The Labrador Valley War (MT, Open but see OOC)

by **Mount Zeon** » Tue Sep 24, 2019 6:56 pm

Muskegonia wrote:Previous attacks had been limited, at least where white Zeonese had been concerned. Women had not been physically harmed, though they certainly did not leave their encounters with the Cougars mentally or emotionally unscathed. But now the Zeons had shown their hidden barbarity, and all restrictions were off. The Cougars sent more raiding parties over the porous border, and now they were out for the blood of any Zeons who they could find.

Labrador Valley

When the Whitetail Cougars had first begun their campaign of intimidation and terror against the Zeonese in the Labrador Valley, it had been like firing bullets into a sponge. The material recoiled and was damaged, but other than that it did not respond. The determined defense mounted by the Brookman and Armstrong men was an outlier, and most farmers who had been targeted chose to exercise the better part of valor and depart for safer pastures farther north. This was beginning to change. The John Brown Society raids provided an example of an alternative: the Zeonese could fight back and inflict suffering on their tormentors. The sponge began to harden, and its edge began to become sharp.

Allanea wrote:This was the rule everywhere. The Allaneans had come from a country where the rifle was the traditional badge of the citizen (indeed, Allanean law did not use the term ‘citizen’ - Allaneans were arrogant enough to just call themselves Freemen – and so it was common even for entirely innocent Allaneans to be well-aware of all sorts of nasty tricks that in most countries were the domain of only the truly paranoid.

And they were happy to share this knowledge. They did not – as of yet – hold any classes or training sessions, but if one asked, they were totally ready to share.

For all of its talk about “real men,” Mount Zeon did not have a strong military culture. The rifle might be the badge of the Allanean Freeman, but in Mount Zeon a man was measured by his ability to produce and his firm control over the household. The nation was far more comfortable with husbands spanking their wives than with men signing up to wield weapons of war against other men. The gun culture was miniscule – weapons were a tool for hunting for food, or defending a flock and farm against predator animals. When the Allaneans spoke, with the calm confidence of men who were far more acquainted with this sort of violence than the Zeonese, their neighbors and friends listened. Some Zeonese found it easy to transfer the skills of hunting for food or for the protection of herd animals to the stalking of other men. They were eager to learn whatever the John Brown Society was willing to teach them.

While the Association traded tit-for-tat violence across the border with the Whitetail Cougars, the unit of Fencibles – the national militia which had been deployed in Greenfield and New Hannover – had been acclimating to their new area of operations. Many of the men who arrived lacked any familiarly with the terrain or the geography. In the forests and fields of the Valley these troops, while more heavily armed and better trained than the Associators, would be totally ineffective at catching or stopping the small bands of Whitetail Cougar militiamen who slipped across the porous border. So, the Fencibles remained mostly near the large population centers like Greenfield and its surroundings, while the Association took responsibility for patrolling and responding to sightings or calls for help.

The Cumberly Farm
OOC: written after consultation with Muskegonia

Lyman Cumberly was not the sort of person who an observer would peg as an Associator. He was older than the average Zeonese homesteader, and his personality could be generously described as “prickly.” He was not the sort of person to saddle up a horse and ride a patrol route with a rifle slung over his back. But he provided the Association with support – his farm was one of the southernmost farms still occupied. He had not originally been on the frontlines, but the Whitetail Cougars had slowly pushed the border north until it ran across the Cumberly property. Patrols of Associators knew they could rely on “Ol’ Lyman” for food and water, both for themselves and their mounts. He didn’t ask questions whenever a group of Associators might bed down in his barn, waiting for sunset to cross the border and torch a Muskegonian barn or tractor.

The Whitetail Cougars didn’t know this. All they knew was that Lyman Cumberly was sitting on land that should belong to a Muskegonian. Two pickup trucks loaded with Cougar militiamen roared down the dirt road that led to the Cumberly farm. However, the Association spotted them as they moved. Allanean-provided radios spread the word from the spotter, camouflaged in a blind overlooking a well-worn path, to a nearby patrol who made haste to Lyman’s farm.

The first indication that the Whitetail Cougars got that they would not have an easy time of it was when the two left tires of the lead pickup blew out in spectacular fashion just beyond the fence that surrounded the Cumberly plot. The sudden shift in momentum nearly toppled the vehicle on its side. When the militiamen checked the tires and the road, they found improvised caltrops scattered along the path. The Muskegonians allowed themselves a chuckle at the cowardice of the Zeons, and then proceeded on foot. They imagined that the Zeon who lived here had shot his bolt, clearly expecting the Cougars to give up when they faced any difficulty at all. They vowed they pay the man back for ruining two perfectly good tires.

On a small rise in the ground, a Zeonese man wrapped the sling of his rifle around his hand just like the Allanean had showed him. He tried to control his breathing, which was slow but ragged. The crosshairs of the scope settled on the lead Cougar, assault rifle in hand, walking down the path towards the farmhouse that sat a little distance behind the would-be sniper. The convergence of the two lines settled on the man’s head, then drifted down to his center-of-mass, and then drifted down further to his waist. The raiders were saying something that they found funny, and the man’s mouth was wide open in laughter when the Zeonese pulled the trigger and felt the rifle buck against his shoulder. The raider went down, clutching at his lower stomach. The round had gone a little high. The shooter imagined it would still hurt quite a bit.

More shots echoed over the field. Not every one hit, but enough of them did. The Whitetail Cougars tried to figure out where to aim their fire, but it seemed like it was coming from all sides. The last two men standing broke into a run towards where the undamaged pickup truck was sitting. One of them went down pitching forward, dark red staining the back of his shirt. The other one skidded to a halt when two rifle barrels, and the men holding them, rose up from their concealed positions in the ready-to-harvest crops and blocked his path.

“Drop it,” one of them said, gesturing at the assault rifle. The weapon thumped against the soil.

“Take a look back at your friends,” the other Zeonese man said. “Go back and tell the rest of them that we’re not taking it no more. They come back here, they’ll end up the same.”

The Muskegonian replied with words designed to get a rise out of the second man, whose black skin stood out against the amber field behind him. His bravado earned him a rifle butt to the stomach, that dropped him to his knees.

“Go on,” the first man said. “Get.”

When the sound of the pickup’s engine had faded into the distance, Lyman Cumberly stalked out to the edge of the property where the Associators were gathered.

