Saldavi Dawn [Atlas | Closed]

[Alosteq Diin Nastja]

A pair of technicals rushed through the dry night with the hot roar of diesel engines broadcasting their presence across the wide steppes of northern Tevik. Each truck was packed with seven soldiers each, making for a rather cramped situation only exacerbated by the heat of the Alfashiri summer. On one technical an anti-aircraft gun was mounted, manned by an older man from a nearby village named Ebrohim Santali; on the other a machine gun, manned by a regular of the Saldavi National Army called Iskëndr Şägramaktarimëdinli. As the little caravan moved over the border into Kuringustan, Ebrohim and Iskëndr watched their surroundings carefully. With the descent of Altar into chaos yet again, neighbouring countries had been bolstering security along their own borders in order to mitigate any spillover of this new cataclysm. In an attempt to garner support for a wider Saldavi ethnostate, the government of the Free Republic had erected billboards plastered with propaganda across the borders with both the Vilats Union and the DCRK. Slogans such as “Long live the Saldavi Motherland!” or “Not One Step Back!” — both harkening back to the Great War.

As the vehicles reached the peak of a more elevated area, they caught sight of a village’s lights a few miles off. That would be their first target of liberation. They were in the Saldavi-majority region of Kuringustan now, so it was almost certain that such a small village would be inhabited solely by ethnic Saldavis. The driver of the techical with the machine gun, a woman by the name of Mïwïl Kanstantinlinet, glanced at her watch. “It’s 22:26, we’re right on schedule.”

“Fantastic,” responded her comrade Jahar Zazamli somewhat unenthusiastically. “We’re just in time to miss celebrations with family and friends!” As one of the more devoutly Muslim members of the incursion force, he was extremely bitter over the fact that he was picked out for this job. Violence is heavily discouraged during the holiday, so this operation did not sit well in Zazamli’s conscience. He pled with his superiors to be assigned the sole position of driver in order in order to be distanced from the actual violent aspect of this attack on three separate occasions, but his attempts were yielded only failure.

“Just to remind anyone who might’ve forgotten, every soldier is instructed to shoot potential deserters on sight,” Kanstantinlinet remarked casually. She glanced into her rearview mirror in order to get a look at Zazamli, who was sitting in the back seat.

“I was under the impression it was only actual deserters we execute,” he retorted without diverting his eyes from the window.

“Even the consideration of desertion is treason enough to warrant the highest punishment. As are many things, I find.”

“I take it we’re no longer all brothers under one Saldavi sky, then?”

“Those who oppose the liberation of Saldavistan are no brothers of mine.”

“An unwillingness to sacrifice oneself for our revolution does not exclude full support of the principles of the revolution.”

“If they truly believed in the revolution they would join it, not hide behind its martyrs.”

Zazamli looked up. “We are no martyrs. Martyrs believe in their cause.”

Kanstantinlinet signalled the driver of the other technical and brought her own truck to an abrupt stop. With great speed she got out of the vehicle, dragged Zazamli out of his seat, and had him on his knees. “Those who don’t believe in the cause are inherently counter-revolutionary and thus traitors to their nation and their people,” she announced loudly to the rest of the party. With that brief statement, she took her pistol from its holster and shot Zazamli on the spot. She proceeded to strip the body of weapons and ammo and got back into the technical. Now in a stupor from watching their comrade get unceremoniously executed and abandoned on an empty road, they proceeded toward the village.

It only took another couple minutes to reach the village. A few of the villagers must have heard the gunshot, because a small militia had assembled on the outskirts of the settlement. The obvious leader of this militia signalled to the technicals to stop before going farther. Kanstantinlinet and her counterpart complied, confident that the militia would surrender to them once they explained their intent in Kuringustani Saldavistan. The militias leader approached Kanstantinlinet first, and she rolled her window down.

“We have come from the south to liberate the Saldavi people and create a fully independent union of the Saldavi peoples,” she declared.

The man had a puzzled look. “My Saldavi is... not so good. You speak Arabic or no?”

Horrified at the mistake they had made, Kanstantinlinet grabbed her rifle and rammed the butt of her weapon in the Arab man’s face. This singular action conveyed to the remaining thirteen Saldavi soldiers that they were now free to engage with this militia. The entirety of the first technical’s passengers deployed within ten seconds and began to open fire on the village militia. The members of the latter group who weren’t hit in the first volley of fire immediately fell back and took cover behind walls and buildings, and began to fire from there. Having no other options, the Saldavis were forced to take cover behind their technicals. Santali, still at the anti-aircraft gun, took aim at the row of houses closest to his position and opened fire. The rounds tore through walls and men alike, and the remaining Arabs again fell back. By this point the entire village was awake; women and children were being shepherded in the opposite direction of the conflict while the men were grabbing their own weapons and surrounding the technicals.

For the first fifteen minutes or so of the battle, the Saldavis were faring considerably better than the Arabs. They had only lost one man compared to the Arab casualties already numbering over twenty. That quickly changed, however, when an Arab RPG hit the anti-aircraft technical. The vehicle immediately burst into flames, taking eight of the Saldavi soldiers with it. Now only four soldiers remained against the ever-increasing Arab force. Most of the houses along the village’s border were all but destroyed in the fighting, and a few more had caught fire. Fighting desperately for their lives, the Saldavi forces were only destroyed after another twenty minutes of fierce conflict and another dozen Arab lives.

[Krosny-Zdzieszowice]

06:12AM, Northwest Zebya (ISA)
5/12/17, 7 Dywizjonie Lotniczym

A flight of three Su-30's, each loaded with a payload of four GBU-23 bunker busters flew over the skies of northwestern Zebya, the heartland of the Islamic State of Alistan. The effort to secure airspace by the Vilats Union had been going on for some time now, and with Krosny's newfound interest in the conflict, there was a need for Krosny itself, to make allied aircraft's jobs easier in the aerial campaign against the Islamic State of Alistan, to assist in eliminating anti-aircraft weaponry in two designated air corridors over Zebya and Gineymen. While the Vilats Union was eliminating enemy AA presence in their designated air corridors, Krosny for the last month had using its intelligence agencies to locate places of suspicion, paticularly those where either AA missiles or AA weaponry was being stored or produced.

They gained a few probable targets, however, but most important was a confirmed cache of weaponry near the city of Aral. Given that Aral was a fairly large city located next to the capital of Ayba, Krosnian commanders expected that the planes would find plenty of AA guns and sites to drop bombs upon. As the planes flew in closer and closer to the target, the passengers in each Su-30 manned their control panels for the JDAMs. Arak was fairly large, and the plane crews realized they could destroy much of the city with their payloads. But the target came into position in time. The three planes in formation began releasing one bomb each onto their target: A collection of huts and two warehouses. As the seconds ticked by, the bombs fell, until at last hitting their targets and producing several large explosions.

The planes veered off as all over the city, residents and soldiers alike woke up to a massive fire where tons of ammunition and weaponry once were. It was a massive victory for Krosny this early into the campaign, and though the arms could be replaced, it would set the ISA back for awhile. As the planes flew back up north, a single anti-aircraft gun opened up onto them. A ZU-23-2 had been alerted, probably by its Arab commanders and was now attempting to perhaps shoot down at least one plane. The range was rather pathetic on the thing, but it was still a AA position, so a missile was dropped and guided down, blowing up the gun and its crew. With a successful strike, the planes continued to Vilati airspace, encountering no more AA on the way back to their airbase in Kuringustan.

[Kuringustan]

Kurdu, Kuringustan
The Tower of the Encûmen

Silence went through the room as the members watched the news, a silence of mourning and regret, but a sense of a anger, and a will of vengeance.

“Kurdu24 reports an attack on a local Salvi village in the Almā Canton, Salvi militants from Altar held an attack on locals in the name of establishing a Salvi ethnostate. While the Kuringustani Army wasn't deployed a local militia fought of the militants…”

Mämet Qarvaşanli, the Secretary of Defense for the Almā Canton looked up, “and when our comrades are dying, being looked by revisionists and class traitors we sit here silent. We sit here silent at the indiscriminate killing of the Kuringu people.”

“I know you want to keep your job and want to be authentic, seeing that you grossly failed at your post, but the council needs to think, we can't just go out of anger. Otherwise we'd be these other crazies in the world of Atlas” remarked another delegate calmly.

