All the Little Angels (Semi-Closed)

[Yallak]

OOC: First bit done with approval from Laysley.

November 22nd, 2013 – 07:39
The Fortress of Weißburg
Scant, Ibblesguard

‘And here I thought we were just starting to get along so well.’ Kaidan mused aloud pleasantly as the three prisoners stood silently, refusing to answer his question. ‘I thought we could get this tedious exchange over and done with in a gentlemanly fashion, but I see you don’t seem to like that idea. Fair enough, but I should point out now that I don’t like being ignored and I don’t like playing games either, well, except poker of course, as I mentioned early I’m quite a fan of that. Anyway, the point is, co-operation is the best thing for everyone.’

The three prisoners made some cursory sideways glances between each other as they checked to be sure they were all still standing together in defiance. Then they focused their eyes back on Kaidan and said nothing. The Emperor watched with interest as he sat in his chair, leaning on the arm.

‘So be it,’ Kaidan said with a sigh, and then rose from the table and walked around to stand in front of it on the other side. Garviel followed like a shadow. With a quick motion of his hand the Emperor made a beckoning gesture towards the prisoner who stood in the middle of the trio. Immediately, two Praetores moved in from behind and grabbing the man by his chained arms, dragged him before the Emperor, before forcing him to his knees.

‘We don’t need you,’ Kaidan stated bluntly, his words dripping in venom. ‘You are not a prisoner of war, you are a criminal; a terrorist. We are not bound to any conventions on your treatment. If you don’t co-operate with us, you will be executed.’

The suddenness of the aggression brought utter shock to the man’s face, but for whatever reason he suppressed it quickly and answered rebelliously, ‘You don’t know what you’re up against.’

Kaidan just looked at the man kneeling before him, his strong features void of any emotion. ‘Neither do you.’

In one swift, split-second motion, Garviel drew his side arm, levelled it at the kneeling prisoners head and fired. The weapons retort echoed around the room loudly as the prisoner slumped sideways to the floor, blood and brain fluids pulsing out of the wound bored through his skull and pooling around the corpse in a sticky puddle. The other two prisoners recoiled in horror but the gathered Imperial guards merely watched unmoving.

Kaiden waited for a moment in silence, allowing the remaining two prisoners to get a good look at the grizzly sight of their friend, before he beckoned towards the next prisoner. The two Praetores retrieved the next prisoner and brought him back to Kaidan, making him step over the corpse of his dead comrade before they forced him too to kneel before the Emperor in the pool of blood. The man practically went white as he felt the sickly warmth of the red gore soaking into his clothing.

‘We don’t need you,’ Kaidan repeated vehemently, ‘You are not a prisoner of war...’

The prisoner squirmed, rambling in distress as he attempted to vacate the pool of human goo, but the Praetores held him where he was firmly. ‘I....I....no....can’t....’

‘You are a criminal,’ Kaidan continued without pause, ‘a terrorist. We are not bound to any conventions on your treatment.’

The second prisoner had stopped struggling now, instead turning to despair as he wept silently in his anguish.

‘If you don’t co-operate with us, you will be executed.’

The man looked like he was trying to speak, but no words came out. Garviel raised his pistol again, but as he levelled it at the man’s head the third prisoner called out. ‘Wait! Please! I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

Garviel didn’t lower the gun. ‘Start talking then.’

_____________________________



_____________________________

November 17, 2013 – 05:30
Taskforce Hereticus
Anchored off Pondderborg

Captain Melia Vallon trudged drowsily on to the bridge of the Virulence to discovered that she was not the only one who had had a not especially good night’s sleep. Commander Ekraan, who was in the best of circumstances notably disagreeable, looked remarkably irritated as he conversed with the holographic representation of someone over the ships communication system.

‘Fine then,’ snarled Ekraan, before angrily hitting the button that terminated the conversation and caused the hologram to dissipate, ‘Just shiny.’

‘What was that about?’ the Captain enquired, as she stretched her arms out behind her back, attempting to release some of the soreness in her limbs.

‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ said Ekraan sardonically, ‘just the almighty Lord Emperor Kaidan wanting us to fix his problems. Apparently, the get rid of Marshal Ro plan A didn’t work as completely as he’d hoped. To be honest, I don’t really know, I stopped paying attention past his ‘I want more than half your fleet’s aircraft’ demand.’

‘How many does he want?’

‘At least two air groups transferred to his base ASAP. It gets better though, he wants a stack of the third legions anti-air vehicles too. General Sarhane won’t be pleased either I can assure you.’

‘He doesn’t have the authority to do that though, does he?’

Ekraan stepped away from the communications console and dropped unceremoniously into his high-back command seat. ‘Probably not. By all reckoning he’s just a Chancellor, but as annoying as it is I’ve agreed.’

‘You’re not getting soft now are you, Sir?’ Melia prodded, grinning devilishly.

‘Not at chance. But we can survive without the planes, the reinforcement fleet is due a couple of days now and I won’t say no so I can then have some epic failure over in Ibblesguard get blamed on my refusal.’ With a sigh Ekraan rose from his chair. ‘Well, better get to it. Carry on Captain.’

Melias saluted as the Commander headed off the bridge. ‘Aye, Sir. I should really be getting to that morning coffee anyway.’

-------------

Back in Ibblesguard, damage control was underway following the retaliation from Marshal Rø’s forces. With precious few Waldenburg fighters available in the region and only forty-two of the sixty Yallakian aircraft remaining of those deployed initially in the attack against the Lüftburg, the entire force had been withdrawn back to Scant and ordered not to engage Rø’s planes unless they threatened Scant or its immediate surroundings. Instead anti-aircraft batteries had been selectively redeployed to protect Ibblestern without compromising defence elsewhere and in light of the civilian casualties of the air raids, propaganda was in the process of being distributed around outlining these new crimes committed by order of the so called Prince Cato.

A plan was in motion though. If Rø’s forces returned then the reconnaissance aircraft being prepared at Scant would track the aircraft back to whatever secondary bases were housing and launching the Air Marshals armada when they withdrew and then when the reinforcements arrived they would have some targets to demolish.

[Laysley]

Whistling banged his fist on the table. Hard.

The assembled members shut up.

"Gentlemen please!"

The various figures seated around the table looked guiltily at each other. Except for Lord Flint, who just raised his eyebrows and smiled to himself. This, of course, let off a grumble from Jowls sitting next to him, but he didn't break out shouting like he had done about twelve minutes ago. This was a long meeting.

"Thank you Lord Whistling, now if I may have your attention again gentlemen, and my lady." First Minister Fulwood stood up from his seat. The Princess smiled warmly from the opposite end of the table, Whistling looked slightly embarrassed - but not enough for anyone to notice. Fulwood continued in his squeaky, nasal voice.

"Taking into account the wide-range of opinions expressed here today, I feel the consensus is definite in that we must surrender and the argument really lies in-"

"There is no such consensus!" Bellowed Field Marshal Heeley, on the right of the Princess. "Only you and your politician friends would take such a lily-livered course of-"

Walkley joined Fulwood in standing, banging his fist on the table as he rose. "Please shut up my good Field Marshal! Your ridiculous aggressive foolishness will only get a lot of innocent people killed! You seem to have this delusion of a glorious last-stand, but we'll see how glorious that is when they've gassed half our women and shelled all our children!"

Heeley stood up "Pathetic! When your only alternative is give-in I wonder why they-"

Speckle rushed to his feet and opened his mouth to speak, but stammered for a moment. Heeley ignored this new arrival and continued to shout insults at Walkley, which was greeted by utter indignation by Pimms, who really would not abide all this mud-slinging! Shortly, the entire room was in uproar again, with only Jowls, Flint, Crisp the Princess not on their feet.

Flint nudged Jowls. "Not joining them?" He shouted in Jowls' ear, over the commotion.

Jowls grimaced and said something inaudible, then stood up himself. At first no one noticed, then Pimms and Whistling exchanged glances and sat down. Speckle did so a fraction of a second later.

With most of the table now sat down, Fulwood and Walkley sat down too, but with defiant looks still on their faces. Only Heeley and Jowls now stood, with the former still shouting but at a lower volume. His eyes met Jowls' and he stopped.

"Thank you Field Marshal" growled Jowls "But this is not a military dictatorship. Let the Princess decide."

Walkley opened his mouth to raise an objection, but Flint quickly clamped a hand over it.

Her Reverence now, gracefully, stood. Slowly, she thought about exactly what she was going to say and then, in a quiet, feminine voice which these halls were so devoid of, spoke her piece.

"Gentlemen, in the light of this grave situation I believe that it would not constitute cowardice to stand down and surrender to the Yallakian government. While I would not wish the sovereignty of my nation away our actions internationally have brought us to the attention of Tyrrhenia's last great power, a power which is more powerful than us in almost every way. I love this country, and I would not have it destroyed forever. Yet this is just my opinion. Laysley is now a democracy and so the people will decide. I propose to call a new term of parliament and take an emergency vote on this matter in both houses."

The assembled members looked at each other and gravely nodded. Surrendering was the only action that Laysley could take now and it should be done properly.

Politely, Field Marshal Heeley, stood up and cleared his throat. "I appreciate your good intentions, my lady, but I'm afraid I cannot allow that to happen." Pimms had seen this too many times before, and barely had the man finished his sentence before Pimms stood himself and aimed a pistol directly at his head.

"There is only one punishment for treason, Heeley. This is an illegal seizure of power."

Heeley smiled at him, without any genuineness at all. "No my lord, this is a revolution."

With that, both doors burst down and twenty armed soldiers unceremoniously stamped in - pointing their weapons at people who would rather not have weapons being pointed at them. "Thank you for your contribution gentlemen, but I'm afraid the decision has now been taken. If they want war, then they shall get it. Guards, take Fulwood and Walkley away." He paused while the two politicians were dragged out "Any of you still wishing to oppose me, please understand that the military has been entirely under my control since the declaration by Yallak and thus I am the leader of Laysley until this emergency has subsided." He obviously had enjoyed saying that.

"Guards, please place the Princess under house arrest in her palace."

The Princess looked about for a moment, then peacefully accepted her arrest and was marched out the room in a dignified manner.

"Will anyone else here not swear allegiance to my government?"

The table was now entirely composed of Lords. Whistling knew this, and so he smiled.

"Yes. No one sat here on this table will hold any contract with your coup no matter what the consequences."

Heeley was taken aback, Whistling continued "However I know that you need our expertise in the various fields of government here and I for one will not sit idly while Laysley fights for her life, no matter how ridiculous that fight is. For the duration of this government I pledge my services as a General. Are you with me, gentlemen?"

Flint stood up and nodded grimly "Alright. You've got yourself a treasurer, sir."

Pimms took the chance of not standing up last, perhaps to hide his height "I too will fight for my country in whatever way I can."

Speckle stood and simply nodded, Jowls followed in turn. "No." he said

Heeley turned on him with fire in his eyes "A traitor have we here, boys!"

"We're not your boys" Said Whistling

"And I'm not a traitor. But while a godless idiot holds the reigns I refuse to be in government." said Jowls, who turned to leave "AND DON'T BOTHER GRABBING ME" he bellowed at the guards on the way out

Then Crisp, previously unnoticed by Heeley, stood and smiled a thin, almost evil smile. "I have a plan." He intoned.

At that point, anyone less stupid than Heeley would have realised that he really had bitten off more than he could chew. In front of him stood some of the most experienced statesmen in Tyrrhenia and none of them liked him, a far bigger danger to him personally than any Yallakian invasion. And every man on that table knew exactly what Crisp was going to do, except for Heeley. He was just going to pretend, wasn't he?

"Excellent" he said

Yes, he was.

To: The High Council of Arrandin
From: The Political Directorate of the Prince-Archbishopric of Laysley
Subject: R.E: Waldenburg

To whom it may concern,

In the light of your previous telegram, we propose that the Directorate and involved Yallakian dignitaries attend an emergency summit in neutral territory in order to solve this crisis without undue aggression.

Yours sincerely,

Field Marshal Percy Edward Heeley,
Chairman of the Political Directorate of the Prince-Archbishopric of Laysley

[Waldenburg 2]

Sernade for Winds, K361

The Lüftburg
November 24th, 2013

Air Marshal Rø concentrated on the back of a sweating orderly as he tapped numbers into the dismal box of glowing green light that represented his computer; and in his heart of heart wished the man would simply burst into flames from the concentration of the glare. Of course he did not. They never did. The easy answer always seemed to involve the most work. And work it was for the Waldenburgers sat hunched in darkened caves tapping into computers which would somewhere punch holes in little cards and those little cards would be carried by chutes to little boxes and sit there until retrieved. He could only imagine say, the internal machinery of a Yallakian fighter-bomber, the circuitry, the information computing, the sheer electronic and modern capability equaled in every way eight of his own men. Their typing little fingers clacking away. Or their pilot thumbs gripped around flight toggles were, in the mathematics of failure, worth only one Yallakian. It was a harrowing thought but one the High Command had anticipated for some while; Yallakians could slaughter Waldenburgers for weeks, never growing tired, simple expending ammunition in an almost automaton fashion, creating the smoldering pot holes of war that would dot the continent for ages. For where as the Waldenburgers were prepared to fail nearly everyday the Yallakians only had to make one mistake, and thousands of their precious pilots would die.

It was only imagine in the minds of the most sadistic of statesmen but that was the equation; failure was an acceptable outcome and by product of a great mathematical equation; success was only the remainder, the sad fraction left over after the problem had already had brutal hands and minds thrust upon it. Perhaps, as Rø watched the arched back of his subaltern furiously compute flight trajectories, the situation should be viewed from a literary perspective; not one of hard figures, of the dangerously accurate ratio of 8:1, but of a narrative. Those in Waldenburg, accustomed to the plotting nature of the government, could almost feel it. And as Rø heard the static reports of Ibblestern being immolated time and time again, he could not help but feel his actions were being dictated by a a sheet of paper titled 'Secret Plan' written some months ago that stipulated his exact words and feelings.

"Withdraw all squadrons." A voice bleated suddenly, and to Rø's amazement discovered it was his own. "Call off the attack, Ibblestern has had enough. Return 23rd and 25th fighter squadrons along with the 105th Recon Wing to the Lüftburg, then order the rest under distress transponder to Blünderburg; they will defect to the Central Government in lieu of a more pleasant option. I will contact Field Marshal von Grüning and insure that the MMS is deactivated temporarily for them. Carry on," he nodded to his staff before slipping through a iron panneled door and down a rough hewn corridor to his own communications suite. The Lüftburg was one of the few places in Waldenburger with satellite communication networks, on loaned satellites of course, and happily and naturally Blünderburg was another.

"Prose, should fill my part." Rø mused as he waved for a technician to fire up the array of machinery and punch through the call. He slumped himself in a leather swivel chair and closed his eyes; imagining all the possible arrangements of words, the glorious sentences by which the proud Air Marshal would be humbled and surrender to the current of time.

"Connection approved," the technician held up five fingers and began counting down.

"Air Marshal Rø?"

It wasn't the wrinkled face of Grüning or even Palitz; but the rather plain face of General Solf. "Solf. I was expecting a Field Marshal." Rø said with a bit of harshness in his voice.

"In conference, I'm afraid. We've heard the news though, how bad is it?"

