If Tomorrow Brings War(Closed)

[Royal Frankia]

Total Mobilization

Rumors of war had reached the Magistrum upon fair Gereanna, that citadel that had become the chief seat of the Frankian power. It had withstood the challenges of the Coalition and had claimed hegemony over PW-1. Now, with the Great Dread Fleet having completed its rearmament drive, Vrantrille called for the total mobilization to complete the work of Feylor.

From across the Void would resound the cry for war, to come to grip with old foes once more in the name of the Eternal and her Children. Upon every word would the parade of the Unconquered Arms of the Great Folk would he displayed. The Immortal Standards of Neustra and Septimania would be treated with an adoration that came close to that of a religious icon.

More troubling would be the detection of Frankian forces apparently ignoring the Treaties of Old. In their hundreds of thousands would they now patrol new stretches of NS-1 that had acknowledged the Scepter of the Sovereigns of Sovereigns. Support would be given to those realms that had adopted an anti-Pordish position, even those realms that had long been the bane of the ancient race.

The Dromonds gathered around them the many Norvana Destroyers to form a bulwark against the Wolf Packs upon the Void. The sons of shepherds would protect the flock of the Dread Sovereign from the menacing fangs. Those that bore the Everlasting Fire would drive back the bitter cold, even to the great glaciers that lie within the Realm of the One Enemy.

Appeal would be made to the recovery of the Lost Daughters and to avenge Neustria sevenfold. Regiment after regiment that had fought upon Septimania or upon Neustra in her final hour carried their standards with pride. They awaited to avenge their comrades, who had perished for the Glory of the Realm Eternal.

Hunterdom would be condemned as the enforcers of a New Order, that had cost the Great Folk much in blood and famed Citadels. Caricatures of ancient Laptev bowing before the Accursed Trident would appear in Ecoles across the Realm.

The Iron Guild would march lockstep through the rustic communes beloved by the Folk Eternal. Above and below, they would descend to labor to forge the weapons of war that would shake the very stars once more. Industry had been built for this one purpose, to serve both Realm and Faith in the coming of their greatest hour.

Despite the jingoism that had maddened the nation, the Magistrum had kept back from making provocative gestures outright. Not yet, would the Lost Daughters witness the arrival of the vanguard of the Wylid. Vrantrille had carried on in his task of readying the Great Realm for war, but he was not of the mold of his predecessor who had drawn the sword as soon as it had become clear that the Pords had brought GESO into the fold of the UMS.

For many cycles, peace had reigned between the Great Realms. The Great Folk had turned to their Faith, in the One and in their hands, upon the disasters that had befallen them in NS-1. Pushed to the brink, they had raised forth a thousand upon thousand works upon the Daughters that remained.

These yards, these factories, were vital to the resurgence Great Dreat Fleet. The Praesental Fleet had been constructed by the blood, sweat, and tears of a Folk with little hope in ever seeing the return of the Lost Daughters to the Sovereign of Sovereigns. Time would tell, should war come, that they should drive the Realm's enemies back to the high walls of Laptev and Tnem-Fragg.

Upon Gerwanna, fall had yielded to the grip of cruel winter. Nothing was green save the Evergreens and the colors of the Greenclad. Magistra Rema vra Ghent lit a cigarette as the regiments of the III Division Sigibert filed past. Their standard depicted a lion holding back a pack of wolves.

They march with pride, these sons of Fredegund..

Marshal Jatann vra Marbeck nodded, recalling how it had been this division which had counter-attacked nearly a dozen times upon the arrival of the Wolves upon Neustra. Even under Pordish bombardment from on high, they had not broken. Perhaps they would be the first to set foot on Tnem-Fragg, should war ever renew between those two Great Realms.

[Royal Frankia]

Aboard a Ship of the Line

From across the Cosmos, the Magistrum had marshalled the Great Dread Fleet from the Realm of the Sovereign of Sovereigns. Division after division had arrived off fair Gerwanna, some having been bloodied in the bitter fighting that ever raged in the Urlann. Some of the formations were of renown, others formed by order of the Highest to take part in the great campaigns to come. All would do their part in the reclamation of the Lost Daughters, should that day come. All would fight valiantly for the Rammenflieg once more.

The Norvana Destroyers glided through the Void like falcons searching for prey on the valley floor. Trails of etheral they left in their wake, as they formed into their companies, their regiments, their divisions, and their Corps. Compared to the corvettes of the last Great War, such craft were not as numerous, but more capable of sustained operations far from the boundaries of the Realm Eternal. Efforts had been made to increase firepower, survivability, and maneuverability.

Upgrades had been made to armaments, and the entire craft had been overhauled by the Magister Navigum's Fleet Planning Committee. Shortcuts in the production process were no longer tolerated, and there was an increasing push to make the Norvana a multirole craft. From a ship in the firing line to a sleek escort to a carrier, such were the dreams and ambitions of those that wore the white cloaks of the Great Fleet.

Regardless of the role, all such craft would fight in formation. Discipline had never wavered, with there being no mutinies even after the disastrous events which had befallen the Realm. There was no recourse to the lash, for every man aboard a craft of the Dread Sovereign was a volunteer. It was the sense of comradeship and a shared fate which steadied the ranks, even as the Jaws of the Abyss attempted to devour all those aboard.

While technology might have freed a good deal of servicemen from manual labor, the latter was seen as necessary to keep the crews in good spirits. Training and exercises had been increased, to provide some relief to the monotony of life in a Fleet at peace. The inevitable punitive expedition would bloody the ranks, to keep the sword sharp lest there be war on the morrow.

Industry had grown, to replace the material losses that were easier to replace compared to the blood of the Great Folk. Had it been desired, the Great Realm could have produced craft in legion to swarm the Realms of their enemies. Such swarms, however, were regarded as anathema to the Magistrum as were the employment of Weapons of Mass Destruction. The employment of such did not test a Folk, nor did it garner laurels that the Annals would record.

