The San Javier Conflict (IC | TWI ONLY | CLOSED)

[Noronica]

Charles Darly mopped his brow while preventing himself from showing the guard next to him what he had for breakfast this morning. The ride to Constantina had been fraught with horrific driving as the car they were in hadn't been updated since the 60's and the road certainly wasn't maintained other than the blood of roadkill. Charles was used to driving around Nolon in sports cars or at least a bus on a solid road. Not this.

He was not here for the infrastructure however, he was here for the oil. His government had sent him and other oil experts to inspect the oil fields around Constantina, the geographical centre for oil in San Javier. It was simple enough, he just couldn't help but feel slightly perturbed with the fact that Noronica was looking for opportunities in the god-forsaken hellhole. Sure, he understood science, but he was no businessman or politician. Sighing, he gazed out of the window pensively, deciding to ask the driver a question that would by now get him throttled,
"Paulo? How long until we arrive?"
"Sir, I told you five minutes ago, we have another ten minutes."
Charles gave a deeper sigh and began day-dreaming of his life back home. Being an oil scientist, he enjoyed an expensive lifestyle, as he was paid handsomely by oil companies back home. Coming to San Javier was a huge jump from the high-life to rotting vegetation on an overgrown road in an outgrown car.

Charles had to hand it to the people who lived here, they were certainly bloody resilient! Paulo, a supposedly normal driver was riddled with scars and war wounds which most people here had. He had seen children with prosthetic limbs and some who carried plastic cutlery like a trained killer in the Rio Del Rosario camp. He hated this existence as it forced him to think about the poorer parts of the world, which almost always made him feel extremely uncomfortable. Instead of dwelling on it, Charles blocked the thoughts from his mind and instead took out his phone and began writing in his journal app. He needed something to distract the numbness in his backside. He began to wonder if the car actually had any suspension what so ever.

[Corindia]

New Azul Naturaleza Base Camp, Southwestern Oronas Mountain
Poma Uyananche hadn't slept for two days. Moving the camp had taken the better part of the last three days even with assistance from Corindi lifting helicopters and soldiers, and he had only been able to catch a few hours of shut-eye during a quick break in activity towards the start of the endeavor. It wasn't easy being at the apex of the chain of command.

After the death of Perido, Uyananche was quickly funneled into the position of leadership, almost as soon as Perido's name was marked on the Pared de Mártires, where all fallen Cruzadores' names were marked. Hardly a day went by when a name wasn't added to the Pared recently; things were heating up, and the footsoldiers bore the brunt of that heat. Perido's death to a presumed Vancouvian drone strike was something of a rarity. Most of the fallen were being eliminated by vanqui and Atnaian patrols, landmines, or even displaced gang members. It had put everyone on edge, and moving the camp was partially an effort to alleviate that. It was also done to avoid another drone strike, but in the backs of everyone's minds was the knowledge that they could never be safe from aerial attack in such large concentrations. Still, it was an improvement.

The new camp showed evidence of a changing Azul Naturaleza. Gone were the sprawling tents, unclean latrines, and undisciplined bars and brothels. There were Corindi pre-fab buildings and canvas tents in orderly rows, with as many trees as possible left standing to give it some camouflage. The Corindi forces, particularly Col. Trujan, had an enormous influence on the design of the new base. Uyananche accepted that it was probably better that way, but it was a stark reminder to the CGF's growing influence on the cartel. Cruzadores were being diverted from field protection to raiding and scouting at its behest, and Uyananche knew he was only made leader so quickly because he was Trujan's favored candidate.

He sighed. If this was what it took to free the Iza people, then so be it.

[Ostehaar]

A small naval port,
Southern coast of San Javier

The sea-reach of the river stretched before Nicolas like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in this wide space the sails of a medium-size barge stood out. It was an old and dusty vessel, but it served its purpose - the secure and covert delivery of around 300 Javelin anti-armour missile systems. The nearly 20 million dollar deal was one of the most complex and expensive delivery operations even done by the Osters in San Javier.

Nicolas narrowed his eyes and gazed into the horizon. "Come on!" He called out to some of the men and women around him, and gestured towards the edge of the pier. "Darse prisa," he said as the barge slowly docked, "we need to finish this and get out of here in a few hours."

Dozens of trucks and jeeps were waiting on the dirt road outside the small improvised port which the FJARDP had managed to re-open in a few days. Even Phil, with his doubts and sarcasm, was impressed with General Pedro's people. "When he really wants something," Phil admitted eventually, "he gets up and makes it happen."

It was really a pleasure to watch - a large group of San Javieran men, women, boys, and girls formed up an efficient work team and created a long chain of delivery from the boat, through the dock, and into the vehicles. In turn, each vehicle, loaded with the new missiles, raced away back into the jungle and all the way to the Fuerzas camp where General Pedro met Nicolas and Phil, south-east of Monte Rosario.

Phil himself was back in the capital, taking care of the boring financial aspects of the operation. The Javelin Deal, as they all called it now, has put the Oster team under immense pressure - before the arrival of the barge it was the fear of failure, and after its arrival it was the expectation for results. He felt as if those 20 million dollars were taken out if his own personal pocket, and as if those missiles were of his own private collection. It would be a shame to see the Fuerzas waste them. "But the General," Nicolas reminded Phil, "does what he wants... most of the time."

Nicolas' mobile phone made an annoying beeping sound which made the entire team of San Javierans slow their work for a moment and glance at the foreigner standing at the edge of the dock.

"Yeah?" He answered without checking who called, expecting to hear Phil's voice.

"I've spoken with the General," Phil said. "Of course, he's very excited and can't wait to start live testing."

Nicolas grimaced. "Live testing?"

"Yes," Phil confirmed, "he wants to start operations as soon as possible against the folks in Santa Ana, so he wants to use the first missiles against some armed patrols or mountain posts in a day or two."

"The man is crazy," Nicolas declared and nodded in discontent.

Phil chucked. "I know, man, but we gave the crazy man missiles, right?"

After a long pause, Nicolas sighed and cleared his throat. "Alright," he said, "then I should head back to the camp and make sure he doesn't do anything too stupid."

"Good. I'll be waiting to here some news about it then."

[Atnaia]

The concrete and rebar mass of the naval base had spent half a century declining into a state of rust and decay. Propped up be improvised supports of wood and steel, the entire facility had a distinctly dystopic feel heightened by the encroaching jungle that was slowly reclaiming the outer layers of the land-side defenses. Makeshift defenses had replaced what had once been something more solid: old boats had been gutted and flipped on their sides to form sloped walls around the edge of the concrete breakwaters, old ship-based weapons had been mounted to buildings and slipshod constructions, scuttled ships had been turned into a dangerous and rusted reef just below the water on the perimeter of the piers and docks, preventing all but the smallest and swiftest boats entry to the facility. Marine Sergeant Artur Alfengate had the distinct and weighty memory of a Kevin Costner film, looking at the place.

"I never got the hatred for Waterworld," he said to Sergeant Zara Yellowfield. She shrugged.

"It made nearly $300 million at the box office," she replied.

"You gotta consider that as a matter of profit margins, I guess," Artur scratched his chin. "It made like, what $90 million in profits? Still, that's not exactly a box office flop, but everyone always shits all over it."

Pirates were crawling around like wasps over their hive of scum and villainy. A swarm of ill-maintained patrol vessels skimmed out from the docks around their less-than-great barrier reefs towards the oncoming Atnaian soldiers in their puddlejumpers. There was a thud somewhere behind them and three of the pirate vessels were blown from the water and sent spiralling off to join the rusted masses below.

"I guess you gotta compare it to Mad Max, right? And Mad Max is a masterwork." Zara checked her weapons and ammo, as everyone else in the boat did.

"Well, Thunderdome and Fury Road are, sure, 'specially Fury Road," Artur mused. "Never liked the original, myself. It's real inconsistent with the tone of everything afterwards."

"Did you see it before or after Thunderdome?" Zara asked.

"After I guess," Artur replied. He racked his rifle with a click.

"Well there's your answer," Zara replied. "You gotta look at them all like stand alone pieces, not a series, and if you watch Thunderdome first you get all these preconceptions about how the first one should be. You gotta watch Road Warrior for its own merits."

"I'll take it under consideration," Artur replied. They stood and leapt over the edges of the boat and into chest deep water. They splashed towards the ramp that was their ingress point. Pirates up on the long concrete piers began taking potshots down at the platoon as they left their boats. A few Atnaians went down, but the shelling from the navy and fire from the incoming helicopters had forced most of the enemy into cover, and so the forces defending access to the base were slim. Artur and Zara climbed the ramp to the asphalt of the main base and opened fire on a crew of smugglers who were manning a mortar with the words "Dia de los Muertos" scrawled on the side in white.

"I'm just saying," Artur shouted over the gunfire, "that the imagery in Waterworld is compelling, if nothing else."

"Standard post-apocalyptic bullshit, just add water," Zara replied. A pirate twisted to the ground, his chest and arm pulped into a red and white mass of meat.

"Look around us, mate," Artur said. "It works."

Zara glanced about, caught sight of movement on the roof of a nearby building and sprayed it with fire. Off to their right, another Atnaian sighted down a marksman's rifle as he took cover behind a rusty old tugboat that was flipped on its side and took out the smuggler sniper. "Waterworld didn't have jungles and shit," she replied when that threat was dealt with. "This place is junglepunk. I don't even know if there is a word for Waterworld's style...dieselpunk is probably closest, maybe? Tankerpunk?"

"Whatever," Artur shrugged. "It's just not worth the hate it gets."

An explosion of flame engulfed a building ahead of them. There was a dull, meaty boom and a warm shockwave rolled over them. A few Atnaians retreated back, coughing in the wake of the black smoke.

"Assholes have rigged the buildings," someone shouted. "Be fucking careful."

[Ostehaar]

The largest convoy to ever leave the Fuerzas camp, a few dozens of kilometers south of Santa Ana, slowly turned on its engines. One by one, but in no particular order, the heavy jeeps roared and vibrated like a beast regaining awareness after a long sleep. Storm clouds formed far away above the southern coast. It was dusk above the Santa Ana district, and the forecast predicted heavy rains and below average temperatures.

Nicolas watched this incredible spectacle of hundreds of men and women rushing to vehicles, feeling invincible and ready to make the way northwards, their rifles loaded and face colored in black and green. Fascists, he thought, wondering how many of them are going to die. He grabbed his own weapon, and walked to his jeep. The old machine jerked into action as he turned the key, and spat out mud from underneath its wheels as Nicolas turned out of the standing convoy and drove forward. He passed a few dozens of jeeps and came to a sudden halt about a few hundreds of meters away, next to the lead vehicle.

"It's getting darker," he shouted to the young driver and pointed upwards, "and it'll probably start raining in an hour or two."

"Yes, amigo, I know," the driver replied with a surprisingly cheerful smile. "We are used to this rain, Nick," he explained.

"But so are they."

The driver laughed and did not respond. Nicolas left the man laughing behind, sped up and drove from the camp. His destination was a hill south of Santa Ana, where he would coordinate the first stages of the assault.

The rain started to pour, and thunderclaps were heard in the distance. The Fuerzas convoy began its night drive to battle. Hundreds of pairs of wheels struggled to disengage from the wet mud that soaked the camp, and gradually increased their speed. Within minutes, About a thousand soldiers were on their way in constant speed. Some of the vehicles didn't carry troops, but piles of the advanced anti-armor missiles that were delivered merely two weeks earlier, their launchers, and more supplies and ammunition.

