Prologue - When Titans Fall
“A revolution is not a bed of roses. A revolution is a struggle between the future and the past.”
- Fidel Castro
At the turn of 2011, Alfegos was at its most stable for a long time. The nation seemed to be finally on the route to recovery, the PRA at a massive low, Milkavich thriving through new regeneration projects, and the entire nation on the forefront of a massive economic boom. However, good things never last.
The PRA became a target of the nation, with a new policy implemented to speedily end the long-running guerilla wars - that of targeted asassaination. The leaders and commanders of the PRA, and sympathising groups, were subject to government-sanctioned kill-or-capture raids, many ending in the former, to the point where the experience base of the PRA was wiped out in the course of only two months. Alongside the multi-national effort in Milkavich, and in the Gra'fegos, and mass raids across New Alfegos wiping out the largest foreign outpost of the PRA, the group were on the verge of defeat. And so, the unthinkable happened - the head of the PRA appeared on national television, declaring the PRA were to disband, giving the locations of all their weapons caches and major strongholds, in exchange for the warrants of arrest to be cancelled on all members.
At first the government agreed, and in April and May purged nearly 80 000 tonnes of ordinance in caches and dumps across the Fegosphere. But then, they went back on their word, continuing the kill-or-capture missions with the premise of guerilla actions and sympathiser groups still continuing attacks across Milkavich and the Gra'fegos.
At this point, the PRA spokesperson revealed the PRA hadn't been entirely truthful. In the 50s, they had managed to capture certain aspects of Fegosian projects that were only just being revealed by the leaks from Novikov's raid on the Sentinel 2 installation. In response to the revelation that the PRA had contorl of a facility able to flatten parts of Milkavich, mass unrest ensued across the city, the government forces battling to try and keep control, yet at the same time reluctant to dedicate more resources to a city which could be flattened at any signs of aggression from the government. The diversion of troops to the city saw a co-ordinated strike by guerillas against the cordon surrounding the Gra'fegos, a breakthrough flooding Milkavich city with legacy weapons and technology. Fearing mass casualties from thousands upon thousands of gas canisters smuggled from a raided storage yard on the cordon, the government forces withdrew to the province boundary fortifications, met by re-enforcements from Damirez and the Fegosian Union. From here, a stalemate ensued, Milkavich descending into an anarchy headed by the PRA leaders, a vague socialist government forming. With such capabilities, and the government not wishing to call the PRA on their claims to control over Water Shield platforms, the two sides faced each other across the two mountain ranges bordering the province.
At this time, international outcry reached a crescendo. In light of the situation, in which a crisis interim government was formed, the control of Fegosian overseas territories was seceded to the Fegosian Union for a temporary period, whilst forces were called in from abroad to focus on the internal situation. At this time, it was found that a substantial part (22%) of the armed forces had defected, including men in charge of a nuclear weapons battery in the province, the army taking the brunt of defectors. An international alliance of powers, headed by Damirez, hosted the interim government as the Fegosian government tried to produce a strategy to break the deadlock.
Yet, at the start of May 2012, things were afoot. A great change was soon to happen.
Chapter 1 - A Gun Pointed at the Head of Nova
"This nuclear option is ultimately an example of the arrogance of power." - Joe Biden
== 12 May 2012 ==
An idea is infectious. He had seen it before in nature, with many analogues. A metastatic cancer, that would grow, at first slowly but then rapidly as it gained note. Caught early, the chances of removing it were good - but too late, and it would spread to every part of society. By itself harmless, but as it grew, it would displace all established systems of order. And at that point, there was nothing else one could do.
It was this that had taken hold, like a wildfire, in the province of Milkavich. And it was this that the President looked at every waking hour, even dreamt about at night. A country, split in two in attempts to contain itself. A just war against a force that he hated, against the ungrateful, manipulative, power-hungry warlords of the deep province. There were many options, yet for now it was a symmetric war. The military had defected to a large degree, and now two sides sat either side of two demarcation lines. Both had access to similar amounts of weaponry, of manpower, and of industry. The only difference was the food - and it was this that had caused the decision in tactics.
