The Dynasty rises, the Reichan civil war part 1 - invasion

[The Black Reich]

PROLOGUE: When worlds collide...

It was hot, it was tiresome, and it was a mess. The city of Moretosa was coming loose at the hinges, and Lord Minister Carroner was here to see why.

It was the same story for a number of cities and provinces within the west, mass riots, and more disturbingly, a massive resurgence in demand for a Dynastic representative on the Reichan High Council – the very people who had been responsible for keeping almost three quarters of the population of the Black Reich as under-educated peasant workers, essentially a nation of serfs and slaves, until the 1800’s. It was the mid 1880’s when Nathan Carroner’s own grandfather had led a near nationwide revolution against the ruling Matriarch and had given rise to the nation he ruled now, and now, sixty years later, his grandson had been chosen by the people’s representatives as the new Lord Minister.

Carroner looked outside of his car and saw the scenes in front of him, there had been reports that a large food shortage was the reason for the riots and resurgence, but surprisingly enough, Carroner wasn’t seeing any of this, the place was a mess, but considering he was actually here to visit the region after an earthquake had seriously damaged the area it didn't surprise him. What did was more than once that he’d seen some more well-off people in the crowd. So why was it they wanted to throw abuse and insults when he was here to show his support? To bleat on about the Dynasty? To merely complain and let off some steam and frustration? If so, why not go through the proper authorities, they always worked...

...

Down the end of the road that the Lord Minister’s convoy was travelling down, in a window above the parade, two men were busy putting the final prepatory touches on a big surprise for the Lord Minister. “Are you sure it’s wired properly Damien?” said the first man to the other as he put the finishing crimps on wires connected to a hand-crank, “for the last time yes! It bloody well is! Stop asking me about it!” The second hissed back, “well I just want to make sure, we have the most important target of all, we don’t want to ruin it.” The first man turned around and lifted up a case, like some 20 cent theatre film, he was carrying a violin case, “Well, to be precise, it’s for a Cello, at least that’s what they told me” he thought as he mentally corrected himself.

The case for the cello was big, wide, and felt very heavy – much heavier than your average cello. Unlike a normal cello case as well, this case had a huge combination lock, and if anyone tried to touch it other than the two of them, he would have sat them on their ass faster than they could blink. Spinning the combo lock he heard the familiar ‘clik-clak’ of the pins falling in place, and lifting the lid caused both to pause in surprise.

“Bugger me, they really do want to make sure he stays down, don’t they?” the wiring gunman said. The other made a grunt in reply as he lifted the breech of a heavy calibre anti-tank rifle out of the box. Assembling the rifle over a few minutes, the impressive weapon was soon sitting on a table a few metres away from the window it was facing – the last thing the men wanted to do was have a good foot of rifle barrel sticking out of the window.


The rifle as it sat unpacked...

Lord Minister Carroner’s vehicles moved past the sniper’s vantage point ten minutes later. The weapon, designed to penetrate the armour of a combat vehicle, decimated the thin protective plate meant to defend against light pistols or rifles, the round struck the vehicle perfectly – a neat hole in the plate glass. The resounding roar of the high calibre anti-tank rifle caused chaos amongst those below, followed quickly by the horror of an explosion.


The explosion rocks coastal Moretosa

The device, hidden days earlier by the gunmen, decimated the small bridge the vehicle was racing across, the car was flung madly into the air, and spun into the dry riverbed just below it with a sickening crunch as one side gave way. Utter chaos was in the air, and as a protective cordon was made around the crash, the violence began in earnest. It started small, abuse, threats, then someone in the crowd threw a rock...

It was a signal, the hidden instigator within the crowd fired the mass of people around the small guard team into more anger; “SEE HOW THEY PROTECT OUR PERSECUTOR! THEY AREN’T ON OUR SIDE! THEY SERVE REICHA OVER THEIR OWN!” she yelled, she didn’t care about this, it wasn’t her homeland – that was three days flying from here as the crow went – she was here to fight the power, to fight the regime that made her grandparents have to accept defeat, and take her grandfather from her before she even got to meet him. This wasn’t a matter of just anger, it was a matter of restoring the honour of the Dynasty, and the honour of her own family.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled a large green bottle out of her jacket, at it’s neck was wrapped a thick cloth, it smelt strangely comforting as the diesel fumes took hold from the lighter in her hand, and moments later, she threw...

