Peoples Republic of the Commonwealth Community & News Thread

[Pillowlandia]

HMS Stellar Deliverance, Neit-Class Corvette
Armada of Colonial Affairs
Asymmetric Nova Terra Orbit

---

The principal order of affairs aboard the Neit-Class corvette was that of providing support towards larger ships of the fleet and providing relief to smaller patrol craft. Her rough cigar shape against the stars spreading a neat two hundred meters and light armament, relative to other craft such as the Winters-class frigates of the fleet at least, was further proof of such a mission. Further, her vast cargo space was partly dominated by telephone pole sized cuts of tungsten rods, and she housed the machinery needed to cut them to size for the various coil guns of the fleet in order to replenish them underway if the need arose.

As a result, she had the rather odd addition to her auxiliary roles of being the primary platform for the, as yet, theoretical doctrine of kinetic bombardment of hostile surfaces. So, upon receiving orders to prepare a single store for drop from high orbit she began just that. Selecting one of the more perfect examples within the magazine, and machining the needed maneuvering surfaces from several pieces of excess stock, all mated together alongside a prefabricated lightweight off the shelf computer with a cheap maneuvering engine attached. This process, took only small measure of time (no greater than perhaps a half hour or so) and resulted in the large, and now weaponized, weapon stock to be loaded into the ship's hangar lockout system.

Released gently, it floated away from the Stellar Deliverance slowly in spite of its true velocity approaching twenty thousand meters a second. With a burn of its engine it began its slow descent into the atmosphere, or rather quite rapid in astronomical terms, where it pierced the atmosphere directly atop naval station Rio De Janeiro. Traveling at a speed of mach twenty, an equivalent of 6860 m/s as it vertically descended upon the centre point of the harbor.

The resulting explosion, given the sheer mathematical incapacity to intercept such a rapidly moving object at an angle exactly perpendicular to the lapping waves of the harbour resulted in an equivalent explosion to that of a 500 thousand kiloton explosion.

Firstly, the superheated air from impact of the rod simply expanded in a mass wave of energy. The conclusive wave flowed outward with an energy unmatched by but the largest of oceanic storms. Secondly, vast and towering waves rose up as the speed of the rod impacted with the displacement of an object many times its size.

To describe the waterfront as anything but decimated would be to discuss it without justice, for in simple moments the energy simply obliterated things nearby, and caused crippling damage for miles. Ships in harbor, if remaining afloat at all would have fundamentally descriptive damage short a miracle from Lugh himself.

Most startling of all however, was the sheer silence of the affair. What began with a gentle hiss and ended with a rapid return silence. Yet the silence was much more profound, with all the background noises simply vanished and the wail of wounded and dying reaching up from below to replace it.

HMS Virtuous
Falkland Defence Consignment
220 miles east of Falkland Isles

---

The command center, buried deep in the double hull, sat in near silence. Their patrol had found them making their way back to port for replenishments when news had come though. Given the current schedule and disposition of colonial maritime assets left many of them in poor position to respond to the incursion of a ten or more ship attacking floatila. The lack of deprimente ships however meant that their time on station would be fundamentally limited, and their efforts to replenish would find themselves alone. And that would be easy pickings. Until then, she would remain below the seas on the prowl.

Always watching. Always ready.

[Weslian]

5th of November 2067

The President of The People's Republic Of Weslian will now speak. Everyone welcome John Wesley!

"Thank you, Thank you. Now a new nation must establish relevance and power in the region it has come into. Countries that stay complacent will not survive in the world. Strong nations in Europe and the Americas have established their domination of Nova Terra by conquering the land and setting up new colonies. Seeing this trend, we now feel the need to expand into Africa without threating the nations near us. We know that it may be scary, but we only mean to ensure our survival as a people and as a nation. As of this announcement, the Expansion Soldiers will be moving into the areas currently referenced to as Kenya, Zambia, and Mozambique. God bless you, and God bless the People's Republic of Weslian

[Sudardes]

Shapiron Middle School No. 4, Shapiro, Sudardes Proper, Terra, 1:30PM November 3rd, 2067

The familiar voice of the city wide broadcast system reminded the populace politely that lunch was now over, and the afternoon shift was to begin in five minutes. The standard 45 minute lunch break was often more than enough time for the average citizen to pop by the cafeteria in their building or pay a visit to the local deli, and after a short but satisfying meal, they would return to their workplace and continue to do whatever it is that they were doing. Of course, none of this mandated by the state, unless of course you happened to work in one of the numerous parastatal institutions. It was simply, a reminder to the people about the sensitive nature of their place in society, each a cog in a well oiled machine playing a very specific role, and that, like cogs, they can easily be replaced.

Needless to say, all public institutions followed this clock, including all the schools in the Imperium. A task as delicate as educating the youth was not to be trusted to private corporations or even charter schools, but rather, the state. And rightfully so at that, manifesting the paternal element in all its glory. An emphasis was placed heavily on the sciences, with a focus on engineering and mechanics, all in preparation for their mandatory service once they graduate; the men into the armed forces, and the women into industry. Those who prove to be talented would be redirected to the mathematics or computer research programs and be put on a track to eventually serve as scientists for either the various arms manufacturing companies, or the research and development wing of the Sudardesian National Army. The humanities were not exempt from the scrutiny of the state either. History, although not revised, would be considered somewhat unidimensional. Literature was based heavily around tradition and the romanticization of the armed forces. Last but not least, philosophy would be centered around national identity and pride. Today that doctrine would be put under minor strain, as the news of the devastation unleashed upon Tudorlandia by the Holy Imperial Commonwealth spread across the media.

The classroom itself resided on the thirteenth floor of the Radcliffe building, with large rectangular windows along the length of the Southern side overlooking Victory Square. It was not unique in anyway compared to the rest of the classrooms located on the thirteenth floor or the remaining dozen floors below it for that matter. White plaster walls made up two sides of the room; the North wall and the East wall. Along the walls were scientific and mathematical charts displaying the periodic table, derivatives of trigonometric functions and much more. Beside them were two posters. One depicted a Caucasian man and an Asian woman hand in hand triumphantly raising a sword into the heavens. Behind them, over the unmistakable silhouette of a manufacturing plant and a rising sun flew the Sudardesian flag, spanning the top third of the page. On the bottom of the page in bold red letters were the word “UNITY.” The next poster depicted two rows of three marching men from all walks of the SNA in parade uniform with ceremonial rifles slung over their shoulders. It was a diverse cast of individuals, with a healthy mix of both rank and race. A black member of the colonial garrison wove the Sudardesian flag over all their heads, the bright red contrasting the cyan sky behind them. Written on a crimson banner below their feet in black was the word “TOGETHER.” These were but a small selection of the posters issued by the state for public institutions to place around their facilities. A minimum of one per room was required, but no more than five can adorn any surface. Beyond public buildings, they also appeared on lamp posts and trees, graffitied alleys and bulletin boards, but even advertisement slots on international websites, with the Ministry of Information paying information technologies firms across both Terra and Nova Terra to spread the glory of Sudardes far and wide. A white board spanned the entire face of the West wall, with a large assortment of colored markers magnetized neatly in the corner, at a height comfortable for a stout man to easily remove and replace. In the center of the room sat a large ovular table, with twenty five chairs arranged equidistant from each other. At the head of the table sat a chubby, bald man, preparing materials for his Modern World Politics class.

Ichabod Carrey had been teaching history at the high school for almost 25 years and was now presented with the task of educating the students in his Modern World Politics class about the Pillowlandian usage of the weapon. He was amongst the first to embrace the new education program after the country was initially founded despite the protests of the more liberal Libertarian majority government at the time. He was also amongst the most dedicated of the teachers of the first generation of Sudardesian students to graduate high school under an entirely new Sudardesian curriculum. Over time, as the Wille Dur Macht party continue to gain traction, more funding was delegated away from night-watchmen spending and put into the education program. It was under this wave of capital that the education system really began to take off. New facilities, better qualified teachers, a ‘revised’ curriculum, and of course the adult re education program. The students filed in pairs of twos and threes, all of them wearing matching white button up shirts complemented with a slim black tie. Depending on the sex of the student, they wore either a black dress or trousers. The Imperial seal glittered on their right collar as the light flooding in from the window danced across the cheery faces of the students. As the post lunch buzz died down, the students took their seats.

“Now before we begin class, I want to remind you all that your homework answers about the Union of X nations is due online tonight by midnight. Once again, I will reiterate that late work will receive a zero in this class.” He eyed the students, trying to remember if he had forgotten anything else. “Today we will be having a somewhat different lesson, a departure from our usual discussion focus to a more liberal lecture focus.”

He got up and approached the white board.

“Now can anyone tell me what happened yesterday on Nova Terra?”

Most of the class raised their hands eagerly.

“Yes, Bercha?”

A lanky bespectacled boy stood up. He wore the maroon sash of academic merit.

“The Armed Republic of Pillowlandia used orbital weaponry against Tudorlandia, Sir.”

“It’s the Holy Imperial Commonwealth now but excellent Bercha, you can sit down now.” Carrey pulled a blue marker off the board. “This is the first time in recorded history that such a weapon has been used in combat, and it certainly shan’t be the last time it is used. It came as a surprise to our nation when a state as small as Tudorlandia decided to unilaterally invade Pillowlandia without so much as allied support. We discussed the miscalculation of the Tudorlandian government on the nature of the Orange menace. When we talked about the invasion of the Pillowlandian colonies by a minor power earlier last week, many of you were under the impression that the war would end in total PIllowlandian victory. And many of you would be correct as the Tudorlandian government has announced unconditional surrender.”

He wrote the words “Weapons of mass destruction” on the top left corner of the white board.

“The Pillowlandians have ushered in a new age of warfare, taking humanity to the final frontier. Although many nations including ourselves possess orbital bombardment technologies, they are the first to use it against a surface level target. Thus we must ask ourselves what does this mean for the way wars are conducted now? Nuclear weapons of course remain as our key form of deterrence. But as war grows increasingly impersonal, the capacity to wage tremendous suffering against our enemies grows. We cannot view the events of today without looking at them through the lense of history.”

Carrey paused for a moment. He pondered whether he wanted to take a more theoretical route and discuss something less grounded. Without thinking, he scribbled the word “Honor” underneath “Weapons of mass destruction.”

“One does not reflect on a point of honor – that is already dishonor. To submit to insult, to forget a humiliation, to quail before an enemy – all these are signs of a life become worthless and superfluous. While perhaps our greatest adversary, it is true that the Pillowlandians are not deficient in this aspect as they are in so many others. In physics you learn that every action has an equal and opposite reaction; except perhaps in politics, where sometimes you must respond with ten times the initial force.

“From this development we can take away two things. First and foremost, the existence of paper tigers across the worlds. Nations that are all bark and no bite. Nations that, when it comes to rolling in the mud with the enemy, would rather bend the knee rather than stain their precious uniforms. In an instant, they would sell the soul of their country for a material concession. Such ruling authorities deserve none of our respect. Secondly, the existence of nations of the opposite composure, those that bear the quality of the honorable, of the triumphant, and of vengeance. Such forces must be dealt with carefully. While Tudorlandia exemplifies the former, our international adversaries oft epitomizes the latter.

“The question of whether world peace will ever be possible can only be answered by someone familiar with world history. To be familiar with world history means, however, to know human beings as they have been and always will be. There is a vast difference, which most people will never comprehend, between viewing future history as it will be and viewing it as one might like it to be. Peace is a desire, war is a fact; and history has never paid heed to human desires and ideals. As such our nation was founded upon principles to accommodate this unfortunate fact of life. We talk a lot in this class about the three pillars of greatness, and those are family, fraternity, and above all, nation. Today you will definitively learn about the importance of nation and why it sits at the top of the hierarchy.

“Nationalism means to be good to one's nation; to take care of one's nation; to engage in good conduct not just towards your own people but also outside the home so as to bring a good name to one's nation and ancestors; to perform the duties of one's job well so as to obtain the material means to support the nation as well as carry out sacrifices to the ancestors; not be rebellious; show love, respect and support; display courtesy; uphold fraternity among brothers; wisely advise one's parents, including dissuading them from moral unrighteousness; display sorrow for their sickness and death; and carry out sacrifices after their death.

“It is indeed an all encompassing philosophy of life in the fullest. Many of you are still young, but soon in just a handful of years you will be off to do your national service. Some of you will be deployed in the colonial garrison or become researchers, relatively safe occupations. However, some of you will sent to Brasilistan for peacekeeping, to traverse the asteroid belts and protect Sudardesian convoys Some of you will no doubt fall in the line of duty against the enemy. But that is a burden we as a people must bear. I am what I am because of who we are. And we are a proud people. You owe it to the country, to your friends, your family. We must all play a part in the uplifting of the world.

“Talk of world peace is heard today only among the powers, and not among the much more numerous minor states. This is a perilous state of affairs. When individual thinkers and idealists talk of peace, as they have done since time immemorial, the effect is negligible. But when whole peoples become pacifistic it is a symptom of senility. Strong and unspent peoples are not pacifistic. To adopt such a position is to abandon the future, for the pacifist ideal is a terminal condition that is contrary to the basic facts of existence. As long as man continues to evolve, there will be wars. Yesterday, Pillowlandia has ushered in a new form of warfare, and lest we want to be left in the dust like so many before us, we too, must not be afraid to use such weapons. In fact, we have an obligation to match such levels of devastation upon our enemies. That is the Sudardesians burden, to never be left behind in the world like our ancestors did before us so foolishly.”

---

Kingsley manufacturing plant, Tarrington, Colorado, Colonial Sudardes, Nova Terra, 1:34 PM, November 5th 2067

Below an impenetrable sea of smog, there lay a vast company town that stretched fifty miles in either direction from the epicenter. This was Tarrington, the de facto capital of the Colony, a city doused in near eternal darkness. The crisp clean mountain air had been replaced by a putrid shade of grey that swallowed all the other colors within the mountain basin. Even with this, industrial chimneys punched upwards through all of that and an unending stream of gaseous output was ejected into the atmosphere without the slightest worry in the world. A network of convoluted assembly lines and the ghastly appendages of the robots working endlessly assembling phones, computers, and other domestic products ran twenty four hours a day, an unceasing mechanical drone. Pale fluorescent lights had to be lit at all hours in the interior of these plants so as to keep the workers sane from the darkness and the noise of the machinery around them. Conditions were only worse in the mines. The deep earth drills that operated over rich uranium deposits served as the site for numerous accidental deaths as well as suicides. It was here where we get to take in the industrial machine in all its glory. The red industrial lights glowed like an ever watchful eye, casting devious shadows across the slums and settlements. A ferocious Eastward wind, no longer inhibited by trees used for lumber, was free to blast sand from the desert against the colony, and carry a small amount of the smog out into America JB.

The mythos of Tudorlandia as a country to be taken seriously in any respect in the hearts of Sudardesians died alongside their navy on Friday. As such, they became the butt of many jokes on the colony, with a popular late night host going so far as to dedicate an entire episode on the issue. From then on, the military jargon spewing out from minor powers became increasingly passed off as blowing hot air. The claims of superiority from the likes of Quo God were dismissed. However, in their attempts to inflate the size of their armed forces, the minor states had generated quite the demand for cheap arms. Hence, the mass production capabilities of the industrial sector of the colony was not constructed in vain. Although somewhat lacking in precision manufacturing, the large plants was more than capable of producing cheap stamped guns, cars, and armored vehicles for popular consumption. And that was exactly what they did. Every low budget group from terror cells, to minor states rushed to grab the rifles and vehicles of the Imperium. Despite them mostly being surplus, they still proved durable.

