Blood, Blood Red as the Aegis [[MT :: ATLAS ONLY]]

by **Valdiu** » Sun Jan 22, 2017 12:08 am

In a vast plane of nothingness lies a curious anomaly: a bright blue dot, alone in its color and content among the infinite miles of space, a solitary, stoic, verdant contrast against the eternal and ethereal dark.

The blue dot, infinitesimally small against the scale of the universe, is inhabited by millions of curious creatures. Creatures big and small, creepy and crawly, venomous and utterly harmless, intelligent and dim-witted, civilized and Grozyar, swung and straight. Principally - at least in his own mind - among these creatures is mankind.

We can summarize mankind in four words: a waste of entropy. The history of mankind is riddled with violence and death, killing and blood. What sets these petty creatures apart from their other animalian brethren is the sheer pointlessness of it all. While their killing was urgent in a time gone by, now, they kill based on skin color, religion, or just for the hell of it. As we lay our eyes on this picturesque marble, more killing, equally useless, is about to begin again.

BLOOD, BLOOD RED AS THE AEGIS
A GREAT TIDE OF CRIMSON
THEME
Theirs not to make reply;
Theirs not to reason why;
Theirs but to do and die.
~Alfred Tennyson, Charge of the Light Brigade

Prevale

“You wanted to see me, Alex?”

A tall, stocky man peered in from behind a large oak door, painted a glossy white. The man’s face was young, yet his eyes were old. His hair betrayed a mean between the two: his hair was a leopard-print of brown and grey. The man was dressed in khaki with black pants, and adorning his left breast was a stiff board of bars of various colors. On his shoulder were three stars. It was ironic: all of these were meant to intimidate anyone who came before him with the quiet intensity of a career sailor; however, the order in which they were supposed to do so was reversed. For example, the three stars on his shoulder were supposed to be the primary indicator of the man’s precedence, despite being the most inconspicuous piece of material on the uniform. This was followed by the Pollockation of ribbons that adorned his chest, which, admittedly, due to their sheer contrast and number, were quite striking. However, the first indication that this man was a figure of authority was his face. The way his face naturally set, the way his eyes pierced, the way his brow was creased from years of furrowing and the way it hung low over his eyes - it all struck you with an air of “I come in peace. I didn’t bring artillery. But I’m pleading you, with tears in my eyes: if you fuck with me, I’ll kill you all.”

“Ah, Dick. Come in.”

The man was Admiral Richard “Dick” Simmons. His friends recalled to him as Dick, as did the nation’s teenagers; the public knew him mostly as Admiral Simmons, Chairman of the Defense Committee of the Republic of Valdiu.

He sat at the desk. Before him was a man who possessed none of the things he possessed. He was not overbearing, nor was he quietly intense. He had no billboard of colors on his lapel, nor did he have any shiny buttons on his suit. Despite all this, this man was the most powerful in the country.

“Yes, President Sterling?”

President Alexander Sterling was still fairly young. He had been President since age 38, seven years ago. Next year, his job security would be threatened once again as he sought re-election. The thought of this frustrated him, as he had little time to trifle with the formalities and mudslinging of politics when war was at hand. Still, despite his stressful job, his appearance betrayed little the perception his job had taken a toll on him. His hair, despite being more desaturated, was still auburn, his eyes still warm and vibrant, his smile still gentle. His suit was still pressed neatly, and the Valdian flag pin on his lapel was still bright and shiny. He looked up at the man from behind some dark titanium spectacles with expectant, inquisitive eyes.

“Dick, we’ve known each other for twenty years. I told you, call me Alex,” he said, sitting back in his large chair. “Anyways, you know the war’s on.”

“Yes,” replied Simmons somberly.

“What are you thinking that we do?”

“Well, sir, General Deriveur, I’m told, had many good ideas for strategy. If I’m to understand, the Republic and our allied Fale nations are to conduct a defensive war until such time as the two-front threats facing us are neutralized and we can contribute to an offensive.”

This man Deriveur was an Acronian man, in charge of the Rapid Reaction Force of the Chilokver-Huda-Acronius-Valdiu Strategic Union. Its membership were collectively known as CHAVS and included much more than the four titular nations. In short, Deriveur was to the CHAVS RRF what Simmons was to the Valdian military.

“What commitments do we have to make?”

“Well, sir, our primary goal right now is home defense in line with our own goals and the CHAV strategy. I’m suggesting we spend the time training reserves. We should also reinforce our navy, as they’ll be our first line of defense should an invasion fleet make its way to our shores.”

“Excellent. Has the Committee deliberated on this?”

“We’re planning to; the next meeting should be on your schedule for tomorrow.

“Excellent. You’re dismissed, Dick, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Alex.”

Simmons got up and brushed the dust off his uniform, and began to walk across the Sarasiran rug emblazoned with the Valdian coat of arms.

“Oh, Admiral?” Sterling called.

“Yes, Alex?” Dick turned around, listening attentively.

“One more thing: As you know, it is tradition for the President to appoint a single general or flag officer as the General of the Republic.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m nominating you. The resolution goes to a vote in the Legislature in a week.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Valdian Naval Base, Cablonan, Sde Dov

“All personnel for DDGs 22 through 26 report to your vessels. DDGs 22 through 26 depart in one hour.”

The men and women of the Valdian Navy scurried about like animals. From above, indeed, the shadows and heads of the soldiers and sailors looked like ants meandering about a farm. The naval base was chaos: yellow forklifts and green tanks were hurried aboard gray ships as possessions were hurriedly loaded onto transports. A hasty withdrawal was in order: faced with being ravaged on two fronts, Valdiu was hurriedly recalling assets left and right. The Valdians were only leaving six ships deployed overseas. The rest were to be sent home to form the aegis which had found fame as Valdiu’s most prominent symbol: the great crimson circle. The Crimson Aegis.

“Shit, we’ve gotta hurry,” said Seaman Arnold Benuego, running, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, towards the massive Merit-class destroyer that was his home. There were four such ships here, moored in a neat block beside the finger-like concrete tendrils that portruded from the gray concrete appendage that was Naval Base Cablonan. In the distance, barely visible over the trees, was the city of Cablonan. Its establishments and faculties had provided enjoyment for many of the sailors here.

In the wake of the mass exodus was a base that was largely abandoned. A few thousand people used to live here. Soon, it would be a ghost town. The unlucky saps that got left would spend their time scrubbing vague orange dusts from gaudy blue polyester carpet and scraping congealed bodily fluids from the undersides of bunk beds. They would deal with dirty dishes, and they would spend hours upon hours labeling and packing and shipping toothbrushes and toys and electronics and underwear, both dirty and clean. Their workload would increase tenfold as they had to do the work that was previously spread across the personnel of the whole base.

Soon, though, the Valdian Navy had officially pulled out of Cablonan. Its massive piers were now empty, devoid of ships save for some small patrol boats, though these were just glorified motorboats anyway.

Meanwhile, miles out, a convoy of eighteen ships was assembling. Nine destroyers, one carrier, one replenishment ship, two submarines and five frigates now clipped through the water in formation, nervously awaiting their turn to round the Yakzistani coast and turn for home.

Prevale

His name was Justin Knokie.

He was the man that had started World War III.

He was a tall, fit, blonde, handsome man. A week ago, his eyes would have leered confidently and his gait would have been straight and tall, even underneath the vest of tanks and gear and special sciency fabrics. A week ago, his hair wouldn’t be disheveled, his eyes wouldn’t be sullen; a week ago, his confident jaw wouldn’t be retracted sheepishly.

“Captain Knokie, what went through your mind when you fired the missile?”

He hated it. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised-

“Captain Knokie?”

“Oh, uh, apologies, ma’am,” he said tiredly. “I’m just exhausted.”

“That’s alright, Captain. What went through your mind when you fired the missile?”

“Well, ma’am, I thought that I was about to do something that would either be infamous or utterly insignificant and simply unfortunate.”

Knokie looked at the woman. Her black hair was cut in a bob. She was wearing a comfortable orange-red v-neck sweater and had black bell-bottom trousers. She looked impeccable from where the camera was; however, from Knokie’s angle, he could see her makeup struggling to hold in the perspiration. He could see the lines in her face barely covered up by the powder that coated it.

“Did you understand what might happen?”

“Yes, I did understand, ma’am.”

“People are asking; why did you do it, then?”

“Pardon me, ma’am?”

“Why did you shoot down the jet?”

There it was. The question they all asked. No amount of alcohol could make him forget the searing words. They were a personal condemnation for him, banishing him into a prison fathomed by nobody but him. The shame. He was the one who killed all these people. He should have refused. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him.

“I was under orders to do so, ma’am.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes’m.”

He had to maintain his composure. To break at this stage would end him, militarily and socially. His wife had called him crying, they’ve threatened me and the baby, she said. I love you so much, she said, please be okay. I’ll try, he said. He was trying. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him.

“If you understood the potential connotations, then why did you do it?”

“I was under orders to do so, ma’am. Those men had killed several Chilokveri and I was ordered to ensure that they did not escape justice.”

His eyelids drooped under the weight. The weight of his tiredness. The weight of the moonshine from the night before. The weight of what he had done. The weight of what was to come. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him.

The producer gestured frantically towards his wrist, indicating they were almost out of time.

“Well, Captain, it appears we’re approaching the end of our program. Do you have any final words?”

“Ma’am, as a matter of fact, I do.” He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him. He was going to set things right. “Ma’am, I took off that night expecting a routine patrol. I was sent towards that jet not knowing what to expect. They told me a location and I went there, ma’am. They told me what those men had done. Even if I hadn’t shot them down, the fact that they killed a Chilokveri security team, ma’am and taken the survivors hostage, ma’am, meant that war would have happened. Ma’am, I’m just a cog in the system. Any reasonable pilot, the pilots I know, would have done the same as I did, ma’am. With all due respect, ma’am.”

He felt better. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him.

The lady was taken aback. She hadn’t expected such a verbose reply. She would think him rude. He was blinded by the lights. They were hot in his dress uniform. They all asked the same things. The people despised him. She shook off her surprise and turned towards the camera.

“Captain Justin Knokie, everybody, of the Valdian Air Force. And now, for the last segment of our War Special, we would like to go to a taping of President Sterling’s speech to the nation yesterday.”

Across the nation, from the comfort of plush couches and sofas and beds and chairs, the people were treated to their president, the same warm, vibrant man in the well-pressed suit. He had a reputation for eloquence - the gift of gab, some would say. He stood behind a lectern, looking stern with a hint of despondent. His face was somber as the gray skies around Prevale cast a pall over the speech. It began to drizzle. “Hmph,” he thought. “My speech will get wet.”

Petrichor wafted through the air, mixing through the lightly perfumed paper and the lightly cologned president as he began to speak.

“Citizens of the Republic of Valdiu,” he began. “I am here today to inform you of an incident, which I am sure many of you have heard about.” He looked around. “Last night, a Valdian aircraft piloted by a Valdian pilot took counteroffensive measures against a Chazicarian aircraft, piloted by a band of Chazicarian forces who had stormed a Chilokveri airport, killing two, and taking the rest hostage, before taking off in the hopes of absconding to friendlier skies.”

He cleared his throat and looked out across the plaza. In its tree-lined boundaries, thousands crowded like sardines. Despite the thousands of voices congregated here, the only sound was the rain and the President. Millions of eyes were upon him as he spoke, raindrops pitter-pattering onto his suit.

“The Valdian jet was ordered to ensure that the Chazicarians returned to be dealt with by the proper authorities or ensure they did not escape justice. Unfortunately, our pilot was forced to do the latter. There were no survivors.”

He withdrew from a drawer a small piece of paper bearing a Chazicarian seal. “In response, the government of the United Imperial Republic of Chazicaria has sent me this document.” He held it up in the air. “It is a declaration of war. It empowers the Chazicarian Empire to take offensive stances against this Republic and to ensure our suppression through whatever means necessary.”

He paused. “The rancor displayed by the Chazicarian government here is shocking. The gravity of the situation needs no explanation, nor does the urgency with which this Republic is shifting to a defensive stance.”

He looked out across the crowd. 32 million people waited with bated breath for his next words, which he delivered at a pianissimo. “Therefore,” he said, crescendoing, “I, on behalf of the Republic of Valdiu and as directed and ratified by its Legislature, declare a state of arms within the Republic of Valdiu to the end that the Chazicarian nation no longer poses a threat to Valdiu. I am hereby authorizing the use of the Valdian Battle Ensign during all operations and the adoption of the Valdian War Flag. I will now read the formal declaration of war as ratified by the government at 2:34 AM last night.”

He cleared his throat. ““The Legislature of the Republic of Valdiu, meeting today on this date the Twentieth of January, Twenty-Seventeen, hereby resolves that, due to a declaration by the government of Chazicaria of a taking-up of arms in offense to this Republic for a reasonable response to their callous and dangerous actions, which have killed several Chilokveri, the Republic, for its own safety, must go to its own arms and take them up in defense of itself. Therefore, the Republic today, this day, the Twentieth of January, Twenty-Seventeen, resolves that a state of war and arms exists between the United Imperial Republic of Chazicaria, and her affiliates, the Republic of Grozav Inima, the Imperial State of Songha, the Karakhaznian Federation, and the Dominion of Zoboyizakoplayoklot. The President of the Republic, His Excellency, Sir President of the Republic of Valdiu Alexander Sterling, Plenipotentiary Supreme, is hereby charged with effecting the defense of the Republic, her sovereignty, and the safety of her citizens, and is vested with the power of the Valdian Military, and is empowered to conduct war against the aforementioned states to the end that they are effectively pacified and the safety of the Republic is ensured once more. May mercy and peace prevail in Valdiu.”

He looked around gravely. “A pall is cast across Atlas,” he said lowly. “A great tide will sweep across the nation, a tide of blood, blood red as the Aegis to which we swear. This is a tsunami for which no nation will be prepared and which will stop for no nation. Many people will die. Many Valdians will die. I promise you, as long as the flag that flies behind me today remains aloft, none of them will have died in vain.”

“Onward audaciously.”

by **Chazicaria** » Sun Jan 22, 2017 3:02 am

4:18 AM
Imperial Palace, Nox Mynus, Chazicaria
Office of the Emperor

Nicholas had been sitting in this goddamn room for hours.

Having been awoken at the early hours of the morning, briefed on the murder of the entire Chazicarian delegation to Chilokver, and told that the Emperor, his uncle, wanted to see him. That had all happened 2 hours ago, and now all that was left to do was wait in a room full of larger than average number of Republican Guard. Kane had thought to ask one of the guards what was holding the Emperor up, and the man would only tell him that the sick monarch had to meet with the High Council before he met with Nicholas.

This, obviously, was a vague and unsatisfying answer.

It was at exactly 4:18AM that the Emperor, flanked by both Republican Guardsmen and 2 members of the High Council, entered the office. Everyone snapped to attention, Nicholas included, and were soon returned their salutes by the obviously frail Emperor. His condition betrayed him- the Emperor Victor II was a startlingly healthy man before his sickness overtook him- and not even that old, at 49. In this state though, the man looked near 60.

Nicholas was the first to speak, but only managed to get off a "Sir-" before being cut off by Victor.

"Nicholas, this is it. I can't, in good conscience, continue as the Emperor of Chazicaria. The last doctor gave me 8 weeks, and that was 6 weeks ago. I've called you in here tonight for two specific reasons, the first of which you can probably guess. The High Council has voted, and you're to replace me, if you'll take the Crown." A brief cough exited the ailing man's lungs, and you could tell he was holding a fit back.

"Uncle, it would be an honor..." The bittersweet news wasn't surprising to Nicholas- this had been expected by half of the country already, himself included. What wasn't expected was such a grim outlook on his uncle's health.

