the stairs to another room, with more gendarmes, then went to the bridge and knocked on the door. “This is Colonel Hankamp.” he said.

The door quickly opened.

“Why are we slowing down?” said Hankamp.

“The ship in front of us is saying we are going to dock by the next port.” said the captain.

“What, why-” began Hankamp, then he looked ahead to a dock and saw a gendarme waving a red flag. Red meant there was an emergency. “Nijkerke had better caught the deserters by now.” thought Hankamp as he walked back to the first deck of the ship.

…

“Going to cost you at least one thousand guilders to repair this.” said Sebastiaan Nijmans, the captain of a small steamboat, he inspected the bullet holes on the side of the boat.

“My colonel will handle the expenses.” said Gendarmerie Captain Gust Nijkerke, “Is she still able to travel?”

“Performance is not affected for now, but she must be repaired soon before the damage gets worse.” said Nijmans. “That colonel better pay us extra for putting our lives at risk over this.” he thought. He was ready to write a letter to the ferry company he was a part of requesting them to no longer take contracts from the Gendarmerie or else he will resign. That was a problem for later, however.

Gendarmes from Nijkerke’s company and some from the local garrison stood around the boat. After the disastrous battle, the boat traveled down river to the nearest city, Waalwijk. Wounded gendarmes from Nijkerke’s company were carried to a local hospital. When asked about what happened by a lieutenant, Nijkerke said his company was trying to chase down deserters in unfavorable terrain. He did not elaborate, hoping to not unintentionally spread the rebellion further, knowing he stands little chance against the entire city.

…

Two steamboats traveling along the river began to slow down as they reached the docks. Nijkerke did not notice as was busy writing his report of the battle, though if he did notice he likely would not have cared about just two more of many steamships that travel down the river. The boat crew, however, recognized boats from their company, and the crews of the boats recognized them too, and began to dock. This did attract Nijkerke’s attention. He looked at his unfinished report and the reply Colonel Hankamp sent to his telegram. “Well fuck.” thought Nijkerke.

An angry Commandant Wielents was the first to step off one of the boats. Nijkerke stood near his own boat. He saluted Wielents and said “Sir, I apologize-”

“No need to apologize to me.” said Wielents, “We are going back to that village to hunt down the deserters.”

Nijmans, who stood nearby, looked up immediately. “Sir, with all due respect, if another battle is going to be involved I will not send my boat there.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Wielents. Nijkerke grimaced, knowing what was to come.

“I am not going to risk the lives of my crew over this.” said Nijmans.

“You are going to take us back to the village as our contract states.” said Wielents, sounding angrier.

“Or what? I do not give a damn if I am not paid, the lives of my crew are worth more!”

Wielents was furious. He, a Gendarmerie commandant, was not going to be told off by the captain of a small boat. Looking around, however, he realized he had no options. There were no legitimate grounds to arrest the captain on, but if Wielents moved to arrest the captain, there are likely no other boats in the area that can carry them in such a short notice. Threatening to call the ferry company would also have no effect on the captain. Hoping the captain does not call the bluff, Wielents said “I have the authority to arrest you for aiding a rebellion. You will take us there now or you will be hanged.”

“If you arrest me then who else is going to take you there, or to your other mission?” said Nijmans.

“We have two more bigger boats.” said Wielents, realizing the captain knew the bluff and knew that no boats could take the gendarmes.

“Good luck with that. Their captains know too.” said Nijmans smugly.

Wielents realized that earlier, Nijmans gave a signal and a few of his boat’s crew ran to the other two boats. In a very short amount of time, the captains of those boats walked from their boats to the argument on the dock.

Nijmans noticed first and said “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope you understand that we do not want to risk the lives of our crew on whatever this mission is.”

“Indeed we do not.” said one of the other boat captains, “I hope you are able to arrange another form of transport.”

“Listen here.” shouted Wielents, “I will arrest all three of you and your crew for aiding a rebellion if you do not take my gendarmes back there.”

“We can take you close but you will have to row the rest of your way on our bloody rowboats.” said the other boat captain.

Thinking for a long moment, and knowing he has no better options, Wielents said “Fine I bloody will.”. He then turned to Nijkerke, who silently watched the entire argument, and said “Nijkerke, where are your gendarmes?”

“My sergeant is at the hospital with the wounded gendarmes. Some are around.” replied Nijkerke.

“Get every one of your men who can still walk back here now.” said Wielents.

Inspecting the boat Nijerke’s group were on, Wielents thought back to Hankamp’s order. “Those deserters will be hanged in Boſton before we end the strike.” the colonel said. Hankamp’s words will end up becoming true, but not in the way the two men expected.

…

“And then I beat Colonel Hankamp in another chess game. He is so bad at the game, missed so many obvious good moves.” said Wielents.

“Oh my God shut the fuck up and get a personality.” thought Nijkerke as the commandant kept talking. Nijkerke looked around the table. Four lieutenants sat around it, who led the four halves of companies that were in the two boats behind theirs. Being just lieutenants meant Nijkerke was the second highest ranking officer of the force. Besides the lieutenants, to Nijkerke’s left was Sergeant Jurriaan op Holsmans, Nijkerke’s company’s first sergeant, and Wielents was to Nijkerke’s right. Only op Holsmans gave a look back at Nijkerke that confirmed they were thinking the same thing Nijkerke thought about Wielnts.

Op Holsmans was one of the few people who knew Nijkerke’s opinion on Wielents. Nijkerke had to be careful when talking to anyone, since Wielents was not only his superior superior, but the commandant is known for reporting any small violation of the rules to Colonel Hankamp while acting nice to everyone. Most did not seem to mind this. “Do these people not realize the man who talks shit about everyone to you also talks shit about you to everyone else?” thought Nijkerke as Wielents continued talking, “Does this idiot have anything better to talk about besides everything he does not like like about everyone who is not in the room?”. Nijkerke knew most workplaces had a person like Wielents, who is loved by the bosses and tries to win favors with everyone.

The boat began to slow down as they continued to talk. Wielents stood up and began to walk out of the room, saying “Even Colonel Hankamp bet on me. I am about to win this game once we are done with this mission and Sergeant Harmelink will owe us.”.

“And yet you three will murder us if we gamble.” thought Nijkerke. He and op Holsmans looked at each other, knowing they were having the same thought.

“Everyone get to your boats. We are rowing to the village we spent last night in and we will go from there.” said Wielents.

“Sir, with all due respect this is a terrible idea.” said Nijkerke, “Land somewhere nearby, not at the village.”. As the second highest ranked man of the force, Nijkerke had a great responsibility. Even if Wielents will not listen, he still gave advice.

“We have close to one hundred forty gendarmes against some poorly armed farmers. We will take them out easily.” said Wielents. Nijkerke wanted to talk, but decided there was no point in arguing against Wielents. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the worst.

The gendarmes began to march to the rowboats as the crews dropped them. Nijkerke and Wielents watched with the rest of the officers. “Sir, should we keep some gendarmes on board to protect the boats?” suddenly said Nijkerke.

“We are far away. They are not needed.” said Wielents, “Unless the enemy comes in a large enough force, which token guards will not be able to protect against.”

“That does not matter. We have plenty of spare arms we can load now, and as long as there is an illusion of a strong force any enemy will back down quickly. Plus we can assure the crew that there will be no danger.” said Nijkerke.

Wielents turned to him. “Fine.” he said, “All your wounded men can stay back.”.

The gendarmes were packed in eight large boats. Most sat on either side rowing, while some, including all the officers and senior sergeants, stood in the middle, carefully watching the jungle for any enemies. Nijkerke and his soldiers were the most vigilant. No enemies were anywhere in sight, but he watched the tree lines and farmland carefully, knowing at any moment they were going to jump out and shoot. Wielents, on the other hand, was more relaxed, seeing no sign of the enemy.

“Sir, is this the village?” shouted a soldier in one of the front boats. As the rest moved forward, they noticed a small village.

“Yes, this is it.” said Nijkerke. Nijkerke raised his revolver expecting enemy fire, but there was none. As the gendarmes approached the village, they did not even see signs of people.

The front boats sailed to the docks and the gendarmes walked off, carefully scanning their surroundings. No response was met, as more gendarmes stepped off. “Make the boats face back to the steamboats and tie them to the dock.” said Wielents.

“And be ready to cut the ropes and get the hell out.” said Nijkerke.

“From whom? There are no enemies here.” said Wielents.

Nijerke stepped off his boat and realized the commandant was right. The village, Maastricht, looked exactly how it did when Nijkerke’s company left it several hours before, except it was completely deserted, and the sun was at its peak. Small wooden houses were packed together, turning to larger buildings in the middle. The small amount of houses then stopped and fields started. Some empty fields were near the houses, but they were mostly surrounded by sugarcane. Some of the houses had visible bullet holes and some of the narrow paths had blood stains, but there were no bodies or signs of life in what normally would have been a small but busy town.

“Search the houses!” said Wielents. The gendarmes split up and began to search around. After only a short time, it was clear that nothing of value was inside any house. Wielents walked around too, followed by Nijkerke. It took him longer to realize, but he eventually concluded the gendarmes were going to find nothing. “We’re going back to the village.” he said, “Lead us the way, Captain Nijkerke.”

Nijkerke’s heard raced, but he knew he had little choice. He decided not to argue, instead directed his company to the front of a column. They once again led the way along the small trail that they knew far too well. Nijerke was directly behind his company, with Wielents and op Holsmans, while the other companies were behind them. All gendarmes carefully listened to and watched their surroundings.

Eventually they reached a familiar spot, where a hill began. Nijkerke noticed some faint blood stains on the ground but there was no sign of the bodies he saw hours before. He was even more careful at this point, waiting for the enemy to jump out and shoot like they did earlier.

Though it was a short walk up the hill, to Nijkerke it felt like hours. Eventually, they reached a sign that said “Welcome to Nijverdal”.

“Nijverdal.” muttered Nijkerke, “That is the place they were trying to protect.”.

In front of the gendarmes stood a village similar to the one they were at an hour ago. Small houses built together, narrow streets. They were also abandoned. The only difference was there was no bullet holes or blood stains.

“Search those houses.” said Wielents. The gendarmes began to search every house. Wielents and Nijkerke walked together through one of the streets, watching the gendarmes. “Sir, we need a group guarding.” said Nijerke.

“There are no people here. You keep telling me they will jump out and attack, but so far there has been no one.” said Wielents.

Nijerke decided not to argue. However, he was vindicated less than a minute later, by a series of bangs.

“All gendarmes, find out where that came from and fire back!” said Wielents. The gendarmes rushed to the outside of the village and fired back.

“All gendarmes, hold your fire! Hold!” shouted Nijkerke.

“What are you, mad?!” said Wielents.

However, the gendarmes stopped, and there was no more shooting. “Just as I thought, no one is shooting at us.” said Nijkerke, “Where did the gunfire come from?”.

He and Wielents knew the gunfire came from a single direction. They turned to it when one gendarme pointed.

“That is an excellent observation, Nijkerke.” said Wielents. Before Nijkerke could respond, however, Wielents said “You can stay here with me and your company. The other four are going to march into the sugarcane field and we will surround a large group of them.”

Despite protests from Nijkerke, the gendarmes did as told. They quickly gathered then marched into the fields. Nijkerke’s gendarmes stood in two ranks near the field where the rebels attacked from, while Nijkerke and Wielents stood inside one of the houses and watched from a distance.

Gunfire began but did not last long until the gendarmes returned, surrounding a group of armed farmers and gendarmes. However, this did not last quickly, as gunfire continued, the gendarmes turned to fire back. The prisoners took this as a time to stab some gendarmes with bayonets then run away.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY DOING?!” screamed Wielents. He ran towards the group, followed by Nijkerke. He began to scream at the officers over the encounter.

They were silent for a moment, and one began to respond, until cut off by a sudden gunshot.

“Aargh!” said a voice. Nijkerke realized quickly it was Wielents.

“Get down! Fire back!” said Nijkerke. Shots continued, but not from his area. Quickly scanning the area, Nijkerke eyed a gendarme and said “You, help me carry Commandant Wielents to one of the houses in the center.”.

The gendarme stood up and marched over. He knelt down, then picked up Wielents’ legs while Nijkerke picked up the commandant’s shoulders. Wielents muttered something incomprehensible the entire time as shots rang out around the gendarmes. Looking behind himself as he walked backwards, Nijkerke kicked open the door of a house. He and the gendarme winded through the narrow rooms, then laid Wielents on a large bed.

Now relatively safe from the gunfire, Nijkerke took a look at Wielents. He was shot in the lung and still muttering. “Well fucking shit.” muttered Nijkerke. Wielents likely had seconds, if not minutes left to live, and there was nothing that can be done. Nijkerke hated Wielents since he was a newly commissioned lieutenant and Wielents was his captain. However, seeing the commandant lie dying gave Nijkerke a sadness he could not explain, somehow greater than when he lost his men. “Enjoy hell, Commandant Wielents.” was all Nijkerke was able to say.

“Those deserters will be hanged Boſton before we end the strike.” muttered Wielents.

“What?” said Nijkerke.

“They will be in Boſton before we end that railroad strike” muttered Wielents. The rest was incomprehensible, but Nijkerke heard all he needed to. The regiment’s mission was to suppress a railroad strike, something Nijkerke suspected when he was given the map of the ferry routes but did not want to think about. Though Nijkerke always followed orders, which often included extorting civilians, he had some sympathies for the railroad strike happening in the north. Hearing this gave him several different feelings.

Wielents in his state realized he said too much, but was unable to do anything. Nijkerke barely noticed Wielents showing his regret. His attention was more focused on the other gendarme in the house. That gendarme did not look a day older than 18, fresh out of training then immediately given a mission. From the look on his face, Nijkerke knew the boy also understood Wielents and had sympathies for the strike. He looked back at Nijkerke, looking for any reassurance, which Nijkerke was not able to give. Seeing the boy’s face upset Nijkerke more than any dead gendarme or thought of his mission. The two men knew they were both thinking the same thing. “Now is not the time to break down.” thought Nijkerke.

“I will defeat Harmelink in this chess game.” was the last thing Wielents said before he was out. Nijkerke understood that too, but did not think about it.

“Captain Nijkerke, there you are. I have been looking for you.” said a voice. Nijkerke knew it was op Holsmans, but did not look up. “Rebels are gone-” began op Holsmans. He stopped suddenly as he looked at the scene ahead and said “What the hell happened?”

“I need a moment.” said Nijkerke. He realized the gunfire stopped, something he did not pay attention to earlier. Op Holsmans looked around, seeing Nijkerke and a young gendarme standing near Wielents, who was laid down on a bed.

Nijkerke took a deep breath. “Commandant Wielents is dead.” he said, “But we need to talk.”

Op Holsmans walked over to Wielents’ lifeless body. He was shot a single time in his lung. Blood poured out of it, but has since stopped. “Good riddance.” muttered op Holsmans.

“Our mission is to suppress the northern railroad strike. Wielents muttered that as he was dying.” said Nijkerke.

Op Holsmans suddenly stopped. “Oh my God.” he said.

A lieutenant burst into the house the three gendarmes were standing in. “Commandant Wielents, we-”

“He is dead.” said op Holsmans.

“The enemy is attacking us in three directions. We are outnumbered at least two or three to one.” he said.

Nijkerke realized that as the highest ranked officer still alive, he was now in command of the force, and everything that happened to them was now his responsibility. As the realization set in he was once again about to break down, and gathered all the strength he could to not.

