The Damoclean Thread Breaks [Closed. Attn: Gholgoth]

[The Kraven Corporation]

“One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them.”
― Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

Occupied Vetalia.
0900 Hours, Standard Imperial Time.
Northern Gholgoth

Reich Ministry of Occupation and Labour Allocation.

The former Government building had been stripped down, many of its opulent fixings had been removed, scrapped or simply burnt, excessive decoration was not something The Reich tolerated at all, it was surplus to requirements, expended excessive resources when it served no function, no real function, to a normal person, it might have sparked happiness, a sense of achievement, success or was something to simply be enjoyed, but to the Reich it was folly. The corridors of the building, once lined with curtains, stained slightly by the tar of many cigarettes smoked long into the night were now bare and empty, tables that were adorned with a simple vase and flowers had gone, nothing replaced them, just the cold grey stone of the building, footsteps echoed all around, their sound no longer deadened by the fittings, it gave the building a tomb like feel, but yet was home to many of the staff who still got a sense of familiarity from the otherwise barren expanse of corridors and rooms.

Governor Haskins stood at his table, it was a large oak table, highly polished and one of his favourite possessions, he had convinced the Capitol Police that he needed such a large table for all of the work he was prepared to do for them, he would need the space to study all of the files and documents that would certainly pass through his office, he often chuckled to himself, the Reich one of the most technologically advanced nations in Gholgoth still operated with a paper document system, everything meticulously documented, written down, stored in folders, stamped several times, he had no idea why they didn't use computers like everyone else, even like Vetalia before the Reich Occupation, he shrugged his shoulders to himself...

Smoking had been outlawed by The Reich, you could still get hold of a packet of cigarettes, but it was a lot harder, the black market was thriving, although it was highly risky, anyone could be an informer, even the black marketeer, he pulled a packet out from his desk and lit up, taking a long drag and letting the smoke rise gently into the air, he savoured its taste for a moment before realising that a delegation from The Reich were due to arrive soon, still it helped to calm his nerves, it was always a tense meeting with the Reich, you never knew what they were going to say when they arrived.

He stubbed the cigarette out in an ash tray, making sure it was completely out then put the whole thing into the drawer of his desk, he opened the window wide and leaned out slightly, "A black APC..." he though to himself... "They are here" he could see the black figures walking up the steps, he straightened out his tunic and sat at his table, clenching his fists and resting them on the desk, sure enough, he could hear their footsteps long before they arrived, the lock step, sounding more like it was just one person rather than two or three, "How do they do it, I wonder, how do they keep in time, possibly the Relay? or drilled into them at birth? it's always so perfect" he thought to himself as they entered, he stood up and gave them a crisp, extended right arm salute, they returned the gesture, again in perfect time, it amazed him, it was like they were one person acting together.

"Hauptsturmfurhrer, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Haskins spoke, his voice cracking a little as he spoke, he never knew how to speak to Capitol Police

"Small talk is excessive." The Officer spoke, his voice cold and devoid of emotion, he pulled out of his briefcase a dossier, he passed it to Haskins who held it in his hands for a moment before placing it down on the desk, it was unmarked, usually they have some kind of title or stamp on the front, this was blank. "odd" He thought to himself.

"My apologies Hauptsturmfurher, what is this dossier"

"Production reports for the last six months." The Officer watched Haskins response with cold, grey eyes.

"Oh, I see, I have done everything in my power to ensure that production remains at the desired levels."

"And yet Production is down at several sectors, Governor"

"I can assure you Haupsturmfurhrer, I have everything under control, the problematic sectors of Vetalia are being dealt with, the KVF are doing as much as they can."

"Sabotage, a production facility bombed, a KVF Garrison ambushed, We do not need to continue, but we can continue to list your failings if so desired Governor"

"No, no no!" His nerves started to show in his voice, the sweat forming beads on his forehead, if they wouldn't shoot him on the spot he would most certainly light a cigarette...

"I will double my efforts Haupsturmfurher, I can guarantee that everything that can be done is being done." He held his open hands out, waving at the dossiers laid out in front of him, KVF Deployments, garrisons and other such matters, problems that all fell at his door.

"There is no need, Governor, your efforts are obviously not enough to bring the task into hand, production has been down consistently for six months." The Officer began to rise from his seat, exactly at the same time, the other two also rose...

"Then what should I do?" Haskins looked up at the officer as the full height of the man loomed over at the still seated Governor...

"Nothing, The Reich has decided to assume direct control of Vetalia."

All the Governor could must was a quiet "Oh..." he sat back into his chair...

"Prepare your affairs Governor, a Capitol Police unit will arrive shortly to relieve you of your Command."

"As you wish Hauptsturmfurhrer" He stood up now and gave a crisp right armed salute, the Officers did not return the gesture, it was a wasted effort on someone who was now surplus to requirements...

He waited until he saw the Officers leave the building and climb into the back of the APC, he picked up the telephone that was buried under a mountain of papers and wound the handle several times, a female voice answered...

"Sarah, its Haskins, look, No, I don't have time to explain, but does your boyfriend still do a bit of black market work on the side?" He paused for moment..

"No, Sarah, calm down, listen, listen... LISTEN TO ME GOD DAMMIT WOMAN!" He shouted, down the phone, his hair coming loose slightly and sticking to the damp sweat on his forehead...

"Sarah, I need your help, listen to me very carefully, I need you to get me a travel permit from your boyfriend, yes, I know, I don't care how much it costs, I just need one" He paused again, fumbling about in the draw for his cigarettes...

"Thank your Sarah, now listen, I need you to get your things out of the Office, the Capitol Police will be here shortly, No, I don't know, but you don't want to be here when they arrive, Ok, Thank you again, I'll see you later at yours this evening, Ok, bye..." He put the phone down and placed a cigarette in his mouth, he lit it with a match and took a long drag, it was time to go....

[Vetalia]

Vetalian State, Torzhok Listening Station, Vetalia City Province

The air conditioning clicked on as the State personnel listened in on the phone calls from Haskins, the Propraetor of Vetalia City and the proclamations from the Reich.

Kriegsmarine Fregattenkapitän Donald Scott listened in as well, his face drawn with worry and deep sadness. A veteran of the War and survivor of the imposition of the State, he tried his best to keep things going but these words from on top chilled him to the bone. He was one of the countless Londinian immigrants in the aftermath of the War but he remembered that the Vetalians had given them a home when their own was lost, welcoming them with cheers. He was known as a kind, compassionate man who saved many people from death when the Reich came to dominate Vetalia. He listened to the Reich's communiques, hating the badge on his arm.

"The Reich has decided to assume direct control of Vetalia." Not without killing every one of us he thought. Pausing to light a black market cigarette he continued and played the recording.

"Sarah, its Haskins, look, No, I don't have time to explain, but does your boyfriend still do a bit of black market work on the side? LISTEN TO ME GOD DAMMIT WOMAN!" Sarah, I need your help, listen to me very carefully, I need you to get me a travel permit from your boyfriend, yes, I know, I don't care how much it costs, I just need one" He paused again, fumbling about in the draw for his cigarettes...thank your Sarah, now listen, I need you to get your things out of the Office, the Capitol Police will be here shortly, No, I don't know, but you don't want to be here when they arrive, Ok, Thank you again, I'll see you later at yours this evening, Ok, bye..."

Flashing his badge he commandeered one of the last Vetalian government cars in service and drove towards Vetalia City, its chrome tailfins glimmering in the night.

[The Kraven Corporation]

"You tricked me, Hangman!" I shouted then. "That your scaffold was built for other men. And I no henchman of yours," I cried, "You lied to me, Hangman, foully lied!"

Then a twinkle grew in his buckshot eye: "Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said, "Not I. For I answered straight and I told you true: The scaffold was raised for none but you.

"For who has served me more faithfully than you with your coward's hope?" said he, "And where are the others that might have stood side by your side in the common good?"

"Dead," I whispered; and amiably "Murdered," the Hangman corrected me; "First the alien, then the Jew... I did no more than you let me do."

Beneath the beam that blocked the sky, none had stood so alone as I - and the Hangman strapped me, and no voice there cried "Stay" for me in the empty square.

Fortress Arcadia
Border Checkpoint 13
0930 Hours
Northern Gholgoth


The convoy of armoured eight wheeled APC's moved with frightening speed, they were powered by massive twin V12 engines, their roar was the only thing that could be heard over the whine of tyres designed to run more off the road than on the road, the Reich didn't bother to fit mufflers to the exhausts deeming them an excessive requirement, the engines and tyres were loud enough anyway so why bother trying to quieten down the exhaust noise, the Kriegsmarine on guard at the checkpoint saw the convoy approach, the checkpoint itself was heavily fortified with a long border wall and stretched the width of the country, from shore to shore, protected by gun emplacements and FlaK towers it was an imposing sight, Capitol Police Garrisons punctured the wall every twenty-five kilometres, but most of the checkpoints were manned by Kriegsmarine, the barrier was lifted and the vehicles passed without stopping, the soldiers on guard knew better than to stop the APC's, only Capitol Police moved around in these vehicles, black and imposing they were a symbol of the Reich's mobility and ability to deploy Capitol Police efficiently and at a moments notice.

Already in Vetalia City Capitol Police set about the task ahead, these were stationed in the city and had been deployed from local garrisons, their heavy boots impacted into the tarmac of the streets as they moved into position, cars had already been outlawed, but The Reich wanted to control the flow of people, several carried large wooden barriers ringed with barbed wire, they placed them at an angle in the middle of the street covering the pavement and the roads, meaning that anyone wanting to move out of the street would have to pass through the narrow choke point, already people in the street began to act in panic, mild at first, The Reich often conducted operations, but something was different, the Capitol Police were not supported by Londinium KVF soldiers, there were only Capitol Police here and anyone getting too close to the barriers were shoved back with an MG42 and orders to stay back barked through the amplified vox caster mounted to the gas masks of the Capitol Police.

Haskins looked out of his window and could hear the commotion below... "It's already started" he thought to himself, turning on his heel he grabbed the briefcase from under the desk, it was black leather something that he'd managed to keep hold of during the Reich's occupation, stuffing papers and documents that he thought would be useful, he filled it as much as he could, chucking his packet of cigarettes in as well, better they were in here than on his person, he grabbed his long trench coat as he left the office and thundered down the stairs, his black jackboots making a distinct sound against the marbled staircase, he didn't have much time, he only hoped that Sarah had managed to get her boyfriend to source the ID papers he needed to leave the country, he hoped he could make it to the docks before The Reich shut off travel all together, it wouldn't take them long to move in on the docks, he knew for a fact that reinforcements from The Fortress would be on their way...

He ran down the street as fast as he feet could carry him, as long as he got home to begin with that was better than remaining in the Government building and having to deal with the Capitol Police first hand, another thought crossed his mind what if they had anticipated his move and already had Troopers stationed outside his home, it was a risk he was going to have to take, ahead of him a crowd had formed, he could see things scattered across the road, an open briefcase had been dropped, its contents scattered across his path, an overturned pram lay to one side, a bag of shopping had been dropped in a panic, fruit and tins rolled across the tarmac as Haskins approached the crowd, he could hear people crying, pushing and jostling trying to get past the barrier that had now been erected suddenly and without any warning...

"Let us past you bastards!" one voice shouted, Haskins pushed his way towards the front, sliding past people who were trying their hardest to get to the front, he could hear the bark of Capitol Police instructing people to stay back from the barrier, that cold bark, the robotic tone of the voice, Haskins shouted, "I am Governor Haskins, I need to get through, let me past" He shouted as loudly as he could, trying his hardest to be heard over the commotion, try as he might, almost making his voice hoarse, the Capitol Police either didn't hear him or didn't care, or worse they had already been instructed that his name and his title no longer carried any weight, another barked order, more shouting and crying, he sore a woman holding her baby, she must had ditched the pram as soon as the barrier went up, he knew what was coming it was only a matter of time before the Capitol Police started shooting to make their point heard, he turned to her...

"I'm Governor Haskins, or at least I was, you need to get away from the barrier, get back and find another way around, The Capitol Police won't tolerate disruption for long, the shooting will begin sooner rather than later" her eyes widened with horror and she pushed her way through the crowd and got away, Haskins followed as quickly as he could, someone had pulled up a cobble from the street and threw it at a Trooper, it his him squarely in the chest, unphased by the missile, they stood back in one swift motion, putting a good five feet between them and the crowd, their MG42's were brought to bear, with a swift action the cocking handle was pulled back and shoved into place, the crowd had stopped screaming and shouting, instead they stood in a chilling silence, as the Capitol Police opened fire, the first dozen people were cut down instantly, the bullets smashing into their bodies without any resistance, the MG42's continued to bark, cutting down more people as the crowd now turned and fled, Haskins heard the report from the MG42's he knew how the Capitol Police think, it was only a matter of time, he moved as quickly as he could, being carried along now with others from the crowd, try as he might it was almost impossible to see where he was going, the people ran in frantic groups, they bumped into him, pushed him, his briefcase split open, sending its contents flying out, he bent down and grabbed as many papers as he could and stuffed them into his pockets, the screaming of people was intense, the noise of the MG42's grew louder, he could only assume they had crossed the barrier and were pushing down the street to ensure that there was a buffer zone between them and the street...

He was swept away with the crowd and had no idea if he would survive until tomorrow never mind the night.

[Vetalia]

Outskirts of Vetalia City, Near Terekhovo

As Commander Scott expected, the old VLCM Patrician made it about 25km along the M-2 before it gave up the ghost, laid low by running on a mix of decade-old gasoline and fuel stabilizer. However, it got him close enough to his destination and that was all that mattered at this point. Out of respect for the venerable old car, a simple memorial of happier times, he steered it gently to the side of the highway offramp as its engine died and put it in park to make sure it didn't roll backward.

It was no small irony that the highways of the Vetalian State were even better maintained than they were in the days before, consisting of many hundreds of thousands of kilometers of freshly ribbons laid concrete and asphalt pavements criss-crossing the entire country. When the State had come to power, it had invested huge sums in infrastructure to win over the population to its rule, promising the restrictions on personal automobiles were merely a temporary measure and promising these improvements as a sign of the glorious future to come. Now, these vast highways served little purpose other than well-maintained transit routes for the Reich and its logistical infrastructure. The M-2 was particularly unimportant for this role as the M-1 already serviced the formally occupied portion of the Vetalian Peninsula, leaving it as little more than a backup route.

The area around was completely dark with a waxing gibbous moon rising above a sky scattered with untold thousands of stars. A decade ago this would have been an impossible sight this close to the City, the sheer light pollution from the urban areas and suburban sprawl had long made it a dead zone for any kind of astronomy. Don paused for a moment to light a cigarette and look up for a bit before realizing why it was so clear. He shivered as he looked around him.

