The Occupation of Arván (IC | TWI ONLY | CLOSED)

[Noronica]

Mark's grin was that of a shark's. He now knew his other enemy. The NMI was closely monitoring the activities of the human trafficking in Arván and had already begun to notice a few discrepancies which seemed to have occurred recently, such as an increase of staff, or more equipment for the cartels. This was fantastic information and would serve to aid Noronica's operations if they could get information of the Jahe Mob.

"I do, fully. I appreciate your cooperation with this and we will be all the more wiser with the information you have imparted. This man, is he capable of training these guys quickly? Say, before this war ends? I would also like to know whether you know of any recent activities of his. I don't care about specifics, I want to know where he's been, who he's spoken to, where has he stayed in. Did he and you arrive in the same aircraft? I need to know everything that you know he's done so far."

[Athara Magarat]

Command Centre, Base Mer

Major Phedap Moringlahang straightened himself up and handed the cigar to his environment-conscious aide who immediately muttered something about the damage to the major's health and environment. Upon noticing his rank and uniform, the multinational soldiers at the entrance saluted him and he too saluted in return. The guards told him that the Noronican and Covonantian commanders were waiting for him. Damn, looks like I am late. So they already started. Like hell Athara Magarat is going to be the last one to act.

A Noronican private led the way to central command room. The door opened for Moringlahang to see two men discussing. One gaze in their uniforms told him that he was the most junior commander in the room; be it in rank or age.

"Major Phedap Moringlahang, Magpies Battalion." The Kirat-Limbu man saluted the two other commanding officers from allied nations. "Currently in command of the Athara Magarati forces on Arván. Sorry for being late. We are usually punctual. But I could not help but converse with the people we liberated."

While entering the room, Moringlahang had heard of the Covonantian and Noronican commanders discuss Athara Magarat's reasons for entering in the war against Arván. "As you seem to already have the information, we were originally here to liberate Kirat-Sunuwar ethnic group from the current Arvánan government. That is the primary reason why we are here."

He turned to the Noronican commander. "We are keen to establish defense, diplomatic and trade ties with Noronica. I would like to apologize for the recent incident in New Forest where two Nyssics were killed and a third civilian was seriously injured. We strongly condemn any forms of terrorism and ask the government, military and people of Noronica to believe that we will never support such activities. My homeland has informed me that SHOCK has already declared crusade on Arván. It would not be long before those death-loving bastards show up here as well. Athara Magarati forces intend to liberate as many Sunuwar civilians as we can before SHOCK can win over them."

[Noronica]

Brigadier Thomas smiled warmly and gave a traditional Athara Magarati greeting which he had practised prior to the meeting. He then stood crisply to pull the Athara Magarati commander's chair out for him. Sitting back in his own seat, he continued the discussion.

"Do not be concerned, we have only discussed business relating to Covonant in Arván, and I understand your sentiment. Arván has seen many atrocities, to have a representative of the military interacting with the population kindly will boost their morale and allow them to see at least a modicum of kindness." He observed that the commander was relatively younger than the Covonatian and him, but he was no less dignified than the older two. He seemed to hold himself in an experienced manner, unlike some of the privates who still stood as if they had been impaled by a spike.

Returning to his notes, he spoke again, "Noronica understands this threat that has been presented and we definitely understand that it is not Athara Magarat's fault. A nation cannot apologise for a terrorist they are opposed to. It is terrible that such a thing happened however, and many of my Nyssic colleagues held a Nyssic funeral ceremony for them. I know for a fact that Noronica shall not allow such an insult to escape, SHOCK shall know pain."

Returning from his dark look, Thomas took another sip of his water, "Noronica would be glad to aid operations in liberating Kirat Sunuwar citizens as it shall be conducting operations to liberate the peninsula from crime and any remaining government connections. It would also be glad to accept those ties and continue our current fruitful friendship."

[Jahe Davmwoem]

Mark's grin was that of a shark's. He now knew his other enemy. The NMI was closely monitoring the activities of the human trafficking in Arván and had already begun to notice a few discrepancies which seemed to have occurred recently, such as an increase of staff, or more equipment for the cartels. This was fantastic information and would serve to aid Noronica's operations if they could get information of the Jahe Mob.

"I do, fully. I appreciate your cooperation with this and we will be all the more wiser with the information you have imparted. This man, is he capable of training these guys quickly? Say, before this war ends? I would also like to know whether you know of any recent activities of his. I don't care about specifics, I want to know where he's been, who he's spoken to, where has he stayed in. Did he and you arrive in the same aircraft? I need to know everything that you know he's done so far."

"We came on a jet, a private one, it belonged to one of the mob bosses. We stayed together in housing the Arvan government gave us. After they accepted, we went our separate ways. The only thing I know is he spoke about going to talk with their mafia leaders."

[Athara Magarat]

The Athara Magarati major nodded to what the Noronican brigadier had said. He sat down to join the talks.

"Thank you for your nation's support. We are extremely grateful for the trust and goodwill Noronica has shown and Covonant has always been the best friend we need. Now that I have said of Athara Magarat's involvement, shall we proceed ahead? What shall be the next phase of our plans? What else are we going to discuss here? And we still do not know how other allies are faring but I presume they have been successful so far. And what else do we know about the enemy?"

"And...regarding Base Mer, Athara Magarat would like to make it the second joint military base in a foreign nation after the military base in Akar and Thakali Island with Keomorans. However, we promise that we are more interested in changing the corrupt Arvánan government and granting equal rights to the minorities and have extreme faith in Covonant and Noronica, so our presence in Base Mer in the aftermath would be minimal at best. And frankly, we are a nation with only 12,000 soldiers so our citizens find it unfeasible to have our soldiers stationed in a foreign base. Therefor, our military presence in Base Mer would be minimal. For now, I cannot exactly verify the numbers, we would have to see it post-war."

[Vancouvia]

Alimenter, Arván
Three Weeks into Operation Melting Shovel

VEO Agent Jeremy Arvan had done exactly as he promised. Within just a week's time, the entire city of Alimenter was shoved into controlled chaos, the kind of abject yet manageable destruction that was just enough to instill compliance yet not incur mass wrath. It was hearts and minds, cold minds and scorched hearts, but mostly it was just fear. Attacks on the post offices and the police stations, the mayor and the councilmen, the families who were just bold enough to fly the Arván flag outside their homes - no one was immune and no one could stop it. It was terror.

Major Joseph Malcolm was powerless. Despite multiple requests to command to cease the attacks or even lessen them, some unnamed general or Senator or hushed group of politicrats had authority over this VEO operation. Malcolm would not be relieved back to the free lands, nor would he be given sanction to protect the people in his own jurisdiction. Malcolm's only option was to do what little he could for the citizens of Alimenter - a shipment of food getting conveniently lost along the route, a warning here or there for a future target - but it was clearly not enough. The people of Alimenter were being persecuted out of revenge, out of spite, out of malice, out of vulnerability. VEO was making their mark on the world no matter how brutal that mark was and no matter what Malcolm tried to do to stop it.

