[IC-MT] The Theban War

[Erythrean Thebes]

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γενόμενον μοι ὑπό πίστεως τάδε θεέ

μιμνήσκε ἐπαγγέλμα, ταραχῶν κατερχόμεν᾽

ὅν ἐλέου ἀνυπέρβλητε ἐφάνας ὧδε.

ταύτην ὁρμᾶσθαι ναῦν ποίει πρός καταφύγην

εἰς χεῖρες δὲ καὶ με ἀφίει αὐτῶν νομοῦ

The Prayer of Castor (c. 331 BC)

City of Thebes
At the Meeting Grounds of the Great Council

It was a wonderful blade, crafted from a massive piece of steel carved down to perfection and engraved ever so softly with the lyrics of Pindar, the great muse-speaker of homeland’s distant shore, and when Isandros King of Thebes pulled it from the scabbard by one arcing motion the edge had a hurtling momentum of its own that yanked the arm of the sovereign lord out beyond his wobbling shoulder and nearly pulled from his fingers, yearning to be free at the heat of carnage and the terrible confusion of war. Sunlight fell down with scintillating glare upon the razor of Hagias Protector of the City, and all on the hills sitting in their seats felt the breath of astonishment thrill their throat to see the blade of royalty pulled out again where once the mercy of justice and sacred law had put war’s strife away in sheath for four-hundred years. And as the King in all his thick royal garb looked with duty’s cold determination upon the steel laid aside by his forefather Theron for the safety of all the people he pumped his weapon to the sky and he spoke to the nation in these words:

“In no light act did my blessed ancestor Theron King of the City put away his sword to remit the sins against the divine verdict passed over royal power by the strife of the people. But I will bring this steel again to the battlefield and let the law of arms stand in for justice, so that might will speak for us and shout down the barbarians who do talking with din and confusion.”

Over all the hills and crests of the sacred grove where the Theban people came beneath the open sky to debate matters of the highest importance the banners of the tribes and cities fluttered in the wind, wafting over the heads of stern-faced kings and the eminent men appointed to appear beside them in noble effluent dress like the olden days of great boggling pageants before breathless mobs of people. They formed together a vast wide circle of nearly half a mile running low down to the edge of the field by the country river and winding up, high and bumpy to where the King of Thebes and his crown consuls stood atop the summit of their royal tribunal. And though there was great potential for discord in such many and widely spread ranks of people, on account of the gravity of the issue and by virtue of custom they all kept a solemn silence, squinting into the sun, their hair and clothes whisking around underneath gusts from the salty sea.

Thence stood to his feet at great anticipation Minthrumos the King of Charbonna, the tokens of his royal dignity swinging about his neck and hands with awesome aplomb, and with mad brown eyes searching the whole assembly of the land he bound their seething spirits together in the quivering grasp of his fist. “These terrible words of war sound for all men of good and right standing in our republic! For I still remember the days when death’s thundering cruelty coming in grand destruction tore great walls of fire upon the deep sea of Erythraea and spat out smog to kill us from the depths of evil’s lusting ambition.” His was the weighty influence earned of old age, though thin and wrinkled beneath flowing robes his limbs were strong, and when he declaimed he commanded respect by the sight of his power radiating from the expression of rule. “And I remember the alliance, our commonwealth of arms, which threw back Fascism and preserved the life of our democracy, and the days in which soldiers even of a hundred nations could all say proudly that they kept the sovereign virtue of the City of Thebes!”

Rejoined the Chancellor of the City in a loud and pleasant voice of careful taste, “let us have no doubt that the words of the King write writ commandment for all with the privilege of life in the nation of Apollo Savior. For this congress of nations ruled long in the amity of peace made by heartfelt agreement, but our grand experiment must be wise enough to see when the road of our destiny has departed from the age of concord into the time of alarums at mortal peril. And so secure in what we have produced, let it be for us to put forward no obstruction in the time of arms and let the people follow their kings with honor to the seal of a new congress, and a new sunrise over the commonwealth of those who obey the Law.”

“ἐγείρετε πολίται!” Cried the King in a thundering voice that rumbled out of the pit of his chest, the sword shining over his head, “who will take up their arms for the City of Thebes?!”

“νίκατέ!” they screamed in a great and bustling mass scattered over the rolling lands of the Theban forest, “conquer,” jumping up and down and with hands beating at their breasts the people of all the nations sealed their vote for war, for the law of arms, for the King of Thebes and his loyal companions to hold shield and spear and stand as the champion of freedom before the coming clouds of total war descending over their kin and neighbor land just across the edge of the sea.

---

The War Room
Within the Royal Palace

Seeing the speedy approach of his stoic overlord Isandros, the civilian-clothed security guard beside the door sharply reached out his white-gloved hand and flicked the knob so as to uncover the cramped conference room filled with young attaches at angsty-standing attendance and the panel of the King’s warrior companions packed tight around the enameled circumference of the monarchy’s lengthy and gold-encrusted sitting table. They all shot to their feet when they saw his wide form appear in the doorway but few had escaped past the crouch of deference before business’ impatient magnanimity chided them keep their seats. “Sit, sit,” he insisted to their uncertain stares, “Bele, bring me a chair,” he added to the already scurrying attendant who plunked a wooden seat at the head of the congregation. Shedding his coat for thinner dress the King eased himself down to the table.

“Good to see you my lord,” came the hale greeting from Aratus son of joyful Antikles the law-keeping, whose laureled offspring bore wide the mantle of steadfast devotion in his impetuous strides through discourse and war.

From waiting hands at his side Isandros received his pen and the summaries of his many scouts and lieutenants put together on paper about as thick as the measure of his outside finger; others did the same or they leaned back in readiness to parry the questions of their commanding officer on the emergencies of the moment. Flicking with moistened finger the King frowning tightly pointed out to himself by close inspection the contours of the emerging storm. “What word from Moscow?” he almost mumbled looking at the word of massing troops and early gunfire in the ebullient state of Azerzetnia.

Answered Dolon the Lord Chief of Ambassadors, “my King we cannot prevail upon them to admit anything even at the frankest inquiry. They would have us think that we are fools to impute this war upon themselves.” His cunning had passed through much and his intellect of over fifty years savored of a deep skepticism when he all but mused his words in the poetry of sour nonsurprise. “But since they have been ready to make much hyperbole for their own defense out of our demands I have not troubled to try any further.”

“Kindly try it one more time,” the King ordered with no little bitterness inside his own mouth, “and this time I would have you include that there is nothing to hide, for we will be there and they will make little distinction for themselves when they cross the threshold as enemies.” Sternly he turned his head to a closer councilor. “Eupole, tell me of your intention to fight this foe.”

With no little tone of caution spoke dark-eyed Eupolos, the Fox of Metaria, whose mind when pointed by reflection raced winding trails up and through the mountain face of wild impossibility. “My King I care little for the Stalinists, their impudent insult to your honor left aside, but I am keen to seen the Soviets and let them stand accountable for their deeds. And so I have proposed a choice for the Marxists and a trap held inside, to bid them make their decision if to fight and to punish them if they may choose wrongly. See a proud fleet, distinguished of your clan, carrying all the contingents of warfare on the sea, one to cow the eye at the general’s glance – but your royal footsoldiers lord, though fierce in fighting, are here a proud few locked just above the chest with the impudent rabble of our sister-land. So let the Soviets think that they will tip the balance by some great number and slaughter the pride of your army, when instead they will hold out their neck for the great bulk of your host to chasten them in force and exhibit the mark of their foul intention to all the free world.”

Isandros nearly snorted but was not at ease enough when he thought of the bright and prideful bait which his Lord Commander of the Royal Guard had devised to throw out like crisps of flesh to an uncertain foe. “But the trap will be about ourselves, Eupole, if a sudden push from the Communists sets the boot too deep into the high-ground of swarming numbers across the cities and coast of our friend Baal.”

“My lord the Soviets cannot hide the rash the journey they will make across the open sea to try and stick the spear into the heart of your fatherly affection,” and Eupolos son of Ismaros spoke urgently with the hunter’s husky anticipation, when crouched in the brush of civil defense he dared to imagine baited heartbreak turned to honor unparalleled for master and commander and Theban nation, the Tarpeidian Band graced by the service of Isandros’ son spun away from the feigned image of death to the shrewdly-won palm of wartime victory. “No sooner will they commit themselves to charge into the breach they believe they see when the onrush of your reinforcements will send the shiver of fear down their spine and clinch them in the wearisome prospect of long bloody siege – and whether they retreat before the tribunal of world opinion or impel themselves to the maw of death we will have them out, and you will have whatever you need upon the fields of Baal to protect the country.”

“My lord King,” now declared in a bold voice Linus the Prince of Ambitria, sat firm in readiness passed in lineage from father to son by endless riding and hawking upon Anglyria’s shifting hills, “do not despise the hope of victory for the portent of sacrifice contained within. For the life of the soldier is held out all for you, lord, offered like fabled stones to country so that necessity unhindered will propitiate the law of nations with ability. And even if it were better for Your Mercy to keep in security the life of your sworn doormen at home still somewhere I, or my companions, or any of your hundred other followers will indeed be called by war to go into the test of life descended to man by Aries the Wolf of Mankind for keeping freedom or tearing it apart.”

“Verily lord,” added the calm certainty of Aratus, and his was an entreaty to great effect on account of the high-regard and the invisible rings of tender friendship which lay by taste and trust upon Isandros’ finest ambassador, “do not lose the kernel of good fortune which waits for you in the brooding onset of enemy advance. For if you surrender the appearance of being in peril then how will even your closest allies perceive the call to arms which nature’s subtle love of justice whispers out to them? An army of five-hundred thousand soldiers is the tyrant’s death-blow to simple peasants in a country land, but the imposition of your modest band is the prudent eye of a wise king waiting to sound the alarm when the high-hopes of dreaming reformers disappear behind power’s cord.”

“Aye you speak finely and you do your duty well,” said Isandros with the ghost of surrender. “So sound strategy prevails over the instinct of caution and what must be done succeeds to the table. Eupole,” he spoke to his Royal commander sitting with placid face, “set your trap for the Soviets. Arate, send one of your finest to Baal, a man who knows war as well as peace. Let him hear the fears of our allies at the front and work with them to move the limbs of liberty together towards a strong defense.”

“Verily lord,” answered the master of envoys, “I will have Lampon son of Mopsus be there by the day’s end and he will take command of the situation from your servants on the ground. I will be sure that the Baal know of his coming and that he will explain to them your devise for the common security.”

And as the war council turned its gaze toward the pirates, the slavers, and the rats gnawing at the famished fields of wide Oetzaria the dignitary Lampon raced over the sparkling waves of the sea, his jet airplane thundered through blistering forked tongues of wind beneath a dark canopy of eveningtime’s purple clouds, streaking to where the Thebans would plot with their distinguished friends to catch the wrist of Communism trying in fear for the outer gates of the empire of Thebes.

[Altpeak]

Altpeak in the 2010s

For decades, the Proletarian Republic of Altpeak’s economic and military might increased until finally, by the 1990s, it had gone from being a poor agrarian backwater reliant on rifles stolen from the Imperial Army during the Altpeakian civil war to an economic powerhouse with a large and well developed native arms industry. For nearly 20 years, throughout much of the 1990s and into the first decade of the 21st century, Altpeak’s armed forces were the technological rival of all the world’s foremost armed forces and outnumbered any of them. All across the world, this army waged the “long war on capitalism” as the Proletarian Republic used its wealth to support faltering Communist governments and budding Communist revolutions. However, these good times could not last.

The 2010-2014 and 2015-2019 five-year plans proved disastrous. Growth rates fell to an average of 1.4%. With its economy failing to keep up with population growth, Altpeak’s GDP per capita fell by approximately $2,000 in seven years. Hand in hand with this economic decline came a decline in birthrates. Military planners estimated that by 2028, the Proletarian Republic wouldn’t have sufficient young men and women coming of age to meet the demands of the draft.

Not even the modern-day military was saved from the immediate effects of this decline. Even as the government strained to give the armed forces sufficient resources to keep up with its peer adversaries, crumbling under the weight of healthcare, welfare and education demands, the military’s allocation of resources failed to even keep pace with Altpeak’s economic growth. The Armed Forces began to fall behind their peer adversaries in terms of technology and equipment as the manufacture of advances equipment, such as laser guided bombs, was scaled back in favour of cheaper but less effective, and older, equipment.

Sent reeling by blows on all fronts, the Proletarian Republic’s fighting spirit was at an all time low. A victory was needed to revitalize the nation and prove to the population that the long war on capitalism could still be won. So began the Theban war…

Rodna, Altpeak.
First Worker Orol Marx

First Worker Orol Marx looked at the reports strewn across his desk. None of them were good. Declining economic growth and birth rates. The Armed Forces, once among the best in the world, slipping behind their peer adversaries. The people beginning to lose faith in their nation’s cause, the long war on capitalism. What they needed was a victory, a big one, a victory that would prove that overall victory over the capitalists was still possible and that the resources going into the armed forces weren’t being thrown away in a hopeless attempt to attain a goal which wasn’t possible.

Standing up from his desk, First Worker Orol Marx looked at the enormous map of the world he had pinned on his wall. Hammer and sickle pins marked those nations already following the ideals of Marx and the liberation of the proletariat. Crosses marked those nations currently engaged in civil wars or revolutions, supported by Altpeak, to seize control for the Proletariat.

Orol Marx sighed inwardly. The Proletarian Republic was already engaged on so many fronts. Its forces were stretched thin as it was, with no end in sight to many of the wars it was supporting. However, then First Worker Orol Marx spotted a nation. Oetzaria. It shared a border with Azerzetnia, a nation recently conquered by the Proletariat and a major source of oil for Altpeak. Once the revolution was started in Oetzaria, Altpeak would be able to intervene on the side of her communist brothers and send large scale conventional forces into Oetzaria.

While the Proletarian Republic’s Armed Forces weren’t what they used to be, they were still those of a declining great power, and as ought to be capable of steam rolling the Oetzarian forces with ease in just a few months at most. That would provide the Proletarian Republic with the victory it needed. Another nation conquered by the Proletariat just a year after Azerzetnia was seized by the workers! Yes, Orol Marx thought, that would be the victory the Proletarian Republic needed to revitalize itself.

Close to the Oetzarian-Azerzetnian border
Private Zhemyon Shrayga of the Proletarian Guards 2^nd battalion, 1^st regiment

Private Zhemyon Shrayga marched through the light snowfall of winter in Oetzaria, listening to his boots crunch through it. That was the only sounds that could be heard on the still winter night other than the breathing of the rest of his action group(squad/fireteam) and the hooting of owls. In his hands was his rifle, the RN-88/09, a widely exported Altpeakian assault rifle and therefore not something which could be traced immediately back to the Proletarian Republic in anything other than manufacture if it was found on his dead body. Likewise, his clothing wasn’t an Altpeakian uniform. Instead, it was just standard Oetzarian winter clothing with Kevlar armour over it and webbing. On his back was a civilian backpack loaded to bursting with equipment. Once again, all procured from places and in styles that couldn’t be immediately traced back to the Proletarian Republic.

He was a member of the Proletarian Guards. His job was to spread the revolution beyond Altpeak’s borders, start revolutions, train the revolutionaries and fight alongside them to overthrow their capitalist government’s. Licking his teeth reminded Zhemyon of one the grimmer aspects of that duty. His cyanide capsule. As a member of the Proletarian Guard, he couldn’t be captured. If surrounded, forcing your enemies to kill you in battle was advised. However, as he had been told in basic training, there were some situations where that wasn’t possible and you had to do it yourself. Whatever happened, you must not be captured. If you were unconscious, your own action group members would put a bullet through your head if they couldn’t take you with them.

Shifting his mind from such thoughts, Zhemyon thought about his mission. He and the rest of his action group had been parachuted in from Azerztan, the neighbouring communist state which still had a significant Altpeakian military presence since the final success of its revolutionaries the year before. Zhemyon and his comrades had been given the details of where to meet the Oetzarian revolutionaries, at a location seventeen kilometres from where they had landed. Looking at the pale moon shining in the sky, Zhemyon reflected that it was going to be a long march in his civilian walking boots.

[Technologist Communes]

THE CTC IN THE 21ST CENTURY

The Confederacy was influentially massive compared to its days in the 1920s-1970s. Back then, the CTC cared only for itself. No troops on foreign soil, no embassies in other nations, not even an ambassador or two. Nowadays, the government takes interest in the outside world, supporting potential allies, sending diplomats out and about of the sake of peace, and just getting involved in general.
All this has greatly impacted the lives of politicians, military men,
and even the average citizen, in a generally positive manner. The economy has greatly improved, food was on the table for even the most remote of communities, and its insfrastructure has improved, making small towns give way to bustling communities.