The smashing of glass, and a number of screams “Good hit” she thought... she ducked down in the crowd, copping a knee to the back of her head for her trouble as she ran half-crouched towards the back of the masses – she knew what was going to happen next all too well.

In Reicha, only one way was certain to garner an automatic lethal response, direct violence against the Lord Minister.

Gunshots filled the air, as did the screaming...

The battle for Moretosa was joined, but the Reichan civil war had only just begun.
___________________________________
EIGHT DAYS LATER

LORD MINISTER CARRONER slowly opened his eyes, they felt leaden, and he scraped at them with his hands as he felt the film over them. As he slowly got up he put a hand to his head, a large wrapping of some description was covering the top of his head. Looking around, he found he wasn’t in his car anymore... why was that? The last he recalled was the parade, wondering why people were angry.

“Lord Minister! You’re awake! Please sir, stay still! Lie down, nurse! Nurse! Get the doctor in here now, Lord Minister Carroner awakens!” a familiar voice, “Alexa”, Nathan got no more out, his throat roared its indignation at being forced to talk with such dryness and the Lord Minister coughed violently. Alexa Mishkin, the Lord Minister’s confidant and old school friend put her arm on his shoulder “Don’t try to speak Nathan! You need to go slow.”

Carroner collected himself and said in a much softer tone, “Alexa, what... what happened?”
Alexa’s eyes saddened and she looked away for a moment.

“Tell me Alex”

Taking a soft breathe, Alexa spoke in an equally hushed whisper “Lord Minister... Nathan, it’s the Dynasty... they’re back”

[The Black Reich]

OOC post: For anyone who is interested in joining, please note the following. This is a WW2 technology thread, AK-47's and RPG-2/-7 are acceptable under a different name, as they were both late 40's/early 50's and are okay under the conditions.

No WMD's until I RP it, and then only with discussion with other participants to ensure we do not break the RP.

Posting must be focused on story and most importantly FUN. I don't want someone writing a few lines saying "I BOM JU" or the equivalent - put some effort in.

Other than that, enjoy!

[Eastfield Lodge]

OOC: What a brilliant RP to start off with!

IC:

From: King Iqbal I
To: the Dynasty

I wholeheartedly support your return to power. But I wish that under your rule, you made life better for those who need care, those who need help. I will be willing to send a year-long peacekeeping force of 10,000 men to aid you revival.

[The Black Reich]

The message runner was bowed deeply on the floor before him, "Emissary Morrian, a message sir, from a foreign power. It... it was delivered to the border by someone who was openly asking for us."

Emissary Schaltur Morrian was the personal assistant to the Emperor Tyber Respus himself, no one, save the Emperor, was above him, and with a clicking of his fingers and a few waves of his hand, he could easily sentence the messenger and his family to death simply for knowing the location of the Emperor's chambers.

Today he gave no such order, he had no burning desire to demonstrate this power today, "thank you messenger, run along now and talk to the woman down that corridor, she will pay you for your services". The messenger, somewhat surprised no harm had come to him, tried to bow even lower before getting up and almost running away.

"Hmmmph, pathetic when the lower class grovels like that" he mused as he read the short excerpt. "My, my, isn't this interesting... the emperor would want to see this."

______

Emperor Respus was in his situation room with a number of his generals, the assembly was looking at a board showing a map of Reicha, along one side in the dark blue was the territory that was considered 'loyal' to Reicharia and the young Lord Minister, on the other side in red was the territory annexed by the Dynastic armies and other forces unwilling to submit to Reicharia.

