O Marechalisimo [Istoloa | IC]

[Holy Marsh]

TAMF forces had soon secured the skies without much of a threat. M-SAD's pre-war analysis and post-attack assessment combined to form a belief that the Tupengan Air Force had been widely neutralized. It would be impossible to say that the whole apparatus had been destroyed just yet, but they were effectively null concerns. They could no longer support the ground forces in any capacity and should they take flight to oppose the ongoing air campaign they would likely have little success The anti-air defense network was a somewhat different story. As expected, it went silent. While ceding the skies to the foreign attackers, they would at least survive to engage later. Tupengan ground forces had also adapted. While without a doubt the targeting and destruction of their bases and formations had done considerable harm to every facet of the Tupengan war machine, they would eventually spread out to reduce the damage from any single air attack. After the first few packages, the efficiency of the TAMF air offensive was reduced.

The result was that while the field of battle had been ceded in large part to the foreign intervention and MAFT forces on the ground, there was still a fight to be had. TAMF forces had at this time not targeted certain vital command and control structures and systems in preparation for what was planned to occur: Local action against the Butcher. Indeed, once the coup had been launched and moved into action, TAMF forces would change their target selections. Coup forces would be considered friendlies and the networks and nodes they needed would be untouched. Other targets would become available.

At any given time there were a number of Marshite, RMU, and Damocles satellite systems orbitting the nation. Such was their abundance that once in position they offered an extremely effective moment to moment look into the nation. HUMINT grew by the moment. As actions in the south and north grew in intensity, as coup forces grew in reach and communicated with the Theocracy, as Tupengan forces revealed information in any number of ways, fewer secrets were held. SIGINT grew by leaps and bounds as networks that were allowed to remain open were penetrated by coup forces, as signals data was processed and vicious attacks launched against the remaining data network support centers. While the Tupengans proved more than capable at surviving any single operation, there was much for them to constantly adapt to. As the airspace was secured, several bombers in each package would start to drop great multitudes of drones over the target area. They gathered data, penetrated networks, provided live looks, and any number of other recon and information warfare jobs. The battlespace network grew by the microsecond, while the Tupengan's own data networks would be attacked relentlessly.

As TAMF continued in their waves the TMNA switched its job. Its carriers would constantly send airstrikes into Tupenga. The Coup could count on heavy air support, and within range, unrelenting missile and gun bombardment from the sea. The waves of TAMF forces would still arrive, targeting anything they could find. As fewer targets were presented, more firepower was directed to ensure certain targets would be destroyed. MAFT forces could count on airstrikes to handle Tupengan forces who could not scatter effectively. They could also communicate with TAMF forces through advisors and the foreign trained troops. These local forces would let TAMF know what areas had been cleared of friendly forces and civilians and were available to be cleared by heavy bombing, reducing available areas for the Tupengans to hide that didn't involve more direct fights with or movements towards MAFT where airstrikes could be used more accurately. While no doubt the Tupengans would still have the ability to survive these strikes, every new wave carried with it the implicit knowledge of reduced options and bloodier futures.

When news reached the Arch-Bishop of the Butcher's reticence to submit, it was decided that a ground intervention was back on the menu. Operation Fearful Serpent had earmarked three million for the intervention but only one-tenth of those were activated even before the air campaign had begun. The state of the Matriarchy was such that military forces were almost always in a state of mobilization, prepped and ready to go, and any number of Crusades meant that forces were ready to jump off at any moment. The First Tupengade Crusade had left Marshite shores for staging grounds in the Azenian Queendom. As the air campaign had kicked into high gear the forces were kept on high alert- most had remained on the ships, with only short rotations off. When the word came, they left quickly.

[The Macabees]

SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE KALKALA-SUMBE

"Did you hear that, capitão?" asked one of the soldiers in the middle of the column.

The company had been patrolling the Kalkala-Sumbe for some weeks now and had gone "rogue" in the past couple of days, losing contact with its parent formation. Chaos had overtaken the Tupengan army and units that didn't immediately side with the rebels simply started operating on their own. This particular company had already burned down a small creoloso village, killing everyone inside of it. Now they were headed to their next target. But, it was hot and humid, and the guerrillas had been harassing them all along the way. The company had lost maybe 10 to 15 percent of its effective strength in the fighting of the past few days. Mental and physical fatigue was setting in, and the men had started to hear more "things" in the jungle around them. It was hard to know whether what they heard was legitimate or not.

