The Second Tarao War [IC | GD]

[Solisian Union]

Starlight Chambers—Private Annex, La Victoria Palace
Early Morning, 2 August 2048 (Year of the Yellow Star)

Queen Wessa I stood again at the head of the table. Her hand was resting on top of the updated royal emblem now featuring the radiant Yellow Star flanked by the Sun and Crescent Moon. Once more, the room was filled with her most senior military and civilian advisors.

Her eyes were on her prime minister. Elena had just finished her briefing. “The Tupengan government has agreed to receive our diplomatic team. However, intelligence confirms growing impatience among their leadership and population. They want real security guarantees, not just promises. The Mar’si withdrawal has left a vacuum, and hardliners within the NNRA are applying increasing pressure on us. We must take action very soon.”

Field Marshal Carmona nodded. “We cannot afford to let Ordena or lingering Istoloan influence fill that vacuum. Fustera is rapidly becoming a major Kriegsmarine and air hub. It's already significant. If we wait, the threat moves closer to our northern waters and territories.”

Wessa’s gaze was steady. “Then we will not wait. We move today.”

She turned to the assembled officers of the Solisian military. The Army, the Navy, the Air Force. So many were here. “Dispatch a significant naval and air contingent immediately. Task Force Starlit Wave and the Starfall Expeditionary Wing will escort our diplomatic team to Tupenga. Their presence will ensure the safety of our representatives and make it unmistakably clear to the Mar’si and to everyone watching that Solisia is both willing and fully capable of stepping in to protect our new partners.”

Carmona straightened. “The 11th Armored Division ‘Stormbringers,’ 14th Mechanized Division ‘Iron Tempest,’ and supporting elements from the 17th Light Infantry will begin accelerated preparations for Operation Gold Bayonet. We will also dispatch survey teams to identify optimal locations for permanent naval and air bases in Tupenga as soon as the treaty allows.”

Wessa gave a sharp nod. “Do not waste time. You will do this. I have confidence in that. We will not fail to secure Tupenga as a true ally.”

She paused, then continued. “At the same time, begin immediate upgrades to our northern coastal defenses and the militarization of the northern provinces. Announce plans for large-scale international military exercises with our allies on Solisian soil. We must show strength and readiness. Nobody in this region should think we will be distracted by the shitshow in the south. ”

Elena spoke up. “The High President of Nannasia has already expressed renewed interest and concern for Solisian security. They are prepared to provide substantial financial aid and a convoy of twelve ships loaded with vital military equipment and advanced weapons systems. In exchange, we will deepen trade agreements and strategic cooperation.”

Wessa’s expression softened slightly. “Accept their offer immediately. Nannasia’s support will be invaluable. Coordinate the arrival of their convoy and integrate the equipment into our accelerated preparations.”

The room hummed with focused energy as orders were issued and timetables adjusted.

Later that same day, a powerful Solisian naval task force and air wing began assembling itself in northern Solisia. The diplomatic team was going to be made up of senior NNRA diplomats and military liaisons. This team was already on their way to prepare themselves for the journey to Tupenga on board the ships of the joint task force. They will be protected by a formidable escort that left no doubt about Solisia’s commitment.

In Tupenga’s capital, the arrival of the Solisian delegation, backed by visible naval and air power, sent a clear message: Solisia was not making empty promises.

Meanwhile, in the northern provinces of the Union, construction crews and military engineers began moving in to start making rapid upgrades to coastal defenses and key infrastructure. The government was busying itself with the creation of plans for joint international military exercises that were to be publicly announced soon after approval by the higher leadership of the Solisian armed forces. This was going to be a firm signal to all Solisian allies and to all potential adversaries of Solisia that it was preparing for whatever the future might bring.

---

2 Fleet Carriers
Wessa’s Resolve (Flagship)
Yellow Star Eternal

4 Guided-Missile Cruisers
16 Destroyers (heavy anti-air and multi-role screen)
8 Attack Submarines (forward screening and intelligence)
4 Amphibious Assault Ships + full landing craft squadrons
Support Flotilla: 6 replenishment ships, 4 fast logistics vessels, mine countermeasures squadron

Total Naval Personnel committed: ~180,000–220,000 (including Marines and support)
Air Component – Starfall Expeditionary Air Wing (Expanded)

180 SAF-7 Yellow Nova (6th-gen stealth multirole fighters)
72 AH-6 Shadowfang attack helicopters
60 SAF-4 Starling multirole fighters
18 SAF-9 Stellar Hammer strategic bombers (rotational alert)
Heavy-lift transport squadrons + large reconnaissance/EW drone wings

Total Air Personnel committed: ~45,000–55,000
Total time until arrival in Tupenga waters/airspace: 13–15 days from today.

[Istoloa]

GANCHAS; MARAGUSA, ISTOLOA

The new Laderan-backed marechalisimo of Istoloa hadn't been given much of a chance to exercise power. His thick moustache, which ended in fine curled points, twitched as he looked in the direction of the enemy forces approaching down the main highway. Steady gunfire came from the distance, sounding closer and closer which each passing moment. De Vega's forces, backed by the Ordenites, were arriving imminently. The time had come to flee.

Small units were attempting to block the highway and nearby roads as best they could, but the enemy's forces were much larger and better equipped. Those brave soldiers were sacrifices in exchange for time. Time to escape Maragusa with as many of his picked men as possible.

Ganchas harrumphed. His chief of staff raised an eyebrow. "Not having regrets, are you?"

"No, no," the whipped marechalisimo waved away. "Half of a half-brained idea this all was. What did they think I could do with a few hundred men?"

Boarding a small boat, the two officers joined a larger group of military men belonging to Ganchas' leadership ranks. There were other similarly small boats around them, packed with more men. These forces had a date with a larger cargo vessel officially registered to the Golden Throne. It had hugged the Asadabad side of the shoreline to pass through the straits that had otherwise been heavily mined under Fremonero's orders. The boat's small motor started growling and they put distance between themselves and the shore. Behind the dock buildings, smoke was rising into the air.

De Vega's grand entry into Maragusa went undefended once the highway had been opened. The survivors still in the town surrendered. Not all of them survived capture.



A few days later, the cargo ship belonging to the Golden Throne made its way southward. Passing the Laderan and Sorofian coastlines, it made a call in Teniza.

Irat's capital looked as if transplanted from the 15th century, its skyline dominated as it was by the rigid and beautiful cathedral that gave the city its little fame. On the opposite side of a ravine splitting the northern side of the rocky, fortified outcrop called "Old City," rose the Pilsvot. The Pilsvot was an ancient castle that dominated its surroundings in its prime. Updated over the centuries, the Pilsvot represented a visual museum of Irati military engineering. The oldest part, the stone rectangular keep, had been added later, in the early fifteenth century, and given several new stories and a triangular roof of blue and white ceramic tiles. The original inner walls had always been preserved, though large sections had also been meticulously restored in the 2000s. But the most impressive walls were the two outer rings, built in the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, respectively. These were built for cannon fire, with the most recent bastions showcasing the star-shaped form common in defensive architecture during that period. The entire Old City retained the buildings of its past, down even to the tenements and schools. Only the parks were modern.

The capital's primary commercial port sat south of this acropolis, in the "New City." Here, several highways cut through residential, commercial, and industrial neighborhoods alike, along with train tracks leading to two major hubs and a surprisingly well-designed and clean subway system. Suffice it to say, most people lived in the New City, but your average tourist might not even be aware that this part of Irat exists.

As it was, Ganchas had to make his way through the New City, from the port to the Pilsvot. He stepped onto the docks at the head of 187 men, the only ones who could get out of Maragusa alive with him. They were expected.

Ganchas had been flown into the city several times throughout the previous days by a small helicopter that could operate from the cargo ship. There, he was met by representatives of the Laderan government. A tough negotiation ensued between Ganchas, the Laderans, and Rui Barretto. Barretto, unofficially general of the Istoloan Army in Irat, commanded 115,000 Istoloan conscripts officially composing the "Irati Defense Forces." These forces had been somewhat rudderless since the start of the coup in Istoloa, and there was much reticence at the idea of simply accepting de Vega's legitimacy, backed by the Ordenites as it was. The Ordenite blade could cut both ways, not only giving de Vega the muscle he needed to dominate Istoloa herself, but also making it clear to any proud Istoloan that as far as their new so-called leader was concerned, the country's sovereignty was up for sale.

It was not easy, but ultimately Barretto agreed to back Ganchas' title, proclaiming to be backing the "True Marechalisimo in Exile." In exchange, the Laderans informally and unofficially agreed to end any contestation of Rogeiro Monteiric's puppet regime in Irat.

Of course, in return, Ganchas was now expected to end support of anti-Laderan forces in Sorofi. They were bitterly holding on to the defensive line that had formed just south of Barbaro, that country's capital city.



DE VEGA; MARAGUSA, ISTOLOA

"Sir," the soldier meekly said, as el Marechalisimo inspected the sorry, decrepit compound that Ganchas had called a headquarters. "The general has fled. He was last reported heading into deeper waters."

De Vega said nothing, not even giving the soldier a look. He only wiggled his sidearm out of its holster, brought it up toward the unfortunate messenger, and pulled the trigger. Flames licked from out of the barrel of the polymer pistol. The soldier, whose only crime was to report on whether Ganchas' body had been found, limply crumpled to the ground. El Marechalisimo continued his inspection, otherwise unperturbed.

