Caught In The Web: Astyrian Conflict & Intrigue (IC/Closed)

[Ord Caprica]

Bafwangmbiri, Kamalbia
2016 October 3
0014 Hours

Specialist Cato H. Abernathy
1st Battalion, 55th Mechanized Infantry Brigade
Operation New Dawn

''We'll hold as long as we need to Sir. Badger 2-5 Out. '', Abernathy replied stoically.

He stood up and looked around, taking stock of his troops, mentally preparing himself to once again put their lives in danger in an attempt to save them. They'd have to break cover in order to pop smoke in an area visible by air so their extraction force could spot them and then hold the LZ for however long until the choppers reached their location. A tall order under any circumstances but certainly borderline suicidal given their current predicament.

Abernathy lowered his helmet mounted optics and clicked a button to activate his digital Heads-Up-Display(HUD). It provided him with a improved degree of situational awareness, allowing him to see nearby friendly troops as well as mark enemy combatants with local infrared markers that other soldiers could use to lock onto targets, in addition to providing a much clearer picture of the battle-space.

''Alright Soldiers.. We've got a Coalition relief flight coming in twenty five mikes. We've got to secure an LZ and hold it until our taxi gets here. We're going to fold out at the intersection that we passed earlier and occupy the four corners and hope we don't get fucked in the process. Sledge, you're in the second team, Dancy you're in the third and we'll leave the wounded here until they get here then we'll cover them first.


Twenty-Five Minutes Later......

When coalition forces finally made over Bafwangmbiri, they'd see a city literally on fire. Insurgents had blocked off almost all entrances into the city with rubble and fire and had been for the last twenty minutes desperately trying to eradicate the U.S forces attempting to escape their grasp. Rocket propelled grenades exploded, anti-aircraft fire lit up the sky and the constant staccato of rifle fire painted a apocalyptic picture for even the most dauntless of observers.

Early reports had estimated that ALA forces in the city numbered no more than a few hundred but as the battle raged, it became apparent that they were terribly wrong and the number approached almost a thousand militiamen, and the situation was similar all across the area of operations for New Dawn. The insurgency had both the man and willpower to put up a conventional fight against U.S military forces attempting to root them out and the 55th Mechanized Brigade found itself in the heaviest fighting of it's existence. And this was only the beginning.....

[Andamonia]

Cevrazu, Andamonia
1:40 p.m., 10 December 2016

Mocat Xekomo buried his face in his hands with an exasperated sigh. Outside, the monsoon rains streamed relentlessly down on the cement of a street in east Cevrazu, while cars whizzed by and feet plodded hurriedly through the deepening film of water, stray droplets spraying their shoes and slowly soaking the hems of their trousers. Inside, water brown with the mud from those same shoes clustered in the well at the door before tracking the length of a not quite entirely unpleasant diner, separate lines of footprint-shaped puddles stopping at the bar and at each of the stained and encrusted tables. No sound came from the third booth in from the door, where Mocat Xekomo sat, the collar of his still-wet trench coat turned up against prying eyes. In the kitchen, grease jumped and spattered from half a dozen pans. At the bar, cups of watery coffee and off-colour orange juice waited to join the all-day breakfasts. At the table, Mocat raised his head.

"I know you say your decision is final, but nevertheless you are the emperor. Another decision will be just as final and no one can contradict that." It was a reach, he knew, but he hadn't risked life and limb returning to Andamonia to be told that the emperor's decision was final. After all, who had vetoed so many of the absolute monarch's ideas in the past? Mocat Xekomo, of course.

Across the table, the emperor himself sat in this dingy diner, a hat covering his head as he stared down at his lacklustre coffee. The place could hardly have felt less regal. It was the last place in the empire he would have dreamed himself sitting twenty years ago, when his brother and father were still alive and he had no reason to expect to rule. Even five years ago, while Andamonia had been wallowing after decades of decay, the great palaces of the empire still reeked of royalty, and there he was happy to seclude himself six days of the week. It took Mocat Xekomo to drag Amahuiz Tlacapilzi, the emperor of Andamonia, to this god-forsaken, rundown, shabby old diner — and the man wanted to be re-hired? Was this some wild fantasy of Mocat's that had somehow reeled in the emperor himself?

"Mocat," the emperor said, before taking a moment to think. The hum of an overhead fan in the kitchen persisted. "This is what is right for Andamonia." There was nothing else to say, was there? If there was one, fundamental truth to this whole thing, that was it. He had to step down. The Andamonian people had to lead themselves into their brighter future.

And who would have thought that the future could be so bright? Over the last three months, the pieces had all fallen into place, one by one. The Siege of Pathatl had been a resounding victory for government forces and the so-called North Peninsular Republic had crumbled within a week. The Cavari bombings were their last hurrah but, rather than galvanising the resistance, that atrocity finally won the Trellinese the sympathy of the Andamonian public and steeled Trellin's resolve to conclude the war. Tamlac ha'Lusnaan, the 'president' of that rebel sect, publicly surrendered that Friday. The Olahu Commune followed soon after, and now there were only minor pockets of fighting on that peninsula. The eastern provinces remained in dispute, but, with most of the Ubeyli leadership dead following Trellinese drone strikes, the conflict was expected to end any day. The south had seen little fighting, despite several sects fleeing into the Rohocar desert. They had likely thought it would make them impossible to fight and conquer. The Andamonian military tended to agree. They were left to roast in the desert while the army occupied itself with pacification further north. Across Andamonia, a stability which for far too long had been absent was being restored. Confidence was cautiously returning to the economy, to the populace and to the empire.

Yet, for all this, the empire itself seemed intent on disappearing — if, Mocat thought to himself, you regarded Amahuiz as not just emperor but empire, but he knew that Amahuiz was the sum of his advisers and always had been. Despite all Mocat Xekomo's wrangling and reasoning, it looked as though a republic would be the emperor's gift to his people this Christmas.

The silence lasted for what seemed like a century; a silence as weary as the century of monarchy that had just elapsed and might now be coming to a close. Mocat opened his mouth to speak but what came out instead was a sigh. He tried again.

"Twice before someone made that decision for Andamonia. Both republics were fraught with bloodshed and ended in fire. Why would you dissolve the monarchy just as you restore peace? You've finally proven your competence and earned the trust of your people. Now is not the time to leave them to fend for themselves."

Amahuiz looked up and smiled slightly at his former adviser. "Have I earned your trust, though, Mocat?" He didn't wait for an answer. "There will never be a better time to let my people — our people, you led them too — lead themselves. After all, I should I think a unified nation has rather better odds of surviving than when it was at war with itself. Certainly it is preferable for the monarch to step down of his own volition than to have an Andamonia which regrets exiling him."

"And what of an empire which has finally decided it wants its emperor?" Mocat retorted. "I did not risk life and limb coming back to Andamonia to hear that you're tired of dressing up and playing emperor. You have seventy million people out there who for years have lived in fear of the day their empire came crashing down around them. Just as you begin to prove that the empire can protect them from disorder and anarchy you strip away the one thing that they and their fathers' fathers have always been able to depend on. I have always done my utmost for you and for this nation, sire, and I know you have always desired the best for your people. I would never dream of calling you a coward but you are abandoning an entire nation into the hands of idiots and incompetents."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented," Amahuiz interrupted, though Mocat thought he saw a smile on the emperor's face. "Am I coward or am I competent? Do you believe me fit to rule or do you want Andamonia to finally have a 'competent' leader? Fight one corner, not both. You cannot take the reins of a country if you cannot hold just one stance."

"I did not mean to ins- wait, what are you saying?" Mocat's backpedalling was cut short as the Amahuiz's implication hit him. "Are you suggesting that I desire to lead Andamonia?"

"You always considered yourself the power behind the throne, did you not? You shunned the limelight, perhaps, but you always thought you knew better than the emperor. Oh, I'm not bitter," he laughed, cutting off Mocat's objection, "you usually did know better. I was steered well by my First Speaker. It took your exile for me to realise how much I depended on you. Indeed, I would have been quite an ineffective ruler but for your constant guidance. It has occurred to me that I was never really suited to be emperor. Why not President Mocat Xekomo?"

It was Mocat's turn to laugh. "Because the Andamonian public does not trust or want Mocat Xekomo. They don't know that I was the power behind the throne — not that I ever saw myself that way, sire. I have always been your servant and Andamonia's. Andamonia doesn't know that. All they know is that I fled; to my eternal shame I fled when you needed me most. Even you could not get me elected now, whether I want the position or not."

"I wouldn't be so certain of that if you're so certain of my newfound popularity. After all, there are still two weeks for me to change the public's mind," Amahuiz remarked.

"How much of that time would you have to spend changing mine?" was Mocat's wry reply as he leaned forward in his seat, lifting the brim of his hat. "Besides, I'd rather spend it changing yours. Two weeks? I've been known to sway the emperor's mind in two minutes."

"Not when the emperor has had two years to consider. I have no intention of being convinced, Mocat. Perhaps I was unable to make decisions for a country, but I can make decisions for myself. I will not remain emperor. My people deserve better." Another silence took hold briefly. Mocat sat back in his chair and Amahuiz stared over his shoulder at a campaign poster on a lamppost across the street. "You should consider running for president. You could hardly be worse than the buffoons who've put themselves forward so far. You would think there would be some competent local governor eager to step forward but so far there is a distressing lack of viable candidates."

"Perhaps they know they won't live up to your high standards," suggested Mocat, trying not to grovel.

"Perhaps they think they'll be assassinated," speculated Amahuiz.

"And what if they are? Will Amahuiz Tlacapilzi take the reins of power and restore peace to Andamonia? Or what if no one worthy stands for election? You say this decision is for the good of Andamonia; what if Andamonia makes the wrong choice and elects the wrong man?"

That was a thought which had occurred to Amahuiz, and he had not yet come up with a solution. He still believed that the only path for Andamonia was popular governance, but it had been a century since they had elected officials who had the will and the power to change the nation for the better. Not even the Councillors of the Grand Assembly truly knew what it was to lead a country. Perhaps it was a question that needed Mocat's attention. He brought his hands down decisively on the table. "There is time yet to resolve that," he said, confidently. Mocat was hired. "We have two weeks. What can we not do with that time?"

[Ord Caprica]

Bafwangmbiri, Kamalbia
2016 October 3
0022 Hours

Sergeant Sean P. Burke
4th Battalion, 55th Mechanized Infantry Brigade
Operation New Dawn
''Relief Column''

The roads heading out from Fort Bastion were a picturesque scene from some postmodern apocalyptic novel where hell itself had descended upon the realms of mankind. Cars sat idly, burning peacefully with their occupants, would be suicide bombers resting peacefully after having been literally cut to pieces by carefully placed bursts of automatic machine gun fire from the base's defenders. Further out from the base, bodies readily littered the countryside as unwilling testaments of the horror of the last twenty four hours in Kamalbia. Death, gunpowder and thick black smoke polluted the air all throughout the land as battles raged all over the country as the Astyrian Liberation Army and it's conscripted militia forces fought back in what could only be called a battle to the death against the U.S forces arrayed against them.

General Baxter had been shipped in to oversee a simple counterinsurgency campaign and had instead been handed a full scale war of the likes had not been seen in Astyria since the opening stages of the invasion on Insula Fera so many years ago. ALA gunmen resisted attempts at capture with every fiber of their beings and when high value targets were taken against their will, militiamen launched countless attacks to recover them as if they could overwhelm U.S forces by sheer effort alone, and they paid dearly for it. Early reports had estimated enemy casualties at upwards of a thousand men and that was only current as of six hour ago. The general had ordered a halt on all raids in the interior of the country by forces under a company and platoon patrols were authorized only in the immediate vicinity of the Base in fear of being ambushed and destroyed.

Friendly losses were rapidly approaching triple digits as the fighting intensified through the night, more than a dozen Soldiers from 1st Battalion had been cut off when they stumbled into a major insurgent command and control center in some town called Bafwangmbiri, though those returning from raids near there were calling that entire area, the ''Badlands'' now do to the aggression and ferocity of the enemies operating there.

Coalition air assets had been tasked with laying down close air support and casualty evacuations for U.S troops but the sheer scale of combat had caught everyone off guard. A Corporal working in HQ had told me an hour ago that they were getting three calls for support for every plane they had on station at Bastion and it was even worse when CASEVACs were included.

It had been decided that the men in Bafwangmbiri couldn't be left in the city overnight to fend for themselves so and artillery couldn't be brought to bear on the town in fear of friendly fire since communications with the cut off unit had been intermittent since 2300 hours yesterday. Baxter ordered every swinging dick with a clean weapon and a pair of balls to match to mount up and head back into the town in force, this time in riding heavy in six LAVs with two M2 Barrow infantry fighting vehicles to give them some teeth, all in all totally almost fifty soldiers from the 4th Battalion of the 55th Mechanized Infantry Brigade. The 1st and 2nd Battalions were already tied up in fierce urban combat south of Fort Bastion and the 3rd had been broken down to act as a fire brigade, lending support in force to units under pressure. The 4th was tasked with local area security and had been relatively unbloodied with the exception of the occasional suicide run on the base by the more fanatical ALA irregulars.

Riding along inside the relatively safety of the lead M2 Barrow, looking out the view port, one starts to marvel at things, like how I'd volunteered for this assignment and now as I was less than ten minutes away from meeting the ALA in combat for at least the tenth time in the last twenty four hours, I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. Not with my wife of two years, or my brother who would be heading off to Cumbria University in a few weeks for the Spring Semester, under full scholarship and well on his way to graduating cum laude. Our father had died of a heart attack six weeks ago and I'd missed the funeral but still, I'd rather be right here, looking out of window, watching as enemy tracers lit up the night sky and Coalition ground attack jets let loose barrage after barrage of deadly accurate autocannon fire in response.

''Alright lads. We're about to roll into the city so make sure your shit is tight and you're ready to fight.'' The Barrow driver said as he made the turn onto main street.

The element of surprise wasn't even a card they had to place as moments later, the tell-tale ''pings'' of small arms fire began to reverberate off the hull of the armored vehicle and the loud ''booms'' of RPG explosions jolted me back into reality.

I charged my M27, a rifle that was just starting to be phased into service with the U.S military and chambered a round. The gunner of the vehicle opened up with his 25mm chaingun and laid down covered fire as the back hatch opened and my rifle squad exited, sprinting to the nearest cover while the enemy still had their heads down.

''The cut off guys are six blocks north from us, straight ahead. Protect the vehicles and push forward!''

It was a redundant transmission made by the LAV commander, we already knew what we had to do and had been briefed on the situation thirty minutes before we had even mounted up but nevertheless, I keyed up his mike and responded.

''Affirm. We'll get our Kung-Fu on now.''

I tapped the control panel on wrist and booted up my ATLAS HUD system, it gave me vital combat information and updates, allowing U.S forces to remain a step ahead of their foes at all times.

Popping out of cover, I peered down the street, muzzle flashes painfully obvious as my vision was optimized by my optics.

''Be advised all Gator units. I've got about a half dozen hostiles, two five meters north of our position, ground level, both sides of the street. Somebody wanna move up so we can pick these guys off or what?''

''Gator 2-7 moving!''

Was the reply over wireless.

I dropped down into the prone position, as I had done countless times before in training and combat, one hand extended in front of me as I dropped to my knees as if I was going to begin praying and allowed the rest of my body to follow. The prone was the most stable position for taking shots and provided the smallest profile if the enemy returned fire. Tucking my elbows and allowing my feet to lay flat against the pavement, I allowed my body to go semi-limp, my breathing was calm and steady, involuntary body movements had to be reduced or controlled as best as possible in order to get accurate shots of in succession.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw a flash of brown camouflage combat utilities as Gator 2-7 rushed from wherever he had been hunkered down, forward in a carefully calculated movement to draw the enemies fire to him and expose their positions.

Almost immediately, muzzle flashes appeared in my line of fire as the enemy sought foolishly to stop what they probably thought was an advance on their position.

My reticle lined up with the closest silhouette who had opened fire and two quick trigger pulls later, a body dropped into the open as my rounds found their home. It was easy to simply adjust my rifle as I mentally marked the positions of enemy combatants and unleashed deadly accurate fire upon them, my fellow soldiers did the same and in seconds the remaining gunmen were running in the opposite direction, attempting to escape the apparent wall of death that was bounding towards them on alleyway at a time.

It was a useless exercise on their part, we were well aware of the limits of our weapons and it wasn't even a chore to fire accurately from two or three hundred meters away and with the presence of armor directly behind us, there was no way they'd be able to check our rescue attempt before we reached the cut off soldiers.

The situation elsewhere was a different story as the enemy had begun to regain his sense and set up blocking forces and entrenched themselves against the constant assault of U.S forces who had despite adjustments to battle plans, continued to assault at their objectives and conduct raids in search of senior ALA leadership and intelligence.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

2016 October 3
Bafwangmbiri, Kamalbia


"Uh.. this is Aquila one-two, we are approaching positions around Bafwangmbiri, weapons are hot. Be advised Badger 2-5, we are opening up"

The flight of three Confederate heliopters began their sweep, spraying thousands of rounds of ammunition into the rooftops over the village, nailing literally anything that made a move out of place. After the first strafe of the general area was done, the three birds rounded about, the pair of Venatores leaning out the sides with their sniper rifles trained and scanning for any signs of enemy gunmen.

"Badger, we are going to put down in the town square. We have space to exfil 8 of your criticals. We don't know exactly how long we can stay in place, but we will provide whatever overwatch we can while you get here" the pilot of Aquila-3 announced as he began his descent into the now abandoned center of the town. The seconds were nerve wracking as the helo lowered itself to the ground, and sweat was beating up on the forehead of every gunner in the squadron. They were in an extremely vulnerable position right now and each and every one of them knew it. All they could do now was just hope that the Capricans would get to them quickly, and allow them to all get home safely.

