The Second Magican War [MT/Finished]

by **Upper Magica** » Sun Jan 01, 2023 7:31 pm

Metropole de Marx, People's Gov. of Lower Magica

It was, surprisingly for the tropical Magican Fjord, a cold New Year in the 'People's Capital'. It fit, considering what was to come. For too long, the bastard Mahendra dynasty had held power in the name of safeguarding Socialism - it all started in the 1970s when that thrice-damned Iravan Mahendra declared himself and his heirs the vanguards of the liberation of the people. But in reality, he merely anointed himself the Emperor of the North. And the Party had gone along with it!

Now the People's Government was just another Empire - along the same lines that Yuval's ancestors had fought so hard to displace in the great turmoil following the World War; only it was worse. It pretended to be by the working class for the working class. The profits of the state-run companies - people's cooperatives in name only - went straight into Mahendra's pockets rather than improving the standard of living and the third-rate infrastructure. Those monies were invested into excess most billionaires could only dream of as well as a robust system of state terror to deal with any dissent from within. He'd seen what happened to those comrades that criticized the Mahendra dynasty - not only were they shot, their children, their families were shipped to internal exile to perform hard and dangerous labor for the rest of their lives.

It was clear what had happened - the Party became the new lords and Mahendra its king. They had strayed from the Socialist revolution into capitalist monarchism with a red paint of coat. It had to end tonight.

And that night, it did: amid the New Year's celebrations of fireworks displays, the greatest firework of all was left for the most prestigious guests of the New Year celebrations; the fireball of a three kiloton nuclear device consumed Nirav Mahendra, Dear Leader of the Anti-Colonial Worker's Party of Magica, his palace, his family, and his cronies in the Party in one fell swoop. Meanwhile, the 117th Revolutionary Guard Corps lead by Lt. Gen. Yuval Yuvaraj strolled into the Metropole, seizing government buildings and army bases with abandon under the guise of 'restoring civil order in the name of Dear Leader'. Most, civilian or military, had learned to not question Dear Leader's orders, or whether or not this was Dear Leader's will, so they faced little resistance. The troopers of the 117th dragged out the remaining Mahendra loyalists en masse wherever they were found, and dealt with them accordingly.

By sunrise of the new year, Yuval sat in the highest position in the land, his opponents within the Party and the Military having been purged in one fell swoop. One by one, the territorial Party leaders and regional commands sent their pledges of allegiance to him, clearly intimidated by the show of strength.

It was time to get to work.

From: The People's Government of Magica, Central Committee

To the People and Workers of 'Upper' Magica and the Despotic Imperial Government!

The impotent arch-traitor Nirav Mahendra, former 'dear leader', king in all but name has been removed from power. For the last 70 years, this People's Government, which was founded on the explicit goal of toppling the Imperial regime and replacing it with a true people's democracy, has floundered under both father and son, reverting to a crony-feudalist system unfit to serve a burger, let alone the people.

We realize this People's Government has failed you, who slave under the chains of a corrupt imperialist system with no freedoms and rights of your own. Who toil endlessly for a better future, but like a bait and switch game, you never find the missing piece to realize that future.

But no more - we, the reconstituted Central Committee of the People's Government of Magica, hereby declare that the Aquis Peace Treaty of 1959 is hereby abrogated; our People's Government is the only government for the Magican Fjord. It is only through that process forgotten so long ago - unification and the toppling of the illegitimate Imperial regime - that our country can truly thrive.

Workers of Magica, unite! Only we can break these chains that bind us! Onward to victory!

[REDACTED], somewhere outside of Aquis

All the heads that made up the hydra of Upper Magican military intelligence gathered around the briefing table across from the General Staff of the Armed Forces.

"Gentlemen, we're in trouble. The Red Navy, Red Army, and Red Air Force are deploying to their forward operating bases. They're for real this time, Analytics tells us." The head of Section XIII spoke up, starting the briefing without formality.

Dr. Franzetti, head of the Analytics Department spoke up in turn. "Yes, we've identified that the full Lower Magican fleet component is steaming out from their official moorings at the Metropole, Isle d'Odysseus, and the Kislitsin island chain to FOBs closer to the inner maritime border, where their fleet train and amphibious-assault detachments are forming up. Uh, in total, 7 arsenal ships, roughly analogous to our battleship and aircraft carriers vis-a-vis power projection capability and fleet hierarchy, 12 missile battlecruisers, 19 missile cruisers, 33 destroyers, 46 frigates, and about 120 smaller attack ships and landing craft. Their fleet aviation component consists of a few helicopter carriers and 6 amphibious assault ships; not much, since they've got island chains to base landing craft..."

The nameless head of Section XIII spoke up. "In short, they're mobilizing all their ass. There's several divisions of marines and airborne mobilizing onto their craft and about a third of their birds are in the air at previously-identified ready positions. The Section's telling me they're getting ready to execute Plan 9 in days, if not hours."

The Chief of Air Operations stared hard at everyone in the room. "We've already mobilized everything with wings. We have about 1,451 fighter aircraft in the air or ready to take off at short notice, minus a few hundred at any given time to account for refuelling, mechanical problems, et cetera. They're mostly F-4 2000s, F-15s, F-18s. We have very few latest-gen fightercraft; the F-23's still in early production. The problem, though, isn't our quality, it's their quantity. The People's Government still runs with the old MiG-21, while their elite squadrons are fielding MiG-29s and Su-27s. Their strike forces aren't going to be anything to laugh at, either - they're fielding Su-25s, Su-24s, and Tu-160s in their attack squadrons. Radar reports have collated a total of about 4,200 individual bogeys. They're also fuelling up Scud TELs for long-range ballistic missile strikes, which we expected, and retrofitted 'Orbital Trucker' 7-J rockets, which we weren't. We suspect they're going to use the Truckers as ASAT platforms - I think they're scared of... whatever it was that caused the nuclear incident a couple months ago."

The Chief of the Army cut in. "We're already mobilizing the Territorial Army. All artillery batteries along the LOC are ready to start counter-battery fire at a moment's notice, and all anti-ship batteries are reporting good readiness. Army Aviation's got birds in the air. We're ready for whatever comes. Obviously, we're focusing the defense on Aquis Island; our armored divisions and mechanized divisions are holed up there, dug in, and scattered in preparation for the initial bombardment. We're as ready as we're going to be."

Grand Admiral Contarini, chief of the Navy spoke up in turn. "The Navy is going to scatter, too; we're going to depend a lot on Army Patriot batteries for our cover. We expect the initial naval attack will be a missile swarm-type attack meant to saturate our air and missile defense; we're talking thousands of shells and missiles. It could be very likely that we lose naval superiority over the Islands, but if we hold out long enough for the blitz to lose momentum... we can regain the initiative. In addition, I strongly suggest the use of nuclear torpedoes and tactical nuclear weapons to break up identified concentrations of Northern forces."

The head of Section XIII shook his head fervently. "No. No nukes. If this goes nuclear, we won't have a country to save. We-" He was interrupted by the urgent ringing of his phone, interrupting his anti-nuclear tirade. "Yeah? Oh. Oh, shit."

by **Vichnaya** » Mon Jan 02, 2023 1:08 am

TLDR; slight lore dump and Vichnaya overreacting.

by **Riomler** » Mon Jan 02, 2023 3:48 am

Occ:can we just act like this is in a few years after the nuclear incedent,so i can have a military?

Jack foster
former airmen of riomler air forces

"its been 2 years and 3 months since the incedent,my body is back in shape and i have a citenziship in upper magica,after what i discovered of the civil war,i decided to try my hand and become a pilot again...heh,maybe ill be a ace."

by **Upper Magica** » Mon Jan 02, 2023 6:14 pm

RIOMLER wrote:Occ:can we just act like this is in a few years after the nuclear incedent,so i can have a military?

Jack foster
former airmen of riomler air forces

"its been 2 years and 3 months since the incedent,my body is back in shape and i have a citenziship in upper magica,after what i discovered of the civil war,i decided to try my hand and become a pilot again...heh,maybe ill be a ace."

OOC: sure, I guess. I'm deliberately keeping the year kind of vague for those reasons.

by **Upper Magica** » Mon Jan 02, 2023 6:15 pm

Rovoria, Tripartite Occupation Zone, Empire of Riomler

It had been a great deal of time since this country suffered so much at the hands at so few, Adesh thought. The streets of Rovoria bustled once more. But there was a sick, twisted context beneath this recent boom in prosperity: advertisements for Magican, Alexiandran, and Harrisopian products dominated the neon billboards. Its policemen still wore Imperial, Alexiandran, or Harrisopian-derived uniform, and its big business and the commanding heights of the economy were owned by... you guessed it! Magican, Alexiandran, and Harrisopian megacorps and investment firms.

Adesh had been in this country for a while; sometimes, it paid off to pretend to be part of the winning team. In all official sense, Adesh's name was not Adesh; his name was Alexandre de Gauterot, high-powered businessman who left Upper Magica to secure for himself beneficial Riomlerian government contracts. In those heady days, they did not do their due diligence to see which side of the Magican border people hailed from - there were dozens like him here. Watching. Waiting. Gathering resources to feed the Magistrate of State Security's growing capabilities with. And so he had; the MSS had expanded its budget by a factor of three thanks to its legitimate businesses in Riomler.

But unlike the corrupt dealings of the Imperialists, who were eager to squeeze their clients for every florin's worth, the Lower Magicans paid the Riomlerians back for their worthy labors on their behalf. Port agents were bribed - to innocuously let through cargoes of bootleg DVDs, bootleg cigarettes and alcohol, and obviously, drugs. In short, a network of reliable assets had been created - these assets would soon be leveraged to bring in new and more illicit cargoes - guns, bombs, rockets - all for the benefit of the Riomlerians.

And now Adesh had an appointment with someone who was, previously, the law of the land personified in this country; and the land's most wanted war criminal not yet found. It had taken a great deal of risk and collateral, but he'd managed to secure for himself a meeting, face-to-face.

Ruby Island BMEWS Station - 100 nm to the northeast of the mainland

Rogier, still recovering from the New Year's celebrations of the Eve well into the morning of the day, was not having a good time. He was carrying 30lbs extra, at least, of kit, standing at attention as expected of him in one spot, enduring the cold weather... all the while his head ached.

What made it worse in a few moments were the thrumming of helicopter blades. They weren't like anything he'd heard, so he looked above, as much as it pained him to do it, as sunlight glare hit his peripheral vision.

And then he saw it - helicopters bearing the telltale fist-with-hammer insignia of the People's Government hovering above Nuova La Spezia, heading inbound at low altitude towards the station.

An hour later, Rogier and his fellows were besieged in the installation. Gunfire from helicopter, small arms, and tracked vehicles were peppering the control station - the last bastion of the 37 troopers tasked with Ruby Island's defense.

"Fuck! I'm hit!" one of his comrades shouted. Another shouted for a medic. Rogier grasped the LAW in his hand and popped out of one of the windows; he hadn't been sighted. However, he glanced at a charging BMD-3. With the patience of a skilled hunter, he sighted the vehicle's underside, and let loose his weapon - moments later, the chassis of the lightly-armored vehicle exploded, its turret flying skyward.

This triumph was momentary, though - three more came from behind the wreck, their guns trained on Rogier's position. If there was any solace to be had - he'd be in pieces before he realized his imminent end.

In the next thirty-two minutes, the Special Detachment of the Magican People's Army would overtake Ruby Island BMEWS Installation, sustaining few casualties. Its staff and garrison, however, were not afforded quarter, leaving no witnesses or liabilities in this crucial operation. The mistake of the Special Detachment, though, was failing to jam civilian wireless transmissions. In the heat of battle, several civilians from the hamlet of Nuova La Spezia, the singular settlement of Ruby Island had recorded for all to see on the Internet the first shots of the Second Magican War.

by **Riomler** » Tue Jan 03, 2023 8:41 pm

There was speech from rovaria from the buildboards,there was a civil war and citiezens knowing that the nuclear incedent couldve been much worse if the triaparte didnt act decided to volunteer.men as young as 18 volunteered

Riomler
New rovaria,volunteer building

Everyone knew about the war,and everyone wanted to help so hundreds of volunteers showed up,500 to be exact,some young,some old and they all wanted to help.

Riomler
New rovaria,undisclosed

From what my spies told me,your goverment would not aprrove your being here,what could posiblly motivate you to meet me,the most wanted man alive.