"W-w-what should we do with the prisoners, sir?" asked another soldier, who had come with the one who now lay dead. He waited for de Vega to turn his weapon on him.

But, instead, the now undisputed head of Istoloa said, "Execute them all as traitors. Go, give my order."

The soldier scurried away in obedience, happy to get out of there with his head still on his shoulders. By nightfall, 236 captured men were all dead. Shot. They had been officers of the Istoloan army once, sent to fight a dirty war in Ladero, and executed as traitors for backing Ganchas. A handful of Ganchas' other men managed to escape by land. Many would be found in the coming days and weeks; some would eventually make their way to rejoin their commander in Irat. For now, de Vega knew nothing about that anyway. Ganchas' landfall in Teniza was still a few days away, and news would not arrive in Loçalea until the day after that. Then de Vega would rage. For now, his anger was a product of that wily general's escape. He'd have Istoloa's political class, an already small and stolid class, purged, paranoid that the civilian administration had been prepared to defect to the former, and famous, CSA commander.

Neither did de Vega know that the communists had planned another assassination attempt on Ganchas. He had survived a knife attack. This time, they sent several bombs.

A convoy of trucks, heavily and improvisationally armored, punched through a largely unmanned series of checkpoints along the same highway de Vega's forces had briefly fought to open. Their garrisons were inside, or lounging about, with the thought of an enemy attack — what enemy was there who could attack? — far from their minds. Besides, Istoloan soldiers were not known for their commitment to military discipline.

Suffice it to say, de Vega received the news of the convoy very late. In fact, he could already see it headed toward him by then.

Ominously, they thundered toward him. They carried great speed, even as the trucks pumped the brakes, not a football field's distance from el marechalisimo. He could do nothing as they barreled right at him.

And then they flew by, coming to a stop behind him. He turned, perplexed. Pointing to the convoy, he said to a nearby soldier, "Go, go, see what that is about."



A dozen kilometers away, just outside the town, a young female adult wearing brown and green fatigues sat on a tree's tallest branch, hardened tablet in hand.

No matter how many times she pushed the button, nothing happened. There was no explosion.

She fiercely grunted in protest as she continued to push in frustration with her thumb. "C'mon," she said, "come the fuck on."



"No drivers," shouted one of the junior officers who had trotted over to organize the search party gathering around the now-stopped cargo trucks. "Remotely controlled, it seems."

"Impossible," murmured de Vega. "The Mar'si, it must have been." Who else could have provided the technology to whoever organized this attack? The marechalisimo had thought it was targeted at himself, unaware that the intended target was actually Ganchas. He was also blissfully unaware that the connection between the remote driver and the explosive-rigged convoy had been unintentionally and unexpectedly severed by some sort of technical malfunction in the software. It went without saying that he couldn't even fathom these capabilities as being homegrown.

But homegrown it was. The communists had many young minds in their ranks with great ideas. This one had just suffered a minor glitch. That's all. The next one would work out.

One of the men confirmed, frantically shouting, "Explosives! Explosives everywhere!"

The search party scattered. De Vega groaned. Turning away from the scene, he dutifully continued his inspection of Ganchas' facilities. A makeshift bombsquad would soon carefully carry the bomb-laden trucks onto flatbeds with cranes, driven out to the outskirts, and remotely detonate them. A huge ball of fire rose into the sky, a scene captured by countless phones, many ending up on Accelafeed, where people would debate its causes and intentions for weeks.

[Holy Marsh]

Efforts to support Ganchas went down like a bitter pill among Mar’si intelligence. Many M-SAD officers and analysts had very recently spent not an inconsiderable amount of time and effort trying to put him into the ground. Thousands had died in Ladero due to his faux rebellion and he bore responsibility for that bloodshed. His sins remained weighty indeed. He had served the imperial designs of lesser masters in Istoloa, lending his patriotism to ambitions that had nothing to do with the welfare of the people he claimed to defend. Patriotism could be made to serve any nefarious end when it went unbridled by discipline and morality. There would be a reckoning in the future.

Nonetheless, Ordena had continued to become a monument to ambition and cruelty. Istoloa would soon be chained like a dog beneath its influence, barking and snapping whenever its master tugged on the leash. So long as that arrangement endured, the Tarao countries remained exposed to deeper descents into inglorious conflicts. They would be dragged one by one screaming into wars fought to serve international masters. Ganchas had played a role, and now he must play a part in containing it. They did not need to forget his crimes to work with him, and perhaps he would serve a greater good.

The Mar'si therefore would provide significant support to Ganchas. Money and weapons were only the beginning. Intelligence would be passed where appropriate. The relationship would be practical for now. This extended to agreeing with Ladero's call to no longer resist the puppet regime in Irat, as they would prove an invaluable asset. For now, anyway. What was, may come again.
Sorofi demanded a more immediate answer. The Mar'si would make it known to Ladero that they were prepared to provide increasingly heavy air support to the military effort there if the situation required it. The Theocracy continued to regard the entire campaign as a misadventure, made more difficult to justify now that pressure could be brought against Ganchas and Irat to withdraw what had become increasingly obvious support for the conflict. The war had dragged on long enough. Sorofi's political future remained trapped beneath the weight of an unresolved military situation. Whatever was needed, they just wanted it resolved.

Jeweled Eyes would continue, with communications with Istoloan communists ramped up as best they could. There were tremendous issues doing so, but Jeweled Eyes would plow ahead regardless of the obstacles. Anything capable of creating difficulty for the ruling regime would remain on the table.
For the moment, that was enough.

[Solisian Union]

The Solisian Sun over Tupenga

The amaranths in the gardens of La Victoria were blooming early, their deep crimson petals mirroring the wax seals on the desks of the Starlight Chambers. From the private annex, the scent of scalded, bitter coffee-tea and Rasur southern pork stew drifted out. Queen Wessa I stood by the tall, rain-streaked window of her study. Her hand rested on the edge of the mahogany table, her fingertips tracing the newly updated royal emblem: the radiant Yellow Star flanked by the Sun and the Crescent Moon.

In the quiet corner of the room, Queen Mother Reina III sat with a soft wool blanket across her lap, softly humming a melancholic Azynian melody to the sleeping twins, Solene Tala and Cassian Altair. One of Wessa's new cats, Ember, sat curled at Reina's feet, purring in time with the rhythmic rocking of the bassinet.

Wessa looked down at her secure tablet. Two worlds stared back at her:

Under the silent gaze of the Northern Theater, the massive hulls of the Yellow Star Eternal and the Dawn’s Radiance had slipped their moorings. They were not going to war—not yet. They were the iron fist inside the velvet glove of Task Force Starlit Wave, sliding across the Shartourn Sea toward Tupenga.

Onboard, the senior NNRA diplomats and a tiny, elite military liaison delegation of one hundred and twenty officers reviewed their notes. They carried Wessa’s personal guarantees: no Solisian combat boots on Tupengan soil, a commitment to local sovereignty that would disarm the suspicious Tupengan communists, and a promise of mutual defense that would quietly, irreversibly slide Solisia into the space the Mar’si had left behind. It was a masterful move to lock the gates of the northwest before Ordena or the Fusterans could even do anything about the Solisians.

But to the south, the world was on fire. There was no room for "Big Sister" diplomacy along the Tharparkar-Kalutara axis. The coded order "Climb Mount Ranyas" had unleashed a storm that could not be recalled.

On the western front, Field Marshal Carmen Olena had stepped into the meatgrinder of the western highway to stabilize the line after Isadora Velez’s tragic death. And thirty kilometers deep behind Sishian lines, in the burning, besieged ruins of Babassar, Major Persai and her fiercely diverse, unbroken Panthera Mar’si soldiers of the 44th Division were digging into the rubble, counting their remaining anti-tank ammunition, and waiting for the armored relief column that was still forty-eight hours away.

The door to the study opened with a soft hiss. Priya Nakamura stepped inside, her eyes immediately finding Wessa's. She didn't say a word, but she didn't have to. She simply walked over and placed a warm hand over Wessa's shoulder, her touch a silent anchor against the terrifying gravity of the throne.

Wessa let out a slow, measured breath, turning her gaze from the peaceful warmth of her family toward the cold steel of the maps.

"Our New Union is making more moves and actively so. I have greater confidence in our military now and I believe we are making the right moves we need to make, but I hope that our future is not going to compromise itself over details. Now, we have to see what our moves, our actions, yield us," Wessa whispered, her voice hardening into the iron that had united the Union. "And may the stars watch over those we send into the dark."

---

The dawn over the Shartourn Sea bled through a tropical mist, turning the waters off the Tupengan capital into a shimmering expanse of amber and slate. Then came the shadow of the New Solisian Union.

To the watchers on the cliffs of Tupenga, it began as a low, structural hum that vibrated in the soles of their feet. Out of the grey horizon rolled the massive hulls of Task Force Starlit Wave. Leading the armada was the fleet carrier Yellow Star Eternal, its flight deck crowded with the angular silhouettes of SAF-7 Yellow Nova fighter planes. Flanking it was the carrier Dawn’s Radiance, surrounded by a bristling screen of guided-missile cruisers and destroyers.

Overhead, the sky belonged to the Starfall Expeditionary Air Wing. The roar of low-flying transports and the rhythmic thrum of AH-6 Shadowfang attack helicopters shattered the quiet morning, kicking up white spray across the shallow bays.

A calculated, uncompromised demonstration of Solisian majesty and power.