The Vancouvian war machine had by this time halted only several miles outside of the city limits, the artillery and tanks digging in, the men making camp and feeling secure enough to piss out in the open. The front line had become just a line. The war had become a microscopic occupation. The soldiers had become occupiers, irrelevant guards for the VEO terrorists to operate in freedom. Yet the planes still dropped their bombs, the missiles still pounded the ground, the Yukons still struck target after target. It was a facade, a playground, a time for practice and medals, a dark blur on the conscience of those who knew, a false spotlight for those who were ignorant of what had been done.

[Corindia]

10:40AM, Southwest of Base la Vert, Arván

---

The trucks were rolling again. After making contact with presumed Arvanan forces, the Corindi spearhead was delayed for several days by an large, but unorganized Arvanan force. The conflict had taken its toll on the beleaguered Arvanan troops, and they were eager to avoid conflict and escape the area rather than face pitched combat. Even though the Arvanans were on the back foot, it was deemed necessary to delay the push to Base la Vert for several days to ensure the destruction of the intercepting forces to avoid a counterattack while the Corindi soldiers attempted to take Base la Vert and secure the plantations where Corindi citizens lived and worked.

Col. Ferrero once again rode in his Coyote, focused on the base. The Arvanans would be well aware they were coming after the earlier engagement, and would have made efforts to dig in. While some intelligence had indicated some evacuation of soldiers and materials to other parts of the peninsula, presumably Alimenter, where the fighting had reached stalemate. The lack of a full-scale evacuation meant that the defenders still had a coherent chain of command, and maybe even high morale.

Given these unfortunate conclusions, Col. Ferrero had decided it was prudent to link up with Owinn forces in the vicinity, and decide on a course of action from there.

[Keomora]

Code: Select all

To the Commander of the Enemy Forces in Arvan
We, the Keomoran Foreign Service are wiling to surrender in order to be extradited back home.
We demand little save for the sworn oath from your governments and bring home all of our supplies
We will not surrender unconditionally.
Failure to accept will be repaid in blood.
Commander Shinku

[Noronica]

Base Mer

Private Jake Gallick ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He was a short young man, but he made up for his lack of mass with his agility and speed. Pushing past unsuspecting soldiers, he finally managed to reach his destination - the Base Mer temporary command centre. The two guards posted there raised their eyebrows, but allowed him in swiftly once he had given them reason to.

Approaching the assembled commanders, he spoke in a fatigued but calm manner, "Sirs, we have a message through from the Keomoran Legion. They have asked for surrender. We have made sure to pass this on to any other allied commander on the peninsula."

He passed each person a copy of the message and swiftly exited the room once the Noronnican Brigadier dismissed him.

Brigadier Thomas looked at the assembled gentlemen, "What is our response? We need to contact all our allies to make a unanimous decision, but I am all for getting rid of a sophisticated enemy and allowing them to peacefully leave."

[Noronica]

Undisclosed Location, NMI outpost

Agent Faehahd glanced down at the message presented before him. It was written by pen on an official Noronnican document addressed to the Keomoran Foreign Legion. He was a little amused by the way this was handled as it was blatantly obvious that the Noronnicans were trying anything to make themselves superior, even by just writing a fancy letter. Sighing, he read the message one last time to check for discrepancies.

Code: Select all

To whomever it may concern within the Keomoran Foreign Legion,

The Allied Forces here in Arván readily accept your offer to surrender peacefully and to cease all ties with Arván. We hope that this letter reaches you swiftly and we would like to commend you on making the better decision to end this without unnecessary bloodshed.

We have disclosed in this document, a seal of approval from the United Noronnican Forces which signifies its promise to not engage the Keomoran Foreign Legion. It must be noted however that any attempt to hinder the forces in this peninsula, or any sign of aggression towards the combined forces shall result in an immediate armed response.

Signed by Brigadier Thomas W. McArthur of the United Noronnican Army

Folding it back up, Faehahd slipped it into its envelope and handed it to an operative who acted as liaison to the Legion after their contact with the NMI. Smiling thinly, the operative nodded and swiftly exited the room, preparing to make the trip to neutral territory where the exchange would take place.

---

Near St. Recont

The forces on the peninsula were picking up now. Most key areas for the government were now under allied control and bombing had started taking place in the capital region of Arván. Back home, the Noronnican government was already making plans to execute the order of reunification of Noronica and Arván, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the island was taken. Even the Arvanan government knew that their days were numbered, which was why they were becoming more aggressive, planning to go down fighting, while some left Arván, smuggling themselves out of the country before it was too late.

After the combined victory in Base Mer, the Noronnican forces were now moving into the capital region, hoping that this would be the final push before the war was over and the annexation could begin. Many towns and villages had already been captured as the Noronnican war machine forced its way through the region. The one thing that did not help the Noronnicans was the lack of airstrikes on the capital. The Noronnican government made it expressly clear that there was to be no bombing of the city, mostly just to ensure the people were in favour of the conquering heroes, rather than the destroyers. Despite this hindering factor, air support was still available on government outposts and bases around the city, allowing the forces to swiftly swarm them.

To the Arvanan people, the Noronnicans were made out to be heroes. Once they occupied a town or a village, the soldiers would go beyond the line of duty for the citizens. Giving them food, ensuring the people were safe, making conversations, even helping the elderly cross the streets. The extent of kindness was bordering ridiculous, but the Noronnican High Command knew it was imperative that the people of Arván wanted the Noronnicans on their soil, so the soldiers became chivalrous knights. The Noronnican flag was posted everywhere and anti-government propaganda was nailed to every wall to ensure that the Noronnicans were supported over the Arvanan government. It was not simply a matter of guns, but an intricate web of trust that the Noronnicans were facing.

[Jahe Davmwoem]

Colonel Coninenbelt heard that Base Mer had fallen. I bet that damn liberal already has told them everything. Good, it will just add to the fear. He thought off all of the possible plans of action. He knew this fight would already be bloody. That is what he wanted, but more. He wanted more blood. All of the thoughts swam through his mind. Then he gradually began to accept some.

He wrote a list.

Code: Select all

Hit List:
Highest Priority is on Lieutenant Heckelman and President Raoul Sartin.

Bounty of 5000 will be offered for every officer killed.

-The Colonel

He needed Heckelman dead because he simply hated him. But the President, he was a problem. He was a madman who was lowering the moral of Arvan. If he could get a fascist in office, now that would be fun.

"Hey!" He shouted at one of the mafia members, "Tell me where I can connect with the Fascists of this island."