Alberto sat nervously in one of those supply trucks. The rain smashed hard against the iron plates that protected the equipment and created a constant white noise that erased all other background sounds, such as those of the other trucks. A thunder echoed through his bones once in a while, reminding him how deeply involved he is, and the danger that awaits him near the city. The missiles shook in their crates and banged against each other with every road bump, and Alberto kept fearing they would detonate and raise him and the driver up to the sky in flames.

About an hour later the vehicles approached the city from the south, but it was still not within view. The jeeps slowed down and turned the lights off, until some of them stopped completely. They had to wait for the green light to proceed into the city.

---

FJARDP camp south of Santa Ana,
A few days earlier

Nicolas pushed open the wooden door to General Pedro's cabin.

"Oh, good," the General raised his hands sideways in greeting, "I was just telling them about what you said to me."

Three men in Fuerzas uniform, who sat in front of the General, turned to look at Nicolas and nodded slightly. One of them smiled politely. On the table between them was an old map of the Santa Ana district, scarred from years of planning. Pieces of its edges were torn, and holes were forming along its fold lines.

Nicolas approached the bunch. "You mean, the Aparo thing? The hill south of Santa Ana?" He pointed at a certain spot on the map which was clearly a strategic high ground with clear view of most of the city.

"Yes," Pedro replied firmly. "I think it's a good addition to the plan, and the friends here agree, right?" The three nodded in agreement. Pedro took a pencil and marked the hill on the map.

"General," Nicolas said, "I came to say I just returned from a short scout south of the city with some of your men. The place is a bit different from what you see on the map, so the guys should be aware of that. The city is larger compared to its size ten years ago, and its suburbs reach the lower parts of Aparo hill."

"It's alright, amigo," General Pedro said, "we still have a few more days to finish the plan and ready the troops. The units that will go with you up on the hill will be under your responsibility, so I'm sure you'll manage. I'm going with the main force from the south-west, and Rico here," he gestured at one of the uniformed men, "is responsible for the assault from the south-east. I'm still not sure who should lead the attack from the west."

"Or if there should be an attack from the west," Nicolas added.

The General sighed. "We talked about this, amigo," he said, "we should have at least a small force to engage from the west. A unit or two, maybe... but something."

---

The road to Santa Ana, south Aparo hill,
A few minutes before the beginning of the assault

Helicopter blades sliced through the thick jungle air, heavy with moisture and the scent of the dense vegetation. The rhythmic sound reverberated in the ears of the troops inside. Although outnumbered, one advantage the FJARDP had over The People's Army of San Javier, which controlled Santa Ana - was that they had more helicopters.

The metal birds moved swiftly above the waiting convoy, signaling the start of the attack. Men and Women of the Fuerzas cheered as the jeeps woke up to life again.

Alberto heard the cheers and the sound of engines starting, and shivers went down his spine. He made sure his weapon was loaded and cocked it. This is it, he thought as the truck he was in began moving forward as well. A muffled explosion was heard from within the city, as well as roars of engines as jeeps sped sideways away from the main road. Another explosion was heard, and then another one - much closer this time.

The rain became heavier and created a masking layer of mist around the city. The truck driver knocked hard on the wall of the back cabin. "Now!" he shouted in Spanish to those inside, "We're in! We're in!"

Alberto reacted almost robotically, as if he was programmed to the task. He stood up and reached for a create, opened it and began assembling a missile into a launcher. As he finished, he heard himself shouting to another man to grab more missiles and follow him outside. Another explosion echoed around... Or was it a thunderclap?

Jumping out of the truck onto the muddy ground, Alberto could finally see the battle. The first apocalyptic images of charging men, gunfire and helicopters were burnt into his mind. He could notice Fuerzas squads running down in the high grass and between the bushes into the southern outskirts of the city, throwing themselves between small houses into the wet streets. Suddenly he heard a bursting sound of detonation from above, and turned his head in time to see several missiles being launched from Aparo hill into the city. Yes! he thought to himself, they captured the hill! His initial shock gradually faded and he became the soldier he was supposed to be.

"Berto!" His partner called from behind. He responded by gesturing forward and advancing, keeping his one hand on the rifle and the other securing the missile launcher in place on his back. His partner followed, carrying a large backpack full of missiles. They ran through the heavy rain of both water and bullets, and joined the many other squads which stormed the suburbs.

The Communist defenses in the southern suburbs were no match for the combined assault by ground forces and helicopters, accompanied by barrages of accurate missile fire. Post after post, they took losses and retreated. Residents of these neighborhoods fled their homes in masses, creating a surge of wet and scared civilians from the south into the city center. Some couldn't leave in time and were buried under the rubble of their home. Some were shot in the back when Fuerzas fighters sprayed bullets indiscriminately into groups consisting of both civilians and Communist guerrillas.

Within an hour, the Fuerzas had advanced about a kilometer into Santa Ana from the south. The secondary efforts from the south-east and from the west were also successful, but to a lesser extent, and a stalemate developed along several streets close to the city's outskirts.

The battle for Santa Ana had begun.

[Athara Magarat]

Santa Ana

The sounds of massive explosions reached every ear in Santa Ana. The city was being pounded by a barrage of missile fire and attack from helicopters. The communists took cover on whatever was available for them. They were fighting on the southern frontline to rescue the civilians there.

"Dammit! Never thought we would be attacked so soon." A SOAR guy looking through his pair of binoculars spoke as others listened to his info. "The missiles are coming from that hill over there."

"Aparo hill." One of the back-up communist guerrillas muttered.

The brown-haired SOAR guy in his 30s, Henry Whitewash, scanned the battlefield. He could see the communist guerrillas and Dragon Faction members on ground guiding civilians to the town center. He could the hopelessness on their face. Their houses reduced to rubble. Their family and friends dead. Most of the civilians had sustained injuries from the explosions and gunfire and were being carried by the helpers. The terror group members and child soldiers of the communist party had knowledge of first aid were applying it to the needy. This was a moment of total despair, something a SOAR guy like him wasn't used to seeing. Although an Athara Magarati citizen, he had grown up and studied in Coldwater and that was how he got into links with radical friends. He was one of the senior members of the local SOAR cell in Myagdi Island (as such he worked more for AMI than for SOAR's main agendas) while working as a freelance journalist as well.

Most of the fighting was taking place in the south where large amount of communist guerrillas were engaging the unknown enemy. These enemy were not government dogs for sure. They had no uniform but their weaponry was something to be reckoned with. Perhaps they were some other faction supported by some powerful foreign nation trying to control San Javier or else there was no explaining the flashy missiles and aerial attacks from helicopters.

In the south-east, the heavily-armed Talvaar al-Islamiya (easily recognized by their Mujahideen outfit) and some Dragon Faction members were stopping the enemy from advancing further. Henry saw one of the Sunni Muslim boys firing a RPG and an another explosion followed as his friends covered him with gunfire from their AK-47s and machine guns. The RPG guy was now preparing to fire another round.

Henry reported the situations in the south and south-east and moved to the western front. His fellow SOAR friends were there along with Merrit Isle Liberation Front fighters and some Dragon Faction people. They had done a nice job by digging up the trenches. The SOAR and Merrit Isle Liberation Front fighters stood less than hundred meters away from the trenches where the shorter Thakali warriors were hiding with naked kukri knives, some of them dual-wielding them. As as the enemy forces advanced, they were fired upon by the SOAR and the Merritians. Most died from their gunfire. Those who survived tried to run forward into the trenches for their safety where they got hacked by the curved blades of the wicked kukri knives.

"Fools! Diving into an enemy trench? Then again, the SOAR and the Merritians have done a great job by digging such long trenches in a short amount of time. They have made it such that it is impossible to come here from the western side without crossing the trenches." Henry reported as he continued scanning the battlefield. He was reminded by one of the guerrillas that captured security forces and bodyguards of the deceased mayor of Santa Ana had been forced to help SOAR and the Merritians with the trenches.

Less and less number of enemies were appearing at the south-eastern and the western sides where they only met death, thus stalling the advance and maintaining communist control in Santa Ana for the time being. Henry heaved a sigh of relief as most of the civilians had been evacuated from the south to the central areas. More communist guerrillas were being sent to the southern front by Lia Blasco, the new communist governor of Santa Ana. She also sent a few members of the terror groups who had RPGs and heavy machine guns aside from rifles.

Henry thought for a while. How long was this battle going to take place? This battle for Santa Ana. To him it seemed a long and precious moment had been taken away from him. Why was he even fighting here? Who were the "anti-Atnaian forces" fighting? Surely these were not Atnaian troops or the government forces. Once again he decided to have a better look at the battlefield and continue reporting the status to others while getting a clear view of the enemy to know who they were.

[Covonant]

Agustin

Following days of travelling down to the southern part of San Javier, and after facing terrible roads, night stops at run down motels, Sam Gentis finally arrived at Agustin. It was a rat nest of a walled city Sam thought to himself but it was still properly fortified and had a seemingly good network of defense in place. Sam was expecting to meet a man who went by the alias Mandamas which when translated means Top Dog. Mandamas was to be Sam's escort to the leader of the Anliana drug cartel Tania "Madre" Anliana.

Sam did not know how Mandamas looked but he saw a man standing by the gate leading inside the wall that fits the description. The man was tall slightly built and looked to be around the age of 21. Sam was told to walk by and to speak in a code. Sam did just that when he saw the man.

"Who shot the Sheriff? I shot the Sheriff" Sam said as he walked towards the man. At that instant the man whistled allowing Sam to know that he is the one. They entered the gates together. As they entered they did not exchange any words as the man led him to the leader.

They walked a good distance and came up to a large villa that was surrounded with guards. Sam was led inside the villa where he was ordered to stop in the foyer/entrance hall.

"Wait here. Madre will see you when she is ready" notified Mandamas.

"She" Sam whispered to himself.

He was surprised as he was expecting a man to be leading. Sam was not misogynistic, or so he allowed himself to believe but he thought with so an illegal industry a woman would shy away from such dealings.

Sam waited for roughly 8 hours for Madre to allow him passage to see her.

"Come this way, Madre is expecting you now and she doesn't like to wait" ordered Mandamas.

"Finally the Queen is finally ready" Sam muttered under his breath.

He was escorted to a large room that looked like it could have been a banquet hall. Madre was seated at the top of the room. Sam briskly made his way up, walking behind Mandamas who was to properly introduce Sam.

"Sam Gentis of Covonant Madre. He comes bearing interesting words." Mandamas noted as he introduced Sam.

"And what are these words you say are interesting Senor Gentis." Asked Madre

"Well Maam, Sam expressed as he looked in Madre's face." Madre was young around the age of 28, Sam was 34 so a few years older. He couldn't help but find himself attracted to her.

"Madre. I am not a queen. I am a drug lord. Cut the formalities and get to it." the Madre reminded in a orderly tone. Her demeanour and approached made Sam fall for her even more. He enjoyed a woman who had a little bossiness in her.

"Well Madre, I am here on private matters, where powerful men in Covonant are willing to assist you in protecting your goods and your men and yourself. I am news that in coming days, your operations may be under siege by individuals that want a share in your profits. Powerful influential people in Covonant can supply you with high tech modern weapons, finances, anything you want. You can have it. But they want a supply of the poppies on a one off of course." Explained Sam.

Madre flickered her fingernails as she thought of a response. I find it hard to believe that they would give me all those goodies just for a one time supply of my drugs. Why should I trust that?" Asked Madre.

"Because you have no choice but to trust it. You just have to go with your guts on this one." Sam expressed.