“Retreat. This is hopeless.” said Nijkerke after a long moment. He had no idea how understanding Hankamp would be. Leaving the rebellion unsorted would be a bad look on Hankamp to his own superiors, who also had their own superiors to answer to, up to Stadtholder Dominic Drumpf himself. Dealing with Hankamp was still preferable to Nijkerke to getting himself or more of his men shot.

The gunfire ended just as quickly as it started. Nijkerke left the small house, followed by the lieutenant, op Holsmans, and the young gendarme. Nijkerke’s red face was illuminated by the descending sun. “Commandant Wielents is dead. We are retreating. Help carry the wounded but do not worry about the dead.” he said.

The gendarmes quickly and began to march down the path, once again led by Nijkerke’s company, then Nijkerke with op Holsmans and a lieutenant. The gendarmes descended down the hill with no sign of the enemy. Nijkerke began to be relieved, thinking they were gone, not knowing the worst was about to happen.

By the time the gendarmes were a distance away from the hill, they suddenly heard gunshots. “I thought they were gone Jesus fucking Christ.” muttered Nijkerke, “Fire back and charge at them until they are gone!”.

Nijkerke did not care about casualties on this attack. It was brief and the enemy were gone, but the gendarmes did not march far before they returned. The second attack was also dealt with quickly, after only a small amount of shots were fired. The same happened with the third attack. Nijkerke looked back at his column afterwards, and realized three of the lieutenants were missing. He then realized quickly that there were fewer sergeants, while the number of corporals and privates did not change as much.

“They are aiming for the officers and sergeants.” said Nijkerke quietly. Nijkerke is shorter, being better hidden by gendarmes than the rest. He stayed well inside his column to avoid enemy fire. The last lieutenant, who marched next to Nijkerke, quickly took a step forward so there were gendarmes on either side of him.

A single gunshot suddenly interrupted the quiet marching again. The body of the last lieutenant fell on top of Nijkerke and some blood stained his uniform.

“Fire back!” said Nijkerke. He pushed the body away then fired his revolver in the direction of where the shot came from.

The gendarmes shot back and some charged with bayonets into the sugarcane fields. Nijkerke turned back to see how many gendarmes were left. He marched down the column, seeing some bodies, until stopping at one. Nijkerke recognized it as the boy who helped carry Wielents in the village. Seeing him dead from a shot to the head, a sudden sadness filled Nijkerke.

He paused for a moment too long. Nijkerke felt a sudden pain in his left arm as two bullets entered. “Fuck!” was all he was able to say.

“Captain Nijkerke is hit!” said op Holsmans. Some gendarmes rushed to Nijkerke. One began to bandage his arm quickly as the battle continued around them. Lots of blood poured from Nijkerke’s arm. Every attempt to put a bandage on caused some winces from him.

Nijkerke began to feel light headed as his arm continued to bleed, fighting to stay awake. “You will carry me to the ferries.” he managed to say before passing out.

“Well fuck.” muttered op Holsmans, realizing he was now in charge of the gendarmes. He stood well in the middle of the formation, not wanting the fate of the rest of the high ranking officers. Nijkerke stopped bleeding as a thicker bandage was placed. Two gendarmes picked him up and stood well within the column.

The rest of the march, though short, felt like an eternity to the gendarmes. The enemy kept attacking and retreating as the gendarmes shot back. Op Holsmans lost count of the number times the gendarmes were attacked on their march. They still continued, finally reaching Maastricht as the sun was halfway through its descent.

Scanning the village, op Holsmans saw it had not changed since the gendarmes were there hours before. Their boats were still tied to the dock, and houses had doors opened from the search. Blood on the ground continued to dry up.

“My company, including Captain Nijkerke, is going first to the boats. The rest will shoot back at any enemy encountered. Then we are running company at a time.” said op Holsmans.

On that order, the company ran forward. Gunfire came from the sugarcane fields, but nothing from any of the houses. Nothing seemed to have been stopping the run towards the boats. As they arrived, op Holsmans raised his arm and motioned for the next company to run as his covered their retreat. He then motioned for the next, and the last two until they were all near the docks.

Op Holsmans then ordered some gendarmes to fire as others boarded the boats. They did so quickly, and filled up all boats, being less crammed than before. Some gendarmes rowed while some remained in the middle, holding rifles and ready to shoot at the enemy. Nijkerke was laid in the leading boat with op Holsmans.

As the final gendarmes sat down, the boats rowed away. The enemy continued to fire, but soon they were gone.

Many, including Nijkerke, survived the battle, but many did not. For his actions, Nijkerke was court-martialed before a large crowd in Boſton.

“For recklessly endangering the lives of your men, you will be shot at dawn.” said the judge.

“Please, your honor, I am just as upset at losing my men as everyone else is.” cried Nijkerke, “This is why I ordered a retreat, to prevent needless deaths.”

“Your cowardice will also be punished.” the judge said, “This court finds Gust Nijkerke guilty of the deaths of fifty men and of cowardice.”

Nijkerke continued to cry, but it was no use. Two gendarmes dragged him out of the courtroom.

The next day, Nijkerke was put before a firing squad in front of a large crowd, which included many high ranking Gendarmerie officers and the stadtholder himself. Nijkerke pleaded repeatedly, but it was no use. Gendarmes forcefully dragged him to a platform and tied him to a stake, blindfolded him, then marched away. A row of ten gendarmes and an officer stood before Nijkerke. On the officer’s orders, they fired.

Nijkerke woke up with his heart racing.

“Captain Nijkerke, are you okay?” said op Holsmans.

“Perfectly fine.” said Nijkerke, “How long was I out? Where am I?”. Nijkerke looked around and realized he was laid on a bed in the steamboat.

“You were out for two hours. The ferry is docked at Waalwijk now.” said op Holsmans.

“Thank God.” muttered Nijkerke.

“Colonel Hankamp will not know until tomorrow.” said op Holsmans, “And out of our force, forty-three gendarmes did not make it back and thirty are in the city hospital. Over half the sergeants and all but one of the officers are dead.”

Nijkerke lied in the bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment. His arm was bandaged, but he seemed to be in a good enough state that he will not have to visit the hospital, and he will recover quickly. He thought back briefly about the battle.

“How did we get back?” asked Nijkerke.

“Surprisingly Maastricht looked exactly how we left it. Even the boats were positioned there, and the ferries were where they were, not attacked.” said op Holsmans.

“Were you shot at in Maastricht?”

“Some of the enemy fired from the cane fields, but none from the houses.”

“For fucks sake.” said Nijkerke, “They wanted us to run away, not to fight us head on. We could have defeated them right then and there.”. He paused. “They would have burned the boats if they knew they could defeat us.” he said.

[Nordhagan]

Father’s Peak
Ó’Briain County, Alaoyi
5 February, 2023

Rain drizzled from the pale gray sky. A large wooden cabin, one that resembled what would normally be owned by an upper class family, was absolutely unremarkable. Many wealthy families in the provinces owned vacation homes to escape the monotony of day to day life. Other than the relatively isolated location of the cabin, most wealthy families owned homes closer to towns, this one was entirely normal and unremarkable. It sat nestled in a small clearing surrounded by thick pine woods. A dirt road, turned to mud by the rain, ran up towards the house. This high up the mountain and this far south, even summers were a chilly and dreary affair. Everything was absolutely normal, aside from the armed soldiers surrounding the cabin.

In the thickets surrounding the mountainside cabin there lay 26 men, dressed in a pale green camouflage perfect for the environment. Some of them carried precision rifles, some carried light machine guns. Most carried assault rifles. Chief of Provincial Special Affairs Gael Mulpatrick of the Federal Security Office peered through binoculars at the cabin. He headed the Ó’Briain office and requested 25 men from the local Federal Constabulary for this job. Constables weren’t likely to be nearly as effective as soldiers but Federal Security could, and would, get a judge to transfer any prisoners over from the Constabulary to the intelligence agency. Despite being a part of the armed forces, the Constabulary held law enforcement powers but was bound by the obligations of law enforcement. The Army, being solely military, was outside of the bounds of law enforcement and couldn’t be made to hand over any prisoners. Plus, a distinct rivalry existed between the two institutions since the civil war in the 1950s. Was the rivalry meaningless and parochial? Oh yes. Did that make it any less real? Not at all. Mulpatrick could’ve gotten provincial or regional troops, but those weren’t always trustworthy in this part of Alaoyi.

As Agent Mulpatrick looked through the binoculars he saw a few men patrolling the outside of the cabin. These men weren’t soldiers, but Diash nationalists. They wore a motley mix of civilian clothes and captured military gear and carried weapons as varied as their clothes. Some carried assault rifles, others carried hunting rifles and shotguns. More than a few carried heavy bolt action bearguns. Those worried Mulpatrick the most, a weapon made to kill a thousand pound bear could easily penetrate any body armor the Constables wore. The lieutenant in charge of the detachment, a lanky 25 year old with brown hair, came over to Mulpatrick. His name was Rhoodie.

“This the place? Doesn’t seem like a bombing HQ.” asked Rhoodie, speaking Onslander. Back in the early 90s, Ndibeanyan would’ve been the *lingua franca* of the Alaoyian troops. These days, Onslander increasingly filled that role. Diash was only spoken by those who had to speak it, such as officers or some administrative positions. Otherwise, poverty and small numbers kept the Diash language confined to its corner of Alaoyi. Ndibeanyan was still common, but a backlash against the language resulted in its influence shrinking yearly.

“Looks like it, unless you think these Dialand fanatics are guarding this place for nothing. My CI said their top bomber is in there, so I’m willing to believe their top bomber really is in there.” answered Mulpatrick. A confidential informant identified the cabin as being the location of the legendary bomber known as the Sword of Dialand. His bombs had killed hundreds over the years and were remarkably effective. Had he not been radicalized, he could’ve made good money as an engineer for the Alaoyian military. Mulpatrick pointed out a guard carrying a heavy Inglaterran battle rifle, “Look out for that fucker, that’s a 7.67 rifle. It’ll shred your armor like hot knife through butter.”

“You’re Diash, aren’t you?” asked Rhoodie, looking at Mulpatrick. Diash speakers had a distinctive accent when speaking Onslander. Mulpatrick was fluent, he had grown up in Rivierkant. Despite being primarily Onslander, a significant Diash minority lived there as well. Mulpatrick was fluent in both languages, like most educated Diash would’ve been.

“Yes, so what?” replied Mulpatrick, innocently.

“No reason.” answered Rhoodie, still with a look of suspicion in his eyes. Diash nationalists *had* infiltrated law enforcement before. Just a few weeks earlier, a Diash infiltrator in the provincial militia led his squad into an ambush, killing 4 militiamen. Mulpatrick was no infiltrator, the Federal Security Office had infinitely better vetting and security than any provincial force and more than a few federal ones as well. Only the Strategic Services Agency had better security. Of course, after a few so-called allies gunned down Onslander or Ndibeanyan troops their suspicion of Diash speakers went up dramatically. Ease of communication wasn’t the only reason most units were segregated by language, mutual distrust went a long way there as well.

A radio crackled, the signal to begin the attack and that air units were in position to assist. Mulpatrick turned to Rhoodie, “Begin the attack, have your riflemen suppress the guards on the balcony while the snipers take out anyone in the windows. Once we have the place cleared we’ll have the breach teams move in.”

“Yes… sir.” answered Rhoodie. Did a Chief of Special Affairs outrank a lieutenant? Rhoodie clearly didn’t think so, but the commander of the local Constabulary District had ordered him to obey Mulpatrick’s orders. Alaoyian law also reinforced that. On paper, Mulpatrick would be equivalent to a senior field officer in the military. No matter what Rhoodie thought of taking orders from some civilian spook (and a Diash to boot) he took the orders seriously. Riflemen opened up on the cabin. Multiple nationalists fell as others barked orders. However, the incoming fire and element of surprise meant the government troops held the advantage. Some tried to fire back but the snipers made quick work of them. Within minutes the survivors retreated into the cabin. Heavy shutters slammed down, blocking the views of the sniper teams.

A helicopter flew overhead and hovered above the cabin. “Watcher Two dropping Breacher Two on roof.” crackled the radio. Another chopper landed on the ground outside of the cabin, dropping more than a dozen men before taking off again. That pilot chimed in, “Breacher One on deck, moving to holding pattern.” Mulpatrick led the ground team to the garage door, the weakest point of entry. Unlike the other troops in the forest, he was armed with a submachine gun, as were most of the other breaching teams. A rifle would be unwieldy in the close confines of the house and standard round would likely overpentrate any targets. No one wanted to be behind a wall if a rifle round came punching through. A submachine gun fired a smaller round. While weaker, the easier use in close quarters and less chance of an accident counted for more than raw power. Plus, the Diash nationalists weren’t wearing body armor the way government troops were.

Mulpatrick stacked up by the door with the rest of the breaching team. The pointman placed a small explosive charge on the door, which directed its force inward. The garage door blew apart as a flash grenade went into the door. On the roof, the second team did the same thing. Mulpatrick was the second one inside the garage. A nationalist waited inside and shot the pointman as he walked in, twice. He collapsed with a grunt. A burst of fire from Mulpatrick’s SMG cut down the nationalist. Mulpatrick saw the nationalist’s rifle, a cheap hunting rifle for small game. He turned to the pointman who was slowly getting up with a look of pain in his face.

“Vest stopped it, but I definitely broke a rib or two.” said the pointman.

“I’ll lead.” replied Mulpatrick. He did just that, moving through the house. A couple of times a nationalist tried to ambush the breach team. Bursts of fire upstairs said the second team was running into the same issue. Shortly after going up to the second floor another nationalist popped out from behind a corner and fired a burst at the pointman. Mulpatrick cut him down and turned around to examine the pointman. He lay dead, bleeding from several holes in chest. Unlike the first nationalist, who fired a cheap hunting rifle, this one had a heavy Inglaterran assault rifle. The body armor the pointman had worn laughed at a 0.23 varmint round. Against a 7.67mm armored piercing round? No one could survive a burst in the chest like that. Any man who wanted to move faster than a walk couldn’t wear the body armor needed to shrug off a round like that.

Another constable ran up behind Mulpatrick and pointed at the door this nationalist had been guarding. He ran up and carried a battering ram up to it and slammed the ram against the metal door. His efforts were futile, this one had a deadbolt on it. Another explosive charge cracked the door. Inside lay clocks, wiring, and explosives. Mulpatrick examined the room. It was empty aside from an open trapdoor in the corner. Mulpatrick peered down with a flashlight, revealing a tunnel. The Sword had got away, likely fleeing within moments of hearing the gunfire. At this point the it would be near impossible to catch him before he went into a town or somewhere else he blended in. A popular campsite and town was within 15 miles of the cabin, providing the perfect getaway spot for the Sword.

“Mulpatrick, come in. What is the status of the house? Did you get the bastard?” asked Rhoodie, over the radio.

“No.” said Mulpatrick. He continued, “But we got his bomb making site. We got a playbook. We’re closer than we were an hour ago.”

[Gagium]

July 16, 2022
The Scene of Cédric Gérin's Murder - Northwest of Roclincourt, Rachelia

It was business as usual on the highway on Roclincourt's outskirts as a single Rachelia Commonwealth Police patrolman pulled over and confronted a van on the side of the highway. As usual, traffic merged to the left lane to avoid the vehicles stopped on the right shoulder. Some keen drivers and children looking out of the window would notice that the van had no license plate and tinted windows. Fewer would noticed the scared stance that Officer Gérin took as he backed away from the van. However, heads began to turn when a briefcase was tossed at Gérin's feet. More heads turned when Gérin limped back to his car with a knife in his stomach, and the van pulled away from the scene. However, nobody would stop to help the bleeding constable.