---

Blackhelm Confederate Embassy
Holmgard, Romberg

Libertus Redwell, the current Confederate ambassador in this frozen corner of Astyria. had earlier in the day received a most interesting bit of information from the Senate back home, and was now preparing to relay this news to the Rombergian delegation. A few hours ago, his secretary had placed the call to the Rombergian Foreign Ministry, and now the representatives we in the waiting room just beyond the door.

Libertus looked back down at his notes, taking a brief last minute scan to memorize the key points, straightened up his tie, and then, with a big smile, swung open the doors to the meeting room.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Do come in, sorry to have you brought here on such short notice, but I believe I have a proposition that can be most beneficial for both of us”

---

Schloss Hohenstein
Overlooking Holmgard

Prince-Regent Adam von Hohenstein stretched slightly as he moved about his seat. The news had reached him not long after breakfast. In his early 70s, he was still not comfortable with the fact that he was now the leader of his nation, who looked up to him as one who would help restore the nation’s role in the world. Leading the coup was never the plan. Using his beloved wife as a conduit to ending the conflict wasn’t either. Then again, his grandfather, the esteemed Ulrich the Great did the same thing too. What could he have done instead? For starters… the veteran of the Civil War wanted nothing but to manage his own family’s holdings and retire to a leisurely life…

That was not an option.

“Intriguing… A meeting, yes?”

“Yes your majesty. The Confederacy…”

“Just use Sir… The meeting will occur in the Grandpalatz.”

“But…”

“It’s still well maintained, no? They were one of the first to restore relations as with before. They deserve proper hospitality.”

“But you can be there, can you? You were going to make a case for the elections…”

“Von Nakhutina is free, yes? I trust that she will be worthy to be my representative.”

---

“The Prince-Regent has suggested we conduct this in the Grandpalatz, herr Rottenbrunn. I believe he sees this as an honour to receive you. He does not forget how you had worked tirelessly to help dampen the effect of what has happened, and has been an open advocate for us in the months following…

I’m Elsbeth Edle von Nakhutina by the way. A pleasure and honour to work with you. And these two are my aides, Prylov and Stefansson.” She gave a slight bow.

“A pleasure to meet you” the ambassador responded “but I am afraid I must insist we have this meeting here. The Grandpalatz is beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but I think there is no reason to travel all the way across the city when we can just as easily speak now. So please, do come in” he said, gesturing towards the chairs assembled around the table behind him.

“Very well then… the Prince-Regent has always been a man of protocol, and he seems to value symbolism of the official residence of the Monarchs greatly. That said, he is also a pragmatic man and I am sure he is delighted just by the fact that these series of diplomatic overtures have occurred in the first place. Besides, I’m no fan of the place anyway. Got lost there when I was a girl…

Anyway, yes, certainly.” She gestured to her aides as they filed in into the room, then took seats.

The ambassador sat opposite von Nakhutina and cleared his throat before beginning. “As I am sure you are well aware, there has been something of an embargo on your country, and the EATA is a major party to it. Furthermore, and again, as I am sure you are well aware, your nation has lost no small bit of prestige on the world stage after the recent….debacle...in the Lorecian tundra. What if, Ms. von Nahkutin, I were to tell you that I have a proposal to lift the EATA sanctions, and also help to restore just a bit of your standing on the international field?”

“You sound like you are making an offer one cannot refuse, Herr Rottenbrunn. But I doubt it is prudent to make any moves so quickly. The ink has barely dried and the soldiers have just returned home. We are in no position to take any risks. Lifting the sanctions will be welcomed, but we need to focus on soul searching and rebuilding now.”

“There are no risks involved here” the ambassador assured her. “I have been made aware that your nation is in possession of some of the finest engineering minds in the region? And world class medical staff as well, are they not?”

“You do know what it means for us to be redeploying personnel abroad? These are paranoid times. Even if the Prince-Regent has any ambitions for the nation, it would be advisable to lay low, at least for now.”

“You certainly do know how to get ahead of yourself, don’t you, Ms von Nakhutina. I suppose that is that classic Rombergian penchant for panic showing through, isn’t it? Well, set your fear aside a moment, and hear my proposal. I am not asking for you to deploy soldiers. I was asking for engineers. Construction crews. Medical staff. These can be contractors, if necessary. As long as they are there to represent Romberg, it makes no difference if they are government personnel or are simply on your payroll. It is the flag that counts.”

“Exactly. Pointing the finger is easy. As long as our flag is there it is sufficient fodder for whoever may want to make a move.”

“To say what?” The ambassador interrupted. “To point the finger and say look at those horrible Rombergians, building wells for the Kamalbians? OR perhaps to say look how absolutely dreadful those Rombergians are, delivering penicillin to some disease ravaged hell hole? What exactly is there to point a finger at here?”

“Then I believe you have no idea what false flag means? Of infiltrations?” she responded sarcastically.

“The Prince-Regent has plans, Herr Rottenbrunn. Like a new constitution. And a restructuring of the government to allow for peacekeeping work if that’s what you’re referring to. Right now it’s too risky.”

The ambassadors eyes widened a bit at just how odd and paranoid the Rombergians actually were. “You think that there is a false flag operation in play? What, that we will pin your doctors for some massacre? And this is not peacekeeping that we are asking. It is purely humanitarian work. Our men are there for the peacekeeping. If you would like, you don’t even need to carry arms. The EATA men on the ground are more than capable of keeping you safe. I see little way to implicate you in a false flag if you aren't even armed.”

“If they want to fit a narrative, the truth can be created. But that said, your guarantee of safety is rather important. As I said, the Prince-Regent has some major internal reforms planned. Let them run their course to prevent the possibility of misunderstandings. I’ll give it a month at least for the basic reforms, while the constitution will be voted in by referendum on New Years’ day.

Right now you see there is no provision of these volunteers to be sent abroad in any capacity other than as part of a military deployment - even for purely civilian means. They would be classed as peacekeepers. And that creates difficulties because even if they are not armed, they would be de facto members of our military. Things like the red cross just aren’t strong here. So we’ll need to create some form of humanitarian organisation essentially from scratch. I know… the legal system is a bit broken at the moment.”

“And when can you have this done?”

“In interim, try beginning of December? It can be formalised by mid January I estimate given that the constitution has little chance of being vetoed.”

“I see, and you will recognize the state of Northern Kamalbia as well, with this deployment, yes?”

“Not without consulting the wishes of the people, and not without a unification of the South by peaceful means. They were a unified state and I do not see why they should be divided, less so with regimes propped up by foreign forces.”

“There will be a unification. The reason I am here today, asking for your men, is to build legitimacy. We need to understand that you will recognize Northern Kamalbia in the interim, while things are still being straightened out. Re-unification might not be for some time. In the mean time, we need the world to recognize our mission in the area.”

“If you refer formal diplomatic recognition then I am afraid I cannot promise that, not when things are still unresolved. But in the interests of pragmatism we will recognise the authority of any and all powers on the ground, de facto, which seeks to restore order and the livelihoods of people. I hope that is an understandable position?

And that said, in the interim is there a possibility of some kind of exchange so to speak for the removal of sanctions?”

“I will, of course need to consult with the other allies, the Scottopians, Capricans, Dangish, and so on, but I can be most certain that, if you do at least provide recognition to the EATA authorities and to Mr. Guyeer, we can work something out.”

“As far as we are concerned the northern parts are under EATA occupation and that cannot be changed until EATA troops depart, but we can agree on the possibly benevolent nature of an occupation. Similarly we cannot formally recognise the northern regime as a sovereign nation or grant full diplomatic relations, but we can accept them as the representative of the Kamalbian people in the North.”

“Very good. I think we have made some progress here then. You go get to work on that organization. We can use as many people on the ground as you can provide. Once you get some solid numbers on just what you can actually contribute, I can tell you what we can do in return. As it is, however, I think that with your recognition of representation, we shouldn’t have any problems.”

“And the sanctions? Anything can be done to lift them earlier? Perhaps hopefully within the next two weeks? We can provide some sort of guarantee or bond in the interim. Maybe even some grant of exports?”

“Provide us with a guarantee of those aid workers, or of your recognition. And I will expedite my request to the other allies. Exports are not particularly of concern to me at the moment”

“I will pass the message to the Prince-Regent. Thank you for the arrangement of the meeting. I believe that the current state of things will allow for a mutually agreeable position that does not violate our position of strict neutrality.”

“It has been productive thank you for coming. My staff will see you out” he said motioning towards the door, where an aid now stood. A few more brief formalities followed before the Rombergians left Redwall alone in the meeting room. He sat silent for a moment or two before turning his right hand into the shape of a gun, his middle and index finger the barrel and his thumb the hammer, and exhaling deeply brought the "weapon" to his temple and let his thumb fall.

"Valeria" he called out to his secretary "get me my scotch...bring the whole bottle" he said as he began walking back to his office. "I gotta get out of this place"

OOC: Thanks to Romberg for contributing to this post

[Kobolis]

Campus Castra Caprica,
Caprica,
Federation of Kobolis

Today being an ordinary day for most people in the Federation, the parking lot was filled with a mixture of civilian and official staff vehicles. Staff Sergeant Kolby Keiran made his way across the parking lot to the row of black sedans, all bearing the logo of the Federation Army, followed by Captain Henry Watkins. Both men wore their class A dress uniforms.

Without saying a word to one another, they got into the vehicle they had been assigned to at the briefing and got on their way. Their credentials were checked at the base’s gate, before driving onto the public roads.

Traffic was light, rush-hour having ended several hours before. It allowed the sedan to quickly merge onto the highway and continue its way to one of the middle class suburbs surrounding Caprica City.

“I hate this job” the Staff Sergeant finally said after spending minutes in silence.
“I know. I’ve had to do this too often already” the Captain said, as he glanced up from the brown folder he was reading from.

Both of the men returned to silence for a little more, before the Staff Sergeant started reciting to the Captain what he had been practicing in his head ever since the briefing. The Captain listened silently, only commenting on things he’d change or to confirm for the sergeant he was on the right track.

They soon turned into one of the many quiet suburban streets. The navigation displayed they were close to their destination.

The abundance of wood in the Federation resulted in a lot of houses in the suburbs being built out of wood, which was much cheaper than stone. Caprica being on the enjoyable range of the temperate climate, it wasn’t necessary to construct houses out of stone, like in Virgon where the temperatures were much lower and insulation and sturdy construction was much more important.

The duo pulled up to the sidewalk in front of one of those wooden houses once their navigation informed them they had arrived. There was nobody in the front lawn, nor on the porch of the house.

The duo exchanged one last look, before unbuckling and stepping out of their car. Gently closing the car doors, they straightened their jackets, before advancing to the front door.

Once they arrived at the door, Keiran took a deep breath and looked at the captain for a moment, who nodded in approval. The Staff Sergeant then rang the doorbell.

“One moment!” they heard a woman call out from inside the house.

A moment later, the door was opened by an elderly lady, somewhere in her mid or late sixties. She was wearing an apron and the smell that met the two soldiers indicated something had just been placed in the oven.

The smile the elderly lady had on her face had been replaced with one of disbelieve as she realized who was at the door.

“Ma’am,” Staff Sergeant Keiran started in a very calm manner, “I am Staff Sergeant Kolby Keiran, 21st Division. This is priest Watkins.”

The woman slowly nodded.

“Ma’am, are you Miss Anita Walker, mother of Sergeant Brian Walker?”
“Uhh…” the woman said, clearly at a loss for words, “Brian is my son… yes…”

I hate this job, I truly hate this, Keiran thought.

“Ma’am, may we come inside please?” Keiran asked.

He saw that Miss Walker didn’t want to let them in. That she’d much rather prefer to slam the door shut and block out whatever the two had to tell them. Nevertheless, she pulled open the door further, allowing the duo to enter the hallway.

Both of them took off their berets, folding them underneath and keeping them in their hands. Watkins closed the door behind them once they were inside.

“Ma’am, is Mister Walker home?”

Miss Walker nodded and in broken voice called out to her husband.

“What is it honey?” an energetic voice called from the living room further to the rear, “Who’s at the door-…”

Retired Master Sergeant Andy Walker didn’t finish that sentence as he entered the hallway and saw the two dress uniforms. Instead, he quietly walked over to his wife and put his arms around her.

“May we sit down Mister Walker?” Priest Watkins asked.

Mister Walker assisted his wife, who was staring at the floor, into the living room, sitting next to her on the couch. Captain Watkins took a seat on the other side of Miss Walker, while the Staff Sergeant gently lowered himself into a chair facing the couch.

“Mister and Misses Walker. The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your son, Sergeant Brian Walker, was killed in action yesterday near the city of Virviel, Kamalbia.”

“No… no… no…” Miss Walker started sobbing, as her husband pulled her closer to himself, “Not Brian… no…”

Mister Walker started stroking through the hair of his wife, placing a gently kiss on her head before looking at Keiran.

“How did he die?” the former soldier asked.

Keiran hesitated for a moment, looking at Miss Walker. But he did not get a chance to get his thoughts in order as Mister Walker asked again.

“How did my son die?”

Keiran quickly got a sentence together.

“Sir, his patrol was ambushed by insurgents. An investigation is underway to determine the exact details.”

Keiran wished to add their son was a hero. That Sergeant Brian Walker had been shot and killed after he exposed himself to enemy fire to drag a severely wounded soldier out of a burning vehicle. That, although that soldier will never walk again due to the loss of both his legs when his vehicle was hit by an anti-tank gun, their son’s actions would allow that soldier a chance to meet his own son, born just last week.

MOB Spiritwood,
Kamalbia

Three weeks ago, this was a large plateau containing little more than a path used by the occasional farmer and his animals, a lot of sand and dirt and some very widely dispersed shrubbery. Under the soaring sun which lit up Kamalbia for most of the year, a place where winter and summer mattered little to the thermometer, and with no source of water, little could grow and even less could live.

Evidently, someone forgot to tell that to the men and women of the 12th Engineer Brigade of the Kobolian Army. In record time, the 12th managed to construct an entire city out of nothing; Pre-fab huts had been assembled to create barracks, mess halls, workshops, command and control structures, even a field hospital. Gravel had been compressed to create a road network, dirt compacted to create a runway capable of taking the weight of a fully loaded C-17. And surrounding it all, were sand-filled barriers to keep unwanted guests out.

With a shallow thud, the cargo ramp of the C-130 hit the dirt on the airfield’s apron of the Spiritwood Main Operating Base. When deciding what to name the new base, which, together with Marqueville, was destined to become the main base for the Kobolis forces operating in Kamalbia, the first suggestion was Spiritwood. A defiant act against those who had planned and executed the attack on the Kobolian city, to name their Main Operating Base after what they thought they had destroyed.

Today however, was not a good day for MOB Spiritwood.

The wind howled as the sound of footsteps grew louder. In unison, the many approaching footsteps struck the compacted dirt as the soldiers were marched in company formation by their first sergeants, forming a corridor leading from the edge of the apron to the loading ramp, soldiers lined on both sides.

“Company! Halt!” a first sergeant shouted, as Alpha Company, 1-73rd Infantry reached their indicated position and continued marching on the spot, awaiting the next order.
“Company! Right!” the sergeant once again shouted. All 126 soldiers, three lines deep with 42 abreast, turned on that command, stomping with their right leg as they did before stopping.

“Company! Halt!” another sergeant shouted, as Bravo Company, 1-73rd reached their positions and repeated the same procedure. Charlie Company and Echo Company, the battalion’s weapon company, took their positions opposite Alpha and Bravo.

On the very starting edge of the formation, two flags were flying in the wind. The first was the Federation Flag, the second the flag of the Kobolian Army. Both flags were held at roughly a 45 degree angle.

Four Humvees with red diamonds on a white background painted on the side drove onto the runway’s apron. They parked in a line, the rear of the vehicles pointing towards the assembled men. As soon as they halted, each ambulance was approached by eight soldiers. Each ambulance’s rear door was opened, the flag draped coffin slowly carried out. Each coffin, carried by the eight soldiers, began its journey from the ambulance to the waiting airplane which would take them to Marqueville and from there on home, to the Federation.

When the coffins, still being carried in line just as the ambulances had parked, reached the first row of soldiers, the battalion’s Sergeant Major’s thundering voice sounded.

“Battalion! Present! ARMS!”

More than 330 soldiers raised their arm in salute to their fallen comrades, as the coffins went by. Their battle was over and they had made the ultimate sacrifice.

Private First Class Loreen Hooper, age 21.
Specialist Garrett Michaels, age 25.
Specialist Stephen Ingram, age 25.
Sergeant Brian Walker, age 31.

They were going home. They would however not be the last ones and deep inside, that knowledge saddened every soldier on the line there. They would be doing this more often, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the day after. But deep down, they knew it'd be done again.

Following the attack on Spiritwood, the Federation of Kobolis had consolidated. Instead of immediately lashing out at the easy target, Kamalbia where the attack originated, the law enforcement agencies of the Federation went on a true hunt. Suspected terrorist networks which could've possibly been involved in the Spiritwood attack, which under normal circumstances would've been allowed to operate until more evidence could be gathered, were dismantled, its members detained or shot when they resisted their arrest.

Only when the Kobolian people felt safer, was the Kobolian Army deployed. At this moment, it was still deploying most of its equipment and manpower to the nearest port of debarkation, Marqueville ((for lack of alt name)).

Per orders of the president of the Federation, V Corps was deployed to relieve the Berique troops which had pushed hard to prevent the East Astyrian Treaty Alliance from occupying the majority of Kamalbia. Berique troops had pushed to gain the ground, now the work for the Kobolian army was to keep the ground and ensure that the ALA had no support among the population to continue insurrectionist and terrorist activities.

The race for heats and minds had begun.

[Ord Caprica]

Bafwangmbiri, Kamalbia
2016 October 3
0019 Hours

Commander Omar Zelimkhan
Astyrian Liberation Army
Defense of Bafwangmbiri

The fighting had been almost constant for almost an entire day now, with no signs of letting up. The infidels had foolishly attempted to force the ALA forces out of their strongholds and capture senior commanders in the dead of night, not expecting a fight. They were wrong, so very very wrong.

