The Brothers War | IC (Closed)

by **Leasath** » Tue Nov 22, 2016 8:05 pm

by **Republica De Gran Chaco** » Thu Nov 24, 2016 10:38 am

Heraclea Airport

The big 25 mm guns pounded away at the bottom floor of the control tower where scholarians had just run. The Jedorian vehicles were nice to have around and they had been doing a great job at keeping the outnumbered Scholarians quiet until a massive explosion erupted in front of the lines that had formed around the Latium men. Bryan had spoken to the Jedorian Major and the Chacano Marine captain and was now waiting for the orders to assault the main structure. The Scholarians had to have taken casualties, their positions had been under fire from machineguns Jedorian IFVs and rockets and 20mm cannons from the 2 Rooivalk attack helicopters. Who knew what their morale was like? The Now with the Jedorians circling around their positions and the reinforcements almost arrived by plane there was slim chance that the men defending the airport would hold out.

Bryan did not want to get any more men killed than he had to by assaulting the terminal and so he radioed his battalion commander who thought about it and then decided to put him through to Brigadier Thomás directly.

“Hello is this Captain Cayo I am speaking with?” The brigadier asked politely.

“Yes sir.” Bryan answered not comfortable speaking on the radio like it was a telephone, but that’s how Thomás had started the conversation.

“Wonderful job at the airfield today captain, what can I do for you?”

Brian still feeling awkward answered, “Sir I bet they are tired I want to ask them for a parley to see if they will surrender. I don’t want to risk any of my guys if I can get them to give up.”

The Brigadier answered in his calm voice, “That sound fine captain, if you want to try that, but listen. Don’t give them a second parley, and let them know that if they start damaging and more equipment or structures during the ceasefire then the offer is considered withdrawn, and you are to attack. The navy needs to move up the coast soon so I am going to be moving my headquarters for now. You are in charge until relieved, I will leave everything up to your judgment there. Good bye.”

“Yes sir, out” Bryan finished the sentence and then radioed to inform the Jedorians of his intentions.

He had some of his men root around some abandoned baggage for something white and fashioned it to a pole as a flag. Handing his galil and his CZ 75 to his XO Bryan realized what he was about to do, and thought about the chance that he could have been a snipers dream should the Latium men choose to be nervous or angry. He penned a quick note to his wife Alicia and handed that over to his xo as well. How could he ever tell her about this should he get hurt, and what would she think if he died? Bryan felt guilty for a momen, but then shoved that to the back of his mind. He went into his pack and grabbed his battered bush hat that he had worn on so many counter insurgency missions in southern Chaco and put it on his head in place of his helmet he was an officer of the Chaco Light Infantry and that hat was a source of pride for those who had earned it. Standing up, Bryan looked at the small collection of soldiers that were watching him, and suddenly felt weak. Bryan buckled his pack, closed his eyes and then took a breath and stood up on what felt like rubber legs, “Does anyone want to come along as a runner should I need one?”

The men looked down, occasionally shooting glances at one another. It wasn’t a popular thing to be asked to be an unarmed target out in the open. After several uncomfortable moments, Bryan’s regular runner, Lance Corporal Roman Rivera sheepishly raised his hand, “I’ll do it sir. I mean it is my job.”

Bryan gave him a huge grin and clapped him on the back. Bryan then addressed his XO, “Lieutenant Chavez, don’t fire if they shoot at us and miss, even if they open up as long as we are untouched hold your fire. But, should either of us get shot, I want you to level that tower. Have the weapons boys use the Carl Gustavs and the AT-4s and call in the rooivalks. Then inform the Marines that Captain Reyes is in temporary command of our companies. I won’t have a flag of parley violated, and if they are willing to kill us under neutral circumstances then I don’t want you guys to have to go room by room in that thing.”

Chavez nodded and Bryan and Lance Corporal Rivera began moving. Rivera picked up the flag and Bryan leaned over to him, “Thanks Roman” began walking over to the edge of the wall that they had been standing behind. Bryan stepped out and immediately crashed backwards into Rivera as a bullet snapped past his ear knocking both men to the ground.

“Are you ok sir?” Roman asked distressed.

“I think so.” Came the shaky answer. Bryan got up and helped Rivera to his feet and took the flag himself. He stuck it out in the open and waved it for about 30 seconds, and then closed his eyes and stepped out. There was only silence so he motioned for Rivera to follow and handed the flag back to him. Bryan walked in the open about halfway from his men’s lines to the control tower where the scholarians were and waited.

by **Lacus Magni** » Sat Nov 26, 2016 4:10 pm

Constantine

“Your Imperial Highness,” a voice called with a stretched out arm. There was shouting and screeching nearby, it pulled at his attention. There was a weak cry from someone else. But the voice called again. It was closer this time. “With me now, my prince.” He felt a tug of his arm, followed by the gust of air as a door closed behind him and the voice. The cries followed them, however. As did the screaming, though it became a more diluted sound behind the door.

“They are my children too”, a voice wailed from the other side of the closed door. It was a strained and feminine voice, nearly failing to be heard as it carried on. Another voice interrupted, but it was difficult to understand what it was saying, then the feminine voice began again. “Nobody wants her here. Nobody wants her bastard children here! They brought nothing but shame…

“Your Highness, come. This isn’t the place for children right now,” the voice said to him. It was another woman and she held a little boy, his brother, in her arms. Now she knelt over to try and whisk them both away from the yelling. But he stood his ground and just sat on the floor. “Very well, I’ll be right back. Don’t you move now.”

He sat on the floor with his arms crossed until the woman left the room. It was only then did he notice another boy seated across the room. This boy had a near pale skin, with long black and bushy hair; he was a new face in the palace. The sight prompted the boy on the floor to his feet, walking towards the new face as he swung his legs back and forth on the chair, seemingly oblivious to the commotion in the next room. He looked bigger and older, making this boy feel small.

“Are you the ba...bas...bastar?” he asked the new boy with the long, black hair. He stuttered and said the words oblivious to what they might have meant.

This other boy brushed a strand of his long hair away from his eye and stopped his leg swinging. “No. I don’t think so. I’m a prince,” the boy with black hair hopped out of his chair and to the ground.

“Me too,” the smaller boy smiled. “My name’s Co...Cons...Consant…”

“Constantine?” the boy with black hair finished his sentence. Constantine nodded as the other boy continued to speak. “My name’s Leo.”

“That’s my granpapa’s name,” Constantine said with a waning smile that was replaced with a frown. “He...he’s dead though.”

The boy named Leo brushed the hair away from his face again, and wore a smile before it faded away just like Constantine’s. “Mine too...and so did my other granpapa. Mother said that’s we had to run.”

“Run?” Constantine tilted his head. Then the screaming from the other room leaked out in full force. The feminine voice was his own mother, Empress Zoe. She was large now, pregnant with Constantine’s yet to be born sibling, but she remained as beautiful then as she ever had. “Why would you have to do that?”

“Constantine!” his mother shouted at him, his father the new Emperor Jason standing at the open door with his arms crossed and one side of his face glowing a bright red. She was rushing towards the next doorway that led to the hallway until Constantine didn’t budge an inch. When she saw him talking to Leo she immediately rushed over and her son by the arm. “Constantine, now! Get away from that bastard boy. If your foolish father won’t be rid of him and the others, then we’ll go. You’d like to see Avia Lyanna wouldn’t you? Now come with me at once.”

“No. I...I don’t wanna go,” Constantine said loudly to his mother, then heard his father’s heavy footsteps approaching. He tried to fall to the floor and sit to make it difficult to be taken away.

“Zoe! Zoe, let go of him,” Jason rose his voice more loudly than Constantine had heard at that point. “If he wants to stay that is his choice.”

“No! He is my son, and I am protecting him...from you, from everyone,” Zoe shouted back and tightened her grip on the young prince’s arm. The commotion must have been very loud, for a number of guards appeared out of the hallway, as did the attendant who still held his younger brother Michael.

His mother was sobbing now, unable to move Constantine from the floor, yet still held tight to his small arm. His father took her hand and loosened it from the boy’s arm until the arm was free of her grip. Zoe wiped a string of tears from her eyes and looked around the room to see only a single Praetorian guard remain, as the others must have had the good sense to back out after witnessing what they did. Standing next to the guard was the woman holding Michael. His mother was embarrassed, red in the face - nearly as much as his father’s right cheek. She stood over him, glaring at Jason until she stormed out of the room. “Aelia,” she shouted to the woman holding Michael, who quickly followed the Empress away.

His father helped Constantine to his feet and brushed off any dirt or dust that remained on his clothes. He knelt down next to him, and wore a confused look on his face, then looked to Leo. He tightened his lips, perhaps debating what to say next. “I see you met your cousin,” Jason finally spoke to his son. “How are things today, Leo? Finding everything satisfactory?”

Leo’s face slowly grew red. “Yes, sir,” he nodded shyly.

“Your Majesty,” a new voice called out. It pulled at Jason’s attention. The Emperor held out a finger to say just another minute.

“Why don’t you show Leo around, Kostas. Hmm, doesn’t that sound like fun,” Jason nodded along to his son. “Show him your toys. Maybe introduce him to your big sister. I think she’d like to meet him, don’t you

“Your Majesty,” the voice said again. Then there was silence until the voice was so close it was right on top of him. “Caesar.”

The voice woke Constantine up and he found himself reclining uncomfortably in a small, worn couch. His left leg was half laid over the nearest armrest, and his right slightly touching a footrest. His neck felt sore as well. Terrible place to fall asleep, he thought. But with how things had been of late, he was at least grateful to get any sleep at all. Three nights ago, the young Emperor was encamped thirty miles north of Kallipolis, where the battle for largest fight in this battle for Latium was taking place.

That was when he first heard word of Espo. First there was a message from the Dauphin Audric. The boy George...met a most unfortunate end, he recalled as his eyes wandered up and down the words of the Dauphin’s letter. The remainder of the message was largely undescriptive, but made it clear that his supposed bastard brother George was dead. He should have felt joy at hearing the words. One less usurper put him that much closer to the throne, and towards the safety of his family, yes that too. But he didn’t feel any elation or joy, instead there was a pit and deep sadness in him.

Constantine and his siblings met the bastard George once before, long ago as small children. The visit wasn’t all that memorable, though he had heard George was a respectable man. His first thought was that the man was still a usurper and a thief, but did he deserve to die?

“Your Majesty,” the voice said once more, as Constantine sat awake yet secluded in his thoughts. “The Consul and his family are due to arrive in an hour. I’ve laid out a few options for you to wear on your bed. Say...dressed in twenty? I’ll send someone to assist.”

“The Consul?” Constantine thought aloud. Dinner, right, he thought.

“Yes, sir,” his assistant replied, quickly moving about the room to tidy it. “For dinner with him and his family. It’s been in the schedule for sometime. I’ve prepared some notes on his wife and daughter as well...so you have somethings to talk about with them if need be.”

Constantine stood from the couch letting out a heavy yawn and long stretch once his assistant finally left him alone. He peered through an open doorway, catching the suits his assistant chose for him on the bed. They looked more or less the same, black, grey or navy suits with an assortment of ties both plain colored or striped in some fashion and a white shirt. Through the other door he spied his assistant turning the shower for him, then flashing a smile and walking out out the palace apartment after a bow.

After taking a quick shower and drying off, the Emperor dressed himself, shooing away the attendant sent to aid him. He chose to don the navy blue suit, with a diagonally striped grey and navy tie and dark brown shoes. He felt much more comfortable dressed this way, opposed to the dress military uniforms and fatigues he had grown accustom to wearing over the last two or so weeks. When he stepped from his chambers, his assistant was waiting for him with smiles. His tie must have been crooked because she straightened it just as his mother or father would have done if either were present.

The smells of dinner lingered through the hallways as the young Emperor marched towards the dining hall. Surely it’s been tidied up, he thought back to how the room quickly became a makeshift war-room and cabinet meeting room. The room wasn’t so much of a mess the last Constantine saw it as much as it was ill-suited to serve as a war room. Wheeling televisions into the room, along with the cords to many computers made the room difficult to navigate near the walls or central table.

Luckily, and just as he expected, the hall looked like a proper dining hall - one fit for a monarch. Once the door was swung open, the large, red, wooden table drew attention. Empty at the head of the table was the seat of the master of the house, formerly his Claudii ancestors The Dukes of Adrianople, and now him. Itself, the chair was older than the table, though bore the same inscriptions as the table marking their status as a gift from the Emperor Theophylactus I Augustus.

Much to his surprise, the Pompilii were already seated at the table speaking amongst themselves. On the right side of the table Consul Alexander Pompilus was, alone, seated. He slowly turned his head, laughing as something either his wife or daughter said before the Emperor entered, standing out of respect when he recognized Constantine. The Consul was a man in his late fifties, his hair growing more grey as the days went on. He was of an average build and height, wearing a steel grey suit, with navy tie. “Your Majesty,” the Consul stood with a slight bow his head. “It’s so good to see you back from Kallipolis.”

Seated to the left side of the table and across from the Consul were his wife and daughter, Sophia and Anna. His wife appeared younger, her hair still a vibrant blonde in a low cut style that fell to her ears. She wore a lavender dress, exposing her collarbone, yet with sleeves falling to just below the elbow. A calm and calculating face, she appeared stoic and not at all nervous of the host.

Quite the opposite was the pair’s daughter Anna. She was young, eighteen or nineteen by what Constantine recalled from a past conversation, and she certainly looked it. The girl had a similar look to her mother, though with a warmer and more nervous smile worn over her full cheeks. She was adorned in a silver, sleeveless dress that sank down below the view of the table. Her light brown hair showed strands of gold once it reached its tips, culminating in a long braided fashion that fell over her the slender and youthful frame of her shoulder. This wasn’t the first time Constantine had met her, but it was the first that he’d seen her dressed up so formally.

“I would have liked to stay a little longer, Consul. But I’ll be back before long,” Constantine said as he threw a smile on his face. The Emperor went to shake the Consul’s hand before he turned his attention to the ladies. He walked over to them with the same smile, exchanging a polite embrace and customary kiss on each cheek after he greeted them. “Mrs. Pompilius, Anna, thank you for joining me this evening.”

Sophia’s expression hardly changed until Constantine approached her, altering her stillness to weak smile. Anna’s face grew red, though she did well to keep her composure. “Well, we’ve all heard how your visit did wonders to turn the tide in the country’s favor. And with the news from Iuenna and Heraclae, why we may be back in Castellum within a fortnight,” the Consul added as all four found their seats and the servants began to pour the wine and drink. And that right there was why Constantine took it upon himself to attend the operations in Kallipolis. He was plenty warned of the dangers, but before he left the reports were numerous that his forces were being outmatched and morale was dropping.

“Are the rumors coming from the battle true, Caesar?” Sophia Pompilius politely inquired after setting down her glass of wine. “That the soldiers claim Leo Augustus was seen at the camps. Well, perhaps a Leo Augustus reborn.”

How does she know that, Constantine wondered. But he was right, a great many of the soldiers praised his coming to the camps. Even his generals were pleased to see him take such an interest in the planning, even surprised to hear some of his suggestions, which they would eventually implement. The Emperor even heard those exact words himself. It gave him an odd feeling, but he had been the first emperor since his grandfather to attend a military camp under such circumstances.

“If grandfather visiting the camps boosts morale, then I pray he continues to do so,” Constantine added with a light laugh, looking to the portrait of his grandfather Leo that was hung behind where Anna was seated. Once he glanced away it, his eyes landed on Anna to see that she was already glancing at him with large eyes. The servants continued to fill cups and bring out the appetisers as the groups spoke.

“Oft times the personal touch can do wonders,” the Consul stated, smiling as a bowl of soup was placed in front of him. “I learned the same thing during my first campaign, and it seems the same holds true in war. Who would have guessed?”

Constantine now wondered if they’ve heard of Espo and the bastard usurper. But he didn’t wish to talk of the war or the battle for long, or much at all. It consumed both his work and leisure time, maybe this could be the one night off. “You won’t have any nights off,” he remembered what his father told him once. “It weighs heavy on you.”

They all shared some passing stories as the servants brought out soup and bread for all. The Consul began with telling of the time he met Leo X Augustus and how it was “remarkable.” Prior to that he spoke of his first election when the Emperor inquired about it. Though for all the small talk, it was the Consul and his wife leading the discussion, with Constantine merely participating when required and their daughter successfully attempting not to blush whenever she uttered a word.

Soon enough they finished their soup and the servants brought out roast duck, laying a plate down for each individual. The Consul and his wife locked eyes for a moment, the Consul coming away with a sly grin as his wife turned towards Anna. As Constantine took a knife to his meal, Sophia began to talk about what the city was like, how she was finding it. That led to Anna offering up that she had moved to Adrianople for university in August. She talked for some time of what she wished to study while everyone continued to eat or pick at their meals.

“If you’ll excuse Anna and I for a brief moment,” Sophia Pompilius said eloquently with a smile. She lightly tapped her daughter on the shoulder, causing Anna to nod and follow her mother in standing. “Apologies Your Majesty, we shan't be long.”

“Excuse me, Caesar,” Anna said with a sweet and gentle smile. The girl and her mother were soon out of the room, though Constantine’s eyes followed Anna out of the room due to curiosity.

The Emperor leaned back in his chair once the women were out of the room. He could feel the Consul’s look focused on him, like he was looking on in amusement. “Truthfully, sir,” the Consul was the first to break the silence. “What news is there from the battle? I know well the reports of from the front prior to your visit, but all joking aside now.”

“Truly, it is going well. I heard word before dinner that we were pushing through the city center now. My cousin plans to split the forces under his command. He’ll be upon Espo shortly,” Constantine took a more attentive seat in his chair. He picked up his empty wine glass, signalling a servant for a new fill“I was planning on saving this for our meeting tomorrow, Alex. But I received word from Audric...of Vannois.”

A servant was quickly on the spot to fill Constantine’s glass, and then the Consuls - though the latter wasn’t interested in more. The Emperor held his tongue until the servant was done and bid them to leave. “I’ve asked Leo to investigate, but Audric says George is dead. He made no mention of how though, only speculation.”

“Good, one less threat to your claim and to a restoration of law, order, peace and unity in the realm,” Pompilius stated rather bluntly.

The Emperor wore a conflicted face, one that the Consul was quick to take notice of. “Sir, you do know this war was only going to end when only one claimant was left alive. You lose this, you lose your life….just as this boy George. He tried to slay a dragon and missed the mark. So be it, that was his choice and he had to face the fire. There’s no need to feel pity for him, or your brother for that matter. They feel no pity for you. Now or ever.”

Constantine was silent for a time, and the Consul looked intensely proud of himself. “I don’t pity either of them. George was a usurper, Michael is a usurper. Their acts are acts of treason and the law is the law.” He spoke as if he were trying to convince himself it was the truth or at least the right course of action.

“Well count me glad I’m not your enemy,” Pompilius said in jest, causing Constantine to break a smile as well. “I am glad the war is going well, your father would be proud. After your brilliant maneuver for Iuenna, and allies moving against Sorrentia, I think this wretched conflict will be nearing an end soon.”

The women walked in not long after, and together the group shared in a small dessert and coffee. After she took a bite of her gelato, Anna looked to Constantine and flashed a smile. “Might there be time for a small tour, Your Majesty? My father has been telling mother and I so much of this palace, that I’ve been wanting to see it with my own eyes.”

“The Emperor is a busy man, certainly he doesn’t have the time for that, Anna,” the Consul said artfully. “Caesar, I apologize for…”

“No, it’s fine,” Constantine waved with a smile before holding onto his glass, but taking no sips. Sophia Pompilius gave her husband a look, more like a grin before she made her thoughts known.

“Well now, I think a break would do everyone some good,” she smiled more than any woman he could ever remember. It almost seemed like a veil, though her words had seemed to match the pleasant face she wore all throughout dinner. “Apologies if I’m being blunt, Your Majesty. But you seem tired, and I can’t even begin to imagine the stress. Maybe a tour would do well to give you some time away from your work. It will alway be there.”

“Sophia...the war,” the consul said to his wife in distress.

“Is not being fought in this city,” Sophia said stoically in response.

“It’s quite alright,” the Emperor took a deep breath and told them. “It’d be my pleasure to show you around the palace. Might be I’ll even discover something new myself.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Your Majesty,” Anna gave him a warm smile as she leaned over the table with her right hand atop her left. “I’ll be forever grateful.”

When it was time to part ways, the Emperor shook the Consuls hand and exchanged a quick embrace with Sophia. Meanwhile, Anna hugged her father, giving him a kiss on the cheek, doing the same with her mother. “Until our meeting tomorrow,” the Consul said, giving the slightest of bows. “Caesar.”

“Well now, a tour,” Constantine muttered to Anna once her parents had left. “I suspect a good place to start is the gardens, though it’s too dark for that now.” Anna gave a slight laugh to that. “Why not gallery then?”

The two departed from the dining hall not long after and made the quick walk together to the gallery. It wasn’t an overly large room, though had one of the highest ceilings in the entire complex. The wall trimmings were gold, as were the window drapings. Portraits were hung wherever they fit on the walls, with hardly an void of space visible. In the center of the room was a flat bench covered in a red velvet that enabled those seated to look around at all the art in the room.

“In truth Your Majesty, I don’t have all that much interest in a tour,” she never broke her smile, but she gripped her braid and ran a hand down it, letting it fall down the front of her shoulder. “I haven’t had a chance to be around many people my age since we arrived. I just thought it’d be nice to spend some time and at the very least talk with someone younger while my parents aren’t around to dominate the conversation. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

That took Constantine by surprise, but he wasn’t upset by it either. They were seated next to each other on the bench, and Constantine took a look up, catching the eyes of his great-great-grandfather the 34th Duke. It was like they were staring at him. “No, I understand. I’ve had such little leisure time of late, I’m not quite sure what to do with it.”

“Mother is really quite perceptive though isn’t she?” Anna mused to the Emperor. She sat with a slight lean forward, though her head turned towards him, and her arms planted on the bench as if they were propping her up. “You do look like you could use a rest. I...I ha, well that didn’t quite come out as intended, Your Majesty. I only mean that...”

“It’s alright,” he smiled quickly before it disappeared from his face and he looked back the the same portrait of his great ancestor.

“Do you plan on remaining in Adrianople long? I heard all the cheering as your motorcade entered the city. How lucky I am to be sitting here with you now. Imagine how jealous all would be,” she said with a playful tease. It made him smile, though there was no time to reply.

There was a quick knock at the door, and an even quicker entrance by a palace attendant. “Your Imperial Majesty, Prefect Santella to see you.” The attendant stepped aside with a dipped head. Normally he would have gone back out to fetch the Prefect or any other guest, but Santella wasted no time and entering the room.

“Caesar I have some news,” the Prefect said before he noticed the girl seated next to the Emperor. “Apologies, my Lady. Sir, may we have the room for a moment.”

Constantine nodded and stood along with Anna. “Forgive me, my Lady. Perhaps we can set something up for later if you’d like.”

“No need to apologize, Your Majesty,” Anna smiled gently. “I look forward to our next meeting.” The girl always smiled it seemed, almost like her mother Constantine noticed. Once she reached the attendant she curtsied along with that smile of hers.

“The Pompilius girl?” Santella asked once he was alone with the Emperor. “I don’t trust the man, personally, Caesar. He’s much more shifty than he looks.”

Constantine rolled his eyes some as he took a seat back down on the bench. “You had urgent news?”

“And most troubling, sir,” the old man, near the same age as his father said with a great deal of reluctance after Constantine snapped them back onto topic. “...From Espo, Caesar.”

“Yes, I know. We discussed it last night at the security briefing. George and his brother are dead,” Constantine shrugged it off.

“About four hours ago a man who claimed to be a survivor of Espo was stopped by the police at the city limits. He was rambling on about Espo, and was talking over himself in Greek for a time they say. When they called for Praetorians, this man spoke of massacre,” Santella looked worried. “He claimed to be The Doux of Akropolites, but he appeared far too young to be Doux Leon. When we inquired, he said that his father was Leon and he was slain at the order of Dauphin Audric. Sir, we don’t know what to make of it.”

“He claims that Audric did what, killed this man’s father in some sort of battle?” Constantine was confused as to why this was news at all. “If it isn’t just some deranged man lying about his identity.”

“Sir, he had ID on him. Once he was cleaned up a bit...this man is undeniably Theodoros Akropolites,” the Prefect told him, Constantine now taking the story more seriously now. “He said it was a wedding, George married the Princess Catherine, then they were ambushed during the bedding. Lord Causennae and Count Chartes were executed along with the boy Alexander.”

He lied, Audric lied to me, Constantine thought as he stood up at an utter loss of what to do. “Why would Audric leave that out? He lied to me…”

“Maybe he means to support Michael. Your sister is with him, sir,” the Prefect reminded him, but Constantine needed no reminder. He felt like it was his fault Selene and Theodora were left behind, even more so the latter. “He also hasn’t publically declared for you or your brother.”

“Allied or no, he’s shown he can’t be trusted,” Constantine looked worried. “We need to warn Leo, he could be heading for a trap. Where is Peter?”

“Sleeping most likely,” Santella looked as concerned as the Emperor.

“If Audric turns this way...we don’t have the ability to repel him do we?” Santella shook his head no when the Emperor asked. “I need you to leave the city and take him with you.”

“Sir, I’m Praetorian Prefect. My place is with the Emperor,” Santella

“Your place is wherever I need you to be. If Peter and I both remain in the city and we are left little chance of escape, one of us needs to survive else the war is over,” Constantine turned his back to the Prefect and looked at the portrait of his ducal great-great grandfather. The man was a great general, as well as politician. Were it not for his guidance at independence from the Cornellians, Latium would be a different country. What would he do? “It’s not wise to keep all your treasures in one place. Wake Peter, and gather his things. I want you both to reach Olympia before sunrise.”

Santella looked annoyed. He had felt guilty that Emperor Jason died and he was unable to prevent it or fulfill his duties. Ever since then he had been going above and beyond in his job to not fail. “And then what?”

“Stay for as long as it’s safe,” Constantine sighed. “If things take a turn for the worse, make for Aarhusium and then Demphor. I’ll warn Leo for his investigation. You just keep my brother safe.”

“As you wish, Caesar.”

by **New Edom** » Sun Nov 27, 2016 10:54 pm

Fineberg, New Edom
Requiem for George

Queen Mara the First wept when she heard the news of the Pretender George's death. She had large tears rolling out of her big dark eyes, her soft normallye asily smiling mouth quivered, and she rose, her olive tanned body bare as that of her babe--more so for he wore a diaper in the soft blankets she held, and went to a couch by the window.
Cuddling little Crown Prince Josias to her, she said in a shaking voice, "Leave me, but I want a mass said for him..."

"In what manner, Majesty?" asked Countess Lavinia Nabal, lowering her eyes. "He was...not legitimate and he was not recognized as a sovereign..."

"As a man!" Mara cried. Her voice softened. "As a man. His full name. As a prince. Yes. It was murder. Murder. Oh god Lavinia, and I must have the chaplain. Let me be reminded of my mortality and it is to God's arms that I must run. If only this palace would repent...all this foolishness and flummery, I want the palace ot reepnt lest what happened to my father happen to me!" Her large beautiful eyes widened. "My father...it's always rebels, isn't it..Anarchists, communists...oh sweet Holy Mother, they're everywhere..."