“They’ll be back,” he spat.

New Argyle

General Randall Flynn struck many of his fellow, superior, and subordinate officers as being cold-blooded. He had pale skin, which seemed to neither tan nor burn in the sun, and he seemed to never blink. His green eyes bored into whoever they were focused on, not as a form of intimidation although he was quite capable of intimidating those who he felt required further motivation. But even with men to whom he answered, it seemed as though his casual gaze was still intent on seeing through you. He spoke in a calm voice that could harden into black ice when he was displeased. He was very displeased right now.

“I was under the assumption, Chief Engineer Daniels,” he was saying to the civilian in front of him. “That the railroad would be capable of transporting my men on a much more…accelerated timeline than the one you have just given me.”

“There have been delays, General Flynn,” the man stammered back. “The, er, transition in labor disrupted our timetables. And the topography south of New Argyle was not properly mapped by the first teams…”

“And it only just now occurred to you,” Randall Flynn interrupted, “to inform me of the effect these delays will have? I do not need to remind you, Chief Engineer, that there are men dying in the Labrador Valley.”

“We are working as quickly as possible,” the Chief Engineer promised. “I assure you, the new timetable is accurate.”

“And leaves the Labrador Valley defenseless against a major enemy incursion until new spring!” The sudden rise in volume might have knocked the Chief Engineer flat on his back, but those eyes kept him rooted to the place where he stood. Like a rain shower on a clear day, the moment was over as soon as it began. The General remained seated, making a microscopic adjustment to the neat arrangement of papers on his desk.

“That will be all, Chief Engineer,” he said after an infinite moment of silence. “I expect regular updates on your progress. And seeing as my troops will have little to do until after the winter, I will ensure that they are made available to assist you men in their labors.”

“That is greatly appreciated, General.” The Chief Engineer scampered away at General Flynn’s dismissal. The General looked over the report on the top of the nearest stack. Colonel Merit’s brigade was at Providence, preparing for the move to New Hannover and the Valley. They might be sufficient to hold the Muskegonians at bay for the remainder of the campaign season. Winter would blanket the Valley in snow and render any large-scale movement virtually impossible. Randall Flynn had his orders, direct from Father John himself. As soon as his troops were in position, Mount Zeon would respond to Muskegonia’s many insults. If they would not share the Valley peacefully, then they would be ejected and denied any piece of the land.

by **Allanea** » Thu Sep 26, 2019 11:25 am

“Wrongdoing must be punished. If not, it will proliferate until anarchy wears the robes of tolerance and understanding.”
~ Terry Goodkind

At unknown coordinates, 400 miles from the Muskegonian Coast

In the deep darkness, just over a hundred fathoms under the sea, the Cretoxyrhina brought itself to a near halt. If previously it was near completely silent, the noise of its hidden passage merging with that of the ocean waves and the passing of sealife, now it was, somehow, even more silent, hanging below the waves as an enormous shark. Thousands of kilometers away, the crew knew, an enormous set of antennae and transmitters was deployed – sets of antennae spread over miles and miles of land, the only thing capable of transmitting even a basic message through untold depths and distances of sea.

Even then, it would be slowgoing. The first letter would arrive at 12:35 hours, shipboard time.

It was the letter "S".

– Yess! – the comms officer sucked in air through his teeth, the tension causing his excited cry to be a near-whisper.

The second letter would take several minutes to fully broadcast, bit-by-bit until the full byte formed.

It was a "K".

Captain Larina's eyes widened in excitement. Now it was nearly certain. But the code could have been guessed at, or perhaps it was a coincidence, some other signal not meant for them. They had to wait more, wait for the final two letters – ten more torturous minutes until the four-letter code was fully transmitted and received. S, K, U, M – both an anagram of the first letters in Muskegonia and a hidden insult to a nation tat was probably not fully aware Allanea viewed it as an enemy.

Larina turned to her second-in command. "Open the envelope."

The package wrapping fell to the command room floor. The weapons officer received his share of the package with a calm, untrembling hand – a small, steely object, a memory key similar to those in civilian use.

"It is a launch order," – said Larina without surprise. Commander Morris, load the flight program."

The launch of a missile was no simple affair. The Ministry of War had prepared precise flight plans for each of the sixteen cruise missiles that the Cretoxyrhina was to fire that day – from the coordinates it was now deployed at, to its target.

The submarine ascended slowly to its launch depth. Then – and only then – it shook slightly as air bubbles swarmed up from its missile hatches, and white containers began to ascend, each bearing a single weapon. At the surface, those would break up, and the weapons took flight – their jet engines roaring as they screamed low, low along the surface, their winglets opening like folding knives in a ruffian's hand.

Captain Larina could have no inkling of their fate, as her ship was already diving once more – fifty fathoms, seventy fathoms, deeper, deeper, to unknown depths. The launch, if nothing else, could alert an enemy to its location – and as such it was now necessary for the Crytxyrhina to change its location as rapidly as it could.

The missiles, meanwhile, flew towards their targets – Muskegonia's two largest fuel refineries, enormous facilities the size of small towns. They sped forward, with the speed of airliners and all the subtlety of a stealth fighter, in complete radio silence. They were inevitable… almost inevitable.

Aboard the frigates of the Muskegonian Navy, alarms began to ring, air defense radar had spotted some of the missiles. They were now less than half an hour from the shore – but they were spotted, or at least some were.

"Unknown aircraft, this your last warning, divert your flight path to a safe landing or be fired upon…"

The "unknown aircraft", of course, did not divert, there was no possibility for a cruise missile to even receive such a message, much less understand it or obey it in any way. They simply sped forward, low over the surface of the sea.

Fifteen minutes out from the shore, two of them were actually seen, with the naked eye, by sailors aboard a Muskegonian frigate.

"Those are missiles! Enemy munitions! Air defense stations ready!"

And then, of course, everything came alive with weapons fire. Patrolling fighter planes unloaded their payloads of air-to-air weapons. Frigates fired anti-air missiles. One, two, three… eight kills.

A very good showing.

Were this an exercise many Muskegonian sailors would have gotten a high grade.

This was not an exercise.