But, because of this "opening up," the CTC has become a lucrative target for any power wanting well, power. Removing the Communesian flag off the map would bring prosperity to whatever nation managed to do so, and so the CTC began a massive armament effort to empower its military, and turn it into a force to be reckoned with, both on the offense and defense. The CTC would soon use this force in both ways, first in the Gadburgian War of Secession, a brutal conflict within the Confederacy's borders, and the much larger Russitanian War, the near-complete collapse of one of the Confederacy's strongest allies in the Gadburgian War of Secession. And thus, using this force again, the CTC hopes to indirectly strike at one of its looming foes, the Revolutionary Proletarian Soviets...

Audsland, CTC

James Dotler, President of the CTC. He was quite the important man, after all he was the Head of State. But, as history has taught, even kings have flaws. And Dotler was no different. He was in his office, calmly sipping hot coco as he looked through reports detailing economics, industry et cetera, when he freezes. His mouth grinds to a halt, he puts down his cup, and his eyes are wide open.

James Dotler has been rendered psychologically unstable by recent events.

He puts himself back together, starts looking at his papers again, and finds notes on the atmosphere surrounding Thebes and the Revolutionary Proletarian Soviets. Tensions have been high between the two since forever, and a dispute was going to occur, and a war was going to start. The exact conditions were still shrouded in mystery, however.

And then, it hit him. The Revolutionary Proletatian Soviets has been posing a threat to the CTC's existance as a sovereign state for a very long time. An invasion of the Technologist Communes could be conducted any time, and such a move would probably render the Communesian Armed Forces, still in the middle of growing bigger and stronger, useless against the proven military prowess of the Revolutionary Proletarian Soviets. But, the possibilities with the incoming conflict between Thebes and the RPS were limitless. Interfering in the possible conflict against the RPS would put pressure on the enemy country, forcing it to back down and abandon the thought of invasion. Another plus would be the favor of the RPS' biggest enemy, Thebes. Allying with Thebes would prevent the RPS from rising up to wage war ever, and allow the CTC to gain a regional foothold.

Dotler sat confidently as these thoughts raced through his mind, as imaginary soldiers cut through imaginary enemy lines like a hot knife through butter. He raised his head, having finished with his coco, and put on a smile...

[Erythrean Thebes]

Castle Veidlenthzar
The home of a very distressed country lord…

The mighty vaulted portico of stern mountain sunlight hissing on cold gothic stone, where Theignhe the Younger in past of obscure family ages had cleaved his cheerful young brother before taking the seat in prosperous thirty years truly showed its two natures; there was gloomy cavernous mortar to countenance ineptlike blinking and stammering, but for a prince possessed of fight there was the loyal rejoinder of obedience from thick unconquered walls draped with the banners and the things that served to trophy power. But there was a storm outside, and the battlements that promised enduring life to Agaptetes the lord of the manor were also to him a tomb that hid the sight of his foe, and what he could not see made his initiative frothing and stupid. “Someone get me the pictures, you, go!” he barked through the pale cowardice of a low-ranking servant. And with a pummeling sweep he bashed the crown from off the top of his head as hard as he could against the edge of the priceless table in an exploding rage, so hard that it thunked and hawked a jagged bit the size and shape of a man’s fist right out of the wood – the crown clanged and almost shrieked as it broke apart in his hand and became a tarnished silver stripe gashed almost all the way down the middle. And he gasped for breath for how hard his soul railed against dishonor.

“Call the Prime Minister again,” urged his mentor and elder-guardian Urskan, the old politician and architect of many beautiful facsimiles of manly-effacing acceptance painted in word and portrait for idealism’s selfish-sake, “tell him he needs to act-“

“Christ Urskan, the Prime Minister has hatched the plot!” the lord roared at suffering such a deadly blow. Huffing and huffing full of spite for buzzing blindness he howled down the corridor of the gloomy castle. “He’s lying to our face!!”

The actions of the Oetzarians spoke clearly. The Prime Minister could lie but royal scouts did not. The Azerzets had crossed the border and they were hastening in four columns, past everything and it was clear now where they were going – exactly to isolate him, and the Theban colonies spread out across the country. Already it would impossible for many of them to link up and there was no safe prospect of moving across the country with the Oetzarian ‘greyshirts’ (as their armed forces were sometimes designated) flipping sides, unless Agaptes could make an appeal in the next 48 hours to the good Prime Minister that he might keep his bridges above water. But that didn’t very much change the ugliness of the situation.

“Intel commander.” A lieutenant of Philomatos Captain of the Hawks came back in replacement of Urskan’s lackey and immediately there was someone in the room who actually commanded respect from the Theban prince, enough to end the tirade against blubbering defeat and bring a measure of rational attention to the packet of pages dropped on the table. Hastening there, Agaptetes saw the contacts detailed on the cover page; the map was computer-annotated printout of the περισυνδρωγραψ, the cartographic battlefield reconnaissance profile maintained as a live-feed consolidation of each connected asset – superscript annotation besides the four enemy columns indicated the callsign of the assets reporting the contact. It was the same as it had been about twenty minutes ago; the enemy moving very fast, without opposition, advance elements keeping as much as sixty miles ahead of the main force. Following the page numbers he flipped into the contents and saw the photographs; heat signatures showed widespread motorized columns rarely visible completely on just one screen. Each to him flashed the frustrating hint of vast sizes. And the Oetzarian forces seemingly would not move, or even tried to cut off critical roads and paths through the countryside.

“General…” the prince’s personal attache to the Royal Household had been pacing back and forth around the corner of the hallway and he hustled back with his phone gripped in the palm of his hand and news speeding him inside the portico. “I just finished speaking with commander Eupolos-“

“What did he say?” Agaptetes blurted, well-knowing already with whom the conversation had happened, hanging on the fact imperiously.

“They’re speaking with the Prime Minister and his cabinet-“

Heartily the prince slapped the damaged table and was impelled to pace his energy out on the floor. “There’s Communist troops crawling over this country!”

“The fleet is still five hours out from Baal.” The young man gave himself to duty. “They’re watching right now trying to decide on the level of response – it’s going to be big commander, they said eight or nine divisions and they’re looking at knocking out the country…”

“What do they want?” he howled at the young man of distinguished ancestry.

“They say don’t shoot,” the aide delivered in a deadpan way. “They think it’s a play by Zurgaster to try and use our colonies as bargaining chip – to see what they can get from us by threatening this alliance with Altpeak.”

Agaptetes shook his head bitterly; it barely made sense. More likely the government had caved and was trying to save itself from destruction. Either way he was being told to let the Communists occupy the country and put them under arrest. But no matter how firmly the Council asserted its right to use massive force against the invaders, it would still be a bedeviled task should they have these few days at liberty to fortify it. The commander tried to redeem his best option. “Urska – what will Mr. Zurgaster do when we don’t feel like watching his imaginary friends hustle into here?”

“It seems to be the question,” the old man said looking at the aide standing with his phone hanging by his side.

“You know him,” the prince pressed vigorously for better from the shrewd old politician.

“It is hard to say…this does not remind me of him, but of course he has been troubled of late…” and he referred to the Prime Minister’s vicious crusading and barnstorming against radical opposition inside and outside of the government. “It is so reckless…I wonder if he was not put up to it by some elements of the army,” he continued darkly.

“Of course there are Communists in the army here,” Agaptetes spat sarcastically, “it’s every peasant and shoeshiner boy who comes in as a Communist. But they have no one on the staff, not even Heyeden who thinks that every other alliance is better than the one the country has,” and he threw shade at the notoriously disagreeable general from the northlands who always wanted Oetzaria to find a third, and then a fourth and fifth way through politics.

“Either way the army will be divided,” the old man rumbled assuredly. “You have not made so little impression I must think to allow them all to give you and your people up.”

The general dawned on his best first course of action. “Get me a phone call with Pleiter,” he asked of General Ledian Pleiter his personal friend and dependable rock in the officer cabal, and he almost demanded of the old man, “why has he not called? Why not anybody?”

“Indeed I am thinking the same,” he brooded reaching for his phone.

“Call up Antipater, Thaule,” he demanded looking for his second-in-command at the fort, about twenty-five miles away. “I need to find out what’s happening there…” He thumbed again through the intelligence printout. Greyshirt aircraft were in the skies and they were grounding the Thebans on the pretext of a counter-terrorist no-fly zone but their reluctance to shoot had made visuals possible…but possible any further? Already Agaptetes ran into the same problem.

“Phone commander…” The prince took the phone to his ear. “Speak to me Pateriskos,” he nearly whined to the general.

“I was waiting for you Agaptetes,” he answered darkly, his voice scintillated by a digital buzzing percolating through his voice.

Quickly the general replied, “what’s happening?”

“There’s something bad afoot here. It’s none too sneaky but…” he could be heard to think and read the tidbits of his scouts. “They have the 5th and 8th Tank Battalion from Oetzurm here parked just outside, it’s like a half-mile outside commander and they’re trying to keep the road closed…”

“What have they said to you?” Agaptetes asked pacing with his brow furrowed.

“They’re calling it an emergency in the capital. Their officer was faxing me demands to stay put and not to break their laws-“

The general laughed saucily despite all of the danger. “Whatever they mean by that…what about the others?” In total there were three primary colonies of Thebes in Oetzaria and two smaller ones which rarely were the site of anything interesting.

“What about the printout I sent you?”

The general froze in place. “What’s that?”

“I faxed it over…” But Agaptetes’ attention was drawn to the old man again who was slinking close, cradling the phone to his ear and eyeballing the prince to try and get him on the phone. “That was over an hour ago Agaptetes-“

“It’s Pleiter,” the crony Urskan mouthed barely breathing.

The prince’s brain juggled the two and froze. “Ah…hold a minute Antipas,” and abandoning his anxious deputy he grabbed the phone from Urskan. “General?” he began insistently.

“Your Grace, are you there?” came the answer with similar impatient calm.

“What the fuck is going on Ledian?” hissed the Theban commander.

“We have a situation,” he reported.

“That’s obvious,” Agaptetes sighed. The mountain valley outside the portico was almost totally silent and virtually still except for the sound of the wind which added a chill to the scene illuminated by pale moonlight. Across the distant rolling terrain the peak of great Mount Faizal stood opposite the castle.

“There’s been a coup…” The Theban’s heart began to beat faster listening. “It was a big cartel, we think more than a hundred of the junior officers. They have the capital under martial law and they’re breaking off to join the Communists from Azerzetnia-“

“But why is Zergaster playing it like it’s not even happening-“

“He has to be scared,” the Oetzarian general answered with grim pessimism. “He’ll try to cling to power and see if he can strike a deal to go over to the Communists.”

“What are you doing?” he blurted.

“Well, we won’t shoot…” he said so as if he were checking off the worst item of such a list. “Not when they’re crawling so far inside already, and probably half of these boys will point the gun behind their back.”

“Are you safe?” he came to ask.

“Nobody’s tried anything here but I don’t know…we caught people here taking orders from this Emergency Council and there’s been a lot of others. I’m getting the loyalists together, anybody who won’t come is court martialed.”

Agaptetes plopped down violently into an old dining chair that looked not unlike a very spartan throne. “What the fuck Leidan!?”

“Where are you at right now?” the Oetzarian inquired.

“I’m at the Manor,” he capitulated, “I’m not even on base and how will I get there, they’ll stop me on the road-“

“It might be best to surrender,” the Greyshirt general mused, “help will come-“

“We are the help Leidan,” Agaptetes grumbled, “as prisoners we’ll all but break the sword of the King and we’ll lose the whole country…”

“Well I’m not sure if there’s anything left to do Aga-“

Sharply the prince handed the phone back to old Urskan. “Get me Teyngitan,” he ordered as he ended the call, dropping the name of the Base Commander at Jarna air base about one-hundred fifteen miles to their southwest. He turned away from the Oetzarian dignitary puzzling over the call. “Antipas…” he spoke cautiously into the phone. It chimed and chirped as if the other person were talking through a kaleidoscope and he looked at it in disgust. “Get me the δηρόγραφή,” he snapped asking for the unwieldy super-boosted emergency phone.

“My lord…” Urskan quickly shoveled the general the next caller.

“Agapzan…” the man exclaimed in his thick accent using the native form of address, “where is the King of Thebes brother-“

“I fear they know exactly where we are, Ashglan,” the general mused, having always found a need to be patient with this swarthy military elite and his pulsating machismo.

“So,” he said loudly, “will you be asking me to kill myself friend?”

Agaptetes sighed a little to see his request strung out in front of his face. “I can’t decide what to do, but I am terribly afraid not to try and escape this friend.”

“It’s the stormtroopers from Altpeak you’re really worried about,” he seemed to commiserate to Agaptetes with a similar diplomatic caution. “They’re coming right for you…the rebels are afraid to muddle it up-“

“No, the rebels will be there,” Agaptetes chewed irately, “they’ll be putting themselves on a plate for big brother and acting it up to the dung-scoopers…”

“What are you thinking?” Teyngitan asked with sudden and frankly weary-sounding boldness. “Your best guess, your wildest shot friend-“

“Helmita and Kalitros are not that far apart,” he reflected of the two largest colonies, both settled in the mountainous country just a hair south of the central part of the country. “That’s almost five-thousand between them and they can easily melt away in that country and rally together-“

“And then what?” the Oetzarian asked immediately.

“We need a bargaining chip,” the general seized. “That’s what they want from us, we need the same thing from them. There’s still enough time, if we got away they wouldn’t be expecting it and we could move on the capital and retake it, dig in inside-“

Teyngitan laughed carefully. “You would dare them to destroy it-“

“It’s no dare,” he assured the man, “it takes the element of surprise away and we could put the flame of rebellion out before the local authorities start caving in and turn everything over to the Communists…”

The Base Commander pondered quietly on the other end of the line. “All possible for you, you think, if I blow up some heartbroken revolutionaries-“

“It has to be now while they’re feeling everything out,” the general said confidently, “right now while they’re trying to juggle everything, we hit them in the face and slip out…”

Painfully he clenched the phone waiting for the Oetzarian’s mumbling to turn into a concrete position. He seemed to try and pass. “They’re only seventy miles north of where you’re talking about, archon, they’ll probably rear-end you on the highway-“

“Let them try,” the Theban quipped, “it’s a wasteland up north, even if they could drive their fucking convertible after us they’d probably rear-end each other coming through Erland,” he mused hopefully of the difficult and jagged terrain in the mountain range to their north which stretched like a crescent from the northwest to the eastern border of the country.

“I don’t think you will make it in good order,” the Base Commander in a tired way finally admitted his true feelings to the Theban prince. “But I will do it for you my friend since I do so long to see that high-rise apartment you are always taking about-“

Boyishly the general laughed and couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, you like it so much you want to be inside all twenty-four hours I guess Ashglan...”

“Don’t make me second-guess myself,” he warned the Theban, keeping to his tragic character.

With plans assembling themselves little by little in his head Agaptetes put the phone down on the table; he saw his aide hastening back with the emergency phone lumbering in both his hands like a flashy bathroom scale if it were having a backlit digital interface glowing on the surface and a palm-sized microphone hooked to the side by a two-foot cable. He took that in his grasp and almost swallowed his ear with it, punching out the address to his beleaguered lieutenant Antipater. There was no ring tone but it clicked and the captain’s voice came through quietly but in excellent quality. “Lucky I had the same idea,” the deputy said as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

“Antipas, how are you to move out?” the general asked almost breaking his giant device when he tried to turn his head.

“Can you do something about these greyshirts-“…already the Theban prince was nodding to himself, “we have airstrikes on standby from Teyngitan – it’s a fucking empty field out there Antipas, they’ll be evaporated-“

“And we get away into the night,” the captain finished showing some appreciation for this longshot possibility.

“We can advance on the capital once we rally,” the Theban said drifting into his contemplations and looking curiously at his intelligence briefing. “We’ll read the situation and see what’s safest…you’ll pick me up of course,” he dared to joke trying to lighten the mood.

The captain laughed huskily into the strangely vacuous connection. “Are you still at Th-“

There was a huge crash and the icy sound of old medieval glass shattering screamed from somewhere inside the castle’s meandering corridors; Agaptetes’ heart jolted painfully and in a thoughtless motion he threw the dinky little microphone away and jumped to his feet spinning around to face the offending hallway. Deep angry voices were shouting, hard surfaces scraping, big bulky things falling over and getting banged around, impossible to see around the corner of the archway. Frowning to himself the Theban ran cautiously into the castle looking for the commotion.