Along the sides of the highway overpass, the young secondary forests and thick tangles of roadside brush and weeds were overgrowing a vast stretch of abandoned buildings. Gas stations, roadside restaurants, banks, fast food stops, hotels...all rotting and returning to their primordial state, empty shells with dead, black eyes for windows. Abandoned houses too, whole neighborhoods of them, dead schools and rotting churches he thought, taking another drag off of his cigarette and shivered again. All I need is a god damn loon call and this will be complete. he thought. As if on cue, a loon called out from a pond nearby and Don busted out laughing, his fear taken away by the sheer cinematic perfection of the situation. He looked around some more, relaxed and totally at ease.

A tower crane stood over an abandoned hotel construction site just past the highway offramp that nobody from the State had bothered to dismantle, as did a bevy of weather-beaten advertisements for Prima Cigarettes, Vetalian-Londinian Consolidated Motors' 2009 Patrician, Bank of Vetalia's Super Savers CD Special (ends 8/2009) and another huge billboard advertising in the pre-War Cyrillic cursive now outlawed...wide eyed he translated the billboard from Vetalian Cyrillic to English...

United We Are Strong! United We Will Win! Speed Production! Help British Londinium, Defend Vetalia!

A massive boot with the Freekish emblem threatened Vetalia City in the faded portrait with the other foot on British Londinium as guns branded with Londinian, Vetalian and Confederate flags fired back.

Don stared at it for another second. "You've got to be shitting me, the State and the Reich forgot about this little gem? Bunch of god damn clowns..." A moment of fear struck him as he realized the punishment that would face him if he'd said that a mere hour or so ago, but then he realized nobody was listening in this place other than the insects, bats and loons. If anyone had been interested or watching this place these offensive monuments would have been long since destroyed. For several minutes he screamed out a litany of profanity against the Reich, its officials and all of the rest of the people who made this hellhole happen before calming down, lighting a cigarette and remembering his purpose, musing out loud over his station map.

"The Red Line starts at Terekhovo, less than three kilometers from this overpass; the checkpoint at the edge of town is KVF-2 rank for incoming clearance with immediate passage without search for KVF-4 and above, even on foot, so no problems for me there. The Reich won't bother to station at that point anyways as M-2 is dead and even if they were they won't be able to make it by then. Three Red Line stops from there is Hab-115, Bogotol. Sarah's address is just off the train station near the Vetalian Post office...I'll be at sis' well before dawn."

[The Kraven Corporation]

Outskirts of Vetalia City, Near Terekhovo
Northern Gholgoth
2200 Hours Standard Imperial Time

The M2 Transit highway was generally quiet, it was out of bounds to all Vetalian citizens apart from those in the KVF who had clearance enough to use it, the highway had been improved once the Reich took hold, the infrastructure required to move the immense amounts of resources had to be improved if it was to be efficient, usually the highway was used by heavy military trucks carrying containers filled with Vetalian Pattern MG42's, these MG's were different to the standard issue MG42's made in Fortress Norska and Fortress Cydonia, there they used a hard black plastic, in Vetalia however the craftsmenship of the workforce opted to use wooden fittings, expertly carved and varnished for a proper finish, these weapons would be highly sought after by collectors in some distant future.

The first idea that something was coming, were the un-silenced roar of twin V12 engines, there was only one thing in the Reich that used such a configuration, KoenigsJaeger heavy main battle tank. the convoy was moving with speed, heading towards Vetalia City, each of these heavily armoured machines had a Capitol Police Commander sitting in an open cupola, they had no reason to be concerned about possible sniper fire, here on the M2 was a cleared area, any access to civilians was highly restricted and citizens knew better than to enter restricted areas without clearance, the column of tanks stretched off into the distance as each one passed the abandoned town, this one was marked for demolition at a later date, its services ripped up and recycled into useful metals that would later be stamped into ammunition belts or casings for MG42's.


Vetalia City.

The Armoured APC stood idling in the city square, its exhausts giving off two gentle plumes of white vapour in the cold night time air, the little cloud was back lit by the flood lights that had been set up in the square, Capitol Police stood on watch as Vetalian citizens had been brought to the square, about twenty six civilians were kneeling on the ground as a Capitol Police Officer and two adjutants walked along the line of people, the adjutants had clipboards and they read off civilian names, marking down those who were accounted for as each civilian dutifully raised a hand, two other Officers were stood in the square, they were pointing at a map of the city and discussing various plans for the operation.

"Road blocks to be extended to these locations, two units of Totenkopf Extermination Troopers are on standby should you meet any resistance once the clear out begins, each house is to be systematically cleared before moving on, all civilians have been ordered to comply"

"Affirmative, Central Command has confirmed that units from the 51st Schwere Abteilung are on route and will be here within the hour."

"Acknowledged" The first Officer replied, he continued "The Operation will be split into three phases, Phase one will be a rounding up of civilians, should resistance be met, Phase two begins, were the Totenkopf will move in and deal with resistance, should resistance continue, shift to phase three, the 51st will move into the city and begin a systematic demolition of areas where resistance is continuing."

"Affirmative, By your Command" The Second Officer threw a stiff right arm salute before stalking off with that perfect walk the Capitol Police are known for.

Vetalia City Harbour

The screaming and mass panic at the harbour was deafening, the killing in the city had started several hours ago and word had spread quickly, instantly people had decided the safest way out of the country was the docks, in a blind panic people had fled from the city, running as a mass exodus of people, moving as one mass of people, bodies lay in the street where they had fallen, crushed by the stampede of people, suitcases lay scattered about with their contents strewn across the pavement, overturned prams abandoned in shop doorways, broken glass littering the sidewalks, twinkling in the eerie moonlight like slithers of ice, those who were opportunists had stayed behind, trying to break into abandoned shops, stealing what they could, they only met the Capitol Police following the movement of people, they were quickly strung from lampposts, a grim reminder of what was in store for those who remained.

The boats at the harbour were brimming with people, every space of deck had been overloaded, people stood on railings, others clung to the ropes, more and more people were screaming, pleading with crew members to let them on board, some offered money, anything of value they had with them to try and secure passage away from Vetalia, it was a humanitarian nightmare beginning to unfold, a crew man fought his way onto the bridge, pushing through the packed deck to reach the Captain who was a man who's face was etched with worry.

"Captain, we can't take anymore on board, there just simply isn't anymore room"

"Surely there is space, seaman?"

The crew man shook his head and looked at his feet in despair "Anymore Captain and we risk capsizing when we leave the dock"

"Very well, Seaman, we have taken as much as we can, I only hope history will look upon us favourably, we did all we could..."

An explosion from the dock entrance caught his attention, he grabbed his binoculars and focused in on where the sound had come from, a black APC had smashed through the gates and detonated its anti personnel grenade mounted to the front of the vehicle, its 20mm Heavy Machine Gun barked away as it approached the dockside followed closely behind it by Capitol Police who moved in formation, their MG42's held ready, occasionally they would open fire as a civilian attempted to escape from the carnage that the APC was unleashing...

The Captains eyes widened with horror as he let go of the binoculars, he turned to the seaman with a pained expression..

"ORDER THEM TO CUT THE ROPES"

"Sir?"

"THE CAPITOL POLICE ARE HERE, CUT THE GODDAMNED ROPES"

"SIR! At Once!" He turned on his heel, and exited the bridge, shouting as loudly as he could to cut the mooring ropes holding the ship to the dock.

The Captain grabbed the telephone down to the engineering section..

"Get the engines started, get us moving, all ahead full. I don't care if the engines aren't warmed up, i'll deal with the consequences later, Get them started, get them to all ahead full, that is a direct order"

The funnels of the ship, the exhausts belched out a think plume of black smoke, already the ship was moving away, people clinging to the sides fell, screaming as they dropped into the water, crewmen with axes worked on the ropes, cutting each one away and letting countless people who were trying to shim up the rope fall into the cold water or onto the hard surface of the dock, the screaming grew intense as people realised that the ship was leaving, some jumped into the water in an attempt to get aboard, the desperation of these people was unimaginable...

The Captain looked back towards the dock as the ship increased the distance between itself and the harbour, he could see the report of MG42 muzzle flashes and for a moment he let himself shed a tear, he did everything he could yet, he felt guilty, he could have put some people in the bridge, in his personal quarters in the crew quarters, anywhere, in the engine rooms, it didn't matter though, it was too late now... too late to help those still on the dockside...

[Auman]

In the suburb of November City, a man walked the sleepy streets. It was five in the morning and the sun wouldn't be up for another three hours. Fog rolled in off the ocean, carrying with it the faint scent of tropical Milenka... At least, this is what John Rian imagined, as the acrid aroma of decaying life unveiled by low tide wafted into his nostrils. Remus was a temperate country, not often written about as an idyllic paradise... It was common among the citizens here to dream of being anywhere else. Though John had visited many countries, it didn't take long for him to pine for the broad rivers and majestic, snow capped, mountains of home. This was also the trend of Remans abroad, realizing the grass wasn't always greener on the other side and redoubling their patriotism.

Jagada was good for a cheap weekend. He never rented the girls, though. If there was ever a nation John would prefer his nation treat with more closely, it'd be them. As thoughts of cheap liquor and dazzling lights flooded his sleep deprived mind, John was snapped back to reality by the chirping of a controlled crosswalk. He checked both ways out of habit, this part of town was closed to vehicle traffic months back after an incident involving a rental van and a ton of ammonium nitrate. He could see what remained of the Space Intelligence Office, which looked like a caved in rib cage. The only thing that kept the structure standing was the burly elevator shaft that ran up the center like its spine. The suspects were still at large, but the investigation was keeping him busy.

John was an analyst at the Remus Central Security Service. His path to work took him down sidewalks lined with tall cedar hedges, which tastefully concealed wrought iron fences, now backed by HESCO barriers and topped with several rows of razor wire. A camera tracked him down the walk and he waved at it, as was his tradition. He could tell the morning commute was nearly at an end when he got to the Greater Dienstad Intelligence Office. The boys inside weren't usually so overworked, but that business between the Scands and the Macabees had them working overtime the last while.

Lazy rascals, John mused to himself, About time you did some work.

The GDIO was a curious building, six stories tall and mostly shaded glass and steel, aside from the concrete facade that glittered in the light. The building was built in the 1960s and back then, someone figured it would be the height of aesthetic architecture to mix broken beer bottles in with the stucco. One should be careful not to lean on the exterior, since men in the past have gashed themselves up.

In the Dienstad Office, each floor was assigned a sub region of responsibility and every floor had desks responsible for a particular nation. Rian chuckled at the thought, as he turned the corner and began the long walk down a purposefully unadorned street leading to his office.

The Kraven Reich Intelligence Office was twenty stories of harsh grey reinforced concrete, circled with various barriers and automated machine gun nests. On the roof were snipers and anti-tank teams. The entire landscape was barren, aside from the occasional ditch filled with electrified water. It was a bloody fortress. John checked his watch and saw he had plenty of time to get through the security checks and even grab a cup of coffee before the morning meeting.

The first checkpoint was nestled between a pair of Nakil A5FT main battle tanks. He was waved through by Tom, the Sergeant Major of three battalion, and the men exchanged pleasantries. Every checkpoint grew more exacting, guards asked questions and verified documents. They confirmed his identity, as they did every day, with body heat imagers, instant DNA tests, retinal scans, finger print records and even personal questions.

"How's your cat?" Asked a soldier he'd never seen before, wearing a floppy boonie hat.

"I don't have a cat." Answered John.

"Damn right you don't." Said the soldier, waving him through the final hurdle.

A pair of thick, charcoal grey, blastdoors slid open revealing a marble white lobby. He strode in confidently greeting Melinda, the front end receptionist. He knew she was with the army and likely had an assault rifle under her desk, but he preferred to ignore it and play the game.

"Melinda." John winked and greeted her. She smiled, even blushed a little, and said "John."

The two has been dancing around the obvious for some time now. John was a handsome man, he always knew it, and Melinda was an attractive woman. They had similar tastes and interests... The only impediment to their romance was the overwhelming fact that John was a coward. With women, at least. He leaned on her desk for a moment, pursed his lips to say something, which Melinda waited expectantly to hear, then tapped his watch and left abruptly.

You absolutely foolish cretin! John berated himself as the door to the elevator closed.

When he got to his floor, he made a quick beeline to the lunch room and poured himself a coffee before swinging by his desk to grab the report he had worked on the night before. Dane, the graveyard intelligence watchman was there waiting for him, sitting on the desk with a handful of papers.

"Get a load of this, Jack." Dane said, slapping the papers on the jade green inkblotter.

"It's John, thank you." He qqsaid, appraising them. They were satellite photographs. As he sipped his coffee, the pictures began to make sense.

"Jack is a tough name, bud. You should go with it." Dane said with a devilish smile. The man was just trying to help him, John knew this... And it irritated him. His insecurities were so obvious that people felt he needed any help at all.

"I'd much prefer to keep my name the way it is, thank you!" John said, feigning good cheer.

"Alright, alright... Just figured you'd fit in better down here on the coast. You Islanders have a tough time of it. Anyway, we caught these stills last night. They're out of occupied Vetalia, something is going down. I've updated your brief and we'll present it together at the meeting. The Commander already knows, but we've been given the honor."

Dane ran John through the specifics as they refilled their coffee cups on the way to the conference room. When they arrived, they noticed that the room had filled up fast and the others were speaking in hushed tones. Word had already gotten out that there was Reich activity. Usually, information was sparse and satellite imagery couldn't penetrate the thick ash clouds over Fortress Norska. It was an enigma and their office were the greatest speculators in the country.

Commander Tolacke was at the head of a great huge table, with a clipboard in hand.

"Can I get your attention, everyone? Please?" Tolacke, a bookish man in a tweed jacket with leather patches sewn to the elbows, asked far too quietly. To his side was Sub-Commander Poltaur, a brazen maniac originally from Special Unit, and probably still was, now assigned to the Intelligence Desk. Word had it, he was feeding information directly to strike teams and death squads. It didn't bother John much, but it was kind of galling that they decided to infiltrate his service agency instead of going through the proper channels and bloody asking for the information like they were supposed to.

Poltaur held up a hand and the conference room became deafeningly silent. Tolacke nodded appreciatively at his Sub-Commander.

"Today, we were going to start the briefing with some discussion about Kravenic breeding centers." Tolacke began, before being interrupted by the hooting, hollering and catcalls of the men and women assembled.

One of them shouted "Hubba hubba!"