Her Elwe maid, Tegan, bare as she, but slim where the Queen was full hipped and bosomed, knelt beside her and kissed her hand before pushing her prayer beads and crucifix into it. "Dear Queen, Mother of the Country, be at peace sweet darling honey Queen..." And her little black Pommeranian, Precious, jumped up beside her, nosing at her hands eagerly for attention.

"Tegan, Precious...thank God I am loved by some..."

"You are loved by millions, Majesty," assured Lavinia. "I will see to the prayers." She hurried out of the room and once out snapped her fingers for a subdued Dengali maid to help her with her dress and underwear and shoes. No one was allowed to wear anything in the Queen's chambers any longer, and she fought bitterly with the King to have that the law in Betharan Palace too.

Soon the sounds of the requiem could be heard throughout the palace. Mara whispered softly to no one in particular, "He had just gotten married. How can the good live in this wicked world?"

King Elijah IV was lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling, surrounded by doctors and priests. Incense filled the room; the doctors included foreign specialists who seemed annoyed but resigned to what was going on. Meanwhile, at the door, Prince Enoch Tubal-Cain, Count Thomas Lalery and Captain Hadoram Peleg, the king's Private Secretary, stood watching grimly and then stepped out. Guardsmen had secured the hallway and you had to present a security pass--temporrary or otherwise--to get through.

"How could this happen?" said Lalery.

"Tommy, we've been through this..." said Enoch.

"How can someone his age, so fit, have a stroke?" Lalery said. "Good God, at such a time..."

"Keep your voice down," said Enoch. "It's a blood clot."

"I know that," Lalery said. "It's a fucking rhetorical question. And just before my confirmation.."

They wer now outside the area of the King's chambers. The sound of the requiem playing over the speakers was even louder in the Checkered Hall they stood in. "You really are a dickhead sometimes," snapped Enoch.

"I'll cry about it later," said Lalery coldly. "I love my cousin like my brother, but he's not functioning and the Queen is insane, and the sitting President of the Council is an old fart who can barely remember his name. Dn't go pious on me. What are we going to do? We'll have Jocasta running everything if we're not careful."

Enoch turned him away from the windows carefully, as though just putting an arm around him. "First, let's distract her. Let's send that force to Latium."

Lalery almost exploded. "But...!"

"Look...we give whoever we appoint as admiral clear orders. No confrontation unless there's no other choice. I mean it's going to take days for it to arrive anyway, it might all be moot by that point. We examine how to contain the situation. Taht will distract her, she loves playing war," Enoch said, holding his eyes with his own. "Then we push for your confirmaiton with the Chamber. Let me have a talk with my friends there."

Lalery stared into his eyes right back, his own almost black as pits. "You'd better be sure about this. Because I'll bet your mistress' tits that she's going to appoint god-damned Aphek as Master of Offices."

Enoch choked. "What?!"

"Yeah. So it's not just my job on the line, cuz. We'd better not fuck this up or it's assfucking time." Lalery growled. "Let's get to work."

Prince Enoch was exhausted, hours later, when he had finally done all he could think to control information about the situation. He knew it could not last. So many had to know, so many possible leaks--the Palace had to be virtually quarantined. Fortunately the Queen's mad mourning for George was in keeping with her character--rule by prayer--and so the public would probably accept that. Lalery had advised the Minister of Police and the deputy Minister of Justice--who were fortunately trusted cronies who knew who put olive oil on their bread--to control the flow of information and watch everyone. Count Falk, commander of the Royal Guard, doubled down on security. Count Merodach promised to keep an eye on the staff, but the grand Chamberlain was a useless amiable drunk and so this would really fall to the under-chamberlains, who were ambitious careerists and could not be trusted not to sell them out to Jocasta or the Dowager if worse came to worse.

Privately, in his personal washroom, he stared red eyed at his reflection. How had he come to this How had a lazy playboy who only joined the Navy because an ambitious father despairing of his lifestyle forced him to...come to this? He felt grief swell his throat and almost choke him. Two of the few people he really loved had been all but destroyed by offices of state they had never sought. And he could barely stand it. To see the deterioration of Elijah’s body and Mara’s mind was killing hi. He realized he was actually sobbing and forced it down. Washed his face, put eyedrops in. He had to be strong for his friends and for his family. His mistress, the lovely Jess McKay from Adiron, could sense that he was unhappy when he was with her, but he had to keep lying to her. What a mess. The memory of the young Elijah and the young Mara haunted him. Mara dancing and laughing to hip hop music, Mara and Elijah and all the others singing together at a family gathering while King James II played the piano.

There was a knock at his outer office door. He finished washing his face and dried off, then walked to the office, his shirt still off, in his undershirt, trousers and shoes. “Yes?”

“Sorry, it’s Mazdak, sir, you have a message from Admiral Galt.”

“Fine, bring it in,” said Enoch. It was encrypted, and he went to his safe and decoded it with his book. Galt had been his superior officer when they had served in Hutanjia. A tough old man, profane and yet wise man.

My dear Prince Enoch, the Minister of Defense and I have given instructions that Admiral Amalek will move from his exercises near Rome towards Latium in such a position as to be able to defend sea and air approaches to Castellum. Be advised that there is intelligence--not yet confirmed--of an attack near Heraclea in Latium. We are going to sweep the area with a satellite to confirm this as well as get information from our human contacts there. Because Amalek was already conducting amphibious and escort exercises he is sufficiently supplied and prepared to undertake such an operation. However I advise that he has a light carrier task force with two LHDs and escorts, and will not be equipped to face a major fleet or land force on his own. I have instructed him to use caution in his approach and communicate with the Ministry upon his arrival in Latin waters.
Enoch finished buttoning his shirt up and slipped into his uniform jacket, and then sat at his desk, looking at the message thoughtfully. He took out his ronson and lit it up and watched it burn.

NENS Boa, Southern Coast of the Late Roman Empire

Wind snapped on the pennons, and the sea air surrounded the assembled ship’s company on the broad deck of the carrier as it moved over the waves. Sailors and Marine Infantry stod at parade rest, neat in dress. Only those on watches were not paying attention.

Admiral Count Barnabas Amalek, a thin, hatchet faced man with sharp eyes, stood flanked slightly to the rear by Commander Joanna Heep, the Carrier Air Component Commander, the, ship Captain, Lemuel Ishtabaoth, and Colonel Peter de Haren, commanding the 9th Marine Infantry Regiment and young Junior Lieutenant Lupin, the Admiral’s aide-de-camp. Other oficers of the staff, ship and regiment stood farther back with hats off.

“And so as it is written, any person engaging in homosexual or lesbian sexual affections shall be flogged up to being flogged through the fleet in accordance with the Morality Act as proscribed to the National Navy’s vessels and installations. For it is a curse upon any endeavor that a person in it should engage in foul and unnatural sexual practices. Should a woman or man bring their mouth in contact with the nether regions of another…”

“Hear that?” muttered Gunner’s Mate 2nd Class Ezekiel Cedon out of the side of his mouth to a recent transfer, Gunner’s Mate 3rd Class Nathaniel Zalm, a slim soft spoken youth. “Admiral don’t like queers neither. You better watch yourself lad.”

“I ain’t queer…” muttered Zalm. But Zalm had not yet mastered the art of parade muttering and so the Chief Gunner’s Mate hissed at him, “Zalm, you’re going on report.”

“But Chief, he…”

“Shut it!”

“...for such acts are filthy and unnatural, and through correction and punishment the guilty shall be brought back into the merciful arms of God and be able to do their duty to their country. Blessed be the Name of the Lord.”

“Blessedbethenameofthelord,” collectively replied the crew and officers.

“All hands--all hands!” shouted the Senior Chief Master-at-Arms. “Dis-missed!”

Admiral Count Amalek replaced his headgear. “Well, let’s get underway for Latium,” to Ishtabaoth. “I hope that the crew found that reassuring.”

“Indeed sir, yes,” said the ship’s captain. “I’m reminded of the King’s investigation when he was still admiral, to discover whether there were homosexuals lurking in the fleet. It can truly undermine a command…”

Amalek turned to him so sharply that Ishtabaoth almost wondered if he had interrupted his admiral. “Inaccuracy is not becoming, Captain. It was our late Minister of Culture, Cain, who had instigated that investigation. Vice-Admiral Prince Elijlah--who is now our beloved King-merely followed his instructions. As must we all.”

“Sir” Ishtabaoth said courteously. Any sign of weakness was dangerou with Amalek; all reprimands had to be taken cheerfully.

Amalek nodded and descended the companionway. Ishtabaoth noticed Commander Heep’s eyes had narrowed at the Admiral. Hardly a mutual admiration society. “Is there a problem Commander?” he asked her.

“No, I’m just going to supervise the CAP (combat air patrol),” she replied coolly. “Should there be?”

Ishtabaoth had to smile. “No.” Heep was a beautiful woman--Anglo-Roman descent, pale skin, raven hair, blue eyes. Like so many pilots she wa sa little short on discipline. She was good at what she did though. And he had his own work to do--to run this little world of a thousand souls and help the admiral run a slightly larger one of a few thousand more. Around them farther out to sea the rest of the ships--the two LHDs, the three destroyers, four frigates, arsenal ship and supply ship--as well as a hidden submarine--began their long journey to Latium.

To: Emperor Michael of Latium
From: King Elijah IV
Subject: Support
Encryption: Most Secret, Eyes Only

Your Majesty,

After consulting with my Council of Ministers I have decided to send the following forces to assist you in ending your rebellion.
One fleet commanded by Rear-Admiral Count Barnabas Amalek, which consists of one VTOL carrier, two landing helicopter deck vessels, three destroyers, four frigates, an arsenal ship, a submarine and a supply vessel
Dedication of a satellite relay over your southern coast for intelligence sharing
Deployment of one regiment of Marine Infantry, one company of combat engineers, one squadron of armour
Airborne and Air operations forces to be put on alert and standby for transport to your country if required

I hope that this will be satisfactory. I have heard that the pretender George has been killed. While i am sure you mourn the loss of a family member and I share your grief, i am also sure you are glad to have some significant rebels removed from the picture.

I have the honour to be
Elijah IV

by **Arbites** » Mon Nov 28, 2016 5:15 am

Reposting this from Jed's thread, some of it is relevant:

To: Office of Undersecretary Corbulo
From: Ambassador Jacob Lee
Subject: Jedoria
Encryption: Hand-delivered by diplomatic courier, eyes-only

Thank you for that detailed account of recent events. I will be honest, Undersecretary, that it has alarmed some members of my government. Evidently the situation is even more serious than we were aware.

The Curia has directed the military to move with all haste to reinforce your position against Jedoria. Admiral Rothbard will sail to San Marco, where in five days the Fifth Fleet will be reinforced by an additional destroyer squadron and submarine squadron from East Klamath. Rothbard has apparently already contacted the Edomite Navy about the possibility of establishing a point of resupply for the Fifth Fleet in San Marco. The Fifth Fleet's disposition approaching Peregrino will assume hostile intent by the Jedorians; a full combat air patrol will be flying, the fleet's air defense radars will be active, and anti-submarine warfare operations will be underway. In the Navy's view, this would send a clear message to any Jedorian forces who would menace the island. However, we are not aware of the exact disposition of the Jedorian forces in the Adiz Strait, and if your government believes that this approach would be incorrect then we will inform Admiral Rothbard.

The 25th Mountain Division will begin the process of moving its equipment from the Overhauser Valley to the Edomite border. We pray that the current incident does not lead to immediate war, for it will take at least seven days for the 25th to reach your shores, with additional time needed to reach the border from there. Because haste is of the utmost importance, the Army is willing to begin preparing the 25th to move immediately, but before their transports set sail they will need to know which ports they are landing at as well as the overland routes to the border they should take. The Curia made it clear that I must ask on their behalf in this communication.

We will make overtures to the Vozgarni and Noviterans in turn. The Noviterans have remained major trading partners and may be persuaded that Jedorian aggression could hurt their mercantile pursuits, and Vozgarnor as you said stands to potentially lose the most from a fascist Jedoria. Formal diplomatic ties between the Imperium and Shrailleeni Empire have been reestablished, and we anticipate a deescalation of tensions over Krutongo in the future. Jedoria itself has no diplomatic ties with the Imperium, having severed them entirely long ago for their own political reasons. As far as talks with Strana Mechty go, we will therefore need to rely upon your government for shuttle diplomacy or other indirect means of contacting the new regime.

The Curia's priority right now is ensuring the defense of the Allied States and Peregrino. Operations against the Jedorians in Latium could take more than a week to execute. Currently arms shipments are underway to Michael's camp as requested by his government. We are still assessing the risks and benefits involved in sending military advisors to aid Michael. My government believes it might be preferable to allow the Jedorians to land and become fully engaged in Latium before simply cutting them off from resupply by sea and air in the Latin Strait.

As far as the Adirans are concerned, the Curia, as allies of New Edom, would caution your government against involving them too heavily. After all, it was Adiran meddling through the CPO which allowed Peregrino to descend to such a state in the first place. It would have been better, in our government's view, to simply bring that conflict to a decisive conclusion one way or the other. The Adirans might be best used in buying time for us to prepare for war or diplomatically isolating Jedoria rather than combating them directly. Otherwise they will bring their high-minded ideals to complicate a conflict which is more or less black and white.

By His Will,
Ambassador Lee

Camp Westerlight
Imperial-Urdnot Border

Fall mornings in Westerlight were chilly. Frost coated the grass and leaves. The ground was hard, and some shallow puddles had actually been frozen over with a thin layer of ice. Fog hung over the fields, broken up by forests in the distance and the buildings of the FOB. As the dawn broke, the men of the company standing in formation could see their breath as they waited. So far it was a day like any other in the 151st Artillery Regiment's B Battery.

The men eventually caught a whiff of tobacco, which prompted them to stop chattering and stand to. Sure enough, their familiar lieutenants came around the corner, tossing their cigarettes to the ground and grinding them under their boots. However, the sergeants and the men in the front of the formation noticed one officer who didn't belong, at least not normally: their Battery Commander, Captain Williamson. The NCOs called the formation to attention with just a bit more gusto than usual.

Williamson's usual speaking voice was perfectly normal, but whenever he needed to address a company he ended up shouting in a higher pitch, sometimes even breaking. There wasn't a single hair on his shaved head, and he seemed more bulldog than man. "B Battery has new orders: we are moving. All of our guns are to be displaced and prepared for transport within the hour. All other battery supplies and equipment are to be prepared for transport by 1200 today. All personnel should be prepared to leave, with their personal equipment and effects, by 1300."

Some of the troops glanced at each other warily as Williamson continued. "Your platoon commanders will direct you. There is to be no delay; heresy grows from idleness. Company, dismissed."

The entire 25th Mountain Division, with the exception of the higher officer corps, was told much the same. Operational security dictated that the fewer people who knew that the entire division was moving, much less where they were moving, the better. B Battery followed orders, one platoon taking down the guns before joining the other two packing and loading up their supplies onto pallets and then onto heavy trucks. There was no delay on their part. They did the Emperor proud.

Naval Preparations

It was the monsoon season in East Klamath, with a large cloud bank moving across the Tempesta. Rather than a violent storm with heavy winds and lightning, it was more or less just a constant downpour, luckily for the Navy. The rains would conceal East Klamath's docks from satellite reconnaissance, enabling a destroyer squadron and escort to leave port unnoticed. Planners also took into account the fact that after the storm passed, satellites would be able to see there were fewer ships: a destroyer squadron identical in composition to the one that had just left was sailing to East Klamath to take its place. The submarines, left port as well, submerged and concealed beneath the waves.

The Fifth Fleet in Edomite waters was stirring. A full BARCAP was established around the fleet, with a full complement of fighters and electronic attack aircraft, all of them variants of the MiG-29, as well as naval AWACS. The fleet's destroyer escort and missile cruisers activated their air defense radars and launched small drones to plot out their course to San Marco. Frigates deployed their towed sonars and launched helicopters equipped with sonobuoys and torpedoes in anticipation of anti-submarine warfare.

Rothbard delegated the details of these operations to his subordinates. He was more concerned with sustaining a campaign so far from home. "We're thousands of kilometers from even East Klamath, much less the Imperium," he told his staff in a private meeting. "If it comes to war with the Jedorians over Peregrino, they could cut us off from both mainland New Edom and our own territories. We need a point of resupply in Peregrino. If I had my choice it would have a dockyard where we can affect repairs if necessary."

He communicated the same concern to the Ministry of Defense, inquiring about the capabilities of the base in San Marco. Rothbard added that regardless, he was underway to Peregrino with all haste.

by **Lacus Magni** » Mon Nov 28, 2016 5:40 pm

Legate Amatius had been in constant contact with the contingent of tanks, soldiers, Scholarians and militia focused in the center of the city. With the bulk of his forces in Heraclea focused on either the airport or the city center, there was considerable room for the invading force to land and make their way to their goals. All in all it wasn’t the greatest of plans, but Amatius utilized the forces he was given under the extreme limited resources and explicit goals he had to delay the invading force so that the armies out of Rhenus could reach their destinations in Ravenna and also further north of Heraclea along the coast.

It was speculated that the forces just north of Heralcea could be in a ready position to further delay the usurper's allies within two days. But Heraclea didn’t have two days, in fact it was a surprise they were holding out for as long as they had. Sure, there was a larger loyalist force present in the city when compared to the overall numbers the Jedorian-Chacoan force presented. But the forces of Emperor Michael in the city were largely Schoalarians, men who were utilized as a policing force before the death of Emperor Jason or men who were simply unwilling to wholly commit to joining the armed forces. By and large, many weren’t trained for this type of fighting and even those that were trained were few and far between.

Word had spread that some of the citizenry had taken up to defending their homes if the enemy was coming to near, though this was largely to defend their own property and not in the greater service of His Majesty’s claim to the throne. Initially, things looked promising in the city center. The Jedorians appeared to lack the armor the Latins posed against them, though the Jedorians had naval support - something the Latins in Heraclea desperately lacked after Emperor Michael dispatched a small fleet to Alexandria to demonstrate his power. A foolish thing if ever. All it will do is incite and inflame the Hellenes, Amatius thought after he heard the plan.

Luckily, for future battles at least, the Emperor had ordered his ships to set sail from Alexandria and make for the Sorrentian-Alban coast to defend from the invaders and assault their navies. To achieve this, his naval officers had ordered the fleet to depart immediately but to sail around the isles of Tericio in an attempt to not assault the enemy fleet head on, but the catch them in the rear. Amatius had heard word that the ships left late last night. Regardless, it was unlikely they'd arrive in time to make a difference in Heraclea. Elsewhere, the fleet anchored near Hieralpolis had also set sail for the Sorrentian coast, in the hopes of reinforcing the Alexandrian fleet.

The Latin tanks controlling the passageways in the city center did well in the beginning. However, three tanks with machine guns placed along strategic points facing the outward-lying streets were not enough in the long term to pose much more than a delaying effect. Jedorian ground support soon wore down the machine gunners, though the Latins here did their jobs admirably. Then it was the enemy artillery that quickly did away with the tanks.

Once the Jedorian invaders called upon their artillery, hellfire quickly rained down on the Stephanie Augusta Memorial victory column. The large column came tumbling down after it was hit near the base. Nearby, two Latin tanks were quickly destroyed or indisposed with the third hit but not necessarily incapacitated. That was until the victor column that had been constructed for the late Duchess of Adrianople came tumbling to the earth, landing on top the third and final tank that defended the city center.

The battle for the airport raged on with whoever among the Scholarian or militia forces attempting to find their way to safety or cover, whether that be trying to get through the doors of the control tower and complex, others made way for hangers or even the roads leading away from the airport and city entirely. It had been the most prominent defensive point left under Latin control, with many of the hangers aflame in part or whole. That was when Legate Amatius planned on issuing a surrender.

Before he had the chance the base of the structure was struck multiple times by the Chacoans or Jedorians - it didn’t matter who did it to those inside. Legate Amatius walked up the stairs of the building from his command center in the basement. He could feel the ground shake as he stepped onto the heavy staircase. “Get into the open and wave the flag. Offer for parlay,” the Legate told his lieutenant.

“Then what sir?” the lieutenant asked. Following behind him were at least ten soldiers, not Scholarians or militia, but members of the armed forces.

“There are ten more waiting just upstairs…” before he could finish his sentence, the Jedorian/Chacoan artillery struck at the base of the control building. The stairs beneath Legate Amatus, his lieutenant and a handful of the soldiers behind them gave way, followed quickly by the stairs and floor above them.

Voices were heard shouting and screaming both from below and above the stairwell. The ten soldiers waiting above tried to clear the debris from the stairs to gather the bodies of those they could, but for now those below were trapped there. One of the ten poked his head out a window, catching an enemy approaching them. He stopped about halfway between the control tower and the enemy line and waiting, holding a flag of parlay. “What do we do sir?” the man asked whoever the highest ranked among them was.

“We surrender,” he looked to the stairs, knowing that Legate Amatius was on his way up those very stairs when they collapsed. He was dead or at best just gravely injured. He grabbed something that could be used as a makeshift flag, one white towel covered in grease and blood and a white hand towel that was much less dirty. The Latin opened the door with both hands raised, waving them so all could see as another flashed light on him so the enemy could see the Latins wished to surrender the airport and city. Hopefully the other armies are in position for the delay elsewhere, he thought.

He stepped further out, away from the control tower towards his opponent who was doing the same as him. He kept his arms raised while walking towards his counterpart. The Latin arms elsewhere in the airport had fallen silent as this officer crept towards the enemy with his hands in the air. “We wish to negotiate a surrender,” he told the Chacoan invader.

by **Jedoria** » Mon Nov 28, 2016 8:10 pm

“Hey Sergeant?” Corporal Sârbu asked while watching the results of the Jedorian bombardment on the rebel positions.

“Yeah?” SSG Trifa replied, busy reloading his rifle.

“You remember how the ROE said no unnecessary property damage?” Think we might’ve broken that a bit.” The junior NCO said as he watched the final column collapse and wipe out the the final tank in the city center. The Jedorians winced as they watched the the columns collapse and wipe out the enemy armor, and probably ruining the day for whatever infantry were nearby. Trifa felt a pang of guilt for destroying the monument.

The forward Jedorian infantry elements watched with bated breaths and rifles held steady to see if any hostiles remained in the memorial area. But after a few minutes of no movement, it seemed like the enemy attempting to hold the city center had been fully defeated. Cautiously, the Jedorians began moving in closer into the city, bounding by fireteam from cover to cover, keeping an eye out for the any surviving enemies. But it seemed the fight had been taken out of the Latin rebels. The Scholarians, despite their numerical advantage, were clearly not soldiers. Their performance had been dogged to a degree, but in the end they were law enforcement, not a military force. The citizen guard by comparison clearly didn’t want to be there, many of them bolting at the first sign of a firefight. The Jedorian troops saw no point in stopping them from fleeing, probably just to return to their homes and families.

The Latin soldiers by comparison had performed well, but there were clearly too few of them to make an impact. They fought hard but were outgunned and outnumbered, eventually surrendering once it was clear the position was hopeless. Trifa’s squad took three of them prisoner, all of the had uniforms covered with dust from the collapsing columns, their uniforms and exposed skin coated with a fine layer of marble powder. Private Nicu waved his arms forward as he guided the three POWs back to the rear. “Come on ya scrubs, hands up high where I can see ‘em.” He said, rifle held at the low ready.

Lt. Colonel Sandu Enache, who had been given command of the field forces who had landed outside Heraclea and advanced on the city itself, reported back to the Brigade Command team once he himself had entered the city center.

“Doghouse this is Wolfhound Actual reporting in. City Center is secured, repeat, City Center is secured, over.”

“Solid aff Wolfhound, hold position and await reserve activation.” The communications officer reported back once he had relayed the information to the brigade commander. Elsewhere the Jedorians found success. The battalion assigned to clear the docks at Heraclea reported that they had successfully secured all major facilities intact, made possible by the lackluster effort to defend the area by the rebel forces. With the docks under their control, the Jedorians were now able to start moving in their transport ships ferrying their heavy cargo that was too numerous of bulky to be deployed by helicopter or landing craft. The CNS Messenger, Pathway, Courier and Gateway began sailing towards the piers in Heraclea, where naval infantry supported by overwatch through helicopters and drones waited for them. Once the transports were docked, they could begin unloading the heavier equipment for the Jedorians; their 155mm howitzers, anti-tank guns, more ammunition and supplies. Gangways and planks opened up to spill out the contents of the large metal tubs while utility helicopters buzzed off of decks to land and disgorge technicians and other mission critical personnel.

The general strategy laid out by Vice Admiral Pogonot had been to land the ground forces at Heraclea, then proceed to advance up Sorrentia’s western coast under cover of air and naval fire support from the fleets, pushing up towards Ravenna until the fleet was in position to bombard and strike at Michael’s forces in Greater Alba. To support such an endeavor, SEAD and search and destroy missions had been planned to destroy the rebel air and coastal defense batteries. Pressed by both the ground, sea, and air, and hopefully meeting defeat when facing Constantine’s forces, Michael’s short lived rebellion would crumble into dust.

But of course, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.

Farther west, south of Utica, Task Force Vanguage had linked up with Constantine’s naval forces, including Latium’s sole carrier, and since then had gone dark. Communication was kept to a minimum, in many cases flags and lights were used instead of radio. Air patrols by helicopters from the Jedorian ships and aircraft from the Leo X Augustus flew low below the horizon, using passive radar in conjunction with passive sensor arrays on the surface ships to listen while not speaking.

They heard a great many things. Acoustic detectors picked up the propellers from a lot of civilian cargo ships passing through the strait. Sonar detected massive schools of fish, and air patrols picked up civilian aircraft still brave enough to fly in and around the Latin Empire. After a while, the normal sounds of non-military traffic grew familiar to the Jedorian. That in the end helped them detect when the first military movements began.

Lieutenant Horasiu Raceanu, the officer designated to study and coordinate the results of the Task Force’s long range sensor watched his screen light up as information started coming in from the Commitment and Patience, who’s long range detection systems were getting pings from the movements of ships far to the north. The Bravado-class frigate was reporting that they were getting only faint traces from a distant source, but they were present nonetheless. The limitations of passive radar meant that they couldn’t establish for sure where that force was heading, but it wasn’t hard to guess based on the available information and intelligence.

Captain Giurescu, the ship master of the Furious Redemption, soon was informed and coordinated with the captain of the Leo X Augustus, who agreed that is was time to spring the hatch closed. In a short burst encrypted transmission that was only sent out in an instant flash, Task Force Vanguard informed the main fleet of the detection of ships sailing from around the area of Hieralpolis. In almost certainty, the task force relayed the opinion that the rebel naval forces were sailing for the coast of Castellum.

Vice Admiral Pogonot was informed of this as soon as possible by her signals officer, and to the surprise of the commander, the senior officer simply nodded. Just a minute later a new message came in, this one from the Tericians. Another rebel force, likely the one that had just bombarded Alexandrai, was now sailing around the island that contained the Latin counties of Reate, Mateola, and Nola. The Tericians were giving the Jedorians hourly updated on the position of the flotilla. Knowing that the two major naval forces of the rebel fleet were now in motion.

Captain Nelu Cristea, the ship master of the All Under Heaven, recommended the fleet sail out to meet the naval forces and destroy them. “We’ll deploy the main contingent of the air watch to deal with the flotilla coming from Alexandria, while our surface ships engage the naval force out of Hieralpolis.”