With a smile, and trying his best to stand up as straight as he could, the Emperor replied, "I know it will be, and I know you'll execute the office to the absolute best of your abilities. However, that is, if I'm being honest, only the second most important reason that I've summoned you tonight. Asyou no doubt were told in that briefing, IRIS has confirmed that our delegation to Chilokver was shot down by Valdian aircraft about 4 hours ago. The War Council drew up a Declaration of War and voted unanimously to pass it. That means that the Emperor may sign the motion into law. You're the acting Emperor, Nicholas."

Standing frozen for just a moment before turning to the men in the room and looking over the people who were now, technically, his charges, Emperor Nicholas Kane V spoke with the authority of the most powerful monarch in the world, "Then we'll go to war. Valdiu and Chilokver- their allies too, if they insist on involvement. We'll call on our allies in Songha, Grozav Inima, Karakhaznia, and Zoboyizakoplayoklot by invoking the defensive pacts of the ICFS. CHAVS has bullied, provoked, and now killed its way into a war they're going to regret."

"Nicholas," Victor spoke up with the little energy he had left, "I have the utmost confidence you'll pursue this with all the conviction needed. Lead my nation to war."

5:40 AM
2nd IRN Fleet, Supercarrier IRN Prime
Command Bridge

Orders had come down and things were going hot.

Every ship in the fleet was on max alert and ever possible defensive measure was being taken to counter any and all threats, be they from the air, surface, or under the sea. CA-35aN Nerve AWACS craft and numerous anti-submarine UH-350 Sea Crow helicopters had been deployed, with more and more joining the chorus of Chazicarian aircraft picketing the entirety of the fleet.

It was surprising- the 2nd IRN Fleet had been deployed to its current location weeks ago, and the announcement had even been picked up by major news organizations, and yet, so close to the Valdian homeland, not a single vessel was present to counter them.

Of course, distance was relative. The fleet was several hundred kilometers away from the Valdian coast, much closer to the Allied Connurist States, as the news readings had said. Having been reinforced by elements of the 1st IRN fleet, particularly its entire Group V., as well as the Liberation class Guided Missile Submarines from Group IV., Shortsword Class Destroyers from Group III., and the Gordon V. Oppenheimer Class Support Carriers of Group I. This was all in addition to the standard compliment of ships assigned to the 2nd IRN Fleet.

But what hadn't been fully announced, was the deployment of both the 1st and 2nd Marine Riflemen Divisions, along with elements of the 1st and 6th Reserve Air Cavalry Divisions, with more of the complete divisions arriving every day.

Vice Admiral Jared Stokes had been watching over the deck of his flagship, the IRN Prime, when he'd been called away to speak to Marshall of the Armies Terrence Faulken (usually shortened to Army Marshall Faulken) about the current contingencies in place to deal with the conflict that was now in place. It had coincided perfectly with the announcement that the CAL had been raised to 2 and skipped 3, meaning Total Conventional Warfare. Army Marshall Faulken had informed the Vice Admiral that his fleet was to launch and support a full-scale invasion of the Valdian mainland. Support would also be deployed from the nearby allied nation of Mairland, in the form of strategic bombers and logistics units that were being deployed to the nation.

The first stages of the invasion were to be completed immediately: the use of cruise missiles against stationary defenses identified by satellite on the north west coast of Valdiu. Specifically, near the city of Reach.

The opening volley of the war was fired by the Ozymandias Class Cruiser Pharaoh, and it included 16 cruise missiles targeting radar installations, as well as naval and military air facilities.

Now the Valdians would get the war they so desperately wanted, and it was going to hurt.

5:49 AM
1st IRN Fleet, Supercarrier IRN Sovereign
Command Bridge

It wasn't every day that a career sailor who'd dedicated all of his adult life to the Imperial Republican Navy would get a chance to fight a World War against worthwhile opponents.

That's precisely why, when offered retirement 2 weeks ago, Grand Admiral Calvin Trevelyan had flat out said no, hoping that the tensions would increase to the point where he'd finally get to live his dream of destroying the IRN's rivals on the ocean. It was lucky, then, that only 2 weeks later he'd get his chance.

After the incident involving Grozav Inima and the Valdian naval provocation, the IRN had seen fit to deploy the entirety of the 1st IRN Fleet to the Gulf of Cydonia as show of both force and solidarity with their Grozyar allies. The deployment had caused a stir at home and abroad, as multiple Groups had to be brought back together in order to take part in the full deployment of the fleet. Once they had, it was only a few days before the war was kicked off when the Valdians downed the Chazicarian plane right outside Zoboyizakoplayokloti airspace.

After receiving the go ahead from Army Marshall Faulken, Trevelyan gave the orders to his fleet: intercept and engage the Valdian squadron that had performed the exercises in the Gulf. Immediately, the fleet buzzed to life, with the first AWACS and counter-submarine helicopters being deployed from the Sovereign's counterpart, the Monarch. It wouldn't bee long before the Valdian squadron was caught and faced the might of the much larger Chazicarian fleet.

6:33 AM
Fort Merrick, Gralich, Nortengral, Chazicaria
Barracks

Sirens bled obnoxious, high pitched screeches from all over Fort Merrick as the men of the 5th IRA Guard Division spring from their bunks and gathered their gear. Outside the many barracks of the base, vehicles were being pulled from garages, helicopters were spinning up, and officers were directing their NCOs into the necessary positions to ready the force.

War had been declared, and every knew it.

While they also knew that it wouldn't be likely that they'd deploy today, every last trooper in the Fort knew damn well that they'd likely see combat within the year. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing- Chazicarians tended to be more gungho about this sort of thing than some would understand.

All over the country, the reserves and active components of the UIRC's Armed Forces were performing the same early morning rituals, complete with the same levels of excitement, dread, and curiosity. Each Division and its Combat Brigades were stationed in areas deemed strategically useful. Some of those areas were near cities, others near bases, and some were in the middle of nowhere. All of them however, had the specific purpose of defending the Chazicarian homeland in the case of invasion against any foreign power, and that's exactly what they'd do.

VALDIAN THEATER ORBAT

GULF OF CYDONIA THEATER ORBAT

CHAZICARIAN THEATER ORBAT

by **Grozav Inima** » Sun Jan 22, 2017 3:21 am

Páncél-Kommendánt Attila Németh
5. Gárdosztály, 6. Gárd. Páncélezred
THEME SONG

The Jaguár's advanced towards the Ziadi Border, Németh's head popped up out of the top of the commanders hatch, peering across the scrubby plains ahead of them. Through his high powered binoculars he saw a border outpost of the Ziadi border protection, the three other tanks of the platoon kept their barrels pointed at the post, which was a small steel group of buildings with large barbed wire fences leading out in both directions. In addition to the four tanks were eight Qenstani IFVs, carrying a platoon of Páncélgránátosai.

As they approached the border checkpoint, Németh spotted the five border guards, each with simple uniforms and wielding simple Stasnovan AKMs and AK-74s. The militia would be a pushover compared to the Grozyar Republican Guard, who had the best training and equipment that the Grozyar RDF could offer. One of the border guards spotted the tanks approaching the outpost and pointed at it to his comrades, who all nervously grasped their rifles, one rushing inside the checkpoint, possibly to warn the others.

The border militia took up positions behind some rough sandbag emplacements, intended mostly to intimidate undesirables attempting to cross the border rather than an actual military threat. As they reached 100m from the outpost, one of the militiamen produced a RPG, and fumbled with it for a moment before the lead Challenger opened fire with it's coaxial M63 GPMG, which spit hot lead at 1200 rounds per minute, tearing through the air with accompanied by its vicious rolling klaxon.

The infantry in the Qenstani's dismounted, advancing towards the compound, the IFVs giving supporting fire. A siren sounded on one of the Qenstanis, followed quickly by a loud announcement in Ziadi, a recorded voice, soft and reassuring, spoken by one of the many Ziadi immigrant women, mostly Hindus and Christians who fled during the Ziadi war. The firing stopped as the recording started:

"Brave Soldiers of Ziadistan, Grozav Inima is not your enemy, lay down your arms and surrender, your friends and families await you, and do not wish to see you dead, fight no longer for the Hudian oppressors," it said.

The Grozyars waited a moment as one of the Ziadi produced a white flag, "Let's go arrest these filthy nemválok," Németh said over radio, and the tanks slowly advanced as the infantry followed suit.

Ten Minutes later and three Ziadi lay dead, with a further twenty captured. A fire-team of five Guardsmen would stay back and wait for the trucks to arrive and ship the POWs back to camps in Carsodonia. Meanwhile the rest of the troops would continue their push into Ziadistan proper, and them Huda. The engines of the tanks and transports roared as they began to leave, Németh scanning the horizon with his binoculars.

It didnt take long for them to spot reinforcements, two old Stasnovan T-55s and a number of trucks carrying infantry. Németh chuckled in surprise, "Is that a T-55, fucking stone age! Light them up!" he said. The Jaguar shuddered to a halt and the gun traversed for a moment. The powerful 128mm gun fired loudly, and the breech slammed backwards. An APFSDS round shot through the air, before it could even strike the target, another of the accompanying tanks fired too, kicking up a cloud of dust. The first round struck the T-55 and shredded her armour like paper, the second round hit the second T-55, and ruptured her fuel and ammunition supplies, and it exploded in a spectacular fireball.

A hatch opened above the second T-55, and the crewmen climbed out in a panic, their clothes flaming as they rolled around on the ground. The two following trucks turned and drove off in a hurry, with their tank support destroyed, engaging the Grozyar column would mean certain death.

"Keep moving before they are able to throw anything remotely effective at us," Németh commanded, and they began moving once again.

ORBAT FOR CARSODONIAN-HUDIAN FRONT

5. Gárdosztály

1. Páncélosztály

by **Grozav Inima** » Sun Jan 22, 2017 5:39 am

Nándor Andonov
4th Aviation Strike Squadron, Grozyar Air Force
THEME SONG

The V-14 squadron soared through the night sky, their engines the only light against the inky blackness. Three of the Cyclones carried two Antiradar missiles each to engage enemy air defences, another three carried an assortment of long and short range air-to-air missiles to contend with any Hudian air assets they might encounter. The last three carried four SALH-V44 guided missiles and two LRe-500K 500kg unguided bombs.

It was a standard formation for a Grozyar Air force strike mission. The SEAD would be able to protect the striker fighters from enemy-radar guided air-defence, the Air-to-Air escorts would be able to screen them from enemy aircraft, and the CAS loadout Cyclones would be able to engage enemy targets.

Five radar blips showed up on Andonov's screen, their signatures matched that of Hudian MiG-21s, Andonov knew the MiG-21 was no match for a Cyclone, a Cyclone, even if the MiGs had a number advantage.

"Csatár 3, this is Csatár 3:1, confirm five hostile signatures, over"

"Csatár 3:1, bandits confirmed, preparing Striker missiles, fire as soon as you have a mark," came the response.

As they got closer, the radar missile achieved a lock on one of the MiGs, and Andonov fired one off, while his two compatriots followed suit, a radar lock warning sounded over Andonov's cockpit, and he banked sharply right, flares deploying out his rear, as the MiGs engaged in their own evasive maneuvres. The missile flew past his cockpit at a maximum of 60m away, the missile curving towards him dangerously closely before it shot past, he continued to bank until he faced the opposing MiGs again, he fired another missile, one of his wingmen waited for the MiG to begin banking, and fired his own missile just ahead of it. One of the other MiGs was struck with a Striker Missile, flame and smoke billowed out of the aircraft before it took a nosedive and plummeted to earth.

The Striker flew across the night sky and hit the MiG right in the centre-of-mass. Another MiG fell to earth with a vast fireball. They were now within visual range, and Andonov loosed two Blitz infrared missiles, which streaked towards one of the MiGs, who lacked infrared countermeasures like flares, it hopelessly tried to evade as it was struck once then twice with the infrared missiles, losing a wing and slowly falling to earth. There were only two MiG-21s left for the three Cyclones. They fired a series of infrared missiles, the Cyclone's had the advantage of flare countermeasures to confuse the infrared missiles, and were able to evade.

However, one of the MiGs closed in on a Cyclone, and its 23mm cannon opened fire, the aim of the MiG was astonishing, as it tore through the midsection of the Cyclone, and the aircraft plummeted to earth.

"Kurva!" Andonov said, banking away again, scanning the skies for the second MiG. "Csatár 3:2, has been neutralised, repeat, Csatár 3:2 is down," he said over radio. He got on the tail of the last MiG, and let loose a storm of lead from his own 20mm cannon, and after three quick bursts, the MiG began to spill its guts all over the night sky before falling to earth.

"We've lost one," Andonov said, "That is an RTB."

They banked and climbed quickly into the sky, returning high about the ground and making their way home.

GROZYAR AIR FORCE IN CARSODONIA

by **Stasnov** » Sun Jan 22, 2017 6:21 pm

Northern Fale Ocean, International Waters
K-635, Northern Fleet, Stasnovan Revolutionary Navy
0125 hours

The K-635 shortly after leaving port

The large dark hulk slowly but steadily propelled itself under the surface of the vast Fale Ocean. Despite the size and firepower of the boat, it was virtually silent, utilizing the latest submarine stealth materials and technologies. The high-grade titanium alloy of the hull made the vessel lighter and non-magnetic, and also allowing it to dive faster. This was the Yarost-class submarine K-635, the first of its class. The Yarost-class was the pride of the Stasnovan Revolutionary Navy. In contrast to the previous Akula-class, it featured a massive arsenal of cruise missiles that, in concert with the torpedo batteries, gave the boat devastating firepower. And the Yarost's firepower was coupled with its advanced stealth technology and nuclear reactor, that offered it endless range, made it a terrifying weapon. No surface vessel was safe when the Revolutionary Navy's submarines where out on the hunt.

The K-635 left port at 2330 hours of the previous day from the Tormavkovo Naval Base, the Northern Fleet's home port, under the cover of darkness. Its mission was to patrol a 400 square kilometre area in the northerwestern part of the Fale Ocean, just east of the Brystic Isles. For its mission the boat was armed with the forty P-840 Rekviyem long-range cruise missile configuration, while also having ten torpedo tubes - eight 650mm and two 533 mm - and dozens of spare torpedoes. The submarine was armed and ready for combat operations. But it was not the only one. The K-635 was only one of the 39 nuclear attack and 5 Vaegir-class ballistic missile submarines of the Northern and Western Fleets of the SRN that were on long-range patrol, away from Stasnovan shores. Such massive mobilisation wasn't seen from the 80s, and then the SRN's arsenal was much larger.

The news agencies spoke about mobilisation, but they never really knew how large-scale it was. The stated that only eight Armies of the Stasnovan Revolutionary Army were to be brought to full strength, when all B and C-class formations were been re-activated, re-armed and re-trained, and tanks and other armoured fighting vehicles were being restored to active state from the huge reserve pools of the SRA. They said that only two Air Armies were put on high alert, when in reality all five Air Armies and four Air Defence Armies were on their toes, and the Stavka was restoring reserve aircraft and quietly accelerating cadet training with the intend of creating another Air Army as soon as possible. While it was believed that the Revolutionary Navy was to just increase patrols, in reality they were not only increasing, but extending their range as well. Two new Heavy Bomber Aviation Regiments were created with reserve Tu-22M3 and Tu-22M2 bombers for the AV-MF (Naval Aviation). Every day life continued in the USRS, but in the office of the Minister of Defence, a draft notice was ready to be revealed to the public.