"Our armies march splendidly General, from Storvingrad to Kerkhan, the equipment they are running with seems to be performing admirably from what my agents tell me." A curt nod and yes sir was the agreement.
"I also see our Imperial Marines and parachute divisions are prepared for their first assault against Herron Bay. How soon will they be ready Admiral Deans?"
"Six days your Eminence..."
An older woman, still looking every bit as lethal as she would have in her younger days (and who would probably look attractive if it wasn't for her cold mentality and her near constant frown) spoke up, "If it wasn't for your decision to impliment the cavern expansions for the production facilities we wouldn't have had anywhere near as much equipment as we do now."

"Yes Natasha, I know that, speaking of implimentation, how goes Project Prodigy?"

Natasha pulled out a small black file marked TOP SECRET in bold red letters, "Project Prodigy is working brilliantly, the boy commander is decimating Reichan forces ahead of him, and if he keeps this up, then there's no reason why we cannot speed the indoctrination and tactician training for Aloysius so that he's ready within the mon-." Natasha cut herself short and stared icily at Emissary Morrian, he had opened the door to the meeting chamber, a guard's arm who was holding the door open visibly shaking even though his arm was the only part seen.

Emperor Respus looked over and sighed, "For the love of my ancestors Schaltur, can't you just request permission to enter like everyone else?"
"Your eminence," Schulter's voice dripped with praise, his outstretched hand never coming into view away from the guard, "I bring important news, a nation wishes to assist us. They say they will provide 'peacekeepers', ten thousand to be precise."

Emperor Respus snorted in disgust, "Peacekeepers... Do they really think we actually WANT peace with those Reichan dogs? Come in, we shall discuss this once the meeting is adjorned..." he looked to the still shaking arm and looked back to Schulter, "you did that on purpose, didn't you?" Kaydan merely smiled. Whatever is wrong in his head, I don't know, and quite frankly I'm not sure I want to know... but by the ancestor's is he a good man to have as the head of secret police. Smart, silent, a perfectionist and maniacally homicidal, perfect mix to make people go away Respus thought.



"How much did he hear?"
"Everything" Schulter replied.
"This meeting is meant only for highest classification, ensure it stays that way" Respus said with a slight tinge of expectation in his voice.

The soldier began to beg for mercy, but never finished even his second word before a small spray of blood lashed across the room and he crumpled to the floor. With a satisfied grin and quick flick of his wrist, the blade Schulter had held to his neck disappeared back up his shirtsleeve and he began to shut the door.

"You're a sick bastard Morrian, the only reason you're here is because we don't want an intelligent genocidal maniac like you on the loose" Natasha growled.
"Takes one to know one, darling" Schulter said sweetly as the door to the room shut on them.
__________________________

From: Emperor Tyber Respus, Autarch of the Dynastic Empire
To: King Iqbal I, Leader of Eastfield Lodge

We appreciate your concern and support for our return to power. However, we do not require peacekeepers for our nation, this war is non-negotiable, too long have we bided our time, built our forces, and prepared for this day. We do not require that peace be established with Reicharia, we require that they be burnt to the ground, their cities turned to ash, and all trace of their beliefs wiped from this earth, much as they tried with us. Your request of our people is noted, but be advised that these people will learn their place once again before the might of the Empire, or they shall suffer accordingly.

This is not a time for forgiveness, this is a time for annihilation.

Respus paused for a moment, considering something that maybe, just maybe, might be of interest to this King Iqbal...

Further to this, if you wish to support our cause, send your ten thousand, have them meet our troops at the border near Grokha-Null, the top west of the attached map. If they make it, have your senior officer speak to our men, we shall entertain a proposition to you for future assistance.



The rewards shall be, well, vast and expansive, with plenty of room for growth and future generations, and good natural resources as well.
___________________________

[Eastfield Lodge]

The king was about to board the ship that would take him to the Anglo-Saxon Empire, and then he spotted a passer-by who had an evil look about him. Typical, the one messenger the palace had to send to him and it just had to be this one. Nearly everyone was afraid of him, and no wonder, considering 99% of the news brought by him was bad news.

Messenger: Your highness, I believe that I have a message for you.
King Iqbal: I expected as much. Who is it from?
Messenger: From Reicharia, Emperor Respus who heads the Dynasty.
King Iqbal: Give it to me and go! *watches him go* Well worded, and quite a fancy reward to be given. It looks as though I'm going to be compelled to send him the force.