Commander Omar Zelimkhan had been raised in Kamalbia up until he was eighteen before immigrating to Aquitayne to study at the University of Telora. That had been before things had really started to heat up between his country and the west, before the ALA had come to power and before westerners had decided that it was okay to spill the blood of his people with impunity and before he had decided to join the fight against injustice.

Now he was a great man, a commander in the Astyrian Liberation Army, in charge of more than two thousand fighters, both ALA regulars and conscripted militiamen that were impressed into service to fight against the infidels.

The fight in the city would be the defining moment of his life, he alone had made the decision to make a stand here in Bafwangmbiri, to fight with EATA forces on a more or less equal footing .All through the night, his men had been gathering in the city, ambushing patrols and setting up barricades and defenses within the city, preparing for the inevitable counterattack when it came and when it came it was almost disappointing.

The initial assault force had been turned back in a great victory for the ALA. With a dozen or so soldiers being trapped in the outskirts of downtown, which they were content to let live for the moment, in hopes of drawing in more forces for destruction. Their patience had been rewarded with three helicopters and an armored column of six vehicles, nowhere near what he had been expecting but nevertheless, a massacre that would raise his profile among the righteous crusaders who dared to fight against the infidels.

Just under one thousands fighters had been concentrated in the city, with several hundred more lingering in the outskirts in fortified positions ready to ambush enemy armor if they dared to launch an all out assault on the city.

Omar had established his headquarters in a makeshift bunker in what was left of the city's main marketplace shielded from the north and west by the a cluster of multi-story buildings and a schoolhouse to the south, it was a target that couldn't be hit without significant public outrage from the West's own people. A combination of captured and purchased equipment turned his marketplace bunker into an almost proper Command and Control center. From here he could send out orders to the vast majority of his forces and direct the moments of more than a thousand fighters, it was a feeling that addicting to a college dropout turned crusader for freedom.

He picked up a radio and gave the code word to spring his trap on the would-be rescue mission. First his hidden hunter-killer teams would bring down the three helicopters that were hovering about, next the armored column would be destroyed and then all coalition forces would be rounded up to be used as bargaining chips with the West and if they wouldn't bargain, they'd be tortured to death and their bodies mutilated beyond recognition, all streamed live across the world. There was no room for mercy in this conflict, only brutality, it was the only language that the infidels truly understood.

5 Minutes Later

A group of ALA fighters rapidly ascended a flight of stairs in partially collapsed apartment building, the result of a confederate gun run. They had just moments prior received their orders, to use their Belkan made Pfeil-1 to bring down the Confederate helicopter that was loitering about the area. Killing foot soldiers was unfortunate necessity in a struggle like theirs but bringing down the enemies most expensive assets would strike a blow to their morale and weaken their resolve.

The hunter killer team reached their destination, the top of that particular building, and set up their weapon, loading it with anti-air rockets and deploying themselves a far enough distance from each other to both avoid early detection and increase the chance of success.

Their weapon was an infrared Belkan man-portable infrared homing surface-to-air missile, with a very simple locking mechanism. For all intents and purposes, all they had to do was point and shoot and let the warhead do the rest of the work, in this close distance, it'd be almost impossible for a helicopter to out run the missile.

They waited silently for their targets to appear, hovering around providing over watch for their extraction maneuver, unaware of the danger that lurked so near them. One by one they locked onto the helicopters and with a triumphant cackle, they fired their instruments of death at the confederate helicopters, adding to the symphony of destruction that was the battle for the city.

[Empire of Symphonia]

It had been a few months since the terrorist attack that brought a dramatic end to the AFN's Intervention in Insula Fera. The main chamber of the Imperial Senate still had white lilies left for the dead, the Federal Colors still lay draped over the dais that nobody had dared to approach in public speech since that fateful day. For that reason, all the senators had become accustomed to speak from their positions in the hemicycle. Many still were wearing the traditional white funeral clothes, out of respect towards the many whom had been killed as the police and special forces stormed the complex. The terrorists from the FLP (Fronte Liberatione pour la Prudensia) had rigged the entrances of the complex with explosives, resulting in heavy casualties as officers and soldiers were already sustaining heavy fire from sniper positions inside the building. The fact that this occurred in downtown Symphony, amongst the skyscrapers of the Hamasaka district, made air support that much harder as the open airspace was from St. Irene's Square, diagonal from the building.

Ultimately, 93 members of the security forces died along with all 75 terrorist suspects. 14 senators were executed on live television by being pushed off the roof the building, during the interim hours prior to the assault as law enforcement tried to negotiate. There were an additional 43 casualties at Westphalia Cathedral, mostly Symphonian citizens, though some Dangish, Vizion, and Aquitaynian citizens were declared at the scene as well. UK withdrawal from Insula Fera was precipitated by merging of authorities with the Dangish Command, with explicit approval of Empress Seondeok as Prime Minister Contruum was quickly censured by the AFN Congress in West Genevira. Riots broke out in multiple cities in Hienkoku and Cheonsa was anti-war protesters demanded that the AFN withdraw from the conflict.

Communiques between Telora, Symphony, and Avantmare had hinted towards a final resolution on the issue, with West Genevira (seat of the AFN's ruling Crown Democratic Party) sidelined. It was in Dungeyland, where the Dangish representatives presented the AFN ambassador with a demand that Contruum step down. From there on out, this would be a dire internal matter.

---

Imperial Senate Building
502 Republica Avenue, Hamasaka Ward
Metropolis of Symphony, Metropolitan Symphonia


The word had been buzzing all these months as heated rhetoric between Symphony and West Genevira was exchanged. The terrorist attack that had occurred a year ago had triggered legislative revolt, the sort that was portentous towards the future of the Government. Everyone in the country knew it, the media was abuzz with the failure of the Prime Minister and anti-war protests were almost daily. The Contruum Ministry had been strangely quiet after the attack, daily affairs handled, but no new propositions were thrown out.

"The chair recognizes Baroness Haixi."

Shi Wei-an stood up, the stress from the past few months evident on her face. The room was silent, the normal ruckus toned down.

Honorable colleagues. I come before you today to discuss the events of the last few months. The situation regarding our nation, our honor, our pride. The plainest that we can state here, is that all of that lies tattered on the ground. The country is in shock. The fact of the matter is that we have overstepped our bounds, of what we originally set out to do in Prudensia. Events have since been out of our hands, negotiations between the United Kingdom and the Dangish Empire relegated to the Aquitaynians.

In my constituency, that of Haixi in the Xinhai regions, we cannot help but feel as if the whole reason for AFN participation in the conflict was purely for land and enrichment of the elites. It is a rather dark notion, but one that has been circulating among the citizens. New lands in Prudensia would be parceled out amongst the Kazoku aristocracy, the native residents evicted, their homes destroyed. This is just the tip of findings from the Senate Committee For Administration, on top of reports that were examined from the Ministry of Trade and Economics using the Freedom of Information Act.

Many feel as if we have become our own worst enemy, that the blackest evils of which we fought in the Great Asian War have somehow taken root here. The Government attempted to annex Prudensia, against the wishes of the local people, against the wishes of the region at large, and above all against the wishes of our Union members in Aquitayne.

For my constituency, this is a breach of trust.

Yes, we know that the current government was elected on a platform of national rejuvenation using any means. But for many of us, this rejuvenation has caused us to question the core values which we established in the wake of the Greater Imperial Japanese Dystopia's invasion of the West Coast, in the wake of the Seong-Kiramashi Conflict. Our commitment to the rule of law, of international law, from which we so largely base our claims of superiority over lesser powers, was ruthlessly cut down.

And for what?

For a desire to match our neighbors in territorial size? A show of strength? A desire to turn Insula Fera into a place which we would harvest resources while pretending that the natives were the same as us and be integrated? Farces, that is what they are. Half-truths designed to mask our nation's decline, when we could be rebuilding it otherwise. Why resort to imperialism, when economics dictates the final score in the game?

It is easy to see, that the Honorable Prime Minister has been stuck in the past for too long. Stuck in dreams of grandeur, of glory, of victory through arms. And in order to achieve his dreams, he took the dearest of our national principles, of freedom and self-determination, and sought to make himself the arbiter of what is right and how to achieve it. And for a short while, we believed him. In short, he, and his supporters, betrayed us all.

And for that, we here have paid for his greed in blood.

I therefore move, for a Vote of No Confidence, in Prime Minister vi Contruum's leadership.

The room immediately exploded, the roars of indignation from government loyalist shouting "Treason!" drowning out the other calls. Above, in the media gallery, the reporters were already giving live commentary to the nation and the world at large.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

HTL Command Bunker
Somewhere Deep Beneath the Western Tundra

"It is amazing to think that so many nations have such an interest in so worthless a land" spoke one of the robed figures sitting at the table.

"Perhaps they very much enjoy yak meat" said another, his face flickering in and out of visibility, as the dull orange flame of the candle before him wavered about.

"Nonetheless, we must make our presence known, Björn...how many are there?" a third man, wearing a similar brown robe, his hood pulled up over his head, asked those assembled. The men, a group of eight of the Theocracy's most leading members, were now assembled around the long wooden table, deep below ground in a damp cavern that had served for the last ten years as the primary command center for all of the groups operations. These men had seen their share of foreign armies pass through, and indeed most had their own souvenirs, stripped from a fallen soldier, that adorned their mantle back home. Today, word had been informed that yet another group of foreigners had made their way to this blighted corner of Astyria, and all were eager to add a piece of Aquitaynian accouterment to their ever growing collection.

"We do not have an exact number as of yet. Our friends are still working on that. But we do have the locations of most of their bases" the first man spoke again.

"Good...good. Torvaldt, I want you to make sure that our new guests are properly introduced to the people of the tundra."

Outside an Aquitaynian Firebase

A small crowd, mostly, women, children, and the infirm, began accumulating around each of the Aquitaynian bases, and this one was no different. Many of the women, their faces worn and tired, held up their small children as they begged for food, the elderly, many resting on canes, looked on longingly, and through rasped voices begged any who could hear them for medicine. The group would get as close as they could to the base without being shot, and then would try to get a few steps closer. Any troops or vehicles that were leaving these bases would recieve similar treatment, as the people of the tundra tried to swarm any who made their way onto the roads in hopes of a handout. This process would repeat itself, day and night, as some of the more desperate even brought their own tents or began to erect small little hovels in the vicinity of the bases.

Within a matter of days, dozens of people would be clamoring for food at everyone of the Aquitaynian bases, many even trying to make their way right up to the fenceline in the hope that some generous soul inside might pass them out a chocolate bar, or, even more importantly, a vial of the much needed medicine that some of the oldest amongst the crowds needed ever so dearly.

[Greater Belkan Reich]

Chapter One

Arkangelsk
1011 Hours

There is a old Belkan saying, '' Violence has it's own economy.'' It's a fairly old saying but people in certain professions understand it's meaning more than the average person ever would. As a former career military intelligence officer and now the most powerful man in the country; Vladimir Primakov felt the words of the saying in every action that he ever considered. It haunted him, kept him up at night and at times, made it hard to sleep. Not because he was afraid of violence, either it being done upon him or having to do it himself but because just as the economy of the world was unpredictable, so was the escalation of force that could be provoked by the slightest misstep.

In the capital building of the Belkan Federation; he was king, a lord of among peasants, the judge, jury and executioner for millions of people.

But he wasn't in the capital now.

He was sitting in a secluded cafe, several kilometers away from the building, staring at the CEO of the largest energy corporation in Lorencia.

''Yuri. You've got two choices today my friend. Sign the contract and retire or risk the consequences.''

Across from Primakov sat Yuri Gretkov, one of the wealthiest businessmen in Belka, CEO of Pekos Energy. He was a short man, stocky for his height but not overweight by any means. He was dressed in various shades of gray, his clothes were thick, made of a simple but cheap wool blend. He garbed himself in cheap clothing hoping to mask his wealth while intermingling with average citizens in the capital. It was stark contrast when compared the evident wealth of the country's most powerful figure. Everything about Primakov's appearance screamed wealth; from the two thousand dollar trench coat to the seven thousand dollar watch that adorned his wrist.

If the cafe had not been empty, onlookers might have wondered what the Premier of the country was doing meeting with an oil magnate in a shabby cafe on the outskirts of town. Those in the know however knew the real reason.

Pekos had just acquired incredibly valuable contracts for natural gas extraction in Lorencia, potentially worth tens of billions of dollars. Primakov had been in negotiations with the corporation for the government to buy out those contracts in exchange for tax exemptions and other incentives but Gretkov was unwilling to play ball, unwilling to do what was in the best interest of the country. He was making the Premier's plans for the country infinitely harder and that could not be allowed.

''Don't threaten me, Vladimir. I'm not one of your sycophants. I will not be bullied into retirement and I won't let you steal my company from underneath me. Before I took, Pekos was shit, and I've turned it into a multibillion dollar machine with contracts as far East as the United States and as far west as Romberg. I'm not going to let you fucking take it away from me now that you want it. Over my dead body Vladimir, over my fucking dead body.''

''You're right Yuri. I am taking it away from you not because I want it but because the country needs it. And I'm not in a position to let you get in the way of what's best for the fatherland.''

Yuri spat on the ground.

''Don't give me that horseshit. You'll get rich off this deal like all the rest of your minions and leave me and mine out to rot in the streets.''

Primakov signed and stood up. At just under two meters tall, his physique a picture of fitness and health. His face was one of devoid of emotion, a lifetime of hard living and hard choices had taken it's toll on his previously handsome features. He was a dominating figure to say the least.

I am no longer asking nicely comrade. Sign the contract, retire and go away. This is your final chance. '''

''Eat shit and die.''

''Very well. Good bye old friend.''

Primakov turned and walked out of the cafe, leaving Yuri behind to his decision.

His security detail had blocked off the street for a full six blocks, an unnecessary distance under normal circumstances but these weren't normal circumstances. In Belka, leaders who could no deliverer results were instead delivered in body bags.

The tell tale report of a suppressed gunshot confirmed that the dead had been done and the fight for Pekos was now over. He offered everyone the same deal, no matter the circumstances. You can either be part of the new world he was building or you could die in your old one. Everyone had a choice.

[Ord Caprica]

Georgetown, Acadia, United States
Douglas A. Zembiec Center for Intelligence(HQCIA)
2017 April 01
0217 Hours

''Alright. I'll do it.

That's what Jordan Smith had said when he agreed to be apart of what eventually evolved into a inter-agency task force formed to hunt down international financiers of the United Stations homegrown terrorists. It was a career making assignment and one that would have allowed him to make a significant difference when it came to protecting Caprican lives. That's what he told himself then and that's what he continued to tell himself whenever things happened that made him question his motivations.

He'd gotten his start with the agency first as a safehouse keeper, in charge of maintaining the CIA's unofficial presence in Holmgard for eighteen months before getting pulled out to work with the signals intelligence directorate for three years and getting stuck in official cover positions in New London, Nova Roma and Cali before getting his hands dirty in Kamalbia for a another eighteen months after which, he was sent to Paradise City to bolster the Counter-Terrorism office being ran out of the city, the rest after that being history as they say.

As far as agency employees went, he had been handed a pretty textbook career, got to see some pretty amazing places and had been part of some major operations but had been kept far away from the brutal behind the scenes wet work that he was now thrust into.

Sitting in his office in Georgetown; he was watching a particularly graphic video of a ''interrogation'' of a Confederate banker who had been identified by confidential informant as a player in an international money laundering scheme that was putting millions of talents into terrorists hands and enabling them to purchase increasingly sophisticated military hardware. Just last year, the Army had been forced to put down a resurgent ALA in Kamalbia in what had been described as the most intense military operation since the end of major combat operations in that country.

The fact that Capricans were dying however did not excuse what was being done to the woman in the video which would have made even the most hardened men cringe.

He finished the video and read the intelligence report that had been generated as a result which detailed the bankers role in moving money coming from Belkan oil revenues into private accounts associated with the Premier's supporters, most likely bribes, and then washing the money in the international foreign exchange currency market which made it almost impossible to track after that point.

This meant that for the time being, their investigation had reached a brick wall until someone could connect the washed money to terrorist groups or arms dealers further down the line.

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

Seedy Cyber Cafe
Paradise City

The eerie green glow of dozens of computer screens served as the only source of illumination in the room as dozens of men sat, clacking away at their keyboards, hacking their way into computers thousands of miles away. These men were members of a cyber gang known as the Delatores, and today their targets were several companies in the nation of Symphonia. These companies were not particularly top notch, and most had no strong affiliations with the government in anyway. Instead, what these men here were after were trade secrets and credit card information. The secrets could then be sold to major Confederate conglomerations at a relatively low cost, hampering a number of economic advantages the Asian Federation of Nations had, particularly in terms of cheap but quality mass produced items, while the credit card information would either be used to pay for newer and better equipment for the Delatores, or else sold to the highest bidder to have a field day with before their rightful owners even suspected something was up.

The Delatores represented a new form of Confederate cyber warfare that was being introduced to the nation: the use of smaller, non-affiliated "gangs" that were established with the governments blessing, and often lead by an agent of one of the various Confederate intelligence services. Their mission was not the traditional forms of intelligence gathering that had been the norm in the past. Instead, this was entirely devoted to stealing intellectual property and trade secrets, and would, after the initial injection of capital from the government, go on to be entirely self supporting, stealing money from foreign nationals around the world to keep their computers running. Most of the Delatores, in fact, had no patriotic sense of duty at all. They weren't in this for some idea of defending the motherland, or of ensuring that the Confederacy maintained a commercial and economic edge over their competition. Instead, all they saw were dollar signs. This kind of work promised a big payout from the right companies, and a number of the men here had made their way out of the slums and into a cushy lifestyle thanks to what they harvested from the Confederacy's business rivals, many of whom had no idea that they were even being hacked.