Mämet stood up “Am I supposed to just sit here and think, when I see my people DYING by these class tratiors! These people that will terrorize us and destroy everything we stand for! NO. My people, MY COMRADES ARE DYING…”

A citizen watching the meeting, with a rather snarky face snarkily remarked, “Mr. Qarvaşanli, shouting isn't going to protect your job, especially when your people are protesting and every second you grow closer to recall, maybe maybe instead of shouting and being a little pussy, you can offer actual solutions”.

Mämet lost it, and began screaming and pouting, to much delight of the local media and opponents. To the relief of the delegates and the citizens he was kicked from the room. His already dismal popularity sunk to record lows, the opposition emboldened to kick him. “Fool can't defend, think, or destroy his career properly! All he can do is rant and shout like a Wahhabi! Maybe he should become an Acronious ancap or join the ISA! Oh wait the pussy can't shoot!” remarked a political commentator later that day. Protests against him continued, he was at the edge of the cliff.

Karatsawëk, a few days later
Mämet stood on the podium, great fear enveloping him. A failure here would be the end of his career, the end of what he had worked years for. Alas the show had to gone on. He looked on his paper a final time, took a deep breath, and began.
“Hello comrades, great people of the canton of Almā. I am the Canton Secretary of Defense and I sincerely apologise for my great failure at the meeting a few days back. I… I let anger confuse me, muddle my thoughts, and I sincerely apologise. I will not fail the people of Almā again, and will think over my actions *breathe* but now I have made a plan, a plan to kick out the secessionists and terrorists that threaten our great territory” he went into detail of his plan, and gaining a few weeks of leeway. Only a few weeks. Citizens wanted to either see his plan in action or destroy the pillars. Unfortunately polls showed many of his hardcore supporters were departing, only waiting to see if he delivers, due to him destroying his authentic flair. He just bought time. Now will he deliver?

[Socialist Mercanda]

presdent jansone smiles as she hears alter is crumbling

the national assembly convenes

"we should take immediate action and invade altar" says her defense minister

lots of people nod and smile and ogre

"no lots of people would die" cried green leader sarah johnson

the opposition agree

president jansone walked in

"no i am the president and i agree with my minister we are invading altar"

10000 fighters jets and 2750000 soldiers are sent out and capture the atari capital and oil

[Sadahaan]

Husn al-Manit Border Crossing
05:32 - June 23, 2017.

A patrol of four men, one armed with a UMP9 but the rest with AK-74s approached the soon to be abandoned crossing from Sadahaan into the territories of the GRA. These men were a small patrol force, simply here to guard a trail running through the border. The crossing point was but a collection of small wooden huts, one was the designated communications post. All that was inside was a half-asleep guard reclining in a chair, watching television. Next to him was a landline telephone. In another shack was the toll dispensary. The few visitors who came had to pay a toll as well as show their papers to walk into the country. The shack was rather roomy, and not many tolls were paid, so the guards put up a set of bunks and another TV in here. Aside from that was a third shack where the barrier gate was controlled from, otherwise that was all there was in this barren place.

There was a grand total of six men at this outpost, one in the communications post, another sleeping still, and the four men who had came to start their shift. What these guards didnt know however was that a force of twenty Altari men with guns from the mountains had descended to come and fight with their fellow Altaris in the PRA. These men didn't fight for any particular idea, rather, they were more interested in simply fighting for a Altari group that would be willing to take them in. They assumed the GRA had no interest, so they chose to fight for the PRA. On a hill to the east, one of them watched with a pair of binoculars.

Yemet Abdullāhtada Gentšik Taralis looked over the simple checkpoint with a decent pair of binoculars, laying on the ground. His job was to perform recon and tell his comrades what to expect. This entire region was a mountain chain, so a east crossing anywhere other than here was out of the question. So what if they had to kill a few of the oppressive Arabs, they earned it. He took notice of the patrol walking in first. He liked the look of their weaponry, watching as they talked in some dialect he didn't understand. As the patrol neared a table with what Yemet thought were poker chips on them, three of them sat down while the fourth talked before walking towards a shack.

As Yemet suspected, the men were playing poker. The fourth man who walked into the shack now came out with a fifth man, both carrying beer bottles. Yemet thought to himself, Isnt beer banned in Islam?. Both the men gave some out to the men at the table and kept one each for himself. A sixth man came out from the telephone post and talked, the man who came out with that soldier from the patrol rushed back and tossed a beer to the telephone operator. The men quickly settled down after that to drink or watch TV. Yemet saw no more soldiers after that, and called to his comrades south.

"Comrades, it's me. There's six men down at the crossing point. There is a telephone booth where they could call for help, there's one man in there but he looks ready to fall asleep. There's another three playing poker outside, the last two are smoking outside."

"Sounds like their guard is down, excellent work."

"They're drunk. Give half a hour and they won't even be able to shoot straight."

"Drunk on duty, they're just asking for it. We'll be here soon."

Husn al-Manit Border Crossing
06:02 - June 23, 2017

Six militiamen advanced up to the crest of a hill on the west side overlooking the border crossing. These men, crudely armed with shotguns, bolt-action rifles and even pistols planned to provide supporting fire to the thirteen men attacking north up the trail. They waited for a single shot from their recons sniper rifle which would kill the phone operator and commence the attack. They could see their comrades advancing into their positions from above, the drunk guards remaining oblivious. Below, a man opened his cell phone and called the sniper. Right after, a sniper shot ringed out, killing the phone operator. The three men outside quickly stood up and grabbed their guns. In a attempt to scan for the shooter, another rifleman shot one of the guards. Another one made a sprint for the booth, being downed by another rifle. The remaining two, along with the other two outside ran into the sleeping/toll shack to mount a defense.

A single man with a RPG-7 ran into the middle of the road, crouched and fired a HE shot into the building. The firefight was now other as quick as it began. The men walked into the checkpoint and secured it. The telephone operator was still alive somehow, but was shot. Two men in the rubble of the toll shack remained alive but in the verge of death and were also shot. The men picked up the weapons and ammo they could scavenge from the dead guards, and found a armory with enough guns and ammo to equip the whole group. Much happier, now with sojosticated equipment, they drove into Altar. From here, in Western Duristan they would drive to PRA territory and hail forces there as willing recruits.

[Glorious ReBublic of Alevstan]

Southern Tevik, June 22
Ċaltulu released the stunted pine and quickly descended from the ridgeline to the south side of the hill, sliding and scrambling down the last few meters to a suitably large boulder. Ağrigvalä drew his breath in sharply as he heard the scree cascading further down the hill. "Watch it, don't want to make your presence too known - a bit of rock can cause a big disturbance. We're at the treeline, and I don't know the loyalties of the villagers here." "Yeah. Wait for a bit, I don't see anyone yet." "Go ahead - but there's not gonna be more than five Altaris in the whole place, you know that." Ċaltulu nevertheless set up his tripod and scanned along the farm walls and the main valley road, seeing nothing of note after a few run-throughs."Come on down," and his spotter descended to their post a bit more gracefully.

As Ċaltulu set up some netting over the two of them, Ağrigvalä took out his scope then radioed in, in Saldavi to the Saldavi platoon they were attached to. A voice responded in Vilatic. "Sorry, you're in position over Kardaz?" He nodded to the affirmative. "Alright, we're about 3 kilometers out to your east then. Truck broke down, it's fixed now." "Got it." The static cut out for a second, then the platoon radioed back again. "Your Saldavi's shit by the way, a good deal of us speak Vilatic anyways. There's no need." Some laughter came in from the other end before it cut off once more.

Farmers moved at work in the valley below, on either side of the opaque teal, steep-walled tributary that formed the western border of Kardaz. From a few of the compounds, smoke meandered lazily into the vista of sky where towering white clouds rose far above the comparatively miniscule hills of Tevik. A child and her dog herded some sheep southwards along the rural road that formed the main artery of the valley, the road on which the platoon was travelling along in an adjacent valley. A breeze stirred waves of grain below while shifting pine needles above let in scattered, bubbling sunlight on the sniper team. A few broken farm walls not yet repaired and a burnt-out tractor to the south were the only indicators of the war raging in Altar.

"Nice place. Think there's gonna be anyone here?" Ċaltulu, paying little attention to his rifle.

"Not many at all if there are. According to platoon, fighting in Fese... Fesevşrï? anyways, that should've drawn most of the fighters here away and we're just securing the place." He dug in his pocket, pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "Want a smoke?"