Rø didn't pause to think of the enmity that existed between the two men but did give it some considerable thought before answering, "Some considerable thousands, and most of the fighters."

"I'm sorry." Solf looked off screen for a moment and nodded, "We are prepared to accept the planes remaining, we picked up the fight around Ibblestern, still have some spunk in them don't they."

"That they do."

"Yes."

"How soon will you be assaulting?"

"However loath I am to say it, probably just in the new year, we're looking for an offensive just after Christmas. When the mountains will be filled with snow and ice, and packed with cannon. It will be appalling."

"So goes the equation you know." Rø smiled weakly and held up his hands as if to say 'I couldn't do anything either.'

"You know, I've never thought of it like that, despite what the staff college would tell me. I always thought if it, perhaps because of my inability with numbers, to think of it as a literary work. A flowing story that someone controls, somewhere, and can be influenced. The Lüftburg was ultimately a disaster but perhaps only a fiery period in a page of greater importance. Perhaps we are too small to see the purpose, and we can hardly be accused of being the antagonist here. Eventually we will triumph, however small, together we are strong."

"I had never thought of it like that."

"Ahh, the MMS will be deactivated for the next two hours so you have your opportunity to enter." Solf said briskly as if there had been no other line of conversation.

"Is Prince Cato dead?" Rø asked with the same inattention to previous topics.

"I don't know. I don't think it matters if he is or not."

"Perhaps you're right. Good bye General Solf, I hope to see you again. God willing, in the New Year."

"Good afternoon Air Marshal, Sir."

The communication cut out in a crackle of static.

--
"Here is a candle to light you to bed, here is a chopper to chop off your head, chip chop chip chop, the last man's dead."
--

"Gentlemen, we now have the resources to remove the Yallakian menace from Pondderborg." Solf said in a flourish as he rushed into the conference room around which the High Command was gathered and looking over a map of Blünderburg. "Rø has defected to us with maybe three quarters of a thousand in fighters. I think it perfectly wise to order four squadrons to effect the bombing of Pondderborg and it's surrounding fleet. If we send in 96 of our fighters we could effectively end them and cut off support of their troops from the sea. The second battle for Pondderborg!"

"Fine." Palitz turned one baleful eye, "Do it. Order Admiral Sloan to make a sashay with a submarine flotilla as well. With Ibbelsguard distracted." he need not finish his sentence, this too was part of the equation. "Let's end this nonsense."

"Why are we so glum?" Solf ask as none of the rest of the table had moved or acted in anyway in surprise at the mass defection.

"Reports have confirmed that Aschenhyrst has entered the war and violated our neutrality along the border with Wissenholm. It seems they are taking the opportunity to grab up our borders."

"Is that much of a bother? We can easily deal with them when this is over?"

"Stop!" Palitz bellowed and stood so fast his chair rocketed behind him across the slick marble floor. "Acting as if this is some sort of temporary set back! Hundreds of thousands of people have died! And more will die when we try to retake Pondderborg!"

"Apologies sir. It won't happen again."

--
"Here comes the grave-digg'r with his spade. Here comes the carter to cart you away. Clip clop clip clop all's away."
--

[Rodarion]

Office of the Divine Government
- Chamberlain Secretary Christada Arion
- 32A Apollo Towers, Celestial City, Konstantine
- KC31 6ES

To: High Council of Arrandin
From: The Office of the Divine Government of Rodarion
R.E: The apprehension of the Terrorist known as Prince Cato
Date: 24th November 2013



Following Recent events in Ostkreis, the Divine Commonwealth of Rodarion has agreed to openly support the Infinite Empire's quest to uphold the Terrorist Prince Cato.

The Securing of Aleric I's right to the throne is the duty of all nation's with some form of common sense and foresight. Sadly Prince Cato has continuously alluded your forces and has remained free from justice for too long. The Divine Government believes a strong secure Waldenburg would lead to a more stable Ostkreis and a more sizeable Paloni.
And so the Divine Commonwealth here bys offers its forces to help in the hunt for the Prince.

We hope that the High Council accepts our offer.

With Regards,
Daeron Almeris
His Imminence the Cardinal Cleric of Foreign Relations.

[Dyelli Beybi]

OOC: My apologies for vanishing for a bit again. After this post, you should be able to fast forward to wherever is a good point... and maybe give Davies something to do

"With your Highness's permission we will return to the Kingdom." Captain Harvey saluted for no apparent reason, "We will notify the Adveture Company to move to standby awaiting such time as you are able to secure a naval route into the country."

The court in Cyro would certainly rest easier knowing they had offloaded Davies on Cato. She was surprisingly good at keeping other people alive... and a ruthlessly efficient counter-espionage opperative, "Your highness." she studiously ignored Cato's discomfort staring at a point about two inches above his head, "I am entirely at your disposal. Please regard me as an assett in your struggle."

And that seemed to conclude matters.

[Yallak]

November 22nd, 2013 – 14:26
Mednordican International Center,
Ascelonia

The reply to the Layslian Directorate was short, curt and uncaring. There was no effort in the wording; in fact the reply did not even count as a proper sentence in the English language. The message just read simple as “Mednordican International Center, Ascelonia, Room 57. 2PM” and, like everything about this meeting, it was done purposefully to keep the Layslians at ill ease.

‘They are late,’ noted one of the two Imperial Navy officers who had been tasked with enduring the sure to be awkward meeting that was to follow. The man paced around the interior of the private state room investigating the various curiosities of Ascelonian design. The insides of the room, indeed the whole building, were characterized by organic motifs, plant and floral inspired forms and stylized, flowing curvilinear shape. It was a stark contrast to the typically functional appearance of modern Yallakian decor. ‘This place disturbs me, it feels very...odd.’

The other officer merely stood at a window, observing the canal but a stone’s throw away from where he stood. An Imperial Destroyer motored slowly by as he watched. That was in fact another reason this location had been selected for the meeting, so that the Layslians could see firsthand the mighty warships of the Yallakian Navy moving towards their nation, albeit the ones at the back of the armada that would probably arrive after the battle, if it came to pass, was well underway. ‘I should certainly hope they are late, Lieutenant Baurev. That is after all how it was planned to play out. They should be here any minute though, so I suggest you stop fidgeting and have a seat.’

And as if on cue, the door to the room opened and the Layslian delegation arrived. Given how long it would have taken to fly from Laysley to Ascelonia, they had certainly made good time, but the meeting had been set early enough that it would have required nothing less than divine intervention for them to arrive on time. Turning from the window, the senior of the two Yallakian officers, took a brief moment to measure up each of the men entering the room before speaking.

‘I am Captain Taillan Carbray, Commander of the Sentai-class Cruiser Proteus,’ he said, before motioning to the other officer, ‘This is my XO Lieutenant Baurev.’

If the Layslians had planned on introducing themselves, they were denied the opportunity by Taillan who drove straight into business. ‘Let us begin with some clarification,’ the captain declared, ‘we have agreed to this summit because it was not out of our way to come here. As you can see out the window, we were passing through anyway. Therefore, and most importantly, it should be noted that this meeting does not buy you a reprieve of any sort. The twelve hour deadline, of which you have six hours remaining, is still very much in effect.’

The captain took a seat at the room’s conference table and motioned for the Layslians to do likewise. ‘Now, if you have something important that may need consideration I am all ears, otherwise I am prepared to receive your surrender, within the allocated time of course.’

November 24th, 2013 – 11:25
Imperial Palace,
Arrandin, Yallak

‘...half-witted, moronic, religious nutjobs,’ continued Sollonaal’s rant to his fellow High Councillors as it entered its seventh minute. Due to pressing business across the nation and the region at large, only half of the ten members of the High Council were in attendance for the day’s meeting but all looked equally uninterested in the continuation of the current debate. ‘Have you all gone suddenly and completely insane by any chance? It was dealing with idiot church goers that started this whole mess in the first place, or are we having memory problems too?’

‘Oh, enough!’ The aggravated command from the Imperial State Commander, Lady Saroir, cut Sollonaal off and left him with an almost apologetic look, a rare emotion for him. ‘The point is made, not to mention more than a few unkind words as regard to our character and mental capabilities.’

‘Enthusiastically agreed,’ concurred the man beside Saroir, the High Lord of the City of Kilrah, Lord Baelin. ‘With your point though Sollonaal, I do not. It is time to accept the simple fact that help finding Cato would not be a detriment. He eluded our Operative at Skritz and now we are hardly closer to finding him than when we started. Most people don’t even know if he is dead or alive, what use will they be in locating him?’

Sollonaal snorted. ‘Hah! And you think these Rodarion could find him when we cannot. Oh, of course, their god will tell them where he is.’

‘You may mock it all you like Sollonaal, for it is foolish, but religion is a powerful tool if applied appropriately,’ interjected the shady Imperial Chancellor Merrech. As always he had the hood of his dark blue council cloak drawn over his head as if he was afraid that should light strike his face it might be vaporized. ‘You must see the bigger picture though. They don’t offer to help find him out of any sense of justice or charity; they are motivated by their recent defeat in Paloni. They seek our favour for their own security. And we should embrace this, at least for now, for they have shown a small measure of worth even in their defeat. Throw them a bone, so to speak, and soon you will have a loyal war dog with newly sharpened teeth for the inevitable battles that are to come; a war dog that will fight to the death against our enemies in the name of their god, however imaginary.’

Official Imperial Transmission

To: The Office of the Divine Government of Rodarion
From: The High Council of Arrandin
Subject: Re: The apprehension of the Terrorist known as Prince Cato

The Infinite Empire applauds the common-sense that the Rodarion Government has demonstrated in your recent letter to us. Such a trait is unfortunately very rare in the world these days. You also have our sincere thanks for your offer, which we gratefully accept. The Imperium would welcome any aid in the apprehension of the fugitive, Prince Cato, and in ensuring a more secure and stable Waldenburg, and through it Tyrrhenia.

Regards,

Lord Erkal Dortrean
Administratum-General ofYallak

[Cukarica]

Theme Music: Sabaton - The Art of War

November 22nd, 2013
1436 hours Central Tyrrhenian Time
Skies above Mednordican International Center,
The Scientific Republic of Ascelonia, Mednordia region, Tyrrhenia

The AVGVST TT-210C Tactical Transport aircraft cruised well above the low cloud deck, riding smoothly and solidly as it had done for 1,354 hours of logged flight time since leaving the AVITVS plant at Neapolis, Cukarica, a couple of years earlier. Everything had the appearance of a pleasant flying day above Ascelonia. The crew of the aircraft had no qualms about possibly being shot down, as Ascelonia and Cukarica were allies for a quite a long time, and both militaries had the complete freedom of movement throughout most of the two countries territories. In the roomy front office, the flight crew of six watched the clear air and various instruments, as their flying duties required. The four turboprop engines hummed along with their accustomed reliability, giving the aircraft a steady high-pitched vibration that transmitted itself through the comfortable high backed seats and created standing circular ripples in their extruded polystyrene foam coffee cups. All in all, the atmosphere was one of total normality. But anyone seeing the exterior of the aircraft could tell different.

This aircraft belonged to the XII-A Aeronavtica Imperialis Tactical Reconnaissance Regiment, attached to the Legion Group North Mednordia, which was based in Ascelonia and the newly acquired Cordania. Beyond the outer engines on each wing of the TT-210C hung miniature additional aircraft. Each of these was a unmanned recon drone, classified as Object-I-AS. Originally designed to be high-speed targets with the designation Cervvs¹-I AS (loldeer), now they bore the informal name 'Deer' In the rear cargo area of the TT-210C was a second crew which was now powering up both of the miniature aircraft, having already programmed them for a mission sufficiently secret that none of them actually knew what it was all about. They didn't have to. It was merely a matter of telling the drones what to do and when to do it. The chief technician, a thirty-year-old Duplicarii², was working a bird code-named CERVVS X³. His crew station allowed him to turn and look out a small porthole to inspect his bird visually, which he did even though there was no real reason to do so. The Duplicarii loved the small things as a child will love a particularly entertaining toy. He'd worked with the drone program for ten years, and this particular one he had flown twenty-one times. That was a record for the area.CERVVS X had a distinguished ancestry. Its manufacturers, AVITVS Corporation Ascelonian detachment from Auglich, had built the famed Medafighter Mark 1 which proved itself as one of the best aircraft built in the late 1960's , but the company had never quite managed to cash in on that bit of aviation history. Struggling from one small contract to another, it had finally achieved financial stability when it was bought by the Cuka-Ascelonian arms conglomerate AVITVS, and was ordered to move it's prodaction priorities from fighter and bomber aircraft, to unmanned aerial drones, and it excelled at making targets. Fighter aircraft had to practice shooting at something.

The CERVVS drone had begun life as just that, a miniature jet aircraft whose mission was to die gloriously at the hands of a fighter pilot - except that the duplicarii had never quite seen things that way. He was a drone controller, and his job, he thought, was to teach those bureaucratic assholes a lesson by flying 'his' bird in such a way as to make their missiles hit nothing more substantial than air. In fact, fighter pilots had learned to curse his name, though Aeronautica pilots etiquette also required them to buy him a bottle of high quality West Ponentean⁴ wine for every miss. Then a few years earlier someone had noted that if a CERVVS drone was hard for our people to hit, the same might be true of others who fired at aircraft for more serious purposes than the legendary William Tell⁵ competition. It was also a hell of a lot easier on the crews of low-level reconnaissance aircraft. CERVVS X's engine was turning at full power, hanging from its pylon and actually giving the mother aircraft a few knots of free airspeed. The duplicarii gave it a final look before turning back to his instruments. twenty-one small parachute symbols were painted on the left side just forward of the wing, and with luck, in a few days he would paint a twenty-second. Though he was not clear on the precise nature of this mission, merely beating the competition was reason enough to take the utmost care in preparing his personal toy for the current game. ''Be careful, little thing'', the duplicarii breathed as it dropped free. CERVVS X was on its own.

Only thirteen feet long, and a scant one thousand three hundred and ninety kilograms of mass - nearly half of that fuel - the CERVVSX angled towards the ground as it accelerated to an initial cruising speed of over five hundred knots. Already its navigational computer, made by Ascelonian AvecNord, was monitoring remarkably like that of a blue shark with a protruding nose and underslung air intake for a mouth - stateside it was often painted with aggressive rows of teeth. In this particular case, an experimental paint scheme - flat white beneath and mottled black and gray atop - was supposed to make it harder to spot from the ground - and the air. It was also stealthy as much as this type of a drone could be at least. Blankets of RAM - radar-absorbing material - were integral with the wing surfaces, and the air intake was screened to attenuate the radar return off the whirling engine blades.CERVVS X flew over the Mednordica canal which separated the two parts of Ascelonia, Northern and Southern at 1439 hours Central Tyrrhenian Time. Still descending, it leveled out for the first time at five hundred feet above ground level, turning northeast, somewhat slower now in the thicker air this close to the ground. The low altitude and small size of the speeding drone made it a difficult target, but by no means an impossible one. But unfortunately for them, Yallakian ships were in foreign teritorial watters, and acting hostile toward a tiny drone, would make them look both idiotic and ridiculously paranoid, and would cause a lot of diplomatic problems for their Foreign Ministry to cover up.