Eleven minutes after the van had all but disappeared, Captain Stuart Fèvre and his Constable, both of the Rachelia Commonwealth Police, arrived at the scene of the shooting. Cédric Gérin's body lay limp in front of his patrol car, with his handgun still holstered. Both Fèvre and the constable quickly got out of their patrolcar and rushed to the dead officer's side.

"No pulse," Fèvre mumbled under his breath. "The blood's begun to dry. It looks like he was slashed. Knife's in his stomach, but it didn't begun there. No, this is a cut and dry slash wound...Retrieve his dashcam, would you?" As the constable entered the car to retrieve the camera, Fèvre kneeled by the corpse and laid his hand on the dead officer's shoulder. Though drive-by shootings involving officers were uncommon, it was even rarer for a police officer to be stabbed in incidents like this. Fèvre closed his eyes and sighed before heaving his body back up. "Having any luck with the dashcam?"

"Yeah. Still working on it, Cap, but hey. You see that over there? The hell is a briefcase doing here?"

Fèvre turned his head to match the constable's gaze. "I'll go check it out," he mumbled as he left the slain constable's side. He walked over to the briefcase, coming to a stop about two feet from it. The handheld briefcase was of black-painted leather, much like those that would contain money in a crime movie or a gameshow set. However, this one only contained a single piece of paper. "There's a piece of paper in here. Might lead us to who did this," Fèvre remarked. He grabbed an evidence bag, put on a set of disposable gloves, and lifted the paper into the bag before sealing it. Wanting to satiate his curiosity, he flipped over the bag to where he could see the other side of the paper. He sighed, before flipping the evidence bag back over and putting it back in his patrolcar.

October 21, 2022
Rachelia Commonwealth Police Department - District 3 Headquarters, Salzuit, Rachelia

To put it bluntly, it was a boring day at the Salzuit police station. In the least bit, that was the perspective of Captain Stuart Fèvre as he sat at his desk with very little thoughts in his head. Any observers walking by would take very little notice of the blank look on Fèvre's face as he seemingly stared into the distance, but Fèvre was, in fact, having the time of his life. Not to say that Fèvre's entire line of work revolved around responding to violence and bloodshed, as a supporter of the Parti Travailliste Populaire might allege, but it was not a line of work that Fèvre found pleasant anymore. At this point in time, Fèvre would agree with a two-decade younger version of himself in that he would never pursue employment with the Rachelia Commonwealth Police, it was no point in recalling how his hand was forced into entering law enforcement. Hell, even throughout training, Fèvre was able to maintain a semblance of hope (though, thinking about it, he's unsure what he means by that), but that was long gone.

"Long gone just like Officer Cédric Gérin, I suppose," Fèvre thought to himself as he stretched back, inadvertently drawing his attention back to the collection of files and papers on his desk. It's been over three months since the murder, but the case never left the Captain's mind. The rumors floating around back in July insisted that perhaps Gérin just pulled over the wrong person at the wrong time who was having a really bad day, and resultantly Gérin ended up with a fatal slash wound, left to unceremoniously die on the side of a highway. That, of course, didn't explain the briefcase at the scene of the crime, or the single Chassier receipt for $40 of groceries that was inside of it. The case was bizarre, and it particularly baffled Fèvre when it turned out that there were no identifiable fingerprints on this scrap of paper.

"Still trying to 'solve the case', Stuart?" Captain Fèvre grunted, having made note of the figure standing in the doorway a few seconds prior but not really having the energy to question it.

"...No, actually. No." Fèvre lifted up his head to meet the smirk of Principal Corin Boucher. Fèvre liked Boucher, even if he wasn't around the station much anymore due to the retirement of District 2's Principal Fortier.

Maintaining his slight smile, Boucher flashed his eyes downward and chuckled. "Well, Stuart. My friend. Today's your day!" Boucher would only be met with a "what?" and a blank stare from Fèvre, prompting him to elaborate - "Stuart. I didn't stutter, did I? Come with me." Before Fèvre could utter "okay," Boucher had already left. Briefly considering the reasonable option of perhaps maybe not following the Principal, the Captain eventually decided to shift his energy into pushing himself out of his chair, stumbling after the sound of Boucher swiftly moving down the hallway.

------

"You wouldn't believe this, Stuart. I'm sure you know the deal. One of our officers dies, the Fort-Anfree Times runs an article on it, yada yada yada, right? And then the bosses up at the Internal Security Bureau will decide that they're oh-so-interested in what happened and they'll ask us about it and say that they'll keep tabs, right?"

"...Yeah? That's usually-"

"And then we never hear from them again. Except, you know, it's Cédric Gérin's lucky day because the BSI decided that they care about his death, yea?"

"..Uh, yeah...Wait, what? There's...there's been a development?"

Principal Boucher smirked. "Yes."

With some energy restored, Captain Fèvre inquired, "Well, let's see it."

Boucher nodded. "Sure," he said, turning towards his computer. Fèvre stared at the screen for a second, unchanging as Boucher seemed to run his eyes across the length of the screen searching for the folder, before Boucher exhaled. "Ah. I did just save this today..Here, take a look. BSI's treat."

The Principal opened the video file, timestamped 23:01 19 October 2022. The centerpiece of the video seemed to be an unmarked Tirita V-Class van, which pulled into what appeared to be a parking lot before a figure could be seen exiting. The video then fast forwarded to 23:13, where the figure could be seen reentering the van before driving off.

Fèvre chuckled. "Well, sure. Witnesses say that there was a van without a license plate that might be connected to the case. But you realize that they produce thousands of these things, right? And it's been three months since the-"

"Awake now, are we, Stuart?" Boucher rewinded the video. "Don't focus too much on the Tirita." Fèvre tried to mask a yawn as he again turned his attention towards the video, instead turning his attention towards the figure who left the van. This time, Fèvre noticed the black briefcase that the guy walked back to the van with.

"..The briefcase, right? ..Huh. I take it the BSI isn't just scrolling through their surveillance feed - Uh, rather, tell me, Corin. They got the guy, didn't they?"

Boucher smiled. "Yup. Traffic stop outside of Guichainville...Here's the thing, though. We pull over the van, ask the guy to step out of the vehicle, and..here's the story he tells us. Says he worked with a guy at that place from the footage, some sort of warehouse, right. Tells us he was given a briefcase to take the van and ditch it somewhere, but the guy who put him up to this - a coworker, apparently, it looks like the place 'hires' a ton of immigrants - asks him to not open the briefcase until his little mission is done or whatever. And the guy does as he's told."

"..And, then, Stuart, he says he opened the damn thing. Says there was nothing in it but a receipt from Chassier."

"..Huh. Bit of a prankster, isn't he?"

"And that briefcase? He kept it! Even gave it to us. We've lifted the fingerprints off of it, a lot of them are from the guy it appears, but it also seems like we have some from our little suspect. We'll have our answers soon enough."

"Very good."

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Grimſby, Greater Derbyſhire, Dampiera
15 Floréal 219 (4 May 2023)

The FSA agent loudly knocked on the door of a small house in a small Interior village. There was no response, so he knocked again.

After another knock and another long moment of silence, the commander said “Okay we are breaking in.”. The agent stepped back as another walked to the door and began to pick the lock. Others stood nearby, ready to either rush inside the building or pull out their pistols and shoot at anyone who shoots.

The only sound they heard though was a single click, and the agent moved the door open. The rest then walked inside the house, checking their surroundings before moving in. It soon became clear to all that there was no one inside the house. The group split up as they continued to search. One of the groups entered the garage, where they saw an old looking van with no license plates. Through one of its windows, they saw a large pile of fertilizer. At another end of the house, some agents noticed a safe. They called in the lock picker, who quickly opened it, revealing a large stash of documents.

---

FSA Provincial Office Greater Derbyſhire
Richmond, Greater Derbyſhire, Dampiera
15 Floréal 219 (4 May 2023)

The FSA office stood out to all who go by it. Though built in traditional Fluvannian architecture that is seen all around Richmond despite being a modern building, it stands away from other buildings, surrounded by a tall fence and two gatehouses on opposite corners. Agents go about their jobs inside the building, most of them working on federal investigations or assisting local authorities.

“Yes there is no one home. We found a safe with some documents including a list of targets and a Furbish Army field manual on how to make explosives. There is also a van in the garage with no license plate and it is full of fertilizer.” a voice said over a phone.

“Very good. Stake out the house until the owner arrives.” said Sergeant Donald Penn. This investigation still did not result in much conclusive evidence, but the raid on the house could give some more information. Penn put down the phone.

“Where is Inspector Frank?” said Penn as he walked through the office. All agents in the office were busy on this investigation, some typed away at their computers while others carefully observed the evidence they already have.

“Has that raid resulted in anything?” said Agent George Arnold Galloway.

“They found bomb instructions and a list of targets in that house.” said Penn.

“I told you there was something going on with that.” said Galloway, “You did not believe me but there was.”. Only a one week before, Galloway tracked down the purchase of a large amount of fertilizer and a used van, which Penn did not believe would lead to anything, but Galloway was able to convince him and his superiors to raid the house of the purchaser.

“Yes, you were right.” said Penn as he walked past. Conceding an argument with a younger agent was far from his biggest concern at the moment. “I will do anything to get that idiot out of my command.” thought Penn to himself.

“Was someone looking for me?” said Inspector Frank d’Olréans from the other side of the office.

“Yes sir, we got on a report on the raid.” said Penn, repeating everything he was told by the agents in the house.

“Well then, Agent George was right to be suspicious it seems.” said d’Olréans. Penn rolled his eyes. “Any information besides that? Do we have information about that group’s members?” asked d’Olréans.

“I ordered the agents to stake out the house until the owner arrives.” said Penn.

“I see.” said d’Olréans as he looked back at the office. A few weeks ago he was put in charge of an investigation of an organized crime group so secretive, it was not even known if it existed. However increasing evidence continued to surface as the investigation went on, but even with an arrest coming soon it would not be until some time later when a lead into the group was found.

---

“Exactly one week has passed since I was both promoted to corporal and I received a letter from Lies that our mother and step-father cast themselves off to hell.”

Maup Dorman ripped up the paper and threw it in a trash bin.

“This is my thirteenth attempt at writing this and I struggle to get words out.” he wrote on a blank page.

Dorman paused, sighed, then flipped to a page in his diary from one week before, which was easy to do as he had a letter inserted there. The section of that day was one of the longer sections he wrote.

…

As the district communications officer, First Lieutenant Sibren van Aalzum had to read all mail coming to and from gendarmes in his district. His job rarely involved leaving his headquarters building, so when he did it usually meant there was something urgent, often involving him seeing evidence that a gendarme extorted a civilian and van Aalzum arresting that gendarme. But something even more rare than him leaving his building was him looking for a specific junior non-commissioned officer.

“Is Corporal Maup Dorman here?” he said after arriving at a company garrison.

“Yes, still in the building.” said a gendarme. The gendarme called Dorman.

“Good morning Corporal Dorman. I need to speak with you privately.” said van Aalzum in a stern but somber tone when Dorman arrived.

Dorman felt a rush of panic. He was overly paranoid for situations like this, which he knew was usually an overreaction. He felt more confused in his mind, as earlier that day he learned that he will be promoted to corporal, and promotions to junior non-commissioned officer ranks do not usually involve visits from officers not in one’s company.

A gendarme led Dorman and van Aalzum to a small office. Dorman sat down at one chair, then van Aalzum closed the door and pulled a letter out of his satchel. “This is from your sister.” he said solemnly, “I am sorry.”

Hearing this sent a larger wave of panic through Dorman. He tried to hide it, but his hand was trembling as he took the letter and opened it. He thought of all sorts of things that could have happened, but what he read was not anything he expected.

“I hope this letter finds you in good health.” the letter began, “The police knocked on our door today and informed us that our mother and step-father have cast themselves off to hell.”

“What do you mean, this is great news.” blurted Dorman immediately without thinking. “Fuck I should not have said that.” he immediately thought, “Making a terrible impression on a battalion officer.”.

This statement also caught van Aalzum off guard. The two looked at each other not knowing what to say.

“Sorry, sir.” Dorman said, breaking the long silence, and he looked back down at the letter. Lies, Dorman’s sister, described what happened. Police believed their mother stabbed their step-father to death in either a fight or a fit of rage, then stabbed herself. Neighbors reported hearing screams for a while before. “Good fucking riddance.” thought Dorman as he continued reading. He had distant memories of his mother and biological father, of how they were good people, but everything changed when his father died in an industrial accident. His mother remarried but she started becoming abusive towards her kids from her first marriage, including Dorman, while his now step-father watched silently. At one point Dorman snapped and fought both of them, and afterwards he hardly remembered hearing any word from them. He was the oldest son in the family, and second oldest child after Lies, and when he turned 18, two years after the fight, he got an apartment and moved out with all of his siblings. He then joined the Gendarmerie because he could not bear being in Harrisbarig, his home city, any longer, but sent his paychecks to his siblings.

Over three years have passed since they moved, and Dorman did not expect to hear that this would happen. What he also did not expect was the day to be the start of a lifelong friendship with van Aalzum.

…

Still unsure of what to write in his diary, Dorman decided to finish it later and patrol the village he was in. As he marched down the street, he saw on a street corner ahead of him a gendarme talking with a woman, who looked stressed out. As Dorman walked closer, he heard her say “Sir, I do not have any more money.”

The gendarme said “Do not lie to me. You still need to p-”

“What the hell are you doing?!” said Dorman.

“This hag refuses to pay the fine.” said the gendarme, now facing Dorman. Dorman recognized the gendarme as Heiko Lankheet, a sergeant in his company.

“Fine for what?” said Dorman, lowering his voice slightly.

Lankheet hesitated for a moment, then said “For disturbing-”

“Disturbing what?!” Dorman shouted cutting off the sergeant again, “She clearly has not been disturbing anything! You will give the young woman all the money you stole from her right now before I report you for extortion!”

“You will not speak to your superiors like this!”

“I do not have time for your excuses and neither will Lieutenant van Aalzum! Give the young woman her money back now!”

Lankheet reached deep inside his black tunic. Seeing this made Dorman’s face turn red with rage. A gendarme would only hide money inside a tunic instead of placing it in his satchel if he intended to pocket it. “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU HIDING MONEY INSIDE YOUR TUNIC?!” Dorman screamed, which attracted attention from passerby. Some stopped to watch the argument from a distance, while others walked away quickly.

Lankheet then froze, and said “I did not have space in my bag.”.

“NO, DO NOT FREEZE, AND DO NOT LIE TO ME!” said Dorman, “AS A GENDARME YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO SERVE AND PROTECT THE PUBLIC, NOT TO ENRICH YOURSELF! YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO BOTH THE GENDARMERIE AND THE REPUBLIC!”

As Dorman was yelling, Lankheet carefully handed money to the woman. Dorman turned to her and said in a much more quieter voice, “Is this all he took?” Lankheet replied with “Yes, that is all.” but the woman shook her head.

This made Dorman more furious. He turned back to Lankheet and screamed “DO NOT EVER LIE TO ME AGAIN! HAND HER BACK ALL THE MONEY YOU STOLE FROM HER! LIEUTENANT VAN AALZUM HAS NO TOLERANCE FOR THIS BULLSHIT!”