Capitão Enzo Machado was of a divided mind. He was loyal, above all, to Tupenga. The attraction to the Marechalisimo was a shared disdain for the creoloso. But, he recognized a dying cause when he saw one and the fact that the army as a whole had abandoned him to their desperate journey through the jungle did not add confidence. He wondered if he should have joined the coup. There was still time to turn around and change course, Enzo thought.

Right then, a bullet whizzed by his head and chipped off part of a tree trunk behind him. Another bullet struck one of the soldiers by him. And the tree line came alive with the terrific crackle of gunfire, as the enemy — surely a larger enemy, telling by the volume of fire, than they had faced in the preceding days — rained fire down upon them and the company fired back. Enzo ducked and started to organize his defense.

"Where are my damn machine gunners?" he cried out.

A platoon sergeant yelled back, "Heading up the line!"

As the platoon medium and light machine gunners set up and laid down some heavy covering fire, Enzo tried to get in contact with his other platoons. Rather than travel as a long column together, he had split up his company to travel three separate paths. This was common doctrine, as small units were likelier to goad rebels into firefights. From there, they could be pinned down, outmaneuvered, and liquidated. He needed at least one of these platoons to make their way down to him. But, as his radioman desperately tried to get into contact with the rest of the company there was no response. Heavy gunfire could be heard in the distance, as well, and Enzo started to get a sinking feeling that this was a more serious ambush than he had anticipated. He and his platoon were probably on their own from now on.

Through his NCOs, Capitão Machado organized his fire teams into mutually supportive groups along the short line. He planned a defensive fight for the very short-term, as a matter of survival. But, his head was elsewhere because he knew that the platoon would have to retreat if it could not get support. As time went on without radio communication from the other platoons, the prospect of having to go about this along became more real and many began to fret even as they tenaciously fought back.

The enemy fire became even more intense as time went on. Apparently, they smelled blood. As they should, because Enzo's men had only the ammunition on them, perhaps enough for two days without a heavy, intense firefight. At this rate, though, they were likely to run out of ammunition in the next hour. Enzo started to see no other choice but to withdraw. But to where? He had burned the last village they had come upon. Where would they go?

Some of the soldiers must have realized how hopeless their situation was. Suddenly, the medium machinegun ceased firing as its operator stood and started running into the dark thickness of the woods. He was shot down.

It turned into a slaughter. With the medium machinegun silenced, the ambushers closed in. More and more Tupengans were shot dead or wounded, and the platoon's fire started to dwindle. Elsewhere, it could be heard that the other firefights were coming to a close, as well. Within minutes, creoloso militants appeared from out of the jungle's shadows. They knifed the wounded where they lay. One of them shot Enzo in the leg, and he crumpled onto the hard surface of the thin pathway they had used to travel through the foliage. He shouted out to the skies, but to no avail. A creoloso took him by the neck and, with a machete, cut off his head and held it high, bellowing out a mighty war cry. And then, silence. The platoon, as with the rest of the company, had been mercilessly obliterated by an insurgent force on the rise.

The Kalkala-Sumbe was guerrilla territory now, as isolated Tupengan forces still loyal to the Marechalisimo were all hunted down, ambushed, and eliminated.



AMBUAMBO, MAJOR PORT CITY OF TUPENGA

When General Erasmo Ribeiro's forces reached Ambuambo, the port was busy with the loading up of Fusteran ships and the withdrawal of their forces from the country. The Marshite bombing campaign, together with the coup, had made the Marechalisimo's situation hopeless and the Fusterans had caught on. They wouldn't have time to finalize the withdrawal before the city's government surrendered to Erasmo. But, to avoid a larger problem, he allowed the Fusterans to continue their withdrawal.

More importantly, the general began to immediately organize a column for a rapid advance toward the capital. When the capital fell, the coup would be over and Tupenga could enter its next stage, whatever fate that held for it. To accomplish the taking of Crifoso, speed and timing were of the essence, but he also needed sufficient forces. Therefore, the garrison left in Tusana was to leave for the capital the next day. His own men would head south from Ambuambo. These, and the other major cities seized by the coup, were to be fully handed over to the creoloso rebels. Loyalists still holding out, whether in the cities or the countryside, would be dealt with by the guerrillas as they saw fit. It was a fate that Erasmo hated leaving any man, but he had no choice. His wife was in the capital and the longer the coup took to execute, the greater the chances of her death.

He did not sleep that night, busying himself with preparations for the next and final lunge.