At 13:40, just over an hour after the first letter of the order signal was broadcast, one of the surviving missiles screamed right over the fence of a fuel refinery, drove through the third floor of a processing stack, and detonated within – several hundred kilos of high-explosive and a near-unfinished fuel tank on the missile itself. The explosion was deafening, and within less than a second the hundreds of tons of fuels and processing chemicals within the building exploded as well.

There was a blasphemous roar, as if an unholy beast that had to this point been chained by the wisdom of engineering was defying the God whom Muskegonians worshipped. The mighty, brickwork processing stack atop of the building was flung through the air.

It must be said that Muskegonian refinery workers were trained and brave. They had practiced and rehearsed for accidents and fire. In this first second, several of them ran towards the explosion, to grab onto the emergency valves that would stop the plant from pumping fuel into the fire.

The second missile detonated overhead, showering the plant in hundreds of dual-use submunitions.

Everything seemed to be on fire. Tiny explosions rocked the entire plant, showering everyone and everything in shrapnel and flaming zirconium. Everything burned – the very steel of the piping and fuel tanks gave way to the furious flame.

Into this man-made hell, a third missile dove, detonating among the cluster of pipes feeding oil into the refinery, and a fourth detonated overhead, dropping even more bomblets into the refinery's rail depot.

The very same thing was happening in the other refinery – unholy explosions, railcars and entire buildings tossed like toys, founts of smoke rising to the heavens.

Unfortunately, Captain Larina was unable to know this, and indeed unable to know if she had succeeded. Deep in the ineffable darkness, the Cretoryxhina was once more a silent monster, turning towards its lair again.

by **Muskegonia** » Sun Sep 29, 2019 9:26 am

Mount Zeon wrote:“Take a look back at your friends,” the other Zeonese man said. “Go back and tell the rest of them that we’re not taking it no more. They come back here, they’ll end up the same.”

The Muskegonian replied with words designed to get a rise out of the second man, whose black skin stood out against the amber field behind him. His bravado earned him a rifle butt to the stomach, that dropped him to his knees.

“Go on,” the first man said. “Get.”

When the sound of the pickup’s engine had faded into the distance, Lyman Cumberly stalked out to the edge of the property where the Associators were gathered.

“They’ll be back,” he spat.

The Muskegon Tap was packed to the brim. Word of the repulse at the Cumberly farm had shot like lightning across the width and breadth of the Muskegonian side of the Labrador Valley and beyond. The “regulars,” the men who formed the core of the Whitetail Cougars, had been joined by a mob of others. The stories of what had happened at the farm had grown with each telling, inflating the innocence of the Muskegonians. Some of the men in the public house were convinced that an army of Zeonites had assaulted a Muskegonian farm. Luther Monroe was standing on a table, bellowing rage and defiance at the crowd.

“Are we going to let ourselves be intimidated?” The crowd thundered back the obvious denial. “Are we going to take this lying down like kicked dogs?”

Luther Monroe knew how to rile up a mob. Men were shouting abuse at the Zeonites, pledging their aid in destroying them. The word was put out: Cumberly’s farm would be made an example of. A large group of Cougars began making preparations to march on the farm and destroy it.

Allanea wrote:At 13:40, just over an hour after the first letter of the order signal was broadcast, one of the surviving missiles screamed right over the fence of a fuel refinery, drove through the third floor of a processing stack, and detonated within – several hundred kilos of high-explosive and a near-unfinished fuel tank on the missile itself. The explosion was deafening, and within less than a second the hundreds of tons of fuels and processing chemicals within the building exploded as well.

There was a blasphemous roar, as if an unholy beast that had to this point been chained by the wisdom of engineering was defying the God whom Muskegonians worshipped. The mighty, brickwork processing stack atop of the building was flung through the air.

It must be said that Muskegonian refinery workers were trained and brave. They had practiced and rehearsed for accidents and fire. In this first second, several of them ran towards the explosion, to grab onto the emergency valves that would stop the plant from pumping fuel into the fire.

The second missile detonated overhead, showering the plant in hundreds of dual-use submunitions.

Everything seemed to be on fire. Tiny explosions rocked the entire plant, showering everyone and everything in shrapnel and flaming zirconium. Everything burned – the very steel of the piping and fuel tanks gave way to the furious flame.

Into this man-made hell, a third missile dove, detonating among the cluster of pipes feeding oil into the refinery, and a fourth detonated overhead, dropping even more bomblets into the refinery's rail depot.

The very same thing was happening in the other refinery – unholy explosions, railcars and entire buildings tossed like toys, founts of smoke rising to the heavens.

The two refineries burned like pyres to a demanding god, crowned by thick pillars of oily black smoke. The workers had succeeded in shutting off the fuel pumps, and teams outside the refinery had engaged the cutoff mechanisms on the pipelines that brought crude oil from the coastal ports where it was delivered. The blaze would burn until the oil that had been ignited was exhausted. The handful of airborne fire-fighting equipment that existed was mobilized to try and dampen the flames, but it was like trying to put out a grease fire with teaspoons of baking soda at a time. In the meantime, gallons upon gallons of fuel, much of it earmarked for government use, burned away into the sky.

The Secretary for Energy soon had a preliminary report ready for the President and the cabinet: with the shortfall, it was almost assured that the Senate would vote to release government stockpiles to prevent disruptions in civilian life. This, in turn, would mean that some portions of the Territorial Guards would be virtually immobile until the remaining refineries provided sufficient fuel to refill those stockpiles. The remaining refineries were smaller in size, capacity, and staff. This had probably saved them from destruction but it also meant they were overwhelmed. The end result was that the Territorial Guards would be incapable of massing for the planned movement into the Labrador Valley for some time. Adding to the delays was the imminent start of the harvesting season: many Guardsmen, especially in Lygonia and Waverly, would be back on their farms and legally permitted to recuse themselves from service until the harvest was in. The Senate was unlikely to consider the current state of affairs in the Labrador Valley a "crisis of national defense" sufficient to override that privilege.

The dominant question was who had committed the attack on the refineries? Mount Zeon was the obvious culprit but this attack seemed too calculated and precise. Could this be the the aggressive "Amistad Pact" mentioned in the missive from the Drekkan Directorate? The Navy was placed on full alert and a more rigorous anti-submarine patrol zone was established. The Territorial Guards and the Army might go thirsty for fuel, but the Navy would receive whatever it needed to prevent the attackers from achieving a second success.

by **Allanea** » Tue Oct 01, 2019 4:49 am

To: Richard Truth, Grand Marshal of Mount Zeon
From: Baroness Priscilla Stossel-Conde, Minister of War of the Free Kingdom of Allanea
Subject: Time

Greetings, Grand Marshal!