“There’s no need to spread ourselves thin, Captain.” Pogonot replied. “The Tericians know the location of the flotilla and are keeping us appriased, which means we will know when and where it will be in position to strike us. The major naval force however, will have to found and properly identified. Given the distances between us, it will be upon us in less than a day. We must be prepared.”

“Order Giurescu to move out Vanguard slowly and silently. He’s not to pursue them, but shadow their force. Only once we are in position will he reveal himself. Caught between the two of us, we will crush the rebel fleet, leaving us to advance on Greater Alba itself.”

On her encrypted link back to the homeland, Pogonot relayed this information regarding her plan back to Central Command. She was surprised to see a reply almost immediately from her superiors, in a message that caused her eyebrows to raise. The Air Force, evidently still angry at the Navy for creating the Naval Aviation arm and determined to remind people they were more than glorified recon and air support, submitted they contribute a wing of strategic bombers to help destroy the rebel fleet. A flight of CJD-422D strategic bombers could take off from airbases in northern Jedoria and fly straight to the strait, carrying payloads of hypersonic anti-ship missiles, firing them off at a safe distance before returning back to Jedorian airspace. Attacked from the east, west, and south, the rebel fleet would be overwhelmed with the volume of missiles and sunk to the bottom of the strait.

Pogonot questioned the necessity but it was clear the decision had already been made. Back in her homeland, ground crews began affixing Scorpion cruise missiles to the bellies and rotary launchers of the massive birds that formed the corps of the Jedorian strategic bomber fleet. One thing was clear though; when the fighting began the rebel fleet was going to be in a tough spot.

South of Utica, Giurescu received his orders and shared it with his fellow ship masters, choosing to remain stationary for the time being, until he could determine the rebel fleet had moved further into the strait. The whole operation would require good timing; the space between Task Force Lion and the main rebel fleet wasn’t very large, and both Vice Admiral and Captain guessed the two fleets would meet in less than a day’s time. Giurescu’s job was to make sure that his forces were properly placed to surround and destroy the rebel fleet when the time came.

Task Force Vanguard waited until the rebel fleet was almost entirely out of range before they sailed eastward, just enough to keep track of the force while maintaining enough distance to avoid detection themselves. All electronic signals, useage of active radar and sonar were kept to a minimum, or not used at all if possible. Aware that Vanguard needed to avoid detection, Pogonot was ready to provide a suitable distraction; the air watch commander aboard the All Under Heaven sent out several long range patrols of Rafales into the western strait, close enough that they could be recalled to the safety of the fleet if need be, but far enough that an observant radar technician with the rebel fleet could likely detect them.

by **New Edom** » Tue Nov 29, 2016 5:41 am

To: Jacob Lee, Ambassador of the Imperium of Arbites
From: Elizabeth Corbulo, Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs
Subject: Latium
Encryption: Most Secret

Dear Ambassador,

Thank you very much for your kind reply and reassurances. To receive the promise of support of our beloved ally is rain in the desert. May your family continue to prosper and be blessed, and may the Emperor and your nation be ever grand and glorious.

Coordination with our fleet and harbour in Peregrino is agreed to be vital, but pleae be warned; the Jedorians have been very touchy lately and have proven typically obdurate in the face of offered diplomacy.

It is not our intention to start a major war in Latium; rather we wish to contain the ambitions of Jedoria and humble those who would see liberalism prosper over wisdom and tradition. So I believe we are agreed that this expedition will not be a major war footing but simply a way of providing resources and advice to the Emperor Michael if need be.

One difficulty that will be present is a supply zone. We will be sending a replnenishment ship with our fleet, but we hope to be assured of a suitable zone in Latium. When we are advised of this we will communicate that to you.

I have the honour to be
Elizabeth Corbulo
Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs

by **Lacus Magni** » Fri Dec 02, 2016 6:04 pm

The Escape Pt. II
Greater Alba, Latium
(Co-written with Ghant)

The night was fading by the time Leon lost his tail that tried to track him down after fleeing from Villa ad Pontes. He wasn’t quite sure how it all happened, it went so fast. All they were doing was sneaking away when the guards discovered what had just transpired. Selene was right there by his side then, and when he reached the car, she was gone. He heard a screech though; it sounded like her alright, but he couldn’t see her. That was until he saw the two guards standing over this dainty shadowed figure on the bridge. And that was when he drove away. No matter the cost, that’s what she told me, he thought as he considered driving away without Selene. That didn’t do much for his guilt however.

As he drove away from ad Pontes he did so cautiously and without any car lights to guide him through the twisting and winding roads - more like dirt pathways - in the hills of Greater Alba. It took nearly twenty minutes for Michael’s man to catch up to him. At that point, Leon quickly took off the road and drove through the fields and hills until he lost his tail. He could hear Princess Theodora moan and groan as she laid across the back seat of the car covered in blankets.

Luckily, Selene was smart enough to plan for something and had both Adrian and Leon research into the area for safe places to lay low. She was right in that it wouldn’t be safe to travel openly in the area with Theodora with them. “Your brother would go to hell and back to find his prize,” Leon recalled Adrian telling Selene when they began planning. “And if he does get her back, then we’re all dead.”

“We’re both dead men anyway, Adrian,” Leon thought back to his response. “What do you think Constantine would do when he reaches Castellum and the two of us guarding a man he calls usurper. At least when we do this there’s a slim chance he’ll forgive us.” But would he forgive us? Selene was certain he would, but Leon wasn’t sure. Titles and thrones change a man.

At near dawn after rescuing Theodora, Leon came upon a cave. It was two miles off the road by his estimation, and near seven or so miles from Villa ad Pontes, with another ten from the capital. There were no structures visible nearby, only trees, a small stream, and whatever animals inhabited the area. It was quiet, too quiet Leon considered as he finally parked the car almost 100 yards away from the entrance to the cave.

He gathered his rifle and flashlight from the passenger seat floor before looking at the backseat where Theodora laid still and quiet. Stepping out, he slowly and carefully closed the car door, not that the sound would wake her - in fact, he wasn’t sure if anything would wake it - but moreso out of habit at this point. The young lord took a strong glance around at the surroundings, seeing nothing of value or threat before he carefully crept towards the cave.

Leon secured the light to his rifle and shined it in the cave’s entrance from just outside. It appeared damp, and even more damp as he entered, though it appeared to be an old and abandoned mine or sorts. It’ll do for now, he thought as he walked back to the car to fetch the Princess and supplies.

It took over two hours for him to transport everything he needed back to the cave, all the while trying ensure the Princess would be comfortable when she came to. She mumbled words occasionally, but it wasn’t in any language that Leon understood. If they were real words at all. He felt she had a fever when he finally laid her down atop two sleeping bags near the entrance of the cave. She was still however, rarely moving.

Leon didn’t sleep that first day nor did he eat, only occasionally drinking at his water. He kept his eyes on watch, alternating his focus between Theodora and the entrance. He cleaned her wounds, or at least those that were within his reach and ability to mend, wrapping her right arm and left shoulder in bandage. Occasionally that night, he tried to give the Princess some water when it looked like she was waking, but at best it looked like he was simply pouring water on her lips.

The second day was better. Leon began to pick at his limited food supply, eating two granola bars over the course of the day. While he wasn’t sure if Theodora would survive the first night, he eyes opened occasionally throughout the day, giving him much more hope. She rose that night, much to the fright of Leon. “Whe...where am I?” was the first thing she said. Her voice was dry and in pain when Leon shook awake at first notice of her voice.

Leon told her they were somewhere between Castellum and the Alban border with the county Egara. That caused her to jump back in a fright, and throw whatever she could at him as she slide her way into a corner. “You...you, what does he want with me now?” she cried out. “Just leave me alone...I’ve told him everything I know. Please!” she was hysterical.

She threw a cup at him, striking him in the forehead above his left eye, making him bleed some. “Do you remember, Princess? The other night when Selene and I were at ad Pontes...to rescue you?” Leon slowly approached her. “You need rest, your in no condition to move. Please. I mean you no harm.”

Eventually he calmed her down and attempted to make her comfortable, explaining everything as it happened - even that Selene was captured in the attempt. She had no words at that, only more shock. I don’t even know if she understands any of this, he thought.

“Why you...you’re one of them. I’ve seen you with them many times. You...you let them…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, but Leon knew full well what she meant. Hurt you and much worse. Princess Theodora even refused to sleep that night, at least that’s what she intended until her body won out and she passed out.

Thankfully she was more calm when she woke up the next day. Leon had a fire crackling, with a rabbit skewered over it. He asked her to join him at the fire to warm herself and dry up some. While it was still rather warm in Latium this time of year, the cave was damp and cool. She nibbled on some of the roast rabbit, and Leon shared some of the fruit that remained edible with her, cutting it into small slices with her.

“When you’re more rested we’ll head for Castellum, Princess. Tonight even if you think you’re ready,” Leon told her, though instantly regretted it. She started crying and hid her face underneath a blanket he had given her. At least she isn’t sliding back into a corner this time. She didn’t even say anything this time, almost resigning herself to the fate of going back to the capital as a prisoner and in chains again.

“I’m not giving you to Michael,” he reminded her, followed by a heavy sigh. “I know you don’t trust me, and have little reason to, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve fed you, cleaned your wounds as best I could, given you water and kept you safe since we left ad Pontes. But you have to trust me on this. We have to get back into the city.”

She poked her head out of the blanket, only her eyes were visible to him. It was almost like she regressed back into a childhood like state, and with everything she’s been though who could blame her. “He...he said Leo has an army. Asked me questions...where is my brother?”

“Near Espo last I heard. Too far for us to reach, that I know for certain,” Leon responded as he he pulled his metal cup off a rest above the flames of the fire..

“I won’t go back to that city. You can’t make me,” she still had her head covered by the blanket, though her deep brown eyes were clearly visible to him now.

“Princess...may I call you Theodora? I don’t want to go back anymore than you do,” he dropped a tea bag into his hot cup of water. “But there are at least two, three hostile armies between us and your brother, and even more miles. We hardly have enough fuel to reach the embassy, let alone Espo.”

“The embassy?”

“Yes, the Ghantish embassy,” he tasted the temperature of the tea before handing it to Theodora. “Drink this. Adr...my friends think it’s the best way to get you out of any danger. I’ve never been the planning sort, so it’s certainly better than anything I could come up with. Lord above knows we can’t remain here for much longer. In fact, I think we’ll move along this night to somewhere new.”

“The embassy?” she repeated quietly, meekly accepting the tea. “Will they take me to Nate?”

“Your other brother?” he asked, forgetting for a moment who she was siblings with. “Leo would be my bet. From there we’ll see you off to Ghish or wherever he decides you’d be safest. First you’ll need your strength back.”

She didn’t say anything for the remainder of the night, taking a single sip from the tea Leon gave her and placing it down before she curled up on her sleeping bags and fell asleep. The next day, Leon went out to look for a new hiding place, but found nothing. He walked back with a full cannister of water he collected down at the stream and saw a few headlights off in the distance. He immediately dropped to the ground and pulled out binoculars. He saw two military humvees driving along the nearest dirt road. Thankfully they were moving away from his location, but just knowing that they were looking around his location was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

Leon waited until the trucks were out of sight before he tried to make his way back to the cave. Theodora was seated by the fire when Leon returned. He was breathing heavily now, having sprinted back as quickly as he could. He quickly tried to compose himself as he looked around the outside of the cave before entering. “It’s nice to see you up and about. You must be feeling better,” he smiled to her.

“How much longer to do we have to stay here?”

“I think we’ll be moving tonight. If it please you, your Highness,” Leon said as he offered her water from his canteen. She shook her head to show no, so Leon took a drink from it instead. “We managed to have some fake IDs made before we left Castellum to reach you. Michael likely has a large search party out for you, but thankfully the city is the last place they’d expect us to go.”

“You shouldn’t smile,” Theodora stated with a deadpan look on her face. She remained huddled and wrapped underneath her blanket. “He’s insane you know...Michael is. And more dangerous than you know.”

“I think I know Michael well enough, Princess,” Leon told her, his smiled not retreating. “We...I know how they will protect the city, how and where they will have their checkpoints. I’m not in the palace anymore, Michael can’t reach us here.”

“Why were you one of them?” she questioned.

Leon flipped over a bucket and took a seat near her. “Wrong place, wrong time I fear,” he handed her his water once again, but this time she took a drink. “Get some sleep now, we’ll leave at nightfall.”

Leon felt guilty when he woke Theodora at just before nightfall, if he could have he would have just let her sleep some more. “Princess, it’s time to get ready. There are some supplies to wash up over by the fire. Some clean clothes as well,” he tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll be taking some things to the car, be ready when I return.”

It wasn’t quite dark when Leon reached the car that was covered in leaves, branches and other items to conceal it from any passerbyer, though once he had finished loading the car and drove it to Theodora it was near close to night. He caught her changing when he entered, seeing enough to notice a large bruise near her right shoulder blade. When she noticed him, she quickly pulled over her shirt and looked around nervously. “Forgive me, Princess.”

“It’s fine, I’m ready,” she said walking right past him and to the car just outside the cave. She wore the clothes Selene packed for her, but they didn’t fit quite right as Selene couldn’t find whatever Michael did with Theodora’s clothes. She wore a black v-neck sweater, and navy blue jeans that fit rather lightly, as they must have been to small for her. She did her best to cover the bruise on her face with the little makeup they had with them. It was enough to match the ID her had, hopefully it would work.

She didn’t say another word, just walked to the car and sat in the passenger seat. Leon sighed again as he gathered the sleeping bags and remaining items before starting the car and driving off. He kept off the streets and dirt roads for a time, pausing whenever a rare vehicle drove past. Luckily, none appeared to be military. He would wait a few more minutes after that just in case any lagged behind.

Leon continued driving in this fashion until they reached the first towns that laid just to the east of the districts of Castellum. His plan was to enter the city from the east, opposed to the northeast where Villa ad Pontes was located. It would add about twenty or thirty minutes to their drive, but it was Adrian’s initial plan that he could urge his superiors to divert more patrols to the north and leave the south open.

“The embassy is in the Martis borough, which puts us far closer to the Palatine than I’d like, but our friends have assured me we shouldn’t run into trouble,” Leon said to her once they finally reached a town and real roads, though these roads were much older than those in the city, with sections even made of stone. Quite the rarity.

“Will this work?” she asked. The Princess hardly spoke since she awoke the second day, and even when she did, her words were minimal. Leon felt like she’d stab him in his sleep if given the chance, thankfully she’s been sleeping mostly.

“As long as you remember your name...until we reach your embassy at least. Tell me what it says.”

“Eugenia Duronia,” Theodora read from the ID.

“And where are you from Eugenia?”

“...Rubra,” she muttered quietly as she ran a hand through her hair. It wasn’t anything one would consider clean, but it looked better it had when he found her at ad Pontes - even if it was cut a bit shorter than usual. “The Rubra borough? It’s so poor and grimey there.”

“Exactly. You and I are going to meet your parents who live at that address, isn’t that right, Eugenia? And my name is Thomas Egilia. We go to school together at the King’s in Utica,” Leon ran though the little information Selene and Adrian created, pointing out the key points Theodora should try and remember if questioned.

No more than ten minutes after coming upon the first town, the car reached the capital border. Street and traffic lights were largely out, with important intersections being hooked up to generators to help the flow of traffic. There was a checkpoint no more than fifty yards across the border, something which Leon hadn’t anticipated. It’s not on Adrian’s list. “Remember what we talked about, Eugenia. I’ll do the…” by then he had realized Theodora fell asleep. She looked to be in a much more peaceful state than when she slept curled up in the cave.

A Scholarian waved Leon’s car forward, his shadow bouncing off the car due to the portable lights standing nearby. Leon inspected it as he slowly drove forward, stopping when the guard held his hand for a halt. “Papers,” he ordered with a hand extended out while a second searched underneath the car with a mirror. The guard spoke in Latin first, then repeated in Greek. “State your business.”

Leon handed his ID and registration of the car to the Scholarian, then carefully slid Theodora’s from the lip of her purse. “Driving my girl to her parents,” he told the guard. The Scholarian eyed both ID intensely, even passing both over to a second guard before handing the registration back.

“How long?”

“Two, three nights at the most for me at least. That’s if her parents approve me anyway,” he added with a small laugh.

The guard inspecting the car gave the chief a thumbs up. The head Scholarian stamped a piece of paper and handed it to Leon. “We’ll be granting you temporary admittance to the city. However your movements will be restricted to Rubra, Aventinus, and this district so you may leave the city. Penalty for being caught outside of these boroughs will result in a fine of £3000 and possible jail time. Curfew begins at sundown, so don’t stop until you reach your destination. This permit allows you out past curfew until 10:00 pm. Enjoy your stay, Mr. Egilia, and good luck.”

Leon smiled at the guard. “Thank you,” he said as he rolled up the window, looking at Theodora as she still slept. The guard waved them through and Leon drove past the checkpoint. Better than expected.

The next ten minutes went by quickly with little to no other traffic in the city, partially due to curfew and also due to power outages that had been plaguing the city since the day Leon and Selene left the palace. He was stopped one other time before reaching Martis, but Leon showed the police officer his ID and the papers he received at the border, and was allowed on his way. Thankfully, Theodora remained asleep. Once he crossed into Martis it became much brighter and louder. Police cars would drive by at fast speeds, seemingly paying no attention to Leon’s car. He rounded a corner to find the few embassy’s that were in the area. It was full of police, Scholarians and even military.

The Ghantish embassy was a remarkable building, to say the least. It was famous for its immaculate white marble walls and floors, still pristine despite being well over a hundred years old. The building was basically Neoclassical in style, while the plan with its open courtyards was largely traditional Ghantish. The three-story building had a grand portico with stucco work and six Roman columns, and the ground floor and first floor each had 14 tall and fluted Corinthian columns and ornamented verandas with fretwork and sloping roofs, built in the style of a Roman pavilion.

Indeed, the embassy was widely known because of its marble wall-panels and floors- made exclusively from one hundred and twenty six types of colorful Roman marble that had been transported across the seas. It was built in 1870 to commemorate the marriage of Princess Alexandra of Ghant, third daughter of Emperor Nathan II of Ghant and Prince John of Latium, the second son of the Latin Emperor Theophylactus I.

The white façade of the embassy imparted an impression of rapidly declining opulence. The structure was stately, with enormous grounds containing innumerable statues, a pond with a beautifully crafted stone-fountain featuring mermen and mermaids and a miniature rock garden. The statutes provided a taste of what to expect within the embassy itself: sheer eccentricity. Scattered all over the grounds were figures of lions, some keeping vigil and some fast asleep, and accompanying them are sculptures of Ghantish Emperors, Empresses, the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ and even Malderi Haribec. There was also an unassumingly small statue of the late Emperor Leo himself, placed near the entrance. There were seating arrangements all across the lawn, sometimes accompanied by tables with impressive marble table-tops.

Leon kept his calm though, and drove carefully towards the Ghantish embassy. Surrounding its outer gates and guardhouse was a separate checkpoint, though this was held by Scholarians with military vehicles stationary not far away. It was bright, far brighter than the rest of the surrounding area, with lights from military and civilian vehicles, and other portable lights rolled in to illuminate the area.

Guards were all around the impressive building, heightening Leon’s nervousness surrounding his next move. Theodora slowly started to come out of her nap, but seemed more or less asleep still. Unaware of whether there was a back entrance he could reach, Leon drove to the embassy’s main gate, being stopped by a Scholarian at the makeshift security checkpoint that surrounded the Ghantish gates.

Three guards stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the road, blocking the Ghantish gates. To each of their sides were sandbags, portable lights and even more guards, all armed with automatic weapons. Leon rolled up slowly, stopping with a few feet left between the car and the guards blocking the entrance. A guard knocked at his window and motioned him to roll it down. “Papers.”

Leon handed the guard his and Theodora’s fake IDs. “You’re not Ghantish citizens,” the guard stated. “Turn the car around and step out of the vehicle sir...ma’am.”

Shit, shit, it’s over. I’m dead, Leon thought before he heard a shout come from afar and the guard turned his head. The guard yelled back, and then the voice again. “That’s it!” Leon heard someone shout. “That’s her...the traitor. Stop them at once!”

Leon looked forward and watched the guards blocking the entrance pull their rifles up to point at him. He quickly shifted the car back into drive and slammed his foot on the gas. The car quickly picked up speed and rushed at the guards blocking the gate. The two guards to the outside lept out of the way, diving into bushes or bodies, though the third guard pulled his gun up and fired a shot at Leon just before he was struck by the car. Leon was hit in the right shoulder by the shot, but he kept his foot on the gas and pushed through the Latin checkpoint, crashing through the main, closed gate of the Ghantish embassy.

Above the upper balcony of the embassy were tall double windows, flanked by great flags of Ghant hanging down from long ornamental flagpoles. It was behind one such window that the Ghantish Ambassador to Latium sat. Lord Laurendi Langa was an older man, the younger brother of the sitting lord of Langa in southern Dakmoor. He held the distinction of being the replacement of Lady Marsella Atmos, having been appointed to fill her ambassador post upon her resignation when she became engaged to the late Emperor Jason Augustus. Laurendi was a deliberate choice- he had a clean record, was fairly unassuming and most inconsequential. He held the post for sixteen years now, and most of that was rather uneventful.

Until recently. Laurendi was overwhelmed with the responsibility of his office, and burdened with Ghantish expectations for dealing with the conflict that faced him...and yet, Laurendi did the only thing he knew he could do with ease. Hide. The lesser Langa lordling took shelter in his embassy palace, enjoying his tea and crumpets and the occasional game of chess with his embassy staff...which was what he was doing at that very moment.

“More green tea please,” he asked one of his assistants. “With a lemon slice on the edge and a pinch of sugar.” Like many of his Dakmooran counterparts, he had pale skin and jet black hair with deep blue eyes and a petulant look that came to define Dakmooran aristocracy. He thought himself a pleasant, polite man all the same, and took his position seriously, knowing that the dignity of his country rested upon his gentle disposition.

As the assistant bowed to the seated ambassador, a guard entered. “My lord, there is trouble at the gates…”

Laurendi furrowed his brow and cut the man off. “Trouble at the gates? When is there not? Michael has his men posted outside the gates like vultures outside a killing field. A show of strength, I do say, arrogant boy he is. Playing Emperor is no game, but alas it seems one to him, it seems. Let them stand outside...I won’t kowtow to him or his henchmen!” Laurendi turned away from the guard and looked back at the decadent paintings displayed on the wall in front of him.

Then there was a loud crash. “What in God name is going on out there? Are they breaking down the gates? The nerve of that man!” In a rapid movement the ambassador shot up from his seat and strode towards the window, only to see a car driving erratically through the lawn, having crashed down the gate. “Gather the guards at once and figure out what in God name is going on out there!”

Within a second it seemed and the guard was on his walkie talkie, and what seemed like a dozen armed guards burst out of the large double doored entrance out onto the wide steps of the palace, with their rifles aimed at the vehicle. “Stop the car and reveal thyselves,” the commanding officer commanded, while gesturing towards some others in their company to advance towards the gate.

Leon’s car came to a stop well beyond the main gate, crashing into a bush with only a Latin Scholarian between it and his car. The airbags fired off when they hit, and it caused Theodora quite a fright as well. He put his hands up once the embassy guards approached. He opened his mouth to speak, but only coughed and his left hand over his wounded shoulder. He tried to speak again. “The...the Princess. I have the Princess. Don’t shoot.”

He turned his head as best he could to try and observe the Latins across the barrier. They were frantic, with bodies moving rapidly around and other shouting orders to their subordinates. They can’t cross, he hoped.

The Ghantish embassy guards moved in, with their guard-captain taking the lead. He approached the young woman briskly, and upon closer inspection, grabbed her arm and gave her a yank. “No time, your Highness.” he turned to the others and bellowed, “Execute Order 313.” the Ghantish guards on the lawn formed a line, spaced apart by several feet, while the guard captain fell behind it with the princess. Another guard went to Leon, and helped him to follow. “Inform the Lord Ambassador at once,” the guard-captain barked at another guard who made a bee-line towards the palace entrance.

Theodora looked over towards Leon as she was pulled away from the car. Like him, she was bleeding slightly, but didn’t protest as she was dragged into the building. Leon labored to get out of the car, and even when he did he fell flat on the ground. It felt like he blacked out for awhile, but he must have only closed his eyes for a moment because the Latin guards across the fence were close to their same positions when he rose to follow the Ghantish guards. “They can’t get in can they?”

The Ghantish guards maintained their positions while Theodora and Leon were escorted into the embassy plaza, the double doors open to them. Once inside, the great doors were shut hastily behind them. The great marble fountain with the naked cherub on top trickled water from his miniscule manhood down into the water below. From around the corner emerged the Ambassador, who paused and gasped. “Your Highness,” he said incredulously before dropping to one knee. “What madness is this? Have I become delusional?”

Theodora was stronger than she had been the previous day, though was still weak and not herself. “They want to take me back,” she ran to the Ambassador with tears, slipping at first though avoiding a complete fall. “Don’t let them take me back.”

“...Your brother the Emperor has left specific orders,” Laurendi added as he helped the princess to her feet. “There is a helicopter in the middle courtyard. You are to get on it, and it will take you to Leo.” Laurendi turned to Leon. “And you, sir...who might you be?” Turning to his men, the ambassador barked, “the young man is hurt, see to him!”

“Leon, my Lord,” he labored to speak as he held a hand pressed against his wounded shoulder. “Leon, Lord Chalcis, the eldest son of The Doux Palaiologi. We should all leave, he won’t let her out of the city if he can stop it.”

Laurendi nodded firmly. “Aye, you and the Princess shall go with some men. The helicopter will take you both to Leo. I shall remain here. My mission is to man this embassy and maintain imperial law here. The chips shall fall as they may.” Turning to Theodora, he said to her very carefully, “once you are with Leo, your brother the Emperor will want to speak with you. Take great care in what you tell him, because what he does next will depend on what you say.” As he spoke, some medics ran up to Leon to check on his wounds, while another did the same with Theodora.

“I tried to clean her wounds as best I could,” Leon told the medics when they arrived.

“No, no, I don’t want to be here,” Theodora shoved away the medic in a nervous fit. “I want to go now. It’s not safe, I don’t want to go back.”

The ambassador didn’t waste any time. He waved his hand, and the guards swept up the princess and Leon and their respective medics through the plaza and into the adjacent gallery. “Be well, your Highness, and Lord Leon,” he shouted after them, before turning to his other men. “Bar the doors and secure the perimeter.” Laurendi stood his ground, and took a deep breath in anticipation of whatever might have come next.

Through the gallery was another set of double doors, on the other side of that was a large courtyard, enclosed on all sides by the palace balconies. In the middle of the courtyard beside a grand fountain was a helicopter with the blades already spinning, and guards standing all around the periphery.

“Will this be able to reach Leo?” Leon asked loudly while he ducked his head along with Theodora as they approached the helicopter. Theodora walked more quickly than Leon, hoping that the faster she reached it, the faster she would be away from Michael.

The guard with them had to yell. “It’s fully fueled and well provisioned. No reason why it wouldn’t reach friendly territory.” he climbed into the helicopter and offered a hand to Theodora in order to pull her in.

Theodora was the first to jump on board and quickly found her seat so they could take off. She shivered and shook out of fear as Leon jumped on and took a seat next to her. “Go,” Theodora shouted.