"Well until then, you will remain here under surveillance until that deal has ended. You can send word to your boss back home that I accept, but any pussyfooting around with the deal, I will be sure to kill you and have your bosses no matter how many, receive a piece of you as a token that I am not one to be fucked with. Guards don't let him out of your sight." Madre ordered.'

Sam was a man that had mastered the art of not showing his emotions. He however knew that his mission had become harder as he needed to find a way to get to the leader of the Azul Naturaleza.

The guards esorted him to a room that had no windows, in fact it was more resembled to a cellar than anything else.

"I guess this will do for now." Sam assured himself as he knew he had been through worst before and can anticipate more bullshit approaching.

[Atnaia]

"Jesus Christ, LaBelle," the General rubbed tired eyes. "This is what you call success?"

LaBelle cleared his throat and grabbed his glass of water. "I suppose I would call it...a qualified success, sir."

"I'd call it diddling yourself to pass the time," the General said. "You're like a twelve year old who just discovered masturbation and doesn't have any other toys."

LaBelle coughed into his glass of water. The General watched as LaBelle composed himself. Finally, the young commander spoke. "Sir. I don't know what you mean."

"Digging ditches? Attacking a practically useless naval base?"

"The second one wasn't my call," said LaBelle. "However, I do stand by it. With some maintenance, that base is going to let us have a proper air and naval platform."

"Credit where its due, I suppose," the General said grudgingly. General William Gaesel was a man in his late middle age, with a trim beard and skin pockmarked by some long-gone pox or skin disorder. It was the same sort of scarring one might get from an explosion of shrapnel or birdshot in the face, and LaBelle sometimes wondered if that was what it really was. The General wore his severe gray uniform, although his hat sat on the desk in front of him, revealing his retreating hairline. The man had the predatory gaze of a shark with blood in the water.

The General had arrived earlier that day, with some of the extra Atnaian troops, and immediately everything had gone to shit for LaBelle. He had immediately recognized that this man didn't like him and, worse yet, didn't respect him. LaBelle didn't know where the immediate hostility had come from, but it was palpable. The worst thing was that it mattered. Gaesel was not a mindless military drone, an empty uniform who had made his way up the ranks through shmoozing. When LaBelle looked at him, he instinctively mentally layered the image of a medieval man-at-arms over the General's body: chainmail, greatsword, fur cloak, gauntlets. The man had the blood of the warrior in him, and that meant that, whatever his intelligence was, he wasn't stupid. He likely had the cunning of the predator or of the carrion bird inside him.

And now he levelled his shark-black eyes on LaBelle and found the prey wanting for quality. The General licked his lips. "I will say this," he said. "You haven't completely mucked everything up. You didn't go charging off into jungles, and the connection with the Vancs is solid. Could have been worse. But I do have to wonder, how the hell did this happen without you being there to head it off?"

The General tossed a green folder across the desk and LaBelle swept it up as deftly as he could. Flipping it open, he saw a report on Santa Ana and the battle that had begun there. "Sir," he said. "Intelligence in these regards is..."

The General shook his head. "This isn't about intelligence," he said. "It's about logic. Santa Ana is the nearest damn thing the Communists have to a capital. Our arrival has been like hitting a beehive with a stick...have you seen all the activity that's buzzed up? It was only a matter of time before someone got it in their head to swarm the place. And I assure you, Santa Ana is only the start. A...test run? No, a prototype of the war that will happen. And without out presence, its all going to go to shit."

"Sir, we can't pull troops off the roads," LaBelle said. "We have a deal with..."

"With the Javies, right? With Zamora?" The General asked. "I like Zamora, but he played you like a damn fiddle, and as a result Santa Ana is going to turn into a meat grinder. Do we really need another Port Hell on this island?"

The silence lingered for a moment. The General broke it with a sigh. "I'm sending all of our new troops to try and restore order to Santa Ana. We need a status quo, not a clusterfuck. You will retain your troops on highway patrol and oversee that."

LaBelle sputtered. That wasn't fair. He was a battlefield commander. He should be on the battlefield. "Sir..." he started.

The General's eyes became hard specks of stone. His body tensed like a lion ready to pounce. "Unless," he said, "unless you want to give up any command and go into the battle as befits your rank? That can be organized."

LaBelle knew a balancing moment was in front of him, and it was his choice to set the scales to fall one way or the other. Would he consign himself to command and boredom, or a fight he would almost surely die in. What would get Gaesel's respect? What would win him the accolades when he went home? Every time he watched Atnaian TV lately, that Worthington guy was on talk shows, calling for unity and Atnaian values. He had won his time in the limelight on the battlefields in Taziristan. Would the same happen for LaBelle?

He shifted. "Sir," he said. "I respectfully ask to be allowed involvement in the Battle of Santa Ana."

Gaesel showed no sign of reaction. "It will be done."

[Athara Magarat]

Night

Santa Ana

The higher-ups in the People's Army of San Javier were assessing the situation of the day and discussing further strategy with the foreign helpers. The city of Santa Ana was in a dead silence. It had been easy wresting the control from the weak central government forces. Now it seemed some strong right-wing faction (other communist faction would have allied with them whereas the drug cartels would not have dared to attack) was trying to capture Santa Ana. Located at the foot of mountains and isolated from the government's reach, the little city had its advantages.

"We have to sharper than ever. It was a tough shit today." Brenda Collazo said in Spanish as she and her squadmates remained sentry for the night at the dangerous southern side where both sides had suffered the most casualties during the day as most of the fighting had taken place there. "If things go like this... And we don't even know why those foreigners are helping us. God knows what they told the higher-ups."

It was then that Andrés Gaona told her to shut her mouth, handed her a cigarette and to enjoy the smoke. The squad enjoyed their smoke, maintaining silence and in their mind, the enemy would not attack at this time.

At exactly 10:00, they were relived of the sentry duty by another squad. Finally gonna get some sleep, thought Brenda. She watched her squadmates trot forward while yawning. Their yawns disappeared as they neared the city center. A huge crowd of guerrillas, foreign fighters (the terror groups) and civilians had gathered and people were cheering. Youths, elderly, children, men and women were all present in the crowd.

"What's going on here? Why so loud?" Andrés asked a teenage boy.

"There's an awesome fight going over there. A new guy showed up and beat down some of these foreigners without changing his weird stance!" The boy replied statically. "But he doesn't appear to an enemy. He seems to one of those foreign fighters as well. Maybe reinforcement."

"Then why the hell are they fighting?"

"Who knows? It's getting more crowded. We must go in front."

Andrés followed the boy as they pushed through the crowd. Brenda and the others in the squad had no other choice than to follow them. Like the boy had said, there was a short tanned man in a weird stance standing still. His feet were at least two shoulders apart and his thighs were parallel to the ground. Around him, were half a dozen of the foreign fighters lying in the ground in pain. A couple of them even looked like they had been knocked out.

"Next!" the guy in weird stance shouted.

A man with a dragon tattoo on his left hand and wielding a kukri stepped forward. "Wow! It's that wicked sword!" Brenda heard several people in the crowd mutter. It's not a sword you idiots!

"My friends recklessly rushed at you unarmed. You are no ordinary guy it seems. They said something like you being the White Tiger" The kukri wielder swung his weapon in the cold night air. "I don't know who you are but I have faith that my partner and I can bring you down of your Khas Style Horse Stance. It's an honor to see a non-Khas (look at your angular eyes) using that style to great effect."

With that, the kukri wielder charged forward and thrust it forward. Brenda didn't know what made her say it aloud but she was shouting, "Look out!" to the the weird stance guy. Obviously the guy could have dodged that attack without her warning shout. The guy tilted his head and was out of the kukri's way without moving his lower body. Then he caught the kukri wielder's arm with his left hand. He next did something Brenda had once once seen in a TV. He shaped his right hand like a snake and delivered swift attacks on the kukri wielder's arms and torso. The attacked man dropped his kukri and he himself fell on the ground and joined his friends who had dared to attack the man in weird stance.

The defeated man spoke painfully. "Such powerful strikes...from Kirant Mundhum Serprent Fist..."

The crowd cheered and applauded at the martial arts fight. "Amazing!" "If I could do that!" You can never do that, you idiots! Just who the heck is this guy? I feel like we all have been transported to a different time and place. Brenda gaped at the aftermath of the quick fight.

"Next!"

The man in stance shouted to the foreign fighters who quickly sheathed back their kukri knives and backed a few steps. Their faces told that they like Brenda thought the guy was insane whereas the idotic crowd was enjoying the fights.

Suddenly the man in stance shielding himself by crossing his arms. In an instant, a leg was against the stance man. The new attacker had pale skin, brown hair and other typical Atnian features. A pair of binoculars hung in the attackers neck.

"Wait, isn't that?" the foreign fighters and several guerrillas came to recognize whom the legs belonged to.

"That's right, it's me Henry Whitewash. SOAR. A born hater of empires. For now your binocular dude."

The man in stance spoke up, "Well Henry Whitewash. That's some good Atnaian martial arts you have. Managed to push me by five centimeters."

Five centimeters?! You are insane! Brenda was getting more and more confounded. But the other in the crowd were attentively listening to the conversation.

"Thank you. You are a tough guy. Beating up more than half a dozen trained fighters without moving. I know Scabbenschilde, Nitblad and Atgrappen, three major Atnaian martial arts so I won't be going down within seconds like them."

"So be it-"

"Cut it out, you two!" roared a large voice and the crowd gave way for old man Kaji Man Sherchan, the leader of the Dragon Faction party on Santa Ana. He was followed by Lia Blasco, the new communist governor of Santa Ana and Natalie Darkwall and Mehtap Demir. "Stop the fighting you fools. You better get away from him, Whitewash. That guy is a master of almost a hundred different martial arts style so he also knows your fighting techniques and ways to counter it. And welcome to Santa Ana, White Tiger."

The guy called White Tiger opened his arms as Henry had his legs once again on the ground. Kaji Man immediately shook hands with the martial artist followed by Lia Blasco. Mehtap and Natalie shook hands with him uneasily whereas Henry just shrugged off.

The Dragon Faction members were whispering among themselves. "Did you see our chief shaking hands with that guy?" "He must be damn good and someone of high-level. Even the leaders of other groups are intimidated by him."

Lia Blasco cleared her throat. "Mr White Tiger here is a special operative of the Dragon Faction, He has been sent here to well...teach martial arts to the civilians to defend themselves. If you want, even members of the People's Army of San Javier can learn close-quarters fighting techniques from him although it would not be all that appropriate for a war like ours."

With that, White Tiger was escorted away to the quarters of the leaders of the foreign fighters. The foreign fighters followed them whereas the huge crowd of guerrillas and civilians dispersed to their places. As Brenda joined her squadmates all she had in mind was if she could ever do something like the White Tiger had done.

---

Secret Room

The closed room was almost soundproof. It was in one of the few tall buildings still intact after the attacks by the right-wing paramilitaries. Several members of the terror groups were in the room, all eyes upon the White Tiger.

"What?! He is from the army?!" many junior members of the terror groups expressed their disbelief.

"That's right. I was a born soldier." The man named White Tiger spoke. "My father's family have been soldiers or more specifically Gurkhas for seven generations. My mother's family for three generations. My great-grandmother was one of the first female Gurkhas. My sister is a the platoon of female Gurkhas guarding the queen of Perawin. But I didn't feel like fighting for some foreign nation. My loyalty lies to Athara Magarat but currently I am working for AMI (that's why I have this flashy name) - more specifically for Majipa. My squad is somewhere in this island or even maybe in this town with the bastard demon. That Skanekä flight attendant named Red Fox was one of the several hostages rescued by Athara Magarati and Covonantian soldiers."