“Sure.” Ağrigvalä took out two, lit both, and handed one to Ċaltulu. “You know, reminds me of when I was living with my grandparents, in Şayïs District, southeast of Eral, you know, as a kid. Small little village, it’s bit more mountainous that it is here I suppose, being near the trans-Alfashir ranges and all, but still pretty similar. Anyways, I - “ The radio from platoon crackled on, a few voices and the rumble of moving vehicles audible in the background, before cutting off again. Ağrigvalä waited a second before continuing. “Yeah, as I was saying, I was a goatherd for my granddad, so I was up on those hills and the lower ranges a lot, staying away from the farmland for obvious reason. We lived in a little two-room mud house on the hillside. When I was up there, I’d always want to climb the hills; just loved getting to the top of them, higher than everything but the snow-capped mountains on the horizon. When you’re up there, man, you feel detached, you forget everything about the earth below you - except those goats, fuckers never stop bleating - but, yeah.” He took a deep breath, without the cigarette, just breathing in and looking around. “You’re standing on top of a peak, the sky’s like it is right now, and you feel like there’s nothing keeping you from falling off this tiny earth into the vast sea of empty blue above except a little bit of ground, the loose boulder you’re standing on. You don’t want to get down. I - “

Platoon crackled on once more. “Alright, we’re behind the curve that leads into Kardaz valley.” “Alright, we got you. There are a few farmers I’m pretty damn sure have at least an old Mosin, but they’re in the fields, you know, probably locals protecting their place and not Altaris.” Platoon rogered, some more conversation continued in the background, and the valley’s idyllic silence returned for a bit.

“Yeah, anyways, as I was saying, of course you gotta get down eventually. Can’t stay in the sky, gotta return to earth and all its shit.” Ċaltulu took a drag of his cigarette. “... Damn, Ari. You know, I feel like I never really appreciated that sort of stuff, always caught up in meaningless vapid shit for a quick bit of fun. I’m from Avari, of course - “ “We got ourselves an Alistani Islamist here, man! ‘There is no god but -’ “ holding up an index finger, adopting an intentionally bad Altari accent. “Hah, very funny. I’m from Avari, Vilats Avari, so I’m Christian supposedly - and you know the Shahada isn’t even a terrorist thing really? That’s the Takbir. Anyways, I was trying to be a Stasnovan gopnik and shit in my shitty apartment back then, hanging out with a bunch of assholes like me that I don’t even remember now. I feel like I wasted all that, all meaningless. Same shit now, that’s why I’m here in Altar.”

“Yeah, I get that. It’s not like I went out up there for the deep experience or whatever, or even that I even appreciated that feeling back then - I was just shirking my duties trying to get away from those stupid fucking goats. We lost at least a few because I was being an idiot back then. And I sort of joined for the same reason - wanted to get out of town, so I slacked off at university for two years then signed up for the army after my service period ended, picked up a rifle and I’ve been in Eastern Vilats and Altar since then for four years.” “Altar? This was before the war?” “Yeah, we had a few people for training and shit in Saldavistan and Alistan. Anyways, yeah. Feel the same shit, I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out. Probably back to university, probably not back to Şayïs. Grandfather died last year, grandma moved to Eral.” Silence came on them again, the clouds slowly moving over the vista as they waited for the platoon to come within sight and occasionally scanned the slow village below. Farmers moved up their fields at work and the river rushed downstream to the south, towards the rest of Altar.

A commotion down below, though inaudible to the two men, alerted them to the arrival of the small convoy before it came into sight around the last bend. The farmers must have passed on the message, for the villagers closest to town were already rushing to their houses in Kardaz. “Watch out, platoon, there’s at least… a dozen? maybe more, armed villagers, don’t know if hostile - Ċal, watch him with the AK - yeah, other side of the road behind the wall - weaponry’s not too advanced, again not sure if they’re local defense or Altaris who stayed behind.” Platoon affirmed and came into sight around a grove about a kilometer to the north. One rusty APC and three flatbed trucks. Ağrigvalä turned back to the village too get some sights for Ċaltulu. Most of the men had already assumed positions, hiding (with varying degrees of effectiveness) along the road into Kardaz. “At least one guy with a bomb, he’s hiding in the irrigation ditch next to this well. Of course stop a safe distance away. We’ll have you covered otherwise. Got it? - Ċal, you’re looking at… around 275 meters. Wind’s more or in our face, shouldn’t have to account too much for that… and don’t shoot unless they engage first. Actually, not until the Saldavis start if they do.” Ċaltulu settled into position, leaning up against the boulder a bit more.

The convoy stopped where it had been designated, the vehicles spaced out with the APCs in front. Everything was still. Behind a village wall, one of the men visible to the Saldavi forces adjusted his grip on the Mosin he was holding. Soldiers in the flatbeds nervously crouched, prepared to dismount at a moment’s notice. Finally the APC’s hatch was thrown open from the inside; and, finding no stream of bullets directed his way, the platoon leader Abdolä popped out first his rifle, then his head, and finally clambered down to the ground. Ċaltulu took a breath and went over once more the position of each potential hostile. He appeared to call out, and after a few more tense moments of gun-aiming and -adjusting, the apparent leader of the village militia with the Kalashnikov brought down his rifle and shouted back, though still from the dubious cover of the mud wall. “Not shooting each other yet,” muttered, from Ċaltulu. “Yet. Keep your sights on ‘em.”

But after a few more grueling minutes of negotiation shouted over a fifty-meter stretch of dusty rural road, a tense and silent village on one side and a pack of wound-up soldiers on the other, the ever-expanding list of potential casualties in Altar was shortened slightly - ever so slightly. Abdolä called backwards, and after some shuffling nine of the thirty-four men in the platoon walked the road with him to greet, not-quite-friendly, the militia leader. He motioned into town and they followed. Only then did the farmers get up from their hiding-places, still keeping a firm hand on whatever weapon they used. Some rushed to join the militia-leader and Abdolä. “We good?” “Ehh… be ready, but I’d say the situation’s diffused.”

The sun lowered a few degrees closer to the distant jagged horizon, Abdolä soon returned and the sniper team was radioed. “We can spend the night; village leaders want us out by the morning. Of course we intend to continue then anyways, no big deal.” “Alright. Who are they, then?” “Saldavi. Killed the Altaris once they tried to go over to Fesevëşrë… Not affiliated with us, though; leader’s been part of some Saldavi nationalist organization. A bit more active in the north and east of Saldavistan. Fairly scattered group overall. But, you know, as long as they aren’t Altari fascists we’re all good.” “We can come -?” “Yeah, we don’t need coverage anymore. Just go north first so they don’t see you.” Ağrigvalä switched to channels to inform Vilatic air command that the vilalge was in friendly hands, and they set off over and around the rocky hillside, meeting up with their Saldavi platoon an hour later.

Night fell, signalling a brief and incomplete cession of hostilities in Altar, a break that permitted hasty burials of comrades or a night drinking whatever home-brewed alcohol could be found to forget it all, to fly away into the night sky. Until the drink wore off, and reality returned. Here, laying in sleeping rolls around their trucks south of Kardaz, was another place to forget that, to be deliberately unaware of the conflict happening to east and west, north and south. But even they would have to leave in the morning and enter into that.

---

“Hey, get off my chest, Ari. Remember, no fucking in the military - strictly against the law.”

“Eh, fuck off - my pack’s too full of all the shit I carry for you and I’m gonna be huffing the fumes of this truck if I move over. Sound’s like you’re just jealous that you’re gonna wake up with a neck cramp.” They both looked up into the speckled blackness above, Ċaltulu kicking Ağrigvalä as the latter adjusted his head. A few more minutes passed. More quietly, “Watch out for these villagers, man. Might not be our enemies, but certainly not our friends.”

“Think they’re gonna murder us in the dark? Heh, we got a watch anyways. Abdolä seemed friendly enough with the guy, you know, once they got past the whole pointing-guns-at-each-other stage.”

“Mmm. They’re all Saldavi, though; nationalism and all that.” Ağrigvalä scratched his chin - he needed to shave. “Anyways. Goodnight.”

“Night, man.”

[Alosteq Diin Nastja]

Foreign Minister Ämad Tarğanavli stepped up to the podium. “Today, on the first of July, I speak to the people of Saldavistan, the people of Alfashir, and ultimately the people of the world. Just a few days ago, a small group of Saldavi revolutionaries crossed the border and entered Kuringustan in order to liberate ethnically Saldavi towns and villages currently under control of the Kurdû government. This incursion was relatively short-lived, as they were defeated at the first town they came across. Allegations that the Saldavi revolutionaries were the aggressors in this tragic battle and that the government of our Free Republic was fully aware of this group’s actions and the events which were to transpire have swarmed the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and our Ministry of Defence in the past week, and only now have we deemed it sufficiently important to address these accusations and correct misconceptions which have formed in the wake of this incident.