The other benefit that the Delatores provided, of course, was the fact that they were finding out ways into some of the largest and most powerful companies in Astyria, doorways which, in the event of conflict, could be used to spread chaos and take entire corporations offline. This kind of attack could potentially cost a company billions in a single day, adding more strain to an economy already under stress to convert to a wartime footing. The benefits of this kind of economic cyber warfare were manyfold, but the Delatores were hoping to always be on the front lines, reaping as much information as they could from cyberspace and returning a profit to continue their ascent through the echelons of Hesperidesian society. And so, today, a handful of unwitting Symphonian corporations would be their victims, and a batch of people whose only crime was doing business with those companies were about to lose their life savings. A truly regrettable situation indeed, but, as they say, all is fair in love and cyberwar.

[Nova Deseret]

Gualco National Park Boulavard
Government District, Nauvoo City
Deseret Province, Nova Deseret

Everyday workers, contractors & civilians looked out from their office windows & street corners perplexed as a significant portion of the crowd, which included thousands of protesters, suddenly shifted their direction, parallel to Gualco National Park and turned away from the Chancellery, still a half mile away. The protest's always took the same route to ensure the security of property in the vicinity, the whole nation knew of the planned rallies across the cities to protest the Mesoland Government, but this was different, they had slipped between a series of police blockades at a simple intersection. Some traditional protesters who knew of the correct route stood confused, before opting to join the majority of their peers that were continuing without them. What those watching from a distance didn't notice was what had happened was a deliberate act by the Native Sons Militia hiding amongst the masses.

The NSM was largely based from the young, charismatic & wealthy, drawing former military service members & fanatic university students alike. Their objective was the progression and supremacy of the indigenous tribal societies that existed before settlement of foreigners, executed by the nationalistic fraternity in a manner which could be mistaken for the Nauvoo Legion's shadow if one did not know better. In fact, many collaborators of the Nauvoo Legion were recruited from within their ranks. The movement had first made its presence felt in in the early hours of the demonstration rally, but their leaders had systematically built their forces in the hours before the planned protests took to the streets. Out of the sea of largely peaceful demonstrators, the more militant subgroup lingered, slowly instigating those around them, led by one of their own hoisting the Nova Deseret Flag.

Its members wore bandannas, masks, dark jackets or hooded sweatshirts. Some bore helmets adorned with nationalistic emblems while signing & chanting in unison. They smashed windows, began burning vehicles and looted immigrant storefronts on their route. Scorned by critics on both the left and right, hunted by city police units as troublemakers, the NSM attacked swiftly with radical tactics from within the massive protest that was sparked by the fallout of Nova-Meso relations. Months earlier, although they represented a fraction of a percentage within the crowd, the masked militants went fist to fist with other protest groups advocating for a change of government stance regarding diplomatic issues on the capitals steps causing police intervention and forcing the breakup of the demonstration. Several members were arrested but the embers that fed that fire were still burning today.

The unprecedented invasion of protesters in the new sector of the city overwhelmed the local police units, who were undermanned and trying to reassemble their forces. Thousands poured past the officers in the streets watching the frenzied crowd, who knew better than to get involved at such a disadvantage and end up escalating the violence while endangering their lives. Within an hour, the sun was beginning to set all the remaining dedicated protesters had reached the diplomatic sector of the Government District in the capitol city, an area that housed a majority of the Embassies located within the Grand Republic. Chaos ensued as several groups of individuals were caught up in the crowd, powerless and trying to escape to the locations they had just came from. Flares erupted from the crowd into the darkened sky while the shouts & yells continued to deepen. Finally, the mob reached the location of the Mesoland Embassy, only to find the facility with a blockade of officers in riot gear who had predicted the groups destination it seemed.

These officers however were members of the Nauvoo Legion, the para-military arm of the government in power who were charged with the defense of foreign dignitaries. They kept the rowdy crowd at bay for upwards of a hour, refusing to single out individual perpetrators for throwing objects onto the consulate offices grounds or firing flares off the building and into the sky. Several leaders of the demonstrators began making calls to the crowd regarding the political crisis, firing up the energy using the line of officers as a backdrop to give prominence to their message about over coming the Meso Agenda. They called demands for Meso-based companies to cease operations in the Gulf of Saqui, for the Meso government to respect the claim of sovereignty Nova Deseret has over the Saqui coastline & territorial waters, and lastly for Mesoland to begin open talks with Nova Deseret regarding the mistreatment of the "Lost Tribes" living within Meso territory in improvised conditions. A rumor reached the protesters in the night informing them of the breakdown of diplomatic talks between the Chancellor & President of Mesoland. Words passed that the imperialists had recalled their diplomats after refusing to accept Nova Deseret requests of sovereignty, further infuriating the crowd which had been bolstered by additional militia members by this late hour. Eventually, a swarm of Nauvoo City Police Officers flanked by vehicles & floodlights began to appear down the street to counter the growing demonstration that was going into the night, taking hours to organize their forces. A captain of the department approached an impromptu command station the Nauvoo Legion had set up hours before leaving his forces a hundred yards behind him.

"I am Captain Ritelli of the NCPD, this is my juristiction & we're taking over this operation. We're shutting down this protest, things have gotten extremely out of hand gentlemen! The Meso diplomatic teams requested a protected escort hours ago, yet destruction of property and infringement of civil codes goes on for miles! Who is in command here!?!" screamed the Police Captain upon reaching a group of officers with the Nauvoo Legion. The 2 units rarely saw eye to eye, and everyone in proximity knew of the circumstances. The group of NL officers remained stern and quiet towards the newcomer as the lead commander stood and walked towards the Captian.

"Captian, I am Lieutenant Colonel Mupwai. Recognize your authority is not over reaching with our agency" said while taking his final steps. "We have been awaiting your forces, Captian..." said Mupwai sarcastically. Ritelli took a step back and processed the situation, placing his hands on his hips and broadening his shoulders to the group of 5 or 6 men now all glaring at him. "I am holding my forces to deter any attempt upon the Ambassadors mission here. I cannot stem the inflow of demonstrators without potentially weakening our perimeter. Take your city police and set up an exclusion zone surrounding us, let no additional persons into the zone until the Ambassador and his delegation have left the vicinity My forces will be guiding him out."

Captain Ritelli surveyed the situation once more while recounting his briefing earlier with the City Commissioner. He knew of the news of the withdrawal of the Meso delegation and the need for their safety while leaving, but delegated that to the Nauvoo Legion based on authority. The whole situation had drawn a grey line between the Black & White of Law enforcement in the Nova Deseret capitol. Begrudgingly he spoke up to the higher ranked official, "Fine, I will move my men to set up a 2 block exclusion zone while you escort the Ambassador....

"3 Block" interrupted Mupwai

Taken back, Ritelli stalled before continuing "...out of the area, after the ambassador has departed the zone, my men will move inwards towards the embassy while your forces press the demonstrators outwards to our positions. We will control the escape points and stop the protest. Sound fine with you Lt. Colonel?" replied the captain with disrespect in his tone.

"My mission is to receive the Ambassador and gain his exit from the premise. Please leave us and establish your perimeter so we can move on, its past midnight captain!" snapped back Mupwai, who watched Capt. Ritelli leave the group in an angered posture back to his idle police forces who stood in the cold night awaiting their next order. Within minutes, the force divided and spread out to different sectors surrounding Diplomatic sector of the Government district. Soon after, the gates to the Embassy began to part where a convoy remained with their lights off still in the confines complex. The crowd quickly shifted their attention from the facade of the main building and to the side entrance where the car's were attempting to make the ambassadors get away.

As the crowd hurried and shifted, projectiles such as rocks and molotov cocktails were hurled towards the gate aiming for the cars. The sudden explosion of the petrol ignited a large flash of fire. It caused enough of a distraction that a break occurred in police lines. Nauvoo Legion forces stepped aside as protesters broke through, rushing the gates as the motorcade of 3 vehicles sped off in a direction set up by security officers, with several Nova Deseret vehicles perusing them. Those same officers regrouped and began to head to their command station, located the next street over leaving their positions in a uniformed fashion across the Meso perimeter. In this time some of the militia had reached the motorized gates before they could be shut and kept them parted enough to allow others to enter the premises. Meso security officials who were outside for the departure of the ambassador now fled towards the interior of the main building for safety as their perimeter was breached with no support from the Nauvoo Legion forces.

More fires were started as Molotov cocktails smashed against walls and various projectiles aimed at windows, smashing the glass and exposing all who were inside to the hardships that was brewing outside its walls. Shouts from the protesters began to outweigh the calls of those still trapped behind as the ambassador escaped to safety. Captain Ritelli came running down the main causeway towards the now burning embassy with dozens of his forces to the vastly changed scene than was now before him. Just an hour before, a detachment of officers were keeping the unruly mob at bay but now, they were nowhere to be seen and chaos ruled around him. He grabbed a Lieutenant that stood nearby while pointing to a Sergeant. "Order all forces to fall back to Gualco Blvd! Get me anti-riot support and water cannons before making any attempt to quell this crowd. Ill find you there, I be with the Legionaries...."

The captain sped off to the location the mobile command station was earlier, only to find the last remnants of the site being carted into a waiting truck with Lt. Col. Mupwai dictating the operations around him.

"MUPWAI! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE! YOU WERE TO DEFEND THE EMBASSY!" cried Ritelli as he continued towards the Nauvoo Legion officer.

Mupwai turned slowly to the oncoming police officer, his uniform starting to take shape from the darkness as they stood under a street light. He gave off a grin while addressing Ritelli. "Captain, are you aware you have allowed the situation to get extremely out of hand. Their is property damage for miles around and too many civic codes are broken every minute to count. For the safety of my men, I had to pull them from their positions once the Ambassador departed the compound."

"Why didn't you suppress the crowd before they gained entry? That is a diplomatic site, protected by international law. Don't you understand the repercussions that will unfold because of you?" said the Police Captain in a surprised outburst.

A laugh roared from the belly of Lt. Col. Mupwai. "No my friend, it is you that will deal with the repercussions of your.... in-actions, we should say. My mission was to assist the Mesoland Ambassador depart the embassy compound and Mr. Daniels has departed successfully. But it was you that was reliable for the compound itself. It is after all, within your jurisdiction". Another laugh belted out of the Legion officer as he climbed into the truck and closed the door behind him. Ritelli turned around to look at the Mesoland Embassy with hundreds of people still attempting to flood into its grounds. He knew the operation was beyond his control witnessing the Green, Red & White flag of Mesoland being brought down by the activists and in its place, a crudely made Native Sons Militia flag was being hoisted in its place while fire burned the building behind them.

[Nikolia]

"Better three hours too soon
than a minute too late."
W. Shakespeare

Embassy of the Kingdom of Nikolia,
Nauvoo City, Nova Deseret

---

Being one of the most distant embassies of Nikolia, and considering diplomatic relations between Nikolia and Nova Deseret, or lack thereof, it was usually rather boring for the embassy staff. Until now.
In the last several weeks, the embassy building had become an intelligence base for members of the foreign sector of the Nikolian Royal Security Intelligence Agency. Two dozen of security experts were constantly monitoring the situation in Nova Deseret and were in constant communication with agents on the field and the HQ back in the Kingdom. Based on the reports, the situation was rather shaky between Nova Deseret and Mesoland, specifically after the crisis deepened when members of the Nauvoo Legion seized a Meso vessel in disputed waters over which both nations lead diplomatic combat.
The crowd of agents in one of the rooms of the embassy were following the protests that broke out because of the deteriorating relations between Mesoland and Nova Deseret. Agents from the field which were among the crowd reported on several occasions that within them were members of the militant group known as Native Sons Militia. They were known to make incidents on these protests, torching stores and breaking storefront windows. Today, they had something else in plan. Something more drastic that could, by international laws, be seen as an act of war. And so, just as the crowd started gathering on the streets of Nauvoo City, an urgent message from the HQ arrived at the embassy. The order was clear, the Ambassador is to be evacuated from the embassy in the utmost secrecy. Although Nikolian embassy was not primary target of the "protesters, it was not worth the risk, as this kind of assaults tend to escalate further. The embassy staff didn't spend a second in packing up, and within twenty minutes they were speeding through Nauvoo City streets towards the airport in which a plane was waiting for them. Just as the aircraft with Ambassador and the embassy staff took off, the reports came to them. Mesoland Embassy was assaulted. All it was left to agents is to cover up the evacuation and to increase security measures of the embassy, just as if the Ambassador is still there.

[Nikolia]

By the grace of God,
We

Aleksandar II
of the house of Petrov-Stefanović of Nikolia, King and autocrat all-Nikolian, Grand Duke of Nitria, Travunia, Rutenia, Dubrovia, Vlachia, Leszka, Mazuria and Podunavia. Grand Prince of Kalistasia, and the Perun's Islands. Prince of Skopje. Prefect of Carigrad, protector of Costa de Ouro, and the Orthodox Faith. Crowned by the Holy Crown of Saint Nicholas

hereby issue an

U K A Z
regarding the rising tensions between the United Communities of Mesoland and the Republic of Nova Deseret and reaction of the Kingdom of Nikolia

---

Regarding the rising tensions between Mesoland and Nova Deseret are close to escalating to full-out violent war between the two, after numerous of acts Nova Deseret government has done to worsen already weak relations, many of them breaking international laws, such as the illegal seizure of Meso vessel and its crew, claim to territorial waters outside of internationally regulated distance of sixteen nautical miles from the baseline, refusing access of Meso people to border crossings, and more recent and the most blatant act of xenophobia, forced closure of shops and businesses in Nova Deseret owned by Meso people. We are dismayed to the fact that the government of the Republic of Nova Deseret justifies such barbaric acts claiming that such move was for safety of Meso people. We cannot believe that the government of the Republic of Nova Deseret believes that Mesoland is causing increased tensions between the two countries, when it is totally the opposite. The Kingdom of Nikolia, on the session held earlier this day decided to protect the international laws and regulations constantly being infringed by the government of Nova Deseret, and we are ready to use a set of measures to ensure peace between the two countries.
We demand the following to the government of the Republic of Nova Deseret:

• All hostilities towards the United Communities of Mesoland, its sovereign territory, people or property shall be stopped immediately
• Order to desist issued by the government of the Republic of Nova Deseret on 26th of April, which instructs seizure of operations to all Meso-owned businesses within the territory of Nova Deseret shall be appealed.
• No further military pileup should be done close to Mesoland border.
• The government of Nova Deseret shall provide measures to prevent further violence and attacks to Meso people and their property.
• The government of Nova Deseret shall adhere to Conventions on Maritime Governance and Territorial Demarcation and halt all attacks or seizures of foreign vessel that, in fact, do not infringe with territorial waters of Nova Deseret.
• It shall be allowed to all Meso citizens to freely cross the country border, either entering or leaving Nova Deseret, and equal rights of movement shall be guaranteed to Meso people as well.
• No further actions, apart from existing ones, shall be put against Meso people or their property within Nova Deseret, those including but not limited to; forced expulsion of Meso people from their homes and further from Nova Deseret, usurpation of property owned by Meso people without proper reason other than being owned by a Meso person, seizure of goods of Mesoland, or whose final destination is Mesoland but it passes through Nova Deseret, and so on...
  
  
  Should the government of Nova Deseret fail to comply with the listed demands within seventy-two hours, the Kingdom of Nikolia is ready to implement the following measures:
• Seizure of all diplomatic communications between the Kingdom of Nikolia and the Republic of Nova Deseret, recalling Ambassador to Nova Deseret and marking the Ambassador of Nova Deseret as persona non grata within the territory of the Kingdom of Nikolia
• Complete seizure and blockade of trade between the Kingdom of Nikolia and the Republic of Nova Deseret by installing trade embargo. The Kingdom of Nikolia shall encourage other countries to do so.
• Possible military intervention in the events of imminent war threat to Mesoland
  

  ---

• This Ukaz shall be valid from the moment of its reception.
  
• This Ukaz shall be translated to English and distributed to all Astyrian governments by means of electronic communications.
• This Ukaz shall be translated to the official language of Nova Deseret and given personally to the president of Nova Deseret by His Majesty's Royal Messenger in three copies; in Serbian, in English and in the official language of Nova Deseret

On Twenty sixth day of April, In the year of Our Lord 2017
Aleksandar II,
the King of Nikolia

За Краља и Отачество

[Ord Caprica]

Ulysses, C.D, United States
Executive Residence, Bright Hill
2017 April 27
1607 Hours

Sometimes called the ''Federal City'', Ulysses is the key component of the United States, the common denominator in every major decision in the union and perhaps most notably, the home of the all three branches of the government. The Executive branch was de facto based at the Bright Hill residential complex, which housed the Executive Residence where the President himself lived and worked. The Legislative branch is quartered less that a full kilometer away in the King's Park neighborhood of the capitol, along Rainey Street, a particularly beautiful stretch of land filled with trees and historical statues and patriotic memorials The Judiciary by a twist of fate was located a few kilometers west of it's fellow branches in the new office complex at Thurgood Park.

The past few days had been hectic to say the least for the career civil servants who called the capitol home. President Kenway had set the Prosperity Party to task on passing a massive reform of the Department of Defense, a task that would require massive bipartisan support in order to be successful. The Supreme Court was undertaking it's own reform as it sought to make the process for selecting federal judges more transparent and democratic, a noble mission that had begun to cause problems for both sitting judges and prospective appointees. Perhaps the busiest of them all were those who were both fortunate and unfortunate enough to work at the Executive Residence with the President of the United States who was simultaneously leading the charge for DOD reform, overseeing the pull out of U.S troops in Kamalbia and attempting to stay on top of a rapidly escalating situation in the United States' own backyard in Nova Deseret.

Inside the Executive Residence, President Kenway sat in his office, locked in deep thought as he balanced the decisions that had to be made.

''Go over it one more time for me please. I need to wrap my head around it again.''

The President was visibly tired, his youthful looks that had helped him get elected in the first place were rapidly deteriorating as the days ticked by. The stress of the job he had campaigned so energetically for were beginning to take a physical toll on his body. He was leaning on his desk for support, the bags under his eyes betrayed the very little sleep that he had gotten in recent days.

