Varathon - Semi-Open - La felicidad retrasada IC

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Solisian Union
Posts: 676
Founded: Apr 22, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Varathon - Semi-Open - La felicidad retrasada IC

Postby Solisian Union » Thu Oct 18, 2018 9:15 pm

La Felicidad Retrasada
Claim your treasures!

Semi Open RP set in Varathon

Dear Sister,

Yesterday was such a wonderful day, I will never forget it. I wish though that it would last for I regret leaving today for the front. My dear sister, worry not for me, I will come back. I am sure that this adventure will not take all of me away from you. Expect my letters as I come and go and as I breath and sleep and fight out there in the wilderness. Perhaps I may encounter some villagers who would share their hospitality and when I return, I may bring back to you a precious necklace, a set of good ear-rings or even a nice bottle of their finest wine.

Who knows what will come out of this? In the end, though, dear sister, I will come back. You will see me again. Alive and with breath upon my nostrils. Take care and watch over my son for me.

God bless you and our family so much.

Your sister,
Sara Sofía Gaos

Dear Yesenia,

I know you worry about me. I know that you have done all you could with my father, the General Secretary of our glorious United Front. But I must go. It is a duty, a part in this great struggle that I cannot neglect.

For I beg you, dear, to see what is going on all around us. We have united with the Nannasians and together, we would spread our revolution into this continent while they do their best in spreading the word of God and in showing the people of this world that we mean well.

On the other hand, my love, please do not worry so much for me. I will be safe, I swear to you. I have my comrades with me. I am taken care of by my own superiors and we would be marching soon but we won't expect resistance at the first week. No, my love, we will be safe. I promise you and I will come back. With victory and with pride.

Be well, my love. Keep our home safe and our bed warm. I shall return.

Your dearest,
Jesús Graciani

Anthem of the Solisian United Front
Anthem of Nannasia

Ella triunfa, ella prospera y ella vive!

The Nannasian Frontier was no treacherous place. It was secured because of the presence of the Nannasian Guardias coloniales and the Solisian 11th Colonial Division. In addition, a strong colonial air force made sure that the skies were clear and a decent navy ensured the security of the waters from pirates and illegals. But what really gave the Nannasian Frontier the strength needed to keep all this up was logistics. Not only were they fed regularly by Solisian shipments but also by their own massive farms and plantations, their growing colonial economy and their trade with various native group and other colonies.

Nannasia stood in a good position to be with other colonies and Solisia benefited from this as much as other colonizers did. But things would change today. Why so? Because today was the beginning of Nannasian and Solisian excursions, hoping to expand the colony.

The first units to leave Nannasia were several detachments from the 2nd and 3rd Legions of the Guardias Coloniales while the Solisians delivered the 1st Airborne Legion of their Colonial Division. The Airborne Legion would lead the way on board their helicopters while the Guardias relied on their armored personnel carriers and trucks.

Among those in the Airborne Legion was Lieutenant Sara Sofía Gaos. Standing tall, dressed in her khakis and carrying light armor while also blessed with her personal command kit. The Lieutenant paid attention to the terrain that her helicopters were flying over.

She saw that the land that she and her troops would explore and secure was rugged and mountainous. Often, their helicopters were forced to fly high over hills or around mountains. But she noticed this wasn't always like this. The land too was blessed with fertile plains, vast salt flats, rolling deserts and a few lakes and significant rivers. After a time in the air, the Airborne Legion found a perfect landing spot within reach of the incoming Guardias Coloniales.

Just as the helicopters started to land on a wide open clearing, Sara lifted her rosary up to her lips and kissed it before crossing herself as her own helicopter touched down.

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The Kraven Corporation
Posts: 501
Founded: Apr 24, 2005
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby The Kraven Corporation » Fri Oct 19, 2018 12:46 pm

Task Force Varathon.
Elements of Naval Arm Cydonia.
0600 Hours, Standard Imperial Time
Entering Varathon Regional Waters.

Varathon, a shining beacon of Gothic ingenuity, an untouched region of land, ignored by early settlers and left devoid of much in the way of external influences, Gothic fleets ventured into Varathon and decided that this region, these land masses would be a perfect location for colonies, settlers were sent out in their droves, driving the flag of their respective country into the dark soils and proclaiming it for their Gothic masters, prosperity flourished here, the resources were rich and bountiful and people were happy, outsiders caught wind of this boom time, with new and unknown races joining the tide of people, settling the various corners of Varathon and making it their home, or as sometimes is the case, adding it to the portfolio of their home country, cities sprang up, trade winds blew and allies were made.

The Reich, a perpetual machine of war had always ignored Varathon, seeking instead to entrench itself deeper into Gholgoth, spreading its forces like a virus, a cancerous tumour that would grow and grow if it was left unchecked, but now the High Command had decided that the time was right, the gears of war began to turn and a fleet was raised with the single purpose of claiming territory in Varathon.

Task Force Varathon, a fleet raised from elements of Naval Arm Cydonia was dispatched under the cover of darkness, its many ships slipped from port without fanfare or applause, just cold, machine like precision, each ship designed for a specific task, to the gargantuan Subjugator Class Super Dreadnaughts, to the Mimir tracking vessels, they all functioned in lockstep, every crewman a Capitol Police Trooper, cold, machine minded, robots with human bodies, machines with biological parts, their humanity stamped out long ago, bred purely to fight and kill, these machine men would not hesitate in following an order regardless of how horrific it may be, the Reich would in the blink of an eye, sign the death warrants of hundreds and thousands of people and not even give it a second thought, Darkness was coming to Varathon.

The Subjugator Class Super Dreadnaught "The Vulture"

Naval Officer 113-A had been assigned Command of this task force, he was a Capitol Police Officer, bred slightly differently to the regular troopers, he was just as cold hearted as the others, but his mind was honed from a young age to carry out the duties of an officer, he would carry out orders from the Command Relay, or make decisions as to where an attack might focus, his assignment here was to over see the invasion of Varathon, 1,500 Vessels at his command, each one waiting for their orders to unleash the weapons they were built to carry, He stood at the Command section of the Subjugator, before him lay a table, its cold metal was designed for its purpose, there were no artistic styling, The Reich had no concept of such things, art was alien to them, everything had a purpose, it had a place, it was ordered and if for some reason it stepped out of line, then it was removed, destroyed, eradicated... Exterminated like a pest.

"Instructions from Tactical Command indicate that Reich forces will face minimal resistance from local populations." The Officer spoke with a slow, mechanical tone, his words were clipped and to the point.

"Orders for the containment and processing of local populations?" another Officer spoke, his tone and mannerisms were identical to the first officer that spoke, anyone listening into the conversation would find it difficult to follow, not easily able to distinguish between who was talking...

"The High Command have issued instructions that General Order 13 is to be adhered to." The first Officer replied again with that mechanical tone, he continued "All local populations are to be subjugated, brought to order and processed, any who resist are to be Exterminated." He pointed towards the North of Varathon where L'Enet-Areth was marked out, the fleet would have to pass through this small collection of islands to reach its intended target, an unoccupied region next to a nation that was marked out as being Nannasia, a relatively new country to the region, from here the Reich would push its way inland towards Ozbekskinia where it would shore up its gains and begin digging in for a protracted conflict, another cog in the vast plan of Reichmarshal Dietrich.

"The fleet will pass through these islands before reaching out target destination, Tactical Command indicates that any resistance here may be small, but The High Command have given instructions to engage where necessary." the other Officers nodded in agreement, it was unlikely that L'Enet-Areth would become a battle ground, lest the eyes of the Reich fall upon here instead of their intended target, still, the clouds of Varathon grew darker, darker than they have been in years, War was coming to the region and now death stalked its waters...
"If you want a vision of the future, Winston, imagine a boot stamping on a human face forever." - 1984
Scand: No one beats you Kraven for largest number killed a day.
Scand: Your nation is a glorified death camp after all.
Tiurabo: WTF Kraven.
Tiurabo: You are the last person who can tell me to be calm.
Tiurabo: You're a goddam psycho. The Updated National Anthem of Imperial Fortress Reich
Resistance is Futile... We Are The Kraven Reich

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The Master M
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Founded: May 18, 2009
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Master M » Sun Oct 21, 2018 11:06 am

MSS Heretic
Spartan-class Assault Carrier
Varathron Regional Waters
0820 Mian Central Time

The sleek hull of the assault carrier MMS Heretic cut through the cold waves of northern Varathron, as gracefully as a two hundred and fifty-five metre ship nearing full load could, a massive Mian flag streaming in the wind from her mainmast. A Spartan-class assault carrier, the Heretic could be outfitted with a wide variety of equipment and vehicles depending on the requirements of whatever its mission was; the carrier and her escort group were currently operating an extended anti-piracy patrol in the waters of Varathron, and so she was primarily outfitted with surface patrol craft and transport helicopters, alongside her normal compliment of fourteen FC-42 Spectre fighters.

The ship banked widely until its flight desk was pointing into the wind, listing slightly as it did so. The flight deck was by now swarming with crew in various colourful overalls working furiously on two fighters loaded into the forward catapults. These fighters were the combat reserve, on deck ready to launch within five minutes’ notice if the other two fighters circling the carrier high above as the combat air patrol required reinforcement. A signal sounded from a loudspeaker on the forward superstructure and within seconds the forward flight deck was cleared of men and equipment. The blast shields behind both swung up, the command was given by the air traffic controller, and with an ear-splitting roar both fighters were propelled forward by electromagnetic catapults and their own afterburners, flying from the ship with enough speed to take them far from the carrier in only a few seconds.

Both aircraft circled slowly while gaining height, higher and higher above the rapidly shrinking carrier and its small fleet of escort vessels, before hitting full throttle and disappearing over the northern horizon.

Ugly Duckling 8 & Ugly Duckling 9
1,600 nautical miles from MMS Heretic
1045 Mian Central Time

Hours of flight and an in-flight refuel later the two FC-42 Spectres reached their destination, an area of sea in the north of Varathron, where they decreased speed and split formation so that they would now be travelling perpendicularly to one another. Both aircraft were broadcasting active radar, which at full power would give them an overview of the sea and airspace for hundreds of nautical miles, at the cost of making them immediately obvious to anyone who was listening for such signals. The pilots of the fighters were uncomfortable at doing this; the FC-42 had a low radar cross section, making them harder to detect by radar (especially at longer ranges), and so flying around broadcasting the SIGINT equivalent of “Here I am!” filled neither pilot with much joy. Orders were orders, they were told when they voiced their concerns to the CAG.

After only thirty minutes – still more than enough time to get bored of the endless waves for a pilot who had done nothing but long range patrols daily for the last four weeks – one of the fighters picked up faint radar traces more than six hundred nautical miles to its west. The pilot relayed this information back to the carrier, and was quickly ordered to approach closer to increase the resolution of the radar images. The Spectre banked towards the radar traces, moving towards it now at subsonic speed.

A few minutes after turning towards the mystery objects, an alarm sounded in the pilot’s ear and a warning flashed onto the virtual reality display in her helmet: TRACKING RADAR DETECTED appeared, showing also the approximate location of the offending radar transmitter. Another alarm sounded seconds later: TARGETTING RADAR LOCKED ON. As she reported this to her wingman and the carrier, the pilot instinctively switched on her master arm and targeted the offending radar beam with an anti-radiation missile. Immediately as her own targeting radar locked on to the beam painting her, the air traffic controller from MMS Heretic shouted into her ear.

“Ugly Duckling Nine, this is Mother Goose Four. STAND DOWN, I repeat, STAND DOWN. Do not escalate further, and replace master arm lock. Acknowledge, over.”

The pilot hesitated, baulking at the thought of meekly shirking from the open threat being given out by the ship targeting her own vessel.

“Mother Goose, Ugly Duckling Nine request repeat of previous message, over.”

As the pilot released her transmit button, her VR display went crazy. One after another, more and more ships were targeting her aircraft. The threat was obvious, and the hint taken – she turned off her own targeting radar and replaced her master arm. Another voice came over the radio, older and far sterner.

“Ugly Duckling Nine, this is Mother Goose Actual. Maintain distance and do not initiate hostile action. Acknowledge last, over.”

The pilot acknowledged the message, as well as forwarding the warning she was now receiving from the distant ships – maintain distance, or face the cold fury of the Kraven Reich.

Combat Operations
MMS Heretic
Northern Varathron
1430 MCT

“The radar data gathered by UD eight and nine, as well as the albatross that relieved them, shows beyond doubt that these are the same vessels picked up by the RORSAT sweep last night. Analysis of gather data shows we are dealing with a large fleet from the Kraven Reich, sailing directly for the colony Nannasia shown here on the map.” The intelligence officer briefed the officers of the Heretic, pointing out the various positions of objects and places relevant to the matter at hand. The words “Kraven Reich” set off a murmur of conversation through the room, much to the annoyance of the intelligence officer who had yet to finish his lengthy briefing.

“Any idea what those creepshow bastards are up to?” asked a colonel, the commander of the ships battalion of Mian Marine Commandos, to the amusement of many others in the room.

“Whatever it is, they’ve got the balls to sail directly through those islands, what are they called… L'Enet-Areth” offered the commander of the air group, “or at least I think they have balls. Do the Capitol Police have balls?” he asked, playing for more laughs.

The captain watched his officers, many of them battle-scarred veterans of countless battles, joking around without feeling the need to take them to task for it. They were nervous, and rightly so – all sane men feared the cold, machine-like soldiers of the Reich, and such a large number of them in their area of operations would not mean that pleasant days were ahead for any of them.

“Captain, urgent message from VARCOM!” interrupted an aide, running into the room and handing over a slip of paper to the Captain. “Signal authenticated as genuine, sir!” saluted the aide.

Code: Select all


All across Varathron, the few Mian naval vessels on patrol received similar orders, telling them to converge at the same location, but they were spread wide and it would take at least 4 days for the bulk of the future task force to be in place. As this happened dozens of ships in port around the southern Mian homeland were being readied for operations, and some of those already on patrol in southern Gholgoth had started moving south towards Varathron.

The Captain of the Heretic wondered where this would end, as even he wavered slightly at the prospect of fighting the Reich. He gave the order to move out, and also ordered his communications officer to contact the Nannasians and alert them to the Kravenite fleet now bearing down on their position.

Death was coming to Varathron.
Last edited by The Master M on Sun Oct 21, 2018 11:07 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Emperor Pudu
Posts: 163
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Emperor Pudu » Sun Oct 21, 2018 2:34 pm

A hot wind blew strong over the tarmac at Arkabad Military Airfield in Ozbekskinia this afternoon. Not too strongly for the newly-delivered Peregrine attack helicopters of the Ozbek Royal Guard Combat Aviation Brigade, however, who had been busy with exercises all morning. The robust helicopters were taking off at combat weight and practicing formation flying as well as loosing a few shots at a weapons range a few miles to the north-east. They were recent additions to the Royal Guard Corps of Ozbekskinia, having been purchased from surplus Pudite stocks the year before. This was the first batch to be turned over to the Ozbeks, although Pudite crews were still on hand to service the machines and train their counterparts in their operation. Major Zared watched a trio of the vicious-looking birds lift off and race away toward the firing range loaded with a fresh rack of unguided rockets and wing-tip mounted ATGMs. When the wind was right it carried the sounds of their nose-mounted autocannons all the way back to the base.

He was observing from a platform which had been built beside one of the hangars from which he had a view of the airfield and where a staff tended to the steady stream of reports from the crews and pilots operating there. Zared was one of a handful of Royal Guard officers present for the exercises, most of whom were maneuver unit commanders who would shortly begin training their own formations to integrate with the newest additions to the Combat Aviation Brigade. Zared's 15th Motor Rifle Regiment was the first to receive their compliment of the new machines. The officers were presently occupied watching a pair of Peregrines escort a pair of large transport helicopters, hauling some of Zared's own troops, in formation over the airfield on their way to a heliborne assault landing exercise. It was then that an aide climbed up onto the stage and politely gained the attention of Major Zared. "You've been requested by the base commander." was all the explanation the major would get, and soon he was riding in a truck back across the tarmac toward the main Arkabad Military Airfield command post.

Waiting for him when he arrived Major Zared found the base commander, one Colonel Talgat, as well as two other men he did not recognize, though one wore the uniform of an Ozbek Army general and the other was a Pudite man in civilian dress. The Royal Guard Corps was technically not a part of the Ozbek National Army but the two shared very close links in certain sectors. Colonel Talgat spoke first, "Welcome, Major." he stood up and returned the salute that Zared had offered upon entry. "Please, follow us." He led Zared and the other two men into an adjoining conference room before taking a seat and beckoning the others to do the same.

As he looked about the room trying for any clue as to the meeting's purpose Zared's mind raced with possibilities; the Army general could be maneuvering for some of the Guard's new equipment, perhaps, or the Pudite was here to inform them some aspect of the deal had fallen through. No reasons occurred to Zared that would result in good news, and so he settled in for the bad. It came more sharply than he had expected. Moments after sitting down the Pudite civilian produced a trio of manila folders from a briefcase and slid them across the polished dark wood table to the soldiers. Opening it, Zared found satellite images of mountainous terrain and a few big red circles highlighting what he expected were military vehicles, though he did not recognize either the location or the equipment.

The Pudite man began to explain as he finished passing out the documents, "These photos were taken early this morning, approximately fifty kilometers east of the North Ozbekskinonia-Nannasian border. What you're seeing are elements of Nannasian airborne units in their landing zones following a heliborne assault over the border." Zared looked down again at the photos with a look of disbelief. "It looks to be the spearhead of a much larger invasion. We're seeing large formations staged at the border and it's likely the next round of photo recon will show those troops on the wrong side of the boundary stakes."

Zared, the most junior officer in the room, remained quiet although many questions occurred to him; 'was there a declaration of war' was among the first. Surely the national media would have reported a war having been declared between two neighboring states. It must have been a surprise attack. The next person to speak was the army general, "The North Ozbek government has mobilized their reserves and reports indicate that their 3rd Border Guards Division has engaged the enemy, although from what we can tell it does not look good for them." Next up was Colonel Talgat himself, "That brings us to you, Major Zared." The junior man looked up from the images which he was still studying closely, "The North Ozbeks have requested military assistance."