[Ostehaar]

20 days have passed since the start of Operation Platinum. Oster forces have already established de-facto control over the two Arvan government enclaves in the south of the country - around bases Rouge and Fleur. The original plan was to assist Noronica and its other allies with operations in central Arvan, but foreign forces have reached there only in recent days. Noronnican forces were on their way to secure the areas around St. Recont, so the Oster job was, at the moment, merely being the southern portion of the blockade.

Small units of the Oster 711th airborne infantry brigade were still operating in the now-occupied territory, making sure no weapon storage places or enemy troops were left. Most Arvanan troops that weren't killed in the initial bombing runs escaped to the countryside, and either joined the Cartel and militia forces or dropped their weapons.

In the Cartel areas around Alban, the situation was entirely different. The 711th brigade didn't operate there at all, and the occasional Oster jet didn't even bother to drop bombs on the area. There was no use - bombs were not the way to effectively fight the Cartel, and could only incite the population to join any local militia groups. A different tactic was required - special forces and undercover operatives.

Unit 51 of the special forces touched down near the outskirts of Alban the night before Operation Platinum began in full force, even prior to the aerial and naval bombardments of government bases near the coast. During the two weeks that followed, they stealthily raided Cartel facilities, storage places, houses of leading figures, and training centers, gradually sabotaging the Cartel's ability to fend off future assaults. Their mission was simple - to prevent the Cartel from becoming a real threat to the occupiers of Arvan in the long run. It was a quiet but bloody war that raged in the woodlands of south Arvan and along the narrow streets of Alban.

The Cartel probably realized by the second week that they were under a coordinated attack, but they couldn't tell who was behind it and what was the main objective. Were they being wiped out or just crippled a bit? Why didn't the enemy charge against them? Were they actually a part of the plan for the future handling of Arvan?

---

Back at the DFO headquarters, the officers responsible for the multi-national cooperation in Arvan sent situation reports to the Noronnican command, stating that the two southern enclaves have been captured and are now under allied control. The Cartel territories - so the report stated - were still being 'softened'.

[Noronica]

St. Recont

In the panic of his falling dynasty, President Raoul Sartin ordered a fully-fledged military parade to display his dominance over his state. Most of the troops in St. Recont were ordered to join the parade, leaving the defences of St. Recont to be weaker than normal, which wasn't saying much due to the diminished numbers of Arvanan troops.

The people of Arván watched as their leader dressed in the full military regalia saluted his troops as they passed the central square. Many were dismayed at this show of incompetence, while some were fearing the decreased numbers. They all knew that what was happening was a complete fiasco, but Sartin refused to listen to others. He wanted something to distract him from the thought of leaving his nation to foreigners.

Due to the quick organisation, there wasn't time to check equipment or place guards anywhere. It was a complete mess as soldiers, some dressed in dirtied uniform paraded the streets.

Sartin had been a cruel ruler. Many despised him, and that was not excluding the military. He was a hated figure and many were open to the idea of Noronnican rule, some more fanatic than others. Some were willing to die to save their country from further failure, some were willing to do anything to ensure that Sartin ruled them no longer.

A faction in the military had developed and called itself the 'Breakers of Chains' as if the Arvanans were slaves to the regime. This faction had grown exponentially, eventually getting at least two-hundred soldiers within their ranks. Some were even high command, looking to make themselves look supportive of the Noronnicans so that they weren't arrested. When they heard about the upcoming parade, they knew what to do.

The parade included members of the faction. Some controlled tanks, some were ordinary footsoldiers. So they had control of very important parts of the parade. They had all been told to wait for a signal, one that the commanders said would not be missed. Half way through the parade, the current marching band stopped playing to allow another marching band to begin their piece. The song was different to the national anthem of Arván, it had a much different tone. Many did not realise that there was a change in the programme until the song got into full swing.

"Oh Noronica!" Came the first line of the verse and soon the parade erupted into panic as tanks began firing upon other tanks, soldiers fought against soldiers. Soon the parade became a battlefield as the crowd and government watched in shock as the entire square erupted into war. People fought people, friends fought friends, brothers fought sisters. The war in Arván had divided people and now the whole city was expressing their feelings. the majority seemed to be in favour of Noronica as many grouped together to form walls. Some Noronnican flags were even erected to display the disloyalty of Sartin's people.

Government troops defending the city were sent to the square and soon the police had joined as well, slaughtering any that got in their way.

Sartin watched in horror as his beautiful city was turned into a war zone. He screamed out in pain and shock before anger set on his face as he began ordering the deaths of everyone, "Burn them, burn them all!" He screamed to anyone that would listen. He was dragged by his ministers back into the central government building and soon the whole building had turned into a defensive bunker as all government-loyal troops set up defensive positions all over it. These would be forever called the final days of President Sartin in the history books.

---

Outside St. Recont

Brigadier Thomas smirked victoriously as he was informed of the capital that had become an arena. He was very glad that the Round Table had the foresight to set up agents within the Arvanan military, slowly corrupting officials and troops to be more receptive to Noronnican rule. He knew it was playing dirty, but he just called it a good strategic move.

The troops would be ready for an assault soon, he could already taste the air of victory. He sent a message the Round Table who told him to inform them of updates directly. He told them that Lord Bartholemew could begin the procedure to fly to Arván.

[Corindia]

2:45PM, Base la Vert, Arván

---

Private Basile Ureña shuddered as shells exploded over his head. His company was one of the first to advance on Base la Vert, and for the better part of the last hour he had been hiding in a roadside ditch, occasionally firing his Vástago at Arvanan soldiers who popped their heads out from behind the rubble of the base's cinder block walls. He didn't know if he had killed anyone, but he certainly hadn't gone unnoticed.

Another shell exploded next to the ditch, spraying him with gravel and dirt. His spotter, Private Satish Jayendra, cried out in pain and rolled down the bank of the ditch, slamming to a rest on the rough, overgrown bottom. Ureña scrambled down to him. Fragments from the shell had cut open his back as he lay prone, and he was having trouble breathing.

"Shit! Shit! Talk to me, are you okay? Shit!". Ureña tore off Jayendra's bloody shirt and was relieved to see that the wounds weren't catastrophic. As he was tending to his comrade, Jayendra regained consciousness.

"How bad is it, Bas? Is Sushilita going to have a broken boyfriend" Ureña rolled his eyes at the fifteenth mention of Jayendra's girlfriend today, but he was glad his compatriot was in a relatively stable condition.

"Shut up and call HQ! They need to hit that mortar before nothing comes home to Sushilita. Man that damn radio!"

Jayendra grabbed their field radio and relayed the coordinates of the gun emplacement to the operational headquarters in slanted Spanish. For the next few minutes, Ureña continued to clean and bandage Jayendra's wounds as the enemy mortar pounded away at their position, occasionally spraying dirt back in Jayendra's wounds and all over both of their faces. Ureña didn't look up when he heard the beating blades of the Lagartijas overhead, but soon after they passed over and unleashed their munitions on the beleaguered Arvanan positions the mortar fire stopped.