The bear has awoken, and all shall be crushed by its might.

by **Brytene** » Mon Jan 23, 2017 10:36 am

Nothing burns like the cold

Theme

Castle Oakhall

"That's it. The Chazicarians have declared war. They are as we speak mobilising, and their objective is Valdiu.'

The soothing tones of Arminius, commander of the intelligence agencies of Brytene, belied the gravity of his words. He leaned back in his seat.

"I feel I must remind everyone here that we are not formally a member of CHAVS." said Sir Arthur after a few moments, his words echoing into the silence. Sir Arthur, the only real conservative on the Witenagmot, often found himself playing Devil's Advocate, but he knew that today of all days, his words were nothing more than a formality. For forces so politically opposed to their own to come so close to their home, to storm into their area of interest and attack a close trading partner and friendly neighbour as Valdiu, was unacceptable. The frenzy of Socialist Nationalist fervour had settled into something darker, deeper, since like a wounded elkhound that had seen its foes off bleeding and had then licked its bitter wounds, the nation was now almost hungry for blood again. They had tasted battle and they wanted more.

"We cannot let Valdiu fall. We cannot let foreigners, filthy wealhas, sail our seas and attack our allies with impunity." growled Wulfrun One-Eye. Sir Arthur raised an arch eyebrow, but he said nothing; he had already pointed out that they were not technically allies nor bound by treaty to fight, but such was the state of the Witenagmot.

"More to the point," said Aoife, "for the security of the region we can't let this happen. Valdiu lies between the mainland and Pepper Atoll. Besides, If Valdiu fall, it could be Castarcia next, and then who knows? For Brytene's navy to sit idle whilst this intrusion goes unchecked is unthinkable. I agree with Wulfrun; we must fight."

Isolde El-Hashem simply nodded, signifying Nortymba's assent and creating a majority amongst the Eorls. Elwyne, the Green Party member from Wesseax, opened his mouth to speak, but the Bretwalda simply waved a hand in irritation. Everyone knew he would suggest they scale back their military; it was practically all he did, since in every other regard Brytene was remarkably eco-friendly for a western state.

"It's settled. Summon the Thegn Rede, and schedule a meeting for myself, Sir Arthur, Botas and Forge. Have Kirsch mobilise Victrix. Brytene is going to war."

-----

Pepper Atoll, later that day
Aboard the CFS Swift Current, Livyatan-Class Attack Submarine

Captain Burkhart grinned a wolfish grin. They had just received their orders, and even as he calmly gave commands to his crew which saw them bellowing at their underlings, sending the sleek warship diving under the azure seas and powering quietly north, he knew that across the oceans of the area other Brytisc attack submarines and missile submarines were already waking from their slumber, pulled from the cosy routine of patrol and interception and sharpening their blades for the bloodletting that was to come.

-----

The court of Emperor Nicholas Kane V, Chazicaria

A sealed diplomatic packet arrived in Chazicaria, delivered by hand as the embassy staff of Brytene evacuated. Content packets were sent to various states such as Valdiu for informational purposes, and a web version was made available shortly after the news was made public in Brytene via an announcement on the BBC. The original was rather thin, though protected in a leather wrap inside a sealed, waxy envelope, and after passing the security checks and being opened it read as follows;

Official Declaration of the Confederation of Brytene

For the attention of Emperor Nicholas Kane V of Chazicaria

The Confederacy of Brytene hereby declares war on the Empire of Chazicaria

A state of war now exists between our two nations. Any encroachment into our territorial waters, the territorial waters of Valdiu or the Allied Castarcian States, or any direct attack upon any citizens, materiel, property, territory or forces of the aforementioned will be met with the full force of the Confederate Brytisc Fleet. Any citizens discovered within Brytisc territory will be interned for the duration of the war. Any individuals suspected of espionage will be arrested. Any military personnel captured will be detained for the duration of the war. Brytene respects human rights conventions.

If you are determined to invade our waters, please find attached a detailed nautical chart of the area.

Signed by the Bretwalda and the Witenagmot of Brytene, on behalf of the Confederacy and her people

Cenwulf Teorell
Aoife Lodbrok
Wulfrun
Sir Arthur Canillac
Elywne Hardrada
Isolde El-Hashem

by **CoraSpia** » Mon Jan 23, 2017 12:14 pm

Malden's castle, Corasheld

The temperature today in Corasheld was as it had been all weak: freezing. As he stood their on the steps of a place that was as one home, symbol, fortress and workplace he did his best to suppress shivers and the chattering of teeth which always afflicted him in these cold conditions; they were not becoming of a man of his dignity. After all, he was the current patriarch of one of the longest-lived ruling dynasties in Atlas, a man of honour and, though the Empire's condition was faded from its previous lofty station, some matter of power...but still it was never fun doing what he had to do now.
Far from the jovial figure he usually cut, Emperor Elien III stood before Coraspia and the world in an austere black suit, arms stiffly by his side and his head up straight. No decoration or jewel adorned him, and his face was a blank, unreadable mask of simple unfeeling stoicism...it was the face of somebody who knows that he may be doing something that he, and his nation, was bound to someday regret. The television camera looked at him with its wide, ever-focussed eye and he prepared for the judgement of his people as he spoke words that would condemn many of them to death.
"My friends, my people, citizens and honourable residents of our Empire," he began. "It will come as a shock to none of you why I speak to you today, or what the subject of my speech concerns: if you are wel-versed in the affairs of this world you will know that it concerns war. Yes. War. It is a sad, barbaric thing and one which I had hoped would never again stain our lands, yet I fear that now it is a reality.

My friends...6 hours ago, the Emperor of Chazicaria made a grim proclamation for all of our futures, that his nation would be entering into a state of war with the nations of Valdiu and chilokver." He paused a moment to let that take affect, before his voice took on a far sadder tone. "Believe me, throughout my time in office no message has grieved me to the level that this recent adoption of hostilities has."
He seemed to stand straighter, clearly coming to the point of his message. "It is not my wish to spill the blood of our noble Empire in foreign campaigns, and it is not my wish to use our resources to reep destruction. Rather, it is my wish that the world were at peace and that our regular offers to mediate to avert this international catastrophy
had been respected.
Sadly, the gods grant nobody a perfect world, and other forces have conspired to make our Empire's peaceful state untenable in the long term; the sovereignty of our allies is under threat, and we must do all we can to uphold it. It is for this reason that I, Elien, in my capacity as Emperor of the Coraspar Imperial state, do sign this decree of a joint decision of both houses, of nobles and of the common folk."
With a sigh he brandished a simple, crisp black envelope, none too thick or bulky, unmarked but for a small Coraspar eagle in the top left-hand corner, the only sign of what it might contain. Others like itwere even now on their way around the globe to be to be delivered to heads of state and government, to tell them the intentions of one of the last Emperors in Atlas concerning their lands. He spoke in a soft, solemn voice, knowing the immensity of what he was saying as he told his subjects what was contained within the laters...it would, after all, be the death warrant for may of them.

"This Empire," the Emperor pronounced, his deep baritone voice audible thanks to the glories of modern technology. "Noticing with grave horror the terrors and disregard for human life unleashed upon citizens of Chazicaria by agents of the republic of Valdiu,
And witnessing with great sorrow the response of allies of both nations, that response being more bloodshed and war,
Believing it the duty of this Empire to protect her allies in time of need,
And believing that the circumstances within which peaceloving nations must operate has become untenable,
with great sorrow and sadness proclames the following to be true.

From this date onwards, the Coraspar Imperial State is in a state of war with the Republic of Valdiu, and shall consider all who take up arms against our Empire or our allies as one and the same. We shall take measures, wielding as our weapon the Imperial defence forces, to ensure that our safety and that of our allies is protected and no more under threat from those who would degrade it. Our Empire shall, in accordance with common decency and respect to the innocence of cevillians ensure that all residents and citizens of the targeted nations are able to return home safely, and ask the same with respect to our own citizens.
Upon the honour of our Empire, I shall have it known that we do not wish to fight, and that were it possible to avoid the spilling of blood while protecting our allies it would be done. This, however, is not the case.
May the gods favour the virtuous,
And withhope for the future,
Elien,
Emperor,
Coraspar Imperial State."

by **Zoboyizakoplayoklot** » Mon Jan 23, 2017 4:44 pm

Devononokin's hand sweated ferverously as he wrote his signature on the paper. Each stroke of the pen was going to be equivalent to a thousand deaths, and that was at the very least. The world had been boiling over for some weeks now, and he figured it was going to spill eventually. His only worry was whether or not his country was ready.

He had signed off on mobilization of the military and activation of reserves just a few days previous, thinking that it was best to be ready for the worst case scenario. He didn't think it would happen so quickly after however, and he was more glad then ever that Anita had convinced him to let Zoboyizakoplayoklot sign on as a member of the ICFS. There were the critics yes, but he was aware that the benefits greatly outweighed the negatives, and he was sure that every single Zoboyizakoplayokloti would realize that in time. They had put their faith in him, so it was only appropriate for him to have faith in them. He tapped his fingers on his desk, The Declaration Of War resting on his desk. The Assembly Of Delegates had passed the bill that morning, but he had chosen to sign it in private. He felt that something as critical as this should be overseen by only him, the Prime Minister, without the prying hands of the greed and trickery of the Assembly.

He jammed his thumb down on the pager, signaling for his aide to come take the bill. It was done. Zoboyizakoplayoklot would have a role in the bloodshed to follow, and all he could do was cross his fingers it would be a positive one. The country he led had a history of warfare, with the Zobiks in particular being exceptionally keen for violence. Being ethnically Grozyar, Devononkin knew he wouldn't ever understand that, despite being just as Zoboyizakoplayokloti as the Zobiks who had called Zoboyizakoplayoklot home since the time of Dagh Khan, or even before then for that matter. Enlistment rates would likely go through the roof in regions with heavy Zobik populations, but as much as he appreciated the patriotism involved, he didn't enjoy sending off young men and women to their deaths.

It took mere seconds for his aide to arrive, which was strange since there was almost two sets of stairs up to his office from the office rooms of the various staff members and aides under the employment of him and his cabinet. Devononokin appreciated it though, as he didn't want to get second thoughts about the declaration of war and tear it up or swallow it. Not that he could legally prevent the war by doing so, but the temptation was there. The aide silently snatched the bill off the desk, obviously avoiding conversation due to the unbridled tension felt throughout the whole capital city. As they were about to leave however, they spun around on their heel the face the Prime Minister.

"I almost forgot, but Waqerik is here to see you. I don't know why he's here and he didn't say he was coming, but he's in the waiting room. Do you want me to send him up?" the aide inquired.

Devononokin pursed his lips. While it wasn't uncommon for the Regent to pay visits to the Prime Minister, it was usually under better circumstances. They didn't usually talk about anything serious, just philosophy and sports for the most part. Today though, the old Regent was likely coming to voice his opinion. It was true the Crown held no executive power in the Zoboyizakoplayokloti political process, but they were still prominent public figures, and they were revered in the same light as famous actors and recording artists. A symbol of Zoboyizakoplayokloti pride and culture, the fact that the Crown had no power didn't mean that they didn't have a voice, a voice the Regent was likely coming to use.

A few minutes later the aide returned, but this time with a feeble old man, wrinkly and grey, clutching his cane as if it was his last grip on the world. His appearance wasn't surprising, mostly due to the fact that he was 87 years old. The brother of the childless Regent to first take power of Zoboyizakoplayoklot, Waqerik had seen lots in his time, including the Second Great War, a conflict likely to be emulated in the coming days.

"Your Majesty, it is an honour," Devononokin began. "I wasn't expecting a visit from you today, but please, make yourself at home. Times are turbulent as I'm sure you're aware. Is... that why you came?"

The old man wheezed as The Prime Minister helped him into a chair. "I am old, not naive. Of course that's the goddamn, reason I'm here! I have seen the destruction a war of global size can cause, and I don't know if you do. My days are numbered Kawerdrop, and I'm sure you and the rest of the country know it." The Regent would've continued, but a furious coughing fit cut him short.

"Your Majesty, war was not my first choice, nor was it anyone else's. I understand you probably don't want to see your country in such a perilous state, but it is necessary. Without it, we would assuredly be swallowed whole by our enemies" the Prime Minister pleaded.

"What enemies?" the Regent gasped. "The Grozyars, slayers of a million Zobiks, who you now lie in bed with? The Songhese milk-drinkers who you send our youth to die for? Those are our enemies, and you fight with them!" The Regent gasped desperately as the Prime Minister sat still, shellshocked. He wasnt taking what the Regent said to heart, aware of the fact that His Majesty's mental health was deteriorating, but he was still soaking in what the old man was saying.

"The point is, Mr. Prime Minister," the Regent continued, "You have picked your allies. They are not the allies I would've picked personally, but I understand that they are... strategically crucial. Thus, all I ask you to do is to take this war as a chance to fuel Zoboyizakoplayoklot. Make this unnecessary womb of death an egg of patriotism. That's all that I ask."

The Prime Minister gazed at the old, barely sane man that sat in front of him. The Crown had spoken, and the Prime Minister had no choice but to take it with a grain of salt.

Unnamed Military Camp, 100 km from the Songhese Border
The screeches of drill seargents filled the air. Engines rumbled and soldiers could be heard firing off practice arms and chanting cadences. Zoboyizakoplayoklot was preparing to rush to the aid of their allies in Songha and Karakhaznia, with Chilokver their victims. The establishment of the ICFS and heightened tensions had flung the Zoboyizakoplayokloti military into a frenzy, and now that war was official due to a Chazicarian plane being shot down by the Valdian Air Force that frenzy had multiplied. Zoboyizakoplayoklot had caught wartime fever, and the entire nation was infected. Propaganda adorned lamp posts throughout every city, and those divisions not being deployed to Chilokver had begun establishing garrisons throughout the nation. Zoboyizakoplayoklot was ready to fill in their place in the Third Great War, and all hoped it would be glorious.

With three active divisions being deployed to Chilokver, those four not deployed would remain in Zoboyizakoplayoklot, waiting on standby and training the recently activated reserve divisions, as well as any new enlistments. Should Zoboyizakoplayoklot itself be attacked, those divisions were ready to defend Zoboyizakoplayoklot with their life, despite the unlikelihood of that occurring.

As the three divisions began to head off into Songha en route to Chilokver, the once bustling military camp was now bordering on empty, now inhabited by a sole division stationed there for defensive purposes. Zoboyizakoplayoklot at last was awakened, and it's dawn would surely be glorious.

by **Greater Hudian Republic** » Tue Jan 24, 2017 3:49 am

Husseinabad, the Greater Hudian Republic.

What a shame it was.

It was a spectacular winter morning in Husseinabad. Fog permeated the atmosphere, and commuters were on their way to work. Of course, the recent few months has brought on military assets into the city: occasionally, an M-93, flanked by soldiers could be spotted. Helicopters routinely patrol the city overhead, and despite the objections brought upon by city dwellers, there is a degree of safety they feel amid the recent tensions faced by the Hudian nation. But today was a much more tense day: by five in the morning, alarms start buzzing across the city.

A state of emergency has been declared.

Tanks and soldiers could be seen rushing down the Husseinabadi streets. Like the fog that had blanketed the city, it was now paranoia that did. Haven't you heard? Grozyar troops have made way into Ziadistan! It won't be long before they... Almost every hour fighter jets could be heard, as they reached and patrolled around Husseinabad. And from Abbas Tower, the President could see it all.

"Mr. President. The council is here."

Zaheer turned around. The Minister of Defense. The Generals of the Air Force, Army and Navy were here too. And of course, Hudian Intelligence with the Abbas Force. Their commanders here too. "Right, gentlemen. Let's get down to business." Abbas announced.