He looked over at map that dominated the planning room, currently empty barring his single security guard. Two areas, North and South Alfegos, rent in two by a large band of red - the Communist Containment zone. Milkavich province. To the north and south, the mountains that had formed the two borders. To the west, the giant urban conurbation of Milkavich and Peri'vi. To the east, the small coastal cities and plantations. And in the centre, the deep and dark forests, in which forces beyond all side's controls lurked. Along the mountains, many tiered levels of fortifications had been constructed, extending from the highest peaks to the very roots of mountains. Both sides had converted industrial complexes towards total war, with all resources available channeled to the military. This ceasefire, on which two sides continually were building up for an offensive, seemed to be becoming more and more delicate as the days passed. Yet violence was inevitable.
The security guard reached into his pocket, looking at his phone. He remained expressionless as he noted the message.
"Mr President, if you would please follow me to the War Room. Operation Neptune is about to begin."
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The wind up here was constant, a reminder of just how desolate the place was. A lone gunman looked out over the landscape, over the demarcation line. On the one side, concrete bastions were linked by trenches, electric fences, armoured walls, and artillery pits. No lights were visible, bar the occasional red glow that was quickly silenced. On the other side, all that seemed to be visible was a rusted fence. Yet behind that, the change of heat signatures showed tank traps, anti-parachute stakes, deep bits and winding trenches. Figures occasionaly appeared, moving through the trenches and into the mountain hiding holes. And in the centre, cleared and in some cases blasted into the rock, a one hundred metre gap, completely empty and illuminated by floodlamps. The killing strip as it was known, as a result of the firepower focused on that one area. And all along, and likely underneath, these networks of redoubts and tunnels stretched for the best part of 1000 kilometres.
The man watching was a marksman, hidden at the end of a small tunnel, with but a set of gunloops to aim at his foe. The rifle was loaded, made ready, with only a safety catch between him and the start of a war. His orders were simple - anyone entering the killing strip was to be shot, unless his radio headset said otherwise. Next to him, his spotter sat pouring water into the second of the chemical heaters saved from the ration packs as a general handwarmer and source of heat. Despite the many layers, at 3210 metres altitude the weather was hardly forgiving, with ice forming on the edges of their balaclavas from breathing alone. They would sit up here for two hours before being relieved, all the time acting as sentries. As it had been since the country stabilised in August 2011, when the communists had taken control across the other side of the border, this new fortified line.
The two didn't speak now, but would when they finally returned to their dorm in this position. They were conscripts, and up until last August had thought they would only serve a year in the Whiteshields - yet now, they were fully-fledged fighters, that armband gone and replaced with a tactical flash of their regiment - the Sil'zevk rifles. Their surplus AF-2s were gone, replaced with a hurriedly-produced AF-07 assault rifle and a more deadly EV-2 battle rifle. Whilst it was business as normal, both had felt something in the air tonight - maybe it was a change in the icy winds - that told them that something was afoot tonight. Something that would change the country forever. Up here at least, any cataclysm would be dwarfed by that which threatened the lowlands.
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"Sir, Operation Neptune will commence upon your order - the vessels are in place and ready to begin." The President sat looking at the presentation in front of him - of a laptop with a jerking video link, of a number of feeds from the national alert network, and of a videophone line to the Ministry of War. So far, it appeared, the operation could go ahead - yet he knew the risks. Whether they succeeded or failed, there would be war. This was the start of hostilities that would reshape the way the People's Nation was seen for years to come, and would bring about a fresh start. The risk was of failure - of the cataclysm that it would bring.