Another, "Come to daddy!"

Tolacke furrowed his brow and Poltaur shook his head, bringing a renewed silence.

"Kravenic breeding is done at in vitro sites. Quite brutally I may add. It's terrible." Tolacke continued. "It's not really anything to joke about."

Now the whole room felt guilty.

"No," said the Commander, "we won't be discussing that today because we have satellite images taken from occupied Vetalia that suggest a major occurrence is taking place."

[Auman]

Sub-Commander Poltaur was going over the details of the photographs, the lights in the conference room were off with only the projector, and the bright red cherries of lit cigarettes, offering any light to see by.

"Given the nature of the Reich, I believe the Capitol Police were seizing the port to make use of it for resource extraction and catching these refugees in flight was just the icing on the cake. In previous imagery, we had noticed a few things, construction of container stuffing sites has exploded since Vetalia fell. In fact, the entire shipping industry seems geared towards moving product out of the country. Hardly anything is retained for domestic use beyond the barest of essentials. What ever comes in to the country is materiel used to facilitate the removal of the nation's natural wealth... Mining and logging equipment... Machine guns... Things like that. If I were to take a guess, we are about to witness two things. A total mobilization of the nation towards the enrichment of their Kravenic masters and the greatest humanitarian disaster since the Jagadan extermination event." Poltaur's mood was grim, his voice gravelly and filled with concern.

John was listening quietly, flipping a few ideas around in his head, when his mind turned to something he recalled from his research. It was nothing particularly important, he judged. Not something he would need to interrupt the briefing for.

"We have put out feelers with our sister Intel communities. I'm almost certain they have eyes on this. Havensky in particular has had some interesting observations in the pa-"

A notion came to John and the words just spilled from his lips...

"Death Ships."

Dane tapped John on the shoulder, urging him to shut up. Poltaur stopped talking for a moment and searched the dimly lit group of analysts with his eyes. John felt stupid and sunk into his chair, he'd hide under the table if only it wouldn't bring more attention to himself.

Commander Tolacke stood up from his seat and flipped on the lights, the analysts guarded their eyes, wincing.

"Who said that?" Asked Tolacke in a sagely manner.

"It was Rian!" Came a voice from the back. Dane felt embarrassed for his friend. John felt ashamed of himself for bringing the whole briefing to a halt with his outburst.

"Well, Mr. Rian, do you have something to say?" Tolacke hoisted a pair of glasses from his jacket pocket to get a better look at the man.

"Uh... Uh..." Rian was stammering, nervously glancing at everyone as they stared at him. "Uh... It was nothing, just a dumb idea I had."

"Even exceptionally stupid ideas can provide insight, my boy. Let's hear it." Tolacke smiled.

John stood and began to speak, "It's just that the Kraven Reich have been quick to move on the port, but I don't believe it's solely for the purpose of moving raw commodities. Afterall, this terminal is serviced by dockside gantry cranes. This is a container terminal, it moves containers, which are the least efficient means of moving bulk concentrates needed in their manufacturing industries. So why the rush?"

"They want to stop the refugees before they can spread their story." Said someone, probably Dave Kane.

"That may be true," John continued, "but we all know that the Reich doesn't care about bad press. They are solely concerned with resources, infrastructure... The people, they aren't even a secondary concern to them. Not even a tertiary after thought. Not until the people themselves become the resource. When Sub-Commander Poltaur mentioned Havensky, I remembered that they had boarded a Death Ship awhile back. On that ship were cages. In my work, I'm responsible for many duties and one of which requires me to understand some logistics. The cages are used to transport human beings and they are based upon standardized shipping containers, so that the Reich may take advantage of established infrastructure in conquered countries to transport them. I suspect that their urgency in seizing this container terminal, and no doubt others, in Vetalia is because they intend to start transporting human beings to Fortress Norska and elsewhere."

The room was dead silent. Everyone understood the significance of this. They all heard stories about Milograd, Jagada and the myriad of other genocides.

"How many people could they kidnap?" Came Poltaur, sounding angry now.

"There's many, many, factors that go into it." John fished his phone from his pocket and pulled up some facts on the internet before typing values into the calculator.

"Say the Reich had five hundred container vessels capable of accepting only oh... 18,962 twenty foot equivalent unit containers and they pushed eighty people into each TEU, every vessel could move more than one and a half million people."

"That's not right..." Dane grabbed a scrap piece of paper, a number of the others started to follow along with John's math.

"Precisely 1,515,960 people per vessel. Assuming it takes three days to load the ship, two weeks of travel to their destination and two days to discharge the cargo, one ship can move 19,707,480 people per year. Assuming there are five hundred vessels doing this, the Reich can transport nearly ten billion human beings per year. The problem with these figures, however, is that 18,962 TEU is actually quite small for most container ships that sail these days. The reality is that your average ship is significantly larger than that and can carry many more cages."

Dane stood up, clutching his sheet of scratch paper, "Alright, so judging by your low ball figure and analysis, you're telling us that Kraven wants to kidnap every man, woman and child in the country and ship them... Somewhere... And that they can do it in something like three years or less?"

"Yes."

[Vetalia]

Ceterum autem censeo Carthaginem esse delendam - Marcus Porcius Cato

Curia of the Senate of Vetalia, Pax Gothica

The Vetalian Senate-in-exile was convened in an emergency session by Senator Milkail Algorin, with the Praetor of Vetalia Lydia Repina and the rest of the executive branch in session. A massive map was on the northern wall of the Curia showing all of the Vetalian territories that comprised the nation before the War. The venue was itself decorated with rich, dark wood and white marble, with the seats of the Senators the antiquated curule chairs that were a relic of the days long before, back when Vetalia was merely a province of a long-forgotten Empire. The Praetor and her staff looked out over the Senate floor from a small booth in the rear of the hall elevated above the proceeding. The Master of the Senate bashed his fasces to the floor to bring about order and the Senate was dead silent as Senator Algorin approached the podium. He was slim and dressed impeccably in an well-tailored, expensive suit, his hair slicked and side-parted.

"The floor is open. Senator Algorin, proceed with your speech and motion."

"Thank you." Mikhail paused, drawing a breath and lighting his cigarette before beginning, tapping it into an ashtray on the podium before gesturing with it in his hand.

"Fellow Senators, our Republic and our homeland is under siege. The Reich has occupied the southern peninsula and is planning to annex the rest of Vetalia, with untold deaths and chaos that threaten our very existence as a people and as a nation. And yet, the government in exile led by Lydia Repina has done nothing and has said nothing about this crisis!" A roar of applause mixed with protests erupts as Mikhail glances towards Lydia and the other officials in the box.

"Trillions of rubles lost, our nation first occupied by the collaborationists of the State and now at the mercy of that filthiest, most disgusting of enemies...the Reich. Our currency worth less than the paper it is printed on."

"In light of this inaction, I move that the Vetalian Senate proceed with a motion to declare a vote of no confidence in Praetor Repina!"
"Seconded,the Praetor has failed us!" Senator Fedorov, Senator-in-Exile of Nazarovo Province exclaimed followed by shouts of acclamation applause from other emigre Senators.

Algorin smiled at the applause from his side of the Senate floor, staring directly at Praetor Repina from the podium, who simply watched the proceedings silently.

"Motion carries, the matter will brought to the Senate floor for further debate following the response from Senator Chernov to Senator Algorin's address. Continue with your address, Senator, you have two minutes." The Master of the Senate slammed the fasces to the floor of the curia.

Senator Algorin continued, motioning towards the map behind him, his cigarette drawing lines with the smoke, "Look to the map behind you, Senators. The Vetalian territories are known by all of us, in times past the flag of the Empire flew over all these lands. And what is this Senators?," he points to Victoria. "Victoria, the homeland of British Londinium, which our enemies destroyed during their disgusting, unjustified war which savaged our nation but Vetalian resolve reclaimed, with no effort from Praetor Repina, who wanted to 'bury the hatchet' against the enemies who ruined our nation, especially the Reich of all nations! Senators, remember what those bastards did to us and remember that this is a matter of life and death for which nothing less than strong, unequivocal leadership is required. The Reich must be destroyed or we will be destroyed. God be with you." More applause followed.

Mikhail smiled, noting not a single member of the assembly noted his little slip of the tongue regarding the Empire and left the podium quietly as Senator Ivan Chernov approached the podium. A rather short, and quite fat man with a prominent bald spot and dressed in a much less expensive and poorly tailored suit, and a generation older than Algorin, he cut a less-than-impressive figure compared to his rival, but he wore on his lapel something the upstart Senator could never have: the Victoria Cross, the highest Londinian military decoration of the Alliance and War years. He had earned it during an assault on the Cazelians, saving an entire platoon from ambush through his marksmanship and surviving the aftermath via odds that could only be described as miraculous. He held his head up high walking towards the podium as Algorin's party tried to heckle him before the Master of the Senate slammed his fasces again and spoke.

"Silence!"
"Senator Chernov, proceed with your speech."

Ivan began speaking, his accent clearly marking him as a Enclave Vetalian from Mediterranica with the slight tonality to his speech. "Senators of Vetalia, as one of your..."
One of Algronin's allies shouted out at hearing the accent, in a distinctly Londinian twang. "You're not Vetalian, your a god damned 'claver!" Applause erupts from the Algorin side before they realize the extent of the junior Senator's gaffe.

Ivan pauses at the outburst to draw a cigarette and lights it before continuing. "I see we have a comedian on the floor. Senator Algorin, would you be so kind as to let the Senate know how long your associate here has been a citizen of Vetalia?" He eyes the Master of the Senate, who pounds his faces accordingly. "The Senator in charge of the floor demands an answer, Senator Algorin." Faced with this accusation, Algorin turns to his colleague with an expression of sheer embarrassment in his eyes. "How long have you been a citizen, Senator?"

"Ten years, Senator."

Chernov pulls no punches, seething with rage as he continues. "Ten years, that means you were one of the refugees that we rescued from the wreckage of British Londinium and let into our country, and as a sign of gratitude you call me a slur insulting every single one of the god damn Vetalians from the enclaves who pulled together to get you out of that hellhole!"

"But I only-" The junior senator spoke briefly before being silenced by Senator Algorin.

"But you only what? Wanted to make fun of me for my accent? I'm a 'claver', aren't I? What are you? A refugee whose Vetalian is so poor and your accent so strong that it makes you sound like a mush-mouthed hick when you speak Vetalian..." Senator Chernov motioned for an interpreter to ensure the record was correct as he switched to the Londinian Volscian. "'Or is Volscian more comfortable for you, Senator? I know the language as well as you do."

"No sir...I'll return to my seat.

A roar of applause from Chernov's side and a few from Algorin's. Senator Chernov turned towards the Praetorial box. "Praetor Repina and Proconsul of State Ian Smith are the rock upon which we have built our government in exile and I expect no contest regarding our democratically elected representatives."

"Praetor Repina, the floor is yours."

[Kahanistan]

New Masada, Capital of Kahanistan

Kahanistan National News Headquarters

The KNN headquarters was the most heavily fortified building in New Masada, its security larger even than that of the Presidential Residence, a testament to the history of foreign terrorist attacks sponsored against KNN. Surrounded by concrete Jersey barriers, towers with sniping and machine gun posts, and even surface to air missile batteries around the roof, the imposing edifice in central New Masada drew many aspiring journalists and crusaders for free information. For the bravest, willing to take on the most dangerous assignments, a position as a senior correspondent could earn a third to a half of a million shekels a year. That, however, required a graduate degree and five years' journalistic experience. Thousands of KNN journalists were killed abroad every year by agents of hostile foreign powers opposed to their crimes being leaked to the world.

It was into this edifice that sixteen year old Shirin Shirazi walked to interview for her first part time job. A junior at East New Masada High, the Kahanistanian teenager had greater aspirations than her friends working part time in fast food or strip joints. She entered the building through the main entrance under the vigilant eyes of four KNN security armed with K-3 Ghazi assault rifles and wearing Dragon Skin body armour. The door to the foyer had a huge brass plaque upon which was written in twenty centimetre font: BEHOLD, I AM AGAINST THEE, SAITH THE LORD OF HOSTS; AND I WILL DISCOVER THY SKIRTS UPON THY FACE, AND I WILL SHEW THE NATIONS THY NAKEDNESS, AND THE KINGDOMS THY SHAME.

Shirin was a member of the nation's Zoroastrian minority and had little knowledge of the Bible, and did not recognise the plaque as a Bible verse at first. Only the reference to the Lord of Hosts convinced her that it was from somewhere in the Jewish scriptures, which wasn't surprising given that over a quarter of the population was Jewish. She walked into the foyer where the walls stretched ten metres high and were festooned with photographs of KNN journalists who had been killed or gravely injured in the line of duty. Each photograph had the name of the journalist, date of death or injury, and a summary of the facts leading to each incident, and there were thousands of them. After taking a few minutes to look at some of KNN's honoured dead and wounded, Shirin approached the reception desk.

"I'm here to interview for an internship," she said. Because she did not yet have her university or even high school diploma, Shirin could not apply for a position as a correspondent. While she did intend to become a journalist at some point in her life, she was still trying to find out what her options were. An internship at KNN would entail being trained by veteran KNN staff, but she didn't know all the details and knew she would find them out in the interview.

"Who are you here to see?" asked the elderly receptionist.

"Miss Kimmel, I think she said her name was," said Shirin.

The old lady punched some buttons on her terminal. "Miss Kimmel will see you in ten minutes."

Five minutes after Shirin sat down, a tall, pretty red-haired woman approached her. She was dressed professionally, in a blue blazer and baggy black slacks. "Shirin Shirazi?" she asked.

Shirin nodded and stood up, shaking the other woman's hand. The woman gave her a business card.

"Adriana Kimmel, senior foreign correspondent," she said. "Come with me."

Kimmel led the girl through another corridor, past several more heavily armed KNN guards, and used her keycard to swipe through a heavy steel door before arriving at an office with her name on a plaque on the door. She filled her coffee mug from a machine by her terminal on her desk and offered Shirin a mug. "Arabian coffee?" she asked.

"Yes, please," said Shirin.

"Tell me about yourself," said Kimmel.

"I'm sixteen years old. I'm a student at East New Masada High School and I'm looking for my first part time job. I like to write, read books, and I'm trilingual in English, Persian and Arabic."

Kimmel nodded. "I'm trilingual too, English, Persian and Spanish. KNN publishes in three hundred and sixteen languages, so you will hear a lot of them spoken here. What made you come to KNN?"

Shirin sighed. She had seen this woman on the news reporting from at least a dozen different war zones. What could she possibly say to her that would get her an internship? She decided on blunt truth.