Battle tested in three wars, a dozen insurgencies, and at least double the number of counter insurgencies, the AR-36 despite entering service nearly two decades ago still proved to be a classic. It was not the most sophisticated gun on the market or even the best, but the rugged reliability and simplicity more than made up for it. Firing the powerful 30-06, it was able to bring down a Pillowlandian regular in just a few shots, and penetrate the plate carriers of most other infantry units it encountered on the field in just one hit. Accuracy was dubbed by researchers as “precise enough” to hit a man sized target from four hundred yards. The stamped steel construction rendered the rifle light, but recoil mitigation technology meant that the recoil would be more than manageable. In fact the weapon was so well designed, some argue that the replacement of the AR-36 with the AR-37 was unnecessary, citing the already capable firearm not offering too many benefits over the original.

But regardless, with several million AR-36 already in circulation on Nova Terra, it became the imperative of the Sudardesian Industrial Machine to arm every man, woman, and child with one of their weapons, and make a profit while doing it.

[Pillowlandia]

Liathdroim, Halls of Imperial Gatherings
National District, Pillowgrad
Armed Republic of Pillowlandia, Holy Imperial Commonwealth of Pillowlandia

---

The towering walls of the complex, home to the small hordes of elected and unelected legislative chambers which presided over the entirety of the Armed Republic alongside the assembled delegates for the whole of the Holy Imperial Commonwealth were wreathed in copious amounts of gold. So much so that many experts estimated the amount of gold used decoratively on the walls was equal to several modern metric tons, despite the Church holding precise figures close to its chest and deep in its archives.

On this day, the hall of Liathdroim, which held the elected body of ministers and lords for the whole of the realms had its grand doors shut. Outside stood the customary Imperial Guards, a forced tasked with protection of various government facilities, but bolstering them (and building a second layer which kept people from proximity to the doors) were a score and a half of Royal Guardsmen. A clear symbol that His Imperial Majesty was in session.

That second layer of protection laid so as a precaution against pedestrian traffic, for this was a closed session, its content sensitive, and seemingly the entire assembled body was shouting its opinion before all who bothered to listen. Which, since all were shouting for their opinion to be heard, was none. Growing tired of the bickering, and presuming the productivity of letting the men who ‘held’ legislative power to have been exhausted in the shouting match, which had lasted this last hour or so the Ard Rí waved a hand towards the Crown Prince, who sat in a seat next to his father.

A brief sigh later (after all, why let such poorly educated sods bicker when they truly held no sway in this matter?), the prince rose whilst holding his hands in a gentle clasp behind his back. He opened his mouth, uttering “Silence”. It was scarcely audible, what would normally carry across a concert hall effortlessly as a result of training and grooming instead crossing perhaps just enough for the closest of the assembled men and women to hear. Yet, the purpose was deduced quickly enough, and the people of influence across the Commonwealth and her colonies closed their mouths like a chastened primary schoolchild.

With the most shallow of bows, the Crown Prince resumed his seat beside his father. “It has come to my attention, my subjects and fellow Pillowlandians. That certain of you believe actions undertaken in defence of our Colonies and in my name by my Ministry of Armed Affairs were actions unjustifiable to our people and our honor. That misplaced idealism shall not willingly tolerated for it is the stuff which complacency is composed of. Mistakes can be tolerated for they teach, but complacency shant for it does naught but yield a slow death.”
The droning continued, as Crown Prince Éibhear A. Johgs sat quietly upright in his own seat. His mind began to wonder, the address of his father invariably to last several hours as he commanded the complete attention of those assembled. His own youth stood in stark contrast to his father’s ever more evident age, a combination of accidents that had seen his own elder siblings slain and the ever present politics of the royal harem. So, as his eyes followed the inlaid patterns of gold along the halls intricate engravings of gold his mind drifted back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blue eyes of the young child, bright in the artificial lighting of the musty library. His eyebrows were pulled together in frustration as he ran his finger under the same line of text repeatedly. His mouth moved as his voice remained silent, brushing his dark black hair out of his face from time to time. It simply made no sense, the story spoke so happily of such a gruesome tale.

He couldn’t ask his cousins for their help, nor even his mother. The language might as well been scribbles in the dirt to them. It was one of the restricted texts, written in the ancient royal tongue of the Johgs. The language was kept alive by the tutorings of the royal family only, not even the many close offshoots of the imperial family being aware. For, when other children his age were hardly but beginning primary school, private or otherwise, the young Éibhear had already firmly mastered the four common tongues of the Imperial Realms. The Irish of the masse, English of the academia and border territories, Spanish of the coastal lowlands, Latin of the elite, all alongside the royal tongue. At least, as far as mastery of a language was for those of just about seven years of age.

It was then that his father strode in, the gap in age between the heir apparent and Ard Rí more than evident, a modest flicker of surprise crossing his face for the briefest of moments. “Well, well, well. What have you got there?”, he asked as he plucked the tome gently from the small child's grasp.

“Father, it says we murdered them just because they weren’t us. Why would we do that?”, Éibhear asked. The conflict of what he had been taught by his various tutors and that he had been told quite explicitly that every word in these books was the most accurate he would ever lay eyes upon.

The elder royal lowered himself to a knee, his face level now with Éibhear who sat upon a simple leather chair. “Things weren’t always as they are now. What is acceptable now is different from what was acceptable then. But no matter what, the honor of the realms is paramount. Bend your knee to our foes, and all the honor in the world won’t save our peoples. Never forget that, and never forget where all our gold came from. To forget is to be complacent.”

“And to be complacent is to invite death.” Éibhear responded, the well drilled axiom being recalled by his father’s words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present day

The envoy to Tudorlandia was none too pleased, the country was filthy to say the least. Crowded streets, and the stunning loss was not the best way to visit a country. Despite that, he pressed on deeper into the squalor that defined the independent states of Nova Terra. Plus, he was being paid to be here on behalf of His Imperial Majesty's Government.

It was those reasons that he, as was tradition, was quite humbly taking public transit from the airport to whatever seat of government was in this Lugh forsaken state. As a result, he was trudging through the upscale government district of Tudorlandia with a secured briefcase by his side and two plain clothed Royal Guardsmen behind him at a reasonable pace. Not that he was concerned with safety, he wore a ring of His Majesty’s Foreign Office. An outrageously expensive peace, it quite plainly showed that whoever was wearing it was under the personal guarantee of the Pillowlandian Imperial Crowns.

At that point, he had arrived at the Lugh forsaken building. He promptly walked up to the guard. “I have a treaty. I lack an appointment, and you’ll see me to your prime minister or whatever incompetent you have or I shall be forced to enter with the force of the Imperial Realms. Now, chop chop I haven’t all day to stand in your nations filth.” He wasn’t being rude, he was just being that normal Pillowlandian honesty so oft displayed abroad.

Treaty of the First Tudo-Pillow War

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Hereby recognizing the war to have been unbridled aggression on the part of the Colonial Praeventium of Tudorlandia, and all casualties and damage to property to be the direct result of such actions.

Thusly demands the immediate payment of 220 Million metric tons of 99.999999999% pure gold as compensation for loss of innocent life and damage to economic interests and property of the Falklands.

Thusly demands the immediate release and return of all captured Pillowlandian prisoners of war.

Thusly demands the payment of 1 billion metric tons of 99.999999999% pure gold over the next three decades as compensation for this war of aggression.

Thusly demands the surrendering of all atomic based weapons, fissile weapons grade material, all assets required for the weaponization of uranium and other related fissile materials, inspection by Pillowlandian inspectors of all nuclear sites alongside a legally binding statement to never again pursue a nuclear program for means of war.

Thusly demands the military of Tudorlandia shall henceforth be restricted to 500,000 as an internal defense force against hostile aggression. All additional personnel shall be released, and surplus materials sold off and proceeds going to the Pillowlandian Imperial Treasury or destroyed and scrapped with all proceeds going to various charitable causes approved by the Pillowlandian Treasury.

Thusly demands the exclusive monopoly over new power generation stations to Pillowlandian companies, a tax rate not to exceed 15% for any Pillowlandian business, and the free access to mineral rights and territorial waters of Tudorlandia to Pillowlandian companies.

Herby ends all active and current hostilities between the Holy Imperial Commonwealth of Pillowlandia her Colonies and Territories, and the inferior Colonial Praeventium of Tudorlandia

---

Signed this Day,

November, sixth of twenty-sixty-seven

By the representatives of the aforementioned states.

[Sudardes]

Gulf of Mexico, 100 miles from the Panama Canal, International waters, Nova Terra, 1:37 AM
The Second Colonial fleet set sail from the western port cities yesterday, the moment the armistace was called. Comprising of three carriers, seven missile cruisers, twenty destroyers and corvettes, and several dozen amphibious landing craft, the fleet was equipped with standard threat detection systems mounted on a refitted destroyer, its bridge plastered with detection equipment. On board, each ship carried a vast quantity of radar guided SAMs prepared to fire at aerial threats whether they be planes or missiles. In addition, the fourth fleet carrier around fifty thousand of the colonies finest, with the landing craft capable of carrying two armored vehicles, whether it be tanks or armored cars with fifty men onboard each craft. However, without men, each craft was capable of carrying four armored vehicles with ease.

Northern Islands, Republic of Imperial Valley, Nova Terra, 1:37AM 12th November, 2067

The person who said that the pen is mightier than the sword has clearly never seen the size of the GAU-8 mounted on the front of an A-20 CAS Aircraft. When it came to tank busting, often bigger was better. Thus a short burst from the explosive 30mm rotary cannon capable of firing up to four thousand six hundred round per minute was more than enough to obliterate any tank crew unfortunate enough to be caught in its sights. The unmistakable brrrrrrt of the GAU-8 like the Struka Sirens in the past is more than enough to shatter the will of the soldiers of most professional armies globally, often causing retreat of nearby units not even in line of sight with the aircraft. This one aircraft made up a crucial part of broader Sudardesian military doctrine, the breaking of the political will to resist in the hearts of her enemies.

At precisely 11:45, take off sirens sounded across the decks of the three aircraft carriers now within striking range of the Communist bases as they exited the Panama Canal. All aircraft was scrambled to ensure maximum effectiveness. The warplanes flew in from the south, under the radar horizon, guided by GPS systems, aware that their actions were being watched live on screen by Pillowlandian officials.

Two air wings of multi-role F-45 stealth air superiority craft spread out over the various air defense facilities in the Communist held islands right alongside an air wing of electronic warfare strike craft who had quickly isolated enemy air defense and search radars. Now, it was time to time strike the killing blow. They made the last check ins with command and received the final green light needed to launch the latest precision guided munition the Colonial Authority received from Terra. Under the cover of advanced electronic warfare capabilities, the pilots conveniently isolated the defense radar band for the smart missiles to use. The lock on light flashes bright red in the pilots cockpits and immediately, two dozen UW-100, 600 pound air to surface missiles were released from internal launch bays.

The F-45 pilots relayed the news to the rest of the attacking contingent. “Targets destroyed, mission complete. Proceeding to phase two.”

Communist controlled islands, Republic of Imperial Valley, Nova Terra, 1:52 AM 12th November, 2067

It was an unusually hot and humid Caribbean night. Up in one of the guard towers of Communists largest airfield, Brigham Hinckley clutched his assault rifle tightly, hoping for something to happen that might make his night shift just a little more interesting. He was a recent college graduate, cuma sum laude from the prestigious Nacirema Institute of Technology with a degree in electrical engineering. His small frame and somewhat crooked back meant that despite the Communist government playing mandatory service as a great chance of moving up the social ladder, he would never progress beyond the rank of PFC.

Hinckley shivered and adjusted the shemagh around his neck. The radio on his waist sounded.

“Uh command, be advised, this is comms, over.”

“Comms this is command, what's the problem?”

“We seem to have lost contact with the air defense grid, over.”

“Comms, it's probably just maintainence. Over.”

The back and forth between command and communications seem to go on forever, only to be interrupted by the sound of growling jet engines in the distance.

“Command, we don't have any scheduled transfers tonight, right? Over.”

“No, comms, have you tried pinging them? Over.”

“Yes but so far I've gotten no…”

Suddenly the sound of an A-20 filled the cold night sky.

“We're under attack! Scramble the jets! Scramble the…”

The roaring of the turbo engines of the F-52 jet shook the whole tower as the jet flew overhead. Hinckley’s eyes were glued to the vehicle, transfixed by the JDAMs it was dropping into their hardened aircraft shelters. Explosions lit up the night sky as bombs rained down from what seemed like a swarm of enemy aircraft. Explosions like a line of firecrackers slithered across the airfield at stationary aircraft parked out in the open as the 30mm literally sawed them in half with shear volume of fire. Anti runway bombs planted themselves firmly into the asphalt before erupting in magnificent balls of fire that engulfed everything in a hundred foot radius.

The attack went on for what seemed like hours. The SAMs simply could not acquire any targets, as if all Communist radar facilities have been destroyed. The soldiers that tried to fire their rifles at the incoming aircraft were shredded by GTC-13 strafe runs. In reality, the whole ordeal lasted just under seven minutes. By the time Hinckley had rushed to a manual flak gun, it was already too late. The runways were blown to shreds and all of the remaining aircraft in the base were either destroyed or irreparably damaged in the attack. However, the worst blow would be loss of any runways to return to for the aircraft currently deployed overhead. They would either need to be allowed to land on friendly airfields, or destroyed when they tried to land.

Military airbases all across Reginaria and Brasilistan saw similar events play out that night. In this War on Terror, the Sudardesian Government planned on being quick and efficient, dominating the skies of these terror regimes. Like crippled dogs, without any air support whatsoever, the communists were left at the mercy of Sudardesian search and destroy groups that will inevitably be deployed.

[Pillowlandia]

Rath Claíomha,Estate of Imperial Residency
District of Lugh, Pillowgrad
Armed Republic of Pillowlandia, Holy Imperial Commonwealth of Pillowlandia

---

The sun rose gently upwards, and its early rays floated through the stained glass of the massive estate which represented all that was Pillowlandian, the very image of Royal Rights and Privileges. All of which stretched across nearly ten thousand square kilometers. This vast tract of land was privately held by the Imperial Family, and from its vast forests, rivers, and lakes (some manmade and others natural) sat several vast complexes.

Lios Síoda, the personal retreat of the Ard Rí and training grounds of the most elite of his Royal Guardsmen. Dún Seoda, home to the royal treasury and where the Ard Rí would take special audiences. Rath Claíomha, the personal residence of the Johgs family and their closest attendants. Lios Misne, the seat of the holy Church and her most sacred archives. All of these sat vast distances from each other, and connected with modern light rail and road. Each had at one point been its own fortified location, but over centuries of empire building been expanded with much attention to the aesthetic and using as much gold in their construction as reasonable.

It was to this vast inheritance which Éibhear awoke, his own bed chamber having a more subtle decor centered around the native wood found only upon the Imperial Estate instead of the more common gold across many of the ancient complexes. The room had long before him been renovated for power (sometime in the late twentieth century), and more recently a secure data line. In fact, the room held several large screens of various type and function which stood in stark contrast to its own age.

As the heir apparent rose, he stretched quietly as sunlight slowly gathered in the room. He would have roughly a quarter hour prior to truly needing to rise to carry out his official functions. At the very least, the isolated estate meant that no truly absurd morning rituals for the Ard Rí, his family or government to carry out had every evolved. It allowed more time to truly get work done, which Éibhear was grateful for. Afterall, he had been placed in charge of the whole affair with the Tudorlandians.

An affair which was not going quietly as it should have. Their invasion being successfully thwarted, they had kicked off a violent coup to remove a leader whom had been quite cooperative with the Pillowlandians as he rightly should have been. That had been several days ago, and now with the dust settling and fresh refusals to asset to the terms as dictated it was time to address their insolence. Anything else would simply be an insult to national honor.

As he showered, and dressed in a suit even he thought expensive (costing more than three luxury apartments in downtown Moscou), thoughts of the proper course of action ran through his mind. Afterall, they had dropped an orbital bombardment and refused to assent even now. There really was only one proper solution he concluded. Escalation of threat. They would bend their knee one way or another. How many of their heretical countrymen perished was up to them.