"Diplomatically, this means we are now at war with the Grozyar and Carsodonian nation. We can choose to declare war on the ICFS, but the Songhese nation has not declared war on us. Sparking their ire may be... futile." The Minister of Defense began.

"We will have the Sde Dovians mobilize to help us. Right now, we've secured air and naval defenses. Titanium Barma, which has been active remains as such. We have the entirety of the Hudian air force maintaining air superiority. When it comes to our waters, we can expect to be completely safe, that is, Cinoth does not permit passage through her waters. The same goes for our waters bordering Sde Dov. Ziadistan is a wildcard. The Grozyar are making their way through it, and we've reports of another coup, rather, a switch in allegiance from the kutta Ziadi. Ziadistan is lost - but we've got whoever siding with the Hudians set up resistance and hold on for some time."

Abbas looked at the dossier. For a moment, he gathered his thoughts.

"Our troops. How are they divided?"

"Three hundred thousand for Husseinabad and Bahariya each. Thirty five thousand for Bhooth and Faarah each."

"Right now, Bahariya is at threat. Should they choose to forgo Bahariya and march for Husseinabad, we'll be able to flank them from the behind. I suppose the Grozyari knows this. Should they put out a fight against our numbers, we'll draw in Husseinabadi division troops into this."

"What about the Carsodonian?"

"No sign of conflict. I expect the Vastava Pact to intervene if the Carsodonian haramjada invade us."

"Very well. The Pahar Mountain Range should make their advance slower. If they want a battle, it'll be at Bahariya. We'll be bombing them in the mountain range, try to slow down their advance and giving us time to set up some... extra defenses. Sde Dovian reinforcements should be on the way."

Abbas nodded. For now, the Hudians would be able to destroy any imminent chance of a Grozyar invasion. But he worries of Carsodonia. The brute force of the army itself will overwhelm Hudian numbers. "Have a statement out to the public. We declare war on the Grozyar, Carsodonian and Mairish nation. Begin conscription. Let the militias know." Abbas ordered, walking out of the room.

This was going to be a long war.

by **Acronius** » Tue Jan 24, 2017 2:42 pm

0025//23-01-17, Forward Operating Base Sierra
5th Special Operations Group - Operation Dream Theatre
Yakushi, Nakano District, Chilokver

Theme

"Swaine." In the dead of the night, three large, ominous figures leered over the still waters.

"Just gimme a shout if you fuck up down there, or something. Go." A grin spilled over the cheeks of this Private Swaine, before disappearing as quickly as it had come under the murky waters of Lake Songha.

Lieutenant Russell Camden glanced around at the unit he had been assigned, specially tailored to the nature of this mission by the Kon To Det office. Under the three boats, another half-dozen were regrouping, carrying out the early stages of Operation Dream Theatre. His platoon sergeants nodded at him from either boat. Their men would be back up within seven minutes. Apathetically, Camden unfolded the mission proceedings in his head once more. The frogmen were affixing to buoys in the dark water lighting devices and sound generators identical to the ones on the boats. The generators’ raucous emissions and the lights’ blinding beams would make it appear to the Songhese that it was Valdian and Chilokveri and Acronian marines swarming ashore in droves, not isolated special forces slinking about like alley cats. Each diver had been supplied with a haversack containing 12 pounds of C4. Once the tide receded, the sacks would beach, and the three 5-SOG teams would sail gung-ho and guns blazing up to the Songhese shore, detonating the C4 before piling out and setting the beach alight. At the moment, though, all was quiet on the Auchoian front. Crickets peacefully mused in the marshes, and the placid breeze perplexed Camden: there wasn't the slightest notion to suggest that the world was at war. As it stood, the beach wasn't aflame and the world wasn't at war. There was just the silent, starry night glimmering over the shore.

"Lieutenant." He turned.

"Just got word from the Valdians, they're on the other side of the marshes, in position to attack. They're ready when we are." The voice belonged to the radio operator, Corporal Berthiaume.

"Yut. Tell 'em we'll be starting in sixty ticks," replied Camden, turning back to the boat's starboard. The corporal nodded and obliged. A trail of bubbles fizzed and disturbed the still water before Private Swaine reemerged, struggling in the water for a bit before flopping on board.

"Everything's set," he muttered, tossing off his mask for his beret. "We're good to go."

"You got a minute to get prepared, 'less you want to fight a world war in a fuckin' diving suit." Camden grinned, helping the private up before signaling an imminent mission launch to his sergeants. He whistled at Berthiaume, and the radioman obligingly tossed him the comms device.

"Romeo-Alpha, this is Yankee-Eight; we're in position to strike. Operation Dream Theatre is on."

"After you," replied the Valdian.

"Not so sure they'll still have those manners on the beach," chuckled Camden, and sniggers of thirty men crackled through comms. "Healy! Glasco! Lambert! Rev it up, boys!"

And the silent, starry night was no more.

The engines growled and snarled to life. Two halos permeated bloodshot light from the boat’s helm. Decibels of beastly intimidation imbued the darkness with menace. Out of the corner of his eye, Camden spotted eel-like figures slaloming up the waters; the Valdians. "Masks on, prairie fire," Camden ordered through comms. Streaks of light emanating from the boats and decoys briefly split the night before the little haversacks on the shore eclipsed their shine, erupting with the fury of a thousand suns as locks of smoke shrouded the already-dark lakefront in blackness. "Green light, disembark! Go, go, go!" The three 5-SOG teams obeyed, marking the first Acronian steps on enemy soil, although Songha technically wasn't an enemy - yet.

More gunfire lashed out at the defense through the smoke, and two pillboxes came into vision. "Tangos at 12," softly warned one of the platoon sergeants, unflustered by the chaos around him. "Roger that, Snyder," replied Camden, crawling behind cover with Berthiaume. "Get me suppressing fire on those targets! Pronto, boys!"

He turned back to his neighbor. "Berthiaume!" The lieutenant glanced at his watch, then at the Valdian a couple dozen meters down. "Tell 'em we've got ninety ticks until re-insertion." One of the Valdians wriggled along the sand, aiming down a grenade launcher, and destroyed one of the pillboxes. "Roger that," replied the corporal. Camden then turned to the opposite end of the beach, finding the eager eyes of Private First Class Pelayo at a vantage point; he had clambered to the top of one of the acacias surrounding the beach, a full load of incendiary grenades slung over his back. Camden nodded, and with the help of another Private beside him, Pelayo began hurling fire all along the jungle. The lieutenant counted the ticks. Gunfire was still raging, and he was unsure if any of the pillboxes' unfortunate guardians were still alive; his estimates suggested the odds were quite heavily stacked against that notion.

He grabbed Berthiaume's radio. "Romeo-Alpha, commence reinsertion," he declared, before grabbing his own device and ordering the same to the 5-SOG operatives. One by one, the Acronians peeled back, taking comfort in the safety of the boats. No returning fire came, and Camden clambered in last. "Shoot the lights and the sound generators." The frogmen complied, destroying the equipment they had set up on the water minutes prior with a few summary gunshots. The lieutenant nodded at the boat operators, and the three 5-SOG squads drifted upstream as the water, now reflecting a vermilion hue, returned to stillness. Camden looked up. The whole jungle was alight. Every square inch of the ground, every tree, every speck of dirt; ablaze, with flames licking and dancing and reveling and cavorting in the night sky. But minus the flames, it was, once again, just the silent, starry night. Twenty minutes of travel passed - a mushroom cloud of baleful smoke overlooked the blaze, which was keeping up with 5-SOG's venture up the river, continuing to spread through the greenery, still very much visible to the Acronians. Yankee Team's boat floated towards the Valdian craft. Camden stood up and waved at his allies, signaling they had arrived at the drop zone. And with that, the Acronians disembarked.

by **Acronius** » Tue Jan 24, 2017 8:47 pm

0558//23-01-17, Forward Operating Base Alpha
64th Infantry Regiment - Operation Sleeper Hold
Shingon, Nakano District, Chilokver

Theme

"See, I honestly don't get why the fuck they bother putting us up here for four hours." The other Acronian in the watchtower set down his pair of binoculars. "I mean, it's not like those g**ks even fucking know we're here! Like, w-" As the clocks struck six, the deafening sound of the Acronian Army Force's réveil call tore through the base, with one of the loudspeakers conveniently placed on one of the watchtower's posts, half a meter above Private Guillaume Faulques and Private First Class Mattéo Le Tissier. Both men were brought to a knee by the piercing reverberations of the alarm, unleashing swathes of curses that would likely impress even their Navy Force counterparts.

Recollecting his composure, Le Tissier spoke for the first time. "Wait." His eyes darted to the cabin windows, from which he could make out his comrades in combat suits - not the regular, day-to-day fatigues. His eyes darted to the loudspeaker, then back to Guillaume. "That's not réveil!"

"Fuck no!"

As the Chilokveri sun's opening crack of light beamed over Alpha Base, the two men scrambled down the tower ladder, four steps a time, and sprinted back to Bravo Company, 1st Battalion's cabin, pausing at the threshold. They were instantly met with the coarse, sobering voice of Captain Paul Réno, Bravo Company's gruff, but honorable coxcomb of a man. He almost seemed happy.

"Well don't just stand there! Suit up, fucksticks! We're off to war! Move!" The French units of the Acronian Military Forces were amongst the most liberal in Atlas when it came to swearing, and most took what others would consider verbal abuse with a grain of salt and moved on. Most officers wouldn't even bat an eye if a subordinate employed the occasional "fuck you" to their expense. Le Tissier and Faulques scampered through the barracks; sidestepping, maneuvering, gliding through the labyrinth of beds until reaching their platoon's portion of the cabin. Saluting the commanding lieutenant with the battle alarm still piercing their ears, the pair hurled on their battle suits - untouched until then - before rushing back outside for formation. Only then did the notion that they were on the threshold of war dawn upon the young soldiers.

Faulques turned to Le Tissier. "Have to say, never really thought it would come to this."

"You're one daft fuck, Faulques."

***

Two hours passed.

Le Tissier knelt down to Faulques. "I never really thought it would come to this."

"You're one daft fuck, Mattéo."

A darker shade of crimson flowed out of Faulqes' mouth. The whole platoon plus Captain Réno surrounded the Private, propped up against a boulder. The medic turned to face Réno, and out of Faulques' line of view, shook his head. Réno acknowledged this, and gently ambled to the front, joining in with the platoon, almost trying to ignore the very real scene in front of him. By now, Faulques' fireteam; his closest comrades, had fallen to a knee in front of him, bidding a final goodbye. Le Tissier remained crouched beside him. Faulques closed his eyes. From the threshold of war to the threshold of death in ninety minutes, he went. Réno walked up to the body, claiming the dog tags.

"Kopa." The medic spun back.

"Any others?"

Kopa shook his head. "Negative, sir. Actually, we're the first Acronians in battle... nobody else from the AMF has died yet. He's the very first."

Réno wistfully nodded him off, turning back to face the platoon, colored a whiter shade of pale. "Le premier des derniers."

The first of the last.

The captain went over the operation documents. A special forces mission had diverted a solid number of Songhese troops from their point of entry; Faulques wouldn't have been the only one dead had it not been for the 5th Special Operations Group. The contingent of defenders the 64th had come against had retreated - no, regrouped, surely, further east. The 19th and the 108th were flanking their position, and had forced the Songhese back within a half hour, courtesy of a few mortars and prairie fire that would've made Fort Crowe's drill instructors proud.

by **Brytene** » Wed Jan 25, 2017 10:41 am

Fale Ocean, off the coast of Brytene
---
As everyone shuffles around

The Carrier Strike Group Victrix was already well underway, heading out towards the Celti Sea that lay between Nortymba and Dyflin, where it was to take up station for the duration of the conflict. Admiral Sofia Kirsch, commanding the formation from the bridge of the CFS Tadamichi, couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves as the iron grey northern seas began to churn around them. The other branches of the military had all seen hard combat regularly over the years, but it had been almost 40 years since the Navy had taken on combatants of equal size. Her crews were all expertly trained and dedicated, their equipment top of the line, and her sub commanders had admittedly seen plenty of action, but heavy toe-to-toe combat on the high seas was something Kirsch had never had to face.

She glanced out of the viewports, reassured by the sight of the sleek Brytisc warships to either side of her, gliding through the grumbling seas as though they belonged there, perfectly-evolved animals instead of man-made slabs of metal. Their two AAV's, Ghostgate and Hawkmoth, were to take up safe anchor and act as ground reserves, whilst the rest of the group was to patrol the area and be ready for deployment or incursion as necessary. Nearest to her, the small corvette CFS Yockenthwaite churned water into foam ahead and off their port bow, whilst in the distance her sister-ship, the Scarfell, acted as a scout. An AWACS unit was up from the Tadamichi itself, though it was hardly necessary - ground-based assets would provide all the eyes and ears they needed so long as they were near the Brytisc homelands.

She knew that to the south, CSG Rapax was abroad, the menace of Brytene's only supercarrier a looming threat for anyone planning to sail through the Brytisc zone of control. More importantly, she knew that the waters beneath her were crawling with highly-engineered attack subs, the elite units of the Brytisc navy, whose expert drills and complex contingency training meant that they were more than a force to be reckoned with - they were a proverbial sea monster, ready to claw the unsuspecting and unprepared down to the depths. The thought comforted her.

Behind her, as they rounded the headlands of Anglaland, she could hear one of her signals officers chattering away - they were now operating under the fire control zone of Fort Mjolnir in Dyflin, and that was no bad thing. Providing the western bulwark of Brytisc defense, the arrival of the CSG Victrix was the first of many moves in this war. With the Allied Castarcian States to their south-east, the Fleet was free to move and engage as it chose.

----------

Caer Cadarn, 3rd GAR barracks

The Gallowglass Airborne Regiment was the regiment of Dyflin. Although her sister regiment, the 16th Kingscourt, was well-respected, it was the daring, high-flying airborne that captured the hearts and minds of the canton and of its young recruits. To them would fall the task of first response - rapid insertion and movement capability allowing them to react instantly to any early strikes or landings by enemy forces. Theirs would be the first dreadful skirmishes of any invasion effort, and it would be their duty to pitch the invaders back into the seao r die trying. Colonel Raghnall MacIomhair, a hugely-muscled man with a growing beer belly as he approached middle age, despite his regular attendance at the gym, scratched at his bristly black beard as he and Lieutenant Colonel Cooper of the 1st Battalion pondered the letter on the table in front of them.

In vellum, written in an elegant hand, was a letter politely requesting permission to re-join the regiment from a former soldier. The Hlascytere, a specialist rank awarded to a sniper captain at OF-2 rank and equivalent to the rank of Skeppare, had served a decade ago with the Brytisc Grenadiers, and had a good record during the fighting around Pepper Atoll, but since then she had proven to be somewhat of a wild card, a loose cannon, and she had ten years of civilian life lying between her and her military service.

"I don't know," grumbled the Colonel, conscious that neither of the options presented to him was ideal. "If she gets killed on our watch, we're fucked. The regiment will probably be disbanded. I'd probably get discharged just for letting her join up in the first place."

Cooper shrugged. She was a blunt-faced, practical woman, her hair pulled back in a tight bun and her fair eyebrows barely even visible. "If she wants to fight, let her fight, I say. It'll be a morale boost, and if they land here we'll need every gun we can get to throw them back into the sea."

Maclomhair thought for a moment, unconsciously chewing despite having no food in his mouth. "For God's sake. Fine. Let the blasted woman sign back up. She'll not have a company her own though, she'll have to serve as second fiddle to Brown."