"I want more than to make sandwiches or scrub septic tanks while I'm in school," she said. "My school has an advanced placement journalism course I'm in that involves writing for the school paper and college credit, so if I can land an internship now it's much faster toward my degree..."

"You're sixteen, right?" asked Kimmel.

Shirin nodded.

"So in another two years you would be graduating from high school and have some college credit and an internship nearly completed," Kimmel continued. "You would not be eligible for promotion to correspondent until finishing your university degree, but you could work in another position at KNN until that happens, and still count toward the five years' experience requirement of a senior correspondent, which requires a master's degree. In fact, a lot of aspiring writers we reject for a journalistic role due to lack of writing talent or education end up as our security and technical personnel."

Shirin did a double take at the name plate on her interviewer's desk. Adriana M. Kimmel, M.A., Senior Foreign Correspondent. "How long have you worked for KNN, Miss Kimmel?"

"Eleven years... and call me Adriana. Most people here call me that or Adri."

Shirin smiled. "OK, Adriana. What would I be doing if I ended up in tech?" She didn't see herself wearing the heavy armour and weapons of the KNN security she had seen.

"We would teach you how to code if you don't already know and you would be responsible for our recording and storage equipment, any technology used by our security that requires a technical hand, making sure we don't have technical difficulties on broadcast, and possibly working directly with Miranda."

"Miranda?" asked Shirin.

"Mobile Incident Reporting And Network Defence Array, an intelligent computer network tasked with protecting KNN staff in hostile environments. The acronym spells Miranda, so we typically describe the AI as female." Adriana sipped her mug and continued. "What do you think working at KNN will be like?" The senior correspondent wanted to identify the younger applicant's preconceptions about journalism.

"I'd imagine sort of like my school paper but harder," Shirin replied. "At the school paper we didn't have too many problems with people refusing to give us stories. There were a few administrators who didn't like to talk to us but they don't like any other reporters either."

"It is also more dangerous," said Adriana. "Did you see the memorials to our fallen in the foyer?"

Shirin nodded. "I did. Our country prizes freedom of the press, to the point that it is a more serious crime to injure a journalist in the line of duty than to injure a member of the National Police in the line of duty. Many countries have nothing but contempt for press freedom or any other freedom from their authority."

Adriana smiled. "You know more than many who come here. People come wanting large salaries, but do not realise that our largest salaries are paid to those journalists who take the most risky assignments. It is not our CEO who is the richest person in KNN, but the bravest. The CEO actually makes less than half a million shekels a year. We reward the brave for their service in getting us the news."

"So you're meritocratic, like the KDF?" asked Shirin.

"I like to think we are meritocratic," Adriana replied. "But as a civilian organisation we are not as bound to hierarchical decision making as the KDF. Not as much bureaucracy. We also are less concerned about angering foreign governments, especially those that have proven themselves inimical to press freedom."

"Would I be going overseas if I become an intern?"

"Only if you intern in the Foreign Affairs section. We have political correspondents, business correspondents, military correspondents, economic correspondents, arts and entertainment correspondents, and foreign correspondents."

"I think I'd like to go into the Foreign Affairs section," said Shirin.

"As an intern you will assist your correspondent with their equipment. You will learn the use of journalistic equipment and how to write in press style. Because of the risk of being sent into a combat zone, I recommend some sort of firearms training if you do not already have it. If you have the strength to handle the recoil, I recommend using a Desert Eagle like mine. If you don't, get a FN Five Seven. Much smaller rounds, but easier to aim. You start next Monday."

---

The next week, KNN senior correspondent Mustafa Fassad and two interns, Shirin Shirazi and Amos Yosef, boarded Kal El Flight 909 from New Masada to Sniper Country in Gholgoth, planning to cross the border into Vetalia. They rented a car in Sniper Country and they drove right up to the border.

[Allanea]

“There is no beauty in sadness. No honor in suffering. No growth in fear. No relief in hate. It’s just a waste of perfectly good happiness.”
― Katerina Stoykova Klemer

“The object of terrorism is terrorism. The object of oppression is oppression. The object of torture is torture. The object of murder is murder. The object of power is power."
― George Orwell

Office of Her Imperial Majesty, Cassiopeia Blaken-Kazansky

Her fingers steepled, the Queen of Allanea surveyed the people assembled in front of her. There were a brown-haired woman and a bald scarred man, both in black military uniform, and a blond man in the dark-blue uniform of the Foreign Service. The fourth was a man who, by virtue of rank, required no uniform – merely a steely-grey business suit and a grey-silver bolo tie.

"Let us recap the situation as it stands now. Vetalia had been subject to a fascist coup and civil war, leading to the fascist inviting – quite astoundingly – the Kravenites in. Is that correct, Maverick?"

The grey-haired man sighed. He was, of course, Maverick Monningham, the Free Kingdom Minister of Foreign Affairs. "I understand that this sounds somewhat incredible, Your Imperial Majesty, but this is exactly what transpired. At no point of this did the Vetalians contact us, their long-time allies, for economic aid of any form. This, together with the fact that Vetalia is a Gholgoth nation – and was, therefore, deemed by us to be secure militarily, since on one hand nobody would in their right mind attack a Gholgoth nation short of a truly apocalyptic scenario, and on the other hand we cannot intervene in a Gholgoth nation with a major military force short of a truly apocalyptic scenario…"

"Has lead to absolutely nobody becoming involved until things entered the stage where the Kravenites have abolished Vetaila's formal sovereignty, and are now in the strip the country dry and murder everyone stage." – Cassiopeia said.

"We're not certain if a full Kraven assimilation has yet commenced," – interjected the man in the blue uniform.

"That is fair. But mass-murder is happening," – Monnigham nodded assent to his subordinate. "Which brings us to – even despite the fact we would find it very difficult to deploy armed force, Vetalia is our ally. What is going to be done?"

"It is not meaningfully possible for us to deploy an armed force." – said the brown-haired woman. She was Baroness Priscilla Stossel-Conde, the Minister of War. "Had we a land border with Vetalia, we would deploy divisions, fight Kraven, our soldiers would shoot their soldiers and their soldiers would shoot ours, and it's not unfeasible that we would win. To deploy such an army into Gholgoth, with hundreds of thousands of troops, millions of tons of supplies, billions of rounds of ammunition, and keep it supplied there, would require miracles of diplomacy and logistics. Miracles require time."

"Time we do not have." – said the Queen. "Which is why I asked General Kalugin to be here. General, it's a job that is clearly going to be with your office."

The scarred, bald man nodded. "I have projected this. I believe that our important point here is to gather information. For this purpose we need to contact several groups of people."

"Do go on," – said Cassiopeia, nodding, as if she was speaking to a student or a fellow academic. Years and years of work at the Concord University had shaped not only her thinking, but also her very manners. Kalugin responded.

"First of all, we need to get into contact with the Vetalian enclaves. These are not, as yet, under Kraven control. They doubtless will be eventually, if the situation continues to evolve as it has been evolved, but as of now they have not yet been completely subsumed. They are the centers of extensive smuggling networks for cigarettes, alcohol, and narcotics…"

"Excuse me, cigarettes?" – asked Cassiopeia – "Pardon me for the outburst, General, this was bad of me."

The man in the blue uniform replied in the General's stead "The Kraven state bars smoking. It is viewed as a subversive activity. Also banned are alcohol, refined sugar, board games, and a range of other activities. Anything that requires people to self-organize independent of state supervision is banned or at least heavily restricted – bowling, volleyball, what-have-you. Speaking in queues, possession of printed literature, radios, televisions, are all illegal. State propaganda is broadcast through a system of loudspeakers. Music is prohibited. Sex is licensed."

The Queen stared. Before she could form a question, the man continued.

"No, I understand that this is totally and absolutely insane and makes no sense, Your Imperial Majesty."- he said. "It's obviously unenforceable in any meaningful way, but also obviously if a woman gets pregnant or if a man has a sexually transmitted disorder, they are disposed of. There are two benefits the Kraven state derives from this tomfoolery. One – as they believe – this improves work efficiency."

"That's not how –"

"That's not how anything works, yes. But the Kravenites' belief in 'efficiency' is more of a religious belief than having to do anything with actual efficiency. It's more of a cult belief – imagine, if you will, Taylorism driven up to religious extent. The entire day of a working-class subject of the Kraven state is an endless, interminable work day, a bit like a Roman Republic slave. That you and I know that this is not how to multiply productivity doesn't mean that the Kravenites don't do exactly this. The second, and more tangible, benefit of all of this to the Kraven Slave State, is that obviously everyone violates these rules. Sex, music, recreation, are immortal human needs. Everyone does something illegal…"

"And therefore has to fear the state, yes." – said Cassiopeia. "And those who believe in the state ideology also feel guilt, which is the true mind-killer. I apologize, General Kalugin. Do go on."

"We would need to also contact Sniper Country. They are a long-time ally, and while they obviously are not going to go to world-shattering war, we might able to secure from them a limited amount of assistance."

"This makes sense."

"We also need to talk to the Aumanii, who are already working on something in-country."

"The Aumanii are good people. Good. What else?"

"The Kahanistani are experienced and hate the Kravenites."

"They are experienced but… they are the Kahanistani." – Kahanistan's military history was a string of terrible tragedies, some of them brought about by terrible errors by Kahanistan's military and intelligence services.

"And yet it is likely they'll have an in."

"Very well."

"And finally, we need to have eyes on Vetalia. I'm going to be reorienting a satellite constellation."

"That is of course authorized. What about men?"

"I'm going to be putting several small teams together. Possibly some naval reconnaissance assets, but I do not at the present believe we can put a surface vessel into Gholgoth without being fed a hypersonic."

"That is fair. Satellites only it is."

"I also would like to increase our surveillance of their slave imports."

"Granted. Let us get to work, ladies and gentlemen."

* * *

Those who kept their eye on the skies over Vetalia at night – those who were not trapped within the deep mazes of the colonial slave-cities, or toiling deep underground – those, in short, who were not yet enslaved completely, or those whose slavery involved labor on a farm rather than in a factory – could, if they were lucky, spot a sparkle, a small gleaming light, perhaps like a star moving rapidly across the heavens. Yet the star did not fall, it merely transited, speedily, across the skies. It was not the kind you use to make a wish – and what would the point be, anyway?

The star was a satellite. There were several like it, some gleaming with the gleam of reflected starlight, others not at all visible with the naked eye. Yet, they watched and listened – with cameras, antennae, and radar reflectors, they watched and listened. They saw the glow of the slave-cities and weapon-furnaces. They detected also the heat of steam and fuel pipes, the warm soil of fresh mass graves and crematoria.

There was nothing, yet, to be done with the information. So far all they could do would be to catalogue the violence and suffering, to allow estimates to be made of the numbers killed and tortured, the thousands of tons of steel made into weapons, the oceans of blood and tears.

So far.

[Auman]

"Sorry Jack, but I'm not quite sure I follow. Can you go over this one more time?" Commander Tolacke asked in befuddlement. Jack Poltaur was walking side by side with the old man down the maze-like passageways of the Kraven Office. Low ranking agents and analysts ducked out of their way as they went by, one even going as far as sliding up against the wall and spilling a cup of coffee all over themself.

"I have an asset in Sniper Country that can cross the border immediately. All I have to do is make the right calls and he's in." Jack was much taller than Commander Tolacke and had a meaner look to him. His face was pocked from an attempt on his life, the deadly poison leaving him disfigured. Despite it all, he was still handsome in a harsh way.

"That would be a suicide mission and you know it. I'm content to just let the boys and girls in SIGINT handle this one." They rounded a corner and stopped dead in their tracks. An impossibly tall man, dressed in a black uniform with stark white piping and shoulder boards, stood patiently in front of the door to Tolacke's office. The man had olive skin. His thick, jet black, hair cut was short and parted to the left.

Poltaur's eyes widened, but only by a fraction. Tolacke was visibly confused by the appearance of this man, he was dressed in a way he had never seen before.

"Commander Tolacke, I am Colonel Arnon Crerar. Aumanii Diplomatic Corps." He extended a hand and Tolacke accepted it weakly, his jaw dropped. "Would we be able to speak inside? There's a great deal that we must discuss and I fear we have very little time."

---

Teddy Lee was sitting in a truck stop diner out near the Vetalian border with Sniper Country. He was dressed out of sorts for the area. Where the locals wore sturdy clothes comfortable for long stretches behind the wheel, he was clad in a steely blue suit, slender cut to fit his thin frame, that reminded him of shark skin when he bought it. Teddy's matching fedora was resting on the counter next to his minestrone soup. He was letting it cool while he read the paper, tugging on a mug of coffee every so often.

It was curious to him that a town could be so close to the border of another country but the paper could have so little news about their neighbor. Back home in the Zhamssassar Republics, where Teddy grew up, the Tamarick Herald was always overflowing with fliers from Ciris Aphalon. His father, Ted Lee, was always ranting and raving about how much cheaper boneless, skinless, chicken breast was just a few kilometers away. Teddy made it a habit to read the newspaper wherever he went, but no matter what, in every border town he visited, there was always something about their neighbors. For example, last time he was in Ciris Aphalon, he spent a spell in Vhernus Gologoplex, another town snuggled up to the border just like this one... And the first page was entirely devoted to a crisis... CHEESER CHAOS was declared, customers from the Zhamssassar Republics invaded the city for three days during the Black Friday sales. Locals couldn't find parking at the Kantomart and God forbid you needed to shop at Targé.

Curiously absent was anything to do, at all, with Vetalia.

Odd.

Teddy folded up the paper and slid it under his hat. He quietly slurped down his soup to completion and tucked a three dollar tip under his coffee cup before tapping his fedora onto his head and stepping outside. The sky was incredibly blue with only a few whisps of precipitous clouds wafting by on a gently breeze. Off to his right was the border crossing. Absolutely dead aside from the activity of the customs officials. According to a nice old lady he spoke to when he got in to town, the Vetalians had recently repaved everything upto their side of the line and then left it at that. No traffic had come in from that side at all since the occupation began some time ago. He had heard second hand that, at the busiest crossings, there was a bit more trade over the years... But no one had actually seen it themselves. It was hearsay. Rumor. Nothing more than that could be gleaned from anybody.

Teddy decided to take a stroll down mainstreet and see how things were doing. He'd been here for a week so far, ever since the Corps sent him the callout. He'd have mounted the border by now if the Sphere wasn't deciding to play by the rules of the region. Could have been halfway to Fortress Arcadia by now, he reckoned. Teddy caught sight of a mannequin in a window, dressed in a pair of blue jeans, a plain white t-shirt and a puffy red thermal vest that reminded him a little of a life preserver. He pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit it before stepping into the store. A few minutes later, he emerged dressed in that exact outfit, trading in his Vascilian leather wingtips for a pair of dragon leather cowboy boots. Better to start fitting in if he was going to be sticking around awhile... Even better to look like he was from Sniper Country if he ever got caught on the other side of the line.

