The Damoclean Thread Breaks [Closed. Attn: Gholgoth]

[LOVE DOG]

'Tens of thousands on my right, thousands by my side
War between good and evil, watching our fists collide
Battle for our freedom now, to the streets we ride

The Tower of Idols, Sin District, Pax Gothica

A black sedan, armored and boosted, slowed down outside of the massive tower within Sin District. An equally armored black SUV eased behind the sedan as the driver, dressed in a black butler style suit with a black beret, opened his own door to move to the rear passenger door. Both vehicles bore small flags of the United Dominion and the Gothica Dominion Commonwealth or GothDomWealth for short, along with special license plates that bore the black tribal wolf of the Royal House of Wolf. The natives and tourists of Sin would know that a Dominionite Royal was about to be meeting with the Despoina of Sin.

The driver paused at the rear passenger door as he watched the two Royal Guardsmen exited the back seat of the armored SUV. Dressed in a dark gray dress uniform with black armor shoulder plates that bore the white and dark red bull from the flag of the GothDomWealth and a gold and red accented iron cross, the two, each close to six foot plus tall, were apart of the Host of Fenrir, the Royal Guardsmen of Lehnsherr. Golden berets rested on their heads as the two men adjusted their grips on their black SCAR battle rifle cambered in .338 Lapua Mag with under barrel 12 gauge shotguns, large Roman Gladius on their left side and a holstered .45 ACP 1911 style handgun on their right side. They moved towards the sedan as the driver opened the rear passenger door.

 A man, dressed in a hooded gray fur coat that stood close to six feet two inches tall, exited the sedan. The hood casting shadows across his youthful face as his light blue eyes took in the Tower of Idols. This man was use to massive over the top type of buildings and statues as he was born within the United Dominion and of the Royal House of Wolf. Even the nearby District of Fenrir housed massive statues of the Count and the Fallen, the Hounds of Caesar. The man moved towards the entrance of Tower of Idols flanked by the two Royal Guardsmen.

Once inside, the man lowered his hood to show a youthful face of a lightly tanned man in his early twenties, but his real age was close to to his mid-thirties, with neatly trimmed short black hair and piecing light blue eyes. A gold ring, shaped like the tribal wolf of the Royal House of Wolf, rested on his right ring finger. Slowly unbuttoning his fur coat to show off the a dress uniform that matched that his royal guardsmen as the man was also the highest ranking commanding officer of the Host of Fenrir without the firearms. He only has a black and ivory hilted Roman Gladius at his left side. He was Jason Lucius Lehnsherr, a Prince of the Gothica Dominion Commonwealth. 

Your Savior's Garden, District of Fenrir, Pax Gothica

The small airfield at the Fenrir High Guardian Barracks was a hive of movement as men and woman readied themselves for action. They moved not for a threat to the District of Fenrir, no they moved to confront a threat to another part of Pax Gothica. A true enemy of the United Dominion was on the move within the very region, Gholgoth, that Dominionites weren't allowed to strike against this enemy without cause disarray with the other Gothic Lords. The Watcher system, the United Dominion worldwide surveillance satellite network, had picked up something afoot coming from Fortress Pax of movement coming from the unhuman Capitol Police as they out move towards another part of Pax Gothica in force. Technicians pinpoint that the target would be either the Sin District or the Vetalians. The latter would determine to be the target as the Vetalians were currently being purged by the Reich according to recent reports. Information was shared with the leadership of the District of Fenrir, the GothDomWealth and the United Dominion of the actively of the Cappers which forced the hand of Caesar Jason Scotus Lupus, the Count of Transylvania, to either stand by and watch the Cappers ruthless slaughter people or take a stand by deploying Dominionites to the Frontlines to stay in defense of Vetalians and their Government-in-exile. The Count whom has been very vocal about his hatred of the Reich and the Cappers choice the latter route of action. 