---

From: King Iqbal I
To: Emperor Respus

I peronally recognise your belief in the destruction of your opponents, I myself nearly went the same after we won our recent civil war. I am afraid to say that I will personally not be going to Reicharia to meet you, as I have important matters elsewhere. We will send our 10,000 troops and should you need it, we shall also send our naval force to assist you in this genocide.

[Aima Tomeis]

"Yes, yes I understand that the man has been injured, I was there, I saw it happen! I've gone through all the proper diplomatic channels, and now I must speak with Lord Minister Carroner!"

"I'm sorry," says the female hospital orderly to the surprisingly sharply dressed visitor, "but the Lord Minister is under heavy guard. Even if you had authorization to see him, he is barely coherent! He has just recently woken up from the... incident. He can barely speak or move on his own. I simply can not allow you to go in there."

"Please Miss, all I ask is-"

"No!"

"Very well... will you then permit me to deliver a message through his security? Surely there are armed guards stationed to his room."

The orderly hesitates a moment. The Lord Minister's security detail had made it perfectly clear that no personnel other than his team of doctors, national advisers, and ranking guards would be allowed in the room. Still, no orders would be violated if she acquiesced this man's request. After all, he does have authentic diplomatic credentials.

"Aima... Tomeis..." she thinks to herself."Never heard of the place, but these are nearly impossible to fake."

"Very well, mister?...."

"No name."

"Oooh mysterious. Very well, follow me." The orderly leads the - apparently - government official down a network of corridors to Lord Minister Carroner's hospital room. At the sight of two unauthorized personnel approaching, the guards raise their rifles to firing positions.

"Identification, both of you!" barks one of the soldiers. The orderly and visitor both hand over their official ID's for inspection. The orderly speaks up, "This gentleman wishes to give a message to the Lord Minister."

"Neither of you are allowed in the room," says the same soldier. He looks at the orderly, "I was under the impression we made that crystal clear, Ma'am."

"My name is Jonathon Clarke," says the visitor. "I'm sure you did, Sir. And there is no reason either of us need be in the room at all. Would it be disobeying orders if one of you were to deliver the message?"

"Very well. What message would you have me deliver?"

"Just a moment..." says Mr. Clarke as he removes a pen and pad of paper from his suit pocket.

---

Lord Minister Carroner,

First, I would like to express my utmost desire for your speedy recovery.

On to business... I was in the city of Moretosa eight days ago and witnessed your attack. This was not the work of a single disgruntled citizen, but rather an orchestrated effort on behalf of a powerful enemy. The intelligence community has been following a disturbing trend for a while. Something called, 'The Dynasty' has claimed a return to power.

In short, my government has instructed me to offer whatever support is necessary to prevent a rebellion that would destabilize the region. I will be staying at the Grand Hotel in Moretosa.

Yours Sincerely,
Jonathon Clarke.

[The Black Reich]

Taking a soft breathe, Alexa spoke in an equally hushed whisper “Lord Minister... Nathan, it’s the Dynasty... they’re back”

"The Empire... no... the Imperial Dynasty, you say?" Carroner shook his head as best he could, the bandages around his head suddenly felt like they weighed a ton and a dull, yet very powerful thudding pain filled his skull and he clutched his head and hissed at the pain.

"Careful Nathan!" Alexa said as she steadied him, "By all rights you should be dead, if you hadn't turned your head the way you had you wouldn't be worrying about the grazing you got from that sniper round and your driver would probably still have the half of his neck and his head that are now missing."

"Guess granddad's still keeping an eye on me eh?" he said with a pained smile. "Must've been one hell of a round. I didn't use much during my time in the national service, but I know it had to be big like one of our heavy machine guns to get through the armour... I'm surprised I'm alive as well..."

Before Alexa could mention a reply Carroner spoke again, "but the Dynasty, impossible, we've kept an eye on the borders between our regions and the badlands for years, and our men in their territories to the west have never mentioned any rise in sizes. Matter of fact, we were actually starting to be accepted, so much so that we'd even managed to finally meet our recruitment quotas for the armed forces for the last six years..."