Says the Former emporor,the kings face is disfugered and for reasons unknown,he was missing a eye.

by **Vichnaya** » Wed Jan 04, 2023 5:03 am

Chapter 02, Act 01 - Trust, But Verify

Hero City Orlova, Vozrozhdeniye Oblast

"..As they Wept, the Holy Light swept over the lands, turning all but into kindle and ash.."

For nearly eight hundred years, it has stood the test of time. For eight hundred years it has seen disaster, famine, war, and misery sweep over the lands, taking the souls of millions of Vichnaya's sons and daughters. For eight hundred years, its walls have weathered the heaviest of storms, the bloodiest of battles, and the most gruesome of massacres, its status changing and symbolism since the pathetically small origin of its construction. From the Azure Ribbon Rebellions all the way to see the White Banners wave over its holiest of spires, its gaze has shadowed the landscape of blood and tears. Enshrined deep within its foundations would be the blood of millions, the ancient stones knowing the touch of generations of constant hardship, war, and turmoil, its golden spires that reach the heavens themselves standing the test of time, seeing kingdoms and empires fall around before it. It may, perhaps, even stand to see another power fall, to be replaced by another, continuing the ever-bloody cycle.

Once known to house the princes and emperors of days past, the Golden Palace is now known today as the Parliament of Vichnaya. The seat of power during the 13th Century when the Principality of Ustina existed, it now serves as the supreme legislative power in the Federal Republic of Vichnaya, holding a tight leash over every single political body within the borders of the motherland, an authority none have the right to defy. Its power is only shared by the State Assembly of Vichnaya, and even then, it's a mere fraction of the strength Parliament holds.

Controlled by a set of checks and balances by the Nameless Holy Prince that brought Ustina into its glory days, the building has consistently been a dominating factor in every age the lands of Vichnya have found themselves in. At times, the lives of millions were decided by a group of four hundred, with bolstering or hushed words of a few men deciding whether people live, or deciding people die. But nowadays, its power is now leashed by the Ministry of National Affairs, the power it held over the entire country now dulled, dangerous, but largely ineffective without a significant force behind it.

On this day, 391 Seats in Parliament have been filled. Minor representatives of the Oblasts and the members of the many Houses that preside over the lands have been torn from their beds and rushed over to the Palace in an emergency meeting. It wasn't like the actual representatives of the oblasts and other government officials were sleeping soundly, far from it, as the parliament was in session, the State Assembly of Vichnaya were also dragged out of their cots and forced into a meeting with both the National Security Council and the Chiefs of Staff of the Federal Armed Forces.

The parliament room, whose walls were built out of blood-stained marble and lined with gold and ivory towers, was dead quiet, with the only noises coming from those quietly conversing amongst each other or the hums of the electrical systems. It was hard to speak when it was 4 in the morning, with the temperature outside and inside reaching below 30°Degrees, even if the rooms were tightly insulated and packed with heating units.

Many in the room were dressed in nightwear, covered under layers of thick-fur jackets and leather suits. The ones who were actually well and appropriately dressed for this occasion were the Parliament Guards, shining under the blinding light with their black winter ceremonial uniforms, identifying themselves as part of the Vichnayan Naval Honor Guards. These men and women lined the marble walls of parliament, standing silently like statues, their rapiers encased within in an iron and gold sheath.

Stepping up onto the front podium, Yuri Pavlishchev adjusted the heavy fur collar that wrapped around his neck, his gloved hands gripping two yellow-tinted documents. Though looking extremely stereotypical, it was a necessity for him and the others to wear such clothing during the season. After all, it is a rather grizzly fate slowly succumbing to the cold, a fate that while rare nowadays because of state-provided clothing, was still common in poor-income environments. A shame, really, but one has to accept the realities of life sooner or later.

Filling In for the Parliament speaker, the Vichnayan Head of Foreign Affairs and Diplomatic Corps stood before a crowd, representatives and seat-holders of the six-main political parties in Vichnaya. Each and every party was identified with a brightly colored armband and a uniform, with those acting as security or non-influential attendees wearing a white armband.

He'd clear his throat, leaning forward and speaking into the microphone. "Comrades of the Vichnayan Federal Parliament, State Duma, and Federal Council, by the powers granted to me by the power of the Ministry of National Affairs and the Church of the Holy Stars, I require you all to sit down and observe a period of silence."

There was some minor shuffling as all 391 members of parliament sat down, their eyes facing forward and staring deep into Yuri's soul.

Do not panic.

"..The situation we, and to an extent, the entirety of the Federal Republic of Vichnaya is dire, but not out of our control. At 12 o'clock PM in the evening.." Adjusting his spectacles, he'd take a deep breath before continuing, "Yesterday, an Infrasound stationing garrisoned by the 121st Coastal Artillery Regiment and 3rd PKKV Mechanized Brigade detected sound frequencies belonging to that of a high-yield TNT Bomb, with the direction calculated to be towards the South-East, towards the Archipelagos of Magica. That in itself isn't all that concerning, however..."

Yuri would pause for dramatic effect before holding up the paper. "That, Comrades, is only the first piece of information the National Security Council has found. Later at 2 o'clock AM, the National Nuclear Laboratory in Klendova Oblast and the Special Energy Production Plant in Sila Oblast evacuated all non-essential personnel from their facilities after detecting an unspecified amount of radioactive contaminants in aerial samples, however..."

Looking behind him, Yuri would motion towards a guard to retrieve something. Within a few minutes, the Guard would hastily roll out a Large-screen VHS TV, and after fumbling around with the 1980s-era wiring and controls, finally, plaster the image of interest Yuri had been staying up for the better part of 7 Hours to properly format, research and input information, and polish enough for the majority of the geriatric ward to actually understand to some degree.

On the large VHS was an automated report by Special Production Plant №112s Administrative & Safety AI, brightly lit in bright blue. Showing both the radiation inside and outside of both facilities, with the automated reports visualizing the spike of radiation outside, but little-to-none internally or even inside the reactor pool. It even showed the radiation output of the reactors, again, showing no changes externally.

The silence of the room was broken as chatter began picking up, mainly from the folks with the Blue armbands, with the rest gossiping for a few seconds before shutting up. Eventually, the ones with the blue armbands were forced by one of the nearby guards to observe silence once more, an order they ~~happily~~ complied with. Never argue with a man with a sword, folks.

"..After site personnel and Ground Force CBRN Teams confirmed there weren't any leaks from the 4 RBMK Reactors or nuclear materials, air samples collected later on found noticeable amounts of Uranium-238 and Plutonium-239, that while our RBMK Reactors do use Uranium-238, does not use Plutonium, a material used for nuclear weaponry. And so, the report was sent up to the Advisory Board in the National Nuclear Security Forces, with three possible answers being determined, and all in the order of likeliness."

Yuri took off one of his right glove, licked his finger, and turned a page.

"One, the reactor building did indeed have a radioactive leak, with the prime suspect being Reactor №2 of the 'Taman' Block. This, however, is an unlikely answer as both Ground Teams and..." He'd motion to one of the gentlemen in the back rows, "..Professor Artyom of the Klendovan Aerospace Institute has verified no dangerous or unnatural amounts, nor any contamination by Cesium-134 and Cesium-137. Besides, RBMK Reactors don't leak, nor do they ever."

He'd clasp his hands together before moving on and tracing his finger down to the second point. His hands were growing numb, the freezing air making it increasingly harder to breathe for the elderly diplomat. He needed to finish this up.

His pace quickened.

"Two, containment leaks from other Nuclear Sites or Storage Facilities. Once more, Professor Artyom and the National Nuclear Security Forces have verified that no amount of radioactive materials or their by-products has been detected leaking into the ground or air. Furthermore, that explanation wouldn't be possible as the direction of the winds that day wouldn't coincide with the direction of the trail left by the trace amounts of Uranium-238 and Plutonium-239 on the roofs of the Special Production Site №112, not unless someone utterly screwed up on their job."

Yuri would look up for a brief moment to clarify something, raising his voice for it to echo across the room, "-Oh, and I'll remind you all our stockpiles of Nuclear weaponry, active materials, and depleted materials are stored up in the North, where the winds detected yesterday were blowing directly in the north."

"Three," He'd cough, "A possible detonation of a 'Dirty' bomb or nuclear device. This...This is by far the likeliest answer we have at the moment, and if the materials on SPS №112 are indeed true, then we most likely have an apparent unintentional spread of radioactive contaminants by one of the nations from the Magican Archipeligo based on the wind direction, contamination trail, and the direction of an apparent explosion the Infrasound Station picked up on."

Yuri looked across the room, silent once more. The few eyes he was able to see behind the layers of scarfs and masks showed skepticism, confusion, and the one that he was able to see and feel the most; Anger.

He'd sigh, clearing his throat once more. "At this time, the National Security Council is deciding whether or not the order for a mobilization should be-"

With those words, the room erupted into yelling, the guards helpless to do anything but watch as men and women got out of their seats, yelling at each other and at Yuri Pavlischev himself. They could, of course, try to force them down but trying to simultaneously pacify all the members of the Vichnayan Parliament typically doesn't put a good note on your record, in fact, one might find themself falling out of a 7-Story window.

YUri Pavlischev sighed, this was going to be a painfully long day.

"This is Junior Lieutenant Volkov of Charkov Skywatch, how may I serve you today?"

"This is Major Babanin, Operations Officer of the 111th Reconnaissance Squadron. We are executing scramble order 739-1."

There was a tense second before Junior Lieutenant Volkov spoke, sighing audibly through the phone call.

"Affirmative on scramble order 739-1, clearing space now."

"Be advised, NSYB is prioritizing this flight, possible deployment of Cargo 800 to SE150.

"Understood, standby for Scramble Alert."

Chapter 02, Act 02 - Live and learn

Charkov Air Force Base, Sila Oblast

«Катаемся, карабкаемся, карабкаемся!»

Breaking the early morning silence, alarms blared all throughout the airbase, personnel and airmen running to their stations as the whines of turbines reverberated off of the hardened concrete structures that served to house the men, equipment, vehicles, and munitions needed for the constant operation of a fully operational combat base, with the clanking and groaning of multiple self-propelled anti-air vehicles pushing themselves out of dug-in hideouts and pointing their missiles and guns into the skies, ready and waiting for an enemy aircraft to dare enter radar range.

With all aircraft fully fueled and armed, all the maintenance crews had to do was give the final checks and await for the airmen. Kept in ready shape at all times of the year with maintenance checks spanning every one-to-two weeks, the airforces and, to a larger extent, the entire Armed Forces were well-maintained, well-trained, and well-prepared to respond to most threats thrown at it.

Charkov Air Force Base is home to the 111th Reconnaissance Squadron, the 41st Interception Squadron, and the 16th White Guards Tactical Fighter Squadron, equipped with some of the best and most modern equipment produced by local Vichnayan Aerospace industries, and crewed with hand-picked pilots from across the lands, selected not only for their skill in the air, but also their loyalty to the state and church. The latter two squadrons, especially, were well-equipped with their stores filled with newly produced Su-57Ms, Su-75Ms, and MiG-41s, all safely protected underneath layers of concrete-reinforced steel and earth.

All around, the base was filled with radio chatter as personnel raced from across the base, communicating on local channels, but on long-range channels with other bases in the Oblast. Pilots regularly entered and left briefing rooms, their orders clear and simple. For many, they would be on standby as only a small minority would have the pleasure of flying on this operation.

The whine of turbines reverberated across the base as the heavily armored gates of every bunker raised, sunlight finally spilled into the crevices as four jets rolled out onto the tarmac. With the colorful emblems of their squadrons painted, the two MiG-41s equipped with standard air-to-air missiles and two MiG-41s equipped with camera pods rolled out into the sun, their white and blue splinter camouflage shining under the bright sun. Again, their orders were simple, they would fly over, take a few photos, and run, hopefully before Magican radar stations detect them so they won't have to engage in a nasty standoff.

Introduced in mid-2022, the MiG-41s of the 41st Interception Squadron and 111th Reconnaissance Squadron was a new generation of Vichnayan Stealth Aircraft inspired directly by the Su-57M, with more matured and refined radar, flight control, electronic, and radar systems, it is an incredibly heavy fighter designed to intercept both enemy AWACs and bombers with their advanced missile systems before they could get close to the motherland. And because they had large internal spaces for various weapon platforms, some aircraft could carry camera pods for reconnaissance missions that, in theory, allowed them to penetrate deep into enemy airspace and quickly retreat if fighters were scrambled against them.

