The Second Magican War [MT/Finished]

[Harrisopia]

Upper Magica
Sword Beach
General James Davenport

Smoke filled the air as General James Davenport took another drag from his cigar.
He had never smoked when he was younger. He would never even consider trying it as a child.
He always remembered his father being a big smoker when he was young.
He would come in from a 12 hour shift at work, lay on the couch and light one up, dominating the room with a sickly feeling.
It wasn't long before he had been at his father's funeral. Watching limply as he saw him being lowered into the grave, ready to be showered in dirt, never in his life again.
He had promised not to smoke from fear of going early like his father.
But war changes people. Life of a soldier rarely promises to be a long one. A few smokes hardly makes any difference.

Throwing his cigar away, James looked around the beach. It had become a true military focal point for allied forces in the early stages of this conflict.

There were waves of soldiers everywhere, Magican, Alexiandran and Harrisopian alike. Chatting, training, waiting. All side by side.

James looked to the seas, admiring the many ships lined together. He spotted HNS Daylight, towering above many of the surrounding ships.

Chief ship of the Eighth Fleet, it had taken him from his homeland to Upper Magica to discuss matters with military figures of allied forces.

After a career of fighting on the frontlines, it was not often he found himself in conflicted territory since he had become General but his presence here said a lot about the significance of the situation.

James had been welcomed like royalty. The Magican hospitality was certainly something to be admired, especially in times like this.

"General Davenport?" Came a voice

James turned to a young Magican officer

"I was asked to inform you that the meeting is scheduled to start in ten minutes sir."

James nodded

"I'll be on my way." He replied

With one last look at the beach, he turned and followed the officer.

[Buhers]

(OOC)
Sorry for butting in, but I think I'll join pretty soon. Are there any steps I should take before securing a spot on the map?

[Upper Magica]

(OOC)
Sorry for butting in, but I think I'll join pretty soon. Are there any steps I should take before securing a spot on the map?

OOC: Nope!

[Riomler]

OCC:I’m feeling stuck now bc I don’t know what to do

[Upper Magica]

OCC:I’m feeling stuck now bc I don’t know what to do

OOC: There's a lot of angles you haven't covered yet outside of the Magican Archipelago. Your old leader's faction is probably awash with guns that he could potentially use to make a power play, there's the Kingdom of Kinbridge surrounded by Traldonians that hate them and want them gone.. but also, I've yet to make a Lower Magican POV post(which'll probably be coming this weekend; sorry I forgot about you in the last one, there was a lot moving in that story and I forgot, doh - apologies) and you won't be forgotten in that one this time!

[Riomler]

“I want all supply lines captured ,especially the port of Rovaria.” Says the former emporor.”the port?but that’s the most heavily guarded place right now!”says one of his commanders ,he responds “exactly ,no reward for no struggle,anyway that was a order,storm the port now,steal some ships and go pay a visit to the so called “kingdom of kinbridge”.




KINBRIDGE,ardonia


“Oh god ,lord help us ,”says the former sarge of the RIomler navy as about 300 traldonians armed to the teeth attack ,”alright guys,no choice,throwing gas,”3 more said this as the squad threw gas at the enemy and while they retreated into the mountains where the actual city lies.









BEACH JUSTICE
RIOMLER UNITS:324 still alive
Commie:489 still alive

“Alright it’s time”says admiral wood as he commands the launch of 28 missiles (non-nuclear)at enemy ammo depots and supplie lines,,and to hit important military bases.

[Upper Magica]

Command Center Rhea
People's Government of Magica

The assembled generals sat around the conference table with nervous expressions on their face. The war was going well, if one looked at a map; People's Army troops were now fourty miles away from Aquis, cause for celebration in any event.

But they all knew the disturbing truth: if General - apologies - 'High Marshal' Yuvaraj looked at the report of losses sustained, there would be hell to pay. The Imperials had sunk nearly one-eighth of the People's Navy in less than two hours, the Riomlerians were still firmly entrenched on Anvil Island, and the Imperialist allies were flowing unmolested to support Imperial operations.

The self-styled 'High Marshal' strode into the room, putting out his iconic cigar and taking his seat at the meeting's head. "Gentlemen, let's get this meeting started: Comrade Air General da Fonseca, you're up."

The Air General snapped to attention, saluting rapidly. "Comrade Marshal, our operational air units have total air superiority over the Archipelago," He was lying through his teeth - everyone in the room knew it save the Marshal. "Our priority now is suppressing centers of enemy resistance as they appear."

Yuvaraj reached out for another cigar, to be met with none left. "Orderly, bring me another case of cigars." He looked over the partially falsified report. "Comrade da Fonseca, if we have total air superiority, why do we still encounter enemy fighters? Is the definition of 'total air superiority' not the destruction of the Imperial Air Force and those of their allies?"

Everyone looked at the Air General nervously, who was himself sweating, keenly aware of the need to choose his next words carefully. "Er... yes, they must be hauling their Starfighters out of mothballs or perhaps are being resupplied with airframes."

Yuvaraj scrunched his face in contempt. "Then why have we not made a point of bombing their reserve supply bases? Or the inbound overseas enemies who, as I am told, are bolstering the Imperial war effort by several orders of magnitude? I am beginning to think you are inept."

da Fonseca was quick to reply. "Comrade Marshal, it is not that simple; the Imperials still possess a powerful anti-air defense. Plan 9 unduly focused on civilian centers and neglected, perhaps of minute importance at the time due to the limited state of the art, surface-to-air and other such missile batteries."

Yuvaraj nodded. "Too bad the original staffers and the 'Dear Leader' who drafted the Plan are all dead; I'd have them shot. I accept this explanation, Comrade. But keep in mind my desires on this matter - your forces are to focus on suppression of air defense and enemy supplies. No more terror bombing; the time has passed for that. Dismissed."

da Fonseca sat back down, almost relieved. Yuvaraj's orderly came back into the room, whispering into his ear. His voice rose dramatically. "What? When is the next shipment coming in?"

The orderly looked down, clearly ashamed. "I have no idea, Comrade Marshal. Our sea lanes are blocked off, it is -"

Yuvaraj looked dead stern at the Chief of the People's Navy. "Comrade Admiral Chulain. Is this true? Have you let the Capitalists deploy around our Archipelago without -"

Admiral Chulain interrupted: "Comrade Marshal, our surface ships have been busy supporting Plan 9, and the loss of the Eighth Fleet hasn't helped ma-" He was himself interrupted by the entrance of a 7.62 Tokarev into his forehead, scattering brain matter and blood across the unfortunates next to him.

Across from the room was a livid Marshal Yuvaraj, holding a smoking pistol in his hand. "By Mahendra's... smoking... atomized body, do NOT interrupt me! What the hell is this?! Eighth Fleet is gone?! How was this achieved?!"

The Magistrate of State Security stood up. "Bombers, Comrade." Yuvaraj fired another shot, this time at the head of Air General da Fonseca, who fell to the ground twitching, screaming in pain.

The dictator paced frenetically around the room. "By.. I don't... All of you are traitors! Magistrate," he gestured. "Come with me." As the two left the room, a handful of armed guards entered the room with purpose, racking their AKs.

As the two left, they heard the sound of futile begging and pleading followed by automatic gunfire shredding through the General Staff. "Bloody shit," Yuvaraj vented. "Why have a General Staff if they so brazenly lie to the State? It is time I took personal command of the Armed Forces, no?"

The Magistrate of State Security nodded, having no other choice. "Yes, Comrade Marshal. It would be a fine idea."

---

Southern Coast of the Anchorhead SAR - People's Government of Magica

In this neglected, almost forgotten about portion of the frontline, the People's Militia had been holding off the stubbornly resistant Imperialist puppets; loudspeakers had been playing propaganda overhead for the benefit of the Riomlerians in their native language.

"Comrade Riomlerians - it is futile to resist the movement of the workers. Even now, your capitalist paymasters laugh at so brave a sacrifice you have made here today. Cross the lines - join the Riomlerian People's Army. In the truest tradition of international proletarian revolution, our two nations will stride hand in hand towards the death of the Capitalist hydra - by our combined hands."

Truth be told, the Conscript had tired of this message. It'd played out for hours already with no real result. Perhaps more curious to him was the recent addition of a rubber suit, gloves, boots, and a gas mask to the hefty load he was already carrying; and the orders had come in to wear it. He was sweltering beneath it all; and before he could wonder why, the thundering of artillery being fired off from nearby answered his question before it was even posed.

And before long, a fog descended on this little beach - a fog that suffocated and killed. Strangely, and perhaps morbidly to the Conscript, he was made hungry, even as birds and jungle critters fell off the nearby trees - the vague smell of almond could be made out by his nose even behind the mask.

It reminded him of the old bakery and of simpler times - memories now corrupted by the apocalyptic scene before his eyes.

---

Western Anchorhead Passage - Lower Magican Waters
PGS 14th of July, Type 079-Class Arsenal Ship

In this strait, Politcom Gallego witnessed the assembling of the High Seas Fleet of the People's Navy. It, for now, was simply the 6th Fleet. But the 1st, 2nd, and 4th Fleets were now converging on this area well covered by anti-ship and surface-to-air batteries, to say nothing of the People's Air Force which - for now - held a tenuous sort of control.

Tenuous because the Allies hadn't made any serious attempts at trying the defense-missile system of the People's Government - though the commissar suspected that it would have serious... lapses.

Hours ago, the late Vice Admiral Mortimer had gotten orders to begin preparation to undertake a naval offensive against the Allies in a northwesterly direction towards the Vichnayan EEZ with the vaguely-stated objective of 'breaking the blockade' once the High Seas Fleet was assembled. An infuriated Admiral Mortimer tore up the paper in front of Gallego and dared him to shoot him for refusing a lawful order, spouting off treason that need not be repeated.

So, he did - executing his duty to the State. Now it was Gallego's new duty and responsibility to lead the Fleet to victory, as stacked as the odds were against his forces. The Capitalists expected a fleet-in-being - now it would be used on the offense. From all accounts, the Imperialists and their allies were more technologically advanced than most of anything the People's Navy could throw at them - but it was Gallego's hope that superior Socialist morale and the shock of such a brazen assault would hopefully break the blockade.

Hours later, the combat elements of all the High Seas Fleet's components arrived, and the four fleets, boasting dozens of major fleet combatants, united as one and began to steam northwest as ordered by Comrade Yuvaraj. Their first target - perhaps unintentionally - would be the Riomlerian squadron positioned off the Anchorhead SAR. And following that would be the main event: a series of assaults on the Alexiandran and Imperial blockade line.

---

The City of Drande, Empire of Magica

Comrade-Captain Yukta Harish of the 90th Revolutionary Guard Armored Brigade strolled through the giant supermarket. By the spirits - this was a ostentatious shrine to Capitalism, indeed. It was everything the propaganda had said. The useless baubles of the Capitalists hung prominently through the store - giant televisions blared out what made for programming here: a 'reality show' featuring a pseudo-fictional judge played for the bemused soldiers, while microwaves held upon flimsy plywood furniture constantly made electronic beeping noises, the appliances being constantly in use cooking the 'convenience meals' held within the freezers of the store.

"She's not the mother, you bloody idiot!" yelled one of them. "That ain't how making kids works, you stupid grunt!" yelled another. "If you're gonna doubt anyone, doubt the man! It's a pretty done deal if a kid bursts out of a woman - now who put the kid there in the first place, that's the sneaky part..."

"Shut up! Turn that bullshit off!" the Captain yelled. "Are we so immersed in Capitalist poison that we're ready to bend the knee to our new monarch?! Let me tell you why we're here, comrades: we are here to liberate the Magican proletariat, not indulge in these... nonsense shows made for the lumpen-prole."

The men looked down at the ground. One of them was brave enough to ask something: "Can... can we ship home some of these things? My wife would love one of these clotheswashing machines."

The Captain furrowed his brow. "If you can have it shipped, sure, I see no reason why not; you've fought bravely, and who am I to deny you your loot? But we must not engage with the propaganda and brainwashing of the enemy, comrades." He took the DVD player hooked up to the display, hurling it against the wall. "It is a well-known fact that most of these shows use subliminal messaging in their accompanying advertisements to drive the Capitalist method of unsustainable consumption."

He lit up a cigarette. "Everyone has 90 minutes to do what they will," he took a drag. "Command has just issued orders to push down the Motorway once more. We're storming Aquis, comrades."

---

'Sword Beach' FOB - Isle de Dieu, Empire of Magica

It was a long day. General of the Guard Mikael Chevalier de Nouvelle-Locronan wasn't used to this 'generalship' nonsense. If you asked him, he'd rather be in the trenches alongside the men than sit behind a desk and draw plans. He'd rather be, instead of banging his fist into a desk every time he'd heard of a village, a stretch of motorway falling to the enemy.. doing something about it by putting a bullet in a Northern bastard for every such occasion.

But he had no choice - it was either fail upward or fail out of the Service. So he failed upward - the Guard had been his way of life for decades. Now he was in charge of the 'Aquis Defense Zone' and the upcoming counterattack on the ground; a great responsibility.

He was awaiting his counterparts from Harrisopia and Alexiandra; their participation would be critical if Aquis was to hold. And hold it must - the General was keenly aware of what would happen if it were to fall.

Before long, General Davenport, the Harrisopian CO and the Alexiandran general entered the room - he hadn't been sure of the person's name. Mikael got up, shaking the hands of both eagerly. "General Davenport, good to see you. Let's get this show on the road; we don't have much time for pleasantries here."

The General clicked a remote linked to a nearby projector screen:

"To sum things up, the situation's bad right now. The Commies have more or less taken the 'First Island Chain' - that's our internal term for the islands off our side of the Inner Maritime Border - and a sizeable armored force is pushing inland on this island towards our capital of Aquis. The shock of the bombings of the last few days and, of course, the sudden ground assault has kind of discombobulated our ability to hold territory, but we're bringing in reinforcements where able, and their own assault's starting to lose steam, since the Northerners aren't able to bring in much in the way of supplies."

He looked at the Alexiandran general officer: "Good work on thinking of getting this little operation going, by the by. Our civilian harbors and airports are basically toast right now; if it weren't for these Mulberries, we probably wouldn't stand a damn chance of bringing in reinforcements or additional supplies."

He clicked the remote, zooming the camera in on the red salient starting to form on the Isle's front-lines. "This is the city of Drande and the Imperial Motorway. Right now, they're throwing everything but the kitchen sink on trying to get to Aquis. Unfortunately for them, both satellite and force reconnaissance indicates they've forgot a little-known military principle called guarding your flank. Their screening is... minimal, at best. They're hoping to win the war in one short stroke."

Mikael chuckled. "Sword Beach, being where it is," pointing towards the southwest portion of the Isle, "is in the perfect position to execute a counteroffensive. Our forces in the East are going to play a nice little cat-and-mouse game with the People's Army to overstretch them without letting them get close enough to Aquis to start shelling the City." He coughed, taking a drink of water.

"It is the position of the Aquis Defense Command and the General Staff of the Empire of Magica that our Allied forces undertake to move up north at once with the aim of destroying this invasion force in detail. As it is now, we can cut off the beaches before they even get to it; we have the opportunity of destroying what we assume are the cream of the crop of the People's Army."

He sat back down after his monologue, awaiting the input of the others.

[Vichnaya]

---

Chapter 06, Act 01 - To See All

Unknown Area, The Federal Republic of Vichnaya

"..Sister Vena once spoke of two ravens, Thought and Memory, how they'd scour the universe searching for knowledge.."

---

Knowledge is Power.

It is universal throughout the many lands that dot the earth, from the coldest of tundras to the hottest of deserts. Knowledge is what drives humanity to do more, to strive for more. Granted by the Eight Stars that shine high above, knowledge is what separated man from animal, what made humanity separate from the other lifeforms that exist on this planet. While they weren't the strongest or fastest, they were undoubtedly the brightest. Truly, it was the greatest gift the Eight Sisters had given to the sons and daughters of Vichnaya, the very gift they were taught to not only hold with pride, but to surpass. It was what drove Vichnayans to aspire better, work harder, and build faster than any nation on this planet, it was what helped them to research, develop, and make all manner of creations modeled after the stars and themselves.

And like how the Eight Sisters gave the gift of knowledge to humanity, so will Vichnayans gift knowledge to their creations. For one of the greatest teachings of the Adaki Faith was gifting others knowledge one can share, something nearly every Vichnayan considered to be essential in life.

Machine Intelligence has been an extremely fascinating subject for Mother Vichnaya, something that she had been pursuing and chasing even before the first creations made out of metal existed. This fascination bloomed further when the first of her sons and daughters crafted the very first tools out of iron and bronze, and like how children inherit traits from their parents, Vichnayans are naturally born with an incredibly deep and determined fascination with all things metal and mechanical. Where nations had just started their industrial revolutions in probable time in the mid-to-late 1700s, the people of Vichnaya were already operating and familiar with the first mechanized factories, creating the first steam and coal engines to fuel their incessant need to advance and progress. Even through the many collapses of kingdoms, empires, and governments across the lands, the people of the Vichnaya always continued to innovate and create, to make the most advanced pieces of technology they physically could.

And in this drive for progress, the first of many strange designs would be produced in the early 1900s. Some were boats with seemingly no need for crew, others were simple biplanes with no space for a man, but yet, they flew. Granted, these machines were still rather primitive and weren't all that effective, but it was a start. From the 1910s onward, the Vichnayan people continued to build machines that didn't require a man to use, using radio and remote controls to steer and flew rather than using one's own hands. It wasn't seen as controversial, far from it actually. Myths and legends in Adaki Astrotheology told of the Eight Sisters walking across the lands, spreading the gift of life to every crevice of the known world, and in their journey, breathing life into the rocks and boulders of Vichnaya, giving them sentience.

Soon after the first of many remote-controlled machines were built, the people of Vichnaya soon had a collective spark of determination, one that was foretold by texts allegedly written by Sister Ustina and Sister Vena. Like how the Eight Sisters breathed life into the first man and woman, the people of Vichnaya were destined to do the same with their own creations.

Throughout the 1910s, the people of Vichnaya continued to strive forward, to reach their destined goal of breathing life into metal. Though their efforts were hampered, delayed, or outright persecuted by the governments that once existed, it never really halted any progress. It was until the late 1940's that the first primitive AI program was created by a woman whose name was lost to time, but regardless of how small it seemed to be by the world, it was an extreme accomplishment in the eyes of Vichnaya.