Before leaving, he dispatched a message to the Tupengan embassy in Mar'si, Holy Marsh. These were to pass it on to the government of Holy Marsh, without delay. Although it was unknown whether the various Tupengan embassies around the world sympathized with the coup, they undoubtedly had seen the writing on the wall. And the embassy in Holy Marsh, out of all of them, would know just how dire the situation was. They were on the frontlines of the Marshites' threats and promises, after all.

To: Government of Holy Marsh

From: Tenente General Erasmo Ribeiro

The patriotic commanders of the Tupengan Armed Forces have launched a coup against the murderer and illegitimate dictator of Tupenga, Louis-August Bragança. Tusana, Relanga, and Ambuambo have been liberated and will be fully handed over to creoloso forces overnight.

Port in Ambuambo currently in use by Fusteran forces withdrawing from the country. Marshite forces are welcomed to enter into Tupenga via Ambuambo pending the finalization of the Fusteran withdrawal. Requesting Marshite forces to organize the post-war peace process between creolosos and colonial descendants.

Thank you,

Tenente General Ribeiro

The next day...

CRIFOSO, TUPENGA

One column departed from Ambuambo and the other from Tusana at 0330 hours the next morning. The men were given three hours to sleep overnight before being awakened and prepared for the march. The march began briskly, with tanks, armored cars, and trucks following the main highways down to the capital city. It was a mad dash designed to surprise the city's defenses before they could organize into a more formidable barrier.

Word had come from several units around the city and their commanders had pledged themselves to the coup. They would remain in place, feigning loyalty until the last possible moment. When Erasmo's forces were within range, these units would turn and help to secure the outer suburbs of Crifoso. Their main objective was to impede the flight of Louis-August Bragança, who was to be arrested so that he could face trial. Nonetheless, it was known that many defending units were also intent on remaining loyal. Although there was some command chaos on the first day, they would surely be better organized on the second for a defense. Erasmo hoped that the sheer pace of his advance would catch them off guard and persuade them to surrender without a fight.

What Erasmo didn't know was the utter chaos that Crifoso was in. The capital was landlocked, positioned there so that the colonial government could better communicate with and control the fringe capitals of the north. It was now at a disadvantage. Crifoso's people wanted to leave, fearing their massacre at the hands of guerrillas seeking blood retribution for all they had suffered. And so overnight large columns of civilian vehicles had started out to the port cities of the southern Tupengan coast, blocking all of the major highways in that direction for dozens of kilometers.

Many of the units that had not responded to the general's call to join the coup, and therefore deemed 'loyalists,' had actually fallen apart. The Marshite bombing campaign and the general uncertainty over the fate of Tupenga had gripped civilians and military men alike, and just like their civilian counterparts several soldiers and their commanders had simply disbanded and fled southward. Their objective was the same: to leave Tupenga as quickly as possible and head to either Istoloa or Fustera.

Within a few hours, the speeding columns of Erasmo's couping forces reached the outskirts of the capital's northernmost suburbs. As expected, several defending units surrendered and changed sides, clamping down along the perimeter of the city. Those that didn't surrender, and hadn't fled the previous night, were bypassed if possible. Otherwise, Erasmo detached small holding forces to bring them out and hopefully, by doing so, attract the Marshite air force to obliterate the offending forces. In this fashion, the majority of the two columns penetrated the northern suburbs and then entered the city proper. Resistance was light and before long even the surviving loyalist garrisoning units were quick to give up. By early afternoon, most of Crifoso's administration buildings had been secured and all that was left was the Marechalisimo's residence.

The Marechalisimo's residence was a large complex that had started out as the Istoloan governor's palace. After 1981, it was repurposed as a presidential residence. Bragança had turned into a palace again, this time his own. Much of it had already been severely damaged by the Marshite campaign, but Erasmo had been here before and knew that the Marechalisimo and his staff were underground in the fortified bunker complex.

If the bunker complex under the palatial residence was defended even by a company-sized force, clearing it could be long and bloody. Its narrow, winding corridors were designed for defense against a besieging force. They also led out to routes of retreat toward the south.

General Ribeiro ordered some of the forces that had turned against the Marechalisimo to secure the areas where these exit routes led out to. The army was aware of where they all led, so there was little chance of any route being left uncovered. If the Marechalisimo was still in his bunker, he was now trapped. Fearing that the Marshites would continue to escalate their bombing the longer the Marechalismo resisted, Erasmo quickly ordered his forces forward to clear the complex. At first, they did so hesitantly, entering the underground tunnels slowly and clearing the first few corridors slowly. But, facing no resistance they began to accelerate the operation until finally they reached a fortified bunker room near the center of the complex. This was the command bunker and if Bragança was anywhere, he was in there.