With the guidance of a towing tractor, they were brought over to the taxiway, with the pilots constantly communicating between themselves and the control tower. They were calm, incredibly calm. With the strict, but not abusive, training regimen every contracted member of the Federal Armed Forces received, they were well disciplined and well trained to enact and enforce the will of the Federal Republic of Vichnaya.

Speaking clearly into her helmet, Senior Lieutenant Lubya Wodarska looked up toward the control tower, "JBAS tower, this is ATLANT-01. 4 Ships of MiG-41s requesting unrestricted climb on runway 17."

The answer was instantaneous, the radio crackling, "ATLANT-01, this is Control Tower. Wind is at 240 at 20. Visibility one, sky condition six-thousand scattered, temperature 30, due point three, altimeter 2992. Approved for unrestricted takeoff in accordance to scramble order 739-1. ATLANT-01, runway 17 cleared for takeoff, contact CV Orla at approach 130.

As the ATC Controller read the conditions, weather, and multiple other factors, Lubya and her wingmen were scrambling to write down each and every single piece onto their hi-mounted clipboards. On said clipboards were various papers, though maps of Sila Oblast and nautical charts were plastered on the very front.

Placing the pen back into its sheath, Lubya read out loud the scribbled notes she spent 1-2 minutes writing down. "Tower, this is ATLANT-01. Weather acknowledged altimeter 2992. I copy runway cleared, unrestricted for takeoff runway one-seven. Contact CV Orla at approach on 120-"

"Negative ATLANT-01, contact CV Orla at Approach 130."

"Corrected, I copy the contact approach at 130. Request Uniform."

Though muffled, she could hear the whines of her wingmen's MiGs behind her, following her on the taxiway as they rolled ever-so closer to the runway, feeling each individual bump and crack her aircraft passed over. Her wingman, Junior Lieutenant Gera Kusya, had the same loadout as her aircraft, with Junior Lieutenants Oni Harlicher and Kirk Mitchell both running a sophisticated electronic warfare suite and camera pods.

After a few more minutes of correcting and reading conditions, Lubya and Kusya finally rolled their aircraft onto the runway, holding down the brakes and increasing the throttle every minute that passed. To her left, she could see her other two wingmen patiently waiting for their turn take to the skies.

Finally, the ATC Frequency buzzed to life with the words she had been waiting for for the past two minutes, “ATLANT and SHAPKA Flights, readback and standby for confirmation of conditions.”

“RAPCON, this is ATLANT-01. 2 Ships of MiG-41s out of JBAS on unrestricted takeoff at heading 160, Angles 20 on dispatch. Are we clear on traffic?”

On the same frequency, Junior Lieutenant Harlicher spoke with his signature heavy Vichnayan accent, “RAPCON, this is SHAPKA-01, 2 Ships of MiG-41RBs heading out of JBAS on unrestricted takeoff at heading 160, Angles 18 on dispatch. We’ll be on ATLANT’s starboard at wing level before we break off.”

Communicating on the same frequency, the Radar Approach Control Center aka RAPCON, would be the key to giving the 4 pilots their exit tickets, keeping an eye on all civilian and military traffic, as well as giving them a clear path for this mission.

After confirming, the feminine voice of one of the RAPCON Operators spoke into the mic, with some white noise that was light enough to allow the pilots to audibly discern her message. Even then, a modification that coincided with the domestic production of augmented reality goggles allowed them to see subtitles of the operator’s words.

“ATLANT-01 and SHAPKA-01,” The operator’s voice filled the net, “This is RAPCON, you both are clear of traffic at this time. Dust off quickly, 3 ships of Il-76s are coming in the Northeast in approx. 13 minutes.”

Shortly after, the ATC joined on the same frequency, doing one last readback. “ATLANT and SHAPKA Flights, clear skies for the next 30 minutes, same conditions 300 miles out. Visibility one, sky condition six-thousand scattered, temperature 30, due point three, altimeter 2992. You're all cleared to takeoff, Glory to the Sacred Stars.”

“ATLANT-01 copies, dusting off immediately. Glory to the Scared Stars.”

“SHAPKA-01 copies, awaiting for ATLANT Flight to dust off. Glory to the Scared Stars.”

With her throttle slammed forward, Lubya released the brakes, straining to barely hold back the nearly 49,000 lbs aircraft. Within a second, her torso rocked back against her seat as her MiG-41 sped down the runway and up into the skies, followed closely by her wingman.

With their afterburners on, the two aircraft made a 75°climb up, something they did effortlessly with their twin turboramjet engines that could bring the heavy fighter up to Mach 2.81. In the span of only a few minutes, they were brought up to an altitude of 20,000 feet, where they’d circle around, waiting for their two other wingmen and a tanker aircraft from Noskova Air Base.

Once the flight of 4 refueled, they banked and turned, heading in b-line towards a particular archipelago, an archipelago at war. Tracking them both were Joint-Base Auster Sila and a Yak-44M AWACS from the 112th Maritime Airborne Warning Squadron, their movements constantly marked and guided. Everyone in the flight was tense, though being part of the White Guards, they did it anyway. They had a country and mission to serve, after all.

A few hundred miles out as they approached Magican airspace, all four aircraft disengaged their transponders, disappearing entirely from both civilian and military radar screens.

by **Riomler** » Wed Jan 04, 2023 9:17 am

although there were volunteers,they were in the occupation zones,we were not so we were allowed to have a military,it was half as much as the great empire's,but still a military,now it would be put to the test as about 300 men prepared to sail to the magican peninsualua

by **Upper Magica** » Thu Jan 05, 2023 3:16 am

[REDACTED], New Rovoria District, Riomler

Adesh lit up a cigar, offering the Emperor without an Empire before him one, as well. "Your spies are wrong, sir. I'm afraid you've been lied to. My government has been eager to make contact with you for... some time." He took a big drag of the cigar before continuing. "We have a proposition for you that may well see you regain your throne - and we are prepared to back your cause."

Operator #191-A 'Hammer', No. 191 Hunter-Killer Squadron, 1st Air Army - People's Gov't of Magica

The pilot known only as 'Hammer' sat back in his seat, maneuvering his Type 20 Dragon leisurely through the clear sky. His squadron was scrambled in a hurry; the ancient early warning radars of the National Missile Shield were apparently useful for something else other than provoking the odd nuclear attack false-alarm every once in a while - they'd picked up four bogeys heading south-south east. Their radio transponders, suspiciously, had switched off before hitting the ADIZ. So said Military Intelligence during the en-route briefing.

Hammer spoke into the onboard radio. "All squadron elements, this is Hammer. Air Control has notified me that we're looking for miniscule RCS sigs on radar. We're dealing with stealth craft, so I don't care if we run into a flock of pigeons - if it's small, check it out. Keep your head on a swivel, pay attention to your IRST. Remember, kids - if you get close enough to see the sacred fire roundel, a golden bird, or a lion's head - blow it out of the sky, no questions asked. Otherwise, we do this by the book. Hail them, give them a chance, tell them to turn back."

9 different voices all responded in more or less unison: "Roger."

And so the hunters did what they did best - hunted - like Muvian bull-sharks in the great blue sea below. In pairs, they combed what Air Control - the primary air defense organization of the People's Air Forces - projected as the probable track of the unknown aircraft.

[REDACTED], Outside Aquis, Upper Magica

The nameless head of Section XIII had been up for the last two days without an inkling of sleep. He'd been calling, coordinating, wheeling, dealing - anything to get an inch up on the Reds. All of the Section's assets in Lower Magica were either dead, dying, or on the run. The MSS were crafty bastards, he'd give them that. Now he was organizing stay-behind networks - it was a sad reality that the islands closest to the inner maritime border would likely fall or fall under enemy threat - that included the Isle de Dieu, which held upon it the Imperial capital of Aquis.

Beyond home, there were the drug-dealing and bootlegging networks of the MSS - helpful in peacetime, as they provided a convenient window into the inner workings of the agency, but with what looked like a reignition of the conflict on the horizon, they could easily be retooled to run guns, bombs, and perhaps even WMDs. Not to mention these were foreign agents operating in the homelands of the Imperial government's allies; they could influence public opinion, if they hadn't already, against the Empire.

He'd had the distinct pleasure of forwarding the identities of several hundred MSS agents, assets, and their activities in Riomler, Harrisopia, and Alexiandra to their respective authorities, while just as many were nabbed in the Empire alone - a real coup. One such MSS agent taken by the Gendarmerie had even revealed the existence, though not the intricacies, of a 'Plan 9-B' - an alteration of Plan 9 involving attack options on the Empire's allies. The Section would have to lay their hands on a general or a C5I center for that.

The first was impossible - the second was probable. He picked up the phone for the fivehundredth time. "Yeah. Get me Analytics. And Special Activities while you're at it - we're taking one up for Ruby Island." He hung up, awaiting the arrival of Dr. Franzetti and Colonel Maros, the heads of their respective sub-commands. Within four hours, a captured and renovated Il-76 still in the markings of the People's Air Force awaited a company of Special Activities Troops - the black-operations subdivision of Section XIII - outside of Aquis Int'l. Aeropark.

Their destination: the headquarters of the 11th Air Army and central command of the Chief of Staff of Air Troops, the Plata del Norte Air Base.

by **Riomler** » Thu Jan 05, 2023 10:34 am

The Riomlier military moves from the port of new rovaria in hopes of silencing the communist part of magica,they begin trying to patch signals with the imperial officials for naval clearence,hpwever it will take them atleast a week to get to the imperial HQ,so they plan to land in the northern most of communist country,take important air feilds,send some b-1s and some raptors,so they can bomb important communist ports so the magican navy will move freely,the one who made this plan is none other then the Former imperial navymaster,the one who commanded the navy of Riomler,johnathan wood,

Lets get this done.

As he looks from the bridge of the Rovaria ,a newly built cruiser for the navy along with 8 destroyers 5 subs,and 10 frigates.

Undislclosed,new rovaria

What kind of support?how could i trust you?which are you?disgusing capitulist or communist?

by **Upper Magica** » Fri Jan 06, 2023 1:50 am

Fortified Command Center Poseidon - Unknown Location - People's Government of Magica

Chairman Yuval Yuvaraj sat back in his luxurious chair. His generals sat, nervous of what he might say next. They knew - adding to the anxiety.

"Gentlemen, we're here to discuss Plan 9 and its execution. I understand we've made revisions?"

A general stood at attention from his seat, saluting snappily, sweating from nervousness. "Yes sir, we've made revisions to Plan 9. Plan 9 is the current operating principle for the upcoming operation; as you well know, our Fleet will begin phase one in approximately 24 hours: missile strikes from land, air, and sea targeting a broad swathe of the Imperial homeland, as well as its active military assets, with a focus on their airports, air bases, harbors, and naval bases."

Yuval stroked his fuzzy beard. "Their anti-missile systems will be overwhelmed, leaving them exposed in other areas."

The general brought down a map of the Magican Fjord. "After we have secured at least tenuous air and naval superiority, our marine task groups and airborne assets will begin landing in force along the Central Island Chain. We will follow up, on the Isle de Dieu, with reinforcements from the 90th and 56th Group Armies. Heavy armor, heavy artillery, mechanized and motorized brigades will arrive in force to effect the capture of Aquis, the Imperial capital, in particular. We expect general surrender in the following 72 hours after our objectives are achieved."

Yuval nodded. "Optimistic, maybe. The Imperials are tougher than we give them credit for. I suggest curbing your expectations accordingly, general. If you prove to be as naive in the field as you have been in this briefing, I'll have you shot." He stared at the Magistrate of State Security, a pitiable holdover from the Mahendra government. "What of Plan 9-B? What are our contingencies should foreigners intervene?"

The same general sat back down without a further word, giving the floor to the Magistrate of State Security. "Sir, we have covert assets in position in the Riomler occupation zone and off the coast of Alexiandra and Harrisopia in the form of container ships - Upper Magican flagged, of course."

"When we give the word - if their countries intervene or seem like they are about to intervene - we shall sail into enemy ports and scuttle the ships. Blocking some of their harbors will set back any aid efforts by hours - precious hours that we can use to their full extent as outlined in Plan 9. In addition, our covert services are in contact with Traldonian and Riomlerian revanchists; we've taken the liberty of pre-establishing arms stockpiles to give them - like candy. Our agents are also well positioned to launch a series of car bomb attacks and aerial hijackings across Allied territories. We believe terror, if utilized effectively, will sour Allied public opinion well away from the prospect of joining a war in such a faraway land."