[United World Order]

Border Checkpoint 13,
Occupied Vetalia,
Gholgoth.

The road leading towards Border Checkpoint 13 was quiet and barren as a small rag tag group made their way towards the border with Sniper Country. They were some of many who were now trying to escape the country as the Capitol Police were now taking over. They had been walking for miles and were carrying some belongings that they could afford to take with them for such a journey. Just ahead of them they could make out what was one of the Border Checkpoints that were manned by the Kriegsmarine Volunteer Force who were usually made up of Vetalian Londinians and so the group had hoped they would be able to plead with them to let them pass through into Sniper Country. The eldest of the group who had owned a small business in Vetalia City before deciding to flee the country stopped in front of a wooden sign with writing in a language he couldn't understand nor had really ever seen before. The rest of the group also stopped along with him and looked at the sign as well and then ahead of them where the checkpoint was which had several uniformed and armed men congregating about and looking their way.

"What language is this? I've never seen this before." One of the other persons in the group said trying to make out what the sign said. The sign also bore a crudely drawn skull and bones underneath the writing which gave off an ominous feeling to some.

"It's probably nothing to worry about, just a warning to people trying to cross the border illegally. Let's keep going and see if they'll let us go so we don't end up having to live under the Cappers." The eldest of the group responded as they continued walking past the sign and closer towards the small group of Kriegsmarine Volunteers manning the checkpoint. One of the Volunteers among them stepped forward and raised his semi automatic rifle towards the group shouting at them in Ordenite unbeknownst to them. The group halted and seemingly froze in place as they began dropping their belongings in fear as the eldest of them stepped forward and began pleading with the Volunteer. The other Volunteers stood by talking among themselves as several minutes went by with the eldest getting no where with trying to convince the Volunteer to allow them to cross the border over into neighboring Sniper Country.

"Do you want money?! Have it! Have all our money! Just for god's sake let us leave this hellhole!" The group began digging into their backpacks, bags and pockets as they tossed and shoved Vetalian currency towards the Volunteer however to no avail. The Volunteer swung his rifle and struck the man with the butt end of his rifle against his cheek sending him down onto the pavement in agony as the others rushed to his aid. One of the youngest among the group saw the opportunity to make a run for it across the border and dashed off to the dismay of the others.

"Runner!" One of the Volunteers shouted in a heavy Ordenite accent as a shot rang out and the runner fell face first into the dirt as he was shot dead by one of the other Volunteers. Several seconds later after some shouting in Ordenite the Volunteers systematically gunned down the rest of the group. Swift stabs from their bayonets silenced those that were still breathing even after they had been fatally shot as their bodies and belongings would be moved out of sight of the road and the checkpoint its self, likely for burial in a shallow grave. An hour would pass before a car approached the checkpoint from Sniper Country with three individuals inside that the Volunteers could see as one of them approached the drivers side window and knocked politely.

"Identification and travel permit, please." The trooper said with a heavy Ordenite accent one that definitely was not of Vetalian origin at all however everyone at the checkpoint donned the Kriegsmarine uniform and of course were all armed. The other Volunteers stood near by talking among themselves in their own language and even sometimes pointing at either occupant of the vehicle.

[Allanea]

It is only the enlightened ruler and the wise general who will use the highest intelligence of the army for the purposes of spying, and thereby they achieve great results. ~ Sun Tzu

Offices of General Alexei Kalugin, Organization for Armed Shenanigans

"They are hollowing the country out." – the general said, as he pointed at the screen behind him. "They are carving it out, like a child removing the insides from a pumpkin." On the screen was a satellite map of Vetalia, a composite of numerous infra-red scans – the empty areas dark, the cities and factory complexes blazing orange.

"I don't understand?" – one of the subordinates asked.

"They are methodically removing all of Vetalia's capability to produce anything at all that is not directly or indirectly for the purposes of heavy industry, and they are reshaping the heavy industry so it can produce purely weapons, or armored vehicles, or whatever else they need for their war effort. What you see here is a map of Vetalia as it stands today – here’s a satellite survey from ten years ago." – the screen flickered – "And back to today. See how there's much less lights?"

"Holy shit."

"That's the right one, yes. As an example, this area held vineyards, the vineyards are gone now. This was a town – the town is now totally gone, some of the citizens relocated… the others…" – he paused, and switched to yet another image. "We have detected what we expect to be mass graves here, here, and here. The earth had recently been moved. We can see crematoria here and here – those are always on. Judging by the size of the buildings, and the traffic to them, just these specific crematoria have a processing capacity of several hundred victims every day – each. The imagery analysis team is still looking for more, and they're probably going to find many more when they're done looking over the images."

"But why?"

"Why what?" – Kalugin raised an eyebrow. "Why do the Kravenites do what they do? Nobody knows. The ability to understand this, we don't have it. At one point it was a totalitarian ideology, then there was a rogue AI, now… I am not sure what the motivation is. I don't think the analysts have a full picture quite yet. In a brief sense, their ideology is a fascist one – not in the sense that it has something to do with the original fascist thinkers, I don't think they're sophisticated enough for that. It is boiled down to fascism in the primal sense, in the insult sense – render down all human life towards violence, like a horse is rendered to glue. Concentrate all effort towards conquering and enslaving as many human beings as possible – even if doing so actually renders you less capable of conquering and enslaving in the long run. Abolish everything that is not about torture, killing, subjugation. Conquer more people. Destroy what you can not use. Use the rest to repeat the cycle."

"But they are human beings!" – the subordinate protested. "Human beings cannot live like that! They would go mad!"

"Perhaps. Are they sane?" – Kalugin sighed. "I want you to put two platoons of Operatives together, and a PLU. I want you to fly one of the Operative teams to… Xirnium, by charter aircraft. Let them wait and train there. Moreover, I want you to start building a supply stockpile in Xirnium – nothing major so far, just a few dozen shipping containers. Ask their government for permission to store this in some modest-looking local facility. For now. And for the lover of the Gods, have someone talk to the Vetalians."

* * *

]In a Vetalian enclave city

The Allanean agent was dressed in the most regular clothing imaginable – a business suit with a tie. Allaneans rarely wore ties, of course. The man was trained to speak Common with a slight Pantocratorian French accent – mainly so as to distract from his actual national origin. However, the ID he had just handed to his counterpart would scan in as real. He was, in fact, a colonel with OAS, the Organization for Armed Shenanigans.

"I will be brief," – he spoke – "We are going to need to do work. A lot of work, and I am going to need to have your cooperation every step of the way if we are to succeed. First: I want you to put me in contacts with whatever smuggling networks you use – I know your agency has to have extensive underworld contacts. Second: I want to talk about putting small teams of men – perhaps a few dozen – across the border. Third: I want you to share with me the information you have already gathered about the Kravens." – he misspoke deliberately, making it unclear if he wish to use the demonym, or use an insult. "I'm interested in the tactical information, as well as input on their weapons systems. I know that with the thousands of Vetalians now forced in their service, some of them are doubtlessly giving you information. Finally – I want to know about the things that are being smuggled – and particularly, about the most unusual things. If you gain knowledge of someone ordering something unusual – a luxury item people there are not able to afford, a flask of poison, a bottle of cognac costing like a small car – please, tell your men not to hesitate."

He paused. "I am going to share with you the protocols for secure communications between us. Satellite uplink is viable, hand delivery of encrypted drives is also viable if you have a secure courier. In a few days we will establish a presence in this city – officially, as part of an airline's offices. Have your couriers arrive there in fast food delivery outfits. The legend will be that they are delivering food to the offices – so of course they'll also have to have the food with them. Some of the deliveries will be mock ones."

He paused. "I'm of course willing to hear you out if you disagree with anything."

[Vetalia]

Sasovo, Vetalian Agovin, Enclave of the Republic of Vetalia in Jagada
Blue = Posts to Allanea

Sasovo was the second largest inland Vetalian enclave, ranking only behind the greatest of the enclaves in the Blackhelm Confederacy. Over 2 million Vetalians lived in the booming metropolis, a massive Art Deco edifice nestled just below the foothills of the mountains along the country's northern border. An elaborate spiderweb of highways and rail lines linked the enclave to the rest of Jagada, sustaining the massive flows of goods, people and money across the two nations' borders.

The unusual inland position of the enclave gave it a unique opportunity to provide financial services, particularly banking and corporate finance, as well as a thriving tourist economy that offered the Vetalians a temperate, even chilly respite from their homeland's summer heat and the Jagites a more refined experience of luxury than what was common at home. It was also one of the most notorious hubs of drug trafficking, smuggling, money laundering and all-around criminality in all of Gholgoth. Ironically, as a result of the Vetalian administration's laissez-faire policies towards these matters, corruption was surprisingly low among the members of the enclave's government and by and large the worst excesses were kept in check by the various factions of organized crime that controlled much of the city.

Upon passing through customs at the Angovin International Airport, a cursory scan of the agent's documents, in particular his identification sent up red flags. After a few seconds, he was escorted by security to wait in a small waiting room near the pickup lanes of the airport and told to wait for further instruction. After around fifteen minutes of listening to muzak, a young customs officer approached and removed his cap in a show of deference. "Sir, your car's here" The Vetalian customs agent nodded towards a large black sedan with large tail fins parked outside, with Vetalian flags on each side of its hood. "You'd better go, sir, that's one of the Propraetor's cars, I'll help you load your luggage."

The drive to the Propraetor's office was a short one from the airport, the driver saying nothing before arriving at the entrance to large Art Deco skyscraper and opening the door for the agent. With an unmistakable Londinian accent the driver spoke "Your luggage will be delivered to your room at the Sasovo Intercontinental Hotel, it's already been arranged, Room 204, just say it's the Proporaetor account..." he paused, pulling a cigarette out of his pack and lighting it "...and no tip, boss, I've already been paid a month's salary getting you here safely. The car is bulletproof!" He laughed, slapping the side of the car before getting back in and driving off.

After entering the building's lavish, marble and metal clad lobby and being directed towards the proper elevator by security, the agent was lifted some 50 floors up on a smooth lift to a small, well-furnished lobby where a receptionist sat at a u-shaped counter with a massive map of Vetalia and its enclaves mounted behind her, furiously typing away at her laptop keyboard as a cigarette dangled from her lips. After a few words and checking his identification, a door behind her opened with a *click* and she led the agent back hurriedly through a maze of offices and cubes with heels clicking on the marble floors before finally arriving at the right office and with a swirl of her dress introducing him to the Propraetor of Vetalian Agovin.

The Propraetor's office was lavishly furnished with the finest in Vetalian Art Deco furniture, with full-wall windows looking over the entire city and lands beyond from north, east and west and a row of bookshelves along the southern wall filled with literature and reference works. The Propraetor was idly smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper from Pax Vetalia in an easy chair in a corner when his visitor was shown in and began his rapid fire speech. Listening all the while, the Propraetor then took a seat behind the massive maple desk at the center of the room and looked kindly at his visitor.

"Calm down and have a seat, a drink...and" He paused, opening up his cigarette case to offer his visitor "...a smoke if you wish. You've no doubt had a long flight getting here. It's been a long time since we've seen an Allanean in this neck of the woods, believe me, and after your credentials were flagged at the airport it was clear you were here on secret business. After your sudden speech here in my office I have no doubt where your loyalties lie and I will let you know you are among friends here in Angovin. The security precautions were standard measure for a foreign guest, don't be worried, and your hotel accommodations are my gift to you. Allanea has been a faithful ally of Vetalia for many years and we treat our friends right." Pausing to take a drag from his cigarette he looked at the agent, sensing the concern in his eyes.

"A Reich sympathizer would be torn to pieces before they managed to get here, if they managed to survive the Jagites. This is the safest place in the world outside of Pax right about now." Stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray, he lit another before pouring two glasses of ice water from the pitcher on his credenza. "I have plenty of the harder stuff on hand if you'd prefer that but I think we need to keep our wits clear for a while."

Ruslan set a glass before him and the agent. "Now, regarding the plan, we just need to hash out the details ." He glanced knowingly at his visitor before getting up and extending his hand. "Ruslan Taylor, Propraetor of Angovin. Sounds a bit odd but my father was Londinian and my mother Vetalian. And you are?"

[Kahanistan]

Mustafa Fassad had prepared for the border crossings not only by ensuring that he and his interns carried a pistol for protection - or suicide to prevent capture - but by packing five briefcases each with 100,000 Kahanistanian shekels. One briefcase was intended to get them through the border, with the rest being given to prevent a search of the vehicle if necessary. The bearded Kahanistanian Arab man lowered his window with his left hand, which also held his Kahanistanian passport and those of his interns, and kept his right hand inside his jacket where his Desert Eagle was clutched. The two interns were armed with smaller FN Five-Sevens inside their jackets as well, and their recording and communications equipment, including drones, was in the boot of their vehicle, along with several hundred rounds of ammunition pre-packed into magazines, Fassad's cigarettes and Yosef's liquor bottles for downtime.

Fassad handed the passports to the KVF man, watching him and his fellows intently. If it came down to a firefight, he was the only veteran among the three. Yosef and Shirazi sat in the back, holding each other's hands nervously while clutching their weapons with their free hands inside their jackets. None of them wanted to get killed before even entering occupied Vetalia, but being captured would be worse... especially for the young female intern. Fassad kept his foot on the gas, ready to slam into gear if the KVF attempted an arrest on his team.

This was the last stop before the KNN crew penetrated into occupied Vetalia... or ended up in a shallow grave.

[Auman]

Teddy Lee strode up to the checkpoint with an impressive level of confidence. He knew that he was mere seconds away from death, but the mission was what it was and it always came first. He flicked open his passport with his left hand and leaned against Mustafa's car with his right, producing the document to the Kriegsmarine Volunteer who immediately wheeled on him with his rifle. The cold barrel stared deeply into Teddy's chest and he was imagining what it would feel like to have his heart pushed out his back by what he assumed was a very big and powerful bullet.

"Sorry Mack, had to take a whiz. My associates here must have gotten the idea to drive ahead and get things started without me. The documents are going to check out, of course. But let's level with one another here... We both know they're bullshit. No one in their right mind would enter into this country knowing that they'd never be allowed to leave. Only a fool would limit their options like that." Teddy looked into the Volunteer's eyes, searching them with an expression of deep suspicion.