He flung his weight into his hands, colliding against the posh rail which guarded the open gallery of the second floor landing; the castle foyer below him was small but exceedingly high, and looking down from his height the general began to see through the archway into the adjacent parlor where the sound of smashing antiquities came from olive-shirted thugs manhandling, pummeling the outraged staff. The churning mob of riotous revolutionaries and house servants was backpedaling clumsily into the foyer being shoved by the soldiers.

“Master!” cried one of the staff flailing weakly on the outside of the melee when he saw his astonished boss gawking upstairs; Agaptetes’ heart sank and he saw an officer among the Socialists light on the appearance of the prince with predatory inspiration, calling to his soldiers and trying to corral them.

He dashed back the way he had come and was heading across the other side of the castle portico when he slammed into his attache without looking. “Commander!” he ejected trying to keep his footing.

“Where are Philomatos and the others?” he asked scurrying further past the boy.

“Commander they’re in the basement trying to escape out the back,” the lad followed his officer until he stopped again mad-eyed.

There was no time; the shouting and pounding was still apparent and Agaptetes took up sprinting again heading further to find the nook where the stairs to the castle basement lay. “Wait!” he shouted just as he had almost stalked through the wretched door, “everything’s still here-“

“I saw them take a few things,” the young man urged him. “There’s a command center in the APC-“

“No...fuck!!” The prince kicked the crude wooden door and almost exploded it. He grabbed the young man by the shoulder and essentially pushed him into the cellar, “go ahead, tell them I’ll just be one minute-“

“There’s no time!” the lad said.

“Go – ah!...” Scrambling with the rigid imprecision of deadly fear the general clawed into his pocket and grasped Urskan’s phone – he pitched it to the military aide. “I have to make sure these things are destroyed,” and his mind was set on the computers and folders stacked to no end in the solar converted to an off-base command center. “If I don’t come back, call Teyngitan and tell him to make the airstrike, put him on to Antipater…”

“Commander…” the young man tried mildly but Agaptetes tossed himself by his own weight off from the wall and dashed further into the castle, pounding by a series of dangerous groans up the ancient staircase to the uppermost floor. He burst into the castle solar; a lot was gone from the cabinets but not everything – some drawers were found lying in the open stuffed with paper and no way to tell what anybody had done to the computers. He hissed dejectedly at the sight.

And then he jumped out of his skin to hear the loud bump of military boots only eight feet away underneath the flimsy floor galloping toward the staircase. “Come out!” the rebel soldier called up the chasm of the stairwell, “you are under arrest, surrender yourself!”

Facing doom Agaptetes made one last desperate act. Like a maniac he bounded down the upstairs hallway pounding the hard floor; he wasn’t sure if he could hear Communist boots stomping after him but he put plenty of speed into it, using his arms to knife through the air. The prince barreled into a corroded metal door at the end of the hallway and it was locked but he hit it so hard that he bashed through snapping the bolt out of its place. Grinding and buzzing metal gears assailed his head coming from the beastly old diesel generator kept clunking in the maintenance room. But Agaptetes raced for the wall exactly opposite him and he flung the fuse box open.

“Stop!” The Communists were trundling up the stairs.

The Theban waltzed his fingers erratically over the circuits trying to help himself see the right one but it was old, the labels were fading and there was no time to trace them on the map. Panicking he grabbed an old crowbar that was left lying on the floor and by a wild two-handed swing the prince destroyed the circuit breaker splattering bits of plastics on the ground like computer entrails or children’s marbles. And immediately the whole house was plunged into the depths of darkness.

The Communist rebels yelped audibly to see the lights disappear in front of their face. “Stop stop stop!” someone cried, belatedly curtailing the confused partisans from stumbling any further. “Colonel what happened?” somebody else inquired and then suddenly they all howled again throwing their arms up as an automatic burst sputtered from the barrel of an overzealous comrade and spat bullets blindly through the broken door to the maintenance room.

“For fuck’s sake, stop Vasilion!” the officer practically snarled at this macho proletariat soldier. But ironically he raised the sights of his own rifle and the squad imitated him. “Flashlight, somebody…” a second later there was a light trained on the cramped backroom and the pulverized fuse box gashed down to the cement by a wicked incision.

They could carefully proceed to check the room but they would not find Agaptetes, Count of Veidlenthzar there. With the palms of his hands and through very tender footsteps he had creeped over to the castle laundry chute and hastily rappelled himself down to the identically blackened basement floor.

---

Outside two things were happening but only one was seen. Acting as much as possible like innocently perplexed foreign guests, a small convoy of civilian-manufacture jeeps with an IFV and 4 APCs crawling in the rear lumbered at a civilian driving pace down the back road to the Veidlenthzar backcountry where the Thebans, knowing the region, could possibly slip away from their stilted rebel captors. Nothing was in the sky and there was only a lone pair of Greyshirt IFVs watching the mouth of the back entrance, although of course there was backup close nearby behind the wooded ridges which like natural palisades concealed the terrain surrounding much of Castle Veidlenthzar. And as the convoy became painfully close to nearing the rebel guards, a net of three snipers, concealed in the trees and inching clandestinely under cover of darkness towards the Oetzarians, prepared to open the way.

Heraklos Cypsolou was one of these deadly scouts, one of the taskgroups most frequently used by Theban commanders and especially ad hoc, such as were typically put together by special designation before any given operation. For their aptitude these men got the job again and again, reinforcing their talent. Heraklos at that moment was crawling prone reaching the crest of his little hill in the woods almost one inch at a time, so very gingerly prodding his body forward by the elbows and hips. Just when he felt like he was about to peep out over the top he stopped, taking position perhaps 500 meters away. His heart rate was elevated just the merest bit out in the Oetzarian cold and he activated his radio. “Heraklos in position, how copy?”

Quickly the call came back. “Osmos in position.”

The second call came through. “Copy you Heraklos, I’m coming into position now I’m like thirty meters off target.”

Heraklos fingered his radio. “I copy that Tyche, do you have a visual on my location?”

The answer came back through static. “I see it but it’s blocked from the east.”

The squad leader licked his frozen lips. “Copied, all good. Fire on my signal.”

“Acknowledged,” came the answer which lingered in Heraklos’ ears while he put the scope up to his eye, placing the shivering Oetzarian Communists into his sights. Both vehicles idled in place casting floodlights onto the faint tire tracks and depressed grass denoting the back entrance. They had their hatches opened and they stood together in a single large congregation smoking cigarettes with little apparent joy. They were attractively placed.

The plan was to eliminate them all if possible. If they escaped to cover, it would be a combined assault by the combat assets in the convoy plus whatever more the snipers could do – not so desperate except for the terrain which would force the Thebans into single-file at a chokepoint when they tried to pass out the back. The convoy had its own IFV but it would be outnumbered two to one once the rebels had escaped inside their fortified shelter. But if they could even be suppressed in any way, most of the Theban vehicles would have a legitimate chance to escape.

Heraklos placed the skull of a zombie-like Oetzarian rebel into his crosshairs. Coincidentally it also lined up with the thigh of a more alert-looking fellow standing across from him. He held his breath and fired.

[Vymar]

1000 MILES OFF THE COAST OF OETZARIA

Captain Tristen Allen thought everything would go relatively well. His Cargo ship would arrive in an Oetzarian port, his crew would hop off for a quick bite to eat, small crates full of trout would be sold to the Oetzarian peoples, And oil would be sold to which ever official was appointed to them at the time. Of course, whether or not this oil actually fell into the hands of Oetzarian machines or liquidated into a quick sum was of no concern of Allen or his crew. They dropped off the goods, and they received the necessary payments, whether on the spot, in advance or getting the ship security to pressure the local officials to cough up. How much power do you really have when the barrel of the gun your looking down is also owned by the people who provide you the capital you use to pay for security?

It was always funny to watch the officials stammer as the ship security walked into their offices uninvited. This however, was not the case of Allen's ship. There would be no manipulating of foreign officials, no selling to locals, no money that could be slid under the table, not now. The savages on his ship wouldn't stand for 20 Didoes as payment. They wanted the whole ship. They wanted all of it : The bow, The oil, The trout, The wires, The computers... everything.

Allen looked to his side, his leading security officer lifeless, resembling a bag of cement just dropped on the floor. Unmovable. A red pool escaping to his right leg and upper chest. His mandatory security pistol half drawn out of its holster. While at the same time, 4 of his crew members lined up to the left of him, blindfolded. Two men in tattered clothing holding guns to the unfortunate crew members. They all stayed quiet. All except Allen's radio, playing Come and Get Your Love and a man of slight build tapping his foot to the beat. The man turned over to the radio and lowered it as to make sure the whole room could hear him. "Captain" his accent was thick and foreign. "You seem to be caught up in a pickle".

Allen stayed quiet; hands tied behind his back, kneeling. The man walked over and shot a squat right in front of him. The man lit a cigarette in front of him. Blowing out a thick, black grey smoke. Then flipped the cigarette towards the captain. "You smoke?". Allen simply turned his head, refusing to speak. The man responded with a quick slap across the left of Allen's face. "You're making this harder for yourself Captain. Maybe if I like you enough I wont drop you and the rest of your crew into the ocean."

The man got up and walked over to the windows of the ship's bridge; over looking the bow, watching other pirates harassing the crew or executing the few security who surrendered. The group of pirates had lost maybe 5 men and a full boat. More than the group was used too, but yet again, so was the load. "Tell me captain..." he puffed out some smoke "Does this ship have GPS?". Allen stayed quiet.

The man turned to the armed men guarding the 4 crew members. With a motion of his hand, a gun shot rang out in the metal room. Followed by the quick *thud of a body.

"Captain I will ask again... does this ship have GPS?". Allen let out a weak mumble "yes". "Then will you be oh so kind and point it out to me?". The man pulled out a pistol "Lets move Captain". Allen struggled to get up as his knees buckled under his weight, and he began to walk towards the man. "The GPS is under neath these panels, if you untie me, I could go under and-" his weak attempt at manipulation was cut off by repeated shots into the control panels, the man attempting to destroy the systems underneath.

"Thank you captain, now, when we bring you to our place, how much would you say your government would pay in ransom?"

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

VYMARTOFF, The Vymarian Capital

News crosses the world quite quickly. And in terms of today's, it wasn't the most pleasant. The Cargo Ship SeaFare was hijacked at 7 am Vymarian time, and its GPS was abruptly turned off at 8:30 am. The entire crew was labeled MIA, however, if they were indeed missing and not dead, was something that many heavily contested. It was assumed, but not officially noted, that the entire Security team was killed off, and the crew would be set up under ransom. If they were even found to be valuable enough to sell.

The entire fiasco sent the entire Vymarian Government into declaring tougher action on the pirates near Oetzaria. But the question was, how much? Unlike prior engagements, as long as the Senate approved of the forces being sent, which was of no issue; John Williams, President of Vymar, could apply pressure on the pirates with military backing. Within a week, a dispatch should be sent to Oetzaria to deal with the pesky pirates. And the senate crying for vengeance would be sure to oblige.

[Vymar]

New Portstead

The act to sweep Pirates out of the Oetzarian ports was passed with unprecedented support; An astounding 96 to 4. The Hefty Task force was to be put under the command of Admiral Zackary Rudolph and Colonel Thomas Popek. Whether or not to notify the Oetzarian government was something up for debate however. The recent coup in the capital would mean Vymar would have two restless "nations" to deal with instead of just one. Even setting up communications with either side could cause the other to turn on them.

The last thing Vymar wanted was to get involved in a civil war with Oetzaria. But just in case, Vymarian General George Patton decided to send the dispatch with a little muscle.

Leader : Admiral Zackary Rudolph and Colonel Thomas Popek

1 Ticonderoga Class Cruiser
2 Espora Class Corvettes
1 Badden-Wuttemberg Destroyer
1 Gaulicia Class Docking Ship
+ 600 Vymarian Soldiers of the 23rd Mechanized Battalion
+ 30 M1126 ICVs
+ 40 Humvees
+ 15 Cadillac Cage Commando V-200
+ 35 Mamba APCs
+ 1 Bravia Chaimite V-500

The other issue at hand was whether or not to involve the Theban's into some sort of coalition to fight the unruly pirates. Allying themselves with the Theban's could potentially put them in a bad spot with Altpeak. Or, on the more positive side, as long as Vymar stays true with being a neutral party just looking to get rid of some pirates, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

And perhaps, if more got involved, the operation could move at a faster pace.

[Erythrean Thebes]

ANTCLO-MLO-TRG

09 DECEMBER 2017

Theban Royal Guard
Military Liaison Office

MEMORANDUM FOR

Admiral Zachary Rudolf, Commander, Hefty Task Force
Colonel Thomas Popek, Deputy Commander, Hefty Task Force


SUBJECT: Establishing Direct Line of Communication Between Vymarian Anti-Piracy Forces (Hefty Task Force) and Theban Royal Navy Forces in the Seas of Oetzaria, Baal, and Azerzetnia



Your Excellencies,

This message is sent on behalf of Commander Eupolos, Lord Commander of the Theban Royal Guard, chief commander of Theban operations in and around the Sea of Oetzaria, and on behalf of Admiral Democoon Attaginou and Troop Commander Stolos Stolou, Chief and Deputy-Chief of command of special sea-air-land security task force Athambais. This message is sent by the Battlefield Signals Office of the Theban Royal Guard via the Special Legation attached to Admiral Attaginou by order of the Lord Commander. This office represents a direct line of communication between Theban forces currently operating in the zone of Oetzaria/Baal/Azerzetnia and yourselves, as well as a relay office for communications between your forces in the area and the Theban strategic command. We have sent this message to certify our line of contact to yourselves and to confirm our stance on Vymarian naval activity in the Oetzarian Sea.

Thebes is committed to the eradication of pirate activity through the shipping lanes of Oetzaria/Baal/Azerzetnia and welcomes the continued participation of our like-minded security partners to close the Oetzarian Sea to the penetration of extra-regional pirate and slaver parties. We are not endeavoring to close the Sea to naval security and shipping patrol operations in light of the developing actions of the invaders from Altpeak. However, we consider the attack of the Altpeaker Proletarian Guards on our allies in the subcontinent to be provocation of war and a vital national security emergency of Thebes. We will fully use the Sea of Oetzaria to move freely as we require in order to defend the security of ourselves and our allies. So that this will not risk an incident with Vymarian assets operating in the same area, this Liaison will maintain a regular contact with yourselves to keep you informed of our maneuvers such that there will be no risk of a collision or any interference.

Additionally, we note the activity of our Theban volunteer fleets and maritime security societies in the selfsame Sea of Oetzaria to pursue the same strategic objective of closing the Sea to outsider criminal penetration and protect the coastline and shipping lanes of the subcontinent from criminal aggression. This Special Legation is also the nominal supervisor and commander of these Theban anti-piracy fleets and acts as an intelligence and communications hub between they and the enlisted forces of the Theban Navy. Therefore we will also endeavor to keep you apprised of all movements by our Theban anti-piracy fleets through our office. Additionally, we hope that your excellencies will be amenable to sharing intelligence on the activity of the pirate bands. We believe that this could significantly increase our collective effectiveness. If you will accept then this office can readily facilitate the transfer of intelligence from our fleets in the sea to yourselves. Moreover we will link you directly to Basileides Kassandrou our Fleet Commander so that you will also have the option of speaking with him directly if the situation calls for it.

Please reply to confirm that you acknowledge and understand and that you will receive our communications to you as described.

S. MALITHOU
Special Legate, TRG-L
Battlefield Signals Office, TRG

[Erythrean Thebes]

αἵ Ἀλπικος δυνάμεις λάθρα ἐφορμοῦσι ὑπέρ τά ὅρια Ὑψαριας

OETZRUM - Advance forces potentially totaling up to more than forty-thousand, and believed to be a vanguard element of the Altpeak Proletarian Guards operating out of Azerzetnia have reportedly crossed the border overnight into Oetzaria after months of inactivity, and met little resistance as they have advanced in some areas as far as 500km amidst confused and disturbing reports coming out of the historic capital Oetzurm that the prime minister and his Christian-Democratic coalition government may have been deposed in a surprise coup. A barrage of photos and videos uploaded to the popular social media outlet Chipper claim to show wide-scale defections by Socialist mutineers in the Oetzarian army seizing control of major roadways and checkpoints, and trying to carry out the arrest of prominent military figures and political allies of the government of Prime Minister Eltrond Zurgaster. Meanwhile, spokespeople for His Majesty the King and the Theban Royal Guard have refused to offer commentary on the developing invasion as several pro-democracy watchdog organizations following the trickle of information from Oetzurm and other major cities warn that they see signs of a coordinated plot by disgruntled Socialist army soldiers to turn the country over to occupation by Altpeak.