His National Security Adviser, Lieutenant General Alma Smith looked to be equally exhausted from the stress of the last few days. A career military officer in the Marine Corps, Smith was equal parts warrior and scholar having being groomed early on in her career for staff work with assignments to Battalion and Division staff followed up with deployments with various Marine Air-Ground Task Forces. She was tall, slender woman with distinctly feminine features, an ample bosom and a very agreeable face though she possessed a peculiar gaze that reassured and discomforted the President in equal measures.

''Yes Sir. Mesoland has the military capability to effectively impose it's will over Nova Deseret at the moment. Our estimates put their total military resources well over six hundred thousand active duty troops and their military expenditures are only slightly below ours. I don't doubt their competency if it came down to a conventional conflict with any military power in the region.

Nova Deseret on the other hand possesses no significant military forces and lack both the economic strength and industrial capacity to engage in an a conventional war with Mesoland. In response they've appeared to direct their energy into developing a potentially very deadly paramilitary force, this uh Nahvoo legion, that has a very real potential to become an incredibly effective insurgent force. And that sir is my main concern with Nikolia's ultimatum. If we force them into a box over this issue then we'll be forced to deal with the backlash. An insurgency or conventional war would not be to our benefit in any shape or form. Refugees, criminals, and of course foreign born terrorists would all be on our door step. ''

Kenway nodded in silent understanding. His mind was working over the implications that a violent confrontation would have for the county, and for regional stability. Under his stewardship, he'd done his best to steer clear of entanglements and diplomatic landmines like the one that had been so unceremoniously dropped at his doorstep. The United States was experiencing record prosperity, as he had promised the Caprican people and now it was being threatened through no fault of his own.

He looked over to his Foreign Secretary, Benjamin ''Ben'' Little had been sitting opposite of General Smith, listening while she went over the security situation with him but thus far withholding his input for the time being. He was one of the few people that had the President's absolute confidence; having come up through the diplomatic service as Kenway was climbing the political ladder in his home state and they had worked together several times over the years. Ben had provided valued insight and advice at critical moments when Kenway was Mayor of Caprica City and again when he was Governor of Allegheny and when it came time to pick a Secretary of State, Ben was the only name on the list.

''Alright. Ben, give me your no bullshit opinion on how we can protect our interests without saber rattling?''

Secretary Little frowned slightly, shifting in his seat as he turned to face the President. He was a short, stocky man, standing in obvious contrast to the slim Marine general that sat opposite to him. He was considered handsome by some but like everyone in the room, a lifetime spent in service to their country had left it's toll on his features and he was beginning to look older than he actually was.

To be honest Mr. President. I don't think there is a way to accomplish that goal without someone taking offense. Our most viable option at this point in time is to pick our argument and leverage our position to put the brakes on this thing before bodies start stacking up in the West Caprican Sea.''

''Okay. So how do we accomplish that?''

''I've got a working relationship with my counterpart in Paradise City, so we can reach out through official channels and get a dialogue going in the EATA about what the organizations response is going to be. I'll use unofficial channels to contact our friends in Nova Deseret and see if we can get them to the negotiating table. They couldn't possibly be silly enough to believe that this whole act is going to work out for them if it turns into a shooting war. If the Confederacy stands behind us then we can put Mesoland and ND at the same table and see if they'll play ball with us if they won't play ball with each other.''

Kenway nodded in affirmation. He took his reading glasses off and tossed them onto his desk.

'' That sounds good Ben, just make sure we've got some distance between us and those unofficial channels. We can't afford to embarrass the administration with a major bill on the floor. Alma, I need you to talk to the Joint Chiefs and put together an actionable plan to deploy more forces to the West Caprican Sea if this thing flares up overnight.

The General and Secretary of State both responded with ''yes sirs'' and were dismissed posthaste from the office. They'd return to their respective offices and get their people set to the task of turning the President's will into physical product. The State Department would reach out to it's counterparts in the Blackhelm Confederacy for help in getting Mesoland to the negotiating table and using backchannels to do the same to Nova Deseret. DoD staffers would be drawing up plans to move forces to the West Caprican Sea in the event of the outbreak of hostilities, laying the groundwork for a rapid military response from the United States if the need arose.

[Aswick]

This is all still taking place in Q1/Q2 of 2016.

RAF Herstein, Aswick

“Silly bitch!” Flying Officer Mulholland exclaimed. Just as the words passed his lips, another member of the squadron walked into the briefing room. “Calling you names again, Harold” another Flying Officer said to the new arrival.

The Pilot Officer looked up, grinned, and sat down in one of the chairs. “You know where to shove it, Devereaux.” the Pilot Officer said before revealing a broad smile.

Just then, the Squadron Leader commanding the Squadron entered. Every officer stood up and came to attention. “Stand easy, relax” the Squadron Leader told them. In turn, most of them decided to sit down, with just a few of the junior officers in the back remaining standing.

“Right, you all know why we’re here today. We’re officially kicking off flight operations. The Nightstalkers will be the first unit to officially wage war this time, in preparation of a ground offensive. You’ve all heard the report of Operation Red Dawn. While yes, they were the first to engage, they weren’t part of an official unit.”

A slight murmur went through the room. Then the officer continued. “Some fighters from Number Three Squadron will be accompanying us on SEAD operations, as well as to provide an escort, while we target enemy defences at the border. Our targets will be painted by a few blokes on the ground, so we don’t hit our troops on accident.”

“Flight one and two will target defences here, and here.” the commander said, pointing to two places on the large map besides him. “Flight three will seek out, and destroy artillery emplacements. Flight four will be on standby at CP Kelly in case we miss our shots, or if a target of opportunity comes up.” he then said.

A few curses were muttered by the pilots of flight four. Of course they would want to get some action as well, but someone had to do this job. Naturally the Squadron Leader understood where they were coming from -- his own flight had done the same in the last conflict.

The Squadron Leader then went on to explain everything in detail. Force dispositions, air defences, enemy reaction, and escape plans if things went wrong. Red Dawn had shown that things could definitely go wrong quickly. And as such, more planning had gone into escape plans.

Several hours later, the ordnance had been loaded, the pre-flight checks had been completed, and the first of the sixteen ‘hogs were rolling to the flightline. As the first entered the runway -its pilot was of course the Squadron Leader in command of the Squadron-

“RAF Herstein, this is Nightstalker One-One, flight of four taking off runway one-eight for a straight-out departure” the Squadron leader said over channel 79, the channel designated for ground control. His flaps had already been lowered to the take-off position. After a quick, cursory check, the Squadron Leader increased his throttle to full, and started accelerating down the runway.

Camp Fraiser, Kentauri Isles, Aswick

The Kentauri Highlanders were assembled in formation in their dress uniforms -all of them wearing their kilts-, on the Regimental parade grounds. From this position they would parade the seventeen and a half kilometres to the airport where they would board commercial airliners and fly to the Aswickan mainland.

The Colonel sent a nod to each of his three Battalion commanders. Each of them turned around, and shouted something to their men. In an instant, all of them made a 90 degree turn. Three ranks of battalions turned into 3 columns.

“Drum Major, lead them off” Colonel Ian MacDenny told the Staff Sergeant holding the position of Drum Major. A moment later, the band starting playing ‘My Home’ -the Regiment’s march-.

Playing the pipes and drums, the Regimental band marched off from the parade grounds onto the road leading out of the base.

Then the first battalion followed by Company. First the Battalion Headquarters Company. Then A Company, following by the battalion’s colours. Then came Companies B and C. The same thing happened when the 2nd, and then the 3rd battalion followed after the others.

Last came the Regimental staff, along with the most important detachment of the Regiment. The Colour guard. The young Second Lieutenants -Holding the post of Ensigns- carrying the King’s Colour -the Aswickan flag-, and the Regimental colour -the Aswickan flag with the Regiment’s honours and decorations on it-.

Every officer had their sword out and held it in front of them. One young Lieutenant was just glad that the Regiment no longer used the old 2-handed claymores. The other rankers had their rifles shouldered. These wouldn’t be taken on the plane with them. Instead, they’d be loaded in the lorries that were delivering the men’s bags to the airport, and would then be bound for the Royal Air Force base some distance away for a military transport.

After 5 kilometres of marching, the column reached the outskirts of town. The streets were lined with people -mainly families of the men- to cheer them off.



Royal Palace, Havenport, Aswick

Each of the three Guards Regiments had taken up a position in the three forts at the border. The Coldstream Guards were now in Fort Vandegrif, the Grenadier Guards at Fort Riverrun, and the Aquitaynian Guards at Fort Griffith.

There was also the Rifle Brigade, temporarily stationed at the RAF base at RAF Herstein. Though the last of the Highlanders were still arriving.

Meanwhile, the Royal Dragoons, and the Light Horse were embarked aboard HMAS Victory, Invincible, and Intrepid -Aswick’s Tarawa, and Albion class ships-. They would be inserted via helicopters, along with a Royal Marines Commando that would be landing on the beach.

Lastly, there was still the Queen’s Royal Lancers. They would make the first Aswickan combat jump since the eighties -- much to the chagrin of members of the other Regiments in the Cavalry Brigade.

At the same time, the Air Force would be flying nearly around the clock to support the troops on the ground, as well as to take out important targets, or targets of opportunity if they came up.

While the reserves had been called up, they would not be participating in the main assault. Rather, they would advance behind the regular Army, and take up occupation duties.

Lieutenant-General Alec Marsden was standing in the war room at the Royal Palace. He was the Operations Officer for the Royal Aswickan Army, and he was the brains behind the entire plan. This would make, or break the rest of his career, and he was counting on the former.

The King looked at Marsden, and then to Field Marshal Shepherd. “Field Marshal, you have my go-ahead to proceed. And coordinate with the Aquitaynians, Field Marshal” the man said solemnly.

The Field Marshal nodded. “Very well, Sir” he said. The man turned to an aide-de-camp -a young Lieutenant-Colonel, for the four Aides-de-Camp assigned to the Field Marshal were entitled to that rank even if they didn’t have the nominal requirements for it and would therefore defer to the highest rank they could pass for if they lost their appointment-, and said “Mr Cole, dispatch to all commanders: ‘Engage Phase One.’”

Then he turned to another of his men. “Mr Grey, get me Colonel Dempsey on line One, and Lieutenant-Colonel Derringer on line Two.” he told him before turning to another officer in the room -an exceptional one at that, for he was the first non-Aswickan man to be allowed in here-. “Mister Keene, coordinate with your own command, please? I assume one of my men has given you, and your own people everything related to this, including the time schedule?” he asked the Aquitaynian Major.

“Aye, sir. Our Ospreys and QRF from Naval Station Anchorhead are already en-route to their designated landing sites. Our F-29’s and Illusions are airborne, waiting for Aswickan command to give the order.”

“Alright, thank you Major.” the Field Marshal said. He looked at the Air Force representative in the room, and asked “Wing Commander, what’s the status of Number Seven Squadron?”

The Wing commander looked at the screens for a minute and then replied. “Sir, they are en-route, and are coming up on their final waypoint before turning to engage. Give it about half an hour, Sir.” the Wing Commander said looking into the Field Marshal’s eyes.

“Very well. Now we wait. Mr Samuels, Would you be so kind as to fetch tea for everyone?” the Field Marshal asked. It wasn’t a question, though. If the Field Marshal asked something you might well consider it an order. Especially when it concerns something as sacred to Aswickans as tea.


Camp Henderson, Aswick
“Twenty-nine reg’” the female Captain said as she picked up the phone. “Captain Walsh speaking” she then added.

”Ah, Captain, this is Lieutenant-Colonel Grey. Could you connect me to Colonel Dempsey please?” the voice on the other side asked. At least he was polite -for a Lieutenant-Colonel that is-, in the Captain’s opinion.

She tapped a few buttons on the touchscreen, and said into the microphone part “Colonel, there is a Lieutenant-Colonel Grey on the line”, after which she transferred the call.

“Dempsey” the Colonel said in the phone, and then waited. “Good afternoon, Sir. Please hold for Field Marshal Shepherd” Grey said. It struck Dempsey as a little odd that his old friend had his ADC call him. However, he knew the circumstances. The entire Army was about to go to war, and this would likely include his Regiment, albeit in a rather more subversive role than the others.

So he held the line. And while he was waiting he filled a glass of water from the iced decanter in the corner of his desk. A few minutes later, just as Dempsey lit up a cigarette --a filthy habit, which he ought to have given up years and years ago.

“Aiden, good afternoon.” the Field Marshal said. “What can I do for you, Sir?” Dempsey asked, straight to the point.

”Aiden, His Majesty the King has given me the green light to proceed with the invasion. Now, you know the plan. I want to insert your boys into Daria to take out a number of bases. Chief among them Collingwood. Without it, their navy in the west will be crippled and unable to take up operations against Carrier Group Enterprise, Assault Group Aswick, and the Aquitaynian fleets.

Now, you can determine which Squadrons you assign where. You’ll have the exact plans by courier as soon as he gets there. Though he should be able to beat the evening rush.” the Field Marshal explained.

“Very well, Sir. Unless there was something else, I have some gentlemen to call in.” Dempsey replied. ”No, that was all, Aiden. Good evening” the Field Marshal said before hanging up.



Over southern Aswick

“Nightstalker One-One, this is Chaos Three-Two. Stand by for Close-Air Support Brief” a voice crackled over radio channel 65.5 --the channel designated for air support.

“Rodger that, Chaos. Standing by” the Squadron Leader replied over the same net as he took his plane into a holding pattern some fifteen kilometres from the border. The fighters on SEAD duties were right behind. The A-10s would go in and attract fire from radar-controlled Anti-Air. The SEAD aircraft would then lock on to those radar emissions and fire their missiles at it.

Then the radio crackled. The voice of the Forward Air Controller was heard. Almost immediately, he began the Close-Air Support Nineline.

”Initial Point as fragged”
”Heading will be One-Eight-Zero.”
”Distance from IP is fifteen kilometres.”
”Target elevation is One-Four-Zero metre”.
”Target description. Six times armoured vehicle, Seven times soft vehicle, approx platoon strength footmobiles. “
”Target location is…” the FAC said, before listing off a 10-figure grid.
”Target will not be marked.l”
”Location of friendlies is one kilometre to the north of objective.”
”Egress will be to the east, or to the west.”
”Readback please” the FAC then asked.

“Ehm, roger that Chaos…” the Squadron Leader said, and with that read back the brief. ”Copy that, Nightstalker One-One. Readback confirmed. Say when ready to copy remarks.” the FAC then said.

It took a minute or two before the pilot spoke again. “Nightstalker One-One, standing by to copy remarks”

“Nightstalker One-One, requesting you use CBUs on an east-to-west heading.” Chaos stated.

“One-One received, CBUs and guns, east to west” the pilot said, and then turned towards his assigned heading. He started to look for the target with his FLIR camera system. After moving it around a little, he centered it on his assigned target.

“Chaos Three-Two, Nightstalker One-One, ready talk on. I see a north-south road, buildings to the west.”

“Nightstalker One-One, Chaos Three-Two, call contact on the easternmost building.” Chaos said. The pilot replied with a singular “Contact”

“Your target is the vehicles in the compound two hundred metres east of that building” Chaos said. The pilot replied with “Captured” to indicate he had his target captured.

“Chaos Three-Two, Nightstalker One-One, target is a group of vehicles, CBUs.” the pilot said to confirm his target and ordnance.

“Good readback, call in with direction” Chaos replied.

The pilot started his run. “Chaos Three-Two, Nightstalker One-One, in from the east, 30 seconds.” he said. Chaos replied “Nightstalker One-One, Chaos Three-Two, continue.”

The pilot continued his run. “15 seconds.” he said. “Cleared hot” Chaos replied, and the pilot replied for the last time before he’d release weapons. “Nightstalker One-One”

He dropped his cluster bombs, and increased throttle to full thrust to speed out of there. “Nightstalker One-One, off hot, time of fall 10 seconds.” he said.

Eleven seconds later, Chaos replied. “Nightstalker One-One, Chaos Three-Two, good hits, standby for BDA, smoke and dust obscuring.”

The pilot got further away, and turned back north to return to the IP. “Nightstalker One-One, Chaos Three-Two, targets destroyed, say when ready next 9-line.” the radio crackled as he was approaching the IP.

“Chaos Three-Two, Nightstalker One-One, ready 9-line.” the pilot said. It would go on like this throughout the night for all the pilots in the squadron, as well as the Forward Air Controllers on the ground.


Royal Palace, Havenport, Aswick

Several UAVs were up in the air over the border to cover the air strikes. One of the feeds was now visible on the large screen on the wall. It showed several explosions in rapid succession. Then the area was sprayed by a burst of 30mm high-explosive rounds, producing its signature sound to the troops on the ground.

The Field Marshal smiled a little awkwardly. He remembered what it was like to see a show like that. However, he also knew that going out like that was a horrible way to go. That said, it was war. And in war, people died.

He turned to his staff. “Notify all ground assets. Operation Neighbour is go.” he told them. Operation Neighbour was the name assigned to the initial phase of the invasion. Ground forces at the border would push south. The paratroopers would take off, and the Aswickan and Aquitaynian amphibious forces would begin their landings.

[Trellin]

40 nautical miles off Uinta Island, Wasatch Isles
May 5^th, 2017

Captain Vilhem Kofrende leaned lazily back in his chair and belched. With one foot propped up on the ship's wheel, he took another swig from the brown bottle of Export Halynby and laughed to himself as the other dozen or so bottles rolled around on the floor with the swaying of the ship. Kofrende was alone on the bridge of the Saengel, a former fishing trawler now owned by Tawerdh Gruna. It was unusual for his ship to be this far south; usually he was off Dungeyland or ViZion, interfering with fishing activities or shouting slogans while defending a reef from commercialism. It was also unusual for him to spend a full day drinking alone on the bridge, but today was a day for celebrating.