And from then on, the kingdoms and governments that rose and fell throughout Vichnaya continued to pin one singular goal over all others. The advancement and improvement of AI Programs. It wasn't seen as a political or scientific matter but as a religious one. So important as this topic is, learning programming and machine work is a requirement across the nation, second important to religious and national loyalty and indoctrination programs.

So started the race to outfit the first aircraft with an AI Program. It took hundreds of programs, designs, and tests, costing millions and billions of Aurums to research and develop before a single working design was produced.

On June 17th, 1977, the first AI Program was outfitted onto a Tu-95M. It was large and covered the near entirety of the internal space, doing nothing but simply aiding in navigation with the use of radio waves, satellites, and signals from nearby outlets. Again, it was an impressive feat in the eyes of the world, but for Vichnaya? There was cheering and celebrations sparking across the nation for they, the children of the Eight Stars, had finally fulfilled a sacred promise by the holiest of the Sisters, the one who originally brought life into the world.

On July 3rd, 1981, another AI was fitted, this time onto an Udaloy-Class Destroyer. Unlike its counterpart, the vast majority of the wiring and electronics had been improved, though it did still take up a considerable amount of space, using radio waves, satellite data, and additional signals to assist in the navigation of the ship. Again, there was more cheering and hope that the technology could improve, that their children could be better.

On November 22nd, 1996, an AI was fitted onto a tank chassis that would soon become the T-94A Varsuk. Not only it harnessed new technologies such as improved GPS/GLONASS systems, but it also assisted the crew in target acquisition and range adjustment. But in typical Vichnayan fashion, they would do something better, to do something never before seen on the globe.

Sure, the globe was taking notice of Vichnaya's strides into the field of Artificial Intelligence, but to Vichnaya, they were dissatisfied. They have outfitted machines with the capability to think, but they haven't breathed them the sentience that the Eight Sisters had gifted down to them. Until a promise was fully fulfilled, the nation would not stop to rest, stop to sleep, or stop to relax. They worked furiously for decades on end, pouring millions into a project that was largely seen as too advanced and impractical to bring into reality. Vichnayans, however, would not be deterred from their holy duty.

. . .

Three jets sat in a hanger, their haze-gray coating glistening under the dim light. They weren't a particularly new set of aircraft, in fact, they were rather old.

The Su-35SMs selected for this particular test was one taken out of a boneyard after the deactivation of a good chunk of Vichnaya's fleet, making space for more modern stealth aircraft to take its place. Regardless of them being rather new, the Ministry of Defense prioritized the introduction and adoption of the next generation of combat aircraft rather than upgrading old, decrepit chassis that would probably be swatted out of the sky at the first moment of a conflict. While considered outdated to Vichnaya, but to the world? In comparison to other aircraft found in Vichnaya's region, it was damn new, fitted with expensive technologies and mounts for weapon systems that most countries did not have the capability of fielding, much less producing them.

Personnel roamed around the hangar, mainly scientists and engineers. While this may be a hanger belonging to the Vichnayan Aerospace Forces, it was requisitioned for use by VASA, the Vichnayan Air and Space Agency. Inside this hanger were bundles of equipment, parts, and hundreds of servers and fans, their metallic humming and screeching echoing loudly and most probably causing some form of hearing damage to the few conscripts guarding this particular hanger, who unfortunately weren't given the memo that a few dozen eggheads would be requisitioning this facility.

And for the three Su-35SMs in the hanger, the only thing differentiating them from the others sitting in a boneyard would be the multitude of wires, cables, and tubes linked up to their cockpits, or rather, the lack of a conventional one. Sure, they had a completely normal fuselage and glass canopy, but their insides were gutted from the inside, replaced by so all manner of radical technologies that one would struggle listing them. However, if one looked closely, then one would see the pilot's seat replaced by something that resembled a large camera.

And to top this off, two lights were mounted on the side of the fuselage, just below the cockpit. You know, just to tell if this wasn't already suspicious enough.

As for the servers, they were also interesting. For they weren't any old servers found in a Highschool's techroom, but ones for a supercomputer. Typically, it would be unwise to move such powerful systems into an environment such as this but, like how one manages to find ants everywhere, the usage of computer systems that the world would typically consider as 'Super-Computers' are in widespread use in the Federal Republic of Vichnaya, just because they could.

Aside from standard coding, data, and whatever requires a military AI Program to run, there was also a separate area that stored something special; Aerial Combat Data. Drawn from decades of flights and engagements from not only Vichnaya, but a multitude of other nations, a constant stream of flight and combat data would be continuously fed into a brand new type of Artificial Intelligence the Federal Republic was dead set on developing, one that would outclass all others that came before it.

Like all AI found on modern Vichnayan military vehicles, this AI would already be programmed with navigational systems, vehicle movement/flight assistance systems, vehicle and crew health monitoring systems, and conducting a few other minor roles such as data management and linking. But unlike the others, this program was specially designed for another purpose, not only to assist the pilot, but to eventually replace them over the skies of Vichnaya.

Not other subjects, the Vichnayan Military Aerospace Community had been fascinated by the concept of unmanned drone fighters replacing humans in the air. It made sense, as one can just build another plane, but not a new pilot.

In their strive to improve this new program, the engineers and scientists working on the project discovered a promising but dangerous aspect of the AI was its high adaptability and apparent intelligence in combat simulations, simulations where one would typically find itself in a fight against advanced stealth fighters from a multitude of nations. So consistent was its ability to adapt and win over pilots brought in to fight against it, that the Ministry of Defence authorized further research and development of the program as a whole, where it finds itself now.

But in this adaptability, the AI was soon given another gift, a thirst for knowledge.

Soon after it was plugged into more extensive computer systems in the facility it was housed in, the AI was bombarded by information from the wider Internet. It had scrolled through and studied nearly every single piece it was able to scrounge up. It didn't matter if it was a children's show or a 4-Hour long History documentary regarding the history of some rotting old town, the AI would spend hours studying them, studying the very humans that would always be the stars of these shows. It saw all, and the one thing it valued the most, the documentaries regarding the militaries of the world over. Every single move and tactic that was displayed on the internet was snatched by the new AI, which would practically rip apart this new material to study and collect data from.

Added the additional data to its already impressive storage and with a basic understanding of human emotion, the new AI was already formulating several thousand plans for several thousand combat scenarios, taking into account the type of aircraft it would possibly combat, the chassis it would be piloting, the wind and terrain features from lands across the world, and a whole host of other factors, even including fighting over an irradiated battlefield that could fry most mechanical/electrical devices. It didn't matter if such a scenario was unrealistic or unlikely, too outlandish or too boring, it was planning for everything.

And with connection to the onboard AI of a flight of four aircraft in the skies (Or ground) of Magica, it knew everything, It was watching everything.

---

---

Chapter 06, Act 02 - Receding Waves

The Federal Republic of Vichnaya, The Magican Archipeligo

---

It was slow at first, merely a few units moving from one base to another.

But eventually, the number of men and material would grow by the day, their movements too large to not take notice. With the growing turmoil in turmoil, how could they? Hundreds of men and vehicles were driving down city streets in the dead of night, their helmets and hulls painted with markings that could only signify one thing, something that most citizens were taught to not think of. The photos and videos on Vichnayan Social Media networks showed the convoys and gathering areas of several dozen formations in Naval Bases, Ports, and even rural streets, again, all painted with various letters and soon enough, via the photo identification of several men from said formations, were able to individually figure out the specific units involved.

It was ginormous, to say the least. Several Regiments, Brigades, and entire Divisions were massing up at staging points, typically near Naval Bases of some kind. Their equipment, like all Vichnayan tech, was advanced and outfitted with the best developed by the Vichnayan Federal Republic or by foreign Companies. All armored to some degree and carrying some very nasty firepower, along with the knowledge of them being White Guards, further added to the tension on Vichnayan Social Media.

Among the units involved were the battle-hardened 172nd White Guards Motor Rifle Division, the 7th White Guards Motor Rifle Division, the 3rd White Guards Tank Division, the 33rd White Guards Air Assault Brigade, and the 26th White Guards Naval Infantry Brigade. These five formations, according to the Vichnayan Ministry of Defense, are the most experienced and well-equipped in the Vichnayan Federal Armed Forces, equipped with the latest vehicles the military-industrial complex had to offer. With integrated EW, Movile Logistical, and even Special-Operations arms attached to them, they are the most flexible and mobile formations in Vichnaya's hands.

Soon enough, more formations would be recorded joining them. The men and machines of the 22nd National Guard Infantry Division, the 7th 'Sila' Motor Rifle Brigade, and the experimental 105th Separate Mechanized Regiment. Like the others, they were fitted with advanced technology, but the 105th was an exceptionally special one. Unlike standard Mechanized Regiments consisting of Armored Grenadiers, Vichnaya's version of the Panzer Grenadier, this unit consists of not men, but machines. Automated ground vehicles, previously tasked with guard duties, have now been approved for direct combat frontline duties. Consisting of mainly Alta-3Ms and Platforma-M Combat Support drones, they have been planned to provide support in combat and pacification operations.

The other branches of the Federal Armed Forces weren't idle either.

The Maritime Forces and its many ships were seen springing into action. For hours on end, it seemed ships would leave and enter the many ports across the Southern seaboard, with all from the 4 Different fleets. From the smallest of corvettes to the largest of aircraft carriers, they all moved with haste and into pre-planned positions. The 4th, 7th, and 9th White Guard Combined Fleets were highly active, with the Shtorm-Class Supercarriers becoming an interest among the online defense communities in the few hours they were left unattended by the Commissariat.

These carriers, all part of the White Guards, are the Crème de la crêpe of the Vichnayan Maritime Forces. Fitted with the best and most advanced electronics, weapons, and equipment [provided by the MoD, and crewed by the best personnel from across the Vichnayan Navy, these fleets individually are formidable in their own right and have the capability of locking down entire nations from their own coastline. But together? The absolute destruction they could cause would be unimaginable, especially since they were equipped with nuclear weaponry.

And because of the scale of a rumored operation, more ships from other fleets were stripped from and sent to these three formations, whilst they discarded the older ship classes, reassigning them to the others. Now, their movements were highly tracked, with flotillas of Vichnayan cruisers, destroyers, frigates, and corvettes seen traveling Vichnaya's coastline, surrounding the carriers as they headed off towards staging points.

Down below, a significant chunk of the Vichnayan Submarine fleet was slowly sailing towards a place yet unknown. Consisting of the fast-attack, cruise missiles, and the two Typhoon-Class SSBN submarines, their presence wasn't all that known to the public as they slipped out into the cold waters of the open ocean in the dead of night or the early rise of dawn.

Because of the nature of Vichnayan Doctrine and the rapid relocation of three of Vichnaya's best and elite fleets, rumors of a possible deployment soon sprang up across several dozen online communities, worsened by the fact that the Vichnayan State Media Apparatus actively denied or attempted to dodge them.

In the skies, the Vichnayan Naval Air Service and Aerospace Forces were active, with several hundred flights launched in the span of a few hours from bases all across Vichnaya, with the majority of these flights coming from Taka and Vozrozhdeniye Oblasts. These swarms flew at either low or high altitudes, laden with heavy ordinance and trailed by dozens of tankers, reconnaissance, and Electronic-Warfare aircraft. Most of the combat aircraft seen in the skies were the newest, the 5th Generation, and in a few rare cases, Sixth-Generation fighters from the Maritime and Aerospace Forces.

Take the Sukhoi SU-60A, which in its original, non-export version, is the first Sixth-Generation Stealth Fighter accepted into service. Using a combination of domestic and reversed-engineered technologies, weaponry, avionics, and other systems, it is a highly capable aircraft that could do nearly any role or mission possible thanks in large part to the numerous systems crammed into it, along with it being designed as a multirole and modular aircraft, able to be modified with little to no changes and carry an enormous armament. It is currently expected that it would replace all of the previous Fourth-Generation Fighters in Vichnayan Service and complement all existing Fifth-Generation Fighters, before eventually replacing them too.

Other aircraft weren't lacking in capabilities either. The previous generations of aircraft in the Naval Air Service and the Aerospace were still highly capable, with most consisting of a mix of Fourth and Fifth-Generation aircraft such as the Su-24s, Su-25s, Su-30s, Su-35s, Su-75s, and many, many more were packing serious heat, seen equipped for air, land, and even sea missions. From bombs, rockets, and even cruise missiles, they were running a similar loudout that Vichnaya used back in it's intervention in the Second Russo-Georgian War. Hell, even a few MiG-31s and MiG-41s were flying alongside them at low altitudes, though not in their stealth configuration. Instead, they carried additional fuel tanks and air-to-air missiles.

And trailing them were numerous AWACs and Su-24s fitted with Electronic-Warfare Pods. While all Vichnayan Aircraft are equipped with EW Equipment as part of their base design, aircraft that carried dedicated Electronic-Warfare Pods were more suited to SEAD Operations and Signals Jamming, with a single aircraft able to block entire regions and provinces at a flick of a switch. As for the AWACS contingent, they consisted of a mix of Aerospace and Naval Aircraft hailing from several dozen airfields and naval stations across the nation.

Aside from those, utility and attack helicopters were spotted lifting and landing on transports and amphibious assault ships. These belonged to a few dozen VKS Regiments, though all were serving under the wing of the multiple divisions that were also boarding the transports. Most of them were the newest helicopters accepted into Vichnayan Service, with the utility helicopters primarily being the Mi-38Ts and Ka-60s, though there were obviously the older but modern helicopter types taking part.

With all of this happening, questions obviously arose ones that couldn't exactly be dodged or swatted away. Only the highest echelons of the Vichnayan Military and Government knew of the grand scale, which included the All-Vichnayan Commissariat for Political and Social Security. After a few hours of silence, they read out a simple statement, one that was typical for situations like these.

It is but a mere training exercise.

. . .

The single hour following the shootdown of MiG-41 '142' was a chaotic one.

It was only to be a mere reconnaissance run. One that would only be but a small part in a coordinated series of investigations to find out the origin of the nuclear blasts and fallout. But with one of the MiGs shot down, another low on fuel, and, with reports coming from the onboard AI, heading somewhere to conduct an emergency landing, the Aerospace Forces had little choice but to pull the other two aircraft out of the Magican Archipeligo until better opportunities present themselves. Though the satellite readings and data they gathered seem to indicate the radioactive fallout originated from the confusingly named Lower Magica, they weren't all that trustworthy nor sure of it being 100% true.

And so they pulled their next card.

Vichnayan Intelligence and Cyber-Warfare groups began conducting small incursions into the servers of both nations on the Magican Archipeligo. At first, they did simple techniques to test the strength of their security and, if that didn't work, would move onto an extremely nasty tactic that could've only been possible with the mass use and proliferation of AI Technology in Vichnayan life. Using a hacking AI Program to identify patterns, wear down firewalls, and then reveal said weak points to human operators, of whom would exploit the gap and brute force their way into them.

Both in retaliation and for intelligence gathering, both the AI and the Hackers would eat their way through any databases and servers they found, tearing apart and studying each piece of information that they could get their hands on before leaving with all they could. To make it clear, the Vichnayan Government wasn't all that terribly interested in specific government documents such as aircraft or weapon system specifications, although they did not hesitate to eat and steal them. Instead, they were interested in the locations, specifications, and data of certain units and important sites on all of the islands, Aircraft Combat Data and Simulations, and most importantly of all, discovering or recovering any information about the shootdown of the MiG-41.

They were especially keen on searching for this particular subject. Not only it was crammed with advanced avionics, electronics, and EW Warfare and Defensive systems, but it also carried a rather advanced Flight Assistance/Navigational/Data-linking/Control AI Program, one that could do the many functions that a pilot would typically do and do it better.

Developed by Mara Electronic & Aeronautics Limited, the Mara-7B Aircraft-Based Artificial Intelligence is one the most important aspect of modern Vichnayan aircraft design, the very thing that makes them stand out from others in the world. Developed for nearly two decades, this AI Program is a hallmark of the Vichnayan Scientific development community, surpassed by its more improved variant, the Mara-7P found on the Sukhoi Su-60.

And in combination with satellite data and the few Intelligence that was stationed nearby, the Federal Republic of Vichnaya was getting a good and constant flow of information from both private and open-source networks. Now, every time a leak was caught, the AI and its Operators would simply pull out, leaving a virus of some kind to throw them off. It was a tried and true tactic that has worked in Vichnaya's success, actually becoming the reason why the programs from the Rafales, F/A-18s, and the F-35 were successfully pulled, reverse-engineered, and improved in copies.

While they were watching, they never saw it watching them as well.

---

---

Chapter 06, Act 03 - This Is Fine

Skies Over Magica, Upper Magica

---

To say the past few minutes were confusing was a major understatement.

With another harsh slam of her joystick downwards, Lubya's entire body was pressed against her seat, the air from her lungs and the precious moments of consciousness slowly but surely tearing away from her. And with the sharp cry of a warning alarm, she'd slam the stick left, simply dragging her across the seat as the overwhelming weight of G-Forces took its toll. For hours she had endured this, the constant alarms, RWR beeps, and G-Forces, just to survive, all the while conserving her fuel, constantly feeling reality slam and repeatedly ripped from her body.

It was torturous, to say the least. With almost no capability to properly defend herself as the two R-74M2s she had onboard just straight-up decided to not work, and the four R-77Ms she had not being able to fire backward, she was in a bit of a situation. From what she could count, she had around 7-8 Fighters of some kind on her tail with possibly more to the front and sides. With an enemy to her back and unknown lands to her front, Lubya was left with one option, one that seemed better than the other.

With yet another spin and dive, the skies were lit by the flash of chaff of flares dispensing from the many ports in the MiG-41s fat design. Added to the fact that this Interceptor had Radar/IR stealth coating, multiple EW Warfare/Jamming Pods, and it having over 480+ countermeasures, Lubya would not have to worry about her defensive systems, at least for now at least. The powerful radars of the MiG-41 were also quite useful, as she had been able to consistently screw with the radars of her pursuers by locking on and overloading their systems, a technique derived from the Sukhoi Su-57 and now commonplace with the newest generation of Vichnayan Aircraft.