Tensions in the subcontinent reached a boiling point just eight months ago, when the deadlocked and flagging government of Azerzetnia and their center-left President Glyndzhoe Mefdusan was dramatically defeated in a sudden constitutional referendum which many in the government and courts of Oetzaria condemned as illegal. That event - referred to by national media as the Zetrava Spring - provoked a stern reaction from His Majesty King Isandros and the Great Council, who proceeded to lay crippling sanctions upon the previously allied state and enforced a partial blockade of the country. Over the last eight months, Theban troop numbers in the allied state of Baal have more than doubled to just over eleven-thousand, and a series of aggressive military exercises in cooperation with the Baal Republic have all but brought Baal and Azerzetnia into war several times.

Although Azerzetnia and the rest of the sub-continent have faced political instability for years since the economic downturn of 2008, experts on the region claim that these most recent upheavals in Azerzetnia and now also Oetzaria are signs of something more serious. Theban intelligence has been warning decision-makers in the Commonwealth since early last year that Altpeak, a distant Socialist power with no formal relations with Thebes, may have opened backdoor communications with certain prominent members of the Socialist and Communist parties in the region; that claim was made grimly serious after the swift and iron-fisted change of power carried out by Azerzetnia's new National Communist Party, in which many analysts sounded the alarm citing evidence of a organizational support from the infamous Altpeak Prolterian Guards. Now, many looking at the similar events happening now in Oetzaria are bemoaning what they see as dangerous inactivity by Theban diplomacy and intelligence staff allowing Altpeak to potentially depose a second allied government in just under two years.

Appearing on TV just hours after news of the invasion, President Asklan of Baal defied any hypothetical talk of a military disaster and rallied his countrymen to stand unflinching in the face of Communist aggression. The nation was put at maximum defense readiness as the President strongly signaled his endorsement of Theban plans to deploy a containment force into the allied country, vowing to "lock arms" with the Commonwealth. At the same time the Royal Court reportedly began consideration on a declaration of war, as an ultimatum was sent directly to Altpeak warning of a nuclear response in the event of an existential threat to the Republic of Baal.

A spokesman on behalf of the United Commonwealth Command responsible for organizing the Theban defense of the subcontinent spoke to the press this morning, in a closed session requiring questions screened in advance by the Royal Palace. Although appearing relaxed and businesslike, the UCC issued condemnations in the strongest possible terms for both Altpeak and Azerzetnia and vowed to disregard claims of a new legitimate government in Oetzaria, as the Theban army continues to organize in ever greater numbers at Camp Victory preparing to sally across the Sea for a major counter-offensive. The UCC press office promised to 'destroy' Altpeak and Azerzetnian troops inside Oetzaria if the illegal invasion of the country is not terminated before noon today.

ἄρχου ακολουθία σύνεληλυθυῖα εν θηβαίς πρός τάδε

Meanwhile the high command was absolutely silent on what options they will weigh to reverse the crisis in the subcontinent. Many believe that the Council intends to ferry the whole force of 235,000 currently amassed on the outskirts of the City into the region and will try to swiftly crush the Altpeak and Azerzetnians in a massive counter-attack. This has raised fears that Altpeak, a largely unknown quality with no well-established links to Thebes or the sub-region, could potentially use WMDs if they are pushed into a corner and risk losing their foothold on this distant continent. After reports that an additional three fleets might be dispatched to the region, some prominent voices in the Great Council called for the Royal Navy to impose a full blockade of the continent, one which could hopefully isolate the Communist rebels and perhaps compel them to surrender or open to possibility of Baal taking the offensive to Azerzetnia with Theban support. But it may be too late for soft-power.

Hoping to address Thebes' long-term security crisis in the sub-continent which has now lost two consecutive governments to Socialist uprisings supported from outside the region, the Chancellery Office announced the beginning of a new diplomatic initiative CRP-SO (Collective Responsibility Policing in the Sea of Oetzaria). Regarding not just the penetration of the Oetzarian Sea by outsiders such as Altpeak, but also the disturbing spike in pirate and slaver penetration since 2013, the CRP-SO accord is a multilateral initiative to put responsibility and organizational control for maritime security in the Sea of Oetzaria back in the hands of a 'coalition of responsible partners' representing the major economic and military interests at play in the Oetzarian Sea. "Rather than having a situation where total outsiders and criminal elements dictate freedom of movement in the Sea of Oetzaria to the ruin of the lawful major powers shipping and sailing there," said the memorandum, "the CRP will aim to unite the willpower of the major players in the Sea to put us in a position where we will be fully competent to control access into and through the Sea in order to close it to penetration from outside parties and to establish complete control of the shipping and sealines inside."

The new CRP accord will hopefully unite the resources of the multinational anti-piracy task forces active in the Oetzarian Sea for the last several years.


Melba Anthrivas
Senior Political Analyst

[Altpeak]

Near Wenwald, Oetzaria
Colonel Mighel Radzav, 2nd Regiment, 43rd Rifle Division

Colenol Mighel Radzav looked at the digital map in his command post. Unlike old fashioned paper maps, the digital maps that had been introduced across the Armed Forces of Altpeak were updated with real time developments on the ground by satellite, allowing a commander a far more up to date view of the battlefield with which to make his battleplans. For the minute however, Colenol Radzav wasn’t doing any planning. He was instead looking on in satisfaction as the forward elements of his regiment moved through the outer suburbs of Wenwald, quickly dispatching any small points of resistance they found.

Then again, the Colenol reflected, that had been the story of the entire invasion so far, testament to how well the Proletarian Guards had done their job. Almost as soon as the Altpeakian and Azerzetnian forces had rolled across the border, the Oetzarian troops had thrown down their weapons and surrendered in vast numbers, showing the Altpeakians just how badly they’d overestimated Oetzarian military capability. On paper, the Oetzarian Armed Forces were a tough opponent. 70,000 strong and equipped by Erythrean Thebes, a neighbouring power. While the equipment given to them by the Thebans was generally a generation behind that possessed by the Theban Armed Forces, this cast-off equipment was still better than anything possessed by Oetzaria’s neighbours. On the ground though, it was a different story. The Oetzarian Armed Forces were rotten with corruption, their troops barely trained. Many times, surrendering soldiers had told the Altpeakians that they hadn’t eaten in days, with their rations instead having been sold off by their officers to line their own pockets. The soldiers in question had also not been received their wages in weeks, sometimes months. The only troops that had put up a fight were the Oetzarian Special Forces, and while they were tough, well trained and highly motivated, they were too few to make a difference.

As a consequence, the invasion had progressed quickly. The 43rd Rifle Division had taken Dannert in the first twelve hours of the invasion, before swinging north towards their current objective, Wenwald, the only city in Oetzaria with large enough scale port facilities to land military forces. The 9th Rifle Division was moving quickly towards the cities of Nudzush and Astermydian, supported by Azerzetnian motorized infantry and armour. After the Azerzetnian Mountain Troops had taken the mountain passes, the 21st Rifle Division and 8th Armoured Division had gone through the mountains and were now pushing on to link up with the 15th Airborne, who had parachuted in near Oertzurm.

Colenol Radzav then smiled grimly as his mind turned to his unit’s next mission. Once they had taken Wenwald, the 43rd Division was going to need to hold it. If it was just the collapsing Oetzarian Army that they needed to defend it from, then he wouldn’t be worried. But the war in Oetzaria had caught the attention of another power: Thebes. They were demanding that Altpeakian and Azerzetnian forces withdraw from Oetzaria. By the same token, the Proletarian Assembly was adamant in its demands that Thebes retract its support for the “tyrannical” regime that the Altpeakians were trying to overthrow. Intelligence suggested that the reaction force being prepared by Thebes was between 200,000 and 300,000 strong. It was a sledgehammer to crack a nut. The entire Altpeakian invasion force was 70,000 strong. If the Azerzetnian forces were added to that, then the number of Communist troops in Oetzaria rose to 110,000, 170,000 if one counted the Oetzarian People’s Army. But in reality, the Azerzetnians and Oetzarians didn’t have the equipment to be anything more than an irritant for the Thebans, meaning the only troops numbers that really mattered were Altpeakians and they were vastly outnumbered by the Theban reaction force.

Altpeak

People of Altpeak,

As you well know, our heroic brothers in Oetzaria rose up against the tyrants beneath whose boots they laboured. However, even as their people rose up in defiance of their oppression, propped up the capitalist in Thebes, the Oetzarian government clung on to its last shreds of power. In their moment of need, the Oetzarian people called for aid and the armies of Altpeak and Azerzetnia answered! Troops of the Proletarian Guards fought in the trenches around Oertzurm side by side with their Oetzarian brothers, even as Altpeakian tanks and motorized infantry smashed their way across the Oetzarian border. Even now, men of the 15th Airborne, 8th Armoured and 21st Rifle Division tighten the noose around the necks of the tyrants that cower in Oertzurm! Victory is near at hand!

However, the capitalist tyrants of Thebes and their puppets resist the people’s revolution in Oetzaria! At the point of a sword, they demand they we abandon the people of Oetzaria to their fates and allow the Thebans to crush the Oetzarians beneath the capitalist boot once more. After shedding blood to liberate them, they believe we will meekly abandon our brothers in Oetzaria. THEY ARE WRONG!

As so often before, we and our allies stand alone against imperialism. Alone yet unbowed. The Proletarian Assembly has authorized the deployment of a further 150,000 Altpeakian troops to Oetzaria to shield them from capitalist retaliation. We did not want war, but if war is what it takes, then war is what the Thebans shall get! Even if the war on capitalism should take 1,000 years, the proletariat shall remain unbowed, unbent and unconquered. United, we are unconquerable, undefeatable!

We are brothers to defiant Oetzarians. Remember, never again in life shall our actions have such consequence as they shall now. No duty will matter as much and no liberty shall as true as that which we shall gain on the day of victory. We are proletarians one and all. Sons and daughters of Altpeak, our blood is the blood of heroes, heroes and martyrs of the proletariat. And so, I ask you. Will you meekly give in to the capitalist oppressor? Or will you stand, as our forefathers stood, strong in the face of the oppressor?

For a brighter dawn brothers and sisters.

Announcement made to the People of Altpeak by First Worker Orol Marx on Decemnber 11th, following the Altpeakian decision to deploy 150,000 more troops to Oetzaria

[Vymar]

OETZARIAN PORT

Thomas Popek watched as the final Stryker APC unloaded off the cargo ship and onto the dirty unpaved roads of the Oetzarian port. How Vymar even showed interest in this nation was a mystery to him. The locals watching his battalion come off the cargo ship acted like they had never seen anything like it prior to the docking. A sense of confusion and fear filled the air. His men had mounted onto their vehicles and were stationed along a road following the ports edged coast. Some were standing outside of their vehicles, either buying souvenirs, conversing with locals (who didn't seem to fond of the soldiers, making sure to keep a good distance from them) or manning their guns, putting on the hardest face they could.

As the Stryker passed him and rolled down the road looking for a parking spot, a column of 5 police cars arose from the opposite side of the light traffic. The cars then abruptly stopped, and arising from the car 4 police officers from each car. Expecting an issue, Tristen began walking in their general direction, keeping his right hand on his sidearm. The police officers began to confront a soldier and his crew who were standing by their Humvee. Unfortunately, the soldiers were not very well educated in the Oetzarian language. The officers began to raise their voices, screaming at the oblivious soldiers, demanding some form of respect or recognition that simply wasn't getting through. It was quite difficult to take a man seriously when you're the one with a fully automatic rifle, body armor and an armored vehicle.

Thomas finally caught up to the group just as the officer began to pull out his side arm. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?" He asked in Oetzarian. The police officer became fully erect, composing himself to answer Thomas's question "Perhaps you would like to answer that yourself".

"I apologize for any... inconvenience, but this operation has nothing to do with you. This port is rented by the Vymarian Government, we have the right to do whatever we please with it".

The police officer became beet red "But you lack the jurisdiction to bring a military force into our land. This is an unlawful occupation! Do not make me call in the military, for heavens sake I will..."

Thomas inched forward "Your nation is under coup"

"And your port is under our nation. I will not allow filth such as yourself to ravage our nation. I've seen what your people do, and I will tolerate it no longer".

Thomas looked behind him. A Ticonderoga cruiser retreating back into the sea to begin its anti-piracy operations. He swung back around "Who funds this port officer?"

The officer stammered, knowing the answer to the question. Without Vymarian cargo ships constantly coming in, the port would have probably closed down a long time ago.

"What nation has allowed piracy to engulf its water ways?"

The officer placed his hand on his firearm. The crew of the Humvee to his side armed the .50 calibre, alerting the 19 other police officers. The rhetoric had attracted attention from the entire Battalion and the surrounding locals. A stryker was now moving up the road, and soldiers from the Humvee to their front had turned their bodies to face the officers. Fingers tapping on their barrels.

"Officer I think your time here is done. You have exactly 5 minutes to get out of my sight before I get this guy..." He jerked his thumb to the man on the .50 cal "To blow all your cars to bits".

The officer, furious but understanding of the situation backed off. "I'm reporting this to the chief. This will not be the last time we meet". With a forceful spit into Thomas's face, the Officer barked an order and the police unit got back into their cars. With a loud revving of their engines, the cars ran away and made a quick left the first chance they got.

As they left, the gunner on the humvee decided to put in his two cents.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that's all the cars they had. The wanker should know his goddamn place".

Thomas raised a hand "Calm down private, the last thing I want is to start a fight with the rebels. We are just here to protect the ports against any of the coups or pirates".

The gunner smiled "So you didn't want to beat the shit out of that guy?"

"Only a little".

Off the Coast of Oetzaria

The Espora Class Corvette was known to be a running joke in the Vymarian army. When someone was called useless or dimwitted, they would just be called "Espora". The reasoning behind this was that the Corvettes were the worst of the army, and their dated equipment only further proved it. This often caused the worst of accepted recruits to be stationed on those corvettes. But it didn't seem to stop the crew from completing their objective.

The 76mm cannon snapped onto its target. A small ferry boat.

A ferry boat that carried insurgents who were rapidly steering the boat in the opposite direction of the Corvette. Once the order was given, the 76mm gun let out 5 quick shots into the boats upper hull. Splinters flew about as HE rounds slapped into the ships wooden structure. Glass flew about in the bridge, immediately neutralizing all who were in it, followed by anyone in the lower hull.

The ship began to sink as pirates began to throw themselves overboard, tossing their guns to the side. Once they hit the water, they were easy prey for the quick deployment ships who ran up and arrested them on the spot. And who else but the Thebans were willing to make this process even easier by constructing a task force to fight the pirates. All they would need, was a response to the Theban proposal.

Vymarian Task Force

Vymartoff

To those it may concern,


The waters of Oetzaria and its neighbors have been ruled by pirates for far too long. We greatly appreciate this initiative to further propel the cause of kicking out these slavers of our trading lanes. We further thank you for respecting our claim to neutrality, and we hope for you to be aware of our movements inside of Oetzaria. Over the next couple of unfolding weeks, we will be occupying Oetzarian ports in order to keep our trade with the nation and its neighbors alive and well. The ports will be occupied with armored units as to ward off loyalist and rebel Oetzarians. We would like to make you aware that we will allow your ships to seek refuge in our ports.

We will make an effort to keep you aware of Vymarian movements inside and around Oetzaria as to avoid any unfortunate accidents. We further thank you for your cooperation.

Admiral Zachary Rudolf

[Erythrean Thebes]

+12 hr since invasion

Typically, with the Thebans military and political tools are kept closely associated; some states energetically avoid this arrangement, fearing that military power in the hands of political elites or vice-versa will make it impossible to keep checks on their power, but in Thebes it is well-known that military and political power are compliments to one another and are most effective when coordinated together by shared ends. So generals are also experienced politicians, and they use the classic tools of persuasion and performance to try and bolster their efforts on the battlefield with additional victories in the hearts and minds of leaders or their citizens. And as the soldier is inevitably a political animal of the highest order, a good general should have political sense if for no other reason than to be compelling enough to keep the imagination of his own followers.