Cooper nodded. That put the responsibility firmly in her camp, though she didn't protest. Skeppare Brown was a steady pair of hands, and his paras could no doubt use an experienced sniper and skirmisher to stiffen their ranks when the time came. She signalled to the RSM and sent him off to get the ball rolling. Aoife Lodbrok was going to war.

by **Mairland** » Wed Jan 25, 2017 3:26 pm

Theme

No. 6 Expeditionary Group MAS - Operation Ziadi Vengeance

The Heralds, three in number, soared high above the clouds, skidding against the flight ceiling and pushing the limits of their mechanical ability to function. Like their medieval counterparts, they carried messages of sorts, but these were omens of death. The Grozyar army was advancing rapidly into Ziadistan, and the Mairish Air Service was about to conduct its first operation of the Third Great War.

The target was a Hudian-built installation, garrisoned by Ziadi conscripts. Intelligence indicated there was a fuel depot located at the base, but the main factor which led to the brass deciding on this particular installation as a target was the fact that it lacked any significant anti-air emplacements. The name was not known, but then again these Hindu names had never been intelligible to the Mairish anyway.

Of all the enemies that Mairland faced, Huda was the most hated. The humiliation of the Ziadistan war had left a scar on the public's psyche, not to mention the ranks of the military, who had seen themselves defeated by those who were not Christian and not from Vaaldhaven or even Vaznik. Now, with Grozyar and Carsodonia pushing deep into the hated enemy by way of the ground, the Mairish would get their revenge from the air.

The base was coming into view on the pilots' radars, and the coordinates displayed in their helmet displays were getting closer and closer to those being fed to them from the FOB in Grozav Inima. Archie Hume sat in the cockpit of the lead Herald in the tri-wing, chattering excitedly to his wingmates.

"Won't be long before we're dropping bombs on Abbas Tower now, eh, lads!"

Airman Sharrock agreed happily. "Yes, sir, and it'll be even sweeter when we land a big one on Darshah!"

Another minute passed and the coordinates were close to becoming an exact match. The radio squawked to bank left and prepare to drop ordinance. The Heralds complied and three arming switches were clicked at once. The Hudian base began to come into view on the front targeting camera, and the coordinates were now matching up nicely.

A burst of static came and was followed by "Launch ordinance!" coming from far away in Grozav. Hume flipped the switch and the CGMAU-99 missile dropped heavily out of the Herald's bomb compartment. Sharrock and the third pilot whose name the other two had never quite picked up followed. After several seconds, the thrusters on the missiles kicked in and they were sent streaking at a surreal speed through the air.

Nine seconds passed. On the ground, the hearts of a hundred Ziadis beat for nine last times. A hundred people breathed their last breaths. Sharrock and the third man banked away higher into the sky while Hume stayed on his course to alert headquarters of the mission's success. It was nine seconds to impact but it seemed like forever; Hume flew low and turned slightly to the left to sweep around the doomed base.

Then, the first CGMAU struck, and Hume's scenic view was interrupted rudely by an orange flash. The concrete building at the center of the installation was hit directly and exploded into a million little pieces that spattered the landscape like shrapnel. A great cloud of dirt and dust was kicked up and what remained of the installation was completely obscured. The second and third missiles penetrated this cloud to generate an astonishing display of light and, seconds later, sound, as the crack of explosive ordinance reverberated into the sky.

Hume completed another circuit of the sky around the destroyed base and could see nothing through the smoke except the faint flicker of a fire which was no doubt much more impressive on the ground. But there was no sign of movement- the mission was a resounding success. As the triumphant pilot prepared to return to Grozyar soil, he spotted something out of the corner of his HUD. It was a battered truck, its top covered with a velvety green canvas, sputtering along the dirt road which lead out of the gray cloud that had once been the target. With a weary sigh and a crack of his neck, Hume flipped the activation switch on his GMIL-880 and, flying low once more, set the truck in his sights.

He could see it more clearly now. The canvas was ripped and torn, and as the truck limped along it bounced up and down with every revolution of its wheels. There was white script printed on the side, indistinguishable, but probably Ziadi. The autocannon's sights had been set. Coming in fast, and closer by the millisecond, Hume pressed down on the button and sent a thick hail of hot fire at the doomed vehicle.

The bullets came in hard and fast and ripped through the tattered canvas on the top of the truck, pulverizing both the metal frame and likely all the soldiers perched on their seats inside as well. Hume streaked over ahead and back to Grozav, but the damage he had done was irreversible. The truck's engine was shot through; the driver, with a bullet in his neck, fell on the wheel and steered his shattered vehicle off the road and into a tree. It exploded and the evidence of the airstrike that had destroyed it was burned away into charred ashes, never to be seen by human eyes again.

Every Ziadi sent to Hell on this day was a compensation for every Mairishman sent to Heaven last summer.

Joint Task Force HQ- Mobile Command Post, MNS William Angus

At a simple metal table- polished, but otherwise unadorned- sat two men who between them wielded the power to change the destiny of Mairland's fortunes in the war. Brendan Laley, Minister of Defense, still patiently awaiting the knighthood which would affix a "Sir" to his name, sat on the left; and Sir Victor MacDougall, Field Marshal of the Army, recently gratified in that aspect, sat on the right. The topic on their minds was Brytene, and their unwanted intrusion into the war which had thrown a wrench into Mairish war plans.

"...and how many men to the Brytisc have?" asked Laley, chewing idly on the click end of a pen.

"Our black intelligence assets on the Atoll estimate from observation and contact with the main island chain that they've mobilized somewhere in the range of 16,000 to 17,000 personnel."

"We would outnumber them with three divisions and still have four left to spare to turn against Valdiu. But tell me, Mr. MacDougall, is it practical to invade Brytene?" The question was a difficult one, and had plagued Mairish high command for the entire previous day.

The Field Marshall thought for a few minutes and responded. "Mairland and Brytene are, obviously, not officially at war- but we expect that if we move naval assets into the Celti Sea it would elicit a hostile response. They have a supercarrier whereas we do not, of course. And if we put their navy out of the picture, we must keep in mind that their geography does not exactly invite an invading army to romp around freely. We are based heavily on mechanized formations, and island-hopping would not suit us. Especially with the massive resistance the Brytisc population would offer- while it would be hypothetically feasible to occupy the entire country, it would require the whole of our regular Army and the mobilized reserves as well. No, no. We must maintain peace with Brytene if we are to wield our might alongside the Chazicarians in Valdiu."

And that was that. Laley stood up and saluted.

"Then the official policy of the Government will be Brytisc peace."

by **New Hayabusa** » Wed Jan 25, 2017 4:42 pm

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat"
- Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States, 1901-1909

Aznara

"Mr President! Mr Prime Minister!"

A muffled, screaming voice came ever closer to the gargantuan wooden door of the President's Office, where the President himself and the Prime Minister were discussing actionable plans to the gaping domestic issues in political unity and tension control. Unaware of the seriousness of what was now occurring across the world, they were entirely oblivious to the reason that they had what sounded like one of their lower ranking palatial staff members dashing towards the Office with urgency. The two guards positioned at the door snapped to action and pushed the heavy doors open like they had the weight of a feather, revealing a young assistant to the Minister of War bolting dangerously into the office. Almost falling to the ground, the runner stopped his quick pace and composed himself to face the two supreme powers in Karakhaznia.

"What is the meaning of this, Nazov," the Prime Minister questioned, "you've interrupted a very important discussion, as you can see."

"Sirs, with all due respect," Nazov replied through bouts of heavy breathing from running so fast, "what has materialised in the recent hours is far more important than anything in the world right now. Valdiu has declared war on every nation in the ICFS, while Songha, Chazicaria, Mairland, and the Grozyar Republic have responded with war declarations on varying nations in CHAVS. The Minister of War and the High Command have already been briefed, and are navigating the hallways to this office as we speak. They have extra information which may help guide us in making a decision."

Rustam, the President, shuffled in his chair a little bit. Secretly, he didn't expect that a war would actually start up, as he had been in similar situations before. He thought it was just another bout of sabre rattling and believed what numerous intellectuals thought in that the situation would dissipate within weeks. Now, it was real, and ICFS was depending on Karakhaznia to pull through. It was now no longer a question - it was an obligation, and such a burden it was on the shoulders of the government, knowing that their actions would be a huge part in determining the fate of Atlas, and the political outlook of what could be the next century.

"Very well, we will await their presence," PM Bayzhanov said, "but we will need all known information in possession of the war departments, including KFI intelligence... are they prepared to digress even the most secretive iota of data?"

"Yes, Mr Prime Minister," replied Nazov, who had regained control of his breathing, "they are understanding of the seriousness of the situation and are prepared to do anything to forward the discussion."

After the briefing...

"All of our allies are fully expecting us to declare war on Chilokver - this is something that we absolutely cannot back down on," remarked the Tarkan Safonov, the famed and long-time Minister of War to the Federation, "we would look unreliable and might even lose our full membership in the ICFS. We have an entire corps and two armoured divisions at the ready in Nuraz, they are on orders to invade with official Presidential order. All they would need is your go-ahead."

"And what, may I ask, would be the purpose of this invasion," questioned the President, "other than to engage in a war of attrition?"

"The objective would be to take control of the Fukan sector of the mountain range dividing Karakhaznia and Chilokver. This mountain range could yield vast profits for our nation - we could strike it rich in rare earth minerals and steel, with all of the mines in those mountains. If everything goes right, we would then use the mountains as a base and a staging point to siege Fukan City, take it, and relish in the vast trade benefits that it could bring to us."

"And," remarked one commander, "before any misguided concern is voiced, attacking and seizing those mountains, although seemingly daunting, is an entirely plausible task to achieve. With proper air power, we could seriously restrict the abilities of Chilokveri armour and long range artillery before our assets on the ground even come near engagement range. If that is done right, it will be down to a matter of our infantry and armour simply winning their engagements. Mountainous combat is what the 7th Corps and the 3rd Armoured specialise in - they spent the last year cooped up on the border with Cydonia, drilling on the daily."

Rustam evaluated the situation. A success could reap massive economic and political rewards, a failure could lead to dire consequences inflicted by foreign and domestic influences. The Karakhaznian Armed Forces were fully capable of such an operation, but the costs could force it to come to a staggering halt. At the ICFS roundtable in Nox Mynus, the government ambassador made a pledge that Karakhaznia would follow through on it's duties to the ICFS, whatever they may be. It was now a moral obligation for him to follow up words with actions.

"Do it," the President strongly voiced, speaking to his speaker, "issue a declaration of war on Chilokver, Valdiu, and all those who attempt to stop our advance. Issue the order for our men to cross the Chilokveri border. Is that all, then?"

"Sir," the Minister of War replied with patient respect, "we've only just started. The Grozyar Republic is requesting our assistance in their armoured operation in Ziadistan. What they need is infantry support - all for quick movements. We would need to transport a solid 30,000 men with tank destroyers, BMPs, and other light armour to Ziadistan to support the Grozyar tanks."

Ismailov, not expecting the news, angrily questioned, "Why? Weren't the Carsodonians supposed to be enough?"

"The Carsodonians didn't come through, they aren't deploying anything to where they were supposed to. Leave it to the Nazis, right? Anyway, it would not be just us and the Grozyars alone - the operation would likely also be supported by Elesarian ground assets and Mairish air dominance. We could also project a substantial amount of aerial power into Huda and Ziadistan - all it would require would be the movement of some of our offensive assets that we have amassed in Akzaria Province to be activated, and some moved to Ziadistan on quick response duty."

"Know this, Tarkan," Rustam leaned in and spoke with a more stern tone across the wooden table, "our forces are spread, thinly. We've got men in nations across the world right now, and we very well may soon be finding ourselves fighting a war on innumerable fronts. Can we afford it?"

"Yes, Mr President," Safonov firmly replied, "we can afford this, monetarily and militarily. I know everything about how much conflict our economy can sustain. As our economics departments have said time, and time again, the Karakhaznian economy is an extremely durable entity. Karakhaznia, the Enduring, Mr President. It is our motto for a reason."

Turning once again to his speaker, he added, "Include Huda in our declaration of war."

The Minister of War and the High Command simultaneously stood up from the chairs, the sounds of their shoes clacking on the marble floor echoing through the vast space of the Presidential Office. Safonov shook hands with the President before leaving, a victorious and perhaps overconfident smile beaming across his face as he took his nation to war for the first time since the fall of the Communists. As everyone departed, the President gave to his speaker part of what he wanted to be a powerful statement, showing Karakhaznia's full commitment to the war on CHAVS manipulation and for the survival of the ICFS. Troop movements had already begun, and war for Karakhaznia was now becoming an inevitable reality.

Nuraz Province

"Hey, hey, Omskaya boy," someone whispered in Private Anatoly Grisevich's ear, "get up, it's time to move."

Slowly coming to consciousness and full awareness, the artillery coordinator of the 17th Eastern Rifle Company was angered at his dear friend Omar, who had woken him up at 23:00. Shifting around in the dirt and rubbing his eyes, Grisevich sat up and saw nothing but pitch black, and the shadow of his friend obstructing his view of the rest of the landscape. Checking the time, Grisevich groaned.

"Mate, it's your still your shift - yours doesn't end till zero hour. Why are you waking me? Are there Chilokveris approaching us, or what?"

"No, Toly," Omar shook his head, "look around you, mate, I wouldn't wake you even for that, you know this. We've just got the order directly from the President to invade Chilokver. God damn rich ass Omskayans, always complaining about everything. Get geared, mate, Captain said we're leaving yesterday."

Omar, coming from one of the harder areas of the Nuraz Province, liked to give Anatoly shit for being from one of the most expensive and luxurious cities in Atlas. The two had come from entirely different backgrounds, and were in the military for entirely different reasons and had very dissimilar personalities, but somehow, over time, they became the best of friends. For weeks, they had slept in the same foxhole, waiting for the very order that had just came a an hour ago. No one really expected that the operation would actually happen, but everyone in the trenches were damn well prepared for what they were to face.

Toly rushed to activate his night vision and gather his belongings. He did a quick self pat down to make sure he had all of his gear with him, especially his GPS tool, which he would have to use to direct artillery fire when the fighting started. Everything was set and ready. As he grabbed his AK-74 and prepared to leap out of the foxhole on the border, an explosion illuminated the horizon, the booming sound coming a second after the light became visible. It happened again, and again, and three more times, until it came to an abrupt end. Toly looked at Omar, looking for an answer to the obvious question.

"EODs, engineers, and mine clearers left a long time ago, those explosions have been going on since. They're out there clearing mines and shit so we can advance. I still can't believe you slept through that shit for an hour," Omar jokingly remarked.

"Whatever," Toly said, using his NV gear to look around, "all I see are guys, where is our armour? Did they leave too?"

"Fuck no, they all backed up. Division Commander received direct orders from the War Minister to wait for us to gain a foothold in the mountain range before they are called to action. It's up to us to fight every menace in those mountains. It's also worth nothing that we will be the guys feeding the greedy economic ambitions of our politicians. At least we're more likely to get trapped in a mine than get shot up by these useless Chilokveris and their inbred friends from abroad."