He watched carefully as Lankheet pulled out a larger amount of money and handed it to the woman. “That is everything.” she said softly.

Dorman then said, in a much quieter voice, “When we are done, I will search your tunic and bag and if I see any money taken that is not accounted for I will report you for this action. I have several witnesses.”

“You will not search me, I am your superior.” said Lankheet.

“Do as I say or I will report you. Lieutenant van Aalzum has no tolerance for this.”

“Fine.”

“Now get lost.” said Dorman angrily. He watched as Lankheet marched away, turning to the nearest corner away from Dorman’s sight.

Dorman then turned to the woman, who was still standing against the wall of the building. He looked at her and froze. All he could think was that she looked beautiful, one the most beautiful women he had seen. All Dorman could do is give a soft smile, and she did the same.

“I am sorry.” Dorman finally said softly.

“No no thank you so much,” said the woman. She took two steps towards Dorman. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Dorman Gendarmerie, Maup.” said Dorman then paused briefly, “Sorry. Maup Dorman, Gendarmerie. No, Corporal Maup Dorman now.”.

The woman giggled and Dorman laughed nervously with her. “I am Katrijn Knapen. Nice to meet you.”

“Where are you going?”

“I was going home. There will be no more gendarmes to catch me, will there?”

“I doubt it.” said Dorman then he paused. “If you do not mind, I can walk with” he said timidly.

“Oh please do.” said Knapen, sharing his tone of voice.

The two talked as they walked, Knapen about her life in the village, and Dorman about the Gendarmerie. They reached Knapen’s house in what to both felt like a very short about of time. Knapen knocked on the door.

“See you tomorrow?” said Dorman.

“Please stay.” said Knapen.

Dorman stood in place. After a short moment, the door opened. A man looked very surprised to see Dorman there. “Katrijn, what the hell happened?” he said.

“Daddy, it was a weird day.” said Katrijn, “I was walking down the street and this gendarme came out of nowhere and pulled me to the side of the building and demanded that I pay a large fine. Then this gendarme.”. She pointed at Dorman while saying “He then started yelling at that gendarme until he gave all my money back.”

The man was more surprised, and could not think of any war to express how he felt. He turned to Dorman, who was equally lost for words. “That was brave on your part. I cannot thank you enough for this.” the man finally said. Dorman just nodded.

“Daddy, can he please join us for dinner?” said Katrijn.

“Of course he can.” the man replied.

Dorman was about to say he could not, but decided not to. If he arrived to his garrison late he may get in trouble with a commanding officer, but he did not want to disappoint both people. He simply stepped forward to shake the man’s extended hand.

“I am Pieter-Jan Knapen, Katrijn’s father.” the man said.

“Maup Dorman, Gendarmerie-” said Dorman, “Corporal Maup Dorman now.”. He paused. “We’ll see how long that lasts.” he said and laighed.

As Dorman stepped inside the house, the rest of the family clearly were surprised to see a guest so suddenly, especially a single young gendarme, but they were still glad to have someone over. Katrijn placed an extra chair next to hers on the table, where Dorman sat. They all spent the time talking about what happened earlier that day, then where they were from, what they did, and shared some stories. The younger kids were more interested with the weapons Dorman had on him, which he showed. One asked to cut a chicken with his saber.

“My commander is going to kill me.” Dorman said while laughing as he effortlessly cut the chicken in half.

“I don’t think that will be his biggest concern.” said Katrijn.

As it was getting later, Pieter asked one of the kids to bring a beer. He ran over to the kitchen, then dropped the bottle. Dorman froze immediately. Memories from his childhood he has never thought of came up. He fought them, instead was ready to pull out his loaded revolver another time to threaten the parents if they did anything to the kid.

Pieter only laughed. “It’s okay, it happens.” he said.

“Maup, are you okay?” said Katrijn, who noticed his expression first.

“Oh sorry. I thought someone just broke in through the window.” he said, then laughed along with the family. As another bottle of beer was brought up, Dorman refused. It was not until many months later when he told Katrijn how he truly felt that night, and that he never intends to drink alcohol.

…

Back at his quarters, Dorman stared at the page in his diary. He finished the entry off with “For the first time in my life I felt no sadness after the dinner was over. It was also the first time I did not over analyze interactions I had. I had a different feeling as I walked back from the Knapens’ house, that I have a sense of purpose: to enforce justice, and not the Gendarmerie’s form of it.”.

He looked at a small note. He will see Katrijn again late the next day near a field.

Three years later they would get married.

…

All people seemed surprised to hear that story except for former captain Sibren van Aalzum. He was already used to this reaction. Dorman was known for having a temper and for speaking his mind, even when it got him in serious trouble. To hear there was another side to the sergeant was a surprise to all.

“Where do you come from?” one person asked Dorman.

“From Harrisbarig.” he said.

“Ah. First time I hear a gendarme without any sort of rural accent.” said the person.

“Yes, we do not have throat disease where I come from.” said Dorman. He was the only one who laughed while people around him stared blankly.

“Did anything happen to that Lankheet guy?” said a person in the middle of a group who were listening to Dorman.

“I remember that day as well.” said van Aalzum, “I had that idiot arrested. He was pardoned by a superior but left the Gendarmerie shortly after. Probably a mercenary now.”

Dorman laughed. “I did keep my word, I never reported Lankheet over that incident, I only talked about it in a private letter to my sister. How was I supposed to know the officer screening outgoing mail would take action over what he read?”. The people all laughed.

“District communications officer is an exhausting job.” said van Aalzum, “I did not hold onto it for much longer after that incident though. I was quickly sent to the regiment headquarters, then it took a month after I finished training for me to be sent back to the battalion headquarters. I held a few different jobs that all involved traveling around until I was promoted to captain and made to lead a company. On my last day of training, the sergeant major caught me alone in a corridor, looked me in the eye, and said I was only promoted because the commandant did not want to deal with me anymore.”

The people around laughed harder. “Should have made you the regiment legal officer.” said Dorman.

“Oh they would never, I am too honest for that job. I believe two thirds of legal training involves them weeding out anyone who shows the smallest signs of compassion or honesty.” said van Aalzum.

“Really had you go through all of that?” said Jan-Willem Martini, who remained unusually silent, “I spent two months in the battalion headquarters after first being commissioned before they decided they no longer wanted to deal with me. I served only in company positions since then.”.

“How much fighting did you do there?” said a voice from the middle of the group.

“None at all. A company officer job is mostly paperwork and some directing gendarmes to where needed.” Martini replied, “We of course take command of our companies in missions like suppressing the strike but they are very rare.”

“Interesting. That was a brave move on your part on the first attack.” the person replied.

Martini remembered the sequence of events earlier that day but they all became a blur. Exactly one day earlier, he was a captain in the Gendarmerie, sent on a mission with half of his regiment, but not told what the mission was. That was until Captain van Aalzum learned of it accidentally, that the gendarmes were to violently suppress a railroad strike, and van Aalzum informed Martini. They talked with their respective companies, and nineteen gendarmes deserted and marched to the first village they stumble on, Nijverdal. There they met with the locals and planned a rebellion against the government. That night, messengers rode in all directions to inform other villages, who sent some armed men to help fight.

At dawn, the regiment left their camp in Maastricht while a single company, or the half of it that was sent on the mission, was sent to pursue the deserting gendarmes. There, they were met with part of the force of rebels. The rebels planned on ambushing the gendarmes as they began to climb a hill that led to Nijverdal. Van Aalzum and former captain Sijbrand Kortum led attacks from the sides. Quinten Tijman, the leader of the village militia, led the largest force from the front. Martini, with Lindert Roltvoort, formerly his most trusted first lieutenant, led an attack from behind the group. The plan involved repeated attacks and retreats before the gendarmes could respond. However, at one point Martini ordered his men to hold their ground so the groups attacking from the sides could close in on the gendarmes from behind, effectively killing many of the gendarmes.

“What I am more amazed about was their stupidity in the second attack.” said Martini, recalling how he expected a second attack later that day, but completely overestimated their ability to plan. The locals all abandoned Maastricht, Nijverdal, and several surrounding villages, knowing the gendarmes will land in one and march to Nijverdal. The rebels hid in the surrounding fields and determined locations to ambush the gendarmes, while having scouts that tracked the gendarmes’ movements. What the rebels did not expect, however, was the gendarmes to land in Maastricht and take the same trail to Nijverdal.

The rebels decided to allow the gendarmes to enter Nijverdal, then ambush them in repeated hit-and-run attacks. The rebels did outnumber the gendarmes but were outclassed in weapons and training, so the rebels only planned on looking like they had a larger force than they did, hoping to force the gendarmes to retreat. They also specifically targeted officers, managing to kill several lieutenants and a commandant. The killing of the commandant seemed to have forced the gendarmes to retreat. On their march back the gendarmes were harassed again. All lieutenants in the force were killed and so were most sergeants, and a captain was wounded.

Kortum recognized that captain, Gust Nijkerke, a man he briefly served under before being promoted. Nijkerke was in both failed attacks. Whether he will succumb to his wounds is not known, and neither is the next plan of the gendarmes.

…

“We are between Waalwijk and Mechelen. Sussey is further up north.” said one person.

“The gendarmes definitely went to Waalwijk. They went that direction and the closest hospital is there.” said Tijman.

“Well then, let us attack Waalwijk before they send a larger force here. I am not keen on continuing to fight in this one village until all of us are dead.” said Dorman. This was not the first thing Dorman said that caused silence and stares from everyone in the area, and will not be the last. “More fighters are coming in. We outnumber the Waalwijk garrison.” continued Dorman, “We may gain more recruits, but more importantly we will known by the media and can spur more rebellions elsewhere.”

“And what if they send everything they have after us because we go on the offensive?” said one person.

“They will do that anyway.” said Dorman, “Rather than wait for it let us take the fight to them.”

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Rural Greater Derbyſhire, Dampiera
Early Morniŋ, 28 Germinal 219 (17 April 2023)

A Gendarmerie sub-lieutenant sat alone in the office. He was one of two people awake in the station, a large building which houses an entire Gendarmerie platoon and their families. The only other person there who is awake is the receptionist at the front desk. As he is the most junior officer at the station, the sub-lieutenant usually gets night duty. Being a rural platoon station, it rarely gets much activity, especially at night, so the job typically involves doing leftover paperwork or finding other ways to pass the time. Gendarmerie stations are required to have an officer and receptionist in all hours of the day, just in case. Sure enough on this night the rare situation happened.

“Lieutenant, someone here has something very important to say.” suddenly radioed the receptionist.

“Finally something to do.” thought the sub-lieutenant, a reaction he would regret quickly.

He slowly made his way to the reception desk. Across the glass was a very panicked looking young woman. “Good evening ma’am. How many I help you?” he said.

“I need to speak to you in private where no one can listen in.” she said.

“I can do that, but all conversations in these rooms are recorded.” he replied.

“That is fine.” she said.

The lieutenant led her down some corridors to a small room in the station, one normally used for criminal interrogations though it is used as a private meeting room as well. When both sat down, the woman began “I know one person. I do not want him arrested but I am afraid for my life.”.

---

Grimſby, Greater Derbyſhire, Dampiera
Eveniŋ, 13 Floréal 219 (2 May 2023)

A knock on his door ended the belief Peter Anderſon had that he would have a calm night. After he first heard it he hoped it would just pass, another louder knock came. Anderſon grabbed his remote and pressed the pause button on the television, then stood up from his cough and walked to the door as the knocking continued. He started to think about who could be visiting this late, maybe a friend or neighbor who had some sort of emergency, or some missionaries. As he lives in the suburb of a small city in the Interior, very little happens. What Anderſon did not expect, however, was two police officers.

“Oh, good evening.” he said, “What brings you here?”

“Good evening. You are Mr. Peter Anderſon, correct?” said one. Anderson only nodded. “I am Agent Joe Daalkamper, from the FSA.” said the agent as he showed his badge, then he pointed to the other, a man who looked much younger, and said “This is Agent Mike Dickinſon. We are sorry to bother you this late but we are just here for a few questions. May we come in?”

“Of course.” said Anderſon.

The two agents stepped inside, then Daalkamper pulled out his phone. He quickly scrolled through and showed the screen to Anderſon. “Do you know who this person is?” he said.

“Yes, I do.” said Anderson after a brief pause, “Why?”.

“Part of an ongoing investigation, that is all we are allowed to say.” said Daalkamper, “May you tell us her name and a little about her?”

Anderson hesitated. “Bella LeBlanc.” he said, “She is good friend of mine for over a decade and a half. She is a sweet young woman, and currently is in medical school.”

Dickinſon took out a notebook and began to write some things down. “When did you last see her and when did you two last talk?” asked Daalkamper.

“We hung out a few days ago.” said Anderſon, “We last talked yesterday morning over text. Why, I am starting to be worried.”

“Don’t, she is safe.” said Dickinson. Daalkamper glared at him, as if Dickinſon was not supposed to say that, then he looked back at Anderſon. “Do you know where she is?” he said.

“Visiting family. In La Nouvelle-Lyon, I believe.”.

At that point a sound was heard outside. Daalkamper walked out the door and motioned for Dickinson to join him. “We will be back.” said Daalkamper. “Do exactly as I say.” he then said in a quieter but more stern voice, but that was all Anderſon heard as the two walked out the door.

After a long moment, there was another knock and Anderſon opened. “There was a problem with the car that my partner was working to fix.” said Dickinſon. He walked in alone. “Did you notice if LeBlanc acted strange lately, before she left?” he said.

“I know you cannot talk about this but I hope you understand I am extremely concerned now.” said Anderſon.

“Do not worry, she is safe and neither of you are in any sort of trouble.” said Dickinſon. He suddenly stopped, as if he said too much information. Anderſon noticed that.

“I do not think I noticed anything strange.” Anderſon turned his head and thought back, but did not seem to think of anything unusual about LeBlanc’s behavior recently.

“Okay.” said Dickinſon, writing down some notes. Then he took out his phone and pulled up another picture which he showed to Anderſon, but he covered a name which was written below. “Do you know who this person is?” Dickinſon asked.

Anderſon carefully looked at the picture. The man looked about Anderſon’s age, somewhere in his late 20s. He also looked Temrian, or Saint Sienian. “No I do not.” Anderſon eventually replied.

“Is the name familiar at least?” asked Dickinſon, removing his finger, showing an unmistakably Saint Sienian name.

“Still no.”

“That is Bella’s boyfriend.” said Dickinſon, “Does not sound like you met him, but what do you know about him?”

Anderſon paused for a long moment. “Bella met him in a bar I believe. A few months ago, I don’t remember when exactly. From what she told me he was always super serious, and secretive, but she still liked him.” he finally said then paused, “Until around three weeks ago when their relationship hit a rough patch. She hasn’t been staying with him as much lately.”.

Dickinson wrote down more notes. “That is all we came in to ask.” he said, “Do you mind if I stay around here until Joe fixes the car?”.

“Oh sure.” Anderſon replied.

The two talked for some time, about where they were from, and what they did. After some time, Daalkamper entered again and said the car was fixed. “Thank you again for your time.” said Dickinſon as the agents left. Anderſon immediately took out his phone and wrote LeBlanc an SMS, “Hey I just got visited by the feds who asked about you. Are you okay?”. She responded quickly.