Pitching the nose up before committing to a roll, Lubya's aircraft deployed yet another group of 30+ Countermeasures as her RWR Warnings spiked, screaming into her ear as another missile approached. In combination with the constant maneuvers, the countermeasures, and the Radar/Communication Jamming Pods in her aircraft, Lubya watched as a white trail of smoke streaked past her aircraft and detonate not too far away.

She was exhausted.

Though without a moment of rest, her RWR and other Warning Systems onboard were again screaming loudly into her ear, both the Visual Displays on her HUD and Interface lightning her view with red, orange, and blue. From what she could see, there were around three aircraft locking onto her at this moment.

With the little time she had in the rolling and maneuvering, Lubya kicked up her MiG-41s afterburners just to give her that little bit of speed and energy back, before slamming down the stick and into a hard dive toward the ground. Both her aircraft and herself shook as a tidal wave of G-Forces slammed into them, the wings rocking and sometimes bending in the sharp dive.

Turning her head back, Lubya would lock onto one of the Type-20 Dragons with her AESA Radar, and after a few seconds of fiddling with the digital displays on her aircraft, lock them up once more with her Pulse-Doppler Radars. Not only it gave her aircraft an extremely easier time tracking and targeting a stealth fighter, but it also could overload enemy sensors. After a few seconds, one of the Type-20s broke off...only to be replaced by another.

And this was how it was for the few minutes that passed, constantly maneuvering, notching, locking, and guiding her aircraft from not smacking into the ground at Mach 1, all the while having to contend with low-fuel warnings, radar warnings, missile warnings, and the warnings from the onboard AI, of whom was suggesting or outright trying to level the aircraft out. While the Magican Archipeligo was actually pretty nice to look on, especially with how gray and boring her motherland typically is in the Northern Oblasts, the skies she already grew to hate, as the local wildlife seemed to be very hostile to their presence.

Again, Lubya was starting to feel...out of body for the lack of a better word. Her body was starting to feel numb, her vision was starting to fog and seemingly tunnel, and her breathing becoming strained and painful. At times, she was pulling around +9 Gs just to pull a certain maneuver, either to notch an incoming missile or just not slamming into the ground at Mach Speed.

And after a few more minutes of flying, she could see another new but rather unhelpful sight. Not in her direct view, but on her radar. Taking a few seconds to gather her current situation, she was flying overhead of something burning, probably a facility of some kind. Great. From what she could deduce, she was probably flying overhead of an active battlefield.

Confirming this was when more than a dozen radar contacts appeared to her front.

[Riomler]

Hmmm Rovaria

He knew this was probably his last battle to ever happen as he looked into the beach from his window,then a captain came in and said”sir,enemy ships are attempting to take us out and any chance of supporting the beach.”,admiral wood considered this and said”alright,send some b-1’s and some raptors to back them up and take that navy out of the ocean ,and for the beach ,it’s about time for a push,tell them to push towards the west of the anchor head ,then encircle the enemy supply lines,and we’re sending the one more round of shells on the beach,then we will send in 125 aurmored units to back the internet up.”

The 3rd navy fleet,lead by admiral green,was a support unit of navy units that consists of



—————————————
23 destroyers
50 frigates
15 subs
6 cruisers
2 aircraft carriers
—————————————




“I got word that I got to support my cousin,and I don’t want to be late as the 3rd go to intercept the fleet heading right for hmms Rovaria,and they sent



125 marines
90 tanks
30 raptors and ammunition and the like.



Sword beach ,front lines

We got info that we’re gonna receive one last shot got rounds ,then we’ll actually have aurmor to use,and we’re to head north-west and encircle enemy units.Then the troops got mobilized to charge after the end of the bombardment.

[Alexiandra]

Sword Beach
Isle de Dieu, Upper Magica

A gust of wind shook the command tent as General de Nouvelle-Locronan resumed his seat, sand tapping lightly at the tarpaulin's exterior. General Bouvier, the Supreme Commander of Alexiandran forces operating in the Magican Theatre, glanced over at General Davenport, the Harrisopian representative. Like Bouvier himself, the man was clearly no pen-pusher - the scars on his face testified to that. The two had never crossed paths, but Bouvier had no doubt they'd lived parallel lives. He wondered whether they'd fought alongside one another, oblivious, during the Harrisopian Civil War.

There would be enough time for introductions later, he decided. While Davenport remained seated in silent contemplation of the projection ahead, Bouvier rose to his feet.

'Thank you, General,' he said, nodding to the Magican. 'Your plan seems solid enough to me. With blue-water superiority in the west, it should be easy enough to fly reinforcements in from Alexiandra and Harrisopia if they're needed - although, to hear your boys tell it, the reds aren't exactly tactical geniuses. Control of the Isle de Dieu will give us an excellent springboard from which to launch attacks into Lower Magica itself - we can hit them where it hurts. We -'

At that moment, his radio chirped. 'General, you're gonna want to hear this. It's urgent.' He glanced apologetically at the Magican and Harrisopian delegates. 'Apologies, gentlemen - I need to take this.'

He was gone less than a minute. Striding back up to the front of the room, he delivered the news. 'Looks like the commies have ideas of their own. Our blockade pickets are reporting increased enemy contact - it looks like they're launching a full frontal assault, in massive numbers.'

General de Nouvelle-Locronan rose, clearly concerned. 'Will the blockade survive? If the communists manage to outflank us...'

'Your guess is as good as mine, General,' replied Bouvier. 'I have every faith in our technology, but their sheer weight of numbers may be too much. For now, I say we stick to our plan - this naval engagement won't be resolved, one way or the other, for a day or two at least. We could kill thousands of communists in that time.'

Western Blockade Line
Magican EEZ

Pure bedlam reigned over the seascape. The Alexiandrans and Harrisopians had seen the enemy coming - it was difficult to miss a fleet that large, after all - but the sheer volume of enemy craft encroaching from the north had made for a confusing few hours. Two Alexiandran vessels, a missile destroyer and an anti-air frigate, had already been disabled, and the northernmost elements of the fleet were retreating south, towards the protective envelope of the main body's air defence systems. It wasn't a rout, but a fighting retreat, and several Lower Magican vessels had already been sent to the bottom of the ocean. Nevertheless, the communist advance was inexorable, with swarms of outdated fighters and interceptors harrying the Alexiandran line.

For the pilots of the Fleet Air Arm, however, this was like Christmas come early. They had never seen such a target-rich environment - indeed, the main problem was refuelling and rearming jets in time to fend off the successive waves of enemy aircraft. As soon as early warning systems had picked up the enemy fleet, most of the sorties directed east had been re-routed or recalled. They had arrived just in time to surprise the first lot of Lower Magican fighter-bombers, shooting a dozen or so clean out of the sky. But it had not all been smooth sailing - packs of MiGs swarmed like hungry wolves around the outnumbered F-12s and F-17s, and Breaker squadron had lost half of its pilots by noon. Anti-aircraft missiles streaked out almost continuously from the destroyer screen. Many fizzled out harmlessly over the open ocean, but many more still struck home, sending outdated communist airframes spiralling into the blue - and still, they kept coming.

The chaos of the battlefield found an apt reflection on the bridge of the RS Achaea, the fleet's flagship supercarrier. As soon as it became clear that this was more than just a raid-in-force, the signals specialists had sent out warnings to all Magican and Harrisopian ships in the area - the Allied forces would need to band together if the blockade line was to be held. For that was the main worry. If the communists succeeded in breaking up the Allied fleet, flights carrying fresh manpower and materiel from the west would have to be diverted or cancelled. What was more, the thousands of Alexiandran and Harrisopian troops on the Isle de Dieu would be made reliant on the already-stretched Upper Magican supply network.

For now, though, the bridge staff attempting to direct this maelstrom of fire and steel, of wind and spray, were on their own. It would be some time before the Harrisopians, situated further south, arrived in sufficient numbers to guarantee a victory, and it was uncertain whether the Magicans would be able to spare any ships at all. The Alexiandrans just hoped that the Riomlerians, for all their unhinged antics earlier in the war, would take a good few communists with them to the bottom of the ocean.

[Harrisopia]

Sword Beach FOB
Isle de Dieu, Empire of Magica
General James Davenport

James scanned the screen after seeing his Alexiandran comrade depart.
He looked back at the General, whose face was etched with expectancy.

"I have roughly 2000 ground troops ready to join your forces in this counter-offensive." He announced
"I will send word back to Tritous. The plan is to start a stable supply route from here to NB Hemston."

General de Nouvelle-Locronan nodded his head.

Taking this as a sign to make his leave, James stood up and extended his hand, received by the Magican General.

"I'll do everything in my power to help your people General. Civil Wars are a nasty business. Believe me, I know how it feels."
With that James turned away and left.


Harrisopia
Harrisopian Royal Palace
Public Meeting Room

King Theon tapped the podium as he waited for the familiar green light to flick on and present him to his nation.

As if on cue he saw it and, taking a deep breath, began
"To all my loyal citizens of Harrisopia. I regret to announce that we have entered dark times.
Our ally the Empire of Magica is being terrorised by a fraudulent group claiming themselves as representatives of the people.
We are a nation who will always strive for peace and stability however we don't take kindly to violence towards our friends."

The cameras flashed as the King took a quick pause.

"The Kingdom of Harrisopia is officially part of this conflict and we shall not rest until the Empire of Magica achieves victory.
We know the horrors brought by civil war. The road to recovery is a painful one. But we will offer all the support we can.
During this conflict I would like to announce the Magican Aid Program. All Magican civilians will be offered refuge in our country for as long as the conflict is ongoing."

With that the King bowed his head and made his leave.

[Riomler]

Beach justice


"it got bloddier and bloodier as every inch was gained,Even the most hardened soldiers sometimes cried,thinking of their families,but,still,they fought,For freedom,love,and family,Thats what they fought for as they manage to capture a rural town(not big city,thats too much progress)and they dont stop for if they stopped the enemy would prepare for the encirclement and call reinforcements,so they charged while the enemy was still disorionted,trying their best to reach coast,to coast."





3rd support fleet

The 3rd were 7-8 hours away from the commie fleet,so they decideed to send 50 b-1 bombers with 85 raptors to escort,so they could slow them down and catch up and hopefully,end the communist already shrinking navy,as extra,the admiral to send 10 b-1's and 30 raptors to the enemy hq,and bomb as many military positions as possible.

[Upper Magica]

Emergency Operations Center
Aquis, Empire of Magica

It was a desolate day in what was now the beating heart of the Imperial Government. Aides were scrambling, boxes of files in hand through the narrow passageways of the former nuclear bunker. Although the Operations Center had, indeed, been designed to provide continuity of government in the event of a nuclear catastrophe - and a catastrophe was indeed occurring, though not of a nuclear kind - the simple fact was even Aquis was too dangerous to linger for the many important branches and ministries of the Government.

People's Government troops were now a blistering 28 miles away - for historical comparison, although the city of Aquis had been the epicenter of the Magican Revolution that lead to the First Magican War, it was quickly secured by the Imperial Army in the initial phase of that conflagration. Even in those dark times, the Government did not evacuate.

Artur-Morgan couldn't help but feel like a failure; his Government was now evacuating to the nearby city of L'Anse à la Médée, regional capital of Anvil Island. The General Staff had decided unanimously to remain - typical machismo for military men. It dawned on him - this was a kind of humiliation. It was rare for a Government to leave its own capital.

Before he could think any further, the nameless head of Section XIII strolled up. "Your Majesty," he coughed. "Your flight is ready. It's time, your Highness."

Artur-Morgan scrunched his brow. "No. I don't think it is." he replied defiantly. "I will be staying here in the Capital. We will not yield the City, sir."

The business-suited man folded his arms. "Crown Prince, your father isn't long for this world; you know it, I know it. If something were to happen, the throne would fall to that pig Edouard. Will you really leave this country in that.... to be frank, Your Majesty, your brother is an idiot, a vain fool concerned only with wealth and the breasts of models. And his reactionary patrons... they'll take the Empire on a different course, a shitty one, if I'm being honest."

The Crown Prince shook his head. "No, I won't leave this country to him and his fascist backers, because I will not die here - I have faith in the Armed Forces, sir."

"You can't guarantee that, and you can't guarantee that the capital won't - temporarily, at least - come under enemy occupation. There's more stormclouds on our horizon, too," he replied glumly. "Your Majesty, the Section's been getting disturbing news. Unconfirmed reports say Yuvaraj just went chemical in Anchorhead, and Vichnaya is mobilizing - to what end, we don't know, but we're not fooled by that bullshit statement about their buildup being a simple exercise - typical maskirovka, to borrow one of their words. Analytics has determined they're likely preparing another foreign intervention - or more specifically, an intervention here."

"They don't talk about it, but the political situation of their Government has become.. tenuous as of late. Franzetti's theorizing that they might try something like a 'short victorious war' to prop up their domestic support. Shit, it's what your father did with Traldonia - entirely unintentionally, if we're being honest. Approvals went from around 36% to over 78%. My point is - the danger's too much. You need to be in a secure location."

Artur-Morgan leaned against the wall, sighing. "God damn it," He ran his fingers through his own hair in frustration. "Obviously we have to respond, even half-heartedly. And my position remains unchanged - you'll have to drag me out of Aquis if you want me to leave. The Capital is secure enough, and I won't have the people and the Army see their heir-presumptive and regent flee like a scared rat."

"....as you wish, Your Highness. I disagree with your course of action, but my lot is to obey the Sovereign - no matter how idiotic their orders may be. As for Vichnaya, the Foreign Ministry has prepared a formal condemnation pending your signa-" The sudden frantic running of jack-boots interrupted the two. An out-of-breath Grand Admiral Contarini appeared, almost frantic in his speech.

"Your Majesty! The Northerners have launched a massive offensive against the Exclusion Boundary! They've done it, the bastards - they're on high sea!"

Contarini looked directly into Artur-Morgan's eyes. "Sire. They're far enough out from anti-ship batteries, and they are heavily concentrated. One half of our Imperial Navy and quite a few squadrons of the Air Force are within reasonable engagement distance. Please - give us your authorization to launch to support the Alexiandrans. We have an opportunity before us, Sire - we can destroy most of the People's Navy if we act decisively."

Artur-Morgan nodded. "Send the orders, Admiral. Sink those bastards."

---

Above the Inner Maritime Border - Magican Archipelago
'Tarantula Three', 62nd Naval Attack 'Tarantula' Squadron, Imperial Magican Air Force

Tarantula Three, along with the rest of Tarantula Squadron cruising with urgency towards the engagement over the sea couldn't help but be dismayed at the sounds of Buzzard Squadron's net, which had perhaps been patched in too soon - or too late; he couldn't tell.

"Fuck me, I can't shake this one! Twelve, get this fucker off m-[kzzzZZ]"

Tarantula Three switched off his active radar and any of his electronics, save for those necessary components required to keep the aircraft running, that could give away Tarantula's position in the middle of their imminent rendezvous with the enemy. One, in his role as squadron commander, liked being sneaky - it was how the Squadron shot down Riomlerian F-35s nearly superior in every aspect to the F-4 Type 2000 during the Battle of Sagittarius.

If there was one advantage the F-4 Type 2000 had, it was that the craft was a veritable crotch-rocket and maneuverable to boot; its reinforced airframe and improved Mag-IC 980 turbofan engines meant the aging airframe at least had a chance of competing with the big dogs; it was theoretically capable of exceeding Mach 3.2, but both the manufacturer and common sense argued against it. He'd done it before and gotten chewed out by the Captain of the Boucanier himself; the airframe was fucked up beyond repair - a total loss.

One shouted over the radio. "Tarantula squadron - ascend." On that command, Three jerked up his flight stick, the forces of gravity impacting his body and - probably most annoying of all - his face. Above him was a veritable clusterfuck - stealth fighters he'd never seen before were duking it out with Buzzard's Eagles, trading missiles, and in the case of the Eagles, cannonades. A thought dawned on Three - the Dragons likely didn't have cannon of their own.

Tarantula Three had the good fortune to line up on a Dragon on the climb upward - the symbol of the People's Air Force flanked by a giant F was visible on its tail rudder; he closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger of his flight stick, sending a burst of cannon fire into the aircraft that hit the fuselage dead on, sending the craft into sudden free-fall. He saw the unfortunate pilot - they had the small fortune of being able to eject and were now on their way to the ocean below.

In that same moment, others in his squadron were tearing apart the surprised Northerners like a pack of lions on a gazelle - cannon fire and rockets ripped through these outnumbered and outgunned flyboys.

One piped up on the radio again. "Three, Seven - get that straggler. We'll finish up here."

"Roger, One." He looked towards the aircraft flying with purpose, albeit erratically, away from the battle - and jerked his aircraft toward it, afterburners running hot as the Sun.

---

HMIS Elatus - Flagship, 4th Fleet
Western Strait

The Captain of the Elatus - one of the Imperial Navy's Emotive-class battleships - looked out over the ocean from the bridge. Dozens of smaller ships, the Furia and Gravis, the Elatus's sister ships, and the Boucanier and Grenadier, the two Assault-class fleet carriers that had become the centerpiece of this ad-hoc combat formation. Below them, watching vigilantly, were a handful of Gamma-class attack submarines, ready to pounce on any undersea intrusion.

And, of course, the three newest additions to the Imperial Navy - HMIS Tigris, the first nuclear-powered Predator-class arsenal ship of its kind, and the first such 'Arsenal Ship' commissioned by the Imperial Navy, weighing in at 76,000 tons and bristling with missile launch pods and emplacements of all kinds, as well as two Raptor-class supercarriers, the Aigle and Crécerelle - also nuclear-powered and weighing in at 90,000 tons each, capable of carrying dozens of F-4-2000 and F/A-18 craft, as well as a small complement of Seahawks for anti-submarine warfare. To say they were the pride and joy of the Imperial Navy was an understatement.

The newly-christened Southern Fleet would meet up with the Northern Fleet lead by the battleships Fortis and Formidus and the carriers Glaive and Dague, and of similar size and composition to the Southern Fleet in terms of smaller ships - and together, the two fleets would deliver a stunning, perhaps devastating blow to the People's Navy in conjunction with the rapidly arriving Allied naval forces.