Unable to hold his questions any longer, Zared replied "Are we at war, sir?" To which Colonel Talgat shook his head, "No. Not at the moment, at least." The Pudite man then interjected, "It's hard to say who's at war. The Nannasians haven't issued any statement or explanation. There was no contact between the Nannasian and the North Ozbek government at all prior to the attack, which we presume to be unprovoked." Colonel Talgat then resumed, "Which is why we can't roll a half dozen tank divisions over the border just yet, but neither can we afford to wait and see what happens. General Ravil here," he gestured to the senior Army officer, "Is mobilizing our own ground forces and calling up the short term reserves. That will take some weeks, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"So what is my role?" Zared asked then, closing the folder and resting his hands before him on the table expectantly. Talgat looked from one side to the other hesitantly before continuing, "We're asking you to resign your commission with the Royal Guard." The shock of the statement floored Zared, who was speechless as Talgat continued to explain, "A law is being passed by emergency session in North Ozbekskinia to allow foreign-born persons to accept commissions in their army. A parallel law will be signed by King Miret here in Arkabad shortly, allowing Ozbek citizens to accept foreign commissions. Assuming you accept this role, you will be the first. Followed, hopefully, by your whole regiment." As Zared began to understand he started to regain his composure, "I see," he said, "And my regiment is at full strength and active in exercises at the airfield. An ad-hoc rapid response force, then?"

"Essentially, yes." Talgat replied, "Airlifters are being redeployed here as we speak. I expect my officers are already calling a halt to your exercises and preparing the base to receive them. We will lift you, you men and your equipment into the country where you will accept a commission in the North Ozbek army, and Major," Talgat paused then, "I'm told it's to be a Lieutenant Colonel's commission. Congratulations." Zared was still taking in the news when Talgat informed him of the promotion, albeit a foreign one. "I'll do it." was Zared's only reply.

By the time an hour had passed the base looked quite different. In place of the bustle of the helicopters there were now idling a dozen large cargo planes, and in place of the crews and officers standing by beside the runways there were assembling ranks of soldiers and lines of armored vehicles from Zared's own 15th Motor Rifle Regiment. Zared himself had resigned his commission after the meeting with the base commander and was now simply Ired Rafael Zared, civilian. In four short hours the first of these massive transport planes would touch down in Balbek, the capital of North Ozbekskinia, where the former Major Zared would become Lt Colonel Zared of the North Ozbekskinonian Army. Only time would tell what would come after that.
Last edited by Emperor Pudu on Sun Oct 21, 2018 2:52 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Posts: 199
Founded: Feb 15, 2005
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Jagada » Sun Oct 21, 2018 8:02 pm

Purple Fleet,
Southwestern Gholgoth,
2200 Hours, Gharsashian Grand Time

The waters of southwest Gholgoth were possibly the most monitored and militarized in the world. Certainly, within Gholgoth itself. With locales such as Fortress Norska, Cydonia, and Milograd; each a flashpoint of conflict in the past, it was not uncommon to see large movements of fleets. The Union maintained no less than a hundred different task groups spread out on patrol and reconnaissance, with an entire fleet dedicated to maintaining security of the supply lines between Milograd and Gharsash. The movement of any ship between Cydonia and Norska was monitored, the Jagites having a particular fetish for monitoring everything involving their former, now desolate, homeland. There it was one of these monitoring task groups that first detected the movement of Kravenic vessels as they made their laborious departure from Cydonia.

As per regulations, the task group contacted all surrounding supporting fleets and patrol flotillas as each began to alter their course to aid if required. An encrypted report was forwarded immediately to Admiral Silur Paenogan onboard the GUS Blackshear, as admiral of the purple it was his responsibility to ensure the immediate integrity of the southern wall and to relay all necessary information to the appropriate people. Silur, after receiving the report, gave the standard response that the task force was to remove itself from the direct route of the Kravenic fleet and to reposition itself further away. It wasn’t ordered but a battle-ready state was maintained. Technically the Reich and the Union were allies. Both of their respective leaders were Gothic Lords and signatories of the regional alliance. In reality, a day of reckoning would come between them where one side would ultimately have to be destroyed.

As the Reich fleet passed by the Union task force groups which had began the steady encirclement of it the common theater would play out. The Reich undoubtedly prepared targeting solutions and a standardized plan was called up to deal with the Jagites if necessary. The Union in return did what it always did and shadowed the Reich fleet for a time, and making the same preparations in case the old enemy was plotting something devious. Of course, once they realized the fleet was heading south towards Varathron they began to break away; confident that whomever was the focus of Norska’s fury was not them. Within hours life returned to normal in southwest Gholgoth as the eternal standoff continued.

Offices of the Union Navy,
Myriandus, Aquar
0500 Hours, Gharsashian Grand Time

Proctor-General Veresean Cagin walked into his ready room, the cup of coffee in his hand still steaming. He was pleased to see the room coming to life with aides and adjutants taking care of their morning duties. The room was far from sparse with the walls made out of stone imported from distant Callorcia, while the floors were a ceramic tile of a dark grey color. In the center was the situation table crafted out of stainless steel with a computer built into it. There were no windows of course, but that had been a small price to pay. He, technically, maintained an office less than fifty feet away but only used it for formal occasions. All correspondence and day to day activity went through this room, which itself had originally been for emergency situations. Sitting behind a desk irked him though, always had, and he preferred to stay in motion.

His inspection of the room halted when he noticed his personal secretary approaching him. As was expected his dark blue daily uniform was all in good order and his appearance met Cagin’s high standards.

“Good morning sir,” said his secretary as he saluted.

“Good morning Mr. Quinn,” replied the Proctor-General.

Mr. Quinn extended a red manila folder forward and Cagin took it. The front had the word ‘Vendetta’ stamped on in large, bold, black ink. The old enemy, he thought mildly. Vendetta-level classification required a hand-to-hand exchange to increase security and was only ever used for one particular enemy.

Taking the folder Cagin looked through its contents carefully; taking note of the approximate number of ships identified and their classifications, “Less than two thousand? Its not a resource fleet then.”

It was the heading that caught his attention. Moving over to the table he brought up the maps of both Gholgoth and the surrounding area. Cagin noted the heading once again and studied the map. If those ships stayed on that heading the only suitable landmasses nearby would be Varathron. Pulling up the regional map Cagin looked at the ever-changing landscape. Newcomers had arrived relatively recently and were in the process of expanding their holdings.

“Automailia,” he whispered looking at the outline of that state on his screen. It had been a standard military junta in a tropical paradise. Now? It was a slaver state feeding resources to the tumor that was Kraven. Cagin kept pulling up statistics on Automailia.

“Mr. Quinn,” he said absently, “Please arrange a meeting with Secretary al’Maw. Urgent, of course.”

Camp Python III
Osynias, Imperial Union
0900 Hours, Gharsashian Grand Time

The rumble of artillery was heard behind Garran al’Rilin as he peered through his binoculars towards the distant front line. Plums of smoke rose where the shell would have struck and he knew a few of the enemy would’ve been “killed”. They were holding strong and he knew it. He’d planned for it as a matter of fact and could see the fierce firefight as the rifle platoons ahead engaged the enemy, holding them in place. On the left flank he’d concentrated two armored companies and was preparing his feint there. His opponents, the 17th Osynian Armored Division, were a competent foe who’d surprised him more than once over this three-week wargame. They had anticipated his previous attempts to dislodge him and sent his men scurrying back on two occasions, or at least they thought they had. Reconnaissance in force is how he liked to think about it. On both recons the Osynians had deployed their armored reserves too early; if he’d had a mind to he might’ve been able to get them to overextend by feinting a route. They’d be too smart for that too though.

Instead he relied upon their overcommitment of armor and prepared according. The tanks massing on the left were Maccabean Nakils, recently acquired through a arms agreement with the Golden Throne, and had rapidly replaced all the various homeland marks and model used during the War. They were solid machines and did exactly as needed. Unfortunately, they would not be the hammer blow. The Nakils announced themselves to the Osynians after a concentrated artillery barrage softened up the line, by firing a fusillade and advancing rapidly. Garran noted with pleasure the presence of a mechanized infantry company following them in support, riding in their Aricas (also a Maccabean gift). The 35mm chain guns would prove useful.

Blasting away with their 120mm guns the Nakils rapidly closed the distance and smoke covered the “enemy” location. No doubt a few more kills. As if on que Garran started receiving reports of Osynian armored vehicles beginning to reinforce the line. Unlike his Janissaries, the Osynians did still have the older junk models from the War but had the advantage of numbers. The left flank quickly turned into a quagmire as the tanks blasted away at each other. The Nakils accounted themselves well but were hopelessly outnumbered. A report came then; it was the report he’d been waiting for.

He turned around in his cupula and saw the Leons taking up position. Their 160mm guns forming a firing line directly on the ensuing tank battle on the left. Each of their commanders would be taking careful aim to make each shot count. It wouldn’t take the Osynians very long to realize the trap. The first barrage knocked out Osynians nearly at a 1-to-1 ratio with the crews rapidly reloading and reacquiring targets. The next barrage didn’t quite have the same success rate but was still damning for the enemy as their formation began to falter. He saw tanks rolling back from their right flank. Too late, he thought. The Leons kept firing and the Osynians kept falling back.

Garran ordered his hammer blow. With their left flank destabilized and collapsing the Osynians were likely scrambling to reinforce the line, but had overcommitted their armor; or at least that was Garran’s theory. When his own armored companies, that had been in reserve, rumbled forward to hit the Osynians left flank he grew more confident in his plan. No enemy tanks rumbled forward to stop them, and no tanks showed any sign of being knocked out. The left flank was a different story with several Nakils showing kill-identifiers; even a few of the Leons had been hit by fleeing Osynians or counter-artillery fire once they realized what was going on. He noted with satisfaction that the ruse had worked even better than he’d hoped when reports came back that the Osynians had deployed the bulk of their anti-tank equipment to try and shore up their rapidly disintegrating right flank.

The battle was practically over. Garran kept receiving reports and made minor adjustments to his subordinate’s orders but generally left them to make their own decisions. The Osynians buckled on the right and without an hour they’d forwarded their “surrender”. He graciously accepted and requested his Osynian counterpart to join him for dinner to discuss the exercise.

As the wargame was ended and the “dead” rose from their pretend graves and began the march back to Python III, he congratulated them as they passed by and they gave proud, if not weary, salutes in return.

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The Kraven Corporation
Posts: 501
Founded: Apr 24, 2005
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby The Kraven Corporation » Wed Oct 24, 2018 10:37 am

Western Ozbekskinia Prime
0300 Hours Standard Imperial Time
Capitol Police Recon Unit

The VTOL Assault craft was running with its stealth suite active, the console lights were dimmed to a dull red and their usual running lights had been switched off long before they reach the coastline, the two pilots were working in unison with each other, deftly guiding their craft over hedgerows, fences and other obstacles, tall pine trees parted slightly from the immense pressure created by the downwards thrust of their powerful engines, using a massive amount of thrust to keep the craft flying, it was noisy for sure, but The Reich had no concerns about alerting a few local farmers or fishermen looking for that allusive fish in the dead of night, they had been dispatched from a single destroyer that had been operating in and around Varathon for weeks, a single craft was less likely to be noticed that one of the Reich's huge flotillas, but still it occasionally received support from Fortress Automalia, a sort of semi autonomous slave state, it had been feeding resources to Norska for years and now served to support the Reich's first footsteps into Varathon proper.

Fortress Automalia
A few weeks before...

Still, Governor Holt had some apprehension to the sudden request for support, he had seen the reports from Jagada, the War of Extermination, they were a slave state too and at some point The Reich had decided that the Jagites served no further purpose and were to be mercilessly wiped out, he hoped inside, deep inside that this was not going to be the fate that be-felled them, they had been loyal servants to The Reich, they had supplied everything they had asked for, ten percent of their women, all of their mineral deposits, their timber, their wheat, even when they were left with nothing, the Reich still demanded, its ever growing War Machine always starving for new resources, they had supplied, they had supplied everything, even when their people were starving, struggling to lift the tools, his people gave, after all, they had no choice, The Capitol Police were here as always, watching, waiting, ready to strike at a moments notice, a moments lull in the work and they were there, standing over them like the image of death...

Holt turned to a Capitol Police Officer, his white cuff rings indicated it was a Capitol Police Officer Korps, this was important he thought to himself, it was unusual for The Reich to send an Officer from the Korps, normally he dealt with one of the Reich-Ministers, oddly though, he thought to himself, its hard to tell the difference, they all speak with one voice regardless...

"You can tell Reich-Marshal Dietrich that he shall have our support, as always we stand ready to give everything we have" He held out his hands, outspread, the Officer gazed at him with that cold, dead stare and responded with that mechanical voice that all the Capitol Police spoke with...

"The Reich-Marshal recognises the sacrifice you and your people have made, there will be call for more support, you will however be rewarded in due course" The Officer continued to stare at Holt, who swallowed hard at the mention of 'due course'

"I... I, I look forward to that day"


The VTOL touched down with a thump, the dust it kicked up made the spot lights look hazy, as though a brown, dull fog had suddenly rolled in, the engines whined down as they ran into idle cool down mode, the door was slid open by one of the Troopers who jumped down onto the soft earth of the field, his boots made heavy impressions in the soil as his red eyed gas mask surveyed the field with cold indifference, a geologist, a young man in his 20's leapt down, he held a note pad in his hands as he looked around, bending down to look at the soil, he scooped up some dirt in his hands and looked at it, "Fertile" he said to himself before standing up, the Trooper paid him no attention as he went about his work, he pulled some conical flasks from his back pack, and scooped up some more dirt pouring it into the flask then setting it to one side, he drew out a bottle of a clear liquid and squirted some into the flask, he swirled it around until the components separated and he looked at it closely, drawing his flash light he shone it at the flask to get a clearer view before writing something on his note pad..

"Here, this is the location, I'm not sure how much is here, but out of all the places I've surveyed, this is the only one with the matching mineral requirements"

"Confirmed?" The Trooper asked

"Yes, I can confirm it, this is the location"

"Affirmative" The Trooper responded, there was some radio chatter in a language he didn't understand, it was a barked, clipped language that seemed to make no sense to him, suddenly the engines began to power up, kicking the dust and creating great gusts of wind from the powerful engines...

The young man looked at the trooper...

"Is this it can I go home now, I've done everything you have asked of me"

The Trooper turned, drew his .50cal Desert Eagle and put a single round through the centre of the young mans forehead, the back of his head exploded across the soft brown earth leaving a neat little hole where the bullet entered, he fell to the ground with a shocked expression on his face, the Trooper not stopping for a second to think about what had just happened loaded up into the VTOL and its engines began to throttle up, blowing dust and dirt all over as it lifted off the ground and returned to the skies, killing the spot lights and returning the same way it arrived, flying low, fast and in active stealth mode...
Last edited by The Kraven Corporation on Wed Oct 24, 2018 10:42 am, edited 3 times in total.
"If you want a vision of the future, Winston, imagine a boot stamping on a human face forever." - 1984
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Scand: Your nation is a glorified death camp after all.
Tiurabo: WTF Kraven.
Tiurabo: You are the last person who can tell me to be calm.
Tiurabo: You're a goddam psycho. The Updated National Anthem of Imperial Fortress Reich
Resistance is Futile... We Are The Kraven Reich

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Left-Leaning College State

Postby Jagada » Thu Oct 25, 2018 7:32 pm

Camp Heritage
73km south of Sakkao, Free State of Milograd
1035 Hours, Gharsashian Grand Time

“Again,” shouted Kenris Telalin.

Once more the Milogradians reloaded their training rifles and nestled back into their firing position. This exercise was considered light-duty, perfectly fit for new recruits, and so they were on their stomachs. Allowing for maximum stability and with no immediate time constraints Kenris allowed them to line up their targets and take careful shots. He kept moving up and down the line glancing at each recruit and determining their flaws and probable long-term service to the military. A rough batch for sure but they would suffice in the long run.

One of them finally had the courage to take the shot and soon after more rifles sounded out. Kenris looked down range for a moment and magnified one of the recruit’s targets. His helmet was modified with magnification allowing him to see a little further than he otherwise could. The target itself was humanoid shaped and had been modeled after the standard height and width of a Reich Capitol Police Trooper. It wasn’t one of the fancier targets, just paper. Advanced targets would come later down the line when they’d refined their marksmanship. As for this recruit … there was room for improvement.

“Hold,” he barked. He reached the end of the firing line and turned about. His form was much larger than the recruits because he was wearing Janissary powered armor. His shoulders were boarder, his chest larger, and his entire head was covered by the “death mask” he wore. It was molded to be in likeness to the Basilissa. He found that its feminine appearance only enhanced the terror he projected to the recruits. His large trench coat was perfect for Milograd’s cold climate.

“In a standard engagement against Capitol Police you will have little to no advantages,” he shouted again, “They are not men. They do not feel as you feel. They do not bleed as you bleed. They do not have souls for how can machines? They will be heavily armored and physically stronger than almost all of you. They will hunt in methodical packs and will not show mercy. You are free to surrender to them if you wish. I’m not worried … they don’t take prisoners.”

His standard speech. The same one he’d told a hundred times before and would give a hundred times again. These men would not go into battle wearing powered armor, nor could they be genetically or artificially made stronger. They would have to simply be better than the Capitol Police in every other way.

“All is not lost though, for the Reich can be defeated,” he said, his voicing taking on a less stern tone, “For I have defeated them. In this very land years ago. Do you know how I did this?’

There would be one, he mused. There was always one. “Power armor?”

Sure enough. “No! Janissary power armor wasn’t invented when the Union came to liberate Milograd.”

He kept his hands clasped behind his back and stopped at the trooper that made the remark. He turned his armored head slowly to take stock of the recruit who now looked very worried and his eyes darted around for support they would not come.

“Stand,” intoned Kenris with no compromise in his voice. The recruit hesitantly obeyed.

Kenris walked around him slowly taking in his character. Typical Milo, he thought. A little on the scrawny side due to generations of poor nutrition and a little timid in stature. The latter had more to do with the oversized man in power armor circling him. Kenris stopped in front of the recruit and jabbed a finger out pointing to the man’s neck. Then he pointed to the armpits, the inner thighs, and of course both his eyes.