“I can tell you Bella and Peter are more than friends.” said Dickinſon as he sat in the car with Daalkamper. They laughed. Dickinſon looks much younger than he is, and typically played the role of a less experienced agent asking innocent sounding questions, or gain the trust of younger people. He looked through his notes again, including some background and what questions he was supposed to ask, including the conversation had at the end. “This is quite the case so far. I feel bad for whatever agents have to work on it.” he said.

---

Harrisbarig, Noord Wageborg, Nieuw Maasland
Noon, 11 Prairial 69 (31 May 1873)

Harrisbarig at the height of the Industrial Revolution was not unlike any other industrial city at the time. Factories along the river were surrounded by large apartment blocks and narrow but busy streets, an urban landscape that would change little as the factories shut down a century later. Though it was Primidi, the first day of the week, and the day workers had off, the streets were as busy as ever as people traveled on foot or steam powered tram to visit friends or simply walk around. Harrisbarig is far from the size of many coastal cities, but its strategic location in the Interior and Río Augusto and an influx of Bergwieser immigrants who worked in the many factories allowed it to grow into a sizable one.

Inside one cafe on the noon of 11 Prairial, casual discussions became more serious as people passed around the Primidi morning newspapers. The front page news, shown in big letters, was of a rebellion that broke out elsewhere in the country.

“It is finally time. I have a bottle of champagne I was saving for when the government is finally overthrown.” said Louisa Steppuhn, as she sat down at a table and took a drink of coffee. Though she lived in Harrisbarig nearly her entire life, her Eilandwons was not good.

“I am not so sure.” said her friend, Katrijn Dorman, who sat across from her.

“The Gendarmerie outnumbered and outgunned the rebels but were defeated in the battle. They have no way of containing the entire north if we all join.” said Steppuhn.

“There were a few companies.” said Dorman, “If they used more they will destroy any force in their way.”

“The rebels have the support of the locals. If everyone from a large amount of villages or a large city banded together, federal forces would stand no chance.”

“And what if people do not fight?”

“People have joined them, and plenty more will now that they was the success. If the rebels marched into Harrisbarig tomorrow and the Gendarmerie or Army were sent to take it back, whose side would you take?”

“I would get the hell out or hide because I do not want to get shot.” said Dorman, not knowing she will be put in the same situation four months later.

“What if you have no choice but to fight?”

“Maybe if I had no choice, but I don’t think it will come to it. We also don’t know how the Stadtholder will react to all of this.”

“Even if the entire Gendarmerie is sent to put down this rebellion, new ones will spring up across the country.”

At this point, a man walked past the table. “Erwin, good morning!” said Steppuhn, recognizing the man as Erwin Nessel, her supervisor in the factory she works in.

“Good morning Louisa.” said Nessel, “How are you this morning?”

“It has been a day. Please, have a seat with us.” replied Steppuhn, motioning towards an empty chair on the side of the table, then continuing “This is my friend, Katrijn. Katrijn, this is Erwin, my supervisor at the factory.”. Steppuhn then noticed a newspaper in Nessel’s hand. “May I see that?”

“Of course. Here you go.” said Nessel.

Nessel and Dorman began introducing themselves to each other, while began to read the front page. The newspaper was in Bergwieser, and the headline in large letters read “AUFSTAND IN WILLEMIA”, or “Rebellion in Willemia”. The article described all information that was known, that nineteen gendarmes deserted after learning they were to violently suppress the ongoing railroad strike in the north, then joined forces with villagers to defeat a larger Gendarmerie force sent to capture them, twice. Steppuhn was not focused on that, however. She was focused on the picture below the caption, which showed a row of gendarmes and some villagers.

“Is this your husband, Katrijn?” said Steppuhn, handing the newspaper and pointing at one man. He looked familiar to her. Dorman’s husband, Maup, is a sergeant in the Gendarmerie who recently left from his leave early.

Dorman looked closely at the picture. The man did look like her husband, and the golden stripes on his lower sleeves showed his rank of first sergeant. The little remaining doubt she had left was removed when she saw the man standing next to him, Captain Sibren van Aalzum, his commanding officer who she met on several occasions, as well as the caption stating they were from the second Gendarmerie regiment. Dorman felt a range of emotions all at once saying this. She was not surprised that Maup joined a rebellion when he had the chance, but rather that he did have the chance to.

“Are you still sure the rebellion will fail?” said Steppuhn.

“I prefer to not think about that.” replied Dorman, “I hope it will not.”.

…

A university continued speaking, “Eventually, Dorman was able to convince Burger commanders to approve his plan, but modified it themselves, and Dorman had to gather his own force that will take Harrisbarig. He was successful in gathering over two hundred men and women for the operation. On the third of Vendémiaire, 70, the plan began when three large groups set off from Sussey. Gendarmerie intelligence reported the movement. The Burgers knew they were being watched by spies. In fact that was their plan. The largest of the three groups, numbering six hundred people under Jan-Willem Martini, reached Vorden two days later, then moved to Hilvarenbeek. The other two groups, were each five hundred strong and led by Lowie Aufderhaar and Sibren van Aalzum. They also marched north, but some distance east of Martini’s group and west of the Río Ancho.”

“Larkin Parlow, the Gendarmerie commander of the north, believed the Burgers were going to close in on a big target in the north. As Martini attacked a garrison south of Hilvarenbeek while the other two groups marched north, Parlow believed the two groups would turn west near Hilvarenbeek, maybe attack the city itself, but then all three groups will move to surround Bolsrade. He ordered all gendarmes in the area to defend paths going to Bolsrade. However, as they were mobilizing, Jean de Flandre was caught attempting to blow up a port in Urdaneta. Parlow, however, was already familiar with the Burger bait and switch tactics. He believed Bolsrade was still the main target, as Urdaneta was so far away and will be difficult if not impossible to support if captured. This is one of the cases when the Burger plan worked a little too well, as they planned on making it look like they will march on Urdaneta. Either way, the plan worked, and the place the Gendarmerie were not expecting an attack was Harrisbarig.”

“However, that is when things began to go wrong for federal forces. In Noord Wageborg, around 80 kilometers north of Leeuwarden, Dorman’s force split off from van Aalzum’s and marched east to Harrisbarig. Alie Zoer, a Gendarmerie lieutenant based in Noord Wageborg, first noticed the group walk past his village. He began to question them about their purpose. When Dorman refused to cooperate, Zoer ordered the group to stay put while he went to his office to write a telegram about it. However, as he was finished. the group disappeared. They headed along a path north, according to the villagers. On the next crossroads Dorman’s group turned east and continued. Parlow attempted to intercept them, but he was too little too late.”

“When the group was one day away from Harrisbarig, Jochum Hegteler, the third in command of the group, who was also the only one who traveled horseback, was then sent ahead of the group. He was to tell the city’s mayors that the Burgers are coming. Though realizing that Hegteler, who lived in rural Zuid Wageborg his entire life, may not know much, Dorman gave Hegteler a note describing what he must do and told him to find his wife at her apartment.”

…

Like the majority of the Burgers, Hegteler lived his whole life on his family’s farm in a small village. If needed, they would travel to a nearby small city, but that would be rare. Hegteler was completely unprepared when he rode into Harrisbarig. He saw very large buildings which were close together. Lots of people were on the streets. Hegteler wanted to stop and just explore the city, but he knew he did not have time. Looking back at his note, he stopped a person and asked for directions to the address.

The person told him which way to go. Hegteler felt weird hearing his accent, the same accent as Dorman, which is very different from Hegteler’s own rural accent.

Riding through the narrow and crowded streets of the city was a challenge even to an experienced horse rider like Hegteler, but he was able to make it through. He stopped outside the correct apartment, tying his horse like how Dorman taught him to, then entered the building. He climbed some stairs, then double checked to make sure he was on the correct floor and door, then knocked.

“Hello, who is this?” a young woman’s voice responded.

“Hello, is Katrijn Dorman here? I have a note from her husband.” Hegteler responded.

“She went out but she will be back soon.” replied the voice. The door opened wider. “You can come in.” said a woman.

…

Katrijn Dorman entered the apartment some time later. Of all things she expected when she opened the door, a man dressed in farmer’s clothes sitting on the couch was not one of them. He seemed to be having a lively discussion with her maid and some of her kids.

The farmer did notice as she came in, though. “Good afternoon. Are you Katrijn Dorman?”

Dorman nodded nervously. She had many questions on her mind, including who is this man, what he was doing on her apartment, and how he knew her name, he said “I was sent here by your husband. He will arrive to the city with a small army tomorrow and sent me to alert the government and a few other people.”. He pulled out a note, while Dorman was unable to respond as she felt a whole range of emotions, from excitement that after months she knew her husband was alive, to worrying about what was to happen to the city.

…

Dorman’s force rested longer at the village than they usually did. Dorman wanted his force to be well rested as they marched on Harrisbarig the next day. After they woke up, they marched down the trails at their usual place, then these trails quickly changed to paved roads and spread out houses became larger and close together. The Burgers all had the same reaction first seeing the city as Hegteler did a day before. However Dorman did not stop, he was going to meet the city’s mayors at the main square.

When Dorman sent Hegteler to spread the news, he expected few people to greet them. Instead there was a very large crowd. As Dorman marched closer to the square crowds grew larger, and when they saw the column they began to cheer. They did move apart to let the force through, however. Seeing this crowd did make Dorman nervous. Not because of the possibility of an ambush, but because he was now the center of attention.

As the city of Harrisbarig is divided between two provinces, it has two mayors. Both of them stood in the city’s main square, which years later would be renamed to Maup Dorman Square in honor of the city’s liberator. Next to them Dorman noticed some familiar faces, including his wife, his brothers and sisters, and Hegteler.

Now standing next to the mayors, in full view of the crowds, Dorman felt the most nervous he ever felt in the last few months. Deserting from a Gendarmerie regiment and fighting countless engagements, some of which the odds were against him, were far less stressful than any social interaction. Dorman looked at the mayors and repeated a line he said dozens of times in the last few months, and one he rehearsed to himself many times before arriving: “Hello. I am Maup Dorman from the Burgers. Your village- city is free.”.

Despite the mistake the crowd erupted in deafening cheers.

He then turned to Katrijn and they embraced for a long moment. After exchanging a few words, Maup turned back towards the crowd.

Maup hesitated for a moment, then said “Before all these witnesses, I declare that I will never leave Harrisbarig until all hostile forces are gone.”. Some of the crowd cheered. The Burgers, though, all gave the same look of confusion, as if this was not part of any plan they made.

“You have to go. All of you.” said Maup as he turned back to his family, “The Gendarmerie will come back for this city and I do not want any of you to be in danger.”.

“I am not leaving.” said Katrijn, “I was worried sick about you when I first heard of the rebellion and I am not leaving you again.”.

Before Maup could say anything more, his sister, Lies van Emden, after glancing at the row of Burgers, said “If girls can have guns I will take one too. I am not leaving my home city now.”.

“Very well then.” said Maup. He turned to the crowd and said “Evacuate the city of you want to, because the Gendarmerie will fight to retake it. Or you can fight, I am sure we have enough weapons and ammunition stored here.”

…

The university lecturer said “The Burgers marched to the Gendarmerie’s garrison, who surrendered without a single shot being fired. Harrisbarig was liberated, but only for a short amount of time. The Gendarmerie knew quickly that the city fell and wanted to retake it, but no one knew then that this attempt would be a nearly fifteen month long bloodbath.”

[Not The Furbish Islands]

FSA Provincial Office Greater Derbyſhire
Richmond, Greater Derbyſhire, Dampiera
Afternoon, 13 Prairial 219 (1 June 2023)

Agent Lauren Stephenſon rushed through the office holding a folder in one hand and a USB drive in another. She carefully navigated the maze of cubicles until reaching one office, which had a blurred glass door and a single name, “Inſpector Frank d’Olréans”.

She knocked then the door creaked open. “Who is this?” said a voice.

“Lauren. I have something important I need to show.”

“Ah, perfect timing. Come in.”

The door opened fully. D’Olréans sat at his desk, and across from him on two chairs were Sergeants Maurice Barry and Donald Penn.

“I have some information from the Derby zone office.” said Stephenſon, showing her USB drive.

“Show us.” said d’Olréans. He moved aside to allow Stephenſon to plug the USB drive into his computer. Stephenſon rotated the computer screen so all agents can see, then tried to plug in the drive but could not, then rotated it and tried again but could not, then rotated it again and was finally able to. She navigated through the files and showed a few pictures.

“This is what they said they found, and they wanted some senior agents from this office to travel there to see, preferably as soon as possible.” said Stephenſon.

D’Olréans inspected the images carefully. “Yes, I need to see this right now.” he said.

“I can join you.” said Penn.

D’Olréans thought for a moment and said “Donald, you will stay. Maurice, you are joining me there.”. Before Penn was able to protest, d’Olréans stood up and walked out of the office. Barry and Penn followed him closely.

“There is something important in Derby we need to look at. Is there anyone here who would like to join me to go there right now and stay for at least a day or two?” d’Olréans shouted as he walked through the office. Most agents looked up and back down, but two stood up and offered to join.

Believing it to be enough, d’Olréans was about to exit the room when another agent, George Arnold Galloway, walked in. “What is happening?” he said.

D’Olréans quickly explained, then Galloway said “I can join if you need anyone else to.”.

“Thank you for the offer but we have enough agents with us.” said d’Olréans.

“Let him join.” said Penn, “He is able to figure out a lot quickly.”.

D’Olréans thought for a moment. “You know what, you can join us.” he said.

The group of five agents left as Penn looked around the office. He did not want to be there, especially alone, but he did not have any choice. He went back to his office, seeing from his window how the five agents boarded a van and it drove off.

Having nothing better to do, Stephenſon carefully looked at the pictures she was sent from the zone office. For reasons she did not understand, she became the de facto liaison between the Richmond and Derby offices. When she looked at the pictures though, she noticed something was off. She immediately picked up the phone and called the zone office.

…

The FSA van slowly drove through the infamous traffic present in all Furbish cities until finally reaching Grant Station, the smaller and newer of the two train stations in Richmond. The van dropped off the five agents and drove back. The station is large, and built in the same Victorian style seen in much of the rest of Richmond despite it being only four decades old, built for a new high-speed railroad.

The agents stepped inside the headhouse, into the equally grand interior. There they saw the usual sights. Some people sat in benches placed all over the station, others walked around or stood and talked with a small group. Stores and restaurants are located along the walls. A few people ran across the floor with a suitcase or two. Many stood in a row to look at the large departure board hanging from the roof. A few looked at the group at five FSA agents, seeing it is strange as it is usually the Gendarmerie that provides security at train stations, though most did not seem to care.

“Which one of these will take us to Derby?” said d’Olréans.

“I have good news and bad news.” said one agent who looked at his phone, “There’s one leaving in three minutes on platform 5 and we’ll arrive to Derby in less than an hour. The bad news is it is on Leon Express.”.

The agents, who all looked excited after the second sentence, breathed a collective sigh after the next one.

“And the next train?” asked d’Olréans.

“Not for another half hour.” said the agent.

“Okay. Leon Express it is.”

It was now the five agents who became the people running across the station hoping to catch the train on time. Leon Express is an open-access high-speed rail operator that was recently launched by the infamous Furbish budget airline LeonAir, and has already developed a reputation similar to that of the airline. Ticket prices were cheap, but service was minimal and upcharges existed for everything normally expected on the train, such as food or being able to bring suitcases. Since ticket inspections only happened when people were on board the train, the agents all jumped on without being stopped by anyone. Within a minute the doors were closed, and the crew began making their rounds as the agents all stood in the vestibule.