The paramilitary force known as the Fenrir High Guardians or the Hounds of Fenrir would be the closest Dominionite forces to engage with the armored drones of the Reich.  Air crews, in black and orange jump suits, pulled double duty readying the four dark purple with golden accent painted Omega light dropships, bearing markings of the United Dominion and the District of Fenrir,  and guiding the Fenrir High Guardians also known officially as the Hounds of Fenrir inside the passenger bay. A total of twenty fully armored soldiers could be seated in the passenger bay of each of the Omegas, not counting those brave enough to stand. As the Hounds of Fenrir daily train for operations like this one, the men and woman quickly armored up and armed themselves with the following; black SCAR battle rifle cambered in .338 Lapua Mag, black LY46 'Hellhammer' .50cal handgun, a number of Lyran LY1002 'Hellsbreath' thermobaric hand grenades and extra magazines for their battle rifles and handguns, along with some type of bladed weapon.

The all clear was given and the four Omegas engaged their jump jets to take to the skies above Pax Gothica followed by a handful of small black support drones armed with a single 20mm chaingun. As the flying metal beasties pushed towards the Vetalian District, messages and warnings ahead of their intention were being send to the Custodes and other allied forces heading towards block the Cappers advancing into the Vetalian District via encrypted transmission. As the same times as the Hounds of Fenrir rushed to a possibly conflict, the Chairman of the District of Fenrir with approve of Caesar Jason Scotus Lupus placed the Dominionite district in Code Lupus. Fenrir High Guardians, in full gear, moved out of Your Savior's Garden to set up for a defensive action of the District of Fenrir. Custodes would aid in guiding the natives and tourists to safety.

The trip between the District of Fenrir and the Vetalian District was over quickly as the metal flying beasties shot above the waters. The Omegas slowly came in behind the wall created by the allied forces and eased into a hover about a foot above the streets below, the handful of gun drones moving into positions above the allied defensive barrier.  The Hounds of Fenrir, dressed in full sets of Transylvanian B.A.S. Series ONE MOD VI in dark purple with gold Norse runes and markings accenting around the armor systems, numbering eighty soldiers in total filed off of the loading ramp of the Omegas. Their gold eyes staring at the red eyes of the Cappers as the Fenrir High Guardians moved to the weak spots of the allied defensive barrier, their battle rifles sighted in on the force in front of them. Under the body armor, no one could really tell what Dominionite races were active in the eighty Hounds of Fenrir. A citizen of Remus once was quoted about Transylvanian B.A.S. Series ONE MOD VI as being beefier and better protected Cappers.

Two of the Omegas took back to the skies and to turn their 20mm auto cannons, armed with HE rounds unlike the Armor-piercing rounds used by the drones, on the Capitol Police amassing near the Vetalian District as the other two dropships turned to create another barrier by landing on the street below. From the loading ramps of the grounded Omegas came a deep howl of a wolf that was nearly drowned out by the chaos in the night. The United Dominion, known to heavily non-human in population, was about to bring a few full blooded were-beings in the eyes of Pax Gothica. They came down the loading ramps, humanoid shaped werewolves that were fully transformed that pushed the allied defensive barriers. The gray werewolf male leaped on the top of Captain Akdari's APC and unleashed another deep howl into the air as the smaller brown werewolf female paced near the grounded Omegas.

A lone figure came down the loading ramp of one of the grounded Omegas, this man was a child of two Gothic nations. Dominionite and Jagite. Wearing a dark black dragon scale duster over his own set of Transylvanian B.A.S. Series ONE MOD VI that matched the Dominionites already facing the enemy, the man carried his helmet under his left arm and his battle rifle sung over his right shoulder. The light danced off of his long silver hair styled into Norse braids with Norse runes beads tied into the braids, his sides faded from the top to bare skin at the bottom. Norse facial tattoos covered the left side of his face. 

His silver eyes took in the chaotic Gothica Showdown that was happening as he paused at the bottom of the loading ramp. He reached into his duster with his right hand to pull out of cigar and lighting it with a match, taking a few good pulls before calmly walking over towards the allied defensive barrier, For those familiar with the District of Fenrir and Her High Guardians, they would known this man as Primus Pilus Ivar Grimolfsson, one of the six Primus Pilus that commanded the Hounds of Fenrir. The Primus Pilus, a rank equal to Major was turning forty-five, has spent most of his military career as a member of the 1st Blood Wolves of the United Dominion Armed Forces before being asked to join the command unit of the Fenrir High Guardians at the founding of Pax Gothica and the District of Fenrir. The Primus Pilus, along with most of his men here, was a veteran of multiple battlefields outside of Gholgoth and inside the Dominionite nations. Primus Pilus Ivar Grimolfsson tipped his head towards Captain Akdari as he neared the Despotate Security Forces APC.