“Firstly, we deny the claim that the Free Republic of Saldavistan was entirely aware of this group and its intents. While Saldavistan does recognise that these actions were honourable and completely justified—Saldavistan shall not be free until all Saldavis gain the right to self-determination—and that several of this group’s members were soldiers in the Saldavi army, our government never authorised them to invade Kuringustan. As much as the Kuringustani government will attempt to deny it, the joint commission appointed by the Ministries of Defence and of Foreign Affairs has determined that, in reality, the Kuringustani government itself was the primary sponsor of this group. They purposefully directed the Saldavi militia towards a hostile Arab village, which then ruthlessly murdered the militiamen and stole their weaponry. This is simply an attempt to undermine the legitimacy of the Free Republic and generate sympathy towards not only the Arab National Army but also the illegal Kurdû government which claims jurisdiction over the Saldavi nation.

“Secondly, the FRS officially claims the Saldavi territory in Kuringustan for Saldavistan. Historically, Saldavistan has been subjugated by foreign powers not just from Alfashir, but also from other areas of the world. The imperialists—intentionally or otherwise—split Saldavistan into three parts, and the result has been nothing but chaos and disenfranchisement for the Saldavi people. After so long without, we deserve our independence, our stability, and our safety as a nation from the external forces which continuously threaten Saldavis with extinction; just over sixty years ago was the greatest atrocity against Saldavis to date. Though today we recognise also the fact that it is necessary to ally ourselves with our old enemy in order to defeat the more powerful governments with an interest against the existence of Saldavistan, namely the Glorious Republic of Altar, the Islamic State of Alistan, the Arab terrorists, and the Democratic Confederalist Republic of Kuringustan.

“Thirdly and lastly, we will refrain from taking further action against Kuringustan for their blatant support of terrorism and prospective tools for the genocide of the Saldavi people. For now, we extend a diplomatic hand to their government in order to avoid further bloodshed on either side. There’s enough bloodshed in Greater Altar already, we hardly need more. Well, except perhaps for the ISA.”

The majority of the audience members chuckled at this quip, but others sat in a stunned silence that such a high-profile government employee would publicly call for the deaths of mass numbers of people. The smallest minority of the audience—two people, to be precise—was visibly outraged by Tarğanavli’s statements.

“How can you insult our nation like this?” one of the journalists demanded quite loudly over the noise of the rest of the audience. “All people who opposes our Caliphate are simply kuffār!”

By this point, the rest of the audience was silenced by the emerging spectacle. The other Alistani journalist chimed in, “Saldavistan will destroy itself in its degeneracy, and only then will you non-believers realise your errors!”

“You will taste my shoe!” the first journalist shouted. He quickly slipped his shoe off of his foot and hurled it at the Foreign Minister. Good aim combined with a total lack of preparation led to Tarğanavli taking the projectile to the face quite hard, and he almost fell over. As the journalist was getting ready to take off his other shoe, the military police rushed the two journalists and restrained them both. Kicking and screaming, they were escorted out of the room and they began their trip to the deportation office fifteen minutes away..

“I think I’m gonna keep this,” Tarğanavli said as he picked up the shoe. “Anyways, I thank you for your time and the opportunity to rectify the position of the legitimate government of the whole of Saldavistan in this incident, and I hope it sparks a new age in the negotiation for the freedom of the Saldavi people. Long live our Saldavi Motherland!”

The room erupted in a slurry of questions directed towards the Foreign Minister. Without saying another word, he and his entourage left the stage and made their way to the vehicles outside. Unsatisfied, the army of journalists from across the globe attempted to follow them outside, but they were stopped by the remaining police force for the sake of the officials and their safety. In such times as civil war, any seemingly neutral entity could suddenly take up arms against another; any one of these journalists could have smuggled in a knife with which they could execute an assassination attempt. But without further incident the officials drove off, presumably back to their respective buildings and offices.

---

“We’re coming up towards the town now,” the radio operative said. Another tank company consisting of twelve vehicles total had been deployed to the front by the Saldavi military as the battle for the small town of Šetser came to a head in the panhandle of Batiristan. The battle had begun a week ago as a small skirmish in the larger Saldavi offensive against GRA forces in the northeast. The advance into Altar had been slow; the GRA kept sending more and more soldiers to the front in an attempt to halt the Saldavi offensive, and in return the Saldavis only sent more of their own. Šetser was no exception to this, and the size of the battle ballooned as time progressed. The population of this town had long since fled or joined one of the two sides, and other than military personnel the area was abandoned.

“Might wanna watch out for mortar shells as you get closer to the action,” one of the commanders transmitted to the incoming tank company. Artillery, be it mobile or otherwise, was the focus of this battle. Days and nights both were marked by the constant boom of shells landing on either side of the front. Tanks dominated mobile combat, and very little infantry was actually deployed into Šetser.

The company followed a narrow dirt road to the command centre for the Saldavi forces. A large stretch of this road, perhaps a bit unstrategically, ran within the range of enemy fire. Thrice during this portion of the road were tanks nearly hit by enemy shells much to the consternation of their respective crews, but they ultimately made it safely to the offensive’s headquarters. The captain of the tank company disembarked from his vehicle to meet the group of messengers sent by the head commander. “How’s it been going here?” he asked.

“No progress has been made in either direction as of yet,” one of the officers responded. “Typically by now we would’ve advanced at least a little by now, but the Altaris are pushing a lot harder this time. We’ve been fighting the entire way to this damned village, but never this hard.”

“I see,” the captain said. This wasn’t good news in the slightest, and now his men and himself were being thrown into the mess as well. “I can’t imagine the town’s in great shape with the constant shelling.”

“I’m sure it’s looked better,” the officer said somewhat humorously. “It’s deadly as Hell in the labyrinth of ruins now. Can’t turn a corner without being shot at.”

Fantastic, the captain thought to himself. “I’ll... keep that in mind then. What exactly are we being assigned to do here?”

“You guys are gonna be heading into Šetser and hunting Altari rustbuckets,” he said. “How you go about completing that task is up to you, just watch out for mines, shells, and anti-tank infantry. The last isn’t too common, but a threat all the same.”

“Alright, thanks. When do we go in?”

The officer looked at his watch. “Now, basically. Your company was scheduled to enter Šetser at 13:00, and it’s 12:53 now. By the time you get there, it should hit the hour. Good luck.”

The captain walked back to his tank and got in. He’d studied a map of the town on the way over from Menteveziye and already had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to do. “Command didn’t give us a plan for attack, so here’s what we’re gonna do,” he started over the company’s radio. “We’re going to split up into three groups, one having two tanks and the others having five tanks each. The small group is going to enter the town from the centre just slightly ahead of the other two groups. Then the larger groups are going to enter the town in the roads one over from the roads directly parallel to the centre road. As the smaller group catches the attention of the enemy, the larger groups are going to take them out before the small group is actually hit. Clear?”

The other crews responded fairly positively to this plan. As they headed for Šetser, the tanks maneuvered themselves into the three groups and ordered themselves appropriately. Soon enough, they reached the town. As it turned out, the officer at command had severely understated the situation around the city. The Altari forces just initiated another artillery barrage and shells were hitting left and right. The smaller group attempted to advance, but the company’s first casualties were suffered as a Howitzer shell directly hit one of the tanks. The vehicle erupted into a ball of fire and began to emit clouds of black smoke, and it was obvious that there weren’t any survivors. Realising that his initial plan wasn’t at all feasible in light of this new information, he quickly worked out a new plan.

“Okay, we’re going to scrap the old plan. Instead, we’re going to stay in a single group and navigate around the town and attempt to target Altari batteries. Hopefully that’ll lessen the pressure on our guys.”

With that, the company proceeded to try this new plan. Luckily, the majority of the artillery installations were focussed on the town itself rather than its surroundings, so they got through relatively unmolested by enemy fire. Once they made it in sight of the batteries, the tanks positioned themselves as inconspicuously as possible and attempted to avoid any sighting by the cannon teams. Due to the general lack of cover, this was an impossible task and they were almost immediately discovered. The company opened fire on the batteries, and managed to take out a couple Howitzers before they were pushed back by return fire.