Kofrende heaved himself up in his chair and then regretted the decision. He sat upright, giving his stomach a moment to reorient itself before something else was heaved up onto the leather seat, and then leaned to his left where a small laptop stood open, blocking a sonar display. His fingers haphazardly mashed some keys for a moment; a reek seeped out through his toothy grin. He pressed the Submit button and another insight into the drunken mind of Captain Kofrende made its way into cyberspace.

"Ah now, pretties, here comes a reckoning," he muttered lovingly to the distant smudge that drew closer as the Saengel chased the horizon.

Kofrende was the only member of his crew intoxicated. He ran a tight ship, most of the time, and was well respected among the crew and the membership of Tawerdh Gruna. Unlike most of the captains employed by the environmentalist group, Kofrende was himself passionate about the organisation's cause and had in his younger days chained himself to trees on the naval academy's grounds - this was precisely why he had been expelled from the academy and sought employment first with the merchant marine and, from the mid-1990s, Tawerdh Gruna. Despite a rebellious youth, he was known to be level-headed and to stay within the lines set by his employers. Now that those lines had shifted, he was ecstatic at the opportunity to test his new freedom. The alcohol helped.

A staticky buzz from the radio informed him that someone was trying to speak to him. A voice made its way across the soft sea mist and emerged, slightly worse for wear, through the speakers on the Saengel's bridge. "Dies bona vobis, non-transmitting vessel. This is the Griffincrest rig Aerugo. Please alter your course ten degrees either way to avoid a collision, thank you." The radio kscched itself back to sleep. Kofrende pondered for a moment and picked up the transmitter.

"Thank you, Aerugo, he drawled into it. "This izza ship Saengel. Please hold while I transfer you to anotha op'rative." He chuckled to himself as the Griffincrest radio operator returned to repeat his instruction and clarify Kofrende's reply. The ship captain, however, ignored the radio, and picked up the ship-to-shore telephone, taking it off hold. "Heya baby, I'm sorry I left. Ship won't steer izelf," he apologised.

"That's okay, sexy," a sultry voice on the other end replied, "I've been waiting for you."

Kofrende blew a kiss into the mouthpiece. "I got a friend who needs cheering up. Could you?" The sultry voice enthusiastically agreed, and he placed the ship-to-shore such that its earpiece held down the radio's talk button, leaving the rig's radio operator in the arms of a Scottopian phone sex worker.

The ship continued on its course. Kofrende swallowed another mouthful of Export Halynby. The Griffincrest worker spent nearly three minutes trying to figure out what was going on before he stopped replying to the telephone's advances, at which point Kofrende hung up. He sprawled towards his laptop and tapped out another revelation.

Captain Vilhem Kofrende @capkofrende gnna hit sum rigs 2day in scottopea almona come watch!! big party lots of beer und firewrks to2 #Grifncrest RETWEETSLIKES 29 03:27 p.m. - 5 May 2017

A knock on the cabin door brought him out of his moment. Hoisting himself back upright, Kofrende grunted for the door to open, and it did.

"Just thought you'd want to know the toilet's clogged, cap'n. Someone barfed in it," said crewman Bewulf Aldhuse, before realising that his captain was likely the culprit. "Uh, just thought you should know."

Kofrende saluted as he leaned haphazardly in his chair, which swayed sickeningly beneath him. "Very good, Bewulf, 'preciate it." He blinked and let out an alcoholic breath as he felt his stomach heave slightly. Aldhuse saluted loosely and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. "We're on course!" shouted Kofrende at the closing door, and mumbled to himself, "We're on course."

Still quite some distance in front of the ship was the smudge which was now identifiably an oil rig. Numerous cranes and an imposing derrick rose high above its elevated deck. The Saengel was closing the distance admirably, with just over three nautical miles to go. Kofrende sang what parts he could remember of an old Kelonnan war song, slurring his way through the other lines. He hit the second verse, but only the opening line came to mind. He gave up.

When it came down to it, there really wasn't that much to do on the bridge. There were all those panels and instruments that ought to be observed but he knew his route was obstacle free, at least until the obstacle that was his destination. The ship captain looked mournfully into the now all too empty bottle and tossed it unceremoniously on the floor. There were still more bottles behind him, but they had temporarily lost their interest for him. He kicked the ship's wheel in frustration and glared accusingly at the oil rig in the distance, as though it was responsible for his problems. He turned again to the laptop to vent his frustration.

Captain Vilhem Kofrende @capkofrende @Grivncrrst delete @griffincrest ur in mmy sights no more oil for yu not if capTain vilhem Kofrende can stop it submit RETWEETSLIKES 17 03:34 p.m. - 5 May 2017

The ship lurched somewhat as it traversed a swell. Kofrende mustered all his strength and then yielded to the urge to vomit. He did so.

Feeling much better, the Tawerdh Gruna captain of twenty-three years sat upright and turned his gaze back to the Aerugo. He glanced at some of his instruments, reading the speed and distance off them. Seven minutes, he estimated, until he would arrive at his destination. He mentally played back the intonation of a SatNav system saying the same thing. The radio crackled.

"Non-transmitting vessel," came the familiar voice of the Aerugo's operator, "you have not adjusted your course. Please divert by fifteen degrees north or east to avoid a collision and turn on your AIS."

Kofrende picked up his radio to reply but was cut off by another respondent. "This is the Pelican. Our AIS is definitely on. Check your systems?"

"Not you," replied Aerugo, "the ship on a collision course for this oil rig."

"Ah," said Pelican, and left the conversation. Kofrende pressed the talk button.

"I can turn on AIS no problem, dude. Give me a sec." He reached over his head and flipped a switch, leaning back in his chair and once more propping his feet up on the wheel. "That better?"

To his delight, the oil rig's operator seemed impatient. "Thank you. Now, please adjust your course fifteen degrees."

"I'm reading eighteen degrees air temperature here, but it'll cool down later. Oh, hold on, 'nother call coming through." He abandoned the radio in favour of his laptop, churning out another couple of tweets as the Aerugo's operator grew increasingly panicked.

Captain Vilhem Kofrende @capkofrende @grifoncrest let RETWEETSLIKES 1524 03:36 p.m. - 5 May 2017

Captain Vilhem Kofrende @capkofrende lets get this party strated @griff crest ,meet Tawerdh gRuna and this how dot things in Keln RETWEETSLIKES 1931 03:37 p.m. - 5 May 2017

That particular mission accomplished, Kofrende returned to the radio, slurring his words again as he tried to reassure Aerugo. "Listen t'me, take it easy. Not a word's going in. I'm sorry, can't help it, I'm drunk, but I'll be with you in, uh, three minutes and you can 'splain to me then, okay? Cheers," he said, and hung up the radio.

Three minutes to target. Too long a wait. Kofrende picked up the ship's internal radio and called to the engine room for more juice, then got up to grab another bottle. He popped the cap off against the depth sounding panel and sat down to take in the sights.

The rig was now quite close, close enough even for the thoroughly inebriated Captain Kofrende to make out individual figures moving hurriedly on its deck. To the right, a helicopter took off. A dinghy launched from the foot of a ladder. There was a certain tranquil inevitability to the whole picture arrayed before him. Somehow it was calming to watch the events that he had initiated unfolding, and it filled him with pride to know he was the man beginning Tawerdh Gruna's new campaign. He appreciated his crew, who had never once questioned his decision to ram this oil rig. Hopefully it would be the first of many, his drunken mind thought happily.

Kofrende's fingers lightly gripped a and opened a side window, letting in the sounds of the developing tableau. Urgent shouts drifted across the air as the Saengel's engine continued to hum, propelling the ship noisily over the waves. The sound of the departing helicopter faded out slowly as the rig's klaxon grew louder. He took a moment to make one last disparaging remark on Twitter.

Captain Vilhem Kofrende @capkofrende bye bye airugo! love the smell of petralm in the morning RETWEETSLIKES 1725 03:40 p.m. - 5 May 2017

Kofrende put down his laptop and looked up. Jeez, the rig had gotten close.

---

Everyone had clearly expected an explosion as soon as the former trawler hit the rig, but that didn't happen. Throngs of distressed oil workers watched the front of the Saengel disappear under the platform and then felt the entire structure shudder violently as the ship collided with the drill casing. Two tall antennae bent and snapped as they scraped the underside of the platform; the ship's crew hurried to avoid them as they fell. The rig's crew began shouting and swearing at the ship's crew, who promptly began shouting and swearing back.

At the same time, the force of the collision had not been without its effects. The front of the Saengel was twisted beyond recognition, while the drill casing was shattered and the pipe within was breached. Oil began to pour out of the broken pipe, the mechanisms for stopping a leak having been damaged in the impact. The ship's engine remained at full throttle, straining against the remains of the casing. A slick developed under the Aerugo; smoke emerged from the bow of the Saengel. The two together did not bode well.

Kofrende staggered out of his bridge and onto the top deck of his ship, surveying the damage he had caused as flames spurted in the engine room. Somehow he hadn't expected an oil leak. That was definitely not part of the plan. "They're not gonna like this," he grunted to himself.

Then came the explosion.

[Consular]

SOUTHERN CROSS
Location Classified
2347H

/////CASTLE/////

...ACTIVE LOG: CARTHWESTERN NODE: EVENT 704/////

...UNEXPECTED SIGNATURE DETECTED/////

...CONFIRMING COORDINATES/////

...CONFIRMING TRAJECTORY/////

...CONFIRMING SPEED/////

...INITIAL RISK ASSESSMENT: STANDARD/////

...IDENTIFYING/////

...SIGNATURE IDENTIFIED AS CLASS [CONTAINER SHIP]/////

...NO TRANSPONDER FOUND/////

...ATTEMPTING COMMUNICATION/////

...NO RESPONSE/////

...IDENTIFICATION FAILED/////

...DESIGNATED CLASS [HOSTILE]/////

...ARMING ASM/////

...ALERTING COMMAND/////

Not particularly wanting to stand up, Wright pushed off from the desk, propelling his wheeled swivel chair a few metres across the room to another station. About halfway across he realised, to his mild annoyance, that he hadn't brought his cup of coffee with him. Muttering under his breath he disabled the alarm coming from the station, and looked over the information on the screen.

"Sir? We have an event. Requesting ASM authorisation." He brought up the coordinates of the vessel CASTLE had designated as hostile. "Unidentified and unresponsive container ship... Oddly it doesn't appear be moving."

Valens, the Commander for this watch, broke off a conversation he was having with another officer and walked over. Standing over Wright and the station he quickly processed the information. "Why isn't she moving?" He mused aloud. "ASM authoris..." Valens trailed off, changing his mind. There was really no immediate need to use a missile on something that wasn't getting any closer. "Hold the ASM. Do we have any assets nearby?"

Wright checked. "No patrols in visual range. Actually... we have a patrol frigate, CCRN Unwitting Accomplice, in strike range."

"Have them dispatch a Hammerhead to investigate, and find out why she's silent. I don't like being ignored."

* * *

Somewhere Near Carthwestern
The Conite Congressional Republic
0031H

"Two minutes out."

The Hammerhead VTOL skimmed across the rolling seas, approaching the coordinates of the container ship. The moon was out and near full that night, so there was plenty of light to see with. The VTOL's own spotlights were disabled for now, with the pilot flying low and dark to avoid unnecessary detection. They had no particular reason for concern, but standard procedures mandated that events be approached with an appropriate level of caution.

Captain Elias Falcon made his way to the cockpit and stood over the pilot, taking a firm grip on the ceiling handles to keep his balance. Elias was a seasoned veteran of the Conite Defence Force, and was not normally based out of the Unwitting Accomplice. He had been present temporarily to assess the readiness of the vessel's marine attachment, and had determined that this assignment from command would be a good opportunity for him to make that assessment in a real situation.

"We have visual. Switching to hover." The pilot pulled back and reduced speed, transitioning the VTOL into a hovering state above the ship. Without saying anything, the copilot spooled up the Hammerhead's primary cannon and trained it on the ship, in case anything should threaten them.

"Lights." Elias ordered.

The frontward spotlights of the VTOL switched on, bathing the front end of the ship in bright lights. The deck was, as expected, covered in various containers of various colours, stacked neatly in rows. It was not possible to read the markings on the crates, if indeed there were any, at this distance. The ship had two structures above deck, one at the fore and one at the aft of the ship, in the traditional setup. The VTOL slowly moved down the ship, searching its deck for anything of note. The entire ship was completely dark, including, disturbingly, the bridge.

"Take us in." Elias turned and ducked back into the main bay. Seated along the walls was a squad of six CDF marines, kitted out in black combat harnesses and gas masks, cradling their Luyten rifles. "Right. There are no visible signs of activity, so who knows what's going on down there. We'll proceed like we discussed at the briefing, secure the bridge and clean sweep from there."

As the VTOL steadied itself above the deck, Elias pulled the lever to open the rear bay doors. The cold wind swept suddenly through, but if the chill bothered him in the slightest he did not show it. "Go."

Two by two the marines rappelled down onto the deck of the ship, the first two down taking positions with rifles raised to cover the following. Elias followed them down last.

Rapidly retracting the ropes, the Hammerhead backed off and killed its lights, vanishing back into the night. A storm front was approaching from the East, and would soon enough cancel out the light they were getting from the moon. Its winds were already starting to affect the seas, and the rolling waves pushed the ship back and forth, much to the displeasure of Emery, the squad's medic. He briefly thought about complaining, if only for the levity, but didn't imagine Elias would take it well.

Elias silently gestured at the bridge. The squad stacked up on the sealed steel door. Hector as designated point tried the lock, and finding it unlocked swung the door open. The marines moved swiftly into the room, methodically sweeping it with their rifles.

"I've got one down." Sienna called, noting a body already sprawled across the floor. "Make that two." She added, stepping over the pair of bodies and continuing the sweep. "Clear?"

"Clear." Elias confirmed. "Sentry. Emery?"

The rest of the squad took up station around the room, mindful of potential intruders. Emery joined Elias by the pair of bodies. He checked for a pulse on each, but it was basically a formality, they were quite clearly dead. "Those are gunshot wounds Captain, both of them."

"Concur." Elias stated grimly. "Time of death?"

Emery looked over them a bit more carefully. "Uh... recent." He paused hesitantly. "These wounds were not made with CCR issue ammunition. Damage pattern is too unusual."

Elias had already moved on, and carefully consulted the various documents on the bridge's main console. None of them were enlightening. The ship's charts did not record their route or destination, and it appeared to not have a GPS uplink.

"Move." The squad split up, one group of three and one of four, and systematically moved through the tower, then back outside and down the ship. They investigated two of the containers as they did so, finding them unlocked and completely empty. The names on the side were not any company any of them recognised.

The Hammerhead pilot buzzed them as they reached the other tower structure. "Uh, Sealion? If you wanna wrap things up there soon, I'd like to not be picking you up when the front hits."

"Team one, search the tower. Two, on me, below deck." Elias ordered by way of an acknowledgement. An adrift ship with a dead crew usually indicated pirate activity, but he had an odd feeling about this one. He'd done well to trust his gut this far.

The other tower contained the living quarters. They were not very homely, but rather basic metal bunks with unpleasant looking mattresses. The only signs that the space had ever been used were a few cheap looking personal items. They did, however, find more of the crew, very dead.

Below deck was another matter entirely. Elias, Hector, Desmond, and Felix found the first hold empty, which was itself odd given it should have been filled with containers. But as they breached into the second hold, they found it had been converted into... something else. The hold was empty of any containers, and instead the centre of the space was occupied by a temporary building that been constructed inside. It was made entirely of sheets of thin clear plastic, bolded into the shape of a rectangular series of rooms. At each end, and separating each room, was what appeared to be a sort of airlock... or decontamination chamber.

As odd as the construction was, it was what they could see inside the rooms that disturbed the marines, though they remained stoic and alert. More bodies, but this time not crew. In some of the rooms bodies lay on steel operating tables, in others they were sealed inside horrible looking plastic bags, hanging from metal railings on the ceiling. Some were clearly disfigured, all showed signs of surgery or deliberate tissue damage.

It was a laboratory of a sort. These people had been experimented on, though for what purpose was not immediately evident. Many of the rooms had refrigerated storage compartments, the kind used to store pharmaceuticals or other biologics. There were also various computers and other machines without obvious purpose.

Whatever it was, it was very clean and clinical. Or, it would have been, if not for the other bodies scattered throughout the space. In and around the room were various dead, their lab coats or hazard suits drenched in blood. They were presumably the scientists who had performed these experiments, but had in turn been gunned down by some unknown other party.

"Check your masks." Elias ordered, lowering his weapon for a moment to confirm his own was undamaged. Whatever was being worked with here may not have been entirely contained and he did not intend to become infected.

Aware of the risk but also cognizant of their duty, the marines cautiously swept the laboratory, then moved on to breach the third and final hold, which was mostly empty like the first. Empty but for the explosive charges attached to either side of the hull. "Shit" Hector muttered under his breath. Slinging his rifle he investigated the nearest charge. "It's active sir."

"Disable them?" Elias suggested tersely. He then buzzed the Hammerhead. "Negative on retrieval. Relay to Unwitting Accomplice. Ship secured. Crew dead on arrival. Something above my paygrade happened here that needs further investigation." He paused. "Recommend quarantine conditions."

* * *

The Keystone
Vigil, The Conite Congressional Republic
0912H

An analyst with the Peacekeepers began to summarise the briefing. "CASTLE detected the ship just before midnight. Command deviated from normal practice and ordered a nearby frigate to investigate. The ship, which is apparently called the Gillian, was seized by CCR marines just after midnight-"

"So we have a name. Where is it registered?" Valeria Ebonheart, the Director of the Peacekeepers, interrupted, simultaneously listening to the summary and rapidly reading the written briefing.

"Unknown. It-" She was cut off again.

"Probably fake." This time it was Christopher Cussler, the Director of ORCA. "Why didn't they scuttle the ship?" He couldn't imagine whoever had organised such an elaborate operation would be so careless as to let them seize it like this.