“Tickets please!” shouted a crew member as he walked through the car. He only stopped at a few seats, as he had already checked the tickets of most passengers, who boarded previously. When the person saw the five agents, he suddenly stopped.

“Inspector Frank d’Olréans, FSA. Good afternoon.” said d’Olréans as he pulled out his badge and showed the person, “This is sort of an emergency. We’re going to Derby, we can pay for the tickets now.”.

“The train is fully booked.” said the crew member.

“We don’t mind standing.”

“I will get my boss.” said the crew member, and he left.

“Standing for an hour? You’re kidding me.” muttered Galloway.

One of the other agents glared at him. “You wanted to go with us.” he thought to himself.

Only a short time later the crew member came back with the conductor, and d’Olréans explained the situation.

“That seems fair.” said the conductor, “So five tickets from Richmond to Derby.”.

“We’d like a receipt too, please.” said d’Olréans as he took out his wallet.

…

The working day was over and most agents went home, but Senior Agent Raymond Teger remained since he still had unfinished business. Concentrating was hard after he was there for so long, especially as he just finished a conversation with his girlfriend, who wondered what took him so long and when he was coming home. Suddenly Teger heard someone running. He looked up and saw Stephenſon holding a USB drive and walking quickly through the office. “Is Penn here?” she said.

“He’s gone. It’s just me over here.” said Teger.

“Strange, he usually stays late.”

“I believe he had something important to attend to.” replied Teger.

He chose not to mention an earlier interaction he had. He walked past Penn in an empty break room and greeted the sergeant, but Penn did not reply. Teger quickly noticed Penn was on the phone, then Penn began “Oh of course this is bloody ridiculous. Instead of me they bring the incompetent sergeant along. He is good at management and nothing more. I would rather do fucking anything else than being the only officer in this office.”. There was a pause, then Penn said “Well yeah. On the bright side I convinced them to bring an agent I hate with them so I have a day or two without him.”. Teger awkwardly walked back and pretended he had more work to do for a few minutes before he returned.

“I was just on the phone with the Derby zone office.” said Stephenſon, “That new evidence we found that Inspector d’Olréans left to see, I noticed something was off about it and-”. She paused for a moment, then moved her USB drive to Teger’s computer. “May I?” she said, and Teger nodded. She plugged it in, scrolled through some files, then pulled up two text files. “Can you compare these two and tell me if you notice anything strange?” she asked.

“Okay.” said Teger. He looked carefully at both. “Both are a list of names and phone numbers.” he said, then paused for a moment and looked. “This one has some fake numbers.” he said as he pointed to one of the lists.

Stephenſon stared at him.

“I’ve been doing this shit for over a decade. I know how to spot fake phone numbers.” Teger said.

“The Derby zone office are all idiots.” said Stephenſon, “I’ll explain the rest later. Do you have d’Olréans’ number?”

“Just Penn’s.”

“Call him then. Or do you know where it can be found?”

“The list of phone numbers is probably locked up in his office.” replied Teger as he picked up his phone and pressed the button to call Penn and set it on speaker. He and Stephenſon waited for a long moment while the phone rang, then it went to voicemail. Teger hung up and pressed the call button again. Stephenſon looked around and saw that the office was now empty, aside from her and Teger. When the phone again redirected to voicemail Teger said “I’ll send him a message and say it is an emergency. Must be busy with something important.”.

“Do you have the numbers of any other agents who left?” said Stephenſon, beginning to sound desperate.

“I have Galloway’s number.” said Teger.

“Great. Call him.”

Teger did, twice, but both were sent to voicemail.

“Great. Fucking great.” muttered Stephenſon, “I hope they were in a tunnel and will be back soon.”.

“So what is going on with all of this?” asked Teger.

“So I thought it was strange that such a secretive organization would just forget about two cars full of documents.” said Stephenſon, “So I looked through them. This was the list of names and phone numbers in the car. And over here is the list they found when the raided that house. And here is a list given by our lead, which matches up with the second.”.

She pointed to both lists and opened a third. Teger looked at all three. The fake one had a list of first and last names with phone numbers. The one from the raid had either a first name or a nickname with different phone numbers, while the list given by the lead looked exactly the same as the second.

“I am convinced the cars were either planted to disrupt our investigation or baiting agents so they can be captured. The agents at Derby did not believe me, and they are fucking stupid.” said Stephenſon.

“Definitely. That one isn’t a real area code, but you can also tell when phone numbers are real or someone slammed his or her fist on a keyboard.” said Teger, “So what is going on with the cars, because Penn only briefly told us about new developments.”.

“Two cars we were tracking were found parked in a random alley in Derby. Just abandoned, in fact long enough that a judge was able to give us a warrant to search through them. Besides documents there is also some weapons inside both cars. Again, strange that they would just sit there.”

“So why did the agents in Derby not believe you?”

“Because we only knew about these two cars because of our lead. Wait, you don’t even know about the lead, do you?”

“No, I don’t even think d’Olréans or Penn know.”

“Wow. I understand the security concerns but this is just too much. Anyway from what they told me, the lead is the girlfriend of one of this group’s ringleaders. She stumbled upon a lot of documents quite a while ago and only alerted police recently. She took a lot of the documents with her, which included some information about the two cars. The agents in Derby believe that there is no way that group would know that those specific documents were taken from the stash which is clearly ridiculous because since her report we’ve staked out her boyfriend’s house but he’s basically vanished, then they suggested that she is actually planting shit even though-”

“Wait, why did she wait so long to report this?” interrupted Teger.

“Quite a few more things about that.” said Stephenſon. She realized she was talking to fast and raised her voice earlier, then quieted down, “From what I was told when she stumbled on all of this she suddenly feared for her life. She could not decide whether to alert police or not for a while, then she did and they arranged plans to get her out of the area. I was told she had several breakdowns when talking to them.”.

“Jesus.” said Teger, “I probably would have done the same though.”.

Stephenſon said “Besides that I also believe she is a trustworthy source because two agents interviewed a close friend of hers, and what he said checks out with what she was saying. The police also suspect both of them also had an affair going on since she stumbled on the documents, of course neither of them would admit to police but it’s clear that it is going on.”.

“Oh my God.” said Teger, laughing, “You nearly made me spit out my water.”.

Stephenſon laughed a little too. “The last thing, I looked around the area where the cars were parked and I noticed several areas where an ambush can be done from.” she said. Teger just stared. “Want to see if we can call Galloway or Penn again?” Stephenſon asked.

“Okay.” said Teger. He dialed Galloway and Penn, but they once again did not respond. “Why don’t we call Derby, maybe I can slap some sense into them.” he said.

“Okay.” said Stephenſon, sounding increasingly frustrated. She picked up her phone and opened her recent calls.

“My girlfriend is going to kill me for staying here so late.” said Teger.

“Oh no kidding, My boyfriend works elsewhere in this building and I am supposed to drive us home.” said Stephenſon. The two laughed as Stephenſon began the call and set her phone to speaker.

“Hello, this is Agent Max de Agen.”

“Good evening. It’s Lauren again with Senior Agent Raymond Teger. Are any superiors present?” said Stephenſon, then she turned to Teger and said “That is the reasonable one.”.

“No, it is just me and a few agents.” replied de Agen, “The rest have gone to search the cars.”

Stephenſon and Teger turned and stared at each other. Both turned pale and were at a loss for words, knowing what likely happened. Eventually Teger broke the silence saying “Call your office’s agents immediately. We tried calling ours but they did not respond.”.

“Oh my God.” said de Agen. He picked up his personal phone, set it to speaker, and called some of his office’s agents. Stephenſon and Teger heard how all the calls switched to voicemail.

“Fucking hell.” muttered Teger, “Okay now this is up to both of you, but I am going to spend the night here.”.

“I will too.” said de Agen, “I’ll try to see if anyone else is left in my office.”.

“I am also staying.” said Stephenſon.

…

Feeling well rested and in a much better mood than he was in the day before, Penn walked to the FSA building. His commute was unremarkable, just walking a short distance from his house to a tram, riding it a short distance, then switching to another tram that stopped just outside the building. The agent at one of the gatehouses scanned Penn’s ID and let him through, then he entered the building and walked through a few corridors until reaching his section. Some agents were already going about their days, but as Penn was in early in the day he did not expect to see many, if any, in his section. When he tapped his ID and the door opened he was surprised by what he saw.

Teger had been Penn’s deputy for years. Penn knew him as someone who was always put together and liked his job. Instead, Teger looked like he barely slept all night, with red eyes and black shadows. His hair was messed up, and he looked like he had not shaved.

“Good morning-” began Penn.

“Good morning. Did you get any of my messages yesterday?” interrupted Teger.

“No I left my phone in my office.” said Penn.

Penn saw several different emotions in Teger’s face. Teger then began to laughing while Penn looked confused. “Lauren, turns out Donald left his phone in the office yesterday!” said Teger. Stephenſon, who was sitting quietly at her computer and not noticed by Penn, stood up and also began to laugh. “Sorry sir, last night was terrible and this was just another in a string of bad luck.” said Teger.

“What happened?” said Penn.

When Teger stopped laughing, he said “I have to put it bluntly. The agents searching those cars in Derby disappeared. And we noticed that only after Lauren noticed the evidence in those cars is probably planted, and they were parked in a very good spot for an ambush to happen.”.

“And after a long call with the Derby office none of the agents believed me.” added Stephenſon.

Penn’s face turned pale. “Did anyone from the Derby office also disappear yesterday?” he asked. His tone of voice changed from being full of energy to being quieter.

“Yeah, their sergeant and another agent.” said Stephenſon.

“That is fucking great. Looks like I am in charge of this investigation.” said Penn, “Or at least until the superintendent figures out what the fuck to do. I take it both of you have been in the office all night?”.

Stephenſon and Teger nod in unison.

“And what have you been doing?” asked Penn.

“Looking over through information we have of the disappearances. Speaking on the phone with the one agent from Derby who also stayed, also with policy in Derby and Greater Derbyshire.” said Teger.

“And what do you have so far?”

“Nothing of the disappearance itself, but the cars are still there and watched by undercover police. A Derby police drone that flew by and found no blood or bullets on the ground. Or really any sign of a struggle.” said Stephenſon.

“Thank you for your help. Both of you can go home early today.” said Penn.

[Not The Furbish Islands]

FSA Provincial Office Greater Derbyſhire
Richmond, Greater Derbyſhire, Dampiera
Morniŋ, 15 Prairial 219 (3 June 2023)

Two days passed since seven FSA agents investigating a branch of the Saint Sienian mafia disappeared and the events of the last day have not made Superintendent Adam Goldberg’s work any easier. He is in charge of all FSA operations in the province of Greater Derbyſhire, leaving him with a lot of pressure from the chain of command to quickly solve the case. Like any self respecting boss, he delegated that off to subordinates, but they want his presence constantly. But besides pressure from people above and below him in the chain of command, the public also want the case solved. Goldberg hoped the media would not find out, as media and the public often do not approve of difficult decisions police commanders needed to make.

A long day and sleepless night showed doing nothing but sifting through evidence was not going to work. Goldberg and many senior officers slept at the office rather than their homes the previous night, using small beds and facilities each FSA office has for these sorts of purposes. Goldberg walked over to his desk carrying a giant cup of coffee and began reading through more reports put together by agents, as he has done many times despite little changes. Goldberg was not able to think much that morning before he heard a knock on a door. “Come in.” he said, and in his office entered a man with an equally large cup of coffee and looking equally exhausted.

“Good morning Sergeant, what brings you here today?” asked Goldberg.

“Good morning.” replied Sergeant Donald Penn, “I looked through the reports and there is nothing. We do not have anything new from the last day. We are going nowhere and need some new help.”.

“There is nothing new we can do.” replied Goldberg, “We have discussed this several times last night.”

“Not even at least adding new agents to the team to-”

“As I have said, the time it takes to brief all of them on everything about the case will end up being far more than any we save. Plus you will be in charge of all these extra agents, and I am not sure how much you would want that.”

Penn could only nod. “But why not send an armed Gendarmerie team to clear out those cars and search them, see if anything else was left behind that the drones missed?” he said.

“It is really not worth any of the risks.”

“By the way the media knows about this case now. It was all over the afternoon and evening news.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I doubt any agent leaked it though, every article I was shown only had interviews with families of the missing agents and said FSA declined to comment.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” said Goldberg. He worked long enough that he did not care about public pressure, but politicians did and many likely would take some sort of action.

A short while later, after Penn left his office, Goldberg got a call. He picked it up.

“Good morning Superintendent Adam. This is from the reception desk.” said a voice, “The wife of Inſpector Frank d’Olréans is back and demanding to speak with you.”.

“Tell her to fuck off because I am busy.” said Goldberg. He then added “But more polite.”. He slammed the phone down.

Looking at the files, and the fact that nothing would get done, Goldberg knew he had few other options. He picked up the receiver of the phone from his desk then looked through the buttons. Several phone numbers on speed dial were there, that every person in his position hoped would never need to be pressed. Goldberg pressed one of them, the offce number of a Gendarmerie regiment commander.

“Good morning, who-” the commander began after picking up the phone.

“Good morning. This is Superintendent Adam Goldberg of the FSA. I presume you have heard of the seven FSA agents who went missing in Derby two days ago?” said Goldberg quickly.

“Yes, I have.” replied the Gendarmerie commander.

“I want a Gendarmerie tactical team in Derby right now. Or get the bloody SIF if you can. Full team with snipers and everything. Send them to the Derby office where we can plan.”

…

Agent Lauren Stephenſon sat at her computer in the unenviable position of having two of her superiors standing over both of her shoulders. On her left stood Penn, her commander, and on her left stood Senior Agent Raymond Teger, Penn’s deputy. She was connected with Agent Maxwell de Agen from the Derby zone office, who in turn was connected to Senior Agent Ferdinand Norþ, who sat in an armored van with a Gendarmerie assault platoon.

“We are here.” said Norþ as two vans drove past a third, which stood at the end of the road and had two gendarmes holding automatic rifles guarding. They wore the combat uniform, which is fully black with some markings, and with body armor. The helmets has a Plexiglas visor and some markings. They arrived some time earlier to clear out the street. Another van with gendarmes stood on the other side. The area sectioned off was only a block wide, but included an alley. A few snipers sat on some nearby rooftops.

Captain Blake Waſhiŋton, the leader of the platoon, said “Okay. Stop the vans and face their backs towards the alley.”.

De Agen’s and Stephenſon’s computers displayed the feed from a few cameras, from one of the vans and some body cameras of the gendarmes.

“Why are there so many news crews. What the fuck do they want from here?” said Norþ. The gendarmes did not pay attention to the crews as they filed out. Norþ stayed inside his van and watched from a window. The gendarmes created two thin semicircular formations with six gendarmes in each, facing all angles. Waſhiŋton stood in the middle of the left one while another lieutenant stood in the middle of the other. The formations moved forward.

On one of the gendarmes’ cameras a head appeared, looking up from a barrier, then immediately ducking down. “Well then, looks like there was an ambush.” said Penn.

The gendarmes did not share his calm attitude though. The left group moved towards a barrier, and the gendarme at the front said “Put your gun down and put your hands behind your head, NOW!”. On the camera a man appeared, kneeling down and holding an automatic rifle. He did not follow the gendarme’s command, instead he raised his gun, but he was not able to do anything before only fractions of a second later the gendarme punched the man in the face, knocking him backwards and the gun from his hands. The gendarme picked up the man and held the side of his head against a wall with the gendarme’s own gun on the other side of the man’s head.