At that moment came a soft knock, a rich echo produced by the quality of wood in the doors. After a brief paused they opened, admitting a man clearly of youth but distinctly older than the royal heir apparent. “Your Highness, your flight is ready. We depart upon your approval.”

His deference was plain, and the glint of insignia told all. A mid-ranking Internal Security Garrison officer of the Armed Republic, on the cusp of either being promoted higher for competence and appropriate levels of sucking up to superiors or being forever stuck in the middle of the ladder. “I have also been told to be expecting your orders regarding the latest heretical action on Nova Terra.”

Éibhear nodded, taking the time to adjust his tie. “Yes, I’ll relay my final decision while we are in the air towards the Duchy of Lanceshire for the inspection. However, I will be taking the long route to the roof so as to pass the court musicians. Adjust the schedule accordingly.”

With the attention of a well trained officer, he knew he was dismissed. Pulling the door closed behind him, he left to making the adjustments requested of him. With that however, Éibhear took a final glance around the chamber before collecting the bag which contained what he would need for the journey.

As he departed his chambers, rounding the corner and into the central throughway, attendants and patrolling guardsmen offered a respectful minimal distance. All the while, he listened as the sounds of the complete orchestra drifted throughout the whole of the central sections. Both a functional passageway, and stuffed full of aesthetic design. Taking his time, he finally reached the roof.

Waiting for him wasn’t a helicopter, but a modified cargo lighter meant to quickly travel from surface to orbit. Or in this case, perform a suborbital hop from the core territories to the far flung ducal colony. The hull of the craft was dark black, any identifying markers or paint long since stripped away. However, a simple glance up the ramp showed a utilitarian but comfortably built interior.

As the ramp began to ascend upwards Éibhear called out,”Odhrán, remove their ports. All of them.”

The mid-ranking officer simply nodded, and ducked into the forward compartment to make it so. All the while, the craft lifted off the rooftop deck which serviced it and other flying craft and cleared the palace proper before accelerating upwards for the suborbital flight.


HMS Banshee, Harbinger-Class Cruiser
1st Royal Squadron
High Orbit of Nova Terra

---

Unlike the older, and smaller, Winters-Class frigates, the Harbinger series was more offensively outfitted, primarily in the capacity meant to engage other hostiles at distances of several million kilometers away in deep space. However, the same arms which were meant to allow that also provided her with a large armory of uncut ferrous tungsten rods. Which, much like they previously had been, were being prepared by the largely automated system which was meant to cut new rounds out of them.

This time however, their velocities would be as much as twice the previous strike. Their higher orbit and differing velocities would ensure that. It was a strange calm onboard the ship, which built for deep space combat was nearly crewless. The emphasis on maneuvering necessary for such warfare meant that her crew was both highly selective and very much apart of the top bracket of fitness. They simply had to be in order to handle the amount of Gs combat maneuvers would produce. Not to mention, odds were a single good hit by a hostile would likely disable the ship entirely and render any repair efforts either completely or unreasonably ineffective.

So, the silence which hung in her passageways was not out of the norm, but the gravity was certainly much heavier. Afterall, it was quite the conscious act to knowingly prepare weapons which would kill millions at the minimum. Even if they were nothing but a lot of heretics, they were still humans.

It was quite the spectacle, as the miniscule crew gazed at monitors which fed external views of the large mass of weapons which had been precisely machined and released from the ship. In a concert of light, the simple chemical engines attached burned their fuel, in a carefully pre-programmed pattern and then waited to breach the atmosphere in order to detach and burn in a fiery shower.

Together the rods descended, collectively accounting for a hefty investment of money into metal and yet cheaper than any nuclear strike by a large margin. Together they cut through their air with fire, visible for hundreds of miles in any direction. Each rod had its own destination. The coastal cities and ports, from civil fishing hubs to military docks housing ships men and arms.

Further they trailed inland, raining down upon major airports and airbases, stripping not just the very runway from the land but obliterating entire airfields and their inventories of instruments of war.

It was in that solemn judgment from above that the HMS Banshee began to accelerate away from Nova Terra, towards Orbital Naval Depot No.7 deep in the belt to rearm her spent armories.

---

This day, the year of 2067 the continued state of war, which had reached a mutual lull in a purposeful effort to have the opposing party willfully and without further loss of life following the previous devastation wrought by kinetic strike, has been purposefully and thoughtfully continued with full discretion and efforts by those of the defensive party in the affairs which are this conflict.

As a result of the change of regime within the aggressor state, which reviled at thought of coming to peaceful conclusion of hostilities in which it found to embroil itself willingly and consciously and which has undertaken violent and bloody change of governance to distance itself from its own national affairs of recent memory. This has resulted in the continued and sustained avoidance of efforts to obligation to sign and assent to the treaty provided prior and continuously by the government which has been upon the defensive reaction of this conflict.

This has left zero recourse in means which lack the needless shed of water which hold such value to each party of conflict and no means in which to indicate the gravity and weight of these obligations upon the aggressor party which has already signaled its obligations to assent as it has forfeited in whole and on all grounds the option of negotiations. This new state formed from the ashes of previous hold the same legal status, identity, and obligations as that which it has overthrown and replaced.

Thus, the intention of the limited strike which found itself inflicted upon Tudorlandia and its people was and remains not to reopen the wound of open hostilities. Instead, it remains as a poignant reminder to the new state the obligations with which it must asset to in the name of cessation of hostilities and for the crafting of peace.

[Tibreria]

9:00 AM , Royal council Building , Tibri capital Hayr

As The king prepares to end the today's meeting , the door blows open . Ten armed men come in . The Royal Guard attempts to stop them, but they are killed . they proceed to the King's telephone and request That the Government shall give him 10 Billion tibri Pounds as ransom befor 12:00 PM , or he kills the king and the ministers . The Chief of Army staff , the 3rd in command of government outright refuses and sends two divisions to the council building

The building is quite deep in the Palace forest , about 1km from the palace .

3h Later . The terrorists have run out of patience . they kill the minister of Health . a few seconds after that , the doors bust open and a flashbang grenade falls into the room . The special forces have arrived . they promise The terrorists will be treated well . they are forced to kneel . to the king's surprise , they are executed on the spot . the entire squads recieves The orde rof king George for bravery . The investigation begins for any foreign support for the attackers

[Pillowlandia]

Duke Maximilian Alcón
Tudorlandian Capital, Nova Terra

---

The shuttle was noisy at best, and there was little money could do to make the dramatic descent any less so. The flightpath was aggressive, and meant to offer little time for the Tudorlandians to even think upon their coming, let alone consider engaging them.
That was unlikely though, given the total devastation wrought from above. The initial estimates were far from in, but he had been briefed during the short suborbital hop that projections would run into the hundreds of billions in lost and destroyed economic productivity. Not even counting the loss of life which would be immense. It was at that moment that the external feed returned, the cameras capable of seeing something beside a fiery reentry.

All that was in sight however was a hazy sky, and a distinct lack of real light as the sun failed to pierce the haze even as it slowly rose in the sky. In fact, the only illumination from below which could be seen was the of the former government residences. Well, to be former government residences in any case.

The gilded construction of the rich neighborhoods of the capital contrasted sharply with the slums, not so much as a ring of middling class dwellings offering separation. There was a good chance that even with a dramatic shift in regime once more, that the masses of poor would finally see an improvement for once in their miserable existence. Some might even get a chance at an education worthy of propelling them to the soon to be forged middle class. If they were worthy enough at least.

The shuttle touched down with a gentleness not felt through the entire descent, and the primary hatchway began to lower to the ground with a stream of Royal Guardsmen disembarking with it. Their rifles raised, they moved silently to secure the immediate area. The illumination of the courtyard, its greenery now quite ruined by the shuttle's engines, contrasted sharply with the compressed carbon armor they were outfitted with.

Moments later Maximilian began to also descend, a grimace at his face as he gazed around the shoddy construction of the palace. He heard small volumes of gunfire, evidently surprise visits weren’t the most welcome of occurrences. Yet, with their defences shattered and populace demoralized there was little true resistance. Any met simply melted away under any pressure.

Adjusting his tie, and brushing some ash which collected on his shoulder from the hazy skies, he brought a small radio, hardly the size of his palm, to his mouth. “Bring me the king.”

It hadn’t been but fifteen minutes after landing, small bursts of fire audible in the distance all throughout until four Royal Guardsmen burst through the doors into the throne room of the palace, King Oskario in hand. His dress was simple silken bedwear, a luxury lacking to any but the rich of his nation. He was promptly dragged across the chamber, towards the foot of his throne which sat occupied by Maximilian.

“Have you any idea what we do those who kill a person under the personal guarantee of His Imperial Majesty?”, Maximilian began, casually biting into an apple.

Eyes wide with fear, Oskario struggled to produce a sound. “That.. that wasn’t me!”

Maximilian simply waved him off, “Of course it wasn’t. But you must have read our statement of the last uh, incident” he stated, waving his arm about. “Your government, like the one it replaced, and like the one which it replaced is still liable for such offences.

But, you are a stubborn people. So I am here to offer a renegotiated deal for you. The treaty shall remain the same except for several points. The time to make good on the payment of 1 billion tons of gold will be extended to six decades given your unfortunate state. You shall abdicate the throne, dissolve your government, and surrender all claims to the throne.

A new syndicalist regime shall be constructed, with Pillowlandian industrial leaders providing their time and effort to assist in building it. There shall be a garrison of three divisions of Pillowlandian infantry and armored personnel. And your armed forces shall not exceed two divisions of personnel across all servicers. Further, all surviving members of the previous governments you ‘overthrew’ shall be arrested for crimes against the Pillowlandian Crown and executed alongside three generations of their family for the murder of a personally guaranteed envoy of the crown. You shall be spared. I presume these terms to be acceptable?”, a predatory grin covered the lower half of his face. He already knew the answer.

“Yes, yes. Anything. Just end the attacks. Anymore and the nation would be nothing but ruins. Just, my family will need safe passage. And new lives. We won’t last a day in the public.”

“Yes, of course. We’re not monsters. That can be accommodated, now I’ve some further questions involving the more gritty details.

HMS Banshee, Harbinger-Class Cruiser
1st Royal Squadron
High Orbit of Nova Terra

---

“Contact, bearing 40 degrees port 56 degrees above horizontal. No IFF response. At .6 light second and closing. Intercept in twenty seconds. Sensors identify it as Belt-class light interdiction craft.

Second contract, identical ID. Bearing 87 degrees starboard and 12 degrees below horizontal. Make that four contacts. Intercept at 15 seconds.” Stated a young officer, reading off the flow of data on a series of screens at his station.

“Ten seconds.”

First Mate Cary Finnén sat, or more accurately floated, in confused shock. There was little reason any of these craft should think they had a chance to get any closer than they were to be allowed by the vastly larger cruiser, and yet they were conducting a textbook swarm attack. “What the he-”
The ship was rocked by an explosion, the soft hum of life support dying alongside lighting and electrical. There were several long moments until the reserve power kicked in, and the consoles regained power.

“Engaging.”, the weapons officer stating. The complete break in protocol would normally lead to a court martial. In this case, it would likely be the only chance not to be utterly destroyed. Several moments later, high energy laser spewed forth in tight beams. They met with multiple missiles and projectiles, each producing a bright shower of sparks.

By the time a small sphere around the ship had been cleared the kinetic batteries began responding to the hostiles, rapidly released multiple kinetic projectiles in counter fire. The return fire lasted mere seconds, enough metal had been hurled out to successfully destroy the four attackers just as the ship had been built to do. However, they’d managed to surprise the cruiser far too easily.

The cruiser began then its journey to limp home, relying upon whatever power it held in its capacitors and reserve power generation while she trailed a stream of reactor fuel from her mauled reactor.

[Redacted] Station
ONI Directorate of Naval research post No. [redacted]
Outer System,Deep Space

---

The vast nothingness which comprised space in the star system of Terra was even further emphasized here on the edge of the system, where the thin grasps of the star's gravity kept the station in its grasp by the thinnest of threads. Further, the hull held no windows, for there wasn’t enough light to justify such hull weaknesses, and the only lights were those used for final visual guidance of incoming ships, which were a rare sight in of themselves.

Despite the stations distance, it was a vital portion of the Imperial Directorate of Orbital Forces logistical chain. It’s location allowed it to carry out construction and repair work far from any prying eyes. Specifically, it was now beginning work to repair the heavily damaged Banshee after its encounter with the… over eager Navigators Guild.

Aside from the shipyard component of the station, there were countless labs conducting affairs from simple physics and biology experiments in the deep space setting to military specific applications of materials and energy science. As a result, even out here in the bleak nothingness there were plentiful armed guards. However, atop it all in the lone section housing artificial gravity, besides the living quarters, was both a field office and emergency command center for the Pillowlandian Commonwealth Naval Intelligence Office, more commonly called ONI.

“And what of our pets, they have decided to bite at the hand which feeds them. The cost to repair that ship is almost as much as a new one.”

“And that wouldn’t have happened if the Captain had been on watch, and the first mate competent. Yes, that has been well established in the incident report. However, that is of little note. A shuffling of leadership will be sufficient. The question is more how to inform the family of the dead, after all we just lost almost the entire ships engineering complement.”

“Carlos, the best option will honestly be to say that a cascade of small human errors resulted in a reactor malfunction. Explanation for the families, the budget committees asking why we need another expensive fusion drive, and serves to maintain the reputation of the ship and her builder.”

“Very well, that solves half the equation. What of the Guild?”

“Now that” Carlos began, “is simple. We’ve offered the carrot. It is time to show the stick.”, a sick grin on his face. He was well suited to his particular line of work to say the least.

[Hydraxim Imperialis]

Loyalist Refuge - Southern Edge of Hydraxim Imperialisian territory
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the moon reached its peak, shadows could be seen moving through the trees.

"This is Raven squad to Base. We have eyes on the target, twenty meters east. Requesting permission to engage, over."

"This is Base to Phantom Blade, permission granted. Authorization: Hotel Alpha Oscar Lima 31859. Operation 'Angel's Wings' is a go."

Just as the word was given, the special forces moved out of the trees into a city. The city was dead, as curfews and blackout procedures were in place, and the only thing seen moving were the green eyes of night vision goggles scanning through the streets.

After an hour or so the squads broke radio silence.

"Raven squad reporting, Site one spotted, ten hostiles accompanied by one armored vehicle is in sight. Requesting orders, over."

a few moments passed by as the soldiers sat in hiding just down the street from a large palace looking complex.

"This is Base to Raven squad, relocate the package to shelter 553, over."

The city had a strange appearance. All the buildings were forced into a twenty kilometer by twenty kilometers, and was hidden in a small valley of mountains. All building were at a minimum 5 stories tall, and all had a pale grey color, the same color that typically accompanied a bunker. The city was centered around a large, beautiful palace. This was the last city of the loyalists.

The city housed any remnant soldiers, generals, government officials, and all of their families. Even potential threats to the small city were kidnapped and forced into the cities boundary. They weren't detained, as there were no jails, but the military presence typically deterred any crimes. The city had a strict "no-go" policy unless the civilians had proper ID. The 'insurgents' as the special forces were often called, had held the city in a siege for a little over two months, and finally gained entry through abducting a high-level member of the security force and allowing his family to live if he produced an entry point.

The buildings had held up against artillery, airstrikes, and even light orbital bombardment from the occupied satellites. Loyalists had a habit of trying to use morals to stop invasion, holding its own populace hostage. However, one thing the loyalist didn't understand is, it wasn't about killing hostages, but instead it was to save money and equipment. The people left in the city were considered traitors, and only fueled the violent oppression of the loyalist regime. They would be better off shot dead than what is to come, but what is to come is better than the slavery and starvation they would suffer.

The squads infiltrating the city had three tasks: Seal the vault doors under the city trapping any and all high-level government officials, Recover as many scientists as possible for the furtherment of the Dominion, and finally to deploy enough Nerve gas to wipe the population.