As the heavy ramp of the lead Solisian transport lowered onto the concrete pier, the diplomatic team stepped into the humid heat, wearing the immaculate white-and-gold state tunics adorned with the radiant Yellow Star, flanked by the Sun and Moon. Behind them, however, stood a disciplined contingent of the Special Naval Landing Forces (SNLF), armed with new RSi-21 rifles.

The pier was a microcosm of a country torn by decades of slavery and insurgency. Three distinct factions stood waiting, and the Solisians addressed each with precise, tailored gravity:

The Tupengan Government, for one. The official government leadership stood huddled under umbrellas, clutching leather portfolios. They were tired of foreign overlords, yet terrified of the growing Ordenite Kriegsmarine hub in nearby Fustera.

The Solisian Prime Minister’s representative, Elena Santos Marquez’s deputy, stepped forward and formally presented Wessa’s draft of the Mutual Defense and Strategic Partnership Treaty. They made the Union’s terms loud enough for the gathering crowds to hear:

Solisia would build and defend one major naval base and one major air base on coastal territory, utilizing civilian construction teams from Solisian Renewal Dynamics (SRD) to bring local labor and modern infrastructure.

Crucially, no permanent Solisian ground combat troops would ever be stationed on Tupengan mainland soil. Tupenga would remain sovereign, an ally of equal status, with Solisian forces only surging in if emergency clauses were activated by a threat from Fustera or Ordena.

The sight of the carriers, combined with Wessa’s ironclad guarantees of land sovereignty, struck the government officials like a physical weight. The impatience and doubt that had plagued their ministries for weeks evaporated into a quiet, stunned relief.

Next to deal with were the Tupengan Communists.

Near the edge of the harbor, stood the local communist factions. They were highly suspicious, viewing the Solisians as merely a wealthier, more polite replacement for their old masters.

Instead of sending heavy-handed military police, former Republicans and moderate, left-leaning diplomats from Princess Catia’s political circles approached them. These intermediaries, comfortable with socialist rhetoric from their own civil war, offered dialogue, giving them direct assurances that the Union respected their internal political movement and would not interfere in Tupenga’s governance.

"We are not here to rewrite your laws or silence your voices," a Solisian veteran of the War Between Sun and Moon spoke, showing his old republican scars. "We are here to lock the gates of the Shartourn so that Ordena cannot burn your homes again. Let us hold the shield, so you can build your country up in peace."

The gesture of sending former rebels to speak with rebels disarmed the communists’ propaganda, turning their hostile protests into a wary, observant silence.

By midday, The Solisian Observer published a high-level diplomatic analysis that circulated throughout the embassies of Greater Dienstad, from the Diarcesian Hypurgeum Exoteric to the Haize Directorate of Trade:

"Solisia is playing a great hand with breathtaking speed and diplomatic sophistication. By showcasing Task Force Starlit Wave to the world while guaranteeing Tupenga's internal political freedom, Queen Wessa I has established an ironclad 'Big Sister' shield. Let Fustera and the Ordenite Kriegsmarine take note that the Solisians will no longer ignore or tolerate them so passively. The Northwest is no longer an open sea. The Yellow Star stands in the great sky, and we have drawn our line in the water."

---

From the elevated concrete parapet of the northern coastal observation redoubt, Field Marshal Ramziyya Artigas looked down upon the synchronized mass of the 1st Army Group "Yellow Star". Below her, tracked armored divisions and heavy mechanized columns rolled in long, dark ribbons through the fortified coastal corridors, their standardized YSAR-47 rifles and dual-mounted autocannons catching the pale morning light. Communications officers worked feverishly, coordinating radar bands and staging grids with the approaching Andrenadian contingents. The first phase of the northern exercises was underway, but the Solisians were moving with deliberate, measured tempo—holding their tactical strike groups at readiness while awaiting the full foreign units to link up on the outer perimeter.

A junior staff officer snapped to attention beside her, holding a stamped courier slate bearing the royal seal. "Field Marshal. High Command has convened in the lower subterranean redoubt. Supreme Military Authority Carmona requires your immediate presence. The strategic council is in session."

Artigas adjusted the collar of her olive service coat and made her way into the fortified bunker depths. The air inside grew warmer, thick with the scent of dried tobacco, damp stone, and electrical hum. Around the expansive holographic planning table sat an imposing gathering of the Union’s military intellect: active field generals, fleet tacticians, and heavily decorated veterans of the Magdaran War and the War Between Sun and Moon. Many bore visible scars and the solemn, unreadable gaze of officers who saw friends drown and burn in the river deltas of Magdara.

At the center of the illuminated table lay the vast expanse of Western Greater Dienstad and the contested Tarao theater. Bright tactical vectors radiated outward from northern Solisia, arcing across the strategic islands, the approaches to Tupenga, and the forward Kriegsmarine bastions of Fustera.

"We are surrounded by tightening rings," a retired general from the Magdaran campaign said, his weathered finger tracing the northern approaches. "The Ordenstaat has turned Fustera into a massive naval springboard. The Istoloan fallout threatens to spill into the Shartourn Sea. If we simply react, our northern heartland will become a firing range."

"Which is why our previous fragmented directives are being retired," Field Marshal Carmona stated from the head of the chamber, his voice cutting through the low hum of the room. "Operations Gold Bayonet and Red West are no longer isolated contingencies. By royal mandate and the consensus of this council, all northern and maritime security imperatives are unified under a single doctrine: War Plan Burning Sun, Cooling Moon."

Carmona tapped the console, and the grand projection shifted into two distinct, sweeping strategic layers.

Phase One: Burning Sun was the offensive spear. It detailed a sudden, violent multi-axis surge of Solisian naval and air supremacy to preemptively strike outward. The 1st Fleet "Yellow Sun" and 4th Fleet "Sakura Blade," reinforced by the Special Naval Landing Forces, would execute high-speed island-hopping landings and amphibious seizures. The objective was uncompromising: rip away airfields, seize forward littoral terrain, eliminate enemy access to the Shartourn Sea, and physically deny foreign fleets any staging platform within reach of Solisian territory.

Phase Two: Cooling Moon was the absolute lockdown. Once the outer island arcs, coastal promontories, and territorial bastions were seized in the initial tempest, Solisian combat engineers, coastal missile regiments, and deep-water submarine screens would turn every captured landmass into an unsinkable fortress. It mandated total area denial, the militarization of all transit straits, and the permanent fortification of the new perimeter to freeze the theater in an unassailable defensive grip.

Soon enough, the holographic projection expanded with a sharp electronic hum, widening the theater grid until the entire northern perimeter of Western Greater Dienstad glowed in amber and cobalt light. New operational vectors flared across the map, tracing calculated invasion corridors targeting the sovereign territories of Sovica, Samarasta, Severina, and deep into the strategic borderlands of northern Holy Marsh.

The scale of the projection immediately split the subterranean briefing room into two distinct, vocal camps.

The Expansion faction, driven by aggressive naval tacticians, younger staff officers, and Magdaran War veterans hungry for total strategic preemption, leaned over the table. To them, the vast conventional weight of the Solisian military meant half-measures were an invitation to disaster. They argued that executing full-scale, preemptive campaigns against Sovica, Severina, and Samarasta, while securing the northern territorial buffer of the Holy Marsh, was the only definitive way to build an unassailable iron wall across the north, locking out Ordenite carrier groups, foreign satrapies, and unpredictable regional powers before any coalition could exploit the Union's focus in the south.

"If we leave Samarasta vulnerable or allow Severina and Sovica to become forward staging grounds for foreign fleets, we invite a knife to our throat," a senior fleet commodore insisted, his hand slamming down near the illuminated coordinates. "War Plan Burning Sun, Cooling Moon must be decisive. Phase One: Burning Sun demands we unleash the full mass of our navy and strike wings to invade and seize Sovica, Samarasta, Severina, and northern Holy Marsh in rapid succession. Phase Two: Cooling Moon follows immediately: we lock down those occupied lands, establish absolute air and maritime denial, and fortify the new perimeter so completely that neither Ordena nor our nominal allies can ever contest the northern skies."

Field Marshal Ramziyya Artigas leaned forward, her voice level and cutting through the mounting cross-talk.

"You are planning simultaneous continental wars across four sovereign states while our southern divisions are knee-deep in mud and blood," Artigas said, gesturing firmly toward the southern theater. "General-Marshal Velez and the 3rd Army Group are locked in brutal armor clashes along the Kalutara highway. Major Persai and our soldiers are under siege in Babassar. The hot war is in the south against Sishia and the KNR. Every division diverted to invade Sovica or Samarasta, every supply convoy rerouted to northern frontlines, and every direct assault launched into Severina or the Holy Marsh risks cracking the Union’s logistical spine before Kebab is even secured."

Artigas met Field Marshal Carmona’s gaze squarely. "The threat from Ordena, Fustera, and regional instability is real, but it is a gathering storm, not an active firestorm. If we overburden our northern commands, disrupt the economy, and pull critical support from Carmen and Sofia, we risk disaster on every front."

A tense silence settled over the council as the old veterans and active commanders weighed her counsel.

Carmona gave a slow, measured nod. "Artigas speaks the truth of the field. We will not overburden the north before its time."

The council reached a firm compromise: War Plan Burning Sun, Cooling Moon was formally adopted and codified under royal authority, outlining the full operational blueprints for future campaigns against Sovica, Samarasta, Severina, and northern Holy Marsh. However, its execution was placed on a strictly phased leash. The Solisian military would utilize the ongoing northern joint exercises with Andrenade to coordinate logistics, run landing simulations, and stage strike divisions in reserve.