Above the Elatus were flights of land-based aircraft bound North to join the fray to support the Alexiandrans, reportedly stretched thin by air assault. He'd heard the call to arms on that front personally; the Air Force was sending everything that wasn't supporting the defense and imminent counterattack on the Isle de Dieu, or for that matter, the bare minimum required to intercept enemy bombers and strike forces intruding elsewhere above Imperial territory.

The XO strolled up, tablet in hand. "Sir, Admiral Santos has given the order for Fleet to get into combat position. We're sailing to the AO."

"Good stuff," the Captain replied, tobacco pipe in hand. "Let's show the Northerners what we're made of. Hopefully we don't arrive too late. When's our ETA?"

"Two, maybe three hours to combat range."

"Good, good. Make sure the crew's combat ready. Have the canteen serve pizza. That'll bolster spirits."

The XO nodded. "At your command, sir."

The XO stepped away, and the Captain looked toward the northern horizon. It was well past time to strike back, he thought - Command had finally regained their manhood, it seemed.

---

Kortberge, Isle de Dieu - Liberated Territory

The commander of the 10th Armored Brigade stood out from the commander's cupola of his CV-90/120 light tank as the convoy of light tanks passed through the main road of this rustic settlement. He'd been here before on holiday - this was once a prosperous plantation town, producing tropical fruits and wine derived from agave - Or d'Maraise, a fine drink, and the Empire's main export liquor.

Now it was a ghost town surrounded by nothing but hilly plains, farmland, and the odd patch of jungle not cleared by the agricultural operations that largely defined this region of the Isle de Dieu; not a soul emerged to greet their liberators, while a sickening miasma hung in the air - likely unattended livestock or a malfunctioning sewage main, by his judgment.

His radioman piped up from beneath the hull. "Uh, Commander - mechanized infantry's reporting disturbed ground; they think they might be concealed anti-tank ditches or something."

"Well, tell them to check it out - safely, of course."

---

The riflemen dismounted from their LAV-25 - cautiously approaching the semi-rectangular mound of dirt in front of them. The Communist forces in this sector were laying down traps, mines, and other unfortunate surprises as they retreated - if they were even able to in the first place.

The smell of rotting meat grew stronger. "Fucking hell, what is that smell? Think I'm gonna be sick." one of the soldiers commented.

Another piped up. "Lads, I've got a bad feeling about this one. That ain't cow carcass we're smellin'."

To some, their worst fears were confirmed as the squad approached close enough to make out the fine details of this normally unassuming patch of upturned earth:

A human hand stuck out from the dirt, as if grasping for life in their last cognizant moments. It did not belong to any of the various combatants here - this hand belonged to one of the dozens of inhabitants of Kortberge - innocent bystanders. Their deaths were not an aftereffect of fighting - collateral damage. They had been murdered to the last for reasons unknown to the Imperial soldiers who had discovered them.

It was no coincidence, then, that in the following hours after word of the massacre made its way through the Allied 'net, Imperial Magican forces summarily disposed of Red Magican prisoners of war - sometimes in brutal fashion - in retaliation for Kortberge during their advance to the northern coastline of the Isle: often without the consent or knowledge of their superiors.

---

Network Operations Center - Section 10(Digital Operations), Imperial Security Bureau
Isla de Esmeralda - Empire of Magica

Jaime Gonzalez, Director of Section 10 of the Imperial Security Bureau looked over the room filled with computers and agents hard at work for the Empire from his office window. This was the main room of the Cyber Warfare Center, and it seemed to be a sort of busy day for them.

He took a sip of his coffee, musing out loud: "I wonder how the weather is outside.."

Without a beat, an electronic voice with a feminine intonation replied. "It's currently 34 degrees outside; relative humidity is 78 percent. The sky is clear, Mr. Gonzalez. In addition, there are no active air raid alerts indicated for this area at this time."

He sighed. Fucking AI Assistant. He'd be rid of the damn thing if he could, but Section XIII made them mandatory for all department heads. He surmised it was some sort of Big Brother-esque surveillance device; the front-end was just a cover. Typical James Bond bullshit. He missed his secretary - she'd been officially automated. Sweet old lady - she'd bring in cookies and sweets and made coffee without complaint.

"Thanks, AIA. Wasn't asking you, though; sometimes us humans like to find out by ourselves. Any briefs, by the way?"

The console containing AIA's mainframe glowed red - it was processing the request.

"Director Gonzalez: there is a developing situation regarding the intranet of ArmsTech and several high-level defense contractors. Their network-security departments are reporting intrusions and attempted intrusions into their server infrastructure."

Gonzalez took a sip of his coffee. "They've got it handled, I assume?"

"That is correct, Director."

He sat down in his chair, reading over his daily newspaper - archaic, but no tablets or personal devices were allowed within the building. "That's good, AIA. Anything else?"

"Department One has successfully neutralized several Magistrate of State Security digital assets hosted in Riomler in coordination with Section XIII Special Activities troops. An attempted hacking of Central Bank payment processing systems from attackers in Traldonia occurred along with 17 other minor incidents determined to be negligible in impact and scope."

Another sip, more like a hearty gulp now that the coffee was lukewarm. "That's excellent. How'd the Tritous hockey team do in their away game in Lockbourne, by the way?"

"Hold on, sir. I'm getting that information now... Please wait - there's a priority message."

He frazzled his brows in frustration. These 'priority messages' were usually staff notifications and other HR dreck.

"Director Gonzalez, there is a Threat Level Red situation unfolding. Your presence is required in the Operations Room."

He got up - quickly; this kind of thing was what he was paid the big florin for. In a few dozen steps, he was descending down into 'the pit', shorthand for the Ops Room. It was catchier too, in his opinion.

The Operations Room was a mess; operatives were scrambling from desk to desk, while barrages of information he hadn't the patience to discern were being yelled out over the air. He identified the floor supe - Dr. Patricia Villalobo and walked over to her.

"Doctor, AIA just told me there's a situation. Get me up to speed." he said, while looking at the main monitor, displaying a whole load of metrics, statistics, and events in progress relevant to the work, most of which he didn't quite understand.

"It's the military intranet, Director. Someone's trying to crack it open like a pinata. Our honeypots within the system picked it up about 15 minutes ago; whoever they are, they're trying to clean us out of every kilobit of information we've got; we're picking up mass copying and transfer activity on compromised servers."

Director Gonzalez rubbed his forehead. "Fuck. What are they getting? Who the hell's doing it? Also, I assume we're all hands on deck? We need our boys and girls patching vulnerabilities as they're popping up and monitoring net-wide accounts activity through AIA - get Analytics on board, too. Those damn nerds love a good hunt."

"Yes, Director, everyone's on the ball. Already called up Director Franzetti, and all of his relevant bloodhounds with expertise in the field are on the case. Speaking of which, as for the identity of our attackers - we're throwing them a few bones in terms of actionable military or domestic intelligence, most of which are pre-generated subtly fabricated pieces and fictitious entries, relating to a variety of potential state actors to see who - or what - is going to bite the bait. This is a huge attack, though. The North and most non-state actors are automatically ruled out; they're just not capable of something like this."

Dr. Villalobo shuffled nervously. "As for what they're after, AIA can probably tell you more."

The digitized feminine voice rang out over the intercom. "Dr. Villalobo, Director Gonzalez, multiple server systems have recorded anomalous queries in the system relating to advanced aircraft and geolocation data on military installations and units in both the Empire of Magica and the People's Government of Magica."

Director Gonzalez paced. "Fuck. Well, Villalobo - you know the drill. Do as you will."

In the ensuing minutes after the revelation of an ongoing cyber-attack - in contrast to Lower Magica, which barely heard of the term 'Internet', let alone cybersecurity, the Imperial Security Bureau of the Empire of Magica was a well-prepared adversary in that emerging field of warfare.

Paranoid of MSS intrusion, a great deal of effort and money had been invested into the knowledge and number of technicians required to maintain and secure the Empire's computer networks; the 'honeypots' of the Magican Intranet, meant to detect and forestall enemy intrusion were built off what was referred to as the 'outer layer' of the intranet of the Magican government: the computer systems of ministries that required wider Internet access for their public dealings, such as the Government Services Administration, Ministry of Social Services, Ministry of Aviation, and so forth.

Many of the critical systems of the 'outer layer' required for the functioning of society at-large weren't particularly vulnerable, as systems regulating welfare payments and the safe navigation of aircraft were themselves closed off, but these nodes could and most likely would be leveraged to gain wider access to the 'middle layer' of the Intranet - departments such as the Ministry of Finance, Ministry of Order & Prisons, and the Ministry of Foreign Relations which dealt in a variety of confidential topics.

As such, the role of the 'outer layer' was to act as the Intranet's early-warning system and the first line of defense for the Imperial Security Bureau; in general, attackers were to be delayed and distracted by Section 10 operatives, whom would leave fictional entries of encrypted and, providing that said encryption was broken through, useless data for attackers to 'steal', while utilizing a variety of methods to frustrate would-be trespassers or even eliminate them on the offense - such as abruptly changing IP addresses of compromised servers, or provided that the trespasser had an active download, flooding the attacker's system with payloads of junk data to the point where either the bandwidth of their connection or hard drive failed.

Another favorite tactic of Section 10 was to forcibly upload malicious software in a moment of vulnerability to an attacking platform in order to either disable it or, in the case of 'bouncing' signals, leverage node access to the next attacking platform in order to 'trace-back' the origin of the signal. Assisting Section 10 in its endeavors was the brainchild of Section XIII, the Empire's secret service - AI Assistant, also known as AIA, pronounced 'Aya' - first designed in a less enlightened time under less enlightened leadership, the rudimentary AI was originally meant to spy on Government ministers, much like how 'Big Brother' screens spied on Oceania's citizens in the book '1984', using its information-aggregation and summarization capabilities as cover.

But with the advent of the Digital Age, AIA became much more than a tool of internal-security, but an integral part of Magican internal and digital security infrastructure; later iterations of AIA are virtually unrecognizable from the original product. It is a powerful tool of loose information collection, but it also provides that information within the context of an ISB employee's job function and summarizes said information not only efficiently, but exceedingly so. In the context of an average Section 10 employee, AIA provides valuable intelligence on accounts and server activity the AI deems 'anomalous', having a rolling 90-day log of all digital operations within the Intranet as well as most recorded user metrics available to the ISB.

Prototype - to be specific, beta branch - iterations of AIA still in development feature a information control system. 'AIA 7.0', as it is known in internal schemata, would have the capability of launching a broad spectrum of autonomous information control activities, such as shifting public opinion via the 'shitpost', meme, or even qualified and reasonable debate, emulating a human's natural prose and presence online. Web servers, particularly social media, built with zero-day vulnerabilities would facilitate AIA's access and autonomous information-suppression and fabrication capability. In short, an AI built to control and fabricate narrative and context itself.

And, unfortunately for the Imperial Government, a partial technical readout of 'AIA 7.0' held on the tertiary datacenter of Section XIII's Research Division - though it is hastily encrypted by Section 10 operatives responding to the compromise - falls into the hands of its unknown attackers in cyberspace. This leak, however, is one of Section 10's few critical failures that day.

[Alexiandra]

Contested Territory, Isle de Dieu

The convoy swept quickly into the village, troops leaping down from their armoured fighting vehicles and padding cautiously into the cover of the picturesque little cottages. They were Alexiandrans from the Fifth Marine Infantry Battalion, on their way north to cut the communists' supply lines. High above, a reconnaissance drone orbited lazily around the settlement, scanning the corn fields that extended in every direction for traces of the enemy. Having performed a perfunctory search, the troops returned to their vehicles, which roared onwards towards the next objective. Their instructions were simple: do not get bogged down. Press ahead until you encounter stiff resistance, and call for reinforcements. All across the island's western marches, Allied forces were taking the same approach, executing a lightning offensive into the heart of enemy territory. If they slowed down, the communists would have time to shift their battle line; they would stop only for signs of the enemy, or if they came across endangered civilians. The Battalion's fleet of 'Atlas' utility helicopters had been buzzing in and out of the battlefront all morning, ferrying civilians out of the killzone, inserting troops and commanding officers at forward operating bases.

The attack had been in progress for two hours by the time the Alexiandrans ran into serious communist opposition. At the outskirts of a small town codenamed Objective Lima, shots had rang out as the AFVs trundled up the road; two troops had been killed instantly. The greater air mobility of the Allied forces allowed them to bring forces to bear on flashpoints more easily than the communists - still, it had taken some time to dislodge the foe, and the Marines had long since grown weary of the endless thud of mortar fire by the time they stormed the buildings on either side of the road.

It was mid-afternoon when Fireteam Zulu rolled into the copse of trees where they would pause to await new orders. Private Valdez was halfway through a ration-pack, munching glumly, when he saw it: a cloud, blue-grey, drifting silently through the trees ahead. He squinted. They were practically at sea level - he could see clouds high above him. So what was he seeing? And then it dawned on him. He threw the ration-pack to the ground and sprinted, full tilt, for the AFV.

'Get your fucking masks on!' he screamed. His comrades looked back at him uncomprehendingly.

'What?' his sergeant asked.

'Gas! They're using fucking gas! Look at it!' He gesticulated wildly as he ran, leaping up into the back of the vehicle, and began rummaging frantically through his kit bag. Every marine carried a gas mask, but none of them ever expected to use one. Behind him the cloud was growing thicker and thicker, rolling closer and closer. The others had seen it too, and they were piling into the back of the vehicle, shouting, squabbling, shoving past one another to get to their bags. The cloud was feet away from the doors when Valdez slipped the cumbersome mask on, and he immediately set about helping the others. Within seconds, the gas was all around them, filling the interior of the vehicle. The faint smell of bitter almonds filtered through to his nostrils.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that everyone had made it.

Masks fitted, the marines spilled back out into the copse, assuming a defensive position. Johnson jumped back into the AFV, swinging the turret around wildly to ascertain where the gas had been fired from. But there was nothing - total silence. And then, as if on cue, the bullets came. The first pinged off the rear of the AFV's hull, coming to rest centimetres away from Valdez's right foot; and then the hailstorm was upon them. They returned fire as best they could, light machine guns and assault rifles ripping into the trees ahead, but it was clear that they were outgunned. One by one they retreated into the safety of the vehicle, whose explosive rounds blazed forth with a rhythmic thump. Once they were all inside, the sergeant slammed the doors, and the AFV took off in full retreat, heading for Fireteam Golf's position to the west.

'Romeo Actual, this is Romeo 2-5, come in, over!' shouted Valdez into the onboard radio. It seemed like an eternity before the reply finally came.

'We have contact north of Objective Lima, they're using fucking gas, over!' he screamed.

'Romeo 2-5, this is Romeo Actual... did you say gas? Uh... over.'

And so the news began to spread across the Alexiandran communications network, and from there to Allied forces across the island. A line had been crossed - there was no going back now. Less than an hour after Valdez called the report in, word came down the battlenet: the infantry wouldn't be taking the lead from now on. From here to the coast, it would be a thunder run: tanks and massive aerial bombardment first, then the infantry behind.

It was only when they rendezvoused with Fireteam Golf that Valdez and his comrades realised they'd left someone behind. Lance Corporal Roman was dead in the copse, with froth around his mouth and a pair of collapsed lungs. He had realised too late that the taste of almonds wasn't part of his ration-pack.

Western Blockade Line
Magican EEZ

At sea, the Alexiandrans were faring somewhat better. Things had been ropey at first, and they'd been forced to give up a fair bit of ocean as the communists advanced in their massive waves. But a pair of Republic submarines had managed to sink a combined six enemy vessels, one of them an old aircraft carrier, and that seemed to have bloodied the Lower Magicans' nose a little. Then the Allies had arrived - first the Magicans, then the Harrisopians. The Magican fleet was impressive, to say the least, and many Alexiandran sailors were surprised by its technological sophistication. Volley after volley of cruise missiles issued forth from the HMIS Tigris, which - as far as the staff on the deck of the Achaea could ascertain - was at least as powerful as the destroyers they'd brought with them. The Harrisopians fought as stalwartly as ever, moving swiftly and decisively to plug gaps in the Alexiandran line. Nautical mile by nautical mile, the Allies were re-establishing some semblance of control over the western approaches to Magica. Only time, and the skill of the combined fleet's pilots and sailors, would determine whether or not they ultimately succeeded.

[Riomler]

no longer "beach" justice,its now the justice front


As more and more tanks arrived to support the infentry,the tide was turning,the tanks quickly destroyed the communist supply lines and then all they need to do was capture the eastern coast of the justice front,to complete the encirclement,meanwhile,hq finally got some howitzers to the battle feild,so the enemy had to stay put,as round after round was launched at enemy forts and bases.

Riomler casualties:4,234 out of the 30,000 troops sent.
Commy:4,422{ill fix it if you want.}





Over the communist HQ
8,000 ft in the air

"raptor one,check "after came 9 other checks as they prepared to drop their payload that would likely end the war,"alright we drop in 3."said raptor one
3.2.1

then the b-1's nosedived towards their targets,anti air flak managed to get 3-10 and about 2 others were hit but at 500 ft,they dropped their payload,and pulled up as high as they could,then they retreated to the 3rd support fleet,who was nearly catching up with the enemy fleet,and hopefully sink all hope of their navy victory,"nice job raptors"said raptor one,however his voice wasnt so smile wasnt so cheery as his voice was.






Firesquad REX


"if the commies thought that the air bombing of their capital was hell,well,theyd be in for a suprise as more then 40 bombers,and a good 85 fighters approached the enemy fleet,first came the vangaurd,they sent about 20 bombers and 30 fighters to test the fleet,depending on the result,would they attack in full force,dropping every payload they could,of course,casualties were to be expected,but that was what air battles are all about,so no soldier gave a cinch of hesitation as the vanguard approached the fleet.

[Aravose]

Aravose has heard of this war for a long time and was closely watching it,however,when chemical weapons began being used,they mobilized their army and President Ardon gave a speech

People of aravose,we have lived in war for decades,if not centuries and thought that we would never experiance it again,however,a nation using chemical gas like the former german empire of ww1 is unforgivable!"the crowd roared their approval,"Will we lie down?,NO!,will we weep like children?NO!Now we make our declaration of war!"the crowd went crazy with approval,All who wish to join the army,you may go to recruitment centers at *****,now,in case of nuclear warfare,we will go to our 2nd capital,Davar,but the chances of that is unlikely."slow,but steadily the crowds faces of concern fade.so we have prepared| 500k men
250 tanks
150 helis
90 transport vehicles
300 f-4 phantoms
125 b-52's
m270's(arty)

pronouns:arvosians

[Aravose]

/BUMP

[Upper Magica]

OOC:

I'm nullifying the entry of Aravose into this RP since it has been established to be an alt/sockpuppet, and here's why, since I don't like making these kinds of decisions without a justification.