Chemical baths were with the main military force outside of the city to help any family that escaped. However, anybody without child or under the age of twenty would be shot on sight on suspicion of being a suicide bomber or loyalist spy.

As Raven squad moved up through the shelter, they came across many of the homeless, all were shot on sight. Any families the operatives came across were told to leave the city but stay together. Once they got to the top floor they set a duffel bag down in the hallway, opened all doors, windows, and vents that were visible, and then they made their way up to the roof.

"This is Raven, the package is in place. Waiting on you lot, over."

"This is Crow, R&D facilities are clear. We have 12 egg heads with us. Package is in place and ready to detonate, over."

"This is Legion, vaults are sealed and security building 3 is clear. 3 of the royal family were found and executed. Pa--"

Just then a large explosion could be heard resounding throughout the city. In the distance, a near identical twelve-story building was collapsing. A large dust cloud could be seen mixing with orange gas.

"FUCK! This is Raven to Legion, come in! Legion, are you there?! Respond damn you!"

"This is Crow, we're under heavy fire! Requesting permission to deliver!"

The gas was already loose from where Legion was, and could be seen spreading across the lower levels of the city.

"This is base, deliver the payload, Raven is no longer in command. Over."

A large gas cloud could be seen flowing out of the building where crow was, and a loud hissing noise came from below Raven squad. The orange-red gas was pouring from the windows into the streets below. The gunfire stopped shortly after, and the teams stayed quiet.

Each team was retrieved by a small helicopter, followed by one other larger one to fan away the gas. When the teams reached base they read the casualty report.

~121,200 Civilians rescued
~Unkown Civilians dead
Gas confirmed lethality and proved effective
~245,000 loyalist troops presumed dead
~127 Armored vehicles presumed inoperable
~41 laser-guided missiles presumed unmanned
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Troops are to move into the neutral territory to the south and claim it in the 
name of the Dominion, securing the city well within Hydraxim Imperialis Borders
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Biological Department of Weapons: purges of the city will commence within twenty-four hours

-God save their souls, and forgive us for what we've done-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Capital city, Hydraxim Imperialis
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Parades were held all throughout the dominion. Soldiers marched to war. Proud parents watched their sons and daughters ship off to make their country great. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers were shipped into the southern territories. Scientific advances were achieved in extraordinary quantities, all mainly to benefit the soldiers and the power of Hydraxim. Jets screamed across the sky, and the nation readied itself for war.

[Pillowlandia]

Special Hazardous Response Team
2nd Platoon, ONI Red Branch

---

“Check seals!”, Leifteanant-Cheannasaí Ruaidhrí Aindréas shouted. He sat in a jump seat, checking over his own equipment once again. Three small matte black canisters were attached to his normal combat vest, all wired up and disappearing into the black armored suit he wore. His wrist held a simple pressure gauge, attached alongside the typical digital display. He turned towards a neighbor, going over their equipment for what would be a third time. There was no room for error.

The particular craft was a specially modified, and hastily at that, cargo shuttle meant for orbit to ground flights of cargo. At the forward nose section, was the normal ramp. Immediately following that was a large decontamination chamber, sealed by transparent medical tarps. To the rear of that was the rest of the expansive cargo bay. Normally meant to ferry a hundred tons of goods between surface and orbit, it would be used to extract any surviving persons they could find. Now that was the difficult.

A decent timed to follow just after an overhead satellite pass, they would have a narrow window to stash the large shuttle from overhead eyes. Further, they needed a window large enough to get the people out of the palace. Of course, landing nearby would simplify that particular matter modestly.
A seeming eternity having passed, the shuttle touched down on the roof of the countless buildings of the city. The ramp dropped, and the four squads of men disembarked with several large crates of equipment. 1st squad immediately departed, it’s twelve members descending the stairs at a hurried pace. Aside from the two crates, and four men carrying them, the squad moved with their rifles raised. Suppressors on the fronts would serve to limit the sound emissions, but would be marginally effective in such a silent place.

Meanwhile, 2nd and 3rd squads secured the shuttle. Both by establishing a perimeter picket and tossing a suitably large thermal net over the craft. It would help the craft blend into thermal sensors from above, which in such an empty city would be the best sensor choice to search for survivors. At least, that's what the war planners had presumed. 4th squad had the most interesting of tasks, searching for any survivors in the wider city space. They were most likely of all the teams to encounter any hostile forces, and moved appropriately for such.

Ruaidhrí and his squadron advanced swiftly, the darkness drenching their already matte black armors. Suddenly the young ensign at the front of the group came to a stop, throwing a fist up in the air as pressed himself against the wall of the building they were passing. Just beyond the corner was a group of soldiers with flamethrowers, the glow of the flame reflecting of of the heat resistant heat suit they wore alongside protective equipment.

“I count three, all equipped with flame.” Ensign Sandalio O'Hanegan whispered, even though his own helmet was thoroughly sealed to the outside world. “Engage?”

“Negative, we’ll take an alternative route. I want to avoid spending brass unless we have to. Fergus, get on the midrange and tell Nest to add at least ten more minutes to our ETA.” Ruaidhrí glanced to the corner of his HUD, it was already at T+00:12:12 and counting. They wouldn’t be out before there was another sat overpass, but neither had they expected to be.

The squad resumed moving, routing back and around a farther building to avoid the group of soldiers, until they finally reached the outer wall of the Palace. A simple rope, and they were over passing the precious cargo crates alongside them. They moved along the walls for several moments, both crossing closer towards the living quarters of the Palace and to purposely get themselves found on the inevitable security system such facilities universally enjoyed.

“Here’s fine, get the chamber set and measure the explosives.” Ruaidhrí stated, himself setting perimeter with the majority of the squad. Behind him the first crate was opened and, much like the chamber on the shuttle,thick transparent tarps were pulled out. Quickly attached to a simple metal frame and then taped against the building, it wouldn’t be considered much of a sterile environment. However, it would be good enough to get them inside with a reasonable amount of non contamination.

Squeezing in twelve armored soldiers, a crate of equipment, and four single action rapid chemical decontamination charges to the area was a tight fit. But, with some extra tape and lack of room it worked… well enough. A not from Ruaidhrí saw the chemical charges activate, covering them all in a light foam. Precious moments passing, his own suit sensors indicated a safe enough atmosphere had been made and he nodded again. This particular set of moves was the most dangerous. The entire squad was concentrated heavily in one spot, a single grenade would likely incapacite the whole lot of them.

It quickly passed, as the shaped charge on the wall ignited. Throwing a highly concentrated line of molten plasma generated by the explosive into the wall, it acted more or less as a plasma cutter. The lines were fairly jagged but combined with a hard push from the squad saw a roughly door shaped hole appear in the wall.

The inside was a stark contrast to the dark and poison filled streets of the dead and dying city. Above them light streamed from an elegant crystal chandelier, and building was comfortably heated. It wasn’t hard to see the reasons behind the civil conflict, this was the home of a family which had built its wealth on the back of resource rich colonial state.

Not that it mattered how they had acquired their wealth, they remained the rightful rulers of the state.So, even if they could do better on the fair and just portions of the job they still needed a rescue. I just hope they’re still alive, or this whole thing was a bust Ruaidhrí thought, having scanned the room.

“Grab the crate, we’re moving towards the main hall. We’ll get company sooner rather than later. Keep your rifles down, as far as we know it's only the royals and some staff stuck in here. Anyone fire on you, you fire back. Not before.Understood?”

A muttered series of “Yes, sirs.” and the squad sending an order acknowledged signal to his HUD indicated that they indeed understood, and with that squared away they proceed out of the parlor. The halls were, understandably, empty of life what with the copious quantities of nerve agent outside. They stepped quickly, a soft click as they walked, and their rifles in a lowered ready position.

It was several minutes of walking through the corridors before a voice finally called out, “halt!”
It was shaky, and belonging to that of a young man. Several rifles swung towards him, remaining at a lowered ready stance. Ruaidhrí shook his head, not even a security team had been inside when the affair when down. The situation was worse than the mission briefing had led on.

“Kid, we’re not here to hurt you. Where’s the royal family?” Ruaidhrí asked, lowering his rifle completely. “I’m Leifteanant-Cheannasaí Aindréas, of the Pillowlandian Commonwealth Naval Intelligence Office Special Service. We’re here to extract the Royals and any additional persons we can. We don’t have much time.”

“Come this way then, everybody else is in the control room.” The child said, his guard instantly relaxing at the prospect of safety at last.

With the child in front, presumably a young royal of some sort, they moved at a moderate trot towards the secured control room. Upon arriving, the room held a group of huddled women and children ranging in ages but no older than the boy. Ruaidhrí looked around in concern, his helmet masking his facial expressions.

“Where is the King, the guards?” He asked, looking around and noting the armory which had been used to equip the boy with the pistol.

“Dead, the gas leaked into the west wing. We were lucky to get out, the last of the guards stayed in there to seal it in from that side. We’d all be dead by now otherwise”, an older women with an air of authority spoke. Her clothes matched those of the others, sleepware of high quality.

“And of the royal line of succession?”

“You are looking at him.”, the same child as before spoke. This time however, his voice was much more even handed.

“Very well, we’ve equipment enough for twice as many as you, small children will be a little bit of a hassle but we’ve cloth and tape enough to get a good seal around them. Is anyone injured?” Ruaidhrí asked, as the second crate they had been carrying was unsealed and the protective equipment was pulled out.

“3rd squad to 1st, we’ve got a problem. Multiple hostile squadrons converging towards the palace and at least one heading our way. Things are about to get loud.”, came over Ruaidhrí’s radio.

“1st copies, engage when needed. Protect our ride.” he responded, before turning his attention back towards the huddled survivors. “We need to work fast, we’ve got company incoming. We’re leaving in ten.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leifteanant Cebrián Horacio lead 4th squadron, looking for any possible sign of life. Mainly that meant looking through what had been apartments and other housing, much of it still with the perished bodies from the attack. Whatever gas they had used was concerning stuff, heavier than air so it stuck around for a while and highly effective. The sort of weapon known to the Imperial Commonwealth but not kept in ready stock, since even the spooks of ONI resisted using chemical weapons, their fingerprint quite distinctive.
In any case, the squad took samples as they went. Eggheads back home would analyze it just to double check that it wasn’t anything to surprising, and to work on synthesising new samples for development of a counter agent. If that were possible that was. Even with such death they had found a handful still alive, mostly on upper stories where they had managed to keep the power and some sort of ventilator running long enough to hide away and stuff things into the edges of doors and windows and any exterior vents.

Ten in total; one family of three, a couple of off duty soldiers, two teens, a toddler who had been stashed by their parents before they succumbed, and two elderly who had used their neighbors oxygen tanks to keep themselves breathing in a cupboard of stale air. All of them showed signs of oxygen deprivation, but thus far nothing to permanent. They were in the middle of the squad, sandwiched between the first fire team up front and the second fire team in the rear.

“Blue team has reached the residence, standby for return to exfil position.” came the mission coordinator, sitting inside the shuttle’s cockpit.

“Affirmative Nest, will conduct final sweep and return to exfil. Come again when blue team is inbound.” Cebrián responded, motioning for the team to continue into the next, and final building.

“Fire team one moving to secure basement.” Ensign Danilo reported over the squad frequency, breaking the radio silence. Afterall, they hadn’t seen a single hostile.

This building lacked even emergency lighting, and as the previous buildings they’d swept, meant it likely held no survivors. Oddly though, Cebrián’s air sensor showed zero indication of the nerve agent that hung heavily throughout the entire city. As he mounted the steps, second in line behind the pointman a light came from of the rooms.

Rounding the corner and entering the room he saw them, three silvery suited men with flamethrowers. All were facing the far wall, and fiddling with their devices. Presumably to burn the three corpses which lay in the corner. Bringing his rifle fully up Cebrián squeezed the trigger, the suppressor only moderately reducing the noise. The rest of the second fire team firmly in the room now, they too fired. Four short bursts, each connecting and a spray of blood flying as they collapsed to the ground.

Making the soured situation worse, the ‘corpses’ began moving as they recoiled from the sound of gunfire. Cebrián moved forward, his rifled lowered, and extended a hand towards the children. “We’re here to rescue you. Are your parents around?”

They simply shook their heads, all of them were clearly in shock from not just the gunfire but the whole series of events that saw them hiding from the hostile men. As his squad moved around him, fitting the children with protective gear he hailed the shuttle.

“4th Squad to Nest, we’ve a complication. Contact made, zero casualties. Good chance they heard us though. Final rescue, returning to exfil present.”

“Understood, stay safe.”

“Time to go, they’re bound to have buddies.” Cebrián shouted, the moment for stealth had passed. With the children squared away they departed, linking back up with the other two fire teams in the squadron and starting off on a brisk trot towards the shuttle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Can’t wait any longer, they’re getting real close.” Fo-Leifteanant Eoghan Ó Bradáin whispered, tracking a group of actual soldiers approaching ever closer to the shuttle.

“Very well, remove them.” Leifteanant Simón Aquino responded, sighting in himself. Drawing a deep breath, he issued an engage command across the 2nd squads HUDs and squeezed the trigger. His burst was followed moments later by Eoghan’s and others, the rounds cutting down the squad in a single engagement. However, despite their swiftness their rifles issued off a hail of noise. “Relocate to secondary positions. Standby to provide cover for 1st and 4th.”

No sooner than had the squad repositioned themselves several squadrons of additional hostiles appeared, utilizing a shelled out building for cover. They began exchanging fire, they other side evidently less well prepared for fighting while wearing hazardous environment equipment. The noise of the firefight was bound to draw even more of them, and there was an entire FOB just over 30 kilometers away.

“2nd to Nest, standby to receive friendlies under fire. It’s going to be a hot exit.”

“Understood 2nd, standing by for you. 4th is onboard, and 3rd will cover for you.”

“This is 1st, need covering fire in t-20. Coming your way in a hurry 2nd.” Ruaidhrí came over the radio, his voice noisy as the mic picked up the sounds of his rapid movement. “We’ve got women and children here, sending them across first.”

In response Eoghan began firing full auto, suppressing rather than killing his targets. 2nd squad followed suit, a maelstrom of bullets providing cover as 1st squad and its package slipped past and then behind 2nd squadron.

“1st squad is secure, time to move 2nd!” Simón shouted, rising and pulling back in a carefully controlled manner with his squad. They would remain engaged until they got behind 3rd squad. He took a moment to check the bullets in his mag, when he was pushed backwards onto the ground while reinserting the mag. Glancing over, he saw a modest dent, no more than an eighth of a centimeter, where the enemy bullet had impacted the armor.
“You okay boss?” Eoghan asked, coming alongside his squad leader. He turned and fired several rounds off, extending his other hand out to help Simón up.

“Yeah, just a small dent. Bound to be nasty bruise, but I’ll live. Time to go on the double though.”

With that, 2nd squad pulled back entirely. Flinging themselves up three steps at a time towards the roof of the LZ they passed 3rd squad, who fired out of the windows at the now encircling enemies. They moved quickly up the ramp, sitting for several minutes in the decontamination chamber before entering the shuttle proper. Now the bay was surprisingly full of people, with nearly two dozen people plucked out of the nerve gas laden city in just over an hour's time.

3rd squad finally brought up the rear, entering the decontamination chamber as the ramp raised and the engines roared. This time as it lifted off, it didn’t go completely vertical as the original plan had called for in a suborbital hop. Instead it high enough to quickly exit the city, following the terrain as best it could to avoid the limited radar systems in the region. It’s atmospheric reentry rated hull shrugged off the bullets thrown at it, and it run quickly away from the city. It maintained radio silence well past the coast, where it finally placed a satellite call. “Nest returning home. We’ve got the eggs from the store. I repeat, we’ve got the eggs from the store.”