“If you hit a CP in any area but those, with anything less than a heavy caliber machine gun, you will do nothing but give away your location to him. You cannot, under any circumstance, allow yourself to become fearful. If you do, you will tend to commit spray and pray tactics. Protection Armor thrives in that kind of an environment.”

He turned his back and kept moving down the line, raising his voice to be heard more clearly.

“Accuracy. Patience. Cohesion,” he hammered out, “These three things will do more to keep you alive than any false gods you may believe in!”

A horned wailed out for a few seconds sounding the call to mid-day meal. Kenris dismissed the recruits with a clipped command and they scurried away. The recruit who’d incurred his wrath moved more quickly than the others.

Kenris and a few other Janissaries began the process of securing the training rifles that had been dropped off. Firing practice wouldn’t resume until the next day. He mused as he locked the rifle cage. Two weeks from now would be his fifth anniversary in Milograd. He’d spent years trying to help the Milos reorganize their shattered army. The tedious ceasefire that had been kept by Drakonian peacekeepers wouldn’t last forever and the Union didn’t bother pretending it would.

When that inevitable war resumed he would be ready, as would the Union and (hopefully) the Milos. Kenris walked out of the firing range after a final inspection and pondered on where to go next. He wasn’t allowed to decide as a Milo in drab green-grey came up to him and gave a crisp salute. The emblems on his collar marked him out as apart of the camp staff.

“Colonel Telalin,” he snapped off, “Urgent missive for you, sir.”

The Janissary took the proscribed paper from the Milo and gave him a clipped dismissal. Reading the missive, he couldn’t help but give a low whistle. “I’ll be damned …”

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Solisian Union
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Founded: Apr 22, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Solisian Union » Thu Oct 25, 2018 9:06 pm

"My love, I have been in the colony of Nannasia for three years now. For all those years, I believe I have found peace and prosperity. With it I too found conflict. Although our expansion is going well, our Congress of Deputies and their President have appealed to me for help. I was informed mostly of the presence of the Kraven Reich. They in turn were told of this by another nation. To confirm this I spoke to Admiral Nastavnik of the Colonial Navy.

She confirmed it as much as Air Chief Sarana did. Now our colony is in danger. In this letter, I hope to inform you that I will be busy. Do not worry if you can. I will write again. Your beloved will.

Your dearest,

Solasa Zarana
Solisian Representative to the Colony of Nannasia

The situation changed. All progress was stopped. While any tribes that the Solisians and Nannasians encountered were still being dealt with or negotiated with, everything else stopped. Not because of logistical problems (although it helped slow things down for supplies to reach the front) but because of problems with an arriving nation. The Kraven Reich.

The Nannasians knew them just now. The Solisians were told about them but didn't really care too much. The problem was that everyone knew this Reich was a danger. It disappointed the Lieutenant as she and her troops sat in their foxholes and waited for orders. But at least they got some land. Some land.

Soon enough, they got their orders. Colonial militia would take over as the legion would get their helicopters and make their way towards the south of Nannasia, to where the Reich was reported to have gotten to. On the other hand, the navy and air Force of Nannasia had to go live.

At orders, a Nannasian aircraft carrier was escorted out by four destroyers, two frigates and 1 Solisian helicopter carrier. They left the northern ports of Nannasia and headed out to search for and meet the Kraven Reich. On the other side, the air force did their own thing.

Six long distance planes that were fitted for patrol duties at sea took off from Western Nannasia while six other planes (air superiority) took off as well. The rest were told to be ready.

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Drakonian Imperium
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Founded: Antiquity


Postby Drakonian Imperium » Fri Oct 26, 2018 3:01 pm

The Recent PAST…

"I already told you, I'm done with mercenary work. I'm retired."

Johnus Farrerius looked out over the beach from his seat at the table. The pair sat at an open air restaurant, right on the beach. It was a warm and pleasant day. Before them were bright blue skies, a blazing sun, sand, and open water as far as the eye could see. This was the small island of Hortia in Mille Mortifere, a peaceful vacation or retirement spot. Nothing but sand and palm trees.

“I'm offering you a lifeline," the older man said. "All that money you got for surviving that job up north is surely running out. You lost your eye, your yacht sank, and most of your retirement went up in smoke when you invested in that Milogradian arms company before the war. You need a job and I got a cushy one."

Marius Florentinus stared out to the sea. He had spent his life doing private military work. Seen dozens of conflicts across the world and then in one mad gamble had thrown that all away. He and his unit had gone rogue on a job when they had been offered a fortune. The mission had gone terrible, but Marius had survived, barely, and retired with his fortune. But, it had been a bitter reward and now, it too was mostly gone.


"East Varathron, a tinpot state by the name of North Ozbekskinia."

Marius turned back to Johnus. "Hannibal," he said. For that was the name by which most people addressed Johnus. "It has been my experience that 'tinpot' states don't hire men from our line of work unless they are expecting a shitstorm."

"Its Varathron, not exactly the safest neck of the woods. And, you know about the tensions in Gholgoth. The Ozbeks have the money to spare and just want to be prepared."

Marius frowned. "What's the job?"

"You'll manage a small group of instructors conducting the training. The pay is good and the work's easy."

"Contract work, right? I'm not going to be one of your employees."

"Of course. You'd be an independent contractor. Most of my company guys will be advisors elsewhere."

Marius stared back off into the sea with his one good eye. It was a long time before he spoke again, but finally he said.

"Fine. I'll do it."


There was another Johnus Farrerius. This one called "Scipio" by those he worked with.

Scipio sat at desk in a windowless office. He stared intently at computer monitor. The office was in a nondescript office building in Novaporta, the capital and second largest city of the Drakonian Colony of Disia, owned by Colonial Nova Risk Management, Ltd., or as it was creatively called: CNRM, which was a front company for Drakonian Intelligence.

The office was as nondescript as the building itself, and almost entirely empty, except for the desk, computer, and the large monitor. On the monitor, Scipio was painstakingly going through satellite photos of ports in Fortress Cydonia. Scipio, however, was not your traditional analyst. He had spent the past half decade studying and running intelligence operations against the Kraven Reich. Thus, he had been pulled in to see the latest intel and provide his opinion. It had been mere luck that he had been in the port city when the need had arisen.

"So, you've had time to look over the images." Miles Daguirri stepped into the office. Miles was head of covert operations in Disia for the Drakonia Intelligence Agency. A bureaucrat more than an agent like Scipio, Miles wore a business suit. Though, he had left his jacket and tie in his office and had rolled up his sleeves. The administrator had not been home since yesterday. "What do you think?"

"Something's a foot." Scipio said barely looking up. He preferred the old way of doing things with actual physical photos and a magnifying glass. Perhaps from a hint of romanticism over his career choice. "Before the fleet left there was a lot of activity." He gestured to picture. "Those are amphibious assault ships--" Scipio paused so his host could look at the photo and for the information to sink in. "--and they are being loaded."

Miles was silent.

"The Mians spotted them head south through L'Enet-Areth," Scipio continued. "Doesn't leave a lot of options. Dietsland, Automailia, some unoccupied territory,"

Miles looked up from the monitor. "The Colonial Government has alerted the Army. They are also talking to the Kylarnatians in Khonsia about a coordinated defense strategy."

Scipio gave Miles a thoughtful look. "I don't think they are coming here. At least, not directly." He gestured at the picture. "The Reich is not going to start the next Great War without a bang. This, fleet is a whimper."

Miles' eyes widened.

"No," Scipio finished. "Something else entirely is going on."

"And what would that be?"

"I see three possibilities." Scipio stood to present his case. He was not an overly tall man, but well proportioned, and he kept in shape. Next, to the office type of Miles he stood out.

"One: The Reich is on their way to Automailia. The old Slave State is no longer profitable and they are on their way to finish it off. Possible, but it seem very ill-timed given the tensions in Gholgoth. It is a waste of resources that may be need for the next war."

"Two: They are on their way to Dietsland as some part of backroom deal between the Reich and the Ordenites. Again, seems unlikely unless the Reich is gaining something necessary for the next war.

"Three: They are coming to East Varathron. I don't think it is a coincidence that the fleet launched after the commencement of the Nannasia invasion. The Reich has seen some vulnerability and are taking advantage of it. There is also likely some prize they are seeking. Something to justify the risk and assets."

Miles thought it over for a second. "And you think it's the latter?"

"It seems the most likely eventuality," Scipio confirmed. "It doesn't rule out an invasion of Disia. Disia, Nannasia, the Ozbekskinias, or some other territory are the most likely targets."

Scipio fixed the other man's gaze. "Bottomline: We have to wait for more information."

Miles appeared displeased with that idea. Scipio shared his pleasure.


OOC: The second part of this post was rewritten, due to an error on my part. The original will likely appear again at some later date.
Last edited by Drakonian Imperium on Sun Oct 28, 2018 3:02 am, edited 2 times in total.

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One Hell of an Exercise

Postby Kylarnatia » Fri Oct 26, 2018 8:01 pm

"The Imperium Antiquum's overarching strategy when it came to the Reich was really quite simple: starvation. It knew that the Reich's war-machine relied heavily on sating it's constant, never-ending hunger for resources. It would keep pushing relentlessly forward so long as it had the means to do so. So the Caesar's Stratagem was to constantly harass and undermine the Reich's means of supply, forcing them to divert attention and resources to shoring up their lines and thus bringing any offensive to a slow crawl, which gave the Imperium and their Gothic allies the time to organise and mount an effective means of resistance if not outright counter-attack.

I don't think it is too much to say that Varathron was treated as a testing ground for this strategy. The lessons learnt here would go on to help shape the outcome of the war in Gholgoth."
-- Dr. Minucia Tertula, Department of War Studies, University of Leontopolis (2058)

Dux Consul's Residence, Heraclea Nippur
Provincia Khonsia, Varathron

Dux Consul Herius Octavius Verullus had accepted the commission to Khonsia because he thought it'd be a quiet place where he could serve his twilight years with honour. The role of Dux Consul was, it was long coveted, trusted only to the most senior and respected veterans of the Imperium's elite: a mandate granted directly from Caesar, they were responsible with governing the many vast territories and reaches of the Imperium. The young would often scoff at the old, saying they were being put out to pasture, but Verullus and his peers who held the Consulship's knew the vast honour and responsibility they held. Very few men and women in the Imperium's hierarchy held as much power as this, and even this was pittance compared to what the Caesar wielded. Still, Verullus' legacy and the well-being of his family was immediately safeguarded as soon as he took the commission: not only was their a sizeable financial endowment, his name now carried considerable weight in circles he previously did not have access to which were now also accessible to his daughter, a young aspiring senator back home in Kylarnatia.

Provincia Khonsia was also quite the prize: the Imperium Antiquum's first non-Gothic colony, settling and conquering lands once owned by the ancient kings of Nippur and Karkemish, the land was named after the moon spirit Khonsu following early settlers remarks on how the land always seemed to be dark, like the night, due to its many lush and dense jungles in the interior. These would prove to be very rich in both minerals and resource, and while conservationism in the Imperium Antiquum meant that a large chunk of the natural habitat was properly protected, sizeable inroads had been made to allow the resources to be put to use. In modern times a number of the coastal cities had become hubs of trade and tourism, the most popular being the paradise metropolis of Byblos. The coastal city of Arwad was also home to a natural deep-water port which had since been expanded tenfold, thus serving as a useful base of operations for the Caesar's Imperial Navy in Varathron, and hosted a large array of shipyards commissioned with constructing new vessels for both private and defence purposes.

Verullus had once remarked to a close friend upon receiving the role of Dux Consul, "This has got to be the cushiest promotion in the history of promotions. Tucked away in the corner of Varathron, enjoying some peace and quiet away from all the commotion in Krytopia. Bless the Mother for this amazing gift!"

Those words continued to ring through his mind while he sat - still slightly dazed - in the conference room of his residence in the early hours of the morning, with two much younger individuals standing on either side of him. Trying his best to rub the sleep from his eyes, the senior statesman took another sip of the black coffee he had made for himself as he tried to focus on the maps and documents that his unexpected guests had brought for him. For a moment nothing really seemed to sink in, it was all just some noise about goings on in the divided lands of Ozbekskinia to the north - something the Imperium had long since declared neutrality on - but then suddenly two words stood on clearly above the rest: Kraven Reich. Verullus blinked twice and read over the words again, and again, before shooting concerned glances at the two individuals in the room with him. Those two words struck him with two feelings: fear and pain. He was a veteran of the Great Gholgothic War, and the resulting trauma of that experience - a shrapnel tear through the knee, which had put him out of action and now left him using a cane, as well as untold mental scars - had left it's mark on him. He was a man with hard skin and usually unfazed by most things, but this fazed him like nothing else could.

"We're sure of this?"

He was able to muster some words after a few quiet moments. The two uniformed individuals - male and female intelligence officers of the Caesar's Imperial Armed Forces - nodded, with the woman responding, "Yes, we've run through the reports given to us by the Disian's several times. Everything checks out, and our own satellites..." She pulled some images from a separate manilla folder. Showing them to the Dux Consul, she pointed to them, what only seemed to be different shades of pixel on top of one another, "...have picked up patterns synonymous with what we know of Reich Subjugator Fleets. Supreme Command has deemed that it is no longer a possibility, it's a certainty."

Holding one hand to his face for a moment and resting his chin there, Verullus took some time to read the reports much more thoroughly now that he was more awake. The more he read, the more tense the expression on his face became. "What is our course for action? Do we plan to intercept the fleet? We have the numbers to do so."

The male officer shook his head. "No, an interception would only provoke the Reich and likely start the war earlier than when we'd like. Our best course of action is to, unfortunately, wait and see what they do. According to Drakonian intelligence..." He pointed to the map, to the large coastline that stretched between Nannasia and Disia, "They believe that this is the most likely destination, and our own intelligence seems to agree. The Reich always prefers the path of least resistance, and the growing conflict to the North provides just take. Still, there's no knowing, and any move that's too preemptive could leave us exposed and alert them to our readiness. Once we do know where they're heading however, our plan is to meet them there and hold them there: our ground forces will engage in a cosy little stand-off reminiscent of the front with Arcadia while the Navy will encircle the Subjugators and deny them the means to leave, as well as cutting their means of supply."

The aging Dux Consul breathed out heavily. He rubbed his knee as the thought of waiting made him incredibly uneasy. "That's a bold move, but I suppose it's the best we've got right now. I guess we'll want to be as ready as we can be to move when the jackboots hit the ground: assuming that they do turn up in East Varathron, how quickly could we get our forces to a prospective front?"

"In full force, a few weeks. If we start by moving our active forces to the border with Khirazskinia - about two whole legions worth, not to mention the Auxilia - they can use the Disian Highway to move quickly into Disia and further on if needs be. Unfortunately the Highway project is less complete once we get onto the Disian side, so if it does come to pass that the Reich ends up on their side, we would have to look at speeding up development so that we have much more effective means of reinforcement and supply. For now, our forces can take the Disian Highway from Til-Barsip to Profuga City on the Disian coastline, and from there we can do sea and air-lifts of our troops to wherever they may be needed."

Verullus nodded as he was briefed. He knew of the current complement based in Provincia Khonsia - three whole Magnificum Legio, some fifteen million legionnaires in all - but only one of them was currently active and ready for deployment, a standard policy in Imperium territories, but even those five million would take some time to deploy in full. On top of that there were several cohorts of Auxilia, each two-hundred thousand men and women strong: these were men and women from the territories and other far-flung places of the world who enlisted in the Caesar's Imperial Armed Forces on the promise that they and their family would be granted citizenship after serving the full term of service, with the possibility of even being enlisted as a vaunted Legionnaire if you were recognised for excellent service. They were neither heavily armed nor armoured, but that was not their role: the Auxilia were meant to be a versatile, quick-response force who could help shore up where the Legio could not immediately reach.

"I assume since you've been briefing me on all of this that I have been granted the fasces?" Verullus referred to the ancient custom, which essentially meant he had been granted military command. Dux Consul's did not have military command by default, but it could be granted in the event that the Imperium Antiquum anticipated conflict on it's territorial borders. This was why those who held consulships were usually desired to have suitable amounts of military command experience, of which Verullus had the required amount, although he had never commanded on a scale this large before. Fortunately for him, he knew he wouldn't have to do it alone: Supreme Command would likely dispatch the designated Dux Imperator of the Magnificum Legio within the next few days, and they would be there to counsel him on how to proceed.

The two intelligence officers simply nodded once again.

"Then let us raise Caesar's Vexillum and wait to face the foe." The old warrior remarked as he grabbed his cane and stood, slowly making his way from the room.

Khonsia-Khirazskinian Border

In the early hours of that morning, the first elements of what would become the Imperium's designated response force to a potential Reich attack began converging on Til-Barsip, a once ancient trade city that had since become the key entry and exit point to Khonsia from the east. It was connected directly to the Disian Highway, a road and belt initiative begun by the Drakonians during the last Varathron War to better connect Eastern Varathron, and something which Provincia Khonsia saw as worthy of investment due to how it aided their own development. Still under development, the order had been given for the sappers of the Caesar's Imperial Army to communicate with the Disians on making plans to hasten the development and complete it, just in case it would be required for the response. It would be a massive logistical undertaking, but the Imperial Engineers - sometimes referred to as Vulcans, in reference to the Grand Mother's seventh son, the Aspect of Material Creation - prided themselves on achieving such massive feats with both ruthless efficiency and finesse. Already, huge amounts of construction material for roads and railways was being moved to Til-Barsip along with the first cohort of Auxilia, who would be joined by several more in the coming days.

Among them was Pvt. Husaam el-Suleiman, a Khonsian native of the city of Harran in the northernmost reaches of Khonsia, who signed up to the Auxilia as soon as he had turned sixteen. He was now in his early twenties and a part of the cohort that was scheduled to arrive first in Til-Barsip and remain on alert status, pending immediate redeployment. His superiors had been tight-lipped as to the reasons why - perhaps it was some secret exercise - but Suleiman had long since learnt not to ask questions uninvited. Sitting in the back of his troop transport, he occasionally peered out through the little clear window he had. He noticed how there were no other cars or vehicles on the road except for the ones he recognised as being owned and operated by the armed forces, and they weren't stopping for anything. Murmurs had been going around his unit and others within their division that this was far more than just an exercise, and whispers that the vaunted legions would also make an appearance. Suleiman was a model auxiliary however, and didn't partake in such rumours and hearsay.