The actual trigger for the invasions would remain locked—primed to unleash only when the southern war was brought to victory or an aggressive foreign move forced Solisia to strike first.

[Marshite Alliance for a Free Tupenga]

The Solisian influence operation over Tupenga was met with critically mixed results. The Government had been for some time playing a tricky balancing act between the internal polities and factions that constantly threatened to unravel the delicate dance. Prime Minister Nadira Zakia spent most of her days settling disputes between MAFT and communist party officials over a thousand minor issues. The Creoloso People's Party was making gains in local elections as the situation in the country remained stagnant. Likewise, their isolationist desires grew stronger and stronger in the political battlefield. MAFT remained the larger singular force in politics but was being chipped away at.

The Mar’si were leaving Tupenga. War was brewing but even now they did not lean on Tupenga and had agreed to earlier conditions. Perhaps that was unwise of them. MAFT supported continued foreign deployments of some kind. The CPP was opposed to it, m,ost of all the Mar’si. They were agreed to be the saviors and liberators of Tupenga but the CPP did not want to be pressed into their wars or be seen as part of any empire or alliance, never again. MAFT was open to the Mar’si but then again it was a religious militia, of course they would be.

It seemed clear to the Prime Minister that something needed to be done. The situation in the region was all too tense to allow Tupenga to not be allied to anyone. They needed someone who was willing to fight with them and was willing to act as a threat to all enemies. The Golden Throne was tossed about briefly, but was rejected. How many nations were now satrapies? The Theocracy was out of the question for all the reasons noted. Other powers existed but so many were distant or were objectionable in other ways that it seemed no nation would be suitable. Until finally the Solisian Union came up; a nation broadly acceptable ideologically and religiously to both sides.

A diplomatic visit was to be held. And what happened would set back relations a bit.
Solisia came in with a massive display of force, one that the Tupengans had not authorized. Indeed, the air force scrambled and naval forces were put on alert as mobilization orders went out. The alarm was ended quickly when it became clear this was no invasion, but it was an act that would sink Solisian efforts in the short term. The actual meeting was cordial, but the reaction to the move was anything but.
The news covered it even before the politicians could get a handle on it. Briefly, people thought there was a war. The Solisians were speaking about their new sphere, after all. Rumors spread faster than facts in the best of times and in the political climate of Tupenga that was truer than in most other places.

By the time the Prime Minister was able to corral the parties into debate, the tide had turned. The Solisian display of force had seemed to be more of a threat than it was anything else, at least to the parties. That was the prevailing mood of the people as well. Clearly it was not the intent but agreeing to any sort of deal after such a display would seem to be a surrender of sovereignty. No one, not even those who were agreeable to the presence of Solisia. The vote was nearly unanimous: Any basing agreements or offers would be rejected at this time.
The response was delivered to Solisia swiftly, with the final vote being 388-12. In the letter of rejection, Zakia stated that, “no nation will ever impose itself on us through acts of shock and awe”.

The door wasn’t shut, but it was clear that Solisia had serious ground to make up. After all, the Prime Minister still wanted to get somenation to aid her people...

[Solisian Union]

The initial reception had gone sideways the moment the fleet had entered coastal waters with full air cover. Everything the Solisians brought with them spooked the parliament, unified the opposing factions, and left Tupenga with no political choice but to turn down the treaty on the spot. The Solisian envoys sent messages right away to La Victoria. Then they waited.

In La Victoria, Queen Wessa leaned back in her chair with the report resting against her fingers. Across the table, Prime Minister Elena was looking over the itemized parliamentary breakdown, while Field Marshal Carmona stood near the wall map, a hot mug of coffee untouched beside him.

"That's not great. I feel that we really went a bit far there. Overplayed ourselves.We pushed too hard," Elena said before she put the papers in her hands down on the table. "When our carriers showed up unannounced on their horizon... Well, that happened. They all got this vote going against us before our people could even do more."

"The strategic problem remains a problem for all of us, Prime Minister. Unfortunately so," Carmona said. "Fustera and the Kriegsmarine are not going to ignore this. They're not slowing down. If Tupenga stays open like this, our northern flank is exposed while we're tied down in the south. If diplomacy is dead, we shouldn't waste time letting them invite someone else in. High Command can initiate Operation Western Spears within forty-eight hours."

Wessa shook her head quietly.

"I will admit that I had a part in this. I was wrong about encouraging this much force. But the mistake is made. We fix that now. Tell the fleet to move. Task Force Starlit Wave is going to move deep into international waters. I want their horizon completely empty. No air, nothing in the water, I want everything back, away, bring them 100 nautical miles out."

She turned back to Elena. "Send our people back to the capital and change our tone completely. No escorts, no arms, no uniforms, nothing to make them think that we're here to intimidate them all into signing this and that for us. Just the diplomats and their assistants. Give them open trade access, full infrastructure funding through Solisian Renewal Dynamics with local labor guarantees, joint radar systems, whatever, just get that done and just make it clear we aren't asking for boots on their mainland."

Carmona listened, then he spoke again. "And if they reject that, too?"

"Then you get your orders," Wessa said. "While the delegation is talking, prepare the task force. If they slam the door in our face a second time, or if we see them reaching out to another country behind our backs, launch Western Spears. But we give them the fair offer first."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Carmona replied, nodding once.

Within minutes, the instructions were relayed across the secure network to the fleet.

Out in the Shartourn Sea, the ships of Task Force Starlit Wave swung themselves east, sailing away from the coast until Tupenga faded entirely from sight. The planes and helicopters also went away, moving at speed until nobody on Tupenga could see them anymore. Aboard the ships, SNLF units that were a part of the task force put themselves on standby while a small and unarmed delegation boarded an unescorted transport boat, heading back to the mainland to try one more time.

[State of Ordena]

COITIMA, ISTOLOA


A Istoloan delegation arrived at what was now a full-fledged Ordenite military base situated in Coitma. Upon the death of the Marechalisimo and the extension and expansion of Ordenite commitments to the country, the facilities in Coitma were expanded. This included the construction of additional facilities including command centers, motor pools, signals and communications and better anti air defenses. The atmosphere and aesthetics had also changed as buildings were now draped with the battle banners of the Ordensheer and the Ordenstaat. Flag poles now displayed the national flag of Ordena, the black, white and red with the sunburst in the center representing the OSUP. Armed sentries and checkpoints manned by Ordensheer soldiers and the hustle and bustle of administrative staff, logistics personnel and the everyday laborers. The Istoloan delegation consisted of several generals representing the Istoloan Army's interests in procuring Ordenite military hardware such as main battle tanks. Under the new Marechalisimo there was to be a considerable expansion of the Istoloan Armed Forces including its Army in which it desired fleshing out their armored forces with more proven capable hardware.

The Istoloans were greeted by a pair of checkpoints as their identities were confirmed before being led deeper into the base. They had some choice words among themselves as for what the Ordenstaat's expanded influence on the country was heading. Drones buzzed overhead as part of the bases defenses as the Istoloans arrived at what was a large car park containing row upon row of main battle tanks. Freshly painted and pristine were the Panzerkampfwagen Lowe 1a5s which were a common export model that the Ordenstaat offered to friendly governments and client states. What they were used for once they were sold off was up to the buyer, whether it be putting down rebellions, protests or used in conventional warfare against other nation-states. The Ordenstaat would provide for a cost that was deeper than just currency as the Istoloans had been finding out for some time now. A group of black cladded individuals awaited them as the Istoloans disembarked from their vehicles.

Four of them were standing side by side at attention in front of one of the tanks while three others stood off to the side. The Generals traded words and glances at the rows of main battle tanks as they approached. Standing before them were officials from the Directorate of External Cooridnation which had now recently replaced the historic Foreign Affairs Ministry. Along with them was an assembled full crew of 4 Panzertruppe whom together had served in several campaigns including Wanderjar and Gordonopia.

"Your vehicles." One of the Ordenites said as the Istoloans gazed at the assembled tanks before them. They had expected to be shown a model before the actual exports arrived, however the Ordenstaat instead delivered them the first batch.

"These aren't demonstration vehicles." said one of the Istoloans as the others inspected one of the tanks. The paint was the color used primarily by the Istoloan Army and other identification markings were also fitting of Istoloa. The delegation had been informed before hand that the sale would likely be several billion escudeiro and this was only concerning main battle tanks. The Istoloan Armed Forces and it's government were also intending to purchase lots of Ordenite military hardware and munitions for it's modernization and expansion efforts. This included surface to air missile systems, armored fighting vehicles, various types of missiles and rockets and aircraft.

"No they were made for your army." replied back the DAK representative. "The vehicle was designed around one principle. The crew must survive, and the enemy must not"

[Istoloa]

GANCHAS; TENIZA, IRAT

Somewhat begrudgingly, and with resignation, Henrique Dourado Sampón landed on the coast of Irat. There, Marechalisimo Ganchas welcomed him with open arms. The "marechalisimo," in name only really, was, of course, under the proverbial Mar'si gun to treat Sampón in the most munificently possible way. It was the Mar'si who facilitated Ganchas' transportation to Irat and backed him with the authority to take over the 100,000 or so Istoloan troops in the country. Now the Mar'si wanted Ganchas to reward Sampón and promote him to some meaningful role in the resistance against fascist de Vega.