Yuval Yuvaraj lit up a cigar, applauding. "My, my! That is an impressive asymmetric response. To tell you the truth, comrade, I'd begun to regret not having you shot in the purges, but I believe I've been proven wrong." He was the only one laughing at his own joke; the others stared at each other in nervousness. Fools; they didn't appreciate humor. "So, what's next?"

The Chief of the People's Army was given the floor next - he saluted purely out of fear. Yuval knew him - and he knew he had a very low opinion of Yuval. A contemptible man. "Sir, our plan for the initial strikes of Plan 9-B will be expanded, too, to accommodate for a variety of options. Our guided-missile submarine fleets are on standby on the southern tip of the Continent, and on receipt of code, will head underway and split up into two groups - five such submarines will launch their conventional payloads at Harrisopian naval and air bases, while the remaining 7 submarines will endeavor to strike military targets across Alexiandra identified by our moles within the Imperial diplomatic and geolocation apparata - of particular interest is the so-called 'fortress city' of Delos; we hear rumors that it's an important nerve center for their armed forces. We also have 17 Q-ships in the local area to harass merchantmen and report on military movements. One such Q-ship has reported massive Riomlerian military movement towards the Archipelago."

Yuval ashed his cigar. "No, no. We'll wait on that. But I like it; a fraction of what's coming for the Imperialists. But enough to do some damage should these foreigners decide to stick their nose where it doesn't belong. Execute the Riomlerian option. They've cast their lot in, it seems."

He took a big long drag, spewing smoke out of his nose like a dragon. "How's Ruby Island looking?"

The Chief of the Army adjusted his collar, sweating. "The operation was a success, sir."

Yuval clicked a remote, revealing a screen. Playing on it was a cell-phone recording on a popular video-sharing site. Mi-24 helicopters were disembarking Special Detachment troopers in what was clearly Nuova La Spezia - the radar dishes of the Ruby Island BMEWS station were visible in the distance. "So, why'd our commandos get made? Why are the Imperialists, even now, preparing to retake the island hours before our moment of triumph?! The key point of Plan 9 was to, for fuck's sake, seize the BMEWS installation at Ruby Island.." He threw a coffee cup at the general. "COVERTLY." He shouted at the top of his lungs once more, repeating himself slower, brandishing his pistol. "CO. VERT. LY."

The general, drenched in warm coffee, shuddered. "Sir, please-" He was interrupted in his pleas for mercy by a 7.62 Tokarev bullet entering his forehead, much to the silent alarm of everyone at the meeting.

Yuval pointed his gun at everyone in the room calmly. "Here's a reminder before this meeting is terminated, comrades. If you lapse in your responsibilities, you will face the same fate as General da Esposito. I will shoot you myself. Speaking of responsibilities, I declare this meeting at an end. Plan 9 is to be executed in 12 hours, instead of 24. Thank Comrade Esposito, everyone."

Ruby Island, Empire of Upper Magica

Above Ruby Island, the signs of what was to come were set out for all to see. People's Government Mi-24 helicopters engaged in close-range and lethal dogfights with Imperial Longbows and UH-1Ys, all the while, MANPADS of both the Strela and Stinger types streaked towards both sides of the aerial clusterfuck; in the town's sole settlement, the hamlet of Nuova La Spezia below, Special Detachment soldiers engaged Imperial Guard forces in devastating house-to-house fighting.

The main prize, though, was the small islet's early-warning radar system; critical for the Empire's potential interception of any barrage of ballistic and cruise missiles. Imperial Marines stormed ashore in AAVs and LAV-25s, breaking through the rudimentary shore defenses the People's Government had set up, only to be confronted by the Special Detachment's armored contingent - a handful of BMP-2s and BMD-3s. A furious exchange of fire followed, the Marines dumping their allotment of LAWs into the hulking mass of armor; before long, the Marines were advancing.

It turned out to all be for naught before they entered the complex - in a few moments, the radar dishes and control terminals of the Ruby Island BMEWS station were scattered into pieces as a series of detonations disabled and destroyed everything of worth to the Imperial forces - who were left to clean up the rubble as well as the many Lower Magican holdouts remaining on the island.

Emergency Operations Center - Imperial Palace, Aquis

In the Emergency Operations Center underneath the Imperial Palace, Grand Admiral Contarini had nothing to fear. This old bunker had been built to survive nuclear war, and had recently undergone renovations hardening it against bunker-buster munition attacks, as well as necessary structural repairs. In short, it would not collapse handily; it was a true fortress.

In the Situation Room were all ministry heads, military chiefs, and the Crown Prince himself. The Grand Admiral was the last to enter; he'd had the matter of the medical evacuation of the ailing Emperor Morgan VIII to attend to.

The nameless head of Section XIII was the first to break the silence. "Gentlemen, ladies - Ruby Island is ours again. All staff are accounted KIA, and the installation is a wreck. If there was a final confirmation that the shit's hit the fan.. here it is."

The Crown Prince sighed. "Yes. Here it is." The Minister of Finance spoke up. "Well, what do we do?" The Minister of Industry was next, her hair a mess - she'd been roused from bed, like everyone here. "I've already issued preliminary war mobilization orders under the State of Defense. Right now, our critical industries and defense industry at large have been basically nationalized; but it'll take a few months to get to war production." The Foreign Minister was next. "We... haven't sent out communications to our allies yet regarding this matter, but news has already undoubtedly trickled in, not to mention their intelligence services are probably picking up the hotbed of military activity that is currently our peninsula right now. Riomler's mobilized in support of us, surprisingly. Our attempts at outreach to the North have been ignored."

The Minister of the Interior followed up next. "Your Highness, we've already neutralized - thanks to the actionable intelligence provided by the DCI and Section XIII - several cells of Red terrorists and arms-smuggling networks. We've found precursors used in the manufacture of Sarin. If there was a time to call in the Allies, it's now. It's that serious."

The Admiral found himself saying something before he'd thought. "It was yesterday, but 'We' thought foolishly that peace was ever an option with a dictator that used nuclear weapons to secure his ascendancy." The Crown Prince had been the main proponent of seeking an accommodation, and when combined with the cynical usage of the royal pronoun - it was lese-majeste, to say the least. The other military chiefs and the Interior Minister were shouting for his immediate cashiering and arrest; but the Crown Prince held up his hand. "Grand Admiral - I do not apologize for seeking a peaceful solution to this imminent conflict. But this... General Yuvaraj has proven to be deadset on war, and your words were perhaps prescient, considering the man's history and the blood currently on his hands. Your advice should have been held with greater value. I apologize for my naivete."

Grand Admiral Contarini curtsied. "Your words honor me, Your Highness; but they will be of little value to the people that will lose and be lost in the coming days." Returning to a more militaristic stance, rather than one belonging to a Court function, he went on: "The only way forward is pre-emptive strike. The Red Navy is highly concentrated - they haven't dispersed into attack positions yet. I again reiterate: we must use our stockpile of nuclear-armed torpedoes and strategic weaponry. The People's Government only has tactical-yield atomics and a few strategic weapons - they have little to retaliate with. A restrained first-strike would devastate their ability to make war on the Empire."

The nameless head of Section XIII spoke up again. "And I again reiterate my own position in the last meeting: nuclear weapons would devastate our economy for decades, even as limited in scope as you propose. Your nuclear torpedoes would drive our country into famine and irradiate our shores for generations."

Contarini retorted furiously: "And if we don't, successive generations will be in re-education camps and salt mines to cure them of the 'capitalist disease', as the Northerners so put it! Slaves in all but name."

The Crown Prince held up his hand. "I issue a judgment. We will not utilize nuclear weaponry. We will keep our stockpile ready, though. If things get desperate, we will utilize tactical nuclear weaponry as the Admiral proposes as the situation requires. But the Admiral's point is sound. We must pre-empt the enemy. And as for the Foreign Minister, make pleas to our allies; we have need of them."

The Crown Prince sighed again, wistful of the words that were about to come out of his mouth.

"Chiefs of the Armed Forces, you are to prepare for Defense Plan Red. The Aquis Peace Agreements are null and void; there is no more Upper and Lower Magica. And with God as my witness, we shall see this peninsula re-united to secure peace in our homeland forevermore - under One Empire. This meeting of the War Cabinet is adjourned."

Those assembled in the room uttered out, in synchrony: "One Empire." before leaving.

To: The Governments of all Allied Nations
From: Crown Prince Artur-Morgan de Sacre-Feu, Regent of the Empire, acting in the name of Morgan VIII

We would like to start this communique by stating our deep appreciation for the country of Riomler's, perhaps prescient, military mobilization in support of what has turned out to be more than a simple inter-Magican diplomatic brawl. We are also grateful to those Riomlerian citizens that have volunteered for the newly-formed 1st (Riomlerian) Foreign Volunteer Detachment.

It is to our regret that we announce that our outreach to the illegitimate People's Government to the North of our archipelago has born no fruit. We have, even in the face of a military mobilization not seen since the Second Great War, attempted to, in good faith, broker peace - even through the forcible seizure of one of our early-warning radar stations by the Communist threat. As the Aquis Peace Accords of 1959 have been unilaterally abrogated by the People's Government and that said government has proven unresponsive to our diplomatic outreach, and in fact are in the process of mobilizing for war, it is our position that the Accords are rendered null and void. Consequently, there is no more 'Empire of Upper Magica', merely the 'Empire of Magica'.

It is now our government's intent to solve, once and for all, the question of unification as our misguided brothers to the North propose. There will be no more regrets from this point forth; only the resolve of this Government and its Armed Forces that are preparing at this very moment to defend our freedom and our way of life. In this endeavor, we call upon our allies to, at haste, join us in arms. We hereby formally invoke all relevant collective-defense treaties that the Empire of Magica is currently engaged in with the governments of Riomler, Harrisopia and Alexiandra in anticipation of imminent hostilities.

[REDACTED], Rovoria

Adesh looked bemused. For a second, he was incredulous, flabbergasted. He composed himself.

"My apologies. I'm a representative of the People's Government. Very un-spylike of me to announce such a thing, hmm?" He took out a list of addresses in both Rovoria and the wider country of Riomler, putting it on the table between the two. "These, Emperor, are gifts. These buildings are derelict and not very much to look at, but I think you'll find the contents inside them to be quite useful for your struggle to regain your throne and drive out your foreign oppressors." He puffed on his cigar. "As for how you can trust me, you will just have to; after all, if I were a Imperialist lackey, would you not be dead or in chains right now?"

by **Vichnaya** » Fri Jan 06, 2023 7:46 am

Chapter 03, Act 01 - Nameless, Escapless, Hopeless

Sandovo Bor, Sila Oblast

"Father Makra's eyes twinkled, his heart aching, the tears he shed formed to become the rivers and streams."

Every once in a while, the men with white clothes came to his town.

He heard the stories of them taking people away, but he never believed them. He remembers one autumn morning when he was out on a walk with Papa down in City Hall, waiting for his sister and mother to finish shopping when he saw a group of soldiers in white sitting around near their big eight-wheeled truck of some kind. It was intimidating watching them, much less actually interacting with them in the first place. He remembers Father warning him to stay away from them, telling stories of taking away entire villages in the dead of night, stories from when his father was a mere boy. Father told him he was a mere boy, he saw his grandmother and grandfather taken away, kicking and screaming, into the dead of night.

He heard the stories, and he never believed them. Walking up to them with a smile on his face, he chatted with them, and they were friendly, much more friendly than his 9th Grade Teacher, hell, he was even able to ride upon the shoulders of one of the prettier women, even being allowed to hold their shiny black guns and sit on their tank they called an 'armored personnel carrier' with little to no hesitation. He had a joy riding with them around City Hall, brief as it was. That experience alone was unforgetful to the young boy and something he would always love, even if his Father severely scolded him. Again and again, his Father hammered the stories of when he was a child, the same age as him, walking down the streets and seeing a group of soldiers dumping 'sleeping' people into a hole and covering it up.

He heard the stories, and he never believed them. When he reached the age of 17, he wore a smile on his face as he walked up to the Conscription Center, his arms pulled back by his crying sisters and brothers, the words "Don't go!" "Don't do this!" "Please, Don't go!" etched into his mind, their distressed faces echoing throughout his dreams and nightmares. Regardless, he joined and contracted himself into the Ground Forces, joining the 102nd Motor Rifle Division. His life during Basic and the subsequent Advanced Training Courses with rough, but not abusive. Though he did hear the rumors of hazing and corruption in their sister Division, with some Privates beaten bloody by the drunken hand of their NCOs or Officers.