The male werewolf lowered on his front legs and snarled at the Capper, drool dipping down his canines on to the roof of the APC.

"Looks like the Cappers don't understand what the word 'No' means, Captain Akdari."  stated the Primus Pilus as his silver eyes stared at the Capper Officer.

* credit for lyrics ~ Topher ft. The Marine Rapper - The Patriot

[Allanea]

Somewhere in Occupied Vetalia

"Disgusting." – said the Poruchik, removing his helmet. Sweat rolled down his face, mixed with the camouflage paint and with the soot that seemed to be everywhere in Vetalia. It filled the air in a greyish fog in the mornings, settled down on equipment, it got inside the soldiers' goggles. Soot and dust were the twin enemies they had to deal with day and night as they made their campground.

The site they chose had been once an hotel. Now it was empty, the doors ripped off their hinges, the windows broken, everything of value ripped out – whether by Kravenite Capitol Police or by some enterprising lowlives, it was now impossible to tell. Of course, the team was not foolish enough to take up an abandoned hotel room – rather, they camped out in the service floor.

Which was probably the reason for all of the dust, thin, dry dust that provided a perfect complement for the soot. They laid out their sleeping bags on the floor and slept in shifts, and of course ate their food cold. It would be days before any of them had an opportunity to genuinely shower.

The men took turns standing guard at hidden spots within the building – partly to avoid the enemy surprising them, but mainly to watch. Cameras with long, non-reflective lenses and infra-red binoculars served them in collecting the record of their journey.

Some of the things they had photographed were things they expected to see – propaganda posters, walls riddled with bullets, the signs of an occupation. But there were signs everywhere that something else was happening, something of a far grander scale.

One could not be surprised at the sign of bodies hanging from lamp posts – certainly not a man schooled and bred in the arts of violence. Allaneans themselves would likely leave a few lamp posts with such 'decorations' were the fortunes of war reversed. Nor was it shocking how many they had already seen – after all, nobody had exactly expected the Capitol Police to be kind or humane.

There were, still, signs of something far grander than the mere cruelty of an occupier. The sheer emptiness of the town they were in was a sign – although, again, large-scale deportations were not unheard of even with less terrifying regimes than the Kraven Reich. It was a mere piece of a puzzle, a nightmare mosaic.

Another piece of the puzzle was the corpse they had found on the second day, found at the side of the road – an emaciated man, his sunken eyes still open, the side of his head blown out with a single gunshot. It would not have taken a doctor to figure out he was already dying from starvation when he was, at last, shot dead.

It would not, then, surprise the commandos when they saw, through their binoculars, the long, winding columns of men and women walking down a highway, led – no, herded – towards an unseen goal. Sometimes, carrying across the empty silence that used to be the sound of busy roads and bustling city streets, came a far-off snapping sound – a single rifle shot.

"That's not a fight," – said the Lieutenant, after listening for several seconds for more gunshots. "That's just an execution."

"Do you think someone tried to run?" – the Poruchik asked. He was sitting cross-legged near the wall, holding his rifle open at the hinge, wiping the interior off meticulously. The cleaning cloth came back grey with soot.

"I don't think that's what happened." – said the Lieutenant. He was no stranger to the fact that sometimes people run. Sometimes you need to snap your rifle to the shoulder, and fire at a tiny, fleeing figure until it falls. "No, that's not what happened. I think that's the other way around. Someone who couldn't run – or walk."

"Pizdets." – the other man swore, snapping the rifle closed, pressing in the pin that would keep the weapon together and ready to shoot. "I want to have my hands on one of those shits."

* * *

After nightfall, one man would appear on the roof of a nearby building. He unfolded an antenna, fixed it to a small computer he kept on his knees, and hit a button. At a preset time, the antenna broadcast its signal for a mere second – enough to upload a few photographs, a written message. Of course, it was encrypted. There was everything that their superiors needed to know – photographs they've taken over their journey, their observations, their suspicions.