"Generals, Marshalls, Admirals... tonight we embark upon a great venture. If we win, then war will come - but a war fought on our terms, in which we can drive back an enemy whose only goal is to hold power. We will prevail, and force them back, and eliminate those who try to oppose freedom, liberty and progress. If we fail, then all will end. There will be nobody left to fight or to die. I say that if we are willing to fight, to win, then we must take this risk. No human success, no great advance of our species, has come without a degree of peril. The best of luck, and may we triumph over this evil." The commanding staff nodded, before giving the order.
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The bathycraft hung from its umbilical cord in the black ocean, only the occasional flash of biolumenesence illuminating the sphere's interior. Six men sat wedged in whatever space was available, however uncomfortable, with only a video camera feeding them a view of the outside world. Outside, the motor was still, batteries waiting for when the tether was finally loosed, and they were cast into the blackness.
"Neptune is go, over."
"Thankyou Surface, disconnecting. Out."
The computer screens started up, as the craft was brought back from silent mode. Small plasma screens fed from a flat central computer, yet still not providing much space. The submarine began to sink, as all kept quiet - the hydrophones scattered in this seaspace would pick them up in a moment. Worse still, a patrolling airship would pick up their noise, and start an attack. Soon, hopefully, they would be out of danger. The screen displayed the depth, scrolling slowly as the craft was lowered as far as the winch would go. Numbers that accompanied no real sense of change, as the craft continued downwards, the only sounds the occasional movement of metal as it was put under stress. Despite the bathycraft being pressurised internally to 40 bar, the presure difference would do little to aid them once they reached their target depth. 400 metres, and the pressures were equal - now the water was forcing in on their craft. 500, 600, 700 - the numbers counted by. One man looked at his watch dial in the dim light - the perception of time was slowed down. Finally, they reached cutoff depth. At 1500 metres, the cable line was detached, bringing a brief dimming of the computer screens - they were now on battery power. They had a couple kilometres to travel forwards, as well as downwards, in search of their goal. The descent continued, far deeper than any military submarine was capable of, as the electric motor hummed. At this depth, hydrophones and weapons were of no issue - it was time that mattered, and success in finding their target.
The screens focused on now were navigation - of a chart, with their rough position plotted on by hand in line with a gyroscopic compass and, in an emergency, SONAR. Bright floodlights were illuminated, showing up the mist of dust and debris that hung in the waters. A fish flittered past, quickly moving from the powerful beams, as they searched for their target. Out of the mire, a surface appeared on their left - a cliff of solid rock, the occasional outcrop covered with ooze and sediment. The continental shelf, a sheer slope that here descended down to a depth of nearly 3000 metres. Spectacular, yet never truly appreciated by man himself. Parts of it had collapsed or moved, yet still the sonagram charts seemed to be pretty accurate as they headed onwards. At 1800 metres, the craft levelled off, looking for its goal. And soon enough, it appeared.
Cut into the side of a granite protrusion, a grey-brown cliff that stretched onwards was something remarkably unnatural - a tunnel, blasted into the side, carrying on deep within. The vehicle moved, turning down the engines, before aiming into the gap. It just fitted, ripping off a hydroplane as they entered, before continuing down the tunnel. The light picked out the continuation of artificial signs - the struts re-enforcing the passage, and deep angular grooves of some mining process. After a hundred metres, the tunnel reached an end, where it met with a shaft. The craft rose up uncertainly, as those within prepared themselves, unholstering handguns and shouldering equipment bags. Most started stretching themselves out - once they left the bathycraft, they would have seconds to react. Their orders were simple - storm this underwater military structure, and capture or kill all within, before destroying all the equipment and leaving. They hadn't been told what the equipment was - neither had they been told why they were doing it. All they needed to know was that the equipment posed a threat and give the enemy a shipping advantage. A four man team ready to do what they did best.