The thick steel door, however, was locked. So Erasmo ordered the corridor cleared of his men. Once this was done, he had a demolition team go in and blow the door open. With enough explosives, they did just that, filling the corridors with smoke, dust, and debris.

Men rushed in as the dust settled to seize the Marechalisimo and bring him to their commanding general. But, when they entered all they saw was Bragança's corpse and that of his wife and children. Rather than be taken prisoner, the Marechalismo had preferred to commit suicide.

Such was the end of his short, genocidal dictatorship of Tupenga.


While the Marechalisimo was being flushed out of his bunker, before it was known he had killed himself, Erasmo had already sent for his wife.

His men found her hidden in a bunker of her own, inside their house. She had apparently fled into their safe room with the children as soon as she heard of the coup, fearing that Bragança's men would come, arrest her, and possibly even kill her, or threaten to at least in order to get her husband to call off the coup. When her husband's men first came, she did not believe who they were. Finally, they put her in communication with Erasmo, and she breathed out a giant sigh of relief.

"It is over?" she asked.

"Almost," he said, over the radio.

Her eyes glistened. "Are we safe?"

"I don't know," he replied, solemnly. "Soon we will be for sure, though."

As soon as Crifoso was secure, and this was communicated to the Marshites, Erasmo headed to his home to see his wife and kids. They hugged tightly, as man and wife kissed. Then, he drove them to the city's military airfield, which had been cratered by the bombing campaign. But on one end, outside a shattered hangar, a lone helicopter was being prepared for flight. Putting his wife and children on it, he waved them goodbye as it lifted off and took them to one of the southern ports. There, a boat was waiting for them and they would take it to Tongolosi, Samarasta. The previous night, unbeknownst to his men, Erasmo had contacted the Golden Throne's embassy in Crifoso and had asked for his family to be accepted into the empire under asylum. The embassy had very quickly agreed to the request, provided that the family could make it to an imperially-held port. From Tongolosi, his wife and children would be flown to Fedala.

Erasmo intended to join them soon, but first had to see through the coup and its ending. With the capital seized and their leader dead, loyalist forces elsewhere in the country would quickly crumble. The general felt his rank pins one last time. This would surely be the last time he commanded Tupengan forces. Sitting down in the study of his home, Erasmo let out a long breath. By tomorrow, creoloso forces would surely be in the capital to take control and his own fate would be in their hands.

He hoped that they gave him permission to leave the country and reunite with his family.

[Marshite Alliance for a Free Tupenga]

SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE KALKALA-SUMBE...

Whipping through the jungle were the final bullets of a doomed war. Screaming and crying, yelling, and running were Its final victims.
It was hard to distinguish a war's final victims from the first victims sometimes. One could guess with great accuracy that it was truly impossible to tell since the final victim wouldn't pass away for decades. Such were the scars war could leave behind, no? And when you fought a war for more than twenty years, often in fits and starts but always brutally, it was hard to tell where the scars began and ended. You certainly did not leave a war like that the same as you entered, but did you even leave as a person? Kabula Bombo didn't really have the answer for that. He had fought in this war since it started. Really he had fought it before then, too. His uncle had been one of the original members of MAFT when it had formed in the early 2000s. He had lived to help create the power-sharing agreement, and for all that he had been killed in 2019, as had a large swathe of the Bombo family- if they were lucky. Kabula did not envy the fate of his sisters, who had simply vanished.

They were not at war then, technically. No one even claimed responsibility for the attack. But Bombo knew it was the government, knew it in his rage-fuelled heart, and had helped shape MAFT since then. He had been in a high-up position of the organization since that date and as a man of thirty-nine , who had been two when the war first started, he had never imagined it ending. He knew they would win, he had just assumed he would never see it to the end. His death was part of the package. It had been reported before, of course. Seven or eight times. 'I am Kabula Bombo' had turned into a taunt used by the damned over the years to mock the executioners. One day it was bound to be true, for he had always had a love for exacting his revenge personally. He had been wounded a number of times, and nearly bled out more than once. Did they even know? Unlikely. He dressed like his soldiers, ate like them, spoke like them, and lived with them. They were all Kabula Bombo and he was them.