An attack helicopter zoomed over the infantry overhead, moving towards the explosions in the distance. The sound of the helicopter was muffled by the overwhelming and distinct sound of two TvL-21 Arya interceptors flying high in the sky above them. Arms were raised as cheers and hoots erupted from all directions as the aircraft pierced through the silence and darkness of the night. They were units from the Air Force base near the city of Grastadna in the very north of Nuraz province. Toly's boots sunk into the dirt as he held his AK-74 in front of him at the ready, joining the ranks of the men in his company, who were only a small part in the tens of thousands of men that were now moving towards the action. Sweating with controlled curiosity and anxiousness as to what combat would be like, Toly admitted to himself that he was scared of both what was in front of him and what this would mean for world politics. Atlas was descending into war, and should he perish, he would most definitely be amongst the vast numbers of unknown soldiers who would perish because of political incompetence.

by **Grozav Inima** » Thu Jan 26, 2017 9:11 am

Roham-Káplár Bernát Pásztor
Bróker Company, 14th Guard Infantry Regiment, 5th Republican Guard Division
Kottapur, Ziadi Raj

The Ziadi Military Coup which had toppled the military regime installed by the Hudian Armed Forces, was nearing its completion now, two days after it's beginning. A Jovial atmosphere spread through the Capital city of Kottapur as the first Grozyar Republican Guard units rolled into the city, they met little resistance from the woefully unprepared government garrison of the city, and within an hour the Ziadi government officially surrendered.

Bernát Pásztor, an Assault-Corporal in command of Bróker Company, rode aboard a Sp.KFz-328P command vehicle, Ziadi citizens joyfully gathered by the sides of the road, as they made their way to the Royal Palace, home of the Raj who had fled to Mairland following the defeat of the Ziadi forces the previous year. The Ziadi people burnt Hudian flags along their route, the Ziadistan Royal Armed Forces keeping them a safe distance from the convoy. The Grozyar war-flag fluttered behind Pásztor's as they drove through the streets, standing out the commanders hatch he waved and saluted the Ziadi's, "Long Live Ziadistan!" he shouted.

The Raj once more sat on his throne in Ziadistan. The Grozyar 5th Republican Guard were now on orders to sit tight in Kottapur until reinforcements from their allies arrived. The 1st Armoured Division too, would be waiting in Kottapur. With the advantage on the ground and in the air over Ziadistan, Huda would be unlikely to launch any significant operations in Ziadistan for at least a week. The Grozyar forces would be able to react quickly enough to face any real invasion that the Hudian Armed Forces would attempt.

Karakhaznian troops would likely be the first to arrive, both the Grozyar and Elesarian troops, while far greater in numbers, would take at least a week in order to arrive, but their added firepower and manpower would allow the coalition in Ziadistan to soundly defeat the Hudians in the field.

For now, though, Pásztor had an enjoyable week ahead of him. The people of Kottapur were extremely hospitable to their liberators, and Pásztor had only had positive experiences with them. Their barracks was, of course, sparse and spartan, but that was to be expected. Many nights as well, they had the pleasure of sharing a warm bed with some of the locals. Such behavior was, technically, frowned upon by the Republican Guard brass, but truthfully most of the higher-ranking such as Pásztor were no better.

by **Valdiu** » Thu Jan 26, 2017 5:19 pm

Just outside Songha's borders
Valdian Fourth Division
0555

“Greatest fuckin’ army in the world, they say,” grumbled Gonsalves. “And they can’t make these tank seats fuckin’ comfortable.”

“Get over it, Paul.” rebuffed Hamilton, sitting in the gunners’ seat. “Hodges, any word yet?”

“Nothin’, Jim,” said Hodges, the commander, listening intently for the chirp of the radio.

The forest-green Ironsides III rolled steadily over the soft Chilokveri mud, then gently halted atop a large hill overlooking a vast plain. From behind his .50 cannon, Cpt. Johnny Hodges lounged. The Captain was a nondescript man - all Valdians looked alike, they said, when dressed in the same uniform.

The same could be said of the Ironsides. A graceful yet bulky vehicle, the four in the platoon stood finger-four, the optics positioned abeam of their cannons scanning the horizon. The tanks, like all tanks, looked funny if you thought about it - big boxes with rigid elephant trunks.

The Valdians here employed more than a hundred Ironsides IIIs to support its 7000 troops. When the reinforcements from Valdian posts in Acronius arrived, more boom-boom would arrive with it.

For now, though, it was just them, plus the fifty thousand men the Acronians had left. And here they sat, waiting for the Acronians to signal go-time as the sun sleepily began to poke its head over the verdant horizon.

“Crossroads to all units, Operation Cleaving Pillar is a go. I repeat, Operation Cleaving Pillar is a go. Advance to Objective Line Asphalt and await instructions to commence Phase Two. ID your targets before firing. We don’t want to kill any Acronians out here. Godspeed, men.”

Hodges, Hamilton, and Gonsalves all snapped to attention. “War time, boys, let’s do this thing!” Hodges whooped, reaching for his microphone. “Alpha Platoon, this is Alpha One-One,” he said excitedly. “You heard the big man. Advance to Oscar Lima Asphalt.”

And the tanks began to roll. Their tracks spun in the mud for a moment before they gripped the soft earth and plunged over the hill with guns pointed up, stock-still, towards the field beyond them, searching for poor saps who dared to stroll out of cover for a look at what the commotion was. Mercifully for the Songhans, there seemed to be no troops in this particular sector, although Hodges expected that to change. The lack of a response was surprising, in fact: the sheer power exuded by these machines was immense. Their turbine engines roared and their tracks tore through the field, leaving behind an earthy wake of freshly churned topsoil. Their turrets whirred and their chassis clattered. Behind them, droves of IFVs with similarly smooth green lines crested the hill, eager to get behind the tanks rather than above them.

The progression to Line Asphalt only took about half an hour, during which the Valdians met no resistance: the Objective Line was only a few miles within Songha. Further orders were to come.

Hodges expected blood.

by **Brytene** » Fri Jan 27, 2017 10:21 am

Fale Ocean, north of Valdiu
---
Accelerate to 40 miles per wolf hour

Aboard the CFS Pelegiad, flagship of the Confederate Fleet and the only supercarrier on the strength, Fleet Admiral Antonio Botas stroked his moustache. Nearly 200 kilometres to his south, a vast Chazicarian fleet - more than half that nation's entire floating firepower - was gathered off the shores of Valdiu, ready to strike. Indeed, there were reports coming in from Valdiu now that the first shots had been fired, and oddly enough the lackadaisical, care-free seeming commander felt the warm glow of relief. Relief because earlier that day he had uttered the code word that had set his warships on a collision course. He had feared that he would be the one to start a war, that he would fire shots where none were necessary, but the Chazicarian navy had opened fire and so the Brytisc attack continued, a slow-paced dagger-thrust into the back of the enemy fleet. He was far too far away to fight just yet - some of the longer-ranged strike missiles could of course reach the enemy, but for regular ship-to-ship munitions of the Harpoon class they were just out of range, and neither he nor the Chazicarians likely had solid enough targeting info at such a distance to do anything useful against mobile surface combatants.

Submerged combatants, however, were a different kettle of fish. No fewer than 5 attack subs had headed south; the Bobcaygeon, Canmore, Medicine Hat, Moose Jaw and Toronto had all slipped beneath the waves. Despite their incredible stealth capabilities, the quintet had travelled markedly slowly, reducing their profile to practically zero as they slunk to catch up to the enemy fleet as it steamed towards Valdiu. Assuming all were on time, and nothing had gone wrong with their onboard systems, they were approaching the agreed-upon moment.

With Brytisc waters to his north, he knew that his back was safe, but it was alway an alien feeling to him, knowing that gloomy Pelagic warfare could even now be creeping back towards his own surface vessels, but ultimately it would be the luck of the draw - that demon Davy Jones would take whoever he chose, in spite of the best efforts of those who ventured into his domain.

----------

Beneath the waves, aboard the CFS Moose Jaw

Aileen Royle was one of the more junior submarine captains with the fleet, but it was her vessel that first reached firing range and identified a target, though she had no way of knowing it. The vessel in her sights looked like a destroyer - from it's hull type her staff believed it to be a Shortsword-class destroyer, which was precisely what she was after. She practically whispered her commands as though speaking too loudly would somehow alert the foe to their presence. The Moose Jaw slowly altered course slightly, crawling silently through the depths, as commands rippled throughout the crew.

"Fire one."
"One away."
"Fire two."
"Two away."

The actual firing of the two torpedoes was almost beautiful silent. Using the new water-ram explusion technology, the weapons seemed to simply slide out into the ocean, practically soundless, before building up to top speed of over 50 knots, homing in on the enemy from just under 9 kilometres away. Wire-guided by a sliver-thin fibre-optic cable, with additional wake-homing capability, these two weapons would be at their target in barely five minutes. Before the captain had even had chance to wipe the sweat from her brow, the Moose Jaw was alerting course, turning west to run along the flank of the enemy fleet. They did not panic or increase speed - the enemy, even if they had somehow detected the water-ram-fired torpedoes, only knew where they had been, and making a lot of noise in their attempts to escape was the best way to get caught.

Similar actions took place across the flank of the Chazicarian fleet's northern and eastern edges, with less than a minute separating the first shot from the last. Only four destroyers in total were targeted in the first volley, as one was doubled up - the Toronto and Bobcaygeon both unwittingly picked the same target, sending four torpedoes at it from angles differing by almost 40°. Each torpedo was loaded with a high-impact warhead of 260kg PBX, enough to punch a hole in even the largest warships and their bulkhead systems, let alone a smaller destroyer.

by **Imperial Cyllea** » Fri Jan 27, 2017 9:43 pm

The outbreak of war had sent shockwaves through the nation, shocking many of Songha's citizens. The soldiers of Songha, however, didn't have that luxury, as they were shipped away to the Southwestern Border and to defensive lines around Furumichi. Morale was unusually high among soldiers in the North and Central parts of the border, perhaps made possible by the serving of multiple royal family members among the ranks of the military, and the touring of military units by former Empresses, Tamiko and Hoshiko. However, in the south, enemy forces had made their first incursions, pushing back a Songhese battalion as morale easily as morale ran lower here, with an increasing sense of doom from the Acronian and Valdian reinforcements.

Village of Liuying
6 km from Southern Songhese-Chilokveri Border
Songhese 22nd Division, Liuying Battalion
0730 Hours

The air was dry, and hot. The normally flourishing green grass had been flattened and killed by the boots of the Songhese Army, and the residents of the village were under curfew, with rationing in effect. As far as the military and people were concerned, all was quiet on the border, and the citizens attempted to go about their life as normal as possible, a butcher's shop next to a tailor and a farmer bringing fruit and vegetable to sell at the market. Early in the morning, CHAVS forces had crossed the Songhese border, easily killing or capturing the small forces at border posts, and continued marching into Songha; word didnt reach Lt. Colonel Chen Zhao until almost half an hour after the invasion had begun, meaning they would be in Liuying within another 20 or so minutes.

The evacuation was swift and frantic, but it wasn't swift enough. Even as civilians fled the village, some by car, others by foot, the boom of artillery could be heard in the distance. About 10 seconds later, artillery shells began to slam into the ground, exploding in the village. About 45 seconds of dust, explosions and confusion followed, and by the time the smoke cleared, the majority of those who hadn't gotten out of the village were either dead, wounded or trapped by the destroyed rubble on the road. Those who remained fled into the buildings, or took shelter the best they could if they were wounded.

Infantry took positions in buildings, in cover however they could. The Liuying Battalion had no significant armor, though it had mortars and anti-tank weapons, of which the former was quickly deployed, and soldiers returned fire in the general direction where the artillery had come from. The Songhese forces then went into a defensive position, knowing they were too outnumbered for an offensive and waited for the enemy to arrive. The day of the first battle of the Third Great War was upon us, so help us gods.

City of Hyugao
Hyugao Administrative City
Parliamentary Palace
0815 Hours

Amid news of the invasion reaching the government, their reaction was severe and immediate. Songhese forces were to engage all hostile troops with lethal force. Those who surrendered were to be sent to internment camps in the North of the country. The token "democratic" government was dissolved, removing the last bastion of power outside of the monarchy. Soldiers were to fight to their last breath, for the empress, and for the High Elder. In addition, Conscription was to be rushed; it had already been enacted a few days prior, but now with foreigners entering Songhese soil, it was to become a higher priority for the defence of the nation.

Current Empress, Valei Seung, and former Empress, Oumeri Seung, fundamentally ran the nation. Though technically Oumeri had abdicated, she in reality had kept much of her power once war broke out, moving to help the young sovereign lead the nation in such a dark time. In addition, other members of the Seung Family now managed the countries affairs; Mohana Seung managed Transportation, Hiraku Seung managed defense, Tarou Seung managed Law & Order and so forth with every respective minister. The country was now managed by the Royal Council, composed of Seung Family Members, and headed by Oumeri and Valei, who some were calling "The Two Empresses" of the nation.

"We need to get this show on the road. With CHAVS forces moving on our south and both Kyukoku and Maharlika breathing down our necks, we can't afford to waste any time. I propose we order the invasion of Northern Chilokver for tonight." declared Hiraku, Regent of Defense argued.

"We need to play this defensively! If we go on the offensive we run the risk of stretching our forces too far, and then they'll be at our defensive lines within the week." Iseul, the Regent of Foreign Affairs argued. The council had been much like this the last few weeks, the argument mainly being between whether Songha should adopt a more Defensive or Offensive stance. But now that the war had started in earnest, they couldn't afford to continue arguing about such trivial matters.

"Enough. We can do both. Wage a defensive war of attrition against the Chilokveris and Maharlikans through a defensive war in the South and East; Meanwhile, our offensive campaign against Chilokver to capture our historic lands will be a huge moral victory, which is hugely important. Without moral we cannot win this war, its bad enough we already have the frail former Empresses touring the military." Oumeri suddenly cut in - the first contribution from either her or Valei in days since the war had began. "Valei. What do you think? You have the final decision, after all." She asked, looking back at the young sovereign.

"I agree. Every step these aggressors take on our land needs to be one of death and blood, we will not let them take so much as an inch of land without paying for it with their men. It is only through wearing them down through our defensive lines that we can win this war. And in the meantime, we need to take advantage of their foolishly aggressive tactics to take the North. It will cut them off from Lake Bai'anofi, and provide encouragement to our conscripts and reservists that this is a war that can be won. Those are my orders, Hiraku. Dismissed." She ended, standing to leave, attending to many of the other stressful matters of the state.

by **Chazicaria** » Sat Jan 28, 2017 4:08 am

1:55 PM
2nd IRN Fleet, Supercarrier IRN Prime
Command Bridge

From the bridge of Prime, Stokes could see the trails of smoke arising from the horizon. Each trail led right down to a Shortsword class destroyer, several of which had just been struck by torpedoes fired by an unknown aggressor nation, though Stokes himself suspected Brytisc or Valdians- maybe Stasnovans. Despite the fercocity of the attacks, the invasion would not be delayed- Marines were being deployed to their landing craft as he watched the black plumes crawl across the sky. Rescue helicopters had sprung from the decks almost immediately to evacuate the wounded and dead, as well as assist with recovery. Fire fighting assets were sent from the support carriers to each of the stricken ships, hoping to help prevent a complete loss.

Zweihander was critically damaged, having been nailed by four different torpedoes from two different directions, meaning at least 2 submarines had targeted it. Crews aboard had reported there was almost no chance of the ship being saved, and evacuations has started already. As for the Scimitar and Cutlass, the other two destroyers that had been hit, things were slightly more optimistic. Scimitar was doing ok and would likely make it out of the engagement, but Cutlass was a toss up. The Shortsword, another targeted vessel, had managed to spot the oncoming torpedoes on sonar and deployed countermeasures that likely saved the ship.

The opposition subs had picked a ludicrously bad time to attack- the fleet had essentially put up an anti-submarine net just beforehand when the war was declared, in anticipation of exactly this scenario. The subs had accomplished their mission, but at the same time they had told the anti-submarine helicopters exactly where they had to look. The Infinity class attack submarines Banshee, Revenant, and Demon, part of the submarine picket, were all assigned to the search operation. In order to prevent further penetration into the picket, ASW helicopter patrols were increased around its edges, as well as into the areas surrounding. Aircraft patrols were ordered to focus almost exclusively on finding and destroying enemy AWACS, drones, patrol craft, and the like.