All he could imagine is how this would be one hell of an exercise.
Last edited by Kylarnatia on Sun Oct 28, 2018 4:22 am, edited 2 times in total.
The Ancient Empire of Kylarnatia // Imperium Antiquum Kylarnatiae
Lord of Gholgoth | Factbook (Work in Progress) | Embassy & Consulate Programme
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Emperor Pudu
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Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Emperor Pudu » Sun Oct 28, 2018 10:09 am

The old truck rattled noisily as it bounced down the sparse dirt track through north-western Ozbekskinia. For the last two hours all Elfrida and her driver had passed were isolated ranch camps and one very large gold mine. Suddenly, however, the sounds of voices crackled over the truck's FM radio. "We must be getting close," her driver said, "The radio's finally got some reception!" Elfrida listened for a moment to what was evidently a talk show, fielding religious questions. "Only thing on the airwaves out here are the clerics," she lamented, "turn it off."

A few miles down the road the truck crested a low hill and laid out before them was the tiny village of Uzlorda. From the looks of it, the village consisted of two concrete municipal buildings, a general store and a collection of aluminium trailer homes. A fair number of tents were also pitched throughout. One of the drab concrete buildings was a police station, and that was where Elfrida was headed. When they arrived the pair was met out front by a uniformed officer who greeted them as they hopped out of the truck. "Sergeant Ansar, National Police." He introduced himself, holding out his hand, "Captain Arezdera, Royal Guard." Elfrida answered, shaking his hand. "And this is Lieutenant Leda." she introduced her driver and aide.

The interior of the station was no less spartan than the outside; Elfrida saw only one other officer on duty, sitting behind a desk shielded by thick glass as they entered. The first officer ushered them further inside. He had a body to show them. In the small morgue a black plastic body bag lay open on a table when Elfrida and the two men entered. "He was found by some boys driving their herd down the mountain for winter pastures." the sergeant explained, "It looks like he was only up there a day or so."

Elfrida stepped closer to the body, noticing first the prominent execution style gunshot wound to the head. "This is a large caliber round. Ever seen anyone around here work with something like this before?" In response to Elfrida's question the police sergeant shook his head, "Never like this. The herders sometimes carry their old muskets but the lead balls they fire would have blown a hole the size of your fist out the back of the skull. This exit wound is clean." Elfrida lifted the head and took a cursory look at the back of the head to confirm the man's statement. "And I presume he's not local?" she asked. "No. We ran his fingerprints and he's evidently a professor of geology in Arkabad. When we called the university they told us he was on a sabbatical."

Then Elfrida turned to her companion Lieutenant Sarvar. "Killed a day ago, by modern military firearms. It fits the timetable." She hesitated before saying anything more, "Sergeant, do you mind giving us the room?" The policeman nodded in deference and stepped out, closing the door behind him. Just as the heavy metal door slid shut Elfrida finished her statement, "It was the Reich." Perhaps it was just the temperature of the morgue, but Elfrida felt a sudden chill then.

"Well," Lieutenant Leda replied, "Then they fucked up, leaving the body behind and all." Elfrida was not so confident. "Not quite. In fact, I'm quite sure the Reich couldn't care less if we knew it was them. Whatever they're planning, our knowing it won't stop them. The problem is, even with this body here, we don't know what that plan is." She mused then, more quietly, "A geologist..."

After a moments contemplation Elfrida turned quickly on her heel toward Leda, "We must alert the rest of the Brethren. No more of us can be spared for the North. The fight is coming here."

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The Kraven Corporation
Posts: 501
Founded: Apr 24, 2005
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby The Kraven Corporation » Mon Oct 29, 2018 1:58 pm

Task Force Varathon, Reich Subjugation Fleet.
Elements of Naval Arm Cydonia
Entering L'Enet-Areth Island chain
16:00 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The Annihilator Super Dreadnought continued its path through the murky waters, they had been unhindered in their journey so far, with each ship moving into formation to protect the main Capital ships, the smaller picket ships would move between the larger ships, crisscrossing the depths looking for potential hazards, submarines, sea mines anything that might hinder the journey, this was no ordinary navy, its crew were all Capitol Police, the High Command choosing to do away with the recruited crewmen long ago, these naval men of the Reich would crack under pressure, abandon ship and try to save their own lives, the Capitol Police would stay at their posts even if water was rushing in around their feet, even as the bow slipped beneath the waves the Capitol Police would man the guns, returning fire until their armour dragged them beneath the cold, frigid waves.

Mimir tracking ships kept a watchful eye on the skies, scanning the horizon ahead of the fleet and ensuring that the Command and Control of the Subjugator class Super Dreadnought was brought up to speed with any developments, it was while the fleet was beginning to exit the Island chain that the Mian fleet became known to the Admiral of the fleet and Commander of the Operation, his was informed by a Trooper who looked up from his console and read out the fleets composition, a satellite was moved into position to give a better feed of what they were projecting and a plan was formulated by Tactical Command in Norska...

"Deploy the Stuka Class Fighter Bombers" The Admiral spoke, pointing at the Mian Fleets position...

A Trooper looked up from his console, the whole room bathed in a dark, crimson red light and began to speak to the Admiral in that tone so familiar to anyone who knows of the Capitol Police

"Mian Fleet is hailing, Admiral"

"Their statement?" The Admiral responded in a similar tone

"They request to information on our purpose in Varathon and our heading, additional, Nannasian Navy forces have been dispatched on an intercept course along with several Air Superiority fighters, Mimir Tracking Vessels have confirmed."

"Open communication channels"

"By your Command"






The two Stuka Class fighter bombers were launched from the Gorgoroth Battle Carrier, they headed out towards the Mian fleet, their two pilots flying in a tight formation, keep a low flight path towards the Mian ships, they were armed with anti shipping torpedoes, as well as a set of anti shipping missiles, their sleek, black exterior gave a menacing view at Reich Air power, once the two craft had reached the Mian fleet, they proceeded to fly low over the lead ship, circling around for another pass, coming in close, to within around fifty feet, flying at an angle so that the crew on board could see that the two aircraft were heavily armed and prepared for operations, The Reich was not so much posturing, but showing that The Reich would not tolerate any incursions into its operational area, it was not looking for a fight directly, but was willing to protect its operations, hopefully, for the Mians sake, they would take note of the Reich's efforts to avoid conflict, less the Reich choose instead to lay its eyes upon their home land...

The Nannasians however, would not receive the same fly by, they would only receive the communications, which should be enough to keep them at bay long enough for the Reich to get into position...
Last edited by The Kraven Corporation on Mon Oct 29, 2018 2:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"If you want a vision of the future, Winston, imagine a boot stamping on a human face forever." - 1984
Scand: No one beats you Kraven for largest number killed a day.
Scand: Your nation is a glorified death camp after all.
Tiurabo: WTF Kraven.
Tiurabo: You are the last person who can tell me to be calm.
Tiurabo: You're a goddam psycho. The Updated National Anthem of Imperial Fortress Reich
Resistance is Futile... We Are The Kraven Reich

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Emperor Pudu
Posts: 163
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Emperor Pudu » Mon Oct 29, 2018 2:43 pm

Arkabad is the largest city and capital of the southern Ozbekskinian nation. It was an ancient crossroads and caravan stop; it's medieval stone fortress still dominates the rocky mount around which the city was built and from which it took it's name. In the last generation, however, the city has grown from its market town roots and become what it is today: a sweltering desert metropolis overstuffed with humanity and the permanent air of desperation that too-large cities always have about it. One could stroll the campus of the new Arkabad University or visit the financial district dominated by the steel-glass tower of the Ozbek Investment Bank and think it was a modern and prosperous city on the brink of great progress; one could also walk the vast slums encircling this would-be paradise and get exactly the opposite idea.

It was through these labyrinthine streets of the Arkabad slums that Elfrida Arezdera and her aide, whose full name was Rafid Rezare Leda, now made their way. The pair were careful to choose their steps carefully, avoiding the open sewer that ran down the center of the street, hopping from plywood pathways to metal grates to plank bridges over the filth. The sun was high in the sky but even now these streets were dangerous to travel for those unused to the dangers of the city. Elfrida and Rafid carried their weapons brazenly: pistols, both, and a long curved knife at each of their belts as well. It was the former weapon that would deter the petty criminals but it was the latter that would deter the most hardened, for they knew what it harkened. Two agents of death strode these streets today, and they were in a hurry.

The pair made their way purposefully through the muck-drenched paths until they saw it. The flickering neon sign above a tiny storefront well outfitted with steel bars and a heavy door. The sign read 'psychic' and like all psychic storefronts the open sign also flashed in a grimy window even though all other lights were out and the door was locked. Elfrida had the key, though, and the two quickly stole inside and shut the formidable door behind them. Wasting no time, they made their way to a second door in the back of the dingy shop which opened to a staircase leading down. They took it, finding their way in the dark.

As they turned the corner at the bottom of the stair they caught a flicker of candlelight up ahead. A curtain divided the next room from the hall and Elfrida, leading the way, pulled it aside and stepped in. Illuminated by a half dozen candles, the small room was dominated by a huge stone table circled with many wooden chairs. One of those chairs was occupied. An older man, hooded and cloaked, sat facing the door and stroking his beard. As Elfrida entered he stood and moved around the table to greet her, extending a hand which she met, each grasping the others forearm before the man spoke, "The God of War must fight," he said, to which she replied, "But the God of Death merely waits."

Their greetings thus exchanged both parties shared a smile and embraced. "It had been too long Elfrida," the old man said in his weary voice. "It is good to see you too, Elder Farad. Where are the others?" Elfrida asked with hesitation. Elder Farad answered sorrowfully, "They could not come. We are very busy and we cannot risk detection now."

"I had hoped more would come." She repeated her sentiment, "We will be no less busy for the news that I bring." Elfrida made to take a seat in one of the chairs around the table but the old man objected suddenly, "Wait," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "we must observe the ritual."

Elfrida thought about shrugging his hand off and objecting, their business was pressing after all, but it had been a long time since their last proper meeting and the ritual would lend this small gathering an air of legitimacy. "Alright," she conceded, straightening up again "who will do the honors?" Elder Farad looked from Elfrida to Rafid and back, "You have called this meeting, the honor should be yours."

"I was hoping you'd say that." With one hand she pulled her pistol from its holster and tossed it down on the stone table with a hefty thud, with the other hand she fingered the pommel of her curved dagger in anticipation. "Have you made preparations, or shall I send Rafid up to find-" she was cut off then as Elder Farad rang a little bell he had produced from his cloak sleeve, "I have made preparations," he said.

Just then a door on the opposite side of the chamber opened and two men entered hauling a third bodily along with them. This third man struggled against their grip and looked wildly about the room at Elfrida and the others. She smiled. Striding over to stand facing the terrified man, though with the table still between them, Elfrida addressed him directly "You will fight. Fight or die." Abandoning the more familiar tones she used with her companions, these words tasted of venom and malice. The man stopped struggling so violently and looked at his two captors still flanking him. Without speaking one of these brutes pulled a long dagger to match Elfrida's own out from a sheath and dropped it on the table before both of the thugs released their grip and stepped back.

Suddenly free, the man lunged for the knife before turning to see what became of the two guards. His attention momentarily off her, Elfrida too began to move. She shouted as she did, "Fight or die!" She vaulted the table in one motion and came down nearly on top of the hapless man, who flailed wildly with his knife. The blow handily parried, Elfrida gave the man a shove in the chest that sent him reeling into the wall behind him. "Fight me," she growled insistently. His attention now fully on her, he began to modulate his movements more carefully, settling into a crouch and watching Elfrida with darting eyes.

She lunged again, swiping up with her blade beneath his guard and nearly catching him in the stomach; he had twisted out of the way and used his free hand to push her arm just enough to the left to avoid being gutted. Elfrida wrenched her arm from his grasp and parried another of his reckless stabs without issue. The man, she assessed, was not totally helpless in a fight, though he was clearly panicked and struggling against even her simplest attacks. Elder Farad had done well to find one that could defend itself, she thought.

This time she would feint another lunge before withdrawing, which threw him off balance. The man was stumbling toward her with outstretched dagger when she snatched his wrist in her free hand and pulled him further forward and onto her blade. It pierced his chest and slid between his ribs; Elfrida caught his weight on that knife and bent into a crouch before lifting him up and dropping him heavily on his back onto the table, her knife protruding viciously from his abdomen. She then collected his knife from the ground and calmly silenced his distressed gurgles before taking a seat at the table. The body lay where she had left him, knives and all, while Elder Farad and the younger Rafid both took seats opposite her. The three met each others eyes over the corpse on the table. Elfrida spoke first, "Shall we begin?"

Elder Farad replied in his hoarse and straining voice "The Corpse God Watches," and with that, the meeting could finally begin.

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Solisian Union
Posts: 676
Founded: Apr 22, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Solisian Union » Wed Oct 31, 2018 9:15 am






Vice almirante Rene Amengual

Nannasian Security Fleet Lejos

Code: Select all
List of Ships:
1 aircraft carrier
4 destroyers
2 frigates
1 helicopter carrier

On the open seas now, away from the shores of Nannasia, the fleet of Rene received this communication from the Kraven Reich. To her, she was personally invited to answer back but according to her training, if this was how the Reich would respond to an answer by the Nannasians and if what the people of this world had to say about them was true then she would be forced to withdraw her personal feelings and defer to her training and her experience: She would poke the bear.

She looked at her naval computers and at her officers. She analyzed the reports she was being handed and she too looked at the oceans through the windows and cameras of her command and control center. She sighed as she withdrew from the center and headed to the bridge. There, from that vantage point, she gave the orders

"This is Pebble. Issuing permission to Alpha Group to carry out Golden Shower. Bravo Group will remain with the Wizard. Cuttle, contact The Pegasus and let them know Mother Mary needs her baby."

After this was done, she allowed the computers to move to another channel, securing communications for the fleet as those instructions made it to the groups. Alpha Group consisted of 1 frigate the Hinchinbrook and the aircraft carrier the Elgin while 2 destroyers the Fortune Prize and the Rosalind. Alpha would move out, meet the enemy and engage. Bravo, which consisted of the helicopter carrier the Coromandel and the rest of the fleet which was the 2 other destroyers the Cuttle and the Cumberland as well as the other frigate which served as Renes flagship the Andania, would maintain their distance and provide support. If things went badly, they would join the battle and allow the other ships to retreat before finally resorting to fire and retreat.


Time passed. As it did, orders made it to the planes of the Elgin. There, four Morterero-Montenegros and two Immaculates were readied for take off as Nannasia sent out two Gaona-Carvallos to serve as eyes in the sky. It would take them time to get there though so the Attack planes and their Electronic Warfare cousins would have to wait. As they did, Alpha Group was steaming towards the Kraven Reich to get in range of their missiles. Once they did, the destroyers and the frigates would pick their targets, lock on and fire, from each of them, at least for now, 4 missiles for anti ship purposes. That meant 12 missiles were being launched.


Meanwhile, the airborne legion that was being transferred out of their original area of operation made it finally to the south. There, they were joined by members of the Macias Armored Legion (numbering 6,000 men and several armored fighting vehicles) and the Aguinaldo Infantry Legion (Again numbering 6,000 men and their vehicles). It turns out that the rest were still on their way. It would take some more days and some more effort to complete the movement of troops, vehicles and supplies and all the rest from other parts of Nannasia to the south, to where action was expected to occur between Nannasia and the Reich as rumors and reports from allied or friendly colonies and nations proved that the Reich is coming here. But really, nobody was sure. All the colonists could do was secure their southern borders and frontier while militias and the rest of the army of the colony secured the the rest.

At the same time, Solisia had told the colony and the allies of their colony that she was sending 2 Air-Defense Frigate Warships, 2 Guided Missile Destroyer Warships, 3 transports that held the finest Exilei and Solas Legions that were exclusively dedicated to Nannasias defense when the time demanded it. They would come in time but nobody knew if it would be the right time indeed.

User avatar
The Kraven Corporation
Posts: 501
Founded: Apr 24, 2005
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby The Kraven Corporation » Wed Oct 31, 2018 2:08 pm

Task Force Varathon, Reich Subjugation Fleet.
Elements of Naval Arm Cydonia
L'Enet-Areth Island chain
22:00 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The missiles launched by the Nannasians fleet were picked up by the Mimir tracking vessels as soon as they had left there launch tubes, tracking and control monitored their path across the oceans as they skimmed low to the water, the controllers alerted their stations who passed the information to Command and Control on "The Vulture" the large Subjugator Class Super Dreadnaught that headed the fleet, its sister ship "The Annihilator" received the same information, the fleet itself continued to hammer through the sea, their bows cutting through the water with precision, the steady thrum of engines powering these immense steel beasts, each one a weapon of war designed to destroy, to maim, to slaughter, the Capitol Police commanders seemed uninterested by the attack from the Nannasians, the consoles flashed with warnings, but the fleet remained impassive, it continued its course without so much as a flicker..

The first of the missiles screamed into its target, striking the vessel on its armoured belt, fire swept across the deck as the explosion twisted and tore at the metal, fragments rained down into the sea, but still the ship sped on, its engines cutting a path through the murky grey water now flecked with bits of floating metal, another missile struck home hitting a deck gun on a destroyer, it tore the cannon from its mounting and ignited a magazine, sending another fireball rising high into the air, it listed heavily to one side as water began to pour in from a gash in the hull where an exploding shell had done some damage, the destroyer slowed it speed and dropped from formation, siding up to an auxiliary ship that began to give support and sent repair teams across to try and patch the damage done, already Capitol Police on the deck were trying to dampen down the fires using long snaking hoses that blasted high pressure water at the flames...