He heard the stories, and he never believed them. And when he went on a deployment in the Faru Region during the Vichnayan-Klendovan War, he fought side-by-side with his comrades, fighting hard to not only protect his family back in Sila Oblast, but his brothers in arms, the brothers he would trust until his very last breath. From the disastrous Battle of Faru Ridge and all the way to the Battle of Yuca Mountain that signaled the end of the war, he served dutifully and loyally, always with his friends by his side. Of course, he heard the stories of massacres in the local villages by vengeful Vichnayan conscript forces, where the conscripts pillaged and murdered the local inhabitants, taking their food and indulging in actions so despotic that even he was shaken to his very core.

He heard the stories, and he believed them. For he took part in some of them, even molding them.

After the Battle of Faru Ridge, only a mere shadow of his company was left, as nearly half of them were wiped out during the assaults through those dark and nightmarish forests, feeling the breaths of the insurgents breathing down their necks and picking off their brothers one by one. They were angry. Angry at the enemy, angry at their own command, and angry at the populace. Anger that, to the 19-Year old conscripts at least, could not be contained any longer. Even as they saw the children wave at them, even as the men and women go out of their homes to greet them, they still had blood to spill, they still had sacrifices that must be repaid.

With promises of celebration, food, gifts, and fun experiences with the fairer sex, the men and women of the 78th Separate Motor Rifle Brigade gathered all of the men, women, and children into the town square, welcoming the populace of this small town with laughter and cheers. It wasn't all that long before the situation got nasty, with a conscript bashing his stock against an old man's face in an attempt to quicken the old snail's pace. One argument turned into another, a disagreement turning into a screaming match before the soldiers fired into the crowd. He remembered distinctly the smell of gunpowder mixing with rust, the blood splashing against his face, feeling the fingers of some woman scrape against his skin before she fell to the ground like a sack of bricks.

And soon after that, he and his comrades faced trial...to where they were pardoned. They, murderers and pillagers, villains that deserved execution...were let go. They were pardoned. Hailed as heroes the second the Vichnayan-Klendovan War ended. The stories of them liberating town after town to the cheer of thankful Klendovan mothers, the stories of children running up to their vehicles to give them kolache, baklava, and tea as they spearheaded the assaults up the dark Yuca mountain. The stories the media spun were amusing; 'Our brave boys charging hand-in-hand with the populace, a sword grasped tightly in their fists, ready to slay the wolves that circle the mountain!'

He didn't believe them. He didn't believe in reality itself. He was starting to not believe anymore.

He turned to the Stars for answers for them, the ever-present saviors of the Vichnayan people, the very children of Father Makra who built the world and brought light to the endless plains and lands in the Universe, must've had answers. For days, weeks, and months after the war, he prayed, mourned, and begged to the stars themselves, begging for an answer, begging for an answer that never came.

A year after the war, he heard about a growing insurgency growing in Sila Oblast, his home oblast, and that the 102nd Motor Rifle Division and a few other formations would take part in the stabilization and pacification efforts. It was supposed to be a quick, clean, in-and-out operation, brutal and precise, a zachistka as Crystal Kingdom called it.

It was quick, brutal, and precise, but not clean.

Like on the day of the invasion in the Vichnayan-Klendovan War, the night skies were lit by the never-ending rockets and shells of Vichnayan Artillery Divisions, with the morning and nights never ceasing for even a minute with the booms and howling of guns and rockets, raining hell into the fading distance and illuminating the horizon with red, orange, and sometimes pink. From the smallest of cannons, all the way to the largest of rockets, rockets that rival entire houses in size, all were fired into the distance, day and night, their crews never resting for even a minute.

It pained him to see the fields and rivers he played in as a kid reduced to craters, to see the ancient wells and structures his siblings played on destroyed, to see the store he escaped to during school with his friends scorched and collapsed, and it especially pained him to see the bridge he and his first girlfriend shared their kiss lay twisted and in flames. The structures and ruins he played, laughed, and sometimes even lived in, were gone, destroyed, and returned to the stars in ash and dust. He then heard stories of the thermobaric barrages of Rocket Batteries leveling entire towns, vaporizing the citizens and splattering their blood and gore across the floor, hearing the indiscriminate bombardment of insurgents and civilians alike.

And he didn't believe them, he desperately believed they weren't true. He truly and utterly believed that the Federal Republic of Vichnaya, the very government and land he'd shed his blood, tears, sweat, and life for, wouldn't do that.

And then he and his Brigade rolled into a town, watching the ruined streets with careful gazes, planting their eyes on every exposed corpse with tense and cautious readiness, ready for if one were to pop right back up and run at them. In the few days they were deployed to Sila Oblast, they (Excluding himself) had learned that not every hallow and lifeless body was motionless, a lesson a few of his brothers-in-arms had unfortunately learned. While he had anger directed toward the Vichnayan Government for the lack of care for civilian homes, the same wasn't to be said for his comrades, most particularly for his friend, one Private First-Class Sophia Yakovna.

With her short brown hair cut in a pixy-cut, a leather collar around her neck, and an overall hyper and childish attitude, she was considered the weirdo of the entire company, especially since she was fond of a particular foreign animation genre called 'Anime' that she'd drag her friends, which ALWAYS included himself regardless he wanted it or not, to computer houses so they could sit and watch whatever horrid animation show she wanted to see. He shuddered when he saw them, those eyes...they weren't natural in the slightest.

But regardless, their relationship bloomed and they were soon keeping a rather intimate secret together, known only by close comrades and family that were sometimes able to get ahold of.

He thought of them often, he thought of happy moments with he and his comrades, and especially Sophia, during the three years of service. While life and combat in the Vichnayan Armed Forces are horrid, and the Veterans Health Department fighting tooth and nail to not pay for the health benefits he had applied for nearly two months straight, the camaraderie and 'fun' that he experienced was something he didn't want to give up. And besides, deep in his gut, he felt like he needed too, a feeling that he would betray his brothers if he just upped and left.

But as he sat upon the roof of a BTR-80, watching the turret swing right and left, and scanning for any signs of life through this desolate and burnt town, he couldn't help but think this town looked eerily similar to his own. Though has been away for nearly 4 years, the streets seemed familiar, the roads that lead towards the town square appearing rather indistinguishable from the snow-filled asphalt street he broke his arms over many times. With even more glancing, he even spotted the very same store he bought Kulichs and Vatrushkas from. He smiled, he remembered buying an entire box of sweet bread from the kind and pretty lady that ran that store, how she became the first crush he ever remembered having as he grew up.

He paused.

Then, he ran.

He ran even as his BTR moved at top speed, nearly dislocating his arm as he jumped off it. He ran even as his comrades yelled and tried causing after him. He ran even as his Company's attached political officer tried shooting him with a stun gun, to at least try to stop him. Regardless of what his brothers did, he ran, he ran so hard and so fast that he felt his flesh and muscles strain and tear. He ran even as the oxygen in his lungs began escaping at quantities his incessant breathing couldn't take. He had to, he just had to.

Eventually, he came up to a single-story house with a boot-like tiled roof. It was small, but it also was rather cozy and comfy. The walls and garden in front of the house, still filled with flower pots and incomplete playsets, laid broken and in tatters, their contents spilled across the dead and dying grass, roasted by fire and sprayed by ash. Like the front yard, the house was similarly in poor shape, for he could see the giant, gaping hole on the very top of the roof, the walls reduced to rubble as if someone tore it with a giant crowbar. He could see the bullet and shrapnel holes, the broken windows, and blood stained across the exposed interior.

He rushed in there without a second thought. His mind was racing. He recognized these streets, he recognized these roads, and he recognized this house.

They had to be alive, surely, they all had to be. He believed the sacred stars protected them, he believed that it didn't have to come to this, that it didn't happen. And with each second, and with each anxious and distressed step he took, his heart sank deeper and deeper into his chest, his body squeezing the air all out of his chest.

And he saw it, six bodies laying across the house. Some were perfectly in good condition, laid on the floor and holding their chests, whilst others weren't so fortunate, their bodies ripped apart like wet tissue paper and flung all over the house, their gore splayed as if a child painted streaks of crimson red across the floors, walls, and ceilings. Everything he had ever known, everything he had bought, and everyone he loved was gone. They were gone.

And with that sight, he was gone.

His hands reached to the side of his head, feeling a prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes. Barely into his 20s and loaded with 70 Pounds of gear and equipment, and weighted by the snapping of his heart, the man sunk to the ground, his knees giving out as the first of many streams of tears rolled down his face. He felt hollow, but the tears continued to flow. He felt as hot as fire, and yet his body was freezing cold. He felt as if he didn't exist at this moment, and yet he felt the piercing and overwhelming pain of his very being.

Even as his comrades catched up to him, even as Sophia tried comforting him, and even as Political Officer Abdel Wahan gave him an extended time to mourn at the expense of the entire company, he felt...something, nothing. When he looked around, and when met the gaze of his worried brothers-in-arms, the happiness that once sprung was nowhere. And when he slipped into his sleeping bag in the dead of night, after the cooks gave him a hearty meal complete with laughter and cheers, he felt nothing.

And from that day on, he believed in nothing.

. . .

That was years ago.

Keeping a silent promise to not only his brother-in-arms, but his brothers, sisters, and parents that he would be better for them, he returned to his town, to rebuild all the buildings and roads that were damaged during the war. A few of his friends came with him, with Sophia especially helping to keep a sharp and moral outlook on life. She, especially, had helped him to break away from the horror and despair he faced during the war, and in return, he helped her out, keeping her close whenever she lay shivering and in tears at day or night. Like in the military, their friendship bloomed into something much more and, eventually, they moved in together after rebuilding his childhood home.

That was years ago. He and Sophia had a child together, with Calina starting her first year in kindergarten. She was a bright and incredibly cheeky child, as beautiful and caring as her mother and as determined and athletic as her father. It would've been great watching her grow up, to grow up in a world not as war-torn and horrid as this one. Either way, she would grow up and become a successful daughter, he was sure of it.

And to be truthful, there were only two moments he actually felt actual, genuine happiness; the marriage between him and Sophia, and the birth of Calina. Calina. She was the light of his life, the only thing that really kept him working as hard as he did nowadays. He would help forge a better world for not only her, but his wife, his friends, and the family he lost on the long and harsh journey he went through up to this point.

The smells he once loved as a child, the aroma of hot beef stroganoff, the aroma of freshly baked sweet bread...was now nothing, for him, it was only another smell. The sights he enjoyed, like the landscape of the nearby mountains or the blue and purple feathers, meant nothing, he saw nothing. The sights, smells, feelings, and touches he had were nothing, he felt nothing, he heard nothing, nor did feel nothing.

Nothing, except anger.

Anger toward the government, anger towards the Federal Armed Forces, and anger towards the economy. An economy that, with each passing day, sent more and more of his brethren out in the streets, an economy that became increasingly hard for him and Sophia to feed and pay for their small little house and small little family. And for what? For each week it seemed, the Vichnayan Federal Republic got into endless and pointless wars, wars that only served to pump the economy up with blood and debt. A debt that could only be repaid with even more bodies.

And what if there was a system that the power could finally take precedence, to take their rights and lives into their own hands rather than the hands of the rich? What if there was a movement that instead of burdening the citizenry with the ever-increasing hell of Vichnaya's economy, the citizens could rely upon the government to make sure all men and women of Vichnaya had their fair share of wealth, instead of one man holding it all? What if there was a system that made Vichnaya as a whole reliant on herself rather than her neighbors, depending on her own strength for economic, political, and military strength? To make her independent and strong?

Many had heard the cries from their neighbors to the East, they had heard the cry to arms from Lower Magica that, while he and his group did disagree on a few points, they did understand their sentiment, their anger.

Soon, Sila would regain her freedom, and thereafter, Vichnaya will regain her freedom.

With his hands on the wheel, he'd swerve his vehicle into a clean parallel park, slotting in-between two GAZ Tigr-Ms. Now, this spot was reserved exclusively for government officials, a spot that was directly outside of the Golden Palace, the Parliament of Vichnaya. In the trunk and lining his entire vehicle were 700lbs of Tritonal high explosives, scrapped together from the unexploded ordinance that fell in the countryside and promptly went into the Black Market, all connected to a dead man's switch on the very steering wheel he was griping onto.

Soon after, there was a tap of his window, one from a guard that he spotted posted outside the Parliament's entrance.