The high powered digital cameras in the CERVVS X recorded the entire Yallakian fleet which was heading north toward Waldenburg and Ibblesguard, it's exact composition and logistical strength. Almost immediately, the information was relayed by the drone's operators to the Magistervm Militvm HQ in Neapolis.

XXXXXXXXXX ENCRYPTED FLASH MESSAGE XXXXXXXXXX
TO: IHQINPLSMGSTRMLTVM
FROM: XII-A AERIMPTACRCNR
SUBJECT: CERVVS X

CERVVS X INDICATES MOVEMENT OF YALLAKIAN ASSETS TOWARDS WALDENBURG THROUGH MED CANAL. MOST LIKELY HOSTILE. STOP
MOBILIZING ALL ASSETS AND PREPARING FOR IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT. RECOMENDATION: SEND NAVAL AND AERIAL SCOUTING UNITS AT COORDINATES ENCLOSED. REPORT ALL INTEL. STOP
AWACS AND AIR DEFENSE PLAN AEGIVS IS IN EFFECT. STOP
PREVIOUS ORDER: ''MOVE ORDERS WILL BE DISPATCHED IF THE THREAT IS CONFIRMED BY SCVTVM OPS.'' REDUNDANT STOP
WE AWAIT FURTHER MOVE ORDERS AND WON'T ENGAGE UNTIL THAT OR IF THE YALLAKIAN ACTIONS BECOME CLEARLY HOSTILE. FULL STOP

XXXXXXXXXX END ENCRYPTED FLASH MESSAGE XXXXXXXXXX

¹ Cervus - Deer
² Duplicarrii - Sergeant
³ Cervus Ten
⁴ Ponentean Chardonnay was officially awarded the title of the best wine in Tyrrhenia in 2013.
⁵ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Tell

September 29th, 2013
1120 hours Central Tyrrhenian Time
20 kilometres outside the city of Feinsburg,
Vonderborner Reich, former Kingdom of Vonderborn
Paloni region, Tyrrhenia

"Well, Haydringen?"
"Consul Caius, we truly have a man’s work before us," General Erwin Haydringen answered his superior, standing at attention in the Feinsburg headquarters of the 1st Vonderborner Panzer ur besonderen Verwendung Division (Special purpose).
"Our troops need extensive unit training. Over the weekend I read through more than twelve regi...I mean Cohort readiness reports from our tank and mechanized units." Haydringen paused before going on. Tactical training and readiness was the bane of the Vonderborner military, as it's military through history relied on it's people, and conscripts. There was no real professional force in Vonderborn, until the Cukarican invasion. Their troops were almost entirely conscripts, in and out in year or two, half of whose uniformed service was occupied just in acquiring basic military skills. Even the non-commissioned officers, the backbone of Cukarican armies, were in Vonderborn just conscripts selected for special training academies, then lost as soon as their enlistment in the Reich's military ended. Allthough the Vonderborners had state of the art Cukarican and Ascelonian weaponry, they were not a really capable fighting unit, and casualty estimates against a trained fighting force were estimated to at least 40-45%. For that reason, the Cukarican military instructors leaned heavily on Vonderborner officers, when they planned and carried out the restructuring of the Vonderborner Wehrmacht, and those officers were the ones who often performed what in the Cukarican Legions was a duplicarii's work. The professional officer corps of the Vonderborner Wehrmacht was its only permanent and dependable asset against a trained and potent military forces, which were in fact, just miles away stationed in Yallakian Horenburg. "The truth of the matter is that we don’t know our readiness posture at the moment. Everyone reports meeting norms, with the same amount of training hours, the same number of practice shots fired-that is, a deviation of under two percent-and the requisite number of field exercises run, all of course of the proper type."
"As prescribed in thetraining manuals," the Consul Caius noted.
"Naturally. Exactly-too damned exactly! No deviation for adverse weather. No deviation for late fuel deliveries. No deviation for anything at all. Lies are bad enough, but these are stupid lies!"

''We Cukaricans have a simple solution for that. Decimate them.''
''-you can't be considering that seriously Caius...''
''The penalty for treason is death. Execute my orders, General Erwin.''
''I'll relay the orders, Sir.''

Present day, November 22nd, 2013

The Consul stared down at his desk. "No. Very well, Erwin. You’ve formulated your plan. Let me hear it."
"For the moment, you will be outlining the plan for our attack into the Yallakian lands. I must get into the field to whip our field commanders into shape. If we wish to accomplish our goals in time for the attack west, we must make an example of the worst offenders. The September decimation proved to be rather effective. Our troops are now bound together by both guilt and sorrow for their wayward brethren, they are acting like real soldiers now. There are no more problems as we had them a month before. However, now we must purge the officer cadre. I have four platoon commanders in mind. Their conduct has been grossly and undeniably criminal. Here are the names and charges." He handed over a single sheet of paper.

Josef Vierow
Friedrich von Falkenstein
Bastian Anders
Helmuth Becker

''It is fitting that if privates must suffer for their failings, then their leaders must suffer too. Theirs is the greater responsibility. Theirs is the greater reward. A few examples here will go a long way to restoring our army."

"The best choice." Caius agreed.

Feinsburg munitions testing area, 2 hours later

The area was picked because of the close proximity of the Horenburg border, the entire idea was to show off the Vonderborner might to the Yallakian Legiones Imperiatores, and the Rodarion force that was stationed in Horenburg. ''Two times the regiment had run this exercise, simulating a frontal assault of tanks and mounted infantry against an enemy of equal strength. Sixty mobile guns had supplied fire support, along with a battery of rocket launchers. Two times.''
Caius turned, removing his helmet and earmuffs to look at the regimental commander. "A Elite Wehrmacht regiment, eh, Colonel? Elite soldiers of the Reich? These cocksucking faggots couldn’t invade a Qualan whorehouse, much less do anything worthwhile inside of it! And what have you been doing for the past month commanding this rolling circus, Colonel? You have learned to kill your whole command three times! Your artillery observers are not located properly. Your tanks and infantry carriers still can’t coordinate their movements, and your tank gunners can’t find targets four meters high! If that had been a Yallakian force holding that ridge, you and your entire fucking command would be dead, not to mention that your ''ELITE'' regiment would be wiped our in the first moments of the assault! We don't have time to fuck around Heinz! Get a fucking grip on your troops!"
Consul Caius examined the colonel’s face. His demeanor was changing from red-fear to white-anger. He obviously didn't like to be ordered around by a Cukarican. ''Colonel Heinz, I must leave you now. First I'll assemble the XII Legion. Then I will fly to my command post. I will be back. When I come back, we will run this exercise again. Together this time. To show you how a professional and well trained force captures that ridge.'' Caius stomped off, not even acknowledging the colonel’s salute. His aide, a full centurion of the Cukarican shock troops, held open the door and got in behind his boss. "Shaping up rather well, eh?" Caius asked.
"Not well enough, but there has been progress, Sir." the centurion approved. "They have only couple of days before they have to start moving north into Horenburg." The TV news crews was having a great time. This was the first time they’d been allowed to film a Cukarican military unit in action together with a newly formed Vonderborner Wehrmacht, and the entertainment value of the maneuvers they saw gave plenty of material to show on the State news, which were transmitted all over Paloni.

Heiß über Palonis Boden die Sonne glüht.
Unsere Panzermotoren singen ihr Lied!
Deutsche Panzer im Sonnenbrand,
Stehen zum Kampf gegen Yallak
Es rasseln die Ketten, es dröhnt der Motor,
Panzer rollen in Paloni vor!

TO: Crown Prince Lucious Cato von Waldenburg
FROM: Imperial Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Consulate:Neapolis, Consul Caius Terentius
Subject: Support of the Crown


Most Esteemed Crown Prince,

After long deliberations with the Esteemed Emperor Maximus , I've decided to officially support and wholeheartedly aid the noble cause of your Excellency, Crown Prince Lucious Cato von Waldenburg, in combating the internal turmoil caused by the warmongering traitors and foreign pretenders. We seek this opportunity in this time of strife, to wipe away the animosity between our two great nations by supporting your cause, and to extend the hand of friendship and cooperation to the legal and legitimate rulers of the great nation of Waldenburg.

We are offering you a permanent sanctuary and a base of operations on any of the Imperial territories, with the addition of planned joint operations between the armed forces of the Vonderborner Reich, Imperial Legio Palonica group and Your Majesty's loyalist armed forces in addition to it's allied troops. The Cukarican military is a potent fighting force, and I assure you that your Chief of Staff shall find them usefull. AVITVS Corporation will provide any necesary equipment for Your Majesty's forces if the need arises or Your Imperial Majesty requests aid in material and equipment.

Signed,
Caius Terentius

[Rodarion]

Clerical Council Meeting, Konstantine

"Their response is promising. Though it seems to lack any potential of sending Yallak on a collision course with the Latin Imperium, which as we all know will greatly help our plans to limit Cvkarican power and influence within Waldenburg" Cardinal Cleric Durrvada commented gaining a good response from the other Cardinal Clerics.

"This is true, we must accelerate the plan" Cardinal Cleric Almeris motioned, "He is right we should inform the Yallakians of some plans or a theory that the Cvkaricans will launch an invasion of Horenburg from Vonderborn, using the units they used during their invasion. Or even better using the new Vonderborner army to conduct the invasion" The Menarci agreed, them majority of the other Cardinal Clerics also agreed, the Doci nodded.

"But we have no evidence to support this claim" Cardinal Cleric Tugrada countered, with the slight sound of anxiety in this voice.
"Who are the Yallakians going to believe, the ever expanding Cvkarican Fascists or us, anyway such a move by them is incredibly realistic. And they support Cato." The Doci suddenly spoke up, causing all heads to face him very quickly.

---

To: High Council of Arrandin
From: The Clerical Council of the Divine Commonwealth of Rodarion
R.E: The apprehension of the Terrorist known as Prince Cato

The Divine Government is thankful for the positive letter the Council of Arrandin sent us.
However the Divine Commonwealth wishes to state it's true feelings regarding the current crisis in Waldenburg which has left thousands dead and wounded. The Divine Government thoroughly wishes to assist Yallak in its apprehension of Prince Cato and its destruction of the Waldenburger Church, secondly we also wish to counter any moves carried out by the Cvkaricans in southern Waldenburg. We believe by doing so we shall inflict a devastating defeat upon the power.

Following the Ostkreis Disaster the Divine Commonwealth is eager to once again destroy the Cvkarican plans to extend their oppression and slave trade throughout Tyrrhenia. We hope that the Yallakian Government will discuss the possibility of Yallakian-Rodarion military ventures to counter any interference in Waldenburg.

With Regards,
Daeron Almeris
His Imminence the Cardinal Cleric of Foreign Relations.

[Rodarion]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6CNFeQ4txg&feature=related
Music

(OOC: this was agreed by both me and Cvkarica, so all is well )

Clerical Council, Konstantine

“We have a choice, the Cvkaricans will either stay in Vonderborn and strike when we are unawares. Or we can bring the Cvkaricans to us and we can bare upon them full military power” Cardinal Cleric Durrvada.

“I think we should make them attack, turn them into the villain. We conduct Op-24 and the Cvkaricans will storm into Horenburg and Yallak shall call for our help”. The Menarci interjected receiving a few nods and sounds of approval from the other Cardinals.

“I agree, we should let the Cvkaricans accuse the Yallakians and then invade Horenburg to assist Cato. Yallak will have no choice but call for Rodarion Aid”. The Doci smiled and grinned.

“Tell our ONMI station in Horenburg to get on it” The Doci concluded the meeting, standing and bowing to his subordinates.

Turizen wood, Horenburg-Vonderborner Border

Ten ONMI agents stood around a white meat truck, its large wheels stood up a thick skinned strong beast. Its walls were packed full of Thermite and Semtex enough to level a block of flats and gut hundreds of people. Its floor held under it a selection of ball bearings and marbles the engine also hid some explosives.

The ten men were tasked with conducting Vonderborn’s worst ever terrorist atrocity. Two would go with the truck into the targeted mall and the other eight would don death vests and strike at Tolzen Primary Hospital two hours after the first attack to maximise casualties. This would be an attack that would hopefully, cause Cvkarica to assume that pro-Alaric forces attacked the mall to strike at Cato, resulting in Cvkarica’s invasion of Horenburg.

The ONMI agents since the Divine Revolution were trained on how to conduct terrorist attacks, ONMI was a powerful organisation answering only to the Doci. Some say that ONMI believes that they are God’s hand on earth and they carry out god’s will. These ten were righteous and strong minded and were prepared for the interrogation room.

“the plan is simple, the entire south side of the mall is glass and the street has no bollards, allowing us to drive straight through the glass and into the mall itself. Once we reach the circular core of the building we will detonate the explosives, the thermite will ignite everything in a 150 meter radius and burn away at the walls causing the central part to collapse. The shrapnel and marbles will kill all those who survived the explosion. Two hours after the bombing you eight will walk into the emergency room as patients then detonate yourselves in quick succession to one another. Wiping out the hospital. Understood?” Major Viktor Seriarda explained to his nine comrades who nodded in response.

“let’s get going” the major concluded as the ten agents climbed into the meat truck. Soon the vehicle descended down to main country road towards the Vonderborner border. The hills along the border were very high and densely wooded. The sky was dark and cold, the road was wet from the last night rain and the smell of wet grass was stiff in the air. The area between the hills and the border is incredibly flat, meaning that the hills can see up to 13 miles southward towards the border, only a few houses line the road.
As they reached the checkpoint they showed the Vonderborner policemen their fabricated papers, expertly made by ONMI. Passing on without much incident, the men took turns driving as the drive to Tolzen was long and arduous. Whilst driving the agents chanted hymns from the Arada and prayed in unison for victory and easy passing.

By the next morning they reached the outskirts of Tolzen, the city was still in a state following the Cvkarican invasion, vast construction works dominated the city, cranes and scaffolding reigned over the streets. Cvkarican troops line the streets outside government buildings typically grouped in 10-20 sized groups. As they finally reached the mall, one agent got out and walked towards an alley way opposite the mall, another got out and walked down the street and stopped opposite a group of Cvkarican soldiers guarding the city’s primary courthouse, in his jacket a SA-72 sub machine gun.

“Right, god be with you all, god bless you” the major closed the truck door and started up the engine, the other 7 agents walked towards the general hospital with latex wounds and fake blood in their pockets. The truck suddenly revved.

It burst into movement, swerving across the street and up onto the paved area straight pass a large group of people, through the glass front. Person after person were smashed out of the way, blood and tissue sprayed over the front screen and vent. People cried and screamed as tens of people were smashed and crushed by this speed truck. As the truck reached the central dining court it exploded, the huge vehicle detonated sending fire and power through the structure, windows at the northern end shattered and the glass dome over the central core of the building collapsed inward. People were sent flying along with limbs and body parts, thermite ignited people, shops and stalls. The entire bottom central floor became engulfed in flame, the stairs of the 2nd and 3rd floors collapsed down onto the bottom floor crushing survivors.

Fire quickly ignited the gas mains running along the building, causing hubs to explode setting ablaze other parts of the mall. Smoke soon rose over Tolzen.