After a few guards and medical personnel jumped onto the helicopter, it lifted steadily into the air. The guards below scurried away back into the arched columns of the palace inner courtyard, preparing to provide a defense if Michael’s men attempted to storm the embassy in order to prevent the helicopter from escaping.

Outside the embassy gates, the Latin forces prepared to enter the embassy grounds and a number of vehicles began to mass at the gates, including tanks. It didn’t take long for the first Scholarian to jump across the border, though no one was sure whether or not the order was actually given. After that it didn’t matter, and a wave of Scholarian and military personnel began to storm to main double doors of the palace.

The Ghantar had prepared for such an event, and were prepared to make good upon the conditions of their post. As the Scholari crossed onto the embassy grounds, the Ghantish took up strategic positions behind cover, and began to fire upon them with their rifles. Those still in the embassy scurried about in order to take up heightened positions as well, many with rifles, and a few with LAWs in order to combat the tanks.

As the Latins poured through the destroyed gate, others worked to bring down the fencing around the grounds to create more openings to flank the defenders. A tank fired at the building, landing just to the side of the door, striking a column. Scholarian forces took heavy casualties in their efforts to reach the double doors, though many more returned fire from behind the makeshift checkpoints and barriers that were laid around the embassy.

The column struck by the tank shattered, causing that portion of the balcony above it to cave in. Guards were flung from their positions beside it and above it, while one brave guard wielding a LAW aimed and fired it at the offending tank. Elsewhere, men continued to exchange small arms fire with Scholarian forces, though they were outmanned and outgunned. Several Ghantish embassy guards laid dead or wounded in the grass, while those that had the ability to fall back did so, into the embassy interior.

Elsewhere, the helicopter rose as high as it could, and with an accelerated speed began to fly west. The Ghantar in the helicopter looked down at the unfolding carnage below. “The Scholari attacked,” one of the female medics pointed out. “Good men are dying down below.”

“All the more reason to get away from here as soon as possible,” Leon nodded after he took a look at the ground.

Men and soldiers on the street below pointed up at the helicopter when it rose to the sky. They fired their rifles at it, though would prove to be no more than a nuisance. Some tanks began to turn their attention from the building and towards the helicopter, aiming to the sky. The first fired into the air, missing its target, followed by a second attempting to pin the helicopter down in its sights.

Other embassy guards appeared on the front balcony with laws, while the pilot of the double bladed helicopter did its best to out maneuver the tanks aimed at it. One of the Ghantish soldiers aboard the helicopter grunted and said, “fuck this shit,” and got up and lurched over towards the opposite door that had a tarp draped over it. He pulled the tarp off revealing a flex gun, and opened the door. “Otis, you know the drill.”

“Yessah, that I do Guntha, that I do.” The other soldier named Otis turned on the speaker system, and a song began to play as Gunther manned the flex gun and aimed it down at the lawn below, trying to add suppressing fire in order to cover their escape.

“Those embassy bastards need to hit those fucking tanks!” Gunther called out as he let his flex gun rip. “Otherwise we’re in deep shit.”

When the helicopter fire reached the ground it split the Latin advance in two, the half closest to the building tried to crash through the doors or jump through windows to avoid being hit, while the other half tried to fall back for trees, the fallen gate or whatever would provide cover for them. The poor souls caught in the middle were torn apart by the guns however.

The tanks split their targets when the helicopter fought back, one aiming for the building again, and the other focusing on the sky above. The next shell was fired at the air, whizzing right in front of the helicopter. Another fired at the building, aiming for the second floor.

The tank shell flew into one of the second floor gallery rooms, causing a fierce explosion that blew the room apart. Those that were caught in the blast were blown to pieces, while others were flung from the balcony by the sheer force of the blast. Those that remained with LAWs in their hands redoubled their efforts to shoot the tanks, though the priority targets were those tanks still shooting at the helicopter in its desperate bid to escape.

A tank continued to narrow its focus on the helicopter, and just before firing was struck by one of the Ghantish LAWs, rendering its offensive abilities useless. The Scholarians inside the building attempted to rush the courtyard and find a way to the LAWs and the Ambassador himself. Meanwhile the ground forces outside the buildings doubled their rate of fire on the LAWs position to preserve the tank they had left.

Lord Langa holed up in one of the lounges on the third floor of the western side of the embassy. He had a bottle of black Dakmooran that he planned on saving for a special occasion. He had advised the embassy staff, including his assistants, aides and diplomats to lock themselves in the basement. Not himself though...that was not the way of a Lord of Dakmoor. He brushed off his rich dark violet tunic and stood in front of the window, watching the helicopter fly off into the west. Outside the room, he could hear the exchange of small arms fire, of shouting and screaming men in the throes of battle...one that the Ghantish were never going to win. Laurendi casually popped the cork of the bottle and poured himself a tall glass of the dark wine, drinking long and deep.

By now, the Latin forces had a strong hold on the main entrance and level of the embassy and by their sheer numbers attempted to push on through to the Ambassador in the hopes of capturing him alive. Entering after the Scholarians took the doors were full members of the armed forces and soldiers of the 45th Legion. They ordered the Scholarians to continue their push, providing assistance when required, but largely concentrated on finding a secondary method to reach the Ambassador. Outside, the remaining tank took one last shot at the helicopter before it was completely out of range, but came up short once again in its attempt.

“Looks like we made it,” Otis said after the last tank shell missed. “We should be in the clear now.”

“The Scholarians just fucked up big time,” Gunther observed as he dismounted the flex gun and shut its corresponding door. “Attacking the Ghantish embassy and attempting to murder the Princess outright by firing upon the helicopter. That’s an act of war. Not to mention of anything happens to the Lord Ambassador, that would very bad indeed…”

Not many Ghantish guards were left in the embassy, and Lord Langa knew it. The ambassador had little time before the Scholarians would be upon him. As he gulped down his wine, he took the sword off of the wall and walked over to the nearby sofa. He sat down on it carefully and tucked the sword away to his side, where it wouldn’t be seen. Then he leaned his head back against the back of the couch and swirled what remained of his wine around in the glass.

A Latin soldier slowly pushed open the door where they suspected the Ambassador was holding up. The first thing through the door was his firearm, followed by his body and a handful of Scholarians. “Mr. Ambassador, the Emperor requires your presence at the Palatine,” the soldier said.

Laurendi turned to the Latin soldier and cracked a smile, before speaking in accented Latin. “I’m under no obligation to oblige that request, soldier,” he said politely. “I am the Ghantish Ambassador to Latium, and I am on Embassy grounds, which is legal Ghantish soil. You are here unlawfully, and in circumvention of international law. If you and your men had your wits about you, you’d leave now before this gets worse than it already is. I’m sure you know how this is going to look in the morning papers.”

The soldier smiled back at the Ambassador and gave a nod of his head to the Scholarians towards Laurendi. “I wasn’t giving His Lordship an option. Let’s do this the easy way. Shall we?” he said as three Scholarians approached the Ambassador and even more gathered outside the room.

“I am a Lord of Ghant on sovereign Ghantish soil. I always have an option.” Laurendi turned his head to see that his glass of wine was nearly empty. He took one last gulp, and then it was empty. “That was a fine vintage…” As the Scholarians approached him, the Ambassador tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword, and when they were close enough to him, he sprung up from the sofa with it in hand and swung it at the nearest soldier.

The blade caught the first Scholarian in the shoulder, dropping him to the ground as the blood pooled from the gash. The sight of the sword caused the soldier and other Scholarians to raise their weapons, though there was little hope for the two Scholarians closest to the Ambassador. “I don’t have time for this,” the soldier said as he fired his pistol at the Ambassador.

The bullet struck Laurendi in the chest, and he slumped back against the wall before sliding down onto the floor. “I’ve spent my life in the service of the Empire,” he coughed as he clutched at his blood-soaked tunic. “Did you not think I was prepared to die for it?” He flashed a grin as he struggled to breathe, and then he closed his eyes and fell over, half-curled upon the floor.

“Fuck,” the soldier shouted, huffing a sigh. “Take his body downstairs, clear the building and put it to the torch. We need to clean this up as best we can.” The other Scholarians and soldiers nearby nodded and went to carry out the man’s orders.

“Take anything of value,” another soldier shouted as loud as he could through the halls of the old palace. “Emperor wants all the treasures brought back to the palace. Lots o’ spoils to be had.”

by **New Edom** » Fri Dec 02, 2016 9:14 pm

Fineberg, New Edom

Count Thomas Lalery was hanging around with some members of the Chamber of Deputies who represented more union-friendly districts in New Edom's industrial hub, and they were naturally watching a football match between the Nass Shieldmen and the Fineberg Flockers. It was not hard to be chummy--he preferred sports like this with speed and rough and tumble to more refined polo or tennis like most of his kin. He liked that they cheered with enthusiasm and groaned with dismay.

Benjamin "Inky" Saint-John had Ince pounced for the Shieldmen's opening goal from close range before David Ben-Gathy doubled the visitors' lead with a stunning right-foot volley.

"I think we need to buy our host a consolation drink!" shouted one of the Deputies.

"I think he can still buy them, he's rich enough," said another, witha s ly look at him.

"Who are you jerks kidding,," Lalery growled. "I don't remember hearing any of you growing up with shit between your toes..."

They shouted with laughter at this. There were no flies on Lalery.

"It's all part of the game," explained Marius Campion with a smile "Like this. We must identify withthe working man..."

However the Flockers allied after a dismal first half when Victor Hylas pulled a goal back on the hour but Inch restored Derby's two-goal lead with a penalty.

Thank God Lalery thought as he got a phone call. The National Wisdom Party reps were well in their cups and were starting to bore him, his grins were getting a bit stiff. "What is it?" he demanded.

"You need to know: the Emperor Michael has attacked the Ghantish embassy. I just heard from Geta and our ambassador," said Prince Enoch. He glanced behind him to where his mistress was stepping into the shower. He closed the door to his office. "Apparently some issue with one of the missing royals, anyway we aren't getting much yet but they actually fired tank shells into the compound and opened fire on a helicopter."

"Jesus fucking Christ," said Lalery. Instinctively he looked around to make sure no one heard him. "Damage control?"

"This may have torn it," said Enoch grimly. "To attack one of our allies directly in this manner, Michael had better creep and crawl."

"Jesus Christ almighty..." Lalery ran a hand through his hair. "He has to blame someone, apologize."

"And how can we do that? He barely listened to you while you were there, and clearly didn’t take you seriously,” Enoch pointed out.

“Get the Queen to send a message immediately, to both Nathan and to Michael,” said Lalery. “I am going to feast these Deputies some more and then get back to you.”

The Queen, Mara the First, wept for the deaths that had taken place. She said softly, “I must make it my life’s work to sell off all the royal goods of this palace and also disarm our nation so that we can be a holy example, that we resist not evil but live by prayer and suffering. I must urge the Emperor to repent.”

Prince Enoch managed to persuade her that this was a radical policy that had to be considered gravely and prayerfully, and begged her to consider the immediate diplomatic necessities in order to preserve and stand by the holy faith.

To: His Imperial Majesty Emperor Michael of the Latins
From: Queen Mara the First of the Allied States of New Edom
Subject: the Ghantish Embassy
Encryption: Most Secret, Eyes Only

Your Imperial Majesty

I am sure you are as sorry as I am to hear of the great effusion of blood that has been spilled in the streets of your beloved city of Castellum. Alas, how shall we Christian monarchs prevail in this wicked world?

I hope that you intend to immediately apologize to the Emperor of Ghant, that your soldiers ladi violent hands and used arms in his embassy, and for the losses incurred. While I am sure you have felt provoked, it would be wise to consider that other means in future might deal with that provocation.

I remind your Majesty that I am and my husband is always availabe for consultation and avice should you require it. One offer of advice is this: that restitituion be offered and the officers who no doubt disobeyed your Majesty’s rules of engagement should be punished along with any other responsible officials.

Then I propose that New Edomite troops might perhaps occupy the Ghantish embassy to provide security, while your own people should offer medical assitance to the remaining personnel. This would also be a strong gesture of peace.

I have the honour to be
Queen Mara I

“You are sure,” said the Queen, curled up naked on her couch, writing desk being taken away by equally naked servants, “That the Emperor is good hearted as you say?”

“Oh...yes Majesty, he is a good hearted, athletic and charming young man, only eager to serve his people and the Lord to his best ability,” lied Enoch.

“I was sure of it,” sighed Mara, looking away out the window at the white soft clouds. “Leave me, Enoch dear, for you remind me only of sin and sorrow, beloved though you are to me. And Enoch…”

“Majesty?” said Enoch.

“From now on, only the guardsmen wear clothing, or those working with dangerous chemicals or hot fat or something at the palace. Everyone else is to be as naked as I,” said Mara. “Not only for holiness but...I am sure that the assassins that killed George will kill all royals. I have heard of dissolving monarchies everywhere. See to it. For it is the law,” she said earnestly. “We must set an example.”

Prince Enoch had no idea how he would handle this one, but bowed and sighed in the time honoured manner to suggest how moved he was by the Monarch’s notion. Then occurred to him to his relief: the Queen was not sole monarch but co-monarch. Until the King recovered from his stroke no new policies could be enacted unless it was an emergency at national security level. For the first time he thanked Christ for the stroke…

To: Nathan IV, Emperor of Ghant
From: Mara I, Queen of the Allied States of New Edom
Subject: Embassy
Encryption: Most Secret, Eyes Only

Your Imperial Majesty,

I am deeply grieved to speak to you of what you no doubt already know: the storming of your embassy by forces of Michael of Latium. Apparently some persons of rank had attemnpted to flee into the embassy and were pursued by the scholarians of Michael the Latin.

This is deeply regrettable, and I have no doubt that you will be very angry. However I would like to ask your patience so that I may find out if this was ordered by Michael himself or whether it was simply some of his soldiers who exceeded their authority. If the latter is the case I am sure that his matter can be dealt with with suitable recompense and public apology with demonstration of regret.

I would also like to propose that our own forces in the area should provide protection to your embassy personnel in order to prevent further harm coming to them.

I assure you, in all friendship, that I will do my best to bring about a peaceful end to this incident.

I remain faithfully
Mara I

This message was to be handled with care. First, Prince Amenmar was to make sure that it was delivered shortly after Nathan had time for a bit of relaxation with Rosa Sharon. Second, it was to be introduced to him by the ambassador, ideally when Cassandra was not immediately available but cooler heads--Sophia, Lord Malibar and the Prime Minister were. If need be the embassy’s council police would arrange some kind of interruption, even if they had to slip her a severe laxative in her ever present cup of wine. The aim was to soften the blow and propose a diplomatic solution.

by **Jedoria** » Fri Dec 02, 2016 9:28 pm

To: Prime Minister Nymun Izarbegiratzeak of the Empire of Ghant
From: Duke Constantin Zaharia of the Confederation of Jedoria
Subject: Recent Events
Encryption: None

Dear Prime Minister,

I have been informed by my colleagues in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs a press statement revealing that your nation has, within a very short period of time, suffered a tragic loss of life within the confines of your embassy in Castellum Ab Alba. I feel how weak and shallow any words of mine must be to attempt to comfort you from a loss so sudden and dastardly, but I hope some solace may be found in the condolences of the Confederation and her people, whom understand the tragedy and hopelessness one might feel following the unexpected loss of a cherished and loved friend.

I understand that at this time your government and people may feel a great many emotions, chief among them anger and fury directed at the perpetrators of this crime, and my government likewise hopes that slain are fully honored, and their murders brought before the altar of justice, so they may be seen and judged honestly.

I pray our heavenly All Mother may relieve you of your suffering, and leave you only cherished memories of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be your homelands' to have produced such fine individuals of great renown, and that have fallen while in service to their country and the just and noble cause of international peace and brotherhood.

Kind Regards,
Constantin Zaharia, Duke of the Jedorian Confederation

by **New Edom** » Fri Dec 02, 2016 11:31 pm

Task Force Boa
Skirting the Tericio-Roman Nautical Borders

Fifty kilometers away from the EEZ of Tericio the ships moved, in many cases thousands of meters apart to avoid accidents by night.

Junior Lieutenant Joseph Lupin sat at his writing table in his bunkroom, without thinking with his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, a boyhood habit. He had his uniform on but his jacket was unbuttoned for comfort, and a large thermos of hot Othmani coffee beside him.

His bunkmate was lying with his back to him, to avoid the light, now and then grunting and shifting in his sleep. The bunkmate was a male, of course, and was a young officer who was in the sonar division, a serious music lover who actualy had some great playlists. He was a good bunkmate and Lupin appreciated him. He understood that Lupin, as admiral's aide, had a lot of extra off duty work to do.

Today was no exception.

SECRET
To: CANEF
Info: CTFB
subj: Revised Plan Operation Smooth Stones
1. Situation: Michael claimed Emperor of the Latins has been declared a usurper by his rival, Prince Constantine. The nations of Jedoria and Chaco have offered military support in the form of fleets bearing ground forces and carrier launched air units. Task Force Boa is required to provide assistance to the Emperor Michael
2. Execution: Following recon and support recon from SATCOM, Admiral Amalek will carry out an amphibious landing at a distance outside the possible range of any missile attacks. This force is to consist of 2,400 troops which will establish a landing zone and then advance to strike at the main position of the Pretender constantine.

Even for so few troops as this, planning an amphibious landing took a great deal of work to plan. They had to plan for tides, they had to have a suitable beach where they could bring in the amphibs close enough to roll out the amphibious vehicles and the landing craft. They had to coordinate this with helicopter landings and also with the suppressing fire against possible enemy resistance to the landing. They would have to coordinate the ground operation with the air landings and air support. So in effect, if he were to compare it to being at the Academy it would be like doing a research paper that required ten other people to do similar work--which were often corrected riequiring further re-writes...

He yawned and realized the time...he had to get a bit of a nap, to be properly alert. He had to balance this with the Admiral's insistence on things being done at the proper time.

While Admiral Amalek was a harsh, scornful man who came across as cruel, the young officers admired him--probably because the Admiral had a tendency to teach them as much as he could It was not that he was cruel to be a sadist--he believed, honestly, that this was the vital practice to get these young men and women fit for service.

Lupin had been told, "Lupin, as a latin yourself, a cornellian, you have a natural tendency towards luxury and laziness," Admiral Amalek informed him as he had stood before him, backside and thighs smarting from a going over by the Chief Bosn's Mate. "But you will also benefit from discipline for if applied, your race does well from discipline and encourages ambition and dutifulness. I hope you will not try to pretend to knowledge of navigation that you do not have."

"No sir, I mean yes sir," said Lupin.

"Duty is also the thing to take your mind off pain," said Admiral Amalek.

The Admiral apparently saw it as his duty--his sacred duty--to provide his nation with future young officers fit for the National service.

And perhaps it was telling; Lupin had a sore back and rump from sittingi n the same posture so long as he had, but he had put together the operational orders which he hoped would be to the satisfaction of his admiral. Imagine this--his position meant ultimately that he gave orders that sent fighter jets, missiles and marines to enemy shores. Think of it!

His bunk called to him.

Outside the landing helicopter deck vessel, the ships were flung like arrows from a quiver towards their potential foe.

by **Lacus Magni** » Sat Dec 03, 2016 2:21 pm

Palace of Augustus
Castellum ab Alba

“Did you see this?” Antonia rushed into the room and was fuming. She turned on the television to the LBC, which depicted the events taking place at the Ghantish Embassy. “What the hell happened, Michael?”

The Emperor was slumped over the couch reading a book when Antonia stormed in. He didn’t so much as look up from it when the TV began to pick up its sound. “I did, what of it?” He looked up slightly and saw a second woman and another man enter the room as well.

Antonia ripped the book from his hand and threw it halfway across the room and slapped him in the face. “Do you not realize how fucked you…we all are now?”

Michael didn’t like that. He jumped to his feet and gripped a hand around Antonia’s throat. “Do you?” he said in a terrifying calm tone as he stared into her eyes. Her face turned slightly red before he let her go. “Release a statement. Blame it on Constantine’s spies, arsonists, Communists even. It wasn’t us, but we do grieve with them…oh so much for the terrible loss in this trying time…”

Antonia nearly fell to the floor when Michael let go, picking herself up just in time catch him in a laugh. Neither Antonia or the two other individuals said anything more and walked out of the room.

The small group walked away from the guards posted outside the apartment and to somewhere more private. “He’s truly lost it,” Antonia spoke softly, her throat still feeling like Michael held a grip on it.

“He would have had to have ‘it’ first,” Master of Soliders Jordan Caelius said with an angry look. “We need to take care of this and control the damage. We cannot release the statement he wants. Not a one will believe it, especially the Ghantish. Your Grace, you have far more experience with politics than I, what do you recommend?”

Both Antonia and the General turned to the Duchess of Vindóbona. She held a finger to her lips while she thought it over. “Well someone’s head needs to roll for this. Blame the Scholarians, and make the Lord Commander responsible for it,” she stated.

“What, the whole lot of them and the Lord Commander?” Master of Soliders Caelius was taken aback.

“Yes, why not. We’ll order the arrest everyone who took a part in the assault including the Lord Commander,” the Duchess said while Antonia nodded in agreement.

“But Mavrozomes was here when it took place. He told me he didn’t give that order,” Caelius questioned. “I don’t like the man, but he had no part in this.”

“It’s him or all of us, General. And I prefer him to all of us losing our heads for him mess. We’ll arrest Mavrozomes, strip him of title and rank, offer to hand him over to the Ghantish even,” the Duchess raised an eyebrow at Antonia, who gave off the appearance that she was fully on board. “Do you have an issue with that General? Because I know who will take the blame for the soldiers there if not the Lord Commander.”

Caelius took the hint and nodded his head. “How do you propose we tell Michael of this plan, I certainly don’t want to be the one to tell him,” Antonia said, massaging her neck.

“I’ll handle it,” the Duchess nodded. “General, how many loyal men do you have present in the building?”

“…Nearly thirty on the grounds, though I can have more on sight in an a hour or so.”

“Very good, have them report to the Apartment at once. Antonia, you go get some rest and ice for your neck. Find my son Adrian, he’ll help you,” the Duchess gave her orders.

“And where am I in this, Your Grace?” the General asked.

“You’ll be right there next to me, my Lord,” the Duchess grinned and began walking back to the apartments.

As the Duchess and Caelius marched along to the Imperial Apartments, the men loyal to the General began to meet up with them and follow behind. They were wearing their dress uniforms, though with kevlar vests over their jackets, armed with their pistols and a few with assault rifles.

Once they reached the entrance to the apartments, Michael’s guard went to pull for his firearm, though it became clear to him that he was outmatched. “Move aside, Peter,” the Duchess ordered the guard. He looked defeated, as Caelius took his weapon and the Duchess entered the apartments.

“I said I don’t want to be bothered,” Michael yelped when he heard the door open. “…Unless its Antonia, I could have use of her now.”

“Your Imperial Majesty,” the Duchess let out a sly grin.

“Are you lost, Your Grace? Peter, I said I want to be left alone. Peter!” he shouted for his guard. He looked confident and cocky when he saw her. The Duchess was a small, petite woman and Michael taller and stronger than his own father ever was. He rose to his feet and towered over the Duchess, but she just looked at him with a smile. His faded as the soldiers loyal to the Master of Soldiers entered the room. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You seem tired, Caesar. The Council all agrees on this,” the Duchess stated as the soldiers exchanged looks with the Emperor, who’s own face shifted to a confused terror. “For the time being, the Council will be handling affairs of the state and coordinating with His Imperial Majesty’s generals and the few allies he has left.”

“Who do you think you are? You, yes you there,” Michael pointed to one of the soldiers. “Arrest this traitor and I will make you a lord. Hmm, how would you like that. A lord? With titles, land and more wealth that you could ever imagine.”

“Guards, His Majesty is tired. A surprise he can even stand he looks so exhausted,” the Duchess gave a nod to the soldiers in the room. The first to grab Michael by the arm was shaken off and tossed to the ground. In the end it took four men to move him into his be chambers. “When His Imperial Majesty is no longer tired, His Council will return the powers He most graciously bestowed upon them.”

“Unhand me, you traitors. I’m not tired, unhand me at once!” Michael shouted as they walked him to his room.

To: Prime Minister Nymun Izarbegiratzeak of Ghant
From: Michael VIII, Emperor of the Latins
cc: The Dowager Duchess of Vindóbona, President of His Majesty’s Pricy Council; Nathan IV, Emperor of Ghant
Encryption: Highest

Mr. Prime Minister,

It is with a great sadness and disappointment that I write to you today. For so long have our two nations enjoyed a healthy and prosperous relationship, and I am at a loss at how to properly convey my ill feelings towards what occurred at your nation’s embassy in Castellum last night. I know there is little I can do to reassure you of my involvement in the last night’s events. But I assure you, no order to assault your embassy, a landmark and one of the most iconic structures in our great capital.

Through an invest, it pains me to say that members of Latium’s Scholarian Guard, under the command of Lord Commander Andronikos Mavrozomes were found to have acted alone. The Lord Commander has since admitted to giving the order that saw members of the Scholarian Guard enter the embassy grounds. He has been apprehended and remains in custody. I offer him to you, Mr. Prime Minister. I know that nothing can replace those who perished in this senseless and vicious attack against your people, but it is my hope, and that of my Privy Council, that this is only the first step of many to set things rights with your government and the Ghantish people.

I know that as Sovereign, I am ultimately to blame for the actions of those under my command. And as such, the blame does fall at my feet for the senseless tragedy that occurred last night. Again, I offer my sincerest and deepest apologies to you, Mr. Prime Minister, to Parliament, to the Emperor and Empress, and to all Ghantish people.

At present those members of your embassy staff have been transferred to St. John’s Hospital in Castellum where they are being treated for any wounds or injuries they may have. They will be offered safe housing should they require or request it with your permission. I have also been in touch with the government of New Edom, who has so graciously offered to provide sercurity at the Embassy, which I will assent them access through Latium to your embassy with your permission.

Again, Mr. Prime Minister, I offer my deepest apologies to you, the Emperor and the familes of all those who lost their lives in this foolish attack ordered by Mr. Mavrozomes.

God Bless and my deepest prayers,
Michael

by **Republica De Gran Chaco** » Sat Dec 03, 2016 7:02 pm

Heraclea Airport

The surrender had gone smoothly, well smoothly enough after Bryan had gotten a translator who spoke latin. He had felt embarrassed for not remembering the language barrier when the Latin officer had started speaking to him, but after that it had all gone quickly enough. Bryan knew it was probably proper to have gotten the Jedorian major for the surrender, but he figured that if he was the one who risked the bullets walking out into the open, then he could be the one to have this little honor. Bryan was proud as he looked at the Beretta 92 pistol that had been handed to him. Now it was the job of handling the shocked and dusty Latins that came out of the tower.

All of the enemy wounded were being treated in the newly established field hospitals, with the worst being flown out to the ships for emergency surgery. The dead men were brought out and lined up for grave detail. Before being handed over to the Jedorians, who had better resources to handle them, healthy prisoners had been told to bring out all of the weapons and equipment and to pile it outside for the Chacanos to sort through. The Chacano military were scroungers, they preferred to keep everything they ever got a hold of, in the minds of the military, it might come in useful later. In Ashab they had managed to sneak out whatever they could even though the Ashabis had demanded their weapons back. Most was sent back (at the expence of the Ashab government) though a few T-55s and T-72s that were deemed “too damaged for use” were kept and used to piece together a couple of working models for each. This behavior had also gone along with their waste not want not policy in which Chaco could never manage to throw anything away. It was obvious with the equipment they used, like Skyraiders and Super Shermans, but they always kept the things that had been faded from service. Hundreds of thousands of old L1A1 rifles and browning M1919 were stored in warehouses, there were even a decent amount of old Vickers machine guns in storage. Only recently had the government started to sell off their SMLEs to the civilian market. So when Chaco went to war they kept what they could.