"I hate to admit this but that demon sent this guy to coerce me into this mission." Natalie Darkwall spoke without even looking at White Tiger.

"Same here, this guy defeated me countless times." Kaji Man Sherchan sighed. "He has mastered almost all Athara Magarati martial arts styles and foreign ones as well. This guy can beat you to death in a hundred ways without a weapon."

"That's right!" smirked White Tiger. "I will be blunt. The reason why Majipa sent me here was to keep an eye on you people while teaching martial arts to these folks as a side-job. Now, can I get my bed please? I am very tired."

A woman from Talvaar al-Islamiya wearing headscarf led White Tiger out of the secret room who bade "Good night!" to everyone before leaving.

"I feel like we have walked into hell a hundred times multiplied." Someone muttered and everyone in the room seemed to agree.

[Ostehaar]

South of Santa Ana,
The next morning

Nicolas marched between two dense rows of lying wounded soldiers, their feet soaked with a mix of mud and blood, and their jackets and jeans partially torn and burnt. They were a group of about twenty 'elite' troops he had trained himself, who fell victim to an RPG salvo near the front lines in the south-western neighborhoods of Santa Ana. Some of them were groaning in pain on the ground and some managed to pull themselves up to sit on empty ammunition crates, waiting for a ride to the nearest Fuerzas camp for basic medical treatment.

Nicolas didn't even glance at them, but instead walked straight to General Pedro, who was standing above a small plastic table with a map of the city. The General's dirty face testified that he had recently returned from a visit to the city, and his contemplative gaze suggested that he was ready to reconsider the tactical plan.

"General," Nicolas called to him as he approached, "why were my Locos sent there? I thought we agreed that -"

"I had no choice, Amigo," the General interrupted, "I needed more men. These pendejos are cutting my troops with knives!"

Thakali warriors, Nicolas thought. "This is what I told you about an assault from the west, man," he said, gesturing to the general direction of the city, "they've brought fucking Thakalis over there, along with Merritian wackos. What did you think was going to happen?"

"I know, I know," Pedro said, waving his hands dismissively at Nicolas. "I still think it was a good move. We forced them to consider all fronts a threat. I have been fighting against the comunistas for years, my friend. I know what works."

"These are not just communists, but more like a perverted mix of communists, anarchists, and jihadists," Nicolas explained. "Sending Los Locos to their front was a waste of talented soldiers which I spent almost a year training. You're actually lucky that they only took an RPG and weren't completely hacked like the others! Next time, General Pedro, please, for the love of god, let me take the people I trained to battle, or at least let me direct them myself." Nicolas finished his short scolding with his eyes fixed on the General's, breathing steadily.

After a few moments of tense silence, Pedro sighed and looked away at the moaning bunch of troops next to them. "You are right, Amigo," he conceded.

"Alright," Nicolas replied. Another helicopter passed above them, and an explosion was heard from within the city. "I think we should proceed with the plan for now, but we should start worrying about a counter-offensive in the south. I have some ideas regarding points five, six, and seven on the map..."

The two delved into the thin piece of paper on the table. Behind them, two trucks arrived to take the wounded Locos back to camp.

---

Central Santa Ana,
Same time

Most of the missiles launched during the initial night offensive were directed at force concentrations and specific locations in the southern areas of the city, where the Fuerzas made their primary push. As they advanced northwards through the empty streets, they encountered less and less damaged buildings, and more sporadic movement of citizens, rushing from building to building away from potential hot spots.

By that time, the Fuerzas had managed to clear the large concentrations of communist forces from much of the southern part of the city. They knew that small communist groups might still be hiding around, waiting for the right time to engage, and they knew about the threat of attacks by the Mujahideen in the south-eastern neighborhoods. Still, some squads were ordered to advance forward into the city center, with the belief that capturing it might demoralize the enemy.

Alberto was with one of these squads. During the early hours of the morning he and his squad took a short break from the fighting and entered a recently abandoned apartment, to make some food and rest. When the sun reached about a third of its maximum height and buildings four or five floors tall still cast their shadow on the surrounding streets, they left the apartment and went out to a back alley behind the building. They walked to the corner of that alley and a medium-size street, and glanced around.

"Your turn," one of Alberto's squad mates announced, gesturing towards the open street. "Juan did it last time, so now it's you." He smirked nonchalantly.

Alberto murmured some curse word under his breath, loaded a full magazine into his rifle and cocked it, and approached the edge of the street corner. As he was trained, he pressed the side of the barrel against the edge of the corner, initially pointing it perpendicular to the sidewalk, towards the other side of the street. Slowly, while scanning the nearby windows and stepping ever so slightly into the open, he turned his body and his aim in an arc movement until his barrel pointed directly down the street.

A few dozens of meters away from them he saw a small roundabout, exposed to the sun and surrounded by buildings. He saw no movement up front... only a lonely black cat crossing the dusty road. Some papers and dry leaves were floating near the ground around due to short wind gusts, and a car laid blackened and twisted where it had been hit.

"Shit," Alberto said to himself almost soundlessly.

"What?" Juan asked from the back.

"The street is completely empty and silent," Alberto replied. It usually meant something was going to happen. Shit, he repeated in his mind, before he turned back into the alley they were in, and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Let's go."

Alberto jumped into the open street, exposing himself to hundreds of potential threats all around, and ran as fast as he could towards the other side, where he crashed against a half-open wooden door of what used to be a drugstore. As he did that, he heard a thud from the direction of the roundabout, followed by a high pitched whistle. He turned around to shout to his squad mates to get away when an explosion knocked him backwards further into the store and blasted soot and dust at him.

He forced himself to get up and crawled to where the wooden door used to be. The part of the building where his squad was waiting collapsed and crumbled into the street, and the torn bodies of two of his squad mates were thrown around in puddles of blood. His other mates retreated backwards a bit as heavy gunfire landed at them from down the street. Alberto remained crawling and brought himself as forward as he could to see the source of the attack, without exposing himself more than necessary. He returned fire towards what he thought was a sniper firing from a window beyond the roundabout. Some of his bullets hit around the window, scattering tiny dust clouds into the air. It resulted in a short pause of the assault, which he used to pick himself up and skip a bit forward to a better position.

Meanwhile, his squad mates regrouped and began returning fire themselves, suppressing the incoming enemy fire for a few moments at a time. Alberto signaled to them to skip forward and gestured to a better position down the street.

A moment later Alberto noticed that the enemy was taking fire from another direction, and an RPG suddenly burst out of a window next to the one he was firing at. The rocket flew to a place out of his line of sight, towards what he figured was another friendly squad. His squad mates noticed this as well. Using eye contact and a few nods, they coordinated their movement to the roundabout, skipping between closer and closer positions along the building wall and using suppressive fire every few seconds. Even though the enemy was taking fire from two directions, it took Alberto's squad about ten minutes to advance roughly a hundred meters.

Juan, one of Alberto's squad mates, was the first to reach close the building on the other side of the roundabout. He darted towards it and broke into the front entrance. Another one of his squad mates followed behind, shooting above at the enemy window as he crossed the roundabout. Bursts of gunfire were heard from within the building, and then two loud grenade explosions. Alberto and his squad mates stopped firing at the building and waited.

Another RPG was launched from the building, hitting about ten meters away from Alberto and flinging some more dust at him. In an automatic reaction he sprayed the enemy apartment with bullets and retreated back to a position farther away. Another RGP was fired, this time towards the other friendly squad.

"Shit!" He spat out as he turned to his squad mates, "they must be many up there and heavily armed. They got us pinned down."

One of the guys nodded in agreement. "We'd have to return here with missiles to take this place down."

"Nah," Alberto replied, "there's no use. They'd be anywhere but here by the time we return, and will probably surprise other teams in other places. The best we can do now is to keep them busy until they run out of ammunition."

[Athara Magarat]

Central Santa Ana

"Fuck this shit! Fuck these damned shitheads! Fuck everything!" A guerrilla from the People's Army of San Javier dropped several cluster F-words as he kept firing his AK-47. The mood among the defenders was not good. Just yesterday night they had been enjoying a martial arts fight in Santa Ana and now the enemy had reached the central areas. "Can't believe those shitheads took over the south. Just a few days ago we had total control over this city and its outskirts and now this!"

"Don't worry my friend, God is in our side." The Muslim man next to him was calmly loading the RPG. From his facial expressions, it looked as if the guerrilla was saying "Fuck your God as well." but not a sound came.

"This infidels are good fighters." A female fighter from the Talvaar al-Islamiya manning the heavy machine gun spoke. "We have got several squads of them on the streets."

"Reinforcements should arrive soon." An older guerrilla spoke up. "HQ has told us to not let them move any further from here. Stop wasting the heavy weapons now they say."

They continued with their gunfire against the enemy. They fired as soon as they spotted someone. The man who had been using the RPG spotted a couple of the enemy fighters roaming freely. He stood up so he could fire more accurately. Immediately the man dropped down on the floor.

"Check his pulse!" The F-word dropper guerrilla panicked.

"Sniper fire?" Someone questioned.

"I am alright." The Muslim man coughed and slowly woke up. "They must have either a bad sniper or no sniper rifle." He had his hand pressed on his left shoulder. "It was only grazed. God is indeed on our side. Allahu Akbar!" He smiled at his comrades.

"Yep! God is on our side. The reinforcements have arrived." The older guerrilla said as he peered outside. "A platoon of Akari and Thakali fighters from Dragon Faction are now fighting near the roundabout. SOAR fighters on are everywhere on the street. The enemy are being pushed back for now."

"We must get you to the medics, my friend." The F-word dropper lent his hands and carried the injured Muslim on his shoulder. The team got out of the building. The street was all clear now. No more enemy fighters withing range. They could see the SOAR silently firing their rifles whereas the Akari and Thakali fighters were charging forward in the roundabout with their war cries. Forget guns, they were charging forward with their axes and kukri knives and even using Akari martial arts and Athara Magarati martial arts Thakali styles on their completely terrified and frozen opponents.

"We will join them. You people go ahead." The female Muslim fighter told as she and a few others who had come out of the building joined the SOAR fighters on the streets. A SOAR squad commander was shouting, "You people were wasting RPG and heavy machine gun fire on these small fries?! They are just boys with guns. Look at these wussies. Completely terrified by our sudden arrival that they can't even move while being shot, hacked, pierced or beat to death! Ha!"

"There were many of them when we were fighting. You are just in more numbers than them." The older guerrilla tried to reason.

"Yeah! Whatever! Get the injured dude to the medics! Stop wasting your time here." And so, the older guerrilla and the F-word dropper carrying the injured Muslim fighter ran in the opposite direction from the fighting. Santa Ana had not fallen yet. The central areas were being taken back which was a good thing for the future of San Javier.

[Corindia]

The Southwestern Oronas Mountains, San Javier

---

Colonel Trujan had hoped that things heating up in Santa Ana would lead to a deescalation on the western half of the island as forces pivoted towards the conflict, but this had proven to be wishful thinking. Tensions were high, both within the Corindi soldiers and the Azul Naturaleza, and an almost apocalyptic sense of dread seemed to have settled over the base.

And things were going to get a whole lot tenser. Corindi investigators at the scene of Valos Perido's death had determined that it was likely the top man himself who was selling off weapons and sending cruzados to their deaths. This information hadn't been released yet, but it wasn't going to stay hidden forever. Poma Uyananche had already been called, and both he and the Colonel knew perfectly well that they were going to have to start - replacing - some of Peridos' men.