The vast craft, however, were spacious as the Folk could not abide close quarters. The decks were broad, and were furnished with all of the things that the Folk cherished. Religious murals, mosaics depicting agriculture, and busts of those that had garnered renown in the Great Realm in the time of San Gerwann. Brands burned ever bright, to forever remember the Great Gift the Mater Most High had made to her children.

The Great Libraries went everywhere where the Great Fleet sailed, for this was the means by which the Race renewed itself. As much as by the rites and by prayer, it was literature that had guided the Folk through their countless travails. Wisdom literature had long been a favorite, as well as philosophical treatises that had reached the highest stages of metaphysics. It was not unheard of that an Enlisted Man could transfer to the Academie, should his work rival that of Vra Marbeck or that of a Vra Ersa.

Ink and parchment were provided free of charge, for those who kept watch on the frontier. After a long shift, it came easy to some to right ballads or epics or plays that would be recorded in the Annals. To be recorded in the Annals was to be recorded forever, though not all that was written was submitted. Nor did those that written a masterpiece live long; there were many poets the Realm had lost to the wars abroad.

Bards and poets had been lauded within the Realm Eternal, for such was the closest that a mortal could rival even a god. Songs were sung by one and all, over cups or on deck or in the garden. Those of the Folk that could sing were regarded as being gifted by the Most High, and regarded as avatars of the Vani by those who were of the Pious. Their names would live on, so long as their recordings were heard throughout the Realm.

The Academie had not stamped out the regional dialects, the patois that had long defined the Tongue of the Folk. It was in this apparent anarchism that the chief tongue had managed a certain hegemony, based on the preference of the chief writers and the chief bards. This was not the dialect of the Court, but that of the common Folk who had long maintained the greatness of the Realm with their blood and labor. The greatest of Sovereigns learned their dialect by heart, the worst left their communication with their folk to their underlings.

The Tongue of the Fleet was a second language, for those who had come from across the Realm. A forester from fair Gerwanna and a peasant from Austrasia could communicate effectively only by such means. For those of the Folk, it was regarded as shameful to rely too much on the works of one's hand when the Most High had crafted one's mind. One was, as such, a polygot by necessity.

There was an understanding of the languages of the enemies of old, and a praise for even the literary works of the foe. It was within the Realm of Literature, where there were no banners, that a Universal Brotherhood could be achieved. As much as the Faith had improved the manners and morals of the Folk, such was the impact of Literature. A Realm without Literature was seen as worse than a Realm lacking the wheel, for the former lacked a means of acquiring inner perfection.

The pen is alive in my hand,
Words pour forth like the Holy Waters.
My mind is a afire, with worlds yet realized.
I come close to the Most High, Sala!

The Frankians were often confused for their Frankish forebears, though the Franks remained within the Realm proper. No, the Great Folk had ascended by the Will of the Most High, to another stage of existence. They had grown increasingly concerned with morality, with tranquility, and with the concept of humaneness. They had seen that frivolous pleasures and vendettas led to nothing in the end. Though glory was sought in the field, it was seen that the struggle continued even in a time of peace.

This was a reason that maintaining one's fitness was regarded as essential. Whether exercising in groups or by themselves, the Great Folk saw such as a means of mastering themselves. They would offer Salas to the Most High, as they tested themselves time and time again. Such was regarded as necessary as bread and wine to the Folk, for such freed the mind of a thousand distractions.

Those who did not care for writing or exercise turned to meditation, where Halls were provided. Around those who knelt before the Holy Fire, there were mosaics of silver that depicted the Cosmos at the moment of Creation. As at the beginning, so was here, a silence which reigned in respect for the First Cause. There were no Salas heard, but a thousand upon thousand prayers ascended to the Most High via the mind.

Astarra vra Norvek had remained in his chamber, thinking of the activities on the morrow. He had been cross trained, from manning the guns to being able to maintain the operational systems. Quick learners rose high, and it would not be long before Vra Norvek boasted the stripes that marked a Petty Officer. Soon, he might even command a battery, or perhaps run an entire ward upon the vessel.

He had no illusions of jumping the Fleet ladder, of commanding a Ship of the Line or a small patrol boat. Such required nearly ten cycles within the Fleet Academy, which usually began at boyhood. As a member of the lower caste, vra Norvek regarded such who had been groomed for command as the cause of the Great Realm's losses. Then again, he had heard of those given command based on merit destroying their commands in ill-thought schemes.

There had been much debate, as whether the conservatism of the Dread Fleet was antithetical to a National Syndicalist state. The rise of Vrantrille had seen multiple reforms enacted, and heads had rolled for the loss of Neustra that had not done so with Septimania or Yamsai. There was a possibility the Magistrum might be abolished by royal decree, but it had managed to steer a way through the storm. It had brought down the Economic Planners, those who sought to export National Syndicalism through great works rather than arms. They had even managed to keep back the religious fanatics, who sought a holy war to restore the Lost Territories.

Despite the arms build up and the constant propaganda war, the sabre rattling had been limited. There had been no provocative measures taken, perhaps because the Magister Navigum had lost heart for another round of bloodletting. Such would be the price for the restoration of the Lost Daughters and the vengeance of Feylor. Billions would die, for worlds far from their hearth and homes for emotion rather than logical consideration. There was a possibility that, through diplomacy and trade, certain territories occupied could be recovered.

The Dread Fleet was seen as a threat by its existence, not by its great victories abroad. It had survived constant hammering, and had fought bloody battles that would shatter lesser realms. Billions had perished for the Rammenflieg, among them the forebears of Vra Norvek who was far removed from the days of Feylor and of Exodus.