It landed on the deck of an awaiting amphibious assault ship, consuming a large portion of its flight deck, and technically being heavier than the ship was rated to carry. However, the crew of the ship quickly went to work scrubbing down the hull for any contamination the same they would for any radiation and finally the ramp descended. The rescued were sent to the medical bay for immediate examination, and the 2nd platoon boarded two helicopters that immediately departed for the nearest naval station.

[New Velonia]

Ninus-Halfort Offshore Station, New Velonia, Nova Terra

Situated just off the shore of New Velonia in Nova Terra was the Ninus-Halfort Offshore Space Station. Rising nobly out of the sea was a huge rustproof platform of monstrous proportion, supporting a mess of command buildings and towers, a slew of commercial buildings and residential buildings for workers, and huge towers of advanced technology, shielding the constant traffic of space shuttles from the mess of waves and unrest below the platform. Hosting hundreds of take offs a day, the busy station was among the busiest in Nova Terra. Simply one of countless ships was the one holding the Royal family of Tudorlandia, which appeared to an average man as simply one of thousands of ships hosting countless passengers to the promising and prosperous lands of New Velonia.

Pivoting itself the right direction facing the ground, the shuttle used its base igniters to slowly descend onto a waiting platform until it finally made contact with a programmed crane of sorts and was set on the ground and had large hydraulic locks lock the ship in place for unloading. Waiting at the opening doors was a crew of New Velonian Secret Service Officers, holding guns and keeping stern expressions as they quickly escorted the Royal Family from the ship down to the tunnel Subway. Dozens of suited and armed agents descended the marble stairs down from the platform to an advanced underground subway beneath the scene of taking off shuttles and docking ships. With each footstep echoing in the empty staircase, the entourage finally found its way to the car station. Approaching the transparent screen in front of them, the lead agent selected a high-speed car from a confidential tunnel system, made specifically for emergency usage by heads of state and their company. Within a minute, a silent subway train appeared before them, and with the swipe of the transparent screen and the typing in of a short password, the train opened. Rushed in the car, the Royal Family was sent from the Offshore Platform to an area south of Alasia at top speeds approaching 230 miles an hour.

Transported with efficient speed from the mainland station to a safe-house, the secret service reported to President Hawke that the Royal Family was safe.

It was no secret to President Hawke that the Royal Family was not transported here secretly. Despite not knowing where they were situated, The Pillowlandian-based ONI knew without a doubt that the Royal Family was in New Velonia. The ONI was not a secret in International politics for New Velonia; it was recognized as the only organization in Nova Terra that could rival the NVI (New Velonian Intellegence Agency). With its power known to President Hawke, it served as a reminder that, despite the alliance and friendly relations between Pillowlandia and New Velonia, the Pillowlandian state is the only possible rival to compare New Velonia to. Nowhere is this ulterior rivalry more apparent than in the struggle to find President Anthony in america JB...

---

Abandoned Warehouse, Indiana, America JB, Nova Terra

A bleak, grey, and broken down warehouse sat in shambles around a clearing in the middle of nowhere and close to no man. Where a lush scene of vegetation once protruded from the ground was now a maze of broken glass and twisted metal, inhospitable for anything but an ugly grass that barely maintained numbers in the area near the house. At first glance, the broken windows and black walls would convey the message that the warehouse has not been occupied for years, but an intelligence hunt proves otherwise. Electricity usage was higher than it should be for an abandoned house, that being larger than zero. Along with that dead giveaway, eyewitness testimony apparently supported the idea that there was limited in and out of the warehouse in the early hours of the day at scarce intervals, and more classified intelligence supported the theory that this is where the former President and current traitor of New Velonia was in hiding.

It was in the light hours of the day as the trucks rolled in near the warehouse, without lights and without sirens. With complete and total silence, men unloaded themselves and their weapons from the trucks, grouping in several groups and taking different routes around the building. Alpha team surveyed the right side of the building, detected no traps or defensive weaponry, and silently opened the window and entered one by one. The agents proceeded to silently walk to the front of the warehouse, guns out and lasers turned on, to deactivate the traps detected earlier by recon teams. Undoing a remote tripwire, they opened the front door and let more agents in. All walking in complete silence and waving lasers from gun sights around like children with glowsticks, they made their way down to the lower levels of the warehouse. Underground was an abandoned array of machinery and conveyor belts from when the house was once used as an assembly plant for plastic toy horses. The agent in the very front of the group as they descended the metal spiraling stairs detected movement and ground to a halt midway down the stairs, crouching and relying on his black camo to blend him in the surroundings. A long minute passed before he made out a shadow patrolling the story below the stairs. The agent descended further and put on night-vision optics to finally discover that the man was part of the former New Velonian Secret Service. This man must have been one of those still loyal to the old regime.

Screwing on a silencer to his gun, he aimed his handgun to the secret service agent, still ignorant of his presence. The agent pulled the trigger and in less than a second he fell to the floor, dying instantly. The team descended again after waiting several minutes more and made their way towards the man, where a door, previously unseen behind the staircase, became visible behind a large machine. A light was on in the room and faint talking could be heard outside of it. A gentle try at the doorknob revealed it was locked, which meant there was but one thing to do. Making way for the impending explosion, every agent scuttled away as the C4 was primed and attached to the door. In the longest 5 seconds ever felt by anyone, the explosives detonated and the agents rushed in the room, gun out, yelling and screaming for a peaceful surrender. As the smoke cleared, several bodies could be seen on the floor, all with partially mutilated bodies and backs blown to bits. The first man on the Alpha group, the man who ended the life of the patrol man, stepped forward and took off his goggles. In a swaying lone light bulb, he could make out the shocked and pale face of the former President of New Velonia, Anthony Allen. Looking at him with a face of extreme horror and even a hint of a beg for mercy, Anthony Allen feared worse than death. For a long 10 seconds, the two stared at each other in the mos tense silence in history.
"President Anthony..." The Agent began, his voice moistened with sympathy and quivering with apparent horror in what he has been ordered to do, but now seemed to regret,
"President Anthony... you are under arrest under the order of the New Velonian state"

Loaded on an armored truck convoy, President Anthony was sent to Alasia and will arrive alone. The guards who surrendered with him in fear of their own lives were taken behind the warehouse and not heard from since. Until the time he arrives in Alasia, President Anthony must wallow in thoughts about the events that led up to this.

[Pillowlandia]

Puerto Alcón
Duchy of Alcón, Nova Terra

---

The Duchy of Alcón was both vast and disparate, formally charged with all lands in and around the continents known informally as the Americas. Of the various regional spaceports such a disparate region demanded, Puerto Alcón was among the largest, and rightfully so. It was located twenty kilometers north of the Panama Canal, a busy link for the terrestrial cargo traffic. After all, even in an age of spacecraft shipping by water remained the king of low cost.

As a result, the region was a massive intermodal hub of freight coming from orbit with destinations across the whole of Nova Terra as a result of its highly efficient orbital paths. This made it both a major cargo terminal, but also a passenger terminal for those with little money to afford a more direct flight to their destination. Which is what brought Crown Prince Gustavo Caralzar to the spaceport. He had only a backpack, there had been scant time to do anything else when the family had been forced from their palace. That and a few million in various bank accounts were all he had to his name.

He checked his watch, anxiously looking around. He had no guard, that he knew of at least, and the Pillowlandians could have easily leaked his travel plans to any number of less than friendly parties. Or perhaps it was the step he was about to take, as he stood on the precipice of a new life. A life away from his vile and unintelligent family. His father, through it all, had remained convinced that they could retake the throne from the Pillowlandians. Yet, he had refused chances to remain seated on the throne, instead waiting to see millions killed in attacks that cost the Pillowlandians nothing but the money needed to produce their weapons.

Yet, even then he had cowered away inside the palace, refusing to even meet with the elite of the country which supported his rise to power. It made Tudorlandia look like a backwater state, not the resource rich power it could be. None of that was of any importance to him anymore, now he had the chance to become part of an honorable people. A powerful one. His legs shook up and down, no amount of self pep talks having any effect to calm his nerves.

He glanced around, for the seemingly millionth time, feeling as if everyone passing around him in the busy passenger terminal were watching and judging him.

“Albert Reinhard, to the courtesy desk. Albert Reinhard, to the courtesy desk please.” came the announcement over the terminals PA, his expression blank for several moments until it registered the pseudonym with himself. He drew himself up, plucking the backpack with a spare set of clothes and a handful of other essentials he had borrowed from one of the children who had a parent employed at the palace.

Walking over, at a pace he thought quick but unhurried, he smiled towards the attendant. “Albert Reinhard, at your service. What seems to be the matter?”

“Well sir, we’re overbooked on this next shuttle. However, your ticket information stated that you were seeking the fastest possible route up. We’ve a cargo shuttle due to leave in ten minutes, and there is space aboard. We’ll comp your flight and there will be someone waiting when you arrive up there to guide you to the passenger nexus. How does that sound, sir? We can alternatively place you on our next passenger shuttle up.”

“Yes-” he said, his voice hoarse at the chance to leave right now. “Yes, that’ll be fine. Perfect actually. I might actually make in time to see auntie”, he finished. The touch at the end completely fake, but hopefully sufficiently to lull any confusion at the break in his voice. He was too close to slip up now.

“Alright then Mr. Reinhard. If you’ll accompany me this way. We’ll have to hustle a little bit.” the attendant said, briskly moving towards the cargo section of the terminal, adjusting her scarf as she led the way.

Gustavo followed along hands in pockets and trying to calm his nerves yet again. He glanced about, eyes darting back and forth rapidly. He faltered for a moment, but not any longer, when he saw a screen displaying a state funded network. More noteworthy was the scores of people on screen that he knew. Or more accurately, that he had formally known. The screen had been filled with those who had led the series of coups in his homeland, and had captured the moment when the platform below their feet dropped out below them. All while Pillowlandian security troops had been watching from the shadows, oh how his homeland had fallen.

As he mulled that unpleasant thought in his head, he noticed they had reached the vaunted cargo shuttle to freedom. It was a dull gray, with the black of reentry on its underside. The primary cargo ramp remained lowered, a nearly full cargo bay plainly visible. On jump seats on either side, were several clusters of men. Some clearly native to Nova Terra, and others from Terra. He walked up the ramp, the attendant having stopped upon the base of the ramp.

Seating himself in a seat apart from any other, he pulled the seatbelt close. As the ramp began to rise, he laid his head on the headrest. Fighting back tears, he took a deep breath. One step closer. One step closer to freedom. As the shuttle began to rise, pulling out over the Pacific as it ascended towards the heavens, one of the men relocated himself next to Gustavo.

His appearance was starkly different from the other men on the shuttle, the primary difference being that unlike the work clothes they wore, suitable for manual labor, his attire was a well tailored suit. He sat silent for several moments, waiting until the teen noticed him.

“Greetings your Highness” the man in the suit began, a sharp gasp emanating from Gustavo as he began to review the events which in hindsight were just a little too convenient. “I am Cárthach Keenan of His Imperial Majesty’s Office of Naval Intelligence. I am here to ensure your safe passage. And to ask of you a handful of questions.”

Pursuing his lips, Gustavo took several moments to think. “The rest of the men?” he asked, eyes drifting around the space.

“Of no consequence your Highness. Now, it is our understanding you intend to pursue attendance to the Pillowlandian War Academy. Is this true?”

Gustavo nodded, the extent of their knowledge of him was terrifying. The depth of the mistakes his father made, the senseless loss of millions of innocents. All of it, against a foe that couldn’t they never could have hoped to match. “There is no chance of recovery without total knowledge of one’s errors. Or, in this case my peoples.”

Cárthach weighed what the child said, it held weight and indicated a superior intelligence. Poorly trained, highly naive, and overly trusting, but a high level intellect nonetheless. He had enough potential, and time before he would need to have it developed. “Very well, welcome to Pillowlandia my Highness. May your travels, studies, and future be blessed by Lugh and fulfilled by an iron resolve. His Highness, Grand Prince of Moscou will be... eager to make your personal acquaintance. Once we arrive in orbit we shall transfer onto another shuttle before making a docking with HMS Poet. We will remain in orbit for several more days, awaiting another special cargo. I ensure you, only the utmost of discretion has and will be utilized.

cpt. Gearóid Jervis
121st Multirole Squadron
Approach to American JB airspace

---

“Contact contact, course for convoy corrected. T-3 for intercept.” Cpt. Gearóid Jervis stated. He moved quickly to move the plane from a low observable state to complete low observable state. This primarily consisting of moving to purely passive sensors. The target was simple, the legality far from.

It was legally questionable at best, and the approach would undoubtedly anger the locals. ONI had purposely not sought approval from the Americans, given both their inferior air force that made such moves needless and a lack of trust in the information remaining confidential. They further knew that the Velonians had organized decoy convoys, and odds were the true one was farthest away. While they might lack any useful amounts of men on the ground in position for an extraction, they could send a message from above.

Which was what had brought the seventh generation strike aircraft here, cruising at 18,000 meters above the ground. The group of trucks, confirmed moments before his switch to total emissions silence, moved on the monitor of the advanced targeting package integrated into his airframe. Several moments later, having keyed in both authorizations and specific instructions, the centerline and port weapon bays of his craft opened.

Four missiles dropped out, one after another, waiting for several seconds to engage their engines. They rapidly accelerated, as Gearóid rapidly made a turn back out of the foreign airspace, towards the convoy. The Mk.24 AT-AL missile speed groundward, picking up velocity and moments before impact ejecting its secondary and tertiary warheads. The impact was rapid, with small blooms of fire and energy rolling over the whole of the convoy. He didn’t bother to stay for the after action details, the mission wasn’t to kill. Not this time.

[Bergcornopolis]

In Orbit of Nova Terra
Mark DeVolo's Shuttle had just landed inside the hangar bay of the BISC Covonum. This cruiser one of the 10 operational attack cruisers in the Imperial Fleet. As Mark DeVolo began walking along the freshly waxed corridor towards the elevators a scrawny private came running after him. "MR.PRIME MINISTER." he began yelling, " MR.PRIME MINISTER, THEY PULLED OUT! THEY PULLED OUT!" Startled and confused the Prime Minister turned around to an out of breath private behind him.
"Who pulled out?" The Prime Minister asked.
Catching his breath the Private Replied. "America JB, sir. They pulled out of the Pittsburg Papers, sir."
Shocked the Prime Minister stormed to the bridge almost dragging the poor private with him.
As the Doors opened the room was stirring the entire crew was stirring and trying to piece together the headlines.
"Status report Commander!" boomed the Prime Minister as he reached the holo table.
"Sir, reports show that the Americans pulled out of the papers due to the fear of the New Velonians. Our forces were able to complete taking North Carolina and the remaining parts of Alabama but the Wilhelmians are now under the Protection of the New Velonians. What should we do?"
"We stay, and we fight Commander, the Americans publicly humiliated us we will not stand for it order the Port of New Orleans to be closed to all foreign ships, send any unnecessary shuttles and frigates down to the surface with supplies." The Prime Minister said as he hunched over the holographic map of the surface. Pointing to the key landing areas for reference. "I'll call for a declaration of war to be placed on the Legislatures Agenda, in the meantime commander could you contact General Hukisl Ship and see when he can get here to aid us."
"Yes, sir!" announced the Commander as he reached for the comlink. The Prime Minister moved to the window and watch the fighters and shuttles all launch from the carrier and down towards the surface. War was again here on Nova Terra.

[New Velonia]

Many Miles in Wilhelmius, South of New York, Nova Terra

A short time ago, the intrusion of a Pillowlandian airship has been reported over Wilhelmius
along with an ambush on a decoy convoy en route to Alasia in America JB. It was nearly noon when New Velonian Intelligence reported sightings of the plane a second time. It was flying at low altitude near the border of New York, south of known Velonian military bases.