By the time the company made it back to command, four tanks were lost in total. The remaining men disembarked and went to get some much needed rest in the barracks.

[Reformed Britannia]

Regenstad, Confederation of Leutland
05:45 AM, 02/07/2017

It had been a rainy night in Regenstad.

The earthy smell of rain-drenched grass wafted up through the open windows of Verner Kratt, Chancellor of the Confederation. The muggy, humid haze which had blanketed the city prior to the rain had been lifted to reveal the beginnings of a rather spectacular sunrise, casting a scarlet glow over the sleepy capital of Leutland. Kratt stared into the distance, the fingers of his right hand absently fiddling with a lit cigar which produced a haze all its own. On the horizon, an ostentatiously large Leutish flag, flown from the Regenstad Military College, twisted and turned in the evening breeze, its fabric illuminated against the backdrop of the rising sun. A stirring sight for any Leutish patriot, the Chancellor mused.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the oak double doors barring the entrance of his office were suddenly flung open. A butler bearing a covered dish waltzed into the room and gingerly placed the dish at Kratt's empty seat. Wordlessly, he removed the cover, and the smell of fresh pandekager and pork sausage suddenly filled Kratt's nostrils. Breakfast was served. Setting his cigar down on an ashtray, the Chancellor pulled out his chair and sat at the mahogany desk, his hands immediately seizing some utensils and proceeding to carve up the syrup-drenched pancakes. But before he could take his first bite, another figure sat down at the table immediately across from him. It was his Foreign Minister, Emil Møller. A sigh escaped the Chancellor's lips.
"I see a man cannot even eat breakfast before attending to matters of state," he declared, before scarfing down the first piece of fried dough. Møller cleared his throat in response.
"With all due respect, sir, it was you who asked to see me. It's not as if I took my own initiative to spoil your breakfast."

Kratt nodded in response.
"True. But I was hoping you'd show up after pancakes," he contended past a mouthful of buttermilk and refined sugar. "Very well." He paused to swallow. "I suppose you know why you're here, then?"
An affirmative nod from Møller preceded his response. "Yes, sir. You wanted to discuss the Saldavi question. Namely, whether or not it would be beneficial to assist the FRS in some form." Møller cleared his throat before continuing. "I must state my opinion, sir, that I can hardly see the benefit to the Leutish nation in committing to any conflict. Alfashir is half a world away, and my conversations with the General Staff have indicated that maintaining our supply lines would be-"

A dismissive wave from the Chancellor cut him off as Kratt slowly shook his head. "No, no," he began before scarfing down another bite of pancake, "there would be no direct involvement. None at all." Kratt temporarily set down his fork and knife, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a serviette. "I was merely considering the possibility of supplying arms to the FRS."

Møller was still mystified. "Which is still no small undertaking," he interjected, rising from his chair. "In this case I would have to urge you, Werner, to consider the costs versus the benefits. We could be contributing to long-term destabilization of a region which has almost no geopolitical significance to us at the risk of isolating ourselves even further on the international stage. There is no practical benefit here to playing arms dealer in some sand-soaked pisspot of a country."

Kratt listened to his minister's words with a degree of amusement. A slow smile spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers in front of him.
"That's where you're wrong, friend. Consider this for a moment." Kratt's right hand seized his cigar from its ashtray, the tip still glowing a faint amber, and took a long drag before continuing. A billow of opaque smoke accompanied his next words.
"True, there is little immediate pragmatic benefit. But we must consider who we are, and what we represent. The Free State of Saldavistan struggles under the burden of the fascist Republic of Altar. It strives to create an ethnic Saldavi state founded upon the ideals of democratic socialism."

"I know where you're going with this," Møller interrupted, "and allow me to just say how unlikely it is that you could co-opt the Saldavis into Korporatist ideology!"
Kratt's smile suddenly disappeared, replaced by a cold leer that Møller knew only too well. The Federal Chancellor leaned forward in his chair, stone-faced.
"And why not? The ideological similarities are already there. All that's missing is a syndicalist economic structure-which wouldn't be a leap for a democratic socialist government-and an emphasis on the harmonization of class interests rather than class struggle. That might be a tougher sell, I admit." He blew another puff of smoke. "Besides, Emil, this country is in dire need of friends. We find ourselves at odds with both communists and fascists. If our country is to ever wield any true global influence, we need to start by sowing the seeds of the Glorious Cause. If the Fatherland is to have its place in the sun, Korporatism cannot remain a solely Leutish phenomenon forever."

Møller was exasperated. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, accompanied by the sound of his index fingers tapping lightly against the table, its motion fuelled by his racing thoughts. "Very well. I will look further into the...feasibility, of such a measure. But it will take time," he stated blankly, his tone one of resignation. Kratt grinned in response.
"Thank you, Emil. Have some of your people see if they can get into contact with anybody from the FRS. I want us shipping them LARs as soon as practicality permits."The foreign minister rose up to leave, and Kratt swivelled his chair around to face the grand window in his office. The city below was beginning to stir to life as the first golden rays of the rising sun finally split the shroud of darkness.

It was going to be a beautiful day in Regenstad.

[Sadahaan]

Outside Al-Misbanah, Southwest Seltap
01:31AM - Altari Militiamen

In the middle of the night, as the Arab villagers of the valley below slept peacefully, Altari militias in the mountains plotted to descend upon their homes and raise hell. Near one house at the top of one of the mountain peaks, seven Altaris hiked up the slopes behind the house. As the house came into sight, the group stopped.

"Abdullāh, heres the house. This is what we're going to do. Since nearby GRA units are fighting with the Arabs against the PRA, we have to take a detour and travel north through this valley. There's about three or so Arab villages throughout this valley, and we have to pass through here so we may as well neutralize this area. We start by clearing out this house, Abdullāh. We're going to walk inside with our knives and murder everyone inside, but keep it quiet. Don't alert the valley."

"Understood, Āmad."

The group of seven silently approached the house, knives in hand. Three took up positions to ensure nobody jumped out the windows. The men who would go inside applied cloths to mask their faces. Silently, they opened the door and crept in. The flour of the house was sandstone, to the relief of the Altaris, they stood a good chance at not alerting a single person. The first floor appeared to just be a large kitchen and foyer area with a man, teenager, really, sleeping on the floor. Āmad silently crept up to him, covering his mouth and nostrils with his left hand. With his right hand, he plunged the knife into the teenagers heart. Āmad started to flashback to memories of his childhood, suddenly feeling some regret. The four men crept up to the upstairs via staircase, and found the teenagers parents, sleeping. The four men all walked into the room and killed hem both. Job done, they crept back outside. Waiting a few minutes, they eventually encountered another group of Altaris.

Outside Al-Misbanah, Southwest Seltap
01:42AM - Altari Militiamen

A group of four men gathered now around a map laid on a table next to the person killed in the downstairs of the house.

"All of the outlying houses and huts are ever cleared out or were already abandoned in the first place, our scouts made sure of that. Seltzêk's group of about a hundred or so has snuck around behind the valley, now there is no escape for them. Kandan and his men will march into the village in the middle, Al Malfaq. Āmad's will take Al-Misbanah, and Seltzêk will take As Srat. Anyone who flees should be shot. We cannot afford witnesses. We make up almost all of the Altaris who crossed the border, we don't need GRA forces and Arabs on us this close to the PRA. Kill all of them and make them think the GRA had something to do with this. Don't make it obvious, just drop hints. Let's go."

Al-Misbanah, Southwest Seltap
02:56AM - Altari Militiamen

Gelštip walked into the village of Al-Misbanah with a column of comrades, armed with his UMP9. By now all the villagers in the valley had either been killed or were now captured. As his group entered, a line of villagers, tied up were blondfolded and placed up against a wall. His group formed a firing squad along the street. A man began quite nervously begging in improvised Altari.

"S-s-soldiers... let go us! We not aid our brothers in the Mujahidden... there no reason to target us..."

"Shut the hell up, scum. We shouldn't give you the dignity of a firing squad."

"Dont kill us!"

"Your brothers have died for their impossible cause, and you shall meet them once again."

With that statement, the Altari speaking fired at the man. The squad shot the rest, and double-tapped them to be sure they were dead. Wanting to leave before an Arab militia arrived, the sound of gunshots was heard as Altaris began piling into vehicles to leave the area. By 3 o' clock, the job was done. As the valley lie empty, looting Altaris stayed to ransack and pillage before the order to advance to the PRA territories was given. The houses laid empty and the streets flowed with blood as the day started. Soon, something to the effect of a political shitshow resulted.

