La Marseillaise [Septentrion]

[Nova Sylva]

“Pierre! Pierre, we have to go!”

Cloudiness. Ears ringing. What the hell just happened?

“Pierre, come on! We can't stay!”

That shouting... Catharine! But where is she? And what's this noise all of a sudden? The ringing has stopped, but...

“Pierre!”

Catharine! Where are you?

“Pierre, help!”

Catharine?

Scream.

Gunshot.

Silence.

Chapter One
Élémentaire, Mon Amour

Saint Flavitus Church
Parlent, Aurde

Pierre Delacroix sighed to himself as he sat through the Sunday morning sermon, drifting in and out of attention as the homily came to a close. Pierre still dreaded services every week, despite growing up in a Catholic household. His sister, continuing the tradition of their late parents, was the driving force behind his attendance.

The main reason he had gone today, however, was not the sermon, but the man behind it – Bishop Picard. More than just a priest, Picard spoke of radical change in Aurde. He spoke of republicanism, of democracy – of equal rights in government for Catholics and Akari alike. That’s what interested Pierre. His father had been killed by Aurdecois government after speaking out in favor of free religion, and his mother from the grief that followed.

“Shush! Don't start,” Catharine Delacroix scolded in hushed English at her brother's audible sigh. “After services we'll go for breakfast, all right?”

“Oui,” Pierre replied in monotone.

Saint Flavitus Church of Christ was the only church serving the small village of Parlent, and it was an oddity for the region of Aurde: it was a Catholic chapel. The entire town was actually Catholic, recognizing Pope Chrisanthos IX as the head of their church. Most of southern Aurde was like this – loosely inhabited by Catholic farmers, who lived life as best they could in the face of royal authority.

Pierre perked up as he heard a noise coming from a cracked window to his left; an odd noise not commonly heard in this village on a Sunday: a large truck. Pierre knew deliveries only came on Tuesdays to this sleepy village, and he was positive that even an urgent delivery would never come on a Sunday. By the time he had time enough to contemplate this, the noise had already passed, and Pierre went back to other distractions from the sermon until he felt a cool chill at his back. Turning around towards the door, he saw that the breeze came from the now ajar wooden doorway to the small chapel, and in said open doorway stood the silhouette of a man holding a circular object. Pierre looked back at the priest, who had taken a moment to raise his bespectacled face in confusion, before he heard the man shout with a resounding echo throughout the house of worship.

“La mort à la papauté!”

The man tossed the object towards the alter, which overshot and hit the back wall behind the minister. In the few moments of confusion, a faint beeping could be heard. Before the minister could realize his predicament, he was engulfed in a semtex-induced ball of fire, which quickly ripped throughout the chapel. Catharine pulled Pierre down underneath the pew, however he was caught on the side of the face by wooden shards and knocked unconscious as he hit the tile floor. Pulling desperately, Catharine began shouting at her brother to get up and come with her.

“Pierre! Pierre, we have to go!” she shouted at the seemingly lifeless young man.

Looking up, Catharine watched in horror as six men clad in balaclavas and military fatigues entered the chapel calmly, armed with rifles and sub-machine guns. They began to mercilessly kill those survivors who were trying to resist their fate and escape, and as the first shots rang out Catharine hit the floor.

“Pierre, come on! We can't stay!”

The sound of the men's boots echoed closer and closer, until finally one of them was upon her. He signaled in French to a colleague who walked over while he locked eyes with her. He saw fear in her lovely, pale blue orbs; real fear.

“Pierre!” she shouted, now tearing furiously as she shook her brother. Her eyes remained locked with the man in the black mask who now pointed at her. She could almost see the grin underneath the cloth.

“Pierre, help!” she cried out at her still inanimate brother while one of the masked men raised her to her feet and stepped back. Sobbing, she looked towards the masked man facing her, who raised his sidearm to be level with her forehead. She stood fearful, caught as if a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.

“Désolé, mon cherie.”

Catharine's lip quivered, and she let out a horrifying scream before being silenced by the .45 caliber bullet which caused her thin frame to go limp; her blood stained the wall behind her. Shooting throughout the rest of the town gradually subsided as most of the villagers had been at the chapel. A few of the houses were set alight, however the chapel itself was spared the torch. Their work done, the men of the Armée Royale de Aurde loaded back into their truck, and left Parlent.

Manderfort
Outskirts of Civray, Aurde

“Magnifique.”

King Augustus Manderfell of Aurde smiled with grim delight as he listened the report issued to him by the Army.

“Your Majesty,” came a voice from the door.

“Oui,” he responded, “Enter.”

“Our forces have begun reporting back,” a female Army colonel said, bowing as he approached, “Numerous Catholic villages in the south have been cleansed successfully. The Second Brigade says it will begin the cleanup soon.”

“Oui,” he said, “Merci, Colonel.”

The Colonel nodded curtly, and retreated from the office. As she did so, Augustus Manderfell rose from his chair, and shut the LCD screen mounted above the fireplace opposite his desk off. He turned around, towards the beautiful view of the city of Civray which expanded outside of his office window. Civray, a city of 700,000 souls and the ancestral capital of Aurde, was both large and quaint at the same time. It was large in size, but it was hardly a metropolitan city. Much of the city's industry was based on the agriculture of the outlying countryside, and whatever industry called the city home mostly served said agriculture. This city was impressive, and moreover, it was his.

So was the building he currently inhabited, thirty kilometers from the city center but still well within the metroplex. The grand hall whose stone pillars and great arches stood as the centerpiece of Royal authority was his home, known as Manderfort. It looked the part – intimating stone walls lined the perimeter, alongside battlements and slot windows. From a distance, it looked oddly antiquated – but in truth, a dedicated IADS system, multiple SAM launchers, recoilless rifles, machine gun nests and the like lined the turrets and walkways, and the walls themselves had been reinforced with rebar infused blast resistant concrete.

At first, the devoutly Akari King had sought inspiration from the Achesians: he recognized the Achesians pontiff, and had found great allies in the Realm. His only issue with them was their list for blood. Especially that of infidels, like Aurde's large Catholic population.

And with an Achesian royal visit to Aurde imminent, Augustus Manderfell wanted to make sure that they were impressed at his cleansing of the unbelievers. But at the same time, he deeply regretted the deaths of his subjects. If it were up to him, he wouldn't kill any of them at all. The problem was, it wasn't his decision. If the Achesians were happy with his work, perhaps additional aid, economic and military, would come to his country in the near future. But, of course, that hinged on the success of his cleansings.

As such, he had ordered the Second Armored Brigade, the infamous Deus Vult, to "cleanse the country’s southern reaches of the Catholic infidels." He hadn't ordered them to slaughter the Catholics. He had ordered the brigade to move all openely Catholic citizens to camps, and kill their priests - hoping that would have the desired effect without the mass slaughter the Achesians desired.

The Deus Vult Brigade, translated into “God Wills It,” was one of the King’s most trusted formations – full of diehard loyalists that lived to serve the Monarchy. Evidently, though, not his monarchy. Evidently the Achesians had gone over Manderfell and ordered his army directly. And today, they were doing God’s work.

It infuriated him. But what could he do? If he expelled the Achesians from his country, the economy would collapse. But if he let them stay, society would. It was a catch-22. But Augustus had a plan. He always had a plan.

Augustus reached forward, touching the glass as if feeling the city outstretched before him. He smiled, and stroked the window as if soothing a trembling child.

“Élémentaire, mon amour. Aujourd'hui, tout changera.”

[Achesia]

Civery, Kingdom of Aurde, December the 27th-

There were only five runways that could allow for the landing of one of the largest commercial planes in the sky, the M700 Regal Heron. The lumbering bird was a magnificant sight of engineering to see and drew a large crowd wherever they landed. But when the Regal Heron was painted in the violet and white livery of the Royal Family of Achesia, even larger crowds gathered to see one of the wonders of the world.

Outfitted with advanced communications equipment to keep it in contact with the vast military arsenal of Achesia at all times, upgraded engines to allow it to fly faster and take off shorter than any frame in its class, and electronic pods that were classified above the heads of even some who worked at military headquarters. The Regal Heron nicknamed "King Whale" shook the ground all around King Flavien International Airport in Civray as its seventy eight landing wheels skidded the runway before the full weight of the craft rested on earth. Crowds of spectators both on the terminals upper viewing deck and the media holding area oo'ed and Ah'ed as the jet slowly stopped. The craft taxied to the edge of the massive air complex, shutting all traffic to the airport down as its wings overlapped three runways at once.

Cameras rolled and reporters chattered as the King Whale inched towards them, numerous ground guides flashed their lights and signaled the aircraft as it found its way to its designated holding area. Security was tight at the airport today as Royal Aurde security forces locked down the entire airport and its surrounding area (which included one of the biggests open air markets in the country). Militerized police vehicles rumbled along the roads mounted with weaponry of all types both lethal and non-lethal. Attack helicopters flew overhead monitering the skies and ground for any danger. Royal Guardsmen stood vigal in the receiving area, their uniforms pressed, brass shined, and weapons shouldered. Riot police lined the streets where analysts suspected there would be even a hint of unrest at the arrival of the Crown Prince, His Majesty James the Nineth of Requient.

Princess Pricilla Manderfield

Dignitaries, nobles, and diplomats from both the Kingdom of Aurde and Achesia were present in the receving area which had been set up to support the huge King Whale. The red carpet had literally been rolled out for this event which marked the 30th aniversery of the Defense Concordance between the two nations. Since that date the two nations have remained close allies through thick and thin, but most outside of Aurde or within the opposition of Aurde saw the concordance as nothing but the nations servitude to Achesia, who they now feared pulled the strings of their government. This stiff opposition only recently resulted in public discent as riots have broken out accross the country to protest the monarchy.

Standing center of the red carpet as the principle member of the welcoming party was Her Majesty Princess Pricilla of Manderfield, the second in line to the throne of Aurde. She was known as a beauty that would rival that of many princesses throughout the world, even some said those Requient Princesses across the ocean. But compairsons like that were dangerous to make, best not to bite the hand that feeds. Rather she stood solemnly waiting for the plane to come to a complete stop, its crawling mass turning before her to reveal its port side, the turbofan engines kicking up a stiff breeze that swept her blonde hair out from the neat bun that her handmaidens labored hours to prepare. As several of her servents rushed to fix her hair she simply raised a white gloved hand. The two handmaidens stopped in their tracks, the Princess simply unclipped her hair and let it flow, the long blonde locks were the envy of fashion magazines a world over. She bowed her head to brace her face from the wind, her stomach turned as the plane powered down with a loud hum, he would soon be here. Her father the King told her that she would do best to try and impress the Crown Prince, "Women in your position stand to become much more if they impress the right people." Were the words he stated earlier that day. He was of course refering to Priscilla becoming the next Ackules (T: High Queen) of Achesia, if James the Nineth took any notice to her.

Her mother the queen had taken great steps to ensure that the Crown Prince would take notice of her. Tending to her hair early in the morning, picking out the dress that would be just the right color and length, Powder Blue and two inches above the knee to be exact. She even recalled her mother adjusting her bosom before she left the royal palace, "its only approtprate to let princes have less to imagine, for them we loose some of our dignity". This was ten times worse the her last royal visit by a prince, Prince Largo of Lamenstein. For that she nearly pulled her hair out, but this... From the way her parents were acting she actually felt fearful of what was to come, rather than frustration for the preperation of this visit. "The Requients are the Kings of Kings." She overheard her father telling her mother the day before last. "Truth be told... I answer to them." She remember hearing the shame in her father's voice, a father who always held such a regal pride of their house and kingdom. But if what she has been told is true about this powerful family, it would be easy to believe god himself would stress a Requient visit.

Prince James

The stairs were finally drawn to the side of the plane and the doors were opened with a hiss. All around them the sounds of the powerful bird powering down continued. And even through all the calmour the Royal Guard Seregent shouted his commands for the regiment to come to attention. The soldiers were wearng their light blue dress uniforms decorated with many medals, they each wore tall shakos with white feathers mounted in the center. Each man within the ranks held a polished and shined rifle that harkened to wars decades in the past, while their officers and non-comissioned officers wore blades used in wars centuries in the past. It was a regal welcoming fit for a king of old, and as the Royal Achesian Guard dismounted the plane to prepare for the Prince's debarkation the camera shutters of rhe press began to flicker.

If out of no where there Prince James stood, entirely imposing with dark hair and gaze. His dress was the traditional military dress, black dress coat and pants with a inverness coat overtop of it all. His sleeves of both coats were embroidered in red symbolizing the rank of general but with crown affixed to the top to diferentiate him as royalty. He wore several rows of medals on the right and left of his chest, with badges to signify higher awards or specializations. His shoes claped with the steel staircase as he stepped down onto the red carpeted tarmac. The press still absorbing him as he strutted towards the Aurdian Princess.

As he neared her she gracefully degloved her right hand, he took it with every ounce of dignity and chivalrous charm, and planted a light sign of polite affection on the top of her hand. He look up at her with his dark lighting struck green eyes, peering over her dimpeled face and sleek skin, he transfixed her in his gaze as he studied the apparent fear and awe in her eyes. His concious almost seemed to peirce her, which frightened her even more so, she felt as though in his gestured kiss the world had frozen, and in the slowest of motions he came to stand over her as if he were a being of intangable existance. The sheer power of his presence seemed to send her into a comatose, and as she watched his lips move to form words that existed within the plane of reality she struggled to take herself out of this dementia.

"... to meet you." She only caught the last but of his greeting. She stood there for a momment, still a bundle of nerves, Prince James almost asked her if she was alright before she finally responded. She curtsied deep and lowered her gaze as was appropriate for a woman to do.

"The pleasure is mine your grace." She came to stand beside him. They walked forward together, passing many dignitaries of all stations, the Achesian Ambassador, The Aurdian Minister of Defense, several Lords and Dukes of different heraldries, the line of people trying to shake hands with the prince was un-ending. She stood there and simply did what princesses due on such occasions, smile and look pretty for the camera, and she certianally was doing well at that. She caught the occasional glance from the Prince who looked her up and down and down and up from time to time. It was a curious action which she wondered if it was but a polite gesture to flatter a young maiden. He was only two years older than the nineteen year old princess, and lived up to every word thay would describe Achesian royalty. As the guards presented their arms and dipped their flags the two walked past to the waiting cars, on which the hoods were decorated with both the flags of Aurde and Achesia.

The guard opened the black SUV's door as the royals approached. "The car will bring you to the heliport you majesties." He said as the Prince helped Pricilla by taking her hand as she sat down in the back seat of the car. The door was closed behind them as the car drove off to their destination less than a mile away, the next car pulled up to bring the rest of the dignitaries. Pricilla sat completly still in her seat next to the Prince as the press and crowd wizzed by. Her legs were all goose bumps as the cabin of the vehicle was awkardly quiet.

Prince James looked over to his host who strained to not make eye contact. He could tell she was all nerves, but it was of no consequence to him, he used this momment of her inner distraction to take a good look over the young woman. He followed every inch of bare skin along her legs as they curved up and around bellow her skirt. Her looked as if it was out of a Pollaiuolo painting, even the way her thighs rested on the leather seats was a thing of beauty. Her posture was that of a trained lady whom was bred to carry herself as a thing of pride and beauty. His eyes followed up her abdomen which even while sitting was flat and curved as it flowed into her breasts. James may have met one of the most impressive Princess that ever paraded infront of him. He noticed her breathing getting faster as he watched her bosom rise and fall. He smirked as he saw the innocent fear in her eyes, a carnel intimidation that was evidence of a naive existence that the subject knew was soon to end. He smirked as he looked her in the eye that she dared to shoot a glance his way.

"A beautiful country." He looked deep into her jewels that shown back with a wet emotion of admiration.

"Your most kind." A soft braying was the most adapt description of the young Princesses tone. Every word exiting her lips a trained curtesy that was etched in her soul. "My father hopes that we can forge today a continoued path for our two nations to work together." She relayed the typical retoric that came with the flattery of politics.

Prince James seemed to not even hear as he looked over the distant mountains. He knew when to listen to important words of a meaningful speakers or to let empty phrases and compliments fall upon the rocks of his minds shore. He looked over to the girls wide eyes once more, she stared at him waiting for his next dictation, wondering if what she had said did not sound as sweet as she tried to make it, or maybe she was not as pleasing to the prince as her parents had hoped. But she watched as a smile crossed his face and his eyes looked back into hers, she wondered if he had some way of reading her every intimate fancey that frolicked in her mind. The thought of such a breach of her inner sanctum brought a blush to her white cheeks that made Prince James chuckle.

"I think Aurde has a beauty that not all have come to realize or appreciate." He stroked her cheek with his two fingers, her eyes closing in sweet blissful enchantment. She felt herself slipping away to a place in her mind where the world did not exist, and where it was only the two of them. She smiled as she still kept her eyes such, moving her hand to follow his fingers down as they graced her skin.

James retracted as the vehicle stopped at the heliport, the doors soon opened and he steped out first, again offering his hand to the Princess who gracefully exited. He let her walk ahead of him to the waiting helicopter dressed in the colors and flag of the Kingdom of Aurde. He watched her buttocks up and down from side to side as she strode infront of him. Yet another naive maiden all to eager to fall away with him, so ripe for the taking. He smiled a charming grin as she looked back at him, fixing her blonde locks that flowed in the wind of the rotorblades. Her smile was that of a pure hearted youth, whom would never know the nature of the devil she was now acquainted with.