Other missiles struck their targets doing considerable damage to some ships and minor damage to others, the attack was successful, it had struck home, each missile had reached its target and each target had managed to score a hit, the fleet however was unmoved, the Capitol Police Officers watched from the bridge of the Subjugators, as smoke now drifted across the water, obscuring the view for a moment as thick, oily clouds rose from a burning Auxiliary ship, the Officers watched with cold indifference as burning Troopers jumped from the deck into the water, it was no survival mechanic, it was simply their vision obscured by the flames that caused them to fall into the water below..

"Firing solutions available, awaiting your orders"

"Negative, stand down all firing solutions, maintain speed and heading" 13-A spoke with cold, machine like tones, turning to the Communications Console he continued.

"Contact Fortress Norska, requesting support from Tactical Command, Task Force Varathon has neither the time nor the resources to engage Nannasian naval units"

The Trooper manning the console responded in the same cold tone "By your Command"

Fortress Norska, Tactical Command.

The Tactical Command was alive with activity, reports were flooding in from Varathon, other conflicts happening within Norska itself, raiding teams hitting Hab-Blocks, units looking for a fugitive, each of them were requesting information regarding their current target, Supervisors, people literally melded into their consoles watched the various feeds from across Norska, their eyes long since removed and replaced with a series of wires that snaked down their face and into the banks of monitors that streamed information directly into their optical nerve, it was a blend of perverse Reich Science and the need to know everything that was happening at any one time, Officers also watched the monitors and received reports directly from the Supervisor...

"Reports are incoming from Varathon, indications are that Task Force Varathon has been engaged by naval elements of Nannasian Navy, a small colony in Varathon" One Officer spoke looking at a monitor of the damage to the fleet

"Issue instructions to 13-A, maintain course and heading, The Nannasians will be dealt with separately." Another spoke also watching the same monitor, they both stared at the screen with that cold, blank stare that all Capitol Police have, before they continued the discussion about the unfolding events in Varathon...

"Activate Naval Arm South, issue instructions to prepare a full scale Resource Harvest Fleet, Deploy to Varathon to deal with the Nanassian Colony." The Officer spoke to one of the supervisors who's hand deftly touched a series of keys and began transmitting the orders, while at the same time responding with a curt.. "Affirmative, By your Command"

"Additional, Activate, Replicant MM-131/A-LO"

"Affirmative, By Your Command, Sending Additional orders."

Naval Arm South, Fortress Norska

The vast Resource Harvest fleet was issued with Instructions to leave port and begin its long and arduous journey into Varathon, the 10,000 strong fleet was designed to crush all resistance before it, gather and harvest the resources, minerals, timber, fuels, metals, anything The Reich War machine could use, its forces were almost limitless in number, a sight to be feared on any horizon, the skies would turn dark almost as if these vast fleets were followed by the darkness itself, by death incarnate, the Naval Arm South would be heading directly for the Nanassian colony with the intent of wiping it clean from the map, the Reich had too much importance placed on the Operation in Western Ozbek to allow it to be derailed by a small colony, the Task Force had neither the time nor the resources to fight its way down into Varathon proper and then begin its assault on the mainland and then into Western Ozbek, so Tactical Command had decided to activate a full fleet, throwing what they had available in an effort to stamp out the resistance before it became too great...

With the order, the first few ships of Naval Arm South slipped out of port, their dark grey hulls almost blending in with the heavily polluted waters around Norska, their seas devoid of life except for the constant, steady, hum of many, many vessels...

Varathon was quickly becoming a much larger conflict....
"If you want a vision of the future, Winston, imagine a boot stamping on a human face forever." - 1984
Scand: No one beats you Kraven for largest number killed a day.
Scand: Your nation is a glorified death camp after all.
Tiurabo: WTF Kraven.
Tiurabo: You are the last person who can tell me to be calm.
Tiurabo: You're a goddam psycho. The Updated National Anthem of Imperial Fortress Reich
Resistance is Futile... We Are The Kraven Reich

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The Master M
Posts: 1877
Founded: May 18, 2009
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Master M » Wed Oct 31, 2018 6:25 pm

Operations Briefing Room
MMNB Ortego
Southern Coast, Mian Republic
Some Days Earlier

“… and that,” boomed the voice of High Admiral Daniyal Bauer wearing the royal blue and gold finery uniform that befit his rank, “is the current position of the Reich fleet, taken from the data gathered by both allied intelligence and our own in theatre assets.” The Admiral stood on a platform beside a console the centre of a cavernous circular room, a minimalist shrine of glass and black steel, surrounded on all sides by myriad seated men and women in military dress uniforms. The large expanse above the Admiral filled with light as he spoke, forming a three-dimensional holographic projection large enough to be completely visible to even those on the outskirts of the room. The projection cycled through various radar, satellite, and sonar images of the expansive Reich fleet, maps of Varathron, a few different course predictions, and finally an image which silenced the small pockets of conversation which had been breaking out between the assembled officers: the battle-flag of the Kraven Reich, flying from the mast of the two kilometre long monster sailing ponderously through the waves at the heart of the fleet.

The Admiral paused on the image of the steel behemoth for a few moments longer before addressing them again. “Elements of the assembled Battle Fleets will sail for Varathron within the next seventy two hours, where you will rendezvous with Navy units diverting to the area. From there you will conduct blue-water supremacy exercises in this area,” he said to an unconvinced crowd, many openly amused by the lack of effort put into the excuse given for this immediate deployment.

The hologram again became an expansive map of the region’s north, “You will act in response to war games scenarios delivered in real time, in a real war situation. Treat this as the real thing; the Kraven are not to be taken lightly. They are operating in the area in force, and we’re not sure yet what they want or what they are doing there. Be on alert to react to any emerging situations, but try not to start a shooting war if it can be avoided. You will all receive further orders in the next few days.”

The hologram faded as the High Admiral saluted, prompting a sea of uniformed arms to return it.

“Good hunting.”

Along the seemingly endless docks within the base, and at other smaller bases along the Most Serene Republic’s southern coast, hundreds of ships both military and auxiliary were being loaded for war. Thousands of pallets of varying sizes were being loaded by each dock’s gargantuan crane structures containing missiles of every description and size, various shells and other ammunition, endless boxes of toilet paper – the materiel required to support an extended, long-distance high-threat operation. They would join with units already present in the region or already en-route, taking the Mian forces in theatre to around twelve hundred combat vessels.

Hundreds of thousands of sailors, aircrew, and marines were beginning to board the vessels that would take them to Varathron, a trickle becoming a flood as more and more responded to their orders. They would sail in three days. Many would never return.

Deep Water Anchored Base
Southern Varathron Sea
Present Day, 2200 Hours

The command centre of Varathron Command was a spartan room in contrast to the one where the briefing had been held, the need for function in the limited space eliminating anything deemed unnecessary – such as weighty holographic projectors, when simple screens would suffice. The walls were covered in them, some floor to ceiling, all showing different readings. About fifteen technicians manned various stations around the room, reading off different numbers and pieces of information as these came in. The largest screen has shown them the Kraven fleet as it sailed into the region, they had watched as it moved ponderously through the island chain and out the other side. They had watched the closest Mian vessel - a destroyer acting as a forward picket – was buzzed by two fearsome fighter bombers, and they still watched when the ship backed off, moving back towards the main Mian task force in the region. They watched now as a handful of Nannasian ships, picked up by a high flying AWACS, fired a pitiful volley of missiles towards the distant Reich fleet. A gesture of futility, thought those watching, given the number of anti-missile defences present on fifteen hundred warships.

South of Nannasian Fleet

A nearby Mian naval group consisting of 6 Broadsword-class battlecruisers and various escorts was also monitoring the missile attack, sailing north in battle formation. After watching the Kraven fleet just allow the missiles to hit home, they transmitted back to Varathron Command requesting instructions. The reply came after a long pause of at least ten minutes. The orders were verified, and headquarters responded affirmatively. Targets were located, firing solutions locked in, and the first of hundreds of anti-ship and anti-aircraft missiles were launched from dozens of vertical launch cells on each of the six Broadsword’s, streaking through the air and away from the Mian fleet.

Varathron Command
15 minutes earlier

The men in the room watched the missile attack unfold, interrupted only briefly by a directed transmission came in from a Reich satellite far above. It played briefly on the screen, a garbled static mess of noise that surely couldn’t be anything other than a disrupted message. Many of them were too puzzled at the message to notice one of the technicians standing up and walking to the door, and those that did thought nothing more of it. None of them were even paying attention by the time he engaged the emergency door locks, sealing the hatches leading into the room, at the same time levelling a machine pistol and firing into his colleagues at point blank range. The few that survived were coldly dispatched with further shots without mercy or pause.

The technician turned murderer, killing complete, stood motionless in the centre of a slaughter. Bodies were everywhere, and most of the still working screens were drenched in blood and gore. The technician stood motionless for minutes, deaf to the increasingly louder sound of pounding on the doors into the room, before noticing a flashing message on the nearest intact monitor. The replicant moved quickly, typing and sending the message in seconds.



[size=90]The first door came down with a small explosion, as Mian Marines stormed the room. The replicant turned machine pistol in one hand and combat knife in the other, and charged into the fray. It died, surrounded by many of the men it had taken to kill it, as hundreds of Mian missiles raced towards the Nannasian fleet.
Last edited by The Master M on Tue Mar 12, 2019 6:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Emperor Pudu
Posts: 163
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Emperor Pudu » Wed Oct 31, 2018 7:00 pm

It was a beautiful sun-drenched day on the Eyomian Sea. The crew of the Pudite Imperial Navy submarine Forebearance were enjoying the sunlight and the ocean breeze after three weeks submerged beneath the seas of Varathron. Some of those crew not engaged in the replenishment operation had been given leave to come up to the top deck of the submarine aft of the sail and take in some leisure. Fore of the sail was another matter, however, for the submarine was not alone out here on the Eyomian Sea. In fact, the attack submarine was dwarfed by the shape of the thing that perched on the water's surface beside it: a massive seaplane, more than a hundred meters long with a wingspan to match, it was a huge nuclear powered replenishment craft, capable of meeting a submarine anywhere in the world and carrying a full reload of all weapons and supplies.

The Forebearance had been at sea for some time and so was taking on board a good deal of food and other perishable stores. Captain Milong stood on deck of his boat and was reviewing the manifest provided by the supply officer aboard the seaplane, who stood by awaiting his signature. "It all looks good," he said, checking the list as he went down, "Except I'm not seeing our torpedo reload. We fired a dozen in exercises a week ago." The quartermaster nodded and gestured to the document, "You'll see the munitions heading on the next page, though it won't be torpedoes. We were told it would be naval mines." Captain Milong flipped the page and looked it over. "Thirty six naval mines. Huh." He looked again for any additional indication that his mission had changed.

"There is another thing," the quartermaster finally said, "A sealed packet for you. Orders, I imagine." His unspoken question thus answered, Captain Milong signed the manifest and passed it back to the seaplane officer. "I'll have that packet, then." The other man nodded, "Of course, sir. It's in our captain's safe. Allow me to retrieve it." He took the manifest and scurried back up the deck and over the gangplank that led to the body of the seaplane. The plane was so large that the Forebearance, to dock with it, had slid beneath the starboard wing and between the body and the wing-mounted pontoon.

Captain Milong paced the deck then. At one point his executive officer appeared to inform him that the last of the food stores had been taken aboard and they were beginning to haul the weapons load, to which the captain replied with the unexpected nature of the weapons and a reminder to double check the manuals for handling and storing such devices. As the crew loading the supplies took a brief break the captain turned his attention to the men aft of the sail who were enjoying their own time off duty. A few laid in the sun, others were having an impromptu picnic while still others had arranged what looked like a water polo game off the starboard side of the boat opposite the bobbing seaplane which, the captain estimated, would weigh about as much as his submarine.

Moments later the seaplane officer returned with a waterproof red pouch taped shut. It read Top Secret in bold white letters, as did all the others Milong received in this capacity. He then retreated below decks to discover what new orders he had been issued; his current standing instructions lasted another two months, so whatever this was would likely suspend normal operations and divert the sub somewhere else. Once he was alone in his quarters Captain Milong locked the door and broke the seal on the packet.

He read through the dispatch once, and then again before sealing it in his own locked box. It was both what he expected and not. The captain was indeed given new orders, but the sub would not be travelling far. His instructions were to remain at the northern terminus of the Eyomian Sea, where its waters mingled with the Varathron seas beyond, and to watch. The warm Eyomian waters mixing with the cooler Varathron seas made for persistent and reliable thermoclines beneath which submarines like his could his could effectively dissapear.

The Forebearance was to be tasked with identifying well-used shipping lanes, preparing a plan to mine those waters and to wait for encroaching military vessels. He would receive instructions via a long antennae floated to the surface picking up coded messages broadcast on civilian frequencies. If any foreign war fleets passed overhead, however, the submarine would be forced to broadcast that news itself. A captain like Milong never liked doing anything that may reveal their position, but this would be his mission.

Milong had been a submarine captain a long time. He had been nearly three decades at sea, and before that during his cadet and officer training days he and the men who would become his crew lived and trained together aboard a shore based mockup of a submarine. That thing had been a bit different than the real deal, to be sure, but his whole life as far as he was concerned had been spent aboard these fragile metal tubes. He had been to war, and his ship had fought well. Their submarine flotilla had been one of the earliest raised and trained for the Imperial Navy. Now it was one of the oldest and his crew, though veteran, were showing attrition. Milong sat awhile with his new orders; he studied charts of the northern Eyomian sea; he read up on the technical details of his new sea mines; he reviewed identification books for likely regional navies. In the end, he decided to give his crew one more day of leisure after the resupply before they dove again.

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Drakonian Imperium
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Introductions (Part I)

Postby Drakonian Imperium » Thu Nov 01, 2018 5:19 pm

The Recent PAST….

The helicopter passed over the military base, lazily approaching the helicopter pad. Below, aging buildings of a dozen different were spread out, among them barracks, armories, administrative offices, machine shops, and in the distance, residential housing. Besides the buildings there were shooting ranges and training areas too.

Marius Florentinus spied it all with his one good eye. All while the pilot, one Jacobus 'Jack' Valliumus, jabbered on about the local sights like a tour guide.

Bottomline, there weren't any. The base was situated at edge of a great fertile valley. Or, what passed for fertile in this arid country. Bleak tan mountains rose up in the background, with only scattered trees on their slopes. The valley itself had some green vegetation, but it was less common than most Drakonians were used to. Farms dotted the valley, but these were mostly not modern farms, but ancient farms with rock or dirt border walls and ditches for irrigation. The crops were equally as unimpressive. There were scattered houses too. Made of cement or what looked like dried mud; likely some clever archaic solution that stood up well to the test of time in this dry environment. A river snaked its way through the basin disappearing into the distance. And some way off the outskirts of a large city could be seen. That would be the ancient city of Bashan, if the chatty pilot could be believed.

Marius had flown into Balbek, which lay toward the center of the great Beka valley. Balbek was the North Ozbek capital. Jack and his helicopter had picked Marius up from airport there and transported him westward for several hours across the valley. They had passed over the city of Bashan on their way to the military base where the Drakonian contractors were training the Ozbek army. Marius' new job.

The helicopter set down on the cement pad. Marius could see a welcoming committee of two men in civilian attire waiting a safe distance nearby.

"That'll be ten fifty," Jack quipped.

"Right," was all Marius said.

As the helicopter spooled down, Marius hopped out and head for the two men.

One was Johnus 'Hannibal' Farrerius, Marius' new employer. "Welcome to Ozbekskinia," the mercenary boss greeted.

"Thought it this was North Ozbekskinia?"

"Depends on who you ask." Hannibal gestured back to the helicopter. "Have a nice flight?"

Marius looked back at the pilot, who had now hopped out and was checking the aircraft. He gave the group an exaggerated smile. "Nice enough," Marius replied without conviction.

Hannibal turned to the other man he was with. "This is Titus Fortus. He is my chief of operations here. And will be your second-in-command."

Titus was younger than the too old veterans. He wasn't overly large, but the muscles showing from beneath his t-shirt showed he kept in peak shape. The shirt itself was a crimson red and bore a logo of three overlapping trees, oaks with reddish-brown leaves. The logo of Johnus’ company: Red Forest. Titus also wore khaki cargo pants with a pistol holstered over one thigh.

"Colonel," the younger man greeted, using Marius former title.

The two men shook hands. Titus had the firm grip, Marius expected.

"Titus is ex-military; Imperial Army," Hannibal continued. "He served with the 9th Engineering Brigade keeping as a mechanic and in the 5th Special Operations Regiment. Titus does everything here from administration to keeping the vehicles running to gunsmithing. He will make sure you settled in alright."

"You're not going to be sticking around," Marius asked, turning his attention back to Hannibal.

"No," Hannibal replied. "I need to see to operations in Disia. Titus will introduce you to your team."

Hannibal pulled a thick Almaran cigar from his jacket and left for the helicopter. The pilot got back in and started the engines. Marius watched Hannibal light the cigar and take a deep puff as the rotors began to spin. He left behind a cloud of smoke when he got into aircraft, lit cigar still clenched in teeth.

"This way."

Titus led Marius off to a nearby building as the drone of the helicopter's engine rose to a roar.

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Postby Jagada » Thu Nov 08, 2018 6:43 pm

Task Force Charun
Southwestern Gholgoth Waters
1345 Hours, Grand Gharsashian Time

For the better part of two weeks the Union had been in a state of controlled panic. Confirmation reports from sources in Varathron showing that the Reich did plan to invade somewhere, sent alarms ringing through the high halls of government. An emergency meeting had been called by Secretary Nalur and a response drafted. Others would have sent diplomatic condemnations or threatened action against Norska but the Jagites didn’t waste the ink or data. The machine-men wouldn’t heed them anyway. At the naval docks in Myriandus an armada was rapidly summoned, pulling from the nearby White, Blue, and Yellow Fleets. Elements of the Common Army had been drawn up and a core of Janissaries called to serve. All of this had been put under the command of High Lord Zolran, himself a personal confidant of Secretary Nalur. Task Force Charun had departed Myriandus several days after the Reich fleet had entered Varathron.