These images, and other like them, came together with the observations of agents, with satellite images and radar scans, with heat maps and radio intercepts, with rumors and conspiracy theorists' ravings.

Somewhere in the Ministry of War building, in Liberty-City, a report was coming into being. At its core were satellite images of Vetalia, both regular images and infra-red. The country was being drained of light and heat – the lights of the cities were going out, the fires of the factories were growing cold. Fires blazed for one last time where towns stood, and then died out. The vast country was like a human body growing frighteningly cold, from its fingers to its core. In some places, the ground remained slightly warmer than the surrounding area, a slightly brighter shade on heat maps, like lesions on a corpse's flesh.

* * *

As it turned out, they got lucky. They heard the footsteps, the sound of voices, from several blocks away in the empty town. Had it been still bustling with life, the feat would be impossible – but now, the well-trained ear could spot an approaching group of armed men from quite a distance, and the well-trained nose could smell gunpowder and sweat. It helped matters that the sort of men sent by the Reich on patrols in such abandoned towns were probably not the finest and stealthiest.

"Well," – the Captain whispered to the Lieutenant and the Poruchik – "Seems like you guys are going to get your wish."

[Marquesan]

CAFOC "Marguerite", APF-DDR Airfield,
Lake Pipariya Borderlands District, Darjeeling Prefecture,
Central Marquesan States, Gholgoth
0540 Hours.

Pangalo walked along the flightline with his helmet in one hand and his preflight checklist clipboard in the other.

The sweet scent of jet fuel hung on the crisp, early morning air. The western sky was still awash with stars, with what appeared to be heavy cloudcover slipping across the Vetalian border obscuring those closest to the horizon. The rising sun had just begun to paint the eastern horizon with silver light as the thick smoke began to drift over the airfield.

Walking along a long line of steel and concrete hangars shaped as long arch buildings, he lit up an unfiltered cigarette as he scanned the sky with his eyes. He took a long drag as he walked past a crew fitting Misericordes to another Revenant fighter in the Dawn Patrol squadron. The crew chief, standing at the Revenant's finely pointed nose set his cup of coffee down on a steel table and rendered a crisp salute to SC Pangalo as he walked by.

"Morning, sir! We finished your bird about a half hour ago. This one needs two more missiles, and your wingman will be up, as well."

"Morning, Guichard. Much appreciated. I'll be on my preflight, see you in a few minutes for startup. What do you make of that?"

Pangalo gestured with the hand holding the clipboard at the reddish-brown haze gathering on the western horizon.

"I'd say it looks like a forest fire, probably on the Vetalian side, but there's been no storms in the area--it's way too cold for fire season. I didn't see any prescribed burn notices in the report for this morning." Guichard said.

"You think I should go get a look?" Pangalo asked.

"I think you'd better. Could be Cappers burning bodies again. Sons of bitches." Both men were silent for a moment.

"I hate that thought, but you could be right. Wouldn't be the first time." Pangalo said, disgusted.

"Bon chance, Sergent-Chef!" Guichard turned back to his crew as Pangalo walked to the next hangar in line, standing with the doors open, the cockpit of his aircraft raised and a lightweight wheeled staircase positioned for Pangalo to climb up into the aircraft easily. The quiet hangar had in it all the tools and equipment needed to repair, refuel and rearm the APF.12/1R2 fighter at its center. Pangalo set his helmet down, slipped a pen from a pocket on the sleeve of his flight suit, and clicked it. He methodically walked around the aircraft counterclockwise, starting from the nose back and checking every flight surface and the tires. He stopped at each of the Fire Lance pods to check the mounting bolts, trying to rock the pod back and forth with his hands to make sure each was secure. The Misericorde missiles received the same treatment as he walked along the length of the wing, inspecting it carefully. As he walked around the rear of the aircraft he stopped to sniff the air, the first hint of smoke from the fire drifting into his nose. His brow furrowed into a troubled expression, but he continued his preflight check. By the time he got back around to his starting point next to the ladder, Guichard and his three man crew arrived at his hangar. Guichard gave Pangalo a nod he returned before walking up the staircase.

"Looks good, Guichard. is Cochois over there? His ass is always late since he started dating Rochelle." He said from the top of the stairs, one leg in the cockpit.