He had joined in this particular ambush late. He had spent much of the past day or so helping to coordinate his cell-group and their liaisons with Marshite forces from abroad, tracking dozens of firefights and engagements as more MAFT forces joined the fighting. Friendly fire was a problem. The decentralized nature of guerrilla operations meant that many cell-groups and warbands were organized only at the very highest levels, and even then in only the broadest terms. This fluid structure helped them survive losses and assassinations with little temp degradation, but it made it hard to fully utilize their forces tactically when they had advantages. Luckily they were able to prevent significant losses thanks to coordination between the more well-trained units, attached advisors, and communication with TAMF in the sky, but it certainly slowed them down. The Tupengan military, for all of its issues and his personal hatred for it, had bred some truly excellent soldiers. They had turned many a desperate struggle into a small victory, even in the dying embers of their regime. It was only at the very end that it had ceased to provide an effective military foe, when its myriad forces either turned on the regime, simply turned themselves in, or disintegrated into the jungle.

It was these forces that were the final victims of the active war. Each one still presented a capable unit, but now they were wildly outnumbered and in hostile territory, with air support and firepower arrayed against them. Some wandered a bit, got into a fight, and surrendered. Many others faced a more violent end. This one in particular, a company strong, had thoughtlessly destroyed a small village. MAFT forces had been on their tail and when the village was discovered, it was decided to destroy them. No survivors were to be taken. They were already being harassed continually as they ventured deeper into the jungle, their predicted next target being evacuated and turned into a death trap. Not that Bombo intended them to reach it. His cell-group in the area chose their ambush location, prepared it, and executed it.

Bombo caught the tail end as he was returning from the evacuated village. Much of the company had been overrun by the end, the three paths they had taken isolated, pinned, and overwhelmed. His first image was of a man trying to flee and getting gunned down in his back. Good. He was a coward who killed civilians and still had bullets. Bombo's first shot from his MATW-9 was a thicket of trees being used as cover by a light machine gun. He never fired his second, as soon afterwards resistance ceased. His impi surged forward and went o the bloody work of retribution. The wounded were stabbed to death. Some quickly, some slowly, all of them mutilated after the fact. Let them wander the land of the dead in the dark, blinded, neutered, deafened, as the Holy Marsh mocked them for their arrogance.

The captain was shot and gave out a cry, but Kabula did not hear it. No one ever would, a silent scream of mortal realization that would go eternally unheeded. he pulled out his machete and decapitated the man, holding it over his own and giving out a war cry as those who followed him did the same. He allowed the blood to mask his face, allowing the iron tang of another man's blood to leak into his nostrils and mouth. The Capitão's final fate was this, and he would wander forever more alone. His family would never discover his fate. Indeed, none of the soldiers of this company would ever be accounted for again. The jungle underbrush would become their homes. They would feed the wild beasts of this land. Their personal belongings would be used or destroyed. Their families would spend their nights weeping at their unknown fates, praying that they hadn't ended up as prisoners of war in the infamous (and mostly fictional) TRF torture facilities. They would die never knowing their loved one's fate. This was the final gift of the Tupengan military's last criminals, and Kabula Bombo did not feel an ounce of sympathy for them.

Six days later, he would be in Crifoso in a suit, smiling and ready to take his position as First Provisional MAFT Officer in the Tupengan Reconciliation Government.

AMBUAMBO, TUPENGA

The Marshites had agreed with the Tenente General and allowed the Fusterans to withdraw. Their reckoning would come later, and the ships used during the evacuation were noted. Once they had completed, the Marshites landed en masse. Over the following days they would follow the road networks and secure the major cities. The cities that MAFT took control of would greet them warmly, as great liberators from afar. Their allied forces in the north would in general be happy to see them, though wary of long-term intentions. In the south however, where the Communists had for the moment assumed a position of power, it was only the overwhelming power imbalance and the prospect of a chance at a better future that prevented bloodshed. Marshite forces started to arrange for the post-war peace and government, and in short term took on the mantle alongside their allies in propping up continued civil governance. Civil governance under threat of carpet bombing in some cases, but governance nonetheless.

In a week they had set up a provisional government, with a larger-scale peace conference and governmental meeting set up. At the meeting would be representatives from every major rebel group, with the larger ones such as MAFT sending several representatives. One of them was Nadira Zakia. Unlike most of MAFT, she had some good fortune in her life. Her family had taken advantage of the relative peace offered by the power-sharing agreement to send her abroad for education, aided by her hyperthymesia. She had attended Mantagonian State University in the Azenian Queendom on a Marshite Scholarship, where she had excelled in business and philosophy. She had returned just as the second war started but managed to make a 'respectable' name for herself as a businesswoman in Ambuambo. She followed the law and did as she was told. To many colonials, she was an example of the good creoloso.