"Wenn ich so mutig bin, woher kommst du?" If I may be so bold, where are you from?

He didn't know what angle he was about to play, but his father taught him a trick many years ago... If you behaved as though you belonged somewhere, people were less likely to question why you were there. At this point in the game, it was in all of their best interest to do just that. After all, really, who would enter any territory controlled by the Reich, when everyone was desperate to leave, if not for a spy? But the next few moments and the survival of Mustafa, Yosef, Shirazi and even ol' Teddy Lee, Aumanii Diplomat extraordinaire, depended solely on whether this trooper believed they were all on the same side.

[Emperor Pudu]

Somewhere off the coast of Vetalia City

“Pilgrim, this is Gold Lancer, we have the target in sight. Over.” The helicopter, an HVC-1 naval transport helicopter late of the Imperial Guard Naval Corps, was now operated from a modified tramp freighter called the All Men Are Brothers. The Brothership, as it was often called by her crew, was somewhere over the horizon to the west. The target that Gold Lancer had in sight was a different cargo vessel: this ship was making maximum speed on a course taking her directly away from Vetalia City, and even from the height Gold Lancer was looking down from she could see the decks were crowded to capacity with refugees. “The boat’s looking a little crowded, Pilgrim, how are we gonna know your friend when we see him? Over.” she asked over the radio. “He’ll be toward the bow, he says, and he’s gonna throw his hat off the ship when you approach. That’s the signal.” Gold Lancer gave a rapid two-click acknowledgment but Pilgrim apparently wasn’t done, “And he’s not my friend, I’ve never met the guy. He’s a friend of the Count. Over.”

The helicopter’s approach of the vessel caused a mixed reaction among the packed throngs below. Some panicked, crushing their way toward the stern and out of sight wherever possible. Seemingly an equal number though were crowding toward the helicopter, waving their arms and lifting their eyes to watch the aircraft first pass overhead toward the stern, at which time it gave a little wobble to the vessel’s bridge which would hopefully indicate their peaceful intentions, before Gold Lancer brought the big bird around and came alongside the ship attempting to match her speed which had not changed during the fly-by. “Okay, Green Eyes,” Gold Lancer said, this time over the helicopter’s internal channel, “Open ‘er up!” As she said this Green Eyes Panther, sitting in the troop bay behind her, slid open the port side door and pitched a rope ladder over the side which would dangle some twenty meters. This only inflamed the refugees more, as they all began press to the railing and strained to grasp at the ladder’s rungs, which were still well beyond their reach.

Green Eyes fastened a crampon to a safety line and heaved himself over the side and onto the ladder, dangling beneath the helicopter. Over his radio headset he called out to Gold Lancer, “Alright, begin your approach.” Gold Lancer acknowledged and then remembered to add, “He’s gonna toss his hat over the side, that’s our guy! He probably looks rich!” Green Eyes smiled at that, ”Didn’t they always,” he mumbled to himself. He did begin to dutifully scan the crowd, however, as he carefully made his way down the ladder and Gold Lancer maneuvered the helicopter to hover over the forward deck of the ship. Very quickly Green Eyes picked out a Vetalian man, dressed sharply, frantically waving his hat over his head. He was pinned among a crowd away from the railing but as the man met the gaze of Green Eyes he flung his hat as far as he could toward the rail. It sailed in the wind and glided down over the edge of the boat and was lost in the surf. Yes, Green Eyes thought, this must be our man.

The ladder swung high over the deck and began to descend under the careful direction of Gold Lancer piloting the helicopter above, the large frame of Green Eyes clinging to to the bottom few rungs and keeping his eyes locked on the Vetalian man, now conspicuous among his countrymen most of whom were still elegantly chapeau’d even in this crisis. As the ladder sank closer to the deck the crowds began grabbing at the ladder and even at Green Eyes’ own legs and feet. He began to yell and curse at them, kicking away their hands as best he could, but it was clear they were going to continue to swarm. The target began to jump toward the ladder as well, but he was neither as young or seemingly as desperate as some of the others. Green Eyes drew his pistol at that point and displayed it conspicuously to the throng. It fazed them little, and so the big Pudite aimed the pistol at the horizon and fired off three rounds toward the sea. That was enough to calm most of those still clambering over each other toward him and to make his point yet more clear he now swept the barrel over the crowd, which elicited some shrieks and much cowering.

The target then stepped forward and Green Eyes linked his pistol-holding arm around the ladder and used his other hand to clasp hands with the Vetalian. The man was evidently carrying a briefcase as well which didn’t add to his dexterity. Green Eyes hauled the man up, however, and pulled him close to himself on the ladder as the man flailed his feet about looking for a rung. Over the radio Green Eyes chirped “Take us up, but take it slow! He’s a bit slip-footed!” Green Eyes and Gold Lancer were speaking Pudite so it was unlikely, but possible, that their new guest understood what was being said. In accented English Green Eyes then turned to the Vetalian, “Climb.” Green Eyes also holstered his pistol again and took the briefcase from the man to speed his climb. The Vetalian went ahead and the Pudite followed him up, watching carefully for any indication he may be about to lose his grip.

The man made it, however, up to the door and began to climb awkwardly aboard. Green Eyes kept an eye on him but he managed to get aboard quickly enough. When Green Eyes hauled himself aboard moments later he found the Vetalian laying on his back on the deck of the chopper, panting and heaving, but looking relieved. Green Eyes quickly reeled in the ladder and slammed the side door closed before knocking twice with his fist on the wall behind Gold Lancer. She pushed the controls forward and the helicopter’s nose dipped as she gained speed and put the cargo ship behind her. “Pilgrim, this is Gold Lancer, we have the package aboard. Coming home, over.”

The tramp freighter All Men Are Brothers was about a forty five minute flight away. As soon as he regained his composure the Vetalian man strapped himself into a jump seat and politely requisitioned the briefcase he had been carrying from Green Eyes. The big Pudite handed him a headset along with the case, which the man put on. “That better not be Vetalian rubles in there,” Green Eyes said as soon as the man had donned the set. “Wouldn’t wipe my bloody ass with that shit.” The Vetalian shook his head no and rattled the case a bit, which made a heavy clunking noise. Gold Lancer spoke next, “Green Eyes, if your ass is so bloody I think you’ve got bigger problems than inflation.” The Vetalian cracked a smile at that, nervously, but turned stoic again under Green Eyes Panther’s stern gaze. Green Eyes was a powerfully built ethnically Pudite man who sported an extensive face tattoo, including green shading around both his eyes which gave him a strange and disconcerting countenance. If the Vetalian man was familiar with the Pudite system of justice he could have surmised that this tattoo was a punishment, though for what crime he could only wonder.

The rest of the trip passed largely in quiet, though there was a moment of panic when Gold Lancer picked up the signal of a naval search radar that was painting them from pretty far out. She wasn’t sure if they would have gotten a good look at her, but she took the bird lower and increased her speed. Best to get back to the ship as fast as possible.

The freighter, which was more properly a 150 meter long former bulk ore carrier that had been heavily modified, finally came into view. “Welcome home, Gold Lancer.” came Pilgrim’s voice over the radio as she maneuvered to set the bird down on the makeshift flight deck that had been constructed on the ship. A man and a woman were standing on the deck just out of the way and waiting as the noisy helo made its final approach and touched down. With the engines powered down and the blades spinning to a stop Green Eyes Panther slid the side door open again and he and the Vetalian man hopped out, although one managed it much more gracefully than the other.

The first to approach the disembarking pair was the woman on the deck. She was tall and slender, with a lean, hungry look heightened by her sharp facial features and sunken eyes. Her hair was silver, betraying a Jagadan heritage, though she herself had the features of a Pudite. She had an air of authority about her too, and as she stepped up to the Vetalian she introduced herself, “Welcome aboard the Brothership, Mr. Vetalian,” She shook his hand and he began to speak, “My name is-” but she cut him off, “Stop. No names here. You can call me Dark Song, or Captain. I’ll call you Mr. Vetalian. That’s Green Eyes Panther behind you, and Gold Lancer flew you in. Of course you know the Purple Bearded Count,” she gestured to her male companion who had followed her in approaching the helicopter. “You’ll do us all a favor and call him the Count while you’re aboard. We’re not interested in his name either.” The Vetalian looked about him at these strange characters. He had known ‘The Count’ earlier in his career, and of course by his given name at the time, but it had been some years since they’d seen each other. Today the Count was dressed in a rumpled and sea-damp suit of dark cloth and sported a neatly styled, pointed purple-dyed beard that the Vetalian had never seen him wear before. Nevertheless, the two men eagerly shook hands and exchanged greetings.

“So what, you’re a pirate now?” laughed the Vetalian, still somewhat ill-at-ease. The Count answered with a wide grin, “You could say that,” he acknowledged. “Why don’t we get out of this chilly air and take a look at what you’ve brought for us.” The Count suggested amiably. “I’m sure you could use a stiff drink, as well.” The Vetalian and the Count began to make for the stern conning tower while Dark Song hung back a moment to confer with Green Eyes, and while Gold Lancer was busy securing her helicopter to the deck.

Inside the freighter was clearly showing her age, and the many leagues she had put behind her out at sea. It had been some years since she had a permanent home port, and hadn’t secured extensive maintenance in almost as long. Everywhere signs of slapdash repairs and custom-fitted machinery crowded the narrow passages aboard the ship. The Count was leading his old friend below decks, toward the crew mess. They didn’t pass any other members of the ship’s compliment on the way down, though when they arrived in the cafeteria they found they weren’t alone. “Excellent,” the Count exclaimed when he entered and saw the hunched old man standing in the galley through a long open window-counter. The man, wizened with age and bundled under a thick dark blue robe which included a hood he wore over his head, peered out from under the heavy fabric and his white-whiskered face cracked a smile. He spoke in high, preening tones, “Welcome, good Count! And to your guest as well,” the old man in the galley gave a low bow, which considering his already short stature bent him out of view for a moment behind the counter that separated the mess from the galley. The Count turned to the Vetalian, “That’s Cloud Dragon, our cook. He’s a regular old wizard!” The Vetalian nodded and replied, “In the kitchen you mean? I can’t wait.” The Count chuckled, “Yes, that too.”

The pair took a seat at one of the steel tables, bolted to the deck, and the Vetalian laid the briefcase out on the table while the Count went to fetch a couple of hard plastic cups and a bottle of whisky. He poured two glasses on his way back and set one down beside his friend. “It’s genuine Nunkid whisky, can’t get that easily out this way, I remember it used to be a favorite of yours,” he remarked as he took his seat opposite the Vetalian. As he did so Dark Song entered the mess as well. “Alright, alright, let’s just see what you have there,” she began, taking a seat, “And we’ll see what we can do to help you with your little problem.” The Vetalian took a deep drink of his whisky and set it aside before entering a combination in the lock on the case and unclasping the lid, flipping it open to reveal its contents to the pair. The first thing he did was pluck a tidy fedora out of the case and dropped it on his head, evidently having packed it after learning he would need his other for the signal. The next thing the Count and Dark Song saw in the case were bundles of Vetalian rubles banded together haphazardly, “Ignore these,” he said, grabbing handfuls of the bills and tossing them on the table. With them out of the way he revealed a carton of Vetalian cigarettes, which he plucked out and began to open.

Dark Song and the Count, however, were focused on the other thing that he had uncovered: a solid gold brick stamped with a Vetalian Reserve mark. “Look,” the Vetalian began in a conciliatory tone, noticing their interest as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and felt around his pockets for a lighter, “There’s more than this in the offshore accounts. My funds in the enclaves should be as safe as ever, but you can call this a down payment.” The Count reached into the case and hefted the gold brick in his hand. It was heavy, more than twenty pounds, and he let it thump onto the table before Dark Song to illustrate that. “That’s got to be more than half a million standard dollars,” the Count mused quietly to his captain. Dark Song merely nodded, “We’ll have someone check in to those offshore accounts as soon as we can. This, however,” she tapped the large gold brick, “Will be enough to get us started. Tell me, Mr. Vetalian, how can the Ten Heroes help you?”

The Vetalian took a drag on his cigarette, which he had managed to find a matchbook to light, and ashed it in his now-empty whisky cup. “It’s a rescue mission,” he began, “Her name is Veronica, and she’s the love of my life.”


[The Kraven Corporation]

Vetalia City
Northern Gholgoth
Reich Crackdown +1 Hour
18:00 Standard Imperial Time

The roadblocks had been set in place by Capitol Police units, they used their Armoured Personnel carriers to block off entire streets, funnelling people into set areas, large squares where they would huddle together, these unfortunates had been unable to escape the initial deployment of troopers, people clung to each other while children cried and were comforted by mothers and fathers, each as terrified as the other, Capitol Police stood guard watching over them with cold indifference, a machine like purpose to their duty, anyone who attempted to get up or flee from the square was instantly cut down, shot with a side arm or if they got too far way mown down with a sharp burst from an MG42, KoenigsJaeger heavy tanks rumbled down roads in the distance their twin V12 engines giving a distinct roar as the metal tracks squeaked and groaned added to the cacophony of death.

A house nearby was being searched by the Capitol Police, an APC waited outside its engine idling away they had broken the door down and it lay in splinters in the hallway, moving with swift, deliberate movements the Capitol Police turned over chairs, tables, furniture, they opened cupboards and emptied the contents onto the floor, they flipped beds over and smashed windows, seemingly looking for someone or something, a Capitol Police Officer approached and entered the house, he looked at the debris of someones life now scattered on the floor, looking at the clothes, then turning and looking at the over turned mattress, he crouched down and studied the base of it, a small slit had been cut into the side, he reached a black gloved hand into the cut and felt around for something inside... nothing...

"The suspect has already left and taken the item, inform sector command to double the patrols and double the searches. There is nothing more here of use, begin the clear up" A Capitol Police Trooper snapped his heels together and exited the building followed by the Officer, a cold breeze ran through the street as another KoenigsJaeger passed the APC and the Officer, its powerful engine momentarily drowning out the noise of Capitol Police emptying various drawers and overturning more furniture, one Trooper entered the building carrying a jerry can, the other Troopers began to exit as the first began pouring petrol on items of clothing and the mattress, with the can empty he walked to the door way before lighting a bright red flare and throwing it into the hallway where it instantly ignited the petrol and sent the building up in flames, already palls of thick black smoke began to rise out of the broken windows...

Vetalian City, Central Square.
Central Command Operations Base.