[Achesia]

Manderfort, Castle Home of the House of Manderfield, Royalty of the Kingdom of Aurde
30km Outside of the Capital City of Aurde
11:55pm December the 31st

If you listened close enough the breaths of beclouded antichamber would wisp by your ear as you sat against its dry floor. The flicker of candlelight tricked the eye into seeing each rise and fall of the stone as the beast of the structure lived all around you. But in any normal chamber these small details would be your fixation. Yet in this chamber the core of your mind was intent on watching the smooth black surface of the oblisk which dominated the 10 meter high shrine chamber. Its edges exact in their formation, as if a machine cut them with laser precesion, its black cool color pefect as a starless night sky, and its base etched in symbols and glyphs would take you as if they were printed by computer. But to be in this room you knew in truth that this statue of indimidation and dark forboding was far older than any machine that would be capable of making such a replica, and some clerics even citing its age was beyond that of man.

The winter solstice in the Kingdom of Aurde on the surface was a happy time within the kingdom for its people to celibrate the ending of one year and the birth of the next. For the Christians it was a time in which their savior was born to them, but many in this day kept celebrations of such a nature to their church, and in their homes. For the offical state religion of the Achari Sumari was the only holiday that would be talked about in the media, the only greeting you would hear on the street "May the new sun bless you!" And the only religion you wanted to belong it if you wanted to make any importance of yourself within the nation. It was not always that way, but when 40 years ago the nation was falling apart and saw its people starving, the only people to save them were the Achesians. So naturally along with their helping hand, they brought a holy hand in the form of religious conversion.

It was not forced, no one held them at gunpoint and made them swear to the Achari Cult. But after a few years of the nation being exposed to it, and gradually its base growing, the old religions fell aside. When finally the Royal Family took the Achari Sumari as their offical religion, it became the thing to be. The new state religion is what you wanted to be apart of if you wanted to make a decent income, or gain more power. And as this began to take hold of the people, gradually suspiction fell on those who remained Christian, with labels like fanatic being thrown around. While this remains as only a slight problem (only 1 in 5 professing to be another religion than the state religion) most found it easy to convert to the Achari Sumari. The holidays remained almost the same, still a tree remained for the winter solstis, with presents being exchanged as per usual. Only the crosses were now suns, and instead of baby jesus it was a small prick of your own blood. The people of Aurde were a hard working cut whom did not fear the own sight of their blood, why not lay a few drops to the preists at temple for the annual festival of the sun?

But Princess Priscila Manderfield was to endure a whole different level of the Achari Sumari. A different holiday, not one of happy festivties, but one of sacrafice. As she wore the traditional white robe of a female she sat on her knees, only a thin cloth guarding her skin against the rough stone. Her eyes flickered as she watched the mirror like jet black surface of the oblisk, she felt like she could hear faint voices conversating within its glistening stone oddity. But soon all otherearthly and earthly sounds were drowned out by the chanting of the preist who stood now between her and the oblisk. She almost missed her que to chant with the others as the small crowd said the words of devotion. She look over to the others as they spoke in the old strange tounge, her own mouth struggling with the lengthy dictations but her mothers effortlessly receiting the passages just as the dutiful wife and queen she was. Her fathers words as normal were but grunts under his phlemy voice, his beard growing more discontorted as time progressed, the stress of recent hostilities within the nation taking their toll. Her brother looked as lost as she did, not belonging in this queer room chanting these queer psalms. But kneeling infront of the rest was the one whom she was most perplexed in.

Prince James Requeint knelt silently before the oblisk, his head bowed in a reverence she had not before seen during such a ceremoney in her life, he was silent in his worship of the thing, his black hair almost a direct match to the surface of the dark monument. That she labeled it odd in her mind. As the chant neared its end he sat up from his solo reverence taking in a deep breath as he swept his black male robes behind him. The next installment of the ceremoney came sooner than she would have liked, but Pricila was most interested of getting it out of the way for another year. They all stood up, hands folded infront of them at they slowly approached the alter which was crafted before the black oblisk. Pricila stood frozen as the first to approach the alter was her own father. Standing before it he stood cold and strong, she didn't think there was any fear at all in him as he took the dagger from the priests hand. The golden hilt and bladed teased with the candlelight, and the crimson blood of the man seemed to emanate its own lucent call as he slid the edge across his palm. A slight wince was the only satisfaction of pain the insidious sharp of the ceremonial weapon would get from the King of Aurde. He stood for a momment as his own fluids ebbed from his hand, waiting till his palm was a lake of red horror, then stepping forward to place his palm on the oblisk. For a small momment she thought she saw a flicker shine on the very peak of the ominous thing, but the candlelight was very ticky to the eye.

The ceremoney went on for several more momments as each member of the Royal Family of Aurde approached the throne and gave the monument their sweet tribute of their own lifeforce. Pricila was now next, and as she watched her brother place his hand on the black surface she knew her time had now come. Behind her however she heard a slight suffling, and over her shoulder came a warmth of another, someone arched their head over to her ear, the heat of their breath whisping around her lobes.

"Can you feel its power?" Prince James whispered as she waited her turn. "Has is spoken to you? In years past?" He inquired as she stood completly still, the preist waited a momment as the Prince spoke to her. "Listen when you put your hand on the stone, listen to what it says..." She felt his finger along the small of her back which was bare in her white ceremonial robes. The skin of his fingers glided along the ridge of her spine, a sensation like no other accompanying it. She almost felt herself drifitng away as he whispered into her ear more, but soon all she heard him saying was "Go..." To which she obeyed. For those whom had seen the Princess preform this ceremoney in years past they would notice her gathering confidence in the matter. Perhaps the Prince gave her words of favor, perhaps he would fancey her his queen. The members of the royal family would hope for as much, for a connection with the Requients of Achesia would be unequalled in status and power.

Princess Pricila walked over to the preist who handed her the blade. It was remakrably cold for gold that had been handled by many in the most recent minutes. And its blade was remarkably clean for that which had graced the fleash of so many. With a strange and uncharecteristic lack of hesitation she danced the knife across her palm, opening it to pour fourth her bodies fruit. As her ruby red blood pooled she stepped towards the oblisk, its cool black surface still flickering, glistening, and now even moving stood. Least that is how it appeared to her as she placed her palm on the cool surface. As she felt its cool surface along her blood dampened palm, she got rhe strangest sensaation that her arm had pushed through the stone as if it were just a liquid and into the center, she did nothing to struggle against the thing for her body answered no calls to thrash or struggle. But as it enveloped her she could feel it all around, as if she was swimming in it. Then, that is when the voice came, like no other she had heard.

"One of three...One of three...One of three..." It was shrill and whisperish the voice around her, worse it felt as if a thousand arms reached out at once to grasp her, robes didnt protect her from their black ashen flesh either. She could feel every corse, dark, and molten hand on her skin as they felt her every member. "One of three..." It repeated, as one hand reach up and around her neck, its dark thumb pressing down along her jugular. She gasped but it only let in the dark ichor that had enveloped her.

As if the momment she passed out from the dark hand of death, she awoke back in the chamber. She was laying flat on the ground before the oblisk, many faces surrounding her in concern.

"Shes breathing, shes breathing." One cried as several others rushed over. Four guards dressed in ceremonial grab rushed to pick her up. "Get her to the physician!" She heard her father's voice. But as they lifted her she found she couldn't respond, or move. But her eyes... They could move, and see... See Prince James in the distance, looking at her, ominous in his expression. His dark eyes, his eyes told her... He had heard too... One of three....

[Achesia]

Manderfield Castle
Civary, Kingdom of Aurde

Pricila had lay in bed for nearly three days after the ordeal in the dark chamber shrine under the belly of the castle. She had been tended to by nurse, doctor, priests, and physicians whom have entered and exited her chamber more times than she could count. Finally after days of tests and care by almost any medical professional imaginable, the Princess was allowed to leave her chamber. The doctor attributed her episode to loss of blood... something she tried to explain away as she recounted her dark forbidding dreams of that night, but the kind old man with glasses resting on the tip of his freckled and wrinkling nose assured her that though the amount of blood she had lost at the tip of the golden ceremonial dagger that night, he was not surprised she had seen a few things.

"Votre temps au lit est fini maintenant Votre Altesse."

"Your time in bed is over now your highness."

He smiled a warm aged smile as he stood up, clipboard in hand, clicking his pin to hide its silver point before he secured it in his coat pocket. "Je suis sûr que vous serez heureux de prendre une bouffée d' air frais."

"I am sure you will be pleased to get a breath of fresh air."

"Donc je vais."

"So I will."

She managed a half concerted grin before turning it back into a straight faced cowl. She knew what she had seen, but what would she make of it. The very thought of recounting the dark vivd images of a thousand ghostly hands gripping at her body shuddered her to the core of her being. Yet the explanations she was being given did nothing to warm her from their embrace. It was time that she made something of all this... the doctor was right... she needed fresh air.

There was only a few places where Pricila knew that she could gather the wits around her essence and delve deep into her spirit, and her very favorite offered a sort of bliss that she missed of her early childhood. Before the cares of being an adult and royal burdened her with a thousand thoughts of responsibility. The castle gardens was such a place where the peace of mind could almost speak to her. She quickly assembled herself into a sort of gown, something appropriate to be seen throughout the halls in, but casual enough as to not take a party of aids to put on. The cool beige gown slipped over her very lightly as the silk covered her porcelain skin. Her single servant ensured that her hair did not get sullied in the process, protecting her blonde locks as the princess prepared herself.

The sounds of the halls beyond her room was something she missed greatly, a massive airy stone that seemed to creak and whisper all on its own. It was almost overwhelming however when she first felt the warmth of the sun on her skin and face as she stepped out into the garden. With no time at all however she found her favorite spot by the pond, sitting down on a rocky edge that let her almost pet the fish that swam about carelessly. The rock under her bare thighs was cold and unforgiving as the silken short gown did nothing to protect her, but after days in her warm stuffy chamber it was a welcome feeling.

It would be hours that she spent in the garden, looking over the fish as they danced about, trying to forget the images in her mind... one of three.. what did that even mean? She pondered the words, and the princes empathetic stare that she quite vividly remembered as she was carried from the chamber. What did he know about this... or maybe he knew nothing? But he talked about them speaking to her... but who is them? The elder gods? The answers to all of these questions were lost on her as the wind chilled her scalp, wiping up her hair. And as she felt the cold reach to grab her bones, so did the startling messenger who creeped up beside her.

"Madame"

"M'lady."

The soft spoken words of a young girl servant said. Pricila looked up to find the brunette girl bowing to her, the top of her head the only feature of the aid that she could discern. "Votre père et le prince James demandent votre présence dans sa chambre."

"Your father and Prince James request your presence in his chamber."

She spoke to the ground.

"Très bien."

"Very well."

Pricilla's lips pursed as if it was not news... but it was not often she was called to such a place within the castle. Just a girl princess called to the chamber where most important decisions in the Kingdom were made. She followed the servant through the winding halls and to the oaken doors of her fathers cavernous study. Before the doors were made ajar for her the girl servant turned to her.

"Madame il est pas trop tard pour changer de garde-robe si vous le souhaitez."

"M'lady it is not too late to change wardrobe if you so wish."

The girl referred to her beige silken gown that only reached mid thigh, it was a trendy youthful dress of this generation, but hardly what one would think to meet with heads of state in. However Pricila had a feeling that due to her several intimate encounters with Prince James that her attire would not offend him in any way.

She could hear the shrill tones of an intense argument as the doors began to crack, but not a second longer as her entrance stopped whatever bickering there was within the room. Before her she could see several men, the Prince and her father included all standing or sitting around a round wooden table that sat in a corner of the massive chamber. The other men were ministers or advisors of her father, some red faced from the previous arguments she presumed. But as she approached they reached bowed in her presence.

"Soirée ma dame."

"Evening my lady."

She recognized the Minister of State as he bowed, though she could not remember his name. Was it really evening though? Her time in the garden paced fast before her, loosing all place she had in time. Each minister and advisor gave their greetings to the Princess as she stepped towards them all, she slightly knelt her he'd and dipped ever so slightly at the knee. Her father looked her up and down, in obvious disapproval of her wardrobe. While Prince James looked her up and down, there was not the same sense of negativity about him. He took his chance in the silence to greet her in his own way, softly hooking her fingers with his he brought her hand up to his sinking face, kissing her hand softly, his eyes up turned to her large green orbs that were wide and focused on him. There was a moment for which she could almost feel an exchange of thoughts, but then before she could grasp that thought it was gone.

"I am glad M'lady is better. And hope she feels as such." He said his words of duty and empathy as any gentleman should.

"My Prince is so kind." She knelt once more, smiling. The room fell silent before a moment, as the Ministers each looked as if they were lost in this endeavor, not knowing whether to take up their original heated argument in-front of the princess or start exchanging polite courtesies.

They however were relived of this burden as the Prince gave them only one option. Turning to a painting on the wall, a painting of a dark dreary forest, with a fog of some ill contempt lumbering over it.

"Leave us." His tone was deeper and more contentious than the voice that he had just addressed her. She studied him for a moment as he only looked back over his shoulder to see the ministers exit the large oaken door, small murmurs and chatters exchanged as they left. Prince James and her father were far more dressed up for this strange occasion than she was, her father in a suit and tie, and Prince in yet another military uniform. She had been warned before that the Requients never stray too far from war. As the last footsteps ended and the door creeped shut, Prince James turned back to them once more, looking over to her father, the King.

Her father's face grew grim, she knew that whatever was being discussed was not being spoken in the most kind of terms.

"I cannot entertain this." The older man grunted as he turned to his own desk. He crossed his arms, as if a child that would not budge from his place.

"You will do as my father has commanded you." The Prince sternly reminded as he stepped forward. Pricila was impressed with the authoritative nature of the young man, only a few years older than she. He had a clenched fist that now rested on the backrest of one of the wooden chairs. "We have not failed to ensure the continoued hold on your nation Augustus... Your lack of faith will surely be your undoing, forsaking us is not the path to prosperty for your rule." The prince took a soft a more diplomatic tone. He looked over to Pricila and smiled, unsure if it was his bright and devious expression, or her manners that made her smile back, while taking a lead over a strand of hair. Prince James walked over to the girl who stood there as a silent audiance to this. She shook a bit in the cold air of the cavernous chamber. Her small gown surely not warm enough for such a climate. James took notice and as any proper gentleman should, took off his coat and placed it around her shoulders. She smiled at him brightly as she clutched the lapel of the black military uniform. The cold plate metal of the medals that adorned his left side tickled her fingers for a momment as she got her grasp.

"Thank you my Prince." She kindly regared him as he stood there not in his red military dress shirt, with black paints and matching stripe. He smiled back to her, taking his hand and gently running it down her left cheek, then wrapping his thumb and index finger along her jaw caressing it down while slightly and affectionatally squeezing.

"My mother and father have agreed she is to return to Achesia with me." He looked over to her father whose expression was that of non-surprise but astonished in the same momment, what was remarkable to her is that he didnt even turn around for this announcement. Pricila herself nearly dropped the coat when she gathered what he said. Her fathers reaction though a previous calculated one told her that he suspected this all along, if not encouraged it. "She will be hand maiden to the Auckuless, and there will await such time as appropriate."

Such time that was appropriate? Could that mean? Though some sort of fear and joy came over her, her father did not seem but a grim old man.

"Why say this now? Wave what you now control in my face?" His tone grew louder.

"No." the Prince responded. "But think what you may sully, for such arrangements are easily broken." The Prince looked back over to his bride to be. Or was she? Could it only be a fading possibility? "Kill the preist and have what we have agreed on... Don't kill the priest and then see your Kingdom fall. Your choice." Prince James walked back towards Pricila, planting a kiss on her cheek while grapsing her neck in a soft inviting way. After his tingling lips left her neck he walked towards the door, coatless, but not prideless. He was only stopped short by one word of the King.

"Wait..." The king pounded his desk with his fist. "Bishop Picard will die." He sank his head. Pricila was unfamiliar with the name that he mentioned but could tell by the title he was a Christian leader. Lots of those stiring up issues for the crown latly.

"Good." James nodded his head. "M'lady wheels up for Achesia at 1230 tomorrow. Wear something comfortable, its a long flight." James finished his exit and left the pair to prepare for this respective tasks.

[Nova Sylva]

Chapter Two
Bâtards

Saint Flavitus Church
Parlent, Aurde

What... what happened?

Pierre de Babin groggily stirred. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and the right side of his face burned with intensity. He brushed his hand against his face, and quickly recoiled at the pain. Warm ooze covered his hand; upon bringing it to his face his blurred vision instantly recognized it as blood. The smell of fire and death surrounded him.

Gradually, his senses returned, and with them his motor functions. He attempted to right himself, but as he regained feeling he noticed a weight upon him. Turning to see what was holding him down, he immediately brought his hands to his face despite the pain. Sprawled across him was the lifeless body of his younger sister Catharine; her beautiful light blue eyes were transfixed upon the ceiling in a calm gaze. Her forehead was marked by a bullet hole; a larger hole marked the back of her head. Pierre immediately began to sob, and embraced his sister's cold corpse in his arms. Her blood washed down his bare arms from the gaping exit wound, but he paid no mind as he continued to sob. He stayed in that position, holding his sister and stroking her brunette locks, for nearly ten minutes before he decided he had to move on and search for survivors. Pierre pushed Catharine's eyes closed, remorseful at it being the last time he would ever see her beautiful eyes again. Her eyes had always been her most defining feature. He steadied himself as he made sure he could still walk, and gradually moved towards the doorway of the chapel. Upon peering outside he immediately had the urge to vomit at the sight. Black smoke billowed from the center of the village as flames tore through Parlent.