Alexa spoke again, "Nathan, it's those men, the men WE trained, that have defected back to the Dynasty, they used us."

Carroner took it in, his head started hurting again as he cursed his own naivety... it had been his decision all those years ago to finally allow the people of the lands that were classed as the diehard Dynastic strongholds the chance to fully integrate into Reichan society once more. It had also been his decision to even allow them the privilige of actually opting out of national service if they still felt resentment. He thought he was getting somewhere, the Reichan people had supported their re-development, built them heavy industry to rebuild their lives, trained their men to protect against the raiding parties and warlords from the badlands further west...

All that had come crashing down at that very moment.

A polite knock on the door and a quick cough brought the Lord Minister back from the anger building in his head. The trooper at the door promptly saluted as the Lord Minister turned to face him.

"What's the problem, Corporal?" Alexa asked in lieu of a word from Nathan
"Nothing ma'am, just a letter from a man, says he is a representative of some nation from the south, the doll on the front desk... errrm, sorry Ma'am, the Receptionist - Miss Gerran, said the ma'am gave her no name, but when he came to me he said he was a Mister Jonathon Clarke. If you don't mind my saying Ma'am, he had the look of a spook."

Alexa read the letter the Corporal gave her, then handed it to Nathan.

"Talk to Toby and tell him to see this Jonathon guy Alexa, but do make sure he does it on our terms." Alexa cringed, of all the people he could ask her to talk to, he had to ask her to have a chat with the cloak and daggers weirdo of his personal council. Granted it made complete sense to have the best guy possible there, but he was still creepy as hell to her, even after all these years.

"Don't worry, Toby doesn't bite the hand that feeds him, he'd miss the wild parties he gets to throw." Nathan said with a chuckle (which soon stopped when the pain kicked in again)

For some reason, Alexa just couldn't picture what type of parties a spymaster would throw... who'd know he was having one?
...

Two days later, and Toby Coltrane would be on a flight to the grand hotel in Moretosa, why this man had decided to stay in the area of Moretosa no one knew... after all, it was a full blown warzone now...

[The Black Reich]

THE CITY OF MORETOSA, SIX DAYS POST BOMBING

Private Michael Benson peeped through a small hole in the masonry of the brick wall in the building his platoon was in. It was his third day in combat in the city of Moretosa, and already he'd had to thoroughly wash his pair of pants and linen. The old hand's, those who had fought warlords in the shanty towns in the years before this in the 'Wild West of Reicha', like his Sergeant, said it was natural for a greenhorn, and to not be ashamed about it.

It still didn't make him feel any prouder when he'd finally got the chance to rinse them in a lull after the action, but he did feel a little better when he saw he wasn't the only one in the line to the broken water main.

"Hey, Benno! Got any smokes?" whispered a familiar voice - Michael's buddy Paul Winston looked the poster boy for a recruiting ad - young, fit, and cutting a dashing figure - but he was perhaps one of the shiftiest men in the platoon. If there was anything you wanted that wasn't in official stocks, it was almost guaranteed to be stocked by Paul's mates in unscrupulous circles. When asked about it he'd just shrug and smile, although Michael had heard he was related to one of the more accepted smuggler's out west - he supplied whatever Reicha wouldn't to the warlords, but only the ones who didn't go after Reicha itself... at least that's what Michael had heard anyway.

"Benno? Hey!" Paul whispered, louder this time, and gave him a quick poke with his finger into his arm, "Yeah yeah I heard you! Gimme a sec will you!?" Michael said, and gave Paul one of his cigarettes from his front pocket.

"You got a light?" Paul whispered again, "Shit Paul, aren't you meant to be the bloody go to man in this platoon?" Michael jibed as he lit his friends smoke. Paul inhaled the fumes and held it in place for a moment, smokes were getting hard to come by on the front even now, no one was prepared for combat, and right now extra troops and munitions preceeded extra cigarettes or tabacco in priorities for supply. "Yeah, I am, but sometimes I just like to take your stuff because I can" he quipped back with a grin.