Once the word got out that the leadership was being purged of corrupt influence, things were going to be awfully unstable for a very long time, and there was no way of knowing for sure whether they would always have the local cruzados' support. Uyananche was popular, but he was appointed by Perido too, and the idealistic young men might just as easily latch on to him as the enemy.

As bad as things were about to get, Trujan could take comfort in something; they weren't getting bogged down in Santa Ana along with the rest of the Island. If there was one thing about the Azul Naturaleza he respected, it was their ability to avoid climactic battles by disappearing into the land and blending into the Iza peasantry. It was what had made the western portion of San Javier so inhospitable to the Congressional and Communist forces decades ago. When their armies came, they were not met with pitched battle, but with incessant guerrilla strikes and IEDs.

An aide approached with a bundle of printouts in laminated manila folders.

"More on Santa Ana? Surely the fighting has calmed down somewhat"

"There's a status report and a reevaluation of the communist forces committed to the battle, but that's not what the bulk of it is. It's about Verido, Sir"

"Christ, what else did that cabrón do? Let me see"

Technicians had finally cracked the hard-drive to Verido's work station that was found buried half-destroyed in debris and soil two days ago. It had confirmed what the investigators already knew. Manifests of stolen weapon shipments, secret poppy farms and production facilities, and most importantly, an incomplete list of names of Azul Naturaleza officers were found, among many other files. At the top of the list was Poma Uyananche. As Col. Trujan looked over the list, he began to piece together that it was the officers who had not been corrupted. Several men whose names were crossed had met their end to ambushes and missile strikes, and almost none were in the drug production and selling wing of the cartel.

It looked like the purge had gotten that much simpler.

[Athara Magarat]

"Arise! Noble demon."

Majipa smiled as he woke up. It was weird that someone was calling his name. It was even weirder that he was now next to a pond instead of the abandoned secret building somewhere in Santa Ana where he was hiding and checking the progress of the Peoople's Army of San Javier and the terror groups he had sent.

He saw the reflection of the moon shining in the water surface and looked at it to see a handsome demon with a blue and a green eyes staring back at him. He smiled. "These demon eyes of mine." He liked being called a demon. Then he realized that there was someone else there calling his name.

"What are you afraid of, Majipa? Why don't you jump into the pond to find us?" It was getting weirder and weirder. The voice (which sounded like several people speaking at the same time) was calling his code-name and asking him to dive into the water. Majipa didn't know what it was but the next moment he was diving into the pond on his clothes.

The dream got even surreal as he could now breathe underwater. The pond was deeper and larger than any lake he had ever seen. Majipa wondered if the pond had somehow gotten bigger.

Then he saw the great ones who had called him there. There were hundreds of them swimming around him in circles but the nearest ones to him were four people who were standing still in the water like him: three men and one woman.

The old man nearest to him was carrying a wooden staff on which a great eagle was perched. He was in traditional dress of a Pun man. The next man was middle-aged and foreign and the other man had sharp angles in his eyes and was carrying a trident and a snake was positioned in his neck. The woman meanwhile had a face more beautiful than any Kirati model while dressed in garments of a Kirat girl. Majipa instantly recognized who these people were: Karpake Baba (the ancestor god of Pun tribe), Baln (the prophet from Atnaia), Paru Hang (the Kirati god of heaven and wars) and Yuma (the supreme mother goddess of Kiratis).

"We have been observing you." Yuma whispered.

"Destroyer." Paru Hang addressed Majipa. "A demon walking a noble path even if it is a path of destruction. You will be bring much more destruction in coming days."

"You will bring glory to Athara Magarat, a glory that the Hang can never bring." Karpake Baba shuddered while speaking.

"The question is, are you ready for this?" Finally, Baln spoke. "Are you ready to face the children of Baln? Are you ready to face the might of the ever-growing Atnaian Empire which will soon return from its graveyard? If you were, then why are you hiding here?"

"I am ready to face anyone!" Majipa replied. "I am ready to become a demon for my motherland."

"Do not disillusion yourself, little one." Yuma smiled. "In the end, you will be the only one walking in hell while others will be happy in the utopia that is Athara Magarat."

""For people to live in the utopia high up there, equal balance must be maintained down in hell. I alone will balance the 1 million people living in Athara Magarati utopia by walking in hell."

"Look there, Majipa." Yuma pointed and Majipa looked below to see countless men and women walking slowly on what looked like endless sand dunes. "You think you are the only one walking down there, the Hang walks there. Thomas Wessich walks there. Jayalithi S Bodhai walks there. Natalie Darkwall walks there. General Marino of the People's Army of San Javier walks there. Men like Srijunga Hang have been walking there for centuries. Are you ready to become like him? Walking on an endless path?"

"Just what is this?" Majipa asked.

"You know very well what it is," smiled Karpake Baba. "You know what it is..."

---

Night

Somewhere in Santa Ana

Abandoned Secret Building

Majipa woke up from his dream. That was strange. He felt his temples. He was sweating. He never sweated while asleep and he had never slept in night after arriving in San Javier. In fact, he did most of his work late at night with the lights turned off.

He saw that the laptop was still running but that he was in a bed. He looked at the other occupants of the room. Soldiers from White Tiger's squad were sleeping there. Yeah, these guys put me in this bed. Women soldiers were sleeping in an another room. They had arrived in Santa Ana the same night White Tiger had arrived. They had found the abandoned building perfect for them whilst White Tiger was drawing everyone's attention to himself with his stunts.

He got up and reached to the laptop. He still had plenty of work to do. He wondered why he had such a strange dream. Maybe because I haven't taken those medicines for long.

[Athara Magarat]

Night

Aparo Hill

The twenty people walked uphill slowly. Half of them were either Thakalis or Akaris from Dragon Faction. The remaining were either Athara Magarati Taziris or Aziris from Talvaar al-Islamiya or were the communist guerrillas. They had a sole purpose now: to attack the camp on the hill and take it for the Peope's Army of San Javier. They knew very well why they had been selected for this mission: the guerrillas were the local guys and knew the hill whereas the Thakalis and Akaris were born hill people and the Talvaar al-Islamiya members never complained about what they had to do.

Finally, the team reached the camps. They were surprised to find that it was very small. It looked as if the right-wing paramilitaries had set up the camp in a hurry. This was the area from where these bastards had been launching the anti-armor missiles that had given so much trouble to the defenders of Santa Ana. The team could not help but smile at how easy it was going to be. Heck! The one standing sentry was dozing off. They knew that if the sentry was sleeping so peacefully next to a tree then the right-wing paramilitaries inside must be in deep sleep; tired from fighting in the day.

The short Thakali man in the front slowly walked past the sentry without waking him up. Then he decided it was better to kill the sleeper. In what was the most easiest kill of his life, he knocked out the sentry by striking a Gauchan Clan Dragon Fist (in case the sentry was faking his sleep or in case he didn't die in the first hit) and then finishing by hacking the neck with his kukri. He motioned for the others to follow him. Soon they were inside the camps, cutting or hacking or stabbing the enemy with their kukris, axes and combat knifes. Most of them were silent kills (with one person covering the mouth and another performing the kill in vital body parts) while others shouted upon being pierced by the weapons. However the enemies could not do anything as they died even before getting out of their beds.

The team did a search of the camps to make sure all of the enemies had died. After clearing the camp on Aparo hill, a communist guerrilla ran downhill to inform the city's new governor Lia Blasco (who had ordered the offensive on the enemy camp) that her plan had been a success.

[Atnaia]

The neighbourhood of San Isidro, if it could really be called a neighbourhood, was a collection of ramshackle tenements built along the stretch of semi-paved road that served as the only northwestern access to Santa Ana. The jungle pressed in to the west along the Carlos Valley, and its only major feature was the food storage facility that stood on its north side, near La Nieves. The silos of that place could be seen across the neighbourhood, and most of the rest of the town for that matter, the faded paint that once advertised Puello Agriculture Inc. replaced by graffitied stencils pressing the communist cause.

Comida Para La Gente. Food for the People.

Abajo con los especuladores. Down with the profiteers.

Those were the first things Abel Kurich saw as he walked alongside the the Atnaian vehicles emerging from the jungle into norther Santa Ana. The bright red paint was flaked at the edges, but in the gray day of overcast skies and mud, they seemed particularly vivid. As they moved past the first buildings of the town, Abel nudged Penny Laton and pointed. She grunted.

"Street artists," she said. "The real red menace."

Abel chuckled. The IFV next to them ground up some crumbling pavement with a rumble and a crack. He'd expected to face more initial resistance to entering the town, but he could hear the fighting to the south and expected that most of the combatants in Santa Ana were tied up in the areas around Aparo Hill. The occasional thunderblast of an explosion shook the edges of the city, and the sound of gunfire drifted across lazy air currents like an irregular drum beat.

Most of the newest forces that Atnaia had landed in San Javier were dedicated to the Santa Ana operations. The 6th Mechanized Regiment were the speartip, with two primary missions to start: capture the food supply depot and capture the hospital. As command saw it, these were the two most important locations in northern Santa Ana, and control of them would mean control of the city. Once they were held, command believed it would be easy to sweep through the city center to capture city hall and the radio tower, effectively quelling rebel operations in the village. While the paramilitarios and communists softened each other up, it was likely that the fresh Atnaian troops, in their element in urban environments, could mop up whatever dregs were left.

That was the hope at least. As a wise man once said, though, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.

The metallic crack of the explosion sent the nearby IFV careening sideways, slamming into the wall of a residence. Superficial scorch marks scored its sides, but the tumble of bricks and rebar were enough to lodge it in place, its four rear wheels entirely off the ground and spinning frantically. The Atnaian lines immediately fell into combat positions, spreading out and searching for the enemy.

The primary attack seemed to be coming from a sagging three story apartment building to Abel's right. Falling in with the rest of his squad with the preternatural instincts of long-training, and being the nearest to the building in question, Abel rushed towards it as gunfire began to pepper down at them from windows and rooftops. A few engineers were already rushing to dislodge the trappedSjiher as more vehicles tried to move past down the street and out of range of the explosives, wherever they were.

Abel hit the cracked and dirty glass door of the apartment. Cardboard was ducttaped up to prevent light from spilling in. With the butt of his rifle, Abel smashed in the glass and tore through the cardboard. Inside, a pair of civilians darted into a room with wide eyes and screams as Abel unlocked the door from the inside in time for his squad to catch up and burst inside. He followed them in, the chatter in his headset organized and filed subconsciously. Another squad entered behind them as Abel's group began to clear the few rooms off the lobby one by one. At the end of the short hall were a pair of non-functioning elevators, which a few soldiers pried open while another fireteam peeled off towards a white door marked with a simplistic icon of stairs. Faded linoleum flooring tore up under their feet. Abel reached the elevators as they opened and stuck his weapon through, followed by his head. He glanced up and down the shaft and confirmed that the elevator was stuck on the basement level where it couldn't be used to suddenly get the drop on them.

"Clear," he shouted, and began pulling charges out of his pack to blow out the elevator lines and make them completely useless, in case the out of order signs were a ruse. Off near the stairwell, he could hear gunfire echoing down the concrete spiral.

He finished placing the charges and his team cleared the way. With an audible hiss followed by a loud crack, they heard wires snap and break. They gave it a few moments as physics did its part, and there was a thump. They reopened the doors and confirmed that the spool of arm-thick wires had been severed and piled on top of the carriage below. Had they expected to breach the apartment, they might have then had equipment to scale the interior of the shaft, but unfortunately that had not been their plan, and they were forced to instead follow their brothers up the funnel of the stairwell. Thankfully it was only three floors, Abel thought.