The Latin force at the airport had not been particularly large, but still it provided a nice grab. Bryan watched as his men sorted through the weapons, mostly rifles, though there were several MG3s that were captured. AR 70/90s were laid out on the ground and as Bryan looked on something caught his eye. Byan straitened looking around to make sure no one else had spotted his prize. An older BM 59 was in the pile front of him and Bryan made his way strait over to see it. He picked up the old rifle with a feeling of lightness in his stomach, barely able to believe his find. He looked it over, caressing the stock, and playing with the bolt. Collecting older rifles, particularly battle rifles, were a hobby to Bryan, though his brothers might say it was a fetish if they were asked. Some of his favorites in his collection were his L1A1, MAS 49, G3 and his M1 Garand, the last one had taken him some time to hunt down, as they weren’t as readily available in Chaco. A BM 59 was a bit of an oddball in the world, like the M14 it had been designed off of the M1, and it resembled both of the rifles in ways, though it was also unique in its own right.

Clutching his treasure as if it might disappear, Bryan looked around and saw the sergeant who was overseeing the detail, “Sergeant, did you see where the magazines to this rifle went?”

“Uh yes sir, I think they are over there.” The sergeant replied pointing to a pile of webbing, wondering at the sudden interest and urgency that had come over his commander.

Bryan thanked the man and then went over and began digging. When he found what he was looking for he looked up and gave a quiet, “Thank you Lord!” and picked up the webbing with 8 magazines in their pouches for his beautiful new rifle. Bryan hung the magazines and the rifle over a shoulder and with his galil slung over the other one he awkwardly walked over to the office building where the company had its temporary headquarters.

The now over excited captain walked into the office, shut the door and went into his pack grabbing the mementos that he had made sure to pick up before his men had taken everything. Bryan began packing up his trophies, the surrendered pistol, the rifle, magazines, and webbing, a scholarian unit patch that he had traded a pack of cigarettes for, and a Latin flag that he had managed to grab off of a wall in the airport. He addressed it all to his father, whom he knew would keep it all nice for him and went out and gave a helicopter crew chief a bottle of chicha his mother in law had brewed for him, to take the packages to his cousin out on the ship to mail back to Chaco.

Office of the Prime Minister
Yanque, Chaco

The Prime Minister had given the military the ability to handle itself in regards to Latium, and they had done well. A foothold had now been established on shore and supplies could begin to flow in. Luis had just come from a briefing and was reviewing the materials they had given him, now that he was alone in his office. The fleet was joining to support the Jedorians in facing Michael’s fleet who had decided to come out and play. Systems were being linked between their carriers and surface ships for better communication and coordination and the three submarines had headed out in a picket line ahead of the fleet.

The new lack of air cover from the fleet had caused the marines to request further assistance from the air force, as they were unsure how well the 12 strike eagles would be able to cover the whole ground force. There was another thing too. The Jedorians wanted to move and wanted Chaco to be part of the advance. The only ground forces that were in Latium were pretty light, and they were considered elite infantry by the army, who didn’t want them to be thrown away in a slog especially since the Latins probably had tanks. An agreement had appeared to have been made between the commanders that if Jedoria provided three CCJ-570T strategic airlifters, then the Chacanos, could bring in UH-1s and Alouette IIIs to airlift their force to be used as rapid support for the Jedorians.

All of this had made the military request permission for the deployment of additional forces to Latium. Luis thought it was interesting, though it made sense, that the military was requesting reserve air units to be sent. The generals said that with the tensions rising between New Edom and Jedoria, they did not want to send their newer aircraft so far away from a homeland that may need to be defended if they were called on to assist Jedoria. The reserve units, would serve well they had insisted. One last thing was the request for an armored regiment to help support the light infantry force. That might not have been easy to do earlier in the week, but with news of the Ghantish embassy being stormed, he doubted anyone would prevent assistance to depose Michael. Luis read over the list one more time.

2 squadrons from Fleet Air Arm Reserve (A-4M Skyhawks)
1 squadron from IX Tactical Group (A-1 Skyraider)
1 squadron from VIII Tactical Group (SEAD) (F-4G Phantom)
Chaco Lancers Regiment

Considering everything, he decided to give the military what they wanted and signed the approval for Jedorias lift plan and for the additional forces to be sent in support of the ground advance. This would mean that a new overall ground commander would need to be appointed as the force was at division level now, and the army would scream if a Marine officer was in command over their precious tanks. General Pablo Fuentes, the aggressive commander of central command had been recommended to be the air/land commander of what was going to be named the Chaco Expeditionary Force. Luis signed his approval and sent the news to the defense ministry.

by **New Edom** » Sat Dec 03, 2016 11:07 pm

Castellum, Latium

Two land rovers from the New Edomite embassy made their way down the street towards the Ghantish Embassy. In each of them along with a driver and an official from the embassy were four soldiers from the honour guard. They had put on their battle dress, and were armed with AK-94 assault rifles, pistols, and even had a manpack radio with them.

When the shelling had begun, everyone in the embassy had been alarmed, thinking that the war had arrived in Castellum, and were astounded to hear about the actions of the government.

"Not only did they do that, they had the audacity to fail," said Colonel Brero to Admiral Randronoth, the Ambassador. "I don't know how they could miss hitting a huge helicopter as it was taking off. Nor do I understand why they didn't take the place with flash bangs or beanbag guns. Or good Lord, why they had to kill the ambassador. Whwa twas the point of that?"

"I'll tell you what I don't understand," said Randronoth, "Is why you are giving me all this rhetoric. We have our instructions. Have eight of our people under an officer go to the Ghantish embassy."

"And take over security?" asked Colonel Brero.

"No. Have them wait at their vehicles until we have word from Ghish and Fineberg," Randronoth told him. "but have them blatantly observe anything that goes on there. Rules of engagement: they may not take other action unless attacked."

Captain Lemuel Tanach, an officer of the 22nd Lancers, looked with grim surprise at the rubble and detruction around the Ghantish embassy. Unlike the politicians or diplomats, he took it more personally. The Ghantar wer allies, he had drunk with them and sworn blood oaths of brotherhood with them during the 3rd Civil War, and had admiration for such Ghantar leaders as Lord Aldapa. He adored Princess Jocasta and Prince Michael and thought them the epitome of Edomite and Ghantish friendship brought into one marriage bed, and wa deeply outraged. He had to hold this in and be disciplined but he knew his men felt the same way.

"Listen, I know this angers you all," he warned his soldiers in person in his own vehicle as well as over the radio headsets in the other. "But we must act like soldiers of the King and Queen, not like savages. We remain by our vehicles until we get the word. If they challenge us, we halt where we are until they recieve confirmation we are to pass from their own superiors. If they start shooting or using weaposn of any kind we fight back and fight our way to the embassy."

"And then we all die," muttered one corporal.

"If we die, we die with honour, and then we'll know these fellows are the enemy and so will our leaders," said Captain Tanach. "Just remember your oders."

"Amen," they all said.

Fineberg, New Edom

"What's going on?" demanded Count Lalery, bewildered as he looked at the small army of clerks and junior palace officials bustling around the palace with calculators and measuring tape. "Is there to be a ball or something?"

Prince Enoch said with a bitter little smile, "The Queen is true to her word as always and is intending to sell the excess furniture and decorations. She's already sold every item in her wardrobe but the regalia and coronation robes."

"Good God," said Lalery.

"Don't talk like that around here," warned Enoch.

"Why, will she have me beaten or something?" Lalery snorted. "I'd like to see them try. Where is she anyway?"

"Don't make a fuss over it," Enoch insisted as he led Lalery to the garden. "Better this than the other thing--she has been talking about stripping the aristocracy and military of their privileges. Everyone is up in arms, and rumours have slipped to the ETC and others who are crowing in triumph. I suspect Augrim, Nicanor and Carmel know. She wants to replace Ashdod with Kohath."

Lalery grabbed his arm as they moved through the corridor. "Does Jocasta know?"

"Jocasta immediately left for Padan-Aran the moment she heard, along with the Dowager," Enoch replied. "And along with Unwerth."

Lalery's face went dark. "I'll beat it out of her. Uncle James was always too lienient with her."

"Tommy..."

"Ah! You all spoil her!" Lalery said, ignoring volume control now. "She has always gotten spoiled--this is no different from when she bought too many clothes, or when she wanted to marry Michael and then end the marriage, or any number of other things-that crappy gangster music she used to listen to. It's a fad!" he shouted.

Emerging into the garden, they found the queen squatting like a peasant, happily pruning an enormous cabbage plant, her feet bare and dirty, sweat oiling her richly tanned olive skin, her dark hair held back by a band of cloth. Discreet RPS agents lurked nearby.

"Forgive me, Excellencies," apologized one of them. "No one is permitted to enter the Queen's presnece with unnecessary clothing."

"What? You impudent toad, I'm a member of the royal family and the Council of Ministers," snapped Lalery.

"Yes and I'm the Master of Offices in case you don't remember," Enoch said, equally irritated.

"Cousin, Enoch," she greeted them. "Are you both too proud to bare yourselves to the gaze of the Lord? you are naked before him anyway."

The two men glanced at one another, then reluctantly removed their clothes, shoes and everything but their personal rings. Both had visible tan lines, which made the Queen purse her lips.

"It does not look good before many of our people that our persons of rank wear decadent foreign clothing," she chided them. "But I am glad to see you both. My sister has fled the capital and many other members of the aristocracy are apparently hoarding their jewelry, their silks and leathers, their fine cars and other things." the Queen said. "I would like us to plan to do something about that."

"Never mind your wish to see everyone naked," snapped Lalery. "Lest you forget we have a constitution. We have a government to run, an economy to oversee, and diplomacy to conduct," Lalery said, sitting down on a bench nearby.

"Get your backside off that bench," Mara ordered him.

Lalery sighed and knelt on the lawn before her. "The embassy, Latium."

Mara eyed him thoughtfully. "Yes. I'm now reluctant to support Michael. I had a deputation in earlier from the Chamber of Deputies, and was advised by General Augrim too. The Chamber's deputies feel that I am right in this--we need to be cautious. Ghant is a far more important trading partner than Latium, we have strong ties through blood and through blood spilled on the battlefield together, we have deep investments there. You are right to be concerned about the economy, cousin Thomas. So I need to ask you: how fast is that navy task force of ours moving towards the coast of Latium?"

"Galt says it should be there in a couple of days," reported Prince Enoch.

"Well, too much blood has been spilled there already," said Mara. "I think we need to be cautious about supporting Michael now. Maybe Prince Constantine is right about him."

"Constantine is allied to the heathen Jedorians," said Prince Enoch doubtfully. "That would be very unpopular."

"But is also supported by the Christian Chacoans," said Mara. "And they prove increasingly friendly. Perhaps a bridge to help us find true peace at last with Jedoria. This may be that opportunity."

"This will outrage the aristoracy and the military high command," said Count Lalery dubiously.

Mara got up a moment, stretched, and walked a short distance away, her smooth muscled body flexing sensually with each step, and then squatted again to urinate onto the grass. Lalery grimaced.

"If you do this for me, I will agree to make you President of the Council of Ministers," said Mara, without a trace of self consciousness. "And as well, if you set the example in shedding your false pride and blasphemies."

"That's ridiculous. I'm indulging you now, God knows why--" Lalery noticed her frown. "But this has to stop. we have to be a modern nation. Indulge your religious mania here in the palace or on plgrimages if you will, but your ideas are going to start another civil war."

"It was my religous mania, as you call it, that brought the Lord's mercy to end our civil war," Mara said, her large eyes bright. "So I would say it is worth the risk. Hand me that water bottle and towel will you?"

Lalery reached for them.

"Enoch," Mara said.

Enoch glanced at him and handed them to her.

"And Enoch...you too. You have too many luxuries. Give some of them up. I understand you have a foreign atheist as a mistress?" Mara shook her head. "If you're going to fornicate and commit adulery, the leat you could do is fornicate with a Christian who knows how to repent and won't lead you astray. I hear she wears a bathing suit to the beach. Disgusting. Put her away, give her some money and sned her home. Or better still, go to your wife's bed."

"Alright, sifting through all this--what do you want us to do about the fleet and about Latium" Lalery demanded.

"Before it reaches Latium, we need to be clear about what we're going to do. When we have a reply from Ghant, we will know for certain. I talked with the ambassador in castellum, he said he could hear the tank guns going off, apparently shells landed elsewhere in the city as well as bullets, and he suspects there are casualties. Such a wanton act, disgusting. Not only Michael but those who work for him must be crazy." she waved a hand. "Thank you both for coming. You may kiss my feet and go."

Properly speaking this had once been normal but now was only done on great occasions. Both men felt completely undignified in doing this, kneeling and bending naked and kissing her filthy feet, but they did. They also felt a reluctant intense reverence, bred into them from birth, and it disquieted them greatly.

"Leave the clothes. You may take your phones and watches," Mara called out. "i may however start banning watches, they encourage us to watch time too much and avoid prayer."

Lalery waited until they were well away. "Alright, that's enough of that. She's talking to Augrim, is she?"

"And we just wait?" Enoch said. They tried to ignore surprised palace officials who in turn tried to avoid staring at the two men who walked barefoot and bare, carrying their phones and walking with as much dignity as they could towards the entrance where Lalery's car waited for them.

"No, we try to find a way to stop this madness," Lalery replied grimly. "Latium is the least of our worries right now."

by **Jedoria** » Sun Dec 04, 2016 6:56 pm

(Co-written with Latin)

Waves crashed against the steel hull of the All Under Heaven as she slowly moved on the surface. Over 136,000 tonnes of metal and machinery sailed on the open waters of the Latin strait, propelled by it’s powerful nuclear reactor, propellers rotating underneath the surf. The three hundred and thirty six meter long aircraft carrier was a massive behemoth with a crew of over 3,000 personnel. But even the massive ship was dwarfed by the blue expanse around it. Though not far from the coastline of Latium, the curvature of the earth prevented the crew aboard the All Under Heaven from seeing the shoreline. Were it not for their long range radar, it would almost feel like they were smack dab in the middle of the ocean.

Vice Admiral Adrianna Pogonot had arrayed for fleet roughly opposite of where her intelligence and recon pickets expected the rebel fleet to appear. Around the All Under Heaven she had dispersed her frigates, destroyers and Chacoan allies in basic Jedorian naval formation, which called for overlapping shields of anti-air, anti-surface and anti-submarine defenses, linked together in the ComStar link system. Despite extensive training and open water exercises, the Confederate Navy was rapidly approaching it’s first major naval engagement since the Peregrino War.

As part of her defensive and offensive measures she had ordered the bulk of her air wing, fifty Dassault Rafales in total, to take to the air and remain in holding patterns until she had a positive location on the rebel fleet. They had been loaded with anti-ship missiles primarily, as the Vice Admiral intended to thrust out her air watch like a precision munition, striking against the enemy fleet while her surface warships struck them with long range weapon systems. Three of her frigates, the Defiant, Trust and Faith, and the Enduring Hope more or less formed the lead of her surface ships, backed up by her cruisers and flanked by her destroyers. She had arranged for Admiral Javier Matias and his Chacoan ships to form up north of her own forces, or from her perspective, to her right. Beneath the waves her Type 212s and Chacoan Dolphin-class submarines had been thrown into a skirmish line, sailing silently beneath the waves on electrical power, waiting for their counterparts to make the first move.

A powerful show of force was amassing the in the Latin strait. Further to the west, Task Force Vanguard was sailing as well, shadowing the rebel fleet as best they could. Captain Giurescu had despite his efforts lost the rebel fleet amid the waves and was now sailing for where his best estimates indicated the rebel ships were sailing to. To the south, a flight of Jedorian strategic bombers had taken off from airfields in northern Jedoria and were now soaring in the sky at supersonic speed towards the expected sight of battle. What role the bombers would play wasn’t sure yet, but they formed part of the overall operation for the Jedorians.

The Confederation wanted a knockout blow to be struck against Michael’s navy. By sinking his entire force the Jedorians hoped to gut the morale of Michael’s forces. In addition, with his ships at the bottom, the coalition of Chacoan and Jedorian forces would be free to advance on the coast of Greater Alba and commence naval and aerial bombardment of Michael’s forces there. Pogonot could feel the weight of command on her shoulders more so than usual today. She said a quiet prayer to the All Mother before asking her air watch commander if his planes had spotted anything yet.

Emperor Michael of Latium had split his naval forces into two groups, with one having previously making for Alexandria to terrorize the local Greek population, and the other keeping close to shore at Hierapolis. Though with the recent news of an attack by Jedorian and Chacoan forces against Heraclea, the young Emperor’s advisors wished to force a battle at sea by trapping the invading fleet between the Hierapolan and Alexandrian fleets.

Traveling east from Hierapolis were five Strategos-class destroyers fitted with air defense weapons, capable of utilizing ballistic missiles; five Doux-class frigates that were providing radar coverage for their movements by improving air-defence, anti-surface and air traffic management capabilities. Traveling along with the fleet were two submarines, one moving ahead of the fleet to provide for scouting and the second located in it’s rear for the same.

Latin intelligence demonstrated that they had to move quickly in order to eliminate the Jedorian threat near Heraclea or else their plan to trap them between the two Latin fleets would result in those very Latin fleets being trapped between the larger of the Jedorian fleets. It was decided that the Alexandrian fleet would wrap around the isles of Tericio, a decidedly longer though ideally a less treacherous journey so long as there were no unforeseen hiccups. But for the Hierapolan fleet, the Jedorians lay straight ahead.

The Jedorian recon patrols consisted of alternating flights of three Rafales each. The Rafales used their AESA radars to coordinate with the AWACS already on station above the fleet, and as a result extended their sensor range to several hundred kilometers. But with the amount of civilian traffic sailing through the strait not far to the south and the close proximity of the populated Latin coastline, there was a noticeable degree of clutter on both radar and sonar systems, limiting the range at which the Jedorians could detect and target the rebel ships.

But with their Rafales in the air the picture was a bit clearer. Guardian 2, the AWACS bird in the sky that helped to coordinate the naval and air components of the Jedorian/Chacoan force, was now getting feedback from the Jedorian patrols. Shadow Cat flight had been ordered to dispatch three birds to help patrol the ‘perimeter’ of the fleet’s defenses, a task which Shadow Cat 3 took with some reservation. He didn’t like the idea of being all the way out here, away from the protective sky shields from the air defense frigates and destroyers, but duty was duty. Still, he felt a small bout of worry as his radar began detecting emissions from beyond the horizon. After waiting for his aircraft’s onboard computer to verify the signature didn’t belong to a civilian ship, he radioed back to the Jedorian AWACS.

“Guardian 2, this is Shadow Cat 3, be advised, I have sol-con on enemy vessels bearing 3-0-6 degrees, distance approx 1-1-5 marks.”

“Aff Shadow Cat 3, wait for contact with Central then pull back to secondary holding pattern, quiaff?”

“Aff Guardian. I’m getting pings back from their radar; looks like they’re ready for us.”

Back on the All Under Heaven, Air Watch Commander Dumitru Saguna approached the Vice Admiral. “Ma’am, CAP reporters incoming contacts from the west. Radar signatures and communication feedback matches rebel transmission patterns.”

Pogonot checked with the long range sensor arrays the fleet had and confirmed Shadow Cat 3’s report. The rebel fleet was advancing, and while she didn’t know their exact formation or doctrine, they seemed to be interlocking their own defensive weapons systems, and their own arsenals. This was it.

“All hands, battlestations.” She said rather quietly, but loud enough for her executive officer to hear. It was an unnecessary order, given that nearly every ship captain had already ordered their crews to full alert. There was a small but present nonetheless sense of uneasiness among the Jedorian air crews and sailors. Their homeland was traditionally a land power, and far off naval engagements like this were uncommon for the Confederation.

This wasn’t a land battle either; the personnel involved were quite literally trapped onboard their ships. They could withdraw of course, sail away, but they couldn’t really retreat like you could on land. They were all professionals and volunteers, but as the Jedorian air group began moving towards the north, and jammers started broadcasting white noise and interference on frequencies expected to be used by the rebel fleet, it was though a collective gulp was had.

Onboard the combined fleet, crews manned their stations. Weapons officers readied their arsenals and damage control teams stood by. Two carriers, nine destroyers, two cruisers, and ten frigates readied for combat while their eight submarines moved ahead and around the fleet. A communications officer nervously informed Pogonot that there was no word from Vanguard, but the Vice Admiral ignored it. She would have to win this fight, whether by herself or with the help of Captain Giurescu.

Strategic bombers flew in from the south, moving fast but still too far out of weapons range. Despite Jedorian efforts it was too much to coordinate the efforts of two fleets, a fighter wing and a flight of long range bombers. Pogonot resolved she would have to win this by herself. Though she had numerical superiority, she still felt a pang of worry snake through her mind. She squashed it and focused on the mission. Crush the rebels at sea. Then proceed to the Greater Alba bay.

The Jedorian fleet slowly drifted west, warming up their weapon systems while they waited for the rebel fleet to get into range.

Under the command of Praefectus Counter Justin Ordius, the Latin fleet began to recognize unfamiliar patterns on their radar, and continued pressing towards the Jedorians with their rear and second submarine picking up speed to match with the lead. At his last communication with the Alexandrian fleet commander, Ordius had come to expect that the second Latin fleet wouldn’t be in position before the fighting began, though he and the rest of his subordinates held out the hope even a late arrival could serve as enough to tip the scales.

The Hierapolan fleet maneuvered into a ‘V’ formation among its destroyers and frigates, the two submarines pressing ahead at a much more rapid pace. The destroyer IMS Sebastian Verruscosi, named for the great Consul and Emperor Michael’s own grandfather, took the lead among the Latin surface ships and became the first to fire a anti-ship missiles at the Jedorian fleet once they were nearly in range, soon followed by the four other destroyers.

Jedorian naval doctrine called for engagements to be conducted by firing volleys of anti-ship missiles towards the enemy ships, staggering them and timing the launches so that they impacted much like tidal waves. Another part of Jedorian doctrine was to hit the enemy from all possible angles, and Pogonot intended to do just that. On her command, the air wing of some fifty Jedorian Rafales peeled off from the main fleet, and switched to their after burners- to fly straight north, away from the fleet.

They were not retreating however, nor were they attempting to use the naval engagement to launch an unexpected strike on Castellum. Rather they were swinging around; by moving north out of range of radar, they would then swing back west and then turn south; straight for the rebel fleet. With jamming devices active and the rebels probably focusing in on engaging the Jedorian/Chacoan warships, the Rafales would swoop in unexpected and strike directly at the fleet with their diverse arsenal of anti-ship weapons.

Lt. Commander Dracul Cojoc commanded the air group and was the first to hit his afterburners, flying far away from the fleet to the north. Behind, 49 other Rafales, divided into ten flights of five planes each, followed suit. Cojoc was aware of his task and could only hope that the the warships would distract the rebel defenses, otherwise he and his birds would be flying straight into the teeth of the rebel air defenses.

Back at the ~~barn~~ fleet, warning klaxons blared as the Latin ships opened fire. The Trust and Faith’s defensive systems began whining with alarm as the missile launch and lock on was detected. Batteries of interceptor missiles began warming up while close in weapons systems started to move to track the incoming missile. The Jedorians had the advantage of four air defense ships in their ranks. The Sabie, Rege, Egeta and Larissa began tracking the first missiles launches, and afterwards began disseminating counter fire information back to the rest of the fleet using their ComStar interface.

Rotary launchers fired back with interceptor missiles at the oncoming volley, trying to destroy the Latin weapons before they reached the Jedorian and Chacoan ships.
Once the first launch was detected however, the decks of the Jedorian and Chacoan ships seemed to explode with bursts of smoke and fire. They were not detonations but launches of swarms of anti-ship missiles. The cruisers, the Reliquary and the Uthera Midgeerrd unleashed their arsenals of hundreds of anti-ship missiles, stacking them in a launch sequence to maximize the amount fired at a single interval. The Followers of Keresnesky, Enforer and Light of Aidan followed suit, as did the Chacoan destroyers. The air between the the two fleets was soon sparking with missiles firing, and flying towards the rebel ships at supersonic speeds.

The Latin sailors and crew would soon learn the other aspect of Jedorian naval warfare doctrine; deception. The Jedorians/Chacoans unleashed some three hundred missiles in their first volley, but as they streaked towards the rebel fleet, hundreds of more contacts suddenly began to appear. LA-79 anti-ship missiles, loaded with canisters that dispersed creating dozens of new contacts mixed in with ZH-106’s missiles dropping just above the surface of the strait, and ZH-34s interspacing between them, dispensing their own countermeasures and cluttering up enemy radar with little shards of metal that interfered with radar signals. The three hundred missiles suddenly for a moment became several thousand. Of course some countermeasures didn’t work that well, or faded quickly, but with weapons that could travel faster than sound, even a second of confusion among the enemy could mean the difference between victory and success. While the Jedorians continued to launch their volleys of missiles, the Jedorian submarines began to move closer and closer to the fleet, towed sonar arrays listening in for the movement of enemy submarines. The fast approaching sound of one sub alerted the Jedorian Type-212s, whom maneuvered in response underneath the waves.

Latin radar picked up the multitude of missiles launched by the Jedorians. It seemed like so many and even more, in a barrage that was unending. The Latin ships quickly disbursed their anti-ship systems to prevent any substantial damage from reaching the Latin ships. They fired off quickly as the fleet did its best to maneuver itself to have a frigate following each of the destroyers. The anti-ship weapons worked well enough to prevent a majority of Jedorian anti-ship missiles from reaching their targets, though some managed. The frigate IMS Iuventus was one of the first ships to be hit on its rear deck. Also taking damage was the destroyer IMS Ignis Graecus being struck on its forward deck near one of its guns on the port side and the frigate IMS Khrysókeras taking some damage on its hull.

At the first chance they had, the Latin destroyers fired their anti-ship missiles with a focus on the Jedorian destroyers. Meanwhile the five frigates also sent a launch of missiles at their counterparts, though the Iuventus to a lesser extent as the crew rushed about to make sure the damage to the rear of their ship didn’t become worse. The two submarines stuck nearby one another and attempted to mitigate any damage the Jedorian subs could do to the above surface ships with a stretch goal of attempting to corral enemy ships to a desired location.

The Jedorian ships began rotating firing solutions and volleys, all the while the air and missile defense ships continued to fire away at the incoming Latin ordinance. With four ships dedicated to that role the a good chunk of the Latin weapons were intercepted, but not all.

CIWS saved the Uthera Midgeerrd twice, while the Defiant was struck across it’s port side hull by a missile, which exploded in a shower of fire and steel. The entire frigate shook with the impact. The Jedorian and Chacoan frigates soon followed suit with their own arsenal displays, aided by the destroyers Sabie and Rege. The second volley concentrated on the Latin destroyers, nearly fifty missiles per ship, aiming to wipe out the most powerful of the rebel fleet.