Guichard laughed. "With lipstick on the collar of his flight suit and all."

"Lucky bastard. Somebody once told me you can sleep with a blonde, or you can sleep with a brunette, but you never get any sleep with a redhead." Pangalo said as he sat down in the cockpit, putting his helmet on. Guichard ran up the staircase and helped Pangalo strap into the single seat fighter. He laughed at Pangalo's quip.

"I'm gonna tell him you said that, sir."

"I'll tell him myself once we're in the air." They both laughed.

Pangalo flicked the BATTERY ON switch on the instrument panel, which caused the cockpit instrumentation to come to life. He moved his flight stick around, looking through his cockpit mirrors at the movements of the flight surfaces. Guichard looked over the cockpit quickly. "You all set, Sergent-Chef?"

"Let's do it."

Guichard nodded and climbed down the staircase, then moved it away from the aircraft. Pangalo finished his preflight checklist, and slid his clipboard forward of the instrument panel, into a slot on the dashboard. Lowering the cockpit with a button, it sealed into place with a hiss, and then a clunk. Had he not been wearing his ear protection and helmet, Pangalo would have felt the pressure change in his eardrums. Guichard took a few steps back, and reached for the pouch on his hip where he carried a lightweight gas mask. He put on his own mask as the ground crew followed suit. Guichard stood to sharp attention and gave a salute to Pangalo, then clenched his fist and spun it in the air clockwise, indicating it was safe to start the engine. The aircraft shuddered as Pangalo pressed the RAPID IGNITION button, which released volatile hydrazine into the engine. A thick plume of blue/grey smoke shot out of the back of the aircraft as it spun rapidly up to idle speed, the turbine accelerating in just a few seconds to its stable range. As the smoke cycled around the hangar, Guichard flicked a switch on the wall which caused exhaust fans at the top of the hangar to turn on, venting the toxic smoke to the atmosphere. Three crewmembers ran under the aircraft in unison and removed the chock blocks on either side of the wheels. When they were clear, Guichard and his crew moved off to the side, lining up in the position of attention. As SC Pangalo taxied out onto the tarmac, each man rendered a crisp, open-palm salute with his right hand. Pangalo's fighter moved out toward the taxiway leading to the end of the runway while Guichard and his crew moved over to Cochois' fighter to repeat the process.

In a few moments, Cochois' aircraft appeared from its hangar, joining Pangalo on the taxiway. Pangalo released his parking brake, and his aircraft began to roll forward to the runway. "Say, Cochois, what'cha have for breakfast?" Pangalo spoke into the microphone built into his helmet, a cheesy grin on his face.

"Shut the fuck up, Pangalo. You really wanna know what I had for breakfast or are you just teasing me about Rochelle? We're in love, man."

"Oh, I'm sure you are. Those legs go all the way up and make an ass of themselves. I know what I'd eat for breakfast if I were you." Neither of them said anything, but as Cochois' Revenant fighter pulled up next to Pangalo's, Pangalo looked over in time to see Cochois flipping him the bird.

The two aircraft turned onto the end of the runway in unison. The two small single-engine fighters pulled up next to each other. In front of them, the blue runway lights twinkled. The rising sun's light striking the smoke stained the sunrise stunning, vibrant shades of red, orange and gold behind the two jets as they prepared to take off to the west.

"I don't like this smoke. Don't feel right, Pangalo. What do you think that is?"

"Guichard seemed to think the Cappers are burning bodies in Vetalia. I hate to think that thought, but now I can't stop thinking it." Every tone of humor in their voices was gone as quickly as it came.

Pangalo keyed the radio over to the departure control frequency. "Voodoo Child Six-Three, requesting takeoff vector."

The response came back a few moments later. "Voodoo Child, you are clear for Dawn Patrol; unlimited ceiling. Go get a look, boys. Looks like a forest fire from the radar, but it's not fire season. Be advised, the border is a live fire zone; tensions are high."

"Acknowledged, we're locked, cocked, and ready to rock. Voodoo Child Six Three, Out."