The Capitol Police Officers stood at a table, looking at a map of the city, areas that had been cordoned off had been marked with an X, areas that had civilians in holding areas were circled in red, and locations of tank units had been marked with various black squares, almost an entire Battalion of KoenigsJaegers had been moved into the city at the beginning of the crack down brought in at speed from Fortress Arcadia, already reports were coming in from Raid Teams that civilians had been rounded up without resistance, most complying, some having to be executed to force home the point of the exercise, many bodies were already hanging from lamp posts all across the city, the Capitol Police wasting no time in dealing with those who wouldn't follow instructions, Capitol Police communicated with raid teams, and the central command was alive with activity occasionally a burst of machine gun fire could be heard over the noise of radio chatter or the screams of civilians being chased down the street near the square...

Elsewhere in the City

A couple of men had been holed up in one of the apartment buildings on the second story, the Capitol Police had arranged their APCs around the entrance to the building, a Capitol Police Trooper lay face down at the entrance one of the men inside managing to get a lucky hit with a hunting rifle, the Capitol Police had decided that instead of going in and performing a standard Raid and Retrieval they would instead use this as an opportunity to send a message, a message that they were not here to waste time during the operation, it would run to the schedule of the Reich and not some civilians who had managed to find themselves a weapon or two, inside the three men cowered beneath the window sill....

"Did you see that shot?"

"Yes you fucking moron, you killed a Capper, that ain't anything to brag about..."

"Yeah, well why haven't they stormed the place, they aren't the monsters you think they are, they die just like men"

"Heavily armed men, he's right though, why haven't they stormed the building?" the look of confusion spread across his face

"I don't know, normally they don't waste any time on something like this"

The rumble was the first thing that brought their attention back to the window, they carefully peered over the sill looking down at the six dozen Capitol Police all looking up at the building from behind the APC's, thats when they saw it enter the plaza across from the apartment block, its twin V12 engines roaring as it brought itself fully into view, a KeonigsJaeger heavy main battle tank, its tracks had destroyed the cobbles of the plaza, it rolled over a small wall with ease, ignoring the obstacle it created, the Capitol Police Tanker was stood up in the cupola looking out towards the building, the turret turning and its barrel raising as it took careful aim on the second floor, the three men dropped back down behind the window sill...

"RUN!" One of the screamed as the report from the 185mm ETC EM Rifled cannon filled the air with a deafening roar, instantly the three were vaporised as the high explosive shell entered through the window and detonated on the wall behind them, showering the street with debris that rain down on unflinching Troopers, within seconds of the dust beginning to float down from the now gaping hole in the front of the building the Troopers entered filtering through the doorway and stepping over loose chunks of masonry and brickwork, checking room after room as they moved through the corridor, before coming to the floor that the three were hiding on, one of the men's severed leg was found in the corridor, another was nothing more than a blood splatter over a dusty wall and the third was no where to be found, possibly buried under heaps of rubble..

The bark of a Capitol Police Vox Caster now filled the unearthly silence with a machine like voice... "Sector two reporting, resistance ended, Sector Clear, moving on to sector three, Advise" the radio responded with a harsh metallic voice of another Capitol Police Trooper "Acknowledged Sector Two, Maintain Operation Protocols and Proceed" The Trooper responded back with a simple "By Your Command" before the group left the building and carried on with their unholy work...

[Emperor Pudu]

Aboard the Brothership, approximately 85 miles off the coast of Vetalia

"So you're telling me she's still up there?" Dark Song asked again, still incredulous at what she was being told. "As far as I know," Mr. Vetalia reiterated, "I made sure she was well concealed before I left. Nobody else knew she was even there at the time, so I doubt anyone has been looking for her there." His mind on the chaos he had witnessed during his escape, the man who was going by Mr. Vetalia wasn't sure anyone was looking for her anywhere. "It's been a few months since the State relocated everyone in that district," Mr. Vetalia continued, "So that's the last time I was up at the estate. Unless the Reich has bulldozed everything up there, I don't see any reason why you won't find Veronica right were I left her. She's a tough old girl, for sure."

"If he says she's gonna be up there, I believe him," the Purple Bearded Count chimed in at that point, "He's not stupid, at least he's less stupid than me!" the Pudite added jokingly. "Alright," Song concluded, "so we get into the country..." she nodded her head and held up one finger, "... then we get to the estate, which hasn't been bulldozed..." she held up a second finger, "And we find this Veronica, who is still there..." she held up a third finger, "and we somehow get her out of this hellhole of a country without ending up dangling from a lamppost in some Vetalia City suburb," she held up a fourth finger. "This is quite the rescue operation, Mr. Vetalia, you better hope those offshore accounts check out, because this is more than a half-a-million type of job."

"Well," Mr. Vetalia said then, lighting another cigarette (he had found a plastic ashtray by now and it was already nearly full of stubbed-out butts - they had been here awhile), "There might be something else that could help you make this worth your time." Her interest was piqued at that point, and Song leaned closer to the Vetalian, through his cloud of secondhand smoke. He carried on, "I work for the State, or I suppose I did, before the whole thing was abolished earlier today," he took a drag and suddenly coughed over his cigarette, he was still a little anxious it seemed, "Specifically, I worked in the Treasury." Song's gaze turned then back to the bar of gold bullion sitting on the table before them. Mr. Vetalia tapped it as he spoke, "You think I found this thing on the side of the road? Well, I wouldn't put it past the capital, given the state of things today, but no. I got this out myself. I've got a few more hidden away back on shore, too."

"How very mercenary of you," the Count quipped, before quickly raising his palms, "Not that I wouldn't have done the same thing!" he chortled over his drink before topping off both his own and the Vetalian's whisky. Mr. Vetalia brushed past the curious compliment, "In fact it was my job that tipped me off to what was coming, a few days ago the Reich showed up and started moving truckloads of gold out of the different reserve vaults. I started getting panicked phone calls from banks all over the country." Song looked up from the gold bar with a quizzical look on her face, "The Reich doesn't use cash, why did they care to lift the gold?" she asked. At that Mr. Vetalia could only shrug, "I couldn't say what they need it for. Maybe they're just gonna melt it down and make great big transistors out of it, who knows. They certainly weren't chatty about it when they came and started hauling it off."

"So the Reich has the gold then, what good is that information to us?" Song followed up, "Just how much did you manage to hide away?" she gave the gold brick a shove on the table. It slid but little, heavy as it was. Mr. Vetalia answered her, "When I started getting those panicked phone calls from those banks I started taking a few field trips. Anywhere I knew the Reich hadn't hit yet, I got there. We fudged a few numbers moved a few piles around, and that was that. The bank employees were happy to turn a little shady profit, and I didn't let on what I thought this all might mean. I've got a dozen more bars stashed with friends, but who knows what's happened to them by now... no, I think you could get more..."

"Just how would we do that?" the Count asked then in between drinks. Mr. Vetalia answered him matter-of-factly, "I happen to know they haven't gotten it out of the country yet. They're collecting the reserves at a rail depot outside the capital. It wouldn't be efficient to send it all out piecemeal, of course."

Dark Song pulled out her incredulous face again, "You're suggesting we stage a train robbery, of the Kraven Reich, in the middle of a hostile occupation? You know, I think I will have that drink, Count." She grabbed the cup right out from in front of the purple-bearded drunk and drained it in one go. "Mr. Vetalia, now you're speaking my language."

"I'm in!" came a voice from across the small mess. Dark Song wheeled around on the bench and saw her communications officer, called Pilgrim, standing in the doorway. "Green Eyes said you wanted to see me, boss?" the young Pudite man added quickly, throwing up a goofy looking salute. She answered him, ignoring the gesture, "Well, sounds like you're up to speed already." Pilgrim ducked over to the counter top, behind which the old man called Cloud Dragon was busily rustling up something for dinner, and he grabbed himself a cup before he took a seat at the table, squeezing himself in between Dark Song and the Count.

"Nice to meet you," the smiling young man said, extending his hand toward the Vetalian, "Call me Pilgrim, or don't. Song here is the brains, the Count is the bankroll, and me? I'm the face." he beamed as he said it, at which Mr. Vetalia gave him an uncertain handshake. "Pleasure," was all he managed. Pilgrim was a handsome young man to be sure, and he moved with a sure grace and athletic form. His confidence was off-putting, however, to someone who had been through as much as Mr. Vetalia had these past few days.

"Where's Flowers?" Song asked, sliding away from Pilgrim down the bench to make a little room for the imprudent young man. "I didn't see him," Pilgrim said, pouring himself a drink, "but Green Eyes said he was on shift in engineering and sent Tiger off to find him." Song nodded, "It's looking like we'll send in a three-man team." she began calmly, "You," she nodded at Pilgrim, "plus Tiger and Flowers." Pilgrim seemed to approve of the roster, and replied "Expecting trouble, are we?"

"You could say that." was Song's simple reply. Mr. Vetalia looked between the three of them, before settling on Pilgrim, "So if you're the face, what are Tiger and Flowers' roles?" Pilgrim laughed at that, "I knew I liked you, Mr. Vetalia. You get it." The Vetalian wrinkled an eyebrow, the man hadn't answered the question. Seconds later, though, it looked like his answer had arrived.

A tall, broad-shouldered black Almaran hunched through the doorway into the mess, the bells on the shash he wore about his belt jingling as he did so - or perhaps it was the sabre he wore at his side rattling in it's sheath. He was thickly muscled and took heavy, deliberate steps. He looked about as much like a pirate as anyone Mr. Vetalia had ever seen, down to the braided beard dyed bright red and the multicolored bandanna desperately holding down a thick head of dreadlocks. Behind the Almaran came a shorter, but somehow even wider man. This one was a Pudite, with a face as round as his bulging stomach. He wore a loose fitting tunic and trousers and carried a jug of what, based on the stains on the man's teeth and shirt, was a dark red wine.

"Both muscle." Pilgrim replied to Mr. Vetalia, as the pair of very large men wedged themselves between the narrow benches and the table on either side of Mr. Vetalia. "Yes," the outsider said, "I see that now." he wriggled himself loose of the two broad sets of shoulders and well-muscled arms flanking him.

"Let's get you all up to speed." Dark Song said then, "Everyone get comfortable, because this one's quite a tale. Lost love, secret gold and dark villainy. I think you'll like it."

[Vetalia]

Curia of the Senate of the Republic of Vetalia, Pax Gothica
Black - Internal/Worldbuilding - Open Knowledge

Ian whispered to Lydia as she prepared to approach the podium. "Lyd, are you sure you've got this? We could get our guys to move to table the motion, Algorin got shut down by Chernov bad enough his own party wasn't backing him at the end."

Lydia responded in a curt whisper. "No Ian, we've got to do this. If we table it, Algorin will have another year to keep stirring up shit with his BofA ties, and with the way things are going in the State, God willing we might be having our next session back at home in Vetalia City. Him becoming Praetor of Pax from a vote here is one thing but him taking the whole country is another. Worst case is he wins here, and there would then be another mandatory election after we regain the mainland."

"Got it, good luck Lyd!" Ian knew Lydia more than well enough to trust her judgment when it came to Vetalian politics, and conversely Lydia knew more than well enough to trust Ian's judgment when it came to international politics. The two friends had been through hell and back together and each knew the other as well as they knew themselves.

"Thanks Ian." She smiled at him as she extinguished her cigarette and went before the 200-odd Senators. From her vantage point 20 feet up, they looked rather small and at eye level all that was visible was the light streaming from the Diocletian windows that lit the Curia and a cloud of cigarette smoke slowly drifting up towards the air purifiers at the top of the hall. Pausing to take a breath, she began delivering her response in the formal, archaic Vetalian required solely in the most serious of Senatorial proceedings.

It required some training to be able to use and understand the archaic pronunciations and obsolete grammatical forms but overall it was still generally intelligible to any fluent speaker of the language; the most jarring part was the use of the majestic plural, a throwback to the days then the Emperor of Vetalia used such terminology when addressing the Senate.

"Senators of Vetalia, it has come to our attention that there is a vote of no confidence against our government and under the parliamentary procedures of our Republic it is the duty of the Praetor of Vetalia to deliver a rebuttal on our behalf."

"As Praetor of Vetalia, one Lydia Repina, it is our responsibility to deliver the response of our government to the Senators and people of Vetalia. In this regard we will respond to the allegations levied by the Senator Algorin as follows. First, that the Republic of Vetalia has been ineffective in its response to the crisis of mainland Vetalia and the recent invasion by the Reich..." '

She lapsed back into colloquial Vetalian as appropriate, lighting a cigarette before continuing. "Senator Algorin, I think you know as well as I do that there isn't a damn thing that could have been done. The deal with the Reich was negotiated with a rogue agent of the Republic's government and signed by a Praetor who was so drunk he couldn't stand, his signature approving the treaty looked like a bunch of god damned lines. And on top of that, what the hell did you think we could do about it even if we could do something about it? Send in our nonexistent army and navy to tell the Reich to fuck off? At least now we have a fighting chance of rebuilding. During my term I have ensured the relocation of Vetalia's business and scientific expertise to Pax and the enclaves, including the entirety of our space program and countless other scientists, educators, businessmen and engineers. My leadership saved our country's most valuable resources so that we can eventually save our people!"

Applause erupted from the Repina faction.

"I understand your concerns over the losses of our land and territory and what it has cost us, Senator Algorin, it pains me as much as you. I personally experienced the collapse of Vetalia in the aftermath of the State takeover and it's only due to the efforts of the Proconsul of State, Ian Smith, that this government even made it out alive. You were too young to experience it but it was bad, Senator, really bad, something I hope you never have to experience for the rest of your life."

"I also know you've heard of the ludicrous idea that I am supporting our nation abandoning our homeland and becoming a nation of enclaves, which is quite literally nothing but Internet bullshit. Our home is Vetalia and we will fight to retake it in whatever way we can. Your patriotism and love of Vetalia is well known, Senator, and your loyalty to our great nation undoubted. I just ask that even if you don't agree with my arguments, you recognize that now is not the time to change governments. That is all."

Lapsing back into formal Vetalian and extinguishing her cigarette, Lydia continued.

"To conclude, we move that the Senate respect the Senator's motion and commence with a vote of no confidence in this government and its decisions be binding on us, and invite Senator Algorin to deliver his response to our address."

[United World Order]

Border Checkpoint 13, Vetalia.

The Trooper collected the documents from Fassad as he begin looking them over one by one. Each passport he looked over he looked at the occupant it was from studying everyone for a moment before handing the documents back to Fassad. The other Troopers stood about the checkpoint observing the car as they went about their duties maintaining the checkpoint on the border with Sniper Country.