Underneath the water, one of the Jedorian submarines moved ahead of the rest. Her towed sonar array picked up the echo of one of the Latin subs and flooded her torpedo bays, alerting the enemy to her presence but a necessity. She fired two torpedoes in quick succession and then a third one, then immediately dispensed decoys to attempt to shield herself from returning fire.

To the north, the fifty Rafales of the Jedorian carrier had finally made their final turn and were now bearing south at supersonic speeds. Receiving targeting information from the fleet and their AWACS, Lt. Commander Cojoc gave the order to begin targeting the northernmost ships. The Rafales would sweep in like a scythe, firing from the north and curving across the Latin fleet before banking to the south-east and then returning to their own ships before swinging around in another pass if necessary.

Sea-skimming missiles and anti-ship missiles were readied on the bellies of the Rafales as they neared their targets, flying low to the surface to avoid detection with the help of a jamming screen before them. When they were within range, they unleashed their volley in a similar manner to their naval counterparts, staggered bursts of missiles that streaked towards their targets as their mother aircraft continued flying above.

Both the Sebastian Verruscosi and Anicia destroyers were hit in the next barrage with a missile dock being taken out of use aboard the Sebastian Verruscosi, while the Anicia being hit near its superstation, limiting its use of radar. The Latin ships began to pair off, a destroyer with a frigate and move about the seas in varying directions and movements when they fired their next volley of missiles at the enemy destroyers. Though without reliable use of radar the Anicia remained near two frigates, the Dux Adrianopoli and Vindóbona.

The enemy carriers and fighters were proving to be an unwanted variable for the Latin fleet and Praefectus Counter Ordius. Three of the five frigates began to be used solely for anti-ship missiles and anti-air defenses, while the destroyer Ignis Graecus continued to focus on an anti-ship defense as the others initiated a rapid attack.

Below the surface, the Latin submarines detected the initial incoming torpedoes, utilizing defensive measures to stave off a positive strike on either Latin sub. Each fired off their own torpedoes towards where the sonar indicated the enemy was located.

In a panic, the captain of the lead Type 212 dived further, dangerously near the submarine’s crush depth to avoid the torpedoes. It didn’t work. The first two torpedoes missed, sailing above the diving Type 212, but the second two hit their mark, detonating too close to the Jedorian subs hull. The entire vessel began to shake, before the hull was torn apart by the pressure of the ocean depth and the explosion of the torpedoes. Acoustic system operators would have heard the horrible scream of metal agony as the submarine was torn apart, steel crumpling and tearing, and an explosive decompression that killed everyone on board. She sank to the bottom, lost with all hands.

By dispersing, the Latin ships had actually made the job for the Jedorians easier; the added space between them limited the effect of mutual jamming and allowed the Jedorian and Chacoan ships to better track and target the rebel vessels. The Chacoan destroyers and frigates began firing volley and volley at the lead Latin destroyers, aiming to finish off the ones who were already damaged, while the Jedorian cruisers fired off more missiles at the Latin frigates.

One of the Chacoan frigates as hit in the superstructure but kept firing away, while the Jedorian Enduring Hope suffered a direct hit to it’s forward weapons arrays. A massive explosion engulfed the bow of the frigate, though when the smoke cleared it was still afloat, abiet hemorrhaging thick black smoke. The Defiant was hit again in the superstructure, losing it’s radar and was now blind, unable to communicate with it’s fellow ships.

But the Jedorians continued to strike back. More than 400 missiles were fired by the Rafales as they swept like a scythe over the rebel fleet. Two Rafales were blasted out of the sky by SAMs, and another was damaged by a nearby explosion. But they got their weapons off and fired, aiming for the waterline of the rebel ships.

Further to the south, the Jedorian strategic bombers were nearly in weapons range, reading their hypersonic cruise missiles to be fired from rotary launchers underneath their bellies. They were being fed information like targeting vectors, direction and distance by the Jedorian/Chacoan already engaged. Meanwhile, the detonation of so many missiles and the plethora of jamming going on soon alerted Task Force Vanguard to the location of the rebel fleet, and they began moving towards the scene of battle, readying their own weapons as they closed the distance between the two formations.

Multiple missiles struck the Sebastian Verruscosi, hitting the superstructure and damaging the bridge, taking Praefectus Counter Ordius out with it as a fire began to grow as another two struck the ship at waterline causing subsequent tears at the lead Latin destroyer’s hull. With it’s command dead or dying, and the its hull taking on water, the Sebastian Verruscosi was rendered useless as some sailors took a chance to escape the fires and sinking ship.

That wasn’t the only bad news from the latest Jedorian volley, as another ship was hit. The frigate Invictus had taken substantial damage to its starboard deck, causing it to catch fire.

Noticing the grave error and fate of those aboard Sebastian Verruscosi, the commander of the destroyer Constantine XIX made the call to pull closer together in the hopes of mitigating a great loss such as that in such a rapid succession. However, the destroyer Anicia had continued problems with its radar and communications due to a previous hit near its superstructure and as a result lagged behind its fellow Latin ships.

As they pulled back into a tighter formation, three of the four remaining destroyers fired a volley of missiles at the enemy destroyers in a delayed fashion of one right after the other. At this time, the remaining frigates continued their anti-air defenses with the Khrysókeras focusing on anti-ship defenses for the group.

With the delay in their firing, the Jedorian defensive measures were able to better intercept the incoming missiles, preventing extensive damage to their fleet. But some missiles still got through; the Followers of Kerensky intercepted one missile with a CIWS, but the damaged weapon still managed to slam into the side of the ships’ superstructure, causing a nasty scar but otherwise causing superficial damage. Once they had defeated the latest volley, both frigates, destroyers, and cruisers timed their targeting solutions to stack atop one another in quicker succession than normal. Each barrage would be followed by another, decreasing missile accuracy but with the rebel ships now closer this was not as much of an issue. Hundreds of missiles began streaking towards the remaining rebel ships.

They were soon joined by even more launchers. The strategic bombers, now in range to operate as a stand off weapons platform, unleashed their payloads of hypersonic cruise missiles, which dropped to just above the water’s surface to avoid interception, before screaming off many times faster than sound, leaving a boiling surf in their wake as they screamed towards their targets, covering hundreds of kilometers in mere minutes.

Task Force Vanguard now joined in, unleashing their initial volley to time with the launch of Lion’s most recent attack. The rebel defense systems would be hit from three sides now, and their computers given the arduous task of deciding which of the plethora of missiles they would attempt to intercept. Vanguard’s four destroyers fired first, followed by their six frigates, while aircraft from the loyalist aircraft carrier began to take off from the deck of their ship, ready to join the fight.

The sight of further Jedorian vessels joining the fight proved to be too much for the Latin ships as they took on more damage from the latest volley. All ships of the Latin fleet began to fire only anti-ship defenses as they tried to maneuver for an escape. Though it quickly became clear that there were no safe routes of escape. The highest remaining Latin commander, aboard the Constantine XIX ordered the Latin fleet to cease firing and began to broadcast their desire to surrender towards the Jedorian forces.

The final Jedorian volley, coupled with the arrival of even more ships, proved enough. Under Vice Admiral Pogonot’s authority, the Jedorian cruiser Reliquary responded on an open channel. The rebel ships were to cut their engines, deactivate their weapons systems and radar, assemble their crews on the decks of their ships (the exception given for personnel who were part of damage control teams, and were putting out fires or trying to keep their ships afloat. All submarines were to surface and do the same. The Jedorian ships would then cautiously advance, dispatching helicopters with naval infantry and officers to secure control of the ships and the crew. The Jedorians made it clear that compliance would ensure the safety of the survivors, and refusal or intentional delay would result in a resumption of hostilities.

In no further position to resist, the fleet complied. The remaining submarine surfaced, and the non-essential crews were secured by armed naval infantry. Of those Latin ships that remained, skeleton crews were designated to remain of them and guide them back to Utica under watch by a combined Latin-Jedorian security force. These crews would consist almost entirely of just engine room and navigation crew members, the bare necessity for guiding the ships. Weapon systems were dismantled and captured, and prisoners of war were transferred to Jedorian and Chacoan cargo ships, with the critically wounded being sent to the Jedorian hospital ship, the Angel on my shoulder. If possible, Latin sailors loyal to Constantine could be brought in and take control of what vessels remained operational.

Only two Latin ships were sunk, but nearly all the ships had received significant damage. One frigate had to be scuttled, it’s burning deck too dangerously near it’s ammunition magazines and damage control teams unable to reign in it. The remaining vessels, some burning, some without weapons or radar, and some listing to port or starboard.

The Jedorians and Chacoans had lost only two vessels as well in addition to four fighters shot down, but their ships had received significantly less damage. Both carriers, the Jedorian cruisers, and most of their destroyers and frigates escaped with none or minimal damage. It was bittersweet however, given how their losses died. The Type 212 was lost with all hands, and the Defiant had been gutted by multiple missile strikes, reducing to a listing and burning wreck. It sank within minutes of the final missile strike, sinking beneath the waves and taking 3/4ths of the crew with her. Post-battle analysis would conclude the Maestrale-class frigate was simply too ol and unable to handle the vigorous demands of modern naval combat.

A victory was a victory, however. With the remaining rebel ships under custody and their crews captured, Michael’s navy was nearly a non factor. Vice Admiral Pogonot indicated such when she messaged her Latin counterpart.

To: Master of Soldiers Flavius Vipsanius, Knight Premier of Latium
From: Vice Admiral Adrianna Pogonot
Subject: Naval Engagement
Encryption: High

Dear Sir,

Michael’s fleet lies in ruin. Two of his destroyers have been sunk, and of ships that remain, one has been scuttled, two destroyers and four frigates have suffered significant damage. All of them, including his two submarines, have been captured and are now on the way to Utica under watch by Task Force Vanguard. We have lost one frigate and one submarine, but the bulk of our fleet remains intact and ready to resume operations.

I know intend to commence the second phase of our ground campaign. With the Chacoan naval forces in support, we will launch a sustained ground campaign up along the Sorrentia coast towards Ravenna. Meanwhile, I will maneuver Task Force Lion into the bay of Greater Alba and began a campaign of naval and air strikes to target rebel positions, early warning radar stations, troop concentrations, and staging areas. His forces in Castellum will be reduced to skeleton formations, and the road to the Palace of the Augustus will lie open to Emperor Constantine.

This war will soon be over.

Kind Regards,
Vice Admiral Arianna Pogonot

by **New Edom** » Sun Dec 04, 2016 11:24 pm

Naval Task Force Boa
Rounding Tericio

In the wardroom of the Boa, young and middle aged officers were singing joyously after a good meal. They had drunk the health of their ailing King and mad Queen, barely aware of their state of being, and Admiral Amalek smiling benignly full of lamb and wine and nodding his indulgence as Captain Ishtabaoth suggested a jolly song to keep their spirits up.

Safe and sound at home again
Let the waters roar, lads!
Safe and sound at home again
Let the waters roar, lads!

Long we've tossed on the rolling main
Now we're safe ashore, lads!
Don't forget your old shipmate
Fal dee ral dee ral dee rye eye doe!

Since we sailed from Sterry Bay
Four years gone, or nigh, boy?
Was there ever chummies, now
Such as you and I, boy?
(chorus)

We have worked the self-same gun:
Quarterdeck division
Gunner I and loader you
Through the whole commission
(chorus)

Oftentimes have we laid out
toil nor danger fearing,
Tugging out the flapping sail
to the weather bearing
(chorus)

When the middle watch was on
And the time went slow, boy
Who could choose a rousing stave
Who like Jacob or Joel, boy?

Long we've tossed on the rolling main
Now we're safe ashore, lads!
Don't forget your old shipmate
Fal dee ral dee ral dee rye eye doe!

Let them sing. Amalek was all too aware of how complicated the politics that were going on were. Would they be allied with Ghant still? Would this mad action at the Ghantish embassy ruin the new one with teh so-called emperor? Could it be that they might be on the same side as Jedorian heathens? He had no idea. He had to be wise about this--the intrigues and hesitation of the Council of Ministers was relatively new to them all. In the recent past it was all desperate necessity, not politics. Now politics had complicated their operations, and he longed for the old days, tumultuous as they were. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

Let them sing. He would work them hard, keep them on their toes, keep their divisions and the ships working to keep on full alert.

However even this calm had to break. The Officer of the watch called him on the sound powered phone, and he took it and was informed that there was a message from the watch that needed to be looked at hby him personally.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Do enjoy your wine," he said, getting up, tucking his napkin away and leaving as they rose to bow him out of the room. He went up to the CIC and soberly read the message.

"Lord God preserve us. The whole fleet..." he muttered. He looked up at his signals oficer. "Get a mesage to Fineberg immediately. And," he looked at the OOW, "i want an update of the reports of the escorts and the CAP."

"Shal we beat to quarters, Excellency?" asked the lielutenant. Amalek stared at him. They were not at war yet.

But they well could be. At last report as far as anyone knew they were allied to MIchael. And he had no standing orders, and without the fleet of Michael to screen him, now they faced a gauntlet of Chacoan and Jedorian ships.

"Yes, Lieutenant, beat to quarters. All officers to their divisions, my staff to the map room immediately." Amalek said.

Beat to Quarters began to play over the intercom system and people began to move to theri appropriate divisions if they were not already there. The pleasure cruise was over.

by **Jedoria** » Wed Dec 07, 2016 6:46 pm

Vice Admiral Pogonot stood in the CIC, which as largely quiet save for the occasional whispered order spoken into headset microphones. The room was dark, illuminated mostly be computer screens and displays. It was quiet and calm too, a sharp contrast to just a few hours ago when the fleet had been in the middle of combat. Pogonot couldn't help replaying the scenes of the event in her mind. The worried yells of incoming missiles, the constant reports of battle damage sustained by her fleet. Every second spent half-wondering if the next moment would be your last, if some stray missile had managed to evade all the defensive systems and was about to plow into the heart of the ship.

But that didn't happen. Both the All Under Heaven and her Chacoan counterpart had gotten off without a scratch. Most of her fleet in fact had made it through the battle unscathed. And the majority of damage taken by her ships had been minor or superficial. Majority, but not all of them. The relatively minor losses she had sustained in the fighting still bothered her.

S-85 had been lost with all hands. According to the acoustic tapes of the other submarines, she had opened fire early, failing to score a hit while alerting the enemy to her presence. Her commander had ordered the sub to dive rapidly to avoid the potential counterattack, but his efforts failed. The Type 212 was struck twice and crumbled under the impact of the torpedoes and the weight of the water itself as it neared it's crush depth. It went down almost immediately.

Type 212's weren't big submarines, they carried only a compliment of 27 crewmembers, but the loss of an entire submarine, coupled with the horrifying metal screech that was played back on the acoustic tapes, haunted Pogonot. To make matters worse, Pogonot had lost the Defiant, a Masetrale-class frigate that proved unable of dealing with the chaotic scene of modern naval warfare. She had been struck by numerous missiles, one destroyed her bridge and knocked out her radar, a second ruptured her hull just above the waterline, another punctured her stern, detonating an ammunition magazine that blew straight through the bottom of the hull, she sank rapidly. Three quarters of her crew went down with her or were killed by the missile strikes, leaving just 56 sailors swimming for their lives.

Naval warfare had always been a rather curious blend of terrifying and distant; you didn't see the horrors of your actions. Missiles flew dozens of kilometers and impacted far away. The weapons officers didn't see the impact of their weapons, nor the destruction they caused; just the distant smoke and balls of fire on the horizon. You didn't see the real horror, the burning oil on the surface, the screams of burned men, the struggles of those wounded to stay afloat in the water as their ships sank around them.

Pogonot knew that this would be taken as a death note for the Maestrale-class. It was an already old class of warships, kept on the navy only through repeated refurbishments and upgrade packages, but it seemed in the end that it had just been a pain job on an already weakened metal form. Central Command would probably take this battle as proof that the Maestrale-class had no more life left in it, at least for the Confederate Navy.

Some small solace was found in comparing her losses to that of the enemy. While only two enemy ships were sunk, a third had to be scuttled, and the vast majority of the enemy ships had received significant levels of damage. They would need extensive repairs to once again become battle worthy. This had been accomplished despite the failure of the initial Jedorian objective to coordinate the attacks of Vanguard, Lion, and the strategic bombers. But Pogonot knew coordination of such massive forces was not easy, and in the end, it had worked out. She was proud of how her sailors and officers had performed. Despite the unease they had done their duty well enough. And now that Michael's fleet was either at the bottom of the strait or captured, it was time to move on.

The destruction of Michael's naval forces had laid the foundation for the third phase of the Jedorian strategic operation. Now it was time to advance on Michael himself.

Pogonot dispatched orders to multiple receivers, including Colonel Bădescu, her Chacoan counterpart Admiral Javier Matias, and Captain Gierscu. The Jedorian/Chacoan force would now commence three simultaneous operations. First, Task Force Lion's Jedorian components would sail into the bay of Greater Alba itself. From there, naval aviation and warships would commence a campaign of surgical strikes to eliminate Prince Michael's capability to resist and maintain power. Early warning radar stations, airfields, military installations of forces loyal to Michael, staging and assembly areas, fortifications and troop concentrations would all be fair game. They would systematically reduce Michael's ability to wage war and his forces.

Meanwhile, the Jedorian/Chacoan ground forces would continue their ground offensive up the western coast of Sorrentia, heading north towards Ravenna. Their operational goals were to seize Ravenna, and eliminated whatever of Michael's forces were left, and link up Leo's Hellenic forces on the borders between Sorrentia and Greater Alba. Once this was completed, the joint Hellenic/Jedorian/Chacoan force would then invade Greater Alba from the east, passing through Utinum and aiming straight for Castellum ab Alba itself.

To support this with aircraft and naval bombardment, the Chacoan ships would sail along the coast of Sorrentia to support the ground forces, using their cruise missiles and heavy guns to act as fire support for the advancing brigades. Supported by the warships and aircraft operating out of Heraclea's airport, the Jedorian/Chacoan forces would push all the way up the coast, eliminating whatever resistance they encountered.

Vice Admiral Pogonot detailed this and more to Master of Soldiers Flavius Vipsanius, and requested that whatever information Constantine's forces had on the Latin capital county be transmitted to the Jedorian and Chacoan operations and intelligence departments. This way, a more efficient and effective bombing campaign could be conducted, shortening the duration of the war.

Attacking the heart of Michael's power had another added benefit of bringing the war right to the rebel's doorsteps. While they might be holding their own near Kallipolis, even a victory there would be worthless if Castellum fell and Michael was defeated and captured, even killed. With Leo's Hellenic forces and the Jedorian/Chacoan brigades, they would be more than enough to march on Castellum itself and destroy whatever of Michael's ground forces survived the coming Jedorian bombardment.

Flights of Rafales from the All Under Heaven were prepared for the coming air campaign. Air-to-surface weapons were loaded onto the hardpoints of the planes. Because some of Michael's air force still remained operation, a number of Rafales were outfitted with radar homing and infrared air-to-air missiles. Using AWACS and their own radars, ECM suites and targeting pods, the Jedorian aircraft planned to conduct an in depth suppression and destruction of enemy air defense operation.

To supplement this, land attack cruise missiles were prepped by weapons crews on board the Jedorian destroyers, cruisers and frigates as they sailed into the bay. Helicopters buzzed back and forth, some of them carrying rocket and missiles pods in addition to chain guns. Under Pogonot's instructions, a few light craft were modified to act as quasi-patrol craft for the fleet as they drew closer to the Latin coast.

IIwiki Admin · by **Ghant** » Fri Dec 09, 2016 11:24 pm

“Ah! What seeds for a paradise I bore in my heart, of which birds of prey have robbed me." ― Jean Paul

Vorindeum Palace
Vorindeumstadt, Vorindeum

The bird,
Like a blade,
Cuts through the air,
The power of a wolf,
And the speed of a hare,
The feathers ripple in the breeze,
The eagle stays in the air with ease,
It sees the prey,
It seeks it out,
Dives down to the ground,
And a high pitched shout,
Is heard all around,
There is no other sound,
All the rodents in the field,
Quake in fear,
Knowing that the eagle,
Could be somewhere near…

Few men had an understanding of the Latin Civil War the way that Hans Girnef did, or so he was inclined to believe. Ever since the Imperium sent their message to Emperor Albert of Vorindeum, Hans took it upon himself to make exploring the conflict his own personal mission. He was a man possessed, and he would assist his beloved emperor in deciding an appropriate course of action.

Michael was, in many ways it seemed, like Albert. The jilted second son of an incompetent Emperor, and doomed the fate of the second son struggling for light in the shadow of their older brother. Hans recounted an old Vorindese fable about two trees, one tall and strong and beautiful, soaking in the sunlight and radiating for all around to admire. Beneath it was another tree, small and twisted and weathered. The second tree was an ugly and hideous thing to behold, deprived of the light that the larger tree hoarded unto itself. Such was the fate of the lesser tree, to dwell in the larger trees shadow.

Such was Albert’s fate as well. Now an Emperor in his own right with a powerful war machine that brought the likes of CSAT to its knees, he was still a second son. John of Ghant had been dead for twenty-two years, and still the Prince cast a great shadow that his younger brother couldn’t escape. Perhaps that’s why Albert sympathized with Michael, because the former understood the dilemma of the latter. Yet, that’s exactly the same reason why Albert abhorred him.

Hans was dressed in his most splendid church clothes, consisting of a rich court uniform and shining leather shoes. His wispy blonde hair was combed to the side, and his eyes were closed as he kneeled in prayer at the pew. Hans was not a religious man, nor was the Emperor, and yet they both were there, praying…or at least so it seemed.

The Vorindeumstadt Cathedral could be seen from nearly every point in the city centre and from many places elsewhere. The cathedral hovered above the roofs and chimneys of the city. It was not only used as a point of orientation but was the pride of the people in Vorindeumstadt, having been built in the early 13th century and was as such a historic landmark of great significance. The panorama of the city prior to the 20th century had been dominated by the Cathedral's gigantic pair of towers. It had since been displaced as the tallest building in the city by modest financial towers, yet the cathedral was no less impressive.

The interior was equally impressive as its vaunted exterior. The stone mass seemed to rise, almost weightlessly, up to high baldachin-style arches. The narrow main nave that led to the chancel was accompanied by two side naves. In the northern side nave, the light shined through five spectacular glass windows. The crossing featured a modern bronze altar, and behind that was the high chancel with the choir ambulatory - one of the finest sanctuaries in Vorindeum. Above were the old chancel pillar sculptures of Jesus, Mary and the Twelve Apostles. In addition to the Adoration of the Magi, the entire circle of glass windows in the upper floor of the central nave depicted many saints of the church.

It was at the steps of the altar that Albert prayed on bended knees, his head lowered and his hands clasped. He was dressed in a court uniform complete with the long fur trimmed cape of the Emperor, much of which was laying across the shining stone floor. Hans was in the front left row of the pews, in a similar position as the Emperor. Aside from them, there were some military commanders and their staff and security, and the grimacing Jendebasa Knight Benoth standing vigil in the back, his mighty battleaxe on his back.

Albert made the sign of the cross and rose to his feet, which prompted Hans to do the same. As the Emperor made his way back down the aisle, Hans joined him, and despite his better judgment, he asked the Emperor a personal question, for his curiosity was far too great for him to contain. “I didn’t think you a Godly man, your Majesty,” Hans asked sheepishly, bowing his head as he did so.

The Emperor didn’t turn his eyes away from the double doors that constituted the cathedral entrance. “I’m not, Count…and yet, we must all keep up appearances, should we not? The greatest weight a man must bear is the weight of expectations.”

Hans considered himself enough of Albert’s confidant to press on. “…And what expectations are those, your Majesty?”

Albert turned to look at the Count briefly, and then returned to look ahead. “My earliest memories of church services involve the sacred specialness of Communion Sundays. Before I understood any of the theological underpinnings of Communion services, I sensed that there was some kind of mysterious blessing in the air on those days. I felt an awe and reverence falling upon the congregation, and I was aware that something special, something with inklings of the supernatural, was happening. I realized early on that there was a sacred meaning to the bread and wine that demanded a hushed solemnity from everyone present.”

The officers and men of the Emperor’s entourage filtered out into the aisle as Albert passed, and he continued to speak in a hushed tone. “Sitting with my mother at a Communion service when I was very young, perhaps six or seven years old, I became aware of a young woman in the pew in front of us who was sobbing and shaking. The minister had just finished reading the passage of Scripture written by Paul that says, ‘Whosoever shall eat the bread and drink the cup of the Lord unworthily, shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord.’ As the Communion plate with its small pieces of bread were passed to the crying woman before me, she waved it away and then lowered her head in despair. It was then that my mother leaned over her shoulder and said sternly, ‘Take it, girl! It was meant for you. Do you hear me?’ the girl raised her head and nodded—and then she took the bread and ate it. At first I assumed at that moment some kind of heavy burden was lifted from her heart and mind, but then several years later I understood what was really going on.”

Towards the end of the aisle, Albert’s personal guard emerged from either side of the tall columns to walk in front of him, as the double doors leading outside began to open. “That girl took communion because she was expected to do so by her fellow man. It would have reflected poorly upon her if she hadn’t. So you see Count, that was what concerned my mother. Not true faith, but the appearance of faith, because the appearance is all that matters in the end, not truth. Truth is whatever men want it to be.”

Outside, the air was brisk, but not unpleasant. Soldiers filled the streets as trucks moved this way and that. Ships of war sat in the harbor at the end of the long avenue that stretched from the cathedral to the sea. They were the same warships used against CSAT, and it appeared as though they were to be used again. “Will you be going to Latium, your Majesty?” Hans asked the Emperor benignly.

“No, not this time,” the Iron Eagle replied coolly. “Latium is a den of vipers, and I don’t like snakes. Perhaps if it is necessary for diplomacy I’ll consider it, but I won’t be personally commanding the fleet like I did in the Tempesta. Admiral Gerlach has things well enough in hand.”

This is a dangerous game you are trying to play. Hans knew that the Iron Eagle’s enemies were as treacherous as they were numerous, and such a bold maneuver may bring their wrath upon Vorindeum. Yet, the Emperor had a keen understanding of geo-politics that Hans himself would never truly grasp. “That is wise, your Majesty…your enemies would be emboldened to try to kill you if presented with an opportunity.”

“Precisely. CSAT didn’t know who I was. The wolves that ravage Latium do, and quite well at that.” Albert approached his saddled horse that was tied to a post on the edge of the street, closed off by military personnel. “I trust neither them nor their intentions.”

Hans watched as Albert mounted his horse and get comfortable in the saddle. The Iron Eagle was fond of horses, more than cars, though that was because he never learned how to drive a car, not unlike many of his Gentry kin. That, and the Iron Eagle liked to be in command, hence why he’d rather ride a horse than ride in a car that someone else was driving, though that wasn’t always the case. When it comes to inspecting the troops, he insists on doing things his way. “When is the fleet scheduled to depart?”

The Emperor wheeled around upon his mount with reins in hand. “At noon. Let us hope for success, Count. I was given a mandate on the use of military force for our victory against CSAT, but as you know people are fickle and possess short memories. Should we suffer defeat, we will have few opportunities to project force at our discretion in the future. So we shall see.” With that, Albert got his black stallion to trot down the street, while Hans stood and watched as he went away.