Pangalo and Cochois rammed the throttles forward, and the two aircraft began moving. Slowly at first, but quickly accelerating until both fighters were hurtling down the runway at breakneck speed. The roar of the unrestricted military turbines at wide open throttle shook the windows of the flight control tower, the morning air reverberating with the thunder of the jets. Both pilots turned their noses skyward at the same instant. Pangalo's breath sounded labored in the radio as the pair of fighters climbed away from the airfield. "Three thousand. Four thousand meters. Five thousand. Leveling off. Let's get over that river and see what's going on, huh, Cochois?"

"You really do have a wild hair up your ass this morning, don't you Pangalo? You wanna go river running?"

"Do you not? Can't see shit from up here anyway."

Pangalo banked the aircraft right, going north to meet the river between Vetalia and The Marquesas as he descended in altitude. He banked his aircraft hard left as he lined up on the river, dropping down to just two hundred meters off the river, high enough to pass over bridges but low enough to get a beautiful view of the river. Pangalo switched on the thermal camera at the nose as the aircraft began flying through a thick pall of smoke. "I want to go radar-active. I really can't see shit up here, Cochois. You climb up and cover me."

"Neither can I, roger. Switch on your Rigel, Pangalo."

Cochois pulled up to a thousand meters altitude, leaving his radar off. Below, Pangalo switched his radar set on, scanning both sides of the border and the river beneath him. The radar set and thermal camera produced a perfectly clear image of the air around the aircraft and the surface beneath it, filtering out the smoke even through visibility outside the cockpit was zero. The cloud of smoke Pangalo was flying through was awash with sunlight; he flipped the sun-shade on his helmet down to protect his eyes from the brilliance. Minutes passed as the two flew along the river in silence, following its curves at 800 kilometers an hour.

"...The hell do you suppose this is, Cochois?"

"....I think I see it."

Cochois used the zoom on the thermal camera at his aircraft's nose to zoom in on a massive heat bloom on the Vetalian side of the border.

"That's a massive fire, Pangalo. Let's get a closer look."

"It looks to be on the Vetalian side. You sure you wanna deal with all that?"

"I don't see anything else out of the ordinary here." The two aircraft passed over what looked like fishing boats in the river.

"Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, anyway."

"You crazy bastard, you're gonna get us killed this way, you know that right?"

"Where's your sense of adventure Cochois?"

Pangalo pulled up and banked right as they passed the roaring forest fire, circling the fire over the Vetalian border as he looked down at the massive wall of flame consuming whole trees in seconds.

"You seeing anything here Pangalo? Forests don't burn themselves."

"Not yet, but High Command is gonna want to see this. Keep a lookout for Reich Sawfish, will ya, Cochois?"

"Yeah, switching to radar active. Where are you assholes...."

[Havensky]

Castellan Hall
Dreadfire District, Pax Gothica


The Castellan of Pax Edalyn Burnham was in her fourth meeting of the day and her second cup of coffee. This particular meeting was about the plans to expand the runways at Pax Airport to better handle the increase in air traffic. The only issue was that the new runway would put the new flight path right over a Skyan residential neighborhood.

This meant, ironically, that the Skyan Castellan (who spoke for the interest for Pax) was arguing with the Skyan Representative to Pax (who spoke for the Skyans living in the regional capital.) What was worse, the young lady was right. They had planned on constructing another runway on the water to avoid this situation, but the traffic had increased faster than they could built the artificial island extension. They could wait, but there was pressure to increase tourism which would help pay for improvements to the capital city.

The office where she presided over the day’s events was built from white stone with high arches that curved into a copper dome ceiling. The office was longer than her previous one in the Citadel. There were two comfortable looking white couches that faced a handmade oak table. An additional high backed chair, which is where she currently sat, was placed at the center of the arrangement giving a vibe that was both informal but also rather intimidating.

“We’re not going to have it as a primary runway, just when things get busy. We already put restrictions on night flights. Additionally, as we--”

She was interrupted by her bodyguard, an extremely tall Kylarnatian Custodian, stepping between her and her guest with a polite, but very authoritative “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. Officer al'Alanis will escort you out.” Burnham instantly started to feel a pit in her stomach. The Custodians, the regional capital's multinational police force, usually stayed absolutely silent. This was the most she had heard from Severus in months.

“But we’re not finished yet!”, protested the visitor as the Jagite woman placed her hand on her shoulders and began to gently push her out.