Right around the same time, AWACS had confirmed the presence of the Brytisc fleet directly north of the their location, by about 200 km. Well within range of the fleet's radar guided long-range AShMs, but the fleet would hold fire for now. In their place, the guided missile submarines Truth and Liberation would loose their stores of AShMs on their opponents. Each sub had a storage including 8 of these missiles, and they intended to make sure the Brytisc felt each and every one.

One by one, the missiles rose out of the water, directed onward towards the opposing fleet. The obvious primary target was the Supercarrier- what's a fleet without one, after all?

Of course, this was only part of the plan- Prime and Kaiser had lit up with activity to begin putting planes in the air, in preparation for a full on assault on the Brytisc naval forces, as well as the invasion of Reach.

2:00 PM
2nd IRN Fleet, Cruiser IRN Pharaoh
Command Bridge

The state of the art ship Pharaoh was a site to behold- her sleek, minimal shape was a testament to the effort put into her class- the Ozymandias class cruisers. Billions had been spent on these beasts, and they'd been worth every penny. It was astounding just how effective they'd proven themselves in simulations and training exercises, and now they'd have the chance to prove them in combat.

Stokes had given the Pharaoh and her crews a single mission- escort the Marines into their invasion. With her, the Nicholas Kane, a Victor Kane class cruiser with a specialization in supporting ground invasions with short range, high speed cruise missiles. Pharaoh itself was to deal with the opposing destroyers, numbering 2 in total.

Most of the IRN fleet had been moved to directly off the coast of Valdiu, and the ships launching the Marines were especially close, protected by a blanket of AA from the fleet's destroyers, as well as the two cruisers currently moving towards shore alongside the initial landing wave. This meant that strike fighters had the capability to support the Marines with glide bombs, air-to-ground missiles, SEAD, and CAS. If none of this was enough, the strategic bombing that Reach was about to endure from the bombers based in Mairland was going to really hurt them.

Feedback had come in detailing the strikes already made by the Pharaoh on the Valdian mainland- of the 16 missiles launched, nearly all were intercepted by the cruisers that were about to become decorative reefs. However, 4 had made it to their targets, obliterating a land-based AEGIS station, crippling another, and knocking out one of the land based long-range SAM systems deployed outside the city. While not a complete successful strike, it would hopefully open up the air corridor for the bombers and strike fighters a little better.

Having been given the order at this point, the Pharaoh began its work: 12 AShMs were launched at the opposing cruisers about 100 kilometers out, with the Nicholas Kane launching 4 of its own AShMs, followed by another volley of cruise missiles aimed at SAM sites and mobile C-RAM units.

2:15 PM
2nd Special Bomber Squadron
B-100b "Nightsky" Strategic Stealth Bomber

It had been years since the 2nd SBS had seen real action, having been involved in bombing runs in various foreign nations where AA defenses were typically top notch.

The IRAF had a habit of deploying B-100bs in pretty much any location not able to be safely flown in by normal bomber aircraft like the Albatross and Pelican. Being that the Nightskys were all stealth bombers, they usually had no issue flying in these conditions. In fact, only one B-100b had ever been shot down, and it had been by a lucky pilot using his gun on a bomber manned by a complacent crew, rather than by any technology.

As the B-100bs of the 2nd SBS entered the airspace of their target- the defenses of the city of Reach on the Valdian mainland, the co-pilot of one of the aircraft, a Capt. Jenny Sykes, was being briefed on the moderate success of the first cruise missile strike on the radar stations. It was unknown as of yet if the rest of the strikes had been successful, but it probably wouldn't matter. The Nightskys would fly in, drop their payloads, and fly out, ready to make the long trek back across the ocean with the fueling stops and everything. There were even rumors they might be called back to Chazicaria for potential redeployment, but nothing was set in stone, according to their commanding officer.

As the city entered visuals, the bombers, which were virtually invisible at their height, checked their ordnance protocols, then confirmed targets and struck:

Of the 3 bombers, 2 had been carrying conventional guided munitions (20 JDAMs each, weighing 2,000 lbs per bomb) to target enemy FOBs and larger AA positions. The 3rd had been deployed with guided cluster munitions to target enemy fortifications, entrenchments, and vehicle formations (80 bombs, each weighing 500 lbs).

by **Grozav Inima** » Sat Jan 28, 2017 7:58 am

Kapitány Bonifác Hajós
TAH-15, Corsar Class
3rd Submarine Squadron
Theme Song

The six Corsar-class submarines of the 3rd Submarine Squadron set off from port on a sunny midmorning, to cheers from the crowds of people. Bonifác Hajós, the Captain of the TAH-15, waved cheerfully from the top hatch of the submarine with his Lieutenant. He and his crew knew what they were getting into, possibly months at sea aboard their nuclear powered attack submarine, deep in the Fale Ocean, interdicting Valdian and Brytisc trade, and evading their ASW craft. It would be a long, arduous, and hardly glorious, task.

As they pushed further away from port and into the sea, Bonifác returned to the pressurized inner of the vessel, and he felt the ship descend under the waves. Bonifác felt curiously at home, he was a senior submarine captain and had been a submarine crewman for over thirty years. This was the first time he had been deployed in any actual combat role. The Third World War had countless thousands into combat, Bonifác could only be glad of his personal experience.

They would not arrive in their raiding area for at least a week and a half. From there, the Wolfpack would begin to scan for unarmed supply and other trading vessels in their raiding zones, and sink those of hostile or unfriendly nations indiscriminately.

by **Sde Dov** » Sat Jan 28, 2017 7:51 pm

Gen. Jesus Pelaez Naval Station
Cabalonan, Maharlika, Sde Dov

For the past fourty years, the Gen. Jesus Pelaez Naval Base was the largest naval station of the Sde Dovian Navy. It was the home to the Second and Sixth Fleets. Across the bay, the once active Valdian naval base was now empty, save for a few patrol boats. A Valdian flag fluttered in the wind, but that flag would soon be lowered and gone indefinitely. On the viewing deck of the Gen. Pelaez Naval Base, sailors in their white dress uniforms stood and watched as the fleet of eighteen ships, all hoisting the crimson-red naval ensign of the Valdian Navy set a course for Yakzistan.

Ever since the Valdians began constructing their massive naval base in Cabalonan in 1992, a rapport was formed between the the personnel of both the Sde Dovian navies. Both navies would annually hold joint military exercises, get-togethers and occasionally aid the Coast Guard in search and rescue operations. For the Sde Dovian sailors stationed in Cabalonan, the withdrawal of the Valdian personnel was like losing a best friend. The sailors braved the light drizzle just to say goodbye.

One of the ships broke away from the formation and sailed closer to the Sde Dovian Naval Base. As the ship sailed by, the sailors all saluted and horns were all sounded in salute to the respect. On the Valdian ship, the sailors on the deck waved goodbye, causing a few tears to be shed among the Sde Dovians.

The withdrawal marked a new era for Sde Dovian military strategy. Strategists at the Defense Ministry would now be faced with the challenge of making up for the loss of the added defense capability provided by the Valdian bases, while fulfilling CHAVS commitments at the same time. Their decisions would be crucial in ensuring the survival of the Sde Dovian state.

Independence Palace
Sde Dov City, Sde Dov
A few days later

Inside one of the rooms of the Independence Palace, President Vladimir Putrov made the final adjustments to his suit, while his makeup artists wrapped up their work before a televised address to the nation. The President was set to make an address regarding "some important events", as told to six television stations which would cease all programming just for the address. Putrov was already sitting on his chair, and the cameras were in position and the teleprompters ready. All they had to do now was wait for the directors call.

"Are you okay Mr. President?" asked an aide.

"Couldn't be better, Hamid."

Suddenly, the director shouted "Three, two one!" The cameras began rolling, and on television screens all around Sde Dov, the presidential seal was flashed, cutting to a live shot of the President a few seconds later.

"Good evening my fellow Sde Dovians.

A few days ago, I formally signed the Articles of Membership of the Chilokver-Huda-Acronius Strategic Union. Our membership in the union would be an important step in our new defense strategy in the face of mounting global tensions. We couldn't have picked a better time to join the alliance, because in recent days, global developments have threatened the security of the Union. Songha has officially declared a state of war against the Union and its allies, while our ally, Huda has been invaded by the forces of the Grozyar Republic, Mairland and Ziadistan.

He paused for a second.

In order to preserve the integrity of the Union, I am now declaring a state of national emergency, effective immediately. As Commander-in-Chief of the Sde Dovian Armed Forces, I hereby order the immediate mobilization of National Guard troops throughout the Union. All leaves will now be cancelled, and all troops must report to their posts. The Director General of the Federal Police has also done the same."

As a member of CHAVS and noting the historic ties between Sde Dov and Huda, I have authorized the deployment of 25,000 troops and two squadrons of fighter jets to assist the Hudian military in their fight to defend themselves. Sde Dov will not stand for this aggression against our allies, and we are prepared to impose heavy sanctions on those who threaten our security and those of our allies. In order to accomodate the unprecedented increase in logistical needs, I have activated the National Reserve Air Fleet and the Marine Reserve.

At this important time in our nation's history, let every Sde Dovian unite as one for our nation's sake. Let us all do our part, no matter how small it may be. Thank you all, and God Bless the Union."

The cameras turned off and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, how did I do?" asked Putrov.

"Not bad, Mr. President."

by **Stasnov** » Sun Jan 29, 2017 11:09 am

Northwestern Fale Ocean, near Valdian territorial waters
K-472, Northern Fleet, Stasnovan Revolutionary Navy
1545 hours

The K-472 firing its missiles

Theme

South of K-635's position and about 900 kilometres north of Valdiu, another Stasnovan hunter lied beneath the waves. However, this boat was larger, heavier, and carried even more destructive force. And most importantly, it was not an attack submarine. This hunter was the K-472, a Vaegir-class ballistic missile submarine. In contrast to most ballistic missile submarines, however, the Vaegir-class wasn't destined to carry nuclear submarine-launched ballistic missiles. Instead, this class of submarines carried twenty two R-37PL anti-ship ballistic missiles. This, was the Revolutionary Navy's ultimate carrier battle group killer.

The Vaegir's main, weapon, the R-37KPL, was the submarine-based variant of the R-37K anti-ship ballistic missile, which serves in the Stasnovan Strategic Missile Troops on mobile transport-erector launchers. While the R-37K was a powerful and destructive weapon, it had one great limitation: range. Thusly, the Vaegir-class of ballistic missiles submarines was conceived. The Vaegir-class was based on the general layout of the Borei-class submarines, but was also slightly larger. In place of the 20 regural launch systems for nuclear SLBMs, where 22 smaller vertical launch shells that housed one R-37KPL with each missile containing three MIRVed warheads.

The K-472 was not the only Vaegir-class submarine in the area. The K-471, K-473, K-474 and K-475 were also there, silently creeping beneath the surface. Th combined firepower of these five submarines could lay waste to any ship group within roughly 2,700 kilometres. The target for all this firepower was the Chazicarian surface fleet near Valdiu.

The R-37KPL was targeted by the Rekord-10 fire control system and the Kasatka B-905 Target acquisition system, and followed the regular flight path of a ballistic missile. Additional targeting would be provided by the Stasnovan Strelka-series satellites in orbit. Meanwhile accurate data for the terminal dive state would be relayed by Valdian and Brystic air and naval assets as well as ground radar installations. Once the missile was in the right position in orbit, the one MaRV (maneuverable reentry vehicles) would be released. The MaRV was fitted with four control fins to perform a 25-G pull-up after reentering the atmosphere, bringing it into position for terminal dive, which would be executed at Mach 10. During termnal dive, the MaRV's terminal guidance system takes over, aiding the warhead to home onto the target.

When the encoded message arrived from Fleet Headquarters back in Stasnov, all five Stasnovan submarines launched their payload, and prepared to return to port. 110 R-37KPL propelled themselves from the launch tubes, out of the water and into the skies, eventually reaching the atmosphere. Intercepting the warheads diving at Mach 10 towards their ships would be extremely difficult for the Chazicarians, if not virtually impossible. While interception of extreme high speed objects falling from orbit by warships - like discarded satellites - has taken place in the past, this was under a training enviroment where the warship had extensive knowledge of its location and trajectory. Furthermore, the Chazicarians weren't dealing with a single satellite, but with 110 500 kg MaRVs descending on them at Mach 10.

While a single MaRV impacting on a supercarrier could possibly not be enough to sink it, it was more than enough to achieve a mission kill, rendering unable to conduct flight operations. However, it would be enough to sink a smaller surface vessel like a destroyer or cruiser. To achieve maximum killing potential against the enemy carriers, 70 warheads were aimed at the supercarriers and support carriers (7 warheads for each ship) of the Chazicarian fleet, while the rest were evenly split up among the other surface combatants (roughly 3 or 4 warheads for each ship).

For the Chazicarian sailors bellow, it would look as if the wrath of God fell upon them from the heavens.

by **Grozav Inima** » Sun Jan 29, 2017 5:03 pm

2. Hadtest

The 2nd Army Corps, one of four in the Grozav Inima Ground Forces, was a heavy hitting, professional fighting force, one of the cornerstones of the GIGF, which was itself, one of the premier national fighting forces of Atlas. The 2nd would have an extremely prestigious position in the coming months. They would be the vanguards of the Republic, the defenders of liberty and both the sword and shield of the Grozyar people. In addition to the base 4 Combat Divisions of the 2nd, it would also enjoy the support of the 2nd and 3rd Republican Guard Divisions, and four Combat Squadrons of the Grozyar Air Force (Grozyar Legiero, GROL).

Their mission was simple. Earlier today the United Socialist Republics of Stasnov had constituted an act of war against an ally of the Republic. War with the Vastava Pact was rapidly approaching. The Grozyar Republic and Stasnov had never been friendly, occupation after occupation, war after war, if any nation could be called a true enemy of the Grozyar people it was Stasnov. In contrast, if any nation could be called an Ally of the Grozyar people it was Stasnov's neighbour, Elesar. From the first, second or cold wars, Elesar and Grozav Inima had fought and bled together against the red threat. This would just be one more glorious chapter in their history.

To this end, the 116,000 men of the 2nd Army Corps and supporting units, would be deploying momentarily to Elesar, stationed on the Stasnovan border, to form an impenetrable, unconquerable bulwark against communism in their northern friend. The logic was simple, as long as Elesar remained in the war, and Ordia remained out of the war, Grozav Inima was free from the threat of a Vastava Pact invasion, to this end, posturing on the Ordian border was to cease, and forces in Elesar were to skyrocket.

21st Mechanized Combat Regiment
Elesar

The first of the Grozyar Soldiers were already offloading on Elesarian shores. Escorted by two squadrons of Submarines, two Carrier task forces, five Coastal Defence Task Forces and a Destroyer Task Force, the massive deployment of Ground Forces was accompanied by a massive protection effort involving almost the entire Grozyar Navy. AEW&C aircraft, Maritime patrol aircraft, both fixed wing and rotary wing, patrolled the skies, ASW variants of the H-77 mtz. 2000 (known as the FVH-100 Magic-Frog), with sophisticated anti-submarine missiles, SONAR, and FLIR sensors patrolled relentlessly.

The first of the transports, laden with elements of the 21st Mechanized Regiment finished unloading in the Southern Elesarian city of Getov. They were greeted by a sombre yet hopeful populace, the Elesarian people had been the victim of Communist aggression for almost a hundred years. They knew the devastation that a determined communist inhumane invasion could bring, but they also knew that they had endured them all so far, and would hopefully do so once again.