10 minutes later

The group of Cvkarican soldiers stood amazed at the bellowing smoke plume and sound of thousands of screams echoing the down the street, the chatted amongst themselves unsure on what to do. The ONMI agent walked over and tore out his gun, firing all 36 rounds at the group, eight soldiers went down, two others were hit in the arms and legs. The other 7 troops fired, killing the ONMI agent immediately. With eight Cvkarican soldiers dead, the government would feel it.

Outside the mall, six ambulances came rushing down the street, the plaza was grey with dust and debris, blood trails were sprawling off in all directions as hundreds crawled and ran out of the burnt out mall. Paramedics did their best to save some but many died on the scene. The final spare agent walked out of the alley way armed with a SMG and fired towards the ambulances, killing a pair of paramedics sending the ambulance tumbling into a cafe. He then opened fire on the makeshift clinic killing 12 people only to be shot by Vonderborner police. In those ten minutes, the city fell into chaos, the paramedics were reluctant to go outside to the call, further more died in the street and plaza and the mall continued to burn.

Two hours later

The sun began to set and the horizon was glowing read with the burning mall, sirens continued on all day and screams were still loud enough to remind all of Tolzen of the war. In Tolzen Primary Hospital, the emergency room was packed to capacity, nurses were blood soaked, surgery was taking place in cubicles to save patients, children cried because they lost their parents through both the chaos and death. Parents sobbed at their children, doctors collapsed with exhaustion and various soldiers and policemen attempted to keep order. By now some 231 people had been killed and over a thousand were injured, yet more were to die.

Ambulances from all eight city hospitals were on the roads and more were requested from hospitals in nearby towns and suburbs. Police helicopters flew over to reassure the city that the police was there, but now they would receive their biggest shock.
In the nearby alley way, the agents applied the latex wounds and smudged the fake blood all over them, they practiced their cries and groans and made sure their death vests were solid. And soon after they walked towards the hospital, pushing past the various waiting patients, reaching inside the hospital, two went upstairs using the lift.

Within seconds the agents blew themselves up, the bottom floor was gutted as a huge cloud of dust rushed through the front doors, the second floor was blown out sending debris down upon the patients outside. In total seven explosions tore the bottom, first and second floors. Some places the floors collapsed towards the bottom,. The front was blown out as lights dangled down on the blooded and dirty floor. The most busiest hospital had just been blown out.
The worst case scenario for any emergency scenario had just occurred.

By now some 302 were dead and 1,204 were injured.
Glory for Rodarion and the Holy Father.

[Cukarica]

Lament for the fallen

Tolzen suburbs. Vonderborner Reich
Paloni, Waldenburg
Tyrrhenia

"See you later Pap's; I'm off ride my new bike!" young Dietrich Keitel shouted over his shoulder as he ran out the front door. Paloni was rather warm even this late in the automn, and it's afternoon sun hit immediately but at least he could ride his new bike and get a breeze. His father Josef caught up to him before he left the front porch.
"Riding to where?" Josef inquired. The skinny black haired 13 year old shrugged. Anywhere was better than staying at home today with nothing to do but watch grass grow. None of his video games really held his interest and nothing new was coming out for weeks. There was a Cvkarican war movie on the TV but as much as he loved the movies he could only take so much of them.

"I dunno, maybe the park. See if someone wants to play basketball," Dietrich replied. What does it matter? The whole point of riding around is, well, riding around! A bike was more than just a vehicle to him; it was an escape pod from reality capable of going anywhere.

"By yourself?" Josef asked. "What happened to Franz?" This would be more fun with friends but enough with the questions already! Do parents take lessons in grilling their kids?

"He's got Chicken Pox, Dad," Dietrich explained walking towards his blue Saphiriche mountain bike. It had been his birthday present this year. With 16 speeds it was unbeatable and had already helped win a number of bike races over the last couple months.

"Or that Ernst kid??" Dietrich's dad pressed. Dietrich strapped on his bike helmet, hoping Josef would take the hint.

"He went to Krune." Dietrich reached into his pocket and retrieved his TyrPod, plugging in his ear buds. Turning it on, he scrolled through the menus and selected Justin Pieper's ^(trolololol) music. He loved childish music thanks to his weird father always listening to it even though all his normal friends thought it sucked.

"Okay, just be back for supper. Mom's going to call us right after so don't miss it," Josef said with a smile. Dietrich's mother designed armored vehicles for the military. An important design conference was taking place in Feinsburg¹ so she was there all week. Dietrich missed her already.

"I won't." Dietrich waved and rode off. Hitting the button on his TyrPod, the feminine voice of J.P. singing 'Beybel' filled his ears. The sky was a clear blue with only a few puffy white clouds gliding by and a blinding sun high overhead. He felt the wind on his face bringing him some relief. Dietrich didn't even slow down as he approached the corner, leaning hard into the turn and missing the concrete by only inches. He'd already had a crash with his new bike scraping up his knees. That had hurt like hell but he 'toughed it out' like Uncle Friedrich would say. He knew all about tough being a kick-ass ex-Vonderborner Commando and a Levantian Legion veteran. Right now he was in Trevoria fighting what was left of the Trevorian Berbers, as part of the Cukarican Legio Arcanii Foreign Cohort. He was Dietrich's favorite uncle, teaching him to shoot and hunt and all the stuff his parents disapproved of. The park was busy like it always was in the dead of autumn, little kids crawled like ants all over the play structures and swings. A bunch of people walked dogs or sat on the picnic tables and talked. Everything returned to normal, and one wouldn't even guess that there was an invasion and war just a month before in this beautiful land. Dietrich looked over to the basketball court and saw a gang of older kids had taken it over. They looked like sophomores which meant they didn't want a junior high kid bothering them.

I'll hang around a while and just go home. The boy sat on the bench keeping an eye on the basketball court. He wasn't exactly a wuss but those kids looked big and tough; Dietrich didn't want a black eye for being in the wrong place. Uncle Friedrich always said to never start a fight you can't win. Dietrich looked up just as the basketball rolled towards him and he stopped it with his foot. Dribbling the ball a few times he saw one of the big kids jogging towards him, covered with sweat. "Nice catch kid, thanks." He grinned as Dietrich tossed him the ball.

"Hey, you want to play too?" asked the high school kid. Dietrich hesitated for a moment, worried they might be playing a joke on him but the guy had a serious look in his eyes and a friendly smile. He nodded and smiled finally.

"Sure," Dietrich replied and jumped to his feet following him over the court. "My name's Dietrich, actually." The older kid nodded.

"Yeah, you live on my street, I'm Alfred, call me Alfie," the big kid said with another grin. Dietrich relaxed now that nobody was going to beat him up or yell at him.

"A 10 year old's going to play us?" a tall muscular kid laughed. His upper arms were bigger around than Dietrich's entire body. But Alfred smiled again.

"Yep, because even a 10 year old can shoot better than you," Alfred teased the guy. He tossed Dietrich the basketball. "You're up Dietrich."

Swallowing his fear, Dietrich dribbled a few times and concentrated on the hoop. The 8th grader made a toss. He smiled as the ball bounced off the backboard and plunked into the basket. Alfie nodded in approval and clapped Dietrich on the back, almost knocking the smaller boy over. "See what I mean?"

At that exact moment a massive explosion shook the ground and Dietrich was knocked off his feet, ears ringing. Just as he stood up another blast knocked him right back down. The boys all stared at each other in horror. A dense column of oily black smoke poured into the crystal blue sky. All over the park people stopped and looked around in confusion for what caused the explosions. "What the hell was that?!" Alfred screamed. Confusion was replaced by horror and panic as people jumped to their feet, gathering up children and pets. Shouting and screaming filled the air. Dietrich's heart pounded like a jackhammer in his chest. His inner voice screamed frantically Scheiße²,this is bad! Scheiße, this is really bad!

"It's a terrorist attack! Like one of those in Trevoria!" Alfred shouted. Dietrich stared at him, his big brown eyes wide open. He had seen the Aequitas reports of the mass apartment bombings in Eusune that killed hundreds of people. It made him sick to think about it. Even worse, they said an Vonderborner collaborator was involved. The deafening roar of engines filled the air as a squadron of Tyrrfighter jet fighters streaked overhead in tight formation. Right away Dietrich knew something was wrong about them. Uncle Friedrich had given him a book on jets as a Christmas present and he'd spent hours pouring over every detail of planes from around the world. He mused to himself: We're under attack!

"Those aren't our planes!" Dietrich yelled over the noise. The boys all stared at him in shocked disbelief.

"How do you know?" Alfie demanded to know.

"The fucking Cukaricans have betrayed us! That's how!" Dietrich declared angrily. A cold fist of terror seized his guts and wrenched them painfully. He ran a hand over his buzzcut black hair. I'm going home! Right now! Just as the young boy stated that, feeling utter hatred for the bloody Latins, he saw a company of Cukarican troops running toward the pillar of smoke in the distance, together with the Vonderborner Ministry of Interior troops. This is strange, he thought, why would our men ally themselves with the bloodthirsty Cukarican murderers? This can't be right. The demonic howl of sirens warbled to life over the continued screams and allmighty noise. Dietrich had heard those sirens before only during the relatively short Cukarican air raid campaign. But this was worse. Cukaricans never targeted civilian buildings, and this was in the dead center of Tolzen. Confused and scared, he yelled in anger, "I'm going home!"... Dietrich didn't wait for a reply as he slammed his helmet on, leaped onto his bike and sped away. Then he heard a new sound: the staccato pounding of small arms fire. And screaming of women. As he rode down the street he saw several Cukarican legionaries, carrying their wounded comrade, and a Vonderborner ambulance waiting for him. He thought, whoa if the Cukaricans haven't attacked us, who did?

"Dietrich, thank God you're okay!" Josef exclaimed wrapping his son tightly in a big, safe hug that only dads could deliver. Dietrich buried his face in dad's chest and tears began rolling down his cheeks. "Papa, what's happening?" he sobbed. "There were all these explosions, and planes and…" Dietrich's voice trailed off and he cried even harder now. We're supposed to be safe here! Josef gently rubbed his terrified son's back, slowly, trying to calm his scared son. This shouldn't be happening! It couldn't be happening!

"It's all right son, you're home now and you're okay," Josef whispered to him. Dietrich let go and swiped away his tears. For the moment he was safe. His head cleared and he could at least think again. "I want to talk to my Mom," Dietrich said shakily. Of all the times for her to be gone! His Father nodded and patted him on the head, picking up his cellphone.

''The number you have dialed is currently unavailable, please try later.''


^(trolololol) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kffacxfA7G4
¹ See previous post.
² Scheiße- Shit

Terrorist attack in Tolzen, Vonderborn

After several hours of detailed and extensive search followed by investigations, the catastrophic detonations of explosive devices has been pinpointed and their perpetrators have been identified, said Vonderborn government officials. The attacks have been blamed on the Rodarion ONMI secret service, who are being blamed for placing, detonating the bomb-truck and sending suicide bombers to St. Vitus hospital in Tolzen. However, government officials have stated that during its investigation that it uncovered electronic transmissions that point the finger directly at the highest positions in the Rodarion government.

It is said the terrorists are using Rodarion treasury funds, it is not clear however, if the Rodarion is directly involved in the terrorist bombings, or if the terrorists are in fact ethnic Rodarions, the investigation by both the Vonderborned Ministry of Internal Affairs, the Reich's Stasi and the Cukarican SCVTVM military intelligence is taking place in a joint operation dubbed Operation Justicia. It is most likely that the ONMI agents came from Yallakian Horenburg, and assaulted the innocent civilians of Tolzen. For now the casualty estimates are ranging from 300 to 900 dead and at least 1 to 2 thousand wounded people.

Both King Cloudious of Vonderborn, and Emperor Maximvs of Cukarica were unavailable for public statements.


● Last Updated: Thursday , 25th November 2013● 11:19 CTT ● http://www.imperivmonline.tyr ● Comments - 471 ● Email to a Friend ● Publish on Facebook●
Language: Deutsch | Français | English | Español | Latin

---

Eyes only

Memorandum for record


Subject: Minutes of meeting of the Vonderborn Crisis group regarding Operation JUSTICIA, 26th, November 2013


Present: His Royal Majesty Prince Cloudious of Vonderborn, General [REDACTED] , Mr. Pfeifer, Mr. [REDACTED], Consul [REDACTED], Decurion [REDACTED] , Colonel Heinrici;




1. HRM Prince Cloudious opened the meeting by saying that higher authority in Neapolis is concerned about the progress made on the JUSTICIA program and it feels that more priority should be given to revenge and reprisal operations then to current investigations, he suggested that sabotage operations should be carried out in [REDACTED] by the [REDACTED] forces. HRM Prince, said that he wondered if a new look is not required at this time in the view of meager investigation results, and that we should concentrate on the sabotage field.He urged that ''massive activity'' must be mounted through the entire Horenburg/Vonderborn networks framework. There was a good deal of discussion about this and General [REDACTED] stated another operation must be mounted against three major targets which were already an object of three successful recon operations, and that Plan [REDACTED] is currently in the ''finishing touch'' phase.

Mr. Pfeifer said that ''massive activity'' would have to appear to come within. He also said that he hopes soon to be able to present the group a plan of mass assassinations of numerous civilian government figures in [REDACTED] which would be carried out by agents in [REDACTED], with full realization that this would give more visibility to their activities. On this latter point Mr. [REDACTED] said that he reserves judgement as to the feasibility and desirability of such program. (Mr. Pfeifer agrees that he has reservations as well.)

2. Mr. [REDACTED] said that he gets the impression that high levels of government both in Tolzen and Neapolis want to get on the activity but yet still wish to retail a low noise level. He does not believe that this will be feasible or possible. Any type of sabotage or execution would be blamed on Vonderborn, and earlier attempts to see if it could be framed on the communist insurgents of Kell would be impossible as the insurgents don't posses the needed level of either organization, training or the needed equipment to successfully pull off that kind of covert operation. He urged that responsible officials be prepared to accept higher noise level if they want to get on with the operations.

...

[Salitz]

Mir, Sälitz

Several hours had passed since the prince had left the meeting so abruptly and the sun outside the window was already staining the buildings of Mir with an orange glow. The council however had not broken up, they continued their discussions long after the Yallakian left, long after even the young Albrecht had been bustled off to bed by his nanny, a large formidable woman who watched over the young royal with a steely glare and an attitude normally associated with mother bears, which she in many ways resembled. The papers from the file now lay scattered over the table, joined now by several more sheets of written notes, the original documents themselves had been crammed with annotation and lying haphazardly around the table and on the papers were pens and the now long cold remains of various cups of tea and coffee which had been accumulated through the long discussions. They had reached an impasse. The various possibilities had been discussed, rebuked, examined, reexamined, argued on and generally picked to pieces and yet they seemed to be no closer to that elusive agreement on the best course of action to take in this most difficult of situations.

“Gentlemen,” Slöterwald, leaned back in his chair and appraised his fellow council members “It is clear that this line of discussion is getting us nowhere. To reiterate, for the hundredth time; there are very few courses of action we can take and none of them are ideal. From what I understand...” Here he flicked through his own notes “None of us like the plan as it stands but none of us like the alternatives either. We must make a decision now instead of continuing this circular farce which has, as I am sure you all agree, gone on several hours too long.”