A crisis both political and military like the one sprung by Altpeak upon the subcontinent required the right response, which would be furious enough in appearance to answer the tacit challenge against Theban power and control the unfolding narrative, without being carried away or allowing concern for appearances to seduce the Thebans into any unnecessary acts. Moreover, steel was not the only message the Theban leaders wanted to convey in this uncertain situation. The situation was identified for its exceptional escalation potential; there was a high theoretical ceiling of force in this clash against the snarling Altpeak, and a large chance that the Thebans would only be turning the heat up on themselves if they tried to lay down a chastening blow against an adversary already imagining themselves in an all-or-nothing war. They had to try and suggest strength and solidity in their words, and hopefully Theban military power would speak for itself enough to show the Altpeak the high costs of invasion.

There was the usual flood of soundbites from politicians, generals, and civilian leaders. People took to the internet and social media to try and spread their take on what was happening, including plenty of ‘friends of Thebes’ who applied the label of outrage or disgrace to the sudden attack. Armin, the Prince of Lippe, which was a well-known friend of the City of Thebes and a very profitable source of aircraft for the Theban commonwealth, went public with his endorsement of Theban military might and the proposal for an avionics plant in Thebes that would soon churn out destruction at a level far beyond the capacity of Communism to answer. Soon he was an invitee of King Isandros and expected to appear soon as a powerful spokesperson for Thebes’ foreign allies across the world.

The first measure was to control the narrative as the story of the invasion in Oetzaria broke out across the world. In a diverse and teeming world the news media community was often anarchic and could never be corralled into holding one singular viewpoint on a given issue; far too many news outlets were running partisan programs to begin with and applied their ‘spin’ to each story according to the image which they already committed to promote. The Thebans enjoyed some friendly coverage from certain spheres and could manufacture some more if they called upon ties in business and media circles; they fed these media outlets key information during the initial phase of the invasion trying to ensure a unified front in the friendly media. But the Theban government was also familiar with what they referred to as the “expert media” or sometimes the “five-hour coverage”, which were the names that had been given to the closely-connected network of breaking news outlets, play-by-play and social media events analysts, and sophisticated information consumers in the security and governmental policy industries. These wonks of the international military and surveillance establishments who kept to a insular community in this way typically shared a certain jaded outlook on international relations, and more importantly they shared proximity to the conversations and the developments of the inner echelons of state power. The Theban royal news service, Angelos Basilikos, was a famous example of such a thing. Designed for civil servants in the Royal government, since 1992 it had offered a publicly available version online and delivered by email which was renowned as an almost encyclopedic authority on the realpolitik condition of the world and its regions on any given day. By 2017 it had lost its original meaning as a purely internal memo and become a respected daily. In the days immediately following the Altpeak invasion, the Angelos Basilikos fiercely represented the Theban position to the policy wonks of the international community, and tried to tarnish the reputation of Altpeak with scathing articles intricately examining the state of Communist forces in the subcontinent, to try and show, among several things, that Thebes knew a great deal about Altpeak capabilities in Oetzaria, and that they had the situation problematized to a point where the Theban military machine could capably formulate a response.

Particular attention kept coming back to the Altpeak air forces suspected to be operating out of Azerzetnia. A lengthy article summarized the effort to identify the composition of these aerial forces which had begun as long ago as August 2017 with stealth surveillance flights by the Hawks, a special team of experienced pilots, and was only now just being completed in part thanks to the huge spike in activity from the Communist invaders. Including several printouts of infrared and radar images, the article claimed to guess that there were only 100 Altpeak aircraft active in the subcontinent and that “probably most of these” were the SU-34. In conclusion the author traced the Communist aircraft to a series of 3 arrival flights sometime between May and October and hypothesized that they were carefully chosen to support a lightening invasion of the Oetzarian republic.

Nothing further was offered by the reporter, who carefully mimicked the statements of the Theban command and offered some tame guesses for the next phase of the war. To the Theban generals, it was another aspect of a seemingly singular issue: could Oetzaria be saved from Communist occupation, and if so then how? Of course few thought that the episode could end with an agreement to tolerate two Communist satellite states next door to Baal, but there were grave doubts that a reaction could be deployed quickly enough to establish a viable fighting force in Oetzaria. And if there were no way to stabilize a front line, and barely any competent allied forces alive on the ground, then what assistance was even useful or appropriate from the allied forces garrisoned inside Baal?

Certain strategic principles were clear enough. The Altpeak menace was a foreign threat and that was clear; they had a longish voyage across the sea in order to bring in these threatened 150,000 reinforcements, which was no doubt part of the reasoning behind such a large second wave. Their main army would have to come with some staying power. The Thebans realized the importance of their naval superiority and 3 fleets of the Theban Royal Navy were activated with orders to establish a zone of control encompassing the subcontinent and its surrounding seas. Within a week they could be rebased to the zone surrounding Baal as a strong intercept force; at that point they would sally out to present a defensive wall against reinforcements from Altpeak.

Task Force Athambais was the quick-reaction force available to the Thebans and their allies in the intervening time. It had a few primary objectives. The simplest was to add a heavy air and missile complement to the defense forces of Baal. The country was technologically modern with an inspired defensive doctrine, but it lacked significant penetration into the 5th generation and it was numerically small in comparison to Azerzetnia. Moreover Theban military commanders worried profusely about the missile program of their former client state Azerzetnia, of which the missile program was a major offensive and defensive strategy dwarfing the arsenal of Baal. A large compliment of F-35s plus battery support from the fleet was intended as a bristling missile shield that could potentially neuter a large element of the Communist war plan.

At the same time, stealth submarines arrived with the Task Force to go dark in the waters of Baal. They would stalk the area as a potential nuclear deterrent in the event of an emergency; this role was also possible for the F-35s as there was a small arsenal of nuclear warheads equipped with the Task Force. More red lines could be drawn as they were needed, but initially a nuclear threat existed only to guarantee the existence of Baal, as a further protection to the allied country.

However, the Thebans did not intend to play a purely passive role and immediately retreat to considering the security of Baal; the loss of both other of the allied countries in the continent was an untenable situation that not only spelled national disaster but also smacked bitterly of defeat. Their commanders, some of whom had a little bit of previous experience dealing with implied or explicit WMD threats and the nuclear red line, argued that it would waste a large part of the benefit of drawing a red line on Baal if the allied commanders failed to then use the country as a deniable strike platform against Altpeak. The supposed ‘hypocrisy’ of guaranteeing the security of Baal and then using the country to launch covert strikes against the Communists was in fact mostly the point of the gesture, they said. Initially, it would be only Theban pilots who operated off of the carrier group or from air bases in the countryside; later there was the possibility of bringing in elements of the Baal Air Force itself to inflict greater damage.

The political situation was confused. Thebes had declared war on Altpeak but was technically allies with Oetzaria and ostracized but not at war with Azerzetnia. It was unclear if Azerzetnia had declared war on Oetzaria especially as it was unclear what the significance of the new Communist government was in relation to the collapsing republican government. In the few hours following the invasion, as Task Force Athambais approached the shore, Theban F-35s staged covert strikes on both Azerzetnian and Altpeak aircraft invading Oetzaria. This was considered one of the few viable uses of Theban assets in the region, as conventional air operations would require a larger force (not possible yet in anyways) and the Communists were exposed during the invasion, distracted by their occupation and engaged already. After the report reached Thebes that there was an army-sized force of about 35,000 allied and Theban troops struggling to organize a front line in the southern reaches of Oetzaria, Operation Talon Claw was hastily approved as sequel to four or five original missions which had tried to free Oetzarian loyalist troops pinned by Communist air power near the key cities of Nudzush and Astermydian. Typically coming upon Oetzaria from across the sea to the south after having detoured around the southern tip of Azerzetnia, the Theban stealth fighters tried to catch Communist aircraft from the flank using IR homing – potentially devastating in the middle of wartime operations – and make them pay for advancing too quickly ahead of their armies or for trying to interdict the southward movement of the Theban colony troops. They would then slip back out to the sea, sometimes without having approached very close at all to the Communist positions crawling southward and westward across the border.

A plan began to emerge. As the invasion of Oetzaria reached into its 10th hour, Royal Guard Commander Eupolos submitted to the other officers the operation that his staff had put together with the forces available on the ground. The approximately 35k Theban and Oetzarian loyalist troops in the south of the country were expected to unite as a coherent fighting force (despite being still scattered) and to mount a spirited counter-offensive against the Communist troops entering Oetzaria from the border to their east. Allied air forces would lay down a thundering bombardment of air defense and missile battery installations on both Oetzarian and Azerzetnian sides of the border in preparation for a sizable airlift operation – an ideally 15k Theban and Baal forces on paper – which would jump from Baal into the outskirts of the port cities of Nudzush and Astermydian. The Communists in the south would then be trapped on two sides and pulverized; the allies together would hold Nudzush and Astermydian as outposts in Oetzaria to take on reinforcements and supplies. The biggest variable was the possibility that Azerzetnia might be encouraged to expand the conflict and escalate their attack on Oetzaria or even launch a second attack on Baal, what with the prospect of strikes on their own territory and as many as 15k troops operating on just the other side. Nor was the purpose of the operation clear to all who regarded it, as some continued to see Oetzaria as a loss because of the logistical and tactical shortcomings and believed that the proposed action would only worsen the nature of the encirclement and defeat developing there. But the Commander won approval for his plan as the Thebans could not avoid thinking that it was one of the only ways to preserve a modicum of initiative for Thebes, to use completely all of the forces which were available in the theater and not to write any of them off or waste them, which actually offered the potential of a tactical victory that improved the position of the fighting forces on the subcontinent.

In the meantime, a second armed force of approximately 55-65k was preparing to deploy ahead of the main army mustering near the City of Thebes, which would hasten across the sea to garrison Baal, or potentially (situation depending) to try and attack in Oetzaria. It was deemed a good sized force, large enough to add new options for Thebes but lithe enough that it could set out early and get there in the crucial week of the invasion. When it arrived it could be either a guarantee of security for Baal or instead the mailed fist of Theban vengeance.

[Altpeak]

Four days after the Communist Intervention

The joint Altpeakian-Azerzetnian intervention in Oetzaria was swift. By its fourth day, the 15th Airborne Division reached Oetzaria’s capital of Oertzurm and restored law and order in the city which had been lawless since the rapid collapse of the Oetzarian government, as troops of the Oetzarian People’s Army took the opportunity to loot the richest of their capital’s districts. Casualties to the Communist forces had been light, with a mere 37 Altpeakians dead by the fourth day of the intervention and 264 wounded. This was in stark contrast to the Altpeakian Theatre Command’s estimations which had placed the expected Altpeakian deaths in the low hundreds by the time Oertzurm fell.

With Altpeakian troops now on the streets of Oertzurm, the commander of the Oetzarian People’s Army declared the foundation of the People’s Republic of Oetzaria and that those Oetzarian troops who still resisted in the south of the country were guilty of treason against the people of Oetzaria. As part of this declaration, it was also stated that any Oetzarian troops who joined the Oetzarian People’s Army would be pardoned of their crimes against the Proletariat. This mercy was not extended to former Oetzarian government officials, who were declared irredeemable traitors to the global proletarian cause and willing pawns of the capitalists, who were to be executed on sight.

The newly formed government of the People’s Republic of Oetzaria, comprised mainly of officers from the Oetzarian People’s Army and leaders of the Oetzarian Communist Party(long outlawed by the former government), also addressed the nation of Vymar, whose troops had landed in and taken control of an Oetzarian port city. The government of the People’s Republic of Oetzaria stated that the license for control of the port extended to the Vymarians was no longer valid and if the Vymarian government wished to keep it, they must enter into negotiations with the People’s Republic of Oetzaria with the aim to come to an agreement regarding the port. As the first stage of these, Vymarian troops would be required to hand over control of the port to Altpeakian 43rd Rifle Division until such a time as a new agreement is reached. Therefore, Vymarian troops have been given five days to withdraw and if they remain on Oetzarian soil after that time has elapsed, they will be considered as invaders and therefore enemies of the People’s Republic of Oetzaria and her allies.

As the People’s Republic of Oetzaria began to take its first steps out onto the world stage, always looming behind it was the shadow of the Proletarian Republic of Altpeak which announced that henceforth, the People’s Republic of Oetzaria and its citizens were under Altpeak’s protection. Any attack upon them would be treated as an attack upon Altpeak. This statement was followed by a declaration of alliance between the People’s Republic of Oetzaria and Azerzetnia.

However, the Altpeakians also made a second announcement. The government revealed that two of its SU-34 ground attack aircraft had been shot down by Theban F-35s. As a result of this act of “blatant aggression”, the Proletarian Republic decided to increase its commitment in Oetzaria by 150,000 men. The exact composition of this increased force has not been revealed yet. However, it is assumed that a large contingent will be drawn from the Airborne Troops and that there will be a heavy air-to-air component to counter Theban air power in the region.

In addition, following the Theban announcement of its deployment of nuclear warheads to the region, the Proletarian Republic of Altpeak denounced the action as those of "vile capitalists, bent on the destruction of the proletarian cause" and declared that any use by Thebes of nuclear weapons in the region would be met by an Altpeakian response against, not against Baal, but against the Thebans homeland.

[Rupudska]

SMS Karl V
Near Wenwald

It wasn't just because a factory owned by a Karlslandic company was being built in Thebes, really. Thebes was an ally of Karlsland - a recent one, with the nations only recently discovering each other - as it so often happens. However, whether a nation had been an ally for a minute or a millennium made no difference to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, or the Ministry of War - if a friend of Karlsland was in need, the Empire would go.

The fact that the Thebans were fighting against Communist aggressors was just icing on the proverbial cake. A spoonful of sugar helps the deployment of troops go down, after all, and Karlsland had shared a border with a notably aggressive Communist state for half a century before, so they knew what it was like.

There was also the fact that Karlsland wouldn't have to hold back with their forces - no terrorists, mujahedin, or other extremists to worry about (Communists generally weren't Like That as even the most staunchly anti-superstition type tended to not care much about a Witch's magic once they saw it in action) so they didn't have to restrict themselves to planes. Sure, they didn't expect to send more than a few regiments, some squadrons, and a CBG, but they didn't have to hold back on what they could send.

There were some minor problems, of course. Initial plans had involved landing in Wenwald and pushing east, but the current... situation, in Oetzaria would make that difficult. The number of Altpeakans in the region grossly outnumbered what Karlsland was currently sending. Furthermore, with two of Altpeak's Su-34's having been shot down, the Communist nation had promised a great increase in manpower sent to the region.

Already Karlsland was vastly outnumbered on land, and only matching on sea and in the air. They could land, but finding a place to dock a carrier would prove difficult at best, let alone finding a docking site safe enough to protect the troops, were Wenwald to fall.

Simply put the Karl V was dangerously outgunned for the moment and would require backup as soon as they settled in, whether it was inside or outside of the city. And they'd be fighting all the way in. Complicating matters was the Altpeakan's presence within the suburbs - too crowded to use heavy bombers. They'd have to rely on Witches and fighters for air cover for now, with Phantoms providing a jamming screen.

Konteradmiral Wilhelm Mikkelsen watched the last of Marinejagdhexegeschwader 64 'Tropikvogel' squadron take off, the twenty Witches loaded down with an air-to-ground loadout - mostly MBDA Brimstone missiles, with a pair of IRIS-T air-to-air missiles for defense if necessary from planes, and the standard MG5 for defense from infantry. You never know, maybe the Altpeakans could hit a Witch flying at a few hundred knots. The twenty Witches formed a two-leveled chevron formation with five Me-505Ss from Marinezerstörergeschwader 10 'Hammerkopf' behind them as they entered Theban airspace - Karlslandic doctrine always had combat Witches take the lead of formation.

Wenwald's air traffic control (or military control) would soon find itself contacted by Lieutenant-Colonel Sigrun Weber, commanding officer of MJH-64.

<<Wenwald, Wenwald, this is Tropic One-Actual of the Karlslandic Kriegsmarine, we heard you had a small Communist problem. Requesting bogey dope on targets nearest the port - Konteradmiral MIkkelsen wants plenty of space to land the troops.>>

[Erythrean Thebes]

City of Wenwald
07:54, +4 days of Invasion

The city of Wenwald was in chaos on this chilly winter morning, but in fact it had quieted to a certain extent, and now plodded along as an unfolding standoff between the few bunkered loyalists and the cool, confident attackers methodically prodding into their last shoreline stronghold. It was nothing like the first 24 hours of the surprise attack, in which brutal internecine fighting had choked the joint Naval/Air-Control installation of Szalshi Grizhevo and witnessed the savage subjugation of the city’s police force by partisans and civilian allies of the National Communist Party. It was only because a very straight-shooting private on watch at the armory had immediately reported the Rebels’ first ‘subtle’ attempt at accessing the base arms and ammunition that the Base Commander Zomas Indrolu, long suspicious of the fissures in his subordinates, put the installation on DEFCON 3, and in so doing forced the Rebels to activate their contingency and make an immediate attack with small-arms and CQC.