"Marechalisimo!" exclaimed Sampón warmly, though fakely, upon disembarking.

A broad smile colored Ganchas' face. "Major! Welcome to Irat!"

There was some small talk as the marechalisimo-in-exile took the new arrival on a tour of the headquarters just outside of the capital city. Teniza was a harbor town, with small but respectable military and commercial port infrastructure. A convoy of wheeled AFVs escorted them to Barbakán Hida Koloko, located a dozen kilometers southwest of the city's outer suburbs. The conversation turned to business as soon as the convoy hit the highway.

"You are going to Sorofi," said Ganchas.

Sampón looked incredulous. "Sorofi?"

"Sorofi," affirmed the marechalisimo-in-exile. "And you're being promoted. To general, in fact. Congratulations, Brigadeiro Sampón."

"Um," replied the surprised young officer, slowly, "thank you?"

Ganchas toured with Sampón a while longer, going to dinner with him and then giving him leave to go prepare for tomorrow's road trip to Barbaro, Sorofi. The truth was the "marechalisimo" had more important matters to attend to. He wanted to diversify his support base, knowing that the coming war would be a very difficult one to navigate. The future questioned not only his own fate, but that of Istoloa. Would it be occupied? Partitioned? Wrecked? His focus now was solely on doing everything within his power to avoid such a terrible fate for his country and her people. He therefore made a diplomatic overture to the Golden Throne. He was quickly reached out to via an agent of the so-called Diplopalatio, which opened a backchannel line of communication with the exiled Istoloan leader. As it turned out, the Macabéans were quite happy to help out.

But even the Golden Throne had to momentarily put on hold, because Ganchas was due for a momentous summit with the unofficial leadership of Ladero. The topic: Sorofi.



MAXIMO; SOUTHERN SUBURBS OF BARBARO, SOROFI

Gundeiro Maximo scoffed. The Laderan general was debriefing the Istoloan advisor on a failed counterattack made earlier in the week, but it was all a mushy soup of excuses. The enemy is too well entrenched. Their air force makes large-scale maneuvers difficult for us to conduct. Their anti-drone countermeasures have eroded some of our capabilities lately. Excuses, all of them!

The truth was that, though the Sorofian Liberation Army (SLA), the newest name of the growing anti-Laderan resistance forces in the south, had successfully stalemated their much stronger northern neighbors across a line cutting the country in half. The frontlines had moved little in the intervening time. They still cut through the middle of the capital, scarring what would be an idyllic peacetime environment. In any case, repeated Laderan offensives had been ground to a halt without losing much ground.

A phone rang loudly. Maximo raised a finger to interrupt the Sorofian commander, taking the call. He was expecting news from the front lines, where another counterattack was on the way at that very time.

Unfortunately, the news was not good. "No, General, we have not achieved our opening objectives. The Laderans repelled our attacking forces with ease, though casualties have remained miraculously low. We are reorganizing ourselves for another counterattack tomorrow."

Maximo ended the call in disgust. Couldn't any of these Sorofian generals get it right? The enemy was struggling, and the SLA could score an impressive victory against the aggressors. But it was not to be, at least not that day.

An aide came into the war pit then. Maximo looked at him with a gaze that could kill, propelling the man to divulge his message quickly. "S-s-s-i-r," the young soldier stammered. The Istoloan general dully stared back in grave impatience. "Uh, uh," the soldier continued, "we have news from Teniza, general. A Brigadeiro Henrique Sampón will be arriving at our headquarters tomorrow evening. He will be taking over command of the Irati-Istoloan advisory mission to the SLA."

Maximo's face went red. The messenger bowed and left, even without leave, to avoid what was coming. The general let him go. He slowly stood, looked around, and walked away, preferring to be alone rather than to murder every single person in that room, which is what he truly wanted to do in that moment.



CONGREA; LOÇELEA, ISTOLOA

Artur Congrea, Roberto Peres, and Salomão Águas quietly cruised down Rua Passos Comel, a two-lane roadway that connected the capital with various estate-style houses that belonged to the regime's civilian and military leadership. These, in fact, had been intertwined for a long time, now. Roberto was in the driver's seat. Their car was still one of those old-style, old-world ones that you had to drive yourself. The fancy technology from the center hadn't made it to this part of the world yet. Salomão was in the back seat, wide-eyed, and his head swiveling from one direction to the other. He was clearly nervous.

"Hey, calm down," said Roberto, who waved Salomão to chill out.

Salomão nodded. "I'm chill, I'm chill."

"Well, you don't seem like it," said Roberto.

Artur laughed. "You don't even really have to do shit, anyway. You just gotta stay cool."

They rolled up gradually toward an outer gate of one of the estates along the country roadway. They knew who it belonged to. Here lived General Aleixo Rocha, corps commander. The gates were just beginning to open, as if on cue. In reality, the general's daily movements had been closely studied by observers hiding in the nearby area during previous months. What was about to happen had been planned for a long, long time. Everything about it was measured and calculated.

Roberto pushed the car up to block the driveway right as another vehicle began exiting the gated driveway. "Okay, let's go!" shouted Artur.

He stepped out first, Roberto second, on the other side. Salomão was slower, but even he opened his door and brought his weapons to bear quickly enough. The three of them riddled the target vehicle, a Tango et Kartuma town car, with bullets.

"Armored," said Artur. Their bullets were hardly denting the car. Nothing seemed to stir inside. They couldn't see anything, as all of the windows were darkly tinted, so much so that you would have to squint to see even a silhouette. So Artur and Salomão positioned themselves on either side, with their automatic weapons threateningly raised toward the doors, waiting for their targets to try to fight their way out. In the meantime, Roberto opened his own car's trunk and walked over.

Pulling out several explosive packages, he said, "Let's smoke 'em out."

He tossed two of them on the hood, one on the roof, and one on the trunk. The other two men kept the car under guard. Still, nobody inside stirred. Were they not going to defend themselves? As they learned later, watching the outcome on the news, the three men realized that their target had been alone inside, except for his chauffeur. The poor men must have been shaking in their breeches!

No matter, Aleixo Rocha would never know the shameful way in which he died. He was blown to bits.

The communists had struck again, this time successfully.



DE VEGA; LOÇELEA, ISTOLOA

De Vega's government's response to General Aleixo Rocha's assassination was electric and immediate. For three terrifying weeks, armed men arrived at homes throughout the capital, the outlying towns, and even in the distant cities, waking up families in the middle of the night and carrying off their suspects without explanation at all. Those who resisted either came to their senses quickly or were shot. The dead were disposed of quietly. Usually, their families were dispatched as well.

The attention of the country was elsewhere, though. El Marechalisimo, the one with actual power over the country, had announced a new, shocking conscription plan. Millions of Istoloans, mostly men, but also women, were being mobilized into the armed forces for "the coming showdown against the central capitalist powers arraying themselves against fascist self-determination." Not only that, but the government was buying enormous amounts of materiel from abroad. It was coming not just from Ordena, but from other second-hand sources too. Much of it came through Tarn-based arms brokers, a lot of it from outside the region. It was composed of hundreds of ships, tens of thousands of tanks, millions of rifles, hundreds of millions of weapon cartridges, and so much other equipment. Not all of it could be put to use right away. But it was being purchased and stockpiled while the men were conscripted and trained.

Who was paying for all of this? Certainly, Istoloa's pockets did not go deep enough for the ambition of this program.

Of course, it was the Ordenites.

[Istoloa]

SAMPÓN; SOUTHERN SUBURBS OF BARBARO, SOROFI

Henrique crossed into southern Irat the very next day after the rendezvous with Ganchas. Begrudgingly, of course.

The Istoloan advisory mission to SLA had been led by Gundeiro Maximo since the beginning. His troops were reportedly loyal to him. Though they hadn't been receiving pay from the government for several months now, Istoloan soldiers, posing as advisors from the Irati army, had thoroughly looted what they could from battlefields across the frontlines. This was all alongside the SLA, which was by this point a mercenary army of local criminals and hooligans who ruled much of the Sorofi's south with a brutal iron fist.

On the way to a base near the southern outskirts of Barbaro, his convoy had passed a small town named Hermosilla. It had the looks of an antique Istoloan colonial town, and in it lived no more than 2,000 people. In the center, a 13th-century temple still stood. But its walls were being stained with blood in that very moment, as SLA units swept through Hermosilla to remove 37 of its men and 8 women. Henrique would ask about them later. Nobody knew anything. Though local witnesses would claim that they heard gunshots ringing from the nearby woods.

It was within the context of this chaos that the newly promoted brigadeiro prepared himself to complete his orders. Ganchas had sent him to Sorofi to take command over the Istoloan soldiers in the country, and therefore also, in theory, the SLA. But would the SLA listen to him?

Brigadeiro Maximo was waiting for him just inside the gate of the base. Artillery and gunfire thundered and crackled from not very far away. Sometimes the whistling sounded as if it were very close indeed. Once or twice, an errant shell struck near the base. Maximo reassured Henrique, "Don't worry about that. They're not aiming for us. If they hit the base, it'll be by accident." Above them, just as he finished speaking, a quick-moving interceptor drone struck another one. Maximo said, "Every once in a while they get a drone over our airspace, but we're not really a priority for the Laderans."

Henrique held his nerves as a light utility vehicle took them deeper into the small base. It was Maximo who was driving. The general looked at ease and was friendly, but he betrayed an underlying tension in the terseness of his speech.