He set out towards his home which he had shared with his sister. Remarkably, the soldiers had spared the small cottage the torch, and he set to work cleaning himself up quickly, then gathering up all of the belongings he could care to hold on to and could carry. Among the first items he grabbed was an old photograph of he and his sister from when their parents were still alive; second was his hunting rifle and two dozen rounds of ammunition. The rifle itself outdated Pierre – it was illegal for the general population to own weapons in Aurde. The weapon he owned had been his fathers, a Sylvan-made Sinclair Rifle de Infantéria, the predecessor to the now widely used Rifle de Battala Luiz, the standard issue of many countries, including Sylva.

Pierre left those few items he gathered in the house, though, for first he had to find survivors. After briefly searching the small hamlet, he came to a frightening conclusion: he was the only one left alive. Nearly overwhelmed with grief, Pierre got a hold of himself. The first thing that came to his mind: give his sister a proper burial.

While he felt sorrow towards the other townspeople as he dug through the tool shed at the rear of his cottage, Pierre did not know how long he had before those who did this returned, if they did at all. He would say a prayer for each body he saw, but he was determined to bury only Catharine for the sake of time. Finally gathering up a pick and spade, Pierre decided he knew exactly where he would bury his sister's body: underneath her favorite tree at the edge of town. It was a tree she would often sit under in silence following their parents' deaths, and he knew it was where she would want to be buried.

He worked quickly, digging a hole approximately five feet deep before getting too tired to continue to six. Deciding it was good enough all things considered, he returned to the chapel, and gathered up his sister's body. Wrapping her in a blanket and then a tarp, Pierre carefully placed his sister at the bottom of the grave. He sobbed for a few minutes to himself while he filled the hole in, and stopped as he packed the last of the dirt on top to say a prayer. He had been sure to bury Catharine with her rosary and her Bible, and he brought along a knife to carve her initials and a cross into the tree. He stared and sobbed in silence for several more minutes before turning to leave.

Pierre gathered up his tools, and made the trek back to his cottage. He realized what he had to do next: make his way over to the next village, and then to the regional capital of Montignac, which was also predominantly Catholic. If they had hit here, whoever they may be, they likely hit there, as well.

As he entered the front gate of his yard, Pierre's ears perked up at a noise he recognized. A large truck had pulled into town on the main road. He cursed.

“Bâtards.”

---

Pierre sat perched on one of the several hills overlooking town, having retreated to the cover of the bushes above to observe these visitors from afar. What he saw rather frightened him; a group of about ten men, dressed in the uniform of the Aurdecois Army, who worked in two groups: one group gathered the bodies; one dug a large pit at the edge of town.

As the pit was getting larger, men from the first group began to dump the bodies into the pit. Eventually the diggers joined the tossers, and after about ten minutes' worth of hauling the bodies, the entirety of Pierre's hometown had been thrown into the mass grave. A taller man who appeared to be the leader of the group waved to two of the soldiers, who Pierre watched as they returned from the truck with gasoline to douse the grave with.

Pierre was rather transfixed upon the taller man, however, not just because he appeared to be the officer of the group. The man appeared to be uneasy about something; perhaps his conscience was getting the better of him. But, no, Pierre thought, that couldn't possibly be it. Pierre watched him through the scope of his rifle as the man turned towards the chapel and entered it; about a half a

minute later he came back out, his arms crossed as if he were perplexed by something. He approached the edge of the grave, and surveyed the bodies on the top layer; yet he still seemed unsatisfied to the observer from the ridge.

Pierre became rather uneasy himself when he saw an order given to search the town. It was now that Pierre knew what this man was so upset about: there were two bodies missing. How the man knew this, Pierre couldn't know, but he was almost sure the missing bodies of himself and Catharine were the cause of the manhunt. Pierre buckled down, and realized that it would not be long until he was possibly discovered. He watched as four teams of two scoured the destroyed village, while one pair remained at the pit of bodies to continue pouring gas on it. He observed for almost a half an hour before he heard one of the groups shout from the edge of town, near where he had buried Catharine. His heart sank.

---

"Pardon?"

"Une tombe! J'ai trouvé une tombe!"

The tall masked man approached the soldier's announcement that he had found a grave to find a patch of freshly packed dirt beside a tree. He smiled as he examined the carving on the trunk, and turned back towards the village. The now flaming pit of bodies cast a horrid shadow against the blue sky.

"Blue Eyes," he said with a heavy accent, "Un garçon a survécu. Trouvez-le!"

"Oui,," a subordinate confirmed as he gathered up a search team, following the officer’s orders to find the boy that had survived. The masked man retreated to the truck, and leaned against it as he tugged up on his balaclava to light a cigarette. He smiled, and shook his head. One would not get away so easily.

---

Pierre sighed, holding his breath tightly out of apprehension as the village below and surrounding woods were scoured in search of him. The pit of his stomach churned wildly, however thus far none of the searchers had come even close to his position.

After several minutes, he noticed the masked leader of the group motion to his squad to leave. Pierre breathed a sigh of relief, assuming the masked man figured Pierre had left already, and watched as, one by one, the men boarded their truck. Their leader lagged behind, and tossed his cigarette into the inflamed mass grave after he finished it. He scanned the horizon, and while Pierre could not see his face through the scope, he watched as the man's eyes rested upon Pierre's hilltop. Pierre held his breath again, praying that he would pass over, but the man remained transfixed upon Pierre's position. Pierre tightened up on the trigger, having removed the safety some time ago, and prayed he would not have to sacrifice the situation and fight here. The churning in his stomach returned while the masked man seemed to stare straight through Pierre.

After a tense twenty seconds, which to Pierre felt like an hour, the masked man shouted:

“Au revoir!”

His goodbye echoed across the hills, and while Pierre assumed he was jesting, the masked man pointed directly at his position, and gave a salute of courtesy. Pierre's sweat ran cold as he picked his face up from the scope, but as he did so, all he saw was a small figure walk around to the other side of the truck and hop in the passenger's seat. Pierre's heart felt as if it was about to burst from his chest, but he waited until the truck left to leave his position.

Visibly shaken, Pierre wandered back towards the village. He had left his home on short notice due to the arrival of the truck, and had left some of the belongings he had intended to take with him there, as well as a change of camouflage he would prefer to wear while on the run. But, while it was on his mind, he was also in search of his digital camera. The events in his home village would not go undocumented.

The only problem he faced was finding a way to get in contact with someone who would listen and use the photos, and possibly be able to help him. He had checked; the internet and phone lines to his village had been cut. Finding a viable means of communication was his top priority.

[Nova Sylva]

Aux armes, citoyens !
Formez vos bataillons !
Marchons ! marchons !
Qu'un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons !

Chapter Three
Vive la Courone

Montignac, Southern Aurde

Overcast drooped over the industrial city of Montignac; grey skies contrasted the red and brown bricks sharply. Citizens had changed their routines little over such a short time: barely twenty-four hours had passed since the start of the cleansings, yet already the city was a starkly different place. Armed patrols walked its streets, tanks down its roads, and any of those labeled ‘subversives’ were being dealt with in a variety of ways.

Yet even so, the Crown’s influence only spanned so far. There were many, in fact, the majority, within the city who harbored feelings of sympathy with the Catholics, or were Catholic themselves. Word of the actual massacres had yet to reach the public; the regime was sure to keep that relatively quiet. Yet even so, there would still be dissidents. Many had learned quickly, however, to keep their mouths shut.

“À nouveau! Parler!”

The masked thug pointed his rifle, with a fresh “MADE IN ACHESIA” stamp, down at a writhing figure on the ground, his eyes and mouth only visible. The man squirmed in pain as he clenched his stomach after the butt of the soldier’s rifle had met it with force. A number of men in camouflage fatigues with matching weapons stood around their prey in the street like vultures scouting fresh meat.

“Dieu prot-” the man gasped, catching himself. He closed his eyes, his arms still over his gut, and rolled onto his side.

“Christ Jesus, save me,”

The first man smashed the Catholic in the side of the face with his rifle, causing the man to spit up blood and a few teeth. He lowered his rifle, and motioned to his subordinates to carry the man away to the truck parked down the block: the man would likely never be seen again. The masked leader removed a cigarette from a tin container as he watched the dissident leave a trail of blood behind, and placed it to his exposed lips before glancing at the condemned's wife. The woman, child in arms, looked on tearfully as her husband was dragged away. She noticed the soldier staring at her, and immediately looked away in shame. The soldier grinned, and removed the unlit cigarette from his lips.

“Et vous?”

Her child, a boy of merely six, buried his face into the furrows of his mother's blue dress. She held the boy tight as he sobbed into her thigh.

“Viv-...” she began, “Vive Aurde.”

Her delivery was half-hearted at best, and she refused to make eye contact, but the soldier merely laughed and clapped his hands together before placing his cigarette back in his mouth and lighting it. He walked away from the broken family without a second thought as the young, now single mother returned to her weeping.

Such was how Sécurité Publique, or Public Safety, operated. The Public Safety was a militarized police and intelligence force of sorts: they wore uniforms, carried weapons, and served as a sort of secret police for the Aurdecois crown.

Bordgeou, Southern Aurde

The sound of fire and stench of death bombarded his senses as Pierre de Babin crawled ever closer towards the hilltop overlooking the village of Bordgeou. He had followed the road, through the wood, and made his way throughout the night towards Parlent's sister city. He had stopped to sleep in a makeshift shelter, and had spent several hours in the wee hours of the morning scouting the roads, particularly at the only petrol station within five miles of his home. He noted nothing, but knew that there must have been some interest by these savages in some of the resources of the area.

As Pierre finally reached the crest of the hill, he saw what he already knew: a village torn asunder by violence and death wrought by squads of destruction. Although the sun was already up for quite some time, flames in some of the houses drowned the shadows. The smoldering pit of bodies reeked, and repulsed Pierre just as much as the pit in his own home village.

Something was different here, however, as he noticed a car he was familiar with: a truck, used by the Aurdecois Army. It was adorned, however, with colors he was not used to: alongside the Aurdecois flag, a separate icon, with an image strait from the Akari Cult. As he racked his mind for what it could mean, it dawned on him – the Second Brigade. Deus Vult, the most diehard fanatics of the King’s soldiers.

Pierre decided to find himself a suitable position to observe from, not knowing the origins or nature of the truck parked in the middle of the village. Best to wait it out, he thought: what little military training he had had with the Army prior to his leaving due to his mother's illness was resonating more with him now than ever.

[Achesia]

Z72 Labs, Harper City, Former New Achesia Colony-

"Caster, we are descending to the lower level, over."

"Magic Wun Wun, proceed with caution, UAV detects hostile Q-R-F ten minutes out, proceed to target and then get to exfil ASAP, out."

The metal pings of each step downward seemed to echo around the dark staircase as the five pairs of boots sank lower and lower into the grim faciltiy. Hundreds of different abandoned medical implements littered the shelves and ground around them as they paced through the derelict medical faculty on their hunt for things forgotten. They were dressed in black, garbed in different equipment, vests to protect them from injury, masks to give them keen sight aided by technology, holding weapons that looked like something from a sic fi novel. The flash lights mounted to the barrels of their FN SCAR-Hs lit up small pockets of the bleak space, occasionally finding odd dead animals, or worse, the littered corpse of a scientist or savage local.

The elite COAFT (Contingency Operations Assault Forward Troop) operatives breathed slow and low as they passed under a large half opened blast door that was stopped from closing by a few metal beams. Bodies of several locals were seen slumped over the edges, obviously killed by gunfire as they raided the facility during the waning days of the Achesian occupation of these lands. The special forces troopers stepped over body after body as they walked deeper into the misty and stuffy chambers of the secret Z72 Medical Research Laboratory.

"Fucking creepy." The soldier, nicknamed Ziggy kicked a slumped over half decayed corpse off of a bloody door. "The beacon is going in this direction." He pointed past the blood painted door, referring to his heads up display that projected a live lighted path to his helmet, giving him the exact location of their target. Numbers that indicated distance to what he was looking at, health status of his squad mates, ammo count of his weapon, and a variety of other customizable displays gave the operative a keen awareness of his battle space.

"The controls work?" A soldier a few men back inquired as he peered over his soldier, holding watch on the south end of the chamber.

"Negative Top." Ziggy replied to his squad leader, a seasoned grizzly nicknamed Mammoth.

"Doubles, get in there and help him pry that hatch open." Mammoth signaled to one of the other squad members, a younger kid that just joined their outfit a few weeks ago. Doubles dropped his weapon which was strapped in a three point sling, and gripped the edged of the hatch door. Nodding he and Ziggy pried the metal hydraulic hatch open, and as it revealed the dark foggy reaches beyond, a rush of air seemed to flood the entryway, making an eery howl that chilled the men to their bones.

"Lets get in there, I don't want to spend more time than we have to in this place." Mammoth took point, his SCAR flash hider leading the way through the mist. The light from their flashlights did them no good in the mist, just made the cloud of smog that much thicker.

"Five more meters ahead, and then a left turn at the crossways." Ziggy instructed to the point man. The cleared every archway and opening along their path, ensuring no local savages were lying in wait to ambush them. Although they had the feeling that no local dirtbag wanted to spend much time here, just as they didn't. Turning the corner the team was met with a large door at the end of the hallway, it was flanked by several different red flashing lights, and a few control panels to boot. Above it read "Contamination Zone, PPE Required." In black ominous letters, surrounded in bright screaming yellow.

"This must be the place." Ziggy remarked as he looked over the control panel.

"Make sure your atmosphere controls are on." Top reminded his squad, he checked his own mask to ensure the filters and air pumps were functioning correctly, creating a seal around his face to prevent any toxins or diseases to get in. He looked down his squad for a moment, making sure the team was good to go. Doubles crouched at the corner of the crossways, holding his rifle at the ready as if some manifestation would come at them from down the poorly lit corridor. Ziggy continued to fiddle with the panel to the door, pressing buttons here and there to try and make the passage to their target accessible. Lurker, their marksman sat against the bulkhead, never one to be too uptight, he held his H-S Precision Pro Series 2000 HTR at the low ready, peering over at Ziggy as he fumbled around. And lastly Itchy their gunner was posted with his Mark 48 looking back the way they came, as still as a crane as he sat in the kneeling position.

"I don't think we are getting in here with these controls." Ziggy broke the silence. "We are going to have to blast it open." He stepped back from the door, looking over its structure for a moment, and running some formulas through his head that he learned in EOD school.

"Magic Wun Wun, hostile Q-R-F has arrived at the laboratory, but it does not look like they have entered yet. They may be looking for you on the perimeter first." The radio call from higher sounded through all their helmets.

"Well once we blast this door they will surely know where we are." Lurker remarked as he crossed his fingers over the stock of his DMR.

"The target is only beyond this door. If we can get to it right away we can make our exit along bravo route." Ziggy countered as he took his breaching charge out of his vest. He looked to Top to ensure he was ok with the proposed path forward.

Top simply nodded as he too backed around from the door. It only took a few seconds for Ziggy to apply the putty like substance to the grain of the hatch that still blinked red.

"Breaching." Ziggy called as he pulled the cord that was attached to the charge. His squadmates braced as the blast ripped the door in two, and the echos of the explosion flowed through every hall and corridor, all the way out to the surface of the lab. There a company sized element of local militia froze in place as they listened to the reverberations of the explosion fill the lab. The men dressed in all types of clothing, some scavenged came, some civilian dress, armed with various procured weapons milled about orderless as they searched for the Achesian COAFT team. One man who stood by a blue pickup truck began yelling commands, signaling to the many drones under his command to get after the enemy.

He waved his pistol at them, motioning to the entrance to the lab. "You, you, and you all get in there and find them." He commanded about fifteen men to go after the Achesians. The men each looked at each other before complying, they dared not disobey an order, but their fear of this place was cetianally palatable.

Back deep under the lab the team entered the contamination zone. In was a dry, stench filled air, the door must not have been opened since ht lab was attacked, and that was... least intelligence said some months ago. Still the trudged on stepping over bodies of lab techs and scientists who looked half mad in their death, killed from either what looked like in-fighting, as two corpse were locked in eternal combat on the floor, or starvation, their bodies limp against a wall. Doubles shuddered as his light flashed over their faces, horror stricken they were in death, not the bullets of savage rebels that killed them but time itself. As the passed along the rows of cambers that held experiments into bio matter, tests on diseases of a tropical nature, and rows of vials filled with sanguine samples of blood, each filled with a different pathogen.

But what they were after was far down the hall, dow past the sets of hazmat suits that hung on the way, past the computer screens that monitored a strange dark room, and even past bodies that looked to have been eaten slowly by some invisible parasite, their bodies preserved more than any that they have seen yet in the building. But before them was their destination, a large door. "Warning Authorized Personnel Only" the red letters stenciled on the door.

"This is it." Mammoth said as he looked over at the monitor. The screen had the image of the room beyond, it was dark with some flashing lights, a smoke lingered in the air, and with each strobe he could see the bodies of the scientists that did not make it out in time. He checked his heads up display, all vitals of his team were 100%, and their protective suits were still at ideal conditions. "Don't snag your suit on anything. If you leak atmosphere I cannot describe what horrors you will experience.

A distant clatter and bang came from beyond. A few faint shouts and hollers could be heard far up in the lab.

"Looks like our company is getting closer. Lets move." Top stated as he opened the door. Again the air around them seemed to swoosh around as another airlock was opened. They reached stepped in one by one, their weapons at the ready, not knowing what they faced. The room was like a chamber with a few different levels. They entered at the lowest levels where computers and work stations were located, on the second seemed to be an observation platform where a few slumped bodies in large yellow biohazard suits were located, their hoses still attached to the air system above them. And on the thirst in the center was a platform, and their target...