Of course, this was not true. She was a supporter of MAFT and other anti-regime forces from the start of the Second War, and took over the smuggler networks her parents had pioneered. By the time of the last turning of the wheel she had become one of, if not the, most important people in the cause. It helped that she worked with a wide range of groups. Communists and MAFT for sure, but if you had a bone to pick with the colonial government she had a gun to give you. The local government, and indeed the city, was friendly enough that with a few bribes and the right words her operation had been mostly unhindered for years. She stayed out of the political spotlight, keeping herself humbly at her desk at one of the city's most prominent shipping companies, but that would not last forever.

When the Regime of the Chismo had swept into the city she had suffered silently, though harshly. She had secondary and tertiary avenues of delivery to MAFT she could and would use and most of her assets had been 'lost' during the war already, but it was a waiting game. She had to continue to conduct what business she could in the city for the cause while not tipping them off. Even limited, she could still do some elements of her job, and her reporting on Fusteran and Orednite forces was important. On the other, she had committed to memory names, timetables, networks, and innumerable facts from her personal meetings that she never wrote down. To take her operation down, they needed to take her down. She had done a fine enough job insulating herself from the wider conflict but it was only a matter of time until a corrupt cop, a politician being tortured, or a series of unfortunate interviews with imprisoned workers implicated her.

She made preparations to get out of the city and continue her operation elsewhere where the heat was a little less tense. Not a day too soon- unknown to her, a warrant for her arrest had been signed less than an hour into the bombing campaign and it was only that chaos that had prevented what was destined to be a shooting fight where she was outgunned but would have had a lot of tricks up her little smuggling sleeve. Thanks to the coup and everything else that followed, she never had to leave and was able to unfurl her support for MAFT proudly.

Her sterling reputation in the south and sound mind made her a perfect choice as Second Provisional MAFT Officer in the Tupengan Reconciliation Government

CRIFOSO, TUPENGA

The nation was paralyzed in a hundred different ways. The fighting and bombing had caused untold devastation that sent even basic services into a frenzy. Untold numbers of colonials looked at the fall of their regime and the rise of equality as a truly Wagner-esque apocalypse bereft of the unity and majesty of final reckoning, so they ran. But to where? The roads were choked with refugees and military forces of all stripes. Luckily, enough local communist groups, pro-regime change rebel groups, and coup forces existed to keep the chaos to a level that allowed the city to survive the next few days.

The Tupengan People's Party and the Creoloso People's Alliance were the main communist guerrilla groups in the capital and their southern arms stepped into the void. They helped the people and worked to keep order in communities as best they could. The TPP was made up of mostly colonials and was easily able to step into the void for many. The CPA was well-known for its operations across much of the region, including Samarasta and Fustera. The TPP would send Santiago Ovejero as their provisional officer, a well-educated and spoken older man, one of the founders of the non-militant wing that had managed to hide its relation to the militant wing until the very end. Jessica Cerecero would be sent by the CPA- the rare Creoloso adopted and raised by a colonial family and a well-travelled militant. a firebrand for the cause, she had returned to the city and was preparing for an assassination campaign when the whole nation went to hell, in a good way.

Radical Revolutionary Front of Tupenga made up the largest communist group, and as such had suffered more than the rest. Much of its leadership had been bold and suffered, Yahya Hodari being an exception. Her forces helped secure a lot of the countryside, hunting down a long, long list of criminals. When she finally arrived in the city as the RRFT's representative, she did so at the head of a small column of 'war criminals' ready to face justice.

They helped make up the nine total Provisional officers who would meet a little over ten days after the Coup 'ended'. But by the time that happened, at least one problem would be resolved.

The day the city was handed over, in the dead of night, a single postcard was slipped under the Tenente General's door. On one side, a beautiful image of some city in Fustera. On the other, a small note was written in black ink.

"Good look wherever you may go, general. I hope you and your family find peace and quiet. Come visit me in Fustera when you have the time. You should have all the permissions needed to leave tomorrow night. Thank the Arch-Bishop as well as Ms. Zakia for this. Take it soon- once Mr. Bombo gets in town, I don't see it holding up.

With Respect,
J.D."