"The marines found and disabled faulty charges in the ship's hold. Whoever cleared the place out intended to scuttle it too." The analyst paused. "Maybe by the time they realised the charges were not detonating, the ship had already drifted into our radar coverage. Anything they did at that point would only attract more attention."

Christopher nodded tentatively. "That would fit the proposed timeline. Consistent with the estimated time of death of the crew."

"Perhaps once they realised their mistake, they hoped CASTLE would destroy the evidence for them." Valeria looked up from the briefing. "It would seem we were very lucky. Working theory, Cussler?"

"The laboratory was being used to illegally experiment with biologics on human subjects. Seems they decided to clear house. Which suggests they completed whatever they were developing."

"I agree. It will take some time to identify what they were working with, but we are dealing with a potential biological weapon, and should take the appropriate precautions." She looked at the other senior Peacekeepers around the table. "I want all all pharmaceutical and bioengineering firms thoroughly audited."

"ORCA will track down whoever owned the ship." Christopher offered, his mind already a thousand miles away.

[Nova Deseret]

Nauvoo Legion Saqui Regional Command Center
Saqui Province, Nova Deseret

"Sir, Air Force & Navy have reconfirmed that the are not currently operational in the sector. Target has been re-designated as hostile" informed the legionnaire who was seated in front of the wide range of monitors and screens displaying constantly changing information. His commandant viewed the black and white screens where he could clearly see the live feed images of a drone flying in a predictable route, making sweeping circles over the Gulf of Saqui.

Within seconds he recounted all the information in his head about the location of NLV & NDN vessels in the area, keeping in mind the on going military training drills the province had hosted for the previous weeks as tensions with regional neighbors soared. He also knew of the upcoming plans in a few days of the missile that the armed forces hierarchy was about to test, with the launch pad not a terrible distance from where he now sat himself. Atlas, he came to his decision.

"Our nearest assets..." he asked "...are still the patrol of Vampires, correct?"

The Vampires being the codename associated with the TaH-29A, the nations multi-role fighter. Their patrols had been increased significantly since the start of the crisis after the seizure of a Meso flagged vessel from within Nova Deseret waters.

"Affirmative Sir, a pair of Tah-29A's are in the vicinity, they too are over the water." the young analyst replied quickly. Understanding the crucial urgency of his response time. He knew they had the authority to intervene in unauthorized activity on land, sea & air, with force if necessary, and then would evaluate the situation after to determine if the right call was made. It hardly was ever rejected.

"Terminate Target" was the response. Several of the soldiers quickly got to work pulling other screens to view or contacting the correct lines of communication to pass along the order. Within minutes, the aircraft had routed themselves with one of the planes firing a missile striking the unidentified drone. All eyes in the room of the command center watched as the new live feed video from the pilots wingman showed the destruction of the drone before it plummeted into the waves of the Gulf of Saqui.

The higher legionnaire officers continued to watch the scene unfold behind the lower ranking men continued the work. Quietly one turned to the commander who had authorized the firing and asked, "Who you think it was? Meso, Scottopian, the US?

"Not ours" trumped the senior officer who failed to turn his gaze to his counterpart. Their silence continued as the operations room continued to inform other NVD agencies of the incident. He cleared his throat before speaking louder back to his man operating the communication channels. "Inform the NLV Mararmeo immediately, attempt to gather any evidence as possible to whos craft this was and bring them to shore."

[Blackhelm Confederacy]

Hotel Métropole
Princetown, Hifax

The delegation had retired for the night at the Hotel Métropole, one of the finest in Princetown, and indeed, in the entire region. Over the course of its history, the location had played host to all manner of presidents, kings, and chancellors, and this evening it would be the temporary home to a number of the East Astyrian Treaty Alliance’s heads of state and government representatives.

The meeting earlier in the day, on the state of the EATA’s joint finances, had gone well, if not incredibly boring, and once it was over most of the delegation made their way next door, to test their luck at the craps tables on the famed Monte Carlo casino. The Confederate chancellor, however, had other plans as he called over the Hifaxian head of state as he filed through the lobby of the splendid hotel. Together, the Prince and the Chancellor made their way to the hotel bar and, after a drink or two, the Hifaxian Prince decided to take the conversation to a place a bit more discreet, where important matters could be discussed away from the prying ears of potential spies, spies who were more than likely to be crawling around the city with the news that the entire EATA delegation would be staying in one place. Chancellor Eaglebrand nodded agreement, and together moved outside, climbing into the prince’s waiting SUV.

Principal Palace
Princetown, Hifax

The ride was just a short one, and within minutes the limosine made its way through the gates of the palace, past a row of saluting guards dressed in their sharp, if not a bit costumey outfits, rifles pressed flush to their chests. The men were let off at the doors of the residence, which opened as they climbed the steps to yet another row of saluting servants, all of whom were dismissed with a wave of the Hifaxians hand. Yet another climb of steps, and they arrived at their final destination, a meeting room of sorts on the second floor of the palace, overlooking the illuminated blue swimming pool below, a pool which seemed to shine beneath the otherwise dark sky of the Princetown night.

The Prince made his way to a seat, the Chancellor settling into a plush red chair to his right.

“Wise choice coming here, Ismael, you never do know who might be lurking around at the hotel bar. The servants, I take it, are all trustworthy, yes?”

“You never know Chancellor, last week we discovered a spy working as a Croupier in the Monte Carlo Casino during a secret visit of the Bungussan president, apparently he used to work for the TARP collecting information, the BHSS is working on that...”

“Well, then I suppose we had best keep our voices down….you have heard of the troubles erupting over in the Far East...Nova Deseret and Mesoland, that whole lot?” the chancellor
replied, his voice growing quieter.

“Let me tell you Chancellor, we -British Hifax- always had a clear stance on conflicts: as one of the smallest countries in the world we can’t make any real military movements, but we can use our influences in other ways… those threats were clear and our response to them should be too.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more on that matter, Ismael...I believe that it might be in our best interests to order the joint EATA fleet to the area, a show of force, quiet that tin-pot dictatorship down a bit”

“There’s where we don’t agree dear Chancellor" the Prince laughs ironically "as I can’t accept threats to my friends I also can’t accept a show of force in the area, I know what that show means for the residents and i’m sure that they won’t enjoy it”

“Well we certainly just can’t sit back and let those madmen pop of missiles like fireworks whenever they get the itch to do so” the Chancellor retorted

“I don’t think that being the bullies of the region will help to solve the problem neither”

“Well, what do you think we do then? Diplomacy never works with these sort of people. All talk and no action only feeds into their ego. Gives them time to keep building up. The best thing to do is strike, and strike quickly. But lacking an actually military strike, and think a show of force is our best bet…” The Chancellor’s mind wandered off a bit before he looked back at the Hifaxian “Although….there really is nothing stopping us from sinking those ships there in the Meso Sea...they are, after all, in violation of international protocol...and Nova Deseret has no friends in the region willing to stick their necks out for them”

“Ah Chancellor, don’t forget that we have thea number of banks here, and we are a bit important because of them than we might appear, I mean… where are you going to save money without an exhaustive investigation of the government?....Our 'privacy laws' appeal to many. You know, we can use that card in many ways and against many people” The Prince stands and goes to one of the arches viewing the night at Princetown and giving the back to the Chancellor.

"Just what are you proposing?"

“Have you seen the news this morning? A Scottopian WA Delegate was arrested because of tax fraud and money laundering with off-shore accounts here, well, basically we are doing some investigations concerning tax fraud and all that, I’m sure that one of their ministers could be placed under investigation as well, and i’m sure that can add some pressure” the Prince make eye contact with the Chancellor. “Without being a bully, of course”

Eaglebrand looked at the Prince hard for a moment as he thought “That...that of course, would require a Deseretan to come here, which is doubtful….however...if they have any funds in Hifaxian banks...I suppose placing a freeze on those accounts might be something to consider. Do you have the ability to do such a thing, Ismael?”

“Of course not, this doesn’t work in that way… the police did a long investigation over the course of 5 months against the WA Delegate and he was a bit obvious with his offenses… but I think there are some things that I can do to make the research faster”

“Hmm...well, if you could fast track the process and get those assets seized, the Blackhelm Confederacy would be much indebted. It would save us all the trouble of needing to shuffle ships around...and maybe put some pressure on any other Deseretans that might like to test their odds at the casinos here.”

"I will certainly look into the matter" the Prince nodded. "Even the slightest discrepancies will be thoroughly investigated to the fullest extent of our legal abilities"

"Very good Ismael" the Chancellor said, rising to his feet and extending his hand. "It is getting rather late though, I should be going. I hope for good news at the meeting tomorrow"

And with that, the two men shook hands and went their separate ways for the evening, the Chancellor silently wondering if the do-gooder Prince would actually be able to find anything at all on the Deseretans. It would be so much easier if more people thought like he did, if he could just frame the right people and solve the problem, but he knew the Hifaxian would never go for that. And so he had to wait, and silently hope for the best at tomorrow's meeting on the ever important topping of high speed internet on EATA Joint Bases. What joy!

OOC: Thanks to Hifax for your help with the post!

[Ord Caprica]

Ulysses, C.D, United States
Executive Residence, Bright Hill
2017 June 27
0027 Hours

The United States National Security Team had been in this exact room, discussing this exact situation almost exactly a month previous. If anyone actually believed in deja vu this would've been an almost textbook example of it.

President Oliver Kenway II, Secretary of State Benjamin Little and National Security Adviser Lieutenant General Alma Smith sat or stood around the Thomas R. Marshall Room, also known affectionately as the ''Situation Room'' on account of it only being occupied when there was a situation that needed to be handled. In addition to the key players, The Deputy Director of National Intelligence, Alfred Spender-Weddell was present along with Bright Hill Chief of Staff Michael James ''MJ'' Cummings. There were several others on the National Security Council who for various reasons couldn't be in attendance but the main cast was there and only being kept alive by the constant flowing of freshly brewed coffee and the knowledge that something had to be done, tonight.

''In conclusion Mister President, the XM-31 unmanned aerial vehicle experienced an unexpected loss of communication with it's ground control station and subsequently drifted into Nova Deseret airspace resulting in it's shoot down. ''

The speaker was a civilian technical expert who was part of the control team in charge of the UAV that was shot down by Nova Deseret earlier in the month. He was young, intelligent and used words that most of the room didn't readily understand but they all got the gist of what was being said. A drone, one of their drones had failed and was shot down behind enemy lines and now they had to deal with it.

''Is there anything on that drone that can be linked back to us?

'' Ah, no Mister President. The system is programmed to wipe itself if it ever loses contact with it's ground control station for more than forty five minutes.''

''And since this was an experimental unit it wasn't carrying anything sensitive correct?''

''Yes, Mister President. This was it's maiden voyage so to speak. It was simply supposed to fly across the WCS and back.''

Kenway rubbed his temple, in an attempt to sooth the migraine that he could feel rapidly approaching. He'd been dealing with the fallout from this drone incident and Nova Deseret's provocations for the last month and a half and it was exhausting to say the absolute least of the situation. The press, free as it were was relentless in hounding the administration for answers regarding the shoot down but MJ, his Chief of Staff had ordered a media blackout, no one was allowed to communicate with the press under pain of unemployment, regardless of rank or position. So far everyone had buttoned up but with a story this big, it really was only a matter of time before someone cracked under pressure.

The egghead briefer sensing that he'd done his part for the night quickly disappeared from sight and left the room suddenly devoid of dialogue for a moment.

''Mister President. If I may?

General Smith, his National Security Adviser rose to speak. Her immaculate uniform contrasted heavily with the clearly exhausted features of her rather attractive face. She'd be towards the bottom of his short list of recommendations for his National Security Adviser when he was first picking his cabinet but he'd been keen on putting the first woman in that position and she was the only one with both the experience and record to be acceptable to Congress. An intelligence officer by occupation, she'd served in a number of prestigious staff positions to compliment three tours as a line officer including one in Insula Fera during the invasion of that country. She'd advised him wisely when it came time to give the order to go into Kamalbia and for that she had gained his respect and trust.

''Go ahead General. ''

''The government in Nova Deseret is obviously unstable and unresponsive to our back channeling efforts. It's clear that we can't deescalate the situation from our current position so we need to shift our position so to speak.''

''I'm not sure I'm following you exactly General. How exactly would we shift our position right now? ''

'' By putting ourselves in a position of strength Mister President. I'm suggesting we institute a military no fly zone over the entire West Caprican Sea until all parties agree to come to the negotiating table. In addition, I suggest we restrict maritime and military traffic in the West Caprican Sea until such a time that tensions have cooled down to a suitable level.''

A snort came from across the room, causing everyone to look over at Secretary of State Benjamin Little.

''I'm sorry General. But I find it a little hard to believe you want us to escalate the situation in our own backyard to such a degree without any legitimate cause. This is a very delicate situation and we can't always jump straight to saber rattling when things get tricky.''

''This isn't saber rattling Mister Secretary, it's escalating on our terms. If we don't take decisive action right now then we risk losing the initiative and with a Nova Deseret shooting down drones and firing missiles into international waters, we absolutely can not afford to keep responding the actions of other states in our own backyard.''

Secretary Little turned to the President, his face was serious but his eyes were silently pleading with his old friend.

''Mister President, I beg you do not force them to escalate further. We can put together a package of sanctions with some teeth and force them to the negotiating table with a carrot and not a stick. ''

Kenway stood up from his seat at the head of the table and turned away from his advisers. It was a tough decision and would have to be made soon. On one hand a military no-fly-zone would definitely force all parties to reconsider any potential escalation and more than likely would bring them to the table but it could also force Nova Deseret into a corner, the exact same fear the General expressed a month ago.

We are gambling that Nova Deseret will either respond to the threat of sanctions or the threat of military strikes. I don't like to gamble when the stakes are this high people.

The President turned to face the Director of National Intelligence, Alfred Spencer-Weddell, a holdover from the previous administration on his way out after a four year tour in the position. He did his job well, didn't make too much noise and most importantly, didn't have any higher ambitions other than serving his country which made things easier on the political side.

'' If we don't bring this sons of bitches in Nova Deseret to heel, what are we realistically looking at threat wise. I'm not worried about what they've got on paper, I want to know what they really have that can hurt us.''

Director Spencer-Weddell took off his thin, wire framed glasses and placed them on the table, looking the President directly in the eyes. He was old, thin, almost fragile looking if you didn't know any better. Those who did know better were aware that a lifetime in the intelligence service, especially a lifetime that earned you an unprecedented two Intelligence Stars rendered you anything but fragile.

''[i]Mister President. You're well aware of their military capabilities and our threat assessment for them as well as potential paramilitary elements that they would bring to the table. The regime in Nova Deseret is in possession of enough conventional ordnance to make long term occupation highly problematic, in addition they possess a wealth of experience in mounting an effective insurgency. Furthermore, there has been limited intelligence that the regime is in the process of acquiring nuclear capabilities. Nova Deseret's greatest card to play in regards to the United States is the fact that it has no restraining factor. The regime is beholden to no one and therefore can not be counted on to abide by the laws of the land or any agreements made in good faith. They can hurt us Mister President, but not as bad as we can hurt them.

Secretary Little's head sunk when he realized that he had failed to convince the President that the military solution wasn't the right way to go.

''I'm sorry Ben but we've got to act decisively we can't risk letting the United States appear weak internationally, especially with this whole thing flaring up in our backyard. Alright General, let's flip the chess board. How soon can we have that no-fly-zone up?''

''The Joint Chiefs assure me that it can be in place by Friday sir.''

''And the maritime restrictions?''

''Right now Sir. All you have to do is give the go ahead.''

''Make it so. Alright people! We'll call it a night and reconvene here tomorrow afternoon. Let's get to thinking about our next move if we can't cool this situation down. Get some sleep.

The room began to slowly empty as everyone made their way to the exit to get some well deserved sleep. Eventually the room was empty with the exception of the President and the Secretary of State.

''Listen Ben''

''There's no need to explain Mister President. I completely understand and support your decision. ''

'' I need you to understand what we're up against Ben. We can't let these cocksuckers push us around. We did it your way already. We put the word out through back channels that we didn't want any flare ups in our backyard and it didn't work. I don't want to play these fucking games with them as much as you don't want to but I refuse to be made a fool of by some asshole in Nahpoo City because he thinks I want put his balls on the chopping block. I want you to talk to your people over there and I need them to communicate this message as clearly as possible. They are going to knock this horseshit off right fucking now or I'll level their entire fucking country and divide the ruins between Mesoland and San Joaquin. Is that clear Ben?''

There was silence for a moment as the two men stared into each other's eyes. Kenway's piercing blue glare matched in intensity by Secretary Little's own stare.

''Crystal Sir.'' Little replied after a while.

''Good. The First Lady expects you and the wife over for dinner Friday night, seven o'clock sharp. Don't be late, old sport. ''

[Greater Belkan Reich]

Chapter Two

Oldtown, Acadia, United States
1211 Hours

'' Remember no Belkan.''

It had been surprisingly easy for the four men to operate in the heartland of the United States. Forged passports from Arstotzka had gotten them into Aswick and from there it was simple enough to jump onto a ferry into Caprica. It was even easier to travel after hitting the mainland as there was no shortage of willing co-conspirators if you flashed enough money in front of them. Their unrestrained greed would be the downfall of their country in the long run and this was just the first step in a long journey towards that end.

Lyonya Golubkov, Mikhail Lebedev, Alex Krycek, and Alec Trevelyan stood outside a rarely used service entrance of the second or third largest shopping mall in the United States, depending on who you asked.The four men were all dressed in plain clothes and any unsuspecting bystander who might've seen them from afar would've reasonably assumed that were mall workers taking a smoke break or possibly a group of friends who had went out the wrong door. A closer inspection would've revealed the much more sinister truth.

Beneath their unassuming appearance, each man had a ballistic protection vest with an accompanying load bearing vest with a dozen fully loaded rifle magazines for the automatic rifles they held concealed underneath their jackets, a pair of uncorded earplugs ensured that their eardrums were adequately protected from the mayhem they planned to unleash upon the unsuspecting civilians who lay behind the seemingly secure confines of the shopping center.