The analysis of intelligence sources available to my subordinates suggests that your nation has received a boon from the Lord, in the form of perhaps several months of precious time. No doubt you are aware that some of your neighbors have been planning perfidious attacks on your citizens, and that the recent spectacular events in their oil industry have substantially delayed these attacks, as well as reducing the funding that will be available to purchase the necessary supplies for them.

Nevertheless, I cannot in good conscience tell you that I look at the future with complete confidence. It is said, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God. It is obvious that your nation must use the time it has been granted, partly by the decisive action of Godly men and women and partly by the Lord's generosity, in the best way.

This passage is not an advertisement for Allanean weaponry. Because of the limited scope of time, and because of the obvious differences between our cultures, it is unlikely that I could secure the public support for a large-scale military deployment, or any large-scale gifts of weaponry – and were such gifts to even be possible, it would take a substantial period of time for your troops to retain for the use of new weaponry, and take other needful preparations.

On the other hand, my years of experience, combined with a consultation with a team of experts, has allowed me to offer you several forms of aid which can be easily and rapidly deployed.

First, I would like to offer your nation a shipment of "decommissioned" military trench-diggers, bulldozers, and so forth. These can be used – in perhaps a period of a few weeks – to construct an array of trenches, obstacles, traps and similar devices to limit the mobility of enemy troops in the event of an incursion.

Second, it would be advantageous to organize the production of anti-vehicle landmines in your nation. What would be ideal is if you rapidly secured the production of mine bodies (those can be made from literally any material, and failing that certain explosives can be simply pressed into mine shape – surely you can find a factory that can make cardboard or wooden boxes and fill them with HE). It would be then a simple matter for the fuzes to be made or procured (an anti-tank fuse can fit in a man's pocket).

Third, I do believe that a small Allanean force can be arranged for, but it would have to be small given both the objections to this matter in your nation and in mine. Possibly a small force of artillery and air defense specialists – however as you understand it would take some time for me to discuss the details with the rest of Their Imperial Majesties' cabinets.

Yours, Priscilla

by **Mount Zeon** » Wed Oct 02, 2019 7:25 pm

OOC: loooong post here, the first section of which contains Mature Content

Allanea wrote:The very same thing was happening in the other refinery – unholy explosions, railcars and entire buildings tossed like toys, founts of smoke rising to the heavens.

Allanea wrote:To: Richard Truth, Grand Marshal of Mount Zeon
From: Baroness Priscilla Stossel-Conde, Minister of War of the Free Kingdom of Allanea
Subject: Time

Greetings, Grand Marshal!

The analysis of intelligence sources available to my subordinates suggests that your nation has received a boon from the Lord, in the form of perhaps several months of precious time. No doubt you are aware that some of your neighbors have been planning perfidious attacks on your citizens, and that the recent spectacular events in their oil industry have substantially delayed these attacks, as well as reducing the funding that will be available to purchase the necessary supplies for them.

Nevertheless, I cannot in good conscience tell you that I look at the future with complete confidence. It is said, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God. It is obvious that your nation must use the time it has been granted, partly by the decisive action of Godly men and women and partly by the Lord's generosity, in the best way.

This passage is not an advertisement for Allanean weaponry. Because of the limited scope of time, and because of the obvious differences between our cultures, it is unlikely that I could secure the public support for a large-scale military deployment, or any large-scale gifts of weaponry – and were such gifts to even be possible, it would take a substantial period of time for your troops to retain for the use of new weaponry, and take other needful preparations.

On the other hand, my years of experience, combined with a consultation with a team of experts, has allowed me to offer you several forms of aid which can be easily and rapidly deployed.

First, I would like to offer your nation a shipment of "decommissioned" military trench-diggers, bulldozers, and so forth. These can be used – in perhaps a period of a few weeks – to construct an array of trenches, obstacles, traps and similar devices to limit the mobility of enemy troops in the event of an incursion.

Second, it would be advantageous to organize the production of anti-vehicle landmines in your nation. What would be ideal is if you rapidly secured the production of mine bodies (those can be made from literally any material, and failing that certain explosives can be simply pressed into mine shape – surely you can find a factory that can make cardboard or wooden boxes and fill them with HE). It would be then a simple matter for the fuzes to be made or procured (an anti-tank fuse can fit in a man's pocket).

Third, I do believe that a small Allanean force can be arranged for, but it would have to be small given both the objections to this matter in your nation and in mine. Possibly a small force of artillery and air defense specialists – however as you understand it would take some time for me to discuss the details with the rest of Their Imperial Majesties' cabinets.

Yours, Priscilla

New Jerusalem

The fair white skin of Mary’s bottom had begun to turn a pink shade of red when someone knocked on the door.

She’d seen the spanking coming. Father John had been frustrated lately. Mary didn’t know the details, but she heard pieces of conversation while she brought drinks or refreshments to her husband and whatever government ministers or army officers he was meeting with. She didn’t know anything about railroad construction, or movement timetables, but she could make enough connections to realize that things weren’t going as quickly as her husband wanted them to be moving. That frustration had made Father John quick to pronounce her negligent in her duties and in need of discipline. That discipline came, as always, from his bare hand on her bare rear end.

She was laying across his lap, her white dress pulled up to her waist and her underwear stripped off and stuffed in her mouth to muffle the yelps of pain that came with each slap. All she could see from her point of view was the hardwood floor and the legs of the nearby table. But she heard the knock at the door and Father John calling for whoever was knocking to enter. She turned her head to see Verity open the door to admit Grand Marshal Richard Truth.

“Father, we have received a message from the Allaneans.”

“What do they have to say this time?” John asked impatiently.

“It’s…complicated, Father,” Truth replied. “It concerns matters in the Labrador Valley.”

There was a pause. Father John let out a disgruntled sigh. “Very well. Assemble the council.” As the Grand Marshal made his genuflections and retreated from the residence, John delivered a final pair of smacks to her bottom and then plucked the panties from her mouth.

“When I return,” he said. “We shall consider whether to resume where we have stopped.”