"We've reached the pressure gates - hopefully the system will automatically cycle, like we were told." There was a pause, before a rumbling pervaded the craft - some powerful machinary had activated. "300 seconds." The group had been told to destroy any equipment as priority - after all, the enemy needed to be kept in the dark as long as possible, though this had been stressed with incredible fortitude. The machinary stopped, followed by the sound of loud hissing - the pressure was being dropped to 40 bar from 180, as water was pumped out of the chamber they were in. Behind them, a series of heavy concrete/steel blast doors had slammed shut, able to withstand the immense pressure they were being placed under, the pressure itself increasing the effectiveness of the seal the door created. The submarine's pilot turned to the small team's leader, noting the man's rank - a Major. That was strange in itself, what he normally saw as a staff officer readily trained to engage in an action such as this - but it was hardly his place to comment.
"Go get them - we should be in with a chance. 120 seconds." Anticipation was making the time run slow - enough for all to get themselves into a combat mood. All rehearsed the action in their heads, remembering the maps and the model that they had built to practice through - though that was based upon what little data was available. Or rather, what information was willing to be given away.
"Go - quickly." The hatch was burst open, revealing the airspace that had now formed within the shaft. A heavy concrete blast door had opened above them, at the end of a ladderway and gantry - yet it was at this point they knew the enemy had been waiting.
A hail of gunfire forced the lead man back in, as lead smacked into what was a near-impenetrable fortress, with only enough time to note the two men who had engaged. Reaching up, he let loose a few shots with his handgun, before ducking back in. It would be difficult to advance under such a volley of fire as they had just received, yet they needed to move - and fast. A smoke grenade was produced and thrown out, exploding to send chunks of phosphorous out across the water's surface. The water fizzed and boiled as the smokescreen appeared in near seconds - enough time for the four men to disembark from the bathycraft. The ladderway was a chokepoint, yet one that was engaged with immediately. The four men, dripping from their wet combat equipment, quickly clambered to the top of the ladder, as random shots criss-crossed the interior. The first enemy fell as the Major stuck a knife into his leg, before receiving a second stab to the back of his neck. The second raised his rifle to fire, just as the second man on the ladderway surged up to fight. In the melee that followed, the two wrestled over a knife, as the major dragged himself up onto the stainless steel gantry, before rolling off into the water. A single gunshot ended the fight, their enemy randomly twitching as blood leaked from his shattered skull into the water. On inspection, he was not the only body - one of theirs had been hit as they climbed up the ladder, and had already been dragged under by his armour. There was little chance he would resurface from the water thirty metres below.
Beyond the blast door was a corridor carved out by hand along what seemed to be a fissure line. Water dripped from the occasional crack in the spray concrete and metal beams, draining into a gutter on the floor below. Pipes and thick powercables covered every space, forcing the three men to stoop as they continued through the claustrophobic space. At the end of the corridor was a second blast door - again open. Why were the enemy giving them almost free access to the inner sanctum of this area? The answer came on the other side, at the computer terminals.
"This place is ancient. This isn't right at all." They had been told the platform was relatively new - yet the massive cabinets of electronics told them otherwise. These were computers, yes, but incredibly aged. Rigged into them by a tangle of cables were a few laptops, scrolling through assembly code as they interpreted the complex programmes that caused the incessant hum within the structure. A couple of passageways led off from here, both quickly secured by the other two members of the team. The place had been abandoned quickly, one of the chairs overturned - the reason being the control panel for the decompression chamber. It was obvious, now they saw it, that the enemy had been lying in wait. A plan of the station sat on the desk, an old blueprint - yet this again told them not all was right. WaterShield East 3, the place was named, and had many more corridors leading off than they had been told of. The Major moved along to the laptops, noting the code they were moving through. He realised it was a timer, giving them seven and a half minutes - but for what? The time ticked away, as he tried to search for what was going on, before looking back at the schematic.
"Sir, are you alright?" One of the soldiers had turned to face the Major, as he stood rigid reading through the computer screens. The major slowly unfroze, taking a deep breath in, before recomposing himself.