“N-now see here Ferdinand,” Wenort tapped his pen on the side of the desk nervously “You can't expect us to just make a decision, right now, just like that! This is an issue of national security, lives are at stake. This is not a mater to be taken lightly”

A long pause followed this, Slöterwald fixed him with an ice cold glare which said quite clearly that he knew what was at stake and was not taking the matter lightly. Several moments passed in silence, it was Khilnani who broke it.

“I have to agree with his Grace, this is a serious matter however” He added as Slöterwald turned the glare on him instead “I also agree that this debate is going nowhere but in circles and the way I see it, as I have already said is we don't really have a lot of choice in the matter. You know my position, it hasn't changed. It's up to you two decide.” He stood up carefully, leaning on his walking cane and nodded to the other two “I only pray to God that whatever decision we make it will ultimately be for the benefit of Sälitz”

The two dukes watched him leave the room, one vote had been cast, one vote closer to a final decision on the matter. Wenort sighed, he could see the way this would go, he glanced out the window at the night sky, Khilnani had got one thing right at least, whatever happened God had better be on their side because no option would be easy and the worst case scenario would need divine intervention in favour of Sälitz.

---

There was a meeting. There was a debate. There were several options. One was taken. There was an invitation sent to Prince Cato asking for a meeting to discuss the possibilities of mutual aid. There should in future be a reply and, God willing, everything would hopefully turn out for the best. But for now all that could happen was a wait.

[Waldenburg 2]

His Highness' Impreial Free Army of Paloni
In Response to the Invitation of the Sovereign Government and Prince-Elector of Sälitz

Your Highness,

It gives me great pleasure to represent His Highness in this matter and to return to overtures of friendship which have been exchanged between our two governments in the past, and to laud the Sälitzian Government for their support of morale and Christian government. Prince Cato however, for matters of his own personal security cannot meet with any third party at such a time when the Yallakians command a considerable number of troops in the area, or indeed the impetus of such a large and unjust bounty placed upon the head of both an officer and a gentleman.

It is a most lamentable situation however the person of His Highness must be preserved, and we should hardly wish to place such difficulties upon the Sälitzian government vis a vie the difficulties with the Principality of Hörenburg in future and with national security both of the Free Armies and of Sälitz itself. His Highness, though barring the deepest regret at his inability to attend your person wishes to convey the sense of brotherhood between our two nations, the bond that has, in past made Sälitz one of the great electors, that has made His Highness and indeed the whole of the world look on your people as the most just, most loving, and greatest persons to whom we have been blessed with their being. It is for this bond, and for the eventual overthrow of the paper priests, not sitting in judgment in Scant that we offer our representative to act in place of His Highness with full plenipotentiary powers and the will of our government behind him.

Georg Kropp, our envoy has been dispatched from our forward operating base in Zeltz and will soon be with you; he shall cross the border by his own means and make his way to Mir where he will deliver his letter of accreditation and seek Your Highness' beneficent company, hopefully to procure the long standing friendship of our great cousins of the Südkreis.

In that regard, and in all things I remain as always,

Your Faithful Servant,
Major General Olitz von Tregendorf, Adjutant General IV Korp HHFA, Zeltz.

--------

His Highness Prince Lucious Cato von Waldenburg
His Excellency Consul Caius Terentius
Of the Utmost Secrecy

Your Excellency,

This is a day which shall be long remembered in Christendom. It will be remembered where ever just men reign; and so long as I may breath, so long as I may stand I shall defend our newest friend and ally; the Cukarican people, and long after this over, long after the winds of greed have past and justice is restored we shall not forget this. Never shall we forget this.

We shall be in contact and look forward to continuing triumph which we have no doubt His Majesty's Legions shall deliver, as they have done so, so often, in the past. Though I am no hand at Latin I remember a certain proverb Ubi concordia, ibi victoria.

We shall triumph.

Your Servant,
His Highness Prince Lucios Cato von Waldenburg, C&C HHFA, Krune.

[Mykola]

December 24, 2013; 2300 Hours
Vienna, Hapsburg Reich of Mykola

The chandeliers clinging to the ceiling glistened in the smoke filled reception hall of the Imperial Palace in Vienna. Servants with extravagant tunics scurried about the dozens of round tables that were located all throughout the hall, however, all were below the Emperor’s table.

The walls breathed and atmosphere of openness in the closed society that it housed and those within that house sat oblivious to the life outside of the walls, to them the world was simply made up of fine cigars, food at the snap of one’s fingers, limitless brandy and poaching deer, to the nobility there was no outside world besides them and their lives, the subjects they ruled over as if night and day were simply automated beings sent by God to do their bidding.

At the front of the massive reception hall was a long horizontal table, elevated above the others with only one side supplying seats. At the center of the seats there was what could be compared to as a modest throne, with the back an entire eight and a half feet tall with the seal of the House of Hapsburg carved into the wood at the top. Sitting in the seat was a middle aged man in his mid fifties, however on this evening one could’ve mistaken him for a grandfather nearing his grave.

The Emperor, Franz Josef II sat in his seat, staring off into the arrays of tables in which his fellow noblemen and women sat, ate, talked and laughed. His hair had faint spots of gray along his temples however for the most part it retained its dark brown color. His face was pale and his mustache looked untrimmed. Overall he looked a bit unkempt in his pompous over-decorated military uniform. A lit cigar rested between his index and center finger, as his arm rested on the arm rest.

Upon the fine China plate that rested in front of him was the finest Turkey in all of the Hapsburg Reich, and it was only the most tender parts of it as well, the palace cooks had taken care to only serve the most scrupulous of parts to the several hundred guests in the reception hall, a very expensive feat indeed, but the list went on, the stuffing that was made, considering the cost and care taken to the ingredients would have cost about ten Reichmarks a pound ($100). However while the plate stacked high with cholesterol rich food sat naked in front of the Kaiser he neglected to even pick up his golden fork, staring into space still.

A moment later approaching his table and hailing him as, “Your most revered and esteemed Imperial Highness…” came Nikolas Herzog von Ruffelhaven, a high ranking nobleman no doubt, but one with a head that was bigger than that of an Emperor.

The man came forth and dropped down on his right knee and after his introduction he went straight into his annual wish of, “Happy Christmas,” to the Emperor.

“Your Highness,” the Duke went on, “I have here a gift fit only for a man such as yourself,” two servants approached the Emperor and beheld a large wooden cuckoo clock, made by one of the finest craftsman in Mykola, Sachsman-Rubenwald.

The Emperor hardly noticed the Duke but at a nudge from the Empress’s elbow he blandly replied, “Thank you so much for you gift,” lifting his arm he waved him towards the rest of the nobles, eating their dinners, “Please join the celebration and say a prayer for the baby Jesus.”

The Duke took a bow once more and slowly backed away before turning around and heading to his table. At the Emperor’s side his wife scolded him at a whisper, “A complete lack of manners! My heavens Franz you have seemed to lack any life as of late, I wonder if it isn’t your heart that has stopped!”

The irony of that statement would soon be forever engraved in the annals of Mykolan history.

“I have to go get some fresh air,” the Emperor stated as he arose from his chair and went through a back door to one of the many balconies in the palace.

He stood outside, his knees bent and his arm shaking as he brought the cigar up to his mouth, with each breath he struggled to maintain as much airflow as the previous one and when exhaling he groaned from the pain he suffered from in his chest.

He stood for another minute, breathing in the clean Vienna December air, savoring each breath to avoid the pain of exhaling, however he soon took on a chill and went back into the reception hall. His food was untouched and the party went on as if he didn’t exist. When he sat back in his chair he took on the identical pose he had taken up earlier, his eyes stared off at nothing in particular, this time looking glazed, the cigar held between two fingers in his hand and his face as white as a ghost.

What have I done with myself…

His cigar fell from his hand onto the ornate rug.

The Chancellor, Paul Graf von Hindenschloss approached the Emperor with his usual smile on his face, bowing to him and sending a friendly, “Happy Christmas your highness,” but this time receiving no response.

His eyes met up with the Kaiserin and in that brief second a terrible thought struck each other’s minds. The Empress soon began tapping the Emperor on the shoulder, calling his name out, with each beckoning of his name the volume increased and the casual taps turned into hitting, attracting the attention of everyone in the hall.

What transpired next was a brief moment of panic within Mykola’s ruling elite, the Chancellor called to the security personal observing the Empress’s frantic attempts to contact the Kaiser, “Get the medical personal I think the Emperor has had a heart attack!”

The words echoed around the room, they would soon echo around all of Tyrrhenia but at that moment all present in that room took on a true emotion of fear, not fear of the people, but fear for the man who had defined a generation of Mykolans recovering from the exploits of his father, a man who had seemed so different from all of the leaders of Mykola’s past, and now this very many might have been dead at the age of only fifty-four.

Within moments medics had rushed into the room with a defibrillator and after several nobles including the Chancellor pulled the Empress away from her dying husband they placed the Kaiser on the ground and tore his tunic open, disregarding the brass buttons that shot in either direction of the Emperor’s chest.

While placing the suction cups onto Franz’s chest the paramedic called out to the Chancellor, “How long has he been like this?”

“From what I can tell less than a minute, I came up to him just after he sat back down,” the Chancellor’s face too was as white as a sheet of paper, it was obvious to anyone in the hall that may have been able to pay attention to such a useless matter that this man’s stomach was certainly upturned.

The Paramedic gave an electric shock to the Kaiser, “Damn!” he replied, feeling no pulse on his neck, he gave another shock and then a third shock and checked, his face went pale, many of the guests in the hall had clustered around the three paramedics that sat around the Emperor, desperately trying to save the man’s life.

“Hans start giving the man breaths! We must save him!” the paramedic operating the defibrillator called out to his confidant, after a few rescue breaths he gave another electric shock to the Emperor.

“Feel anything?” he asked.

Hans sat with two fingers placed on the aorta of the Emperor’s neck, waiting for a pulse, after a moment the color ran back into his face and a smile came across it.

“I have a pulse! Jürge I have a pulse!”

The audience to the revival breathed a sigh of relief and began to applaud, however Jürge noticed a problem.

“He’s not breathing,” he said to Hans, masked by the crowd’s applause he beckoned for him to repeat himself, “I said he’s not breathing,” he pointed to the Emperor’s chest. Jürge turned to the Chancellor, “You better as hell get an ambulance outside because this man will die in a matter of minutes if he is not put on a ventilator.”

The smile left the Chancellor’s face and he promptly sent an assistant on the noble errand to fetch an ambulance. The paramedics began giving mouth to mouth rescue breaths to the Kaiser to insure a flow of oxygen into his respiratory tract to coincide with his heart beat, however at this time he still had not regained consciousness.

Five minutes later
Security personal had backed the disturbed onlookers away from the dying emperor as the ambulance rolled up to the balcony just outside. In a flurry of motion five paramedics rushed in with a stretcher, defibrillator and an oxygen tank, pushing the crowd aside they rushed to the Kaiser and checked his pulse.

“Yep he’s got one, but he’s not breathing.”

“All right,” one of the paramedics began, “let’s get him onto the stretcher.”

In a well rehearsed and professional manner the five men quickly eased the Emperor onto the stretcher and then onto the varying height stretcher and hurriedly went out the door, followed by everyone else, they pushed a load of oxygen into his lungs before they placed him into the ambulance, within moments a breathing tube was down his throat and he was on his way to the intensive care unit at Herzland Hospital, one of the best in Mykola, listed as a patient that was, “In a coma.” By midnight he sat in a bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses and hooked up to at least twenty different machines all performing some function or another, but most notably the ventilator that now controlled his breathing through a tracheotomy in his neck, there he would remain as the doctors estimated, “for some time,” prompting the Chancellor to make one of the toughest decisions in his life.

***HIGH ENCRYPTION***
***OFFICIAL EMERGENCY MESSAGE OF THE HAPSBURG REICH***
***WIRED DIRECTLY FROM THE CHANCELLOR’S OFFICE***
***0100 HOURS MYKOLAN TIME***
***ARCHDUKE FREDERICK-WILHELM’S EYES ONLY***
***Sent via satellite, fax and telegraph to Blünderburg, Waldenburg***

Your Highness I must alert you to the most grave of news. Your father the Emperor a mere two hours ago suffered from a heart attack and at present is in a state of a coma and on life support. By order of Edict #11 of Emperor Franz Josef I, you are hereby ordered to cease all activities in your present station and to report immediately to Vienna, Mykola to take over the ruling operations of the Reich. All activities currently scheduled are now put on hiatus, a jet will be awaiting you at the airport within moments you are to embark on a flight to Mykola no later than two in the morning Waldenburg time.

With all due haste,
Chancellor Paul Graf von Hindenschloss

***END TRANSMISSION***

[Yallak]

OOC: Reply to other things will come later sorry

Official Imperial Transmission

To: The Office of the Divine Government of Rodarion
From: The High Council of Arrandin
Subject: Re: The apprehension of the Terrorist known as Prince Cato

Waldenburg is in a severe situation indeed, it is true, and every day Cato is left free it grows worse. He rallies support in many place, including Cukarica. Such things have certainly not slipped our notice. It is merely a matter of time before he is found though, such a short time too.

I think however, that you may have been misinformed as to our goals in this campaign. The Infinite Empire is, as ever, a most firm and supportive friend and ally of the magnanimous and glorious Waldenburger Catholic Church. We would not bear to see the fall of such a noble and venerable institution. Where would the world be without its unwavering dedication and guidance?

Perhaps, you would care to meet a representative of the Imperium in person in Greston, to speak on this further. I will attached co-ordinates and schedule to this message.

Regards,

Lord Erkal Dortrean
Administratum-General ofYallak

[Laysley]

Note: This post has been scrutinised and edited by Yallak. This post is free from godmodding, but may contain traces of epic.

November 22nd, 2013 – 19:01
Off the coast of Laysley

"Alright chaps!"

To the outside observer this would be a very strange sight. A tiny fleet, perhaps five or six times outnumbered by the Yallakian fleet, sailed confidently into their battle formation. To one who had knowledge of the Layslian national consciousness in times of crisis though, this was typical. They were a city state, born with a shaky start as the various great and good (rich) of Waldenburg bickered and fought with each other and a long planned plan got off the ground but not much further. There had been fire, and the existence of Laysley had been threatened, but with faith and solidarity they had pulled through, and with ingenuity (and lots of left-over cash) they made themselves, a single city, into one of Tyrrhenia's great powers for a time. They had a lot to gain and a lot to lose as one little city, and thus Layslians were used to fighting and dying in order to save their state.

Since the Empirian wars, this had of course been diluted. People were less inclined to lay down their lives and more inclined to seek peaceful negotiation. But at this particular point, in the time of great recession and national division, the armed forces were, on the whole, not that sort of people. Today they were going to fight, with that plucky resilience that made Layslians loved by the international finance community and hated by anyone who didn't benefit from their monetary influence. They were probably going to die, but Layslians don't really look at death like that.

It was all good sport.

"Aye aye skipper, heveryone's 'opped to it sah!"

Commodore Alfred Thomas Godfrey Feenick beamed at his Captain. "Alright then Oakers, get me on the old intercom, wot!"

Captain James Oakley did as commanded and flicked a little switch, then quietly said "All yours, skipper."