The outcome had been truly disastrous; the base was littered with corpses – not the piles and piles that might have filled the mess hall and dormitories otherwise, but a grisly distribution nevertheless across the hallways and at the entrances to the Headquarters, armory, vehicle depot, etc. But in respect to the Base Compound itself, a temporary victory was snatched away from an otherwise all-too-typical surrender. The Communist partisans had mostly given up the coup or otherwise had tried to consolidate themselves in the Canteen as planned; there they had eventually surrendered after over an hour of negotiations which concluded with a bald threat to demolish the building. Almost 100 prisoners were now sealed (most ironically) inside secure compartments of the armory, not to be dealt with for some time. For now, the perimeter of the Base was the salient concern, as the news came through that the Azerzetnian forces were cautiously penetrating through the outskirts of the city.

And so there was an unusual amount of loaded guns hanging around in the Command Center couched in the arms of battle-ready soldiers, observing through a palpable layer of tension the deliberations of Commander Indrolu and his staff buried in their computers and rotating one readout after another on the giant screens for consideration. The 52 year-old chief officer himself kept a hand clenched around the short mass of his beard and puckered while he thought deeply on the intelligence filtering in. The disappearing air control network of Oetzaria now could provide little, but his own AN/MPN-25 installation observed the repeated passes of some heavy fighters overhead of the city, seemingly loaded down to pulverize eyes and ears of the country like himself. Then why was he not yet a pile of dust ranged against the northern coast?

“Commander we have a third-party signal coming in from offshore,” piped up one of the comms officers who was pressing the earpiece as hard as he could against the side of his head and kept glassy eyes peeled against the glowing computer screen.

At once Indrolu ceased his circuit around the room and hustled to stand over the shoulder of the junior officer. “It’s not from the Communists?” he asked in surprise, having assumed that part of his continued existence was in the expectation that he would surrender the installation to the invaders and eschew blinding them completely to the wrathful vengeance of the Thebans.

“Eike Commander,” the young man corrected him flatly, and with some swipes at the keyboard he linked the audio to the intercom and played it aloud through the room.

<<Wenwald, Wenwald, this is Tropic One-Actual of the Karlslandic Kriegsmarine, we heard you had a small Communist problem. Requesting bogey dope on targets nearest the port - Konteradmiral MIkkelsen wants plenty of space to land the troops.>>

Indrolu brooded at this overture. It was lucky that the news of Theban-Karslandic handshaking and industry alliance had been a big headline in his part of the world. And at this moment he felt pretty grateful that their two worlds were drawing together. But he was also afeared. Right now, he was surely left to his own devices because the Communists believed he would see the situation and turn his command over. When the bombs started falling, he knew it would mean a great deal to the enemy howitzers parked in the suburbs of his beautiful city, to say nothing of the death-dealing wasps which pointedly buzzed over his head in succession. But it was no life to turn aside his valor and take the chains of their loathed ethnic foes, the Azerzetnians – perhaps, not even in any sense of life at all. And he might win.

“Hm,” he went to himself while he scratched his bearded chin. “Go ahead and forward them the enemy positions. Get their guys cleared on our transponders. And let them know we’re hard pressed in here, ya?” Then he turned and addressed the commandoes packed inside the room. “Get the base on DEFCON 1, enemy strike drill Kleishna, double-time.”

The lt. saluted him, “yes commander,” and took a handful of his men at a near-race out from the room.

[Erythrean Thebes]

OPERATION SINISTER

PHASE 1: NEUTRALIZE ENEMY GROUND-TO-AIR DEFENSES / AIR CONTROL DEFENSES / STRATEGIC STRIKE EMPLACEMENTS // 00:00 – 00:55



ORBAT (combat forces)

Theban Forces

Task Force Athambais

1 x Ford-class aircraft carrier
--- 35 F-35 Lightening II
--- 20 Su-35 Sukhoi
--- 5 EA-18G Growler electronic warfare
--- 10 MH-60 Seahawk multi-mission helicopter
--- 3 RQ-4 Global Hawk surveillance UAV drones
--- 7 MQ-1 predator drone

10 x Arleigh Burke-class destroyer
12 x Medusa-class AWACS destroyer
6 x Ticonderoga-class cruiser
8 x Independence-class LCS frigate
2 x Ohio-class guided missile submarine
1 x fast combat support ship

Baal Forces

Second Bomb Wing

- 55 B-52
- 15 F-4 II
- 4 Falcon SIGINT
- 5 B2

Lundogal Missile Launch Facility

- 35 ASMP supersonic
- 7 P-1000


OBJECTIVES

The first phase has a singular and clear objective in addition to a corollary. The combined strike forces of Baal/Thebes must neutralize Azerzetnian air control and strategic strike in the critical region of the southern border to remove high-level threats to the airlift in phase 2, and establish a dominant battle position in the skies above the critical air transit regions likely to be used for an aerial counterattack. However, because of the time delay inherent in these preparatory strikes, the risk of alerting the enemy to the battle plan is salient. Therefore, our own time-management of Phase One is essential to the operation. Baal forces will strike first, using supersonic missiles and strikes from the Second Bomb Wing to destroy the strategic defense installations adjacent in Southern Azerzetnia. We hope that this will sow ambiguity and raise the possibility that Baal is acting impetuously on their own initiative. However, to ensure destruction of these most important sites, we expect the need for additional bombardment from Theban forces positioned off the coast to the south. Therefore, after a delay, our own forces will perform additional strikes to ensure complete destruction. Our hope is that the combined effect of all of these maneuvers will be to germinate the conclusion in the enemy thinking, that an abrupt air offensive with superficial misdirection efforts is about to occur across the southern border as our bid to alleviate pressure on the southern flank.

Of course, the real onus of Phase One is divided into two foci, the second of which is the concentration of strategic defense emplacements located near the border of Oetzaria-Azerzetnia. This second objective will be heavily bombarded after a delay of 25-30 minutes, to wait as long as possible before revealing all of our targets to the enemy. However, we are at pains not to allow delaying to capitulate our crucial need for air superiority over the primary air transit routes. Therefore, we intend F-35 stealth aircraft to begin air superiority operations at a high-altitude low-signature profile over the demarcated regions at no less than 5-15 minutes after the beginning of the operation.

[Erythrean Thebes]

Royal Palace
City of Thebes

In the song of Illium you will still find the oldest name of Apollo – the Cause of Plagues. And in the ancient times all would shudder to hear when mournful lyrics unfolded the vision of his deathly image and brought alive the rattle of sickness that hung about his wide-looking wrath. But that was a thing descended to man by heaven in the spirit of cruel disaster; for it is not that the gods themselves will the compact between man and nature, but man makes out the letter of his contract with the divine by the quality of what he bears within his own immortal soul. So when grief had burned out the land to dust and the injury in the heart of man was expired there followed the seemly light of hope, new light which looked into the contours of life and lit up the dream of heroes and good repute once again. So man reviving himself saw robes of dignity about Apollo ‘Phobios’ rather than the trappings of conquest and put the light of the sun at his back rather than garb him in the cloud of sickness. And it seems that this change in heart was very agreeable, for the god Apollo responded in magnificent fashion and revealed himself to Castor the chosen of Boeotia as a savior and guardian, to keep him and his people safe so long as they would steadfastly live in observation of the dictates of divine law. And no little thankfulness has filled the heart of the Theban people at this remarkable act, so that with every increase in worldly matters they obsequiously give him honor and tribute for the incredible generosity of his spirit. And that is why a great and imposing image of Him in the venerable splendor of absolute and enlightened rule stands by aid of the gentleman’s staff in the marble foyer of the Royal Palace, and around the shining pedestal the stairs to the upper recesses of the building curve like the bend of his eternal commitment to sacred justice.

And in the proverbial shadow of this giant Lord there walked two of the lesser creatures appointed to preside over the mundane business of men – Isandros the King of Thebes, his stocky frame swaddled inside the layers of flowing dress which were his royal custom, and at his side careful to keep the same strolling pace Alkmaion his Steward of the Royal Household, who on behalf of the stern and quiet Theban king played the vital role of intrigue master and unsurpassed diplomatic expert. The grooves of time’s hardening experience were pressed into his face by the act of listening while he kept warm, inviting eyes peered sideways at the aloof contemplations of the country’s ruler sauntering across the empty floor.

“Tell me,” the King asked flatly of his servant, broaching a new topic in his exploration of the chamberlain’s expertise, “what do you think about the SACTO in this matter?”

As ever the aging statesman went with earnest into his charge; on account of his scrying mind he rolled his shoulders trying to brush off the distraction of some catch in his formal robes. “What do I think of them Your Majesty?” he parroted back unsure of the true inquiry.

Isandros sniffed and he thumbed at his nose, disturbed by the indecision inside his countenance. “I am torn when I think of their assistance in this matter,” he explained in a lordly drawl. “I wonder if they are not some trump card we would be wise to keep in our hand…”

Alkmaion the Steward sighed with all his person and a somewhat indifferent expression appeared on his face as he chased down the King’s meaning. “But we have had that card for a long time,” he reminded the earthly lord of this popular subject. “That is our game indeed, to keep it and hope that it may never come to play.” And that was one of his doings, the foreign policy strategy of coordinating friendship and endeavor with the militant anti-Communists while carefully maintaining the appearance of being constrained by circumstances and forced to delay in taking the embrace of the international free market.

“I only fear that we will be cursing ourselves and very harshly if we find that we have missed our chance to play that card and that our turn will not come around again…” The intangible weights and calculations of military, diplomatic, and economic power parity flowed like a vexatious miasma inside the mind of the Theban King dwelling on the confrontation with the strange Altpeak. He was not impulsive, he would not do anything recklessly or without feeling as if he had been forced to it by the dictates of necessity. But now as he confronted an alien foe with the semblance of being large, militaristic, unknown to his strategists, he carefully felt out the prospect of using dramatic measures.

The Steward, whose influence was behind so much of the Commonwealth’s foreign policy at one level or another, who was an expert in analyzing the balance of these things, believed firmly that it was too early to make the deadly play and accept assimilation into the SACTO treaty organization with the handicapping of independent initiative that accompanied it. He believed that the level-headed King thought so as well, and the chamberlain mildly reminded his lord of the trade-off of the thing. “We are not easily to become through-and-through capitalists Your Majesty. Our domestic systems of property, our international strategies of trade…to renovate these things for conformity with SACTO will hurt us and the confusion it will entail for our people is severe.” He knew that when the game was seen from high above it was SACTO who held power, perfectly safe within the gridlock of their collective alliance and with no need to write confusing exemptions for a single polity. And to penetrate at last Thebes’ fastidious mercantilist and protectionist controls they would obviously require more liberal policies on the pretext of capitalist orthodoxy.

“Of course they will be keen to ask,” Isandros agreed in a dry tone of voice. Although strolling along they had cleared the bright open foyer now and they wandered down the first-floor hallway toward the eastern wing of the palace. The busts of distinguished gentlemen and kings decorated the space between grave wooden doors. “We are not some wretched liability however; bringing famed mercenary soldiers, bringing cultural and intellectual dominance, bringing long-practiced skills in dealing with others and the problems of the world, famed for good character and resilience…” He frowned; “it is losing our independence on the world stage which I truly fear for. Indeed when negotiations are finished and new strategies designed I do not worry for a disturbance in our public…but to lose our invaluable place as a friend to all kinds of people, who can find commonality in every system and make the credible promise of agreement on simple things, on universal things – to lose that and become an ideologue, friend only to capitalists, tossing out friendship with collectivists. That is what I dislike the most.”

Alkmaion could only nod as he agreed so much with the perspective and had built it from the very start. “But I would not have you think, my lord king, that you are pressed by some timely system which will force you to guess on the severity of your need for help before you have encountered it for sure. Indeed I would have you recognize that things are the opposite – exactly because SACTO will hope to open us at the call of necessity, I think that it will be perfectly appropriate to delay any decision such as that until you feel certain that our independent system of war and diplomacy will not meet the demands of the Communist threat.”

“You are right of course,” the King admitted. “It is only that the threat is so uncertain as to make me fear a deadly trap which will fall upon us before we recognize in the moment that we have need of more drastic action.”

The Steward offered his sovereign a hopeful look. “It will be your business to discover the enemy’s nature of war. I know you would not have it otherwise. However, you will be pleased to know of the overtures I have made with respect to making a known quantity out of these mysterious Altpeak. As it happens, my king, they are a rogue splinter of some larger empire – not unlike us, the occupy a vast region of land united under a single regime. But now this Communist state persists as a dangerous outcropping committed to exporting revolutionary violence abroad. I have been keen, however, to make contact with the remnant of their monarchial state, and as there was good sentiment between us by some simple messages I have dispatched two of your royal ambassadors through the air. Misters Dexicos Mydonos and Pallas Photiou are en route and they are expected to arrive in the Royalist capital sometime this evening for a conference with their sovereign king and his own ministers.”

Isandros was intrigued and he bristled with energy beneath the many garments he wore as King of Thebes. “That is good news indeed…”

It seemed that the royal chamberlain had further to say in regards to the new diplomatic front he opened against the mysterious threat, but as he held his tongue these pressing difficulties of statecraft and foreign diplomacy disappeared into nothing more than a concerned frown which the steward bore privately across the face, and he said no more but rather let the trouble remain with himself; for he left the stage at once and counted as meek when the Theban king spied the young man who was coming around the corner, whose remarkable vigor and force of manhood appeared quite mildly from the youthful features of his chiseled face and by the sophisticated discipline with which he deported his swarthy figure. This wonderful combination of strength and nobility was the young Prince Pausanias, the only son of King Isandros and his beloved heir, a champion in the eyes of the nation and distinguished by achievement in sport and letters, an awesome synthesis of the virile and the civilized virtues of mankind. Power and grace alike radiated from his demeanor and from the sharp humility with which this hero of man greeted his royal father, appearing broad at the edges of his royal dress as the tunic hugged the curve of his back and the bright teal and golden sash of noble bloodline smoothened over the plane of his chest. “Good tidings Your Majesty,” he offered in a pleasant tone, softly accented with the tender love and obedience which was seemly from a grown man to his own father, and as he took the King’s hand he permitted himself to be drawn into embrace. Trailing behind him the motley entourage of palace staff and magistrates of the Royal Guard that followed his daily business halted and tastefully reserved themselves from the meeting between father and son.

“Ah, you look well my boy,” Isandros replied in a happy and hardly surprised voice; in truth he was distracted, and the emergency pressures of the coming war had seen little time for personal life, with both men consumed by immediate business during the day – he Isandros to pull the strings of politics and executive government, his son to play his part in the cogs of mobilization and the battle-to-come. The boy had just left from a meeting of the Guard’s commanding officers as they followed the trickle of intelligence and refined their plan for the battle about to explode over Oetzaria. “Are you still in good cheer even with such gloom and doom across the sea?”

“We are ready for it,” the young man answered, sparing little in regards to worry or pointless fear about the armed clash that was rapidly approaching in the crucial region of the sub-continent. He knew that his father referred to the latest report – intelligence suggesting that a large Communist army was going to invade the region, numbering about 150k and destined to arrive in only a week’s time. Bravery and resolution were the official line of the Royal Guards as they decided to pursue their war plan intending to consummate a counter-strike against Altpeak before the reinforcing army could arrive. Three fleets of the Royal Navy were on a course to reach the area by the fall of night. When they arrived they would unleash a devastating air assault on the Communists that would wrench control of the whole sky into Theban hands. But the aerial offensive was really a shield, intended to box the Communists close within their own borders and bases, so that a sizable fleet of airlift hardware – C-130s, C-5s, C-17s – could complete a first-leg maneuver across the sea into the Republic of Baal without being seen or intercepted by the enemy. As the Royal Navy flooded aircraft into the skies and began Phase Two of the current operation, the airlift planes landing in Baal would refuel and load up a mixed company of Theban and Baal ground forces before making a second journey through the zones of Theban air superiority in Southern Azerzetnia, to deploy these ground forces at the rear of the Communist army in Southern Oetzaria. The air-deployed force would attack right away, essentially off-the-ramp, in combination with an all-out attack on the opposite side from the 30k allied troops remaining in the south, pressuring the enemy from both sides and forcing them to divide their strength, risking the fate of being torn in half and destroyed inside a cauldron of fire.