Unbeknownst to all except Zolran a personal request had been made to Lenora, Admiral of the Black, for a requisition of her wolfpacks. This had been quietly granted and done outside of the normal channels of requisition. Running parallel to the Task Force came dozens of submarines, keeping their distance and maintaining radio silence until after both groups had entered Varathron.

Charun would make its way south, shadowed and protected by other Union fleets in the area, before breaking out of the regional territorial waters and breaking for Varathron with all speed. With any luck they would arrive before Nannasia was crushed.

Garran al’Rilin stood on the starboard side of the GUS Forgotten God, flagship of Admiral Selera of the Red. A cigarette was lit and, in his mouth, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking of the coming engagement with the Reich. He would be outnumbered, and likely outgunned to some extent. Victory would be no ease task, even less so considering the enemy, but the hundreds of artillery guns he’d managed to get past requisition would likely be the trump card he needed. Zolran had been receptive of his plans once they arrived and his part of the war council had been blessedly brief. The High Lord was a man of admirable qualities but his dogmatic attention to detail could drive a man mad.

“Do those come like dead men” asked a voice. Garran snapped back into reality and turned to see the hulking Kenris Telalin next to him.

“What?” asked Garran dumbly.

“You know,’ chuckled Kenris, “One to a box?”

Garran kept looking at him stupidly before remembering the cigarette burning in his mouth. He cursed himself silently and pulled the pack out; handing it and a lighter over to the Janissary. Kenris lit up a cigarette and gave a big sigh of relief when he exhaled. Garran had caught glances of Kenris a few times during the boarding back in Myriandus but hadn’t gotten a good look at him. Now that he did, he realized the other man wasn’t of the People; his lack of silver hair or eyes had given him away. The other man’s skin was obsidian black like Zolran’s and he was easily twice as large as Garran.

“Gods,” said Kenris after taking another drag, “Those briefings are bad enough. Adding someone like Zolran to it is worse.”

Garran recalled the endless repetition of numbers, locations, supply lists, and probable attack vectors. Zolran was detail oriented and it showed in his meetings. Everything was known and was expected to be known by his subordinates. A few tense moments during the briefing had reinforced that expectation.

The Jagite gave a sympathetic laugh, “He wants to be ready. Can you blame him?”

“No,” replied Kenris flatly, “No … I suppose not.”

There was a few heartbeats of silence. Another drag on their cigarettes.

“Have you fought them?” asked the Janissary.

“The Reich?” replied the colonel, “No. I’d just joined the Army when the war in Milograd broke out. You?”

Kenris moved to face Garran squarely and displayed the small patch on his left shoulder. It was diamond-shaped and color red and black; the emblem in the center was a shield wrapped tightly in barb wire. Garran had seen its like before, on some of the other men he’d served under before promotion. It was a campaign patch given for service overseas … in the Milograd War.

“Milograd; back then we weren’t called the Janissaries yet,” said Kenris, “Still a special forces unit. Served through the war and afterwards was given training duty to the Milograd Army.”

“What are they like?”

“Kraven?” began Kenris, “The propaganda the collegiums spew out is pretty accurate; the Reich is a textbook nightmare state, almost to a cliché.”

The Janissary took a final drag off his cigarette and flicked it overboard.

“Don’t underestimate them,” he said staring the colonel in the eyes, “They may be a cliché but they don’t die like one. If I learned anything from Milograd; it’s that the Reich isn’t just inhuman … its not even a nation as we understand it. It doesn’t view us as political rivals or opponents. It’s a mass of steel and flesh pressed together into some kind of monster. I’m not even sure they see us as sentient. If they know us at all its as nothing more than another resource to be exploited.”

Colonel Garran tensed as he listened, instinctively reaching into his pocket and pulling out another cigarette from the cardboard pack. Without thinking he offered one to Kenris who seemed to also take it without really noticing. Both men lit up again.

“Then how did you beat them?” asked Garran.

“We accepted the losses, and we made them pay for every inch they took. You will need to do the same. Hit them hard and at long range, make them burn through their manpower and supplies quicker than you.”

“So, our best bet is to outlast them? In a war of attrition?”

Kenris nodded, “They finally decided that taking all of Milograd would be too expensive and agreed to a ceasefire. You rack up the red on their spreadsheets and they’ll eventually stand down.”

Garran looked back over the deck of the ship to the crewmen going about their business and pondered the causalities they would take. He looked to the janissary again. The two spoke no more and finished their cigarettes in silence.

To: Nannasian Colonial Government, Governor-General or Equivalent Rank
From: Elovin Valin, Proctor-General of the Collegium of Foreign Affairs
Encryption Level: Vendetta
Subject: Offer of Direct Assistance

Governor-General of the Nannasia Colony,

Acting on behalf of the Council of the High Lords, whom operate with the express approval of the Basilissa Renuae al’Maw; I, Elovin Valin, am hereby authorized to directly correspond with the legitimate authority or acting-authority of the Colony of Nannasia to discuss the impending crisis facing you and your people.

Reports have already reached Fostoria of the Kravenic Reich’s incursion into Varathron and their aggressive advances towards its inhabitants. Pursuant to the articles of the Southern Wall Pact, the Imperial Union has a duty to intervene in any and all matters pertaining to the containment of the Reich, its allies, and its assets in whatever way is deemed necessary to prevent its cancer from spreading.

It would appear, Governor-General, that your people may not be in a position to sufficiently oppose multiple battalions of Capitol Police. We therefore offer our direct assistance in this matter fully. We have already dispatched an expeditionary force that is in route to your colony, this was done as a preemptive measure only. If you choose not to accept our help then our fleet will proceed in other ways. We are certain though that considering the situation you face that you will accept our assistance.

If you should do so we ask that you immediately open all ports to our navy and grant permission of your skies to us. Furthermore, our commander in the field, High Lord Zolran, will be your direct line of communication to the Imperial Union and he acts on behalf of the Basilissa herself. He has full powers and authority to make whatever treaty or concessions when necessary, has and when required.

Please respond with all haste so that plans may be made accordingly.

Elovin Valin
Last edited by Jagada on Thu Nov 08, 2018 6:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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The Master M
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Master M » Fri Nov 09, 2018 7:23 pm

Northern Varathron Sea
0150 Mian Central Time

The Command Operations centre of the Atlantis-class megacarrier MMS Edinburgh was a hive of activity, with more than a hundred black and blue uniformed sailors working away furiously on the tiered banks of workstations that surrounded a giant horizontal display in the centre of the room. Dimly lit only by the soft red glow of the overhead lamps and the green glow from myriad screens, the cavernous space gave the impression of being both open and yet claustrophobic. The display in the centre of the room, a screen eight metres long and 5 metres wide, was showing the current position of thousands of ships and aircraft within a massive area ranging from southern Gholgoth all the way down to Central Varathron, each annotated with any intelligence of note. The shapes representing various the various units were coloured differently depending on national origin, with blue representing Mian vessels.

Thousands of blue dots were scattered around the map, heading in several directions but moving inexorably towards the same destination – the thick black snake of markers which represented the Resource Fleet of the Kraven Reich. The Mian vessels nearest the Reich fleet were hopelessly outmatched, numbering less than one hundred, but the map showed that far from the action several battlefleets were entering Varathron regional waters. One hundred and twenty ships from Varathron Command sailing from the south, four hundred and fifty entering the region from the north-east alongside a larger Jagite fleet, and the fleet that the Edinburgh sailed at the heart of breaking into the regions waters from the north-west; the one thousand ships of Taskforce Blue Phalanx.

The Edinburgh was acting as the command and control ship for operations in the entire region, hence the unusual size of the command centre, with information and instructions being securely transmitted to and from the thousands of ships under her command. Communication was also underway with many of the allied units in the region, sharing all of the relevant intelligence detected on the Mian battle-net and receiving similar in turn. The ship had recently sent overtures to several of the friendly fleets, belonging to nations known to harbour similar intentions towards the ever present menace that was the Kraven Reich – the Most Serene Republic would not let Nannasia, or anywhere else, become another Milograd, and it was willing to take up arms against the Reich to do so.

The ever dress-uniformed frame of High Admiral Bauer stood over this scene, drinking in the organised chaos of the room and allowing the warm glow of nostalgia wash over him; it had been a number of years since he had last seen any serious combat, and he was almost disappointed in the excitement he was feeling at the prospect of seeing it again. The High Admiral, still athletic and built like a brick shithouse at 64, felt at least ten years younger. After the buzz of combat ops wore off slightly, Bauer returned to the silently furious mood he had been in before entered the room. A transmission had been received from Fleet Command the previous day instructing marine guards to be posted in all operationally sensitive areas of all ships in the fleets. No further explanation was given, and any requests for more information – no matter how irate – were met with nothing more than the command to await further instructions.

Hours later, another message came through, this time advising the imminent arrival of several officers from Military Intelligence to dozens of the larger ships within the fleet, which particularly grated with Bauer – as commander of the fleet, he was neither asked for permission nor consulted about these newcomers, and like hundreds of other officers his repeated requests for further information met only the stony response to comply and await further instructions. As Bauer fumed away, he was interrupted by a vibration from the smart watch he wore under the right sleeve of his blue uniform. His guests had arrived.

Several hours later, the High Admiral knocked back his feelings of shock with the help of a large glass of Mian Whisky, a glass he poured and knocked back before realising that he hadn’t offered ne to either of the intelligence officers sitting across his desk. When he regained his composure and asked, they declined anyway, which he acknowledged by filling himself another.

“So let me get this straight,” he said between gulps, “you’re saying that these freaks have got robots that can perfectly impersonate humans, complete with personalities and memories, hopes and dreams, and the ability to tear your arm off in a heartbeat?”

“Something like that, yes.” The younger of the two spoke, with the air of someone who has explained the same thing to too many people to bother to correct the minor deviances.

“And at least five of these fuckers have been found in sensitive positions with the military?” asked Bauer, abandoning the drink and taking a long cigar out of his desk humidor, the intelligence officers this time accepting his (begrudging, as these were some of the more expensive he possessed) offer one.

“For now.” spoke the second man, “More will be found.” This came from the older of the two, the one who had first explained all of this to Bauer hours previously shortly after he had submitted to the medical tests they had submitted him to, requiring him to enter his blood into a strange hand-held scanner. Bauer had at first refused to comply with the enforced examination, relenting only after being handed sealed orders urging him to comply from the Supreme Sea Lord, the commander of the entire Navy. Cyborgs implanted into the fleets by the Kraven Reich? It sounded too fantastic to Bauer, more like the sci-fi shows he liked to binge watch in his down-time than reality, but the information that the intel agents shared with him quickly changed his opinion.

They had showed him a video, CCTV footage from a small concrete room, the only feature other than the brushed steel table and chair being a large mirror which gave no effort to disguising the fact that it was two-way glass. At the table, a dishevelled woman who looked no older than twenty sat across the table from two large men in the grey uniforms of Military Intelligence. The men asked her various questions about her life, her upbringing, how long she had served in the fleet and where. The woman was clearly stressed by this, becoming less coherent in her responses as the clock slowly crept forward through the hours of questioning. Finally, one of the agents produced the same device used on the High Admiral earlier. Grabbing the girl’s right arm with his own, he rapidly drew blood from her arm using the needle at the end of the scanner.

As the scanner displayed the result of the test to the agent, the young girl suddenly flew from her seat, smashing into his jaw head first with enough force to dislocate it with a sickening pop. Within seconds she had the testing device in her hands, smashing it immediately into the face of the second with enough force to embed pieces of his skull into the wall behind him. Bodies rushed into the room, but by the time the girl had the guns of both agents in her hands. A bloodbath ensued, with the girl taking several hits and barely slowing down, while mowing down marines with pinpoint accuracy.

The footage followed the girl through the base’s maze of corridors, what seemed like miles of spartan concrete and lined with exposed pipes. By the time she seemingly reached her destination, she had killed or seriously wounded twenty two highly trained soldiers. Bauer didn’t know the base she was in, but he did recognise the words above the door the girl was standing in front of: REACTOR CONTROL.

“Fortunately,” the older agent had said, “we had already posted additional guards in that area. When the thing decided it couldn’t get to the reactor controls, it self-terminated using a grenade belt. There wasn’t much to recover, by enough to confirm it was what is being called a “Replicant”.

There was a way to detect these enemy plants, the agents had assured Bauer after testing him, and they were in particular focussing on officers commanding ships and higher ranked. Military Intelligence agents across the country were working overtime re-doing every single member of the military’s background checks to highlight irregularities – all of those discovered to be replicants already were found to have falsified background checks, suggesting both insider involvement and providing a way to hopefully work out who was actually who they were supposed to be. This information was restricted to him and higher ranked officers on a mission relevant basis, with the official story being that these measures were being taken against “subversive elements”, but providing no further substance. Bauer sighed, finished the last of his cigar and shook hands with the agents as they stood to leave.

He walked them through the superstructure, to a room outside which a line was already forming with sailors turning up for their “emergency medical assessment”. Leaving the agents, the Admiral continued until he reached the superstructure’s forward observation deck. He shared a cigarette with the duty officer at this position, and they watched in silence a pair of sleek F-30 “Gothfighter” heavy fighters –an Mian domestic 5th-gen variant of the ubiquitous Goth Fighter were flung into the pale dawn sky by the ships massive electromagnetic catapults. They watched as the aircraft circled overhead before streaking off to relieve whatever portion of the combat air patrol overheard and far ahead of them. Bauer rubbed his eyes; it was going to be a long day.
Last edited by The Master M on Tue Mar 12, 2019 6:54 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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A Rapidly Developing Situation

Postby Kylarnatia » Sat Nov 10, 2018 2:20 pm

"I was the model auxiliary. I did as I was told, I didn't ask any questions, I didn't let myself get distracted from my orders. Those early days in Til-Barsip were quite calm, despite the constant build-up of troops and material clearly destined for what would become our front and supply lines. My friends must have thought I was naive: compared to me everyone else was on edge, constantly wondering what was going to happen next. Rumours about the Legions continued to swirl, None of us had seen combat before, and despite our extensive training and combat exercises nobody felt like they were ready for what could possibly be happening.

Little did we know about what was going on out in those cool waters, and that the East Varathron War was starting to take shape."
-- Husaam el-Suleiman, "Blood and Sand: Memories of the East Varathron War"

The Situation Room, Fangthane Palace
Krytopia, Kylarnatia

Dawn had just broken in Krytopia and the Caesar had already been awake for a few hours. She always started her day with a light breakfast and black coffee, before then proceeding to her private gymnasium for her regular routine of strength and endurance training, after which she would then start the business of the day with a morning briefing in her private study with her Chief of Staff and then proceed on with the many meetings and phone calls for the rest of the day that had been scheduled weeks in advance. The Fangthane Palace was a well-oiled machine, perfectly timed down to the last second, always keen to avoid even a few seconds of something being overrun. Hundreds of staff - both civilian and military - worked within it's many labyrinthine halls around the clock, ensuring that there was never a moment when the Caesar wouldn't be abreast of the latest developments on hundreds of matters both highly strategic and sometimes utterly mundane. The Palace's public website proudly boasted the fact that almost two-thousand pieces of information were processed and condensed every day, and that was just on average. Though the Fangthane also had protocols in place for when things didn't go exactly as planned - like a national emergency or international development that demanded Caesar's immediate attention - and today was one of those days.

The Situation Room was in fact more than just one room, but a tightly knit cluster of rooms inside the inner sanctum of the Fangthane, within the same wing as the Caesar's Private Study. The three most important rooms were the aptly named Nerve Centre, Emergency Room and Situation Room itself. The Nerve Centre was where staff pooled from the intelligence service, Department of Defence and Supreme Command worked together to have a constant surveillance of unfolding situations, collating and passing on information for the Caesar and her subordinates to digest during briefings and emergency meetings. The adjoined Emergency Room was a rather straight-forward affair used to get people seated and responding to an immediate incident before being transferred to the Situation Room, with plain walls and a long boardroom-style table. The Situation Room was much more ornate and kitted out, with monitors all around the walls and clocks showing the times of all the major capitals in Gholgoth, as well as the present time of the location of the Caesar. The Situation Table was one long wooden oval, the centre hollowed out and replaced with a touch-screen monitor that was able to display three-dimensional images, giving those present a full view of an unfolding situation. All of the chairs around the table were large and spacious, designed for long periods of use, with those closest to the head of the table marked for key individuals, while the head was reserved for the Caesar herself, a small raised tablet giving her control of everything in the room, to the displays, cameras and microphones, as well as the lighting and air conditioning. Smaller adjoining rooms were used for breakaway conversations and planning, as well as secure communications, as all telephones and personal devices had to be handed over before entering, and the room was lead-lined to prevent any unwarranted communication from both inside and outside. There was also a private room for Caesar alone, where she could take calls as well as use a private restroom facility to stay fresh.

The Room was already abuzz with activity as representatives of the Imperial Intelligence Community and Caesar's Supreme Command, as well as her Secretary's of State and Fangthane Palace Advisers chatted amongst themselves. They were all either statutory members or regular attendees of the Caesar's Imperial Security Council, a group of twenty individuals tasked with supporting the Caesar in consideration of matters ranging from national and imperial security, to military actions and foreign affairs and the implementation of her decisions. They met three times every week by protocol, perhaps more in the event of a developing incident such as was currently the case. Meetings could be as brief as thirty minutes or as long as several hours depending on the situation. Judging by the large amount of refreshments that had been prepared for them at the corners of the room, they were destined for a long one.

Everybody fell silent and rose to attention from their seats as four members of the Caesar's Guard marched in, posting themselves at each corner of the room, the glaring red eyes of their helmets and proud display of their plumed helmets and furs decorating their armour distracting from the large automatic rifles they all carried. Following in next was the rather tall and slender figure of Maximus Cantius Maursus, Caesar's Chief of Staff, his steely blue eyes shooting a sharp intimidating glare at everyone present in the room as he grimaced and stood by his seat near the head of the table, a folder tucked firmly under one arm. After him came the loud, thunderous footsteps of Lord Hyperion, whose towering form dominated the room as he stood directly behind the Caesar's chair, paying little mind to all those present. Lastly came the Caesar herself, a towel around her neck and a hint of sweat still gleaming on her forehead as she was still dressed for her morning workout, having not had the chance to change before having to make her way. All those present in the room bowed their heads deeply in respect and waited for her to sit before taking their own, their eyes turning towards her.