The Commodore sat down, sending muffled feedback through the little fleet then began. "Good show chaps! Now just to let you know old Heeley has finally rejected their, ahem, proposals and we're in a little bit of a pickle now. Naturally we'll show 'em what for and hopefully take a few of them to kingdom come with us, wot wot!"

Cheering rang out across the ships. War at last.

"Now then before you all get comfy and start making plans to see your old mum again, remember that the scrap we are about to gratefully receive will probably not involve a whole lot of us getting out alive but really who would want to have to remember all their ugly faces with their horrible breath and manners that could have done with a stricter routine of enforcement when they were all nips, wot! So for God and fatherland chaps, let's make his Nibs proud of us. God save Laysley!"

The intercom switched off. The various naval employees had thoroughly enjoyed the speech, and the general feeling was of solidarity and good-comradelyness as they shook hands, exchanged old jokes and slapped one another on the back. They all knew the aim of the game, to kill as many Yallakians as possible to make them think twice about invading and hopefully give the ground forces more time to prepare, at the expense of their own lives. But some things were more important to the crews.

"We've got bandits, skipper."

"Alright, Oakley." the Commodore smiled and spun on his chair round to another officer "Give 'em a gob full, old chap!"

The ships' anti-air defences opened up, and the first battle had begun.

---

November 22nd, 2013 – 17:58
The Fortress of Weißburg
Scant, Ibblesguard

The young, rather handsome Fictionese sniper was the first to emerge from the top of the ancient toilet. He pulled himself out of the long, thin hole that opened out into the moat. He helped the battle-hardened Layslian leader of the expedition, originally a missionary, out and patted him on the back.

"Two hundred years old and it still stinks!"

The huge, hulking Dynamorian shinning up behind the Layslian sniggered but the Layslian ignored the slightly accented boy. "Where's the Grestonian?"

Nimbly, a boy about the same age as the sniper but a little shorter hoisted himself neatly out of the hole and vaulted the edge, landing with both feet on the floor. He saluted, "At your service, sir. Should have trusted that an Ascelonian would find us an opening like this..."

The old soldier nodded, "Thank you for your contribution, private. Now meet up with the Ponentean in the building as planned, do it quickly and keep your mouth shut."

The scout saluted again, winked at the sniper and, shotgun in hand, sped off down the stairs just like the briefing had told him to. The Dynamorian, now hunched in a corner with the Aschenhyrster demolitions man, a rough looking highland sort with a patch over his right eye, lifted his head up as the Medic scrambled out of the toilet. In his thick accent, he said "We are all here now."

The Layslian surveyed the team. Fictionese sniper, Dynamorian machine gunner, Aschenhyrster demolitions man, Waldenburger Medic, the masked flamethrower operator, the Grestonian boy plus the Ascelonian Engineer who had probably hopped off by now and the Ponetean spy who'd been here god knows how long. It would do.

"God's speed be with us."

-- The Sniper --

As the team moved off down the worn, slightly crumbling stairs of the tower towards the keep, the Fictionese sniper headed up the spiral staircase in the opposite direction, making his way to the top of the tower. A moment later, he set his extremely high-calibre rifle down in a merlon facing in towards the keep, the cold night air rushing around him as he sat high in the mountains. Professionally, he adjusted the scope to account for wind speed and then looked through the lens down towards the appointed spot. Perfect! The man was just partaking in a cigarette. Of course, usually it would be strange to take a shot like this but for this mission he had to make himself seen. Thirty seconds.

Bracing himself, and sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth, he fired. The bullet swam gracefully through the thin air and took the target directly in his temple. Even as the gunshot echoed throughout the mountains the sniper continued without pause, reloading the rifle and zeroing in on the next prearranged spot. Perfect again. As a trio of Yallakian Praetores scrambled from their posts towards his position he fired again, the bullet hitting one of the men in the face and practically blasting his head to pieces.

As he reloaded again the sniper surveyed the scene far beneath him. The demolitions man had reached the door to the keep, while the old soldier, the Dynamorian, the pyro and the medic were not far behind him as they crossed the courtyard. From another nearby tower, a Praetores called out an alert and pointed at the group from his vantage point, only to take a bullet in the shoulder from the snipers weapon moments later. Another of the guards with him flung himself into the cover of the battlements while a second attempted to leave the tower and run across the wall hoardings to the main keep. The sniper reloaded and led him carefully for a few second before releasing a bullet which caught the man on the top of his head.

Having recovered now from the initial surprise, the castle garrison began to rally. Bullets bounced off the crenal beside the sniper and seeing that the Aschenhyrster demolitions man had since blown open the door to the keep and the group had gone inside, he decided it was now time to get out of there. He smiled to himself, job done. Shouldering the rifle he turned around to go back down the stairs when a monster emerged from the trapdoor. It was huge, covered in armour from head to toe. It towered above him, but the sniper didn't have time to be scared. He swung the rifle off his shoulder and into the thing's belly where it bounced off harmlessly. Then the sound of automatic fire echoed from the tower top.

The sniper died before he hit the floor.

-- The Demolitions Man --

The grenade blew the door to the keep clear off its hinges. Through the smoke and flames left by the blast the Aschenhyrster demolitions expert rampaged into the building, shouting indecipherable nonsense possibly concerning his adversary's mother's. The Praetores in the thin corridors were overrun by the sheer momentum of the man’s assault, along with a small amount of help from the grenade launcher he was toting along. The rest of the team followed him, keeping their heads down, with the Dynamorian taking up the rear ready to gun down any pursuers but so far though they had met little resistance from the castle garrison who were disorientated and ill prepared for such an attack.

"Och aye y' scoundrel, y'ive ne'er seen a proper scrap afore 'av y'?!" The Demolitions man stood, gloriously, amongst the guts of a recently annihilated enemy in a thin corridor leading up to another staircase. Two corridors led off either side just in front of the stairs, and several Praetores were wisely taking cover against the enemy that was enjoying himself too much. He let off a grenade down towards the stairs, and the Praetores withdrew further into their corridors. Laughing, the demo-man knelt down to fire off another round when a pair of Custodians came storming out of the corridors. Unperturbed by the giant armoured warriors charging him, the demo man held his ground and fired a grenade at them. The explosive detonated just in front of one of them, the blast knocking him backwards before the end of the corridor was obscured from view by smoke and shrapnel. The Aschenhyrster grinned at his own triumph but the smile was quickly wiped off his face as the second custodian rolled out of the smoke, his assault rifle chattering furiously. Blood pumped into his hands as he clutched at the wounds on his stomach and the colour rapidly drained from his face as he dropped in almost slow motion to his knees. He frowned weakly and then toppled dead to the floor, just living long enough to see his executioner cut down by a hail of fire from his comrades.

At least those last moments had included explosions of some kind. You weren't a proper demo-man if your death wasn't fast and really loud, after all.

-- The Pyro --

As the Praetores audibly fell back in front of them, the Pyro - so far having not pulled the trigger once - heard the sounds of people approaching from behind. He smiled under his mask and shouted at the leader, gesturing behind him.

The soldier couldn't make a word he was saying, but knew exactly what he meant. This wasn't the flamethrower's job, but it would have to be done. He nodded at his old friend, "Give them your best shot."

The medic tapped the soldier on the shoulder, "I sink ve should perhaps press on…"

The soldier nodded, "Up the stairs, now!"

The team rushed forward while the Pyro grimly set himself at their rear. The sound of running jackboots was almost on top of him now and moments later the first Praetores came around a corner into the corridor. The Pyro pulled the trigger and the hiss of rushing gas echoed in the hallway for a split second before it hit the igniter and turned into a giant waves of searing flame. The Praetores was all but incinerated on the spot.

The Pyro charged forward down the corridor, spouting flame as he went, and the other Praetores who had been approaching turned and ran. Without cover they were no match for a flamethrower, and they had obviously realised that. It was almost comical as the four Yallakians ran down the corridor chased by a mad man covering everything in fire as he went.

As they reached the end of the next corridor, two of the Praetores kept going while the rear two spun around and in the few seconds they had fired off some pot shots at the approaching Pyro. Unable to see properly because of the bright flames in the dimly lit hall, the shots went wide bouncing off the floor and walls around the Pyro, who was thus able to cover the remaining distance and envelope the two Praetores in fiery death. Behind the mask, a tear crept into his eye.

No one was left now, they had all fallen back. Perhaps he'd not done the job they originally intended him for - but he'd done an equally important one. He began to head back towards the stairs, but as the Pyro turned he felt a hand on his neck. He wrenched round to see the huge armoured figure of one of the Custodians, only this one was not resplendent in gold but instead mostly covered by blood and black scoring from a grenade blast. The warrior still had his helmet on, though it was clearly damaged from the explosion, but even so the Pyro could see the fury burning behind it. The Custodian plunged its combat blade down towards him, "Pro taeas Imperius!"

The blade bit home and then once again there was there was the sound of hissing gas, split seconds before the world exploded.

--- The Spy ---

While all this had been going on, the Ponentean spy had been relaxing. For a week he'd be here, speaking Yallakian, mingling amongst them perfectly as he masquerade as one of the odd two hundred Praetores that had come with Emperor Kaidan to staff the castle. He'd planned out this entire operation and no one had noticed. This, thought the Ponentean as he lounged about on an office chair in one of the guard rooms, had earned him a rest. He checked his watch, waiting for the Grestonian scout to arrive so that they could cut off Kaidan's retreat.

With a minute remaining he stood up and opened the door, then walked straight into a Custodian. The Custodian pushed him aside and went into the room, then grabbed him by his collar, "What are you doing here?"

The spy stammered in perfect Yallakian "I…"

"Well?" The walking-tank loomed over him like the very embodiment of justice.

"Sir, I was positioned here by Captain Balhaan to protect Kaidan's retreat." The Custodian dropped, and the spy shuffled back around to the chair so that as the custodian faced him his back turned to the door.

"That was my order. I was not told to expect company."

"Well Sir, I'm sorry that there has been this..." Before the spy could finish the Custodian heard something and span round to the door. Just outside the Grestonian Scout was charging at the doorway, and he fired off a round of his shotgun as he came. The shot hit the Custodian squarely in the chest, knocking him back, but the soldier remained standing, winded but not wounded. He took cover behind the door and returned fire with his assault rifle. The skirmish lasted only seconds before ending with the scout sprawled on the ground in a pool of his own vital fluids.

The spy smiled, it had gone perfectly according to plan. He placed a Yallakian issue pistol on the back of the Custodian's neck and put a neat bullet in his brain. As the beast slumped to the ground, the spy took his helmet off. "Adieu, mon ami."

"Big mistake, scum bag!" Balhaan's fist smashed into the side of the spy's head and he was sent flying like a rag doll into a wall.

"Fraken Ponentean, I thought there was something odd about you, but just couldn’t put my finger on it. Damn it. You should always trust your gut." Balhaan surmised out loud, bringing his heavy boot down hard into the spy’s stomach. As the dazed spy lay slumped against the wall moaning painfully, Balhaan brought his assault rifle down and filled him full of bullets. He was just reloading when an aide ran up behind him "Sir, they've reached the great hall!"

Balhaan grimaced, "Get Kaiden to his bedroom, and order everyone to converge on the hall!"

--- The Heavy ---

"Ahahaha!" The Heavy mercilessly tore through the guards to the main hall, "Lichinka!"

The Dynamorian stepped over the bodies of the hapless Praetores, shell casing spewing out everywhere as his machine gun blazed away. The Layslian took up the rear as they advanced through yet more dark corridors towards the main hall, while the Waldenburger scuttled with uncertainty in the middle.

The Layslian soldier fired at a Praetores who tried to take a shot at them from around a corner. "If we keep going this way we'll be trapped!"

"I vould suggest ve get to ze Kaiden's bettroom, zat iz veer zey vill retreat to!" declared the Waldenburger medic.

"Alright, Dynamorian, lead the way!"

A few moments later they were fighting up a staircase. The Heavy was running out of bullets, but they got to the top before he was out.

"This is the corridor, get going!"

The Heavy dropped his machine gun and pulled the shotgun down from his back. Advancing, he let off a couple of warning shots then ran round into the Prince's corridor - face to face with someone his own size, finally. The Custodian slammed a fist into his stomach; the Heavy smashed him in the face with his shotgun. They both recoiled, but the Custodian backed into a Praetores and the Heavy regained his balance. The soldier squeezed past him and drove a knife into the disorientated Custodian's eye. "And O high king of heaven, my victory won."

As the Custodian fell away the Praetores took careful aim and shot the Waldenburger Medic in the chest. He turned to shoot the Soldier bearing down on him, but was much too slow as the Soldier nutted him firmly and the man collapsed. Another Praetores lay dead on the floor shortly after as the Heavy shotgunned him down. Bounding forward, the hulking Dynamorian readied himself in front of the door to break it down while the soldier sent another Yallakian sprawling for cover. "May I reach Heaven's joys, O Bright Heaven's sun."

Then the door burst open and another man towered over the Dynamorian. The great bear looked up at the tank man. "Bal'shaya skotina!" He punched the thing in the face.

Balhaan blocked the punch with his left hand with ease and then brought his right down hard on the man's head. He kicked the Heavy in the groin then stabbed him through the heart with his short sword and killed him.

The Heavy had done it, he'd kept them back and they'd got here. He'd done his job too, and he was proud of his final hour. He had delivered the assassin straight into the middle of the wasp's nest, and now the man would kill the Queen.

--- The Soldier ---

The Layslian took a step forward and shot the Yallakian Custodian in the shoulder as it levelled its assault rifle at him. No armour could have saved his arm at that range and it was forcefully blown off. "Heart of my own heart, whatever befall..."

As Balhaan recoiled from the wound, the Soldier charged at him and swung the butt of his shotgun at the man’s face. Despite the wound Balhaan avoided the blow and the Soldier, unexpecting his opponent to still resist, barged into him taking both of them into the room hard. Out the corner of his eye he saw his quarry, pistol levelled at him. The Soldier grappled with Custodian for a moment and then quickly pulled back before Kaidan could shoot.

And Kaidan did shoot. The shot slammed into the wall right where his head had just been. The Soldier turned his shotgun towards his intended target, the soon to be ex-Emperor of Waldenburg and squeezed the trigger. "Still be my Vision, O Ruler of-"

With a thunderous blast, the shot shattered a decorative lamp shade in the corner of the room as Balhaan rolled back to his feet, and taking the Soldier off guard, dive tackled him backwards to the floor. With a great grunt of effort the Custodian grabbed the soldier's head and slammed it against the floor, breaking it open. Blood and brain fluids gushed out, mixing with Balhaan’s own blood that was already covering the floor as it flowed freely from the tangled mess that used to be his shoulder. All but spent, he weakly slumped to the floor.

Kaidan was left standing alone in the red stained room.

[Yallak]

November 22nd, 2013 – 18:19
The Fortress of Weißburg
Scant, Ibblesguard

It was a bloodbath, figuratively and literally. So much pooling on the floor a person might have bathed in it were they that kind of a sick and twisted psychopath, or potentially one of those self-proclaimed vampire types. Kaidan, being neither of the sorts, was about to flee the no-longer going to be his bedroom for somewhere less disturbing when he saw Balhaan move, jerking as he coughed, more blood spurting out as he did.