Despite himself, Hans balked at the idea of asking him about something that was weighing heavily upon his mind. Far away in Ghant, Albert’s nephew the Emperor of Ghant was stirring. The boy was unpredictable to say the least, and could complicate his uncle’s plans. Hans came to the realization that Albert more than likely had already taken this into account, and planned for it accordingly. Though, he is an eagle all the same, and no less a bird of prey…

o o o o o o o

Inperiala Palace
Ghish, Ghant

How the wind blows strong and keen
A gracious waft beneath the wing
Its home, the skies, cast like a dream
A simple dream no more

A world of splendor set anon
A realm where dreams are laid upon
And hearts are trimmed before the dawn
And all that lies before

Upon the winds with wings spread wide
Drawn forth in flight with grace and pride
Above the clouds the bold reside
Upon gold wings, they soar

United strong in common aim
Never one made quite the same
All as one borne forth in fame
All as one at core

For we, the eagles, set our eyes
Upon the realms within the skies
We spread our wings and seek to rise
The best, forevermore

The circus had come to town, and the big tent was the Imperial Palace. All around the people swarmed, outside the palace gates, all the way down the street in both directions and in the city square. The balcony overlooking the city square was a place that the Emperor didn’t like to go. It was in the highest level of the palace, and consisted of a long rectangular platform with smooth marble railings that wrapped all around it. In bygone days of yore it was where previous Emperors would address people that had gathered in the city square beneath.

On opposite side of the city square from Imperial Palace was the Great Temple, with its tall pale stone columns catching the dwindling sunlight that diminished in the face of the encroaching dusk. To the left of the Palace on the far side of the square was Gobernu Palace, which was no less swarmed by angry citizens. Then far to the right was Main street, the large avenue that extended from the coast all the way up the infamous Castle of Seven Towers. In the center of the city square stood the Angel of Ghish upon a tall stout column, with a golden wreath crown upon her brow.

The Nathians are conniving devils, the Emperor thought. He knew their game and they executed their plan like chess masters. They went to the public and accused the Emperor of being an appeaser of Michael’s regime, and warned that the Latin usurper would strike against Ghant with impunity. It was a gamble certainly, because there were no guarantees that Michael or his faction would do such a thing. And then they did.

The Marble Palace of Castellum was besieged, and was looted, and it had fallen. Ghantar were dead, and Lord-Ambassador Laurendi Langa was MIA. Nathan’s sister Theodora was evacuated by helicopter but was fired upon by the Scholarians, apparently barely escaping with her life. It wasn’t just some of the Gentries and Lords of Nathia that were calling for blood. Now they were joined by the Lords of Dakmoor themselves, and government officials that had their backs pressed against the wall by angry and frightened people that demanded action.

Nathan wanted to give them what they asked for. He wanted to give them Michael’s blood. He wanted to avenge himself upon the man personally, and make him beg for mercy. Yet, there were forces at work that gave him pause, made him stay his hand. Forces that made him hesitate, even as the entire country seemed to be willing to turn against him if he didn’t sate their bloodlust.

The Edomites. It was always the Edomites. Boy do they move fast. Rosa Sharon was a distraction, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t enjoy her the way he usually did. It made him feel sick and dirty. How can I sit here and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh while my sister was almost murdered and my subjects massacred with wanton aggression? How can I find satisfaction while the people are restless outside? Indeed, there would be no relaxation with Rosa Sharon. The motions perhaps, but enjoyment? There was none to be found.

I need Cassandra, he thought as his hands gripped the golden rails of the high balcony. Yet Cassandra was indisposed, having come down with some sort of illness. Too much wine, perhaps. Sophia had retreated deeper into the palace with the children, because she knew what was coming. Not the wrath of the people, but the wrath of her father.

When Nathan returned from his “hunting trip” in northern Nathia scantly a fortnight ago, he received word of the events in Castellum, and that Malibar was coming. He wasn’t coming alone either. He was joined by his most powerful bannermen, including Lord Orin Langa who was Laurendi’s older brother, the Lords Zama, Daga, Sastagai, Loi, Moro and Beltza. They were joined by the previous Lords of Nathia who tried to strong-arm the Emperor into action, but wouldn’t commit himself to war on account of Theodora being Michael’s captive.

Malibar was Laurendi’s friend and King, and he especially appeared to want blood. He had little choice in the matter either, because if a King cannot protect his bannermen, then he will appear weak. And Malibar is not the sort of man that likes to appear weak. He had been away from Ghish for too long, distracted by his own truculent lords bannermen and by his buxom blonde bride. No doubt he is unhappy with being compelled to come to Ghish.

Anastasia was on the balcony with her cousin the Emperor, wearing a white shift that flapped in the breeze, along with her long dark hair. “Man, this shit is fucked up pretty bad. What the fuck was Michael thinking? He must’ve really not wanted Thea to get away huh? Was even willing to kill her rather then let her get away…it’s probably because of what she knows, what she could say about him.”

“There’s a lot that we don’t know Ana…” Nathan was cut off by a gentle, yet firm hand that came to rest on the Emperor’s shoulder. “Your Majesty,” Ser Artur Ordosa of the Emperor’s personal guard said. “Miss Haribec wishes to speak to you.”

Of course she does. “Send her in.” Having said that, the Emperor listened as Artur bowed and went back into the palace, while Anastasia followed him out.

“Good luck with that…I’m not sticking around for that shit Nate. I’m going to go check on Didi,” referring to Diana. Nathan heard Ana flee in some haste, and without looking, or hearing, the Emperor heard another woman emerge. She smelled of lilacs but moved like a snake, for though she walked, it seemed a slither. Nathan didn’t have to turn his head to see her, he knew her face. Beautiful, but the beauty hides the poison.

“Your Majesty,” she said as she approached courteously, coming to a stop beside him.

“Sara.” The name, oh the name. I had to name my first daughter that, didn’t I? The Gods were cruel, to make such a beautiful creature as Sara Haribec his enemy. Granted, she constantly assured him that she was his friend, but he knew better than that. Sara stood about 5 foot 8 by his reckoning with a slender graceful feminine figure complete with fair unblemished skin and twinkling blue eyes and dark brown hair that feel just past her shoulders. Wearing a long sleeved blue gown, she gave off the appearance of nobility, yet she was the antithesis of it.

Sara was the great-granddaughter of the great Prime Minister Malderi Haribec, revolutionary leader and Prime Minister of Ghant from 1939 until his retirement in 1974. The Haribecs hailed from an old family farm in the province of Onia, the only one in all of Ghant that had no lords. It was ruled as a republic of sorts under the name of a commonwealth, and it was from those shires and farmsteads that the Labor Party was born, under the leadership of Malderi Haribec himself. The man was even offered lordship upon his retirement, but refused it, declaring himself a “man of the people, not a man of the blood.” His descendants upheld his position, though they too were offered similar boons.

Malderi’s children didn’t come anywhere close to their father’s success, and the oldest of them, Oscar, settled for being an author and political theorist. Oscar’s children dabbled in politics but they too came up short, including his own oldest son Oliver, who became a diplomat and professor of political science back in his native Onia. Though Oliver did something spectacular during his time at the University of Ghish in the late 1960s…he married one Ivanna Ismos, scion of the vaunted Ismos family, who begot the first Prime Minister of Ghant, one Irat Ismos who’s exploits to end the Ghantish Civil War got the annual peace prize award named after him.

It was from this union of Oliver Haribec and Ivanna Ismos that Sara Haribec was born, and it was upon the legacies of arguably the two greatest Prime Ministers of Ghant that she was elected to Parliament representing Onia, the same seat once held by her great-grandfather. She was only thirty-four, soon to be thirty-five, and already she was rising high through the ranks of the Labor Party that her great-grandfather had founded, but had floundered under weak leadership since his death in 1975.

Nathan admired her a great deal, and once fancied her greatly. It would have made a great story in the press, the Emperor of Ghant marrying someone from the Haribec and Ismos political families. Yet, she was never interested, playful and coy as she was. Sometimes he wondered if she was a lesbian or simply a career woman, but whatever she was, she was an opportunist. She knew how to get what she wanted, and how to play the game. That, and she wasn’t the sort of person to join the winning team, like many of her colleagues did with Nymun and his Independent Coalition. Indeed, she won’t join the winning team, she would rather find a way to beat it…

“You know why I’m here, your Majesty,” Sara said with a smile. Her eyes sparkled with the light of the sunset sparking upon them, while the breeze tugged at her brown strands of hair, making it seem lighter in color. Her teeth were straight and a pristine shade of white. Her words were gentle and inviting, but there was a tinge of venom on the end of her tongue.

The Emperor turned his head and watched the trick of light upon her eyes. “I can imagine why. Let me guess, you want to tell me what the Opposition has to say about this Latium business.”

“That’s right. This Latium business. Such a nice way of putting it, but let’s not be bashful. Given what we know from intelligence, Parliament has declared that will have little choice but to insist that Government officials lead the investigation into the incident and that everything is done to hunt down those responsible. We will demand free rein for Ghantish Military Personnel to do whatever they feel necessary to find the perpetrators and protect Ghantish diplomats and their premises in Latium and elsewhere.”

Ah Sara, how much you love to talk. “How nice of you to consider my position on the matter, Sara. I take it that’s no all you wish to say?” he asked her grimly as he stared down into the mobs below, with their signs and banners of protest.

“You know what Michael will do, your Majesty,” Sara added as though she were speaking tenderly to a friend or loved one. “Michael’s government, for its part, can be expected to condemn the attack and pledge full cooperation with Ghantish officials. But the fact that such a serious incident could have taken place at all delivers a harsh message about the state of Michael’s regime. The country remains awash with anarchy and chaos. If it is shown that Michael’s regime represents a clear and present danger to Ghantish citizens in that country, then we will have no choice but to authorize the use of force to put an end to it, and find another one that will assure us of safe conduct.”

Constantine, you mean. Nathan agreed of course, and Sara knew it, but he couldn’t tell her that now. She wanted him to capitulate, to not obstruct the Ghantish war machine. “Let me be frank, Sara. You never come here on social calls. You want something…what is it?”

“…I want you to clarify your position,” she said with an inviting smile. “I suspect that the Edomites favor Michael, and will use their leverage here to try to dissuade you from authorizing the use of force as Commander-in-Chief. I want to know where your loyalties are, because between you and I, the people of Ghant are paying very close attention to what you do, who you keep company with and what you say. If they think that you’re deciding national policy based upon Edomite influence, well…that wouldn’t end well for you or your Edomite friends.”

Nathan pursed his lips in displeasure. Who the fuck does she think she is? “…Is that a threat, Sara? Tell me you’re not going to use that against me.”

“No threats, your Majesty. Just realities…just look around you.” Sara swept a hand out over the balcony, gesturing towards the people below. “You see them? The people feel threatened. They are angry, they are sad. They want answers, and they want justice. Will you give that to them, or just more excuses? I won’t like to you your Majesty, this doesn’t look good for Michael, and it’s starting to not look good for you either. If people start seeing you as an obstacle, they will get you out of the way. That’s not something you want.”

“What do you want, Sara?” Nathan asked as he shifted to face her. “I’ve never been able to figure that out. You’re very hard to…pin down.”

Sara’s pretty mouth stretched into a fiendish grin. “I merely wish to serve the people. After all, I’m a woman of the people, not a woman of the blood.”

“Oh, Sara…if only you knew of the power that dwells in the blood of kings.” Nathan returned a similar look.

“…Perhaps there is, but what is it, compared to the power of the people?” Sara tenderly cupped her hand on the Emperor’s shoulder and added that “I’ve already spoken to your father-in-law, and there is general agreement that Michael’s regime cannot be treated with impunity, not after what happened at the Marble Palace.”

The Emperor turned towards the balcony entrance and started walking. “Let me think on it at least. I want time.”

“I would say take all the time you need, but you don’t really have that luxury, not anymore at least. A day perhaps, but on the morrow, your time will be up,” she said pleasantly as she followed him in.

Nathan spotted Nymun sitting in a room off to the side of the hallway in the palace interior, while guards and palace staff mingled with diplomats and government officials. “Until next time, Sara.”

“Same to you, your Majesty.” Sara bowed slightly and saw herself out further down the hall. Nathan watched her go before he straightened out his dark tunic as he sat down on the couch next to Nymun, who was going over some letters with his reading glasses. “She’s got my nuts in a vise, too. I didn’t take Labor politicians to be so hawkish.”

“The people want justice, and she’s just playing that up,” the Emperor told the Prime Minister as he sat down and leaned his head back. “I’ve got Parliament, the people, my father-in-law, the Lords of Dakmoor and Nathia all breathing down my neck. They think I’m beholden to interests that are not theirs, and now I’m subjected to subtle threats against my reign. I don’t know what to do.”

Nymun tapped a pen against fat old wrinkly lips as he pursed them in thought. “Without really knowing what’s gone on, we have to give Michael the benefit of the doubt…at least for now. Though there is one smoking gun that could blow the doors off of this whole thing. I think you know what I’m referring to.”

Theodora. “…my sister I take it…she’s been through enough already…” Nathan shook his head.

“She was there, she saw what happened. She was in Michael’s custody, she knows about that too. Think about what she could tell us. Theodora’s testimony could tell us all we need to know. If Michael told her anything about what he was doing, abused her in any way or tells us something different about the Marble Palace than what Michael told me in the letter he wrote me, then that will be enough to have a legitimate cause for action. Not even New Edom could stand in our way then. And let’s say that what Theodora tells us is consistent with what Michael says, then maybe he isn’t so bad as people make him out to be.” The Prime Minister explained his idea pedantically, as though he were giving some sort of lecture in a college politics course.

“Do we have time for that though? I doubt the politicians will be as patient as that, to wait until we have a testimony from her.” Nathan never thought that national policy might one day be determined by what one of his sisters said, but alas these were strange days he found himself in.

The Prime Minister thumbed through his papers. “She should be in friendly territory by now. We can get her on the phone if needs be, or just wait until she gets here. With you and Diana here she should be in high spirits in no time. As for the Edomites, just tell Mara that you will give her time, and that you will wait until you’ve spoken to Theodora. I will work on my end to keep the politicians at bay until you’ve done that. Then we will see what comes of that.”

“…Thank you Nymun, I knew I could count on you to be the voice of reason and caution,” Nathan smiled at the elderly Prime Minister. He was one of the good politicians that stuck to his principles regardless of popular whims. That was what got him into office, but it could also be the cause of his downfall. With Birds of Prey like Sara Haribec about, anything was possible.

“Don’t thank me yet, but I believe that’s a start. We both have some letters to write and some strings to pull. Hang in there at least for a little while longer. We just need facts, and we will start getting them soon enough.” With that the Prime Minister got up and waddled out of the small room, leaving the Emperor to himself. He wondered how he would get a hold of Theodora in order to speak with her, whether he should try to get in touch with Leo. Ultimately though, he got the sense that she would reach out to him when she had the chance to do so. That will have to do, for now…

by **New Edom** » Sat Dec 10, 2016 2:35 am

Ghish, Ghant

Rosa Sharon had reported to Prince Amenmar when she attended prayers at the chapel at the embassy.

"He has barely touched me--has been affectionate but deeply distracted. It is not like him," she whispered to him. "I have resorted to simply giving him hugs, making sure he eats well--he eats the worst food you know, and trying to get him to adopt an Edomite diet is almost useless. If it were not for his metabolism--"

"Never mind his diet," murmured Prince Amenmar, tugging Barsina's little black hands gently away from taking his watch off. "Was Princess Cassandra at his levee?"

"She is not well," Rosa reported.

"Unfortunate," said Amenmar. "I'll make sure the chaplain has a mass said for her recovery. Make sure that is told about Imnperiala, will you?"

"Of course sir," replied Rosa. "Oh, and Anastasia has been hanging around a lot, the princess, I mean. I'm not sure why but she was forbidden to leave."

"Find out why, I smell another dynastic marriage in the offing." Amenmar knew about another marriage as well that he thought he ought to nip in the bud. And it was next on his mind.

He thanked Rosa for her sacrifices. When she smiled and said it was no great one, he decided to make sure that she was further looked into--Nathan had an odd effect on women. How could he not? He was a good looking, charming, highly sexed rich and powerful man that inspired mothering. Rosa was exotic but otherwise his general type.

The Ambassador to Ghant had to deal with a number of issues, including reporting to Fineberg. When he spoke to Count Lalery on the phone, he mentioned the following issues.

"First, sir, the marriage between Prince Alexander and Princess ava must take place as soon as possible. Proper bans were issued, the betrothal is recognized, and is is vital that this take place so that people are reminded of the blood ties. But there is already more talk against us here. We are not popular with the populace. I think that populist politicians here see New Edom as meddling in their culture and meddling in their economy and foreign policy. With this Latium business going on..they smell blood in the air. However all is not lost. The Imperial Family is still very popular.

"The problem is that with the King largely...er...absent from active politics recently, the mariage to his sister will not quite be enough, I fear..."

"So?" barked Lalery, who sounded busy with something. "What about the Dakmaran marriages? We got Domris married to that one black haired slut..."

"I don't think 'slut' is a good description of the Lady Alazne Dain, sir," said Prince Amenmar, wincing. "But I would like to point out that the marriage of, let us face it, an ancient but rather decadent family with a lack of funds...married as well to one of our generals whom Ghant as a whole despises is really that helpful. If anything it just makes us closer to Malibar who is also unpopular with the people. It is good that we have these ties for the purpose of having an important family on our side, but..."

"We have that northern bitch too, what about that?" Lalery growled.

"Queen Isolde is a loyal ally. Sir I think it is regrettable that you talk this way, even over a secure line. At the very least, I beg you to think of it as a bad infuence on the Ministry of Police officials who are no doubt listening in. They might think you impious and disrespectful towards our allies."

There was a sullen silence. Few dared rebuke Lalery openly. He was in a delicate political position now though and needed all the support he could get. "Alright, Amenmar, you made your point, go on."

"I am sure you can imagine that we need to do something effective. First, i think it would be wise to continue to delay the arrival of our fleet in Latium."

"Done," said Lalery. "You and I are hands on the same man in this."

"Very good sir. The other thing is this: I think that you must cancel your plans to marry Princess Caroline."

He heard a silence. It went on disturbingly long.

"What?" said Lalery quietly.

"I don't think it would be politically wise anymore. Right now a lot of people, including Princess Cassandra, are advising the Emperor that we have too much influence and power here. Empress Sophia has been extremely withdrawn and seems to...well spend more time in the nursery than in the rest of hte palace. With that, her father's influence wanes too. But the Gentry star rises. I think, sir that you must make a more advantageous Gentry marriage. With a marriage of Princess Ava to Prince Alexander having taken place, and your marriage to a Gentry Princess actually of the blood, we would be far more secure."

Lalery snapped, "Are you joking? You...you are going to advise me on who I ought to marry?"

"It would also give you a great deal of sway over Princess Jocasta," said Prince Amenmar. "She is very fond of our Ghantish allies and she would see it as far more respectable than marrying Princess Caroline. It would make our intent to be close allies with the Ghantar very clear. We need Ghant more than we need Latium, and you need support and respectability more than ever, if you are, if I may be frank, to present yourswelf as a worthy candidate to be President of the Council of Ministers. The youngest in our history."

"I'm not marrying Cassandra. I'd rather cut my own balls off," said Lalery.

"That would be unwise, I agree sir, she does not like us very much," agreed Prince Amenmar. "but what about Princess Anastasia? I'm sending you a picture of her right now."

Prince Amenmar hit send and waited, while Barsina played with a puzzle, now and then tasting the pieces before putting them into place on a table nearby the desk.

"Well," said Lalery, "I've got to hand it to you, monkey-boy, she's a looker alright. Everything where it should be. But what if I tell you I love Caroline enough to risk all for her?"

Amenmar pinched his nose. "Well sir, I'm impressed by your discovery of your softer side. But my reply is what King Mark always used to say: Edom first. Think of what happened to King David."

Lalery smacked his lips. "Alright, damn you, explore the possibility. Find out if sh has anyone else in the offing, and if it's possible, and what people would feel about it. And yes, make it clear that that fleet will hesitate. make it clear from all of us: Me, Enoch, Geta, Ashdod, Nicanor--and yes, the Queen too."

"Princess Jocasta?" said Amenmar.

"The Banana Princess--"

"Sir!"

"Princess Jocasta is outraged and wants to back Nathan's investigation. No support until it isw concluded. Make that clear and make it clear that that view has strong support. Good enough?" Lalery said impatiently.

"So very kind sir, thank you." Amenmar heard the click and leaned back in his chair with contentment.

And so when Amenmar did seek an audience with Nathan, it was to tell him that Queen Mara strongly supported his view on the matter of an investigation, and that New Edomite forces would wait until this was satisfied before they set foot on Latin soil. He also added that Count Lalery was a possible candidate for President of the Council, but that there was a lot of concern that he was a potentially controversial figure in Ghant and would endanger Ghantish-Edomite relations. The false notion that New Edom sought to control Ghant had to be dealt with, to make clear that New Edom and Ghant were allies--as indeed the destruction of CSAT, the fight to end slavery in Delvian States, and Ghant's aid in the 3rd Civil War showed. That they were as blood brothers. However this ought to be demonstrated in a way that Ghantish traditions could respect. And so it was proposed, Amenmar said, that Prince Alexander and Princess Ava's marriage should be emphasized in public communications as a tie between the two Houses. And it was also proposed that if possible, the Imperial and the Royal Houses of both nations coud look into the possibility of a marriage between Count Lalery--hopefully soon to be the new President of the Council of Ministers--and Princess Anastasia.

by **New Edom** » Sun Dec 11, 2016 2:30 pm

And what rough beast
Its hour come round at last
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

[b]--W.B. Yeats, "The Second Coming"

General Augrim walked with Princess Jocasta in her garden in Padan-Aran. The tall, hook nosed, hoodeed eyed slow speaking former ETC commander with his dark hair and sun weathered looks contrasted greatly with the light olive skinned young buxom princess in her pretty sundress.

"General, I have called you to dinner not merely to offer you good lamb," she said with a smile, "But because you and General Nicanor are among the commanders we have who have--well to be blunt--faced enormous odds, and lost sometimes and won sometimes. I had until recently relied only on generals and admirals who had never lost a battle--but I'm wondering now if that was not a mistake. Perhaps some like you, who lost West Cardwith Island to the communists in Hutanjia but also held off Admiral Rand during the 1st Civil War, have contrasting experiences that may be valuable to us. Right now we are at a crossroads. The Ministers are mostly liberals or tired from so many political conflicts, jaded and stupified by procedure. But you seem serene and calm, and your pride seems unwounded. I need your counsel. My sister, as you know, hates war and would give up Peregrino, give up our influence over Gloria Regis, would abandon Vozgarnor and Christianity supporting monarchs like Michael. But i am resolved. However I am a young woman and know little of war." she smiled at him. "But you have known it from birth. Counsel me, General."

Augrim, as was his wont, said nothing for a time. The Haranese was...very Haranese, in Jocasta's eyes. The haranese while related to Barans were a slow speaking people, used to hard lives, used to being the poor second cousins to the Barans who had dominated the fertile provinces north of them. However they had their own pride. This man had once been accused of banditry, of terorism, and of being a tratiro Yet he had survived this and many other things. He admired the patterns made by rows of tulips that from above looked like a griffon. "Beautiful," he commented.

"When the President Touchstone was master in Fineberg," he told her, "The Defense Minister was John Crowl. And he devised a plan, called the Crowl Plan after him. It called for a general response of aggressive defensive warfare. Crowl was responding to our vulnerability. And this plan called for accepting that we were outgunned, outmanned, by our neighbors and by foreign out of region parties that were threatening us. I have maintained, contrary to Unwerth and Galt, that we ought to have kept up this approach. For shall a man succeed his father and damage his memory? Or shall the olive tree, having grown tall, despise the palm?"

"No?" guessed Jocasta.

"No," agreed Augrim. "This is what we must do. First: we must remember the words of that military sage, Tai Kung, who wrote: "Strategic power is exercised in accord with the enemy’s movements. Changes stem from the confrontation between the two armies. Unorthodox and orthodox tactics are produced from the inexhaustible resources |of the mind|. Thus the greatest affairs are not discussed, and the employment of troops is not spoken about. Moreover, words which discuss ultimate affairs are not worth listening to . The employment of troops is not so definitive as to be visible. They go suddenly, they come suddenly. Only someone who can exercise sole control, without being governed by other men, is a military weapon."

Jocasta thought about that. "I have no idea of what any of that means," she pointed out, glancing at him.

"Yes. You have other gifts, O Princess." Augrim looked at her with a rather surprisingly friendly smile.

"The Jedorians have more industry than we, and more people, therefore they are using their strength--to build up a great mechanized force supported by air and sea power, and much artillery. Thi sis very conventional, and they rely not upon clevernesss or resourcefulness of their soldiers but on being a great hammer. We must counter this not by trying to build more force--at least not in our homeland--but by making that force of little use.

"First: we must build more New Edomite Anti - Access / Area Denial compex. That is to say, O Princess, that New Edom is a nation with rugged, expanded coastline having many bays and islands, located in terrain where straits and bottlenecks exist. Thus, if our Navy can not take field against Jedorian forces, we should consider alternate idea. The anti-access and area denial complex would be rather aimed at sea denial, rather than sea control - Jedorian forces would be restricted in freedom of presence and manouevere in the area. Although I doubt it would reach peregrino, it could severely annoy Jedorian navy and protect Edomite flank from the sea. It would also reach Gloria Regis creating a nightmare for Shraileeni forces there.

"For our Army and Navy we have many missiles that are already disguised as with civilian vehicles and ships--we must be prepared to have our fleet and regiments act defensively and as evasively as possible while surprising the Jedorians. We may also make use of civilian ships and vehicles to conceal passive radar and sonar to hide intelligence gathering means.

"O Princess, we could field a force, of some 200,000 personnel comprising a mix 69,000 vehicle of the type described. Such a force may possess 7-800 ATGMs, and a similar number of MANPADs, as well as 500 truck mounted 122mm MRL systems, similar or identical, to the Imperium's BM-21 system. This is a combined arms formation with infantry, artillery, and lowlevel air defence."

"ETC," said Jocasta flatly.

"The time for the ETC as a whole force is past," said Augrim quietly. "Holy nakedness in war is often foolish and wasteful. I have never advocated such, it has been Under and his fanatics who have done so. No: I advocate calling the nation to arms, with Haranese, Elwe, Baran militia, ETC and others to form a new army altogether, an irregular army that would make attacks worthless."

"How soon could this be done?" said Jocasta. "For I fear that we may be too late," she said, turning to look up at him, her bosom heaving with passion.

"Sooner than one might think, O Princess," replied Augrim. "New Edom has a great deal of automotive factories--and you would be right if you said that we can produce far fewer tanks and APCs than Jedoria. But we can produce many, many civilian four wheeled drive vehicles. We have many advantages over other nations--we have many officers and NCOs in retired life now who could be called to serve to protect their country. We have far more experienced soldiers than Jedoria has proportionally. We should, however, begin immediately. I believe that A hundred thousand militia have already been called to service some months ago and are doing irreuglar duties? Then we have but to organize a staff and logistics. Our regular forces will harden their positions, while the irregular army will hunt them. If need be we will raise more than a hundred thousand."

"What about in foreign climes--in Latium?" asked Jocasta.

Augrim watched her thoughtfully. "It will not take long to make these preparations. A bit of delay will not hurt the Emperor Michael--inevitably it will lead to his greater gratitude."