The fighting above had become a room-by-room monstrosity of cover and causalities. More than half the rooms contained nothing but terrified civilians, but half the enemy looked like nothing but terrified civilians, so the collateral began to mount.Problematic from an ethical standpoint, but not something Abel could really linger on. Somewhere, something triggered an ill-maintained fire prevention system and rusty water began to flood from ceiling mounted spigots. No alarms sounded, and Abel had the strangely discordant thought that that was a real safety hazard, just as he shot a rebel point blank in the face. Teeth scattered across the floor and Abel stepped over the body.

All-in-all, clearing the building had taken only around twenty minutes, from breach to rooftop, where they cleared the nest with the rocket launcher. That wasn't particularly long in the grand scheme, but the unfortunate thing was that it seemed like the streets were riddled with dens like these, and it would be close to impossible to get proper intel on them in a usable fashion, given the only half-planned nature of the city. Abel could already see that the plan for a swift victory would be a pipe dream. This would be a battle of increments at best and a battle of attrition at worst.

"God I hope we get drones in here," he thought.

[Ostehaar]

Alberto had never actually seen Los Locos in action, let alone from up close. He had heard a lot about this new team that was being hand-picked and trained personally by El Gringo (The Foreigner, a term used by many Fuerzas people when referring to Nicolas), but for all he knew those could have been just rumors.

That was until Friday morning, when right in front of his eyes, Los Locos managed to push back a dug-in communist force in El Pomar almost all by themselves. The striking image of so much firepower being hammered against a row of buildings was something Alberto would never forget. As he laid behind cover and could only raise his head slightly above to see the battle, Los Locos crossed to the other side of the street, and building-by-building they cleared the front line of hostiles. The sounds of gunfire raged on for hours, and once every few minutes an explosion rocked the neighborhood and sent Alberto and his squad mates back to cover.

Alberto knew that the night before, Aparo Hill camp was under attack by the communists. Some of his friends were slaughtered in their sleep before General Pedro and the other commanders could notice and send several squads up to the hill to recapture it. It was an unsurprisingly short battle - the attackers probably never meant to hold the place, only to kill as many as they can, cause disruption behind enemy lines, and retreat before they take any losses. They didn't even steal most of the missiles which were stored around the place.

The next dawn, Nicolas El Gringo and Genral Pedro decided that the main problem was that the communist forces were too close to the hill. Their solution was therefore to expand as quickly as possible the control zone of the Fuerzas, by trying to capture La Salle and El Pomar. Alberto figured that their next step would probably be to push into Villa Hermosa and Lanaditas, in hopes to capture the city hospital and the radio tower, and to have an easier access to the city center.

The firing sounds faded a bit, and Alberto rose up to a prone position and looked around. A row of about six nearly crumbling buildings was silent and smoking, and some Los Locos walked casually back down to the street, some carrying wounded soldiers and some having an after-assault cigarette. Alberto went around the low stone wall he was hiding behind and approached one of them.

"How did you do that?" Alberto asked, looking at the empty building across the street.

The fighter lowered his cigarette and exhaled some smoke, also looking aside. "The communists are cowards, man," he explained and took another drag. "You and your squad could have done this as well."

"But still," Alberto said, "look at this. You pushed them away from the street in less than an hour."

"Listen," the Los Locos fighter smiled and patted on Alberto's shoulder, "This is the most important thing El Gringo taught us. The communists are guerrillas, nothing more. They have many allies who've come here to taste a bit of fire, but they too are no more than mere terrorists with battle plans. We will win this, my friend. We will have to embrace the fear and make horror our ally, and they will retreat from every place we will attack, just like we've done right here." He gestured towards the row of buildings.

Alberto was not sure if the man's words had made him feel more hopeful or more frustrated. The sound of heavy footsteps disrupted his thoughts. It was Nicolas, El Gringo, who approached the two. He shook the fighter's hand firmly and congratulated him on the successful assault. Alberto realized just then that he was speaking to Samuel Marcos, the well-known commander of Los Locos.

Nicolas then turned to Alberto as well, and introduced himself.

"I know who you are, sir," Alberto replied as he shook hands with the foreigner.

"I'm sure you would both like to know the recent news as well," Nicolas announced. "It seems that while you were busy attacking this place, the Atnaian military had entered San Isidro."

"You're kidding!" Samuel said with eyes wide open. "Atnaians? Here? That is incredible!"

"Exactly," Nicolas confirmed. "This should be good for us at the moment, since it diverts communist forces to defend the northern neighborhoods."

Samuel glanced at his hand watch and hummed something to himself. "I'm sorry, friends, but my men and I should keep going. Since we don't know exactly where the enemy is at all times, we might as well assume that there are communist forces around this area waiting for an opportunity for a counter-offensive."

Nicolas nodded in agreement. "You're right. Good luck!" They shook hands again, and the foreigner went back towards the Fuerzas captured area.

For a few moments, Alberto stayed standing, his eyes following Samuel Marcos' movement with Los Locos down the street and into some alleys. He felt proud.

[Atnaia]

The shape of Hegemon Wessich spoke, his voice a semi-synthesized susurrus, digitized and compressed into something vaguely mechanical.

"How did this meeting with Hernandez go?"

Roarke flipped the pen around his thumb. "About as well as can be expected, given what has been going on. He shouted at me."

The pixellated form of Roarke's leader shifted, perhaps raising an eyebrow. It was hard to see given the poor bandwidth of their connection.

"Ah," it said, a sound not unlike a modem connecting. "Did he now?"

"'You promised to guard a railway, not invade my sovereign soil! I have it on good authority that your men have killed my people! My civilians!' or something to that effect."

The Hegemon was quiet for a moment. "How go things with Flores? Your creature in his office has provided help, I hope."

Roarke nodded, and then realized he was probably just as much a poor watercolour to Wessich as Wessich was to him. He spoke. "Helpful, yes. Did you know Flores was originally on the bill to be Hernandez's vice-president, but they had some sort of falling out that led to the current situation before the elections."

Wessich made a ticking noise with his tongue behind his teeth. The semi-visible smear of his mouth turned up in the corners. "That is...very interesting indeed."

"It was decades ago," Roarke said, possibly to still his own runaway preconceptions as opposed to any the Hegemon had.

"True," Wessich said. "But in my experience, wounds like that tend to always remain a little raw. They just need a little push to open them back up. Regardless, I am authorizing high command to send fighters and additional men to San Javier."

"Hernandez won't like that," Roarke replied. His computer screen momentarily sharpened in resolution, revealing the grimly determined jaw of Wessich.

"I could give a shit what Hernandez likes," Wessich said. "The man is nothing if not a bothersome obstacle, and I would like to see him stop me. No man remains in power for as long as he has while keeping his nose entirely clean. To that end, I have a special project for you."

Roarke's eyebrows came together. The slight inflection in the words "special project" was telling. "Yes sir?"

"I'm sending you an...assistant," Wessich replied. "Your job in San Javier is becoming critical to matters at home. This assistant has matters of state he will brief you on, and will help you directly in a rather delicate matter I have planned."

"Sir?"

A hand-like shape rose into frame and waved away the question in a blur. "The assistant will explain. It's been decided that Flores is a more useful connection in San Javier at this time. Continue to cultivate that. Hernandez should be no issue."

"This isn't necessarily a secure line, sir."

"Then I will keep this brief. The assistant will have more information on him when he arrives."

"Yes sir."

"And Bradley?"

Roarke cleared his throat. "Mr. Hegemon?"

"Well done, thus far," Wessich said. "San Javier is a complex situation. You are acting admirably."

"Thank you, sir."

"Continue with the good work."

The call ended.

[Covonant]

Capitoline, Roberticis-1 week ago

At the hllside villa of Marcus Quintus, Marcus had received a request by the agent in Agustin, San Javier that the Anliana leader has accepted Covonant's pledge to assist them in expanded their power and wealth and in exchange for Covonant to receive a share of the profit.

Marcus Quintus is pleased with the progression thus far, but he is still filled with greed and wants the whole thing for himself and his friends. He calls William Perth the head of Guvonant, the government contracted weapons and armaments supplier who will be contracted by Marcus to supply the Anliana cartels with Covonantian made high powered weapons and ammunitions. It takes exactly one week for the weapons to arrive in Agustin.

Agustin-Villa of Madre

A Covonantian military plane had been granted permission from the Defense Ministry to survey the San Javerian environs to provide intel on what was happening from the air. This was really a cover-up however to transport the weapons and ammunition to the Anliana drug lords.

The loud roar of the planes engine grew louder as it came to landing, building up a great dust wind as it came closer to the ground. Surely its presence must have been heard by all within the walls and persons few feet outside the city walls.

Two crates of weapons of superior mechanism and ammunitions were handed over to the guards. Before the plane was allowed to return to Covonant, the crates were open so as to be sure the Anliana cartels weren't being taken for fools. Once the contents inside are revealed to be what was agreed on, the military men were allowed to return to the Union.

Inside the villa, Madre is having breakfast. The sounds of the plane didn't seem to bother her as she was only concerned in getting the supplies. The guns used by the Anliana cartels prior to receiving Covonantian made weapons was old and inferior. They knew they needed more modern techs to increase their power and to overtake their enemies.

Sam Gentis, the agent sent to secure the deal with the Anliana cartels was held as captive until the deal was sealed with the arrival of the weapons. Sam walked into the room where Madre was eating at her request.

"There is something about you Covonantians. Always true to your words." Expressed Madre

"And I hope I can say the same with the San Javierans. Covonant will want to see the goodies and is expecting a cut from the profits made." Sam reminded

"I know. You want a sample. That can be arranged." Madre responded

"That was not the deal. The deal was a routined supply of weapons for drugs, and a percentage in what you make from the drugs. If you fuck with Covonant, they will be sure to mess you all up." Sam warned

"Is that a threat, let them try. Take this piss shit back to his room, he is annoying me" Madre ordered

Madre was a smart leader, who knew that she can't take on a country with a advanced military. But she couldn't seem weak in front of her gangs. She knew she would have to commit however, but for now she had to maintain her image.

[Athara Magarat]

San Isidro, Santa Ana

The foreign fighters helping the People's Army of San Javier led by General Marino in Santa Ana now numbered a little more than hundred and fifty heads. They were mostly focused on taking the streets of San Isidro back. More troubles had been added to them in the form of Atnaian soldiers, which made they remember why they were in the island in the first place: stop Atnaia into becoming an empire that could easily swallow Athara Magarat and other nations of the Isles. The mood was one of silence among the terror groups. Lia Blasco under orders of General Marino had spent the morning chewing out at the leaders of Dragon Faction, Talvaar al-Isamiya, Merrit Isle Liberation Front and the SOAR cell for trying to pull what she called a "Leeroy Jenkins move" against the Atnaians.

"You are acting like kids!" she had fumed. "We must first take down the right-wing paramilitaries and then focus on the Atnaians. One enemy at the time. We can't fight them both at the same time. It's a suicide!"

Mehtap Demir had hit back. "Sorry to say this ma'am but the reason why we are saying this is that the puppeteers pulling our strings want us to take care of Atnaian threats. The reason why we came here, in San Javier, was to fight Atnaian soldiers."

"Stop speaking as if you bastards give a shit about San Javier! Just tell us which foreign nation you people are working for. Tell us what they want. I ain't listening to whatever middle men like you people say. And you are talking as if you can defeat the Atnaians."