‘Frak me.’ Gathering his wits, Kaidan entered the bloody pond, his shoes squelching as he stepped over the Layslians corpse and knelt down beside Balhaan, grabbing hold of the Custodians remaining hand.

‘Help m..e up,’ ordered Balhaan with great effort.

Kaidan almost forgot that he was drenched in human blood and smiled faintly. The Custodian Captain had died several minute ago, he was just too stubborn to accept it.

‘It’s over, Captain,’ stated Kaidan reassuringly, holding the man’s head up so he didn’t choke on his own fluids. ‘I owe you my life, and I cannot begin thank you enough for that.’

Balhaan tried to speak but the attempt sent him into another coughing fit. Kaidan closed his eyes and looked away as blood was projected from his mouth again. ‘I’m sorry, my friend.’

More coughing...no, a laugh? It happened again, and Kaidan was sure it was Balhaan laughing as best he could manage. ‘There is nothing....sorry for. You may not be the...one, but...died protecting .... Emperor. My life’s purpose fulfilled.....how...many get to... die ....knowing that.

‘Few enough,’ answered Kaidan, but Captain Aramis Balhaan, Chief of the Custodian Guard, did not hear it.

_____________________________

November 22nd, 2013 – 18:55
Task Force Iloroth
Off the coast of Laysley

As the sun slowly set behind the Imperial Fleet, shedding its final rays of light over the imminent battlefield and swathing everything in an orange glow, Fleet Commander Laeon Minaith stood on the bridge of his Karak-class Battleship Soulblighter watching the approaching Layslian flotilla on the ships tactical display.

‘Quite a lovely gathering,’ he mused mockingly. The advance element of the Imperial Taskforce had been floating some distance off the coast of Laysley for a good thirty minutes but as yet had received no nation of either surrender or resistance from the Layslians. This was the first visible action they had taken. ‘Maybe they do want to fight after all?!’

Minaith’s second in command, Captain Lucan Neyldal, murmured an agreement and then called to a nearby bridge officer, ‘What’s the time count?’

‘Just over an hour, Sir,’ one of the crew responded in short order.

‘Urgh,’ sighed Minaith. ‘It’s going to happen again isn’t it?’

‘What is, Sir?’ queried Lucan.

‘You know; the same thing that happens every time we get deployed. We go there, then we sit and wait and then the Emperor calls and says, “Oh sorry about that, we won’t be fighting them after all”.’ It’s always Dagon or Ekraan that get to actually command a proper mission, like that...’

Minaith didn’t finish the sentence as the ships communications officer turned and interrupted him. ‘Incoming transmission, Commander. It’s the...’

‘I KNEW IT!,’ exclaimed Minaith, cutting the officer off, ‘don’t even say it, I already know who it is.’

Minaith moved from the tactical display back to his command chair in the centre of the bridge. The comm. officer put the transmission through to the commanders communications console that sat before his chair and after a few moments a twelve inch high hologram of the Emperor formed above the devices display disc.

‘My Lord,’ said Minaith almost half heartedly as he expected to hear the Emperor deliver disappointment in any minute. ‘The fleet is in position off the coast of Laysley, merely awaiting the appointed time to commence further operations. I...’

‘Commander!’ With a single word the Emperor rendered Minaith silent, and it was only then that the Fleet Commander noticed what should have been readily apparent, even in the haziness that was the holographic representation of the man. Minaith could see an astounding anger burning in the Emperor, and it wasn’t just showing in his eyes, which was strange enough for someone as good at hiding his emotions as the Emperor was, but it also seethed and exuded from him with unimaginable ease. ‘To hell with the deadline, frak them up. Kill anyone who doesn’t capitulate. Go and see that it’s done quickly.’

The transmission terminated and the Commander, and his surrounding bridge crew, was left in a momentary stunned silence.

‘Stop the countdown,’ the Commander order, regaining his composure. ‘Captain Neyldal!’

‘Aye, Commander,’ acknowledged the XO, activating a fleet wide intercom, ‘Action stations, Actions stations, Set condition One throughout the fleet.’

Like a previously coiled snake, the Imperial fleet lashed out with incredible speed. Long range missiles screamed out of launchers towards the incoming Layslian ships, or targets on the coastline. Squadrons of aircraft flew overhead intent of seizing the skies and delivering pinpoint munitions on naval and land targets, while more and more were launched from the Imperial carriers.

And not too far away behind the advance fleet, travelling with the rest of the Task Forces armada and munitions vessels, were the transport ships, bearing several Imperial Legions toward the small city-state.

[Laysley]

"A great city is that which has the greatest men and women. If it may be a few ragged huts it is still the greatest city in the world." - Walt Whitman
---

Day 1

Morning

---
About 9 o'clock in the morning

"Captain, sir?"

A junior officer saluted next to the Captain of the Yallakian fleet's chair. The Captain was engrossed in enjoying the pride of the Layslian fleet, the fairly recently built CSS April, being torn to pieces by the seemingly infinitely more powerful Yallakian guns. The Layslians, whose navy had once ruled the waterways of much of Tyrrhenia without question, had been all-but annihilated on the sea. With all this going through his head, not to mention his fantasies of glory back home, it took the Captain a moment to notice the officer.

"Ah, yes?"

"Sir, we've just picked up a signal from one of the Layslian life boats, it appears to be an officer and he's asking specifically for you. Shall we cut him off?"

"No, bring me the radio."

The Captain span round on his chair to watch the junior officer scuttle off to get the radio. With a quizzical look in his eye he smiled, of course, Layslians had this thing about officially surrendering didn't they? Or maybe he'd won the war without the army having to land a soldier? What a shock that would be to Captain Nerarus, surely his old rival could produce nothing to match that?

The officer returned, formal but definitely slightly nervous - seemingly about being alive. He handed the Captain the radio and saluted, but the Captain was already engrossed talking to the Layslians.

The Layslian on the other end was speaking in accented and stuttering Yallakian, but he was intelligible. Clearly an interpreter.

"The Commodore asks we to convey his thanks for destroying his fleet. He's been looking for an excuse to give his house…" the interpreter spoke with the officer for a moment, they said something in Layslian that involved the word 'spring' "a very thorough clean, sir"

The captain leant back, very puzzled.

"He would also like me to give you compliments for being a good naval commander and that if you would stop shooting for a moment he might be able to surrender to you"

"You're surrendering?"

"Just the fleet, sir"

"You're surrendering?" repeated the captain

"Yes, sir"

The Captain flicked off the radio. Then called out to his bridge.

"Gentlemen, the fleet has surrendered. Turn your guns on the city."

---
About 10 o'clock in the morning

Planes swept across the sky in numbers that the citizens down below had never seen before, plunging bombs down against Heeley's "turing line" defences and gunning down the considerably smaller and less well equipped Layslian airforce.

Whistler three, more commonly known as Spudo, struggled to avoid the missiles of several Yallakian jet fighters as his only remaining friend, Whistler two, known better as Chalky, attempted to counter a similar predicament close by.

"Whistler two this is whistler three do you read me, sah?"

"Reading you loud and clear, Spudo old chap, we seem to be in a spot of bother, wot! Over"

"Yessah, just a quick question if you would be so good sah, over"

"Fire away old bean, just keep your eye on the blighters too! over"

Spudo skilfully swerved upward, releasing a flare, and watched the missile and the jet fighter itself, frustrated, pass underneath him

"Are we the honley ones left in the sky, sah? Over"

"As it stands old boy that's what it looks like, but there's no need to worry, wot, you've still got your health don't you? Over"

Spudo narrowly avoided the fighter's guns. He wasn't anywhere near the bombers now, it was just a case of surviving.

"Yessah, as long as a Whistler is flying I will never be down hearted sah! Over"

"Quite so, old chap, they're going to have to do a lot better than this to bring us down, wot! Ove-"

Then above the noise of battle, the horrible, tearing sound of the plane on the opposite end of the line being raked by explosions blasted down the radio and made Spudo physically slam against the back of his seat. On his computer he watched Whistler two streaming down in flames, out of the sky.

"Over and out" he intoned, sadly

Spudo flicked the radio off, barrel rolled professional, and skimmed off into night.

---

12 noon

A Layslian tank lay burning in the street. It hadn't fired a shot, but was now a useful road block. A line of Layslian soldiers stood, stolidly, in a neat line behind the tank.

Their uniforms were crisp, their rifles clean and polished, their forager hats on their heads neatly balanced.

On the other hand, their uniforms were impractical, their rifles antiquated and their forager hats really needed to be helmets from the rain of shrapnel that cascaded over their heads.

But none of them moved, and luckily, so far no explosions had been near enough to hurt anything but their hearing and sense of balance. The soldiers' highest rank was a corporal. It hadn't occurred to the military brains of Laysley before the war, but the army was lacking in junior officers and NCOs compared to the amount of privates and senior officers.

At this point, however, leadership was not the first thing on the soldiers' minds. They had to hold this, Butcher Road, a vital artery of Market Street, against the newly landed Yallakian troops so they couldn't take the high-road straight to Fort St. Michael. It was futile, of course, and they all knew it. Yet these were orders, and no honourable Layslian with respect for his leader would disobey them.

The forces their comrades had faced so far were mainly parts of armoured spearhead, discounting the artillery that everyone was very well aquatinted with now.

"Steady" said the corporal, for no real purpose, as the rumbling of armour was heard round the corner. When they arrived, there was approximately twenty feet between them and the tank. At that range they couldn't miss, but neither could it. Now, however, they had the advantage of a burning tank in front of them.

Then the moment they had been waiting for arrived. It had a been a long few minutes, as they say waiting for the war is the worst part. Of course, people who say that have never actually fought in a war.

The tank peeped out from behind the corner building, an uninviting, run-down establishment that might have once been a shop.

It met with the bullets of two assault rifles, i.e. those who could actually see past the road block. Professionally, the two riflemen next in line doubled-back behind those shooting and added their bullets to the light shower as the tank, a grey metallic beast ripping the tarmac of the road and crushing the pavement with its steel boots, appeared fully on to the road. The four soldiers on the other side, having already taken the new position, opened fire. It had almost no effect, then the corporal, from a vantage point, saw the turret swivel.

"GET DOWN!!"

The soldiers reacted just in time. The burning tank exploded, a shell deep within its bowels, flinging fire into the air. The burning shrapnel cascaded against the soldiers and screams penetrated the air above the shelling. On cue, an old medieval building a little further down the road took a direct hit from a shell.

The Layslians, ignoring even the screams of their comrades, brought their arms to bear and with varying cries, all of rage, the tank took another flurry of bullets. It stayed impassive for a moment again, under the hail. Then, suddenly, the machine gun opened fire and raked through the disorganised Layslian line. As another tank appeared behind it, it fired with the gun against and blew four soldiers straight into the sky. The corporal took a hit from the machine gun, in right shoulder and left leg, and crumpled to the floor. Through a haze of blood he saw the last shooting Layslian fall with a bullet to the head.

He shuffled painfully towards a gun, lying soaked in a pool of blood. With a last effort he grasped the weapon and pulled it towards his dying figure. He fixed his finger round the trigger and, ever so slowly, put his right arm on top of the weapon. He began to bring it up to fire, when a tank track rolled over him and crushed his heart, among other thing.

---

Afternoon

---

About 2 o'clock in the afternoon

"… and I really would suggest that he pisses off before one of us is forced to make him"

"Now, now, Flint" Pimms said deliberately slowly and clearly "There's this little thing called the Mednorcian agreement and it means we hand Heeley to the Yallakians in return for them stopping shooting us."

"Why couldn't we just do that now?" Flint was looking considerably more flustered than usual, in fact none of them had ever seen him look so worried with a cigarette in his hand.

The others all looked at him for a moment. He shrugged. "I suppose. What's it looking like outside anyway?"

Whistling looked at his nails as he spoke "They bombed the cathedral, the town centre is rubble and they're advancing here leaving a lot of dead people behind them. Joulle, so far, is untouched."

"Pff, typical. Even when we're getting invaded we still have a rich-poor divide."

Five out of six lord-lieutenants were sitting in their council chamber. In contrast to the official chamber, this room was really quite informal. The rectangular room was underground, so had no windows and it always felt like it was night time. The chandelier had been replaced some years ago after a disagreement, and now a neat, beige lampshade covered the bulb. The walls were dark green with oak coving, the carpet was plush and also beige, if a little worn. A picture of jesus sat on one of the shorter walls, faced by a very good painting of Laysley by night from the 19th century. In the corner sandwiched between the panorama and the door was an baby grand piano, with Pimms sat upright on the stool and Flint lounged in the armchair by the painting, cigarette in hand. The corner adjacent to the piano contained the room's only table, a small, occasional thing that no one ever looked at. Along that wall was a door leading further underground, three other armchairs , containing the present lords in a very traditional order, plus an empty wooden chair in the corner, like a sore on a freshly cleaned thumb.

All in all, the room couldn't be more Layslian.

At the moment, the room was the saddest it had ever been. The humour was clipped, the conversation short and the facial expressions totally without any happiness. The lords had all been rushing round all day, but none of them had actually achieved anything. Therefore they were simply sitting sullenly, mostly in silence, and had been doing so for an hour at least.

Whistling, looking saddest of all, sat up slightly in his armchair. "I have to leave, I agreed to meet them when the fighting was over, I can't see us carrying on for more than a few hours now"

Then Speckle, unexpectedly, stood up and said "I…"

The others waited patiently, and after a few moments Speckle continued.

"I need to r-rally the knights"

So he walked out, the others slightly unsure of what he intended to do. Whistling put down his pipe on the table and followed. After the door was closed there was a moment of silence, then lithely Crisp stood up from his seat and quietly exited.

Flint looked at Pimms. "You're not going anywhere?"

"No" said Pimms, looking thoughtful

Flint shrugged "Me neither. I'm going to call my wife."

---

About 4 o'clock in the afternoon

"Bloody hell!"

Several rockets wizzed less than three feet over head and annihilated a nice terrace sticking off an already precariously standing building. Tom and the other man sat up from shoving their faces into the pavement to observe the swaying tower. Tom opened his mouth to remark that it appeared to have stopped moving, when the whole thing came down - showering them with yet more dust.

Tom looked at the other man "I'm going to need bath"

They lay back on their fronts, protected from sight by a low wall of what was once the toilets of a popular department store, in the shadow of a couple of slightly higher internal walls.

"Who isn't?" Smiled the other, laying on his side "What's your name, brother?"

"I'm Tom" said Tom, then he properly observed his new friend. The man was about the same age as him, probably forty, but shorter. He had a kindly face, with friendly wrinkles and what had clearly been a neat mop of hair yesterday. "What about you?"

"I'm Reverend Oats, but you can call me Ian"

Ian opened the top button of his battered trench coat with its bloodstained sleeve to reveal his clerical collar.

Tom was a family man, middle-aged with a good management job in a banking firm. He had two children and a wife he loved very much. He had no idea where they were now, which was very depressing. What better company, then, than a priest?

"Hello Ian, how long have you been at this then?"

"Probably since the same time as you!"

"Haha, did you flash them the collar to get to the front of the queue?"

He was referring, of course, to the opening up on the arsenals around the city and the distribution of the thousands of rifles that had been sat there since 1909, according to the information booklet, for this very purpose.