Princess Jocasta stared back at him. "Do it, General Augrim! Save our country's honour! And you shall have my love everlasting!"

Augrim bowed his head to her gravely. "It shall be done then, O Princess. But what of Nicanor and Unwerth?"

"Leave them to me," she said, turning away with a smile on her lips as she began to walk briskly along the path. "Nicanor will hardly not want to see his country well defended, and Unwerth likewise, and he is my man anyway. Admiral Galt will be reluctant but will obey his orders from Nicanor. No: begin drawing up a plan immediately, and I will do the politics part."

"You are, if I may say so, Princess, more King Mark's niece than King James' daughter," said Augrim with a smile. "It shall be done."

by **The Demphorian Kingdoms** » Mon Dec 12, 2016 9:11 am

Major General John Dell
Demphorian 1st Marine Division
Latium

A standard issue LIV armored vehicle drove down the bumpy road as it approached the encampment. It brandished 2 stars on it’s side with the indication that the vehicle belonged to Major General John V. Dell, newly appointed commander of all Demphorian forces in Latium.

General Dell relieved the commander of the marines in Latium to take a more direct role in the conflict, rather than spending the war planning from behind a desk. He was one of the key architects behind the actual coordinated landings in Latium, and had issued the Demphorian marines a simple mission:

(a) To monitor the process of repatriation of Latin refugees and resettlement of displaced persons to verify that it is carried out in a safe and orderly manner; (b) To assist in the coordination of humanitarian assistance activities in conjunction with relief operations.

Soon after, it became clear to the high command that the Demphorians were obligated to include more clauses to their mission: (c) To assist the forces of Constantine in the establishment of a government in Latium; (d) To monitor the security situation during the final period of the transitional government’s mandate, leading up to the elections.

But while General Dell had arrived, it was clear that the staff he was succeeding had failed to do so. Yes, the Army had marched south, but, on the fault of the Demphorian High Command, had been given no direction, and without any interest in taking the initiative had decided to turn the expedition into a campout. It was an embarrassing logistical failure.

Dell had also grown impatient with the commanders above him who had failed to communicate with the Demphorians on the ground. While the Demphorians made their landings as an organized fighting machine, it became evident that Ormania had become quieter as more pressing issues, such as the election, began to creep up on the country.

Major General Dell walked into his new headquarters, surrounded by his new staff. His subordinate, Brigadier General Vincent Alexander, was waiting for him.

“Good afternoon sir,” he said.

“Afternoon Vincent, what have you got for me?”

“Sir, the High Command sent a communication about half an hour ago. It reads that they expect you to maintain the encampment for two more weeks.”

General Dell sat there and smiled, “No.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“We’re not going to be sitting here on our asses for two more weeks. The Army is already disorganized as it is, hell, for the last two days I’ve been whipping them back into shape because I was planning to advance. I’m not going to leave this army lying about as the enemy is still out there.”

General Dell went on. “There are good soldiers out there, dying out there, in Kallinopolis. We’re going to move east and support the soldiers in the city.”

General Alexander said, “But, sir, the High Command ordered you to stay here.”

Dell continued, “They also ordered my predecessor to do nothing as well. I know where their allegiances lie. I worked with them,” he approached the map. “I told them that they needed to send troops to Kallinopolis but they didn’t listen. If they followed my plan, I’d be there by now and kick every son-of-a-bitch straight out of there. The war could’ve been over, damnit.”

General Alexander stood there, “What are your orders then, sir?”

General Dell sat down again, “I want to redeploy the entire army ready for engagement on the outskirts of the city and engage within 72 hours.”

“What should I tell the High Command?”

“Nothing of importance, tell them we require the message to be retransmitted, some of the message was ‘garbled’ or something.”

by **Jedoria** » Thu Dec 15, 2016 7:52 pm

With Micahel's fleet at the bottom of the strait or captured, and the city of Heraclea and it's regional airport secured, it was time for the Jedorian and Chacoan force to commence the next phase of their operations; the ground offensive. While their naval forces moved to bombard Michael's positions and fortifications within the realm of Greater Alba and it's neighboring counties, it was time for the ground pounders to roll out and bring the fight strait to Castellum Ab Alba.

Colonel Bădescu, the commander of the 2nd Naval Infantry Brigade, came ashore on board one of the transport helicopters from the CNS Messenger. Bădescu was a stocky man with a torso like a brick and strong if short arms. Despite his gruff voice and appearance in general, the Colonel was known to have a infectious sense of humor. He was all work however as he greeted General Pablo Fuentes and Brigadier Juilan Thomas. “Gentlemen,” He said in his gravelly voice with a sturdy palm extended for a handshake, “It's an honor to meet you both.”

The Jedorians had established their headquarters in one of Heraclea's main city structures, making use of the telecommunication systems there to monitor civilian traffic as well as give themselves a backup communication source. Colonel Bădescu's office was basically a small room with a single desk, and his staff worked in various connecting rooms. Despite the accommodations that was an air of business to the whole affair as staff officers and NCOs walked to and fro, relaying information and speaking into set up radios or pouring over maps. The biggest map of all was laid out on the table that stood between the Jedorian Colonel and his Chacoan counterparts. They wasted no time getting down to business on how to proceed with ground operations.

“Gentlemen, let me begin by giving you both a brief overview of our current situation. Heraclea is ours now, and with the airport under our control we can begin moving in additional supplies and reinforcements in from the homeland. As I understand, your government has dispatched a number of troops to support our efforts. That's good, because the next phase of our plans is the tough part.”

“With Michael's fleet no longer a problem, the main assets of Task Force Lion had moved into the Castellum bay to begin bombarding Michael's forces within the country of Greater Alba and Utinum. Air and naval strikes will destroy rebel staging and assembly area and soften up them for a follow up ground assault. That's where we come in.”

“With your own naval ships sailing along the coast to provide fire support, we intend to launch a combined drive towards the city of Ravenna, located here.” The Colonel pointed to the part of the map where the county of Sorrentia met the county of Utinum, and where the city of Ravenna lay. “Intel suggests that the bulk of Rebel forces in the area consisting of an infantry division and an armor regiment have moved from their original positions near Rhenus and are falling back to Ravenna. According to Loyalist informants, Prince Leo's Hellenic forces are advancing westwards and thus forcing the rebels to fall back to more suitable defensive positions.”

“The rebel armor regiment appears to have peeled off from the main body and has shifted south, closer to us. We don't know their exact location or disposition, but my intelligence officer believes they're operating as a screen for the rebel division; to keep us occupied so we don't outflank the main force. There's no way around it, so our only option is to attack and defeat this regiment and continue to drive on Ravenna. From there, we'll link up with Prince Leo and leave a rear detachment to keep the rebel division occupied while we march on Castellum.”

“Problem is, my naval infantry don't have any MBTs. We have anti-tank weaponry, towed AT guns, ATGMs of course, but I don't like the idea of taking that modern armor head on without some more firepower. Ideally your naval ships will be able to provide fire support to help weaken the rebel forces, but I don't like the idea of relying entirely on the navy to get things done. As I understand, however, you're bringing in your own tanks to help even the odds. That should make our lives a bit easier, but I don't intent to stall the advance entirely just to wait for them to arrive.”

“Therefore, my staff propose the following; our recon battalion will begin moving up the coast of Sorrtenia and head north. Using our light infantry, we'll mount them on what choppers we have to form ad hoc heliborne units. We'll leapfrog them up the coast along to seize any important positions we might need; bridges, rail junctions, power stations, the like. Behind them we'll create an advance guard composed of one of our naval infantry battalions with a company of light tanks and a battery of self propelled howitzers. I'd like to ask for your to do the same, and to move alongside the advance guard up the coast protecting their flank in case the rebel armor tries to crush us between their tanks and the coast. Now I know your marines aren't packing a whole ton of heat, so I've gone ahead and dispatched two of our mobile ATGM batteries to support your advance. The rest of the anti-tank forces we have will fall in with the advance guard. I know marines against heavy armor isn't a great match-up, but hopefully between our anti-tank weaponry, your air and naval support, we'll be able to send them packing.”

“It's unlikely we'll be able to stop the bulk of the rebel division from reaching Ravenna, but at that point we should link up with Prince Leo's Hellenic forces. At that point it might just be best to bypass the city entirely; we could leave behind an equal sized formation opposite of the rebel forces while the rest of our troops move onto Castellum. Ideally, the fighting at Kallipolis will have ended with a loyalist victory at that point and we can surround Michael in his entirety, and bring an end to this war.”

“The rest of our forces and yours that are due to arrive will fall in behind the advance guard and move up north when they can. Ideally we'll have engaged and destroyed that armor regiment by the time your forces are completely in theater, allowing us to move straight on for Castellum.”

“Are there any questions you might have, sirs?” The Colonel asked when he was finished with his brief and proposal.

Now that Heraclea was theres, the Jedorian and Chacoan forces could begin setting up shop in full. Engineers moved to repair what damage had been done to the airport and it's runways, constructing additional structures to house the added intake of aircraft and supplies that were now flying from Jedoria to Latium. The rest of the Jedorian Naval Infantry and Chacoan light infantry were brought to shore, grouping together in assembly areas around the city.

With the docks under their control the Jedorians began to quickly offload their heavy equipment, namely the rest of their self-propelled howitzers and the bulk of their supplies including food, ammunition, fuel and spare parts. Trucks and utility vehicles departed the transport ships on ramps and drove off to their assembly areas where support personnel were waiting to receive them. While their supply comrades went to work, the naval infantry themselves set about preparing for the next phase of their operations. With casualties light, the three battalions of naval infantry began reorganizing and preparing to make underway. The advance guard consisting of one battalion of infantry supported by a company of tanks and a battery of self-propelled howitzers was formed and made ready to go.

At least forty kilometers ahead of them, the lead elements of the Jedorian reconnaissance battalion moved ahead, scouting for possible ambushes and hostile forces aboard their Swiftwind light vehicles. Perhaps most comforting however for the brigade command team was the setting up of the brigade's single Calliope Long Range Air Defense system, allowing them to track and target aircraft, missiles both ballistic and cruise, within a five hundred kilometers radius around Heraclea. Smaller mid-range and short-range mobile SAMs and air defense vehicles were set up in the area around the Calliope system, forming the overlapping air defense network that Jedorian doctrine called for.

In the event of an emergency, a flight of five Rafales had been designated to support the ground forces and were on permanent standby, maintaining a holding pattern around Heraclea and acting as a second defensive force for the headquarters of the Jedorian and Chacoan forces.

by **Republica De Gran Chaco** » Sun Dec 18, 2016 9:23 pm

Heraclea

General Pablo Fuentes was greatly annoyed that all the Jedorians could send to give Brigadier Tomás and himself their orders was a colonel. It was known that Chacano forces were under overall Jedorian command for the advance, but he still took it as a slight that they had not even sent a general officer to coordinate with them. He glanced over at the marine brigadier who did not appear to be bothered and decided it was best to hold his tongue. Now was not the time for petty arguments. He did not have anything against the Jedorians, and in fact had only heard positive things about them, but like many generals the world over, Pablo Fuentes had an ego.

Fuentes had heard a lot about the Jedorians in Ashab, but during that war they had all been assigned to Northern Command, under General Juan Gonzalaz. Fuentes had commanded Central Command, where his armored divisions had smashed the tanks of the Theology Council. This was the reason that Fuentes had been given the job in Latium. Chaco did not possess many tanks, and the government wanted a general that had handled them before in command not that the Lancers were being sent.

Fuentes listened to the plan, it made sense though it still was not very clear what he wanted the Chacano tanks to do. A Chacano armored regiment comprised of one battalion of about 44 M-60T tanks called Sabras after their upgrade package. These had been up armored, up gunned, and had a better engine and firing system. Two battalions were mechanized infantry which rode in Ratel 90s, VBCIs, and M113s. The two mech battalions could be used to guard the flanks of the CLI and the marines, but the role for the armor had not been listed.

“You have not listed a role for our sabras colonel.” Fuentes stated, “Why don’t we put them on the flank of the vanguard. They seem to be the heaviest armor we have and it would serve to have them up front.”

Foreign Ministry
Yanque, Chaco

The Ghantish embassy being overrun had shocked the Chacano diplomatic community. It was a shocking act on the part of Michael to have his men flat out assault an embassy. Quietly among many circles it was wondered why Ghant had chosen to keep their embassy open in a capital of a leader that they had declared illegitimate. What was so important that was happening that embassy staff had not been evacuated? After all Michael had proven to be unstable, and who the hell knew why he hadn’t just expelled the Ghantish. Something had happened and while it was not quite clear what, it had the benefit of potentially adding another force to push out Michael.

Top concern for Xeina and the foreign ministry at the moment was, what was the Edomite stance? Edom was a worrisome topic for Chaco’s diplomatic and military community, and had in some ways almost become an obsession. This was clearly a one sided worry, Xeina doubted very much if Edomite leadership had ever had large security briefings on the intentions of their little neighbor to the south. In Yanque, however, it was a topic that had to be addressed. New Edom was a strong nation just across the strait that had recently attempted to put in Chaco’s longest historical enemy back in power in Ashab. If they wanted to they could make life very hard for Chaco. The opposition called them filthy imperialists during parliamentary debates and questioned why the government had not taken a tougher stand not that the Jedorians had increased their military budget and had leased a naval base in San Pedro.

While this was true, that the Jedorians were now stronger, Edom was a neighbor, and if it ever came to war, Ayaca could become a lonely place far away from friends. The Ashab war had spooked the government about this fact. If the war had escalated and New Edom had succeeded in putting the Theology Council back in power, then there would have been chaos in Chaco. A strange thing that had come out of the Ashab war, was that Xeina found that diplomatic relations had actually improved with the Edomites. Even as an enemy they had always proven to be more than polite, and had kept their word down to the very last detail on every agreement during the ceasefire. It had made Xeina thing that maybe next time, it might not come so close to an armed conflict. Still, King Elijah was in ill health, and mixed messages had been coming from the embassy in Fineberg.

It had looked as though the Edomites were choosing to side with Michael and ships had been reported near Tericio, but now with the Ghantish embassy overrun, Xeina was not certain where Edom would land on the topic. Xeina decided it was time to try and arrange a meeting with the Edomite ambassador to try and better understand their intentions.

To: Dr. Lemuel Kore, Ambassador
From: Office of the Assistant Minister for Foreign Relations
Subject: Meeting
Encription: High

Dear Dr. Kore,

There has been much going on in the world that has earned our attention recently. The horrific attack on the Ghantish embassy, and the apparent everlasting strain over Peregrino are just two in a list of concerning events. It is my wish to arrange a meeting with yourself, at a location of your choosing in order to better understand Edomite views and concerns regarding some of these issues. I have always taken great pleasure in the prompt and reliable work that you have done in order to maintain good relationships with my government, even in less than ideal situations.

As always, send my love to your children. The Wititi Fiesta is just around the corner, and I would love them to attend this year, now that the situation is secure. If their sizes are sent to me I can even have Quechua dresses made for your girls and some Chaco Light Infantry slouch hats for your boys.

Xeina Ccallo,
Assistant Minister for Foreign Relations

Heraclea, Latium

Bryan sat lounging on his cot rereading the letter that he had just received from his wife Alicia. There wasn’t a lot to do at the moment. The company was waiting for all of their helicopters to arrive from Chaco before they could move to keep up with the Jedorians. Bryan’s company was getting their helicopters last since they had taken the airfields. The other units that had taken no casualties would be the ones to set out first. So right now, all there was to do was to lay back and catch up on mail while there was time.

Bryan felt warm and lonely as he went over Alicia’s words, trying to savor each one. The hand writing was rough, and it was full of misspellings, but this made the letter all the more intimate, as it meant that she was writing without help from his mother or sister. Alicia, a Quechua girl from a small village, was nineteen and had only recently began learning to read and write. They had met when Bryan’s company had headquartered out of her village, Ichupampa, while providing security during the rebellion. Alicia had been a mess at the time, having survived the terror attacks at the Wititi festival in Chivay and having a brother in fighting with the rebels. But over time she had come to love Bryan and was currently pregnant and living on Bryan’s parents ranch while he was deployed. Her mother had even come to stay to help during the pregnancy. Bryan set the letter down and picked out a picture of her that she had sent. “She looks huge!” Bryan thought and laughed to himself, “Well comparatively.” She only stood five feet and there was a whole foot of difference when they were together.

As Bryan was soaking all of this up, a private ran into his office and in a panicked tone shouted, “A LRRP patrol was discovered north of here and is in trouble, some skyraiders are out their but they need help!”

Bryan jumped up and yelled at his runner, “Go get me a GPMG team, and a medic, have them load water and extra ammo only. Get them to meet me by the helicopters. Then tell third platoon to get ready to move out.”

Bryan then turned to his radio man, “call the navy and ask for a super puma, and tell Lieutenant Menendez to take his boys in that. I’m going ahead in an Alouette”

Bryan grabbed his webbing and his rifle, put his helmet on his head and made his way outside. The Long Range Reconnaissance Patrols were made up of men usually in six man teams who were lightly armed. They went out on patrols in enemy territory to gather what intel they could. A team getting discovered was at a horrible risk of being overrun so speed was the key to try and assist those men. Bryan struggled into his webbing while running over to the helicopters that were assigned to the company. He would need help from the navy, more helicopters had been arriving from Chaco, but none of the UH-1s were ready. All that he had at the moment was a single Alouette which would carry four men. The little helicopters were great, but they would take forever to ferry a platoon and this was an emergency.

Bryan discussed what was going on with the pilot, who agreed to take him ahead and began making contact with the LRRPs. The men that had been sent for arrived and loaded into the little chopper and it lifted off and was away. As they skimmed low over the brown country side, Bryan thought to himself if he had been a bit rash in rushing off with only three others. He shook the thought, these men needed help and any was better than none. If four men could delay them from being overrun long enough to get the extra platoon in, then it was worth it. It was a bright and clear sunny day and dust could be seen being kicked up in the distance. Over his headset Bryan could hear the LRRP team leader saying that the pilot should see and orange panel on a boulder and the pilot should drop the guys off directly west of it. Bryan saw why in a moment, as the aircraft neared, muzzle flashes could be seen winking from the east of where the recon team was located. The pilot came over the headset and told Bryan that he wouldn’t be stopping and that his men would have to jump.

Taking his headset off and putting on his helmet, Bryan signaled to his men that they weren’t going to fully land. The chopper dropped fast and then slowed just a second for the men to drop the eight or so feet to the ground. Bryan tripped when he hit the ground and took a tumble, lost his helmet and was a bit disoriented when the medic that he had brought grabbed his shoulder strap and half dragged half led him to where the LRRPs were.

The six-man team was set in a tight perimeter taking cover behind several boulders. Most of the men appeared to be bleeding, but they were all returning fire on to the Latins that were trying to overrun their position. Bryan ducked down trying to take stock of the situation. It looked as if police and scholarians were trying to keep the LRRPs pinned down. A sergeant with an arm wound was on the radio screaming trying to get in air support, apparently the runner who had summoned them had been wrong in stating that there were Skyraiders on station. The CLI medic tried to tend to his wound when he was waived off, “Over there!” the sergeant pointed, “Juarez is hurt the worst!” The medic crawled over to the man and began tending to an abdominal wound.

Bryan settled in next to the sergeant and yelled over the noise, “I brought a machine gun, where do you want it?”

The sergeant took a moment to think and then pointed to a spot to his left between two boulders, “Here, and tell them to focus on that group of trees over there. That’s where most of the crap that hit us is coming from.”

Bryan told the team and they got set up facing north east and started hammering away at the Latins that had been exploiting a weak point in the cover of the boulders. The sustained bursts of the FN Mag were welcome to the LRRPs who started grinning to each other as the fire from that area weakened. The smiles were wiped away when a renewed volley was unleashed by the Latin rifles trying to quiet the machine gun. Most the men in the circle answered and returned fire. Bryan realized for a second that the shots that had been coming from the east had slackened significantly. A sinking feeling arose in the pit his stomach and Bryan began looking around to where the enemy had gone. Nothing could be seen at first, until movement was caught out of the corner of his eye. There was a group of men moving up using a dried up river bed. The bed was lined with scrub brush creating a blind spot to the south of their position. Bryan couldn’t really see from where he was, so he grabbed the sergeant and told him, “They’re trying to flank us, keep everyone here I’m moving to take a better look. Do you have any rifle grenades?”

The sergeant nodded and handed him two high explosive rifle grenades and a handful of blank rounds. Bryan detached the magazine from his galil and cleared the rifle. He loaded a blank into the chamber and then fixed a HE rifle grenade to the barrel. Crawling out of cover, Bryan tried to use the low brush to conceal his movement. He crawled about 20 yards from the LRRP’s perimeter and then slowly raised himself up. In the dried creek roughly 100 yards away, about twenty scholarians gathered listening to an NCO. Bryan slowly got up to one knee and stuck the but of his galil into the ground. Angling his rifle with the grenade attached he guessed the range and pulled the triggler. The grenade popped off into the air in a high arch towards the enemy. When it landed the explosion kicked up dust, “Mierda!” the shot had landed short. The confused scholarians realized that they had been spotted, but could not tell quite from where. Using the cloud that had been kicked up, Bryan sprinted in a diagonal direction towards the southwest trying to get closer but to not be in a direct line between the LRRP position and the Latins. Hitting the deck the Latins let loose with fire from any place they thought the explosion might have come from Bryan felt the breeze from bullets cracking above his neck. He did everything to flatten himself, sticking his face in the dirt. He slid his hand up and grabbed the rosary that he wore around his neck and prayed.

Soon the fire shifted away from him and towards the boulders as the enemy NCO began directing their fire. Chacano rifles from the boulders began answering, but it was a pathetic response. Bryan started crawling in that diagonal line to avoid the crossfire, and inched his way closer to the enemy. It seemed to take years, and his sweat ran down his face mixing with the dirt creating muddy streaks down his forehead and into his eyes. Though they stung, there was no point in wiping the mud out, as his hands and sleeves were so dirty it could probably just make things worse. Arriving behind a thick bush. He once again loaded a blank round and fixed his last rifle grenade to the end of his barrel. Rising to one knee once again he aimed his rifle at the creek bed. The Latins were harder to see now as they had spread out and were taking cover. He scanned the creek bed until he saw that NCO that had been organizing the attack.

“You die now, mother fucker.” Bryan muttered to himself, and launched his grenade.

It flew in a high ark and was on target this time. The Latin NCO disappeared in a puff of smoke and dust and Bryan hit the deck. Chaos broke out from the creek bed at the loss of the leader and no doubt a couple of other men. Disorganized firing broke out at the rocks and at bushes all around. The enemy flanking attack had been broken up but now Bryan realized that he better find a good place to hide, as it was suicidal to try and make it back to the rest of the men. He crawled inside the bush that he was behind, cursing as he stuck himself on brambles, and curled up inside.

Helplessly from his spot he listened to the firing until he heard the thumping sound of rotors. A rooivalk must have been escorting because the whoosh whoosh whoosh of rockets was heard followed by the booming of explosions. One of the rockets landed too close for comfort and dirt was kicked up over Bryan. He waited and listened to the newly landed CLI men to sweep the area, finally pushing the Latins away. When the fire died down, Bryan came out of the bush and slowly stood. Two soldiers spotting him, and came with rifles raised, but lowered them when he called out in Spanish.

Seeing the filthy man with scratches emerging out of a bush amused the soldiers, “Hey buddy, what the hell were you doing over there?”

Bryan laughed, “Trying to not die Garcia, I’ve seen your range scores.”

The man tensed when he recognized the voice and realized that he had addressed his captain as “buddy”, apologized.

“It’s alright, I suppose I look like quite a mess. Hey do you have any water?” Bryan responded.

“Yes sir” Garcia pulled out his canteen and handed it over to Bryan. Bryan took a gulp and swished it around his mouth and spit out a brown stream and then drank deeply.

“Thanks” he told the soldier and then handed back the canteen. Bryan headed over to the rocks to find out what had happened to the LRRPs and the little stick that he had brought. One of the LRRPs had bled out but the others were now being medevacked along with the assistant machine gunner that he had brought, who apparently had a bulled smash his collar bone.

Bryan sat down on a rock and closed his eyes trying to clear his mind and relax. He felt tense, and realized that adrenaline must have been pumping because his foot was shaking wildly. Sliding down the edge of the rock he moved into a position sitting on the ground with his back propped up by the rock. Bryan leaned his head back and waited for his turn to be taken back to base.

by **Jedoria** » Mon Dec 19, 2016 10:28 am

Colonel Bădescu appraised the Chacoan general when Fuentes pointed out the neglecting of his armor. “Ah General, I was under the impression that they were not yet prepared for combat operations. But if they are, even better.” Bădescu glanced at the map on the table before looking back at the general and nodding. “Yes sir, that sounds like a good plan. It'd be best if your tanks formed up to the right flank of the advance guard to support the drive and also act as a screening force against an enemy armored attacks. In fact if that does happen, the best tactic would probably be to have your tanks pin down the rebel armor so we can maneuver our anti-tank batteries to hammer them.”

“So our advance guard will consist of the following: one battalion of naval infantry supported by a company of Jedorian light tanks and a battery of howitzers, flanked by a Chacoan armor battalion. The main body will consist of two battalions of naval infantry and two battalions of Chacoan mechanized infantry with the rest of our mobile artillery forces in tow. Air defense teams will intersperse themselves among the entire force to protect against enemy air attacks, though ideally your navy ships will prove enough to handle any aircraft thrown at us.”

Had General Fuentes expressed his annoyances publicly, even taking aside the Jedorian officer to voice his displeasure, he would've found the Jedorians nearly incapable of comprehending what exactly the General had an issue with. If pressed for an answer as to why a Colonel was briefing (And in an effect, giving orders to), the best answer he would've gotten would have been “Because we have a brigade here, and a brigade's commanding officer is usually a Colonel.”

Jedorian commissioned officers were members of a relentlessly professional organization that rewarded initiative and ingenuity but frowned upon personal ambition, preferring services that benefited the organization as a whole. Of course Jedorian officers were still people and prone to their own vices and sins, but as a result of their training they had substituted much of their former selves with the bundles of information and knowledge Jedorian officers were expected to have.

To become a Jedorian officer meant spending several years at a military academy (unless one had civilian education to match), with most officers earning the equivalent of a four year degree in one of the fields of military science as defined by the Confederate Army. Typically these were things like operations, logistics, intelligence, communications, engineering, or combat arms related. After years of schooling and military education, the Confederate Army tended mold it's officers into cookie cutter leaders of troops and formations, pressed to the same standard, drilled to the same doctrine, uniform in purpose and service. Highly educated, well trained, and utterly replaceable.

The Jedorians could afford to spend such time grooming their officers since they had well trained NCOs as well, ready to step up and issue orders when necessary, and seize the initiative in the absence of orders. Jedorian soldiers, especially the junior enlisted, were therefore more customed to dealing with and taking orders from their NCOs, and tended to equate discipline and order with their noncoms rather than their officers, most of which tended to be rather straightforward, bland makers of policies and orders with whom they didn't interact with much beyond being issued commands.

Colonel Bădescu was no exception to this rule. He, like all Jedorian officers, were trained for a simple purpose, that being to fulfill their roles in the Confederate Army, to lead soldiers into battle and organize formations and units. They were not meant to wine and dine, look pretty in parade or stand around at parties. Like the war machine they served in, they were meant for a single purpose.

The Brothers War | IC (Closed)

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