The full council had not been assembled for this matter. This was the inner circle of Mount Zeon’s leadership – the top echelon of ministers responsible for the most important functions of the state. The two undisputed top men among the top men, obviously besides Father John, were Grand Marshal Richard Truth and the Foreign Minister, James Pleasant. They would be the two main voices weighing in on the response to this new message from the Allaneans.

“So the Allaneans have decided they are going to fight our battles for us? Without our knowledge or request?” Father John’s frustration had not subsided. “And then they also wish to tell us how to fight?” He turned to the Grand Marshal. “What do you make of this?”

“I think it is obvious that they are behind the recent destruction of the oil refineries,” he answered. The news about the attacks – though it was possible they were accidents, but too many sources reported seeing missiles hitting the refineries – had quickly spread across the border into Mount Zeon. The message from the Allaneans had arrived some time later. Taken together they formed a picture which the Zeonese did not find particularly amusing. The docks in the port city of New Kirtland had only recently gotten back to full capacity after a similar “mysterious” missile strike had taken them almost entirely out of commission. Like the larger prison revolt, the Allaneans had always been suspected as the perpetrators but they had never been confronted and no answers had been demanded.

“I think this is all the proof we need that Allanea perpetrated the New Kirtland attack,” the Grand Marshal added. “Allanea is a nation driven by hatred of those who practice the institution of slavery. They have no other guiding factor. We should keep that in mind as we proceed.”

“I believe the first offer can be accepted without qualm,” the Foreign Minister spoke up. “We are in need of such machines. They are offering to provide them. As for the other two…I defer to the military’s experience in such matters.”

“I would be greatly concerned about allowing more Allaneans into the Kingdom,” Truth said. “Father, I do not think we can trust them. Today it is Muskegonia which they seek to destroy. What if we should find ourselves in their crosshairs again someday later?”

“I agree,” Father John said. “Foreign Minister, this is what I want you to say…”

To the Allanean Ministry of War:
It is truly fortunate that this time poor fortune descended on our enemies, rather than on our homeland.

As to your offers of assistance, I have been instructed to accept with gratitude your offer of construction machinery. Those tools will be highly useful to the Kingdom’s preparations. However, I must respectfully decline your second offer. Such devices threaten to render portions of Mount Zeon too dangerous for cultivation and habitation. We cannot sacrifice the future of our nation for expediency.

As to your third offer, I have been instructed to request additional information. How many experts would be sent, and what role would they play? As you surely understand, the defense of a nation is a matter of paramount security.

Yours in Truth,
James Pleasant
Foreign Minister

Muskegonia wrote:Luther Monroe knew how to rile up a mob. Men were shouting abuse at the Zeonites, pledging their aid in destroying them. The word was put out: Cumberly’s farm would be made an example of. A large group of Cougars began making preparations to march on the farm and destroy it.

The Cumberly Farm

“But really, you are hard working farm folk. With the stuff you have in your farm, you can fashion any number of defensive devices – or just buy them in the store. A wolf trap will break a man’s ankle. And I needn’t tell you of all the fun things you can do with fertilizer and a stump-clearing charge, right?”

The words of the Allanean rattled around in the young Zeonese man’s ears as he helped prepare one of the final pieces of defense around the Cumberly farm. Word had reached the Association that the Whitetail Cougars were planning on returning and avenging their slain comrades. They intended to balance out the scales with blood and burned buildings. But the Association was ready for them. More Associators had arrived to help build traps and barricades, set up blinds to use as observation posts, and plan out fields of fire. There were more than a dozen tents set up on the front lawn of the Cumberly home. Some men had brought their wives along with them to help prepare food for the large group of would-be warriors.

They had their doubts. The Cougars still outgunned them and they would likely outnumber them as well. But they had driven them back once and proven that they could be defeated and humiliated. They were determined to show the Muskegonians it had not been a fluke or lucky break.

by **Allanea** » Sat Oct 05, 2019 6:19 pm

At the Free Kingdom Ministry of War

"Something is off," – said Priscilla Conde, her polished boots thrown up on her desk. Several scratches were visible on the priceless mahogany, left there by the heels of the heavy military-style footwear. "They are refusing the landmines."

"In other words," – the analyst suggested, "they are either incompetent, or perhaps planning an offensive operation on their own, or likely both."

"Do you think we should try and persuade them to still accept the mines?"

For several seconds, Priscilla pondered the answer. "I believe there's no point. This is for two reasons. The first one is that I see no point to aggravate them by making it already obvious what we think of them. And second, it's feasible that they're less foolish than what you'd think."

"I'm sorry?" – to an Allanean, the idea of a person who was handed a weapon for self-defense and then refused it was preposterous.

"Consider how landmines are usually used. Now, to plant a minefield, and to avoid the entire land being made useless for years because you don't know where the mines are, you need to make sure that everyone follows correct protocol. There are forms that must be filled in for every mine planted, coordinates must be logged, and so forth. Now, absolutely nothing I know about the Zeonese military suggests that they have the ability to rapidly retrain thousands of troops for this sort of record-keeping."

The analyst stared, this was an angle he did not consider.

"The existence of proper record-keeping and coordination between different groups of people – proper recordkeeping, mind you, not obsessive-compulsive bureaucracy – is the key to military success, and to social success in general. Her Imperial Majesty makes this clear. Now, even in the Free Kingdom we sometimes struggle with this issue, how do you imagine it is in Mount Zeon?" – Priscilla paused for a moment, the art of the dramatic pause was a key element of Allanean rhetoric. "No, we should table this issue. If the Zeonites are doing this because they understand they lack the core competencies to use anti-vehicle landmines safely and in mass, then they are wise. His Imperial Majesty is fond of saying that the beginning of competence is to grasp where one's incompetence begins. Now. Let us contemplate the answer."

* * *

To: Richard Truth, Grand Marshal of Mount Zeon
From: Baroness Priscilla Stossel-Conde, Minister of War of the Free Kingdom of Allanea
Subject: Preparations

Greetings, Minister!

The Bible says: Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. My people are even now preparing the equipment for transport. For counterintelligence reasons it's going to be marked as a donation for your farming community but of course this is a pure precaution.

The purpose, as I see it, for the force Allanea will send, is to assist your nation in a war against the Muskegonians over the fate of the Labrador Valley. For this purpose I propose approximately the following division of labor:

1. A small force of instructors to embed at your training facilities and assist in the training of your troops, or of various citizen militia groups, under your military's supervision, in the use of various needful weaponry, etc.