In choosing this plan, the Theban commanders recognized they would be escalating the strategic level of the conflict, and upgrading it to a wide-scale battle over the entire region, and they decided to consciously control this process. Phase One of the Operation Sinister, which would begin at the fall of evening, intended that the decapitation strikes on South Azerzetnia’s defensive installations would be accompanied by a message to Communist Altpeak reiterating the red line on Baal, but emphasizing the territorial integrity of each of the three countries individually, suggesting that no ground forces from either Oetzaria or Azerzetnia should try to cross into Baal, nor vice-versa. After tacitly messaging this proxy-war scenario, however, when the large-scale aerial offensive of Phase Two began, a second emergency message would be sent which would state plainly that any strategic strike launched by any asset of Communist Altpeak on any target in the sub-region or in Thebes itself would trigger an all-out strategic assault on the Altpeak mainland. If everything went according to plan, when the Altpeak looked into this ultimatum they would be seeing themselves under an all-out and resolute attack and suffering a sudden reversal, with every reason to believe that strategic retaliation would mean MAD, but having the hope of tactical superiority if they were to hold back, as the Theban counter-attack would destroy the Communist army on the southern flank and create an allied force of about 45k there but there would be 150k reinforcements arriving plus the unscathed forces on the northern flank, with only a reinforcement of about 65k for the Thebans arriving just afterwards in time. It was hoped that when the Altpeak faced this decision they would gamble that they had the better tactical position and that they would stay short of a strategic strike and pursue the conventional battle instead, with the Thebans gambling that they could win or contain the enemy with their grand total of ~140k versus a little over ~200k on the side of the Communists.

And it was truly a brave and martial spirit that ran beneath this shrewd and cagey attack. Although there was no telling what the Altpeak would do, the path to victory required confidence and a determined belief that Thebes’ three fleets, when combined with the muscle of their allies Baal, could rule the skies by a sudden swoop. The Communists’ intention to hold this region hostage by the threat of WMDs would be flipped entirely, and the real hostage would be Altpeak themselves, trapped into pursuing an offensive which, although tactically favorable to them, was in essence consciously chosen and embraced ahead of time by Thebes. Then only superior technology, superior knowledge of the self and the art, and superior execution could offer a winning scenario in the struggle to contain the enemy.

But that was every bit of the solemn ethos which Pausanias prince of Thebes displayed on behalf of the Royal Guards and his fellow warriors. “They surprised us, but we will see if they are not in for being surprised themselves,” he said with grim relish of combat. “All this talk of nuclear weapons is exactly talk, but no nuclear bomb will prevent us from being there and from holding the high ground, so that all their vaunted reinforcements will only be a drain and a quagmire for their hopes of victory.” As he finished his proud declaration the thought entered into his head, “won’t you be with us tonight when the attack begins?”

“Of course,” the King replied serenely, “I would never miss it. And on the morrow I will see you off, our noble prince to lead the charge that breaks the enemy advance and puts them in peril of plague and disaster.”

Pausanias curtly bowed his head, modestly taking the high praises of his royal father. “Verily I will put out our shield against them and seize the day.”

“Good,” Isandros said filled with pride and watching his son and his retinue depart with great satisfaction.

[Altpeak]

Altpeakian Theatre Command
The Azerzetnian Capital

Marshal Alexander Uvanich looked over the digital map within his headquarters of the region. Almost all of Oetzaria had fallen to communist forces. The only Oetzarian troops that held out for the former government were crammed into a tiny pocket in the south of the nation or clinging to the few districts they still held within the city of Astermydian. The Astermydian garrison was being slowly, bloodily cleared out, street by street, house by house, by the elite Azerzetnian Mountain Troops, supported by Altpeakian artillery and air support. Veterans of their own four year long civil war in which much of the fighting had taken place in the urban centres of the north west, it was a task to which the Azerzetnians were infinitely better suited than the Altpeakians, whose conscripts often lacked the personal initiative necessary for success in urban warfare.

The second pocket of Oetzarian resistance was being pinned down by the Oetzarian People’s Army. While most of the tanks and SPG’s captured by the Oetzarian People’s Army were so severely damaged as to make them little better than scrap metal. By contrast, the Oetzarian People’s Army had captured government artillery pieces by the thousands and now put them to good use, relentlessly shelling the second pocket. No matter what time of day, there were always shells falling on the loyalist Oetzarian troops, depriving them of sleep and wearing away at their nerves in the way that only artillery can. Unless they were reinforced, an unlikely prospect by this stage, then it was only a matter of time before they surrendered.

As such, the Altpeakian troops and the bulk of the Azerzetnian forces could be turned to deal with the emerging threat in the east posed by the Theban troops deployed in Baal. However, thankfully, fresh forces were coming soon, with the first having already arrived in the shape of 3rd and 19th Airborne Divisions, around 22,000 paratroopers, and more than that, battle experienced troops, a commodity in the largely drafted Altpeakian Armed Forces. While they lacked the heavy armour and artillery of the Rifle Divisions and Armoured Divisions, they still had sufficient APCs and IFVs to be completely mechanized. Paired with their experience, this would make them extremely useful as shock troops to spearhead a counterattack. As such, Alexander was inclined to hold them in reserve alongside the fragment of the 15th Airborne Division that had been deployed as part of the initial intervention force.

However, more importantly for the time being, nearly half of the 160 SU-35s that had been promised to reinforce the Altpeakian air strength had arrived, although one SU-35 had been lost on the journey from their base to Azerzetnia, it was presumed due to Theban action. But for the time being, that gave the Altpekians 103 air-to-air fighters in theatre opposed to the 60 or so thought to be possessed by Task Force Athambais, a nearly two to one advantage. If the Thebans wanted to pave the way for a counter attack, they would first need to claim control of the skies over Oetzaria, meaning the Altpeakian numerical advantage in air-to-air fighters could prove crucial given that all the Altpeakian forces needed to do was keep the skies contested. If they managed to do that, then their superiority on the ground would soon start to tell.

However, no matter what the Thebans plans may have been, the first blood of this second stage of the war would go to Altpeak and her allies. Just hours ago, the Azerzetnian High Command had authorized the launching of 60 Altpeak supplied Scud missiles against the Theban air base. While no precise information had been ascertained as to the effectiveness of the strike, from the reconnaissance already done by the Azerzetnians, it seemed as if the air base had sustained heavy damage. The two Altpeakian SU-34s shot down by Theban missiles had been avenged.

A Port in Oetzaria

The Altpeakian troops of the 21st Rifle Division lived nervously. Just a few miles from the dugouts and trenches they’d dug to serve as their homes were the suburbs of one of Oetzaria’s major port cities, leased out to Vymar by the old government. As the old government was collapsing, Vymarian troops had stormed into the city, de facto taking over it. On a clear day, the Altpeakian look outs could see Vymarian troops manning check points on roads into the city. Offers of a renegotiation of Vymar’s position in Oetzaria had been sent out by the Altpeakian and Oetzarian governments but thus far there had been no answer. And so, the nervous wait continued for the 21st Rifle Division as they waited to see if the men positioned just a few miles away from them were foes or not and whether they would end up assaulting buildings held by those same men in order to reclaim the city for the People’s Republic of Oetzaria.

The sea south of Baal

It was nightime, the Theban fleet was moving across the water towards the theatre of war. Little did they know, they were being followed. 600km away, an Altpeakian Oscar II class submarine moved slowly, silently behind the fleet. Finally, six shapes emerged beneath the water where the submarine lurked, each of the shapes leaving a contrail behind it. They were P-700 “Granit” missiles, each one carrying a 750kg HE warhead, bound for their targets, who still had no idea what was about to slam into them. Without even pausing to look at the effects of its handiwork, the submarine turned face and headed back for its main ports in the north, along the Azerzetnian coast

[Rupudska]

Wenwald was swift enough to respond to LCl Weber's request. Not as fast as she would have liked, clearly they may not have believed her at first, but they responded nonetheless. They were outgunned, but they would fight.

<<Message received. Good luck.>> Switching channels, she addressed the Karlslandic squadrons in the air.

<<All right, we'll deal with this the standard way. Hammerkopf, you take out the fortifications and artillery. Tropikvogel, we'll deal with artillery and vehicles until we're out of missiles, then use our guns to take out as much infantry as we can before we run out of ammunition. Be sure to get your shields up if you need to, and don't be afraid to pull up if you get into a situation; remember, we're a hell of a lot more agile than anything these Communists can field.>>

<<Jawohl!>> was her subordinates' confident reply. They fanned out - the Witches breaking up into two-woman groups, and the fighters largely flying on their own - the Communists had little in the way of anti-air and less still in the way of actual aircraft in the region, leaving the Karlslandic squadrons free to cause carnage as they willed.

And carnage they did, firing off their Brimstones first at the artillery and then at the armored from high altitude but short range - practically dive bombing on them.

Meanwhile, the Roon, the Bornholm, and the Skandeborg moved in to the bay, to prevent any attempts of leaving by sea.

[Vymar]

Vymartoff, Capital of Vymar

It has become obvious to President John Williams that the situation in Oetzaria had spiraled out of control. What was initially an attempt at an "armed" neutrality is now an attempt to make a statement about foreign policy. Unlike the past regime, Vymar would not be complacent when other stronger nations attempt to manipulate it.

The offer of the Altpeak and Oetzarian coalition was insulting at the least. Along with the threat of Altpeakian forces coming in to wipe out the battalion sent to guard the port against pirates and slavers, the offer was no longer an offer. It was a demand. And to John, he had claimed Vymarian neutrality in the conflict and it was to be respected. Giving up the port would weaken not only Vymarian efforts to rid Oetzaria of pirates, but hurt their closest ally in the region: The Thebans.

John walked up to the podium, camera pointed directly into his face. A public service announcement was long overdue. And with a thumbs up from John and a green light on the side of the large camera, John began a speech that nailed the Vymarians into a conflict there was no hope of getting out of...

"My fellow Vymarians... I come to you today because not only is our very sovereignty as a nation is being undermined, but because it is imperative to keep full transparency with you, and the foreign politicians watching as I speak. As many of you know, about a week ago, we began an anti-piracy operation in Oetzaria with Thebes. This involved a dispatch of a fleet and a full battalion of troops to watch over our rented port city off the coast of Oetzaria. Since then, a civil war has engulfed the nation, in bloody battle of ideology. Capitalist against Communist.

About a day or so ago, we were given a demand from the Republic of Altpeak to make negotiations with the new Communist Oetzarian Government if we seek to continue to own the city. The New Government has claimed our "License" has expired, and if we do not relinquish the port to the Altpeakian forces in the area, they will take it from us by force. This demand is illegal for the following reasons.

Firstly, we have claimed neutrality and have stood by this claim since our involvement, or rather observation of the conflict. Any negotiation or treaties revolving around the New Oetzarian government would put us on the side of the communist revolution, instead of an innocent by stander. Until the Government of Oetzaria is not split unto two, this illegitimate government lacks the power to claim or order our great nation to abide by anything.

Secondly, relinquishing the port would cause our anti-piracy operations to not only lose our only base of operations, but a base of supply. Our ally in the en-devour could always give us a port of their's to use, however this would also put our ships in the line of fire if Altpeakian forces ever decide to strike. For this reason, relinquishing the port is not even something to ponder on.

Lastly, how can we be sure that our companies and our workers are properly subsidized for such a damaging move. The port is not just one to throw away, it is one we have used for rest and refueling. To get rid of it would drastically cause the working conditions of Vymarian workers to plummet due to longer trips on less fuel. We must put our people first before anyone else.

For this reason, I suggest the following counter offer. Vymar will stay neutral as long as these offers are accepted. The Newly Claimed Oetzarian Government must relinquish 6 more ports on its ocean borders, for payment for the inability to deal with the pirating issues in their seas that has claimed at least 50 Vymarian lives. Along with this, we demand they renew the "licenses" they claim have expired until a date that will be discussed at a later time. These ports will then be accompanied by Vymarian military personal to help with anti-piracy operations.

If this offer is not accepted, we will have no other choice but to join the Theban coalition and assist the counter revolutionaries. This is not a declaration of war, this is a warning. The United Socialist States of Vymar will not be pushed around by foreign demands, especially by one that lacks legitimacy.

Our senate has been angered by your actions long enough, and many are itching to sign the declaration. Do not force our hand.

To the Vymarian people, it is now that I say my farewell, and wish you best of luck.

Long live Vymar.

As John retreated from the pedestal, he immediately took out his phone and searched for his Minister of Defense's phone number. It was time to send a bit more muscle to the forces in Oetzaria.

Oetzarian Port City

The Altpeakian troops had encroached on the city, the silhouettes of hundreds clearly visible from check points. The Altpeak forces outnumbered them quite heavily, and in a fully conventional fight between the two, the odds of Vymarian victory was slim. The Battalion had already started to plant IEDs in the roads, buildings and back alleys. Armored Vehicles began to be stationed on throughout the city in pairs of 2, prepared to roll out at a moments notice. A Ticonderoga Cruiser brought to the Port City initially to fight Pirates was now only a few miles away from it. Its 5 inch gun, along with all of its available cruiser missiles were armed and ready act as a makeshift artillery unit.

Thomas Popek began these movements as soon as he was notified of the presidents decision, while also enacting a kind of martial law inside of the city. Sending a fully crewed Stryker APC into the Police Chiefs head quarters, monitoring their movements, making sure as to avoid internal conflict while the Vymarians attempted to fight back the Oetzarians. Once the Altpeakians began to push, the APC would unload its rounds onto the Chiefs head quarters, while also deeming any police vehicles as possible targets against the Vymarian interests in the city.

While Thomas Popek did not expect to hold the city, he did expect to hold off the Altpeakian forces until reinforcements could arrive. Whether or not it came within a day or a span of weeks, his goal was to simply hold them off. Something Vymarian tactical strategy succeeded at.

Meanwhile in the seas, Admiral Zackary Rudolph now ceased wasting ammunition on pirates, as the new fish in the water was possible Altpeakian naval forces. Vymarian ships began breaking off from their original spread out formations, and began to form into tight battle formations. Most heading towards Theban ships as to avoid being caught outnumbered and out gunned.

[Legatia]

Imperial Provinces of Legatia
Thebian Theater of Operations
100km west of Orestias Forward Operations Base

The 5.56mm bullet he held in his hand gently caught a glint of the Mediterranean sunlight outside the door of the helicopter. Watching the polished stamped medal catch the reflection of the Pierce gunship to his side, he relented, pushing the bullet into a magazine and sliding it back into his vest.

Coming to his senses, the Decanus caught the droll hum of the rotors of the helicopters gathering about him. The doors of the helicopter gave a meagre view to the stony hills of the land beneath him. Pastures of wheat and vine passed beneath him, roads and towns and forests and farms and rivers. He was shaken, suddenly, by the nudge of the man next to him.

"Optio, sir." The Decanus regarded his half-seasoned commander with a quizzical frown, beneath his OD shemagh mask. The Optio simply gave a grin, looking forward towards the troops sitting on the floor of the helicopter. "It's the first major action in a while. Be glad you're not sweating your balls off in Taname or something like that." The Decanus rolled his shoulders and looked over to his side. "Y'know, my balls are sweaty sitting in this fucking coop. A tropical vacation sounds nice about now."

"Hah!" The man laughed, shaking his head as if knowingly. "A long vacation somewhere a lot warmer than there, I'll guarantee that. This.. this is real combat."

The helicopters rumbled lowly over the fields, their blades occasionally kicking up displaced dust as they maneuvered in formation. Their group was about 50-60 transport helicopters, primarily VH-242s "Tarquis" helicopters, some consisting of the bulkier VTH/C-91 "Challus" transport helicopter for troops and vehicles. Escorting them in were a number of HA-5T Pierce helicopters, geared for both anti-air and ground suppression duties, though primarily the latter.

"All Cordon callsigns, this is Palatine. Be aware that at this time the AO is considered hot. We have confirmed contact with enemy anti-air defense batteries, superiority assets are maneuvering to engage in SEAD maneuvers now."

"Roger that, Palatine, Cordon Actual copies all. Break formation for landing zones, how copy all." The response was null, as the helicopters scattered from their tight formation into a wider array. Overhead, jet engines roared as fighters overtook the formation, screaming off into the distance. Anti-radiation missiles fired off from the racks of these planes, homing in on hostile SAM sites and SPAAG systems. The Peregrine superiority fighters kept speed and altitude in order to evade hostile fire, releasing munitions off of their pylons to engage, suppress, and destroy any hostile anti-air systems within the area that they could. Meanwhile, the helicopters, low and fast, would be able to put in as close as possible to the city of Nudzush.

Coming in in split formations, the helicopters began a rapid descent to their landing zones in the fields. Vehicles were dropped, lighter transports and some with slightly more armor let go from their transports as the helicopters carrying them turned off, unburdened, and flew to gather the next wave.