Burnham got up with a bewildered look as her bodyguard took her by the arm and started to lead her out the back. She could see two more Custodians following close behind her and hear the sharp click of the main doors as the sealed themselves shut.

“Severus, what’s going on?”

“There’s a standoff in the Vetalian district between Capitol Police forces and the Vetelian guard. We’re moving you to a safe location.”

Burnham cursed under her breath as she entered the escape tunnel. The boots of her now ever increasing security detail echoing in the wide passage as they headed down.

“Get me Thames! Where is he and where are the other Custodians?”

“The Chief will meet you in the situation room. Right now, we got to get you there. Watch your step.”

The passageway, which was a long ramp rather than a staircase, began to curve around in an almost disorienting way. After a few moments, they crossed three different vestibules with two foot metal doors that closed in behind them.

The situation room was already buzzing with activity. Drone footage from the standoff pouring into several of the large screens that encircled the round table. A map of Pax was overlaid on the glass table with markings of Custodian police units evacuating civilian areas., Gothic allied military units as they began to mobilize, and a comms panel which would reach just about anyone.

Burnham sat down in the chair at the ‘head’ of the table and took a deep breath.

“Ok. I’m going to need another coffee and the Vetalian representative on the line. Now.”

[Anagonia]

Governor's Mansion
Unity District, District Governors Office
Pax Gothica, 0500 Hours Anagonian Standard Time

Something was happening in Gholgoth. Pax Gothica was simply a side effect of whatever was transpiring, but something big was happening. District Governor Robert Kane looked over the reports from the Military Policeman stationed at the border and was not happy. This morning alone there had been an influx of tourists from adjacent districts, most reporting that they had come into the Unity District for shelter. The Confederate Military Policemen had performed admirably as they fell into their roles as protectors and guides, directing traffic where necessary and even having several instances of escorting injured tourists to the Red Star Sector. The problem wasn't necessarily the influx of tourists themselves, it was the issue that the influx was now becoming a refugee situation.

There were options for the District Governor to utilize in these type of situations. The Confederate Navy rotated a fleet presence nearby frequently to keep up appearances and provide protection, no doubt that fleet was on high alert due to the growing and evolving situation. The MP's in his district could utilize their various mechanized assets to assist with crowd control and provide protection. He could, also, simply close the borders to the district to ensure a level of security and only open it to refugees. The latter option was the most appealing, and it felt like a small step to escalation for a Confederate response. President Johnson had already expressed in a message yesterday to Robert that he explicitly did not want Anagonian forces becoming involved in anything to do with the Reich or other powers in their disagreements. Not only was it too close to election season, a reason no sane politician would voice but one Robert knew instinctively, there was also the fact that Anagonia had just recently began to warm relations with the Ordenites and - secretyly - the Reich in an attempt to open up trade negotiations. Any act now would severely jeopardize those two objectives, moreso if Anagonia became involved on the wrong side of the issue and was forced by a victor to repay reparations.

With a flick of a pen on paper, Robert concluded his write-up for an executive order for the District. Quietly, over the next few hours, all entry points to the Unity District would become heavily guarded by Confederate Military Police and their mechanized assets. Barrier walls would be placed up, and generally it would be permissible for tourists claiming refugee status to make easy entry. Anyone else, any other force, any other entity would politely be told to turn around. For the duration of whatever the situation was evolving into, Anagonia had effectively given a statement that it wanted no part of what was transpiring.

CVSN-06 CSS Olympia
Anagonia-class Strike Carrier
Task Force Olympia
Sailing near Unity District - Anagonian-controlled territory in Pax Gothica

Admiral Johnathan Vladinchi was somewhat satisfied that the Governor finally got a spine. After the President had sent a general message to commanding authorities involved near the situation developing in Pax Gothica, which included the Admiral, it had been made very clear that Anagonian involvement was to be zilch. In a more personalized message to Johnathan, President Johnson had even went so far as to declare the Olympia's presence in the theater to simply be a preventive measure against aggression. Communication with the District Governor had been sparse and few, but what messages that were read by either party was an agreement that both of them would not antagonize the situation. So it was that the Admiral had his fleet simply patrol near Anagonian-controlled waters, launching only light patrol sorties, and providing an aerial presence over the Unity District with the occasional flyby to give the MP's on the ground an awareness that they weren't alone. Beyond that, he played nice.