Ziggy reached it first, as the teams tech he looked over the readouts on the screen that was collocated on a small stand with their target... a medium sized container. "Readouts are normal." He announced to the team. He could see within the clear container a gas floating around. He knew even in his chemical suit that if he breached this container they would all die.

"Don't touch anything Ziggy." Top ordered.

"Our orders?" He looked down at top who was on the second level.

"Caster Actual this is Magic Wun Wun, we have reached the target and it is still in place, over." Top radioed higher to appraise them of the situation.

Another loud bang and shouts came, the local militia was getting closer. Itchy doubled back to the door they came in, machine gun in hand.

"They are close." He said peering around the corner.

"Magic Wun Wun, proceed with plan bravo, out." The call from higher came back.

"Plan bravo?" Ziggy questioned, looking down at Mammoth who was looking over the map on his HUD.

"Get a sample Ziggy, then we are out of here."

Ziggy did not waste any time, he produced a vial from his back that was reinforced with a metal casing. Placing in what seemed to be a receptacle near the container her pressed a few buttons to begin the process... which triggered a loud alarm. "Warning Contagion Transfer in Processes." A computer overhead chanted as klaxons sounded. "Warning Contagion Transfer in Processes." it repeated several times.

Off to the side Mammoth had been messing with a few other controls, under a panel he rerouted some wires as he installed what seemed to be a small module into the motherboard of the computer. After another couple of beeps he stepped away, just as the alarms ceased.

"Alright, I transferred computer control of the labs systems to my HUD. Lets go." He picked up his rifle and started for the door.

The men began to stack up in order, they knew they would soon take dangerous contact from the hostiles above. First came Doubles and Itchy, their rifle and LMG raised at the ready, pointing towards their route of regression. Then came Ziggy, Top, and Lurker, each paying close attention to their surroundings, hoping that the local dirt did not get smart, hiding in a side room to let them pass. But for hall after hall and side room after side room they passed without resistance. They soon came back to the fork in which they blew the first door, and halted in place to gain their bearings.

"New route, proceed straight for 200 meters, that will take us to a fire escape leading us to the main floor." Top read over a large 3D map in his helmet. "Caster, we have the package and are on our exfiltration route, over."

"Magic Wun Wun, hostile presence above you is strong, suspect heavy resistance at surface. Helo is in route to your location, callsign Dragon Six, over."

"Copy, also request any air support possible to cover our escape, over." Top spoke as he ran through the corridor with his men, his heavy breathing seemed even louder in his helmet.

"Negative Magic, air cover will draw too much attention. Helo is only thing we can send it. Minimal artillery support is available, however we do not recommend danger close with your package on you, out."

"Damn." Top grunted under his breath. It was a bad situation without any air cover. And taking artillery that close with a substance this dangerous on them could cause an international incident, contaminating the surrounding area for miles. But he had more pressing matters to worry about as gunfire erupted infant of him.

"Contact!" Itchy yelled as his Mk 48 sang loudly through the halls. The brass shells rang agains the metal floors like a wind chime. It seems the militia beat them too the fire escape, several returning rounds whizzed past them. Doubles tried to counter, firing his 7.62mm rounds through the bulk head, tagging at least two hostiles. But the presence was heavy in the stair well, and staying in their present location was not an option.

"Ziggy, mike mikes, now." Top shouted.

Ziggy knew exactly what to do, it was dangerous, and ran the risk of destroying their only route, but it was all they could do. With a flick of his wrist he engaged the 40mm grenade launcher that was mounted via railing to the bottom of his rifle. And with a pull of the trigger he launched a grenade right through the doorway, causing a hellish explosion that would have deafen a man not wearing the technologically advanced helmets they were wearing. Doubles crept forward with his rifle, observing the stairwell.

"Clear!" he called back. He entered the shaft which seemed to continue for several meters. The first set of stairs was all but obliterated up to the landing, but that would not stop even the greenest operative from COAFT. It was just a small jump and a pull up that landed Doubles at the first landing. He covered upwards as the rest of the team followed, and they continued to their destination.

It would be a few minutes before they arrived to the ground floor, which opened to what seemed to be a maintenance corridor. Peering out the double doors they looked down the white hall, some carts full of trash and mops were the only things there to greet them. Perfect for their means. They slipped out and forward, making every effort to be silent.

"Ten meters ahead, should be an exit to the right." Ziggy said leading the pack. Sure enough they were met with a red lit exit sign, just as the map predicted. Lurker produced a small wire camera, metallic and bendable in any direction. He ran it under the door to observe what would meet them from the outside. It wasn't good...

"Looks like a good ten to twelve military aged males, small arms, no discernible uniform." Lurker looked back to top.

"Dragon Six, this is Magic Wun Wun, what is your position?, Over." Top radioed the helo that was coming for them.

"Magic Wun Wun, we are one mile out, holding for your signal, over."

"Loud and clear, we are at the bravo exit, however have lots of company outside between us and the exfiltration point, anything you can do about that? Over"

"Roger, we have your location on our map, marking off sectors X4 through Y2 for run. Coming in hot, out."

"Keep an eye out Lurker, air support coming in." Top nodded to Lurker who continued to peer through his camera.

The Black MAS.78A B'l'ak tilt rotor and an ominous profile, calling to an image of a bird of prey on the horizon. Its two massive circular rotor shields were like no other helicopter, making it most distinguishable from any other aircraft. But as it came above the tree tops into the sight of the unsuspecting militiamen who were waiting for a much more human threat to descend upon them, they had little time to react to its several 70 mm rockets propelling towards them. The explosions rocked the building as they all but decimated the enemy forces.

"Clear, lets go." Lurker gave the signal, whooshing open the door and charging out with DMR pointed and ready. The team followed hastily as the B'l'ak hovered above them, their destination was a small parking lot just two hundred meters ahead. As they made the long spring gun fire began to chase them as the hostiles from the other side of the building began to make pursuit. All matter of rounds met with the ground around their feet as they did not even bother to turn and meet them. As the B'l'ak passed back overhead to meet them at the parking lot, its dual M240 machine guns that were pintle mounted on each side of the cabin returned fire, giving the COAFT team some cover as they rushed forward.

"Go, in, in, in." Ziggy yelled as he turned just in front of where the helicopter hovered inches above the ground. He returned fire with his rifle, tagging a hostile along the neck with a two round burst. Only a few more militiamen remained to give them any challenge. But before they could make an effort of it, all of the team had loaded into the helo and where soaring into the sky. As the rotor circles titled just as its namesake, the aircraft picked up speed, much more speed than any other type of helicopter that would normally be employed. Thats why the B'l'ak was perfect for these types of missions.

Each of the team members rested their heads as the sighed a breath of fresh relief, while the helicopter hasted towards the coast, where undoubtedly a Marine ship awaited them. All of them except Top who looked restless back at the lab.

"Top... Top." Ziggy called his name to get his attention. Top only turned half way to respond to his calls. "I don't get it, why didn't we take the whole thing. There is no telling what that contagion can do in the wrong hands." He leaned in towards his leader, but Top wasn't responding. He only looked back to the lab.

"We are five miles out." The pilot announced to the passengers.

And that is when Top responded, pressing a button on his wrist. And with that causing a bright light to appear behind them. If not for their helmets Ziggy suspected they would be blind. It did not take a question to ask what that was however, as a mushroom cloud erupted over the shine.

"What?..." Ziggy was perplexed.

"The lab had a self destruct, in the event a contagion got loose or the facility lost power, they couldn't risk a outbreak, so the lab had a small yield nuclear device to destroy it all. We have enough in that vial for our purposes." Top finally answered their questions.

Ziggy sat back in his chair for a moment as the crew chief shut the cabin sliding doors. The wind finally not rushing past their bodies as the B'l'ak passed out to sea. Taking this moment in Ziggy removed his helmet, his sweaty brown hair a mess of tangles. Despite the air conditioning system in the helmet he always found he was hot.

"Glad we can finally got home." he murmured to the now quite cabin. The rest of the team doing the same with their helmets. Revealing their faces to other familiar co-workers.

"Not yet Avondale." Top used Ziggy's proper last name now. "We have another mission." He threw a packet in Avondale's lap, it was marked in big red letters: FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

[Nova Sylva]

Chapter Four
Developments

Bordeou, Aurde

It had been nearly fifteen minutes that Pierre had been observing the torched hamlet of Bordeou, until finally out of one of the houses came a man in an army uniform, laughing wildly with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a handgun in the other. His belt was undone, as from behind him came three more figures: two young women, clothed only in blankets and bloodied and beaten, and another similarly uniformed trooper. The first wore a rank pin on his hat, making himself out to be a lieutenant from a distance; his compatriot held the junior end of the lieutenant rank. The officer bringing up the rear had their two captives held at gunpoint, and prodded the rear girl with the barrel of his sidearm every few seconds to keep her moving.

Pierre was horrified, yet somewhat unsurprised at the premonition that these two Army personnel had taken part in the slaughter of this village, and then decided to “enjoy” two of the village's daughters before killing them as well, likely assuring them they would be spared.

Pierre quieted his mind, realizing that he was the only thing which stood between those girls and hot lead slugs. He watched through the scope as the girls were taken to the edge of the village closest to him, and forced to stand side-by-side barefoot on the gravel road leading into the town. They were stripped of their blankets, and stood stark naked with their backs to Pierre as the two officers aligned opposite them. The girls were shivering, and while Pierre could not hear, likely crying hysterically. The officer who had been trailing behind them had his sidearm leveled at one girl's head; the other spoke to the girls casually, then moved to take a swig of his champagne.

As the first officer's head jerked back with the bottle between his lips, Pierre held his breath and steadied the crosshair over the second officer's chest. Every second would count here.

Pierre let out his breath, and took another; he switched the rifle's safety off, and gently squeezed his trigger finger.

Crack.

The soldier with pistol drawn crumpled to the ground, writhing in shock as his life literally poured from his chest. The other, now mid-gulp, stood frozen for a moment, realizing that the shot he had heard was not that of his friend's pistol. He removed his lips from the bottle, red wine spilling over his uniform, as an even redder stream of blood joined the wine now staining his shirt. He crumpled over, the wine bottle crashing to the gravel and shattering.

The two girls first let out a scream, then realized that both were still alive. Hastily fetching up their blankets, they turned around to see Pierre come sprinting down the hillside a few hundred feet away, rifle in both hands as he came to an abrupt stop on the road.

“Bonjour!”

One of the girls, a blonde, awkwardly tugged at the blanket to get it to form better to her body.

“Merci,” she replied, weakly; her darker-haired friend remained silent.

“Comment vas-tu?”

“How the hell do you think we’re doing?” she replied in heavily accented English. Pierre simply nodded wordlessly.

“Go get dressed, both of you. I'll wait here and keep watch.”

Both nodded, and retreated into the house from which they had come before with their armed escorts as Pierre surveyed the damage up close. It was just as bad here as it had been in Parlent, but finally he had found some friendly faces.

***

Pierre sat across the kitchen table from the two girls in the small cottage, an awkward silence pervading as steaming coffee sat before each of the three. The clock ticked just as it would under any circumstance, breaking the silence each second as its hand inched across its face. The two girls had since clothed themselves; the blonde in a tasteful red dress, the brunette in a flowing blue skirt and white blouse. They looked surprisingly well kept considering the circumstances.

“How many were there?”

“Huit,” the brunette replied, her dark eyes staring into her coffee. The cup was of the highest grade of Oriental china.

“Including the officers?”

“Oui,”

Pierre nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. So the Army was responsible. And more than likely, not some separatist sect of the Army, either.

“They came into the town. They killed everyone, one by one. They had cut the phone lines beforehand. All of the mobile towers went down last night. Though we still have our radio.”

“And they spared you?”

“We were both in my room,” the blonde said, “Hiding. They came and took us out to the front room, where I watched them execute my parents,” she recalled, motioning her head towards the foyer where two bodies lay under sheets, “The officers told one of their soldiers to keep us here, alive, and that they would be back. Then they offered us life in exchange for...”

She trailed off, averting her gaze, tears welling up in her eyes.

“How could we refuse? We thought they would live up to their offer,” she said through her despair, “We had no other choice.”

The two girls were not more than eighteen years each; they likely went to school with Catharine. In fact, the brunette almost resembled her, he thought to himself, but no... no, her eyes were completely different. Nothing could ever compare to Catharine's blue eyes.

“Je comprends. I won't judge,” he said.

He had established their names earlier; Marie was the blonde, Jacqueline the brunette. They were the best of friends, they lived across the street from one another, and they did everything together. Now, they had survived war together. For now.

“I have family in Leone,” Pierre said, plainly, “Catholic family. I'm assuming that's why this has happened. I'll take you to them, they owe me a favor as it is.”

“Êtes-vous certains?”

“Oui. I won't let you refuse.”

“Will you stay with us?”

“For a night or two, maybe. I plan on getting the word out about this somehow. But I need to keep on my way. I have some... unfinished business with these monsters. Some revenge to exact.”

“Leone is fairly far away. The keys to my parents' car are on the table, there. You're welcome to my father's closet, as well.”

“That's very kind of you. I'll be sure to pick something modest. We need to keep a low profile, after all. You said something about a radio?”

“Oui,” Marie replied.

“Yes. It's technically illegal anyways, so we had to hide it. But it works.”

“How far is the range on it?”

“Hundred kilometers, give or take.”

“It’ll reach Erquin, Aldanea, or any ships on the coast.” Jacqueline said in agreement.

Pierre took another sip of coffee, smiling as he wrote out a message in Morse.

“Good brew,” he said after swallowing, “Very good brew.”

The Acropolis
Chandler, Commonwealth of Sylva

A knock on the door.

“Enter.”

“Your Majesty,”

“Jacob,” Queen Mariana de Carmen said, raising her gaze from the desk to the Director of the Office of National Intelligence, who was recovering from his introductory bow. “What brings you around?”

“We picked up a radio transmission in southern Aurde about sixteen minutes ago. It's something that warrants your attention.”

“Oh? What about?” She asked, continuing on her present work.

Director Halsey paused, and took a seat opposite the Queen. “You're going to want to have a drink before I brief you.”

The Queen lifted her head from the desk yet again, this time with a considerably more serious expression on her face. She transfixed a blank gaze on Halsey for a few more seconds while contemplating before retreating back to her work.

“Glasses are in the second cupboard from the left on the bookshelf. Liquor's in the compartment below it.”

[Achesia]

8:32am, Business District, Civray, Aurde-

An early Tuesday morning would see the streets of Civray's Le roi Saül Business district a bustle of foot traffic as white collar workers commuted to their offices and jobs. Many were delighted to take the brisk walk in the morning, as it typically this time of year would be featured with heaps of snow slowing their pace. However; due to an unusually warm front that has passed over the capital, there was only a chill air that one would have to cope with as he or she walked down the street. Many traveled in groups as they walked down the side walks carrying their bags and wearing their thick coats. The Le roi Saül Business district was a rich area, with most of its workers being from the upper class of workers, having little to want or need for. Far from parts of the country where famine and poverty wrecked havoc.
Although many were aware of their countrymen's plight in other parts of the nation, in the capital these types of concerns were far away from the minds of is residents. In the face of such splendor and lavish living there could be no other type of world.

A set of cool eyes remarked at the care freeness of the passers by below, far above the scene sitting in a window sill. He observed the comings and goings of many of these people, people who seemed strange to him, the whole place so strange to him. How could people live in such wealth, when where he comes from they live in such squalor.

"Simon, êtes-vous prêt?"

Simon let out a sigh, his breath fogging the window pane in-front of him.

"Dites-moi à nouveau?"

"Tell me again?"

The man who stood in the archway to the adjacent room stopped fiddling with a few things on the table behind Simon. He stuffed the last couple items he intended to into a satchel before walking over to where the young peasant from Guyennc was sitting watching the alien world bellow him. He put a cold hand on his shoulder, the ice skin could be felt through his shirt.

Simon looked up at the man... Clément, not much older than he with brown hair and light beard. He had a certain violence in his eyes, something that spoke to the violence within him. Something that inspired him to do what he was about to do.

"Prenez ce, descendez les escaliers et sortir du bâtiment à partir de l'escalier de secours. Une fois que vous êtes à la rue traverser au café."

"Take this, go down the stairs and exit the building from the fire escape. Once you are at the street cross over to the cafe."

Clément handed him the reddish satchel as he pointed across the street. There sat a little tucked away watering hole. A favorite of early morning commuters to grab a bite. The line was out the door for coffee and tea, a busy place that was a soft target for someone who would wish to do harm.

"Placez le sac sous la table vers la droite si la porte principale."

"Put the bag under the table to the right if the main door. "

Clément looked at the boy whose gaze had wandered off. He shoved him on the shoulder forcefully, causing him to snap back into reality. "Simon, pouvez-vous faire cela? Dites-moi maintenant, parce que dans quelques momments il sera trop tard."

"Simon, can you do this? Tell me now, because in a few moments it will be too late."

His tone was brash but empathetic. Clément had always been the more compassionate one with Simon since he joined the Republican Front, taking him under his wing and sticking up for him when the others doubted.

"Oui." Simon nodded. He looked up at Clément who stood above him. For a moment he was lost in his eyes, Antoine?... No... he was gone.

"Bon, je pensais que je vous avais perdu. Tu peux faire ca."

"Good, I thought I had lost you. You can do this."

Simon nodded his head to the encouragement as he grabbed the bag out of his friend's hand. It was heavy, something he expected, but still surprised him. He slung the red arm band across his shoulder as he looked to Clément once more. There were no words exchanged between the men, only a moment of mutual understanding.