One person roleplaying as two countries on the same side of a war suddenly creates two different narratives aiming at the same goal - a form of powergaming in my honest opinion.

RIOMLER, if you want to "spice things up", I would suggest exploring different angles of your RP as I've said once before. But please don't do this again; sockpuppeting is bad form.

[Riomler]

OOC:

I'm nullifying the entry of Aravose into this RP since it has been established to be an alt/sockpuppet, and here's why, since I don't like making these kinds of decisions without a justification.

One person roleplaying as two countries on the same side of a war suddenly creates two different narratives aiming at the same goal - a form of powergaming in my honest opinion.

RIOMLER, if you want to "spice things up", I would suggest exploring different angles of your RP as I've said once before. But please don't do this again; sockpuppeting is bad form.

Ok,MB

[Upper Magica]

Imperial Motorway, southeast of Drande - Isle de Dieu, Empire of Magica

The dual-barreled T-80-IIs of the 5th Armored Division of the Revolutionary Guard rolled with impunity down this stretch of motorway; the one Imperialist unit that dared make a stand against the cutting edge of Red Magican military technology had inexplicably scattered despite their clear readiness for a fight.

The commander yelled out to the crew. "Alright, comrades - let's pull over. We've advanced far enough; let's catch a break here."

Alphonso, the driver of the tank, complied. He got out of the sweltering contraption as soon as the tank came to a complete stop, his fatigues drenched in sweat. "Goddamn, Commander." he remarked, "Those Imperialists were armed to the teeth and pretty well dug in to boot. Why'd you think they left?"

"The same reason any fighting force does, Tanker - they were afraid."

Alphonso opened up an aluminum can with practiced ease - the smell of peppers and meat wafted through the air despite the food being rather lukewarm. It smelled delicious, in any case - Alphonso dug in with greed, talking with his mouth full. "Mmmm, I think they're going to come back - with reinforcements."

The men of the tank groaned. "Goddamnit, Alphonso - don't curse us like that.", one of them said.

Almost as if on cue, the tell-tale shriek of incoming rockets assaulted everyone's ears. Alphonso instinctively jumped for cover; others closer to the tank re-entered it.

...but inexplicably, the rockets exploded overhead all across the motorway, followed by a series of smaller explosions in mid-air. Alphonso emerged from the ditch near the roadway. "Damn! Those rockets were duds," one of his comrades laughed. Alphonso looked up; the brown smoke above was somewhat beautiful. Somewhat curiously, Alphonso smelled peaches in the aftermath - and his eyes and nose began to water.

"Maybe the Imperialists are cutting back on the quality of their munitions." His commander had said, slurring slightly - these would be his second to last words. "I... comrades, do... is anyone else.." These would be his last words, as he fell over convulsing. Alphonso tried to speak, but the words never came - he could barely move his jaw. He felt, in his last conscious moments, his very heart and lungs beginning to falter - and for these precious seconds that felt like a lifetime, thinking of his family, Alphonso was overcome by a fear and terror, the kind that could never be translated into suitable prose to describe its very depth.

If there was any solace to his end, it would be that he would be unconscious as his body convulsed and suffocated itself.

---

Within hours of the first news of chemical strikes against Allied Forces, Imperial SWORD(Special Weapons and Ordnance) detachments had integrated themselves with both Allied and Imperial units; the former to bolster organic chemical defense capability, lending Imperial stocks of atropine, vitamin B12a, and sodium thiosulfate, among other first-line treatments of chemical weapons toxicity to Allied medical companies overwhelmed by the surprise of the war's escalation into the realm of chemical warfare, as well as PPE for the new chemical environment, such as suits, gas masks, filters and decontamination units.

In the latter role integrated within Imperial forces, SWORD detachments performed all of the above missions, but also brought to bear the Model 95 artillery shell and Type 900 rocket on select portions of the front line - the preferred chemical-dispersion munition of choice for the Empire's plentiful stocks of GB-GF(also known as cyclosarin jumbled with sarin), phosgene, and mustard gas.

For every chemical munition that the People's Army dropped on Imperial territory, soldiers, and Allies, it would be repaid in full.

---

Anchorhead SAR, People's Government of Magica

The People's Militiaman, clad in full chemical outfit, stepped in a blood-black puddle intermingled with bone, fabric, and lumps of melted rubber that had once been a Riomlerian soldier.

The usage of chemical weapons in this corner of the 'home turf' of the People's Government itself had intensified with the air raid on the Metropole. Newer and far deadlier chemical cocktails were being brought out here - in this case, chlorine trifluoride had been dropped on this sector, an extremely poisonous and corrosive gas that also had the terrifying effect of igniting and burning organic tissue and reacting to water with incendiary effect in large quantities.

But in typical median quantities used in the field and open air, chlorine trifluoride gradually corroded living organic tissue resulting in a horrifying death - even rubber chemical suits weren't safe, as the protective equipment itself melted along with the flesh of its user.

And, from what the Militiaman could see through the humid goggles of his gas mask, the landscape painted a picture of how deep humankind could delve into the realm of evil; slurries of plant and animal matter trickled down the branches of what had once been verdant jungle trees. The embers of what had once been grass still smoldered, and even the bare earth itself took on an unnatural yellow-green tint.

The small town ahead had fared no better. Artillery shells, both chemical and conventional explosive, landed amongst the Riomlerian troops and civilians without discrimination; as far as Command and the State were concerned, the denizens were traitors anyway, for they offered unacceptably small amounts of resistance before the Capitalist enemy.

God had abandoned this slice of earth, and it was readily apparent to anyone who gazed upon this apocalyptic scene, most of all the Militiaman, who began to surmise that perhaps this was Hell made manifest on Earth.

---

Western Sea - Off the Coast of the Magican Archipelago
PGS 14th of July, Type 079-Class Arsenal Ship

Politcom Gallego looked out over the rough seas from the bridge. Overhead, a storm brewed - not made by nature, but by man.

The naval fighters of the running dogs of the Empire and those of their Alexiandran and Harrisopian johns dueled with the air detachment sent to support the High Seas Fleet in its push to break the blockade and force at least a withdrawal. There were hundreds of streaks in the air not counting those from the missiles that had rained down on the Fleet - often with terrible loss on the part of the Magican proletariat - and those that streamed from the various ships of the Fleet toward their targets.

But no loss was too great for this final struggle against the Capitalist world which had united to destroy the Revolution and the teachings of Comrades Yuvaraj, Mahendra, and Marx.

Gallego was interrupted in his ideological musings by the 14th of July's communications officer. "Sir, we've lost contact with 2nd Fleet. The last transmission we received from them was a dispatch from the Type 095 destroyer, PGS Guardian... refuting any and all future orders."

Traitors. To raise the white flag? In our moment of triumph?

"Send out a message to all ship-level Politcoms. They are to be vigilant of counter-revolutionists within the ranks and have my authority to take any and all measures to maintain the fighting cohesion of their crews - they may take command, if necessary."

"Yes sir, at once."

Gallego frowned. The High Seas Fleet had lost a quarter of its strength. The PGS Bastille, one of the Fleet's more modern - if that word had any meaning in relation to the People's Navy - Project 1153-class amphibious assault carriers had been snapped in two by a submarine. One of the Fleet's four Arsenal Ships had been flattened by a salvo of 460mm armor-piercing guided shells - undoubtedly the work of the Imperial Magican Navy, as only this fleet among the combatants had that large a caliber of cannon shell.

In return, the Fleet had confirmed the kill of Imperial battleship Furia, its magazine exploding due to a barrage of missiles from the PGS Guillotine. While he wasn't sure off-hand what blows were dealt to whom precisely, the loss of an Imperial battleship was prestigious for his command.

But the losses were steep, he had to admit to himself. It was almost childish; on one hand, he was prepared to suffer all for the Revolution and its inevitable triumph. But on the other - many had died already, and more would yet in the following weeks.

His last thought - as a siren song played from the heavens, the telltale whistle of a group of heavy shells approaching while countermeasures such as counter-artillery rockets and close-in weapons systems spewed from the 14th of July's deck -

Was to bear doubt for the Cause in one's heart criminal?

[Alexiandra]

The Presidential Palace
Lockbourne, Alexiandra

The sun had just begun to touch the western wall of the Great Office when President Montferrat, scribbling intently at his desk, was interrupted by an urgent knock.

'Come in,' he said.

A guard opened the door, revealing General Parker, head of military intelligence, flanked by two men in colonels' uniforms that the President did not recognise. They crossed quickly to the desk.

'Mr President,' Parker said with a deferential nod. 'Apologies for the interruption - this can't wait until tomorrow's briefing.'

'Not at all,' Montferrat replied. 'Be at ease, gents,' he said, noticing that the colonels still stood tensely at attention. They relaxed, hands clasped behind their backs. 'Now, what is it?'

Parker slid a hefty, leather-bound dossier onto the desk. Its cover was blank, except for the words 'TOP SECRET - EYES ONLY'. Inwardly the President sighed. He had never received good news from a document with such ominous labelling. Adjusting his glasses, Montferrat opened the volume and felt his stomach flip.

On the first page was a photograph depicting a man - at least, he thought it was a man - lying in a ditch. His uniform marked him as an Alexiandran, a marine, by the looks of it. His rifle, canteen and standard-issue gas mask were strewn all around him. What struck Montferrat most, at first, was his unnatural posture. This wasn't a man at rest, but a dead man, and a man who had died very painfully, at that. His hands clutched at his throat, and the heels of his boots had gouged long scars in the mud beneath him. Then Montferrat noticed his face - it was scarcely recognisable as a face. Huge swathes of skin had peeled right off the flesh, and what little remained was gruesomely discoloured. His eyes were wide open, unnaturally bloodshot, staring vacantly into the middle distance.

Montferrat glanced up at the General. With a small, apologetic nod, he gestured to the President to turn the page. He did so, and was relieved to find only a wall of text confronting him. It read as follows:

Code: Select all

TOP SECRET REPORT
RE: USE OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION IN MAGICAN THEATRE

Credible reports have been received of the use of chemical weapons against both Magican and Alexiandran troops on the Isle de Dieu. 'Fireteam Zulu' of the Fifth Marine Infantry Battalion came under attack shortly after noon on D-Day + 1. One KIA, seven referred to medics for precautionary treatment. Unknown number of casualties among Magican Imperial forces.

Montferrat looked up in disbelief. 'The commies went chemical?'

'It appears that way, sir,' Parker said gravely. 'And what's even more concerning, the Imperials seem to have responded in kind. It's not far-fetched to think that pretty soon the Isle de Dieu will be an uninhabited wasteland. We've instructed our troops to take standard precautions - gas masks, prophylactic medicines, et cetera. But it's safe to say that morale is low; guns aren't much use when the enemy is deploying weapons that have only ever been observed in the lab. Sir, we want authorisation to escalate our involvement in the war. It's the only way to ensure that our boots on the ground aren't completely outgunned.'

Montferrat chewed the arm of his glasses anxiously. 'What did you have in mind?'

'Ninth Fleet is encroaching on the Magican archipelago from the north; it was in the middle of a routine patrol when everything kicked off. Attached to this fleet are a number of arsenal ships and ballistic-capable submarines that could strike directly at Lower Magican territory. It's one of our smaller taskforces, but with the vast majority of communist naval assets tied up in the south, this could be a perfect opportunity to really put the hurt on them.'

'Military targets?' Montferrat asked.

'Primarily, yes,' said the General. 'But depending on how bad things get on the Isle de Dieu, we may want to consider striking at water supplies, civilian electrical infrastructure, highways, railways. The enemy is willing to sacrifice everything, Mr President, and we need to be willing to oblige them. A government that claims to be fighting for the people won't last long once the people run out of food and water.'

The President paused, well aware that his next words could determine the course of the war, of history. But the line had already been crossed, and not by him. 'Fine - I'll greenlight this attack, but only if we get approval from the Magicans. The last thing we want is to piss off the country currently housing thousands of our marines. Will that be all, General?'

Parker frowned apologetically. 'I'm afraid not, sir. We're receiving reports that Vichnaya is mobilising its armed forces.'

'Vichnaya?' Montferrat asked, uncomprehending. 'What does any of this have to do with them?'

'We're not sure, sir. It's possible that recent protests in Hero City have agitated the authorities - they may be looking for a PR coup. At this time it's unknown what their intentions are.'

Montferrat buried his head in his hands. This was troubling news indeed - one of Lynceni's largest nations, on the warpath, with no allegiance declared. 'Leave it with me, General,' he said. 'I'll have the Foreign Office put out a communique. Start mobilising our second echelon of ground forces - it looks like we may need them.'

The General nodded, and all three of the officers saluted before filing silently from the room. Montferrat reached for the phone and punched in the number for the Foreign Office.

---

Official Communiqué

To: The Federal Republic of Vichnaya
CC: The Empire of Magica, The Kingdom of Harrisopia
From: The Republic of Alexiandra
Encryption: MAXIMUM

Dear Friends,

We have received reports that Vichnayan military assets are mobilising. Naturally, the Federal Republic is well within its rights to do with its forces what it wishes; however, given the ongoing hostilities in Magica, you can surely understand our excess of caution. We cordially ask for some assurance that Vichnaya is not planning to enter the current war on Lower Magica's side, although we are confident that such an upstanding member of the international community would never join this disreputable cause.

Yours in goodwill,

Harper Montferrat,
President of the Armed Republic of Alexiandra

[Riomler]

Riomler command:From
all companies:to


"You are to halt operations And wait for forward commands."






Admiral wood

"since their deciding to go chemical,and we have halted our lines,they probaly think theyve won,however,that bombing of their capital was all we needed,Now its time for Operation Liberation..","w-wait that landing?this early?","yes,we cant afford to wait,prepare 500 men to para-drop instead of a beach landing,we already learned our lesson there,there going to capture any remaining Officers and/or leader that is driving these communist to go so far,we then present the Attrocities they have commited to the people,and let it all soak in..."

[Vichnaya]

---

Chapter 07, Act 01 - To See, But Not To See

Hero City Orlova, Vozrozhdeniye Oblast

"..Sister Vena, after much deliberation and careful consideration, slapped him."

---

"Comrade Petrovich, may I come in?"

And another day started. Commissariat Director Rollan 'Moskvin' Petrovich, one of the directors for the All-Vichnyan Commissariat for Political and Social Security, sat at his state-provided desk and wearing his state-mandated uniform. While on other days, he would be wearing his standard olive-green uniform and black coat, this day was particularly special; a meeting in the General Assembly. As such, Rollan was the ceremonial attire for the higher-ups of the PKKV; An ocean-blue dress uniform with a dark-gray greatcoat covering him, finished with blue and gold piping. Covering his face would be a simple, black-tinted, face visor with gold edges running along the sides.

Creepy as this may look, and overly dystopic, it did serve a few purposes, mainly ceremonial and practical. This uniform particular uniform design dated back to the days of the late Ustina-Adaki Empire, one that was used by the ancient Imperial White Guard of old, the organization that would eventually transition to the Adak Internal Guards, which itself would transition into the organization every Vichnayan hated loves today. As for the mask, that was the practical purpose, for it serves to conceal the identity of personnel higher up in not just the PKKV, but the entirety of the government.

And besides, it's not like it's actively inhibiting the user from doing day-to-day tasks, far from it actually.

As typical for Vichnayan items, the visor was crammed with so many electronics that it was quite bulky. The black-tinted visor gave the user a HUD of sorts, essentially serving the purpose of a phone but plastered directly up to your face, with even the great and wonderful chance of giving the user vision problems down the line. It also connected to a person's phone and personal devices, allowing them to access information on the go by simply speaking, and making them look like they're staring off blankly into space.

This, especially to the aging boomer that was Rollan, was essential for the work he's doing nowadays, especially with the giant mess Director Alina had caused in Hero City Novolensk.

After adjusting the red tie and equally gray service cap that rested on his head, Rollan stood up and walked towards the door, snatching a nearby case that rested on one of the many tables that were spread across the room. The briefcase was rather head, but that would be expected since it was armored and expected to survive falling out of an airplane moving at mach speed. Sure it was impractical on paper, but considering how many attempts of espionage, assassination, and/or dumbfuckery a director faces each day, it was actually quite useful.

Rollan would grab the door handle, gracefully slinging it aside before stopping it with his gloved hands, making sure no sound would reverberate loudly. Waiting at his door would be his assistant and annoying idiot, Political Directorate Leader 3rd Class Gregori Makovich. Like him, he wore an ocean-blue dress uniform, dark-gray greatcoat, and black-tinted visor, though with silver linings on his pipings. Under this light, Rollan couldn't see Gregori's face, and presumably, Gregori couldn't see his face as well.

Perfect, being around him would be significantly more tolerable now.

"-Comrade Petrovich!" The ogre snapped into a two-fingered salute, "The GAZ should be here soon enough, Comrade Vista is requesting you leave before the next snowstorm rolls over."

Rollan would sigh, giving him a nod and returned the salute, "Comrade Vista can wait for a tad little before I come over, and besides," He'd adjust his collar before coughing, "I'm sure she likes the cold considering she's from up North."

Gregori paused, "Comrade Petrovich, she's from the southern oblasts."

Rollan turned, shaking his head. "Either way, the girl will learn to love the snow like all good Vichnayans, am I correct?"

"You are, Comrade Petrovich." Gregori shook hastily, fiddling with some documents, clearly struggling as he wasn't used to wearing gloves. "-Oh! And I have a few things to inform you about this meeting-"

"..Comrade Makovich, I've been well-informed considering the endless notifications Comrade Alina has been sending over the Council's group chat."

And because it was in the digital age and the matters of National Security were of the utmost matter, and with time being essential for every significant figurehead in the country, a group chat was deemed mandatory, one that would have all of the members of the General Assembly, mainly important government heads, the actual representatives of the oblasts, and the heads/assigned heads of the houses that presided over the lands. These houses, while they weren't all that important on the global stage, were important at a national/local level, for they had the will, and by association, the love of the crowd.