As Ureña peered over the edge of ditch at the base, the radio crackled back to life.

"ALL UNITS CEASE FIRE. ARVANAN FORCES SURRENDERING. STAND BY FOR FURTHER ORDERS."

Ureña nearly rolled down to the bottom of the ditch in relief. The base was theirs.

[Athara Magarat]

St. Recont

---

Beistean Guinne had been working as a civil servant for the government of Arván for more than a decade. He knew that the days of Arván under President Raoul Sartin were now countable in his fingers. More and more soldiers were deserting the military in favor of Noronica.

It was a total chaos in the streets. Troops still loyal to the Arvánan government fired on the Arvanán citizens they had sworn to defend. Arvánans fought Arvánans and it would not be long before foreign soldiers from Noronica and her allies stormed the city to support the toppling of the government.

Guinne was the secretary of the Foreign Minister and a very busy man. But he was now even more busy than usual due to many tasks he had to attend to and the President's rants at the rebellion outside was not making anything easier. While the loyal troops to the government fought outside to defend the government building, the ministers were dragging the fuming president to his office where he could cool his head.

"How dare they do this to our beautiful city? How dare these traitors lick the boots of Noronican scums!" Sartin continued his rants. "I will have them all wiped out from the face of Earth. These traitors, the scum Kirat-Sunuwars demons, the Noronican assholes and their foreign bitches - "

BANG! A loud shot rang as the hallway was filled with silence. It was completely neutralized by the larger chaos outside but the gunshot was the reason why the Finance Minister was a dead man lying on the carpeted floor. Sartin and the other ministers looked at who had fired the shot.

"Guinne, you son of a bitch!" Sartin roared while the ministers were horrified and trembling. "So you joined the traitorous rebel scums?"

The blond man in his forties with the handgun shook his head. "As if I would have do that. I am no traitor, Mr President. I don't want to kill you to say the truth for I have served under you for so many years. Forgive me, but I have my reasons to do this."

"Guinne, lower the gun," the Defense Minister tried to reason. "You have no reason to do that. Put down the gun. It would not be long before the guards - "

"Stand back!" another shot rang and the Defense Minister slumped to the floor. "Don't come any closer!"

The ministers and Sartin were surprised to see tears rolling down the blond man's cheeks. The hands holding the gun was trembling more than the ones being pointed at themselves. "You think I want to do this?" He pointed at the Finance Minister's body, "I fired at him because he saw me taking out the gun" and then at the Defense Minister's. "And I had to shoot him for trying to stop me from killing you, Mr Sartin. Today, I stand before you not as a civil servant of this government. Not as Beistean Guinne. I, Nikolai Chatrov, will put the world out of your wrongdoings, Mr Satin."

---

A few days earlier...

"Bye, honey. Come early today if possible." The blond man was kissed by his wife. He bade farewell to his wife and teenage daughter. His daughter had been a fine lass and was one of the popular and best students in the locality by her own merit; not just because her father was a government official. She was going to be the lead guitarist in her school's performance and the father had earlier asked for a day's leave. But with the situation in Arván becoming worse day by day (partly due to president Sartin's failure to see how he was going to fight the whole world), the work in the government was piling up.

No sooner that the car had gone a few blocks away from his residence, the ministerial secretary got a phone call from an unknown number. "Hello, this is Beistean Guinne."

"Greetings, Mr Nikolai Chatrov." The voice at the other end made the blond man frozen for a moment.

"I think you might be mistaken - "

"Aprosian businessman-in-exile with local Arvánan wife and beautiful daughter who has a musical performance today at her school. We know where to be precise, Mr Chatrov."

"What do you want?" Chatrov shouted. "Who are you?"

"Relax, Mr Chatrov." The voice at the other end tried to sound reassuring; which it wasn't. "We aren't New Aapelistanian government spies. We are freedom fighters or terrorist depending on who you ask but we like to call ourselves as SHOCK."

"The terrorist group of Khas-Kiratis that has been making international news headlines recently? What do you want from me?"

"You are quite knowledgeable for an Arvánan, Mr Chatrov. Then again, we you were not always an Arvánan and your sharpness has made you a secretary at the Foreign Ministry." The voice mocked. "Getting to the point, we want you to assassinate Raoul Sartin."

"As if I would listen to some terrorist group." Chatrov was blunt.

"The driver today is a different guy, if you have not noticed." The voice smiled. Chatrov peered to the driver of the car and it was indeed true that the guy was not his driver. His regular driver was a Nyssic Arvánan; the guy driving his car right now had small eyes, thin beard and pale yellow face giving hints of Kirat-Sunuwar ethnicity.

"You should listen to the call, Mr Chatrov. Or else who knows where your car may end up." The Sunuwar driver smiled. "Your regular driver is unharmed for now. However if he dies, it may be your refusal. And don't forget that you might never be able to see your daughter's performance."

"You bastards! I will die anyway if I try to assassinate Sartin." Chatrov shouted.

"Think of the good news the world will receive, Mr Chatrov. Think of how your daughter will live in a better Arván if Sartin dies." The voice on the other end spoke again. "The thing is Mr Chatrov, we could have easily tipped the government of New Aapelistan regarding a certain traitorous son or better Sartin himself that he had an Aprosian spy in his government. Now pay that debt to us and to the people in Arván you love by becoming an Arvánan hero. On the bright side, you will at least get to see your daughter's grand performance."

Nobody laughed at the sick thoughts the caller had. Chatrov considered for a long while. Sure Sartin had the reason his family was well-fed and able to survive in the nation but the president was the most despicable man one could imagine. He needed to go. It was his fault that the country had gone into an unnecessary war. It was his fault that so many people had died or so many youths had turned into terrorists he just encountered. Chatrov decided to do it for his daughter's bright future and a better Arván where the Arvánan people he loved would be happy.

"Tell me what I have to do?"

"Now, we are talking. Listen carefully, Mr Chatrov. According to the plan..."

---

Back to the present at the government building

St. Recont

"Farewell, Mr Sartin." With the words, Nikolai Chatrov pulled the trigger of the handgun.

[Noronica]

A professional hits the target. A murderer is messy but does the job. A man who is frightened and fearing for his family does not. The hand tends to shake and the brain does odd things to your psyche.

Sartin certainly felt the shot, the bullet had managed to hit his shoulder. He spasmed and fell to the floor in pain and shock, mind melting in horror. In his life, he had never killed, nor had he witnessed deaths around him. He was a man who ordered, not a man a shot. He had also never been shot.