2. A force (no more than 1-2 battalions) of air defense batteries, to protect key locations from long-range weapon attacks and air strikes by the Muskegonians, similar to the missile attacks which they themselves had undergone from your forces. One cannot expect that we exist in a universe in which the Muskegonians are so foolish as not to imitate your progress in this area.

3. A force of long-range artillery (a variety of systems are available as you know, in theory capable of covering the entire Valley in their range or even reaching into Muskegonia itself with their fire), no greater than perhaps 2-3 battalions (about 72 launchers of various types).

This force, I believe, will be able to substantially assist you without causing too much consternation among our national elite.

Yours,
Priscilla

by **The United Nations Of Europa** » Mon Oct 07, 2019 9:34 am

Chancellor Linda Schulte
U.N.E. Parliament Building
Copenhagen, U.N.E.
5:30 P.M.
Schulte and Klara, her advisor, were heading to the conference room of the parliament building. With the UNE's recent decision to be involved in Muskegonia, Schulte would have to quickly meet with the general to decide on what matters should be taken. The role the UNE wanted to play was small but a situation that could involve troops being deployed needed to be discussed no matter what.

"We're going into Muskegonia huh? Jesus Christ, soon enough we'll end up being the nation being up everyone's nose. I bet you most of the people in the nation couldn't even point out the nation on a damn map."

"I don't know about that Klara. It's not every day that a nation still openly accepts slavery. Besides, with the amount of money we pour into education our students better be able to point out a slave nation on a world map."

"Schulte, how do we even know that we'll be able to push talks through with Zeon? They're not exactly the keenest on working with women."

"I understand your concerns Klara, but not every nation is going to be an angel to work with. Some of our allies aren't as humble as they used to be. I think you know who I'm talking about. But in the world, we're going to have to work with what we got. Even if we disagree with who it is."

The two made their way to the top floor where the general would be waiting. The conference room of the parliament building was the "situation room" of it. It's where all matters of the UNE that involved conflict was discussed. Recently other ally leaders had attended summits in the room concerning the UNE's current conflict in Ukraine. With the nation's increased involvement in world affairs, the room had become busier than ever. At the end of the hallway were the doors of the room with the general and guards waiting outside.

"General Brewer, how have you been lately?"

"I'm doing very vell madam chancellor." The general motioned for a hug and when the two did he leaned over to Schulte's ear and whispered "Madam chancellor. Regarding Muskegonia, I'd like it if you and I could speak about it privately."

"Yes, that'd be fine." Schulte turned to her advisor, "Klara could you wait for me back in my office? The situation has changed slightly and I'd like to talk to you after this."

"Um... yeah I can do that. I'll see you in a bit."

"Thank you." Klara made her way back to their office with the general leading Schulte into the conference room.

"So what is it now now that we have to discuss this privately?"

"Madam Chancellor, I've been conversing with the Vanish about both of our nations' recent decision to be involved in Muskegonia. Concerning the small size of this conflict, we've found that it be better to condense the forces we're sending in. Intelligence has shown that hostiles we're going up against are very minimal and shouldn't result in us bringing large forces."

"Well, what do you recommend general?"

"Well, our current plans are fine currently and I don't see any reason to change our overall approach to this. But we recommend sending small teams of tier 1 units into Muskegonia. We do not need to escalate this conflict and with our current objective, it'd be best to send in these units."

"Alright well, I'm fine with that. But why did this need to be discussed privately? Is there anything else to this I need to know?"

"We've been talking to the Vanish about the units we're sending in and due to the low threat level of this conflict, we'd like to equip our units with the new projects that we've been working on. I'm sure you remember the troop advancement program we have been working on."

"Well of course. These are high dollar projects after all."

"Yes, they are. These could be the biggest advancements for our troops in years if they work out. But we're not the only ones that know this. As of now our current stance of this conflict is diplomacy and peacekeeping. People know that we're going to send in troops but they do not need to know that we're going to be equipping them with our newest equipment. If word of this gets out then we'll be having outside forces coming into Muskegonia playing hide and seek with our troops until they can get ahold of our stuff."

"And you've talked to the Vanish about this?"

"Yes, mam. We're both interested in moving forward with this."

"Well considering the situation I guess this would be a good time to test our new equipment. But before we do I'd like to speak with them to be assured of what we're bringing. And before we do send this equipment in I'd like for testing to be done throughout this week. I don't want our tier 1 units going in with faulty equipment."

"I understand madam chancellor. I'll be sure to get testing through ASAP."

by **Muskegonia** » Sat Oct 12, 2019 7:16 am

Mount Zeon wrote:The Cumberly Farm

“But really, you are hard working farm folk. With the stuff you have in your farm, you can fashion any number of defensive devices – or just buy them in the store. A wolf trap will break a man’s ankle. And I needn’t tell you of all the fun things you can do with fertilizer and a stump-clearing charge, right?”

The words of the Allanean rattled around in the young Zeonese man’s ears as he helped prepare one of the final pieces of defense around the Cumberly farm. Word had reached the Association that the Whitetail Cougars were planning on returning and avenging their slain comrades. They intended to balance out the scales with blood and burned buildings. But the Association was ready for them. More Associators had arrived to help build traps and barricades, set up blinds to use as observation posts, and plan out fields of fire. There were more than a dozen tents set up on the front lawn of the Cumberly home. Some men had brought their wives along with them to help prepare food for the large group of would-be warriors.

They had their doubts. The Cougars still outgunned them and they would likely outnumber them as well. But they had driven them back once and proven that they could be defeated and humiliated. They were determined to show the Muskegonians it had not been a fluke or lucky break.

The Whitetail Cougars had patrons with deep pockets. Luther Monroe and a few other wealthy landowners funded the militia as a way of forcing Zeonese settlers off land which they could then buy and sell to Muskegonian farmers. To accomplish this goal, they had used their money to acquire weapons and equipment for the militia and bribe the local government into providing things they could not easily buy directly. The force of several dozen Whitetail Cougars, each one clutching an automatic rifle, clambered onto a single six-by-six truck and a bunch of pickups. One of the pickup trucks had a heavy machine gun bolted to the roof, pointing forward and manned by a grinning militiaman.