Not much time passed before the gendarmes heard gunfire. The gendarmes fired back just as quickly from the direction it came from. They attempted to locate the source of the gunshots, which was from some people from behind the corners of the alley. Some of the shots hit some gendarmes, but they were not accurate as they clearly had little time to aim. Being very well trained and already holding their rifles in front, the gendarmes each pointed at one of the people who barely poked out of the wall and fired at them. They were assisted by the snipers from the nearby buildings. The enemy fell back within seconds.

The gendarmes stopped firing. Both groups jumped back to either wall and moved towards the corners. After a brief moment that was tense for the agents watching but even more tense for the gendarmes, they finally were at the corners. Waſhiŋton said “Throw flashbangs and move in.”.

The two gendarmes who stood at the front of both formations each took out a stun grenade, pulled the safety pin, lifted the handle, waited for a moment, and threw both at the same time. After the simultaneous bangs, the gendarmes ran forward, facing the enemy directly. They saw two sizable groups with a small stack of weapons. Some were crouching as they reloaded, but others stood ready as if they were waiting for the right moment to jump back and shoot. They would be unable to, though, as they became the first targets of the gendarmes.

Watching the bloodbath from the screen, Stephenſon observed how there were around ten people on each side. They likely thought they could take on the smaller group of gendarmes, but they were clearly wrong. There was, however, enough to capture a group of seven FSA agents who wandered in.

After only a few seconds of firing, three gendarmes from each group ran towards the enemies, who by this point were either dead or wounded and unable to resist.

“There is a door over here.” said one of the gendarmes.

“Just a second, I have the plans of this building somewhere.” said de Agen. After a pause, he said “Yeah that door leads to a parking garage.”.

“And no one was inside that building to witness anything?” said Penn.

“Do we have any information on who owns that building?” said Stephenſon. On her screen, the gendarmes now had every alive prisoner, only four, against a wall. The rest lay on the ground. Others brought wounded gendarmes to the vans. Stephenſon did not pay attention however as she opened a folder and navigated to another file, remembering that she had information of the building she gathered only two days ago. Next to information of the building she had a file with information of the company.

“Owned by an anonymous Saint Siennia based company? I shouldn’t be surprised.” said Penn as he looked at the file, “Continue searching the area and seeing what those dickheads have to say. I’ll try to get a warrant to search that house.”.

…

Stephenſon, Teger, Penn, and de Agen did not leave their screens for hours. However it became clear this raid did not result in much new information. A search warrant was quickly given by a local judge who fast tracked the process, but the building was not only emptied of all evidence, it was entirely empty, even lacking CCTV cameras. The captured people also refused to talk, for now at least.

[Not The Furbish Islands]

Rural Greater Derbyſhire, Dampiera
Early Morniŋ, 16 Prairial 219 (4 June 2023)

A freight train sped along a rural track in the Interior. Unlike in some countries, Furbiſh freight trains traveled quickly along electrified track. These trains are sometimes kilometers long but usually much shorter. As this train is a long distance one, it only stops at major yards, where it drops off some of its cars and picks up others headed for other parts of the country. Trains like this are the cheapest mode of overland freight transport, but often not the fastest. Customers who cared about time would pay for the high-speed freight trains, or a plane.

There was little to do for the train’s driver, especially at night when there was nothing to see. He still had to be alert at all times though, watching carefully for obstacles along the track, or signals. Ðe Furbiſh Iſlands is one of the few countries that uses semaphore signals over lights, which are harder to see in the dark, although cabin signaling in modern trains makes it no longer an issue. Obstacles along the tracks are a bigger worry, as trains are never able to stop in time if there is something on the tracks. Usually the large trains will plow through and take almost no damage, to the point that drivers may not even be aware they hit something.

But on the fateful night, the driver noticed something worse than just an obstacle, it looked like a person was tied to the tracks. This was a common trope in movies set in the 19th century, that a villain killed someone by tying them to train tracks. Sometimes the person would find a way to escape. However there was little to no evidence of this happening in reality, as it was a much more convoluted way of killing someone. The driver felt a rush of panic. “Why does this need to be me of all people.” he thought to himself. What made things worse for him was that he knew that person was alive and there was nothing he can do to save the person’s life. He did not even know where he was. All he could do was slam the breaks and wait for the dispatcher to notice.

Sure enough as the train began to slow down and hit the body, the train’s phone began to ring. The driver picked it up as his hands trembled.

“Hello, this is the London Dispatch center.” said the dispatcher. He said his name and continued, “Why are you slowing down?”

“There is a man tied to the tracks!” the driver said.

“I’m sorry, what?!” said the dispatcher with a mix of shock and confusion.

“I am fucking serious! You know where I am, call the fucking police right fucking now!”.

“Hold on just a second.” said the dispatcher. There was a long moment of silence as the dispatcher set the phone to speaker and then picked up his own personal phone and dialed the number of the local police.

…

Police being called this early in the morning was rare so local news did not miss a chance to pick up the story. As the country began to wake up, it very quickly became national news. In a short time some journalists pieced together what happened, including figuring out the identity of the man and how he related to a different story, while an official investigation has not even begun.

Elsewhere in Greater Derbyſhire, Sergeant Donald Penn woke up and looked around. He was in the FSA’s provincial office, in a small room for agents to spend the night if they needed to. The previous day, the most stressful in his entire career, was not a fever dream, and little did he know it was about to get worse. In front of him stood his deputy, Senior Agent Raymond Teger, who woke him up. Despite knowing Teger for over a decade, this was the first time Penn saw him in this state. Teger’s hair was a mess, he did not shave in the morning, and his uniform looked like it was thrown on in a matter of seconds.

“Good morning Sergeant. There is something important that you need to see.” said Teger.

Penn could do nothing but nod as he was still coming to his senses. Teger then pulled out his phone, which sent a wave of panic through Penn immediately. Agents never used their personal phones on official business, they only show things on work computers or stacks of papers. “This better not be anything on the news.” said Penn.

“It is.” said Teger as he showed an article from the Furbiſh Broadcaſtiŋ Corporation, “Last night Agent George Arnold Galloway was run over by a fucking freight train after being tied to the tracks. I should note we’ve received no official communication yet but the media is already all over this fucking shitshow. I only know of this because Lauren woke me up and she’s on the phone with that police office now.”

“When this shit is done I will quit and join the Pätschlàn secret police. I understand why they have such tight media control now.”

In another office, Agent Lauren Stephenſon slammed down her phone in frustration after being left on hold. She picked it up and dialed the phone number again. “Thank you for calling the Glaſgow Police Department, this is-” began the familiar voice of the receptionist.

“This is Agent Lauren from the Federal Security Agency, again.” said Stephenſon, “I have been on hold for five minutes after you told me the police chief will pick up the phone. I demand to speak with them NOW.”.

“I deeply apologize for-” began the receptionist before being interrupted by an angry Stephenſon.

“I do not have time for any of this bullshit. Put me on the line with the police chief right fucking now!”.

Penn and Teger walked into the office as Stephenſon shouted that into the phone. She noticed the two of them and looked up. Making sure she was put on hold first, she said “This bitch is pissing me off. Excuse my Gagian. The chief of this small town police department is there but apparently has better shit to do.”.

“At this point I’m ready to drive over there myself and slap some sense into those idiots If they haven’t responded in this long.” said Teger.

“Wait, where are they again?” said Penn.

“Glaſgow.” said Teger.

Penn took out his phone and looked for a while. “No one’s going there.” he said, “Only way to get there is a thin mountain road that they definitely planned an ambush on.”.

“They clearly aren’t about to do anything until we come in there ourselves.” said Teger.

“We don’t need to show up ourselves actually. Just threaten to, they won’t know.” said Penn, then said “Actually I have a better idea.”.

“Hello, this is Chief-” began a voice on Stephenſon’s phone, which was now set to speaker.

“Good morning.” said Stephenſon, “I am Agent Lauren Stephenſon from the FSA. I am sure you have heard of another one of our agents who was ran over by a freight train in your town?”

“Oh yes, I read something about that earlier this mor-”

“Forgive me for interrupting” suddenly said Penn, “Sergeant Donald Penn, FSA by the way. So you are telling me right now, an FSA agent was murdered in your town, and yet your police department has yet to start any investigation while the media has already figured out everything?”

“Well-” started the chief.

“I do not need any excuses.” said Penn angrily, “Your department is going to tell us all information you know. The exact time of the murder, where Agent George’s body is and how he looks, and any more information about how he ended up there.”

“Sir, this is going to take a while-”

“What the fuck do you mean it is going to take a while?! How the fuck is this information accessible to the media but not to you?! Listen carefully, the closest available law enforcement to your town are the Gendarmerie, and I was just on the phone with the lieutenant who will visit you personally to get what we need.”.

“Yeah and how long will they take to arrive?” asked the chief, seeming to sense a bluff.

“I can call them right now. Do not make me.” said Penn. He nudged Teger and mouthed “pretend it’s you”. Teger took his out his phone while quietly leaving the room.

“If the Gendarmerie is going to visit I want to speak with them directly first.” said the chief, but he was unable to finish as Penn picked up his own phone and dialed Teger, then switched it to speaker.

“Thank you for calling, this is Gendarmerie Lieutenant-” began Teger, slowing down as he hoped Penn would interrupt him before he had to make up a name.

“Good morning Lieutenant.” said Penn, “The Glaſgow police aren’t cooperating. How many gendarmes did you say are available?”

“I can send four pairs of gendarmes.” said Teger, “Or I can visit myself if you need me to. I am about half an hour away.”.

“Very good. We need you there right now.”.

“No you do not need the Gendarmerie.” said the police chief, “We actually do have available officers.”.

“Even better. Send then to whatever hospital Agent George’s body is in and tell them to call us and tell us all the information they have.” said Penn.

…

The pictures of Agent George Arnold Galloway’s body, an agent who Penn sent away on a mission because Penn found him annoying, is something Penn would never forget. However whatever guilt or regret he had, he had to swallow as he was the most senior agent working on this case. From the pictures, the only piece of evidence of what happened was a phone number that seemed to be burned onto Galloway’s arm. It has not been one of the phone numbers the FSA was monitoring, but worth calling as there was nothing else that can be done. Penn looked at the number on his office phone, checked again to make sure it was correct, and pressed the call button as his fingers trembled.

No one picked up. Penn simultaneously hoped someone would and would not pick up, but no one did. He waited for a moment, then waited even longer. The phone only waits for half a minute, but to Penn sitting alone in his office it felt like hours. Finally, the phone went to voicemail.

“If you are not the FSA, make sure they call us. If you are the FSA, this body was your agent, George Arnold Galloway. We have three more of your agents, two sergeants, and an inspector. They are alive. To secure their release, you will cease your investigation into our group, pay us one hundred million guilders, release all of the members of our group you have captured and give us the bodies of the ones you killed, hand Isabelle LeBlanc to us, then fly all us to Middle Mavona. Have a plane ready in Derby-MacDonald Airfield with a red flag. If there is a trap we will know. You have until midnight of 17 Prairial to meet those demands before we start executing one of your agents at midnight for every day you do not comply. Do not bother speaking to us by voicemail because we will not see it.”

The familiar voice saying to leave a voicemail then played but Penn hung up and stared blankly. Having nothing else to do, he decided to summon his agents to a meeting and dial Superintendent Adam Goldberg.

…

Later that day in Glaſgow, three Gendarmerie helicopters flew to the town. A helicopter was always a sight that attracted attention of everyone around, and three was even more rare. Though many were not looking as the helicopters landed at their destination, the town’s hospital. A single person who stood far in the mountains did watch, however.

From his binoculars, the person observed gendarmes in black uniforms stepped out of two of the helicopters. They seemed to set up some sort of perimeter around the hospital, and held rifles. None of the gendarmes noticed the man from the distance, but if they did a brief fight would began as the man also has a rifle. The third helicopter landed on the hospital roof, and the man observed how in a few minutes, hospital staff loaded a stretcher inside it. Only a short moment later the hospital staff exited and the helicopter took off, then the gendarmes who were guarding entered the other two and they took off. The man opened his phone and called to talk about everything he saw.

…

Elsewhere in Derby, another meeting was held in a building that would not seem different to any passerby.

“I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. They sent bloody helicopters after the body. This is your second failed ambush in two days.” said the voice of one large man who sat at the head of a table.

“I also personally captured seven FSA agents.” replied a shorter man who sat next to him.

“And then lost twenty-three of our own men. Our plan to set up a branch here failed, all because of-” the man paused. He then continued “If you want to regain my trust you will go to Middle Mavona and prepare for our arrival. You know what to do and can find a flight.”

[Not The Furbish Islands]

An interview held in Seekant, Alaoyi, on Wednesday, 18 October 2023 (Septidi, 27 Vendémiaire CCXX), between Alaoyian journalist Udo Ibezim and Furbish journalist Annalies Muler about the upcoming presidential election. Clips of this interview were used for several videos the Furbish National Broadcasting Corporation made to explain the Alaoyian election to Furbish and other world audiences.

Annalies Muler faces the camera and begins, “Hello. Today I am in Seekant, Alaoyi, joined by Udo Ibezim to discuss the upcoming presidential election. Thank you for joining us Meneer Udo.”

Udo Ibezim smiles his smile, a sight familiar to many Alaoyians and responds, “Glad to be here!” In a cheerful manner.

“How does the presidential election work?” asked Muler.

“Every five years we hold a presidential election on the third Monday of November. This year that is November 20.

In this election, all voters who meet their requirements are allowed to vote. These requirements vary from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, but in general adults aged somewhere from 16 to 20 at a minimum without a violent criminal record are allowed to vote.

On November 20 the population votes. On December 4, two weeks later, the top two candidates are selected for a second round. While the second round could be skipped by one candidate taking a majority in the first, this has only happened twice in our history: 2018 and 1998. It’s unlikely to happen again with five major candidates.

On the same day, we will elect the entire Senate, which is elected by proportional representation on the jurisdictional level, and half of the National Council, which is elected by a variety of means, including popular vote, executive appointment, and legislative election.” said Udo.

“How much influence does the president have over government policy, given that the president's party will likely not have a majority in the Senate and National Council?” said Muler.

“That depends on the president’s ability to build a coalition. Breytenbach was very good at that and held together a Democratic-National Populist-Farmer’s coalition for his term and had an excellent record and influence over policy.

Without a governing coalition? Effectively zip. An ineffective president will struggle to make policy without a coalition.” said Udo.

“Currently the two frontrunners in the polls are Durand Francois and Alexander O'Haig. Tell us about Meneer Durand, where he came from, and some of his policies.” asked Muler.

“Durand is a Marchann, a group related to the Gagians with their own creole language. In fact, they’re one of the largest creole communities on the planet. Durand was conscripted and suffered a gas attack during the Third Great War during the Battle of Meirleach, it’s why he’s very quiet. He’s been elected to the Senate five teams, serving over 20 years from the Federal City of Magada.

Politically, he’s a moderate. The Kleks faction of the Socialist Party was further to the left. While Durand is more left wing on economic and social issues, he’s pretty pro-Entente and foreign alliances, a traditionally right wing position in Alaoyian politics. He’s trying to establish himself as a patriotic pragmatist.

One thing I’d like to highlight is how well he’s done dealing with Breytenbach. President Breytenbach is a Democrat, the traditional rivals of the Socialists. Breytenbach is quite popular but Durand has done an excellent job portraying himself as the natural successor to Breytenbach, especially on foreign policy.” said Udo.