"The computers are linked up to ten nuclear charges, buried all around in this rockface. I don't know if the charges are stable or not, if they will detonate or not - but according to this, we have six and a half minutes to live. Search this place, and quickly - I'll see what I can do here." The Major sat down as the two men moved together down a corridor, marked as going towards the crew quarters. He ignored the sound of gunshots, and of yells, as he sat down at the laptops, hitting keys.
A list of commands appeared as he typed in help - yet knew he was far out of his depth. He started typing in bodged commands, improvising with hope that it would work - yet each time the computer ignored him completely. As a gutteral scream echoed from the area of the firefight, an alarm on one of the panels indicating a fire, he ran over to the cabinets of computers, looking for any sort of guidance. Reams and reams of numbered circuit diagrams, yet no schematic for how these related to function. He followed the cables, yet they seemed to sprawl out in a mess, with no idea as to whether they controlled the lighting, or the weaponry. Desperately, he started pulling out cables - and yet the laptop was still counting down. The lights suddenly cut out, before dim battery backups relit the area in a bright red hue. The computers had switched to battery power, and the countdown was continuing. He ripped the back off the cabinet, revealing thousands of assorted wires - what did they do, and where did they lead? Another loud alarm begin to sound - this one even more frantic than the fire alarm. He ignored this as he, in deperation fired off a magazine of pistol rounds into the main computer. Nothing.
One his men came running back, blood streaming down his face from where a knife wound had gashed his skin.
"Sir, there's a lot more of them than we anticipated, and they're not backing down. What are we going to do when we run out of ammunition?"
"I have no clue. Pull back, and help me destroy everything in here - hopefully that'll have some effect."
It was a vague hope, but they would have to try breaking everything in here. He grabbed a chair and smashed it deep into the computer cabinet, listening to the crackles and pops as the circuits were broken or destroyed. The code lines stopped, as the computer continued counting, before messaging him.
"Contact with mainframe lost. Redundant countdown activating. Estimated time:"
The time started counting down from 15 minutes. The Major took a deep breath in, as a heavy demolition tool was smashed into a fuse box. But in fifteen minutes, would there be any time to find what they were looking for? He looked around the area, before making up his mind.
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The president sat silent in the war room as the group watched a sensor feed from what was left of the Ministry of Oceans. A network of tsunami buoys and seismometer probes were part of the emergency network that safeguarded Alfegos in what was a geologically difficult part of the world. The last great waves, in the 50s, had prompted mass construction of coastal defences in cities, that now meant that any natural tsunami would be unable to penetrate the barriers that acted as additional military defences. And, the integrated warning systems would allow all to escape to safety.
Yet this was to monitor what was afoot with Operation Neptune. If they failed, the sensors would give a distinctive reading. Water Shield was a last-resort doomsday weapon, conceived at a time of Novan strife, and as a final parting gift to any successful invader. Combined with the other components of the 5 Part Plan, the majority of western Nova would be left without life. Highly controversial, and secretive, yet a powerful force to act as final blackmail. And, as the nuclear weapons of the platform systems detonated in sequence, the induced underwater landslip on the order of tens of kilometres of sea shelf would result in a massive wave. Rolling in at near supersonic speed, before slowing as the water shallowed, a massive wave over 100 metres high would overflow, if not crush, any defences it did not dwarf. Rolling in faster than a car could escape, the water would rip dams apart upriver, uproot cities, and leave a trail of devestation that would lead tens of kilometres inland. And, with every major population centre within that deadly radius, the predictions saw nearly half the Fegosian population dying in one stroke, the land wiped clean. And that was the start - the wave would be expanding in other directions, completely submerging Nakai'ilos, before rolling in with incredible destructive force against the Atrean continent, the Monavian continent, and many other Novan land masses.
This gun pointed at the head of Nova was being removed - yet with the risk of it firing. The men waited, hoping that a solution was reached.