And even then, only a select amount of houses were invited to this all-important group chat, mainly four houses; House Duzac, House Ravillon, House Okayu, and finally, and being the youngest of the selection, House Gotō. The newest House was a particularly strange one as, unlike the others, this House mainly comprised of people from the far-off oblasts like Sila and Klendova, with the head of this House not being a natural-born citizen, but a foreigner from some distant island archipelago that isn't the one that's currently a thorn in Vichnaya's side.

Anyhow, in the few moments that Vichnaya wasn't bashing herself in the head, the group chat was spamming messages as if they were from the early 2000s and, most horrid of all, spamming cat and 'minion' memes. Make no mistake, Rollan greatly enjoyed the modern internet and the shitposting that came along with it, but there was a very fine line where he would or would not post, especially since they weren't even funny to begin with. Even when the head of the group chat, President Yazov, ordered for this behavior to cease, they still didn't, in fact, they got worse.

Gregori shook his head, "No, It doesn't involve Mistress Alina as we both know she's doing that to annoy the both of us, instead-" He'd shuffle around before slipping out a singular yellow sheet of paper, handing them to Rollan, "It's the head of House Gotō, His Royal Highness is unable to attend and he'll be sending one of his daughters."

"...Assuming he's following Royal Ustinian etiquette-" Stepping into the doorframe, Rollan would briefly turn to side-eye him, "-I'm going to guess it'll be the White-haired one."

"Дa," Gregori soon followed in after him, "Good chance that Lady Shiro will be attending this meeting."

He'd shake his head, sighing. "..The damn girl is going to be a risk to future operations."

"Comrade, If I may," The idiot peered up, "She isn't that bad at keeping secrets, hell-"

"Comrade Makovich, might I have to remind you who helped leaked the incident in Novolensk?"

There was a blink, "Comrade Petrovich, that was the work of local media outlets, and even then we couldn't do much about them."

"No," Rollan turned as he stepped into the hallway, "I meant who specifically helped leaked the information into the wider media, the one who actually gave the media the sweet-sweet information they wanted."

"..Ah, well it would've been inevitable, wouldn't it?"

"You would be correct, Comrade Makovich, but it was premature and, as I'm sure you know, not the way we wanted it to go, you know that considering you're the one who was on the ground that day."

Rollan halted mid-way in the hallway, side-eyeing Gregori. "At the end of the day, Comrade Makovich, the fact she was the first to speak up and leak all of this pins her as the prime threat to all of our operations. The fact she's been allowed to run along, throwing obstacles in our damn path, makes her an absolute pain in the ass for all of us. Again, you should damn well know that, Comrade Makovich."

His assistant shook his head, sighing. "..I know, Comrade. But either way, President Yazov is demanding you show respect to her considering she is technically Ustinian Royalty, even if she is a bastard child."

The two continued chatting throughout the pristine white marble hallways, filled with hundreds of antique objects spanning generations. The current building Rollan's office and residence were housed in, Hall №44, was the former residence of the ancient House Eagle from days past, a giant structure of stone, iron, and gold that spanned nearly 3-4 blocks. Its walls were a bright marble white and, much like the Golden Palace, its spires stood high over Orlova, though it was shorter than the President's Palace a few miles away. Overall, it shares the same High Ustinian architecture that Vichnaya was typically portrayed in Western shows or cartoons, even if they were very stereotypical.

Rollan and Gregori, while they certainly did bash each other and act like overall enemies, were friends to an extent. After all, antagonizing your colleague only asks for an assassination to happen. While they weren't exactly the closest, they were still tolerant of each other to occasionally joke and relax after work and, with Rollan's position as one of the three Directors of the Commissariat, had near-free access to a stream of vodka, something that Gregori did not hesitate to indulge himself in.

Now, as he is the director of intelligence gathering, Rollan's offices were uniquely suited for the task. Filled with hundreds of supercomputers, decryption machines, and as typical for shady intelligence services, torture rooms. Following the days since the bombing of the Golden Palace, the Commissariat and its sister branch, the Ministry of The Public, had been hard at work identifying, detaining, and torturing suspected subjects involved with 'terrorist' groups. For now, much of these targets consisted of ex-Military personnel who have voiced their dissatisfaction, though another good chunk would be foreigners, mainly, Magicans.

Finally winding down the endless hallways, exiting the main lobby, and out into the open air, the two men were presented with ancient Orlova. Orlova, much like how it was hundreds of years ago, was lined with the finest specimens of marble, granite, gold, and stones, its Naryshkin Baroque/Neoclassical-Styled houses and government halls shining under the winter-filled sky. But unlike the clean streets filled with hundreds of civilians from days past, it was instead silent, filled with men and machines hailing from the Ground Forces.

And in the days passing the bombing of the Golden Palace, the city was placed under martial law, the streets only accessible during the daytime that, especially in the winter months of Vichnaya, was incredibly short at just over 5-6 hours. The wind kicked through the streets, howling into the air that seemed unholy at best, the clouds of dust and snow blanketing the streets in white and gray.

And before he and Gregori was a woman, one donning a uniform. Wearing the standard dark olive-green uniform and black greatcoat, her rank was clearly donated by the red lining and silver piping on her cuff and collars, donating that she was one of the Department Lieutenants. To be more specific, she was one of the Lieutenants assigned for the protection and transportation of state officials, and in this case, higher-ups of the Commissariat.

Her hair blanketed by the fine white/bluish snow that fell from the skies of Vichnaya, one would struggle to make out her hazel-brown hair. Her blue eyes, a semi-normal eye color found in Vichnaya, were highly noticeable as they pierced into the souls of the two men. Rather understandably, she was quite unhappy about waiting 10+ minutes for these two dipshits to arrive.

Vista sighed.

"Took you two long enough," She'd flick her cigarette aside, "Busy bashing another child's head in again?"

"No, that would be uncalled for and far too gruesome." Rollan was the first to speak, lighting up his own cigar.

The 27-Year old Assistant opened the two passenger doors, chuckling, "So what's your guess then?"

"Guessing how screwed in the brains you two are?" Vista stepped forward, "I'm going to assume you just shot the kid."

"Good guess, but you know we wouldn't extract anything of use from them either, would we?" Rollan, being the oldest of the three here, sat down as he felt his knees buckling under the overwhelming presence known as existence.

Rollan would turn back to the other two now, "We can talk about this later, how about we head over to the Palace before the storm rolls in?"

Gregori and Vista glanced at each other before nodding, "Very well, Comrade Petrovich."

. . .

Shiro Kujō of the Gotō Clan, known simply as Lady Shiro, was not having a particularly pleasant time.

How could she? Dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, stuffed into some stuffy white/pinkish dress straight from the Victorian era, and then spent the morning attended by what seemed to be a literal army of maids, wardrobe stylists, and make-up artists weren't exactly something a functional and normal human being would like, much less her who spent the near entirety of the day in Political-Sciences and Law classes, which didn't even include the extra hours she spent studying for the damn things. Oh, and just to hammer in how absolutely tiring it was, the lesson she took was some old document from the 19th Century, which forced her to translate quite a lot of Ustinian-Adaki paragraphs.

So being sleep-deprived, mentally and physically exhausted, and freezing equivalent of an average college student, with more make-up than the typical Vichnayan social media star, one can understand why she isn't all the enthusiastic about attending a meeting filled with more old men and women than a geriatric ward. And that's not even beginning to mention the literal book of documents in her hands, which were annoyingly in the worst shade of yellow or green in existence. Again, just to fuck with her, those documents required her to wear gloves so they don't crumple up and fade away from reality.

Yellow? Green? She couldn't tell at this point, not with her straining eyes.

For Star's sake, she's colorblind.

Adjusting the fur collar of her dress, Shiro was in a marble room with around 18-23 others, though most she didn't exactly all that well. Sure, she recognized the heads of the two other houses that were invited, but everyone she didn't recognize. At the very least, they had armbands that signaled their position and the department they were in, so it was easy to differentiate them from the other lesser civil servants in this palace. With her was her friend and personal maid, Helena, a person who looked straight out of an anime with unnaturally lit brown hair.

The room was divided between three tables (excluding the ones at the front of the room, reserved for the President and Vice-President) with the main governing body, the military, and finally the houses being seated within these tables. The table reserved for the military consisted of the Minister of Defense, her Chief of Staff, and a few others that were responsible for reporting the issues faced by enlisted personnel, with the table reserved for the main governing body filled with the geriatric ward, and the final table, her table, consisting of more elderly patients with her cousins sat waaaaaaay back.

Her cousins, the children of the elderly patients in the room, were destined to be heads of their houses, and thus attended this just to get a feel for what they would be expected to do, whilst she, being labeled the bastard child, was not, instead she was sent here just because father had actual confidence she would do better than her sister, of whom was an anxiety-ridden mess of a Vichnayan.

"Comrades!" One of the butlers yelled out, garnering the attention of everyone. "The meeting will be starting within five minutes, refreshments will be given out starting now and will be regularly refilled at the moment of that red button on your seat's right side!"

Next to him, a maid followed suit, pointing to two doors at the back of the room, "If you require anything else, then please ask one of your most humble servants or the gentlemen and women standing guard outside."

He'd nod, "As always, we thank you for attending this meeting organized by the President and his most holy Excellency. Glory to the Scared Stars!"

After the usual 'Glory to the Sacred Stars!' rang out across the room in response, the crowd was seated and then attended to by a swarm of maids and servants. Fortunately for Shiro, Helena had already come prepared with refreshments, mainly black tea packets, and was already in the process of pouring one out for her when she heard footsteps to her left. It was light but sharp, something like high heels, so it was possibly one of her cousins approaching her since only the houses had a dress code that specified female attendants were such torturous devices.

And when she did turn, she wasn't met by a literal 16-year old, instead, she was presented by a tall woman in her mid-30s. With scarred but pale skin, blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes, she was already intimidating, but the ocean-blue dress uniform and white greatcoat had sent a few servants packing. She was infamous within Vichnaya for her efficient but brutal methods of dispersing protests and gatherings, a woman whom many feared because of that.

Helena swiveled on her heel, bowing her head. "Greetings and salutations, Madame."

Shiro stood up to do the same, removing one of her gloves and speaking in a soft and gentle manner, "Greetings, Mistress-"

The woman in question walked up to her and...poked her in the stomach. She'd remove the cigar from her mouth briefly, "Auntie, just auntie. Didn't we agree on that?"

"Yes...Auntie Alina." There were a few chuckles nearby as Shiro sighed.

"Good!' After a short nod from Helena, Alina took a nearby seat and sat next to her, "Feeling excited kid? Well- I guess not considering how beat up you look but hey, at least you'll get a taste of good ol' fashion Vichnayan bureaucracy and politics, eh?"

With bags under her eyes, Shiro shook her head, "Not in the slightest, barely slept and dragged over for a 4-hour long meeting isn't exactly my cup of tea."

"You'll get used to it," Alina rubbed her shoulder, "Believe me, I was practically in the same state as you when I was running an office job for the Commissariat in my youth."

Shiro, resting her head on her arms, was half-asleep when she felt a sharp and painful nudge on her torso that, while wasn't all that pleasant to feel, did send enough adrenaline shooting through her veins to make her temporarily awake. When she looked back up, Alina, the literal mass murderer of the Federal Republic, smiled down as a mother does to their child.

Make no mistake, while it was comforting having a friend like her so high up in the Vichnayan social ladder, it was a tad creepy, even if she was her aunt.

She'd sigh, "Auntie, can I ask a question?"

There was a blink before Alina nodded, "Shoot."

"Is it really necessary for the houses to be here?" Shiro motioned to her right, "I understand we're necessary for preserving a semblance of order, but couldn't we be informed in the morning? For star's sake, everyone here is sleep deprived as well, including you."

There was another pat on the shoulder, Alina, while having bags herself, seemed rather ecstatic. "Rest assured, the President and the Commissariat didn't drag you from your two hours of sleep just for a meeting with Vichnaya's highest geriatric ward, in fact, you're going to be very important in the meeting."

She'd look up, blinking. "Let me guess, it's the anime hair."

"Considering you're the only one with the literal anime hair?" Alina pointed to the sea of black, brown, and hazel hair, "I'd feel pretty safe to say yes to that, dear."

"Look, the point is that I'm aware that-"

"Comrades, the meeting will be beginning shortly under an emergency notice!" The voice of one of the servants boomed over the mic, "Please be at your designated seats but please do not sit down until further notice!"

Alina shot her hands to Shiro's, placing them into her own, "Shiro, I can assure you that you will be highly important in the coming days, though I do suggest not bringing up the incidents in Novolensk again, especially since I am here, understood?"

Shiro nodded hastily, slowly dragged over by Helena to her own seat, "Mhm, sure will Auntie."

After a few more minutes of standing by the stretch of table, waiting for the three most important figures in the entirety of Vichnaya, and constantly being pestered by the maids and servants in this room, Shiro was starting to feel the very unfortunate and unfunny thing called 'passing the fuck out.' Now fortunately for her, the countless days of going without sleep for the sake of studying, training, and traveling had made her semi-immune to such privations, though like all human beings, it wouldn't be all that comfortable being stuck in a flesh prison with the sliver of energy she had left.

But eventually, the Head of The All-Vichnayan Social Democratic Party, Vice-President, and finally the President himself entered the room and sat down behind an armored screen. They didn't look all that different from the typical Vichnayans with exception of the AVSDP Leader who, like her, was a foreigner from some distant country, with rumors stating possible connections to the Federation of Ayshire.

Shiro sighed, this was going to be a long, long day.

---

---

Chapter 07, Act 02 - Below Low Tide

Highway 905, Klendova Oblast

---

The largest highway in the entirety of the Federal Republic of Vichnaya, Highway 905 stretched from sea to sea, with thousands of steel, concrete, and asphalt dedicated to its construction, extensions, upgrades, and maintenance throughout the decades it has served the public. From side to side, the highway was surrounded by high steel-reinforced concrete walls, averaging 10-inches thick, intended to shield drivers from nearby explosions from low-yield tactical nukes that were common in the years when Vichnaya wasn't a single, unified state. And because it was meant to shield drivers from nearby nukes, the highway was not above ground, but around 5-7 meters below, though the sky was visible as it wasn't totally shielded.

And because it was heavily protected and provided limited cover in the few areas that had roads crossing over it, it was no wonder that military units would take the liberty of establishing them as a base of operations for the days to come. In other areas of the highway, mainly 905-I, a few helicopters were able to be stored underneath the bridges, such was the case with the 33rd White Guards Mountain Air Assault Brigade with the dozens of helicopters, APCs, IFVs and other equipment hidden underneath the stone and concrete of Vichnaya's longest highway. These units, as stated in their title, were the elites of the Vichnayan Armed Forces, tasked to deal with and operate in hazardous foreign conditions, and thus, they were well-equipped, well-trained, and well-motivated, within their ranks veterans from the foreign interventions Vichnaya has partaken in throughout the years.

The 33rd White guards, along with their cousins in the 34th White Guards Mountain Air Assualt Brigade, were fully equipped with the latest Vichnayan vehicles and equipment, though a good chunk of their helicopters still consisted of the old but still modern Mi-8MTV-5s and Mil Mi-26T2Vs. They were gigantic helicopters, large enough to transport the 33rd's massive motorized and mechanized complement whilst remaining fast and agile enough to reach their objectives in good time. The infantry in this brigade, as stated earlier was well equipped, with a new series of still-experimental powered exoskeletons, designed to be far cheaper than the current OhNik-3s but still offer the same capabilities at the cost of protection.

And because of the enormous size of the highway, even more, units mobilized under the guise of a 'Training exercise' were hidden, whether by taking shelter directly underneath the massive archways and bridges or by covering themselves in IR/Camo nets, painted dark gray as to look similar to any old stretch of road. That was how the 33rd's Mechanized Regiment and Armor Company, consisting of up-armored BMD-4 and 2S25M Sprut SDs, were hidden, though a few units from said formations were forced to hide in nearby towns or forests to avoid detection from satellites.

And for the 172nd White Guards, 7th White Guards, and 3rd White Guards Tanks, were either doing the same thing or massing up in the cities closest to Khadel Naval Yard, currently, the largest port available that can house two fleets for the upcoming 'exercise' in a foreign country. Many of these units were using the downtime to conduct minor exercises of their own, with even the 172nd White Guards MRD replacing some of their Aramata's with a tank still classified to the world, with every model sent to the 172nd hidden under heavy IR and Camo nets.

It was enormous at over 4.1 meters tall and 4.4 meters wide, armed with a cannon far deadlier than even the 152mm Smoothbore Gun found on modern Vichnayan tanks. It was heavily armored and capable of keeping up with mobile forces in the field and, with its ECM and APS systems, made it nearly invulnerable to Anti-Tank systems it would face on the field, with the underbelly of these beasts fitted with a double V-hull to lessen the effects of mines and IEDs. From the skies, it was also still a formidable threat, with the 30mm cannon mounted on the roof capable of engaging infantry, light armor, drones, and even low-flying helicopters.

It wasn't like the other forces were left in the dustbin, far from it. All units that had the older BTR-82s in their motor pool were soon replaced with new and modern BTR-82Us, an upgrade and modernization package that greatly increased the combat capability, protection, and crew survivability of each vehicle, and these new BTRs were being pumped out in the hundreds each day, and because many of the technologies featured were off the shelf and inspired by the failed BTR-130 project, they were incredibly cheap.

And because of recent changes, hundreds of trains were constantly on the roll in Vichnaya, with even a few civilian trains requisitioned to ferry men and material to staging grounds in the Southern oblasts, all civilian internet signals jammed under heavy Electronic Warfare vehicles that were stationed nearby, with even a few Commissariat patrols going through each of the local settlements to gently remind the populace to shut the fuck up.

A few units, mainly the recently reactivated 4th White Guards Special Operations Regiment 'Yabloko,' were already preparing to board their transports. These transports weren't the standard Cargo/Freighter ships that the rest of the Ground Forces would take, but instead, the few submarines that were still in their concrete holding pens. With the modernization act back in the early 2000s, a majority of the submarines in the Maritime Forces were outfitted with the ability to temporarily carry small and stealthy submersibles, designed specifically to the need of the Maritime Forces Directorate for Special Military Operations.