His hand flew to protect his face as he huddled against a corner, tears streaming down his face. He could still see a blur of blond hair and a shaking man a few metres away from him, his mind reverted back to childhood and he felt small, so small. "Please, please! Go away, go away!" He was hysterical, limbs shaking, eyes wide and bloodshot, arms stretched around himself. His life had never been easy, he was brought up with abusive parents and he had found out about his mental illness at a young age. he was never supported for it and so he was left to gather hate for the world who never batted an eyelid. Now he was back in his old bedroom, the smell of dust and ageing furniture, the sight of a small window and a fading room. He could feel the pain he had always felt after the day had ended, not just in his shoulder, but in his entire body.

Sartin never felt two rough arms drag his shaking mess of a body through to his personal office, he didn't witness the screaming of the man who shot him as he was dragged away. He could only remember the sweet smell of the tulips of his old garden in Alban, the running water of the pond at the end of the long patch of grass.

---

"You shouldn't have fucking done that you little shit."

Chatrov was led roughly down into one of the central rooms of the palace. Looking around, it seemed to be a small meeting room, adorned with basic furniture, a few chairs and a table. The rest of the room seemed to just be wall and lights, perfect for a temporary prison.

Chatrov felt himself being pushed harshly onto the floor. One of the guards kicked his side for good measure, before turning to his friend to discuss plans. Once they seemed to be finished, Chatrov gazed up at them to see grins on their faces, walking towards him like dogs raring to kill. Chatrov knew this wouldn't be pretty, so he prayed to any deity that would care to listen to him that it would be quick.

His head was yanked upwards sharply before his body was riddled with fists and legs, all fighting to land a hit on him. These guys were desperate, they all knew that Arván would fall soon enough, so they wanted to use their privileges of state-sanctioned brute force while they still could. So on they went, battering the defected Aprosian, uncaring for the screams and cries of mercy and pain.

The guards' knuckles were red now, and their feet were tired, so they decided it would only be appropriate to take a break. One of them left while the other stayed. Crouching down to the defeated failed assassin, he pulled out his phone and smirked.

"Do you know what I just got?" He said, in a clinically calm voice.

"Please! Mercy! I'm just a damn businessman -" Chatrov was interrupted by a harsh slap slamming into his right cheek, further opening a wound already there.

"Don't you fucking interrupt me!" The guard said, in a dangerous whisper, "As I was saying, I sent a few guards to go for a little stroll down Chapeaux Avenue. They sent me a picture of this exquisite architectural masterpiece. Do you want to see?" The guard yanked Chatrov's head up by his hair and forced him to look at the photo, of his house. The guard smiled as Chatrov broke down into sobs, swiping the screen to a new photo, one that showed an older woman and what appeared to be her daughter being led into an Arvanan Police van by armed soldiers.

"You see," the guard now wrapped his arm around Chatrov, "traitors aren't treated well in Arván. Some like the League would call our treatment inhumane, but I call it justice. Right now, your wife and daughter are going to make someone very happy after they're bought by some rich fuck in the Arvanan market. Meanwhile you - oh no don't cry!" He said, hugging Chatrov who was now sobbing hysterically,

"You are going to be our guest of honour."

[Jahe Davmwoem]

St. Recont

Man, the colonel has his connections thought the soon to be assassin, as he set up everything. The bodyguard uniform was perfect, as it was an original. It's previous owner, who unfortunately had an extremist look alike, was gone, somewhere out of the city in a ditch. The assassin easily passed as one of the bodyguards. He demanded to see the meeting room, threatening to skin the aids alive as rebels if they refused. They had quickly let him in. Yes, he played the role very well.

The room had its flaws. It took luxury into much more consideration that safety. Spotting a potted plant as his best opportunity, he yanked it out, and buried the bomb under the dirt, then putting the plant back in. It was set to detonate at the time the meeting took place the very next day. Some poor bastard was missing a few teeth because he at first hesitated to give that information.

The assassin smiled, thinking about the damage it would do. The Colonel, wanting to strike fear in this message, had managed to get the mob supporting him to ship in some White Phosphorus. No one in that room would be recognizable after this. If they were really lucky, they may have to use an urn rather than a grave for the soon to be victims. If they were not lucky, they would have to sort out chunks of flesh.

Flipping off the aids one final time, he walked out of the presidential palace, but not before mentioning the "Strict Orders" that no one was to enter the room before tomorrow's meeting.

[Noronica]

Suburbs of St. Recont

Matt held on to his helmet as the sounds of rounds pounding the wall next to him kept going. He knew that modern military helmets had straps for the very purpose of not falling off, but Matt kept holding on, a habit that he had adapted to keep him calm for some odd reason. Looking over at his teammates, he noticed their eagerness. They all knew that the government was the hardest to fight in this situation due to their almost-advanced weaponry, and they all knew that today would be the day when the government fell.

Noticing that other squads were starting to return heavy fire, he signalled for his fireteam to do the same, hoping that when he popped his head out, there wouldn't be a bullet waiting for him. Counting to five, he yanked his body up, scope aligned with his eye and finger resting on the trigger, ready to fire. He glanced over at an Arvanan soldier who was firing at his fellow Noronnicans. Matt felt a tear in him when he noticed the age of the young soldier, estimating it to be around 17. Squashing the thought, he pulled the trigger and let loose a couple of rounds.

The Noronnicans were gaining ground as they caught the Arvanans on the backfoot, trying to reach safety in the next line of defence. Unluckily for them, the Noronnicans outnumbered them and had superior weaponry.

Matt noticed a fantastic place for cover, quickly sprinting towards it and ducking behind, rifle at the ready. A couple Noronnicans joined him, already firing at the retreating Arvanans. Matt joined in, his face expressionless as he subconsciously realised the necessity for calm. His body was that of a professional, poised and ready to take down his prey effortlessly. He knew that when his adrenaline died, he would hate himself for being cold, uncaring for the enemy lives.

He heard the distant scream of a tank shell as it whizzed past him and into a wall behind which were Noronnicans. Angered and with a renewed vigour, his fighting intensified, ensuring that every shot counted towards the final toll. Behind him, he could just see an Anti-Tank missile be launched towards the Arvanan tank, tearing through the cheap armour and blowing the tank up from the inside. That's for killing Noronnicans you fuck, Matt thought, glaring towards the Arvanans who were now running back to safety with their trump card successfully gone. You'd think that they would have various tanks, but the equipment was having to be stretched thinly due to the Arvanan numbers compared to the horde of Noronnicans and their equipment in tenfold.

He heard commands for the Noronnicans to fall behind their tanks as they reached the entrance to the city. All of the infantry did so, letting the tanks move first through the large old gate. Once the tanks rolled inside, they dispersed to allow the infantry to swarm the street, gunning down the Arvanan defences. Matt joined them, making sure to take down any defence instalment he could see. Once inside the inner city, the Noronnicans dispersed into various sections of the city, under orders to take down any Arvanan soldiers they could. Matt was one of the 'lucky' ones to go to the central square in the city's CBD where the rebels were fighting the government troops. He and others were ordered to join the rebels and once defence shad been taken down, move into the Presidential Palace.