A team was waiting for the plane, dispatched after the first sightings of the plane and equipped to fire at it, dare the plane return the same way. Headed by one Francis Wanderson, the team consisted of several Velonians dressed in the gray and green camouflage infantry uniform given to most soldiers. Around them was a state of the art Anti-aircraft missile system. The Tigris system, as it was called. Had advanced capabilities to track jets at an insurmountable speed.

A good deal of time passed before the returning plane was found. Wanderson leaned in front of the computer screen and watched as the operator found the plane and began tracking it. In an unnatural time of suspense, time slowed to a near halt as the plane grew larger and larger on the screen. Seeming satisfied with the ability of the Anti air missile to hit its target, the commander clicked a discreet red button and the machine in front of them exploded in light. A slender tube came roaring out and sent itself flying into the air at a staggering speed.

The plane was a bleak thing. Its shape generic for a seventh generation plane and technology inferior to the Velonian Air Force. Wanderson conceded that such a plane and its driver are merely cogs in the dismal Pillowlandian State and hold no value in their own eyes. An act of violence would be a Liberation, freeing the pilot from the torture he endures living as a slave for an insane regime. He had orders, however. As the missile tried to outmaneuver the missile but Wanderson saw it coming. He positioned the missile to skew to the left just before the plane jolted to its left. The missile was closing in, halving the distance between it and the plane in a second. The pilot had no hope of outmaneuvering it now. His death was sealed as the missile soared closer and closer. Henderson had his life in his hands. If it were up to him, the pilot would come crashing down with the twisted metal mass that used to be his plane. However, it was not up to him.

He flicked a switch on the command board and the missile detonated mid-air in a black cloud. The sound of he explosion followed half a second later. The plane was visibly tocked by the shock, but still went flying toward the ocean.

This was a warning to all who stand in the way of Velonian Dominance.

---

NVS Jutro, off the Coast of Wilhelmius, Nova Terra

Legs perched up on the table and talking on the phone, President Hawke listened as generals around spoke extensively of the Wilhelmian Crisis, as the Media is portraying it.

The state of Wilhelmius, a de facto ally of New Velonia and a sovereign and peaceful state, was invaded by imperialist forces of The Bergcornopolis regime and by the American JB government. Occupation has been short lived so far and had brought fatalities to a minimum with efficient invasion strategies employed by Bergcornopolis and the Americans.

The Nationalist Government of New Velonia all but intervened in the war a considerable time ago. President Hawks declared Wilhelmius a Velonian Protectorate and guaranteed its independence. Through intimidation and diplomacy, a deal has been rectified with all parties involved. Wilhelmius is to remain a sovereign country in alliance with New Velonia and keep all land except for the following:
The Americans are to keep their land in occupied Tennessee, as are the Bergcornopolisians allowed to keep land south of and including North Carolina.

An ongoing deal, however, is being brokered for the purchase of most or all of West Virginia by the Americans. Such a deal will only benefit Velonians, Hawke is assured.

Hawke knows, however, that such a deal may be in name alone, so the already mobilized New Velonian Army in New England is moving down with considerable speed into Wilhelmius for a temporary mission of aid where Wilhelmius is unaffected. Such a policy is only a use of the open borders already granted to New Velonia.

In aid with Wilhelmius forces, landings and dockings in Virgina have already transported troops to line up the border in Virginia and men are already setting up equipment on the border now.

With Wilhelmian aid, Velonian troops will be able to secure the border in some number in a considerably short time.

[Bergcornopolis]

The Deck of the BISC Covonum
"MR. PRIME MINISTER!" Yelled the Commander "We've got news from the fronts." Hearing this the Prime Minister moves from where he was perched on the bridge. He cooly and calmly strides over to the holo table. "Captain Jo'hon of Pontor one of the Shuttles that we sent across into the Wilhelmina border. He landed in the Washington DC/Baltimore Area in his several passes over the cities he noticed almost no resistance from the anti-aircraft in fact when he landed a crowd of people rushed just to see what the crew could give them. Many of them looked famished and malnourished. It would seem that the people of Wilhelm after the collapse of the Government lost all connections to other cities. With your permission, I'd like to send the Capotu down with more resources to allow us to provide much-needed assistance to these cities."
"Approved," The Prime Minister said as he stared at the faces of the starving children and families that were taken from the body cams of the crew. With tears coming to his eyes the Prime Minister's Phone rang. Putting it on speaker phone the Prime Minister answered. "DeVolo speak to me."
"Mr. Prime Minister the Legislative body just agreed to extend the items of war to extend to the Americans and the New Velonians"
"Thank you, David, for the Update" the Prime Minister Sighed
"No problem, Mr. Prime Minister," David said as he hung up the Phone
"So what about the other cruisers?" The Prime Minister asked as he turned to the Commander
"Just more of the same all the way from Philadelphia to Buffalo New York.
"This is a truly dark day for the TDC" Mark DeVolo said as he started again at the body cam images.

The BISC Vireno
"Captain, we have new orders directly from the Emperor. He wants us to take Tukey for the Empire"
"Then that's where we go," said Captian Courb the special forces shuttle launched from the Atlanta Shipyards and rushed into the upper atmosphere to begin the trip to Turkey.

[Duckzchwhitz]

HIGH TERRAN ORBIT, MONSOON STATION

Commander Bale, who had been dispatched to the station a month prior, to serve as the quarterly CO of the station, had been welcomed with the grueling work of monitoring the space between Nova Terra and Terra. Even with the station housing 127 officers, all highly qualified and extremely efficient at their work, the reports never seemed to find a way to the CO, cluttering his virtual desk with files of raids and anomalies in the vast space in between the two planets.

The stations around Terra had been established as a barrier to smugglers, of both illegal goods and people, who sought to either illegally settle, and somehow managed to get past the numerous checkpoints in between Terra and Nova Terra, usually travelling through the dangerous asteroid belt that separated the two worlds, which was currently infested by several gangs of pirates.

Yet describing the pirates as ‘gangs’ was an understatement, as they themselves in the eyes of the imperial Terrans were a greater threat to the stability of the fatherworld, than the bastard colonials who had an ever growing desire to break the chains from their imperial masters, and take Nova Terra for their own. (Although that was highly unlikely, as all who did try to rebel were wiped clean from the face of the planet in decisive orbital strikes.) In any case, it was obvious they had been receiving discreet funds from a nation with a desire to gain power over the trade network between the worlds, as the pirates had recently been raising their passing tax, and had even been able to raid convoys who had hired elite private security corporations, no small feat for even the most powerful criminal organizations.

The Duckzchwhitzian intelligence sector had been monitoring the pirates for decades, yet Central Command had never been concerned enough to expend resources in subjugating the pirates, as they usually scurried away at any sign of military presence in the area, knowing that a head on confrontation with a people bred for war would mean a one sided slaughter for those who dared impede transports in the areas patrolled by military vessels.

Yet they couldn’t patrol everything, not even close to half. The navy, even with their tremendous budget, and numerous vessels could only actively monitor only a small portion of the ring, as resources also had to be directed to defense of the country from other nations which may see the dispatching of the military so far from home as an opening for invasion. At most, three hypercarrier fleets were to be kept patrolling the ring, while others maintained a presence above the orbits of their respective planets.

The recent reports had indicated the source of the funding had been coming from a dummy company which had distant ties with other companies which had been used by ONI in their powergames across Terra, in the past. It wasn’t surprising, yet it certainly was concerning as to what the Pillowlandians had in store for the traders who made their way through there. Yet that aside, the Pirates posed a threat to Duckzchwhitzian mining operations located in the ring, and were to be dealt with accordingly, as dictated by orders from Central Command.

MISSION STATEMENT: REDACTED

Commander Bale,

It is requested that at by 1800 today, that you fire a specific Steel Rain pod out into space, using chute 18. Enter the code listed to go through the pre-programmed loading function, as well as a course plot.

3 . 9 8 n 4 2 l 1 0 9 a 8 e

This is to be done completely under your supervision alone, as this mission is not existent in our official records.

For your well being, and our ease, we recommend you take the most care you humanly can. We expect someone of your stature to be capable of this task, consider it a symbol of our faith in you.

You are not to attempt to look inside the pod, or approach it. Surveillance recordings have already been fixed as to erase all evidence of this ever occurring. The signature of the pod will have been removed from all our scanning devices, so there’s no need to worry about those monitoring radar to find out and shoot it down.

-S.

Commander Bale could not help but feel his palms go a bit cold, as he realized how important of a task he had been granted, directly from REDACTED.

He brought up his own console, granting him a direct link into the system. Sliding on his personal HUD, only he could see what he was doing, to anyone else it looked as if he was waving his hands in the air, and flicking his fingers about.

Having memorized the code, he entered it swiftly.

Seconds passed, as the monitor checked the status of the chute.

The magnetic railing charged up, preparing to fire the pod out at incredible speeds, out into what appeared to be nothingness.

The wait seemed to take an enternity, Bale sat anxiously, yet silently watching the screen, until the conformation message came up, as the GUI turned a shade of green, giving the him authority to fire.

He pressed, sending the pod and its unknown cargo, unknown to any of those monitoring the sensors, or on the station, besides himself, into deep space.

[Bergcornopolis]

The Erie Canal, Buffalo New York (Disputed Territory)
It was a cold and quiet evening in Buffalo, New York. The gateway between Velonian Canada, and The Disputed realms of New York and the Ohio River Valley. This gateway was now the home of two Bergcornian Shuttles sent from the BISC Covonum on orders of the Prime Minister. The shuttles brought much-needed food and clothes to the starving and cold citizens of Buffalo. These shuttles also brought along with many military and construction personnel to help defend the newly assumed area around Buffalo. There was one glaring problem, however, Peace Bridge an obsolete mega highway bridge used before the collapse of Wilhelmina now was a tactical advantage to both to the Americans and the Velonians. ships could still pass through the straight and troops could cross the bridge into Buffalo that was there challenge the answer was clear the bridge had to fall. with the charges set the Peace Bridge was anything but peaceful as it crumbled and filled the canal with crumbled concrete slabs and columns. The Buffalo was safer now.

[Bergcornopolis]

The Bridge of the BISC Covonum
The Bridge of the Covonum was always busy regardless of what was going on. However, with it being the only Carrier in orbit during a planetary assault all hands were either on the deck or attempt to squeeze sleep in before the next alert came in. Only a few could go without the short sleep breaks. One of those was the scruffy and unkempt Prime Minister. Mark DeVolo hadn't left the bridge since the treaty fell through. He stood poised and mighty even with his poor hygiene and lack of sleep. He often stared off into the distance calculating and postulating theories. However, his tactics seemed to be working and keeping the Velonians and Americans on the run. "Sir, the Commander has returned from his trip." said one of the officers. At that moment the Commander entered the bridge still in his civilian gear and coat he walked briskly over to the holo-table and plugged in a data cube.
"This" the Commander started, "This is the key to us winning the war." The holo-table illuminated projecting what seemed to be schematics and locations of the Wilhelmina military. This caught the attention of Prime Minister. Standing up in awe Mark DeVolo staggered towards the table in disbelief he began frantically searching through the data. As he searched he found more, Intelligence Reports on both the Velonians and the Americans. He turned to the Commander who was just watching the Prime Minister and breathing heavily.
"Where did you get this?" He asked as he looked up from the wealth of information.
"There government had a central computer under their defense building." The Commander replied, " They must not have been able to wipe the data before the collapse or these are falsified documents to lead invaders into a trap."
"That is a possibility but we can't just sit on this until we can get this confirmed, if some of this information is true we cloud lay several crippling blows to the Americans and the Velonians." Chimed in the Admiral who was joining them at the table "We need to end this war now."
"I agree" The Prime Minister started "To both of you, that's why we need to begin missile and bombing runs of these locations" As the Prime Minister said as he pointed to three blips on the map. "These others need to be confirmed we'll send this documents back to Terra and send drones over to see if we can gain any new intel until then it is only these three that an attack will be carried out in." The table fell silent for seconds.
The Admiral finally split the silence as he started backing away. "I'll inform the bombers and prep the drones on board. Good Day, Mr. Prime Minister." the Admiral walked off towards the door.
That left the Commander with the Prime Minister at the table. "I'll alert the necessary silos and airfields. And you're sure about these targets?" the Commander said as he picked up the com-link and turned again to the Prime Minister.
"Yes," The Prime Minister said. "Saint Louis, Toronto, and Manhattan will burn."
"Yes sir," The Commander said as he made the call.

[Pillowlandia]

Syndicalist Palace
Rio De Janeiro
Tudorlandia

---

The place had been cleaned up, the blood from fallen troopers as the Pillowlandians had forced their way in scrubbed well off. Further, the decor had been drastically altered, a more subtle choice which emphasized not just the red typically associated with the syndicalist ideology but also the Imperial Orange omnipresent in Pillowlandian affairs.

“Whilst this is all and well, and indeed popular suffrage and elections are vital for the reformation of the the state, your proposals all lack a quite important facet.” Baron Alexander Dermot stated, interested more in the chance of investment into shipbuilding facilities here. Or, short of that locking out any competition. The table, mostly filled with the economic elite of Tudorlandia had been quite anxious. The fourth shift in power in a matter of weeks had them uneasy, and the efforts to divide power across the populace which the new government claimed as a fundamental power only redoubled such emotions.

“And what could that possibly be? We’re adopting quite overly generous compensation packages and organizations of unions. I’m not sure what else aside from donating our whole fortunes to reconstruction might be done.” Narciso Roque, a prominent metals industrialist, stated. A murmur of assent carried across the table.


“Your compensation is of little concern to me, but since you desire to mention it I shall comment. It is less than a third of pay as offered by comparable Sudardesian wages, but that is fine given the difference in cost of living. Your unions are extraordinarily weak, weaker than your own current worker protection legislation. Further, you are all quick to bow to our demands that you forget your own people's leader. Distasteful, power hungry, fools.”

At that, the various Tudorlandians looked about ready to rush Alexander, their own status forgotten at such deep and fundamental insult. Alexander in turn simply glanced towards the door, where two Pillowlandian light infantry stood guard, their own rifles slung low. They, like the rest of the 91st Light Infantry Division, stood guard around the capital city. An ever present reminder of true affairs.

“You come with your Terran education, and your Terran wealth. Speaking to us, in our own nation as if you are superior, yet offer vapid solutions to what ails us as you publicly promise assistance to rebuild from what you caused.” Narciso shot back, evidently feeling supported by his fellows.

“I do indeed, and what occurred is not the fault of my people but the inaction and cowardice of your people, Mr.Roque. As for who I believe myself to be, I am Alexander Demot, eldest son of the Dermot house and successor to the Moscou Shipyards fortune. A company which may I remind you, has hundreds of years experience building ships of war for not just the most powerful of Terran states but also of all Humanity. Ships which rightly wrought death from above for your impulsive desire for what you thought was to be an easy war. So since you decline efforts to allow us to let you determine your own destiny then my people will be taking a larger step. In my report to His Imperial Majesty I shall inform him that your insolence has brought no useful results and thus recommend you and your elk removed from not just these proceedings but also your wealth via state seizure.

All simply, because I mentioned that you forgot provisions to retain your rightful royal family in your government. Though the current head of the royal house will never again sit upon the throne of Tudorlandia nor even step foot in his homeland whilst still breathing, there remains a heir whom rightfully has claims and birthright to lead your miserable people.

Guards, remove them at once.” Alexander finished, choosing to pluck an apple from the table in that moment. Beginning to eat it as the door opened and a squad of troopers entered to remove the rich of Tudorlandia, he let out an exasperated sigh. Perhaps the rest of the nation would be more thankful.

HMS Hornet
Improved Nova Terra-Class Carrier
Mid-atlantic Ocean

---

“How are we today Your Highness?” Ceannasaí Makim Culpor asked, himself having been rushed from another assignment to escort the crown prince of House Agretius from the colonial filth to Terra. His fatigues, a dull palette optimized for naval vessels, carried wrinkles from the flight from Dublin here.