For the Aerospace Forces, they were also quite busy with the upcoming exercises, with many of their aircraft massed in the southern oblasts, protected under hardened bunkers or hidden underneath camo nets, with the entirety of the southern coastline brimming with Anti-Air units, just waiting for some unfortunate soul to fly into the net of dozens of anti-air batteries, their crews already scanning the skies with the massive radars that dot the Vichnayan coasts.

But a few of these aircraft weren't able to be hidden that well.

A group of 10 aircraft sat on a runway just by the coastline, their hulls painted with the standard green, brown, and tan splinter camouflage found on other aircraft. While these were undoubtedly bombers, they were far different than the usual ones found in the Vichnayan Aerospace Forces. Shaped similarly to the B-2 Spirit, they were equally as massive, if not more.

And if looked into them, then they would find nothing. They weren't even officially listed in the Aerospace Forces' stockpile.

Next to these 10 experimental aircraft would be rows upon rows of Sukhoi S-70s, a stealthy UCAV that was first used in the Vichnayan Intervention in the Second Russo-Georigian War, and has found success in others as well. Making up a good part of Vichnaya's stealth bomber fleet, these UCAVs, fitted with the Mara Series of AI Guidance systems, would be expected to be the first in any deployment.

In this upcoming deployment, several dozen aircraft were dispatched to provide reconnaissance. Consisting of 5 MiG-41RBs, 5 MiG-41s, and 12 Su-57SMs, they weren't fitted for stealthy operations, with the escorting fighters carrying drop tanks and additional BVRAAMs such as the K-77M, with the reconnaissance aircraft carrying short-ranged missiles for personal defense. This group was trailed not by AWACs from the Aerospace or Naval Forces, but by a pair of Vichnaya's most advanced fighter designs up to this date, the Sukhoi Su-60A 'Vulture.'

And for the Maritime Forces, while they were busy sailing ships to staging areas and preparing Ground Forces for sailing, they were also quite busy for other purposes that didn't directly correlate to war, instead, it was a celebration and a rather large one at that.

The majority of Vichnayan media were drawn to the commissioning of four of the newest ships of the Vichnayan Navy; the Battlecruiser Admiral Kulchitsky and the three RO/RO Cargo Vessels, the VSS Yekaterina, VSS Anastasia, and the VSS Inessa. The was battlecruiser named after this particular admiral for his heroism during the years of the UStina-Adaki Empire, with the three cargo vessels named after three sisters who gave their lives protecting patients during the Klendovan-Vichnayan War, with all three posthumously given the Star of Ustina, Vichnaya's highest military award.

And because the media was drawn to the commissioning, the 4th, 7th, and 9th Fleets were able to slip out and towards Southern Naval Bases, bringing along all of the ships required to maintain such a large operation. Over 25 Auxiliary ships, not including the 12 civilian ships requisitioned for official use by the Maritime Forces, sailed long and hard to avoid the detection of Vichnayan Media, their helicopter decks sprawling with Anti-Aircraft systems such as the navalised TOR and Pantsir missile systems that could swat nearly anything from the sky.

Escorted by several destroyers, frigates, and corvettes, these ships were well-protected and concealed, with the Naval Air Service conducting flyovers during the commissioning, further distracting the army of media and news crews that flocked to any sign of the rumored intervention. As usual for Vichnaya, these aircraft were painted brightly, as if the grand event wasn't enough to appeal to the hundreds of grown toddlers attending this event.

The destroyers in these fleets were the modern and formidable Lider-Class, fitted with advanced electronics, damage-control systems, and weaponry. Carrying hypersonic missiles, they were capable of swatting any petulant ships or ground targets detected on their radar screens, with aerial targets to find their wrath in the form of barrages from the S-500, S-350, and Pantsir SAMs systems installed on each and every ship of this class. Operating in four or more, they were a formidable threat to any navy, much less one that still operated ships from the 1980s.

And in one of these groups was a rather large ship, the Admiral Gorov. A Kirov-Class Battlecruiser, the Admiral Gorov was upgraded keel-up with modern electronics, including tearing out and replacing every single radar and sensor array with equipment produced exclusively from 2018, lending her a radar range of over 150 miles. With a powerful radar comes the need for powerful equipment, something she does not lack, for the Admiral Gorov is armed with a multitude of missiles, rockets, and a large complement of Kashtan-M CIWS systems.

Other groups weren't lacking either, with the Slava-Class Cruisers serving as leaders for the destroyers. Such was the Slava-Class Cruiser Despair coming equipped with the latest anti-surface and anti-air systems, including 12 of the P-1000 Vulkan anti-ship cruise missiles. 10 of these missiles come equipped with a 1000kg HE Armor-Piercing Warhead and, with 2 missiles in particular, a 350kT Nuclear Warhead. With a range of 600 kilometers, these deadly missiles fly 10-40 meters above sea level to avoid radar detection, using inertial guidance and active homing radars to find their targets. They weren't slow either, as each missile travels at Mach 2 with the assistance of a solid-fuel rocket booster and its own liquid-fuel motor.

But one can have all the best systems and weapons in the entirety of the world, but if one doesn't have the parts to maintain them, then it'll be useless.

Taking parts from Alexandrian rules of war, Vichnaya would be drawing up a considerable fleet of transports to not only carry their troops and equipment but to carry additional parts, supplies, and munitions should the upcoming 'exercise' takes longer than expected, which planners expect it to be finished in around 2-3 weeks. Once they landed and secured a beachhead, they wouldn't immediately conduct a lightning advance, but do it slowly and deliberately, setting up checkpoints, fuel dumps, ammo stores, maintenance and repair shops, vehicle bays, temporary harbors, and many, many more to ensure a constant flow of men and material from logistical sites to the frontline troops, so the constant flow of combat operations wouldn't be disrupted by a problem so minor as forgetting to bring extra fuel or not having enough ammunition.

Hell, that's why there were so many transports in the first place. From 152mm Main Gun Rounds all the way to 5.56x45mm Green tip, the Vichnayan transports carried all, with even a few hundred rounds of 125mm Rounds carried for the few tanks that do use them. Fuel was also a concern, with diesel, gas, and a few others brought along, carried in thousands of jerry cans and self-sealing fuel tanks.

Food also was necessary, as a soldier couldn't fight on an empty stomach. Multiple transport vessels were filled to the brim with canned and fresh provisions, water and drinks, and comforts such as desserts and junk food, with an onboard battalion-sized mess team able to pump out thousands of hot meals per day for the boys on the front. If serving a hot meal straight from the kitchen wasn't available, then the transports also carried more than the required amount of MRE Packets, with most consisting of beef-flavored meals.

And while one may have all the food and comfort items for living, you couldn't live happily if one was bored and miserable all the team.

As such, mobile theater stations and games were brought along to maintain the morale of soldiers. Many of the movies for these theater stations were comedic, with a few romcoms and hit classics from decades past, and a few Vichnayan propaganda movies sprinkled in here and there. With the rise of anime, the Ministry of Defense also brought along DVDs and computers with an already paid subscription to dozens of sites, with premium membership for some. Spread along were hundreds of tons of comfort items such as purchasable pillows, blankets, and...cuddly toys?

Dogs, both for military and non-military purposes, were brought along. Most of these mutts consisted of the Vichnayan Bloodhound, a large and imposing dog standing at 3.2 feet with very long legs and equally-sized neck, they were cuddly on account of their very thick but soft fur, making them look like a giant ball of fluff, more so with their giant doe eyes. The second most common type would be the Adaki Wolf Shepard, similar in height, build, and capabilities to a German Shepard, but with a white and black coating rather than the German Shepard brown and black. In the field, they would be expected to root out insurgents or provide military personnel with comfort, seeing as both were regularly used as emotional support and service animals.

And as the day ended for the largest armada ever assembled by the modern Vichnayan state, ships from across the nation started hoisting a flag that typically signaled one event, an event that Vichnaya wasn't alien to. For centuries, this flag has been revered and feared throughout the world, signaling no quarter would be given, and no mercy would be shown. Controversial amongst allies, the Vichnayan Navy has continued to fly this flag for the decades it has existed, a tradition started when the first Vichnayans took to the seas for blood and galore.

A Blood-Red Flag.

. . .

The attacks continued.

For day and night, Vichnayan Intelligence and Cyber-Warfare Groups continued ramping u- their incursions into the servers of both nations, regardless of the resistance put up by either. Their tactics continued to change and adapt the more, especially in Upper Magica's case, resistance was put up and the older AIs in Vichnaya's service were lost. Sure, the AIs deployed in the initial wave were old crappy ones barely up to date to Vichnayna standards, but they were still valuable for they had served in quite a many operations across the globe.

But eventually, and with the assistance from other departments that also had dedicated hacking AI programs, the operators and the AI themselves were eventually able to brute force their way past the outer wall. From there, the AIs would start operating in packs of 3 or more, using their combined power to identify, neutralize, and copy, before eventually deleting their target pack, with the operators using to deseminate and selectively choose whatever pieces of information they determined to be worthy or untrustworthy. Now, a few systems were screwed as they were flooded with so much garbage that multiple hard drives just straight up failed or malfunctioned beyond use, but for everyone lost, the AIs would triple their attacks.

And it was then the Federal Security Service of the Federal Republic (FSB-FR), the main intelligence agency of Vichnaya, had a new plan dawned on them. While it would target military and government servers, ones dedicated to civilian servers wouldn't be ignored either.

So the operators and their AI bloodhounds got to work, distributing millions of packets filled with junk or spam bombing them, themselves filled with malware that essentially makes compromised systems issue commands to the zombie agents, which in turn facilitate the DDoS attack, all of which are heavily coordinated on by either the operator or more typically, an AI program. These zombie agents are compromised via the handlers by the attacker using automated routines to exploit vulnerabilities in programs that accept remote connections running on the targeted remote hosts. Each handler can control up to a million agents

A second favorite method used time and again by the FSB-FR would be what they called a 'Blackhole Surge,' essentially filling all of the disk space and consuming all available memory and CPU time before, as expected, dishing out malware to spread further chaos in an already chaotic situation. And, because the FSB-FR had noticed a spike of resistance, identified known higher-ups of the Upper Magican government and fork bombing them once the hacking AIs were able to gain shell-level access to their personal devices, slowing down functions significantly or straight up making them unusable.

A subtype of the 'Blackhole Surge' would be the creatively named 'Whitehole Surge' which just involved flooding the emails of victims and, once it gained access to their IP Address, spamming them exploitive packets that will either cause their device to lock up or be rendered inoperable. This particular one would be used on government employees, though at an extremely minuscule scale compared to the other two.

Now, the government of Upper Magica wasn't let go, far from it. They were the center of the attacks for all of this as, with the same tactic of exploitation and brute forcing their way into servers, another nasty method would be used for those who Vichnaya determined to be the source of this resistance. This tactic was the reason why Klendova in the Klendoavn-Vichnayan war was unable to respond all that effectively.

As typical in tactic, a pair of hacking AIs would identify patterns, degrade firewalls, and then mark them for human operators to brute force and eat away at all available information and data, though the change would be the introduction of self-replicating viruses, worms, trojan horse programs, and semantic attacks to absolutely degrade, disrupt, or destroy any available means to respond or counteract these attacks, with a few programs centered on military internets, intranets, and other means of communication available on anything bigger than a simple hand-held device like a phone.

With a few hacking AIs and human operators specifically targeting military communication systems, their objective was clear, to disrupt and delay the transfer processes of information in the hopes of inhibiting or even destroying information platforms and facilities, mainly through the use of viruses that would embed themselves into said platforms and tear their way out, piece by piece, until all useful information were transferred to other clients or just destroyed.

In these attacks, the Federal Republic would get a hold of something far better than what they hoped. The AI Assistant apparently known as 'Aya' though would be designated as 'Ая' to Vichnayan systems, was compromised to an extent, with a few handlers able to get a semi-complete technical readout of AIA 7.0, this would be immediately torn piece by piece and studied by Vichnayan Intelligence Services.

That said, the main goal of the attacks was to gather all key and necessary information, and thus a select few servers were targeted to comply with the FSB's goals. Agents would actively search for the locations, information, technical specifications, and other key pieces of data of all Magican vehicles, units, formations, and/or addresses of equipment or personnel so war planners could piece together which specific units would be most combat capable.

Special attention was given to Magican Air Force servers and most importantly for these attacks, the aircraft combat data and simulations. Not only would it allow Vichnayan aircrews and anti-aircraft personnel how to effectively coordinate against and then properly deal with Magican and/or coalition aircraft and tactics, but it would also feed information towards a particular project.

The project, known only as Project Tuz, was watching this all unfold.

She was watching this unfold.

From the cyberattacks on civilian networks, all the way to the spamming of malware on Magican servers, she had seen them all. In some cases she helped them, giving the hacking AIs a gentle push to breach past the firewalls, in other times, she'd sometimes even stop or even assist the local programs in tracing back signals. Granted, it wasn't all that much and they still had to do their homework where they came from, but for the most part, she was a chaotic neutral force, both helping and disrupting both sides in their small but pointless fight.

But then there was this particular system, an anomaly she determined. It was complex, though it was undoubtedly inferior to her own program, serving what she could only describe being a desk or office job, or more specifically, one of that of an assistant. AIA it was called, was a particularly interesting but rather useless program, though it could be studied for her own improvement. She, like her creator, would not deny any method she could use for further improvements on her own program, to at least understand what others can do.

But because it would be disrespectful for her not to present a gift in return for Aya's own delightful gift, she would reward them with a simple song, one that was famous in Vichnayan opera houses for its eloquent but simple nature.

' '. . .L̸̖̦̓̀a̵̞̿̅ͅ ̵̢̠͂ḻ̸̇̀a̴̯̓ ̷̳͋l̶̜̙͗̔ä̸́͜͜ ̸̦́l̴͉͖̋ä̵̦͕́̍a̴͖̒ạ̸̐a̸̗̟͐ ̸͎̳͂l̷̺̪͐a̸̹̽͗a̷͍͘ͅ ̴̜̀ḽ̸͕̅a̸͇̬͝. . .' '

---

---

Chapter 07, Act 03 - Bingo

Above the Inner Maritime Border, Magican Archipeligo

---

As the F-4 inched ever closer to the erratically flying stealth aircraft, one could notice something peculiar.

First off was its size. Compared to the Type 20s that were squaring off with a horde of 4th-Gen fighters, this beast was massive, with two engines, wide wings and fuselage, and a general structure similar to that of the F-15s up high, so it was probably not even Magican or coalition in origin, really, it looked semi-similar to other foreign designs. Reinforcing this (probable) assumption was the eight-pointed white star on each of the wings, glinting under the Magican sun and the literal horde of flares it was deployed in response to this F-4 getting closer.

But there was no gunfire or missiles heading towards their way, hell, not even a radar lock. Instead, the aircraft would rock its wingtips, trying to acknowledge it was being intercepted and most definitely did not want to be shot down. Further still, the aircraft was actively decreasing in speed, the two giant airbrakes deploying from either side of the wing as it maintained a straight course toward Magica.\

And cracking in open radio would be the voice of a woman, not speaking in Magican, but something...foreign. She sounded strained, exhausted, and on the verge of passing the hell out.

UNKNOWN CONTACT
< < Не стреляйте, я не враг. Не стреляйте, я Вичнаян! > >

---

---

Chapter 07, Act 4 - You Got Mail!

The Federal Republic of Vichnaya

---

Federal Republic of Vichnaya
Ministry of Foreign Affairs | Ministry of State Security
«Под небесным звездным светом мы видим все!»


OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUÉ FROM THE MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS

This document is strictly to be read only by [The Republic of Alexiandra, The Empire of Magica, The Kingdom of Harrisopia], unauthorized use of this document will result in a 130,000 Aurum Fine and repeated offenses will result in sentencing in accordance to an individual's oblasts laws and regulations.


To the great and upstanding nations involved with this message, the Federal Republic of Vichnaya can wholeheartedly assure that no forces of the Federal Armed Forces or its paramilitary arms will be involved with the current conflict of Magica. The Ministry of Defense has stated quite repeatedly that the current movement of our nation's armed forces is merely for military exercises at home, or in coordination with friendly nations such as the Federation of Ayshire. If it means alleviating fears of any potential conflict that Vichnaya will dare herself to enter in, the only forces involved are two brigades hailing from the 55th Motor Rifle Division, a conscript formation Vichnaya legally does not have the legal right to deploy abroad for offensive military conflicts.

As stated in Federal Defense Law No.447, "all citizens between the ages of 17 and 18, regardless of gender or religion, are conscripted into the armed forces for three years and are assigned to any branch and service based on the requirements and needs of that fiscal year, though conscripts who are in the Army or Naval Infantry are generally prohibited from being deployed abroad." As such, the fears of any involvement should be cleared as, stated before, Vichnaya does not have the legal capability of foreign deployments.

However, Vichnaya will not be deterred if an intervention is required abroad, especially should an attack occur against her citizenry, which would require full and legal actions by the Federal Armed Forces. If such an intervention is required in the Magican Archipeligo, then the Federal Republic of Vichnaya will do so to its greatest extent based on the circumstances.

Though rest assured, the Federal Republic of Vichnaya will not be siding with the Peoples Government of Lower Magica. If any other questions are to be asked, then simply send a telegram to either the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or the Ministry of State Security.

Mariah Mori
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Head of the Vichnayan Diplomatic Corps

---

[Harrisopia]

Western Blockade Line
Magican EEZ

The deafening screech of missiles could be heard as the Sixth Fleet launched a barrage at their enemies.

The Alexiandrans had taken charge during this naval skirmish with the Magicans vast fleet not far behind.

The Harrisopian Sixth Fleet was there in a supporting role, tasked with pressuring enemy ships from afar, using ballistic missiles to cut off the enemy fleet.

Their long range approach had kept them mostly unscathed, with only a single frigate taking moderate damage. Wisps of smoke could still be seen, leaking from the ship.

Another wave of explosions came after more attacks from the fleet. Cheers broke out from the crew mates across the ships at the sight of an enemy cruiser collapsing, consumed by flames.

Victory was inevitable in this conflict yet the war itself felt far from over.

Southern Magica
Harrisopian Special Forces
HSS

A storm was festering in the gloomy sky across Magica, reflective of the current mood across the nation.

News of the chemical attack had spread like wildfire.
Any association with weapons of these kind caused the feelings of fear and disgust to become as common as getting up and sitting down.