"Je te vois bientôt." Simon said as he stepped towards the door of the small apartment, bumping into the table covered in different parts, scraps, and chemicals.

"Ne pas oublier." Clément said, stopping Simon in his tracks. He held up a small olive drab controller, what in another more peaceful world looked like a stapler, but in reality was a trigger. Simon walked back to take the trigger from him. The men again locking eye contact for a moment before he turned away and out down the stairs. As he traversed the hallways of the apartment building just as he did a thousand times before his heart was racing. It was finally time for what they talked for, to strike back at the murderers and elite. To take vengeance for what they did to his family... what they did to his brother... Antoine. He could still see... he only could see now his brother slumping to the ground as a red mist shot out his back. He remembered watching the two Armée Royale soldiers shooting his brother in the back. He watched them as they shot him again as he lay dead in the ground... he remembered all too well. But today he would make a new memory... with new blood. He would watch as he let these interlopers have the twenty pounds of explosives he carried with him on his shoulder, he would watch their blood spray, he imagined it being cool... like the air that breathed across his skin as he opened the fire escape door, just as planned. He walked over to the street from the alleyway of his building. There were lots of people, men and women, and even some children that rushed back and fourth, soon their idle chatter would give way to screams. He watched his brother dying over and over in his head, as he walked across the street.

Kyle Avondale watched Simon crossing the street from the window of the apartment where he gave him that bag. Another man walked out from the other room and stood behind him.

"He really believes." The man said placing his hand on the glass of the window as he watched the boy weave through the crowd five stories bellow.

Kyle looked over to him, and then looked back shaking his head. "Some have nothing to believe in... so they believe in violence."

"Whatever you say... Clément." He used the name Kyle had been in disguise. Undercover in Aurde for weeks now, nurturing and coaxing a small rebellion. It was no easy task, not physically or spiritually. But the small COAFT team who not two weeks earlier were fighting in the former Achesian colonies, it was just another day at the office.

Behind Kyle the other members of the COAFT team: Lurker, Itchy, Doubles, and Top began stashing the remaining bomb making materials in bags to be carried out, no hard evidence would be left to the baffled authorities. Top cracked open the apartment door, ready to exit as he turned to Kyle still standing in the window. He nodded and cowled as he took a knee.

Kyle watched Simon making it to the cafe, and just as planned place the red bag under the table outside the main door to the busy cafe. But that is where the "plan" would end. Kyle jogged away from the window and crouched, divulging a small cheap cell phone from his pocket. It was just a quick press of the speed dial button which set the whole thing off. And in just milliseconds the window of their apartment came crashing in as a large explosion wrecked the street bellow.

The ringing in their ears died down after a short while, but the screams of the maimed or barely survivors replaced it. Bellow the street was a picture of hell, where the cafe once stood there was but a whole in the building, the street but a crater. No bodies could be seen in that proximity, those were disintegrated in the blast. It was about a hundred meters down that the maimed lay screaming.

But the COAFT team did not remain to witness any of that, they had already began their exit out the rear of the building to an awaiting van they had brought with them. They shut the side panel door and sped away, just as the sirens began to close in.

"Inhuman and savage." Would be the words of the Aurdecois media that day.

[Nova Sylva]

Chapter Five
Le Bras Droit de la République

Montignac

Most of Montignac’s Catholic population had just subsided to the torment wretched upon them by Deus Vult and Securitie Publique. Most of them did as they always had done – tightened there belts, kept there heads down, and just hoped that the King’s soldiers decided to mess with someone else. Most of them just tried to survive. Most of them.

But as the crimes against Catholics continued, a certain resistance group began to steadily increase in numbers. More and more young able-bodied Catholic males, and in some cases, females as well, began violating the enforced curfew and gathering in the city’s dark corners, where they listened to speeches and participated in unmoderated caucuses where words like Republic, Independence, and Freedom were thrown about.

The hardcore of these were the Rassemblent des Republicains, the RDR, or as it was known in the rest of the world, the Republican Front. Armed with old, outdated weapons, often stolen from dead enemy soldiers, and clad in varying degrees of military gear and civilian clothing, the RDR justly described itself as the “Right Arm of Republicanism.”

They were also terrorists.

Most recently, the RDR had staged a café bombing in Civray; resulting in dozens of deaths. But today, the RDR was going to outdo itself. Leaking information to authorities, they informed Securite Publique of massive weapons stores in a warehouse on the outskirts of Montignac. Information was forwarded through appropriate channels, and soon, an entire battalion from Deus Vult was on its way towards the warehouse.

Little did they know what awaited them…

Jean Presley was halted by his compatriot with a hand signal as he crawled up to the ledge of the half-bombed house, then motioned forward. As he approached the ledge, he could see a Royal Army truck with infantry squad ransacking a few houses across the street from this one.

“They know they're empty; they're just taking shit at this point.”

“Right,” Presley responded, “How many?”

“Twenty four,” his gunner responded, “We have surprise. We should be able to take them. The rest of the battalion should be arriving on the bridge within a few minutes.”

“Let’s hope those explosives work. But that’s not our job – we gotta make sure none of these cunts get in the way,”

“I think we'll be fine,” the revolutionary responded, “The others have their orders; they know to start shooting when I rip into that truck.”

“What're your orders?”

Presley waited a moment, then responded with a closed fist. He waited until he could count at least ten heads outside at the truck, loading in various valuables or dancing about and frolicking while mimicking Catholics praying. They hadn't the faintest idea that a machine gun with two hundred rounds of ammunition was staring them down, alongside numerous rifles.

“Go.”

Under the cover of the house, propped up prone on a table top inside the second story to mask the muzzle flash, the gunner covered the truck in a bath of AP ammunition. The machine gunner from other team followed suit from the first story of an adjacent house, however he instead concentrated on pinning down members of the squad away from the truck. The section members armed with rifles utilized single shots and short bursts as Royal Army troops took cover under the hail of fire.

“Take that, you fucking bloody huns!” Presley shouted as he opened fire. Armor piercing bullets ripped through the light body armor on the enemy soldiers, and a Molotov cocktail (the rebels lacked fragmentation grenades) landed with devastating effect. Almost at the same time, further down the road, on the long trusses bridge that crossed the river, the battalion commander of the rest of the Deus Vult ordered the column of armored vehicles to stop as word of contact at his rear guard reached his command vehicle.

A second later, the entire bridge rumbled as small and subtle explosions took away the supports. The commander had only a few seconds to realize what was happening before the entire bridge collapsed into the river, sending nearly five hundred soldiers of the Deus Vult into the ice-cold Montig Riveria, equipment and all.

[Nova Sylva]

SYLVAN EMBASSY, MONTIGNAC, AURDE

The Sylvan ambassador had felt comfortable with events in Karaman so far. First the coup, the tanks on the streets, the dictatorship's mad speeches - and the vans in the night. Then the protests, the disruption, and finally, from the barrel of a single gun and the shot of a single round, spilled forwards the revolt. Who knows for how many years it had all been building up? It didn't matter. In the gates of his redoubt of an embassy he had hid, and waited until all would be well. Every city in the country rose up and colored itself in blood, and even this didn't bother the consul, for he had done his job: the aid workers had all left under his supervision, and now he could sit back and watch. His very own civil war, a besieged embassy, to write memoirs about; he might even take some refugees into the embassy grounds, if he felt so inclined. It may make him look better for the film that they would no doubt make.

And the refugees did arrive, crowding at the gates in the early morning, when the nightmare of the evening had passed. The ambassador let them in and then he had a very real crisis on his hands. That was when two things happened. Firstly, the refugees began to speak. The mounting atrocities against the Catholic minority. The murders, the rapes, all the corollaries. The second thing was that when some of the more radical Akari found out the embassy with its thick brick walls was housing christian refugees, they decided to attack it. First they used rifles but these couldn't do much damage to the building. Afterwards they followed up with mortars and grenade launchers. These were a little more damaging.

The ambassador decided to evacuate the embassy. The navy responded - a helicopter touched down and within seconds had taken off again with a few of the refugees to tell the tale, and the women of the embassy. The gunfire at the door escalated as the helicopter gained altitude and dodging grenade launchers, sped off to the coast where a destroyer awaited it. It was supposed to come back to pick up the remaining embassy staff. When it did, all the pilot saw was the thick smoke, the destroyed main gate, and the bodies. The embassy staff, at least, had gone down fighting, and the ambassador, everyone presumed, with a revolver in his hand, behind his desk, saving the last round for himself.

When the destroyer returned to port and the female staff of the embassy, with the Aurdecois refugees, landed in Los Olivos, Sylva heard about what was happening in Aurde. And Sylva responded.

[tab=90]SAINTE-LUCE-SUR-LOIRE MONASTERY, MONTIGNAC, AURDE

A thick cloud of incense trailed Father Brabec as he paced the length of the uplifted space at the head of the monastery. He chanted the holy words, and the brothers repeated them.

“Forasmuch then as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh,” he chanted, swinging the incense. “We arm ourselves likewise with the same mind.”

The congregation replied: “For he that hath suffered in the flesh hath ceased from sin".

The faithful in Aurde were few, but clustered in the south. Those who kept to the one true faith of the Catholic Church, the faith of their ancestors who had come generations ago from Sylva, had always been persecuted by the Akari majority. But this...what was happening across southern Aurde? Unheard of. It was nothing short genocide.

He reached the altar, and set the bible down. “Before we begin, we will take a moment to remember the Parlent fifty-two, who were cut down by the barbarians in the house of God, and who are seated now at his side. We must trust that God's righteous judgement will find those responsible, and punish them.” The brothers hung their heads and prayed.

“We pray also for the Cherbourg twelve, who, rather than meet death at the hands of the enemy, took their own lives in the eyes of God.

“We pray for Sister Konesky, that she might find peace in eternal sleep.

“We pray for our holy father, the Most Divine All-Holiness, the Archbishop of Sylva, that he might come soon to the cries of his flock and alleviate their suffering. For these things we pray.”

Brabec had called the brothers to prayer when the crowd, full of many angry (and armed) military men, first appeared outside the monastery. By the time his sermon was finished, the doors were beginning to buckle.

CHANDLER, SYLVA

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Commonwealth, I come to you tonight to talk about a growing problem in Septentrion. In recent weeks, this government has kept a vigilant eye on the growing conflict in Aurde. The current Aurdecois government has promised that this a transitional stage, and that the violence will soon cease. However, as the world now knows, there is unmistakable evidence that the violence is far from under control.

After the initial reports of violence in Aurde, radio signals picked up by passing ships, I had our national intelligence services redouble their efforts to track and confirm the violence being undertaken in that broken nation. Unfortunately, in this time, these Akari warriors, acting on behalf of the Aurdecoius government, attacked our embassy in Montignac because our ambassador was allowing Catholic refugees to hide on the embassy grounds. These services, having been working around the clock, have completed their analysis of the events now underway and this government feels obligated to report these events to you in the fullest detail.”

“Our surveillance services have located and observed both mass graves and acts of systematic genocide in villages with large Catholic populations. The numbers have not yet been finalized, but it is estimated that several thousands of men, women, and even children have been brutally killed by various groups of armed men. Outside of the city of Montignac, in particular, our surveillance assets have recorded house by house searches and executions of civilians by the hands of local military groups.

This scene is far from isolated. Hundreds of villages in the surrounding areas have been targeted. The size of this undertaking makes it abundantly clear that this not just the action of some rogue military faction within the Aurdecois Army or any style of vigilante justice but is rather the planned work of a government dedicated to the eradication of Karamanite Catholics. The former ambassador from Aurde and several prominent leaders, all of which have been declared persona non grata, have told us that they would insure that no such actions were taken against the Catholic population.

They lied.”

“While this government has, in the past, exercised tremendous patience and restraint, as befits a peaceful and powerful nation, this government has decided it must now act in defense of our national interests, and the interests of the entire region, to restore order to the nation of Aurde. Under the authority entrusted in me by this by every citizen of this country, I have undertaken the following actions:

“First, I have ordered the immediate establishment of a strict and comprehensive arms embargo of the nation of Aurde. All shipping headed to and from that nation must submit to inspection by ships of the Sylvan Navy. I call on the Entente Cordial and our allies in Aldanea and the Organized States of Columbia to assist us in this venture.

“Secondly, the Fuerzas Armanas will establish a safe zone, centered on Montignac, to provide a temporary haven to any and all refugees of the war torn island. Any armed groups attempting to breach this safe zone will be dealt with using deadly force.

“Thirdly, it shall be the policy of this nation to regard any assault against the Christian population by any armed actor to be a direct attack against the Commonwealth itself, requiring the full measure of retaliation by all means available.

“Finally, I am calling for an emergency session of a Pan-Septentrion Forum to discuss these events and to take international action to stop these terrible crimes.

Thank you and good night.”

[Nova Sylva]

second post tonight bc I'm bored and the super bowl is kinda stupid

CORDOBA, CATALINA ISLAND, SYLVA

The key fumbled for a second in the lock before a big shove finally pushed it open. A woman's voice – “Hey, don't be so rough. I can't hardly walk in these shoes.” The door slammed.

“If you think that's rough, you ain't seen nothing, love.” A man's now, deep and not at all soft around the edges. He had his arm round her, scraping at the woman’s tight black dress, and held her up and she kicked off her shoes and visibly relaxed. A second pair of shoes thrown off and then silence, interrupted piecemeal by the sound of two lips kissing.

“Now what about that drink you were promising me?”

“Ah, I almost forgot,” the man said, stumbling towards a table and sitting down on a cheap Ikea chair. A half empty bottle of tequila. “There's a glass somewhere about.”

“This place isn't half bad,” the woman snorted. “Man like you must want a good woman around,” she laughed and fell on his knee. “A laaady,” she laughed again, in a deep coastal accent. She took the tequila bottle and drank some of it. If he was sober her breath on his cheek may have repulsed him. Or not.

“Now then,” he slurred, picking up a letter on the table, “What's this?” It was marked urgent. He didn't remember - probably he had just tossed it aside. He fingered it clumsily.

“You don't have a mistress, do you?”

“Shut up,” he said, opening the letter. Some of it tore.

“Didn't your mother ever teach you that's no way to talk to a lady?” she said, pushing his hand away.

“I told you, fuck off,” he said, straining to read the letter.

URGENT
88.AIR.REGIMENT>7.AIR.BRIGADE STAFF

REPORT TO BARRACKS IMMEDIATELY UPON RECEIPT
ALL LEAVE CANCELLED

She picked the letter up as daintily as she could manage and dropped it on the floor and took another drink, then pushed the bottle to his lips. “Right,” he said, pushing the bottle aside. Some of it spilled on her.

“My dress!”

“Sorry love, but you've got to fuck off, now.” To her great protest he threw her out of the house, shoes behind her, and locked the door. Before he did anything, he made a cup of tea. It wouldn't do for a Sargento of the 88. Paratrooper Regiment, 7. Airborne Brigade to seem drunk at the barracks. Not at all.

[Organized States]

OOC: Shit post is shit. Sorry.

EP-7E Aries III
13 Nautical Miles off the Coast of Aurde

At 20,000 feet, just outside the coast of the Southern Coast of Aurde sat an OS Navy EP-7E of VQ-1 World Watchers listening in to the various transmissions coming from inside Aurde. Cell phone conversations, radio transmissions along with satellite and radar networks were all things that the EP-7's advanced sensors sought out and honed in on. The EP-7E was an essential air asset that provided intelligence to combatant commanders across all of the Joint Services. Though, Lieutenant Commander Jacob Harnsey would probably be happy if they weren't flying so close to an Achesian-supplied Integrated Air Defense System's coverage area. But, that was the Big Navy for you. He thought. Lieutenant Franklin McCaully, Harnsey's copilot, leveled-off the four-engine aircraft from a right bank to better calibrate the sensors. Today was a routine patrol flight, with Aurde's short distance from the OS, and its growing alliance with Achesia, the OS made sure it paid close attention to what was going on there. "Sir, there's a situation back here." said Ensign Philip Coughlin over the aircraft intercom, one of the NFOs supervising the various enlisted Aircrewmen in the back.

"What's going on Coughlin?" asked Harnsey. Coughlin's division was responsible for radio transmissions across all the various frequencies and bandwidths.

"Sir, we're picking up an odd frequency on a normally civilian channel. It's a repeating message. Clearly a recording, but it's talking about some bad mojo, shit." replied Coughlin in a bit of a panicked voice.

"Alright, I'll be back there in a second. Standby."

"Roger that, sir."

Harnsey set his headset to wireless, and stood up and walked through the EP-7's cabin, passing a dozen NFOs and Naval Aircrewmen as he proceeded to the rear of the aircraft where Coughlin's division and their various antennas were located.

"What's going on, Couglin?" asked Harnsey to the young NFO, a Black Columbian, one of the very few in the Navy's officers' corps.

"Well, sir. We got an unusual transmission on an HF channel. It's a repeating message, but just tell me what you think of it." replied Coughlin, before connecting Harnsey's headset to one of his section's terminals and pressed a button, playing an audio message from a man speaking English with an Aurdecois accent. He spoke seriously and slowly, almost as if he was mourning. What he described was unspeakable, a total lack of human decency by Aurde's armed forces.

"Coughlin, log that and get it to the spooks. This is something they need to hear."

"Aye, sir."