This guard looked rather young, even with his face covered by a balaclava. Dressed in digital flora cammies, equipped rather heavy gear, and armed with an AK-19S with a few sights bolted onto it, this young guard looked no different from when he was in service, even if the gear is new and modern. It saddened him thinking it, but a cause always required martyrs to shed their blood for the good of the whole. He'd roll down his window, letting the guard poke his head through.

Lowering his mask, the guard spoke with a light and cheerful tone. "Greetings and salutations, Comrade, rather nice day we're having here today, eh?" He'd chirp, his light-Vichnayan accent filling the cold morning air.

"It sure is, Comrade." He'd respond back to the guard, nodding his head, "Though it is rather chilly compared to previous mornings, I'd reckon."

"Aye, it sure is. Hell, I know one of my friends is complaining about it rather loudly over comms," The Guard chuckled, "Hellavu fuss she's putting up, but at least it's better than sitting in silence."

He chuckled along, his hands were starting to strain on the steering wheel. Each passing second became sweatier, his hands slowly slipping off of the leather, his hands slipping away from the detonator. His heart and lungs felt as if they were being squeezed by a boa, sinking deeper and deeper into the hellish and unforgiving stomach that lies just below.

After a moment of continued chuckling, the Guard shook his head, "A-Haha...hah-Anyway, Sorry for wasting your time, anyway-" He cleared his throat, "May I inquire why you're parking here, sir?"

He'd smile up towards the young lad, "No worries, and to answer your question, I'm just here to enjoy the morning in silence."

The guard rubbed his neck, "My apologies, Comrade, but you can't exactly park here."

"Hmm?" He'd fake confusion, "Why not?"

The young boy sighed, "I'm hearing the Parliamentary members are leaving soon, and I'd rather be responsible for a potential situation here, eh?" He'd chuckle once more, though unnatural.

Again, his heart was sinking ever so deeper into the quicksand that was his emotions, the lungs squeezing all of the oxygen out of his system, and now his neck felt dry. Hesitating, he'd respond to the guard. "My apologies, but could I stay here, at least for a little bit?"

The guard shook his head, "Sorry, Comrade, but protocols dictate that either you leave, or I have to search both you and your vehicle." He'd shrug, "Sorry, Comrade, but you know the rules. And besides, it shouldn't be too long, I'll just pat you down and give your trunk a quick check, is that alright?"

He looked into the eyes of this guard, the young boy. He had a life with friends and family that deeply cared for him. This man probably had a girl or guy he probably was trying to pursue a relationship with. He was probably just trying to finish up his service, so he could have a higher education with the assistance of government money. Those and many other factors brought a feeling to him, it was long and sinking, as if it were slipping deep into an endless void. While he did want to provide his daughter and wife a better future, this boy before him probably wanted a future also.

He'd shake his head, for the future of the collective must be attained through the sacrifice of a few. Unfortunate as it may, mankind as a whole must have a bright and better future, a future secured and watered by the blood of martyrs, young or old. It would be bloody, but if this movement went through and with the will of the people on their side, then this would be the last act of sacrifice Vichnaya will have to face.

And so, he'd smile back to the boy, responding with a hearty chuckle. "Mhm, I'll step out and let you take a good look."

The guard stepped to the side, smiling back at him. "Very well, just step out of the car and I'll give you a patdown."

Without a word, he'd let go of the steering wheel.

by **Laka Strolistandiler** » Fri Jan 06, 2023 8:50 am

OOC: Can anyone provide me with a brief description of what happened? This looks extremely intresting but there’s just way too much info to read through

by **Riomler** » Fri Jan 06, 2023 9:34 am

OCC:First read the harrisopian war then come back

by **Riomler** » Fri Jan 06, 2023 10:30 am

OVARD SEA
Riomler fleet

A ltl came in the bridge and and walked to admiral Wood,"Report?" said the admiral,"we've spotted a ship and beleive its spotted us and told their leadership."the admiral mused over this,then finally he said send 2 subs to take it down,and release air detachments,were 1 day away from reaching the communist filth,besides,it would be embararising to lose again.

Undisclosed

Alright its a deal.

by **Upper Magica** » Fri Jan 06, 2023 10:37 am

Laka Strolistandiler wrote:OOC: Can anyone provide me with a brief description of what happened? This looks extremely intresting but there’s just way too much info to read through

OOC: I can. TL;DR - Lower Magica, the NPC """people's republic""" to my country's north, a Juche-style dictatorship which I am also going to run in this RP - in a sort of hands-off manner, so people have creative liberty with what happens with them, by the by - has recently undergone a military coup by psychotic military hardliners who used a tactical nuclear weapon to decapitate the ancien regime before intimidating its remnants into compliance via Stalinist-style purging. They have recently nullified the formal peace agreement and are on the verge of storming the border, in short. They are currently attempting to subvert/sabotage the allies of the Empire in order to discourage their population and delay/sabotage their entrance into the oncoming war, two of whom haven't had time to join the RP as of yet since IRL things - with a focus on Riomler, the least stable of all possible targets, due to that country previously having nuked itself in an attempt to avoid the ~~wrath~~ rods of God in a previous regional RP(but don't let that discourage you, 'tis Open for a reason). Vichnaya is currently attempting to establish the facts on the ground, particularly why trace amounts of radioactives are drifting into their country, while it seems that elements of their population have taken heart from the new Lower Magican government's greeting to its southern neighbor.

...That's basically it for events so far - unless I'm wrong/have missed something, in which case someone will likely correct me. At any rate, we're kind of in a buildup/limbo phase while we wait for the other two members of our region, so things aren't hitting the fan just yet. I hope this was a somewhat readable synopsis since I just woke up :rofl:

by **Riomler** » Fri Jan 06, 2023 3:47 pm

As johnathan wood looks out,he calls the sgt in and tells him"get those SPEC troops on some helis and get them landing in key ports,we cant have any delay,and lets get going double time!i bet the enemy has already spotted us,so get in Oval formation,i want eyes all around me."

In new rovaria

"The biggest rumor spreading around are that communist managed to sneak in the country"says a offiacal in mindom corp,"well,i guess its my job to find out if there is,and if there is..","killem" finished the offical "although you should be careful mr Mindom!","I always am..."says maximus mindom former prince turned assasin.

Undisclosed

i sure would,however i hear my nephew is a pain in the ass for commies like you,how will you deal withem?

by **Laka Strolistandiler** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 12:04 am

Upper Magica wrote:
OOC: I can. TL;DR - Lower Magica, the NPC """people's republic""" to my country's north, a Juche-style dictatorship which I am also going to run in this RP - in a sort of hands-off manner, so people have creative liberty with what happens with them, by the by - has recently undergone a military coup by psychotic military hardliners who used a tactical nuclear weapon to decapitate the ancien regime before intimidating its remnants into compliance via Stalinist-style purging. They have recently nullified the formal peace agreement and are on the verge of storming the border, in short. They are currently attempting to subvert/sabotage the allies of the Empire in order to discourage their population and delay/sabotage their entrance into the oncoming war, two of whom haven't had time to join the RP as of yet since IRL things - with a focus on Riomler, the least stable of all possible targets, due to that country previously having nuked itself in an attempt to avoid the ~~wrath~~ rods of God in a previous regional RP(but don't let that discourage you, 'tis Open for a reason). Vichnaya is currently attempting to establish the facts on the ground, particularly why trace amounts of radioactives are drifting into their country, while it seems that elements of their population have taken heart from the new Lower Magican government's greeting to its southern neighbor.

...That's basically it for events so far - unless I'm wrong/have missed something, in which case someone will likely correct me. At any rate, we're kind of in a buildup/limbo phase while we wait for the other two members of our region, so things aren't hitting the fan just yet. I hope this was a somewhat readable synopsis since I just woke up

OOC:

Thank you. Regarding my participation, can my nation IC-wise be previously in royal intermarriage with the Lower Magica? Historically speaking marrying off parts of royal family to far off lands has been a standard practice for them into the XXI’st century, so it wouldn’t be a stretch. Their interest in intervention would be a revenge against those who have spilled the royal blood and potential re-installation of the ancient dynasty. Initially though it’ll be focused on humanitarian relief efforts and space ops- there is no best way to handle the rods of god but with a well-focused and concentrated ASAT effort p and/or Brilliant Pebbles/some other MT space weapon thingy

by **Upper Magica** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 12:57 am

Laka Strolistandiler wrote:
Upper Magica wrote:
OOC: I can. TL;DR - Lower Magica, the NPC """people's republic""" to my country's north, a Juche-style dictatorship which I am also going to run in this RP - in a sort of hands-off manner, so people have creative liberty with what happens with them, by the by - has recently undergone a military coup by psychotic military hardliners who used a tactical nuclear weapon to decapitate the ancien regime before intimidating its remnants into compliance via Stalinist-style purging. They have recently nullified the formal peace agreement and are on the verge of storming the border, in short. They are currently attempting to subvert/sabotage the allies of the Empire in order to discourage their population and delay/sabotage their entrance into the oncoming war, two of whom haven't had time to join the RP as of yet since IRL things - with a focus on Riomler, the least stable of all possible targets, due to that country previously having nuked itself in an attempt to avoid the ~~wrath~~ rods of God in a previous regional RP(but don't let that discourage you, 'tis Open for a reason). Vichnaya is currently attempting to establish the facts on the ground, particularly why trace amounts of radioactives are drifting into their country, while it seems that elements of their population have taken heart from the new Lower Magican government's greeting to its southern neighbor.

...That's basically it for events so far - unless I'm wrong/have missed something, in which case someone will likely correct me. At any rate, we're kind of in a buildup/limbo phase while we wait for the other two members of our region, so things aren't hitting the fan just yet. I hope this was a somewhat readable synopsis since I just woke up

OOC:

Thank you. Regarding my participation, can my nation IC-wise be previously in royal intermarriage with the Lower Magica? Historically speaking marrying off parts of royal family to far off lands has been a standard practice for them into the XXI’st century, so it wouldn’t be a stretch. Their interest in intervention would be a revenge against those who have spilled the royal blood and potential re-installation of the ancient dynasty. Initially though it’ll be focused on humanitarian relief efforts and space ops- there is no best way to handle the rods of god but with a well-focused and concentrated ASAT effort p and/or Brilliant Pebbles/some other MT space weapon thingy

OOC: I might have misquoted or not explained the situation very well, but oops, lemme elaborate. Lower Magica is a dictatorial Communist people's republic, so there's no royal family or anything of the like, nor any aristocracy to speak of. The closest example of a 'royal family' to be found in that country was the Mahendra political dynasty, which... technically speaking, the premise you posit could and would work, but from a traditional aristocratic standpoint(author's note: I don't know if your country's history and culture follow those particular mores, lmao), it wouldn't be in the strictest sense a 'royal intermarriage' since the Mahendras, like 100% of all people in that country, are common-blooded since the Lower Magicans got rid of their aristocracy in the 1950s by way of the salt mines, good ol' fashioned purging, or deportation.

Upper Magica, however, is an autocratic(though benevolently so) and very much aristocratic empire ruled by - of course - an Imperial household: the house of Sacre-Feu, and they do not derive their power from the consent of those governed, nor extreme methods of state terror - instead, the ruling dynasty derives its right to rule from God and some watery tart who threw a magical sword to someone's ancestor. Like all good royals should!

I'm not opposed to the idea - in fact, I think the idea of a royal family securing a political alliance with a quote-unquote 'communist' country ruled by a kleptocrat is an interesting piece of worldbuilding - but I wanted to put those facts up for consideration before you proceed. As for the rest of that, that sounds pretty good!

by **Upper Magica** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 2:21 am

The Ovard Sea, "MV Unity"/PGS Q-17(People's Gov't designation)

The Captain of the 'Unity' had been piss-drunk and sky-high for the last few days off of good Harrisopian vintage and Traldonian peyote; in the strictest sense, he was neglecting his responsibilities. After all, with war being a highly likely occurrence in the next few days, why not partake, he thought. When the shit hit the fan back home, he'd have to be sober of women, wine, and luxury - and attend to his responsibilities like a Captain should.

He remembered home. He came from a crappy little village near the Metropole; no running water, no electricity, no TV, no phone. It wasn't until he was conscripted into the Navy that he had even seen a running toilet. It hadn't been until he was seconded to the Magistrate of State Security that he'd ever seen color television, or a computer - these things were reserved for the most elite of the Party; after all, the head echelons of the Party were the most ardent followers of the Marxist way and the hardest workers in bringing the Socialist system to life - not just words on paper. They deserved it.