“Just happy to not be there anymore, when are we leaving?” William asked, the mere mention of the nightmarish place which had so shortly ago been a citadel, haven, and home to him and his family. Not that much of his family, or supporters for that matter, remained in this material realm.

Makim smiled then, being the bearer of positive news was always a distinctly positive action. “We’ve a flight waiting upon the deck now. The rest of your family and the other survivors will be with us as we connect to Dublin.” He paused then, not entirely sure how to continue. His training had involved killing terrorists and enemies of the state, not saving royals from their own people. Children, truthfully, from their own people. “After, I will accompany to orbit and then on to Terra. We will be joining another royal in orbit, I feel your shared circumstances will be most favorable to an amicable formation of relations between yourselves.”

“So my family… won’t be coming?”

“It is safer, and better for your education this way. They will remain protected, but the greatest threat to your crown is here upon Nova Terra. A threat which has no hope of even coming close to grasping you upon Terra.” At this point Makim gently tilted his head towards the door, they had spent long enough here onboard the craft.

The prince, no more than a vulnerable boy in that moment, signed deeply and with a resignation of years many greater than his own. He was old enough to know when matters of state overrode matters of preference, and young enough to wear them upon his sleeve still yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hiss of air filled the chamber as the shuttle docked to the outer hull of the Poet, several uniformed ONI agents immediately present in the antechamber. Their feet were secured to the floor using simple hooks, as even up here there was no artificial gravity. Their rifles were more for show than anything, especially given the cargo of this shuttle.

Leifteanant-Cheannasaí Cárthach Keenan stood, floated really, alongside the agents. “Welcome to the Poet. She’s been reprovisioned and we’re ready to return to homeport. With your cargo, that makes all planned actions done. Short of any additional requirements we can begin transit immediately.

Current orbital paths show a good route in the belt for a fast transit, and I’ve arranged for an escort upon our arrival.”

Makim nodded as he floated up and out of the shuttle, his left hand holding that of William whom had never prior been to space and was thus entirely excited, his worries and sorrows forgotten for a few scant hours as he adjusted.

“Very good, I shall settle this one in with our other cargo and meet you in the primary conference room for a debrief. Get us underway in the meantime, the quicker we arrive to terra the more secure our charges shall be.”

“At once Ceannasaí.”

---

Destroyed Waterfront
Rio De Janeiro
Tudorlandia

---

There were many lines in the city, and other cities around Tudorlandia for that matter, which snaked around the debris and destruction wrought upon the waterfront from above. Of all these lines there was but one which was longer than was the line of people looking for dead and missing loved ones in the morgue and other storage places for the dead. That of course was the bread line, the displaced people of the city after all needed food even as the whole of the city had all but been disabled in the wake of such vicious assault.


The resultant influx of charity organizations, primarily of Pillowlandian origin but also of other states, to offer immediate and substantial aid had in many ways quelled concerns of immediate famine. Yet, with such battered infrastructure and such damage across the whole breadth and width the whole of the need could not be hoped of being fulfilled. So, even with generous quantities of portions fights would oft break out over even simple scraps of leftovers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We’ll take it from here.” came the call of two Pillowlandian troopers, dressed simply in lightly armored plate carriers, and their rifles slung low. Their fatigues almost but not quite blending in with the wide variety of color found between the colorful buildings and grey rubble. Across not just the square, but the whole of the city the same scene was playing out, the Tudorlandians meekly assenting.

“On whose authority?” René Adrián asked, a cocktail of indignance, latent nationalism, and youthful rebelliousness prompting a confrontation.

“Ours, now get back to rebuilding your sewer or whatever your people actually have around here.” The soldiers retorted, a modest irritation at being challenged by the Tudorlandians of all people.

“That isn’t an answer. Now, please leave. I’ve got a food line to police.”

“No you don’t, get out of here you orbital monkey.”

René paused at that one, struggling for several moments to come up with a response.

“What’s wrong, tungsten got your tongue?”

At that point, he simply let loose. A fist flew and connected with the first soldier, followed by his own rifle rising and letting off a loose stream of rounds. The sound of the rifle fire brought the attention of other Pillowlandian regulars in the area, who watched on as René continued to struggle for several moments before a single well placed round silenced him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Police Precinct
Rio De Janeiro
Tudorlandia

---

The lobby was largely empty, with those present there largely in search of missing loved ones, and the back office space was largely empty of officers given the current state of affairs. Yet, that had little impact as a platoon of infantry from the 91st division entered the building, fully equipped for combat.

The commotion quickly brought out Maximiliano Cebrián, chief of polices in the area. His gaze drifted about, finally focusing on the foreign soldiers. “The meaning of this?” He said, as his arms waved about.

“You’ve been relieved of duty. Return to your dwelling at once, the rest of staff will do the same after they hand over all passwords and files. You will have new work assigned to the reconstruction efforts in the coming days. Stay alert for such updates citizen.”

“Citizen? I am the chief of police, and you will treat me as such.” Maximiliano continued, adjusting his shirt over his evident paunch. “I am not some simple street dweller, I have by right an estate and this position.”

“Your job has been nationalized, please register your complaints with your local representative once new elections have been undertaken. Now depart, before we are forced to extend lethal force.” The group of soldiers raised their rifles, each clicking their safeties off.

“You Pillowlandian pigs will get what is coming to you!” Maximiliano seethed as he stormed off, concerned more with his own life at that point. Recent events had shown that they hardly messed around when they said something.

[Armus Republic]

OOC: I am writing this RP to show the historical land annexation of the Republic on Terra. This was done with the guidance of Pillow. Comeristan was chosen as they no longer reside in TDC. This is my first RP in awhile so I know it won't be perfect.

Polis, Armus Republic
June 23rd, 1903

The young man nervously tapped his foot. He sat next to a small table cluttered with papers and envelopes. A wire ran from the table and out of the nearby window and the cool breeze blowing in helped to cool the room. The man was dressed in a wool olive drab uniform and, despite his calm looking composure, was cooking to death underneath. He had been waiting since eight in the morning for a telegraph to come in. It was now noon and there was nothing. He was starting to wonder if it was ever going to. He stood and stretched out. The room his was in was a buzz with noise and people moving about, though he didn’t expect anything less for the central post office of the capital. He went outside and stood underneath the open window. It was just as loud outside as it was inside. Horses clomped out and down the road while automobiles lumbered between them. In just a few short years, the world he had grown up with had changed drastically. And he knew it would only continue to change. He pulled a silver case from his breast pocket and pulled a cigarette out. As he placed it between his lips, he heard the distinct beeping of the telegraph; it had finally come. In an instant, he was next to the desk. A portly man was already writing down the message. The young man tapped his fingers nervously on the table. It felt like an eternity before he was handed the slip of paper:
SENATE DECLARES WAR ON COMERISTAN STOP 5TH LEGION TO MOBILIZE IMMEDIATELY STOP 1ST AIR WING TO MOBILIZE IMMEDITALY STOP 3RD AND 4TH FLEET IN POSITION TO BLOCK STOP EXECUTE AT 0001 ON 24TH STOP
It had finally come. The young man stuffed the paper into his pocket and bolted out the door and down the street. Another man in uniform was sitting on the hood of a car, smoking. “Jesus Mike, took you long enough!” “We got to go ahead, lets get to the Citadel quickly” Mike gets into the passenger seat while the second man cranks the engine then jumps into the driver seat. “Hurry up Hank!” The pair speed down the narrow road, swerving around horses and other automobiles. After a frantic ten-minute drive, they neared a large looming grey building on a hill. They drove through a checkpoint, parked, and ran up a series of steps. The building inside was the polar opposite. The rooms and halls were grand and well lit. Painting, pictures, artifacts, flags, etc. decorated almost every inch. Trophies and memorials to past wars. The two push their way up another flight of steps before stopping at a small receptionist desk. “Private Summers and Private Dell. What can I do for you?” “Hello Mary. I have that telegram that…” The woman takes it out of Mike’s hand and winks, “I’ll get this to him right away.”

Department of War

“Gentlemen, we are ready to begin. This will be the greatest expansion of the Republic for the next three generations, we cannot fail. As the telegram read, the fifth Legion and the First Air Wing will be the main forces for this. Comeristan is already in a weak position due to its civil strife. I do not believe anymore forces will be needed.” The room was full of about two dozen people, though seven were seated at the large center table. At the head of the table sat General Oliver, General of the Army. He motioned to the outstretched map, “We need to be rapid about this. We are essentially attacking a nation the same size as the Republic, though with poorer infrastructure.” A middle-aged man stood and pointed to the Republican/Comeristan border, “Exactly. That’s why I suggest one of our first goals should be the capture of their two railroad points near our border. That will allow us to quickly speed troops into their heartland.” The other six men nod while their aids quickly scribbled down notes, “The Cavalry will also play a large role here. They’ll be able to push ahead of the main body and secure key points while we bring the infantry and artillery up. We should have the three motorized infantry divisions follow closely behind them. That way, if the Cavalry runs into a large body, they can be quickly checked by the infantry.” More nods, “What about the First?” Another man stands, “Air power will play a major role in this operation. We have the skies already. Last I checked, Comeristan doesn’t even have an air force. And any planes they do have are unarmed. This will be an excellent proving ground for our new pilots.” General Oliver shifts forward in his seat, “I don’t want those planes sitting on the ground during this. Put them in the sky and keep the there. I want them on scouting missions, ground attack, anything and everything you can think of” “Absolutely sir” “Lastly, the navy?” A third man stands, “The Third and Fourth Fleet are in position to move to their blockade positions. While Comeristan’s navy is made up of outdated and obsolete vessels, they can still put up a fight. They need to be quickly dealt with.” “What about their little ‘colony’ to our south?” “A small detachment of infantry and cruisers will be sent to land and secure the island. It isn’t heavily populated, and they have a small garrison of soldiers there. Shouldn’t take more then a day, if that.” The men nod, “Well, by the sounds of it, this should all be over in a few weeks.” The seven men laugh and General Oliver stands, “Have you even known a haji to put up a fight?”

[Bergcornopolis]

Over the former city of Saint Louis
Looking down Bomber Squad E-236 Leader, Eliza Smooche-Wallis, looked down at the charred and burning husk of the Gateway city. The flames were spreading into the nearby communities and environments. This Mississippi River was no help to extinguish the fire with debris still burning as much of it floated down the river. The Americans were screaming in pain the bombers were able to land a crippling blow to their city and yet no help was to come. The Bombers were making their last check over the city when the bombers seemed to have picked up a tail. "It's the Americans" said one of the voices over the comms. "Let's give them hell then," Eliza said as she launched her bomber into the clouds of smoke with the rest of the squadron the bombers continued to climb and climb. The fighters followed close behind but seemed to be slowing. In almost a blink of an eye, Eliza turned into a dive now racing towards the fighters. "Torpedoes locked" announced the computer. Eliza pulled the trigger and launched two torpedoes straight at two of the fighters. The two fighters were hit head-on spending them into an uncontrollable nosedive. Eliza quickly leveled back out and turned around to engage the other fighters. However, it seemed as if the rest of her squadron had finished them off. This only added to the fiery debris in the Saint Louis area. Incoming Transmission from the BISC Covonum
"Well done Lutenient Smooche-Wallis. Please report back to Covonum for refueling and to receive your next target. Clask out"
Almost on queue the bombers pulled up and flew into the upper atmosphere to begin their approach to the Covonum.

Runway 34-GU New Orleans International Airport
There sitting on the runway sat the elite bombers and fighters of the Gama Unit, led by Corporal Ho Lee. He stood on the tarmac doing the last minute check on his bomber. Once completed he hopped into the pilot seat and started his bomber. They began pulling off the ground. Once clear of the Airport Ho turned on his mic. "Alright Gama Unit, remember the mission. We are to provide our forces with air support and by taking out the Americans forts in and around Layfatte. They are depending on us for support and that's what we are going to provide them. Until we near the target I want radio silence. Lee out..." They were soon going to be over the target in matters of minutes. 10 minutes to be exact. Ho was filled with fear and worry, but he had no time for that he was to be the leader he was supposed to be strong, and strong he was.

The Husk of Eastern Toronto
The Missiles were the only thing that was able to land a hit in Toronto. The bombers and fighters were all shot down by newly re-commissioned anti-air cannons. This left only the Eastside ablaze. Toronto was under high security due to previously unknown reasons. There was only one survivor from the downed bombers. His name has Danako Gunn, he walked the streets injured and poorly equipped. He was running from the security forces that were patrolling the area that was a flame. Danako ran weaving through the city until he reached what he thought was a safe spot to rest. He propped himself against an empty storage container. Breathing heavily he tore his flight suit apart allowing him to show his more civilian like clothes that were underneath. He turned the scraps of his flight suit into makeshift bandages to protect him. He removed the com from his helmet just in case someone was trying to reach him. In all of this, he did not realize the noise he was making or the guards sneaking up behind him. "YOU THERE!" They yelled from behind him. Startled Danak jumped to his feet twirling around to see them face to face. "YOU'RE UNDER ARREST PUT YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD!" The Security Forces yelled. Danako complied but before his hands had even passed his chin he laid witness to an ambush like no other. One that left the guards unconscious on the floor. The perpetrator of the attack stood there in a mask infront of him.
"Hi," he said in a muffled voice. "I'm Denalo welcome to the rebellion." He said right before a bag was thrown over Danako's head and was sedated.

[Hydraxim Imperialis]

Remnants of the Loyalist Refuge, Hydraxim Imperialis
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Check, check. charges are in place, blow 'em."

A loud banging noise erupted out into the seemingly never-ending silence of the city. The doors guarding the palace could be seen nearly launching from their prior positions. The echoes of footsteps could be heard throughout the halls of the palace, and doors could be heard slamming open.

"Check, palace entrance clear."
"Kings Quarters clear."
"Library clear."
"This is Charlie squad coming in, we have some bodies here. over."

A series of soldiers covered in black could be seen filing into a small hallway that held four bodies. They were located in the east wing of the building, away from most of the other quarters, this side only held servant quarters and the kitchen. It was one of the more dull parts of the palace. Three of the bodies could be seen wearing red and gold, they were sitting hunched on either side of the wall. The fourth could be seen cradling itself at the door, it was clad in beautiful gold robes and had a jeweled crown.

"Shit, it's the king and three of the royal guards."

"What the hell are they doing on this side?"

"Check toxification levels throughout the building. The king was a coward and wouldn't have just sat there and died like most his guard."

"You think this was a last-ditch effort for him and the family to escape the gas?"

"That would be viable, but look at him, you'd think a man trying to run would get up higher, away from the gas. Check the door."

One of the soldiers made his way over to the large metal door, it had a small window for looking in and out of and was beautifully designed, made mainly to impress rivaling factions. The door was locked and no light could be seen on the other side of the window.

"What the hell? The king locked out… That doesn’t sound right. Bravo and Delta, head to the outside and scan the area, check for any cracks and any signs of a struggle. Watch the time, we've only got so long in here."

All of the soldiers quickly glanced down at their black watches. One of them pulled up a holographic image that extended into the air from his wrist. The front of the palace and eastern wing were glowing blue, the rest of the palace complex was grey, and the inside couldn’t be seen.

"We've got another hour before filters give out. Check for any unusual marks, it doesn’t look like everyone died instantly" he nodded towards the bodies.

After about fifteen minutes comms came alive with reports of a small leak in the east wing. A small indentation was caused by a bullet hole of unknown origin. However, this small detail was dismissed and considered unimportant. The king was scanned and a sample of blood was taken, the medic who did the sampling quickly looked over the data being displayed in his goggles.

"The king's blood shows large traces of atropine-sulfate. It also shows traces of filtered oxygen being breathed in, almost 73% pure. however, he died still after only fifteen minutes of exposure. That's still ten more minutes than most of the others."

The medic looked up at the figure standing directly over him. Any facial expression was covered by the protective clothing he had on. Both stood in the silence for a few moments.