Westholt AFB
South of Tarantino
Four Hours later

Major Mark Logan attempted to move as quickly as possible in the pressure suit, but it was a little hard. If they could make such a fast airplane, why the hell couldn't they make a goddamn more comfortable flight suit to use with it? He was a fighter jock, initially and it was a goddamned miracle that SAC even considered him for this job, so he counted his blessings, but the pressure suit certainly wasn't one of them. It was hot while walking out the aircraft in the hot, West Coast sun, particularly here in this goddamned desert. The crew chief saluted him as he approached the sleek, long aircraft. The Lockheed Martin SR-91 Northstar was the pinnacle of Black Projects engineering. Capable of Mach 5, this dark grey aircraft was responsible for the majority of UFO sightings across the planet due to its unusual shape and secret nature. Logan struggled to return the salute, before climbing into the cockpit and pulling off his garrison to replace it with the standard flight helmet from the F-29. With the help of the crew chief, he strapped into the aircraft and closed the aircraft's canopy. He then began to power up the aircraft's two powerful engines and radioed the tower.

"Westholt Tower, Blackstar 1-1, requesting permission to taxi to Runway 5-1 for priority take-off and tasking." Logan said into the radio after powering up the two engines.

"Blackstar 1-1, Westholt Tower, you are cleared to taxi to Runway 5-1 for priority take-off." replied the tower controller curtly.

"Blackstar 1-1 taxing to Runway 5-1."

"Roger that Blackstar, good hunting."

Logan taxied the aircraft to Runway 5-1 and immediately took up position at the very end of the 15,000 foot runway. Logan began to gradually power the aircraft and push it forward down the runway, rapidly gaining speed. He then pulled back on the stick and let the airplane begin to climb before bringing the power to 75%. 5,000 feet. 10,000 feet. 20,000 feet. 30,000 feet. 40,000 feet. 50,000 feet. 60,000 feet. 70,000 feet. 80,000 feet. 86,000 feet. The curvature of the Earth was extremely evident. He was now close to the bay of New Alexandria, viewing its urban landscape in a way not seen by many others outside of the SR-91 pilot corps. He then began to bank the aircraft slowly, as to not destroy the extremely fragile aircraft by exceeding its G limits. Mach 5 made the size of oceans rapidly disappear, thusly in two hours, he soon found himself 100 nautical miles the coast of Aurde, flying up the south to north. He turned on the aircraft's advanced sensor and camera package and began to snap photos of the interior of Aurde, particularly the majority Catholic South. It was a peculiar mission, but it was not Logan's job to ask the spooks questions about what he was supposed to be attempting to find. Within another hour, he had covered the majority of the south and began to continue North.

[Achesia]

The Spire, Government Capitol Building of the Republic of Achesia
Fawnnorth, United Republic and Realm of Achesia

While usually bustling and noisy the Senate Office Wing of the New Achesian government complex was unusually quite today, its marble floor halls and modern appeal not echoing the usual sound of political discourse during this Wednesday afternoon. This would usually occur during a recess of the Senate between voting sessions, but especially not during an election season, not one as hotly contested as this. Most were down in the atrium of the tower waiting the Ackular's speech to both houses of legislature, but not Senator Tanner Grier, he took advantage of this moment, sitting at his desk, getting some last minute... paperwork. He reclined for a moment in his large leather chair, looking over a painting that hung across the room. He closed his eyes slightly in bliss as a deep breath left his lips, he hummed a moment before he heard the sounds of clicking heels making their way towards his office.

"Mrs. Grasley." He mumbled. Fidgeting and sitting upright in his seat.

The footsteps soon turn the corner as a smiling old documents clerk walked in through the oak door of his office.

"Senator Grier." She smiled handing him an envelope. "I was surprised to get a request of such today with everyone down to listen to the speech. But look at you, working away." She twirled her hands musingly.

"Well with the election and the bill I am sponsoring I hardly have time to sleep much less listen to speeches." He smiled half genuinely, but more to get the old hag to leave.

"Your constituents are lucky Senator." The woman who was about the same age as Tanner Grier remarked as she exited through the door. The Senator did his best to keep a smile on until she was out a sight, and then he quickly began to fidget with his trousers.

"She's gone." He hastily said as he stood up and zipped up his trousers. A deep nervous breath came from under his desk as a young long legged secretary stood up from under. The dark hair of the girl was a bit frazzled as she grasped it in one hand and wiped her lips with the other. She tired her hair into a bun and swiftly made to button up her blouse, stuffing her breasts back into her bra.

"Old hag." Senator Grier remarked with his hands on his hips. "She has been after me since the day I was elected... what is she thinking? I'm married!" He looked over at his busty aide who still fiddled with the small buttons of her blouse. She bent over to pick up a few things that she had dropped on the floor right as the Senator had stuffed her under the desk, for some "personal assistance." Grier admired her posterior as she bent over, her young rounded chaps filling out her grey office skirt.

"Maybe she is right though." She said snapping back upwards, pulling down her blouse and adjusting her skirt. "Should we be at the speech?" She looked at him with her big brown eyes.

Grier rolled his own eyes and looked at his watch. "We still have fifteen minutes." He looked up at the ceiling and then down to the floor. "Fine." He blurted. Making his young aide, Ms. Tracee Rike jump a moment out of being startled. "Get the packets together, there are a few people I must hunt down in the first place." He started for the door, leaving his assistant to struggle gathering the many papers needed for today, stuffing them in a large black leather bag.

Just as he was about to cross the threashhold of his office, the familiar and annoying sound of chiming from his desk phone. Grimising he looked at his assitant who was piling a stack of papers in hos breif case. She pulled back one of her bangs and wiped her hands along the hips of her skirt, before she picked up the corded black phone.

Senator Grier, ANP

"Senator Grier's office." She said in a soft voice. Senator Grier stood in the doorway, checking his watch before crossing his arms inpatiently.

"Yes, I will let the senator know." She hung up the phone. "An emergency session of the defense committee has been called. It is held on the twentieth floor in thirty minutes."

The Senator smiled, "That sounds more like it." He promptly walked out of the door. It wouldn't take him long to head down to the chambers in which many of the secret meetings of the defense council met.

The twentieth floor was an extremely quite one, except for the presence of armed guards whom with their steely eyed gaze and bolstered biceps and machine guns surveyed the senator as he approached the security station at the mouth of the long hallway. Senator Grier in all of his narcissism did not like to mill about with the guards like some, he simply flashed his badge and stared without care of the guards who looked him up. Soon without words they unclipped the velvet red rope which hung between brass stanchions to let the senator make his way to his meeting. As he proceeded down the hall he heard a loud clammer and a thousand apologies, his assistant surely dropped all of his things in her haste, if she was only as graceful as she was pretty.

Room 2034 was a small corner room on the meeting floor, but its purpose in life was to host secret briefings for the ears of the countries top leaders, inside the walls were a dark grey foam, meant to keep all the acoustics of the small room inside, and any prying ears on the outside. In the center a glass topped metal table ran the length with leather chairs all around. Senator Grier was seated along the long side of the table, facing other members of his committee from all parties, one such Senator from the royalist party smiled as he watched the single monitor which he asked to be tuned in to the Ackular's speech.

"Tomorrow as the citizens of this Realm cast their decisions as to whom shall lead our nation's government in trying times, I trust that they know the only leader worth having as the President, is Rodolf Requient." The aging Ackular looked grim faced and serious as he delivered his final remarks to thousands of statesmen and civil servants. Behind him however was the face of a much younger and more bright man, the man in which the Royalists wanted to see head the next government. The man that Senator Grier knew would turn it all back over to the Royal Family. Senator Newton who sat across from him was from the next province over, and a prominent Royalist Party member. At the Ackular's words he had much more hope and glee, but for the National Party senator, Grier knew that his parties time would be at an end, because the Prince Rodolf was going to win, the polls, the rallies, everything pointed to that. He languished at how President Freddrick could have let it all slip through his fingers, letting the party fall from grace when it had all the power. Grier had to do something to keep his own standing...

"I see you hold high hopes for tomorrow." Grier remarked at Newton's positive expression.

Ms. Tracee Rike

"Don't look so grim Senator. Not all parties can remain forever." Newton barely looked away from the screen as the footage panned to the rest of the Royal Family: The Ackules Janice a tall darker haired woman of noble birth who was lucky enough to catch a much younger Ackular's eye many years ago. Acklium James the IX the heir to it all, a aphotic looking lad, his expression while charming now, in a more professional setting could dishearten the strongest of political opponents. Next to him stood a young lady he was only slightly familiar with, the young Princess from the Kingdom of Aurde, Pricilla. After would be both Princesses Alexandra, Melissa, and young Prince Andrew.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Vice President of Statecraft, Hans Knut." The aide holding the door to the conference room announced. Everyone from the senators that sat at the table to the aides who sat along the wall stood in respect to the VP as he walked into the room and too the far end head of the table.

"Turn that off." He grunted as he stared viciously at the Royalist Party members in their midst. He knew he would soon be out of a job, and hoped it would stop there... when political shifts like this happened, sometimes loosing a head was more than likely. Behind him walked in the Supreme Commander of the Achesian military General Hans Baldur, a vehement Royalist. He sat at the opposite end of the table as the VP, tugging the coat of his black uniform sharply before sitting.

"I've called this meeting of the Senate Defense Committee to appraise you of a dire situation developing in Aurde within the last few hours." He mulled through some papers before coming to the one he was looking for. He held it up for the room to see. "A report from the Intelligence Department shows that the Aurdecoius military has been carrying out wide spread attacks on Catholic population centers in the south of the country." He threw the paper down and shot a glance across the table at the General. He knew in the back of his mind that the Royalists at the command of the Ackular had ordered this of the Aurdecoius King, it had the stink of Royal sedition all over it. "But the worst of all of this is the Sylvan's have caught wind of this, and Aurdecoius Intelligence have made us aware that an Organized State's recon aircraft made a run along the edge of space above Aurde just earlier today."

Murmurs began to run around the table, Aurde was an ally of Achesia as far as the government was concerned (unaware that it was just a puppet of the Ackular) and with the moral vigilanteism history of both the Commonwealth and the OS they knew that intervention was going to happen, which would put the doomsday clock just a hair's second towards midnight.

"The Sylvan's have already responded." The Supreme Commander, chimed in as he pointed a controller at the monitors. A map appeared on the screen at his command and it showed the Aurdecoius city of Montignac. "The Sylvan Embassy to Aurde in Montignac has been evacuated. And Naval Intelligence has told me that there have been movements of Sylvan forces in the area to send a small force to the city. We have shared this with our Aurdecoius counterparts but they would not stand a chance against both the Commonwealth and the OS."

"Commander do you mean to suggest Achesian intervention in the matter?" Senator Jackson, a Party of the Republic Senator spoke as he leaned in.

"I have already placed our western forces on alert, and made preparations for forces to be on ready standby if the need for them to deploy is there. But without direct provocation, or a legitimate request by the Aurdecoius government for military aide, we cannot take action."

"We may be met with such provocation sooner than later." The VP stated as he read over a report handed to him moments earlier by an aide. The room fell silent waiting for what the VP had to say. "The Sylvan's have announced that they will begin an arms embargo on the Kingdom of Aurde, and will begin searching ships coming into Aurdecoius ports."

"Outrageous!" A senator cried.

"Do they mean to provoke us?" Another slammed his fist.

"Surely they do not expect us to stand by as our ships are searched!" Senator Grier spread his hands wide and slapped the edge of the table.

"We most make an official statement, condemning this." Senator Newton asserted.

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

The room seemed to be in favor of such a matter.

"Are our Naval Forces in a place to look after Achesian commerce ships?" Grier questioned.

"I have notified our Mozrian Sea fleet to be prepared to intervene on Achesian's behalf. We have calculated that the first ships to enter the Sylvan patrol line will arrive so in just three hours. Agriculture ships for the most part, shipping food."

"We must make a statement condemning this measure at once!"

---

Official Diplomatic Communique of the Achesian Department of Statecraft
To the Commonwealth of Sylva

---

It has come to our attention that you have placed an arms embargo on the Kingdom of Aurde. While we are appalled at the reported atrocities committed in the southern regions of the country, we do not support any such measures to illegally search commercial ships crossing the channel from Achesia to Aurde. We do not look kindly on foreign militaries detaining ships registered to Achesia, and promise swift political and diplomatic repercussions if any such search or seizure of our vessels are made. We urge you to not cause an International Incident. We additionally have summoned the Sylvan Ambassador to Achesia to the Spire to meet with the President on this matter.

Let us a address this before escalation takes us off of the deep end.

[Signed]
Hans Knut, Vice President of Statecraft
United Republic and Realm of Achesia

OOC: Sylva, if the IC response to the embargo and blockade is too soon let me know.

[Nova Sylva]

SYLVAN EMBASSY, FAIRFORD, ORGANIZED STATES OF COLUMBIA

The scotch was almost empty, the ambassador noticed. His Colombian counterpart seemed to notice too, except he was looking enviously at the liquor cabinet behind the ambassador’s desk. He probably wanted the tequila. Or maybe the Cabernet. The latter was more appropriate, given the circumstances. Might as well ask. “You want some more booze?”

“Nah, I’ll be working off this hangover when I present this to the joint chiefs tomorrow.” He held up a file with ‘Aurde’ planted in big letters along the front. More conspicuously was the large seal of the Sylvan Office of National Intelligence, ONI. Next to ONIs symbol was that of the Organized States’ Defense Intelligence Agency.

“Your welcome for that, by the way,” the Sylvan said, rolling the last of the ice around in his glass. He hoped maybe they would melt into more alchohol. No such luck.

“I thought I already said thank you?”

“I just like hearing you say it.”

It was a weird situation, for sure. But that was politics. The Sylvan population didn't like the Organized States very much. Most Sylvans felt that Ellis and his cabinet betrayed the Sylvans and broke their defensive agreement and therefor it was a nation of hypocritical liars. And they discussed such while driving their Columbian cars, dressed in the newest Columbian fashion trends and eating their favorite Columbian fast food.

“I’m sure Prez will do something about this Aurde mess,” the Columbian said.

“Just as she did in Saxony, eh?”

That last part had hit a nerve. Maybe it was time to crack open the tequila after all.

[Achesia]

King's Park Courtyard, Civray, Aurde-

King Augustus looked over the digital pad in horror, the report that he reviewed gave detailed accounts of the actions of the Deus Vult Brigade in the south of Aurde, and the now imminent Sylvan response.

"Who ordered this?" He looked across the limo to one of his intelligence advisors from the Police Secrète Royale.

The advisor shrugged, "No one at Haut Commandement Militaire would admit to such an act."

"Order them to stand down, and have their commander summoned here!" He slammed the pad down on the leather seat, barely missing his wife, the queen's thigh.

"We have not been able to communicate with the brigade for some time. They have gone off the grid." His military advisor informed.

The King looked out the window at the droves of subjects that lined the road that his motorcade traveled along. They waved the crimson red flags of Aurde around with such happiness, but he knew that his subjects in the south were probably burning them, the Catholic population furious at the actions of his military. He knew the Requients were behind this, only they woulds stir the pot like this, but he had no proof, and bigger problems to worry about. There was no way that Aurde would stand against the Septentrion community as a whole, they would have to rely on Achesia, to whatever end they wanted to take them. His thoughts turned to his daughter, Princess Pricilla who was in Imperium with the Requients, he had sold her to the devil, and he feared he would never see her again. His only hope was to do what they told him, and try to get a handle of this situation.

The motorcade stopped at their destination, King's Park, a large garden in the middle of the city. It was a beautiful place for the subjects of Aurde to come and spend the day with their family, often filled with picnic goers, joggers, and children flying their kites. But today it was chalk full of people from across the Kingdom, waiting for the King to deliver his annual patriotic speech. The limo door soon was opened and the cheers from the outside wafted in with full force, the King and Queen waved gleefully and greeted the crowd with compassion and respect as they walked towards a small pavilion in the center of the park that had been assembled.

Kyle Avondale, COAFT

Kyle watched as they walked down the path marked off by metal fences and Royal security agents. He adjusted his sunglasses and shoved his way through the crowd to get a closer look of the King and Queen as they prepared for the big moment. But first the festivities would come, and what a year it would be for festivities. Kyle Avondale was impressed with such a beautiful country that Aurde was, certainly not a shit hole like the former colonies or Valencia, two places he would never care to visit again. Security was tight today, no less due to the shit storm they had been stirring in the capital. Two bombings, three shootings, and one raucous rally in the streets had put the whole city on edge. He watched the MAS.72C St'auod Gunship Helicopter fly high above in security for the event, the snipers adorning the roofs of nearby buildings, and the parade of finely dressed Royal Guard marching to the center of the courtyard. Yes it was going to be a bit of a row, chaos as all of these individual assets would never know what was coming.

He watched as the blue coated guards goose-stepped around the grass with their tall feathery hats and AK5 assault rifles shouldered with bayonets. One he watched was a younger man, barely a man, just a boy marching around in a flashy uniform, just like the rest. As the King and Queen sat down under the pavilion they observed the troops as they marched, and chatted with the nobles and advisors that surrounded them. It was a joyous occasion for all.

Taking center stage was a much older soldier, dressed similarly as the rest of the rank and file, but with slightly more gold embroidery than the rest. The Colour Sergeant as he was known called out the commands as the soldiers marched to place, they marked time marched in the center of the parade field for a moment before halting with a one-two step. Kyle was impressed at their professionalism, Aurde was known for the showiness of their military events.

"Le-he-eft sho-ul-der ARMS!" The colour sergeant bellowed as he raised his saber to his shoulder. "Ri-ight, FACE!" The soldiers turned in unison. "Pre-sent, ARMS!" in a two step motion the eight soldiers took their rifles to port arms, their rifles diagonally across their bodies, to present arms, their rifles straight up and down with triggers facing the King and Queen, a sort of Royal salute. The queen at this time grabbing the Kings arm and smiling, whispering something in the ear to make him laugh.