Joining his squad as orders were for squads to form instead of individual fireteams. They advanced towards the square, ensuring that no Arvanan stood in their way, the taste of victory in their mouths.

---

Cabinet Room, Presidential Palace, St. Recont

"The Noronnicans are here already? Did you make sure to give them their welcome packs and the keys to the city as well, or did you even think to properly construct defences?" Sartin growled, grinding each word out more angrier than the next.

The assembled group of people noticeably bristled at the insult, some of the newer ones shook with anger. Sartin's head of police stood up, trying to defuse the situation, "Well sir, we have attempted to stall their adva -"

"Key word in that statement, attempted. You mean to tell me that the army I have spent trying to construct for these past decades are nothing but seaweed, waiting for the sea to swallow them?" Sartin slammed his fists on the table, the doctor next to him protesting about his injured shoulder, "I don't care about my damn shoulder! What I want, is something you can tell me that makes me at least think we stand a chance at winning this. Anyone?" Sartin's features darkened as none spoke, all of the advisors sheepishly glancing at each other.

One of his advisors decided to stand up, sighing in resignation. "Sir. I... I think it would be... prudent to inform you that -" His voice died out as he saw Sartin's glare. Another advisor stood up and finished the sentence for him,
"That there was another assassination attempt on your life this morning. While you were sedated after your attempt yesterday, an emergency meeting was held with some high-level ministers. The meeting was bombed with what we believe to be white phosphorous. The bodies were completely obliterated. I... I'm sorry sir."

"Another fucking attempt on my life?! Who was it this time, my fucking grandmother? You mean to tell me that the best military minds in Arván had no idea that someone could slip past our defences? Or is this another 'inside job' that failed to be flagged during our screening? Out! All of you OUT."

[Noronica]

St. Recont

The entire square was a mess. People were still fighting, uncaring for their fallen comrades, even young children were caught in the midst of the brawl, screaming for help while everyone around them was either dead or killing. This was the most violence Arván had seen in a long time, the entire city releasing its pent up rage.

The Presidential Palace stood strong, even through the entire ordeal, the defences were still up and the soldiers were still manning the guns. Even though the government knew it was set to fall in a matter of hours or even minutes, they held on to their last breaths like a stubborn dog, unwilling to hand over its chewed and battered toy.

When the sounds of heavy armour and the shouts of new arrivals erupted into the square, no one noticed, the fighting continued regardless. Eventually, more and more people began to notice the Noronnicans who had joined the fight alongside the rebels and the fighting intensified, harsher than before.

The few government troops that remained were efficiently put down under heavy fire, no remorse held for them. It would be remembered as a battle close to that of the Slaughter of Port Sinare during the Noronnican Civil War. Soldiers upon soldiers dropping to the wall of fire. Eventually, the Noronnicans and the rebels had the square, the few government supporters that were still alive were rounded up and swiftly sent back to the temporary command outside St. Recont before the rebels could slaughter them as well. Soon the rebels had formed behind the Noronnicans, allowing them to begin the assault on the Palace, the bloodlust evident on most of their faces.

Matt was afraid as he stepped out of the IFV into the square. He looked around him, ordinary people toting enemy weapons and cheering and jeering at the Palace which had gone strangely quiet. He never liked revolutions, on the news the people were so loud and unorganised forming one huge row of hate, screaming for blood. He was now right next to his nightmare, but he kept his nerve.

Looking for his commander, Matt noticed he had a glare on his face and was shouting through his radio. Several Nyssic Division IFV's arrived on the scene, unloading troops dressed in black gear made specifically for assaulting buildings. Matt was confused but glad that someone else was taking control of the situation now. He was so tired.

---

Corporal John Menkel knew of the delicate work that was tasked for him. He had been given special orders to lead two Nyssic Division squads into the building, which he had accepted. His other instructions were not so pretty, but he knew his job.

The Nyssic troops entered the building, taking down anyone that got in their way. John led his fireteam into a meeting room that had been converted into a makeshift bunker, swiftly ensuring any officials were roughly escorted out of the building. On they went, banging down doors until their boots were covered in dust and most of the rooms were cleared.

Glancing down at his map, he realised he was close to the targets. Signalling for his team and another to kick down the door of the cabinet room, they loudly entered, much to the dismay of the occupants. These guys were the remnants of the Arvnanan top brass, now reduced to a pathetic standard as they screamed for mercy. Smirking, John lifted his arm and the two teams lifted their tranquillizers. All of the ministers were swiftly put down to then be dragged out for transportation, they were not going to be seen for a very long time, the government had plans for them. One of the ministers remained and John placed his pistol next to the man's forehead, any investigators would only need one image to confirm what had 'happened'.

Leaving the room and heading down the corridor, John and three others entered Sartin's room to see the man on a makeshift hospital bed, eyeing them weakly. Once he had realised who they were, his shoulders sagged, "Je suis mort." He said in resignation while John laughed, "No mate, you're going to stay alive for a little while longer, so you can see your ground be destroyed beneath your feet. Here, why don't I enhance the view?" John rolled Sartin's bed towards the window and propped the former president upwards to watch the city below them. John then bound Sartin to the bed and left the room, savouring the image of the look of utter dejection evident on Sartin's face.

The Palace was eventually cleared of any government officials, instead replaced with troops who were destroying any propaganda or government imagery. The commander of the force in the city arrived and appeared on the balcony, throwing the Arván flag to the floor where the awaiting crowd was, replacing it with the Noronnican flag.

The Arvanan government was no more.

[Keomora]

Fortified Location in Arvan
Commander Shinktu smiled to himself as he saw the message from the Noronicans. While a part of him hoped that they refused he valued the lives of his men. Especially with what they managed to scavenge. The Arvan government renegaded on their promise and refused to send the other half of the money. In response they began to loot, aiming for the wealthy areas and pulled from the front, and grouped together, fortifying their location. Their location, once a neighborhood of the affluent was turned into temprary barracks. He turned to his second in command Albert Drak, a veteran who served under Katherine Karma while she was a brief member of the KFL.
"Tell Brigadier General Thomas W. McArthur that I would like a meeting with him or another high ranking officer. I want everything out of the way before we leave this shithole."
Drak silently took the letter before going on his way. Watching him leave, Shinktu's eyes drifted to the Arvanian flag that was hanging on the wall, before he threw a knive at it. "What a waste of time," he muttered to himself as he reduced the once proud flag to shreds.

[Athara Magarat]

A few days earlier in...

Molung Khola

Yet Another Kirat-Sunuwar Village in Rural Arván

Unlike Noronican and other allied soldiers who were focusing on Arvánan targets, Athara Magarati soldiers had the task of winning the hearst and minds of the local Kirat-Sunuwar population. A majority of the Athara Magarati troops in Arván were either in Base Mer or the villages. The locals had seen Athara Magaratis for the first time in their lives. The language barrier that other troops would have had was not a problem. The villagers and the soldiers conversed with each other. Major Moringlahang himself a Kirat-Limnu. had demanded the Defense Ministry and the government at homeland and selected either only Pure Kirati (Limbu, Rai, Yakkha and Sunuwar) soldiers or those who spoke Kirati languages.