"Off the birds! Let's go, let's go!" Soldiers with their rifles jumped from the helicopters, lightly burdened with only SAWs, disposable rockets, and other lightweight munitions. As the Tarquis and Challus helicopters departed, the Pierces remained to provide cover for the landed troops with rockets and their 20 mm cannons. An additional flight of attack helicopters, six in total, came over the landing zone to begin engaging armored targets on the way into the city and towards the front lines.

"Sabre 1-5 to Palatine. Request permission to engage known hostile artillery batteries." Forming up after a pass over, two of the helicopters joined with two more.

"Palatine, Sabre 1-5. Permission granted, take them out." The gunner of 1-5 gave a grin as he switched to his guided rocket pods and began marking targets. With a few presses, a few well-placed rockets were laser guided towards artillery positions as the cannon began to rip off rounds towards targets. Their effort was focused in the western area of the field but was not limited there.

While the airspace was already hot with SEAD and counter-armor ops from the attack helicopters, the airmobile men of XIX Fulminata loaded in their vehicles and made a push towards the city and out from it. They would devote their forces to pushing north from the western lines, using their speed and presumably overwhelming air presence to push the Altpeakian lines back, opening a front back in.

[Erythrean Thebes]

Skies Above Baal-Azerzetnia
‘The Longest Day’

“Ah κακώς κακώς…” was the infamous and supremely surreal recording of the voice of squadron commander Thorax, which trailed off ominously at the point when he had seen his comrade Pollio ‘Dasus’ impact the soil of Baal by way of the fireball death of the lad’s Sukhoi-37. Running through his readouts with a palpable pit inside his bowels the pilot activated his comms and checked the status of his squadron. “First Squadron, report your status…”

The calls came back. “No hostiles.” “This is Priam, no hostiles.” “She’s clean commander.” “Orpheus, I’m clean commander.” “No hostiles commander.” “Clean.” “No hostiles, surface is clear at 35 commander.” “Eidolon is clean commander.”

It was about 3:30 in the afternoon. The sun was already making its exit towards the other horizon, throwing blinding rays of light across the semi-arid surface of Eastern Baal. The parched soil below looked desolate and obscured by the reflection. Despite his training, Thorax would later admit that he had badly wished for a minute or two to think at that point. All day his outnumbered aircraft had weathered a brutal offensive from the invading Altpeak, trying to hunt and kill the Thebans’ exasperated complement of fighters. The casualties had been slow at first, as the Thebans had used Baal air defense to avoid taking to the sky except for short sorties to snipe at winchesters. But the tide had turned. After only a couple hours, scuds had started to fall on the Baal airbases. In addition to air operations responsibility, the F-35 had not been able to handle the strikes. And soon after that the hell had begun, with Theban and Baal aircraft forced to remain in the air and make a long journey down to the reserve base at Cirta or back out to sea to land on the carrier Nalor II. Their own shots had dwindled, while the bogeys seemingly had piled up just as countermeasures started to run scarce. At just around this time, it seemed like the melee in the air was going to turn into a foxhunt.

“Squadron on me,” Commander Thorax ordered with little apparent enthusiasm. They had just downed a trio of Mig-35s but the victory was utterly spoiled, even more so when their one casualty had become two thanks to the devious parting shot that had claimed Pollio. “Let’s head to Cirta and get some more flares.” He eyed his altimeter and gently tugged the yolk back. “Set altitude at 17.5k, throttle up.”

They flew south hugging to the coastline for about five minutes, or just long enough that they could feel like their reprieve from combat was stolen when Priam buzzed in from his position out on the edge of the formation. “Ah I’m starting to pick up bogeys commander,” he warned the squadron in a voice that captured much of how he gazed at the radar, “I’m pinging three at 110k. Pinging five…pinging eight,” he said before his voice was cut off.

“Squadron set point on me, go left echelon,” Thorax ordered them sharply, moving to adjust his aircraft into the sloping line which they would observe trying to slip away. Heat and sweat from the fear flashed across Thorax body in a wave. Hopefully his mind went to Peltates 2-2, the F-35 squadron which was operating in their zone. There was no safe way to raise them by radio but they were supposed to be on patrol over the southern reach of Baal, waring Communist planes away from the enclave in the south. If Thorax could get his own squadron into their scanning range, he might be able to count on some surprise help from the friendly stealth fighters.

“I have maybe twelve bogies commander, it looks like maybe four wings coming in on us,” Priam explained cautiously.

Thorax obsessively eyed his gyrocompass and speedometer, fixated on the numbers while Priam methodically would buzz in at intervals of about thirty seconds. “Sixteen bogies out at 95k…at 80k…bogies out at 70k,” and they all could see them for themselves now, hoving into view on the radar from the north-west, painfully unclear how much of their force was protruded onto the readout.

Thorax would twitchingly turn glances to the radar space in front of him, knowing nevertheless that he would not even see the help he hoped for if it were there. He saw the Altpeak bogies appearing towards 60k and he felt a tremendous release from normality.

[Altpeak]

[Ignore this post, managed to post as the wrong nation]

[Royalist Altpeak]

Royalist Altpeak
Μονβασιλεις Mithridates IV
Mithridates, Μονβασιλεις of Empire of Altpeak, sat upon his throne waiting to receive the foreign dignitaries. They hailed from the land of Erythrean Thebes, a distant nation but one that shared the same, noble Hellenic heritage as himself and many of his subjects who still bowed to his divinely given right to rule. Normally, greeting foreign officials was a task given to a more junior member of the Imperial family, a younger son of the ruling monarch or an uncle perhaps, or one of the Imperial Stewards. However, reestablishing contact with more of their noble Hellenic kin was a joyous occasion and called for the immediate personal attention of the Μονβασιλεις and they must be welcome with all the grandeur that such an event demanded. As a result, they would be officially welcome in the Imperial throne room, at the foot of the throne itself.

The entire throne room was a grand, extravagant place, echoing the immense wealth and power that had once been at the fingertips of the individuals who had reigned from it. Painted upon its ceiling was a magnificent mural depicting various of the great deeds of Altpeak's earliest kings, Mithridates' ancestors. At the mural's centre was an image of the first of Altpeak's rulers to declare himself Μονβασιλεις, Λυσιμαχος(Lysimachus) I, kneeling over the corpse of a rival, being crowned in the rays of the dawn sun. The murals were all the more remarkable for being fashioned for naught but marble, gold and amber. When one's gaze descended from the mural, they would find that the walls to the left and right of the throne were adorned with an enormous map of the Altpeakian empire at its height, the borders, mountains and forests picked out in gold, the rivers in silver. Yet, for all their brilliance, these parts of the throne room could not compete with the throne itself. Raised to be ten metres above all else in the room, the throne itself was an enormous lump of gold, its back fashioned to resemble a great two headed eagle, spreading its wings out behind the man sat upon the throne and the rests upon which he put his arms forged into the shapes of two snarling lions, theirs eyes made of sparkling jet.

As if the Emperor's wealth and power needed further reinforcing, standing as a human barrier between the steps leading up to the throne and the rest of room stood an iron wall of Royal Guards, in ceremonial uniform. They wore heavily patterned gold and scarlet tunics, almost as if to camouflage them against the room's walls, and purple cloaks worn so that they covered the right shoulder and fixed with heavy rectangular silver brooches. Upon their heads were purple peaked caps and on their feet they wore heavy boots that echoed noisily against the throne room's marble floor each time they moved. In their hands they held rifles at attention, their gaze fixed firmly forwards.

Behind them sat their charge, in the traditional dress of the Μονβασιλεις at official occasions, a bright purple cloak worn in the same manner as his guards and a heavily patterned silk gold and dark purple tunic. Upon his head was the large and heavy gold crown of Altpeak and over his face a gold mask shaped to resemble the features of Lysimachus I, distancing the Μονβασιλεις from all those around him and reminding them that was no mere human but a bearer of both divine blood and right.

Fanning out to either side of the throne was a crowd of people, members of the imperial family, officials, members of the government and military as well as a duo of servants who bore gifts of gold, precious gems and purple silk cloaks as well as large goblets of wine to give to the arriving diplomats. An outdated tradition perhaps, mused Mithridates, but one that still served its intended purpose.

As that thought passed out of Mithridates' head, the great doors of the throne room swung open and in came the Theban diplomats, being led forwards by an officer of the Royal Guard. A few meters away from the wall of Royal Guards that stood between any oncomer and the throne's steps, he stopped and the Theban diplomats did likewise, allowing the officers to kneel and announce "Επιφανες, standing before you are Dexicos Mydonos and Pallas Photiou of Thebes". Then, turning to the Theban diplomats, he stated "Noble sirs, before you is Μονβασιλεις Mithridates IV, rightful ruler of all Altpeak and Επιφανες".

With the formal introductions dealt with, Mithridates said "Greeting Οι Γενοι μου. We would present you with these gifts and this wine as a token of our friendship", extending his arm open handed towards the two servants bearing the gifts in question. Understanding that this was their cue, the two servants walked forwards and knelt before the two diplomats, holding up the trays upon which the gifts lay above their heads so that the diplomats might drink from the goblets of wine before entrusting the rest to their own servants.

[Erythrean Thebes]

Royalist Altpeak
Μονβασιλεις Mithridates IV
Mithridates, Μονβασιλεις of Empire of Altpeak, sat upon his throne waiting to receive the foreign dignitaries. They hailed from the land of Erythrean Thebes, a distant nation but one that shared the same, noble Hellenic heritage as himself and many of his subjects who still bowed to his divinely given right to rule. Normally, greeting foreign officials was a task given to a more junior member of the Imperial family, a younger son of the ruling monarch or an uncle perhaps, or one of the Imperial Stewards. However, reestablishing contact with more of their noble Hellenic kin was a joyous occasion and called for the immediate personal attention of the Μονβασιλεις and they must be welcome with all the grandeur that such an event demanded. As a result, they would be officially welcome in the Imperial throne room, at the foot of the throne itself.

The entire throne room was a grand, extravagant place, echoing the immense wealth and power that had once been at the fingertips of the individuals who had reigned from it. Painted upon its ceiling was a magnificent mural depicting various of the great deeds of Altpeak's earliest kings, Mithridates' ancestors. At the mural's centre was an image of the first of Altpeak's rulers to declare himself Μονβασιλεις, Λυσιμαχος(Lysimachus) I, kneeling over the corpse of a rival, being crowned in the rays of the dawn sun. The murals were all the more remarkable for being fashioned for naught but marble, gold and amber. When one's gaze descended from the mural, they would find that the walls to the left and right of the throne were adorned with an enormous map of the Altpeakian empire at its height, the borders, mountains and forests picked out in gold, the rivers in silver. Yet, for all their brilliance, these parts of the throne room could not compete with the throne itself. Raised to be ten metres above all else in the room, the throne itself was an enormous lump of gold, its back fashioned to resemble a great two headed eagle, spreading its wings out behind the man sat upon the throne and the rests upon which he put his arms forged into the shapes of two snarling lions, theirs eyes made of sparkling jet.

As if the Emperor's wealth and power needed further reinforcing, standing as a human barrier between the steps leading up to the throne and the rest of room stood an iron wall of Royal Guards, in ceremonial uniform. They wore heavily patterned gold and scarlet tunics, almost as if to camouflage them against the room's walls, and purple cloaks worn so that they covered the right shoulder and fixed with heavy rectangular silver brooches. Upon their heads were purple peaked caps and on their feet they wore heavy boots that echoed noisily against the throne room's marble floor each time they moved. In their hands they held rifles at attention, their gaze fixed firmly forwards.

Behind them sat their charge, in the traditional dress of the Μονβασιλεις at official occasions, a bright purple cloak worn in the same manner as his guards and a heavily patterned silk gold and dark purple tunic. Upon his head was the large and heavy gold crown of Altpeak and over his face a gold mask shaped to resemble the features of Lysimachus I, distancing the Μονβασιλεις from all those around him and reminding them that was no mere human but a bearer of both divine blood and right.

Fanning out to either side of the throne was a crowd of people, members of the imperial family, officials, members of the government and military as well as a duo of servants who bore gifts of gold, precious gems and purple silk cloaks as well as large goblets of wine to give to the arriving diplomats. An outdated tradition perhaps, mused Mithridates, but one that still served its intended purpose.

As that thought passed out of Mithridates' head, the great doors of the throne room swung open and in came the Theban diplomats, being led forwards by an officer of the Royal Guard. A few meters away from the wall of Royal Guards that stood between any oncomer and the throne's steps, he stopped and the Theban diplomats did likewise, allowing the officers to kneel and announce "Επιφανες, standing before you are Dexicos Mydonos and Pallas Photiou of Thebes". Then, turning to the Theban diplomats, he stated "Noble sirs, before you is Μονβασιλεις Mithridates IV, rightful ruler of all Altpeak and Επιφανες".

With the formal introductions dealt with, Mithridates said "Greeting Οι Γενοι μου. We would present you with these gifts and this wine as a token of our friendship", extending his arm open handed towards the two servants bearing the gifts in question. Understanding that this was their cue, the two servants walked forwards and knelt before the two diplomats, holding up the trays upon which the gifts lay above their heads so that the diplomats might drink from the goblets of wine before entrusting the rest to their own servants.

The royal steward had carefully chosen the two men tasked with appearing before the Altpeak Emperor. Dexicos son of Mydon was a career courtier, the offspring of a distinguished mercenary captain, who had come of age as a lad in the royal court being educated personally by Aratus a renowned officer of the royal guard. He combined a good knowledge of courtly decorum with the edges of martial discipline that hopefully would impress upon the Altpeak sovereign in more ways than one. His comrade in this endeavor, good Pallas, was an experienced diplomat who originally hailed from one of Thebes overseas colonies in the wider world - a commercial exporter who had eventually befriended one of the prominent military-industrial suppliers of the Royal Guard. His good fortune in being offered a personal audience with the Theban king had soon translated into requests for his personal service when the breadth of his patience and good counsel had emerged. He was worldly, full of tales and motley knowledge, with a broad grasp of international politics and the realpolitik of states. But this ironically left him as the more out of place, the passive partner to Dexicos who took the lead and grasped the chalice of wine with both of his hands.

"To the health of Mithridates, King of Altpeak," he said gesticulating the ornate cup to the earthy king, "to Father-God, author of good fortune," he added turning his eyes toward the resplendent ceiling and gently swinging the goblet upward, and at last he put the edge at his lips and took a generous swig. At his side, Pallas silently imitated every motion just a half-second behind.

The envoy's servants came forward gracefully to take the gifts away with bent back. From the other flank of the two diplomats, a pair of attendant boys navigated the task of lugging out a somewhat bulkish-looking coffer of ivory enamel. "By the good opinion of His Majesty, Isandros, son of Isidor, King of Thebes, Protector of the Theban Commonwealth, let you enjoy this heartfelt gift between lords. Let there never be cause to forget the kinship of our common home." As Dexicos was speaking the chest was unlocked and opened - inside was a small trove of papyrus scrolls, carefully bound in their protective sheaths which were themselves also decorative to a certain extent. "Indeed, great king, we offer you our small part in the noble pursuit of cultivation renowned by our race: the knowledge of the ancient masters, kept by meticulous art through the ages, preserved today like new for the benefit of posterity. Let them be both honored and useful in your keeping."

"My great king," Dexicos added with a low swoosh of his voice, "let there be no end to arts here between us that there may be all the more iron without for the terror of our enemies!"

[Royalist Altpeak]

Royalist Altpeak
Μονβασιλεις Mithridates IV

Mithridates barely perceptibly gestured with his hand. Seeing the tiny piece of movement for what it was, his servants reclaimed the goblets of wine from the distinguished guests and replaced it upon their heavy gold trays alongside the gifts given to Mithridates by the Thebans and then retreated back into the serried ranks of courtiers, imperial kin, officials, stewards and high ranking military men, soon vanishing from sight.

Placing a hand upon his heart, Mithridates replied "Οι Γενοι μου, words cannot express my gratitude towards you for these gifts. The genius of our ancestors always deserves celebration, especially upon such occasions as this, when two great nations of the same proud lineage are reunited. Ours is not to question why the universe kept us apart for so long, ours is but to celebrate our reunification with each other, for who can question the will of the divine?".

"However" Mithridates continued "It cannot simply be divine will expressed through a storm or another phenomenon that brought you here, as it might have been in the days of Odysseus. There must also have been the will of men blowing wind into your sails to speed you across the oceans to our door. I would therefore be remiss in my duties as Μονβασιλεις if I did not ask what brings you here".