"You are right, we don't give a damn about what happens to San Javier or anything. This is only a part of our contract that we are fulfilling." Natalie Darkwall had snorted. "Our target has now showed itself to us and we are fighting them; whatever you say. If needed we will even side with the right-wing paramilitaries to stop the Atnaians. That's the type of assholes we are."

"Then go to the Nazis, you scums!"

Kaji Man Sherchan has finally smiled. "Do you even realize what that means, little miss? Right now, the only ones capable of taking totally over the city as in your stronghold are the Atnaians. These Nazis as you call them, who we have fighting for more than a week are nothing but ordinary flies compared to the king beetle Atnaia. These are small fries while the Atnaians are fully-trained combat-experienced soldiers. San Isidro has fallen to the Atnaians and our first priority should be taking it back. They aren't going to sit duck while we keep on fighting the small, small fries."

"Then do whatever you want!"

That was it and the communist leaders were not talking to "those damned foreigners" but even they did not stopped the foreign fighters from going to retake San Isidro. Most grass-root guerrillas on the other hand didn't seem to have any problems with that. The only thing that the communist leader wanted was that their foreign allies divide equal number of fighters to the southern and northwestern fronts but the latter group wanted to fully focus on Atnaians and let the local boys fight the small fries on the south. The foreign fighters said that the communists underestimated an empire whereas the communists said that the foreign fighters underestimated a dangerous ideology. Needless to say, most low-rank terror group members and guerrillas were not saying anything unnecessary but they all seemed to be appalled as to the reason why their leaders had fought verbally for no apparent reason.

Back at the present, the terror groups were plotting an assault of San Isidro. Finally it was decided to start the offensive with the rocket launchers. From the one of the buildings near the city hall, the Talvaar al-Islmiya team trained in firing the rockets did their job as an explosion followed moments later and smoke rose in the air. The rest of the fighters charged from all directions into the streets of San Isidro.

The fighting continued for several hours. The terror groups took cover on whatever they found and fired at the Atnaian soldiers who responded back. Occasionally, rockets from both sides would fly here and there. The terror groups knew that they had to bring the fight to close-quarters if they were to win it. But it was easier said than done. The Atnaians never allowed anyone to get closer to their positions all around San Isidro. Those who managed to get near to them were quickly gunned down.

"What do you have to report?" the leaders of the assault were asking Henry Whitewash was watching the battles from somewhere.

"You guys are in real deep shit." Whitewash's voice cracked on the radio. "The Atnaians got mostly mechanized infantry it seems. Loads of IFVs all around my eyes. They have heavy presence in the hospital and the food storage facility, not to mention they are positioned in all sorts of places. It seems that here and there, there are still a few civilians and some rebels hiding in San Isidro. I will tell you their locations."

The mission was now somewhat changed: rescue the civilians and rebels trapped on the enemy zone (Majipa the demon had quickly sentenced them to this fate). This would help the foreign fighters to still have some support among the local population and guerrillas and to show the communist leaders that something good had come out from the assault.

With Whitewash and Majipa guiding the terror groups, they avoided the areas where there was heavy Atnaian presence and went through the places with fewer number of soldiers. Death took away members on both sides and even the civilians caught between in the crossfire. As more and more fighters showed up, the line of Atnaian soldiers quickly fell back to come back with more firepower. Before more enemy reinforcements could arrive, the civilians and injured guerrillas were escorted out. The foreign fighters kept on firing at enemy positions even while retreating.

The fight was over for today but the strong Atnaian military presence was still there and who knows what could happen if they started launching a major military offensive on the city. Meanwhile small fires they may be, the right-wing paramilitaries were still a headache. No one seemed happy to hear Majipa's voice complimenting them for facing the Atnaians and holding them within San Isidro for now. The mood was off everywhere in the city. The Atnaians were also unhappy with the assault on San Isidro. Neither side was faring well in the southern front where the fight kept on becoming longer and longer.

The only ones happy and celebrating seemed to be the family, friends and relatives of the rescued civilians and guerrillas from San Isidro. For them, it was a blessed Christmas miracle.

[Noronica]

Rio Del Rosario Camp

Quentin took his cigarette out of his mouth, stamping his foot on it. The Helvetean meeting had not borne any fruits, as they could not agree on anything useful. Quentin was certainly thankful as meeting a Prince was a first experience for him and an overwhelming one at that. Sighing and turning towards the direction of his tent, he noticed a regular guard run towards him,
"Sir, it would appear that a battle has begun in Santa Ana. Should we observe the battle to see who is fighting it? We may be pulled in if it is an ally of ours?"
"With the amount of shit going on in this island, I doubt that anyone will publically call for allies. I suggest we ask for more weaponry and maybe another hundred soldiers."

As the soldier ran off to complete his duties elsewhere, Quentin tiredly retreated to his tent. Once inside, he changed into more comfortable clothes and prepared himself a glass of water. Sitting to drink it, he began reading a book from his favourite Noronnican author. As he started to drift off, he heard a crackle of gunfire.

Quentin ran outside his tent to see the guards and Nyssic soldiers were returning volleys of fire to an unknown force. Sprinting towards the commotion, he was stopped by a soldier,
"Sir! We are being attacked by an unknown force of soldiers. It might be best for you to stay back."
As the soldier said that, a mortar shell landed a few feet from the fence. Quentin jumped, but continued asking questions,
"Do we have any idea whatsoever? Could it not be local cartels?"
"Most likely sir, these guys are using shit weaponry if you don't mind me saying. I think they're desperate, we seem to be the only source of resources around here. The surrounding villages are emptying because of all the inhabitants moving here."
Quentin understood, the cartels around here weren't getting a steady supply to fuel their business what with all of their workers becoming refugees.

After a few minutes, the firing ended and it appeared that the Noronnican reigned supreme. After all the wounded were taken to hospitals, it was revealed that the speculations were right. The cartels and gangs around their position were getting tired and desperate. Quentin looked at all the fallen and sighed sadly, pulling out another cigarette. The supposed soldiers were only teens effectively. Only a few spattering of adults were there, obviously the cartels were testing the waters to see how well defended the camp was before launching a larger raid.

[Atnaia]

The communist forces had shored up the hospital to the peak of their ability. They clearly knew its importance. Rings of defenses, from the makeshift to the more stable, protected it from every angle. Blown-out vehicles were set up to create walls and barricades. Moveable construction fences and sandbags chewed up by gunfire funneled attacking forces into choke points. Sharpshooters were manning the roof, the windows were smashed out and either manned by troops or boarded up. Piles of concrete and rebar rubble had been shifted before one of the entrances, funnelling all access through the single remaining set of doors.

It really wasn't much of a hospital, not by Atnaian standards at least. It was one of the tallest buildings in all of Santa Ana, a four-floored mass of heavy concrete in a decidedly utilitarian design. It had several wings, but would have been small by the standard of an Atnaian school, let alone by the standards of an Atnaian hospital. Especially when one considered that you could count the number of hospitals in San Javier on one hand, and this one had probably once serviced a quarter of the nation's population, before it had been converted into something of a rebel base.

It's allegiance was fairly clear, the red and orange flag of one of the Communist armies flying from a rusty metal construction, perhaps a radio tower, on its roof. Abel had a hell of a time telling all the sides of the conflict apart, and didn't know which communist army it represented. Frankly, in many other combats, the Atnaian forces would have just shelled the place into oblivion and found a better target to attack. That was still technically on the table, Abel thought, once they got proper air strikes on the rotation, although he expected that Atnaian command had been quicker to shift its definition of an "important tactical target for capture" than Abel's well-worn instincts. The last live combat he had seen had been in Port Gray during the Succession Crisis, where the fighting had frequently been floor-to-floor in skyscrapers, and a place like this would have been something to walk by as background scenery on the way to shoot some Asorists. It was hard to kick old habits.

Still, the building did have a few tactical advantages that made it a prime target, as far as things in Santa Ana went. Firstly, it had its aforementioned size, solid construction and defenses that made it something of a fortress, which was useful. Secondly, it had a series of massive gas generators, which meant that it retained electricity, a luxury that couldn't be said for the rest of Santa Ana. Two days ago, the blackouts in the city could have been called "rolling" if one was being generous. No one could be generous anymore. Now the city was dark.

A third thing that made it worthwhile was its roof. While it wasn't equipped with a helipad, the roof was broad enough that it could be used for landings in a pinch, and as far as Abel was concerned, the entire city was in a pinch. Not to mention the fact that the building had some form of communications platform. Not as powerful as the radio tower, to be sure, but certainly useful. All in all, the building was as good a target as any, and so the Atnaians were throwing their weight against it.

The unfortunate thing, of course, was that all the things that made the hospital so tantalizing were also what made it so hard to assault. The Atnaians probably could have taken it in a matter of minutes, if they had been willing to throw the bulk of their forces into something of a meat-grinder, but the General wasn't particularly enthused about bulking his forces together into an assault against an entrenched position that almost certainly would have resulted in mass casualties. The plan thus far had been to try and spread the communists thin, which was effective in its way, but had also turned the battle for the hospital into a siege.

Sieges were not, as any good analyst of doctrine and training could tell you, an Atnaian's strong point. Atnaian training focused on swift urban combat, CQC and small unit organizational tactics controlled by constant communication. A standstill like this was just not their forte. And now, Abel was caught up in it. It wasn't that they weren't trying to attack, but that they could barely get the correct forces to smash through the lines. It was fucking awful.

"This is fucking awful," Abel said to the nearest person who could listen. It happened to be Penny.

She grunted. "Don't have to tell me."

"If I could get up to the door...hell, even a fucking wall...I could blow a hole in the place wide enough to land a plane in," Abel said.

Penny grunted again. She sighted down her scope, pulled the trigger, and swore under her breath. "Are there even people in there or is it all just hats on sticks and mannequin parts?"

Gunfire rattled against their position. Abel gritted his teeth. "They're in there," he said.

Penny, taking cover, nodded. "Yeah...yeah..."

When the gunfire ceased, Abel popped his head up, binoculars in hand and sighted as much of the building in a sweep as he could. He popped back down in time for a bullet to ping through the thinner steel at the edge of their cover, missing his head by inches. "You hear any word on when our planes will show up?"

Penny shook her head. Abel sighed. "This is really shit."

[Athara Magarat]

Miraflores

Liberators do not exist. The people liberate themselves.

The fighting was being prolonged. While the leaders of the People's Army of San Javier had initially been cold towards the foreign fighters after the rash attack on Atnaians, they were once again working together. This was a good thing. Rather than being sandwiched by the Fuerzas from south and Atnaians from northwest and losing Santa Ana to them, the battle for Santa Ana was now an even three-way battle. It would not be long before others caught the scent of the battle and joined it.

Liberators do not exist. The people liberate themselves.

"Remember, people. We are not your liberators; the Atnaians sure as hell aren't either. We are not here to fight for you. I will be blunt, we are in some deep shit and are just following orders from higher authority." White Tiger spoke loudly to the large crowd of volunteer citizens of Santa Ana. The two foreigners who were looking at White Tiger's training sighed and eyed him dangerously. They were obviously thinking if it was safe to reveal the information to the citizens but they said nothing. "Now, repeat it in your hearts."

Liberators do not exist. The people liberate themselves.

It seemed that the volunteers liked White Tiger. Unlike other foreign fighters or even some guerrillas who seldom spoke to the civilians and never told the masses why they were fighting, the short man was crystal-clear in his point. However he still hid one lie from them: that he was an Athara Magarati soldier working for AMI and keeping an eye on the terrorist groups and the communist forces. All the foreign fighters in the city loathed being around this man but they could not do or say anything.