Organizing the preparations for the move to the Cumberly homestead was the Sheriff of the town of Sullivan, George Todd. Sam Duncan, the owner of one of the general stores in town, served as another leader for the angry mob of armed men. They herded their “soldiers” onto the beds of the vehicles, then hoisted themselves up into the cab of the truck and started the engine. The convoy pulled out of the town of Sullivan and made its way up to the Labrador Valley towards the Cumberly farm. As the ad-hoc army got close, some of the men began to dismount and walk alongside the vehicles. They strayed to the sides of the rough dirt road, peering into the woods on either side for any sign of Zeon scouts or an ambush.

by **Drekka** » Tue Oct 15, 2019 8:49 pm

Personal Cabin
Pager 1
International Waters

In a fresh new shirt, Lana served herself the same drink lost to the unexpected task. Looking more in-depth into these countries made her not want to go through with the task.

She knew the Administrate kept her alive for such an occasion. They knew she opposed their absolutely pragmatic politics, but they needed her pretty lips to negotiate at home and abroad, which she had used for a few years. This time, she’s a tease, but of the High Priority Target kind, rather than anything sensual. Harm to her would be met with a heavy black hand. Regardless of the situation, she had to try to do the right thing.

Expecting a Horace, a message from Ambassador’s Graham’s came up from her HUD. Finding her candid diplomatic message be passed around like a cheap Sekkraiy street girl was enough to spike her drink with something strong to prepare for her reposite. A simple keyboard wasn’t enough. She reached behind her desk to grab her mechanical keyboard for tactile emphasis and sounds touchscreens can’t replicate.

To: Secretary for Foreign Affairs Daniel Graham and the Free State of Muskegonia
From: Lana Paralle, Lead Ambassador of The National Drekkan Directorate/ANIT
Subject: Assistance
Encryption:Diplomatic

For now, none needed, aside from a safe place to land and stow 3 airframes. I look forward to our meeting. The following assets will be brought via airlift.

As for the ‘Declaration, not much else is needed to be said at the moment besides the probable indiscriminate indirect fire missions. Your participation in the PSA is cause for defer our support, but they don’t seem to be committed to your defense. Pity. Fortunately for you, interesting circumstances made this conversation a favorable one for your kind, but for us to help would require undoubted cooperation and certain conditions to be met. The talks resume in-person

The first gladiators sent to this arena went amongst civilian airlines, discreet and unknown to the public eye, but mostly in unity from their a towards Zeon’s co-belligerents. The complexities behind global politics meant little to the operators, when they weld the swords wrote most of history. Vindication was enough of an incentive to face unfavorable odds.

As for the “Blue Vests” that were mobilized ,it was a show of peace, like many past missions,albeit one with questionable semantics. Muskegonia was a name known by few, but it wasn’t up to those who are sent forward to make sense of this conflict. Behind the regressive state was one of promise and the potential of war crimes against non-belligerents was too much to ignore. The Word Assembly banner would be worn proudly once more.

by **Mount Zeon** » Thu Oct 17, 2019 9:50 am

Allanea wrote:
To: Richard Truth, Grand Marshal of Mount Zeon
From: Baroness Priscilla Stossel-Conde, Minister of War of the Free Kingdom of Allanea
Subject: Preparations

Greetings, Minister!

The Bible says: Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. My people are even now preparing the equipment for transport. For counterintelligence reasons it's going to be marked as a donation for your farming community but of course this is a pure precaution.

The purpose, as I see it, for the force Allanea will send, is to assist your nation in a war against the Muskegonians over the fate of the Labrador Valley. For this purpose, I propose approximately the following division of labor:

1. A small force of instructors to embed at your training facilities and assist in the training of your troops, or of various citizen militia groups, under your military's supervision, in the use of various needful weaponry, etc.

2. A force (no more than 1-2 battalions) of air defense batteries, to protect key locations from long-range weapon attacks and air strikes by the Muskegonians, similar to the missile attacks which they themselves had undergone from your forces. One cannot expect that we exist in a universe in which the Muskegonians are so foolish as not to imitate your progress in this area.

3. A force of long-range artillery (a variety of systems are available as you know, in theory capable of covering the entire Valley in their range or even reaching into Muskegonia itself with their fire), no greater than perhaps 2-3 battalions (about 72 launchers of various types).

This force, I believe, will be able to substantially assist you without causing too much consternation among our national elite.

Yours,
Priscilla

To the Allanean Ministry of War:
I have been authorized to accept your offer of military assistance. On behalf of Father John, I express my thanks to your King King Alexander Blaken-Kazansky for coming to the aid of his fellow men in Mount Zeon, as God commands all men to act in charity and brotherhood.

The only condition we insist on is that your forces be committed to acting in full subordinate cooperation with the Army of Mount Zeon. This will ensure that the powerful tools you offer will be wielded in the best way to achieve the results desired by Father John and the Grand Marshal.

I will attach the relevant and necessary means of communicating with our authorities in our principal port New Kirtland and our principal airport in New Jerusalem, so that your forces’ arrival by sea or air will be smooth and without disruption. Once arrived in Mount Zeon you will be provided transportation to New Argyle, current headquarters of General Randall Flynn who is commanding our forces along the border with Muskegonia.

Yours in Truth,
James Pleasant
Foreign Minister

Muskegonia wrote:The Whitetail Cougars had patrons with deep pockets. Luther Monroe and a few other wealthy landowners funded the militia as a way of forcing Zeonese settlers off land which they could then buy and sell to Muskegonian farmers. To accomplish this goal, they had used their money to acquire weapons and equipment for the militia and bribe the local government into providing things they could not easily buy directly. The force of several dozen Whitetail Cougars, each one clutching an automatic rifle, clambered onto a single six-by-six truck and a bunch of pickups. One of the pickup trucks had a heavy machine gun bolted to the roof, pointing forward and manned by a grinning militiaman.

Organizing the preparations for the move to the Cumberly homestead was the Sheriff of the town of Sullivan, George Todd. Sam Duncan, the owner of one of the general stores in town, served as another leader for the angry mob of armed men. They herded their “soldiers” onto the beds of the vehicles, then hoisted themselves up into the cab of the truck and started the engine. The convoy pulled out of the town of Sullivan and made its way up to the Labrador Valley towards the Cumberly farm. As the ad-hoc army got close, some of the men began to dismount and walk alongside the vehicles. They strayed to the sides of the rough dirt road, peering into the woods on either side for any sign of Zeon scouts or an ambush.