For Nova Deseret! one of them cried.

The men lowered the balaclavas onto their heads and the lead man opened the door and the group entered the mall.

Moments later, the sounds of gunfire echoed throughout the building.

[Ord Caprica]

Oldtown, Acadia, United States
Metro Warehouse & Storage
2017 June 30
1517 Hours

''You guys just pulled off the job of the century and have become very wealthy men as a result. Salud!''

''Salud!'' was the reply.

Lyonya Golubkov, Mikhail Lebedev, Alex Krycek, and Alec Trevelyan all flashed toothy grins at the speaker, positively euphoric at the thought of having made it out of the shopping mall alive after shooting indiscriminately for almost half an hour before law enforcement arrived. They raised their shot glasses in unison and down the clear liquid that filled them in one gulp apiece before slamming them roughly down on the makeshift table in front of them.

They were in a warehouse in an almost completely abandoned part of the city. The neighborhood was almost completely devoid of meaningful economic activity and therefore was the last on the list of priorities for local law enforcement. The storage unit was large, filled with freight containers stamped with ''U.S Government '' on the sides and filled with all manner of equipment from conventional weaponry to what appeared to be sophisticated communications equipment. All around them, men with very serious looking faces and professional auras about them were packing up the contents of the containers into a number of black trucks.

Everyone except the four mass murders were clad in expensive, tailored suits the only indication that they were simply well dressed warehouse workers was the fact that they were all armed, with weapons ranging from Pharthan-made M1 MASIR rifles to Confederate AR-3s. The weapons were well obviously well-maintained even to the untrained eye and it would definitely be a safe assumption that the men wielding them knew how to use them.

Mikhail spoke up first.

''So when do we get our money?''

The speaker, an attractive man who appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties glared at him for a moment, the jovial tone that he had adopted moments before during his toast was no where to be found in his facial expressions. He had long chestnut brown hair that was slicked back with some form of gel though traces of gray were apparent even from a distance. A muscular physique was visible, especially so in the form fitting black suit that currently adorned his body. He wasn't tall but it was obvious that he knew how to take care of himself and he gave off the aura of a very dangerous man.

''You will be paid for your services once the job is done. Our employer doesn't like incomplete jobs and frankly neither do I.''

To this the four men stopped smiling and looked quickly at each other.

It was Alec who spoke next.

''What do you mean incomplete. You said shoot up the mall and blow up the car with the two Novan bodies in it. We did exactly as we were told. Now you keep up your end of the deal and pay us!''

''You're right of course. We did have a deal and I have to honor it. ''
The man stood up from his makeshift seat on top of box in front of the men and walked towards a wall of boxes near one of the vehicles. Reaching down he picked up a full looking duffel bag and tossed it in front of the four me.

''Ten million in Nikolian Dukats as promised. ''

Lyonya got up and walked over to the duffel bag and unzipped it, revealing ten million crisp Nikolian Dukats just as he said. The other three immediately relaxed after they saw the money, grinning at each other in either in happiness or out of nervousness. The only one who hadn't relaxed was the man who had given them the money. He stared emotionlessly at the four men for a moment, as if in deep thought. It wasn't a long thought however, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled a very sinister looking handgun out and with the cold methodical precision of a man whose down it before, calmly executed each of the perpetrators of the Oldtown Shopping Center massacre with a single gunshot to the head.

The men working on loading the equipment into the vehicles barely noticed that four men had been killed and continued about their work as if nothing had happened, all except for one who approached the scene with the unmistakable look of satisfaction.

Gabriel. I wish you would've let me kill them. I fucking hate Belkans.

The man called Gabriel grinned slightly.

''Sometimes it's better to do your own wet work from time to time. Keeps you grounded in reality. Are we done here?''

''Yea. We've picked this place clean. We've got enough equipment to wage six wars. What's the next move?''

Gabriel looked down at the rapidly cooling bodies of the men he had just executed.

''They tried to fuck me. I'm going to fuck back.

[Nova Deseret]

Police Headquarters Judicial Offices
Government District, Nauvoo City
Deseret Province, Nova Deseret

Captain Ritelli of the Nauvoo City Police Department had been scouring over the mountains of intelligence & associated paperwork of the files about known members of the Native Sons Militia that lay before him. Dozens of lawyers, judicial processors & clerks were also working with the city police force, pressing on with the attempt to bring the Mesoland embassy attackers to justice in City Courts after the national government refused to take the case to trial, an embarrassment to most of the population if they dared to admit it. Reguarding the subject, a rage burned deep in the captain's blood who had dove deep into the assignment after being played a fool by Lieutenant Colonel Mupwai of the Nauvoo Legion.

For the last few hours, he scanned the documents, pulling information on prominent individuals hoping to strengthen their argument against the organization's dangerous effect on society. Their work had been exhasting, lasting weeks in fact, but the entire team who had the city's Mayor & Police Commissioners blessings, were confident arrest warrants would be approved once the case was issued to the judges tomorrow. But for now, the workers all stared at the lone television in the room. Tuned to the Astyrian News Network, highlights of the AstyCup Semifinals cut to new images that showed a live aerial view of bloodied body bags being laid in a street by paramedics.

"....over 3 dozen confirmed dead in the United States after terror attack. Officials have announced the Native Sons Militia of Nova Deseret is to blame...

"Christ, they got that out quick...theyre still pulling bodies." said one. The silent room began to erupt with small chatter between groups. It didn't make sense to the captain as he looked on with his mouth hung open, as the news swapped to a witness filmed camera phone video of masked gunmen inside the shopping center calmly walking while firing assult rifles while victims screams echoed between gunbursts. The chatter got louder as those watching, experts on the Native Sons Militia, voiced their opinions. "How'd they get out the country?" "Where did the weapons come from?" "Did anyone catch their names?"

"Neil Kaeo and Edward Kauki..." said Ritelli. "...Run their names through the database. Give me what you find, turn that TV off, get back to our investigation, without interferance". He thought to himself this was staged. Something was not right about the operation, here laid decades worth of information on the inner workings of the militia & not one sheet of paper indicated anything similar that had just been conducted. Although, now he could use this event himself to bolden the case against them. He was trying to find a paper he remembered recently that might provide a link when the phone on his table rang. He picked up the receiver and boldly said "Ritelli..."

"Hey Captain, we got a situation here! I couldn't stop them, theyre heading..........." said the officer from the reception lobby before the phoneline was suddenly cut, emitting a tone which caused Ritelli to pull the phone away from his ear

Before he could question what had happened, the buildings emergency alarms were triggered while simultaneously the doors to the large room crashed open stunning all who were within it's walls. Through the doors came numerous people wearing hazmat suits, faces blocked by sunsheilds & wearing portable breathing apparatuses, who immediately cut the crowd of people into smaller groups and pulling them into lines and ushering them back out the way they had came just seconds before. Above the shouts & panicked worry of those now treated like cattle was the droning sound of the voices of those inside the suits ordering them outside.

Ritelli was one who seemed to be targeted, as 4 suited men escorted him personally out of the room. He demanded to know what has happening but to no avail, they marched him out speechless, leading him down 3 flights of stairs while more Hazmat men rushed upstairs holding boxes and scanning instruments along the way. One seemed to look right at him before purposfully bumping into him while passing, he turned back but didnt catch where he went. A minute later, he was led outside to the parking lot, which now had been turned into a decontamination zone with tents propped up and various emergency vehicles blocking lanes of traffic as well as creating a perimeter around the police headquarters in one of the most busiest sectors of the city. Helicopters soared overhead and the scene was alive with people going all directions.

"This way" finally said one of his escorts, pushing him through a darkened hazmat tent and into a jet of hot water. Just as suddenly as he was in the tent he was then stripped of his clothing and scrubbed by thick coarse brushes across his body. He could bearly keep track of the situation, attempting to push away the brushes while coughing back up the high pressured water that rained from all angles. He finally relented, coming to the reasoning their obviously had been a chemical attack and he would get out quicker if he cooperated. He peeked a look further into tent where many of the buildings occupants he worked with were felt the same fate as he.

At last he was moved through another opening where now freezing cold water now rained upon them all, a sharp contrast from seconds earlier. Immedetly a large towel was wrapped around him before he again was sent to another tent with about 20 co-workers in it. Their faces where showing fear & confusion, which increased as the tent was zipped behind them and powerful lights bore down on them.

Speakers began to play a dull voice with a repeating message every 30 seconds, "You have been exposed to a chemical agent. You have now been placed in quarantine. Please await further instruction....You have been exposed to a chemical agent. You have now been placed in quarantine. Please await further instruction"

Along the tents walls, were knee high benches all providing various sizes of clothing that resembled hospital scrubs or prison jumpsuits. Those within got dressed and began to converse and price together the story. Captain Ritelli stood silent, very evidently pissed off. Finally after about 45 minutes of the same repeating message, it ceased mid sentence & sunlight pierced through as the tent was reopened.

The group emerged, along with other groups who had been seperated as they congregated in an area with a few officials standing waiting for the hundreds of police department workers that had just been through an hour of hell. After a minute, with helicopters still above & emergency lights still flashing, a van closing its doors & starting up its engine nearby grabbed the captain's attention. As he looked over, he caught eyes with a dark haired man who was still wearing a hazmat suit aside the helmet, it was without a doubt Lieutenant Colonel Mupwai of the Nauvoo Legion, the officer who basically allowed a protest to form into a riot at the Mesoland Embassy.

The 2 locked eyes, where Mupwai continued his motion and tossed the box he was holding to somebody in the van as he stepped inside without breaking the stare. He belted out his loud hearty laugh as he closed the door, sticking his arm out the window making a gun shape with his finger towards Ritelli. With a wink, he fashioned as if shooting the captain with his finger while the van quickly departed the scene.

The officials began to speak to the police department & their associates in the open parking lot. "Afternoon. I do apologize for the inconvenience but I am Lead Inspector Punahao of the Center for Chemical & Disease Control. We had received a call reporting an anthrax attack upon the police headquarters which we acted upon immedetly.
A thourogh search has came back negative, the building is clear & safe. Bear with us a few additional minutes and you may return to your offices."

"Since when do the Center for Chemical & Disease Control work with the Nauvoo Legion?" called out Ritelli, catching the inspector and others off guard.

"I'm sorry officer you must be mistaken. The CCDC is operating here, no Legionare forces are with us, either in the past or present. We work independently with the province's governments outside of the national government." something just didnt sit right with the Captain. The officials left soon after and minutes later, the last of Hazmat suited workers and those not in the suits emerged from inside the Police HQ & gave the all clear to enter.

The police workers reentered the building as the various emergency vehicles departed along with the CCDC, leaving a mass of curious onlookers & news reporters. Ritelli lumbered back up the flights of stairs knowing the elevator would be crowded. It was only 3 stairs up to the judicial offices records room where they were before the intrusion, not big deal. Upon getting to the room, he found it empty and devoid off all material & paperwork of their case against the Native Sons Militia. Co-workers stood baffelled & wondered had the paperwork been relocated to a differnt room.

"That was no false alarm, that was a cover up" announced Ritelli while looking out towards the setting sun over the Deseret Mountains. He walked to his desk and pulled out a cigarette from the pack within and lighted it, drawing in the first drag and then exhaling it while the rest of the room came to the reality of what had just happened to them. They had been cleaned out by the Nauvoo Legions, the CCDC were a pawn & it was a personalized attack upon him & his work.

[Ord Caprica]

Ulysses, C.D, United States
Executive Residence, Bright Hill
2017 July 3
0916 Hours

''Listen Ms. Fairbairn, I don't particularly like you and I know that you don't like me and that's fine but I'm going to need you to trust me about this. We can't afford to go around pointing fingers right now, not until we've got more information on the attack.''

It was Bright Hill's Chief of Staff, MJ Cummings speaking. He was a tall, heavyset man in his late forties, with a rapidly receding hairline and a distinctively unpleasant look about it. A former rising star in Naval intelligence a decade and a half ago that had been enchanted like dozens other with Kenway's personality and had been added to the man's collection of skilled advisers and staffers. Kenway liked him because he wasn't a political insider like the majority of people who worked in the capital and that gave him special insight that the President found refreshing. In return MJ was one of Kenway's many loyal worker bees that helped him run the country, usher in meaningful reform and in the same vein, helped him conceal and carry on his affair with his official Press Secretary, the very Elizabeth Fairbairn that he was speaking to.

For her part, Miss Fairbairn wasn't the typical Ulysses insider that some people thought she was. A scholar at heart, she had graduated sum cum laude from Cumbria University in both her Bachelors and Master's degree programs and had previously risen to the rank of partner in the incredibly prestigious Sutherland & Wright public relations firm before being essentially stolen away to work for then Governor Kenway on his presidential campaign three years ago, almost to the month. She was as different from the Chief of Staff could be, she was book smart when MJ was street smart, she was a civilian while he was one of those almost comically military types, she was slender and attractive with beautiful golden locks that stood in stark contrast with his stocky, balding features. The only thing they had in common really was the fact that they both worked for and were fiercely loyal to the President.

''That's a mistake. Now is the perfect time to point fingers. They found the passports on the bodies and a bloody manifesto in their hotel detailing exactly why they did what they did. It's a pretty black and white case and the longer the administration doesn't release a statement,
the more questions are going to form in the public's mind. We can't keep riding his military service with the right especially when we need their support for reelection.''

'' I'm not saying to not release a statement but I am saying we need to avoid making definitive statements to the press that might come to bite us in the ass later ok?

Elizabeth signed deeply and walked towards the nearby podium.

They were in the Executive Residence's official press briefing room, it was early in the morning and there were no scheduled releases for the day so the place was empty. It still amazed her that she was here, working in the most important building in the country, crafting the public responses for the entire United States federal government. It gave her an immense sense of pride, something she could go home and tell her daughter about even though she didn't understand it at all.

Her daughter.

Natalie was her name. She'd been born almost six months after Kenway's inauguration, the very day the President passed his civil rights reform law. The president had suggested Natalie which meant, '' Christmas Day'' in Latin because she had given him the gift of passing the toughest legislation of his term. She had to perform mental gymnastics everyday because he wasn't just the President to her. Kenway was also the father of her only child, her Natalie was also his. Their affair had started right in the middle of his presidential campaign and a part of her had wished that it had died with campaign but that wasn't the way the cards had played out.

For what it was worth, Oliver was a great man and a great father, as much as he could be considering he had wife and two other children and the President of the United States. He insisted on her bringing Natalie to the executive residence on the weekends and paid for any and everything they could ever possibly want but still she wanted more and she knew she could never have it. She was his press secretary, confidant and despite the importance of those titles, she was most importantly his ''other woman'' and everyone knew it, even MJ. They helped cover their tracks, keeping the secret from Mrs.Kenway and her children and the Caprican people. It was pure irony in her head that she was the person in charge of the administrations press stories was the star in the biggest story in the country and she couldn't tell anyone. She had lied to her mother and father about the father of her child, saying he was a military guy that she had a one time liaison with during one of the campaign stops during the election. It hurt her to lie to her friends and family and see the look of disappointment in her parent's faces but it was the best course of action given the circumstances. It was a dangerous secret and she had no doubt that if word ever got out that it would ruin more lives than was worth the trouble and the knowledge that their daughter was a home wrecking harlot would kill them more than thinking that she was just careless with her birth control.

So she could understand exactly why MJ didn't exactly like her but whatever life decisions she had made, she was still a professional and she didn't get where she was professionally by not going with her gut in matters like this.

She turned back away from the podium to face the Chief of Staff.

''With all due respect MJ. I really think you're wrong about this and we can't afford to be wrong about something this big. If I need to take this to him myself I will but I respect your position too much to just go over your head but I will if I need to.''

MJ sighed

To say that he didn't like this woman was an understatement in a major way. He hated her and the situation she had allowed herself to put the administration in. She was the best at her job and there wasn't any disputing that fact honestly but he couldn't help but let his personal feelings influence the way he felt and interacted with. She could sleep with the President all she wanted but that didn't mean that she always knew what was best, especially when she didn't have all the information.

He'd sat in on the President's daily intelligence briefing this morning and the Federal Investigative Bureau seriously suspected that the two men found at the scene of the massacre had been framed for the crime for whatever reason. The security cameras in one of the country's largest shopping centers had mysteriously gone down for unscheduled ''maintenance'' minutes before the shooting started and multiple eye witnesses reported seeing more than two gunmen at the scene. He'd been part of Naval Intelligence before working with Kenway in politics and his gut told him that something was definitely off about the whole situation. It was too ''neat'' for the lack of a better term. A pair of Novans go on a the deadliest shooting spree in living memory right in the middle of the shit show that was the situation in the West Caprican Sea, inflaming tensions just when things might start to calm down, it seemed like more than just a coincidence.

Whatever his feelings about Miss Fairbairn, his instincts told him that they should withhold officially agreeing with the press right now and that meant he had to manage her. Kenway loved her and in his business that was far from a good thing and it clouded his judgement and she was right, they couldn't afford to be wrong about something this big.

''Alright. Let's do it this way. Give me forty-eight hours to convince you and if I don't you can take it to the President and let him decide. Just give me two days with this, that's all I'm asking. Please, just work with me on this ok?''

Two days was a long time with the press and it's already been two days since news about the shooting had broken. It was the topic of discussion on everyone's minds. If he was wrong they would lose ground in the polls when it came time to for reelection but if it there was something more to the attack then they really couldn't afford to be wrong. It was this doubt that worried her the most.

''You've got forty-eight hours MJ and not a second more. If you're wrong about this then I'll be sure to let the President know exactly whose fault it was that we looked weak on this. ''

''Thank you''

He spat the words out and quickly exited the room. He still had some contacts in the Intelligence community that he could speak too. A part of him didn't want to be right about this because it would open up a whole new can of worms that would have to be dealt with but he had to be sure more than anything else. He left her standing in the briefing room, staring at the podium where she'd normally be giving the administrations official statement on any other event already.