“Tell us about Meneer O’Haig.” said Muler.

“O’Haig is a political curiosity. He’s a Diashman, a member of Alaoyi’s second largest ethnic group. He was a college professor who went viral and was recruited to run for his county’s legislature. He governed Blinnoblair county for several years and acquired a reputation as an excellent campaigner and competent administrator, if a bit partisan.

He’s a right wing culture warrior and proud of it. He’d rather talk about abortion or gay rights than taxes and the economy. That’s a weakness in this cycle.

He’s also a rival of Breytenbach. Despite being Breytenbach’s party, O’Haig is more conservative and less approving of foreign alliances. Expect a more rightward turn out of Alaoyi if he is president. His primary base are social conservatives and those who think Durand goes too far in approaching the Prospera.” said Udo.

“If my memory serves me correctly it was a video of an exchange with a college student which started his political career. What happened in it and how did this get him into politics?” asked Muler.

“Well we all know how college students can be. To the best of my memory, the student advocated for communism, a taboo in Alaoyi given the atrocities Alaoyi experienced during the Second and Third Great Wars at the hands of communist regimes in Inglaterra and Dilania. This set off O’Haig, who berated the student for “giving in to propaganda”. The video went viral, with right wingers praising O’Haig for “telling it how it is” and left wingers criticizing him for “diminishing the student’s freedom of expression”. Regardless of your opinion, O’Haig went viral and the exchange got him attention. Attention led to him being a campaigner for the United for Democracy, the local arm of the Democrats, and he later became a member of the country assembly.” said Udo.

Muler nodded at the first sentence. “I certainly was not that type of student in university but I knew a few who were. Not that hard to come by in the liberal arts." she said and laughed slightly, "How come Meneer O’Haig's campaign's main focus is on culture war issues rather than his time governing Blinnoblair county?”

Udo barks a quick laugh. “I wasn’t one either but my roommate was. Certainly a character. As for O’Haig…”

He pauses before continuing, “This is a time for change in Alaoyi. Not to make us sound backwards, but this is a time for transition. Gay marriage is increasingly accepted, abortion access expanded, and race relations in flux. Alaoyi is changing. These changes bring opposition. Whether you agree with them or not, change will always bring opposition. O’Haig can be a competent administrator but that argument falls on deaf ears given Durand’s competent legislative history, talking about Blinnoblair really evens the playing field rather than distinguishing him. Talking about the culture wars? That distinguishes him.”

“Meneer Chris O’Riley is another right-wing populist who is in a close third in the polls. Tell us about him, and how he plans to differentiate his campaign from Meneer O'Haig.” asked Muler.

“O’Riley is like O’Haig, a Diashman. He grew up in wealth and acquired a reputation as a philanthropist.

He’s a reverse Durand. If Durand is a social liberal with conservative foreign policy, O’Riley is a social conservative with a liberal foreign policy. He’s more socially conservative, like O’Haig, but emphasizes foreign policy and the economy in his campaign, where he tends to lean towards the left, especially on foreign policy issues where he is borderline isolationist.

Because of this, O’Riley is a pretty popular candidate for the National Populist Party, which has declined heavily since the 1990s.

I think he’ll offer up a true third option. Durand represents social liberalism and conservative foreign policy, O’Haig represents social and foreign conservatism. O’Riley takes the social liberal foreign policy with a social conservative domestic approach.

His campaign is populist and he runs as an outsider. He is a good businessman, and that differentiates him from politicians like O’Haig or Durand.” said Udo.

“Tell us about some of the remaining candidates. Do Finch Matthews, Joren Kleinlugtenbelt, or other candidates have a realistic chance of getting more votes than the three leaders?” asked Muler.

“No, the most they’ll do is push any of the three letters towards their side in exchange for their endorsement. Matthews will lean on Durand and Kleinlugtenbelt will lean on anyone he can, and as the premier centrist in Alaoyi he’ll have a lot of weight.

Tagne and Angharad are both leaders of fairly racist parties. They won’t get much and no candidate will seek their endorsement, anyone who does can say goodbye to his chances of winning.” said Udo.

“What kind of people support Meneer Angharad and Meneer Koroku?” asked Muler.

“Angry people. Ndibeanyans angry at having to compete for work rather than being handed a job for no reason other than their race. Pales who hate Ndibeanyans for the crimes done to their ancestors. Your average Angharad or Koroku voter is an angry, unemployed, and left behind person who doesn’t fit with modern society. Imagine the worst supporters of AFTFI and magnify it.” said Udo.

“What are key issues to voters in Alaoyi and how do the candidates plan on addressing them?” asked Muler.

“I think everyone is worried about the economy and foreign affairs. We just exited a recession and we’re at risk of entering the middle income trap. Where the country goes economically is a big question for many.

In addition, the world looks very uncertain. Conflict with the MDP has become more likely and people worry about if a war will come and if we will have the support of our allies Iike Onhsanenea, The FI, or Los Angeles. People are scared.

Isolationists like O’Haig and O’Riley will appeal to Alaoyi exiting the world stage and withdrawing from the Cold War while Durand will seek peace through strength.

Economically, Durand and O’Riley see a populist and government based solution in comparison to the free markets of O’Haig.” said Udo.

“Three of the top candidates are Diash, and Meneer Durand is part of a small minority. How do the ethnic groups of the candidates affect their standing?” asked Muler.

“It affects it to a greater degree than most Alaoyians would hope for, but less than most Alaoyians fear.

I think at your core every person wants to vote for someone who is like them. They want someone who reminds them of theirselves, and in Alaoyi your ethnicity will play a big role in that. I don’t believe it’s a conscious decision for most people.

The most neutral one here is Durand. The Marchann people aren’t very hated by many. They’re pales but their outsized wealth and business influence meant they were too valuable to the state during ewezuga to oppress. So, they didn’t face a lot of discrimination during ewezuga. No one really dislikes Marchanns.

The fact is that three major candidates are Diash is pure luck combined with politics. Diash speakers have been historically ignored in Alaoyi, and Diash candidates are a way of showing outreach. That said, to be nominated these candidates were elected by their fellow party members of all ethnicities, so they have some cross community appeal. This election is quite abnormal for the lack of diversity among the top candidates.

Because every major candidate with a chance of winning is either Diash or Marchan, the issue of ethnicity is arguably removed from this election. People will either vote for a Marchan, which is a non issue for the majority of people, or vote for a Diashman, which could be an issue for some but they don’t really have a choice.” said Udo.

“Would Nuwelanders vote for Meneer Kleinlugtenbelt and Ndibeanyans vote for Meneer Koroku just to vote for a candidate of their ethnic group?” asked Muler.

“I don’t believe so, no. When I say people are more likely to vote for someone of the same ethnicity it’s not a hard rule. Your average Nuwelander who voted Democratic his whole life won’t switch simply because of O’Haig’s ethnicity.

Like I said, it’s subconscious. There’s studies that found that in Gagian elections middle class voters are more likely to vote for politicians with a middle class childhood and lower class voters are more likely to vote for politicians with a lower class background, even if they affirm that class is not an important choice in their selection. I’d wager that what you see in Alaoyi is a manifestation of that same phenomenon but among ethnic lines than class ones and perhaps a bit stronger due to our recent history.” said Udo.

"Now you moderated the first and second debates. How were the candidates’ performances both of them?" asked Muler.

“Limiting ourselves to the big three or any of the major candidates who will affect the election?” saud Udo.

“Any of the candidates.” said Muler.

“Well, I’ll do my best.

O’Haig and O’Riley are showmen. They impress. O’Haig has been criticized for a lack of substance in his answers, but at his core he wants to excite his base and show himself to the world in a charismatic manner and he did just that in all three debates. O’Riley is a bit more grounded in reality than O’Haig has, but don't mistake that for a better debate. He failed to defend himself in the third debate when the other candidates piled on and he did not defend himself when the general criticized him. He may have rhetoric and charisma, but he lacks a backbone at times.

Durand and Kleinlugtenbelt are quiet, but for different reasons. Durand is a Socialist and the Socialists have a reputation for being excitable and hysterical and Durand is trying to escape the weight of Johann Kleks’ presidency. Kleinlugtenbelt is depending on people to see him as a pragmatist and thinks quiet competence will earn him that.

Matthews is a bit of a weird spot. On one hand, he's more excitable and a showman like O’Haig but he lacks his charisma, he always puts his foot in his mouth. In my opinion? Matthews excels at the one on one and is a perfectly fine executive and administrator but struggles in a debate. He's an excellent planner but debates are unplanned.” said Udo.

“Yesterday's debate has certainly gone differently than the last two. The Furbish media, myself included, had a lot to say on it. How were the candidates' performances then, and do you have any comments about it?” asked Muler.

“I would like to preface this by saying I only watched the third debate, and did not moderate directly.

I think the candidates showed the same traits they showed in the first two, with some changes. Kleinlugtenbelt has slipped in the polls and he clearly floundered and sought to differentiate himself by attacking Breytenbach, while Durand and Matthews stayed quiet to avoid another issue during their debates. O’Haig was on the assault and it looked like O’Riley was on the backfoot.

Overall, they debated how would you expect. O’Riley struggled to keep up as he was not a politician, O’Haig went on the assault but ignored several key issues in doing so, while Durand and Matthews stayed quiet to wait the personal attacks out.” said Udo.

“If the election goes into a second round one of the big three is going to be a kingmaker. Who do you feel Meneer Durand, Meneer O’Haig, and Meneer O’Riley would endorse if they do not make it to the second round?” asked Muler.

“Frankly, I don’t see a world where Durand does not make it to the second round. He has a solid hold on the center-left and large chunks of the left leaning and center electorates. He's popular among moderates to such a degree that any world where Durand does not make it to the second round is not a realistic world.

O’Haig is my favorite to make it as well but if he makes it he will endorse O’Riley. Partisan necessity requires him to, the Democrats and Socialists have been each other's oppositions for the past fifteen years. There is no love there and any world where O’Haig endorses Durand is as unrealistic as a world where Durand does not make it to the second round.

O’Riley is the true variable. He agrees with Durand on populist rhetoric and some economic issues but is more aligned with O’Haig on social issues and foreign policy. I would lean towards him endorsing O’Haig, after all the National Populists have been in a coalition with the Democrats for the last 5 years. That said, O’Riley is a wildcard and lacks the politician instinct. That isn't an insult, that is how he runs his campaign and he's proud of that fact.

The other two wildcards are Matthews and Kleinlugtenbelt. Matthews is more aligned with Durand economically and socially but more aligned with O'Riley and O’Haig on foreign policy. I can see a world where Matthews endorses any one of those three. That said, Matthews is not a fan of O’Haig's social policies. I can see him endorsing Durand against O’Haig, but Durand against O’Riley would be a totally unknown factor. Expect drama in that situation.

Kleinlugtenbelt is both a wildcard and not a wildcard. Policy wise, he has strong agreements and disagreements with virtually every other candidate and the Farmer's Alliance has not strong ties or opposition to any other party. However, he is a more rational man and he will likely endorse whoever promises a more centrist political agenda to him. To me, that screams Durand.” said Udo.

Udo licks his lips, clearly thinking for a second, "My final bet would be Durand and O’Riley take it to the second round. O’Riley is surging and O’Haig is slipping. In the second round, Durand eeks out a victory with a strong endorsement from Kleinlugtenbelt, but Matthews doesn't endorse anyone and enough of his voters flock to O’Riley to make Durand’s victory much closer than it normally would be.”

“And the final question. You have alluded to this earlier, but how do all candidates feel about Alaoyi's relationship with The Furbish Islands, and is there anything they wish to change regarding the current economic and military ties between both countries?” asked Muler

“Durand is a strong internationalist. He’ll side with The Furbish Islands simply because he admires your system and peaceful history of running a multiethnic country. Expect a status quo at worst, but be prepared for much closer ties between Alaoyi and The Furbish Islands if Durand is elected. The same goes for Greater Niagara, the Antarctic Circle State, and perhaps even closer ties with Gagium, a country Alaoyi has been friendly with but not allied with.

Matthews and O’Riley are different flavors of what I call... continentalists. O’Riley cares about Galia and he cares about security, so a Galian security alliance will be well maintained by a President O’Riley. However, the FI is not a Galian country. O’Riley won't cast off the FI but they will move down in the priority list, with O’Riley placing greater importance on Alaoyi’s ties with Akenye, Onhsanenea, Los Angeles, Iodaia, or New Piedmont. Expect O'Riley to pursue the FI in the same way Breytenbach pursues Gagium: Friendly and cooperative, but not close. Kleinlugtenbelt probably fits here as well, but his focus on domestic policy means you'll see concessions on domestic policy, rather than foreign policy, for other candidates to earn Kleinlugtenbelt’s endorsement.

Matthews is a bit more economically minded. He'll pursue a policy of cooldown in relations with the Inglaterrans or Dilanians and seek out economic ties. The Furbish Islands, being so far away, will take less of a priority, but more due to distance than any dislike. In short, Matthews will prioritize relations with immediate neighbors before focusing on countries on other continents. But Matthews is a Furbophile, having been ambassador to the country for several years. I think a Matthews presidency maintains the status quo, in all honesty, meaning that an endorsement of O'Riley would force O'Riley to move a bit closer to the FI than he would otherwise to attract Matthews.

Finally, O’Haig is essentially an isolationist. His foreign policy represents the resentment some Alaoyians have after seeing their sons get blown up in foreign wars Alaoyi really was not connected to. O'Haig would not be unfriendly to any country but he won't be particularly close either. In an O'Haig presidency, expect to see an Alaoyian diplomacy that is transactional. So long as Alaoyi has a potential to profit it will be there, otherwise don't expect Alaoyian help. This is not an insult to O'Haig, it's his stated policy.” said Udo.

“What about the more, er, controversial candidates, Meneer Angharad and Meneer Koroku?” said Muler.

Udo laughs aloud, a rare moment of breaking his composure and apolitical interview style. He tries to speak but laughs again, but recovers and says, “Those lunatics have about as good a chance of being elected as you do Nne Muler, and you meet neither the age or citizenship requirements. But I'll answer for the sake of openness. Saars Angharad and Koroku are Alaoyian (unfortunately) and they will take votes (unfortunately).

Angharad would probably not be a fan of your country. A majority of Furbishmen are what we call "pales" in Alaoyi, or people with light colored skin and hair, which Angharad would be a fan of. That said, the FI government runs a relatively pluralist society and that's kensooyi to someone like him. You'll probably see a greater attachment to Inglaterra and a move away from the FI or Entente countries.

Koroku would likely move closer to Dilania. If Angharad has a dislike of the FI, Koroku has a hatred. Day one of a Koroku presidency would likely see every deal we've ever made with the FI (or other "pale" countries like Niagara, the ACS, or Gagium) be overturned.

Either way, don't concern yourself with them. Their parties have stronger legislative presences than presidential results, but both of their parties have a cordon sanitaire placed on them with by the other three. The Socialists, Democrats, and National Populists are all multiethnic parties which would rather work with one another than the Alliance for Freedom or Solidarity Group.”

Muler laughed and said “Very well then, I will be sure to put in my candidacy for the election. Once again thank you Meneer Udo for inviting us to Seekant tonight, and thank you for your explanations about the Alaoyian presidential election.”

“Thank you for coming! I look forward to seeing you in the FI.” said Udo.