A look of mild annoyance etched across her face, she wiped away the sweat and proceeded to drink from the glass of water that had been prepared for her, before immediately taping on the tablet in front of her. All of a sudden the lights dimmed and the table's display came alive as it projected a map showing Southern Gholgoth and Varathron, various different forms starting to take shape, denoting the movement of forces both allied and enemy alike. Looking out at the people sat before her, Silvier projected her voice with a simple authoritative utterance.

"What is the situation?"

Clearing her throat and standing, Flavonia Thrasea - Director of Imperial Intelligence - began to speak. "As things currently stand, the Reich Subjugation Fleet that slipped away from Fortress Cydonia has entered Varathron and has just passed the island chain of L'Enet-Areth. Judging by its current position and trajectory, our predication that it is likely to make landfall in the northwest of Eastern Varathron seems to be holding true." Using her thumb and index fingers, Thrasea adjusted the focus of the map and zoomed in on northern Varathron, where the projection showed a scale model of the Subjugation Fleet along with other present naval elements. A dark blue line showed the course the Subjugation Fleet had taken thus far, while a bright flashing red line showed the predicted course of the fleet moving forward, having been calculated by a mixture of both Imperium and allied intelligence reports and simulated models of potential outcomes, with the most likely outcome being presented.

"However, within the last hour naval forces belonging to the Solisian colony of Nannasia opened fire on the Subjugation Fleet, according to allied forces present." Thrasea pressed a button on the graphic showed the much smaller Nannasian force engaging the Reich, prompting a few hushed voices around the room. She then pointed out the Mian Taskforce that had been shadowing the Subjugation Fleet when referring to the source of the information. "Allied forces have also confirmed that they engaged the Nannasians, though they were light on the details of the engagement other than to say it was a communication error." The comment peaked Caesar's interest, though the Director of Imperial Intelligence didn't seem to think much of it and moved swiftly on, so Silvier let it go for a moment. Accidents happened, after all.

“Interestingly enough, the Reich Subjugation Fleet did nothing in response. Soon after the engagement however, our satellites over Fortress Norska picked up vastly increased levels of activity at all their major port sites, with vessels massing in the southern waters of the continent.” She shifted the position of the map back to Southern Gholgoth, where scale models of Kravenite ships were beginning to converge on one another. “This type of activity is, according to both our and allied intelligence, the likely activation of Naval Arm South. While we’re still uncertain of exact numbers, from the composition of what is amassing thus far we have good reason to suspect that this is a Resource Fleet, likely destined for the Nannasians who dared to poke the bear.”

Another round of hushed voices circled the room as Thrasea took her seat upon finishing the brief. They were quickly silenced as Caesar raised her hand demanding that they ceased, closing it slowly into a fist before lowering it. “Has there been any further build-up of allied forces since the activation of Naval Arm South? What is the status of our own forces in Southern Gholgoth and Varathron?”

“Our allies in the Most Serene Republic and the Empire of Jagada have confirmed that they have activated naval elements to respond to the Kravenite build-up.” Thrasea confirmed, presenting a folder to Caesar which was passed down to her which included the communications and approximate numbers. As she took a swift glance through the pages, Dux Imperator Tertius Atilius - First Lord of the Caesar’s Joint Chiefs of Staff - stood next.

“Of our forces currently present or closest to Southern Gholgoth and Varathron, The Eighth Fleet is still carrying out it’s policing and reconnaissance orders as part of the Mare Nostrum strategy in the northwestern seas of Gholgoth Minor, while the Second is conducting exercises in the central Gothic Ocean.” Both fleets took shape on the projected map, with details of their numbers and command appearing in neat little info-panels next to them. “Meanwhile in Varathron, the Thirteenth Fleet is converging in the sea between Dietsland and Disia, awaiting orders to encircle the Subjugation Fleet once it makes landfall. The Khonsian Naval Auxilia and Coast Guard are on active standby to conduct replenishment and operational support duties alongside the Thirteenth’s auxiliary ships to and from the deep water port of Arwad.”

The map changed back to Varathron, flying over the mass of allied and enemy ships in the waters north of Eastern Varathron before arriving to it’s south, where those present would be able to see the Thirteenth Fleet to the west of the Disian coastline while the Khonsian Naval Auxilia and Coast Guard ran operations along the southern coastline, operating out of Arwad in the centre of the natural deep water port along Khonsia’s southern coast. Caesar observed the scene in front of her intensely as new shapes began to appear, this time on land.

“Meanwhile, as you’ll no doubt recall my Caesar, Dux Consul Verullus of Provincia Khonsia has begun amassing forward elements of the Khonsian Ground Auxilia at the city of Til-Barsip on the border with Khirazskinia, along with the materials necessary to construct a functional forward operating base once we know exactly where the Kravenites land. As per the recommendation of Supreme Command, Imperial Engineers are working with their Disian counterparts on plans to hasten construction of the Disian Highway, which will become a vital means of transport and supply in the event that the front does indeed emerge in the northwest. Finally, the First Khonsian Magnificum Legio has been placed on maximum readiness, with two whole legion’s already prepared and able to deploy to the predicted frontline within a week of a given order. The Second and Third remain on heightened readiness, though Supreme Command feels that, in the interests of public order, bringing them up to maximum readiness should be avoided unless absolutely necessary.” Finishing his brief, Atilius sat down.

Taking a moment to observe the situation laid out in front of her and digest the information on the pages passed to her, Caesar thought about her possible options. The activation of Naval Arm South had certainly increased the stakes of what was originally looking like just a tense standoff in Eastern Varathron. It was looking more and more likely that it was going to turn into a full-blown conflict, but she had to gauge whether this would be the conflict she had always predicted would arise against the Reich, or whether it was just something else. Part of her tried to fathom how on earth the small Nannasian Fleet felt it was appropriate to engage the Subjugation Fleet, though due to their lack of response it seemed as if the fates were being kind to them.

“Perhaps we should commit the Eighth Fleet to tailing the Resource Fleet, keep some pressure on them to perhaps dissuade any further action in Varathron?” Suggested one voice. Before Caesar even had the chance to acknowledge them, Hyperion’s booming voice echoed from behind.

“No. The Stratagem requires that our forces remain concentrated and focused; spreading our forces too thin is exactly the sort of thing the Reich would benefit from, especially with our current engagement in Shen Almaru. We must trust that our present and allied forces in Southern Gholgoth and Varathron are sufficient. We must not be so preemptive as to respond to every move before anything has happened, but be prepared for the potential outcomes.”

He continued, “Judging by the Subjugation Fleet’s own lack of response, they deem the Nannasian’s too unimportant for their present task, hence the summoning of a Resource Fleet. It is a sizeable threat to get us on edge, but if the Nannasian’s were to disengage I would wager that the Resource Fleet would remain in Southern Gholgoth. Just like us, Naval Arm South would not wish to be too overextended, especially with the exponential buildup of Dephirian forces and the construction of Fortress Pelion.”

Caesar, having listened closely to Hyperion’s comments, turned her attention back to the rest of the room. “Any objections to Lord Hyperion’s assessment?”

Nobody objected. Turning her attention to her First Lord, she asked him, “Has the Supreme Command decided on a Dux Imperator to support the Dux Consul in making tactical decisions in the East Varathron Theatre?”

He nodded. “Yes, My Caesar: Dux Imperator Marcus Nero Maximus. He is already on his way to Provincia Khonsia as we speak.” He passed down a folder her way, but she did not need to read it. Maximus was the youngest Dux Imperator of the Caesar’s Imperial Armed Forces, having risen through the ranks quite quickly due to having demonstrated sound tactical knowledge and execution during joint military exercises. Silvier knew all of this because she had been the one to award him with the colours befitting him of his high station.

“Good. I want a conference call with both him and Dux Consul Verullus as soon as he arrives. For now, I want all senior commanding officers of our relevant forces in Southern Gholgoth and Varathron briefed on the latest information as we currently have it, with continued updates as and when the situation changes. I want Supreme Command and Imperial Intelligence to continue running simulations of various models presenting possible engagement scenarios, as well as cost analysis of every possible action we can take, and I want that information in front of me within the next twenty-four hours. Any questions or objections?”

Again, none raised their voice. Finally smiling, she stood, at which point so did everyone else. “Good. You’re all dismissed to start setting things in motion; let’s reconvene here at the top of the hour to go over every detail and discuss further options.”

As she finished, they all bowed their heads again. “Your will be done, Caesar!” they all uttered before proceeding to break away into little groups, going into the adjoining rooms to make necessary phone-calls or have private discussions with the relevant people on enacting Caesar’s plan. She gestured for the attention of Maursus, Atilius and Hyperion respectively, who all came over to her promptly as she beckoned.

Speaking to Maursus first, she instructed him promptly. “Clear my schedule for the next twenty-four hours, with tentative rescheduling of the next forty-eight; any important phone calls I will take here, otherwise the meetings will either have to be rescheduled or covered by a relevant Secretary.” Maursus nodded promptly before departing the room, his strides full of vigour and determination, posture full of imposing dominance. While he could present a friendly demeanor when necessary, the Caesar’s Chief of Staff had quickly become renowned for being ruthless and almost downright cruel - uncharacteristic of your average Kylarnatian - which is what made him such an effective enforcer for the Caesar within the vast Imperial Bureaucracy.

Then, to Atilius. “I want Supreme Command to propose a joint command with allied forces for the Eastern Varathron Theatre, and I want something put together within the next forty-eight hours depending on their response. Include the Nannasian’s, and for the love of the Mother tell them to disengage from the Subjugation Fleet before they get themselves pointlessly slaughtered. I also want it clear that we have zero interest in what’s going on in North Ozbekskinia: they started that conflict, they can finish it.”

Pounding his chest in salute and bowing his head, Atilius then proceeded to use one of the secure telephone lines in one of the adjoining rooms. Finally, Silvier turned to the Aspect of the Night.

“You’re in charge while I’m gone. I need to take a fucking shower.” She whispered to him as she then quickly proceeded into her private restroom, Hyperion watching her as she went, a low rumble under his breastplate resembling something akin to a chuckle.


* Be advised: Kravenite Resource Fleet is being assembled in S. Gholgoth. *
* Likely a retaliation to the hostile action taken by your forces in Varathron. *
* Strongly suggest disengaging from hostile action to prevent significant loss of life. *


* Recognising the growing tensions and likelihood of armed conflict in Eastern Varathron. *
* Proposing a Joint Allied Command based in Heraclea Nippur to help coordinate efforts in the East Varathron Theatre. *
* Please respond promptly. *

Khonsia-Khirazskinian Border

Pvt. Husaam el-Suleiman and his unit had been assigned to rotating shifts of guard duty, keeping an eye on the growing amount of construction materials and military resources in a loading yard on one of the many industrial estates in Til-Barsip. Several others had also been commandeered by the Armed Forces, as well as multiple community centres and buildings large enough to help house and feed the growing number of Auxilia which were funnelling into the city by the day. The local population were incredibly curious, but also excited to see many of their own native Khonsian’s in uniform, patrolling the streets and performing regular duties, as well as putting on regular drills for their enjoyment. It made Husaam happy, and despite the heightened alertness of everything he was having to do he found himself to be quite calm and collected. The same could not be said about his fellow soldiers: while they were trained well-enough to conduct themselves properly in front of both the civvies and their superiors, whenever they got a private moment they would start to talk. “What was this all about?” they’d ask. “What’s really going on?” - the official line, both from their superiors and the local press, is that it was still an ongoing exercise for a hypothetical war scenario. That was enough for Pvt. el-Suleiman, but not for his good friend and fellow unit member Pvt. Imraan el-Ghaffari, who was posted with him at the front entrance to the loading yard.

As trucks continued to stream past, Imraan took every opportunity he could to try and speak to his friend. “How on earth can you be so calm right now?” He whispered. “There’s no way this is an exercise dude. No way. We’ve never done anything like this before.”

“They’re just trying to test our nerve. They want to see how we’d cope in a genuine war-ready environment. If this is anything, it’s proof that you and the others still have a lot to learn.” Husaam answered calmly, not taking his eyes off the road in front of him.

Imraan furiously shook his head. “Nah man, we did stress environment tests. This ain’t it.”

“I hope for your sake it is, because at the moment you’re failing. Now calm down and focus on the job.”

Imraan scowled as he eventually calmed down and turned his attention to the road. A moment of silence followed, along with another heavy loading vehicle passing through, laden with vast amounts of heavy ordnance. Having caught a glimpse of the contents on the manifest as he then proceeded to let it through, his eyes reignited again as Imraan shot a concerned glance at his friend.

“Heavy ordnance. Heavy-motherfucking-ordnance. What sort of exercise is this, huh? Since when did we get to use this sort of stuff? Some of the hardware I’ve been seeing coming through here is Legion-level stuff. Fucking Legion, Husaam. What, are they coming here to hold hands with us and sing songs for the Mother and give us gold stars for effort--”

Before Imraan could spout anything more, Husaam had clipped him around the back of his helmet with his hand. He had eventually lost his patience. “Will you shut the hell up! Why are you acting like this all of a sudden? What happened to the chill you, huh? You’ve been listening too much to Zainab, she’s just messing with your head--”

That’s enough.

An authoritative tone from behind caused them both to freeze like statues. From behind the barrier their superior officer, Corporal Akram al-Aly - known affectionately to his squad as “the Ram” - glared at them, his grizzled face showing a look of utter disdain for what he had likely witnessed from across the loading yard, and had marched right over to correct. He was a silent predator, as the squad liked to say, and so had probably been standing there for quite a while.

Both Husaam and Imraan returned to their posts on either side of the gate and stood at attention facing forwards as the Corporal took turns berating them from behind. He started with Imraan.

“Boy, you’ve always been a bit of a shit-talker, haven’t you? Ever since basic training all you’ve done is shit out of your mouth and into your hands and point the shit-stained finger of blame at everybody else. I have half a mind to send you for medical examination under the pretence of severe constipation because of all the shit that keeps coming out of wrong fucking orifice!”

Husaam had to resist the temptation to laugh, his cheeks almost going red, obviously catching Akram’s attention. “And you, lackey! If you’re going to a hit a fellow soldier at least have the common decency to punch him outright. What the fuck was that thing you did back there? I’ve seen old people fuck harder than that...”

The verbal tirade would continue for several more minutes, along with mentions of formal cautions before the Ram proceeded to return to what he was doing. Allowing at least a minute to pass, Imraan summoned the courage to speak.

“...Hes watched old people fuck?”

The two of them tried their hardest to keep their boots planted firmly on the ground as they let out splutters of laughter, trying not to make too much noise. They’d have to share this story with their squadmates later.
Last edited by Kylarnatia on Sat Nov 10, 2018 6:03 pm, edited 2 times in total.
The Ancient Empire of Kylarnatia // Imperium Antiquum Kylarnatiae
Lord of Gholgoth | Factbook (Work in Progress) | Embassy & Consulate Programme
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"Kylarnatia is a rare Nile platypus." - Kyrusia

User avatar
Solisian Union
Posts: 676
Founded: Apr 22, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Solisian Union » Mon Nov 12, 2018 8:53 am

The Nannasian Security Fleet

Just a quick time after the Nannasians attacked the Kraven ships,

warnings started to alert them as incoming Mian missiles were

reported. Officers kept their cool as their men counted how many

were going after them, how far they were and when they were

launched. The Nannasians were at least a little aware that the

Mian ships operating some distance from them were not on the side

of the Reich. So why were they launching missiles on them? The

waters were at least international or within Nannasian


That didn't matter now as the entire Nannasian fleet attempted to

regroup while also taking care of the incoming missiles. Rapidly,

the Nannasians answered the hundred missile threat with the

launching of several long range SAMs while the Nannasian planes

watched the missiles launch, warning their comrades in the ships.

At the same time, the rest of the planes already in the air

focused on dealing with those missiles or else they went off to

deal with the Mian ships. Those that focused on the missiles did

so with their own missiles or, when the missiles were just in

range, they let off bursts of cannon fire. Those that made

through the attempts of the airplanes and the ships to shoot them

down were now intercepted by medium caliber guns on the warships

and more missiles that were now medium or short range. The

hundreds of missiles were reduced but not enough were.

Soon, the fleet was hit. Fortune Prize suffered three hits to the

bow, the midships and the bridge. A heavy blow that rendered the

ship useless and prone to sinking. The carrier took a hit to the

main mast and lost her ability to use her radar and

communications. The rest of the fleet were either lucky or took

hits but not too severe enough to render them immobile.

The only problem really was just Fortune Prize. It was one of the

best warships of the Nannasians and it was, to the shock of all,

starting to sink. Sailors and naval infantry fled to the lift

boats as their officers made sure everyone got off. There were

already corpses floating on the surface of the waters. In

minutes, the warship was left to sink as the rest of the fleet

dared to rescue those who made it off just in time as

communications reached them.

These were from Kylarnatia and from Jagada. The first

transmission to reach them at all was from Kylarnatian forces.

* Be advised: Kravenite Resource Fleet is being assembled in S.

Gholgoth. *
* Likely a retaliation to the hostile action taken by your forces

in Varathron. *
* Strongly suggest disengaging from hostile action to prevent

significant loss of life. *

Then a copy of the Jagadan transmission to the colony was

transmitted by the colony to the fleet.

To: Nannasian Colonial Government, Governor-General or

Equivalent Rank
From: Elovin Valin, Proctor-General of the Collegium of Foreign

Encryption Level: Vendetta
Subject: Offer of Direct Assistance

Governor-General of the Nannasia Colony,

Acting on behalf of the Council of the High Lords, whom operate

with the express approval of the Basilissa Renuae al’Maw; I,

Elovin Valin, am hereby authorized to directly correspond with

the legitimate authority or acting-authority of the Colony of

Nannasia to discuss the impending crisis facing you and your


Reports have already reached Fostoria of the Kravenic Reich’s

incursion into Varathron and their aggressive advances towards

its inhabitants. Pursuant to the articles of the Southern Wall

Pact, the Imperial Union has a duty to intervene in any and all

matters pertaining to the containment of the Reich, its allies,

and its assets in whatever way is deemed necessary to prevent its

cancer from spreading.