The reverend slapped his rifle "Nope, I've owned Julia since I was a little nipper, haha!" He looked down at Tom's rifle "What about you?"

Tom smiled "Oh, I just got lucky and was there early"

Ian smiled, a shell exploded close by, smashing a couple of plaster walls.

"Surely they must have run out of bombs by now? Personally I've had enough of trying to shoot and getting shot at and scurrying around wrecking these trousers. I only bought them a week back"

"Typical! I put my washing out this morning actually, the weather forecast said it was going to be sunny, I expect it's in atoms currently."

Tom laughed "Well, the weather forecast was right for once!"

They looked up at the dying sun. It had been a nice day, actually, discounting all the shelling and dead people and things.

"It was my boy's first day at his new school today." Tom reflected

"Oh yes? Which school?"

"St. Michael's in Blayke"

"Ah, it was my son's first day there too. Which primary did he go to?"

"Berret Primary, why?"

"My son went there as well!" replied Ian, excited. "They probably knew each other!"

"Oh yes? What's his name?"

"Jimmy"

"Jimmy Oats?"

"Yes!"

"I knew I recognised the name, I was at his birthday party the other week at the Duke's Head!"

"In fact, were you the one that was drinking Paver all evening?"

"Yes!"

Tom smiled "It's a small world, isn't -"

Tom wretched suddenly, a horrible cough that brought up all sorts of unwanted gunk from his chest. Ian looked at him, concerned, then wretched himself and started coughing. Tom struggled over to him, but found his body weak and lifeless. After what seemed like an age he put his hand on Ian's back. Pitifully, Ian slowly pulled his head up, still coughing, and through his increasingly blurry vision Tom saw the panic in his eyes. Then he too started coughing, Ian doubled up.

A moment later Ian had stopped moving, but Tom didn't notice has he threw up horrible black liquid, his hearing roared as if tiny shells were landing directly on his ear drums, and then suddenly he lost sight altogether. With another weak cough, Tom flattened himself completely against the ground and died.

An amber haze lingered over the two bodies.

---

Evening

---

About 6 o'clock in the evening

"Up you get, scumbag"

The Yallakian Captain didn't really hear the any of the words mbut the gesture with the crossbow and the jarring nudge in his crippled shoulder meant he got the message. Lying flat on his face in the mud after a very bad landing and partially tied up in his equipment, not to mention lacking the use of his right arm, meant getting up was very difficult, but as a well-trained soldier he managed it. Around him, the remainder of his team were struggling to the feet with the strange men standing over them. Most of the soldiers were dead, the majority of those left, including himself, were badly injured from the crossbow bolts. The parachuters had been dropped half a mile from the Princess' residence, not expecting any resistance at all. Yet a few meters from the ground his hundred strong task force had almost entirely been turned into Yallak's first pincushion brigade.

Not only was it painful, it was strange.

Finally on his feet, the Captain took his first proper look at the ambushers. The one standing directly in front of him was dressed entirely in black padded leather garments with dark grey metal armour over his chest, thighs and forearms. He was wearing a strange helmet, which seemed to sport bars over his face. Like the others, he had a thick but short moustache.

They were darkly clothed, and the light was fading, but surely in the middle of this open field the spotlights would have picked them up?

Then he noticed the strangest thing of all, as he looked around, arm hanging limply to one side, all of the ambushers were carrying a sort of crossbow, presumably the dealers of the various bolts that were sticking out of his comrades. The one that had hit him had thankfully hit his shoulder while the butt of his gun was sitting in front of it, and thus the thing had only dislocated his shoulder, or possibly broken it.

A few metres away a blurry man gracefully got off his horse, and consulted another man for a moment. With his eyes getting used to the evening without the bright lights of the plane, the Captain made out the man the horse man (presumably an officer) was talking to gesture directly at him. The horse man shouted at the… knight next to him and the soldier nudged him with his crossbow. Unprofessionally, the Captain stumbled over towards the two men and a moment later was standing right in front of them. The first thing he noticed was the officer's hat, a wide-brimmed felt affair, then his thin moustache, then the fact he was uniformed exactly the same as the others except for that. The officer regarded what must have been a pitiful sight with a critical eye for a moment. The second man spoke.

"The Grand Commander asks if you are the leader of this expedition."

Slightly taken aback, the Captain observed the other man for the first time. He was taller, had no headgear at all and was the first clean shaven of the ambushers he'd seen.

"Err, yes I am" he said, not sure how to say it

The Grand Commander spat then spoke. "Then would you mind awfully accompanying our Princess to your leader?" he said with mock politeness

"I… err…" hesitated the Captain

"You understand we will not give in like rats in a corner, Captain" said the other man "Our surrender will be honourable, and therefore we request that you will assist in our aim."

The Captain straightened up. It was his job to get the Princess, and if he had to do it in this revised style then so be it.

"Take me to your leader"

---

About 8 o'clock in the evening

"Ho there good citizen!"

Trust his dad to be this embarrassing despite the bloody invasion.

Will and his dad, crawling, rounded the door frame of the back door to the mostly intact pub. His dad had heard talking in the pub and, being his dad, had just had to pop in. The interior of the pub was very much like everything else in Laysley at the moment, but at least it was slightly warmer, although just as dark as everywhere else. Two people were crouched behind a bar, a man of similar age to his dad and presumably his wife looking round the edge of the bar away from them. His dad and the man shook hands. "I'm Gary" said his dad "And this is Will"

The man smiled broadly. He had one of those faces that always looked like it was smiling, even when covered in grime, and so when the man smiled he really smiled. "I'm Patrick" he replied, slightly musically "and this is my daughter Lizzie"

At that, the girl turned round and she wasn't his wife at all, she was a graceful, beautiful young woman with a face like he'd never seen before. She smiled directly at him and his head went all funny and he nearly toppled over from his crouching position. Immediately, the conversation between his father and Patrick was muffled background noise, so he didn't notice when they laughed delightedly at the two love birds.

Lizzie put her hand out to shake his. He awkwardly took it and Lizzie giggled, sending him into another fuzzy-head mode. In an attempt to maintain a vestige of politeness he pulled his hand away, but Lizzie kept a firm grip and he immediately stopped trying.

The men were talking about the kitchen of this place being blown clean off and the landlord having disappeared, but Will hardly noticed as Lizzie nimbly crouched down right next to him. "I'm glad I met you before we died" said Will, with unexpected courage. She smiled then a a fraction of a second later she kissed him, a peck on the cheek. The most beautiful moment of his life had happened and he knew fine well that it had. He smiled the most genuine smile he had ever smiled, mainly with he eyes, and the girl seemed somehow disarmed.

A shell landed very nearby, showering them with more shrapnel. He vaguely heard his father scream something at him, but the two young people just looked into each other's eyes as a shell landed right over head and obliterated all four of them.

---

About 10 o'clock in the evening

"I can hear them" said Flint

The other two nodded. His wife sat in Speckle's chair, as relaxed as anything, reminding him every moment why he had married her.

Pimms nodded, perched on his piano stool.

"I'm glad I get to die with you, Oliver" said Lucy, smiling at him with her age old smile. He took her hand and was simply content for a moment.

Then, suddenly, he became aware of something that he'd never thought of before.

"Beaufort?" he asked

"Yes?" Pimms replied

"Why did you never marry?" Flint asked, bluntly

"Ah" replied Pimms, with a little smile "There's a question."

"I think perhaps Olivier might like it answered" said Lucy

"Of course" said Pimms, a little sourly now "I was hoping I might be able to weasel round the topic but nothing gets past you does it?"

Lucy grinned "I can't believe we've never had a proper conversation before!"

Pimms laughed "Indeed!"

"Anyway" interjected Flint "You were saying?"

"Oh, yes. Now I've never told this to anybody before so, please, do feel privileged. In short, I fell in love when I was young and it broke my heart, since then I swore never to fall in love again. Well, as you can see I partially succeeded, but then I failed as well."

"Oh yes?" said Flint, raising both eyebrows

Pimms grinned and patted the piano. "I fell in love with music"

Flint nodded and regarded his revolver. Lucy patted his arm and he shrugged "I don't want to die fighting"

"What choice do you have?" she replied

He thought for a moment then his thin grimace broadened out into a wide smile

"Of course!" Flint stood up energetically "Give us a waltz, Pimms my old friend!"

Pimms complied and swizzled round on the stool to face the piano. Flint took his wife's hand "If I'm going to die, I'm going to die dancing!"

Lucy sprang up and pressed herself against him "Then let's dance, daddy-o"

"Alright, Beu, hit it!"

As always, the piano was like dough in Pimms' hands, he shaped it, moulded it, controlled it at a whim. The music, Ode to Night Music by Mözhoven, was sung gracefully by the choir of little metal wires that Pimms conducted with effortless skill. Just like the old times when Oliver and Lucy were first courting, they stepped perfectly in time across the worn carpet and he felt something like his old passion welling back up.

He had no idea how long this beautiful moment lasted a long time, for sure, but certainly not long enough. Soon, the door was kicked down and shouting filled the world. The piano hammered away regardless, and Flint carried on in the same spirit. There was a horrible noise as bullets ripped through the piano and a muffled cry of pain, perhaps even a name, as Pimms crumpled onto the floor.

He looked into his wife's eyes for what he knew would be the last time, and mouthed a silent goodbye, before the bullets blew them both away against far wall.

---

The cave was about a mile outside Ama's village. She was thirteen now, so had been trekking to it every day, come rain or shine, alone for four years, since her grandma died. They mocked her at the school in the village sometimes for her piety, but the fact that little hermit had lived up in that cave for as long as anyone could remember and her grandma's respect for him had kept her carrying Ama to the cave day-in, day-out right up until the day she died. She didn't know it yet, but there definitely was a reason for Ama keeping on keeping on and one day she would find out.

Today was just a normal day. The giraffes strolled lazily in the savanna, the wildebeests had all gone for winter, the sun was shining brightly over the vast grasslands. She'd been to the school earlier, but the maths and science teacher was ill so she'd only had two hours of schooling from her English and Culture teachers respectively, but in her region this was nothing special.

So today was just a normal day, until now. She brought her usual offering of a yam and a sweet bread to the hermit. Every day the hermit would make eye contact with her and smile politely, but he never spoke and never moved while she was there. When she was younger, she used to hide in increasingly imaginative and distant places, but the hermit had always known and eventually she'd have to leave, with the hermit sitting motionless all the time.

But today he was stood up outside his cave looking in the distance, a staff hung with various, strange objects stood up in the soil a while away. As she approached, she noticed he didn't even turn to look at her. Awkwardly, she put her yam and sweet bread at his feet and turned to leave, her head buzzing with a million different questions about the hermit's strange behaviour. Then suddenly, he said "Wait."

Ama span round instantly at the deep, melodious voice, that somehow seemed to carry the summer breeze with it. She stared straight up into the hermit's eyes, and she had never seen something so deep. The hermit nodded.

"A terrible thing has happened today, Ama." She recoiled, visibly, he had no way of knowing her name! "A sleeping giant has been awoken and they do not fully understand their own power. Until it sleeps again the world can never be the same. You do not know it yet, but you are the daughter and the grand daughter of two of the most powerful women in the world and your life will shape the future. Now go."

With that, Ama turned and fled down the hill, knowing the world could never be the same.

---

Day 2

Early morning

---

About half past 12

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Heeley burst into the lantern room of the ancient light house. For probably the first time since it was built over four hundred years ago the light had not been kindled at six o'clock, so the effect of his barge in was not ruined by him being blinded by the lantern swivelling round into his face.

"I'm surrendering." replied Whistling, levelly.

When on, the lantern only swung in a 180 degree arc because the rest of the light house faced in towards the city and thus the light would not be lighting up the sea half the time. Because of the size of the top of the light house, there was a lot of empty space behind the lantern so someone had had the idea of putting a radio broadcaster up there in the middle of the last century, a very good idea owing to it's height and convenience.

Whistling sat in front of said radio, leaning over the back of the chair to regard Heeley. He wasn't very good at the whole level-headed-when-faced-with-an-angry-person-in-a-bad-situation thing, but you didn't have to be any good at all when faced with a buffoon like Heeley. His wife, Alice, sat next to him, while his son and a hapless priest were both on the roof hoisting up a white flag, presumably what Heeley was referring to. Piere stood nearby with another radio, tuned to pick up the Yallakians.

Disregarding his usual habit of asking the same question again, Heeley simply whipped out his pistol and pointed it straight at Whistling. Whistling looked back expressionless, but he squeezed his wife's hand. With Heeley in a mood like this, there probably was no way out now. He couldn't make his speech and surrender officially but the Yallakians knew this was the end anyway, it would make little difference in the end. Today was a good day to die, after all.

"You've been plotting against me all along, Whistling. You're going to pay for that in blood." While he was talking, two soldiers came through the door behind Heeley and took up positions on his flanks.

Whistling nodded "I see. You're not going to shoot me, Heeley"

Heeley, still looking with unadulterated hate into Whistling's eyes, moved his arm slightly to the left and shot Piere through the head. His old friend crumpled to the floor without a sound.

"Any last words, Whistling?"

Whistling lost all controls over his temper and burst up into Heeley's face, his mouth open to shout him down more aggressively than he'd ever shouted anyone down before. Heeley instantly and with uncharacteristic calm flicked his pistol up to point at Whistling's face and put his finger on the trigger. The gun fell out of his hand.

A voice, quiet and snakelike, purred into his ear. "We're surrendering, Heeley, do you have a problem with that?"

The two guards looked at Whistling, who gestured them to lower their rifles. Crisp stood directly behind Heeley with a knife pressed to his throat. Heeley's arm lay limp and broken to one side and he had a look of pure fear in his eyes.

"You realise" said Whistling, at length "That Crisp is entirely under my control and after one you've done to my country every fibre of my being screams to have him behead you and stick your pathetic skull on a spike. But I'm a man of my word and I've agreed to let the Yallakians do that to you instead, you understand? So just sit there and don't say anything." Whistling turned round as Heeley slumped to the ground. Whistling junior and the minister came in through the window.

"It's up" said his son

"Excellent." Whistling smiled a thin, tight smile "Alice, please get me the radio from Piere."

Alice complied and passed him the blood stained bit of plastic and metal. "Thank you"

He turned to face the burning city and put it up to his ear and pressed the button "Good morning, gentlemen, do you read me?"

Half the world away Emperor Balor picked up the radio "Good morning, Layslian" he said "Have you come to surrender finally?"

"We have Heeley, there is a white flag flying above the city. I tender our surrender."

Balor smiled "Surrender accepted, Layslian, Make your speech."

A moment later the line switched off.

Whistling gripped his wife's hand again and a tear rolled down his cheek. He sat back down on the chair and turned the radio on. He didn't know who was listening but he was informed that every radio that was on for miles around would pick up this message, His son passed him the speech, and he spoke.

When he'd finished Alice kissed him, Heeley sobbed quietly and the priest patted his shoulder.

"Laysley is a better place for your guidance, your excellency."

Whistling didn't reply for a moment, staring straight ahead at the radio. Suddenly, he straightened up, fixed his collar and buttoned up his jacket. He stood up tall.

"Yes, minister."