[Zoboyizakoplayoklot]

Unnamed Arab Village, Northwestern Dūristan, Glorious Republic of Altar
The scorching sun hung high in the sky, the midday heat beating down on the small Arab village on top of the mountainous ridge. The image was almost picturesque, though somethings were visibly missing. No children played in the dirt streets, the chatter of village elders was nowhere to be heard, and despite being one of the hottest days so far this year, the only visitor to the well was a mouse hopelessly searching for scraps. Just outside the village, a small platoon of Zoboyizakoplayokloti soldiers waited patiently for their handful of ANA guides to finish assessing the situation. They spoke their native language in hushed voices, much to the irritation of the Zoboyizakoplayokloti's. After a few more minutes of passing a sole pair of binoculars between each other and taking turns observing the objective, one of the Zoboyizakoplayokloti's finally cut in.

"Hey, Muzzafar! Care to explain what's going on?" said Lt. Qobolta Bartan, directing the question to the only one of the Arabs that spoke a lick of Zobik.

A younger Arab man with a clean shaven face and scrawny build turned around, passing the binoculars to the Zoboyizakoplayokloti officer. "Have you own look," Muzzafar stuttered back.

Bartan gazed at the village. He immediately noticed the ensigna of the Glorious Republic of Altar stitched on identical uniforms being worn by a group of men sitting on a porch of a large house. More men in the same outfit walked the streets, and he noticed sporadic movement through the windows of the village houses. The lieutenant counted around thirty men, all of them armed.

"The persons of this village are long gone," explained Muzzafar. "The GRA occupied the place out of paranoia, and Shukri says rumours of the inhabitants being buried alive. Much bad has happened here."

Bartan pursed his lips. They were outnumbered; Eighteen Zoboyizakoplayoklotis plus four Arabs with weaponry from the colonial age and a severe lack of training. As the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis were better armed and better trained then the Altaris, his only worry was that being outnumbered would result in unnecessary casualties and a failure to take the village. Regardless of the risk associated with the mission, Bartan knew they would have to go ahead with the attack.

"Muzzafar, take your men to those rocks above the village and provide us with covering fire." He then turned to one of the Zoboyizakoplayokloti troops. "Bat-Erdene, lead an assault with half our soldiers from the opposite end of the village as the Arabs. The rest of us will attack from here."

Silently, trying to avoid being spotted (a difficult task as it was in broad daylight), the three groups moved to their positions. With the raise of a fist by the Zoboyizakoplayokloti lieutenant the Arabs kicked off the festivities, firing pot shots at the Altaris. With the enemy distracted, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis stormed the village, taking advantage of the stunned Altaris and easily disposing of the first few defenders. However, once the GRA troops had composed themselves and entrenched themselves in defensive positions, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis found the pace of the firefight to slow drastically, turning into more of a waiting game then an assault. Ultimately, after fifteen minutes of cat and mouse, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis had managed to eliminate all but three GRA fighters and cornered them into one brick building. Approaching the building with the rest of the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis, the sound of frantic Altari voices echoing through the village.

One of the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis, a brash and short tempered private, strolled casually up to the door and it with a sturdy kick. When it didn't budge and the only result was a shriek from the three Altaris, he frowned.

"It's obviously going to be barred, you damn teneglel." said another soldier. "The cowards probably also blocked the door with with whatever junk they could find inside."

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do? Blow up the house?" retorted the first soldier.

"Not quite," pondered Lt. Bartan. "Jibugen! Do you have a gerel?" A soldier towards the back of the pack nodded in response. "You know what to do then." Bartan said.

The soldier walked up to a wooden shutter on the side of the building and opened up a small sack attached to his belt. From within the sack he uncovered a red canister; an incendiary grenade.

"Tenger ta nart örshööliig ögökh boltugai!" he hollered as he punched open the shutter (which the Altaris had ignorantly forgot to block up), and threw the grenade inside. The trademark noise of an incendiary grenade going off soon followed, along with an inhuman scream from the Altaris. After a few bangs on the door and the crashes of furniture being moved out of the way, a seemingly unharmed Altari rushed out only to be jabbed in the stomach by the butt of a Tuman-519 service rifle. He was immediately followed by a second Altari patting out flames in his hair and uniform. He began to roll on the ground to put out the fire and soon found himself victim to a beating from two Zoboyizakoplayoklotis. The lieutenant was about to call his men off, but was distracted by a particularly gruesome sight. The final Altari flailed his way out from the building, engulfed in a cloak of orange. He screamed incoherently the smell of burning flesh polluting the air. While the other Altaris had been met with violence, this one was entirely avoided by the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis. He wandered over a few meters and died, lying on the ground like a burnt piece of meat on the side of ones plate. The Zoboyizakoplayoklotis cringed and grimaced. That was nothing to be proud of.

Within a few more minutes the remaining Altaris had been stripped and bound, prepared to be taken back to a ANF/ANA outpost, kept prisoner, and likely interrogated. All the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis were accounted for, and while ten or so soldiers had wounds of varying degrees from minor to severe, there were no casualties. Except for the Arab. He had been hit while providing cover fire as instructed, and had died on the spot. Muzzafar and the other two Arabs mourned him silently, the Zoboyizakoplayoklotis recognizing his passing by leaving them alone. Bartan watched the informal funeral and thought about how across the western border in Kwadai, his countrymen were training other Arabs to fight and possibly die, just as that man had. There were large influxes of volunteers, and Bartan knew that this would not be the last martyr to never see the end of the Arab struggle in Altar.

Shit was just getting started.

[Sadahaan]

Northwest Dediristan, GRA
05:53AM, July 16, 2017

The mountains of Northern Dediristan, south of Sultan was home to a train line which ran from the cities of Sultan and Arda in the north down and west to Serezek. Not many civilians used this railway, now it mostly ferried new conscripts from Arda and Sultan west to Seltap. In contact with the PRA ever since cell phone towers became a part of the local landscape, most of the Altaris were by now aware of what the situation in Seltap was like. Namely, infiltrating through was impossible. The only decent way in was through a brief excursion into ISA territory before arriving in North Seltap. In the trek up to Dediristan, many of the militiamen had found themselves killed by GRA reservist patrols. Now, informed that this area might be used by military assets, they wanted to at least contribute somewhat to the deadlock in Seltap.

The last day or so the group had been resting at a strategic point along the mountain railway, namely, a small outpost that now was littered with Altari bodies from both sides. A random pamphlet found in the signal operators room told them that a train loaded with troops would be approaching this section sometime around six in the morning today. At around 5:30AM, the troops were awakened and placed at very improvised ambush positions. Given about fourty men, Lt. Osām had command of this whole ambush. A few miles behind him were the other militiamen. He had yesterday ordered the guerillas to dig a line of shallow foxholes large enough for a single man to lie prone in. Given the mountainous terrain, the train had to cross a three-hundred or so foot long gorge on something not common in Altar: A steel bridge. The train would need to slow down in case ordered to stop by the signal, which as the train approached would be set to order the train to stop by a random guerilla.

Quite conveniently a RPG with a few rockets had been recovered, and now was in the hands of Kartan Āmettada Šavan Genderis. Kartan, a 17 year old was easily the youngest guerilla of them all but was seen as disposable, and was given the RPG incase a machine gun killed him or if he forgot to check for backblast. Kartans job was to as soon as the train began to slow down, fire off rockets at the bridge's support beams. If the train stopped before the bridge was destroyed, he was to fire rockets at the train. Kartan however was not used to waking up this early and was very groggy when given his orders. The fact that the sun would be in Kartans eyes the entire ambush didn't seem to help things. So when the train was heard in the distance, Kartan was on a rock ridge on one of the overlooking rockets, taking a good luck swig of cheap alcohol from his water jug, stolen off some dead GRA soldier.

When the train rang it's horn, Kartan panicked and closed his water jug as his comrades at the outpost prepared for a massive firefight. As he loaded a HEAT rocket into his RPG, it dawned upon him that he didn't remember what he was supposed to do first. Was he supposed to destroy the train at this range? Or was he supposed to take out the bridge as the train was on it? Frustration set in for Kartan as the train kept coming closer. He thought that he could accurately fire off a RPG and hit that train about two hundred feet before the bridge, hopefully disabling it or forcing it to stop, where afterwards he could take potshots at the train. He was incorrect. Noticing the train was slowly decreasing speed, noticing the signal before noticing the ambush, he decided now was never and fired off a RPG at the backside of the train. The rocket hit.