The Battle of Cumberly Farm

The young man found himself once again low to the ground with a rifle in hand. He’d volunteered to go out with the men who would be the first to “greet” the Muskegonians coming towards the Cumberly farm. The spotters in their raised blinds would once again radio in when they spotted the convoy of vehicles headed towards the farm. They also noted the presence of the technical-style armed pickup. That made the young man and the others crouched or kneeling in their ambush positions nervous. Heavy weapons like that were well above anything the Association had access to. But one of the men in the group had served some time in a Fencible unit before coming out to the Labrador Valley. He spread the word of what he remembered from the small amount of training he’d gotten on emplaced weapons. The gun would be limited in how far it could turn.

“Make sure you’re on the side or behind,” he explained in a low voice. “Don’t let them catch you in front.”

The young man and his companions kept that in mind as they waited. They could hear the sound of engines farther down the road. Their plan was simple: surprise the Whitetail Cougars and throw them off-balance before they got to the farm itself. When the ambushers had sown the chaos, they would race back to the farm itself to help the rest of the Associators fight off the incoming attack. They could now hear the sound of vehicle motors close by, which the raiders were close. Everyone hunched into their positions, trying to get just a little bit more out of sight. Unfortunately, someone had chosen a space just a little too close to the road and with not enough peripheral vision. A militiaman nearly tripped over the well-concealed Associator, shouting curses and trying to bring his weapon to bear. The Zeonese man shouted as well, swinging a semi-automatic rifle around and opening fire. It was too soon. The bulk of the column was still outside of the stretch of road that the ambushers had planned to use as their kill zone. But once the gunfire started, everyone chimed in. The sharp cracks of the Association rifles became drowned out by the chattering of assault rifles on full automatic.

The young man, near the far end of the group, couldn’t see much from his position. He aimed and fired a few shots towards the shapes he saw running for cover behind the pickup that had been in the lead, but nothing hit. Then there was a new sound, like a pair of giant hands tearing fabric. The young man paled. The machine gun. Now there were men crying out in pain as massive bullets shattered the flimsy cover piled up by the Associators and tearing into flesh. Another Associator stumbled past the young man, trying to run in a crouch and doing an awkward job of it. “Back to the farm!” The statement was something between a command and an exhortation, full of nerves but tinged with the exhilaration of the adrenaline rush provoked by the shooting. The young man nodded and began to slither backwards out of his spot, trying to get to a spot where he could more easily stand and move. He joined the other Associators, those who could move or be carried, streaming back towards the Cumberly farm.

by **Thermodolia** » Thu Oct 17, 2019 12:34 pm

Cabinet Room,
Presidential Palace,
Thermodolia

“And now on to other matters”, Andrea Summers the Secretary of Defense began signaling the end of the meeting, “the Kingdom of Mount Zeon has become involved in what appears to be a border war”

“So who’s the nation we get to thank for taking care of the backwards Zeonese?” George Dâsèn, the Minister of Health so rudely interrupted.

“That would be Muskegonia, a slave owning white supremacist nation.”

The minister of health turned a deep shade of red as he tried to hide himself in his chair.

“The border conflict is over a region called the Labrador Valley. The valley is extremely fertile with many prime areas for farming there. The Muskegonians claim the entire valley is theirs while the Zeonese claim that the valley is split between both nations. One important thing to note is that the Zeonese have given up the practice of forced labor and have a more egalitarian nation in regards to ethnicity.

The conflict has already attracted many nations to the area including Allanea. It also seems that a foreign power has attacked the Muskegonians oil refineries, the Zeonese do not have the capability of conducting such an attack especially one involving missiles. Intelligence has reported that the missiles are most likely sub based as there where no surface ships of foreign origin in the region.”

President Zarman had been silent for most of the meeting only interjecting when needed.

“Issue a statement calling on foreign nations to withdraw from the region and for more peaceful means to end this conflict. The Allaneans won’t like it one bit but they will have to get over it. In the meantime we’ll continue to monitor the situation but I don’t want us involved in this affair.”

The members of the cabinet nodded in agreement.

“Good that settles that. This cabinet meeting is now adjourned” President Zarman said as he rose from his seat. “Secretary Summers could you meet me in my office?”

As the president and secretary Summers walked through the door that connected the Cabinet Room to the President’s Office they found Director Alyssa Braghart of the Thermodolian Secret Service, Thermodolia’s top Intelligence agency, standing in the office waiting for them.

“Good morning Mr President”

“Morning. Now let’s just get down too it,” President Zarman was not one for small talk preferring to get down to business quickly, “we all know that we don’t like Mount Zeon or Muskegonia so I want to hurt both of them.”

“How do we plan on doing that?”

“Simple. We secretly aid both of them without the other or the world knowing”

“Aid slavers and white supremists? Are you nuts sir?” Andrea asked shocked at the suggestion.
“We don’t have to aid them enough to win just enough to keep them and the Zeonese fighting for as long as possible. Think Iran-Iraq war, only we are funding both sides.”

“Fair enough. Though this seems more like a job for the TSS than the TDOD. Why am I here?”

“Because I want ship them both weapons and use covert operations if necessary. That’s where the TDOD comes in. You think we can do that?”

“Yes I think it’s possible to get Special Operations into the region and to ship them weapons.” Andrea said as a matter of factly.

“Good. If we use SpecOps I don’t want to know about it. You have full power to launch any specOps in the region Madam Secretary. Now Alyssa I need to have messages and agents sent to these nations to coordinate our plans”

“I’ll have my nearest stations officer send the messages and the agents”

“Good then everything is settled”

Thermodolian Statement

For Immediate Release:

To all involved foreign nations in the Labrador Valley conflict; this war is not our fight. We have no reason or right to insert ourselves into this conflict. This matter is between Mount Zeon and Muskegonia and they alone should be the ones to solve it.

The Thermodolian Government asks all foreign nations that are involved in this affair to cease their operations and strive for a peaceful solution.

To the nations of Mount Zeon and Muskegonia I ask that a peaceful solution be found that doesn’t end up in further bloodshed to either of your peoples.

Sincerely,
Steven Williams, Secretary of State

The Labrador Valley War (MT, Open but see OOC)

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