The Athara Magarati soldiers were treated by the locals with dinners and it was considered impolite to refuse them. Each house took responsibility for feeding a squad or less number of soldiers.

Unknown the three Athara Magarati soldiers enjoying the traditional food at the house of Jetha Koich, the alcoholic drinks had been added with Gamma Hydroxybutyrate (GHB) drug.

The soldiers didn't remember anything other than that the moment they regained their consciousness, they were standing naked tied to a tree and armed men and women surrounded them.

"You will be wearing this," one of them threw a bag of clothes at the tied trio. "And don't try to escape or run. Your friends already know that Kirat-Sunuwar Workers Party forced the villagers to feed you the date rape drug as in GHB. But relax, you will not be harmed and returned safely with a list of our demands to the Athara Magarati and Noronican governments. As for your uniforms, they are in the hands of SHOCK right now."

---

St. Recont

The three Kirat-Sunuwar men dressed in Athara Magarati uniforms and weapons were in the streets near the presidential palace of Arván. They were members of the Arván branch of SHOCK who had obtained the uniforms and weapons from the Kirat-Sunuwar Workers Party a few days earlier. They met some Noronican soldiers and claimed that they were the Athara Magarati soldiers who had been kidnapped by Kirat-Sunuwar Workers Party and had manged to to free themselves.

The Noronicans gave them info on what was happening at the moment. Amid the chaos, no one noticed the three men heading to the presidential palace. And the trio tried their best at remaining hidden from Noronican sights.

Making sure that no one was in area, they quickly contacted their seniors and were given new orders. It was impossible to pull another assassination attempt on Sartin in this scenario. They were instead ordered by the voice on the other end to rescue an accomplice of his who might be still alive. A blond man in his forties who had attempted assassination on Sartin a couple of days earlier.

The trio interrogated the Arvánan guards who were still alive in the palace and made the way to one of the central rooms before silencing the guards with bullets.

---

St. Recont

Chatrov vision was blurred but he saw a pair of hands untying him from the chair. For the last few days, Chatrov had been whipped, pierced, shocked and stabbed with hot metals which had made him unrecognizable from the man he used to be. Now, upon being freed, he shouted and jumped like a wild beast at the Kirat-Sunuwar man.

The other Kirat-Sunuwar spoke as he pointed his rifle at Chatrov. "I would not do that to my savior if I were you. Here's a phone call for you."

The short man handed the smartphone to Chatrov who growled at him with reddened eyes while the third man was helping his friend get up.

"Greetings, Mr Nikolai Chartov."

Chatrov recognized the voice at once and his sanity somehow returned. So these men in front of him were not the Arvánan guards. He looked at them and saw red, yellow and tanned faces with small eyes and straight dark hair; that fucker's henchmen.

"What do you want again?" Although he was not shouting like before, Chatrov was still growling.

"You see Mr Chatrov, you attempted to do a good deed by ridding of evil but your failure brought you this misery. Had you succeeded?"

Suddenly, Chatrov gave a terrifying maniac laughter. "What failure are you talking about my dear friend? I have been failed by God since I was born. My government restricted my freedom and my family tried to move abroad. Then that fucker in heaven sent a storm and I am orphaned and washed ashore to this shit land. I was well-treated by my future wife's family. There I once again got love and care and eventually married her to pay the debts to the old couple. She was a sweet wife and I did my best to support her when her parents died. I got a job in this government and was a good husband and a good dad but look where I am now! While that Sartin eats and shits and has his way, God dares to punish only innocent men like me-"

"There are many innocent men and women like you, Mr Chatrov."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do you honestly think you are the only one who has been abandoned by God?"

"Screw that! I will now kill that bastard Sartin!" the blond man shouted. "Gimme a gun!"

"Too bad that you will not be able to do that." The voice was surprisingly speaking in a low sound. "Noronica and her allies have stormed over the palace and have Sartin. You will be killed - "

"So what if I am?"

"Don't you want to look for you daughter and wife? Don't you want to help other men and women who have faced what you faced?"

For a moment, Chatrov was silent. He remembered his whole life. His parents being watched over by the state police of New Aapelistan. His parents deciding to start a new life after being exiled by the communists. His parents dying in the severe storm and him being washed ashore until found by a kind Arvánan couple. His new life at Arván where he grew up. The troubles he faced at school for being an orphan. The old man dying and telling Chatrov to look after his daughter. The old woman dying and saying the two that she wanted to see them get married years later. Chatrov saw himself working harder than anyone in work and slowly becoming closer to his new wife; until then who had generally bickered with him over anything. He remembered the time their daughter was born and had slowly come to see humanity in a new light.

He remembered all those happy and sad memories until they were all shattered by Sartin who was worse than devil but still went unpunished by God. Chatrov, who had always thought that his life was being tested by God lost complete faith in the almighty when the Arvánan guards had told him about the cruel fate of his daughter and wife.

"I will help those who have been abandoned by God; even if it means going against his wishes." Chatrov laughed maniacally again. "The ignorant Children of God will now true misery and fear!"

"Welcome, Mr Chatrov. Welcome to SHOCK."

Chatrov laughed maniacally for a few more moment until the trio of Kirat-Sunuwar men in Athara Magarati soldier uniforms led him out as they smiled at another man joining their ranks. Truly, the Children of God would now know true fear and SHOCK.

[Vancouvia]

Northern Arván
One Month into Operation Melting Shovel

Major Joseph Malcolm wanted nothing more than to go home, see his wife, read a bedtime story to his kids, and fall fast asleep. But the Vancouvian Congress never sleeps.

Upon notice of the ongoing situation in the capital and the last strongholds being overrun by allied forces, Vancouvian command had decided that the Vancouvian piece of the war pie was too slim. Malcolm, now under command of over 3,000 troops, mostly fresh recruits sent straight from Yorkford, was ordered simply to "advance, rapidly, with haste." The goal appeared simple: traverse enough land in order to secure a stronger Vancouvian position at the final bargaining table, improve public opinion of the war to balance out the initial invasion disaster, and flex the Vancouvian military's reputation.

The execution was initially disastrous. The few tanks available had to be spread thinly among the front line, there were far too few vehicles to mount all the troops, and the VNA recruits were trigger-happy on every vehicle, hamlet, and farm animal that they swept by. Malcolm and his small VSF contingent had to focus their entire effort on logistical and internal problems; the situation was so FUBAR that Malcolm had ordered his VSF officers to break apart from their squads and command individual VNA units: a significant order that resulted in further friction between the two branches.