It would be a long war, but containing the VP in Vaznik would go a long way to ensuring their allies in Vaaldhaven and Auchoi could continue their campaigning against the CHAVS Union, and would hopefully be eventually able to come to their aid, and defeat the VP, ushering a new age of Vazniki Glory free from the shackles of the destructive and barbaric ideology of communism.

But for now, Elesar and Grozav Inima could merely hold tight and weather the storm. God have mercy on the red that dared enter Elesarian soil, for there would be a hundred thousand Grozyars staring down the barrel of a rifle at them.

ORBAT FOR THE ELESARIAN FRONT:
2nd Army Corps, GIGF
2nd Pancel-Division (30,000 men)

3rd Mechanized-Division (25,000 men)

4th Mechanized-Division (25,000 men)

5th Mechanized-Division (25,000 men)

Independent Regiments (11,000 men)

Köztársasági Gárda
2nd "Death's Rifles" Guard-Division (16,000 men)

3rd "The Bastarnae" Guard-Division (17,000 men)

Integrated Veraglia HQ, GROL
4th Aviation Strike Wing

by **Zoboyizakoplayoklot** » Mon Jan 30, 2017 11:30 pm

Giãu, Province of Yul, Zoboyizakoplayoklot
Giãu was a small town, numbering maybe only 3,000 permanent inhabitants. It was quite a forgettable place, located out of the way with little unique traits or locations of interest. The town had been founded around a diamond mine back in the 1920's, just before the beginning of communist rule. The town had briefly flourished for some time, but today it lied desolate, the diamond mine having run dry decades ago. A winery had been founded recently by a government investor from Jukil trying to stimulate the towns economy, and the citizens had also petitioned the federal government to open up a pulp mill. The mill ultimately was denied, causing many in Giãu to remain jobless, while the winery only brought jobs and profit to a select few. As a result, many in Giãu felt betrayed, abandoned by their country. The fact that the town was completely ethnically Yullish didn't make matters any easier, with many locals seeing Zoboyizakoplayoklot and the Dominion that it stood for as a boulder weighing down Yul. Thus, anti-Zobik and anti-Grozyar sentiments were quite high in the town. Whispers of sovereignty were becoming more and more common ever since the beginning of the war, especially after the riots in Hói Yen. Giãu was a hotbed for the secessionist movement, and being small and out of the way, it only made sense that Zoboyizakoplayoklots most wanted man would be hiding there.

Khuu Phuoc was certainly an interesting man. Labeled as an athletic and academic prodigy at a young age, Khuu only lived with his biological family for the first two years of his life. His mother was a drunk, his father, a crippled combat veteran. His father made decent money through the welfare state, but his mother didn't work, instead wasting the welfare on liquor and cheap drugs. Khuu was absorbed into the foster system after he was found playing with a collection of empty booze bottle in his front yard, and from there he jumped from home to home. Not having a strong sense of identity, Khuu immersed himself in his school work, behaving coldly to his peers. He was generally disliked, and this greatly affected his character as he grew up. By the time he was in high school he was quite aloof, with one teacher even theorizing that he had aspergers. Despite his academic focuses and lack of likeable qualities, Khuu excelled as an athlete, eventually getting a scholarship to play Basketball at the Royal University of Zoboyizakoplayoklot, located in Wavaxangrad. Graduating after four years with his degree in Political Science, Khuu had matured greatly. Although still slightly aloof and arrogant, Khuu had grown to become quite charismatic, which coupled with his arrogance and a intellect caused him to become quite persuasive and manipulative. After graduating, Khuu struggled to find a job in Wavaxangrad, which he attributed to his Yullish ethnicity. Feeling unmotivated and purposeless, Khuu returned to Yul, where he became a vocal supporter for increased Yullish autonomy. He did not ever condone violence however, nor did he support full independence. This all changed in 2011 when he was incorrectly labeled as a perpetrator of the 2011 October execution of a Hói Yen police chief. Khuu went on the run, resisting arrest at all possible times. Realizing that he was now labeled as a terrorist and secessionist, Khuu became a founding member of the YLF, and became leader in 2013 after the assassination of the previous leader. The organization became more militant under his rule, and for years the YLF had been labeled as violent radicals, a fringe group trying to revive a dead movement. But now, as Yullish were shipped off to fight in a Zoboyizakoplayokloti war, more and more people were beginning to sympathize with the YLF.

Khuu stared at his ceiling. He was isolated in the compound, avoiding being seen at all times. He was still extremely gracious to his hosts however, knowing that he would likely be dead if he had stayed in the city. At least from here he could work in relative safety and peace. He looked around the room. He felt trapped, stuck inside the room like Yul was stuck inside Zoboyizakoplayoklot. But he knew he couldn't leave. He could not risk dying, because to do so would risk the revolution that Yul needed to achieve. The Yullish people were only beginning to realize this need, but Khuu knew that in time they all would become aware. Sooner or later, they would all throw off the chains of Zoboyizakoplayoklot. He hoped it would happen quicker though. Zoboyizakoplayoklot had more enemies now than ever before, making now the most ideal time for Yul to seize sovereignty. For that to happen however, the YLF needed foreign support. Weapons, money, food, any of it would help. He had learned from an informant that interest in joining the YLF was spiking, but without weapons or trainers, enlistments were useless. Khuu grabbed a pen and an envelope from his bedside table. He began writing a letter, which he would give to his host, who in turn would pass it on to a YLF-allied courier. From there it would find its way to the nations opposing Zoboyizakoplayoklot, the CHAVS Union in particular. Yul needed their help for secession to become a reality. He only hoped they would heed to his call.

Eastern Outskirts, Hyugao, Songha
It had taken significantly longer than hoped, but at last the Zoboyizakoplayokloti force had arrived in Songha, and not a minute too soon. An unexpected rainfall in Quakilon Province had halted the convoy for days, as the roads were to muddy to drive on. A few days behind schedule, the soldiers of the RZA Yullish Legion, 1st RZA Mechanized Division, and 1st RZA Infantry Division frantically attempted to set up camp and establish defences. Being at the edge of a major defensive line as well as being the second latest city in Songha, Hyugao was already very well defended, and with the Zoboyizakoplayokloti contingent adding on to that, the city would be very difficult to take.

The Zoboyizakoplayoklotis set up their camp on the eastern outskirts of the city, nearest to the defensive line. They placed four Scud-B's across their area, primed for defensive use. Closer towards the coastline they begun sprinkling the area with foxholes and machine gun nests, manned at all times. On the beaches the soldiers created a minefield, furthering the difficultly of a successful naval assault. The infantry troops began to get acquainted with the area, scouting out the local terrain. IFV's and MBT's were placed in areas where they could be accessed and utilized as quickly as possible; readiness was key should an attack be launched on the city.

Despite their noble intentions, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis were watched with wary eyes in Songha. To the Songhese, the savage Zobik that had pillaged their countries centuries before was still out there. Allies or not, the Songhese people didn't fully trust the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis who had arrived out of the blue, but as the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis stayed in the outskirts of the city, no problems arised.

by **Brytene** » Tue Jan 31, 2017 1:02 pm

Fale Ocean, north of Valdiu
---
Hit me like a tonne of lead

Major Edward Strommen of the 9th Naval Air Brigade, currently attached to the CFS Pelegiad as the 'Spooky' Heavy-Revelator variant providing AWACS for the fleet. This close to home, the Pelegiad was outfitted with only one, and he and his 8-man crew were it - the eyes and ears of the Brytisc fleet at war. Their job was to provide initial locational data in support of the rest of the fleet, feeding it back to the warships to help them develop their situational awareness of the battlefield.

Though his plane's job was not to eventually guide missiles directly down onto the individual targets, his role was to find their initial location and provide firing solutions, and holy shit was there no lack of targets. Four supercarriers and a whole raft of attendants bobbing about in the seas north of Valdiu like so many rubber ducks spilled from a cargo ship. His crew were working overtime trying to make sense of it all, and his nerves only grew as they approached the pre-agreed strike deadline. The seconds ticked past, and nothing seemed to be happening, but then slowly, almost invisible against the hazy sunlight horizon, a plume of smoke began to rise, followed slowly by two further roiling clouds. The subs had struck, then. Almost instantly, warning alerts went off - missile launches, from multiple vectors. The Stasnovans were firing, volley after volley of intelligent ASBMs with glide capability and inbuilt targeting facilities. He had no idea of the inner workings of these Stasnovan powerhouses, but he knew that they were much vaunted as unstoppable ship-killers and he wouldn't be upset to find out that was true.

"Fuck me!" yelled Skeppare Yngvynd, turning from her screen. "No point us even being here!"

Though the joke was light-hearted, there was an underlying tension in it. Stasnov were their allies, but the navies and armies clashing around them were far larger than Brytene's, and though Brytene could punch well above her weight, the tale of David and Goliath was not exact hard historical fact. To be in the middle of something so large was alarming for any one man or woman, and the scale of firepower being unleashed by their communist comrades was staggering. Strommen prayed that his own people would never be on the wrong end of something that brutal.

----------

Beneath the waves, aboard the CFS Moose Jaw

As stipulated, the five attack subs had peeled off after unleashing their initial volley. Their orders were to rush straight back towards the fleet, and not without good reason. Skeppare Royle knew her crew were torn between disgust at such an apparently cowardly order and relief that they were not expected to go up against the surviving destroyers and an entire fleet out to get them. They did not hurry or rush, instead maintaining a steady speed that minimised their audio output. Any sub trying to catch up to them and locate them would be easier for them to hear than vice-versa, even if it was as stealth-capable as they were, simply by virtue of moving faster and its engines working harder, whilst the ASW helicopters had their work cut out for them as they scattered across the vast ocean, attempting to triangulate five subs at once. The destroyers closest to the subs had been crippled or sunk, the ring of small warships dented by Brytisc torpedoes but not penetrated, and already the Brytisc were turning back towards their fleet which itself, incredibly, seemed to be edging back towards the Brytisc mainland.

Royle could hear her crew chaffering and grumbling but she ignored them. There was a reason and rhyme to this all, and she was damned if she'd disobey orders in a situation where the slightest misstep could see half the Chazicarian navy descending upon them in a vengeful fury.

----------

Aboard the CFS Pelegiad

Botas could barely believe his own eyes. Faint trails of missiles roaring into the sky from the distant Stasnovan subs made it look like the sky was melting, long trails of white barring the horizon. Scores, maybe more, of missiles were streaking towards the Chazicarian fleet, a terrifying barrage that reminded him of precisely why it was that Brytisc military policy was never to start a war against a superpower. The shockingly brutal, overwhelming force of it reminded him of a bygone era, when Soviet policy was still new and a primal force awakening to shake the world, rather than just another political school of thought. For a second he understood the boomingly patriotic propaganda that repeatedly convinced average Stasnovan farmhands to pick up assault rifles and join the vast hordes ready to fight and die for their country, against all odds.

Alert signals woke him from his train of thought. The Chazicarians had fired their own volley - conservative in comparison, but still deadly. 16 ASBMs, and early analysis suggested they were all heading straight for him. For the Pelegiad.

He calmly gave the order to start launching fighters, in his drawling Carlossian accent - one he had not shaken off despite years in Brytene. If the Pelegiad was disabled, or gods forbid sunk, he would not loose an entire fighter wing along with it. In a steady stream, VeK fighters and a trio of sleek Spearfighters roared into the sky, quickly climbing to altitude. They had enough fuel to stay on-station for quite a while, and were well within range of a run for home once they got near to bingo.

He heard thudding roars in the distance and grinned. That would be his own secret weapon. The first of many cards up his sleeve. Four Moby-Dick class missile submarines, each with a complement of 24 cruise missiles designed to scud across the sea and hammer the enemy. Firing from just beneath the surface, halfway between CSG Rapax and the fleeing Brytisc attack subs, they each thumped out two volleys of six cruise missiles, 48 in total. Twelve missiles screamed towards the Kaiser and twelve towards the Prime, with another twelve angling at the IRN Pharoah. The last two volleys whipped across the waters to attempt a coup-de-grace on the Cutlass and Scimitar.

The smart-guidance JDAM systems aboard the cruise missiles, combined with DC/PS seeker systems for the kill and a few extra safeguards, meant that they were largely independent once launched, provided the original location intel was good and the enemy vessels hadn't managed some amazing burst of unheard-of speed that took them far from their location at the point of launch. Nevertheless, Botas knew that this may only be the first round in a long and drawn-out slugging match. He could only hope that it ended quickly, and in his favour.

The defenses of the Brytisc fleet were advanced, modern, and sophisticated. Layers of various protective systems served to strip away missiles as they closed - some, jammed, simply lost their way. Others were taken out in post-boost phase, and by a sheer stroke of luck one was hit by a CIWS, or at least so the survivors would claim later. Three missiles, a sixth of those fired, managed to make their way past the combined defenses of an entire Carrier Strike Group to pound the CFS Pelegiad.

Botas watched as the first slammed into the foredeck, tearing a hole in the infrastructure that could have been worse, absorbed by the short take-off ramp. He felt the shuddering impact settle into a faintly wrong hum in the ship, the damaged superstructure protesting as the sea continued its relentless pressure. The second missile thundered down amidships in a column of fire, blasting the main lift and rendering it useless, trapping eight unlaunched VeK-29s on the lower deck. That shot hit deep, and Botas knew before asking that the casualties would be high even as he felt the ship lurch again. Luckily that shot had not hit any engines or munitions caches, but even so the skyline almost instantly blurred as smoke poured up from the heart of the mighty vessel.

The third hit, when it came, was barely even noticed. Coming in at an awkward angle, thrown off its perfect strike by a chance swell that pitched the Pelegiad and rolled it to starboard, and the massive payload slammed through the lip of flight deck on the starboard side, detonating in mid-air only metres from the flank of the ship. Not as vicious as a direct hit, it was still a devastating blow that tore a gaping hole in the side of the ship. Bulkheads began to automatically seal as alarms shrilled throughout the ship, medics and engineers rushing side by side to assess the damage and save what they could, lives and ship alike.

The Pelegiad's speed dropped almost instantly as Botas snapped out orders, turning the vessel north-east to run before the waters. His signals officer was calmly but quickly reporting the damage to Fleet Command, even as confirmation came from Whitebay that the third stage of the Brytisc element of the plan was well underway.

He took a breath to look out over the battered deck of his ship. Still afloat, she had lost the ability to launch and land fighters; her raison d'etre. But that was alright. She was still afloat, and he knew his men and women already in the air weren't stranded thousands of miles away from safe harbour. Steadying himself, he focused in on the fleet chatter. On the Stasnovan barrage about to decimate the enemy fleet. On the sleek batches of cruise missiles sliding across the surface of the water to knock holes in the survivors. Of all the weapons and arms still yet to be fired.

----------

The coast of Whitebay, Brytene

Lt. Col. Vickers of the 5th Hamtun Rifles was impressed. The Stasnovans, despite being strangers in a foreign land, more likely used to the pure cold snows of their home than the grey, wind-whipped damp of Brytene, had settled in well and, despite all the stereotypes, were remarkably well-behaved guests, but in the last few hours they had proven that they knew their business. He crossed to his Stasnovan counterpart, a veteran officer who clearly knew these machines inside and out, and nodded. The Stasnovan spoke good, if accented English, which saved them both embarrassment.

"So, after months of enduring our shitty weather, finally you get a chance to bring out the toys?" he asked companionably, squinting south towards the horizon before offering the Stasnovan a thermos filled with hot, milk-and-sugar-laden coffee, the kind of standard brown sauce issued to all soldiers whose primary interests are warmth and caffiene.