"By law I am required to search everyone in the vehicle and search the vehicle its self for contraband." The Trooper started as he looked between the three occupants of the vehicle, a prominent scar ran down the right side of the KVF man's face. The trooper had served formerly in the Ordenite Waffen-SS and fought in two of Krasnova's brutal wars in which his encounter with a Marshite war tiger lead to his scar.

"However me and my comrades here are willing to let you go in return for something of monetary value." The trooper explained and as he did another man walked up to the car unexpectedly dressed in a blue suit which prompted the Trooper to step back and aim his rifle towards the man. The other Volunteers promptly stared at the man and waited on what would happen before deciding to either use force or request the Capitol Police to become involved for an "assessment" which would not fair well for the visitors. Another Trooper came and joined the first Trooper and took the documents from Lee as he looked them over.

"Where am I from?" The Trooper responded with a slight grin. "Mein heimat ist Ordena. Now where are you from?"

[Jagada]

“Feel. Feel for those who no longer can. For those whose bones lay in ash. For those who scream for their suffering to be over. For our cousins whose minds are shackled. Feel, because we paid for it in billions of lives …” – Juladin Toraim, Coming to Terms

Sin District,
Pax Gothica

The music never stopped in the neon paradise of the Jagite District, otherwise known as Sin. One of the numerous island pedals granted to the Gothic Lords as gross displays of their hubris. Sin stood as unique amongst the pedals for it radiated with vibrant multi-colored lights that perpetually stained the clouds overhead with dazzlingly kaleidoscopic patterns. Scrubbers had been strategically installed at great expense across the city and pumped out scented perfumes that filled every alley and crevasse, ensuring that residents need not take one foul breath. Across the bridge that linked it to the central pedal, along the Platinum Highway, the buildings held no rhyme or reason to them with architectural designs from across the empire. Arcantosi-inspired cantinas, Ibhorian arches, Austrinonian bridges, and countless other inspirations crushed up against the traditional domed structures of Jagite taste. Music flowed down the streets, up the stairs, across the bridges and canals of Sin – filtering its way into the businesses and residences of those who called it home. Like all other things there was no unity to the music but rather a cacophony of dozens of styles and genres competing for the attention of the throngs of people who choked the streets.

It was in a little brothel called The Graceful Sway that Admiral Bwana Sekibo laid in the bed of one of the establishment’s more naturally skilled ladies – Rachel. Wrapped in silk sheets and enjoying a Vetalian cigarette, a rare luxury these days, Bwana watched the ceiling fan lazily spin. It did nothing for the temperature of course, but he supposed that wasn’t really its purpose. He looked over to the sleeping form of the woman next to him. Rachel was an old friend, a Skyan who has run afoul of the law back in Citadel and found refuge, as all lost souls do, in the embrace of Sin. It had cost her most of her dignity though, but that was the price Sin took from everyone. Rachel was fast asleep.

Admiral Bwana sat up and swung his feet off the bed before reaching over and grabbing the bottle of rum on the nightstand and taking another swallow. He squinted across the dark room looking for his cellphone and uniform, spotting them on a chair that had fine upholstery. Without making a sound he put on his uniform, strapping the cloth pauldron on last; on it a dark purple fanged maw -- his personal emblem. The cellphone was in his inner pocket of course. Turning it on caused him to wince as his eyes adjusted. He took a double take when he realized he’d missed eleven calls and had sixteen messages.

“Fuck me bloody,” he growled as he turned to rush out of the room.

“Admiral,” came the voice of Rachel from the darkness behind him. Her voice had an innocent tone but a hard edge that reminded him just how far Sin was dragging her down.

“I’ve never cheated you,” replied Bwana without turning back to her. Pulling five hundred icons from his wallet he set it on the dresser by the bedroom door, “Take care of yourself girl.”

He left without another word.

Bwana shrugged off the questions from the brothel madame as he read through his messages. He visibly paled when he realized they came from Zean Anor, Admiral of the Gold. There were a few from his subordinates, no doubt trying to save him from Anor’s wrath. He flicked through the messages …

“Admiral … Anor wants to see you.”

“We’ve got a situation sir; you may want to head back.”

“Admiral …Anor is getting pretty pissed trying to find you. Call me.”

“Bwana … this is Anor. Where the fuck are you?”

The last one was the worst and gave him a cold sweat.

“The seas are smokey this evening.”

It was an informal phrase that meant the fleet was preparing for war. Why was Anor even here? Wasn’t she supposed to be sailing for Dephire? His fleet was meant to hold over in Pax to restock on supplies from Sin before regrouping near Havensky. Fuck, he screamed in his head as he jumped into his rental car. Throwing the vehicle into gear he burned out of the brothel and into the maze, smokey neon streets of Sin.


Bwana turned the forty-minute car ride back to the Sin Naval Yard in twenty-three minutes. The perimeter guards held him for only a second. The moment they saw who he was they saluted and lifted the barricade. This chilled Bwana’s blood … that meant Anor had sent orders down that he be admitted without security checks. Fuck, he thought again. He knew he should’ve kept the volume up. As he drove to administration building, he caught glimpses of the sea – hundreds of silhouettes could be made out in the distance. There were undoubtedly thousands he didn’t see. All of Gold Fleet had returned to Sin. The vehicle came to a screeching halt at the bland concrete administration building. Here he couldn’t get past security so quickly. The stoic guards demanded identification papers, fingerprint scans, eye scans, and a myriad of other security measures which took a total of ten minutes to slog through.

Admiral Bwana was eventually led past Anor’s traditional office and towards a conference room. As he walked, he saw men and women of the various components of Gold Fleet assembled around a central table. Zean Anor, her dark mercury hair and bright gunmetal eyes locked onto his dark eyes.

“Admiral Sekibo! Fortunate you’ve arrived,” she said in a harsh tone, “I was about to assume you’d abandoned your post and sign your arrest warrant.”

Bwana gave one of the crispest salutes of his life, “Apologies Admiral! I offer no excuse for my behavior and submit to whatever punishment you deem necessary ma’am!”

Her eyes softened but her voice didn’t, “This is entirely unbecoming of an officer, Sekibo. Much less an admiral of the Imperial Navy! For the sake of your fellow officer’s time, we shall discuss how to remedy this behind closed doors. Now stand to Sekibo, we may be going to war.”

Bwana filed in with the rest of the admirals, all of whom had the courtesy to pretend to have no witnessed his dressing down … though he was sure he’d get considerable ribbing later. The central table for now took his full attention. It seemed to focus on Vetalia, specifically Fortress Arcadia – the abomination that the Reich had established when the fascists had taken control. A quick scan of the various markers, and a glance at the legend for verification, confirmed the theory Bwana was formulating in his head.

“As I was telling the others Sekibo,” continued Anor, “The Reich has decided to end the charade of Vetalian independence and are moving into the country. Intelligence believes that the current leader, a Haskins, may not even be in charge or alive anymore. Needless to say, Fostoria vehemently opposes this decision by Norska. We are their immediate response to it.”

The markers on the glass screen reset as Anor recreated the plan for Bwana’s benefit. The Gold Fleet, and its various squadrons and sub-fleets, moved out of Sin and interposed themselves between Fortress Arcadia and the most direct supply routes from Norska.

“We are to impose a blockade of Arcadia initially, and all of Vetalia as the Reich moves in. We may be called upon to launch an assault directly on the Naval Arm stationed in Arcadia if the situation devolves. Until you receive orders directly from me, however, do not fire on Reich or Vetalian State vessels unless fired upon first.”

Bwana kept reviewing the map as Anor went through the order of battle, showing where each sub-fleet or squadron would be in the blockade line. Their fields of operation, areas where the Reich Naval Arm could be funneled into to form kill-boxes, fallback points, and a myriad of contingency plans incase this came to blows. He realized something as she concluded her placements.

“Admiral, I do not see the 77th Squadron,” he said, “Where would you have us?”

Zean Anor, Admiral of the Gold, gave a wry smile, “I’ve got a special assignment for the 77th, Admiral Sekibo.”

[The Kraven Corporation]

Pax Gothica
Central Gholgoth
19:00 Standard Imperial Time
Vetalia Incident +2

The Reich District, more commonly referred to as The Norskan District was a carbon copy of Fortress Norska, its high sided walls mounted machine gun nests and gun emplacements, it was lined with Stratosphere Guns that pointed skywards inside the walls were bunkers that acted as offices, embassy points where Ambassadors could meet with Reich representatives without having to travel to Norska, there were parade grounds where Capitol Police performed perfectly executed drills, the noise of their boots stamping on the tarmac could be heard clearly over the general hubbub of Pax Gothica, outside the tall metal blast gates Capitol Police stood on guard, every so often a changing of the guard would happen and the perfectly executed drills would draw crowds of tourists visiting Pax Gothica to watch from the relative safety of the central hub, the Gothic Custodes ensuring that peace was maintained, the Command section of the Norskan District was an imposing structure, heavily armoured and well built it overlooked the Norskan District and here sat the Capitol Police Officers that were in control of this little outpost of The Reich.

"The Vetalian Campaign is moving as planned, ports have been secured and the populace is putting up minimal resistance, estimated time to complete subjugation has been marked down as two weeks." one Officer spoke, sitting at a bare metal table, other Capitol Police Officers sat around the table watched him through cold dead eyes as he continued to speak.

"However, the Vetalian Senate, a Government in exile continues to operate on the pretence that it is they who are in control of their country." the other Officers continued to watch and listen in silence...

"It is time to move on the Vetalian senate, according to the treaty that was signed with Vetalia we have jurisdiction over the Senate, they must be brought in for questioning and processing, we cannot afford for the Senate to continue their meetings in Pax Gothica, the longer we allow them to operate under these false pretences the more Gothic nations will ally themselves to the plight of the Vetalians." The Officer continued pulling out a folder from the draw in the table

"Brigades 13, 12, and the 122 will deploy from Pax Gothica, arrest everyone in the Senate and return them to The Norskan District where they will be transferred to a Prison Transports, you have your instructions carry them out."

The Officers stood up and gave crisp right arm salutes followed by the customary response "By Your Command."

Outside the Norskan District already Capitol Police Brigades were now marching in formation through the gigantic steel blast doors of the Reich's centre of operations, their footfalls perfectly timed along with each swing of the arm, their MG42's had been holstered on their back packs and with each crunch of tarmac they moved ever closer towards the Vetalian Senate, the air took on a cold, almost ethereal chill as each of these machine men continued their march of death onwards towards their destination, one after another, more and more filled out of the Norskan District, each swing, each footfall identical to the last....

[Kahanistan]

"Of course," said Fassad, nodding to Yosef to pass him two briefcases with one hundred thousand Kahanistanian shekels each. He hoped this would be enough - while the money was earmarked for bribes, any remaining funds could be used in country for daily expenses... provided anyone in occupied Vetalia still used Kahanistanian money. Two hundred thousand would be enough for each trooper to receive a princely sum. Fassad wasn't sure what the pay was for KVF personnel, but if it was similar to the Kahanistanian Defence Forces, that two hundred thousand was about eight years' salary for a private or about three years' salary for a general.

Fassad handed the two briefcases to the soldier. "Here you go." His interns stared straight ahead, eager to get past these troopers.

[Auman]

A border crossing, somewhere in Northern Sniper Country...

"Where am I from?" The Trooper responded with a slight grin. "Mein heimat ist Ordena. Now where are you from?"

Crap.

Teddy didn't think this far ahead. He was hoping to intercept this car before it hit the checkpoint, maybe chat them up while they got a sandwich or something. When it made a beeline straight for the border, he acted impulsively and made his move, figuring he would make things up as he went along. And so he would, winging it is twenty-percent of diplomacy, after all. The other eighty is fieldcraft.

"I am from the only place that matters. A Fortress a long, long, way from here... Sent on a mission of great importance, one that I must accomplish before I can go home. You can understand the sanctity of a man's commitment to duty. I have been sent by our master to speak to a man here, in Vetalia... And in order to do this, I require two things of you. In return, my friend has offered to reward you handsomely. First, we need documentation that will allow us safe passage to Vetalia City. Second, we're going to need you to keep this exchange confidential. We are on a very important mission, one that pertains to the security of our nation... And we cannot trust anyone. Do you understand me, trooper?" Teddy Lee lied with such conviction that he believed it himself... Though, to be technical, not a word of what he just said was a lie.

Kraven Intelligence Office

Poltaur sat uneasily in a plush leather chair, it was the color of black coffee and squeaked in an undignified way whenever he moved. He was just to the left or Colonel Arnon Crerar who spoke with a High Vascilian accent which, to Poltaur's horror, was not affected in the slightest. Crerar was having an intellectual conversation with Tolacke about the intricacies of the current situation. So it seemed, this man from a foreign extra regional government had been keeping a very close eye on Gholgoth. He knew things that were classified top secret, that Tolacke and himself hardly had the clearance to know... And what made it worse was that he was more knowledgeable on the subject than either of them, national experts on the Reich.

Poltaur had been in contact with Crerar here and there for months now, though he had hardly believed the credentials. It anything, this Aumanii from the Sphere had been very forthcoming about anything he was asked about. There were no secrets, it seemed and no strings attached. Poltaur would ask a question and Crerar would answer it. At first, he would verify everything against available intelligence, but after the first month of every tidbit coming up positive, he stopped bothering.

It was a well understood fact that the Remans were Aumanii, the sons and daughters of a nation borne or Mars. Remus was a nation created from that diaspora, displaced by the Quickbronze Genocide... And until recently, it was believed that they were the only significant enclave of survivors. If what Colonel Arnon Crerar had communicated to him about the status of the Aumanii people was true, and he been given no reason to doubt him, then the reality was that Remus is just one nation in a panoply, which Crerar and his government sought to make whole again.

"We have assets in motion. I didn't want to place them before making you aware, brothers, but we couldn't wait. Things are moving far too quickly to wait around and do nothing. I hope you can appreciate that we have done this in the best interest of the Aumanii people. Of Remus. Do you mind if I smoke?" Crerar fished a pack from the inside pocket of his jacket. Tolacke waved a hand dismissively, as if to indicate he didn't mind.

"What I don't understand is why you have come directly to us. Why not speak to the Overlord, or at least the head of the Directorate?" Tolacke folded his hands together and rested his elbows on the green inkblotter on his desk.

"Because you needed to know what I know and you needed to know it now. The Reich is trouble. It needs to be stopped. If we fail at any point along the way, we all stand at great risk of losing everything. The Aumanii are fighters, always have been and always will be. We fight for love and justice, the right to freedom and we will lay down our lives in defense of all that it means to be human. This is our way, this has always been our way, Commander Tolacke. When I look at this Kraven Reich, I only see inhumanity... A vile mutation. A cancerous cell that must be removed and destroyed."