"Port, ARMS!" They finished their armed salute. "Re-ady, VOLLEY!" All eight soldiers raised their weapons to point towards the sky, preparing to give a loud gun salute, children and adults alike plugging their ears in preparation for the loud sound.

"FIRE!" He was especially loud with this command, the eight soldiers began to let loose a volley of blank shells... all but one at least. The young boy soldier lowered his rifle much lower than the rest, and in a loud and confusing moment let a torrent of 5.56 mm lead fire into the VIP crowd, particularly at the King and Queen. The crowd cried in horror as the blood spattered all around. The king was the first to fall before both the queen and several VIPs behind her too took a load of bullets to their bodies. Several of the other guards tackled the boy before he could do more damage, but the real job was done. The Police Secrète Royale rushed to the King's side... but one shook his head, he was dead, and so was the queen.

Kyle made himself scarce. There wasn't much else they needed to do here, he nodded in a few different directions and Top, Itchy, and Lurker all in their own routes, made a swift exit with the panicked crowd.

[Achesia]

/// ENCRYPTION LEVEL J ///

//// BEGINNING TRANSMISSION ////

***WARNING TRANSMISSION IN PROGRESS***

ROUTING CHANNELS....

/// ACTIVATED, WELCOME USER "[]*&I04" ///

0xF402///IT HAS BEGUN... []*&I04

2d0047///GOOD, WE ARE HOLDING OUR POSITION... {3}x#4

0xF402///THE SYLVANS HAVE EVACUATED THEIR EMBASSY, PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR AN ATTACK... []*&I04

2d0047///I LOST HALF MY MEN ON THAT BRIDGE, WE NEED REINFORCEMENTS, WHERE ARE THE VIOLET FORCES... {3}x#4

0xF402///THEY HAVE PUT SEVERAL RANGER UNITS ON ALERT, ITS ALL OVER THE MEDIA, BUT THEY CANNOT DO ANYTHING AT PRESENT... []*&I04

2d0047///CIVARY KEEPS TRYING TO COTNACT US, THEY KNOW WHAT WE HAVE BEEN DOING... {3}x#4

0xF402///A OS RECON PLANE CAUGHT A TRANSMISSION FROM A APSOTATE ON THE RADIO, YOU NEED TO STIR THE POT MORE... []*&I04

2d0047///THE KING IS DEAD HOW MUCH MORE NEEDS TO BE DONE?... {3}x#4

0xF402///BE CREATIVE, I AM CONFIDENT THE PRINCE WILL NOT LAST LONG, AND WITH THE PRINCESS IN THE HANDS OF VIOLET, ACHESIA WILL INTERVENE... []*&I04

2d0047///IT WILL BE TOO LATE... {3}x#4

0xF402///DONT BE FOOLISH, CARRY OUR YOUR ORDERS... []*&I04

***TRANSMISSION ENDED***

/// CONNECTION LOST ///

&*%(^596GHB/////

[Nova Sylva]

THE ACROPOLIS, CHANDLER, SYLVA

“Gentlemen.” Sylva’s Foreign Minister, Stefan Malaga, said, closing the door behind him with something remarkably close to a slam. The soft, resounding click of lock followed. The ambassadors of both the Organized States and Westervelde exchanged glances as Malaga began speaking.

“In tweve hours, the Comudad de la Fuerzas Armanas will begin its liberation of Aurde. We’re all allies here - I'll speak frankly. The Sylvan Legion, an airborne brigade, and a tank regiment will make up the Commonwealth’s contribution to what we hope can become an international peacekeeping effort. There are two primary motivators for this. One, we wish to see the Catholic population within Aurde ensured basic human rights as well as say in government. We won't stand for this sort of genocide. Secondly, the situation developing in Aurde gives us a unique opportunity to strike a blow against Achesia’s foreign influence, one that we do not intend to let pass.

“If we play our cards right, we can walk away from this conflict with both sides of the Columbian Sea in friendly hands. This will be a major blow to Achesian influence within the Strachan Sea, and thusly, Casaterra. But we cannot do this alone. Sylva alone is no match for whatever forces the Achesians will send to defend their little puppet state. However, with naval, ground, and economic support from the Entente Cordial -” he nodded towards the Westerveldian ambassador – “and the Organized States, we can bring this to a quick resolution, and strike a blow against the Achesian threat.”

“Achesia, like us, does not want a conflict between our countries and I doubt they are willing to risk one to save Aurde. As such, the plan my government proposes is to seize as much territory as possible in a short amount of time. The Fuerzas Armanas will be landing in Montignac. I would suggest that the Westerveldians land in Lorraine, and the Organized States in Calais. Then, all of our respective forces advance on Civray, and deny it to the Achesians.

“Are there any objections to this course of action?”

The Sylvan Goverment calls on Aurde and Achesia to calm the situation developing in Southern Aurde. If the Aurdecois Goverment does not recognize the basic rights of the Catholic population by removing all military forces from the theater within twenty-four hours, the Commonwealth will have no choice but to forcefully defend the rights of Aurde's citizens itself.

[Achesia]

---

Official Diplomatic Communique of the Achesian Department of Statecraft
To the Commonwealth of Sylva

---

We recognize the tragedy which has taken place within the south of Aurde, however we caution the Sylvan government from causing an incident by pre-maturely deploying forces into a sovereign nation. Such an action will be met with force by the Royal Armed Forces of Achesia in defense of its ally. Consequently we recognize the need to end this atrocity and ask that the Achesian diplomatic corps be given 72 hours to resolve the situation with the Aurdecois government before any military action is taken. If we are unsuccessful at this time we recognize the need for international peacekeepers from Sylva to be sent in to Aurde. However; we reiterate that any invasion of the sovereign nation will be met with force. Do not escalate this farther than needed...

Let sane heads prevail.

[Signed]
Hans Knut, Vice President of Statecraft
United Republic and Realm of Achesia

[Achesia]

Anjou International Airport, Kingdom of Aurde-

"LA nine eighty three you are cleared for landing on runway three." The radio call came.

Alright, lets head in. An older pilot nodded to his younger counterpart. The two men took the controls of the large Lark Airlines Boeing 777 and pushed them forward allowing the aircraft to descend into Anjou International Airport. It was the pitch black of night, but this 24/7 airport was no stranger to traffic, being one of the top destinations for international flights from Achesia, Mozria, and Aldanea. This Lark Airlines aircraft however was not on a commercial flight, its flight plan had it coming in for servicing at one of the large aircraft painting facilities that were set along the side of the airport. A lucrative business for the city as there were no such other facilities within thousands of miles.

The aircraft touched down at about 11:34 at night, the blue and red lights along the side of the runway guided it down to its full stop.

"Cabin crew we have arrived at the destination." The captain announced to his small crew that manned the aircraft. He taxied the plane to the dark side of the airport, where only a few ground crew guided them towards the large looming hangers in the distance.

"Alright lets power her down." The pilot flipped a few switches and the slow humming of the engines quited down to just a low purr.

The large doors of the hanger opened up to reveal a low level light that illuminated the large interior, as the plane scooted in, it came to a full stop on its mark, and the hanger doors behind it closed.

"Arlight, turn her off." The captain said as he let out a sigh. He turned to his co-pilot and nodded. They both got up from their seat and walked to the door of the flight deck, unlocking the door locks and prying open the door. Inside the dark cabin the red lights gave them some vision of the long stretch of seats, but unlike a normal maintenance flight, the seats were filled, 400 soldiers, Royal Rangers to be exact filled the seats, waiting for the order to disembark. They were suited up and armed as if they were flying this commercial airliner into battle. FN SCAR-H, Mark 48, M240, these were the weapons of choice for the ranger. The order was soon given for them to disembark, and wait in a few holding rooms tucked away secretly within the hanger. Here they would wait for the order... to move swift in the defense of Aurde.

They would not be alone, eight such planes from different airlines were scheduled for "maintenance" within the next six hours and would arrive in the same manner.

[Achesia]

Outside Parlent, Kingdom of Aurde-

"Tell me, are you scared?" He held his face close to the man, his warm breath causing the other to wince. The sun was beating down on the mans skin as he lay exposed to the bright orb, his epidermis blistered from the grueling conditions he had been kept in. The man simply nodded his head as he whimpered, there were no more tears to give, his body already dehydrated. "It will only last so long." He ran the blunt edge of a long blade across the mans cheek, making it a point to prick a little blood from the mans face as he lay against the board. Soon his expression was one of terror and moments later he was screaming in pain. The clap of metal on metal resounding right in his ear as they nailed his hands to the wooden board, and then again his feet to the bottom of the board.

"Colonel, more were hiding in the basement of the church." A few man, dressed in green fatigues dragged a few catholics along in the dirt. One woman squirmed a bit as she tried to break free of the tight grasp, but she was quickly met with a fist in her face, she now lay bleeding in the dirt, but before she could wipe her mouth off and stand back up one of the men grabbed her and brought her before the Colonel. He knelt down to her level, her hair and face covered in a solvent of mud and blood, her face one of dream and spite.

The Colonel looked her over for a moment, and watched her wide eyed expression as they raised the man he was talking to previous up, his hands and ankles nailed to a cross. Many of the other captives cried in horror as the half alive man gasped for air as he joined the dozens of other dying that were hung on crosses along the road.

"Lash them to crosses." The colonel simply said, smiling as he watched the panic in the woman's eye. Many screamed and cried, and were quickly beat with fists and rifles. Another managed to break away and run for the woodbine, but he was shot swiftly and in his half alive state was brought back, the bullet wound in his lower abdomen bleeding heavily. "That one first." The Colonel pointed his blade towards the man who was half delirious from the blood loss.

"Sir, orders from higher." Another soldier joined the group, he looked over the calamities before him but tried to not pay too much attention to it. The colonel got up and surveyed his work before following the staff member to a distant tent that sat between a schoolhouse and a residence. The remaining townsfolk who did not identify as christian tried to go on about their day as if nothing was going on. Knowing that could have been them.

As they entered the tent the busy headquarters of the Deus Vult Brigade was a buzz of activity, but aside from a few questions that were asked of him the colonel ignored the rest and headed for a separated part of the tent, a dark room lit only by a computer screen.

"Sir." The operator acknowledged his entrance. The Colonel looked at the screen for a moment, it was the familiar sight of bright green coded text from an encrypted message. The user "0xF402///" was relaying communications to the operator. The operator pointed to one in particular.

"0xF402///GOOD WORK, THEY ARE ANGRY, PROCEED WITH PLAN... []*&I04"

The Colonel nodded as he contemplated. The aide that originally came to get him looked on and waited for the order from the colonel.

"Sir?" He inquired.

"Strike the tents, order the men to place the vehicles in position as planned. Then carry out the orders which we discussed." He looked on at the young aide, knowing that his order would be carried down the chain to his down trace commanders.

"Yes Sir." The aide rushed to the encrypted computer outside the confined area. He typed in the command: "Proceed with Order Bravo." And pressed send.

All over Parlent orders were being given out to the troops of the Dues Vault Brigade, or what remained of it, around 2,500 soldiers, still armed. Trucks, APCs, and other equipment were driven to strategic positions of defense of the city, and then left.. abandoned. The soldiers, the began taking off their uniforms, putting on clothes taken from the catholic population which now adorned the side of the road to Montignac, and disappearing into the civilian population, hiding amongst the houses, places of business, community centers, and streets, they were prepared for the gorilla warfare to come. Defending their homeland from a Sylvan and OS invasion... If they wanted Parlent, they would have to commit allot of blood here, the now insurgent Dues Vault Brigade would not fall so easily.

Back in the capital of Civray orders from the high command were being given to troops all throughout the country, prepare for the invasion. Diplomats from Achesia and other nations were being put on commercial flights back to their homes, the Achesian ambassador specially disappointed that he was not able to do more to end the current situation, it would seem that Aurde now was prepared to go to war, instead of sit at the table of diplomacy. Fight squadrons were put on alert to prepare for an aerial assault, the ground crews for the new MAS.88B Lindworms prepared the newly procured aircraft for combat, its advanced stealth would be put to the test for the first time in the hands of the Royal Air Force. Naval units off then coast also prepared to take the first wave of the assault, the four Heteroclite Class Frigates patrolling the territorial waters off the coast.

The Prince all the while sat in Civray, burning with anger at the death of his parents. His commanders without any direction, did the best they could to prepare their forces for war.

[Nova Sylva]

SYLVAN LEGION, IN THE SKIES, AURDE

How to explain it? You probably can't. It's the sort of thing that you express only to people who don't need to know. The basic point, Salvador thought, was that you never really knew how it was going to turn out, even if you put as much as you could into it. There was always some nasty surprise that could be waiting for you. And then you had to stop thinking about it, because there was nothing you could do about it, and if you kept thinking about it you would just demoralize yourself. The rolling clouds will keep me sane until the moment comes, Sal thought.

Someone was shouting at him.

“What?” he shouted back.

“Alferez Legionary Commander—they want you in the cockpit.”

Sal got up and struggled his way to the cockpit, greeting some of his men on the way there. “What do you want?” he asked the pilot.

“Coronel Calabrese, We are closing within range.”

“Did Long Range Aviation do its job?”

“They think so. The Navy and our bombers blew the shit out of the Aurdecois IADS last night. We should have a clear run in.” That was just another thing to hope for, Sal thought. Another nagging reminder that something could go wrong. The view from the cockpit was much the same as the windows of the plane, just endless blank clouds, dormant and still and close enough to touch. Soon. “We will be beginning the descent momentarily.”

“Alright,” Sal replied, bending his back to get out of the cockpit. The plane began to descend and when they fell out of the clouds he saw beside him the rest of the formation, big great camouflaged planes with a Sylvan flag on them, and below the ground coming up to meet them, the waves against the white beach, and the endless squat houses of the city, the hills in the background and then more and more land, as far as one could see, roads snaking out to distant towns and villages. On the horizon he made out a group of mountains that rivaled those of the Sierra Sylva Range, where he and the Legion had mountain warfare training.

So this is Aurde.

Ten minutes later Sal gave the order for the drop to begin, and he stood first in line as the rear ramp door opened, feeling the hard wind on his face, and then he saw the rest of the planes, his troops falling out of them and the khaki parachutes billowing out in irregular lines, covering the sky beneath the clouds, and the airport below. He insisted on being first. His executive officer would make sure the rest of the plane emptied. He turned to the man behind him and shouted; “I’ll see on the other side!”

“Damn straight!” The XO replied, and Salvador jumped into the wind, one man amongst thousands.

[Nova Sylva]

MONTIGNAC INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, MONTIGNAC, AURDE

“Hey, sarge, have a look at this!”

Sargento Velasco had a look at it. It was a big one, bigger than the plane they used to drop in, though Velasco didn't know the name of either craft. It had parked on the far end of the airfield and faced to leave. The ramp was open and a group of men were frantically trying to take a tank out. Eventually it rolled off and started up the engine, driving off while the plane seemingly began to leave. Three more were coming in to land on the other side of the airfield.

“I think we got lucky sarge,” one of the other Soldado de Primeros ventured. “Watching planes come in, just like what my dad does at the airport. Not like Sylvan Legion, luckily. Heard the rebels are giving ‘me hell in Montignac.”

“Yeah sarge. Been shooting all day coming from that city, while the Eighty-Eighth Regiment tans on the runway. Has the Teniente told you anything yet?”

“Shut up,” the Sargento replied, turning around. “What did I tell you lot about counting your eggs before they've had a chance to hatch?”

“Well, I dunno sarge, we ain't got no bloody eggs in the Army.”

“Garcia,” Sargento Velasco sighed, “You wouldn't know what an egg was even if it was up your ass. You probably don't even know what a fucking chicken looks like you're so fucking stupid.” The boys laughed. “But just for your bloody stupid head, I'll go and ask the Teniente one more time if he knows anything.”

Velasco found his Teniente two rooms over. He was sitting on a bench. Writing. With a pen. Fucking writing, in a war. Must be dumb in the head, Velasco thought. Typical officer type. “Excuse me Teniente, but has anyone told you anything yet?”

“Sorry Sargento,” he replied, not even looking up. “I don't know any more than you do. Might check with the Coronel, but he's probably busy coordinating the logistics boys.”

Waiting, Velasco thought, was basically good. Firstly you were not being shot at and secondly you received regular rations. They had barely had to fire a round to take the airport and now, even if first battalion was out there in the city being shot at, they weren't, and that was what mattered, because every second you weren't being shot at was a second you were closer to getting those stupid young boys back home, back to their terraced houses and football and dingy pubs. That's my responsibility, Velasco thought. Not the mission, not the Commonwealth, and certainly not Aurde. Getting these boys back home.

He walked back into the room overlooking the airfield. The squad was deep in discussion. “Hey sarge,” one of them asked, “Do you think Aurd-de-cois chicas are the big tits, big ass type? See, Roberto thinks that they're all small and tight like a chink, but I reckon—”

“Shut it, Garcia, you twit!”

MONTIGNAC AIRPORT, MONTIGNAC, AURDE

The tanks of the Thirty-Second Armored Battalion themselves didn't take long to unload. They had been latched to the floor to prevent them moving in flight, and so the ground crews simply had to unbuckle the supports, and then the tankers drove their vehicles off and assembled them in the motor pool. The problem came in all the other stuff on the planes. While tanks and vehicles could be driven off of their planes, the same couldn't be said for the water barrels and ration boxes and ammunition containers.