To the shock of the possibly sleeping or otherwise unalert GRA troops on the train, the HEAT rocket slammed into the second-to-last carriage, completely destorying the carriage and killing all the troops inside. The train deployed its emergency breaks and slammed to a halt as suddenly awakened troops rushed to grab their fighting gear. Though Kartan would get the piss taken him out for this later, Kartan was free for now to fire off his remaining three rockets. Kartan felt content to fire his other rockets at the bridges support beams, hoping to collapse the bridge and take this line out of commission for awhile. Firing off two rockets at some beans, it appeared as though he could have done moderate damage. With his last remaining rocket, he decided to fire it at the leading carriage, putting the train out of action for good.

Dozens of GRA troops however swarmed out of the stopped train and began returning fire, eventually downing Kartan. The rest of the guerillas however now found themselves in a intense firefight. Without RPGs to use, they were now down to looting a cache of artillery shells meant for this very train and sending men to stack them up at their side of the bridge, hoping to perhaps find one more RPG rocket to detonate the artillery shells and bring down the bridge with. As a group of four went back inside the captured outpost to look for more RPG's, another group rushed shells to under the bridge. It probably wasn't the best idea in the world though, as the Altari guerillas were placing another live shell, a random tracer round detonated one of the shells, setting off a chain reaction that destroyed the bridge. Both sides stopped firing as the massive explosion settled down.

[Kuringustan]

The House of the Kuringu Working Class Kurdû, Kuringustan
The Foreign Minister walked up towards the podium, had anger inside him, “How dare the Salvadis talk about the Confederation in this manner, it's absurd!“ he thought to himself . The room was enormous, and quite opulent with marble walls and chairs for journalists and other citizens, soldiers were also in attendance, sitting in various randomized points around the room for maximum security. Many journalists and citizens alike were simply watching, and wondering about a potential Kuringu Saldavi conflict. Fear was brewing, already the statements of the Salvadis had inspired public support.

"Hello Comrades, I am here to respond to a speech by the revisionist class traitors in the Free Republic of Saldavi, which seek nothing more than to divide the working classes of Alfashir to the interests of the Acronious and Kwandai bourgeoisie! They want the end of the Kuringu Revoution we know it for the fascist terror our people suffered under the Bathists, all in the name of 'salvation'. I see these people as nothing more than pigs, just like the ones in Kwandai. First he claims he didn't know anything about the terrorists that brutally attacked the Arab proletarian in the village in Selşevli Canton, and the he applaudes them. He calls the actions of these terrorists 'honorable' a statement that should be absolutely reprehensible and shows the Saldavi terrorists have no care for the Saldavi citizens they claim to be liberating, when they're rather pillage their villages . He then goes on to claim the councils of the Republic supported these terrorists, a claim with absolutely 0 basis and evidence while the honorable intelligence officers of Kuringustan and our great media have found mountains and mountains to support them directly supporting these terrorists. They claim our government is illegal, when it only survives on the mandate of the people! the people of Kuringustan, whether Kurin, Arab, Saldavi, or any group that wishes to call us their home. We give the Saldavi full right to self determination, and they get to make their own decisions as power flows from the bottom up. Thus far united they have been far more safer and prosperous then the traitors of the FRS! They are merely class traitors who seek the subjugation of the Saldavi people under the repressive nation state and capitalist modernity.

Next they claim the Kuringu Revoution is nothing more than imperialism, when the whole ideology of Kuringustan is based on achieving maximum freedom for the individual, and not being coerced by the oppressive systems of capitalist modernity . Our great Comrade Tisha laid the framework for a new society! One founded on freedom, equality, and democracy! They only ask for division, to give up your identity and freedom for an ethnostate! The Saldavi people of Kuringustan have already decided, they don't want some bourgeoisie concept of the traditional dominant nation state! They want a new state, founded in Democratic Confederalism! They were some of the bravest fighters and most competent councilors we've had in the Revolution! I will accept diplomacy, but on one condition, the FRS agrees to give up all claims of Kuringustani territory, arrest the terrorists, and adopt the realizations of Comrade Tikon! Biji Kuringustan!!"

The Minister placed down his mic, and cried,” BIJI KURINGUSTAN”, the crowd became infused with enthusiasm,many patriotic cries came from the crowds, and many began singing revolutionary songs. Then suddenly a gunshot rang from the crowd, the crowd immediately screamed and ducked down. The shooter stood up with a black mask covering his face, preserving his anonymity. "Death to Kuringu Imperialists!" he cried bringing up his gun. Soldiers slowly walked up towards him, careful not to provoke the terrorist, they aimed their guns at him and while a young male soldier attempted the shot, the man noticed and took a citizen hostage. A young mother, she began to cry and calm her children, “please don't shoot me, please, don't you have any mercy “ she sobbed. The man uncaring shot her, her children and husband crying, he then ducked as the soldiers started shooting at him. He took out some explosives and tied them around himself, then he ran towards a dense cluster of Kuringus. Immediately as a young female soldier took aim he took out a match towards the explosives. "Don't you dare shoot, imperialist pig, or this room will go boom! ", other soldiers arranged around him, the room grew more and more tense, babies were crying and the man was simply smiling.The man then took out a timed bomb. "5 minutes, starting now, and this room will go boom. Take this as a message you imperialist fuckers. FREEDOM FOR THE SALDAVI PEOPLE", the soldiers moved closer. He tied the bomb to the explosives, a clear suicide bombing. The soldiers knew this was no time for diplomacy and arranged around him in a circular fashion, extremely tender . A male soldier from the back shot him, and the man fell down, dead. The timed bomb and the explosives were quickly removed, and deactivated. The council's saw this as a clear provocation against Kuringustan, and public support for intervention grew to new heights. Many urged the armies to get involved, and soon the Council of Foreign Affairs have a statement, “If the FRS doesn't give into Kuringustani demands in 48 hours, a state of war will be declared against the illegitimate sub-fascist nation state and a campaign of blockade and airstrikes is to begin immediately .
All claims of territory outside Atlar is to be revoked, and all propaganda efforts defunded
The FRS will build a council democracy based upon the Democratic Confederalist system, and dissolve the Parliament
The FRS will allow Kuringustani bases in the region to combat the fascist tyrannies of the ISA and GRA
The FRS will accept Kuringustani officials to help develop up the region
A referenda will be held to join the Selsevi Canton”

[Alosteq Diin Nastja]

The Saldavi government was in a state of shock following the Kuringustani Foreign Minister’s statements regarding the state of relations between Saldavistan and the Democratic Confederation. If Kuringustan became involved in the war against the FRS, the Saldavis would be forced to fight on two fronts. The northern regions of Saldavistan were practically devoid of Saldavi soldiers excluding a few militias; the general lack of expansion on the part of the ANA and the previously less antagonistic relations with the DCRK had convinced the Saldavi National Army that diverting soldiers from the southern front would be a waste. The offensive against the GRA would likely be turned around, Altari Saldavistan would be split into two occupation zones, and the already rapidly growing pool of refugees would only increase further.

Foreign Minister Ämad Tarğanavli, in his typically proud manner, stepped up to the podium. “I speak to the great nation of the Saldavi people in the states of Altar, Kuringustan, and Vilats when I make this address. We must remain united in our struggle for national liberation, and we must not lose hope even in the most precarious of times. The war against the Fascists has, so far, been going extremely well for our nation. The armies of the GRA have continuously been pushed farther and farther back behind our borders, and for the time being those who have not yet gone to the front will not have it forced upon them.

“However, just a few hours ago the Kuringustani state to our north has issued an antagonistic ultimatum against our Saldavistan. They have demanded that we give up our claims outside of Altar, our propaganda bureau defunded, our land be utilised for the benefit of Kuringustani soldiers, our acceptance of Kuringustani sponsorship of our government, and that a referendum will be held in Zebaşre and Tevik to join the DCRK. On behalf of the free Saldavi government, I refuse this ultimatum’s demands.

“In their representative’s address to our government, they have claimed that they give their Saldavi population the right to self determination. If this is so, why has control of the Saldavi regions of Kuringustan not been fully transferred to the FRS?