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The Major stood facing the giant pressure door of the waterlock, knowing the forces it restrained. A single one inch hole in that would send water propelling through with more force than a jet engine. And the slab sitting facing him was ten feet across, ten feet high. Yet it failing was somewhat an implausible suggestion, as was the question of the inner pressure door failing. Both, when forced shut, formed a seal through the action of water pressure. The doors were impossible to open unless pressure was equalised. The thick constructions and re-enforcing sandwiches saw them proof to explosives, cutting tools, incredible forces. Even their surrounding saw them cut into solid rock and concrete. And so came his idea. He shouted down the the bathycraft, as the two remaining soldiers retreated back towards the control centre - the occupants had mounted a counter-attack. The sound of a machinegun was evident, rounds whistling everywhere in the narrow corridors. The men slammed an internal door shut, propping it closed whilst waiting for orders.
"Crewmen, seal the hatch and prepare to leave this place - we're not coming back."
He hurriedly ran into the control room, noting the time on the laptop - 11 minutes. More than enough time for a full cycle. He explained his plan to the two soldiers, who froze in place as they realised its gravity. Neither argued, both agreed. It was all they had left as an option. One of the men got to work with a fireaxe on the inner pressure door's mechanism, as the Major familiarised himself with the control system. Finally assured with what he wished to do, he increased the power output from the facility's core to the highest it would go, before starting a decompression cycle. Immediately an alarm sounded, warning all of the impeding decompression - yet with the sensors on the inner door destroyed by axe blade, and the motor sizzling from broken connections, the system was unaware of the fatal breach in the containment system. The valves below opened, allowing jets of water to rush in with enough force to normally send a craft into orbit. The water level started rising quickly, the pressure sensors simultaneously ordering the opening of the blast door as the pressure increased. Within ten seconds, the water had reached the doorway. A wave of water rushed in, knocking the major off his feet and carrying him down a corridor towards the electrical centre of the building. He managed to grab onto a beam, pulling himself up as all around electronics failed. The dim red glow of emergency lighting stayed as the water quickly rose to ceiling level. A sudden increase in the powerful flow as the lower door opened almost broke his wrist, slamming him into the place's core. As pressure built, the coolant to the nuclear pile in the unit's centre failed. Yet the Major was unaware of this, knocked unconscious as he hit a low pipe, quietly drowning with the other men who occupied the facility.
Within the waterlock, the crew of the Bathycraft fought against the incredible flow with little avail, the electric engines wining against a superior current. The craft slammed into the rock face, sending external machinery trailing to the floor, as the opposite side buckled under pressure. Within a minute though, the floor soon eased, allowing the men to assess the situation - they had no lighting, no steering, and only one engine left. The impact had shaken them, but not hurt too much - and now, the craft turned to limp away from the facility. Once clear of the rock face, boxes of lead shot detached from the craft, allowing it to rocket towards the surface, and safety.
The water, under the pressure it was, got everywhere. The nuclear pile was airtight, but not watertight - and soon enough the water burst through piping, immediately quenching the core. The steam explosion that followed was enough to rip the facility apart with a blast that picked up on seismometer. Yet it was not nuclear, the backup hard timer smashed by water, shorted out by the fluid it had become immersed in, and finally ripped from the facility floor by a shockwave that reverberated through the water. The water flow in here was negative, as the water flowed back in on the vapour produced, washing the reactor's components back into the rockface. Someday, somebody would do the decent thing of concreting the place up, ignoring it had ever existed from then on. For now though, it was a victory.
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As this drama played out, the general staff waited on other key pieces of information. Inland, on the edges of the Twilight Forest, another venture just as daring was about to begin. And in the towering, frost-bitten Mountains of the moon, a third player was moving into the scene.