Friendly fire was abundant, danger close artillery strikes by over eager units resulted in the worst casualties since the early days of the I.D. occupation, and civilian casualties mounted. Still though, through it all, the golden leaf on a sea of blue marched forward, even passing stationary Noronnican and allied units, and that was what command cared about. A Vancouvian in every town, and a frown on every Vancouvian.

[Shanowinn]

Rippen Airfield
Mechanized Cavalry Recon


Sergeant Ceallaigh crouched over the stretcher. His mate Sergeant Dubh laid upon it, motionless, only his face showing. A white sheet covered everything below. Ceallaigh tried to balance on the balls of his feet and the buttstock of his worn rifle against the ground, but he was unable to keep balance. He collapsed to his knees. He covered his face as he bent low over Sergeant Dubh; Dubh's looked peaceful, whereas his live comrade's was contorting behind his hands. Ceallaigh simultaneously cared, and didn't care, that any troopers nearby could see him crying. In fact he could see that he wasn't the only one trying to cope with loss now that the battle was over. They were highly trained soldiers...but not complete machines.

He let a whimper slip out and subconsciously peered out over the airfield, as if to make sure no one noticed. The attacks had certainly taken a toll; several vehicles had been destroyed or disabled, and relative to the size of the Mechanized Cavalry Recon force present in Arván, they took grim casualties. They lay like Sergeant Dubh did in a row on the tarmac outside a shelled hanger. Sergeant Ceallaigh wondered what made him so special, to have come out alive, but not his friend Sergeant Dubh nor most of his original Platoon, and that forced a whole new round of tears. The Sergeant was glad that regular Royal Owinn Army troops had arrived so that he could go home--with Dubh.

Lieutenant Colonel Ciara Byrne, commander of the MCR force, was then approaching. Ceallaigh saw her stop to his left down at the beginning of the line of stretchers, and pause for a moment.

"Battalion! Form up here!" she cried.

The living then started to get into a formation facing the line of dead, and several paces from them. Ceallaigh squeezed Sergeant Dubh's concealed shoulder and lumbered up to his feet, going into the formation. Some who were wounded hobbled over, even. Ciara Byrne waited until all were present who could be present. She then advanced down the line between the living and dead. She cast an eye on her troopers, but was not interested in an inspection. They had tasted battle, and were forcefed it. Their soiled, sweaty uniforms, scuffed boots, bandages, and mile-long faces reflected that.

"I hate to see many of our fellow troopers laying here," she started, "and I won't forget their sacrifice. It is unfortunate that they fell, and believe me, I understand if you question your own survival, while others perished. I can only say that we should honor them--and not just today, but always with your thoughts and actions. But don't discount yourselves. Along with our fallen troopers, you held your ground ferociously against repeated attacks, while outnumbered. I commend the initiative and quick thinking of my subordinate commanders; the skill, will, and toughness of each Mechanized Cavalry Recon trooper here. You have deserved a trip home. Now, to salute the fallen." The Lieutenant Colonel hastened to her original position, straddling the line of living and dead.

"Attention! Salute!"

Sergeant Ceallaigh felt a tear fall down his cheek as he snapped the best salute possible at Sergeant Dubh.

[Noronica]

Garlisle, Gresford, Noronica

Robbie Hawthorn had been worried for his son's safety for a while now. He was not entirely supportive of his son joining the United Noronnican Army, so when he found out about the plans for Arván, he almost had a mental breakdown. Robbie had fought in the Noronnican Civil War, so he knew what it was like in wartime. He had practically begged for his son not to go, not caring for the contract in place, only desiring the safety of his son. Robbie and his wife had sat watching the news each day, hoping to never hear the name of their son. It was a meaningless pastime, but they no longer cared for anything other than the war in Arván, frightening a few of their friends, unused to seeing the stony look on both their faces.

Tonight was the same. They had sat down for dinner, half an hour before the news came on, hoping to eat quickly enough to watch the news. Once finished, they had scrambled to the living-room, catching a glimpse of the iconic logo of NMC One on the screen. Turning the volume up to fifty, the two sat back and watched the seven o'clock news.

"This is NMC One, at Seven-thirty, the finale of Season One for Laerd of the Isle. For now though, we join Ed Clarke in NMC News at seven."

"Tonight at seven, our top stories tonight; archaeologists have found what might be the lost remains of King Robert I in Gwynon Cathedral, the Round Table member Johann Schmitt goes to Ipland for the Western Isles Climate Change Summit, and finally, the Round Table officially declares the government of Arván to be disbanded, and the new Prefect of Arván, Lord Bartholomew Montague lands in St. Recont, having been received by his new Crown Government."

The silence in the room was almost too loud. Both Hawthorns felt their spirits lift immensely, but still felt very tense. Robbie fingered the small noron coin in his pocket, trying to calm himself as he leaned closer to the screen.

"A few days ago, the city of St. Recont was taken by both rebel and Noronnican Forces. It is not known exactly what time the battle ended, but the Noronnican flag was raised in the late afternoon, showing the victory of those in the peninsula. Once the government was set up and the Presidential Palace restored, Lord Bartholomew Montague made his arrival in Arván. The Round Table in Nolon City have made an official statement declaring the new Noronnican Crown Dependency, reforming the centuries old governmental system over Arván. The new government issued a statement declaring that 'this is a time of prosperity for Arván' and that 'the old shall be swiftly replaced with the new'. We are unsure how stable the nation is at this moment, as the peninsula is still plagued with criminal activity, but this is one large step towards an orderly and prosperous Arván." The News reader's face glazed over, a solemn look gracing his features.

"It now comes with great displeasure that I must announce those who died in service to the Overlordship of Noronica; Harry Arbard, Jeremy Alon," the Hawthorns gradually deflated, the list went on, but there was no mention of Private Matthew Hawthorn. Fatigued smiles graced their lips as they sauntered up to bed, they could finally sleep easily on the knowledge that their son would be returning soon.

[Jahe Davmwoem]

Somewhere in Arvan

Lhawang Drakpa, or at least that is the name he goes by, arrived at the base. He was a Jahedain, one of the natives of Keomor descent. He however had always been different. He practically worshiped the Jahe regime and its citizens of colonial descent. He hated himself for not being one of them. But he could make up for that, by doing them a service. To strike back against the foreigners who had raped the Jahe homeland. He walked up to a man wearing an old Imperial Guard Uniform. He contrasted against the finely maintained uniform, with his thick matted hair, beard, and very wrinkled face. He shook the mans hand, envying every part about this mans dedication. "Lieutenant, I presume?"

"Yes, I am glad that even members of your culture can see the righteous cause. I fight for the homeland, not just for my people. Those foreigners will never touch us again, they will rather fear us!"

The two talked at length, and came to a conclusion. In the middle of the night, an agent was sent out. His mission, to get an Athara Magarati uniform.