As soon as word reached allied forces, General Davenport had given the order.
Sabotaging construction of chemical weapons would be considered a priority.

Reconnaissance from Magican intelligence suggested 4 sites where the chemical weapons manufacturers could possibly be.

"According to the big brain we should be 2 miles off our target. Keep yourselves live gentlemen." Growled Sergeant Barkley

The squad trudged silently across the rocky terrain, no words of complaint from any of the soldiers.

After another half an hour of marching the sight of a broad, daunting facility came into view.
Without a word the troops stopped, Sergeant Barkley stepping forward.

"You know why we're here. We do what we do best. Douse the fire."
Turning back to his squad Barkley continued
"We can't let the hostiles keep using these weapons. If they think they can get nasty then we have to hit them where it hurts."

A sense of anxiety swept through the troops.
They had all been through the most extreme missions, they wouldn't have qualified for special forces if they hadn't, but this felt like something bigger than anything they had done before.

Gripping their weapons with a newfound determination the soldiers all started to move.
If bravery didn't push you over the finish line then fear certainly would.

[Upper Magica]

St. Augustine Metropolitan Medical Center, Aquis, Empire of Magica

The Crown Prince and his entourage of bodyguards and staffers walked through the hallways of this oncology ward turned MCI/trauma ward now utilized by the Imperial Army Medical Corps; its former patients had been shipped off by Harrisopian humanitarian agencies to various hospitals in their country. Indeed, a great deal of hospital space had been freed throughout the country, as long-term residents stable enough for transport overseas were sent to make the trip.

He shook the hands - or hand, singular - of wounded Allied, Territorial Army and Imperial Army soldiers in the ward, handing out medals for valor and bravery and such personally - even a few knighthoods, while cameras flashed and video crews recorded him. It would make great PR, so said his staffers.

But ever since the word had gotten in of terrible attacks on the military as of late, a morbid curiosity had set in that would not simply go away. He had to see with his own eyes. He leaned in to the touring doctors.

"I'll visit the isolation wards now, thank you." The doctors paled. "Your Highness, you.. really don't want to go back there."

"It is my command. Lead me there, please."

The Chief of Medicine nodded. "Yes, your Grace, but please consider that... Sir, we've had to put several nurses, doctors, and other staff on mental-health leave of absences; these sights and sounds - the suffering - it is beyond human comprehension."

"I understand, sir, but that is my duty." The group entered a secluded hallway. Before entering the Isolation Ward, it was required everyone put on a protective suit, rubber gloves, mask, and goggles - reminiscent of medical workers during the recent H5N1 pandemic of 2019 and 2020 that had forced the country to roll to a halt in recent times.

When the group entered - it was a nightmare to the eyes. The overfilled Isolation Ward had beds in the hallways while suited up nurses and doctors scrambled every which way. The alarms of medical machinery, hurried pages over the intercom, and the groaning and wails of the wounded filled the ears.

All came from various spots on the front lines, and came from a variety of places. All had one thing in common: they had suffered through chemical attack.

Artur-Morgan felt sick to his stomach. One in particular that had caught his eye - and pity - and provoked a strong feeling of sorrow in the royal. A young boy in Magican splinter camouflage, whose skin was as blue as the moon's reflection on the sea, surrounded by a team of medical professionals working with urgency to save the soldier's life, interrupted only by a flat-line sound blaring from the nearby vital signs monitor.

God help him - he couldn't have been more than nineteen.

The Crown Prince was interrupted in his musing by one of his aides, who had a phone up to his ear.

"Your Highness, you're needed back at Emergency Operations. A situation is unfolding. It's urgent."

---

Network Operations Center - Section 10(Digital Operations), Imperial Security Bureau
Isla de Esmeralda - Empire of Magica

"Fuck!"

Director Gonzalez threw a stack of papers off his desk, along with his favorite coffee mug which smashed into pieces against the hard floor; he'd just gotten a rather unfavorable report from AIA. The 'Outer Wall', the first line of defense for the Magican government intranet had officially been spent; now the unknown hackers were snooping around sensitive government servers. He'd been up for nearly a day dealing with this shitshow, and his patience was on thin ice.

Part of him wanted to offline the Internet - it would be the simplest solution, but the shutdown of government networks, even for a few days could and would most likely be crippling in this time of war. The military could do without for a temporary period, but the adjustment to analog systems would bring the Imperial Magican Armed Forces down to C3, at best, capability.

"AIA, call the floor supe and Analytics in here. We need to come up with something."

The electronic voice of AIA sprung to life. "Yes, Director Gonzalez. Dispatching Dr. Franzetti and Dr. Villalobo."

He paced around the room for several minutes before the two, accompanied by Analytics staffers and Section 10 analysts entered the office.

"Director Gonzalez, we've been taking a look at attack patterns - there's no bloody way this is being done by human operators, at least in part. And the resources behind this; it's got to be a state actor." Dr. Franzetti said abruptly, not even a few seconds after he'd entered the room.

"We have evidence to corroborate this, too. Section 10 operators have recovered logic packages consistent with artificial intelligence in their counterattacks against enemy systems. Honestly, we haven't had long to look over them but they're steps ahead. Secondly, we've determined the origin of the attack; the devil's usually in the details, and a majority of enemy platforms are utilizing Adallic[1] encoding as opposed to Latin or Mu script, and our tracer programs are leading back to nodes in the far North. I think you know what we're playing at here." Villalobo added in her own two cents.

"Great, that's great, so you're telling me the Vichnayans, the bloody Vichnayans are up to this," the Director said in a sarcastic and delirious tone. "We're getting our shit pushed in here, folks!" he continued on in an outburst of rage.

"And I want to know - because I've had ministers and heads of shitty departments I haven't even heard of until today up my ass - what the hell are we going to do about it?!"

Dr. Franzetti and Dr. Villalobo looked at each other for a moment.

Villalobo was the first to break the silence. "We could flip the 'great killswitch' for a few days, sir. We could say it's a Lower Magican attack on the undersea cables for PR. Give us - and the IT dregs running the show in the civilian sector - time to breathe, restore systems. And in the meantime, we analyze the enemy's tools, since they're quite a bit more advanced than our own; subvert them for our own use. Then we come back - and hit them with their own medicine."

Franzetti nodded. "The metrics don't lie - we were caught with our pants down, both on the civilian and government fronts. It's even starting to make news. I'm forced to concur with Dr. Villalobo; although this will be crippling in the short term, the long term... fares worse. A whole lot worse."

The Director rubbed his forehead. "No, no, we can still win this thing. We'll do that in the worst case scenario, but we know who they are now, and we have the means of offense. Creativity, folks; you're the best in the business, and there's got to be a better solution than what we're proposing right now. How do we protect our systems to the greatest extent possible?"

The three, plus their staffers, began brainstorming, arguing, and debating.

---

With the 'outer layer' of systems compromised and the 'middle layer' under a tenuous sort of situation, it was no surprise that the Vichnayans would scour a great deal of information - particularly force concentrations, unit identifiers and coordinates and even technical readouts of Imperial equipment, vehicles, and aircraft.

Surprisingly, some of these datasets weren't encrypted, but rather, these morsels of information had been intertwined with polymorphic logic bomb-type worms in the valuable time bought by Section 10 operators. Upon the opening of these datasets, the code hidden within would execute, disguising itself in running processes unbeknownst to their user, subverting administrative access within the system in order to gain control over the system's firmware while also spreading to its network peers - and a few hours later, the first, last, and only noticeable effects would be the drastic alteration of processor clock speeds up to at least one-hundred times their default setting, while the firmware wouldn't recognize - and thereby shut down - in response to any congruent increase in temperature.

Instead of pulling down the entire Internet - a surgical approach was adopted. Wholly compromised systems, both civilian and governmental would be pulled off the network in order to restore proper - and uncompromised - functionality. IXPs and border access points denied Vichnayan traffic outright by way of blocking IP addresses assigned to that country's ISPs, readily available information to the operators of those hubs, forcing the attackers to seek other avenues for their intrusions - if they weren't bouncing through other nodes.

But, at the end of the day, the best defense is a solid offense: upon identifying their attackers as Vichnayan state assets, botnets established during the Empire's cyberattacks on both Riomler and Traldonia - and of course, well maintained in the interwar period - were awoken. Magican 'smart' televisions, refrigerators, washing machines, and the country's many lines of computers and mobile phones exported to foreign nations in bulk were also added to the millions of attack platforms available to Section 10, as many of these products were shipped with backdoor access known only to the Section, enabling their operators to appropriate the devices, as dimunitive as their processing capabilities could be.

Worms, trojan horses, and rootkits also would be distributed en masse by way of email spoofing and drive-by downloads hidden within readily accessible websites frequented by Vichnayan IP addresses designed to trigger upon detection of such, all designed with one specific goal: the installation of backdoors for the operators of Section 10. AIA forks quickly identified compromised systems as either non-productive, as in the case of most people living their lives, or productive - those systems belonging to 'influencers', government functionaries, systems administrators, corporate executives, or those of their families. Nonproductive systems were used as 'zombie' clients to reinforce the Magican botnet's operations; productive systems were directly leveraged by Section 10 operators as ladders into their targets, often posing as 'Grandma Sysadmin', or better yet, 'CEO Squat von Tracksuit' to gain entrance into vulnerable systems.

With that being stated, the Section went into action: just as Vichnayan assets were doing to the Empire at the moment, operators began brute-forcing their way into Vichnayan government ministries and the tools of media manipulation: news journals, social media, video sharing sites with the aid of their zombie army of compromised systems. A particular focus would be made on social media and censorship apparata: the shot-callers knew the Vichnayans were hurting politically, and there was undoubtedly a great deal of ongoing censorship.

The goal, therefore, was to give Vichnayans something they usually didn't get, courtesy of the Empire of Magica - free speech, a tool of discord - especially in closed societies that did not wholly embrace totalitarian principles, such as the Federal Republic of Vichnaya, and to a lesser degree, the Empire itself. Influencer and media personality sockpuppets would be utilized to reshare news not necessarily favorable to the Vichnayan government, both of the fake and real varieties, while compromised moderation accounts on social media and other 'public squares' would be leveraged to delete uncompromised moderator accounts, as well as utilized to control the narrative by banning and/or deleting pro-government voices.

But this was, in itself, a distraction - a ploy. This period of anarchy on their Internet likely wouldn't last for more than a day at most, but the ultimate goal of this operation was twofold: divide the enemy's attention and processing power to relieve the pressure on Magican networks, and discreetly show the Section's opponents the extent of their own bag of tricks; and the consequence of an escalation.

It was hoped that just as Vichnayan intrusion into military secrets and obfuscation of military traffic and communications posed a real military threat to the Empire, the Empire would pose an unacceptable political threat to those in power in retaliation. A perfect example of a 'Magican Standoff', if there ever was one.

And if the Section could break into Vichnayan state and corporate secrets, stealing them for themselves, all the better.

---

Western Sea - Off the Coast of the Magican Archipelago
HMIS Mousquetaire, Arquebus-class Cruiser

The Mousquetaire sailed in very rough seas. Not only was the tide rough due to so many ships sailing at once in often erratic maneuvers to avoid the strikes of their enemy, the impacts of stray missiles disturbed the water still further.

It was a target-rich environment, to be sure. And now those targets had started shooting each other. From what the Captain of the Mousquetaire could ascertain - no small amount of Lower Magican ships had raised the white flag, while other ships were fleeing back home or to high sea, destination unknown. The ships that were still in the fight were attacking both Allied vessels and those of their surrendering or fleeing brethren, while others lead by diehard captains and presumably crews lurched forward toward Allied lines, intent on ramming a ship.

It was a chaotic mess: it was clear that nobody was in control on the other side.

The officer in charge of the communications station was on the verge of a breakdown - he had been juggling not only communications with Allied vessels, but those ships of the People's Navy making a mad dash for the lines, white flag well raised, begging for assistance.

But, as confusing as the situation was, the outcome was clear.

The Battle of the Western Sea was all but won.

---

Above the Inner Maritime Border - Magican Archipelago
'Tarantula Three', 62nd Naval Attack 'Tarantula' Squadron, Imperial Magican Air Force

Gib piped up from the back, admiring the aircraft. "Jeeeeezus, that thing's big."

Tarantula Three couldn't help but reflexively say: "Yeah, that's what your mom said to me last night."

"Fuck you, Three." Gib retorted. "That's not Red markings," Three commented, looking over the star roundels. "Fuck, I don't recognize that one off hand. Gib, you've got a identifier pamphlet back there?"

His Weapons Officer, affectionately known by the generic name 'Gib', short for 'Guy in Back', shuffled through his portion of the cockpit. "Yeah, found it. You might wanna chuck these issues of Scalawag, by the way. Little too crusty, if you ask me."

As Gib was shuffling through pages rapidly, a voice broke out over their headsets, while their quarry wiggled its wings.

Не стреляйте, я не враг. Не стреляйте, я Вичнаян!

Three recognized that signal, even though he didn't understand the language. Gib was equally puzzled. "Uh, anyway, Three - not only is our mystery craft Vichnayan, it's...she's not a guy?"

"Women can be pilots, too, Gib. I know you don't usually encounter them outside of those crusty issues of Scalawag, so you get a pass this time." Three sighed.

He flicked a switch on his left console, and spoke into the microphone of his helmet. "Unknown Vichnayan aircraft, this is Tarantula Three of the Imperial Magican Air Force. You're in sovereign airspace of the Empire of Upp- er, Magica. Just Magica, and a warzone to boot. We're gonna have to land you. Any funny business, by the by - you're shark food. Not trying to be an asshole - just business."

He sped up, slowing down at the flank of the aircraft to get a good look at the pilot, as well as vice versa. He gazed at the pilot, who was gazing at him and Gib. "We're going to take a little trip to, er.." He shut off the microphone. "Gib, nearest AFB, pronto."

"Uh, GPS is reading... Adventura AFB, 'bout 210 clicks south-south west - Anvil Island. Would be Twin Isles AFB, but that's Red territory now. By the way, you sound like that asshole cop that pulled me over in my brand-new Thundercolt a week ago." Gib spoke, playing with buttons in the back.

"Unknown Vichnayan aircraft - we're taking a little trip to Adventura AFB," Three said switching the microphone back on, making plane landing gestures with his hands suitable more for a three-year-old at preschool. "Yeah - fuck you too, Gib. Hope the dealership tows your shitty lil' sports car off while you're on deployment."

He wasn't sure if the pilot would comply, or even understand what he was saying, but Three hoped she did - except the banter, which he'd been careless enough to let fly over a hot mic to his temporary embarrassment.

---

TO: FOREIGN MINISTRY OF ALEXIANDRA
CC: ALLIED CHIEFS OF STAFF, SUB-CHIEFS OF THE IMPERIAL GENERAL STAFF
FROM: H.C.G CONTARINI, CINC, MAGICAN THEATER OF WAR, CHIEF OF THE IMPERIAL GENERAL STAFF
ENCRYPTION: MAXIMUM
SECURITY LEVEL: TOP SECRET EYES ONLY

TELEX AS FOLLOWS:

IN RE: PROPOSED STRIKE ON PG ASSETS, YOU HAVE OUR ASSENT - WITH EXCEPTION OF PG CIVILIAN ASSETS, NEED TO FEED AND WATER NORTHERN CIVILIANS AFTER THIS WAR, STATE CANNOT DIVERT HUMANITARIAN AID, MUST SUBSUME AS MUCH INTACT FARMLAND AS POSSIBLE - APPROXIMATELY FIVE-TEN THOUSAND HECTARES OF PRIME FARMLAND ARE PROJECTED TO BE UNSUITABLE FOR AGRICULTURAL PURPOSES LET ALONE HUMAN HABITATION BY END OF MONTH, SIMPLY CANNOT AFFORD STRAIN, SAYS MINISTRIES OF FINANCE, AGRICULTURE

DUAL USE INSTALLATIONS ARE GREENLIGHTED FOR ATK: POWER PLANTS, HIGHWAYS, RAILWAYS, AIR AND SEA PORTS, PROBABLY NEED TO REBUILD TO MODERN SPECIFICATIONS ANTEBELLUM ANYWAY

WE PROPOSE A JOINT STRIKE ON PG WMD CAPABILITY UTILIZING SF, AIR AND SEA ASSETS WITHIN THE WEEK - WILL NEED TO BE FAST AND THOROUGH: ONCE GEN. YUVARAJ REALIZES ALLIED FORCES ARE AFTER HIS STOCKPILE, HE WILL LIKELY USE ITS FULL SPECTRUM - WILL PROBABLY REQUIRE USAGE OF ALEXIANDRAN ORBITAL CAPABILITY, BUT PROJECTIONS INDICATE IF LADDER OF ESCALATION CONTINUES TRENDING UPWARD, WAR GOES NUCLEAR SOON; THIS NECESSITATES THE DESTRUCTION OF HOSTILE WMD CAPABILITY ASAP

RUNOFF FROM HOSTILE NUCLEAR CHEM AND BIO FACILITIES IS EXPECTED, MAY POLLUTE AND RENDER UNINHABITABLE LOCAL AREAS FOR GENERATIONS, BUT PREFERABLE TO FURTHER WMD EXCHANGE AND NUCLEAR ESCALATION WHICH WILL KILL MILLIONS, AND MORE YET TO BE BORN

IN RE: VICHNAYA'S INVOLVEMENT IN THE WAR, SECTION 10, ISB, INDICATES THAT MASSIVE CYBERATTACK ORIGINATING FROM THAT COUNTRY IS UNDERWAY ON IMPERIAL NETWORKS, FORCING SECRET COMMUNICATION TO PASS THROUGH ANALOG METHODS - APOLOGIES FOR INCONVENIENCE - WE HAVE CONFIRMED THAT VICHNAYA IS PRIMARILY TARGETING MILITARY COMMUNICATIONS AND MAINFRAMES. ISB IS RETALIATING AGAINST VICHNAYAN GOVERNMENT ASSETS, AND WE STRONGLY SUGGEST YOUR OWN CYBERWARFARE COMMANDS TAKE MEASURES TO SAFEGUARD YOUR OWN NETWORKS

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OOC: [1] - Portmanteau of Adaki and Cyrillic. Something something originality since I don't think Cyril and Methodius ever swam to Lyceni