So Teniente Ortega waited, chewing on the last stick of gum in the pack he had brought on the trip as he straddled the barrel of his tank. All the flavor was already gone, but he didn't really care. He had the entire pack in his mouth, all crumbled up into a big ball that reminded him of the stuff he got watching football games as a kid. It was supposed to have lasted him his whole tour in Aurde, but the flight was longer and much more boring than he had expected.

Ortega, a veteran of Altagracia, had spent it praying the Rosary he kept in his pocket, while Perez (the gunner) and Carpenter (the driver) and some others argued about football or told dirty stories about their girlfriends back home that probably weren't true. Those were the greenies, the ones who hadn't seen combat before. The vets, some of Saxony, some of Altagracia, and some of both, spent it praying, sleeping, or a mixture of the two.

His gunner, Perez, was throwing up audibly over on the other side of the tank. Poor kid. Not used to jetlag, Ortega guessed. Fresh out of the academy, and sent to Aurde? Not the ideal way of breaking in new soldiers, but it wasn't the Teniente’s job to complain. Ortega would make the best of it. He always did.

“Them bloody Achesians mobilized lot faster than we ‘spected,” said Carpenter, the driver, in a thick Aemen highlanders accent, to no one in particular. “Word is t’ey got men on the ground, up north.”

“How do you know this, and I don't, Carpenter?”

“I been hearing things,” Carpenter replied, with a sly smile. “That they be headin’ south to meet us, by the looks of ‘things. ‘Parrently the Columbians are joinin’ the fray too. It's gonna be a bloody orgy if you ask me, everyone fightin’ and fuckin’ I s’pose.”

Ortega didn't reply. He was busy watching another one of the big grey transport planes roll to a stop on the far airstrip as the smell and sound of burning rubber filled the air. He wondered who had to replace the tires on the things, and smiled at the thought of his tank’s tracks. Though they had their own problems too, he supposed.

Perez was back now. He was listening wide-eyed as Carpenter continued his heavily-accented rattling off of all sorts of rumors. Caprenter’s attempt to speak Spanish, however, was laughable. He knew the language alright (most Aemen and Sylvans were bilingual) but he couldn't pronounce the words to save his life. The kay sound in que, for example, he kept trying to say kwey. Or the double L’s in ellos, he actually pronounced them instead of making the y sound. Then again, Carpenter probably thought the same about Ortega’s English.

“Colombians are lockin’ it down out yonder,” he said. “Them and the Wesders, they got the sea locked down tight. You think they’ll stage a landin’, try and help us out?”

“I don't think so,” Perez spat. “They left us to dry in god-damn Saxony. God-damn cowards didn't have the balls to help us fight the god-damn Wankers. What makes you think they'll help us fight in God-damn Aurde?” He pronounced god-damn as two words, with emphasis on the latter half of the phrase.

“Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, Perez.” Ortega said sternly, spitting his gum out on the ground. “If you violate the Second Commandment again, I’ll have you go give the logistics boys a hand unloading the boxes, you hear?”

SYLVAN LEGION, MONTIGNAC, AURDE

“Alferez Legionary Commander,” the Capitán snapped to attention.

“Good morning Capitán,” Sal replied. Ahead of him the street opened up into a square, a fountain and statue bracketed by shops and somewhere further up a park. At one point, Sal thought, it must have been a busy part of the city. Now the windows were shut and the glass broken out and the benches torn away, though the fountain was still magically intact. Spread out on their side of the square, hiding in what used to be coffee shops and small newsagents, his own troops watched carefully through their sights, and the enemy watched back from the other side. Some uniform violations, Sal noticed; he’d get on them later.

The personnel carrier and the tank behind him rumbled. “Now, where exactly am I going?”

“You've got to go across the square, Alferez Coronel.”

“I see,” Sal said. If it was a trap, he would die without even knowing it.

“Bit dangerous,” his executive officer remarked, and then repeated. Sal turned to face him.

“Ramirez, Get one of them to come out and meet me half way. I'm not going out there on my own. If possible, bring me up a flight of helicopters, some more vehicles—I want these dirt monkeys to feel that I can wipe them off the face of the earth any time I want to.” The Commandante went off and Sal walked around a little, examining his troops. Most of them seemed alright. The better training and selection the Legionaries received was fairly evident. Sal was wondering what it would be like to command a lower grade unit when Commandante Ramirez returned.

“They have agreed.”

“Good. And the helicopters?”

“They'll be here in ten minutes or so.”

“Then tell the rebels that I will first be taking my tea.”

It was well timed. By the time Sal finished his tea, the helicopters could be heard, coming closer. They had been instrumental in capturing particular parts of the city and the Catholic rebel militia would know their sound by now. He caught sight of a few figures on the other side of the square and signaled to the Commandante. A translator and a few other intelligence officers that Sal recognized came over. He greeted them and set foot across the square.

In the centre, by the fountain, he met Pierre Delacroix. He was much taller than Sal, four inches or so, and broader, with thick shoulders and a thicker beard. He had very thin eyes, Sal noticed. “You are Coronel Calabrese, correct?”

“Yes. I didn't know that you spoke Spanish.”

“I do. My staff do not. I will translate for them what is useful. You may send away your translator.” He reminded Sal of the spitting image of the revolutionaries, unqualified men leading an uncultured movement. Pierre’s soldiers could barely be called that. No uniforms. No discipline. A bit of contrast to the commanding, contemporary, and cultured Sylvans. Funny how the men with the most principles could support the most unprincipled things.

“I would like to keep him around, if its all the same to you.”

Pierre ignored him. “Then you want us to sign a surrender, do you?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Sal snorted. “In fact, quite the opposite. Now, I don't know about politics. I'm a soldier only. But I have been instructed to present to you, for reasons I don't understand, an offer. The Commonwealth of Sylva will support you and your movement. We will sponsor you to form a Government and to rule this country, and our troops will support that Government against the radicals and the Royals. When order is restored, we will depart. Do you agree?”

“If I disagree?”

“We will find somebody else fit for the purpose.”

“Then I agree.”

“You don't want to discuss with your staff?”

“No. They will also agree.”

“Then the first order of the day is to stop our troops from shooting at one another. You will need some kind of uniform. In terms of communications...”

[Achesia]

The Spire, Fawnnorth-

The flashing images of celebrations and ticker tape ran across the news broadcast like a happy melody as Princess Alexandria and Melissa read of the winner of the Presidential Election as was tradition outside the Tower of Ascendancy. Rodolf Requient, they read off a small parchment that had produced from a golden envelope. The numbers were being released to the state run news network Achesian National News and information boxes with the candidates' picture and percentages popped up on the screen. Rodolf Requeint, 72%, Ottokar Freddrick (Incumbant), 25%, Other, 3%. It was a landslide victory for the Royalist Party.

Slumped in his office chair behind his large glass desk, Ottokar Freddrick watched the celebrations unfold... Utter defeat, the Royalists have taken complete control, with polls closing all over the country showing massive gains for the Royalist and Achari Parities in the Senate. Ottokar's own party the ANP loosing out big that night, their power completely curtailed. Now he only had weeks remaining in office, and worse, the Monarchs would return to power. It had been intensely speculated that the Royalist Party as well as the Achari and Party of the Republic would hold a referendum on the current government, revising the charter to remove both the Board of Governors from power, and give head of state powers to the Ackular. It would be a compelty 180 degree turn from their current state.

"Sir." A young Royal Marine Officer opened the door to his office. He stepped in along with a few others, they looked at each other as the President did not budge and instead sat in his slumped state watching the victory parities all over the nation. "Sir, the Sylvans have begun their incursion into Aurde." The military advisors stated as the came closer to the desk. President Freddrick looked at them, his disheveled suit wrinkled from a long day of preparation for the election. "Our forces are proceeding as planned, however do you wish to begin the second wave?" The officer looked over the man who clearly now did not care for the job that he much finish out.

Freddrick watched the screen as they showed Rodolf Requient parading around the stage with his family. Royals! How could the country elect a royal after they were disposed in civil strife barely a century ago. Had his administration destroyed the republic? It was over, he had to leave. He knew Achesia would not be a safe place for him, the Ackular would want his head before he could speak out against the change in government. The fact that he had not heard news from the Board was evident that they too saw the writing on the wall and would flee. Ottokar stood up from his chair, his advisors still chattering about the war in Aurde, some of them called out to him, but he swiftly walked away, down the hall. They didn't follow.

The Sun Dial, Achesian Military HQ

Little did it matter because the Supreme Commander had taken full control of the situation, per his higher's order. From The Dial- Achesia's Military fortress headquarters, he was monitoring the situation from what was dubbed, The High Command Chamber a large room filled with hundreds of analysts and commanders each communicating with troops in the field, ships far down range, satellites in space, and defenses in the homeland. Computer terminals ran in four long rows each facing the front of the room where four large screens displayed various things that commanders needed to see. General Balder sat in the General's box, a sort of VIP booth that looked over the High Command Chamber and had both work and lounge spaces for the nations military leaders. He sat currently with his legs crossed looking at a map of Aurde that was displayed live with friendly troop locations. They had lost much of Aurde's defenses in the Sylvan Airstrike some hours ago, but it was inevitable that would happen, they would not stand for he actions of the Deus Vault Brigade. Only the Armee Royale troops in the capital of Civray communicated at all with them, and they for the most part were tied up in quelling unrest.

An adjunct brought over to him a glass of whiskey in which he thanked her and took a slight sip. He looked at the violet marks on the board, Achesian forces now joining the fray to stop any large gains by the Commonwealth. Several violet unit indicators shown bright over he map. The first being a set of four battalion sized elements, Royal Rangers that had smuggled themselves in secretly to the country to gain an advanced footing. Through many secretive transits in semi-trucks disguised as agriculture shipments then made their way to their blocking positions parallel the city of Eure where they would set up in a covert defensive posture to prevent any advisory forces from making it further north. The fourth such Royal Ranger Battalion proceeded further to Lorraine to secure the airport there and make way for the landing of further troops.

Meanwhile after the Sylvan Airstrike the 8323rd Air Combat Wing began securing Air Superiority over the north of the country. Achesian observers were disappointed in not being able to see the exported MAS.88Bs in action against the Sylvans, they were destroyed on the ground, but even more of an interesting subject would be the first combat fielding of the MAS.89A Erydron fifth generation air superiority fighter, the most advanced fighter in the Achesian arsenal and possibly the region. It would take the spearhead in the air game during the first wave of the attack. Its combat air patrols continued as the advanced forces would begin to come into the country.

Special COAFT teams would secure and liaison with airport authorities in Aurillac, Eure, and Saintonge where the 1043rd Expeditionary Sustainment Group set up shop to provide logistic support to incoming forces. From there off in the Aurde strait, the body of water between Aurde and Achesia, the 67th Amphibious Group with its LHD, and LPDs provided a spring board for the assault of the 555th and 108th Air Mobile Divisions to fly over into Aurde and begin their movements to their intended targets. One Helix (Achesian Brigade Sized Element) of the 555th would make the short shot to Calais, a port town at the mouth of the Aurde Strait. Two more would proceed south to meet up with the Royal Rangers and reinforce the "Red line" that was drawn in the sand by Achesian commanders. The 108th Air Mobile Division would proceed further north of the 555th and would move through Aurillac to advance towards Auvergne and Guyenne.

General Balder was pleased with the progress that his forces had made, things were proceeding as planned and with god on their side they would be able to secure the majority of Aurde in the Princesses' name. From behind another adjunct brought a digital pad, this one with a camera imbedded in the top facing towards the user.

"Sir, General Hoft for you." The adjunct said softly. The screen lit up with the face of the FEF General in his reddish brown and green digital patterned fatigues.

"General, my COAFT team has made it to the Manderfort, but the Prince is gone. Some of the servants said that his military took him into hiding once the fighting began."

General Balder squinted his eyes to focus not he image of the man on the screen, he took a small sup of whiskey and responded. "Find the boy General, it is imperative we learn of his location as soon as possible." He turned back to look at the board, not much had changed since the thirty seconds he looked before. The Air Mobile Helix's slowly moving across Aurde's landscape, and the Air patrols continuing to circle overhead, only stopping to refuel in one of the logistics centers or be refueled in flight.

It would be a long night, but much could be accomplished with a good glass of scotch in ones hand.

*Note Map is for OOC keeping it straight purposes, not all locations are known to everyone. Ignore purple units that look like that are in OS thats a paint error to be corrected.

ORBAT of Forces in Aurde

1st Royal Ranger Brigade

1st Battalion, Royal Rangers
2nd Battalion, Royal Rangers
3rd Battalion, Royal Rangers
4th Battalion, Royal Rangers

555th Air Mobile Dragoon Division

1st Helix, 555th AirMob.
2nd Helix, 555th AirMob.
3rd Helix, 555th AirMob.

108th Air Mobile Dragoon Division

1st Helix, 108th AirMob.
2nd Helix,108th AirMob.
3rd Helix, 108th AirMob.

1043rd Expeditionary Support Group

1st Logistics Battalion
2nd Logistics Battalion
3rd CAS Battalion

8323 Air Combat Wing

1st Fighter Squadron (21 MAS.89A)
2nd Fighter Squadron (23 MAS.89A)
3rd Electronic Warfare Squadron (8 MAS.89E, 9 MAS.13E, 2 MAS.84E)
4th Strike Fighter Squadron (16 MAS.13C, 5 MAS.89S)
5th Fighter Squadron (23 MAS.81)
6th Attack Squadron (13 MAS.37A, 5 MAS.108G)
7th Attack Squadron (22 MAS.Z33)
8th Fighter Squadron (23 MAS.81)

8323 Air Logistics Wing

1st Airlift Squadron (20C MAS.84, 4 MAS.84M)
2nd Airlift Squadron (22C MAS.84)
3rd Theater Support Squadron (3 MAS.84B, 4 MAS.84A, 4 MAS.84W, 5 MAS.84R, 3 MAS.1017R)
4th Airlift Squadron (18 MAS.1017C)
5th Airlift Squadron (17 MAS.1017C)
6th SAR Squadron (4 MAS.108A, 8 MAS.78S)
7th Zone Lift Squadron (24 MAS.108C)
8th Zone Lift Squadron (23 MAS.108C)

[Achesia]

Staging Base Alpha, Port City of Vizzute, West Coast of Achesia-

The normally quite port town of Vizzute was a fisherman's haven and small goods trading port for the western coast of Achesia along the strait of Aurde. Its soft hills that surrounded secluded the small hamlet from the rest of the country, leaving it to its own local culture. Little knew of it expect the fishermen who called it their berth, ferrymen taking passengers across the strait, or traders bringing wares to the smaller kingdom across the water. But overnight it seemingly transformed as the military began operations around the area, taking over the town completely for their own needs.

As the closets port geologically to Aurde, Vizzute was strategic location for the Royal Army as it began its crossing into the smaller kingdom. Air fields were constructed by Engineer's swiftly to allow the Air Mobile Divisions a place to stop over and refuel before they made their flight across the water. A supply point to feed the ESGs in the field in Aurde also needed to be created to continue the constant flow of ammo, food, fuel, and troops into the war torn nation. The port was especially important to the Royal Marine as it would allow its Verve Class logistics ships a place to load troops and cargo and make the transit across the ocean. Thousands not inhabited the small costal town and the residents felt slightly crowded amongst the brouhaha of the military movements.

Helicopters, Cargo Jets, and the occasional jet fighter were the loudest of the contingent as they moved through Staging Base Alpha, the residents watching as they made their way west over the often stewing sea. The spray of the rough waters and the break of the salty waves often threatened to slow operations for the military, but there was always a solution found to move forward safely. Connex after connex was being loaded onto one Verve Class Logistics Ship, and the workers payed close attention to every step of the loading process. It was a massive undertaking and a sight to behold. One such sight caught the eye of the residents as they looked on at the movements of the soldiers and airmen, a small helicopter heading back to Achesia, eastwards. Rarely did they come this way, but this one did not waste time making its way to the makeshift air field.

Kyle Avondale looked over the town as they passed over in their MAS.78 B'l'ak tilt rotor, it was the first time back in Achesia for months since they were sent to the former colonies, it was good to be on home soil after a long and hard trip. The aircraft set down in a secluded part of the airfield where only a few more such aircraft were resting. Before the engines could begin to power down the team had exited the aircraft and headed for the building that was built just yesterday beyond. Inside was just a few desks and some chairs, a simple set up that had been thrown together in haste. A few sat in the room, all wearing similar uniforms of the Forward Expeditionary Force.

"Colonel." Top saluted the man sitting at the desk in the corner of the room. He responded with a likewise salute and stood up to shake their leader's hand.

"Ah yes, good you boys made it, sorry for the simple accommodations, but this is an Army operation out here, they didn't have much room for us FEF types."

"Its not a problem sir." Top responded. "We are just happy to be back in the fatherland."

"Good thing, its often taken for granted." He typed away to send a document to be printed off. He took a peice of paper, warm from the printer and handed it to Top. "Your new orders."

Top looked it over for a momment. "Sir I dont understand, we were supposed to be rotated back into training condition?"

"I undetstand, but we wouldn't ask you for more if it wasnt needed. Your team is the best, and they asked for the best."

"They?" Kyle interjected his question.

"The High Command, seems your next orders will come from their office." The colonel leaned back in his chair.

"Brilliant, on to the next mission then..." Lurker agonized.

"Roger sir, it will be done. Wheels up in five hours boys, get some rest until then." Top salauted the colonel once more.

"Any place to get a drink on this camp?" Itchy jested.

"Betcha that town has a pub, its nought but a click and a half down the hill." The laughed as they went to find their accomodations, the rest of the base hurrying to get things done.