It would appear, Governor-General, that your people may not be in

a position to sufficiently oppose multiple battalions of Capitol

Police. We therefore offer our direct assistance in this matter

fully. We have already dispatched an expeditionary force that is

in route to your colony, this was done as a preemptive measure

only. If you choose not to accept our help then our fleet will

proceed in other ways. We are certain though that considering the

situation you face that you will accept our assistance.

If you should do so we ask that you immediately open all ports to

our navy and grant permission of your skies to us. Furthermore,

our commander in the field, High Lord Zolran, will be your direct

line of communication to the Imperial Union and he acts on behalf

of the Basilissa herself. He has full powers and authority to

make whatever treaty or concessions when necessary, has and when


Please respond with all haste so that plans may be made


Elovin Valin

Vice almirante Rene Amengual, who was trying to regain her nerve

after this attack on her fleet, read these transmissions again

and again before finally giving in. She ordered all her fleet to

concentrate on search and rescue before finally turning around

back to the colony.

As this happened, the vice almirante of the Nannasian Navy



Suggestion taken. Undergoing search and rescue. One ship

lost. Returning to base. Requesting your assistance in covering

our withdrawal.

Things heated up in the office of the colonial administration.

Discussions and summonings of various military officers and

civilian officials went on for a time until finally a

transmission from the Solisian Union herself was received.

Everyone in the office of the Governor General hushed themselves

and listened to the secretary reading it after the Governor

General had already sent a quick reply to Elovin Valin, Proctor-

General of the Collegium of Foreign Affairs.

The Nannasian Reply to Elovin Valin, Proctor-General of the

Collegium of Foreign Affairs

From: Nannasian Colonial Government
To: Elovin Valin, Proctor-General of the Collegium of Foreign


The colony of Nannasia agrees with your suggestions and with

permission granted by the Union by the grace of our Commonwealth,

you are free to use our ports and see to our skies and to accept

your help.

We only wish that you will respect our membership in the Solisian

commonwealth and that you will not insult or intrude into our

sovereignty as a colony and a member of the Solisian


With best regards,
Governor General Ermenegarda Alo

The Solisian Transmission to the Colony

To: Governor General Ermenegarda Alo
From: President Atalaya Rivas, The Western President of the

Solisian Union, The Administration of the Union, the

Administration of the Commonwealth

I have been informed that the Kraven Reich is sending ships

against the colony that you have been trusted to care for. I am

now ordering the Angelina Fleet commanded by Admiral Berthomeua

de Raya to your colonial waters. I am also ordering that you will

execute Order 471.

By that Order, you will accept the fact that you are now subject

to my direct authority, to the direct authority of the

Commonwealth and most of all the Union. You will keep all your

independence and you will not have to worry about annexation

because it is never going to happen. But what will happen to you

is that you will have to accept the entry of the Solisian High

Command and the Great General Staff into the colonial high


Good day and please take care.

President Atalaya Rivas.

As for the bigger picture, the entire colony ordered the military

to stand. For the record, the Panzer Tragen Division was

activated and ordered to move to the south to support the

airborne legion/s transferred there while the rest of the ground

forces mobilized. The air force and navy were already at the

ready and moved their ships and planes into the waters and skies

to guard Nannasia but not to engage the Reich anymore.

The Solisian Expeditionary Fleet - The Solisian Naval Infantry


capitán general de la Armada Berthomeua de Raya

The Angelina Fleet
The Angelina Naval Infantry Detachments - The Angelina Naval

Infantry Expeditionary Force


1st Naval Infantry Division
2nd Naval Infantry Division
Stefania Aircraft Wing
1st Marine Logistics Group
1st Expeditionary Regiment
Molino Expeditionary Unit
Frimonet EU
Ruis EU

Berthomeua de Raya released a long yawn from her lips as she

found her own two feet standing on the main deck of her flagship,

the guided missile battleship Immer.

To the observer, Bartheomeua or Happy (as nicknamed by her men)

was a woman of 187 centimeters, blessed with violet eyes while

her black hair was cut short. She always wore a peaked cap that

carried her familys coat of arms.

A regular sized shield with an asymmetrical horn-like

cornered top and a symmetrical long pointed bottom is supported

by a ram and an ape. All of which rests on a desert landscape.
A fairly small crown, or coronet, rests atop the shield, it's a

crown of tines with pearls, it has a lace cap and a modest amount

of different gems decorate the outer sides.

On top of the coronet sits a sallet helm, which itself supports

the crest, in this case a glamorous tower. The coronet and crest

are decoratively bound by a roll of fabric, or torse, which

carries the main colors used on the shield.
Lastly, tied to the helmet is a luxurious drapery, or mantling,

in the shape of delicate ribbons and colored in the main colors,

just like the torse.

The shield itself has 4 colors which are painted in a vertical,

symmetrically striped pattern. 1 anchor serves as the emblem, or

charge, and a large ribbon, positioned just below the shield,

carries the motto, which reads: "Friends, family, fatherland.".

Happy scratched the back of her head as she used her left hand to

hold on to her cup of steaming coffee as she turned around to

return to the CIC of her flagship. The ship was already sailing

out from Shona towards Nannasia, surrounded by her carriers and

themselves surrounded by hundreds of warships and transports. In

the skies, patrols of planes were constantly checking out with

the AWACs while also helping out helicopters who were looking for

hostile or questionable submarines.

When she returned to her CIC, she was greeted by those inside

with a swift salute. She returned that with a nod and her salute

before gesturing to them to return to work as she made her way to

her chair, close to another woman who was busy taking notes from

a 32-inch BenQ PD3200U monitor. It was the only console on the

ship that had an awesome monitor like that.

The capitán general de la Armada sighed as she sipped her coffee

when the woman dropped her pen on her notes and turned to her to


"Good morning, Happy. I'm surprised to see that you're not taking

this morning well."

The violet eyed woman just shrugged and let out a groan, burying

her face in her arms as she put them in front. She simply told


"I am not. It is too early for me to go out with my fleet to do

something about the Kraven Reich. I don't know about you or the

men. They can be excited or afraid of this but to me, this is too

early. That and I'm going to face, according to what the

satellites told us, literally more than I could count.

I'm just glad that the one who poked them and made me smile last

night was Vice almirante Rene Amengual. She was braver than I

thought she'd be. She definitely improved since the days I saw

her in my class at the Commonwealth Academy."

She returned to groaning and sipping her coffee for a while as

her friend watched her, studied her. Happy definitely wasn't

happy right now. But she chuckled lightly as she mentioned her

students name again. She then looked at her friend and said

"Well, here's to an exciting adventure. I hope that, if war comes tomorrow, I will fight by the side of my student."

The Angelina Fleet was indeed the largest fleet assembled by the Union. She was the oldest and the best. She was composed of over 2000 ships and she was supposed to receive 97 new warships by the end of this year. But that would have to wait as the Angelina Fleet was sent out to save Nannasia.

On the other hand, the Fleet was better known for the 192,000 men she commanded in her Naval Infantry Expeditionary Force. They were the marines but the Solisians and Nannasians preferred the term Naval Infantry.

For this case, this was the best hope of the Nannasians. Even as the advance fleet commanded by almirante Isabel Valerie Arnal was halfway through the waters, it was better for the Nannasians to see the Angelina Fleet arrive than not at all.

Time will tell if they could. And time will tell if the Union will dare unleash their full might against anyone and anything that threatened their dear colony.
Last edited by Solisian Union on Mon Nov 12, 2018 8:55 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
The Kraven Corporation
Posts: 501
Founded: Apr 24, 2005
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby The Kraven Corporation » Mon Nov 12, 2018 1:25 pm

Task Force Varathon, Reich Subjugation Fleet.
Elements of Naval Arm Cydonia
Approaching Western land mass, Eastern Varathon.
22:00 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The fleet had suffered minor damage from the Nannasian attack, their orders were to press on with the operation and ignore the threat posed by the Nanassians, despite how minimal that threat was, priority was given to the operational task, already the Nannasians had disengaged from their attack and had begun to move away after picking up survivors from the wreck of one of their ships, an expertly executed Replicant attack had forced the Mian Fleet to open fire on the Nannasians, causing a great deal of confusion and sinking at least one of their ships, still the fleet now pressed on, reaching their intended holding point, the Capitol Police crewmen continued about their tasks with that machine like efficiency, Officers poured over maps and focused their attention on the operational area.

"Open Communications to the Nannasian Government and The Disian Government."

"By your Command"

++++ Transmission Begins ++++

Withdraw all forces from your respective borders to a distance of 50km's, leaving a 100km corridor.

The Reich has no interest in your territory, your colonies or your resources.

Failure to comply will result in hostile force being exerted on your people.

The Reich is offering you a chance to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.

Once our Operation is complete, your forces may return to their previous zones of occupation.

You have One Hour to decide.

++++ End Transmission ++++
"If you want a vision of the future, Winston, imagine a boot stamping on a human face forever." - 1984
Scand: No one beats you Kraven for largest number killed a day.
Scand: Your nation is a glorified death camp after all.
Tiurabo: WTF Kraven.
Tiurabo: You are the last person who can tell me to be calm.
Tiurabo: You're a goddam psycho. The Updated National Anthem of Imperial Fortress Reich
Resistance is Futile... We Are The Kraven Reich

User avatar
The Master M
Posts: 1877
Founded: May 18, 2009
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Master M » Mon Nov 12, 2018 7:18 pm

Southern Varathron Sea
Broadsword Group SV

The six Broadsword-class battlecruisers and their many escort vessels powered through the waves, leaving behind them a growing cloud as the smoke plumes from their missile launches began to spread out and flatten. The small fleet maintained battle spacing while moving forward at full steam, staying spread out over a large area to both create a larger perimeter and to present a less condensed target. The broadswords had been taking turns actively tracking the nearby vessels from both the Reich and Nannasian fleets, only one of the huge floating arsenals at any time using their RADAR and providing data to the rest of the fleet.

The commanding officer of the fleet, the low-ranked but experienced Fleet Commander Martin Sky, had been surprised at the orders to fire not upon the Reich ships but at the Nannasians instead; while technically allies, there were very few within the Republic who viewed the Reich with anything but a mixture of fear and contempt, and several of the Main military’s main operational priorities revolved around either containing their spread or defending the mainland from a direct assault. However, the orders were clear and authenticated as having come from Varathron Command, so Sky had quickly put these thoughts out of his mind and gone to work.

By the time the next message came through the first wave of anti-ship missiles had impacted and firing solutions were being calculated against the far off Nannasian fleet aircraft in case of retaliation. Fleet Commander Sky watched from his ship’s Combat Operations Centre as several missiles penetrated the Nannasian air defences and caused considerable damage, effectively rendering them unable to mount any serious resistance. The tracking data on view in front of him showed the rapidly decreasing distance between his limping adversary and the second wave of AShMs racing away from his ship, leaving Sky with a bitter taste in his mouth – the Nannasians were nothing to him, neither enemy nor friend. Hitting them with more missiles at this point would achieve nothing but to create more widows, but the orders were specific: OBLITARATE NANNASIAN AGGRESSORS. Strange way to word it though, he thought as he watched the missiles scream towards their rendezvous with death.

An alarm sounded twice on the bridge, breaking his train of thought and bringing him back to the moment. Sky recognised the noise – a priority one signal from their command element. An aide appeared beside him moments later, clutching a torn of sheet of paper in his hand. Sky glanced at it for a few seconds, surprised to see that it came from Fleet Headquarters and not Varathron Command.


* BL - 14C V45 *

Sky leap from his chair, almost dropping the paper as he barked orders to as many of his command staff as could hear. He glanced at the tracking display again, sweat beginning to trickle down his forehead as the blue marks closed rapidly with the red triangles representing the Nannasian fleet. They had already entered the air defence zone of their targets, with several disappearing as they were destroyed or damaged. Enough were still mission capable though, and in seconds it would be too late. Almost as one, the dots disappeared as the missiles finally detonated at the command of the ships that had launched them.

A few minutes later, his ships now turning away from the conflict area and still buzzing from the adrenaline rush of the last few minutes, the Fleet Commander retired to his study. A spartan yet spacious room typical of the Most Serene Navy, Sky had covered his in maps and charts, and every surface which could hold them was covered with books of every description. The man walked over to his desk and unlocked the safe built into the floor beneath it, retrieving and opening a black covered book while he kept the order print-out in his other hand. The bottom line of the message contained a series of codebook entries, in this case indicating that he should seek the referenced entries of the black codebook.

He sat motionless at his desk for a few minutes, digesting the information he had been given. Varathron Command compromised? He couldn’t see how or by whom, and he wasn’t likely to find out any time soon. How many just died for nothing?

The Most Serene Republic of the Master M



The Military Council of the Most Serene Republic of the Master M recognises the Solisian Union as the wrongly aggrieved party of our hostile actions on the evening of Lunas 23rd (Mian Aligned Calendar), and extends with full contrition a wholehearted apology and an explanation.

Minutes prior to the incident, one of our regional control and command bases in the southern seas of Varathron was subject to an assault by agents hostile to the Most Serene Republic. Their actions resulted in the temporary loss of the command centre, during which time orders were transmitted to Mian naval units in theatre to launch an attack against Nannasian vessels present.

You may well doubt our sincerity in this matter – an understandable viewpoint – however you will undoubtedly have noted that many of our missiles destroyed themselves several minutes into the attack. The Most Serene Republic has no intentions of further hostilities towards Nannasian military assets, and is willing to offer monetary reparations along with access for external observers to the subsequent Mian investigation into the events surrounding the incident. These points require much deliberation and so we will dispatch a more comprehensive communication in the near future via our ambassador to your nation.

The Most Serene Republic will be operating in force in Varathron, and it may come to pass that we find ourselves with similar goals. If this becomes apparent, we are willing to co-operate as fully as possible.

From the office of
The Military Council of the Most Serene Republic


* Ave, Caesar *

* We accept your proposal of joint command structure. Command and Liaison personnel will be dispatched to Heraclea Nippur *

* Most Serene Navy vessels in Southern Varathron numbering 164 these units ordered to converge and subordinate to Imperium fleet. *

* Attack on Mian Command and Control unit in Varathron South. Suspected Reich deep cover agent. Further to be provided directly by liaison elements

* Desirable to discuss contingencies for potential military actions in Gholgoth. Our intention to strike Reich landing fleet in three days when main Mian taskforce in range *

* Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutamus *

Similar messages were transmitted to various other allied nations, as the various Mian naval units within Varathron crept closer to the battle zone. Across the Most Serene Republic more than one hundred million regular and reserve military personnel were being summoned to report for duty for what was being touted as a snap exercise. Thousands of ships slipped from docks across the Mian Republic to take up patrol positions off of the southern coast of the nation, and thousands more were readying for similar actions. Anyone keeping tabs on major Mian ports would notice that submarine pens across the country were seemingly emptying overnight.

Mian fleets on patrol around Gholgoth were one by one leaving their operational areas and returning for home, although several patrol fleets were left on station to the west of the region. To anyone who was looking closely enough, it would be obvious that the Most Serene Republic was preparing for the worst.
Last edited by The Master M on Mon Nov 12, 2018 7:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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United World Order
Posts: 4145
Founded: Jun 16, 2011
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby United World Order » Thu Nov 15, 2018 10:47 pm

Kreppendorf AFB,
Eastern Dietsland, Varathron.

Boots hit the ground in synchronization as men of the 63rd Parachute Division parade marched in the early hours of the morning. They wore sleeveless shirts and shorts but wore their combat boots which was part of their PT regime as a fighting unit of the Fallschirmjager. The last sort of operation had by the division was a mop up of insurgents in the south of the country which eliminated or captured what remained of opposition forces from the initial invasion of Dietsland. For the past several days the division had been conducting exercises similarly to how they were to conduct combat operations when deployed. No real answers were given as to why the division in particular was committing to these exercises as the commanders were given strict orders not to relay what was told to them just yet. What the 63rd Parachute Division and others like it were preparing for in reality was a joint-operation with the Kraven Reich. Only a week ago did something come down from the Kraven High Command to the Kravenite embassy in Berlina which was then relayed to the Oberkommando des Wehrmacht pertaining to a joint-operation to secure a corridor between two nations for something the Kraven High Command left very vague. The fact that this was occurring in Varathron and across the water from the newly formed General Governorate of Dietsland, the request was forwarded to the acting Field Marshall in command of the Ordenite garrison. After only a day did the OKW and the Field Marshall in particular in Dietsland agree to the request and began shuffling of particular units that would be used in the joint-operation.

Not only was the 63rd Parachute Division slated to be deployed but also the 57th Air Assault Brigade, 29th Special Reconnaissance Regiment, and the 96th Army Corps which would make up the bulk of what the Ordenite Wehrmacht in Varathron was willing to pledge to the operation its self. The mounting build up was masked to the outside world as exercises involving select formations from all branches, the 96th was hastily readied and boarded into the Naval squadron slated for them in just 72 hours. The 57th Air Assault Brigade would also be slated for a smaller Naval detachment meant to facilitate their deployment from the sea to land as the 29th Special Reconnaissance Regiment and the 63rd Parachute Division would be airlifted by heavy transport planes to their destinations. Task Force Herkules had set off from a port in Eastern Dietsland only 48 hours ago and were now beginning to enter the Reich Subjugation Fleet's holding point as the impressive Kravenite vessels could be seen in their full glory. The Flottenchef of Task Force Herkules quickly had a encrypted transmission sent to the Reich Subjugation Fleet identifying themselves as friendly.





Transport planes taxied on the tarmac of Kreppendorf Air Base as the 63rd Parachute Division began to file into them along with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment. Like clock work the Fallschirmjager prepared for their flight to their destination which they were receiving data from the Kravenites themselves and had planned their operations around it. The flight it self would likely be several hours and some transport planes were already taking off after their routine checks to make room for additional planes to ferry their troop load. It would soon become one of the first joint operations had with their Kravenite counter-parts in which would likely dictate the future of such joint operations between the two for other looming conflicts.



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