But he was ready. Very ready. Should no one else play nice.

[The Eridani Imperium]

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Sol System, Earth - Pax Gothica
Kadria UTC: 0700 Hours
Current Estimated Local Time: 1500 Hours

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As the standoff continued, silver eyes watched from afar as a Tribunus Angusticlavius took a long drink of his mead. Halfdan Iceborn carefully scanned the scene as tensions built, paying close attention to the formations and postures of both sides and formulating a report.

Halfdan's beard and hair were dark grey with age, but his mind was still sharp, honed by his time in the Imperial Fleets. While he had asked for a quiet posting, Halfdan certainly wasn't retired yet - not when situations like the one unfolding before his eyes were possible.

The Kadrian calmly double-checked his sidearm and the Adamant plate vest he was wearing, ensuring that they were properly secured before tapping the datapad to give his report to Command. "Legion's Rest, this is Raven One reporting in. No real change in the last 15 minutes. I expect Pax reinforcements to arrive soon..."

[The Peninsular]

"Command to Cobra 1-1. Come in.", the comm in Principal Lieutenant Hellmacher's helmet chimed. "1-1 here. Go ahead.", he replied quickly, while observing a tactical map of Pax. After a quick cosmetic makeover (from orange to grey), the majority of the soldiers had left Torch Building in a total of 15 of their vehicles - modified, armed and armored sedans and SUVs. They had split up in groups of 5 vehicles each, and the drivers were currently busy weaving between the existing traffic just slow enough that a Custodian wouldn't stop them for traffic violations.

"Blue flight has just launched.", Command relayed to Hellmacher. "They will be on station to assist in 3. TS-23 is still around 30 minutes out." The Lieutenant acknowledged and closed the channel. The submarine would be carrying additional equipment; a welcome help for the unit, should fighting take place. On the other hand, their own vehicles were not as harmless as they might seem.

Taken from the BAGD - Hellmacher still wasn't sure how they'd managed that - the vehicles only seemed like regular cars. However, their matte grey exterior frames were armored with thick plating, and their windows had been replaced with armor plating as well. In addition, mine protection, armaments ranging between 21mm autocannons and missile launchers, a small active defense suite and space for five soldiers made them into IFVs in all but name and appearance - at massive monetary cost, and a weight of 19 tons each, though. It had taken a fair amount of cosmetic work (and cheating with the gravitic weight reduction system) to make them appear like just regular cars when they had asked the Skyans for space in the garage to store them.

"We'll need to hurry.", the voice of his second-in-command suddenly reached Hellmacher over the platoon comms net. "Looks like the Custodians will be acting any minute now." Hellmacher held onto the dashboard as his car weaved around a large truck and between two civilian SUVs, followed closely by the rest of the convoy. "Very well. Just don't run someone over.", he replied and turned to his driver. "Step on it."

[Havensky]

Vetaliian District

The Custodians were now fully mobilized. The flashing blue and red lights on their vehicles lighting up the yellow reflective stripes on their dark navy uniforms as they started to descend on the area. The uniforms were long and clearly civilian in stark contrast to the bulky gear favored by armed forces.

As each district was an island, there were only so many ways in and out of each district. With Capper forces held up at Pax bridge, the Custodians first moved to blockade any further movement into the district by raising the north and south bridges. On the Pax side of the bridge, the Custodians raised the bridge to prevent anyone from going into the Vetalian district… or Kraven from getting out.

The next step was to get everyone off the street. A shelter in place notice went out to all residents and visitors in the Vetalian district to get to shelter. The public trains all stopped service through the district. Custodians at street level directed residents to the train stations downtown. Each station was deep underground and could provide emergency shelter during an attack. Custodians ran up and down the street directing confused and bewildered residents to the shelters.

Close to the Pax bridge, Custodians based in the district began to go building by building moving residents out. The plan would be to work their way out from the incident area and evacuate as many civilians as they could.

The Custodians wouldn’t engage the Capitol Police directly if they could help it. They were regional police forces and not equipped to take on the Cappers themselves. That would be left up to the military forces.