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Chapter 2 - Strangers in a Hostile Land
"Welcome to the
== 31st April 2012 ==
Waves rolled in against the coastline, the moonlight illuminating the rising tide. A spring tide, that in a few hours would be surged even more by an approaching tropical depression. Clouds were approaching, which would soon obliterate the full moon overhead, leaving the land totally dark.
The town of Hea'ilva'vi was a small ferry port out to the island of Nakai'ilos, miles across the waters. A deep port, that for now was quiet - only the military ran the ferries now. Ships had stacked up in harbour, forced out of place by the military vessels now berthed to weather out the inclemant conditions. Under control of the CPRA, the curfew was already in effect, as was the blackout. Power was essential, a scarce resource that was provided with difficulty. As the government had withdrawn, it had taken down the HVDC lines from both south and north, and from east and west. The maglev system was out of action, with the few repairs made transferring power down old AC lines through the mountains and the Gra'fegos. As such, when power was scarce, the military had preference - so even turning on a socket here would not guarantee electricity.
A pair of CPRA militiamen, former ISS officers, patrolled in step through the empty streets of the harbour area, EV-2K carbines they had personally acquired slung ready to shoot. The orders were simple - that they now had powers of execution under the martial laws. Curfew breakers could be shot, at their discretion. Yet people still disobeyed. And these two men, especially, had a tendency to turn a blind eye.
The two stopped by a building, pausing as an airship rumbled overhead - if it weren't for the sound of the engines, they wouldn't have noticed it. The two listened, trying to determine the sound of the engines. They were giant engines - it was a transport going out to Nakai'ilos. Thankfully, for them. There came a brief green glow as a watch dial was illuminated - it was 2300 hours. 30 minutes, so time to make preparations. Pacing, completely calmly, the men passed through the vehicle checkpoint at the harbour complex entrance, and within minutes had passed out onto the harbour wall. Again, completely dark, and now fortified against attacks. If an enemy were to try and attack, the wall was rigged to blow, and block off access for months. The beaches either side were less friendly, with a line of concrete and dense minefields making any access by sea deadly. And, from intelligence that the two men had obtained, the harbour was unsuitable for fitting with anti-submarine nets. They relied on the sweeps by ship and airship, and the hydrophones they had commandeered, to alert them of a threat and defend the ships within.
At the end of the harbour wall was the old light, shining out to guide ships in when active. As it was, the power had been cut for blackout, the wall completely invisible barring the biolumenesence of the surf below. In its place, one of the two men retrieved a torch from a pocket, hanging it from the harbour light, before turning it on. A small light now shone out, impossible to see from inland, yet visible to anyone offshore. Exactly as they intended. And, if lucky, it wouldn't be noticed until it was far too late. The men started the long walk back - in half an hour, they would be hosting guests. That was, if the guests didn't get lost or caught. For that, they had a helping hand at least. One of the two opened a mobile phone, ensuring that the pre-dialled number was correct, before placing back into his pocket.
Chapter 3 - Operation Gung-ho
"Do they really think airships are viable in this day and age?" - Last words of an unknown Cynacian Colonel.
== 12th May 2012 ==
To many an outsider, the Fegosians were seen as the epitamy of the mad scientist. Geniuses, yet with a disregard for care and safety that many interpreted as audaciousness. It had put them years, if not decades ahead of other nations, and yet in other respects had provided their competitors with a mindset very similar to that of a nuclear standoff - that they could not be trusted, as the stuff they were rumoured to have was more scary than anything they could muster. And when these were confirmed, the mood had become further fearful - who else might capture the technology?
It was combination of fear and Fegosians that had found Arcturian special forces crossing under the Polinas - Milkavich demarkation line via a hand-dug tunnel. 5 miles long, it cut straight through a mountain, ending in a cave system extending deep into CPRA territory. An entranceway to a land, and a fortress deep in a mountain range, full of promise for the men who crept and, in parts, crawled towards. And for all, the start of an irreversible process, of a great war that would end the deadlock, and free Alfegos.