And The Captain thought, for his service abroad, he'd get luxuries that Party apparatchiks would drool about at night. Beautiful women available on demand from a computer screen, an entire world's variety of strong, tasty drink, hot burgers... Did this not make him superior to the Party? He would certainly be shot for uttering such treason, but it was reality. He remained faithful to the Cause - even after experiencing everything that Foreign Capital had to tempt him with. Most in the Party would flee abroad had they known such luxury.

The last thought generated by his peyote-ridden mind before Riomlerian torpedoes cracked the Q-17 in two, condemning both the Captain and his crew of 17 to certain death was:

"I am a superior being."

[REDACTED], Rovoria

Adesh got up to leave, shuffling his tie. "In those buildings lie enough AK-47s, AR-10s, LAWs, RPGs, enough ammunition supplies for a week of heavy usage, and other assorted weapons of death and destruction to help you make a bid for the throne once more. We expect you and your boys know how to use them. As for the trimming of your family tree.. don't worry about that. We'll take care of your problem. After all, it was your prince who sold out your Empire to the foreigners, right? It wouldn't be a big loss to you if he suffered a... fatal accident, perhaps?"

Adesh grinned knowingly, tossing his case of cigars to the Emperor-that-was. "Cigars are for winners.. Your Majesty. And I will be praying that for the next few weeks that you win big. We will talk again soon." And so he left the dingy hideout with a bounce in his step, having secured for the People's Government a new ally.

Buck's Magican Carpet Ride Import/Export Agency - Taka, Federal Republic of Vichnaya

"Buck", such as he was called in this country, hurriedly closed up shop. It was the end of one business day, and now on to another. Truth be told, he hated this cold place with its cold people. If there ever was an uncanny valley, it was here; it reminded him of a worse version of home. Everyone knew there was something wrong, but pretended otherwise. At home, everyone knew there was something wrong, but didn't make any pretensions about it. There was just one rule - if you spoke up about it, you were first in line to the mines or a 'Rectification Camp'.

But also, truth be told, these people had Buck's sympathies. He was once a dissident - he had the idea of changing the system from the inside. But as he stepped deeper and deeper into the abyss, the horrors he saw... He realized it would be impossible; his dreams were broken, and his ideals became nothing against the sheer scale of the system and its true nature.

He'd been shocked recently when he got made when he'd made a indiscretion regarding his encryption protocols when "Buck" was phoning home to send a report. Fortunately, his discoverer didn't represent the... extensive apparatus of state terror here. Instead, they represented 'Pamyat', a cell of local dissidents. And they had him by the balls now - they were threatening to expose him unless he made them a deal. He had no choice but to agree. Before long, a rapping at the wooden door of his shop alerted to him the presence of a visitor. He paced on the cold floor, opening it.

"We are closed," Buck said in his most fluent Vichnayan. "Come back later." A voice - a woman's voice - responded in Magican Cajun with a heavy Vichnayan accent from the other side of the door. "We talked about business earlier, da? I think it would be most prudent if you let me in. You would not the Belaya Gvardiya at your door instead, no?"

Buck shivered, though not from the cold - fear and anxiety coursed through his body. "Fuck. I wasn't expecting you for another hour. Come in." He unlatched the door, and within seconds, a middle-aged woman in a parka stepped through the door, shaking off snow onto the demonstration carpet aside the door. "Are you serious?" Buck said, flabbergasted. "That carpet is Aquis silk, that's more ex- you know what, never mind." He sighed. "Shall we get to business?"

"Da. Most eager to see your inventory, 'carpet dealer'." She replied snarkily - even he could tell that through the accent. He led her to the Ride's backroom - and pulled out a set of crates with their markings scratched off, though Sacred Fire symbols, however faint they were, could be seen stamped on the wooden boxes.

He grabbed a crowbar - and was instantly met with the stare of a GSh-18 barrel, the firearm expertly held in the hand of the mysterious woman. He raised up his free hand. "It's a wooden crate," he pled. "Wooden crate. Crowbar. Would you rather you open it yourself? You'd be mighty open to a shot in the back while you're busy with that, after all."

The logic seemed to get through to her. "Okay, funny foreigner. Open crate. Any funnyman business, you get shot in the head."

He pried open the crate, revealing a set of 7 AR-10A2s in immaculate condition with their factory 30-round magazines. The packing hay was fresh and the smell of gun oil wafted through the cold air - these weapons had been skimmed fresh off the lines of the Imperial Armory in 2019. The MSS preferred to use Upper Magican weapons or copies of Upper Magican weapons in its overseas arms dealings; it deflected suspicion off of the People's Government, and they were often superior to the cheap and easily mass-produced AK-series indigenous derivatives utilized by the People's Army.

He pointed. "Look. Imperial military issue AR-10, thirty round magazines. Brand new. 1,000 florin each." She scoffed. "We don't have fancy florin. You'll take whatever I give, da? Be grateful we are paying you." He meekly nodded. "And, uh.. over here, we've got the Stingers.."

Over the course of four hours, the mysterious woman peered through his modest inventory - and a few hours later, an unmarked truck pulled up to the Magican Carpet Ride's receiving dock and left laden with Buck's entire inventory: six crates of AR-10s, a crate of Stingers, a crate of LAWs, a handful of crates of the ammunition requisite for the usage of said weapons, the M224 mortar and its supply of a dozen shells he'd had stashed back there, a few bags of Semtex and detonators, 12 sets of ballistic vests, and a crate of - perhaps damning, if it were discovered - Type 67 and Type 86 hand grenades, made in the People's Government.

Buck sighed; he'd gotten a raw deal this time around. All he had to his name after that cleanout was a buy-one-get-one free coupon from McBurger. And now he had a week to get more stock - otherwise, as explained to him, a fall from grace, in its most literal meaning, would be in his future.

by **Chia Dal** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 3:12 am

Heathrow International Airport, London, The European Federation

President Alexis Potter, British by birth, stepped down the stairs from the Airbus A380 who had recently arrived from Washington DC after talks with President Ron DeSantis. Her defense minister Ronald Gunther was waiting with her limo. Alexis smiled at the man before noticing he wasn't smiling, "Ah Ron, what brings you here and what appears to be the problem?"

Ron handed her a document which she began reading while getting into the car before speaking in a light German accent, "Well Madam President, some psychotic military hardliners in Lower Magica just decapitated their government with a tactical nuclear device and took over while initiating Stalinist like purges. Ma'am, this is becoming a very dangerous situation and could easily go nuclear so we must tread carefully. I suggest we send a battalion of Battlegroup 1 to Upper Magica to assist them."

Alexis was reading and listening at the same time before looking at her defense minister, " I quite agree so I will notify the Upper Magica government for permission to deploy troops."

To the Leader of Upper Magica
From Alexis Potter, President of the European Federation
Encryption: Top Secret

To whom it may concern,

My government would like to assist your country in repel invaders of Upper Magica. Should you allow it then we will deploy troops to Upper Magica but until then, we will begin full mobilization of the European Enforcers Corps.

by **Vichnaya** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 4:58 am

[ To be rewritten when I have the energy to write like a functional and literate human being ]

by **Riomler** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 6:05 am

"The subs sent to clear the spot ship were succesful sir"says a ltl,"alright tellem to watch for any other naval activity,dont want anyone joining the party like last time huh?"says the admiral as looks on a grid for potential beach landings,finally he decides to land 15 m east of the communist capital,another one a little bit ways south,then another one in the north of the communist scum,the north will be called beach hope,the south,justice,and beach democrocy for the capital,and i want 20% of our f-5s to help with the landings,and send some t-35s,there old but still useful if maintained.

by **Laka Strolistandiler** » Sat Jan 07, 2023 6:27 am

Upper Magica wrote:OOC: I might have misquoted or not explained the situation very well, but oops, lemme elaborate. Lower Magica is a dictatorial Communist people's republic, so there's no royal family or anything of the like, nor any aristocracy to speak of. The closest example of a 'royal family' to be found in that country was the Mahendra political dynasty, which... technically speaking, the premise you posit could and would work, but from a traditional aristocratic standpoint(author's note: I don't know if your country's history and culture follow those particular mores, lmao), it wouldn't be in the strictest sense a 'royal intermarriage' since the Mahendras, like 100% of all people in that country, are common-blooded since the Lower Magicans got rid of their aristocracy in the 1950s by way of the salt mines, good ol' fashioned purging, or deportation.

Upper Magica, however, is an autocratic(though benevolently so) and very much aristocratic empire ruled by - of course - an Imperial household: the house of Sacre-Feu, and they do not derive their power from the consent of those governed, nor extreme methods of state terror - instead, the ruling dynasty derives its right to rule from God and some watery tart who threw a magical sword to someone's ancestor. Like all good royals should!

I'm not opposed to the idea - in fact, I think the idea of a royal family securing a political alliance with a quote-unquote 'communist' country ruled by a kleptocrat is an interesting piece of worldbuilding - but I wanted to put those facts up for consideration before you proceed. As for the rest of that, that sounds pretty good!

OOC: That works for me, I meant that my royal family would be related to the Mahendra political dynasty- Laka is home to several royal family members from countries which have ousted them (they even respect their titles, for example there are several Russian Knyaz’es whose ancestors emigrated after the 1917 revolution. I suppose that in this case the situation might be similar- there would be a Mahendra member living in Laka (their ancestors being forced to move there) who the current Queen will try to install as a political dynasty. They will also probably support the Upper Magica, because monarchy stay together. Well the reasons will be much more complicated then that such as potential to acquire a strategic ally, economic and humanitarian stuff, etc.

I also wanted to get one last thing clear- what are the limits on space weapons being considered MT? I’m not talking about 4000 ton Orion’s, of course but would, for example, SDI-level space weapons be considered MT?

by **Vichnaya** » Sun Jan 08, 2023 3:31 am

Interlude 01 - All Is Fine, Move Along!

Hero City Orlova, Vozrozhdeniye Oblast

"..the first was Sister Ustina, animating the ash and breathing life into the first and woman.."

In Vichnaya, there was a common proverb that went along the lines of, “Live for a century, learn for a century.” From birth, that proverb was taught to every Vichnayan since childhood, something that was instilled even until adulthood with State Media repeating that line at the end-of-day broadcast. Meaning you can learn as long as you live, it was a rather good proverb to instill into one's life, especially with how the state values a highly intelligent populace. However, like all things in life, there was a limit one can question and learn, questions that the Commissariat would frown upon if you asked them.

Like all good Vichnayans, Kira Ivanovna knew when to be smart and when to not. After all, it is quite useful when getting out of dodge from the eyes of the Regional Police and the Commissariat.

Wearing a long dark blue and loose-fitting uniform dress, black aprons, and completed with a white ribbon tie, Kira, along with the girls in the area, were easily recognized as pupils of the Ministry of Education's Four-Year Public Education Complex №50, and for the folks who didn't come from a down-right oppressive and authoritarian country like Vichnaya, they were students of a Highschool. Typically, Western-style Highschools or just schools in-general would have a (mostly) original name, but in Vichnaya, they were simply referred to as numbers with Technical Colleges and Universities given the honor of choosing their state-approved name.

And as typical for Vichnaya, the students themselves were simply referred to as numbers in district charts, with their 'names' replaced by a seven-digit number followed by an M or F, indicating their gender, though recent changes have allowed students to simply write down whatever gender they identify as. For Kira, she was known in her classes as 7159192F, though she was just simply called 'Blue' on account of her purple-ish hair. Hell, all of the students and staff didn't abide by the number system, instead just using their first names or surname, with Kira's friend, Constance Rubinov, just known as 'Conny' or 'The Sociopathic One.'

Constance Rubinov, except for her absurdly long black hair and an eye patch covering her right eye, looked no different from the other girls at their high school with a similarly loose-fitting blue dress, white apron, and a blue ribbon wrapped around her head rather than the neck. The two had met during the end of their first semesters, with Kira quickly finding out about Conny's yandere-like tendencies.

Their Highschool, large as it was with over 1,000+ Students, was typically quiet as students were overworked with a literal mountain of assignments and work, as the Vichnayan Education System valued highly motivated, hard-working, and intelligent pupils to serve the state, something that her highschool was managing to do somehow, even if it was at the expense of their mental health. The Federal Republic of Vichnaya recognized that the foundation of their society depended upon an educated population and development in the broad fields of engineering, the natural sciences, the life sciences, and social sciences, and thus strived hard to constantly upkeep and maintain high standards to produce the best students possible.