"The olive branches look good on you, Brigadeiro Sampón," said the host, referring to Henrique's promotion. They were just arriving at an inconspicuous building, drab and rather plain-looking, when he said that.

Somewhat put off by the compliment, Henrique replied, "Thank you."

The convoy with which Henrique arrived trailed them. 43 soldiers and other security personnel stepped out of their vehicles and entered the building with the two generals, following them onto a large elevator platform that took all of them down at the same time. After what seemed a long time, they stopped at the bottom. A vault-like door was closed, but an alarm rang, and the door slowly opened. Valves released steam, obscuring what lay on the other side for some time, until the hazy smoke dissipated.

As soon as the path was clear, they all walked through the door, which closed shut behind them. They followed a central passageway that opened into a surprisingly lively command bunker lying deep beneath the ground. It was nothing fancy. In fact, in some parts of the wall and roof you could still see the earth, which trickled down onto the floors as dirt every time an artillery shell impacted the surface nearby. It was honestly quite claustrophobic, but Henrique held it together. It was good that he did, because the large command room fell silent as soon as they all walked in. There were just over 20 men in the bunker, not counting the new arrivals. Apparently Ganchas had information on the usual entourage down here, giving Henrique enough of a bodyguard to impose himself.

Full of confidence, Henrique said, not long after introductions had been made, "Look, Gundeiro, we all know why I am here."

"Oh?" wondered Maximo. "To report back to Ganchas on the state of the Istoloan advisory mission in Irat, I presume."

"No," replied Henrique. "I am assuming command of the advisory mission in Irat. Marechalisimo Ganchas orders you to return to Irat for further instruction."

Maximo was eerily silent for a while. His face betrayed no emotion. His large frame remained unmoving. Then, finally, he answered, "The only Marechalisimo is Marechalisimo de Vega. I will not obey the orders of a traitor to Istoloa."

Henrique exchanged glances with some of the men who came with them. Maximo's men were looking between themselves too. Seconds felt like minutes suddenly.

Perhaps to ease the tension, the host brigadeiro motioned back to the vault door and said, "As a sign of goodwill, I guarantee you safe passage back to Irat."

"No, I think I will stay here and do my duty, as ordered by the one and true Marechalisimo of Istoloa, Marechalisimo Ganchas," answered Henrique. He made a motion with his hand just then.

Suddenly, the room erupted in a torrent of fire as Henrique's guard raised their weapons and ruthlessly opened fire. Bullets ripped into Maximo and his command staff, tearing through muscle and shattering bone. Bodies were thrown against the wall and strewn across the floor, as wounded soldiers wailed in fear and pain. Some of Maximo's men managed to return fire, but it wasn't long before the command room was quiet again. Quieter, as the wounded still whimpered and wailed.

Half of them lay dead. One of the corpses was that of Brigadeiro Gundeiro Maximo, born M.C. 1981.

With the head of Maximo's clique gone, Henrique did not have much more trouble gaining control over the rest of the small Istoloan force on the base. Other soldiers were spread out, embedded into SLA units. They'd be brought into Henrique's fold soon enough.

For the time being, the new commander of the Irati/Istoloan advisory mission in Sorofi sent word to Ganchas that Maximo would no longer be reporting in.

Then, the bodies in the room were burned and quietly disposed of before anyone knew any better. Henrique Sampón fit the role of Istoloan general better than he had anticipated. Just two days into the job, and he had already committed his first atrocity. The young democratically-minded officer, so young that his promotion was obviously the outcome of geopolitics, felt sick to his stomach. But this was no longer yesterday's Istoloa. The world's stomach would have to get used to what was coming.



GANCHAS; TENIZA, IRAT

Zé Bambaso arrived at Teniza the day after Henrique Sampón's rendezvous with Ganchas. This time the marechalisimo-in-exile hosted the former Laderan prime minister, whose disgrace following the vote of no confidence of his party had been significantly erased by the collapse of the CSA and the death of Fremonero. Now it seemed as if Bambaso simply hadn't been given enough time to see out his plan. Elections were coming up, and the man sought to restore himself to the premiership.

Ganchas needed something very badly from Istoloa. He needed his men. The same men who had served in the CSA. The same men who had bombed and assassinated local political leaders, judges, and officers of peace. He needed those men to mount an invasion of Istoloa.

"The Mar'si will eventually try to liberate Istoloa," he was saying to the ex-prime minister, now the unofficial lead negotiator with the leader of Istoloa's 'pro-democracy faction.' He continued, "I need all the men I can get. I am recruiting more, but I need my men. They are well-trained and combat-tested. With them, once the Mar'si have pinned down the bulk of de Vega's and his master's armies, I can land with my army and depose de Vega. Then resistance to the liberation will collapse, with the Ordenites no longer able to use Istoloan roads, highways, or rail to move around their men or supplies. The Ordenite army in Istoloa will have to surrender. And I will declare free and fair elections to determine both new legislative and executive leadership."

"Very beautiful," responded Bambaso. "But that sounds far away. And what you want is unspeakable. Those soldiers took Laderan lives."

Ganchas scoffed. "And you will fight Istoloa alone when they crush me in Irat?"

Bambaso shrugged, and said, "The Mar'si will defend Ladero. I'm not worried about Istoloa."

"The Mar'si," Ganchas barked a laugh. "You don't know if the Mar'si will be able to sail through the Strait of Asadabad. Ladero will be cut off. Maybe the Mar'si can reopen the straits, but how long will it take them? All that time in between is time de Vega has to accelerate Fremonero's vision for the reconquest of the Tarao. De Vega is already mobilizing the army. They're talking about millions of conscripts. I'm not sure you fully appreciate what's coming."

The Laderan negotiator scowled. "Maybe. But those men took Laderan lives. Besides dreams, what's in this for us?"

Ganchas looked away for a moment, thinking to himself. Then, he answered, "I will order Istoloan forces to withdraw from Sorofi. The SLA will come with us."

"The SLA?" asked Bambaso, bewildered. "The SLA will follow your orders?"

"Not all of them," replied the marechalisimo. "But whoever decides to break ranks and stay will easily be swept up by your forces, I'm sure." The Laderan army's performance thus far had been quite atrocious, all things considered. Repeated offensives against the broad defensive line that cut through the Sorofian capital like a scar had barely managed to budge the SLA from their entrenched positions and impromptu fortifications. Neither had Laderan air power done much, despite having air superiority. Having the SLA be dismantled from within would be very good for Ladero's war effort, which was faltering.

Bambaso said nothing for a long time. Ultimately, he sighed, looked up at the Istoloan, and said, "Agree to withdraw your forces from Sorofi pending electoral results in Ladero." The implication was that peace would come to all of Tarao, and Ladero's disastrous incursion into Sorofi would end, as long as voters kept the UCP in power. It also implied that the UCP would have to make way for Bambaso's return to the position of head of government. But that was not all Bambaso wanted. "You will state that SLA forces are Istoloan army personnel in disguise, and admit the same about the CSA. CSA personnel in Laderan custody will be treated as prisoners of war, returned to the legitimate government of Istoloa, with representation in Irat. You will also sign a permanent alliance with both Irat and Ladero, guaranteeing peaceful relations between our countries in the post-war and after."

"Very well," said Ganchas. Between the advisors and the SLA, that would be another 350,000 personnel folded into the marechalisimo's growing army.

But Bambaso was not yet done. "Finally," he said, "you will agree to a summit after the elections between you, me, the legitimate government of Irat, and the legitimate government of Sorofi to discuss the founding of the IstoTarao Union. The ITU. Once I win back power, I promise you that I will bring lasting peace to Tarao. A peace bound by an economic and political union designed to resolve our differences through political action and litigation."

Harrumphing, Ganchas answered, "Very well." He knew that before anything like the ITU was possible, a war against de Vega and Ordena would have to be won. Bambaso's dreams were all very distant. But the immediate growth of his forces was very relevant to Ganchas' present challenges. There was no reason to say no.

Bambaso returned to Lavença victoriously. Polls following his arrival and news of the possible peace deal in Sorofi showed the UCP holding a commanding lead over opposition parties.

[Marshite Alliance for a Free Tupenga]

The Prime Minister was one of the few Tupengans with a clear head on foreign relations, or so she believed. So many of her countrymen had been ravaged by such fierce oppression and lived under the auspices of civil war and hardship for so long that it could be hard for them to think beyond their borders unless it was in terms of threats and risks. Nadira could, and she understood that Tupenga would be easy pickings for a large power. Sure they would make their enemy bleed with an effective insurgency, but in a world of empires they were a state to absorb.

It was understood they needed allies; it had been the reason why the Solisians had been sought in the first place. After the diplomatic debacle, other nations were discussed. The Mar’si were no goes due ti the influence of MAFT. They would no doubt be powerful allies but the imbalance internally would be gross- the communists would do everything short of a rebellion. The Golden Throne was already present and reliable, but everyone knew that they were more likely to become a Satrapy in the long run if not a puppet. The Solisians were the best option and enough knew it. When their delegation came back with a bit more tact, they had to do a lot of work. You couldn’t threaten someone’s sovereignty intentional or not and not expect some difficulties.

It would take several weeks before a deal was struck; Solisia would get their bases and deployments but it would come only with more significant financial commitments than before.