"Cut your talking you pair of clowns, you want to get your heads blown off?" their Sergeant said, promptly straightening just a little, even if they were lying down in the rubble of some poor sod's house, the pair quietly shook a "no Sergeant" in near perfect timing with each other. "Well then, I suggest you keep paying attention to what's out there and focus on the game, when command orders us to move forward again, and they will, you'd better know the ground you're going to play on boys."

Michael looked out again, trying to take in the scene, their target position, or at least most likely avenue of advance, would be towards the school in front of them. The playground was relatively untouched, save for a slide that had felt the brunt of a misplaced mortar shell and was now a pile of twisted metal. The school, however, had taken the full force of a brace of powerful artillery shells, probably something like a 150 shell or bigger, a huge gaping wound and a crater half-filled with water was one remnant, the other shell had stuck and detonated deep in the side of a wall, the resulting blast had flung desks, chairs and papers everywhere across the field before them, burning papers having actually started a small fire which had burnt through the mid-morning and still let out small wisps of smoke from within the school itself.

Inside the school, and currently visible to his eye (if he knew where to look) was the snout of at least one enemy machine-gun position. The bodies of three of their men were testament to its presence, there was bound to be another in there, if this place was anything like the last stronghold they'd brought down, and knowing the rebels, they probably had the field sited in by at least one or two heavier shell firing weapons or infantry mortars.


The Dynastic Armouries Type 7 medium machine gun, known as the "Non-stop knocker" by the troops for its slow (for a machine gun) rate of fire, which meant the weapon seemed to fire for indefinitely longer periods of time than most other machine guns throughout the war, and had a distinctive sound of when firing; likened by many as being someone hitting a wooden door with a nail-gun repeatedly.

Even as he thought of this, Michael had to duck back behind cover as the Dynasty loyalists manning the noted machine gun took a fancy at firing a few rounds their way, the ominous TOK-TOK-TOK-TOK-TOK of the Nonstop Knocker's gunfire chilled Michael to the bone, especially when it's rifle calibre slugs blew a few chunks off the wall he was behind.

Michael was just preparing to fire back through one said hole when he heard an equally obvious sound - this one adored by all, the clanking of metal treads and the squeaking of drive sprockets... they were getting support!

All groaned when they saw the vehicle though, it was a Mark 3 Pattern A infantry tank, an 'Old Reliable', named after the vehicle's somewhat remarkable (some would say nigh-on-cursed) ability to become broken down, bogged, or otherwise incapacitated even before battle started - even now, the vehicle's loader, who often doubled as mechanic, was busily lifting the protective grills on the vehicle's engine, and swearing loudly at the heat of said covers. The engine was over-cooking again, a heinous design flaw by anyone's standards. Nonetheless, few could argue that these things, when they did get into action, weren't the bee's knee's with their 47mm cannon. These tanks packed a respectable amount of H-EX into their shells, unlike their cousins the Combat Tank with its higher velocity 40mm anti-tank cannon - those thing's rounds had a tendency to more likely scare the target as the shell did it's job and punched through the walls, and usually through the other walls before detonating against the next building.


A Mark 3 Pattern A infantry support tank similar to the one supporting the troops in Moretosa - despite their heavy armour and reasonable firepower for an early war design, these vehicles were renowned for their poor reliability, so much so they garned the sarcasm-filled nickname 'Old Reliables' from crew and troops alike. This one, not surprisingly, has been photographed when undergoing unit level field maintenance.

"Well gents, she may be a wheezer and a whiner, but we'll get her up there and help you boys out. Sergeant, I have orders from your platoon leader over the other side of the alleyway.” The vehicle commander reminded Michael just a little of the overly dramatic cavalry officer's he'd read of in the old story books, considering armour had been an offshoot of the Cavalry corps, it wasn't surprising this guy's moustache covered most of his mouth and seemed to move of its own free will whenever he spoke.

The unit Sergeant scooted across to the tank in a half-crouched run, pressed himself flat against the tank's armour between him and the nonstop knocker, and spoke briefly with the tank commander. With a quick salute, he scooted back to his men, checking the magazine on his Pears SMG as he did so... "Aww shit guys, looks like we get to be heroes today" Paul said to no-one in particular.