The social science aspect of their education was, excluding mathematics, the most valued and hammered in part. For the Federal Republic, intelligent and highly-motivated individuals leaving would result in an unacceptable brain drain that would ruin the country, and thus, absolute and dogmatic loyalty was instilled by both the education system and local churches. Though this method worked in the past with a population nearly cut off from the outside world, the rise of the internet mixed with policies becoming more relaxed with each year was slowly wearing this off. But regardless, the majority of the citizens were still highly loyal, knowing their place in the Vichnayan Social Hierarchy and not stepping out of line.

However, something had happened just a few hours ago that, whether or not they liked it, made a few questions arise from both official and unofficial media outlets. Now, if the giant thunder-like crack, concussion wave, and a literal wall of smoke and debris kicked up into the sky wasn't on grounds for mass hysteria, the fact the National Guard and multiple armed men patrolling the streets, barking orders or straight-up detaining people on the streets, were. And because this apparent explosion was just nearby her Highschool, quite a number of loud-mouthed teenagers with access to the internet were throwing up a fuss and screaming, posting live videos of National Guard soldiers deploying checkpoints and the rising ball of smoke and dust.

Soon after the explosion, the Principal announced the suspension of all school-day activities, dismissing all students and instructing them to return to their homes or stay with a friend/relative's house until the usual district-wide message to students airs on radio, TV, or social media. While this was met with great applause by Kira and a few others, who were a period away from a Political-Science exam, this did also bring some manner of apprehension.

Tense as it were, they were still unfortunately given another packet of Political-Sciences work as a replacement for missing the exam.

As the hordes of freshmen sophomores and juniors rushed out of the front entrance, they were met by a convoy of around 7 armored vehicles rolling on by, the soldiers riding on top either silently waving back at them or not caring. This wasn't all that strange as military convoys tended to cut past Kira's school, but the outfits were particularly worrying for many.

Dressed in black uniforms and kits with the only differences in color being their white helmets, they signaled themselves to be a part of a particular organization, an organization that was the reason why certain questions were left not asked.

State Directorate Group-V, the offspring of the All-Vichnayan Commissariat for Political and Social Security, was an organization that's widely known and feared amongst all castes of society, known for their violent crackdowns, and, even if were just rumors, massacres in the outlands. Viewed as attack dogs by many, they were deployed when something had enormously wrong in an important area or when the government just needed a particular group of civilians off the census, or hell, maybe both if the stars had aligned.

Now because of the distance from their houses to the school, many students were sitting around and waiting for their chauffeurs or parents to pick them up, something the Group-V Agents graciously understood. Regardless of the calmness presented by the agents, everyone else was tense and cold. After all, Orlova was still in its coldest season, although remedied with the District permitting the students to wear more than just the state-mandated uniforms.

Breaking the silence, Kira spoke with her light Nothern Vichnayan-Adaki accent, turning to face Constance. "..Hey Conny, I've been to ask you something."

Adjusting her scarf, Constance turned whilst nodding. "Yeah, what's up?"

After a quick look around, Kira sighed, "Err...Why did you draw a pentagram on my lunch bag?"

Conny, drinking the remnants of the black tea she brought from home, responded. "Your text told me to satanize the bag before you returned."

"..."

"..."

After a blink, Kira slowly spoke, a brow raised, "I wrote sanitize, Constance. I wrote santize my bag."

"Hey," She'd point with her drink in hand, "Don't blame me you asked the near-sighted person to do it."

"...Conny, at what time would I need a pentagram drawn on my bag?"

"And I'll ask you why'd you'd need your bag sanitized."

She'd shrug, "Dunno really, I thought it'd be cleaner that way."

Constance sighed, shaking her head. "Unless you planted your bag directly into the ground, that won't be necessary, mostly that is." SHe'd take another sip, "-Besides, it's not like the common germs we find in our environment can survive our stomach acids."

Kira, feeling rather tired from standing in the food line earlier, sat and leaned against the cold concrete wall. "..And If they do, Госпожа медсестра?"

"Then they damned well-earned to take whatever they want, then." Constance turned, "Anyway, to more pressing topics...do you have that one assignment from the 13th of December? The one for the bitch-ass teacher?"

"That isn't all that descriptive, Conny."

She'd sigh, "Point."

Kira sat up, snatching the Thermo from Conny's hand, and took a sip, "..Either way, you're in luck considering I have all of my shit saved in a vanilla folder. Even the stuff I have from the beginning of the semester I have it stored...somewhere."

Grumbling, Conny snatched the Thermo back before speaking, "..Uh, do you have the one for Maria Anatolyevich's class? The teach' who got shot back in the head one day?"

"Do you realize how little that narrows it down to, Conny?"

Truth was, with how much information that's readily accessible on the internet, it was inevitable some people would question a bit too much or speak out. These people didn't typically live all that long to see the break of dawn before they heard some harsh knocking on their door, with everyone who knew them expected to simply move along with their day. Really, anything that could discredit or outright denounce the Government, Armed Forces, or actual institutions wasn't exactly banned, but they weren't all that tolerated either, with the VKPO making sure that would be the case.

Such was the case for Maria Anatolyevich, Kira's and Constance's former Political-Science teacher who skimmed a bit too many pages in a certain unauthorized book and promptly found herself in a really, really cold and muddy pit. It was shame, really, while she was strict, Maria did absolutely care immensely for her pupils and while not expressed due to certain reasons, the pain was largely felt throughout the school. Kira especially, since she was one of the teacher's aids in her Political-Science class.

It was a fact of life in Vichnaya to keep your head low and pretend such things never happened, after all, one doesn't want the Regional Police knocking on their door, do they?

After a few more minutes of small talk, the two girls got up and decided to walk home seeing as Kira's mom hadn't picked them up yet. Gathering their stuff and tagging alongside a larger group that was on the walk, the day seemed to get a bit brighter, though that could've been the hypothermia getting to them. But really and for the large majority of their walk, it was rather uneventful aside from the increasing numbers of military vehicles coming in and out of the city, with hordes of National Guard soldiers seemingly patrolling the streets.

Previously a large fortress before the 20th Century, Hero City Orlova is the cultural capital of the Federal Republic of Vichnaya, with its streets nearly the same as it was from nearly a hundred years back with hundreds of Naryshkin Baroque/Neoclassical-Styled houses and government halls. The Golden Palace, currently hidden under a wall of smoke, was the epitome of this. Built with the finest of specimens of marble, granite, gold, and stones, the golden spires loomed over even the largest of skyscrapers in Orlova, shining brightly and widely announcing to the world Vichnaya's culture and pride.

As such, it was a fun experience walking through the streets whether one is a local or just a tourist, with a great many statues and information panels scattered across the city available to read on the ancient buildings, their history, and their cultural significance. For Kira, that was actually how she first learned to read, with her parents taking her on walks around the city, showing/buying their way toward every attraction, and teaching her about their city.

As Kira was walking and generally gazing around, she'd spot something down the adjacent road. While they did say curiosity killed the cat, this cat was also dumb enough to not remember a few key things taught to it. One of which was minding their own business.

Looking down the road, she'd spot one of her classmates, Sang-Ook, approached by two Regional Police Officers.

Sang-Ook was a particular individual, ecstatic and loud-mouthed, many in her Highschool were sure this particular freshman would find himself falling outside a window, not because he was disloyal, far from it, but because he seemed a tad too honest and boisterous of a Vichnayan, added by the fact he himself was an immigrant from some country, so he was usually picked on by students and security.

This wasn't ignored by the others, and she spotted two other students pulling out their phones, recording this interaction behind the crowd, live.

Now, this kid would've gone off the hitch until a BTR-90 pulled over, disgorging several personnel belonging to Group-V, or they were informally known to the public, Vampires or Vampirs, with one of these agents taking a particular interest in this kid whilst the others just sat back, simply waiting for their comrade to finish this entire ordeal.

Grabbing her shoulder, Constance leaned over and spoke with hushed urgency. "H-Hey! Come on, we're leaving. We're seeing nothing!"

Kira looked back, sighing sharply whilst shaking her head, "Come on, it won't hurt! Besides, we're in a bloody crowd so they won't notice.."

There was a tug, "And if they do, Kai?"

"Bah!", She'd wave her off, "It's not they'll do anything to him."

Another tug, "Regardless, I'd rather not have them walk over to us, especially since a few dumbasses are recording at this time.." Constance mumbled under her breath.

Kira sighed once more, speed-walking alongside Conny. "Look, I don't want to stick around longer buuut-"

The air rippled and a loud crack filled the streets, the group came to a sudden stop that the two girls weren't able to predict, both crashing into a nearby bench. Through the cold air and slight breeze, Kira was able to hear a few gasps and murmurings amongst the group. While she was short, she, with the help of Constance who pulled her up to stand on the bench, was able to see the exact same thing the others were staring at.

The kid lay motionless on the asphalt ground, blood spurting from his head as the Group-V Agent loomed over him, poking the barrel of their gun against the side of his torso.

If one could guess, he either said something wrong or forgot his identification papers. Either way, they were doing the exact wrong choice of standing here and gawking, with most crowd members coming to that very realization and started running, Kira and Constance included. Booking down the streets as fast as they could, they could hear the Officers and Agents running over and, with a quick glance over her shoulder by Kira, could be seen detaining the three dumbasses who were late to flee, soon dragged over and out of sight.

As for the group, they did nothing. It was a common rule in Vichnaya that if you appeared to not have seen it, or you weren't in the area to see it, then you never had in the first place. It was a good rule for a good place, an excellent place. Soon enough, they would forget about this and move on with their busy, busy lives, with only another body tossed onto the ever-growing mountain of blood and bodies disrupting daily life. Just another body.

All was fine, and all was well.

Interlude 02 - For The Happiness Of All Mankind

Hero City Orlova, Vozrozhdeniye Oblast

The collapse of the Southern portion of the Golden Palace and the deaths of 13 parliamentary members, which unfortunately included the Minister of Foreign Affairs, had sent shockwaves throughout the Federal Republic. The highest echelons of Government, which included the Chiefs of Staff and the National Security Council of Vichnaya, were called into an emergency meeting to discuss this and another bombing that had just happened an hour after, this time targeting the main office of the Ministry of State Security.

While it is undoubtedly a formidable and powerful nation, the Federal Republic of Vichnaya is also an incredibly new nation, a nation that was born out of constant conflicts and civil wars. It presented itself as a proud and strong nation to the world whilst hiding many of its flaws, flaws that have been there since the Principality of Ustina. And because it was a relatively new and somewhat unstable nation, it was very inexperienced in dealing with matters such as terrorism on home soil. Make no mistake, in foreign conventional conflicts, the Federal Republic of Vichnaya could and absolutely would dominate a modern battlefield. But in situations where it faced an enemy that fought not directly, but behind the shadows? Where it faced an enemy it could not directly bombard into submission? An enemy that could strike anywhere using the guise of civilians? The Federal Republic of Vichnaya faltered, and it faltered hard.

Like in the terrorist attacks against Vichnayan Government sites in the Klendovan-Vichnayan War, the Federal Republic turned to the one apparatus that, while somewhat neglected, did prove to be extremely effective at bringing order and peace throughout the lands, The All-Vichnayan Commissariat for Political and Social Security and its many offspring departments and para-military arms, many of whom were a part of the regular Armed Forces, but had complete freedom and jurisdiction to do whatever they pleased.

And so, PKKV detachments were deployed in all major cities that, with the introduction of Martial Law and a Media blackout, effectively silenced the majority of civilians from external foreign contact. Agents and SOF Units from these PKKV Detachments then began an immediate crackdown on all suspected people, with most of them consisting of foreign media personnel, local social media stars, and other popular people. Some of these people, like 15-Year old singer Sang-Ook, had met their fate at the end of an AK's barrel.

Of course, there would be questions that would be raised, especially regarding of the bombing of the Golden Palace, questions that the Federal Republic couldn't simply deflect or just ignore. And so, in typical Authoritarian fashion, the public's answers would be shown at the end-of-day State Media Broadcasts, just after the endless rows of Military Honours, heroes, civil and worker accomplishments, and other abysmal achievements that stretched out for a better part of an hour. It would be so brief, so monotone and grey with its tone that one would actually miss it if they weren't paying close attention.

Vichnaya's answer? Disruptive but small protests.

The Second Magican War [MT/Finished]

The Second Magican War [MT/Finished]

Mobilization of the Riomler volunteer corps

The reformed Riomlier army

The Riomler military moves out

Magican Coast

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