[Holy Marsh]

The Theocratic Matriarchy Navy had deployed significant assets throught Western Greater Dienstad, and that coverage was backed up with Damocles from orbit. This immense presence and the intellihence developed from that and Jeweled Eyes had grown steadily and dramatically as time went on. Still, there were limits to what even this concentration of resources could hope to achieve in the shorter term. They were not ominscent. Ships still crossed the seas and cargo moved through unfriendly ports. Intelligence had to be examined and reports collected and while analysis was swift and unyielding it still took time, precious time, the resource the Mar'si though their enemies always had too much of. This worked to the State's advantage for a time. Cargo from the military industry of Ordena found purchase in Istoloan hands successfully for a while, and several deliveries would be completed before the Mar'si would have complete knowledge of the events transpiring. One of the hidden flaws of having your eyes everywhere was that you sometimes saw too much to identify a singular problem and this would prevent a swifter response here, even if it had boons elsewhere.
It was only a matter of time until the picture became clear. Ordena was building up Istoloa, and for the Theocracy this crossed a red line. Ordena would not be permitted to fortify the Istoloan regime without challenge. The appearance of Ordenite military support, while expected, added another dimension entirely. The Mar'si had hoped that perhaps Ordena would have limited themselves to advisory roles, but now that they were there in force it became clear that the door must be closed on them. Once intelligence confirmed this facts, the Mar'si started to move across the region.

Operation: Sea Dragon, the blockade of Istoloa from the east, was the primary mission. Organized around two maritime boundaries, it was supposed to choke Istoloa into throwing off the State's yoke or weaken them for invasion. The outer boundary was the Wyrm Line. It had a simple rule but one that the Mar'si would apply ruthlessly: No military vessel lacking approval from the Theocracy would be allowed past it, or would even be allowed to challenge it. Those that did so would be swept away. The Drake Line would follow further inward, closer to Istoloa. Every vessel approaching the Drake Line, sans those of close allies, would be searched and investigated before being allowed into Istoloa. If, of course, the Mar'si even deigned to allow it. Traffic could continue only after this took place. Any vessel that gave even mewling resistance to these commands was to be annihilated.

Responsibility for enforcing this blockade fell primarily on the 3-5 Tactical Fleet commanded by Grand Commodore Evaie. The fleet would form the core of Sea Dragon but it was not orphaned from broader support from the navy.The 3-2 Submarine Group joined the 3-8 Submarine Hunting Group to extend Mar'si dominion below the seas. The 3-9 Convoy Protection, 3-1 Coastal Defense, and 3-1 Amphibious Invasion Fleets were likewise added to support. Together, these formations represented hundreds of vessels, pre-positioned already across the local theater for just this eventuality. Now they began to move. The fleets divided themselves into innumberable task forces according to the requirements of Sea Dragon. They took their places along the lines and in between, as well as task forces ahead to ensure that the blockade was well understood and respected by the Dienstadi. They became part of one machine and one will, aligned to the will of the Theocracy.

It was understood that this would likely trigger a wider war and the Mar'si welcomed this. The crews prepared themselves for open combat and the common assumption was that the State would challenge them immediately, if not attack.
Until such a time came the blockade existed in word alone; blood and blood alone would give it the power of enforcement. Such was the law of Greater Dienstad, where only strength was understood. The 3-1 Amphibious Invasion Fleet prepared boarding parties en masse for the immense inspection effort demanded by the Drake Line. Civilian ships bound for Istoloa would have to be searched, and authorization would have to be enforced physically. Personnel had to be ready to approach vessels whose intentions could not immediately be known and whose willingness to comply was unexpected.

All of this occurred before the Mar’si delivered their message publicly. When that message came, it was simple:

Due to the war-mongering military build-up of the Menace that is Ordena in support of the illegitimate and murderous regime of puppet de Vega, Istoloa's eastern coasts are under a naval quarantine against the disease that threatens their shores. All non-allied military vessels are barred from entering the quarantine zone. All civilian vessels that wish to transit to Istoloa will submit to armed searches and must get authorization. Any vessel, military or civilian, that betrays this order will be sunk. Any nation that takes action against the naval forces involved in this operation will be punished accordingly.

We call on Istoloan patriots to assume their rightful place as masters of their own nation before they become the lapdogs of Ordena, now and forever.

Before this statement was released and Mar'si intentions became clear in theater, moves were made region wide. It was necessary, even as it allowed the deliveries to continue longer than the Mar'si would have preferred. It was understood that they were now on the brink of a wider conflict and that thinking forced them to make moves elsewhere in preparation.

The forces committed to Secure Hawk had to be well and truly secured before the quarantine began. Ladero had been promised the protection of the Mar'si and this protection was possible currently through a long route. The supply line to Ladero passed the Bay of Liberty, continued down the Great River, and eventually reached the waters north of Ladero. The Bay of Liberty was likely to get hot very soon and once it did there would be difficulties until alternate routes were made through Istoloa's seazones or the Bay was made permanently friendly. Deployments that had been expected to proceed at the previous pace were fast-tracked as were materials. They were to be beyond the Bay before hostilities could commence.

Forces deployed to the Mahdah Crusade were placed on high alert, alongside those deployed to Shakana and Aman. Now they knew that it seemed as if war could be hours away. Ladero also had to know. Shortly before Sea Dragon's public announcement, the Mar'si informed Ladero. It was important they were made aware of what may soon follow, for their defense was ever on the minds of the Mar'si. Ganchas would be informed as well, even if the Mar'si did not care much for him. Recent events had created strange necessities and stranger bedfellows and at that moment Ganchas was one of them, and to his credit he was doing his job well. The pressure being lowered down south as well as increasingly empowering Istoloan resistance to de Vega would do a great deal to weaken the State's position.
The Mar'si prepared for the wider war to begin and thus the Theocracy therefore informed its major friends and allies, with the timing deliberately chosen so that Sea Dragon would not catch their allies with their pants down. The Golden Throne was informed, as were their great friends in Eitoan, their Sisters in Solisia, their close allies in Mokastana, the friendly faces of Morrdh, and other major allies. Before the world would hear the declaration these close friends would be made well aware of the bloody days ahead. Then the announcement would come. The Mar’si understood where they stood and they welcomed the fire and flames, if such was the will of the Goddess.

[Solisian Union]

The Warnings

It was seven in the morning and the Queen was walking in the new gardens that had just opened for the public. La Victoria was alive, not simply alive in the sense that it was the capital of the New Solisian Union, but alive in the sense that so many things were adding to the city. If not that, so many places were renovating. And today was just the perfect day for Wessa to bring herself, some of her guards, and her children to the gardens. Plus her wife.

She and her family stopped walking to come sit at some of the benches under the shade of mango trees, olive trees, and so many more trees. Everywhere around them, there were pots and rows and significant plots of land where flowers and herbs and bushes were. Wessa, for once, looked like she wasn't so tired and overwhelmed with the work of being a Queen. For once, she looked like she was smiling truly instead of smiling politely, her attention divided between conversing with her wife, adoring her twins, or even just looking at some of the children play.

Shifted and Non-Shifted.

Mar'si and non-Mar'si.

Solisians from every corner and place of the Union. The capital was, after all, the home of all whose ancestors have settled here. But even newcomers were welcome.

Wessa pulled Priya close and embraced her from the side, laughing with her when their twins started grabbing and poking at them, patting at their faces with their little hands, getting their fingers into the clothes of their parents, both of them holding their children. Wessa held Cassian while Priya held Solene.

Priya leaned over and said to Wessa, "Look at you. For a long time, I thought you wouldn't let yourself out of the palace or your offices or any of the rooms where you just devoured hour after hour of work."

To that, Wessa blushed and said, "Ah, well, I couldn't just do nothing. I am-"

"The Queen of the New Solisian Union, yes, I know. And I am Priya, Priya Nakamura, your very consort and mother to your heirs. Two of them. I know you couldn't just do nothing, but I know that the very moment you sent for us and secured the fastest train back to the capital, I just knew that you wanted us to see something nice, and this was it. The gardens."

To that, Wessa now smiled genuinely and laughed a little. She reached for little Cassian and allowed her son to play a little with her fingers, saying to Priya, "Of course. I wanted to spend time with my family after such long and tedious work. It wasn't something I could just ignore. When I was informed that the Sinshisha Gardens had just opened, and when I was given an invitation by a very large and mixed family who were responsible for this… I just had to get it. And so I did."

"And now we are here, far away from your palace with all the endless work and all the ceaseless talking that happens there."

"There's also the writing and the reading," Wessa said, rocking Cassian a little when he cried, the boy settling and giggling and cooing when she did that for him. "So much of it, I have to say, I had to start dictating things to one of my secretaries instead of writing everything myself."

"You write by hand, by the Goddess!" Priya said, who was now exposing her right breast to allow Solene to breastfeed. "And when you use a computer or a laptop to type, you do so with furious speed, your secretaries and my secretaries often felt so horrified enough to tell me that your typing speed is…. You literally broke a keyboard that was new."

"Correction, my dear, that wasn't breaking, that was the keyboard failing to meet my standards."

"Standards? Your standards?" Priya scoffed, rolled her eyes, and said to her, "Wes, you really cannot just relax, can you?"

"Oh, yes I can. The Goddess helps me out and so does the Triad faith of our people."

"Your people, my Mar'si ass. I would bet even the oldest Triad priestesses, regardless of some of them being part of the Poly-Pan Sarda or not, would call you out for being so inclusive to the point of trying to make everything so syncretic."