"His blood shows a high iron consistency. Anything that could allow the King to survive for this long is impossible. While ten minutes is only ten minutes, this is the perfect chemical agent to eliminate the population quickly and effectively, this man shouldn't have been able to survive for this long. The gas is made to be able to leach into the skin, water, air, even change the chemical consistency of its environment. The empire was technologically advanced, but not this much. We seized all of their assets within the first months of the war. No traces of anything like this." The medic quickly glanced back down, he rolled the king over slightly. His eyes were bloodshot and wide open, his veins were blue and bulging. “His heart stopped but his veins are still showing signs of blood flow. Do you think a self-induced coma? Slow the heart to slow the toxin? Bionic filtration system perhaps?”

"I don't know, it's not our job now though, we only have so much time left on the clock. Let's not waste it speculating, take his body to the front for recovery.”

The comms buzzed to life.

"Sir, this is Delta, we found something. It seems like an improvised entrance was made over here. Bravo went in to investigate but reported no signs of life, anyone else in the palace is dead."

Just then jets screamed overhead. This wasn't uncommon. A good portion troops had been transferred to guard the city due to an unknown attacker infiltrating the area. Firebombings in certain parts of the city were authorized in an attempt to clean the air of contagion. The Scientific Association of Advancements (SAA) had ordered search and rescue missions to find any survivors.

"Search team 02-04, this is base, be advised we have armored vehicles en route to your location for transport, requesting status report. over."

"This is 02-04 to base, we have no life signs in the building, confirmed reports of the king's death, though circumstances are unknown. Gas has leaked into the building. No signs of the royal family besides the king. Requesting further instructions, over."

"Rendezvous with armored caravan 01-01 for transport to debriefing. over."

"Copy, over and out."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hydraxim Imperialis, Capital City
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While before the revolution, almost five years ago, the city was a bleak gray scene. A concrete jungle, glass and windows weren’t even installed in civilian quarters. Much of the city had power cables connected yet received no power. The whole world suddenly shifted once the rebellion seized power. It started with the wide distribution of weapons, and propaganda. Air bases were taken one by one in overwhelming force until the empire’s technology was reverse engineered. Thousands died to build the great city that stands here now.

The city is a tribute to the Hydraxim Imperialis’ ability to be flexible, to democracy, to power, and to its people. The city served as a promise to everyone who fought in the war, it was a promise that no matter the struggle the Republic would rebuild.

The city was a beautiful scene, most of the concrete had been covered up by panels of glass and paint. Thousands of workers could be seen driving to and from places, renovating and constructing. The city’s architecture was shaped and changed, pillars rose where a small balcony was, gardens grew where a mass grave had been. The city became a thriving hub of knowledge and advancement, though still growing every day. The cities dream was to one day rival its ancestors on Terra, while that dream was still far off everyone worked in unison to achieve it.

One of the tallest buildings in the government sector was painted in all black, and windows were so tinted that no one could see in. A large office was on the thirty-fourth floor. It held a large wooden table and dark grey carpet. About a foot off of the table a holographic image was seen, it displayed a map of North Africa and the known countries. Twelve people were present, all were standing to look at the display. One was speaking, he wore a black uniform that had medals hanging on it, and on the front of his collar where most wore a tie was a small insignia of the Imperial Hydraxim army.

“Our troops have successfully moved to fortify the northern border, the construction of anti-air, anti-orbital, and coastline cannons has begun. While anti orbital cannons can’t necessarily take ships out of orbit, any highly armored ship that drops into our airspace can be taken down with ease. Bullet train construction has begun across our territory to ease both public transport and military movement. All of these things are possible thanks to our former government, the Royalist Enclave. While an oppressive form of government, multiple operatives of CRO have recovered technology stored in well-guarded royalist facilities.”

The man motioned for the hologram to change images. The next image was a list of technologies and facilities they were recovered from, some had images of prototypes. The man pointed at the label that read ‘Working’, and the image shifted to a new list.

“Here you can see are the working prototypes currently being implemented nationwide. Holographic images are among the first to be distributed. Our next project is to establish a new navy, as schematics are here for a submarine capable of housing a small detachment of troops along with plans for destroyer to be equipped with rail cannons. Radar jammers are also equipped and new technologies such as reactive armor are currently being researched. We’ve had twelve incidents with scientists this month, two were executed for leaking plans to unknown sources. Estimated revival plans are to be completed within five years considering nothing will go wrong.”

“Finally, I want to bring to your attention war strategies.” The man tampered with his watch for a moment and images of soldiers fighting, battle plans, airbases and strategic targets came to life. “If you’d be so kind, lieutenant.”

Another man dressed just as the previous was stood up. He was much younger and had far fewer medals, but something about him gave the air of authority.

“If you’d all be seated, I will angle the image to your benefit,” he said in a casual tone, with a hint of an English accent.

Some of the older men in the room sat down with sighs of relief. However, one of the other younger men kept standing as he walked over to investigate the maps. He was tall, had brown hair and green eyes, and stared right at the lieutenant. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said in a casual voice, but never letting the air have any less tension it already did.

“Consul,” the man almost gave a slight bow out of courtesy. “ As you can see here,” he motioned towards the western front, towards the Atlantic sea,”We have regards to a nation called New Velonia, previously considered insignificant, but new data shows that they hold a surprising amount of power in North America. They are not to be considered a threat, however, we must be cautious as we expand. We have encountered little difficulty on our march towards the Atlantic, however as we continue on, more and more of previously unknown royal stations are found. Allowing contacts and records of new nations across the globe, previously unknown to us. National security is in our best interest here, and negotiations are expected to open with many of the colonizing powers. Nations of interest are: Pillowlandia, a royalist nation and potentially theocracy, highly influential and many records indicate strong superpower status. New velonia, not much is known due to disorganized history, and lack of records the royalty had on them. Sudardes, again as the previous, not much is known, however, we have reason to believe they are one of the Terran superpowers as well. And the Republic of Highlock, our neighbors, little to nothing is known about them, however large collaboration with royalty is suspected. They may be a potential ally or enemy, or they could be the first clue to finding the rest of the missing royal family. Recommended courses of action are to begin diplomatic interactions with Highlock, and Sudardes. Militarization is recommended to continue to ensure resistance of invasion and continued expansion. Espionage is recommended course of action to acquire new intel, and funding to CRO for covert operation and technologies is to be continued throughout the year. Dissent almost none existent, and workers are working double time for employers. That’s all I have for this meeting.” The hologram closed, and all of the people walked out of the room, many whispering and inquiring about what course of action to take for their departments.

The Consul pulled the lieutenant to the side. “I’d like to promote you to head of Cro. Would you be up for the task?”

“Of course sir,” the man said in disbelief. “I’d be willing to do anything for the Republic.”

“Of course you would, Commander Agretius.” Both men smiled, and as they shook hands a scar could be seen on the new commander's hand. A circle and a single line in it.

[America JB]

The President walks into his office and orders for his Secretary of Defense to secure the military bases in the state of Louisiana in defense of possible invasion. The President then walks out of the office to have a press meeting with the national news organizations.

The President walks up to the mic and says, "My fellow Americans, We must keep our nation safe and her interests secure. With that said, the nation of America JB will help to protect our neighbor Igavesti from invasion from the Berg government. We shall protect our nation and not permit them to cross our borders with their intent to act aggressively. This is going to be a national security concern and I am set to meet with my cabinet to discuss the issue. Thank you everyone and goodbye." With that said, the President walks into his office and get's to work to make sure the state of Louisiana is secure.

The military of America JB is prepared to start their mission to defend the nation of America JB. Eastern Louisiana is being invaded by America JB forces. A army of tanks, Infantry Fighting Vehicles, VA-1B5 Rocket Artillery, and Howitzers are headed that way as we speak. The President has also ordered another unit to invade the northwestern part of Bergcornpolis and to take the land by force.

After 5 hours the unit makes their way to eastern Lousisian and open fire, destroying the bergcornpolis military bases by surprise, using the fire from the sky method using the Howitzers, Rocket artillery, and tanks to bombard the bases with fire. The soldiers later make their way through the streets to secure the area, they are going home by home in some areas making safe zones to continue with their attacks. After that they set up bases and forts to surround the eastern part of Bergcornpolis. The northwestern unit makes their way to Alabama and start to use the fire from the sky method to destroy the cities and towns important to Bergcornpolis. They also search through the streets to secure the area. The invasion is so far a success. After taking some hits at home America JB now surrounds the nation of Bergcornpolis in the north and in the south west.

The President hears the phone ring, so he picks it up and on the other line is the secretary of defense. The secretary updates the President on the unfolding situations and the President celebrates, the President then says "We need to continue to put pressure on the nation and show them who we are, show them the bravery of our military and the patriotism of our citizens." The President drops the hangs up the phone and the war continues with the America JB Government responding.

In the General Assembly speeches are being read out of their displeasure of the Bergcornpolis government for their handling of this situation. The Senate votes to provide finds to the Military so they can expand their efforts in combating this nation. They hope that with more money and troops flowing in, it will resolve the situation quickly rather than wait. After the voting the Secretary of State meets with a group of Senators to discuss foreign policy and ways thei can get the Berg government to sit down at the table to negotiate or come up with ways to have peace. Until the negotiations are made or the invasion is complete war is on the rise and America JB is getting prepared to defend it's self.

[Bergcornopolis]

Breaux Bridge, Louisana
Just outside of Layafette two armies clashed. Each one trying to take over the other. The Bergcornian side led by Major Jon'n Andre a well kept and dressed man even in the middle of the battlefield. Major Andre was leading the batch code-named Demois this was just one of five batches that were attacking the city and the Americans. The others were the Denver, the Atlanta, the Houston, and the Nola. Each inching closer towards the city. "FIRE" Andre yelled as the artillery sounded launching rounds of highly pressurized plasma-shells towards and into the cities and lines of troops. Even with this the sounds of gunfire still weren't drowned out. The American forces were slow moving most of them being mowed down by the heavy troopers and the turrets that were in the middle of the entire conflict perched directly above the front lines. Tanks were locked in combat in the fields and farmland outside the city crushing stalks of corn and rows of wheat the tanks forged paths that would destroy the agriculture sectors of Louisana for years. The battle slowed after a while bodies lined the streets and fields. "ADVANCE" Andre yelled to his troops as they moved slowly to reposition themselves closer to the city. Again the Artillery fired one last time before the Technical forces began disassembling it to move it closer. This made the ground advances slower but more effective. Above the war continued as well. Above the Gama Unit, was locked in their mission to weaken the air power and fortification of the Americans. So far the mission was successful two forts were already a crisp and the American front lines seemed to be retreating into the city where their real mission would begin. The Gama Unit soared and dived, twisted and turned all around in the skies often eliminating the American Fighters without firing any of their guns. The almost era difference in technology allowed for a quick surge of air superiority. American Planes were simply no match for the quick and unforgiving piloting skills and fighter capabilities of the Gama Unit.

Over Detriot, Michigan
Bomber Squad E-236 moved to engage their bombing run of the Motor City. It was a cloudy day in Detriot the clouds provided the bombers with the perfect cover. Once complete with their initial pass over the city the bombers engaged warheads were falling. Torpedoes blew holes in towers. Craters left traffic in even more of a nightmare. Once through with the first pass the Bombers broke formation and began picking off buildings, streets, and outposts all across the city. Fires grew with every pass smoke blackened the already gray clouds. Detriot was burning, but not dead, yet. The bomber rejoined in their formation for a final run. Soaring over the last blocks not destroyed the bombers moved in to land the crippling blow warheads, bombs, missiles, torpedoes all were fired one last time before the bombers once again soared into the clouds and disappeared from the Detriot skyline.

Buffalo, New York
246 Miles away, one of the two shuttles took off from the city that hope had been restored to. The shuttle quickly moved westward soon leaving the lights of a working city behind them. The shuttle moved quickly to its destination.

The East River Area, New York
Both sides of the River where chared and filled with craters. Mob rule had set in. The East River once dotted with lights of the bustling cities that surrounded it now was lit by the giant fires that had rained down on top of them. Four days before missiles from the Bergcornians rained down hitting and covering almost every in fire and debris. The fires continued to spread blackening the skies far worse than the attacks on 9/11 ever did.

[Quo God]

The scene starts with Lord Healy about to enter a room within a building, If you were to look with a 3rd person prospective you would like see him dressed in a very Formal three piece suit, Healy inhales and exhales as he is frightened of the fact that he'll have to, for the first time, Publicly speak on live television, the easiest action to ease was his breathing, The world was deaf to him, he was staring into the door as if he was suffering from Vietnam flashbacks until a goice reached out to him, "Conor? Conor? CONOR WAKE UP GOD DAMN" Conor Spanned out of his personal limbo, the lady spoke out In a reassuring tone "Alright Conor you have your script all you need to do is stare straight and Speak Properly, come 'ere" Conor was still semi blind to her presence and tries to moisten his lips, she lightly slaps him on the cheeks before they both exchanged French Kisses, Conor replied with " I knew you loved me Anna Incan tell from the littlest of Movement in your patterns" He exchanges a wink and a blow kiss, Anna bounces it off with a Fake Choke and flips the bird " not a chance in that! I'll be in the viewing booth staring down your sole " Conor Chuckles as he opened the door, a bombardment of pe sonell flooded Conor with Different needs, make up, Fashion staff Brushed Conor down and made minor adjustments to increase his Television Appearance, He took a seat and Adjusted his notes, He spread them out in order only he knew how, from the outside world it seems like he'll but to him it all made sense.

Technicians Adjust the Wires, monitors and what not and started the count down, Conor thought back, Thinking he is truely lucky to have such a close advisor and close friend, he does have feelings for Anna but that 'cock-block' really gave him that Gut punch, while the time shorted and shortened and shortened Conor Gained the utmost focus, it seemed like he would never blink, from his personal Bluetooth Earpod listening into the World wide recognizable News station The technicians Indicate that he is nearly on spot light, Anna his trusted advisor Quietly whispered into his ear piece " Don't fuck this up Conor" Conor's Cocky personally kicked up to motion and swiftly replied with "I never do" Beeps and other sound effects from the introduction of the next scene, Conor Healy, Showed nothing but a white background, it could be compared to a traditional Family portrait, Anna signals him to read out the script but in a quick decision he scraps the script, he files them together neatly and shows them to the camera "In volatile times like this My feelings of Quo God and My self cannot be expressed into small sized document, A few hours ago a Terrorist Cell Combined of Nationalists, facists and Syndicalists Have combined in an unstable faction to undermine the security of Quo Godian's citizens and travelers abroad, the Puctures were of Identified Anarchists and religious people from Quo God and the newly founded anarchist state, While we do heavily restrict Both forms of expression we do not Promote this behavior and we condemn it to kingdom come.

Surges of terrorism across the islands of Quo Hod has left me no choice but to enact The Blitzkrieg.

A strike team Hidden around the globe, A spy network of soldiers trained in every form of combat and we will hunt down this New threat, These People, these Dogs, the call thems selves the New Quo Godian order and its group and sub cultures have made it clear that we cannot Co-exist, because of this My plan of accepting refugees from war torn countries will be segregated to a rather Peaceful Island." Conor Healy's Scene is Ahortened and moved to the bottom left while a video of a Blitzkrieg Siege on a known terrorist House, The whole process is smooth and the Kidnaped are secured yet the whole siege seems Over balanced, agresaive and Violent, one terrorist even surrenders but is shot off camera, the Agebt who took the shot said to the press that None of these scumbags can be released, after some analysis from the Hosting Broadcasting station it goes back to Conor where he signs himself out.

Lord Healy Waits minutes, which seem hours to him, while the technicians Verify if it's gone, they signal it going and Conor Speeds out of the room, In the process of leaving the room he accidentally Shoves Anna his advisor out of the way while he enters his chambers.

Want part two? (Things might get spicy)