"Shut it for a second Winston, but you're right, it's time for us to get some glory boys. Our mission is to take that schoolground, now we know the Imperials have a position 'here', so we can expect them to have some sort of defilade happening from that building to the front right of us 'here', if we try up the guts without support we'll get nailed by one or both. So on our signal of a red flare from the tankies flare gun, we'll be given covering artillery support and the boys from the 2/10th will lay down some smoke for us to make our push. Bennings, Wiley and Tod, take those sticks of Dynamite we found in that hardware store, and your own grenades of course, and push to the right - try and hit those bastards in the second building to get rid of the crossfire. You other five are with me, Schultz and Barney, hang back and give cover fire with your Hatchet LMG, us three, yes, you and Benson, will guts it with the tank. Relax guys, I've done this with these guys dozens of times, do what I say and you might live through it - you've all done well so far."

The Pears SMG, common equipment for Reichan front-line officers and NCO in the early years of the war, a design hampered only by the limited magazine capacity and low stopping power of its light .38 cal round.

The attack begin, as stated, with the tank commander's very flare arching through the sky - a trio of flares in response arose from along the line, and a dull cacophony of drums - heavy artillery from the divisional line - heralded the beginning of another push in the city centre...

[Aima Tomeis]

(OOC: I really am sorry for the delay, things are kind of hectic for me.)

Jonathon Clarke's room is dark. Eerily dark. The lights went out in his hotel room a week ago, a mere thirty-six hours after the first attack in Moretosa. Presumably a stray shell struck the area's power substation, deenergizing the grid. Or, equally likely, the powers that be merely stopped paying the electric bill for the now devastated war zone. Either way, Jonathon Clarke sinks into his chair and takes a sip of his Martini- shaken, of course. Never stirred.

"Disgusting!," he thinks as he promptly spits it to the carpet. "Ian Fleming has it all wrong. This is terrible!" Working as the go-to-guy for Aima Tomeis' intelligence agency for nearly a decade now, he has always felt himself to be a sort of super spy. He will never let the feeling of pride cloud his awareness of the real world of course, but in all the time that passed since he first read Casino Royale, he had simply never gotten around to trying the drink.

He drags himself out of his comfortable chair to the ice chest in the kitchen and pulls out a cold beer. He cracks it open and takes a drink. "Not bad..." he says quietly. "If they accept the offer I'll have to ask about the local brews." He wanders towards the sliding doors leading to the balcony. He opens them and- against security orders- steps out into the pleasant night breeze. Though the building is riddled with bullet holes, this part of the city is remarkably free of damage. In a cruel irony, the raging fires of combat in the northern part of the city cast a warm glow on the horizon.

He looks out over the neighborhood and takes another drink of the local beer. "It's tragic, really. I'm sure this was a beautiful city." After a few more moments with his thoughts, he steps back into the room, securing the doors and curtains behind him. Setting his drink on the night stand, he collapses onto his bed. Within minutes he falls asleep, wondering just why the hell all his stations seem to get blown up.

[Eastfield Lodge]

Admiral Flavius Adams stepped off the ship as it docked into Lodgertia. 3 months he had been away, and the city was just about rebuilt in that time. The King is running a very fine line here, he thought, he shouldn't be supporting the genocidal maniacs in the Dynasty. He made up his mind, and set off for the imperial palace.

---

At the imperial Palace:

King: So, what do you want admiral?

Admiral: As your main political advisor, I would go against the route you are taking.

King: What route?

Admiral: Your role in the genocide in the Reichan Civil War.

King: And why would that be the case?

Admiral: (noticing the anger building up inside his monarch) The people of this mighty country will rebel against you when you go, I am sure of it. They will see you sending needless thousands of lives to be lost in a foreign war and will be angered by it. They've had enough.

King: Thanks for telling it straight. You shall have martial law command over the country while I'm gone.

Admiral: But...don't I need to go. I mean, I do command the navy.

King: That's where you're mistaken, admiral. I was an admiral in my days, and I will lead the forces.