“They also order that we dismantle our Informational Bureau. This is clearly an attempt to prevent the free flow of the truth to the Saldavi people of Kuringustan and demoralise our own population, and we will not allow for such action to be taken.

“The Kuringustanis declare that we must also open our land to occupation by their armies under a pretense of combatting the Fascists. I wish I could say this was the most blatant attempt to bring Saldavistan under their imperialist wing, but I am sad to say the worst is yet to come.

“They also insist that we allow our government to accept funding from that of the DCRK. This is hardly a hand of support offered to us, but instead an excuse to purge our government of Saldavi nationalists and instate pro-DCRK puppets in their places.

“In an astounding move of imperialism, the Kuringustani government also mandates that a referendum to join the DCRK is to be held in the FRS. This is unacceptable, and we will not give up our independence until every Saldavi man, woman, and child is killed in the struggle for national liberation.

“I refuse these demands at no small cost. They have also stated that if we do not accept this ultimatum within forty-eight hours, they will declare war and launch a full invasion into Saldavistan. This is an obvious excuse for the ultimate goal of the DCRK to control and subjugate the population of all of Alfashir for the Kurdû peoples, and they knew that we would never accept such a treaty. They even planted a supposed Saldavi terrorist at the deliverance of this ultimatum to even further justify their imperialist aggression! It is disgusting that a nation would employ agents to kill its own people for the sake of economic domination. But before the DCRK unleashes the full power of its terrorist military against us, I request that diplomatic talks be initiated between our countries so that we might reach a more peaceful end to this explosion in tensions. A war between our countries would be beneficial to neither party. Long live the Saldavi people!”

Tarğanavli quickly left the stage and all questions from the journalists present were denied in an attempt to prevent a repeat of the incident at his last address. While the throwing of the shoe had become known almost universally in the FRS and had rapidly become an object of ridicule against the ISA, it was still an issue of national security for shoes to be thrown at high-ranking government officials.

---

In the streets, in the newspapers, and on the televisions across Saldavistan, the government sent out an emergency message to the citizenry just a few hours before the Tarğanavli’s speech. “In light of recent diplomatic events, the freedom of Saldavistan is in an ever more precarious position. We are locked between two extremely hostile nations, one with which we are at war, and another nation which could easily have an old hatred reignited and turned against us. As such, the original mandatory conscription of two in three able-bodied men and one in four able-bodied women of the ages of seventeen to thirty will be expanded, effective today. All able-bodied men and women of the ages of eleven to fifty (able-bodied volunteers of ages above the maximum will also be accepted) will receive mandatory self-defence and military training sponsored by the Saldavi National Army. Training sessions will be daily between the hours of 18:00 and 19:00, and failure to attend these sessions is punishable as the military court in your area sees fit. Trained civilians will not be sent to the front, and will only serve to defend their homes against potential attackers. The Saldavi Motherland calls you! Victory will be ours! Glory to the Saldavi nation!”

This message was broadcast over radio and television thrice throughout each of the first four days of training sessions, and run in the daily newspapers for a full week in an attempt to reach the entirety of the Saldavi population.

---

Both Altari and Saldavi soldiers had been locked in brutal battle in Šetser for over a month now. A little over two thousand, fairly equally spread over the SNA and FAA, had been killed in the fierce fighting and constant artillery barrages. Aircraft were so far virtually unused throughout the battle, though that was about to change as the Saldavis began a new offensive from the air.

Out of a desperation to end the battle and continue the advance into the GRA, the Saldavis formulated a new plan to level the entire town and hopefully a considerable number of Altari troops and batteries in several, by Altari standards large, bombing raids by the admittedly limited Saldavi National Air Force. The GRA, itself quite lacking in air power, would not expect the Saldavis to launch an air campaign during such a battle. Thus, the conditions were ripe for a surprise attack.

Twelve Saldavi bombers, flanked by four fighters, flew fast through the skies towards Šetser and the accompanying Altari artillery batteries. As they grew ever closer, the low rumble of the engines could be heard by those on the ground through the omnipresent booming of shells. Soldiers on both sides of the battle briefly became distracted by this unfamiliar new sound, and looked to the skies for the source. Just as many were gazing into the relatively dark sky for the aircraft, an explosive rain began to fall on the town. Mass panic in both the Saldavi and Altari ranks set in as the town was engulfed by fireballs; the Saldavis has not made an effort to lower the number of its own soldiers in the town for fear of an Altari forward thrust and in the interest of keeping the surprise attack a secret.

Directly following this first bombing raid, the SNA reinitiated its offensive on the Altari forces with a huge wave of infantry and tank power. Within just a couple hours, it became clear that further bombing raids would be unnecessary as the Altari defence collapsed in practically its entirety and the Saldavis were once again free to advance.

[Krosny-Zdzieszowice]

Somewhere over Northeast Altar

"Pilots, here is the current situation on the ground. The Saldavi forces in the northeast of Altar have beaten back GRA forces after a air raid that destroyed the will of the GRA to fight in the major town of Šetser. Our job today is to finish what the Saldavis started and destroy as many retreating GRA forces as we physically can. Our superiors have seen it fit to assign twelve planes to bombing and strafing all retreating forces in the region, so air superiority is essentially guaranteed. Not to say that there won't be AA, but rest safe tonight. This sortie will be swift and will be impactful. Make this quick."

The arrowhead column of planes, twelve Su-27s and Su-30s, fitted out with anti-vehicle and position munitions as well as guns to mow down infantry flew through the midnight skies of Altar. Krosny was at this very moment the most powerful Air Force in northeast Altar and intended to make short work on GRA forces in the region. After all, every tank and howitzer destroyed was one that couldn't fire on a PRA position or a Saldavi village.

Shortly after the broadcast from the leading pilot, the group dispersed into four flights, three planes in each and spread out all over the area to begin looking for scattered units. It was not long before one plane using thermals locates what appeared to be a small number of maybe four tanks and some infantry. Another few minutes passed before authorization to fire came. When it did, the plane repositioned and, heading in a straight line towards the tank column, did a strafing run, scattering infantry on the tanks, before letting off two JDAMs onto the column, destroying all but one vehicles. Another JDAM promptly eliminated the last one and a second strafing run killed most of the infantry. After that, more reports of larger groups came in.

All around the area, reports sporadically flooded in of tanks, towed artillery, supply vehicles and some infantry retreating came in as bombing runs were executed, bombs and bullets reeking havoc upon the Altari forces, surely to the glee of the Saldavis who would be informed tomorrow morning that many GRA tanks had been obliterated. As expected, almost no AA was encountered, actually, none in fact. Victorious Krosnian planes flew off back to Vilats as midnight turned to around 3AM. In just a few hours, the tactical position in the area had changed.

Wloszczowa-Szczekociny, Krosny

Krosnian Minister of Defense, Krzysiek Jarosław walked up to a podium at the meeting hall of the administrative building in the tiny village of Wloszczowa-Szczekociny in southern Krosny to give a announcement regarding the situation of Krosnian planes being deployed to Alfashir. This meeting ball, usually quiet in mornings like this was filled with reporters anxious to get footage of the Minister making his announcement. The five foot nine brown-haired man in a suit, in his late thirties was rather well dressed for occasions like these. After minor talk with aides on the podium, Krzysiek began his news conference.

"... As I'm confident that most of those who are viewing this conference are aware, Krosny has deployed a number of planes to our ally, Vilats to aid the struggle of our Altari allies of the People's Republic of Altar. In the past months these planes mainly served the purpose of assisting Vilats in maintaining air corridors in the region as well as bombing various locations of importance to the enemies of the People's Republic of Altar.

"The Saldavis yesterday scored a victory against the fascist "Glorious Republic of Altar" by driving them from the city of Šetser, and in the early night of today, Krosnian aircraft performed a sortie and damaged or destroyed many of the GRA's assets and personnel retreating from Šetser, most of the damage being inflicted upon towed artillery pieces and armored vehicles. Krosny has not made its alliance with the PRA a secret nor has it ever intended to. Today we congratulate the victory our brave pilots in the military have achieved, and we hope for more at minimum cost.

"The fight for our Altari comrades will be a long one and we aim to assist them in the liberation of the peoples of Altar whenever we can. Chwała Krosno!"

To the applause of essentially all of the Krosnian media at the meeting hall, the exceptions being foreign media who weren't expected to show visible reaction, the Minister stepped out of the meeting hall under guard and made his way to a vehicle outside, asked questions the entire way outside.