The Talvaar al-Islamiya man did his job at teaching the capable volunteers; mostly heavy men but even a few women how to use RPGs. Among the foreign fighters, the civilians of Santa Ana found it most difficult to accept that jihadists were on their side. So the leaders of the terrorist groups and the communist leaders had done a great job by sending a jihadist who always smiled and did not looked at all like your average fanatical "Allahu Akbar" guys. And he was from a family of Kirati converts rather than a Taziri or Aziri like other members of Talvaar al-Islamiya. Asif Hang, with his slanted eyes and pale yellow skin, was one of those rare Kiratis whose families had been Muslims right since the times of the Khas-Kirat Empire. And another thing that made him adjust with the people was that he was also a medic. He was not giving lessons on RPG and other ammunition one hour and teaching the teenage communist fighters and elderly volunteers (both of whom were to be usually kept away from the fighting) about the emergency measures and first aid the next hour.

The SOAR woman - probably the right hand of Whitewash by the looks of their interaction - was also doing good at teaching the recruits to shoot. She was aided by three guerrilla boys who were no older than fifteen. They would set up the targets and bring the guns while brunette Samantha Manor showed the newer recruits demo and told them the basics of shooting. Since she was also a combat medic, she gave the lessons when Asif had his hands busy and left her three helpers to oversee the shooting practice.

All the while that happened, White Tiger was giving martial arts training to the other volunteers and most of his disciples were women and teenagers and some men. For some reason, the short man had decided teach the basics of different fighting styles to everyone. Not that the disciples complained though; as they all had seen him fighting on the day he had made his entrance. He was the foreign fighter who interacted the most with the locals and his Spanish was good.

He spouted another lie; Asif and Samantha sighed as he was saying. "I have made you run (but don't run too far away as well) up the Mota Hill, kick and hit dummies so far. You have been doing well. I do not expect you people to learn these fighting styles only one or two basic things. Since I am a member of the Dragon Faction (look at that bastard lie; Asif and Samantha thought), I will teach you mostly Thakali martial arts. But be sure that I know many other fighting styles..."

He is a monster. The locals thought as the short man smashed a pile of three bricks with his fist. Does he seriously expect us to do that?

"Yes, Marta?"

"Umm...Mister-"

"Master." White Tiger corrected her.

"Master White Tiger," Marta spoke on the behalf of everyone. "In this age of guns, can we kill Atnaians with whatever you are teaching?"

"Frankly no!" The man was blunt as usual. "Modern warfare combat pragmatism makes the Atnaian soldiers to shoot you all before even you move ten steps in front of them. Even SOAR and Dragon Faction members trained in martial arts are fighting with guns. If they use their fists to an enemy that's got guns. BLAM! Those poor fools are dead."

"Then why are you teaching us this then?" questioned another woman.

"Well Aurora, and others. It might save you from danger no one can expect. In ancient and medieval Khas-Kirat Empire and still today in Athara Magarat, women use martial arts to save their honor. I dunno about guns but you will be able to fight against unarmed men." White Tiger lectured. "For us, it's a culture. The warriors of the Khas-Kirat hordes fought with martial arts even when unhorsed and unarmed. But you ain't them...What I mean is, martial arts makes you strong! You think the Khas-Kiratis fought with martial arts? Hell no, they fought long range with recurved bows! It was the horses, the genius tactics of the great generals, etc. The Atnains use martial arts in melee CQC. And since they use martial arts, those nuts are tough to crack. But I can teach you how to crack a tough nut. So to make yourself strong, you need martial arts!"

Again?! He really is a monster. The locals thought as the short man smashed another pile of three bricks; this time by stomping it with his left leg. Someone should tell him that the bricks aren't free and easily available here.

"Alright Aurora, you have got nice legs which can do what I just did." White Tiger laughed. "Legs like yours would be useful for Bhattachan Clan Yak Style which involves lots of kicks, legs, kicks and legs. It is also for people like you who go into berserk mode easily. Now I will call forth the people who have slightly higher chances of learning Bhhatachan Clan Yak Style. The rest of you continue your running and training. Meet me in the next hour. Until then remember!"

Liberators do not exist. The people liberate themselves.

The volunteers trained, the communist guerrillas and foreign fighters kept fighting and the leaders kept planning as another day in the battle for Santa Ana continued.

[Corindia]

The Western Oronas Mountains, San Javier

---

Col. Trujan was in a good mood. Poma had done it. He had purged the Azul Naturaleza of corrupt officers and replaced them with trustworthy Iza nationalists, ready to fight and die for the cause of liberation. The cartel was becoming a guerrilla army, it's training oversaw by the Corindi brigade stationed in the mountains, and although it was suffering from a critical shortage of experienced leadership, recruitment was up among the cruzadores and they were taking well to training. The Azul Naturaleza's weaponry had become nearly entirely replaced with Corindi-built modern weapon systems, with some training groups still using the antiquated, piece-meal gear from the 70s. Some groups of Cruzadores had even been equipped with proper mortars, jeeps, and missiles, much like the Corindi soldiers, although these well armed Cruzadores were rare enough to be of nonexistent importance except for surgical tactical strikes.

Still, they were one of the weaker factions on the island, in soldiers, equipment and land. Hopefully this would change soon.

Col. Trujan, Poma Uyananche, and their trusted aides and advisors had begun working up plans for an assault on Pachualla, and after that making inroads to the western coast of the island. They already had enormous support from the local Iza populace, and had a good idea of enemy positions. In many cases, they predicted they would able to infiltrate small units behind enemy lines through the tunnels and by simply hiding the weapons of the Cruzadores. The plan looked sound, and for the first time in months, there was a hopeful and cheery air to the Corindi Headquarters. What a time to be alive.

[Atnaia]

LaBelle twisted uncomfortably, hoping it wasn't visible to the General. The way the General's image kept blurring in and out of focus on the satellite phone, he thought it wouldn't. Still, it wouldn't do to show Gaesel any weakness. The General was quiet for a moment, then his voice came out a garbled mess by the dropped connection.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't catch that," LaBelle said.

"We should just wipe the hospital out and be done with it," the General repeated. "Our planes are arriving. We have assured air superiority. We can take out half that neighbourhood and make it a non-issue. We currently have half our forces either tied up in that siege, or supporting it, or defending those forces from guerrilla strikes. Our time would be better spent taking the city. We've already spent too much time on this. We should have had the city days ago."

LaBelle frowned. As the highest ranked officer with boots on the ground in Santa Ana, he'd been making many of the day-to-day calls for the operations of the battle. He was rather proud of his work so far. "With all due respect, I think that doesn't take into account the reality of the resistance we are facing here. This isn't an army, sir, it's a collection of random people with homemade explosives. Strongholds like the hospital are few and far between. Taking the hospital will cripple their communications, their organization..."

Gaesel wiped invisible grit from his breast. "That is true, to an extent. I concede your point. However, it would seem to me that you are trying to take the hospital more out of a sense of accomplishment than out of one of pragmatism. Turning it to rubble would have the same effect and cost us much less in lives and resources. I will be frank, LaBelle, I do not have the time you seem to think I do to dedicate as much as I have to the Santa Ana offensive. I am overseeing a nation-wide series of operations, and the Quorum wants results. We are the powerhouses in Santa Ana, not the communists. Not the paramilitarios. You have already allowed them to win by your lust for victory in combat and your fear of what lives in the shadows. They have you on your back heel, Colonel."

"Sir, they've been striking our convoys, our patrols, at random," LaBelle replied. "There's no pattern. The only answer was to shore up our defenses in San Isidro and methodically take points of interest."

"No, the answer was to sweep the city before the communists could pull it together enough to utilize terror tactics. But now we've entrenched ourselves. I am unimpressed, LaBelle."

They were silent for a moment. "What are your orders, General?" LaBelle finally broke the stillness.

Gaesel scratched his chin. "I'm giving you a seventy-two hours to take the hospital. If you cannot, we will begin targetted bombing runs. No matter what happens, the RAF are going to begin operations to turn Santa Ana into as much rubble as we can muster," Gaesel leaned forward. "We are not taking footholds, LaBelle. We do not care about one shithole town on this shithole island. What we care about is ending this war. If that means wiping dots off the map, we will do it. Do you understand?"

LaBelle swallowed. "There are journalists here, you know. They hide as well as the guerrillas, frankly, but they are here...we can't just...the collateral alone."

Gaesel sighed. "Let Taubadel handle the public opinion. What the Quorum doesn't want is for our forces to wind up entrenched in San Javier for another forty years of conflict. We are invested now. Capitalize on our investment."

"Yes sir," LaBelle replied.

"Seventy-two hours, LaBelle," the General said. The call clicked closed.

[Athara Magarat]

La Salle

Things were unexpectedly going well for the People's Army of San Javier. The civilians were supportive of the communist guerrillas as they had been protecting the city and her dwellers from being wiped out. The newer volunteers all went through sniper training so that more number of snipers could be produced. The training as well as the medic and demolitions training and self-defense martial arts were doing well. The leaders of the foreign fighters had on the weekend brought much needed arms and ammunition on a transport helicopter of the People's Army of San Javier through still unknown means.

Seeing as raid on enemies were hardly fruitful, the foreign fighters had placed land mines at all sorts of places and the newer guerrilla recruits had difficulty memorizing all the places but nonetheless they knew the city more than anyone else. The roles had mostly reversed. The communist guerrillas were now acting as snipers and medics whereas the foreign fighters were now laying the explosive traps that the guerrillas were meant to do.

The foreign fighters had also employed various ancient and modern techniques to trap enemy soldiers or combatants or even kill them. In the forests where enemy forces might pass by, there were ancient Khas-Kirati land mines that were hidden underneath the soil and on surface looked as if it was an Akari spear or battle ax dug into the ground. The land mine exploded when anyone tried to pull the spear or battle ax. Although ancient, this technique still worked; especially on those who had never taken any history lessons on the Khas-Kirat empire. Here and there, scattered throughout the combat zones in Santa Ana, were all sorts of things like cigars that exploded upon being lit. It would not certainly work against Atnaian soldiers so the exploding cigars were scattered mostly in the southern front where some Fuerza rookie might pick it up for smoke.

Against the Atnaian soldiers who knew warfare and probably were experts on counter-guerrilla warfare, the foreign fighters had went on a night mission to attach special bombs on the military vehicles so that the vehicles would explode as soon as started or driven. There was no estimation of whether Atnaian soldiers had died from such tactics. Even if so, they were most likely to check their vehicles the next time.

Then came the biological warfare. Not that sort of biological warfare that one would expect in this modern day and age. The Thakalis and Akaris of Dragon Faction built a Khas-Kirati style trebuchet whilst the guerrillas brought the dead bodies of anyone they found. And so they started hurling the dead bodies towards San Isidro where the Atnaian soldiers were active and into the streets of Alcala from that of La Salle.

The guerrillas hurried as they brought more dead bodies and now it was not only dead bodies but the excreta and vomit of the people present in Santa Ana.

"Shit is being hurled against those damned Atnaians from the city center." A teenage guerrilla laughed as he brought a large plastic bag to be launched from the trebuchet in La Salle.

"This is real shit!" Another guerrilla laughed as the trebuchet hurled the load into Alcala where the Fuerzas were present. "Take this you, shitheads!"

"Bastards must be must be busy cleaning themselves or afraid to show their face on the streets."

As this unusual assault continued, so did normal assaults into enemy zone such as sniper fire and occasional rockets. Whilst the enemy were strong in the south as the Fuerzas and in the northwest as Atnaian soldiers, Santa Ana was not going to fall as long as the battle for the city continued.