Wessa just shrugged however she could despite carrying Cassian. "So? It's not like it's a big problem or a big deal when our faiths are practically Sisters to each-"

She wasn't able to finish her sentence when someone approached her guards, coming on the back of a fast Azynian horse. The gardens forbade vehicles except emergency vehicles or horses. Wessa and Priya turned their attention to the woman who was on the horse speaking with Wessa's guards.

Of course, nobody was allowed to come so close to the Royal Family just like that. Protection for the Family was done in layers. The closest layer to them was consisting of plainsclothes personnel - mainly Mar'si Matriarchal Protectors, Azynian Angels bearing symbols of the Nyra tribe on their bodies and arm-bands, as well as two new Tensha wearing long-sleeved clothes to shield people from looking at their heavily modified bodies and a few Rantankai wearing simple vests over their plains-clothes. The next layer was farther away and the garden entrances and exits were under heavy security monitoring.

The Tensha were the guards who repositioned themselves quicker than the others closest to the Family. The children cooed when they did, their attention drawn to the very tall and very still women. Though the children loved the guards and feared them not, Queen Wessa and Priya could never stop being surprised when their children just cooed and gave them their attention so solidly.

The Tensha were a new addition, after all, the product of Her Majesty's secret projects that yielded beautiful but severe female combat personnel who were not so very close anymore to the baseline. They were not exactly walking machinery, but…

"Let the courier come," Priya said, waving at the guards farther away, drawing their attention and that of the courier on the horse. "Miyakeisa, Daruei, let her be."

The two guards who had kept the courier from getting closer were both Shifted Mar'si, women of the Eastern Solisian provinces, stepped aside. They were very tall, broad-shouldered women whose dog-like ears moved faster than their faces, and they were Priya's.

The courier proceeded. Unlike the horse, she was not Azynian. Instead, the woman was a Bakednu. She belonged to one of the southern mountain peoples of the Union, and the woman was incredibly dark-haired, her skin made brown from riding and walking under the great Solisian sun so often, and right now, she looked both sweaty and covered in a little dust from the ride. She had a narrow face and the strong build common among people raised in the highlands. She bowed her head to Queen Wessa first before she bowed her head to Priya and the twins. Then, at last, she spoke, saying, "Your Majesty, I have a report from the representatives in Tupenga. Their report had just come early via secure email."

It was not odd for Queen Wessa's news to come by courier in this way. Whenever she wanted peace and quiet, the Queen almost always chose to leave behind her personal terminals and most of the constant electronic traffic that followed her almost everywhere, including the palace.

Queen Wessa nodded to the courier and said, "Thank you. May I please have my tablet, Mrs. Brozaiyen."

To that, the Bakednu courier nodded and removed a tablet from her bag, handing it to the Queen only after the Queen quietly and gently put her son down on the ground and allowed him to walk away. Wessa took the tablet in both hands and began to read from it after pressing the power button and entering her password. Cassian, to his own delight, began toddling around the flowers and bushes nearby, closely followed by one of the Tensha, namely the woman whose movements were so sharp, so precise that Cassian kept on glancing back at her, unafraid, because all he saw of the woman was not a veteran volunteer of the Solisian military but someone who always followed him around and picked him up whenever he stopped and cried and waved his little arms.

Wessa was almost done reading every word on the tablet, and her smile was returning to her, a genuine one, touching the corners of her lips, small, then growing wide. Her eyes went from line to line rapidly, studying the words again and again as her wife drew close and said, "There you go again, smiling. What is it this time? Good news?"

"Yes," Wessa whispered, then grew her voice a little louder, "yes, my love, this is really good news, come, look at this." She quickly angled the tablet so that Priya could read without needing to adjust how she held little Solene, who was now finished with sucking from her breast and was now babbling at a little blue insect that had just landed on her mother's arm.

Priya read it and understood. She, too, smiled, and she said, "No way. They actually…"

Wessa nodded, waiting for Priya.

Priya nodded back and gestured for Wessa.

Wessa turned the tablet off and gave it back to the courier who was waiting on her horse. "Thank you, Mrs. Brozaiyen."

"Your Majesty," said the courier, before Wessa nodded to the courier and allowed her to turn her horse around and started to leave, silently encouraging her horse to walk, not to move too quickly, so as to not spook the children away.

Wessa was hopping a little where she stood before she told Priya, "This is the best news I could ever hope for! Our north is easier to secure now. We can finally have the bases and the agreements we wanted. Our Navy, our Air Force, we can FINALLY have another ally, another state, an actual country joining our circle of nations, our own little association in Western Dienstad, and somewhere… some-"

"-where we can finally deal with, north of us, where our sailors and our pilots can actually operate without having to always depend on our own islands."

"Yes! We can start putting radar in Tupenga, aircraft, ships, and, and-"

"And they agreed," Priya said, taking Wessa's hands to keep her from moving and jumping a bit around too much. "Yes, Wes, we finally have their agreement. Tupenga stands with us now."

'Yes! Even when it costs us a little more than usual," Wessa said, as if what she was saying was something like a young mom simply enjoying a purchase that probably cost way more than any salary she was ever able to actually get for herself.

Priya sighed at that and said, "And now you're going to go think about how to work all those money issues out with Minister Mendes, aren't you?"

To that, Wessa said, "Yeah! Wait, no, I mean-"

Priya just laughed and said, "I am just being silly with you, hon. Relax. And I am pretty sure Minister Mendes can take care of things very well. Just like the rest of your cabinet. You haven't needed to replace any of them+ since you came to rule Solisia!"

"And I hope I never will. My ministers have been the best I found and they will continue being the best for the country."

Priya was about to say something else, something more, and keep on talking with her wife, the Queen, about something like another joke for Wessa to consider until the courier returned on her horse, a little faster and, this time, performing no careful slowing until she was almost at the security line.

Queen Wessa looked away from her wife, her attention on the courier now stopping to actually get off the horse and present the tablet again to Her Majesty while the guard following Cassian quietly picked him up.

The courier said, "Your Majesty, this one is marked urgent. This one came from Director Cherenya herself. It has her confirmation and the counter-confirmation from our naval intelligence people."

She read carefully. Very carefully. And in a matter of her seconds, her youthful face went still. Her smile was gone.

Priya wanted to draw close, to break the silence with perhaps another little joke, but she refrained. Nobody spoke, and it seemed like even the children noticed, their faces a little more observant, watchful perhaps, especially because both of their mothers stopped talking, laughing, and smiling.

Then, at last, Queen Wessa the First of her name spoke, saying, "This is- What even…" She frowned now. "Mrs. Brozaiyen, is this actually confirmed? The Mar'si, their ships, did they move before they told us?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. The Theocracy's ships are moving already. They have only told us this now."

Wessa blinked a lot, and rapidly so. She opened her mouth to speak again but stopped. Her eyes scanned every line on the tablet. Fingers trembled just a little. Not fear, but also not just simple anger. Concern, maybe? Now, she found the will to speak.

"Your Majesty, the Mar'si have just committed hundreds of ships to the region."

"That cannot be. They just withdrew from Tupenga. And all because of…" Wessa chose to let the sentences forming quickly in her mouth to die, and she shook her head at the tablet, rereading some lines. "They told us after they had already decided…"

And in her mind, each and every concern flew and flew, like Elizaran patterned terns coming in as one column to build their nests.

The war to liberate Kebab. The war to destroy Sishia. The plans after getting Tupenga to agree. The crisis and war of Tarao, the second of its kind. And, most dreadfully of all, the old enemy from Magdara: Ordena.

But it wasn't just locations.

Wessa remembered. The bases. The articles concerning defense. Her military reserves. The Solisian Navy, split with most of her strength in the Sishian War, and the rest either stationed at Xofrautan or at a significant distance from Tupenga. And the economy.

The Solisian economy that she hoped to rebuild since the end of the War Between Sun and Moon. Her economy. The economy Mendes wanted to work on. In peace.

For once in her life, since the attacks by Ordena against the Solisian Desaan islands, and since the coming of Ordenite naval exercises in response to perceived Solisian "aggressions," the monarch of all Solisian civilization felt her fingers tighten around the tablet as her eyes moved nowhere except for her children. Cassian in the arms of a Tensha. Solene in the safe and loving arms of Priya.

And neither Priya nor Wessa could say a word to each other after that. But Priya knew what she saw in her wife's eyes.

But what was the first thing? The strongest feeling she could understand in every bit of her eyes? Was it fear? Exhaustion? Was Wessa calculating? Was she angry?

Was she angry at me?

But Wessa spoke first. Not Priya. Not anyone. Only the Queen. And the Queen said, "I need Carmona. I need them."

"Wes," Priya said, voice almost like pleading, as if trying to keep her wife from leaving them alone again.

"I must meet him, Elena, Cherenya, someone… Someone from the Navy, and I need… I must call Morales now… I need to go."

"Wes," Priya said again, but Wessa was already on the move. The Queen gave the tablet back too quickly and one Tensha followed immediately, silent. Rantankai, Angels, Tensha, and Protectors moved. Half the detail remained with the family. The rest followed the Queen, with two drawing themselves very close to her sides.

And now the Consort couldn't follow. Not when she had little Solene in her arms, and certainly not when Cassian returned to her, his hands clinging to the leg of her trousers.

She couldn't even call after the Queen. Her wife. Mother of her children.

But beyond all of them, her Wessa was matriarch of all Solisia.